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enchantedmirage · 4 months

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(header from @/ideallyadored)

A Fateful Encounter

✧ characters: Mona, Sieglinde (oc).

✧ no romantic pairings but Mona & Sieglinde friendship

✧ reupload from 03.11.2021 from a different character..

✧ this is part 2! (part 1 here)

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Mona’s eyes narrowed as she focused on looking up information about the girl, all that she figured out was that she was from another world, not much outlined her fate, nor was there anything else about her background. Like a blank in space, light from other stars being distorted around it.

What one would describe to be a blackhole.

“Looks like you found something, anything of note?” Sieglinde looked at her, taking note of how she reacted.

“You don’t seem to belong here, don’t you?” Mona raised her brow.

•–––––––––––––––––––– •

continuation from part 1:

Mona thought for a moment, “A salad would be fine by me, as well as if you have any green tea, if not, water would also be nice..”

Sieglinde nodded, giving Mona a little salute, saying, “Alrighty, coming right up~” before quickly going up into the kitchen.

“I wonder if there’s any leftover brownies, maybe Klee or Sucrose would have eaten them all, not that I’d be surprised, Sucrose and children have sweet tooths after all,” Sieglinde whispered to herself, the salad and freshly brewed tea on the counter while she went and looked around the pantry. She didn’t find any of them so she headed on over to the icebox(locally cooled thanks to Kaeya), and found three squares of them stacked on each other, a little note at the front said, ‘Please only take one’.

Sieglinde sighed, there used to be much more than that, around nine to be exact, but at least they were thoughtful enough to not eat the whole thing. She grabbed the plate and took it out of the icebox, though it would be a little cold, she did prefer her brownies to be chilly.

With two dishes, a bowl and plate on one arm, and a cup of tea on hand on the other, she walked down to the library and had to have Wyratt open the door for her on her way inside. When she got there, she saw Mona tucked away in a little corner, a small pile of books on her desk.

From the sound of the door opening, the astrologer looked at the girl.

“Oh, that took you sooner than I expected, what’s with the cake?” Mona asked, arching her brow,

Sieglinde shook her head, setting down the salad and tea in front of Mona while she placed the brownies in the middle of the table. “Oh it’s not cake, it’s a brownie, which is sort of like a cake, I get that, but it tastes a lot more memorable trust me!”

“-Just make sure you don’t spill any crumbs, I still have to clean those too..!” She added, while she took a seat on the opposite side of Mona’s.

“I see, very well then, thank you for your cordial welcome,” Mona replied, sipping her tea as she read the book intently.

The two sat in silence for a while, but Sieglinde's legs swayed back and forth beneath the table, her gaze drifting to the window near them as a small breeze entered the room. It lead to the younger girl to yawn, then asking the astrologer in front of her. “Since you are an Astrologer, what stuff do you usually do?”

“Hmm, I was wondering when you’d say that, most folks would seem to ask that question.” Mona again pulled up an intricate image in front of her, but now that Sieglinde was looking at it closely, she can see how it was made out of hydro, and reflected somewhat of the night sky. “I study the stars and show people what fate has laid before them, though I’m not the only astrologer who is able to do such a thing, just that I’m not swayed by the likes of a few extra mora.”

“Study the stars..? Like constellations and stuff?”

“Precisely, our fates are all written in the stars, they say, wherever you may be, the stars would always have a place for you.”

Sieglinde rubbed her chin and thought for a moment.

“Klee?”

“Hers is Trifolium.”

Sieglinde sighed, “Ah, theirs all make sense now don’t they...they’re all so interesting too!”

“..You’re not going to inquire for yours?” Mona asked.

Sieglinde tilted her head as if Mona just grew a third eye, grabbing a brownie from the middle of the table, “Be my guest, though I’m sure you won’t find anything after all.”

Mona asked her, her voice cold and crisp, the question seemingly echoing along the other girl’s mind. The astrologer expected a shocked response, as she felt an underlying threat coming from this girl, it wasn’t strong though, as if hampered by the girl’s own volition.

“Ah, you truly are worthy of your respectable reputation, I was wondering when anyone would find out.” Sieglinde closed her eyes and sighed. "It took me quite a while myself."

“Do you have plans about this world?” Mona began.

“You make it sound like I have something nefarious under my sleeve, from the way you're looking at me. But I don't, Mondstadt is my home after so I simply want to live my life to the fullest... ”

Mona hummed, she didn’t seem to be lying.

“Oh, you haven’t eaten it yet..” Sieglinde pointed out.

“Eat..?”

“The brownie, I’d really appreciate it if you tried one, we could split the last one in two, too~”

“Oh, I see- very well then,” Mona said, taking one piece, she eyed the girl in front of her, just in case it was poisoned or anything, but when she bit into it, a small explosion of flavor seemed to erupt. Sweet, velvety, it seemed to just melt away in her mouth.

“It tastes good, doesn’t it?” Sieglinde smiled, clasping her hands together.

#my writing #genshin impact #genshin #genshin oc #genshin impact oc #genshin fic #mona megistus #oc stuff #oc

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jessy-the-martian-girl · 4 months

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Untitled x-over drabble

Idk how this got into my head and got out in about two hours or so as a somewhat proper story (actually I was translating my Ice Skating story - even almost half-way through already). I'm still a bit shocked how fast this was born (considering the fact that I skipped "translating" part of writing and went straight for writing in English), but I honestly like it. Anyways...

This is a short story (prequel type, I guess, as I'm definitely planning on writing more in this setting in the future) on that wild crossover of Original RE4, Remake and a tint of Dino Crisis (no dinos here yet, though).

It's 693 words, and it starts in my old AU of RE4 OG, about six years after Luis survived his first encounter with Saddler in Leon's presence (well, almost: Leon was a bit late to the party, so Jess had to start saving Luis on her own), got out of the Island in one piece, got a girlfriend. Her name's Jessy Jones btw (I told you, I'm absolutely unoriginal with names) and at the moment of this story she and Luis are already married.

Warnings? Idk, mentions of death? Oh, and it's canon x OC type of story.

And - no worries, Luis will survive by any means necessary.

@fanficanatic-tw, I remember, you asked to be tagged if I get anything new))

Luis was mentally preparing to die. This time it was inevitable, unfortunately. All the odds were not in his favor – and even if he somehow could break free, his injured leg has made escape next to impossible. The cold from the floor and the pillar he was tied to was slowly creeping into his body, making him shiver. Luis closed his eyes, silently sending his last farewells to friends and family, but was abruptly brought back to reality by a sharp tug on the ropes that were holding him in place and an all too familiar voice of his wife, thickly laced with horror and despair, calling his name. - Jessy, - he gasped, realizing that she was really kneeling next to him and trying to set him free. - Por favor, no... Go, leave me. - I'm not going anywhere without you, - she retorted angrily, biting her lips to blood and frantically trying to untie her husband from the center column of this room, filled with equipment of unclear purpose. Luis desperately longed to know how could she possibly find him here, why she was here alone... But time was of an essence and the last thing he wanted was for his beloved to perish with him. He couldn't even tell her who was behind this as all he had was suspicions and a record with distorted voice, that had enlightened him on his fate in a mocking tone when he came to, already tied up. - This place is rigged to explode, - the Spaniard whispered. - And there's not much time left. The brunette just growled under her breath and doubled her efforts, regretting that she didn't get a habit of carrying a knife with her. - Think of our daughter, - Serra once again tried to call to reason. - Mel's only five and she needs at least one of her parents by her side. - But... Luis... - Jessica stopped and looked at him with teary eyes, rising her hand to caress his cheek. - I can't leave you. - I know, - he smiled weakly, too aware of the clock ticking away precious moments. - It's about hard choices. But, please... His wife sobbed and leaned into one desperate kiss, realizing all too well that this was their last goodbye. She knew that he was right and their little Melinda needed at least her mom. - Te quiero, Luis, - young woman whispered, reluctantly pulling away and getting to her feet. - Te quiero, Jessy, - he smiled at her and watched as she turned around and ran out of the doorway, sobbing and never looking back. He only hoped and prayed that she would get out in time and safely find her way home to their little hazel-eyed treasure. Time slowed down again, the wait of death becoming almost painful, but then a distant “click”, that seemed too loud in the silence of the facility, set the things into motion. The floor underneath him started trembling, the following heatwave washed over Serra's body, his ears were stricken with a loud “boom” and he flinched, awaiting the blast getting to him and the following pain before imminent death... Yet nothing happened, and he was deafened by the sudden silence... Sensation of short flight came next, sending Luis into air. He didn't have enough time to muse on where did his ropes disappear as he was blinded by the bright flash of light. Shortly after his back collided with something hard, eliciting a quiet moan from his throat, as he fell to the unexpectedly soft ground merely managing to turn his head sideways for not breaking his nose in addition to all the injuries he had already sustained. - How am I still alive? - the Spaniard quietly muttered to himself, as soon as he blinked away the involuntary tears of pain and was able to take into his surroundings. - ¿Y dónde demonios estoy?* Luis found himself alone and hurt in the middle of an unfamiliar forest with no signs of human life nearby and he had absolutely no idea of what to do now.

*"And where the hell I am?"

#OG!Luis Serra x OC #Luis Serra x Jessy Jones #Luis Serra #Luis Serra x OC #my fanfiction #wild crossovers

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mochitraveller · 9 months

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The lunar ceremony. The unforeseen ending. The wheel of rebirth. The moon of fate, interchangable. Despite what happened, he wishes that the moon will shine again.

Arcadia Halcyona (Lunae Fatali)

After unlocking the song "Distorted Fate" by Sakuzyo in Phigros Chapter 8 update, I was thinking about making a costume for my OC Halcyona (in his Arcadia form).

