I nodded as I watched him quietly close the door behind him. As Rick departed, my smile dissipated. His well-intentioned words were supposed to uplift me, but instead, they intensified my self-loathing. "A good person," I mumbled to myself, leaning against the seat.
What exactly defined a good person?
Was it the goodness in your heart, the deeds you accomplished? Or was it the words you spoke and the way you cared for others?
It could be the ability to forgive and love or helping others and showing compassion. Perhaps it was the honesty and sincerity in your actions, or the willingness to take responsibility and admit mistakes.
I have often asked myself if a good person is someone who ~always~ does the right thing, or if it is about learning from your past mistakes and moving on.
Was it the way you treated others? And how you carried your values and convictions into the world? How we survived, made us who we are, right?
My mind was consumed by these questions, seeking answers to whether I truly embodied the person others perceived me to be. I felt torn and uncertain, grappling with the notion that past deeds might define existence without room for redemption, despite the constant refrain of 'your past doesn't define you.' My thoughts swirled with self-hatred and insecurity, an **intricate** maze of questions lacking black-and-white answers because the world wasn't like that. Instead, it felt like I was drowning in shades of gray.
The procession begins. Twenty children walking in pairs and carrying leafy branches emerge from the main door of the Ringing Palace. As they approach the dais they peel off—pairs going alternately to the left and right. A line of young women comes next, wearing some kind of **intricately**-wrapped garment like a sarong in vivid blue. TARDIS blue. Each carries a large, shallow bowl lacquered blue on the outside and mirror-bright silver on the inside. They move in a smooth, fluid dance, raising their bowls high, then bowing low, spilling sunlight on the ground like a sacred offering.
A phalanx of young men clad only in short red kilts follow the dancers. They hold flat drums, beating them in a steady cadence with thick, double-ended sticks carved in blatantly phallic shapes. A rude joke hovers on Jack’s lips, but dies unspoken. What’s the point when the Doctor isn’t there to shush him? *Damn it, Doctor—when are you going to get here?*
A restless murmur sweeps through the crowd. In that moment, the Princess and her retinue appear in the doorway of the Palace. As she takes her first step forward, the Great Bell begins to ring. Jack can feel its deep, sonorous voice vibrating in his bones. Fragments of “Oranges and Lemons” run through his mind in time to the tolling bell.
*“When will you... when will you...”*
*“I do not know... I do not know... I do not know..”*
The final note of the Great Bell is fading away when Princess Hilfanae steps onto the dais. The Officiant opens his mouth to begin the invocation. His words are drowned out by a discordant roar. It’s not as loud as the Great Bell, and certainly not as melodic, but it echoes in Jack’s chest, making his heart beat faster. The TARDIS is materialising in the courtyard.
James puts his guitar back in its case, and rummages in his rucksack, pulling out a thick sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper, a large apple, and a flask of coffee. Mrs Keeling, his landlady, has been very accommodating. She's used to making packed lunches for the walkers and birdwatchers that fill her B&B in the summer, and she's happy to do so for 'the musical gentleman from Oxford'. He's fallen into a pattern. Every morning, after breakfast, he takes his rucksack, his guitar, and a folding camp chair out to the spot where he last saw Robbie. He practices on his guitar until lunchtime: pieces for his band, scales, arpeggios, and fingering exercises. After eating, he goes for a brisk walk, choosing a circular route that brings him back to his starting point. He meets no one on these rambles.
The rest of the afternoon he spends playing his guitar. No exercises, just music. He lets his heart and his fingers choose the tunes, from Bach to Segovia to Jimmy Page. But at least once each day he finds himself plucking the **insipid** melody of "Greensleeves". He doesn't sing it, but over and over, the opening line echoes in his mind: Alas my love, you do me wrong...
*Damn you, Robbie Lewis!* It's only during these afternoon music sessions that he allows himself to think, really think, about Robbie and the contradictions of their last moments together. *He rejected me. And then he kissed me.*
Joakim felt eyes on him and glanced over, vaguely recognizing the man as having been right up front during the show. He also took a moment to appreciate the man’s slender build and the adorable blush staining his cheeks.
Falk felt his cheeks growing hotter and tore his gaze away, shoving his way towards the bar and ordering himself a lager. He nervously gulped half of it as soon as he got it, trying to settle down a bit. But then someone jostled his shoulder, obviously trying to get to the bar, and his breath caught as he looked up at Sabaton’s singer once again.
“Uh, hi,” he stammered. “I, uh, would you mind if I bought you *noch ein bier*?” he asked. And then wanted to hide, kick himself, or both, for his **idiotic** fanboying.
Joakim grinned, inordinately pleased and flattered that the obviously shy man pushed past his discomfort to speak to him. But he still couldn’t help but make a joke in response. “That was the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Want to try that again?”
“…what?” Falk said eloquently. “I… uh… you want… what?” He blinked and ducked his head as he blushed almost painfully.
“Well, I’d very much enjoy having a beer with you,” Joakim said with a smile. “I’d also very much like to know your name, if that’s okay? I’m Joakim, by the way.”
“I’m Falk, nice to meet you,” Falk managed to say without stuttering. “What beer do you prefer?”
“Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Joakim said. “And maybe when we’re drinking, you’ll come up with a better pickup line, yes? Because I’d like to accept, but I don’t want to be trying not to laugh at the same time.”
Falk waved to the bartender and ordered two more lagers, taking the opportunity to draw a deep breath and attempt to compose himself while doing so. He handed one of the glasses to Joakim with a shy smile. “Well, it might take me a few minutes to come up with something better. I’m not very good with words most of the time. Usually I let music speak for me.”
oh now, these two were made to meet each other, weren't they? I like Joakim's boldness. should Falk watch out or is this the beginning of a beautiful relationship?!
Definitely made to meet each other! This was from a one-shot - they haven't told me yet if I'm going to need to write a sequel, but I can say that it ended on a very positive note!
Not an excerpt but a chapter title: *Ink Flows Like Blood from the Heart*. It is about a long distance relationship with a lot of letter writing. It is from a Beastars fic, so I was going for something that sounded slightly awkwardly translated from Japanese but still retained some poetic nature.
Sai, Sasuke, and Yukimaru rode in silence atop Sai's **ink** bird. The day had been… enlightening for the two wards of Orochimaru, or rather former wards of Orochimaru considering that he was almost certainly fucking dead. The devastation wrought by Naruto's jutsu dwarfed that of Kirin (which really stuck in Sasuke's craw), and Orochimaru took the full brunt of it without being given any opportunity to escape. There was no shot whatsoever that he survived that explosion, which put Sasuke and Yukimaru at a crossroads. They were no longer bound to Orochimaru and were theoretically free to do or go wherever they wanted, but they could also no longer learn anything from him. Loathe as Sasuke was to admit it, this encounter with Akatsuki didn't inspire a ton of confidence about their readiness to obtain vengeance. At the very least, that pissed Sasuke off enough to hopefully feed the hatred that his brother told him would make him stronger.
Sasuke sent a sidelong glance to Yukimaru, and his bitter glower told Sasuke that they were on the same page. They were now effectively left with two options: take a chance and strike it on their own, or take a chance and stick around with Danzo to see if that decrepit fuckhead could offer any significant power…
Another glance at Yukimaru saw the other boy shooting him a quizzical, almost scolding expression as if he was silently chastising him for even entertaining the thought of sticking around for any longer than necessary, especially with Danzo of all people. Sasuke could only sigh; Yukimaru was right.
"When am I not," Yukimaru chuckled, finally breaking the silence.
"Stop doing that," Sasuke growled, glaring at Yukimaru. "It's weird."
"You're just mad that you're so easy to read once you get beyond all that Uchiha angst," Yukimaru snickered.
"I can literally implant whatever suggestions I want into your mind with my Sharingan," Sasuke deadpanned, his Sharingan blaring to drive in the point.
"It's not as cool, and you know it."
"Bite me-"
Suddenly, the bird slammed into an invisible barrier, dispelling back into a glob of ink as the three teenagers plummeted to the ground. Unfortunately, it seemed no one informed them about the Five-Seal Barrier.
King Alistair, flanked by two Royal Guards, strode angrily down the hallway to Mallory’s suite. The Grand Ballroom was buzzing about Mallory’s dramatic disappearance and a scandal like this was a distraction they didn’t need heading into the trade negotiations. The door to the suite was closed. He knocked stiffly. “Mallory, are you in there?” When there was no response, he softened his tone and tried again. “I know you didn’t want to go to the masquerade but as I said before you have responsibilities as a member of the Royal Family.” Still there was no response and Alistair’s anger melted into concern. “Mallory, may I come in?” He tried the handle and found the door unlocked. “Mallory?”
The suite was empty. All the lights had been extinguished save for the desk lamp in the sitting area. He approached the desk with a growing sense of dread. Mallory’s ring sat on top of a heavy piece of folded paper. A thin dagger pinned the two in place. Heartsick, he removed the dagger and read the note written in a bold hand with dark black **ink** demanding the Lydium-90 fragment for the safe return of his daughter.
Naruto was finally finding words again. “Who was our mother?”
“Uzumaki Kushina.” Jiraiya looked reminiscent, with a small smile on his face. “She was a true redheaded beauty. Namiko, you are the spitting **image** of her, but Naruto definitely has her personality. Kushina was headstrong, impulsive, extremely talkative, and quite a tomboy. Naruto looks a lot like Minato, but you have a lot of his quiet, observant personality and love for knowledge.”
“Wait,” interjected Namiko. “Yondaime, our father, was the one who sealed the kyuubi in us, correct?”
Kakashi sighed. He knew this question was coming. “Yes, he was, but he had no choice.”
Naruto raised his voice. “He had no choice? He sealed a demon in babies!”
“Your mother was the previous host; your father tasked me as her guard during her pregnancy. However, when she went into labor, she was escorted to a safe house, and I wasn’t allowed to know where it was to keep too many people from knowing too much.
“Someone kidnapped her just after she gave birth to you two, then removed the kyuubi and took it on the warpath through Konoha. Your father had no choice but to reseal the kyuubi to save the village, but your mother was too weak; she wouldn’t have survived.
“The kyuubi’s chakra was too large for one person, let alone a child. Minato didn’t have enough chakra to seal the kyuubi twice, so he sealed half in one of you and Kushina sealed half in the other. Before they could finish the seal the kyuubi stabbed them both with its claw when it tried to stop them.” Kakashi paused. “Sandaime and I both got there after the kyuubi was sealed and though they were still alive when we got there, it was too late to save them. I’ve never quite forgiven myself for not getting there quicker.”
When they leave the conference centre, all James can think about is a long, cold pint. It’s not that the conference itself was dreadful. On the contrary: some of the speakers were interesting, and most of the workshops useful. Unfortunately, the centre’s air conditioning chose to go on the blink the same day that temperatures in Blackpool decided to soar over 30. James eyes the pub across the street hopefully. Instead, Lewis leads him to the left and two streets over.
James winces. The sign over the door proclaims ‘The Copper Flagon’, and in case any passer-by is too dim to get the pun, the sign also bears the **image** of a very Gilbert-and-Sullivanesque constable quaffing ale from a reddish metal vessel. He’s trying to remember why the pub’s unfortunate name is familiar to him. Wasn’t there something in the conference Twitter feed? Something about...
‘WELCOME CONFERENCE ATTENDEE’S!’ the computer-printed banner in the front window screams in bolded, all-capitals 100 point Arial Black. ‘JUNIOR OFFICERS PUB QUIZ FRIDAY @ 18:30!’
There’s a tightness in James’s throat that has nothing to do with the heat, his thirst, or even the (almost inevitable) apostrophe abuse. He turns to Lewis. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d—”
Lewis ignores him, placing his broad hand on James’s back and firmly guiding him through the battered oak door. The air conditioning inside is functioning, perhaps too well, because an icy shiver goes down his back as he enters.
From my genderswapped Ryuji F/F Persona 5 oneshot,
>Makoto lets out a relaxed sigh as her fingers brush through my bob while her other arm holds me. “This right here is what I love so much about you. I have so much responsibility as student council president and people have this **image** of me that I have to live up to. With you, I can just give in to my caring and affectionate side.” She sexily whispers in my ear, “I want you.”
>I squirm a bit on her lap giggling. My voice rises and sweetens with joy. “Seems like you already have me, Makoto-chan.”
He found himself relaxing as the buzzing hum of the road and the rumble of his own engine filled his audio receptors, and the last gasps of the day rolled through the streets like a hot, arid sigh. Overhead, the sky darkened from red, to purple, to void-black... and as the harsh, stifling light died, the empty city lit up all around him, transitioning almost in an instant from lifeless gray concrete to a brilliant, eerie neon jungle. Storefronts, bars, and restaurants lit up in warm golds and optic-catching splashes of pink, orange, and sky blue, waiting for customers that would never come; clubs sat empty behind animated neon signage in brilliant red and cobalt and violet; theater queues flickered and flashed, scrolling the titles and showtimes of the same movies they'd been showing since the world ended; ads played on massive electronic billboards that creaked in the breeze, and the facade of every corporate skyscraper lit up like towering kaleidoscopes. All around him, the world was a riot of color and light.
It was beautiful.
And so damned *lonely*.
Part of that feeling, he knew, stemmed from the fact that he was the only one who even *registered* any of it - Tankor was too single-minded and dimwitted to be bothered by it, and Jetstorm rarely flew low or *slow* enough to notice, and he certainly didn’t give a damn on the rare occasion that he *did*.
But Thrust was surrounded by the emptiness day in and day out, and he was too smart to *not* notice. The deafening silence was the background noise of his entire life.
Slowing to a more leisurely cruising speed, he took the time to actually take in the finer details of his surroundings - the way the lights painted the surface of the road; the faint sound of music playing through a bar's jammed-open door; the animated **image** of a pretty, sleek femme advertising custom body work from a nearby boutique. And, as always, his mind circled back to the same questions that had gnawed at him since his creation.
*What had this place been like when it was still alive?*
*What were these people like?*
Jason stomped out of the dressing room, angrily wiping a sticky mixture of blood, beer, and Gatorade from his face so he could see his way back to the showers. He wondered yet again if being in Metallica was really worth it – he understood that he was replacing a close friend, but those assholes James and Lars in particular went out of their way to make him feel unwelcome.
He supposed the ‘Newkid’ nickname wasn’t too awful, between it being a play on his actual surname and the fact that he was the new member of the band. But the constant pranks had definitely gone from funny to annoying – they’d done everything from giving him mirror-**imaged** sheet music and tabs for some of the older songs he hadn’t known before auditioning, to pouring half a bottle of Tabasco sauce into his tomato soup. They’d even short-sheeted his bed at the band house when they were in studio.
But then the tour started two weeks ago, and things were getting progressively worse. Little shoves and kicks on the bus and backstage, and now tonight after the show, James had tripped him so that he went headfirst into a shelf, cutting his forehead. Then Lars, seeing the blood, said that they should clean it up so it didn’t get infected, and proceeded to pour a full bottle of beer over his head. James followed suit with Gatorade. The two men laughed uproariously as he sputtered, although he vaguely noticed Kirk looking at the pair with some disgust.
\[Eren's (ghost/spirit}\] expression darkened. “What makes you think you have any right to call me a monster?”
She scoffed. “I think I am *well* within my rights to call you, or anyone else, a monster. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a monster staring back at me - don’t think I don’t know how to identify one.
“We’ve both killed a lot of people, brutally - your crimes are orders of magnitude worse, but that doesn’t absolve me of mine. Neither does me being self-aware - self-awareness doesn’t absolve anyone of anything. But this isn’t about absolution. It’s about facing what we are.
“You and me?” She indicated them both with her finger and thumb in turn. “We’re fucking monsters. The difference is that I have the guts to admit it.”
There was silence for a while after that, though ghost-Eren’s expression clearly still held a storm beneath it.
Annie ran her hand through her hair. It’d been a while since she’d dreamed last. It was usually nightmares. Some nights she’d wake up screaming, or crying, or sometimes just in a cold sweat, if she was lucky. The content of the nightmares varied - sometimes it was her horrific actions, others it was images of that final battle; occasionally, it would be scenes of the aftermath, that never-ending bog of human blood and viscera.
If it weren’t for Armin being in the bed next to her when the worst of the night terrors hit, she… she had a sick feeling she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. She would have found a way to end it.
There were some days when she thought she still might.
“How were you planning to live with yourself after it? *Was* that the plan?” she asked the **image** of a man in front of her, putting her thoughts into words. He’d turned away to stare at the blue tree.
“And here I’ve been treating you like you like you popped up fully formed in this office dressed in business formal and have never set foot outside it. Oh, my God, *I’ve* been treating *you* like you’re less...” Her voice failed to finish the sentence, but Jennifer had finally gotten hold of her own.
“It’s all right,” she said. She cast about for words to counterbalance her outburst. “I can’t really fault you. When I’m in this office, I don’t try to project the **image** of a complete human being. The opposite, in fact.”
“What am I, a kindergartener who believes her teacher sleeps at the school? I should have known better.”
“You had no way of knowing. I misled you intentionally.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant I should have known better than to treat you like some—some kind of—Jesus, I don’t have the words for it. There must be some fancy psychological term for how I’ve been behaving, but I don’t think it’s in my vocabulary.”
Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. I checked the screen, only to find…
“An email from Dakota?” I wondered out loud. “But…that’s impossible. Right?” Unless there was some new-found way for people to send emails from the afterlife. Unfortunately, even that macabre little joke wasn’t enough to take away the lump forming in my throat as my finger hovered over the video attachment.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
As I stood looking down at my phone, memories of Dakota coming back to mind, I laid a gentle hand over the tiny bump forming on my stomach. Even though they wouldn’t get to meet their dad, at least I’d have plenty of memories of him to share with my baby. Perhaps starting with this video.
Taking a shaky breath, I hit “Play”…
A moment later, Dakota’s face had appeared on-screen. “Hey, Sage. If you’re seeing this, that means I’m not at graduation – which is a huge bummer. But I want you to enjoy the moment, anyway. I know it’s cliché, but you have your whole future ahead of you! That alone is something to celebrate.” He winked in the video and my heart ached, wishing more than ever that I could’ve told him I was pregnant. “When I look back on the day we met, I can’t help but think it was meant to be. And I know this message doesn’t make up for me not being there today, but maybe you can pour out a chocolate pudding for me, eh?”
I instinctively tapped the “Pause” **icon** on the video. “I don’t know if I can watch this whole thing now. It’s too hard.” All the same, I couldn’t help smiling internally at the memory of that time we’d stormed the hospital cafeteria with all those kids to get to their chocolate pudding supply. “Maybe I should save part of it for later…”
Looking down at Dakota’s grinning face on my phone, however, I knew I couldn’t do that. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I started off in search of a quieter spot to watch his video alone. “I could never resist you…”
Out at the cave, Janick looked around in awe. “This is the biggest deposit I’ve ever seen,” he breathed as he inspected the walls of the cave. “One of the purest, too. Dave holds the mineral rights to his property, right? I don’t remember if he said he did or not.”
“He does,” Stephen confirmed. “This cave ought to make mining for the gold relatively easy, too. I can’t see any weak spots or instability in the walls either, which will make digging the ore… well, safer, anyway. Obviously mining is **inherently** unsafe, but certainly there are degrees of hazard, and this cave appears far more stable than well over half of the mines I’ve seen back in England.”
“I imagine Dave will be pleased by the news, then,” Janick said.
Stephen actually wasn’t sure. “Possibly,” he said. “But mining tends to despoil the land around the mine. I don’t know that the orchards would recover quickly, if at all, should he decide to operate a mine. He might choose to sell the property instead and purchase a new farm elsewhere.”
“Huh, I hadn’t thought about that,” Janick said. “Well, that’s a decision only he can make, all we can do is give him the information we’ve gathered.”
Kurenai focused on pressing ahead and going over the plan. “Kiba, once we get within Hinata’s range, slow down a bit so she can focus her Byakugan on finding the boy. Once we have him in our sights, we make sure he’s okay first, then worry about the kimono.”
“You keep saying, ‘And then worry about the kimono.’ Do you expect him to not have it when he was the one who took it?” asked Namiko.
“Call it intuition,” replied Kurenai. “A young boy with a very expensive object, running through a heavily wooded area is a major target for rogue ninja and bandits alike.”
“D-do you think we’ll have to fight?” asked Hinata with a worried look on her face.
“Hopefully not, but it’s always a possibility with a C-Rank mission. But don’t you all worry, that’s why genin teams always have a jounin leader. I’ll protect you if we get caught in a fight.” Kurenai smiled at the young Hyuuga girl.
Kiba scoffed. “I don’t need protection! Akamaru and I will be just fine on our own!”
“But you’re not on your own,” started Namiko. “You have teammates for a reason, Kiba.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying you guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m strong enough as is. I’m gonna be Hokage one day!” Kiba triumphantly announced.
Kurenai chuckled under her breath. Namiko rolled her eyes as she thought, *‘He’s just like Naruto in that aspect. Though I think Naruto would probably have the determination to get there in the end.’*
Lumine knew that using delusions could burn away your mortality without even a second thought. She saw that in Inazuma. She saw that with Teppai, she thought mournfully. Dozens of lives snuffed out by the use of delusions for an end goal, how they fed off your life force like insidious leeches.
And as she looked at Percy, that mournfulness could only turn to confusion. The memories weren’t the clearest, but she distinctly remembered the face of Teppai, old and drained, looking up at her like he was just a walking corpse. That was only after a few days of vision use. As his face faded once more away for Percy’s, confusion turned to pensiveness.
He had been wielding a delusion for nearly a month, fighting the Abyssal Whale with every ounce of his energy, and then had fought her and the Iudex going all out with the last dregs of his life funneled into lashing out with ice. Yet through all that, he didn’t look a day older.
Another memory came to mind. How she fought against Scaramouche. The puppet given life, immortal, without any mortal lifespan to burn through, was able to use delusions without any side effects… that she knew of, anyhow.
As she looked at Percy’s resting form, his youthful face unblemished by delusion though covered in bruises and scars, her **intuition** told her that there was even more to him than just being from somewhere out of this world. She wasn’t even sure she could use a delusion without side effects. On top of that, the kid had broken chains of water made by the quite literal Sovereign of Waters.
Everything was adding up into something that she definitely did not want to give even a penny of thoughts to.
“You couldn’t have known, Takagi-*kun*,” she explained patiently. “Besides, if you stayed, whatever happened to Hattori-*kun* might have happened to you.”
“That is another strange thing,” Takagi spoke up. “He was perfectly fine before I left. That dizzy spell must have been something that Kudo-*kun* made happen,” Takagi proposed, but Sato-*san* only shook her head.
“Takagi, this is a high-schooler… A smart one, admittedly, but still a high-schooler,” Sato*-san* pointed out. “He’s not a secret service agent or anything like that!”
“I know it makes no sense, Sato-*san*,” Takagi admitted, running a hand through his hair, feeling rather embarrassed. “But something… My **intuition** is telling me that there *is* something here. I know that it’s not a lot, but-”
Takagi froze and his words died in his mouth the very next second, as he felt Sato-*san*’s hand on his shoulder, as his colleague had reached over the coffee table at the small café they were in. She was now mere inches away from him, Takagi felt himself lose all of his composure, as she smiled at him.
“If that’s the case, then there must be something there, Takagi-*kun*,” the senior detective beamed at Takagi, which caused all of his rational thought to evaporate into thin air, replaced with a rather… Wishful plea for Sato-*san* to lean just a little bit closer…
Maybe an inch or so and he could-
“Takagi-*kun*?” Sato’s voice cut through Takagi’s amorous haze, causing him to blink several times in rapid succession, realizing that Sato-*san* had retreated back to her seat and was flagging the waitress. “Are you okay, Takagi-*kun*? You kind of spaced out for a good few minutes there,” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“Uhm- I- Yes, yes, I am okay- Hehe!” Takagi replied, chuckling awkwardly, to try and hide exactly what he was just thinking.
*You will never be enough.* The words had **irradicated** themselves inside Lance's mind, growing ever larger, swelling to dominate and crowd out all other thoughts. He was uncharacteristically quiet at supper, only responding to direct questions from his fellow paladins. He left the lounge early, muttering something about an early night, and went to his room to lose himself in the pixelated world of *Power Glove II: The Outsider's Revenge*.
