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undercover.

08/06/2020 03:13 PM 

about ( under major co )

NAME: Alina Grace. AGE: 34 BIRTHDATE: August 12th, 1986 SEXUALITY: Bisexual OCCUPATION: Detective.  CHILDREN: One dead daughter who was kidnapped and murdered, she is driven by the desire to get justice for her daughter.

dirtbag,

08/06/2020 12:20 PM 

HERO.

I can see Arnold being a vigilante of sorts. No powers, but much like batman, he has a lot of the abilities to whoop someone’s ass. He’s a fighter, and loves to use more violent methods, his favorites. Arnold would no doubt protect the people, but he’d do it his own way. Unlike Batman, he’d kill. In a way, Batman is kinda f***ing stupid, considering all of the bad guys against him keep coming back. If you kill them, they can’t do that sh*t. One and done, that’s it. Keeps the job simple.

ωιηgfoot

08/06/2020 12:07 PM 

Frodo and company

Strider tracked through forest and by the river, stopping by the plants that had fresh berries available for picking. The sound of rushing water had served as his only ambiance, but he made due. Cerulean orbs studied the tracks carefully and instantly identified the shapes as hobbit feet.  Aragorn took notice of a few barking dogs that likely picked up his scent, and this time he had chosen to disguise himself as that of river muck. An unpleasant but useful tactic to sway unfriendly folk; The soles of his boots thumped softly against the soil on his way back up toward the tracks, eventually, they lead him to growth upon the side of a road. He narrowed his eyelids at the severed stems and instantly identified them as wild mushrooms. Strider examined the feet gathered around the patch and counted at least three others like the halfling he was looking for - unexpected. The thought had come to mind, as he turned his head to where bright blue orbs picked up the crescent shape holes in the road - horse tracks. A single rider it looked like and riding fast due to the spacing of its hooves. Strider rested his palm on the pommel of his two-handed sword, the weight of his arm positioned the scabbard upward a bit. "He stopped.." Strider said, and made the necessary angles on the road. He approached slowly with his posture lowering to a single knee. His eyebrows contorted together, as he lay down his fingers to a branch that had strange carings in the wood. He stepped forth a bit to where he could rest his hands spaced apart and arched himself partially over to where he could look down. There is where the trail of the Halflings had started. 'They should have been seen, what did they..' Strider said, and hopped down into the gathering beneath the root. Each space had flattened soil where each of the Hobbits had hid, and that was when Strider noticed a mushroom. Dropped and forgotten. He lifted himself up to his full stature and turned his head to the right eyeing the ground carefully. "There.." Strider said out loud and walked over toward the discarded bag, the mushrooms from the picked area on the road had spilled out and covered the forest floor. A distraction, of course, it was the only way for them to escape their pursuer. Strider turned his head back to the trail through the bushes and followed the dents in the ground. Light as they were it was difficult to track, but not impossible. He stepped through bushes once more, parting them slowly to check the area of where they stood. He lowered his stature to a crouch once more, and picked up a bit of soil and dry straw. As a kind, you would see on a farm. Betwixt his fingers he examined it, and then back up the hill to where he could see corn stalks. Simple farm folk it would seem. Strider turned his head to sun lowering upon the horizon, the sun painting the sky with bright orange hues. Strider lifted one of his legs to where he could rest his forearm across his leg, and turned his bright cerulean orbs to the trail that stayed to the water source - single file it would seem - it was a smart move. From where they were they could see their pursuer coming, and they would be able to hide easily enough given their small stature; He was losing the light, and fast. He would need to pick up the pace if he meant to catch them. He lifted his leg from the rock and followed the trail slowly until night had finally been upon him. From here it would be very difficult to pick up their trail, so he would need to rely on landmarks or..SKRREEEEEEEEEE!!! A scream echoed through the forest, and Strider instantly knew what it was - he had heard it before - he just hoped that he wasn't too late to save them; The soles of his sturdy boots made louder thuds upon the hilly terrain, utilizing the heavy stomps of horseshoes to mask his approach. He kept his breathing steady, as he navigated his way through the thick of the woods. There on the ferry crossing. It was indeed one of the black riders, followed by several that served as contingencies. Strider kept his posture low and made a sprint toward a gathering of reeds, frogs, and water striders scattered with the intrusion. All the while he made sure that he remained out of sight, and for right now the Dark Riders had galloped down the road likely trying to meet them down the river. Strider lifted himself up from the concealment of the reeds, and stepped out onto the road; He took one final glance on the road before he pushed off on the toe of his boot, and made his way back across the road. Avoiding it as to not become a target for a Nazgul blade. Just then a streak of ivory lightning shot across the sky, illuminating the night, and then an earth tremor followed swiftly behind. Strider was inhaling heavy moisture on the air, confirming his suspicions on the rain. Such was the usual on this terrain, so he kept his steps light and swift. The hobbits used an oar to cover their trek upriver, so they would be slower than him. The soles of his boots now stepped upon the mucky road and felt the rest drop of water upon his exposed cheek. He pulled the cover of his hood back over his head and thumped his fist upon the door. He waited a few moments for the doorman to slide the viewing door open. "Strider, come on." He said nothing and usually stuck with the name that was safe in the city of Bree. He navigated through treacherous roads where thieves, cutthroats, and other shady folk wandered. Strider had a reputation for himself when he had stopped a group of thugs robbing a family at knifepoint. His sword had been drawn, and he slew down two before the rest had gotten the message. 