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shera-dnd · 3 years

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Chapter 2 of our little Princess and Knight AU adventures. Now that we’re all familiar with the princess, I think it is time we were introduced to the knight in question

You can read this fic through the AO3 link above or under the read more link down here. Whichever one works for you.

That night the white knight marched into Lady Schnee’s tent. Though her stance was determined, her steps were weary after the long day of constant fighting, and her demoralizing defeat.

“Lady Weiss,” greeted the Schnee servant that waited within, “it’s good to see you well.”

He was a man whose largeness of body was only matched by that of his heart. Every word that left from under his full mustache was spoken with a care, and kindness, that Weiss had yet to receive from anyone else.

“It is good to see you as well, Klein,” she replied as she found herself a bench to slump on.

She took off her helmet for the first time all day, releasing her long ponytail of silver hair from its confinement. Taking a nearby piece of cloth she wiped the sweat that had gathered on her brow, and let out a sigh she had been holding all evening.

“I take it the tournament did not go as you expected,” he commented.

“I’ve lost,” she simply declared, not wanting to linger on this topic much longer.

“I’m truly sorry to hear it, my lady,” he replied, placing a hand on her shoulder, “but this is only your first tournament, Lady Weiss. There will be plenty of chances to make the people of Atlas see you for the knight you are.”

“Thank you, Klein,” she replied, offering the man the best smile she could manage, but it was as weak as she felt in that moment, “but I can’t help but dread that this humiliation has set a standard for my coming battles.”

“Humiliation is what you’ve brought upon half my men today,” her sister declared as she joined them within the tent.

The stern glacier of a woman that was Lady Winter of House Schnee, Knight of the Winter Maiden, grew but a few degrees warmer as she saw the defeated expression on her sister’s face, and for a moment the facade melted away; she was simply Winter.

“You fought well, Weiss,” she assured her, “you stood on equal footing with the Black Knight of Vale. That is not a feat to be taken lightly.”

“Thank you,” Weiss sighed, but accepted the praise, “I’m glad to have made good on our training.”

Winter gave her a nod and a proud smile, before the frigid winds of her duty froze her expression once again into that of Lady Schnee.

“Now, I must be on my way,” she informed, “Knight Commander Ironwood has requested my presence.”

“Of course,” Weiss replied, bowing her head slightly as she did so, “when should I expect your company again?”

Her sister stopped to think for a moment.

“If your identity is to remain a secret, I do not believe it is wise for us to meet in person any time soon,” she concluded. Weiss understood her decision, but that did not mean she found any joy in it.

“Understood,” she surrendered, “I wish you luck with your preparations, sister.”

“And you with yours.”

As she left she also seemed to take Weiss’s high spirits with her, leaving her only with her lingering frustration over her defeat, and dread over the coming month without her sister.

“I believe I am in need of some fresh air,” she eventually declared. She picked her helmet up and added, “I’ll just be stepping into the woods for a moment. No point risking exposing myself.”

“Do stay safe, Lady Weiss,” Klein asked, voice full of worry.

“I still have my sword and the iron of my armor,” she assured him, “unless Lady Blake returns for a second round, I believe I’ll be fine.”

As silently as she could, Weiss stepped away from the tent and quickly made her way to the forest; only removing her helmet again once she was sure she was fully out of sight of the festival goers. She took a deep breath, taking in the fresh scents of the forest that stretched around her, placing her focus anywhere but in the frustration that boiled inside her in that moment.

Weiss shook her head and groaned loudly, kicking at a patch of grass in her way. It wasn’t working. Perhaps a brisk walk would do better at working that disappointment out of her. Though certainly brisk, what she did do was closer to stomping than it was to walking.

Curse this tournament, curse this Black Knight, curse Lord Ironwood, and curse her father while she was at it!She always made a point to stop to curse him whenever such a foul mood struck her. It was a good habit to keep, all things considered. He always had at least some fault in her foul moods, and perhaps one day one of these curses would finally land and the bastard would die some ignoble death.

No, no, it wasn’t proper of her to get like this. She was the heiress of House Schnee and if she was to maintain such a title she had to play by his rules - Winter was living proof that he was not above rescinding such privileges after all - though at the very least this White Knight character allowed her some level of much needed freedom.

She leaned back against a nearby tree and rested her head against it, closing her eyes she took another long and deep breath. She had been gone for a while now, it was probably about time she returned to her tent. Wouldn’t want Klein to worry over her well being after all.

“We thought you were dead!” A voice furiously shouted in the distance.

“Good!” Another voice shouted back, “had I stopped to tell you my intentions you would have killed me on the spot instead!”

Weiss opened her eyes. Shit, she wasn’t alone in the woods anymore. She had to get back to camp before anyone caught her here.

“And with good reason!” The first voice replied, “you betrayed us!”

“What I have done was for the good of the fae,” the second voice returned in a steely tone, “you’re just too blinded by vengeance to realize it.”

The good of the fae? There were fae in these woods with her. She had to get away right now and…this could be her chance. Were she to strike a blow against the fae she would be welcomed home as a hero. Her father would have no basis to deny her her right to become a knight.

She snuck closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the two arguing faeries.

“I would rather let vengeance blind me than allow myself to be turned into their pet!” The first voice bit back.

“I am not their pet!” The second denied, “I am their equal!”

“And yet you don their symbols, you wear their face, and you play their game,” the first one continued.

Weiss could almost see them now. It was too dark and the forest was too thick around these parts for her to make out too much detail, but she could see the shapes of the fae locked in bitter argument.

“You may see me as subservient, but I have not forgotten my roots, unseelie,” the second retorted, “I am fae, but I am also a Knight of the Fall Maiden, and it is my duty both to my court and to my kingdom that I help them find peace.”

A fae knight? And one from Vale of all places? Now that was simply not possible. The fae couldn’t even touch iron, let alone wield it as a weapon. And who would even dare to bring one of them to their order in the first place? Only a mad man would ever try.

Weiss stepped forward, now more curious than ever as to who these fae might be. She had to be slow and careful now as to not catch their--

Snap went a twig under the weight of her boots. She looked up to the figures that argued in the woods, only to be met by a familiar pair of golden eyes staring at her and through her soul. It was her.

Weiss’s hand flew to her sword as she stepped back and braced herself for a fight. But as soon as her left foot moved back it was snagged by a root that hadn’t been there before. Maybe she should curse fae tricks next time too, if there was a next time.

When the Black Knight charged at her she did her best to block the blow, but with her posture already precarious as it was, she found herself being pushed to the ground. She raised her blade again, preparing to fight on her back if she had to, but the ‘knight’ deigned only to kick the blade aside and plant her boot on Weiss’s chest.

“Lady Weiss Schnee I presume,” ‘Lady’ Blake greeted, her form now fully human once more, “you have your sister’s scowl. I see it runs in the family.”

“What are you doing?” The other fae demanded, “kill her already.”

The human form that woman had taken was not unfamiliar to Weiss. She remembered the beautiful woman cheering for her from among the crowd, and had entertained asking her for her favor once the real tournament had started. So much for that thought.

“Ah yes, for no evil shall befall us or our people were we to kill the Schnee heir,” Blake replied, sarcasm nearly dripping from her voice.

“Try it,” Weiss challenged, “I’ll make sure you both burn before you have the chance to regret it.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lady,” Blake assured her, “my friend does not wish for the atlesians to find out who we are, and you don’t want your father to find out what you’ve been doing with your free time. I propose we keep each other’s secrets.”

“How are you so sure there is even a secret to be kept?” Weiss bluffed, “how are you to know I don’t have my father’s blessing?”

“I don’t believe you would have suffered those fools at the arena were you able to wield the weight of your name against them,” she countered.

Weiss scowled at her, furious at the thought of being so easily read. Still she refused to give in.

“I will not betray my kingdom by allowing you two to freely enact whatever plans you have,” she declared, “I’d rather you both slay me now than be complicit in your actions.”

“Do not tempt me, Schnee,” the woman in blue threatened.

“As belligerent as my companion is,” Blake interjected, “I don’t believe she has any nefarious plans for you to worry over.”

“Do you really want me to simply trust that you two are only here to enjoy the festival?”

“You are one to speak of trust, human,” the woman in blue countered.

“If it will dissuade your mistrust,” Blake sighed and stepped back from Weiss. She drew her sword and, taking a knee, she planted it on the ground, “I swear on my honor as a Knight of the Fall Maiden that neither me nor Ilia intend any harm and that if you are to keep our secret, we will keep yours too.”

Weiss was taken aback. Lady Blake’s oath carried the conviction of a knight. She spoke with the same unquestioning certainty that Winter had used when she swore herself to the Winter Maiden. Fae or no, there was no doubt in Weiss’s mind that Blake truly saw herself and carried herself as a true knight.

“What?” Ilia scoffed, “are we to simply trust the Schnee? After all her house has done to us?”

Weiss got up and reached for her sword. Ilia braced for a fight, but was caught by surprise when Weiss reached for Blake’s hand and helped her stand up again.

“And I swear on the name of my house,” that earned another scoff, “that I will do you both no harm as long as you do not bring me harm, and I shall keep your secret as long as you keep mine.”

Ilia remained unconvinced, but Lady Blake was relieved to hear it. She placed a hand on their shoulders as they brought them close. They were too busy glaring daggers at each other to spare Blake a scowl.

“Now that that is done with,” she began, “Lady Ilia, Lady Weiss, I believe it’s time we all got back to camp.”

#rwby #prismatic ponytails #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #blake belladonna #medieval au #fanfic

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d-noona · 3 years

Text

BARTERED BRIDE - Chapter 4

Ch 04 - Lunch Meeting

Kim Namjoon is a ruthless financier used to buying and selling stocks, shares and priceless artifacts. But now Namjoon has his eye on a very different acquisition - Park Han Byeol. Left destitute by her father's recent death, Han Byeol walks into Namjoon's bank looking to extend her overdraft. As Han Byeol needs money and Namjoon needs a wife, he proposes the perfect deal: he'll rescue her financially if she agrees to marry him. But in this marriage of convenience can Han Byeol ever be anything more than just a bartered bride?

Masterlist

"I nearly kept you waiting," said Namjoon. "I came back from the bank at eleven to go run in the park. As I was coming home I saw an old man on a bench who was obviously in need of medical attention. That held me up."

"Do you run everyday?" Han Byeol asks.

"I try to. Are you a runner?"

Han Byeol shook her head. "I play tennis and ski. I don't do work-outs."

He slanted an appraising glance at her figure. Today, in place of a black suit, she was wearing a designer outfit bought on a holiday in Italy. It consisted f a fine jersey-knit top in lilac, a waistcoat in violet, and swirling chevron-striped skirt combining those colors with pink and pale pistachio-green. The audacious color combination was perfect with Han Byeol's dark hair and brown eyes. "You look in great shape," he remarked. "But people in desk jobs like mine need some kind of fitness regime to stave off the bad effects of a sedentary lifestyle. Come and sit down. What would you like to drink before lunch?"

She remembered his remark about the wine she had been drinking when he forced his way in the previous evening. Was he one of those people who drank only mineral water and made everyone who didn't feel on a lower plane? Han Byeol had no intention of allowing him to intimidate her. "A Campari and soda, please," she said firmly.

Namjoon said to the butler, who had been following them at a discreet distance, "A Campari for Miss Park and my usual, please, Curtis." With a silent inclination of the head, the butler withdrew.

"Let's sit over here, shall we?" Namjoon steered her towards a group of comfortable chairs near one of the windows. "Have you finished your packing?"

"Almost"

Knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, she had worked on it till long past midnight. At half past nine this morning a dealer whom she had ought a lot of furnishings had come round to buy them back. Luckily Han Byeol had paid for them out of her bank account. Although the money in it had come from her father, technically they were her property, not his. As soon as his business had been forced into receivership, everything her father had owned, including the family home belonged to his business creditors. But the cash the dealer had handed her could go in her pocket. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing if, when Namjoon spelt out the terms of his trade off marriage, she found that she couldn't accept them. Looking up at the elegant cornice around the ceiling and the two crystal chandeliers, their chains swathed with coral tassels at the tops of the heavy cream curtains.

"Are you interested in architecture?" He sounded faintly surprised.

"Sometimes."

The butler came back with their drinks, hers a slight more vivid red than the coral linen slipcovers on some of the sofas, Namjoon's colorless except for a twist of lemon floating among the ice cubes. It could be in or vodka, or it could straight mineral water. Namjoon said, "This was my grandparents' house. My paternal grandmother still lives here when she's not staying with her daughters". I moved here when my father died. We had been living in Ilsan. I have an apartment near Gangnam but I thought you would feel more comfortable being entertained in the main house," he added with a gleam of amusement. After a slight pause, he added "I shall move out when I marry. The province is better for children, if their parents can choose where to live. Most people can't of course."

"Where are you thinking of moving to?" Han Byeol asked.

"I haven't decided." His expression was enigmatic. "Where would you choose to live, given a free choice?"

Han Byeol considered the question. Once the answer would have been "Wherever Yoongi wants to live." She said, "Ideally I'd like more sun than we get in this city. I wouldn't mind living by the sea, getting some fresh air...or a lake would do as long as it has mountains round it. I'd like to look out on mountains...big ones with snow on top."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds as if New Zealand would suit you."

She shook her head. "I'm sure it's a beautiful country but it's too far away from Korea. Have you been there?"

Namjoon nodded. "The scenery's magnificent...when it's not raining. Unreliable weather. I went with old friends, you might know them since they run in the same circles you do. Where have your travels taken you?"

"Mostly to holiday places...the Caribbean in winter...resorts round the Med in summer. My mother's a passionate gardener. She doesn't like travelling alone, even in a group. I've been on some garden tours with her...the south of France, Ireland, California. Where do you for holidays?" Han Byeol takes a sip of her Campari.

"I used to go with my father who also liked someone with him. We went to Japan together and other Pacific Rim countries. I travel a lot for the bank. For pleasure I usually go to France, Greece or Spain. Where would you like to go for our honeymoon?"

The question, tacked on to innocuous small talk, took her by surprise. "I haven't agreed to marry you," she said coldly.

"If you found the idea unthinkable, you wouldn't be here," he said dryly. "Let's be straight with each other Han Byeol. I need you...you need me. It's a sensible, practical arrangement."

She knew that at least the first part of what he said was true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Was it pride that made her reluctant to fall in with his plan too readily? She said, "I'm not clear why you've selected me."

"You're very attractive...as I am sure you're aware." he smiles at her gently.

"Is that all you want from a woman? An acceptable face and figure? Don't you care what I'm like inside?" Han Byeol scoffed.

'I can make some intelligent guesses. People can't hide their characters," he told her casually. "Even in repose a face gives a lot of clues to its owner's temperament. Apart from yesterday's evidence that you have a short fuse, I haven't detected any characteristics I wouldn't like to live with."

His arrogance took her breath away. In that moment of shock, she was struck by the thought it would be both a challenge and public service to bring this man down from his lofty pinnacle and convert him into an acceptably unassuming person. But perhaps it was already too late . One of gran's favorite sayings was, "What's bred in the bone must come out in flesh." Namjoon with his long-boned thoroughbred physique and his handsome features, looked a descendant of generations of men who had felt themselves to be superior beings and never experienced the doubts felt by ordinary people.

