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bloodycassian · 4 years ago

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Cassian x fem Valkyrie reader. Reader is ambushed fighting the Queens on the Final Battle for the continent. Cassian tries to help save the Valkyries.

intense battle, blood violence warning.

Women clad in armor and swords strapped at their sides marched. A unified front against the largest force the Queens ever summoned. The enemy lines reformed after the initial attack, a hopeful attempt at recovery on their part. The Valkyrie force was the final blow needed to wipe them out entirely. Cassian cheered for his mate from the field behind, watching with a heart full of blooming pride. You began cutting through that crowd. Those that could fly in the Valkyries didn't. They watched each other's backs, pairing and switching off like clockwork. You led the front with Nesta, spearheading the hoard of ground forces that remained. The Queens' army was enormous when the battle had begun, now as their numbers dwindled. Some even peeled off from the main group, fleeing as they saw the Valkyries take down group after group. The white ribbons on their heads flickered in the wind, their dance like fighting was mesmerising. Cassian's heart sang watching the blades shimmer in the late evening sun. Then the castle horns began blaring. Loud enough to disrupt both forces on that field. The Queens' forces erupted in a celebratory cheer loud enough to be heard from where Cassian stood at the front lines. Nausea twisted his gut. The horns stopped. Rhys was shouting orders to reform the lines. Cassian was utterly frozen as those castle gates opened. Horses first, with riders and enormous wolves at their sides. Then the foot soldiers poured out, filling that battlefield. Like a black and silver wave they circled the group of Valkyries in only a few moments. Cassians legs shook. The breath left his body. "We fight for our brothers and sisters on this land. We fight for those who wish to live freely, without consequence for who they are!" Rhysand gave a rallying speech. "We fight, we fear no death!" Rhys finished. As the final black figures rose out of that tunnel, Cassian was off. Flying high and fast trying to reach you. He didnt think of the backup he left behind or the fact his siphons were completely drained. He still had his sword, he could still fight. He would not let you die alone. You screamed orders over that blaring horn, Nesta breaking off to give direct orders to the few Illyrian Valkyries. Darkness poured from that castle gate. Like a dark pit had opened to a world of monsters. You knew when a battle turned. This was one of those times. The footsoilers circled the group, closing off the pathway you had forged in. The Illyrians took off, carrying two wounded of your force. Those that could fight regrouped, forming a tight circle, shields and swords. The horn paused long enough to hear the metal clanking of the armor all the attor and foot soldiers wore. To taste the dust the riders kicked up on the barren field. You could hear the wolves snarling somewhere in that crowd. The gremlins and goblins that laughed with their daggers at the ready. You showed no fear. You knew Cassian was watching, and your heart sang for him. This fight was for him. for all of Velaris' soldiers that stood behind you. the court of nightmares, the friends that were rallying their forces in that crowd with Cassian and beyond. The horn rang out a final time and a shudder wracked the earth. True darkness stepped out of that gate. Riding an enormous white horse that stood three hands taller than the rest. To support that massive, pallid hooded figure on top. That black sword that resembled Truth Teller so much, like it's twin. But this one had a glow of red to it. A siphon lay at the hilt. "Run. We need to run." Nesta's voice was quiet beside you, quiet yet strong in the face of death itself. The pale rider lifted the lost sword and the entire army quieted. A dull hum filled the air, then a cracking wet sound as a red beam shot through his own forces straight at the group of Valkyries. You screamed in defiance, your shield raised. Death raced for you, in so many different forms. You waited for the searing pain of that sword's light, but there was only a dull thud. The crowd quieted then erupted into a roar. You peeked around your shield, waiting for that death blow to hit you. Laying on the ground between your circle of valkyries and the advancing forces lay a limp Illyrian body. Glowing with red light. You could have been screaming, The feeling of anything but primal rage was lost from you. You grabbed Nesta by the shield arm and yanked her forward with you to cover Cassian. The beasts hissed and made strange growling sounds. You heard the circle tightening behind you, covering up for the gap you and Nesta had left. Cassian's body was hot, his armor on an arm was melted off. but his siphon... gods it looked like it had been blasted through his hand. It was embedded there, as if it burned its way halfway through his skin. The movements were purely instinct as your mind seemed to pull away from your body. You checked his pulse. The biggest relief in the word washed over you. He was alive, for now. The opposing army was awaiting their orders to finish off the last of your group. You could tell they were impatient as their teeth clacked together, howls ringing out at the apparent loss of a winged force. You looked to Nesta with wide eyes, and felt your heart plummet at the sight of dirt streaked tears falling down her cheeks. She glanced back to the Valkyries, who were keeping the beasts at bay with spears and occasional slices of swords. They chanted together, a war cry from the original Valkyries. You felt the tears falling now. Cassian groaned beneath you, muttering something you couldn't hear. "It's alright, Cas. We'll be home soon." You choked out, not taking your eyes off the metal clad boots. You could hear the roar of the crowd cheering on that death rider. Could pinpoint exactly where he was on the battlefield. The victory cries from a force that knew they would win. "Rhys is on the way, Az too." You promised, the dull rumble of footsteps from the hill where they regrouped was far off though. You knew you had little time before the predators around you would strike. If you were lucky the women would be able to fend them off long enough for Rhys to winnow them away. "No.." You made out from his words. His eyes cracked open weakly. Blood streaked his cheekbone where he had skidded on the dirt. "Where..." The tears hit you full force and you held back a sob. You knew he would insist on dying in battle, but would insist on Rhys saving you from such an end. "They're coming." You nodded to him, brushing the hair from his face. Nesta snarled and swung that mighty sword at a goblin that dared to strike. The crowd receded slightly. "Where is that fucker?" Cassian bit out, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. He propped himself up on an elbow, and the army had a collective gasp. You noticed it then. All of Cassian's siphons glowed with a light you'd never seen. A blood red that was bright as the smoke shrouded sun. Even the one embedded in his hand. "Where is he?" His eyes burned into you. He sat up, and Nesta caught him with her leg before he could waver. She held him up, her eyes never leaving the army. They stared at Cassian as if he were a new god to behold. He grunted at the new position but smiled, looking at his seared hand. His eyes were dull though, as if he was on the verge of sleep. He smiled at you though and he placed that beautiful hand adorned with his power into yours. He flexed his fingers around yours for only a second before placing your hand on his wrist and had you support his arm. Red tendrils of light danced around his fingers like snakes. "Give it to him. Courtesy of the Valkyries." He winked at you, his eyes still tired. Voice still gravely. You knew what he meant. You knew what this would risk. You stammered for some kind of rebuttal but he only shook his head, a warning. And encouragement. You looked to your sisters behind you, they were actively fighting now as they pushed inward. Nesta was roaring, holding her position behind Cassian. Her shield was splintering against the forces that berated her. Another Valkyrie stepped up to help her. Rhy's forces were only halfway across the enormous battlefield. You knew there was no time for goodbyes. So you took his arm, listened for that crowd hailing their prince of death, and took a long shuddering breath. "I love you." You closed your eyes at the growing light that surrounded Cassian's hand. "Until the end of all worlds." He said softly, just to you as the dull hum of his siphon turned to a roar, then a crackling sound that made you wince in pain. A ripple of power like lighting struck through the crowd. And you were falling to the ground with Cassian after the blast, covering him. You would die together, if he liked it or not. "To the end." you muttered, hoping he could hear you.

#valkyries #acotar #cassian #nesta #reader insert #reader x cassian #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #cassian fic

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adarlingwrites · 4 years ago

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Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

I'm tired of this human duet / no civilizing hides / our animal impulses

“We’re going for the offensive. Follow my lead,” Aguni barks, and they move as a single unit, running towards the group.

The enemy advances, and the other friendly teams near the militants flee, their terrorized screams echoing through the arena. It doesn’t help that the masks their opponents wear gave them a hellish, demonic appearance.

It didn’t matter. Last Boss was a stronger demon than they are.

Swinging his katana, he parries the incoming attack, the naginata clashing with his weapon. Niragi and Yamane brace themselves, the impact and Last Boss’ movements affecting the cavalry’s balance. A lump forms in Yamane’s throat as she watches the katana-wielding militant drive his weapon through the enemy’s heart. Their spear topples over, and as soon as he hits the ground, his teammates’ collars go off.

A friendly team struggles with an enemy, at a disadvantage due to the short range the provided knives had in comparison to the polearms. Luck turns in their favor as the militant team approached their attackers from behind, Last Boss lopping the enemy’s head off with a swing of his sword. Though Last Boss’ action saved their lives, the look the tattooed man had on his face made them fear him more than they feared the masked men.

One of them taps his teammates' shoulder, leaning in to say, "Let's stay out of this. Let those freaks handle it."

This isn’t a problem to Last Boss at all, who’s ready to strike the next enemy, but Yamane felt a wave of fury pass through her body.

“Damn pieces of shit who can’t pull their own weight,” she pants as they advance, earning her a chuckle from their spear.

“More for me, then,” said Last Boss, breaking from his monotone, almost sounding happy. Yamane looks up, and sees a small smile on his lips. “Looks like making Last Boss the spear was a great decision after all,” Niragi yells, and he wets his lips with his tongue.

Now Yamane knows why Last Boss thanked her for suggesting that he should be the spear.

He’s going to have so much fun.

“Focus, all of you,” Aguni grunts, chest drenched with sweat as the militants marched forward.

Unfortunately for them, the enemy teams took note of their unit’s competence, and are now converging towards their location.

Last Boss lurches forward and swings his sword, tearing through an enemy spear with a diagonal slash. Two teams approach from opposing directions, and Yamane can feel her sweat pouring now. One of them reaches Last Boss first, thrusting the naginata towards him. It misses his torso by mere inches, slicing his forearm. He parries the next attack, but the other enemy unit catches up and successfully slashes his side.

“No! Last Boss!” Yamane yells, his blood trickling from his wound to her face. Yet, he pays the injury no mind.

Aguni, Niragi and Yamane maneuvers so Last Boss can parry both attacks, but it still leaves the enemy plenty of opportunities to strike. It doesn’t help that a third unit is fast approaching as well. Their spear is panting now, and exhaustion is starting to settle in among the horses too.

“This is bad,” Yamane blurts, one arm wrapped around Last Boss’ leg, while another was linked with Aguni’s hand to support Last Boss’ foot. She turns to look at the other friendly team, who just watched.

“They won’t even help!”

“We don’t need their help!” Niragi berates her.

The situation is desperate. Yamane looks down to the dagger at her thigh, and she thinks back to the number of weapons on the table. There was enough for all twenty players to take one. Surely whoever devised the game wouldn’t have provided them if the players couldn’t use them at their disposal.

Could it be that all this time, the horses are allowed to fight too?

“Wait a second. Niragi, there wasn’t anything in the rules forbidding horses to use weapons, right?”

Niragi realizes it too and gives Yamane a cheeky smirk. “No, there wasn’t. Chief, we’ll be letting go of Last Boss’ foot,” Niragi yells, and Aguni grunts as the balance shifts.

“Just do what you need to do to win!” Aguni booms, and Niragi takes out the knife he got from the table, while Yamane reaches for her dagger. One of their arms is still holding Last Boss’ legs, but now, they’re free to assist him by going for the other horses.

Niragi had no problem slashing an enemy horse’s throat, which put their unit off balance. This created an opening, and Last Boss proceeded to finish that team’s spear off. Screwing her eyes shut, Yamane lets out a scream as she slashes wildly at the unit near her side, warm blood spraying her.

“Wild little Yamaneko,” Last Boss snickers, grinning at her as she swung blindly.

In the chaos, the unit topples over, and their spear falls backward, allowing the tattooed militant to drive his sword through his chest.

Panting, Yamane sees the fallen enemies, and relief floods her system, which manifests as laughter that she couldn’t hold back. The last remaining unit approaches, and Last Boss finishes them off with ease.

Right after the defeated unit’s collars went off, the robotic voice chimes in from their phones.

“Game clear! Congratulations!”

The collars around the surviving players release, and Aguni lowers Last Boss down. Bloody and sweaty, Yamane tucks her dagger away, and rests her hands on her knees, laughing and relieved to be alive. She turns to see the other surviving unit, the one that decided to stand idly by as they struggled, and scowls. Anger replaces her relief.

Feet taking her to the cowards before she could stop herself, she backhands one of them and proceeds to swing a fist to another. Aguni remains planted to his spot, watching the brawl unfold, while Niragi and Last Boss follow her, an amused look on their faces.

“Looks like Yamane finally lost it,” Niragi chuckles, grinning as he watched Yamane kick one of the other players.

“About time,” Last Boss adds.

Two of the strangers tried to restrain the wildcat, who kicked, cursed, and spat at them. “You fucking cowards! You assholes do know that if our group didn’t survive that assault, you’d have to face the enemy yourself too, right?! You weak, useless sacks of shit!”

Last Boss pushes one of them off, while Niragi points his gun at the other, which he retrieved on the way to the fight. They let Yamane go, who attempts to brawl with one of them again, but Last Boss beats her to the punch. He grabs the coward by the hair, and slices through his carotid artery, and his blood spills on the grass, killing him in seconds. The other players present scramble away, not wanting to get involved. Niragi shoots one of them in the leg, the others leaving him behind as they run away in terror.

Feet planted on the grass, Yamane freezes in her spot, stunned. She wanted to beat the hell out of those people, but not kill them, nothing as extreme as that. Last Boss turns to her, still panting, smiling with his mouth open, a predatory glint in his eye as he approaches her. The more she looked, the more he looked like a tiger, his tattoos serving as his stripes.

“That’s enough. Let’s go,” Aguni says as he passes by them, walking to the exit without looking back. Shrugging, Niragi totes his rifle over his shoulder again, while Last Boss grabs Yamane’s good arm. His hands are cold, fingers leaving indentations on the woman’s flesh.

The wildcat shrinks back into a dormouse as the tiger dragged her with them.

Once in the car, she sat a little closer to the window and avoided looking at him. Niragi turns on the engine and they speed away from the venue.

“KIlling those morons was unnecessary, you know,” Yamane finally speaks up, avoiding looking at the tattooed man.

“Don’t act like you haven’t killed anyone, Yamane,” Niragi cuts in, and she rolls her eyes.

“It’s us or them. Doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I don’t get off on inflicting unnecessary harm on anyone.”

From the rearview mirror, she sees Aguni giving her a pondering, scrutinizing look. From the corner of her eyes, on the other hand, Last Boss is leaning towards her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Your kills are sloppy,” Last Boss tells her, voice monotonous.

That finally made Yamane turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “I- what does that have to do with anything?”

“If you care so much, you’ll kill them swiftly instead of letting them bleed all over you, Yamaneko,” he droned, emphasizing the moniker. Jaw dropping in horror, Yamane looks at the blood on her body, and a wave of nausea washes through her.

“Heh, that’s right. You’re a killer too, and a crazed one at that. You’ve shown that twice now. Stop acting all moral, mousy,” Niragi continues, tongue drawing out of his lips languidly.

To Yamane’s horror, the two were right. It happened with the middle-aged man in the Elimination game, and it happened again tonight. Yamane’s way of killing them prolonged their suffering. The guilt ate at her, and made her sink.

Darker parts of herself are emerging, the ones that remind her of mother’s heavy hands and her father’s sharp tongue, and she feels the bile rising in her throat. Chest constricting, Yamane couldn’t breathe, so she rolls down the window and leans over, the wind tousling her hair.

Looking through the rearview mirror, Niragi notices the distance between Yamane and his companion, the look of despair in Yamane’s face, and he grins. “Oh c’mon Yamane, no need to give Last Boss that kind of avoidant treatment. Just earlier you were crying his name when he got nicked.”

“I’m not trying to avoid- I did not!” Yamane exclaims, defensive all of a sudden.

“No! Last Boss!” Niragi imitates her in a falsetto, and cackles. “You sound like a high school girl watching her boyfriend get into a brawl!”

Just a few days ago, Niragi was bending her over every surface he can find, and now he’s teasing her for showing the slightest bit of concern towards the tattooed man. At least Yamane knows that he no longer acts entitled to her anymore.

“Well, if he died, we’ll all die. Of course I’d be worried,” Yamane mumbles, thankful that the car is dark, or they would’ve seen her flushed face.

A warm puff of breath on her cheek makes her head turn abruptly and she sees Last Boss’ face, merely inches from hers, making her scoot backward and brace herself against the open window in surprise. He’s watching her curiously, like a cat enthralled with a new toy. Behind the tattoos and his odd behavior is a handsome face; sharp cheekbones, a strong nose with a high bridge, piercing eyes, and delicate lips, which Yamane can clearly see even in the dim light.

At the pit of her belly, Yamane can feel the fire spread, and it pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be feeling that way for someone who just killed a man without remorse in front of her, but her body betrayed the rational parts of her brain, which had been steadily crumbling since her arrival in the borderlands.

“You- you really like watching me, don’t you?” she whispers.

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, and Yamane didn’t know how to feel when he nodded.

When they arrived at the Beach, she had planned to visit Doctor Sunohara to check on her shoulder and ask for a refill for her painkillers. Last Boss is going the opposite direction, the wound on his side still bleeding

“Uh, Last Boss, you should come with me to the clinic to get that wound checked.”

He tilts his head, and Niragi rolls his eyes and smirks. “Still beating around the bush like a schoolgirl, huh? Hopeless, both of you,” he scoffs, then strolls away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yamane yells after him, but he keeps walking.

As the strange exchange unfolded between the three, Aguni is still watching, deep in thought. “Yes, Yamane’s right. Get that wound fixed. It may cost us the next game.”

As the militants’ chief, his word carries weight, and Last Boss complies, shuffling towards the direction of the clinic. More than ready to replenish her painkiller supply, Yamane goes after him, but Aguni places a hand on her good shoulder.

“Come with me for a moment,” the chief tells her, and lets go of the younger militant’s shoulder promptly. Cold sweat washing over her and unsure of what will happen next, Yamane nods.

Leading her to an unoccupied room, the chief sits down on the sofa, and the younger militant sits right across him. Aguni leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Tell me about the day you met Niragi and Last Boss,” he asks her.

“Huh? Well, I’m sure they’ve already told you what there is to know, chief,” Yamane replies, fiddling with her thumbs to alleviate her unease. “We played a game called Elimination and only the three of us survived.”

Aguni exhales softly, leaning back on the sofa. “Niragi and Last Boss are prominent members of the Beach, and you’ve seen firsthand how capable our sect is. I need to see what they saw in you. You’ve caught their attention that night.”

“I’m… I’m not even sure how I caught their attention, chief. Maybe Niragi just wanted a new fuck toy to use and discard, and Last Boss’ intentions are a mystery to me,” Yamane groans, rubbing her face. “But letting me keep my knives and making me one of you? I wasn’t even the strongest player out there. I just went crazy when one of the boys killed this kid that was tagging along with me, and called us the weak link in our team.”

At Yamane’s confession, Aguni straightens. “I see. That’s all. Go.”

Letting go of a breath that she didn’t know that she was holding, Yamane bows, and turns to leave.

“And Yamane?” Aguni calls out, turning to the young militant. “While I expect honesty, you reveal too much of yourself. It has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass. Don’t show weakness.”

A thoughtful look on her face, Yamane nods. “I’ll keep it in mind, chief.”

As Yamane closed the door, Aguni grimaced. From the bathroom, Hatter emerges, listening to the exchange the entire time. He sits in front of his friend, and Aguni drops his facade.

Meanwhile, Yamane begins her trek to the clinic, and people avoid her as she walks through the halls, drenched in blood and looking positively feral. Sunohara and another medic are tending to Last Boss’ wound, the others steering clear, when Yamane enters the clinic. The blood on her clothes made Sunohara gasp, who stopped dabbing the antiseptic on the tattooed man’s side.

“Uh, don’t worry about me. This isn’t my blood,” Yamane mutters, making a few onlookers inch away from her. She grimaces at her choice of words. “I’m just here to get my shoulder checked and get more painkillers.”

Sunohara nods, leaving the task of wrapping a bandage around Last Boss’ torso to the other medic. While waiting for Sunohara to finish washing her hands in the sink, Yamane sits next to her fellow militant.

“Hey. Are you doing something tonight?” she asks him, not making any eye contact.

“Executive meeting,” he drones. Yamane nods and turns away. “Nothing after that.”

“Can we meet at the main balcony after? I’ll just get cleaned up while you attend the meeting.”

The tattooed militant turns to her, expression inscrutable, and his eyes flick down for a brief moment. He nods.

After getting her prescription refilled, Yamane takes the elevator to the floor where she had taken a room. The bathroom has a tub and she turned the water on for it to fill. After stripping herself, she runs water through her stained clothes in the sink, plugs it, and pours detergent to soak. She places her wrist tag at the counter, the number 32 on it.

Leaning over the basin, Yamane looks at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her buns had come loose from all the moving they did in the game. The bruising on her shoulder is nearly invisible now, but she’s still careful with it, and it still hurts on occasion. Sunohara advised her to wear the brace for a few weeks more. Water continues to fill the tub, while Yamane quickly rinses the blood off her body in the shower before she enjoys her soak. Or at least try to, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, Yamane is still soaking in the tub, fingers wrinkled, and the bathwater has gone cold. Last Boss’ comment about how sloppy her kills are lingered in her mind.

Perhaps she’ll ask him to teach her how to kill a little cleaner; ask him to teach her that cut he does where the victim bleeds to death in a matter of seconds.

“Yes,” Yamane thought. “Maybe it will ease some of the guilt.”

With her clothes still in the sink, instead of her usual ensemble, Yamane puts on a black off-shoulder shirt, which she ties at a knot at her midriff, her shoulder brace, and black, high-waisted denim shorts with harnesses for her daggers. Hair still wet and clinging to her neck and upper back, Yamane steps out of her occupied room, not bothering to put any makeup on.

On the way to the balcony, she runs into Saiko in the elevator, who raises an eyebrow at her.

“Huh. You’re actually pretty cute if you didn’t wear all that dark makeup.”

“Piss off, Saiko. I’m looking for Last Boss. Is he still at the meeting?”

At Yamane’s question, Saiko looks at her like she’s gone mad. Maybe she has. “Why would you purposely seek out that freak? He gives me the creeps.”