'see to your children, my lady.' Strider remained like a dark hero in this city, and he always kept his true name a secret. That was until he was in the company of friendly ears; He patted his palm upon a bakers shoulder on his way up the road, the faint scent of fresh soda bread was potent and enticed the Rangers hunger. Strider kept his facial details concealed all the same, and didn't stop until he walked through the tavern of the Prancing Pony; Fresh hot food filled the tavern, and he was already approached" Good evening Strider.." The townsfolk had avoided him mostly, monster, vagrant, murderer..let them believe it. It kept his true identity shrouded through smoke and mirrors. But he made it a regular thing to trade words with the inn keep, always reminding him of Gandalf the wizard - in case he would return in one of his many outings. For the next few months, the inn at the prancing pony had been a regular establishment that the hooded ranger had visited, always by day he checked the roads and the areas around the shire - but never straying far from the borders of Bree; The interior of the inn that night had cracking logs built up within the large hearth at the back of the tavern, the patrons, as usual, were busy with food and drink - talking about work or the occasional woman that they had a fancy for. Aragorn had chosen his usual, having need of a red ale after being on the road for the last few hours. He reached his fingerless gloved digits to curl around the half-pint cup and lifted it toward his lips. The savory taste of frothy yet cool ale washed down his esophagus, relieving it of the dry feeling that he had got from searching for his intended company. A halfling by the name of Frodo Baggins; He lifted one of his legs briefly showcasing a muddy boot, and folded it over his other leg in a gentlemanly presence. Soon after he set the half-pint mug down upon the table, food had arrived. Seared fish with fried chips was the special for today, to which the stranger had usually tipped well for their efforts. And then it happened, the door of the tavern had swung open to unveil the heavy rainstorm that Strider predicted, and the halflings had been completely soaked through to the bone. Hot food and lodging were on their mind, and he had only hoped that the Dark Riders had lost track of them. He lifted a match out from the pocket of his cape, and struck the head upon the wooden surface of his table - the matchstick hissed loudly and he lifted the flame toward the tobacco stuffed inside of his pipe. He drew in slowly to take in the earthy flavored smoke and released it out through the gap of his mouth. He watched every one of them from his position, and took an interest with the smallest of their company had made his way over toward the bar. "Excuse me.." The Innkeep stopped to give the Halfling his attention. Leaning down to hear his words. And even from where he was he could hear the words being traded; "That man in the corner, who is he?" He turned his focus over toward Strider, and the ranger was unmoved. "He's one of them Rangers. Dangerous folk they are - wandering the wilds. What his right name is I never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider.." The orange embers from his tobacco illuminated briefly showing his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, and then that was when this Mr. Underhill unveiled something in his hands, fiddling with it for a moment. He couldn't be drawn out from a daydream or something, but he had taken a keen interest when his friend had started to badger on about a Baggins. Frodo Baggins would be taking the name Underhill, and only he would know that; He had thought his friend was reckless for speaking about his behalf, and the whispers would surely bring the Dark Riders down on them. Strider was set to make his move when Frodo had lifted himself up from the table and rushed over toward him to keep from saying anything more. Pippin turned and accidentally knocked Frodo down on the floor - once he struck the ground Strider had panicked when he caught sight of what had been in his hand, and for a brief moment it looked as though the ring was possessed. That was it, it had to be. The ring of power; Once Frodo had vanished entirely from the floor his suspicions were confirmed. The ring of power had been found, and that was when Strider lifted himself up and waited. Trained eyes watch stools moving, and legs shoved out of the way. Strider reached out to catch the patron, and tugged them back to stabilize them. The ring had been removed after a few minutes, but that was all the Dark Riders needed. Only a few moments; He gripped the gasping hobbit by the side of his jacket, and tugged him off to the side. "What you just did was worse than anything your friend had done, Mr. Underhill." He guided him up the stairs, practically pushing him on his way through the hallway of the lodgings. Strider pushed him through the door furthest to the back and made sure that he was halfway concealed from the windows. "What do you want?" " A little more caution from you; there's no trinket you carry." "I carry nothing." "Indeed, as it should be. I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift." Strider had moved over toward the window to douse out the room candles, darkening the area a bit more so the Riders wouldn't be able to see them from afar. He reached his fingerless gloved hand up to tug back the hood of his cape, unveiling the features beneath. "Who are you?" A test that the wizard had likely given him, and he had known the contents of the secret that was told to him. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and if by my life or death I can protect you, I will. My sword is yours." A sigh of relief parted from the lips of the hobbit, and moments later the door burst open to cause the length of his concealed sword to hiss upon the scabbard with its release. "Sam stop! This is a friend.." He angled the scabbard to where the point of the sword fits into his scabbard. It was just as he feared, Gandalf wasn't coming. "You can no longer wait for the wizard Frodo, they are coming." And with that, the party of Frodo Baggins exchanged glances. "What must we do then?.." "Keep low and follow me.." "Hurry.." He guided the halflings out of the room, and into the hallway. "Make for the Inn across the road, and wait for me." Strider tugged back the bed liner to place in additional pillows to make it look like the beds had been occupied by four small hobbits. Once the lure had been set, he made his way out into the hallway himself. The soles of his sturdy boots clacked upon the wooden floorboards, as he ventured down the stairs he used to get up. The patrons had already started to leave, and he wasn't sure how long they would have before the Dark Riders arrived. But he headed for the entrance of the tavern, digits tugged the wooden door open slowly, and he stepped out onto the streets of Bree - using the passing townsfolk to make his way toward the partially opened door. "The lure is set, Master Baggins. You and your company are safe, for now.." The Hobbits had sought food and bed soon after arriving, and Aragorn had taken his place by the darkened window so that he could see the street all the easier. His fingers kept a loose grip on the scabbard of his longsword, as cerulean orbs drifted out among the street - the wooden doors of the entrance had been battered down and five of the nine had entered the city on horseback. Determined to return to the master, and for now, the Hobbits seemed to be safe, some of them were even content enough to sleep. Good, they would need it; It wasn't long before the wailing of the five howled throughout the night, a few moments after entering the tavern they had just left. Honing in on the rings location like a pack of bloodhounds. The noise had caused the sleeping hobbits to wake, but Aragorn left unmoved, vigilant, trained eyes watching as the Dark Riders tore apart the tavern across from them. A curious more than a look of terror upon Frodo's expression as he raised the question 'what are they?' "They were once men. Great kings of men. Then the deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one they fell into darkness." Aragorn knew how weak men had been to corruption, and the nine had been a half living example of that. "And now they are slaves to his will. they are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times the feel the presence to the ring, drawn to the power of the one. They will never stop hunting you."                                                          