In a different, more rough-hewn way, her father had been the same. Probably somewhere far back in Namjoon's ancestry, there had been a man like her father: a rough-diamond unscrupulous go-getter who had founded the Park Fortune. Perhaps if Mr. Park had married someone better equipped to handle him than her quiet and easily cowed mother, her father might have been saved from becoming an overbearing braggart. Whether, at thirty four, Namjoon's essential nature could be modified was problematical. But it could be interesting to try.

She said, "I don't find you as transparent as you seem to find me. It takes me longer to make up my mind about people;"

"You haven't had as much experience of summing up people as I have."

The butler reappeared. "Luncheon is ready when you are, sir."

They ate in a smaller room with a view of a large garden, an oasis of well kept greenery in the heart of the city. The surface of the round Regency breakfast table had a gleaming patina resulting from years of regular polishing' It reflected the colors and shapes of the red-streaked white tulips arranged in a what Han Byeol recognized as an antique tulip pot, its many spouts designed to support the stems of flowers which had once been costly status symbols. The meal began with potted shrimps served with crisp Melba toast, tiny green gherkins and white wine, which they continued to drink with the main course, chicken with minty yogurt dressing.

While they ate Namjoon talked about plays and art shows he had been to recently. It was the kind of conversation made by strangers at formal lunch parties and although his comments were interesting Han Byeol thought his choice of subject was irrelevant to this particular situation. When the butler had withdrawn, leaving them to help themselves to a fruit salad with fromage frais, or to selection of more substantial cheeses, she said, "Why do you want a wife when you could go on having girlfriends and a change them when you get bored?"

Offering her elegant Waterford compote, its apparent fragility emphasizing the powerful but equally elegant form of the hands in which it was cradled, he looked at her with unexpected sternness. "I have a responsibility to my line. I need sons to carry on the traditions established by my predecessors."

She found this solemnly irritating. "Are you expecting me to provide proof of my fertility?" Before she could add that, if he was, he could forget it, Namjoon said, "No, I'm prepared to chance that."

"Big deal!" Han Byeol said sarcastically.

She had a feeling that Namjoon wouldn't hesitate to divorce her if she failed to live up to his expectations in some way. But although he struck her as a monster of cold-hearted self-centeredness, she couldn't deny that he was extraordinarily attractive. Every movement he had made since they sat down had heightened her awareness of the lean and muscular physique inside the well-cut suit and the long legs under the table. His hair was dry now but still had a sheen of health. There was nothing about him suggestive of stress or tension. He seemed entirely relaxed. Yet why did he need to arrange a businesslike marriage instead of falling in love the way people usually did?

Wondering, suddenly, if he might be in the same situation as herself, heartbroken, although it didn't seem likely, she said, "When did you dream up this scheme?"

"It's an idea I've had for some time...probably since my contemporaries started divorcing. I have about a dozen god-children, most whom now have step parents, some official, some not. I don't want that for my children."

"Did you parents stay married?" she asked.

It seemed to her that his face underwent a change. His lips didn't tighten. His eyebrows didn't draw together. But there was a subtle hardening and chilling, reminding her of the impression she had received that morning when they sat on opposite sides of his imposing desk/ Now they were at a table designed for a more intimate and relaxed conversation. But she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she had trespassed in an area of his where she was an unwelcome intruder.

"They separated. They were never divorced," he answered.

Han Byeol wanted to ask hold he had been when the separation happened, but something made her hold her tongue. Later, going back to the flat in the taxi he had laid on for her, she regretted her curiousity.

When-in-two people were going to marry, there shouldn't be any "No go" areas between them...or at least none of that nature. His past girlfriends were not her business, but his family life certainly was. She shouldn't have allowed herself to be put off. From now on she wouldn't be, she told herself firmly.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #kim namjoon #joonie'#RM #bangtan army #rm x reader #rm x original character #rm motherfuckers

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ghirahimbo · 4 years

Note

Are you open to prompts? I would suggest Link picking out new bangles for Revali's braids or something, if you'd like to use that!

Apparently I am open to prompts and would like to use that, because I went and wrote a whole post-Pinesong oneshot for it :D Here you go!

“Topaz,” Link said decisively, his voice slightly muffled by the thin blue veil that hid his just-too-angular jawline. “Definitely topaz. I assume it works for a Rito the same way it does for Hylians?”

“Of course.” Isha, the Gerudo jeweler, nodded eagerly. “Topaz harnesses the power of lightning to protect its wearer from electricity, no matter who wears it. A wise choice if your friend plans on traveling the desert for much longer—and the color would suit her nicely.”

“Do you think so?”

Revali couldn’t help but shift defensively under the somehow identical stares of consideration that turned his way, though in every other aspect the two humans examining him could not have looked more different. With her glowing dark skin and fiery hair worked elaborately beneath finely crafted ornaments that were no doubt proof of her skill as a jeweler, Isha was the very definition of put together beauty, so that Link looked almost drab and washed out in comparison. Some other Hylian might have disappeared completely in her presence—Isha would have towered head and shoulders over Link even without her golden heels, and the muscles that rippled beneath her sparse outfit were as hard and defined as any Gerudo’s Revali had ever seen—and yet… well, Link was still Link, even halfway hidden behind colorful silks. With one hand propped against his waist and the other scratching thoughtfully at his chin, Link inhabited his Gerudo clothing with a confidence that Revali had not expected from the way he’d blushed when he first pulled it out—a confidence that left Revali unaccountably flustered. He himself was not nearly so comfortable with his own feminine disguise, as evidenced by his constant prodding at the two looped braids that hung to either side of his face. How did Rito women function with those heavy braids dangling like that?

“You’re right,” Link agreed, and Revali raised an eyebrow as Link reached beneath his beak to push it up, examining his raised profile intently. “The jade went well with her eyes, I think, but the topaz…”

“The topaz will make her sparkle,” Isha insisted from his other side, holding an uncut yellow stone up against Revali’s face and squinting at them together. “You see it now, don’t you? What do you think, Vali?”

Revali rolled his eyes over the nickname Link had chosen as Revali’s impromptu alibi.

“I think that this place might be a waste of rupees after all,” he griped, jerking his head away. He might have reluctantly agreed to let Link buy him a gift from here if only because it made practical sense—there were an alarming number of creatures in the desert intent on shooting volts of electricity through his body—but he hadn’t agreed to being treated like an ornament himself, pushed and prodded and stared at.

Isha’s jaw snapped shut as she withdrew the gem, outrage sparking to life behind her eyes, and Link was quick to wave a dismissive hand.

“I’ll worry about my own rupees, thank you,” he said lightly, though Revali recognized the note of reproach in his voice. It was an effort not to stick out his tongue in response. “I told you, this is a gift. Besides,” he added impishly, “I’ll feel better knowing you have some form of protection if another electric keese sneaks up on you in the night.”

Revali bristled. “That was one time!”

“I assume you’ll want it crafted into a ring shape like the jade you showed you me earlier,” Isha interjected, addressing Link exclusively now as she turned towards him. “To hold back her hair, is that right? Earrings will not do her much good.”

“If you can,” Link said, fishing one of Revali’s large jade beads from his pouch and offering it to her as a sample. Revali watched it pass into her hands longingly, his unbound hair damp against the back of his neck in this dratted heat. “It’s fine if it costs a bit more than normal. This isn’t the sort of thing I usually ask you to make.”

“Nonsense,” Isha said briskly, brushing his concern aside. “It’s not as though I’ve never made rings before, and this is quite similar. I assume you brought the necessary materials?”

Link nodded, plunging his hand into his pouch again, although something he found there made him hesitate.

“Do you think…” Withdrawing a large, clear stone, Link half-glanced at Revali before avoiding looking at him altogether. “I know it’s not as practical, but… would a diamond be more traditional?”

Isha frowned. “Traditional in what way?”

“Well…” Link’s voice lowered to a whisper, and abruptly Revali realized that he’d been cut out of the conversation completely—an impression that Isha immediately encouraged by turning her back on him. In retrospect, he might not have needed to insult her entire livelihood earlier. The oppressive heat of this desert had left him admittedly snappish, with even less inclination to temper his tongue than usual.

With nothing to do but wait for them to finish, Revali wandered aimlessly around the dim storefront, looking around. The warm, recessed lighting and mismatched rugs kept the small room on the charming side of elegant, though the isolated pedestals that displayed the shop’s wares atop velvety pillows left no doubt of its luxurious nature. Running a reluctantly curious eye over the glittering pieces of jewelry, Revali noticed with surprise that he recognized most of them from Link’s collection. Perhaps Isha had not been exaggerating after all when she had lovingly called Link her shop’s patron.

Stopping in front of a pair of topaz earrings identical to the ones Link had put on that morning, Revali inspected the neatly penned price tag beneath them. And choked.

“I would still suggest the topaz,” he heard Isha say, the volume of their conversation rising to discernible levels once more. “It is more important for the final piece to suit its wearer than to cling to some tradition that neither of you cares for, I think, and your girlfriend… there is a spark to her.” Isha glanced back at Revali with a smile that showed too many teeth. “Yes, I think topaz will do very nicely.”

“You don’t think ruby would fit her better?” Link said dryly as Revali frowned, still wrapping his head around the thought that here he was Link’s girlfriend, and Isha threw back her head and laughed.

“Perhaps you should wear ruby, to guard against a scalding tongue,” she quipped, bowing her head in thanks as Link passed over a small handful of yellow gems. “Sarqso, my friend. This should be ready for you in about a day or so.”

“Link,” Revali hissed, drawing him aside as Isha wandered towards the back of the shop, still chuckling to herself over whatever joke they’d made at his expense. “Link, listen to me. You cannot spend this kind of money on a… a gift! A silly trinket!”

“What?” Link looked blankly up at Revali, then at the price tag he was gesturing towards furiously, and his expression cleared. “Oh, that! No, don’t worry about it. Isha gives me a good discount because I helped her get started with supplies.” Revali relaxed, somewhat mollified, until Link added casually, “I think she’ll only ask for about half that much.”

“That… is still a hefty sum of money,” Revali argued tightly. “I doubt that I even have that many rupees to rub together.”

Too late, Revali realized that he’d maybe revealed more about the nature of his misgivings than he’d intended to, because Link’s eyes were suddenly understanding above his veil.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said again, grabbing the tip of Revali’s wing to stroke gently. “I’m the one dragging you around, remember? That means it’s my job to make this worth your while.” As an afterthought, he added, “And it’s not a silly trinket. It’s a very serious trinket, and Isha is never going to forgive you for implying otherwise.”

Revali snorted.

“How shall I ever live on?” he asked sarcastically, prompting Link to bury his elbow in Revali’s side. Still, Revali resolved to be nothing but complimentary when they returned to pick up the finished product. Ever since meeting Urbosa, he’d suspected that only a fool would make an enemy of a Gerudo lightly. “Why were you asking her about diamonds, anyway? I thought we were here specifically for the topaz.”

Link hesitated for just a second too long before shrugging.

“No reason,” he said casually. Far too casually, and Revali raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Just a… thought I had. Doesn’t matter.”

“What’s the tradition?” Revali insisted, following as Link headed for the shop’s exit. “It must be something Hylian. I would know if it was Rito.”

“It’s…” Link sighed, and though the veil he wore hid most of his ears, the part Revali could see had turned a sudden, burning red. “I’ve heard that Hylians who are… in love… might sometimes give each other diamond jewelry as a symbol of that. I don’t know, really. It’s just something that I’ve heard.”

Revali’s brow furrowed, and he shot out a wing to catch Link before he could duck away.

“So you wanted to… give me a feather?” he asked, catching onto the closest comparison he could come up with. “That isn’t embarrassing, Link. You do know that the two of us are already…” His eyes flicked back towards where Isha stood, and his beak clicked wryly. “Girlfriends.”

Link’s veil fluttered as he huffed out a laugh.

“I mean, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Isha’s jewelry really is useful, you know, and the topaz will come in handy even outside of the desert, but…” He hesitated then, his hand sneaking up to tug at his earring—or, no. No, he was toying with the feathered braid behind it, tucked discreetly beneath his veil. “It did occur to me that… well, I don’t have feathers to give you, do I? People see a piece of you whenever they look at me. I guess it would be… nice? If they saw something from me when they looked at you.”

It was touchingly sweet and utterly corny, and Revali dipped his beak to brush against Link’s face, suppressing a smirk.

“Let me get this straight,” he said with low delight. “You essentially planned on tying a feather into my hair without telling me?”

“Oh, stop it,” Link laughed, slapping him away half-heartedly. “It’s just a gift, okay? You don’t even have to wear it if you don’t like it… though I think Isha’s right.” Although the veil hid Link’s grin, Revali could see it in his eyes. “Topaz will look good on you.”

“Of course it will,” Revali agreed haughtily, privately resolving to wear the thing daily whether he liked it or not. He’d always imagined that if Link had feathers, they’d be a sort of golden yellow… much like topaz, in fact. “Now, are you ready to drag me around some more? I’ll warn you up front that you’ll have to try extra hard to make this place worth my while.”

Link ran his eyes over Revali’s no doubt sweatily bedraggled appearance and grinned, flicking one of Revali’s looped braids.

“Drinks, maybe?” he suggested as Revali frowned, swatting him away. “I hear good things about the Noble Pursuit. They might even let me try one this time, though if they don’t, at least they keep ice at the bar.”

Anything with ice sounded like a spectacular notion, but before they could leave, Isha stopped them.

“Oh, Link!” she called, looking up from her workbench. “Could you come here for just a moment? I have a few questions to ask before I get started.”

Glancing up at Revali, Link shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry, Vali. Drinks in a minute,” he promised with a wink before swaying towards the back of the store to talk quietly with Isha, leaning over her desk as she sketched out a few quick designs. Really, he was a little too good in that outfit sometimes.

Another customer walked into the store as he waited—a Hylian woman with a pinched, unpleasant face who looked around with greedy interest. Though he thought he wouldn’t have noticed such a thing normally, today his eyes were quick to pick out the diamond ring prominent on her finger, and he felt a flash of interest. Something about that Hylian custom had sounded vaguely familiar once Link explained it, though he still didn’t understand why the idea of it had made Link blush like that. It sounded pretty straightforward to him, and Link had been far from reluctant to express his affection for Revali in other ways.

Curious to see what had caught his eye, the woman leaned over the pedestal with Revali, and her nose wrinkled up.

“Topaz,” she muttered. “Not a fan, really. Yellow washes me out.” Catching sight of the diamond circlet on a neighboring pedestal, her entire face brightened. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“Are you shopping for someone?” Revali asked, his curiosity overcoming his dislike of idle conversation. Maybe he should get something like that for Link… eventually, once he’d saved up some money and convinced Isha to stop staring daggers at him. It wouldn’t hurt to embrace a few Hylian traditions when Link had so readily adopted everything Rito, and Link did seem to like jewelry.

The woman laughed.

“Yeah, myself,” she said dryly. “My husband owes this to me, honestly. I was this close to divorcing him after that terrible honeymoon we went on. I might have done it if he hadn’t given me armfuls of baked apples as an apology. I’ve never been so bored and cold in my life… oh, but you’re from Rito Village, right?” she asked, looking Revali over. “You should know exactly what I’m talking about then.”

Revali stiffened in angry realization.

“I can’t say that I do,” he bit out, resolving to never attempt small talk with a stranger again. “Didn’t he already give you that? That should more than make up for whatever emotional distress such a terrible trip must have caused.”

He flicked a feather towards the ring on her finger, and the woman blinked in surprise.

