because every single person around him thought he was useless in the army

A Streak of Red (Wonho Fanfiction)

Originally posted by kukie

Dystopian AU, romance, action, adventure.

Summary: Wonho was the most sought out criminal in the Sector. Nobody knew who he really was or what he actually looked like, but he was the hero of the oppressed and impoverished. You were the general of the Sector’s Army with an extraordinary brain and years of training and your one goal in life was to take his life.


Chapter One

    Only months ago you were walking down these hallways with him. He would march in the middle of the corridor, a crowd of soldiers following behind him waiting for his orders while you stood by his side, nodding along to the plans he went over with you. Your big brother, Shownu, was both the general of the Sector’s army and the President’s most trusted advisor; he was highly respected within the Sector for his prestigious position in the government. With your remarkably sharp mental capabilities and swift calculative mind, you were able to prove yourself to both Shownu and the President, resulting in your brother always running his decisions through you first and the President regarding you highly.

    ‘We had just gotten off the plane and were at the Supply Edifice checking on recent progress. General Shownu was speaking to the head scientist, Dr. Han, there and he had sent of the guards so he could discuss certain matters in private. One of the guards from the eighth floor said that she’d gotten a glimpse of something passing one of the windows but brushed it off since it moved so quickly and she assumed it was merely a bird. She said about fifteen minutes after this occurrence, all electricity was shut down in the building and the place was pitch black.

    General Shownu was quick to act, though. His first impulse was to protect the source. He locked the door, not allowing any of the guards in, and helped Dr. Han into a hiding spot behind a cabinet in the lab. According to Dr. Han, a dagger smashed through the glass window  out of thin air and stabbed the general’s legs, impairing his movement. He had fallen to the ground and was not able to unlock the door to let us in.

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Every so often, my posts about Mr. Moses make their way around, and I always get a few delightful asks along the lines of, “Mr Moses sounds like the best teacher ever!”

And you know what?

He was. Let me tell you a little about this man.

He worked at one of the worst schools in the state of Arkansas. There were fights every day, gun threats, knives, and drugs running rampant. The digital scales he used for his chemistry classes had been stolen on more than one occasion by druggies and dealers. He taught Chemistry and Physics (which everyone knows are freaking hard) and the hatred of a difficult subject often mistakenly transfers to the teacher, so he had to deal with more than a fair share of teenage fury. He also taught Shop, and trying to corral teenagers around power tools and live electrical wires is more stressful than trying to babysit starving lions. He not only taught difficult subjects that kids hated and rebelled against, he also drove a bus. Anyone who has ever ridden a public school bus knows that the bus drivers are the most under-appreciated and overworked staff at the school, enduring more abuse and frustration than you could ever write into an angsty fanfic. He also worked as part of the committee that planned the entire school’s class schedules, and participated actively in the PTA and school board. He arrived at school the earliest in the morning, and left the latest in the evening. He had done this for more than a decade, dealing with slander and abuse and violence and anger and negativity and frustration for day after day after day for year after year after year. If anyone had a right to be a cranky, no-nonsense, spiteful classroom overlord, it was Noah Moses.

But he never was.

This man was (and is) the kindest, most gentle, most caring man you ever knew. He is what everyone wishes for in a teacher: he genuinely cared about every single student that entered his classroom, and his greatest mission in life was to foster a real love of LEARNING in everyone he met. He knew the individual names of every student in his classes, as well as every student in the high school. He knew who was related, who was dating, who was having a rough time at home and who needed a hug. He was first to offer help at expense of what little personal time he had, and he went to his students’ extra-curricular events regularly. He knew our interests and our dislikes, and tailored lessons and experiments and lab experiences to what he knew we could and would relate to. He always had a joke in the morning and an inspirational thought in the afternoon. He ate lunch with us in the cafeteria, and offered coffee during finals week because he knew we would all be stressed. He singlehandedly kept the Shop and Electrical classes afloat, because he knew that in our local economy, many of us would need practical skills to support ourselves and find employment. He knew that not everyone would want to go on to college, and he was determined to help them find something meaningful, practical, and gainful they could do by the time they graduated High School. He had the philosophy that High School was meant to prepare you for whatever you wanted to do in life, and he did everything he could to make all of his courses applicable to our hopes and dreams and plans post-school.

