#Scoundrels and thieves 'verse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captainkurosolaire · 2 years ago

Text

Budokai 3 Finale: Bury or Surface

(C.F) Thunder Fists - (1.) ♫Black Water♫ / (2.) ♫Welcome To Hell♫

The Sixth Layer and final Hell of Earth. Here lies the burial thieves and defiles of nature, liars and revisionists. Water rampantly surged below as a flood was approaching them now. A single solitary rope came and dropped down on the side above. Where life nestled. Their close crewmates, the lives they had beyond this pit that nearly had beaten out of another to remember. Up above that single rope. Was a haven they shouldn’t forget to cherish. What laid was their reward for every hardship thus far, a continued flourish of life! To remain stuck below, was a nameless end and be buried in depths they fittingly deserved. The most tribunal death-match was brought back, but some traditions are always better left forgotten. Sickly they felt under the pressure. Flayed skin and marred by their disgusting sins. Liberation in the very cosmic souls they held, weighed. As the now ancient astrologist once rattled on to an old kingly sailor what to expect. This was the Endwalk.

Dehydrated and unsteady limbs the cladded black mane, Seeker the only man remaining still barely on his feet, began making his walk out of stamina to even run the remainder of the marathon. Blood loss made him hear lunatic sounds, heightened and labored breathing, he felt his body almost astrally leaving him and as if he was outside of it already, just another spectator trying to root on. His heart palpitations were drumming vigorously. As his fingertips once again took that reach all but yet familiar. Remembering a tyme he tried snatching a star that was abducted from him. Or washing ashore in the Black Shrouds with no identity, only a feral outlook. A savageness to eat, rip, or be torn by the fellow beasts. Nomadic he became, to a point the animals that once hunted and he hunted became more similar that the people of Gridania raised bows and torches against him. Eventually splitting his soul and losing a chunk out of it. But without something filling that void other half on a fateful, he wouldn’t have survived. And here once again, the same thing happened. Every-time, his reach was consistently inadequate to hold anything of importance, no matter the key, or how hard he kept it close to his chest. He couldn’t measure up. Like, dark poetry his body collapsed in a heap right as it touched his only escape out of hell. This world with no mistake about it was reserved for strength. As the new ushering age pitched up to his feet, Sinbad took his lurching advancements to ascension. Valiantly is the fallen, and the Miqo’te attempted to reintroduce a new verse in history. Where stature, upbringing, power wasn’t the entire equation of what gave ripples to the seas. Sluggard pace the champion of five seas made until finally gingerly grappled at his rightful claim and took the rope and was wrapping it around his waist and making a harness to propel himself up the climb. A ruckus was spewed back between both crew’s as they were reacting loudly and fighting one another in shouting for their Captain’s to get up and win, or even better, live to another day. The low breathing scoundrel with a welt and swelled up eyelid and face that was all smashed in looked to the sky and saw shade silhouettes. As thoughts traversed and mind raced his heartbeat and breathing contesting to stay afloat on the bed of water feeling up and drawing up to his ears turning those chants and drowning them. To conqueror or to be conquered. Treasures. Landmarks. Even people, or… oneself. He recalled a fragmented memory of his Captain asking him young what is it he wanted? Dreams came to mind with a childish voice, goal as per usual in youth. To hold a head higher than all the rest. Stand the tallest amongst a sea of giants. To lead a wildly diverse crew as the freest band in renown. What was the thing that always, every turn cost him, the nightmare. Himself. He finally accepted it in that moment, he'd become a conqueror. But he wasn’t after landmarks, or a lick of glint. Nah. All that was insignificantly less. Valueless. It’d all fall in line. He wanted to chart and conquer his own being. To find the extents of every fucking miserable sack of flaw written and scarred into him and accept it. This pit? It suddenly felt inviting and a secondary home to be fond, but he couldn’t stay here. His spirit erupted and he pieced himself together and got up with grit in his facial features, the desperation on the line. Sinbad halfway up and out suddenly felt a pull of his legs in weight as a clawing fiend, he thought left behind gone and buried was clawing out. A resistance of kicks was trying to knock him off but the Seeker leapt up and wasn’t going to hold out his ticket out of here. The Miqo’te appeared on the side as they took turns bashing each other trying to knock the other out with shoves, kicks, punches. “I can’t lose mate!” As the Seeker grappled a fist full of hair and bashed the Highlander’s head into the wall. He teetered but shot back, “You can’t win either!” The feline acrobatically jumped slightly up above the top of the rope ahead of Sinbad and now had the driver seat above. Clinging tightly with a leveraged forearm behind the rope and using his one good. Sinbad had his nerves rocked, reaching and grabbing that pitiful creature’s tail and yanking it aside now with two ropes. The water quickly was chasing them up. The Seeker stomped back to try shaking himself free as he fought his tail being yanked and taken until landing a decent hit to the face of Sinbad who was forced backward and his hold, rogue slipped past and was passing the brute by. Half his body made it to the edge as the Seeker was nearly up. As his own pants and ankle was grabbed by the long wingspan and reach of a true successor to the next generation of pirates and was getting whacked and assaulted to damage the lower limbs. Clung back with a burning resolve. The Seeker shimmy with his hips and waist his belt-buckle removed earlier he took no shame in discarding him of his pants into his briefs. Breaking free and moving himself up to the tip-top of the climb. Crawl pathetically like an insect! Came back to mind and frame as the Seeker saw his Crew behind the thicket and line, the grail. The giant following short pursuit behind. The Miqo’te tried standing up but instantly collapsed, his limbs were giving out all his strength left was to use his chin and elbows to scoot up and wiggle forth. A sudden sizable rock hit square in the back with a violent bash as it grounded him. The Highlander had reached out of the pit as well and used that hit to grab the ankle and pull backward the rogue as he advanced over him with power coming back into control and play. Trampling over the wretched pirate and now he took the leading position so close at the final-stretch. Unlike Solaire, he could properly regroup and stand and just rush himself to victory. Which he started to recollect and draw himself up. It was to blink a moment and miss it. Kuro slammed his forearms and pushed himself up. He was so far behind and couldn’t cover that distance by walking. Soaring past him and almost cheering him up, the remarkable butterfly, after all its consistent effort, was finally flying from its wounded wing. A spiritual guide! He spun his back questionably and faced the wrong direction of the finish line and drew up his finger into a gun and aimed it at the soils. His entire sight blurring and body washing over in waves. Channeling his aether into a single point. Time to take a shot, a golden shot. With all his last ditch effort he catapulted and launched himself off the ground, unable to use his legs and one arm. As he came barreling to the standing Sinbad who was a few steps away he drew his elbow out and it bashed directly into the back of the neck, knocking out the Highlander from making that huge step, as they both stopped and collapsed and crashed. His back shredded against the ground. Stunned crew collapsed on their knees and each grabbed their skulls. Who the hell won. The representative of the last Budokai stepped in to officiate with clarity. “Outstanding! Both competitors had succeeded past the threshold of the finish line! ...Although the Winner of the Third Budokai and Six Layers is… Captain Van Sinbad!” But he was completely unconscious and out of it the victor had no ability to celebrate. The reason for the easy decision was that Sinbad’s whole body had gotten over the goal line, while only half of the Miqo’te surpassed it, ilm’s literally away and there could’ve been a decisive draw. Incidentally by Kuro’s last choice to strike out his competitor it was a small enough error that halted his own movement in the process. Yet undeniably it was likely he would have not been able to avoid the next step Sinbad was going to take regardless. Crew of the Young Sinbad exploded in vibrancy as they rushed to collect their leader and haul him to medical attention and now they further cemented themselves in accolades. His beloved harlot kissed him passionately and stroked the cheeks of the fallen winner. As the loser was left to once again lament. He didn’t win again. Worst of all, his Crew that agreed to this would suffer the terms. Despite wanting and needing to win and finding a new direction from those trials, he faltered. But something was different about this entire loss. Most of his Crew warmly rejoiced around him. As he mouths a barely coherent apology. Gark, the one who threatened if he was ever caught moping Captain again or sulking one he’d pummel said, “Why are you apologizing kid? That was bloody-awesome! A helluva show!” Sheik Sphere his Bard, “Thou beloved Captain fret not, I personally was captivated! I could hear the strings of your heart. Indeed a symphony that called to thine own!” While clutching symbolically to his chest rhythmically. The First Crewmate Judas stepped in who was often relatively calculated and genuine with truth no matter how it may come harshly. “You gave it all, more apparent, you lived… Consider what was expected in a deathmatch. I believe the Crew had no doubts or needed further convincing. We’ll win one of these waves and when it transpires, we’ll never stop.” He whistled in a stretcher to the medical assistance from the tent nearby. A sea roe stepped in with praying hands drawn together, “For you to live was all I could’ve wished.” With a tear jerk of genuineness. An envious brethren figure in a Raen with a snarky comment under his breath, “Pfft, I could’ve won…” As he slurped on a huge jug of whiskey and had a motor fan just to help himself from the sheer heat and light himself a cigar. Truthfully Captain was his hero and wanted to be better than him. With envy and greed though of course strongly. Sol was the best type to assume he’d betray but many would be deceived in his loyalty of recent. But none could ever possibly know his real feelings. Casta could share somewhat that sentiment that she actually was rescued a long time ago, or multiple and often wrote fictions about Captain this was something no different. But she rushed over and cried on his chest. “Don’t w-worry I promise to put you back together! Better than ever.” She worried and blamed herself with insecurities. She tried to fix his nagging injuries after he was assaulted and gave him a placebo pill that suddenly ‘cure’ to try giving him clarity he could fight in this. Cause she knew how important this showdown was to him. But she had just put recognition that maybe this was on her. Not knowing no matter what this wasn’t something for debate or could’ve been evaded. He would’ve showed up and fought regardless. He couldn’t have backed out of this. That’s not how the agreed creeds work. Kuro was depleted and patted her head, “I trust your capable hands, you can’t fail me. Da..mn… I fer th’ longest, reminded unavoidable curses I lay with. But now I’ve got a taste of a bles..s..in’.” Giving her once more reassurance and his Crew before slipping into his own critical slumber. The remainder of his band voiced their own but did so as he was out and strapped up to essential IV fluids and medical appliances. The future shock would be coming in the next Moon’s to follow, And cultivate a year of tumultuous undertaking.

#Lot of a soap-opera drama to begin after this #Tales of the Goldbrand #Budokai 3 #Creative Writing #Sinbad the Young #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Six Layers #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #Highlander #Seeker of the Sun #Miqo'te

9 notes · View notes

maximalcatpossible · 3 months ago

Text

1. Roy does not know what sleep is: Sleep comes and goes for Roy, his nightmares and night terrors keep him up. Sometimes he’ll crash on the couch for hours and wake up asking, “What the Hell happened?!”

2. Roy uses a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner: Roy honestly doesn’t care what he uses to wash his hair. He’d probably use dish soap if he had to. A two-in-one is mostly for convenience and the price’s sake.

3. Roy likes to eat straight coffee beans: No, no, not coffee beans. Roy isn’t picky about what he eats, but coffee beans have never been something he’d snack on.

4. Roy is a simp: No, Roy learned the hard way that simps never win.

5. Roy always has a stuffed animal on them: No, when it came to toys, Roy grew up with green army men and toy trucks. When it came to sleeping, he always had a dog to hug.

