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revelisms · 11 months

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Excerpt: What Were Any of Us?

Jinx and Singed chat about new developments across the river.

From 'fate is a sundress, ripped at the thigh,' a oneshot exploring Jinx's relationship to Sevika and Singed in the aftermath of S1. Full story on AO3

"Your eye for chemistry is quite remarkable," he says. "I'd not have seen the patterns you caught. A consequence of living too closely to the colonies, perhaps."

Jinx snuffs a breath through her fringe. It's the first day in too many that she's brushed her hair the whole way through: drawn it back into a clean tail at her nape, tied it off with a tattered old ribbon, a shock of neon green in the mess.

"Wasn't hard," she rasps, shrugging. "Just gotta look for the magicy bits, and stuff."

The doctor's good eye crinkles at the edges. The other stays flat and white.

It should be black and red and fire and warm and unblinking. Should be. But it's familiar, that unbalance. Comforting, in an odd way.

"This is because of the stone," he presumes. She fiddles at her cup, nails clinking off the handle. "I knew another, once, with a similar inclination. Smart boy. We keep in touch, from time to time."

For a moment, she only feels his eyes studying her, silently. Only hears the waves, feels the wind, the pressure of her cup biting back at her.

"I wonder...if this might be of interest to you." He reaches inside his coat; sets a small leather-bound journal, thick as a thumb, upon the iron. "Notes of his, on a new development with the Arcana."

A shock frissons through her skin.

She sees blue and fire and magic and whirling and gone gone rocketing—

We'll show them—

"It won't bite, child."

Still, she just stares at it, blinking. Her nail slips against the porcelain.

One wrinkled side of his face lifts at her, at that: a crooking remnant of an eyebrow singed off. "Aren't you curious?" he prods, quietly. Because she should be. She should be. "A world waiting to be discovered at our fingertips. Science—and magic."

"World of heebie-jeebies, you mean?" Jinx swipes up the notes, leveling a suspicious leer over their edges. "Bor-ing."

"You are not intrigued by the combination." The skin around his beady eye creases, again. "Neither was he. But the technology; the potential." She glances through her fringe. Watches as he crooks his head at her, and hums. "It is what interests me, too."

Maybe that's true. Maybe she doesn't give a hoot. Maybe she wishes she could turn back time, wishes she could build welding robotics and mechanical contraptions and micro-tech that responded to touch, had minds of their own; augmentations with precipice and wonder and deadly promise, that could fly high enough to touch the stars.

That little cup of coffee tips to his gums again, hissed through his teeth. "Mages have tried and failed, for centuries, to write magic into being," he continues. "But it is a living thing. It evolves. What better way to house it, than in a body that can adapt?"

She thumbs through a page of spindly illustrations. "Metal's still metal."

"Hextech has its limitations," he agrees. "Namely, the lack of life. The Arcana feeds off it, like a virus—but the result it produces..."

Her fingers still over countless calculations—variations upon variations of organic material reverted into something else, something infinite.

"It is...volatile, yes," continues a voice across from her, faraway. "But—you see? Even in it's infancy—"

"It could heal," Jinx breathes.

The doctor blinks at her. His thin fingers steeple together, and taper still. "Create," he corrects. Then, with a quietness to the rough edges of his words: "Many things could have healed him, child. In time." Her thumb presses hard into the page. Leaves a crease. "But so are the limitations of science. You cannot force progress beyond the tools you are given."

Jinx snaps the book shut. She squeezes it, stiffly. "What—what do you...want me to do with this?"

The air whistles with a gust of cool ocean air. It carries a speckling of salt, the smoky traces of a storm just along the way, and beneath them both, a sharp, chemical sort of sweetness: the kind that's sewed itself through her skin, from a lifetime working with gears and gunmetals and explosives; that kind that sits on the doctor's clothes, too.

He doesn't wear oils or fragrances. Never has. He smells like mildew and mothballs and that strange, floral taint of the black lilies, of the shimmer itself: a prism of too many things battling for attention, like the clutter of an apothecary's back shelves—but above it all, a spiced sort of musk, like dragon's blood.

It would stain her fingers after his injections. Change the air around him, for a minute or two, after that needle would prick the rot, drive a synthesized strand of blood into his veins and shatter him with the pain of it, shredding his genetic makeup alive and reforging a new one in its place.

As a girl, she'd wondered, morbidly, if enough doses would turn his skin pink, or his hair white, or if he'd never walk free from that feverish state the doctor demanded he'd stay in to survive.

But the shimmer never broke him, not completely. He'd always find the pieces of himself and put them back together.

It was in her veins now, too. But it'd eaten some part of her, in the process; bludgeoned through her like she'd smashed that damned vase. She couldn't find the pieces, now.

"I don't want you to do anything with it." The doctor's knobby fingers unfold, lace back together. "But if it interests you...well. I am continuing to pursue the developments."

She ticks her nail over the journal's binding.

She wishes he took up more space that he does, with his simple clothes and his flatcap on his spotty bald head. That he didn't just stink of the lab.

The salt stings her eyes.

Her lungs strain, stupidly strain to make that ocean air something else; to pretend those bony hands had scratches and scars, instead of burn pocks; that the shadow of his hat turned his blind eye black; that the scent on his wools was bergamot and sandalwood and clove and cedar and tobacco and—

"Does the ogre know that?" she bites out.

The doctor tips a glance over his shoulder, out towards the sea. "That is what you call her?" he drawls, bemused. His mismatched eyes flit back to her. "She is the helm of the knights, child—not the beast for them to slay. You should have seen her, the day they took the bridge. Should have seen all of them."

She shoves the notebook back to the table. "You weren't with them."

"Those that tend the wounded can't take the front lines, themselves. So goes war."

He folds his hands in his lap, leans back in his seat. She frowns at him, for a long moment. Rips her eyes away.

"He never—" Her nails squeeze into her palms. "Never said how you—you met him. Never told me."

A fluttering of fingertips dances in her periphery. "Does it make a difference? Fate has her ways. You, of all of us, should know that."

The words sit strangely on her. "I was just wondering."

For an eternity, the sea holds his attention. And she's used to that. She can handle that. Silence and thinking and always strategizing moves from four steps ahead, words weighed and strung together like precious stones—

"I didn't meet him, per-say. He was a subject." He lays a sallowed fingertip against the edge of his cup: tips it on its axis, from one side to another. "It took two weeks to stabilize the infection. Not a moment of it, I think, was he coherent." The cup stills. "What crawled off my table was not the same man."

Jinx presses her thumb into the heel of her palm, and keeps it there, like a dead weight. Quietly, she asks, "What was he...like, before?"

The doctor leaves the notes on the table between them. His stare skews curious, unwavering. Like she's nothing more than a test subject writhing his table, too.

"What were any of us?" he hushes.

#arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #jinx arcane #singed arcane #mentioned silco #cw death #cw grief #these two #the way i wasn't planning to root for surrogate science parent singed but then this scene got the most emotional out of all of them #aaghgh #writing

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thelukesalvez · 4 years

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Luke Alvez x (daughter) Reader: Through Flames

Request: @literallyprentissstwin requested; an imagine where Luke’s teenage daughter gets kidnapped and the team has to save her.

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau , @alvezstan , @saintd0lce , @ogmilkis , @reidswords , @akimagies, @literallyprentissstwin

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Kidnapping tw

A/N: this was emotional writing, luke as a single, super protective dad makes me rly soft so thank you so much for this request!

Luke has to excuse himself from the round table when the call comes through his phone. Normally, he’d let calls go to voicemail when he was at work, but you were always the exception.

“Hey, we’re in a meeting,” Luke begins to explain, but he’s cutoff.

“Daddy-” your voice is a hushed whisper. It’s enough to make Luke freeze in his tracks, his full attention shifting to you and the phone call.

You had turned seventeen years old a little over a month ago, and only ever called Luke ‘Daddy’ when you were either trying to evade trouble or get something you wanted.

Suddenly, Luke remembers you being ten years old again. That was the first time he ever remembers you calling him “Dad” instead of his coined title.

“Dad?” he had raised an eyebrow at you in the car as he drove you to school. “Since when do you call me dad?”

“I’m not a baby anymore,” you had said, crossing your small arms in front of you. “Daddy is for babies.”

“Well you’re still my baby,” he’d assured you.

After dropping you off, the smile Luke had been wearing faded. He was secretly disappointed by your sudden declaration. Being called ‘dad’ was just another indication that his girl was growing up, something he’d been dreading since the day you were born.

For the longest time, it had always been just you and Luke. When you were only six, your mom had walked out. There was little explanation as to why she left, other than her wanting another life, which Luke could never understand. Who could want a life away from you? You were his life- his girl, the only one that mattered.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked through the phone, his voice serious.

“Th-there’s someone in the house,” your voice is barely a whisper when you respond, but it sends shockwaves through Luke’s entire body. It’s enough to send him back into the conference room, where the rest of his team is gathered.

“What?” he spits. “Who’s in the house?”

When you answer, Luke can detect traces of panic in your voice, “I don’t know…”

He pulls the phone away from his ear, the attention of the entire team is trained on him after overhearing the last bit of his conversation. “Send units to my house,” he says, without explanation, before speaking to you again.

Luke swallowed, only now realizing how dry his throat felt. “Where are you?”

“I’m hiding- under my bed. I-I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, Daddy.”

Your words shoot through Luke like a knife, twisting their way into his skin until they pierce through his heart. His head is clouded with a feeling of helplessness and desperation. “It’s okay. It’s okay baby, I’m here. The police are on the way. Stay on the phone with me, do not hang up, okay?”

Instead of answering, you respond in a hushed, terrified tone. “He’s coming- he’s coming up the stairs!”

Luke squeezes his eyes shut and can’t help the burning tears that are threatening to spill over. All he can do is coax you through the phone and pray to whatever God might be out there that you’d be okay. So that’s what he does.

“Stay on the phone with me,” he orders. He doesn’t even recognize his own voice, but he needs you to stay calm. “And be quiet.”

He hears your labored breathing through the phone. It’s choppy and uneven, but you do as he says.

There’s a pause, a moment of complete silence that was probably only a minute, but to Luke, felt like an eternity. He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until now.

When you finally do speak, your voice is still quiet. “I think he’s gone.”

Luke’s shoulders visibly relax, and he’s about to exhale a sigh of relief when there’s a crashing sound on your end of the line, followed by an earth-shattering scream that makes Luke’s entire body go cold.

He yells your name through the line, but there’s nothing else he can do, there’s no way he can help you.

“Daddy!” you scream, “No! Daddy, please!”

Even after the line goes dead, Luke doesn’t hang up. He just listens to the empty dial tone, unable to move or think or do anything at all.

…

When in doubt, always revert back to victimology. That was the first rule of profiling that Luke had learned upon joining the BAU. The team spent hours on cases examining and comparing the Unsub’s victims. They’d look for commonalities or links between them, anything to link it all together. They’d assess the reason that person was targeted and any known connections among other victims.

Most often, perps would choose their victims based on some sort of fantasy. That person would fit into a mold, or have certain characteristics that match what the Unsub was looking for. Generally, these were distinguished attributes; hair or skin color, age, profession. Sometimes, the links weren’t so obvious and the team had to work a little harder to connect the dots.

Then, there were the surrogates. These people were chosen because they resembled someone in the Unsub’s life; a scorned lover, an abusive parent. Someone the perp needed to recreate for one reason or another. Once you found out who the victim resembled, you could narrow down your suspect pool and catch your guy.

Oftentimes, Luke’s favorite part of a case was to examine the victims. He liked how concrete and factual it all was. Victimology was so important- it had solved so many of the BAU’s cases.

The second rule of profiling was: don’t forget that this is a job.

Level headedness, clear thinking, and a calm demeanor were essential in finding an Unsub. It was never a chance to be a knight in shining armor, or a way to get fifteen minutes of fame. Sometimes cases ended well and sometimes they didn’t, no matter how well you profiled it and no matter how textbook they were. But no matter what, you couldn’t take it personally.

But Luke had known from the get go of this case that he was never going to be able to follow that rule. This was a different situation, completely uncharted territory for him. Since Garcia had been digging, she had found four other missing girls in Virginia, D.C., and Maryland that were all the same age as you, all taken from their homes in the middle of broad daylight. God knows how many of them were dead. And one of them was his kid.

“You know I have to take you off of this. You can’t be in the field.” Emily was suddenly standing in front of Luke. “But as a courtesy, I’m letting you stay in the BAU. You can help Garcia here.”

“Emily-” Luke started to protest, but she cut him off.

“No,” her voice is firm, it’s final. “This one is too close.”

He knows he can’t defy her orders, so instead, Luke hangs his head. First, he couldn’t help you over the phone. He’d stood by, helpless while you’d been abducted out of your own home. But now he couldn’t do so much as his own job to help save you. What kind of father was he?

Emily senses Luke’s uneasiness and places a reassuring hand on his sunken shoulder. “Luke, we will find her.”

She sounds so sure of herself.

“We will not rest until we do.”

…

When your mom still lived with you and your dad, she had a painting of a potted plant hanging in the hall.

“Why don’t we just get a plant?” you’d asked her, imagining a real snake plant would be much prettier than this dull painting of one.

But she’d shaken her head, “I can’t keep a plant alive for the life of me. Plants die. But a picture will live forever.”

You’re staring at a similar painting now hanging up on an unfamiliar blue wall. It’s wild and green and the leaves are all spilling over the edge of it’s pot. They’re growing in all directions, some combing towards a window, some stretching towards the sky. There was no logic or gravity or sense in it. But that plant was going to live forever.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

…

“Are you sure, Garcia?” Emily asked. Her, Reid, and Luke were gathered in the conference room, sitting in chairs around the table.

Garcia nodded, her laptop clutched tightly in her hand.

“I’m sure, the other four girls’ families all received distressed calls roughly six hours after the initial abduction.”

“Why did no one tie these crimes together until now?” Emily wondered out loud.

“Because he crossed state lines, there was no communication between the stations, so no one made the connection,” Garcia explained.

“Wait-” Luke interrupted, not entirely sure he heard his coworker right. “You’re telling me that I’m gonna get a call from her?”

Garcia nods slowly. “If he follows the pattern.”

Luke’s mouth feels dry. “Can you trace it?”

She shrugs, shifting the laptop into her other hand. “I can try- I mean, I’ll definitely try. It just depends on if it’s a disposable, how many cell towers are in the area, how long the call is-”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Luke mumbles.

Luke watches the clock like it’s his job for the next hour. He concentrates his eyes on the digital numbers on his phone screen, trying not to let his mind think about anything else. By anything else, he meant you and whether or not you were still alive.