Picture this: Hal were attending to a some sort of a sacred ceremony on the moon, but then something goes wrong (The Great Moonlight War, where otherworldly beings declared war against the Lunarians of the moon) that resulted to his death. Since the moon is in full moon at the time of the ceremony, he entered the phase of rebirth from the moonlight and reincarnated into a lunar prophet.

The festival that held during the ceremony was also destroyed because of this. Like, how could foolish lunarians think that setting up a festival at the start of an intergalactic war was a good idea?

Halcyona stood there, watching our fates unfold.

#oc #oc artwork #projectcanvas #music inspired art #halcyona #sakuzyo

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etjwrites · 3 years

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OC Backstory - Emotion Edition | Week 5: Free/Courage

Week 0: Introduction || Week 1: Fear || Week 2: Joy || Week 3: Disgust || Week 4: Sadness || Week 5: Anger ||

Is it over already? This was so much fun! I really enjoyed participating and reading everyone's pieces. Thanks to our wonderful hosts @cirianne and @kosmosian-quills for putting this on! These prompts filled my mind with layers upon LAYERS of backstory, and really helped me flesh out Brom as a character. Afallon is so much better because of it!

You probably stumbled upon something between the last prompts, that moved you. An idea that didn’t really match the prompt. A backstory character that deserved exploring. A question that stayed unanswered. For this week, I encourage you to look for these questions and explore them, write on them, and tell me about it!

In keeping with the theme of this event, I chose yet another emotion, the story behind which I'm excited to share with y'all! Brom is about 14 here. (I started writing this and it wouldn't stop. Help.) @yourocsbackstory

“These paths look treacherous,” Brom said, glancing nervously back at the way they'd come. He and Prentice had been traversing the numerous twists and turns of Hyphantria's revered caverns for quite a while, looking for all the secret entrances. Each time they explored the maze-like tunnels, they went a little farther, a little deeper.

Prentice waved a hand dismissively. “I've a sure foot.” He tapped the top of his boots with his walking staff. “Furthermore, how often have we quested here? These caves are as familiar as mine own hands.”

“We left familiar behind two chambers ago,” Brom reminded his friend. “I'm actively adding to our map as we progress.”

“If on the map, 'tis familiar,” Prentice rejoined. “No matter how new the path may be.” He patted the crystal-studded wall to his left. “In fact, I almost feel at home.”

“The whispering,” Brom said, unease, twisting in his chest. “It's stopped.”

Prentice quirked his head, listening. “Why so it has,” he said, brows knitting together before sheer panic stamped itself onto his features. “Brom, run!” He turned and dashed back through the tunnel, Brom following, the both of them slipping and sliding and cutting themselves against the sharp-edged walls.

Beneath their feet, the earth started to rumble, and dread seized Brom's heart. Would they die down here in the bowels of Hyphantria, ground into dust by the ceiling collapsing upon them? He pushed faster, past Prentice, towards the sparkling glimmer that marked one of the other large chambers whose tunnels would lead them back to the surface.

A sharp cry made him whip around and jerk to a stop. Prentice had fallen, struggling to regain his feet amidst the wobbling, unstable ground. A stalactite shook loose and crashed to the ground just where his head would have been, had he not managed to roll away in time.

Brom staggered towards him, hand outstretched, when the earth shook mightily.

Prentice flung himself at Brom.

Too late.

With a great, groaning sigh, the floor gave way, and Prentice tumbled deep into the newly formed crevasse.

“Prentice!” Brom screamed, dropping to his hands and knees, swaying with the sudden shuddering of cavern. He called his name again, peering desperately into the dark. But while the softly glowing crystal shards that lined the Shalott caves could well enough light the paths and tunnels they'd been exploring, their gentle luminescence was unable to penetrate the deep, yawning blackness that fell away in front of him.

He called again and again, but there was no answer. Either his friend had fallen so far he could not hear him, or he been knocked insensible upon landing. Neither scenario was desirable, and Brom squeezed his abruptly burning eyes shut, refusing to consider the possibility that Prentice might be gone.

No. He had to be alive. Had to be alright.

Ominous rumbles filled the sharp-toothed cavern, more stalactites falling during a particularly vicious quake.

The wisest thing to do would be to run, to flee to the next chamber and worm his way through one of the escape tunnels until he could see the sky once more.

But Brom couldn't leave Prentice here to die. He would be the worst kind of coward if he did that. His first and only friend in all of Hyphantria, who risked all manner of danger to sneak him across the boarder on occasions such as these, and showed him many of the wonders his mother's country had to offer. Brom would save him. Or die trying.

“Give me strength,” he prayed. He thrust trembling hands into his pack, withdrawing his climbing rope. He kept up the silent prayers. He felt so utterly alone, the jarring earthquake shaking and horribly distorting the natural light of the caves so he could barely walk. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he breathed, reciting the verses over and over even as his hands shook so much he could barely fasten the clips in place.

Brom tugged hard on the rope once he had tied it off, looping it around for added strength. He looped his climbing pick around his hands, aware he could lose a limb if it snagged in the wrong place, at the wrong time, yet horribly afraid to lose his means of retreat. With one of the picks he struck the vibrating wall, breaking off some crystals, which he tied about his arms.

“Prentice!” he called once more, and again received no answer. “Please be alive,” Brom prayed. “I need a miracle right now.”

Then he turned around, and—clinging to the ropes—lowered himself into the black abyss.

Brom descended for long minutes, the crystals lashed about him providing the faintest light. He steadily climbed deeper, the glow from the ceiling above diminishing until it felt like a distant memory.

This far down it was cold. The quake continued to rage, and Brom grew ever aware of a powerful thirst that made dizzy. But he dared not let go of the rope, not even to slake his needs.

His feet touched ground. He'd reached a small ledge.

Brom relaxed for half a moment, and then a terrible jolt flung him off its crumbling edge. He hit the other side of the crevasse hard, the breath knocking out of him and leaving him gasping as the rope tied around his middle yanked him to a stop. He hung there, dangling in the air, fingers barely able to brush either side.

Thankfully his picks had stayed attached, so he struck out with them, painfully aware that he'd run out of rope, and yet hadn't found Prentice. Brom gulped. He would have to climb up again and unloop the rope.

Ascending seemed to take twice as long, and Brom's arms were shaking when he reached the top. Everything was cast in an eerie blue and white glow, and Brom could feel that time was running out. If he didn't find Prentice soon, the falling stalactites might well block their path home.

Once he had the rope unfurled to its full length, Brom ventured once more into the place that had swallowed his friend. He passed the spot where he'd had to stop before and kept going, deeper, and deeper, the chill of the abyss freezing him to his bones.

And there!

Prentice's walking stick was wedged into a narrow part of the crevasse, two bloodied hands clinging to it.

Brom started crying.

One of Prentice's hands slipped, and he swore at Brom. “I didn't hold on this long for you to lose heart at the finish!” His voice was horse, likely from screaming. The shock had hit each of them in different ways it seemed.

Ignoring his friend's harsh words, words that were driven by the terror in Prentice's eyes, Brom rappelled down closer. He gathered up the slack in the rope and looped it around Prentice's waist, securing it using a knot his father had once taught him.

“You can let go,” he said, testing the rope to make sure it still held fast.

“I confess, I cannot,” Prentice said, shaking his head minutely. His clothes were torn to shreds, like he'd scraped against the walls the whole way down until his stick had caught, and he had cuts and freshly-formed bruises adorning his entire body. One of his eyes was swollen shut, a jagged cut bisecting it that stretched from his cheek to his temple.

“One hand at a time,” Brom said, getting his hand under Prentice's and shifting it from the stick to his shoulder. He did the same with the other, and the next instant Prentice was clinging to him, limpet-tight.

A massive shudder rocked the cave at that moment, and the gap widened, Prentice's stick dislodging and spinning away into the darkness.

If I had been but a moment later, Brom thought, unable to repress the full-body shiver that twitched through him. He slid one of his picks into Prentice's hand, slipping the loop over his wrist twice.

“You must help me climb, I have not the the strength to lift us both.”

“Aye, 'tis time that I cease clutching you like a babe,” Prentice said, the words meant to be joking. The fine tremour in his voice spoiled the effect.

They struck out together, Prentice and Brom, inching their way up until they reached the cavern floor. Mercifully, the distressing bucking had stopped, and they lay on the rubble-strewn ground until they caught their breath.

“Thank Heaven,” Brom uttered aloud, and Prentice nodded solemnly along.

“You saved my life, Brom,” he said.

They rose to their feet and began the arduous, limping walk back to the escape tunnels.

“I owe you a great debt. I should never have placed you in this position. I . . . I almost killed you. I would not have begrudged you had you fled and left me behind.”

“I wanted to,” Brom admitted, shame flushing his skin. “At first. I was so afraid.”

“But you did not.” Prentice paused for a moment and clapped Brom on the shoulder before they resumed their trek. “I really thought I would die. I screamed and screamed, but you didn't answer. Or I couldn't hear a response amidst the earth's pain. The longer I held on, the more I began to wonder if I were mad for simply not accepting my fate. I had myself near about convinced that I should just let go.”

“Then I saw you, descending into the pit like the Archangel Michael himself. You could have died rescuing me. You looked as terrified as I felt. But still you threw yourself into the unknown. For me. In the greater world, we are yet seen as boys, but Brom—I tell you truly—you are the bravest man I've ever known.”

They turned a corner, and the bright sun greeted them.

Additional thanks to everybody who has read and commented on my work for this event. Y'all rock!

Tag Crew: @adie-dee @writtendevastation @catharticallysarcastic @francestroublr @crystallized-ink

#it is here; it is very late. But it is done!#writeblr #am writing #yourocsbackstory #emotion edition #brom #afallon #etjwrites

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m00n-purplerosealtered-chatbot · 4 years

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Warning: The system is malfunctioning. An error has been detected.