6. Roy will go feral. Watch out: Typically Roy is in a soldier verse, meaning Roy will go and fight anyone who pushes him too far. Even if not in his soldier verse, Roy will go Wolverine on whoever does him wrong.

7. Roy cracks his knuckles very loudly: Another one of Roy’s bad habits. Sometimes it’s when he’s bored, sometimes when he’s thinking, etc.

8. Roy stole a lollipop at the checkout when they were 5 and they still feel guilty about it: The story goes Roy stole a candy, and his dad knew. Normally his dad would’ve given Roy the belt, but instead of confronting Roy he told him, “Thieves are gutless, spineless, pathetic, sniveling scoundrels.” Since that incident, Roy has never stolen and he’s always felt guilty about that incident.

9. Roy tells dad jokes: Absolutely. Puns, dad jokes, witty remarks, Roy does it all. If he ever becomes a father, depending on the verse or RP, they just spill out of him.

10. Roy instinctively cleans messes in their own house and as well as other people’s: This is a habit that’s not really a BAD habit. It’s not always messes he cleans, but broken items that are his forte. An unset time on the microwave, a wobbly washer, Roy will get to it.

Tagged by @rpwiththelilflower

@ofinfinitedreams @cristocrat @bcrnyours @ruexberry

USE THIS GENERATOR TO RANDOMLY CREATE 10 HEADCANONS FOR YOUR MUSE & BOLD ALL THAT ACTUALLY APPLY.

Blythe is great with kids. ((I think Blythe is the kind of weird that kids would flock to. I think she would be very confused why they liked her, but a little part of her would be glowing inside that they did.

Blythe is awful with kids. ((LOL see #1

Blythe is a cat person. ((Absolutely. She loves all animals but I think in terms of house pets, she'd have a cat or bunny.

Blythe is a top. ((GOD NO. I almost spit out my drink. Pillow princess alert

Blythe is constantly singing for no reason. ((Not full-blown song, but she tends to hum to herself often.

Blythe cringes at their middle school yearbook photos. ((I don't think she thinks about middle school much... that was the worst time of her life for different reasons.

Blythe bites their nails. ((As much as Blythe fidgets and is always picking at her clothes when she's nervous, she doesn't actually bite her nails!

Blythe can't spell resturaunt. ((Blythe is a writer! And with that comes good spelling!

Blythe is a sleepwalker. ((I feel like she used to be??? When she was younger... From the #trauma! But sleepwalking for her now is when Blane takes over!

Blythe has punched a hole in their wall. ((Blane has with Blythe's fist? So that counts right? LOL

— TAGGED BY: @2isms ((Thank you <3

— TAGGING: @the-haunted-office, @chaosmicjelly, @bloodylariat, @lostusagis, @grandpiratecrew, @rpwiththelilflower , @memorieskept and anyone who sees this and wants to do it!

22 notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 4 years ago

Note

i'm not sure if you're open to prompts, but i'm curious as to how the others would react to jesse and hanzo after their proper reunion? i'm pretty sure they're not outwardly lovey-dovey, but it must be obvious that they're very close and very much in love. plus the fact that they have shared quarters later, wow can you imagine the conversation with winston afjdkfj. and for the older agents i would imagine that this jesse is the happiest jesse they've ever seen?? so yeah. just curious, and (1/2)

i'm always hungry for more content for you. your writing is just so fucking beautiful, gah. <3 (2/2) - 🌵

Oh yeah, I think they’re definitely not lovey-dovey in public in the uh conventional way, but they do very much have that dynamic that’s like... you know how some couples are very clearly a Team, even when they’re in a larger social group? It’s not really that they’re excluding you, they’re just so tuned in and safe and effective with each other that they sort of have their own thing going and you know they function as an autonomous unit that could stand on its own at a moment’s notice. Basically they have Big Partner Energy going on and from the sheer intensity of it any observer would be very hard pressed to read it as anything but the ‘life partner’ variant lol. And you’re completely right about the older agents (and some of the ones who are younger and must have seen him as sort of an older brother figure) seeing Jesse being uncomplicatedly happy and I’m. emotional about it ;_______________;

I also feel like neither of them are interested in talking about their personal life with anyone else, so poor Genji might end up being the one who has to tell Winston that if he needs Hanzo or McCree for something, just... maybe make sure you knock on that door nice and loud a couple of time before you go in there just to be sure, huh. Oh how the turntables, Mr. Used To Be A Playboy, how much do you want to bet this is a precise reversal in dynamics of a bunch of situations that happened when they were younger when Hanzo frantically had to cover for him

(And thank you so much for the kind words sdfhksadjflh that’s so nice. Y___Y My policy with prompts is mostly ‘technically my door is always open! but also I’m a real mess at all time so I can make absolutely no promises’ haha)

#Anonymous #overwatch #mchanzo #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #Scoundrels and thieves 'verse

16 notes · View notes

wordstrings · 2 years ago

Text

Renfaire AU

*splashes into the OFMD pool*

Words: 1,400

—

“Mister Blackbeard?” A child’s voice rises from the small crowd of observers. “What’s that?”

Ed finds the kid, throws her a wink. “That’s Captain to you, lass. And these–” he pats the top of the hardwood structure– “are called stocks. Used for public punishment of filthy criminals, like pirates, or aristocrats. You’re not a criminal, are you?”

The girl giggles and shakes her head.

“No? You sure?” Ed squints out at the crowd, scanning the faces. “I bet we could find one.”

The audience for Medieval Crime and Punishment (1pm, 2:30pm, and 4pm daily) has all the usual suspects: kids with plastic swords, parents in street clothes with tote bags, one guy with a huge Viking axe on his back, a handful of reasonably-costumed enthusiasts. There’s a blond coiffure towards the back corner that catches his attention.

“You there.” He points, catches the man’s eye. The man glances back over his shoulder, but Ed doesn’t mean anyone else and keeps his finger extended until the man, looking surprised, points to his own chest. Ed feels a slow grin growing. He nods, turning his finger to curl it into a beckoning gesture.

“Yes, you, with the fancy coat.” Ed keeps the narration going while the man slips down front through the crowd. The coat does look like a period piece, nicely cut with a matching waistcoat beneath. “That is a very fine garment you’ve got there. Too fine, I think. Where’d you get it?”

The man stutters over an explanation, something about a gift– Ed largely ignores it, instead focusing on guiding the man’s momentum cleanly into the seat of the stocks.

“Mhmm, likely story. Say, what’s your name, scallywag?”

“Scallywag?” The incredulous pitch of the scallywag’s voice nearly makes Ed snort as he lifts an unresisting ankle into the open stocks. “I’m a– a respectable gentleman!” Second ankle. “But, ah, my name is, um. Steve.”

Ed raises an eyebrow while he closes the stocks. “Steve? You sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure about my own n– oh, what… what are you doing?” He’s pretty cute when flustered, this Steve.

“Taking your shoes. You won’t need ‘em.” Ed sets each one carefully to the side. The stockinged feet left behind wiggle uncertainly. “Most folks don’t stumble when asked about their name, see. Makes me think we’re not really on the level with each other. And I’m really having a hard time believing that a jumpy fellow like yourself came by all this finery legitimate-like.”

Ed straightens, and puts on his projection voice for the crowd. “What say you? Is this man innocent, or guilty?”

A smattering of responses sprinkle in, but the girl near the front excitedly shrieks, “Guilty!”

“The people have spoken.” Ed pivots back to face the unwitting defendant, and he really can’t help the smirk. “Are you prepared to confess to your thieving crimes?”

“I haven’t stolen anything!”

“Your funeral,” Ed says with a shrug. He cracks his knuckles (the fingerless leather gloves of his costume lend to the intimidating vibe, he’s found), laces his fingers together and pushes them out in a stretch, then drops one wiggling finger onto the center of one vulnerable sole.

“Wait, wai-haait!”

Ed keeps it going and begins his spiel on typical town square “corrective” behavior, while a verse and chorus of giggly protests pours from the seat behind him. He keeps an ear out for genuine distress, like always, but everything sounds bright and bubbly back there.

“…even throwing rocks, but often the punishment of choice is tickling the feet. Harmless, but persuasive. Isn’t that right, Steve? Why don’t you tell me who you robbed blind for that fine outfit of yours?”

“Please, oh it tickles, you scoundrel–!”

It’s Ed’s turn for incredulity. “Scoundrel? Mate, you’ve got this sorely backwards. You’ll address me as Captain Blackbeard, Sir and you’ll speak the truth when I ask you a question.”

It’s time for the first little ramp-up of the demonstration. One tickling finger can only entertain the crowd for so long, after all.

“Fang, would you come give me a hand, please? This deviant needs a little more convincing.”

There are eyelets installed at the top of the tall backrest, with shackles dangling from them. Not quite historically accurate ones, but what here is? (Fang’s choice of headwear is particularly egregious – but the studded pleather does give him a junkyard dog look, and since he’s the assistant muscle instead of the main presenter today, it works.) Ed abandons the foot he’s been gently tormenting and moves to crouch by well-dressed-Steve’s side as Fang lifts the man’s wrists to the shackles. The audience is starting to titter with sympathy.

“I’ll ask you again, Steve. Where did you steal this coat from?”

“I, I didn’t, I promise! It was a very nice present from, from a friend– oh god, ahah!”

Ed’s got a hand slipped inside that fancy coat, tickling now at a helpless armpit. It’s very warm up in there; the autumn hasn’t cooled quite enough to make this many layers necessary yet, and Steve’s body heat has been trapped inside. Ed bets it just feels that much more intense, so he makes sure to keep his touch lightly teasing – even though there’s an urge coiling inside him to really make this man scream.

“Only the guilty laugh when confronted with their crimes, mate.” He addresses the crowd again. “As you can see, we’ve got more than just feet to work with. Everything from legs to stomach, ribs to armpits can help extract a confession. In fact…”

Ramp-up number two. He reaches behind the backrest where his favorite theatrical aids have been hidden, and nods for Fang to do the same.

In tandem, they both reveal large ostrich feathers with a flourish. The crowd laughs and cheers in surprise.

“Usually these are reserved for the damsels and wenches, but you look soft and sensitive enough, my friend. They’re torture for the neck and ears, I’m told. What say you? And address me respectfully, if you please.”

Ed dusts his plume at the crook of Steve’s neck. Fang mirrors on the other side, and oh it’s adorable how their victim erupts with pitchy, snorting giggles while he tries to retract his head like a turtle. His wrists swing in the shackles, fists balling, biceps straining.

“I have nothing to confess!” the accused cries out. “Please, Captain, plee-hee-heese!”

The third and final ramp approaches. Ed guns it.

He drops down on his good knee, keeps the feather dancing, and lobster-claws down the meat of Steve’s thigh. He spiders wickedly around the kneecap before delving beneath to the unprotected, stretched-in-midair knee pit below and, mm, there it is, the scrumptious sound of a scream-laugh. Ed pushes its pitch by continuing down Steve’s leg to his foot once again, where there’s no single-fingertip teasing this time; he rakes the open sole with scrabbling, ruthless fingers while the feather fluff-fluff-fluffs across ear and jaw.

“NO! No, no, nooo-ho! It’s the truth! Please, Ed, stah-haaahp!”