When six hours past your abduction came and went, Luke was beside himself.

“Why isn’t she calling?” he asked, there was a knot in his throat reminding him that he was on the verge of tears any second now.

“Some of the calls were made up to seven hours after abduction,” Emily reminded him. “She’s going to call.”

Luke continued staring at his phone and his lockscreen. It was a picture of you and him he’d snapped at the park from earlier that year. You were both sitting in the grass, you with your phone in your hand, leaning into Luke, and a cheerful grin spread wide across your face.

“You take selfies at the wrong angle!” you’d laughed at him. “You’re supposed to hold the camera higher.”

“What? Like this?” he’d asked, extending his arm.

“Yes! Perfect!”

That’s when he’d taken it.

Luke’s thoughts are interrupted when an unknown number suddenly flashes across his screen. For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s seeing and he freezes in place. Garcia clicks a key on her computer, then gives Luke a thumbs up, indicating that she was ready to begin tracking the call.

Luke’s hesitation is short lived and after only a moment, he hurries to answer the phone.

“Daddy?” he hears your voice say. .

“Hi sweetheart,” he answers, trying to decompress the emotion in his voice.

Luke remembers when you were a baby, learning to walk, and were stumbling all over the place. You would always look up to him when you’d fall, and if Luke looked concerned, you’d burst into hysterical tears. But, if he seemed calm, you’d pick yourself up and keep going.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-no.” You pause. “Daddy, I’m scared-”

Luke bit his lip. “I know you are, baby.”

He looks to Garcia, hoping to see any indication that the tracking was successful. She shakes her head and mouths to Luke, “I need more time.”

Luke nods. “I want you to know how much I love you,” he says.

He could practically hear the panic rise in your voice when you responded, “Are you telling me that because I’m going to die?”

“No,” he says sternly. “No, baby. You got everyone looking for you, we’re going to find you..”

“He says- he says that he’s going to take good care of me-” he can hear that you’re crying now in the hiccups between your words. You always hiccuped when you cried.

Emily slides a note towards Luke from across the table just then. He peers at it and reads, ‘try to speak to the Unsub directly.’

He nods.

“Baby,” he says calmly. “Can you ask the man-” he swallows. “Can you ask the man if I can speak to him?”

Luke hears muffled voices on the other line, then a shuffle, before it’s quiet again.

Garcia, meanwhile, is staring at her screen and typing frantically. She mouths to Luke the word, “almost.”

When Luke hears shallow breathing on the other end of the line, he knows it’s his daughter’s abductor. His insides fill up with rage, but he muscles it down. He needed to remain calm.

“My name’s Luke Alvez-” he speaks into his phone. “I just want to talk.”

There’s more muffled sounds and then a deep, male voice speaks. “I have nothing to talk about.”

“What about Y/N?” Luke spits out, desperate to keep the Unsub on the phone. “You must want to talk about Y/N. It’s very clear that you care about her.”

The words taste like poison in Luke’s mouth. But he was willing to say or do whatever it took to get her back.

“More than you ever have!” the Unsub shouts.

“You don’t think I care enough about my daughter?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation open ended. As long as Luke kept him on the line, you had a chance.

“No!” he hollers. He sounds agitated and unsteady. “I’ve been watching her for a while now. I see the way you leave her alone, sometimes for the entire night!”

Luke continued to press. “You don’t think seventeen year olds should be left alone?”

“No child should ever be left alone! That’s when accidents happen. You can’t protect them.”

“Protect them from what?”

Luke has to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat when he hears the Unsub sneer, “Men like me.”

With that, the line goes dead.

…

When you were little, you used to be scared of the dark. You’d make your dad come in, after you were tucked under all the covers, and check out the whole bedroom- in the closet, under the bed, all the drawers of your dresser. Sometimes, you’d wake up crying in the middle of the night, convinced that you’d seen something hiding in the shadows of your room. Your dad would hurry in, quick to sit on the edge of your bed and hold you tight.

“Monsters aren’t real,” he had assured you, his large hand tracing circled on your back.

But now you knew he was wrong. Monsters were real.

Now, you sat in the dimly lit room of your capture’s house. The sun was setting outside, soon it would be completely dark. You were sitting against a wall, your hands now tied tightly together in front of you.

Your capture paced rapidly on the opposite end of the room. He ran his long fingers through his blonde hair and muttered to himself. Whatever your dad had said to him over the phone really rattled him.

You had faith in your dad. He knew what he was doing. But you wished he would’ve just stayed on the phone with you just a bit longer. Just the sound of his voice made you feel safe. You closed your eyes and tried to hear it in your mind.

…

“Were you able to track it?” Emily is hunched over Garcia, gazing at her laptop screen with intent.

“Not completely,” she says, frazzled. “I was able to narrow it down. It was a cell phone, and it pinged off from one of these two towers.” She points to the screen.

“That’s what? A thirty mile radius?”

Garcia nods solemnly.

Luke huffs out anxiously. “So what?” he barks. “What? We have nothing?”

“No-” Emily interjects. “We have the profile.”

Hours passed since your abduction, and Luke was desperately trying not to lose hope.

He’d attempted to call back the number you reached him on three times now. Each time, it went straight to an automated voicemail.

He tried to help the team, but his mind was too scattered and he couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before he was worrying about you again.

Currently, he was slouched over in the same chair he’d been sitting in all day, his arms crossed across his chest and staring up at the vision board Reid had created. Your driver’s license picture was taped to the board, your smiling, eager face looking back at him.

He remembers the day he’d brought you to the DMV. He’d secretly been hoping you’d fail, but only because he was so worried about you driving on the road. His biggest fear was one day receiving a call that you’d been in an accident.

Turns out he should have been worried about other things.

His thoughts are once again interrupted, this time by JJ. She’s bursting through the conference room door like she’s on a mission.

“Guys-” she announces. “They just ID’d the remains of three of the four victims. They were burned in a fire pit in the radius Garcia narrowed down.” She crossed the room and put a tack in the map Reid had taped up. “Here,” she said.

“Burned?” Rossi asked, narrowing his eyes. “That’s an odd means of disposal. Do you think it’s a forensic countermeasure?”

“I don’t think so,” Reid mused, narrowing his eyes like he always did when he was in deep thought. “There were fingerprints and DNA all over the crime scene. The Unsub just wasn’t a match in CODIS. If he were so concerned with hiding evidence, he wouldn’t have left so much more behind.”

“So why burn the bodies?” JJ asks.

Reid shrugs. “Maybe it’s part of his ritual that we never considered.”

Luke thinks back to his conversation with your capture on the phone, trying to uncover any incriminating evidence in his words.

“He was really upset that I would leave Y/N home alone,” Luke stated out loud. “That bothered him more than anything, he said she could be harmed.”

“What if our Unsub lost a child?” Reid mused. “Think about it- he’s more concerned with Y/N’s safety, than anything else- which indicates that he sees her as a surrogate daughter.”

“And the taunting phone calls, to the parents- it’s to make them feel guilty for not being able to protect their children,” JJ adds.

Reid continues, “What if that represents guilt he felt? For not being able to protect his own child?”

“I can narrow down child deaths in the radius I was able to locate,” Garcia suggests. She’s already typing away at her laptop.

“Did the Unsub mention anything else?” Rossi asks Luke.

Luke bites his lip and thinks back to the line that stunned him the most. “He told me that ‘No child should ever be left alone,’ and that ‘that’s when accidents happen’.”

The team mused over the quote for a moment before Reid spoke up. “Garcia, narrow your search to child deaths by fires.”

“What’re you thinking?” Tara asks Spencer.

“The burning of the bodies,” Reid explains. “I think he’s making these families experience what he did.”

“Bingo,” Garcia announces. “Megan Charles burned to death in a house fire just over a year ago, three weeks before the first victim disappeared. Her father, Doug Charles, came home late from work one night to find the house in flames. Firefighters couldn’t get her out in time. She was eighteen years old,” she finished sadly.

“You know what to do-” Emily said, as she and the rest of the team were already standing up and charging out the door.

Luke stood up from his chair but she shook her head.

“You can’t Luke-”

“Emily-” he pleaded, the tears he’d been holding back all night finally threatening to spill over. “Please, she’s my kid, I can’t just sit here-”

“Luke,” Emily said sternly. “You don’t have to be a hero.”

Luke shook his head. “I’m not. But I am a father.”

Luke watches as she truly considers his plea. “Fine,” she says, her voice softening. “You can come, but your gun stays here and you're waiting in the car.”

“Thank you,” Luke mouths. He strips his holster and gun from his belt and shoots after the rest of the team.

…

I didn’t do the dishes, you thought as you waited for your imminent death.

You wondered if your dad would get home and be mad to find that you didn’t do the one thing he’d asked you to do while he was away at work.

Now that you think about it, your dad rarely got mad, he got disappointed. You hoped disappointment wasn’t the last thing he ever thought of you.

…

As Luke rode towards you and the Unsub, he thought about the day you were born. He and his wife had been at home watching HGTV when her contractions started. They were getting closer and closer together as Luke drove like a maniac to the hospital. He left the car in the loading zone while he hurried his wife into the delivery room.

As soon as the doctor placed your bundled blanket in his arms he knew that you were the very best thing that would ever happen to him.

Your first word was ‘dada’. And you’d cry if he ever left the room. He taught you to ride a bike and he let you paint his nails all the colors of the rainbow. He took you hiking through all the trails in Virginia and would always bring the ingredients for s’mores on your camping trips. He’d watch dramatic teenage TV shows he had absolutely no interest in just to spend time with you. You’d talk about everything from which character from The Office you felt best represented you to why mothers leave their children sometimes.

When the SUV pulled into the driveway of the Unsub’s house, Luke unbuckled his seatbelt by habit. He was about to open the door to the SUV when Emily stopped him.

“Alvez, stay here.” She ordered.

Luke wanted to protest, but deep down, he knew she was right. He wasn’t sure what he would do upon seeing the man who had taken you away from him. And what if the team was too late? Luke knew he wouldn’t hesitate before killing Doug Charles with his bare hands.

He nods while biting his lip harshly. “Bring back my daughter,” he pleads.

Emily nods. “We will.”

…

This wasn’t how, or when, you thought your life would end. You were only seventeen, afterall.

As this complete stranger walked towards you with a knife and a devilish look in his eyes, you thought about how much you wanted to do. Like go to Europe- or see Niagara Falls. You wanted to skydive and snorkel in the ocean. You wanted to drink coffee in Paris and ride a camel in Egypt. You wanted to fall in love.

You were running through the list in your own head when you heard a smashing sound from down the hall.

Your eyes went wide with fear while the man above you snatched you into his arms. He hoisted you to your feet and barreled his arm across your chest, the knife pressing into your throat threateningly.

“Doug Charles, FBI!” A familiar voice boomed. You recognized it as Matt’s.

Footsteps grew closer until the door between you and the hall was opened hastily.

A handful of known faces filed into the room. Your eyes first land on Rossi. You’d been to his house before for spaghetti dinners. He’s holding his gun out in front of him, much like everyone else in the room. You searched their faces frantically for your dads. But you quickly realized that he wasn’t there.

“Drop the knife,” Emily says slowly.

You struggle to breath against the pressure of the man’s arm over your chest. You feel the blade against your skin, it’s sharp and ready to slit your throat at any minute. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remain as still as possible.

“Doug- we know what happened to your daughter.” You recognize the voice as Spencer’s. “But what happened wasn't your fault.”

You feel the man’s grip tighten on you. “Shut up!” he boomed.

“What happened to Megan was horrible,” Reid pressed. “It was horrible, but it was an accident, and it wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself. Killing Y/N isn’t going to bring Megan back.”

“Look at her,” Emily interjects. “She’s a seventeen year old girl. One year younger than Megan was. She’s innocent, Doug. Just like Megan was. Don’t hurt her, let her go.”

To your disbelief, after a few moments, you actually feel the grip on you loosen before it’s released altogether. You use the opportunity to launch yourself forward towards what you presumed as safety. Spencer was the first one to catch you. He wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders and shields you as he hurries you out of the room before you can see anything else. You barely hear Emily’s voice as she reads the man his Miranda Rights in the distance.

“M-my dad-” you spit out, your voice wavering.

“He’s outside,” Spencer assures you, his grip around your shoulders tightening as he feels you growing unsteady. “I got you,” he assures you.

Before your eyes could even adjust to the darkness of the outside, you hear a voice calling your name.

Dad, you thought.

Your legs, despite being wobbly, stepped forward towards the voice, until you could see him pushing past the other officers and EMT’s on the scene.

“Dad!” you shouted.

“Y/N, oh my God,” he took three giant steps forward before crushing you into his arms. He held you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe. But you noticed that as soon as he touched you, you stopped shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded against him.

“You’re not hurt?” he pulled away, holding you at arms length. There was worry and concern written all over his face, and he stared into your eyes as if trying to gauge the damage done.

“I’m okay,” you told him.

Luke nodded only once before pulling you back into his embrace, and at last you felt at peace. Luke realized that holding you in his arms felt like a plane touching down in his own city again, when he’d realize that the only reason he ever left in the first place was to remember what it felt like to come home.

#luke alvez imagine #luke alvez x daughter reader #luke alvez x reader imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader imagine #luke alvez #luke alvez x reader fanfic #luke alvez fanfic #luke alvez fic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader fic

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seas-storyarchive · 2 years

Text

Fuck it. Due to hyperfixation, YJ!Zatara Aus

Fate of the Scarred: You know how in "Og Htrof Dna Reuqnoc!" when Fate got knocked out, and the helmet had a scar going up along the right side? What if Zatara, who was the host at the time, had that same scar? He can still use his eye, he just has the scar that is faded on his face similar to Vandal Savage, a permanent physical tie to his time as Fate? And it also ties him to the Lords of Order? He can hear their whispers in his right ear, and he'll look to respond to them- often in anger or with a general outburst- but that's the extent? And he becomes somewhat jaded? Like he's still a hero, but he starts to drift to the grey end of the hero spectrum as time goes on.

Balancing Scale: Klarion isn't Earth's only Chaos Lord. Giovanni hasn't always followed the Path of Justice. His original look is the "beta" to Klarion, but with suspenders instead of a suit jacket and a cane, the first one sent down. He's a sleeper agent, once Klarion is "born", his power being confined to his cane and his body aging into a man (he's mentally over 1 thousand years old at that point, just now having a body to match). He keeps moving, so one notices he doesn't quite age with them, until Sindella. He falls for the descent of Order, starts a family, becomes a hero, meets Kent Nelson (with his soft words of encouragement and gentle wisdom) - until Sindella's death. That's when he isn't sleeping anymore. That's when Chaos becomes him, reverting back to his original form.