“Well, of course he gave me this,” she said, holding her hand up to display the ring more clearly. “It’s a wedding ring. He’s my husband. We’re married.”

Abruptly, Revali realized why the tradition had sounded familiar.

“Done!” Link said, reappearing beside Revali to hold his wing. Eyeing the woman sideways, Link frowned in recognition but didn’t address her. “Are you ready to go?”

Revali didn’t respond, his mind still caught on the words ‘married’ and ‘husband’ and Link’s bright red blush. Ohhhhh. Oh.

Oh.

#revalink #pinesong #my writing #isha is amazing and juney sucks and that is that #Anonymous

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lifeofresulullah · 3 years

Text

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

First Revelation is Sent Down

The 16th night of the month of Ramadan had passed.

The 17th of Ramadan was a Monday night.

The mount of Nour and everything around it were covered with a deep and significant quietness to be able to hear and listen to what would be said soon. Maybe, out of respect to the ones who would speak and listen to.

It was past midnight and almost dawn. The exceptional time when nightingales sing and roses give out pleasant scents with all their beauties. The extraordinary time when those who mention the names of Allah are enthused and attain endless pleasure!

Gabriel (may Allah be pleased with him), the angel of divine revelation, took the shape of a most beautiful human being and was quite delighted. The environment smelled wonderful. The manifestations of fear and hope, and excitement and peace were intertwined.

Gabriel (may Allah be pleased with him) was very joyful because he would meet the last Prophet, the Prophet of the prophets and he would talk face to face with the Sultan of Lawlaka, who would deserve the title, “the Beloved of Allah” with his belief, worship, contemplation and struggle.

The expected moment finally came.

Gabriel (may Allah be pleased with him) appeared before the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) in his human form, sending out divine radiance around in the dark night. He spoke to him in a loud but calming voice: “Read!”

The heart of the Master of the Universe was filled with wonder and fear. His heart shivered!

He answered: “I do not know how to read.”

Gabriel hugged him and held him tight; then, Gabriel released him, saying, “Read!”

The Master of the Universe gave the same answer, “I do not know how to read.”

Gabriel hugged him for the second time and held him tight; then, Gabriel released him, saying, “Read!”

The Master of the Universe said, “I do not know how to read. Tell me! What shall I read?”

Thereupon, the angel recited the first verses of the Surah of Al-Alaq from the beginning to the end, which, through Allah Almighty’s ordering, he was in charge of conveying to the Prophet (pbuh):

“Read in the name of your Lord Who created. He created man from a clot. Read: And your Lord is the Most Bounteous, Who taught (to write) with the pen, taught man what he knew not.” (Al-Alaq Surah, 96:1-5)

The Master of the Universe (pbuh) was at the heights of excitement and amazement and recited what he heard word by word. The verses that came down became established both in his tongue and in his heart.

Gabriel, who fulfilled his task, disappeared suddenly.

“Cover Me!”

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) shook with awe and excitement at having received a Divine revelation, left the cave, and went straight towards Mecca.

He encountered many peculiarities on the road. The mountains, rocks, and trees greeted him by saying, “Assalamu Alaykum Ya Rasullulah” (May peace be with you, oh Messenger) and congratulated him on his exalted duty.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) arrived home. He had lost his breath in the face of the magnificence of this situation.

All he could say to his faithful wife, Hazrat Khadija Kubra, who anxiously greeted him was, “Cover me! Cover me!”

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) who sought solitude at mount Hira was now in his home and was now alone with his thoughts.

He woke up a while later. Even if it was a very small amount, it was obvious that he had reached some level of comfort and peace. He narrated what had happened to Khadijah al-Kubra in detail and said,

“I am scared, O Khadijah! I am scared that I will be harmed!”

Those words of our Prophet definitely originated from his desire to feel safe regarding reaching the eternal happiness and honorable duty.

Hazrat Khadija possessed eminent capabilities as well as a level of understanding and discernment that qualified her to be the first wife of the most esteemed Prophet, whom she fully trusted. She affirmed the Master of the Universe’s (PBUH) wish about feeling safe with these words:

“There is no reason for you to feel any kind of fear or worry. Do not be sad, Allah will never embarrass a servant like you. I know that you always speak the truth. You perform duties that have been given to you and safeguard that which has been entrusted to you. You interact closely with your relatives. You treat your neighbors in a very kind and caring manner. You help the poor. You open your doors to strangers and entertain them as guests. You help the community during disasters and tribulations! Oh my Uncle’s Son, persevere. By Allah, I hope that you are this community’s prophet.”

What did Waraqa say?

Doubtlessly, everything that had happened was not insignificant and did have some meaning.

It was up to Hazrat Khadija to learn by inquiring.

Whom could she go to? Who could understand these affairs? And whom could he trust in?

Hazrat Khadija thought for a long time and finally determined the person whom she would consult with: Her uncle’s son, Waraqa bin Nawfal.

Waraqa bin Nawfal was an elderly man and a Christian in the pure sense. His eyes could not see yet his heart was enlightened. He read the Bible and Torah and had learned many things from them both.

Without wasting time, Hazrat Khadija went to go see her uncle’s son with our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

Waraqa first listened to our Master (PBUH). As our Holy Prophet (PBUH) explained what had happened to him, Waraqa’s face was changing color. When our Master (PBUH) finished speaking, Waraqa exclaimed: “Quddus! Quddus! The angel that you saw is the Holy Spirit, Namus al-Akbar, that the Exalted Lord sent to Prophet Musa. You are this nation’s Prophet. Ah! If only I were younger so that I could be with you when you invited the community to the truth. And if only I could live long enough to be of help when the tribe expelled you from your homeland.”

These expressions comforted both Hazrat Khadija and our Holy Prophet (PBUH) to some degree. However, there was one thing that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) did not understand: Why would the tribe expel him from his homeland?

Waraqa answered his question: “Yes, they are going to expel from you from here since whoever has received a revelation has been the recipient of hostility. If I am able to reach the day when you will invite the community to truth then I will help you in every way I can.”

Waraqa bin Nawfal was speaking the truth - a reality that had to be exposed…

After this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and Hazrat Khadija left Waraqa bin Nawfal’s home.

REVELATION CEASES

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) faced an incident called “the Suspension of Revelation.” after a while. It was evident that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was greatly saddened and distressed by this break in the deliverance of revelation, an incident whose wisdom we cannot fully grasp and which has been more-or-so described in the following way: Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was so distressed that the earth was becoming too tight for him and he wanted to be saved from its restraint. During this time, either Jibril (Gabriel) or Israfil appeared to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) for the purpose of consoling him.

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) was faced with sadness for an exact forty–day period. Since the world is a center that is composed of an indefinite number of Divine wisdoms, everything that takes place within it undoubtedly has a purpose. Sometimes it is possible or impossible to catch the purpose behind these kinds of circumstances with the tiny measuring scales in our minds. However, not knowing their Divine wisdoms and reasons is not by any means proof that they are without wisdom and reason. Above all, it is not possible for a duty like prophethood, in which everything has been specially programmed by the pen of wisdom, to be insignificant. For this reason, there were many wisdoms and reasons behind the delay in the deliverance of revelation. However, we are not aware of them. There are many scholars who interpret this situation in various ways. Here is a summary of some of these views:

1) Allah’s Messenger (PBUH) greatly panicked in face of the first revelation and the heaviness of the situation had jolted his soul. This incident occurred so that his soul could find some peace, be rested and prepared for the forthcoming revelations.

2) Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) was being prepared for the burdens and tribulations that he was about to face.

3) The deliverance of revelation was delayed so that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) could long more deeply for the next revelation.

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Queen Takes King

Summary: Belle and Gold look for a fun way to spend their time in lockdown.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: playing a strip game.

Rated: E

===

Queen Takes King

“We could always play a game to pass the time.”

If anyone had asked Belle a month ago what her feelings towards being stuck inside with nothing to do but read, she would have said that it sounded like heaven.

Now that she actually was stuck inside with nothing to do but read, reality had finally struck. For the first few days everything had been lovely, but now the days were rolling into each other in their monotony. At least she and Gold weren’t sick of the sight of each other yet. There were so many people in her messages asking her if she’d killed him and buried him under the patio yet that she was beginning to worry about the impression that the town at large had of their relationship.

She was now on her fourth book of the lockdown, and she had read the same page seven times without taking any of it in when Gold spoke. She looked up eagerly at his suggestion. Anything that would make life a little bit more interesting was a fair suggestion in her opinion, and the little glint of naughtiness in Gold’s eyes told her instantly that this game was going to be far more involved than an innocent hand of snap.

“What kind of a game are we talking about?” she asked.

“Well, you’ve been asking me to teach you chess for a while now,” Gold said. “We’ve never got round to it yet, but you can’t deny that we’ve got plenty of time.”

Belle leaned back on the sofa, surveying him through narrowed eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that there might be more to this game of chess than meets the eye?”

“Because you know me extremely well, my dear, and I know that you secretly think that chess is one of the most boring pursuits ever invented, despite you wanting to know how to master it. Since we’re living in uniquely intriguingly boring times right now, I thought that maybe a few little tweaks could keep it interesting.”

“And would these little tweaks involve the removal of clothing upon the loss of pieces?” Belle asked.

“Well, you do know me extremely well.” Gold waggled his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

“I say that since I don’t know how to play chess and you would be the one teaching me, that I would be at a distinct disadvantage, so I decline.” She paused. “Although I think that the disrobing rules could be applied equally well to a game that we both know how to play.”

“Such as?”

Belle had to rack her brains for the moment. “Twister?”

Gold raised an eyebrow and held up his cane. “If you think that I’m going anywhere near a Twister mat, then the isolation’s sent you even madder than I originally thought. Forget taking clothes off, I’d never get off the floor again.”

“All right, maybe that wasn’t the best suggestion. Poker’s too clichéd.”

“And you haven’t got a poker face. You’re the most expressive person I know, and even more so when you’re trying not to be.”

“What? I was trying so hard the last time we played!”

“You wriggle your bum when you’ve got a good hand.”

Belle opened her mouth to refute this, realised she had no proof one way or the other, and just glared. “We’re not playing poker,” she muttered. “Erm, Scrabble?”

“We both certainly know how to play it, but I’m having a little trouble seeing where the stripping element would come in.”

He had a point, and if Belle was being honest then having exhausted her reading capacity, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to do anything that involved words in any shape or form.

“Snap?” she suggested.

Gold chuckled. “I think we’re getting desperate here. Next you’ll be trying to work out how to introduce Strip Monopoly.”

“You can’t really play monopoly with only two people,” Belle pointed out. “It would go on forever and you can’t really do any underhand dealing to cut other people out of the game. Although it would be easy to make Strip Monopoly. You just take something off when you land on one of the other person’s properties in lieu of rent.”

“You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”

“Yes. But we’re back to the same problem because Strip Monopoly could only be played in pairs and monopoly itself doesn’t work in pairs.” Belle thought about it for a moment. “Although it would be an amazing idea for polyamorous relationships. I’ll suggest it to Mulan, Rory and Philip. I’m sure they’d love it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, maybe not.” Belle sighed. “At this rate we are going to be back to chess again. I think you engineered that on purpose.”

Gold just raised an eyebrow, and despite having known him so intimately for so long, Belle still could not tell if she was right or not.

“I supposed it depends,” he began ponderously, “on how long you want the stripping to last. If you want to make a decent long game of it, then chess would certainly be the thing for that.”

“It absolutely would not, because I don’t know how to play,” Belle pointed out. “You would win by a mile within about five minutes.”

“Not necessarily. I would be teaching you, after all, and we’re never going to have a satisfactory game if I just teach you how to lose to me. On the other hand, if you’re looking for something that would get the maximum amount of clothes off as quickly as possible, then we could return to your idea of snap.”

“I don’t know. Some games of snap can go on for ages if the cards are shuffled right.” Belle tucked her knees up under her on the sofa and thought seriously about it for a moment, wondering what it was that she actually wanted – the payoff of getting her boyfriend naked and riding him till his brain melted, or the teasing allure of removing clothing more slowly.

“All right,” she said eventually. “Get the chess board and teach me some moves.”

It took a little while to get the board set up and for Gold to explain the basic functions of each piece and the various ways in which they could move. Belle wasn’t really sure how much she was taking in, since half of her brain space was occupied with visions of them both getting naked very slowly as the sexual tension hung heavy over the board balanced on the sofa between them.

“Have you been listening to any of what I’ve said?” Gold asked presently.

“Yes!” Belle protested. “The queen’s a badass and the best piece and the king’s the most important piece but completely useless.”

“That just about sums it up. Shall we play? We’ll only take something off when one of the major pieces is taken out, not the pawns or it’ll be over rather quickly.”

Belle rubbed her hands together, determined to make a good effort of it in spite of not being entirely possessed of the rules. She was going to get Gold back for thinking that she hadn’t been listening to him. She hadn’t been listening to him, but that was beside the point.

She quickly came to the conclusion that there were far too many pieces to keep track of in chess, as one of Gold’s rooks managed to streak down the board and take one of her bishops without her noticing, too focussed on making sure her queen was dodging everything that could take it out. She sighed, peeling off her top and tossing it to Gold. Maybe the sight of her in her bra would put him off his game.

Amazingly, it did seem to do the trick. Whereas before he had been focussed on the board and the pieces, now he was glancing up at her a lot more frequently. Belle smiled to herself as she took one of his pawns, in doing so leaving her knight open. He knew that she didn’t know enough about the rules to best him on the board, but she could certainly play dirty in other ways.

Gold took her knight, and Belle unfastened her bra, dangling it from one finger over the board.

“Oh no,” she said, deadpan. “Whatever next?”

Gold gave her a look. “I do believe that you’re starting to lose on purpose.”

Belle shrugged, drawing his attention to her bare breasts. “I’d say that it’s a win-win situation, here. I don’t think either of us are really going to lose when it comes down to it.” She dropped the bra into his lap where the first stirrings of his cock were beginning to show, and looked down at the board, considering her options before slowly and deliberately moving her queen into a position where it would be taken on Gold’s next move. She looked up and met his eyes, challenging him to say something about her tactics.

Gold did not say anything about her tactics. Instead, he swept the board and the pieces off the sofa and dived in to kiss her, pushing her back against the cushions as he worked his way down over her neck and bare décolletage, swirling his tongue over each of her nipples in turn. Belle certainly couldn’t complain at this turn of events. She’d thought that he’d hold out a little longer than he had done, but she wasn’t put out, far from it.

She carded her fingers into his hair, wanting to keep his wonderful mouth where it was as she felt one hand slide up under the hem of her skirt, over her thigh to press between her legs, rubbing at her through the gusset of her underwear. Belle groaned, shifting her hips to try and get him exactly where she wanted him. Gold looked up from her breasts, his grin almost devilish, and Belle had to admit that she was just as eager to get down to the far more fun consequences of strip chess as he was.

With Gold’s help she shimmied out of her panties, discarding them onto the floor with the scattered chess pieces. The first warm touch of his fingers against her folds was wonderful, and Belle gasped, her hips bucking up again. This time she could feel his cock hardening against her thigh, and she reached for him, squeezing his crotch through his trousers.

Gold hissed at the sensation, sitting back from her a little, and Belle took advantage of his distraction to make quick work of the buttons on his shirt. It had taken a full week of lockdown for him to stop wearing his full suit every day, despite Belle’s constant protests that it really made no sense for him to still wear it when he wasn’t going to be going out and having anyone see him. He had argued for the attire allowing him to retain a sense of normality, but eventually he had given in, and Belle was very grateful for the much easier access to his body now. She ran her hands over his chest, flicking at his nipples and making him curse.

