#twilightiisms

        it’s  expected  of  dark,  to  begin  worrying.  link  has  usually  returned  home  by  this  time,  patches  of  dirt  clinging  to  sweatied  and  freshly  tanned  skin  with  an  APOLOGY  at  the  ready,  for  the  mess.  it  makes  the  shade  anxious,  where  he  sits,  finger  tapping  ‘gainst  wood  in  compliance  with  his  foot.  it’s  a  habit  he’s  driven  himself  damned  near  CRAZY,  trying  to  break  (  yet,  he  can’t  help  it  --  he  has  lost  one,  and  fears  losing  ANOTHER.  )  a  form  of  PTSD,  perhaps,  or  simple  overattachment...  a  mixture  of  BOTH,  even ? ? ?

        tsk.  he’s  torn  between  risking  their  well-kept  secret  to  go  searching  for  him,  or  remaining  where  he  is  in  their  gradually  suffocating  home.  using  the  slow  set  of  the  sun  as  comfort  fuel,  he  stares  at  the  warm  colors  of  the  sky  through  lengthy  eyelashes  and  channels  his  anxiety  into  his  fingers,  which  have  curled  into  tight,  TREMBLING  fists.  it  keeps  him  rooted,  effectively,  yet  doesn’t  prevent  the  sharp  pivot  of  his  gaze  as  it  beelines  for  the  doorway  at  the  sound  of  heavily approaching  footsteps...

I could go on forever about all that I love with Impy's muses and writing! Every muse of her's is absolutely breathtaking (twilightiisms/shxtteredbow/cfthewild) and she's a huge reason why I love the RP community so much! She puts so much character into her muses and I love EVERY reply that she puts out just because it's so beautifully written. Not only is she great IC, but she's ASTOUNDING OOC and such a wonderful, kind soul who's helped me through so much. Seriously, all the love to Impy. -- lcylines

                 it had been so long-------- DECADES, likely, since he’d called upon the arsenal of abilities bestowed upon him by a master long since defeated. perhaps it was good, that he hadn’t a use for them all these years, for majority of them caused naught else but destruction and pain... results he, after breaking the chains that bound him to the dark king, no longer sought. even now, as he stared at his right hand, watching as stark ebony began to slowly swallow it and edge up the length of his arm, the tingle was only slight, almost non-existent, indicating he had grown w e a k...

                                  ... U N A C C E P T A B L E.

                                   there was no reason for him to house much care in regards to his pitiful abilities, for he was still more than capable of wielding a blade--- but what use would that provide him in such a simple setting? perhaps had he been in the throes of war, raw steel against raw steel, this festering feeling of uselessness wouldn’t be so persistent, but there was no war ravaging the goddesses’ land, as it presently stood, which he was grateful for, naturally.                    it did not mean his placement in the hero of twilight’s village changed, however. he may as well have been a waste of space, air, and resources, limited only to keeping their shared home tidy whilst the hero greeted the morning’s sun, crawling out of bed with unkempt, dirty blond locks, to begin his arduous day of work. the love they shared was mutual, but the workload and responsibilities were terribly unbalanced. the silveret was still a well kept secret from link’s loved ones, a reality which was saddening, in and of itself, but at the very least... he desired to be introduced as someone who could play a part in the functionality of the village, rather than remaining in the shadows like a timid puppy, running away with his tail betwixt his legs at the faintest hint of an approaching farmhand.                                    how could he, though, when even his most unique, handiest of abilities were refusing to cooperate with him?

As he watched Link from his place in the doorway he couldn’t help but reflect back to the first time he had seen a television. Did he also wear such an expression? He remembered feeling overwhelmed and his senses going into overdrive from all the new objects that surrounded him, but unlike Link he had never really had the time to take it all in, not properly.

Seeing the way his eyes lit up in unadulterated wonder was in itself captivating, he could probably watch him for as long as Link watched the TV, there was something just so magical about seeing someone experience life for the first time. So many people took life for granted because it was all they had ever known, they never took the time to realise how privileged they were to have such simple things.

Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past. || Accepting

The clock on the break room wall ticked a sharp, quiet staccato, keeping a beat that was just out of synch with the drills in the courtyard. A small rubber ball was tossed up and down, up and down. He couldn’t decide which cadence to match. Calloused hands, spattered with scars, clapped together over the toy, stopping it in its tracks. Braig frowned, cast an irritated glare towards the open window. All that excess noise was getting annoying; couldn’t a man zone out in peace? He let his right hand fall to the table, still curled around the ball, as his left tore a hole in the fabric of space. 

…

He needed an easier way to conceptualise that.

Rifts?

Sure.

He rifted his hand across the room, squinting as he tried to get the latch undone.

“Why do you do this?” Moss asked, not looking up from his crossword.

“‘Cause I don’t wanna get up.” Braig replied, sitting upright in his chair and furrowing his brow in concentration.

“So, you pull this?” Moss asked, letting his paper fall to the coffee table with a thwack. 

“I don’t have to get up.” Braig said. He grinned, both at the huffy eye-roll Moss gave, and in triumph at how close he was to getting the window closed. Moss had just stood up to get a drink from the kitchenette; Braig had just gotten the window loose.

“At ease!” A deep voice bellowed, and both men jolted to attention. Moss nearly tripped over himself; Braig knocked over his chair, and yanked his arm back through the h— The rift, so quickly that the window slammed shut. Their startled silence was broken by raucous laughing. 

“Oh, man, you guys- Your faces!” It was stammered out between breathless guffaws. 

“Jones, Miller, Schulz,” Moss said flatly, as Braig huffed and looked around for the bouncy ball he had dropped.

“Abioye’s here, too,” Miller said, once he’d stood up from his doubled-over fit of mirth. He reached through the small huddle of men, ushering someone a good few years younger than the rest of them.

“Right, right. New guy.” Braig said, bending down just a bit to scour the floor. Moss huffed, and returned to finding a kitchen.

“Yes, sir.” The cadet said, offering a sharp salute before Jones swatted his hand down. 

“Don’t do that here, kid. This is the break room. You know, where we relax? And, you know, inside.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “B’sides, Ellery here’s pretty bad at remembering the rules. You don’t mind if the kid takes a load off, do ya?”

“You’re a dick, Jones.” Braig said, looking up from his search. (He did feel a little vindicated when Miller and Schulz suppressed snorts of laughter). “Nice mage-gloves, by the way.” Jones scowled, pulled his hands out of his pockets, and instead crossed his arms. 

“Anyway,” Braig continued, turning his attention to the young cadet. Dark eyes looked up at him nervously; Braig couldn’t help but attempt a smile. “Captain Ellery. That guy over there, the one who looks like he’s plotting our murders, that’s Major Moss. What’s your MOS, kid?” 

“He’s eleven bang-bang,” Schultz cut in, nudging Jones with his shoulder.

“–But, I’m hoping to be a recon specialist, one day!” Clearly, Aboiye wasn’t quite green enough to be ignorant of the ‘bang-bang’ thing. Poor kid. 

“Oh, yeah?” Braig said, crossing his arms loosely. over his chest. (The clock continued to tick its steady pace.) Aboiye nodded; Braig smirked. “Well, who knows?” He turned, waving one hand in the air as he returned to his shift. “Stick around here long enough, maybe you’ll make something of yourself.”

“Might turn out better than you.” Moss mused from over the rim of his coffee mug. Miller snickered.

“As if.” Braig replied, straightening up. “Nobody’s better than me. That’s why I’m still here.” Moss scoffed, taking a long swallow from his mug.

“Not because of your stunning good looks?” He asked, arching a brow as he strolled towards the door. 

“That helps,” Braig grinned, glancing over his shoulder as Moss left before crouching down to search the floor.

“What’re you doing?” Shultz asked, as Jones righted and sat in Braig’s chair.

“Dropped a ball,” Braig replied, looking under the Nap Couch and squinting at the darkness. Where in the world could it have gone? He frowned, glanced towards the window, like that could help. The sun streamed in brightly, illuminating dust motes as they swirled in some phantom breeze. The drills must still be ongoing - he could still hear them marching. 

… Was that them? 

