#And also refuses to order uniforms of the correct size

[rohirric-hunter]

Wish me luck everybody, tomorrow I have an interview with Allied Universal, the security company that will hire anything that moves. I could submit an application in the name of a wind-up cat toy and still get hired.

I don't need luck with getting a job offer. There's a 0% chance that they will not offer me a job if I show up at their offices for any reason whatsoever. I need luck getting an offer that is actually in the state that I currently reside in and not three states over. For some reason. Also with being able to have a coherent conversation with the hiring manager without the help of a diagram.

#And also with the receptionist possibly restraining herself from calling me fat #I mean I am a little bit fat but she doesnt get to say so because she means it as an insult #And also refuses to order uniforms of the correct size #Because she clearly thinks I'm fatter than I am

[allegra-writes]

"The Lesson"

Claimed series Part V

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Oof, let's see. Somnophilia, non-con elements, minor character death. I mean it, Daniel and Armand basically molest a sleeping or otherwise unable to consent woman, literally consume her as a meal and then proceed to get hot and heavy right next to her corpse. It is pretty misogynistic and I felt very uncomfortable writing it at times, but there is a plot reason for things to unfold the way they do this chapter. However, if any of this themes makes you uncomfortable, please do not read it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable character, and for legal reasons I won't be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

They came in through the window, like the nightmare creatures they both were now. Armand first, of course, Daniel was still as clumsy as a newborn calf taking its first steps on a barn floor when it came to the flying gift, so naturally, his maker was already leaning over the sleeping figure by the time he made it into the room.

It was a nice room, with cream-colored walls and a narrow single bed covered in a deep midnight blue comforter. The closet, bedside table, and small desk were also painted white, to imitate a set, but upon closer inspection, Daniel could see the different styles and materials. Still, the mismatched furniture didn’t take away from the charm of the small space, if anything, it gave a kind of whimsical quality to it. There were makeup tubes and hair pins strewn among old notebooks, a colorful scarf on the back of a chair alongside a maid uniform, evidence of an ordinary, inconsequential life being lived. If life was ever inconsequential, Daniel mused as he examined the rare black orchid plant kept on a faux antique ceramic mug, the titles of the few books in a language he could speak: Radcliffe, Poe, Shelley. He could see what Armand had meant back down the street when he had first caught whiff of the girl, half in love with death indeed.

“Daniel,” Armand’s voice cut through his reverie, “quit your delaying”

Right. They were there because of him, after all.

“Beloved, you need to feed” The older vampire’s tone softened as Daniel reached him, “and I chose her just for you”

And wasn’t that just a whole other level of fucked-up, not only Armand’s words but also the way they affected Daniel, warming him up inside the way only a youthful-looking vampire with cooper eyes and coal-black curls who ordered the entire menu of a fancy restaurant for him, or brought home emeralds and sapphires the size of his thumb because they reminded him of his eyes could? But he was too old now, wasn’t he? To try and pretend to be at war with himself. The very least he could do was refuse to be a hypocrite and admit that, when it came to Armand, all his morals, all his idealism, all the equality and human rights he had fought so hard for his entire career, simply flew out the window. What did those matter anyway, when he wasn’t human anymore?

As in a trance, Daniel walked ahead to meet his would-be-prey.

She was lovely. Long brown hair spread on white pillows, older than his daughters -thank god for the small mercies- and paler too, all milky skin so thin he could see the veins running under it, a web of blue and purple strings pulsing with life and heat. Daniel’s throat went dry, the hollow inside his stomach growing deep and black and endless. He felt lightheaded, the weak, slow beat of his own heart reverberating in his ears. Reluctantly, Daniel had to admit to the hunger.

“She’s beautiful”

“She’s perfect” Armand corrected, as if offended by the imaginary implications that he would pick anything less than top quality for his fledgling. Daniel realized she truly was, the shape of her voluptuous and undeniably seductive under the light sheets, enticing in her trusting, helpless sleep. Was this how Armand had felt looking at Daniel? All those nights, so many years ago, when he would wake up to his demonic lover’s weight on top of him, buried fangs deep, cock deep inside of him? Had he looked like this, so innocent, so defenseless, so ripe for the taking?

The girl’s eyes fluttered underneath her eyelids, stirring under Daniel’s gaze as if even in her unconscious state she was aware of the danger. But the soft stroking of Armand’s knuckles against her cheek was all it took for her to settle again, relaxing into the mattress, lips parting as she sighed in contentment.

Armand leaned to place a chaste, almost sweet kiss on her forehead.

"Come nearer, beloved," his maker commanded, hands never stopping their gentle stroking of that warm, pink skin, "focus your attention on her. Can you hear it? Do you feel it?"

It wasn’t hard, to find her heartbeat and let it capture him. To let the half-formed whispers from her mind reach his, even in her sleep, her melancholy, her sadness, her indefinable longing.

“She yearns for it, the rapture, the embrace, something she has only but glimpsed in her dreams, but has slipped from her like water through her fingers,” Armand explained, “yet she knows it exists… Wouldn’t it be cruel, Daniel? To allow her to go on without it, bereft in the isolating wasteland of modern existence, unsatisfied, victim of brute men and their rough deceivings, abusing of her passion and neglecting her?”

If Armand expected a reply, he was left wanting it. Daniel was incapable of replying, mesmerized as he was by the graceful movements of his maker’s hands as it glided over the sleeping beauty in his arms, tossing aside sheets, pushing up her sleeping shirt, uncovering more and more skin as it went.

“Our embrace, my beautiful boy, can penetrate that isolation, can delve into the root of her soul, we can give her that ecstasy she craves. It would only be fair, you see, in return for the precious elixir of her blood…”

“Return?” Daniel frowned, even as his eyes were still glued to the place Armand’s fingers were digging into the supple flesh of her inner thigh, sliding down until they could hook around her knee, parting her legs for him to see.

“Yes, Daniel, in return” He could hear the amused smile in Armand’s voice, “If you thought I brought you here to feast on her sweet, unpolluted blood and give her only darkness for all reward, you misunderstood the whole affaire”

There was a connection there, some parallel to be drawn between all those threesomes back in the seventies, letting Daniel watch Louis feed from him, and what he was proposing now, but Daniel’s mind was too muddled by hunger and desire to be able to examine it. Too far gone to even consider the ethics of what he was witnessing, as Armand popped the buttons of the girl's shirt one by one, baring full breasts and pink nipples to Daniel’s ravenous stare. Armand’s eyes were just as greedy, making sure he had all of his fledgling’s attention before lowering his head to trail open-mouthed kisses down the woman’s neck and chest, and breasts, letting his fangs nip at the delicate skin of her areola, only lapping at the drop of blood that sprung from the tiny cut once it slid down the curve of her tit. The sleeping girl arched her back, the softest of sighs leaving her mouth, and Armand rewarded her by bringing one of his hands down to tease at her covered crotch with the pad of his thumb, a wet patch quickly darkening the light cotton.

“Would you like to sample, Daniel?” The dark-haired vampire asked, the very image of sin with his blood-stained lips and naughty little smirk. Throat too dry for speech, Daniel nodded.

Instead of offering up her wrist or her neck as he expected, his maker slid his hand inside her panties. Daniel watched it move obscenely under the fabric as Armand fingered her for a few moments, before taking his hand out and offering him the glistening digits for him to suck clean.

Obediently, Daniel crawled towards him, taking the proffered fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste. It wasn't as good as blood, at least, Daniel didn't think it was. The truth was in the forty-six hours he had been a vampire, Armand’s blood was the only one he had tasted. His maker had fed, oh, he had fed plenty, it was obvious by the searing heat emanating from him and by the flush darkening his brown skin, probably sneaking out to hunt while Daniel still slept. But he had only drunk from Armand. Their time since he had first woken up as a member of the undead was spent in a feverish haze of animal, lustful sex, and little drinks from each other. Still, Daniel imagined if there was something to come even remotely close to the blood, it was this, this sweet, almost cloying nectar from their delectable little bride.

Armand smiled at him adoringly, approvingly.

“After all these years, all the distance between us… you are still my good boy, aren’t you, Daniel?”

Before any reply could take shape inside his head, the lovely beauty trapped between them woke up with a start. Daniel could feel her confusion give way to terror, and then to recognition as she took in the monstrous apparitions sharing her bed. It was a surreal thing, to be able to spy, but only partly, on the silent conversation taking place in front of him.

“It’s you, it’s really you… I dreamed of you… No, I’m not afraid… I knew you would come, I knew both of you would come”

It was her the one to initiate the kiss, even if Armand was the one to gently push her into Daniel’s arms, she was the one to part her lips and slip her tongue inside the mouth of the young immortal, moaning as she cut herself on his fang in her eagerness to taste death.

The first taste of her blood was a revelation. It was like sunshine flooding his veins, waking his senses back to life, bringing everything into an even sharper focus. Even time seemed to move slower as he departed from her candied, wet mouth and sank his fangs into her dainty little neck.

There was a struggle, at the beginning. After the initial sobering stab of white-hot pain, she twisted and scratched and beaten at Daniel’s chest with all her might, but her feeble human strength was no match for a vampire, not even one as young as Daniel was, and soon enough she gave into the swoon, letting Daniel press her close to his chest. Letting the hard pebbles of her nipples rub against him, arching her back for him as she melted into his embrace, pliant and supple again. Letting her heat warm Daniel’s lifeless body. Letting her pulse feed Daniel’s veins with every beat, letting his heart feast on her own.

He caught a glimpse of the enchanting dream Armand had woven for her, of the slightly damp moss she laid upon as a fresh breeze graced her skin, of the crickets and forest creatures serenading her to sleep under the night sky bejeweled with the stars she loved so dearly, before her mind faded completely.

“That’s enough, lover mine” Armand coaxed, voice soft but firm, “let her go, lest she drags you into that gentle goodnight with her”

Daniel found that was easier said than done. Letting go of her was as difficult as leaving a cozy bed on a cold winter morning, but Armand’s insistent hands left him no choice but to comply. A soft thumb swept over his lower lip.

“So messy…” Armand mused before licking the blood off his chin and mouth, and yes, that was the taste Daniel had craved for all this time, better than the swoon, better than the blood, the sweetest taste was his maker, his Armand. It was as easy and natural as muscle memory to pull him in on top of him and guide him to straddle his legs. Even after all those years, after all he had changed both in life and in death, Armand still fitted with him like a puzzle piece, like a perfectly tailored suit, meant just for him. It was only right, to feel Armand’s possessive touch under his t-shirt, those impossibly soft fingertips trailing his ribs one by one, the scrap of those glass-like nails sending shivers over his entire body.

Daniel’s own hands weren’t idle either, bunching up Armand’s sweater to his armpits so Daniel could suck and bite at those sensitive nipples and hear the pornographic sounds Armand always made when he focused on that particular part of his anatomy.

“Love these tits” Daniel growled low and dirty against Armand’s skin, “prettier than any girl’s”

Armand’s moan was filthy as he tugged at Daniel’s hair hard enough to rip some strands from his scalp, making him almost dizzy with want, if such a thing were possible for a creature of the night. But Armand was so fucking perfect, so hungry for it, hips rolling against Daniel’s, hands ripping his shirt off his body, Daniel couldn’t help but think, for the millionth time, he was going to be his undoing.

“Hey! I liked that t-shirt” He protested, lying through his teeth cuz the truth was he couldn’t give a crap about the old, faded, grey piece of clothing. He simply wanted to hear Armand say:

“I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you a thousand shirts just so I can tear them to shreds to unwrap you” Just like the old times, “You are my gift from Louis, my beautiful boy”

“Am I?” Daniel replied, defiant as always, “Why don’t you tie me up all tight and pretty with a bow then? What you waiting for?”

"So impertinent" Armand tsked, sliding his hand inside Daniel’s jeans in retaliation, "I would punish your insolence, but I know you'd only enjoy it"

Whatever reply hung on the tip of Daniel’s quick tongue, it was left unsaid as Armand’s fingers closed around his length.

It was still as intense, as electrifying, as debilitating as the first time. Daniel couldn’t help to throw his head back, his neck suddenly too weak to support his swooning head. Armand’s hand against his nape, however, pulled him back into place, probably so Daniel wouldn’t get a glance at the quickly cooling corpse right next to him.

“No, keep your eyes open, beloved. I want you to look” He commanded, sounding as breathless as Daniel felt. It wasn’t a hassle to obey, though, not when Armand was taking his own cock out of his pants, thick and long and pulsing with borrowed blood, Daniel couldn’t have taken his eyes off of it even if he had wanted to. And he certainly didn’t want to.

Armand spat on his hand then, nasty and vulgar, before wrapping his hand around both their members. Fingers unable to surround both girths at the same time, he started slowly pumping his hand up and down, in the rhythm that was sure to drive Daniel mad.

What the technique might have lacked in physical stimulation, more than made up for in visuals, the image of Armand’s cock pressed against his, longer, leaking all over his, the contrast of his bronze skin against his, stone white and washed out, they way it seemed to grow and fill even more before his eyes, the way the veins popped…

“Armand…” Daniel pleaded, without knowing what for, “Need… I need”

“Yes, beloved” Armand replied, guiding Daniel’s face to his neck, “here, from my throat”

It was just what the fledgling needed, shuddering with the force of his release the very instant his maker’s blood hit his tongue.

“Yes, like that” Armand husked, the rhythm of his hand growing more and more erratic, the longer Daniel drank, “harder, take it all…”

Daniel bit down deeper, sinking his human teeth on the hard flesh, tearing muscle up, making Armand explode, copious amounts of hot fluid bathing his cock, splashing on his stomach.

He retracted his fangs then, but kept lapping at the open, messy wound with his tongue, relishing in the waves of both aftershocks combined, refusing to let the link between their minds shut down again, holding Armand’s shivering body close against his, uncaring of the mess. There was a desperation, a deep melancholy emanating from Armand’s thoughts as he came down, the same bone aching loneliness he had caught a glimpse of the very first time they had come together at that bar, eliciting the same ferocious devotion in him, and he suddenly understood…

The dance was finally over.

Daniel’s destiny had finally been fullfilled. The devil’s minion through and through, born, dead and reborn, at last reaching his final form. Forever servant and master to the ageless creature clinging to him.

Don’t let me go, it begged, don't ever let me go.

I won’t, Daniel vowed, knowing in his blood there would be no running away for him.

I won’t, a promise and a threat, I love you.

I love you, a blessing and a curse, I love you.

Forever.

Next part (back to 1973)

#claimed series #the devil's minion #armand x daniel molloy #smut #dead dove do not eat #mind the warnings #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #interlude with the undead

[ukcateringsupplies]

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[kireii-writes]

okay so what if megumi brought his friend over to hang out only to have toji sneak them away and rearrange their gutss

ah also i really enjoy your work! i hope you’re living your best life :)

Taint

-

a/n: thanku anon! i hope you’re living your best life too <3 // also another toji thirst?? you really know how to get me going. i may or may not have went too far with this too because it’s toji, duh

-

warning(s):​ nsfw dubcon, toji rearranging reader’s guts, riding toji (because toji is a dick), kinda slow burn- im so invested in this man

-

Going to Megumi’s house everyday after school was sort of a ritual for you. Every time you hung out at his house, the both of you would end up in front of the TV, two pairs of eyes glued to the screen as fingers danced deftly across two different game controllers.

Today was no different. Or so you thought.

“... that’s why, Gojo-sensei will be the death of me one day.” You sighed as you and Megumi reached his front gate.

“Ah.” Realization struck him abruptly at the mention of the white haired teacher. “I forgot to grab something. There’s this new sweet that Gojo-sensei wants me to get for him.” Megumi let out a sigh at the thought of having to make an extra trip just to get something for his childlike teacher.

“I’ll be back soon, can you start lunch first please.” Megumi asked as he handed you the remaining bags of groceries the both of you had bought on the way back.

Muttering about how troublesome Gojo is, Megumi stalked off in the direction of the nearest convenience store before you could say anything. Left with no choice, you made your way into Megumi’s home, grateful that you decided to bring along the extra set of keys he had given to you before.

~~~

Humming to yourself, you grabbed a clean shirt from Megumi’s drawer and replaced it with your school uniform. Stepping out of your iffy school bottoms, a sigh of satisfaction escaped from you as the cool air hit your legs. You figured it would be fine, since you were the only one at home and you probably weren’t Megumi’s type.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began preparing lunch, engrossed in whatever you were making so much so that you did not realize someone had entered the house until you heard footsteps approaching you.

“Welcome back Megumi-” You looked up from the vegetables you were cutting, fully expecting your close friend. But instead, you came face to face with a towering man whom you recognize to be Megumi’s father. Though he was not frequently home, you’ve met him once or twice when he drops by.

“W-welcome home, Mr Fushiguro.” Your voice meek as you were suddenly conscious of the way you look- a few strands of hair falling across your face, you in nothing but Megumi’s over-sized shirt that dropped at a shoulder and your underwear.

You would never admit it, but the man in front of you made you more excited than you should be. “Just Toji is fine.” The short haired male smirked as he made his way towards you.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Toji gestured at the vegetables you were cutting up before he appeared. “I look forward to having lunch with you, y/n.”

Just the sound of your name rolling of his tongue was enough to drive you insane.

Sure, Toji may be hot, but he’s the father of your close friend. What would Megumi think of you if you told him you’re attracted to his father? Plus, he was too old for you and probably sees you as nothing but a small child.

Ignoring the blatant stares of Toji as he parked himself at the dining table, you focused on the task at hand and whipped up a hot lunch for the three of you.

“Megumi would be home soon, would you mind waiting?” You asked Toji, making sure to avoid all eye contact as you placed a bowl of rice and miso soup in front of him and trying your best to ignore how he looked at your legs with no shame.

“I don’t know, can you wait?” Toji licked his lips. Instantly, the action drew you to his wet lips. How would his lips feel on your skin? You were dying to find out. Rubbing your legs together subtly, you were about to give an answer when Megumi emerged, the surprised look on his face immediately masked by an expressionless one when he saw you talking to his father.

“You’re here.” Megumi stated gruffly, refusing to make eye contact with his father. Given how things had turned out, you couldn’t blame him. But the tension that hung in the air was getting too thick for your comfort.

“Megumi! I made your favorite dish, eat it before it gets cold.” You urged. A poor attempt at breaking the tension, you admitted. Thankfully, Megumi humored you and sat down opposite his father, while you took your place between the both of them, the three of you eating in silence.

“By the way, Megumi,” You piped up after awhile, hoping to ease the awkwardness between the father and son duo. “There’s this new game I’ve been wanting to try out, let’s play it after we finish eating.”

Nodding his head in agreement, the younger male continued to eat in silence.

~~~

“Give it up, loser.” You teased as Megumi groaned in frustration. “You’ll never beat me.” You giggled.

“Maybe it’s because I’m using the wrong controller. Here, give me yours.” Before you could react, a pair of strong arms tackled you onto the floor, hands and limbs entangled together as the both of you fought for the controller.

“No way!” You retorted and attempted to struggle out of Megumi’s grip. “It’s my lucky controller I’ve been using since day one!”

The both of you were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t realize Toji was staring at you underneath his son. If looks could kill, Megumi might be in danger by now.