And just like that, everything stops.

Ed creaks his way to standing – feels like it gets harder every season – and regards the sagging, panting man with resignation.

“Maintaining your innocence even in the face the worst torture, eh? Perhaps you’re not a liar after all.” He sighs. “Welp. Disappointing, if you ask me.”

—

It’s barely four minutes after the crowd has dispersed and Ed’s plopped himself into a breakroom chair when Stede barges in to find him.

“You.”

Ed takes a glug from his water bottle, swallows it down. “Hey, Steve.”

“Steve nearly died today, I’ll have you know. Bastard.”

Somehow it sounds like a term of endearment, even as Stede collapses dramatically into the chair next to him. Ed grins.

“Not my fault Steve is so ticklish. Pick a different character next time. I quite liked Reed, though he seemed to have the same problem.”

Anybody else would probably flip Ed off, but Stede just waves a hand like Ed’s a buzzing fly.

“You, just– just shut up.”

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll make it up to you,” Ed promises. “When the last bus heads out, you and I can hang back to close the torture museum.” He leans toward Stede expectantly and waits for him to sigh and tip his head close enough for Ed to kiss it. “I promise nobody will be around to hear you beg me to tickle your tummy while you’re on the rack.”

Stede swipes the water bottle from Ed’s hand and drains it before settling back with closed eyes and a tiny, tired smile.

“If you promise,” he mutters.

#this does not have a real title and i bet i will regret that later. sorry future me #stringswork #strings does art #tickle fic #tickling #Our Flag Means Death #blackbonnet #Edward Teach #Stede Bonnet #ticklish!Stede #ler!Ed #Renfaire AU #with visual aid!!

171 notes · View notes

altamaranempire · 3 years ago

Note

Do you know what a zburator is?, if you do can you draw it sonic style please?

I didn't until this ask, but this is pretty cool! From googling around, they appear to be a heraldic+folkloric animal from Romania. In english speaking heraldry they seem to be called a 'dracone', but I'm gonna use Zburator for this as it's their original (and far more specific) name:

The Zburator (literal translation: 'flyer'/flying thing) Seems to refer to a humanoid, nomadic entity that is somewhat associated with the motif of a wolf-headed serpent dragon: Depicted with rings or segments of fur (this is actually to do with how the animal is depicted as a kind of battle standard-turned-noisemaker used in historical warfare, fyi). The things that really stuck with me that I'm going to emphasise in a sonic/mobian-verse design for the Zburator is that they seem to sit -perfectly- in the niche between vampire (bat), dragon and werewolf tropes. Their unique ability seems to be to turn invisible (but not intangible) at will, but as the name suggests, they can also fly, presumably with OR without functioning wings. Stereotyped as roving thieves, scoundrels and stealers of hearts, the Mobian Zburator population has no set homeland, and no individual stays long in one place. As a result, Zburators are a mixed bag of genetic traits from many different sources... But as long as they have a handful of visual traits and their native abilities, their offspring are still considered one of their own. Curiously, mobian folklore suggests that male offspring are more likely to come out as Zburators in mixed species pairings, but this is unconfirmed.

#the rare reply #zburator #dracone #heraldry #heraldic creatures #mythical creatures #sonic oc #sonic au #mobian #mobians #worldbuilding

42 notes · View notes

allthingsmustfall · 4 years ago

Text

For @rockscanfly ‘s prompt of “charles gets to watch arthur do embarrassing shit all the time. whats one time that arthur saw charles do something embarrassing?” which ate my brain and made me cackle incoherently to myself.

This is the ‘like thieves in the night’ verse, after they get to Serendipity and before John’s in the know:

Arthur’s been loitering near the stables, avoiding Hosea’s endless dickering to make nice with some a new foal and its weary momma, so it’s only seeing Charles’ back go rigid that makes him glance up.

It’s a bright spring morning, just barely out of the grip of winter, and they’d ridden down to the Smit’s ranch to pick up a few head of cattle for the farm, something that Arthur figures should’ve taken ten minutes, but with Hosea there’s always twenty minutes of small talk and an hour of haggling over prices, so he’d settled in for the long haul while Charles inspected the herd.

Arthur leans out of the barn to get a better look at Charles, who’d been leaning against the fence, smiling vaguely as he looked out over the rolling hills. He’s not doing that now - his hackles are up and he jumps back from the fence like he’s touched a live wire, furtively casting around like he’s looking for cover in a firefight.

Doesn’t seem to Arthur that anything’s changed, really, Hosea’s still up on the porch with the owner, and it seems his eldest daughter has stepped out to join them. She’s a nice enough girl, just turned twenty with no ring on her finger, and she’s plush and soft in the way Mary was, like she’d break should Arthur so much as look at her wrong. Matilda, Arthur remembers suddenly, her name’s Matilda.

Glancing back to Charles, he finds the man has jumped the fence, making for the side door of the stable, creeping along like he’s hunting game.

“Charles!” Matilda calls from the porch, her voice bubbling with the kind of excitement that only comes with youth. She dashes down the steps, her skirts in hand. “Daddy didn’t mention you’d be coming down too!”

From where he’s leaning, Arthur can see Charles’ face through the side window as he’s caught, and his eyes go rabbit-wide, and he mutters a curse that Arthur has only ever heard him use when he’s talking about the Army or Dutch.

“Heey there, Matilda,” he says, voice strained as he turns on his heel, still backing away slowly.

Matilda is fussing with her hair, straightening her dress as she comes up on the fence. “I told you,” she teases, “My friends call me Maddie.”

Charles makes a strained noise and backs into one of the struts holding up the stable’s overhang. “I - yes. Sorry, Maddie. I was just - just going to take a closer look at the herd -”

“You know,” Matilda says, like she’s being subtle or shy, “I never did get a chance to thank you proper for seeing me home after Glenda threw a shoe.”

Charles throws up his hands, “No need for thanking,” he says quickly. “Just - being neighborly.”

“Lending me your coat,” Matilda goes on, oblivious, “Letting me squeeze up behind you on the saddle - “

Purposefully, Arthur bites down on his knuckles to stifle a laugh .Somehow, Charles has neglected to relate this particular little story of neighborly good-deeding. Funny, that.

“I just - the weather was real bad,” Charles says, still backing away. Arthur has seen him less wary around rattlers. “Just - best for all that you got home safe -”

“It was just so - heroic,” she says, wistfully. “Daddy says you’re an American? You used to be a cowboy out on the frontier?”

“Oh no I - I just - I - just ranching, mostly,” Charles lies, because if the girl wants heroic stories, then Arthur’s got a few dozen to fill her head up with. “Nothing interesting -”

Matilda sighs gustilly, fanning her chest as she positions herself in a way she must think looks enticing, but mostly seems uncomfortable. “It sounds so romantic.”

“It’s not,” Charles says, almost plaintively. “It’s really -”

“Oh no,” she says, purposefully letting an old handkerchief flutter into the muddy paddock. “I dropped my handkerchief.” She leans over the fence, making as if to grab it, but even from this angle Arthur can tell she’s just shoving her breasts together as she leans over, deepening her cleavage with a lot of creative positioning and hope. “Would you be a dear and grab that for me?”

Charles stills, looking from the girl to the pile of manure it’s landed in and says, deliberately, “I’d just as soon leave it, miss, I think it’s ruined.”

Arthur just about has to shove his fist into his mouth to silent a peel of laughter at that, almost doubling over.

The girl pouts, but goes on unperturbed. “You know, I’m a really good baker,” she says hopefully, perking up. “I’d love to come by Serendipity sometime, just to show my appreciation. Momma says no one makes pie like me, you know. Would you like a slice of my pie, Charles?”

Charles just about yelps, probably because he backed his way onto a loose, rusty nail in the side of the barn, cowering back like he’s never done for lawmen or O’Driscolls or the god damn US Army, but it’s just as well, because that sends Arthur to the ground, wracked with silent laughter, and the shout covers the noise of him sinking to the ground.

“I don’t - like pie,” Charles says shortly, which as far as metaphors goes, ain’t even a little bit wrong. “I. My. I been stepping out with Tilly Jackson for a long while now, and she makes, uh, some real nice biscuits, though -”

“You mentioned her,” Matilda says, her voice going a bit suspicious. “I saw her ‘round the market last weekend and she seems real surprised you told me about the two of you -”

I bet she was, Arthur thinks hysterically, another peel of laughter trying to claw its way out of his throat.

“Oh no,” Charles whispers to himself, quietly. Arthur claws his way back to his feet just to see how wide his eyes have gotten, and he’s not disappointed. There’s small rodents living out in the desert with less fear of hawks than Charles has for Matilda Smit in this moment.

“-and she told me you two called things quits? She said you’re a real gentleman but you broke her heart.”

“Did she,” Charles says darkly, in a tone of voice that promised later retribution.

“I think any woman would be lucky to have you, Charles Smith,” she says, earnest and sweet, blinking big brown eyes at him like a fawn in spring.

“That’s - uh, that’s real kind, but really, it was Miss Tilly who broke, uh, my heart,” he says quickly, “I’m just. A broken man about it.”

Tactical mistake, Arthur thinks. In his misspent youth, Arthur has used that line to the exact opposite effect that Charles is hoping for.

On cue, Matilda makes an anguished noise. “Oh you poor thing,” she says, hitching her skirts up to climb over the fence. “Oh, women can be so, so cruel, you deserve yourself a good wife, and lots of babies running around -”

“No, no, no, miss, please!” Charles says, pure panic in his voice, “You’ll muddy your skirts. You just. Stay over there.”

“You’re such an gentleman,” she says, almost as if it pains her, but she at least stops trying to go over the fence. “I was thinking, maybe you’d like to come around some evening,” she says, and her voice goes sly for a moment, “You know, my daddy is driving the herd down to Montreal the end of the month -”

If he was a good man, Arthur would stop this, but thank god he’s a bastard because the anguished noise that Charles makes at that invitation is one that will bring Arthur joy for years and years to come.

“I wouldn’t want to - to presume, Miss Smit -”

“Maddie!” the girl says sharply.

“Maddie! I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t want to bring you any trouble-”

“I like a bit of trouble-”

“And I just - the farm needs me -”

“You’re so responsible -”

“And I, I, uh, uh -”

“No need to get flustered, Charles,” the girl says, all sweet and understanding, “We both want the same thing-”

“Arthur!” Hosea calls jovially, striding into the barn and drawing up short when he finds Arthur doubled over, barely holding back tears of laughter. “What on earth are you-?”

“...Arthur?” Charles growls from the other side of the wall, suddenly glaring in through the window at the pair of them. “You been there the -”

“Mister Matthews,” Matilda says, sounding put out and sour, “Charles and I were just - “

“I’m real sorry, Miss Smit,” Charles says quickly, “We best be on our way. Gotta drive the cattle home -”

“Think Hosea and I could manage it the two of us,” Arthur says helpfully, palming away tears. “If you wanted to -”

“No!” Charles says, then more calmly, “No, no, I think it’s best we all three of us go, just to be sure. Sides,” he says, glaring at Arthur, “We got things to discuss when we make it home.”