ωιηgfoot

08/06/2020 12:06 PM 

A sign at the Prancing Pony

Strider knew that being this close to the borders of the enemy meant that he had taken a huge risk, and in this case, it turned out that the chance he took hadn't ended well. The Stoor native was already taken by the enemy, and would likely be suffering at the hands of his host. His name was the only thing that kept Sauron's spies from locating him, that and the ring of Barahir. Gandalf had informed him that a sketch was made with the description of its origin in the tower of Orthanc. Bright blue orbs glanced down at the silver coiled ring around his left index finger and lowered that hand so that it gripped into the cloth of his cape, and he lifted it to wipe the orc blood from the length of the blade. He released the swinging thick fabric and then gripped the scabbard strapped to his hip, and slid the length of the greatsword to fit into it so that the handle rested at an angle where he could swiftly remove it from the scabbard once more. Strider reached a hand back to the lining of his hood and tugged it back over his head shadowing the top half of his facial features. Strider stepping away from the corpses that lay motionless on the ground.His pace remained at a slow jog to bypass a bit more time until he was freed from the open plains of the Gap of Rohan. The length of his legs had begun to feel muscle fibers stretched and strengthened to withstand longer travel. His breathing was slow and steady so that his lungs feel felt the oxygen-deprived from them. He kept an occasional eye on the sunrise and sunset and counted several times to where he felt each day renewed with the morning mist that rejuvenated the land around him, and thus giving the lone Ranger a fresh intake of air. Strider had made it a regular goal to get used to these lands, walking and or running them so he had the strength to cover great lengths at speed; Strider turned his gaze toward the thick forest ahead once he had cleared the Gap of Rohan. He had the tower of Orthanc within view, and thoughts of seeking refuge had crossed his mind. The trees had line a good ways to the entrance of the giant dark tower, one of the many allies that they could rely on if the worst should happen.Aragorn heard the pelting water from the drops of rain pelt against the golden leaves overhead, but he stood out like sore them so he kept his steps slow and strategically stepped so that he wouldn't snap a twig or cause the dead grass beneath him to rustle. He cuddled the sides of his thick cape inward so that he stepped dry from the falling rain that darkened his cape for a brief moment, and then made the material slightly heavier as he carried himself through the forest. Soon enough he stepped into a puddle that pooled in the center of a paved line that cut through to the opposite end of the forest. He turned his head beneath the concealment of his hood so that he could locate the town of Bree. A slight smile tugged at the corners of the young rangers lips, as he walked down the length of the great east road. He took frequent looks beneath the shadowed line of his hood to see that the town had gotten gradually closer, as he stepped up his pace when he felt the rain get slightly harder on him. Once he was at the gate leading into the town, he struck his fist upon the wooden gate blocking him from going any further. Thereupon that moment a small wooden viewing window parted to expose the weathered complexion of a man - a gateman. "What do you want?" The old man cackled to which Strider kept his intense blue orbs locked on his complexion, waiting a moment for a rumble of thunder to sound throughout the landscape."I'm weary from my travels, I'm cold, and I desire hot food and ale in my belly; My business is to stay at the inn of the Prancing Pony." And with that, the gate parted moments later to welcome the Ranger inside. "You are one of the Dunedin rangers, forgive me, milord." Strider reached out a hand to pat the shoulder of the gateman and stepped through the funnel of buildings. The soles of his sturdy boots had been soaked to his feet beneath, but it didn't stop him. He upturned his icy visage to the squeaky wooden sign that marked his destination. He pushed his forearm against the swinging door, and to those gathered he was just another patron among the crowd. He had taken in several details around the tavern upon entering, the first had been the feeling of the warm fire against his damp clothes. The next was the smell of fresh and hot food being prepared likely in the back, and then the warm glow of candlelight that had been placed on each table to give the scenery a bit of warmth. Strider approached the counter where the Innkeeper had spotted him entering. "Welcome to the Prancing Pony, Milord. May I offer you an accommodation?" "No, just a table, bread, and cheese with an ale." Strider reached into a pocket located on the inside of his cape to pluck out several gold coins. The metallic shimmering circles clacked softly as they rested down in front of the innkeeper. "Right this way, Mr...uhh?" A moment had passed by before the Ranger spoke a single word "Strider.." The name as mysterious as he was, and never once did he pull back the hood to unveil the face beneath; He followed the innkeeper through the gathered crowd and he was seated in a spotted right next to one of the windows. There he would wait with the tankard that nestled down in front of him, and with a belly filled with fresh bread and cheese. "I will return shortly with your plate, Mr. Strider." The ranger remained silent that time and lifted the stem of his pipe up to his bearded lips. He struck a small hissing flame over the tobacco stuffed inside the pipe, the dead plant illuminated with a light orange ember, and that was when Strider had been rewarded with an intake of sweet-flavored tobacco. A stream of smoke parted from his lips, and then he waited. For hours it would seem, as the bread and cheese had been consumed already. And after he was relieved of sustenance from food and long-awaited beverage. That was when the gray-haired wizard had shown up to take his seat across from the ranger. "My friend, tell me..is Gollum?.." The news wouldn't be taken well, and he knew that he would need to protect whatever information that the creature would surrender to Barad Dur. "The enemy found him first, Gandalf." Strider let a stream of sweet essenced tobacco pass from his nasal passages. "You're certain? I need to know, someone is in grave danger." Strider glanced up from the shadow of his hood and gestured his chin within a light nod.  "With his last breath, he surrendered the information." It was then that Strider noticed that for the first time since he met the Wizard that he had shown real fear or concern perhaps. Gandalf had followed suit with his own pipe, and a cloud of smoke erupted from vapors that near matched the hairs of his beard. Likely a means to try and ease his mind. "Did he say anything else?.." he asked with the concern growing in his tone, and Strider thought for a moment. /Shire../  He wasn't sure if it was a word or a dying release of air from the orcs lips. "Just a word: Shire.." He suspected that Gandalf had befriended someone from Hobbiton, such was the kind-hearted nature of the wizard. "I must travel to Hobbiton. I need you to wait here in case I do not return, look for a Hobbit that will be using the name Frodo. He will be sent here and when he does you are to give him your real name." "I will be here.."

ωιηgfoot

08/06/2020 12:05 PM 

The Hunt for Gollum.