As you finally pushed Megumi off of you, your face was flushed from your now exposed stomach when Megumi had struggled for the controller. Hastily pushing down your shirt, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of disappointment and relief seeing that Toji was nowhere to be found.

~~~

“I have to go to the bathroom, you can start without me.” You informed the boy next to you after a few more rounds of battle. “I have to wash my hands.” You sighed as you pushed yourself up from the floor and made your way towards the bathroom without waiting for a reply.

Just as you were about to enter the bathroom, a strong arm encircled your waist as the other found it’s way to your mouth, stopping the surprised squeak that left your mouth abruptly.

“Don’t make a sound and go in” Toji’s hot breath tickled your neck, clouding your thoughts. Obediently, your legs walked you into the bathroom, Toji following behind as he locked the door.

“Mr F-fushiguro...” You stammered, the close proximity of you and Toji making you delirious.

“I told you, Toji is fine.” Toji smirked as his rough fingers brought your chin up. “There’s something bothering me, y/n.” He hummed, his cold yet lustful eyes roaming across your face and trembling body.

“Wha-what is it, T-toji?” You unconsciously licked your dry lips. Toji’s eyes landed on your throat as you swallowed.

“It’s the fact that you’re too close to my son.” He hummed, the loss of skin contact making you a little lonely.

“Are you trying to seduce my son?” Toji mocked as he sat on the covered toilet seat, his face mocking you.

“N-no.” You answered truthfully, not daring to look at Toji in the eye. “...”

“Really? Because it seems to me that you’re throwing yourself at my son. If you’re interested in my son, I’ll have to make sure you’re good enough for him.” The cockiness was evident in Toji’s taunting.

“NO!” You countered abruptly, causing Toji to cock an eyebrow at you. “I-i’m not interested in your son. sir.”

“And why is that? Megumi has potential, you know.”

You looked down at your toes and could visibly see the gears in your mind turning and trying to churn out a reasonable excuse. There was no way in hell you could tell Toji it’s because of him.”

Unfortunately for you, Toji read your mind in that instant.

“Is it because you want me instead?” His taunting deep voice made your heart rate speed up. “Are you using my son to get to me? That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” You kept silent, but your cheeks were now red in embarrassment, all because Toji was right. he was right about you wanting him, and how you hoped he would be there to notice that you were getting too close to Megumi, in hopes of him correcting that.

“Answer me, brat.” Toji growled, impatience written all over his face.

“Y-yes.” You blushed fiercely, not daring to look Toji in the eye as he grabbed you by the jaw roughly.

“Then I think we could do something about it, hm?”

As if anticipating your answer, you were roughly pulled towards the big man, his thick fingers working deftly to remove the only barrier between you and him.

“Show me how much you want me.” Toji ordered, his pants come undone in an instant.

“Spread those legs and show me how much you want me.” Toji drawled on, a smirk playing on his lips as he pulled you towards him.

Like the obedient little pet you were, you complied to his demands, eager to please the man in front of you.

“Fuck.” Toji cursed as he was fully sheathed in you, your arousal making it easier for you to take him.

He was big- big enough that you let out a mixed moan of pain and excitement.

“If you’re good, i’ll fuck you.” Toji hummed as a hand snaked up to your scalp, tugging at the roots of your hair. “Go on, be good and ride me like you mean it.” He nudged.

Hesitatingly, you rolled your hips back and forth, one hand on his chest and the other at the back of his neck. The pained look on your face did nothing but made Toji harder as you sped up, your teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moans that were threatening to spill out.

“I can’t hear you.” Toji taunted. With a sharp thrust, Toji bucked his hips towards you, earning a strangled moan from you.

“M-Megumi...” You whined, hopping that Toji would get your point as you continued to ride him, your movements never slowing down as you attempted to chase your high. “Megumi w-will hear... ah!” a sweet moan fell from your lips as Toji sucked on your neck and collarbone, leaving blooming marks all over you.

“You just have to ride me like the slut you are.” Toji grunted as you continued pushing yourself down onto him. You fitted him so well- so tight and pure, just for him to taint and destroy.

“I’m gonna...” Your words were cut off by a rough kiss, Toji’s warm tongue slipping into your mouth and intertwining with yours.

Expertly, Toji flipped you over as he pushed you against the sink, his thrusts never faltering.

“See how good you’re taking me? You’re such a slut, y/n.” Toji panted as he forced you to look at yourself in the mirror.

You were a masterpiece to behold. Something so pure and innocent completely destroyed by Toji. Bruises and hickies were blooming like flowers all over your skin, sweat was rolling down your forehead, and a look of euphoric bliss all over your face as Toji pounded roughly into you, his eyes trained on you the whole time.

“You feel so fucking good.” Toji panted, burying his face in your hair. “And you looks so beautiful with me in you.”

“Do you see it, my little slut? How well you’re taking me?” The hand around your throat reached to press down on your lower abdomen, a bulge clearly visible due to Toji’s sheer size.

“T-Toji!” You panted, nearing your climax.

Without a single word, Toji continued his assault on your body, his big hands now roaming everywhere.

“Imagine how Megumi would feel when he finds out his best friend has been fucking his old man and actually enjoys it.” Toji panted, his chest heaving as he pounded into you with so much force that you had to plant your hands into the basin so that you wouldn’t fall.

“Shall we give him a little something?” Toji continued as you continued to clench around him, your mewls and moans filling the bathroom. With one last thrust, Toji’s hand pulled you towards him, causing you to arch your back.

“Cum for me.” He finally ordered.

Desperate to keep Megumi from finding out what had happened, you covered your mouth with both hands in an attempt to muffle your moans as you unclench your walls around Toji, a warm sensation filling you up as Toji finally relaxed.

As your legs gave way beneath you, strong arms caught you before you hit the floor, and you were pressed into Toji’s warm and heaving chest before you knew it.

“Now, you better get back before Megumi becomes suspicious.” Toji finally spoke up as he pulled away from you.

“We’ll do this again, don’t look so sad.” Toji taunted as he pulled his pants up, leaving you worn out on the toilet seat.

“After all, you deserve to be tainted.”

#anime #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji thirst #jujutsu kaisen toji #fushiguro toji

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Training

“Come out. Let me see you.” Chu Zihang called from the other room.

“I refuse! I looked like an idiot superhero.” Sergey shouted back, irritable. His roommate had returned no worse for wear. from his mission.

He had listened with rapt attention to Sergey’s story through EVA as an interpreter, particularly when he talked about his Soul Skill use. He advised him not to rely on it given the strong adverse reaction. A Soul Skill that caused internal bleeding that severe likely would end him.

He said very little about his mission however, only saying that the Deadpool had been eliminated and refused to answer him when he asked what his Soul Skill was, responding that it was classified.

He brought back souvenirs from Bolivia, a cute cloth doll in traditional native dress. “When you go out on missions, you can be sent anywhere. You can see the world like this.”

He had also brought back with him something called a combat suit. For someone of his size and height, it had to be custom ordered. It clung to him like women’s shapewear and left little to the imagination.

“I can’t understand your Russian.” Was Zihang’s reply.

He closed his eyes wincing in pain at not being understood. He finally stepped out, crossing his arms and looking away.

Zihang nodded. “It looks good. With this you’ll be safe.”

Sergey glanced at him. He was concerned about his safety? How was this swimsuit supposed to keep him safe?

Training was to last two months before the mission start. Every student assigned was to devote themselves to physical conditioning and combat effectiveness.

Zihang didn’t seem to mind that he had joined the Student Union. Even though they were now in rival clubs, he still treated him as a friend, supplying him with rye bread and teaching him English in the evening.

“Wear it under your clothes when you go to the training arena.” He said, speaking through the phone interpreter.

He dressed in his uniform and together they walked out of dorm room in silence. The Training area took up about half the college and was divided between military exercises and sports. At the cross roads, Chu Zihang and Sergey parted ways.

People on the way gave him waves and appreciative glances. He learned that most of the people on campus were members of the Student Union and respected him as the Student Union’s prized S-rank hybrid.

It was all extremely phony. Wasn’t he the one they avoided just a few days ago?

They would turn on him just as quickly.

He didn’t return their waves. He kept walking.

“You’re heading to the main warehouse where we hold the simulator. There you will be facing off against various challenges that will test your strength, agility and powers of observation.” EVA informed him.

He looked up. Amid the stadiums and tennis courts, a tall metal building stood out like an ark.

“The training for this mission is custom as much of the mission will be performed underwater.”

“How dangerous is this mission?”

“It is rated SS... the most special and dangerous kind. We have already lost several members of the Executive department to this dragon. An entire squad was wiped out.”

“So Caesar is planning to kill me?”

“Caesar enjoys a challenge. But your likelihood of dying in this mission is quite high.”

“That is why Zihang is worried. And the reward is so great?”

“That is correct. If you complete and survive this mission, you will not have to attend another class this semester.”

He pushed his way into the large warehouse. Members of the Student Union elite were waiting for him there. He removed his school uniform and the equipped him with scuba gear. When he placed the hard helmet on his head, he heard Eva’s voice through the speaker.

“Your combat suit is made special by the equipment department. It cannot be easily penetrated. It looks flimsy and thin, but in vital areas, it can protect you from bullets.”

“Your biggest obstacle will be your language barrier. Even with my assistance, translation will create a delay. So speed and agility will be your asset.”

The Student Union members opened the door for him to a gigantic open area, larger than an airplane hanger. It was full of deep water and had a ship floating in the middle of it. 

He looked up at the ship and who should he spot but Evelyn! He waved at her. “Evelyn!”

She took one look at him in his combat suit and blushed.  “Priviet!” She said, greeting him in Russian. 

He grinned. She must have been the other freshman! 

“Although she is only B-ranked, Caesar recommended her as well.” EVA explained.

Sergey chuckled. “He plans to use her against me!”

“I’m afraid so.” 

Did EVA just sigh? “Heh... well, he is just making me a happy dog.”

“The only information we have on the mission is what was gathered from the previous expedition.”

“The one that killed everyone?” He was led to the edge of the pool. Student Union members were checking his equipment.

“Yes. You will be following their steps. Good luck, Sergey.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Sergey

[rainbhrts94writes]

Tephra 01

Okay, so I’ve been thinking way too much this quarantine and BTS has just been giving us ALL THE CONTENT. My mind may have wandered a little too far. Here’s to hoping you enjoy this new brain child of mine!

POV: Kim Namjoon Warnings: None this chapter, mostly intro stuff Word Count: 3.5K Rating: PG

Master Post

Enjoy honeybees!

I mean, honestly, how had Namjoon thought this was going to be a good idea? It was one thing to travel outside of town with some non-magic users from class, but he knew better than to go out with his younger brother and try to keep up with Taehyung and his group of friends. Especially in the rain, why had he thought hiking in the deep woods would be a good idea in the rain?  

"You alright back there?" One of the guys called back to him.

"Yea, I'm fine. Totally fine." He struggled as his brother, Taehyung, offered him a hand.

"You sure? We can slow down if you need us to, Namjoon." 

"No, no, totally fine." He found himself reassuring Tae, trying to keep his breathing under control as he pulled himself up and over a fallen tree. 

He was required to serve in the army upon his return from the Academy, and the last thing he needed was to be deemed useless by his younger brother and a group of soon to be cadets who would eventually serve under the Kim’s. Nothing like disgracing your family’s name. With the shake of his head, Namjoon shelved the thoughts and soldered onward. Granted, he should be happy; the adventures he went on with Taehyung were always better than those he had gone on with his older brother Seokjin. 

Jin was expected to take the crown from their father someday; thus, their exploring always went one of two ways. It was either boring and heavily supervised, or they were lost in a cave fighting off some sort of unidentified bat creature before they ran for their lives. At least with Taehyung, it was somewhere in the middle. Not too dull, but the trouble they tended to find was mild enough to keep his tactical skills sharp. 

That was his goal, after all. The past three years at the Academy, Namjoon had dedicated all of his studies to become a top-notch tactician. It was the least he could do since he was the only one in his family line that couldn't use magic. He refused to be the royal family's biggest disappointment. 

"Hey, Joon!" Taehyung called from up ahead. "We've got trouble."

Trouble? Cautiously, Namjoon hurried forward only to meet with the group running back towards him.

"What's going on?" Namjoon asked as he was dragged back down the path they had just traveled by Tae.

"Landslide!" One of the other group members, Lucas, yelled from up ahead. 

"Not that I don't trust you but are you sure? I don't hear or see anything indicative of a landslide?" Namjoon wondered as he let Taehyung pull him forward. 

 "Mark can feel it," Taehyung responded matter of factly. "I need you to use that big brain of yours to figure out how to keep it from reaching the town."

A plan, he could come up with a plan; that's what he was good at after all. Finally, for the first time all afternoon, he felt like he had a chance to shine!

"I need to know the full scope of the slide. Mark, how big it is, how fast is it moving, what direction is it coming from?" Namjoon shot off way too many questions, but he needed those answers. 

"Coming from the west, moving fast, I don't know how to describe the size aside from saying it's big." Mark rescinded, panic evident in his eyes. 

This was not how he had expected to end his hike, but it was better than that time Jin opened a sinkhole in the middle of campus trying to help Najoon impress a girl his freshman year. Anything was wildly better than that. As they made their way back to town, Joon worked on a plan. 

"Lucas and I are going to separate once we get into town; we need to evacuate everyone on the outskirts just in case this doesn't work." 

"Got it!" Lucas affirmed as he took off from the group using his earth magic to propel him quickly towards the town. 

"Everyone else needs to start working on a trench, dig it out a mile or two into the forest so we can try and catch a good portion of the slide before it gets out of hand!" Namjoon shouted out his orders before running off in the opposite direction Lucas had gone. 

Finally, Namjoon made it into town only to find everything already abandoned. Had Lucas already passed by here? "This is so weird." Namjoon worried aloud as he made his way to yet another empty shop. 

Concerned he had gone the wrong way, Namjoon continued to the east until he saw a small group of five dressed in Academy uniforms running right to where Taehyung and his friends were building their trench. 

"Wait! Don't go that way!" Namjoon called after them, "There's a landslide."

"We know!" The girl who appeared to be leading the group responded as she looked him over. Recognition flashing in her eyes when she noticed his uniform. "Are you gonna come help us or not?"

Namjoon was shocked at first, frozen in place, and a little unsure of how to answer. How did they know about the landslide? Had they somehow run into Lucas? If that was the case, he needed to keep moving further east.

"Well? We don't have all day, you know?" She sighed as the rest of her group continued ahead without her. 

"Helping, I'm helping!" Namjoon stuttered as she got closer to him. "I'm a non-magic student though, so the most I can do is warn people."

"Selling yourself a little short, there aren't you?" She smirked, and when she tilted her head, she revealed earrings made in the Adyian Empire. What was a group of students from the Tiger's class going to be able to do to help stop a landslide? 

"Maybe? How would you suggest I help then?" He asked, curious to see what her answer would be.

"Ever heard of a shovel?" 

Namjoon blinked, surely she couldn't be serious?

"Judging by the look on your face, they don't teach you about those sorts of things, do they your princeliness?" The girl teased as she walked over and grabbed a shovel that was conveniently lying around. "This is a shovel. You use it to dig."

"I know what a shovel is!" Namjoon bit back as he swiped the ; what the hell was this girl's problem? "That'll take forever, though, I didn't think you were serious."

"I'm always serious." She laughed. "Let's get going, then yea? Or are you not helping after all? I already cleared out this part of town."

Without arguing any further, he followed her through the thankfully empty streets of town back towards where the rest of his group was supposed to be. 

"YN!" One of the unidentified girls in his new companion's group called out as they approached the newly forming trench. "Get your ass over here and help."

"So, you do have a name?" Namjoon teased as YN started walking towards her friends. 

"Did you think I didn't?" YN asked, and he felt himself getting flustered again. 

"No, it would be ridiculous for you not to have a name." He could have wacked himself for that, what kind of comeback was that supposed to be? "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask your Princeliness." That snide smirk on YN's face was infuriating but oddly charming.

"Stop calling me that, my name is Namjoon." He corrected her. 

"I know." There was that smirk again. 

Before he could comment on any of their conversation, including how she had known his name, she ran off and surprised him once again. She blew a hole in the ground and began extending the trench to the east with the young woman who had called out to her when they arrived. 

Earth magic? From someone from Adyia? This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

---

He felt the landslide before he saw it. What started as a slow, low rumble quickly morphed into a mixture of cracking trees, crumbling rock, and the flood of soot and soil towards them. Namjoon could only sit and hope that the trench was far enough away from the village and that the mages that had gathered were enough to contain it. 

As the landslide roared down the hill, everyone took their proper stances, preparing to intercept the mixture as best they could. Namjoon looked at everyone in front of him; it was an odd mix. Lined along the trench were children of some of the most affluent earth mages Atlas had to offer standing next to people either directly affiliated with the Academy's guard or were unsorted students.

School technically didn't start until tomorrow; if they were incoming first years, it wasn't unreasonable for them not to be sorted and wearing their class badges. If they made it out of this unscathed, he'd have to ask YN about it later. 

Namjoon's spinning thoughts were cut short by a shout and a midsized boulder being smashed to smithereens just before it had the chance to take him out. 

"Pay attention, Space Case!" YN shouted before turning her attention to the rapidly filling trenches. "I've got way too much to worry about already."

"Sorry," Namjoon replied sheepishly. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he hadn't left to seek better cover as Taehyung and Mark had suggested earlier. It's not like he could help redirect any of the landslides; he was just in the way. Always in the way. Something in his gut told him to stick it out, though, that something important was going to happen. 

It wasn't until the trenches began to overrun, and the mages on all sides were increasingly overwhelmed that Namjoon realized why he felt he had needed to stay. As if out of nowhere, YN and the young woman who Namjoon had come to understand was named Tessa blew open the trenches across their entire length, deepening them and giving them nearly two more meters of space. 

While YN and Tessa worked to deepen the trenches, the other three people from YN's party jumped into action. From the looks of it, the young man, Koren, was an air mage. Even stranger, the girl who introduced herself as his twin sister, could control and shape fire.  Which also brought into question the rest of YN's friends. It hadn't been explicitly stated, but Tessa and Nik looked nearly identical; the only actual physical difference was their height and the length of their hair. Still, Tessa commanded earth with as much confidence as some of the top mages from his father's court. In contrast, Nik seemed to be working with her by pulling the water out of the sludgy mix to stop the landslide's rapid flow.

Who were these people?

Right as the chaos slowed to a stop, and Namjoon felt confident enough to find an answer, his group was approached by recently arrived guards from the Academy. Easily identifiable by the silver insignia they wore over their hearts, insignia's that YN's and her friends did not appear to have.

"Your highness. Thank goodness you are unharmed." A guard bowed deeply to him as others swarmed his brother's group.

"Is anyone injured?" Joon heard someone ask.

"I don't think so? I haven't checked yet though." He responded, not having stopped to think if he or any of his companions had made it out unscathed. He was by far the most removed from the situation, which didn't sit well with him. Was everyone else okay? 

Quickly, Taehyung, Namjoon, and the rest of their group found themselves being ushered back towards the Academy grounds. Though there was a swarm of guards surrounding the boys, it didn't stop him from turning around to catch another glimpse of the mystery group of mages. Just as he hopped into the carriage, Namjoon looked back in time to see YN with a carefree smile on her face speaking with Professor Imogen while Tessa and Nik began separating more water from the newly fallen earth.  

---

Namjoon couldn't sleep for days after that. His mind was turning, wondering who they were and where they had come from. He was technically indebted to YN for that near-miss with the bolder, and while he was sure she wasn't keeping a tab, it was the only excuse he could come up with to try and speak with her again. 

A week of classes came and went, and YN never surfaced, he had figured that a talented earth mage would at the very least show up in some of his brother's classes, but Taehyung only ever reported the same thing. 

"Sorry, Hyung, no sign of her." 

