#{ such as knowing how to use thieves tools

[seat-safety-switch]

When we were kids, we didn't have access to cool power tools. Every summer, when the soapbox derby race was coming, we'd break into my neighbour's garage while he was at work. Then, we'd use his drill press, lathe, table saw, all the fun tools. Over the course of a week, a race car was produced, which is more than the workshop ever made during the rest of the year.

Sure, we could have asked him if we could have borrowed his tools, but no doubt he would want to be there to supervise. And then he'd want to help. We'd never get done while we were busy indulging the suburb-tinged fantasies of someone who didn't take wood shop and chose instead to idly worship at the altar of Television Presents: The Fantasy of Bob Vila in adulthood.

One year, Old Man Garrett got a security system. Probably this was because Ted (fucking Ted) didn't clean up the sawdust that one time like we asked him to. The old man must have seen the footprint, and realized that he did not wear size-seven Nikes. Child thieves, casing his precious table saw! Now, our humble breaking-and-entering had become significantly more difficult than "reach a coat hanger under the door and pull the emergency release."

With the help of some of the high-school kids who were taking electronics class, we managed to defeat the security system. We did so using an ancient Japanese technique known as "distract Old Man Garrett while he's setting it, and then cut the wires to the panel." I think it loses something in translation, but you get the gist of it. That year's car was especially sweet.

In adulthood, I got drunk and bragged to some work buddies about our little scam. They responded in abject horror, because I was still occupying the weird hump in the middle of a normal distribution of "acceptable crimes." It was terrifying to them to see one of their own, one of the suburbanites, speak openly about largely-harmless property crimes. What if we had been hurt, they shrieked. Around the water cooler, I would become a pariah, unless I could make amends.

I did hunt down Old Man Garrett after that, still feeling the sting of rejection. He was still on the property, and he still had a beautiful collection of immaculate cabinet-making tools in the garage. I rang his doorbell and, when he answered, I told him the whole story. He laughed.

"I knew it was you dumb shits from the beginning," he bragged. "Fucking Ted -"

"Fucking Ted," I echoed, unconsciously.

"Fucking Ted left his library book on building race cars behind on the workbench that first year. You didn't let him drive, did you?"

I shook my head. "We ran the car into him if the hockey-stick brakes ever failed."

We had a good laugh about the whole thing that evening, and I returned to work with my soul cleansed. It's just a pity Ted didn't know how bad he actually was at crime, before he tried to knock over that liquor store and all.

[vixensdungeon]

Alright, time to talk about one of the hot button issues in D&D today: skills, and how they've evolved over the 50-year lifespan of the game. We'll start, of course, from the beginning.

Dungeons & Dragons (1974)

So there actually isn't a skill system here. But the primordial origins are there, in the various neat little procedures of adventuring. Firstly there are languages. Humans know the "common tongue," which at this point isn't a single language, it just refers to the local Lingua Franca. I think all non-human player characters are assumed to be in 20% of other creatures who speak the language along with their own one. You also know an alignment language (Lawful, Chaotic, or Neutral), and one additional creature language for every point of Intelligence above 10.

NPC reactions. This is rolled on a simple 2d6 table for recruiting hirelings. Another 2d6 table is for monster reactions.

Surprise rolls. There are no stealth or perception skills, and adventurers are simply assumed to be sneaking around while in dungeons, with surprise rolled when monsters are encountered.

Doors can be listened at and secret doors found, with simple d6 rolls.

There's also a chance of getting lost in the wilderness, which sort of implies a general ability to not do so in most situations.

And that's basically it! You can already see several different skills we know today forming in the primordial soup.

But you feel like something is missing, right? Ah, of course! We must take a little detour to

Greyhawk (1975)

Did you know that in the original game, the only classes were fighting man, magic-user, and cleric? That's right, the now classic thief would not be introduced until the first supplement! And with them came for the first time actual named skills.

Thieves could open locks, remove traps, listen for noise, move silently, pick pockets, and hide in shadows. Additionally they could read languages, treasure maps, and even magical scrolls at higher levels.