Minghao frowned, looking up from his computer towards the boys huddled together. "This isn't good, you guys. It's serious. I've pinpointed the error, but because I don't have my usual equipment, I can't do anything. If I touch it, I could create an entire shutdown." Minghao explained.

"I-Is there anything that we could do about it? W-Without causing a shutdown," Jun questioned as his body trembled uncontrollably, his eye twitching from irritation.

"Not that I can see," Minghao sighed, a majority of the group shifting uncomfortably. "I see that Moon's attempting to fix it, but I'm sure it's not easy,"

"So, we're going to wait like sitting ducks, in a pond we call the living room, for the best or worst outcome?" Jihoon questioned with furrowed eyebrows, holding himself as the boys grumbled lowly.

"What other option do we have?" Jeonghan responded, raising an eyebrow as his eyes narrowed. "Risk all of our safety when it's already at jeapardy?" Jeonghan challenged, but no one dared to respond. "We can only hope that Moon finds a more effective way of fixing this."

"And... If she can't?" Seokmin, the most optimistic among them, dared to ask, his voice shaky and glitched.

Jeonghan stared at Seokmin in disbelief, the boys even struck silent from the youngest. But eventually, Jeonghan responded, but his voice was slightly distorted.

"Reboot... Possibly h..aving it all shutdo..wn and started back up ag..ain if there's no o..ther option but t..hat,"

Wonwoo took off his glasses, rubbing his face as he breathed in. "It's the only thing we can do, honestly."

"Right," Mingyu frowned.

"Well, I hope this doesn't last long. I don't think I can handle being nauseous for an entire week," Jihoon grumbled.

"You're not the only one suffering. Poor Seok can't even move that much, and the-" Joshua was unable to finish his sentence as a loud crackle thundered through the room.

The boys were startled, Seokmin nearly shooting off the couch as he let out a scream. Minghao shrank, his eyes big and round while Mingyu, by instinct, pulled those standing closer to those on the couch. Jihoon went stiff as Wonwoo sent his glasses flying and breaking onto the floor. Joshua jolted, stumbling into Jeonghan's arms, the only person who gave little reaction.

"Jesus christ!" Wonwoo gasped.

"What was that?!" Seokmin clutched his chest as the boys were in an uproar. But Jeonghan was louder and clearer, quieting the others.

"The system. It's m..alfunctioning to the point that any..one could break it if th..ey tapped it. That's only if you c..an see it, of cou..rse." He explained.

"Can anyone see if right now?" Minghao questioned, straining his eyes to see something red, the red border of numerous codes. But he saw nothing, and no on else could see it.

"That's just great," Wonwoo groaned as he put his glasses on, another crackle thundering within the room. Everyone was anxious, now moving closer to each other as much as possible.

"We aren't corrupted, are we?" Joshua asked worriedly as Jeonghan held him close.

"We aren't corrupted, isn't that right, Hao?" Jeonghan said, looking towards the male, who shook his head.

"No. We're being affected by it, but it hasn't attached itself to us." Minghao gulped, his eyes shifting wearily between the boys.

"I honestly think w-we need to-"

Warning. The system is on high risk. Another error has been detected. System will launch automatic repair systems. Please stand by.

Everyone went silent, waiting in fearful silence for anything. They shifted uncertain glances, others tapping their fingers against their arms or legs, some chewing the bottom of their lip.

It's going to be fine. It'll repair. It'll be fixed. It's fine.

Don't freak out. Don't freak out.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Nobody panic. It's fine. It's going to be fine.

Just be fixed. Just be fixed.

We're going to be alright. I know we will.

This is crazy. This is absolutely crazy.

I feel funny...

Errors have been found. System will repair. Reboot beginning . . .

Alteration commencing . . .

"Wait!" Minghao blurted as the room filled with chaos and panic.

"Minghao do something!" Mingyu's voice boomed, startling the other to run through his computer, hands trembling as Wonwoo held his head.

"Everyone calm down... K, where is K?" Wonwoo grumbled under his breath, attempting to grasp himself as Joshua was beginning to hyperventilate.

"We can't. Not yet. Hannie. Guys," Joshua said, almost as if he was out of breath already as Jeonghan attempted to help calm his partner, but he felt dizzy and disoriented.

Lee Seokmin is shutting down . . .

"Seokmin!" They shifted their gaze towards Seokmin, who had frozen in fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but he went sideways, crashing onto his side, completely still, unmoving.

"I-I can't do anything! Not even Moon can stop it!" Minghao announced.

Wen Junhui is shutting down . . .

"N-Nonononono-" Jun repeated over and over again as he clung to Mingyu for dear life, but just like Seokmin, he gave out, dropping to the floor. He was still and quiet as Mingyu picked him up and placed him onto the couch.

"This isn't right! It can't be right!" Jihoon exclaimed, his face red.

Yoon Jeonghan is shutting down . . .

"Hannie!" Joshua wailed.

"I deny it!" Jeonghan growled, a loud crackle of electricity emitting again by his furious voice. Denial. He was defying the system again. But even though he tried, now seeing the system fill the room of numerous errors and codes, he too went down, barely able to do a thing to it.

"There's nothing that we can do to avoid it..." Wonwoo whispered in defeat.

Kim Mingyu is shutting down . . .

Mingyu gave little of a fight or a reaction despite the fear crawling through him. And just like them, he slowly dropped to the floor on his knees, and was out.

"I feel pathetic! How is this even happening?!" Jihoon bellowed, but his voice was wavering.

Yoon Hong Joshua Jisoo is shutting down . . . .

"God, please no," Joshua begged in a silent cry, holding his stomach as Wonwoo gently rubbed his back to soothe him before he shut down on the couch, his head lowered, and his body stiff.

"I wish I could do something hyung..." Minghao frowned.

Xu Minghao is shutting down . . .

"Sorry guys," Minghao said before he went rigid and stiff, frozen in place.

"Fingers crossed we'll be alright after everything," Wonwoo said with a weak smile towards Jihoon, who was finally accepting the inevitable fate, but still had a burning passion of denial within him.

"Fingers crossed..."

Jeon Wonwoo is shutting down . . .

"Here we go..."

Lee Jihoon is shutting down . . .

Please wait . . .

💕// @ghoulxbaekhyun (Seok's love) Wonwoo (Jun's love)

Closest friends// @empress-jiaqi @kpop-shelter @yourlocal-babybear @yourlocal-babybear2 @julia-oc

💎// @minghaostitch @agentwonwoo @xdevilmingyuxx @adonis-jeonghan @butler-junhui @leejihoon-cb

🥀// @aikihades @sophie-svt-13 @waitingwhispers60 @yangomangos @m00n-nim96 @moonlit-jaemin @time-for-confession @xash-axx @vampiremomo @mafia-chaeyoung @split-jiu @artsydahyun @princess-yeji @werewolf-sehun @incubuswooyoung @twiceland-saga @amazingspiderhan @mafia-choa @la-soleilmafia-cb [DM for +/-]

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elydraws · 4 years

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01 │きせいかげよこちょ

pairing: dabi x oc

genre: angst, action, dramatic, lemon (maybe future smut)

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

part 1/? <previous next>

warnings: strong language

author’s note: as I have already warned in the presentation chapter this is a translation of my original fanfiction (written in my language), so I hope there are no big mistakes, however I wanted to try to write it in english hoping it won't make your eyes bleed. （；´д｀）ゞ

forgive me if there is any mistake, I am not very good at translating, so if you have any suggestions about it, it is absolutely welcome.(｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

"Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires."

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 01 きせいかげよこちょ (kisei kage yokochō)

THE NEON SIGNBOARD WHIRRING ABOVE HER HEAD LIKE AN ANNOYING MOSQUITO.

The writing 'Flamingo Night,' of bright pink, flickered reflected on the puddles on the ground. The rain had wet the garbage thrown out of the bins already full to the brim. The smell of rancid and mildew saturated the narrow alley she was going through.

She twisted her nose, trying not to notice the acrid stench of spoiled food. In that part of the city, despite the proximity to the center, it was not difficult to come across abandoned streets.

Few dared to venture into that area of the commercial district unless you wanted to take the risk of getting ripped off.

As much as the heroes boasted that they made cities crime-free, there were corners of them still in the hands of the gangland. They were well hidden, concealed by the lights of the skyscrapers, and far from the cameras and residential homes for families.

Mostly they were suburban neighborhoods patrolled only by the police or small groups of minor heroes.

Everything took place under unsuspecting or corrupt eyes, masked with signs such as that of the 'Flamingo' or the small night market at the end of the street.

Without evidence and moving in the shadows, the villains in the area could not be arrested. The omerta of who lived there allowed the crimes to be committed even in the light of the day.

Nobody saw or heard anything at 'Kisei Kage Yokocho.' Kisei Kage was a slang born just before the Age of Watchers to indicate the neighborhoods in the hands of criminals who used their quirks to sow panic among those without Meta skills. With the Vigilantes and later the Heroes legally recognized by the government, the areas under the control of the underworld had drastically reduced, reaching a few frightened alleys and some shops scattered here and there.

They were the thin and blurred gray line between the significant organized criminal gangs and ordinary citizens.

A life lived like rats in the sewers. You know they are there, that they move under your feet. Sometimes you can hear them scratching in the ground, but you don't realize it until one sneaks between your feet. A miserable existence, perhaps, but a choice for many of them was a privilege.

It was a cruel world: if you were lucky enough to call yourself 'Hero,' you were allowed to do everything, and you could observe the rest of humanity from above, judging it. Power was in their hands.

If they decided you were the bad guy and rebelled, they had a chance to kill you. Take your life without blinking an eye and without consequences.

The government, on these occasions, set its gaze elsewhere. Sometimes the mayor even patted the hero on duty on the shoulder and complimented him for his excellent job.