“Not your business. Do you know where he is or not?”

“Executive meeting’s probably done by now.” Saiko huffs, checking her nails. The shorter woman nods, and Saiko gets off on her floor.

Heart pounding, Yamane psychs herself up. She hasn’t been this nervous since confessing to her middle school crush, and the comparison makes her cringe. “You’re just asking him a favor,” Yamane tells herself. “You’re going to meet him, ask how to kill people swiftly, and leave.”

The elevator door slides open, and Yamane steps out, and she sees him waiting there, back against the wall and leaning on his katana.

“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Yamane greets, taking a few tentative steps towards him. “May I ask you a favor?”

Last Boss doesn’t say anything, but he turns to look at her and gives her a small nod.

“Teach me how to kill fast and without inflicting too much pain.”

The tattooed militant straightens, taking a step towards her. Several steps. He traps Yamane against the wall. The scent of sweat and blood is still heavy on him, and the dormouse gulps, a shaky exhale escaping her throat. Cold fingers trail on her neck and Yamane flinches, goosebumps rippling through her skin and her nipples hardening under her shirt. The water dripping from her hair and the cold night air made it worse. Last Boss presses his finger on the spot harder and feels Yamane’s rapid pulse.

“Bleeding out is a painless way to die. This is where the carotid artery is. Cutting it would result in death in fifteen to thirty seconds,” said Last Boss, his voice fluctuating from his usual monotone. “The jugular is another option, but it’ll take a little longer due to the less pressure in the veins.”

Yamane’s eyes are glistening as the man before her holds her chin and tilts her head upward. “Do it with the victim facing down. If their head is tilted upward like this, their trachea gets in the way and it’ll be harder to cut the artery.”

This is the first time Yamane ever heard him say anything more than a sentence, clearly knowledgeable on the topic. Clearing her throat, Yamane asks him a question. “Just what were you before you came here?”

Ever so slightly, his grip on her chin tightens. “I have no past.”

“H- I- Where did you learn that, then?” Yamane asks him, stuttering and flustered.

“The internet.”

A cold hand gripped her good shoulder, thumb pressing against her deltoid, knuckles almost brushing against her breast. “There are other parts of the body you can strike. Severing the cephalic vein is another way to get the person to bleed out. Do you want to learn more?”

Yamane couldn’t answer, only nodding, and he kneels in front of her, his cold fingers pressing her inner thighs as he pointed out where the femoral artery is, his warm breath kissing her stomach.

Fear and desire muddles together into a nebulous fog in her mind.

#alice in borderland #imawa no kuni no alice #fanfic: dormouse #last boss x oc #takatora samura x oc #oc: minami yamane #last boss #takatora samura #suguru niragi #morizono aguni #takeru danma #hatter #fanfiction #character study

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profoundnet · 5 years ago

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Profound Member Post - November/December 2019

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2019!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJessTheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJessTheBest

Forgot all prayers (of joining you)

Dean had forgotten how real and close emotions were when he was here. When he was this close to Cas. When there was nothing between them but time. He wasn’t saying any of this right. His words weren’t working. He couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. But maybe… Or Dean prays to Cas in purgatory. (s15 e08 coda)

Tags: s15 e08 coda, Dean Winchester prays to Castiel, Mild hurt/comfort

SFW

One Hell of a Pilot

He leaned again to get close to the pilot. “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.” He took a deep breath, letting it sink in for just a moment that he said those words. That he was doing this. There was no going back. Or Cas is a reformed Stormtrooper, Dean is a rebel pilot, and this is the story of their escape.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, It's literally just the first 36 minutes of TFA, Poe!Dean, Finn!Cas

SFW

The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat - @the-madness-linked-to-a-hat - The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat

Happy Holidays Cas

Where Dean and Cas follow a seasonal tradition.

Tags: Mistletoe, first kiss, happy holidays SFW

Isangelousdenim - @isangelousdenim - Isangelousdenim

Wishful Drinking

It started with Dean drinking on a case. It escalated to Dean drinking everywhere.

Tags: TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts & Alcohol Abuse Character Study, Season 15, Heavy Angst

NSFW

Co-written by: Bumocusal

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Head Down, Walk with Reason

As an omega, Castiel is ineligible for the throne after his father dies. When his uncle takes the crown, Metatron's first order of business is to arrange a betrothal with King John for the hand of his firstborn son, the Crown Prince of Terra.

So Castiel flees. His first night on the run, Castiel stumbles into a band of outlaws just at the border. Injured and wary, he has no choice to stay with them. And although he had planned to return to his own kingdom once it was safe, home might not be the place he left, but instead with Dean, their alpha leader that took him in.

Tags: a/b/o, medieval au, royalty au, omega cas, alpha dean, secret identities, angst with a happy ending, castiel and meg friendship NSFW

MaggieMaybe160 - @maggiemaybe160 - MaggieMaybe160

A Thanksgiving Feast

Dean Winchester's dirty prayer before Thanksgiving dinner leads to some shenanigans under the table. Tags: Food Kink. Top Cas/Bottom Dean.

NSFW

One Night

An accidental one night stand between Castiel and Dean leads to whispered confessions and miscommunications.

Tags: Internalized Homophobia. John Winchester's A+ Parenting. Angst with a happy ending. NSFW

followyourenergy - followyourenergy

Christmas in July

When Dean Winchester follows a service dog who won’t leave him alone, he finds Cas Novak, passed out in a stairwell with a Christmas tree on top of him. A Christmas tree? In July? Who does that? Turns out that Cas does that. And once he gets to know the snarky, independent, handsome man, Dean can’t help but fall for him. A story about being seen.

Tags: Christmas, fluff and angst, pining, blind Castiel, service dogs, snarky Castiel, sweet Dean, falling in love

NSFW

Nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep Pillowfort

Talk to Me Now

It started off simple. An ad on Craig's List: Looking for a Roommate, 700/mo, Utilities included...

Tags: AU - Roommates, idiots to lovers, pranks and practical jokes, misunderstandings, comfortably bisexual dean, queer castiel

NSFW

Stuck in the Middle With You

"Fine." Cas slid his right pointer finger into the trap and almost instantly felt the trap snap around their fingers. "That's not right." Dean looked up at Cas. "What did you do?" Cas attempted to pull his finger out of the trap. "I didn't do anything."

Tags: canonverse, cursed object, idiots to lovers, homophobic language, everyone ships dean/cas, love confessions

NSFW

What I Thought I Knew

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen when his eyes lock on a guy across the room. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that cannot possibly be so blue. He stares for a moment, ripping his eyes away only when he realizes the other guy has caught him staring. Dean blushes and rushes back into the kitchen. Tags: AU - Modern, Strangers to Lovers, One-sided Enemies to Lovers, Objectification, Miscommunication, Dub-con Kiss

NSFW

Slice of Your Pie

He pulled up the Casual Encounters section of Craig's List and was surprised to find out how right Gabe was. Many people were offering their services for Thanksgiving company. As he scrolled through the ads, one with an interesting title caught his attention. Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to stop the ‘Why are you still single?’ questions?

Tags: AU - Modern, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Crush at first sight, pre-Dean/Cas, Homophobic Language, Sexism

NSFW

Shiver

"I wouldn't leave it there. I grabbed the most important things and left." Dean shook his head vehemently. "Are you sure?" Sam's face started to crinkle up in an 'I told you so' expression. "Did you really get everything before you ran and asked to crash with your baby brother and his wife?" Dean glared at Sam. "I don't want to go back. It can't be there."

Tags: AU - Modern with Magic, Witch!Cas, Witch!Dean, Blizzards, Car Accident, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

NSFW

Angel

Overcome by a moment of whimsy, Dean walked down the stairs and stepped into the middle of the yard. He looked towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the snowflakes gently kiss his skin. Tags: Canon Compliant, Fallen!Cas, Snow Angels, Marriage Proposal, Established Dean/Cas, Short and Sweet

SFW

Chandeliers of Hope

"You seriously Christmas themed our D&D game?" Dean rolled his eyes in disbelief. Charlie walked over and patted Dean on the cheek before taking some of the candlesticks out of Cas' arms. "Of course, I did. You said to write what I wanted, I wrote tonight's campaign. It's a one-shot, and it's going to be a lot of fun, I promise." "Gonna hold you to that, Red." Dean pointed at her accusingly before looking and smiling at Cas. "And I'm going to hold you as an accomplice."

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Party, Characters playing D&D, Recreational Marijuana Use, Alcohol Use, Mistletoe Kiss, Cas/Dean First Kiss, Idiots to Lovers

NSFW

A Cold, Dark Winter’s Night

Charlie pulled out a small gift bag and handed it out to everyone. "Secret Santa!" Cas rolled his eyes as Charlie came to stand in front of him, gently shaking the bag. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper, waiting until Charlie moved to the next person. He flipped it open, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Dean.

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Fluff, Idiots in Love, Secret Santa, Everyone Ships Dean/Cas

NSFW

Twas The Night

“It’s Christmas Eve!” “Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?” “We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Tags: AU - Modern, Timestamp, Domestic Dean/Cas, Established Dean/Cas, Christmas Fluff, KidFic, Marriage Proposal

SFW

You Make it Feel Like Christmas

"Well, considering I haven't had a chance to go Christmas shopping. How about you?" Sam zipped up his bag and did a second check around the hotel room. "I already took your bag out to the car." Sam crossed the room to the motel door and headed outside. Dean stood in silence for a moment as Sam closed the door behind him. Shopping, on Christmas Eve?

Tags: Canonverse, Last Minute Christmas Shopping, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Happy Ending

NSFW

Auld Lang Syne

"She's cute. You ask her out yet?" Dean stabbed his pie with his fork and shoved another bite into his mouth. "Uh, no. Why?" Dean winked. "Means she's available, right?" "No offense Dean, but you don't have a chance. She has standards." Cas took a sip of his tea and looked at his roommate. "Ouch. You wound me, Cas." Dean rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his knuckles. "Bet you I can get Meg to go to the New Year's Ball with me."

Tags: AU - Modern, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Castiel, Eventual Dean/Cas, Dean/Cas First Kiss

SFW

Leafzelindor - @leafzelindor

Artwork for On The Road Again

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "On the Road again" Tags: destiel, fluff, au

SFW

For On The Road Again by @hekate1308

Artwork for Life is But A Dream

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "Life is but a Dream" Tags: Destiel, AU

SFW

For Life is But A Dream by @crowleyhasfeels

Jdragon122 - @jdragon122 - Jdragon122 Pillowfort

from stardust to stardust

~ from stardust to stardust ~ The art prize for the lovely gii-heylittleangel ;) who won the Destiel Artists United 500 follower giveaway! They asked for Castiel and wings XD my favorite lol. I was happy to comply <3

Tags: N/A

SFW

Jemariel - @jemariel - jemariel

Human Error

Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Tags: Human!Castiel, Alternate season 9, Casefic, Only One Bed, Mutual pining, Miscommunication, Sex under the influence of alcohol, Canon-typical violence, Wendigo, Injured Cas

NSFW

Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Don’t Mess with Dean’s Alpha

Dean and Castiel are enjoying a relaxing night out, until Cas gets hit on by another Omega.

Tags: Omega Dean x Alpha Cas, Possessive Omega, BAMF Dean, Jealousy, Fluff

SFW

The Wendigo

Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.

Tags: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Healing, First Kiss, Confessions

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part I

I had some funny Christmas sweater ideas and couldn't resist dressing up the boys. Dean is not amused. Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part II

More ugly Christmas sweaters for the boys ;D Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Miracle on Lebanon Street

The bunker gets an unexpected visitor on Christmas morning, and it’s not Santa! (Contains Destiel and Sabriel)

Tags: Ugly Christmas Sweaters, White Christmas, Gift Giving, Christmas Feast (it’s pie), Mistletoe, Fluff SFW

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin Pillowfort

of mundane things

“You never told us,” Dean hisses, during a muted conversation carried in the protective depths of the kitchen. “You got hitched to a djinn? Since when?” “I did tell you,” Cas growls back. He slams on the faucet, filling the glass with vigor. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 14, dream walking, Dean in Castiel's Dream, Getting Together

SFW

a tale that can’t be told

Black leather and oil scent the air around him, a welcome change from antiseptics. Impala, Castiel thinks. Baby. Except he’s not allowed to call her that. A flash of brown panelling slides through his memory, rattling on a rusted truck bed with wood for bed rails. Outside the car, the brothers are quietly arguing. Castiel cranes to listen, but he only picks out a partial phrase from Sam: Since when was he losing his powers? The snippet from Dean is even more troubling: Is Chuck fucking with us by giving him a factory reset?

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 15, Castiel Losing His Powers, Human Castiel, Memory Loss, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Castiel's Missing Brown Truck, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Hopeful Ending

NSFW

low voices in the library (are appreciated)

Sam moved, though in which direction Dean couldn’t yet tell. Not the library, Dean mentally begged. He didn’t want to deal with the scene Sam was about to stumble into, let alone its know-it-all aftermath. Tags: Library Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex

NSFW

a handful of seeds

Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?” Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.” Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?” Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”

Tags: Mary Winchester Feels, Gardens & Gardening, Domestic Fluff

SFW

LanaSerra - @lanaserra - LanaSerra & Spandwiches - @spandwiches - spandwiches

300cc

300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less. Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc? Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together. A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.

Tags: college-au, two person love triangle, explicit poetry, fluff, the boys fail to use their words while using ALL of their words, consent is sexy, POV switching, explicit, minor Sam/Eileen

NSFW

MittensMorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittensWraith

This Must Be The Place

Seven years after their profound meeting, Cas knows he's exactly where he was always meant to be. (a sequel to Lifetime Piling Up, but can be read as a standalone)

Tags: Doctor Castiel/Tattoo Artist Dean, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Fluff

SFW

On This Night

Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways. Tags: Canon case fic, Christmas Fluff, snowed in, first kiss, POV Castiel, djinn dreams

SFW

firefly124 - @firefly124-writing - firefly124

Making It Up as We Go

Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s looking at, but he’s almost sure it’s a message from Chuck.

Tags: mentions of past (temporary) MCD, spoilers through SPN 15x06

SFW

Something Bright to Dispel the Gloom

A road trip to Salina had sounded like a good idea when Dean had suggested it. Cas hadn’t been back for long, though, and this was shaping up to be the world’s most awkward road trip ever.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Crumblin’ Down

Dean’s feeling nostalgic. Cas is mystified. Sam is oblivious.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Overdue Explanations are Overdue

If Dean thought this day had been a rollercoaster ride before, he didn’t know what to compare it to now.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to past (temporary) MCD

SFW

Faith, Hope, and Maybe Something Else

Castiel figured he’d probably just ensured that the Empty would never come for him.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to canon character deaths

SFW

The Choices We Make

Castiel takes a moment to reflect on the choices he has made as well as those others have made, and is presented with a new one to consider.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Wargurl - @wargurl83 - wargurl83

Christmas in the Bunker

Join TFW as they discover a little bit of the magic of the season. Tags: Cannon-Divergent, holiday shenanigans

SFW

#member masterpost #members masterpost #profoundnet monthly masterpost #November masterpost #December masterpost #profoundnet #deancasreclist #member art #member fic

6 notes · View notes

robotshibbins · 6 years ago

Text

March 15, 3625, 1232 hours (Universal Commerce Time)

“8 o’clock!”

“Contacts!”

“Bursts, goddammit, save your fuckin’ ammo!”

“Not like this, I-I can’t go like this!”

It was a cacophony, a violent chorus of screams, yelling, weapons fire, and rabid growls and roars. The whole situation was a mess, a simple salvage operation for a supposedly abandoned mega-freighter, the Keh’Ti, turned into a meat grinder as the group, a few engineers with four mercenaries for protection, encountered a countless amount of those turned by the Yuul’varchi, the Invasive Gene which ravaged the Coalition's western border. These hybrids were grotesque, misshapen creatures that barely resembled their former selves. Their skin turned gangrenous, drooping and outright missing in some areas, their limbs morphed into bloodstained claws and blades, dozens of unblinking milk-white eyes littered their head and bodies, their jaws split into two, and tentacles burst out of their rotten flesh. The hybrids had none of their sapient qualities left, they merely charged, clawed, bit, and stabbed at those they saw as prey or threats, gibbering meaningless nonsense and roaring with primal anger.

The mei’xer mercenary known as Lebowski knelt on the viscera covered floor, shouldering his rifle and firing well aimed bursts into the creatures' heads and torsos. Despite their sickly appearance, the hybrids had a surprising resilience, tanking fatal shots as bile-esc blood leaked from their wounds, though the gunslinger's shots tended to down them, if not stagger them long enough for another merc to down. Very often, these stumbled hybrids would meet a grisly end, courtesy of a massive 12.7mm cartridge delivered by Lebowski’s partner and lover, a zaarl’mrk named Red. Hidden within the maroon confines of her heavily modified and armed NZMIS, she stood far above the rest of their band, nearly 3 meters in height. When not annihilating hybrids with her suit’s built in heavy machine gun, Red would use her suits massive weight as a weapon, punching monsters into bloody pulps, or crushing them under her foot. She’d also use her extremely potent telekinetics, ripping hybrids in two, or flinging their own bone-formed blades back at the horde, without laying a mechanical finger on them.

Despite corpses littering the floor, there seemed to be no end to the horde, they just kept pushing the group back. One of the engineers, a panicked human welder named Kurji, said she saw a door near the end of the hallway. Lebowski emptied another magazine into a hybrid, appearing to be born from a human, which seemed to do little more than open up its stomach. As it stumbled back, distorted entrails and rancid fluid leaking from its freshly opened abdomen, the mei’xer ejected the spent magazine from his rifle, and threw it full force at the beast’s head. With a little help from Red, it embedded itself into its skull, dropping it. She then telekinetically pulled another magazine for the caseless rifle from his leg pouch, which he took with his right hand, quickly inserting it, and racking the charging handle, chambering another round.

“I got two mags ‘eft!” he yelled to the group, firing single shots to save ammo.

“I have six.” Red stated, using her suit’s emotionless voice synthesizer

“One, I-I’ve got one!” yelled one of the other merc, a rahtil called Chopper.

“Three!” replied the final merc, a mei’xer by the name of Qui’Jei

“We’re fucked!” a frightened Kurji stated, “W-we’re not gonna make it!”

“We’ll make it, ma’am!” Lebowski retorted

The group took a few steps back, the mercs continuing to fire at the horde.

“I have an idea,” Red spoke, “everyone needs to get behind me.”

“Flamer?” asked the gunslinger.

A blip, something akin to a confirming grunt. Lebowski turned his head to the rest of the group, and told them to get back, shooing them away if necessary. The mercs flanked Red’s sides, trying to form a wall of gunfire to stop the hybrids from getting to the terrified engineers. Red held her left arm out, and formed a fist, causing a panel on the forearm to pop open. It raised with a mechanical whirr, and revealed a decently sized flamethrower. With a click and “poofh,” a small, blue flame burst to life, a pilot light for the fuel within the arm, then the zaarl’mrk aimed it at the horde. A massive stream of orange flame shot from the device, lathering the hybrids in a burning, gel-like fluid. They squealed in pain, flailing about as the flames consumed their corrupted bodies. A fair few dropped right then and there, forming a wall of flame which most of the horde avoided, if not fleeing outright.

“A’ight, I think we got ourselves some time.” Lebowski said, a hint of relief on his accented voice, “‘ey, one of ya engies, could you check the door?”

“Mmhm, got it!” physically replied the other engineer, a T’uv technician nicknamed Jumper. He, covered by Qui’Jei, rushed to the door, which was a low tech but functional manual bulkhead. The technician began to open the door, opening the seal by attempting to crank it’s wheel-esc handle, while the mercenary kept his rifle, a heavy but powerful Grak-6, readied. Making little progress, Kurji rushed over to assist the T’uv, helping him move the stubborn handle with a metallic squeal.

“Rusty piece of shit-”

“Jumper, s-shut up and just get this thing open!”

An insectoid click of annoyance.

Most of the Hybrids seemed to have retreated, though a few still paced behind the fire, growling and chittering. Red would occasionally use her telekinetics to fling ones into the steel walls if it got too close, but the creature’s apparent fear of fire made that a rarity.

“Gawds…” whispered Lebowski, “our entrance is fuckin’ cut off, ainit?” he asked, to the rest of the group.

“Appears so.” the zaarl’mrk replied, “Kurji, do you have schematics for this vessel’s layout?”

“B-bit busy r-right now!” she yelled back, adrenaline still overloading her system

“Still a damn mega-freighter,” retorted Qui’Jei, “it’ll take divinites-know how long to get back to th-”

A vent cover above them fell to the ground with a crash, causing the welder to yelp, and most everyone to look towards it. Then, from the open vent, fell a rahtil Yuul’varchi hybrid, this one a little shorter than Red. The flesh on its lower arms was either missing or in tatters, revealing that the skeleton underneath were shaped into nearly meter long jagged blades, covered in a Pollock-esc menagerie of gore. Much of its body was covered in third degree burns, some of which a thick scab was forming over. With a piercing howl, which sounded more like an agonized scream than a roar, it convulsed, and a barbed whip-like tongue shot out of its maw, covered in blood and bile. It wrapped around Qui’Jei’s neck, slicing through his environmental suit and flesh, causing a spray of blue blood, and white sealant foam, which formed around the tentacle. As he, along with Kurji, screamed, it pulled him closer to it’s blades with surprising force, nearly ripping the man’s head off and replacing it with a wet gurgle, followed by the blades piercing his abdomen, and silencing him. As it brutalized his torso, Lebowski fired a round into the hybrid’s leg, causing it to nearly fall over. Red then picked the beast up, her left hand wrapping around it’s torso, ripping it’s nearly 6 meter long tongue out her telekinetic powers. As the tendril and Qui’Jei’s corpse fell to the ground with a wet “thunk,” Red slammed the flailing creature into the opposite wall, reducing its chest into little more than mush and gore. It’s remains flopped to the floor, twitching from leftover nerve impulses.

