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raendown · 3 years

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Just crawling out of my hole real quick to say that no one else used that stupid prompt generator they apparently wanted for @madatobiweek so I did it myself. The one I pulled was “blood”.

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2500 Rated: T+ Summary: If he thought really hard about it Madara still wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember what it felt like to live.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

And All That I Loved, I Loved Alone

If he thought really hard about it Madara still wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember what it felt like to live. The freedom to run, the touch of grass under his feet, the taste of anything that wasn’t plain gruel with its minimum basic nutrients, it was strange how easily the memories faded. Then again, he couldn’t even remember how long he’d been here so who was he to say how quickly memories of his previous life should fade? All he knew and all he cared about was that Tobirama had been gone for three winters now.

This would mark the fourth when it came. Standing in line to receive his morning bowl of slop, Madara cast his eyes to what little sky he was allowed to glimpse and tried to remember the color of the eyes that used to watch him in the night. Red, of course, but what shade? What forgotten fruits and gems had he compared them to when they danced in the glow of torchlight? The air was growing cold again, frost gathering on the manacles that held him in place to sleep at night, and already Madara couldn’t recall the feeling of warm fingers pulling him close. Precious memories and they too were fading. Like so many of the others here liked to say, there wasn’t anything this place would not take from you. Some of the men who’d been worked until their fingers were little more than bone had even forgotten their own names. Madara once vowed to never let himself fall in to that state but without Tobirama everything here was so much harder and after waiting for so long he’d begun to wonder if maybe it hadn’t all been a fantastical dream.

Had he imagined the soft touches, the hoarsely whispered promises? To ask would be to risk knowing.

Several spaces ahead in line, a woman fell, body sagging and crumbling to the side. Her bowl clattered as it rolled away across the rocky ground. Madara stepped around her with everyone else as the line continued onwards, implacable, undeniable. Eventually someone would come to take the body away; he could only hope they got around to it before she bloated and filled the whole area with the stench of rot. Their unwashed bodies were stench enough - or so he’d been told by the latest additions to his work team. Madara couldn’t remember what the world smelled like away from unwashed bodies and the scent of burning metal.

They were building something, that much he knew, but asking questions generally resulted in losing blood and if there was one thing Madara had kept of himself it was that he was a very fast learner. He watched and he learned to keep his mouth shut. He observed and he learned that the guards were unkind to those who met their eyes. He listened and he learned that there really was no way out of this place.

Maybe he’d imagined it after all. No one had ever escaped this prison, that’s what everyone said. And if no one ever escaped then either his dying mind had crafted the illusion of Tobirama to keep him sane or the man had indeed once been real only to die in making his attempt at the impossible. Madara closed his eyes, shuffling along with the slowly moving line. He supposed it didn’t matter what the truth was. Whatever the case, Tobirama was not here and Madara felt the lack of him in every cell of his body. The few memories of imagining that were left to him were precious, hoarded like secrets to be remembered in the night and soothe him to sleep, dreaming of places his waking mind could never conceive of. Giving up on those little bits of himself were all that kept him from becoming like the wraiths that gibbered in their cells at night and cackled as their bloody hands worked the mines day after day, rattling the air around them with insanity like a siren calls a sailor to their doom. No, Madara was hopeless but he was not quite ready to give in to that.

Eventually. Some day. He knew his fate just as everyone here learned at some point. If they didn’t die from the lack of sun where their prison was sunk just below the earth’s surface then the exhaustion of their daily labors would do it. Madara couldn’t say what they were building, that wasn’t for someone like him to question, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. They could be constructing absolutely nothing just for the sake of punishment and it would all be the same to them, collapsing at the end of every day covered in sweat and dirt and their own filth. Endless cycles that began the day they arrived and ended long after forgetting that they had not always been here. Madara himself struggled to so much as envision a world outside of this place, let alone recall who he might have been, all the places he might have seen. Was Madara even his true name? Only the past would ever know.

Shouting from one of the farther encampments rose suddenly and Madara ducked his head low in time with everyone else. Any show of interest in whatever was causing such a commotion would be taken as a desire to get involved, something that would no doubt lead to punishment. Everything led to punishment here. It took breaking and reforging in to a shell of shattered pieces to go even one full day without punishment and that was only if you didn’t count their daily labors as a punishment unto itself. The entire line of prisoners before and after him bowed their heads, eyes on their own filthy toes, watching the cold dust rise as they shuffled along in search of food.

When the noise drew closer Madara wasn’t the only one to squeeze his eyes shut as though hoping he could disappear in to the shadows until whatever nonsense was happening had passed over them. The line moved and he moved with it. Foreign sounds echoed off the rough hewn walls around them but the only thoughts in his mind were reserved for prayers that Cell Block Fourteen would not be denied their morning meal for someone else’s stupidity.

A flash of light made him flinch away on instinct. Long burns scars on his back had taught him years before to be wary of anyone bearing torchlight. Then it flashed again and he realized it wasn’t dancing the way a flame should. The anomaly was enough to light a spark of curiosity in him that should not still have the energy to live, canting his head in time to watch something rise and fall, catching the light as it did, something long and shining. Not creating light but reflecting it. Madara watched it rise again and the curiosity was there, if dull, to wonder at the dark substance that sprayed from its tip. Strange, he could have sworn there was nothing to dull that shine the first time it raised. The prisoner in front of him stepped forward and Madara drew his eyes away. Not his business. He knew better than to look, he scolded himself.

Tobirama would have looked.

It was this thought that left him open and vulnerable to a scream that shook him down to his core, different from the others because this one was close enough to reverberate through his skull, real in a way he couldn’t escape when he looked round a second time just fast enough to watch a long blade slide through flesh and bone to come out stained on the other side, cold steel parting the crest of the guards’ uniform. He wasn’t the only one who looked. Suddenly the screaming was all around him as the line scattered and Madara was just slow enough to get knocked to the ground, nearly trampled in the stampede of terrified prisoners.

Somehow it was even more frightening from here where the constant thunder of flight knocked him back again and again, unable to regain his feet and unwilling to let his head be crushed. Madara rolled back and forth, dodging the flying limbs as best he could, and counted the new bruises on his legs out of sheer habit. At least these came without the price of blood. He’d had worse. Still, he was glad when there finally came a break in the rush, just enough space for him to roll his feet underneath him and stand. He stood to see a new world descending on the one that had subsumed him more years ago than he knew how to count.

Flashes of steel drew the eyes in too many directions at once. Blood sprayed through the air, stained the dirt and the walls and the heavy armor that marched inexorably forward. Prison guards lay dead and dying in broken heaps. One of them had been pinned to a wall by a long polearm weapon and Madara was morbidly fascinated to see the body thrashing against its own will. Good, he thought distantly, now they will know the pain we felt at their hands.

And then. Oh and then.

There he was.

Limned in golden torchlight with a face as implacable as the tides themselves he came, sword in hand, steel in his eyes. Madara knew those eyes. Had looked for them when his world was darkest and dreamed of them when all hope had left him. Had clung to the memories even as they warped and faded. Oh but he knew those eyes and the voice that roared beneath them. Three years apart had put muscle and flesh upon his bones, filled out the body now cased in metal, but Madara would have known him by the corner of an elbow glanced around a corner.

Tobirama had come. Promises whispered in the dark made real.

For all the chaos around him and the occasional body that tossed him from side to side Madara could do nothing but stand utterly still and watch as Tobirama cut a path through the bodies in front of him like they were nothing but chaff and shadows, white skin stained as red as his eyes and entirely unbothered by the death he wrought. The sword he carried rose and fell, swooped and slashed, death in the form of a dance, and Madara could not imagine that anything more beautiful could exist in any world. If there were a god then surely they had chosen this man as their avatar on earth, the instrument of their will. In every direction prisoners panicked and guards called out the alarm but in those moments as he watched the rebirth of his own dreams Madara knew safety for the very first time.

He realized that he might by his very refusal to move stand out from the writhing chaos around them only when he felt a hand close around his throat and a fire he hadn’t known was still there inside him flickered to life. Embers long buried coughing away the dust of imprisonment, both hands coming up to pull at the fingers choking him in a protest he would not have had the strength for only an hour before. Now was different. Now when his eyes fell closed against the fading air in his lungs he knew there was something to fight for, scrabbling and kicking with withered limbs, gnashing teeth when a second hand came around to cover his mouth. The taste of blood was a triumph he hadn’t known in so long he nearly stopped moving just to savor it.

As the world turned hazy it occurred to him that this might be the end and the thought was not a terrible one despite his instincts to fight. The awakening desire to live. So long he had spent in the darkness, so much time alone and uncertain, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that an end like this would be anything but a victory. Did he not have vindication? Proof that Tobirama was real, alive, that everything they shared had been as true as he remembered in the dreams that gave him warmth through the frosted nights? At least he would die with a kernal of happiness fluttering in his belly like something forbidden. One last grand rebellion to the ones that had made him so miserable for who even knew how many years.

Oxygen rushed back down his throat so fast he nearly choked on that as well when the hands upon him fell away. Madara coughed through the taste of dust and blood, stumbling back until his eyes could focus again and then struggling to clear his mind, to understand what he was seeing. Shining silver and dripping red. Fear and shock and some instinctual plea for mercy all twisted together in an ugly grimace as the guard who dared to touch him spent his death throes on the point of a steady blade. When the body fell it was gone from his mind as easily as that. What could ever possibly hope to hold his attention with a face like that staring back at him with such adoration?

“You came,” Madara croaked, voice hoarse with disuse and thick with emotion.

“Did I not promise?” Ah but Tobirama’s voice had always been a honeyed rumble, a caress upon the ear like nothing else. Time and distance had only made his tones all the sweeter.

His fingers were gentle, even encased in steel as they were, but even if he had been rough and unthinking Madara would have fallen in to his arms just as easily. Because he had indeed promised and he was here now keeping that vow. Keeping the dreams they had spun together alive, weaving new possibilities with nothing but his steady and undeniable presence.

Trust was not something easily come by in this place where only pain existed. It had been three long years since Madara knew what trust could feel like, the taste of absolute certainty that he could rely on anything but his own efforts. He knew it again now, after three long and endless years, resting his weight fully against Tobirama’s chest and closing his eyes. Chaos strained and flowed around them. Death rang out in echoes that flickered back against themselves over and over and over. Madara knew none of it. His world had been darkness, despair, and desperation, had been struggle, sorrow, and strife, and all of it had been worth it now to feel the arms that circled his waist and pulled him in close, the hand that cradled his neck like something so very, very precious. Tobirama had come. Whatever came after they would face it together again as they had before and that was all Madara could ever - would ever - need.

In the darkness where once he expected to die Madara learned again what it was to live.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #medeival au #sort of??#fanfiction

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sirjustice1244 · 3 years

Photo

Kenyan made decoder tv in the links below

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signet,_Kenya

https://web.facebook.com/pg/SignetKenya/posts/

https://www.kenyans.co.ke/featured/54879-goods-news-dstv-slashes-subscription-costs

Dstv must trim down dude and with any other such pay TV to reduce their subscription to match competition but happy is them they have managed to make locally what they imported previously to save their Forex and that's it dude. Police gay dude, if they meet ya at night, kinda, wants to grab ya manhood, locating people with cash and liaising with crooks to ambush ya and Tv decoder can be improved to radio station when like the box with WiFi is placed within each stereo but not payable, so such station takes heed of the same opportunity as in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?q=decoders+tv+with+wifi+antennae&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjQrJXtnOvtAhXC04UKHeJXCbAQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=decoders+tv+with+wifi+antennae&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BggAEAUQHjoGCAAQCBAeOgQIABAYUN6QAlia4wJg8-YCaABwAHgAgAHAB4gB-TCSAQ4wLjMuMTIuMi4wLjEuMpgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=zfPmX5CSKsKnlwTir6WACw&bih=654&biw=1024&client=firefox-b-e

Rwanda made decoder Tv in the links below bro

https://isokonow.com/electronics/tv-dvd-equipment/32-inches-shalp-flat-screen-tv-and-decoder-215k-rwf_i2839

https://web.facebook.com/pg/Radiotv10Rwanda/reviews/?referrer=page_recommendations_see_all

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BeTV_(Burundi)

https://web.facebook.com/boxtvangola/?_rdc=1&_rdr

Internet Tv in the links below from new Zealand once u got WIFI u connect your phone to ya TV Big screen and enjoy dude not must have decoder Tv and Namibia NBC decoder

https://futurefive.co.nz/story/isky-online-tv-set-to-come-to-new-zealand-computer-screens

https://techtalk.currys.co.uk/tv-gaming/tv/3-easy-ways-to-connect-your-smart-tv-to-the-internet/

https://www.namibian.com.na/144227/archive-read/Decoder-Dreams

https://gh.loozap.com/digital-satellite-tv-decoder-mallam-accra/2942530.html

If u want to make such landscape suitable 4 making those buses made in Egypt and most military weapons and including space-shuttle, u can locate a flat land with bare rocks and placed red soil and with bars demarcate as in the link below and when dry makes such machines, some places risen and some going down in dry spell or slight rainfall not to destroy the pattern or rhythm dude

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWIW0etKNbY

Kiwinjo Tiap tiap, u just buy the pussy if u got cash no hardworking in seducing rude but lazy women of big mouth attributes who knows shit dude.