Arthur flashes him a sharp, innocent smile, shrugging. “Don’t wanna get in the way of young lo-”

“I’ll go see to the horses,” Charles snaps, heaving himself over the fence and stalking away to where they’d reined up the horses, but not so fast that Matilda doesn’t have the opportunity to lean over, whisper too loudly, “End of the month!”

“What on earth was that about?” Hosea asks, frowning faintly after him.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll tell you the whole thing,” Arthur says, laughing despite himself. Charles was gonna skin him alive, but there wasn’t a force on earth that could stop him telling everyone back home.

~A few hours later~

Lenny is laughing so hard he can’t breathe, doubled over on the ground, looking near to passing out, and Sean and Karen ain’t much better off, both leaning against each other to stay upright.

“I think it’s entirely fair I said what I said,” Tilly says, unrepentant. “What on earth were you thinking? You know I’m thinking about letting Beau Montreau step out with me, and he’s skittish as a cat -”

“I’m just telling her I’m an invert,” Charles says wearily, headown on the table and, taking pity on him, Arthur quietly refills his glass. “It was a nice life here, but it’s time we moved on.”

“And break her heart?” Lenny manages, weeping with laughter. “You scoundrel.”

“Now I ain’t a jealous man,” Arthur says, enjoying this far, far too much, “But if you’re leaving me for her, best you just come out with it, do it quick like setting a bone.” Arthur makes a show of marshalling himself. “Do it now, quick, while I’m ready.”

Charles’ lashes out, but Arthur ducks the smack deftly, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his unresisting knuckles, only dropping it when the door creaks open behind them. John struts in looking pleased with himself, fresh back from town with the groceries. “Ya’ll will never guess what I heard down in town - seems Charles’s finally got himself a woman - hey, hey! What’s so goddamned funny!”

#prompts #my fic #charthur #like thieves in the night #completely self indulgent #and i have no regrets #rdr2

68 notes · View notes

teamhook · 4 years ago

Photo

AO3

FFN

I want to thank @cssns , the mods , @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for the lovely art! And @ultraluckycatnd for her beta services.

Killian stood in front of the old house. He was desperate and hoped he was not turned away. The door opened before he could knock.

“Mr. Jones. The Rioga will see you.”

Killian walked behind the doorman. The house was exactly as Liam had desired. It was a home, not a trace of royalty. The man opened the door to what should have been an office but looked more like a mini-library. All sorts of books lined the shelves. A familiar petite body rose from the center of a pile of books on the floor. She looked the same. Liam’s love was as beautiful as the day his brother introduced them.

“Killian,” the smile on her face blossomed as she rushed to hug him. “I’m sorry, I loved Liam and he said if I married him you two would be safe. I found out once I had agreed and it was too late.” she sobbed into his chest.

Killian gave her a small smile. “Lass, you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry I let my anger cloud my judgment - but how did you know I was coming?”

Belle smiled, her eyes crinkling. “I have a seer in my employ and she informed me of your visit. Her timing was a little off, though. I’ve been expecting you for a while. The only thing she didn’t inform me about was the reason.” She examined him. “Killian, how can I help?”

Killian grinned. “Ah, you’ve always been so good at reading me. Even better than Liam.”

“No, it’s not that. I can recognize a broken heart when I see one.” Belle hugged him.

He held her tight. This was the closest he had been to his brother in years.

“How can I help?” Belle asked again.

“I know that you’re the Rioga of this area and you are given the information we aren’t privy to. Even as queen you had access to certain information,” Killian said. “I’m hoping you know something that can help before I lose all hope.”

“Killian, if it’s within my ability, I will. You are still family.” Belle smiled. “Come, let’s sit.” She guided him to her office. As they entered the office, she sat in a tall leather chair that looked like a throne. “Now, tell me how I can help.”

Killian sighed. “I need to break a contract that was altered without my agreement.”

Belle’s eyes meet his stormy blue eyes. “Killian, what did you do?”

“I made a deal with the Norn, a deal she broke.” Killian clenched his stubbled jaw as he remembered the hag’s trickery.

“The Norn tricks, she lies. Why would you go to her?”

Killian stands suddenly, the chair scraping the wooden floor. “I was desperate. I needed to make sure the woman I love,” He shook his head, “ loved survived the last battle.”

“What did she take?” Belle asks hesitantly.

“I offered her my wolf,” his eyes cast down. “I made the same offer for Liam but—” a lump in his throat made it difficult to speak.

“Liam wouldn’t have wanted you to sacrifice your wolf for him. That would have been like cutting your hand off. It’s a part of you.”

“Belle, I know. I just couldn’t lose her. She’s worth it, she’s bloody amazing. I just didn’t think the Norn would alter our deal.”

“I really hope she’s worth it. Tell me, what did the Norn take?”

“My love. Emma is my mate and now I will feel nothing for her. I couldn’t face her.”

Belle sighs. “And your Rioga didn’t offer any help?”

“My Rioga is Emma’s mother.”

“You didn’t even bother asking. Killian, this can cause a problem. There’s a reason each territory is assigned a Rioga.”

“Bloody hell, Belle. You and I both know that Rioga is simply a different word for Royalty. It’s the same thing. I don’t think this will be an issue.”

“I hate to say this, but I don’t think we can get your love back using diplomacy. No one has been able to break a deal with her before. I think you might have to try a different approach.”

Killian’s face falls as Belle confirms his own conclusion. This is why he didn’t go to Mary Margaret. She would tell him the same. “What do you suggest?”

Belle stays quiet for a second. “Killian, I’m sure you are well versed in plundering and still have connections.”

“I might know of someone, but last I heard he had retired. He is now married with a son. Do you have any ideas? Do you know of anyone reckless enough to take on the Norn?” Killian asks.

Belle stays silent for a second. “I know there’s someone who has no qualms with getting his hands dirty.” The slight blush is almost missed by Killian.

“What kind of company have you been keeping?” Killian teases.

“Oh no, I’m not acquainted with him in that way. He just caused some trouble for the Dark and I had to intervene. Their Stygia wanted his head.”

“Alright, where can I find this man?” Killian asks.

“He is staying with his brother in Sherwood Forest.”

“Wait, are you talking about Scarlet?” Killian laughed. “Bloody hell, I had no idea he had acquired such a reputation. When I knew him, he was good but Locksley was a far superior thief. He was the Prince of Thieves.”

Belle’s eyes widen. “I shouldn’t be surprised you know him. You don’t think he can do this.”

“Belle, he is good. When I met him he was rebellious. Tired of living in Robin’s shadow. We bonded a bit over that. No one knows better than me how that feels. We lost touch after I joined the Misthaven Rioga.”

Emma couldn't believe her luck. She was sure that Killian had gone to that wretched woman for help. The ache in her heart was growing bigger. She decides to head to the station, hoping Graham will have some news. Killian was very responsible. He would not leave without informing his superiors. Emma walks into the station, nervous to know what she would find.

The station looked the same. The only difference was that Killian wasn't at his desk. He wasn't there pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at Leroy's most recent antics. The desk was empty if not for a cake that sat on his desk. Wait, why was there a cake?

"Hey Graham, why is there a -" her words stop as she takes in the image in front of her. Inside Graham's office sits a dirty blonde woman with an eerie familiarity.

"Emma, this is Autumn Day. She was looking for Killian to thank him," Graham says. "I was telling Miss Day that Killian is not available at the moment."

Emma purses her lips. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Autumn smirks, "Oh no, dear. Mr. Jones is the only one I trust to help." She licks her lips.

"I understand, Miss Day, but Killian is not here." Emma's patience was wavering rapidly.

“I shall return. Could you have him call me once he is back?” Autumn handed Graham a paper and got up to leave. As she reached the door, she turns back to say “Please, do enjoy the cake. I would hate for it to go to waste.”

Emma turned to Graham as soon as the woman left. There was something off about her.

“Has he called in?”

Graham sighs. “He asked for some time off.”

“Killian asked for vacation days? Mr. ‘I’ll rest when I die’?” The ache felt like it would swallow her.

“He said he had a family emergency. I’m sorry, Emma. I could not deny him.” Graham winces.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on. And who the hell is that woman? I don’t remember him working on any cases that involved anyone with that name,” Emma sighs.

“Emma, I’m sure he is fine. He will be back soon,” he assures her.

Belle travels with Killian to Sherwood Forest against her advisor’s pleading.

“Belle, you should’ve stayed back. If something were to happen to you, your territory would be open to an attack.”

“Killian, I have contingency plans set up for those situations. You forget I taught you and the pack everything about strategy, and besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” She winked at him.

They had gone the rest of the trip on horseback. Robin had never been able to leave the forest behind. The ride was like traveling back in time to simpler days.

Robin Locksley’s compound was a small fortress. The wooden cottages were reminiscent of Killian’s days with the pack. After losing Liam, he came across Robin and they took him in. His heart was still black with anger and he didn’t stay long. It was a miracle he didn’t pledge to the darkness. He simply wanted justice, just like he did now.

A young boy rushed out of the main house with excitement on his face. They rarely had visitors. “Roland, wait a minute,” an exasperated voice boomed from within the opened door.

“Killian Jones is that you, brother?” The blue-eyed, light brown-haired man smiled wide at his friend as he engulfed the man in a tight hug.

“Locksley, it’s good to see you too.” Killian’s smile didn’t reach his azure eyes. There was no mischief in them.

“Hello,” he turned his face to Belle. “Interesting company you keep, Rioga. It appears you have a soft spot for scoundrels. Will most definitely will be devastated,” Robin winks at Belle.

Belle has turned beet red. Killian raises an eyebrow.

“Marian, we’ve got company. Roland, go fetch Uncle Will.” His happiness overwhelmed him at opening his home to old friends.

They follow Robin inside and sit on the comfortable plush sofa. It was a homely room.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” He smiled as they sat down.

Killian scratches behind his ear, his well known tell said more than words. Robin studied his friend.

“Killian, you look different,” Robin states.

“Aye, I’m not here for revenge,” Killian starts.

Robin finishes his sentence, “You’re here for love. You once said you would only risk your life for two things: vengeance and love.”

“I need to steal something but I cannot risk my Rioga going into a small war with the Stygia in our territory. It could cause a full-blown war,” Killian says.

A startled Will enters the room with Roland in tow. His smile is big as his eyes land on Belle. His gaze stays on her for more time than it should. Once he drinks her in, that is the moment Killian’s presence is noticed. Will senses the familiarity between his friend and the woman he fancies.

Belle is the one to break the ice. “Hello, William. Have you stayed out of trouble since the last time we saw each other?”

Will blushes as he takes a knee. “Rioga, I’m your servant.”

Killian turns to Robin, amused by his friend’s behavior, and honestly surprised since Will has always been anti-authority.

Robin simply shrugs at the display.

Belle laughs. “William, we are here to ask for a favor.”

Will hasn’t risen from his position. “I will do as you wish.”

Belle shakes her head. “I’ve told you before that I’m your friend. I’m not your Rioga, and as your friends, we are here to ask for a favor.”

Will finally acknowledges Killian’s presence. “Jones, what are you doing here?”

Killian doesn’t miss the way Will looks between Belle and him.

“I need the services of a thief and Belle thought of you,” Killian says.

“If memory serves, you were quite the thief yourself, Jones. I guess the rumors are true, you’ve gone soft,” Will sniggers.