This is the man who threw himself into the path of a cocked and loaded gun when a student several years ago hit breaking point. He talked him down just long enough to wrestle the gun away from him, then sat there hugging him and talking to him until the police arrived. He would have rather died than risk any of the students in the school he so cared about. Our school was garbage, but I have never met anyone with more school pride and spirit than Mr. Moses. He earnestly and honestly believed that we could turn it around and be the best there had ever been. He believed in students when they refused to believe in themselves. The common consensus among our school was that anyone who didn’t make it into the army or college was going to end up in jail or on drugs or both, but Mr. Moses believed that every single person who ever stepped foot on Strong High School Campus was not only capable of going to college and beyond, but was WORTH it. He honestly believed that. He didn’t just say it, either; he showed it in everything he did, from abandoning lesson plans to talk about life and “the real world” to cooking us steak and baked potatoes just because he could. One minute with Mr. Moses could turn the darkest, most horrid day into a bright and hopeful one.

That’s the way he lives his life. He makes sure that every single person he comes into contact with knows that they are not only special and unique, but worth all the best things in life. He may not have known it, and he may never know it, but he is one reason I was able to stay afloat in my battle with severe depression. I felt hopeless, useless, worthless, talentless, and pointless; but Mr. Moses always treated me like I was the most intelligent, most talented, most incredible person he’d ever laid eyes on—and every student who had him as a teacher has said the same. I don’t know if he could sense it, or if he was just that way (tho I’m inclined to believe the latter), but he shone a light into a darkness I saw no way out of. His faith in me gave me self confidence at a time I was absolutely devoid of it.

Nobody had grades low enough to make Mr. Moses think they were stupid or a lost cause. Even if someone was failing his course, he always let them know that no matter the grade, as long as they were doing their honest best, they were succeeding. I saw him bring students from an F to a B in the course of a single semester. I saw him come to school to tutor and give individual assistance, so early that he would sometimes fall asleep during our afternoon classes. I saw him stay so late holding reviews and grading papers and making tests and poring over and altering lesson plans that when we drove past the school at 11pm on a Wednesday night, his car was still there and a solitary light was on in the science building. I never once heard him complain about his students; the closest he ever got was a soul-wrenching lament of the fact that they refused to see in themselves what he saw in them.

I have never met a man like Mr. Moses before, and I don’t know if I ever will again. But I’m convinced that if we had more people like him, especially more teachers like him, the world would be a truly better place. He exemplifies everything you hope for in a teacher, everything that we pray for and beg for from an educator: honest interest in the lives of his students; care for their well-being, not just their grades; self sacrifice and dedication to true learning; faith in the underlying goodness of humanity; fierce in defense of the safety and well-being of their students; honest love for everyone who crosses their path; inspiring in their actions and uplifting in their speech…

Mr. Moses has inspired generations of people to go on and reach for their dreams. I know of at least 4 people who have become successful teachers because they were inspired by him to take action on behalf of the rising generation. Countless scores of Strong High School students left that campus with renewed faith in humanity and a sense of purpose.

But most of all, Mr. Moses inspired us to never stop believing in ourselves, and to always keep learning. His motto was simply, “Think.” He told us that when he dies, that’s all he wants on his tombstone. He wants to be buried beneath a stone with no name, no dates, nothing engraved on it except the word “Think.” He said he wants that because that is all he has wanted out of life: to get others to think, to wonder, to LEARN. And he said that even in death, he wants people to be inspired by him to think; if even one person passes that tombstone and reads the word and begins to wonder what it could mean, he said, then he will look down from Heaven and be content that both his life and his death have meant something.

That is Mr. Moses. He is so much more than I could ever convey with words, because he is such a vibrant light in such a dull world. He changed my life, and I only hope that telling y’all even a little about him can inspire you as much as it has done for me, and countless others who have had the privilege of knowing him. He makes me want to be a better person, to believe in the good and believe that I can DO good.

He has helped make me who I am today, and my hope is that one day I can be anything like Mr. Noah Eugene Moses: a shining, if quirky, beacon of hope in a world that so desperately needs it.

fra-tell-em  asked:

This is super cliché and I apologize but would you be able to write an au of what would happen if Nux managed to survive the crash and came walking into Citadel all banged up and went and found Capable? I need closure, oh my word, do I need closure 😭

Haha I fixed the ending of Mad Max: Fury Road for you! Thank you so much for the prompt: I’ve been really wanting to do this one. I hope you like it and I’m sorry it took so long. I had work all day.



               The world came back to him first in feeling, and then in sound. The dull ache of the sun beating down on his face didn’t wake him up much. He was too deep into the dark place to be pulled out. Nux couldn’t feel his legs, and the numbness was spreading up along his spine, trickling into his blood and turning him cold. He couldn’t imagine opening his eyes, standing up or really moving at all.

He wasn’t completely sure if he was alive until he heard the crackling of flames, angry flames feeding on guzzoline, and the unmistakable clatter of a fender breaking off a vehicle.