It came from the same general direction, sure, but a bit off to the side…

…

Whatever. He shrugged, went back to searching under the couch for his lost toy. Had to while the hours away, somehow, and Aels and Dil were both on door duty–

“Attention!”

WHAP.

“OW, sonuva—!” Braig yelped, rubbing at the back of his head. He’d probably have a goose-egg there, next morning; He was half-tempted to give the couch a kick. He eased back a safe distance, turned,

froze.

“Care to finish that sentence, Captain?”

Eadric’s face was cold and impassive, but Braig could feel the disapproval radiating through the air. Behind him, Sampson stood in a sharp parade rest, and, at the General’s other side, Grieg was tossing Braig’s missing ball up and down in one hand.

You bet I would, Braig thought, narrowing his eyes at the stolen toy before returning his gaze to his father’s.

“No, sir.” He said, in a spontaneous moment of good judgement. He straightened slowly, took a few steps forwards to stand in line with the rest of the men - Jones, Miller, Schultz, and Aboiye. He wished he’d just left with Moss when he’d had the chance.

“Very good.” Eadric said. He maintained eye contact for a few seconds longer before turning and walking slowly down the line of guards, his cane adding a sharp punctuation to every other step. Braig kept his eyes forwards. In his peripheries, he could see Grieg still tossing the ball up and down, up and down, up and down, before tucking it into his pocket. Braig suppressed a groan; That’d be a pain to get back. He may as well be better off picking up a new one from the dollar store. 

A crisp whoosh nearly made him flinch. Fortunately enough for him, he was able to keep his composure. Even more fortunate was that he was not on the receiving end of the good General’s ire, If Braig had cared to look beside him, he would have seen Jones fearing for his life, the tip of the cane hovering right over his shoulder, less than an inch from his neck.

“… Tie back your hair, Lieutenant.” Eadric said coolly. “This is the Royal Guard, not your parents’ basement. Have some respect.” He flicked a few strands of auburn hair off of Jones’ shoulder, then set his cane back on the ground.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jones. Eadric paid him no mind before moving on.

“Something funny, Lieutenant?” Grieg piped from the other end of the line.

“No, sir!” Miller said, straightening his shoulders. 

“Just that happy to see us, huh?” Braig could hear Greig’s hand slap against Miller’s shoulder from where he stood. “Can’t keep the smile off your face?” Eadric paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir!” Miller replied. Braig had to swallow a cringe, and he knew he wasn’t the only one. There wasn’t a right answer to that question. That was still the wrong one.

“Aw, well, look at Lieutenant Sunshine, over here!” Grieg drawled, stepping back. Eadric turned, but otherwise said nothing. Grieg continued on. “Front-leaning rest.” Miller did as instructed; Grieg crouched down to be at his height.

“You know the song ‘Happy and You Know It’, Sunshine?” He asked. The grin on his face was audible.

“Yes, sir.” Miller replied. He sounded less happy.

“Well, guess what you’re going to serenade us with while the General finishes his inspection?” Grieg sounded very pleased with himself. “Start pushing.”

“Grieg.” Eadric cut in. Miller paused mid-push-up; Grieg’s amusement faltered only slightly as he turned to face his superior officer. “Get on his back. I imagine he’s lighthearted enough that it won’t be a challenge, otherwise.”

“Yes, sir!” Grieg said, delighted. He planted his boot firmly between Miller’s shoulder-blades, waiting for him to go down before stepping up fully. Miller grunted in discomfort. 

“Funny, that doesn’t sound like music!” Grieg commented. “We don’t need to turn on the jukebox, do we?” 

“No, sir.” Miller mumbled, and a quiet, off-key version of the song wafted through the break room. None of them were tempted to laugh. Eadric continued on his way. He paused at Schultz, but said nothing; Aboiye managed much the same fate, only with a quiet snort. The type that meant he’d been identified as fresh meat, but was lucky enough that the lions weren’t quite hungry for his blood. Eadric paused in front of Braig, looked him over, and frowned at the ground. Braig fought to avoid rolling his eyes.

“I can’t see my reflection in your boots, Captain.” Eadric said, fixing Braig with a detached stare.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“No, sir?” Braig asked, keeping his expression as neutral as he could.