U claim as u tell folks i have hurt ya long time dream of wanting to surpass NY but i told u how to make shoes and with that u could have brought me close, give me a house and i tell u all alone as i have told every tom, hurry and dick nation in the following tumblrs of this a/c. Dude u insane, if u quit dude then good chance, good luck and if time permit if i have money i can buy a motel there after long dude, long after all ya wounds heal bro, carry ya own burden dude as a results of mentioned all blockages to ya dirty business deals with hyper-loop on continents edges and supersonic cargo drones and jet

Got me off Campus after my struggle and with ya promising communications to lure me to be there and as i reported not knowing the reason why am out was rounds of arrests and i say sawa sawa, i cant go back home immediately as i will be a laughing stock, nothing to tell the people to direct them or encourage them and i had spent much cash but it was green card, i said as above though hidden it they will give me after some months which they did but when i started working sending money to my pals got jealous and indicted me with crime and ever claim am sick after testing me and be in hospital and got to my old habits at home in Africa annoying me much liaising with my enemies who could not help me and getting even to women whom i pursued that i migrate on women and monitoring me i want to be their president which i said i don't want to annoy them as their was gold in my yard i told them how artificially such is made my home boyz made such buying big SUV 4 Taxi and even the 1 i hurled they got and sold dude. They say they wants negros not, but when i ran away from them, they tried to connect me with the same and my refusal made me come home. What i hate u come with lazy men around me saying i can have many kids they monitor me and i talk of gps bracelet and Dna to even annoy them most and any tribe aint important, if i wanna sleep with that women and the above placed u cant say as in social medi Kebi with Minaj as we got like escort agency kind of business with cab. Am left puzzled each day, streaming or stretching my face muscle to cool me and i hope u Know that and when i do the same i see Arabs tied and i wanted to untie the same by telling UAE the same as i told Nigeria, Kenya, Uganda, Cameroon and more how to make gadgets to set me free but not yet, instead wanted all to kill me but the beauty i have told every nation in many ways the same to flatten the trail dude. I was sick with leech i knew not, got to hospital, they brought white women around me to monitor my steps where am coming from instead of treating me of the same dude and if they want me not dwell in big house i can understand and 1 helps me to secure mini house in the rural maybe with E bikes and bicycles to settle the dispute or they give me the same to pay on credit which they want not, not they behave like they want but not, meaning they wanna force their silly and stupid shit on ya that Kikuyu good people yet bad and its final u should marry such. Go to hell dude, you motherfuckers, imbecile and cutthroat dogs. Wanting free as from the invoice which if i tell many u change name, waiting to make much many have made as above to be on-top dude, u got it off base and to scratch out from the net writings and books to make yours after along time fight, that also off base i have stopped dude as much as exhuming caskets as in the link below and confirm, factory made and cheap not crafted others buys the same from their via a drone back to USA, CANADA, AUSTRALIA, NIGERIA, EU and many nations back selling to their lands as from abroad like 3x the price to alter that altogether dude at night as they organize dude, saying now Wichita caskets are cheap to be two fold the above and to alter such individual pursuits as above to make huge profits to fall the local industry as i told the Arab that part alone as each sphere i was giving 1 with a promise if they send me money in the USA to buy a house i will tell them more and sure i meant it as water falls down the slop. Done via fissures underneath the 16 KM EARTH HOLE which should be blocked as i said earlier with boom made concrete to bar such practices as advanced nations get below and identify such. With a wire rope hag like grass and hay heap on gunia or polythene bags, then on ya drones from below step on paw paw peel on hole made on bulb onion on metallic plate b4 chopping hay and banana on wood soaked in pineapple juice, hot water or mud cotton soil water as Russia has the contours of land mass to the empty fall along Kendu bay homa bay road to drill the same from below and place WiFi bombs using the heat generator and cold as above and block the below of the hole so not identified dude and at Asembo bay as well, when u think u can fight and rude blow it up and the water on ya upto ukambani and Kilifi as well dude. Ya food, medical and power supply disrupted to make you go without food and die lest u locate help which u need from people whom have done the same they want u dead dude, istead again to support the above, in my kitchen at the university residence, kinda, they push their manhood part close to me to be bent and even at their office, meaning lazy but gays dude. Fuck u, u motherfuckers, thought will be on-top always, bravo again, no it will be war on ya dude lest u relent or quit, think am playing then u got it off base or twisted. I can see ya beauty/booty on a big screen as lectures can be recorded as in the song link below to cut on workforce they fear and reduce university fee so every 1 can attend or opt from home study pay exam fee only dude as campus are point of blocking people in future as u have seen with me, moreover i told ya how to make radar controlled missile to make u gain advantage over Russian hurled from the plane 1 to make many Africans still claim they r u yet have shifted stand with China

https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-e&q=kisumu%20casket%20shops&tbs=lf:1,lf_ui:2&tbm=lcl&sxsrf=ALeKk03vZirsN_X2cYZbRL-rI2EddSL7Og:1608975348322&rflfq=1&num=10&rldimm=6406173682622430946&lqi=ChNraXN1bXUgY2Fza2V0IHNob3BzWiMKDGNhc2tldCBzaG9wcyITa2lzdW11IGNhc2tldCBzaG9wcw&ved=2ahUKEwip4dqgrOvtAhUIx4UKHdALAmMQvS4wAHoECAMQKw&rlst=f#rlfi=hd:;si:6406173682622430946,l,ChNraXN1bXUgY2Fza2V0IHNob3BzWiMKDGNhc2tldCBzaG9wcyITa2lzdW11IGNhc2tldCBzaG9wcw;mv:[[0.0031165999999999998,34.8881387],[-0.17482480000000003,34.580922]];tbs:lrf:!1m4!1u3!2m2!3m1!1e1!1m4!1u2!2m2!2m1!1e1!2m1!1e2!2m1!1e3!3sIAE,lf:1,lf_ui:2

U can connect both hot touch or cold touch heat panel thermostats in a parallel connection 4 each to supersede one in cold and hot days dude b4 channeling to step up or an inverter dude, now kinda, respect u and signal u of what u know not that Negros pride themselves so their genes should be mutilated and they got my Instagram password and email to check how much i have sent the same to such people. What u want dude, live ya life bro and ya longtime dream destroyed by me even if u abuse me and u will never see it even if i die get it dude, who is the boss or great, 1 who abuses ya and no harm but wants ya food or 1 who destroy ya longtime dream 4 good. Stop playing bubu dude, answer me you silly bastard. No in my condition i can help ya, rather give me money and i tell u 2 or 3 inventions, wants to use me as a ladder to ya destiny, no no no find another or the explained above with me and if u wanna or like ambush me with snakes or machete now u got my keys, stolen them Mr police.

Excuse of NEGROS coming here, is they fear Chinese men, so wants them in the USA to learn how to make original products b4 i show other nations as above to make the same. Staying somewhere makes u not make original a thing many Kenyan tribes and of many nations i have told the same think b4 i settle the puzzle dude. Fuck u Mr Chinese b4 u resort to organizing hooliganism, go ya way, u silly animals of lies and cheats support Mr white-man lies on Kikuyu. Good how, their women pussy sweet or their teethes different with others, answer me dude, don't play dummy or fool. U sick sin eater. NENE NGANI

Talking maps the step on can be on holes on the floor to step on with curved upwards or downwards floor and on the heap on water pool method make sure the heap not on water maybe using ropes dude 4 better results bro

As a man with heart if i see as in the link below 1 too grown and suffered, i kinda, wants to shade tears but something cross my mind to drift me back, maybe they were rude when young but when a nation gets better give them juices and food to make them fat bro

The rich-man even made tomb as the talking 1 with recorded Eulogy yet was alive in another far nation dude and his soul was wanted when the time 4 his actual death reached as many even in heaven and judgement rooms heard of the above he died but not yet as in the link below and the casket dronecade casket was above the drone from below like in a bier while others casket held from bellow, yet the corpse of his brother was exhumed and made much in the boom process and another 1 taken back and even after exhumation is was crystal clear he is not his brother as the 2 were in their graves as they did not know of the boom process and lies as explained above. Now with me but in no time starting saying these inventions theirs bro

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-4537552/DIGITAL-tombstone-unveiled-Slovenia-world-first.html

https://grabcad.com/library/drone-cargo-1

https://www.vox.com/2017/5/22/15666446/jd-china-drone-delivery-two-thousand-2000-pounds

https://www.alamy.com/unmanned-drone-carrying-cargo-box-3d-illustration-image227436005.html?p=257263&srch=foo%3dbar%26st%3d0%26pn%3d1%26ps%3d100%26sortby%3d2%26resultview%3dsortbyPopular%26npgs%3d0%26qt%3dcargo%2520by%2520drone%26qt_raw%3dcargo%2520by%2520drone%26lic%3d3%26mr%3d0%26pr%3d0%26ot%3d0%26creative%3d%26ag%3d0%26hc%3d0%26pc%3d%26blackwhite%3d%26cutout%3d%26tbar%3d1%26et%3d0x000000000000000000000%26vp%3d0%26loc%3d0%26imgt%3d0%26dtfr%3d%26dtto%3d%26size%3d0xFF%26archive%3d1%26groupid%3d%26pseudoid%3d%26a%3d%26cdid%3d%26cdsrt%3d%26name%3d%26qn%3d%26apalib%3d%26apalic%3d%26lightbox%3d%26gname%3d%26gtype%3d%26xstx%3d0%26simid%3d%26saveQry%3d%26editorial%3d1%26nu%3d%26t%3d%26edoptin%3d%26customgeoip%3d%26cap%3d1%26cbstore%3d1%26vd%3d0%26lb%3d%26fi%3d2%26edrf%3d%26ispremium%3d1%26flip%3d0%26pl%3d

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sirjustice1243 · 3 years

Photo

Kenyan made decoder tv in the links below

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signet,_Kenya

https://web.facebook.com/pg/SignetKenya/posts/

https://www.kenyans.co.ke/featured/54879-goods-news-dstv-slashes-subscription-costs

Rwanda made decoder Tv in the links below bro

https://isokonow.com/electronics/tv-dvd-equipment/32-inches-shalp-flat-screen-tv-and-decoder-215k-rwf_i2839

https://web.facebook.com/pg/Radiotv10Rwanda/reviews/?referrer=page_recommendations_see_all

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BeTV_(Burundi)

https://web.facebook.com/boxtvangola/?_rdc=1&_rdr

Internet Tv in the links below from new Zealand once u got WIFI u connect your phone to ya TV Big screen and enjoy dude not must have decoder Tv and Namibia NBC decoder

https://futurefive.co.nz/story/isky-online-tv-set-to-come-to-new-zealand-computer-screens

https://techtalk.currys.co.uk/tv-gaming/tv/3-easy-ways-to-connect-your-smart-tv-to-the-internet/

https://www.namibian.com.na/144227/archive-read/Decoder-Dreams

https://gh.loozap.com/digital-satellite-tv-decoder-mallam-accra/2942530.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWIW0etKNbY