Korju, witnessing so much carnage in the past two hours, more than she’s ever witnessed in her long, nearly 15 career as a salvage welder, her EVA suit now covered in not only hybrid viscara, but the royal blue blood of one of the mercenaries hired to protect her from pirates. Pirates, not these things that used to be the crew of a cargo ship. She slumped down against the wall, and curled up, quietly sobbing behind the polycarbonate visor of her helmet. Jumper chittered with disdain, leading to more than a few curses courtesy of Lebowski. Chopper attended to comforting the rapidly melting down Korju.

“Listen here, ammonia breather,” Jumper spat at the gunslinger, “we’ll be fucking mincemeat if we don’t get this damn door open!”

“Yer yellin’ ain’t helpin’ get it open.” he retorted.

“Well no one’s helping me, dipshit! And she’s breaking down-”

Red, rather peeved by Jumper’s derogatives towards Lebowski, and the generally wasteful use of time, stomps towards the door, and with a few heavy kicks, busts the bulkhead door down, leaving it a mangled mess. She turns to the t’uv, and steps closer to Jumper, towering over the 152 centimeter technician,

“Don’t call him that.” she threatens with her suit’s flat voice, promptly turning and going through the door.

Jumper and Lebowski stood there for a bit, the former taken aback, before both following the warrior. The gunslinger tapped on Chopper’s shoulder before stepping through.

“‘Ey, I know she ain’t doing so hot, but we gotta move.” He quietly stated.

“S-she needs help, Lebowski-”

“An’ it ain’t safe ‘ere, talk an’ move, man, talk an’ move.”

Lebowski then went through the doorway, quickly joining Red’s side, and securing his rifle to a sling. He tapped quickly on the jury rigged wrist-computer on his left arm, opening the two’s secure comm channel.

“You doin’ good?” he asked his lover.

“....I am at functional levels.” she replied.

“Not sure if that clas’ifies as good, Mej’ouili.”

“It doesn’t.”

They were silent for a bit, walking through the remains of what appeared to be a small lounge. Chopper and Kurji rejoined the group, though they hung back a bit, talking in hushed tones.

“...and I’m guessin’ ya donwanna talk ‘bout it?”

“Not yet. Later. Back home.”

“Think we’ll make it?”

“Of course. We always do.”

#journey verse #scifiart #scifi writing #scifiwriting #writing #short stories #short story

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theislesunfamily · 6 years ago

Text

Three & Four (For You, the Stars Will Roar)

The following story is the follow-up to “Three & Four (Some Phoenixes Just Take Their Sweet Time)”, which can be read by clicking HERE.

This story also contains collaboration in the form of a vision reading from the fantastically talented @stormandozone. Thank you as always, Mel.

Ithanar Islesun is dead.

He must be.

But then...

The sound of a heartbeat… rings in his ears.

Ba-dum.

Steady.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Ready.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

The world hasn’t halted.

This isn’t death.

It’s something close to it.

In his periphery, he can see… it.

The valley.

Untouched by apocalyptic ashes.

It begins… the same.

In a small valley. But different from the one in reality. A path of torched trees and frayed leaves, wrought with apocalypse. It is all too familiar. A place used by an ancient demon within who tried to tear a man asunder in body. Any attempts made at the mind were a failure, but the body... it had been weak. Like it was now. Eyes scan the premises. They search. They sought. No sign of it. Only a moon of red hangs overhead.

She is beneath it; crimson light casts over her frame and paints her in harshness, but she is apart from it as well. The shadows gather at her feet; the writhing dark around, behind. Strewn are the shards of a life that once was, and they gather like so much detritus and flotsam around, but she is not of this darkness.

When the Oracle speaks, it is the flat voice-- the voice that does not belong to the almost-daughter, but to the magic she called her own. “You visit dark places, Breaker.” There is a color of mocking to it, for all its ashen flatness.

He approaches. He cannot speak yet. This is not his court to rule over; this ruin may be his doing (or undoing) but she-- the Oracle-- is the voice that matters in the red-riddled dark.

She is herself, and not; two eyes glow in the shadows. Awe cloaks her like shroud, wrapping her, hooding that freckled face.

In her hands appears the deck; it is bright against the darkness, a star shining in myriad colors, kaleidoscopic. It cuts against the darkness. The power aches within; it does not belong in the Nightmare. But his need has brought it; his need has brought her.

The Oracle smiled, just slightly, beneath the heavy hood that shrouds her. “Ask your question of fate, Breaker.”

The command falls, and he cannot but speak.

“Will the world ever figure out its true problems? The Old Gods? The Nightmare? Or we will fall prey to our cycle?” He feels the need leave him. He has asked. Whatever comes next… is what the cards say.

At once. The deck separates; shatters into a thousand glowing pieces. They slice through the night and swirl around him like flurries of embers, stark and brilliant. Their lightrails weave around them, in colors unimaginable until he is in the center of a vast, woven universe, that extends beyond what sight can capture. In the threads, he sees...

“Worthy.” The judgement cast. Her voice is around him, reverberating in bones, and if he reached out he could touch her face, but the light within those eyes is not living. “Tell me when to cut the thread.”

He hesitates, just for a moment. He can see now, unlike ever before, and it is… maddening, addictive, the cusp of something grander than he has ever perceived. He reaches out, and he feels--

Ithanar’s palms begin to bleed from slashes, and he feels the weight of this magic.

“Stop.”

Everything cracks. It falls apart-- the weaving becomes nothing but a million flecks of independant light, and they fall apart around them, a fall of stars that surround the Oracle and the man. He is with her and then--

He is not.

Ithanar Islesun isn’t dead.

No, he finds his vision to be clear as he opens his fel-green eyes.

It is nothing blurred, nothing fraught with frustration.

He can feel his limbs suddenly, a sudden herk-and-jerk mismash of movements that comes crashing back to life, and the tightening of fingers around the choker of one’s-

It’s Shan’ran.

Memories flood back into his lifestream.

And his fingers tighten in response, fury a fire in his gut that continues to rise until it reaches the half-collapsed ceiling of the building he had sought refuge in. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Shanara take a few steps back, eyes wide with a fear that can only be seen as wise.

They have poked the bear.

They have climbed into the spider’s web.

They are the cause for yet another stubborn rise from ashes.

Arcane energy clicks to life across the plates of the old elf’s armor followed by the sudden release of the male Shattersun, as he is tossed across the room and goes crashing through the opposite wall. A sickening thud follows and there are cracks left by the impact of her body against the stone foundation.

As she falls?

Ithanar rises slowly, debris flowing off his form and crashing to the ground. The clicking and whirring sounds of magics springing to life echo, and there’s a sudden flash of light, a veritable rainbow of reds and greens, blues and oranges, of all colors in runic shapes and forms.

They spring to form on the plates of his armor, but…

There are others.

These are etched on the old elf’s skin, crawling up the pale and scarred flesh. They climb like ravenous spiders, pushing their way to rest on his neck, under his jaw, and then on either side of his lips before coming to a stop just above his hawkish nose.

A faint whirring sounds in his ears, and then the harsh grinding whine of his blade buries it all.

Just like he wants to do to them.

Just like he will do to them.

There is no alternative.

He sighs, head tilting just a little, a fanged snarl coming to rest on his features. When he speaks, the harsh nature of his tone seems almost amplified by the energies coming from him, through him, around his form.

“I’ll tell your masters myself then.”

Shan’ran rises, one hand curling around the handle of his warhammer.

He’s furious.

Shanara reaches for her twin blades.

She’s frightened.

Ithanar just stares, almost motionless.

His blade turns in his hand until the point is directed to his pupils.

“I’ll tell them that…”

Fury rolls off him in waves, ferociously beating against shores. Never before has he ever been so… upset, frustrated. Not even in the most wicked of moments, when he was terrible to his family, to his friends, to lovers new and old was he like…

Like this.

That feeling of being alone.

No, he has felt it before. Back in those times, it was something he could not crawl out from.

Now he is no longer crushed under the debris of his own depression, his hubris.

“... I’m not fucking dead yet personally.”

Ithanar has his focus yet again.

And he strikes.

Blades clash and clang.

The wars outside of the walls and valleys come to wait.

He stands in an empty hall-- tall columns extend skyward, and the marble floor is shined to mirror finish. He sees himself, when he looks down. His armor is red and gold. His shield is tall. He is a Spellbreaker still. When he looks up-- he sees this man. The man he was once. Younger, strong, not yet ground against the stone of progress.

His other-- his self-- speaks low. “You’re holding back, old man.” There is cockiness to the smile. He remembers it; the woman who had trained him to think had smacked it off his face when she pressed his cheek into the mat. This young man has not yet had that life.

A sound, and Ithanar turns. Behind him, the Warden of the Isle. Old, armor leather and mail and gouged with the fights he has won-- lost. Scars cross this Ithanar’s features. Scars haunt his eyes. He snorts. “Not yet old enough to know better,” the man he may become says.

And yet-- Ithanar looks down at himself, and he is--

Skin, and bones. Leaves of autumns past for eyes that burn. Amber, and red. A smile of scorched plains, of battlefields laid barren for crows. Man-shaped, but like the shadow of a man– the hungry remained, after the soul had gone.

You cannot change what you do not accept.

You must take the bitter with the sweet.

Take the N I G H T M A R E with the dream.

Do not resist the changes to come.

Do not allow yourself to become obsolete.

Not again.

The hunted becomes the hunter.

A turnaround, a change of roles only suited to master and student.

One knows the other better than even they think.

They believe.

Ithanar pursues his quarry out of the half-collapsed building and into the streets.

His former students can only run, but they don’t get far.

Shan’ran comes first.

The screams, an unending roar.

There it is.

But this roar is merely of this world, not something otherworldly and unnatural.

It’s just… an elf.

A young one trying to fend and flee for the last few moments of his life.

Shan’ran is the younger of the twins by a few minutes.

Even with that, there’s a way to prey upon such unfortunate youth. He relies too much upon his weapon, barely resorting to his magics especially when pressured.

A simple application upon the shatterpoint is all Ithanar needs.

He punches through the younger elf’s defense with blinding strikes and easily evades the wild swings and furious roars., it is a horrific but fascinating display.

When he finally catches Shan’ran off guard, Ithanar sidesteps a ferocious two-handed strike that slams into the dirt, pirouettes with practiced ease, and then brings his blade up to sever the young elf’s hands from his body.

Then he follows through with a decapitating stroke through the neck.

There is no reluctance.

A head rolls.

Blood.

These streets and avenues will be stained with them for time.

None of that matters.

For now Ithanar is the predator without thought.

Only Shanara remains, her screams echoing over the blood-crazed whine.

He is not moved.

She will die.

In time.

He remembers failing them.

He reaches out, the runes that once were so familiar to him alive and strange on this immortal, corrupted arm and then--

He is alone.

No hall. No selves. A man, in the darkness of the wooded Isle. The woods press in. He lifts a lantern against the dark. All is silent and still, save the rush of distant waters and the drip of past rains from the canopy.

Within the lantern, he sees her. She is made of flame, but it is the Oracle. She reaches to him, and he hears her.

“The winnowing of truth from desire does not come from without; seek inwards. Seek the reality of what is and is not, within the confines of the self. Solitude bears the fruit of wisdom; time apart, the solution to the chaos that rages.” In a blink, the light goes out. And--

The sun above rises, and falls. Rises, and falls. Faster and faster until like flashes, he sees the isle beneath his feet changing. He sees the seasons as moments; years pass in flashes. He watches the Isle as it continues; forever, eternal. The sky will grow red; he will see the Nightmare come to grasp his home, and then flame-- and then, the green returns, slowly and inexorably as time sweeps onward.

The cycle repeats a thousand times. He understands.

He reaches out, and stills a single moment. The moment the Nightmare dies. Someone is killing it-- locking it away. He feels the flames as they consume the woodland. The magic is so familiar, to keep and contain.

He turns it back-- all the way back, and he is young. His siblings are young, and they are all there, ringed around Idaena. She is cold in her way; the world is dark. He feels the mantle that extends back into their bloodline.

It revolves. It will continue.

(It cannot continue. The cycle must be broken, but he cannot see the way of it now. There is more to come, and when it does--)

Shanara is different.

She always has been.

Her spellbreaking was… breathtaking.

Even when fatigued, she could cast aside great gouts of flame with a wave of her hand.

And then have a blade at your throat in an instant.

She’s done everything Ithanar could have ever asked. She’s walked a thousand miles in a mage’s shoes.

But she hasn’t walked where he has, into the dark and ancient places of the world

The old elf’s plan of attack is more complicated.

No magic comes to play.

The runes that have spread over his skin and armor flicker out, becoming dark and inert, which is a stark contrast to what he does.Every motion is carefully thought out.

If he even tries as much as a simple rune of flame or frost, he knows Shanara will snuff it out.

The chance for such isn’t even given.

She swings her twin blades here, but his blade is there.

Each swing is countered, each thrust evaded, and every step imitated.

Seconds become minutes. Minutes become hours. Hours perhaps turn into days.

Who knows?

The world has come to a crashing halt.

Blades untangle from one another, and bodies take a few paces from one another.

There is only breathing.

Heavy.

Labored.

“I’ll kill you.”

There is no entity from the Void now.

There doesn’t need to be.

There is only Shanara and her sobbing.

Her weeping over the loss of a brother.

Ithanar stares.

Unfeeling.

Furious.

“You look tired.”

Before Shanara can even retort, before even a scream leaves her lips?

The old elf runs her through.

Again.

And again.

Suddenly, he is in the ruined, Nightmare isle once more.

The Oracle is before him… and she crumples, strings cut by unkind hands. The Nightmare at once rushes in, sliding over freckled limbs and over her, the cards lighting to flames.

Ithanar surges to her side, and the tainted magic recoils as he slides to his knees, draws the girl up into his arms.

He can speak.

“Elleynah--” His voice is rough and low in his own ears. He reaches for her, bleeding palm sliding over her cheek as he stares at her, those tight-shut lids, her parted lips that seem to not even stir for breath and--

Her eyes open. One green, and one gold. Her hands shoot forward and clasp his between them tightly, so tight it hurts. The voice that emerges is the girl’s, and it is weak with weariness-- the control it takes, to speak through her own mouth almost too much.

“Ithanar--” She gasps in pain. “Ithanar, don’t-- don’t let the ending for you be the ending for it all. Don’t let it be over yet. You have to see it through-- Ithanar, I promise it’s so much worse. Don’t let it end for you and give the burden to others, it’s yours and you have to see it to its own end--ahh--” She bites back a cry of pain, and she goes limp in his arms.

And then.

The Oracle is standing before him. She is beneath a moon of red. Crimson light casts over her frame and paints her in harshness, but she is apart from it. Shadows gather; the world nothing but so much debris at her feet.

She looks at him, and there is no more smile on those lips; they are etched in a barely-decipherable frown.

“An ending is an ending.”

She explodes in that faceted, multi-colored light. The Nightmare shatters around its edges. And he…

Awakens.

Now it is Ithanar’s turn to look upon what he has wrought.

Shan’ran.

A headless mess.

Shanara.

Her arm torn away.

Her body punctured a dozen times over, bleeding out before his feet.

His task… is accomplished.

But no master is appeased.

He watches their corpses carefully.

Cautiously.

Then it all leaves him.

The unfeeling fury.

The feeling of being a person again hits him like a brick.

His eyes widen.

And he collapses under the weight of it all.

As Ithanar goes, the last thought that comes and goes is that of his students being like stars.

They roar out of existence, consumed by the void.

Just like he might.

No.

He can’t.

She looks at him, and there is no more smile on those lips; they are etched in a barely-decipherable frown. “An ending is an ending.”

She explodes in that faceted, multi-colored light. The Nightmare shatters around its edges.

And he…

Awakens.

Hours pass.

Old bastards always soldier on.

As he leaves the valley, Ithanar casts a look over his shoulder.

One last time.

It’s hard to see as apocalyptic ashes rain down.

Never again.

#writing #ithanar #the phoenix wars

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keeroo92 · 6 years ago

Text

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch24 (V x Reader)

Chapter 24 - Stupidity and Grace

Soundtrack - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqdyyxdZ4cQ

__________________________________________________

V strides forward with you following close behind him. He glances at the stalls to his left and right and smirks at the diagram of a cow and the different cuts of meat available at the butcher’s stall.

How appropriate – we’re about to make brisket out of this next fiend.

A glimmer of motion to his side is all the warning he needs and Griffon blasts out of his arm to pull him out of the path of the flowery pink mass attacking him. He lands with a light exhalation in a low crouch, his eyes already rising to assess the full threat. He hears you drop your crutch and draw your sword as he eyes the creature hovering before him.

“You dodged me! Did you dodge me?” the humanoid pink monstrosity asks him from where it hangs descended straight from the Qlipoth root itself.

“Nidhogg, never liked this guy…” Griffon scoffs, landing on V’s raised arm as he stands. He can’t help but smirk at his friend’s dismissive tone.

“You pest! Do I know you?” Nidhogg replies in his squeaky rumble.

“Dumb as a bag of rocks. Let’s not even mess with this guy, V. He can’t even leave the Qlipoth anyway. Just a Qlipoth parasite.” Griffon adds condescendingly. V spots you ducking inside the rubble on his right, taking a defensive position until you can decide the best way to attack. His smirk deepens; knowing you’re out of harms way means he can go all out.

“Did you insult me?” Nidhogg queries softly.

“Uh oh…” Griffon murmurs from V’s arm.

“You insult me!” the demon bellows angrily, raising one of its bladed arms threateningly.

“I think he heard me… and he’s angry!” Griffon shouts as another flowery pink mass shoots forward. V smoothly spins, putting his back to the Nidhogg as he dodges its attack again dismissively.

“I’m going to kill you!” the creature roars and V can barely contain his laughter as he turns to face it again.

“Not in this lifetime. As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible,” he recites calmly, stepping forward and extending his silver cane in an invitation. He hears your stifled snickering to the right and shoots you a wink as he flicks his wrist, summoning Shadow in a tornado of black shards.

“You use... de-de-demon...? But you...human...? Huhhhh....?” Nidhogg says, his confusion evident to all as his tendrils streak forward in a flash to attack. V and his summoned friends dodge easily, the attacks too linear to pose much of a threat to the well-practiced team.

"If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise," V answers with a smirk as he sends Griffon shooting forward to rake the nearest tendril with his talons. Shadow follows close behind, her claws a blur of black as she strikes. Nidhogg makes a noise of complete mystification at V’s recitation and Griffon chuckles as he responds.

“Meaning don't try to think too much, shithead!” he cries gleefully, shooting a string of lightning balls at the tendril. It recoils slightly and V sees his chance; he sprints at it and sinks the blade of his cane deep into its maw, twisting harshly as he rips it out again. The tendril disintegrates as he backs away again smoothly.

V takes the opening to check on you, his emerald eyes shifting quickly to his right to see you sneaking closer to the tendril nearest to where you hide. He smirks and draws the Nidhogg’s attention by leaping into the air and holding the handle of his cane to his lips like a microphone.

“Come on!” he shouts tauntingly, and the beast lashes out at him in rage. Blades slice the air mere inches from where he nimbly steps out of the way and Shadow roars her approval as she shifts, numerous stalks sprouting from her back to strike the center tendril.

“Even the big bad kitty knows you got shit for brains!” teases Griffon as he lets out a line of lightning bolts directly over the center tendril, scorching it heavily.

“Qu-qu-qu-quiet! You... you... bird and cat!” Nidhogg howls, his anger overwhelming him utterly.

As Nidhogg focuses on V, you make your move. He watches in the periphery of his vision as you take the last few steps away from your hiding spot and with a cry of effort sink your blade deep into the tendril on the right. Nidhogg immediately looks at you and V snaps his fingers harshly, attempting to use Nightmare’s appearance to keep Nidhogg off you as you desperately try to free your blade from where it’s now stuck halfway through the tendril.

V's skin prickles anxiously as he counts the heartbeats as Nightmare bubbles into existence, each moment seeming to last an eternity as you struggle fearfully. He’s already sprinting to your side, but even his long strides will take much too long to reach you as Nidhogg raises his blades to strike you down. Absolute, soul-crushing terror fills him as he desperately prays for a miracle to save you.

Leave the sword, dammit! MOVE!

You finally give up and reach around your back to bring your chainsaw-bat to bear against the powerful hit bearing down on you, barely managing to block in time. You’re pushed back, feet sliding against the cobblestone as Nidhogg uses all his strength against you. V is still sprinting toward you, Nightmare almost fully formed behind him as your terrified gaze catches his.

He can see the moment you realize he can’t save you, that he isn’t fast enough, and it breaks his heart and steals his breath to see the hope drain from your eyes. Yet even as you break his gaze and look back to Nidhogg, you growl and bare your teeth, trembling arms shifting as you press the small button under your thumb to activate the chainsaw.

The mechanism roars to life. Nidhogg’s blades catch on the chain and his arms are tugged along with it to the side. You shove with all your strength to the opposite direction, dropping the bat to slip free and dash toward V in sheer panic.

“Get behind Nightmare!” he shouts forcefully, sending his rage through his link to all three of his summoned friends in a rush of energy. Griffon gasps painfully as the torrent hits him, unleashing it in a blast of electricity that colors the air around him violet for an instant. Shadow roars like a lioness, her form leaping onto Nidhogg’s back and tearing into him with claws and teeth alike in a black blur of wrath.

Nightmare makes no sound, but its form swells slightly as V’s panicked fury hits it. The golem leaps forward and lands with a heaving crash on the demon’s tendril, pinning it in place. V snarls and darts forward, leaping onto the beast’s shoulders and hurling his cane through its face with a feral roar. Nidhogg thrashes uselessly against him and he bares his teeth in a primal smile as he speaks.

“The cut worm forgives the plow,” he growls darkly to the dying demon, “What do you say?”

Nidhogg falls to the ground with a long groan of pain and V hops off, twisting his cane free with a flourish. He releases his hold on Nightmare as the nauseating creature dissolves, the cracking sound of the Qlipoth root breaking echoing loudly in the sudden silence. V hears you stepping closer to him, the sound reassuring him as he watches the great structure fall.

There’s something behind it… what IS that?

“Y/N, get your sword. NOW!” he shouts in alarm as a towering form comes into view. You sprint to where your sword lies on the ground, having fallen loose when the tendril dissolved in death. Griffon hovers near V’s head and spots the intimidating creature easily.