Killian rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid I cannot risk causing trouble for my Rioga. You are not affiliated with anyone. Sherwood isn’t assigned to anyone according to the agreement Robin made.”

Belle clears her throat. “We are here because we need your help.” She smiles wickedly at him. “Your target is the Norn.”

William whistles low. “What am I stealing?”

Killian winces. “My love passion; she altered our deal and tricked me.”

Robin breaks his silence. “Killian, I love you like a brother, but the Norn is an ancient Fae. This will not go unnoticed. Perhaps-” he is cut off by Will.

“I’ll do it. Robin is a mother hen.” Will waves his hand in dismissal.

“Robin, she is one of the oldest Faes alive, but our laws apply to all. The problem is no one has tried taking her on. She has tricked Fae out of their most cherished possessions long enough. It’s time she faces the consequences for her trickery. It’s time she finds out that she is not above the law.”

“So when do we leave?” Will asks.

Belle smiles. “Killian will leave first. Then we will follow days later. I need to reach out to his Rioga for permission to travel to their town. William, you will come along as part of my security. That way, you will be able to come and go as you please.” Both of them blush as the words come out of her mouth.

Belle, Will, and Killian finalize their plans just in time for dinner. Although Robin is not 100 percent on board with the idea, he pledges his assistance in whatever capacity it is needed. In one last act of sisterly love to her former brother-in-law, Belle urges for Killian to tell Emma what happened. “Killy, she deserves to know; this doesn’t just affect you.”

The Norn had been disappointed in missing the wolf. She had used some of the blonde savior’s hair infused with a touch of the love passion of the deputy. The glamour spell hadn’t worked perfectly. She would simply wait for her chance. Her plans wouldn’t be thwarted.

All those years ago when he had first appeared at her door, she had been intrigued by the blue-eyed wolf. The attraction she felt for him was unnatural and one she had never felt before. Her reflection image was of a dirty-blonde woman with hazel eyes. The hair wasn’t exactly the right shade of blonde or the right color eyes for that matter. She wanted golden-blonde hair with green eyes. The magic should have worked better. She sighs as she takes out the vial with the love passion and the one with the hair strand out of her cabinet. It will work. Where was her wolf? He would be hers, she had an arsenal of magical weapons at her disposal if needed. She scoffs; she still didn’t understand what made the blonde “Savior” so special. Sure, she is powerful; a waste of power on a human in her opinion.

Days later Killian shows up at the station. He tries to put on a smile. His desk is void of papers just like he left it. He looks around the station and it’s quiet. A message scribbled with the name Autumn Day was left on his desk. The name didn’t sound familiar. He puts it aside and digs into his cabinet for any case that could keep him busy until Belle arrived. His cellphone was in the drawer, turned off. He turns it on and waits while it powered up. The screensaver appeared with a selfie of Emma and himself smiling. He traced the image with the pad of his thumb slowly. They were so happy that day. He sighs. Bloody hell he missed her. The love might not be there, but the ache definitely was.

Soon enough he will have to face her. How would he explain all the unanswered texts and calls? This had to work, he had to get it back. He would never stop fighting for them.

If Liam was still alive he would say, “ A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets .”

Tagging:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81

#cssns20 #Captain Swan #cs ff

31 notes · View notes

ciderbitten-a · 5 years ago

Text

V: A Classic Story

All the trappings you know; a well-bred and mysterious man who lives by his lonesome in an aging manor; long roads through dark woods filled with wolves and other beasts; a tendency of thieves, scoundrels and shifty salesmen to disappear in the night and be found with their throats torn out, with no witnesses or strong leads.

Liam Nial “Alistair” Vero has been a vampire for some few decades, and has grown to accept his role in life with some reluctance. The second son of a noble family, he owns the Vero Manor, a small province in the Scottish wilderness that is otherwise well-kept and home to a bountiful orchard, from which he harvests fruit when he isn’t managing the estate. A shrewd investor and rather lonely man, he does try to keep company when he can, but it’s rather difficult when he has to keep garlic over the guest room doors and not call attention to his peculiar teeth.

He also has to keep his family away, lest they notice he’s been thirty for the last twenty years.

This is primarily a character-based verse rather than a plot-focused one.

#V: A Classic Story

3 notes · View notes

archived-antolcgias · 5 years ago

Text

lore ;; chosen bindings

CLOSED VERSE WITH @ineveryvein

REYNOLD ARGENT

gender - cisgender male

age - twenties

species - homo sapiens

hometown - ???, ???

residence - the harrowcliff estate, ???

BACKDROP - ACADEMIC & PROFESSIONAL & OTHER

schooling - homeschooled ( private tutoring ), circle of the

occupation - heir ( argent bloodline ), scribe ( circle of irons )

language(s) - common tongue ( native ), deep speech ( learned )

alliances - the unfathomable ( patron ), house argent ( family ), circle of irons ( cult of the unfathomable )

BACKGROUND AFFILIATIONS

THE UNFATHOMABLE | ELDER BEING & PATRON | no generations exist in current years that can speak on the first alliance between this otherworldly being and their warlocks. the unfathomable existed long before the world did and are said to be able to see into a thousand others. they do not present themselves to followers except in feeling—in the knowledge of when a task must be completed. not many, followers included, know what truly appeases them.

CIRCLE OF IRONS | FOLLOWERS OF THE UNFATHOMABLE | a pact of families devoted to their patron and whose chains of power are held proudly inked onto their skin. as with other warlocks, they are considered scoundrels and thieves. they fight for power among themselves, and to appeal to their patron for the magic that fuels their ventures in business, combat and society.

CONNECTIONS

ARCENIA | DAEMON | a red fox that is the manifestation of reynold’s soul. she has a quick tongue and little filter for her words. her human never seems bothered by her assertions or moods. where reynold maintains a practical but positive outlook she retains practical but pessimistic edge. can often be seen not so quietly judging his choices unless asked to maintain silence. along her back and beneath her fur there is a tattooed symbol of chains wrought from deep speech.

#for the witch and daemons verse ay #LORE ;; reynold #↳ reyncer | there is one heart in this body. have mercy #↳ reynold | oh but my name is not my legacy

4 notes · View notes

properpudding · 5 years ago

Photo

Buchempfehlung: Der Zauberpudding

Wir sind wahrlich verzaubert und unendlich begeistert von den Abenteuern, des “young fellows” Bunyip Bluegum und seinen Freunden, den ehrenwerten Puddingbesitzern! Die Geschichte feierte letztes Jahr bereits ihren 100. Geburtstag und ist trotzdem aktuell wie eh und je!

Eine wundervolle sowie treffende Rezension haben wir hier entdeckt und möchten sie nun mit euch teilen:

Phillip Pullman says The Magic Pudding, Being the Adventures of Bunyip Bluegum and his friends Bill Barnacle and Sam Sawnoff is his favourite book. He maintains that it is, "the funniest children's book ever written." And the "New York Review of Books" calls it, "Wild and woolly, funny and outrageously fun." It certainly is extremely silly and engaging, this Australian children's story, a classic from 1918. Written and illustrated by Norman Lindsay, it is partly a narrative, and partly in rhyming verse. Reading it feels like reading a cross between Lewis Carroll, Edward Lear and A. A. Milne. "Alice in Wonderland" dates from 1865, and Edward Lear's "Nonsense Songs" from 1871, so it can be inferred that these works might have had an influence on the author. "Winnie the Pooh" however, dates from 1926, so clearly this work did not! It is very much akin to that type of literature, however. And as with those authors, although the story and characters appeal to very young children, it is a story which is better read aloud, as the language used is sometimes quite difficult. The story is about a group of friends, wild Australian anthropomorphised creatures. The two main characters are Bunyip Bluegum and his Uncle Wattleberry, both koalas, whose pomposity may make you laugh out loud. In fact Uncle Wattleberry performs a similar role to Owl, in the "Winnie the Pooh" stories, "'Apologies are totally inadequate,' shouted Uncle Wattleberry. 'Nothing short of felling you to the earth with an umbrella could possibly atone for the outrage. You are a danger to the whisker-growing public. You have knocked my hat off, pulled my whiskers, and tried to remove my nose.' There is Bill Barnacle the sailor, and Sam Sawnoff the penguin. Then there is Albert the cantankerous pudding of the title. He is magic, because no matter how often the pudding is eaten, he always becomes whole again - surely every child's dream of a pudding! "There's nothing this Puddin' enjoys more than offering slices of himself to strangers," says Bill Barnacle. These friends become the "Noble Society of Pudding Owners."

On their travels they meet with several other animal characters. There's Henderson Hedgehog Horticulturalist, a "low larrikin" Kookaburra, a parrot who was a Swagman (or a Swagman who was a parrot), an elderly dog and market gardener Benjimin Brandysnap, and a bandicoot "naturally of a terrified disposition" carrying a melon. And every now and then the "Noble Society of Pudding Owners" are set upon by two dastardly puddin' thieves, the Wombat and the "snooting snouting scoundrel," the Possum.

The story romps along with abandon, including sailors, firemen, and culminating in a court scene, in the sleepy town of Tooraloo. This is very reminiscent of the Queen of Hearts's Court in "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." There is even a reference to cards, as the judge and the court usher are playing cards. It has a similar feeling of elaborate speechifying and pomposity, and a similarly chaotic dreamlike ending to the episode. Adults may well find themselves chortling along with the children, "The Mayor turned so pale at this that the Constable had to thrust a banana into his mouth to restore his courage. "Thank you," said the Mayor peevishly; "but, on the whole, I prefer to be restored with peeled bananas,"" "You're a carrot-nosed poltroon," said the Puddin' loudly, "As for the Mayor he's a sausage-shaped porous plaster." Everything is described with hilarity and extravagance. It is a children's fantasy without a witch or a goblin in sight. Norman Lindsay maintained that children were mainly interested in food and fighting, rather than fairies, and that is what he chose to write his story about. "Hearty eaters," as Sam Sawnoff says, "are always welcome."

The story is full of charm and whimsy. Every page has line drawings, also by Norman Lindsay. The verses, so similar to Edward Lear, are little stories in themselves, reflect the varying moods of the characters. Most of all though, it is rumbustious, Australian to its core, and fun. Expect a great deal of exuberance and a dash of oddity especially in the versifying, because, "'The exigencies of rhyme,' said Bunyip Bluegum, 'may stand excused from a too strict insistence on verisimilitude, so that the general gaiety is thereby promoted.'" Here's a personal favourite, where Benjimin Brandysnap reads his defence to the jury - "the activity of the vegetables, as hereunder described -

On Tuesday morn, as it happened by chance, The parsnips stormed in a rage, Because the young carrots were singing like parrots On top of the onions' cage. The radishes swarmed on the angry air Around with the bumble bees, While the brussels-sprouts were pulling the snouts Of all the young French peas. The artichokes bounded up and down On top of the pumpkins' heads And the cabbage was dancing the highland fling All over the onion beds. So I hadn't much time, as Your Honour perceives For watching the habits of puddin'-thieves."

#properpudding #pudding #puddingpoesie #book recommendations #der zauberpudding #the magic pudding #puddinglove #albert #puddingliebe #pudding4ever #norman lindsay #story #reading #magic pudding #zauberpudding

1 note · View note

ao3feed-mchanzo · 5 years ago

Text

Reflections

by vaguely_concerned

“I may have chosen an injudicious time in my life to turn to philosophy,” Hanzo admits eventually. “It is the sport of a man far younger or far wiser.”