At this point, Taehyung appeared just as confused as he did. It was clear she was a mage, so why wasn't she in the classes designated for the earth mages? Was he mistaken? Was YN part of the Academy guard? Had he missed her insignia somewhere in the heat of it all? No, he was much more observant than that; he would have noticed something like that, Namjoon was sure of it. 

After nearly a month of failed searches, Namjoon turned to the library. If he couldn't find her in any of his or his brother's classes, maybe he'd see her studying, or at the very least, find some information about earth mages in the Adyian empire. Too bad, there was no material of the sort. The Adyian Empire had a deep history of fire mages. The family lines were so pure it was safe to assume that anyone who could control the element could almost entirely trace their family back to powerful mages in the Empire's upper and middle classes. 

The more research he did, the more confused he was. Even the librarians were beginning to feel bad for him, always with the same sad expression and shake of the head when they saw him walk in. It's not like he blamed them, though. Something more was going on here, and people weren't supposed to know about it. The Academy’s collection of books made sure of that. 

"Any specific reason you're sighing like that all the time? Or do we need to call in a nurse for that breathing problem of yours?" Namjoon heard from across his table. 

"Ah, Min Yoongi." He bowed for posterity. "I apologize for interrupting your studies."

"Not studying, napping, much worse an offense if you ask me." Yoongi shrugged as he began to make himself comfortable again. 

"Is there a problem with your room?" Namjoon asked the heir to the Adyian Empire, wondering why he would ever want to sleep in between the stacks over his own room.

"Not the room, the roommate." Yoongi rolled his eyes. "What about you? We're only a month and a half into class, and you've already stumped the poor librarians."

"I met someone-"

"I'm going to stop you right there. The library is the last place you should be looking for advice on girls." Yoongi appeared exasperated and looked Namjoon over. 

"No, no, not like that. She showed up to help with the landslide that happened before the start of classes. Her name was YN, and she was an earth mage, but I haven't been able to find her in any classes at the Academy." Namjoon explained. "She also doesn't appear to be sorted into any of the four houses."

"Five." Yoongi corrected him.

"Five? There aren't five houses. Since you're not taking this conversation seriously, I'll be getting back to my studies." Namjoon turned his nose into his book. "I apologize for disturbing you."

There was the creaking of wood followed by a subtle shuffle; before Namjoon could wonder what it was, Yoongi appeared in the chair across from him. 

"The House of Tigers, associated with the Adyian Empire. Exclusively for those hailing from my territory." He held up one finger.

"The House of Elephants, your house. For those students from Atlas and any of its many territories." Yoongi put up a second finger.

"The House of Wrens. An odd house for anyone who’s decided to travel here from the Airabellain Alliance." A third finger now popped up, keeping count.

"The House of Dolphins. For those who made it here from the Kingdom of Cordellia." Yoongi continued to count, now his fourth finger up.

"See four. That's four." Namjoon pointed out, not curious enough anymore to play Yoongi's game. "If you're done messing with me, I'll happily take my leave."

"The House of the Serpent. The fifth house. A house for any soul unfortunate enough to not call any of the other territories home." Yoongi wiggles his open hand as if to prove a point, smugly waving in Namjoon's direction, since he had already started towards the door.

"My best guess is that you're looking in the right places for this girl. Just not at the right times." Yoongi shrugged as if he hadn't just unloaded a significant piece of intel.

"How do you even know about this house? I didn't think the refugees were supposed to be able to attend the Academy?" Namjoon asked, wondering if all of this was true, and if it was, what it could mean. 

"What are you offering me for this information?" Yoongi quirked an eyebrow, knowing he had Namjoon right where he wanted him. 

"Secrecy." Namjoon offered, standing his ground.

"And?" Yoongi asked him.

"And what? I don't know what else I could possibly offer you." Namjoon admitted, exasperated. "At least I don't know what to offer that you don't already have."

"Hmmm, I'll take secrecy," Yoongi paused, rubbing at his chin feigning thought. "I'll also take your alliance. Always good to have a friend in high places."

"My alliance? What does that even mean?" Namjoon puzzled aloud.

"You know what it means." Yoongi didn't blink, continuing to hold eye contact until Namjoon broke his gaze. He had almost forgotten about the conflict.

"Fine." He stuck out his hand abruptly. "Secrecy and my alliance are all yours. Now can you help me or not?"

"Impatient. I thought the people from my country were supposed to be the impulsive ones."

"I'm not a mage, I'll act as I please." Namjoon bit back, his tone souring.

"But you were raised like one, weren't you?" Yoongi asked.

"I thought I was the one getting answers here?" Namjoon actively attempted to change the subject and get the conversation back on course. 

"Fine. See, my Grandpa was a bit of a hardass. All 'the family lines must be pure' and what-not." Yoongi shrugged as if he couldn't be bothered to tell the story. "Mom told me her sister didn't like that very much since she was seeing someone from the Airablellian Alliance at school."

"Oh? How did that play out for your aunt? I'm sure she's happily married now, though, and happy for your grandfather's rules?" Namjoon wondered aloud.

"Ha, hot-headed and impulsive, remember? She relinquished her title the moment she graduated and ran off with the air mage." Yoongi chuckled aloud. "Once my grandfather passed, and my mom took the throne, she asked my aunt if she and her husband wanted to come back to Adyia. Offered to reinstate all her titles and make my uncle part of the court and everything."

"Ah, so you know because your family had previous experience with it." Namjoon nodded his head in sudden realization.

"No, my family has current experience with it. My aunt declined, said she was happy here in Spiros. I've got two cousins who I see often." Yoongi leaned in and whispered the next bit of his confession. "Here."

"Wait!" Namjoon shouted, disturbing everyone in the hallway. 

"You need to learn to be quieter." Yoongi sighed, his gaze harsher than his tone.

"I apologize. I must know, though, is one a fire mage and the other an air?" Namjoon couldn't help himself, the group of five mages he couldn’t get out of his thoughts, danced around the curiosity in his head.

"I want to ask how you know that, but if you're looking for who I think you are, I already know the answer," Yoongi stated as he began to walk a little faster. 

"I'll tell you how to find them." Yoongi gave Namjoon a harsh stare.

"But? I'm sensing a but-" Namjoon asked cautiously.

"If I find out you told anyone you shouldn't have, I'll light you and anyone else who tries to hurt them on fire." Yoongi turned swiftly and headed out of the main building towards the training grounds.

"I did just swear secrecy, though, it seems you've already forgotten." Namjoon balked

"You swore secrecy for information about the fifth house, not where to find them." Yoongi gave Namjoon one final look before turning back towards the hallway. "Follow me."

"I was going to do that anyway," Namjoon admitted.

"I am serious, though, if I find out anything bad has happened to them and it was your fault, I will light you on fire." Yoongi threatened again.

"Is that a promise?" Namjoon's smile was coy as he responded. 

Yoongi, in return, responded with a middle finger as the bell’s signaling the evening curfew was about to start rang through the open air. 

#Tephra 01 #BTS AU #BTS fanfic #fantasy AU #Namjoon fic #reader insert

[tsarisfanfiction]

Remember (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: Referenced minor character death Characters: Penguin, Shachi

Penguin was torn between being irritated at the constant chaperoning and pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to get information out of these pirates. They told him that he was being accompanied everywhere for his own safety, as the Polar Tang – the name of the ship, apparently, and Penguin was trying hard not to dwell too much on the fact that it was a submarine currently hundreds of feet underwater – was full of hazards. The interesting thing was that most of them seemed to genuinely believe that was the case, horrified when he suggested maybe it was because they didn't trust him.

The captain and the talking bear – what was this, a circus? – were the only two to demonstrate any indication of guilt (even if the captain was subtle about it) if the topic was brought up in their earshot. And then there was the ginger who, after finally reappearing from wherever he'd fled to, firmly attached himself to his side with a blinding grin Penguin knew for a fact had to be fake considering his earlier display, and didn't even bother pretending otherwise.

"I'm just hoping you get your memories back before you start trying to kill us," he said far too cheerfully when asked, and honestly Penguin had no response to that. If he knew he was gathering information in order to successfully destroy the crew then why wasn't he doing something about it, rather than answering every question Penguin threw his way?

Night time came, or so he was told – with darkness constantly outside the windows, there was no way to tell what time it was except to rely on the clocks – and his ginger shadow informed him bluntly that he'd be sleeping with him and forcibly led the way to a bunkroom.

"Bottom bunk's yours," he was told, and he sat on it, wondering who normally slept there. It was warm, as if only recently vacated, so maybe it was the one on night watch?

"Who's bed is this?" he asked, because the ginger had never refused to answer a question. The shorter man's shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

"Yours," he said. That would have made some sense, if there was any way that Penguin could ever have been a pirate. He looked around the room, because if nothing else he could at least find out more information about the ginger.

The desk – if that was what that poor thing was supposed to be – was full of clutter, random pieces of paper and paraphernalia covering it until almost none of the wood was visible. Only a single corner, closest to the bed, was visible. There was just enough room for something to settle there, and considering the contrast to the rest of the desk Penguin was certain something did often sit there. A collection of boots – not all the same size, so this really was a shared room – were arranged in some semblance of order by the door, and some of the weird uniforms he'd seen many of the crew wearing hung from hooks above them. The far wall housed a pair of chests with clothes hanging out of them – the left was far more organised than the right, another indication of two people living in the room – and above them, tacked to the wall, were pictures.

The bounty posters drew his attention first, "Surgeon of Death" Trafalgar Law worth a not inconsiderate amount of beris, while the bear boasted a far more pitiful bounty. Penguin couldn't even buy a decent pair of boots with that little money. The poster for the giant of a man, Jean Bart, looked old and crumpled, as if it had been pulled out a bin. No poster for the ginger now shrugging off his clothes without a care in the world to pull on something to sleep in – Penguin noted the copious bandaging around his abdomen; that was an obvious weakness he could definitely take advantage of.

"You can turn the lights out whenever you're ready," the ginger said, shimmying up the ladder into the top bunk with the ease born of years of practice. Penguin turned away from the wall and headed to the lower bunk, flicking the light switch as he slid into the bed. He didn't bother getting changed, not wanting to wear any clothes belonging to a pirate. It was bad enough that he was spending the night in a pirate's bed.

Sleep came for him faster than he expected, dragging him under almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. It felt… right, but he didn't stay awake long enough to register what that implied.

He didn't know what he dreamed about, but when he started awake, heart pounding and feeling decidedly guilty, he knew there must have been a dream. It was probably his memories pushing at his subconsciousness, and Penguin rolled out of the bed and padded towards the door silently, needing to get out. Knowing that his memories were so close, yet out of reach, was frustrating. He was trying not to think of the obvious gaps in his memory, the things that didn't quite fit, or were just plain missing, and in the daytime, gathering information and formulating plans made for an effective distraction. At night, his mind refused to be so easily distracted.

"You want to talk?" the ginger asked suddenly, startling Penguin. He'd figured the man would be fast asleep as it was clearly the dead of night.

"No," he said shortly, yanking the door open and striding out of the room, mentally counting the seconds until he was caught up, and jumping when it was less than two before the ginger was walking by his side. "Go back to sleep!" he growled, not in the mood for puzzles while he was dwelling on his missing memories. The ginger said nothing, remaining a silent shadow as Penguin stalked his way around the entire ship for the rest of the night.

It was when the rest of the crew stirred, hours later, that Penguin recalled something. Not one of his missing memories, annoyingly, but one of the things tacked to the bunkroom wall. With the call for lights out, he hadn't looked at anything other than the bounty posters in any detail, but there had been a sketch that now stood out in Penguin's mind, registering as important.

His parents. Even without colour, it had been unmistakably them, but they hadn't been alone, and Penguin didn't recognise the man and woman also in the picture, but the boy in front of them strongly resembled the ginger still shadowing him. Did that mean that he'd been telling the truth about them growing up together? If so, why had he forgotten his family but not the others on the island? Why couldn't he have forgotten his parents' deaths?

The memory washed over him, uninvited and unwelcome as he screamed from underneath his mother's corpse until he was pulled out, Noona bundling him in shaking arms as a quiet, scared voice called for his mother.

Wait, that wasn't right. He hadn't screamed, hadn't called for his parents. He'd been struck dumb by the shock, going through the motions but unable to react. It had been the little ginger boy who was crying, begging his mother to wake up even as he'd been drawn into Noona's hold, too. He'd been bleeding – they'd both been bleeding. Penguin saw the gouge by the ginger's left eye, bleeding profusely but ignored in grief. That would scar.

"-uin?" a voice called, jerking him out of his recollections. "Penguin?" He forced his eyes open to see the ginger in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

Ginger. Like the boy.

Penguin lurched forwards, snatching the shades off the man's face to a startled cry. There, by his left eye – twitching and weeping in the light and that guilt washed over him again – was a neat scar, perfectly matching the memory. Penguin touched it, feeling the change in skin underneath his fingertips.

"Hey!" voices shouted, and there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him back from the ginger, who hadn't moved, not even to flinch back. He could have killed him then, it would have been so easy when the man didn't even have the instinct to retreat from him, but the bloodlust had drained away all at once. Staring into snowblind eyes as he was bundled back, his mind supplied a colour for them despite the fact there was no colour visible due to the damage.

Penguin knew this man. It was only one memory, but it had revealed something important, and potentially changed everything. He'd lost his parents to pirates, too. The same pirates, the same attack. Yet, he was a pirate. Penguin still couldn't think what would make him choose that path, but if the ginger had, then maybe… maybe it wasn't so impossible that he had too.

"What's going on?" a voice demanded, but Penguin ignored it, surging forwards and catching the pirates out, many of them losing their grip.

"Shachi," he said, reaching him again and tracing that scar once more. "You got this the day your parents died." The hands that had been restraining him slackened, but Penguin continued to ignore them, waiting for a response. He expected a nod, or maybe a spoken 'yes'.

He didn't expect to be body tackled, the ginger's arms wrapping tightly around him and his face burying itself in Penguin's shoulder as he staggered backwards.

"Hey!" he complained, instinctively catching Shachi. "What are you doing?"

"You remembered me!" the ginger sniffled – was he crying?

"Just one memory," Penguin corrected. "I still don't believe this pirate nonsense."

"Let's take things one step at a time," the captain said. Penguin realised he had been the one demanding what was happening. "You're not going to remember everything straight away. See if you can focus on Shachi for now."

Penguin was dubious – it was only one memory, it didn't prove anything beyond knowing of Shachi's existence as a child – but looking at the ginger sobbing into his shoulder the same guilt he'd woken up with surfaced again. His arms wound themselves around the shorter male of their own volition, and it felt right.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #heart pirates #tales from the heart #tsari writes fanfiction #trafalgar law #penguin #shachi #bepo

[cleverdreamlanddeer]

How to distinguish inferior cable when purchasing cable

In order to obtain huge profits, producers of counterfeit and low-quality wires and cables, regardless of the interests of consumers, produce large-scale inferior wire and cable products, disrupt the wire and cable market and harm the interests of users. Therefore, the correct selection of wires and cables is very important. What kind of products are in line with national standards?

1. The characteristics of wire and cable products that meet the requirements of national standards

First, there is the "CCC" certification mark. Since wire and cable products have a close relationship with the lives of consumers, their quality and safety directly affect the personal and property safety of consumers. Therefore, wire and cable products are national compulsory safety certification products. All manufacturers must obtain the "CCC" certification certified by the China Electrical Products Certification Committee, obtain the "CCC" certification mark, and have the "CCC" certification mark on the certificate or product.

Second, the packaging is exquisite. The packaging of wire and cable products is the same as other products. All large and medium-sized formal enterprises that produce products that meet the requirements of national standards pay attention to product packaging.

Third, the product has a smooth and round appearance and uniform color. Wire and cable companies whose products meet the requirements of national standards strictly control the purchase of raw materials, production equipment, and production processes in order to improve product quality and ensure that products meet national standards. Therefore, the appearance of the produced wire and cable products meets the standard requirements: smooth and round, uniform color. The appearance of counterfeit and inferior products is rough and dull. For rubber insulated flexible cables, it is required to have a round appearance, tight sheath, insulation, and conductors that are not easy to peel off. The fake and low-quality products have rough appearance, large ovality, and low insulation strength of the sheath, which can be torn off by hand. Fourth, the conductor is shiny, and the DC resistance and conductor structure size meet the requirements of national standards. Wire and cable products that meet the requirements of national standards, whether aluminum conductors or copper conductors, are relatively bright and oil-free, so the DC resistance of the conductors fully meets the national standards, with good conductivity and high safety.

Fifth, the length is accurate. Length is the main intuitive way to distinguish between products that meet national standards and counterfeit and inferior products. The length of the wire and cable products that meet the requirements of the national standard meets the national standard of 100±0.5m (that is, the standard is 100 meters, and the allowable error is 0.5 meters), which protects the interests of consumers.

Sixth, the certificate is clearly marked. The wire and cable product conformity certificate that meets the requirements of the national standard is printed clearly? "CCC" certification mark, trademark, model specification, rated voltage, length, inspection, manufacturing date, certification number, implementation standard, factory name, factory address, telephone, etc. It is clear and consistent with the product, and some companies have marked "warning users" on the certificate so that consumers can purchase and install it correctly.

2. Correctly choose wire and cable products that meet the requirements of national standards

First, recognize the certification mark. When purchasing, be sure to check whether there is a "CCC" certification mark on the certificate, whether the model specifications, rated voltage, length, manufacturing date, certification number, inspection, implementation standards, factory name, factory address, etc. are clear.

Second, focus on packaging. When purchasing, pay attention to the packaging must be exquisite, the printing must be clear, and the model specifications, factory name, factory address, etc. are complete. Third, check the appearance of the product. When purchasing, pay attention to check the appearance to be smooth and round, with uniform color and good hand feeling. If it is a rubber wire and cable, the sheath and insulation can be burnt with cigarette butts, and the surface is completely undamaged.

Fourth, check the conductor. The conductor must have a certain degree of gloss and moderate flexibility, and the conductor structure size must meet the requirements of national standards.

Fifth, check the length. When purchasing, do not be greedy for cheap prices. When purchasing wires and cables with 90m or 80m, or even without length marking, the length must meet the 100±0.5m standard requirements.

At present, in the wire and cable sales market, some manufacturers, in order to attract users and mislead consumers, ignore the national regulations for standard products of 100 meters per circle, and manufacture products (especially plastic wires) to 90 meters, harming the interests of consumers. , Disrupted the wire and cable sales market. Why do these manufacturers sell their products as 90 meters? The reason is that the price is reduced by 10 meters, which misleads consumers. For example, a PVC insulated copper core plastic wire BV2.5㎜2 produced by a wire factory has a length of 90 meters printed on the certificate, and the actual length is 82 meters; the selling price of such a circle of BV2.5㎜2 is 50 yuan , Compared with the BV2.5㎜2 qualified products produced in accordance with the standard, the market price of a circle of 100 meters is 70-80 yuan, 20-30 yuan less. Violation of national standards, severely damaged the interests of consumers, and at the same time disrupted the wire and cable sales market.

Misunderstandings in the use of wires and cables