“Okay, um, alright, that’s not good at all. That’s not good,” the demonic bird begins worriedly. V waits until you rejoin him, sword and bat in hand before he turns away, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the enemy in the distance is far too powerful for the two of you to defeat.

“Wait, where--where are you going? Are you running away? That, that's not a good sign!” Griffon comments loudly. V turns to face the bird, gesturing at the far-off foe with his cane as he responds.

“I'm afraid that... that's a little bit more than we can take right now.”

Griffon and Shadow both face the creature as it turns and spots your group at last. It fires two blasts from what look like antennae, the shots hitting right where the two summons watch. The impact sends V stumbling, you barely managing to catch yourself with the bat as you follow suit. The whole group takes off, fleeing the foe as it shoots more blasts your way.

“Let's get out of here, V!” Griffon cries fearfully, and just as his beak snaps shut the ground crumbles beneath V’s feet. He gasps as he begins to fall, completely unable to see you or do anything to stop his rapid descent into darkness.

______________________________________________

June 15th, 7:27 am

The landing knocks every scrap of air from your lungs and you gasp desperately, forcing your chest to reinflate after the harsh impact. V lies a few feet away from you, miraculously unhurt as he turns to look back up the hole you’d just fallen through. You follow his gaze to see the underside of the beast that blew the hole in the ground passing overhead, its echoing steps an intimidating rhythm above.

“We're alive! We've made it! It's our lucky day, V! Let's find a game of cards,” Griffon quips as he hovers overhead. V turns to look around and you take stock of the situation.

I’ve still got my sword, and the bat, but I’ve lost my other crutch. My bag is here too, I hope nothing fell out…

You carefully wiggle your fingers and toes, checking for any serious injury and thankfully finding none. You somehow managed to gain only some bruises from the fall.

“These Qliphoth roots... they're everywhere,” V murmurs, slowly rising to his feet. He seems unhurt too, and you sigh in relief at your unimaginable luck so far.

“Well, we ARE underground…” Griffon replies sarcastically. V steps to you and offers you a hand up, pulling you to your feet and brushing off the dust from your shoulders carefully. He smirks as he responds to Griffon.

“Then I guess we have some clearing up to do,” he comments dryly, taking your hand in his as the two of you step toward the only route available to you, a dark tunnel leading to who-knows-where.

“And me without my gardening shears,” Griffon jokes and both you and V let out a light chuckle as he flicks his wrist, bringing Griffon back to his body with a puff of black that’s barely visible in the darkness surrounding you.

“Are you alright, little fox?” V asks with a concerned glance.

“I think so, just a few scrapes and some bruises. What about you?” you respond with an equally worried gaze. He chuckles and holds his arms out for you to examine.

“The same, love. It seems we were fortunate this time,” he answers wryly.

“Let’s not make a habit of it, though,” you quip with a smirk. His arms seem alright, a thin coating of dust obscuring his intricate tattoos and a scrape on his elbow but nothing serious. You take his hand and step forward, the pair of you easily forging on.

The brick tunnel reminds you of a horror movie with its dank, musty smell and oppressive silence. Your steps echo alongside V’s as you take in the pulsing roots arching through the path above your head. You stifle a yawn and pause to pull out a bottle of water and some protein bars, handing the snack to V with a smile as you chug half the bottle, saving the rest for the poet. He chews as he walks, carefully saving the wrapper in his pocket instead of dropping it on the floor.

Not far ahead, a root blocks the way forward. Still chewing, V gestures for you to do the honors of bursting the horrible red mass next to a grate. Your sword makes quick work of it, and you do your best to avoid the worst of the blood that showers you upon your success but some of the coppery crimson marks you anyway. The tunnel takes on a tang as you follow V to the now revealed pipe, emerging a moment later in an industrial facility of some kind.

A rumble above shakes the walls, dust clouding the air as the massive creature outside makes its presence known once more. You can hear an occasional gunshot as you and V move quietly on, climbing a series of pallets to reach another pustule that must be removed to clear the way forward. Just as V sends Griffon to attack it, a huge metallic leg crashes through the ceiling; the beast is still nearby.

You take cover as Griffon shoots lightning at the thing, Shadow appearing a beat later to slash at it alongside the bird. You hear a familiar shout from outside – Nero!

He must be battling it out there! Is he nuts?!

“What are you guys doing down there?” his familiar teasing tone calls out. You’re about to shout at him to run when Griffon chimes in.

“You didn't think you did all that by yourself did ya?” the mouthy bird mocks the young warrior, and he crouches down to glare at the blue demon.

“Ya know, I bet you taste like chicken...” Nero responds tauntingly.

“Why you ungrateful sonuva---” Griffon splutters uselessly, about to fly up to join Nero but V’s cane stops him in mid-flap, much to your relief.

“We'll leave this beast to you. We must press on,” V states calmly, twirling his cane momentarily before striding away. You do a double take between the poet and the warrior, wanting to help them both simultaneously but unable to join Nero, so you have no choice but to catch up to V.

Fear for your friend is ice in your veins as you chase him down, the sounds of Nero’s fight fading as you move on.

“V, we have to hurry! Nero might need help,” you exclaim to the poet and he nods seriously, a grim focus plain in his expression.

The two of you move forward a little bit faster, making quick work of any demons foolish enough to get in your way. Turning a corner, a monstrously huge shape beside you reveals the facility to be a shipyard. The red and black hull dwarfs the next leg that pokes through the ceiling, and this time you don’t hide. You leave the demons to V and focus on the leg, slashing at it repeatedly with your blade until it withdraws.

Shadow clears the next pustule, the disturbance bringing forth a trio of Empusa that fall into ash within moments. You marvel at the sight of the innards of the hull as you cross a section that has yet to be welded closed, scaffolding showing where the builders last worked. The other side of the hull holds a number of shipping containers, forcing you to scramble your way on top of them to progress with a little help from V.

Once again, one of the hulking demon’s legs pierces the ceiling and you join Shadow in attacking it, forcing it to withdraw quickly. The red shipping containers barely shift as the walls shake around you, and you imagine they must still be full of supplies, keeping them weighted down.

I wonder what’s inside?

Suppose it’s irrelevant.

V helps you ascend another container and you look down into the next area with revulsion as you spot an Empusa horde feeding on a crimson puddle of some poor souls remains. You only count two and look around for the rest you know are lurking as V hops lightly to the ground to face the threat. The moment his feet hit the concrete, a Queen rounds the corner with a bellow of rage, pausing briefly to lick the puddle before she sets her sights on the lean poet. You’re about to slide down to help when he winks at you and gestures for you to wait.

You watch as he snaps his fingers and Nightmare rises from the ground to battle the Queen, its bulky body blocking her claws from reaching V as it shoots lasers at the demon, an explosion following a split second later that decimates the puny Empusa.

Nightmare leaps forward, landing a harsh few punches on the Queen and V darts into range, thrusting his cane in her abdomen and tearing it up her body with a sickening squelch. As the Queen and her children alike dissolve into ash, Nightmare holds an arm out to you in invitation and you see V’s smirk as you carefully take hold. You find the texture to be similar to a rocky cliffside as the golem lowers you to the ground gently before bubbling away.

The remainder of the shipyard passes with little trouble, but the way out is blocked by a shipping container. Griffon points out a nearby hole in the ground and the group descends back into another dank, musty tunnel. A measly few Empusa barely make you and V pause, their hordes nothing more than an annoyance to you at this point. It takes less time than you expected before you spot daylight to the right, a damaged road having caused a convenient cave in.

You emerge under an old building toppled precariously on its edge, leaning heavily over the street and casting it in shadow. The imposing Qlipoth root dances in the sky nearby, the clouds near it stained red and black.

“Almost there…” V mutters quietly, and you give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as you step forward into the meager light.

“Let’s go, then, my poet,” you reply with a smile, and his lips set in a firm line as he follows you.

A few husks dot the courtyard ahead and your pace increases as you spot a telephone booth. V wordlessly holds out a coin to you with a smirk, letting you do the honors this time, but Nico doesn’t answer. You rejoin V with a tight frown.

I hope nothing is wrong… maybe she’s busy helping Nero?

V’s face matches yours as you wordlessly walk forward and he reaches out to take your hand in a comforting grip. Even so, anxiety floods you as you imagine why Nico didn’t answer, wondering what could be keeping her busy.

“V, do you think Nico’s---”

As you speak, V’s cane presses you against a wall harshly and he signals to you to be silent. You instantly close your mouth and listen, your blood running cold when you hear a chilly voice speak around the corner commandingly. The words themselves make no sense to you but when V slowly pokes his face around the corner to see who it is, the look on his face when he glances back at you amplifies your fear tenfold, making your limbs clench in preparation for a fight.

V holds you back for a long moment before he deems it safe at last, his cane releasing you as he steps into the courtyard ahead, much to your alarm. You follow cautiously, drawing your blade with a soft hiss of metal. You catch your breath as your eyes take in the sight before you.

A skeletal horse two stories tall stands before you, its mane a blazing trail of blue flame sending waves of heat rising above it. Its hooves have small licks of their own blue flames, its body shimmering in the strange light. The rider is even more imposing, a heavily armored humanoid with a weapon three times as long as your own that spits bolts of purple light from within. A ghostly black cape falls from the rider’s massive shoulders.

The strange creature is both beautiful and terrifying, striking you with a confusing mixture of awe and heart-stopping fear.

Is V insane? How are we supposed to fight THAT?!

You watch the poet confidently stride into the creature’s sight line, arrogance in every step. The demon turns to face him slowly and you can hear the smirk in V’s voice as he addresses it.

“I see. I know what you are. Don’t worry… I’ll be gentle,” he informs it, smacking the handle of his cane into his palm for added effect. Under any other circumstances, the tone he uses would have made you shiver and lick your lips, but right now it’s all you can do to not run away as the horse rears on its hind legs and charges straight at your beloved poet.

What is he DOING!?

V waits until the horse is almost upon him before he finally moves, a wiggle of his hand the only indication of his intent as Shadow forms a loose cloud beneath his feet and carries him out of danger. The rider swipes his cruel weapon across the ground where V just stood and turns again to face him.

Wait, what am I doing?

You swallow your fear to the best of your ability, refusing to force V to battle this demon without you. Even so, your sweaty hands shake as you run forward with a growl, frustrated by your own hesitation. You thrust the blade forward as you reach the horse, lucky it hasn’t moved yet, and it slices a shallow valley into its hind leg.

The horse kicks its rear leg out at you and you barely dodge it, heart pounding erratically as your body hits the ground. You hear a harsh neigh and feel something tickle your skin, your vision turning purple for an instant before everything goes black.

#dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmc #v x reader #v x you #fanfic #op #boss fight #SBHS #my writing #vitale

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irisflowerarts · 7 years ago

Text

When his heart is blanketed by darkness, it emerges. (Anti Sora fanfic)

“Eeeergh!!!!” Sora growled through his teeth, his bloody body rolling across the Snow White floors of castle oblivion, his tan skin beginning to burn with friction leaving marks all over once only bloodied body, now becoming burned. His keyblade skidding away from him, the metal screeching, sparks ravenously fleeing from it, stopping on the other side of the room near Iris’s feet. She looked over at it, her bright sapphire eyes widening as she glanced at the key blade then back at Sora, her heart beginning to beat faster and faster, wretched in fear for everyone: Donald, Goofy, Sora, and her brother, Zero.

Donald and Goofy’s bodies were on the cold hard ground, their forms beaten with cuts, blood oozing from them and dripping onto the floor staining its whiteness with red. Iris remembered the horror she felt when she watched them fall to the ground.

The repeated clashes of metal together got her attention, bringing her eyes over to her brother Zero who was in a heated rally with Marluxia, their hair flowing vigorously, teeth clenched and eyes squinted, their orbs flaring with hatred. Meanwhile, Sora, while hissing, got himself off the ground. “I must say, Compared to Sora, you have more of strength, more power, and could easily protect the ones you care about.” Marluxia said in his deep voice, it laced with taunting

“Shut the hell up!! I don’t want to hear anything coming from you!!” Zero growled, swinging his keyblade faster, and much harder at Marluxia who dodged easily.

“You shouldn’t throw all of your strength in one attack.” Marluxia taunted, effortlessly swinging his scythe, jabbing Zero in the side who gritted his teeth in an attempt to not cry out in pain, Marluxia swiped Zero up and threw him to the ground, blood decorating his once pink scythe,

“Zero!!!” Iris cried, feeling a few tears prick at her eyes, seeing her brother down on the ground, bleeding intensely from his side, however, a dark and cruel energy laced his blood, almost like it was making Zero… poisonous. Ravenous…

Sora gritted his teeth, hissing as he forced himself to stand up again, blood oozing out of his wounds as he did, glaring at Marluxia. Marluxia walked closer to Zero, intrigued by this energy that coated Zero. “Get away from Zero!” Sora suddenly growled, glaring immensely at Marluxia, his eyes holding a monstrous storm within them.

]Marluxia became interested in the storm that thrived ravenously through Sora’s eyes, and walked towards him. “Are you angry about something Sora?” Marluxia asked as he came closer and closer to Sora, who didn’t respond.

Iris stared at the keyblade that was beside her, the keyblades blade shimmered, reflecting her face, the way her hair was draping her face, her scared yet worried expression. She felt a strange aura hug around her form… What was this? She didn’t know. She gently went on her knees, and picked up the keyblade by the handle, and stood up again. She looked at the keyblade that was in her hands, then glanced up seeing Sora being thrown to a wall, his cries being echoed throughout the room.

“this could’ve been avoided.” Marluxia said, raising his scythe. “But, i’ll still be getting something out of it.” Sora looked up at Marluxia with wide eyes,he tried to do something to get Marluxia away from him, but his body was so beaten, it was too exhausted.

Zero sat up, holding his bleeding side that oozed much blood. He wasn’t surprised about the energy that encased him, either he wasn’t aware of it or maybe he didn’t care.

“AAGHH!!!!!!” Marluxia’s scream suddenly filled the room the sound of a weapon collapsing on the ground echoed throughout the room, Sora immediately opened his sky blue eyes, greeted to the sight of Marluxia going on his knees, and behind him, Iris holding the keyblade! Zero had slightly wide eyes but smirked. He did have worry for Iris, but he was hiding it.

Iris blinked, then relaxed her hold on the keyblade, her eyes widening slightly as she stared at the keyblade in wonder. Did she just… attacked Marluxia? Her expression relaxed, a determined expression appearing all her pale and cute features. She went into a battle stance.

Marluxia turned his head, trying to glare at her as best as he could, his form wrecking with deep heavy breaths. “Lucky shot… I didn’t know we had THREE keyblade wielders here… I thought you were just as pathetic and useless as the other nobodies..” Iris flinched a bit, but remained in her battle stance. Sora however.. felt a unholy rage towards Marluxia.. something within him wanted to jump out and tear into him. Sora couldn’t believe what he was feeling, he brought a hand over to his heart looking down at in shock.

“Very well Then.. let’s see how long you last..” Marluxia said, collecting his scythe, then disappearing into many velvet pink petals. Iris looked around frantically, before she calmed herself, fluttering her eyes closed and remembered Marluxia’s pattern. He always appeared Left, Then behind, Then right, then left again. He appeared in one of those spots, three seconds after he teleports.

‘1….2...3..’ Iris counted in her mind, turning to her left and swinging her keyblade, it clashing against Marluxia’s strong, heavy, blood stained, scythe. She flinched at how heavy it was, holding the two ends of the keyblade trying to push Marluxia off. But… the scythe was so heavy! And Iris didn’t have the strength to combat it any longer, she could feel her arms starting to get sore… To not get striked, she quickly jumped far back, the tip of Marluxia’s scythe digging into the floor getting stuck.

Zero tried to get himself up so he could join, but he was bleeding to much. Fortunately, Donald and Goofy had begun gaining consciousness, starting to lift themselves off the ground and gain insight of the current situation.

“Donald! Goofy!” Sora cried out happily, relieved that they were okay.

Iris took the chance of the scythe being stuck in the ground by charging up to Marluxia and throwing a strike at him, forcing him away from his weapon and having to deal with her without a weapon. Zero smirked at Iris’s smartness to take this chance to damage Marluxia and not let him be able to collect his weapon again, instead of Sora who just… blindly charges into battle.

Marluxia growled, he was sick of this, fighting Iris. Velvet petals suddenly took his scythe out of the ground and handed it back to him where he quickly sliced the air, a blade of magic coming out of his scythe and towards Iris. She yelped, not being able to dodge it and was thrown back to the harsh wall of oblivion, the keyblade flying out of her hands, it clanking to the ground and disappearing into light. Iris’s breath was violently knocked out of her and she fell to the ground, trying to get up but couldn’t stand the stinging and monstrous pain she felt in her chest.

Iris did her best to get up, not knowing what to do but soon, she felt herself being grabbed by a force of magic, the grip so tight that Iris could hardly breath and brought her to the center of the room and dropped her in front of the room.

“I’m impressed. You memorized my battle pattern and used that to your advantage. A very powerful ability that will be useful.” He towered over Iris, looking menacing. “I’ll slice up your heart, and then use the pieces to recreate you to more of my liking.” Marluxia said, raising his scythe, his shadow seemingly 5 times larger than him and made him even more menacing.

Iris shut her eyes tightly, flinching and looking away and preparing for an immense amount of pain, her hair draping softly around her head as if it was hugging her.

“Don’t you fucking dare-!!!!” A dark being that was blanketed in shadows and oozed of heartlesses shot past Zero! All Zero caught was a glimpse of the beings sharp and long claws that it had. “Iris! Look out-” Zero cried out, believing the shadow being was going to steal Iris’s heart when it came to a stop in front of her fearful form and stopped the scythe from sticking her, a loud screeching clash of metal resounding through the room.

Hearing this clash of metal, Iris quickly blinked her shimmering sapphire eyes opened, and looked over seeing a shadowy form in front of her. She could see a form within in the shadows.. It had Dark spiky bluish blackish hair, it was taller than her by a few inches, had larger shoes then her, baggy shorts- A gasp escaped from her form as she looked around as to check if her guess was correct. Seeing that the once bright boy wasn’t in the room, it proved her guess was correct! Sora was the shadowy being in front of her! “Sora-” Iris wasn’t able to say a word as Sora took off and tackled Marluxia, trying to tear into Marluxia.

Zero, thanks to Donald, had his wound healed and he quickly ran over to Iris, picking her up. “AH?! Z-Zero?!” Iris cried out in questioning. “I don’t know what happened to Sora, and he’s dangerous right now… we’re getting out of here.” Zero said sternly, in a voice that hissed at Iris telling her to not rebel or complain. “B-but Sora!-” “IRIS.” Zero growled making Iris shut up as he began to run towards the door. “You two!” He put Iris down. “Help get this door opened!”

“But Sora! He needs our help!” Goofy said, when Marluxia’s bloody scream echoed throughout the room, freezing everyone in their spots. Everyone, fearfully turned their heads toward Sora and Marluxia and saw Sora’s montrously sharp clawed hand through Marluxia’s chest before Sora thrusted it back out of Marluxia and stood above him, Sora’s glowing eyes staring at Marluxia slightly menacingly.

Marluxia stared at the ceiling that seemed to be light itself, a frown on his features. “We have no hearts.. But us nobodies still just exist. I wonder.. What this would’ve been like.. If I had a heart.” He said, his form being raised up, a pink and blackish light emitting greatly through his body and then.. He exploded into petals, disappearing for good.

The room was now silent, everyone staring at Sora’s dark from. No one knew what to do, No one knew what to say, there was a loss of words in the atmosphere, as well as fear. Sora turned his head, looking over at the four, his glowing bright yellow eyes no longer holding a menacing look but one of.. Neutral. Or he looked like he was lost, and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

How was this going to be fixed?

#kingdom hearts #fanfic

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khornoth-blog · 7 years ago

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“Where is she?”

It had been a long week of treachery and warfare. The Alliance were masters by now in the tactic of guerrilla warfare. Whereas Khornoth helped entrench some of the best lines the Horde had, there was never enough time before some Alliance spy had managed to lay down a trap or sabotage their efforts. Some of the younger Blackrocks have simply snapped and fought one another for accidents that could not be explained. Cannot be explained, until a Shaman uncovered a sickening goblin hired by the Alliance was the source of our snapping tempers.

The next thing to snap was his neck when i threw him to the grunts.

Still, the Alliance has made such remarkable attacks on Khornoth and his Khornites merely on foot. Always in range and always with a light step, often attacks came as so; A single bulk unit of Kul Tiran and Seventh Legion warriors move in, gaining our force’s attention with ranged attacks. When the main forces focus on them, the Alliance sends their rats to cut down at the legs of blessed Khornites. It’s come to a point the old orc has extended his own salary towards goblins specifically claiming themselves ‘knee cap protectors’. As it would seem, the war was firm on its disbelief of honor.

*I breathed slowly, standing at my command tent. I had finished offering the last blessing to my warriors, and finally were we able to set down one trench line for the riflemen and the shield guard. Our warriors have dwindled lower, and now we await reinforcements from the main force to take the offensive here. The Ranger Lord has charmed me and promised this would not take long with the forces I had. But even now twelve of my poor warrior kin has been slaughtered, and three times the amount of grunts. Losses that I cannot shake off me, where some nights I do not sleep. Young warriors, some barely of age to find mates. But we must hold here until the Ranger Lord’s reinforcements arrive.*

At hold, the Champion of Blackrock stood behind the trench in his soldier’s burrow. Several warriors were sleeping, and Khornoth was put on watch for them along with the other twelve Blackrocks sitting in the trench. Shifts would be switched in the morning, and those at guard would get some rest. Khornoth did not think about rest right now though. He was constantly glaring through the skinny slits of the burrow, keeping an eye on the local fauna. The peons under his command had been tasked with ruining trees and using their lumber for structures and protection. They only had to worry about one side of the enemy, because behind them was a steep mountain wall that halted the need for a full enclosure. And the best part was that there was an escape path. This was an ideal position, assigned by the Ranger Lord that commanded Khornoth. He did hate however how far it was from the head quarters of Wyldegleam. It was a distance away from the shore, but still in Tiragarde no less. Khornoth wanted to see Faetrix, Andar’thael. Some nights were restless because he could not find the warmth inside his tent despite the fires and his own bodily heat. No. Being here always crept this coldness... Like the first second when stone in the winter is pushed against skin. That shocking cold that feels unbearable to the senses, but just for a moment. Khornoth twitched, snapping his head upward when he saw movement with a shrubbery. Nothing of course, came out.