Now, these skills are only for thieves, so what are other characters to do? Well for most of them, nothing. It simply is not a fighter's job to pick pockets, or a cleric's job to open a lock. Certainly an item can be forcefully taken from an NPC, and a door bashed open, so they are not completely helpless in these tasks. But the thief simply excels at doing such things with superior ability and grace. And of course any character can hear noises behind doors, thieves are simply better at it. Moving silently and hiding are two slightly odd skills, as they overlap with surprise rolls but don't interact with them. It can be assumed that a thief moving silently can scout ahead and report back without actually encountering the monsters they find, and a hiding thief can let wandering monsters pass by even when there isn't sufficient cover (as only shadows are needed, other characters can obviously still hide behind cover if they are aware of the need to do so). Other characters can also climb using ropes and other tools, but won't be able to climb sheer surfaces unaided like thieves can, so again the thief can simply do something general in a superior manner.

There are many classes with their own skills to be found in various magazines, but I'm not going to dig through them. So let the totality of original D&D skills be the above.

Next time: we get Advanced

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Suddenly remembered something I wanted to say re:Akechi, because I think it's really core to his character (at least the way I interpreted him?) and I feel like it explains a lot of his contradictions. Essentially, he is incapable of seeing himself as just a person - he's either the greatest hero/detective ever, or he's some violent monster, and it's like there's no in-between. It's very in keeping with his obvious superiority-inferiority complex, but it goes deeper than that too; when he's in a role, it seems like his self-perception kind of changes too depending on how he is perceived by others. He really does get a confidence boost from being the Detective Prince. He really does shut down emotionally as the Black Mask.

They're masks that he's made, and it's not that aspects of them aren't based in truth to some extent, but I think it goes to show why he's not actually that fantastic a liar (imo, I found the outright lies pretty obvious), but he is a very good actor. He's either an angel or a demon, and never a person, but there are conditions to that. He is an angel when he is perfect - to society. He is a demon when he is vengeful - again, to society. He is never a person, because he never was seen as one - to society. He was disregarded. To be anything of value or notoriety, whether that's hero or villain, he has to be wildly more or less than who he actually is, and he's been building these masks up for so long that I really think he lost sight of the actual person behind it all. And I don't think he wanted to see that person anyways, because that person "wasn't good enough" and I do think he'd rather be anything other than himself. That trickery, that deflection from the person within, in itself brings him pride and satisfaction. He wants to be loved and needed instead of being cast aside, but I also think that if he can't have that then he'd much rather be hated than never have mattered at all. He weaponizes his own loneliness - if he can't ever be accepted then he'll build his own pedestal apart from everyone else.

It's so fascinating too, because I just wonder how much of this he was consciously aware of pre, during, and post engine room. There's this recurring thing with him where he goes "I can only be myself" etc but I just want to shake him because, well, who is that, Akechi??? Or, who do you think that is? Do you actually have an answer? Is it predicated on your actual feelings or solely on your success at fooling everyone around you? Is there any part of you that you actually like that isn't based on a painstakingly constructed mask? Isn't it all mostly lies to deflect from the truth? Isn't it all founded mostly on truth, nonetheless?

It drives me insane. And I think this is a big reason why he breaks so hard in the engine room, because so much of his mask requires his "audience" to perform in a particular way. And here he is, and the Thieves have beaten him, so there goes the first mask, because he's no longer "perfect". He swings wildly into the ugliest sides of him, but this mask is broken too, amidst him vehemently and desperately denying that he has any other emotions than hatred and rage, or any other needs or desires than vengeance. And after that, it's just him. And they should reject him, right? That's what happens. He's not useful, he's not needed or perfect, his hands are stained with blood. But the Thieves, again, don't play the role he expects them to. They, despite everything, relate to him - because he is in fact very similar in a lot of ways and they acknowledge him as a person - not a hero, or idol, or villain, or tool, or unwanted child - but as a damaged teen like the rest of them. And he does not know what to do with that. His identity is intrinsically dependent on getting the right reactions from other people as a form of ingratiating himself - if he does not get that reciprocal reaction he's looking for, his act falters, and, I really do believe that so does his self-perception. That's why you see different aspects of him seep out when he's spending time with Joker, because Joker does not react the way he expects, and Akechi both does and does not like this, because it leaves him feeling both intrigued and vulnerable.

