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thesunshinebunny · 4 years ago

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When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part III)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: It will take more than a betrayal and blood blath for the reader to stop protecting those who really need it.

Words count: 4.7k

I knew things were going to go from bad to worse when we returned to Paradis; but I never imagined that I would have a letter from the Supreme Commander on my desk. Days had passed since my fiasco conversation with Eren, spreading the word of my insubordination towards the lack of notification to the respective authorities. Sure, the guards had let me into the cell just because they knew me, but I never had the decency to tell Hange-san or even ask for a meeting with the Supreme Commander.

And here I was. Wrapped up in a much bigger shit roll since I decided to enlist in the Survey Corps, with a simple letter demanding my presence in his office for a little "talk."

The medical center where I could do my practices with ease was quite far from the justice’s court where the Supreme Commander was, having to go out to ride through the beautifully paved streets. A street I crossed, a street I saw citizens read the newspapers that had brought so much catastrophe to peace within the walls. People were revolting against the militancy, demanding Eren's immediate release, praising he was the only one who could lead Eldia to its ultimate glory.

If they could heard themself right now. They spoke as if Paradis itself had become an empire, a power on the verge of attacking and taking every country under its feet. It was as if they wanted to turn the game around, to be us the empire and our enemies the war slaves.

I was still far from my destination, but the crowd could be seen cowering above the barred court doors. Men and women with posters screaming without sense or unity, an angry mob demanding explanations, ready to use violence to make their way into the hierarchy.

I got off my horse when I faced the crowd, needing to get up front and through the secured gate and with my loyal traveling companion I wasn't going to make it. I left him tied up outside a local, asking the owner to take care of him, if necessary, I would give him a monetary compensation on my returned.

I tried to get through the mob, asking permission, even nudging some people, but no matter how hard I tried to take a step forward, there was always a bastard blocking my way or pulling me back; They even had the decency to grab my coat and throw me off.

"Excuse me, but I need to pass"

Empty words at this situation. If they didn’t listen to the specialized people of the militancy, it was obvious that they wouldn’t listen to me, a simple doctor in practice for the legion.

"Free the leader of the Eldian empire"

"Free Eren Jaeger"

"Give us some damn answer"

"Fuck off you cheap bitch"

The day wasn’t even beginning and I was already receiving hateful comments, typical of closed minds.

I looked around for a solution, I was wasting valuable time and starting to get irritated. If I was late for my meeting with the Supreme Commander, who knows what punishment he would give me apart from my insubordination.

Besides of the mob there wasn’t much more than a few elegant houses and shops, no other entrance except the one in the backyard, but to get there, I would have to go all the way around the building and it would take much longer. The walls were too high to jump alone and too smooth to climb, otherwise enough people would have sneaked in by now.

I turned my head towards my horse, which was still in the same position where I left him, patiently awaiting my return. Surely what I was about to do wasn’t going to please him one bit.

I ran as fast as I could and unhooked him from the wooden post, ignoring the comments of the owner of the premises who was indisputably claiming for his pay. Without turning my head to such scum, I motioned for the horse to turn around and run down the avenue, against the crowd. Being at a considered distance, I again instructed him to turn around and go as fast as he could.

"I'm sorry Phillip, you're going to have to forgive me for what I'm going to do"

We were a few meters from the mob, mentally preparing myself for the feat that was about to be accomplished. Almost arriving, about to impact, I gave him a little jerk to the right, guiding us towards the wall, and raised my legs towards his back, squatting against him, waiting for the right moment and the impulse he would give when braking hard.

When he was about to slam his trunk against the wall, Phillip stopped his galloping, propelling me forward and flying toward one of the door columns. I grabbed the stone as best I could, avoiding falling on my backside, and raised my legs towards the top, finally reaching my goal. Being already on top and looking at the terrified faces of the rebels, I went down to the other side of the door, slightly hurting my feet and hands in the fall.

"That was quite a show"

Hitch was already in front of me, malicious and proud on her face. She was giving a few applause to the air, trying to lift the spirits of the people of the military squad, even if her acting was a bit cocky.

"Desperate situations call for desperate measures." I waved my hands over the coat, looking at her with the same smug visage she was giving me.

I didn't like Hitch per se, but we weren't friends either. The way she acted and talked gave me bad vibes and I planned to stay as neutral as possible in her presence. Even her gazes seemed to want to pierce the soul of whoever she was speaking to, as if she wanted to undress you internally and seek your darkest and most shameful secrets. I would stick my hands in the fire by assuming that in her younger years she had been a bully or a blackmailer.

But it was better to keep those thoughts for yourself, before generating greater repercussions in the times that hugged us.

"Did you come to see Armin and Mikasa?"

Any thoughts I had of her dissipated.

"They ... are they here?"

I was fuzzy. Not because of the fact that I was uninformed about their actions when they left the legion barracks in the morning, which I was getting used to since last year, but because they were in the same place as me. What a coincidence.

To be honest, the two of them never owed me anything and it wasn't their duty to tell me where they were going every minute of the day, just like Hange. Each one of us had their own will to go where we were sung; But if the three of us were in court, and if they gave me the chance to guess, I would say that to see the Supreme Commander, it made me a bit suspicious.

"Yes, they are talking to the Supreme Commander to try to go talk to Eren"

I must have hit my head at some point in the battle of Marley, because lately every occurrence was quite impossible to believe. They were the ones who asked me to go talk to him a few days ago, they were the ones who questioned me when I returned to the waiting room where the few survivors of 104° Squad were;it was them who gave me a compassionate look as they saw I hadn’t accomplished much and I had ended any relationship that bound me with Eren.

And now here they were, demanding an audience with their childhood friend, while I would have to be judged for the same action. Something wasn’t fitting. I looked around trying to find them, or maybe to find an answer to the thousands of questions that were forming in my head, and finding no help, I turned to Hitch.

"What is going on? Why-"

Before I could finish my question, an explosion rumbled across the cobblestone floor, hurting our ears and knocking us to the ground. Fire and debris couldn’t only be seen in the air but also smelled, flooding our nostrils, causing us to cough and cover our eyes with debris.

I looked up to find a flare coming from one of the court offices and a heavy body falling in our direction. I couldn't make it out until it fell to the ground, leaving a stain of blood and ash around it, apart from leaving a trail of smoke from where it flew off. My eyes were opened with shock and amazement, since the person in front of me was nothing more and nothing less than the same militant leader, half of the body lost and burned by the explosion.

"Well ... that's new"

In all my years of service I have seen every horror inside and outside the walls. True, even the Survey Corps had acted against the law, but it was for the greater good, to expose the bastards who lived on the wall farthest from the sea. I had seen people hit and kick another for a piece of food when the wall Maria fell. I had seen how we were massacred one by one with bullets to the head as we tried to go beyond the walls.

But never in those years I had seen a rebellion like the one taking place, being willing to eliminate such an authoritarian figure as Darius Zackly.

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The chaos went unnoticed by a large part of the population, only those who were present at the time of the explosion and the military police were aware. Faced with such an atrocious event of treason, a small meeting was convened involving the most important heads of each faction; unfortunately I couldn’t be there, my presence had been required in a clinic a few meters from the court. There were quite a few injured.

Some had mild and harmless burns, others had large parts of the body with third degree burns. Some had splinters stuck in their arms and faces, some had a piece of wood stuck in their stomach.

A couple of hours had passed which seemed like weeks to me. I had been assigned the milder cases, but as I pulled the splinters out of a patient's eyes, I had the countless howls of people echoing in my head, listening as they took their last painful breaths. People who asked to die on purpose to ease the pain.

Hours passed and welcomed the next day. I had terrible black circles under my tired eyes, hands stained with dried blood and splintered; they’re fucked up and I needed to heal them as quickly as possible before they got infected. I grabbed the cutting tools and placed them on a metal tray, the cold of the surface soothing the pain in my hands, and although it wasn’t too heavy I felt like it trembled on my grip.

I heard the door open wide at the other side of my last patient's room, the front door, letting in multiple heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor. Apparently, the soldier who had entered was in a hurry or was about to deliver terrible news...I wish I had been wrong in the second option.

"Bad news, Eren Jaeger has escaped from the underground cell"

I dropped the metal tray on my feet, making the sound of metal and utensils rumble across the room. My hands were shaking even more and surely if I saw myself in a mirror I would see my face completely pale.

"If you want to free yourself from this cell, go ahead"

My words invaded my mind like a bucket of cold water, as if they wanted to make me see that I was to blame for his escape. I knew that sooner or later he’s going to free himself, his eyes showed it and by not getting an answer that contrasted with mine, it was perfect evidence of his plans. But even knowing it, even Hange knowing it, I didn't expect him to do it in a moment of such betrayal.

I cleaned my hands as best I could with a towel hanging over the room sink and grabbed my coat, rushing out of the clinic.

"I’m sorry, I need to go"

But where to go was the question. I had no idea where Eren might be, and even if I knew what he was going to win, surely he was with his followers and with the simple image of me approaching from the horizon, I would be dead in a matter of seconds ... or imprisoned, whatever happen first.

At the exit of the clinic, there were two soldiers of the military police standing guard and watching the justice’s court from the distance. I approached them with the intention of asking them about the whereabouts of the Survey Corps, but they looked at me like I had the plague and pushed me aside hostilely, almost knocking me to the ground. I kept my composure as best I could and looked for someone else to ask; I didn’t have to wait long, since a woman of my age with mahogany hair, extremely black and matted, pointed the way where my comareds had gone. According to her words, they’re heading towards a large and luxurious building in the middle of one of the main avenues, recognizing the word restaurant from the conversation between the riders.

The only place that matched that description was the restaurant where Nicolo worked.

I hurried out with Phillip galloping through people, avoiding stepping on them and apologizing on my back. If there was something clear to me in all this mess, it was that Hange would go to find answers among the working Marleyans of that place. Maybe something could be solved.

I was very wrong.

I rushed into the building, finding only a long entrance hall and a corridor that led to god knows where. No one was even around to see me panic and I didn't see a soul nearby either, the only thing if I could hear a heated discussion far away and heavy footsteps on the floor. I let myself be guided by the sound, running back to its origins and finding a bizarre and meaningless scene in front of my eyes.

The room that seemed to be the main one hosted the orphaned children of the Blouse farm as well as Sasha's parents, sad and anguished parents if I paid better attention. The children were just as sad, with tears in their eyes, especially Kaya; they were crying the same way as on the day Sasha's death was reported. They were cornered under a window all together, hugging each other and letting the rays of the sun streaming through the window illuminate their figures, as if those rays could replace the heat that Sasha had left behind.

That scene broke my still fragile heart. I would have liked to reach out to them and try to help them move on, as I would have liked to stay on the farm with them when we came back from Marley to help them get by; obviously I could never have replaced Sasha and they could never have replaced my family, but in these times of battle, what mattered most was healing the wounds between all of us.

I would have liked to talk to them, but my eyes shifted from the Blouse family to the figure of Hange carefully placing a child on the floor. The blond boy was very badly injured on the side of his head, he was bleeding and his clothes had stuck to his body due to the large amount of liquid that had flowed down his torso.

"Hange-san, Wha-" As I stared at the blond boy on the floor, I could see that he was one of the children who had sneaked into our war balloon.

“Isn't that one of the Marleyan children? Why is he here and why is he bleeding?"

Unconsciously my body leaned forward, resting on one knee on the ground and reaching out to the boy. My instincts as a doctor were screaming for me to tend to the poor injured boy regardless of his race and I was willing to do so.

"We will take care of him, go to the room continue with Mikasa and Armin"

I got up without hesitation, taking one last look at the room I was in and it was just at that moment that I recognized Nicolo and Jean in a corner away from everyone else. They both looked very distressed, but I didn't have the opportunity to ask why, they had given me an order and I had to carry it out. I would have to wait until got back to base to understand this terrible situation.

The room they sent me to was at the end of the corridor, the door was closed but every step I took I could hear the soft voices of Mikasa and Armin, apparently talking to someone else. Well, that conversation must have to get a pause because I was about to slam the door in and leave the doors wide open.

“What the hell is going on? Why is a Marleyan child unconscious in the kitchen?"

Upon entering, all excited, my eyes only saw the figures of Armin and Mikasa around a table. They both looked up at me in disbelief when they saw me standing on the threshold. For the second time that day, I looked back across the stage in front of me and spotted a small brown-haired figure sitting at the same table. With a little more attention, I saw that the small figure was trembling, perhaps from fear or from adrenaline, at the same time that its face was bruised and full of blood; and putting all my attention on that bloody face I realized that I recognized those eyes, those same eyes that I had looked at with contempt and had looked back at me with the same feeling the night of the invasion.

The missing girl from the Marleyan duo was sitting across from me staring with sheep's eyes.

All exaltation I had in my body dissipated, my gaze fell, leaving nothing more than a neutral countenance. But ... anyone who could see through my eyes, would know they reflected the fatigue and sadness of several accumulated days. Seeing the girl was perhaps a way of attaching all the harmful feelings in a single part of my body.

I let out a long sigh and closed the door slowly behind me. I walked slowly towards where the girl was, running Mikasa to the side and looked at her with the best possible adult countenance. She had a red nose, it looked like it had been hit right on her septum causing her to bleed and stain her dress, which I assumed was courtesy of the Blouse family. Her cheek was scratched and red too, traces of broken and inflamed skin could be seen around her wound, but without any bleeding. This girl would have a swollen face the next day if we don't give her some ice.

“You’re hurt. Care to explain me what happened?"

I reached my hand out to her, but was greeted with a flinch from her. I could tell she was scared and she had every right to be.Either way, way I brought my hand to her face, placing my index finger and thumb on her jaw to move her head and look for other injuries.

Her face was the one that received the most impact, nothing in her eyes which was a very good sign, and I didn’t notice any kind of fracture in the bones of her cheek or septum. Good. I looked around the room for something I could use, but I only found empty tables adorned with a classic tablecloth and a very well elaborated and cared wine cellar, apart from showing off one of the best wine collections in recent years.

"Armin, can you go get some alcohol to disinfect the wounds? Surely they have something in the kitchen "

The blonde gave me a slight nod and left the room, leaving me alone with Mikasa, who was absolved of the situation, but still maintaining an imposing posture. The girl was still shaking on my hand, so I pushed her away and inspected her body for more injuries.

The palms of her hands were stained with blood, I guessed from the bleeding from her nose, but they also had some slight scratches, perhaps she had fallen to the floor. Her dress didn’t seem torn in the area of the knees, so I assumed that they weren’t injured or it was a very slight scratch, almost no bleeding. Her arms seemed intact as did her torso. I turned to the back of her head, running her hair gently trying to find any trace of blow that could generate a contusion. I didn’t find anything that could be fatal or serious, but I did see something that caught my attention.

“You have marks on your head, diffuse, but they are there. What happened?"

"... A horse bit me"

Of all the situations that could have led to those brands, I didn't expect to hear this one. I didn’t expect it, not at all. It caught me off guard and I let out a giggle which I covered with the back of my hand.

"Sorry, shouldn't laugh… you deserve it thou" I gave her a little pat on the top of her head before ruffling it a bit and bending down to look into her eyes.

Armin returned to the room, alcohol in hand and a clean cloth. Thank God something was clean in this whole city, I was beginning to lose my faith in the cleanliness of this people. I reached for the items and I proceeded to apply a large amount of alcohol to the cloth and apply it first to the frightened girl's cheek.

"Why are you so good to me? I killed a one of your friends"

That comment made me stop for a second, just like I stopped looking at her wound. My gaze fell to the floor in search of an answer; I searched, searched and searched for answers to questions that didn’t have one or weren’t as simple as they seemed...or simply looked in the wrong places and the answers were always in my mind, only that my heart wasn’t prepared to face them.

"The girl you killed the night of the invasion was called Sasha Blouse and she was the best archer and sniper of the legion"

I turned my gaze to her, continuing to heal her wound on her cheek. When I saw that there was only a small pink stain left on the surface, I moistened the cloth further with alcohol and ran it under her nose, removing any trace of blood. The girl pulled back a bit when she felt it’s smell her nostrils and I had the opportunity to cover her nose for a few seconds to stop the bleeding.

"You know ... you remind me of a boy exactly like you"

When I saw that the bleeding stopped and the girl stopped moving due to the burning and itching that the alcohol was surely causing, I grabbed her hands and began to clean them with small touches avoiding tearing her skin.

“Just as intense and ready to fight for what he thinks is fair. You are just a little girl who was taught that we were the bad guys. It’s the way you were raised, the way you see the world. They taught us something else, but at the end of the day, apart from everything... we are the same"

It hurt. Yes, it hurt to see the one guilty of the death of my best friend, but it hurt more to see in her eyes the hatred and contempt they had taught her towards our race. The hate cycle we were getting into wasn't going to get us anywhere and it was better to nip it in the bud, even with baby steps.

When I finished cleaning all her wounds, I put the cloth on the table and looked at my performance with deep pride. It wasn't much, but it was enough; Not only had I cleaned a few simple wounds, but perhaps, I wished that perhaps, it would begin to heal her mind ... and mine as well.