I sighed, putting my ironclad hand on my face. But I broke the short pleasure of closed eyes when I heard the start of words behind me. My gauntlet’s hand on my face became a fist and I spun around to strike the potential assassin, only to recoil back before I could strike the Stone Guard that had approached. I was caught in a recoil, losing balance for a short embarrassing moment before regaining my step. The warrior flinched and had recoiled herself, fearful of the strike that would have just ruined her tusks. I cursed her, daz’kook, shaking my fist at her. She cringed, before bowing her head. “We spotted elves coming this way. Night elves, drunken and armed. There are at least seven of them, all heading here. We are ready to go when you are.

Khornoth still had grunts and scouts, despite the losses he suffered from the rushing tactics of the Alliance. Khornoth however, was itching to spill blood. “Tell the other scouts to come, and keep hidden. I will handle them myself. If anything suspicious comes, engage and I will flee. We must have no losses. Tell the warriors in the trench and prepare our towers for battle,” said the old orc. The scout nods, before running off to inform the Khornites and grunts.

It was a few minutes, of quick shouts and the lighting of torches until I was met with the scouts that had spotted the elves. Two trolls, a goblin, a pandaren and finally the Stone Guard who informed me were all that was my war party that could seperate from the main force. I motioned for them to follow, dimming the flames on my armor quickly so I was much harder to see in the darkness of night.

Go north, just ahead. We will follow, lay on the short hills here with the bushes.

Khornoth moved ahead of the trench, as it was conveniently pointed north from the perspective of the camp. The orc was walking only a pair of minutes before stumbling upon the drunk and enraged elves. They looked at Khornoth, and they all became enraged and started to shout. One of them spoke common.

“BURNING ORC SCUM! W-” The elf hicccups, “WE WILL AVENGE THE WHORES OF DARNASSUS AND THE BIRDIES!” That one elf’s voice cracked as he finished his sentence, snorting and stumbling with a drunken stupor. The elves cheered and shouted some more. They were Seventh Legion, easily recognizable by the uniforms they wore. Khornoth advanced towards them, hammer in hand and his Kalma in his other.

I charged them. One of them attempted to charge me, but it was foolish. Others tried to join in that drunken heroic run, but they lost their footing and one of them even fell. The one that did collide with me, I ran against and proceeded to flatten him under my boots. I stomped hard, digging my heel into the head of the elf. Crunching and a slight slip. That, was what I enjoyed to hear when I fought these feeble tree lovers. Pushing forward, several of the elves met with me with swords and daggers. Simple swings with my kalma rendered them corpses. A slice across two of them, a crush of another with my hammer. Using the gifts of my ancestors, I burned the rest. To prevent fire spreading, I stomped on their bodies as they burned. Perhaps just to end their pain quicker. That would be a kindness.

Khornoth was simply pushing his foot down on an elf’;s head, before something jumped onto his back.

“I’M BACK BITCH!” Screamed a woman. A woman that has tried to kill Khornoth multiple times! The orc had her alone, without Kul Tiran scum, and he grabbed her by her red locks. As he lifted his hand, pulling her hair and getting her off him, she had stabbed his arm with a knife. Khornoth roars in pain, as the awful device shot out spikes to anchor into the wound. Khornoth quickly worked to cauterize the wound, burning his black skin and attaching it to his armor.

I screamed while I combined my own armor with my skin, and with my roar the war party I had came to my aid. They scared off the woman, and I was guided back to the camp.

The wound I thought I had cauterized was only worsened by the procedure. The armor I would had pulled more skin, and I mistook the stream of blood going down my arm for sweat.

I fainted.

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Morning now. The Ranger-Lord’s reinforcements arrived, and so did a Centurion to hold my position. I was relieved for a short time, two days unless I was in need of an emergency. Arm in a metal battle-cast, I had a gun mount on it and my gun on my back. Never go without a weapon.

My first destination was the Ranger-Lord’s ship. I was excited to see him and Faetrix. I wished to spend the night with them, to care for my mates and to feel their warmth again.

But when i returned, I couldn’t find either of them. The cabin was locked, and no knock roused anyone.

I asked one of the stationed Rangers.

The Ranger-Lord disappeared, and Faetrix was no where to be found.

I waited. I waited at my tent, next to the ship, watching the captain’s cabin from my position. No one came out, no one entered.

Night came back, and I couldn’t take it. I marched up the ramp to the boat, and when I slammed the door open, the Ranger Lord was there, sitting, hands on his head.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Gone,” he said.

#the lovers #the bastard duke #the vipress #khornoth

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bloodivores · 4 years ago

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Warm-Up 07202021 [Phoenix-Diamond]

Whumper: Diamond Renwick

Whumpee: Phoenix Renwick

Relationship: Brother X Sister [Nonromantic]

Prompt: Whumpee has become quite the sensation at parties, much to the distaste of Whumper, who's limelight was stolen. However, Whumper knows just how they'll be taking that back.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Torture, Knives, Implied Sex, Fluid PoV, Shitty Writing

A/N: A brief little punishment between the true head of the noble Renwick family and her older brother. He is NOT fucking his sister, calm down folks. Designed as a warm-up, critiques are VERY welcome. Actual torture is wonky and short because of reasons for this specific one, I need to practice the transition between introduction and pain. But that is what warm-up shorts are for, right?

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His tutor was a fine man, a master of what he did before his unfortunate and far too early demise. To others, perhaps, he was a disgusting person, a greedy little rat with a hunger for blood-soaked power. But to Phoenix, he was so much more. He was a role model, a great teacher, an honorable man who's pupil would go on to lead a wonderful life. The words taken from his mouth belonged at the supper table of the honorable Renwick family.

Unfortunately, not all agreed, and his foolish quoting led him deep below, several floors below the ground where the air stood still and smelled stale and deathly, where any light was dim. Lord Renwick had not approved of the words out of his son's mouth, had scorned him, sent him away with an empty stomach and sent the honored one of the triplets, Diamond, to handle the areas where he had failed as a father. One of them, at least.

Into a sickly lavender room Phoenix was shoved, his large frame seemingly miniscule despite his nearly identical sister standing a whole head shorter than he. Though he turned to protest, rainbow eyes reflecting dully in the dim light, he bit back his words with a single look at her stormy face.

"You speak the words of a traitor, brother." She snapped, gripping a knife taken from the supper table, shoving him towards a raised slab in the center of the room with a single, lithe hand in the center of his chest. "Just bringing up his filthy name shows how poor a blemish you are on the golden tapestry of our noble lines. How is it that you, the oldest, have somehow become most pathetic of us all?"

Phoenix stumbled back, heels coming in contact with the heat-leeching marble behind him. Despite being the oldest, and the largest, he could not help but fear his sister's wrath. His father may be head of the house, but it was Diamond who forced the family to stay in line. It was Diamond who pulled the strings within the estate walls. And it was Diamond who dished out the punishment when any family member took a single toe off the line she laid out. Phoenix tended to stray pretty far from that line.

"What will it be today?" He finally asked, doubting he could dig a deeper hole. After all, his mentor always did seem to send him careening nearly six feet under. "Will it be a switch? Branding? Shocks? Flogging? Will you burn me alive, attempt to drown me? I know you would never settle for something as small as a knife." He taunted, flashing her a wolfish grin, a mocking expression.

"You know the knife is little more than a starter. There's no greater joy than how personal one can get with a blade." She replied, standing on her toes to come as close to his face as she could, which wasn't all that close yet was chilling nonetheless. Funny, how such a short-statured girl could strike such fear into his heart. "Now lay down, dog. I'm sure your little mongrel teacher taught his mutt such basic commands."

Phoenix did not want to obey. He was eldest child, he was not subservient to his sister. And yet his body moved without his mind's consent, flattening his body on the table, the still-raw cuts on his back shrieking as they were flattened against biting stone. What would it be today? Something painful, he was sure. Last time, they had a dinner party to attend to, and so his punishment was eased. But this time, there would be no need to hide gaping wounds and agony any time soon. Lord Renwick had places to be, and no parties could occur without his appearance.

Scraping the edge of the steak knife against the rough edge of the marble, Diamond circled the table, considering. She did have freedom this time, so much freedom. Whatever she dealt, Phoenix had three weeks to heal from. She finally had the excuse to massacre his face. She had waited so long for this chance. She knew her brother doubted she would ever do it. But she could. She could do it now. Nothing stood in her way.

"Do you know, dearest brother, how similar our skin is to the meal on our nightly plates? So soft, so tender. And, so easy to shred." Gentle, she ran the knife along his arm, thinking, ignoring the red blots that bloomed like lovely little flowers in its wake. "Father is out of town for almost a month, this time. Another business trip, you know. He always does seem to be out and about. But we'll be home, stuck here without a single exciting occasion to look forward to. But that's alright, that just means that we'll get plenty of time together, won't we, big brother? There will be no need to save our alone time for such unsatisfactory hours." Pressing a bit harder, she ran across his wrists, up into his palm, watching him squirm beneath her blade. "Nor will there be any need to save my fun."

Face showing her far-too-clear excitement, she stopped by his head, setting the knife on his lips. "So many yearn for your beautiful face, Phoenix. Have you seen the lords and ladies swooning at our parties at just the mere sight of you? I've seen it. It's disgusting. After all, that's the only part of you that ever will be pretty. What a shame they don't know until they flee your bedroom while the night is still young. Rearing your ugly head beyond locked doors won't last you long. But let me save them from that. They can see the hideousness of the inside on the outside too!" Quick and precise, she snapped the serrated knife from cheek to nose to lip to chin, watching the crimson bead. He flinched back from that with a pained gasp, mouth slightly open. "Don't worry." She consoled, mock comfort in her voice. "You'll only have silvery little scars by the time anyone sees your face again."

Eyes closed to avoid directly looking into her gaze, he didn't respond to that, instead stock still except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. That was another mistake on his list today. Diamond reached forth, shoving the tip of her blade beneath his lid and forcing his eye open. "No sleeping on me this time." She spat, drawing a line across his cheekbone, pausing right before his neck. She lifted the knife, resting it over his trachea, feeling the slightly movement as he sucked in air. How badly she wanted to slice in. But she couldn't, not today. There was no cover story to hide behind, and family torture was the family secret. With a whip of the knife hard down his chest from neck to groin, she whipped it back at the wall, hearing it clatter as she turned away, ignoring his shriek of surprise and pain. She needed something else fun. Such a disgrace to the family deserved more than a knife for such a mistake.

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whump blog #whump scenario #sibling drama

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kiwisfics · 7 years ago

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Vampires and Assassins - Chapter 2

A/N - With my renewed passion for becoming a published writer, these past few days have been a trip. Allowing my grandma to read the beginning of my original novel, deciding that this is how I plan to support myself or at least attempt to. Anyway, throughout my editing I’ve begun adding a lot more plot and I hope everyone will enjoy it.

Summary: Kady Lason wasn’t brave, not that she was going to let anyone other than herself know that. Her actions far from reflect her internal dilemma, leading her on escapades in the middle of the night, far from her turmoil-fueled family life. Which is exactly how she ends up kidnapped and sold into a world that few know exist: a world of vampires. If the shock and fear isn’t enough, she ends up with a target on her back, just her luck. The past is easy to forget when facing threats most saw as myths, but, somehow, everything always ends up connected, doesn’t it?

The scalding hot water raining down from the shower head received no response, its attempts to be a distraction doing little to nothing to draw my attention from the yelling on the other side of the door. They'd been at it all day. Medication could only do so much to soothe the sickness of anxiety—even with double the prescription—not that the burns on my arms were solving the problem either. As I stood and exited the shower, the red marks on my body began to sting, the cool air overpowering the numbness. I jumped, breath catching in my throat and chest clenching in the beginning stages of an attack, as the sound of glass shattering reached my ears. My clothes were on in an instant and the bathroom window opened. I didn’t hesitate. I never hesitated.

Unlike the other women, still standing in wait for their new owners, I was instantly approached by the silent guards that had stood watch throughout the violent bidding war. Comparatively to me, they were giants. But I wasn't going without a fight. The moment my feet were released, I swiveled, jumping and slamming my forehead into one of the men's noses. The dull pain in my skull did nothing to lessen my fury and I turned once again, charging the auctioneer with all the furiosity of a threatened beast. The strain on my wrists when the rope was grabbed tore a hiss from my throat. The pain was just as quickly forgotten as I spun on my heel and aimed my head toward another face. Before I made contact I was jerked away, my target taking hold of one of my arms while another kept me from attacking once again by taking hold of my other arm. As they pulled me after the retreating form of the man who had bought me, I began kicking and dragging my feet. Muffled shouts tore from my throat, but I was paid no mind. Behind the tape, I muttered and whimpered as I fought to get loose, my attempts made all the stronger by the fear brought by the gender of those restraining me. Though I knew my attempts were useless, I refused to go without a fight. I hadn't learned how to defend myself just to tuck tail the moment the need for defense arose. I wasn't getting thrown into a man's possession without hurting someone and I didn't care who. The man in front of us walked leisurely, as if he had no cares in the world, and it brought my burning anger to the forefront of my mind, bypassing any and all remaining fear, where it peaked, pushing my blind panic into submission. I jammed an elbow into each of the men behind me, satisfaction flooding my chest from just the bruising contact. To my shock, I successfully sent them falling back, bringing a proud grin to rest on my face. Thank God my distrust of men made me paranoid enough to ensure that I could at least make a quick getaway if ever needed. I shot off toward the wooded area that enclosed the auction, thanking God again for the flats I'd been given in contrast of the heels most of the women wore. Still, I had only taken a few steps before one of the men tackled me, his aggressiveness making clear the rage he felt at being bested by one of his products. I slammed against the ground with no way to break my fall, rocks slicing cuts into my face and legs. The man jerked me to my feet with no concern for the now bleeding cuts, not that I had expected any. Had I been able to use my words, I would have commented on damaging the merchandise, even as my legs began to shake and pressure built behind my eyes. I had been bought. Who knew what this man was going to do to me, but I had my reasonable assumptions and they made me sick. I found myself wishing he had left me to die. I continued my earlier attempts to escape by thrashing, but as it became clear that my attempts weren't working, I brought one leg forward before slamming it back into the crotch of the man holding my right arm. His already bruising grip on my arm tightened and resulted in a loud cry from my throat, the sound muffled, but audible even through the duct tape. When I was shoved into an expensive looking limo-like vehicle, I was momentarily stunned into paralysis. Clearly, this man had money. Of course, rich people weren't rare enough to shock me on their, but we were still close to my small town—and all the other small towns around us—as far as I knew, and there were no rich people anywhere in our rural area, none with a limo. They could spend all the money they wanted on a kidnapped person, but a limo? No way would that, or a convention of "richies" go unnoticed. Now that I thought about it, I could almost swear I had seen some of the people in the crowd before. Was I even in my town anymore? I stayed frozen for only a few moments. There was no time to waste on pointless thoughts. I had to get out of this situation. I pulled my knees to my chest. In my position, alone in the back of this vehicle, I had no reason to hold back when I began slamming my feet against the limo door as hard as I could. Grunting as the pressure shot pain up my calves, I grew more and more frantic as a dent appeared around the door's handle. Just as I was about to slam my feet against the window, hesitating only in fear of the glass getting in my eyes—a stupid reason in reflection—the limo jerked to a stop, sending me rolling to the floor. I shook my head as I sat up, already feeling a growing bump where my head had hit, as I wondered what was going on. It was only a few seconds later that the door opened and a man climbed in beside me. He was taller than the man who had bought me. Taller by at least three inches and broader, bigger than even the men who had dragged me to the vehicle, and he didn't look like he was amused with my pathetic attempt at escape. I scooted as close as I could to the other side of the car, remaining on the floor as I trembled and tried not to let tears fall. My legs burned and the cuts from the harsh tackle stung, but nothing hurt as much as the pain of fear clutching its icy claws into my heart. I was shaking. Fear and the obvious burning out of my adrenaline both equal culprits. I thought a nap sounded like heaven before. The man didn't say a word, he hardly even glanced at me, while I didn't dare glance away, and he barely moved at all until the limo once again came to a stop. I peeked out the window to see a large mansion, surrounded by thick trees. The trees would be an easy way to escape, however, getting past the tall fence, which was identifiable as electrified by the caution sign, would be the exact opposite. An electrified fence? How extra can these guys get? The man who had sat in the back with me walked around the car and jerked open the door before he grabbed and lifted me almost effortlessly. I immediately began thrashing as best I could, banging my bound fists against his back—it was easy enough to slip my hands in front of me without much movement, and it was a welcome distraction—and knees against his chest, a well-aimed knee to the face caused him to drop me. Despite the pain—did my wrist just break?—and loss of breath from the fall with no chance to soften it, I immediately shot up and ran toward the trees. Exhaustion had nothing on my will to live. Though death was a secondary fear at this point. God men were terrifying. My path was blocked by yet another man. Unlike the hooded men with fancy leather and metal - something I only begun to question upon his appearance - he was wearing a simple white hoodie and jeans and it took his clothing to remind me that I wasn't in some alternate time or dimension. "Look, just relax." I paused in my fleeing, but hadn't the slightest intention of relaxing; I wouldn't have paused at all if he hadn't bee in front of me. "Just let us explain." I let a huff out of my nose, glaring at him with all the hate I could muster with my eyes—both for this situation and the fact that I'd been proven right. I knew every bad experience in my life led to dying at the hands of some psychotic man—or men, as it was. Let them explain? Let them explain why I was kidnapped, or why I was treated like an animal? Or maybe why they thought they had the right to buy me, or anyone for that matter? I tried to convey all the anger I felt through my glare, but it wasn't nearly enough. Not even a fraction of enough. And the fear, that was surely peeking through. My eyes were focused on him so intently and my blood was pounding so loud in my ears, I didn't notice someone else coming up behind me. A blade pressed itself against my throat as a rough voice spoke against my ear, "Keep running and we'll have to put you down." My panting stopped as I held my breath, lest that blade find its way under my skin. Explain. Yeah, right. I tensed, from the presence of the blade, yes, but farther from the way he had phrased that—even farther from how close he was. What gave him the right to talk to me like an animal? I'd never once regretted dropping out of the fighting classes I had been enrolled in before, convinced I knew enough to keep myself safe. I'd much rather spend my time sleeping or being lazy when I wasn't working—save when I needed to get out—but I regretted it now. I regretted it more than I would have ever thought possible. Tears finally escaped my eyes, running down and hitting the duct tape. The man behind me immediately pulled his blade away and lifted me, as my chest began to heave with my sobs, the day's events finally ushering tears from my eyes. He shushed me. The action was so juxtaposed to the situation, so foreign to what I knew, that it threw me for a loop, halting my tears for a moment as my brain struggled to regain some sense of reality. Because this man, that had been holding a knife to my throat seconds before, did not shush me with all the gentleness someone would award a crying child. And, more urgently, I was not wanting to relax. I did not want to trust them. I was so tired. I was so drained. I was so terrified. I was sobbing again, but I'd grabbed his shirt, fists tight in the fabric. "Relax," he muttered under his breath as he attempted to get the duct tape off my mouth while continuing to restrain me. I wasn't running now. I was hesitating. "I'm guessing he over-estimated how much of a fighter you are, hm?" When he finally managed to get the tape off—muttering an almost silent apology as I let out a yelp—he shoved the crumpled piece in his pocket. "There we are, now you can yell all the profanities you want." I didn't respond, sobs still coming from my throat as he lifted me, bridal style, with ease that I momentarily questioned Like I was a feather. Even if I had answered, I wasn't much for cursing, I just didn't do it; it didn't line up with my beliefs and far be it from me to start now when I needed that lifeline the most, not that I'd dare yell at the man who just held a knife to my throat at all. Finally, I sobbed my first unhindered words against his chest, "Please don't hurt me." "Wouldn't dream of it, love."

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robinhoodrevisited · 8 years ago

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Castle Chaos (pt.7)

Nottingham Castle. The Great Hall. (The doors of the Great Hall burst open as Prince John strides into the room. Flanked by several Black Elite, the Prince halts as he notices the room's occupants.) Prince John: (To Clarke:) "Well, I see you've been having your own celebrations in my absence. A family reunion no less. (Nods to Abby:) Abigail. (Abby stares daggers at the Prince but says nothing. Turning his attention to Marcus:) Kane." Marcus: "It's been a long time, Lackland." (The mention of his disparaging nickname infuriates the Prince.) Prince John: (To the gang beside them:) "What are you waiting for? Arrest these intruders immediately! (The Prince is infuriated even more when the gang do not move.) You would defy your King?!" Allan: (Stepping forward:) "No, (Removes his helmet:) but we'd defy you." (The Prince watches as Will and Much remove their helmets also.) Prince John: (To the Black Elite behind him:) "Don't just stand there you fools, kill them!" (Abby grabs Clarke's hand and pulls her out of harms way as Marcus, Allan, Much and Will draw their swords.) Sheriff's Chamber. Exterior. (Isabella, having finally made it back to the castle heads directly for her chamber. As she rounds a corner, her path is blocked by a lone guard.) Isabella: "Oh, thank God. Guard this door with your life, let nobody in, understand? (As she attempts to reach for the door:) Get out of the way you imbecile! (The guard stands firm. Finally looking the guard in the eye:) Listen you- (Isabella stops talking as she looks finds herself looking into the eyes of her brother.) No, it can't be - you were dead!" Gisborne: (Growling:) "I got better." (Isabella screams as Gisborne reaches for her.)

