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As she walked through the empty corridor she was thinking about what she and Dr. Horrin had been talking about a few days earlier. She wanted to help Baylor in some way. She knew he needed it to be easier for him because of all the training that he was doing. With her no longer needing to be trained by him, she knew that she could help him somehow. Hunter hadn’t even been at the “college” for two months and already knew more than Baylor did.
Hunter headed up to the front office to see Dr. Horrin. She and Hunter had been discussing letting Hunter take on some of Baylor’s students. This way he wouldn’t have so many of them.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Come in Hunter.” Dr. Horrin told her through the closed door.

Hunter opened the office door, still surprised at how Dr. Horrin knew that it was her, and walked in, closing the door behind her, “Hey Dr. Horrin, How are you?”, Hunter asked.

“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?” Horrin asked Hunter.

“I’m tired, but Im doing okay, if that’s what you wanted to know.” Hunter responded.

“Okay, so I talked to Baylor, and he feels that it would be an awesome idea. He has a total of 15 students. He wants me to give you only 6 of them, four girls and two boys. Not all of them are ice elementals, not sure which ones are the ice ones off the top of my head, so you will have to read through their file. But here are the files, there’s Grace Ripoint, Jennifer Reddin, Olesaya Claute, Abbigail Gradin, Taylor Brandson, and Jordan Daniels. Let me tell you something, Taylor is a hothead. Jordan, well he is kinda slow *taps the side of her head* up here. Grace is very sweet, don’t worry about her. Jennifer and Abbigail are best friends, and kind of spoiled. Both of their parents are rich and both of the girls act like they are entitled to everything. Olesaya, is very quiet and don’t talk much. You will start with them tomorrow. Best of luck to you.” Dr. Horrin told Hunter as she handed the files to her.

“Thanks, I’m going to find Baylor now.” She said as she turned and walked out.
Hunter didn’t know if she would be able to train the boys. She didn’t trust males, except Baylor and Chris. For some reason she trusted Chris. She didn’t even know him, but she trusted him.

She continued down the hall to find Baylor, Hunter started to gain speed while she was walking; she rounded the corner to go down Baylor’s hall. She was in a daze and ran smack into him.

“Oh, Uh, Um, I’m sorry Baylor.” Hunter said as she backed up.

“Oh, you’re fine, come here.” Baylor told her while grabbing her arms and pulling her to him, embracing her in a hug.

“Okay.” She said as she hugged him back.

“So I heard that you are going to be training six of my students for me. That’s very nice of you.” Baylor said letting go of Hunter and taking a step back as to see her face. Her eyes were always so pretty, those deep green eyes. Today she was wearing some black eyeliner around her eyes, which made the green kind of pop. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she had a thick black headband on.

“Yeah, I just figured since you aren’t training me anymore I can give you a hand and train some of your students. But why is the hell would you give me a hotheaded student? You know that he is going to die before im finished with him.” Hunter told him.

“He is only a hothead when you piss him off. If you stay on his nice side you shouldn’t have any problems. Hunter, be nice, please.”

“Me? Be nice? Me? Are you serious? I’m always nice. Aren’t I? And if Taylor wants to live he will need to chill the hell out.” Hunter backfired.

“Okay, I’ll warn him, because I’m pretty damn sure that he wants to live. But Hunter, he
is a fire elemental, that’s why he’s so easily angered.” He replied.

“Ah, well see, I haven’t read his file yet. I just left Dr. Horrin’s office and was looking for you. I figured that you could tell me more about the 6 that I will be training.”

“Ok, well, Jennifer, unfortunately, is a little bitch. She doesn’t train before 7 a.m. Abbigail, prefers to go by Ansley, for some reason, and doesn’t train after Jennifer. Even though they are best friends they often don’t get along. Taylor, even though he’s a hothead, he’s sweet and easily trained. He trains three days a week, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Grace, she is the other fire elemental that I train, doesn’t have a temper like Taylor does, and she’s sweet. Jordan, an earth elemental, is very calm, but that’s only because he has to be. He hasn’t gained control of his element yet, he is close but not just yet. Olesaya, she is from the planet of Aeona, the planet of the shadowers. She shadows me, that’s how I train her. It’s very easy but you have to constantly remind her to stay out of the shadows, otherwise it takes longer for her to train. She prefers to train after dinner but before curfew, she does this because it helps her fall asleep quickly. Olesaya does not speak clear English, she understands and is learning it, but doesn’t speak it clearly. In fact she doesn’t speak much at all. You can talk to her, but don't expect her to respond to you.” Baylor explained.

“Well that is very good to know Baylor, Thank you.” Hunter said.

“Yeah, no problem. I have to go train Taylor; he hates it when I’m late. So I’ll talk to you later.” Baylor said as he turned and walked off.

“Well, I guess I’ll go find something to do.” Hunter said to the walls.

She knew that she needed some sleep but she didn’t want to sleep. Hunter turned around and headed back towards the girls corridor, she needed to get through these files before the morning so that she would know who she was training and she would know their backstory.
Room 281. She dug her key out of her pocket and unlocked her door. As she walked into her room she sensed that something wasn’t right. Things were not in the places in which she left them. Then she noticed it, the one thing that she had that belonged to her mother, her wedding rings, were gone. She always left them in the glass case on the top of her nightstand, the case was broken and the rings were gone.
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As she opened her eyes she tried to remember where she was. She remembered the evening before; she had been out late with some friends and they decided to have a few drinks. She, being only 19, was designated "safe driver" for the crew. "Wait, where is everybody else?" she asked herself, confused. For some reason she couldn't remember anything else from the night before. She knew she didn't drink anything, she had tasted alcohol once; she didn't like it, so why did she have such a bad headache. As she started to come to her senses, she started hearing noises. Bleep. Bleep. Bleep. The constant bleeping was starting to really piss her off. She shot open her eyes as to gather her surroundings. She found herself in a mint green room, in a white hospital gown, with her family in the room. "Damn it" she said silently to herself. She and her family hadn't exactly gotten along since she left home 2 years ago with a guy she thought loved her, but instead left her for a rich, stuck-up brat.
    This is just the beginning of Hunter Jakobson's story.
Hunter was a cheerful baby and the youngest of her family. She was very beautiful, everyone said so. As she grew older her older sisters envied her. She had green eyes, and not just the normal green you would see in a person's eyes, no this green was so beautiful. Her hair was a gorgeous, dirty blonde. She was very slender and very agile.
At the age of 7, Hunter knew she wanted something different for her life than what her family could give her. Her family was considered very low class since there were 7 children and her Father was the only one that was bringing in any money, as Hunter's mother had to quit her job when Hunter's eldest brother got caught doing drugs in the bathroom of his school. Jordan was expelled and Mrs. Jakobson decided to home school him for the last two years of high school.
At 15, Hunter knew she was different from everybody else in her family and she thought everyone in the world. She was tired of being at home and couldn't sleep so she chose to go for a late night run. That's the night she realized her difference, she should have died that night, but she didn't. The doctors all said it was a miracle that her skull hadn't been crushed, but Hunter knew that the tree had indeed crushed her skull when it fell. Somehow, though she was still alive and her skull had healed itself by the time her parents found her. They had found her unconscious, with no scrapes or bruising or broken bones.
When she left home at 17 with Aaron, she was really trying to discover herself and figure out how to tell her parents what she found out shortly after the tree had fallen on her head. She was an elemental. She could control ice. She found out that the Ice elementals could heal their bones from fractures and complete breaks; depending on how bad the fracture or breakage was determined how long it took to heal. A crushed skull took all of 20 minutes to heal. The Ice elementals could also heal themselves from a severed limb or even the slightest scratch.
Aaron left her shortly after her 18th birthday. After that Hunter didn't trust anyone. Male or Female.  Black or White. She built a brick wall inside her heart and let no one take it down. Hunter decided to attend a college solely for elementals, Gracepoint College. The school was in California, she lived in South Carolina at the time, had no job, no car, and no money. How was she going to get out there? She didn't want to get help from anyone, because she didn't trust anyone. She wrote a letter to the Dean of the college asking to be accepted for she had nowhere to stay or any training as to how to use her element. She was accepted promptly and they paid her way to the school. She trained with the best of them.....
Hunter had no idea of what she was getting herself into, with letting this guy train her. She hated men but there was just something about this one. The connection between the two of them was instant, she didn't like that feeling. She never really had liked the feeling of connection between her and males. Her brothers and her Father, and her uncles were really the only men she talked to. Her grandfathers were both dead, they had fought in a war (one that no one wanted to tell her about). Why they hadn't told her was beyond her, but it wasn't her choice.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Hunter jumped at the sound of someone knocking on her door. Who is knocking on the door at 5:30 in the morning?  She thought to herself.
She jumped out of bed grabbed her gun off her nightstand and rushed to the door. She peered through the peep hole on the door and saw that it was just Baylor. She opened the door turned to Baylor and said, "Baylor, why are you knocking on the damn door so early?"
"Cause it's time to get up." Baylor said with a smirk.
"Well, I am apparently awake."
"Sorry, but training starts at 6, meet me upstairs, in this." Baylor said as he handed her a black wet suit, with a pair of knee high boots and a pair of gloves.
"Ok and the wet suit is for......?"
"You will find out during your training today. Oh btw, prepare to be exhausted by the end of the day. You will just want to sleep by the time I am done with you." Baylor told her.
"We will see, I am really tough, you will have to push me pretty hard."  She told him as she grabbed the clothing from his hands. She turned around and walked back into her room and shut the door.
At exactly 6 am, Baylor walked through the doors to the training arena. Hunter saw him as soon as he walked through the doors. He couldn't see her and she knew it, thankfully she remembered to silence her cell phone. Two minutes later her phone vibrated in the inside of her wet suit, she took it out and looked at her caller ID, Baylor J. She figured she could come out of hiding now. So while he was turned around she came out of her hiding place and quickly and silently came up behind him and tapped his shoulder.
"Damn Hunter, how long have you been here?" Baylor asked after he came over the initial shock of her being right behind him.
"Oh, well I have been in here since about 5:50. I was just watching you wait for me, and listening to you talk to yourself." She said almost laughing.
"Oh you heard me talking to myself? What did you hear me say?" He asked alarmed.
"Oh I heard you I heard everything you said. JK, Brosky, i could only hear you mumbling to yourself, couldn't make out any of the words you said." as Hunter finished saying that she saw relief wash over him like a flood. "Dude, you need to lighten up, you are too high strung."
"You are the second person to tell me that, I guess I may need to lighten up."
She could tell that something had him so high strung, but what, she didn't know. Hunter decided that she would leave the subject alone for now so that he wouldn't increase her training to much today. Baylor decided to start small, she knew she could do more but she didn't want to show how powerful she was just yet.
The two parts of Hunter combined
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He thought that it was amazing that this girl was totally hot and was an elemental. All the other girls at the school were cute or pretty but this was the first one that he saw that was hot. And of course she was she was the elemental Ice. They always seemed to be super cute and sexy. Baylor had always hoped that one day another Ice elemental would come to the school.

He, being an Ice elemental himself, knew the good looks that they had. He knew how they were hated for their hair color, their eye color, and their height and weight. They never had to diet or exercise; they were just skinny and muscular all the time. Of course this girl had to like that, or so he thought.