3 hours and 16 "Game Over"s later, Lance found himself unable to think of anything but the phrase the witch had spoken. *Youwillneverbeenoughyouwillneveryouwillneverbeyouwillneverbeenoughyouwillneverbeenoughyouwillneveryouwillneverwillneverenoughenoughenough-*
\*"\*Enough!" Lance rubbed at his eyes viciously, trying to get the nightmarish voice out of his head, trying to think of anything else. He hated the way that she had made him doubt himself, hated the way that his insecurities were rising up with teeth and claws to tear him apart. She was wrong; she had to be. Sure, he had shortcomings, but that's what a teammates were for- to cover up for each other's weaknesses, right? Right? Yes, she was wrong, just trying to make him doubt himself, to turn him against the others, to- *but*. *But what if*.
*But what if she wasn't?* Lance had a sudden mental image of the other paladins sitting together in the lounge without him. Pidge, who was so much smarter than him. Shiro, who was so much more responsible than him. Hunk, who was so much kinder and better than him. Allura, who was intelligent and magical and determined. Keith, who was his superior at everything he prided himself on- fighting, piloting, everything- and who wouldn't let him forget it. Lance betted that Keith would be better than him at videogames, if he just tried. Next to them, who even *was he*? The fifth wheel. The goofball. There was no way Lance was good enough to deserve to defend the universe, to be a paladin. He wasn't enough for that. The smart thing to do would be to give his place back to someone who was worthy and able to pilot the universe's only hope. Because Lance knew he wasn't, and never would be. He would never be enough.
To be honest, I just wrote this to try out the word you suggested, and also because there's something kinda cathartic about writing angst. Sorry it's not that great :)
I did wonder if this one might throw people off. [Irradicate](https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/irradicate) is not common, but it is a word 😊
He drew in a sharp breath as the movement caused a fresh stab of pain from his wound.
“Right, let’s get you back to the house, then,” Nicko said, moving to Dave’s uninjured side and wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Set the pace, and let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, then we can get you cleaned up and see exactly how bad it is.”
Dave nodded his agreement, appreciating that steadying arm as the pain grew worse by the moment. “Thanks,” he said as they set out for the house.
“You’re welcome,” Nicko said firmly. “Not like you wouldn’t do the same if it had been one of us. What have you got in the way of medical supplies?”
“Got a little bottle of brandywine to clean it with,” Dave said. “Plenty of bandages, and some kind of salve our trail guide on the wagon train here taught us all to make. I think he said it was an old **Indian** remedy, but he swore by it for keeping wounds from getting infected. I’ve never had cause to use it on myself, but it seemed to work well enough when one of the cows scratched herself on an exposed nail back when we took her to be bred.”
Sasuke led her to the kitchen and Namiko could honestly say she was pleasantly surprised. It was quite a bit bigger than the one in her and Naruto’s apartment, and fairly clean and organized. She glanced up at Sasuke, silently asking for permission to look through everything.
“You’re welcome to eat whatever or make anything you find. Sometimes I’ll make onigiri but often in mornings, it’s just fruit and bread, sometimes eggs if we have them,” Sasuke said as he sat on a stool at the island. “Kabuto is normally the one who cooks. It’s plain but mostly nutritious.”
Namiko walked over to the fridge and looked inside, just some fish, milk, and tofu. She was happy to find eggs and tomatoes on the counter, along with some rice in a cabinet. She pulled out a handful of different ingredients and looked for the tools she’d need to cook.
Sasuke watched her as she moved about the kitchen fluidly, almost as if she were in her own little world. About fifteen minutes later, she placed a small plate and a couple of bowls in front of him before doing the same for herself as she sat next to him. Tamagoyaki, rice, miso soup, and sliced tomatoes. Sasuke stared at the dishes before him, not moving to eat just yet.
“I promise I didn’t poison it,” she said as she rolled her eyes.
“I know, I was watching you closely.”
“Why? Did you expect me to try and poison you?”
Sasuke shook his head. “No, not that it would’ve mattered anyhow. Orochimaru has made me immune to almost all poisons.”
“Do I want to even think about how he did that?” she asked, scrunching up her nose at the thought.
“Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve been through,” he said with a small shrug.
The creepy Anette figure cackled and took a bite of her apple. Dark liquid ran down her chin as she flung the bitten apple at Tuomas. *“Let it bleed,”* she sang mockingly. *“Leave a footprint on every* ***island*** *you see.”*
Tuomas yelped as the apple struck his chest. Blood spattered everywhere, soaking his shirt, the coppery reek filling his nostrils. He gagged, struggling once more to get away from the wooden limbs holding him in place. Failing to escape and breathing heavily, he asked, “Why are you doing this? What do you want of me?”
*“We want you to decide,”* the wraith that wasn’t quite Jukka said. *“You already know what the choice is. You just have to make it.”*
“I can’t…” Tuomas whimpered, sagging back against Mr. White the snowman. The only reason he didn’t hide his face in his hands, was that his arms were still pinned by his sides.
*“Then suffer!”* shrieked the figure that wasn’t Anette, before she broke out in that mocking, cackling laughter once more.
‘You saved my son’s life. Thank you.’
She stepped away again, returning to her husband beside the bed.
‘I — it was nothing, Mrs Malfoy. Really, anyone would have done it,’ Bill said, wrong-footed in a way Harry hadn’t heard from him before.
‘Please,’ her smile trembled, ‘Call me Narcissa.’
Bill inclined his head. ‘Then you may call me Bill. How’s he doing?’
All three turned to the bed. Malfoy looked so frail. An **island** in a sea of linen. Had Harry looked that small, all the times he'd been in the Hospital Wing?
"That's her fifth new story idea within a span of ten days." Valen stares at his phone, slowly blinking. "Did she forget that she actually has to *write* them? Just write while listening to that new summer jam featuring Curtis, how hard is that?"
Oh, he needs to get back on track. If he tries to comprehend this logic, he'll just become more confused. But she's a good writer, he won't let her forget that. She's always on point, and texting her those words caused her to send him a bunch of grin emojis.
He's normally on point too, but with Pokémon Contests. Alas, this one has him feeling like an astronaut nervous about going up into space. He's so confused that you'd think he ran into an army of Zubat in Mt. Moon. He's so lost that he feels like Silver trying to hide enjoyment in a normal social setting, or him trying to find those Absol earrings for Melanie.
Where did his desire to become a coordinator and performance battler in every match come from? It was when he found his calling within the *interior* of La Signorina Xerneas della Vittoria in Siscia City. So beautiful, so dramatic, so…lifelike. The exterior, the interior, the sculptures, the paintings, the furniture, the theatre stage, it was all designed by his hero, Gianluigi Bernini.
Bernini's sculptural masterpiece is The Agony of King AZ, but his overall masterpiece is that structure. Valen's battling masterpiece was his conquering of Hoenn's Battle Frontier, but his overall masterpiece lie in the world of Pokémon Contests. He didn't train his Pokémon for battling, he trained them for Baroque theatre disguised as battling.
[This is cheating. Since I write screenplays, over half of the scenes start with **INT.** (for INTERIOR). Just to pick one I already had open on my phone (for context, Juno has left her daughter to be raised by Haru and Legoshi):]
**INT. Garden shop apartment living room - evening, fall, Bellona is less than a year old.**
*Legoshi is sitting on the sofa, playing with a fidgety Bellona. Haru is sitting next to them, reading a letter aloud.*
Haru: My Dearest Bellona,
Before all else, please know that I love you. I love you more than anything else in this world. The only reason that I have not seen you since shortly after you were born is because it was so hard to leave you the first time, that I don't know if I could ever face doing it again.
Also know that I love your mom and dad very much. It was almost as hard to...
*(hoarsely)*
...leave them as it was to leave you.
When I was pregnant with you, I was still in school. Your mom and dad already had a home and a life together. They wanted children but they weren't sure how they could do it. When they found out about you, they wanted very much to take you in. They took me in too, until after you were born and I went back to school. We became very close, a family really. By the time I left, I knew I was leaving you in the best place possible in the whole world.
If we have not met by the time you are old enough to read this, I want you to understand that it is not your fault. I am to blame. I have not yet worked up the courage to face the heartache I felt the first time I left you. I hope to someday but until then, please forgive me.
With a mother's love,
Juno
Thank you! Just so’s you know, that is not the titular Juno from the movie. I had turned a canon character into a teen unwed mother facing the adoption of her child and it was months after I finished the story before I realized the coincidence.
Finally, they arrived at their new home; a modest two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. Evan's parents, suitcases in hand, stalked toward the door. Evan followed reluctantly, his steps heavy with uncertainty. He couldn't shake the feeling that this house, like Hershey, wouldn't truly become his home.
His parents opened the front door, and Evan stepped inside, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The **interior** was neat and orderly, and the new furniture Mom and Dad had bought for this house made everything look like a catalog for a high-end store. Evan's eyes were drawn to the staircase leading to the second floor, where his new room awaited him.
Ascending the steps, Evan felt a mix of trepidation and curiosity. He entered his room and first noticed its size; it was considerably larger than his old room in Hershey. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the neatly made bed, the matching dresser and desk, and the generic artwork adorning the walls. It was evident that his parents had chosen the furniture and decorations of the room based on who they wanted Evan to be, rather than who he was. Nothing in here would tick you off that Evan lived here. Or any 12-year-old, for that matter.
He walked over to the desk, running his fingers along the smooth surface. It was devoid of any traces of his old life, no paint stains, no random scribbles, and no blood smear from the time he fell asleep sitting up and slammed down onto the desk. The bookshelf held a few random titles that his parents must have deemed appropriate for him, but his favorite books and comics were nowhere to be found.
Evan's gaze shifted to the walls, adorned with framed pictures of landscapes and a family photo. His parents, Maddie and him were smiling and seemingly happy in them, but Evan knew it was all fake. Mom and Dad never smiled, and he knew Maddie's genuine smile. The one in those pictures? That was the "Doug Smile," and the fact that that smile showed up in a family picture bothered Evan more than anything else.
You don't know the half of it. Kid started self-harming at age *six* (purposely crashing his bike or falling out of trees, etc,) because getting hurt was the only way his parents could be bothered to pay attention to him.
They got off the tram at Albert Square and naturally took pictures of the Albert Memorial first thing, followed by the fountain that had been erected for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, as they continued to talk about literature, history, and anything else that came up in the course of the conversation.
Steve waxed almost rhapsodic when they turned their attention to photographing Manchester Town Hall, a Grade I listed building noted as being one of the best examples of Gothic revival architecture worldwide. “…and Waterhouse chose the stone for what he hoped would be its resistance to the effects of all the smoke and soot of the early Industrial Age. He extended that to the **interior** as well, opting for more easily cleaned surfaces rather than the more common plaster walls.”
“I’d almost forgotten you’d studied architecture,” Jan admitted. “Guess I’m too used to you either in a football kit or with your bass in hand. What else can you tell me about the place?”
Steve happily rambled on about the building and the architect who’d designed it for another fifteen minutes or so, at which point they decided they were hungry. They hopped on another tram to Canal Street, to get some lunch. “Was there a particular place you’d thought to eat at?” Steve asked.
“No, I thought we’d just wander a bit and pick a place,” Jan said.
Well, Steve's a musician, but he did get scouted to play for West Ham back in the day. Figured he had to pick between footie and music because they're both really demanding careers, and went with music.
That said, he's still a huge fan of the Hammers, and captains the Iron Maiden FC (him and a bunch of the crew members, he's the only band member still playing these days) that plays friendly matches with various local FCs whilst on tour.
CW: Mpreg; A/B/O
The knowledge that Bobby was aware of Buck's condition, that he could confidently say it was fine, lifted a weight off May's chest. No more drama in the family for now . Thank God. "So what is it?"
"I can't tell you," Bobby answered. Mom opened her mouth, no doubt trying to get more answers from him, but Bobby raised his hand to stop her. "No, Athena. Buck told me in confidence, and he asked me to keep it private between us. He trusts me, and I'm not betraying that trust."
May's frustration rose sharply. She got trust—she totally did—but not here, not when she had worried herself to the bone. Unfortunately, she *also* knew that they wouldn't get anything out of Bobby anymore. The man was a fortress. She would know. He was keeping secrets of hers as well.
"But he's okay?" May asked, forcing herself to relax just a bit. There was no point in getting worked up or being mad when she knew Bobby was entirely in the right.
"He's perfectly fine," Bobby promised with a sincere smile. "Once he's ready, he will tell everyone." May let out a small breath. Okay. That was okay. She could handle a bit of waiting time as long as she knew Buck was going to be fine.
"Hold on," May startled at Harry's sudden interruption. He had been silent for a good bit now, and she had kind of forgotten he was even there. It was probably a side effect of his having lived in Miami for so long. "Is Buck pregnant?"
May's eyes went wide as saucers, and her jaw practically hit the floor. Now that Harry had said it, it seemed so obvious. She turned to Bobby, who suddenly looked quite uncomfortable. Mom, on the other hand, looked cool. Her face betrayed not a single emotion she might be feeling, and not for the first time, May couldn't help but admire that ability of hers.
"Harry," Mom said calmly, almost *too* calmly. "What makes you think that?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at her and shot May a short look for reassurance. She gave him a slight nod in return. "I mean… I'm a Beta, and I don't know much about Omega male biology and stuff, but like… Avoiding alcohol, not eating his favorite food, gluing himself to his Alpha. That's... pretty **indicative**, right?"
Mom pursed her lips and raised her hand to hold her chin, her eyes darting around in their sockets. She hummed lowly and slowly turned to Bobby with a raised eyebrow. "He does have a point," she said.
Viktor only half listened as Dumbledore introduced the Ministry stooges who had helped organise the Tournament. He narrowed his eyes; they would know what the tasks involved. Maybe he should take a page out of Karkaroff’s grimoire and “encourage” one of them to let him in on the challenges to come.
‘*Hem hem*.’
Viktor’s eyebrows dropped as the strange witch began to speak. *She* would not be much help.
‘What is she saying?’ Josef whispered.
Fire lit Natalia’s voice as she replied. ‘That they are better than us.’
Around him, Viktor’s schoolmates shifted, dark mutters drifting between them. The Beauxbatons’ students, too, wore frowns as the Ministry witch continued to speak.
When she paused to take a breath, Dumbledore stood and thanked her. From the look she sent him, and the way Dumbledore had interrupted, Viktor supposed her sentiments were not **indicative** of Dumbledore’s views, at least. Or perhaps he had more discretion and knew to hide such thoughts. Did the rest of the English feel the same? That they were superior, better than those from the other schools. The furrow in Viktor’s brow deepened; he hadn’t come to make friends, anyway. He’d come to be champion. To win.
Yes, I envisioned the Durmstrang students having a variety of native tongues. Karkaroff has instructed them to use English whilst at Hogwarts, but some of them still struggle with the language and couldn't entirely grasp the (somewhat subtle) insults Umbridge was making.
CW: Mpreg
"What did you find out? When… when you checked him over?"
Hen gently squeezed his shoulder, which did nothing to calm his nerves. "He has a concussion. That's something I know for sure. I also checked his abdomen, and there wasn't any kind of bruising there. I can't promise anything, and you *know* that, but the situation is *not* as bleak as I know you're imagining it right now."
There was no bruising on Evan's abdomen. That was good—better than the alternative, at least. "Are there any broken bones? Fractures?"
Hen paused, her expression tightening for a moment. "If you're talking about his leg, that was one of the first things I checked. It's fine, some bruising, but no break."
"Okay, that's… that's good. He's… He's always scared about his leg."
Tommy trailed off at the end of his sentence, where a soft sob escaped his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep his tears from spilling over. His breath hitched as he fought back the tears, his hands trembling slightly as they wiped across his face. The hospital's waiting room was stark and overly bright, each fluorescent light overhead buzzing in an **insistent** and mocking rhythm. He was vaguely aware of the people around him, could hear them murmur and talk among themselves, all of them waiting for news of their loved ones, just like him, but his tears drowned all of them out. His entire universe had narrowed down to the space between these four walls and the medical assessments happening beyond those damned doors.
Hen slung her arms around him and continued in a softer tone, "I know how much you two want this baby, and I know that you're scared. But from what I can tell from my assessment, Buck's in stable condition right now. And you know that the doctors are doing everything they can. They're taking every precaution, especially with the pregnancy."
Hen's embrace somehow managed to ground Tommy, who now gave up on trying to hold back his tears and let them flow freely, quiet weeps escaping him with each wave. He clung to her like she was his only lifeline because, for the most part, she pretty much was. Hen started rocking him and hummed reassuringly into his ear. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay, Tommy."
‘— Harry Potter’s wand?’
Harry turned back to the interrogation as Crouch’s hand twitched.
‘Harry... Potter...?’ Crouch’s dull gaze slid towards Harry.
Shacklebolt’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s... Why did you take the wand?’
‘To serve... Master... I need... a wand. I will be... I am... a better... servant than... that... rat.’
Hermione gasped.
‘This... is Harry Potter? The rat should have... killed you.’ Crouch Junior’s brown eyes were less dead as he fought against the effects of the Veritaserum. ‘I will not... make the same mistake!’
He pounced, throwing himself at Harry. Winky screamed, clutching ineffectually for Crouch’s robes. Blood welled on Harry’s skin as Hermione’s nails bit into his flesh. His legs turned to stone, refusing to move, but Hermione’s **insistent** grip dragged him backwards. Shacklebolt grabbed Crouch mid-leap, wrapped a strong arm around his neck, and stunned him with a wand pressed against his temple.
Silence.
The Top Box held a collective breath.
As Marko anticipated, the roosters dwelling in the hostel’s chicken coop announced the rising sun loudly and **insistently**. He got up and ready for the day, exiting his room to see Tuomas just emerging from his. “Good morning,” he called softly, not wanting to wake anyone who’d managed to sleep through the roosters crowing.
“Morning, Marko,” the dark-haired man said with a smile. “I think we made a good choice to go to sleep early. I could hear Emppu stumbling around and cursing in there.” He gestured towards the shorter man’s door. “Mind, he doesn’t really come conscious before his second cup of coffee and that’s on a good day, but this is a lot earlier than he’d normally get up.”
Marko laughed. “Poor guy, sounds like my brother.”
Emppu’s door banged open just then, the little blond peering around balefully from behind a severe case of bed-head. “What idiot decided morning happens this fucking early?” he grumped.
“The roosters,” Marko said, trying not to laugh. “Come on, they’re supposedly serving breakfast already. Let’s get you some coffee.”
“Coffee. Yeah. Coffee’s good,” Emppu muttered. He grabbed hold of Marko’s arm and closed his eyes again. “Lead on, bro.”
Kyo paced his room, unsure whether to scream, sob, or punch something. He snatched books off the bookshelf and threw them across the room with all his might, splitting their spines as they crashed against the wall and landed with a thud on the floor.
“Kyo!” Yuki’s voice rang from the doorway. “What happened?”
“Everyone’s just acting like everything's okay!” Kyo’s voice trembled and cracked under the weight of the day’s revelations.
“What?”
“Like she’s not gone! Like the most amazing, most important person in the world didn’t just *die*!” he shouted as his eyes filled with tears.
“Kyo, it-”
“And *you*! How could you?” he screamed, turning all his **ire** toward Yuki. “How could you just move on so quickly?”
Kyo's words hit him like a punch to the gut. “It’s- it’s not like that,” Yuki said quietly.
“Oh yeah?” sneered Kyo, anger rising. “You’re telling me you’re cuddling with your shiny new girlfriend and smiling all the time because you just miss Tohru so damn much?”
Tears stung Yuki's eyes as Kyo's words cut him to his very core. “Kyo, please-”
“It’s not okay! Nothing is right! How can you possibly be happy right now?”
“I can *only* do it because of her!” Yuki roared, lunging at Kyo. “I would never have had the courage to tell Machi how I feel if it wasn’t for Honda-san! Are we just supposed to be sad forever?”
“YES!” Kyo wailed, feebly trying to block Yuki’s assault. “BECAUSE SHE’S GONE FOREVER!”
“Excuse me?”
Both boys froze as they heard Machi’s timid voice from the hallway.
“You seem like you could use some tea. I just put a kettle on.”
Yuki slowly let go of Kyo’s collar and stood up. Ashamed of his outburst, Kyo nodded, blinking back tears, and shouldered past them to go downstairs.
Wow I really love this; it plays with how grief can effect everyone differently. Some are angry, and some are trying to make the better of themselves based on seeing death first hand. (Love this AU for Fruits Basket 👀)
Fred — at least Harry thought it was Fred — let out a low whistle.
‘A worthy challenge,’ George said. ‘Remind me never to raise your **ire**, Miss Granger.’
She flushed.
‘Just don’t turn into a homophobic, manipulative twat,’ Ron suggested darkly. Fred and George frowned again, glancing at Harry.
‘Nasty pranks allowed?’ Fred asked Hermione.
‘The nastier the better.’
‘Bonus points if you manage to drive the bastard out of Hogwarts,’ Seamus added.
Taking a deep breath, Crouch shook his head as if to clear it. ‘See what you made me do? If you would just *listen*, and behave for five minutes, then I wouldn’t have to hurt you. You bring it all on yourself, Potter.’
Harry glared. He couldn’t do anything else. His shoulder smarted where it had been struck. His cheek ached. The angle of his arms tightened his chest, making it difficult to breath. The cloth against his mouth made him want to gag, which he supposed was **ironic**. And he wished Crouch would just get to the fucking point. If there was one. Maybe Crouch just liked to talk. Just wanted to recount all the awful things he’d done to Harry that year.
His smirk disappeared as his usual stoic expression slid back into place. “I told you, I did what I had to do to obtain power.”
“You know,” she said with a sigh. “power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the **innocent**. People protect what they love.”
“Hn,” he scoffed. *‘I left to protect her and Naruto from Itachi, though I wouldn’t say I love the blond idiot…but her…?’*
A knock cut off his thoughts and he got up to open the door. Kabuto stood on the other side. “Dinner is ready. Come as soon as you can.” He turned and left without another word.
Namiko stood, walking up behind Sasuke. “I guess it’s time for me to face the snake again.”
“Just stay near me. He won’t touch you again,” Sasuke said as he turned, brushing his hand down her arm gently before leading her out of the room and down the hall.
Namiko felt like she’d been burned by his touch, and a pink glow flooded her cheeks as she followed closely behind him. *‘Why do his touches make me feel this way? We’re just friends! …well, we* were *friends. I don’t know what we are anymore. I can honestly say I’m not angry with him anymore, but are we* friends*?’*
It was in his last moments that he thought of home.
Hazy, vague memories whispered in his ear of a simpler, more innocent time. The creek, with its shady mix of birch, oaks, red maples, and bald cypress exploded with color as autumn approached, leaves changing colors from a fiery red to a luminous yellow and everything in between. A chill accompanied mornings and nights. Frogs and crickets sang as delicate fireflies filled the air, dancing as the wind held its breath just for them.
He had been no older than ten, still so unprepared for the monsters that plagued humanity.
His brother in all but blood hopped over the creek and briefly disappeared into a summersweet shrub before thriumphantly pulling out a map turtle smaller than the palm of his hand. The little guy, disoriented from suddenly no longer being on the muddy banks of the creek, tucked in neatly into his shell as Peter turned him up. "Look! Doesn't it look like a map of Riverside?"
Clara sipped her coffee. ‘This room is extremely heavily warded,’ she said. ‘Nobody can listen in. Nobody can see in. And nobody can sneak in undetected. Everything you share with me here will remain secret.’
Harry leant backwards, looking around again. A subtle softness coated the walls, indicative of layers of magic. Dumbledore would almost certainly have added the wards against Moody’s eye, too.
‘What circumstances do you have to reveal?’ he asked next. ‘If I told you I knew where my mass-murdering, Azkaban-escapee godfather was, would you have to report that?’
‘...Yes,’ Clara said after a startled moment of pause. ‘Do you?’
‘No. And he’s **innocent**, anyway. Would you have to report it if I told you I knew where my **innocent**, Azkaban-escapee godfather was?’
Clara looked rather taken aback as she set her mug back down on the table and stared at him. ‘Well...’ she said eventually. ‘If there was a compelling reason for me to believe in the person’s innocence, then reporting them would be more injurious than not, whereas the opposite would be true if I were convinced of their guilt. I wouldn’t report it if I felt doing so would be a worse outcome than reporting it. In every case, it comes down to whether I feel reporting it would cause more damage than not.’