Elsewhere in the castle. (Blamire runs through the castle, his sword drawn. Stopping to catch his breath, Blamire turns down a darkly lit corridor and into an equally dark room. The Captain senses a presence in the room and smiles. Taking several deep breaths to steady himself, Blamire begins speaking into the darkness.) Blamire: "When my brother and I were young we lost our parents. A warlord and his gang ripped through our village killing livestock, men, women, everything in their path. For the longest time it was just Henry and I, left to survive alone in the world. (As Blamire speaks he begins searching the room.) So I know what it's like to have just one person you rely on. To have that one person you care for above all others. (Blamire stoops down and checks under a table but finds nothing. Continuing:) I dare say my brother and I would've died if Vaisey had not found us. Had not taken us under his wing, shown us how the world really works. Taught about how it’s the warriors that rule the world and not the peacemakers. Vaisey's message stuck with me more so than my brother. Whereas Henry would prove his worth through servitude I would go on to become a leader of men. One of the fiercest warriors you'll ever meet. (Blamire kicks open the door to an antechamber, finding nobody inside.) If I do say so myself. (Shakes his head:) Two brothers, two different paths. (Calling out louder in question:) I assume he's dead now? Killed by you or your people no doubt. No matter. Henry's chosen path turned him soft. It's only on the battlefield that a man can truly know his worth. Something Lincoln found out the hard way. (At the mention of Lincoln's name, Octavia finally pokes her head out of her hiding place.) His love for you is what caused his downfall. His quest to provide a life of peace for you is what made him weak. (Octavia steps out and stands in front of Blamire:) He forgot what it is to be a man." Octavia: "Lincoln was a thousand times the man you could ever hope to be." Blamire: (Ignores this:) "He begged me for his life. He pleaded with me to be allowed one last chance to see you again. Did he make it?" Octavia: "He died protecting complete strangers from your army. Lincoln was the bravest man I knew." Blamire: (Nods:) "Brave, perhaps. Stupid, most definitely. You on the other hand, just look what his death has turned you into. You're filled with rage and bloodlust, just like I was. I can train you into something the world will fear." Octavia: "I fight for Lincoln's memory. Once you're dead my fighting days are over." Blamire: (Nods:) "Such wasted potential. (Raises his sword:) So be it." (Blamire roars and charges Octavia who draws Indra's sword and emits her own blood-curdling yell as the two warriors engage in battle.)

Nottingham Castle. Interior corridor. (The Nightwatchman runs through the wide corridor, the Sheriff hot on her heels.) Sheriff: "Enough of this, Marian. While I'll admit it's been fun chasing down and killing all your friends, it's time to stop. (The Nightwatchman stops and turns to face the Sheriff.) You've had a terrible shock, your true love has died and you're lashing out, I get that. (Drawing his sword:) Now, take off your mask. Seeing as I missed Robin's, I think it only right that I see your face as you die." Marian: (Removing her mask:) "There's just one problem with that, Sheriff." Sheriff: (Grinning:) "Really, and what's that?" Robin: (Appearing from behind a pillar:) "Sorry to disappoint you, Vaisey. (The Sheriff winces and closes his eyes. As the Sheriff turns to face him:) As you can see, I'm not actually dead." Sheriff: (Grimaces:) "Indeed." Robin: "Marian, if you'll excuse us?" (Marian nods, her expression neutral. Though she knows this is how things must be, Marian can't help but worry about Robin's condition after his near death experience. Nevertheless, Marian turns, opens the door behind her and leaves both men to their fate.)

The Great Hall. (Despite putting up a brave fight, Marcus and the three outlaws have been subdued by the Prince's remaining Elite guards.) Prince John: "So this was your grand plan was it? Disguise yourselves as my guard and take me hostage? Pathetic. (Pointing at Clarke:) You and your meddlesome mother shall be taken to the Tower of London. Locked away where no one can free you so that I can be free to rule England how I see fit!" (As the Prince throws his arms up in the air in celebration, a familiar battle cry is heard. Sailing down from the balcony, dual swords in hand, is Lexa. Slicing into two of the Elite guards as she descends and killing two more as she lands, the Commander turns and smiles at Clarke.) Clarke: "Lexa?!" (Turning back towards the Elite guards, her swords extended in front of her, Lexa quickly cuts down four more assailants. The two remaining guards charge her but soon meet the same grisly fate. Upon plunging her sword into the abdomen of the last guard, Lexa surveys the room ready for anything. While the Commander's attention is on Clarke, the Prince attempts to flee the Hall. Just as his hand reaches the door, Abby slaps it away. The annoyance on the Prince's face is quickly replaced by shock as Abby reels back and punches John squarely in the nose.)

(The Prince is rocked by the blow and stumbles over one of his slain guards. Prince John takes in this latest development and points accusingly at Lexa.) Prince John: "You are a liar and a snake! (To the room at large:) She'll betray you all, just like she betrayed me, you mark my words!" (As Lexa twirls her swords menacingly the Prince reaches down and grabs a discarded sword from the floor. The Commander smiles, baring her teeth at the thought of eliminating the Prince. She and Prince John both raise their swords. As the Prince strikes first and Lexa blocks, they circle each other. Lexa advances and spins, swinging her sword low at the Prince’s legs. The Prince jumps but only just. As he lands, Lexa expertly disarms him leaving the Prince completely defenseless. Yet before she can finish him, Clarke calls out to her again.) Clarke: “Lexa, stop!” (As all eyes turn to Clarke, the Prince seizes his opportunity and runs. Tripping and slipping over the bloody floor on his way out. The Commander sheathes her swords and rushes to Clarke who has her hand outstretched. Clarke gently caresses Lexa’s face, almost in disbelief that she’s really there. Finally, they embrace with everyone looking on, still stunned by what’s just happened.)

Interior corridor. Robin: “Give it up, Vaisey. You’re out of options.” Sheriff: “On the contrary dear boy. I have precisely one card left to play.” Robin: (Looking around:) “Yeah? And what’s that?” Sheriff: (Spreading his arms wide:) “This of course. How I always knew it would end. You and me. Might vs Right, the light against the darkness. The final battle between good and evil.” (Vaisey draws his sword.) Robin: (Smiling, walking over to a torch and hanging his bow on the sconce:) “You want to fight me to the death, no tricks?” Sheriff: “No tricks. Just you and me and my…(the Sheriff pulls a dagger from behind his back and hurls it. Robin deftly catches it, looks to Vaisey and throws the blade away.) En garde!” Robin: ‘Thanks for the warning.“ (The Sheriff lashes out at Robin, and they begin a ferocious sword fight. They work their way from one corridor into another. The Sheriff kicks Robin, and Robin drops to a knee. Robin blocks an overhead strike and pushes Vaisey away from him. Robin swings his sword at the Sheriff; the Sheriff retreats. The Sheriff ducks behind a pillar and the sword hits it. The Sheriff stabs at Robin; Robin ducks aside. The Sheriff swings and Robin ducks. The Sheriff holds it overhead and Robin grabs his arm, then elbows him in the head. A punch to the face disarms Vaisey and sends him down. Robin grits his teeth stands over him, holding the point of his sword down.) Robin: “Now where were we? Oh yes, this is for all the lives you’ve ruined…for all the people you’ve killed.” (Robin changes his grip on his sword and holds it over the Sheriff. Robin hesitates as he looks down at the pathetic, beaten man beneath him. Slowly he withdraws his sword.) Robin: ”No. Killing you now would be too easy, too quick for a man like you.“ (Robin turns and walks back towards his bow. The Sheriff, getting his feet underneath him, slides along the floor and pushes himself up using a pillar.) Sheriff: (Warily, smiling:) "You’re not going to kill me?” Robin: (Grabbing his bow:) “Not without a trial and certainly not by depriving the people of Nottingham of the sight of your humiliation.” Sheriff: “Ah. (Raising his eyebrows then smiles:) You know, I do believe you’re right, Hood. It would be a crime for me not to receive a trial, to escape true justice.” Robin: “I’m glad we agree, now come on.” Sheriff: “Yes, a man of my greatness deserves a trial to be seen by as many people as possible. Perhaps I can convince Prince John curtail my execution into a simple banishment, hm? I hear Kingsbridge is looking for a new Sheriff. What do you think, Hood? (Robin glares at Vaisey, already beginning to regret his decision.) You know what’s surprising, Robin? The fact that after everything, after all the lives I’ve taken, all the pain I’ve caused, you have not even maimed me. (Smirks and walks towards Robin.) Surely I deserve at least that, hm? (Robin frowns, remembering when these words were first spoken in a conversation that feels so long ago.) Remember those three arrows, Robin? The three arrows you could not bring yourself to sink deep into my skull? (The sheriff chuckles:) Oh such good times, Hood! And the question still remains the same.” Robin: “And what’s that?” Sheriff: “That even after I killed King Richard, perhaps you secretly know that I’m right?” (At the mention of Richard’s name, Robin’s thoughts clear. He reaches over his shoulder and draws out an arrow, nocking it as he speaks.) Robin: “There was a moment just now where I actually felt sorry for you, Vaisey. Thank you for reminding me just how vile… (Robin draws the arrow back and releases it, quickly pulling another from his quiver.)… loathsome… (A second arrow hits its mark.)…and evil you are.” (Drawing a third arrow and letting it fly. The Sheriff stands stock still, eyes wide in astonishment. Vaisey looks down at the three arrows now protruding from his chest. The Sheriff looks up again at Robin, his mouth moving as if to say something, then falls heavily onto his back. Picking up his sword and re-sheathing it, Robin walks slowly towards the Sheriff. Grabbing a torch from the wall he leans down and brings the light close to Vaisey’s face. Upon checking for any signs of life he finds none. Breathing a sigh of relief, Robin collapses into a seated position beside the dead man.)

The Great Hall. (Having driven off most of the Prince's forces, everyone is gathered in the Great Hall. Clarke, Abby and Lexa stand talking on the raised platform while Marian and Djaq stand with Allan, Will & Much. The villagers stand with Lexa's warriors conversing about a battle well fought. All eyes turn slowly towards the doors as Octavia, covered in blood, walks into the Hall. When she reaches Indra, she stops and draws the sword from her scabbard, presenting it to her mentor. Indra takes it and places it back in her own.) Indra: "Lincoln would be so proud of you." (Octavia nods once then collapses into Indra's arms. Marcus rushes over to aid the exhausted woman, Djaq following in his wake.) Castle Dungeons. (Running for his life and panicking, the Prince finds himself in the dungeons. Realising his error far too late, his exit is blocked by a tall dark figure. Backing away from the man, Prince John turns and attempts to run the other way only to find his path blocked once more. Slowly, as each man walks into the torchlight, we see Prince John's fears realised.) Prince John: "I was told you were dead, both of you!" Robin: (Smirks:) "Don't believe everything you hear." (Caught between a rock and a hard place, the Prince finally throws his hands up in frustration.) Prince John: "But this is my wedding day!" Gisborne: (Raising his sword higher:) "Congratulations, brother." (The Prince's eyes widen at this realisation as Robin laughs.)

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firewarrior117 · 8 years ago

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The Witch and the Tambourine, Part 5

The Part 5 and climax of the Caravaneer’s journey all over Vitaria.

After camping out near the Capital for the night, the Luminous stars find themselves face to face with of Vitaria’s deadliest creatures...The Chimera! Akimoto and his friends have faced this fearsome creature once before...But this one seems to be a bit stronger then there previous opponent. Akimoto and Vayle do not hesitate to fight back, but Fiona seems to be haunted by some memories of her childhood, and is hesitant to fight back herself...

*The Camp is illuminated with the flames of the forest as the Chimera roars!*

Tulio: It’s....IT’S A CHIMERA!!!

*The Caravaneers panic as they all flee in terror and hide away from the Chimera and the fire!*

Akimoto: Hrk! *Dodges out of the way of its paw!* What are you guys doing? This things trying to destroy your Caravan!

Tulio: I Told you, We’re not Fighters! We’ve never had to face beasts such as this! Kaseem and Valmiro are the only ones who know swordplay, but even they don’t use there skill for violence!

Akimoto: Grrr...Dammit...Fine! Then stay back and leave this thing to the ones who DO know how to fight! *Raises Scimitar, assuming a fighting stance!* HrrraaaaAAAAAGH!!!

*Akimoto raises his sword, cutting down on the chimera’s side as the beast roars furiously , the snake spitting acid at him as he rolls out of the way!*

Vayle: FIRE! *Casts fire magic on its wings so it won’t be able to take flight!*

*The Beast roars in agony, swiping its paws across the ground as the snake continues to rain acid!*

Vayle: Grrrr! *Jumps away!* We won’t get close with that snake spitting at us!

Akimoto: We fought this thing before! We already burned the wings, We just gotta cut off the snake, and it’ll be nothing more than a Glorified Manticore!

Valmiro: *Watching in awe, glaring at the beast!* Uuugh...I can’t just sit here and do nothing! I’m going out there!

Tulio: Absolutely not! I will not have you risk your life fighting a MONSTER like that!

Kaseem: Would you rather we were eaten alive by that beast while our little sister and those adventurers died in Vain trying to help us?! I’m going out there, too!

Tulio: NO! I will not let any of you become food for a Chimera! They’ve handled creatures like that before! Let THEM take care of it!

Valmiro: Father! Those strangers have done more for us than anyone ever has in our travels! They have helped us countless times...Now, it is OUR turn to HELP THEM! *Rushes out with Kaseem, the two charging for the Chimera, Scimitars in hand!*

Tulio: *!!!* VALMIRO!!! KASEEM!!!

*The Chimera roars furiously, suddenly getting a scimitar thrown into his side as it rives in pain!*

Valmiro: HEY!! OVER HERE, YOU MONSTER! You want Dinner?! COME AND CATCH IT!

Akimoto: *!* Huh?! What the hell are you guys doing?!

Vayle: They’re clearly distracting it! This is our chance, Akimoto! Aim for the Snake!

Akimoto: Got it! *Shouts to them!* HEY! One of you keep the snake busy! The other distract the lion!

Kaseem: I got the snake! *Begins distracting the snake as it attempt to snap and spit at him!*

Akimoto: Now’s my chance...SWORD-BREAKER! *Unleashes a red energy wave from his sword as it cuts through the snake, completely severing it from the body as it wiggles and slithers in agony! It’s glowing eyes finally darkening!*

*Fiona freezes in front of the caravan in terror, watching as the beast attempts to bite as the brothers, then turning its attention to Akimoto and Vayle*

Fiona:...*Completely frozen in fear, her eyes shaking with hesitation and panic!*...

Arcana: (What are standing here for? Aren’t you going to fight it?!)

Fiona: ...N-...No...I can’t...I-I...I don’t think I can...

Arcana: (Standing here doing nothing won’t get us anywhere! Your friends clearly need help, you insolent girl!)

Fiona: B-but that monster! It’s like the same one that killed Esmeralda years ago, I...I-I don’t think I can fight something like that!

Akimoto: Hrk! *Slice!* HIYAH! *Slash!*

*The Chimera Roars in Fury, Nothing more then a giant feathered Lion without its wings or Snake Tail as it begins to rampage, breaking down trees and swiping at the party in a blind fury!*

Vayle: Giyah! *Barely dodges the creatures paw, leaving a small tear in her skirt!* *!!!* Grrrr...That does it! LEVIN!!! *Releases several lightning bolts onto the beast!*

*The beast slams its paws down on the ground, sending the party flying in different directions!*

Arcana: (Listen to me! If you don’t do something, those idiots will die! I know full well how devastated you would be if anything happened to the Infernus boy and that Seeress! Now GET UP AND FIGHT!)

Fiona: I-I...I can’t...I just...I just can’t...

Arcana: (Dammit, child! Then release the restraints and I WILL do something about it! Are you really going to be so cowardice as to just sit here and watch those who care for you DIE ONCE AGAIN?!)

Fiona: N-NO! It’s not like that! I-

Akimoto: GIYAAARGH! *is sent flying, skidding and landing six feet away from Fiona, the vest and bandanna of his costume completely ripped off into chunks of fabric!* Grrrrrr....Dammit....This one’s...a lot stronger then the one before it...

Fiona: *!* AKIMOTO!

Akimoto: Grrrr...F-Fiona...it’s alright...*Turns to her smiling!* It’s gonna be okay!

Fiona: *!!!* *Freezes in horror! suddenly catching glimpses of her past, the day the Manticore killed Esmeralda*

*Esmeralda looks back at Fiona with a smile, injured with a Scimitar in her hand*

Esmeralda: It’s going to be okay, Child...

*The Manticore pounces at Esmeralda, the memories flashing back to the present day, as the Chimera charges its way toward Akimoto, its mouth open wide!*

Fiona: *!!!*...*Her heart pounds, as a serge of anger suddenly gets her to her feet, rushing out in front of Akimoto, readying a spell to repell the beast!* NO!!!

*The Spell hits the beast, completely freezing it in a radiant aura as it struggles to break free!*

Akimoto: *!!!* *Stumbles back to his feet!* Woah...

Vayle: FIONA!

Fiona: I won’t let it happen again...I WON’T LET ANY OF YOU HURT MY FAMILY EVER AGAIN!!! *Her hands flash with magic!* COSMIC SPARK!!!

*the aura breaks around the Chimera as it begins to disintegrate into glowing yellow dust, completely vanishing into nothingness...The flames then begin to die down around them!*

Fiona: *Huff*...*Huff*...*Huff*...*Falls to her knees, her skirt neatly planted into the ground around her as she begins to sob!*

Vayle: *Stares at Fiona, walking toward her as she also kneels before her!* Fiona...You did it! You defeated it! *gives her a big hug!* You were so brave!

Fiona: I-I...I...*Sniff!* I didn’t want to lose you guys...I Didn’t want to lose you guys like I lost the White sparrows! I...*Sniff!* I Don’t know what I’d do without you or Akimoto! OR ANYONE BACK HOME! *Sobs, Hugging Vayle Tightly!*

Vayle: Ssssh...It’s okay, darling...Everything’s okay now...*Stroking her hair gently, comforting Fiona tightly in her arms!*

Akimoto: *Smiles, sword weighing on his shoulder* Heh...You two weren’t half bad out there...Thanks for the help!

Valmiro: Of course! You guys saved us a lot on this trip! We thought it was only fair to return the favor!

Tulio: Hahaha...Hahaha! HAHAHAHAAAAA! WE LIVE! WE ARE UNHARMED! HAHAHAAAAA!!!

Gerardo: YEEEESSS!!! GERARDO LIVES!

Rosalita: You were all so brave! Well done! WELL! DONE!

*Severus watches from binoculars on a hill-top as the Caravaneers celebrate and hug one another!*

Severus: I...I-I Can’t believe this! They defeated it?! THOSE BLASTED DANCERS ACTUALLY DEFEATED THE CHIMERA?! *Throws the Binoculars against a rock!* DAMN IT ALL!!! DAMN THAT HALF-DEMON SCUM!!! *Kicks his foot in the grass angrily!* Grrrr...If they are this strong...Then maybe they REALLY ARE attempting to cause an uprising! Why else would they be camped near the capital...?

Despoire Soldier: What should we do, my lord?

Severus: Since the Chimera failed, We’ll take them down ourselves! *Point!* get the archery unit into position and pick them off one by o-*CRACK!* HRK!...Grr...Uuuugh...*Passes out, falling to ground, a figure behind him knocking him out cold with a hard chop!*

Mika: *her wings still sprouted, she lowers her hand, picking Severus up while he’s unconscious!* ...

*The Two soldiers stare at her in terror*

Mika: Hmph...*Glares at them*...The High Chancellor WILL be hearing about this...*Spreads her wings, flying off toward the castle with unconscious Severus*

Fiona: *wipes away her tears* I...I was so scared...I’m glad everyone’s okay!

Tulio: All thanks to you, Little sister! had it not been for your brave act, none of us would be standing here right now!

Hilde: *Putting out the last of the flames with buckets of water* Uuugh...*Phew* I coulda easily wrestled that beast myself, but I had to make sure my Sons didn’t wet themselves in terror!

Miguel: Thankfully, none of us were hurt, and that magic you did actually put out most of the flames, so no forest fires tonight! Thank the heavens...

Rosalita: and you boys were so brave! It was very sweet of you to defend the caravan from that monster...But...*Smacks them both on the head with a fan!* Don’t YOU EVER DO SOMETHING RECKLESS LIKE THAT AGAIN! You had us worried!

Valmiro: Ow! But mother, I simply wanted to repay my depth to these adventurers...

Kaseem: We weren’t just going to sit by and let this thing ravage our Caravan!

Tulio: And that was great, and we’re very proud of you boys, but PLEASE...PLEASE do not charge out like that again! At least not without proper equipment...

Valmiro: Y-Yes, Father!

Tulio: But none the less! We all live another day! And our little sister and her friends have turned the beast to ashes! This calls for a celebration, my family...And you all know the best kind of Celebration for something like this!

Rosalita: yes! Let us celebrate! *Pulls out her tambourine!*

*the Caravaneers all begin to grab instruments, set up a fire, and once again begin to dance, play music and drink around the fire!*

Akimoto: Hehe...You guys never miss a chance to perform, huh?

Tulio: Hahahahaha! You should know this by now, Sir Akimoto! This is how we always celebrate!

Akimoto: Right! Of Course! *Takes a swig from his water Canteen!*

*Fiona wipes away the last of the tears, immediately jumping to her feet with her tambourine, happily joining the Sisters and the boys around the bonfire with a smile!*

Sarisa: Ehehehe! *Pulls on Akimoto’s left arm!* come and dance with me, Sir Akimoto!

Akimoto: *!* W-What?! No! I-

Fareeha: No! No! Dance with me! *Pulling his right arm!* Come celebrate with us!

Akimoto: Argh! Let go of me, Dammit! I told you both i’m not interested!

Tulio: Girls! Girls! Enough! Sir Akimoto is fine where he is! Just go enjoy yourselves.

Sarisa: Aaaw! Arlight, father...

Vayle: Hm...*Finishes repairing the tear in her skirt, stands up with a smile!* Well, then...*Raises out her hand!* Would you consider dancing with me, instead?

Akimoto: *!* Dance with you?

Vayle: I know a few moves myself, you know! I performed with a group to show off my caravaneer line once...Come on...*wink!* just give it a try, Akimoto...