Super Natural: (gen swap AU) "Mommommom! Superman! It's Superman! Hi Mr. Superman!" "Calm down, Giovanni." "But why? He's WAY cooler than Uncle Smallville!" Giovanni is Zatanna's preteen son, his father bailed on them (I don't care who it is, make up whatever, but he's not around) who is twin sisters with Lois Lane but she has magic thanks to the occult - Giovanni doesn't have magic but knows his morher is in the League. Lois is dating Clark, who is secretly Superman, Giovanni's idol.

Why so Blue (Falcon)?: old AU where Giovanni is the Blue Falcon. A non magic, grass roots superhero single dad that is a mechanic and he owns the shop he works at who fights crime in New York with his homemade suit and his doberman pincher Dynomtt AKA Victor (that may or may not be a robot built by TO Morrow to destroy stuff, but malfunctioned due to being caught in electrical powerlines, messing with his programming like his summoning functions for his weapons, speech patterns, memory and calling Giovanni "BF"). He's not a member of the Justice League, but is reconsidering when his daughter is caught up in League bull$#!% when he looks away from her for two seconds to stop a bank robbery.

Time Freeze: Giovanni's past has always been a mystery to him. His parents say they adopted him after they found him in a waterfilled basket at the edge of a canal in a leaking boat. The League notices similarities between Diana and Giovanni, they act a lot alike.. no, it's probably cultural similarities. It doesn't mean- "what do mean its a match!?" "Look at the results! We used a single hair from each of you!" "Oh my-" "If you are my mother, I don't want to know who my father is.. I just want to know.. if you could have kept me, would you?" The silence that followed, it was all Giovanni needed.

Flying By: Giovanni never finds the book of his family. He never gains his magic. He's just a normal man, a firefighter, age 26, trying to take care of his family. Everything changes when, at a festival in New York to celebrate the Justice League, Giovanni rushes to the side of Superman who is cut up pretty bad. He refuses to move between him and this robot with a destructive Krytonite ray gun, shielding Superman from the blow. He wakes up one day, a week later, to find that he has powers like Superman! He and Sindella are shocked and happy, Giovanni is still gentle as ever, and more effective at his firefighting. It all takes a turn when he uses his abilities to stop a bus from falling off a bridge and hightales it out of there. He's later visited by the Man of Steel himself. Asking to join the Justice League.

#giovanni zatara #young justice giovanni zatara #young justice

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derireo · 3 years

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sad little pair ↦ itaru & izumi

cw: high school au, a story spoiler or two from kniroun. angst? hurt/no comfort?

"Hey." Izumi gently pokes Itaru's arm with the button of her pen to catch his wandering attention. It's currently study hall, but Izumi can't focus, and her friend doesn't seem too keen on doing work either.

Her prodding at his arm makes Itaru look up from the intricate wood patterns on his desk. His overgrown fringe falls over his eyes, but he can still see Izumi.

He rests his cheek in his palm, gaze staring at her through his fingerprint stained glasses. "What."

His tone is uncaring, but Izumi knows he's just bad at his delivery. She quietly gets up from her chair to stand beside Itaru's desk, and she crouches, hands gripping the edge of his table.

Her eyes are sparkling, albeit dimly. It looks like she has an idea in mind.

"Let's dip." She murmurs with a little upwards tilt to the corner of her mouth. "I wanna go home."

Itaru lazily nods his head in agreement. "Same."

Izumi's light up just a bit more, and Itaru feels kind of happy although he was barely able to lift her mood.

"Let's go at lunch." Itaru suggests to which Izumi smiles.

“‘Kay.”

"Sometimes looking at you makes me feel sad." Izumi mumbles softly, sitting cross legged above Itaru's head as he lies on the floor with a handheld game console in his grip.

She says that sentence with a barely amused smile, but it only makes Itaru scoff half-heartedly. He takes a glance up at her towering figure as he feels her fingers brush back his messy fringe.

"Then stop looking at me." He shrugs.

His tone is indifferent, but Izumi knows that his response is lighthearted. She smiles a little more. Readjusts his glasses for him.

"But looking at you can also make me happy." She urges, just in case there was a little part of Itaru that was annoyed with her comment. Izumi's fingers help keep Itaru's hair away from his face as he plays his game. "I feel less lonely.”

Itaru looks at her again, clearer this time now that he paused his game to pay more attention to the conversation they're having. "Well. We're friends.”

He puts his handheld console on his chest, screen down. Folds his hands above his stomach as Izumi playfully flattens his fringe to cover his vision.

"Yeah." She says after a pause. "But sometimes I feel like you get tired of me. My presence can be a bit much. I know.”

Itaru scoffs. "What presence? And if I was tired of you, I'd have left long ago." His voice tells Izumi that she’d gone and upset him.

"Where is this coming from, Tachibana?" Itaru asks her. His pink irises glimmer in the lowlight of the living room as he searches Izumi's face for any non-verbal cues. He doesn't find any

"I don't know." Izumi shrugs. She fixes his fringe and moves to shove her hands between her thighs to warm them. "The night makes me think.”

Her expression is slightly bashful, but it doesn't endear Itaru one bit. He crosses an arm beneath his head and gently reaches out to poke her cheek with his hand

"And it's still the afternoon. Stop thinking so hard.”

And, well... Yeah. Okay. She can probably do that.

Izumi turns her head to look out the window of her living room and smiles blankly. She nods in acknowledgement, looking back at Itaru with an eerily unfocused gaze.

"Yeah..." She trails off slowly.

It makes Itaru want to sigh.

Her mom never really liked showing her face when Izumi was around. And when they did end up seeing each other at home, Izumi's mom wouldn't stay around long enough to hold a conversation.

She'd leave the room if Izumi entered, and sometimes she'd even leave the house if she found no reason to stay.

This started around the time when Izumi's father left, so really. Izumi was just stuck.

Stuck being alone.

Itaru understands why she's being like this right now, but it still makes him wonder: Doesn't she get tired of feeling this way?

"Looking at me now, how are you feeling?" Itaru asks quietly. He watches her movements through his overgrown fringe and he can tell that she's slowly beginning to smile again.

"...I'm happy." She murmurs.

"Less lonely?" He asks another question.

"A little." Izumi frowns. Her brown eyes meet Itaru's, and she reaches out to lightly pat her palm against his cheek. "You're lonely too."

Her gentle touch isn't enough to quell the annoyance that flares inside of Itaru when she points out his similar problem. He still tries to keep his ill-temper at bay, though. For the sake of Izumi.

He blinks his eyes twice, thrice. Gazes up at the ceiling with pursed lips and an indifferent hum.

"I don't think I am." He argues, voice quiet.

It makes Izumi smile again. It's very much like him to pretend and deny things about himself.

"You and I both know that we're hanging around each other more because that guy is gone."

The mention of 'that guy' makes Itaru sip in a quick breath. His pink irises grow sharp as he looks at Izumi who was staring back; looking innocent as if she had done nothing wrong.

"Don't mention him." Itaru says lowly.

He didn't really care about the incident that had happened weeks ago anymore, but just remembering that he was friends with that type of person was something Itaru wanted to forget.

"If only he hadn't pulled that stunt, I'm sure you'd be with him instead of me right now." Izumi muses; observant as always.

And well, she's probably right. At this time of day, he'd usually be in the classroom with his 'friend', talking about Knights of the Round Table. Itaru only talks to Izumi after school, when he walks her home or when he stays over to study.

It's rare for him to be with Izumi for longer than three hours a day, actually. So it's funny. Funny how Itaru doesn't even know if he considers Izumi a friend.

A real one.

Does she consider him a friend?

Is she lying when she says he makes her feel less lonely or is it true?

And why does it feel like he's being selfish?

"Do you feel like I'm only using you as a substitute for his absence?" Itaru asks after a while of silence between the two students, and he frowns, vision briefly going out of focus due to Izumi going back to playing with his fringe.

He gives Izumi time to mull over her answer to his question, but Itaru's only given a shrug.

"I guess, but it doesn't bug me." She starts, pinching a few strands of his hair between her fingers. "I'm a nice replacement, don't you think?"

Her teasing smile is what barely makes Itaru chuckle, but the young boy goes back to his normal brooding.

"I'm sorry."

The apology makes the girl pause in her messing around with his hair and frowns down at him. She couldn’t see the hundreds of thoughts that ran through his head, but it felt like she still saw right through him. "...Why?"

"I didn't mean to cast you aside." He mutters quietly and scratches his cheek, eyes darting between his friend's face and the ceiling of her living room. "I left you alone for too long."

"It's okay. You two were always happy when talking about Kniroun." Izumi shrugs. She doesn't really understand why he's feeling bad.

She knows that Itaru feels more comfortable around Tonooka than he feels with her so how can she blame him?

Itaru doesn't want to think about Tonooka. "I should have kept you some more company, at least."

"It's okay. I'm fine with the quiet walks home."

"Izumi. I don't... Ugh, I—I don't want you to say that." Itaru grasps for straws at this point. "You need to be more vocal with your own thoughts, wants, and needs."

"Well... If anything. I just want us to stay friends. For a long time." Her wish is simple and barely satisfies Itaru's need to feel less guilty, but he doesn't argue.

He gathers the courage to look at Izumi again and feels himself falter when he notices her smile.

"Do you think we can manage that?" She asks him, innocent.

And don't get mad at him, but the question almost had Itaru laughing at the absurdity.

People don't stay friends after high school.

People in high school aren't worth keeping as friends.

Itaru doesn't want to make a promise he can't keep.

"I don't know." He says honestly, lightly brushing away Izumi's hands from his face. "Seems a little difficult."

"Since our interests don't really align, right?" She says what Itaru had been thinking and the blond frowns.

Izumi smiles kindly, not at all upset. Of course, she knew. Itaru, busy with his games, busy with his studies, busy with anything else that didn’t pique Izumi’s interest. He sees her the same way; busy with acting, busy with working, busy with self-loathing.

None of that interested Itaru just as much as Izumi to him.

Funny, that, although they were completely different, they were also quite similar.

Lonely. Closed off. Acting like someone they’re not.

“I’m surprised we’re still friends.” Izumi muses, brown eyes staring straight through Itaru as his eyes looked up at her ceiling.

“We tolerate each other, if anything.” He says, avoids returning Izumi’s stare. His throat bobs, and suddenly there’s a vine of guilt climbing up his spine and wrapping around his neck.

He’s making it sound like he doesn’t consider her a friend; disregarding everything he said earlier in their conversation.

But, after Tonooka...he isn’t sure if he even wants one anymore.

There’s still a lot more he can lose if Izumi turns on him too.

Their silence stretches on for what feels like hours after Itaru’s last statement, Izumi’s eyes unblinking and void of any emotion. She isn’t sure if he’s pushing her away, having experienced much harsher treatment from her mother, but she prepares her heart for the icy hurt that would soon come.

Itaru’s uncomfortable by her stare. Almost like she’s staring at the floor and not him.

Almost like she’s choosing not to see him.

“How am I making you feel now?” He asks, quiet, as to not startle her.

Her unfocused eyes revert themselves at the question, and thankfully, he’s in her sights again. Itaru lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and runs a hand through his hair.

“Um.” She starts, wringing her hands in her lap. Her lips are red with how much she’s been biting them, and she looks almost conflicted. Like she didn’t want to tell him the truth.

Itaru reaches out, tenderly brushing his fingers against her cheek. “You can tell the truth.”

She barely registers his touch; something that doesn’t happen often. Izumi loves it when he initiates physical affection, but it seems that she doesn’t even notice this time around.

“Lonely.” She says, softly. “You want to leave.”

Itaru flinches at the sudden warmth of her tears dripping onto his fingers, and his breath catches when he sees that she still isn’t blinking.

Her face doesn’t move a muscle although there are tears leaking from her eyes and Itaru has to drop his hand from her face so that they would stop sliding down his arm.

Her voice is oddly calm, void of the sadness that her eyes show and Itaru sits up with an anxious feeling digging into his stomach.

“I didn’t say that.” He croaks. There’s a fire crawling up his throat that makes him struggle to speak, the burn making him stumble over his words as he reaches for Izumi’s shoulders to pull her limp body into his chest.

“I just—I-I...I don’t know if I can promise that I’ll stay.” He says truthfully, but still winces at the words that brought no comfort.

“It’s okay.” She speaks into Itaru’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around her.

Her nose stings and brings a fresh wave of tears to pool in her eyes. She laughs it off though, albeit weakly, and lets her face twist into a pained expression when she knows Itaru isn’t looking at her.

“It was fun being your friend.” She whispers, lifting a heavy hand to comfort Itaru by patting his back.

As they say. Nothing lasts forever.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#act! addict! actors!#itaru chigasaki #izumi tachibana #dr: same age troupe #dr: spring pair #a3! fic #a3! scenarios #ohhhh girl. i dont even know what happened. all of a sudden i was writing then i started crying #this was a wip for months

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altomer · 4 years

Text

Kuuipo Chapter 1

Paring: Steve Mcgarrett x reader

Fandom: Hawaii 5-0

Warnings: none that I can think of.

Song: American Woman - Lenny Kravitz

Request: None

Outfit

I gripped the steering wheel, watching as my knuckles turned white. I sat outside the palace. My nerves were on edge. I didn’t understand why I was so nervous. It was completely stupid. I took a deep breath and swung the door open. The gravel crunched under my boots. I tugged at the blue air force t-shirt that hung on my shoulders. I glanced at my watch. 10:15, perfect. I smiled to myself as I made my way to the door.

“You're late.” A man said not even bothering to turn around.

“Actually, commander, I'm 15 minutes early.” I didn’t even try and hide the frustration in my voice. He was the SEAL I was sure of that much, The man swung around as the rest of the team looked at me. His eyes widened for a second before he raised his eyebrows. He was attractive, I couldn’t lie. He has green eyes and dark hair. He was tall and well built. The black shirt he wore hugged his arms

“You're the OSI Agent?” The disbelief in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Any attraction to him went out the window.

“Is there something wrong.” He shook his head. “When they said OSI I thought of someone more-”

“Male?”

“Taller.”

I didn’t know if I should be more offended or less offended. I shook my head letting out a sigh. I passed him to the rest of the team. I held my hand out to the closest person.

“First Lieutenant L/N.”

“Danny Williams.” I let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t all stuck up assholes.

The rest of the team was nice enough. Definitely not as bad as Mcgarrett. I looked to Danny

“So what do we have?” He went to hand me a file only to have it snatched out of his hand. I clenched my jaw. This was going to be harder than I thought.

“Lets see what you’ve got Princess.”

“Is this really time for your pissing contest Steve?”