“Oh, two can play at that game,” he growled, as his thumb found her clit and began to rub firmly. Belle keened, throwing her head back against the arm of the sofa. It was one of the perks of being in a long-term relationship with someone; Gold had learned all the very best ways to make her fall apart in no time at all. One long finger pushed up between her folds, pressing into her entrance and stroking gently as he kept the pressure up on her clit.

“Oh yes, yes.” For all she had enjoyed the build-up whilst it was happening, this instant gratification was wonderful. Gold continued to pepper her breasts with little kisses and licks as he worked her up towards the edge, and she cried out as she came, warmth pulsing through her veins and making her gasp. Gold chuckled against her skin, kissing his way back up to her mouth as she came down from the high, drawing his fingers out of her slowly.

Belle pulled him in closer, pressing her hips up against his to feel the line of his cock against her before she reached down between them, unfastening Gold’s belt and fly and pushing his trousers and boxers down a little so that she could free him. It only took a couple of firm strokes to get him back to full hardness again and Gold groaned, a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat. He shifted his weight on the sofa, reaching down to line them up before thrusting home with a shout, sliding all the way in before pulling back, setting up a fast, pounding rhythm. Belle dug her fingers into his shoulders as he stopped moving, coming buried deep inside her, and she relished the abandon and urgency in it all.

There was stillness and silence for a few moments as Gold pulled out and they lay slumped in the afterglow for a while. Belle looked down at their dishevelled attire.

“You know, considering this was strip chess, we didn’t end up taking all that many clothes off, did we? You’re still practically fully dressed.”

Gold just smiled his wicked smile and retrieved the board from the floor. “Another game?”

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: Queen Takes King

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rwmhunt · 3 years

Text

Leviticus, Chapter 23

1. Substitute day, and a return unto A sender of something, as to another place, That hasn't the wherewithal to get there either; I will open it again and learn That which is already known to be such As isn't so much.

2. And it's not mine, but a, And is the right way round. For as I set the seasons, I reprise, reply, replay; It's substitution day.

3. And Sabbath is the seventh, Whence the lord, in all thy dwellings, Is up for doing nothing; Or Sabbath is the sixth; I don't care.

4. And welcome to my channel, It's great to have each of you still with me- A man who speaks of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer, With- such are the seasons, Even, holy convocations, For want to be sure of a constant, It's Senhal, An obscure term For an old friend.

5. Love, love, lo, this is not Of a cloven love, Leviticus, I will speak of it Unto sundry strangers and neighbours, As just one more month's dusk Then it'll be passover, Not once. Not twice, Not once. Love. So we can still imagine a time When all of this will go again;

6. But a day will approach When, if there is something That can look back, Could think that 'here' and 'then' Are really very close;- And I wonder if they saw The strings of direct attachment, Lining their behaviours; Just flour and water, But I don't think so; Still, anytime was closer to history than this one, So what do I know?

7. If I were to put the onus On to the impossible, Then what was light-hearted and playful, Would be wont to become ridden and surly; Lord, being an influencer is a serious endeavour, For how many unsuccessful oblations are there That are out there? Lo, state your appreciation; Don’t just wing it. Plan it out in kalends, Of which are reckon'd to be backwards; so, To start, do nothing.

8. After a week, Let's go- Gift your influencers' grift, For, when you so do this, It strokes the ego of the flames, Who then add unto the savour of sacrifice, Thus, get me it up; Make it smolder, Then, use its fatal nature To activate the future.

9. And simple: These are nacks, To muster control Over gods; Are junk and have been; That we all have interest vested- Let ignorance of it control Hereafter, same, so anon and amen.

10. Crowdsplain- First fruit the priest Hard and long, Find the tunnels, Writing what's impossible For the brain to conceive, That it may then be read back of, To supplant and supersede; So become possible.

11. And thither, the Wheatchief Will wave the sheaf Tomorrow- See how it goes? Ol' Cathode Ray, and Non-mathmatical aesthetic identities, The spirit of the radio take her.

12. That once the sheaf And all the while Be specific unto thy niche- Nativize unto thy platform, For, the experience shall follow The rhyzome's swerve and function, So that the user-expectation be wrought From whence the contents be placed- In this case, Add in a lamb shank ponzi scheme to my platform; Smells wonderful.

13. So unto the titular character, Exerting such low level leverage as Begetteth me of an ephah cake, And a quarter hin of wine; I don't need the free stuff, I am a successful influencer, But shouldst you want me to advertise for suckers On my platform that I have built myself for free; Well, we're all getting along so good.

14. Then it's me first, And simple: see- That our boldest endeavours, And most exciting adventures- They have not yet even begun; That, in spite of all the detritus, In the teeth of all that we've done, my boys, I tell you: The best Is yet To come.

15. Then, 49 days later, Seek whence Thought might come in sequence, And I'm really so blessed and thankful to you all for being here; So, as thought comes in sequence And thus, it wasn't known where We are going here as we begun. O tensions, retensions- I use to used to run.

16. Know, influencers, I am the hype; So on-brand that I can give unto you, And through you, the trick- Pyramid that still stands For the thousands- Round it up; So nice.

17. And, super relevant- Optimize continuously, also, Compensate me handsomely; while Sacrifice may seem like a quick-success marketing strategy, It isn’t so. Such are the things that keep not happening; More food please.

18. Lots more, This is why the burden of proof for rhetorical claim Shall falleth shortly As among the Open Wounde who should maketh of such a claim; It is not upon the world to provide him a fallacy, But he, who's to prove the world its truth; which, Across all channels, He, rerewise, hath been completely unable to do.

19. So suffer him his own precarity; And then some; Think back to when, Twirrup twipip,-pwiwip, Suwee, psu, swoo swsoo, So sweepeth they in song, As we, quiet, Through our blossom comedown, That hideth our tiny singers, And the bulgence behind the wiltage, In the verges, Be of burgeoning seed.

20. And everyone wave; All this- so good as is it to be; And though under a hail Of black tormentors, Our torment, And through its over-drone, With no one remembering it happening, But, who'll remember the photograph?

21. Sit back; You've lost everything, So lo, olah, you remember how mother died- Bringing cow parsley into the tent of meaning; For she went by the umbels as we'd walked on the plain, And they had reminded her of those lace cushions That her ladies-in-waiting had carried, And so gave them the name.

22. Embassadors, Leave thy corners to disillusion; A true influencer ideally keeps doing What they genuinely gain of a passion for. They know their value and their need is not to shew it, So spend a lot of time reading news and sharing opinions with others online. By buying-up dozens of potential plots, They help to plot the exodus to less, And stake an astronaut over the shape of a woman. But politics isn’t about the weird worship of one dude, So his words became their actions.

23. Is it worth your time To try and ignore that, if, What you are listening to Is the most effective form of advertising- A babbling of a technique That hath impostulated language, Then, should things go well, We may even be able to rend a cross-paracleation With phantom trust-collaborators, Interested in guest-posting for backlinks and exposure, Thus, marrying into micro-influencers, And so tap into our y.

24. But be consistent: For my favourite casts come out the same- Here, crowdplain how a seventh month is a Sound the trumpet month; See how it goes? Lo, but half of me struggles with the whimsy Of the other side that's yet so entranced; No, I'm not sure why, it's just the way I feel.

25. Down tools, more please. Gnaw your own head off. All things positivity- and It is always negotiation; Not: You bring it to the tabernacle, I sing- There is no shortness of spirit In opinion To be cut down. Equal positives, so unto Those things that keep not happening.

26. There are voices you hear of, As quoted as begetters of insightful opinion, Who art themselves never made extant, Being only reported hereto as sources, And lo, that they are the influencers. And I'm super curious as to know what you guys think; Please be sure to leave your comments amid the margins.

27. Thence, afflict thy souls, For, tis atonement day- We're ten into the seventh, And the snap's back when I was An offensive lineman, And the pass sent over- The big lie, long, long to the long deceiver, Ah, burnt offerings- How original, Best look unto the analytics, And if they give you not access there unto , Verily, you are going to have to fight, Fight as peaceful as Sheol, Down, deep down and dirty- I'm not going to call it off.

28. Down tools; Atone to the dial tone, No one calls; Let Ladder Capital Createth of the sponsored post- Like many on the medium, To use an ode- I used to play the role; To laugh and laugh; Laugh til I despised all there was to laugh at, And then I stopped, And in the silence, saw what I had done.

29. But laughing is not so bad.

We've been a good wee band. Yes we have. No one is coming after us. And if you're alright, mack, You'll get cut off.

30. So workers got destroyed That day, And Aaron was frustrated, And livid. Reach round; Feel thy spine. The way people stop you From being helpful When you are helpful, So that you cannot be helpful, So that they can cut you From your people.

31. Tardiness in perpetuity, Aye, today, it is Yplangenday- Well, I'll have to put myself Through some more adamantine Paces than god allows, else I'll never get enough done.

32. And be bold, For, you'll need to deracinate; Chancers are toxic vocations Within the tent of meaning; It's content; it's all content- Divide and game, so- Focus and grow. I mean to make sure That you are a consistent- Start of the ninth evening , End of the next.

33. God doesn't eat though, That I can see- For all that we give him, God doesn't eat.

34. Crowd, 15/7, and tabernacle feast week; Still his words became their actions, Shrill, until the doctrine of laches, When the searched-after Faithless elector went libertarian, Like many on the medium, Clade unto such bolled and novel obstacles What stretched where chance was slim, And slim was still in quarantine.

35. To start again, down tools, For, lo, if you want to be in a prison camp, You needst allow yourself the luxury Of being stupid enough to get captured.

36. Sacrifice? Spluttereth the LORD: But I'm fed up with so much burnt rubbish, I wish for forced fresh rhubarb, So shunt and jive; I've Optimized, and optimize continuously.

37. Drinks break; take life indicting, Gratify all at a local craven hire scheme, Go abroad singing, so merrylike, To slough off the whole As one enormous rhyzome. Deus Hic! God is drunk! I heard that, Brian Leg-Coverall.

38. O well done Jehus, And good to be with you, Yes you, Who are good in a crisis; A reminder- I'm working with mischief.

39. Wait, rest again, To live is to live through An embarrassment of times, Damarkated as meaningful riches, That will not be well remembered. Really, I am so blessed.

40. But try to ask of a question; So that thy congregation Might make communion in answer, See how it goes? Say, But why, isn't it A bit like palm sunday? The stream changeth its name As it passeth through each neighbourhood. I knew it as; Well it doesn't matter- You're not reposting, nor liking my banal repartee, So, unfollow.

41. And it goes; for I have giv'n unto them a scapegoat, But they cast it not out; So shall there be a reaving that will follow, and Themselves, they shall be cut off from.

42. Then all ye home-born booth dwellers In dwelling booths, Shall dwell in booths seven days and know That you are living in the rhyzome..

43. And everyone will know that I made you do this- The old booth dwellers, needing my rescue out of Egypt, So weakened, the Open Wounde stayeth open; And remember to tell us what you think, Way down, deep down, down in the margins.

44. And Mose went about with the crowdsplaining Old loud-haler; A simple fellow out of storybook glen, From the tent of meaning, From the twilight men, He ran and told- And the thing is, They were too clever To not know what they were doing- So the target becomes bios; Is the common psychle, The answer- How would you like it? Is - 'I didn't'. And that therein has a hold and salience, As before tends to be the best time to regret- It is a kind of nonsense. I'm so merry

I'm so merry and sad.

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trouvelle · 4 years

Text

Highway to Hell

Fandom: DCMK Characters: Hattori Heiji, Kudo Shinichi, Kuroba Kaito Rating: PG-13 Genre/Tags: Supernatural!AU, brothers Summary: Shinichi and Heiji are two brothers who hunt supernatural beings, more often than not with the aid of an angel named Kaito.

•

A deafening gunshot pierces through the usually silent forest, followed by muffled cursing and hurried footsteps.

Heiji’s heart thuds painfully loud against his chest as he bursts into the clearing. His senses are on high alert, and every little sound has him snapping his head backwards and raising his revolver more.

Where ya at?

Heiji considers sending an SOS to Kaito, but decides against it because the angel hasn’t been around enough lately to warrant any sort of human-to-angel vibe contact. He’s not sure if Kaito is ignoring them on purpose or simply busy with his angel duties right now.

He steps around one of the trees, being careful not to let his body parts near any of the grey goo on the floor (he learned the hard way a few minutes ago when his forearm got singed off). He’s not really sure what they are dealing with this time; there are no records on their father’s journal, and it isn’t really like any of the kinds of ghosts or demons they’ve ever fought before. The only thing Heiji learned is that, that thing that looks like human is anything but. The thing is similar to shapeshifters, and Heiji knows how to handle shapeshifters pretty well now, but that creature is way stronger and is resilient to bullets.

•

As he creeps towards the old house he last sees his brother at, he catches a brief shadow dart past inside the house. And there’s another figure, crouching no further than twenty feet away, hidden from plain sight behind a bush. He lets out a sigh of relief.

“There ya are.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t scare me like that.” Shinichi jumps as Heiji slides to position himself next to him, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Sorry.” Heiji grunts, his voice equally an octave lower.

“So, what have you got on this thing?” asks Shinichi.

“Well… It bleeds black goo, spits grey that’s capable of burning things off,” he pauses to point at his right arm, seeing a small burn mark on the jacket he is wearing, “It either takes on human form or found a poor human to possess, and… it’s alone.”

“Not very helpful.”

“Shut up!”

Shinichi shoots Heiji an annoyed look and immediately scans their surroundings once more. “Lower your voice. Unless you're that eager to give away our location.”

There is no harm in being cautious, but as far as this creature goes, Heiji is pretty sure it's quite lacking in the hearing department. He complies anyway. “We need to come up with a plan.”

After five more minutes of ragged whispers and soft arguments, they come to a conclusion. Shinichi is going to barge in from the front door, grab the creature’s attention while Heiji comes in quietly from the back and gut him. It sounds fool-proof enough.

•

Heiji moves slowly towards the back of the house, and waits for Shinichi’s signal to enter. As soon as he hears him shouting, he will know it’s his cue. He holds on tightly to the axe he finds in the shed before, hoping it won’t be too much of a mess, even though there are high chances that he’ll probably be splattered with black goo.

Well.. at least it’s not blood. It’s hard to explain to the police who have been prone to stop cars in the middle of the highway lately. He lets himself into the house, trying to muffle his footsteps.

Any second now.

“So, having fun possessing people lately?”

That sounds like Heiji’s cue. He moves in as stealthily as he can, trying to ensure that he won’t be discovered. Shinichi is still taunting the creature, who has taken control over a human’s body. The lights on in the dilapidated house bounces off the creature’s host face, revealing his human features. Heiji feels sorry for the man. He must have had a family, maybe with beautiful children, but he’d never be able to see them again. Even if he did, he most certainly won’t be the same man; he’d be left vacant, as if his soul has already left his body. This is what possession did to people; the pain was to the extent that their mind automatically shuts down to prevent any more damage.

But there is no time for sympathy. It’s not enough to go around, and he has a hunt to complete.