Akimoto: *Sigh*....*Looks up with a grin* Alright...Why not? *Takes her hand, following her out to the bonfire!*

Sarisa: aw man, I’m so jealous. Lady Vayle’s so charismatic...

Fareeha: Hehe...Oh well! At least he’s actually out dancing with someone...

Tulio: Hahahaha! Sorry girls! Looks like you’ll need to flirt with another young knight in our travels...*Takes a drink!* *Phew*...It is clear Sir Akimoto has his sights already set on somebody...*Stares at him and Vayle with a smile!*

*Akimoto Dances with Vayle, a visible smile on his face as Vayle twirls and takes his hand multiple times as they dance around the fire. Fiona dancing with the sisters and the brothers as they all take eachothers hands, twirl around the fire and occasionally show off with a few tricks! The celebration continues for about an hour or two before the Caravaneers tire down and get some sleep...As morning rises, another ill omen approaches the caravan*

Akimoto: *Phew*...You got some good pancakes, Hilde! You might even compete with my Grandfather’s recipe!

Hilde: Ha! Whoever this Grandpa of yours is, I’ll gladly beat whatever recipe he’s got in the kitchen!

Tulio: Now, Now! Settle down, Mother. Save that energy for the journey to Port Blackheart...We’ve got sailors and fishermen waiting to hear our song!

Akimoto: Trust me, Lady...My Gramps isn’t exactly someone you want to challenge...

Hilde: Ha! There ain’t no one in this land who cooks a better breakfast than I do! I don’t care if he is a war Veteran! I’ll still beat em in the kitchen!

Akimoto: Huh...Alright. But trust me! You guys are gonna regret it.Your not gonna like challenging him.

Miguel: Hmmmm...I Think that’d be the least of our worries right now...*Points as two Despoire Soldiers approach the Caravan*

Akimoto: *!* Oh Great...what now?

Despoire Soldier: *Despoire Salute!* Luminous Stars Caravan and the party of Akimoto Infernus! You have both been summoned by the Republic council and are asked to present yourselves to them at your earliest convenience!

Fiona: The Council wants to see us? What’s this about?

Despoire Soldier 2: It is a matter regarding the Chimera that attacked your group yesterday! It was an attacked provoked by the high chancellor’s son, Lord Severus Braxton. The council would like to hear your side of this situation...The privilege of entering the Capital is something we usually do not grant caravaneers...However, the Council is willing to make an exception for the Luminous Stars for the time being...

Vayle: *!!!* SEVERUS SENT THAT BEAST?!

Akimoto: Uuuugh...of COURSE he did...

Fiona: *Grits teeth, fists clenched* Ooooh...That...That JERK!

Despoire Soldier: Please make your way to the Capital at your earliest convenience! the Soldiers have been ordered to allow you all through! *Gives one more salute, then the two soldiers begin marching back on the trail!*

Vayle: Grrrr...That little BASTARD! I knew something wasn’t right about that attack...

Tulio: To think that beast was sent by a member of the Braxton Family...UNFORGIVABLE! Come! We shall go to the capital immediately! We WILL have justice for this!

Akimoto: we ALL will! and that brat’s gonna answer for this! don’t you worry!

Fiona: Let’s go to the capital! I want to deal with him personally...

Arcana: (Oooooh, I like the sound of that...Hmhmhmhmhm...)

To be continued in part 6!

#Crimson Bloodline #Akimoto #Fiona #Vayle #Caravaneer #Chimera #Stories #Despoire #Dancers #Romanian Dancers #Gypsy #Gypsy Dancers #Caravan

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toffeetaffy · 6 years ago

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Beast at My Side [8]

Plucked from the Frost

Darkness. Only darkness.

Then something. A feeling. Small at first, then greater, more urgent. A tugging in my gut. Like the floor falling away, like sinking into space. Black, blacker, blackest. Later, there's a sliver of light. It stretches out across my vision until it's ripping and tearing, sending the shadows haemorrhaging from everywhere at once. It all fades in and out, keeping perfect time with the throbbing in my head. The world feels wet, cold, and blue all-over. Blue sky, blue hands, blue lips. I scrub at my eyes with stinging fingers, useless from the chill, and find myself sitting in a sea of stars. Not stars. Snow. It sparkles in every direction, blinding and white, numbing my legs, soaking my skin. I make three failed attempts at standing before I hear the voice.

"Hello, young thing."

Two cloaked figures, hand-in-hand, stand perfectly still behind me. I do not know which of them spoke, but it is clear that neither is entirely human. The pair are small and strange. Bodies petite, cheeks plump. Remnants of their stolen youth. When I open my mouth to respond, the noisy, uncontrollable chatter of my teeth seems deafening.

"It will freeze... it will die," one says.

"Oh, it will die," the other responds, "but we still have time." Their faces turn back to me, blank, unblinking. "Do you know who we are?"

I shake my head, no.

"Do you know what we are?"

One nod, yes.

The inquirer smiles. She tells me that I may call them Jane and Alec, that they are here on Volturi business. I am that business. "There are laws, young thing. You broke them; you, Carlisle, and his mangy brood."

What exactly does it cost me to know your secret? Alice: brutal and beautiful, I wonder if she saw me here, on my knees. I wonder if she saw me die. Whatever lenience her affiliation with the Volturi affords the Cullen's does not seem to extend to me. They mean to punish me, to snatch away my life like a simple petty theft. At the top of a tree, at the edge of a building, in the hands of a monster I had wished for death. But now, with my palms pressed to my chest, I can feel my brothers heartbeat. I'm sorry, Luc. Sorry that I couldn't save you, sorry that I couldn't save myself.

"Make it quick, make it clean," the boy says.

"No. We make an example. They overstep their bounds. The law is immutable."

My veins begin to itch. My skin heats, sweats. And then my mind is on fire. Everything ceases to exist beyond the cutting, the burning, the constricting; a pain so pure it is beyond imagining. A stream of relentless torment floods my body and saturates my psyche. I can hear myself screaming, feel it tearing up my throat, rushing between gritted teeth. When I am certain I will die, the agony wanes. I breathe. I cry. I fall onto my hands and knees, shaking and shivering, the snow stained pink with blood. And though I would swear to the reality of every slice, every rupture I endured, I can see no visible wounds. Then I taste it. Coppery and foul, blood oozes from my eyes, my nose, my ears. The agony of Jane's gift is unfathomable. This will not be quick. This will not be clean.

Behind her, the boy stands motionless—this is not his crusade, is not his choice—yet there he is, at her heels like a shadow. Now I see them for what they are. Not just demons made of living stone, but family. He will let me die to please her. Somehow, sickeningly, I understand.

I cough into my hands, splatter them with gore all warm and sticky. "I had a brother. I used to follow him everywhere. Until I didn't... until I couldn't. I loved him more than anyone, more than anything. I just wanted him to be happy."

He looks at me. It's the first time I've really felt the weight of his gaze. It is pained, and ancient, and powerful. I am not foolish enough to imagine it may also be merciful but there is something, something when he speaks again. "Return it to its patriarch, or deliver it to our masters. I do not wish to linger here."

"No. What? No!" Her first loss of composure. A naked stutter of fury.

"This is not how it's done," he says, "the law is immutable."

Pacing, clutching, hungry, and hollow. She seethes in silence for one minute, then two. There's a low growl to signal her approach, a guttural sound that vibrates through her lips and struggles to pierce the freezing winds. When I think I have mustered the courage to speak again, she grabs at my collar, gathers it tightly in her fist, and hurls me through the air. Beneath me, the snow glitters like smashed glass; above me, the cloudless sky is blue, then purple, then blue, then black. The descent is fast. Too fast. I drive into the snow with my shoulder, my cheek. There's a sound like a snapping twig, a rush of warmth as I bleed anew. I cannot move. Not an arm, not an inch. Sinking deeper, snow fills my mouth, my nose until it is all I can breathe.

___

I am plucked from the frost, gathered up like a child. The one who carries me has dark skin, blanched a peculiar olive by his undead curse. Deducing what he is is simple enough. The eyes are a giveaway; where Bella's are a ruddy brown, his are as vivid as sour cherries. The cloak across his shoulders is dark and familiar - Volturi. Another. More. Always more. I may never escape them. He seems to find my sobbing and shaking as unwelcome as I do. There is little I can do to halt either. My head lolls to the side and I see another figure, clad in black, forging the path ahead.

Struggling is futile. I try it just the same. And though I doubt he struggles to restrain me, he stops. He places me on the ground in a jumble of limbs. In three deft swipes he removes his cloak, wraps me in it, and has me back in his arms. He tells me to be still. He tells me we are friends.

We travel through the woods. The trees grow thicker and taller, cluster together until we're weaving between them at an entirely human pace. We stop at a cabin. It exists in a clearing so small and perfectly formed that I have no doubt it was created to hide this place from sight. Its log walls are mouldy and grey, the front of it barely wide enough to contain the single door and shuttered window. Inside is as sparse and colourless. The only reprieve - a dimly glowing fire. My captor deposits me there and flees the cabin, leaving me alone with his companion. She turns to me then, and I find myself staring blearily at the face of Alice Cullen.

"I'm sorry, Lena. I know you have a million questions, and I'll answer what I can later, but I can't wait here with you. There's too much... much too much... I'm sorry." She disappears in a blur, desperate to escape the much-too-much blood that drains from my body, soaks the boards beneath me.

Later, there's a tinny little sound like a voice from a radio. It crackles like static in my ears, urges me to open my eyes. I do. Carlisle Cullen—patriarch and protector—kneels before me, probes at my skull with practised hands. He removes my clothes, strips me down to my underwear with less regard for my pride than my health, and begins. There are needles to numb and stitches to bind. Limbs are stretched, muscles flexed, and tissue tested. When his work is complete I notice the moonlight, pale and silver. The dying of the day.

"How long?"

Though it is barely a question, he intuits my meaning well enough. The tinny fizz of his voice grows thicker, more real. "You went missing yesterday. Alice and Demitri found you."

He spends some time helping me dress. The clothes, he tells me, Bella picked from my bag. The largest, warmest things she could find. I fumble with the laces of my boots, my discoloured fingertips struggling to comply. This task he completes for me too, before guiding my hands into a bowl of water warmed on the hearth. He gathers up the bloodied gauze and cotton, pitches them into the fire. Then, my clothes. I want weep and wail, to thrash about, but all I do is stare. My dead brothers sweatshirt smoulders, then sparks. Soon it will be gone. Ash and dust like he will be. The patriarch leaves me alone with my thoughts, my pain, my burnt and blistered skin.

When the mess of my mortality is squared away, his family arrives. Bella rubs at my hair with a damp cloth while Edward stares through narrowed eyes. It's a familiar expression. He picks my brain clean, pinches his face in displeasure. Jasper and Alice chatter softly. The only evidence of this exchange are quivering lips and hurried glances. She smiles at me, small and lovely, with a hint of condescension. He does not meet my gaze. I've never seen a thing more captivating than the two of them. She's a jar of starlight, he's a ray of golden sun. Together they are heaven. Last is Demitri, the Volturi who calls himself my friend. I track the line of his body—curved and lean—to find his hand entwined with Alice's. There is no great mystery as to what brings him here. It is love. As clear on his face as the moon in the sky.

Alice tells me she is sorry. She stutters and stammers in her human affectation. This guise is just one of many - a soft and humble skin to make me feel bigger, feel braver. And I do. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I didn't see- Don't know how I missed it." She kneels before me, hardly deterred by my conspicuous flinch. "You don't have to worry about Jane anymore."

"She's gone?"

As Alice answers 'yes', Jasper responds 'no'.

"We don't know how Jane found out about you," Edward says. "Alice will speak to the Volturi, she'll explain your situation. Whatever decision there is to be made, we still have time."

"My situation?"

The room floods with silence. It comes up to my chin, laps at my lips, threatens to sweep me away. Bella ceases her grooming and stares into the fire. I look at her face, all perfect and pale, and void of pretence. No more holding hands, no more climbing trees, no more laughing until our lungs ache. I am wrecked. I am ravaged. Whatever secret she still keeps could be the one that finally kills me. Though I should have seen it sooner, it is only now that I realise just how unsuited I am to keep her company. I am a gentle heart, wrapped in the softest skin, far too fragile for games such as these.

"Fine. But why not just kill me? Why drag me all the way out to... wherever the hell we are?"

"Too close to home," she says, "we're not her only enemies out here. She can't afford to get caught by the pack."

The pack. I think of Jacob—the boy, the wolf, the warrior—trying so hard to warn me from danger. He was right. Bella can't fix me, can't save me. She can barely keep me alive. "Should I- I mean- Is it too late for me to just drive home and pretend I don't know about any of this?"

"Could you?" The doctor asks.

I want to say yes; make the word like a box and stuff my concerns inside. But a lie like that is a considerable burden. My heart is heavy enough. Any lingering doubt dissipates as Edward and I respond in unison, "no."

They chatter on around me in a storm of words loud enough to hear, but too quick to comprehend. There is an itch under my skin. The smeary irritation of being spoken about and not spoken to. Wobbling lips, tapping tongues. These six strange things cast their shadows, roll their dice, decide my fate, and only one will look at me. Jasper. He approaches the fire. He stares at the odorous remains of my oversized sweatshirt as though it means something more than it does. For me, it is an ending. The bloody resolution of a weeks long nightmare. For him, it is Saturday.

He takes my hands in his. It is not a romantic gesture, it is not comfort or companionship. It feels dutiful, the way he examines my hands, the way he dries them gently and binds them loosely. But there is something intimate in his gaze. As though he stares in to the centre of me until he sees the light inside. The astronomical light that flares and burns, that heats my chest with each press of his skin to mine. But it isn't real. It can't be. No blush on my cheek or swell in my chest should survive his brutal past. My fragile skin and feeble bones barely survive his present. I was a fool to build a heart of twigs - too easy to burn, too easy to break. More foolish still to give it to him, to set the thing ablaze.

"I'll fix this," he says.

If Jasper says more aloud, I do not hear it. Edward argues against something unspoken, and suddenly the silent creatures are loud and livid. The noise of it is like a kick in the teeth, like a slap in the face. No more secretive whispers, no more furtive glances. Whatever information Edward has stolen from Jasper's mind, he does not care for it. But no one does, it seems. Their voices overlap, winding together like an ocean of sound until I am fully submerged in it. When I've finally had enough of their sniping and scoffing, I leave. They let me.

My nose burns and my eyes water. I feel small, and empty, and tired. So terribly tired. The towering trees and sparkling sky paint a mockingly beautiful landscape, but I have little time to enjoy it before the cabin door opens and Bella follows me outside. She doesn't tell me why they argue, and I am too cowardly to ask. Even if I wished to be, I cannot be like Bella. Keeping the company of monsters will not make me capable, will not make me courageous. It will make me dead. These creatures are violent, their desires are dark. I would not trade my bleeding heart or my racing pulse to live forever, made of stone. No, even if I wished to be, I cannot be like Bella.

Breathe, she tells me, before hoisting me onto her back. I fold my arms over her shoulders, wrap my legs around her waist. It feels like so long since she taught me to fly, so long since we scaled a tree and imagined a new world. The thought makes me cry. Just a little. Because even though I want to be ready, I know that it is still too soon to fly, to climb. It is still too soon to heal.

She cuts through the air like a knife. The path she carves is narrow and light, twisting further away from her angry family, the mouldy cabin, and my blood-drenched clothes. I see their cars in the distance. Three of them, covered in snow. Bella sets me down and takes my face in her hands. There's a crease in her brow—an ugly furrow through her pristine skin. She scrutinises me like a stag in her sights. And then, she backs away. It's slow, palms forward as though she expects me to raise my hooves and lunge. She's doing something stupid. Something she'll regret. I don't have time to figure out what it is before she is gone, and Jasper stands in her place.

There is something urgent in the way he grips at my arms, my shoulders. He clenches and clings, he squeezes tighter than he knows he should. I know that he won't apologise for his long forgotten life. He knows that I don't regret my judgement of him. This hole we've dug is a curious thing. It is somehow furious and desirous, and no longer recognisable as a petty crush on a pretty boy. We made ourselves strange. We made ourselves cold.

"Would you promise me something?"

It isn't a demand. We both know he has no right to such a thing. I am small and mean, and eager to deny him for nothing more than the taste of power it would bring. But still I say yes, and the lie lingers on my lips, sticky and sour.

"I'm fixing to do something foolish." He laughs. It isn't a sound he means. But decades of pretending to be human have taught him that it's the perfect place to put a grim chuckle. "And Bella's gonna beg you to stop me. All I need you to promise is that you won't."

Foolish means dangerous. Dangerous for him means deadly for me, and I am neither silly nor lovesick enough to follow him to my death. Not like Bella was. "I won't stop you." My answer seems to satisfy him, and I cannot help but feel like I have passed an unspoken test. "So when... when will I see you again?" I offer him something a little like hope. A trail to follow back to me.

"The very second you wish to."

I suspect he knows that won't be soon.

He lets his hand press against my face. Fingertips trace the curve of my cheek, the slope of my neck, before he presses his mouth to mine. It is delicate work. Slow, cautious, seductive in a way I have never felt before. This is the breadth of his evil, the depth of his darkness. He brazenly plunders willing prey. My cheeks heat, my lips chill. I am the scarcely smothered flame of vulgar human desire.

He doesn't speak another word. But he walks away with my heart between his teeth.

___

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#twilight fanfiction #twilight #fanfiction #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #jasper hale #edward cullen #title:beast at my side

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piscesfeet6-blog · 6 years ago

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A Town Branded By Hate Crime Boosts School Programs For Immigrants

Editor’s Note: This story is part of a series about how schools, teachers and students are coping with the immigration crisis.

PATCHOGUE, N.Y. — Wilda Rosario’s support groups for immigrant students at Patchogue-Medford High School usually start out with lots of laughter. That’s just how teenagers are, she says. But it doesn’t take too long for conversations to turn serious with this group of kids, most of them children seeking asylum from violence in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala.

During an ice-breaker of light-hearted questions, the teens turn from a discussion of their favorite foods to the meals their grandmothers made back home, and how much they miss them. What they’d bring to a deserted island morphs into a conversation about what it would have been like to take an airplane to America, instead of having to hike through the desert.

From there, during each weekly meeting in a conference room a few doors down from the principal’s office in this sprawling high school of nearly 2,500 kids, the students dig deeper and deeper into the traumas that haunt them — nightmares about sinking into muddy rivers, or being lost in the pitch-black of the desert night. They talk, too, of the hopes that keep them going — getting into college, building a house for their parents back home.

“I say to them, it doesn’t matter where you came from, it’s where you’re going,” says Rosario, a bilingual social worker who joined the Patchogue-Medford school district two years ago.

Since 2016, Rosario has run half a dozen counseling groups of about eight to ten kids. Other kids have tracked her down to talk after hearing from friends that she’s a sympathetic listener. She’s one of the reasons immigrant students smile when asked about their school. They call it calm, peaceful and supportive. It’s a refuge.

That’s not how many outsiders paint Patchogue. When politicians talk about Suffolk County — a mix of tony beach towns and working class hamlets like Patchogue on Long Island’s eastern half — it’s often to highlight the violence. President Trump has twice visited Suffolk to call for a crackdown against immigrant gangs following teenage murders in Brentwood, a few towns over. New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo, has stopped by the county to promise more state money to target the largest of the gangs, MS-13. And Patchogue itself is still haunted by the decade-old murder of an immigrant by several native-born teens.

But away from the political debates and television lights, educators in the Patchogue-Medford school district have been quietly cultivating a different image. Instead of viewing immigrant students as a burden on already overwhelmed schools — or a security threat — a coalition of teachers and administration officials is trying to shift the narrative. They are building a haven for the hundreds of young people who have moved here in the last decade to join relatives and escape home countries like Honduras and El Salvador, which have the highest murder rates in the world.

“We’re here to support, not scare and remove,” said Michael Hynes, superintendent of the Patchogue-Medford Union Free School District. “For us, we’re trying to take care of our most vulnerable. To make sure they get what they need and deserve.”

In Long Island, this sentiment is not a given. Its two counties, Nassau and Suffolk, have been on the front lines of the U.S. immigration debate for more than three decades, ever since immigrants began flocking to fill plentiful jobs in construction, landscaping and the restaurant industry. The area has been one of the largest receiving points for a wave of unaccompanied youth fleeing Central America’s spiraling gang violence. Parents worried about their children’s safety, and only able to afford the cost of one crossing, have sent children alone to live with uncles, aunts and cousins already established in the area. The cost of crossing into the U.S. illegally can amount to more than $6,000.

Sarah Garland/The Hechinger Report

Middle school students in a newcomer program to help immigrant students adjust.

The resulting demographic changes have roiled these suburbs. Schools have often been at the center of fights over who belongs here and whether native residents have any duty to help or support immigrants. In response to the influx of children, some schools have been accused of blocking undocumented immigrants from registering, in violation of the law, or funneling them to law enforcement.

In contrast, Patchogue-Medford has spent the last four years revamping its programming for immigrant students. The recession forced the district to lay off 50 educators, but as its finances improved, the district prioritized bilingualism. Since 2014, it has added more than 70 employees, including 40 educators and counselors who speak Spanish, according to district officials.

Administration officials have also staffed each of the district’s schools with Spanish-speaking secretaries, so Hispanic parents would feel welcome. They hired a new director for language programs, Dalimar Rastello, a veteran bilingual educator who is herself Hispanic. They added resources in an existing dual-language program at the elementary school level, created a sheltered English learner program for newcomer students in the middle school, and overhauled high school offerings, placing native English speakers and English learners into more of the same classrooms, so they can learn from each other.

In some ways, Patchogue-Medford has had little choice: It now has more students learning English than students in special education, officials said, and nearly 40 percent of its students are Hispanic, according to New York State data. In other words, if these students don’t succeed, neither does the district.

But another reason has spurred Patchogue-Medford to embrace its immigrant students: In 2008, the town became a symbol of xenophobia and hatred, a characterization locals have tried hard to shake. That year, a pack of Patchogue-Medford High School students set out to hunt “beaners” and murdered Marcelo Lucero, a 37-year-old Ecuadorean immigrant. His death was one of a series of attacks on immigrants in the area, according to the journalist Mirta Ojito’s book on the killing.