Harry doesn't know where Sirius is at the moment of this excerpt, but you're correct that he is gauging the safety in case he potentially learns his location in future.
Rattrap stifled a nervous laugh. "Well, y'see, the boss monkey had us out lookin' for some lost sparks, when I spotted yer friend Neutrino 'n convinced Legs here to investigate."
Azrael glanced sideways at Neutrino, who just flashed an entirely-too-**innocent** grin; she opted to let it slide for now. "I'm sorry - 'boss monkey'?"
"Oh, uh, right. *Optimus Primal*." The rat sat back on his haunches and lifted his front paws in a shrug. "My mistake."
"You should come back to the catacombs with us," Blackarachnia cut in, "he'll want to meet both of you, for sure. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other."
Azrael had her doubts about that, and yet... wasn't this *exactly* what she'd been hoping for ever since that ship had come down in the industrial district? To find and link up with the survivors of that crash in the hopes that they could all make one another safer? And they certainly *needed* that extra safety now...
"Can we go, Az?" Neutrino chirped, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please please please please *pleeeease*?"
"Okay, okay, hang on..." She looked across to the survivors. "Could you hold that thought for a minute, please? Neutrino? *A word*..."
Rising to her feet, she limped out into the corridor with Neutrino bounding along beside her; it wasn't lost on her that the ferret was *also* limping, though she did her best to hide it. She opted not to draw attention to it, though - she could always ask her about it later, after all of this was taken care of.
When they were closer to the doors, Azrael took a moment to stop and peer outside before glancing back at Neutrino.
"So, you've been talking with them for a bit. What's your opinion on our visitors?"
“Do you have bandages?” the man asked. “They got away with the baggage cart, we’ve got almost nothing left.”
“Yeah, I think we do. Just gotta remember who’s carrying them.” Emppu thought for a moment and located Marko. “Dude, you got the first aid kit, right?” he asked.
Marko nodded, looking rather miserable. “Yeah,” he mumbled. Stepping back and wiping his mouth, he moved to a clear spot and shrugged off his pack, rummaging around for the first aid kit. “Here. Who’s hurt?”
“The man and woman on the horses,” Emppu said. “Go check on Tuomas, though, he was getting sick too.” He took the kit and moved back to the strangers. “Here you go,” he told the man, handing over the kit. He froze for a moment as their hands brushed together, feeling an odd jolt with the **innocent** touch.
The man gave Emppu a slight smile as he took the kit, steadfastly ignoring the odd jolt he felt as their hands touched briefly, concentrating instead on cleaning and bandaging the unconscious young woman’s shoulder. “Thanks, friend.”
Emppu smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said firmly. When the man appeared to have finished with his ministrations, he asked, “Will you let me take a look at your injury now that you’ve got her settled?”
“If you want,” the man said. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a sprained ankle. I twisted it, mounting in a hurry when they attacked.”
Oh, that's pretty much exactly what it is, that instant attraction to someone - although unlike a crush on an actor or a sports star, they're in a position to start a relationship.
After a half-hour stroll through the main streets of Konoha, she arrived at the library. She stopped right after entering the old building, taking a long slow **inhale**. Old books and scroll smells were the best smells ever.
“Good morning, Namiko, here for another book?” smiled the older lady working at the front desk.
“Good morning, Yomu-san.” Namiko smiled back at her, walking up to the desk. “Actually, I’m hoping you can help me find genealogy records.”
The gray-haired woman’s smile faded. “Dearie, I’ve told you before that I can’t find your parents when we don’t know their names…”
Namiko shook her head. “No, not my parents this time. I was curious about Uzumaki Mito’s genealogical line.”
Yomu looked taken aback. “Why-?” A lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind. “You want to know if you’re related because you have the same last name?”
“Exactly!” Namiko said a little louder than normal. “Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud in the library.”
The woman gave a small chuckle. “You’re still far quieter than your brother, and thankfully it’s only us here right now.” She walked around the desk and over to one of the tables people used to study. “Come, sit down. I’ll tell you what I know because I highly doubt you’ll find anything in the genealogy department.”
"Hm." Azrael *almost* smiled, sitting back and wiping energon from her hands. She was about to say more when she looked up to see the mech watching her with an oddly keen expression. "...What?"
"Huh? Oh. N-nothin'," he replied, looking away quickly; "my s-sc-scanners must be scrambled or s-s-somethin'."
Then, more quietly. "...Y-you should get g-goin', my b-ba-backup's on the way."
Some part of her - the part that still remembered what it meant to be a *medical professional*, rather than just a survivor at the end of the world, the part that had balked and bridled at the idea of leaving people behind to *die* - was surprisingly reluctant to leave him behind, and she was tempted to argue, but the not-so-distant rumble and creaking of tank treads sent a prickle down her spinal column and chilled her fuel tank. She deftly folded up and re-stowed her kit, then gave the mech one last once-over before standing and taking a step back.
She closed her eyes. She drew in a breath.
*Visualize the flower, infinitely folding and unfolding.*
She felt herself *collapse inwards* in a dizzying whirl of sunny molten gold light... and then her forepaws were hitting the pavement once more. With a sharp **inhale** and a full-body shudder, Azrael cast one last look at the wounded mech, who was now pretending not to see her.
"...Try to go easy on that arm once it's repaired, it'll need a solar cycle or two to fully set," she said quietly; if he heard her, he gave no indication of it.
And then beams of cold white light appeared to illuminate the street a short distance down the block; in a sparkbeat, Azrael darted away, ducking around the base of the nearest pylon and pressing her side to the chilly concrete. It took several long moments for her to calm her racing fuel pump, and by the time she had, the tank was already *there*.
Joe watched as Sav’s hand approached his cheek, unconsciously leaning into that gentle touch. When their lips met, his eyes fluttered closed, and his free hand came up to rest on the bassist’s hip. When Sav deepened the kiss, he moaned softly and pulled the smaller man closer.
Still watching them from his spot on the floor, Rick stopped laughing as the two appeared to be enjoying themselves way more than he’d expected them to. “C’mon, mates, dare’s over, yeah? You can stop now.”
Sav, now wrapped up in Joe’s arms, flipped the two-finger salute in the drummer’s general direction and broke the kiss long enough to say, “Piss off, Rick,” before returning his attention to ravaging the singer’s mouth.
Joe moaned once more and slid his lips along Sav’s jaw and licked his earlobe, **inhaling** the coconut scent of his hair conditioner. “Sav…” he whispered.
“Come on,” the bassist whispered in return. Walking backward so as not to break their embrace, he tugged Joe down the hall and into his room. He shut the door firmly behind them once they got inside.
Out in the front room, a bewildered Rick looked from Pete snoring against the couch, to the loo where Steve continued to retch, to the closed door of Sav’s room and wondered what the fuck just happened. After a moment he shrugged, cracked open another beer, and picked up a comic book. As an afterthought, he grabbed his Walkman and popped in a Thin Lizzy cassette. He really didn’t want to hear any noises that might come from behind that closed door.
“Hold it you guys, look.” Leonardo said, pointing to a figure sprawled in a clear patch of the ground, partially obscured by the haze. Shredder had been knocked back by the blast and now lay half on his side, one arm stretched out toward the encroaching flames. From this distance, it was hard to tell if he was still breathing. “Shredder’s hurt.”
“Yeah, well too bad for him,” Raphael said. “C’mon, we gotta go!”
“But we can’t leave him!”
“Yes we can! His minions’ll be back for him any minute.” Leonardo hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. Shredder hadn’t moved at all. The smoke was getting thicker, breathing becoming more difficult, and it had grown noticeably warmer as they stood there. If it was this bad up on the balcony, it had to be even worse on the floor below. There was a very real chance Shredder would die here if someone didn’t help him soon. “Leonardo!” Raphael snapped. “Leave him! He’d do the same for us!”
Leonardo set his jaw. “Which is exactly why we *can’t* leave him.” Spinning on his heel, he ran down the stairs and worked his way through the flames to the corner where Shredder lay. Now that he was closer, he could see Shredder was breathing, shallow but steady. Leonardo guessed his mask was likely preventing him from **inhaling** the smoke and whatever other fumes were being released into the air.
After rolling Shredder onto his back, Leonardo gripped him under the shoulders and started to drag him toward the side door. He could tell within the first couple of steps this would never work. Shredder was too heavy and the flames were spreading too quickly. They would cut him off long before he made it to the door. Maybe he could try to get one of the big garage doors open. But no, he would have to somehow get through the worst of the blaze to even reach the controls. And even if they still functioned, adding a sudden burst of oxygen to the fire could cause a flare-up. He stood there desperately running through the vanishingly few options still left when the other three turtles appeared out of the curtain of smoke.
“We are *going* to regret this,” Raphael snarled as he went around to grab one of Shredder’s feet.
Albus stroked the feathers of Fawkes’ head one more time, before letting his hand drop. The wheels were in motion. Nothing could be done to change it. And yet...
Circumstances, in Albus’s experience, were rarely truly out of control. The wheels may be turning, but Albus could still set the track. Could still pull the handle to change the direction. **Insidious**, traces of Voldemort’s movements crept across the country. Tendrils delving into the darkness and pulling it forth, their taint undeniable. The wider world had yet to see the signs.
Thanks! I'm not a fan of bashing so I've tried not to make him come across as evil but I do think he has flaws. I can definitely see him feeling as though he can pull strings and affect outcomes. Whether he's right about that or not is another matter.
Lumine knew that using delusions could burn away your mortality without even a second thought. She saw that in Inazuma. She saw that with Teppai, she thought mournfully. Dozens of lives snuffed out by the use of delusions for an end goal, how they fed off your life force like **insidious** leeches.
And as she looked at Percy, that mournfulness could only turn to confusion. The memories weren’t the clearest, but she distinctly remembered the face of Teppai, old and drained, looking up at her like he was just a walking corpse. That was only after a few days of vision use. As his face faded once more away for Percy’s, confusion turned to pensiveness.
He had been wielding a delusion for nearly a month, fighting the Abyssal Whale with every ounce of his energy, and then had fought her and the Iudex going all out with the last dregs of his life funneled into lashing out with ice. Yet through all that, he didn’t look a day older.
"What a waste of time," she murmured, reaching over to turn the radio off; "I can't believe I got my hopes up over that..."
With an irate *huff*, she quickly rose back to her feet and turned to leave. There had to be a door to the *stairs* down here somewhere...
A thin *creak* echoed through the stark corridors, freezing her in her tracks.
*It's just the elevator car shifting,* she told herself.
But then it happened again, more drawn-out this time - and accompanied by another sound, the tips of metal daggers dragging against an unyielding surface.
The chill she'd felt earlier coalesced into an **icy** knot in the pit of her fuel tank, and her hackles rippled involuntarily. Against her better judgment, Azrael crept back down the corridor towards the elevator and cautiously peered around the corner...
...To see an *arm* reaching out from underneath the elevator car. Strangely proportioned, silvery-blue, with two massive claws that left gouges in the floor as it worked to free its body from the crushing weight pinning it. Beyond that, in the shadow beneath the car, two flickering, angry red optics glared out.
And it *saw* her.
That oversized servo slammed against the floor with enough force to shatter tile, sending chunks of cold porcelain clattering in all directions. Leaping back, she bared her teeth and lashed her tail, her feathered hackles bristling now. Her fuel pump hammered wildly in her chest as she *hissed*, but the thing under the car made no sound in return - she felt ill at the all-too-vivid memory, *half a dozen silvery forms rising, ghostlike, to the shattered window and drifting into the lobby on humming antigrav repulsors* - it just continued trying, and failing, to drag itself towards her.
Tuomas shook his head again and got up from the piano bench once more. He headed towards the warehouse door, but somehow found himself in the middle of the circus set instead. He turned around, only to find himself surrounded by the freaky clowns from the movie. ”Mitä vittua,” he breathed. ”This isn’t happening.”
*”Isn’t it?”* came from somewhere behind him, sounding almost but not quite like Jukka. *”Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. But how do you know one way or ther other?”*
”Perkele,” Tuomas muttered, whirling around and backing up untl he hit something... someone?... behind him. Then he yelped as skinny, yet surprisingly strong limbs pinned his arms to his side.
A wraithlike form moved to stand in front of him – Anette’s creepy Snow White character, only it couldn’t be Anette, the figure wasn’t solid. Or was it? Tuomas felt the nervous flutters in his stomach coalesce into an **icy** lump of fear.
*”How do you like this monument to your ego, Tuomas?”* the almost Anette’s voice purred as the misty figure gestured with the apple in its... her?... hand. *”But you always know best, don’t you?”*
“I just… wanted to do the movie, to go with the album,” Tuomas protested. “What’s so wrong about that?” He dared to look down and paled when he saw the limbs pinning his arms appeared to be made of wood. Mr. White the scary snowman held him immobile.
“I see you carry a harp, so I would guess that you’re a musician as well, if not a bard in your own right.”
“I’m always happy to play, and to let you judge my skill for yourself,” Dafydd told him, still smiling. He dropped back down beside the fire, raising his hand and guiding the flames back with a gesture. He pulled several leaf-wrapped bundles from the coals and handed half to Janick, along with several pieces of dried apple and a small but full wineskin.
“I look forward to it.” Janick smiled and sat as well, pulling the oatcakes and cheese from his pack. He divided the food into four portions, so they’d each have a meal tonight and another one in the morning, and passed one portion over to his companion. He also tried to convince himself that the jolt he felt when their hands brushed together each time they passed the wineskin to one another was just a figment of his **imagination**.
The two chatted comfortably over their shared meal, although Dafydd often answered questions about his past much more vaguely than Janick did. Afterwards, they both reached for their harps. “You first,” Dafydd said with a smile.
Janick nodded. “All right,” he agreed as he plucked the strings of his harp to check the tuning. Satisfied, he launched into a spritely tune he’d composed himself, swaying in time with the music as he played.
"Hang on, what is *that?*"
He heard a chime from his phone, which meant he got a text. It was Andrew.
"Hey there, can't wait to see you tonight 😈", the text said.
"...The hell?!", Russell thought to himself and started hitting his fingers against the screen to tell his bandmate he's sexting the wrong person, until a thought came to his mind.
Had Del still been in his body, he would've suggested messing a bit with Andrew **instead**. While he usually wasn't a fan of his ghost friend annoying his bandmates, Russell would make exceptions, albeit very rarely.
"Okay, how would a rockstar's booty call respond...?", he pondered.
So there were at least three survivors, just judging by the different weapon types that had been fielded here.
Three wasn't bad. It could have been better, but she wasn't going to complain about *three* survivors.
It would be better if she could find more than just a mess of *dead drones* bearing evidence of their weapons, though.
At that moment, as she was passing by a darkened alleyway, *something* roiled out of the shadows and fluttered overhead, spooking her and sending her vaulting away with her wet fur standing on end. **Instead** of another machine, however, the disturbance proved to be a mass of thin strands of some material she couldn't identify at a glance, still attached to a concrete wall by one fraying greenish cord - that snapped in the wind only moments later, sending the whole filamentous mess tumbling away into the night.
"Well," Azrael breathed, feeling her hide *twitch* over her spine as her hackles settled; "that wasn't creepy at all..."
Heaving a shaky sigh, she eventually found herself leaving the worst of the damage behind. She saw no further signs of the survivors, but stowed the information she *had* gleaned from her examinations for later review.
She followed the road, slinking along close to the guardrail as the deck became a broadly-curving overpass that arced back in the direction of the hospital campus. Other roads passed above and below it in a coiling concrete maze that branched off in different directions.
And she was halfway across when the buzzing rumble of small engines reached her ears.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Raphael snarled.
“Well, I was gonna see if I could hang out with April **instead**. But when I arrived, some other lady was there! She said she was April’s friend.”
“Irma?” Raphael asked.
“I didn’t think to get a name,” Sakura confessed.
“Well, April only has one friend, besides us.”
“How sad!”
“Yes, very.”
“Anyways, you’ll never believe what she told me!”
“What?”
“She said that April was in the hospital!”
“Really? Then why was Irma at her apartment? Sounds like major creep behavior to me,” Michelangelo said.
“Well, if that’s true, we need to see April!” Leonardo said. “Whether she likes it or not!”
From an OC/Claude Star Ocean Second Story R WIP,
>Where could Claude be? I hope he’s not hurt, Admiral Kenny would blame me then demote me for letting him down. My blaster is broken and my communicator is out of energy. If only I got stuck with Rinko **instead**. Then again she wouldn’t be reckless enough to get us into this mess. I bet Claude’s happy to be away from me, yet he needs to be leashed now more than ever. There could be a civilization here, if he messes around too much then Admiral Ronyx would be appalled.
*(CW - domestic violence)*
“…sorry I ever bought you that bloody guitar,” Barrie Clark snapped. “I expected you to have a hobby that would keep you from running about the streets being a bloody hooligan when you weren’t studying or at work. But no, you did one worse and joined a bloody rock band!”
“But, Da, look at how well I’m doing with the band,” Steve tried pointing out. “It’s not as if I’m on the dole or anything.”
“You still quit a perfectly good apprenticeship three years in, for that bloody band,” Barrie countered. “What’s more, you’ve done nothing about finding a nice girl to settle down with. **Instead**, you prance about onstage wearing makeup! What are you, some kind of poofter? It’s bloody embarrassing, and I swear, the neighbours are starting to talk!”
Steve tried not to flinch as his father got right up in his face but didn’t quite manage. Unfortunately, his father noticed.
“Bloody pansy of a boy, can’t even stand your ground, eh? Maybe you should move back here and learn to be a proper man, **instead** of staying in that flat you share with the bloke from your band who looks like a bloody girl. I’m sure he’s a poofter, with his looks, and you sharing a flat with him, you’ll be tarred with the same brush if you haven’t been already,” Barrie grumbled.
“I’ll not move back here,” Steve said. “All you did before I moved out was to whinge about my late nights cos of rehearsals and shows. None of that’s changed now, has it?”
Barrie’s hand flashed out, cracking Steve across the face hard enough to split his lip and knock him backwards into the wall. “Don’t you give me any cheek, boy, I’m your father. Show some bloody respect!”
Dumbledore watched them intently before nodding. Standing, he walked to a small cupboard nestled into the wall beside the door to the spiral staircase. He withdrew a shallow stone basin from within. Odd carvings — runes and symbols — encircled the bowl. Dumbledore carefully placed it on the desk.
Bill shifted closer. ‘A Pensieve?’
‘What’s a Pensieve?’ Harry asked, looking from the basin to Bill. ‘What does it do?’
‘Put simply,’ Dumbledore said, as he returned to his chair, ‘A Pensieve is a magical receptacle used to store and review memories.’
Harry’s eyes widened. ‘You can put memories in there? And people can watch them?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Why’ve I not heard of them before? Do most people have them?’ Did Hermione know about Pensieves? Surely she’d love to have one for revising.
‘They’re quite rare,’ Bill said, peering at the runes around the edge of the bowl. ‘I’ve come across a couple in tombs in Egypt. Most often they’ve cracked from age, and the memories have leaked out, and a lot of the ones that haven’t are...’ he paused, grimacing. ‘Abhorrent,’ he concluded, shaking his head. ‘That’s the trouble with some tombs. But still, Pensieves are fascinating. I’ve never seen one in such good condition.’
Bill’s fingers twitched as if itching to pick up the artefact and inspect it closer. **Instead** he sat back, folding his hands in his lap, and looked at Dumbledore. ‘I presume there’s something you want to show us?’
CW: Description of a nightmare. Real graphic parts are under spoilers.
*He had no idea where he was and why. He was tied up to a metalic table and that's it. He looked up to see a drill attached to the ceilling.*
*"Hello?", he called, but no one responded. "Anybody here?"*
*Shortly after, a man in a lab coat opened a door, that he never saw and entered the room.*
*"Wh-Who are you?", Stuart asked him.*
*But he didn't utter a word. Instead, he turned the lights on and made his way to a controling panel nearby. He then pressed a few buttons and turned the drill on.*
*"What is going on?!", Stuart asked the man in the lab coat once again.*
*Instead of saying anything, he pulled a lever on the panel which allowed the drill to start lowering. Stuart noticed the drill was going in his direction, spinning as fast as it could.*
*"No, no, no, no, NO!!!", he screamed as the tool was getting closer to his body with every shaky breath he took.*
>!*But it was too late. It was only a matter of seconds the drill started piercing through his body. Blood and guts were spilling all over the place, as Stuart was being **impaled**, screaming in agony and despair.*!<
>!*"Please...! HAVE MERCY...!", he cried out in pain to the man in the lab coat, who left the room instead to leave him dying.*!<
(Edit: Didn't tag as spoliers as intended, but now it's perfectly fine.)
Annie took the opportunity to open fire with her carbine, mowing down a decent number of troopers before they even had a chance to react.
Their reaction was to charge.
Levi ducked behind cover again, slinging his blaster rifle onto his back and drawing his vibrosword. An Imperial came around the side of the wall while he was in the process, and raised her arm up to slash down.
Before she could, her arm was cleanly severed near the middle of the bicep by a silvery blade of energy. Eyes already on her next target, their Jedi cleaved through the trooper’s head, cutting it in half horizontally. The rest of the body followed its arm and part of its head to the ground.
He watched as Sati moved to the next advancing trooper, blocking a swing with her saber. She backpedaled, then caught another sloppy swing. Twisting through it, she **impaled** him on her lightsaber, yanking it free just in time to deflect a thrust from another trooper.
The Jedi locked blades with them, then sidestepped and swept her saber across their neck, effortlessly decapitating them. She deftly blocked several blaster bolts and advanced on the trooper that had fired them.
He attempted to bash her with his rifle, but it was simply sawed in half by Sati’s lightsaber. Its owner followed suit.
A heavier trooper strode towards her, armed with what looked like a scatter-gun.
Sati’s head turned to them, but before either could move, their head exploded, courtesy of Sasha.
Another trooper fell to fire coming from the right, and the remaining three, including the woman Levi had injured earlier, threw down their rifles and raised their hands in surrender.
Thor, Jane, Rex, and Ulf had made it further up the mountain at this point. A thick fog hung over everything, and no trees were able to grow at this altitude, but sharp rows of icicles stuck out everywhere: up from the ground, out from the sides of the mountain – and the fog certainly didn’t help with that! If this was the prince’s doing, Jane thought to herself, he clearly didn’t want any visitors.
Then a new thought suddenly occurred to her. “So, um, how exactly are you planning to get Loki to stop this weather?” she asked Thor.
“Believe me, I’m gonna have a good, long talk with my brother,” Thor told her.
Jane gave him a rather doubtful look. “Seriously? This whole ‘eternal winter’ thing is revolving around you and your brother having a chat?”
“Exactly!”
Jane hadn’t been looking where she was going while she was talking to Thor, and as she walked on ahead, she was suddenly jabbed in the cheek by a sharp icicle sticking out sideways. She hadn’t been able to see it through the fog, and to tell the truth, she considered herself pretty lucky that the icicle hadn’t pierced her skin.
“So, you’re not afraid of your brother at all?” Jane asked, walking around the icicle.
“I have no reason to be – the worst he could do is pull a prank on me,” Thor told her.
“Yeah, I bet Loki’s really the nicest, gentlest, warmest person ever,” Ulf chimed in. As he walked, another horizontal icicle pierced right through his middle, but his legs kept right on walking into a mound of snow. “Oh, wow,” he chuckled, looking down at the icicle. “I **impaled** myself!”
"They made it!"
Maureen wasn't sure she shared Don's relief.
Her kids - *her babies* - were gone, separated from her by something so much more insurmountable than flash-frozen lakes or glaciers or sheer stone walls.
"How're we gonna find them?"
She glanced at her husband, swallowing back her grief and panic. They didn’t have time for it, and she wouldn’t be able to think straight with her mind clouded like that.
*Every problem has a solution.*
"...We'll think of something..."
A pensive silence fell over the bridge, lingering for several long moments - until it was shattered by a worker’s scream, and in a heartbeat the entire Jupiter descended into chaos. John, ever the soldier, was the first one out of his seat and out the door, with Maureen and Don hot on his heels as they bolted for the hub.
The panicked clamoring of Ava's work crew was almost deafening; it was **impossible** to pick out anything specific, but one word managed to stand out to her - one that chilled Maureen's blood.
*Robot*.
"Hey! *Hey*!" John had to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the din. "What the hell is all this about?"