I got up heavily, noticing how my knees creaked when squatting for a long time and I stretched my body generating more crunches, but noting at the same time how the heaviness of my back left and leave behind a much lighter load.

“Very good, you’ve been a good patient. Surely there is something sweet in the kitchen that I can give you” I patted her head again and gave her a sincere smile, one that I hadn't given anyone for quite a while. I headed to the door unconcerned about the situation I assumed was still going on in the main room.

"What's going to happen to Eren Jaeger?"

What will happen to him? And why does she ask me that?

"Don't worry, I'm not letting him put a finger on you" A sincere answer to a question asked out of fear. I reached the door and in the middle of the sentence I turned the knob wanting to make my way into the hall, but a tall figure blocked my way.

Eren was right on the threshold with the intention of opening it.

Well mark me impress

My body jerked back instinctively, avoiding taking my eyes off his. I moved to the right side, avoiding the figure of the Marleyan girl from being in Eren's point of view. I didn't know why he was here or if the others knew about it, but whatever the reason, he surely wasn’t alone and this wasn’t going to lead to anything good.

"Sit down"

He took a few steps forward, closing the door with his foot, not even paying attention to his surroundings, or maybe yes, now everything was a confusion when it came to the brunette in front of us.

"You can't tell me what to do" I planted myself in front of him, without taking a step back. We were both facing each other, him carrying me several inches tall, several dominating inches that made my legs shake and my heart race.

If it had been in any other situation, that trembling, that acceleration would have been very well received. It was impossible not to feel small next to Eren, the damn bastard had hit a big stretch and there was a great difference around the body between the two, a difference that I always loved to admire.

But not now. Not at this moment when everything was going to shit and I had to stand up to the figure of a little girl who was internally dying of fear thanks to him.

"Sit. Down"

Few centimeters separated us from each other, his chest too close to mine, I could feel how it swelled with each breath. He raised his hand to my face, letting me see his cut palm and dripping blood. Fear took hold of me, making me stand even more in my position, but I wasn’t going to give in so easily.

"You wouldn't" I looked him in the eye, defiant, longed for and everything in between.

"Try me"

It was all he said before grabbing onto my shoulders and pulling me back. My body collided with the table and instinctively I placed my hands on it. I heard how Armin and Mikasa tried to get closer to where we were, but a single glance from Eren made them stay still, submissive, as they lost in their positions. His gaze returned to mine. My breath hitched and I had to avoid with all my might thinking about the position we were entwined.

It wasn’t the time to think about how my hips were slightly elevated, just my butt up on the table and one leg dangling, his knee between my legs, preventing me from closing them and keeping the leg that was hanging in the air. His gaze wandered between our bodies and he returned to my eyes. He tightened his grip on my shoulders and pushed me to the side of the table, dropping me onto the chair next to the girl.

"I said. Sit. Down"

He took his hands off my shoulders, took the seat next to me and Armin and Mikasa sat with him, leaving an air of discomfort and tension in the environment.

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tessiete · 3 years ago

Note

TESS! Hope you are well!!!! Prompts prompts prompts! If you’re not already inundated with requests, allow me to add my own greedy submission to the pile: “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?” for Qui-Gon and Obi if you feel up to it! 🤟🏼❤️

WELL HELLO FRIEND!! I absolutely feel up to it. I'm just, you know, bad at time management, so I apologise for the delay. Please accept my many, most sincerest thanks for sending the prooompt in the form of this....thing. What I wrote. SOME BABY-WAN WHUMP, AND DAD-CARE!

You're absolutely wonderful! THANK YOU!

On The Clock

The sun never sets on Coravian Bast. It says so on all their coins, and all their dataries. It is stamped at the summit of every federal building, and pressed into the plastoid casing of every holobook, every datapad, every speeder and tug and ship they manufacture. It is both an astronomical truth, and the rallying cry of a people who, for centuries, have remained proud, and strong, living beneath the ever-burning glory of their sun. But now, that sun is burning out.

It is not by sabotage, or ambition, or folly. It is not brought about by anything more malicious than the passage of time, and it is a tragedy which has been predicted now for many years. And for many years, the government of Coravian has been planning. With the aid of the Republic and the support of several high ranking senators, Coravian has made arrangements for the mass migration of their population to new homes on new worlds. The sun will set on Coravian Bast, but never on her people.

Yet some do not go willingly. Some resist the edicts, and declare they will not leave. Some declare that they do not mean to let anyone else go either, and for this reason, the Jedi Council has seen fit to assign a Master-Padawan pair capable of overseeing the evacuations. Up to now, the population has been peaceful. The protestors have been loud, but cautious. They do not expect anything of note to happen. Master Jinn gives his padawan a sardonic grin and suggests that perhaps someone will give an impassioned speech.

“Coravinians are known for their philosophical debates,” he says. “Nearly every city has an ampitherium. It’s like a park filled with tall platforms wide enough only to stand on, but tall enough to see over the head of a grown wookiee.”

“What do they do on them?” Obi-Wan asks, in awe.

“They talk,” his master says. “Sometimes for hours.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that,” he says. “The longest recorded was a discourse on the nature of sentience in ancient korarchetropes of the protopaleo era, four thousand four hundred million years ago.”

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did the korarchetropes leave many written records?”

“No, my padawan,” replies Qui-Gon. “They were a primitive, single-celled form of life.”

“Oh.” There is a pause, longer and more uncertain than before. “Will we have to listen to one while we’re there?”

The master smiles. “Not unless you are particularly disobedient.”

“Then I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Obi-Wan swears with a smirk. “I promise.”

It is not a difficult thing for him to be, his master thinks, and indeed he is the very picture of deference and decorum during the two weeks they are there. Every day, he walks at his side, three steps behind and one to the left. He is unobtrusive, and observant. He speaks intelligently when spoken to, and remembers every obscure custom and tradition that their hosts play out in preparation for leaving the planet, and Qui-Gon is proud. His padawan has come such a long way from the desperate little waif he’d found on Bandomeer, and yet not so far as to have lost that youthful naivety, and trust in the world. He will make a fine Knight, if Qui-Gon is careful enough. If he is restrained enough. And cautious. And aware.

And yet, no sooner does he conclude this than all his plans are torn apart, for the next day, as they stand upon the viewing stage to watch another transport of refuges lift off and head for space, there is an attack. The Coravinians do not fight with words this time, but with bombs and grenades. A sonic blast throws him from the platform before he can draw his saber, and in another instant the remains of the stage goes up in flames and it is all he can do to leap free and regain his bearings.

One of the federal aides is dead, lying torn and bloodied a few feet away. Another staggers forward, coughing in the smoke. Obi-Wan. Where is Obi-Wan?

He searches around him, frantic, but there is nothing he can see except fire and ash. In desperation, he turns his focus inward to pluck at the little strand of light between them, hoping that it may ring out clearly even amidst the chaos. It is still new, and still very slight. The thread tremors beneath the weight of his mental touch, singing its note high and sweet and very much alive.

“Obi-Wan!” he cries out, surging forward, following the thread as it draws him along its path until he comes to a heap of steel and stone. He reaches out in the Force, and with his hands, scrabbling at the pile of debris. With a single thought, he moves a heavy cement boulder, and he pushes back twisted steel and rebar.

“Master!” It’s Obi-Wan, and his voice is strong and steady. “Master, under here!”

Qui-Gon can feel his own fear clogging his throat. It tastes like oil and charcoal, and he spits to clear it from his mouth, working as fast as he can to reach his padawan. A few more seconds, and he discovers a pocket of air beneath the scrap. A pale hand, smeared in soot reaches up through a gap, flailing blindly for purchase.

“Padawan!” he cries, and he falls over the rubble to catch that small hand in his own, feeling the soft palms, and smooth skin, as yet unweathered by age or strife. “Obi-Wan, are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes, master,” his padawan replies. “I think - only, I think I hit my head.”

“Are you bleeding?” He does his best to keep his voice steady. To stay calm. To leave the thread taut and unplucked in his mind. He strokes the back of Obi-Wan’s hand in comfort.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s dark down here. Master -?”

“I’ll get you out,” he says. His grip slackens, and for a moment, Obi-Wan’s tightens in reflex, afraid of letting go, but he quickly masters himself and allows Qui-Gon to slip away.

Relying more on brute strength than the Force, Qui-Gon tears at the rock until it falls away, and he can reach inside the cavern to pull Obi-Wan free. Whether Obi-Wan is lighter than Qui-Gon anticipates, or whether his arms are fuelled with terror and fear, his padawan comes out of the rubble with enough momentum that he is sent staggering into his master’s arms, nearly falling to his knees. But Qui-Gon catches him, sets him aright, and is soon crouched before him, running his hands up and down his arms, over his shoulders and back, and along his scalp searching for injuries.

He finds one just above Obi-Wan’s left ear, hidden in his hairline. But even his thick, tawny tuffets cannot disguise the slick of blood, and his padawan winces as his fingers skim over the open wound.

“Anywhere else?” he demands.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No, master,” he says, but his legs buckle, and his fingers clench around Qui-Gon’s forearms as he tries to resist the pull of nausea in his gut.

Qui-Gon frowns. “We need to get you to a medcentre.”

“No, master!” Obi-Wan protests. “The bombers. They’ll get away!”

“Little One, there is no chance they are anywhere close enough to be found. That is the purpose of a bomb. Did you feel anything amiss in the Force before it detonated?”

“No,” he says.

“Then you understand,” he replies. “If they were near, they would have surely stood out in a sea of otherwise placid civilians.”

“But still -”

“No,” the master insists. “You must be tended to first. You will not help me if you collapse while in pursuit of ghosts. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but he nods, his chin dropping to his chest, and his fingers flexing in the folds of Qui-Gon’s robes.

“Now, stay close, and follow me,” says Qui-Gon. He straightens again, peering through the smoke to find salvation. The wind has picked up. The ringing in his ears has stopped. He can hear the cries of dozens of injured people, but none that are near enough for him to help. Some ways away, he sees the ash of the explosion recede and finds sunny daylight beyond. With one hand to guide his student at the elbow, he makes for that.

Obi-Wan stumbles along, tripping over rock and rubble. With each step, he grows more and more uncoordinated. To Qui-Gon it seems as though he is half carrying him before they’ve gone more than a hundred yards.

“Master,” Obi-Wan mumbles, as his toe catches on a stone and his legs give out. He hardly makes any effort to save himself, but his fall is aborted by Qui-Gon’s hand at his arm. “Master, I don’t feel very well. I’d like to lie down.”

“Not yet, Obi-Wan,” he says, between gritted teeth. In the distance, he can make out a mass of emergency responders, all frantically attempting to organise the pandemonium into something civil and orderly. He drags his padawan on.

“M’sleepy,” Obi-Wan protests. And then, as if to prove his claim, his head drops and the full weight of his body swings into Qui-Gon, hinged at his arm where his master supports him still.

Qui-Gon grabs him around the middle, and attempts to prop him up, giving him a little shake. Obi-Wan’s head rolls on his neck, his eyelids fluttering as he fights for consciousness.

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon urges. Obi-Wan frowns. “Stay awake. Listen to me. Obi-Wan?”

“I’m listening, master…” he insists, but the words come out slurred, and his eyes close again. He slumps forward until his forehead falls against the pommel of Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and his body falls into his master’s arms.

“And yet you disobey me, anyway,” Qui-Gon huffs. He taps at his cheek, trying to make him laugh, or smirk. Anything. “Obi-Wan?” he prods. “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?”

“Mm,” his padawan says.

“Do you remember what I said? About the korarchetropes? You promised to obey me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You said they talk for hours. M’listening.”

“Then do as I say,” he stresses. “Stay awake.”

He feels him nod against his chest, but his breathing has slowed, and he doesn’t stir himself to reply. Qui-Gon coughs, and begins to speculate.

There is still smoke. Fires burn nearby, hot and stinging. They are not getting any closer to help, and he can feel blood seeping through his tunics. Though Obi-Wan is no longer as slight as he once was, Qui-Gon doesn’t hesitate to sweep him into an embrace, wrapping one leg around his waist, and throwing the boy’s arms around his neck. Like the child he so recently was, Obi-Wan presses close, his head tucking neatly beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, trusting and unresistant to being carried. He has not yet the dignity of adolescence to embarrass him. Nor the consciousness to suggest it. With his padawan held tight, Qui-Gon walks out of the darkness of destruction, and back into the light.

#my fic #prompt fill #asked and answered #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-whump #gigglesandfreckles is the bee's knees #and other 20s superlatives #sw #fic #this fic is everything

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imthepunchlord · 4 years ago

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so I recently read through your "Always a hero"-works. And now I am hooked on LfM. And while Adrien Seems so much different from canon, he really isn't? Marinette not being in his "friends-folder" means he sees no reason believing her over Chloe. (I cannot recall situations like that in canon but when does canon explore sidecharas much other than to akumatize them)

It essentially is canon Adrien, though been focusing on his worst aspects as we’re going into 4 seasons, and those issues have yet to be addressed and I’m a tad salty and LfM is a salt fic response fic. And Adrien for a while will have that salty focus. Largely because

And yeah, canon won’t put focus on side characters (or even truly focus on our lead herself) as those characters have to circle around the love square, their akumas, or

Actually the most we got is Chloe.

She got focus outside Adrien and the love square. Unfortunately, all her focus was a big waste of our time and essentially another tease of “is she going to be redeemed or not”. Ultimately not and its like, why even bother spending two seasons focusing on will she won’t she be better. That could’ve been shortened down to one. Now she’s a very irritating character and canon wise, I don’t want to see her with another miraculous ever again.

Which is a shame as I was one of many up to see Chloe redeemed, especially since I’m fed up with the idea that 14 yos girls are irredeemable but Gabriel will probably be redeemed. It shouldn’t be like that for Chloe or Lila. But they want to push that these girls are absolutely evil, more so than the active terrorist who is a neglectful father and by Chat Blanc abusive so...

It’s also a big shame cause there was so much potential in the side characters outside love square and Adrien.

Putting this under cut cause I just go off and it gets lenthy.

Alya could’ve had an amazing arc if she was a full time hero. Could’ve had a struggle of balancing her hero and civilian lives, as one she is essentially living her dream. Another option is learning, hey, being a hero isn’t all glory and glamour. And depending on the miraculous, there was more to learn, especially since I myself am not big on her having Fox anymore and there are better alternatives, both in matching her but also teaching her things she needs to learn. She could learn to be more of a team player and to be more conscious of her friends as when she gets going in her goals, she can be quite inconsiderate. She can also learn to be more self conscious of her own security as she can rival Adrien in reckless behavior around akumas. And in truth, any miraculous can teach her the importance of secrecy, not Fox exclusively.

Honestly, Alya and Nino should’ve had their miraculous swapped (most characters actually don’t have a miraculous that suits them in terms of kwami, powers, or/and symbolism). Alya at the core is meant to be a supportive friend that is supposed to have her friends’ back, but also prefers to be on the front lines. Turtle would allow this, and teach her to be more aware of the danger she and her friends are in. It won’t essentially stop her reactive behavior, but she can learn to be more smart about it.

And with Nino, it was always weird to me how popular it was for him to get Turtle. And then it happened in canon and I’m just put off by the assignment. Nino at the core isn’t a character that wants to be on the front lines, but Turtle is a miraculous that is meant to be on the front lines as a protector. Nino is a support role, but not in that sense. Fox would’ve been better as its more designed to help from the shadows. It won’t be as aesthetically pleasing still as Nino is so color coded for Peafowl, but would fit better as it allows Nino to be a background support. It would also help him learn to be more observant and aware of others, and wanting to be a director, you need to learn to put on a good show that draws your audience in. Mirage can give him a chance to truly practice this. Mindful, Fox still isn’t my top pick for Nino (I think Fox would be more fitting with Marinette or Felix), Peafowl still is as that’s what he is coded for, and even canon wise, it would be a more fitting miraculous for him than Turtle. But of what Fu has, Fox would’ve been the better pick for Nino.

And speaking of Nino, it’s revealed from a tweet from Thomas that Nino had lost an older brother and that his hat belonged to him. That actually gives Nino an emotional tie in to the plot as, while he wants his brother back, he wouldn’t go to the extent that Gabriel is.

Classmate wise, there’s potential too.

Origins shows that everyone was afraid of Ivan and assumed the worst of him, he could’ve had an arc of changing those views. Go from being feared to being seen as a hero to trust. A source of protection and security.

Juleka wants to shine out more. But she struggles in that spotlight and to even be heard. She could have an arc about being heard, and building her confidence.

Rose is a girl ruled by her heart and is full of love and trust for others. It could be interesting seeing her have a miraculous and struggling with the factor that fighting is involved, but she herself is a pacifist (at least I get that impression). And that can be an interesting thing to explore, as she’s not wrong, but sometimes fighting is the only way. She can also learn to be more conscious that there are those who will take advantage of her and will have active malicious intents to her and others.

Kim actually states that he wants to be a hero. Not only could him as a hero be fun, it could help him mature as a character and be more serious, as akumas demand focus and be treated as serious. Copycat shows that he can be an observant character, I’d be intrigue to see ML’s residential himbo be surprisingly observant and offer up advise to his friends.