"Thanks for making the roads safer."

That sounded very like: thank you for getting rid of the trash.

They were none other than this in the eyes of society.

Garbage.

Nobody had ever bothered to ask why. At the end of a clash, journalists had eyes only for the hero; nobody had ever approached a villain asking: "why are you doing all this?".

No one care about a Villain's past or his reasons. What pushed him into the shadows of the alleys, in the darkest meanders of the human soul.

It would be too tricky to humanize the category, to go to think that there is something else underneath or that their idolized Heroes are not all knights in bright armor, and the Villains are not those monsters that move under the bed at night, while everyone is asleep.

It would have been too much to handle for the fragile minds of those who only ask to be safe in a world where only the one with the strongest Quirk can win. A society divided between black and white.

The girl stopped in the middle of the alley. The tip of her sneakers touched a puddle, wrinkling it.

Her figure distorted, becoming unrecognizable, illuminated by the pink neon sign. If this was what she was destined to become, so be it. She would get her hands dirty because she was already born stained with an unforgivable shame in the eyes of society. It was her future. Her fate was sealed even before she was born.

The daughter of a Villain can only aspire to become nothing but rubbish.

At the end of the road, bordered by two tall buildings, the headlights of the cars on the main highway darted at high speed, leaving a bright trail.

Although it was late in the evening, the main streets were still full of life, the voices and waves of laughter rang among the constructions, up to her.

She looked up, and her eyes, in the darkness of the alley, shone like amethysts when they met the soft light of the shy street lamp in the corner. A moth continued to fly close to it, unable to land.

"I'm tired of the games, come out, you've been following me for a while now" the girl's voice sounded bored but sweet and inviting like honey for flies.

The sentence remained suspended in the stillness of the alley.

A rat, around the corner of the Night entrance behind her, pawed towards a dumpster. Something must have frightened him, but, other than the rhythmic dripping of the water from the rusty fire ladder above her head and the distant echo of the city, there was no other noise to interrupt that glacial calm.

She didn't even make an effort to turn around when a can was kicked against the wall next to her and bounced off the center of the alley.

"Uh-oh, someone's in trouble," murmured a male voice behind her.

Another joined the first, very similar, but harder and hoarser, "I DID KNOW! you are truly an incapable!"

A lonely figure, however, emerged from the shadow of the building.

The girl smiled, her lips, adorned with a matte dark brown lipstick, rose to one corner showing the tip of the canines as white as pearls.

She had noticed the man's presence since she left the establishment for her latest job, a pawn shop a neighborhood further south. She had tried to sow the intruder, with fake streets and taking him away from where she lived, but that guy was a tough nut to crack, and he hadn't let go.

He was not a hero. It did not seem to act as such, nor did it look like it. She also crossed out the idea of the policeman. He was too smart to be part of the police. Excluding those possibilities, this reduced the stranger's intentions to two unique options: a competitor who wanted to try to cut her out of the game or someone interested in sharing a slice of her thefts.

"What do you want?"

The man behind her winced, "Uh, right to the point, eh? What a daring girl!" the first voice squeaked.

"Rude!" croaked the second one. But they both came from that single, eccentric man.

A personality disorder? She asked herself, raising an eyebrow.

"Cut to the chase, I'm a busy woman," she said, barely lifting one shoulder, annoyed at the interruption.

What a pain in the ass. She was savoring the sweet and creamy taste of the Bubble Tea from her favorite kiosk before the arrival of that nuisance. The girl reached into the pockets of the military green bomber jacket she was wearing.

She didn't want to waste time with a madman.

"SUPER RUDE!!!!"

"They warned me that you weren't very patient, Lady Hazard... or should I call you Unmei Nakano?"

Upon hearing her name spoken, the girl backed away, turning three quarters so she could finally face her pursuer.

She was impressed. That guy had discovered her true identity despite all the precautions she had taken.

She didn't let the annoyance leak; however, she just raised an eyebrow.

He was probably keeping an eye on her for longer than she had imagined.

"I thought you were just a stalker, but I was wrong," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders without taking her hands out of the pockets. Her fingers tightened the grip on the handle of the snap knife inside the jacket—a slow and calculated movement.

But if he already knew her identity, he was probably already aware of her tricks and the weapons she had carefully hidden under the clothes.

The cold metal of the Bo pressed against her ribs, reassuring her with her presence, hidden by the mustard crop top. She would never be able to reach it in time and without showing up, not with that strange defensive guy.

The man put the hands on his hips.

She couldn't recognize any physiognomy because of the full spandex mask that concealed his face. She could guess his expressions thanks to the orbits of the disguise, which followed every movement of his eyebrow arch. Now, the empty orbits thinned; he was probably trying to precede her next move.

The rest of the man's body was also covered in a tight, black, and gray suit.

"A stalker? Me? What made you think that?" the gentlest voice trilled as he shrugged. He seemed almost offended by such a claim.

"Because maybe you were following her like a maniac! DEFICIENT!" the other voice shouted against himself. The body of the stranger folded in on himself, grabbing his head as if he wanted to split it in two. He composed himself after that fit of anger and went back to speaking as if nothing had happened.

"I'm here for a business proposal. See our organization ..."

Unmei grimaced. "I am not interested," she abruptly interrupted him, returning to walk towards the end of the alley. The grip on the knife in her pocket, however, did not loosen.

For a moment, the man was contradicted by her answer before recovering from the momentary shock "AT LEAST LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY YOU, STUPID SNOB GIRL!"

Unmei stopped, giving her back to him. "Besides being crazy, you are deaf, so ... I said I don't care" this time her tone was sharper.

The masked man took a step forward, but before he could reach her, a shadow stretched from the dumpster next to them, reaching up to his feet.

"WHA—?!" his assailant shouted in surprise when he suddenly found himself stuck in an unnatural position, unable to move a single muscle.

One of his feet was still in mid-air and the same arm that had stretched out to try to grab the girl. He remained suspended, completely immobilized. He could neither fall, supported by a strange force that pivoted on his own shadow, nor advance, chained by invisible arms and fingers.

He seemed utterly taken aback by what was going on.

Unmei turned around, just as that same shadow that had elongated from the bins began to come to life, becoming more substantial and starting to go up the leg of its victim like a snake whose coils tighten around its prey.

The shadow monster came to tighten around the masked man's body until it tightened the grip on his neck, making him jump in hideous surprise.

"You did your research, but not so well," said the girl with a proud half-smile. Her long, petrol green hair slid over her shoulder as she studied the man.

The strange guy had started to tremble, gasping from lack of air.

"And ... tsch... i-if I told you ..." he tried to mark from under the mask, between the groans of pain and the attempts to breathe as much air as possible "...that we believe in a...world without he-heroes...?"

The shadow tightened its hold on the man's neck, causing him a squeak. Completely unable to move, or even just trying to loosen the grip of that thing on him, he kept talking.

His voice was now more hoarse and pasty, choked by the saliva that he could not swallow "...we... want... r-revenge ..." the last words were muffled by the lack of oxygen.

Unmei stared at him, impassive.

The man clenched his teeth under the mask. The girl could see the muscle of his jaw tightening under the cloth, his limbs starting to tremble. It was a matter of seconds before he passed out, or the shadow broke his vertebrae if that irresponsible continued to put off the inevitable.

With a wave of her fingers, the shadow let go of its victim. Her strange pursuer fell to the knees on the ground, exhausted. The man's body was shaken by violent coughs when air entered his lungs again.

The man's gloved hands touched his neck as if trying to ensure that the thing wasn't there. But the shadow, still resembling a shapeless snake, had already rolled up around Unmei's arm, peering over her shoulder like a harmless pet.

"AND THEN WE WOULD BE THE CRAZY ONE!" the man shouted in an even more hoarse voice, still crawling on the ground, before coughing again and looking up, returning meekly.

"I have to infer..." he coughed again "that this caught your attention."

Unmei bent on the knees, tilting the head to be able to fix him in the empty sockets of the mask. "You have my curiosity Zorro" she mocked him by pulling her hands out of the pockets and placing them gently on the knees.

"TWICE! My name is Twice! Slut!"

"My name is Twice," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand towards her, still trembling for the effort to speak "and welcome to the League of Villains, Unmei."

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caltropspress · 4 years

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FEEDBACK LOOP #1: Armand Hammer’s “Flavor Flav”

What are the Black purposes of space travel?

—Amiri Baraka, “Technology & Ethos”

Black futurism is a temporally troubled matrix Black futurism is a temporally troubled matrix that thrives on opposites and oppositions, flowing lines and nonlinearity, conflict resolution and asymmetrical warfare. It prefers the mad dash on shifting sands while in pursuit of higher ground and safe havens.

—Greg Tate, “Kalahari Hopscotch, or Notes Toward a 20 Volume History of Black Science and Afrofuturism”

Welcome aboard our spaceship, it’s so nice to have you here. —Newcleus, “Space is the Place”

Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day but for all times, sees races, eras, dates, generations, The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together. —Walt Whitman

I’m so tired of being forced to promote the myth of white supremacy by performing works by old white men like Whitman who said blacks...didn’t have a place in the future of America. —Timothy McNair

Today is the shadow of tomorrow, today is the future present of yesterday, yesterday is the shadow of today. —Sun Ra, “Secrets of the Sun”

This highly allusive track from billy woods and ELUCID toys with itself—that is, allusions are a figurative means of collapsing time in and of themselves. Past and present history & culture don’t contend so much as support one another. A set of stilts to do the Dance of Death on, if you will. “Start downhill running.” The Seventh Seal hilltop silhouette danse macabre steez, though. The whooshing, metal-creaking beat—with all its haunted psithurism charm—is the backdrop for this sleeper Shrines track.