Baylor Johnson, tall, dark, and handsome, just like every other male Ice elemental. He knew he was handsome and a flirt, but he didn't want a girl that did that. He wanted a girl that would play around with him, but love him. Every girl that was in this school were flirts and slept around, but they were not Ice elementals. He wanted an Ice elemental because she would know how he functioned. She would understand why he would leave his bed  and go outside and sit on the roof late at night.

Baylor remembers the day he first saw her. Her green eyes and dirty blonde hair, that's what caught his attention, he knew that she was an Ice elemental just by looking at her. She was taller and prettier than most other girls. He knew he had to talk to her, but right now he had to train. Because Baylor was almost complete with his training, he was asked to train certain people, especially the new students. He hoped that the new girl would be assigned to him. He wanted to talk to her whenever he could.

Dr. Horrin, the dean of the school, asked if he would come to her office, he hoped it was something good. He was pleasantly surprised when he got there and the new girl was there.
"Baylor Johnson." he said stretching his hand out to shake her hand.
"Hunter Jakobson. Nice to meet you." she said as she shook his hand then quickly yanked her hand back as if she had been electrocuted.

He felt the electricity from her hand, like a jolt of energy. The connection between them was immediate.

Dr. Horrin turned to Baylor, "Would you like to train her for me?" she asked him.

"Yeah, totally."

"Thanks, but I would like to speak with you for a moment. Hunter, could you excuse us for a minute, please?"

"Yeah, I'll step out." she said as she walked out.

Baylor knew he was in some trouble. Horrin never asked him to stay after she asked him to train someone. He quickly thought about what it was that he had done. Nothing. There was nothing that came to mind.

"Baylor, chill you aren't in trouble. I wanted to tell you about her." Horrin told him.

"Good Gosh! Horrin you had me worried, I just couldn't think of what I did." Baylor said as relief washed over him.

"You need to lighten up, Johnson. Anyways, the jist of her story, grew up in a large family, youngest of 7 kids. Found out what she was at the age of 15. Left home at 17 with a boy, he left her, jobless, homeless, and broken. Don't try to be smooth, she don't trust boys. I'm having you train her to help with that. By the end of this year she needs to be in top shape." Dr. Horrin told him.

"Fine, I'll try my hardest but no guarantees. She's Ice, the only other one in this whole damn school. She's very beautiful, and that's going to be hard to resist. But for you I will try hard." Baylor said very frustrated, as he turned and walked out of the office.

Baylor had never been nervous to train a person before, but there was just something about this girl that drew his attention and made him so nervous. "Well, I guess I should get up and get an hour or so of my training in before I have to start training Hunter", he thought to himself. He slowly opened his eyes and threw the covers off of him. Baylor rolled out of bed and landed face first on the floor. He jumped up off the floor, thankful that he had his own room so that no one would see what had just happened.

He pulled on his wet suit; he planned to train in water today. He didn't even bother to fix his hair as he did every morning; not that it needed to be fixed since he always kept it in a military crew cut. He then pulled on his boots and laced them up. Baylor then grabbed his watch off the nightstand beside his bed and strapped it to his wrist. Then he asked himself: glasses or contacts? This was the question he asked himself every day. "I could wear my glasses for now; most people are still sleeping at this point anyways, then later when I go to train Hunter I can put my contacts in. But then again my glasses are stylish, BUT then there's the whole issue of blind spots cause of my frames." Contacts it is. It was very normal for him to talk to himself in his head or even out loud.

He stepped out into the darkened hall and turned left to head towards the training arena upstairs. He knew the path in the dark all too well. When he first got here at the school when he couldn't sleep he would slowly make his ways upstairs to the arena and do some form of training. Whether it was mental, physical, or emotional, he would train himself every night after everyone had gone to bed.

Baylor had decided on what he was going to try before he had even gotten all the way up the stairs. He had been trying and trying to do it for years. He needed to be in water and be able to freeze the water around him. This was the one thing that stood between him and his training being complete. Every time he tried he would get so close but he would get tired before he got it to freeze; he was hoping since he got to bed early last night that he would be able to do it today.  

He filled the small pool with water and then stepped in. The water would be freezing to a normal human being, but he was no normal human being. The water wasn't even cold to him. He started to focus on the water and trying to get the temperature in the pool to drop. He could feel his energy leaving his body, and the weird thing was he actually enjoyed the feeling. He welcomed it. He then started to feel the temperature drop, just slightly though, not much. Then he saw it, he saw the layer of ice start to form on top of the water. Then it was gone, focus lost. He tried three more times with the same outcome. He got out of the water and grabbed a towel. Then he glanced at his watch, it read 5:30. "Well I guess I will go wake Hunter up, I'll start training her at 6." He cut the lights off in the arena as he walked out. He went down the two flights of stairs to get to the girls floor. What room did Horrin say she was staying in? "Oh yes, room 281." As he walked past the rooms he counted off the room numbers in his head.  "215, 217, 219…..267, 269, 271…..279, 281."  There it is. He double checked the number, 281. He heard something moving inside the room but thought nothing of it. He lifted his hand to the door to knock; then he paused. "Why is this so hard for me, I'm just trying to get her up to train her, that's it. Grow up, be a man."  He did it, 'Knock. Knock. Knock.' Then he stepped away from the door. He heard her moving and fumbling with something from inside the room. He was shocked when Hunter opened the door and had a gun pointed at his head.

"Baylor, why are you knocking on my door so early?" She asked him lowering her gun.

"Cause it's time to get up." He said.

"Well, I am apparently awake."

"Sorry, but training starts at 6, meet me upstairs, in this." Baylor said as he handed her a black wet suit, with a pair of knee high boots and a pair of gloves.

"Ok, and the wet suit is for......?"
"You will find out during your training today. Oh btw, prepare to be exhausted by the end of the day. You will just want to sleep by the time I am done with you." Baylor told her.

"We will see, I am really tough, you will have to push me pretty hard."  She told him as she grabbed the clothing from his hands. She turned around and walked back into her room and shut the door.

At exactly 6 Baylor walked into the arena, he didn't see her. "Maybe she has her phone on her." He said to himself. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed her number. It went to voicemail. "Well, I guess I will just have to push her harder if she is going to be late to her first training session. She will learn quickly that I don't put up with this crap."  At 6:10 Baylor's phone rang, he looked at the caller ID, Hunter Jakobson. He answered, "Hello?" No reply, he turned around and was looking at the door to see if she was there, when all of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Damn Hunter, how long have you been here?" Baylor asked after he came over the initial shock of her being right behind him.

"Oh, well i have been in here since about 5:50. I was just watching you wait for me, and listening to you talk to yourself." She said almost laughing.

"Oh you heard me talking to myself? What did you hear me say?" He asked alarmed.

"Oh I heard you, I heard everything you said. JK, Brosky, I could only hear you mumbling to yourself, couldn't make out any of the words you said." She said. "Dude, you need to lighten up, you are too high strung."

"You are the second person to tell me that, I guess I may need to lighten up."

Baylor couldn't figure her out. What did she know about him that he didn't? He had no idea, but he didn't have the time to think about it right now. He needed to have her do the initial run through of the training course. He just wanted to see where she was physically. His personal best on the course was 4 minutes and 32 seconds, if she could beat that he would know where to start her.

"Hunter, I am going to have you run this obstacle course, just to see where you are physically. Rules are you can't stop moving until you have finished the course. I want you to stretch before you run it though." Baylor told her.

"Huh, Obstacle courses have always been easy for me.  But Ok."

"We shall see how easy they are for you, then after that I want you to try something that I have been trying for years to accomplish only to fail every time." Baylor told her. He knew that if she could accomplish the freezing water technique that he had been trying to do for years that it would be HE that SHE would need to train.

The obstacle course contained several things that a person would need upper body strength to complete. Things such as the rope climbing portion and the monkey bars that went up and down all the way across. There were other things that didn't require strength but instead smarts, although this part always confused him, why did there need to be a logistical part to an obstacle course? This was one thing he would never figure out. Then to finish off the course there were a series of rock walls to climb up and down, and a tight rope to walk across.

"How fast did you run it?" she asked him.

"I will tell you after you have run it."

"Ok well whats the fastest time so far?"

"Just over 4 minutes, 4:20. This record may or may not be held by yours truly." he replied.
Baylor Johnson from Hunter's story
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The feminine figure laid on her bed, examining the white walls of her quarters,seeing all the pictures that crest had drew for her.On these pictures where figures,two with black banged hair, one with white hair with silver streaks,and one with a red goatee,short hair,and a sinister hell-hound smile,like that of a hungry wolf stalking its prey,getting ready for the kill.

She turned on her back and looked at the white ceiling,sighing.She began to close her eyes as everything around her went silent and dark.

She awoke in a forest that seemed endless.The trees where all dead,gray,lowering down sometimes.She picked herself up and began to walk trying to find anyone in this dead forest.Suddenly a figure was seen,a small girl.She came close to her and reached out for her.

It was no female,it was a silhouette of a young girl.She wore a white dress,and held a stuffed bear.She began running.

The female however looked at her hand,and saw a JERICHO MK IV claw.She saw it, she was in the Shinagami armor,her name written on her shoulder pad,was named"Sayia".

Sayia hesitated and began to follow the girl. A few whispers began to say and repeat various things and phrases,many included" Death will come for you" "You cannot escape the wolfs hunt" You cannot escape us." "You killed us Sayia, for the true evil."

Sayia shook her head and ran, she saw the girl and reached out for her.Her red eyes glowed going to her,then suddenly the girls shadow disappeared and revealed itself, it was Sayia when she was younger.

Sayia backed up,shadows consumed her, she struggled to find light and turned seeing a red glare.Standing there...was a figure...with red mist glowing around him he wore black clothing,his black hair had red mist traveling through the figures hair.His eyes glowed red revealing them has he looked up.

Sayia was a bit entranced by this then noticed his hands, where glowing red claws dripping with red plasma. She turned and saw a door and ran to it, but the figure was behind her walking slowly.Sayia tried to open the door,then it opened.

She ran out,looking back a few times in the old hallway the figure kept getting closer and closer,She finally smiled once she saw her friend,the ONI shadow lowering his hand smiling at her,his eyes hidden in darkness.The sound of a pelican roared through the hallway, light shined into the dark and sinister hallways.

Sayia reached up,and before she grabbed her friends hand,he pulled back,looking at her frowning.She frowned, tears rolled down her face.Suddenly she fell, free falling for at least a solid minute then landed in something red.

She got out of the blood of red substance and saw,blood,she stepped out,but a hand grabbed her, she noticed the wall was covered in bodies, bodies of people the shadow had told her to "eliminate for a better world".

Sayia looked around as they all groaned,wanting to rip her apart for killing them.sayia stood in the blood,and was suddenly blinded by a white glow.She ran to it thinking the shadow had returned to her, She hugged the figures clothing smiling thinking she was safe as the figure patted her head.She looked up,and suddenly frowned.

It was the figure,or as many ONI operatives call him"DEATH" the rage...of sorrow.

She tried to back away,then suddenly a hand went through her chest.It was DEATH,rage of sorrow.

Sayia looked up seeing its eyes, glowing red,words written in rage lettering wher ein hsi eyes, around his mouth where red stitches blood dripped down the edges of his mouth.His smile scared sayia,she saw his hand moved upward,then drove down into her eyes,blackness surrounded her.

Sayia woke up sweating she held her head in her hands and began to pant.She felt her heartbeat,it was accelerated. She sighed,same nightmare she had a few nights ago,it was a reoccurring nightmare.One she did not want to experience.