He felt sleepy, but there was a sinister edge to his drowsiness. Somewhere between conscious thought and animal instinct Nux realized that if drifted off into sleep, he would fall into the long sleep that he would never awaken from. The idea was tempting though.

Nothing hurt in his sleep. No hunger, no thirst, nothing.

Nux had earned his rest. He wasn’t sure if Valhalla would welcome him, or if it was there at all. Those illusions died with the Immortan. But Nux had earned his death.

Yet he couldn’t slip into the darkness. Not quite yet.

What bothered Nux is that he couldn’t quite place why he had restlessness.

He had driven the war rig. He had died heroic on the Fury Road. Nux had seen enough adventure, guzzoline and death to last him a lifetime, but here he was: halfway between the long sleep, the peaceful sleep, and the unforgiving irradiated desert.

Why was he wavering?

He saw a flash of red, his own blood, but all he could think about was how perfectly the shade of his life-blood matched Capable’s hair.  He blinked sand out of his eyes and tried to move his fingers.

Searing heat coursed through his veins and burned hotter than any engine he’d ever laid hands on. He would have grimaced if he could relearn how to move his face, and moan if his vocal cords hadn’t dried to leather in the scorching sun.

He twitched his fingers once more, and the pain was more manageable the second time around. Nux shifted and everything went white with pain. When his vision returned, he become acutely aware of how much everything hurt. Now that he was moving, now that he was choosing to live, the pain was everywhere.

Nux heard a broken sound, a whimper from somewhere in the wreckage and he raised himself up on his elbows to get a clear view. He felt blood trickle into his eyes and he blinked it away.

There was nothing around him except the remains of the great war rig, fire and Rictus’ arm.  Nux wasn’t sure where the rest of Rictus was, but it was probably dead. Rictus was almost a perfect heir, but his lungs were shrivelled. Without the oxygen canisters he would suffocate.

Nux surveyed the Pass once more. He had rolled the rig fantastically. It blocked off the narrow pass without a single gap.

Nux leaned on his right arm and that mewling came again.

It took him a long moment to realize that the broken noise had come from him. His arm lay at his side, useless and hanging at an angle it should not be hanging at. Nux squinted through the sand and blood in his eyes to look out onto the desert.

Lucky was an understatement.

He was alive. That in itself was beyond lucky.

Manifest Destiny, maybe.

And the fact he had been thrown clear of the wreckage, thrown across the pass and back into Immortan Joe’s territory, was nothing short of a miracle. It was probably Furiosa’s territory now, Nux reasoned, with the half of the Immortan’s face decorating the underside of that buggy. The dead had no place claiming the land of the living.

The Masters of the Pass were probably quite displeased with the carnage, but after all the chaos they wouldn’t dare trespass on Furiosa’s land. Not after she had the guts to ride headfirst into the Immortan’s army and then drive out again carrying the warlord’s corpse as her trophy.

Nux struggled to his feet and blanched when a wave of nausea overtook him. He fell back to his knees and retched. His vomit was more blood than anything and he didn’t know much about taking care of his body, but he knew that when your blood was on the outside instead of the inside, you were in trouble.

Nux got back on his feet and realized that if he wanted to, he could lay down again and the long sleep would take him still.

He shook his head and saw splotches and stars in his vision.

No way.

He wanted to see the Green Place first, and hoped that there he would find a bit of auburn hair there. The desert stretched on beyond what his swollen eyes could see, but Nux had the sun still. The white clay coat he wore warded off the deadly sunburns, and now the sun offered Nux a faint idea of where he stood in the wasteland.

He survived Immortan Joe. He would survive this too.

While driving, the desert always passed by in one continuous blur of brown. The dunes rolled past him like waves and no distance was too far. Now on foot, Nux had such appreciation for the power the wheel gave him.

He spent so long staggering through that desert that he could name and get to know every single sand dune personally. When the great hulk of the Citadel rose before him, Nux couldn’t help a large smile that started on his face. He felt his lip bust open. The dryness of the sun and his own dehydration made his skin crack.

The warpups let him up the lift with no trouble. The Immortan’s broken son, the little one who’s legs were too short and didn’t work sent him a filthy glare but let him up without question.

Furiosa stood in the doorframe, staring at the frail warboy. He must have looked like a ghost with his bloody clay and sunken eyes bruised black from when his face slammed into the wheel. She gestured him over and her mechanical arm whirred and clucked before it settled into smoother motion.

Nux stumbled over and came to a halt when she raised her hand.


Nux licked his lips and tasted blood. “I don’t know. I think Valhalla didn’t want me.”

Furiosa looked him over and a smile ghosted her lips. “Valhalla would be foolish to close its doors to you. Maybe today was just not your day.”