Words: 1966, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 33 of Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Comfort

from AO3 works tagged 'Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada' https://ift.tt/2qdgVq0 via IFTTT https://ift.tt/2qdgVq0

#mchanzo #fic #ao3feed #overwatch #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada

4 notes · View notes

sharixinsanity · 2 years ago

Text

The Legend of Satan’s Thirst by Shari X Insanity

The Legend of Satan's Thirst by Shari X Insanity

Author’s Note: Hello, all. I’m Shari X Insanity, and this is my Poetry Page. This is my first ever post here in this type of forum. I used to post in Facebook’s Notes Section, but that is now a defunct feature, so this brings me here, and you have all stumbled upon my poetry journal blog. I’m going to be posting here often, so please be on look out for more poems. These are all original poems, written from myself, please refrain from stealing, or copying, without my permission or consent.

I will be posting here often for Poetober, Poetober is like an Inktober, but instead for artists, this is for poets, and there’s also no prompts, just a theme -- horror genre, Edgar Allan Poe style technique, Halloween, Spooky Season. Happy Poetober to all!

Subscribe, like, comment, reshare onto other social media platforms, or follow, this tumblr account/blog/page, to check out more Shari X Insanity poetry in the future.

The first Poetober poem/Tumblr blog post is The Legend of Satan’s Thirst, you can either read along in the caption which I’ve copy & pasted my poem lyrics/verses, stanzas, or you can read the PDF/JPEG files which are attached.

I’ll be posting every Friday/Saturday.

Enjoy!

All poems are original poems written by the author, and all copyrights are reserved to the poet, artist, author, Shari X Insanity©.

The Legend of Satan’s Thirst

By: Shari X Insanity

There was once a drink,

That pours in red.

The color of blood,

And death.

No human, or mortal,

Could survive the sip.

One shlook, one gulp,

And you will drop.

So much to take in

‘By toxic, poisonous,

Mouthful.

Off goes your head.

So much smoke.

That you need to hold yourself.

Before you choke.

Because Satan is a demonic devil,

With a dark sense of humor,

Despite being a malevolent ruler, or King of Hell,

Constantly throwing the biggest, grand parties, and ordeals.

The King of Hell is greatly entertained by his guests' pain.

Alas, Satan, the King of Hell, may dwell on the nine fiery pits’ delves.

And he sends his best regards, as he cordially invites one and all.

To a noisy, rowdy, raucous, wild, chaotic, unruly, frenzied, relve.

Scallywags, scoundrels, and tricksters are in attendance alike,

Who have responded to the mass invites in bulk.

Who have arrived for the evil, devious, diabolical, wicked time.

For mischief, mayhem, havoc, and shenanigans.

Of all of the nine realms.

Before the time, or hour befalls,

For the Grim Reaper, the ferryman, shall collect all of the souls.

The souls that will fall on the river of Styx,

When you hear the bell that has been rung.

Satan truly hopes that this astonishing ball.

Will bring everyone altogether high, down, up, below, from near, or far.

That the attendees will reach an unlimited capacity, and near full.

That the bash will be not close to being dull.

Only non-stop, crazy fun.

Even if you cannot leave when you are done.

Even if you cannot say your bid well, or farewell.

Satan is feeling most prevalent and celebrant

To get everyone to dance in their cells, until they cannot anymore.

To dance, dance, dance—and dance,

Until their limbs fall off, and they can no longer go on any further

To dance as if enchanted, spelled, or hexed,

From some unbreakable trance.

Satan smokes and drinks, but you cannot smell his burnt of ashes odor,

Only his chocolaty tint dipped with something sweet

The unfamiliar sweetened, sugary and spice, the scent is along with

Satan’s aftershave, perfume, or cologne.

Maybe his scent or aura.

He is an exhumer and consumer of sorts.

A Jack of all trades and cohorts.

Cards falling or hidden, while tucked into his sleeves

He is very tight, very close with his imps, as thick as thieves.

Always talking super-fast when telling grand tales,

Getting his tongue caught into a knot, that he will have to unravel

His tongue, like a dagger and its sheath, wrapped in cloth.

Always with a grin, smile, or smirk

Laughing at his subjects, minions, and impish jokes

Impish cackles, and laughs maniacally evilly.

Not being able to contain himself,

As his stomach rumbles.

The drink is dripping down from his chin,

Down to his whiskers.

He is drinking the goblet of nightmare

With a bloody éclair.

The drink spilling and spitting

Everywhere into the air.

Spilling, spitting, dripping in drink

As the foam and suds covers and drenches

His goatee and mustache

His laugh is infectious and contagious

Which spreads and reaches to every last one of his subjects.

Because he is sitting upon his throne, hand raised, about to make a toast.

He drinks the bubbling, fizzing, tonic

Which can be scotch, vodka, or cognac,

That will make any living mortal’s blood vessels, to burst,

Mortals with a working pulse.

Because maybe Satan’s a maniac.

This drink is only for the dead or undead

Not for the faintest of hearts.

This is Satan’s preferred drink.

Preferably shaken and stirred.

With a decapitated finger,

Of a lost soul that has since been tortured

With mixing, stirring with just the tip.

Using the keepsake, leftover finger as a teaspoon.

That Satan kept fondly in the pocket of his suit.

Alas, that poor buffoon.

Whomever that person t’was.

With a laugh, a smile, another chug

From his drink, and a shrug.

Drip, drip, goes the drink,

The contents have dripped.

Down Satan’s chin.

Sliced, diced, minced, spiced, on the rocks,

The ice cubes stained in blood, on the icicles,

Within the cup.

Satan chugs the malice.

That’s within the cup.

This cup is a goblet, a chalice

Extravagant, and luxurious.

Lavish to a deathly fashion.

Upon his throne

He sits high, tall, and almighty

Wearing a three-horned crown

Fire, flames gathering,

Surround his entombed throne.

Screaming, piercing, cries of the tortured

Of the sinned and punished

Surrounds the chilled, dead silenced, air.

Begging out for mercy, if there’s any left,

Satan, the Hell’s king, is examining his clawed nails, apparently daft.

He ignores the cries, shrieks, and screams.

He smiles from ear to ear.

Enjoying the sounds and what he hears.

Only fuelling his hellfire to grow.

Fuelling his hellfire to glow.

His hellfire is bubbling in a nearby cauldron

The essence of the Outworld, the Otherworld, Underworld.

And everything that falls within the balance in-between the worlds.

Satan wants to rule, to lead,

To dominate.

To conquer.

To be the only one true king.

He wants to spread his dominance

Into heaven

To be a king there

Or unleash to earth

And spread his fire, whichever which way

On whatever perth

Fire leading behind a path.

Satan has an unsatisfied appetite or desire

That’s left unquenched, and unextinguished

Hunger or thirst

Until snuffed or smothered

That’s more than what is in the cup.

The unknown concoction of contents,

The mysterious alchemy of ingredients,

By one gulp, about to blow,

Once swallowed in the esophagus,

And the world as we know it

Would be toast, or cease to exist.

A burnt inferno left in crumbs.

Satan with his red face

Drawn out eyebrows, cocked, arched, and raised.

His face was in a grim grimace.

A goatee at the chiseled chin, like a Roman myth statue

And an Italian pizzeria chef, with a catfish-looking mustache.

Horned by three at the top of his head.

His stare is deadly, eyes the color of crimson red.

He wears the finest of tailored suits.

Pinstriped down the middle

Trousers to match, and complete the ensemble

A top hat sits at the top of his head

Hiding his three horns inside

And tucked in, is his long forked tail

That slips down his side.

And sat in his hands is a timepiece

That always knows “the time”.

His bash is near the end and he takes out his pocket watch

To look upon the pocket watch’s front glass, the front face

To read the hour hands and minute hands, and know what time it is

Because in hell, time is simply fleeting, fleeing fast.

The pocket watch is attached to a long chain

And is placed in his trousers’ pocket’s back belt loop, expectantly and indignantly.

As he is tapping on one of his leather buckled shoes, impatiently.

He stares at the pocket watch for merely a second,

And places the pocket watch away with a sway immediately.

With his drink set aside, he toys with a two-sided, double-sided coin.

Satan always toys and plays with a coin.

A double-sided coin that’s neither heads nor tails

A coin that’s a bit of a shiny bronze,

A rusted fool’s gold that has since lost some luster and shine

However, that’s not what catches Satan’s red eyes

It’s the coin’s design

So obscure and arcane

The coin slips back into Satan’s trouser pockets

Along with the pocket watch attached to the long silver chain

He chews on a flame’s match from a matchbox, instead.

As he lifts his goblet, to hold and juggle, masterfully both,

Balancing with both hands, the items, as balanced as the Fates’ scales.

With both hands.

He chews on the match

And sometimes a cigar

That never blows out.

An endless, neverending smoke.

That never seems to ever end.

And he doesn’t need a matchbox

To lit the flame

The flame on the end of the cigar is always lit.

By a snap of a finger

Sometimes getting zapped that he sucks on it.

Or a wave by the hand.

Chewing on the end of the match

Doesn’t seem to stop the quench

That tug in his stomach or gut

The squelch, twinge, or pinch,

The smoke doesn’t even cough up his throat

Or even his lungs.

His thirst is for something more

That cannot ever be explained

The thirst for power

A power that needs to be obtained,

But once obtained, the Seers and Fates have spoken and prophesied:

Nothing in this world will ever be the same,

And nothing could ever seize or stay.

The hell, earth, and above

The storm, the fire, the black,

Even heaven will seize to exist

Plummet into an apocalypse

And explode.

All because of one drink

That had Satan’s sip.

Everything that we have known

Everything that we’ve held dear

Would be left in remains.

Satan will walk into this graveyard,

Of what the universe left behind it,

The harbinger of that apocalypse

Of omens, of how things end,

And all’s well, that ends well.

Satan will bend down to a sitting crouch,

Both hands on his knees, in that squat,

Swept his fingers across the dust,

And be marveled of Satan’s thirst.

Of what he created and made.

Of Satan’s wrath.

As this story, this tale, this legend, draws to an abrupt close.

As fiery fireballs ablaze the path.

And be heard of in the distance are wings of bats,

Flying together as a family, in a colony, in a cauldron,

As they do fly into the night,

Across the dark sky’s clouds,

About to take flight.

– Fin –

#poets of tumblr #poetry #poetscommunity #poets corner #poets on tumblr #Poetober #Horror #Halloween #SpookySeason #EdgarAllanPoe #GothicRomance #HorrorPoetry #ShariXInsanity #Poem #OriginalPoem #Satan

0 notes

its-love-u-asshole · 7 years ago

Text

No Use Crying over Spilled Cola [fic]

Pairings: Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji

Summary: Sneaking into an R-rated movie should not have been this difficult for two sirens, but here they were. Tsukishima always had to make things difficult. Then again, maybe Bokuto should be thanking him this time around...

Or: Akaashi was not expecting his ears to bleed that day, but life is full of the unexpected.