The creature Gollum was said to be a Hobbit from the Anduin lands who had later migrated to the Gladden Fields, and then after that, he and his brother went missing. A sad story to those who had known what actually happened to the poor creature succumbed to madness and disfiguration and then the last place that he was searched for only trail of strange footprints and knuckles embedded into sinking moist soil - the tracks had all been washed away due to the tide of the river; The lone ranger peered down through the shadow of his hood to follow the tracks with trained eyes, his breathing near soundless as it passed from his coarse-haired lips. His attire was filthy and kept a distinct aroma to keep himself blended to the terrain he was on and for this occasion he had used the scent of the moist earth, covering his cape, boots, and tunic with it. The greatsword on the side of his leather belt swung loose and flowed with the movement of his steps, a simple half bow with arrows he made himself for hunting had been fitted to an animal hide quiver, and on his right hand was a stitched fingerless leather glove, upon his left was a ring that the enemy had hunted for through the line of Isildur - a set of serpents in white gold one devouring the other with golden leaves on the sides, and a flawless emerald stone in the middle. A present to him when his father Arathorn had fallen to orc swords. An ashen overcast had been the Rangers weather, the lack of sun warmth had made things slightly more difficult, and the impending rain to follow was only moments away. He would need to find a trail before he sought shelter from the storm. The soles of his sturdy boots made faint rustles through the bushes leading into a slant. The front muscle sinew of his legs tested and strengthened with the way he ventured down. Bright blue orbs never leaving the trail in front of him. It was the same hop, and then finding burrows matching the shape of a knee had paused every 30 to 40 feet. The long dark hair beneath his hood veiled out slightly coming out in thick moist coils from the perspiration seeping from his scalp, and he had finally closed the space between himself and the branch line of the  forest. Visibility had been slightly poorer from here, so he lifted his fingers up to pull the cover of his hood back, Strider had resumed the tracking occasionally leaning down to brush a bit of debris aside to see if the creature had changed its course. It hadn't. Strider lowered his palm to the pommel of his greatsword and stepped through the shrubberies that lined both sides of a river. Blue orbs eyeing the half eating corpses of freshwater fish, kneeling down to where he could see the tracks of the creature lead further downstream. He lifted himself back up, and resumed his pace; He had looked everywhere for the creature Gollum, his tracks had led him down the Gap of Rohan and into the realm of Gondor. From there Strider had stopped only when he sensed that he was gaining ground on the creature. The sun had been on his side this time, and it was soothing to feel the UV rays warm the surface of his alabaster flesh. Strider stopped in his movement when the sound of light earth tremors filled his lobes. He lowered his posture down to where he could rest his ear against an almost equal-sized stone and honed in on a patrol. From what he could gather a small hunting party jogging to conserve their energy, and he reached out his hand to where he could slowly lift himself up. Bright sapphire orbs drifted out among the landscape to spot that same hunting party. 12 strong at least, the odds were in his favor yet he wasn't there to hunt. Aragorn stayed downwind from the creatures so that they couldn't detect his flesh. His fingers motioned toward the leather-wrapped handle of his greatsword and slowly glided the shimmering and hissing edge partially out from the scabbard. Strider remained concealed between the hunting party and a boulder that did well enough to protect him when he was crouching, and while he originally told himself that he wasn't going to engage them."Elendil!!" The name of his ancestor shouted out causing the party to cease with their pace, and Strider gradually slid the sharpened edge of his sword from the length of the scabbard. He kept the point of the blade at a downward angle, as he approached the orcs. Puzzled expressions had crossed their faces, they likely were not expecting anyone to be this far away from the kingdoms. "Looks like it's feeding time boys!" And at that, Strider had kept that same stoic visage, as his blue orbs examined each of their movements. He lifted the sword to where the blade had lined the front of his alabaster complexion. His hands had a steady yet relaxed grip on the sword, as he tugged it down slightly before the first had rushed the lone ranger head on. He shifted his body to where the momentum used from his rush had caused the orc to stumble and the metallic pommel of the sword struck at the back of its skull. He needed to move quick to lifted his sword up and over his head to make the sword slide down the top of his sword - orange sparks erupted from the collision, and he followed up with a twist of his hips which put the sword in a right diagonal strike. The point of the sword cleaved the orc in half, and he fell in a lifeless heap. Aragorn dashed toward the rock he was originally using as cover to gain a bit of high ground advantage on the party, turning just in time to feel the air of a sword nearly cleave of his head off. He lunged the heel of his boot outward to connect with the orcs chin, immediately he was approached by another and this time he had the advantage for an opening - the blade of his sword struck at a downward angle to part the skull of the attacking orc. He moved again, hopping down from the rock in time to feel the rabble approaching from his back. He turned to connected the outward edge against the sword and forced the sword arm outward so that he could present his back to the stunned attacker and pierce the length of his sword in reverse into the lower abdominal region of the orc. From here the orc would try to seize the advantage and swinging his sword toward the head of the ranger once more, Strider lowered his posture to where the blade had struck the downed orcs head clean off. Spurtle of ebony blood erupted from the severed head, and Strider from this position had gripped a switchblade from a small sheath on his belt - clicking it out and jammed the blade into the neck of the orc. He fell to the ground from the rapid loss of blood, some of that dark blood coated the ranger's hand. Now on a single knee, he struck upward with both hands to traumatize the enemy's grip on the sword. He swung the point of his sword at a downward angle that across his torso, and he fell back immediately. Strider thrust forth the handguard of his sword to strike at the face of the orc, the hit had dazed him enough to where Strider hopped to the side and rested the sharpened edge of his sword along his nape to cut a line six inches deep. Strider twirled the length of the darkening blade and kept his stance positioned in a stone - immovable and offensive. He waited for the rest to gain their strength, some of them had started to back up slowly from the ranger unsure if the meat had been worth the sacrifice at this point. Strider sized up the rest, checking their body language, and when they rest rushed in. He struck out at the lower stomach of one with the blade swinging outward to cut a gory crevice along his abdomen. "Yaaaahh..aaah!" Strider lunged forth to connect a balled fist against the cheek of the next one - and then followed up with a heel to his sternum. The next one had sprinted at him, and Aragorn impaled the sword through the sternum of the orc. He pulled back the length of the greatsword to let the remaining survivors decide their fate. Sure enough, the one from the right had rushed the ranger, and he lowered his stance to where he felt the breeze of the blade cool at the back of his neck. His own sword drifted up to sever the hamstrings at the back of his leg, and then he struck the point of his sword across the sternum of the orc. /clang/ The sound of a nearby sword had dropped, and the orc had fallen back on his butt in the face of the ranger. He could hardly believe that one man had killed his entire hunting party; Strider released labored breathes from the struggle, beads of sweat gathered on his forehead, and his arms weighed heavy with the extensive use of the sword. "The creature Gollum..where is he?" Strider approached with the point of his sword propped beneath his chin. "It's too late, Mordor has that little scum. He's being tor--" The pointed of the blade thrust forth into the neck of the orc partially consuming the point of the sword. He gagged upon his own blood pooling into his esophagus, as Strider turned his verdant blue eyes toward Mordor. "Gandalf, I have failed you.." To be continued.  

▌│█ 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

08/06/2020 11:57 PM 

Once A Hero.

Once A Hero. Always a hero. Pain… most would think the trauma and tragedy would make her into a villain, and to be fair, she’s thought about it a few times. Thought about what it would be like to hold the world in her hands and crush it… but she can’t do it. She was a born hero, her mother raised her to be more than that. More than someone who took her anguish out on everyone else. It wasn’t in her blood. In another life, another world, she’d be a hero. She’d save others, even though no one has ever saved her. Her pain would fuel her, give her the power needed to protect those who need protecting. Just because no one saved her, didn’t mean she couldn’t save others.

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒.

08/06/2020 11:06 PM 

Share Code

V.