Kiwinjo Tiap tiap, u just buy the pussy if u got cash no hardworking in seducing rude but lazy women of big mouth attributes who knows shit dude.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-4537552/DIGITAL-tombstone-unveiled-Slovenia-world-first.html

https://grabcad.com/library/drone-cargo-1

https://www.vox.com/2017/5/22/15666446/jd-china-drone-delivery-two-thousand-2000-pounds

1 note · View note

sirjustice1242 · 3 years

Photo

Kenyan made decoder tv in the links below

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signet,_Kenya

https://web.facebook.com/pg/SignetKenya/posts/

https://www.kenyans.co.ke/featured/54879-goods-news-dstv-slashes-subscription-costs

Rwanda made decoder Tv in the links below bro

https://isokonow.com/electronics/tv-dvd-equipment/32-inches-shalp-flat-screen-tv-and-decoder-215k-rwf_i2839

https://web.facebook.com/pg/Radiotv10Rwanda/reviews/?referrer=page_recommendations_see_all

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BeTV_(Burundi)

https://web.facebook.com/boxtvangola/?_rdc=1&_rdr

Internet Tv in the links below from new Zealand once u got WIFI u connect your phone to ya TV Big screen and enjoy dude not must have decoder Tv and Namibia NBC decoder

https://futurefive.co.nz/story/isky-online-tv-set-to-come-to-new-zealand-computer-screens

https://techtalk.currys.co.uk/tv-gaming/tv/3-easy-ways-to-connect-your-smart-tv-to-the-internet/

https://www.namibian.com.na/144227/archive-read/Decoder-Dreams

https://gh.loozap.com/digital-satellite-tv-decoder-mallam-accra/2942530.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWIW0etKNbY

Kiwinjo Tiap tiap, u just buy the pussy if u got cash no hardworking in seducing rude but lazy women of big mouth attributes who knows shit dude.

Talking maps the step on can be on holes on the floor to step on with curved upwards or downwards floor

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sirjustice1241 · 3 years

Photo

Kenyan made decoder tv in the links below

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signet,_Kenya

https://web.facebook.com/pg/SignetKenya/posts/

https://www.kenyans.co.ke/featured/54879-goods-news-dstv-slashes-subscription-costs

Rwanda made decoder Tv in the links below bro

https://isokonow.com/electronics/tv-dvd-equipment/32-inches-shalp-flat-screen-tv-and-decoder-215k-rwf_i2839

https://web.facebook.com/pg/Radiotv10Rwanda/reviews/?referrer=page_recommendations_see_all

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BeTV_(Burundi)

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Internet Tv in the links below from new Zealand once u got WIFI u connect your phone to ya TV Big screen and enjoy dude not must have decoder Tv and Namibia NBC decoder

https://futurefive.co.nz/story/isky-online-tv-set-to-come-to-new-zealand-computer-screens

https://techtalk.currys.co.uk/tv-gaming/tv/3-easy-ways-to-connect-your-smart-tv-to-the-internet/

https://www.namibian.com.na/144227/archive-read/Decoder-Dreams

https://gh.loozap.com/digital-satellite-tv-decoder-mallam-accra/2942530.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWIW0etKNbY

Kiwinjo Tiap tiap, u just buy the pussy if u got cash no hardworking in seducing rude but lazy women of big mouth attributes who knows shit dude.

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talesofwight · 5 years

Text

Memories of Fire and Blood

((Part 2 of my earlier story you can find here about Ruff’s time in-between SB and ShB, and his fancy new GNB-ness. It’s about 5,600 words so it’ll be under the cut, barring the first paragraph. Also since I just wanna be nice, I’ll say there is a trigger warning for death and blood, if that helps? Don’t wanna upset anyone.))

The sun hung high in the sky over the deathly quiet town. To even call it a “town” was generous. There were a number of buildings in the centre of the town which looked fairly well cared for. A general goods store, an apothecary, an - of course - an inn. Surrounding it were myriad smaller hovel-type dwellings that seemed to be scavenged of rotten wood and eroded metal, whatever had been on hand at the time. Not the worst place Rufus had ever seen in his life, but far from the best. The dirt path he walked through the centre of the town was still slightly damp from the snowfall the prior day, announcing his presence with each footfall he made into the squelching earth beneath. The quiet in the place quickly became an unsettling one to his senses, still partially on-edge from being attacked on the road barely a bell ago. He caught glimpses of movement behind doors and down narrow alleys and felt a most unwelcoming gaze follow his progress up the main thoroughfare. A brisk gust of air sailed along past and through Rufus, causing him to shiver and sniffle, letting out a displeased groan to accent his frustration. The blankets he had found the day before had been partially shredded and made unusable in the brief encounter with Brankothgar. His need to find a proper coat became more prominent with each icy breath that left his lips.

The door to the general store was as bland as one could be. At the very least, someone had attempted to paint it a nice shade of off-white (or was it blue?) at some point in time. It had long begun to fade and feel from the wooden frame, which seemed to barely be clinging together at all. Hesitant that even the slightest touch would send the thing crumpling to a heap on the floor, Rufus gingerly grasped the handle and let the door swing ajar a moment, before carefully pushing himself inside the room. To his surprise, the interior was surprisingly balmy compared to the bitter cold outside. He caught the purveyor - an older hyuran woman, just slightly rotund under the thick clothing - by the eye and offered a pleasant smile. She had just looked up from a halfway-read book on her counter with such sudden surprise that Rufus wondered how little custom she must see from outsiders, or if her reading material was not entirely Halonic in its contents. Regardless of that thought, he shut the door behind him and made his way at a slow gait to the counter, casting his wandering gaze throughout the small store, though nothing terribly special caught his eye. “Well, well!” The woman behind the counter spoke in a tone of elation, a smile a fulm wide parting her lips. It was a nice change of pace, Rufus noted, from either corpses, Imperials, or the mistrustful stares of others. “’Tis a rare day when I get custom from someone I’ve as-yet not laid eyes on. What are you after, young man? A razor for that beard, perhaps?” Rufus couldn’t tell if she was jesting or not. The jovial look she exuded was surprisingly not telling. Being addressed as “young man” took him a moment to react to as well, though it soon faded from forethought. “Oh, um... no thank you. It’s the only thing keeping my face warm right now.” Rufus responded in an unambiguously mirthful voice, cupping his chin softly with his gloved right hand. “If keeping warm is what ails you, I’m sure I could find something far better than those rags around your shoulders, son. Shall I go take a look?” The woman offered, already rising out of the small stool behind the counter. She was a lot shorter than Rufus had initially guessed. “Actually, that would be perfect. I’m like to turn into a blueberry if I stay out there much longer in these...” He responded gratefully, flapping the scraps of cloth around him like the threadbare wings of a mutilated bird. It was a sorry sight.

The kindly lady nodded her head in understanding and hurried her way through to the back of the space. As Rufus turned away to peer around the store, he could hear the sounds of boxes and various items being shoved this way and that. Some of the shelves in the room were bare, save for some small items here and there. He moved closer to the front window to observe empty rows along it where likely food was once stored. The weather likely did little to offer the chance for imports, not to mention the fact that the land was technically embroiled in conflict. Not that one would guess from the sleepy nature of the town. He picked his way through loaves of brick-solid bread to little avail. Food would have to wait until he stopped at the inn. “Ah! Here we are, at last...” He heard the woman stomp her way back through to the front room with a long coat slung over her shoulder. Woollen with fur set around the neck of it. Dusty as an abandoned manor, but serviceable and undoubtedly useful in the weather. She threw it down atop the counter and gave it a few solid thumps, sending cascades of dust shooting up into the air to hang and twist in the pale daylight that streamed through the window. ��There! Oof, that’s not getting any easier... ah, but this ought to be in your size. Thereabouts anyroad. Better than naught, eh?” With that, Rufus could not disagree. Having paid for his new coat, Rufus stripped himself of the dishevelled cloth hung haphazardly from his shoulders, bunching them up tightly for later disposal. He fumbled awkwardly to remove the weapon slung across his back in the de-facto sling, pulling it over his head and letting it rest against the counter with the tip pointed at the floor. He was more careful to disguise the weapon this time, owing to the outright aggression afforded to him for his carelessness last time. The new coat, surprisingly, fit him rather well. He felt an immediate warmth around his torso as it was pulled into place and fastened, and he quietly thanked Nymeia for his fortune. Not a few moons prior and he would surely have been far too broad to fit into it. A silver lining in trauma. “Fits wonderfully, thank you ma’am.” Rufus said confidently, offering her a smile of gratitude as he picked up the weapon sling from the ground and proceeded to shift it over his head again. The extra layer of fabric added a good deal more comfort as the cloth, weighed down as it was, couldn’t dig against his travelling tunic as harshly. “Well I’m glad for that! Wouldn’t do to have you out there at the mercy of the ice and snow. What brought you out this way anyway? Not exactly a good place for a getaway.” The shopkeeper inquired, looking to Rufus intently. She was quite right that this was far from the best place to be right now. “Honestly? Life back home had started to become... a bit too heavy for me. When that happens, I like to wander. I set my sights in a northerly direction, and here I am.” “Oh, an adventurous spirit!” She exclaimed; her excited little face practically glowing. “What a life that must be... going anywhere you desire, doing anything you wish. What I wouldn’t give...” She sighed wistfully, casting her eyes the colour of turquoise down to the book on her counter. “But here is where I belong. Someone has to keep the people fed and clothed.” She ended on a surprisingly cheerful note, clambering precariously atop the stool to sit at Rufus’s eye level. “About that... I noticed when I walked in how quiet this place was. Is it always like that?” He probed gently, casting a glance to the street outside. Not a soul could be seen through the hazy glass. “It is now, anyroad. Most of the able-bodied have been marshalled and made to fight in some gods-forsaken skirmish abroad. Only the young, the old, and the frail remain. And barely at that.” She gestured with an open hand to the shelves by the window. “We’ve barely enough food to fill our bellies. What little we do have; we need to make last as long as we can.” She explained in a quiet, melancholic tone - a stark juxtaposition of her prior disposition. “I see...” Rufus responded in an empathetic voice, brows pulling together in a tight furrow. His thoughts turned to anger towards the Garleans, who so loved to make others suffer under the name of “unity”. A bloody conquest was more accurate. What unity could ever be found in tearing families, friends, and lovers apart? “I’m sorry for poking my nose into your town’s business. I hope things improve for you and yours.” Rufus voiced earnestly, stepping away from the counter to straighten himself. “I’ll be going now -- thank you for the coat, ma’am.” “Greda, dear. And I wish you safe travels.” She corrected with a gentle smile. One Rufus was only too eager to return. “Rufus. Take care.” He turned and left the shop, closing the door tightly behind him. Back out in the cold he began to smile to himself. The cold, which prior had penetrated him like an icy lance, now bounced off his thick woollen outer shell. And so it was with that a refreshing sense of warmth coursing through him, he set off towards the inn to await the return of his new acquaintance. He was prepared for a long wait.