I do think this particular aspect of his character is something a lot of the Thieves don't fully grasp - certainly, I think Joker "I need the mask" Persona 5 understands to a degree, but the sheer degree of reliance and the level of pride attached to it is something that confuses him a little, I think, especially in Mementos Mission. I think the thief that comes closest is actually Morgana, who has a similar superiority-inferiority complex and a desperate need to be seen as competent and useful lest he be discarded. (This is a big part of why the rather lackluster writing with Morgana's arc frustrates me so much because I really do feel it was meant to be contrasted with Akechi's, but I digress.) Morgana is the one to make that emotional appeal to Akechi, which makes a degree of sense - Morgana struggled all along with finding a place in the world. His form leads others to underestimate him; he visually doesn't fit in. He's acting out the role of a chivalrous and cool phantom thief but is more pragmatic with how he views relationships, at least at first. He wants a place to belong where he is appreciated more than anything but his pride won't let him spit it out. Accepting that he belongs and that he is loved even if he really did have nothing of value to provide is a big part of the resolution of his arc. He tries to offer that learned lesson to Akechi in turn ("Follow your true feelings. Even if you think people hate you, or don't want you around-"), but Akechi just wasn't in the right space to listen. There's also an important distinction between the two - Morgana envies humans and looks up to them. Akechi envies humans and looks down on them. Morgana is perfectly happy once he is assured a place amongst the group, but Akechi see-saws wildly between wanting to belong and wanting to be a step above the rest and separating himself further. So while Morgana actually really did cut to the core of the issue, his appeal would never have worked at this point because a) Akechi's pride is dependent on him maintaining his solo act, and b) he just got outed as not actually hating Joker in front of seven other people including Joker himself lmao.

So, uh, sorry, Morgana. Points for trying.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard art book pages, under a cut due to spoilers:

Top right: The "Lobstrocity" would plunge its face into the sand, and its tentacles would burst out of the sand around you. Top center: This was a fun creature with detailed behavior. Top left: Spitting an inky diversion. Center left: Figuring out the anatomical details of this bizarre creature. Center right: A simple land shark. This version is based on a goblin shark, for a more unsettling appearance. Bottom: The Rivain coastline is dotted with hidden grottoes, ruined fortresses, and uncounted shipwrecks.

Top: Beat boards like these help us explore the look and feel of a group in their context. How do they act? What kinds of settings do we find them in? How do they problem-solve? Center: Exploring how a Rivaini landscape might change with the tide. Bottom: Lords of Fortune having way too much fun searching for lost artifacts.

Top: Lords of Fortune have their priorities. In this case, during a perilous escape, this treasure seeker can't help but stop to investigate a curious glint. Bottom: Rivain's coastline is a mix of beautiful beaches, lost ruins, shipwrecks, and deadly beasts.

Mourn Watch The Mourn Watch are masters of undeath, necromancy, curses, and other dark magic. They probe at the borders of "known" magic, where laws fall away and vaster forces creep through. The Watchers know there's more than just spirits in the Fade. If you work with them, prepare for the boundaries between life, death, and reality to get thin. Top left: Death, science, and magic define the Mourn Watch. Their costumes combine aspects of morticians, academics, conductors, mad scientists, and necromancers. Top right: They may be necromancers, but they're not morbid. They study and admire death, and we tried to avoid designing them to be grotesque. Center left: An undead diorama. Wealthy nobles invest heavily in their life after death. Center: Some armor is built more for ceremony than for practical day-to-day duties.

Top center: The Necropolis is vast. While there's a time for ceremony and study, there's also a time to explore the depths. Top right: A mix of embalmer, anatomist, alchemist, and mage. Center left: While these scholars' studies are lofty, the Necropolis is a dangerous place. There is often a need for protection. Bottom right: The Necropolis is home to the bodies of Nevarrans from all walks of life. Some can afford splendid jewelry and clothing, as well as the required upkeep. Some give way to the natural processes of decay more quickly.

Top left 1: The standard uniform of the Mourn Watch. Top left 2: The Mourn Watch know that not everyone outside the Necropolis is comfortable with their interests, and they know how to dress accordingly. Center: A Necropolis rogue, perfect for exploring dangerous regions that require a light touch. Center right: They worked hard for their anatomical knowledge and delight in showing it off. Bottom: There are some parts of the Necropolis that are far too deadly and unstable to visit without extreme protection.

Top right: Early takes on the Mourn Watch explored the possibility that they not just studied the dead but also were undead. Top left: The Mourn Watch make great use of the undead as assistants in their work. Center: Mourn Watch weapons are based on embalming and surgical tools with added ceremonial magical elements.