And of alternative love interests...

Well, this is more Kagami than Luka, at least in terms of character potential and an arc to see. Though, as of now, if all the predictions are correct SPOILER ALERT, Lies will break up Adrien and Kagami, to me its going to make them another Chloe. More specifically, why did we spend two seasons building up and teasing these alternative love interests only to immediately break them up at the start of s4.

To me, that sets them up as pointless inclusions who ultimately didn’t bring anything to the narrative.

Either way, this is about character potentials and I see more potential to explore with Kagami than Luka, and that’s more on the writers and how they handle Luka as most Luka episodes wound up more about Adrien than him. So he is largely a character I just don’t know what to do with.

Kagami though, she’s an aggressive character that could learn to cool it, she wants to branch out/rebel from her mother, she wants to make friends but struggles with it, and can learn to be more conscious of others and step up into the hero role, of helping others.

Honestly, working solely off Riptose, she would’ve been a better rival for Adrien than Marinette. Not just as a love rival, which he truly has yet to have, but a rival in general. While she wants to branch out from her mother’s influence, fencing is still her passion and her goal, something Adrien himself lacks. Outside being romantically involved with LB, he has no passion or goal for himself. Kagami can challenge this, why is he here when he doesn’t truly care about fencing?

And as a romantic rival, she’s one of the few who doesn’t need a miraculous to join fights, she can vigilante to assist LB and pay her back for her helping in cleansing her, but could end showing that she’s a better partner to LB as she takes things more seriously and is more battle smart in fights. Which ultimately would force Adrien to step up his game, take things more seriously, and wise up for throwing a tantrum will only take you so far. Especially when there’s a 3rd party member that’s judging you for your immaturity and shows LB she doesn’t have to bow to his whims just because he’s having a tantrum.

...You know, maybe Luka then would’ve been better as Marinette’s rival. Not a love rival, Marinette has enough between Chloe, Lila, and Adrien’s fanclub. But more of a rival for Ladybug. Though, it won’t so much be an arc for Luka himself but one for Marinette. If Kagami and Luka are supposed to help Adrien and Marinette grow, then this at least keeps in that theme.

With the show taking a turn that Marinette is feeling overwhelmed and stressed with her role as a hero and now Guardian, and slightly playing off Origins and her doubts of whether she’s a good hero; Luka could’ve been an interesting character for her to come across and consider. Ultimately, he is set up to be a very solid hero: he is calm, mature, shown to be a planner, and considerate and aware of others. Only thing he has against him is that he’s a removed character and is mostly seen sitting on that boat.

Romance between them I’d leave as optional, but it could be intriguing to see Marinette considering the possibility of retiring as Ladybug and passing it on to Luka so she can fully embrace her Guardian duties and not be so overwhelmed. And in general, it is a big wonder, who would take over as the Ladybug if Marinette has to leave and not come back, or that she can’t balance between being a hero and being the Guardian (and in truth, Tikki is no longer a good kwami for Marinette to have as she’s developing an Atlas complex through her and she hasn’t been helpful as a guide and adviser in a long time).

Now the show writers would butcher this, but it could’ve been interesting to see. Maybe Luka could’ve been a means to help her learn to manage things better if she has to stay LB and Guardian.

But yeah, it’s a shame that this show won’t delve past the LS which has long since gotten stale and quite toxic. There’s a lot of potential, but they won’t touch it. Won’t care to.

#ask Punchie #Adrien salt #ml salt

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mythgirlimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Never Change, Gonta!

———————————————————————————————–

We start off our scene with a certain roster of Hope’s Peak Students overlooking a large and elaborate mansion. All of the Ultimates, apart from the estate’s owner, gape in awe at the lavishness of their classmate’s living quarters. The gold-engraved name at the front of the large iron gates should be enough for one to surmise which classmate this lavish estate belongs to; “The Gokuhara Estate”.

“Dude, you never cease to amaze me!” barked Kaito Momota, in all of his loud and baritone glory. But the outside of the mansion was just the tip of the iceberg. For the inside of the estate is somehow even more luxurious than the outside.

“A piano!” squealed the class’s beloved piano freak, Kaede Akamatsu. Of course the estate’s piano would be the first thing that captures the musical enthusiast’s eye. Her eyes wander over the rest of the furniture before settling on one particular piece in the center of the wall. “And a fireplace!” marveled Kaede, with Shuichi being crouched down right next to her, observing the fireplace alongside her.

“Wow! T-That’s amazing! I’ve hardly ever seen fireplaces outside of very large mansions.” remarked Shuichi, still breathless in awe from his classmate’s luxurious lifestyle.

“I know! Isn’t it awesome? We could light the fireplace-” Kaede responded, imagining the various heartwarming scenarios she can accomplish with her classmates that involve a warm toasty fire, before suddenly being cut off by the estate’s heir’s voice.

“Can’t do that.” Gonta intercepted, a hint of panic in his voice. The two partners in crime-solving turn to face the burly gentleman, wondering what is preventing him from lighting the fireplace. Maybe he doesn’t want any of the bugs that enter his living room to get burned by the fire? He’s always had a high level of concern for even the most insignificant of insects. “Weather not that cold yet. And Father told Gonta Santa no like dirty chimneys and won’t go down them.”, Gonta claims rather matter-of-factly.

“Father?”, the pink-clad pianist questioned, craning her head over to her partner.

“Wait! Santa?”, the dark-clad detective responded, confused by the entomologist’s matter-of-fact claims. A brief awkward silences washes over the luxurious estate.

It was Kiibo’s turn to pipe up, breaking the awkward silence. “Wow! Amazing!”, Gonta’s metal-plated classmate gushed, clearly astounded at learning more about human beliefs.

“You have such a kind father.”, Kirumi added, a rare smile crossing the maid’s features.

“Gonta always clean chimney before winter. And every year, Santa come without fail!”, Gonta proudly states with his signature cheery grin, putting his large hands on his hips on the second statement. It’s very clear that Gonta really cares about others and prides himself on being a gentleman, even to fictional characters. Shuichi and Kaede briefly stare at each other in disbelief, as if they’re looking for confirmation that Gonta is actually saying what they think he’s saying. “As proof, look in chimney!”, Gonta added, upon noticing the look of disbelief on the duo’s faces.

The twosome peer into the chimney, as per Gonta’s request. Upon taking a closer look into the chimney, they noticed an elaborate chalk drawing of Santa, with a cursive “Thank you!” written alongside it. They took their heads out of the chimney to see Gonta, proudly adjusting his glasses with his signature prideful smile on his face. They pleasantly smile upon seeing the entomologist’s naive, yet earnest attitude.

That was until the snickers of a certain pint-sized and purple-haired pathological liar filled the lavish mansion. “Y-You! You believe in San-”, Kokichi sardonically remarked, all while holding back his laughter. Holding back his laughter proves to be a difficult task, for the pathological liar’s purple eyes are rapidly filling up with tears and his face proceeds to do its best tomato impression.

Two of the wealthy entomologist’s classmates rush forward and harshly grab the supreme leader’s shoulders before he spills the awful truth. “KOKICHI!”, Tenko angrily barked as she harshly grasped Kokichi’s left shoulder, nails digging through his checkered winter hoodie.

“DON’T YOU DARE!”, Kaito growled in an equal, if not more enraged tone than Tenko. His calloused and tanned hands squeezes the diminutive dictator’s right shoulder.

“OW! OW! OW! WHAT THE HECK, GUYS?!”, Kokichi screams in pain from both of his shoulders being grasped by his two strongest classmates, discounting Gonta. The Ultimate Supreme Leader managed to weasel his way out of the cruel grasp of his two athletic classmates, in order to ask why he was restrained and scolded just for telling the truth. The pianist and detective spring up from their crouching positions to assist the astronaut and aikido practitioner in silencing the antagonistic leader of DICE.

“Don’t do it, Ouma! Saying that would be a serious crime”, Kaede demanded, with a mix of anger and panic on her face. Anger from Kokichi’s sheer audacity and panic from Gonta’s worldview being potentially shattered due to Kokichi’s sheer audacity.

“Yeah! You’re going to scar Gonta for life!”, Shuichi added, clearly more panicked than Kaede. While the detective is all for revealing the truth, this is a very noticeable exception. If the naive entomologist ends up catching wind of this awful truth, who knows what would happen to him?

“B-But, c-c'mon! He’s n-n-nearly an adult! An adult that st-st-still b-be-”, Kokichi snickers maliciously, as his dam is about to burst and unleash a merciless torrent of laughter at the expense of his purest classmate. Luckily, the rest of the class managed to dogpile Kokichi before he manages to spill the beans.

During this entire debacle, Gonta is watching the rest of his classmates dogpile and silence Kokichi with a confused frown on his face. And to this day, he still doesn’t know why his friends have to silence Kokichi any time that Santa is mentioned by the gentlemanly entomologist. But all his classmates are willing to tell him is, “Never change, Gonta!” ——————————————————————————————-

Here it is, everyanon! Your dear dad friend’s Christmas present for you! I’ve put a lot of heart and soul into this fic! Kudos to anyone who gets what the fic is referencing! Have a holly, jolly Christmas (or whatever winter holiday you celebrate)! -Fusion Anon

---

Aww, Fusion, that was great! Thank you so much and have a merry Christmas yourself!

#submission #anon #fusion anon #fanfic #not my fic #gonta gokuhara #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #kaede akamatsu #shuichi saihara #tenko chabashira #kirumi tojo #danganronpa #ndrv3 #naturally the formatting decided to not exist as soon as i clicked to post this #so i had to redo it as best i can #so sorry if its not exactly like you sent it fusion!

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leafy-wings · 4 years ago

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glory for the ask meme?

good morning!

for this ask meme

Sexuality Headcanon: lesbiab Gender Headcanon: nonbinery.. demigirl maybe. “girl maybe but fruity” A ship I have with said character: i postulated this before tentatively but; glory x snowfall? ehh? i really want to write a fic of them hanging out, where glory introduces snowfall to the idea of suntime, mirroring the scene in hidden kingdom where its like “the first lesson is to sleep. you need it” yknow! glory understands snowfalls queen trauma so well, glorys young too and while her legacy is success she only became queen to save her tribe in the face of a horrific prophecy. i would love to see a more slowburn for snowfall realizing nightwings are pretty ok and glory could help, sympathizing with the things that they did while under pressure while still forgiving/not forgiving them. like i think glorys the best character for making the point of; what happened to you was wrong, bad, and unnecessary, it was done with malicious intent, but those that did it thought it necessary, were not doing it for fun, and no longer have the need to do it. the intersection between.. justice, revenge, and healing vs sympathizing and understanding the grief those against you might be going through and understanding that since theyre not going away you need to come to terms with them. ofc their situations are different but i think a nice parallel and different enough to make a point. id love to see them argue about how the monarchy is bad or maybe have snowfall consider lax rainwing protocol for icewing society as well as the games to become queen so she doesnt have to kill or be killed. i also kinda maybe ship snowfall x hazel so maybe all 3 of them are there. i like it A BROTP I have with said character: i want glory and peril to be friends.. i wanna write a short character study fic about them and how they viewed their time under scarlet. i think of all people glory would understand needing to be weaponized to keep oneself safe, and i like the idea of peril more apprehensive to approach glory because of her emotions. she feels more feelings than peril does who only ever really feels angry or excited. OH YEAH i really wanted to write a fic where they have a lil therapy session because sunny insists upon it, but its only the two of them to see if they can socialize, where glorys supposed to drop her mask scales because hiding her emotions isnt healthy while peril has to try and pin down her feelings while they talk because she needs to learn social cues and other dragons feelings and what better way than with a dragon who shows their feelings so clearly? i just want them to talk about the fallout of the prophecy in a very frank and understanding way. plus i like tsunami and glory, i feel like perhaps tsunami was not nice enough to glory while under the mountain while still wanting to defend them, tsunamis shtick is trying to protect her friends while glorys shtick is trying to protect herself and a few save dragons around her. id love to see the both of them try and get the other to have more wide reaching empathy for others as well as. argue the ethics of being queens gfhjgfd A NOTP I have with said character: glory and deathbringer i fucking hate deathbringer. aside from the age (and yes actually id be uncomfortable with an 18 year old dating a 30+ year old too yeah thank you) deathbringer is just too immature and giddy and non serious. i know the conceit is supposed to be, just like thorn/smolder, that its a character who is serious and haughty as a defense mechanism getting their walls broken down by someone who pushes them into having fun where theyre actually also fun and mischievious and joking on the inside, but like. this is NOT the time. hes annoying and aggravating and i dont see the charming aspect when i know that glory is young and traumatized and in the midst of basically the worst event of her life and deathbringer is basically the first dragon whos nice to her SPECIFICALLY to flirt with her. and i cant believe that deathbringer knew WELL That the rainwings were being kidnapped and tortured TO DEATH and didnt do basically anything to warn her. he is a NIGHTWING adult during the time in which they are enslaving her tribe so i can safely side with snowfall on this one and say Fuck Nightwings Until They Repent. A random headcanon: glory definitely makes wide reforms to rain/night society in regards to being more progressive and welcoming. making more accessible houses for houseless rainwings, getting rainwings to actually raise children, getting schools and places for therapy, just overseeing all the business of the rain/night kingdom to have it be more “normal”. not that she wants them to act like other tribes because thats “normal”, no, of course not, she loves her tribe(s) including with all their strangeness and proclivity for nature, but.. sometimes legislature is there for a reason so you dont get unfair treatment, and glory only seeks to see her tribe treated fairly General Opinion over said character: i like glory! shes one of my favorites; i sympathize with her a lot in being traumatized and unsure of how to deal with it. the part at the start of the book where she ruminates about kind of missing being with scarlet hit me so hard... i understand how it is when youre traumatized so thoroughly and basically alone though you have friends AROUND you, that you become a bit “selfish” because you just want to see yourself safe, and then the ensuing protectiveness you feel over people like you. i like that she cares about justice, which is not always kind and given through nice words. i do wish her trauma about being almost MURDERED by her guardians as well as abused ALL HER FUCKING LIFE was grappled with more (and yes im one of the anti sunnys who think she was a real bitch for demanding that glory forgive the dragons who TAUGHT HER SHE WAS WORTHLESS. if sunny feels bad for the guardians who didnt abuse her to the extent that they did glory than thats HER issue, and she has no place pushing the decision to forgive them onto glory, when iirc webs never even fucking feels bad). she also gets a hard case of “turns into nothing when its not her POV” and so fucking aggravatingly is that her given personality trait is “i love my boyfriend who is 2x my age”. her aggression, sense of justice, wittiness and haughtiness are scrubbed clean and replaced with little romantic quips with some guy i hate. she has so much left to her character and so much insight to offer in a lot of what happens in the book but, no, shes just set aside.. id also love to see what shes actually doing as queen

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menokami · 4 years ago

Text

Aftermath

//teenie drabble of what I had planned for the Armistice Letters / Deep Silence verse. RIP

The paws of the beast crushed the trees, flattening wood and uprooting the entire forest. He cut a wide path into the endless growth, a vicious trail of destruction that left behind nothing but churned earth. The forest bowed to his attack, and soon, so would that damned thorn in his side, the village hidden in the leaves. He’d kill hundreds tonight if he had to, shinobi and their children and everything in between. They were all fools, huddled together as if their comfortable lie would protect them from the truth. Hiding behind the trees without understanding what lay beyond the forest. Shinobi village. The words made an oxymoron. How could anything about their lives and traditions be compacted into such a grotesque, abstract concept? Did the lives that each clan had lost amount to nothing more than settling for a false peace?

It couldn’t be done. Their very blood forbade it. You could only hold true loyalty to your kin, and anything beyond that was an illusion cast by a maliciously ignorant soul.

It saddened him deeply, for a time, to know his entire clan had bowed to such a thing. To a tyrant who saw to remake the world as he wanted. His entire clan, and his only remaining brother.

Madara. When he’d cut loose their bond at the meeting, Izuna felt a change. Not only in his sharingan, but his entire self. A restless anger had taken hold of him, and it demanded endlessly. At first, he didn’t know where to turn it. Slaughter had not quenched his desires and no amount of blood could slake his thirst.

So he had taken himself far, and with him, the most ancient of Uchiha writings. They revealed unto him that great power could be tamed from an anger such as his.

And here he was, in all of its glory, with the splendor of his achievements at his feet.

Taming a bijuu wasn’t the same as controlling it. This one, this mighty fox of many tails, had fought him for a long time. A week, Izuna had chased it down, battled it again and again, until the fox became frustrated and sloppy. Slow. And then, he’d seized his chance. Now, he had a weapon that could challenge even that woodland demon, the very same who had brought Madara to his knees.

His brother’s shameful existence continued to boil Izuna’s blood the most. Even more so than the insult to the Uchiha, the terrible choice that his own clan had presented him with when he wouldn’t accept the suggestion to surrender; all of that paled in comparison to what Madara had become. Subservient. Begging on his knees. A Senju.