Heiji creeps up behind the creature, and raises his axe, about to swing it downwards when the creature turns and shoves him backwards with lightning fast reflexes. It snarls as Shinichi lifts his gun and shoots at him. That barely has any effect on it, its skin merely absorbed the bullets. The creature spits at Shinichi, narrowly missing him as he jumps out of the way, the wall scorched where he was just a moment ago. Heiji cursed as he got up, trying to catch Shinichi’s eyes.

Fuck, what do we do now?

We have to make a run for it.

It’s gon’ chase us!

Or we can just retreat into the kitchen, the backside of the house, let it think that it’s got us cornered, and just when it’s moving we can—

Their mental conversation is abruptly stopped as the creature suddenly speaks.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famed Hunter brothers. I’ve heard a lot about you guys, you’ve certainly made a lot of enemies back in Hell.”

“What is it to you?” Shinichi answers, as he slowly inches closer to Heiji. The creature’s eyes follow him, but it’s not making any move to stop him.

“Mm, Gin has got a price tag on your heads. Eternal freedom for your souls.”

“Skip the bullshit, will ya?! What are you and why are you here? Are you under Gin’s command?” Heiji scoffs, swinging the axe to a thud on the wooden floor.

“Impatient aren’t you? Hmm… Then you must be Heiji.” taunts the creature, its eyes glinting under the dim light in a way that looks so wrong in human eyes.

“Yeah yeah, we’re pretty popular. Everyone wants a piece of us.” Heiji smirks, and continues, “If ya tell us, we can try ta work somethin’ out. Unless ya want us to kill ya right away.”

“Let me decide whether I should answer your question or not. What do I get if I tell you anything?”

“We won’t kill you.” Shinichi is next to Heiji now, both of them looking frighteningly tall and formidable against a stooped figure. The contrast is almost comical.

“Do you honestly think that humans of your calibre would be able to kill me?” The creature snorts. “But I shall just answer your questions anyway, since you won’t be living long enough to tell anyone else. Mmm, I’m older than any vampires you’ve come across, any demons or any of those disgusting leeches you find in hell, and I’m here because well, why can’t I be here? And Gin, no, I’m not really a fan of demons. No—”

Its words are prematurely cut off as Shinichi charges forward at him, the element of surprise on his side as he catches the creature’s face with a knife. The wound is deep, and would have killed any normal being, but it only served to annoy the creature as its skin began rapidly patching itself up, leaving an unblemished face just a few seconds later. The creature backhands Shinichi with enough force to send him flying into a cabinet. It grins as it turns to block Heiji’s blow, backing him into the wall and keeping a strong hand on his neck.

Heiji knows he can’t reach for his revolver with the grip that it was holding him, so he extends his hands out blindly for a weapon, something, anything that can be used to defend himself. Black dots are swimming in his vision now, and his fingers forms around something that felt like a large detergent bottle, he angles it upwards and swings it down to hit the—

“How’s your little problem doing, Heiji?” The creature smiles wickedly. “You’re not even in a good shape to help your older brother. And I heard you’ve been hallucinating about Lucifer~”

“Let go of him!” Shinichi angles the axe that Heiji previously dropped at the creature, narrowly missing its head by a hair’s breadth. “And don’t ask about our personal issues.” The creature snarls and lunges for Shinichi, while Heiji aims the bottle at it, hoping to distract it while Shinichi finishes the job.

For some strange reason, or as luck would have it, the creature’s skin started sizzling where Heiji throws the bottle. It burns a hole on its neck and shoulder, and the creature screams as the burn becomes deeper and gruesome.

“What the fuck was that? Get more and pour on him!” Shinichi shouts over the creature’s scream, his face a mask of wonder and incredulity.

“Don’t need ta tell me twice.” Heiji looks over at the bottle and almost laughs. Borax. Fucking Borax can hurt the thing. He grabs a few more from the cabinet and quickly splashes it over the creature, as Shinichi moves to behead it before its accelerated healing abilities starts to heal the wounds.

They finally heaves a big sigh of relief as the creature’s head rolls away from its body, sliding down against the wall. An exhausted cacophony of fucks and what the fuck was all that abouts soon follows.

•

“You two better burn the head or keep it far from the body.”

Shinichi and Heiji nearly jumps as Kaito suddenly appears, the angel has an extremely amused look on his face.

“Why?”

“You know that it’s going to reattach itself if the head’s close enough. And I don’t think you’d want an angry leviathan after you.”

Heiji gives him a blank look.

“Is he joking or..?” Kaito narrows his eyes and turns to the older of the duo. “Don’t tell me that this is your first Leviathan?”

Shinichi merely gives him a shrug. Yep, another achievement— their first Leviathan kill.

Kaito looks no less entertained. Oh well, no harm in explaining before things turn ugly. Although by the looks of it, the fact that a Leviathan was roaming on Earth indicates that something wrong has happened. Something must’ve started to take a turn for the nasty.

“Leviathans are the creatures locked inside Purgatory. They are way older than any vampires, shapeshifters, ghouls, ghosts, and demons. Even older than us angels. They used to call the shots back then before God decided to lock them up. Therefore, them being on Earth is bad news. For all of us.”

“Well damn,” Shinichi mutters. He runs his fingers through his hair in exhaustion. They’ve already got their hands full on picking up after their father’s job without much guidance, also while hellbent on looking for the man. Now this?

“You didn’t even get to see the best part. They usually dislocate their vessel’s jaw and show you their one giant mouth with a forked tongue,” Kaito comments, and seeing the other two staying silent, he adds: “And they have gigantic piranha teeth.”

“So, ya got any idea what they’re planning ta d—” Heiji stops and rolls his eyes as Kaito suddenly zaps himself out of sight again, “Fucking angels.”

Shinichi turns to Heiji, wanting to remind him that Kaito is not one of the bad angels. Although.. Kaito does get on his nerves. The angel likes to zap in and out of thin air as he pleases.

Shinichi settles with a sigh, motioning Heiji to help with the clean-up. Best to take Kaito’s advice before the Leviathan wakes up crying blood.

•

“Ya mind if I drive tonight?”

“No.”

“I won’t drive us off the main route.”

“Dammit, Heiji, no.”

“I promise, no more detours this time, no matter how hungry I am.”

Shinichi spares him a glance of disbelief. Did Heiji seriously think he’ll fall for that? “We’ve talked about this. When there’s a motorbike, you take the wheel. But when we’re with this car, I take the wheel.”

Heiji opens his mouth, as if he is on the brink of retorting something else, but he changes his mind about what he’s going to say next. “How about some dinner? I’m starving.”

Shinichi snorts. Of course. The last food they had was around 6 o’clock last night, before they began tailing the Leviathan. He can see the sky gradually getting brighter now, the dark blue of the night giving way to the a soft yellow. “It’s literally sunrise now. We might as well be getting breakfast.”

“How about omelettes?”

“Make that omelettes and orange juice.”

#kudo shinichi #hattori heiji #kuroba kaito #dcmk #spn!AU #shinichi and heiji as the winchester brothers and kaito as castiel basically #this was so so much fun to write oh my #Supernatural? YES #DCMK x Supernatural? HELL YES #dcmk fandom's very own Team Free Will #hunters #adventure #fic #heishin #kaishin #heikaishin #kaito kid

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dnd5a · 3 years

Text

Chronicle Entry LC515 – 31/08/1202: Heroes

This Chronicle entry, recorded by Senior Officer Pale, recounts his experiences with the recent attack on the Astral Fortress

After some degree of pestering from a multitude of both my betters and adjacents alike, I have decided it best to recount my actions from the attack from some weeks ago.

I was already awake when the attack started, making personal notes of my studies. The crash resounded throughout the building, sending rubble flying all about the place. The wall opposite myself collapsed, covering by wardrobe in, at minimum, two-hundred pounds of rubble. Arguably the best possible outcome, as were it destroyed, we would have some 379 undead clawing their way across the fortress.

An enormous, white, scaly leg stood atop the ruins, before a howling wind filled my ears and a biting frost caught me. A quick assessment proved that this situation was A) involving a white dragon, and B) bad.

I always have a contingency plan for all manner of things, attacks on the fortress included, and whilst I was not specifically prepared for an ancient dragon, the general plan still applies. Gather my juniors, make for the Bridge Between Worlds, and operate it for an escape. This assumes that fighting is not an option, which give the following assessments, makes that assumption applicable:

The surprise nature of the attack.

Milk’s habit of late-sleeping and need for prayer to prepare her magics.

Frostbite’s rather obvious repertoire of spells.

Twist’s lack of ability to deal with flying enemies.

Huck’s general inexperience with combating nonhumanoid opponents.

Whilst there are a variety of reasonable points to contradict this assessment, I had only the time for half a debate with myself before I was to be pulverised by several dozen-tonne dragon, so understandably I went with my initial conjecture.

Pushing my way out of the front door, I could see several severely injured senior officers laid in the halls. I hadn’t my usual undead entourage, nor my case, and thus any attempts to rescue these individuals would’ve simply resulted in another corpse, that being my own.

Once outside and thoroughly out of breath, I could see the full scale of the beast, and my calculations were reasonably accurate. It was some 64 feet snout to tail-tip, and likely weighed in excess of 29 tons. I must give some credit to the building’s designer, as even whilst structurally compromised, to say the least, it held it shape quite remarkably.

As predicted, my junior officers had successfully followed my escape plan, and were able to meet myself at the end of Argentum Row, all bar Huck.

___

“Took you long enough,” Call remarked.

Call has always been difficult. We don’t often see eye to eye much down to that reason.

“I’m terribly sorry, I was too busy almost being crushed by an ancient dragon,” I replied. Somewhat unnecessarily aggressive, I understand, but my faculties were not quite up to standard in that moment.

Milk cut in, a stammering shiver to her voice “Have you seen Huck?”

“I have not, no. I had a feeling the boy wouldn’t be able to keep up with the plan.”

“A shame,” Frostbite said, a smirk to his sunken, skeletal face, “may he rest in peace, I suppose.”

“He most certainly shall not!” Milk snapped. A rare sight, but proof of her integrity. “We have to go back for him. He’s just a boy!”

“T-then a boy he shall die! I’ve no patience for his idiocy.” Frostbite replied, somewhat disarmed by Milk’s aggression.

___

Now, I have received much criticism in the past for my apparent, ‘cowardice,’ from within the company and without. However, I raise that much of this criticism has come from so-called ‘heroes,’ fools who jaunt their way into mortal danger for some nebulous ‘greater good,’ only to die like fools.

Heroism is a convenient luxury for some, those with the tenacity to be struck down and stand again. Whilst many members of this company would likely call themselves heroes, or at least aspire to be one, I would counter that they are simply blessed with the fortitude to be a fool with little consequence. I have no such fortitude, and thereby I have no time to be a hero. The boy, Huck, is a fine young man and an upstanding soldier, but I will not die for him. I came here to live, and thus I refuse to die on any but my own terms.

___

“Please Pale, we have to help him.” Milk implored, ignoring Frostbite’s provocation.

“I agree. He might just be held up somewhere, and if we can help him, then it’s worth the time,” Call agreed, looking off towards the carnage.

___

They were fools. We were underprepared. I had few spells and no servants, Milk was very likely without spells entirely, and Call quite possibly was too. I was half-considering simply grabbing them all and leaving.

___

We argued for another 10 seconds, before falling rubble forced us to move some 21 paces east. When we stopped, Twist finally spoke up.

“I have his scent, he’s close.” She showed little emotion on her face, but her nose had a very consistent success rate of some 98%.

“If he’s close, we can save him!” Milk shouted. She was crying now, and whilst that was not uncommon, nor did it have much affect on my views, her crying would certainly impact her concentration on the task at hand.

“Fine. We will fetch the boy.”

“I knew you were good,” Milk sobbed, rushing forward and invading my personal space with an embrace. She knows it very much makes me uncomfortable, yet she does it anyway.

“I’m going to disagree with you there, but regardless, can you please stop so we can move. We’ve been stood around for some twenty seconds now and any longer will spell our deaths.”

___

We raced towards the junior officer’s quarters, Twist transforming into her alternate form to improve her scent-trailing abilities. We moved passed many dead, and witnessed the likes of Feather and Whisper attempting to face the dragon head on.

See my latter analysis for the opinion I hold of their behaviour.

Upon arrival, with aid from Twist pulling rubble away, we found Huck, unconscious and bloody in the rubble. I checked him briefly. His wounds were largely superficial, but the head trauma he had suffered could be serious.

I hadn’t the time to check him over again before a great wave of frost filled the street behind us. It would have hit us too were it not for Call. He took the brunt of the assault, before collapsing on the ground, his hands quickly blackening.

“I told you this was suicide. Just be glad that wasn’t us.” Frostbite chuckled.

With a swift crack and a loud crunch, Frostbite was sent reeling to the floor. Milk stood, based on the sound and the blood, one to two of her knuckles clearly broken, before rushing to Call’s side.

As Twist hoisted Huck onto her back and Call laid on the ground, minutes away from losing his arms to the cold, I had to make a decision.

Mustering my most powerful magics, I opened a gateway to a demiplane on a nearby wall. This was to be my final escape plan if all went wrong, but I had a different idea.

___

“Milk, I need you to bring Huck and Call inside. Frostbite, move people in the street towards the entrance, they’ll be safe in here. Twist, go back to my apartment and fetch my case. We’re turning this demiplane into a medical centre.”

___

I spent the remainder of the time inside the demiplane. The dragon came for us on a number of occasions, but by that point we had people to defend the entrance and stop it from collapsing, but it was still risky. If the demiplane collapsed, we would all be trapped, permanently, but it was a gamble I was willing to take. As to why I was willing, I am unsure. Perhaps I’ve been exposed to so many fools with illusions of heroic grandeur that they’ve started to rub off of on me. Whilst it’s improbable, Milk certainly seems to think that’s the case.

I treated the dying and the dead, some being individuals I knew. Not something I wasn’t used to, but an unpleasant experience for Milk, no doubt.

In conclusion, the attack took place over less than 20 minutes, giving me more than enough time to vacate the demiplane with my patients in toe before it collapsed. Huck has suffered a severe concussion, but it seems to have inflicted no lasting damage, whilst our timely medical attention has saved Call’s hands, though has put him out of commission for some weeks at minimum.

I am no hero, nor would I ever aspire to be one, but I can provide assistance were appropriate and reasonable. Milk insists that makes me one, but written definition shows that it requires a ‘compulsive bravery,’ that analytic rationality would quash.

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akechicrimes · 4 years

Note

p sure ur not taking prompts anymore BUT if u feel like it please consider. either 55 or 98 ryomina

(i’m totes still taking prompts!!!! i’m just having a hard time with some of these prompt requests because i have no idea where to go with them lololol. anyway this one got me in the chest)

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

summary: it’s EXACTLY what it says on the tin babey!!!!!! SAD RYOMINAS

(cw: at one point someone assumes someone else will commit suicide but actually this is a miscommunication and nobody wants to die or attempts to die)

During the month of December, Ryoji spends a lot of time alone. Consciousness expands as apathy grows. His human form begins to stretch and shudder. He can feel himself where the spaces grow inside others; wherever the emptiness is, the emptiness yearns for Nyx, and wherever there is a yearning for Nyx, there is Ryoji.

But he tries to keep his head inside his head, so to speak. He tries to see the snow in front of him, through his own two eyes. He doesn’t go to school, but he prowls the sidewalks of Port Island, still in his school uniform, sometimes, watching people pass. He isn’t sure if he wants to commit their faces to memory or if he wants to forget them, knowing them to be dust in the wind, but either way, he comes to know them without his will, as easily as he knows the beat of his own heart.