Necropolis The Watchers live and work in the upper levels of the Grand Necroplis, a massive, ornate dungeon complex of catacombs, secret passages, and traps. Located right outside (and below) Nevarra City, it is constantly expanding, as upper-class Nevarrans begin planning their elaborate crypts while young. Modest tombs sit next to life-sized mansions and sealed-off royal sepulchers. Some undead are lovingly placed in elaborate tableaux where they can "reenact" scenes from real life. Others rest in coffins. The more robust corpses are armed and trained by the Watchers to patrol for thieves. Center top: The entrance to the Necropolis is like an inverted Tower of Babel. They seek knowledge in the grave instead of heaven. Top left: Occasionally a Watcher goes rogue and uses their knowledge in unsavory ways. Top right: The Necropolis is so large that it doesn't just hold catacombs and tombs but vast landscapes, mountains of graveyards, cities of mausoleums, rivers of unknown magic. Bottom left: A colossal bell whose sound keeps demons at bay.

We wanted it to feel like you could always keep going down. If there is a bottom, no one alive has seen it.

Top: There are certain archetypes that we had a lot of fun exploring. One was the haunted Nevarran mansion. Center left: In keeping with the Mourn Watch faction overall, we wanted this mansion to feel spooky but not gruesome or morbid. Bottom right: This location was home to a member of the Mourn Watch, and it was fun to fill it with details from their time in the Necropolis.

Some areas are little more than tightly packed crawl spaces. Others look like wealthy subterranean neighborhoods. Still others look like vast sunless fields littered with tombstones and statuary. Annotation on illustration near top of page reads "Ossuary built around derelict sky burial tower".

Center: The Necropolis is really huge. This is one of an unknown number of mausoleum towers that stretch up into darkness. Untethered spirits drift by regularly. Bottom left: Exploring the Necropolis. We wanted some locations to border on the surreal.

Center: An unsettling magical path in the Necropolis that forms under your feet as you walk, surrounded by a dark pit of the undead. Center right: Not all Mourn Watchers follow the code. Some go rogue and use their knowledge to create things that shouldn't be created.

An early illustration having fun exploring the exciting things we might find in the Necropolis.

Top: A sketch exploring how far along the mad scientist spectrum we wanted to go. Center: Dinner with the Mourn Watch, with helpful undead servants that have lost their grasp on the definition of "fresh". Bottom: The Necropolis can be unstable, so occasionally the Mourn Watch are required to calm things down.

Shadow Dragons The Tevinter Imperium is Thedas's evil magic empire. Magic holds the Imperium together and is used by both the good guys and the bad guys. The Shadow Dragons are the "good" Tevinters, taking on a corrupt ruling class that has power beyond imagining. They are the underdog resistance with big dreams but few resources. To redeem the Tevinter they love, they might have to make deals with demons both literal and metaphorical. Top: We thought of it like Gotham City from Batman: The Animated Series. A less-grim Sin City with magic instead of guns. Center left: We thought of the Shadow Dragons as secretive, underground, and magical. They have motifs of monks, wizards, rebels, and rogues. Center right: We wanted to create a spectrum from regal mages to most-wanted insurgents. Bottom 1: When designing a faction, we try to live like them in our heads. Bottom 2: We imagined that since many of them are in hiding, a lot of their gear would have to be repurposed than purchased new.

Top right: A disguise that's part mage robe, part Tevinter uniform. Center 1: To start, we broke down Dorian's costumes from Inquisition. If he was the "rock star", what would the average citizen look like? Center 2: What elements of his costume would be common in every market, and what elements were his own special flair? Bottom left: Magic is more accepted in Tevinter, and so their mage robe fashion has had longer to develop.

Top right: The Viper, Minrathous's equivalent of the classic character known as the Shadow. Top center: Armor made from pure magic may not be the most reliable, but it makes an impression. Center left: For each faction, we designed an incredibly lavish outfit.

Top: A common Tevinter soldier's uniform, modified for use by the Shadow Dragons. Center: Sometimes it's fun to design something over-the-top and ceremonial. Bottom left: A suit of armor designed to focus a mage's powers. Bottom right: A Halloween costume for the Shadow Dragons: a demon.

Tevinter Minrathous is where it all happens. The ruling body of Tevinter operates here. The cabal of magisters and the Venatori who oppose the Shadow Dragons are here. It is a city of magical towers and dirty streets, where wealth and luxury exist alongside poverty and suffering. There are no rules in Minrathous, except one: trust nobody. Top right: The palace was designed to be a giant crown that floats over the city. Top left: We designed a magical bridge and an elevator that can float people and goods up to and down from the palace. Bottom: One of the earliest images showing the interior of the Archon's palace. We wanted it to feel like you were high above the city in a luxurious penthouse.