“No,” I said, snatching the file from him.”I’ll do it.” I flipped open the folder 4 pictures sat on top. I set the file down, spreading the photos out.

“The girls are all around the same age, brown hair, blue eyes.” I thought aloud. I moved the pictures looking to the Missing persons reports instead. “They all went missing around the same area at the same time.” I continued deeper into the file. I furrowed my brows bringing my hand up to my mouth. I chewed on the side of my thumb thinking. “Sex-Trafficing? No-” I shook my head.

“Why not?” Steve asked, crossing his arms. I could tell that’s what they were thinking. “There wouldn’t be a pattern like this. I tapped the map that was in the file.

“Could be a coincidence.” Danny said.

“No,” I said “Me running into you at the store is a coincidence.” I grabbed the map and the girls pictures and walked to a cork board. “This,” I pinned the pictures up “This is a pattern.” I turned to face the team. “I think you have a serial killer.” I crossed my arms waiting for a response. Danny clapped slowly, before pointing to Steve.

“You my friend just got your ass handed to you.” The SEAL grumbled grabbing his own copy of the file. He slid a gun and badge across the table to me.

“Kono, L/N go talk to the first victims' family and see what you can find.” he said without looking up from the file. I nodded smiling to Kono as I pulled my keys out of my pocket.

“I’ll drive.”

As Kono and I pulled into the driveway a man ran out of the house screaming at a teenager who now stood on the grass holding his hand up.

“It’s your fault she’s gone!” He yelled pointing at the boy. The man whipped a gun out of his waistband. I heard a woman scream from the house. I snatched my gun and jumped out of the Bronco.

“5-0 drop the gun!” I yelled. the man stood pointing the gun. The boy was on his knees crying.

“He’s the reason my Jamie is dead!” The man’s hands were shaking. I holstered my gun and take a step forward holding my hands up.

“I can only imagine how you’re feeling.” His eyes flicked to me. “You're an Airman right.” I said pointing to the two flags flying in his yard. “I am too brother.” Tears flooded his eyes and he dropped the gun. I rushed forward and kicked the gun towards Kono. I turned to the man, tears were rushing down his face. The pain from his loss over taking him. “I promise I will find who killed your daughter.” His eyes met mine and he brought his hand up to a shaky salute. I gave him a sad smile before returning the salute.

Once we finished talking to the family Kono and I climbed into the Bronco. I leaned my head against the steering wheel.

“That was amazing!” She said looking at me.

“It was nothing.” I said my voice low. It tore me apart to see the way that man was hurting. Maybe I wasn’t ready to work again.

“That was some of the best deescalation I have ever seen.” I hummed pushing myself up. I turned the key starting the Bronco. I pulled out of the driveway as Kono’s phone rang. I watched the road but all I could think about was that man’s face. He lost his little girl, his daughter.

“They need us back at base.” I nodded flicking on my turn signal.

“You did your best.” I nodded again, swallowing the bile in my throat.

As we walked back into the office, all eyes were on us.

“How’d it go?”

“Ask Y/N?” I knew Kono was trying to get me out of this shell I had reverted into but that definitely didn’t help. I turned on my heel storming out of the hall. I heard heavy footsteps following behind me. Cursing under my breath I pushed a door open. Tears ran down my cheeks. I ran a hand through my hair. I remember when the C-17 landed. It was just me and a coffin. The girl who I was sent to save. The way her family looked at me. The anger. The pain. It was the same way that man looked at that boy. Who was I to survive when their baby girl wasn’t coming home. I heard the door open and quickly wiped the tears. The door closed and the light above me flicked on. Steve stood in front of me. Well as far as he could stand since I had chosen to hide in a closet apparently.

“Why are you crying in a closet out of all places?” His voice was calm and smooth unlike earlier and I wanted a hug so bad. No. Get yourself together. I leaned my head against the wall.

“I know why you were discharged.” My head shot up. No one was supposed to know that it had been cleared. “Are you ok?” His voice wasn’t pitiful. “If you can’t finish this case it’s fine.” I looked into his eyes and I remembered my promise to the father.

“The father,” I said clearing my throat, I swiped my hand across my cheek catching the stray tear that had escaped my eye. “The pain of losing his daughter.” I shook my head.

“How often does this happen?” He asked. I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. I shook my head.

“The survivors' guilt, the panic attacks.” I shook my head.

“I’d hardly call this a panic attack.”

“Answer the question.”

“Not as often as you think.”

“That's not an answer.”

“Why do you care?”

I saw a look cross his face. I couldn’t quite place it. It bugged me how easily he could read me. He grabbed my arms gently.

“My team is my family,” He paused. “And even if you’ve been here for less than a day you are a part of that team, that family.” I looked into his eyes. I let out a shaky breath. I was on the edge. One push and I’d be over it. “What happened was not your fault.” His words hit me like a brick. No one had told me that since it had happened. No, no one really believed it enough to say it. Even if they would have I wouldn’t have believed them. But from him it was different. That was the push. I felt myself falling, not literally but I was spiraling. My shoulders shook as I let the tears fall. Steve pulled me to his chest.

“She shouldn’t have died.” I cried my voice barely a whimper. “He killed her to taunt me.” Steve shushed me, rubbing circles into my back. “This is so similar.”

“I know.”

Something inside me clicked as my sobs slowly quieted. I stepped away from Steve, rubbing my hands over my face. At this point I was really glad I had decided not to wear makeup. I had made up my mind. “Let’s get this bastard before he hurts anyone else.” I saw Steve’s face fall. I shoved the closet door open and ran back into the office. All eyes were back on me.

“So?” I asked, Danny pointed to the corkboard where a fifth picture was pinned next to the map.

“They found her body 3 hours ago.” I grabbed her missing persons report.

“A new girl goes missing every two days.” I looked at the pictures. “Can you find me every missing person’s report for anyone who matches this description?” Kono nodded and moved to her laptop. Steve had resumed his place at the head of the table. I felt his eyes on me.

“Has anyone talked to the vic’s family?” I asked, Steve shook his head. I nodded.

“I’ll go.” I started towards the door. Steve followed behind me. I didn’t question it. I had a feeling there was a piece we were missing. I pulled myself up into the Bronco.

“This is yours?” Steve asked, amused. I grinned as the engine roared to life.

“Yep, My baby.” I ran my hand over the steering wheel. A chuckle escaped his throat. The feelings from earlier were nothing but a memory at the moment.

“You got something to say commander?” I nudged his arm with my elbow. He shook his head a smirk on his face. That smirk was something else. It could make anyone weak in the knees.

“No.”

As soon as I saw the marine bumper sticker I realized what we were missing. My stomach fell.

“Mcgarrett.” I said. He looked at me as I pointed out the bumper sticker. He looked at the sticker and back to me.

“You don’t think.” I nodded. He was targeting Military families.

“I’ll call Kono.” I mumbled pulling my phone out of my pocket. I was glad the woman had the foresight to put her number in my phone. Steve jumped out of the car.

“I’ll go talk to them,”

I pressed the call button and held the phone to my ear.

“Kono.”

“Hey It’s Y/N, I need you to check if the other vics are military brats.”

It didn’t surprise me when Kono gave me the news that the girls were in fact from military families. Steve climbed into the Bronco, his mood solem. He looked at me expectantly. I nodded.

“Shit.” he grumbled. His phone rang in his pocket as he answered it he put it on speaker phone.

“Another girl was just abducted from Monoa Park!” Danny’s panicked voice cut through the speaker. I threw the car in reverse and flicked on the newly equipped sirens. Steve looked at me.

“Thank the governor.”

I shot around a corner.

“Danny did she have her cell on her.” I asked

“Kono’s working on that.”

“Car description.” Steve asked, his eyes wandering from car to car.

“Black SUV, either a chevy or a ford.” I spotted one ahead. I hit Steve in the arm. He turned the siren off as I pulled up behind him.

“We got a hit!” Kono’s voice echoed through the phone. My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I reached for it as the light turned green. The SUV shot forward. Steve grabbed the phone from my hand as I trailed them.

“That’s them.”

I nodded as I backed off.

“We’re on our way.” Danny called hanging up. My hands were shaking against the leather of the steering wheel. I turned down the road that the SUV had taken a few seconds prior. Shots rang out from the car. They bounced of the hood of the car.

“Shit!”

“Get down!” Steve yelled. I ducked down snatching my gun and stepped on the gas. Steve returned fire. I flipped on the siren. “Fuck it!”

The SUV swung around a corner into a dirt trail. Gravel flew as I slammed the accelerator. Their bumper was inches from the hood. I growled as I slammed into their bumper. They fishtailed on the trail struggling to regain traction.

“Back off.” Steve said as he reached over the seat to grab a ballistic vest he had thrown back there earlier.

We flew into a clearing bullets racing toward us. I slammed on the breaks. I heard sirens racing up the trail behind us. Steve jumped out using the Bronco as cover. I crawled across the seats. I fell to the ground sending shots in the direction of the SUV. I looked around the front of the Bronco as they pulled two girls out of the back.

“They have two!” I yelled. I brought my gun up and shot two of the three goons. One of the girls ran forward.

It felt like everything slowed as the last man brought his gun up and aimed it towards the girl.

BANG

I watched as the girl crumpled to the ground. Steve whipped around and shot twice. The last girl ran towards me, throwing herself into my arms. I hugged her but couldn’t tear my eyes from the girl on the ground. Two cars flew into the clearing. Danny jumped out of the car and rushed towards us. I stared at the body. I felt the girl let go only to be ushered away by Danny. I felt Steve place his hand on my back and lead me to the side of the Bronco as the officers covered her body. All I could think about was her scared face. If I was quicker, If I was smarter, If I was… If I was…

“Y/N.”

“L/N”

“Princess.”

“Y/N” I felt someone’s hands on either side of my face. I looked into a pair of green eyes. They were full of worry, full of sorrow. I closed my eyes. “Don’t do this to yourself.” His hands were still on my face. Why was he touching me? Why did I like it? “You saved her.” he took a deep “You saved one person that is not failure.”

Steve drove back to the palace.

“I’ll be back.” He jumped out of the car slamming the door shut. I stared out the windshield. The glass was cracked in the bottom corner. I leaned forward running my fingers over the splintered glass. I’m thoroughly surprised that the entire window wasn’t shattered. My body felt numb but my mind was racing. I pushed my back against the seat pulling open the glovebox. I pulled out the pack of gum and popped two sticks in my mouth. Chewing on something calmed me down.

The drivers door opened and Steve pulled himself up.

“Gum?” I offered. He nodded and took a stick. Which surprised me he didn’t seem like a gum guy. I looked out the window as we drove, The ocean sparkled under the moon. I didn’t recognize where we were but I didn’t bother asking. Hawaii was beautiful at night.

He pulled into a driveway before making his way to my side of the Bronco.

“Where are we?”

“You’re staying with me.” He held his hand out for me. I didn’t argue. Any rational thought went out the window as he led me inside. His house was nice. As soon as I walked through the door I saw the ocean on the other side of the house. He led me up the stairs, my feet grew heavy. “You can sleep here.” he opened the door to a bedroom. “There is a shower in there.” he pointed to a door on the opposite wall. “I’ll find you something to wear.” I nodded and started towards the shower.

“Hey Steve.” He turned to look at me. “Thank you.” He gave me his signature smile.

“Your welcome princess.”

I woke up surprisingly comfortable. A ray of sun shone through the blinds. The smell of the ocean and bacon pulled at my senses, I groaned as I opened my eyes. Where was I? The clock read 10:35. I pushed the comforter off and set my feet on the hardwood. I opened the door and stumbled through the hallway and down the stairs. I heard muffled voices from the kitchen so decided to start there.

“Did you hear what happened when she was with Kono?”

“No, I’ll ask her about it.” Steve’s voice cut in. I rounded the corner to see Danny sitting at the island, he raised his coffee.

“Morning Babe.” I raised my eyebrow at the nickname.

“He calls everyone babe.” Steve cut in.

“Nice shirt.” I looked down to see a SEALS shirt. I pinched it and pulled it away from my skin.

“What did you do to get me in this?” I muttered in fake disgust. Steve looked at me and laughed. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“You put that on yourself princess.” I dropped the shirt and slumped into the stool next to Danny.

“In all seriousness,” I started causing Danny and Steve to look at me. “I won’t be like this after every case.”

“We know.” Danny said, bumping my shoulder with his.

“What?”

“It was too much too soon.” Steve said, setting a plate of pancakes in front of me and Danny.

“But you were amazing.” Danny said stuffing pancakes into his mouth. “We need you on the team.” I looked across the island to Steve who smiled.

“Welcome to the team princess.”

#steve mcgarrett x reader #steve mcgarrett #steve x reader #hawaii 5-0 #Hawaii 5-O imagines #hawaii 5-0 imagines #hawaii 5-0 headcanons #hawaii 5-0 x reader #hawaii #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five 0 imagine

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nakunakunomi · 4 years

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Matchup for @lirulee

Hi!! First of all, congrats on the milestone!!!✨ And thx for taking the time to read and answer to all this! (I hope it’s not too much) My match up i want it to be for One Piece!😍

I’m a 30 y/o straight fem! I’m a taurus and an ENFJ! I’m short and curvy, blue/green eyes with pale skin and freckles and dark blonde hair. I dress a mix of classy and girly (flower patterns, etc) but always comfortable. I’m a musician, mainly a singer, but i also play the piano and guitar, i also love anything artistic or crafty (eventhough i’m not very good at it). I love to cook (and eat), boardgames and videogames, dnd… I’m a nerd, basically. I’m very social (eventhough i can be awkward and shy at first) so i love to just hang out with some friends driking tea and chatting all afternoon. I also studied psychology.

A fun thing about myself could be that sometimes i make up a blatant lie but i make it sound very plausible, and i push it as far as i can to see how far they believe me (and see the expression on their faces while they process what i’m saying), but i always tell it’s a lie right after cos i can’t stand the idea of lying, i’d feel terrible. Also, it’s always mundane things, never anything serious, and it never affects that person, they’re more like made up facts. I’m not mean, i promise 😭

I’m insecure about my body and my social skills, i’m a worrier too and i tend to doubt myself but i’m also very determined. I’m also a bit of a control freak but i’m learning to be more chill. I guess my biggest fear is feeling apathy for life again, i’m very very lively and cheerful and for a few years i felt apathy and it was killing me, so i fear falling into that again, but that makes me work more against it so i won’t 💪✨

Favourites: i’m a vegetarian so even if i love some kind of food i no longer eat it, that aside i really really love tomatos, a lot. I also really like salads? I know it can be quite basic, but there’s so many options with them… Also popcorn!! 😍

Favourite colors are pink and teal, but i feel bad for the other colors if i choose a favourite 🤣 I love sloths and any kind of felines, i also really like lizards! I don’t have a favourite music genre, i can go from metal to britney spears in a sec.