Izuna would free him of that notion, of the chains he’d been shackled with. It had taken him years to figure out the why and how, but he was back now, back and ready to save his elder brother who had given up everything out of naked fear for Izuna’s life. His pride, his freedom, even his name. Izuna couldn’t accept that sort of sacrifice. Just as he couldn’t accept the idea of a shinobi village, drawing a sweet veil over the vile face of reality. They lived for violence. They thrived on blood and war. They made their living from killing. How could anyone claim peace while crushing the world under their filthy heel?

Izuna knew better. Izuna saw clearly, and nothing escaped his eyes. The sharingan could not, would not be deceived, or defied.

#drabble #oh yes the nasty boi too #i have feels for all my nart muses #but izuna informed me promptly he wanted to go fox-surfing

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sion-theundeadjuggernaut · 5 years ago

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Shag me

Leave a “Shag Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a dirty drabble about our characters. Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours. Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble out my character fighting with/or against yours.

Not gonna write three for you. So I’ll write one instead, horny slut.

Battle raging upon the holiest of mountains in all of Runterra was no rare occurrence by all standards. Religious ideologies, beings enamored by power, seeking to gain or destroy it, treasure hunters, raiders and marauders. The mountain had known conflict long before Demaica or the empire even existed. It would know battle long after they perished.

The sun burned with a wrathful vigor in the noon sky, no clouds to avail all those who were struck by her searing rays while the cold winds gnawed at the bones of all. For any man not born of the mountain, this was hell incarnate. The earth was cold as ice, the air was thin and each breath drawn burned the lungs. The environment alone forged its denizens into warriors of perfect vigor and resistance to the elements that all else had to struggle with. The golden weapons of the Ra’Horak clashed with Noxian dark steel as shields splintered, flesh seared and armor shattered. The stench of death laid heavy in the air as gleaming spears burst through shields and thick armor plates alike. The Noxian soldiers were well trained, well equipped and experienced soldiers, feared throughout the world for their versatility and their skill at arms. The name Noxus carried far and wide from Ionia to Targon, from Freljord to Bilgewater. Ever nation knew of the red banner and its infamous legions. But these great soldiers faced odds that even the Trifarian legion would choke to overcome for their foes did not train to fight nations or soldiers. They fought the great beyond, the abyss. The fought the extinction of all life, for they had been indoctrinated from birth that they must protect the sun with every fiber of their being, as once it was extinguished there would be no more light to follow. Nothing but darkness was the price of their failure. What were soft men in armor against the gnashing of teeth, the chittering of a thousand watchful eyes all acting as one? They were nothing but leaves in the wind against the foe these warriors faced and thus were treated as such. Flaming spears, forged in solstice heat, blessed from beyond the stars, perforated shields and armor as if they were but snow on the white rock of the mountain.

This was no battle; this was a slaughter of cattle. Dark armor contrasted against the white rock of the holy mountain, now drenched in a layer of crimson as bodies cooled and twitching ceased. Sion saw no victory in this fight, he needed not to. He had already won. Those who still stood were merely chaff to him, wheat to be cut down by the furious golden order which thirsted for blood after the transgression.

“My Lord!” One of the sergeants cried sprinting up to the undead behemoth as the other contingents who were not yet fighting turned his gaze to the two leaders, unease and fear clearly evident in their eyes. They were far from home, no legion to save them, no basilisk blitz to strike the backlines, nothing but themselves and a furious battalion of warriors. “We are outmatched, their weapons, they cut through us like butter. We must retreat, now! If we want to ..” The cracking of his skull was heard even through the shouting and crying of the battle and all those who witnessed it froze in fear. There would be no retreat, terror gripped them as they realized their lives were forfeit. “Charge and win, or retreat and die.” The ultimatum was clear and his tone was dead serious. He cared not that this was a blow to their morale, they were a worthy sacrifice for the cause. The remaining sergeants did what they could to rally the soldiers as they clashed with the ranks of the Ra’Horak, black against gold, soldiers against warriors. The sour stench of spilled entrails filled the air as death reaped plentiful. With a violent burst the heavens themselves heaved and cracked open as a pillar of searing light blazed over the Noxian forces leaving nothing but charred soil, burnt metal and ash behind. Those not evaporated by the blast were seared past the point of saving, the skin blistering in an instant as eyes and tongues boiled within the skull. The heat and light alone blinded all but Sion who understood that the Radiant Lioness herself had taken helm. It was time to leave.

But she had her sights upon him and even as her followers dealt with the intruders, she charged past them all, knowing that this battle was nothing more than lives paid in exchange for time. She would not give him what he sought to buy as she followed him down the mountain. Sion was fast on long straight paths, but here in this rocky terrain, she had the advantage. Despite her heavy plate, shield and sword the amazon was nimble and fast. Powerful legs carried her down the mountain fueled by a warrior’s rage all its own.

“Face me Sion.” She snarled before jumping into his path, sword and shield hoisted high, ready to absorb the blow that was about to come from the undead behemoth. “There will be no victory for you today. Return what you have stolen and I might be swayed to the mercy of a quick death undead abomination.” His ax crashed against her shield with a violent clash, the ground beneath her feet gave way a few inches driving cracks into the solid rock formation but she remained unmoved, shield high. There was a fierce gleam in her eyes that spoke of resolve but also fury, a solemn promise that she would not yield what he had taken. Sion on the other hand was determined to bring his treasure before the grand general, another token of service. Her head was not on the planned trophies he would return with, but if she pushed him he would be quite open to reconsider.

“Noxus will have his prize.” The necrotic behemoth roared at her face, his powerful roar sending her auburn mane dancing and with his war cry he leapt forward, his giant axe smashing into the soil where she had stood only moments ago. She knew which strikes to block and which to evade, she had faced things more powerful before, with an even greater drive but still, this beast was not to be underestimated.

In the distance the rhythmic sound of greaves striking the mountain side was faintly noticeable amidst the fighting. But before long the golden host of Ra’Horak warriors appeared, their bronze skin and golden armor painted red with Noxian blood, another reason why Sion had to return. He himself had no problem with sending men to their death for the fun of it. But the raven general always expected value for lives lost. The Ra’Horak raised their shields, burning spears readied by the second line of defense as they completed the phalanx formation, a short but powerful war chant made it evident to all that the Ra’Horak were ready to engage the beast.

“Stand down.” Came the order from fair lips that sent confusion through the ranks of the Solari elite. A young commander decided to step next to the chosen vessel a silent plea to allow them the honor to bring this creature down in her name, but Leona silenced his advance with a gentle glance and a small nod back towards the Phalanx. “He’s mine.” She finally proclaimed. “On my honor, do not intervene.” Another curt war chant sounded in acknowledgement to her demand as they took a few steps back to give her distance to work with. Sion meanwhile fought back the smallest of grins at this unexpected duel, what poetic justice it would be to dethrone this god of theirs and deliver her to them a bloody pulp. The glory of this kill, in front of her men it was too sweet to pass up.

“To challenge the king slayer so boldly, I accept your challenge pagan harlot.” With outstretched arms the behemoth invited her to strike so that this duel of theirs could commence. “Sion, you slew a king, not a god.” She sneered back shield and sword brandishing in burning sunlight. With a warrior’s grace she swung the sword a few times before crouching down somewhat, ready to charge the mountain of muscle. “But you are no god, Solari.” His low rumbling voice sneered back cold, burning eyes narrowing with malicious intent as he would feast on the carnage to come. He enjoyed that she so bought into the banter and challenge, him against her. The matron of the mountain against the spirit of Noxus. “I am the most divine thing you will ever face, monster.” She snarled back a celestial firestorm brewing in her eyes fueled by aggravation and intent. “And by the sun’s light will you be undone!” with that she charged forward, Sion ready to meet her. He grasped the shaft of his vicious axe with both hands, raising it high to strike down heavy against the raised shield.

It was Leona however who was on the warpath and instead of holding the shield firm like the pale warrior had assumed she threw it with all her fury. Like a spear the celestial construct hurled through the air with vicious spikes digging into Sion’s skull, celestial fire making the beast tumble backward roaring with fury and pain. Pain not at the damage, but what the celestial magic did with his. He was a being of essence more so than flesh. Chained to his undead form yes, but not truly reliant on it. Taking a knee Leona slid through the warmongers legs her burning blade igniting with holy fire, heated by zeal. She slashed at the beast’s leg before whirling around in a flurry of fire and gold to burry the burning weapon into his soul engine. Sion roared, Leona snarled and then the explosion silenced all a heavenly magic clashed with its ancient nemesis. The Ra’Horak were blasted out of formation and down the steep slopes. They would not find death this day, but scattered as they were none of them could lay eyes on their commander or the undead beast crashing through the very rock they stood upon. A hail of mountain splinters, debris and rocks clogged the very hole the two champions crashed through only seconds after their violent descent.

Pain made Leona shoot up from the ground. Sword in hand she looked around to find only darkness glaring back at her like a giant maw of the abyss. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark environment, she noticed a faint silver glow permeated the room. With a pained growl she rose to her feet, sword used as a crutch for now. Golden eyes narrowed as she glared around to figure out where she was. The sudden hand on her shoulder made her whirl around with a war cry, blade in hand ready to face Sion once more. But as she turned, she noticed his eyes fixed on something completely different. His axe clashed with her sword and the hand on her shoulder moved up to silence her before his eyes darted back and forth through the dark cavern again.

“We are not alone.” He growled cold and in the blink of an eye Leona felt the presence long before she heard their chittering. That out worldly dread that they caused wherever they ventured. She eased forward into the dark, to retrieve the shield she had buried in Sion’s face, the wounds still evident on the behemoth, it gleamed in the darkness like a lighthouse on a stormy night. Once fully geared she ignited the burning sword to light the room and what greeted her was a swarm of teeth, infernal screeching and claws as long as swords. They chittered in primal rage as the sunlight burned their beady little eyes. Like those that sent them, they desired nothing more than dark, dead silence.

“Fight like your nation depends on it warmonger.” Leona sneered coldly, “For if they succeed there will be nothing left of you to resurrect a second time.” He returned only a growl of acknowledgment. He had never laid eyes upon things likes these before, never heard people speak of such monsters, they seemed to not even belong here. But when he tried to place them he could find no nation to sort them to, they felt completely and utterly alien. Sion reeled his head back and with a thundering cry of fury he roared the name of his empire so that these beasts would feel the bite of his axe and be reminded of the empires wrath if they were to live.

Hours later Leona slumped down, battered and bruised wounds and scars decorating her body aplenty. He had been mostly unharmed, he was not of living essence, he had not been their primary focus and unlike her he was able to heal from the souls of these beasts. They had fought through the entire cavernous system, until finally reaching this holy shrine of the moon. A heretical site to her no doubt, but right now she care little about heretics. He sat beside her and watched the Solari heave in pain. Her armor was in tatters, most of it at the hands of Sion, who ripped her body suite where he could to fashion crude bandages. She was a warrior, she deserved a warriors death not to die in a dark cave with no one to notice. Her death should come on the field of battle, where her last breath would be one of defiance and strength.

“I would not have expected a monster to have compassion.” She snarled back at him, clearly displeased at the situation. To receive aid from this enemy kicked her pride into the gutter and she loathed the idea of thanking an abomination such as him for his service, but Leona was also a warrior of honor and as such she would honor what he had done for her.

“You would have made a fine Noxian.” He replied, unfazed by her cold tone. He was hardly thrown off by the ordinary. She laughed in response, tilting her head to the side to regard him for a moment before she replied. “Targon breeds warriors, Noxus breeds followers. You would have made a good Rakkor, not the other way around.” Sion scoffed shaking his head, but he could not deny that her words held truth. There was no place for heroics in the legion. Soldiers followed orders that was what they were trained to do. He, not so much. He was a different breed of Noxian, and older breed.

“Does it bother you.” Leona started as he finished bandaging her wounds. “To be this thing, to be nothing more than a human battering ram pointed at the enemy, the means to an end.” Silence. “To never again experience what it means to be human. To eat, drink, enjoy the warmth of another. How do you live without all those things, is your belief in Noxus truly sufficient to keep you moving forward day by day, or is it the slaughter?” Silence.

It was only after a very long stare off between them which ended with Sion looking away that the giant behemoth finally replied eyes fixing on her again once he started speaking. “What makes you think I am unable to?” He retorted, his voice nothing more than a low growl with a tinge of amusement in his words. “You are cursed with undeath.” She replied a raised eyebrow, confusion somewhat readable in her features. “You lack blood when I cut you.”

A low dark snarl akin to laughter reverberated in his throat at the absurdity of this train of conversation had taken. In response he raised his arm, fingers clenching to a fist as he flexed his large biceps for her to clearly feast her eyes upon. “I have no blood, yet my muscles crush my enemies. I have no blood yet I can speak to you, I have no blood but I can march to battle. Why would you think that my lack of blood inhibits this.” He patted on his lap an amused grin now playing over the edges of his face. “If it does not inhibit the rest.” She was stunned, that was a mental image she did not need but a mental image that lashed her mind in penance for thinking about it in the first place.

“Your wounds will heal Solari.” He growled as he got up, seizing the axe to hoist it onto his shoulders. “Wait!” She snarled getting off of her back to stand. “Return what you have taken Sion.” she challenged with the same fury as before. But the undead behemoth glanced at her rathe amused as he turned to face her once again. “This battle is done Solari. You are wounded, your men won’t come to save you, there is no contest. Now rest and recover, we will meet again.” But Leona would not hear it, seizing her blade she dashed in front of him raising the sword to meet the undead juggernaut. “The outcome will be no different.” He snarled in response before a dark smile dashed over his visage, his axe crashing into the ground, embedded in the rock as he came closer, than he should to the point where she had to tilt her head backwards to stare up at him as he loomed over her.

“Perhaps a different form of melee then.” He suggested, a sly undertone lacing his booming words. “Noxian warrior against Targonian warrior, he who breaks first loses.” Leona was repulsed at the idea taking a step back to glare up and down at the giant warrior eyes narrowing in slight aggravation. “So, what say you Solari?”

Sion finally left the cave system at the break of nightfall, his prize safely secured he made off in the cover of night. Leona would find her own way home, once she could stand again. Sion had introduced the demi god to true Noxian might and resilience. A penetrating lesson that would be felt for many evenings to come.

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frederickwiddowson · 4 years ago

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Exodus 23:20-33 comments: a comparison between ancient Hebrews and modern Christians

Exodus 23:20 ¶ Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared. 21 Beware of him, and obey his voice, provoke him not; for he will not pardon your transgressions: for my name is in him. 22 But if thou shalt indeed obey his voice, and do all that I speak; then I will be an enemy unto thine enemies, and an adversary unto thine adversaries. 23 For mine Angel shall go before thee, and bring thee in unto the Amorites, and the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Canaanites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites: and I will cut them off. 24 Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images. 25 And ye shall serve the LORD your God, and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water; and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee. 26 There shall nothing cast their young, nor be barren, in thy land: the number of thy days I will fulfil. 27 I will send my fear before thee, and will destroy all the people to whom thou shalt come, and I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee. 28 And I will send hornets before thee, which shall drive out the Hivite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite, from before thee. 29 I will not drive them out from before thee in one year; lest the land become desolate, and the beast of the field multiply against thee. 30 By little and little I will drive them out from before thee, until thou be increased, and inherit the land. 31 And I will set thy bounds from the Red sea even unto the sea of the Philistines, and from the desert unto the river: for I will deliver the inhabitants of the land into your hand; and thou shalt drive them out before thee. 32 Thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor with their gods. 33 They shall not dwell in thy land, lest they make thee sin against me: for if thou serve their gods, it will surely be a snare unto thee.

Here is an important doctrine regarding what an angel is, a spiritual representative, the presence of someone, in this case God. God’s name is in the angel.

Isaiah 63:9 In all their affliction he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them: in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them, and carried them all the days of old.

Judges 2:1 And an angel of the LORD came up from Gilgal to Bochim, and said, I made you to go up out of Egypt, and have brought you unto the land which I sware unto your fathers; and I said, I will never break my covenant with you.

Verse 24 reinforces God’s disgust with worshipping gods, little g, and idols. They are either figments of man’s imagination or devils.

Deuteronomy 32:17 They sacrificed unto devils, not to God; to gods whom they knew not, to new gods that came newly up, whom your fathers feared not.

Do not think that because you don’t worship Thor or Kali that you are not worshipping a false god. Any time you think, “an education will make me successful,” or, “having that man or woman will make me happy,” or, just constantly wanting something other than what you have you are creating idols, not much differently than ancient people. You are one step away from giving your dependence on education, sex, or material possessions a name, an identity to worship. Anything we place as more important than obedience to God and faithfulness to Him is an idol. We are to do right, to do our best, and to trust God only for our success and happiness. Education is a good thing, intimacy between a husband and wife is an honorable thing, and we need food and shelter but we must not depend on them rather than God.

For instance, in regard to wealth, Paul warns Christians;

1Timothy 6:6 ¶ But godliness with contentment is great gain. 7 For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. 8 And having food and raiment let us be therewith content. 9 But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. 10 For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

And Jesus admonished His disciples using the Syriac word for the personification of money.