Top: We built Tevinter off of the ruins found in Inquisition. It's a culture based on magic, but also tyranny and control. We wanted to have a sharp, sturdy shape language. It should look like if you tried to push a Tevinter building down, not only would you fail, but you'd also cut yourself. Bottom: The Tevinter Imperium used to be the greatest empire in Thedas. That age is long gone, a truth Tevinter's ruling class are unable or unwilling to grasp. They remain convinced of their superiority, and this complacence has led to the slow crumbling of the Imperium.

Top: It may be cramped, cluttered and humid, but this is where the action is. Don't miss the Cobbled Swan bar on your way to the markets. Bottom: Early in the game, Solas begins his ritual. We explored what that might have looked like from the streets of Minrathous.

Top: The Undercity. Center: Lantern Lane. Center right: The raised bar in the Cobbled Swan. Bottom left: Sculptors' Square. Bottom right: Potters' Path.

Top: In the early stages, we thought a lot about the layers of Tevinter. We started with the ruins of the elven empire, then built up layer after layer of Tevinter architecture. Center: At one point, Minrathous would be occupied by the Antaam instead of the Antivans. Bottom: Very early on we created a thin slice of the game for a visual target. We chose to build a small section of an alley in Tevinter. It was a great opportunity to explore all the details required to make a space feel believable.

Top: We imagined spectacular elven pillars, pulled up out of the ground by powerful elven mages. After those had fallen into ruin, they were used as the foundation for Tevinter buidings. Center: While Tevinter has an intimidating reputation, we also wanted it to be a livable city. There may be evil mages using blood magic, but there are also people just trying to get by. Annotations on the top illustration read: "Treetop motif", "Well preserved Elven pillar", "Magically extracted and farmed stone", "Destroyed Elven pillar", "Magically suspended building", "Defaced and modified Elven pillar", "Rain is collected on rooftops", "Elven foundations with different Tevinter apartments built on top", "Remains of Elven homes used as foundation"

High Town Home to the elite of Minrathous. Here the magic is on full display. Top: Inside the Tevinter chantry. Center: Terraced mansions. Bottom left: An interior view of a Tevinter mansion. Bottom right: A spectacular view of the Archon's palace.

Top: The views from High Town are expansive. Center left: The dwarven embassy. Center right: Built so that dwarves could come to the surface and always have stone above them. Bottom: The Hanging Gardens around the Tevinter Colosseum.

Top: As with all things Shadow Dragon, their weapons are themed around serpents and magic. Top right: A twisted coil of serpents for a mace. Center: In real life and in games, shields are a great opportunity for visual storytelling. Center right: In some cases, we wanted to use floating blades or blades that had been formed through magical processes.

Top: An early illustration showing the Shadow Dragons in action. Center: Graffiti painted by the Shadow Dragons or their supporters. Bottom center: The images depict serpents, mages, and broken chains. Bottom right: Hand-painted murals and graffiti like this are great for visual storytelling, but they also add variety and color to the world.

Top: Tevinter demanded an almost endless supply of book props, from the mundane to the magical. Center: We went from books to scrolls to scroll cases to enchanted display cabinets. Bottom: Some books are just better left unread.

some other pages -

Some opening pages

Foreword

Google Books preview pages Part One

Google Books preview pages Part Two

Amazon preview pages

Page batch

Page batch 2

Page batch 3

Page batch 4

Book art credits:

BioWare art: Matt Rhodes, Ramil Sunga, Albert Urmanov, Christopher Scoles, Nick Thornborrow, Steve Klit

Volta art: Gui Guimaraes, Stéphanie Bouchard, Akim Kaliberda, Alejandro Olmedo, Alexey Zaryuta, Julien Carrasco, Maksim Marenkov, Marianne Martin, Mariia Istomina, Marion Kivits, Matti Marttinen, Mélanie Bourgeois, Pablo Hurtado De Mendoza, Rael Lyra, Rodrigo Ramos, Thomas Schaffer, Tiago Sousa, Tristan Kang, Vladimir Mokry, Yintion J, Joseph Meehan, Stefan Atanasov, Julien Carrasco

Additional art: Marc Holmes, Thomas Scholes

[nanenna]

Today I remembered that my favorite thing about having so many AUs is to pick up 2 AUs like Barbie dolls and clack their faces together while making smooching noises.