08/06/2020 09:10 PM 

186

I’m too busy, don’t have time for things you say that aren’t important. Light orbs fell between the party of people she had joined for the night. She had already forgotten their names, truthfully. But the table of people had bottles calling her name, and who was she to pass up the offer? She could hardly hear the words that passed between the two males on either side of her. They seemed to be in a deep conversation, speaking over her small frame, but she couldn’t hear a single thing. All she did was sit there, blinking away the daze of her newfound drunkenness. Vendella leaned over, causing the two men to fall back against the leather sofa to continue the conversation, while the raven-haired femme readied herself another shot.Salt. Lick. Shot. Lime. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut while the female welcomed the beautiful numbness she so greatly chased. Her typically cold body had a sudden warmth, pale cheeks turning rosy, and screaming thoughts were soon silenced. Light eyes flew open at the feel of dry lips reaching her bare shoulder, then up to her neck. Spitting out the lime, not caring where it went, she pushed away his face, and slowly got up.  Where’s the bathroom at? Leave me alone. Vendella pushed through the club, the music seems to pound its way into her head as she threaded through the crowd of seemingly happy people. She wondered if they painted smiles on their faces everyday just as she. Finally, reaching the bathroom, she let out a breath, hiding behind one of the stalls. She was quick in her movements, setting her phone down on the toilet paper holder before dainty fingers dug through her purse for the familiar baggy. Placing it on her phone, she proceeded to handle a bill and her card.  I just came her to the party for the drugs. Drugs. She was quick, almost professional, as she readied her next high. Dumping the right amount of the crystal-like substance onto her phone, she placed the bill down before she used the card to crush the white into a fine powder. Vendella progressed, using her digits to brush off any excess of the now powder onto the phone, then using her card to cut three fine lines. The female pulled back her long, dark, tresses, curled the bill into a straw, and leaned down. Fitting one end of the law to her nostril, and the other connected to the drug, she inhaled the line upward while plugging the other side of her nose.  Drugs. Green eyes fluttered shut as she leaned her head back, inhaling roughly before repeated her last steps. Line, after line, the female leaned back against the stall door, letting out a sigh of relief. All she could do was succumb to the pleasant thrill slowly filling her body, a genuine small smile falling to her plump lips. Finally, the femme swiped any missed substance, pushing the digit between her lips and gumming it, resulting in the regular numbness of her mouth.  Drugs. It only took minutes before the sensation of fullness overcame her head and her pulse to accelerate. The new sense of exhilaration was what she craved. That heightened sense of mental activity and her usually dark thoughts molding into one of euphoria flowing freely, which otherwise was hard to come by for the small female. She finally felt whole, rather than frantic and lost. She could stand there all night, just enjoying her high. But she was disrupted by the banging vibration of her stall door, causing heavy eyelids to shoot open into a glare.  Drugs. The femme pulled her items together, storing them away and into her purse, before rubbing at her nose to discard any evidence. Unlatching the door, the femme only sent a glare to the blonde behind the door, who took a significant step back from her. She wreaked of vodka, Vendella’s least favorite alcohol. Usually, she’d panic at the smell, but at that moment, she was so far gone to even react with a blink. Just how she liked it. Still, the small femme only laughed dryly, pushing past the girl and making her way back out. Rather than pounding into her head, the music only pulsed through her bones, the euphoric feeling causing the femme to push through the crowd, finding a spot.  Drugs. She was in her own world, her peaceful society, her world of denial, and freedom. She swayed her hips to the beat of the song, not paying any mind to those around her. Those with friends and lovers. Those that were never alone as she was. And she couldn’t give a flying f/uck while she enjoyed herself. Vendi didn’t even pause in her dancing at the feel of arms falling around her. Instead, she welcomed it.  I’m not tryna make a friend or fall in love. Love. She swayed her hips against the male, pulling her closer, a new euphoric sense building its way inside her. “What’s your name?” She heard him call, causing her to open her eyes and stare around her, yet her movements didn’t cease. The femme only pressed herself harder against him, a notion to shut him up. “You’re so hot.” His greedy hands found its way to her hips, pulling her even more against him.  Love. Love. “You don’t have a name?”  Love. Love. “You don’t need to know my name,” she called back over the music. She slowed her dancing, turning around to meet the face of the stranger holding her. She could work with this. “Let’s get out of here,” she called, grabbing the male’s hands. She took note of the surprised reaction, causing the female to smirk. Her small hand took hold of his much bigger one, not saying anything else as she once again weaved her way through the crowd, but this time with another vice.  Not here for the nameless faces, pointless talking, conversation. Drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Such a typical night, Vendella chasing her mind away with her three favorite and most destructive vices. Tequila. Cocaine. And sex. All to forget her own name and life.  I just came here for the drugs.

thedarkcorners

08/06/2020 03:20 PM 

Ft.Damned Soul; You can always recognize death, no matter how small or big it changes its visag

You can always recognize death, no matter how small or big it changes its visage     Karen still had dreams about that memorable day in the abandoned buildings storage basement. Hell, some of them were even waking lucid dreams. The acrid smell of rotting wood, paper, and black mold still filled her nostrils as she recalls hiding in the smallest of spaces that she could fit herself into as the sound of the assassin's heavy jackboots came walking down the hall. The terrible dream was exceptionally vivid, it was overwhelmingly like a living dream. The harsh sounds bouncing off the walls and making the place sound like her fluttering heart was being mirrored by the calm, deadly rhythm of his own and making her go mentally insane as she tried stopping herself from even breathing. Subsequently, there was respectively an odd sound of metal clanking against exposed metal too, like someone was taking a tablespoon and rapping it against a metal counter as he took each step. It must have really been his gun knocking off that metallic arm he sported as he walked solemnly. It was overwhelmingly like a military tattoo that helped punctuate the living, breathing death that advanced stealthily her personal way with each passing step. Her active mind, it merely accentuated that sound to that of a 'rat-a-tat-tat' that is typically made in a celebratory parade against a cymbal. It inevitably caused the abundant hairs on her helpless body to stand on end and forced all the acids in her belly to overproduce and make her want to vomit all over herself. At that critical point in time, when he entrapped her, she couldn't get the unique look of him out of her conscious mind. Longish hair, polished steel blue eyes obscured by a swath of black so dark that it promptly swallowed the light whole and inadvertently caused his notable pupils to look so big and sinister as he gazed back at her. The sole thing that had undoubtedly gone her critical way was he had been the man that Hydra had been experimenting on in that video she had gotten her hands on for a story she was doing. The case file was given to her by a C.I. who worked in Hydra's science department. Without that vital information and his case file; Karen would have never known that this lethal weapon, at one point, had been rightfully one James Barnes. The investigative file on him was precisely from the early 1900s and, like how America had forcibly made Steve Rogers, Captain America...The Russians were fit to inevitably develop Barnes into the Winter Soldier all the same. Without all of that integral Intel, Karen wouldn't have been capable to communicate her personal way out of a death sentence that dreadful day. One where he had, in fact, fled the disordered room and walked away leaving Karen a gibbering, crying mess in his wake. Now, a year later, there he realistically was...He was at ease in a baseball cap and had on no uniform, but you could never, ever forget the face of death. No matter how many minor changes that the mask would typically make to its visage. With him, right there, those vivid, living dreams represent presently a reality that overtook her senses to her core being and sent her world topsy-turvy. The gourmet coffee she bore in her hand was now sullied by the bitter taste of the bile rising in her mouth before it turned dry as the Sahara. Suddenly, her voice box had become paralyzed and meek as well. Nevertheless, there it was...That gorgeous face; stripped of its winter chill with intelligent eyes that both looked lost and confused. To this day, they were still pained by their own ghosts. His gaze was like a laser beam focused right on her forehead. She could almost feel the sizzle of her skin as she tried to look everywhere but at that handsome visage before her attempting to obtain her full attention. Karen tried to pretend their eyes never met; that she could melt away and represent nothing again. Mentally, she tried folding herself back into that tiny, stifling place to hide away from that cold, beautiful and looming death. Yet, there was no place for her to run to though, they were both outside on the New York City streets. Back again, in Hell's Kitchen; what an apt name for this prominent place. Every day there was a creative, distinct hell to defend oneself from, and today that hell was walking among the masses. Uncontrolled, unmatched, unmonitored, and unflinching. She had no choice but to encounter his gaze; finally. So, slowly, Karen was lifting her eyes to meet the man. That man, who was now right there in front of her, leaving her with her having no place left to go. If the death was to come for her today; then she planned to face it head-on. When he insisted he wanted to talk to her, to explain what he had been through and what had happened after their meeting...Karen wanted to scream hysterically, intentionally throw her organic coffee in his lovely face, and run to typically live another glorious day. Nevertheless, she persisted; she consistently did. With patience, she listened to his glorious heartbreaking story. Karen was naturally an experienced investigator, after all, an investigative reporter to her core and she never shied away from the harder stories before nor would she now. After a considerable time, Karen found herself relaxing, slowly but surely as she listened attentively to him candidly confess his unforgivable sins, his well-founded fears, his remarkable tale. It was entrancing, vicious, melancholy, and darkly magnificent. All she desired to achieve at the end was to envelop him in a bear hug. It did not go unnoticed she felt something for the man. Something deep inside that was positively just the tiniest seed at this key moment. At this time, she could perceive it blossoming and yearning for the light as it tried to pry itself forth from the deep and gloomy dirt that encased it. Gradually, she felt the blood in her body making its way back into her extremities both mentally and physically...Literally and figuratively. Her heart was gradually starting to calm its frantic galloping in her ribcage and the dizziness that it caused began to subside. At times, during his story; she felt herself involuntarily leaning in toward him. Gradually, her considerable interest in both the remarkable man and his tale started to progressively expand, and she started to yearn for more. Those cold, dead eyes she formerly saw currently held the slightest bit of sparkle and life. The death mask she once felt captive by was now being taken over by the striking face that appeared before her. Sure, he was still broken and unsure; that was to be expected. He seemed so lost, but she could see the hints of Sergeant James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes beginning to seep through and thrive the more he spoke with her and to her about his miraculous tale. "I have to candidly admit, that you have represented a particularly scary incident in my life. I've undoubtedly had living dreams of that unforgettable day," she willingly admitted with a gentle hint of profound sadness in her fierce eyes and on her remarkable features. "I knew when I challenged you, that your road would be long, painful but it was on a path to discovery of the real you. I just had no idea how fantastical your continuous story would genuinely be..." she mused as she took a sip of her, now, lukewarm coffee to moisten her parched tongue. Truth be told, she was still frightened of him. "How does your life feel right now? Coming back to your former self? Earnestly trying to refind the remarkable man within the complex machine? That Bucky from long ago went into that cold, unforgiving snow almost a hundred incredible years ago. Presently, you are confronted with relearning both who you correctly are and who that specific person will be precisely in a whole new dawn..." she let it drop off that she felt for the guy. Karen wished, though, it was some minor part of herself, to sincerely want to undoubtedly help him typically find that new man amongst the rubble; even though it was small, it was there. Karen was certain it showed on her features if he could perceive it in his current state. "What do you devise to do at present?" She asked in a gentle, tender voice as her hand subconsciously moved to conceal his hand and issue it a gentle squeeze. Something in that tender caress said that she sincerely wished to represent the smallest part of that journey. Even if her mind and body hadn't caught up on the notion themselves; yet.  