1. The price is cheap. This is a common misunderstanding of a considerable number of users and even some companies using wires and cables. In order to save money and neglect safety, some users select low-quality wires and cables with low prices, no guarantee of quality, and high potential accident risks. We know that due to the safety of wires and cables and other factors, the prices of wires and cables cannot meet the requirements of some users. However, some self-employed private enterprises are unable to manufacture wires and cables that meet the requirements of national standards in terms of material selection, production technology, and testing methods. Their safety will not be guaranteed. In addition, they are making a fuss on short meters and a few meters, with their low prices. Flood the market and cater to some users. Therefore, users are requested not to covet cheap wires and cables.

2. Improper modeling. Some users have insufficient understanding of their own electrical requirements and environmental conditions, and have insufficient understanding of the use range, requirements, and performance of wire and cable models, and often choose the wrong model. For example, a slag truck in front of the furnace of a steelmaking plant is powered by a motor, and the temperature in front of the furnace is as high as 800℃～900℃. Under such environmental conditions, due to the special requirements of the factory for wires and cables, I don’t know, so I chose general-purpose rubber-sheathed flexible cable to charge YC type. As a result, the use time is short and the sheath is burnt, which affects production and wastes economy. After consultation, the selection of fire-resistant and flame-retardant cables reduces the pain and economic loss of cable replacement and ensures the normal production of the enterprise. Some important departments, high-rise buildings, computing centers, chemical industry, public entertainment places, and places where people are concentrated must use flame-retardant or fire-resistant cables with fire-fighting functions; the Ministry of Coal stipulates that cables used in deep coal mines must be flame-retardant; There are also special performance requirements such as elevator cables, electric welding machine cables, and motor lead wires. In actual use of these special wires and cables with special requirements, some companies, especially individual companies, often don’t know enough about them and refuse to use them; some companies ignore the Ministry of Coal’s requirement that cables used in deep coal mines must be flame-retardant. Instead, purchase general-purpose rubber-sheathed flexible cables; in some karaoke halls and places where people are concentrated, some general wires and cables that do not have fire-fighting functions are installed, causing great potential accidents.

#cable #power cable

[borderlandscast]

the vault hunters go to ikea

takes place during the epilogue. this took a while because i have no idea how normal people behave when going to ikea.

after nanosounds ordered that deep clean crew, arsenal and his wonderful volunteers (i.e., any surviving bandit who didn’t want their stuff thrown out) made a list of everything that could be kept and not kept. they marie kondoed the frigate from top to bottom.

bandit construction is mostly dumpster diving, improvisation, fixing or stealing things from one another. so the vast majority of furniture within the frigate is junk and isn’t space-faring quality (that is, won’t hold together if it accidentally smashes into a wall during ascent or if someone takes a good swing at it).

fun fact: the only objects in vast quantity deemed to pass this test are the bunk beds within the common, shared troop quarters. however, all the mattresses and sheets had to be stripped down and carted off to be deep cleaned as well before anyone felt remotely comfortable using them. in fact, almost all of the mattresses and sheets were donated to the bandits staying behind. after the cleaning, of course.

runner-up objects are lockers, chests and storage containers. for obvious reasons, arsenal let his own troops claim what’s what but they had to do it in a non-violent way or else it goes to him or worse, parvis’ bandits.

when the frigate finally left pandora, the frigate was in short supply of multiple bits and pieces, almost all of them cosmetic. people slept on the floor, in cots or shared beds, even making cardboard box forts.

before undergoing repairs at the planet hecatoncheires, all spacekea furniture was able to be stored in vox’s digistruct system and popped back into place, no big deal. the captains also made another cleaning mandatory so that the repair crews couldn’t be impeded by anyone’s giant stash of snacks kept in a ceiling high locker.

anyway, arsenal gave everyone a thousand dollars (sponsored by sipsco.) and told them to ‘go nuts’ when they finally docked at spacekea. they’d dock for a week or so, and then leave. after that, future visits would have to be by special request.

spacekea is one of the joint markets that’s one of the only places in the galaxy that megacorporations share. all of them manufacture and sell some sort of commodity, not always furniture. for example, jakobs may produce the majority of generators but they also produce the widest range of wooden furniture. maliwan produces the ‘friendliest’ sourced tea and spices. tediore has the monopoly on one dollar items.

everybody bought a new mattress. and sheets, plus sheet covers. there’s a lot of neat designs (all of them owned by one company or other).

arsenal refused to buy a new couch, but he did buy two extendable children’s beds for his kraggons. having two kraggons trying to hog the same space on his bed is exhausting. hence, the beds.

the other reason why the frigate had to make a stop at spacekea is because some of the stuff being sold fills a particular niche called ‘holds plenty, good for tiny spaces’, given that the frigate is big but not exactly spacious in certain places.

martyn (who’s also the safety officer) had to veto a lot of the trophy and wall shelves since they post a safety hazard. he didn’t say no to paintings, holo frames or wall hangings though.

without a doubt, almost the whole frigate’s passengers ate at the cafeteria, every single day. and stocked up in bulk on the snacks and frozen food. this was one of the first stops they made, and everybody loves food that’s not pandoran. in fact, some of the bandits who’d been born on pandora and never left were trying to find their feet via food. they got hooked, very fast.

the frigate’s passengers all became very recognisable, very quickly. everybody has to wear a name tag identifying what ship they’re from for deliveries, troubleshooting, etc. it also meant that parvis’ literacy classes shot up in attendance a week beforehand.

the whole place is divided into multiple sections. first is the docks, which is divided up by ship size and function. thanks to daltos claiming the registration for the blackrock, the frigate enjoyed a cushy space close to the entrance. not many military ships dock at spacekea, so. and they got free parking due to the length of their stay.

sherlock had to give an orientation about spacekea. it‘s one of his best presentations, and his favourite. it was mostly about etiquette, since more than half the crew have never interacted with civilians before (with threats, murder and bloodshed not counting).

the docks are linked to the cafeteria, warehouses, display rooms, hotels and the market. instead of it all being laid out in one direction, the designers went with a much more helpful design: a four way, multi-leveled behemoth of interlocking buildings.

hotels are there to help people who flew smaller ships who intend on staying awhile, or families on vacation, or anybody who wants a bed to sleep in for a day. hotels are divided into classes, which range from five star to one star, even down to rentable capsules.

after the hotels (mostly arranged on the outside perimeter), people enter via main hallway. from here, omnidirectional lifts, elevators, escalators, turbolifts (only for express, staff or richer clientale) can take people to where they want to go.

the cafeteria serves up a massive menu that’s uniform to every spacekea. the menu boasts that there’s always something for someone. the hot dogs, soft serve, meatballs and desserts, to name a few, proved especially popular with the blackrock’s crew. rythian enjoyed the dairy free soft serve.

the display rooms are dioramas that are filled with sample living spaces designed to inspire ideas from those passing through the hallways. they all come with holographic clipboards, a catalogue and a pen. the pens are all chained to the clipboards to discourage theft.

how it works in theory is that if there’s a piece someone fancies, they jot down the item number, price, quantity and name so that they can pick it up at the warehouse or the market.

in reality, sherlock had to lead groups and track every single one of these clipboards since not every bandit could write legibly or in a decipherable manner. he’s never been so well-acquainted before with so many bandits until this moment. don’t worry, minty, hollie sparkles, parvis, ravs, daltos and arsenal helped him out, in shifts.

you can go into the dioramas and display rooms. this the crew did, in varying ways.

rythian wanted a king size bed since he’s tall. and he’s tired of having to make himself fit. also, ravs is buying for him. he also bought the highest grade book storage unit available, and a miniature hammock for junior.

ravs spent an hour testing the display bar, fermenting and barrel rooms, and had five different salespeople attending to him at once, owing to his manners and charming personality. he ended up buying a deluxe suite, and wrangled a fitting service for free since he’s buying so much in one go. he also bought a spacesaving bird loft/avairy for the pigeons and quails.

lalna and xephos spent three days alone in the tech section, pressure testing the hardware and systems in that area. people kept mistaking them for salespeople and customer service. they eventually got paid by spacekea because of their EFFICIENCY. both turned down offers of employment.

honeydew and nilesy performed an impressive interpretative dance within the kitchen and cat rooms. both are no pushovers when it comes to cooking and cat care, and nilesy has about fifty cats to house and entertain. nilesy also brought along lyndon (his own diamond kitten) to test items, and had to have honeydew with him to fend off people who wanted to interact with the kitten.

minty almost got kicked out because people thought thought she was a part of the displays since she kept putting her feet up on the desks. she found a desk she liked, and even bought the display one since she ‘felt a connection with it’, which didn’t impress sherlock when he had to sort it all out.

honeydew also took his gardening team on a serious quest to maintain the grass room and hydroponics (i.e., veggie patch). this took four days to complete from start to finish, involving picking out new turf, chairs, trees, benches, fences, pots and seedlings. the grass room looks like a proper grass room now, and not just a lone field of grass with a sad looking tree in the middle.

lomadia bought a small bed for her still to hatch egg. it was doll-sized, and a lot of people gave her strange looks for buying a bed specially for it, until she pulled out the incubator capsule to prove that she was serious about it.

zylus bought a chef grade bread machine. this daltos tried to prevent since he had deja vu about too much dough being made, and which zylus rebuffed. his premonition proved correct since the crew ended up eating bread for whole two weeks, and didn’t even mind.

daltos bought a portable, handheld hologram kit intended for engineering projects. it’s the one he carries around with him in the epilogue, used for tracking a ship’s condition and status. vox sends him stuff through it. he also secretly uses it to watch movies and a n i m e.

since parvis is staying with will, he tried to buy a water bed to replace his own shoddy bed/cot. will couldn’t stand all the wobbling and sloshing, and had to convince parvis to buy a different bed. parvis bought a fancy bed with hangings and velvet trim. will facepalmed. will also bought a handcrafted tie rack. parvis made fun of him. will bought five more just to own it.

saberial strongarmed panda into buying a lot more organisational stuff since their ship and room is obnoxious to hang out in, given their habit of leaving stuff lying about. panda sticks to organisation for about a month and then goes back to their own haphazard system.

hatfilms act out wine or cheese within the display rooms, which leads to security being called on them twice, one casting call by an agency and many applauds by passerbys. all of them end up in an advertisement, and get a buttload of free goods, mostly food.

lalnable kits out his medical office with an adjustable standing desk. lalna also buys one to be a copycat. lalna also buys one of those stuffed toy sharks. lalnable hates it because it’s so obtrusive to see.

sherlock buys a whole kit of stationary, shelves, boards and office goods. he spends the next month slowly integrating them into the offices. he’s the happiest he’s ever been. bandits dub him the best nerd.

nanosounds decides to renovate the home office in her mother’s place as a sign that she’s a good daughter, but decks the wallpaper and carpet in varying hues of purple. her mother is secretly thrilled by her independence and modern thinking.

teep just buys one of the best mattresses available, and nothing else. this drives all their friends nuts, who then spent the whole trip trying to convince teep to splurge. teep eventually buys...one black coffee from the cafeteria.

#borderlandscast: extras #borderlandscast: more like memescast

[olicitysecretsanta]

True Loves Gifts: AN 2018 SECRET SANTA GIFT

@christinabeggs: May you Holiday be bright and full of Olicity dessert. I hope you enjoy this fic. It gave me the gift OF writing again and finding the joy of creating something new. 

TRUE LOVES GIFTS:

After months of long nights in the office, smoldering looks over the computer screen Felicity has a date with one of the most eligible bachelors in Starling City. A handsome billionaire her mother would be proud to call son. They share a concern for making their relationship public considering he is technically her boss. A few whispered conversations and an upcoming Winter Gala made Felicity his date.

Ray was everything she’d dreamed of as a potential husband. He was brilliant, charismatic, funny, he valued her mind as much as her body.

Felicity has a little over a week to find the perfect dress, make a hair appointment to touch up her roots. Her work schedule left her with only one day to get everything done.

She throws  her hair up in a messy bun, her comfortable shopping outfit leggings and oversize sweater. Felicity grabs her purse, texting Renee about her hair emergency. Felicity is looking down unaware of the person standing in her hallway until she slams into the hard body.

Felicity lets out a yelp before falling backwards on her butt. Her glasses fall off her nose turning the world into blurry shades of green and brown.

“Hey!?” Felicity snaps. “Anyone get the name of the tree I ran into? Ouch, sorry I didn’t see you.”

She looks up at the man standing in front of her, he’s wearing head to toe camouflage. Half his face is covered with a full beard. His hair is shaggy under the green ball cap he wore. The rest of his face hidden behind dark sunglasses. On his shoulder is a stuffed duffle bag.

“I didn’t know camouflage works in urban hallways,” Felicity tilts her head to the side. She sees his lips twitch, at least she thinks  they did. It was hard to tell with the dead animal on his face.

“Are you okay?” the tree of a man has a deep rich amused voice.

Something about him seems familiar. He reaches down helping her get to her feet. He smells of sand and a faint hint of spice.

“Oliver in 2B?!” Felicity says with a snap of her fingers.

He was a ARMY something or other and had been deployed for over eighteen months. She had a bit of a crush on him before he’d left but never had the courage to tell him. They had been friendly neighbors, he’d help her with projects around the apartment. She’d save his computer from him. On rare occasions he’d cook her dinner.

The first few months after he left she’d send him care packages full of cookies made by the bakery down the block and a few pictures of her Sunday adventures. She stopped writing when he never wrote her back.

“Felicity 2A, good to see you.” Oliver’s says softly.

Felicity looks down at her rumpled clothes, drags a hand over her hair.

“Welcome home,” her phone dings in her pocket. “I have to run, glad you made it back.”

Felicity rushes past him, she can feel his eyes watching her, she refuses to give him the satisfaction of turning back. Oliver had been a short term crush from some long ago dream. Ray Palmer was a viable future. She has a date to get ready for and no time to waste thinking about Oliver 2B.

….

Renee does an amazing job on her hair color. He practices a few different updos depending on style of dress. His vote is something short to show off her legs. She promises him pictures before running off for dress shopping.

She hits the major stores trying on different styles, colors, lengths, fabrics nothing feels  right. Felicity finds a small boutique she’d only read about in a magazine. The dresses are stunning. The price tags shocking.

A skin tight beaded red dress catches her eye.

Standing in front of the mirror Felicity wonders what Oliver would say if he saw her in this dress. Would his eyes follow the deep V of the neck line or would he be drawn to the mid thigh length.

She shakes her head of Oliver thoughts. This dress isn’t for him, it’s for Ray.

It’s for her future.

Felicity runs her hand over the beads, her finger drawing along the intricate designs. She’d need a new bra, a little something intimate to match. A new pair of shoes that’d kill her feet and make her legs appear longer. It would be cold, Felicity is going to need a wrap to keep her warm. Is Ray the kind of guy to offer her his coat?

A few hours later, Felicity stumbles into her apartment.  She spent way more than she should have. Probably will live off top ramen for a few weeks. It’s worth it. She puts away her purchases then collapses on the couch.

Pulling out her cell phone she considers calling Ray. Felicity puts her phone down when she remembers Ray turns his phone off on Sunday’s, she’d see him tomorrow. They have an early meeting with a new client.

A loud buzzing from her intercom startles her. Felicity press the button, the image of a teenager holding a bag filled the small monitor.

“Yes?” she asks in confusion.

“Delivery for 2A.”

“I didn’t order anything?” It has been a long day but she would have remembered ordering food.

The kid sighs, “well someone did and I’m supposed to deliver it. So do you want it or not?”

“What is it?” Felicity recognizes the logo on the bag. It’s the best kosher deli in the city.

“Latkes,” the teenager taps his toe.

She has only had Solomon’s Latkes a few times and they were amazing. “I’ll be right down. Oh, how much?” Felicity reaches for her purse.

“Paid for including the tip.”

“You sure they are for 2A?” Felicity is highly suspicious, also hungry.

“Come on lady I have two more deliveries, if you don’t want them I’ll leave.” The kid pulls out his phone.

“No way am I turning down Latkes, two minutes.”

Felicity runs out the door in her socks.  Her feet slide on the hardwood floor, her arms pinwheel and she starts to fall back. A strong arm wraps around her waist and pulls her back into a warm chest. She inhales the smell of warm spices. The tip of her ear brushes against coarse hair.

“We got to stop meeting like this 2B.” Felicity’s voice is low. She licks her lips.

“Just trying to help 2A.” Oliver’s says in her ear.

His hands slide up her sides onto her shoulders and he gently places her steady on her feet. She misses his warmth instantly. He stays a few inches behind her, the heat radiating between them. Felicity fears if she turns around she will do something crazy and throw herself back in his arms.

“Very kind of you 2B. Well, I have latkes waiting.” Felicity steps away from him for the second time today. Each step harder than the first.

“Merry Christmas 2A,” Oliver calls out to her.

Felicity stops, she turns around. She sees him standing tall, his back straight, shoulder tight taking up the entire space of the hall with his size. He is out of the uniform, a black tee shirt cling to his chest. His arms were bigger, she wants to drag her hand over the lines of his chest. His jeans hug his hips. He is bigger, broader more gladiator than a simple soldier. His beard still covers his face. Unlike last time she could see his piercing blue eyes. When she meets his eyes something in his body eases.

“Thanks, but I’m Jewish.” Felicity corrects. She swore they’d talked about this before. Maybe she wrote it in a letter. Oliver didn’t remember, why should she care.

“Oh then, Happy Hanukkah 2A.” Oliver steps back, walks into his apartment and closes the door. .

“Lateks, I have Lateks.”

She hesitates another moment. She used to linger in the hall until he’d open his door and ask about her day. They would talk from their doorways until she’d slip out of her shoes. He’d tease her about being tiny and tell her to have a nice night before disappearing behind his door. The time he was gone the hallway felt empty and cold. She’d walk by his door and know he wasn’t home.  The hallway became colder, everything a little more empty. It felt as if even the building held its breath.

Felicity smiles knowing he is behind the door, Oliver was home safe. It would take her time to get used to him being home. Maybe they would even get back to the way they use to be. Her letters never revealed how she’d felt, she has no reason to be mad at him.

She slowly turns away from the door and down the stairs. The teen gave up waiting, leaving her strange delivery on the front porch. Felicity brings the bag inside, locks her door and sets her alarm. She opens the bag, inside with the receipt, there is a note.

On the first night of Hanukkah my True love gave to me a platter of latkes.

She looks at her calendar and realizes that she’d almost forgotten in all her rushing. The card wasn’t signed. The only logical person has to be Ray. She’d told him about the deli and her love of the food. Felicity couldn’t believe he’d done this for her. It was thoughtful and sweet.

Facility hated surprises but she is sure this years Hanukkah was going to be special.

…

Each day following she receives a small gift arriving near sunset with a short message.

On the second day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a dreidel made of wood.

She was sure it was handmade.

On the third day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me an ugly Jewnicorn sweater.

The blue sweater makes her laugh out loud when she pulls it from the box. A white unicorn surrounded by Stars of David and a blue and gold rainbow. It is terrible and she loves it.

On the fourth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a box of menorah cookies.

She eats half the box before lunch.

On the fifth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a Blue Nail polish.

Felicity changes her color that night, sure that it would be a sign to Ray she was enjoying his gifts.

Through the days she tries to talk to Ray, to thank him but he is constantly on the move. She can never catch him alone. He tells her to order a limo for Saturday night. He touches her elbow, his palms are damp and soft.

Felicity thinks about Oliver, wonders what he’s doing back home. She hasn’t talked to him since Sunday. She has seen him a few times through her window. She’s watch him running home in the early morning after his run. His clothes drenched in sweat. Before coming inside he scrapes ice off the Diggles car, they have two kids and always seem to be rushing. A few times Felicity would leave for work and her windshield would be clean.

She wonders how is he is adjusting to being home. How long will he be home? What if he leaves before she can fix their friendship. Did she want to fix it or advance it?