Luke 16:13 No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

With regard to sex as an idol the ancients had goddesses like Ishtar, the goddess of immigrants and prostitutes, a version of which we have in the harbor of New York City also called the goddess Liberty, popular among the Enlightenment thinkers like James Madison, the so-called Father of the Constitution, along with Providence, a reference to a vague universal power but certainly not the God of the Bible. The Greeks and Romans of Paul’s time had Venus and Aphrodite, goddesses of sex, who were worshipped in temples like those of Acrocorinth in Greece with short-haired priestesses, the reason why the Corinthian Christians demanded that their women have long hair which Paul approved while stating that it was not an issue in other churches. See 1Corinthians 11.

Idolatry is and has been one of the prime sins of man against God throughout history. This has been the cause of the perverted, sexualized religion of the ancient world and the decadence of mankind. Idolatry results in sexual perversion and it is the byproduct and result of idolatry.

Romans 1:19 ¶ Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. 20 For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: 21 Because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23 And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25 Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. 26 For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: 27 And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. 28 And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; 29 Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, 30 Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, 31 Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: 32 Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

In that passage we can see why society decays and who is responsible for its decay. God gives delusions and permits our more decadent natures to take preeminence.

Whether our idol is the flag or Constitution, which Mormon Joseph Smith convinced patriots was divinely inspired by God, or whether it is money, sex, or education idolatry is one of the prime reasons that American Christianity is so powerless to impact a dying world in any way other than providing humanistic drivel to control a congregation under the guise of fundamentalist, right-wing or liberal, left-wing preaching.

Thou shalt not bow down to their gods, nor serve them, nor do after their works: but thou shalt utterly overthrow them, and quite break down their images.

God is promising these physical, literal Hebrews coming into a physical, literal land blessings and prosperity and protection and the written words of God are a vital part of those blessings. By the way, don’t let some wicked preacher tell you that if you attend church whenever the doors are open you won’t ever get sick or have trouble in your life. We cannot apply literal, physical promises to the Jews before Christ to the Christian as they are not promises made to us under this dispensation. For all of your slavish devotion to a fundamentalist preacher’s will and whims you will have trouble in your life and you will get sick at some point and you will probably have a child that goes astray, etc. etc.

Joshua 1:8 This book of the law shall not depart out of thy mouth; but thou shalt meditate therein day and night, that thou mayest observe to do according to all that is written therein: for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success.

While Christians were not promised an earthly country we would do well in life to honor these admonitions and warnings that God has given. Idolatry will destroy your walk with God and make you a caricature of a person of faith to the unsaved, a cartoon, a joke. You cannot uplift an idol in one hand and God in the other without looking stupid, a hypocrite, or just plain evil.

Even though Christians do not have a country on this earth the historical principle laid down in Romans, chapter one, applies to nations as we know them. Let me give you a brief religious history of America to show you how idolatry can be poison. America’s self-worship as idolatry has its roots in the country’s earliest times. The good thing, which was the belief and faith that this new land was to be a nation set apart by God for a divine purpose was a common thread preached throughout. However, a specific millennial belief, that Christ would set up a kingdom on earth without being present Himself to last for literally a thousand years or with the millennium as just representing a long time was the standard, evangelical Christian view until the 20th century. This is called Postmillennialism, with Christ returning at the end of the thousand years. With a few exceptions it was believed that Christ would rule through His church. But there was no doubt that America would be the location where this period would begin. Men like John Cotton, Ephraim Huit, Increase Mather, John Davenport, John Eliot, Samuel Sewall, Cotton Mather, and Joseph Morgan preached an imminent millennium and Eliot, combining the fervor of what was called Fifth Kingdom Monarchyism prevalent in England, was especially hopeful that the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation would descend upon America itself.[1] Sermons were preached before Congress that said that America was the Promised Land and that the events of Revelation would take place here before we converted the world and established Christ’s kingdom for Him.[2]

An actual, historical Kingdom of God was expected, with the millennium, a thousand years of Christ’s reign through His church, coming soon.[3] Jonathan Edwards, the Congregationalist preacher so important to the series of revivals in 1700s America called The First Great Awakening, viewed the millennium not as Christ physically returning to save a ruined world, but a gradual process where righteousness and the control of Godly men became prevalent as Christ ruled through His church.[4]

Millennial ideals were also preached during the time of and after the American Revolution pointing more and more to America’s God-chosen role in the bringing in of Christ’s Kingdom, linked to evolutionary progress. President of Yale College Ezra Stiles said;

It may have been of the Lord that Christianity is to be found in such greater purity in this church exiled into the wilderness of America, and that its purest body should be evidently advancing forward, by an augmented natural increase and spiritual edification, into a singular superiority, with the ultimate subserviency to the glory of God to converting the world.[5]

The nineteenth century was an era in secular and religious thought of a progress that was inevitable.[6] In Protestant evangelical faith, Postmillennialism, that mankind would create a millennial kingdom without Christ’s physical presence, was, “the commonly received doctrine,” of the century.[7] The documents, the speeches, the sermons are available for you to read, mostly free. Don’t take my word for it. During this period this doctrine was the intellectual compromise between the devastation of God’s judgment on the world portrayed in the book of Revelation in the Bible and the evolutionary theory of constant movement upward to better and better times, and a utopia.[8] Liberal religious thought in collusion with the growing atheism of science brought about a weakening of the hopeful, religious viewpoint of a coming golden age created by Christians dependent upon their own righteousness but it was the nightmare of the Civil War and the calamity of World War One that drove the nail into the coffin and, “it became a relic of a lost world.”[9]

But, at the time of the Civil War’s commencement most evangelical Christians in America believed that the United States was God’s Promised Land and white, Anglo-Saxon Americans His chosen people, destined to bring in a ‘golden age’ of peace, prosperity, and righteousness as Christ ruled the earth for either a literal thousand years or for just a long period of time, represented by the word millennium, through His church. Lincoln himself referred to America, not Christ, as the last best hope of earth.[10]

It was not unusual for nations with a state church to view themselves as God’s chosen people. England, Russia, and Germany were notorious for this view. German sermons during World War One even likened the German Army to the Holy Spirit moving in the world and ‘God With Us’ in German was on the belt buckles of soldiers. Glorification and even deification of the state was one prime motivator in the half-century of war.

President Woodrow Wilson’s mentor at Johns Hopkins University, Richard Ely, put the thought of the elite and great planners whose government was God’s agent on earth or His replacement even like this;

Now, it may rationally be maintained that, if there is anything divine on earth, it is the State, the product of the same God-given instincts which led to the establishment of the Church and of the Family. It was once held that kings ruled by right divine, and in any widely accepted belief, though it be afterwards discredited, there is generally found a kernel of truth. In this case it was the divine right of the state.[11]

But worshipping the state as a “Christnation,” as the Redeemer Nation of the world, was America’s undoing. With the leadership making government God’s agent on earth rather than God’s people and with the common Christian expecting that we could create a perfect world without Christ physically present we had this great religious expectation that was blatantly false.

That’s why today so many think that they are electing a pastor or a messiah when they vote for a president and then try to Christianize their candidate if elected to make him look like something he is not. It all boils down to state-worship.

World War One, the Jazz Age, the automobile, the sexual revolt of the 1920s, the triumph of evolution in science, the growing importance of the Entertainment industry all figured in to God’s judgment on the nation for its idolatry. As an example, where women who wore makeup were derided as ‘painted city women’ before the war, with strong suggestions of immorality, the demands by boys returning home that their women look like French girls has resulted in the fact that Christian women wouldn’t dare leave home without makeup on today. In addition, the lax morals produced by boys and girls being able to go off alone in a car and listening to Ragtime and Jazz watching Hollywood movies glorifying decadence was a chilling reminder that something was very wrong in America. We had the Great Depression, remember? Then, another devastating war and a so-called Cold War for 50 years pounded away at our families and our institutions. Look at today. Do you not doubt we are under God’s judgment? Look at Israel in Kings and Chronicles. Don’t you see America in every page? Ancient Israelites, like Americans, believed that they were special and by virtue of their exceptional place in God’s ordained world they deserved peace and prosperity, both of which were taken away over time for their idolatry.

Fundamentalism came about in the early 1900s because America, under God’s judgment, appeared to be descending into chaos and darkness. The King James-only movement came about in 1964 because fundamentalism had gone crazy with regard to its denial of the Bible we had in front of us. The problem, fundamentalists wrongly assumed, was non-Christians polluting God’s country. The actual problem was Christian idolatry and not venerating God’s word above our ambitions. This is how idolatry, in this case, worship of one’s country as a god on earth, can do horrible damage.

We are held to the same standard as everyone else and we have been found wanting. I refer you to the passage I quoted earlier from Romans, chapter one, again to find out why things are the way they are.

But, it must be said, unlike the Hebrews assuming control over an area of land the promise to Christians is an eternal inheritance. We don’t get a utopia here, a millennium without Christ’s physical presence, but we can get an awful mess.

It is interesting in Verse 28 how God promises to use creatures to drive out the inhabitants of the land He has promised to the Hebrews slowly. God has used many naturally occurring events as weapons. Remember the plagues of Egypt?

Compare what ancient Israel was to be with what America was to be to see a difference dispensationally. Israel was not to permit idolatry in its borders and was to drive out the idol-worshippers lest they pollute the Hebrew religion, which their existence did, as we can see by reading the Bible. America is a pluralistic nation with many different religious traditions or no religion at all. We cannot remove everyone from the land who does not believe exactly what we believe or how we believe, no matter how much you would like to do that. The Hebrews didn’t do that either, but it was their apostasy that garnered them God’s wrath.

I think it is important to realize that every Christian now is a type of the nation of Israel then, as the children of Israel then were a type of every Christian today. Our land is a spiritual land and our Canaanites are our sins. God promises us that He will drive out our sins if we obey Him as He promised the Hebrews He would drive out the wicked, child-sacrificing, bestiality practicing, temple-prostitute patronizing Canaanites if the Hebrews obeyed.

But, having said all that, I would go on to say that if Christians themselves would repent and turn from their sins and obey God in the best way they know how, believing His word, they would not be deceived by lying, gutless, and corrupt politicians and their land would not be given over to the perversion, violence, and decay that is so prevalent. God honors obedience, not obedience as defined by some fundamentalist whack-job preacher or evangelist who just wants to control them but obedience and righteousness as defined by the Bible. The problem with America is not homosexuals, left-wing demagogues, drug-dealers, or liberal judges. The problem with America is the faithlessness of Christians who regard the Bible as a type of Emily Post’s book on etiquette to be observed if convenient and who regard God as more of a concept or idea than a real, living entity who controls every aspect of reality from their living room to the edges of the universe.

[1] David E. Smith, “Millenarian Scholarship in America,” American Quarterly Vol. 17, No. 3 (Autumn, 1965), 539. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2710907. (accessed 10.28.2015), 539.

[2] Fountain E. Pitts, A Defence of Armageddon or Our Great Country Foretold in the Holy Scriptures In two discourses, Delivered in the Capitol of the United States, at the request of several members of Congress, on the anniversary of Washington's birthday, 1857, (Baltimore: J.W. Bull Publishers, 1859), 90.

[3] Ernest Lee Tuveson, Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1968), 29.

[4] Ibid., 30.

[5] Ezra Stiles, “The United States Elevated to Glory and Honor,” in The Pulpit of the American Revolution, or, The Political Sermons of the Period of 1776, John Wingate Thornton, ed., (Boston: D. Lothrop & Publishers, 1876), 405, 472.

[6] Tuveson, Redeemer Nation, 52.

[7] Henry Boynton Smith,”History of Opinions Respecting the Millennium,” The American Theological Review (Boston: Charles Scribner & Son, 1859), 642. https://books.google.com/books?id=hWrUAAAAMAAJ&vq=millennium&pg=PA642#v=snippet&q=millennium&f=false (accessed 11.14.2015).

[8] James H. Moorhead, “The Erosion of Postmillennialism in American Religious Thought, 1865-1925,” Church History Vol. 53, No. 1 (Mar. 1984), 61. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3165956 (accessed 11.14.2015).

[9] Ibid., 77.

[10] Jean H. Baker, “Lincoln’s Narrative of American Exceptionalism,” in We Cannot Escape History: Lincoln and the Last Best Hope of Earth, James McPherson, ed., (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1995), 42.

[11] Gary M. Pequet and Clifford M. Thies, “The Shaping of a Future President’s Economic Thought: Richard T. Ely and Woodrow Wilson at “The Hopkins,” The Independent Review: A Journal of Political Economy 15, no. 2 (Fall 2010): 262, 266.

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qm-vox · 5 years ago

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The Dwelling Gods - Battles of Gatax-Ob

Previous Chapter - Contact

Risen Terra, 400 P.T (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

Alexandra Orlstasz, Covenant Day (Present)

We’ll say this for the Admiralty: unlike most of Our clients, they bothered to do the research on what they’re asking Us to do. Direct post-cognitive readings of either corpse, without further context, are likely to just kill Us in agony and waste quite a bit of the Phoenix’s money in the process, so Admiral Alekto Molteira has thoughtfully procured other artifacts of the battles in and around Gatax-Ob, in the Ob system. The modifications made to the Demeter for this affair are likely more than a little illegal - the original version of this morgue certainly didn’t have a meditation room where We can hook Our mind up to recording devices - but given the situation, We’re willing to give it a pass.

Gods Within, another hive mind. And so soon after the first, which drove us to form our mighty Covenant to survive it. The war against the Olkazi Organism was only formally ended in 342 P.T., after all, we can’t be ready to fight another one of those godless things.

Focus Orlstasz says into Our mind. I am ready to maintain Our mind during the work. Are you prepared for the dive?

We let out a long breath and nod Our head. “I believe so,” I tell my God. “This is what I do, what We do. I hope you can yank Us out ahead of any direct contact with the mind, because otherwise...”

Is it just me, or is Orlstasz’s malicious chuckle almost nervous? Death in agony.

We slide the needle of the recording cable into the datajack at the base of Our skull, adjust Our ass in the comfy chair, and steeple Our fingers in a meditative posture over the first artifact of the battles that We’ve chosen to read. It’s a small thing, not much more than a scrap of cloth from a uniform. Its owner, We have been told, is still alive.

The power is mine, not that of my God. The children of the Phoenix were psionic before the blessing of the Gods Which Dwell, and the power, the glory, is one of the few parts of Our mind that I wake up each and every day knowing is mine. We close Our eyes and I focus on the scrap of cloth, tasting the thick layers of the living past on it, the sticky threads that connect it to the present. I follow it down, and then I am...

Ajax Raulzax, 14 Embers 399 P.T (15/7 2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Approximately Three Months Ago)

RPS Vorhees (Revenant-class corvette), en route to the Ob system

We slide Our hands into the jump controls; they clamp around Our wrists and crackle with power as they link with Our body’s energy. Raulzax’s whispers in Our mind dim and quiet as my God prepares to initiate the jump to the Ob system.

“Captain, incoming message from the Angrboda. Admiral Megaera Toirstax is ready to give their address,” Our comm officer tells us. The interruption is barely a ripple in Our concentration.

“Put the Admiral on-screen,” We reply.

Admiral Megaera Toirstax stands straight and tall, and speaks clearly for a pair that’s pushing a hundred and sixty. They were the captain of a cruiser, during the war against the Organism. Some part of Our mind (Me? Raulzax? It’s hard to tell while We’re concentrating) wonders if that will be Us, after this new war.

“It is not Our habit to mince words,” the Admiral says to the fleet. “We have no love for the Gataxian Pure States, no love for those who choose murder over peace and hate over friendship. We, the sailors and soldiers of the Astra Federation, are not here for them. We are here for us.”

They pause. Our bridge crew is silent, and why not? The Admiral is right. No one really wants to be saving Gataxians.

The Admiral continues in their clear voice, their eyes steady on the screen. “Our nation was founded on one principle: no one deserves to die alone in the dark. Some of us were once enemies. Others called out in their hours of need and were answered. All of us swore ourselves to the preservation of sapient life and the glory of a galaxy united in friendship and compassion. Those principles can, at times, feel so easy to follow, but today is not one of those times. Today is a test of our faith, our commitment to the ideals we hold dear. Our union will not be found wanting. We stand!”

We and Our bridge crew respond as one, alongside the thousands of other sailors in our fleet: “Until the stars shineth not!”

“Captain Ajax Raulzax, are your Revenants prepared?” the Admiral asks Us. We give a cursory glance to Our computer, but it’s just for the look of the thing; there’s not a Revenant captain of any species or age that isn’t itching to get stuck in all day, every day.

“We await the Federation’s pleasure,” We answer formally.

A gleam of mischief enters the Admiral’s eyes. “Consider the Federation pleased. The rest of the fleet will follow thirty seconds after your jump. Glory to the Gods Which Dwell, Captain.”

The video cuts out, and We grin out of the corner of Our mouth before We start issuing the final orders to prepare for the jump; charging our weapons, dialing up firing solutions from the ship’s prophet, and warming up the engines for immediate evasive maneuvers. This isn’t Our first go around performing a jump scare (excuse Us, “close-range emergence assault maneuver”), but it doesn’t do to take the process lightly. The jump will strip Vorhees of her shields, which means we all get to die if We fuck this up.