Sayia turned to the door hearing a few knocks.She waited for someone to say something.

"Sayia?"a young female voice said quietly.

"Its and the others have an objective to do today....".crest  quietly said looking down.

Sayia stood up getting off her bed,and walked to the door.She opened it as crest looked up,greeting her with a smile."Hi,sleep well?"Crest said closing her eyes and standing with her arms behind her back giving off her heart warming smile.

Sayia looked down at her,she treated crest like a younger sister,she put her hand on top of crest's head.

"I slept well."Sayia said in her emotionless voice.Sayia hated lying to crest,but she didn't want her worrying about her.Sayia wanted crest to be happy,even if she has to lie in order to preserve that happiness.

"Good!"crest said bouncing up."I'm happy you got good sleep too".She said while smiling warmly to Sayia.

Sayia looked over and saw a young boy walking over,she saw he already had his cloth wrappings over his left eye,his hood was down.

"Hello sayia"He began."Hello crest"

Crest ran over and hugged the young man. Giggling in the process.

"Fear! your actually awake for once."Crest said while putting her finger on her chin." I wonder if that's meaning something."She commented then looked at him sternly.Have you been practicing black magic? hmm?"She said putting her hands to her side,and putting her face in front of his.

"N-no!"fear replied backing up."I just went to sleep early i swear!"

"Hmm..."crest said,making sure he wasn't lying."Okay! your telling the truth. good work fear! a good soldier has to be up and early!"Crest said making a triumphant pose pointing to the sky.

"Yeah....your telling me."Fear said looking to sayia."Also,Sayia mam.The shadow has requested us for a task.I wasn't told anything else,but to report to the briefing room."

"Crest had told me.Shall we go then?And where is Cerberus?"Sayia asked.

"Already there,and already armored and always...hes ready to kill."Fear said frowning.

Crest froze up at cerberus's name.She feared him greatly seeing the horrors he does to soldiers on the battlefield.Even their own.

"Uh...sorry crest,sayia lets go."Fear said nodding to the hallway.

Sayia nodded,then looked at crest.In return crest looked back up and smiled.She gave Sayia a small hug."Be careful...okay?"She said worryingly.

Sayia nodded,then turned and began to walk to the briefing center.
My new side story about the ONI shinagami's and what they are capable off.

Its a dark spin of my story Brotherhood.The shinagami's are called to the briefing room for one of the shadow's dark operations.What does it hold? what secrets will be broken? we will find out more in the next chapter.

(occ took a while for me to write. i hope you guys enjoy this.)
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Well...its been a year since reach....since i lost many friends and family,since i lost the love of my live,and...since i nearly lost my entire squad.But,i made a soul promise,i'd protect them with my life. I've had to many losses,but that ends this day.Heh listen to me rant i forgot to introduce myself, my name is Jack Christopher noeland.I'm and ODST (orbital drop sock trooper)i was a army soldier on reach....but thats past me now,i cant tell you the horrible memories i saw on that planet.Well anyways let me give you the rundown.Im a commander,and im with a unsc division thats always been known as the best of the best 1st disivion wolf pack.In second in command,and my right hand man,is my childhood friend,Dibs dubbo.He's austrailian,mean,and ready to kill the covenant,just the soldier i need for the second in command.He carries a pretty mean shotgun,its from  when we where on reach,the special thing about it,is that it as tree barrels on it.He regrets what happened to us on reach,he wont let that happen again,not even if the entire damn covenant fleet stands in his way.Then we have seth matthews another childhood friend.Seth is the sniper of the squad,never leaves the pack without that rifle.He is on a soul search for his fiance monica,a researcher trying to find a cure for some virus.Hes hellbent on makeing sure he gets her back,not the covenat,or the innsurection will stop that.Then we have Dex,my little buddy,hes basically the pointman,equiped with a m237 light  machine-gun.Get him in range of the covies and he'll blow the covies away in a heartbeat.Hes also very trigger happy and has a hyper personality.Next up is blake,hes african american,likes heavy weapons,and is mainly known as" big brotha" as the marines call him.He uses the Spunker alot(the rpg) and the machine gun turrent detachable.His personality is happy,and caring,this guy is a true member of wolf pack,he never leaves a man behind.Then theres rickey,hes....well kinda the smart elect of the squad,he uses the assault rifle and the smg,he and dex dont useally get along either.This is my team,and i want to make sure that they dont end up like what happened on reach.Ill throw down my life if i have to to ensure that.Well thats all i can write for today,it seems we got inssurectionist activity,time to get the wolfs prepped for the hunt.

Jack Christoper noeland out.
here it is finally.the proluge to ODST Brotherhood my odst story.The proluge is based of jacks point of view.the rest of the sory will be in thrid person.and yes for now they are fighting against rebels.

leave a comment if you want.
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Sayia walked through the halls,feeling the eyes of the oni soldiers upon her.It didn't   phase,or spook her,in  fact her presence spooked them,did she care?No sayia was used to people being afraid of her. She knew she had nothing to be afraid of,just loosing her fellow shinagami's.She had finally entered the shinagami's gathering room,where the shinagamis sat in chairs as the shadow projected a hologram showing their briefing, intelligence,enemy faction weapons and vehicles,and their targets.Sayia sat in her chair which overlooked the round room she stared down them watching them chat and converse,besides yuki who spent most of her time humming her mothers song she wrote for her when she was a little girl.

Suddenly a silhouette appeared  in the middle of them all, smoking a cigarette,it was their leader,the infamous ONI shadow.The leader of ONI

"Good evening shinagamis."he softly spoke,like a gentleman.

"Good evening shadow sir."they quietly replied.

"hump...whatever tell us what the fuck we gotta do,i skipped lunch im starving!"cerberus said leaning against his chair and spitting on the ground.

"All in time cerberus,all in time."the shadow replied calmly he walked around the room looking at each one."I'm sure all of you know,the freelancers are no more the force they where.Nothing more than fugitives on the run,No where to run,no where to seek refuge,and no where to hide."He said having a bit of happiness in his voice for once.

"Yes shadow we've known this for a while know, shades division is currwently hunting down the lone survivor."Sayia said calmly.

"Survivor?"the shadow asked while turning back then walking to sayia."I think not."

All the shinagamis where suprized,the freelancer where all killed at their base stationed on a world in reach's system.Shades forces had hunted them all down and eliminated them.

"Bullshit! that is total bullshit and you know it!"Cerberus angrily replied growling even.

"Down cerberus..."the shadow said very sternly starring at him causing him to back down and growl lowly.

"Now thats out of the way i shall continue."the shadow said walking to the map and touching holograms and moving them to the middle of the circular room.Showing a world, Genesis.A world beyond the sol system.A insurrectionist planet.

"Genisis."yuki said rising up."Why are the dogs attacking their? why are they hiding there? was anyone hurt?"yuki asked in worry.

"Yuki calm yourself everything is fine,the rebels are hiding them there giving them a home while they rest and heal.No one was hurt."the shadow replied taking a puff of the cigarette.

Yuki sat down and  relaxed herself taking control of her fast breaths."yes shadow i will follow your orders."

The shadow knew what was on Genesis that belonged to yuki,he knew the insurrectionist where keeping it under their command.Hence why he wanted to go there and get it back.

"The freelance dogs are hiding in Toksik, the capitol city of the continent "Serine".The ones i have selected to hunt them down are here."he touched the hologram it spun and morphed into a square showing the three shinagamis.Cerberus,Fear,and Sayia.

"Damnit..."yuki quietly said underneath her breath looking down knowing she couldn't go.

The shadow saw this and became a bit worried he clicked a button on his pedistool and listed yuki with crest and abigale.

"Oh theres...a certain "item" we have to acquire on this planet as well,it belongs to a individual in your room. Your orders will update as you go upon your search operation."he said while smiling a bit,putting out the bud of his nicotine stick.

Yuki looked up and became filled with joy.She didn't show it but she was happy,if it wasn't there she will understand.Every road must come to an end and she knew she would find what shes looking for.Even if it took her years to finally find it,she wouldn't give up.

"Thank you shadow sir"she said while gracefully bowing her head giving her, respects."I will do my part as leader of the second team while our other brothers and sisters are away eliminating the threat the UNSC has to throw at us.I give you my word i will not let you down.You or my brothers and sisters."she said while kneeling then rising back up."But abigales mental state is she battle ready to go on a operation?"yuki asked concerned.She didnt want another hanger incident again where the walls where paitned red with a soldiers blood.

"I asked our doctor and he has informed me she is ready on your way to the hanger please stop by her room and get her if you will im sure shes ready to test her new ability."The shadow simply remarked.

"Uh sure i gues me and crest will stop by seeing as abigale only responds to yuki sayia or crest.I attempted to take her hand and she bit me..."Fear said scoffing while smiling at crest who simply giggled and smiled back.

"You will do as the shadow asks,and you will not ask questions. Am i understood?"sayia said standing looking down at Fear with her petrifying gaze.

"Yes sister i will sister"Fear quickly replied.

"Alright shinagami's dismissed."the shadow said as they all turned and headed their seperate ways.Getting ready for the trip ahead,and their operation.

Yuki stayed behind and looked up at him not moving.

"Hmm?"the shadow asked while turning."Yuki is something of the matter?"

She looked down" I promise i will not let you down my shadow...i will make myself worthy of your command.

The shadow gave a small smirk and nodded." I'm most certain you will yuki.Now go to your brethren they need you.I know you will not let them down or me yuki.Good luck my dear."the shadow said as he smiled,and faded from view.

Yuki looked back up and turned, opening the door and headed to the armory,she was ready to take what was hers back,at any cost.

Fear and crest moved through the decks of the med lab. Oni soldiers talked about pains in their arms,cramps in their sides that wouldn't go away,bullets they took form wolf pack soldiers in Russia.The standard monday in oni.

"Gah,too many wounded ya know crest?"fear said trying to start a conversation, something he was very bad at.

"I guess, usually wounded soldiers enjoy having me around "she said walking putting her arms behind her head." Sadly i do not think i will be able to fight fact i may just remain in the transport."crest said looking down."It was an honor and a privilege just to come with you guys due to my illness."crest said looking at fear.

Fear looked down then into her eyes,he knew she was ill,and the shadow was doing all he could to prevent it from gettiing worse,its why he joined the shinagami's for crest and to protect her.

"But hey crest look on the bright side,i know you cannot fight and i know you want to to help us,but you at least don't have to stay here by yourself. You get to coem with us for once right?"Fear aid smileing

"Yes,your right i shouldn't keep getting all worked up over this lets go get abby and head to the others!"crest said cheerfully.

"Thats the crest i know."fear said smileign and following her like a shadow.

They soon entered the hallway to abigale her cell was located down it at the very end.It was a solid white hallway with guards at the plexi-glass  wall in the middle of the hallway.The guards steps to the side and let them through.Crest heard abigale sinign her dark lullabies she enjoyed them,Fear however shivered at her quiet singing.They neared the cell and stopped.There was a silence,the singing stopped, then suddenly quiet foots steps were heard coming close to the door.

"Who is it!?"a voice yelled.

"Hi abby its me crest!"she said not even phased.

Fear had his red phosphorous claw ready,it was hidden behind his rags and cloth he wrapped around it. minus the finger parts.