Abin Sur

08/06/2020 02:16 PM 

From Master Build. Hal Jordan

By John Steward = Hal JordanSubject: Utterly random thing.It is almost peaceful. Small asteroid's wandering near aimlessly without a mother star to orbit. Kept in tow only by the more steady, larger pieces of rock just smaller than the Deimos moon. They almost remind me of Guy and Hal. Seeking the right escape velocity required to meet a glorious, dramatic death. Only to be pulled back in by their friends, the Corp. The irony is, it is not their recklessness that caused this. It is mine. This entire system is my fault. My guilt painted in violet, seen only by my eyes but known by all. I have not been in here in years - the Xanshi Star System. Once a bustling center of galactic trade..now? Nothing but rubble.I used to come here to collect myself. To wallow in this deep, deep hatred I have for myself - a hatred that burns me more than Atrocitus can hope and infects me in ways that the lapdogs of Soranik cannot comprehend, especially now that I've rendered them useless. To let my mind drift until I found focus in the sea of silence, until I found my breath drowning beneath the stillness of it all. It isn't quiet here anymore. Or, maybe it never was. Maybe now I can finally hear the damning screams in more than just my nightmares, scratching at my mind like a whisper thanks to Umbrax. But a whisper doesn't do what this is justice.People I could never put voices to, all thirty billion, have suddenly found me. Crashing against the barriers of my mind. The once silent ocean is a raging sea of desperate hands wanting to feel again. Their malice and confusion forming razor sharp claws. The howling wind their voices, thundering and deafening until all I can hear is the uncertain beat of my heart growing stronger with each day, with each day I am connected directly to the spectrum, which each day it is the battery and I the ring. Filling my lungs with my shame until even my powers can't give me the oxgyen I need. Those hands wrapped around my throat.Those hands guiding my hand to my head, shouting their chorus of whispers "Do it.". To stop restraining my power and put every last ounce into losing my mind. Or maybe that is Umbrax. Wanting control back of his most promising Paladin, still lurking in the deepest parts of my cells. Hiding in wait in my mind. Lapping his lips with a devil's tongue, awaiting his feast. I know I should leave. Kick off this rock I sit on, watching a system given light by only me - after being taken from me and fly until my skin comes off. I can't find the will to move even a inch, not even to blink. To not let myself sit here for another hour.Because the truth is, I don't have any where else to go. The site of my failure is the only solace I have left - because it is something I can't fix. So I'll find my Will again and steer myself from this storm inside my head, until it finds me again. Until I can bear to be around the people who treat me like a friend, a brother, even though I don't deserve it.Until...

Abin Sur

08/06/2020 02:14 PM 

To The Emerald

  the passing  to the emerald from the indigo  The Indigo tribe remained behind the veil of the scenes as a mystery, out from what it would be thought they helped giving their powers to help create the Green Lanterns. Cherishing life they were raise to learn that all lives matter, they could manifest as criminals having the non arbitrary freedom manifesting extreme empathy transforming despicable malice with compassion.Abin Sur steeped in on the pursuit as one of the first Green Lanterns to discover the secrets of the prophecy that would bring closer to him the fear of The Blackest Night and cause the deaths of countless others is what brought about his death. He was also obsessed with immortality. Originally seen as just a dying alien on earth searching for the most worthy successor, a pausing sequence is carried away for the power of his ring for Hal Jordan to become the bravest man for a stronger generation. We now might know there were many hidden layers as to any character, but a noble sacrifice brought the whole notion of the Green Lanterns to Earth. The vessel that Abin Sur had piloted was abducted by the Government of United States who searched on its motive to study the alien technology. On his smelly dirty costume, crashed Abin let the lantern ring guide him to his suitor among them was Clark Ken a journalist, but he wished a native from the planet Earth. He was buried on this planet by Hal Jordan with shared words passing the ring to continue his duty.Its good to note that in few lines we have books of history among, and nothing will become matter if is not passed. You think you are the only one who has been chosen to be hooked up with the power of Emerald Ion. Its source pulls, pushes you wields you with its nemesis. Among all this layers and dimensions a memory perpetuates to exist in all interacting races. You can have doubts, you can fight, but you can let them overwhelm you. This is a breve narration where the Darkest Night made a pilot crash in his own duel, its entirely another thing when others life are in your hands. A freaking version in finding new dimensions and letting go, surrendering to a long call. What sort of green lantern becomes white, one who has broad to the afterlife his own colours in one. To the fortunes of the emerald shining with trust with the jade shades. Hope is to that whom is far away, Abin's soul would find a place to sit next to Hal. A small asteroid, a floating rock without shelter or orbit who belongs but in this space. This spotless fragment who sink downs in the centre of the being. A soul might be nothing without a body, and a body too might loosen up without the spirit to gather its soul back. In communion as the constellations, and all those who travel with the mind and body, as the rocks who stand. Supported by nothing unknown as your balance practise on one foot for the next and there is no one but your hands wrapped around your throat. A light touches our souls finding there is no really a place to go.The will of all things part from this mystery, even to Abin who was known to have an indomitable will to his end, he missed that place and watched from the parallel entanglings of the same very energy who started to irradiate again with a full indomitable TRUST. For Abin HOPE was too distant, even do, is good to have an orientation and station towards finding spaces. Abin would be unseen next to Hal's questions to his own last memory on his dirty broken uniform, his soul would laugh with an inch of faint, he could materialised an image and project into any form. His own. A friend. A brother. He just found nothing to be so peaceful as to way bother when there is not a problem to fix anything. Hal gave everything to those he considered they need their space to range their free will, as if his ring can be all over the place for everyone's will. For Abin to give Hal an impression would give him another will, when is in him to wield his own influence at a time through the curving alignment of 'it's' space.      template credit.