Felicity stares out the window, lost in thought. The voice around her sound far away and hollow.

“Earth to Felicity,” Ray’s voice cuts off her Oliver spiral. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you this week, but I need you to wake up and do your job.”

Ray storms off leaving a flabbergasted Felicity. He’d been wrong during their last meeting and when she tried to correct him he sent her out for coffee. Her ears turn red and she almost snaps her pencil in half. It’s only the sight of the blue nails that calm her down. Ray is having a rough week but still doing things that made her feel special. She brushes off his bad behavior and gets back to work.

On the sixth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a Blue Police Box from Doctor Who filled with treats.

Felicity opens the lid of cookie jar police box and the familiar sound of the Tardis fills her kitchen. Inside are gold foil wrapped chocolate coins. She loved these as a kid.

She grabs a handful before leaving her apartment. She stands in front of Oliver’s door, lifts her hand. Before she knocks, the door opens and she lets out a squeal.

“Damit 2B, are you trying to kill me.” Felicity smacks his arm.

Olive chuckles, “I don’t think so 2A. I just seem to have a strange effect on you.”

“Ha, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” Felicity mumbles. Her heart is racing, her knees weak.

Oliver crosses his arms and a single eyebrow lifts. He leans against his doorframe.

“I mean not doing to me. Not that you’re doing anything to me or even talking to me. Why aren’t you talking to me? I want to hear about what you’ve been up too.”

Oliver stiffens, he pulls back from her. A wall comes down over his eyes. “You don’t want to hear about that. I’m back and that’s all that matters now.”

“I do want to hear about it,” she tries again. “I want to know about the pet you got on your face.”

“Listen 2A, I have plans. Did you need something?”

Felicity steps back, her eyes burning. She shakes her head. “I… Um wanted to give you some Gelt.”

She holds out her hand filled with coins. He reaches out his hand, his fingers drag down her palm. Felicity curls her hand prolonging the warm sensation burning up her arm and down her spine. Oliver stares down at their hands, Felicity watches emotion cross his face. His wall comes down for an instant.

“Oliver,” Felicity breaths out his name. She takes a small step closer. His head lifts up, his eyes meet hers. She longs to touch his cheek, to pull him in.

Her phone rings in her pocket and the moment is broken. Oliver steps back, his wall back in place, standing between them. She licks her lips and pulls out her phone, Ray. Of all the times for him to call.

“Hey Ray,” Felicity answers.

“Felicity, I’ve been thinking about you all night. How about I come over and we can go over my briefs.” Ray chuckles and hiccups into the phone.

“Have you been drinking?” Felicity couldn’t  remember a time he’d ever called her drunk.

“Maybe! Want to join me? We could have a real good time. I want to have a really good time with you baby.”

Felicity looks over at Oliver, he is scowling. Can he hear Ray? Did she want him to be jealous? Could he get jealous? Why would he, they are long ago friends.

“It does not sound like you are up for any time beside bed time.”

“Mmm bed time, I like that sound of that. Will you be beside me?”

Felicity turns away from Oliver.

“We have plans tomorrow night remember. Get some rest Ray.”

“Don’t play hard to get with me Miss Smoak. I know you want it.”

A noise behind her makes her turn around. Oliver is cracking his knuckles. His eyes blaze. She inhales sharply. The phone forgotten in her hand. He moves fast standing in front of her, she steps back, he follows.

“O-Oliver?” her voice quivers. It’s not fear the making her body shake, it’s hormones. He is looking at her with unrestrained lust.

“No one talks to you like that. No one.” Oliver’s voice is a low dangerous rumble.

Felicity can feel his body press against her. He grabs the phone from her hand and ends the call. Gold gelt are on the floor around their feet. He leans in closer. The smell of spices surrounds her sense. Her head falls back surrendering to the moment. Oliver’s hand grazes over her cheek, down her neck. His thumb traces her lips.

“Felicity.” Her name on his lips is a sonnet, a poem she never knew she needed.

“If you kiss me, will you stay?” Felicity’s words slip out. She thought them a thousand nights.

“It’s not a good idea.” The wall slams down between them. Felicity is light headed, she is drunk on his scent. He steps away, she stumbles but refuses to fall.

“Which, kissing me or staying around?” Felicity demands.

“Both,” Oliver shakes his head. His eyes sad.

“Yeah, okay, you are right, this is a mistake. I wish you had stayed gone. Everything was fine before you came back. I knew what I wanted, I knew where I was going. But you come back and mess everything up. You spin me around and flip everything upside down.”

Oliver’s shoulders sag, he takes another step away from her.

“Just keep running 2B, it’s what you do best.” Felicity spins around and storms into her apartment slamming the door.

For an instant she let herself believe. Felicity grabs her cookie jar and the chocolate coins. Ray loves her.  Yes, he was a little off during the phone call - it was in front of Oliver. Everything feels different around Oliver so it only made sense.

…

On the seventh day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a candle to light up the dark when we are apart.

A three wick large candle arrives the next day smelling of homemade cookies and cinnamon. How long does Ray think they will be apart, Felicity wonders. She has a rough night tossing and turning. In a few hours the limo will be here to pick her up and she barely has enough energy to shower. Oliver would not ruin another night for her. She puts on her favorite playlist to let the music ease her out of her bad mood.

She removes the blue polish and puts on a dark ruby red. She shaves and lotions her legs. Slides on the dark red lace underwear and matching strapless bra. Tonight if everything goes right she will be showing these off. She curls her hair and leaves it down. Her makeup is dark, her blue eyes startling. Her lips are a long-wear red.

Felicity steps into her shoes and inspects her reflection. Hands on her bare hips, she thinks Oliver would swallow his tongue if he saw her now. Nothing but red pumps and lacy underwear. For a moment she considers knocking on his door and showing him what he is missing.

The thought of Ray being the one to see her tonight seems a little wrong.

Resigning to her choice she pulls on her dress. Grabs her purse and wrap. Before opening the door she hears voices in the hall. Using the peephole she looks out. She sees John Diggle standing in the hall. He is talking to a man in a suit with short hair standing with his back to her door.

“If you’re sure about this then I support you, I’ve been there I understand.” John says to the man.

The other man puts his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Thanks John.”

It’s Oliver in a suit and he got a haircut. She wonders if he’s shaved. Does he look different? Should she open the door show off her dress. Show him she doesn’t care. Before she could decide Oliver is walking away down the stairs and into the night. Felicity wonders what would happen if she chases after him.

Gripping the handle she pulls the door open, and rushes down the stairs. The crisp night is shocking. She tightens her wrap around her. Looking around she doesn’t see Oliver’s truck. Felicity’s chest feels hollow. She is too late.

“You must be really excited about tonight.” Ray Palmer is standing beside a limo. He’s wearing a sharp expensive tuxedo.

Felicity watches as he checks his reflection in the limo window.

“You look great Ray.” Felicity takes heavy steps toward him.

“Thanks, are you ready? Or do you need to fix your hair?” Ray’s eyes skim over her. Taking a deep breath she opens the door of the limo. Ray pops his head in.“Alright, if you’re sure. Scoot over, I’d hate to get my pants dirty.”

Shaking her head, she slides over. Felicity sees a flash of the driver from the rearview mirror. She sees a hint of a clean shaven face before he turns away.

“Driver, we’re ready. What should we do until we get there?” Ray purrs. “I know what you can get me for Christmas.”

He is breathing hot hair on her neck. She leans away, creating space between them. He moves in closer, leaning in for a kiss. The limo breaks hard, Ray slides down off the seat landing on the floor of the car. Felicity resists the urge to laugh. She catches a spark of blue from the driver.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ray snaps.

“There was a dog in the road,” Felicity explains before the driver can answer. She grabs the champaign. “How about a drink?”

Ray talks, asks about her plans for the Holidays. Asks if her mom is coming for Christmas. It didn’t take long for Felicity to realise there was no way that Ray was her Hanukkah True Love. The more time she spends  with him, the more she knows she has no reason to stay.

“We shouldn’t walk in together, don’t want to give people the wrong idea.” Ray fixes his jacket. “Have the driver take you around the corner and I’ll meet you inside.”

“Yeah, make sure you hold your breath.” She shuts the door on his smug face. “Can you take me home? I don’t belong here.”

“Are you sure? It looks like a beautiful party,” his voice is a little muffled through the half raised partition.

“I’d rather go to Big Belly and get a milkshake.” Felicity sinks into the warm leather seat.

“It would be a waste of an amazing dress.”

“I wore it for the wrong guy.” Felicity looks out the window. She rubs her arms lost in thought.

“Who’s the right guy?” The driver pulls away from the curb.

“Someone I was scared to take a chance on. Someone I should have told years ago how I feel when I’m around him.”

“How do you feel about this someone?”

Felicity drops the wrap. She uncrosses her legs. “How do I feel about him? I feel like ripping his clothes off. I want to know how he tastes, explore his body with my tongue. Most of all, I want him to pull over and join me in the back of this limo.”

Felicity rubs her legs together, her hands drag up and down her thighs. It was the timber of his voice and the shape of his ear. The sense of comfort in his presence. Her heart would know Oliver anywhere.

The limo stops on a vista overlooking the coast. He is out of the car and joining her in the back. They reach for each other and he pulls her into his lap. His large hand cups the back of her neck. Felicity places her hand on his cheek he leans into her warmth.

“I thought I screwed up.” Oliver whispers.

“So did I.” Felicity close the space between them.

He wraps her up into his arms. He holds her close, his hands in her hair. He explores her mouth with his tongue, sucks on her lips. Kissing him takes her breath away, fills her up with molten lava.

They lose track of time in each others arms.

…

Felicity wakes up in Oliver’s bed, alone. The smell of fresh coffee draws her out of bed. She puts on a discarded flannel shirt. She finds him in the kitchen. He is sprinkling powdered sugar on a jelly donut.

“Hey, I was going to surprise you.” Oliver smiles. He leans over the counter to kiss her cheek.

“You made these?” Felicity takes a bite of the warm donut. Her eyes close in pleasure.

“You make that same sound when I kiss you behind the ear.”

“Prove it.” Felicity challenges.

“In a minute, I have something for you.” Oliver walks around her, disappears into his room. He comes back holding a blue box with a silver bow. He sets the box on the counter.

“What’s this?” Felicity laces her fingers through the bow.

“Open it and find out.”

She lifts the lid off the box. Inside is bundle of letters in a ribbon. On top of the buddle there is a note.

On the eighth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me his heart.

Felicity looks up at him. Oliver pulls out the bundle and places them in her hands.

“For five hundred forty-seven days I wrote you. Sometimes it was a multiple page letter. Others it was a short message about thinking of you. You were always on my mind. You were the only thing that kept me going. Kept me alive. I held on to every letter you wrote, every silly selfie you sent. I wanted to hand these to you. See your face, when I tell you that you are the love of my life. I love you Felicity.”

Felicity hugs the letters to her chest. Wipes the tears from her eyes.

“I should have known it was you. I sent letters full of my ramblings about my favorites places and things. You are the only person to ever truly see me. You are my true and only love. I love you 2B.���

“I love you 2A.”

#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity secret santa 2018 #submission

[imagine-loki]

The Sound of Silence

TITLE: The Sound of Silence CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 26/47 AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are mute, and Loki comes to Avengers tower for the first time. Loki asks you a question and you answer through sign language. Loki looks at you crazy and thinks your making fun of him, he starts yelling saying that you should respect him since he’s a god and prince.  RATING: T+ NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 Click here

     Getting through security was a chore. Happy was with the group too acting as a security guard for…someone? you couldn’t quite tell who he was supposed to be guarding. He usually guarded Pepper, but she wasn’t there. That day, he was carrying Cap’s shield and an Iron Man suit in a suitcase for Tony, just in case. He had to flash his badge in order to get through with weapons. You got through security quickly and watched the drama of the rest of the team trying to get through.

    “Ma’am, you have to remove all of your weapons,” a guard told Nat. She removed a handful of blades and a small gun. “All of them,” the guard repeated. He must’ve recognized who you were, if he didn’t trust Nat to give up all of her weapons the first time. Nat rolled her eyes and removed even more weapons. Clint came up behind her and pulled the…sword?… from under her hair where she’d had it in a sheath on her back and added it to the pile. She glared at him and added one more tiny dagger to the pile.

    “Don’t glare, I gave you that sword,” Clint chided her. Security finally let her through, staring at the pile of weapons which promptly went in Happy’s suitcase.

    “A-are you armed?” A terrified teen who was acting as a security guard asked Loki. Loki’s eyes were on you, not giving the teen more than a passing glance while he put up with the nonsense.

    Loki rolled his eyes. “I carry no weapons,” he finally replied carefully. It was the truth, but…

    “That doesn’t answer the question, Mr. Loki,” quipped the terrified teen, actually earning a tiny smile from Loki for his pert. Loki was eventually let through after the teen got his manager involved.

    “Verily I have arms!” Thor boomed and flexed his muscles, making everyone in the vicinity with a libido swoon. Security went much faster after that.

    Tony passed out gold VIP fastpass bracelets for everyone which would let you jump any and every line in the park. After that came the obligatory group picture in front of the castle. That was also as long as the group’s enthusiasm could be controlled. The day was a whirlwind of chaos after that.

    You somehow got a picture of Loki wearing Mickey ears while performing the biggest most put-upon eye roll you had ever seen anyoneaccomplish. Thor was nothing but an excited puppy. He bounced from shiny thing to shiny thing, taking in everything. He was so disappointed when he couldn’t remove the sword from the stone. It took you gesturing to the hammer keychain on his belt loop (which was Mjolnir in disguise) before he would finally cheer up again. “Yes, lady, you are correct,” he acknowledged, reassured that being worthy of Mjolnir was enough. You never did find out how Thor got Loki to ride in the teacup with him. You did get the very best picture of Thor’s enthusiasm while he spun the cup as fast as possible while Loki glowered and looked like he was going to stab Thor for the torment Thor was putting Loki through.

    The only warning the others had about It’s A Small World was the collective groan of Tony, Bruce, and Clint. It was the exact groan of someone who had been on the right before and had the damn song stuck in their head for the rest of the day. Somehow they all joined you anyway. You all had a boat to yourselves and walked right on thanks to Tony’s VIP passes. Loki looked interested at what could make the three men groan so much about a little boat ride. He was whining and groaning by about halfway through the ride and looked ready to destroy all of the speakers to end the damn song. You just laughed at his misery and enjoyed all of the dolls dressed from the different countries.

    Nat and Clint got the high scores during the shooting aliens ride. Bruce refused to ride Space Mountain, claiming The Hulk wouldn’t like it. Loki became fast friends with Captain Jack Sparrow and you had to drag him away before they got into trouble. Tony somehow convinced Thor that the ghosts in the Haunted Mansion were real. It took the rest of the team reassuring him that Tony was lying before he’d believe it.

    You somehow got Loki onto Splash Mountain without him finding out what the ride was called or seeing the log flume go down the water. Even he yelped at the unexpected drop after the silly little boat ride meandered its way past the story part of the ride. He shrieked at the unexpected water at the bottom of the mountain too, and glared at you when you giggled at him. “I’m wet,” he spluttered looking like an indignant cat while he wrung water out of his shirt. It just made you laugh harder. “You used me as a shield!” He complained when he noticed how dry you’d remained. You gave him an innocent look, and burst into even more giggles as he wrung the water out of his hair.

    Nat almost got kicked out of the park for throwing a pickpocket. Somehow Cap got her off the hook since the pickpocket hadn’t been hurt, just detailed by a little redhead half his size. The next thing any of you knew, Nat had an army of little girls in princess dresses that she was teaching to throw proper punches to be able to beat up boys. Thor jovially played along, letting Nat demonstrate on him and congratulating the tiny shield maidens on their skills.

    The entire group stopped to watch the parade. You stood on your toes, holding on to Loki for balance, trying to see over the heads of the people who kept standing in front of you. Loki drew a dagger, ready to stab the next person who stood in front of you, but Thor came up with a better solution. He lifted you and settled you so you were sitting on one of his broad shoulders. He held you in place effortlessly and you placed a hand on his other shoulder for balance and watched the parade with joy and without having your view blocked anymore. You did catch a glimpse of Clint in a nearby tree so he could see the parade from a better angle too. Loki stood next to you, his hand on your back, reassuring that he wouldn’t let you fall, neither would Thor. That didn’t stop Loki from taking your waist and lifting you down safely to your feet as soon as the parade was over, while calling Thor an oaf.

    The best part about the parade was getting to meet all of the cast afterwards and getting your silly signature book filled with all of their signatures. At least that was the best part until you remembered about the movie. Through some holy combination of a ton of money, Fury and Cap being in a good mood, and the promise of good publicity, Disney had acquired the rights to make a movie about the Avengers. Apparently the characters were now part of the Disney cast at the park. They weren’t part of the parade yet, but they joined the signature meet and greet, waving to all of the guests.

    You tapped Loki’s arm and drew his attention to them, laughing at his confusion. Your group went with you to get their signatures for your silly signature book. Your first stop was Disney-Loki, before he could see and recognize the group, for sheer entertainment value. The real Loki was still huffing and spluttering indignantly about the inferior copy. He didn’t follow you through the line, since he could see you perfectly well from the sideline and didn’t want to encourage the bad copy. You did.

    You approached Disney-Loki and knelt before him when he turned his attention to you. It was the proper greeting after all. “Finally, a proper supplicant. Rise, Lady,” Disney-Loki bid you. “What is your-?” You rose and saw his eyes widen before he could finish asking for your name. He saw your scars and your friends and knew exactly who you were in an instant. You saw the decision and mischief in his eyes and knew whatever he did next was going to be fun. “My Lady Siren, my most sincere apologies that I failed to recognize you, my love,” he announced loudly. The team, the cast members, and all of the guests around were looking at you now because of his announcement. People cosplayed as the others, not as you, so they all knew that you were the real siren, not a fake or an actress. Disney-Loki bowed over your hand to kiss your knuckles while giving a perfectly innocent look towards where the real Loki had been standing.

    “Unhand my lady, foul impostor!” Boomed Loki’s voice from behind you. You turned and saw that the real Loki was suddenly in his armor and helmet. In fact, all of the team was in uniform.

    You all almost got kicked out of the park for what happened next. Disney-Loki gave you a tiny wink, you gave him a small nod in reply, you’d play along. He stepped around you, pushing you behind him to ‘safety’. “Avengers! These impostors are after our Siren!” he called. The other actors ran over to help ‘defend’ you from your friends. What followed was a giant mock-battle between the real and fake team. You stood on the sideline watching the chaos with Bruce and Happy. The moves were obviously telegraphed so the actors wouldn’t be at a disadvantage, this was just for fun after all. It still delighted the children in the crowd. The real Avengers were gracious and let themselves be ‘defeated’. After the battle, they all took bows to the applause of the crowd.

    The real Loki came up to you. “Alright, darling?” he asked softly and kissed the top of your head. You nodded.

    [That was fun] you told him.

    The team had to stay for a little while and sign autographs. There were quite a few signature books that day that had two signatures for each member of the Avengers team.

    You dozed against Loki on the monorail ride over to Epcot, where the entire team ate their way across every nation. Nat became the most useful in Epcot as she spoke every language there.

    You were back at Magic Kingdom in time for the fireworks show at the end of the night. The show was gorgeous and you watched the lights in the sky, your arms wrapped around Loki, enjoying the show together.

    You were swaying on your feet from exhaustion, leaning on Loki for support as you walked back to the ferry. It was too long of a day for you. You hadn’t nearly recovered from your abduction and this was the longest you’d been awake at one time, and the day was a huge whirlwind of excitement.

    Somehow you stayed on your feet through getting to the hotel and changing into pajamas in the bathroom of the hotel room you were sharing with Nat. You didn’t know the rest of the sleeping arrangements right that moment, nor did you much care. Loki was waiting for you and made sure you were safely tucked in bed before he’d go to wherever he was sleeping. “Sleep well, darling,” he told you as he kissed you goodnight. “We have another long day of fun tomorrow,” he added with a grin while you mock-groaned in exhaustion at your first day of fun.

    You were asleep before Nat had finished kicking him out of the room by hitting him repeatedly with one of the pillows.

#Loki #Lover #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #the sound of silence #nekoamamori #chapter 26

[mizzsmack]

The Great Downfall... and Oprah