Nux ducked his head. “Thank you, Imperator.”

“I’m sure you want to see the others? Toast, Dag, Cheedo, Capable?”

Nux raised his head and smiled toothily. His teeth were red with blood. “I do. But I also think I’m going to die?”

Furiosa chuckled and called out to a passing warpup. “Boy, the Organic Mech. Here now.” Furiosa turned back to Nux. “They’re not here yet.”

“Where are they?”

“Out. Looking for you. Well, not Max. Max is gone.”

“They went back?” Nux noticed the Imperator’s lip harden.

“Of course. We couldn’t just leave you.”

“It’s a waste of guzzoline.” Nux muttered and kicked at the ground. The toe of his boot was starting to come off and it got caught every time he took a step.

“We all thought it was worth the gas.” Furiosa ran her organic hand through her hair and let out a long sigh. She softened. “None of us counted on you dragging your own corpse home on your own. What’s broken?”

Nux paused and took stock of his injuries. “Everything, I think.”

Nux wasn’t sure where to go from here. Everything he had known was gone. Dead and crashed just inside that narrow pass where it was burning up into nothing.

Capable burst through the doors. Tears streaming down her face and threw herself into him. Nux couldn’t remember what happened next because the pain made him black out, but when he surfaced back to consciousness Capable was kissing his cheeks and crushing him in her arms.

“N-nux,” She managed between sobs. “I thought you were leaving, warboy?”

“I never got to see the Green Place. I wanted to stay a bit more for that. And I didn’t have any chrome on my teeth. Didn’t feel right leaving for Valhalla without my chrome.”

She laughed and stuck her face into Nux’s shoulder and stayed there for a long while until her shuddering breaths calmed and Nux couldn’t feel her tears dripping onto his chest. Nux wrapped one arm around her wordlessly, like all the times he would in the back of Furiosa’s war rig, and like all those times before Capable settled into his embrace. She didn’t doze off to sleep this time around though. She stayed awake and clutched at Nux’s good arm while the Organic Mechanic worked on the shattered one.

When the silence was too heavy, Capable would talk in soft, lilting tones about the wreckage of the pass. How they had gotten there and found Rictus, all tangled up under the war rig, and then blood. Nothing of him, nothing of Nux except blood and Capable whispered, in a voice so soft that Nux could only hear it because her mouth was next to his ear, that she thought that the Masters of the Pass had taken him away and eaten him.

Nux normally would have laughed at that. Who would eat a scrawny warboy with irradiated blood and company like Larry and Barry? He didn’t laugh. Instead he let her curl up in his lap and told her about the walk back, and his favourite sand dunes.

Through the wide doorway he saw the other women peer in before vanishing out of sight. They would send him his welcomes later.

Nux had his head resting on Capable’s head and was content to stay there and just look at her hair. He’d never had any. No matter how far back he remembered, it was shorn off his head. Just within the last few years it stopped growing back at all, courtesy of Larry and Barry. That didn’t bother him much. Capable had enough hair for the both of them.

Capable was colour through and through. Her hair, red as blood, kept catching his eye. She wore deep greens and bright golds that made Nux question his love of chrome. Chrome was silver and cold, but Capable was vibrant and alive.

Nux found his hands rubbing against the white clay of his skin and for the first time in his life didn’t want to wear clay as white as bleached bone.

Black and red wasn’t oil and blood anymore. Now it was soil and life.

wrenspaperwings  asked:

o.o I love the new expressions (lets be honest I love ginger gamzee) but yea you mentioned Alternate endings and I was wondering if there was any way maybe we could go into the au idea from SotW where karkat really just cant see cause gamzee is like out in the middle of nowhere.

(I’m so not writing the entire epic saga of this AU, but I can write some key moments mostly Gamkar, sure! :D  But it’s gonna be HELLA DEPRESSING)

You’re in a back alley of some tiny, fucked up town when someone pisses off the empress.

You don’t know who, or where—maybe it’s not even a specific person, maybe she’s just pissed off today—but you feel the wave of terror roll over you and you lose yourself in it, let yourself go and sink down into your mind.

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anonymous asked:

Hello, recovering Ichi fan here. I want to send in a prompt about how the Matsus would look after their S/O if they had been in a past relationship that was abusive or hurtful and were very shaky and afraid of being left behind, the kind of S/O who feels ugly and useless really easily but tries their best and still puts their all into everything. I love this blog so much! I love your imagines, thank you for making me smile even when I'm sad.

I’m so glad we’re able to make you smile ! I so glad you’re recovering and I hope these are okay !!

It got way longer than i thought it would so it’s under a cut just in case. It’s a good read though!

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