“Preparations complete, Captain. We await your order.”

We tighten Our fingers into fists and lean the jump controls back. They crackle with power, ready and waiting. “Open a channel to the others,” We instruct, and when it is done We give the order We’ve been waiting all day for:

“Initiate your jumps. Glory to the Gods Which Dwell!”

“Hail the Dwelling Gods!” come the answers, and then I am releasing the power, slamming the jump controls forward and sending the Vorhees hurtling into a violet gate...

[&]

Our mind goes trailing back into the present. We rub Our temples and sigh; strong wills like the Captain’s only give brief snippets of memory, at least while they’re still alive. It is one of the many strange and mysterious ways that souled creatures defend themselves from psionic intrusion. We could try again...

The Gataxian artifact may be of more direct relevance Orlstasz suggests. They must have witnessed the battle.

“Good call,” I say to my god. We reach for the artifact in question, a datapad with a splintered screen. It’s small in Our hands, as most Gataxian products are. We set it in front of Us, steeple Our fingers over it, and then I am...

Wolt-Ob ra Yox, 14 Embers 399 P.T (15/7 2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Approximately Three Months Ago)

Ob Solar Defense Station, Ob System

“Another mass driver offline!” I screech; my wings flap in a panic, filling the air with thick dust that swirls in the yellow emergency lights. The station vibrates with our answering shots, which sail into the void outside. The rounds swat one-two-three of the filthy xeno ships that come towards us, but it’s nothing like enough.

Their capital vessels have us outgunned. The crew and I are only alive because these misbegotten things intend to board.

“Any response from our kinfolk?” my commander demands, his own wings calm and steady. His pointed fingers work the controls of the guns with practiced ease.

I focus my attention on the comms. The distress signal is still running, but - “The closest fleet is months out,” I answer, my voices wilting. “We are forsaken! Damned! Doomed!”

Another silent round clips through a xeno ship in the vision of my right eyes; the debris shreds two of its neighbors.

“Keep working,” the commander snaps, a buzz cutting through his words to color them with rage. “The colonists on Roylan are relying on you. Have faith: someone will come.”

Air rushes through my carapace to fill my voice with an angry response when my wrath is interrupted by a beep from the sensors. I refocus, looking at them and at the space outside where the xenos ships are boarding our mining stations, orbiting the colony, and closing in on the station. Before my many eyes, violet gates open in the midst of the enemy formations, and ships pour from them, their weapons already firing lances of strobing energy and swarms of missiles. Hundreds of tiny corvettes appear in the space around the station, close enough to reach out and touch their chosen victims, and open fire on the encroaching fleet in a silent slaughter.

The comms flash at me. “We are being hailed,” I whisper.

“On screen,” the commander demands, and I make it so.

It’s a terran; of course it is. An older specimen, with graying hair and a crackling nimbus of profane power around its eyes. That same corrupt energy is what permits it to form the beautiful buzzes of the Gataxian language with its misshapen throat and lips.

“Greetings, gataxian station. I am Admiral Megaera Toirstax. The Astra Federation has heard your distress signal and is here to provide aid and succor. The Ninth and Eighteenth fleets are prepared to evacuate your colonists to a place of safety and deny your resources to the enemy.”

“You are unwelcome here,” the commander buzzes, rising into the air with furious wingbeats. “You defile this system with your presence! Begone!”

The terran on the screen shows its teeth to us. “You mistake my statement for an offer that you might refuse, commander. We will evacuate your colonists, and you will assist us in doing so, to their considerable good. There is no time to debate this. You can help save the lives of your families down below, or you can aid your enemy. Your choice.”

“You are not our allies, filth,” the commander answers.

Families. I have a mate, and larvae, on Roylan...

The commander is still talking: “Every gataxian that ever was or will be would sooner die than accept succor from one such as you. We will gladly -”

A shot rings out amidst the alarms and emergency lights. The commander’s head explodes into chunks of chitin and yellow blood. Distantly, I realize that my weapon is in my hand.

The terran on the screen folds its fingers under its strange, round chin. “To whom might I be speaking?”

I suck air in through my carapace. “Wolt-Ob ra Yox. Acting commander of this station. Your Astra Federation has sanctioned this action? Not simply you and your...terrans?” I ask.

The terran’s head goes up, then down. “Your people are in a danger you cannot comprehend, Commander Ob ra Yox. The galaxy is in danger few can comprehend. Let us help you, and we can face it together.”

I feel my very soul recoil, but I concentrate on the thought of my family and the young larvae I have not seen in months. They will be cocooning, and soon. “I can assist with the evacuation,” I agree. “My crew must be evacuated as well. I can run the comms alone.”

That head motion again. “Agreed. We’re sending a shuttle now, Commander Ob ra Yox. May your life be long and unsullied.”

A laugh forces its way out of my carapace. “And yours as well, Admiral.”

[&]

Orlstasz yanks Us out of the dive, and We double over out of Our chair to vomit in the small room’s trash can. Gataxians; every time We’ve dove into one of their living pasts, the sheer hate and fear that courses through them has been overwhelming. We retch, spitting up further acid and chunks of Our wasteland fry-up. It is infinitely less pleasant going back up.

Scourges Orlstasz mutters, their voice full of low-level irritation. At every stage of the Cycle there is always scourges, each thinking themselves original and poignant. They are beneath contempt.

We spit a thin line of bile and spit, then wipe Our mouth. “They’re still people,” I tell my god. “The Astra Federation won’t leave them to die alone. Not even if they try to make us.”

My god laughs at me in Our mind, and all I can do is roll Our eyes and use the intercom to request crackers and water, and to apologize for throwing up in the trash can. Our body shakes in Our seat as We try to focus on breathing and centering Ourselves after that dive.

The shipman who comes in notices, but does not comment aside from putting a comforting hand on Our shoulder for a moment before they must, regrettably, leave a new trash can and a bucket to replace the one they take from the room. The smell of vomit still lingers in the air of the meditation chamber, and I don’t dare try to waft it out with telekinesis. My control is far from that fine.

Are you prepared to dive into memories of battle? my god asks, their voice soft.

“If I don’t finish this today, I’m not sure I’ll have the courage to come back,” I admit. “The Phoenix - the Federation - needs to know the truth of what happened on the ground of Roylan. And...so do I.” The image of that drone, with its features so similar to a terran’s that I mistook them for one of our dead, floats through Our mind. “I have to know,” I repeat, in a soft whisper.

The Valhallan next, then Orlstasz suggests. They would have been near the line of battle.

“Good idea.” We take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; We sip Our water, take a few bites of cracker, and then reach for a pair of dog tags. On the back of them is the Phoenix-in-twain, the symbol of a Valhallan - a terran soldier who has chosen death in battle to be separated from their god. We set them in front of Us and steeple Our fingers above the tags. When I reach for the power, the name on them becomes my name.

Patrocles Ulkraylv, 15 Embers P.T (16/7 2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Approximately Three Months Ago)

Descending on Roylan, Ob System

Terrans fear me (Us me Us me Us), because We (I) am what they dread becoming. The others strapping into their crash seats, the spirrans and ibraxians and helper-units (how helpful they look with their big guns, oh yes, so courteous and nice, ha ha!) don’t know why the terrans fear me (Us Us Us Us Us) but they have long since learned that whatever terrans fear is worth fearing in turn.

That’s fine, though. It gets to be over today. There’s death down there on that tiny little colony world, and Patrocles Ulkraylv is on its VIP list. At long fucking last!

Lieutenant MX-13 (”Moxie”) is taking point on this one; they’re one of the helper-bots, which helpfully (HA HA!) means they’re already used to delivering orders conventionally rather than telepathically. They’re addressing us as we get ready for the hot drop.

“The objective is straightforward,” the L.T. says, pointing at a map of the colony below. “The hivemind made landfall here and attacked the city of Olka-Ob, where it’s set up shop. It has processing facilities here, here, and here -” the facilities in question light up in a soft violet color, “- as well as cloning facilities here, and a structure we’ve tentatively defined as their neural link, here. We are to disable the enemy assets and hold their attention until the transport fleet can establish air superiority and begin the evacuation. We are, in short, to cause as much damage as possible in as wide an area as we can.”

A private, maybe twenty years old and shaking in their seat, speaks up: “What about the civilians, Lieutenant?”

Moxie’s quiet for a good long while, with only the sound of the transport hitting atmo to fill the hold. When they finally speak up it’s in that muted voice helper-bots use when they have to be unhelpful: “They’re already dead.”

When there’s no answer, the L.T. continues: “Valhallan Patrocles will be taking point. Check your barriers and don’t get in their way. They were a macro-telekinetic before they volunteered for this duty, and I should not have to tell you what that means.”

I (We) grin. “It means I’m going to be speaking a lot of ancient Earth-tongue today.”

Nervous laughter, from my (Our) fellows. We said ‘I” there. That’s not right at all.

Alarms start sounding, indicating that enemy systems have a lock on our transport, but it’s entirely too late for the hivemind to decide it doesn’t want to deal with us; the ship’s shields hold, and we land with a hard flex from the gear. We slap the restraints keeping Us in the seat and vault towards the lowering ramp.

There is no gun in my (Our) hands, but tattooed on each are words in an ancient tongue from Earth, whose pronunciations means ‘force’ and ‘skill’. The power gathers, crackling in Our mind and around Our arms and fingers, and I speak the first word the moment the ramp lowers and the entrenched enemy comes into view: “YEET!”

Sandbags and bodies go flying, alongside entrenched guns and tipped-over land vehicles. The shockwave shatters every window I can see and blows the snipers placed in them through the thin walls, but I am not done yet.

I speak the second word while bodies and metal and glass are still flying through the air - “KOBE!” - and they rip violently inward, crushing into a spherical mass of mangled corpses and wrecked technology. I throw my hands wide, and the sphere goes wide with them, slamming into buildings, hydrants, power lines, anything I can destroy, anything I can mangle with the power of my (Our Our Our Our Our) mind. Fires break out almost instantly, and We fan the flames as We stride forward, shredding power lines and exploding transformers to fuel the devastation.

We must survive until the cloning vats are destroyed Ukraylv reminds me. Only then may we be cut down in the flower of our might.

I release the power, letting the flames spread on their own and watching as the city around us loses electricity. Power systems are delicate; it doesn’t take much to wreck one. “I know,” I murmur to my god, before I turn Our (my) head to Moxie and my fellows on this suicide run. “Am I right in presuming you have not worked with my skill set on the front lines, Lieutenant?”

“Correct,” Moxie answers indifferently. I am not precisely in the chain of command right now, but the mission does have needs. I give the helper-bot a nod.

“Hive-mind protocols apply, of course. I’ll take point, and the others should watch their precogs and stay frosty. Once this gets going it’s going to get going fast and leave a lot of very alive enemies behind us, heading our way. My professional opinion is that the site of the cloning vats will be the most defensible, but the call is yours.”

“Defensible with you, or without you?” I’m not remotely ready for the pointed tone coming from my machine officer, and I take a brief step back. Then We (I) flash them a grin.

“Without.”

That seems to satisfy Moxie, and in moments we are moving in good order. It is not precisely stealthy; wreathed in my power, I spread chaos and desolation before me, and the streets of the city echo with the words whose names mean ‘force’ and ‘skill’. The hivemind, still reeling from the unexpected battle in space and struggling now to contain new information on more than three fronts, proves unable to mount a coherent defense against my onslaught.

“Why don’t we have one of you on every mission?” that brave little private (they’d introduced themselves as Cassandra Moinlix) asks me when we shelter for a moment to catch our breath.

“We’re expensive,” I (We We We) answer, between sips of water. “Macro-telekinetics are needed on capital ships, stations, and for entrenched defenses, where we can make the most of the decades of practice it takes to get to this point. I’m only here with you, now, because I’m going to die today.”

Cassandra looks away and doesn’t speak up again. Typical. Nobody likes hearing a terran say the ‘I’ word too many times. We (ha ha, ha ha ha ha) don’t do that much these days, do we?

Do we?

But when it’s time to move out, a scarce couple of minutes later, Cassandra does speak up again: “What falls might rise, Valhallan,” they say in a soft voice. “...It’s been an honor to see you work.”

The two field precogs and Moxie change our route up; the hivemind is rallying, and we need to hit the processing centers hard and keep moving. One of them is saying some dumb shit about planting explosives, and hearing it sends a streak of soul-deep irritation through my (Our) mind. We flick the power, sending plastic explosives arcing into the wild blue yonder in the general direction of the first target.

Moxie can’t make other facial expressions, but somehow I can still see how done they are with my (Our) shit. “If that doesn’t hit, I’m dragging the two of you out of this alive for the court martial.”

In return, I gesture with my right hand (”Kobe.”). A set of explosions answers the exercise of my power, even all that distance away, along with a faint trickle of blood from Our nose. The precogs stare while We wipe the blood away. “That should draw off the drones so we can advance more quickly. I wanted to point something out anyway.”

The L.T. gestures for me to fall in with them and we double-time it, moving from cover to cover. “Speak your mind, Valhallan.”

“You noticed the Mind seems to be using, well...technology?” We fumble at the thought percolating in Our mind. “Guns, ammo, body armor that the drones have to get in and out of. The Organism was all biotech, all the time, but if we didn’t know this was a hivemind we never would have guessed.”

Moxie’s quiet while we advance up a main thoroughfare, clean of drones but littered with the signs of battle and splashes of insectoid blood. The films might all depict hiveminds as taking living, struggling victims, but that’s film for you. Dead bodies don’t struggle and contain just as much biomass.

“That means they must have a supply depot of some kind,” Moxie says at last. How practical of them - they’re completely right of course, but trust a helper-bot to keep things on-task, eh? “Perhaps more than one, but the loss of any of them could take pressure off of the evacuation. We’ll need to -”

“Send me,” I (We We We We We) tell them. “Have the precogs find it for us and then send me. I’ll draw and destroy drones in the process, and you’ll have more time to get extracted.”

Moxie signals a halt and looks me in the eyes. “Tell me this isn’t just your excuse, Valhallan.” When I shake my head, Moxie nods and extends a metal hand, which I clasp.

“Tell them that Patrocles Ulkraylv died in the flower of their might,” We ask, in a soft voice.

“Everyone will know,” Moxie promises. “Until you rise again, Valhallan. We stand.”

“Until the stars shineth not,” We murmur.

[&]

“What threw me out?” We snarl, as I am jolted out of the Valhallan’s memories. There is a pool of blood on the table, soaking the dog tags, and more runs steadily from Our nose and the corners of Our eyes. There’s a hand on Our shoulder.

“We did,” the Admiral tells Us. “See the medic, then take an hour.”

“Our work -”

“Can wait,” Admiral Alekto Molteira interrupts in their firmest tone. “We’re all worried about the hivemind but no one is going to learn a thing if you die trying to follow the Valhallan’s memories down to their grim conclusion. Medic, now.”

We stare the Admiral down for a long moment, and then sigh. “As the Phoenix demands,” We mutter, and then we trudge off towards the infirmary.

[&]

Odessa Nulrix, Covenant Day (Present)

The Astral Chamber, Astra Federation Space (Charybdis System)

That We sit this table alone seems to frighten them more than your alien nature, Nulrix whispers in Our mind, and we both share a feeling that isn’t quite a laugh. The Gataxian Pure States are a representative democracy, and with Us at the vast Astral Table is nearly 80 ambassadors - and their High Slayer, Yrull-Gatax ra Vell, the leader of their people and the figurehead for their xenophobic crusade.

The air is filled with dust from gataxian wings as they argue and talk amongst themselves in those moments before the meeting formally comes to order.

Finally, the guards at the doors - an even mix of gataxians and Astra Federation citizens - lock the doors and the Master of the Chamber calls the meeting to order. Before anyone says anything formally, We hand a set of files to an aide to bring to the High Slayer.

“Before we set about the business of the day, the Astra Federation would like to give you the files on your refugees,” We say; the power buzzes in our throat and at our lips, letting us make the insectoid sounds necessary to speak Gataxian. “The evacuation efforts went well, and have slowed the hivemind’s advance by depriving it of its expected biomass. Regardless of the other results of this negotiation, the Astra Federation would like to request gataxian doctors and medical staff to help better see to the needs of your people during this crisis.”

Diplomats start to buzz in anger, but silence themselves when Yrull-Gatax ra Vell raises one sharply-fingered hand. We have seen the High Slayer’s type before; their anger is cold, internalized, and calculating. We can work with such hate.

“You speak as if the Astra Federation has no intention of returning our people to us,” the High Slayer says. I ‘nod’ - in gataxian culture the motion is more like a full-body bob, normally done with the aid of wings.

“Returning your people to an active warzone would be a disaster, to say nothing of the material benefit to the hivemind that would result,” We state. “They will be returned to your space, if they desire to do so, at the end of the crisis and no sooner. Surely it is not the intention of the Pure Peoples to put food in the mouths of their attacker?”