And best of all, he knows the cavity inside Minato Arisato’s chest, where Ryoji had resided for ten long years. He knows where that great nothing pulses, framed and made by the ribs around it. When Ryoji closes his eyes, he can feel it growing inside Minato too, threatening to collapse him from the inside out. Even now, separated into two bodies, and divided across the island, they are connected. Ryoji can close his eyes and touch his chest and feel Minato at the top of the Gekkoukan school building at the dead of night, and think: Here. This is proof that I am not alone. We are the same, we are still one. I am thou. Thou art I.

***

On the fifth night of Minato’s four AM trip to the top of Gekkoukan, Minato stands up. Slowly, he climbs over the fence, eyes pinched against the metal’s bitter cold. He hops over and stands on the ledge of Gekkoukan. He’s not as high as he would be at the peak of Tartarus, of course, had Minato not come many hours after Tartarus had gone back to sleep for the night. But it’s still high enough to kill him.

“You came,” says Minato, when Ryoji peels himself out of the dark.

“There’s still fourteen days to December 31st,” says Ryoji.

Minato doesn’t say anything. He sits on the snowy ledge and looks up at the moon, like it’s fun to dangle his feet four stories up off the ground.

For a boy who Ryoji had spent ten years inside the heart of, he’s still so difficult to read. The emptiness yawns wide in Minato’s chest, but the call for Nyx is--unsteady. It’s not like the rest of them.

“You don’t have to make any decision until December 31st,” says Ryoji. And this is not the decision I hoped for.

“I know.” There’s a long, long silence, where Ryoji wonders what else he’s supposed to say. Minato looks back up at the moon. Ryoji wonders frequently if Minato isn’t actually difficult to read, and if maybe Minato is just a true-blue space cadet. Ryoji might know the shape of Minato’s heart, but not what goes on in his head. “I’m not going to jump,” says Minato eventually, like the idea that Ryoji might be thinking that comes as a surprise to him that he only just put together.

It surprises a nervous laugh out of Ryoji. It sounds human even to Ryoji’s own ears. “Oh! How reassuring.” Thank goodness you won’t die now, so that I can kill you later. “How reassuring,” he says again, softer.

“I talked to the others,” says Minato.

“You need not make a decision before the end of the year.”

Minato tilts his head, like there isn’t fourteen days left, and Minato isn’t actively trying to bring the end of the world faster by trying to make his decisions early. “I should go,” says Ryoji. They weren’t supposed to see each other again until December 31st, and not just because Minato was supposed to have fourteen more days to live in relative peace before the end. Ryoji wanted a little peace of his own.

“But I wanted to talk to you.”

Ryoji smiles. “Only the opinions of your friends matter here, I’m afraid. And you know what I ask of you.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

What good does that do? Ryoji thinks. Nyx will come regardless. How Minato squirms and thrashes before the end only makes the bleeding worse. “I’ll return in fourteen days,” Ryoji replies.

“I missed being together.”

When Ryoji dares to turn back around, Minato has his eyes closed, head tilted up to the moon, hand pressed to his chest, like Ryoji does himself. Ryoji isn’t sure if he got that from Minato, or Minato got that from Ryoji. “I can feel where you were. Can’t you?”

Of course he does. I am thou, thou art I. Ryoji only wishes their relationship were one between two humans.

“This is not the deal,” Ryoji reminds him kindly. “I should not have come. We shall meet again on the last night of the--”

Minato’s one eye opens wide. “No. Wait,” he says.

“Go home, Minato.”

“It’s not the same without you with me.”

“The time we spent together is precious to me. But it’s come to an end.”

“Just for tonight,” says Minato suddenly. Like it’s been ripped out of him, straight from that growing, gnawing hole at the center of his chest, where Ryoji used to be, where the call for Nyx should be.

Ryoji really wishes he’d never come to this roof. “Please don’t ask me this.”

“Just one.” When Ryoji only sinks his face deeper into his scarf, Minato’s hands clench hard around the fence bars. His one eye is luminous in the dark. “What’s the point of having fourteen more days if I can’t...?”

Fourteen more days to be with the people he loves, and if he kills Ryoji at the end of it, then a little more time to live in blissful ignorance. It’s all the grace Ryoji can manage, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough, but he’d thought that it’d be at least something.

Minato holds out his hands. At last, Ryoji puts one foot on the bottom bar of the fence. Hesitates, one last time. And then he hops over the fence, his balance unnatural, and lowers himself carefully to sit besides Minato.

Just like they used to when Minato was a child, making friends with the strange demons who came to him in the dark, they curl up against each other in the cold night. There is no wind. There is no snow. If Ryoji closes his eyes, he can feel more of Minato’s warmth than he can the December chill.

There are fourteen more days until the end. Just for tonight, Ryoji thinks. It will be the end soon. There is no use resisting. But even so, Ryoji feels his human arms hold Minato tight, and he can’t bring himself to let go.

***

(i love procrastinating. send a prompt)

#mine #writing this taught me that i've forgotten a LOT of persona 3 lore #the entire time i was writing this i was thinking about that one shitpost about #'say the thing ryoji'#ryoji: the arcana is the means by which all is revealed #entire class: goes apeshit #Anonymous

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clamatoes · 4 years

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Who is Wallace Stevens? Read “A Primitive Like an Orb”

“A Primitive Like an Orb” is, to my mind, the most representative of Wallace Stevens’ poems. Ubiquitous Stevensian features include...

- Ars poetica - Self-conscious fixation of the poem making it a sort of möbius speech, always diverging merely to converge back upon itself - Whitman's repetitions and internal accusatives dragging the mind like licking surf into oceanic deeps of man's meaning & origins, almost the process of mantras by the Ganges - The whimsy of coinage and blithe Emersonian "wildness" and freedom of command, at least as rendered by a Taft republican who ran the legal department of an insurance company (cf, eg, "oaten cake"). This spunk of speech, in its more Bach gigue-like, herky-jerky incarnations - what we find, for instance, in "The Comedian as the Letter C" - betokens a wry, acerbic, and grotesque self-parody, intentionally overwrought and disgusted with the poet's instinct for overwriting, but which here carries us unironically into the fullness of the poet's ecstasy even full-knowing of the transience of this ecstasy - A passion for exactness that manifests ironically in vociferous proliferations of near-hits rejected apophatically but successively more and more prized, like jewels in the crown which is someday to be placed upon the head of some unutterable precise "THIS": a "THIS" which will give way immediately upon its seizure to yet another "THIS" just off in the distance, and become itself yet another jewel in the crown for that next "THIS" - The ceaseless luxurious music buoying what is really a philosophical spiraling drill as it screws into strongholds of "The Truth" with the glee of a Poundian god.

But the poem is Stevens at his most Stevens especially in stance and theme. It lays out his essential Neo-Keatsian metaphysics of beauty as truth, which is cognate with Pound's "periplum" whom Stevens (almost too) steadfastly refused to read (and vice versa). This "periplum" is Pound's hermeneutic of knowledge as irreducible and imposible to abstract from an endless heuristic process of discovery, each first-order instance "sailed to" as a sort of "fact-harbor" adumbrating a second-order category or principle, but each second-order category in turn yielding to multiplicity and a never-ending voyage no less than the first-order instances: never ultimate, never final, because the final Truth is this very process of discovery itself, a process of Platonic becoming as opposed to Platonic essence or being ("nothing is final" Stevens has Whitman chant with his beard of fire and staff of flame walking along a red shore, in another poem: "no man shall see the end"). There are in fact ideas, the seen forms of Plato are no doubt real, says Stevens, and yet the very nature of reality is a give-and-take dialectic between self and world and other selves and ideas, which can never be described in a metaphor of stasis: nothing is anything, even itself, except in its participation, its interchange, its communion, with everything else. The static forms of Plato are the death of the intellectual voyager and of the idea to which she sails, life is ceaseless change, an endless circuit even for the mind, which discovers truth only in performing the very interminable process of discovering truth.

In "A Primitive Like an Orb," this stance is epitomized by Stanzas IV and XII, which assimilate poets faithful to their unique perspectives to the faithful of a monotheistic religion with a jealous divinity, and to lovers faithful to a single beloved jealous against other loves:

“One poem proves another and the whole, For the clairvoyant men that need no proof: The lover, the believer and the poet. Their words are chosen out of their desire, The joy of language, when it is themselves. With these they celebrate the central poem, The fulfillment of fulfillments, in opulent, Last terms, the largest, bulging still with more,”

.......

“That’s it. The lover writes, the believer hears, The poet mumbles and the painter sees, Each one, his fated eccentricity, As a part, but part, but tenacious particle, Of the skeleton of the ether, the total Of letters, prophecies, perceptions, clods Of color, the giant of nothingness, each one And the giant ever changing, living in change.”

One moment of rapture, an analog of a Platonic form, suggests innumerable other but equal grades up Parnassus (in that this e.g., lover's, or religion’s, or poem’s beauty was obviously philosophically accidental to what was reached), and clarifies beyond skeptic scrutiny the sublime terrors of the peak, which lies beyond the particularity of any given path taken to reach it. Stevens’ metaphysics is then a meta-Platonism, in which even the sun-like form of “The Good” is merely one face of the true ultimate meta-Good (the “fulfillment of fulfillments,” or meta-fulfillment, of the “central poem,” as Stevens puts it), which cannot be arrived at except in the never arriving anywhere, the never ceasing from journey to, and then beyond, every “The Good” in an infinite circuit (as Stevens says elsewhere, in the crucial "Somnambulisma," "resembling a thin bird,/ That thinks of settling, yet never settles, on a nest"). Such a moment of pan-directioned grandeur, this meta-Good, is arrived at, however, only in the monomaniac tunnels of desire, which ironically, in their one-dimensional, linear verve reveal the tangled labyrinth of thought that evidences if not construes the stereo-solid, every-singular real. The whole is ever and always known in the curriculum of a part, all the parts of which, together, reflect each other, and in series (though perhaps not in parallel), make up the great poem of abstraction beyond any power to abstract: known only in the concrete act of following the course of one true love to its completion, madly forsaking all other paths to the summit until it is achieved.

Here’s the poem’s full text...

“A Primitive Like an Orb”

The essential poem at the center of things, The arias that spiritual fiddlings make, Have gorged the cast-iron of our lives with good And the cast-iron of our works. But it is, dear sirs, A difficult apperception, this gorging good, Fetched by such slick-eyed nymphs, this essential gold, This fortune’s finding, disposed and re-disposed By such slight genii in such pale air.

We do not prove the existence of the poem. It is something seen and known in lesser poems. It is the huge, high harmony that sounds A little and a little, suddenly, By means of a separate sense. It is and it Is not and, therefore, is. In the instant of speech, The breadth of an accelerando moves, Captives the being, widens--and was there.

III

What milk there is in such captivity, What wheaten bread and oaten cake and kind, Green guests and table in the woods and songs At heart, within an instant’s motion, within A space grown wide, the inevitable blue Of secluded thunder, an illusion, as it was, Oh as, always too heavy for the sense To seize, the obscurest as, the distant was...

One poem proves another and the whole, For the clairvoyant men that need no proof: The lover, the believer and the poet, Their words are chosen out of their desire, The joy of language, when it is themselves. With these they celebrate the central poem, The fulfillment of fulfillments, in opulent, Last terms, the largest, bulging still with more,

Until the used-to earth and sky, and the tree And cloud, the used-to tree and used-to cloud, Lose the old uses that they made of them, And they: these men, and earth and sky, inform Each other by sharp informations, sharp, Free knowledges, secreted until then, Breaches of that which held them fast. It is As if the central poem became the world,

And the world the central poem, each one the mate Of the other, as if summer was a spouse, Espoused each morning, each long afternoon, And the mate of summer: her mirror and her look, Her only place and person, a self of her That speaks, denouncing separate selves, both one. The essential poem begets the others. The light Of it is not a light apart, up-hill.

VII

The central poem is the poem of the whole, The poem of the composition of the whole, The composition of blue sea and of green, Of blue light and of green, as lesser poems, And the miraculous multiplex of lesser poems, Not merely into a whole, but a poem of The whole, the essential compact of the parts, The roundness that pulls tight the final ring

VIII

And that which in an altitude would soar, A vis, a principle or, it may be, The meditation of a principle, Or else an inherent order active to be Itself, a nature to its natives all Beneficence, a repose, utmost repose, The muscles of a magnet aptly felt, A giant, on the horizon, glistening,

An in bright excellence adorned, crested With every prodigal, familiar fire, And unfamiliar escapades: whirroos And scintillant sizzlings such as children like, Vested in the serious folds of majesty, Moving around and behind, a following, A source of trumpeting seraphs in the eye, A source of pleasant outbursts on the ear.

It is a giant, always, that is evolved, To be in scale, unless virtue cuts him, snips Both size and solitude or thinks it does, As in a signed photograph on a mantelpiece. But the virtuoso never leaves his shape, Still on the horizon elongates his cuts, And still angelic and still plenteous, Imposes power by the power of his form.

Here, then, is an abstraction given head, A giant on the horizon, given arms, A massive body and long legs, stretched out, A definition with an illustration, not Too exactly labeled, a large among the smalls Of it, a close, parental magnitude, At the center of the horizon, concentrum, grave And prodigious person, patron of origins.

XII

That's it. The lover writes, the believer hears, The poet mumbles and the painter sees, Each one, his fated eccentricity, As a part, but part, but tenacious particle, Of the skeleton of the ether, the total Of letters, prophecies, perceptions, clods Of color, the giant of nothingness, each one And the giant ever changing, living in change.