“What this district is trying to do is exactly the opposite of that reputation,” said Rastello. “They’re putting their resources in the right place to show we’re not that. That’s not us.”

Luís is one of the students that Patchogue- Medford has made a priority. Last year, Rosario picked his name from a list of newcomers, and asked if he would like to join one of her support groups. Quiet and withdrawn, Luís had flown under the radar — neither a standout student nor a problem. He agreed to give the group a try and, after a few sessions, began opening up about a past that is both horrific and typical of Patchogue’s immigrant students.

Luís, who asked that his last name be withheld because he worries about his safety, speaks in a low murmur that forces listeners to lean in close. Next to one of his eyes is a dented scar. Another slices across his shoulder.

Other traumas are less visible.

Now 18, he first left home two years ago to escape the gangs near his town in Morazán, El Salvador. He said MS-13 had expanded to the area, recruiting boys as young as 13. He said he was often stopped on the way to school and forced to hand over money.

Sarah Garland/The Hechinger Report

High schoolers in a social studies class at Patchogue-Medford work on a lesson about the history of nationalism.

At 15, he was riding in a van with friends when a group of armed teenagers pulled them over. They shoved him to the ground, cutting him across the shoulder. As he lay face down in the mud, they shot several boys in his group, including two of his friends.

His parents decided he needed to leave, or he might be next. They sold their land to pay a guide to take him to the U.S. On his first attempt he only made it as far as Mexico before he was picked up. At the Mexican detention center, a boy demanded that he give up his dinner. He was hungry and didn’t want to share, so the boy cut him in the eye with a shiv made out of a toothbrush.

He used the rest of his family’s money on a second attempt. After a 26-hour ride standing in the back of a tractor-trailer, pressed up against dozens of other migrants, his group was kidnapped and taken to a house where he thought he saw bloody clothes hanging on the line and fresh graves dug in the yard. He turned over all his money to get away. Luís managed to cross the border to Texas, but was picked up by border agents almost immediately. He was sent to a youth shelter, where he waited for nearly a month to find out what would happen to him.

Luís’ uncle in Patchogue, a U.S. citizen, offered to sponsor him while he made a case for asylum, and he joined a growing number of immigrant students who arrived in Patchogue-Medford. In the 2013-14 school year, there were 125 new arrivals who were English learners, according to district officials. Four years later, there were 212. Many, like Luís, came without their parents; Suffolk County received more than 1,000 unaccompanied minors in the 2017 fiscal year, according to the Office of Refugee Resettlement.

Rebecca Sanin, president and CEO of the nonprofit Health and Welfare Council of Long Island, said the large numbers, and the level of trauma these students bring with them, overwhelmed many schools. “Whether they’re doing a great job already or not, they want to be doing a good job,” she said. “But they haven’t been given enough resources in their annual budgets to meet these new needs.”

The Patchogue-Medford schools were more prepared than most.

Hynes, the district superintendent, was hired in 2014, chosen in part for his “whole-child” approach to education. Not long after he started the job, a group of local women, the Madres Latinas Amigas, sent him an email. The women’s group, composed of moms from Ecuador, Mexico, Peru and countries in Central America, had come up with a list of suggestions for making the local schools friendlier to immigrant parents. The ideas stemmed from the group’s twice-monthly meetings at the Patchogue library, where they talked about parenting, navigating their new American home, and the schools.

Within a couple of months, Hynes met with the mothers and began implementing some of their ideas, including hiring more Spanish speakers.

Rastello, one of the first of the new staff hired, helped open a centralized office for newcomers and created a registration process that ensured new students and their families went through interviews and assessments to figure out which students were on grade level but lacked English, and which had missed years of schooling at home. The district also added students’ English levels to class rosters, a simple but incredibly helpful step, educators said. And they tried to identify families with other problems, such as hunger or homelessness, so they could connect them with an outside service agency the district had invited to share space in one of the middle schools.

The Madres noticed the difference. “[Rastello] made it so the schools are open. We can enter and express ourselves freely,” said María Cristina, 44, a mother of four who moved to Patchogue from Ecuador 23 years ago. “Now we can ask for help in Spanish. Before we couldn’t.”

The district is still trying to figure out how to help students cope with the emotional trauma many have suffered. Lori Cannetti, the assistant superintendent for instruction, said that, at a bare minimum, staff are trying to connect students with “one person they can trust.”

Sarah Garland/The Hechinger Report

Cesar Morales and his brothers are here in the country without their parents, so they’ve turned to Stephanie Vogel, a Patchogue-Medford teacher on special assignment, who has supported them “like our mom,” the brothers said.

For Cesar Morales, that person was Stephanie Vogel. A veteran English-as-a-new language teacher, she also serves as one of the district’s two “teachers on assignment,” a new position dedicated solely to helping English learners settle in and succeed.

Morales, a short 19-year-old from Chiché, Guatemala, joined five brothers already in Patchogue in 2016. His teachers noticed something was wrong one day this fall when the normally cheerful 11th-grader seemed quiet and withdrawn. They called Vogel, who knows Cesar’s family well, to let her know.

He’d just learned his younger sister had died, from liver failure, during an hour-long journey to the hospital from his family’s tiny rural village. “They could tell I wasn’t okay,” said Cesar. “They asked how I was.”

Ricardo Morales, Cesar’s older brother, appreciates the care the school has provided his family, even five years after he graduated from Patchogue High. Teachers have pushed each brother to stick it out when they’ve considered dropping out. And Vogel, “she’s like our mom,” said Morales, who at 26 is one of the main breadwinners for the family. “She worries a lot about us. My brothers, everyone.”

Ricardo works at Outback Steakhouse as a cook and doesn’t expect he’ll go to college anytime soon, but Cesar wants to continue his education and become a saxophonist; he discovered the instrument at his church in Long Island. District officials said they’re trying to figure out how to build career pathways for students like him, who arrive at age 18, 19, 20, or even 21, so that they can “find hope” even if a diploma — or a career as a musician — is likely out of reach.

Hynes, a vocal opponent of using standardized testing for accountability, appears in the news often, but Patchogue officials haven’t trumpeted their efforts. One reason may be political: Patchogue-Medford is in a congressional district that voted for President Trump by a margin of 12 percent in the 2016 election, and this year reelected Republican Lee Zeldin for Congress, a reliable conservative on immigration.

And while there are some measures that suggest academic progress for the district’s immigrant students, including how quickly newcomer students are becoming proficient in English, “our graduation rates are still not where they need to be,” said Rastello. Patchogue-Medford’s four-year graduation rate for Hispanic students was 74 percent in 2017, compared to 93 percent for white students. (Though it’s up from 71 percent five years ago, before the district began making major changes to its offerings for newcomers.)

Students also said ethnic tensions rear up on occasion. Several newcomers said they’ve been called names in the cafeteria or hallways. Educators here said they’ve worked hard to mitigate conflicts, though, and are also quick to note they’ve never seen any sign of gangs here, despite the problems in neighboring towns and the concerns of politicians. (Violent crime on Long Island has actually plummeted in recent years, as the immigrant population has grown.)

So far this year, the district has received fewer immigrant students than in years past. But Rastello and Vogel are worried, not relieved. More than 12,000 unaccompanied immigrant children were in federal custody in September, up from 2,400 the year before. Patchogue’s educators imagined that dozens, perhaps hundreds, of children could be released into their care any day.

Still, Hynes is confident, “if they’re going to land somewhere, this is the best place that they could land.”

On a Monday this fall, Luís sat in Vogel’s cheerful office surrounded by posters covered in smiley faces and inspirational sayings. He had been watching the news: President Trump was warning that a caravan of immigrants from Honduras was hiding criminals, and Gov. Cuomo was back in Long Island to announce even more money to fight MS-13. “They need to understand that we all have dreams, and the countries where we live, there aren’t resources,” said Luís. “We want to overcome that.”

Thanks in part to encouragement from Rosario, his support-group leader, Luís has gained confidence that he can realize his dreams — if he sticks to his studies at Patchogue-Medford High. He comes straight home from school each day, and except for basketball games with his uncle, rarely ventures out on the weekends. As safe as the suburbs seem, he doesn’t want trouble. He’s also scrambling to catch up with his peers after the interruption of his education. He wants to become a lawyer, and help other immigrants like himself, but first he has to graduate.

“My counselor told me that I have to do what’s possible,” he said. Another thing she’s taught him: “The majority of Americans are good people.”

This story about Central American students was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for Hechinger’s newsletter.

Source: https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/hate-immigrants-ms13-children-trump_us_5c49f4dde4b0a18257f7bc40

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the-record-columns · 7 years ago

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June 6, 2018: Columns

This column is a gas...

After the 2008 fire

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

This column first appeared in September of 2008 after a, well, you'll see.

I have often said in this space that the entire world can be reduced to "like" and "as." For example(s), "Grinning like a possum the eating lint out of a hairbrush," or "Sweating like a hooker in Sunday School," or, again with the possum, "Redder than a possum's butt during poke-berry season." These are great turns of phrase that leave nothing to the imagination and are most always good for a smile.

Or, in the case of my wife, a groan.

There's another saying I want to mention, but I'll come to it later. For now, I want to tell you about an incident a couple of Sunday's ago.

I had been working on The Record Park in preparation for the (2008) Americana Day youth music event, and had gotten into a pretty big mess. I went home and cleaned up in anticipation of a good lunch. My wife had promised to fix hamburgers on the grill, and everyone knows that a fresh grilled burger with a big slice of onion is hard to beat.

Well, the night before, I had won a new red scooter at the Elk's Lodge car draw-down. However, it seems that Laura felt as though SHE had won the scooter just because SHE was holding the ticket WHICH I HAD PAID FOR. Never mind that I had left the Elk's Lodge briefly--on a mission of mercy no less--providing a ride for a person stranded in the vast emptiness of a Saturday night. No sir, she was holding the ticket when the number was called, so she ran to the front and claimed it for herself, not me.

Ain't that just like a woman?

Well, the Sunday conversation kept on revolving around who the scooter belonged to, and frankly I don't think Laura was paying any attention to what she was doing. About that time she announced that the grill wouldn't light and was out of gas and that she was going up front to fix the hamburgers on the stove. The stove being a stately old 1948 Frigidiare range, I might add. (And it still works every day in 2018, at the tender age of 70.)

As I was saying to her that I thought we had plenty of gas, she disappeared back into the Mayflower. I sat on the deck for a minute or two and couldn't help but think we had plenty of gas--that it was all operator error--read that as "Laura the operator." So, I squatted down in front of the grill, turned the gas on, leaned up close so I could hear the little "poof" that always lets me know the grill has fired up, and turned the igniter lever on.

All I can remember is that the little "poof" was a very loud "whoosh" and a big orange ball of fire came rolling out from under the grill straight into my face!

The concussion knocked me flat.

I was truly scared to open my eyes.

I felt around until I found a chair to pull up on, then yelled for Laura at the top of my lungs. After explaining that I didn't even know what had happened, she brought an icy cold wet cloth and laid it on my face--which still felt as though it was on fire.

Then the smell began to sink in.

It was the smell of burning hair. The hair on my legs, my arms, , my eyebrows, even my ears, and. of course, my head. By now she realized that I wasn't going to die and started laughing. All the while wiping up clumps of hair from my charred head. The good news was that I had just gotten out of the shower and my hair was completely wet--were it not for that little fact, this column would probably would not have any humor to it. As it is, the two inches or so of bare scalp I have is beginning to have a little fuzz growing back. If all goes well, in a few more weeks (see current column photo) I will have my regular head of hair and eyebrows.

Oh yeah, the expression I said would come later--the one that goes along with starting the grill without lifting the cover--well, it's "Dumber than a bag of cut hair."

Why rituals are important

By LAURA WELBORN

My husband, Ken, tends to downplay rituals and claims days such as Mother’s Day, Valentine's Day, and anniversaries, are just a commercial plot for materialist spending.

But I tend to see rituals as a critical part of keeping “loving kindness” in our lives.

This June 7, Ken and I will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. With four marriages under his belt Ken took a lot of ribbing when we decided to get married.

There was even a lottery at the Rotary Club for how long we would stay married. We have out-lasted everyone's expectations by at least 14 years. So, back to rituals and loving kindness.

This year, I’ve decided to make our anniversary all about loving kindness.

Fast backward to 9 years ago when Ken lit our barbecue grill and became a renowned pyro technician (with the top part of his hair burned off). It was a searing experience. Since that time Ken has refused to light the grill and it has become a bone of contention between us. So, when I was in Wilkes Hardware I saw this new grill, a Traeger Electric Grill, that uses wood pellets for flavoring. I knew I had found the perfect anniversary gift for Ken - one of loving kindness to never again expect him to light a gas grill (and thereby decrease my frustration.) Luke Sturdivant and Benjamin Searcy helped me put this grill on my deck and dismantle the other one to take down through the elevator, without Ken seeing us. He did wonder what all the beating and banging was about.

Back to rituals and loving kindness. Yes, we can take rituals too far and forget their purpose (putting love and kindness in the world). At church Sunday, Rev. Ann Dieterle explained how rituals remind us who God is and who we are. A ritual can remind us to be loving and kind in our world. Rituals can be ways of examining our lives to see love (God) in our world and be intentional in keeping loving kindness (God) in our life. So how do we make rituals solid and meaningful? Rev. Ann suggests:

1. At night, review your day. Look for moments when you felt closest to God. Ask yourself what acts of loving kindness occurred today? Make this an evening ritual to remember who God is in your life. In days to come, this could guide you toward more acts of loving kindness.

2. Ask: When did you open your heart to see God in your interactions with others?

3. Observe the Sabbath. The ritual of keeping the Sabbath, a day of rest, is a ritual of intentionally remembering who God is and who we are in relationship to God.

So, how are the rituals in your life (honoring anniversaries, birthdays, and times of mediation-prayer) keeping you in loving kindness to yourself and others?

Against all Rotarian odds, Ken and I are celebrating our 15th anniversary. With my gift of the Traeger Grill, this anniversary is my true act of loving kindness. This year I will not become frustrated when Ken refuses to “light” the grill. With a safer grilling alternative, Ken can feel secure in his ritual of cooking chicken using Ikey Eller’s legendary recipe, never altered, never improved upon. And maybe Ken can see rituals (anniversaries) as an opportunity for loving kindness.

COX UPDATE FROM ISRAEL

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

News happens quickly in Israel. Tune in at 8:00 AM and by 8:15 everything has changed sometimes for better and other times for worse. This past week I spent a great deal of time in southern Israel in the towns of Sderot and Nahalot ‘Oz which are the closest Israeli towns to the Gaza border. I was accompanied by a member of Yatar which serves as an organization supporting the Israeli Border Police and the IDF. My mission was to see firsthand the reality of the situation on the ground and the tension was palpable. On several occasions I wondered why my escort said we should keep moving only to find out later that I, along with my entire team, were within Palestinian sniper fire and could have taken us out had there not been a ceasefire in place.

To understand why tensions are currently elevated between Israelis and the Palestinians, one must be familiar with what has been taking place in Israel for the past several weeks. For more than a month the Palestinians have been engaged in violent protests along the Gaza border with their stated objective being the right of return. Slightly more than two weeks ago on May 14th Jerusalem was officially recognized by the United States as the capital of Israel. This is the same day Israel celebrated her 70th birthday. It’s also the same day the Palestinians in Gaza decided they were no longer protesting for the right of return but are now protesting against the new US Embassy move. With all this turmoil there's still reason to celebrate. All postal mail to Jerusalem may now be officially addressed to Jerusalem, ISRAEL and not just simply Jerusalem as though a city dangling without a country.

As of this writing, Israel is enjoying several days of relative calm thanks to a ceasefire brokered by Egypt. However, in the days leading up to this ceasefire, the Hamas terrorist government of Gaza, in partnership with a separate Islamic Jihad group, bombarded southern Israel with over 184 mortars and rockets causing mayhem and terror in Israeli towns and villages along the Gaza border. Two women panicked and jumped into their cars presumably in an attempt to flee but sadly the falling rockets and resulting terror and panic resulted in the death of both. Depending on ones proximity to Gaza, Israelis have only seconds to find the safety of a bomb shelter once the red alert siren goes off. Exploding bombs and rockets cause incredible damage but it’s the shrapnel, which causes the most harm. When a rocket explodes, the shrapnel spews in every direction ripping through houses, cars and human flesh and bone. Even the percussion can cause serious damage which is something I personally experienced in one of Israel's past conflicts. The Red Alert siren went off so I entered the nearest bomb shelter along with members of my team. We heard a rocket fly overhead and explode so we assumed the danger had passed. Just as I was exiting the shelter a second rocket hit and exploded so close that I was literally blown off my feet and back into the bomb shelter. It was terrifying. This is what Israelis living in the south face every day. You may be wondering why they don't move. Well, if they did, the terrorists would only move in closer. During the latest attack against Israel a bomb landed in a schoolyard. Thank the good Lord it happened an hour before school was to start so no children were hurt.

Even when there is no official ceasefire in place, some days are quieter than others. In recent weeks due to intensified aggression by the Palestinians, all Israelis living in southern towns near Gaza were recently advised to stay in bomb shelters. This is anything but a pleasant or comfortable experience. Most bomb shelters are meant for short-term use only as they do not have running water or facilities and are not climate controlled. In the summer, southern Israel can be very hot and humid. Imagine being a mother with several small children and perhaps an elderly parent having to live inside a bomb shelter. If the situation were reversed and it was the Palestinians being forced to live this way, the world would be rushing to their aid but since it’s Israel, the world is indifferent.

The stories, which will eventually reach the U.S. through the anti-Israel media, will not resemble the actual and factual truth. They'll probably begin by declaring that Israel fired on Palestinians as they were peacefully protesting along border. They’ll be little mention of the tires set on fire by the Palestinians to create smoke screens as they attempt to cross the border. Nor will they mention the fields set on fire by flaming kites and balloons or the booby traps set along the border fence to kill IDF soldiers. There will be no mention of the Muslim terrorists from Gaza firing on innocent Israelis as they work their fields to harvest what's left and put out fires. It’s likely that not one report will convey that Israel has been in a purely defensive posture responding to the illegal rain of enemy rockets and mortars. Israel’s Iron Dome has done a remarkable job of eliminating enemy rockets in the air and the IDF has done a remarkable job of keeping civilian casualties to a minimum.

The current situation in Gaza is undoubtedly the worst conflict since 2014. As I stood on the border looking across the field toward Gaza, I felt certain a full blown war could erupt at any moment. While it did not happen, I am persuaded the lull is only temporary and a major war is on the horizon.

On all fronts, Israel's military is on high alert. What’s happening in Gaza could easily spread northward. In fact, it’s widely believed that Iran was behind recent attacks from Gaza in retaliation for Israel’s destruction of Iranian bases in Syria. Several missiles, which landed in Israel, were identified as being of Iranian origin.

Even with the current ceasefire, tension is high in southern Israel as Hamas has a history of breaking agreements. For the citizens of Sderot, the Red Alert sirens are a part of normal life. After all, more than 20,000 mortars, rockets and missiles have landed in this tiny town since 2005 when Israel unilaterally disengaged from Gaza giving it to the Palestinians in exchange for peace. The Palestinians received the land but Israel has yet to receive any peace.

It Rained A Lot

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

Rain has a way of changing things. Not so long ago as soon as the strawberries were ready for harvest, I visited one of our strawberry farmers in upstate SC. They were fresh out of the field, full of sweet flavor and it was hard to stop eating them. A few weeks later I was craving the taste of those beautiful red berries. I stopped in to visit another farmer, purchased a gallon and noticed they looked a little different.

I enquired as to the flavor, and the farmer said, well it’s been raining a lot, and the berries are not as sweet as they were. The right amount of rain and good sunshine helps to grow beautiful fresh strawberries. Too much rain saturates everything, even the flavor. Being the eternal optimist, I said, so if it rains a lot and you need to watch your sugar intake, the strawberries may be better for you as they are not as sweet and have less sugar. He laughed, and said, “well maybe.”

The following morning, I had oatmeal with fresh raindrop strawberries with a little local honey on top, and it was delicious. Everything was just fine. The rest of them are in the freezer awaiting their participation is a future smoothie.

This week I visited the barbershop for a trim, and during my visit, as usual, all kinds of tales filled the air. About midway through the haircut, the Barber said, “so Carl, do you like lettuce and onions?” Memories from my youth immediately surfaced. I could see my Dad in the garden picking fresh tender lettuce and young onions. In most cases, my Mon would look, wash and dry them. Then she would fry some bacon and pour the hot dripping over the chopped onions and lettuce. Most of the time it was served with pork chops, mashed potatoes, and a few other sides. One thing is for sure, not only did I like them, but as my parents did, I loved them.

The flavor was full of freshness and tradition. When I shared the memories, the Barber said, well I have some for you to take when you leave. He said due to all the rain; his garden was producing a lot of lettuce. I walked away with a fresh cut, fresh greens and the stirring of memories that last a lifetime.

I had enough for several salads and enough to share with others. It was a good day; I even shared the fresh lettuce with someone who had never had lettuces picked out of the garden within a few hours of eating. I made salads with the fresh lettuce and onions and added chopped walnuts, and Brushy Mountain dried apples. This combination is a real celebration of flavors.

Greenwood SC celebrates life with a fantastic award-winning topiary display throughout June.

The Festival of Flowers is a joint venture with nature and countless numbers of dedicated staff, voluntaries, Master Gardner’s and artistic folks who fashion and form natures plants in such a way as to create recognizable animals and other things of beauty. The extra rain has not been a problem for these fantastic displays. I am sure everyone is pleased for a break in the rain for visitors. I have been many times, and it is well worth the visit to see the more than 40 topiaries. You can check them out at scfestivalofflowers.org.

In talking with a hay farmer, he said all the extra rain can be a good thing if it times out right. Farmers do a lot of praying and one admitted, we are kind of picky. We don’t like droughts, and we don’t like floods, it’s somewhere in the middle that works best. It requires a lot of hard work, dedication and lots of sunshine.

Here’s wishing for a perfect balance in life’s many harvests.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday at 1noon. For more on the show visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected].

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