His wait proved to be a lengthy one. He sat at a table in the dingy bar, picking over the bland gruel he had been served as “food”. He took sparing bites from the meal, interspersing it with sips of water to wash down the nearly tasteless slop. Just as he was finishing up, the doors of the tavern swung open and in strode a comparatively huge creature compared to the door frame to which he had just passed. Wiping his mouth, Rufus raised a hand to flag down Bran, catching his attention quickly. He looked as though he had walked a thousand malms before arriving here, worn and weary. The greying fur reflected the man’s older age, which Rufus had not noticed on their initial encounter. He was shockingly spry, all things considered. He didn’t have long to ponder on that note as Bran made his way to the table where Rufus was sitting. He offered a slow incline of his muzzled head to Rufus prior to dropping into the open seat opposite him. “You came. I wasn’t sure you would stick around.” Bran began, his piercing large eyes studying Rufus closely, free of their prior blood lust. All that remained now was a deep melancholy. “Can’t just leave now, can I?” Rufus retorted softly, searching in his pocket for Gaut’s soul crystal. He located the gently glowing stone and deposited it in the middle of the table for both men to stare at. “I have to know more about... all of this. What is this? What are you, for that matter?” A meagre smile formed upon Bran’s maw, the melancholy in his eyes fleetingly replaced with amusement. “Never laid eyes on a Hrothgar before, have you? Not too surprising.” He said, leaning back in his chair, folding his tree trunk-like arms over his chest. “A... Hrothgar. That is the name of your people?” Rufus inquired curiously, leaning forward with his arms crossed atop the table. “Yes. We are native to fair Ilsabard. Oft we have been compared to miqo’te, only bigger and more animalistic. Comes with the territory of having fangs and claws.” With that, he split his maw open wide, showing to Rufus the deadly-sharp fangs jutting from his mouth. “I... see.” Rufus responded in a discomforted quiet from which he soon recovered. “Hrothgar... well, that’s just fascinating.” He said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He looked all the wiser in that gesture for the growth of beard he sported. “Many fail to look beyond the beastly visage. We Hrothgar pride ourselves on being excellent merchants or tradesmen, in addition to our capacity for battle. Not to mention the mechanics behind our gunblades...” Bran trailed off, nodding his head to the weapon handle that stuck out over his shoulder. Rufus’s eyes may as well have been beacons for how brightly they lit up then. “Yes...! I, uh... speaking of your gunblades,” he paused, attempting to compose himself. “I would be keen to hear more about them. You said before they differ from those wielded by the Garleans.” Rufus learned further forward; his attention rapt. “It is a fairly lengthy story but suffice it to say, in the days of Allag, they once wielded firearms not dissimilar to the ones we have today. They were called “guns”. An order of Hrothgar devoted to their queen Gunnhildr created blades with the capacity to store and shoot cartridges of varying offensive and defensive effects to combat these guns. The weapons they bore were called “Gunnhildr’s Blades”, which later became “gunblades”. These elite troops were mobilized on the battlefield to combat the guns of Allag, breaking through enemy lines to destroy their weapons. Thus was the term “Gunbreaker” created. That is what I am, and that is what I believe you have the potential to become, if your resonating with Gaut’s soul stone is any indication.” “A Gunbreaker...” Rufus repeated, testing the word in his mouth. He looked quietly at the soul stone in the middle of the table, then slowly reached out to lay his fingers upon the multi-faceted crystal. He felt a faint heat emanate from it as his skin made contact, which sent a shiver through his spine. He lifted his eyes to Bran then, closing his hand around the stone entirely as he nodded his head in stern fashion. “If you think I can, then I would be honoured to learn from you, Brankothgar.” “It is quite unusual for one of my clan to impart this knowledge on an outsider, but I believe you are capable. You fended off my attack, even when you were ambushed. You have some skill, that I can see. But know that this is not a simple path to tread. The gunblade is a complex weapon that will take a great deal of time to master, even with that soul stone to impart knowledge to you.” Bran warned, though there was a certain kindness in his tone that almost disarmed Rufus. “I’m not afraid,” Rufus said, showing Bran an earnest smile. “I have been through a lot in my years, and I’m not one to shirk something just because it’s difficult.” “I will hold you to that, Rufus. We shall rest here for the remainder of the day, and your training can commence on the morrow, agreed?” Bran unfolded an arm and stuck a meaty paw out towards Rufus expectantly. “Agreed.” Rufus responded firmly, reaching forward with his right hand to clasp the oversized man’s hand, the two shaking hands firmly. Though he contained it, a fire of excitement flared to life deep within Rufus’s core. A Gunbreaker... For the first time in what seemed a long while, Rufus’s dreams were untroubled. Nothing of dark and shadowy limbs seeking to drag him screaming noiselessly to a hungering abyss. Rather, what played before his mind’s eye were those images conveyed to him when he first laid hands upon the gunbreaker’s soul crystal. He saw Gaut as he was when he lived. Tall and proud, and an unflinchingly fierce combatant. He observed the techniques and movements that the now-dead Hrothgar employed in combat. He was a whirl of motion, striking savagely, then defending with aetheric barriers launched from his gunblade. It was truly a sight to behold. His educational slumber was cut painfully short as he was roused with a start, being shook and commanded to wake by the growling voice of Bran. His senses kicked into alert as his eyes snapped open. It was dark in the room but as his eyes quickly adjusted, he noticed a red glow stream in from the nearby window. “Get up, Rufus! We must go!” Bran bellowed, rising away from Rufus’s bed to stand near the window, peering out with pensive anger. It took Rufus a moment to process his surroundings, but as he did, he heard a piercing scream fill the air. What vestiges of sleep that clung to him were promptly cast off as he bounded out of bed and hastily began to dress himself. “Gods alive, what is happening out there?” He asked to Bran as he laced up his boots. “The Empire... seems they have found me.” The Hrothgar responded grimly. The smell of acrid smoke began to fill the air as Rufus rose. With horror, he witnessed from the window flames consuming the dilapidated houses lining the thoroughfare of the town. People ran in panic on the street below, only to have them cut short by Imperial troops moving methodically through the town, setting flame to the buildings as they pass. “By the Twelve...” Rufus uttered in horror at the sights. Bodies lay strewn through the muddy street. A hot flash of anger fell about him as he took up his gunblade and looked to Bran. “We have to help them!” Bran nodded back at Rufus and without delay the pair set off down the stairs of the inn. As they emerged into the main space, they did so in time to watch a soldier wipe his blade clean of the barman’s blood, before setting torch to the wooden interior. Growling his rage, Brankothgar leapt forward without hesitation and brought his gunblade to bear. With a thunderous explosion, the blade all but ripped through the soldier’s torso, sending him crumpling dead to the ground. It happened in the blink of an eye, yet it was not quick enough to forestall the fire now beginning to spread through the wooden interior. Smoke made Rufus’s eyes sting as Bran righted himself and turned for the exit without pause. Rufus hastily followed, exiting out into the burning street. When he did so, he watched as Bran all but tore through two more troops just a few fulms from the doors to the inn, drawn by the sound of his gunblade’s explosive attack. Rufus barely had time to gawk, a sword-wielding trooper rushed at him from his right side. He drew upon what little of the Gunbreaker arts he had witnessed from his slumber and braced himself. The soldier’s blade arced through the air towards him, but with a heavy impact, Rufus parried the blade to the side, pirouetted, and sent his own blade slicing downwards, biting into the man’s neck. The blade bit deep and as he wrenched it free, he was rewarded with a gout of dark crimson as the body fell to the mud. It had been some time since his last mortal battle, but that metallic smell of blood was unforgettable. He felt something stir within him. A familiar feeling of blood lust he was once all but slave to. He fought to suppress that feeling, focusing instead on where his new mentor had gotten to. In the time it took for Rufus to dispense with a single soldier, Bran had made his way an impressive distance up the street with a trail of bloodied and broken bodies in his wake. Rufus didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed, but without delay he chased after the Hrothgar. As he ran up the street, he found himself drawn to an abrupt halt as he passed the store he had been in earlier. Horror seized his heart as he saw the building in flames, the windows and door broken. But what affected him most was the charred body laying on the front porch of the store. Diminutive and rounded. Even charred beyond otherwise recognition, he knew who it was. “Greda...” Rufus uttered in silent disbelief. His right hand reflexively gripped tighter on his gunblade as the rage swelled within him. He gave the poor woman a final look, before turning to resume his chase up the street. His mind was whirling from the sudden awakening, to the horrors that unfolded before his gaze. Before he could think further, two soldiers emerged from a nearby alleyway. One with a lance, and one with a bow. The archer spared no time in launching an arrow at Rufus whilst his compatriot charged with lance bared. As if compelled by an unseen hand, Rufus raised his gunblade to the air and pulled the weapon’s trigger harshly. The resultant explosion sent his arm recoiling, but as he watched, the arrow in mid-flight abruptly clashed against an aetheric barrier which had sprung to life before him. Seizing the opportunity before another arrow could be sent his way, Rufus sprung for the lancer. He swung his blade down, catching the spear by the haft and pushing it into the mud, the wielder’s momentum causing him to trip. When he did so, Rufus spun vertically and stabbed downwards, tearing the blade through the man’s back. He left him there as he turned to the archer, who was just about ready to nock another arrow. Again as if guided by a force unseen, Rufus coiled to the ground like a wolf ready to pounce and aimed his blade backwards. He pulled the trigger and again felt that explosive recoil, but as he did so, he lept forward and used the staggeringly effective momentum to propel himself forward like a missile, closing the short gap between the two combatants. He brought his blade to bear in mid-flight, as the forward momentum lent extra weight to his swing, he savagely divided the soldier, his upper torso suddenly freed from the rest of his lower body. Rufus didn’t stop to look at what he had done. No time to think. Had to catch up to Bran. His feet carried him forward at a sprint, passing bodies of townsfolk and Imperials alike. When he emerged from the other end of the town, he caught up to Bran in time to find the Hrothgar stood stock-still, staring out into the planes beyond the town’s border. “Bran? What--” Rufus began, promptly interrupted by the hrothgar raising his hand to bid Rufus to stop. After a confused moment, Bran stepped forward with his voice raised to an admittedly fearsome shout. “Dagfinn! Come out here, you coward! Murderer! Vile bastard!” He challenged the darkness to Rufus’s eyes. Yet, after a few moments of silence, he watched as a figure emerged from the darkness. A Hrothgar, like Bran. This one was dressed in Imperial fatigues, however. He looked younger, with pale blue fur, and a horn protruding from his forehead. “Brankothgar...” The one identified as Dagfinn spoke. He held an unusually sombre tone and looked at Rufus’s mentor with pleading eyes. “I ask you to lay down your gunblade and surrender. No more blood need be shed here tonight.” The imploring tone shook Rufus. He looked behind him to the burning town, wreathed in a shadow of smoke. Was he truly asking for a peaceable end now? Bran seemed to be of similar mind when he spoke, fury gripping his every word. “Your men butchered these townsfolk without mercy! It’s me you want, why did they have to die?!” He spat furiously; his grip tightly wound around the handle of his gunblade. “I only follow my orders, Bran...” Dagfinn responded, shaking his head. “Aiders and abettors cannot be suffered to live, now please... come quietly.” “Piss off, traitor! Shove that ivory standard up your arse and die on it!” Bran shot back, trembling now with barely contained rage. “I see... if that is how it must be...” Dagfinn trailed off, raising his right hand high into the air. “Rufus, guard yourself!” Bran bellowed, as he himself raised his gunblade and shot off a cartridge, as a barrier of aether exploded to life before him. Fumbling, Rufus barely had time to do so himself before the sound of ringing gunfire emerged from the inky darkness. Surprised, Rufus found his barrier waning quickly in the face of the barrage. To his shock, it abruptly shattered to pieces like so many shards of glass floating in the air. He felt next the bite of an impact sinking deep into him as a bullet lodged itself into his abdomen. Before he knew what had happened, Bran had stepped forward to bear the brunt of the assault for them both, maintaining the barrier with one hand as the other sought for something at the back of his belt. He pulled free a device of some shape. What it was exactly, Rufus could not tell. The pain coursing through his system caused his vision to distort and become blurry. But he watched as Bran threw the device towards the darkness and, but a few moments later, watched as an explosion tore through the night, revealing in its fiery light the vague shapes of a small host of troops suddenly cast into havoc by the explosive device. Rufus’s body felt heavy as he clutched his abdomen with his gloved left hand, crimson sinking into the fibres. Pain had oft been a part of his life before, but now... now he had no way to feed from that pain and become stronger for it. He felt heavy all of a sudden, then just as suddenly, he felt himself being pulled up from the ground and slung across Bran’s shoulder, as the burly Hrothgar took off at a run into the darkness away from the recovering Imperials. As he was carried off, Rufus began to feel the dark closing in on him all around. As his vision faded, he could have sworn then that he witnessed shadowy hands reaching out to grab for him. Then his consciousness slipped away, and that darkness overcame him. The last he knew was the acrid smell of smoke intermingled with the taste and scent of blood on the air. In the rivers of his unconscious mind, Rufus swam in the lightless void. He heard nothing, he saw nothing, and he felt nothing, save an excessive cold which gripped him like a giant icy claw. He tried to struggle against the feeling, but to little avail. Here again... He thought in dismay. Far lonelier now... He added bitterly. At least if his dark side had been here, he would have someone to pass the time with until even his unconscious mind faded. How long had he been here already? He couldn’t say. He never could. All he could do was wait for a change -- something to herald him back to the waking world. Or perhaps to death? He knew not which would come. He fell into comfort in the dark space, and as he did so, he found himself in reflection. Thoughts of his journeys and experiences in Eorzea were brought to his mind. From his youngest days, to days more recent. The myriad people who had come into his life, and those who had also left his life. For as long as he could remember, he spent his efforts, his body -- his very life itself, in service to protecting others. To limit what pain and loss he could. Why did I do that, though? He wondered. To him, it had always seemed natural. He would suffer a hundred years if it meant that those, he cared for would not suffer for even a day. Reality was often far from kind to that ideal, however. Is it enough, what I do? The thought gnawed at him. He wanted to be of use, but ever since he had been injured and had to rebuild his strength - his loss of his command of darkness - could he still protect others as he wished to? And how much more of himself would he need to give to see that goal accomplished before his life was finally claimed? His body bore the scars -- proof of his sacrifice, or so he considered them. His entire left arm was a mechanical fake. How many more limbs could he lose and still continue to fight? He didn’t know. And the cloying questions that ran through his mind made him want to simply curl up and shrivel away to nothing. Nothing.