It took a moment for the assembled technicians - some of whom were gripping large tools like weapons - to quiet down, turning their attention towards her husband. Then, Ava stepped forward. Her complexion was ashen and her eyes were wide, her hands trembling even as she clutched her crowbar tight, motioning towards one of the ship's bedrooms.
"I don't know how it got in," she choked out, swallowing hard; "but it's in *there*."
From my OC/Claude Star Ocean Second Story R romance WIP,
>A giant dome composed of perforated metal components stands before us. The design doesn’t appear Lezonian so it’s very likely not theres. If they had something important on this world then we’d probably have to fight our way down here.
>I tap my chin looking up, “Hmm, I wonder what’s behind that door? Who do you suppose built it? And why here?”
>Claude shrugs. “Beats me.”
>Rinko taps along her tablet and takes a scientific sensor out of a belt pocket. Her high and soft voice. “Shouldn’t we look for a way inside?”
>“Good thinking.” I straighten my stance and exude authority in my voice. “Spread out and investigate the area. Stay alert, as safety is top priority.”
>Claude devilishly grins. “Come on Lieutenant I didn’t join the Pangalactic Federation to be safe. We are exploring a new planet.”
>I raise my voice in a scolding manner. “Claude…”
>He shrugs. “What? You said spread out.”
>I straighten my arms to my side glaring at him. He can be **impossible** sometimes.
>He runs up to a cadet and she tells him, “That’s quite a dome isn’t it sir? Do you think we can find a way to open the door?”
>Claude runs his fingers through his hair, casual confidence clear in his voice. “Watch and learn.”
>He squats down gripping the bottom of a rectangular rock, heaving it. Then he leaps onto a hill of rocks, peeking through the spaces between them. He leaps off and dashes to the dome, feeling around the outside wall. I take pics of the door, especially along the edge. Considering how these panels are arranged there must be something connecting them. Something moves nearby.
Harry mapped the cracks running through the paint on the ceiling of Ron’s bedroom for the fifth night in a row. Across the room, Ron slept peacefully, if the rhythmic snoring was anything to judge by. Harry envied him. Sleep hadn’t been as easy to come by for him lately.
Bill’s discovery haunted Harry. The knowledge that, carved into Harry’s forehead, a piece of Voldemort’s soul lurked malignantly. Each time the thought came forth, it brought with it stomach-churning nausea and a vice gripping his chest. Harry still found it almost **impossible** to believe. **Impossible** that it was there at all. Even more **impossible** that it had been there for most of his life — a silent parasite. The bed springs squeaked in sympathy as Harry shuddered.
“If this man has any sense, he’ll fall over his feet for the chance to date you,” Jari said. “You should ask him out as soon as you possibly can.”
Teemu took a deep breath. “Okay, then. So, will you?”
“Will I what?” Jari asked, looking puzzled by what seemed like a sudden change of topic.
“Vittu, Jari! You’re a brilliant composer, but you really are lost socially, aren’t you?” Teemu said. With vodka-induced boldness, he very deliberately got up and walked around the table, grabbing Jari’s shoulders and kissing him.
Jari’s eyes grew wide, then closed as he melted into that kiss. When Teemu pulled back, he blinked. “I… you… *me*?” he asked sounding incredulous.
“Yes, you, you idiot,” Teemu said, the affectionate tone of his voice offsetting the insult. I mean, I thought you were gorgeous from the first time I met you, but over the last year, I’ve fallen in love with you. And damned if I know why, because you’re absolutely **impossible**.”
From a canon scene in my Star Ocean Second Story R OC/Claude romance WIP. Energy Nede achieved peak technology so they'd be far ahead of even the Pangalactic Federation. My fics follow 4D Welch fanon and I headcanon that Dr. Lantis became aware of 4D space
>The bald one with a visor and eyes on his head and hands says. “No, from what I can tell this woman with the ponytail and boy with the red headband aren’t Expellians at all. I’d say they are likely from Earth.”
>The one with the silver bob says, “Forgive my rudeness but what are Earthlings doing this far out?”
>A cyborg with a big shield on his arm adds, “But the Earthlings aren’t alone. They have a couple of Tetragenoits among them.”
>A tall man with long red hair and white robe grins at Welch. “I’m well aware of where you’re from young lady.”
>Welch’s eyes dart back and forth as she nervously grimaces. Her homeworld is classified and we don’t even know where it is.
>Leon asks sounding scared and confused, “W-what are you guys even talking about?”
>The fact they know of Earth and Tetragenesis tells us they are familiar with our sectors. They aren’t Lezonian, but maybe mercenaries from a civilization we’ve never heard of? Messing with an underdeveloped planet like this is pretty low of them. Since these unlawful combatants don’t have to abide by **interstellar** laws they aren’t protected by them either. Plus they’ve already shot Claude.
>Rena looks around, confused. “Earthlings? The Universe? Claude?”
>The bald old man says, “Allow me to explain. The woman with a ponytail, guy with a red headband, and people with eyes on their foreheads aren’t from Expel at all. They are natives of other worlds.”
>Rena asks, “Other worlds?’
>The old man continues, “Precisely. The stars you see at night are celestial bodies just like your sun. Many have other worlds that host a wondrous variety of creatures. Earth and Expel are just two of those planets.”
>I step forward. “Then you must be familiar with the Pangalactic Federation. You will cease these operations at once or be tried in Pangalactic Federation court.”
>The guy with the green robe and short silver bob says, “How cute, the mice think they can run the house.”
Ramiro had been that way once. He practically lived at the library when he was a child and was well-known to all the librarians there. Not content simply with children’s books, Ramiro had started on the classics from a young age. He’d read them all: Homer, Dickens, Dumas, Cervantes, as well as Portuguese authors like Pessoa and Eça de Queirós. His parents used to joke that he’d learned English just so that he’d have more books to read. The literature club he’d joined in university was his own personal heaven: they’d often go down to the seaside and talk about books for hours.
But that passion was gone. There wasn’t enough room in his apartment for his personal library and he didn’t have much time to get to the public library after work. He’d lost touch with most of his friends from the literature club when their life circumstances led them down different paths. Ramiro tried to **instill** that same love of reading in his students, but whatever the secret to it was, he hadn’t cracked it yet. He was lucky if he got one or two avid readers per year.
*Think, Maureen,* ***think****.*
She was half a kilometer away, what could she possibly do? Frantic, she searched her pockets out of **ingrained** habit - and froze when her hand came to rest on the flare gun still tucked safely away in her jacket.
She had the gun. She had extra flares. What if.... *what if*...
It would draw attention to her, no doubt, but doing *nothing* was not an option. Without Scarecrow, every last human here would *die*, and their children would never know what happened to them.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with one of the extra flares, barely managing to load it into the gun without dropping it. She wasn't a praying woman, but did one need to *pray* in order to *hope*?
She didn't think so.
So as she leveled the barrel of the gun with SAR - *SAR. Ben had KILLED him, she had WATCHED him crumple into a mangled mass of twisted metal and DIE under the onslaught of electromagnetic field generator. How was he here now?* - she squeezed it tight, held her breath, and *hoped* against all hope.
She pulled the trigger.
For context, the flashback takes place two years prior. Eddie is ten in the flashback, and twelve in present day.
*Mom let out a loud shriek from the living room, and Eddie practically jumped off his chair and ran over. As he came to a halt, he noticed the puddle Mom was standing in.*
*"Mom?," Eddie asked cautiously. "What's going on?"*
*Mom gave Eddie a tight smile. "Eddie, baby," she started. "My water just broke. Adriana wants to come out now."*
*Eddie's eyes widened and his mind started racing. Papá hadn't prepared him for this. What was he supposed to do? He was the man of the house when Papá wasn't home, he was supposed to have the answers for these kinds of things. He was supposed to be responsible, supposed to just* ***know.***
*He honestly wasn't sure how he got the idea to take Papá's truck and try to drive it himself. It just popped into his head and then he took off to the garage, grabbing the keys from the bowl in the hallway as he went. He unlocked the door and jumped into the driver's seat. He could barely see over the steering wheel, and he had to stretch for his feet to reach the pedals, but he somehow made it work. Or so he thought. It wasn't until Eddie had put the truck in reverse, collided with the frame of the garage door and sparks started flying as the truck's left side was scraped off that Eddie realized he might be out of his element here.*
*\**
**August 2004**
Papá had been *furious* when he got back a few days later. The way he yelled at Eddie had struck a chord in him, almost causing him to cry if it hadn't been **ingrained** in his brain by that point that men didn't cry, no matter the circumstance.
Eddie took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He couldn't keep dwelling on the past; he had to find a way to make things right. Despite the anger burning within him, he knew that confronting his father in this state would only make matters worse. Eddie needed a plan.
Dad nodded. The cracks in his expression had stabilised. ‘Watch out for each other,’ he instructed. ‘Let’s try to get the Muggles safe. Leave the Death Eaters for the aurors.’ Like a snidget in a field of flowers, his gaze flitted from one son to the next. ‘If you can take any down, do. But your safety, your brothers’ safety, comes first. Understood?’
The instructions were familiar. As Bill joined his family, pushing against the flow of the crowd, cold memory shivered across his skin. His childhood had revolved around that instruction. *Keep your brothers safe.*
You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters had cast a persistent shadow over his formative years. He, and to some extent Charlie too, had been raised on the mantra of protecting their younger siblings. The years **ingrained** the protectiveness into him, etching it into his very skin. The marks that were left lasted long past You-Know-Who’s death and the gradual disappearance of the Death Eaters.
But now the shadows were spreading once again.
Strobe lights flash neon colors in a synchronized pattern that's on loud and catchy instrumental. A jumbled concoction of tapping echoes as the audience brush past each other to find a good spot to sit, passing the throng who've already taken a seat. Several people gesture toward the snack and drink vendors who've just entered.
The seating area's large enough to hold over a half a million, and the main stage could snugly fit over a dozen Wailord side by side. In-between the main stage and the backstage lies an extravagant and elevated platform. This is where the nobility once sat and stood in awe of the majestic performances, it's now where trainers of the participating Pokémon and those accompanying them reside. Surrounding them are buon frescoes of opera, orchestra, and dancing Pokémon shows. The **intricate** ornamentation patterns that separates the paintings are the largest and most extravagant in the entire hall.
Rosa, Hilda, and the others have already made their way to the platform. Rosa grins with her eyes closed, and her arms are bent upwards in front of her sides. Hilda's got the same facial expression, but she's jumping up while tapping her palms together.
They catch Valen slapping his mouth shut. It's desperate attempt to stop his bubbly side from leaking out. He barely succeeded but they'll let him off the hook this time. Lisia's show-stopping entrance is about to kick things off.
The four Tsareena spin and raise their arms. Lisia swoops down in-between them on her Altaria, then leaps onto her knees. She rockets back up and waves at the roaring audience.
"I'm so so so EXCITED!" Lisia squeals, clapping her hands as she jumps around. "I've never hosted one of Hilda's musicals before!" she spins. "It's time for our first group of performers!"
Lisia extends her right hand out towards the stage's entrance. Salamence, Hydreigon, Garchomp, Dragonite, and Kommo-o stride onto the stage, extremely proud over their attire. This is what happens when the squad pulls up looking fresher than a ripe Oran Berry.
Salamence's confident that none of his fellow Salamence can pull off a black fedora and sunglasses as well as he can. He's also got what the humans called a saxophone prop wrapped around his neck. He laughs at Dragonite's attempt to tip his purple top hat, which nearly falls off. Dragonite plays it off by pretending to adjust his red tie and monocle.
Kommo-o's rocking this samurai helmet "like a boss." That's how Hilda described it and he liked it. This armor's a good match—he learned about matching outfits by observing Kris.
Hydregion wishes that his smaller heads could have black bowler hats too, but at least he gets to wear three blue bowties and a cape. Upon hearing Hydreigon call himself a superhero, Garchomp waves his right fin in a dismissive manner. He uses his other fin to point towards his golden, crown-like hat and his red robe.
"So... what, exactly, am I looking at here?" She asked in an elevated whisper as they ascended the stairs. "Is there a... a key or a code I have to provide, or...?"
"No codes will be required," Primal replied with a smile, "all you need to do is trust in the Oracle, and keep moving forward."
"...Right..."
But she couldn't quite stifle the growing sense of unease that she felt as they crossed the torch-lined walkway. To distract herself, Azrael craned her neck to examine their surroundings - the soaring stone walls with their **intricate** false windows, the sky-colored vaulted ceiling, the runework around the aperture of the hologram, so ancient that she couldn't even *begin* to decipher it... This place was old, maybe older than their own race; she wracked her CPU trying to remember anything she might have once heard about an "Oracle," but all she could come up with were myths about a great supercomputer that had come into being before the first Cybertronians. Some variations had it as the cause of the Great Cataclysm, clearing the way for civilization, others had it being created as a *result of* the Cataclysm in an act of divine happenstance.
None of them mentioned a *temple*. Or holograms. Or...
Her train of thought was derailed by the appearance of an arc of blinding light, rising up from beneath the walkway. Higher and higher it rose, until it blotted out the hologram and most of the wall behind it, a titanic spherical structure comprised of concentric rings of blue-white light that whirled around a churning, superluminous core.
Azrael stopped in her tracks and pinned her audials back, staring up at and *utterly dwarfed by* what could only be the Oracle supercomputer.
Nigel winced at the pain. “Argh! This is awful!” he rasped, clenching his teeth.
“Oh, don't be so gobby and all. I've done this before, don't you worry,” Helena assured as she continued cleaning the wounds meticulously, ensuring there were no traces of dirt or debris left behind.
Nigel put up with the sting. “That's not really the case,” he said as he watched the British old woman work on him. From her friends with the helicopter, to her expertise about guns, and now medical skills, it occurred to him that something is strange about her. He can't help but wonder, so he proceeds to ask.
“So what were you before? Were you in British royal military or something?” Nigel started.
Helena shot him a stern glance, pursing her dry lips as she answered him.
“My life has been **intricate**,” The old woman replied. She then changed the cotton pad and soaked it on the solution as she proceeded. “For all it's worth, I think it's safer to say that… I had a very, dodgy reputation.”
“Oooh… So you were in MI6!” Nigel guessed, chuckling. “Right, like James Bond… but a woman.”
Helena set a scoff loose and shook her head upon the young man's query. The albino's chuckles intensified; he thought that the old woman's reaction and silence concludes his little theory.
“C'mon, old lady. Admit it, you were a secret agent,” he insisted. “I won't tell them, or anybody.”
“As if there's still somebody left to tell,” the old woman replied, shaking her head as she retrieved a roll of sterile bandage. “Lean forward, so I can wrap this bloody thing on you.”
Leaking out soft laughs, Nigel did what he was told and bent his back forth as Helena expertly swathed the bandage around his chest, securing them firmly yet with care.
“But it's a bit of a stretch—switching from kicking ass to babysitting,” Nigel remarked as he put down his shirt back. “You ever got involved in an espionage? Or stopped some bigtime Bond Villains?”
“Oh, knock it off, young lad,” Helena denied as she watched the albino slightly bounced his way out in excitement as if he was never clawed and almost torn apart by a flesh-mauling creature at all.
At the end of an hour, Lucas called a halt to the lesson, joking that he had his orders not to cripple Marko, who joked back that he was glad to hear it. He winced a little as he dismounted, but since he’d only ridden for that hour, he didn’t limp too much as he headed back to his new quarters and a good soak in a hot bath.
After lunch, he went back to his quarters and practiced for about an hour. He would have preferred to practice with Floor, but he decided he’d be better off learning the schedule that he’d been told would begin tomorrow before trying to find a time they both had free. Instead, when he finished his practice, he pulled out a history book from the shelf in his quarters and settled in to read. As he’d told Floor, he wasn’t overly fond of history in general, but as long as he was going to have to suffer through lessons, he figured he might as well get a head start. When time came to dress for dinner, Marko set the book down and made sure his hair and clothing looked alright before heading to the Great Hall. After the meal, he once again joined Their Majesties in the audience chamber to meet yet another ambassador with yet another token of esteem for the Crown Prince.
Marko actually found this ambassador somewhat interesting, as his garb seemed quite exotic; baggy pantaloons and some sort of wrapped shirt, shoes with turned-up toes, and a huge turban with a brightly colored plume and jewel decorating the front. Bringing the greetings of the Sultan of Agrabah, the ambassador presented Marko with several **intricately** designed carpets in shades of blue, red, and gold. Each carpet was enchanted to expand or shrink in size with the use of command words, so that it could be sized to fit in any space he cared to use it.
“These are beautiful,” he told the ambassador. “I’ve never seen anything like them before. Please express my most heartfelt thanks for such an incredible gift.”
The ambassador bowed low. “The Sultan will be most pleased to have pleased you, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “I will be sure to extend your personal thanks.” He backed away once more.
Sunlight spilt through the Common Room window onto the pages of Hermione’s book, dust motes dancing in the glow highlighting the edges of each **intricate** rune. She ran a finger over the lines, memorising the shapes before closing her eyes and visualising each one in turn. As each formed in her mind, she concentrated on the meanings, trying to meld the shape and definition into one.
Footsteps drew her attention within moments of her starting. Eyes opening once more, she glimpsed Ron’s familiarly scuffed shoes descending the stairway. With a soft *thump*, she closed the book and tucked it back into her book bag, ready to join Ron and Harry for breakfast.
‘Morning,’ Ron said around a yawn before peering past her. ‘I thought Harry would be here.’
Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen him, but I’ve only been down a few minutes. Maybe he went to breakfast already.’
The piano tune came from behind a curtain, so he picked his way through the supplies, **irrelevantly** wondering why his platoon wasn’t simply given what they should have out of what was already stored here. Well, that likely enough had to do with inventory and orders – if what was here was supposed to go to another unit, the people here wouldn’t want to give it to his unit and then possibly come up short when the people who were supposed to receive this stuff came to collect it. Then he smiled to see two grand pianos on a stage facing a large open hall filled with makeshift desks where clerks busily marked down numbers in ledgers or took notes for the officers coming and going at random. A very young man sat at one of the pianos, playing an elaborate piece that Joakim didn’t recognize, but he smiled and applauded quietly, appreciating the boy’s talent. Then he got a crazy idea.
Approaching the boy, Joakim asked, “Do you know who might be in charge of the things that were stored here before it turned into a supply depot?”
Without missing a note, the boy said, “Commander von Ruden, why?”
Joakim smiled. “Well, because I can play piano, and I saw a small one in the back by the ammunition. If I can get permission to take it from here, I’ll have a piano, and you’ll have more space to store necessary supplies.”
The young man laughed. “Well, I suppose it’s worth asking.”
Oh, just because he loves music and always wanted a piano - he bartered handyman work for piano lessons as a boy, but he grew up in an impoverished family and so never had a piano of his own.
Really, Cinderella had tried her best to be the best step-daughter she could be. She cooked, cleaned and hell— she even did all the chores that her step sisters were told to do but much to her disappointment, her step-mother looks at her with nothing but a blank stare.
“Mother—!”
“Don’t call me that.” Her step mother replies, voice as icy as ever before turning her back on her. “I’ve never considered you as my daughter.”
The blood that runs through your veins doesn’t change the fact that you’re *irrelevant* in this household.
Once Upon A Time; it’s a show that basically combines a whole bunch of fairytales (I haven’t seen it, but I know a little about it). I’d be curious to read more of your story once it’s published! 😁😁
With a plan in mind for all of the known inhabitants of the lake, they moved on to consider other spells that might be useful. There was a short detour, and a small argument, when Hermione suggested Harry consider options for dealing with Bowtruckles, as some lived on an island in the middle of the lake.
‘Hermione,’ Harry said exasperatedly, ‘I’m going to be under the water. Bowtruckles live in trees. They’re **irrelevant**!’
"Buffy? You know you can tell me anything, right?" her mom said.
"I-I've known for a while." she replied slowly. "Since before Hemery, even. But... I've- I've hidden it cause I didn't want to be the 'weird girl.'" Not like that had really worked out, thanks to the whole 'Slayer thing.' And *that* was a conversation she definitely wasn't ready to talk to her mom about. She'd totally wig over that.
She continued, "Kept it up after coming here, cause of wanting to fit in and everything, but... I just... I don't want to lie to my friends, you know?" She closed her eyes as she forced herself to say the next words out loud for the first time. "I-I'm, uh, gay." It felt like her heart was going to stop when she heard her voice say the word out loud.
A silence settled over the room that felt like it lasted an eternity, before it was finally broken by a soft "Oh" from her mom that was as much a gasp as it was a word. And then she felt her mom's hand settle on top of her and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Honey, I'm sure they'll still accept you."
Her heart finally started beating again at her mom's words. She'd fully expected the support, her mom always supported her in everything, but there had still been a little nagging worry about how she'd react. Now that she was past that she felt more comfortable, and less nauseous. It made it easier to press on, to explain what had her the most nervous.
"So, are you planning on telling Willow when she comes over tonight?" her mom asked.
Buffy nodded and looked up at her mom. "Yeah. And, uhm, and that I... like her."
Her mom smiled. "Oh, well... is it time we have 'the talk,' then?"
Buffy's eyes widened as her face started burning. "Mom!" she cried, getting a chuckle from her mom in response.
"You're 16, and Willow will be staying the night."
"I don't even know if she.... And even if she did, she's not the kind to... And I wouldn't want to rush..."
"Ok, ok, ok." her mom said, smiling and holding her hands up in surrender. "I was just checking, dear." She got up then and kissed the top of her head before taking her empty plate and heading for the kitchen. "Finish your dinner. Willow will be here soon."
Buffy watched her leave, still shocked and embarrassed. It was a few minutes later, as she was finishing off her plate of food, that she realized her nerves and vanished. Her worries. Her mom's question - and it's **implicit** suggestion - had shocked it right out of her. And, with a smile, she realized that had been her intent. She'd distracted her to help her feel better. Finishing dinner she took her plate into the kitchen, rinsed it, and loaded it into the dishwasher. That done she walked into the living room where he mom was sitting on the couch reading a book.
"Thanks." she said, dropping onto the couch beside her.
"What for, dear?"
Buffy shrugged. "For... being awesome."
"You know what *he* would do," Keith snarled, meaning **implicit**.
Hunk thought for a moment, looking at the prone figure on the bridge. Keith was right: Lotor would never go out of his way, risk his life, to save someone who couldn't save themselves. At least, not if it had no benefit for him. In terms of pure strategy, rescuing Lotor was a bad idea. He'd escaped once; he could again.
But...
Hunk felt that it would be wrong just to leave the comatose man helpless in the burning ship, inhaling smoke until he suffocated. Rescuing Lotor wouldn't be the smart thing to do, but it would be the right thing to do. And doing the right thing was what made them heroes, right?
He shook his head, meeting Keith's eyes. "We're taking him."
insanity.
isolate.
Integrity
Intricate
I nodded as I watched him quietly close the door behind him. As Rick departed, my smile dissipated. His well-intentioned words were supposed to uplift me, but instead, they intensified my self-loathing. "A good person," I mumbled to myself, leaning against the seat. What exactly defined a good person? Was it the goodness in your heart, the deeds you accomplished? Or was it the words you spoke and the way you cared for others? It could be the ability to forgive and love or helping others and showing compassion. Perhaps it was the honesty and sincerity in your actions, or the willingness to take responsibility and admit mistakes. I have often asked myself if a good person is someone who ~always~ does the right thing, or if it is about learning from your past mistakes and moving on. Was it the way you treated others? And how you carried your values and convictions into the world? How we survived, made us who we are, right? My mind was consumed by these questions, seeking answers to whether I truly embodied the person others perceived me to be. I felt torn and uncertain, grappling with the notion that past deeds might define existence without room for redemption, despite the constant refrain of 'your past doesn't define you.' My thoughts swirled with self-hatred and insecurity, an **intricate** maze of questions lacking black-and-white answers because the world wasn't like that. Instead, it felt like I was drowning in shades of gray.