Let’s talk about why the BRF has endured so successfully, to this point. Come sit, sweetie. Alphozo will refresh your mimosa. This is a bit of a read. ALPHONZO!

The Brits are a strange little group. Oh, I know full well I’m lumping them all in together, here. Stay with me. The UK has more in common with its individual parts than differences, so I am happily going to tar the Welsh, Scots and English all with the same sticky brush… not so much the Northern Irish though, because that is another conversation for another day, darlings.

Anyhoo, on we go. British people are funny, because although they loathe being seen as classist, snobs or complainers… at their core, they *are* all classists, snobs and complainers. They complain like it’s a national sport! It’s a culture that very much likes to champion the underdog in its psyche and celebrate the visionary rebel, yet they will suspend and send home a thirteen year old for not having the correct shoelaces in their school uniform shoes, and if a neighbor dare build an enclosure for garbage cans without council planning permission, the pack mentality will ensue; “What? Do they think they’re better than me?” It’s a bizarre combination of overconfidence  and “Tallest Poppy Syndrome”. Nobody does neurosis better than the Brits, darling.

Which brings us back to why the BRF has endured for so long. The key word is “mystery”. Because for all the moaning the Brits love to do about how it’s the taxpayer footing the bill for the royal scroungers, the gnashed teeth about how someone born into one particular meatsuit over another is magically ordained as their social better, and the unfairness of a genealogical jackpot granting a family jewels and servants and multiple stately homes and land ownings half the size of Ohio… the Brits *need* to be “kept in their place”. It’s a deeply seeded desire just as real and visceral as damp tweed and dry scones. It’s that delicious tension between refusing to take orders and having a stiff upper lip, with the resigned if not excitable acceptance of being put over Misses’ knee for a bare-bottomed spanking when caught being naughty.

The Brits love their royals. They love the pomp and finery, they love wondering if Camilla plays with the Crown Jewels and rides Charles around naked like a pony around Highgrove with a tiara on her head. They love the thought of uppity courtiers infighting over who is beneath licking envelopes versus fixing gin and tonics versus cleaning up Lupo’s magnificent garden turds. They love not knowing what exactly goes on beyond palace doors, not knowing what the Queen privately thinks about any given subject, and her omnipotent, ever-presence in day to day life; the all seeing eye on every postage stamp, pound note, and biscuit tin. Saying nothing but ever watching.

And now it’s all going to shit with Markle. And this is why this woman is just so damaging. She’s not just giving up the mystery, she’s giving it up wholesale to the lowest bidder: The Media. She’s merching religious iconography to the best upper-suburban mall jeweller, Birks, which is essentially Canada’s red-haired stepson to Tiffany & Co. She’s forcing her California nonsense of chia seed smoothies and gratitude journals on Britain’s penultimate aspirational “Lad’s Lad” and she’s doing it with her muddy little stiletto pointed on the top of his back like he’s a Botswanian safari trophy. She’s making the private very, very public, and this will be equally the most lauded thing that will also become her downfall. She’s gone to spill the beans to Oprah, with Momma, and the British public is going to eat her alive with a ferocity unlike anything we have witnessed before.

I keep hearing people say, “Oh, the BRF has survived Diana. They have survived Fergie. This will be more of the same.” I vehemently disagree.

We are in another timeline. News cycles are swifter and sharper. Memories longer. Grudges deeper. Our idols are on much shorter pedestals. The public is far less forgiving. In the 80’s and 90’s, there was a certain level of respect that was felt towards the BRF, even with all the escapades and shenanigans in which the press and public respected certain distinct boundaries. It was the Nation’s Family, not just the Royal Family. And even when somebody royally fucked up, the nation might chuckle or cringe, but god help anyone who would legitimately seek to undo or brow beat centuries of tradition and history in attempt to humiliate the Crown through becoming “too familiar”. This goes double for the foreign press.

And now we have Media Meg who is clearly out of her depth, who has miscalculated all of this so, so badly, saying it’s a trainwreck is the understatement of the year. This is a bozo millennial cable actress, thinking the rules of Hollywood equally apply to all of life and to every culture. American arrogance at its finest. And now she’s running off to Oprah, patron saint and guardian of leftwing American media popculture, ready to air the pre-wedding dirty laundry, all smiles, suitcases and grilled burgers. I cannot even tell you how much I’d give my left tit to be a fly on the wall in BP right now, counting the aneurysms. THIS is why she secretly flew into Chicago for her “visa”. And I guarantee you Buckingham Palace knew NOTHING about it.

Now that they have caught wind of it, watch what happens next. Again, the gloves will be off. The test and betrayal this time is too deep. She was given enough rope and she freely and stupidly chose to hang herself, as well as all of them by proxy. All the protectionism we have seen up until now is going to stop. Pictures will leak. Stories will be said. And mark my words, none of this may stop a wedding, but it will stop the further humiliation and denigration of a family in an existential crisis of survival.

#royal wedding #meghan markle #harry and meghan #royal family #famewhores #oprah

[superbcollectorsheep]

How Cement Mixers Work

In addition to the mixing energy applied to the fresh concrete (i.e. shearing during mixing), the shear history after mixing is also important. This applies especially to binder rich concretes like the different types of high performance concrete (HPC). With this in mind, the shear rate is analyzed inside a drum of a concrete tank truck. The objective is to better understand the effect of transport of fresh concrete, from the ready mix plant to the building site. The analysis reveals the effect of different drum charge volume and drum rotational speed. Also, the effect of yield stress and plastic viscosity is investigated. The work shows that the shear rate decreases in an exponential manner with increasing drum charge volume. It is also shown that for a given drum speed, the shear rate decreases both with increasing plastic viscosity and yield stress.

Since civilizations first started to build, the human race has sought materials that bind stones into solid formed mass. After the discovery of Portland cement in 1824 (year of patent), concrete has become the most commonly used structural material in modern civilizations. The quality of the concrete structure is of course dependent on the quality of each constituent used in the concrete mix. However, this is not the only controlling factor. The quality also depends very much on the rheological properties of the fresh concrete during placement into the formwork [1]. That is, the concrete must be able to properly flow into all corners of the mold or formwork to fill it completely, with or without external consolidation depending on workability class. Tragic events may sometimes be traced back to concrete of unsuitable consistency resulting in, for example, coldjoint and honeycombing. Therefore, one of the primary criteria for a good concrete structure is that the fresh concrete exhibits satisfactory rheological properties during casting [1]. The use of simulation of flow to analyze such behavior is something that has been increasing in popularity for the last decade [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7], [8], [9]. In 2014, a RILEM state-of-the art report (TC 222-SCF) was made specifically on this subject [10]. Here, such method is used to analyze the shear rate inside a concrete truck mixer for a wide range of cases. Previously in [11], such simulation was reported for the case of yield stress 50 Pa and plastic viscosity 50 Pa ⋅s, in which the aim was to verify a special truck mixer simulator.

In addition to the energy applied during mixing (i.e. shearing during mixing) [12], [13], [14], the shear history after mixing is also important [15], [16], [17]. This applies especially for binder rich concretes like the (rich) high performance concrete (HPC). This is due to the influence that the binder exerts on the concrete as a whole in terms of thixotropic- and structural breakdown behavior (these two terms are well explained in [18]). The rheological state of the binder depends heavily on the shear rate and especially on its history [15], [16], [17]. That is, in a highly agitated system (high shear rate), the cement particles will disperse, making the overall fresh concrete more flowable. While in a slowly agitated system, the cement particles will coagulate and thus thicken the overall fresh concrete.

The rheological properties of the fresh concrete depends on the proportions of each constituent as well as on their quality. However, as is apparent from the above paragraph, conditions like the shear rate during transport can play a major role on final workability. That is, a concrete batch with seemingly target rheological behavior at the ready mix plant can become unsuitable at the building site due to thixotropic thickening, caused by insufficient agitation during transport (i.e. low shear rate). The decrease in the slump during transport in truck mixer can be up to 90 mm, which corresponds to a deviation of one and a half consistency class [11]. Such could lead to the refusal of acceptance, or in the case of acceptance, make successful casting in awkward sections or through congested reinforcement difficult, resulting for example in honeycombing [1], [11].

In this work, the shear rate is analyzed inside the drum of a concrete fuel tank truck. This is done to better understand the potential effect of transport, from the ready mix plant to the building site, in terms of the concrete final rheological state. From Section 1.2, a higher shear rate will imply increased dispersion of the cement particles and thus more flowable concrete during the casting phase. Likewise, a lower shear rate will imply insufficient agitation, increased thixotropic rebuild and thus stiffer concrete during casting.

Because the shear rate within the drum is highly non-uniform and time dependent, meaning , a two step integration is most necessary to generate quantifiable values for analysis and comparison, which is shown later. The final outcome is given by  and is simply referred to as “shear rate”. Here, this shear rate is analyzed as a function of drum rotational speed f = 0.03, 0.07, 0.11, 015, 019 and 0.23 rps (revolutions per second) and drum charge volume V = 2.6 m3, 5.4 m3 and 8.2 m3. In addition to this, the effect of yield stress τ0 = 0, 150 and 300 Pa and plastic viscosity μ = 25, 75 and 125 Pa ⋅s, is analyzed.

The simulation software used in this work is the OpenFOAM. It is licensed under the GNU General Public License (GNU GPL) and available at http://openfoam.org, without charge or annual fee of any kind. The benefits of using a GNU GPL licensed code rather than a closed commercial code, is that the user has always a full access to the source code, without any restriction, either to understand, correct, modify or enhance the software. Here, this is a highly desirable feature since a custom made solver is used for the current analysis. The software OpenFOAM is written in C++. As such, an object-oriented programming approach is used in the creation of data types (fields) that closely mimics those of mathematical field theory [19]. For the code parallelization and communication between processors, the domain decomposition method is used with the Message Passing Interface, or MPI [20]. In OpenFOAM, the collocated mesh system (in Cartesian coordinates) is applied in conjunction with the finite volume method (FVM).

The mesh in Fig. 1 is generated with a native OpenFOAM mesh utility called blockMesh. To investigate the mesh dependency of the numerical result, two different mesh densities (or mesh resolutions) are used, namely 58,888 and 372,568 cells, which are shown in the left and right illustrations of Fig. 1, respectively. For the former case, 88% of the cells are hexahedra, while it is 99% for the latter case. In either case, the remaining cells consist of prisms, tetrahedra and polyhedra. In the end of the mesh generation, its quality is checked with another native OpenFOAM utility, named checkMesh.

The internal dimensions shown to the left and right in Fig. 1 are identical and were directly measured at the local concrete premixing plant: the internals consists of two helix shaped blades, in which the blade thickness is roughly 8 mm, while the height is about 430 mm. The space between two adjacent blades is 620 mm on the average. As shown in Fig. 1, all these numbers vary as a function of the location within the drum. These number also change as a function of time, depending on drum usage. That is, the concrete wears and tears the internals of the drum with time.

Decrease of availability of fossil fuels and environment issues, push research towards the development of high efficiency power trains for vehicles that transport people, goods and mobile operating machines, like the concrete 5cbm mixer truck considered in this paper. Conventional concrete 3cbm mixer truck use diesel engine to move the truck and a hydraulic system which keep spinning the concrete drum. A hybrid powertrain based on battery-powered electrical drives can replace the conventional hydraulic system assuring an efficiency improvement. Furthermore, thanks to the reversibility of the electrical drives, it is possible to recover kinetic energy during the braking phases of the truck. Aim of this paper is to study and develop a hybrid powertrain for the concrete mixer drum. The study is based on a full energetic model of the vehicle developed for sizing the components and designing the control strategies. A model of the conventional hydraulic 8cbm mixer truck has also been proposed in order to evaluate the benefit introduced by the proposed hybrid system. Simulation models have been validated comparing experimental data collected on a conventional mixer truck in different operating conditions.

Most construction equipment is easy to understand. Cranes move things up and down. Dump trucks load up, move out and unload. Bulldozers push and graders grade. The one exception to this is the humble cement mixer, beloved by children, hated by in-a-hurry drivers, and misunderstood by most people outside the cab of the 30,000-pound (13,608-kilogram) behemoths.

While concrete has been around in one form or another since before the Romans built the Appian Way, the transit mixer is a child of the 20th century. But recent invention or not, the mixer is here to stay.

The misunderstanding begins with the name. What people refer to as a cement mixer is known in the construction industry as a concrete mixer and comes in a large number of types, sizes and configurations to handle the many tasks set before it each day. That need to fill so many roles means the machine is dynamic, changing shape and form as the needs of the people using concrete change as well.

In this article we'll examine some of the major types of mixers, from the traditional drum-shaped ready-mix transit mixer to the less-common but growing in popularity volumetric mixer, essentially a concrete plant on wheels. How cement mixers work and why they work the way they do is a fascinating combination of old and new technology. You'll never see a cement mixer the same way again.

But before we begin, let's clarify the difference between cement and concrete. In baking terms, the difference between concrete and cement is the difference between flour and a loaf of bread. Concrete is a generic term for a mix of aggregate -- usually stone or gravel, water and cement. Modern cement is a complex blend of finely ground minerals, and goes by the generic name of "portland." Concrete is made by combining the three ingredients in a mixer, whether that mixer is stationary or driving down the road, and the water is absorbed by the cement, which then binds the aggregate together, creating concrete.

[starcunning]

This Beast That Rends Me: 28 Apr

Gentlemen of the jury, I’m curious, bear with me Are you aware that we’re making hist’ry? This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation The liberty behind deliberation

Previously: Week One, Week Two, Week Three Previously: 22 Apr, 23 Apr, 24 Apr, 25 Apr, 26 Apr, 27 Apr

Chapter Fourteen

Soon, too soon, the elders and leaders of Gyr Abania were assembled, and a council was called. They had a few days’ warning—Lyse had given Shasi that much—but the question of what to do with the Imperial Viceroy could no longer be avoided.

Shasi stayed with him then; it seemed foolish to do otherwise, and so she was with him when the Resistance guards came to fetch him. He frightened them, and so it was Shasi they asked to restrain him.

The chain was sized for a Hellsguard, perhaps, and was still a snug fit about his waist. She had to roll back the cuffs of his shirt to fix the manacles to his wrists—crossed at the waist, they corrected her. The chains were a strong visual counterpoint to his polished appearance; his dark waistcoat and camel blazer were much too hot for the weather, but he looked presentable. He had looked more so before she bound his hands. It was the only restraint he was wearing, these days; she’d lost her appetite for the rest.

Shasi hadn’t been sure what to wear, herself. She had considered her Flames uniform, but that tied her inextricably to Ul’dah, and she was present as a nonpartisan. In the end she wore the dove grey duelists’ garb that her mentor had gifted her months ago: she was, and always had been, a Crimson Duelist. This, too, was much too hot for the summer sun, but she would bear harder things before the day was out.

“Are you ready?” she asked. “I suppose I must be. Are you?” Zenos replied. “No,” she admitted, but put her hand to his elbow anyway.

She was even less ready than she had imagined, horseshoe arches giving way to high-vaulted ceilings, terraces of stone on both sides. Perhaps everyone in Ala Mhigo sat upon those steps, ringing the central hall; they were full enough. And full enough of hostility, to see the Warrior of Light bring forth their foe. There were no rocks, and no old fruit, but the crowd hurled insults instead, in every tongue they knew, and Shasi had no choice but to understand them all. Zenos must, too, if his Resonance were equal to her Echo, but if it bruised his pale dignity, he never let it show upon his face.

There was a platform at the far end of the hall, surrounded by a gallery of windows. The throne upon it was not half so grand as the one in the throne room proper, but it was just as empty; the leadership council of Gyr Abania sat in a row before and below its imposing bulk, beneath their banner of violet and gold.

Shasi fixed her eyes to the star blazoned there, Rhalgr’s Beacon, and wished she had a more benevolent god for patron.

But it was his trial and his alone, and so she left him at the foot of the platform, at its center. The banner dangled like a sword overhead. There were murmurs of surprise as she turned away, and came to stand with those who would speak in Zenos’ defense. There were precious few of them, compared to their opposite number, and Shasi was sure they could have found plenty more voices to speak against Zenos in this very hall, had they wanted to.

Shasi looked up at the row of faces arrayed before the throne, overlooking the hall. The different peoples of Gyr Abania were all represented there, even the Qiqirn. Perhaps Lyse might manage to compose a coalition government after all, Shasi thought. As though summoned by the notion, Lyse herself sidled up to Shasi and brushed her arm against the other woman’s.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Lyse said.

The testimony was presented before the council and quite literally to them: given facing the platform and thrown back as echoes to fill the rest of the hall. It meant the speaker never had to look at Zenos—nor, indeed, at Shasi herself. She wondered how many of them could have borne it: most of them she knew, and most of them had entreated her aid at one point or another. But she owed them her ear no less now than then.

Shasi remembered the man who gave the council’s opening argument: Watt had been the one to direct them when they had sought ingress to Ala Mhigo. “We have come before the people today to answer the question of what must be done with Zenos yae Galvus,” he said. “We thought him slain when the Garlean Empire was driven from Gyr Abania months ago, only to learn that he did not perish then, having been kept instead under the auspices of questioning. In that time, we are told, much has changed with our old foe. And so, as we take matters under deliberation, I ask the council to keep in mind the following things. “First, one may ask, how many of the accusations levied today can fall squarely at the feet of Zenos yae Galvus? The Empire has occupied our homes and tried to destroy our culture, but what blame rests with him that did not rest with Gaius van Baelsar, in that? To that I can only say: Zenos yae Galvus is no mere soldier, plucked from the ranks at random to answer for the crimes of others. His may not have been the hand that held the blade in every instance, but his was the tongue that gave the order, more often than not. He was our viceroy, and Legatus of the Fourteenth Legion, and beyond even that he is the Crown Prince of Garlemald. He ruled in Doma, too, as cruelly as here. There is only one man with more power, and they name him their Emperor. If anyone could influence Imperial policy, Zenos yae Galvus must be counted at the very top of that short list. “Second, you will have heard stories of a primal being summoned at the peace summit in this very palace. You may have heard also that Zenos yae Galvus was instrumental in defeating that primal. I have no reason to doubt these accounts, and so the question becomes instead whether this can counter the full weight of the accusations levied against him? I have recently become aware of the Ul’dahn concept of ‘red in one’s ledger.’ Zenos yae Galvus has a great deal of it, and one line in the black cannot answer for all of those crimes. “Gyr Abania comes now out of the shadow of the Empire, but the tyranny we have abided beneath stretches back further than that. Before they hung the ivory standard over our heads, we were in the grip of Theodoric, the Mad King. There are men and women grown standing in this hall today that have never known true freedom, and hope for that freedom cannot abide in the company of such a nightmarish legacy of tyranny. That legacy is personified in Zenos yae Galvus, and must be excised for liberty to take root.”

“Ala Gannha has no youth left in her,” Raganfrig was saying. “Most of them were conscripted, and the strong that refused were put to the sword. Zenos yae Galvus bears the guilt for that, for he gave the order. But it was not just the strong and young he took—after the Garleans had done for us, and Ilberd took the rest, they came back to take still more, and we never knew why. Not ’til the city was liberated and the palace thrown open, and we found our missing dead moldering in some basement. Found ‘em in their dozens, dead to a man of forcible aether extraction. It’s a miserable way to die, that,” Raganfrig said. “As soon torture a man to death as drain him like that. And he did it to scores of people—our people—for his science experiments. One almost envies the ones he simply cut down.”

She remembered the way he had received her—her and Lyse both—when they had first come to Ala Gannha. How terrified he was that they might upset the delicate balance of things in the town, limping to survive. And she thought of the Resonatorium, and could not blame him.