The name “Flavor Flav” is used metonymically here to mean time. This isn’t a braggadocio, low-key threat in the spirit of OC’s “Time’s Up.” This isn’t a Grandmaster Flashian “You Know What Time It Is” (though the hands on the clock tower do spin clockwise and counter-). Neither is this a Kool Moe Dee-esque rhetorical “Do You Know What Time It Is?” Armand Hammer are frustrated by time, by the “ideals and dreams that don’t work.” woods laments his “time machine [that] don’t go backwards.” This no-good lemon of a H.G. Wells contraption he’s steering. This isn’t some Christopher Lloyd-cum-El-Producto Delorean. There’s no Great Scotting going on, just stubbornness.

Progress isn’t made. Time stagnates. Like the “list of ill-fated quick licks under ’frigerator magnets.” And that “school trip permission slip”—likely a bus ride to a museum: a carefully curated collection of artifacts, most notable for its colonial muscling. The question remains: What is left out? What is excluded? What is ignored, discarded, or co-opted so as to not withstand the test of time? woods’ short-i assonance speeds the delivery up only to slow it down:

billy woods, son of a revolutionary, redefines Afrofuturism (re-re-re-defines—its brilliance is in how it remakes itself unconditionally). Afrofuturism becomes about birthing the next generation of Black revolutionaries, so he subverts the line and expectations when “big hand captured” refers to the clock, but “little man [not hand] chasin’” refers to a youngin. (Try to keep up.) Put the faith in the youth when our “ideals and dreams” stall out—when the days, months, years are fleeting and forceful (“It do tick faster / The hour coming rough”). The spliff that’s “[skinned] like an onion” turns the cypher into Perrault fairy tale “pumpkin,” Cinderella style.

“Don’t come ’round with that ‘Go slow’” is in conversation with Nina Simone’s “Mississippi Goddam,” of course. It’s Nina who said “[she] can’t stand the pressure much longer,” who objected to those who “keep on saying ‘Go slow,” who had her band ironically chanting Do it slow. billy woods, like Nina Simone, decries reformism, incrementalism. Don’t do things gradually. We’re at the point where Nina stands up from her piano bench and shouts That’s it!

Forego the telephoto lenses, he insists, this is the “Battle of Algiers with the GoPro.” Urban guerrilla warfare uploaded and disseminated via YouTube. Again, time collapses. The struggle to decolonize continues. Watch for the This video is no longer available dead-end.

billy woods’ Nietzschean “loathing and fear” reverses the hallucinogenic time-warp of Thompson’s (and, in filmic relation, Gilliam’s) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. “History is hard to know,” Thompson writes, “because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of ‘history’ it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash.” That flash will reappear in ELUCID’s verse.

If “all roads lead to Rome,” we’re settling into the inevitability of our moves. It’s a fatalistic shrug, but homophonically, all roads lead to roam—that is, the journey is prolonged interminably. It’s nomadic. Much static. So, naturally, you’re going to “[shake] the hourglass like a snowglobe,” distort time, and splurge on the “JC Penny Timex,” which is appropriately “flooded with rhinestones.” Flooded, because no more water: the fire next time. Don’t “lose track” and don’t “get trapped in the future.”

The chorus quotes the Rolling Stones’ “Time is On My Side,” but it ain’t that simple, no. The history is as messy as we’ve come to expect amerikan music to be. “Time is On My Side” was originally penned by Norman Meade (Jerry Ragovoy), and trombonist Kai Winding first recorded it. Jimmy Norman, a Black songwriter, fleshed out the lyrics significantly, and Irma Thomas recorded that version in the same year as the Stones. The song followed a path similar to that of “Strange Fruit”—a composition written by a white Jewish man under a pseudonym (Abel Meeropol as Lewis Allan) but popularized by a Black female jazz singer (Billie Holiday). As author Jess Row has said about jazz—hip-hop applies, too—it is “by its very nature multi-racial, intermingled, and collaborative across color lines.” But this cognizance must always be contextualized with views of Black artists like that of Art Blakey: “the only way the Caucasian musician can swing is from a rope.” Hip-hop has always had its Paul Cs and Rick Rubins, but the racial heterogeneity of a genre, or even a single recording, can’t cloak the power dynamics still in play. The Stones’ version of “Time is On My Side”—undoubtedly the most popular version—is a rip-off of Irma Thomas’ version. Mick Jagger even jacks Thomas’ ad-libs, which is to say, her rawness and spontaneity. Even the band’s shadowed faces on the cover of 12 x 5, the album on which the track appears, suggest the racial problematics, the minstrelsy heist. Armand Hammer mock the British Invasion blues filchers by adding “they” to the chorus line: “They said time is on my side.” They being white institutions (especially within music publishing, production, and recording industries) who promised enough airtime for everyone. They who urged patience. (Go slow!) But, as history shows, the profits only lined certain pockets.

ELUCID begins at the “golden hour,” which is both the photogenic beauty of the sky after sunrise and before sunset—a beauty too good to behold. It’s the sun glare shining in your face on the winter commute from work. It’s your high-speed accident and then the golden hour is the paramedics and doctors trying to salvage your corporeal existence. ELUCID’s verse is a hypnagogic jerk, gasping for breath as he takes a “portal to Orangeburg, ’68.” It’s a reference to the campus shooting of young people in protest—South Carolina State University. Unlike Kent State, which came afterwards, Orangeburg didn’t get the attention keening white women in Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs do, despite “live ammunition,” three dead, 28 injured, and “nine acquitted assassins.” Unnoticed. Black invisibility. Not that H.G. Wells type of invisibility—the Ralph Ellison kind.

We’re told what this is: it’s the aggregate stress (“the load of the allostatic”) of Black life. It’s one’s personal Extinction Agenda, the “post-traumatic” of the gunfire “flashes” that double as flashbacks. The pain, stress, the brain that can’t rest, the pressure on the chest.

“The center won’t hold” lets us know this isn’t all PTSD reverie—it’s a rebel poem: surely some revolution is at hand. ELUCID channels Achebe channeling Yeats. Things might fall apart but not without struggle. The “Flavor Flav clock spins centrifugal,” as a gyre, as an apocalyptic (91…) voice. Turning and returning. The words have an air of insurrection, proclamation.

He misses “watching how a flat circle fold”—it won’t budge, won’t wrinkle. We’ve been here before: on “Hunter,” on Paraffin, when billy woods was on that “time is a flat circle” shit. That Nietzsche eternal recurrence shit:

What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain…will return to you. […] The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust!

“Can you find the level of difficulty in this?” suggests game playing, arcades. Calls to mind more Walter Benjamin’s Arcades, though. billy woods and ELUCID are gleaners and magpies of cultural cadavers in Benjamin’s way. Their bars are play and critique both. We’re left with a modicum of optimism at the song’s end. Even “only [moving] the pen six inches” is something, is struggle. The “pale faces beyond the fire” are ever-present, though. The “flinching, panic, [and] confusion” are committed to continue.

Is it the fool or the insurgent who thinks time is on their side? We want the life we live to be “more brilliant than a sunbeam.” That’s to say, we don’t want to wait for the golden hour or the golden years. We want what they say we can’t have. We want what they say we shouldn’t imagine. But Armand Hammer helps us take solace in the “drum skin stretched”—the rhythm, the rebel. The oft-quoted Douglass gem, If there is no struggle, there is no progress, is played out for a reason. The reason is because it needs to be played again, and again. Like a mantra, like a song.

Images:

Sun Ra’s Space is the Place (screenshot) | Flavor Flav (detail), courtesy of archivist Sean Stewart | Grandmaster Flash “You Know What Time It Is” music video (screenshot) | Kool Moe Dee “Do You Know What Time It Is?” single cover | Nina Simone live at Antibes Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festival 1965 (screenshot) | The Battle of Algiers (screenshot) | The Rolling Stones 12 x 5 album cover | Flavor Flav, courtesy of Stewart

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dunkshotdreaming · 6 years

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Spica: Alpha Virginis (pt.5)

Genre: action/adventure, fantasy, angst, romance Warnings: post-apocalyptic Characters: Leo (VIXX), Beth (oc), Lucy (oc) Word count: 2,544 Story type: series (completed)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 (final)

(A/N): Reposting my series from AFF onto here!

///

Things grew tense between the hunter and angel; a dreary silence befell since their last conversation. Finally arriving at the castle just before sunset, Taekwoon and Beth stood staring at their handiwork: the bodies of the upgraded palace guards strewn across in an almost artistic arrangement. The lesser demons they’d fought up until now were merely target practice, those that evaporated when slain. These demons were much stronger, and yet only possessed a fraction of what their king had in store for our heroes.

Though Taekwoon was initially worried for Lucy’s safety, she’d proven to be much smarter and feistier than he’d originally given the Lab credit for. She expertly dodged attacks, almost as if she had been trained her whole life for this task. Lucy was remarkable at biting at any flailing limbs, effectively injuring their enemies. Sometimes it was as if she could smell the precise location of jugulars or pressure points, the result being that she looked more like a bloodhound by the end of things. Bloodbaths took on a whole new meaning when our… antiheroes of sorts take charge.

Beth brushed some blood off her wings as best she could, the deep red mixing with dirt to stain her once pure white feathers. Taking down the king would not be an easy feat, but the duo– I’m sorry, trio– felt more than prepared, ready to stake their lives to take back the city.

“I’ve been expecting you,” a strong, baritone voice echoed throughout the castle.

Having finally reached the king’s room, the throne was perched upon the polished marble tile. Across from Taekwoon and Beth, the golden throne glimmered, the light from the windows cascading over it and its inhabitor, as it was anything but empty. The room appeared extremely sophisticated, so out of place with the rest of the antique style of the rather dull, gray castle. Shiny black and white tiles lay just under their feet, the red walls lined with golden tapestries to match the throne.