My dream is to be a great singer, i don’t care about fame, but i’d like to be able to sing as much as i want and the hardest songs. I’d love to make the world a better place and help others with my music, i’m a bit of an idealist and a dreamer 🤣

Well, thanks again for reading aaaaaall that, i feel like an awful person tbh but i didn’t know what to cut (😓),and thanks for my match up! I will love it 🥰

I slipped and this one became quite long actually! I hope you enjoy this one Liru, I match you with....

OTP: Bartolomeo

Barto’s enthusiasm, your pranks and just your general bubbly attitudes that are not afraid to mess with people make you a dynamic duo that is absolutely feared and loved everywhere. Whenever people see you walking up to them they already know that they’re either going to have a great afternoon, or going to be left in embarrassment.

When it comes to being an artist, Barto is not necessarily very musically inclined, but you can bet that he’s your absolute biggest fan! He will admire everything you do and even if you miss a note, he’s already on the floor with heart eyes and tears streaming over his face cause he cannot believe such a sweet angel is his partner!

Having such a fanboy as a boyfriend, putting you on a pedestal every single day, for everything that you do, means wonders for your confidence. Even on bad days, Barto is full of admiration, and after a while you cannot help but believe all the positive things he says with his puppy eyes and genuine tones.

Barto likes taking you outside to experience life, to make sure you never revert back into that apathy. He wants you to feel the sun on your face, smell flowers and the salt of the sea, feel rain on your skin, shiver in the cold as you walk through fresh snow crisp beneath your feet. Barto wants to show you every date just how beautiful the world is, and how his world is even better with you in it!

His love language is words of affirmation, but he’ll also bring you gifts from travels whenever you cannot come along. Usually they’re quite obscure but cute things that only the two of you can understand the significance of.

Finally, you two have different things to geek out over, but you can spend hours listening to the other gush over their hobbies. You two are two nerds that are just as happy with an elaborate date night where everyone in the restaurant shoots you strange looks because of the conversation topics, as with a movie night indoors with your favorite snacks and all kinds of nerd-theories to share as well as cuddles!

Runner up: Shanks

Another extrovert who will put you on a pedestal and make you feel like the queen you are! Shanks is another one who will compliment all your insecurities into oblivion, nowhere to be seen anymore. Your social skills help you find a perfect place in his crew.

Shanks is your biggest fan when it comes to all your creative outlets, showering you in compliments and loving every single thing you create. He likes staying indoor with you as you are busy with your hobbies and just admire the view.

Why he’s not your #1 match: Shanks unfortunately cannot spend as much time with you as Barto would and while you would go on similar adventures, they would just not be as frequent and they would include more potential danger. You need to be out and about and experiencing things, not be on edge the entire time that people will come for either of your heads.

BrOTP: Brook

Two master-musicians together, of course! You bond over all your instruments, songs and often perform and practise together. Brook is more than willing to join you in some of your pranks so you can pretend to have found a skeleton or something else similar, just to spook other people.

Brook is a great uplifting friend! He is interested in all your nerdy hobbies and you can spend hours putting interesting new twists on the games you already play. Brook knows a way to make everything exciting, so even when you’re feeling a little down and apathic, he’ll just grab you by the hand and get you involved.

There is never a boring day in your life with this tall skeleton friend! And with his age, he also has plenty of wisdom to share whenever you need advice on anything!

#one piece #matchup #one piece matchup #naku no matchups #500 followers event

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bhandarimarblekishangarh · 4 years

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We assure you of excellence in quality

From the shimmering aura of the Taj Mahal to the humble floor of your home’s bathroom, marble is one of the world’s most revered and useful natural materials. Marble is Michelangelo’s David, the Washington Monument, and the Duomo of Florence. It is also the primary ingredient in Tums antacid.

Tune into any kitchen design message board and you’ll encounter a sharp divide over the utility of marble. Some people wouldn’t dream of designing a kitchen without marble. Others decry that choice, citing marble’s imperfections and fragility. Many are caught somewhere in the middle: in love with marble’s irresistible appeal, but uncertain if it’s the right choice for their circumstance. In an attempt to create the “perfect” material, legions of synthetic products claim to look “just like marble,” but marble enthusiasts aren’t swayed. Few stones can match the warm glow, the softly flowing colors, the timelessness, and the authenticity of marble. There’s good reason this stone has been used for over 5,000 years.

A seabed, transformed

Marble is a metamorphic rock; it once was a different kind of rock, and was then transformed by a change of circumstance. Before marble becomes marble, it is first limestone, which forms on the shores and floors of tropical seas. Limestone is an accumulation of shells, shelly fragments, microscopically tiny shells, and dissolved shells. Depending on the conditions at a particular beach or sea, limestone’s shelly sediment may be punctuated with occasional layers of clay or lenses of sand. But by and large, limestone is an assortment of shell-remnants, which are made of the mineral calcite.

The tropical shoals that give rise to limestone do not stay peaceful indefinitely. Oceans are basically geologic conveyor belts. The ocean floor slowly spreads apart from the centre and slips underneath continents at the edges, gradually rearranging the map of the world.

When a limestone seabed gets dragged down into the Earth’s crust, the additional heat transforms the calcite grains and fuses them together tightly. The dynamic action of rock layers as they become buried, twisted, and shoved around causes the original flat-lying layers to bend, buckle, and swirl together. A rock in this heated state doesn’t melt. It’s simply warm and flexible, much like a chocolate bar left in your pocket. This process of heating and warping is responsible for marble’s trademark aesthetic of gracefully flowing bands of color. The grey swirls in marble are simply clay layers that got folded, smeared, and re-folded into the marble like a ribbon of chocolate infused throughout fudge ripple ice cream.

Patterns and color-ways give marble versatility and character

Part of what makes natural stone so appealing is the huge range of colors and variations expressed in solid rock. On one hand, these patterns tug on our heartstrings and offer aesthetic possibilities. On the other hand, each of these variations has its root in some sort of geologic process.

Most marble is white. The classic, white marble is pure calcite, without intervening minerals to lend it color. Yule and Thassos marbles are well-known examples of pristine white marbles. Marble can take on a delightful range of hues and textures. Pink marble is tinted by iron oxide, as is golden marble. Green marble and deep red marble contain serpentine, rich in magnesium. Fossil-rich limestone becomes graphite-infused marble, as the carbon in fish, algae, or seaweed reverts back to the elemental carbon in graphite when the rock is heated. Graphite-rich marble is steely grey with a metallic glimmer.

A marble breccia is formed when the stone fractures underground, which can happen if a stone lives in a fault zone. Mineral-laden groundwater comes to the rescue, filling in the voids and patching the fragments back into a solid mass, while creating a spectacular pattern at the same time. Arabescato is a beautiful example of a marble breccia.

It’s important to understand the properties of marble

The mineral content of marble is the same as the limestone it came from, and both of these stones are made of calcite, AKA calcium carbonate, AKA CaCO3. Calcite is one of the more common minerals on Earth’s surface; in addition to limestone and marble, calcite is the primary ingredient in travertine and onyx.

Calcite has a few properties that you should know about before you fall head over heels in love with a stunning marble slab. Calcite is 3 on Mohs hardness scale, which means it will get scratched by knife blades, ceramics, and a cast iron skillet accidentally slid across the kitchen island.

Calcite is also chemically reactive with common acids, such as those found in lemonade, wine, and colas. When acidic liquids land on a marble slab, a tiny amount of the stone is dissolved, or “etched.” This doesn’t affect the integrity of the stone, but it does leave a slight change in the color and/or lustre of the stone. On a polished stone, an etch looks like an unpolished area.

Etches can be polished out, or they can be left alone and considered part of the natural patina that marble will acquire over time.

Marble is ground up into antacid tablets because calcite neutralizes acid, which makes your stomach feel better. That also explains why acid makes a mark on marble. The marble reacts with the acid, neutralizing the acid, but damaging your countertop in the meantime. Ironically, when your teenager dribbles pickle juice on a brand-new countertop, you may find yourself reaching for the antacid, triggering the same chemical reaction both on the countertop and in your digestive tract.

The last piece of potentially bad news is that marble can form “star cracks” or “stun marks” if a heavy, hard object falls on it. Star cracks look like small, light-colored areas where the impact occurred. This is usually an aesthetic issue, not a structural one, but if an impact occurs at the edge of the stone, it can chip or flake.

A common misconception is that marble stains easily. However, this is actually quite rare. The metamorphism that bakes the stone also knits the minerals together tightly. Porosity for marble is similar for that of granite. That said, the porosity of all stones varies, so check the stone specs and do your own tests with a sample of stone. Marbles are typically sealed to reduce the likelihood of staining. Alas, sealing does not make marble any less prone to etching, I’m sorry to say.

Now you can see why some people love marble while others think that marble-lovers are crazy. To some, the nicks and etches on a marble surface add character and mark the passage of time in a busy household. To others, each blemish resonates as a personal loss. Which way do you see it? This is an important question to consider before you head to the slab yard. [Check your stone personality to see what stone suits your temperament.]

Marble with magnesium = Dolomite

Dolomitic marble is a close relative of regular marble. Standard marble is made of calcite (CaCO3), and dolomitic marble has a little magnesium in the mix (CaMgCO3). There is not a huge difference between the two variations, except that dolomitic marble is a little bit slower to etch. You’ll have a moment to wipe up a spill before the chemical reaction takes place.

Marble with quartz = Confusing

While marble is primarily made of calcite, it’s possible for the original limestone to have occasional layers of sand or chert (chert is a marine rock made of pure silica). These interlopers turn into areas of quartz as marble undergoes metamorphism. The end result is a stone that is mostly calcite with some quartz. This combination of ingredients has kicked off industry-wide confusion, because calcite and quartz have distinctly different properties but they look alike.

Unfortunately, marble that contains minor amounts of quartz is sometimes labelled “soft quartzite,” which is both an oxymoron and a misnomer. There is no such thing as soft quartzite, and that term should be avoided by dealers, designers, and customers alike. Marble that contains small areas of quartz is still marble and should just be called marble. Super White is one well-known example of a mislabelled stone. Super White is a dolomitic marble with occasional bits of quartz. Super White is neither quartzite nor “soft quartzite.” It’s marble, and a gorgeous one at that. [Learn more about the quartzite/marble labelling problem in The Definitive Guide to Quartzite,

Limestone is sometimes classified as marble

The term “marble” is often applied broadly rather than literally. Many stone restoration professionals categorize marbles, limestones, and travertines together as a family of stone because they require similar maintenance and refinishing techniques. Polished limestone is sometimes called marble. While there’s not a huge difference between the two, marble is much denser and therefore is resistant to staining. If a slab has fossils, shell fragments, or has open pockets within the stone, it is limestone.

Many stones classified as black marble are actually black limestones. This is particularly true for dark colored stones with stark white veins, like China Black, Dynasty Brown, or Nero Portoro. Because marble has origins as a fluid, heated rock, its stripes and veins are usually soft, flowing, and curved rather than angular.

Many ways to bring marble into our lives

Marble remains a popular choice for countertops, backsplashes, bathrooms, tabletops, flooring, and cladding. Marble’s versatility makes it at home in an ancient Greek sculpture, in a lavish hotel lobby, or on a hardworking kitchen island. Marble also finds its way into our lives as household objects like cheese boards, rolling pins, vases, and lamps.

Despite the emergence of marble lookalikes, there’s nothing quite like the real thing. Real marble has qualities that cannot be replicated in a lab. I recently visited the 9/11 Memorial, a sobering space of monument, museum, and reflection. Next to the footprint of the fallen towers, rises the one part of the site that inspires optimism. Called the Oculus, it is part transit center, part shopping mall, and its soaring white ribs beckon investigation.

Visitors who step inside are rewarded with a vast, cathedral-like space, covered in pure white marble. The combination of natural light, natural stone, and creative architecture transform the sombre mood into a hopeful one. Wandering around the expansive structure, I finally put my finger on my favourite quality of real marble. Light penetrates into the white stone, then radiates back out in heavenly luminosity, filling the room with a warm, soft glow. Leave it to a stone like marble to completely alter the mood of a building. Marble has been a metaphor for worship, reverence, and beauty for millennia. Its ability to do that is all the more appreciated

Add by expert and Export team of Bhandari Marble World, India, Rajasthan, Kishangarh -305801

#BHANDARIMARBLEWORLD GRANITE GRANITECOUNTERTOPS MARBLE MARBLECOUNTERTOPS GRANITEDEALER GRANITESUPPLIER GRANITEMANUFACTURER

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decknfence-blog · 4 years

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How to Restore Timber Deck and Revert Its Actual Condition?

An excellent and new deck is the ideal method to add worth and delight to your home this mid-year. Here we take a gander at five plans to overhaul and rebuild at home. If you need to do Timber Deck Restoration easily that these are ideal thoughts for executing.

Ecologically inviting and Quality Wood

The principal key to an incredibly contemporary and greenwood deck configuration is sourcing earth neighbourly quality wood. Supportable softwoods when rewarded are tough, low-upkeep and flexible. This altered wood is currently accessible with the properties and dull shade of customary hardwood, however, created with a lower carbon impression.

While choosing your wood, search for top-notch lumber by contemplating the grain, surface, and consistency of the decking sheets. Search for long and straight sheets, with small distorting and bowing in the two bearings. Check for steady and straight wood grain and shading, with fewer bunches and contorts along with the sheets.

Extend Your Space

An extraordinary method to Timber Deck Restoration Melbourne is to give yourself a touch of additional room to appreciate. Plan out your preferred open-air exercises to make sense of what amount decking space you need. Consider space around your flame broil, possibly a fire-pit and relax zone isolated from a progressively formal eating zone and bar. For your pool deck, what number of parlour seats will you be unwinding on over the late spring? Daydream regions for getting the morning sun, and withdrawing or unwinding in the shade.

Frame Views and Paths

Wood ways are an incredible choice to solid, tiles, blocks and different materials that suck in and clutch heat during summer turning out to be awkward underneath. Wood stays cooler and gentler in the sun and the shade. Choose whether your style is curvier or straight and plan ways between your home and pool or different highlights in your scene.

Accessorize with Matching Materials

Wood decking is amazingly flexible and can be cut or arranged into a wide range of shapes. Make the most out of your material by embellishing your deck with coordinating implicit seats and seats; you can even include steps, patios, fencing, barns and tables out of a similar material giving a smooth warm and contemporary completion while saving money on extra upkeep and exchanges.