Frog Spirit™

08/06/2020 01:17 PM 

"What the?!" (Secret Drabble Prompt)

  BREAKING NEWS! A broadcast on multiple news outlets are reporting that there is currently an attack in the city called Charterville. Reports and low quality captured images link the attacks to some type of humanoid creature, assumed to not be from planet Earth. Though there is claims that it looks similar to a known wild animal as well. But whatever the creature is, it is leaving behind a trail of destruction in the city. The Mayor of the city ordered a city wide evacuation and lock down until they can get a definite hold of the situation but it is clearly not going in their favor.One specific news station called This Morning in Charterville started it’s broadcast off by oddly saying these words, “The city of Charterville...IS UNDER ATTACK!” Coupled with the shot of city first and the camera quickly panning down to the destruction when the news anchor shouted! This is also the very news station that is currently on a viewing screen in a secret underground base located under the Lion Frog Dojo in the city of Angel Grove.“AYE-YI-YI-YI-YI!” Shouted the advanced alien created A.I. known as Alpha 6 who was also watching the screen. Now inside of the dojo, the head instructor and owner of the dojo Adam Park is in the middle of his final class for the day. Until a few beeps could be heard through out the class, which is a sound Adam knows very well, as it is located around his wrist. The other instructors and class know of it as a different type of pager, which isn’t really used now. But they are under the impression that it is only used for personal emergencies that he has to tend to. Adam looks over at one of the other instructors, “alright, you take over. I gotta take this,” he steps out the room and into his office which contains a secret door that leads him into the Command Room. “I’m here Alpha, what’s going on?” The A.I. points to the screen, replaying the news report to bring things up to speed. “Those news anchors should be fired,” stated Adam, knowing what he has to do. “IT’S MORPHIN’ TIME!”Energy flowing all around him, a transformation to his molecular structure. Though the power from the morphing grid enhances his physical abilities while in his human state, actually morphing greatly enhances him even more. After his transformation into the Mighty Morphin’ Black Ranger, he teleports becoming a streak of black energy that takes off through the roof and into the sky. Landing in the in the middle of the chaos in Charterville. Police officersm, firefighters, reporters and some of the soldiers stop dead in their tracks in shock at the arrival of the Black Ranger.Not expecting to arrive in the middle of that, the Black Ranger waves at the crowd, “hello,” then taking off in search of the rampaging creature.“Alpha? Can you scan the city to pick up where the monster went off to?”“AYE-YI-YI-YI-YI!” Cried the A.I. in response, “WATCH OUT!”Immediately after hearing that, the Black Ranger’s head turned quickly to see the strange creature charging towards him, but could he react fast enough?! “GAH!!” The Ranger hit the ground after the monster did a clothesline most people would see in professional wrestling. Pushing himself back up quickly, looking at the monster, taking in it’s appearance. “You’re an Ape…do you share any relation to this monkey with wings named Goldar?” After that question, the monster charged to attack again. But the Black Ranger darted out the way, dodging the attack.“You are definitely not the talkative type!” The Ranger got into a stance, ready to battle the thing head on, “talk is over, charge at me again!” And the creature did exactly that, but this time it was met with a kick in the chest that knocked it down. A battle ensued, trucks and helicopters for media outlets nearby, getting coverage on the battle as well. Many of them surprised that a Power Ranger is in Charterville and that the city haven’t seen a hero like that in years. Unless it was on the news talking about the Power Rangers and other superheroes elsewhere.The Black Ranger got the upper hand on the monster, with it on the ground and him summoning his Power Axe, “this city won’t have to worry about you destroying it anymore!” And just when he was about to deliver the final blow to end the battle with the monster, a voice shouted “WAIT!” The Power Ranger stopped, lowering his axe as the monster remained on the ground in pain. “What the?” confused as a doctor with the name tag ‘Dexter’ on his coat rushes over to the scene, heavily breathing.The scientist has red hair and glasses, and speaks kind of...different. “He is not really a monster! He is really a human being! HE IS MY CREATION! (pronunciation: CREE-AY-SHAWN) I must take him back to my Laboratory (LA-BOR-AH-TORY) for more work! This was not supposed to happen!” The cops quickly surrounded the man, “you are going to cure this man and then we are going to have a long talk!” The police escorted the scientist and chained up the beast to wheel him away.The Black Power Ranger still stood there confused after everything that just took place, then the reporters rushed in to try and ask questions. Many of which is about the past heroes the city once knew years ago and if he planned to stick around. “Uhhhh…..” Still in the state of confusion, the superhero answers only once, “I will be back if there is trouble...” after that, he teleports away with everyone watching the streak of black energy across the sky.There is also a house in the city that looks to be haunted, there lived a frankenstein, werewolf, vampire and a phantasm. However these monsters look more goofy than scary. They also watch the streak of energy across the sky, with one of them saying…. “Totally Flabbulous!” That being said by the Phantasm who looks like a blue weird Elvis mega fan.Now back in Angel Grove, arriving inside of his home and no longer in his Ranger form Adam calls out for his Fiancee. “Aine! You are not going to believe the weird event I just went through!” Once he finally sees her, he completely stops. Feeling a...sensation. “Is that my shirt?” A grin came to his face after asking that, things have now went from weird to very…..good.The End! Drabble Prompt: Is that my shirt?

Jane Foster

08/06/2020 12:53 PM 

Lost (Vague Starter)

There was a sense when one was lost. A certain chill that went straight down one's back and weighted worry to their misplaced shoulders. One suddenly felt quite small; a standalone fool surrounded by blurs.. Hazy bits of a scene in which one did not belong. Inhabited by the vague shapes that did.It reminded Jane of the time that her mother had taken her to see the university as a young child. And there in the winding, well spoken walls, Jane had strayed, distractedly by some minut thing in the moment-- Only to turn around and find her mother gone.That was the way of life, Jane supposed. Minut distractions. Minute persuits. And behind it all, that same chill. Of change. Of time.Jane was actually QUITE pleased to remain in her mind. The philosophical, genius place. Why, she could easily debate the purpose of life for another hour at least! And not at ALL deal with the looming fact that it was THAT chill she felt now. Because something had gone wrong in her portal test. And she was now VERY lost.But.. Comfortable place as it was, Jane sobered herself from it with a sigh and the recollection that, well, at least she hadn't poked a Reality Stone this time. Yet.So she rallied, in her self indulgent way, and caught the arm of the passerby (There were many, as she loitered in town square). "Hello." The brunette smiled, "What city is this?"And why did it smell vaguely like goats?