There was a quiet silence then suddenly the singing began.Crest opened the door and walked into the darkness of the room as fear followed.There they saw abigale on her back with her knees brought up to her chest in a fetal position singing her songs.Around her wall where drawing of her killing her parents,one shown her pulling their insides out as she smiled,while another one showed her burning them,a few others show her mutilating them and putting their bodies on display as she smiled.

"Hi crest! oh...hey fear..."she said looking to the side.For once her full body restraint suit was loose, she could walk and use her arms and legs.

Fear smiled and waved,very awkwardly,he didnt want to be around abigale at all,knowing she wanted to be alone with crest or sayia.

"So abigale,are you ready?"crest said while smiling.

"Eh?"abigale looked up having her head on the floor,they seemed to be upside down,her legs where bent and hanging off the wall her arms where spread out,she was happy to move around."What'cha mean by that?"she said flipping and coming straight up,she tilted her head in confusion ,one of her fanged teeth poked out of her closed mouth.

"Oh you and i get to go on a assignment together for once!"Crest said holding abigales hand.

"Hmm....we get to kill stuff?"she said looking at her.

"I'm sure there will be hostiles for you to take down."crest replied.

"Good its my....ya know...i need somethign to kill"she said bitting her fanged teeth together making a click noise.Crest giggled at this.

"Yeah i guess we get to work together huh abigale?"Fear said trying to be friendly.

"Hmmp...your going? perfect let me kill myself so i won't suffer."she said going to the door."Come on crest lets go!"she said happily taking her hand and running off.

"Whaaa!see you at the hanger fear!"Crest said as she was dragged out of the white hallway.

Fear sighed and shook his head"This is going to be one hell of a story isn't?"he said as he began to walk to the others,the shinagamis,his brothers and sisters,his family.
WHOA so much bigger chap,im sorry guys since this is a side story only gonna have about 10 chaps into it gotta make other chaos like this long.

as you can see the shinagamis are after the disavowed freelancers whats left of them in a search and destroy op.

as well as a search op for....whatever it is yuki wants to find..

this took me about an hour or so to write im glad wrters block is lifted.

and may i say its good to write this story again there will be more on the way my friends enjoy this!

odstshane out!
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Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty

Release One: Pages 1 - 3

THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a simple festival of bloodshed and cold murder. In war it did not matter if you impaled a stranger on the edge of your sword, such a thing would be punishable in any city or country, but in times of war it became an accepted norm. If the man in front of you wore a different colour, then it was alright to kill him, it was alright to rip him apart for he was an enemy. That was the twisted reality of combat and looking back on his memories of the field; the Baron wondered how he had ever considered such a thing to be glorious. Instead, he found himself almost repulsed by the thought of spilling another man's blood. It is difficult to understand the frenzy that grips a man. War is a mere keyword for destruction, it is a word of power that transforms a rational man into one without morals; who still believes himself to be just. The Baron sighed; it would do him no good to think about such things. Instead, he had to focus on the present. No longer was he the confident, barrel-chested youth with the strength of an Ox, but no less were his responsibilities even in his old age. Somehow, though he could no longer lead or inspire his armies, he would have to protect the peace that he had obtained and doing so would require a sacrifice. A sacrifice, he repeated to himself. The balding, grey-haired man that was reflected in the window seemed to smile. I will pay any price, he thought to himself, if I may enjoy these days of peace and stability. Marina will be getting married next spring, the lucky boy is a rich merchant so she'll have little to worry about. Marco on the other hand will be heading off to the Royal Knights academy in autumn and it will be four years before he graduates. Until then, I must keep things the way they are, I must keep things from changing, at least until they can all stand on their own. The Baron smiled wryly as he saw the irony in his current situation. He had participated in the War of Unification as naught but a commoner, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Now he was a noble lord who had all he desired, but stood to lose it all. Fate can be both humourous and cruel, he chuckled to himself, in the end it seems as though my life has come full circle. Once I had nothing and now I desire nothing. All that is left to me is to maintain this existence, at least for awhile longer for the sake of my children who have no need to dirty their hands. Rorke shivered again, it was a cold night but he had been instructed not to make a fire. They would not come if he made a fire…

    Rorke was about to slip comfortably back into his own reverie, when the doors to his study burst open without warning. He was shocked at first, but the Baron quickly straightened his back and stood firmly. He had been informed that they would enter his home in such a manner and he had prepared himself to receive them. The air in the room seemed to stagnate immediately as though its movement were no longer permitted. A thick miasma of gloom and despair settled over the entire area and Rorke's mind grew troubled. Nerves, worries, fears of his childhood, all of it began to scurry forth like spiders from the dark recesses of his mind and the very act of swallowing his own saliva became difficult, as though something hard and lumpy had been caught in his throat. A cloaked figure appeared in the previously empty doorway, it was a slender and graceful individual that seemed to glide into the study. It was accompanied by a giant, armed from head to toe, that stood just two steps behind it, his presence making the entire room seem small and cramped. The first of the two figures, the normal sized one, pushed back the hood of its cloak and instantly the atmosphere of gloom vanished. Rorke found himself staring now, at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his entire life. Her skin was flawless, unblemished and perfect; lips as red as the finest of roses. Her eyes sparkled like green pools of mystery and power and her long dark hair appeared to be as soft as silk. Her entire body seemed to carry the promise of forbidden pleasure and though the cloak hid it from sight, Rorke was painfully aware of the temptation that lay beneath the thin veil of cloth. This lady, is an enchantress! he thought to himself, trying desperately to fight against her charms. She is definitely a wielder of the arcane arts

    "I am as you believe me to be," the figure responded, seemingly reading his thoughts. Her voice was rich and melodious and it seemed to soothe Rorke's heart and mind, his suspicions of her falling away immediately.

    "I-I greet you," said Rorke, feeling slightly breathless. He thought that he should probably offer them a handshake and show them due courtesy, but his legs simply refused to obey him. "Forgive me for my lack of manners; I seem to be unable to approach you."

    "That is fine," said the lady, her lips curving into a confident smile, "A worm has no right to touch me in the first place. Arghast is the only one permitted contact, aren't you?" The lady turned to smile at her companion, who remained silent with just the barest nod to acknowledge her statement.

    Rorke found himself unable to look directly at the lady without feeling a shameful amount of lust and so he averted his eyes away from her, settling upon the giant. This man was indeed a titan and he easily dwarfed his female companion by a large margin. He appeared to be about seven feet tall, perhaps slightly under, but his muscular physique combined with his heavy armaments to multiply his size and make him very intimidating. Rorke thought that he looked like a walking fortress and that nothing in the world would have an easy time in trying to topple him. Rorke shivered as the idea of facing someone like him in the field crossed his mind. It would be an utterly terrifying experience with the only options being retreat or death. It made him glad that he long since retired from the field. Still, a part of his soldier's instinct remained with him and before he knew it, Rorke was doing a mental identification of everything the giant was carrying. Amongst the various plates of armor, Rorke noted the following arms:  one pair of battle axes, with a vicious serrated edge on each one, strapped across his back for easy access; several throwing knives, holstered around his waist, all curved in an unnatural manner; one batch of throwing axes, heavy headed and hand-made, hanging freely from his belt and within quick reach of his right hand. Rorke couldn't particularly quite see it well, but the giant also appeared to be carrying a large shield-like object across his shoulders. Rorke thought that he might have a closer look at it, but his gaze was forcibly torn away and brought back to focus upon the lady.

    "A worm should not be averting his sight from one as beautiful as I am," said the lady, walking slowly toward the Baron, her hips swaying gently with each step. "Am I of no interesting to you?"

    The Baron's breathing quickened and he felt his heart beating faster, but this wasn't excitement, this was fear. "No m'am," he stammered, using a polite title despite the lady being obviously younger than him, "I meant no disrespect."

    "But of course you didn't," said the lady, reaching out with her right hand to stroke his cheek gently. "I did not permit it after all."

    The Baron's thoughts began to grow cloudy, the lady's touch was so soft and warm and her scent was heavenly, it made him hungry, hungry to be close to her.

    "Would you like to be my newest toy?" asked the lady.

    The Baron was about to answer with a loud 'yes', when he was thankfully brought back to his senses by a wicked curved knife that flashed in front of his face, embedding itself all the way down to the hilt upon his writing desk. The armoured giant approached him and retrieved the knife, the Baron blinking blearily at him. "My apologies," the giant rumbled, his voice sounding like a rock-slide, "my sister finds it difficult to avoid playing with those who are…inclined to temptation."

    "Ah, I see," replied the Baron, the fog slowly lifting from his mind. "That's dangerous," he muttered lamely, his brain not quite functioning.

    Arghast had just barely sheathed his weapon when he was violently knocked to the ground by his female companion. "Do not interrupt me!" she shrieked at him. Arghast seemed unfazed by her temper tantrum and got to his feet with a shrug, "you may now resume your explanation sister."

    The lady scowled at him and turned back to face the Baron, "I am Akara, the Pale Mistress of Death. This armoured giant, as I've said before, is my brother Arghast. We are the Seekers and we are willing to offer our services as long as you can pay the price."

    Rorke nodded and shook his head, trying to clear it in vain, "I-I do have what you seek here." He reached for the drawer on the left side of his writing desk, digging around in it for a glowing purple crystal. This had been a gift from a powerful mage during the war and Rorke had kept it with him as a sort of lucky charm. He was told that it contained powerful magic, but he was obviously unable to use it. "Will this be enough for you m'am?"

    "Ah, such a pretty bauble," smiled Akara, as she raised her right hand and waved at it, causing the crystal to leap into the air and soar into her waiting palm. "Oh yes, this will do very nicely. I haven't seen this one yet!"

    "Is it one of the memories we seek?" asked Arghast, folding his arms across his chest.

    Akara shook her head and pocketed the gem, "I have no way to tell for the moment brother, I will have to examine it with my magic. However, before we can play around with it, I do believe that we owe it to our dear Baron to fulfil his request. After all, he has already paid us a handsome price. Now tell me my dear Baron, what do you wish in exchange for this?"

    "An end," said Rorke as the fog that clouded his mind cleared away. "I desire an end to Baron Torval's life, for I know that he intends to attack my lands come spring. I-I cannot afford to lose what I have and though my army could hold him, I would prefer not to have unnecessary casualties on my end. If Baron Torval is killed however, his chiefs will begin to fight amongst themselves and my lands will be safe for a few years to come."

    Akara smiled, but it was an expression without warmth. It reflected only her cruelty and her desire to inflict pain, "as it has been requested, so too shall it be done." With a quick swirl of her cloak, a surge of dark magic filled the air and both she and the giant vanished, dissolving away into the taunting shadows. When it was done, Baron Rorke's hair was left standing on end and he felt as though his very soul had been violated. In the end, he wound up sitting in his study until dawn the next day, unable to move, think or sleep. All I needed was a sacrifice right? With this, everything will end and my children will be safe. No more will I need to get anything dirty, no more, no more…

-Chen Yuan Wen, 1st September 2012
If you enjoyed this lovely little fantasy and would like to see more original works like this, don't forget to click the fave button :3.

Author's Comments:
As promised ^^ Here is a story release. I'm actually re-writing mercenary, since my writing skills have upgraded a little bit and I am looking to practice more on setting the scene mood and using good imagery. I probably should submit to groups to get more feedback, but this took longer than expected and so nyeeeh >3< I'll do it with the next release xD

Enjoy everyone ^^ and don't forget to thumbs up for original literature (not that there's anything bad with fan fiction but let's try to give some credit to original ideas xD).