“Even so.” The High Slayer rises from her seat, dust wafting gently into the air while she hovers in place on brilliant, multicolored wings. “I will be blunt, xeno. You claim to know my people and our ways. What do you expect to gain from this meeting?”

Nulrix makes a purring sound in Our mind. They always did love moments like this.

“The Astra Federation is willing to extend membership status to the Gataxian Pure States, with all the rights and responsibilities,” We stress, “thereof. No strings, no conditions, other than those of membership itself.”

The carapaces of gataxians flex when they laugh.

“And you entertain this fantasy because...?” the High Slayer leaves the question hanging in their air. She’s smarter than her lackeys. Good.

“Your people write beautiful poetry,” We tell her, in a soft voice. “We’ve studied your art, your writing, extensively. Gataxian culture speaks so eloquently about the power and beauty of fear, of the nature of wrath, of lonesomeness and of family. Terrans make films about the history of your people, you know, and we write stories that include you. We pity your hate, and your lonesomeness. We want to help - though we know you hate us, we love you, unconditionally. When the rest of the Federation wanted to extinguish your culture after your attacks on the spirrans, we alone argued for containment rather than wholesale destruction.”

We pause. The air is heavy with wingbeats.

“We don’t tell you this because We think it will move your hearts,” We continue. “We tell you this because We need you to understand that what comes for you is what terrans hate and fear above all other things. If you will not take our hand in friendship, we will destroy you to get to the hivemind. We will conquer your planets, burn your space stations, slaughter your elders and raise your children as our own. Your beautiful art and poetry will be cast down, and all that you ever loved, and were, and could have been will be ground to dust, and when we are done the people who call themselves gataxians will never remember that they were anything but the dear friends and lovers of the Phoenix. It is not your fault that you stand between us and our enemy but between us you stand.”

“You would never,” the High Slayer says, digging her claws into the surface of the table; they peel up thin strips of metal. “Your soft terrans would never countenance such slaughter.”

“Try us,” We answer coolly. We lean in, meeting the multifaceted gaze of Yrull-Gatax ra Vell. “We are not asking for your servitude or your submission. We are offering you a seat at the table, when our allies would rather see you dead. But make no mistake, if you won’t let us love you, we will annihilate you. And we will not be sorry.”

“This is extortion, terran.” The wrath is curiously absent from the High Slayer’s voice. “You know we cannot war on two fronts.”

We shrug. “This is politics, the universal language. If you were us, and a gataxian state stood in your way, would you do differently? Take the seat at the table. Show the Galaxy the cunning and wisdom of your people.”

The High Slayer looks at the diplomats that surround her, whose wings beat in furious rhythm, but even in their anger they seem to understand that now is not the time to trifle with their leader. “You have our people hostage. We demand collateral, if this deal is to go through. Call them legates if you wish. They will be housed on my personal vessel, the Chorus of Eyes. And you will promise that we will retain ownership of our worlds when this conflict is over.”

We ‘nod’ again. “These terms are acceptable to the Astra Federation and the Phoenix. Do we have a deal, then?”

The infuriated roar of the flunkies almost drowns out the High Slayer saying “We do.”

#dwelling gods #fiction #soft scifi #violence #war #critique welcome

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leviosarpg · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, LARA! You have been accepted for the role of KASSIUS OLLIVANDER! Lara, I think it’s fair to say that your app left me a little speechless, to say the least. “But his vision of himself is so skewed, so different from what everyone else sees, that silver will always look dull, even in the sunlight.” That, Lara, that was when I knew Kassius was yours. You nailed his entire character in a single, beautiful line. Not to mention, the quality of your writing was absolutely incredible; I found your para sample to be especially stunning! So much about Kassius’s character is tied to legacy, but I have to admit what absolutely enchanted me about your app was the way you conveyed Kassius’s understanding of legacy, as in it’s ability to be weaponized. Lara, I think it’s safe to say your app was was pure magic!

Your faceclaim change to: Matthew Bell has been accepted. Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: Lara / 24 / she/her / EST

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Kassius Magnus Ollivander KASSIUS: of Latin origin, meaning “hollow”. A meaning which he defies, but one he cannot admit to himself that he feels. MAGNUS: of Latin origin, meaning “the greatest”. A meaning which he strives to feel, but that he cannot admit is perilously beyond reach. OLLIVANDER: of Mediterranean origin; the near mythic name of a long line of wand makers, the likes of which have never been matched in the field. A reverent name, and one that has been situated amongst the Sacred 28 families since the group’s inception – though they are notably one of the few open-minded lineages amongst them.

CHARACTER DISCUSSION – AKA, I WAS DRUNK WRITING THIS AND GOT EXCITED

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

I was surprised at my attraction to Kassius at first, until it made perfect sense. I am most often drawn to the ambitious, the volatile, the dangerous; my tastes fall with the tortured ‘bad boy’ who cannot be tamed. My usual type is the villain – not the tortured intellectual. But the more I write, and the more I think on him, the more I realize that Kassius is entirely within the realm of my ‘type’, though he is entirely more complicated than just a mere archetype, as is he more good than any base tortured soul that I might call a muse. I will explain this in an examination of his personality – which will surely devolve into a stream of consciousness rambling about my love for this character, as it is far and wide. I would talk about my attraction to the character as a whole, but I would be better served analyzing him, for I was drawn to the sheer complexity of his character above all else. And GOD all he wants is to make the legacy proud; he doesn’t want to live up to the Ollivander name for fame and glory, but because inadequacy will eat him alive. He is more silver than gold, and he cannot quite come to terms with the fact that it is just as valuable, just as lustrous and coveted as gold is. He should have been a golden boy; his parents certainly thought him to be, all wild imagination and intelligence to match, all charm and ambition to command every room – but his vision of himself is so skewed, so different from what everyone else sees, that silver will always look dull, even in the sunlight. Inadequacy is a demon, a shadow that lurks in places that should shine – and the illusion of it (for he is not inadequate, though he might think he is) will eat him alive. The part in his bio that really stuck with me, and really serves as the axis of this analysis – and of his character in general, is as follows: “Kindness has become your last sanctuary, for you have become the eternal flame that demands more and more, that seeks to outlast time itself. Contentment is a virtue you will never know, for your self-inflicted agonies are rich with flowers and demons who ensure your thorns remain sharp.” He can be kind to others, to the world, to those who cannot find it in the world to be kind to themselves, and yet he, Kassius, is never kind to himself. He strives to be a beacon of kindness, of hope, of a legacy that has long-upheld the wizarding community in its stalwart truth – but he cannot be kind to himself. The disquietude he feels for his own self, while revering what he could be, what he should be, all while expending all vestiges of kindness and hard work upon the thankless world – this is what makes him so fascinating.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: + SCHOLARLY: You have to wonder how he managed to choose to shirk his parents and go straight for the jugular that is his family history, his family legacy. And it is just that – there is no stoic past for him to study, but a living, breathing body of life-history which still runs like an archaic myth, and an undeniable truth, through the veins of the wizarding world. There is no Hogwarts without Ollivander; and so it is his duty to learn everything, to know everything, to learn the histories of his contemporaries back and forth for it is the Ollivander legacy not to be a number amidst the masses, but to be almost godlike in how utterly untouchable the name is. He buries himself in books, spell tomes, historical records, preserved letters; the legacy sits heavy upon his shoulders like weights on a scale, and it is all he can do to keep them from tipping in one direction or another. + HOPEFUL: If there is one thing that can be said for hope, in the hands of Kassius Ollivander, it is that hope is kind. Hope, longing, and dreams walk hand-in-hand, and Kassius allows the line to blur even in the most crucial of moments when, perhaps, logic should prevail. He is a highly logical man, and yet the nebulous wonder of hope can muddle his logic and turn it to color in but a moment. Hope is dangerous, but wonderful; call it forgiveness with teeth and a firm bite. Hope is a demon; he bestows it upon the world while it eats away at his soul to the tune of malcontent. Don’t be fooled; Kassius is not hopeful for himself, but for what he might push himself to do for the world. Might. He hopes. +/- AMBITIOUS: This is a perilous line to walk upon. His ambition would make him fit well in the Slytherin crowd, but his ambition is not at the expense of others, but of himself. He is too hard on himself, ever reaching too high, stretching too thin. But he can do more, he insists; he can do better. He believes that he is nothing if he is not striving for something, that he is useless, a meaningless thorn in a bramble bush if he does not run himself dry in pursuit of the family legacy that he is saddled with. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak – or it makes us hard. He is becoming more thorn than petal, though he tries so very hard to do all things with kindness, to help and protect those who cannot do so themselves, with his legacy as a weapon. - PERFECTIONISTIC: Perfection or nothing at all. This will be his fatal flaw, because he will work himself into the ground and still believe that the hole he’s dug isn’t deep enough. He does his best not to impose this impossible standard on anyone else, instead taking the brunt of his own miserable self-displeasure. It consumes him, this endless reach for perfectionism, and it takes an enormous toll upon his personal relationships. There are very few people, few things, few causes that can pull him from within himself and into the world around him. The aching for his legacy, to step into the shoes of Ollivanders past, started as just that – an ache. A wish. To be creative, to be something more than himself, something a part of something bigger. But the ache has grown, and it sits as a heavy weight between his shoulders, bending arched back downward so that he may never stop working. - ISOLATING: Reaching for meaning, for purpose, for validation, rather than reaching for connection; there is something so icy and lonely about Kassius’s struggle, and he often allows himself to become consumed by it, which often leads to him setting himself away from those who might be close to him. No matter how much he craves camaraderie, companionship, warmth, the self-imposed competition he has with himself makes it hard, most often, to emerge from the impossible chrysalis of his own creation. It’s a vicious and complicated cycle: he finds connection and community, and is validated by those he connects with; inevitably he is reminded of what he has failed to do, to become, and he retreats in on himself to work; he sees others living freely and happily, either without the chains of expectation or within, and hates that he cannot be this free; he remembers, then, that he cannot be happy until he is right, until he reaches the level of legacy that befits him. Not enough. He isolates and works, always long-suffering and self-martyring, when he falls into the deep hole of inadequacy. He does his very best to connect, and there are few things that keep him engaged, and enthusiastic, and warm in his efforts and ambitions, but when he isolates, turning inward on himself, he can be cold.

It is also worth discussing his MOTIVATIONS, as they are as varied and changeable as anything. Though his intentions are largely good, there is no doubt in my mind that he could easily be swayed by the selfish nature of his ambition. Now, this selfishness may not always be malicious – motivations spurred on by ambition need not always be at the expense of others, but they most often are at the expense of the self. He wants the best for his friends, for The Liberation, for all those they seek to protect – but how can he be of any use to them, of any good to anyone, if he’s not enough for his own legacy? For himself?

Extracurriculars: Ravenclaw Quidditch, The Liberation, Astronomy Club, Charms Club, Dueling Club, The Slug Club. – Ever the overachiever, he has bitten off more than he can reasonably chew. But Kassius is never the sort of person to admit that he has taken on too much, because he - an Ollivander - is not meant to be capable of burning out, or of being squashed beneath the weight of too much work. Not to mention he genuinely enjoys everything that he’s involved in, and is honestly passionate about everything on this list that he has set his mind to. It also helps that Freya is around in some of these places – that always helps.

PARA SAMPLE:

The hollows beneath his eyes are cavernous, and yet he finds himself here, keen, bright, standing stalwart amongst those he called his allies, and those he called his friends. There is truly nothing more important than this; it is in moments of clarity like this one that he realizes it, time and time again, that his own obsessions fall like scales from his eyes to reveal the truth – legacy is meaningless, when those without die for the sake of it.

Legacy is why they are here; some use it as weapons, where his is a thorn in his own side. Weaponized legacy, a name sharpened into a knifepoint, is a bastardization of everything a legacy is meant to stand for, but this is not why he is here. He sets his own name aside and becomes one of the masses, a wall separating the innocent from the malicious. Here, amidst the Liberation, he is not Kassius Ollivander. He is just Kassius. And for once, that is more than enough.

In fact, it is more than enough, for as he stands at the head of the near-empty classroom, wand aloft, mirroring those who have snuck from their beds to meet tonight, Kassius finds all ghosts, whispering diatribes of inadequacy and doubt in his ear, to be absent. As they all stand in a line, wands pointed at hovering targets above their heads, he – for once – thinks not of the name Ollivander, but of the name Justice. Those around him care little what his name is; nor do the men, women, and children who the Liberation seek to defend against those who put more stock in blood than in mettle. For once, he is stronger in simply being Kassius, for the youngest of them all look to him as if he is not as tired as he truly feels. And so he holds his head higher; they are all that matters.

He thinks, for a moment, of Riddle’s gospel; his family had been expected to bow, for they sat amongst the Sacred 28. Perhaps this, this defiance, this decision to stand against tyranny and injustice, to protect those who cannot protect themselves – this is legacy. His gaze breaks for a moment from the target overhead, mind leaving the spell upon his lips and finding those who stood about the room with him, those brave souls barricaded in a classroom in which they could be discovered at any moment. He finds them, and all at once the ache in his spine from arching over paper, the tremble in his fingers from holding a quill far too long, the throb of tired eyes awake at work too long – all quiet, covered with the warm rain of camaraderie.

Yes, he thinks, turning his gaze upward once more, This is what legacy is for.

“Are you ready?” he calls, wand humming in his grip. He hears a murmur of agreement at all sides of him, and his lips twitch upward.

At your ready, Kassius! Someone calls out, and the assent rises. He turns his head to meet Perseus’s gaze, his dearest ally in this trying time; there is trust between them that allows both fear and exhilaration to exist in this space in equal measure. This moment is his masterwork, what he has spent so long belaboring in isolation. This mighty something born of his legacy’s proclivity for wandwork; this is a revolution. Somewhere in the distance, he imagines Tom Riddlesquirming. An Ollivander, someone pure, finding their own weapon in their name. Just Kassius – legacy abounds. They all cast at once, and the room is alight with blue, with spark, with light that blinds. At the boom it creates, he finds himself laughing, turning his gaze once more from the flying target, which now spins and bounces from the wall, to the room. The laughter echoes along the walls, moving through all of them like a wave, as he finds Perseus, Freya, the others, all family in arms.

He feels it swell within his chest before it breaks out across his face in a wide smile, lighting up the hollow corners of his tired face, warming the tense knot that seems to always occupy the pit of his stomach. Light and bits of dust still float down from the ceiling, from the charmed targets, which dart and spin across the ceiling at the behest of their sheer combined power.

Perseus offers him a nod; perhaps it is obvious that, as is so rare, Kassius has emerged from his withering disquietude, and has bloomed before their eyes, as is the power of their combined resistance and camaraderie. “This –” he gestures upward with perpetually ink-stained finger, lips pulled wide in a near-manic grin, an utterly giddy expression that is mirrored around the room, “is what we are capable of when we are together. Strength! Live together – die alone.” He offers Freya a glowing glance, and his stomach flips. “This is our legacy.”

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

Could I possibly change his FC to Matthew Bell? Thank you!! :)

ALSO! I will link an inspo blog HERE that will be full of inspo, creations, headcanons, and the like :) thank you for reading this application!

#hp rp #hp rpg #lsrpg #literate rp #literate rpg #accepted #kassius

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dannejavi · 6 years ago

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Tales of Dusk: The Drinking Night

"So, mutt. Tell me about the Hale vaults," basking in the afterglow of sex, Lorna reclined on Derek's chest, as waited for his knot to deflates.

"Hale lineage runs as one of the oldest in the supernatural community, and my family wasn’t the only one. There is several of these vaults placed all over the world owned by other Hales members. They keep our heirlooms, valuable belongings and precious artifacts," Derek explained as caressed the old witch's wrinkly torso.

"Hmm, I suppose you can open them..."

"The vaults are protected by ancient enchantments, very difficult to break. It has a lock that only the claws of a Hale shapeshifter can open to ensure that their belongings are well protected. So, yes, I can open them. Why the question? Do you wanna see what's inside?" Derek smirked, teasing Lorna's earlobe with his tongue.

"Perhaps,” her smile was mischievous. “Where is located the closest one?"

"Since there are multiple branches of the Hale Family, there are also multiple vaults throughout the world. The main one is located in Beacon Hills, underneath Beacon Hills High School."

"Too risky to get back there," the witch pondered.

"There is another one in North Carolina, in a private plot of land near a nearby shanty town" Derek explained, nuzzling Lorna's neck.

Lorna smiled. "Great. You going to take me there. I wanna know what sorts of artifacts your family has been keeping hold all these centuries. Wouldn't you know what’s in it, would you, mutt?"

Derek shook his head. "I know its location but never been there"

"So, North Carolina is our next move" she gasped when Derek's knot finally deflated. Pushing the witch on her back, Derek spread her legs open and eagerly licked her vulva.

"You never did this before. You know there isn't any sperm left, my uterus absorbs every drop"

"I know, but I had an urgency. It felt right"

Lorna snickered. "You are more of a mutt with each passing day. But that's enough," she pushed Derek off, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You are here for my pleasure, and not the other way around"

"Pick up my clothes and then dress yourself up. Today is drinking night. Did you not forget, did you?