He awoke with a start, rising up suddenly. More suddenly than he should have, as his body told him when pain shot through his system, emanating from his gut. He seethed quietly and looked at his exposed stomach, to where it had been bandaged and taken care of. Rufus blinked in quiet surprise, recalling his final moments before passing out. “Bran...?” He voiced meekly. His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. “I am here.” Bran assured him gently. “You should stay down. It will take some time to recover from that wound.” The hrothgar spoke, gently guiding Rufus to lay upon a small bed of leaves against a stone floor. Rufus noted that the pair were presently sheltered within a small cave. He could see it was still night out, as his eyes focused. Or had he been asleep long enough that a day or more had passed? “Where...?” He croaked out quietly, as Bran moved to Rufus’s side, raising his head gently to administer a skin of water to the Hyur’s lips. He drank without pause, feeling slightly better with every gulp. “Safe, for now.” Bran explained as Rufus drank. “I carried you as far as I thought you could stand to make it. Thankfully you seem made of sterner stuff than even I had thought.” Having had his fill of water for the moment, Rufus pushed the skin away and rested his head, letting out a quiet chuckle at Bran’s words. “I do try.” He joked quietly, before his expression became sterner, looking up to the quieter man with a curious gaze. “Who was that? You’re hunted by the Empire...?” He asked. Bran did not immediately respond, and Rufus could see upon his leonine face a wistful and regretful delve into memories. When he emerged forth, he sat back against the wall of the cave, his gaze fixed on the outside. “That Hrothgar we encountered -- Dagfinn. He was once a comrade of mine and Gaut’s. A friend, too. On a mission, he was captured by the Empire and imprisoned. There, he was tortured and warped. The man that went in died, and the man that came out was a slave to the Imperials. He has been hunting us ever since that day, all those years past... Gaut and I had been eking out a fair living for ourselves but... well, you found Gaut yourself. You read his journal. You can figure it out.” Indeed, Rufus put the pieces together. A grim expression fell about his features as he looked upon Bran with a piteous gaze. “He sounded sad, that Dagfinn...” “Maybe. But that doesn’t excuse his actions.” “No... you’re right, it doesn’t. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Gaut. You two must have been close.” Rufus said, his sympathies expressed clearly upon his mien. Bran grew quieter for a moment, his head bowed, his eyes a gateway to the pain in his heart. “He was my world. And I, his. After we left out clan... we were all we had. And we were all we needed. We were happy for a long time. Before.... before...” He didn’t finish his thought, as Bran quietly lifted a hand to cover his face, his breath shaking his entire body. He struggled and choked back quiet sobs. Rufus, witness to this great beast of a man breaking down once again, could not help but feel sorry for him. He remained quiet himself for a time, until Bran had visibly calmed at least a little bit. “I’m sorry, Bran. I know what it is like... to lose a loved one, to Imperials, no less. I promise to honour Gaut’s memory as best I can with his gunblade and his crystal.” “I... thank you, Rufus.” Bran responded, rubbing his eyes between his thumb and forefinger, and sniffling heavily. “That means a great deal to me.” Rufus responded with a little smile and nodded his head. No more words needed to be exchanged between the two on the matter. “I’m still tired... mind if I sleep some more?” Rufus inquired softly. “Of course. Rest as much as you can. Your Gunbreaker training will commence as soon as you are able -- if you are still willing?” Bran asked, looking at Rufus thoughtfully. “Very much so,” Rufus responded with a slight nod. “When I wielded the blade, back in the town... I don’t know. It felt so... right. Like I was meant for it... something like that, anyroad. I want... to feel that again.” Bran nodded and showed the ghost of a smile. “Hold onto that feeling. It will take you far.” Rufus nodded back to the man, then slowly nestled himself in as comfortably as he could for sleep. He was not unfamiliar with sleeping in rough terrain, and the weakened state he was in was conducive to sleep. Before long, he felt his consciousness slip once again into the depths of slumber, as those memories from the crystal played out before his mind’s eye once again. There he saw the image of two Hrothgar, smiling softly to one another with hands clasped in each other’s.

#ffxiv #ic #hyur #midlander #balmung #Rufus Wightman #hrothgar #Brankothgar Leyvasch #i do a write #it's part 2 y'all #tw: blood #tw:death #tw:violence #just trying to be good to people who have things about that stuff

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your-iron-lung · 6 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 8

AKA ‘Knock Knock Knock’; available to read on A03 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 7213

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Next Chapter: 9

Notes: i dedicate this chapter to my boyfriend, who cleaned out the hole in my finger after my moms dog accidentally bit me. told me i needed stitches then slapped a bandaid on it. guess im a werewolf now awowooooooo

"He's doing it again."

There was a bitterness harbored in Nancy's voice that made Steve look up from the abysmal slop he'd been picking through on his food tray. The tenseness with which she squared her jaw made him frown, and he followed her stern gaze to where she held it, directed towards something over his shoulder.

Turning his head to see what she was referring to, Steve felt he already had a pretty good idea about what it was he was going to see, and, true enough, sitting three tables behind them sat Billy Hargrove and a group of his old friends. Instead of taking part in any of the conversations Tommy was trying to start, Billy was steadfastly ignoring him in favor of staring openly at Steve. Suppressing the slightest of shivers, Steve sighed and turned back around to his food with a resigned expression.

"Yep, he sure is," he said dryly. "Nothing I can do about it."

In the two weeks since the attack, Billy had gone through a series of shifts in demeanor when it came to interacting with Steve. When he'd first returned to school, he'd ignored him outright with a stubborn sense of determination, but his dismissal of him quickly flipped and turned into an obsession that was so prominent, people- or Nancy, at least- had begun to take notice. At any given time, if Billy happened to be in any relative proximity to Steve, he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off of him, and although people had started to talk about it, their words did little to deter him.

Nothing stopped him from staring at Steve, and the attention was beginning to make his skin crawl.

But whatever it was Billy was doing, as long as it didn't get physical, Steve found he couldn't find the energy to care. He was still nursing his wounds, and had to worry about finding a job or something so he could pay his father back for ruining the BMW, and on top of that heap of responsibilities, there was the looming threat of finals, and while he was trying to manage all of those things as best he could, the simple fact that they hadn't yet found the creature that attacked him weighed heavily on his mind.

He had nightmares about it; about it descending from the trees in a heap of vicious limbs that lashed out at him, cutting his flesh to the bone- nightmares where he hadn't acted fast enough to be able to prevent Billy from bleeding out and, and instead had to hold him in his arms while his blood ran out of him, leaving him pale and gasping as the snow turned crimson around them. Hell, he still had nightmares about the fucking demodogs, so if Billy wanted to stare at him, fine. He had more important things to worry about, though he did have to admit that he found Billy's behaviour odd.

Was he staring at him because he realized that Steve had literally saved his life and was now thinking of a way to repay him somehow? He could start by replacing the car seat he'd nearly bled to death in, if that was the case, so he could cross that worry off his list. Or was his interest in Steve fueled by something more sinister, like a desire to seek revenge for belittling him somehow, despite the fact that Steve had done his damnedest to dispel any emasculating rumours that had surfaced after the incident? The last thing he wanted was for their bad blood to start flooding the school's hallways for everyone to slosh around in.

Nancy didn't bother lowering her voice when she spoke, and despite the general ambient tone of conversation that the lunchroom carried, Jonathan overheard what she'd said, and as he came to sit down beside her, setting his brown paper lunch bag onto their table, he looked at her for a confused moment before asking, "Who's doing what?"

He looked curiously between them as he began to unpack his lunch, setting a sandwich and a piece of fruit aside while Steve breathed out another sigh and tried to shrug off the eyes he could feel boring into his back.

"It's Billy," Nancy said when Steve declined to answer. "He's staring at Steve again."

Looking annoyed, Nancy let out a little huff and finally diverted her eyes away from where Billy was sitting to give Jonathan a small smile in greeting. Despite his growing annoyance with the situation, Steve managed to find some amusement in the fact that Nancy was more bothered by Billy's behaviour than he was. It showed she still cared about him somewhat, and that was one of the few good things he felt he had left.

"Why do you think he's been doing that?" Jonathan asked as he unwrapped the plastic surrounding his sandwich. His sunken eyes looked across the lunchroom for a moment to get a look at their subject of conversation before focusing back on his tablemates.

"Who knows with that guy," Steve commented indifferently, shrugging as he stabbed a fork into the meaty portion of his meal. "As long as he stays the fuck away from me, I don't care what he does."

"Even if you don't care, I don't like it." Nancy's eyes flicked briefly back to where Billy was sitting before taking a bite of lunch. Beside her, Johnathan had grown silent, eating his food contemplatively. "It doesn't feel right. It's almost like he's planning some kind of revenge scheme."

"Well you'd think if he was angry with you he'd have done something about it by now," Jonathan said, directing his statement towards Steve as he swallowed down a bite of food. A small smear of mayo streaked across his upper lip. "So far he's shown himself to be the kind of guy who acts immediately on his feelings, you know?"

"Oh, believe me, I know," Steve replied, unable to keep the slow drawl of sarcasm out of his tone, memories of nearly being beaten to death surfacing in his mind. Despite his reluctance to credit Jonathan with a good idea, he knew that he was probably right. If Billy had some sort of beef with him, he'd definitely have taken it up with him before now.

Besides that, whenever Steve noticed him staring and returned the look, he never really thought that Billy looked angry with him. He looked more lost than anything. Confused, even. He never even seemed to realize that Steve was staring back.

"Well if he's not thinking of ways to kill you, then what is he doing?" Using a napkin, Nancy reached out and wiped away the mayo on Jonathan's face, earning a timid smile from him in thanks. "He's been giving you weird looks all week."

"Hadn't noticed," Steve murmured sarcastically.

Nancy didn't appreciate the tone with which Steve spoke, but didn't press the issue beyond giving him a reproachful look. As their conversation died off, they ate in silence, offering Steve a chance to run through a mental list of who was hiring in the area, and what places he could reasonably send in an application, but having no prior experience with working, well, anywhere, left his options sorely limited. The places that would probably hire him were the places he had no desire to work at, but at the end of the day, what was it his dad was always telling him? 'Beggars can't be choosers'.

"The more I think about it," Jonathan said, stirring Steve from his thoughts, "the more I think it looks like he's trying to figure out how to approach you."

"What?" Steve shook his head in a way that he knew made his hair look good and laughed.

"What makes you think that?" Nancy asked.

Jonathan shrugged, looking down when Steve laughed. He picked at the crust on his sandwich as he spoke, peeling bits of brown bread away as he said, "The way he's been staring at Steve kind of reminds me of... me. Like, before I got to know you guys; back when I was on the outside looking in, sort of."