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:
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It Came From The Dark:

Amongst the ashes, swirling from the darkness of the pit,

Emerged a hand, dragging a battered body across the rocks.

Blood leaked from the wounds so callously self-inflicted,

And teeth ground with a focused determination and seething anger.

It cared not for the warm rubies - staining the jagged rocks,

It cared not for the sensation of pain...

All that it remembered was a dream, An obsession -

One that drove it ever higher; ignoring all else!

Eventually it emerged from this shadowy hole, this dreary depth,

And in that moment, it learned of the truth.

For this creature, denied sunlight and warmth -

was me...

-Chen Yuan Wen, 11th December 2012
Faves, comments and shares are greatly appreciated. Each click of the fave button helps me rank for popularity so if you like my work, please take a moment to click. Thank you! :3

If you'd like to hear me do some live comedy, answer questions and read poems LIVE then check out the latest two episodes of my show:

Episode 5: [link]

Episode 6: [link]

Author's Comment:

Arrr me hearties,

I'm back from HELL indeed. The days before me trip back to singapore were like being put through the fire and roasted over a blistering inferno. I experienced much and plenty of tha' is gonna come out in me works.

As ye'll note, pirate accent is back, full explanation t' come in me journal later, but I realised basically tha' th' accent is part of the fun, even if it can be a little tough t' handle eh?

Now then, I'm about t' start me hyper release of all different types of poetry and this be but th' first of many t' come. I swear on me honour as CHENBEARD TH' PIRATE. I will blow yer minds with what I've seen of a modern hell...Dante, is a little behind th' times.

Enjoy this starter piece t' get yer tongues wet...more will come, soon enough...

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:

Other Poems by Me:
Alone but AliveAlone but Alive:

Oh here I am standing,
A lost soul is landing.

The coldest December,
Can you still remember?

Do you even hear me?
There's no one around me!

Oh shadow that I see,
The void right behind me.

Yet still I am breathing;
Yet still I am feeling.

The coldest sensation,
Oh worthless creation!

Are you still crying?
Oh why are you lying - abandoned and cold


Cold like what was left of soul,
Made of all the life you stole.
Walk divine but made of sin,
Worm of hatred squrim within.

Sin of lust and sin of pride,
Lash the tongue that last has lied.
Yours was silver with a promise,
Kiss of death and then you vomit.

You Have No Right To LiveYou Have No Right To Live:

Hey, what are you doing?
That's mine, now give it back.
You're stupid, you should just go die!

Okay, I'm sorry...

What, you failed again?
Just how much money do you think we're spending on this,
Do you think it just falls from the sky?
I can't believe you; and don't give me that look!
You better straighten up now you hear me
And if you keep looking like a dead fish,
I'm going to make you wish you were one.

I'm sorry...

Hey, being around you is driving me nuts,
You never want to do anything, you don't even care,
Why bother even breathing if you're going to act like you're dead!

I'm sorry!

I Am A WriterI Am A Writer:

Gentlemen, today I speak to you
To convey an issue that has plagued the core of our community.
For so long have we been considered second-class;
To this day there are those who still believe that we are not artists.
But today is not about freedom, today is about honour,
Because there are many writers that still seek to shame us all...

I speak of those individuals, who take art from others.
Covers, photos, paintings, digital art, anime and manga.
It matters not where you draw your source from,
But every action impacts upon us as a community.


When I craft my works, when I write each and ev

Other Literature by Me:
The Good Critic's GuideThe Good Critic's Guide:
I. Introduction:

   I have noticed that many critics on DA tend to leave rather harsh and sometimes subjective critiques on the pages of the artists being critiqued. Their rationale for doing so is based on the concept that 'we shouldn't molly-coddle each other and instead "tell it like it is"'. However this type of critique reflects poorly on one who is critiquing as opposed to the one who is being critiqued and I will explain why throughout the course of this guide. In essence I hope to use this resource as a way of teaching potential critics how to properly focus their abilities and direct their critiques in a
Mercenary 1-1MERCENARY

Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty

Release One: Pages 1 - 3

THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si
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A World of Blood:

The spirits whisper on a chilling wind
As the blood continues to flow.
I can hear the demons screaming within
As the darkness continues to grow...

Humankind will always be foolish;
Rash decisions are an instinctive need.
But how could they have forgotten our ways;
Tradition is lost to greed...

The zealous will kill the innocent again
As the greedy play out a game of chess.
A book of gods becomes a creed;
It is a ragged shell at best...

My sisters die in the tens of hundreds
And innocent girls are slaughtered like swine.
I'm afraid that in this dying world;
The God of Blood shall dine...

The blind shall follow in his burning steps;
They will see within him a flame and fire.
And he knows that the hearts of passionate men
Are easily laced with glorious desire...

In dreams he calls and grants them strength
He sends his 'angels' to enchant the night.
He turns the blind into seeing creatures
And robs them of the light...

But it is here we stand in final defiance
We witches are the last of sisters three...
Midea, Fione and Lady Prinstine;
We shall fight for what is free...

"Come demons, from the mouth of this cave you shall not pass!"

-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2012
Hey there, if you like my work and want to see more, feel free to drop me a fave ^^.


Arrr, the THIRD release of WITCH WEEK. Basically, I wanted to do something a little more heroic. Witches are always portrayed as being aligned with the devil, but what if the exact opposite was true.

Come, let me show you a different point of view...

-Captain Chenbeard of the Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:


Swan Song - [link]
The Secret Garden - [link]
What is Love? - [link]
Shards of Me - [link]
No Meaning, Just Feeling - [link]
Hey Dad - [link]


SANGUINE Chapter 1 - 1 - [link]
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Don't be offended at the title. "Teenagers" is just my way of saying "people who write unprofessional/shallow stories." Not all teenagers write shallow stories, it just sounds catchier.... Anyway.

The first thing I want to make clear is: I'm not talking about anything mechanical in this deviation. Grammar/spelling is important (obviously), but that point has been beaten to death by people on the internet already. My purpose, as always, is to talk about the stories themselves, regardless of the way they are communicated. Whether it be through written word or on-the-spot narration, I believe there are certain tricks to telling good stories. Not rules, mind you. Tricks.

I don't believe that telling good stories is about what you "should" do, rather than what you shouldn't. Example: people generally hate Mary Sues, right? Well, sometimes I notice things that are "like" Mary Sues, in the sense that they're equally as shallow/unprofessional ways of telling stories. The purpose of this deviation is to point them out. I won't be talking about Mary Sues or self inserts in this deviation. This is about things that tend to go more unnoticed (I already have deviations about those anyway).

1. Thinking that "most" = best

Sometimes people who write think they're making "the best story ever," because it's the MOST dramatic, MOST dark, MOST romantic MOST (insert your choice of adjective here). Having the most of something doesn't equate to it being the best. Think of it like salt.

2. Unbalance

Do you ever read a story, and it feels like there was a big hole in it? Maybe it was a tragedy that focused on nothing but tragic events. The author got carried away in their emotions and didn't create a well-rounded world for us to care about while the sad things take place. Sure, sad things are sad, but that is no accomplishment of the author. It would be MORE sad if the audience had a well-created world to be sad about in the first place.
In fanfiction, the writers have the advantage of writing about something that people already care about. That's how a lot of people with barely any imagination can get so many people to like their fanfiction stories. "Hey! Let's take the Once-ler and find a way to drench him in blood! It sure took talent to think of that!"
Never judge someone's imagination by how popular their fanfiction is. Never...

3. Narcissism

Sometimes people consider themselves to be a certain way. They write certain genres or about certain themes for the sake of adding to their self-proclaimed image. They use their stories as stepping stones (a lot of times without even realizing it) to show off in front of other people. A lot of times it's in the little things, strategically placed to look innocent or humble. "The woman shook her head in admiration at *insert-person-that's-supposed-to-be-like-them's-name.* 'That girl sure is *insert-their-choice-of-adjective!* We may never understand her!"

4. Abusing character roles (sort of a Part 2 of Narcissism)

I want you to think about Belle from Beauty in the Beast for a minute (the Disney version). If you're familiar with it, think of the song sung by the villagers about her in the beginning. Has anyone else ever noticed something...odd about it? The villagers are singing about how different (or "weird") she is, all because she reads books and acts like... well, the average girl you'd meet every day on DeviantArt. Meanwhile, if you met one of those villagers in real life, you'd probably think of THEM as the strange ones (first of all, they're abnormally nosy, all bothering to sing a big song about a perfectly normal girl whose personal life they REALLY bothered to have apparently looked so much into... o_O).
Okay. I understand that can be a strategy in story telling (using the background to add to the general effect of a certain thing... i.e Belle wanting a break from her boring life).
I bring this up however, mostly as a warning. I don't know healthy it is, that a lot of teenager girls these days really seem to think they're sooo great that they write stories about themselves and use other people as tools to look good. They make people (sometimes fake, sometimes real) in their stories impressed far too easily by themselves (or certain things) sometimes to the point even of contradiction. It falls into the same attitude as the narcissism example.
Sometimes it goes beyond, "Oh, a cute little Disney story," and gets really narcissistic and vain.
A story will suffer if it's written for anything besides the pure pleasure of writing it. Ulterior motives distract from making it the best it possibly can be. Not to mention, nobody likes being used as an audience for people who can't stop shining the spotlight on themselves. (It needed to be said).
Furthermore, Disney movies are corny. It's a fact. That's why we like them. The point is simple: if you are writing a CORNY story, feel free to use their little trick of making the whole world conform to one character/theme (heck, make everyone burst into song about them!) If you're NOT writing a corny story, avoid it at all costs. It's a cheap trick, and it's no substitute for actually making there be something special about whatever character/thing you're trying to make something special about.

Fun fact: "Bully" characters are possibly the biggest form of abuse to story-telling. This can be in the form of a snooty, popular girl at school who picks on the main-character we're supposed to feel sorry for, or in the form of unreasonably/obsessively cruel bullies who are far from even borderline realistic. They're the classic example of cheating in a story; the cheapest way to make other characters seem special or victim-ly.

5. Pretty feelings

Did you ever put on an Owl City song while you were writing/drawing and think something like: Lalalalalala, beautifulness, and the dreams and the beautifullness of the wonderful outerspace, flying through the sky and the shooting stars lalala!
Yeah, we could tell.
No, seriously, it's fine to get your inspiration from wherever you want. Just make sure that while you're getting all into the music that you don't let the emotions that the song brings you be your only guide.
Sometimes people get REALLY excited about their characters or a story they're making up and draw all this beautiful art of it, and you're like, "Hey! That's an amazing picture of the main character on a shooting star! So... when can I read this?!" Then you see the story, and think, "...this is it?"
Don't fall into the trap of thinking that your emotions are the story. A lot of people who listen to music while they write make this mistake, though that isn't to say that listening to music when you write is always automatically bad.

To conclude this, there's really only one thing I want to say. Write because you like to. Write about things you like no matter what they are and force them to fit together. Write about things that you like and wouldn't be too ashamed to show your friends or family. Odds are, if you're too embarrassed to show it to the people you know best, it's not coming from the heart. I don't mean "your emotions" as your heart. It's not really YOU if it's something you're embarrassed of. Embarrassment can be a sign that you know deep down your story might be a wee bit... well, stupid.
And then there are the people with no dignity.......