Derek did as commanded, and responded while pulled up his jeans.

"Of course not. Drinking nights are my favorite" his grin was large and malicious.

After covering her decrepit body with a long grey tunic, Lorna stepped closer and tapped Derek's cheek two times, speaking authoritatively. "Good. Now you go and put this stunning beauty you have to work. All that fucking got me thirsty"

Smirking, Derek pulled on his leather jacket, grabbed the Silver FJ Cruiser keys and headed towards the door.

The bar isn’t any different from several others they had visited along the Californian dusty roads. Its rustic decoration made the place looks provincial, with drunk patrons, a few hot chicks and loud buzzing to complete the scenario.

Derek spotted his next catch, a young and pretty blonde girl with a nice pair of breasts almost jumping out of an opened flannel shirt tied front, a lean waist and curvy hips accentuated by a washed off blue daisy dukes. The typical all American girl, but the kind of who goes to roadside bars searching for trouble.

She may have found, Derek thought.

Maybe she was the daughter of one of these old drunkards, maybe she was on a cross-state trip with a bunch of girlfriends that have decided to stop by. Whatever it was, it didn't matter.

Walking like a predator lurching after his prey, Derek flaunted his sexy self-confidence attested by his incredibly gorgeous looks. He was an Alpha, after all.

He took a seat by her side, glancing all nonchalant like the type of guy who knows what he wants when he wants. Derek has a preference. Some girls are easy to lure out. And they always fell into the type he was pulling out.

Charming. Cocky. Lady-killer.

She glanced over at him, smiling timidly as tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Derek smirked. He knew that gesture, the previous ones had done that exact same move. How predictable.

He could tell she was clearly interested, even if he hadn’t said a word yet. It was his manly features, Hollywoodian good looks on working that had that effect upon them. It never failed.

Derek asked for two beers. He offered her one as gave a long sip of his own, tilting his head back, showing off the sturdiness of his neck.

He could hear the girl’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks” she blurted out, drinking her beer, her eyes scanning him with increasing interest.

“My name is Derek,” he said.

“Allana,” she responded.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” it was corny, Derek knew that. But despite his willingness tonight, he wasn't much for well-made casanova lines. He wanted to get back to Lorna as soon as possible. Also, Derek knew he could drop the corniest line ever, it would take just a flashy smile to make the girl follow him wherever whatever.

“It suits you”

He noticed the way her blue eyes wandered up and down his masculine form, could smell the lusting taking over every organ of her hot body.

Derek had gained some muscles over the passing weeks, adding to his already unbelievable, rip physique. The way his biceps stretched the leather fabric, how the dark blue jeans hugged his thighs nicely. Derek could practically hear her blood rushing down to her vulva.

They talked for about five minutes. Allana told him some things about herself that Derek doesn't bother to remember. He wouldn't need knew that, after everything is done.

Derek’s grin was charmingly enigmatic. He praised the silkiness of her skin, leaning in to kiss gently the long line of her throat, brushing lips right under her ear and scraping his stubble purposefully. He sensed her body shivering and arousing spiking up to the moon.

When she looked at him, Derek had a magnetic, dark glowing in his inscrutable green, predatory eyes.

When they get back to the motel, Derek just kicked the door closed, lifted Allana’s lightweight and tossed her violently into the bed in a single movement.

“Eager, aren't you?” she giggled, her words full of uncertainty. But it quickly dissipated when Derek got rid of his leather jacket and henley, exposing the glory of his perfect physique for her lustful demand.

He jumped over, ripping apart the fabric of her shirt. Allana’s protests were suppressed as he gropes her wrists and forced them up toward the headboard while dominated her mouth with harsh kisses, greedy lips and probing tongue.

Derek pressed down on her, pushing his boner against her pelvis. For a moment it was savage, passionate until it’s too late, and Allana’s wrists were magically bound to the headboard by invisible ties.

The kissing becomes hungrier, feral, and she yelped in pain when Derek bite her bottom lip, drawing a thin line of blood.

He pulled back, smelling her emotions shift from aroused to frightened. Then, Allana could see something more in Derek’s eyes, something that wasn't there when they met at the bar. She saw death.

She gasped when Derek lifted himself off of her, standing in the foot of the bed like a psychopath.

“Derek… What is this?” she asked, struggling in the bounds. “I don’t like this. Release me”

“I’m afraid this won't be possible, dear” purred raspy voice as a creepy figure of a cadaveric old woman came out from the shadows.

Hunched over herself, Lorna’s walked towards Derek, showing off her disgusting presence to the frightened girl. Allana soon noticed her wrinkled skin that seemed to stick to the bone, resembling a dead withered corpse, strands of white drought hair framing her long cadaveric face.

“Who are you? What kind of sick game is this? Derek?” Allana yelled out.

“Her screams…” Derek glanced at Lorna, ignoring her desperate pleas.

“Don’t worry. I put a cloaking spell on the room. She can rip her vocal cords apart, no one’s gonna hear a thing”

Tears gathered on Allana’s eyes, a chilling shiver ran up her spine as the witch scanned her with veiled, cataract glazed eyes.

“Hmm, interesting. You always pick them blondes,”

“Is this a problem?” he asked.

Lorna shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Derek, who’s this woman? What’s happening? I thought-”

“You really thought a gorgeous buck like Derek would sex you up, uhn?” Lorna cut her off, sliding emaciated, bony hands up Derek’s muscled chest.

“His craving for young sluts like you has ended a long time ago, bitch. He’s mine now!”

Derek grinned when Lorna’s hand trailed her down his chest and stomach, squeezing the bulge in his jeans. He leaned in, taking the witch’s disgusting mouth in an urgent kiss.

Squirming on the bed, Allana watched terrified the sick couple necking each other. She screamed her lungs out, a futile attempt to be rescued from the devious nightmare that was about to start.

“Should we begin now?” Derek asked, his tongue swirling around Lorna’s.

The witch snickered. “Yes, mutt. It’s drinking time”

Between swears and cried pleas, Allana struggled on her restraints. Derek and Lorna had her suspended in the middle of the room by magic, her arms stretched above her head bound together by invisible ties. She was naked as they had ripped out all of her clothes.

Several cuts on her inner thighs allowed the blood to freely drip down along her legs into a large bowl under her bound feet.

Still conscious, bleeding out like a pig, the girl was forced to watch Derek and Lorna fucking each other brains out.

Lying on their sides, Derek held Lorna’s left leg up in the air using his left hand, fucking the witch with heedless abandon. Lorna’s elderly body jerked at each impact of Derek’s hips, and Allana closed her eyes to not witness the repulsive act.

“Do you hear it, my dear? That’s the sound of Derek’s cock plunging my pussy,” the old witch moaned out, raspy voice describing the slurping noise of Derek going in and out of her. “Open up your eyes and watch it for yourself. It’s a grand sight to behold”

The girl started to sobbing, her skin getting more and paler, a twisted image of deteriorating youth that Lorna very willingly loved to drink from.

“You don’t have an idea how good he feels inside me,” she said, a wobbly voice from the force of his thrusts, as Derek eagerly licked the wrinkly folds of her neck. The witch let out a raucous laugh, bucking back to match him. Reaching her left hand back, she carded fingers through his hair, pulling him close.

It was insane, the way that witch’s frail body jolted with Derek’s ministrations, powerful strokes that seem too rough, capable of snap her in two.

Allana’s breathing was failing, her lungs trying to pump oxygen into her system. But along each inhale, her nostrils burn with the grimacing mix of musky and rancid smell that impregnated the air every time Derek and Lorna have sex.

“Yes, mutt. Give me your filthy cock,” she moaned, squirming under Derek’s hold.

While the Alpha kept focused on his task, she pulled out a half-empty whiskey bottle from underneath the pillows. But it wasn't alcohol that lay in it, and the realization hit Allana like a truck as she watched the witch popping the bottle open and taking a long swig of the red liquid sloshing inside.

She was drinking blood.

Grunting out in ecstasy, Lorna was relishing in the savagery of Derek’s dominance, the rush of pleasure at every plunge of his 10 inches cock, the slap of his heavy ballsac on her. She heard him growl and bottom out, as his knot swelled inside her at same time streams of semen flowed in like a steamy heated floodgate.

“Fuck! That’s it!” Derek groaned, feeling his nuts tingling.

They shuddered together, as Lorna’s infertile uterus absorbing Derek’s Alpha vitality. As the orgasmic wave subsided, Derek watched Allana agonizing like some kind of slaughtered farm animal. Unfazed by the sight, he took the bottle from Lorna and took three long gulps, as Allana’s life flow away with the blood in the bowl, leaving a spasming, dying body behind.

"She was a brave one, I admit. Took a hell to finally succumb. At least she died completely terrified. Imagine what she’s going to taste like, pure fear” Lorna caressed Derek’s naked flank as his knot throbbed inside her pussy.

He settled the bottle on the nightstand, whispering close to Lorna’s face with a dark, hideous smirk.

“I can't wait to drink it with you,”

She let out an excited shrieking, grasping his black hair and claiming his mouth in a bloody flavored kiss.

#derek hale #alpha derek #witch #witchcraft #creepy #fanfiction #my ficlets

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taiblogcomics · 6 years ago

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Star-Crossed

Hey there, applewood-smoked bacon jerky. Oh boy, we're getting into the really cool Pony comics now. Let's do this one first, mostly because it's so big. Last week was issue 74, and this week would logically be issue 75. Wow, can you imagine 75 whole issues? That's a milestone for sure, and the comic agrees. That's why the issue is an absolutely huge prestige format book. And being IDW's 20th anniversary, too, that makes it really a milestone to celebrate~

Here's the cover. Well, part of it:

Yeah, this is only the front cover. It's actually a wrap-around cover, with the other characters on the back cover. I chose to put only the front half for a couple reasons. One, because putting the back cover on the left while the logo is on the right just didn't look right. Two, you're still not going to see the back cover when it's on the shelf or in a collection. The front cover is the selling point, so that's what we'll look at. And it's a very nice stained-glass look. Rather than betray the story, the cover opts to just celebrate the main characters for its milestone, and that's respectable~

The comic opens with a long-ago battle with Discord. Princesses Celestia and Luna are in resplendant armour, and joined by Queen Novo of the hippogriffs, the cat queen of the Abyssinians, and even that deer king of the Everfree that I don't remember the name of. Everything's going nuts, and the wonderful combination of Andy Price's art and Discord's magic is a treat to look at. However, when confronted, Discord bleats out that "It's not me this time!", and indeed some other being appears on the horizon. Discord and the five monarchs team up and combine their magic (in a display vaguely reminiscent of the Elements of Harmony) to banish this mysterious intruder. The magic and the creature dissipate. When Celestia then demands an explanation from Discord, he puts them all to sleep, saying he can't let anyone remember what happened here. He leaves them an apology cake as well, which is nice.

Cut over to the present day, where the mane six are out at a bazaar or rummage sale of some kind. Rarity's found some sort of necklace, with a stone that not even she nor Twilight can identify. Rarity offers it to Twilight, since the purple matches with her colour scheme, and that's when things get weird. No sooner is it around Twilight's neck does a mysterious voice boom out "FIND THE REST". A voice only she can hear, no less. After a quick reconvening back at the castle, it seems only Twilight can hear the voice, no matter who wears it. Fluttershy is the voice of reason here, suggesting that maybe wearing jewelry that talks to you in a voice nopony else can hear is a bad idea. But that's when the necklace suddenly starts projecting a map. Not just any map, though: it's a star map.

The star map interacts with the Cutie Map in Twilight's castle, showing a projection of the sky and then several objects falling from said sky and impacting with the map of Equestria. There are also a bunch of space-related shout-outs in the star map, and if you recognise them all, you're a bigger nerd than I. Also, the display of the celestial objects impacting Equestria is one of those two-page spreads you have to turn on its side, which is especially difficult with the stiffer prestige-format cover. Anyway, all that aside, Twilight identifies the celestial objects not making Star Trek references as the Andalusian Constellation, a lost constellation that appeared from the sky centuries ago (gonna go out on a limb and guess probably "a thousand years ago"), and then disappeared just as quickly. The origins of both its appearance and disappearance are one of the greatest mysteries in Equestrian astronomy, so Twilight is eager to solve it.

Now, I should note that every time the necklace starts whispering to Twilight, her eyes go a bit... weird. Wobbly and bright pink. So I'm sorry to tell you that everypony's hopes that this will just be a nice, safe adventure about astronomical research are probably going to be dashed rather spectacularly. And indeed, after the rest of her friends depart to make travel plans, Twilight ends up snapping at Spike for daring too close to the necklace, unleashing one of Andy Price's legendary Scary Character Faces, a fan favourite of this blog that we haven't talked about in some time. Once Spike clears out, it is indeed revealed that something's not quite right here. Twilight is being possessed through the necklace by some sort of malevolent entity, one sharing a silhouette and name with the creature banished in the prologue...

Speaking of said prologue, we get another brief scene of probably a thousand years ago, with the same spooky silhouette rampaging. It seems that Discord could even have been in a relationship with this mysterious Cosmos, and now he's looking to break up with her the only way he can think of: by bringing it before Celestia and making it her problem. Real mature, Discord. Anyway, back in the present, the teams and travel plans have all been... planned. Since it's such a big undertaking (both the quest and the milestone comic), there's gonna be some cameo teamups. Pinkie Pie and Big Macintosh will go to Klugetown. Rainbow Dash, Rarity, and Spike are off to the Crystal Empire. Zecora and the Crusaders are headed to Griffonstone, while Fluttershy and Angel Bunny are going to scour the Everfree Forest. And finally Twilight herself will take Applejack with her to Canterlot. And when they each recover the fallen stars, bring them back to Twilight. She literally demands it.

We follow that latter team first. Twilight and Applejack ride the train to Canterlot, and Twilight begins to report that her necklace is detecting where the next nearest star fragment is. Despite AJ's concerns, Twilight leads her to the castle. Without even telling the princesses they're there, they head into a secret basement. This is apparently where Celestia stores all the dangerous things she doesn't want lying around the castle, and there's a few more cameos littered in the backgrounds here. The nature of some of this stuff starts to make Applejack even more suspicious, and when she reaches for the necklace, Cosmos drops the facade of being Twilight and attacks AJ. After a short (but really cool) fight, AJ ends up locked in a cage while Cosmos claims her prize.

Since the Everfree Forest is not too far from Fluttershy's place, she has time to stop at home and prepare there, unlike the rest of the teams. Discord's already visiting, and he tries to tempt Fluttershy off to some fantastical adventure. When she explains she's already on one, to find a fallen star, he suddenly begins to panic--especially when he finds out Twilight's already found one of the others. Rather than the Everfree, he warps the both of them to his realm. To Discord's credit, he then tells her exactly what's going on: Cosmos was a magical being like himself, but much more actively malicious. She was imprisoned in the stars, which fell to Equestria to keep them apart. He found the one in the Everfree and hid it himself, to keep it away from anyone else. Fluttershy is understanding, but reasons with him that perhaps they'd better bring the matter to Celestia.

Discord agrees, and the pair retrieve the star from the Everfree, just to further ensure it doesn't fall into the hands of some villain later on. They then warp to Canterlot--Discord's powers really cut down on travel time--where Celestia is waiting for them. Failing their spot check, Twilight grabs the star from them and tosses it to Luna. Now there's three stars, each possessing one of the princesses with a piece of Cosmos' consciousness. Yes, Twilight, Celestia, and Luna are all speaking in unison and getting flirty with Discord. Half of Cosmos being reunited has begun to bring back enough power to start warping the area around them, and Cosmos begins discussing her new takeover with Discord. Discord, however, declines, having reformed since they were last together. Cosmos is deeply displeased to hear he plans to oppose her. So, to distract him, she zaps Fluttershy with some sort of spell to give him something else to worry about, while Cosmos waits for her remaining fragments to return to her...

First of all, congratulations to My Little Pony for reaching 75 issues! It’s very rare to see a comic book reach such a high number nowadays, especially one based on a licensed property. Everyone who’s worked on this series to get it here should be very proud! I’m pretty sure I said the same sort of sentiment fir the 50th issue, and now it’s even more true~

Now then: here’s yet another villain of ages past come to wreak havoc on modern day Equestria, as they so often do. If it was anyone other than Discord, I’m not sure I’d buy the whole memory spell that he used to make them forget the incident, but Discord’s powers can suspend any disbelief. Either way, Cosmos is scary. I know Nightmare Knights just introduced Eris as another sort of “malevolent counterpart to Discord”, but Cosmos sells it way better in her flashback scenes. Additionally, when you finally get to see her in full glory at the end of the issue, she’s way scarier than a big pink anthro bird. And her being able to take over the princesses so easily is highly chilling. Of course, this is also all helped by Andy Price’s art, which continues to knock it out of the park as always~

Whatever she’s up to, we’ll just have to see if the heroes can handle it next issue. I know I’m looking forward to it, and hopefully another 75 more~

#comics #reviews #My Little Pony Friendship is Magic IDW #Taiblog #Cosmos

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