Decorative and Versatile Patterns

A great method to make the most out of the adaptability of wood decking is to consider the example of the sheets and unlimited prospects by essentially altering the course of your decking sheets to make an alternate look. Frequently it's ideal for switching the bearing of the sheets around the edge of your deck, at a handrail or set of steps to make an outskirt. One of three sheets pivoted ninety degrees makes a smooth edge.

Summing Up,

Summer requires a new beginning, getting a charge out of the nursery, cleaning off the flame broil, revealing the pool and gives an extraordinary chance to rebuild your deck. When you have own a wood deck at home and considering Timber Deck Restoration, these structure thoughts will rejuvenate your wood deck.

Source: Know the Proper Ways for Timber Deck Restoration in This Summer

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mylordshesacactus · 6 years

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The Cycle Of Abuse In Costume Design

This feels weird, not gonna lie; @alexkablob is usually the one writing up RWBY meta! But since it’s not fair to expect her to write up ALL of our skype discussions, here I am, trying to put together a coherent image essay for y’all.

The repeating of abusive patterns down generations--and the breaking of those patterns--is a major theme in RWBY. We see it in the Schnees (Weiss breaks free of the cycle of her father’s abuse by finding a group of supportive friends who model healthy relationships, help her process what she’s been through, and provide a safe environment for her to flourish and a safe place to escape to when she’s ready to leave; Winter leaves her abusive father but does not have the support system and emotional safety that Weiss does and ends up unconsciously replicating abusive patterns; Whitley intentionally patterns off his abuser in order to become the favorite and no longer a target; Willow turns to alcohol and withdraws from the world.)

We see it in Blake who, like Weiss, leaves her abuser but doesn’t fully begin healing and moving on with her life until she has time and space to process her experiences with a support group. We see it to a degree in Yang, who was never abused but who very much has emotional scars from Raven’s abandonment that she is still struggling, with the help of friends, to heal from.

And we also see it, in a very interesting, organic, and heartbreaking way, in a three-generation form--patterns of emotional, psychological, and physical abuse that passes from Salem, to Cinder, and finally to Emerald. (I hope very much that Emerald is going to be the one to break that cycle, but as of the end of v5 that’s still up in the air.) And what’s fascinating here is the subtle way in which this is represented down to the design of their clothes.

LONG post under the cut:

All right. [cracks knuckles] Here we go.

Let’s start with Salem, who, as with many many things, started all this bullshit.

I don’t really need to say much about Salem’s #aesthetic, you all know what she’s like. We don’t know much about Cinder’s backstory; I imagine it’ll come up eventually, but with RWBY’s deliciously slow-burn approach to storytelling, that could be like three volumes from now. What we do know is that she was young when she was recruited by Salem, and that she was taken in with the promise of power.

We also have a damn good idea what life is like as one of Salem’s inner circle. When you do well, win victories as Cinder did at the end of s3, Salem is free with praise and indulgences. But when you make a mistake...

Salem’s people are afraid of her. Cinder is afraid of her. But they also, to a certain degree, respect or revere her. Tyrian is on the far end of this scale, of course; the others don’t worship her as a goddess or have that fawning, broken devotion--devotion you’ll notice does not move her to spare him cold disapproval when he fails in a mission. Watts...is hard to read but seems to treat her mostly as a patron; she gives him resources and directs his “research” and in return he does the projects she requests and speaks respectfully to her, as one does with the person who signs your paycheck. Hazel we don’t get much of a read on but he’s just in this to destroy Ozpin and seems fine with letting her direct that battle. Cinder...

Cinder was promised power, and Salem is very much Cinder’s concept of power. I talked about that a little in this post. When Cinder’s out in the field, that low, smooth voice she affects that’s like half an octave below and twice as husky as her actual voice? The confident queenlike posture, the deliberate movements, the ever-so-slightly indulgent tone that makes it clear that she’s giving you a gift with her magnanimity? She got that from somewhere. It is very, very deliberate.

However, the stylistic differences in their design are much more subtle, and it’s equal parts brilliant and horrifying here because I’m reasonably certain this is subconscious on Cinder’s part. Let’s start with the most obvious:

Hey there, Flashback Cinder. I’m going to draw your attention to some aspects of this design:

Dark nail polish

Diamond-shaped hole over the collarbone, formed by the X-shaped halter straps there

Delicate filigree embroidery down gloves that extend just past her elbows, drawing stark contrast with her bare shoulders

Also on the back of the dress, forming a sharp V in the cutout.

Those weird little half-glove things there’s probably a technical term for

The drop in the back of the dress, making it lower than in front

I think that’s enough to start with. Let’s see. This seems familiar. Where have I...

Oh. Right.

A diamond-shaped hole over the collarbone, formed by the material that forms the collar parting and then reconnecting to cover her throat. Edged in thin embroidery. Salem’s arms, of course, are bare until just past her elbows...drawing your attention to the thin, delicate dark veins standing out against them. And the subtle ornamentation of a ring with thin beadwork jewelry highlighting it. And her dark nails.

Not to forget, of course, the dramatic V design on the back of her flowing robes, extended in the back with a long cape.

Of course, that’s not the only outfit Cinder wears, so maybe it’s a fluke, I’m sure her other outfits don’t have--

Sharp, open, angular designs over the collarbone and thin, veinlike embroidery down the arms. Cinder apparently still doesn’t like having her throat bare, either. And while this isn’t a great image to show it, her dress has gotten longer as well.

And she still has that signature anklet of jagged black glass, which is so clearly modelled off Salem’s sharp obsidian bangles that no further exploration is required in my opinion.

Seriously, the more time goes on, Cinder’s personal style becomes more and more obviously an attempt to mirror Salem. This one is frankly more mature; she’s got Salem’s more muted colors, the loose sleeve, the high collar, the floor-length dress. It’s still got the Cinder touches, the glove, the slit skirt with that feathered jewel she’s so fond of, etc; but this look is more “femme fatale” and less “show some leg and distract the guards”.

But she’s still got that glove aesthetic and the thin embroidery; also, unlike before where she generally wore small hoop earrings or modest dangles, she’s got the obsidian diamond look going on here. She’s cut her hair again as well, reverting back to the general look she had when she was a lot younger and less experienced. That’s not related to the rest, I just think it’s interesting.

And then there’s Emerald.

Emerald was taken in by Cinder...not entirely unlike the way Cinder was taken in by Salem. Em is young, angry, jaded, talented and clever enough to be interesting--and wants something desperately. When she was offered a place to belong, she was all in. Much like Salem, who says that Cinder is valuable to her while making it clear that without her, Cinder would be nothing, Cinder has made it very clear that her approval and protection are a gift to Emerald--that Emerald owes her everything.

Like with Cinder, Emerald’s character design reflects her emotional dependence and desire to be like her abuser. Unlike with Cinder, I...don’t think for a moment that it’s subconscious. Cinder, I think, is convinced that she’s totally independent and invaluable and is unaware of how strongly she bases her personal style on Salem’s influence. Emerald knows exactly what she’s doing, and desperately wants Cinder to notice.

As a baseline, this is Emerald before she met Cinder. Interestingly you’ll note she’s already got those weird Reverse Gloves or whatever they are. That’s interesting because they’re one of the clear visual parallels between her design and Cinder’s; from a Doylist perspective I’m pretty sure this was a mix of foreshadowing and also limited ability to make new character models. It’s an obvious similarity, so I’m saying it’s relevant.

And this is current-day Emerald. You can’t see it in that picture, but, to start us out on the ways her costume changed after meeting Cinder

She’s wearing heels now.

There is no reason Emerald Sustrai would logically want to wear heels. She’s a fight-and-kill badass who made her living before this as a sneak thief; those are not small heels, she would not be accustomed to wearing heels at all, and they’d get in the way of doing her job. Logically, she’d stick with the sensible flats she was used to.

But, well. Cinder wears heels, doesn’t she.

Interestingly, look at the bangles on her left hand. That’s actually another visual parallel, but it’s not to Cinder, at least not directly. That’s a direct callback to Salem, who’s got the same thing going on her other wrist and whose aesthetic is a degree removed from anywhere Emerald should be calling from. But Salem is part of this cycle, and her influence is visible in Emerald here.

And who else do we know who wears her personal sigil in stylized black between her shoulderblades?

There’s also that armband she’s picked up, which she didn’t have before they went undercover at Beacon. But it’s probably just a bit of asymmetrical character model flavor, nothing relevant or--

Ah.

Interestingly, Cinder’s undercover getup is actually highly reminiscent of Emerald. Olive drab pants, the utility pouches on her belt, the bare midriff and linen strips in lieu of a shirt. Was that intentional, a bone being thrown to Emerald to make her feel noticed? Did Cinder put Emerald in charge of coming up with a disguise for her? Or was Emerald just Cinder’s subconscious image of what she was aiming for--forgettable, unimportant, just another street brawler gone legit?

(And of course, let’s not ignore that even here, Cinder’s outfit features a high collar that creates the illusion of a plunging neckline, framing a triangle over her collarbone.)

Of course, that’s not the most obvious change. The most obvious change is that Emerald’s gone from a very sensible halter-top sports bra to

Well, this. Aside commentary on the likelihood of Cinder being impressed by the boob window aside, that X collar seems familiar...

A LOT of attention and care has gone into the character designs on this show. This is just one example of the way character design alone can help tell a story.

#rwby #cinder fall #salem rwby #emerald sustrai #uncaptioned though the descriptions make it pretty clear what the images contain

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thesardonicwriter · 6 years

Text

Epoch, Chapter 3

[Previous] [Next]

“Okay, so who’s the best hero then? Other than number one, obviously,” Kaito asked.

“Then I have to go number two. You clearly didn’t think this through, Kaito,” I joked, “but I’m going to humour you anyway by thinking about this objectively. Okay. So, we have to take into consideration a few things. Why don’t we treat this like the Shiketsu entrance exam, then? Rescues, villains, and planning. Obviously, Farside is pretty great. After all, I am interning with him.”

“That’s not objective, Aiko,”

“Are you sure? Fine. Shimura Nana.”

“Shimura. Good choice, good choice. I won’t deny she’s strong, but is she as strong as… Lone Ranger?”

“Stronger, easily.”

And thus, continued the lunch time debate about the best superhero. There was probably an obvious answer, that being the number one hero, but that was why we had added the extra rules for deciding. It was a fun little game we liked to play. Being second years, we were close to being heroes ourselves. Kaito was always prepared for these situations. Probably because he came up with the questions. That was why we were friends. Iko Kaito, a fellow second year. His Quirk - weapons master. He was able to touch anything that could be used as a weapon and instantly know the best way to use it against his opponent. It was impressive, really. I had seen it at work more than once. He would be a great battle hero one day. I didn’t really know how he would work as a rescue operative, but he’d probably make it work somehow.

“Speaking of internships, Akahashi, you’re with Farside! He’s the number three hero in the world! You have to tell us about what happens there,” someone else said.

“Believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We mostly just patrol, and he shows me how to do paperwork. There is a lot of it when you’re a pro hero. Though, he does like to use his Quirk to keep me on my toes. I’m learning how to see him wherever he is,”

“How’s that?” Kaito asked. “If he can hide from your field of vision, how do you see him?”

“Peripherals. It’s his weakness. I’m getting really good at it. It even helps with general attacks. Someone comes up from behind or the sides, I can usually stop them before they get close to me.”

The table nodded. I was lucky that Farside had requested to work with me. It had been a hard year, but it was worth it. I was one step closer to becoming a hero because of all the work Farside had put into me. I was grateful for it. I had worked so hard to reach this moment for Byakuya. I was going to make it one day. One day, I was going to find out what happened to him and stop it from happening again.

“So, you coming to watch those UA jackasses make fools of themselves on live television Akahashi?” Junko asked me, leaning forward expectantly. “Kaito is hosting the party this year.”

“Well, then, I suppose I don’t have much choice. How else are we gonna show those idiots who’s boss, right?” I laughed. “Honestly, I don’t get why they do that. Televise the event, I mean. They know that the other schools are going to use that against them in the licensing exam. It’s reckless.”

“Maybe they’re just cocky,” Kaito suggested.

“That’s absolutely what it is, Kaito, you’re right.”

The whole table laughed. I may have said that, but I knew they had a right to be. UA was the best school on the East coast. Still, they were facing Shiketsu, the best on the West. They could be cocky all they wanted. They wouldn’t have anything on us and our strategies. I wasn’t going to let them get any upper hand on us because we got complacent. Just because we knew their Quirks didn’t mean that we would know how they improved over the next several months. Still, some upper hand was better than no upper hand.

The conversation slowly strayed away from UA and more onto normal school things. We went back to class, learned about calculus and its applications in the hero world. I wondered what it had been like to learn these things before Quirks had come into the world. Had there really been any real-world applications, or was that just something teachers said to get students to pay attention? There wasn’t any way that I’d be able to find out, that was certain. It was strange things like that that just popped into my head when I let my mind wander. I had to be pulled out of thoughts about the past from Kaito continuously poking my forehead after class was over.

“Earth to Aiko, Aiko, come in Aiko,” Kaito joked, “seriously, what do you do in your head all day?”

“Imagine all of the ways I’m gonna kick your ass in the finals.”

We playfully wrestled as we left the classroom, ending with our arms around each other’s shoulders as we walked out of Shiketsu, imitating different heroes and their catchphrases. I veered off to head home before I went to watch the tournament with Kaito. I didn’t want to be in my school uniform all day, especially not if I had to wear the stupid hat. I hated that uniform hat. It was truly awful. I’m getting off track. I changed quickly and started out the door.

“Aiko, can you come here for a moment?” My mom called from the kitchen.

I bit back a groan and walked towards her. I was honestly expecting some kind of a lecture or something. It was all that she seemed to do these days.

“You just got home. Got some exciting plans?” she asked.

“Nothing too crazy. I’m going to Iko’s house to watch the UA sports festival. The provisional license exam is coming up and I want to be prepared.”

“Just, y’know, be careful. Text me when you get there and when you leave. Be safe.”

“Mom, I’m going to be fine.”

“Aiko, please.”

“All right, fine, I will. Bye!”

I understood where her concerns were coming from. Byakuya had been my age when he disappeared from UA. She was just worried about me. Still, it was annoying that she was thinking of me as him. I was my own person and Shiketsu was safer than UA. That had been proven time and time again. I just wished that she trusted me. I was going to be a hero, after all. She would lose her mind if she spent all of her time worrying about me. I walked to Kaito’s house. He wasn’t particularly close to my house, but he was closer than school, at least. I knocked on the door. Surprisingly, there were already people from our class there, ready and waiting. Kaito practically pulled me into the door. I really hadn’t expected for them all to be so rowdy. I had hoped that they would at least take this seriously somewhat.