I love feedback. If anyone has anything interesting to add, I'd be glad to hear!
See my other posts about writing:
How Not to tell a Story…
What really defines Mary Sue…
A list of cliches in story-telling…
Common problems with self-inserts…
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The Problem with Self Inserts

There is nothing wrong with inserting yourself into a story. Like anything, it can be well done or... not so well done. The fact is, the majority of people who tend to write about self inserts happen to be beginners. Naturally, that causes there to be a pattern of certain, specific mistakes that are frequently found whilst reading anything on the internet. The purpose of this deviation isn't to say that self inserts are bad. I'm simply going to point out the most common mistakes that we usually encounter.

1. Making ourselves better than we really are.

Don't be fooled by the word "better." This can be replaced with mysterious, deep, dark, tragic, romantic, lovable... anything we want. Maybe a mix of a few of those things. The point is, the version of ourselves will be biased.

2. Not making anything bad happen to yourself

Let's talk about the word "bad." Does this mean something, perhaps, like... getting a disease? No. It means anything that interferes with the biased image you want to portray (whatever that might be).

3. Getting big headed

Sometimes people who write about themselves start thinking about themselves waaayyy too much. They even begin to believe their own biased images of themselves (or worse. Think that everyone else falls for it too).

4. Falling into the trap

"I know! I purposely won't make myself perfect. I'll keep saying that I hate myself!"

C.S. Lewis said it the best: “True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.”

It's not about what you (or your character) would say when asked if they think they're special. "I'm the best!" "I'm the same as anyone else," and "I don't deserve to be here," are all irrelevant, meaningless phrases unless you, as the author, prove it in the way that you PORTRAY the character.

Nobody makes a Mary Sue on purpose. They are all unconscious. How many stories have you actually seen with a stereotypical Mary Sue in a pink princess gown who says, "I'm better than everyone!" and is supposed to be? Give me a big, fat break. Let me make this clear:
That is a fake, stereotype of Mary Sue made up by dumb people to feel good about themselves for not being like nonexistent even dumber people. The same people who thought they were smart for saying the world wouldn't end in 2012 when NOBODY sincerely believed that.
I'd say 100% of Mary Sues are characters that the author believes is a good character.
But I'll leave it at that since I already have a rant about Mary Sues (see link in description).


I'll be honest. Most good characters ARE self-inserts. And this is what I mean by that:
ALL well-written characters we create, inevitably have parts of us inside of them. That is actually HOW characters are well-written: because the author could relate to them and knew what they were talking about.

I know from experience that it's possible to write about characters that are over your head, and that is usually when they are poorly written. When you have a character like this, it's best to try and find a part of them that you can relate to, or at least look to real people so you can do a kind of imitation. Just make them real.

A word of advice: if you don't understand your own character, nobody else is going to. If you can't get into their head, their head will never be worth getting into at all.

I have nothing against self-inserts. I think inserting parts of yourself into characters is actually *necessary* (well, as always, depending on the style of the story. Naturally in a picture book or something it isn't that important. Again, make things deep enough for whatever you're writing). In fact, I think it's your best (probably only) bet at making a good character at all.
List of most common cliches in stories: [link]
How not to Tell a Story: [link]
Mary Sue definition: [link]
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                                  Clarifying Mary Sue

So, I realize that everyone has heard of Mary Sue characters, but the thing that bothers me is that Mary has never really been as clarified as she could be. Girls go around crying Mary Sue at every character with long pink hair, then go and create even worse Mary Sue characters in the false illusion that they're making nonMary Sue characters (or even anti-Sues) when in fact they're doing the opposite. Allow me to explain how this seems to happen.

First of all the term "Mary Sue" desperately needs to be clarified to these people, so this brings us to the very important question: What IS a Mary Sue?
At least everyone can agree on one thing. Mary Sues are characters that are so perfect it's annoying.

But. What do they mean by perfect? Everyone has different ideas of that, naturally. Unfortunately, this is how many fanfiction (and other) writers make their biggest mistakes.

When you hear the name Mary Sue what pops up in your mind? A beautiful princess who gets everything she wants, has magical powers and is loved by all the other characters around them? Is that really perfect to you?

Are you sure that in your heart you wouldn't rather be the mysterious emo that everyone else dislikes and is seriously misunderstood or the tough butt-kicking karate girl with short hair? These kind of characters can just as easily be Mary Sues as the girly girl Mary Sues that writers seem to be under the impression are the only ones.

"But my character has faults!" some might point out. Granted, this may be true, but your idea of perfect might in fact include these faults.

A common example of a Mary Sue fault that isn't really a fault is that they get into trouble because they are too caring or too nice to everyone. Well. . . This is an obviously stupid way to go about giving your character faults, BUT it's definitely not the only stupid way. You see, many people only pretend to give their characters "faults" by giving them something supposedly bad that they actually think of positively. Someone who thinks it's cool and funny to be sarcastic might make their Mary Sue character sarcastic, thus making them even closer to their personal definition of perfect.

Heck, if the author thinks shooting a gun off in an orphanage is a good thing and makes their character do it, then their character is STILL a Mary Sue, so long as it's portrayed as good (whatever "good" means. More on that soon).

Why do we hate Mary? While some of the writers might hate her because they hate girly girls in general (and labor under the impression that only girly girl characters are Mary Sues) true authors find her degrading not just because of her (usually) corny looks, background or history. Oh, no. That's the least of the problems with Mary Sue. We hate her, because she can do no wrong.

Mary Sue cannot do anything wrong. Sure, she can trip over a rock if it's funny and cute or maybe even accidentally press a button that blows up a city if it adds to the plot (naively assuming there is a plot). But she can't do anything that makes her a bad person. She cannot do anything morally wrong. At least, (and this is the most disgusting part) what's morally wrong according to the author.

"Ah, so as long as I make Mary do something unchristian she isn't a Mary Sue?"
No. Remember, this is perfect according to you. Even if you use the words "morally wrong" we all know that you're not thinking of it that way. You're not thinking, "This is the part of the story where Mary Sue makes a mistake that the audience knows is wrong and doesn't want her to do!" Give me a break. You're thinking, "This is the part of the story that makes Mary Sue more deep and mysterious and interesting!"

Also, it doesn't help that a lot of people skate over describing Mary Sue as sweaty, smelly, fat or anything like that even when it would be the realistic thing to do. Still, I'm not saying that just because you did use one of those words you're character isn't a Mary Sue either.

Mary can be your own twisted, lame or just plain pathetic idea of perfect.
Everything she does is your type of perfect. Basically reading about a Mary Sue regardless of what person's type of perfect she is feels like reading "BE LIKE ME, BE LIKE ME, BE LIKE ME," which is both tedious and insulting.

Then there are the "self-insert Mary Sues." There is nothing wrong with inserting yourself into a story. However, when people do this, they tend to make themselves seem (admit it) cooler than they really are. This could be by focusing on or emphasizing the (in some cases exaggerated) most interesting things about themself (which sometimes even leads to them getting big-headed and sometimes even believing they're really this mysterious, great person in real life). No wonder the phrases "self-insert" and "Mary Sue" usually go together.
How can you possibly try to portray yourself this way and not get a Mary Sue?

I guess, what I'm really trying to say, is that "perfect" is a very very very broad word to use as a definition for Mary Sue and if that's the definition you're going to use, don't you dare turn a blind eye to your own Mary Sues just because they don't fall in line with someone else's idea of perfect.

It doesn't matter whether they have long, flowing pink hair, special abilities, or who they fall in love with (it doesn't even matter if the author personally believes they ARE perfect). It doesn't matter if they're a tomboy full of flaws either. A Mary Sue is a character who is plainly, mercilessly and unfairly worshiped by the author (directly or indirectly, usually indirectly or even unintentionally so watch out). It's in the portrayal. What could be a Mary Sue in one author's hands could be a perfectly reasonable character in another's.

Real people could take a so-called "Mary Sue test" and score as a Sue. What then? Is the person unrealistic? Perfect? Not at all! How then do so many "self-inserts" get labeled as Sues? Because of how they are PORTRAYED.

How can stereotypical perfect characters in cartoons be bearable? Because the cartoonist is not worshiping them; they are making fun of them.

Mary Sues are not so much characters who are "so perfect that they are annoying" but characters that authors worship. "Perfect" is merely a differing opinion among everyone in the world. So Mary Sues are types of characters *portrayed* as perfect.

One could even go on to say that "perfect" isn't the only thing characters can be unfairly portrayed as. Instead of perfect, maybe evil, mysterious, deep, interesting, random, tough, or funny. It all comes down to how much the author is forcing their opinion on the audience (by doing so, they are either worshiping their character or a view of their character that we may or may not share, in an obnoxious and unfair way).

(I do have to admit at least, it seems that negative opinions are generally more tolerable than positive ones. Everyone loves to hate, but nobody likes a goody two-shoes, and calling a character out every so often can be good for a story).

One could go even FURTHER to say that not only characters can be unfairly portrayed, but THINGS in your story as well. Emotions, objects, lyrics, perhaps even the plot... The list is quite infinite.

One way to avoid doing this is to show and not tell (not even show AND tell. Worry about showing). Be fair. It's almost as simple as that: keep your opinions out of it.

While super-strong, beautiful, all-holy princesses can be corny and obnoxious that's not always the stuff Sues are made of and certainly not the only.


Many people who claim they hate "Mary Sues" actually just hate girly girls. Most of these people tend to be girls themselves, who are bitter at the stereotype and mistake it for Mary Sue or vice versa.

Others mistakenly believe that Mary Sues are girls who don't fight for themselves or rely on men. Regardless of whether that's stupid or not, it's NOT what Mary Sue means. One of these characters wouldn't be a Sue if the author portrayed them as an idiot. They would be however, if you were supposed to look up to them.

Yes, that's right: stereotype Sues made to make fun of Sues are contradictions, for Sues never make fun of themselves.
Also, Sues are not "characters who are underdeveloped." That is simply a bad character. Underdevelopment and Mary Sue characters, while they tend to go hand in hand, are not the same thing, and the absence of one doesn't necessarily mean the absence of the other.

When all is said and done, perhaps what we need to realize is that Mary Sue isn't a type of character, but a type of attitude.

Oh, and you know all of that goes for Gary Stus too, even though I used Mary Sue as the example instead of the less heard of male-version, right?
I tend to go back and add to this from time to time.
I'd LOVE to hear your feedback on this. Long comments are especially welcome!!

Proud Mary Sue hater forever!

EDIT: Another thing I thought of... It seems like Mary Sues boil down to the problem of narcissism especially since many people think of their Mary Sue characters as themselves (or something they want to be). I saw this stamp [link] and I highly recommend thinking about the point behind it. It falls into the same category as the whole Mary Sue/self-obsessed culture that there seems to so much of today. This is a rather excellent stamp as well [link]

Just for fun I'm gonna make a list of the most common types of Sues:
The "crazy psychopathic murderers"
The "sexy, butt-kicking ones that no one can get the better of" [link]
The "Random, crazy, hyper onez" (99% of the time being "random" really means being cliche).
The "depressed, deep, dark emo/goth/same-difference-always-dresses-in-black type"
The "warm/caring/friendly/a-million other adjectives that no one pays attention to" aka no personality kind.
For further cliches [link]

Fun fact: there is never, I repeat NEVER a need to state a character's breast-size. The end.
(In other words, avoid making things up out of narcissism and/or lust. It's unprofessional and lame).