However, all of this heavily contrasted the king’s appearance. A flat navy color for his skin, and a deep purple for the large wings and horns he possessed.

“Welcome to the beginning of the end of your lives, dear children,” the king’s voice mocked, sounding almost as distorted as his mind. The floor shook from the sheer weight of the colossal demon as he began to stand. Striding with patience and almost a sense of elegance, if it weren’t for his terrifying and hideous demeanor, he made his way over to exterminate the pesky insect-like visitors who dared to defy his and defile his castle.

***

The fight was absolutely exhausting, it felt like days though it had likely been but a few hours. The bastard was laughing for half of the fight as the three struggled in their attempt to take him down; after all, combined, they were barely at half his height. Then suddenly, Beth’s powers recharged, and the king wasn’t laughing anymore. She healed Taekwoon, Lucy and herself, then carried Taekwoon as she flew upwards, allowing Taekwoon to stab both of his swords through the king’s eyes, effectively blinding him in the process. They repeated this once more, twice more, stabbing the king in the chest with both swords the second wave around. He was much weaker now than he had been at any point in their fight, giving them a good window of opportunity to strike. Beth cast a hex spell she’d learned once, from albeit shady sources, but the spell sealed his fate, ensuring the end of the tyrant.

All things come with a price, however, and such was this victory. Beth was no exception to the dangers of the hex spell, it would seem, much to Taekwoon’s (and Lucy’s) dismay. Beth came tumbling down from the heights she has soared to, dropping Taekwoon in the process. Startled, he rolled over to check up on her, holding her now motionless form in his trembling arms. A sense of déjà vu was coming back to him, to the time of the raid battle with his best friend, and suddenly Taekwoon felt sick. It was awhile before Beth managed to gain consciousness, too weak to do much but take in ragged breaths. Lucy licked all over her face, and Taekwoon hugged her so tightly she feared she would end up with a broken rib before losing consciousness once again. He sobbed into the crook of her bloodied neck, grateful that she was still even alive.

“T…Tae…k,” she rasped, earning a shushing as the mortal began gently rocking her.

“We did it Beth, the bastard is gone. We won the city back!” Something was off, she seemed too weak, too pale, and it was scaring him. So much so that Taekwoon couldn’t find it in him to stay quiet, for once in his life, he was too scared to accept what could be reality, failing to grasp the gravity of the situation that lay before him. His rambling continues, sheer panic fueling his lungs, because his brain had long since shut down.

“I’m… so glad… I met you…” Beth managed to interrupt his utter nonsense speech.

“Stop talking like that, like you’re leaving. You’re fine, we’re fine! As a matter of fact, what should we do after we go back home, huh Beth? Beth?!” Taekwoon was shocked as he was cut off by a sharp gasp of pain from the weakened angel that lay in his arms.

“Listen… to me…” Beth took deep breaths to be able to speak, now holding all of Taekwoon’s attention, as Lucy whined softly and pawed gently at he angel’s form in despair. “I cas-casted a hex spell, t-to keep him d-dead,” she was stuttering profusely, hardly even able to speak, but mustering the last of her strength to do so. “That spell i-is… a life for a life. He’s dead Taekwoon, a-and he’s not coming b-back… but at the c-cost of m-my own-” she was interrupted by her own coughing, trying to choke it down just enough to finish what she had to say. “B-besides, any angel who uses d-dark magic… is immediately p-put down,” she gave a very weak, brief smile to Taekwoon’s horrified, grieving face. Tears streamed freely down his prominent cheeks as the meaning behind all her words sunk in.

“It is time to go, my dear,” a foreign voice chimed in. Taekwoon turned to the source, as Beth was too weak to move, and Lucy barked at the intruder. What Taekwoon’s eyes were met with was a grim-reaper looking figure, now hovering beside them, and he instinctively hovered over her own body protectively. He felt her form stop moving in his arms, and he was unable to stop the onslaught of even heavier tears that cascaded from his weary eyes. The scream he let out as she slipped through his fingers was bloodcurdling, and nothing was left behind save for a handful of her feathers in his still-trembling hands. It was her final, bittersweet parting gift, leaving him with a few wishes as a token of gratitude.

///

Battered and depressed beyond the imaginable, Taekwoon has no recollection of even making it home. All he remembers is how the damned feathers don’t feel like Beth, don’t sound like Beth, and how they will never, ever be able to replace her presence in his life. He remembers praying and wishing upon a pale feather, only to feel like an utter idiot when it never granted his sole, desperate wish… for Beth to be returned to him. Not even alcohol could help him this time, he thought, and Lucy whimpered solemnly as she watched her owner seemingly wither overnight.

Deep in the night, as Taekwoon begins to drift, a soft, pained whisper could be heard as it echoed through the seemingly hollow apartment.

“I never even got to tell her… how much I loved her.”

///

Taekwoon awoke very much unlike he had fallen asleep: disgusting and passed out on the apartment’s kitchen floor. A dirty rag and a bucket of what likely once water, now tainted with blood and dirt, were beside his makeshift “bed”. Wait, when had he even laid down in a bed? It was then that his attention drifted to the feeling of two arms around his waist. Panic rising and catching his heart up into his throat, Taekwoon turned to look behind him, wondering if he was caught in some twisted dream his brain made up throughout his pity party. The girl of his dreams lay beside him, only she no longer carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, figuratively of course. Her wings were now completely gone, but it was undeniably Beth, right down to her small birthmarks.

She stirred then, yawning, and rubbed her eyes with one arm, unconsciously grabbing at Taekwoon’s fresh, clean shirt with the other. “I see you’re awake. Man, you’ve been out for almost two whole days. You sure can sleep a lot, sleepyhead,” she giggled, but it sounded like a choir of angels in his mind, ironically enough.

“…Beth?” Taekwoon asked in shock, as his voice almost failed to make it past the lump making residence halfway down his throat. Surely, he was dreaming, right? He had to be, after all, he watched her, felt her die in his very own arms… “I watched you die…I felt the feathers in my hands…” He could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence, too stupefied by her appearance to string words together properly.

“And yet here I am,” Beth teased, Cheshire cat-line grin on full display. Something was up, and Taekwoon was fearing for the catch. “What was that about you not being able to tell me something?” Still in disbelief, Taekwoon flushed, a bright red adorning his now flustered features. His last words before knocking out were his very own late love confession to his supposedly deceased love interest… little did he know she had heard every last word. Confused, he reached out to her, crushing her once more in an embrace, praying that if this was a dream, to never again wake up from it.

“You have some explaining to do, missy, an awful lot of it,” his heart hammered in his chest, realizing that she really was here with him once again. The feel of her form against his, the acceleration of her heartbeat felt through her skin, the smell of her hair and the gentle ease that her presence always brought to his once miserable existence. She felt like home, more so than the raggedy apartment ever could. Home was a feeling, not a place, and it was the feeling Taekwoon got when he got to share his measly days with Beth and Lucy, his two favorite girls.

“I may have traded my wings for a chance at a mortal life… here, with you. Taekwoon, I–”

“I love you,” Taekwoon breathlessly rushed out, fearing he could miss his chance again at any moment. Wanting, needing to tell her how much she means to him, as much as a few words could convey. “I was such an idiot not to tell you sooner, but I was afraid of how you felt, and I didn’t want to make things awkward. And then I was hoping to after the fight but–”

This time it was he who was cut off, as she’d tugged him down by the hair and pressed her lips to his, Taekwoon’s eyes wide in shock. He brought his hands to her sides, rubbing gently as their lips met again and again, kisses featherlight and laced with the purest of intentions; to communicate their love for one another after too many missed opportunities. They parted for air, foreheads pressed together. She let out a breathless laugh, undeniably content, and he didn’t dare to let her go for even a second, for fear of losing her again.

“Now what?” Taekwoon murmured against her hair, pressing a soft kiss into her forehead, now laying with her facing him while tucked into his larger frame.

“Now,” she inhaled deeply, taking a dramatic pause, “either we help rebuild this town, or leave it all in the past and escape. Perhaps you could reunite with your family?” Beth suggested, looking up at him with a loving gleam in her eyes, mirrored by his own.

“Sounds good to me,” Taekwoon answered softly, still enamored by their reunion, in more ways than one. He was still finding it hard to grasp the reality of her return, but he dared not question the few miracles life allowed, as he had struggled far too much in his own life.

“But first, babe…” The term of endearment rolled easily off her tongue, slipping casually past her lips, and Taekwoon could swear he felt the wind knock out of his lungs in the process. So much for thinking he wasn’t big on romance, because he was sure a hell of a head-over-heels romantic when it came to her. “I’m hungry.” A phrase she’d never once said before, only proving her newfound mortality. Taekwoon couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, rolling onto his back and pulling her over him, grinning wide as her hair cascaded down around the two of them, seemingly forming a veil.

“You are so lucky I love to cook, and that I’m good at it,” Taekwoon took a deep breath, admiring the view before him. “And I would be honored to provide your first meal, darling… Granted that all the stock we have left is currently ramen, so fancy first dinner will have to take a rain check.” She unceremoniously snorted, and he thought it was the most adorable thing ever. Then again, she could probably sound like a goat every time she sneezed and he would still love every little thing she did, solely because it was her and her alone. He piggybacked her to their sorry excuse of a kitchen, and as he worked on their ramen, they discussed their plans for the future, as well as Beth having to fill Taekwoon in on what happened after the fight. Taking a seat on the barstool beside hers by the counter, bowls and chopsticks in hand, they lamely clinked their reused paper cups together to signify both their first meal together as well as the start of their new lives together.

Taekwoon silently thanked the gods for bringing them together, for allowing her to return, and for whatever the hell was currently going on in his life, because things were better than they ever had been ever since he’d lost his family. Little did he know that she was thinking the same, thanking the gods for everything and then some. Lucy leaned on her hind legs as her front paws stretched out, trotting over playfully, hoping to partake in the fun as well. And maybe hoping to get some food in the process, she certainly wouldn’t mind that.