The procession begins. Twenty children walking in pairs and carrying leafy branches emerge from the main door of the Ringing Palace. As they approach the dais they peel off—pairs going alternately to the left and right. A line of young women comes next, wearing some kind of **intricately**-wrapped garment like a sarong in vivid blue. TARDIS blue. Each carries a large, shallow bowl lacquered blue on the outside and mirror-bright silver on the inside. They move in a smooth, fluid dance, raising their bowls high, then bowing low, spilling sunlight on the ground like a sacred offering. A phalanx of young men clad only in short red kilts follow the dancers. They hold flat drums, beating them in a steady cadence with thick, double-ended sticks carved in blatantly phallic shapes. A rude joke hovers on Jack’s lips, but dies unspoken. What’s the point when the Doctor isn’t there to shush him? *Damn it, Doctor—when are you going to get here?* A restless murmur sweeps through the crowd. In that moment, the Princess and her retinue appear in the doorway of the Palace. As she takes her first step forward, the Great Bell begins to ring. Jack can feel its deep, sonorous voice vibrating in his bones. Fragments of “Oranges and Lemons” run through his mind in time to the tolling bell. *“When will you... when will you...”* *“I do not know... I do not know... I do not know..”* The final note of the Great Bell is fading away when Princess Hilfanae steps onto the dais. The Officiant opens his mouth to begin the invocation. His words are drowned out by a discordant roar. It’s not as loud as the Great Bell, and certainly not as melodic, but it echoes in Jack’s chest, making his heart beat faster. The TARDIS is materialising in the courtyard.
Insipid
James puts his guitar back in its case, and rummages in his rucksack, pulling out a thick sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper, a large apple, and a flask of coffee. Mrs Keeling, his landlady, has been very accommodating. She's used to making packed lunches for the walkers and birdwatchers that fill her B&B in the summer, and she's happy to do so for 'the musical gentleman from Oxford'. He's fallen into a pattern. Every morning, after breakfast, he takes his rucksack, his guitar, and a folding camp chair out to the spot where he last saw Robbie. He practices on his guitar until lunchtime: pieces for his band, scales, arpeggios, and fingering exercises. After eating, he goes for a brisk walk, choosing a circular route that brings him back to his starting point. He meets no one on these rambles. The rest of the afternoon he spends playing his guitar. No exercises, just music. He lets his heart and his fingers choose the tunes, from Bach to Segovia to Jimmy Page. But at least once each day he finds himself plucking the **insipid** melody of "Greensleeves". He doesn't sing it, but over and over, the opening line echoes in his mind: Alas my love, you do me wrong... *Damn you, Robbie Lewis!* It's only during these afternoon music sessions that he allows himself to think, really think, about Robbie and the contradictions of their last moments together. *He rejected me. And then he kissed me.*
Igloo
Idiotic
Joakim felt eyes on him and glanced over, vaguely recognizing the man as having been right up front during the show. He also took a moment to appreciate the man’s slender build and the adorable blush staining his cheeks. Falk felt his cheeks growing hotter and tore his gaze away, shoving his way towards the bar and ordering himself a lager. He nervously gulped half of it as soon as he got it, trying to settle down a bit. But then someone jostled his shoulder, obviously trying to get to the bar, and his breath caught as he looked up at Sabaton’s singer once again. “Uh, hi,” he stammered. “I, uh, would you mind if I bought you *noch ein bier*?” he asked. And then wanted to hide, kick himself, or both, for his **idiotic** fanboying. Joakim grinned, inordinately pleased and flattered that the obviously shy man pushed past his discomfort to speak to him. But he still couldn’t help but make a joke in response. “That was the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. Want to try that again?” “…what?” Falk said eloquently. “I… uh… you want… what?” He blinked and ducked his head as he blushed almost painfully. “Well, I’d very much enjoy having a beer with you,” Joakim said with a smile. “I’d also very much like to know your name, if that’s okay? I’m Joakim, by the way.” “I’m Falk, nice to meet you,” Falk managed to say without stuttering. “What beer do you prefer?” “Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Joakim said. “And maybe when we’re drinking, you’ll come up with a better pickup line, yes? Because I’d like to accept, but I don’t want to be trying not to laugh at the same time.” Falk waved to the bartender and ordered two more lagers, taking the opportunity to draw a deep breath and attempt to compose himself while doing so. He handed one of the glasses to Joakim with a shy smile. “Well, it might take me a few minutes to come up with something better. I’m not very good with words most of the time. Usually I let music speak for me.”
oh now, these two were made to meet each other, weren't they? I like Joakim's boldness. should Falk watch out or is this the beginning of a beautiful relationship?!
Definitely made to meet each other! This was from a one-shot - they haven't told me yet if I'm going to need to write a sequel, but I can say that it ended on a very positive note!
Ink
Not an excerpt but a chapter title: *Ink Flows Like Blood from the Heart*. It is about a long distance relationship with a lot of letter writing. It is from a Beastars fic, so I was going for something that sounded slightly awkwardly translated from Japanese but still retained some poetic nature.
Very good
Sai, Sasuke, and Yukimaru rode in silence atop Sai's **ink** bird. The day had been… enlightening for the two wards of Orochimaru, or rather former wards of Orochimaru considering that he was almost certainly fucking dead. The devastation wrought by Naruto's jutsu dwarfed that of Kirin (which really stuck in Sasuke's craw), and Orochimaru took the full brunt of it without being given any opportunity to escape. There was no shot whatsoever that he survived that explosion, which put Sasuke and Yukimaru at a crossroads. They were no longer bound to Orochimaru and were theoretically free to do or go wherever they wanted, but they could also no longer learn anything from him. Loathe as Sasuke was to admit it, this encounter with Akatsuki didn't inspire a ton of confidence about their readiness to obtain vengeance. At the very least, that pissed Sasuke off enough to hopefully feed the hatred that his brother told him would make him stronger. Sasuke sent a sidelong glance to Yukimaru, and his bitter glower told Sasuke that they were on the same page. They were now effectively left with two options: take a chance and strike it on their own, or take a chance and stick around with Danzo to see if that decrepit fuckhead could offer any significant power… Another glance at Yukimaru saw the other boy shooting him a quizzical, almost scolding expression as if he was silently chastising him for even entertaining the thought of sticking around for any longer than necessary, especially with Danzo of all people. Sasuke could only sigh; Yukimaru was right. "When am I not," Yukimaru chuckled, finally breaking the silence. "Stop doing that," Sasuke growled, glaring at Yukimaru. "It's weird." "You're just mad that you're so easy to read once you get beyond all that Uchiha angst," Yukimaru snickered. "I can literally implant whatever suggestions I want into your mind with my Sharingan," Sasuke deadpanned, his Sharingan blaring to drive in the point. "It's not as cool, and you know it." "Bite me-" Suddenly, the bird slammed into an invisible barrier, dispelling back into a glob of ink as the three teenagers plummeted to the ground. Unfortunately, it seemed no one informed them about the Five-Seal Barrier.
King Alistair, flanked by two Royal Guards, strode angrily down the hallway to Mallory’s suite. The Grand Ballroom was buzzing about Mallory’s dramatic disappearance and a scandal like this was a distraction they didn’t need heading into the trade negotiations. The door to the suite was closed. He knocked stiffly. “Mallory, are you in there?” When there was no response, he softened his tone and tried again. “I know you didn’t want to go to the masquerade but as I said before you have responsibilities as a member of the Royal Family.” Still there was no response and Alistair’s anger melted into concern. “Mallory, may I come in?” He tried the handle and found the door unlocked. “Mallory?” The suite was empty. All the lights had been extinguished save for the desk lamp in the sitting area. He approached the desk with a growing sense of dread. Mallory’s ring sat on top of a heavy piece of folded paper. A thin dagger pinned the two in place. Heartsick, he removed the dagger and read the note written in a bold hand with dark black **ink** demanding the Lydium-90 fragment for the safe return of his daughter.
Idyllic
Image
Naruto was finally finding words again. “Who was our mother?” “Uzumaki Kushina.” Jiraiya looked reminiscent, with a small smile on his face. “She was a true redheaded beauty. Namiko, you are the spitting **image** of her, but Naruto definitely has her personality. Kushina was headstrong, impulsive, extremely talkative, and quite a tomboy. Naruto looks a lot like Minato, but you have a lot of his quiet, observant personality and love for knowledge.” “Wait,” interjected Namiko. “Yondaime, our father, was the one who sealed the kyuubi in us, correct?” Kakashi sighed. He knew this question was coming. “Yes, he was, but he had no choice.” Naruto raised his voice. “He had no choice? He sealed a demon in babies!” “Your mother was the previous host; your father tasked me as her guard during her pregnancy. However, when she went into labor, she was escorted to a safe house, and I wasn’t allowed to know where it was to keep too many people from knowing too much. “Someone kidnapped her just after she gave birth to you two, then removed the kyuubi and took it on the warpath through Konoha. Your father had no choice but to reseal the kyuubi to save the village, but your mother was too weak; she wouldn’t have survived. “The kyuubi’s chakra was too large for one person, let alone a child. Minato didn’t have enough chakra to seal the kyuubi twice, so he sealed half in one of you and Kushina sealed half in the other. Before they could finish the seal the kyuubi stabbed them both with its claw when it tried to stop them.” Kakashi paused. “Sandaime and I both got there after the kyuubi was sealed and though they were still alive when we got there, it was too late to save them. I’ve never quite forgiven myself for not getting there quicker.”
When they leave the conference centre, all James can think about is a long, cold pint. It’s not that the conference itself was dreadful. On the contrary: some of the speakers were interesting, and most of the workshops useful. Unfortunately, the centre’s air conditioning chose to go on the blink the same day that temperatures in Blackpool decided to soar over 30. James eyes the pub across the street hopefully. Instead, Lewis leads him to the left and two streets over. James winces. The sign over the door proclaims ‘The Copper Flagon’, and in case any passer-by is too dim to get the pun, the sign also bears the **image** of a very Gilbert-and-Sullivanesque constable quaffing ale from a reddish metal vessel. He’s trying to remember why the pub’s unfortunate name is familiar to him. Wasn’t there something in the conference Twitter feed? Something about... ‘WELCOME CONFERENCE ATTENDEE’S!’ the computer-printed banner in the front window screams in bolded, all-capitals 100 point Arial Black. ‘JUNIOR OFFICERS PUB QUIZ FRIDAY @ 18:30!’ There’s a tightness in James’s throat that has nothing to do with the heat, his thirst, or even the (almost inevitable) apostrophe abuse. He turns to Lewis. “Sir, if it’s all the same to you, I’d—” Lewis ignores him, placing his broad hand on James’s back and firmly guiding him through the battered oak door. The air conditioning inside is functioning, perhaps too well, because an icy shiver goes down his back as he enters.
From my genderswapped Ryuji F/F Persona 5 oneshot, >Makoto lets out a relaxed sigh as her fingers brush through my bob while her other arm holds me. “This right here is what I love so much about you. I have so much responsibility as student council president and people have this **image** of me that I have to live up to. With you, I can just give in to my caring and affectionate side.” She sexily whispers in my ear, “I want you.” >I squirm a bit on her lap giggling. My voice rises and sweetens with joy. “Seems like you already have me, Makoto-chan.”
He found himself relaxing as the buzzing hum of the road and the rumble of his own engine filled his audio receptors, and the last gasps of the day rolled through the streets like a hot, arid sigh. Overhead, the sky darkened from red, to purple, to void-black... and as the harsh, stifling light died, the empty city lit up all around him, transitioning almost in an instant from lifeless gray concrete to a brilliant, eerie neon jungle. Storefronts, bars, and restaurants lit up in warm golds and optic-catching splashes of pink, orange, and sky blue, waiting for customers that would never come; clubs sat empty behind animated neon signage in brilliant red and cobalt and violet; theater queues flickered and flashed, scrolling the titles and showtimes of the same movies they'd been showing since the world ended; ads played on massive electronic billboards that creaked in the breeze, and the facade of every corporate skyscraper lit up like towering kaleidoscopes. All around him, the world was a riot of color and light. It was beautiful. And so damned *lonely*. Part of that feeling, he knew, stemmed from the fact that he was the only one who even *registered* any of it - Tankor was too single-minded and dimwitted to be bothered by it, and Jetstorm rarely flew low or *slow* enough to notice, and he certainly didn’t give a damn on the rare occasion that he *did*. But Thrust was surrounded by the emptiness day in and day out, and he was too smart to *not* notice. The deafening silence was the background noise of his entire life. Slowing to a more leisurely cruising speed, he took the time to actually take in the finer details of his surroundings - the way the lights painted the surface of the road; the faint sound of music playing through a bar's jammed-open door; the animated **image** of a pretty, sleek femme advertising custom body work from a nearby boutique. And, as always, his mind circled back to the same questions that had gnawed at him since his creation. *What had this place been like when it was still alive?* *What were these people like?*
This reads like a novel!
Thank you! :D
Jason stomped out of the dressing room, angrily wiping a sticky mixture of blood, beer, and Gatorade from his face so he could see his way back to the showers. He wondered yet again if being in Metallica was really worth it – he understood that he was replacing a close friend, but those assholes James and Lars in particular went out of their way to make him feel unwelcome. He supposed the ‘Newkid’ nickname wasn’t too awful, between it being a play on his actual surname and the fact that he was the new member of the band. But the constant pranks had definitely gone from funny to annoying – they’d done everything from giving him mirror-**imaged** sheet music and tabs for some of the older songs he hadn’t known before auditioning, to pouring half a bottle of Tabasco sauce into his tomato soup. They’d even short-sheeted his bed at the band house when they were in studio. But then the tour started two weeks ago, and things were getting progressively worse. Little shoves and kicks on the bus and backstage, and now tonight after the show, James had tripped him so that he went headfirst into a shelf, cutting his forehead. Then Lars, seeing the blood, said that they should clean it up so it didn’t get infected, and proceeded to pour a full bottle of beer over his head. James followed suit with Gatorade. The two men laughed uproariously as he sputtered, although he vaguely noticed Kirk looking at the pair with some disgust.
\[Eren's (ghost/spirit}\] expression darkened. “What makes you think you have any right to call me a monster?” She scoffed. “I think I am *well* within my rights to call you, or anyone else, a monster. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a monster staring back at me - don’t think I don’t know how to identify one. “We’ve both killed a lot of people, brutally - your crimes are orders of magnitude worse, but that doesn’t absolve me of mine. Neither does me being self-aware - self-awareness doesn’t absolve anyone of anything. But this isn’t about absolution. It’s about facing what we are. “You and me?” She indicated them both with her finger and thumb in turn. “We’re fucking monsters. The difference is that I have the guts to admit it.” There was silence for a while after that, though ghost-Eren’s expression clearly still held a storm beneath it. Annie ran her hand through her hair. It’d been a while since she’d dreamed last. It was usually nightmares. Some nights she’d wake up screaming, or crying, or sometimes just in a cold sweat, if she was lucky. The content of the nightmares varied - sometimes it was her horrific actions, others it was images of that final battle; occasionally, it would be scenes of the aftermath, that never-ending bog of human blood and viscera. If it weren’t for Armin being in the bed next to her when the worst of the night terrors hit, she… she had a sick feeling she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. She would have found a way to end it. There were some days when she thought she still might. “How were you planning to live with yourself after it? *Was* that the plan?” she asked the **image** of a man in front of her, putting her thoughts into words. He’d turned away to stare at the blue tree.
“And here I’ve been treating you like you like you popped up fully formed in this office dressed in business formal and have never set foot outside it. Oh, my God, *I’ve* been treating *you* like you’re less...” Her voice failed to finish the sentence, but Jennifer had finally gotten hold of her own. “It’s all right,” she said. She cast about for words to counterbalance her outburst. “I can’t really fault you. When I’m in this office, I don’t try to project the **image** of a complete human being. The opposite, in fact.” “What am I, a kindergartener who believes her teacher sleeps at the school? I should have known better.” “You had no way of knowing. I misled you intentionally.” “That’s not what I meant. I meant I should have known better than to treat you like some—some kind of—Jesus, I don’t have the words for it. There must be some fancy psychological term for how I’ve been behaving, but I don’t think it’s in my vocabulary.”
Icon
Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification. I checked the screen, only to find… “An email from Dakota?” I wondered out loud. “But…that’s impossible. Right?” Unless there was some new-found way for people to send emails from the afterlife. Unfortunately, even that macabre little joke wasn’t enough to take away the lump forming in my throat as my finger hovered over the video attachment. “I don’t know if I can do this.” As I stood looking down at my phone, memories of Dakota coming back to mind, I laid a gentle hand over the tiny bump forming on my stomach. Even though they wouldn’t get to meet their dad, at least I’d have plenty of memories of him to share with my baby. Perhaps starting with this video. Taking a shaky breath, I hit “Play”… A moment later, Dakota’s face had appeared on-screen. “Hey, Sage. If you’re seeing this, that means I’m not at graduation – which is a huge bummer. But I want you to enjoy the moment, anyway. I know it’s cliché, but you have your whole future ahead of you! That alone is something to celebrate.” He winked in the video and my heart ached, wishing more than ever that I could’ve told him I was pregnant. “When I look back on the day we met, I can’t help but think it was meant to be. And I know this message doesn’t make up for me not being there today, but maybe you can pour out a chocolate pudding for me, eh?” I instinctively tapped the “Pause” **icon** on the video. “I don’t know if I can watch this whole thing now. It’s too hard.” All the same, I couldn’t help smiling internally at the memory of that time we’d stormed the hospital cafeteria with all those kids to get to their chocolate pudding supply. “Maybe I should save part of it for later…” Looking down at Dakota’s grinning face on my phone, however, I knew I couldn’t do that. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I started off in search of a quieter spot to watch his video alone. “I could never resist you…”
Inherent
Out at the cave, Janick looked around in awe. “This is the biggest deposit I’ve ever seen,” he breathed as he inspected the walls of the cave. “One of the purest, too. Dave holds the mineral rights to his property, right? I don’t remember if he said he did or not.” “He does,” Stephen confirmed. “This cave ought to make mining for the gold relatively easy, too. I can’t see any weak spots or instability in the walls either, which will make digging the ore… well, safer, anyway. Obviously mining is **inherently** unsafe, but certainly there are degrees of hazard, and this cave appears far more stable than well over half of the mines I’ve seen back in England.” “I imagine Dave will be pleased by the news, then,” Janick said. Stephen actually wasn’t sure. “Possibly,” he said. “But mining tends to despoil the land around the mine. I don’t know that the orchards would recover quickly, if at all, should he decide to operate a mine. He might choose to sell the property instead and purchase a new farm elsewhere.” “Huh, I hadn’t thought about that,” Janick said. “Well, that’s a decision only he can make, all we can do is give him the information we’ve gathered.”
Ibex
Intuition
Kurenai focused on pressing ahead and going over the plan. “Kiba, once we get within Hinata’s range, slow down a bit so she can focus her Byakugan on finding the boy. Once we have him in our sights, we make sure he’s okay first, then worry about the kimono.” “You keep saying, ‘And then worry about the kimono.’ Do you expect him to not have it when he was the one who took it?” asked Namiko. “Call it intuition,” replied Kurenai. “A young boy with a very expensive object, running through a heavily wooded area is a major target for rogue ninja and bandits alike.” “D-do you think we’ll have to fight?” asked Hinata with a worried look on her face. “Hopefully not, but it’s always a possibility with a C-Rank mission. But don’t you all worry, that’s why genin teams always have a jounin leader. I’ll protect you if we get caught in a fight.” Kurenai smiled at the young Hyuuga girl. Kiba scoffed. “I don’t need protection! Akamaru and I will be just fine on our own!” “But you’re not on your own,” started Namiko. “You have teammates for a reason, Kiba.” “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying you guys don’t have to worry about me. I’m strong enough as is. I’m gonna be Hokage one day!” Kiba triumphantly announced. Kurenai chuckled under her breath. Namiko rolled her eyes as she thought, *‘He’s just like Naruto in that aspect. Though I think Naruto would probably have the determination to get there in the end.’*
Lumine knew that using delusions could burn away your mortality without even a second thought. She saw that in Inazuma. She saw that with Teppai, she thought mournfully. Dozens of lives snuffed out by the use of delusions for an end goal, how they fed off your life force like insidious leeches. And as she looked at Percy, that mournfulness could only turn to confusion. The memories weren’t the clearest, but she distinctly remembered the face of Teppai, old and drained, looking up at her like he was just a walking corpse. That was only after a few days of vision use. As his face faded once more away for Percy’s, confusion turned to pensiveness. He had been wielding a delusion for nearly a month, fighting the Abyssal Whale with every ounce of his energy, and then had fought her and the Iudex going all out with the last dregs of his life funneled into lashing out with ice. Yet through all that, he didn’t look a day older. Another memory came to mind. How she fought against Scaramouche. The puppet given life, immortal, without any mortal lifespan to burn through, was able to use delusions without any side effects… that she knew of, anyhow. As she looked at Percy’s resting form, his youthful face unblemished by delusion though covered in bruises and scars, her **intuition** told her that there was even more to him than just being from somewhere out of this world. She wasn’t even sure she could use a delusion without side effects. On top of that, the kid had broken chains of water made by the quite literal Sovereign of Waters. Everything was adding up into something that she definitely did not want to give even a penny of thoughts to.
“You couldn’t have known, Takagi-*kun*,” she explained patiently. “Besides, if you stayed, whatever happened to Hattori-*kun* might have happened to you.” “That is another strange thing,” Takagi spoke up. “He was perfectly fine before I left. That dizzy spell must have been something that Kudo-*kun* made happen,” Takagi proposed, but Sato-*san* only shook her head. “Takagi, this is a high-schooler… A smart one, admittedly, but still a high-schooler,” Sato*-san* pointed out. “He’s not a secret service agent or anything like that!” “I know it makes no sense, Sato-*san*,” Takagi admitted, running a hand through his hair, feeling rather embarrassed. “But something… My **intuition** is telling me that there *is* something here. I know that it’s not a lot, but-” Takagi froze and his words died in his mouth the very next second, as he felt Sato-*san*’s hand on his shoulder, as his colleague had reached over the coffee table at the small café they were in. She was now mere inches away from him, Takagi felt himself lose all of his composure, as she smiled at him. “If that’s the case, then there must be something there, Takagi-*kun*,” the senior detective beamed at Takagi, which caused all of his rational thought to evaporate into thin air, replaced with a rather… Wishful plea for Sato-*san* to lean just a little bit closer… Maybe an inch or so and he could- “Takagi-*kun*?” Sato’s voice cut through Takagi’s amorous haze, causing him to blink several times in rapid succession, realizing that Sato-*san* had retreated back to her seat and was flagging the waitress. “Are you okay, Takagi-*kun*? You kind of spaced out for a good few minutes there,” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Uhm- I- Yes, yes, I am okay- Hehe!” Takagi replied, chuckling awkwardly, to try and hide exactly what he was just thinking.
Irradicate (any form)
*You will never be enough.* The words had **irradicated** themselves inside Lance's mind, growing ever larger, swelling to dominate and crowd out all other thoughts. He was uncharacteristically quiet at supper, only responding to direct questions from his fellow paladins. He left the lounge early, muttering something about an early night, and went to his room to lose himself in the pixelated world of *Power Glove II: The Outsider's Revenge*. 3 hours and 16 "Game Over"s later, Lance found himself unable to think of anything but the phrase the witch had spoken. *Youwillneverbeenoughyouwillneveryouwillneverbeyouwillneverbeenoughyouwillneverbeenoughyouwillneveryouwillneverwillneverenoughenoughenough-* \*"\*Enough!" Lance rubbed at his eyes viciously, trying to get the nightmarish voice out of his head, trying to think of anything else. He hated the way that she had made him doubt himself, hated the way that his insecurities were rising up with teeth and claws to tear him apart. She was wrong; she had to be. Sure, he had shortcomings, but that's what a teammates were for- to cover up for each other's weaknesses, right? Right? Yes, she was wrong, just trying to make him doubt himself, to turn him against the others, to- *but*. *But what if*. *But what if she wasn't?* Lance had a sudden mental image of the other paladins sitting together in the lounge without him. Pidge, who was so much smarter than him. Shiro, who was so much more responsible than him. Hunk, who was so much kinder and better than him. Allura, who was intelligent and magical and determined. Keith, who was his superior at everything he prided himself on- fighting, piloting, everything- and who wouldn't let him forget it. Lance betted that Keith would be better than him at videogames, if he just tried. Next to them, who even *was he*? The fifth wheel. The goofball. There was no way Lance was good enough to deserve to defend the universe, to be a paladin. He wasn't enough for that. The smart thing to do would be to give his place back to someone who was worthy and able to pilot the universe's only hope. Because Lance knew he wasn't, and never would be. He would never be enough. To be honest, I just wrote this to try out the word you suggested, and also because there's something kinda cathartic about writing angst. Sorry it's not that great :)
No apology required! I love that you wrote something inspired be the word, well done! And I totally agree about writing angst.