I made a separate deviation on self inserts for more clarification: [link]
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He thought his heart, cold and dark,
Could not let in single ray of light
But she appeared
Like a gust of wind in a valley of sunflowers
And he loved her, and could not tell her
"Do not turn away from me like the others.''
And she stayed
And looked fondly
And touched softly
Among the golden sunflowers, tall as the sky
"I love you." It suddenly slips out from him
Her astonishment, blush, shortness of breath
Will she reject him after hearing the scared thumping
Of his heart?
He turns away, to flee
"Wait, I love you too ...''
And the heart's ice melted, the darkness gave way to light
A hug, a kiss, a desire
And suddenly a piercing sound, tearing his heart open
A gunshot
Time stood still, he stands motionless
Can happiness be so fleeting?
Her lifeless body like a marionette whose strings have been cut
A trickle of blood on her chest blooms like a rose
"Kiss me, do not go! Do not leave me alone with this love!''
But she no longer hears
She has gone away to the world of dreams and golden sunflowers
And only at night when he sleeps, and dreams about her,
That she says
"I love you, I love you, I love ..."
Whenever I attempt to write poetry, it ends up sad and/or depressing and/or dark. I don't know why, but it always happens.
Anyways, I had to write an erotic type poem for my Polish school a while back, and this is what I wrote. It was a pain, because I wrote it originally in English, then translated it all into Polish, and then later translated it again into English into this final copy. Welp. I know what I'm NOT going to do next time. XD
But I'm really happy how it turned out.
Polish version is here:

This poem was written with Russia from Hetalia in mind, but it can really be about anyone. It is kind of based on the fanfic 'Russia X Reader: Kiss It All Better' by Chiarochi, now ponru. Here's a link to the fic, you should really check it out:

Hetalia (c) Hidekaz Himaruya
Russia X Reader fanfic (c) Chiarochi
Poem (c) me
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Arthur dropped the final ingredient into the simmering clear potion. The lock of blond hair fell from his palm and disappeared with a soft plop.

"Finally, America, you'll see." he muttered to himself as he heaved the pot off of the flame and set it down on the cool stone floor of his basement. He then went upstairs and grabbed the old-looking phone off of its hook. He dialed, and waited for someone to pick up.


Alfred whipped out his phone, quickly throwing it in between his shoulder and ear, as he started to madly press on the buttons of his Xbox.

"Y'eeeeeeeello?" he replied, as an explosion sounded loudly in the background.

"Alfred, at least greet someone properly over the phone if you cannot do it in person!" Arthur snapped.

"What!? Dude, i said 'hi,' what else 'ya want?!" Another explosion sounded, and some gunshots as Alfred cursed loudly.

Pinching his nose, Arthur took a deep breath. "Would you like to come over for a drink?" he asked as calmly as he could.

The game immediately went on pause. "What?"

"Would. You. Like. To come over. For a drink?" he repeated, slower this time.

Alfred was silent for a moment before snickering and restarting the game. "IF your talkin' alcohol, then no, I don't wanna drag you home again like last time."

"I- Y-You did not drag me home! I was perfectly fine!" Arthur sputtered. He took a moment to compose himself. "But no, I don't mean alcohol. I was thinking tea and...Coffee." He spat out the word like he would get a fatal disease just from saying it.

"Coffee? No way, whata 'ya planning England?" Alfred asked, furiously clicking at the buttons. "There is no way you have coffee at your house. You threw my Starbucks out the window last time I came with it!"

Arthur froze for a second. "I'm not planning anything!" he snapped. "And what the hell would you know about my coffee stores?"

Alfred pursed his lips. "That they suck. But 'kay, I'll come! See ya in a bit!" he hung up, snickering.

"Why you-" Arthur realized he was talking to a dead phone and hung it back on its hook, cursing.

He poured the cooled, clear potion into a bottle and placed it onto a cupboard. He started making preparations for tea and coffee, and waited for a certain idiot to come around.


Alfred pursed his lips as he got up and started to get ready, pulling on a different shirt, one with a big obnoxious white eagle and the words 'UNTIED STATES OF AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!' on it. He grabbed a sweatshirt and made his way to Arthur's house. When he got there, he sighed when he found the door locked, but decided he was too lazy to use the side door or the window. After a moment he decided against it again, and made his way to the kitchen window, where he saw Arthur doing something.

"YOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYO, YO IGGY OPEN UP!" he yelled, banging on the glass.

Arthur nearly dropped his favorite teapot as the loud voice assaulted his ears. He set it gently down on the table. "Bloody hell-" He stalked over to the window and yanked it open. "It's Arthur, you idiot! And wait by the front door." He slammed the window shut and walked to the front door, unlocking it.

Alfred didn't move from his spot as he pursed his lips. "I WANNA GO THROUGH THE WINDOW, LEMME IN IGGY! I WANNA BE LIKE JAMES BOND!"

Arthur leaned out or the door and shot Alfred a dark glare. "How old are you?! AND IT'S ARTHUR, DAMNIT!"

"C'mon England, it'll be fun! And I forgot how to open the window from outside, c'mon!"

Arthur facepalmed, but then put on a brilliant smile and closed the door. 'A few more bloody can last that long, right Arthur?' he asked himself before unlocking the window and stepping back from it.

"Awesome!" Alfred ignored the sudden nice gesture. He grabbed the window sill and pulled himself up, then threw himself into the house, falling onto the floor before he exploded laughing.

Arthur stared down at the laughing American, one eyebrow raised. "Are you quite done with that idiocy?"

Alfred slowly muffled his laugh, looking up at him. "What, it was totally fun! You should try it!"

"I think not. Pick yourself off the floor, you look an utter mess!" Arthur said. 'Besides, this may be your last chance in a while to be taller than me...' he added in his thoughts.

Alfred laughed, turning onto his stomach so his cheek touched the cold floor. "Gaaah, but it feels niceeeeeeeee, can I just stay here?"

The green-eyed nation felt a sudden urge to plant a foot on the American's back and make him beg, but he shoved it down. "You didn't come here to lie on my floor. So get up, Alfred"

He didn't move in the slightest. "Help me up, Artie."

"You can do it yourself."

Alfred pouted, and grabbed his leg, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Arthur almost let out a yelp as he nearly went down, but somehow managed to hold in the noise and keep his footing.

"You idiot, at least give some WARNING if you're going to do that!"

Alfred looked up at him, and snickered. "'Kay Iggy- WHOOP, WARNING~!" he yelled before grabbing his arm and hoisting himself completely up.

Arthur went down this time, landing hard on his side. "Fucking- IT'S ARTHUR!" He climbed to his feet, still cursing.

The other nation laughed, patting him on the back. "Mhm, okay Artie, whatever you say~"

Arthur jerked away, scowling. "Don't touch me." He walked over to the counter. "You want tea or coffee?" he asked, already knowing what the answer was.

"Coffee," Alfred replied, ignoring how obvious it was. "So, why'd you call me here?"

"Just wanted to drink with someone." Arthur shrugged.

He poured water into a kettle and set it onto the stove. He always used bottled water instead of tap water, so it was the simplest thing to slip the potion into the kettle.

"Is it cuz you have no friends, England?" Alfred snickered, getting into his seat.

"I-I have plenty of friends, git!" He stayed facing away from Alfred, so the American wouldn't see his red face.

Alfred pursed his lips with a smirk. "Whatever you say man," he replied, leaning against the back of the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

"Shut up, it's true!"

The kettle began whistling, so he took it off and prepared the drinks. He set the mug of coffee none too gently down before Alfred and took his own seat across from him.

"Thanks." Alfred took the mug of coffee and immediately drank from it, nearly drinking the entire thing. He then placed it back down. "So, wassup man?"

Arthur smirked slightly as Alfred placed the cup down, then took a sip of his own tea. "Well, it's about to get interesting."

Alfred looked at him, confused. "What?"

Arthur's grin got wider. "Noth-"

The smile disappeared from his face as he began to feel strange inside. 'No, no, no, this cannot be happening!' he thought, panicked, as his body began to smoke. In a few seconds, he was completely engulfed in a cloud of the stuff. The next thing he knew, he was lying in the floor next to his chair leg as the smoke cleared away. Except the chair leg was about ten times bigger than he was.

Alfred jumped up, the chair falling behind him. "What the HELL?!" He looked to see nothing in Arthur's seat. "Hey man, if you're trying to scare me, i-it won't work!" He looked around. "Is this your stupid-ass magic stuff again?! What the hell are you doing?!"

Arthur winced and covered his ears as the crash of the chair and Alfred's voice washed over him. He instinctively huddled closer to the chair leg, his mind not quite having caught up to the situation he had found himself in. He stayed as still and quiet as possible to try and avoid detection. He didn't need a giant Alfred laughing at him over his current situation, and he most certainly didn't need any help. Besides, he wasn't sure how the American would react to this. And then there was his strength. All in all, it would be better to just stay still until he left, and then try to figure out a way out of this mess.

Alfred looked around again. "Holy shit, where are you-" Although he had horrible sight, the glasses did help a lot as he spotted something by the chair that used to be Arthur's. He quietly walked over, and fell down to his knees, leaning down to get a closer look. And when he saw the little version of Arthur, his eyes grew as wide as humanely possible. "E-England..?"
'Bout time I'm posting an actual chaptered story... X'D
This is one of the fanfics I've been working on (Others can be seen in my last journal), and hopefully I'll remember to update every 2 or 3 days. This "..." represents words, and this '...' represents thoughts.
Both human and country names are used, I hope no one has a problem with this. Yes, this is G/T, but it won't contain vore.
Comment if you like, it's much appreciated~!

Next Chapter- [link]
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I am always by his side,
the man's, whose name I bear.
I am the first thing he touches
when he wakes up,
and the last before he falls asleep.

I can always hear his heartbeat
drumming away beneath his skin.
His skin,
so hot and fiery from adrenaline,
so tan and warm from the sun.

He clutches me tightly as the bullets fall around us
and prays to God.
But I know he is praying to me.
He kisses me tightly for good luck,
as he has always done before a charge.

Blood splatters against me
and he carefully wipes it away the moment he finds cover.
His fingertips are cool against my face,
his blue eyes probing as he searches for the last droplet of foreign life
marring the etches of my cool form.

I see his comrades fall around him.
But he is untouched.
Perhaps God has listened after all.
Or perhaps it was my doing.
His guardian angel, keeping him from harm.

But perhaps I am exaggerating.
Or perhaps not.
Medals will try to take my place,
gold and silver and shimmery on the outside of his uniform.
But he will always carry me instead.
I dunno, I felt like posting something. ^^

I had to write this for my Creative Writing class this year. The prompt was that we had to write a poem (18+ lines) from the perspective of an object. I did dog tags. The kind that soldiers wear, not the kind that go on dogs. I thought it turned out pretty good, so I wanted to share. What do you think?