I sat down on the couch, ignoring the others around me. Even just watching what happened in the beginning was helpful. I watched as the students of UA started to stretch and prepare themselves, a few of them even exercising their Quirks. My eyes skimmed over everyone until I saw it. Just a flash, a moment of something familiar. A streak of golden blond hair moving across the screen. I stiffened. No. There was no way. Yagi was, is, Quirkless. I couldn’t even see this person’s face. I was just… reverting. I shook my head and forced my muscles to loosen up. I was just remembering some bad parts of my life and associating things that looked similar. It was a bad thing. I thought I had moved past it.

A gunshot signalled the start of the event; an obstacle course that they had to get through to show off their Quirks. No sooner than the course started did the boy with the blond hair rush forward with a speed like no other. I watched curiously as he moved, a streak compared to his classmates. They didn’t even seem to be surprised by it. Everyone still actually paying attention at Kaito’s house was. It took that boy less than a minute to pass the full obstacle course, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind him. That was going to be the one to look out for. He was going to win. I could already see that, and it had just barely begun.

The second match was only to determine which students would face off against each other in a fight using their Quirks. It was now, and only now, that they showed the names of the students. The name flashed out at me like a blinking light. It was a yelling at me.

Yagi Toshinori.

Toshinori.

Toshi.

The little Quirkless boy who lived down the street from me. The little boy who dreamed about being a hero with me. The little boy with the golden hair and the stunning blue eyes.

And here he was, so many years later, the most powerful out of all of them. How was that even possible? As far as I knew, people didn’t just develop Quirks this late into their life. Maybe it had been the year after I left or something like that. I don’t know. We hadn’t kept in contact after I moved. A part of me wished that we had, seeing him now, moving effortlessly against his opponents. All of his battles lasted moments. It was almost impossible to see how he fought. I noticed a few patterns, still. They were things he had always done, but he could actually apply them now. It was impressive. His opponents never stood a chance.

Finally, it got to the last two people. Yagi Toshinori and Todoroki Enji. Todoroki had the Quirk hellfire. It was the hottest flame in the world, able to burn or melt anything. He was just as capable as Yagi. I was impressed. Those who fought against him ended with more than a few serious burns. I was on the edge of my seat, watching them and picking up on their cues. They fought with all of their energy. I could see Todoroki getting more and more upset as Yagi avoided his attacks. That was going to be Todoroki’s downfall. I could see it coming from a mile away. He left his right side open. Yagi took advantage of it in an instant, sending Todoroki flying out of the ring and into a wall. Even on the TV, the sound boomed through the room. All eyes turned to the TV, silence filling the air. Yagi stood tall, pushing his bangs out of his face with a grin. The crowd on the TV roared. This was going to be the one we had to look out for. Yagi Toshinori was a force to be reckoned with. I had yet to see even a pro hero with that kind of power.

I felt a shiver go down my spine as I thought about what that power felt like coursing through his veins.

“What the fuck was that?” Kaito whispered.

“That is why we need a strategy,” I responded.

“No shit.”

Kaito turned off the TV. We knew who had won. There were no doubts about it. The small party picked back up as people seemed to forget about how the festival ended. I headed home early. I couldn’t get Yagi out of my mind. All he had ever wanted was a Quirk.

“Hiya, Aiko. I guess you heard, huh?” Toshi was trying to hide the way his voice wavered.

He wanted to be strong for me, I guess. Maybe it was just trying to convince himself that it wasn’t true. I don’t suppose that I’ll ever know what was going on in his head. He certainly wouldn’t tell me the truth now.

I moved across the room and pulled him into a hug. My face was buried into his shoulder. He was shaking. He was trying so hard not to, but he was. I just held on to him tightly.

“It doesn’t matter, Toshi! Because I am here! And while I’m here, you and I are going to go on the best adventures! We’ll find buried treasure and explore unknown parts of the world. You and me to the end! Right?”

Toshi laughed sadly. He sniffed and wiped his eyes again. “Always.”

It had been a nice thought. Forever never lasted as long as you thought when you were a kid. After that, I ended up moving away and losing contact with him. Yagi probably ended up getting into all kinds of trouble after I left.

Even if we had lost contact, I would have thought he would have found some way to tell me he had a Quirk. I had been there when he thought that he didn’t. I was there comforting him and being his friend. I was a little hurt that he hadn’t. I wasn’t any better. I tried to completely forget about him, so I could forget about Byakuya. It hadn’t worked, but I still tried. Now, Yagi Toshinori was the strongest out of all of UA. There was no question about it. As I said before, he would be the one to beat at the license exam. It would be best to avoid him all together, for multiple reasons.

Yagi Toshinori.

Toshi...

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obscuraxrp · 7 years

Photo

The smoke settles to reveal KIM YERIN, also known as NOVA, a 24 year old envy-aligned fae of Sunseong. She is a radio personality who appears to be adept in doubt inducement --- but like most things in Sunseong, there must be more to her than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: Kim Yerin (Yeri), red velvet

APPEARANCE:

Strange. If one were to look at Yeri’s true form, they would feel uneasy. They might feel eyes, staring into their back, or looking deep into their own irises which might reveal patterns similar to peacock feathers behind their own eyelids. Her form is hidden by a plume of black feathers, a shield to the eyes that lay inside, though the edges of each feather are wispy, like smoke. They might not even realize that Yerin is there, lurking from the shadows. Just the eyes. They watch. If one looks over at the right time, they might see the eyes narrow. What a disgusting view.

BIOGRAPHY:

In a botched attempt of a ritual that was supposed to keep the relationship of two fae together (though those fae never truly loved each other to begin with), Kim Yerin was born. Her mother was a regretful fae, one with grey streaks in her hair, and wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth despite the various creams and remedies that were passed onto her by her other gossiping fae friends. Her father was a business oriented man who wouldn’t know what love truly meant. Her mother had looked at Yerin with disdain; her only reason for existing was her mother’s desperation to hold onto Yerin’s father’s affection and strip him away from his various lovers. Yeri grew up with her parents - but never together. Simply being in the same room with each other was a terrible situation to be in. Yerin didn’t have to experience it, as she grew older. No: her mother was just as incapable of loving as her father was. She spent a few days with one, a few days with another. The words exchanged were rare, and Yerin grew to busying herself and her time with other things, rather than dear “mom” and dear “dad.” What were they to Yerin, if Yerin was simply a failed reunion to them?

The attention. Yerin had always wanted it. She wanted their approval, for them to praise her and brush her hair away. Maybe they would tell her that she was beautiful, or that she had talent just as the other faes and creatures around her had. Her parents, her teachers, they couldn’t care less. What was Yerin to them. She built her life on being mediocre at best, though nobody remembers anyone who was just “okay” at anything. They remember heros, champions, all of the good that Yerin was not. As a child, when Yerin reached for a hand to grab, there was none. When Yerin asked a question into the household, no answer was delivered. She silenced herself, distanced herself. What more could she be. What was Yerin to them anyways. The Unseelie only cooed and congratulated the brave and talented. They would throw themselves to the feet of the strongest. Yerin wept. How could I keep myself in the shadows this way? When I’m better. I can be better than them all.

Teaching herself was no big deal. The world was like this. Learning about her own abilities was an awakening that Yerin couldn’t have loved more.

She took the name with pride: Kim Yerin, fae of envy, of the Unseelie court. She tipped her nose up, so that others could feel intimidated. She kept her voice still so that others wouldn’t notice the way her hands trembled. When they turned their backs and became amused with something else, Yerin would crumble all over again. No- she told herself. All of them are useless to me. They’ve all turned their backs to me and they’ll regret it, oh they’ll regret it.

The attention never lasts for long. The validation never lasts for long.

Growing up in a world that was filled with chaos and catastrophe strengthened Yeri and her greed: she wanted more. She wanted to be more. She wanted to be like the people at the top, god were they wealthy, were they strong. They were everything that Yerin wanted to be. She sobbed every night, and looking at her own reflection, only saw a useless, useless fae. Not capable of anything, only capable of crying. So terrible that not even her own parents can look. No one can watch.

Yerin had grown in a world that revolved around the Queen. Her goal, like many others, was to get that approval, to be recognized, to be loved by someone as lovely and graceful, and beautiful and so incredibly powerful as the Queen was. Yerin had been fed the lies, but she ate them up as if she were starving. She breathed in the toxins as if it were going to give her all that life had to offer. Devoting herself and her training to the Queen wasn’t hard at all; it was a necessity. She lied and struggled. Yerin had been young and foolish. She tossed away anyone that she could, if they came to stand in her way. The others in front of her stole it- the spotlight that Yerin reached for, and as she came within a centimeter away from the valor, it was snatched away again.

When Yerin was young and foolish, the Queen had brushed her fingers onto the top of Yerin’s head, and she cried as the attention was given to her. Whispered to the child: What a good tool.

As Yerin tried to climb, she’d push people out of her way. She cheated her way, up further, the youngest are the fastest, the oldest are the wisest, but Yerin was just naive: she took without realizing, and in her greed to become the best asset to the Queen that she could be, she’s stomped on the chests of people who fell beneath her. But it wasn’t enough. Yerin’s heart felt like it halted in her own chest.

Why. Why can’t I be the one that you want.

The decision was never in Yeri’s hands. Work harder. Sleep less. Become the strong fae that you are meant to be. Yerin pushed herself over the limit to try and reach onto the hand of opportunity, but instead was shunned away. Her efforts? Recognized, but not to the extent that Yeri had wanted. The Queen was almighty, the most powerful and beautiful, the most influential being to have existed. Yeri unhealthily fed herself lies as she attempted to climb ranks and get closer, only to be looked down on as if she were a minor inconvenience. What was Yerin to her parents? What was Yerin to the people above?

What was Yerin to her idol, her god. What was Yerin to her Queen.

After the Queen had died, Yeri shielded herself in a haze where being alive was simply a necessity but living was not.

Her palms are red; the memories don’t leave. She’s made mistakes in her life, she followed like a brainwashed soldier- an underling to a Queen who cared about none. Part of her still wishes that the Queen hadn’t died. She scrapped her identity, making a new name for herself, hidden by a mask and behind a microphone. Through late night podcasts and radio shows, she speaks about her troubles and emotions, and feeds off of the remorse and jealousies that listeners phone into the station. It’s strange. Although many know about “Nova” they haven’t seen her face.

CHARACTERIZATION:

-Manipulative: The relationships which Yerin has had with people have been characterized as unhealthy. Too readily, she idolizes others, and becomes a mass of rage once confronted. Her emotions are out of control, but once the fit has ended, Yerin reverts back into lacking emotion at all. Her past lovers have usually weaseled their way out of Yerin’s lives- but not without Yerin learning to hate them. How could they not love her? How could they have betrayed her like that? She must have been useless to them. Yerin belittles herself. She must have been nothing.

-Overthinking: Yerin often makes irrational assumptions. She believes whatever she wants, whether there be any proof or not. Often times, she worries about how others view her, and becomes distant when others try to get near. She tells herself it’s for the best, so that no one would hurt her again. They wouldn’t be able to adore her like how she wants anyways. They’ll just find someone better and leave.

-Prideful: As a defense mechanism, Yerin places herself a step above the people who have hurt her in any way. She assume for them to be lowly and scum, saying so as if she’s any better than them, when in reality, it’s the other way around. She’s cocky in attitude, quick to deflect any criticism and claim that she’s the best, in order to hide the pain she feels about being so untalented and useless. The insecurities drive her false pride.

+Intuition: Although Yerin may overthink things at times, she also has a very good “gut feeling” and knows when to act upon it.

+Analytical: Yerin likes to think about situations as entirely as she can, when it comes to strangers, because of her large online presence and on-air presence as well.

+Sympathetic: Yerin is still a fae with a tattered kind of heart, and she’s able to connect with many heartbroken callers, as well as help them to get around how they’re feeling. Yerin often chooses songs to play on the radio that’ll help whoever’s calling get a good cry out. She’s not a therapist by any means, but music is one hell of a healer.

SPECIALTIES:

Innate (0 pts)

-Greater Illusion

-Magic Sensing

-Contract Binding

Rank III (80PTS TOTAL)

-Seeds of Doubt: “Positive?” These powers rely on manipulation of a person’s nerves. In rather low grade attempts to alter a person’s confidence in themself, one might think that they didn’t check the front door, or maybe that their keys had fallen out of their pocket. Yerin has used larger scales on her past lovers. Although she can’t control whether a person falls into the mental traps that Yerin sets up, she’s sure to add social cues that are independent of this skill. Under Yerin’s concentration and manipulation, a person could start to second guess themselves or question their own emotions or actions. Restriction: target must be able to hear her, and it must be intentional. Simply asking the phrase without meaning to use this ability won’t plant a seed of doubt.

Success rate: 57%. When the doubt does establishes, it festers in one’s mind without holding back. (obviously will be discussed between rpers before ever being used in rp).

#obs: follow #*kim yerim #*yeri #*red velvet #parental neglect tw

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maggievolkart · 5 years

Text

Final Week

Tweaking mistakes, fixing as much as I can and Texturing

Once I got to texturing and fixing problems in my assets I have found quite a few errors that I tried to fix my best in the short period of time that I had left.

I completely failed to see the parts underneath and after I’ve modeled and textured the model I relaised I had to go all the way back and completely redo it. I’ve triedmanipulating mesh in lots of different ways to make it work with the new details, sawing the new parts on etc but nothing seemed to work. So in the end I decided to do the uv map all over again.

in my final marmoset I have icluded both versions of the models

Once I came back to uni on my last day I’ve also noticed how important it was to work on small assets before and have a look at them personally. Only on the last day once of my friends showed me that meatgrinder can be taken apart pice by piece and I ‘ve relised how much detailI have missed just by looking at the details on the photos on the website. (https://vle.nua.ac.uk/pluginfile.php/96138/mod_resource/content/0/Workshop_Assets.pdf?fbclid=IwAR28JM3OiaEeYxumNp5nn8X6bHyVXxBm2ln9bgNgDGHlz8jWQZ5qyxFIhos) I mean this link..

Retopologizing the helmet was quite hard since the zbrush models surface was half reverted and I had to reverse them bit by bit until I could finally retopologize it. Once I got my low poly I tried throwing textures on it but noticed and unusual error on the bak of the helmet coming from both sides where I’ve a stripy pattern. I tried to re uv map it a lot of times but it kept getting worseeach time I tried a new method. Since the time was ticking I had no choice but to leave the error in and see if I’ll have time to fix it later.