"Jonathan-" Nancy started, a sympathetic look creasing her brow.

The bell that signaled the end of their lunch period rang before anything more could be said. As they stood up and prepared to discard their trays and trash, Steve cast a look back to where Billy had been sitting. The boy was gone, though; lost in the transitional migration crowd as their peers began to make their way back to class.

Even if Steve wanted nothing more to do with him, he couldn't deny the fact that he'd been bonded to him in some regard when they'd both survived the 'bear' attack. If Billy had something to say to him, he'd listen, sure, but Steve wasn't going to be the one to initiate that conversation.

They hadn't even spoken since Steve had last seen him at the hospital, and that particular conversation had been weird enough to the point where he'd decided to give Billy the widest social berth he possibly could.

Whatever Billy wanted to talk about, he'd have to come to Steve first.

Coming back to school hadn't been easy for Steve; his injuries were so incredibly less severe than Billy's that he hadn't needed to take time off, but he wished he'd been allowed to. His writing hand was constantly sore because of all the numerous stitches running up his arm, and with the amount of last minute note taking he'd been doing in preparations for finals, he was half-afraid he was going to pop a few open as a result, but at least returning so soon had given him the opportunity to pretend everything was normal, and the more time that passed that allowed him to think that, the more Steve was inclined to believe that it really had just been a bear.

A mange-ridden, rabid, larger-than-your-average bear, sure, but it was better than the alternative; it was better than the unknown.

Despite his feeble self-assurances that carried him through his school days, he couldn't deny that he held an absurd amount of trepidation when it came to the simple task of opening his locker.

The last thing he wanted was to ruin his fragile psyche by finding more notes stuffed into his locker. But as the days went by and he hadn't yet found another invitation, he allowed himself to grow comfortable in the thought that the whole ordeal was behind him, and would remain as nothing more than another traumatic memory he'd just have to learn to live with.

He could manage that much. Or at least, he hoped he could.

The note that fluttered out of his locker then as he opened it threw his newly reconstructed confidence to the breeze. Steve stared after the offending piece of paper as it fell to the floor, already feeling a slight panic start to build up in his chest. The fear that the note had something to do with the woodland parties blinded him to the fact that this shred of paper was different from the invitations he'd received before.

Printed on fine cardstock that likely would have impressed a businessman like his father with its weight, the note that came fluttering from Steve's locker was the exact opposite of what he feared it was. This was a literal scrap of college-ruled paper, torn from a notebook and folded over itself lazily.

He turned away from the note lying on the floor and closed his locker quickly. He almost walked away without picking it up, and would have, too, if he hadn't caught Billy's eye at that precise moment.

Leaning against a row of lockers further down the hall, Billy was watching him, giving Steve reason to pause. Imperceptibly, Billy broke the stare between them and nodded once to the note Steve had left on the ground. 'Pick it up', he seemed to say.

Steve squinted at him, unsure of what his motives were. Driven by curiosity, he turned back to where he'd left the note and hesitantly bent down to grab it. Relief replaced that slight feeling of panic when he realized that the note wasn't like the invitations he'd received in the past. He turned back to Billy, only to find that he'd moved on. Crinkling the piece of paper in his fist briefly, Steve stepped back to his locker and unfolded the note.

'I need to show you something.

Meet me in the parking lot.'

Despite the fact that it hadn't been signed by anyone, the note had undoubtedly been written by Billy. Anybody else would have just asked to speak with him in person.

Tucking the note into his jeans pocket, Steve sighed miserably as he made his way through the hall, an uneasy feeling about the direction his afternoon was taking settling into his gut.

That feeling was improved upon when he finally stepped outside and saw just how gloomy it was. Wet, half-frozen snowflakes were falling from an overcast sky, creating an uncomfortable slush he had to trudge through to get to the student parking lot. Wind was blowing weakly, occasionally throwing a soggy flurry into his face that he had to wipe away in order to see.

People were peeling out of the lot as quickly as they could, desperate to escape the hideous weather conditions and get somewhere warm. His fingers played with the note in his pocket as he strode through the second-hand mush of winter and made his way to where Billy stood, leaning up against his car feigning nonchalance despite the fact that Steve could see him visibly shivering.

Because of his injury, Billy had taken to wearing his coat half on, half off. The brace that he'd been outfitted with to keep his broken arm in place wouldn't fit in the tight leather sleeve of what must have been his only winter coat. A smarter man would've dressed in layers, Steve thought, and then grinned a little because he himself had dressed in layers. Dress smarter, not harder.

"Wanna tell me what this is about?" he asked as he approached Billy, holding the folded note up for him to see.

"Thought I was being pretty clear when I wrote it."

Billy obviously wasn't in the mood for their typical banter, but Steve wasn't in the mood for being serious. He'd been stewing in serious thoughts all day, and if Billy was going to give him an opening to be an ass, then he was going to take it.

"Well, I mean, this could mean any number of things," he said, opening the note to read it aloud. Billy' looked away with a scowl. "I've only ever gotten notes like these from girls, you know."

"Christ, cut the shit Harrington," Billy said, rolling his eyes. He made to stand up, but was pushed back against the Camaro, a look of surprise overtaking his features as he felt Steve's hand wind itself into his jacket.

"No, you cut the shit, Hargrove!" Steve snapped, his pent-up frustrations boiling over. "You've been staring at me all week like a girl with a crush on me, and now you send me this? What is it you've got to show me? Your fucking dick or some shit? Because believe me pal, I am not interested in whatever kind of fucked up confession this is."

After his outburst, both boys went quiet, each of them stunned into silence after Steve's sudden eruption. Around them, the parking lot was nearly empty, mercifully allowing them a privacy neither of them had thought they'd need to have this conversation.

Realizing he'd had the lapels of Billy's jacket bunched into his hands, he let Billy go and took a step back, running his hand that wasn't wrapped in bandages through his hair.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, then turned back to Billy, who had yet to say anything. "Well?" Steve snapped. "You got something you need to show me or not?"

A mirthful smile spread across Billy's face when he spoke, a mischievous spark lighting his eye. "Yeah, I do, but it's at my house. Get what I'm saying, Harrington? I'm asking you to come home with me, stud."

Steve stared at him blankly for a moment before breaking away to laugh, sucking in frigid air and snowflakes that melted in his throat. Billy shrugged his jacket back into place, covering his injured arm from the cold.

"You're a real piece of shit, Hargrove," Steve finally said, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I'll 'come home with you', or whatever, but I swear, if you actually whip your dick out when we get there I'll fucking kill you."

"Relax, asshole, I'm not asking you over for a fucking conjugal visit," Billy drawled, rolling his eyes again. Steve waited for him to elaborate more about what the nature of the visit actually was, but Billy had evidently said all he was going to about the matter.

"You want me to follow you then?" he asked, gesturing towards where his car was parked a few rows over.

"Try to keep up," Billy replied, smirking a little bit as he rounded the front of the Camaro to the driver's side, whereupon he opened the door and slid awkwardly into the seat.

"Don't you have to wait for Max?" Steve asked, speaking loudly as Billy started his car, but he never heard the reply if there was one. Billy began reversing almost immediately, intent on driving out of the lot as fast as he could to make Steve work for it. Breathing out a hasty "Oh, shit," Steve started jogging towards his car so he wouldn't fall too far behind.

Compared to Harrington's house, Billy knew that his own had no way of stacking up against it. Hell, Steve's house had a pool and Billy's didn't even have a second fucking floor. Everyone that lived in Neil Hargrove's house all lived together on the same miserable floor, cramped together by circumstance, and even though Tommy had cast his friendship with Steve aside, that didn't stop him from talking up how awesome the fucking Harrington house was.

It was one of those things he'd had to punch him out for.

All that aside, Billy honestly didn't give a shit about the state of his house; it didn't reflect him or his worth- only his father's, for he had been the one to settle for the shit-heap. Not everyone could be born into their wealth.

Regardless, he averted his eyes away when Steve's eyes wandered up the front of his home, taking stock in its size and the rundown condition it was in after he pulled into the driveway. He didn't comment on the miserable way it sat on its foundation as he stepped out of the car, or of how grimy the windows were as he walked with Billy up the front porch steps, and even stayed quiet when the wooden boards squeaked and groaned with their weight.

As they stepped through the front door, Billy finally had to address the queer feeling he'd been harboring in his stomach as nervousness. Steve looked around their tiny living room, but refrained from saying anything about its size. But oh, how he must have wanted to; Billy could see it written all over his pretty face. The rich fuck wanted to brag about how much better his own house was, he could feel it-

"Nice set up," Steve said instead, gesturing to where Billy had his work-out equipment set out.

Whether he was being sincere or not, Billy couldn't say, but the compliment had done enough to derail his spiraling train of thought.

"Gets the job done," he replied casually, taking his coat off and throwing it over his workout bench.

"I'll say."

"What?"

"You said you had something to show me?" Steve said, frowning a little at the look on Billy's face. "Please don't tell me you took me all the way out here just to fuck with me."

"Who's fucking with who?" Billy said with a hint of a snarl curling his lip. He had to remind himself that he had been the one to initiate this gathering, and had to bite back on some of the anger that had surfaced out of nowhere. Steve didn't say anything in response, allowing Billy time to simmer down enough to point at his TV. "Turn that on."

"You bring me to your house so I can turn your TV on for you?" Steve scoffed, but Billy looked serious. "Fuck you," he said as he stepped across the living room from where he was standing to kneel down and press the power button.

The screen flickered for a moment, struggling to stabilize as the black screen turned grey before sputtering to life, the colour image slowly beginning to materialize on the screen. Steve took a few steps back as he waited for it to come into clarity, not noticing the way Billy had averted his eyes away from the TV. His gaze was, once again, fixed solely on Steve, waiting to catch and gauge his reaction from what he was about to see.

Billy had rented the VHS tape of 'American Werewolf in London' from the store after Max had returned it, intent on showing the creature on the film to Steve, but had been too unsure of how he was meant to accomplish that show him right away. They weren't friends, or even anything remotely close to that, but ever since he'd seen it he'd known he'd have to clue him in on what he'd found out eventually. That, and he had more than just the movie to show him.

As the movie scene that Billy had paused the tape on finally came to light, he felt his injured arm itch, and longed to scratch it.

"What the hell is this," Steve finally said after a moment.

His eyes had grown wide at the sight at the tormented figure of David lying on the floor, face contorted in pain as he was caught in the throes of mid transformation. It was all the affirmation that Billy needed to know that he'd been right.

"Look familiar?" Billy asked, running his tongue along his teeth.

Steve stared at the creature for a second longer before shaking his head. When he turned to Billy, his face no longer looked frightened, but angry.

"No, really, what the fuck is that?" His tone was accusatory, and he was speaking so loudly he might as well have been yelling. "If this is your idea of some kinda fucking joke-"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Billy snapped back, brow creasing as Steve went into denial. "I figured it out, asshole! The thing that got us in the woods- that thing that nearly ripped my fucking arm off- that's it! Right there on that fucking screen!"

Steve turned away from him to stare at the screen again, eyes running over the details presented to him. It did look remarkably like the creature he'd grown content to believe was a bear: the sparse patches of hair, the elongated canine jaw, and the harrowingly thin frame that carried it all left little to no doubt in his mind that this was it. Whatever 'it' was.

"How did you-" His throat had gone dry with the realization. Steve had to wet his lips before he could speak again. "How did you find this?"

Billy looked at him contemplatively, as one might watch a dog that has tried to bite them in the past but still wanted to pet it. "The rental place by the arcade. It's a movie; Max was watching it."

"A movie?" Steve balked. "So you're saying we were assaulted by a movie monster?"

"A werewolf," Billy said decisively.

The unease Steve had felt building up inside him seemed to vanish in an instant. His body wanted to shake with relief, but he wouldn't let it.

"Holy shit," he said, combing a hand through his hair, stifling a nervous laugh. He took a few steps to the side, pacing in front of the TV. "This is unbelievable."

Billy regarded his shift in demeanor calmly, but with a frown. He reached into the back pocket of his pants and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, setting it to his lips and then lighting it.