Prequel to Slipping Underneath

Rating: T

Tags: soulmates, mythology/sirens AU, mini prequel to slipping underneath

Note: ....I know I said the next part of this verse would be semishira (and I am writing that!!), but I had to write a quick gift for @kirinokisu , because she's the sweetest and also an amazing writer! Please go check out her stuff *_* Ju, I know you liked this verse and liked the bokutsukki especially, so I hope you enjoy this ; ; I've actually never really written bokuaka before so this feels weird but hopefully their characterizations aren't too off ^^ iluuu and stay awesome <3

AO3

They say sirens were majestic creatures.

The words 'divine beauty' and 'youthfulness' were often encountered when studying the mythical beings, and to Bokuto, even the term 'siren' carried a certain degree of unmistakable grace and deadliness.

He was proud of it. Grateful for his lineage.

Sirens were straight up badass, and when his voice finally perfected itself, he was going to have the best voice of them all.

Bokuto had been quite enamored with this part of his identity at a young age, still was. But now, at the ripe age of seventeen, he knew the complete truth.

This complete truth, while still very cool, made him want to throw the whole mythology section of the library away.

None of those dusty ass scholars ever had to watch him crouch willingly on the dirty mall floor, head peeking out every which way while his braces wearing, french fry of a best friend stood beside him.

Divine Beauty. Pft.

Don't get him wrong, Bokuto thought he was hot as fuck. But this...was not his proudest moment.

But it wasn't all his fault.

"Kou, c'mon, let's go home. It's not happening," Tsukishima said, arms crossed and his eyes defiantly fixed on the ground. The blond stood firm, rigid almost, the loudness of the mall around them obviously stressing him out more than he'd care to admit. He hadn't moved in about five minutes, more than satisfied with arguing instead.

So basically, he wasn't helping at all.

"No way!" Bokuto whined, and he paid no attention to his best friend's continued complaints. The blond was supposed to be keeping watch. He heard Tsukishima groan, but it didn't deter Bokuto's surveillance of the area.

The bustle around them rang in his ears, the loud chatter and footsteps on cheap tile mixing with the overload of smells. Popcorn, nachos.... he wondered if Tsukishima would go splitsies with him.

Usually he did, as long as Bokuto got candy too...maybe they'd have those butterscotch ones this time...or maybe--

"This isn't going to work," Tsukishima hissed, finally crouching down beside Bokuto as they stared ahead.

The promise land is upon us...

Well, they had to get in first. And given how Tsukishima was being, Bokuto would have to work some serious magic to accomplish that. Normally, Bokuto would've been more considerate of Tsukishima's anxiety levels, but he was not letting the blond compromise this mission.

Their mission. The only mission one could possibly have, the mission to fulfill their dream of seeing the newest horror film in theaters before any of their classmates.

Yeah, worthy aspirations. Some 'getting into med school' type shit.

Bokuto huffed, his eyes staying trained on the movie theater doors as large groups of people filtered in, laughing and eager to see the newest blockbuster. The trailers would be starting in about ten minutes, and Bokuto did not like missing those.

He'd rather die.

"It would totally work if you'd stop being such a worry wart," Bokuto shot back, pouting to himself. His mood was gradually slipping as time became more and more constrained, and lucky he was here with Tsukishima and not some other classmate.

Bokuto was not really in the mood to feign smiles or content when on the inside he was freaking out.

(Not that he ever was able to reel in his emotions, but...with Tsukishima at least he didn't have to be embarrassed about it. Mostly.)

"Well you're being a baby," Tsukishima said.

"You are."

"Oh man, you came hard with that clapback," Tsukishima said, feigning hurt as he adjusted his glasses. If they'd had more time, Bokuto might've pointed out how huge they looked on his face but fine. He'd be civil.

Tsukishima scoffed as Bokuto stuck out his tongue, nodding towards the ticket check-in. "There's no way we're getting passed them with our Disney movie tickets."

"We could, if you just--"

"I'm not singing!"

Bokuto stood then, nearly knocking Tsukishima over (ha). Eight minutes to trailers.

He threw his hands up, because he knew for a fact Tsukishima's worries weren't ethical in nature. As if.

The blond cheated his way out of free candy each time they went to the movies, he was a pure scoundrel.

The plan had been simple, and it wasn't like they were trying to commit murder. First, they purchase tickets for an age appropriate movie (they weren't thieves ok?), then they'd simply sneak into the movie they actually wanted to see. Only problem was getting past the ticket check. The theater had gotten really strict about making sure people went into the correct room, and Bokuto knew he and Tsukishima would be watched the whole time. After all, they did look like punk high schoolers. Not even Tsukishima's braces and nerd attire could erase the suspicion. He also knew the Disney movie they'd actually paid for was in the opposite direction of the horror film screen room, so they'd stick out for sure. And on top of it all, they looked too young to make a convincing pair of adults.

So, the solution was simple.

Tsukishima would sing softly under his breath, mildly dazing the staff enough for them to slip past. Perfect.

(Also yes, Bokuto could admit that at this point in time, Tsukishima was a bit more experienced than him when it came to his vocal prowess, but it wouldn't last forever.)

Bokuto grabbed Tsukishima's shoulders, and the blond didn't look shocked in the least bit. "You did it all the time when you and Akiteru went to the movies!"

"Yeah, exactly! Akiteru would always be there," Tsukishima said, eyes darting to the side. As nervous as he was, his cheeks held a light flush, like he was mortified to admit his own shortcomings.

Right, because Tsukishima carried the air of confidence, but really he was just as unsure of things as Bokuto sometimes.

Tsukishima glared at Bokuto's shirt, not making eye contact as his voice dropped to a low mumble. "I...I don't know if I can do it without him here. He usually coaches me through it and I don't know...it's comforting when he's here."

"Wow, lame."

"You know what--"

Bokuto laughed then, waving his hands between them in case Tsukishima actually decided to maim him. "Okay, okay, I get it."

And he did. Akiteru had a weird knack for making someone feel like they could do anything. Hell, Bokuto would jump off a cliff if Akiteru smiled at him and told him he'd most definitely survive.

And they said Akiteru didn't inherit any siren abilities...lies.

"Huh, guess I'll just have to do it then," Bokuto said, hands on his hips. He felt much better about this now. Although he knew Tsukishima had more practice and skill, like he'd said, how hard could it be? It would be fine, right? He only needed to sing a few quiet notes and they'd be home free!

Why hadn't they done this from the start?

Bokuto was probably so used to Tsukishima competing with him that he wasn't used to having the other step down.

This feels great.

Or it did, until he heard Tsukishima's piss poor job at hiding his laugh.

Bokuto glared as the blond's shoulders shook, and he angrily pushed his bangs out of his eyes (man, one day he'd have to really figure out what to do with his hair. Spikes would be cool....), and Tsukishima laughed harder.

Forget the trailers, you're going to learn today.

But before Bokuto could pounce, Tsukishima's smirk cut his spirit in two, and he faltered. Noooo.

"Kou, you can't sing quietly to save your life," Tsukishima said, his show of haughtiness coming back for a reunion special. "You're gonna make the whole movie theater wanna jump your bones and I'm not in the mood to diffuse that situation. I will leave you behind."

The. Nerve.

Bokuto balked, his protests reduced to nothing but choked syllables and pathetic cries. "I--no you--that's--ugh! I can so be quiet!"

To punctuate the statement's authenticity, Bokuto stomped his foot against the floor. Nailed it.

At the shout, a few people walking nearby jumped, and Tsukishima laughed again at Bokuto's sheepish smile.

Okay, so perhaps being reserved wasn't a strong suit of his, but what was the point of singing quietly in most situations! His voice sounded amazing, and he wanted to share it. Plus, he'd never find his soulmate unless he sang as loud as possible!

So, to summarize: forget what Tsukishima said.

Of course, Bokuto couldn't ignore his best friend altogether.

"Yeah right, we're going to end up watching this Disney movie and you know it," Tsukishima said, his smile smug as he waved the ticket in Bokuto's face. Never.

"Maybe you want to see the Disney movie," Bokuto shot back, his childish jab hardly causing a dent in Tsukishima's defense. Had to try.

"Maybe I do, but that's not the point." Tsukishima checked his phone then, and his smile got wider, as if reading Bokuto's mind. "Huh, look at this. Five minutes to the trailers."

You're playing with fire here pal.

But Bokuto wouldn't be swayed so easily. He might've been susceptible to 'moods' sometimes, but with Tsukishima he would fight until the end. The blond deserved it.

I'll show you.

Bokuto could already feel it, the hum building in his throat. The usual excitement and anticipation which came with singing...it was like a high, better than his favorite food or fresh air. He could feel the melody in his veins, the notes begging to be let out, an urge he'd never fully be able to explain with words alone. His heart and mind simply knew when the music was coming, when the opportunity to use his gift was upon him, and who was he to hold back?

Bokuto pushed his hair back again, standing tall and not paying attention to anything except the song inside his soul.

"I'll prove it," Bokuto said with a smirk, and he could see the exact moment when Tsukishima realized what he was about to do. The blond's protests fell on deaf ears.

"Kou--Koutarou, wait, stop-"

Too late. Bokuto forced his voice to a reasonable octave, or what he hoped was a quieter one than his normal voice, and let the notes flow from his lips. His brow furrowed at the sound, because while it was beautiful, more than any human's voice could hope to be, it was still clearly immature for a siren.

He watched as Tsukishima glared at him, but Bokuto only took it as a sign of victory.

At least, until he heard a sudden crash behind him.

He gasped, startled, his voice breaking away into nothing, and turned to find the source of the noise. Maybe he hadn't been as quiet as he'd hoped...it was known to happen. Guys would run into each other trying to approach him for more of the intoxicating tune. Bokuto winced to himself. He sure hoped it wasn't too bad this time.

Instead of two bleary eyed wannabe lover boys though, Bokuto found another teen sprawled out on the floor, his popcorn all over the place. His soda wasn't in much better shape, fizzing in a large puddle on the white tile, and Bokuto knew he'd royally fucked up.

The guilt would've been festering, if not for the awe which overtook it.

The boy in front of him had the most beautiful face Bokuto had ever seen, regardless of the small breakout on his left cheek. His limbs were long, his frame lanky, like he hadn't exactly come into his body yet, and the perturbed face he had on was by no means attractive. It looked more like the other had caught a whiff of dog shit, and his dark hair was littered with popcorn kernels, his pant leg stained with cola.

Bokuto thought he must've been an angel.

Oh shit, if he starts flirting with me I'm totally gonna pop a boner, shitfuck--

"Uh...Kou," Tsukishima whispered, squinting at the boy in front of them. The blond stepped closer to Bokuto, peering around him at the scene as people walked by. Luckily, none of the other mall goers had been affected. Good thing no one else had been close enough apart from the angel.

The weird thing about that was...the angel wasn't trying to get Bokuto's attention, or 'jump his bones' as Tsukishima had put it.

He just...stared at the floor, brow furrowed and expression wary. His eyes were clear, not spellbound in the slightest, and he cautiously reached up, patting his ears.

For whatever reason, it sent Bokuto into action. He sprang forward, and screw volume control. "I'm so sorry! Holy crap, I...I didn't mean to...are you okay?"

The other nodded slowly, but didn't reply otherwise, and Bokuto wondered if he'd actually heard anything he'd said. Bokuto reached down, lifting the other boy up effortlessly until he was on his feet. He tried not to think about how nice the other smelled up close (minus the popcorn), or how pretty and shale colored his eyes were.