I uvmapped the eyes the way I saw most of 3D artist online Uv map them previously. Unfortunately I ddidn’t have enought time to make my own texture so here is the link to the one I’ve used.: filterforge.com/filters/1174.jpg

While texturing the face it tok me quite some time to get aay from using all the pale colours and starting to risk it and picking more saturated and even dark colours.I tried to inspire myself looking at other peoples work and seing how my texturing style is different and how could I bring it up to the next level.

To make sure the mechanical part seems in place I used a hard surface normal of a similar shape to make a rought edge and make it look much more smooth.

I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of colours I’d like to prioritise in my model at first so I decided to go with one of my favourite colours - green. I tried to hide some of my sculpting mistakes and the fact the the edges aren’t sharp enough by using worn down textures to give it a very grungy look.

I decided to start putting my models up in Marmoset together straight away to keep making sure that they all go together and have the same colour scheme and texture layout.

Reference: one of the materials used was Falcon Hull that was downloaded from substance Share but unfortunately I can’t link it down as it got taken down from the website. The material got used to create the grey parts of the texture.

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planar-echoes · 7 years

Text

Chapter 1.) Odric, Master Tactician (Innistrad) By Jenna Helland (6/27/12)

A town crier hollered the evening news on the cobblestone street below the open window. "Execution at Bloodless Wall! Tomorrow at sunrise! The Healers of Heron are at Child's Wall tomorrow..."

When Odric last looked out the window, it had been early afternoon. Now a cold mist had settled on Thraben, and the city was cloaked in evening shadows. Where is the moon? Odric's arm jerked involuntarily, nearly upending his ink jar. No, he reminded himself. It no longer matters. The phases of the moon were no longer predictors of life and death now that Avacyn had returned and cleansed the world. Or at least begun to... He glanced across the oak table at Grete, his lieutenant, who looked surprised by his sudden movement. Sir Odric, Master Tactician, Commander of the Gavony Riders and Recipient of the Moonsilver Accommodation didn't startle easily. "Sir?" Grete asked. "Darkness fell," he told her. She glanced out the window, and he saw similar emotions play across her features. We've spent too many years as prey. Too many years spent cowering in the shadows.

"There's still no sign of Ludevic," Grete continued, scanning the parchment. "A miller spotted him near Estwald, but he'd moved on before the cathars could detain him. So the hunt continues." Just the thought of the mad alchemist made his headache. Odric leaned back and pressed his palms against his temples. This was a temporary assignment—one he had requested in hopes of getting an angel's-eye view of Innistrad. Every regiment sent in daily dispatches of what they encountered in the field. From these reports, Odric was piecing together where the Church's power was still being threatened. But he didn't enjoy sitting in a leather chair in a cathedral chamber. He was a battlefield man, much better suited to combat maneuvers than negotiating the politics of the Avacynian Church. "What of your friends around Hanweir?" Odric asked and was rewarded with a slight smile from the deadly serious Grete. She'd led an assault against a legion of ghouls ravaging the moorlands, a success that had earned her the promotion to second in command.

"We're hunting down the last stragglers. Gisa is being transported from the Rider's Lock up to Thraben next week." "Triple the escort," Odric said. "She's caused enough trouble in my lifetime." Grete nodded and scanned the last dispatch. Only a few more days, and Odric's administrative duties in Thraben would be done. His time here had been valuable. He knew that demons were still on the loose, but Avacyn herself was focused on the Helvault escapees. Necromantic activity still plagued the moorlands, but nothing like the heyday of Gisa and Geralf's tyranny. Sigarda's forces were hunting the perpetrators of the Nephalia Massacre. The vampires had all but slunk back to Stensia. Someday soon, I will purge that province myself, but first I must be sure that Avacyn's blessings hold. "The mayor's son in Torbach tumbled down a river bank and broke his leg." Odric sighed. "Does the mayor of Torbach truly request the Church's assistance to fix a boy's leg?" "It says he fell fleeing a... werewolf. He later died of a fever and gangrene." As Odric pushed himself to his feet, it felt as if a steel trap had closed around his stomach. Every morning since the Cursemute had rid the land of the lycanthrope curse, he'd fallen to his knees praising Avacyn's blessing. But in his heart, he doubted. What if the wolfir reverted to a murderous state? What if the abominations that had slaughtered so many of his kin returned? "Rouse our regiment," he told Grete. "It seems our days in Thraben have come to an abrupt end."

The Mayor of Torbach was a pompous, red-faced administrator who took power after Avacyn returned. A sheep in fancy clothes, Odric thought. Not a leader during the darkest hours. The mayor had been ranting at them since they arrived in his chamber. Grete shifted uncomfortably beside Odric, no doubt wondering why he was letting this tirade go on so long. "I demand to know! What is this new devilry? Werewolves walk even during the half moon? Did you not promise that this curse was lifted from us? These wolfir may slaughter us even during the daylight?" "Sir, there is no reason to believe that a wolfir—" Odric said. "It slaughtered the widow of Bitterheart Hill!" the mayor interrupted. "Destroyed her cottage just last night! And took its time under her roof. Maybe it slumbered a bit? Going to cook a hock of meat in her fireplace?" "The creature was in her cottage?" Odric asked. "This vile creature is terrorizing my village. Where are the angels? The cathars waste time building bridges and trimming apple trees and..." "One more question," Odric interrupted. "Has it attacked other cottages? Or just the widow's?" "Cottages, no. But my son! He was just a boy...." Odric laid his hand on the mayor's shoulder. At his touch, the man abruptly stopped speaking, and tears brimmed in his brown eyes. "We will find the monster that killed your son and put its head on a pike," Odric assured the mayor, who had lost his bluster and seemed to have no more words for them. Odric and Grete found their own way back to the street where their horses waited. "He acted as if all it was our fault," Grete said angrily. "He's a grieving man," Odric replied. A man who has lost a son to a werewolf, he thought. Just as I have.

As they rode toward the edge of the village, the red sun dropped low to the horizon. Above, a sliver of pale moon appeared in the indigo heavens. The phases of the moon once had been Odric's guiding hand. The shape of the moon would figure into his battle tactics as much as supply lines and the morale of his cathars. Odric spent years watching the night sky, noting how the moon touched the world in unexpected ways. Some seemed trivial. The leaves of the maple curled downward during a full moon. Others were crucial to survival. Ghouls moved quicker during a new moon. A waxing moon brought unnatural fighting among the rank and file. With Avacyn's Cursemute, Odric secretly felt he had lost one of his tactical advantages. The moon was playing new games, and Odric had yet to learn the rules. "What are your thoughts?" Grete asked over the thud of the horses' hooves. "I knew of the widow who was killed. They called her the Bitterheart Witch. Remember how he said it stayed in her cottage? Something about her attracted the monster. We'll set a trap near there." As they quickened their horses and made toward camp, Odric's eyes fixed on the pattern of mist around the meek sliver in the sky. Whatever evil was now manifesting itself, it would stop in the shadow of the widow's' cottage. He would mount its head on the gates of Thraben.

By midnight, there was no moon at all. He and Grete lay in the undergrowth at the edge of a clearing. The only light came from a witchbane's orb, a magical ward against curses that hovered at the edge of the trees. The spell was the widow's handiwork, from a time before she'd been outcast by the villagers as a witch. Odric had poured the blood of the widow on the ground below the orb. Blood he'd taken from her lifeless corpse in the catacombs of the local church. The strange thing was that when he'd viewed her corpse, he'd seen no signs of violence on her. There was no evidence she'd been killed by a werewolf attack, which Odric had assumed after talking with the mayor. She looked peaceful enough to have died of old age.

A hooting call broke the night's silence. He recognized it as a cathar's signal that something had passed through the perimeter of scouts he'd placed around the grove. He glanced at Grete, and she silently stood up and disappeared into the shadows. Odric moved into a crouching position, waiting for the second signal, which would confirm if it was natural or unnatural... The signal came again, urgently. Unnatural, then. Odric saw it before he heard it. A shadow—much taller than an average man—stretched across the clearing. He'd fought countless werewolves and none had moved with such quiet deliberation. Odric glanced up at the inky sky, suddenly doubting his strategy. But the monstrosity had entered the clearing and was loping toward the scent of the widow's blood. Whatever was approaching, there was no time to question the plan. Fear holds no place in faith's battle plan. Odric shouted to the cathars in the treetops, who cast down the heavy net, sending the creature's massive bulk onto the forest floor. Odric sprinted toward it as it struggled under the ropes. He unsheathed his sword as he ran, ready to slice through ropes and neck in one blow. "Wait!" screamed Grete, attempting to intercept her commander. "Wait! It has an axe!"

Odric froze, seeing the massive weapon on the ground behind the monster. Then he saw the arm—a human arm—a hand, and human eyes, peering out of a haggard face crisscrossed with sickly black veins. "In Avacyn's name," Odric thundered. "What are you?" "I'm weakened, cursed, and no threat to you," it said. "I'm Garruk Wildspeaker..."

The guttural voice infuriated Odric. Every corpse that had been mutilated by a werewolf flashed through his memory. He would never forget the raw carnage of the attacks and the senseless rage that left human bodies in bloody tatters. The only way Odric could comprehend those murders was if they were done by mindless beasts. Mindless beasts don't have language or a voice to speak it. And never a name.

Garruk Wildspeaker.

Even when Odric killed werewolves in human form, he never spoke their names. In his mind, the curse stripped them of any human identity they once possessed.

Odric bashed the blunt end of his sword against the monster's temple, hearing the crack of skull as it shattered under the weight of his blow. It slumped to the ground. He yanked the net off the monster and grabbed a handful of its long matted hair. He yanked it back to expose the bare throat where lifeblood still pulsed through its unnatural veins.

"Wait!" Grete was at his shoulder.

Odric lifted his sword.

One blow to sunder the head from the body.

"It's not a werewolf! Sir, Avacyn's blessings didn't fail us."

He wanted its head.

I'll throw it at the feet of Avacyn and scream the name of every person murdered in her absence.

"Let us bring it to Thraben—alive. Leave the days of slaughter behind us. It's a new day in Innistrad."

He wanted to scream at her, too. She'd fought the same wars and lived in the same grisly world as he. But unlike him, her conscience was untarnished.

She's still hopeful.

Grete's compassion would kill her someday.

Someday soon.

Odric let go of the monster and sheathed his sword.

"Drug him and tie him down. It's a long road back to Thraben. Let Avacyn measure the worth of his life."

#magic the gathering #vorthos #innistrad #odric #garruk #vampires #werewolves

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cashmerescarves · 3 years

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Different Colors Of Cashmere Scarves

Because of their decadent composition, additionally they drape fantastically when worn free, including an easy-chic component to fitted sweaters and jeans on the weekend. Check out our kids scarf choice for the perfect in unique or custom, handmade items from our scarves retailers. Shop our range of scarves, from head and cashmere scarves to snood, tartan and oversized scarves for all events. Stay cozy & heat with Nordstrom Rack's assortment of girls's scarves https://strandfirm.com/. Find the top designer manufacturers at as a lot as 70% off regular prices. a long, typically broad strip of fabric worn concerning the neck, shoulders, or head for warmth or fashion.

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In cold climates, a thick knitted scarf, usually manufactured from wool, is tied around the neck to maintain warm. This is usually accompanied by a heavy jacket or coat. Also, the scarf might be used to wrap around the face and ears for additional cowl from the cold. Lighter materials in energetic colour palettes convey a spritely air to your warm-weather ensembles.

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To form a shawl on the end or fringe of, as for a joint in timber, forming a "V" groove for welding adjacent metallic plates, metal rods, and so forth.

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In later instances, scarves were additionally worn by troopers of all ranks in Croatia across the 17th century.

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a protracted, broad strip of wool, silk, lace, or other materials worn concerning the neck, shoulders, or head, for decoration or safety against chilly, drafts, etc. In drier, dustier warm climates, or in environments where there are numerous airborne contaminants, a thin headscarf, kerchief, or bandanna is usually worn over the eyes and nose and mouth to keep the hair clear. Over time, this practice has evolved into a fashionable item in many cultures, significantly among ladies. The cravat, an ancestor of the necktie and bow tie, evolved from scarves of this type in Croatia. The scarf turned a real style accessory by the early 19th century for both men and women.

The scarves are in the form of alternating bars of colour, usually with the staff name or mascot written on each second bar. This is usually accompanied by the singing of a membership anthem similar to "You'll Never Walk Alone" at Liverpool F.C. This was initially solely a British phenomenon, but has since unfold to the remainder of Europe, North and South America. Some golf equipment supporters will carry out a scarf 'twirl' or 'twirly' during which a gaggle of supporters hold the scarves above their heads with one hand, and twirl the scarf, making a 'blizzard' of colour. This is normally accompanied by a club anthem such as "Hey Jude" at Heart of Midlothian F.C. Members of the Scouting motion wear a scarf-like merchandise referred to as a neckerchief as a half of their uniform, which is sometimes known as a shawl.

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Access to this page has been denied as a end result of it appears such as you're not prepared to buy. scarfs – noun a protracted strip of material to put on spherical one's neck. He reached up to loosen the headscarf round his neck.

In the course of normal operation, the websites may purchase some personal data of the user whose transmission is implicit in the utilization of internet and cellphones communication protocols. The logical and physical security of the info and, normally, the confidentiality of the non-public information processed might be safeguarded by taking all technical and organizational measures necessary to ensure their security. Piquadro S.p.A (hereinafter referred to as "PQ"), Parent Company of the "Piquadro Group", along with The Bridge S.p.A. (hereinafter referred to as "TB") and Lancel Sogedi S.A. Remind yourself of the crystal blue ocean with our Bahama Breeze Scarf. This piece options patchwork of tropical flowers, chevron, and pink leopard print. The silky texture makes this unique scarf a dream come true.

To unite, as two pieces of timber or metallic, by a shawl joint. To type a shawl on the top or edge of, as for a joint in timber, forming a "V" groove for welding adjacent metallic plates, metallic rods, and so on. Featuring an consideration grabbing patchwork-inspired print, this paisley scarf brings a captivating twist to any outfit. Throw our Mixed Print Paisley Scarf over a plain black t-shirt for a splash of favor.

The warmest thing

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For a European-inspired elegance, discover our collection of neck scarves. They are a soft various to necklaces and are simply as refined. Look out for geometric designs and female border prints for the height of refinement, and silky fabrications that give these prints a vibrant sheen. You can wear them as a modern neckerchief, or use them to refresh your favourite purse by tying it across the deal with.

Scarves have been worn since historical times. The Statue of Ashurnasirpal II from the ninth century BC options the emperor wearing a scarf. In Ancient Rome, the garment was used to keep clear quite than warm.

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