Starter Storage, Jane Foster

Archangel Metatron

08/05/2020 11:05 PM 

To Godly Prophet

This first piece is from Chuck, got it from his profile without permition. ;D___________________________Chuck shurley is the pseudonym used by god when he was living as an author who wrote the low selling supernatural book series, which he wrote under the nom de plume carver edlund. Initially chuck claimed to the winchesters that he foresaw events that concerned dean and sam, with Castiel revealing that chuck was a prophet. He tells the winchesters that he goes through some kind of a "process" when he has visions -- a severe headache occurs, and then he takes aspirin and drinks until he passes out. While unconscious, he says he sees and interprets prophecy. After the darkness was released, chuck returned to reveal to Metatron that he is in fact god in human disguise. He told Metatron that he had taken on human form so he could "hide in plain sight", as he likes having front row seats. Chuck reveals himself as God to Metatron and asks for help in writing a book and Metatron asks Chuck many questions and Chuck finally decides to be himself as God instead of just being Chuck. He appears in every other scene with Metatron. the scenes switch from sam and dean and everyone in the town they are in and then it goes to chuck and Metatron and then keeps switching between them. Chuck reveals himself as God to the Winchesters at the end of the episode through dean's amulet.____________________Let me flip the cards without a paper metaphorically saying and feel what draft comes in mind. So Metraton enters into character, yes, that very disguised into a person on this world.__________________Hidding in plain sight has plenty of showing ones skin in the world as another human being, locally, keeping a law key, palm his shoulder as he is writing his book, the prophetic 20 20's. I mean come on, it can't go better than that. The city is starting to take its rythem again, the towns and villages, animals return too to their habitats lol. It feels as massaging his shoulders, huf, how stiff, there is so much tension and drill, that my fingers more than pressuring kind of go gently perceiving his aura with the shape by the enjoy the abilities that pass through him, the ones he holds so much in his doing to place down through his fingers."Oh, well, your Metraton is only a voice of God, I said what he is telling me straight and he has as many sides as sides to a diamond, your side, and other angels sides, Gods sides, divines sides, the children of the divine, all of us" Was being too positive, as the scenarios on earth were taking shape as they were after the isolation and distancing, people took a closer look to the families and values, even more than the hardship that many times occupied the money for material. "Jesus came to remind us of many things, again and again throughout his prophet, as a font of inspiration, we are moving beyond the Bible. Did you know that joking on town with the Muslim about Apocalyptic jokes, that I wish they laugh with us about the pandemic we celebrate every shifting age? I insisted for them to laugh as if is the same God." Smoothly softened my palm stretching my body too extending to the sides and up. "After the war, who wished more wars on terrorisms or against vice, versa, they also believed in the best people on earth coming together."Its true that we had many brothers and sisters who departed, it all consisted in the vulnerable and eating healthier, appreciating the foods we nourish our body and soul with, we had witness famine, and we had witness trust, indeed a great hope and enthusiasm that kept rolling among all of us. Sometimes I was afraid myself to speak in the name of God as Metraton, this for remained silent, was thought that the highest truth from the divine is found in peacefulness and silence, in Buddhism called Enlightenment and balancing the edges of his shoulders, rebalancing with nothing to fix because there is great talent in forgiveness. I did too cry with repentance for those closed to me, to be more given. It was not much of a word, and here we were from word to word, expanding the breathing and exhaling the breathing as true humans do."I trust in you, if I give you my pain word, you turn them into Gold Chuck, this is why your writing is so innovating for people on this age, you got that contemporary multi rhythm. As you see in this practice, your fellow man and woman are learning to exchange the word with you, building up without confessions their very sins into a catharsis of trust, as if to exorcist the inner demons who were hidden in the past. We don't need to hide anymore, those are evildoings, whom ever wishes to come, is welcome yet again, welcome." It was kind of a odyssey and a return home, some of us are like monks given to the lords creation, seeking no selfish pleasures, suffering away desires in the hands of the creator to creator, to simply love humbly, (very difficult and easy at the same time sensing the spirits in their bodies) des-attached to open gates and new dimensions. "Well, it can be practical too, as to stage a new parable, let's say for Jesus second coming. He would be shy to manifest, he needs his Angels fluttering their trumpets as you do to the sound of Victory, to alt, to say yes, yes, yet again, yes. Do it your way as you best do" Kissed the crown of his forehead and went to wash my hands, I still had my own demons to catch, hug them tight to never escape again from the fire of burning freeing repentance and glory. "We got to sale this story Chuck, is multidimentional! Not even Hell is cast away, can you see people joking about their silly sins, trying better to sin for a better reason and a better illusory Hell till we get the whole story of Heaven on Earth?" Easy said lol 

⫷Ironᴍan⫸

08/05/2020 10:21 PM 

My version of Tony Stark/Iron Man

 I do play Tony Stark as OP, why? Because he is and because I can. I focus more on the emotional side than action unless I need to prove something. I'm a story writer. I will drop hints to stuff I'm gonna do weeks or months later. Many people like to keep each and every RP as it's own thing. I've done this before, but.Let's be honest here, most people will figure out who I am after writing with me due to the style and way I write a story. Both in RP format and simply fan fiction writing.Honest, I was worried about coming back because of drama, people don't like me because I speak the truth and don't hold back my voice. But I want to write and out of the 10 or so ass hats, I'll run into who will either ignore me, speak back about me or cause me drama. There is 1 who will enjoy reading my stuff.How I'm writing Iron ManPhase 1; Age 10 -33Depending on who I'm writing with, being crossovers, etc. I will choose to write with Tony Stark before he becomes Iron Man. Meaning a lot of foreshadowing and emotional because he's not a hero yet.Phase 2: Age 34 - 44Basically the events of Iron Man 1 all the way to Endgame. I have my own take on the role in these ten years as Iron Man, many things are not the same, such as not being with Pepper or chasing her. There will be more comic elements added.Phase 3 Age: 45+Of course Tony Stark dies in Endgame, which means I'd be limited. Well, there is a lot of comic information out there and stories that could happen after the Endgame film that would include IroN man. So much this is the one that I'll be doing most of the time.How does Iron Man live with the Snap then?It's simple, the suit was designed to take the full front of the energy allowing him to live. I still play it as he dies, but is later rebooted by the suit. This leads to some other comic elements I wish to explore. I may even do the whole AI thing while his body reboots giving raise to an Iron Heat story.That is all for now, just something I wanted to share. 




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