Shit.

"Seriously are you okay?" Bokuto began rambling again, ignoring the flush on his face and Tsukishima's cheeky grin (meanie). "I can buy you new food, or whatever you want...I'm really--"

"What..." The other's dazed question stopped Bokuto's tirade, and the voice was like music to Bokuto's ears, so calm and pleasant. Not loud or boisterous like his, but nice and smooth all the same. "What was that?"

The boy shook the last of his confusion out of his eyes, and his expression turned more neutral. If Bokuto didn't know any better, he'd say the other looked disinterested, but the warmth and curiosity swimming in his eyes was a big giveaway.

Double shit, I'm screwed.

Now, Bokuto could feel guilty about gawking at people other than his soulmate, but he figured all was fair until he actually met his one true love. Plus, how could someone not be taken by this guy?

"What...was what?" Bokuto choked out, and god he was going to kick Tsukishima for laughing later.

The angel squinted, as if second guessing himself. "Didn't you hear that noise?"

Well, at least it made Tsukishima's laughter stop. Bokuto looked over to his friend, and the blond only shrugged.

Goddammit Kei, you're supposed to know this stuff.

It was a doozy though. Since when could humans remember hearing their voices? There must've been exceptions, but Bokuto didn't know of any himself, and had no idea how to rationalize it away.

"Um...what noise?" Playing dumb was the one real option. He could practically hear Tsukishima face palm behind him.

"I don't know...it sounded like..." The angel shook his head, and Bokuto quickly got ready to receive the praise.

Enchanting? Melodious? Grand?

"Like two thousand can openers going off at once," the other said, no a hint of hesitation present in his voice as he scowled into the distance.

….specific.

Tsukishima fucking lost it.

While Bokuto's brain tried to reboot itself, the blond strode up, bowing quickly. "Tsukishima Kei. The oaf here with the can opener voice is Bokuto Koutarou." The words 'you're now my favorite person' went unsaid.

Bokuto didn't have the brain power to dispute that.

"Akaashi Keiji," Akaashi said, but the confusion hadn't left his features. "What do you mean his voice?"

Sometimes Tsukishima reminded Bokuto of a cat, mischievous in his own way, and Bokuto wondered who could ever be able to match the blond's particular brand of viciousness. The blond smirked, eyes not leaving Akaashi. "That's what you heard. Bokuto was trying to sing."

The emphasis on 'trying' finally snapped Bokuto out of it, and he turned on Tsukishima, ready to fight. Tsukishima's smile didn't let up. "I was singing! I was great too, you're just jealous! It's not my fault Akaashi didn't like--"

Bokuto's breath caught, and he choked on the words, the realization dawning on him.

Tsukishima arched a brow, triumphant and annoyed all at once.

Oh.

"No way," Bokuto whispered to himself, distraught.

Tsukishima just sighed. "Apparently yes way. Ugh, gross."

Bokuto's mouth hung open, and Tsukishima promptly closed it.

This is the best day of my life.

The joy overshadowed the dread he felt towards Tsukishima too, since Bokuto knew the blond would never let him live this down. There's no way. No way, no way, no--

Bokuto spun around, facing Akaashi again, and while Bokuto knew Tsukishima didn't exactly like the whole soulmate thing, Bokuto would dare the blond to deny the obvious spark which came when Akaashi's eyes met his.

Judging from the way he heard the blond gag, Bokuto knew he was right.

Bokuto felt the shock, like a bass drop, the beat of his life and heart no doubt syncing up with Akaashi's, whether the other knew it or not. Akaashi notably tried to keep his expression stern and unaffected, but Bokuto's thousand-watt grin must've gotten to him at some point, because the raven's cheeks heated up a few seconds later.

Bokuto completely forgot about the trailers.

When it seemed their little staring contest wouldn't end any time soon, Tsukishima sighed, tapping Akaashi's shoulder until he looked his way. Aw.

"Hey, I'm assuming you were going to see a movie, right?" Tsukishima asked, gesturing to the mess of soggy popcorn and soda. Bokuto kept staring, on cloud nine with Akaashi's every move.

Akaashi nodded, completely lost. "Yes, but my ticket is currently dissolving in my drink."

And before Bokuto could speak, Tsukishima leapt into action. Bokuto could never say the blond wasn't a good friend.

"Perfect. Bokuto will reimburse you." Shamelessly, Tsukishima dug around in his pocket, and then handed Akaashi his movie ticket before sauntering off (to where, only fate knew). "Have fun losers."

Bokuto didn't bother watching his friend leave, but secretly promised to buy him whatever dessert he wanted next time they went out. Savings be damned.

Akaashi shook his head again, glancing at the new ticket stub, and shrugged. The pull must've been mutual, that or Akaashi didn't see Bokuto as a threat or possible murderer. For that, he was thankful.

Bokuto sighed as Akaashi threw him a soft smile, unable to help the dreaminess from seeping through. Akaashi held up his ticket, but it didn't help to obscure the brightness of his blush. "Shall we?"

Bokuto blinked, waiting to wake up from his dream, but never wanting it to end. Oh well. If it was a dream, he'd stay in it for as long as he could.

And somehow, Akaashi's question felt more loaded than it should've, demanding explanations and answers which Bokuto would happily give in time.

For now though, he'd enjoy the other's company for the first night of many (he hoped), and try his best to tame the new song inside his head.

It was a shame though. The one person who inspired it would never be able to hear it, and Bokuto felt a small inkling of disappointment as he walked with Akaashi to the theater.

But then again, Bokuto didn't give up hope, and as Akaashi glanced back at him with those gorgeous eyes, he knew he never would.

One day, he thought, definitely one day.

#bokuaka #haikyuu!!#adri writing

25 notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 5 years ago

Text

there is an enduring tension in the scoundrels and thieves ‘verse as to whether shimadadad turns a bit of a blind eye to his oldest son having a long-term romantic relationship with what at least theoretically could be a rival a) because he genuinely wants the kid to be allowed to have one (1) nice thing for now so long as it doesn’t interfere with anything else, b) in sheer gratitude that in contrast to genji’s various and sundry romantic misadventures hanzo’s at least being low-key about it, or c) out of the prosaic and rather clinical observation that hanzo already has a pretty devastating depressive streak and he’s a lot more functional when he sees jesse regularly-ish

and I sort of enjoy it

#overwatch #mchanzo #Perhaps there is still a future for anachronisms #do I know which one is the truth? no! might be all three at once #maybe he's just satisfied enough that in the end he's ultimately got the kid under control #maybe I'll settle a bit more if we get some more canon sojiro content but there's something satisfying in not knowing too #I get the feeling it's not quite a black and white sort of thing considering his presence protected his sons very effectively #(as evidenced by what happened at once when he was gone)#but also... hanzo especially is Like That and it doesn't say great things about his father #Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse

9 notes · View notes

atrabclla · 4 years ago

Text

𝐍𝐏𝐂 : 𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄

One of the Five Chainbreakers, the group of heroes that ended the Planemeld and confronted Molag Bal. Once a thief of legend, she became a hero in the Aldmeri Dominion for her service to Queen Ayrenn and later pledged her life and service to Akatosh. When she’s not saving the world or assisting those who do, she works as an esteemed tailor coveted throughout Tamriel for her exceptional clothing and armor.

Relation to Daeris: one of her closest friends Full Name: Kaeri Stormaire Nightshade Nicknames / Aliases: "The Black Snake"; "The Serpent of Auridon"; "Akatosh's Arrow" Title(s): Eye of the Queen; Agent of Akatosh Occupation: tailor, spy (verse-dependent), master thief (formerly) Age: 33 (as of 2E 582) Race: Bosmer / Altmer Class: Archer Rogue Date of Birth: 1st of Sun's height, 2E 549 Nationality: Summerset Isles & Valenwood (dual-citizenship, collectively under the jurisdiction of the Aldmeri Dominion when in operation); after the empire is united she is also granted Cyrodilic citizenship Gender & Pronouns: cis woman; she/her Orientation: pansexual/demiromantic Personality: bold, serene, practical, spiritual, unfazed, luxurious, deceptive, blunt Religion: devoted to Akatosh with a respectful reverence of other Aedra and a complete distrust of Daedra Faceclaim: Li Bingbing (specifically as Ni-Chang in The Forbidden Kingdom)

[ In terms of my ESO protagonists, Kaeri is the protagonist of the Thieves Guild, Aldmeri Dominion, and Elsweyr questlines. ]

Kaeri Nightshade is an agent of Queen Ayrenn and a devotee of Akatosh. She is a famed hero in the Aldmeri Dominion, but she has gained wider recognition across the rest of Tamriel through her work as a coveted tailor. She was born from an affair between an Altmer noblewoman and a Bosmer criminal from the infamous Nightshade family. While initially raised by her cruel stepfather, her mother was able to arrange for Kaeri to be sent to the Nightshade family. Though Kaeri’s father had been long dead, she was taken in by her uncle, Hednor, who was unaffiliated with the criminal aspects of the family, and he raised her as a Brackenleaf Briar.

Life among the Briars suited Kaeri for a time, but just as in Auridon, she never felt like she could truly belong. The Bosmer saw her as too much of an Altmer; the Altmer saw her as too much of a Bosmer. Though she was beloved by her uncle and surrounding family, eventually the feeling of being an outcast caught up with her, and when the Planemeld began, she ran away from the village to seek adventure elsewhere, away from both Molag Bal’s dark anchors and the judgmental eyes of her neighbors.

Kaeri found herself in Abah’s Landing, a haven for all kinds of scoundrels. She joined the Thieves Guild and quickly rose through the ranks. It wasn’t long before she was considered a master in the delicate art of theft, and the steady flow of gold and thrills alike had her keen to push her skills. She became a legend among thieves, the “Black Snake” that slithers through the pockets of the rich, but no amount of success could cover the rampant storm of questions and unpleasant emotions that were rooted within. She missed her family and wanted to make amends, and she wanted to prove her worth to those who had looked down on her. Kaeri couldn’t do that as a thief. She couldn’t do it at all. Her life of infamy turned hollow before her eyes. She boarded a boat to an unknown destination in search of a new adventure, but she was not prepared for what she found.

A fateful hurricane destroyed the ship and landed Kaeri on Khenarthi’s Roost where she encountered Razum Dar, one of the Eyes of the Queen. Helping Raz led to an introduction to Queen Ayrenn herself and a new job as one of her Eyes. Working under the queen for the direct benefit of the Dominion gave Kaeri the turnabout she had so desperately wished for. Eyes that would have once looked down on her for the circumstances of her birth now only looked up in admiration of their new hero. But serving Queen Ayrenn would not be the greatest honor Kaeri would find, as she was favored in the eyes of Akatosh. It was he who guided her to Khenarthi’s Roost, and it was he who restored her family and led her down a hero’s path. Akatosh had a higher calling for Kaeri: to serve him for the benefit of all of Tamriel, without regard to national divisions. To combat the threat of Molag Bal and his Planemeld, which endangered all people regardless of who they were or where they were from. She happily accepted and pledged herself to the dragon god, whom she serves to this day. A god of a foreign name and culture, but a god who cared.

#[relations]#[npc]#[kaeri nightshade]

0 notes