#thread: para

[hgdjiwon-blog]

whackpack:

@hgdhwasa “we have the same exact backpack and i took yours by mistake…. what the fuck do you have in there?”

The mixup could easily be reduced to one central factor: Jiwon didn’t like taking her backpack into public toilets. Especially cafe/restaurant public toilets, where people consumed a number of interesting things before taking a quick trip to the loo and leaving it in a state. She had to mentally prepare herself before stepping into the hub of bacterium and disease, and then did the bare minimum before she hastily left. No, she couldn’t bear taking her beautifully immaculate bag into the toilet. The only things that came in with her were disposable wet wipes and hand sanitizer, from her portable first aid kit. She set her bag on a chair, broke a sweat politely asking a stranger to mind it, before rushing off to the toilet. It was a nerve-wracking process in itself; the thought she could misplace her bag didn’t even occur to her. 

Destiny placed an identical bag (same size, same style, different weight [but she thought that was down to her being lighter after relieving herself]) on the table adjacent to the one she’d left hers on. Destiny made a passerby bump into the chair her bag was on, causing her bag to shuffle down into the seat, cosy and out of sight. Destiny also caused the stranger minding her bag to get up to go order, adamant he could watch her bag from the corner of his eye. 

Of course Jiwon picked up the wrong backpack. Everything was set up perfectly for her to do just that. Of course she didn’t notice there and then.

[halfliight]

{ athanatxs​ }:

「 人間 」—                        T he hybrid lay in the middle of Hyrule Field, frantically crawling backwards in fear, as a giant Stalchild crept toward her; she had done nothing to even provoke one to appear in the first place, but it was certainly her luck to find it at random.

Amu was frightened to the point where she wasn’t able to stand—golden hues simply gazed up at the monster in fear, as it began to raise its arm up as if to strike.

           Quick was the knife that slashed downwards, followed by a swift kick that connected soundly with the Stalchild, knocking it back a fair ways. (What the Sheikah lacked for in physical strength he made up in momentum and speed combined with magic: Pure energy itself was what he manipulated with relative ease.) Fluidly, he lunged forward, landing the killing blow with deadly precision –– the element of surprise was his favourite weapon to utilize: His enemies never saw him coming.

           Content to say that his enemy was thoroughly vanquished, Sheik turned to the obviously frightened girl, raising an eyebrow. “Are you quite all right?”

[bloodtiesau]

Blood Ties

             She's invading my mind, Journal.               I thought I could escape it, I thought my betrothed would take my mind off of her; I was wrong. It's the same dream again, like it is every night. The Woman in Black stands in the shadows and yet I am drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She's dangerous; she's alluring; she's unlike anything else in this world. Her eyes are pools of black, her skin is as pale as the moon. I can never reach her, however, for she doesn't allow it. Sometimes I wonder if this is her plan.              What I do know, Journal, is that she is too real to be a figment of my imagination. I yearn to know what it is she wants; to see her face; to talk to her. Hopefully, tonight, my dream continues.              The leather-bound book was hidden away in her chest of drawers. Her only solace was her writing, her one time alone to herself. The white fabric of her night gown flapped in the wind, her curls like ringlets of the sun honing a beacon to where she stood. The balcony, white marble, looked out upon the estate and Emma found her eyes being drawn to the cliff she dreamt about often. A part of her hoped to see the Woman in Black; a part of her soul wailed for it, but beneath the shaking trees stood nothing but shadows and those shadows did not hold her elusive stranger.              Her soul was too old for eighteen. She was told to be an adult and was treated like a child. As she brushed out her hair, sat at the vanity, she wondered if her husband-to-be wanted a wife or a trophy. She had only met him once and he did not make her heart soar nor did he sweep her off her feet. He was a sea captain, all but a prince and heir to the worlds of trading. Uniting his family with her own would be a good move and allow their bloodline to thrive for generations. Father and Mother wanted it, and oh how she hated to disappoint them. So she was set to be married. And the gown was lovely.              Sleep came easy with the calming wind to lull her into darkness. Her curtains moved back and forth, the air traveling up her bare thighs like a whisper. She saw her then, her mysterious stranger with a darkness that felt more like light. Pale skin was revealed when a gown was dropped and her breath hitched in her chest. She could do nothing but lie there as the Woman in Black touched her skin, her nails like ice, and as her lips parted to reveal pearly whites, Emma's eyes shot open.              The balcony doors had blown apart due to the wind and she crossed the room to catch them, breathless. Staring out at the cliff she sucked in a breath and clenched her thighs. Only then did she realise she had ruined her panties and, oh, Mother would not be pleased; women did not gain sexual satisfaction, they were to lie there for their husbands. It was not proper. So she straightened her night gown and rid herself of any feeling that came off as pleasurable.              Walking out onto the balcony, she touched the stone edge with her shaking fingers. "Oh," she whispered, "why won't you reveal yourself to me?"