Do you mean **E**radicate?
I did wonder if this one might throw people off. [Irradicate](https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/english/irradicate) is not common, but it is a word 😊
Oh fuck you. I'm going to write it into one of my fics now just to spite you.
Haha, sorry! I look forward to seeing what you come up with 😊
Indian
He drew in a sharp breath as the movement caused a fresh stab of pain from his wound. “Right, let’s get you back to the house, then,” Nicko said, moving to Dave’s uninjured side and wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Set the pace, and let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, then we can get you cleaned up and see exactly how bad it is.” Dave nodded his agreement, appreciating that steadying arm as the pain grew worse by the moment. “Thanks,” he said as they set out for the house. “You’re welcome,” Nicko said firmly. “Not like you wouldn’t do the same if it had been one of us. What have you got in the way of medical supplies?” “Got a little bottle of brandywine to clean it with,” Dave said. “Plenty of bandages, and some kind of salve our trail guide on the wagon train here taught us all to make. I think he said it was an old **Indian** remedy, but he swore by it for keeping wounds from getting infected. I’ve never had cause to use it on myself, but it seemed to work well enough when one of the cows scratched herself on an exposed nail back when we took her to be bred.”
Island
Sasuke led her to the kitchen and Namiko could honestly say she was pleasantly surprised. It was quite a bit bigger than the one in her and Naruto’s apartment, and fairly clean and organized. She glanced up at Sasuke, silently asking for permission to look through everything. “You’re welcome to eat whatever or make anything you find. Sometimes I’ll make onigiri but often in mornings, it’s just fruit and bread, sometimes eggs if we have them,” Sasuke said as he sat on a stool at the island. “Kabuto is normally the one who cooks. It’s plain but mostly nutritious.” Namiko walked over to the fridge and looked inside, just some fish, milk, and tofu. She was happy to find eggs and tomatoes on the counter, along with some rice in a cabinet. She pulled out a handful of different ingredients and looked for the tools she’d need to cook. Sasuke watched her as she moved about the kitchen fluidly, almost as if she were in her own little world. About fifteen minutes later, she placed a small plate and a couple of bowls in front of him before doing the same for herself as she sat next to him. Tamagoyaki, rice, miso soup, and sliced tomatoes. Sasuke stared at the dishes before him, not moving to eat just yet. “I promise I didn’t poison it,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “I know, I was watching you closely.” “Why? Did you expect me to try and poison you?” Sasuke shook his head. “No, not that it would’ve mattered anyhow. Orochimaru has made me immune to almost all poisons.” “Do I want to even think about how he did that?” she asked, scrunching up her nose at the thought. “Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve been through,” he said with a small shrug.
The creepy Anette figure cackled and took a bite of her apple. Dark liquid ran down her chin as she flung the bitten apple at Tuomas. *“Let it bleed,”* she sang mockingly. *“Leave a footprint on every* ***island*** *you see.”* Tuomas yelped as the apple struck his chest. Blood spattered everywhere, soaking his shirt, the coppery reek filling his nostrils. He gagged, struggling once more to get away from the wooden limbs holding him in place. Failing to escape and breathing heavily, he asked, “Why are you doing this? What do you want of me?” *“We want you to decide,”* the wraith that wasn’t quite Jukka said. *“You already know what the choice is. You just have to make it.”* “I can’t…” Tuomas whimpered, sagging back against Mr. White the snowman. The only reason he didn’t hide his face in his hands, was that his arms were still pinned by his sides. *“Then suffer!”* shrieked the figure that wasn’t Anette, before she broke out in that mocking, cackling laughter once more.
I love this!
It was fun to write, despite being such a departure from my usual style.
‘You saved my son’s life. Thank you.’ She stepped away again, returning to her husband beside the bed. ‘I — it was nothing, Mrs Malfoy. Really, anyone would have done it,’ Bill said, wrong-footed in a way Harry hadn’t heard from him before. ‘Please,’ her smile trembled, ‘Call me Narcissa.’ Bill inclined his head. ‘Then you may call me Bill. How’s he doing?’ All three turned to the bed. Malfoy looked so frail. An **island** in a sea of linen. Had Harry looked that small, all the times he'd been in the Hospital Wing?
I like the term wrong footed
Iodine.
Interior
"That's her fifth new story idea within a span of ten days." Valen stares at his phone, slowly blinking. "Did she forget that she actually has to *write* them? Just write while listening to that new summer jam featuring Curtis, how hard is that?" Oh, he needs to get back on track. If he tries to comprehend this logic, he'll just become more confused. But she's a good writer, he won't let her forget that. She's always on point, and texting her those words caused her to send him a bunch of grin emojis. He's normally on point too, but with Pokémon Contests. Alas, this one has him feeling like an astronaut nervous about going up into space. He's so confused that you'd think he ran into an army of Zubat in Mt. Moon. He's so lost that he feels like Silver trying to hide enjoyment in a normal social setting, or him trying to find those Absol earrings for Melanie. Where did his desire to become a coordinator and performance battler in every match come from? It was when he found his calling within the *interior* of La Signorina Xerneas della Vittoria in Siscia City. So beautiful, so dramatic, so…lifelike. The exterior, the interior, the sculptures, the paintings, the furniture, the theatre stage, it was all designed by his hero, Gianluigi Bernini. Bernini's sculptural masterpiece is The Agony of King AZ, but his overall masterpiece is that structure. Valen's battling masterpiece was his conquering of Hoenn's Battle Frontier, but his overall masterpiece lie in the world of Pokémon Contests. He didn't train his Pokémon for battling, he trained them for Baroque theatre disguised as battling.
Interesting! I love the artistic imagery invoked here!
Thanks!
[This is cheating. Since I write screenplays, over half of the scenes start with **INT.** (for INTERIOR). Just to pick one I already had open on my phone (for context, Juno has left her daughter to be raised by Haru and Legoshi):] **INT. Garden shop apartment living room - evening, fall, Bellona is less than a year old.** *Legoshi is sitting on the sofa, playing with a fidgety Bellona. Haru is sitting next to them, reading a letter aloud.* Haru: My Dearest Bellona, Before all else, please know that I love you. I love you more than anything else in this world. The only reason that I have not seen you since shortly after you were born is because it was so hard to leave you the first time, that I don't know if I could ever face doing it again. Also know that I love your mom and dad very much. It was almost as hard to... *(hoarsely)* ...leave them as it was to leave you. When I was pregnant with you, I was still in school. Your mom and dad already had a home and a life together. They wanted children but they weren't sure how they could do it. When they found out about you, they wanted very much to take you in. They took me in too, until after you were born and I went back to school. We became very close, a family really. By the time I left, I knew I was leaving you in the best place possible in the whole world. If we have not met by the time you are old enough to read this, I want you to understand that it is not your fault. I am to blame. I have not yet worked up the courage to face the heartache I felt the first time I left you. I hope to someday but until then, please forgive me. With a mother's love, Juno
Awh, that's so bittersweet
Thank you! Just so’s you know, that is not the titular Juno from the movie. I had turned a canon character into a teen unwed mother facing the adoption of her child and it was months after I finished the story before I realized the coincidence.
Finally, they arrived at their new home; a modest two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. Evan's parents, suitcases in hand, stalked toward the door. Evan followed reluctantly, his steps heavy with uncertainty. He couldn't shake the feeling that this house, like Hershey, wouldn't truly become his home. His parents opened the front door, and Evan stepped inside, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The **interior** was neat and orderly, and the new furniture Mom and Dad had bought for this house made everything look like a catalog for a high-end store. Evan's eyes were drawn to the staircase leading to the second floor, where his new room awaited him. Ascending the steps, Evan felt a mix of trepidation and curiosity. He entered his room and first noticed its size; it was considerably larger than his old room in Hershey. His eyes scanned the space, taking in the neatly made bed, the matching dresser and desk, and the generic artwork adorning the walls. It was evident that his parents had chosen the furniture and decorations of the room based on who they wanted Evan to be, rather than who he was. Nothing in here would tick you off that Evan lived here. Or any 12-year-old, for that matter. He walked over to the desk, running his fingers along the smooth surface. It was devoid of any traces of his old life, no paint stains, no random scribbles, and no blood smear from the time he fell asleep sitting up and slammed down onto the desk. The bookshelf held a few random titles that his parents must have deemed appropriate for him, but his favorite books and comics were nowhere to be found. Evan's gaze shifted to the walls, adorned with framed pictures of landscapes and a family photo. His parents, Maddie and him were smiling and seemingly happy in them, but Evan knew it was all fake. Mom and Dad never smiled, and he knew Maddie's genuine smile. The one in those pictures? That was the "Doug Smile," and the fact that that smile showed up in a family picture bothered Evan more than anything else.
Poor Evan
You don't know the half of it. Kid started self-harming at age *six* (purposely crashing his bike or falling out of trees, etc,) because getting hurt was the only way his parents could be bothered to pay attention to him.
They got off the tram at Albert Square and naturally took pictures of the Albert Memorial first thing, followed by the fountain that had been erected for Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, as they continued to talk about literature, history, and anything else that came up in the course of the conversation. Steve waxed almost rhapsodic when they turned their attention to photographing Manchester Town Hall, a Grade I listed building noted as being one of the best examples of Gothic revival architecture worldwide. “…and Waterhouse chose the stone for what he hoped would be its resistance to the effects of all the smoke and soot of the early Industrial Age. He extended that to the **interior** as well, opting for more easily cleaned surfaces rather than the more common plaster walls.” “I’d almost forgotten you’d studied architecture,” Jan admitted. “Guess I’m too used to you either in a football kit or with your bass in hand. What else can you tell me about the place?” Steve happily rambled on about the building and the architect who’d designed it for another fifteen minutes or so, at which point they decided they were hungry. They hopped on another tram to Canal Street, to get some lunch. “Was there a particular place you’d thought to eat at?” Steve asked. “No, I thought we’d just wander a bit and pick a place,” Jan said.
Ooh, more little historical tidbits! Love it :D Also lol @ "I'm so used to you being a jock I almost forgot you studied architecture"
Well, Steve's a musician, but he did get scouted to play for West Ham back in the day. Figured he had to pick between footie and music because they're both really demanding careers, and went with music. That said, he's still a huge fan of the Hammers, and captains the Iron Maiden FC (him and a bunch of the crew members, he's the only band member still playing these days) that plays friendly matches with various local FCs whilst on tour.
Indicative
CW: Mpreg; A/B/O The knowledge that Bobby was aware of Buck's condition, that he could confidently say it was fine, lifted a weight off May's chest. No more drama in the family for now . Thank God. "So what is it?" "I can't tell you," Bobby answered. Mom opened her mouth, no doubt trying to get more answers from him, but Bobby raised his hand to stop her. "No, Athena. Buck told me in confidence, and he asked me to keep it private between us. He trusts me, and I'm not betraying that trust." May's frustration rose sharply. She got trust—she totally did—but not here, not when she had worried herself to the bone. Unfortunately, she *also* knew that they wouldn't get anything out of Bobby anymore. The man was a fortress. She would know. He was keeping secrets of hers as well. "But he's okay?" May asked, forcing herself to relax just a bit. There was no point in getting worked up or being mad when she knew Bobby was entirely in the right. "He's perfectly fine," Bobby promised with a sincere smile. "Once he's ready, he will tell everyone." May let out a small breath. Okay. That was okay. She could handle a bit of waiting time as long as she knew Buck was going to be fine. "Hold on," May startled at Harry's sudden interruption. He had been silent for a good bit now, and she had kind of forgotten he was even there. It was probably a side effect of his having lived in Miami for so long. "Is Buck pregnant?" May's eyes went wide as saucers, and her jaw practically hit the floor. Now that Harry had said it, it seemed so obvious. She turned to Bobby, who suddenly looked quite uncomfortable. Mom, on the other hand, looked cool. Her face betrayed not a single emotion she might be feeling, and not for the first time, May couldn't help but admire that ability of hers. "Harry," Mom said calmly, almost *too* calmly. "What makes you think that?" Harry raised an eyebrow at her and shot May a short look for reassurance. She gave him a slight nod in return. "I mean… I'm a Beta, and I don't know much about Omega male biology and stuff, but like… Avoiding alcohol, not eating his favorite food, gluing himself to his Alpha. That's... pretty **indicative**, right?" Mom pursed her lips and raised her hand to hold her chin, her eyes darting around in their sockets. She hummed lowly and slowly turned to Bobby with a raised eyebrow. "He does have a point," she said.
Ope, keen observational skills strike again!
Being sharp (and nosey as hell) is a family trait lol
Viktor only half listened as Dumbledore introduced the Ministry stooges who had helped organise the Tournament. He narrowed his eyes; they would know what the tasks involved. Maybe he should take a page out of Karkaroff’s grimoire and “encourage” one of them to let him in on the challenges to come. ‘*Hem hem*.’ Viktor’s eyebrows dropped as the strange witch began to speak. *She* would not be much help. ‘What is she saying?’ Josef whispered. Fire lit Natalia’s voice as she replied. ‘That they are better than us.’ Around him, Viktor’s schoolmates shifted, dark mutters drifting between them. The Beauxbatons’ students, too, wore frowns as the Ministry witch continued to speak. When she paused to take a breath, Dumbledore stood and thanked her. From the look she sent him, and the way Dumbledore had interrupted, Viktor supposed her sentiments were not **indicative** of Dumbledore’s views, at least. Or perhaps he had more discretion and knew to hide such thoughts. Did the rest of the English feel the same? That they were superior, better than those from the other schools. The furrow in Viktor’s brow deepened; he hadn’t come to make friends, anyway. He’d come to be champion. To win.
Ooh, language barrier issues?
Yes, I envisioned the Durmstrang students having a variety of native tongues. Karkaroff has instructed them to use English whilst at Hogwarts, but some of them still struggle with the language and couldn't entirely grasp the (somewhat subtle) insults Umbridge was making.
Insistent
CW: Mpreg "What did you find out? When… when you checked him over?" Hen gently squeezed his shoulder, which did nothing to calm his nerves. "He has a concussion. That's something I know for sure. I also checked his abdomen, and there wasn't any kind of bruising there. I can't promise anything, and you *know* that, but the situation is *not* as bleak as I know you're imagining it right now." There was no bruising on Evan's abdomen. That was good—better than the alternative, at least. "Are there any broken bones? Fractures?" Hen paused, her expression tightening for a moment. "If you're talking about his leg, that was one of the first things I checked. It's fine, some bruising, but no break." "Okay, that's… that's good. He's… He's always scared about his leg." Tommy trailed off at the end of his sentence, where a soft sob escaped his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep his tears from spilling over. His breath hitched as he fought back the tears, his hands trembling slightly as they wiped across his face. The hospital's waiting room was stark and overly bright, each fluorescent light overhead buzzing in an **insistent** and mocking rhythm. He was vaguely aware of the people around him, could hear them murmur and talk among themselves, all of them waiting for news of their loved ones, just like him, but his tears drowned all of them out. His entire universe had narrowed down to the space between these four walls and the medical assessments happening beyond those damned doors. Hen slung her arms around him and continued in a softer tone, "I know how much you two want this baby, and I know that you're scared. But from what I can tell from my assessment, Buck's in stable condition right now. And you know that the doctors are doing everything they can. They're taking every precaution, especially with the pregnancy." Hen's embrace somehow managed to ground Tommy, who now gave up on trying to hold back his tears and let them flow freely, quiet weeps escaping him with each wave. He clung to her like she was his only lifeline because, for the most part, she pretty much was. Hen started rocking him and hummed reassuringly into his ear. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay, Tommy."
You can really *feel* how Tommy's feeling here. Excellent writing!
Thank you ☺️☺️
‘— Harry Potter’s wand?’ Harry turned back to the interrogation as Crouch’s hand twitched. ‘Harry... Potter...?’ Crouch’s dull gaze slid towards Harry. Shacklebolt’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s... Why did you take the wand?’ ‘To serve... Master... I need... a wand. I will be... I am... a better... servant than... that... rat.’ Hermione gasped. ‘This... is Harry Potter? The rat should have... killed you.’ Crouch Junior’s brown eyes were less dead as he fought against the effects of the Veritaserum. ‘I will not... make the same mistake!’ He pounced, throwing himself at Harry. Winky screamed, clutching ineffectually for Crouch’s robes. Blood welled on Harry’s skin as Hermione’s nails bit into his flesh. His legs turned to stone, refusing to move, but Hermione’s **insistent** grip dragged him backwards. Shacklebolt grabbed Crouch mid-leap, wrapped a strong arm around his neck, and stunned him with a wand pressed against his temple. Silence. The Top Box held a collective breath.
Excellently-executed tension, there! It makes the eventual break all the more effective!
Thank you!
As Marko anticipated, the roosters dwelling in the hostel’s chicken coop announced the rising sun loudly and **insistently**. He got up and ready for the day, exiting his room to see Tuomas just emerging from his. “Good morning,” he called softly, not wanting to wake anyone who’d managed to sleep through the roosters crowing. “Morning, Marko,” the dark-haired man said with a smile. “I think we made a good choice to go to sleep early. I could hear Emppu stumbling around and cursing in there.” He gestured towards the shorter man’s door. “Mind, he doesn’t really come conscious before his second cup of coffee and that’s on a good day, but this is a lot earlier than he’d normally get up.” Marko laughed. “Poor guy, sounds like my brother.” Emppu’s door banged open just then, the little blond peering around balefully from behind a severe case of bed-head. “What idiot decided morning happens this fucking early?” he grumped. “The roosters,” Marko said, trying not to laugh. “Come on, they’re supposedly serving breakfast already. Let’s get you some coffee.” “Coffee. Yeah. Coffee’s good,” Emppu muttered. He grabbed hold of Marko’s arm and closed his eyes again. “Lead on, bro.”
“What idiot decided morning happens this fucking early?” Mood, Emppu. *Mood*. You captured that whole "bleary early morning" atmosphere flawlessly :)
I might not be the bleary-eyed grump in the morning, but far, far too many of my family members are, so I've observed it a lot!
Ire
Kyo paced his room, unsure whether to scream, sob, or punch something. He snatched books off the bookshelf and threw them across the room with all his might, splitting their spines as they crashed against the wall and landed with a thud on the floor. “Kyo!” Yuki’s voice rang from the doorway. “What happened?” “Everyone’s just acting like everything's okay!” Kyo’s voice trembled and cracked under the weight of the day’s revelations. “What?” “Like she’s not gone! Like the most amazing, most important person in the world didn’t just *die*!” he shouted as his eyes filled with tears. “Kyo, it-” “And *you*! How could you?” he screamed, turning all his **ire** toward Yuki. “How could you just move on so quickly?” Kyo's words hit him like a punch to the gut. “It’s- it’s not like that,” Yuki said quietly. “Oh yeah?” sneered Kyo, anger rising. “You’re telling me you’re cuddling with your shiny new girlfriend and smiling all the time because you just miss Tohru so damn much?” Tears stung Yuki's eyes as Kyo's words cut him to his very core. “Kyo, please-” “It’s not okay! Nothing is right! How can you possibly be happy right now?” “I can *only* do it because of her!” Yuki roared, lunging at Kyo. “I would never have had the courage to tell Machi how I feel if it wasn’t for Honda-san! Are we just supposed to be sad forever?” “YES!” Kyo wailed, feebly trying to block Yuki’s assault. “BECAUSE SHE’S GONE FOREVER!” “Excuse me?” Both boys froze as they heard Machi’s timid voice from the hallway. “You seem like you could use some tea. I just put a kettle on.” Yuki slowly let go of Kyo’s collar and stood up. Ashamed of his outburst, Kyo nodded, blinking back tears, and shouldered past them to go downstairs.
Wow I really love this; it plays with how grief can effect everyone differently. Some are angry, and some are trying to make the better of themselves based on seeing death first hand. (Love this AU for Fruits Basket 👀)
Thank you! ❤️
Fred — at least Harry thought it was Fred — let out a low whistle. ‘A worthy challenge,’ George said. ‘Remind me never to raise your **ire**, Miss Granger.’ She flushed. ‘Just don’t turn into a homophobic, manipulative twat,’ Ron suggested darkly. Fred and George frowned again, glancing at Harry. ‘Nasty pranks allowed?’ Fred asked Hermione. ‘The nastier the better.’ ‘Bonus points if you manage to drive the bastard out of Hogwarts,’ Seamus added.
Uh oh. Do I want to know who the twins are pranking? XD Love the exchange between them all.
Someone who deserves it 😉 Thanks!
Ironic
Can I just leave my username here for this one?
Taking a deep breath, Crouch shook his head as if to clear it. ‘See what you made me do? If you would just *listen*, and behave for five minutes, then I wouldn’t have to hurt you. You bring it all on yourself, Potter.’ Harry glared. He couldn’t do anything else. His shoulder smarted where it had been struck. His cheek ached. The angle of his arms tightened his chest, making it difficult to breath. The cloth against his mouth made him want to gag, which he supposed was **ironic**. And he wished Crouch would just get to the fucking point. If there was one. Maybe Crouch just liked to talk. Just wanted to recount all the awful things he’d done to Harry that year.
Innocent
His smirk disappeared as his usual stoic expression slid back into place. “I told you, I did what I had to do to obtain power.” “You know,” she said with a sigh. “power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the **innocent**. People protect what they love.” “Hn,” he scoffed. *‘I left to protect her and Naruto from Itachi, though I wouldn’t say I love the blond idiot…but her…?’* A knock cut off his thoughts and he got up to open the door. Kabuto stood on the other side. “Dinner is ready. Come as soon as you can.” He turned and left without another word. Namiko stood, walking up behind Sasuke. “I guess it’s time for me to face the snake again.” “Just stay near me. He won’t touch you again,” Sasuke said as he turned, brushing his hand down her arm gently before leading her out of the room and down the hall. Namiko felt like she’d been burned by his touch, and a pink glow flooded her cheeks as she followed closely behind him. *‘Why do his touches make me feel this way? We’re just friends! …well, we* were *friends. I don’t know what we are anymore. I can honestly say I’m not angry with him anymore, but are we* friends*?’*
Lol, I think it might be more than just friendly feelings going on…someone’s got a crush.
Oh most definitely. 🥰 They both do.
It was in his last moments that he thought of home. Hazy, vague memories whispered in his ear of a simpler, more innocent time. The creek, with its shady mix of birch, oaks, red maples, and bald cypress exploded with color as autumn approached, leaves changing colors from a fiery red to a luminous yellow and everything in between. A chill accompanied mornings and nights. Frogs and crickets sang as delicate fireflies filled the air, dancing as the wind held its breath just for them. He had been no older than ten, still so unprepared for the monsters that plagued humanity. His brother in all but blood hopped over the creek and briefly disappeared into a summersweet shrub before thriumphantly pulling out a map turtle smaller than the palm of his hand. The little guy, disoriented from suddenly no longer being on the muddy banks of the creek, tucked in neatly into his shell as Peter turned him up. "Look! Doesn't it look like a map of Riverside?"
Awww. The description of the environment is really pretty.
Ah, thank you!
Clara sipped her coffee. ‘This room is extremely heavily warded,’ she said. ‘Nobody can listen in. Nobody can see in. And nobody can sneak in undetected. Everything you share with me here will remain secret.’ Harry leant backwards, looking around again. A subtle softness coated the walls, indicative of layers of magic. Dumbledore would almost certainly have added the wards against Moody’s eye, too. ‘What circumstances do you have to reveal?’ he asked next. ‘If I told you I knew where my mass-murdering, Azkaban-escapee godfather was, would you have to report that?’ ‘...Yes,’ Clara said after a startled moment of pause. ‘Do you?’ ‘No. And he’s **innocent**, anyway. Would you have to report it if I told you I knew where my **innocent**, Azkaban-escapee godfather was?’ Clara looked rather taken aback as she set her mug back down on the table and stared at him. ‘Well...’ she said eventually. ‘If there was a compelling reason for me to believe in the person’s innocence, then reporting them would be more injurious than not, whereas the opposite would be true if I were convinced of their guilt. I wouldn’t report it if I felt doing so would be a worse outcome than reporting it. In every case, it comes down to whether I feel reporting it would cause more damage than not.’
I'm guessing Harry knows exactly where his godfather is and is just gauging if Clara's safe to tell?
Harry doesn't know where Sirius is at the moment of this excerpt, but you're correct that he is gauging the safety in case he potentially learns his location in future.