Behold my beloved DCxDP AU amalgamation monster: DeamonTwinAU and PhantomThiefAU (aka: Selina gives Danny a slutty slutty cat suit, good times)

The story vaguely goeth thusly: Danny is a halfa, the Balance, the Bridge Between Worlds, he is....... the Observants' glorified gofer. You see, there are a lot of cursed/enchanted/ghostly artefacts floating around loose in the living Realm and they need Danny to go retrieve them. Danny would rather not, but they just won't leave him alone about it. Can't a guy just live? At least let him poop in peace! Ancients! Fine, he'll do it if it'll get them to shut up. (Spoiler: it does, in fact, not get them to shut up.)

But you see, Danny has a secret: he was raised in an assassin ninja cult (at least for the early years) before getting adopted by the Fentons. Now the killing? Not a fan, no thanks, he's working on not increasing his kill count, thx. But the sneaking? He could use that. Sneaky ninjas are also good thieves, right? So he cobbles together a knock off League of Assassins outfit, buys a cheap portable lock picking set, and decides to make a game of how far can he get without using his powers (much. He's new at this okay?)

Batman is not having fun. There's some (possible?) League assassin running around stealing verified cursed/magical artefacts! Is Talia planning something? Is Ra's planning something? (Isn't he for real dead? Silly reader, no one is ever for real dead in DC.)

Robin is super frustrated. For all the same reasons Batman is but also because he just knows this new rogue is taunting him. Personally. Because he's Damian al Ghul Wayne and the whole world revolves around him, obviously. (And also because he once pointed at Robin and laughed before jumping out a window.)

Selina is intrigued. Who is this kid? How does he know what to go after? How does he keep evading the bats? Luckily she runs into him mid heist (fortunately they had different targets, she's intrigued but not enough to hand over her shinies to him) and oh he's adorable! She has to train him, it would drive Brucie up the wall. But then she sees his face and oh, she knows exactly who he is, even if he seems oblivious.

Because Danny? He's in Gotham for the ecto, for the Thomas Wayne full ride scholarship he managed to snag, and also because for some reason Gotham is full of so many cursed/ghost artefacts. (Lady Gotham is seething, she worked hard to collect all those curses! But this is her beloved dark knight's kid and she kinda wants him home. But she also doesn't want to give up her curses!) Back to the point: Danny doesn't care about ANY of the rich bougie people. The Waynes give out a lot of scholarships? Cool, that's nice and all. They probably also rub elbows with Vlad or Sam's parents. No thanks. Doesn't care. He's got better things to worry about.

Selina has got a plan though! She's gonna teach this boy how to thief properly, starting with better tools (including the slutty, slutty cat burglar outfit). She also knows that she can't let any of the Waynes (in or out of costume) meet Danny (out of costume). So does Lady Gotham. So does the universe apparently (or just Clockwork maybe), because all kinds of unlikely things keep happening to prevent it.

Danny is having so much fun though! He's learning new skills. Selina is giving him an allowance so he's not living off ramen and peanut butter sandwiches, he's doing well in school, he gets to stretch his ghost powers regularly to go above the smog cover and star gaze in peace. Everything's coming up Danny.

Selina decides it's time to flaunt her find in front of Brucie and makes Danny go to a gala as her date, she spends the entire time clinging to his arm and introducing him around to everyone. Including Bruce himself (who just so happens to have Damian in tow). Danny may not recognize Bruce, but he sure recognizes Damian, and Damian recognizes him if his utterly flabbergasted face is anything to go by. But Danny remembers what it was like living in the League. And so far as he knows Damian is still in it, he was the Demon Head's heir after all. Damian made sure of it.

Oh it. Is. ON! Now Danny is on a mission! A sibling rivalry mission! He is going to make Damian's/Robin's a living hell. Selina going on a heist that has no magical artefacts? Danny's there anyway, always have back up. That necklace in the museum has barely any powers and he wasn't even going to bother with it? Too bad, it's back on the list. He has no reason to be out at all but the bats are on patrol? Well so is Danny. Catch him if you can, suckers!

It's good for Danny, it's enrichment!

[rebelliousstories]

A Thief and An X-Man

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,738

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Southern charm is a thing. Something that Remy LeBeau has taken advantage of over the years. All it took was one little X-Man to throw him off his rhythm apparently…

How everyone found themselves in their own current predicament, only the universe knows. The tomfoolery that had followed them during their journey was like something straight out of a superhero book.

Remy panted and hugged his side as he rested against the brick wall behind him. His partner in crime, albeit a reluctant one, mirrored his actions against the other wall of the alleyway. She was glaring hard in between her pants in an attempt to catch her breath.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you Cajun?” There were shouts and the pounding of footsteps getting closer and closer.