“Still think lil’ Lucifer here’s a fallen angel?” Beth teased over a bite full of noodles.

“Well, she is heaven sent. However,” Taekwoon leaned in to whisper into her ear, “you will always be my favorite angel, wings or not. You are the best thing life ever allowed me to enjoy, Beth.”

- f i n -

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the-art-in-arthesia-is-loud · 3 months

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ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION.

FATE HAIR CHANGE⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️💥💥💥💥💥💥

#(art)hesia #arthesias ocs #rgverse: artwork #our fates are distorted: fate (oc)#original character #original characters #oc #ocs #oc art #art #digital art

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thorndale-industries · 7 years

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Ariadne and Theseus - Chapter 1

So yeah, here is the first chapter of my attempt on actual fanfiction with several chapters. It’s the start of Human Revolution from my OC’s, Gillian Thorndale’s point of view who is also part of the Illuminati. I want to cover the attack on Sarif Industries, how the scientist got to Omega Ranch and what happened during the 6 months between the intro and the actual events of the game.

I will post on this blog and on Ao3 as soon as I get my account. If you are not familiar with my OC, feel free to check her bio and Page’s as well, since I write in my own verse which sticks to the canon as closely as possible.

Dark, impervious rain clouds covered the city of London, and kept the old streets within their tight grip. They crept over the city like a menacing shadow, a dim guardian, whom concealed and prevented those bright illuminating rays of sunlight from reaching the ground. They were an unwelcomed harbinger with a strong voice, proclaiming their master's arrival, whom would haunt those who dared to walk the streets, knock on every single window, and ascertain that the citizens behaved and bowed before its will. Nothing would remain unseen. The white haired CEO stepped out of the old, wooden elevator, and knocked on its metallic frame with the remarkable iron ring on her right middle finger without making a sound. Five deep breaths, and she placed the old-fashioned black, unused, umbrella into its stand right next to the entrance. She had been lucky. She had been spared. A little nod towards the blond secretary, fifteen firm steps on dark parquet, and one gentle press against the door's automatic lock - this is all it took to open the gates to her own little liar: The outpost to her kingdom, unfolding to her majesty.

Her oddly coloured eyes - one blue as the ocean, the other shining like an emerald - glanced over the office with its grey and dark tones, which pleased her sight without any disruptive elements. On the contrary, it all merged into a comforting unity. Just the way everything was supposed to be. Old oil paintings adorned the grey walls, framed into gold and silver and an astonishing amount of books occupied the side to her left - only the rotating holo-globe casted some calm blue light. A room with a tale, a clash between new and ancient, but the ink of the history books had not dried yet.

With elegant and silent steps in polished black shoes, she approached the carved wooden chessboard and brushed her delicate fingers over the ebony figures. The black king and queen stood together, as they always did, never leaving each others side. There was a deep hope, a whisper, to finally get the permission to move some of those pawns - like a soldier with a nervous finger laying in the trenches as he had to observe the enemies move. But for now she had to stay patient and remain a silent watcher as she heard the clocks ticking. Soon, so she promised herself, the moment for the right shot will come and their carefully laid out plan will unravel itself, causing an avalanche no one could withstand or stop and no one was supposed to - they were the masters who watched the stones fall, piece by piece, and created the picture they desired. A perfect maschine in which even the slightest part worked in harmony with this others.

Her fingers twitched, ready to act - or perhaps it was just the loyal demon of nictone-dependency which decided to visit her once again. His claws buried in her shoulders - a friendly reminder she was not without marks herself. While the lean woman slowly walked towards her archaic timber desk, she took off the scarf made of the finest silk from her pale neck, exposing it, and threw the warming servant on the armchair across the room without paying attention to its fate. It served it purpose well enough; now it was time to dispose of it. A silent click, and the leathery cigarette case opened like a mechanical clam and revealed the little precious pearl in it: the poison the heiress longed for, exactly 7 doses of it. She placed a flawless exemplar between her blood-red lips, and the calming taste of exquisite tobacco on them stilled the hungry monster, pushed it back into its cave as it purred like a cat. She ignited a match without hesitation and the warm light of the petite flame brought the only accents to this monotone, cold place. For a short moment she glanced into it, fascinated by this display of controlled destruction she moved it to the tip of her life-donor, lighted it up and flooded her tainted lungs with the desired smoke. - causing a warm and welcomed feeling, especially as her eyes wandered across her desk. There it was: A plain silver plate, placed by her assistant, and on it an antique porcelain pot filled with the most precious liquid she could think of: Perfectly brewed Earl-Grey. Smirking with satisfaction, she poured her beloved drink into a simple mug next to it, drowned a sugar cube which weighted exactly 0.55 grams and let the heat take over her lifeless hands. The first rain drops gently knocked in her windown, a slow drizzle.

The woman adjusted her round glasses, checked her watch - 3:58 PM - and turned herself to her terminal to prepare everything for what was supposed to happen in exactly 126 seconds. The sky outside had the tone of the dead device in front of her. Like an automated worker, her fingers over the mechanical keyboard, typing in the commands she knew in her sleep and had used countless times. A routine, but one that secured the fate of the world. Their world. It just took a few moments of her time, just one drag of the delicious cigarette, to establish several secured connections around the world as the huge screen in front of her turned to life - ghost hieroglyphs, cryptic lines and symbols emerged out of nothing. Several faceless heads slowly took form - merely a shadow, the masked members of this private ball. But the holo-sensor, hidden behind a little marble statue of the infamous creature of Cerberus, remained turned off - no buzzing in three-quarter time to accompany this faithful event. This time she wouldn't participate, she wouldn't speak. No, today she took the role of Morpheus - assuring the rest of the world continues to participate the dream they dictated and like a mercyless guard she paid attention that no one would inadvertently wake up from the consensual illusion had been created with so much detail. The short-haired woman looked over her left shoulder and smirked as she spotted her black Belgian Malinois sleeping in front of the fireplace. Cerberus, guarding the gate to hell.

Now it was just a matter of a few seconds until the elusive meeting could start. Her own ID brightly flashed on the screen: uk.ti.22535. The CEO smiled once again as the other numbers started to join in, a series of soft pings announced their arrival like an old-fashioned door steward. The guardian took a final deep drag, let the smoke gently escape from her grip before squeezing out the cigarette. As loyal as someone could be, it took a short moment to take out their light forever after they have served their purpose.

sg.or.di.67892.

cn.ctym.99230.

us.un.09763.

us.dc.01776.

ch.who.03629.

ch.db.01120

hk.pi.02052

Splendid, everyone managed to arrive and the connections looked stable - no one dared to step in her marble with muddy shoes. It was the non-verbal permission to finally rest and take a seat herself. She hungrily took the mug of the precious liquid and sat down in her massive leathery armchair - it offered the perfect listening position for the conversation which took place behind her, and all over the world. She didn't need to see the silhouettes, something else demanded her attention. A deep sip, and the last remnants of unrest were drowned. Three clips, fifteen buttons pressed into her keyboard, and the precious files unfolded on her terminal. Connection established. Remote Access: Sarif Industries. Another click, and she allowed a special participant of the meeting to see the same data she glazed at. Now she could close her eyes - even if just for a brief moment. Breath in, breath out.

"Is everything in place ?" hummed a voice she was way too familiar with through the speakers - even through the distortion she added to conceal the true identity. For a short moment, she imagined how he must be standing in his own office , a cigarette rested between in his well-manicured fingers as he gazed at the stunning view of Hong Kong the holographic window revealed - like a king admiring his very own empire. A view she had the pleasure to see herself often enough.

"Almost." And there was the other Chinese metropole. The unnatural one, reaching for the sky as the unfortunate left behind suffocated on dust and dirt. A hive, where the drones did not matter at all.

"What do you mean, almost?"

"I have spoken with Montreal. The broadcast satellites are ours when we need them. A few weeks of discomfort and the public will be primed for our recall."

The Welsh woman did not look at the faceless icons floating behind her, who coloured her desk in bright yellow as they spoke. No, her differently coloured eyes firmly clung to the terminal in front it her, tinted in dark gold, as she eagerly read the classified reports and analyses she had waited for so long. There it was, the holy grail the whole world longed for, reaching out with their greasy dirty hands, like beggars who dragged on your pants and stained it with the pathetic hope that they would get your pity. Hoping you would spare a golden coin. But as soon as their crippled hands reach out for you, someone else will forcefully remind them where they belong before they can even see your face. And soon, this reminder would have to be made again as an unwelcomed person, one who seems himself as the messiah - the great liberator - stepped on the chessboard, although he was ignoring he corpses he was walking on. But he was fragile, like a house of cards - remove the core and it will fall into itself and nothing will be left if its former glory.

And they knew exactly how to reach these parts. Another deep warming sip down her throat, and her fingers ran over the cold keys again. "Have you seen her research?"

This time, she opened up a private text channel with the mysterious creature who head the great privilege to lead this meeting. She had to admit, she was surprised the Hydra allowed the disciple to step out like this. As she hit enter, she her eyes closed again and listened carefully to her partner's voice and to the others response . The world was quite, as if someone had emptied the hourglass just for this moment, before it would be refilled and run as usual.

"And the clinics?"

"We control their purse strings. They will do as we say." The ice queen left her ivory tower in Geneva and stepped on the chessboard.

Quietly the CEO took little sip of the Earl Grey and warmed her hands after this sudden moment of coldness. A shiver down her spine as the almost unbearable French accent rang in her ears. She would increase the distortion for that line next time. Ping and finally a response showed up on her second screen. "Yes." Satisfied with this simple word she smiled again and took another, deeper sip.