#poetry #aesthetics #philosophy #Wallace Stevens #ars poetica #poetics #metaphysics #plato #platonism

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vxldemar · 5 years

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𓆣𓆣𓆣

some are born for what they do. 〖 a concept backstory scene for quaestor valdemar. 〗

a child with big brown eyes and light brown skin, adorned in white; a ruffled shirt, cotten pants, and black flat shoes, stares through the firm, great iron gate of a dull school. if you asked them, they’d say the exact details of such a place are much too hazy to remember. it’s a large gate, it’s an obstacle meant to tame whatever they have inside of them, so details don’t matter. they wistfully brush over it with their fingertips.

this gate stops others, and normally it’d stop them.

in the distance, past the rich green that lies outside the gate, along a country path, across the grey cobble streets, like the details of a journey in some childrens fable, there is an edge to this paradise that someone so small could only dream of touching.

a card was handed to everyone at birth, and it had a man on it, a man with a dog, dressed in white.

on this side of the school, it is quiet. they know that. but they never expected to be taken this far by their own legs, they’d never sat here alone, with no other children or teachers around. it was a chance, it was an opportunity, some may even see it as fate.

with tiny talons, they rake through the dirt, and they’re good at it. too good at it. they’d find it easy to dig through any surface with such force and drive, even coarse sand on a sad islands seashore. even through the ashes of bone. desperation fills them. this tiny prisoner, then, makes it to the other side.

even while wearing shoes, the grass feels more lush here, it is fresh, it’s breathing and it is alive. they can smell it. but this isn’t what they’re looking for.

they begin to walk, head in the clouds.

some people actually navigate using the sky. pirates. those who travel by sea. but not by cotton on a blue backdrop, they strung all the stars together and made a system out of it. this didn’t require that. they didn’t need a map.

high in the air, a single thin murky cloud of smoke in the far distance; a grey slit against the bright blue sky. even if it wasn’t there, they somehow felt like they’d know the path anyway.

walking and walking, nothing, for once, filled their mind. it was books, it was letters and numbers, perhaps too much for someone who can’t be over the age of 10, yet this was what they were, and here is what they are becoming. hopefully, they would have a mix of thought and instinct in that head of theirs when this was all said and done.

until their legs ached, the cobble beneath their feet felt like yet another obstacle, but when you’ve come so far, pain bothers you less, still, their lips narrowed into a thin line as they traversed; yes, you’re a human, you feel pain, but it doesn’t stop you.

approaching, the smoke got thicker, and filled their nostrils. it smelt like cooked meat. suddenly, they felt ravenous. so enthralled in their journey, they had cancelled out the screaming. just as they did when the children playing got too loud.

joy and pain overlap a lot more than one might think. you can confuse the two easily. the truth often overlaps with a lie in a similar fashion, sometimes they become so intertwined nobody can tell the difference anymore.

a set of screams, men, women, a few children, filled the air, fire set brown, wide eyes alight. a series of figures in long robes stood in front of a bonfire, a large wooden spike stood tall and firm in the middle of a messy pile of wooden planks, garbage, and dead farm animals. including a rather large shire horse, it’s eyes open and staring in a never-ending glare of pure hatred. a group of people were haphazardly tied against the spike, in a hurry, it seems. the metal chains ran across their bodies in all different directions, binding them all together, forever, until they didn’t look like individuals anymore. an amalgamation of burning flesh. it almost looked holy. one even had metal covering their eyes, it popped and crackled and melted onto their face as the fire intensified. another had chains that ran past their teeth, across their mouth. they bit down on it to stifle their cries of pain.

the spike, when mirrored in the child’s eyes, created an odd, slit like shape on their dark pupils when combined with the reflection of the flames.

beauty comes in all different forms, maybe a being out there, whatever higher power, favoured those who found beauty in unexpected things. but this was more than beauty. it was art. it was a reason for living.

the fire and its vapors disrupted the colour of the village and the sky surrounding it, everything was tinted in greys and reds, it consumed all around it in a cloud of heavy smoke.

a robed person slowly paced towards the child, who utterly ignored them and stared up at the fire still, not showing any sign of looking away as screams and the furious cackling fire raged through the air around them.

they had a mask on. it was black, filthy, blood soaked through to the inside. among the scent of sizzling flesh, a faint waft of lavender caused the child to break out of their trance, they blinked and turned to face the other with a hardened frown.

“and who are you to interrupt me ?”

their expression eased when they noticed the mask, the black goggles prevented them from making eye contact. the rim around the eye lenses was white, a way to tell this particular person apart from the other “doctors”. a long, long beak almost poked against their cheek as they leaned in further to inspect this irksome, demanding little beast.

“you’re not a peasant.”

turning their nose up at the other, they looked back at the bonfire. the figures had stopped screaming. skin dripped off their face, and the wonderful human skull underneath was visible under heavy coatings of blood.

“what are you doing here ?”

it was the kind of smell you’d remember eternally. the kind of sight you written into the deepest parts of your memory.

abruptly, a large sack of pus from one of the lesser burnt bodies burst, vile yellow liquid stained the cobble in front of the child, and a bit splattered against their face.

they went to step closer, the other raised an arm, the arm and the childs chest crashed together, the younger one growled.

“what on earth are you doing ?” they hissed,

“you can’t get any closer, do you want to burn to death ? or catch the disease ?”

disease ?

“what disease ?”

behind their goggles, the figure blinked owlishly.

“perhaps your school hasn’t told you. i can tell from those clothes that you’re a scholarly child.”

“tell me or i shall bite this arm of yours off.”

the “doctor” stared at the child, and they scowled. their expression was somehow more heated than the flames were. slowly, they lowered their arm.

“this village has the disease, we’ve just burnt another little area like this down recently. damn near all of them have it. it progresses slowly, first it’s a faint coughing and sneezing, then large sacks of pus cover the whole body, they sting, burst, become infected...”

a skull fell off one of the corpses, bashing against the ground and rolling forward, landing in front of the young childs feet, they stared, mouth agape, delighted.

“and then, they die. this is a trade village. can’t just let them cart themselves off to god knows where, can we? still, it does a good job at annihilating all proof that these grotesque little villages ever existed at all.”

a sharp squeak could only faintly be heard over the roaring flames, it scurried up to the skull. filthy, covered in blood, patches of its fur were gone, indicating that it was also diseased. it sniffed around the cranium, nibbling away at sections of remaining flesh.

“i cannot fathom how this is happening though, ah, perhaps─”

as the two gazed up at the fire, the child took a moment to look down once more. the rat itched itself, its clawed hands scratching behind its ears. the pink ears were now blood-red due to the excessive scratching.

they knew how it felt to have an itch you could never quite get rid of.

until now. for they had a nasty little idea about what they could do about it.

a chuckle left the masked figures lips.

“perhaps, this is... a sign from god ?”

people ignore the truth even when it’s right in front of them.

the rat hopped away, it circled past the two of them, and worryingly skittered out past the village onto the dirt path, and it ran as far as it could. in search of people. where there was people, that meant food.

the child wasn’t listening to the others baseless ponderings, the embers flickering in their wide eyes again.

you can cut to a thousand years later, maybe less, maybe more, and the sight can differ in the details, but it’s essentially the same.

there’s a figure, standing in front of a bonfire, with wonder, and a smile, they take in the smell of charred flesh and take in the screaming. it’s like a theater performance ! no no, more than that; it’s art. it’s art and they’re viewing it. it’s the meaning of life, and they’re living it !

some are born for what they do, and thus you change the card given to you.

#arcana #the arcana #valdemar #quaestor valdemar #the courtiers #courtiers #❪ 𓆣 ❫ ︱ 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔. ─── ❪ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ❫ ;;#;; i was gonna answer asks rn but this hit me out of the blue !#;; i dont know if val ever was like. a child or anything #;; this is purely a concept and not entirely attached to canon btw #;; but here ya go #;; this is probs riddled w spelling errors n probs sucks bc i wrote it super quick but enjoy ; _ ;

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wisdomrays · 4 years

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WHAT DOES THE QURAN SAY ABOUT SCIENCE?

The Qur'an was revealed to make us aware of the Creator, affirm that He is known through His creation, direct us to belief and worship, and order individual and social life so that we attain happiness in both worlds. Today, many Muslims pursue science to obtain a better understanding of Him and His creation. Keeping this in mind, consider the following Qur'anic allusions to scientific facts:

Soon We shall show them Our signs on the furthest horizons, and in their own souls, until it becomes manifest to them that this is truth. Is it not enough that your Lord witnesses all things? (41:53)

Our thinking and research affirms the Creator's Oneness, as the true nature and interrelationship of microcosm and macrocosm are further disclosed and better understood. Scientists seem to be very close to proving this Divine truth. Even now we feel that soon we shall hear and understand creation's testimonies and praises to God, as mentioned in 17:44.

O humanity, if you doubt the Resurrection, (consider) that We created you out of dust, then out of sperm, then out of a leech-like cloth, then out of a lump of flesh, partly formed and partly unformed, in order that We may manifest (what We will) to you... (22:5)

We created man from a quintessence (of clay). Then We placed him as (a drop of) sperm in a place of rest, firmly fixed. Then we made the sperm into a clot of congealed blood. Then of that clot We made a lump (embryo); then we made out of that lump bones and clothed the bones with flesh. Then We developed out of it a new (distinct, indi-vidual) creature. (23:12“14)

He makes you in the wombs of your mothers in stages, one after another, in three veils of darkness ... (39:6)

These three veils of darkness are the parametrium, miometrium, and the endometrium, three tissues enveloping three water-, heat-, and light-proof membranes (the amnion, corion, and the womb's wall).

In cattle will you find an instructive sign. From what is from their bodies, between excretions and blood, We produce, for your drink, milk, pure and agreeable to those who drink it (16:66)

The Qur'an details this process: food's partial digestion and absorption, followed by a second process and refinement in the glands. Milk is wholesome and agreeable for people, yet is rejected by the cow's body and bloodstream as useless.

Glory be to God, who created in pairs all things, of what the soil produces, and of themselves, and of what they know not. (36:36)

We know that people, animals, and certain plants have counterparts. But what about the pairs in all things and of what they know not? This may refer to a whole range of inanimate and animate entities, subtle forces, and principles of nature. Science confirms that everything occurs in pairs.

Do not the unbelievers see that the heavens and Earth were joined together (as a single mass) before We clove them asunder? We made from water every living thing. Will they not then believe? (21:30)

Every living thing was created of water. What is important here is that the universe is a single miracle of creation, not how life came about. Everything in it is an integral part of that miracle, bears signs that prove it, and is interconnected. The verse emphasizes water's vitality and significance.

The sun runs its course (mustaqarr) determined for it. That is His de-cree, the Exalted in Might, the All-Knowing. (36:38)

In fact, mustaqarr here may mean a determined orbit in space or time, a fixed place of rest or dwelling. Thus the sun has a specific orbit, moves to-ward a particular point, and will rest when its task is finished. Such words were spoken at a time when people thought the sun orbited Earth.

The firmament: We constructed it with power and skill, and We are expanding it. (51:47“48)

This verse reveals that the distance between celestial bodies is increasing, for the universe is ex-panding. In 1922, the astronomer Hubble claimed that all galaxies, ex-cept the five closest to Earth, are moving further into space at a speed directly proportional to their distance from Earth. Le Ma tre, a Belgian mathematician and priest, later proposed and developed the theory that the universe is expanding.

God raised the heavens without any pillars that you can see... (13:2)

All celestial bodies move in order, balance, and harmony. They are held and supported in this order by invisible pillars, known to science as the balance of centripetal and centrifugal forces: He holds back the sky from falling on earth except by His leave... (22:65)

By the moon's fullness, you shall travel from stage to stage (84:18“19)

Some earlier commentators thought that this described one's spiritual ascent or a process of change. Later Qur'anic interpreters thought that it could not be taken literally. But given the context, this really means travelling to the moon, whether literally or figuratively.

Do they not see how We gradually shrink the land from its outlying borders? Is it then they who will be victors? (21:44)

The reference to shrinking could reflect Earth's being compressed at the poles, rather than to such earlier theories as the erosion of mountains by wind and rain, of the sea-shores by the sea, or of the desert's encroach-ment of cultivated lands. The Qur'an's depiction of Earth as egg-shaped (79:30-32) is also borne out by science.

We have made the night and the day as two signs; the sign of the night We have obscured, while the sign of the day We have made to enlighten you... (17:12)

According to Ibn Abbas, the sign of the night refers to the moon, and the sign of the day to the sun. Therefore, from the words the sign of the night We have obscured, we understand that God removed the moon's ability to emit light, thereby causing it to darken or become obscured. While the verse thus accurately re-counts the moon's past, it points to the future destiny of other heavenly bodies.

The Qur'an, although it contains many more such allusions, must not be considered a science textbook. Its only purpose is to guide us to right belief and right action. We must ensure that it, and not our arrogance, insolence, and vainglory, directs our pursuit of knowledge.

When modern science agrees with the Qur'an

Science is the language that most people speak and understand today. Thus Muslims should be well-versed in it to refute the claims of materialists and atheists. The Qur'an encourages us to pursue such knowledge, provided that we seek only to earn God's good pleasure and ensure understanding among the people.

Moreover, how can the eternal and unchanging Qur'an be proven by science, which is subject to change? Science only serves to awaken sleeping or confused minds. It cannot establish the truths of faith in our conscience, for faith comes only by Divine guidance. Our faith, not our knowledge, makes us believers. Objective and subjective evidence must eventually be dropped, so that we can make spiritual progress by following our heart and conscience within the Qur'an's light and guidance.

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vulpineempress · 5 years

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Cosmic forecast 02/18/2019

The cosmos are very busy this week, so if you feel a shift in energy, look to the stars to find the answers. And buckle up because it’s going to be one heck of a ride that will make you gaze deeply into the waters of yourself. Let’s take a glance at the big shakers and movers in the forecast, shall we? I’ll list the transits and then explain how they will be interacting

The Moon

As most of you may know, there is a full moon looming above us. This moon is the Snow moon as well as a super moon in Virgo. The moon will be at its fullest 02/19/2018 at about 10:45AM EST

The Sun

The sun is moving into Pisces late tonight and will remain there until March 20th at 12:15PM EST.

Chiron

Moved to Aries today and will remain in Aries until 2027

What does this all mean?

Let’s start with the moon and sun, as they are some of the most influential in our day to day lives. The Full moon will peak in Virgo which is a very Mercurial sign. In fact it is ruled by mercury. Mercury rules our communication and intellect. Virgo rules the 6th house which rules work, health, and just overall… being a functional human being so bless all the Virgos who love to fix our disasters.

The sun is entering Pisces which is the last sign of the zodiac. It is a water sign ruled by Neptune and the 12th house. This makes Pisces a daydreamer and fanciful. Pisces is in touch with its feelings and intuitive side. Pisces in 12th is the ruler of the unconscious mind and often represents the bridge between the spirit and physical world. Since it is the sun that is entering this sign, it will be a lot brighter and more focused on how Pisces will influence our sense of self.

Together, the overall theme of these two celestial events coinciding is this: Shedding. This is the time to use the deep thinking of Pisces and really reflect on what you want to manifest this year. With the overlap of the Virgo Full moon, now is the time to think about the things that you could use a little bit more help with. Virgo will help give you the organizational tools and mental clarity to GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER. Honestly.

Or try to at least. Take advantage of this full moon and Virgo energy. Do not let it go to waste, this is the time to harness it and get a burst of productive energy.

Don’t forget Pisces, though. As the moon will be reminding you to get in ship shape, Pisces will be there to be the emotional reminder of the past year of your life. Since Pisces is a mutable sign and signals the end of the Zodiac Calendar, this is a time of reflection. The Virgo energy mixed in with this, think of the following questions tonight:

Who do you want to be? What are your goals for the upcoming year? How can you improve aspects of your life? What mistakes have you made this past year? What can you improve to make sure those mistakes don’t happen again? What has been weighing you down?

Think about those things and then make a plan. I suggest writing down answers to those questions and then set your intentions on how to fix them. This can be done through writing, ritual, or just mental intention. However you usually celebrate the full moon.

Chiron

The lesser known comet that packs a huge punch. Chiron is the wounded healer. Chiron is the key to the zodiac. Literally. The Chiron placement in your natal chart is represented by a key. This placement is a double edged sword, honestly. Chiron represents the deepest wounds in ourselves, but also how we heal. (If you want to learn more, I would check out prior blogs by me, or do a quick google search on Chiron) Chiron is named after the Centaur in Greek mythology, so it is no wonder that he is such a double edged sword. He was a centaur gifted in the healing arts, but his weakness is that he had the ability to heal others, but not himself.

Since 2011, Chiron has been in the water sign of Pisces, which as I mentioned earlier, is the end of the zodiac. It has moved into Aries which is the beginning of the zodiac. This sets Chiron with the task of connecting the end of everything (Pisces) to the beginning of all possibilities (Aries).