“What can I say, chere? I like pretty things.” The weight of the jewels in his pocket weighed down under her gaze.

“We’re being chased because you couldn’t keep your greedy little hands off of stuff that doesn’t belong to you!” Her words were almost drowned completely out by the pounding of footsteps.

Making a split second decision, Remy grabbed her hand and began to haul the woman towards a fire escape that was already pulled down. She was confused, but faced with the possibility of the men that were chasing them catching up? She would take the fire escape with the thief. As soon as they had made it up onto the roof of whatever building this was, Remy leaned over the edge to get a look at their personal mob that now ran by the building and alleyway they had disappeared into. With a smirk, he laid down on the cool tiles below.

“We safe now,” she questioned, almost ready to run again.

“I wouldn’t be layin’ down if we weren’t. Now would I, chere?” His eyes slipped closed as he relaxed as much as he could.

“Oh, of course. Because I should be trusting the person who got us into this mess, to be honest and truthful when he is a known Thief, to get us out of this mess. Wolverine needs to come and extract me right now.” Her grumbling was followed by the sound of her trying to use her transponder. With a frustrated groan, it clattered to the ground when it would not work.

For three days, she had been stuck in Louisiana with the leader of the Thieves Guild. A mission that she had been sent on alone to help the X-Men get a relic that needed to be kept out of the wrong hands. Had they been able to do it solo, they would have. But the Thieves were the only people who had made it to where they needed her to go, and made it back out. Thus, an unlikely alliance was made. And from that point forward, she had been subjected to the rugged charms of the one they call Gambit.

From the second she walked up to him, she had been the focus of his flirtations. Maybe it was the fact that she was a new pretty face for him. Or maybe it was that fact that she was “forbidden fruit” being an X-Man. Whatever it was, for the past three weeks, she had been subject to every one liner and flirty comment.

In all honesty, she did not mind the banter that they usually had. It was better than being with someone that did not talk much, like a certain X-Man she knew. But it was annoying once he got into a flirtatious mood.

“Ooo, chere. Did it hurt when ya fell from heaven? You look so angelic.”

“Shut up, Cajun.”

“Here, let Gambit take care o’ dat for ya. Ain’t no reason to sweat your pretty brow.”

“If Gambit don’t give me back my tools, I’m not gonna sweat my brow over putting him down.”

It was like this for three days. Any chance he got, he took. She could see that he was just doing it to get a rise out of her, since she refused to be another notch on his belt. Even though some times, she could almost swear there was something genuine about the affectionate quips he made. A sharp bark pulled her from her thoughts and brought her attention to the transponder that was still down by her feet. Careful not to step on it, she opened it to be met with the authoritative voice of a certain Canadian calling her name.

“Where have you been? You were supposed to check in an hour ago, bub.” He was upset, that was for sure. But after all these years, she could hear through the layers to his tone and knew it was just because he cared for his team like his own family.

“Wolverine, I’m fine. We ran into a snag but we should be getting back on track soon. The communicator wouldn’t work earlier or I would have checked in at the appropriate time,” came her retort. A groan trailed into a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Just be safe, kid. Let me know when you get the relic. We’ll be waiting to extract you when you need it.” His voice lowered in volume, and his tone shifted.

“Will do, Wolvie. Just gotta get this Cajun to actually get me to the place, then we’ll be on our way home.” With that, the two X-Men signed off from each other. She sat there for a moment longer as she began to rub her temples. The evening breeze was welcome against her flushed face.

“So you and da Wolverine, huh?” Gambit’s sudden ask brought her out of her head quick.

“What? Me and him? No, god no. We just work well together. He’s the one that got me into the school. Got me into the X-Men,” she stood, and looked around the night sky that was sprinkled with lights. “You gonna take me where I need to go, or do I need to find another thief to do it?”

“Oh, you wound me, chere. Suppose if ya did that, I could call another X-Man to grab the item with me instead.” He teased, finally rising to his feet.

With fluid movements, like that of a skilled ballet dancer, Remy looked towards the streets again. The mutant dubbed them safe enough, and began his descent down the same fire escape that he had them go up on. She followed after him, always maintaining a bit of distance between them as they went closer and closer to where they needed to go.

A well lit mansion greeted the two mutants after a while. This was the house that she had been searching for. She was finally here. Once again, she followed Gambit’s lead. After all, he and his guild made it out of here before with their pockets loaded. They could do it one more time.