[halfliight]

{ halfblindhunter }:

Various birds are scattered amongst the area, some pidgeons and others more elaborate and large creatures— his own however was a mere obedient Jay, one that perched upon his finger and offered a gentle screech-like coo to his owner.

Jay smiles fondly at the small bird before eyes flick up to spot another man within the room, oh he recognises that stance anywhere. Pride and confidence gleam off his companion like light off a well-polished surface. 

            “Sheik?”

His tone is welcoming as he approaches the other.

              “What brings you to the humble abode of                     our kind feathery friends?”

        A pause, a tilt of his head –– and the blond pretends that he just noticed his companion's presence. "Mm, nothing in particular," came Sheik's response, voice so very nonchalant (though, in all actuality, he was quite pleased to get any form of attention). "I simply thought that I might come check on Vājara." A gesture is made towards the bird before him, tanned features remaining carefully arranged into a mask of apathy (his default expression, naturally), though a gentle hand is stroking the smooth feathers of his avian companion. Still, there is the faintest hint of a smile that toys about normally carefully composed features –– not that he will admit to it, of course. "I do hope that I am not intruding, of course." (Lies: He knows that he isn't.)

        And there comes a turn, the movement fluid and careful. (He doesn't wan to startle the birds, after all –– that could only lead to chaos.) "They seem to like you quite a lot." This is more of a statement of fact than anything, truthfully. Sheik is no stranger to the language of birds, though this may surprise some, given how distant he seemed even with the feathered creatures. Distant he is with humans, yes, but creatures, winged or not (bar those of an equine nature) were another story. He might not be seen with them all that often, but he did enjoy sitting with them sometimes, simply to be there in the presence of another living being.

[halfliight]

just between god and us || jay & sheik

        It was a with a whisper that the blond moved across the rooftop, feet making only the barest noise as he walked, footsteps sure and unwavering as he made his way towards the edge of the roof. His balance was impeccable as always, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration as he mentally ran through the plan again. Surely it was simple enough –– then again, weren't their jobs always? Go there, kill the target, get out without being seen. 

        Easy, and yet somehow it always felt so much more complicated than that. Perhaps that is because it was just a theory and nothing more: Theories were always relatively easy for Sheik to grasp, but he knew that putting them into action was a tad bit more difficult. 

        A twitch of gloved fingers, and fingers found the hilt of knife (the longer one, not the throwing knives). The familiar feeling of the smooth hilt under his gloved touch served to calm Sheik down –– though, the logical side of his brain asked why he was nervous. He'd been doing this for years now; he knew how things would play out. He had never once failed, and he wasn't about to start now. Sheik had worked along for the majority of that time, as he refused to work with anyone –– now that he had been assigned a partner, certainly things would go smoother (he hoped) as he knew that he had someone who had his back.

        Crouching, the blond examined the terrain below: It was nothing new, just people and buildings, animals and vendors, but still he remained alert. Their target had to be around here somewhere, right? (Of course. That's what they had been told, and why would they be lied to?) He simply had to wait for him to appear.

        There came a noise behind him, and he recognized the footfalls before he even turned to look. "––Took you long enough," came Sheik's rather terse tone. "Did you see anything? Or, rather, anything useful?"

[halfliight]

of crimson sands || volga & sheik

        It was hot –– almost unbearably so –– the sun that hung heavy and low in the clear blue sky beating down onto the golden sands below. Or, rather, Sheik thought that it hung heavy the sky: Currently, he could not see it. Still, he knew that the sun was out and the skies were clear, for they always were in this godforsaken place. He had been outside more than enough in the past little while to know that sun was always out and that it was always hot; spending long weeks walking in the heat without rest and with just enough water to survive made that rather hard to forget. Still, at least in the prisons below the stadium he got at least a brief reprieve from the harsh sun that had turned his tanned skin even darker.

        He was surrounded by other people and all of them were silent (well, for the most part). A nervous energy buzzed beneath his skin, in the air around him –– everyone knew what was coming. They were going to be some form of entertainment. It was sickening, disgusting, and he did not approve, but what choice did he have? He was a captive, and the only way he could get out of this would be if he killed his way out. Not ideal, but it was the truth: Kill or be killed.

        Fingers curled into fists, and Sheik tensed as guards came down, pushing the prisoners together into a group with the threat of punishment. He moved docilely, head down, scarlet eyes fixating on the ground before him as he did as he was told. He just had to survive, he thought as the group began to move, and he would do whatever it took. He was a survivor, yes, and that could not be taken from him. Still, he realized that the chance of him surviving was slim; he was slight in his build, and he was smaller than a majority of the others that he could see. There was not much chance of him making it out of this alive, logic told him, but... Well, there was no sense in giving up yet. 