“Why is that?” Eadric asked. (He was much better at this whole ‘emotionless’ thing.)

Oh, powers. He’s serious.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Fix it, Captain.” Eadric’s tone was sharp, and he gestured over to the supply closet, to the side of the room. Braig gave a short salute, walked over to the cabinet– Straightened his posture and fixed his gait when the sound of a cane striking the floor echoed through the room, temporarily silencing Miller’s song (until Grieg cleared his throat). Braig decided this wasn’t worth getting reamed out, again. He pulled a small jar of black polish out of  the closet, and a rag smeared with the same, then knelt where he was to shine his boots.

“In line, Captain.” Eadric said. Braig avoided saying a number of things. He stood up, returned to his position in line, and knelt down once again. It was silent, except for Miller’s increasingly pained singing, and the occasional squeak of the rag against the leather of Braig’s boots, and, of course, the ticking of the clock. He could feel Eadric’s eyes on him, and Sampson’s. Grieg’s, too, when Miller’s push-ups brought him over the heads of the others. After a few minutes, Braig paused, polish in one hand, rag in the other.

“Permission to recover, sir?” He said, noting that he could, in fact, see his own distaste sulking back to him from his footwear. 

“Granted.” Eadric said, and Braig stood. After a second of silence, Eadric looked at him again, blue eyes meeting brown.

“It will have to do.” He said, cast once more glance don the line, then turned to leave. Sampson moved to follow him, and Grieg hopped off of Miller’s back. 

“On your feet, Sunshine.” He said, and, before Miller could get too appreciative, “and I want a reprise of that when you’re on your patrols. Gotta raise morale somehow, right?” He chuckled; Miller only let out a soft ‘yes, sir’ as he worked to regulate his breathing. 

“As you were, gentlemen.” Eadric said as he stepped through the door.

“Stand easy,” Sampson echoed, following him. Grieg brought up the rear, fishing the bouncy ball out of his pocket and examining it as the trio vanished down the hall. Braig groaned, even as the five men let their postures slump. 

“Who was that?” Aboiye asked, glancing up to Miller, then to Jones, then Braig, in turn. Braig opened his mouth to reply.

“That was ‘Daddy’.” Schultz announced, plopping himself on a chair with a grin. 

“Shut up, Schultz!” Jones snapped, once again speaking before Braig could; In this case, though, he was rewarded with an appreciative nod from the sharpshooter, right as a sudden gravity well yanked Schultz’ chair out from under him.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Braig grinned, feeling a bit better, already.

“Where’re you going?” Miller asked, from where he was helping Schultz back to his feet.

Send in Kinks and My muse will rate them || accepting 

//I HAVE NEVER WATCHED OR READ IT, sorry Tina, our relationship is a lie

What had started off as another normal boring day quickly took an unexpected turn for the worst. All he had wanted to do was make a quick drive into town to pick up a free bits and bobs and now he was lying in the middle of the road, his most precious possession broke beyond repair and his head spinning. Fortunately he’d been wearing his protective gear and so hadn’t done any damage to himself beside a few bruised bones, but was he okay?  

In what seemed like a glare from the sun his entire vision had been replaced with nothing but brilliant white. It lasted for no more than a second but when it dispersed there was something in his way, or rather..someone. In that instance he swerved and slammed on the brakes, his bike sliding sideways across the road. Luckily, he was the type of person that was quick to think on the spot and as such allowed himself to fall with the vehicle, his hands gripped around the bars so that no body part made contact with the asphalt, allowing the bike to take the brunt.

After carefully pushing himself into the sitting up position and dismissing the people that had rushed to his aid, he removed his helmet and scoured his surroundings. A dozen feet away, give or take a few, there was a small gaggle of people fussing over something and fear immediately pierced his heart. Did he hit them after all? Were they okay? 

Reluctantly accepting a helping hand he staggered to his feet, wincing a little in the process. Gods he was going to be black and blue for weeks but at least he was alive. The closer to the huddled group of people he got, the more anxious he became. He could hear people trying to get the person's attention, trying to retain some kind of response but all they were being greeted with was incoherent rambles in what sounded like another language.