There were a dozen other tales from other places—towns mostly, but some of the larger villages that had people enough to remember where they had stood. She had seen the abandoned trading posts along the road, and wondered no more why they had been left to their desolation.

M’naago shared a glance with Lyse before she mounted the platform to address the council, looking as desperately happy as she was resolute, and Shasi reached out to take the pugilist’s hand. Neither of them looked at one another, only at the Miqo’te as she spoke.

“I was at Rhalgr’s Reach when Zenos yae Galvus came to sack it. He treated it like a game, leaving the dead strewn behind him like so many broken toys. Y’shtola Rhul couldn’t be here today, but she would want you to know that he tried to kill her, too, for the crime of being insufficiently amusing. This pervasive disregard for the value of life extends to his own troops, too, as we found out when he gave the order to fire on Garlean forces offering their surrender at Specula Imperatoris. Conrad Kemp died in that attack, and I will not forget that no matter who asks me to.”

Lyse whispered a name, and Shasi gave her hand a squeeze. It was not the only story they heard, and with each, Lyse leaned more firmly on Shasi’s shoulder. Shasi watched the light from the windows sweep across the floor as the day went on, and she listened to every account the people of Ala Mhigo brought forth to relate.

Last to speak was a younger woman than most that day. Shasi supposed it was true: that much of a generation had been stolen from Ala Mhigo, but for those that had fled. Like herself; like this girl. “My name is Bertliana,” she said. “You don’t know me, because I wasn’t born here. I was born in exile, hearing tales of Ala Mhigo and dreaming of a home others thought I’d never see. I suffered for that hope,” she said, voice trembling. “Others suffered too. One of my friends, a lad called Wilred, thought he would summon Rhalgr to avenge us. The Warrior of Light stopped us, made us see what a mistake that would be. She destroyed the primal that Ilberd summoned, too, but not before Zenos learned to command it. There, in him, stands a terrible foe with the ability to bring still more terrible powers to heel. Hope cannot live in the shadow of those vast wings,” she said.

The murmurs that rippled through the crowd betrayed how little the people had known about Shinryu, and how much they yet feared the primal threat. Shasi wished that they could have spoken first; set the tone, but that was not how such things worked.

She had been surprised when Raubahn had offered to speak, but they had decided he should speak first: there were few in Ala Mhigo who would gainsay the Bull, even after his long absence.

“I questioned the wisdom of this undertaking,” the Flame General said. “In fact, when we took the city, I would have been more than glad to see the Viceroy dead. The months in between have changed my mind on the matter. Zenos yae Galvus has been a model prisoner. I feared the cost in lives, should he escape; he has made no such attempt. He has provided us actionable intelligence in Gyr Abania and further afield, in Dalmasca. We have also made contact with a notable subject of the Empire, Jenomis cen Lexentale, who has undertaken counter-propaganda efforts on our behalf there. There remains an operational advantage to detention rather than execution; Galvus’s insights have proven useful before, and may again.”

It was a cold assessment, perhaps, but preferable to the court-martial he had threatened in early spring. Shasi found herself smiling, just a little. Lyse gave her hand a little squeeze, and they let go of one another as Raubahn returned to the bench.

She had grown more assured in the last year, Shasi realized as Lyse stood and addressed the council. Perhaps it had become easier to be herself and not her sister any longer. It was a welcome change, even if Shasi felt she had missed a great deal of it.

“When last I saw most of you, we were discussing the future of Gyr Abania,” Lyse said. “And so we are today, in a real and concrete way. This example we set will be looked back upon by generations to come, so let’s make it a good one,” Lyse said. “When Lakshmi was summoned during our summit, you saw me run for help, and probably never expected me to return with Zenos yae Galvus. Truthfully … neither did I. It’s no secret that I believe there are agents of the Empire that can find a place in Ala Mhigo; that a place can be made for them. They can be better people, and we can be a better people, too. But … Zenos was never part of that plan. I went to ask the Warrior of Light for her help; I never asked for his. But he offered, and I watched in awe as he tried to protect the people of Gyr Abania. And then ...” Lyse trailed off. “I don’t remember everything after that very clearly. I remember fighting Raubahn, because he was trying to destroy my goddess—Sri Lakshmi. She had tempered me.” The gasps at that interrupted her, and Lyse paused, gathering herself. “I don’t know how to talk about that yet, but I know I can only talk about it at all because Zenos yae Galvus made her relinquish that hold on me before she was destroyed. If he hadn’t, I would have been killed, to stop me from trying to summon her again. “He saved my life. I never thought he would do that. I never knew that he could do that. Maybe … he can be a better person, too. Maybe he can help us save other lives. I want to find out,” Lyse said.

Shasi looked out over the room, trying to read the emotions. Shock, of course. Disbelief. Distrust, perhaps, that Lyse was who she said. There were murmurs—Fordola’s name passed from lips to ear—but none seemed to break above the din of the crowd.

Shasi greeted her with a little smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Now you,” Lyse said.

The Warrior of Light mounted the platform amidst the murmuring. She wasn’t sure what sort of reception to expect: there was not a soul in this room but that had heard of her, but would they really believe she was one of them? The dueling costume may not have been enough to assure that.

“The decision to detain Zenos yae Galvus for questioning was mine,” Shasi said, and that caused a hubbub all its own. “I enlisted support from the Immortal Flames and the Resistance to enforce the perimeter, but I was his gaoler and I his questioner. His rehabilitation was also my purview, and I have met with greater success than I could have hoped, as was evinced by his actions at the peace summit. He has been cooperative with my questions and provided valuable intelligence to Ala Mhigo and her allies. I have further hopes for his reformation, which must not now be curtailed.” She could hear her voice begin to tremble, and took a deep breath. She looked from each member of the council to the next, seeking understanding in their eyes, but knew not what she found. “Zenos yae Galvus has demonstrated his atonement already. It is a long road to forgiveness, but I would see him walk it.”

Had she expected approbation? Cheers? She did not hear them now, only the beating of her own heart. She turned back to regard him a moment, but did not smile. Neither did he; they only looked at one another, and then she stepped down.

In the end, the final word was his. Arms bound before him, coat draped across his broad shoulders, Zenos looked up at the council and he spoke, voice clear and sure. “X’shasi Kilntreader took my life in her hands with the understanding that this would not be a popular decision. She questioned me and counseled me. It may beggar your belief, but she succeeded in making a better man of me. She values compassion, and asks that for me today. I have learned to value it, too, and through the lens of introspection I have viewed my own actions. They were monstrous, however justified I felt at the time. If I am moved to do the right thing now, I will not pervert that instinct by begging for a mercy I do not deserve. I have committed any number of crimes, and the right thing to do now is to face justice for them. I am of no use to you as a bargaining chip, and my shadow has laid too long over the people of Gyr Abania.”

No.

“Ala Mhigo will not breathe free until I am dead.”

No, no, this was all wrong. The roaring in her ears drowned out rational thought, and Shasi could not be sure if it was her mind or the crowd. But she knew then, and was certain, which way the balance of justice would tip.

#TBTRM #x'shasi #zenos yae galvus #lyse hext #raubahn aldynn #and a panoply of gyr abanian npcs #wol/zenos #original content #starcunning writes #if i weren't making jokes i'd be crying and nobody wants that

[mybullshitsensesaretingling]

Gentics

Request: Request for reader being Pike's daughter? Any pairing. :)

A/N: I wrote this three separate times. This last time ended up being closer to home than I intended. It’s also not quite a pairing. It’s not super couplely, but I hope you enjoy regardless. 

You glared into your cup of coffee, desperately trying to ignore your com going off every fifteen minutes. Your jaw tightened with each notification. When it couldn’t tighten anymore, you grabbed your com, switched it off, and slammed it back on the small, four sided table.

“Ex?” a man asked, nodding to your com and taking a seat across from you. He was in the same red uniform that most of the cafe's patrons wore. His tone was upbeat, his posture confident, and you weren’t in the mood for any of it.

“Sure, you can sit there,” you grumbled.

“Thanks.” He looked pointedly at the device on the table. “So?”

“No offence, but I’m not really in the mood to share my issues with some chipper cadet.”

“It’s chipper Cadet Kirk,” he said.

You snorted causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Sorry, you’re not what I was expecting from the infamous Jim Kirk.” You leaned back in your chair.

“Didn’t realize my reputation had reached the civilians.”

“Only the civilians with connections.” You offered him your hand. “(Y/N) Pike.”

“Pike as in-”

You cut him off, taking your hand back, “Yeah, Pike as in.”

“The image you have of me must be wonderful.”

“It’s not the most flattering, no,” you punctuated your sentence with a sip of coffee.

Jim took a moment to take you in before speaking again. His blue eyes scrutinized everything about you, trying to size you up in a moment.

“I would have thought Captain Pike would’ve had his kid in the academy right out of high school.”

“Oh, he tried.” You tilted your head. “And his friends tried. And his coworkers tried. And people I had never met before tried.”

“And you refused out of a point of pride?” he guessed.

“I refused because I’m my own person. Trying to be him is no way to make a name for myself.” You looked at him. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine. It’s not like you’ve got big shoes to fill.”

“I’m not trying to be my father.”

“No, you’re trying to be better than him.” You took a drink of your coffee.

“And you’re not?”

“I’m already the better Pike.”

He leaned forward in his chair so he could rest his forearms on the table top. “So tell me the Better Pike, what’s a pretty face like yours doing in what might be the worst diner in San Fran if you don’t work for Starfleet.”

“I never said I didn’t work for Starfleet.” You couldn’t help the small smirk that formed on your face as you watched him think through all the Starfleet jobs you could have without actually being Starfleet. You pitied him enough to put him out of his misery before he was resigned to guessing. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say you pitied yourself. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love telling people what it was you did. “You ever hear of Enterprise?”

“No, I’ve been living under a rock.”

“Fair point,” you said. “Well, the new one-”

“NCC-1701. Yeah, I’ve seen her. She’s a beautiful ship.”

“Thank you,” you smiled.

Jim’s jaw dropped. “You designed it?”

“Not all of it. I work with a team of uptight officers.” You moved closer to him, excitement and pride radiating from you. “But the subspace field generators? That’s all me.”

“So when it fails to go into warp, we’ll have you to blame?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “And when it goes to warp 8 more efficiently than any other constitution-class starship to date, you’ll have me to thank.”

-

“You broke my ship!” you shouted, storming through the shuttlebay and waving a PADD around violently. You stopped when you saw your dad being wheeled towards the exit to take in the scene before you. Then you rounded on Jim. “You broke my ship and my father!”

“I didn’t break your father!” Jim defended.

“And my ship?” You threw out your hand, and subsequently your PADD as well.

“I didn’t break your father,” he repeated.

You huffed angrily, scrunching up your face and collecting your thoughts into your next action. Jim stood tall, readying himself. He had learned over the past two years that once you got riled up the only thing that would stop you from yelling was you tiring yourself out. But at the last moment you diverted your attention back to your father, the anger plastered on your face being replaced with concern. Your raised shoulders slumped. Picking up on the change, Jim took a careful step forward.

“What happened?” You stared at the door your dad had just been pushed through. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s going to be fine. I promise.” He put a hand on each of your arms, getting you to look at him. “He’s in good hands. Bones is the best.”

You nodded, feeling slightly reassured. You hadn’t actually met Bones, but you had familiarized yourself with your father’s crew enough to know you could trust him. Jim’s glowing opinion of him didn’t hurt either.

“Do you want to head to the hospital?” His thumbs traced circular patterns through your shirt. His blue eyes held yours. “You can yell at me on the way. I know that soothes you.”

“Yeah.”

You slammed your PADD into the chest of a passing engineer.

“I want a diagnostic on my desk by morning,” you ordered. “And tell Larry if I get a single call for anything less than three dead engineers within the next 24 hours, I go back to Station 75 and he loses his theoretical physicist.”

“Yes, sir,” the engineer responded nervously, wrapping his hands around the device.

“Yes, Doctor,” Jim corrected for you.

He forced out a frantic apology and rushed off to convey your message.

You shook your head. “Uniforms’ll call anything that moves ‘sir’.”

“You certainly command a room like your father. But you could be a little nicer,” Jim offered, falling into step next to you as you left the bay. It was a serious suggestion, but his tone held amusement. Part of him truly enjoyed the fear you could invoke in your subordinates. “I think that kid almost peed his pants.”

“I’ll bake him a pie when the job’s done.”

You looked back over your shoulder at the small sliver of Enterprise you could still see between the wall and the door as it slid closed.

“Spock wouldn’t have broken my ship,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“No, he was too busy breaking my face.”

You barked out a laugh. “He did that? Good for him.”

Your reaction didn’t even come close to surprising him. You have never been one to fuss over him. Even if you were worried about him, you showed it in the roughest way you could. In a lot of ways he appreciated it.

“You know I memorized the names of every crew member assigned to Enterprise, but here’s the weird thing, your name wasn’t on that list.”

“You memorized the names of 430 people?” Jim asked, dodging your accusation.

“You have all of III Communications memorized and that’s 32 songs,” you said dismissively. “Why were you on my ship?”

“Technically it's the Federation’s ship.”

“Jim.”

“They didn’t assign me anywhere so Bones medical loophole’d me in,” he explained

“Are they reprimanding you?” you asked as you stepped through the exterior door in the hot sun.

He scrunched up his face like he honestly hadn’t thought about it until that moment. “No, I think they’re promoting me.”

“I hate Starfleet,” you grumbled.

“I know.”

“And I hate you.”

“I know that too.”

“If it makes you feel better I was banished to an icy hell for a little while,” he offered.

“It does, thanks.” You turned your torso towards him so you could see him as you walked. “You know this isn’t how it works for anybody else, right? Things don’t just magically workout for other people because the have good intentions and enchanting eyes.”

“You think I have enchanting eyes?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think that’s exactly the point.”

Part of you knew he was being extra egotistical to give you something to be irritated with. To distract you from why you were walking into the hospital, why you were asking the receptionist where Christopher Pike was, why you were walking through a hall that smelled like chemicals and death. It worked. At least on some level, but as soon as you reached the door to his room all your irritation went out the door, replaced by fear of what you would find on the other side.

“I was in Riverside,” you said quietly, staring at the door. “When I got the call. I was working on a new ship, and someone - I don’t remember who - called me, told me what had happened, or at least some of it. I ran for the transporter. There isn’t one in the shipyard. I ran all the way to town. I didn’t tell anybody  where I was going or even that I was leaving. I just left. I was so,” you bit down on your lip for a moment, unsure if you were ready to admit it, “so scared. I’ve never been that scared in my life.” You looked back at Jim. “Thank you. I don’t know the whole story. I don’t have to. I know that he’s here because of you. Thank you. If he,” the words caught in your throat. You faced the door and tried again, “If you hadn’t,” again you couldn’t get the full sentence out. You skipped to the end this time, “I don’t know what I would do.”

“You don’t have to find out.” Jim put his hand reassuringly on your shoulder. “Why don’t you go in. I’ll go get you some coffee.”

Your gaze moved away from the door to meet his eyes. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just your dad that you were worried about when you got the call. That you were worried about him. But instead you nodded and knocked on the door. He stayed with you in the hall until you made your way into the room.

Your father was sitting on the biobed, talking with the doctor. His expression and tone of voice, was the same as it always was, strong and sure, but laying there, looking tired in a way you couldn’t recognise, he seemed fragile. For the first time you were forced to realise that the great Captain Pike, your father, the man whose expectations you had spent a lifetime trying to live up to, was just that, a man. He was just easily broken as anyone else. You had expected him to look small, but instead you felt small.

“Dad?”

“There’s my little genius,” he smiled.

As you walked closer to his bed, you tried to return it, but failed. You took his hand in yours. Looking up at the doctor you tried to place him in the stories Jim had told you.

“You’re Bones, right?” you asked, keeping a firm hold on your father’s hand.

“I prefer Doctor McCoy or Leonard.” He turned his attention from the vitals displayed on the wall to you. “But yes, that’s me.”

“Give me a timeline, Doctor.”

“I want to keep him overnight for observation. Recovery after that is going to be a long road. I want him in physical therapy as soon as possible.”

Your jaw clenched as you nodded in understanding.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“You’re gonna be. I want you by seen by Doctor Murphy tomorrow. And you’re going to every appointment. I don’t care what you think is more important,” you told him.

“You remember that I’m the parent, don't you?” he chuckled.

“I don’t trust the judgment of anyone who puts Jim Kirk in charge.”

-

“To the youngest captain in history!” Christopher raised his glass.

“Here, here!” you beamed at Jim. As much crap as gave him about… well, everything, you were insanely proud of him. You’d known since the day you’d met him, that he was destined to be a captain.

“I hope this won’t affect how you feel about your real child,” Jim grinned, clinking his glass against Christopher’s and your own.

“How could it?” Your dad looked at you, sitting on the stool next to him. “Kiddo, move over. I want Jim to sit next to me.”

You shook your head. “I’m comfortable. You can love him more than me from a slight distance.”

Christopher wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him and laughing, “I could never love anyone more than you.”

“Who could?” Jim asked. “You are the better Pike.”

“I’m sorry. What was that? You’re the what?”

“You heard him,” you said over the brim of your drink.

Your dad sighed, “It’s really too bad you never grew into that head of yours.”

Pulling back from him, you patted him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid it’s genetic.”

-

Jim stood with his back pressed to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. He held a hard, steady glare directed a landing shuttle. When the door slid open to reveal you tossing a bag over your shoulder, he pushed off the wall and fell in step next to you as you walked towards your apartment.

“Your dad yelled at me,” he pouted.

“‘Hi, (Y/N). How was Mars?’” you asked for him, “Just fine, Jim. Thanks for asking. How was space?”

“It was great, but then I got yelled at for it.”

“Did you deserve it?”

He grumbled something under his breath and changed the subject. “So Mars was good?”

“I didn’t get a lot of free time. Work kept me held up in the drafting room all month.”  You walked quickly along the sidewalk, anxious to get back to your apartment and out of your travel clothes.

“Sounds like your perfect trip.”

“Are you calling me a workaholic?”

“You could use a break every now and then.”

“I’ll take a break when I’m satisfied with the propulsion system,” you told him, struggling to keep the strap of your bag securely on your shoulder. When it slipped again, Jim took it and draped it over his own shoulder.

“So you’re going to keep splitting your time between San Francisco, Iowa, and the Mars station ‘til you die?”

“That’s the plan.” You looked up at him. “Are you gonna keep traversing the galaxy with Commander Pointy and Doctor Grumpy until you die?”

“I won’t get that option, if your dad has his way,” he said, returning to his original rant.

“He’ll ease up once he’s calmed down. We both know he’s got a soft spot for you.”

“Seems to be a Pike family trait,” he mused.

“It’s because you’re just so modest.” You reached up and pinched his cheek.

“It is one of my best qualities.” He rubbed his cheek. “Want to go out tonight and celebrate our mutual homecoming?”

“Swap ‘go out’ with sit on the couch in sweatpants, eating pizza and you’ve got yourself a date.”

“I’m game.” He draped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in for a sideways hug.

“I wanna hear all about how you pissed my dad off.”

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek imagines #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk imagine #jim kirk imagines

[shystoryrebel]

SECULAR BULL

He was one of the part time and replacement taxi drivers that used to work and live near our society building.  He came here to work in the month of January after the massacre of Hindus by Jihadis in Punditwari, Anantnag. There were many drivers working as drivers there at all times. Some of them work in day and some at night. Some work only on holidays. They all stay in dingy little servant quarters near the parking area in different residential societies. Generally they do not keep their families with them due to financial constrains and problem of insufficient living space. Most of these drivers were Muslims and were illiterate and lazy difficult fellows who were, it seems happy to survive some how. Amidst the dirty and dusty bodies of cars their poverty and laziness was in tune. But in glaring contrast, they were very attentive and caring to the commands of local tough, bearded, skull capped maulvi.

  GENOCIDE OF PUNDITS

  Sigris were cold in pundit helmets,