[timesshadow]

ғᴀᴛᴀʟ || twi & shadow

       Life was fragile. That, of course, was something that Shadow had always heard: Life was fragile, life was delicate; treasure it, lest it fly away. It was something that he had seen written on cards and been told many a time, but he'd never really thought much of it. He was young –– he was invincible. Of course, that is what everyone thought when they were young: Death wasn't for them, death happened to older people, people who had been around for ages, or someone else. It was never them, it was always someone else. 

                               Of course, that was until it was the day that it was them. 

       All it took was one moment. Life was fragile; of course that is all that it took. Why should it take more than that? Something like life was delicate, easily broken and impossible to repair. It was just one mistake, just one wrong step, not looking one way –– and that was it. All it had taken was a moment of carelessness, of looking down when he should have been looking ahead of himself, and––

                                                   A squeal of tires, a dull thud:                                                     a sharp, searing pain, oh, his chest,                                                    it hurt, he couldn't breathe––                                                   (The sky, how blue the sky was––)                                                    And then...

         It was over. He was looking up at the sky, his head light: There was no more pain. He felt quite disoriented; what had happened? He couldn't remember; there had been what sounded like a squeal of tires, and then–– Then what? He couldn't hear anything at the moment, and all that he could see was the sky. (How blue it was today, how clear...) However, as the seconds passed, he started hearing a dull buzz on the very edge of his hearing –– voices. People were talking. Where had all the people come from? Why were they so close?

        And then he started picking out the words.

                                                  "I didn't see him, he wasn't there––                                                     It was an accident, I swear it was––"

                                                  "Someone call an ambulance, he's not                                                     moving...!"

         Hands pushed Shadow upright, and he clambered to his feet, brow furrowing in confusion. Had someone been hurt? Why was he on the ground? He had just been–– Oh. 

        A quick glance around him served to answer his question (or, at least, some of them). He was–– On the ground, only he wasn't. He was standing in the middle of a crowd of people, but he was also on the ground. Or rather, his body was. 

       ❝ Well shit. ❞ Had he died? Could anyone see him? No, apparently they couldn't; as he waved, trying to get people's attention, gazes slid right over him as if he wasn't there. No one acknowledged his presence; it was as if he didn't exist any more.

        Naturally, this scared him. However, he couldn't do anything –– still, staring around the crowd, his gaze was drawn to one individual: A young man who appeared to be about his own age who had piercing blue eyes. (They were the colour of the sky, Shadow thought –– so very, very blue.) Something drew him towards this young man, though he did not know what. Still, who was he to resist? It wasn't as if he had to go anywhere. Apparently he was dead –– and no one could see him.

       (What a lonely way to live.)

[halfliight]

how the world ends || lan fan & sheik

      It was a Tuesday when the world went to hell. 

      Sheik thought it was funny how little details like that stuck with him as he watched the world spiral down into a place of death and senseless destruction; he could tell you what time it was when he saw the first death and what he had for breakfast that morning (it was around 2 PM, and he'd skipped breakfast as he was running late). Still, even as he fought for his life in the hell that was now the city he had grown up in, tiny details like that had stuck with him.

       However, he knew that there was no point in dwelling on such things: That wouldn't keep him alive. (However, he couldn't deny the irony that he knew with such accuracy what day the world had ended and now he didn't even know what month it was, let alone the day of the week.) He needed to fight to survive –– and so far, he'd done quite well, in his humble opinion. He had stayed by himself, not daring to join up with others; he didn't trust them enough to not kill him. He had seen what people could do in the struggle to keep on living: They turned into monsters, brother turning on brother in order to keep themselves alive.

      Sneakered feet made little noise as Sheik moved through the alleyways, searching for a place to spend the night. He wasn't willing to stay in one place too long –– it was too dangerous, he thought, even though he had managed to acquire weapons. (Two knives, one longer and one small enough to slip up the sleeve of his hoodie, and a handgun along with quite a few bullets.) He preferred to stay on the move, as, in his mind, he had a better chance of finding supplies and the like. Still, it got tiring –– and it was also a lonely life. He had no one to watch his back, and he had no one to assist him or keep him distracted when the going got too difficult.

      Exiting the alleyway, the blond spotted a string of townhouses. He generally hated staying in those, as he felt far too exposed, but as it was going to get dark soon, he doubted that he had any other option. In his experience, the dead that roamed the streets tended to be more active when the sun was down, and he didn't want to have to deal with them tonight. He was far too tired, honestly. And so, sighing, he glanced about for any sign of danger before he quickly crossed the street, his footfalls sounding far too loud in the heavy air.

      Muscles tense as he slid to a halt, back to the closest townhouse, his hands were always close to his weapons: Sheik tended to be overly cautious at all times, which had kept him alive more than once. He could have sworn that he heard something, and that set him on edge –– human or not, he didn't want to have to deal with anyone right now. Humans were as much of a threat as zombies, he had learned very quickly, and he did not want to get into another fight today. His body still ached from the beating that he had taken (he hadn't seen his reflection recently, but he was certain that he was a mess), and he couldn't afford another like that.