"I mean, do you hear yourself? A werewolf? C'mon, man," Steve continued, finally coming to a stop in front of Billy. He shook his head and uttered out another short laugh. "I really thought you were onto something here for a minute, you know? Werewolves aren't real. What did you expect me to do after showing me this? You want me to call Hopper up? Tell him that what he's been looking for all this time is a goddamn movie monster?!"

"Well what's your theory then?" Billy finally replied, sneering around his cigarette, his anger smoldering beneath his skin like the burning end of his cigarette. "If it looks like a werewolf, acts like a werewolf, then fuck, what the hell else could it be?!"

"A bear!" Steve shouted, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Werewolves don't exist, dipshit!"

"Then how do you explain my arm?!" Billy hollered, throwing his cigarette to the floor. He stomped it out angrily before he lifted his injured arm up, struggling to pull the sling up and over his head. Alarmed at the action, Steve stepped in to try and stop him but was roughly shoved away. "If it's not some kind of supernatural piece of shit, then how do you explain your hand?" he hissed, throwing the sling to the floor beside the crumpled filter of his wasted cigarette.

"What about my hand?" Steve asked, speaking levelly as he watched Billy's fingers fumble with the brace, managing to all but tear it free from his arm to drop it to the ground alongside the sling. "Are you fucking insane, Hargrove? What the hell are you doing, man, your arm-"

"My arm is fine."

Billy spoke curtly, practically cutting his own sentence short in his haste to show off what he meant. He peeled the bandages that had been wrapped around his arm away with hasty, scratching motions, and then held his arm up for Steve to see it. Where there should have been sections of stripped off flesh and bruises marking where his arm had been broken, there was instead… nothing. Astonished, Steve saw that there was not a single scratch left on his tanned skin. The mutilation he'd endured was gone.

As if that wasn't evidence enough to prove something supernatural was behind his miraculous recovery, Billy stepped towards his workout station and grabbed up one of his heaviest hand weights. Without so much as a grunt of effort or slight whine of pain, he curled it effortlessly in his arm, ultimately proving that his bones were no longer broken. Steve watched his display with wide eyes, mouth dropping open in confusion, because he'd known for a fact that Billy's injuries had been substantially worse than his own, and to see that his arm was totally healed now was baffling. His own arm still had all of the stitches in it, and throbbed painfully sometimes when he wrote with it for too long.

"Your arm was broken-" he stuttered, unable to fully put words behind his thoughts.

"Yeah. In three places," Billy said morosely, as though he were upset by the fact that it now seemed to be intact and unbroken.

"But then… What the fuck…" Steve whispered, reaching out to touch Billy's bicep to feel for himself if what he was seeing was true. The contact was short lived, as Billy immediately flinched away from his touch with a disgusted look plastered all over his face.

"My hand," Steve said flatly, pulling away without a fuss. "You keep saying it's all fucked up, but I don't see it. What the hell's so wrong with it?"

"No one else sees it- not just you; I've been watching people talk to you like it's normal all goddamn week."

"Tell me what you see, then."

Steve waited patiently, giving Billy enough time to put his thoughts in order. He'd been riled up before, and looked to be struggling with how to best describe what it was he was seeing that no one else could, his eyes focused entirely on Steve's hand.

"It looks diseased," Billy finally said after a moment. "There're these… puncture marks in it that just- look infected."

"Infected," Steve repeated, looking over his hand curiously, turning it forward and back. To him, it still looked fine.

"And it smells, too, like... " Billy sniffed and then immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It smells like the air did that night. Rotten."

"It didn't bite me, though," Steve said, frowning. "My hand wasn't hurt at all."

"No," Billy said quietly. "It didn't, but whatever you saw at that bonfire did."

A chill made the small hairs on his body stand upright as Steve was forced to remember the disembodied wolfs head, picturing it in his mind with vivid clarity. He remembered its teeth sinking into his flesh, poking holes into his skin that had vanished the instant he'd thrown it away in shock. No one had believed him then, but the look on Billy's face said he was willing to believe him now, but Steve wasn't sure if he himself actually believed it anymore.

Along with his willingness to write the creature they'd encountered in the woods off as a bear, Steve had written off his experience with the wolf head as just a bad trip, and now Billy was trying to turn it into something else, forcing him to re-examine the trauma as though it was something that had actually happened.

"You can see where it bit me?" Steve asked, speaking slowly and with an air of trepidation. "And you're saying that, what, it's infected now?"

Billy didn't reply right away. There was a strange look on his face as he studied Steve for a moment, his eyes trained on the hand he claimed was injured.

"I wanna try something," he said at last, stepping past Steve and into the narrow hallway that lead to the other rooms tucked away in his house.

Steve followed after him, glancing once back at the image displayed on the screen, wondering if perhaps the idea of a werewolf existing in Hawkins wasn't as far-fetched as he initially thought it was. Walking down the short hallway to where Billy had slipped into the bathroom he shared with Max, Steve took a glance into what could have only been Billy's bedroom.

Beyond it being small, (much, much smaller than even the guest bedroom in his own home), it looked just like what a person might think Billy Hargrove's bedroom would look like. Hot women, a vanity station, and a stereo to blare his music was all a man like Billy could ever need.

"Here," Billy said, stealing Steve's attention away. "Let me see your hand."

"What? Why?" Steve asked hesitantly, holding his hand warily away from where Billy was holding out his own to take it.

"What are you, a fucking child? Just give it here," Billy said impatiently.

Groaning mentally, Steve relinquished his hand. Billy gripped him tightly around the wrist, pulling a face as he drew his hand closer towards him.

"What're you doing-"

"Just hold still."

With his other hand, Billy held a clean ball of cotton and slowly moved it towards Steve's hand, his face pinching up in disgust as he finally rubbed the ball against his skin.

"That hurt you any?" Billy asked as he released his grip over Steve's hand, switching his focus from Steve's skin to the cotton ball he'd just swabbed over it.

"N...no?"

Billy grunted lowly, furrowing his brows as he held the cotton ball up for Steve to see it. "What about this? See anything on this?"

And to his horror, Steve found that he could.

The little ball of cotton had been clean when Billy plucked it out of the package. Steve had seen that, and yet, as he stared at the gruesome mixture of pus and blood on the side Billy had used as a swab, he couldn't help but think for just a second that perhaps it had come like that. No way had that awful mixture actually come from him. The fibers of the ball were stained yellow and bright red, indicating that whatever it was that Billy was able to see on his hand was an open wound. A gruesome, open wound.

"What the hell?" he uttered, mortified by the sight of the cotton ball. He rubbed his hand over the patch of skin Billy had swabbed, but nothing came up on his fingers when he pulled them away. He ignored the way his hands had begun to shake as he inspected the back of his hand uncomprehendingly.

"You see this," Billy said, gesturing to the stained cotton ball, "but you still can't see it on you?" Steve didn't bother replying. "Fuck. Fine, alright, let me see it again."

"Why?" Steve asked, looking over his hands again and again, trying desperately to see what Billy saw and could, evidently, interact with.

"Gotta clean it out." Steve paused with his examination and looked up at Billy who'd gone back to rifling through the things he kept stored behind the sink mirror, sure he'd misheard him. When Billy caught the look of disbelief in Steve's eye he paused, placing a bottle of antiseptic on the rim of the sink. "I know you can't smell it, but I can and it fucking stinks. I can't fucking stand it anymore. If I clean it out, maybe it'll be less, I dunno, putrid."

"I mean, maybe?" Steve could admit that he had no idea if it would make a difference or not, but Billy's logic was sound. "If it'll get you to stop staring at me, have at it, I guess."

Even though Steve knew from experience that nothing Billy did to the wound would physically hurt him, he found himself recoiling out of habit when he poured the antiseptic over the back of his hand. Billy arched a brow at the reaction, but held Steve's hand firmly over the sink as the liquid flowed over his skin. It didn't run off clear.

The tainted antiseptic left murky, bloody streaks that trailed into the basin of the sink as it found its way to the drain. As the bodily fluids left whatever invisible plane they existed on, Steve thought he could catch a faint whiff of whatever smell Billy had been complaining about. A scent of what could have been construed as rotting flesh or a dead animal had begun to take up the small space of the bathroom they stood in, causing him to grimace as Billy began to clean out the wound in earnest. He would have said something witty about how focused Billy appeared to be, using q-tips and cotton swabs to clean out the hidden wound, if not for the strange situation they had both found themselves in.

Instead he watched him quietly, and found himself admiring the way Billy became lost with what he was doing when he decided to really put his mind into behind his work. It was a side of him that Steve had never seen before, and against his better judgement, he found the way Billy furrowed his brow in a way that it wrinkled his forehead kind of... endearing. When he wasn't full of adrenaline and anger, Billy almost came across as personable.

Almost.

"Now who's staring at who?" Steve heard Billy drawl, and he had to blink a few times to draw himself out of his semi-trance.

"Please, don't flatter yourself; I wasn't staring at you," he replied defensively, watching as Billy turned his hand from side to side to make sure he'd gotten all the gunk out of the puncture wounds only he could see. "I was clearly mesmerized by all this shit coming out of my hand."

Billy scoffed, but let the issue drop. Instead of offering up a retort, he said, "You probably need stitches."

This time Steve did yank his hand away from him, pulling it away so quickly it thumped into his chest with a dull thud.

"What the hell Harrington-"

"I am not about to let you put stitches into the imaginary holes in my hand!" He didn't mean to sound so whiny about it, but he couldn't help the way his voice lilted in distress.

"I didn't say I was going to," Billy snapped, his calm demeanor turning into irritation. He cast away the soiled materials he'd been working with in the small bathroom trash can and pushed past Steve into the hallway. "I only said that you probably needed them."

"Yeah, well, what the hell do you know," Steve said, following after him.

Steve continued to hold his hand against his chest as Billy moved into his bedroom. He stepped into the doorway and watched as he made his way to the small, self-constructed vanity and began to rifle through a box of his belongings. Unsure of what it was Billy was looking for, Steve took the time to gaze around his room, eyeing up whatever he could and mentally storing away things he could use to discredit him in future arguments.

"Here," Billy said after a moment, pulling out what looked like a small, self-made first aid kit out of a hidden box. "Gimme your hand again."

"What for?" Steve asked, eyeing the box warily.

"To fucking amputate it, idiot; just give it here." Billy held out his hand expectantly, and rather reluctantly, Steve once again trusted him with the care of his hand.

In the small, inconspicuous first aid kit was an assortment of bandages, gauze, and adhesive tape. Steve didn't ask why he had it; only watched quietly as Billy took out a box of butterfly bandages and began applying them to where the holes in the back of his hand must have been. It looked odd to Steve to see his perfectly fine skin get bunched up underneath the thin, white bandages, but if this was what it took to get rid of the mark (and he was sure, suddenly that it was a marking of sorts), then he'd allow it.

"God, that's gross," Billy mumbled, scrunching his face up before wrapping Steve's hand in the medical tape until the bandages were covered and hidden.

"Gee, thanks," Steve said, examining Billy's handiwork when he was done. He hated to admit it, but he'd done a pretty good job dressing his hand for him.

They stood in the door-frame of Billy's bedroom for a long moment afterwards, neither one of them speaking. The weight of their discovery weighed heavily on each of their minds as they individually wondered about what they ought to do with the information going forward.

"So, I guess I'll tell Hopper-"

"We need to talk about-"

Steve laughed when they spoke at the same time, but Billy only scowled.

"Get the hell out of my room," he said crossly, pushing Steve out of the doorway and into the hall. "I need to show you the rest of that fucking movie."

Steve didn't like the movie. He'd never been a fan of the horror genre- couldn't understand why anyone would be, really-, but the werewolf movie Billy was forcing him to sit through was so violent it was beginning to make his stomach turn.

Worse than the violence, though, was that he had to watch a large portion of the film alone. Not that he was scared to watch it alone, but he definitely would've preferred not to have to watch it by himself in a stranger home. In order to keep up appearances, Billy had left him to re-dress his arm once he'd rewound the movie to a suitable starting point. Steve understood that he couldn't just walk around town with his arm the way it was, but even still, he didn't appreciate having to sit through the horrific movie alone at his insistence.