People here were fuels to jihadi guns,

Wailing widows crying for slaughtered kins.

Terrified returning homeward their tired way,

As world a towering inferno to them.

The air was carrying a sad silent tone,

Weeping birds complain to moon and stars

Crying about the lost ones,

Who will never be seen again?

No memorials erected for those slaughtered,

As they were not mad vote machines.

In that method less madness,

Some might have slaughtered with a fire within,

Or arms that might have raised an empire,

Or hands that might have rocked the oceans,

Some great Vivekananda might be there,

Or some cherished Tendulkar,

Might have lost his blood.

All merit they had but sad fate,

Slaughtered for a status and crown

And their shivering bones remained,

Unprotected from insult and bloodbath.

Let not power mock their toll,

Sad destiny and remorseful smile,

And rude kotwals of secular trade dancing,

Multicultural dons will remain their,

To curse names and race for their trade

Bestowed with a treasure hidden.

On unclaimed pyre lie their corpses,

Unfortunate, cursed and unattended,

Nation mocking their poor faith,

Alas! Poor pundits of Death Valley.

              So I was surprised when I first met Ram Sunder Razdan last winter when I was going back to Khurja, in his taxi, for the winter vacation. He was absolutely different from other drivers. He was of average height, strongly built, sharp and attractive features, shining and pointed black moustache with some aging hairs, hiding the upper lip. He did justify his name by his decent and graceful mannerism. He was a retired army man. His uniform was always ironed with clear crease and shoes always polished, true to his army background. He was so different from his dull and lazy fellow drivers, with ugly Kabuli looks, in mismatched uniform, soiled shoes, ill mannered behavior that he was actually a pleasure to see in true sense. He was simply a mismatch to that ghetto like environment.

A clay pot that contains milk will be ranked higher than a golden pot that has dirt in it. It is not the outer glamour but the inner wisdom that makes a person valuable.

             When first time I met him in the tin shade counter, made by the taxi drivers for their rest and wait. There he was getting harsh up-brandings from Mr.Hassan Farooqui. Mr Farooqui resides in our society in a flat and is in his forties and recently returned from America after the bombing of 9/11. All the time he used to vent his frustration on every body on his run from that dream land due to the extra ordinary watch kept on Muslims in America after 9/11. Mr.Farooqui has mysterious business and in the society considered being rich. He is very arrogant of his possessions and he boasts it with gold chain in his neck and left wrist decks with expensive Rolex gold watch and the HTC Heur cell-phone in his long kurta pocket. He is dwarf sized, bulky and fast going bald. His face has loose skin and black patches due to excess intake of imported whisky. In himself he is a class ready to plunge anywhere for the sake of quick and easy money. People uses to whisper that of late, he supplies young and notorious boys for stone pelting on security forces to get heavy bucks from across the border.  

              Farooqui is a fat and modern consumer like any other neo-rich. He was a fast and quick buyer to live and enjoy, seeing a purpose for his life. He consumes to live and lives to consume. If some thing new and branded is not added to his catalogue of things he may wind up and die but he was faithful to the preaching of Holy Quran like a sarkari babu loyal to his work and files and constitution of India.

              Again back to the encounter between Farooqui and Ram Sunder Razdan. Ram sunder sitting on a broken, loosely tied cot and Farooqui in front of him, furiously shouting, and another man who looked wealthy like Farooqui, gold watch and chain, gesticulating abusively and shouting in the same manner. It seems both were very angry with Ram Sunder Razdan for some reason. Normally I usually ignore Farooqui and his bad company because it was their routine shouting session on one or the other. Farooqui is the president of the housing society and he was proud of his president ship. Due to this position he was always in demand, some time by trouble shooter communal separatist leaders or some time by law enforcing bodies to get his help in restoring peace and order. He was a very cunning interlocutor.

              But it was Ram Sunder Razdan—his bright confident face and high bearing with an inmate pride in himself, a sense of defiance to these owls and injured pride like a wounded tiger made me stop to look over the wrangling with an awe and shock. A totally astonishing thing happened. Ram Sunder Razdan said to Farooqui and company, “But sir it was not my mistake, I was just driving the car,” in clear and chaste manner but a little bit of rural accented English. It was a very interesting dramatic scene. Farooqui is stupefied and cannot believe his ears nor can his friend. They were looking side to avoid that insulting situation in my presence.  Ram Sunder Razdan is also elated on this unexpected upper hand. Farooqui and his friend is now red faced and started barking out like a mad dog. These two gentlemen have their education in madarsas.

              ‘You talk to me in English! How dare you talk?’ Shouted Farooqui.

           ‘I just said that I was driving, and I am not a rustic. I do speak English’, Ram Sunder Razdan replied to Farooqui and company in Hindi.

           ‘I will boot you out.’

           Ram Sunder Razdan kept quiet at this and some how controlled his anger.

           I intervened and try to remain neutral ‘what is the matter, Farooqui sahib?’

              With a sigh of relief he turned and looked at me. Normally he considers me as an insignificant fellow in the society and never pays any attention to me but that day he treated me with respect and glad to see me there as a person who can pull him out of that tight position. He treated me in a very friendly manner.

              ‘Ah Sharmaji, good you are here,’ he tried to speak in English but soon good sense prevailed and he switched over to Hindi which was worse than his English. ‘My friend Basher Mohammad (here the troubled man smiled and I responded back with smile), came to talk to this man to hire a driver and this rough idiot driver asked him about his identity.’

              I come to this stand very frequently and every body knows me well here and I was never subjected to this type of enquiry. He wanted to bring a person who can vouch for me and when I refused, he very harshly refused me to give any driver or taxi to me.

             I felt very uncomfortable in being involved with such type of stupid thing but still I spoke hesitantly, ‘he was right and more over due to terrorism and insurgency one has to see the anecdotes of a person before working for him and he doesn’t know you.’

             To support his friend Farooqui shouted, ‘He insulted my friend,’ but there was not any conviction this time in his tone.  

             Due to terrorism and insurgency in the Kashmir valley only a Muslim name was enough to create a sense of discomfort in any body’s mind.

             ‘These rules have been made by the government agencies for our safety, and Mr.Razdan was following the rules what he has been told to follow and these are for our safety.’

             Farooqui and Basher Mohammad glared at me and then Farooqui said angrily, “Sharmaji I am going to complain to the society welfare committee and your father about your attitude.” I simply smiled at his threat and ignored his comments. He quickly entered the lift and his friend followed him like a scooter’s extra tire (stepni).  

              Later on, my servant Krishna told me that his name was Ram Sunder Razdan and that he was a Brahman. I learnt from Krishna that the other driver did not like him, thought him to be arrogant due to his mannerism, education and army background. But they thought this was because Ram Sunder Razdan was of a ‘higher’ caste and all the other being Muslims, uneducated and ill-mannered. He was very reserved by nature and kept to himself. In his free times, he reads English and religious books in the drivers’ room. Children used to come to him to get their homework done in a very smooth and correct manner. All this according to my servant was bad behavior, but he agreed that he was the best driver working at that taxi stand and highly liked by ladies and children. He was very smart, efficient and did his job excellently and very competently. For his competency women and children used to give him good tips. This made male family members and other taxi drivers jealous of him. Even he used to help society ladies and children without any extra charge for their minor works, like dropping and picking their children from the school whenever they miss the bus. On this other taxi drivers started spreading all type of rumors about his character.

              Mr.Hassan Farooqui did complain to my father but he did not pay any attention to him nor did he say thing to me. But after that incident, Farooqui, with his wounded pride, started misinformation campaign against Ram Sunder Razdan. He criticized Ram Sunder for every thing and any thing. He called him inefficient and said rash while driving. He even claimed he had caught him driving under the influence of wine. He was bent on getting him booted out, come what way. But the problem was that no one was sympathetic to these two fools and other residents, especially women and children were opposed to this tirade, so Ram Sunder stayed there.

              Hassan Farooqui couldn’t digest this reality that a poor miserable little Kashmiri Pundit driver had answered back a Muslim here in Kashmir in this manner and that too in English. He was sure; it was just to insult him in front of his friend and worse, in front of me. He was very upset about the insult in ‘English’.

              In his blind arrogance he never even realized that he could ever have been wrong. He had always been wealthy and the rich and wealthy are always right; and he had no doubt about his conviction. On the other hand, Ram Sunder Razdan, on his part remained the same in his behavior towards Hassan Farooqui and his friend and did nothing that was counter productive except he stopped offering ‘Salaam’ to Farooqui and his friends, while he could offer ‘Salaam’ to other persons and this made Farooqui furious with no end.

              After that incident, I came to know more about Ram Sunder from talking with him every now and then for five-ten minutes when I had free time. He felt highly obliged to me for my timely intervention on that ‘fateful’ day for which he profusely thanked me. The other drivers also realized his worth by that time. Ram Sunder would read to them, news and stories from English newspaper and magazines, around the world as English newspapers and magazines were much more informative than the poor local Kashmiri newspapers. They had unofficially elected him as their president and I thought that he possesses all the leadership qualities, as he came from a race that was once leaders and most intelligent thinkers of that state. His fore fathers must have waged wars against the British and Muslim rulers amidst the beautiful natural heavenly beauty. But now due to the communal politics of the state governments and central governments in the name of secularism these Pundits are forced to lead the life of refuses in their own country and were toiling hard for daily meal.

               Ram Sunder Razdan was an educated person. He was intermediate pass from the Commerce and Arts Government College; Anantnag, the very same college, his father used to teach Sanskrit there, but was killed by Islamic terrorists. Ram Sunder Razdan has to leave his studies and his village and had to join army that he liked. Razdans did not have much land and property and some of it had to be sold for his sister’s wedding and brother’s studies. He himself had married when he was only twenty and now his one son and daughters were living in a refugee camp in Delhi. Unlike other Muslim drivers who had big families, he has small but sad family. The income from the farm was nothing as he had to leave the farming due to the terrorists’ threat and local people usurped his land and gave nothing in its return. His younger brother had to discontinue his studies due to the terror threat.

   After the retirement from the army he got a job as a teacher in a school near Shrinagar, but after a year without pay and with no hope of the situation ever improving, he quit the job and left the place and came to Shrinagar. Drifting from one job to other, sometimes working as a helper in a grocery shop, sometimes even as a laborer. In Kashmir, it was very difficult for Hindus to get a good job. Hindus are considered as children of lesser God. Fed up with all these, he finally started this driving job. He would tell me all his past things without any hesitation to reduce his pain. I could feel his pain beneath his silence. He hadn’t met his wife and children since a year and this made him more sad and gloomy.  

  BRAND NAME

   God send me on the earth, an innocent being,

Untouched by the black and white doing,

But the world branded me as a Brahmin,

And a curse fallen on this urchin,

A child of lesser God,

The entire honor was forbidden to this pod.

  Education, help, livelihood;

All was snatched by Robin Hood,

Some branded it as social equality,

But it was state cruelty,

Other’s called it secular passion,

But it was ugly repression,

All the isms kill human rights,

They are the Janus face of racial might.

   He was very well informed and well read which was very amazing for a man of this humble background. Reading was a passion to him and very often he used to discuss the things that he had read in the newspapers and books and what he felt about them. I realized that he had a very sharp and intelligent critical bent of mind, much sharper than me even though I was a student and teacher of literature. His perception about things was remarkably very acute. Perhaps ups and down of life had taught him so much about the world and its realities.

   He started borrowing books from me though I am not as well read in Hindi literature as I should have been because Hindi is my mother tongue. But the knowledge of Hindi is not going to fetch any dividend in this English controlled economy. Moreover if Hindi books are seen in any house it was considered as a sign of educational and social backwardness. In Kashmir Hindi can also jeopardize individual safety. Among the books were collections of Munshi Premchand, Shivani, Guleri, Yatri. He was such a voracious reader that he returned back the borrowed books the very next day.

  During my evening and morning walk time we would sit in the park and talk about the books and stories, their characters and life in general and feared life in Kashmir in particular, until I went back to my flat. Now he stopped saluting me and begins greeting me with Ram Ram which made me very glad and comfortable as I was not his army officer or boss. He has tremendous love for his wife and he would wear a saffron colored sweater, symbol of patriotism and bravery, knitted by his wife over his white uniform.  

  In the first week of January he sent a little note to me, requesting to borrow five hundred rupees, which he will repay during the summer season when the tourism season is on its peak. At home his wife needed that money urgently to deposit the exam fee of his school going kids. He also wrote in the note that he is now penniless and he had no money left even to take his meals. He wrote that he had not eaten any morsel for two days and now having difficulty in driving. It was a short, formal and very decent letter as was his manners.  

  I had gone out so my wife came down with the money and gave to him. She also gave some food to Ram Sunder.

 When Mr.Hassan Farooqui.came to know about this help, he mocked me and my wife about this and named Ram Sunder a lazy impotent bull. He was under this wrong impression that probably Ram Sunder and other drivers consume wine at night because he had heard loud noises from some where and that is where all money is wasted. But I ignored him. This made him more jealous of me.

  Hassan Farooqui was a highly religious man. He was very liberal in giving donations to mosques, madarsas and other Islamic institutions and bodies. He used to read prayers five times a day and regularly used to organize Quran reading at his flat. But shockingly enough has no respect for any other religion or any other human being of different faith. I wondered what kind of God he believed in. His God must be a small and narrow God.

  On the occasion of Eid all were partying and marry making. All were greeting each other and a big party was organized in the open ground of our apartment building. Since I do not like such extravaganzas and think these are wastage of time and money and hence are social evils. I did not go down to attend the party and instead preferred to read Wounded Civilization, by V.S Naipaul but my wife joined the party and came back home after midnight. Hassan Farooqui’s organized a separate party in his apartment, stealthily. Some westernized, convent educated, youngsters were invited in that party. In that party liquor was served and consumed very liberally. Majority of the residents were unaware of such a party. But many friends of Hassan Farooqui failed to turn up on account of Eid. They did not like the idea of such a party on the holy occasion of Eid. Moreover in Islam consumption of liquor is considered an un-Islamic act.  

  Due to all these factors, the food was left untouched because more food than needed was ordered. Large quantity of meat, chicken, biryani, paneer, egg curry, malai kofta, rasgulla, and gulab jamun was left untouched with no one to consume. By that time ladies went in hiding and the remaining gentlemen were so much intoxicated that they were in no position even to stand forget about eating.

  In the midst of this jam session, one of the gentlemen, drunk heavily, suggested to call all the taxi drivers, from the taxi stand, so that the food is not wasted. He requested Zafar, who was there watching this drama silently and having number of pegs of his own, ‘Zafar sahib, go downstairs and call all the taxi drivers from the stand to eat, as someone has to consume all these left over items.’

  So Zafar went to the taxi stand and called all the taxi drivers present there to come upstairs. All the taxi drivers rushed except Ram Sunder Razdan. All the drivers gulped the food very fast and went back to the taxi stand. A number of them had disturbed stomach the next morning. As Ram Sunder picked a plate up started taking items for himself, Hassan Farooqui rushed to him and loudly, sarcastically said, ‘Oh Mr. Ram Sunder Razdan, I hope you must be hungry as always, you probably might not have seen or eaten such delicious food ever in your life, so eat carefully, keeping in mind your stomach, don’t over eat all these fabulous dishes.’ And then he laughed boisterously and patted Ram Sunder on the back very roughly. Ram Sunder felt very insulting and humiliating and that his heart and mind were sinking. He quietly put the plate on the table and walked out, aware of everybody’s eyes drilling on him. The other drivers ignored Ram Sunder’s humiliation and enjoyed and filled themselves up to brim.

  What happened next was very sad and unfortunate; may be tragic but ‘tragic’ is reserved for certain other groups and categories, which does not definitely include the minor and insignificant character like Ram Sunder Razdan. Moreover he was a pundit and in the valley and elsewhere in India pundits are considered insignificant human beings. On that tragic night Ram Sunder did not go to work. After the party died naturally and all the people gone to sleep, Ram Sunder sat in a corner and brooded over his miserable life and what had happened. All the tragic and past events reconstructed in his mind. He was hopelessly sad and full of pain and hurt. He started thinking about his family. He thought about his beautiful, innocent wife, who still looked pretty in spite all the pains in her life. Locals had tried to kidnap her before they flee from the village; about his loyal but equally unfortunate brother and his beloved land and village but now thirsty for his blood. Although the land possession was very small but it was full of life and dreams but all wasted

  He remembered how on one fateful night he hear the shouts of Allah Ho Akbar and terrorist with green flags in their hand, appeared suddenly  and started raining bullets. With great difficulty they could save their lives but the village and the small chunk of land was lost to him forever. He wept inconsolably that night in a temporary refugee camp, holding his wife tightly and their son sleeping calmly, unaware of the storm that has uprooted their lives and future. It was the beautiful face of his wife and innocent calm face of his son who made him leave his village for a new beginning. Otherwise chivalrous army man inside him was awakened to retaliate and teach a lesson to those butchers.

  It was again his wife’s and son’s faces, that night, around two o’clock after midnight that rocked the balance of his mind. With his bare but strong hands he broke the wooden walls of the cabin. With his blows he broke the glass door, the wooden chairs and cot and telephone system. His hands were bleeding profusely, fingers fractured. Other drivers got a chance to settle their jealousy. Instead of stopping Ram Sunder they rushed to the near by police post. When they came back with four policemen and they all beat him up mercilessly. Ram Sunder became unconscious, but by that time that taxi office was totally converted into trash. One of the taxi drivers rushed to inform me, knowing his closeness with me. I woke up and went downstairs with my wife. Some other residents also followed me to see the humiliation of Ram Sunder.

  Ram Sunder was in the taxi office. They had tied him up like a bull with the cord used to pull the defective cars. His entire body became blue due to merciless beating and was badly swollen and his hands were badly bleeding. His eyes were open but blank and expressionless like aliens. I untied his hands and legs but he lay there on the floor motionless. As was expected, no other male member came down to see Ram Sunder. But strangely enough their women folk were seen sobbing and children crying to the condition of there dear Ram Sunder. No body took him to the hospital. I tried to take him to the hospital but no one helped me there. I could not understand what to do. Even I failed to understand whether Ram Sunder was dead or alive.

                    nai’nam chindanti śastrāni nai’nam dahati pāvakah

na cai’nam kledayanty āpo na śosayati mārutah

 acchedyo’yam adāhyo’yam akledyo’ śosya eva ca

nityah sarvagatah sthānur acalo’yam sanātanah

 Weapons do not cut this spirit (Atma), fire does not burn it, water does not make it wet, and the wind does not make it dry. Atma cannot be cut, burned, wet, or dried. It is eternal, all-pervading, unchanging, immovable, and primeval. (2.23-24)

    In a far off place near the main city mosque, a tall leader, Maulana Mohammad Faheem wearing, long kurta, short salwar and round skull cap roaring that we will die for secularism and ultimately for Kashmiriyat and a Nazim, standing on a wall top, fingers in his ears, reciting Islamic prayer, “ Allah ho Akbar.” Some where in the fields a bull was yelling. A group of stone palter boys were hitting the poor bull to safeguard their secular traditions and Kashmiriyat.

  FLAG OF JUSTICE

  Mute nation, counting coffins,

Stands dazed by the pyre,

Waiting for the next victims,

To be put on pyre.

  Country deaf and dumb,

Shrouded in fear, numb,

Wailing widows, children orphaned,

Flashed across the streets like lambs.

  Up on a platform,

A wolf in whites, roaring,

Loudspeaker blowing,

Jai ho, jai ho, jai ho,

Nation salutes the resolute spirit.

Living race can’t wait five years,

Think and decide today.