I might put up some more stuff I wrote for that class in the future.
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Each little lie, or hidden ambition
Hides in a hole, as is tradition
Riddled with dreams, and fearful obsessions
That once were loved, in someone's possession
All the broad smiles, each a facade
With monstrous trinkets: knit, torn, and odd
Still broken treasures can easily lie
To thoughts so forced they can't seem to cry
Though cloudy with tears, and false memories
Keeping a hope that fades to the breeze
As such locks can try, but still cannot
Forget what was already hastily forgot
By those that are troubled by labourous pasts
As thinkers attempt to help them at last
Claiming their tales and lies to be so
But what do imaginary people know?
Here's one of my favorite poems! I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you very much for reading! :)
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Is it possible to keep to the sky?
You know, there is little to gain
In those dreams that make you fly.
So what's the point in your refrain
From simply watching the ways
Of the emerald, swaying trees
Or the rivers that flow for days?
Ah, you want to be free
Even though it comes with a price.
You want to spread black feathers
Only to let the white ones entice
Your chained soul altogether.
You're sure this is your choice?
I mean, we've been forever
Controlled by that voice!
Though our only endeavor
Was to be out of that cave.
With a single wish for freedom,
And yet, we are no longer slaves
To the place we came from.
Even though you are no longer caged
The call of the growing sky
Keeps us forever engaged
Though we may try to rise and fly.
I've been working very hard on this poem. The idea struck me one night as I was about to fall asleep, and I couldn't put it down! I really like this one, and decided to share it with you all. This poem is meant to be spoken, actually, with lots of planned pauses and dynamics... I think I might make it into a song! ;)
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it!
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Muse, bless me, let me spin my tale.
A story of death and destruction.
Will you believe me?
A story of infidelity and war.
No matter.
A story of blood and rape.
Can you hear my cries?
A story of murder and trickery.
I am calling out to you.

A story of Helen of Sparta.

The day she arrived at my home I knew.
I saw the blood, dripping from her dainty hands.
I saw the fangs hidden behind shining teeth.
Her beauty does not act as a mask. Her beauty does not act as a veil.
Taken from her home, does she despair?
Or perhaps celebrate?

Am I insane?

Infidelity becomes bigotry.
Does it matter?
A second husband, a second life.
I see the blood splattered on her pale wedding dress.
My father smiles, he welcomes her.
He does not heed my warning. He does not heed my dreams.
Will they listen to me?
Or mock my existence?

Am I insane?

I see the camps, the war camps.
Our city is safe, they say.
They send our youth.
Sent to slaughter other youth, and be slaughtered in return.
The city is safe with our impenetrable wall.
The wall stays intact, coated with blood.
All from her.
The wall will remain until our destruction.
The wall will remain until our enlightenment.
Do they listen to me?
Or relish in their ignorance?

Am I insane?

I embrace my brother for the last time.
I cannot cry, I see too much.
His face covered in blood.
His body hanging from a chariot.
I cannot cry, his son cries for me.
A slash across his chest, for her.
Brutally murdered, for her.
I cannot cry, his wife cries for me.
I see the river, red with blood.
I see the river, red with loss.
Does she care about the tears?
Or does she lay in wait?

Am I insane?

A gift they say.
Almost sent from the gods.
A statue covered in blood.
A statue covered in my home's blood.
Will I be a hero?
Or another captured?
A gift like mine.

Am I insane?

As night falls, I look at my hands.
Without chains.
The final time before my death.
I turn to her room, to see her one last time.
She smiles, fangs and claws covered in blood.
Did I scream?
Or was I silent?

Am I insane?

Screams everywhere.
Blood flowing as though it is a river.
Lifeless bodies, flaming buildings.
My home.
Looking up, I see a man chain my wrists.
He smiles.
Raped women, defiled temples.
I know what I did.
I gave up.
He pulls me along to join the other women.
I see his body, bleeding.

Am I sane?
A poetic story pulled from my fanfiction account. I've always found this kind of haunting... Anyway, this is told from Cassandra's point of view. I hope you liked it!
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"burn your tiaras,
bury your fairy godmother.
it's time for you to grow up now, you're
no peter pan.
forget never never land.

stars are just burning balls of gas that are
slowly running out of time- they can't
hear your wishes.

cast aside your dr. seuss books like you will
later cast aside your bibles.
after all, a fairy tale is a fairytale is a fairytale.
life will teach you that.

grace, you were born into a role
only a very strong girl can play.
see, society will hate you for being
what they don't want to believe.

surrender your throne, your castle is under siege.

stop being fascinated with the sky,
you'll never go there.
keep your feet on the ground, and steady yourself
before you help another.

your brain is more logical than your heart,
therefore take your instructions from it.
promises can be broken as easily as can be made.
do not rely on something as weak as miracles and love-
and if you only have one piece of armor,
defend your back from the people you trust the most.

and grace?
if some one ever, ever tries to tell you
you're worth it,
they're lying through their teeth."

and that is the Goddamn Truth.
and i'm trying not to care.

i'm bbbaaacccckkkk. and i wrote this poem about how a mother will never tell you the things that you really need to know to survive in this world.

how it's time to grow up now.
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1. someone came up to me the other day, and told me
that if i didn't start using capital letters in my poems,
she wouldn't read any more of them.
i just told her in a quiet voice that i was tired of screaming
at people who would never listen.

the thing with me is that i always
read too much into things-
people, newspapers, fucks, metaphors.
and usually i fall in love with things that
could never love me back.

2. i destroy the things that mean
the most to me, and i've never gotten the hang
of writing in stanzas.

most days i walk around reciting numbers
and other people's poetry, but usually
i just count the seconds i spend falling apart and
avoiding the things that make me whole because
self-destruction will always be my forte.

3. broken people seem to have a way of finding each other.
like we work under this assumption that we can find
perfect in each other's missing pieces,
even though we all know two wrongs will never make a right

"do you want me to fuck you?" you ask,
because you want to hear the yes, the affirmation that
someone could love you as much as you don't love yourself.
and i say yes, because your happiness will always be worth more than mine
but really i am saying, nononono,
i want you to fall in love with me.

broken people do not help other broken people.
we destroy them further, even if we do not mean to.

4. sometimes people ask me why i seem so grown up.
they ask where my childhood went.
sometimes i tell them that peter pan raped my mother,
or that i've crossed out too many 'grace and _____ forever'
or that the government cancelled my ability
to reach for the stars.

i never tell them that i think my childhood
just got very good at hiding from the bruises and
black eyes that threaten its life.
it sits on my collarbone and inside the dip of my ankle
and i will always keep its secret.

there are days when i want to be a poet,
and i have to remind myself to care about others.
i was always the kid in the back who
chewed on blue colored crayons and told herself
that silver was the best she could ever achieve

5. i make my houses out of photographs and help the wolf blow them down.

for so long, i've held my fists closed and now
i think i've forgotten how to let go.

This Is Me Screaming At You.
this isn't really a poem guys. it's just little fragments put together, but i am too tired for anything else. and i'm still trying to find me, so this is a list of everything i already know.

because there are thirty minutes left in thanksgiving, i am not thankful for the sound the trees make when they tap on my window, but i am thankful for my family. i am not thankful for ladybugs or marshmallows, but i am thankful for my friends. and i am not thankful for "broken", but i am thankful for this life.

thank you and i hope that you are thankful too.

EDIT:oh my god guys. what. why? guys. oh my gosh. thank you all so much~ you know, every time i log in after submitting a poem, i, like, tell myself "don't get your hopes up, maybe there'll be one or two new messages." and this? oh god, guys. i love you so much and now i'm going to log off before i hyperventilate because front page
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1. if someone invites you back to their place
for coffee, and you only drink tea,
don’t stress:
you probably won’t actually be drinking coffee.

2. when the creepy guy from work asks you out
again and you think about accepting for the first
time because you’re sick of going home alone and
you have never learned how to say no, don’t. learn.
stand in front of the mirror until you love yourself
enough for your skin to fit snug on your body. read
about the hundreds of millions of planets out in the
hundreds of millions of galaxies and feel so crowded
that you’re about to burst all over again.

3. you’re gonna screw up.
Jesus Christ, you’re gonna screw up so bad
and i’m not talking about forgetting an appointment bad,
or spilling coffee on your boss bad
or getting into a small fender bender on the side of the interstate bad.

i’m talking about the kind of bad that ties you down
into your bed on Monday morning when you
need to go to work. the kind that weighs on your shoulder
during the entire day, the kind that everyone can see,
like a neon bar sign flashing in a bible-belt town,
or the guilty and private kind,
like a two-bit hooker pressing the money
as close to her heart as she can get,
as if she could absorb it
and finally feel like she’s worth something.

4. distance really does make the heart grow fonder.

4. so call your mother. often.
you’ll miss her when you’re struggling
to wrap presents on Christmas eve,
and when you’re paying
taxes for the first time.

4. and keep track of your old friends:
they’re the only ones who remember your
first time drunk in high school,
or the time you wanted to be a ballerina
or how to climb in through your old house’s bedroom
window at one o’clock in the morning.

4. and while you’re gonna move to a place with mountains
or plains or beaches or deserts, a part of you will
always miss these rolling hills.

5. people are gonna stop telling you that
you’re beautiful because you’re not a kid anymore.
that doesn’t mean it stops being true,
just because you get crow’s feet at the corner
of your eyes when you smile or laugh lines like
curtains framing your mouth.
you are beautiful still, with your bruised
knuckles from punching the clock,
your torn up lungs from breathing in
a ruined ozone layer; this is what happens
with age: you improve, you prove to be better.
you are beautiful still. more so now.

6. always use blinkers, never roll through
a stop sign, drive with the windows down,
and when you’re running on fumes, pull over.

keep your eyes on the road.
and remember—
it’s easier than they tell you.
so primarily this is written for my oldest sister who is graduating from college and still doesn't know how to drive and knows very little about things that aren't English and school because that's how teenagers in America are raised and it sucks.

And okay, so I'm pretty young and have never actually been in the real world or whatever, but I still think some of this stuff is true. And it's been a while since I've written a list poem, so I decided to do that. I hope you enjoy, thank you for comments/favorites/watches. I'd love to see what stuff you guys were worried about or think is true about the real world, so comment that?
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She gets lonely, but she just has to pick up a pen and then she's in a world of her own :heart:

I usually read, as I don't have the time to plan out a story and write it and be satisfied with it in the end. :nod:

A poem avec a picture! O:

Hope you like it! :)


:thumb337257234: :thumb335659267: :thumb306770687: :thumb253998663: :thumb329030297:


Pose referenced from *SenshiStock :)
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:iconrbowluv::iconcolorheartsplz: :iconrainbowbummiecakeplz: Paint the world with happiness! :iconrainbowbummiecakeplz: :iconcolorheartsplz::iconrbowluv:

Some other poems by me :la:

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I'm no superman but I can try! :P
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The day would be incomplete without speaking briefly on the subject of love.
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The nature of quantum reality is nothing like what we see... but these "things"... well, they represent -something-, surely.
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Because we create our own heaven; make it now, and let go when it's over.

If you're here because you love the found poetry as much as I do, please consider stopping by #DailyPoetics ..

Oh, and unpleasantly, I don't like putting a watermark on my images or restricting downloads so please, keep these works off of tawdry second-hand photo sites. It cheapens the experience, I think.

Thank you, and love.
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This comic page is tied with a real life event.
The sniper's rifle was stolen by homeless scrappers at the Romantically Apocalyptic filming set. :(
(Yes, I am directing the pilot episode of RA live action series that'll be available on youtube in the future)

Please donate, so I can get our sniper a new rifle:
..and perhaps he'll find something new and fancier in the wasteland to use?


Please Support Romantically Apocalyptic!
Order your own Romantically Apocalyptic book 01 Color, Signed Limited Edition right now!

Signed limited Edition US/Canada - 55$ : [link]
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Confused? Read RA comic from the beginning at:
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READ MORE ON: [link]
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