"Why the hell did you make me watch that," Steve complained once the movie had ended.

Billy had come in around the halfway mark, his arm freshly bandaged and back in its sling. He'd caught Steve cowering on the couch, watching the gorey parts behind the selective censorship of his fingers, and of course he'd laughed at him. He'd taken a seat on his workout bench, leaning against the dumbbell supports and laughed at him for a good five minutes, but at least that instant of humiliation had taken the edge off of the worst of it. Steve had been able to watch the rest of the movie without issue, but he knew he was never going to be able to live that down.

Now that the movie was over, Billy didn't look quite as amused anymore. He was watching the end credits slowly scroll up the screen with a somber, dissociated look. Unsure if he'd heard him or not, Steve was about to repeat himself when Billy finally spoke.

"To make sure you understood what's coming." Confused, Steve could only look at him uncomprehendingly. With a groan, Billy sat up from his hunched over position and turned his eyes away from the screen. "I guess you didn't get to being the 'King' of the hick capital of the world by being smart. Did you pay attention to the movie at all?

"It was a werewolf, Harrington; even you can't deny that now, and you saw what happened to that guy who got bit by one, or did you miss that while you were watching the movie through your fingers?"

"Shut the fuck up," Steve muttered in embarrassment. "It was one part; I watched every other second of the damn movie!"

"Then work it out for me, pretty boy; exercise that tiny little brain of yours for once and show me you're better than all the rest of these inbred Hawkins idiots."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but saw that Billy wasn't actually trying to initiate an argument. Instead, he was trying to reason with him. He hadn't forced him to watch the movie for his own entertainment, but was instead trying to show him something. There was something obvious Steve was failing to see here, and Billy was trying to open his eyes to it.

Mentally, he recounted everything he could that related to their situation. The bonfire, the attack, the recovery, his conversations earlier that day, the bite on his hand-

The bite.

"It- it didn't bite me," Steve finally said, his eyes going wide in realization as he recalled the conversation they'd shared not two hours ago. Billy's face lit up as Steve's succumbed to the horror the movie had exposed him to. "It didn't bite me, it bit you, so then, you- that makes you-"

Billy grinned at him sardonically, revealing his teeth.

"Guess I really am a monster now."

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #stranger things #stranger things fic

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sirjustice1240 · 3 years

Photo

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entergamingxp · 4 years

Text

Nioh 2 review – a vast and engrossing if dutiful follow-up to a landmark Soulslike • Eurogamer.net

The measure of a good Soulslike isn’t the might of its (Nameless) kings, but the deviousness of its pawns. Marquee adversaries like Ornstein and Smough might command the lion’s share of Youtube uploads, but they aren’t, or shouldn’t be, the source of all dread in the moment. Nioh 2 offers plenty of bosses, most plucked from the grottier tracts of Japanese folklore and all endowed with the ability to shift the proceedings into the “yokai” or spirit realm, where their attacks are more ferocious – a nifty variation on the idea of boss phases. My standouts include a massive owl demon who periodically turns off the lights, forcing you to track the creature by its glaring red eyes. But this terrific, if conservative and overloaded follow-up to 2017’s blend of Ninja Gaiden and Dark Souls isn’t really about the giants. It’s about the dirty little bastards in the undergrowth, the rank-and-file grunts with tricks up their sleeves.

Nioh 2 review

Developer: Team Ninja

Publisher: Koei Tecmo/Sony Interactive Entertainment

Platform: Reviewed on PS4

Availability: Out March 13th on PS4

For instance: you’ll meet a demon hag whose abilities include a sort of arthritic spin attack, cackling and flailing around as though trying to free herself from a net. It’s easily evaded and rather silly, more senior moment than special move. Often, it ends with the hag tumbling over in a heap. But sometimes, it ends with her bowling a knife at your head. Elsewhere you’ll encounter bandits who are easy prey till they’re about to die, whereupon they’ll Hulk out and wrestle you to the floor, and deceptively polished samurai who are host to demons that spit fire and poison.

Worst of all, though, are the pot-bellied Gollum equivalents who infest the game’s Sengoku Japan setting, a world of cherry-blossom villages, spoiling castles and torchlit carrion fields. It’s not just that they’re fond of playing dead near treasure. It’s not just that they spew paralysing fluid when you punch them too hard, or that they sometimes accompany larger threats – bouncing stones off your skull like unruly children as you duck under blows that will kill you instantly. It’s that when you knock one flat, another may pounce on and devour it, tripling in size. You skitter out of reach, and whoops, it turns out one of those hags was lurking in a closet behind you. These are the reversals that really set Soulslikes apart, the moments when no amount of levelling, gear bonuses, abject pleading or apoplectic rage can stop you dying at the hands of the very first enemy type you killed, 40 hours before.

If Nioh 2 is full of such surprises, it is not a surprising sequel. Branding it Nioh 1.5 is too much, but this is definitely a case of ornamenting the grip rather than changing the blade (forgery nerds, feel free to chime in here with a more apposite comparison). Set before the first game’s events, it casts you as Hide, a custom-created adventurer with yokai blood – a trait that allows you to wield the abilities of slain demons and briefly assume yokai form yourself. Early on you fall in with a wandering ragamuffin, Tokichiro, who embroils you in a quest for fame and fortune.

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The gimmick is that you’re enacting the secret history of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the real-life daimyo credited with unifying a wartorn Japan, who in this retelling was actually two people. The real Hideyoshi’s feats include confiscating swords from all over Japan and melting them down into a statue of the Buddha – a source of some irony here, given that you’ll spend much of Nioh 2 wondering how to dispose of all the worn-out gear filling your inventory. The first game was hardly feted for its storytelling and the second offers much the same, lavish but scatter-brained mix of period celebrities, eccentrics and pantomime manipulators. The dialogue and acting are sparky, but there’s little narrative backbone. Ultimately, it’s just a bunch of interludes stuffed into a campaign where you pick main and side missions from a Total War-style overworld view.

Returning players will find Nioh 2 looks and handles mostly as was, give or take some more lifelike animations and a richer colour palette. From Souls, Nioh derives the idea of dropping your collected XP at the point of death, granting you a single opportunity to recover it, together with moody, winding levels pegged together by shrines full of friendly sprites who restore you while also resurrecting non-boss enemies. Unlike in Souls, these are separately loaded areas, but they’re governed by a similar emphasis on unlockable shortcuts. Most consist of three or four shrines positioned near doors that must be opened from the other side, once you’ve fought your way round to it. The major geographical change-ups over Nioh are dark zones where the border between mortal and yokai realm has collapsed. Shrines and treasure chests are off limits, here, till you’ve purged the midboss responsible for the psychic overspill.

To Ninja Gaiden, meanwhile, the game owes its elaborate melee combat system, with dozens upon dozens of weapon-specific combos backed up by ninja tools such as poisoned shuriken, Onmyo spells such as fireballs or lifesteal, and the nuclear options conferred by your character’s Guardian Spirit. Of the weapon types – axe, katana, dual blades, switchglaive, spear, odachi, tonfas, kusarigama, hatchets, switchglaive – only the last two are new, and the remainder recycle most of their combos, parries and specials from the first game. Each weapon can be wielded in three stances with diverging movesets: high stance trades speed for power, low stance power for speed, and middle is… in the middle.

The supporting role-playing systems are essentially as before but with a lot more meat on them. Besides spending “amrita” or XP to level up stats that correspond to weapon types, and allocating points to each weapon category’s sprawling unlock tree, you build Familiarity with individual weapons that lets you deal more damage with them. This encourages you to master each one, rather than casting it aside the second you find a rarer specimen with higher base capabilities – which in my experience, happens roughly every couple of minutes. To all that, add armour effects like health regen when you imbue your attacks with the water element, together with the bonuses afforded by your choice of Guardian spirit. It’s a lot to swallow, and that’s before you start combining and forging your own equipment between missions, transferring bonuses to higher-level blades or dismantling them for parts.

A role-player this top-heavy needs something to catalyse the emotions in the moment. That thing is once again Nioh’s clever redefinition of stamina as “ki”, the all-pervading vital energy from traditional Chinese medicine and martial arts. Swing a weapon and you’ll scatter ki into the air, like sparks from a torch. Exhaust the bar and you’ll be unable to perform any action at all, not even the sagging blows that result when you empty the tank in the Souls games. Take a hit in this state and you’ll be stunned for a good couple of seconds, opportunity enough for pretty much any opponent to finish you off. So you do your best to keep the bar full – not just retreating and dropping your guard to regain poise, but tapping R1 as ki leaves your body to suck it back in.

Doing this also dispels puddles of ki-sapping static conjured by demons – bosses, especially, slop this vampiric substance all over, forcing you to nail those pulses or stick to uncontaminated areas. Ki restoration isn’t as punishing as it may sound – if you’re struggling to stir it into your combos, there are unlocks that trigger ki pulses when you dodge or perform other routine actions. But the system gives your presence in this world a certain poetic charge. It’s not just about catching your breath so that you can clobber somebody with your axe, but aligning inner and outer equilibriums, becoming one with your environment – and clobbering somebody with your axe while you’re at it.

The weapons themselves are a joy to wield, whether you’re crushing enemies into the floor with the odachi’s 12-foot blade or wrapping them in the kusarigama’s chain. The new toys aren’t transformative but have their share of lethal quirks: the hatchets can be thrown, returning to your hands by magic, while the switchglaive (a nod to Bloodborne) unfolds from a rapid-slicing razor into a sweeping polearm and a scythe for messy finishers. I’m less convinced by the new yokai abilities, which are equipped by plugging cores dropped by demons into your Guardian spirit. The possibilities range from yanking an enormous flaming hammer out of your backpocket, to bursting through the ground as a legless ogre.

They’re good fun visually, but some much more useful than others, and their tactical applications are blunt – either dealing a ton of damage at once or trying to stagger a foe (or both). Demon cores also add to the pressure on your inventory, which frequently saw me dumping helmets and cuirasses by the roadside (a less wasteful way of shedding weight is to trade weapons for currency at shrines). I also have mixed feelings about the new yokai transformations, which replace Nioh’s Living Weapons. Each of the three yokai forms has its own weapons, moveset and a “Burst” counter for use against more devastating attacks that are pre-empted by a boiling red glow. There’s another layer of skill here, but I mostly used transformations to spam my way out of corners or finish bosses I couldn’t be bothered to murder scientifically.

In general I feel like Nioh 2 is rather bloated, a feeling that intensifies over the course of the game as you spend less time clashing with monsters and more time taming the hydra-headed spreadsheet equation that is character customisation. I was dismayed to find, 30 hours in, that I’d unlocked yet another layer – one of those abstract “clan battle” modes where you join and donate items to a faction in return for passive bonuses. A man may tire of passive bonuses, even when he’s not on deadline. More controversially, this feature seems to have taken the place of regular PvP, though this is made up for by the expanded co-op options. You can now summon the AI-controlled shades of other players as both opponents and allies – handy indeed when there’s nobody online to help you through a bossfight, though the AI is too inept to serve as more than a distraction.

The more you play, too, the more you notice the project management that structures the levels. Each has its guiding conceit, such as a central elevator or a network of dams that expose patches of loot-rich riverbed when lowered. But the cadence of shrines and shortcuts, optional areas and boss chambers is the same throughout, which slowly erodes the curiosity generated by the game’s otherwise absorbing architecture. In Dark Souls, the world is an interlocking, eldritch conundrum. In Nioh 2, it’s a series of fiendish puzzle boxes. Engrossing and oppressive, for sure, but not that startling or intriguing.

Hence, perhaps, my delight when some grubby spearman in home-made armour catches me off guard. It’s the dose of adrenaline an oversaturated game needs, like discovering a razor blade inside your seventh slice of wedding cake. Nioh 2 is a work of immense skill and scale, but Team Ninja’s next project needs to be more about changing things than adding them. After all, no amount of equipment buffs can protect you against the element of surprise.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/nioh-2-review-a-vast-and-engrossing-if-dutiful-follow-up-to-a-landmark-soulslike-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=nioh-2-review-a-vast-and-engrossing-if-dutiful-follow-up-to-a-landmark-soulslike-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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