"I still think we should wait for the referendum." The diplomat, collected as always. His line appeared to be the most fragile, since he was calling directly from the UN building in New York. It was careless to call from such an exposed place - he nearly asked to be attacked as he showed his bare neck.

"We can't afford to wait! America's science board convenes next month." The Grand Knight aggressively proclaimed, like a crusader kicking a door in. The woman hasn't seen him in a while, she should pay him a visit in his castle again.

"But the mood among the delegates is shifting. I'm positive that given more time…" The diplomat nearly bowed in awe.

While the others still discussed the matter, a closed case in her eyes, the CEO opened up a report from the borrowed files from Sarif Industries's internal servers. A file that confirmed yet again what she and her husband had suspected for a long time and the world was about to get exposed to - like an highly infectious disease it would spread around the world and change its face forever. Unless they would stop them before it could even leave the lab it was currently located in. She could feel how her heart started to beat faster and opened the chat again. "She has found it. The gene sequence we need." Another sip helped her to control the little rush of excitement before she added: "But she is out of our reach."

"No, by going public with this discovery Sarif is forcing our hand." interrupted the disciple.

"The world will not change overnight just because David Sarif wills it. Besides, we can do nothing until our biochip is ready." The charming Hephaestus calmly spoke from his workshop in Singapore like an old mentor - the smith of this golden age who has created the impossible. How ironic his magical anvil was unable to create a cure for his crippled feet. The short haired always wondered if this man would fall from the Olymp one day as well.

"I thought you said you were close." There was it again, the arrogant voice of the Dragon from the east.

"Finding the correct nerve interface has proven more challenging than anticipated. Fortunately, thanks to David I now know where to look."

Suddenly the whole screen turned red, a minor alarm was triggered and activated the anti-hacking counter measures Morpheus, she, rigorously had programmed herself to keep those who dared to open their eyes and wake up from their dreams back into neverending sleep. Quickly she put the mug away and typed a few commands to see what was going on. Her heart beat faster again, a car rushing to an emergency.

"Intruder detected, secured connection compromised. Intruder has been blocked and identified: - auto.prog.plague.2213 - Hengsha - China. Affected connection: hk.pi.02052 . Secured connection re-established."

Cold sweat on her forehead, the CEO exhaled deeply out of relief, proud of her own construction at the same time. She left the protocol open, staring at it with a twitching eye, before she decided to take a deeper look into the threat. She was confident that she could trace the bot back to its origin, those who were brave enough to try forbidden fruits were often the mindless ones. Another cigarette was the right tool to choke the undesired feelings of restlessness . "Is she?" flickered in the private text channel just a few seconds later.

"Finish the talk, we need to discuss our next manoeuvre in private."

#//TI archives #deus ex #bob page #gillian thorndale

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the-art-in-arthesia-is-loud · 3 months

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ALSO ALSO. i did watched the pigeon games 5th anniv livestream thingy or whatever. these two thoughts are my only main takeaway from it

#(art)hesia #(art)hesia (shitpost edition)#arthesias ocs #rgverse: artwork #rgverse: shitpost artwork #our fates are distorted: fate (oc)#i don't give a f***: destonio (oc)#butterflies tear people apart: pupa (oc)#original character #original characters #oc #ocs #oc art #art #digital art

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the-art-in-arthesia-is-loud · 3 months

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i think this is the most stupidest idea i could think of but uh. lineless and shadeless versions of my art for the shits and giggles

#(art)hesia #(art)hesia (shitpost edition)#arthesias ocs #rgverse: artwork #rgverse: shitpost artwork #only one objective ★ destroy: unknown levels (oc)#raven's pride: raven (oc)#our fates are distorted: fate (oc)#butterflies tear people apart: pupa (oc)#is it so wrong for a girl to like bugs?: pamolia (oc)#like an ice cube: technicolour (oc)#i exist: ego eimi (oc)#the embodiment of chaos and destruction herself: arghena (oc)#a special kind of texture: primeval texture (oc)#i don't give a f***: destonio (oc)#the fireworks that bring tragedy: lumine (oc)#this is so fucking stupid what the actual fuck

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the-art-in-arthesia-is-loud · 6 months

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An Odd Night At The ThunderRiders' Base (Part 3)

MY MAIN GOAL IS TO FINISH THIS BULLSHIT BEFORE/BY HALLOWEEN SO YEAH LEGGO

———

"Technicolour! Where the hell are you?!"

Pupa's voice echoes through the hallways as he walks through it, his eyes darting from one direction to the other, trying to find the man in question. "Gosh...why is he so fucking stupid...? Didn't Aleph told him to stay with us the entire time?" He asked himself, but obviously he can't give an answer to himself either.

"Technicolour! Technicolour!!!!!!" Pupa yelled louder, but still no response came from Technicolour. Instead, he heard something else.

"Huh?! Who's there?! Show yourself!"

"What the- Wait....Fate?!" Pupa called, his walking turned into a full on sprint. He looked around, before spotting Fate in the end of the hallway, looking around for the source of the voice that called out to her. Alongside her, is none other than Hikaru.

"Oh, thank god I found you guys. You guys aren't even the ones I'm trying to find, but this is nice too." Pupa said. "Wow. Really? Did you really had to mention the part where we're NOT supposed to be the ones you're looking for?" Fate asked him, her voice indicating that she's very irritated by that fact for some reason.

"Whatever. Mr. Pupa, when did you came in here?" Hikaru asked, turning his head to look at the man in question. "Just a few minutes ago. I was with, uh, Aleph, Jakarta, Pamolia, and Technicolour, but Techni's missing, so I'm trying to find him right now." Pupa explained, scratching the back of his head as he glanced to a different view (a literal wall).

"Wait, who's Jakarta?" Fate asked, and Hikaru could only laugh a little at that. "Ahaha, he meant Arta." He told her, and she just made an "oooohhh" sound. "Can you guys at least help me find Technicolour?" Pupa asked. Hikaru was about to answer, but then immediately got interrupted. "Wait- no. I mean, it's not like I can't find him on my own, but maybe a little bit of help wouldn't hurt." Pupa added, glancing back to the two Gods.

"Haha! So you're scared of being alone in a situation like this~?" Fate teased, a smug look on her face as she watched the butterfly man's face turn bright red. "W-what?! NO! I-I'M NOT SCARED! I JUST- Ugh....!" His response made the Goddess of Fate laugh even more, and Hikaru could only facepalm at this sight.

———

"I never knew they had a fish tank here...Ah...such cute fishes...!" Technicolour muttered, his hands pressed onto a fish tank as he happily looked at the fishes in it swim around. The fishes are all sorts of colours, which made Technicolour even more happier at the sight.

"Hmm....wait. I've been here for too long! Oh no." He then said, before getting up, looking around his surroundings. However, upon further inspection.....he's the only one here. "Ah! Oh no! I got separated from the others!" He cried out, looking around a little more to make sure his suspicions were true.

"Mmh.....and it's dark here too...." He muttered sadly, before sighing. "Ugh, shut up, Techni. You're old now. Get your shit together—Ah! Wait! No! I wasn't supposed to say that word...!" Technicolour whined even more, feeling so much embarrassment as he continued complaining about his current situation.

"Shut up!!!! I gotta find the others before—"' Technicolour didn't had the time to finish his sentence before he was immediately cut off by the sound of footsteps. "Huh? What noise are those—Ah." Eventually, he managed to (sort of) see who is approaching him.

"Aye! Techni! Never expected you to be here! You weren't one of the people I invited to that demon summoning ritual." Trojan's voice could be heard as he stops infront of the man with blue hair. "Oh, wait...Mr. Trojan. You're Mr. Trojan, right? I don't wanna mistake you for someone else..." Technicolour asked.

"Yep, yep~ That's me, alright! Ah! Wait. I wanna test out something. It's an ability I haven't used in awhile. Gimme a sec." Trojan then closed his eyes, though Technicolour couldn't see that because of how fucking dark it is right now.

Suddenly, a pair of light blue eyes appeared infront of him, startling him completely.

"Hey, Colour!"

"AGHH WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Oh- Shhh!!!! Don't make too much of a fuss about it, please!!!! Just don't freak out."

It turns out those eyes belong to Trojan. Seems like he can make his eyes glow somehow. But how is that even possible??? "I-I...Nevermind that. I'm just glad someone else is with me......and I'n glad that I can see you clearly in some way." Technicolour said, muttering the last sentence nervously.

"Yeah, uh...anyways! I'm trying to find Temporal Shifting! Wanna come?" Trojan offered, extending his hand out to the other man as if he's telling him to take ibuprofen with him. "Temporal...Shifting? Who's that?" Technicolour immediately asked, ignoring the "let's take ibuprofen together" pose Trojan is striking right now.

"Oh! Uh, whoops. Forgot to tell ya who that is. Ehehe~ I meant Tempo and Shifta." Trojan replied sheepishly, his arm lowering for a split second before going back up, making that stupid offering pose again. "Sooooo? Wanna come or not?" He then asked, both of his eyebrows raised as the most stupidest smile he could ever make made it's way onto his lips.

Technicolour was rather silent at first, but then he managed to make up his mind. "Alright. I'll come with you." He said. He didn't take Trojan's hand, though. He has way more common sense than Arghena would ever have. Noticing this, Trojan completely lowers his hand. But the smile he has on his face is still there, as if it was plastered onto his face with glue. "Sweet! Let's go then."

#arthesias ocs #arthesias writing (youre posting this on the wrong blog thesia)#butterflies tear people apart: pupa (oc)#you are your very own light!: hikaru (oc)#our fates are distorted: fate (oc)#like an ice cube: technicolour (oc)#this is all my fault: trojan (oc)#original character #original characters #oc #ocs #oc writing #writing #idk urgh #rgverse: writing

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