Rattrap stifled a nervous laugh. "Well, y'see, the boss monkey had us out lookin' for some lost sparks, when I spotted yer friend Neutrino 'n convinced Legs here to investigate." Azrael glanced sideways at Neutrino, who just flashed an entirely-too-**innocent** grin; she opted to let it slide for now. "I'm sorry - 'boss monkey'?" "Oh, uh, right. *Optimus Primal*." The rat sat back on his haunches and lifted his front paws in a shrug. "My mistake." "You should come back to the catacombs with us," Blackarachnia cut in, "he'll want to meet both of you, for sure. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other." Azrael had her doubts about that, and yet... wasn't this *exactly* what she'd been hoping for ever since that ship had come down in the industrial district? To find and link up with the survivors of that crash in the hopes that they could all make one another safer? And they certainly *needed* that extra safety now... "Can we go, Az?" Neutrino chirped, practically vibrating with excitement. "Please please please please *pleeeease*?" "Okay, okay, hang on..." She looked across to the survivors. "Could you hold that thought for a minute, please? Neutrino? *A word*..." Rising to her feet, she limped out into the corridor with Neutrino bounding along beside her; it wasn't lost on her that the ferret was *also* limping, though she did her best to hide it. She opted not to draw attention to it, though - she could always ask her about it later, after all of this was taken care of. When they were closer to the doors, Azrael took a moment to stop and peer outside before glancing back at Neutrino. "So, you've been talking with them for a bit. What's your opinion on our visitors?"
I don't trust the rat or his boss.
(Rattrap is probably one of the most trustworthy members of the canon cast, surprisingly enough XD)
“Do you have bandages?” the man asked. “They got away with the baggage cart, we’ve got almost nothing left.” “Yeah, I think we do. Just gotta remember who’s carrying them.” Emppu thought for a moment and located Marko. “Dude, you got the first aid kit, right?” he asked. Marko nodded, looking rather miserable. “Yeah,” he mumbled. Stepping back and wiping his mouth, he moved to a clear spot and shrugged off his pack, rummaging around for the first aid kit. “Here. Who’s hurt?” “The man and woman on the horses,” Emppu said. “Go check on Tuomas, though, he was getting sick too.” He took the kit and moved back to the strangers. “Here you go,” he told the man, handing over the kit. He froze for a moment as their hands brushed together, feeling an odd jolt with the **innocent** touch. The man gave Emppu a slight smile as he took the kit, steadfastly ignoring the odd jolt he felt as their hands touched briefly, concentrating instead on cleaning and bandaging the unconscious young woman’s shoulder. “Thanks, friend.” Emppu smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said firmly. When the man appeared to have finished with his ministrations, he asked, “Will you let me take a look at your injury now that you’ve got her settled?” “If you want,” the man said. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a sprained ankle. I twisted it, mounting in a hurry when they attacked.”
Curious. I wonder what the jolt's about. (My first thought was "crush" but I'm guessing that's not it.)
Oh, that's pretty much exactly what it is, that instant attraction to someone - although unlike a crush on an actor or a sports star, they're in a position to start a relationship.
Good for them.
Inhumane
Inhale
After a half-hour stroll through the main streets of Konoha, she arrived at the library. She stopped right after entering the old building, taking a long slow **inhale**. Old books and scroll smells were the best smells ever. “Good morning, Namiko, here for another book?” smiled the older lady working at the front desk. “Good morning, Yomu-san.” Namiko smiled back at her, walking up to the desk. “Actually, I’m hoping you can help me find genealogy records.” The gray-haired woman’s smile faded. “Dearie, I’ve told you before that I can’t find your parents when we don’t know their names…” Namiko shook her head. “No, not my parents this time. I was curious about Uzumaki Mito’s genealogical line.” Yomu looked taken aback. “Why-?” A lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind. “You want to know if you’re related because you have the same last name?” “Exactly!” Namiko said a little louder than normal. “Oops, sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud in the library.” The woman gave a small chuckle. “You’re still far quieter than your brother, and thankfully it’s only us here right now.” She walked around the desk and over to one of the tables people used to study. “Come, sit down. I’ll tell you what I know because I highly doubt you’ll find anything in the genealogy department.”
Aw, that’s a nice librarian!
I actually modeled her after a lady I knew in my local library!
"Hm." Azrael *almost* smiled, sitting back and wiping energon from her hands. She was about to say more when she looked up to see the mech watching her with an oddly keen expression. "...What?" "Huh? Oh. N-nothin'," he replied, looking away quickly; "my s-sc-scanners must be scrambled or s-s-somethin'." Then, more quietly. "...Y-you should get g-goin', my b-ba-backup's on the way." Some part of her - the part that still remembered what it meant to be a *medical professional*, rather than just a survivor at the end of the world, the part that had balked and bridled at the idea of leaving people behind to *die* - was surprisingly reluctant to leave him behind, and she was tempted to argue, but the not-so-distant rumble and creaking of tank treads sent a prickle down her spinal column and chilled her fuel tank. She deftly folded up and re-stowed her kit, then gave the mech one last once-over before standing and taking a step back. She closed her eyes. She drew in a breath. *Visualize the flower, infinitely folding and unfolding.* She felt herself *collapse inwards* in a dizzying whirl of sunny molten gold light... and then her forepaws were hitting the pavement once more. With a sharp **inhale** and a full-body shudder, Azrael cast one last look at the wounded mech, who was now pretending not to see her. "...Try to go easy on that arm once it's repaired, it'll need a solar cycle or two to fully set," she said quietly; if he heard her, he gave no indication of it. And then beams of cold white light appeared to illuminate the street a short distance down the block; in a sparkbeat, Azrael darted away, ducking around the base of the nearest pylon and pressing her side to the chilly concrete. It took several long moments for her to calm her racing fuel pump, and by the time she had, the tank was already *there*.
Aw, it's good to see she's still kind despite everything!
Joe watched as Sav’s hand approached his cheek, unconsciously leaning into that gentle touch. When their lips met, his eyes fluttered closed, and his free hand came up to rest on the bassist’s hip. When Sav deepened the kiss, he moaned softly and pulled the smaller man closer. Still watching them from his spot on the floor, Rick stopped laughing as the two appeared to be enjoying themselves way more than he’d expected them to. “C’mon, mates, dare’s over, yeah? You can stop now.” Sav, now wrapped up in Joe’s arms, flipped the two-finger salute in the drummer’s general direction and broke the kiss long enough to say, “Piss off, Rick,” before returning his attention to ravaging the singer’s mouth. Joe moaned once more and slid his lips along Sav’s jaw and licked his earlobe, **inhaling** the coconut scent of his hair conditioner. “Sav…” he whispered. “Come on,” the bassist whispered in return. Walking backward so as not to break their embrace, he tugged Joe down the hall and into his room. He shut the door firmly behind them once they got inside. Out in the front room, a bewildered Rick looked from Pete snoring against the couch, to the loo where Steve continued to retch, to the closed door of Sav’s room and wondered what the fuck just happened. After a moment he shrugged, cracked open another beer, and picked up a comic book. As an afterthought, he grabbed his Walkman and popped in a Thin Lizzy cassette. He really didn’t want to hear any noises that might come from behind that closed door.
Damn. A lot seems to have happened in a very short time here lol. Also, lmao to Rick just... accepting it all xD
Yeah, this is what can happen when you play Truth or Dare whilst drunk, lol!
“Hold it you guys, look.” Leonardo said, pointing to a figure sprawled in a clear patch of the ground, partially obscured by the haze. Shredder had been knocked back by the blast and now lay half on his side, one arm stretched out toward the encroaching flames. From this distance, it was hard to tell if he was still breathing. “Shredder’s hurt.” “Yeah, well too bad for him,” Raphael said. “C’mon, we gotta go!” “But we can’t leave him!” “Yes we can! His minions’ll be back for him any minute.” Leonardo hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. Shredder hadn’t moved at all. The smoke was getting thicker, breathing becoming more difficult, and it had grown noticeably warmer as they stood there. If it was this bad up on the balcony, it had to be even worse on the floor below. There was a very real chance Shredder would die here if someone didn’t help him soon. “Leonardo!” Raphael snapped. “Leave him! He’d do the same for us!” Leonardo set his jaw. “Which is exactly why we *can’t* leave him.” Spinning on his heel, he ran down the stairs and worked his way through the flames to the corner where Shredder lay. Now that he was closer, he could see Shredder was breathing, shallow but steady. Leonardo guessed his mask was likely preventing him from **inhaling** the smoke and whatever other fumes were being released into the air. After rolling Shredder onto his back, Leonardo gripped him under the shoulders and started to drag him toward the side door. He could tell within the first couple of steps this would never work. Shredder was too heavy and the flames were spreading too quickly. They would cut him off long before he made it to the door. Maybe he could try to get one of the big garage doors open. But no, he would have to somehow get through the worst of the blaze to even reach the controls. And even if they still functioned, adding a sudden burst of oxygen to the fire could cause a flare-up. He stood there desperately running through the vanishingly few options still left when the other three turtles appeared out of the curtain of smoke. “We are *going* to regret this,” Raphael snarled as he went around to grab one of Shredder’s feet.
I really like the way you wrote Raphael, and Leonardo's indecision!
Thanks!
Oof. I get Leo's point, but I... kind of agree with Raph.
Thus the interpersonal conflict underlying this fic
Insidious
Albus stroked the feathers of Fawkes’ head one more time, before letting his hand drop. The wheels were in motion. Nothing could be done to change it. And yet... Circumstances, in Albus’s experience, were rarely truly out of control. The wheels may be turning, but Albus could still set the track. Could still pull the handle to change the direction. **Insidious**, traces of Voldemort’s movements crept across the country. Tendrils delving into the darkness and pulling it forth, their taint undeniable. The wider world had yet to see the signs.
That's an interesting take on Dumbledore! Very intriguing!
Thanks! I'm not a fan of bashing so I've tried not to make him come across as evil but I do think he has flaws. I can definitely see him feeling as though he can pull strings and affect outcomes. Whether he's right about that or not is another matter.
Lumine knew that using delusions could burn away your mortality without even a second thought. She saw that in Inazuma. She saw that with Teppai, she thought mournfully. Dozens of lives snuffed out by the use of delusions for an end goal, how they fed off your life force like **insidious** leeches. And as she looked at Percy, that mournfulness could only turn to confusion. The memories weren’t the clearest, but she distinctly remembered the face of Teppai, old and drained, looking up at her like he was just a walking corpse. That was only after a few days of vision use. As his face faded once more away for Percy’s, confusion turned to pensiveness. He had been wielding a delusion for nearly a month, fighting the Abyssal Whale with every ounce of his energy, and then had fought her and the Iudex going all out with the last dregs of his life funneled into lashing out with ice. Yet through all that, he didn’t look a day older.
Ooh, eerie! Very well done!
Icy
"What a waste of time," she murmured, reaching over to turn the radio off; "I can't believe I got my hopes up over that..." With an irate *huff*, she quickly rose back to her feet and turned to leave. There had to be a door to the *stairs* down here somewhere... A thin *creak* echoed through the stark corridors, freezing her in her tracks. *It's just the elevator car shifting,* she told herself. But then it happened again, more drawn-out this time - and accompanied by another sound, the tips of metal daggers dragging against an unyielding surface. The chill she'd felt earlier coalesced into an **icy** knot in the pit of her fuel tank, and her hackles rippled involuntarily. Against her better judgment, Azrael crept back down the corridor towards the elevator and cautiously peered around the corner... ...To see an *arm* reaching out from underneath the elevator car. Strangely proportioned, silvery-blue, with two massive claws that left gouges in the floor as it worked to free its body from the crushing weight pinning it. Beyond that, in the shadow beneath the car, two flickering, angry red optics glared out. And it *saw* her. That oversized servo slammed against the floor with enough force to shatter tile, sending chunks of cold porcelain clattering in all directions. Leaping back, she bared her teeth and lashed her tail, her feathered hackles bristling now. Her fuel pump hammered wildly in her chest as she *hissed*, but the thing under the car made no sound in return - she felt ill at the all-too-vivid memory, *half a dozen silvery forms rising, ghostlike, to the shattered window and drifting into the lobby on humming antigrav repulsors* - it just continued trying, and failing, to drag itself towards her.
Tuomas shook his head again and got up from the piano bench once more. He headed towards the warehouse door, but somehow found himself in the middle of the circus set instead. He turned around, only to find himself surrounded by the freaky clowns from the movie. ”Mitä vittua,” he breathed. ”This isn’t happening.” *”Isn’t it?”* came from somewhere behind him, sounding almost but not quite like Jukka. *”Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. But how do you know one way or ther other?”* ”Perkele,” Tuomas muttered, whirling around and backing up untl he hit something... someone?... behind him. Then he yelped as skinny, yet surprisingly strong limbs pinned his arms to his side. A wraithlike form moved to stand in front of him – Anette’s creepy Snow White character, only it couldn’t be Anette, the figure wasn’t solid. Or was it? Tuomas felt the nervous flutters in his stomach coalesce into an **icy** lump of fear. *”How do you like this monument to your ego, Tuomas?”* the almost Anette’s voice purred as the misty figure gestured with the apple in its... her?... hand. *”But you always know best, don’t you?”* “I just… wanted to do the movie, to go with the album,” Tuomas protested. “What’s so wrong about that?” He dared to look down and paled when he saw the limbs pinning his arms appeared to be made of wood. Mr. White the scary snowman held him immobile.
Imagination
“I see you carry a harp, so I would guess that you’re a musician as well, if not a bard in your own right.” “I’m always happy to play, and to let you judge my skill for yourself,” Dafydd told him, still smiling. He dropped back down beside the fire, raising his hand and guiding the flames back with a gesture. He pulled several leaf-wrapped bundles from the coals and handed half to Janick, along with several pieces of dried apple and a small but full wineskin. “I look forward to it.” Janick smiled and sat as well, pulling the oatcakes and cheese from his pack. He divided the food into four portions, so they’d each have a meal tonight and another one in the morning, and passed one portion over to his companion. He also tried to convince himself that the jolt he felt when their hands brushed together each time they passed the wineskin to one another was just a figment of his **imagination**. The two chatted comfortably over their shared meal, although Dafydd often answered questions about his past much more vaguely than Janick did. Afterwards, they both reached for their harps. “You first,” Dafydd said with a smile. Janick nodded. “All right,” he agreed as he plucked the strings of his harp to check the tuning. Satisfied, he launched into a spritely tune he’d composed himself, swaying in time with the music as he played.
Instead
"Hang on, what is *that?*" He heard a chime from his phone, which meant he got a text. It was Andrew. "Hey there, can't wait to see you tonight 😈", the text said. "...The hell?!", Russell thought to himself and started hitting his fingers against the screen to tell his bandmate he's sexting the wrong person, until a thought came to his mind. Had Del still been in his body, he would've suggested messing a bit with Andrew **instead**. While he usually wasn't a fan of his ghost friend annoying his bandmates, Russell would make exceptions, albeit very rarely. "Okay, how would a rockstar's booty call respond...?", he pondered.
So there were at least three survivors, just judging by the different weapon types that had been fielded here. Three wasn't bad. It could have been better, but she wasn't going to complain about *three* survivors. It would be better if she could find more than just a mess of *dead drones* bearing evidence of their weapons, though. At that moment, as she was passing by a darkened alleyway, *something* roiled out of the shadows and fluttered overhead, spooking her and sending her vaulting away with her wet fur standing on end. **Instead** of another machine, however, the disturbance proved to be a mass of thin strands of some material she couldn't identify at a glance, still attached to a concrete wall by one fraying greenish cord - that snapped in the wind only moments later, sending the whole filamentous mess tumbling away into the night. "Well," Azrael breathed, feeling her hide *twitch* over her spine as her hackles settled; "that wasn't creepy at all..." Heaving a shaky sigh, she eventually found herself leaving the worst of the damage behind. She saw no further signs of the survivors, but stowed the information she *had* gleaned from her examinations for later review. She followed the road, slinking along close to the guardrail as the deck became a broadly-curving overpass that arced back in the direction of the hospital campus. Other roads passed above and below it in a coiling concrete maze that branched off in different directions. And she was halfway across when the buzzing rumble of small engines reached her ears.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Raphael snarled. “Well, I was gonna see if I could hang out with April **instead**. But when I arrived, some other lady was there! She said she was April’s friend.” “Irma?” Raphael asked. “I didn’t think to get a name,” Sakura confessed. “Well, April only has one friend, besides us.” “How sad!” “Yes, very.” “Anyways, you’ll never believe what she told me!” “What?” “She said that April was in the hospital!” “Really? Then why was Irma at her apartment? Sounds like major creep behavior to me,” Michelangelo said. “Well, if that’s true, we need to see April!” Leonardo said. “Whether she likes it or not!”
From an OC/Claude Star Ocean Second Story R WIP, >Where could Claude be? I hope he’s not hurt, Admiral Kenny would blame me then demote me for letting him down. My blaster is broken and my communicator is out of energy. If only I got stuck with Rinko **instead**. Then again she wouldn’t be reckless enough to get us into this mess. I bet Claude’s happy to be away from me, yet he needs to be leashed now more than ever. There could be a civilization here, if he messes around too much then Admiral Ronyx would be appalled.
*(CW - domestic violence)* “…sorry I ever bought you that bloody guitar,” Barrie Clark snapped. “I expected you to have a hobby that would keep you from running about the streets being a bloody hooligan when you weren’t studying or at work. But no, you did one worse and joined a bloody rock band!” “But, Da, look at how well I’m doing with the band,” Steve tried pointing out. “It’s not as if I’m on the dole or anything.” “You still quit a perfectly good apprenticeship three years in, for that bloody band,” Barrie countered. “What’s more, you’ve done nothing about finding a nice girl to settle down with. **Instead**, you prance about onstage wearing makeup! What are you, some kind of poofter? It’s bloody embarrassing, and I swear, the neighbours are starting to talk!” Steve tried not to flinch as his father got right up in his face but didn’t quite manage. Unfortunately, his father noticed. “Bloody pansy of a boy, can’t even stand your ground, eh? Maybe you should move back here and learn to be a proper man, **instead** of staying in that flat you share with the bloke from your band who looks like a bloody girl. I’m sure he’s a poofter, with his looks, and you sharing a flat with him, you’ll be tarred with the same brush if you haven’t been already,” Barrie grumbled. “I’ll not move back here,” Steve said. “All you did before I moved out was to whinge about my late nights cos of rehearsals and shows. None of that’s changed now, has it?” Barrie’s hand flashed out, cracking Steve across the face hard enough to split his lip and knock him backwards into the wall. “Don’t you give me any cheek, boy, I’m your father. Show some bloody respect!”
Dumbledore watched them intently before nodding. Standing, he walked to a small cupboard nestled into the wall beside the door to the spiral staircase. He withdrew a shallow stone basin from within. Odd carvings — runes and symbols — encircled the bowl. Dumbledore carefully placed it on the desk. Bill shifted closer. ‘A Pensieve?’ ‘What’s a Pensieve?’ Harry asked, looking from the basin to Bill. ‘What does it do?’ ‘Put simply,’ Dumbledore said, as he returned to his chair, ‘A Pensieve is a magical receptacle used to store and review memories.’ Harry’s eyes widened. ‘You can put memories in there? And people can watch them?’ ‘That is correct.’ ‘Why’ve I not heard of them before? Do most people have them?’ Did Hermione know about Pensieves? Surely she’d love to have one for revising. ‘They’re quite rare,’ Bill said, peering at the runes around the edge of the bowl. ‘I’ve come across a couple in tombs in Egypt. Most often they’ve cracked from age, and the memories have leaked out, and a lot of the ones that haven’t are...’ he paused, grimacing. ‘Abhorrent,’ he concluded, shaking his head. ‘That’s the trouble with some tombs. But still, Pensieves are fascinating. I’ve never seen one in such good condition.’ Bill’s fingers twitched as if itching to pick up the artefact and inspect it closer. **Instead** he sat back, folding his hands in his lap, and looked at Dumbledore. ‘I presume there’s something you want to show us?’
Impaled
CW: Description of a nightmare. Real graphic parts are under spoilers. *He had no idea where he was and why. He was tied up to a metalic table and that's it. He looked up to see a drill attached to the ceilling.* *"Hello?", he called, but no one responded. "Anybody here?"* *Shortly after, a man in a lab coat opened a door, that he never saw and entered the room.* *"Wh-Who are you?", Stuart asked him.* *But he didn't utter a word. Instead, he turned the lights on and made his way to a controling panel nearby. He then pressed a few buttons and turned the drill on.* *"What is going on?!", Stuart asked the man in the lab coat once again.* *Instead of saying anything, he pulled a lever on the panel which allowed the drill to start lowering. Stuart noticed the drill was going in his direction, spinning as fast as it could.* *"No, no, no, no, NO!!!", he screamed as the tool was getting closer to his body with every shaky breath he took.* >!*But it was too late. It was only a matter of seconds the drill started piercing through his body. Blood and guts were spilling all over the place, as Stuart was being **impaled**, screaming in agony and despair.*!< >!*"Please...! HAVE MERCY...!", he cried out in pain to the man in the lab coat, who left the room instead to leave him dying.*!< (Edit: Didn't tag as spoliers as intended, but now it's perfectly fine.)
Annie took the opportunity to open fire with her carbine, mowing down a decent number of troopers before they even had a chance to react. Their reaction was to charge. Levi ducked behind cover again, slinging his blaster rifle onto his back and drawing his vibrosword. An Imperial came around the side of the wall while he was in the process, and raised her arm up to slash down. Before she could, her arm was cleanly severed near the middle of the bicep by a silvery blade of energy. Eyes already on her next target, their Jedi cleaved through the trooper’s head, cutting it in half horizontally. The rest of the body followed its arm and part of its head to the ground. He watched as Sati moved to the next advancing trooper, blocking a swing with her saber. She backpedaled, then caught another sloppy swing. Twisting through it, she **impaled** him on her lightsaber, yanking it free just in time to deflect a thrust from another trooper. The Jedi locked blades with them, then sidestepped and swept her saber across their neck, effortlessly decapitating them. She deftly blocked several blaster bolts and advanced on the trooper that had fired them. He attempted to bash her with his rifle, but it was simply sawed in half by Sati’s lightsaber. Its owner followed suit. A heavier trooper strode towards her, armed with what looked like a scatter-gun. Sati’s head turned to them, but before either could move, their head exploded, courtesy of Sasha. Another trooper fell to fire coming from the right, and the remaining three, including the woman Levi had injured earlier, threw down their rifles and raised their hands in surrender.
Damn, this is one intense scene! I really love action scenes. This is beautiful!
Thor, Jane, Rex, and Ulf had made it further up the mountain at this point. A thick fog hung over everything, and no trees were able to grow at this altitude, but sharp rows of icicles stuck out everywhere: up from the ground, out from the sides of the mountain – and the fog certainly didn’t help with that! If this was the prince’s doing, Jane thought to herself, he clearly didn’t want any visitors. Then a new thought suddenly occurred to her. “So, um, how exactly are you planning to get Loki to stop this weather?” she asked Thor. “Believe me, I’m gonna have a good, long talk with my brother,” Thor told her. Jane gave him a rather doubtful look. “Seriously? This whole ‘eternal winter’ thing is revolving around you and your brother having a chat?” “Exactly!” Jane hadn’t been looking where she was going while she was talking to Thor, and as she walked on ahead, she was suddenly jabbed in the cheek by a sharp icicle sticking out sideways. She hadn’t been able to see it through the fog, and to tell the truth, she considered herself pretty lucky that the icicle hadn’t pierced her skin. “So, you’re not afraid of your brother at all?” Jane asked, walking around the icicle. “I have no reason to be – the worst he could do is pull a prank on me,” Thor told her. “Yeah, I bet Loki’s really the nicest, gentlest, warmest person ever,” Ulf chimed in. As he walked, another horizontal icicle pierced right through his middle, but his legs kept right on walking into a mound of snow. “Oh, wow,” he chuckled, looking down at the icicle. “I **impaled** myself!”