Aries, as it is the beginning of the zodiac, rules the 1st house and is ruled by mars. That means this is a very action forward sign and the 1st house is the house of self. Because of this, Aries is much focused on the self and ego, a very “Me, First.” attitude. An Aries sun in the first house may have a very strong sense of self and very confident and where we assert ourselves, where we go for what we want, and where we draw borders to express our uniqueness.

Chiron is where we feel wounded, ashamed, broken, and inadequate.

So what does that mean when the comet of wounds enters this sign? Well… a lot of self-doubt is in the forecast. Depending on where you have Aries in your natal chart, this can cause you to doubt the area that Aries rules in your chart. But naturally, it is going to affect Aries natural domain of self.

You may find yourself in this period of time doubting who you are. Your identity, and the right to just be yourself. We experience this as we are growing up, of course. Separating our identity from our parents and finding out who we generally are, but this goes a bit beyond that. Aries is concerned with the affirmation of self, but Chiron will challenge this affirmation of self, with the purpose of finding a higher order.

Some identity wounds that this transit may cause:

An overall feeling of emptiness and disconnection,

A desire to “prove” yourself, as if you are not enough

A desire to be liked by everyone and feeling as if you don’t fit in

A desire to remain unnoticed, to have fear of expressing your opinions and beliefs,

Or on the opposite end of the spectrum, feeling like you have to voice your opinions to excess.

These are just a few symptoms that may come along with this Chiron in Aries transit. But, no need to fear, as I mentioned before, Chiron is a double edged sword. Yes, it can hurt you, but it can also be wielded and mastered like a sword. You can brandish its steel with flourish and finesse once you overcome the lesson that will be taught to us during this transit.

The Lesson: Chiron will ask you to address and heal, once and for all, the wound of Identity.

No achievement, no money, no success, or shower of compliments will heal this wound. Because being you is not about being something that you are not or it is not the sum of your accomplishments, or looks, or weight, or anything. Your sense of self and worth is only determined by one person: You.

This is a time to finally learn about yourself and accept that it is okay to be unashamedly yourself.

Chiron in Aries is about taking responsibility for your existence, being present with your wounds, your pain, and your shame. Learn that despite all you have endured, and WILL endure (because this isn’t going to be an easy process, dear) is okay and you can be yourself.

You are here for a reason. Your existence is the very proof that you belong and you deserve to exist. When you allow your true self to shine through, there is no more pain, there is no more wound and you achieve self-realization. This happens when all the broken parts of you come together to form a while. But you need to put ALL the pieces together. Every single dirty, hurtful, shameful, beautiful, part of you. Allowing all of these pieces to exist together is owning your sense of self and that will be the utmost lesson.

So basically, the cosmos are saying the time is NOW. All of these celestial events happening in the span of a few days is a big moment. Harness this energy. Take this time with the Virgo full moon to set your plan. Let Pisces guide you in reflection, and let Chiron forge you into new, hardened steel that shines. You can do this, we can do this. And it’s time to bloom.

#astrology #astrology forecast #chiron in aries #pisces season #full moon in virgo #supermoon #full moon #Chiron #transits

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villainqueen · 5 years

Text

The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - Chapter 4

V X Fem!Reader fanfiction, set after the events of Devil may Cry 5.

Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

Ao3 [Link]

Chapter 4

What is now proved was once only imagined

You've reached into the rotting flesh of Gulganna to retrieve a glowing orb. It was small and to the untrained eye it could have been mistaken as a normal marble. As you took a few steps back away from the body of the demon, it slowly started to fade into nothing while you began to admire the orb that glinted in the sunlight.

"Yo, I think you've got some explaining to do! You're definitely not human and what the hell did you ripped out of that thing!" Nero stomped over to you while he turned back to his original human form.

"Oh, my! I am no human indeed. Yet I shall not tell more. It does not concern thee."

"An interesting ability you have there. I don't think I've ever seen this power in demons before…" V mused as he walked up to both of you. You decided to ignore his hidden remark about you being a demon and you turned your attention to him.

"I did promise a gift in return for thine help. So, let me grant thee strength. Please Sir V, let this soul become thine own!" You place the marble in both of your hands and pressed them at V's chest, pushing the small orb inside. Without leaving a wound or any indication that it went through his skin, it vanished inside him. At first V was confused by your sudden touch till the pain set in. It felt as if his heart was about to stop.

"W-what did you do to me!" he groaned as we went on his knee. Nero now alarmed put his gun to your head; "I should blow your head off, right here and now, demon!"

"Do not despair, Sir V, the pain will faint shortly and thine soul will take nourishment from it."

V could feel that his heartbeat was alarmingly fast but the pain, like you said, soon faded. He felt a strange sensation inside of him. It took a moment for him to regain his composure but there was no denying that suddenly he felt that he had more strength. Just like you promised him. As soon as V got on his feet again Griffon went to sit on his shoulder: "Hey, V, whatever that chick did, it feels really good. I feel like a million dollars. Hey missy, do it again!"

"Certainly, I can feel it too, I'm a step closer to my old strength." answered V to his feathered partner as he clenched his fist. Not only his soul felt stronger, so did his body. And if Griffon felt the difference, V might had no limit in summoning him anymore. Perhaps he could even call Shadow for aid again. Ever since his departure from Vergil a few days ago he hadn't felt this kind of powerful.

"V, you feel alright?" asked Nero in a concerned voice but not lowering his gun. His sight went over to you, who monitored V's movement intensely. "Care to explain what you did to him?"

"Exactly what I promised, I gave Gulgannas cleansed soul to him, for the kindness he provided me. Mine work is done and now I will bid you both farewell!"

"And what are you planning?" Nero felt that they've might made a mistake in getting whoever you were out of the prison. Not that you've done anything bad to them yet, but he couldn't shake the feeling that you were odd and more importantly dangerous, and his gut had never betrayed him.

"I, I need to find what belongs to me, I can feel its presence and would rather reclaim it before the misguided do so."

"We will escort you then." V said. If you had the ability to strengthen him by fusing demon souls into his, you could do it again. And he was a fool if he didn't take this opportunity. Also, he had to admit that you interested him. Your ability, the way your presence felt to him, it was so foreign, not like any demon he knew of.

You on the over hand were not fully sold on being accompanied by those two demon hunters. Not that you were ungrateful, but you couldn't help but notice that one of them is part demon and the other was a human that was controlling demons. Not the most trustworthy of all creations. However, if they had been normal everyday humans it wouldn't really made it any better. Needless to mention, their constant doubt of your intentions and threats against your person. But in the end, they were stronger than you, at least the one called Nero was. So, it was better to have them close by for now.

"Very well, I will welcome any assistance, yet I must beg of thee to not home this thing to mine head again."

"Thing? You mean my gun?" Nero couldn't help himself but laugh a bit, how could anyone not know what a gun was. However, without taking any more notice of Nero's mocking you lifted your dress a tiny bit to prevent it from dirtying as you navigated yourself around the acid puddles back to the main building of the castle.

"Hey, wait up missy!" Griffon screamed as he went after you. V let out a slight smirk at the sight of you leaving in such a dated yet ladylike manner while ignoring Nero nonchalantly. His gaze went around the inner courtyard again. They sure left it a mess, most statues destroyed, the stone walls of the castle damaged, puddles of acid everywhere and a few corpses of hunters left behind. Gulganna had also left a piece of his horns on the ground and with his cane he kicked it up right into Nero's hands.

"I guess that means we should follow her back inside."

"At least we don't have to babysit her now…" Nero sighed in annoyance as the trotted behind the three of you.

August 1st 13:20 pm

The usual ominous wind went through hell, as a figure placed himself on a throne made of flesh and bones. This part of hell felt like it was made from intestines and the pulsing of its veins, gave this place a feeling that itself was alive. Hell, however was not one place but consisted of many different layers and this was one soaked in blood.

"Master, Gulganna has perished!" said a crouching demon, that was clothed in rags that obscured his body and face. The one addressed as Master was a demon with the appearance of a knight clad in an expensive golden armor and a helmet with a shape of a lion. On his side he had a twohanded sword that gave of a sinister aura. It was a slender sword, elegant and expensive looking, decorated with gold and with a blade that shined almost white. Even its handle had an elaborate decoration of a winged person at its end. The demon, who had placed himself on the throne, looked at the black sky as he spoke in a raspy voice; "How? I told him to get her. How could he fail such a simple task?" Again, crouching to the feed of his master, the demon dressed in rags struggled to find a pleasing answer: "I-I don't know, master! I caught that demon hunters stormed the castle; he might have underestimated the intruders. Gulganna was never bright."

"True. I can't risk that mortals get their hands on my possession. The others better deliver her to me…" he growled while ripping bones out of his throne in anger. "It was supposed to be an easy task. I've waited so long for this chance. Failure is not an option!"

His servant quivered in fear as he tried to avoid the wrath of his master. Something had to be done and he had to make sure his fellow demons deliver, or else none of them would live another day.

August 1st 13:30 pm

Arriving back in the main hall of the castle V and Nero made their way up to you, while you were wondering where to go next.

"What exactly are you looking for, (Y/N)?" V asked you, which pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I am in search of an old weapon of mine."

"And you're sure it’s still here?"

"Certainly, I feel it still remains here, somewhere. It is a spear with a very peculiar appearance. I know it must be difficult for you to comprehend but having it not at my side feels like.... I am missing a limb, or so to speak."

"Oh, believe me, I can relate to that!" Nero chimed in while wandering around the hall looking around to find something of interest. "V, you’re sure it's a good idea to give a her a weapon?"

"Sir Nero, if thou'rt are not my enemy, I am not thine. I do not harbor any bad intent, but I can not leave this only memento of home behind, in this cursed place!"

"Then I recommend we split up to find it and leave." V suggested which got you confused; "Do ye not have a mission to fulfill? There is no need to burden yourselves with my troubles."

After what Gulganna said under his dying breath. V was now certain that the sole reason why the demons attacked the castle was in fact you. And if his deductions proof to be right, the demons should leave once you do as well and might even follow you. They would have little reason to stick around if what they're looking for was gone. He couldn't help but wonder how all of it came together. Maybe Dante was useful for once and could provide answers and so it was the best if they made their way back to the Devil May Cry office as soon as possible or at least before demon reinforcements would show up.

"Don't worry, we are not the type who would let someone in need down. Nero, I'll go with (Y/N) and search the upper floor, you take this one."

"Sure, I've got to look for a spear? Got it, can’t be so hard to find. Hope I find some demons while I’m at it. I was hoping for more action and not a tour through the Addams family's home!"

And with that the group split in two in search for your weapon which you felt close by. It was certainly hidden somewhere in the castle, if only you could remember where. Yet you were somewhat glad that the demon hunters provided you with company even through you could not really say if they were on your side or would turn out to be an enemy like it happened so many times before. However, after such a long time in loneliness their presences felt strangely pleasant.

#devil may cry #DMC #DMC V #V #V x Reader #Vitale #dmc vitale #DMC 5 #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #Chapter 4

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lifeofresulullah · 4 years

Text

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

First Revelation is Sent Down

The 16th night of the month of Ramadan had passed.

The 17th of Ramadan was a Monday night.

The expected moment finally came.

The heart of the Master of the Universe was filled with wonder and fear. His heart shivered!

He answered: “I do not know how to read.”

Gabriel hugged him and held him tight; then, Gabriel released him, saying, “Read!”

The Master of the Universe gave the same answer, “I do not know how to read.”

Gabriel hugged him for the second time and held him tight; then, Gabriel released him, saying, “Read!”

The Master of the Universe said, “I do not know how to read. Tell me! What shall I read?”

Thereupon, the angel recited the first verses of the Surah of Al-Alaq from the beginning to the end, which, through Allah Almighty’s ordering, he was in charge of conveying to the Prophet (pbuh):

Gabriel, who fulfilled his task, disappeared suddenly.

“Cover Me!”

The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) shook with awe and excitement at having received a Divine revelation, left the cave, and went straight towards Mecca.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) arrived home. He had lost his breath in the face of the magnificence of this situation.

All he could say to his faithful wife, Hazrat Khadija Kubra, who anxiously greeted him was, “Cover me! Cover me!”

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) who sought solitude at mount Hira was now in his home and was now alone with his thoughts.

“I am scared, O Khadijah! I am scared that I will be harmed!”

Those words of our Prophet definitely originated from his desire to feel safe regarding reaching the eternal happiness and honorable duty.

What did Waraqa say?

Doubtlessly, everything that had happened was not insignificant and did have some meaning.

It was up to Hazrat Khadija to learn by inquiring.

Whom could she go to? Who could understand these affairs? And whom could he trust in?

Hazrat Khadija thought for a long time and finally determined the person whom she would consult with: Her uncle’s son, Waraqa bin Nawfal.

Waraqa bin Nawfal was an elderly man and a Christian in the pure sense. His eyes could not see yet his heart was enlightened. He read the Bible and Torah and had learned many things from them both.

Without wasting time, Hazrat Khadija went to go see her uncle’s son with our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

Waraqa bin Nawfal was speaking the truth - a reality that had to be exposed…

After this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and Hazrat Khadija left Waraqa bin Nawfal’s home.

REVELATION CEASES

2) Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) was being prepared for the burdens and tribulations that he was about to face.

3) The deliverance of revelation was delayed so that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) could long more deeply for the next revelation.

REVELATION RESUMES

After a hiatus of forty days, revelations were continued to be sent down to our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

He explains its resumption as follows:

“One day, while walking, I suddenly heard a sound in the sky. When I raised my head and looked at the sky, I saw the angel who came to me (Jibril, Gabriel) seated on a throne that was in between the ground and the sky. I shuddered and collapsed to the ground. I returned to my home and said, “Cover me! Cover me!” Upon this, Allah the Exalted sent down this revelation:

“O thou wrapped up (in a mantle)! Arise and deliver thy warning! And thy Lord do thou magnify! And thy garments keep free from stain! And all abomination shun!” From then on, the revelations began to come and there were no interruptions in between.

The discomfort in our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) ceased when revelation was continued to be sent down; his inner realm reached peace and tranquility. By appointing our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was adorned with perfection and moralistic beauties from head to toe, to prophethood, Allah elevated him to the position of being the most distinguished and eminent individual among human beings. Thus, an extant law of the universe meaning, “every species has a distinguished and superior constituent that is the pride and joy and source of admiration for its kind”, which also applies to the circle of humanity.

“One of the names of Allah among asma al-husna is the greatest; similarly, there needs to be a perfect man among Allah’s creatures; Allah gathered and assembled all kinds of perfection that had been dispersed in the Universe in him, and made him His pride and joy.

“That perfect entity had to be a living being since the most impeccable creation among every species in the universe is a living being. That being had to be a conscious being since a conscious being is the most glorious among every species. That entity that had no and will not have a replicate had to be a person since humans have the unlimited ability to advance among conscious beings.

“That human being had to be Muhammad (Peace and Blessings be Upon Him) since not a single historical account, from the beginning of Hazrat Adam till now, shows nor can show an individual who is similar to him; that remarkable individual has encompassed half of the Earth and one out of five types of people under his holy dominion, has continued to rule his dominion with his spiritual sultanate for 1350 years (now it has been 1,400 years), and has attained the authority of being the Ultimate Master.

“By uniting his friends and enemies, he attained the highest degree in good manners and challenged the entire world at the beginning of his prophethood. This individual, who has shown more than a 100 million people the Quran (whose declaration leaves everyone weak) at every given minute, was without a doubt the most distinguished being among all creatures; it cannot be anyone else other than him.

“He is both the seed and fruit of this universe.”

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