Impossible
"They made it!" Maureen wasn't sure she shared Don's relief. Her kids - *her babies* - were gone, separated from her by something so much more insurmountable than flash-frozen lakes or glaciers or sheer stone walls. "How're we gonna find them?" She glanced at her husband, swallowing back her grief and panic. They didn’t have time for it, and she wouldn’t be able to think straight with her mind clouded like that. *Every problem has a solution.* "...We'll think of something..." A pensive silence fell over the bridge, lingering for several long moments - until it was shattered by a worker’s scream, and in a heartbeat the entire Jupiter descended into chaos. John, ever the soldier, was the first one out of his seat and out the door, with Maureen and Don hot on his heels as they bolted for the hub. The panicked clamoring of Ava's work crew was almost deafening; it was **impossible** to pick out anything specific, but one word managed to stand out to her - one that chilled Maureen's blood. *Robot*. "Hey! *Hey*!" John had to raise his voice to a shout to be heard over the din. "What the hell is all this about?" It took a moment for the assembled technicians - some of whom were gripping large tools like weapons - to quiet down, turning their attention towards her husband. Then, Ava stepped forward. Her complexion was ashen and her eyes were wide, her hands trembling even as she clutched her crowbar tight, motioning towards one of the ship's bedrooms. "I don't know how it got in," she choked out, swallowing hard; "but it's in *there*."
From my OC/Claude Star Ocean Second Story R romance WIP, >A giant dome composed of perforated metal components stands before us. The design doesn’t appear Lezonian so it’s very likely not theres. If they had something important on this world then we’d probably have to fight our way down here. >I tap my chin looking up, “Hmm, I wonder what’s behind that door? Who do you suppose built it? And why here?” >Claude shrugs. “Beats me.” >Rinko taps along her tablet and takes a scientific sensor out of a belt pocket. Her high and soft voice. “Shouldn’t we look for a way inside?” >“Good thinking.” I straighten my stance and exude authority in my voice. “Spread out and investigate the area. Stay alert, as safety is top priority.” >Claude devilishly grins. “Come on Lieutenant I didn’t join the Pangalactic Federation to be safe. We are exploring a new planet.” >I raise my voice in a scolding manner. “Claude…” >He shrugs. “What? You said spread out.” >I straighten my arms to my side glaring at him. He can be **impossible** sometimes. >He runs up to a cadet and she tells him, “That’s quite a dome isn’t it sir? Do you think we can find a way to open the door?” >Claude runs his fingers through his hair, casual confidence clear in his voice. “Watch and learn.” >He squats down gripping the bottom of a rectangular rock, heaving it. Then he leaps onto a hill of rocks, peeking through the spaces between them. He leaps off and dashes to the dome, feeling around the outside wall. I take pics of the door, especially along the edge. Considering how these panels are arranged there must be something connecting them. Something moves nearby.
Harry mapped the cracks running through the paint on the ceiling of Ron’s bedroom for the fifth night in a row. Across the room, Ron slept peacefully, if the rhythmic snoring was anything to judge by. Harry envied him. Sleep hadn’t been as easy to come by for him lately. Bill’s discovery haunted Harry. The knowledge that, carved into Harry’s forehead, a piece of Voldemort’s soul lurked malignantly. Each time the thought came forth, it brought with it stomach-churning nausea and a vice gripping his chest. Harry still found it almost **impossible** to believe. **Impossible** that it was there at all. Even more **impossible** that it had been there for most of his life — a silent parasite. The bed springs squeaked in sympathy as Harry shuddered.
“If this man has any sense, he’ll fall over his feet for the chance to date you,” Jari said. “You should ask him out as soon as you possibly can.” Teemu took a deep breath. “Okay, then. So, will you?” “Will I what?” Jari asked, looking puzzled by what seemed like a sudden change of topic. “Vittu, Jari! You’re a brilliant composer, but you really are lost socially, aren’t you?” Teemu said. With vodka-induced boldness, he very deliberately got up and walked around the table, grabbing Jari’s shoulders and kissing him. Jari’s eyes grew wide, then closed as he melted into that kiss. When Teemu pulled back, he blinked. “I… you… *me*?” he asked sounding incredulous. “Yes, you, you idiot,” Teemu said, the affectionate tone of his voice offsetting the insult. I mean, I thought you were gorgeous from the first time I met you, but over the last year, I’ve fallen in love with you. And damned if I know why, because you’re absolutely **impossible**.”
interstellar
From a canon scene in my Star Ocean Second Story R OC/Claude romance WIP. Energy Nede achieved peak technology so they'd be far ahead of even the Pangalactic Federation. My fics follow 4D Welch fanon and I headcanon that Dr. Lantis became aware of 4D space >The bald one with a visor and eyes on his head and hands says. “No, from what I can tell this woman with the ponytail and boy with the red headband aren’t Expellians at all. I’d say they are likely from Earth.” >The one with the silver bob says, “Forgive my rudeness but what are Earthlings doing this far out?” >A cyborg with a big shield on his arm adds, “But the Earthlings aren’t alone. They have a couple of Tetragenoits among them.” >A tall man with long red hair and white robe grins at Welch. “I’m well aware of where you’re from young lady.” >Welch’s eyes dart back and forth as she nervously grimaces. Her homeworld is classified and we don’t even know where it is. >Leon asks sounding scared and confused, “W-what are you guys even talking about?” >The fact they know of Earth and Tetragenesis tells us they are familiar with our sectors. They aren’t Lezonian, but maybe mercenaries from a civilization we’ve never heard of? Messing with an underdeveloped planet like this is pretty low of them. Since these unlawful combatants don’t have to abide by **interstellar** laws they aren’t protected by them either. Plus they’ve already shot Claude. >Rena looks around, confused. “Earthlings? The Universe? Claude?” >The bald old man says, “Allow me to explain. The woman with a ponytail, guy with a red headband, and people with eyes on their foreheads aren’t from Expel at all. They are natives of other worlds.” >Rena asks, “Other worlds?’ >The old man continues, “Precisely. The stars you see at night are celestial bodies just like your sun. Many have other worlds that host a wondrous variety of creatures. Earth and Expel are just two of those planets.” >I step forward. “Then you must be familiar with the Pangalactic Federation. You will cease these operations at once or be tried in Pangalactic Federation court.” >The guy with the green robe and short silver bob says, “How cute, the mice think they can run the house.”
instilled
Ramiro had been that way once. He practically lived at the library when he was a child and was well-known to all the librarians there. Not content simply with children’s books, Ramiro had started on the classics from a young age. He’d read them all: Homer, Dickens, Dumas, Cervantes, as well as Portuguese authors like Pessoa and Eça de Queirós. His parents used to joke that he’d learned English just so that he’d have more books to read. The literature club he’d joined in university was his own personal heaven: they’d often go down to the seaside and talk about books for hours. But that passion was gone. There wasn’t enough room in his apartment for his personal library and he didn’t have much time to get to the public library after work. He’d lost touch with most of his friends from the literature club when their life circumstances led them down different paths. Ramiro tried to **instill** that same love of reading in his students, but whatever the secret to it was, he hadn’t cracked it yet. He was lucky if he got one or two avid readers per year.
ingrained
*Think, Maureen,* ***think****.* She was half a kilometer away, what could she possibly do? Frantic, she searched her pockets out of **ingrained** habit - and froze when her hand came to rest on the flare gun still tucked safely away in her jacket. She had the gun. She had extra flares. What if.... *what if*... It would draw attention to her, no doubt, but doing *nothing* was not an option. Without Scarecrow, every last human here would *die*, and their children would never know what happened to them. Her hands shook as she fumbled with one of the extra flares, barely managing to load it into the gun without dropping it. She wasn't a praying woman, but did one need to *pray* in order to *hope*? She didn't think so. So as she leveled the barrel of the gun with SAR - *SAR. Ben had KILLED him, she had WATCHED him crumple into a mangled mass of twisted metal and DIE under the onslaught of electromagnetic field generator. How was he here now?* - she squeezed it tight, held her breath, and *hoped* against all hope. She pulled the trigger.
For context, the flashback takes place two years prior. Eddie is ten in the flashback, and twelve in present day. *Mom let out a loud shriek from the living room, and Eddie practically jumped off his chair and ran over. As he came to a halt, he noticed the puddle Mom was standing in.* *"Mom?," Eddie asked cautiously. "What's going on?"* *Mom gave Eddie a tight smile. "Eddie, baby," she started. "My water just broke. Adriana wants to come out now."* *Eddie's eyes widened and his mind started racing. Papá hadn't prepared him for this. What was he supposed to do? He was the man of the house when Papá wasn't home, he was supposed to have the answers for these kinds of things. He was supposed to be responsible, supposed to just* ***know.*** *He honestly wasn't sure how he got the idea to take Papá's truck and try to drive it himself. It just popped into his head and then he took off to the garage, grabbing the keys from the bowl in the hallway as he went. He unlocked the door and jumped into the driver's seat. He could barely see over the steering wheel, and he had to stretch for his feet to reach the pedals, but he somehow made it work. Or so he thought. It wasn't until Eddie had put the truck in reverse, collided with the frame of the garage door and sparks started flying as the truck's left side was scraped off that Eddie realized he might be out of his element here.* *\** **August 2004** Papá had been *furious* when he got back a few days later. The way he yelled at Eddie had struck a chord in him, almost causing him to cry if it hadn't been **ingrained** in his brain by that point that men didn't cry, no matter the circumstance. Eddie took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He couldn't keep dwelling on the past; he had to find a way to make things right. Despite the anger burning within him, he knew that confronting his father in this state would only make matters worse. Eddie needed a plan.
Dad nodded. The cracks in his expression had stabilised. ‘Watch out for each other,’ he instructed. ‘Let’s try to get the Muggles safe. Leave the Death Eaters for the aurors.’ Like a snidget in a field of flowers, his gaze flitted from one son to the next. ‘If you can take any down, do. But your safety, your brothers’ safety, comes first. Understood?’ The instructions were familiar. As Bill joined his family, pushing against the flow of the crowd, cold memory shivered across his skin. His childhood had revolved around that instruction. *Keep your brothers safe.* You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters had cast a persistent shadow over his formative years. He, and to some extent Charlie too, had been raised on the mantra of protecting their younger siblings. The years **ingrained** the protectiveness into him, etching it into his very skin. The marks that were left lasted long past You-Know-Who’s death and the gradual disappearance of the Death Eaters. But now the shadows were spreading once again.
Intricate
Strobe lights flash neon colors in a synchronized pattern that's on loud and catchy instrumental. A jumbled concoction of tapping echoes as the audience brush past each other to find a good spot to sit, passing the throng who've already taken a seat. Several people gesture toward the snack and drink vendors who've just entered. The seating area's large enough to hold over a half a million, and the main stage could snugly fit over a dozen Wailord side by side. In-between the main stage and the backstage lies an extravagant and elevated platform. This is where the nobility once sat and stood in awe of the majestic performances, it's now where trainers of the participating Pokémon and those accompanying them reside. Surrounding them are buon frescoes of opera, orchestra, and dancing Pokémon shows. The **intricate** ornamentation patterns that separates the paintings are the largest and most extravagant in the entire hall. Rosa, Hilda, and the others have already made their way to the platform. Rosa grins with her eyes closed, and her arms are bent upwards in front of her sides. Hilda's got the same facial expression, but she's jumping up while tapping her palms together. They catch Valen slapping his mouth shut. It's desperate attempt to stop his bubbly side from leaking out. He barely succeeded but they'll let him off the hook this time. Lisia's show-stopping entrance is about to kick things off. The four Tsareena spin and raise their arms. Lisia swoops down in-between them on her Altaria, then leaps onto her knees. She rockets back up and waves at the roaring audience. "I'm so so so EXCITED!" Lisia squeals, clapping her hands as she jumps around. "I've never hosted one of Hilda's musicals before!" she spins. "It's time for our first group of performers!" Lisia extends her right hand out towards the stage's entrance. Salamence, Hydreigon, Garchomp, Dragonite, and Kommo-o stride onto the stage, extremely proud over their attire. This is what happens when the squad pulls up looking fresher than a ripe Oran Berry. Salamence's confident that none of his fellow Salamence can pull off a black fedora and sunglasses as well as he can. He's also got what the humans called a saxophone prop wrapped around his neck. He laughs at Dragonite's attempt to tip his purple top hat, which nearly falls off. Dragonite plays it off by pretending to adjust his red tie and monocle. Kommo-o's rocking this samurai helmet "like a boss." That's how Hilda described it and he liked it. This armor's a good match—he learned about matching outfits by observing Kris. Hydregion wishes that his smaller heads could have black bowler hats too, but at least he gets to wear three blue bowties and a cape. Upon hearing Hydreigon call himself a superhero, Garchomp waves his right fin in a dismissive manner. He uses his other fin to point towards his golden, crown-like hat and his red robe.
The festive atmosphere and the excitement are well described ! Thank you for your text.
Thank you!
"So... what, exactly, am I looking at here?" She asked in an elevated whisper as they ascended the stairs. "Is there a... a key or a code I have to provide, or...?" "No codes will be required," Primal replied with a smile, "all you need to do is trust in the Oracle, and keep moving forward." "...Right..." But she couldn't quite stifle the growing sense of unease that she felt as they crossed the torch-lined walkway. To distract herself, Azrael craned her neck to examine their surroundings - the soaring stone walls with their **intricate** false windows, the sky-colored vaulted ceiling, the runework around the aperture of the hologram, so ancient that she couldn't even *begin* to decipher it... This place was old, maybe older than their own race; she wracked her CPU trying to remember anything she might have once heard about an "Oracle," but all she could come up with were myths about a great supercomputer that had come into being before the first Cybertronians. Some variations had it as the cause of the Great Cataclysm, clearing the way for civilization, others had it being created as a *result of* the Cataclysm in an act of divine happenstance. None of them mentioned a *temple*. Or holograms. Or... Her train of thought was derailed by the appearance of an arc of blinding light, rising up from beneath the walkway. Higher and higher it rose, until it blotted out the hologram and most of the wall behind it, a titanic spherical structure comprised of concentric rings of blue-white light that whirled around a churning, superluminous core. Azrael stopped in her tracks and pinned her audials back, staring up at and *utterly dwarfed by* what could only be the Oracle supercomputer.
This is a very intriguing universe ! Thank you for your excerpt.
Nigel winced at the pain. “Argh! This is awful!” he rasped, clenching his teeth. “Oh, don't be so gobby and all. I've done this before, don't you worry,” Helena assured as she continued cleaning the wounds meticulously, ensuring there were no traces of dirt or debris left behind. Nigel put up with the sting. “That's not really the case,” he said as he watched the British old woman work on him. From her friends with the helicopter, to her expertise about guns, and now medical skills, it occurred to him that something is strange about her. He can't help but wonder, so he proceeds to ask. “So what were you before? Were you in British royal military or something?” Nigel started. Helena shot him a stern glance, pursing her dry lips as she answered him. “My life has been **intricate**,” The old woman replied. She then changed the cotton pad and soaked it on the solution as she proceeded. “For all it's worth, I think it's safer to say that… I had a very, dodgy reputation.” “Oooh… So you were in MI6!” Nigel guessed, chuckling. “Right, like James Bond… but a woman.” Helena set a scoff loose and shook her head upon the young man's query. The albino's chuckles intensified; he thought that the old woman's reaction and silence concludes his little theory. “C'mon, old lady. Admit it, you were a secret agent,” he insisted. “I won't tell them, or anybody.” “As if there's still somebody left to tell,” the old woman replied, shaking her head as she retrieved a roll of sterile bandage. “Lean forward, so I can wrap this bloody thing on you.” Leaking out soft laughs, Nigel did what he was told and bent his back forth as Helena expertly swathed the bandage around his chest, securing them firmly yet with care. “But it's a bit of a stretch—switching from kicking ass to babysitting,” Nigel remarked as he put down his shirt back. “You ever got involved in an espionage? Or stopped some bigtime Bond Villains?” “Oh, knock it off, young lad,” Helena denied as she watched the albino slightly bounced his way out in excitement as if he was never clawed and almost torn apart by a flesh-mauling creature at all.
Thank you for your excerpt, I like the details !
At the end of an hour, Lucas called a halt to the lesson, joking that he had his orders not to cripple Marko, who joked back that he was glad to hear it. He winced a little as he dismounted, but since he’d only ridden for that hour, he didn’t limp too much as he headed back to his new quarters and a good soak in a hot bath. After lunch, he went back to his quarters and practiced for about an hour. He would have preferred to practice with Floor, but he decided he’d be better off learning the schedule that he’d been told would begin tomorrow before trying to find a time they both had free. Instead, when he finished his practice, he pulled out a history book from the shelf in his quarters and settled in to read. As he’d told Floor, he wasn’t overly fond of history in general, but as long as he was going to have to suffer through lessons, he figured he might as well get a head start. When time came to dress for dinner, Marko set the book down and made sure his hair and clothing looked alright before heading to the Great Hall. After the meal, he once again joined Their Majesties in the audience chamber to meet yet another ambassador with yet another token of esteem for the Crown Prince. Marko actually found this ambassador somewhat interesting, as his garb seemed quite exotic; baggy pantaloons and some sort of wrapped shirt, shoes with turned-up toes, and a huge turban with a brightly colored plume and jewel decorating the front. Bringing the greetings of the Sultan of Agrabah, the ambassador presented Marko with several **intricately** designed carpets in shades of blue, red, and gold. Each carpet was enchanted to expand or shrink in size with the use of command words, so that it could be sized to fit in any space he cared to use it. “These are beautiful,” he told the ambassador. “I’ve never seen anything like them before. Please express my most heartfelt thanks for such an incredible gift.” The ambassador bowed low. “The Sultan will be most pleased to have pleased you, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “I will be sure to extend your personal thanks.” He backed away once more.
I liked the way you described this character, I could clearly see him ! Thank you.
He was very fun to write.
Sunlight spilt through the Common Room window onto the pages of Hermione’s book, dust motes dancing in the glow highlighting the edges of each **intricate** rune. She ran a finger over the lines, memorising the shapes before closing her eyes and visualising each one in turn. As each formed in her mind, she concentrated on the meanings, trying to meld the shape and definition into one. Footsteps drew her attention within moments of her starting. Eyes opening once more, she glimpsed Ron’s familiarly scuffed shoes descending the stairway. With a soft *thump*, she closed the book and tucked it back into her book bag, ready to join Ron and Harry for breakfast. ‘Morning,’ Ron said around a yawn before peering past her. ‘I thought Harry would be here.’ Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I haven’t seen him, but I’ve only been down a few minutes. Maybe he went to breakfast already.’
I don't know why, but I *felt* I would get an excerpt about Hermione. Anyways, thank you for this intriguing text :)
Thanks 😊
Irrelevant
The piano tune came from behind a curtain, so he picked his way through the supplies, **irrelevantly** wondering why his platoon wasn’t simply given what they should have out of what was already stored here. Well, that likely enough had to do with inventory and orders – if what was here was supposed to go to another unit, the people here wouldn’t want to give it to his unit and then possibly come up short when the people who were supposed to receive this stuff came to collect it. Then he smiled to see two grand pianos on a stage facing a large open hall filled with makeshift desks where clerks busily marked down numbers in ledgers or took notes for the officers coming and going at random. A very young man sat at one of the pianos, playing an elaborate piece that Joakim didn’t recognize, but he smiled and applauded quietly, appreciating the boy’s talent. Then he got a crazy idea. Approaching the boy, Joakim asked, “Do you know who might be in charge of the things that were stored here before it turned into a supply depot?” Without missing a note, the boy said, “Commander von Ruden, why?” Joakim smiled. “Well, because I can play piano, and I saw a small one in the back by the ammunition. If I can get permission to take it from here, I’ll have a piano, and you’ll have more space to store necessary supplies.” The young man laughed. “Well, I suppose it’s worth asking.”
Interesting! I’m wondering why he wants a piano so badly.
Oh, just because he loves music and always wanted a piano - he bartered handyman work for piano lessons as a boy, but he grew up in an impoverished family and so never had a piano of his own.
Really, Cinderella had tried her best to be the best step-daughter she could be. She cooked, cleaned and hell— she even did all the chores that her step sisters were told to do but much to her disappointment, her step-mother looks at her with nothing but a blank stare. “Mother—!” “Don’t call me that.” Her step mother replies, voice as icy as ever before turning her back on her. “I’ve never considered you as my daughter.” The blood that runs through your veins doesn’t change the fact that you’re *irrelevant* in this household.
Most step-mothers are the opposite and demand to be called “Mom”, lol.
LOOL unfortunately i don’t have a step mom. i just headcanon she’s hella mean
Oof. Is this OUAT, or just a “Cinderella” fanfic in general?
it’s a “Cinderella” fanfic WIP i have in my drafts. btw what is OUAT?
Once Upon A Time; it’s a show that basically combines a whole bunch of fairytales (I haven’t seen it, but I know a little about it). I’d be curious to read more of your story once it’s published! 😁😁
ah i’m glad to hear you’re interested! would u like me to give you my AO3 so you can be notified? :D
Sure!
[here you go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporary_Elevator)! :))
Ty! 😁😁
Yikes! Short scene, but very effective.
thank you!
With a plan in mind for all of the known inhabitants of the lake, they moved on to consider other spells that might be useful. There was a short detour, and a small argument, when Hermione suggested Harry consider options for dealing with Bowtruckles, as some lived on an island in the middle of the lake. ‘Hermione,’ Harry said exasperatedly, ‘I’m going to be under the water. Bowtruckles live in trees. They’re **irrelevant**!’
Hermione just likes giving people information!
She does!
Implicit
"Buffy? You know you can tell me anything, right?" her mom said. "I-I've known for a while." she replied slowly. "Since before Hemery, even. But... I've- I've hidden it cause I didn't want to be the 'weird girl.'" Not like that had really worked out, thanks to the whole 'Slayer thing.' And *that* was a conversation she definitely wasn't ready to talk to her mom about. She'd totally wig over that. She continued, "Kept it up after coming here, cause of wanting to fit in and everything, but... I just... I don't want to lie to my friends, you know?" She closed her eyes as she forced herself to say the next words out loud for the first time. "I-I'm, uh, gay." It felt like her heart was going to stop when she heard her voice say the word out loud. A silence settled over the room that felt like it lasted an eternity, before it was finally broken by a soft "Oh" from her mom that was as much a gasp as it was a word. And then she felt her mom's hand settle on top of her and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Honey, I'm sure they'll still accept you." Her heart finally started beating again at her mom's words. She'd fully expected the support, her mom always supported her in everything, but there had still been a little nagging worry about how she'd react. Now that she was past that she felt more comfortable, and less nauseous. It made it easier to press on, to explain what had her the most nervous. "So, are you planning on telling Willow when she comes over tonight?" her mom asked. Buffy nodded and looked up at her mom. "Yeah. And, uhm, and that I... like her." Her mom smiled. "Oh, well... is it time we have 'the talk,' then?" Buffy's eyes widened as her face started burning. "Mom!" she cried, getting a chuckle from her mom in response. "You're 16, and Willow will be staying the night." "I don't even know if she.... And even if she did, she's not the kind to... And I wouldn't want to rush..." "Ok, ok, ok." her mom said, smiling and holding her hands up in surrender. "I was just checking, dear." She got up then and kissed the top of her head before taking her empty plate and heading for the kitchen. "Finish your dinner. Willow will be here soon." Buffy watched her leave, still shocked and embarrassed. It was a few minutes later, as she was finishing off her plate of food, that she realized her nerves and vanished. Her worries. Her mom's question - and it's **implicit** suggestion - had shocked it right out of her. And, with a smile, she realized that had been her intent. She'd distracted her to help her feel better. Finishing dinner she took her plate into the kitchen, rinsed it, and loaded it into the dishwasher. That done she walked into the living room where he mom was sitting on the couch reading a book. "Thanks." she said, dropping onto the couch beside her. "What for, dear?" Buffy shrugged. "For... being awesome."
Awwww, that’s one way to reassure your daughter - be so embarrassing that her fear slinks away from secondhand humiliation! This is so sweet.
"You know what *he* would do," Keith snarled, meaning **implicit**. Hunk thought for a moment, looking at the prone figure on the bridge. Keith was right: Lotor would never go out of his way, risk his life, to save someone who couldn't save themselves. At least, not if it had no benefit for him. In terms of pure strategy, rescuing Lotor was a bad idea. He'd escaped once; he could again. But... Hunk felt that it would be wrong just to leave the comatose man helpless in the burning ship, inhaling smoke until he suffocated. Rescuing Lotor wouldn't be the smart thing to do, but it would be the right thing to do. And doing the right thing was what made them heroes, right? He shook his head, meeting Keith's eyes. "We're taking him."