Gambit caused a minor explosion on one of the windows in the back of the building making her flinch as she expected the commotion to begin. And yet, there was nothing. No alarms, no dogs barking or humans shouting. He turned back to the stunned woman with nothing short of a pompous smirk on, before he climbed through the window. She took his hand to help stabilize her while she was slipping through the opening.

They had ended up in the west wing of the mansion, only a few doors down from the room that they needed to go to. She had no time to be stunned at how efficient this mutant was seeing as he was already grabbing her hand to pull her through the house. Their journey was cut short when they spotted guards walking towards them in the hallway. Remy tucked them both against a wall that was out of sight, but knew they did not have long. Scanning around, he did not see a spare room or broom closet. He tried not to show the panic on his face, but he could feel his heart speeding up.

“They not supposed to be here, chere. We gotta go back out.” But when he tried to leave, the sounds of quiet conversation and boots on the hardwood floor were far too close now.

“Go with me,” was all the warning that the Cajun was given. In an instant, she made him press her against the wall. What he did not expect even more than that, was the fact that she had him engaged in a full lip lock. Stunned did not even begin to describe what he was feeling. Here this woman was, kissing him voluntarily, after spending the last three days shutting him down at every chance.

Losing himself in the moment that he wished would never end, Remy kept one of his hands on the wall near her head, while the other went to the dip of her waist. Her hands came up and pressed him even closer by the nape of his neck. This was a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream that he did not want to wake from. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards for him. Right as he was truly enjoying the moment, a wolf whistle caught his attention. But she did not let him turn around. Instead, she pressed his face into her neck while she shouted at the guards that had finally rounded the corner.

“Cad é? Cad atá tú ag féachaint air?” Now that was a language Remy had never heard spoken. His confused face was stuck in the crook of her neck, while he felt her shooing the men away. Apparently, they were just as confused as he was, but left without complaint. As soon as they were away from the par of mutants, she pushed Remy back a bit.

“Now, where in da world is dat language from, chere? Gambit ain’t never heard nothin’ like it in his whole life.” He was a bit out of breath but it was understandable.

“I used to go visit my grandmother in Ireland when I was a kid. She made me fluent in Gaelic.” She was just as out of breath as him, but neither called attention as to the reason why.

They both sat there for a moment, not moving from their spots where they were oh so close to one another. This was the closest they had been physically the entire time they had been working together. And it was breaking down barriers that had been put in place for their own sanity and safety.

“Let’s get going before someone else catches us and we can’t get out of it as easily,” she stated breathily. For her own sake, she needed to do something, and soon before she could not stop herself. Remy nodded to himself, to confirm that he had heard her or to shake himself out of his own stupor, who knows. But soon, they were back on track with him grabbing her hand and leading them to the room once more.

Gambit made quick work of picking the lock, and then they were inside. Encased in glass was a small pendant and necklace. Unassuming at first, but they knew better. This one little artifact was responsible for so much suffering around the world, and more of it if they did not get it out of non-mutant hands. Remy approached the glass case and looked for a way to get it open without disturbing it too much. But the sound of glass shattering spooked him, made him jump back from the shards.

“You were taking too long.” She shrugged, turning back to look at the pendant. Pulling out her own case for the necklace, she tried very hard not to touch the jewel in the center. Once it was secured, Remy did another look out to make sure that the coast was clear.

“Let’s get going, chere. Don’t want no unwelcome guests taggin’ along now.” The two mutants slipped out the same way that they entered. It was such a shock for her, not having any hangups during a mission. Usually it was every chance the universe got to make something go wrong, it did. So to have one go this smoothly was a welcomed change of pace.

They fled into the night before them, and did not look back until they were safe in the heart of New Orleans once more. Lights, music, and conversation drowned out any and all thoughts they had for just a minute or two. Instead of going somewhere quiet and out of the way, Gambit ended up leading them further not the heart of the city to a late night cafe.

As soon as they sat down, he ordered something for them both to eat and drink, but she was not paying any attention to him. Instead, she was trying to figure out how she was going to discreetly call her team back at the mansion to go home. For some reason though, it was not working right now.

“This thing has been finicky the entire time I���ve been here. Doesn’t know whether or not it wants to work when I need it to.” She lamented, tossing the item down onto the table before them.

“So, now that you got whatcha came here for, just gonna head home? Like that?” There was a mournful tone to his voice that did not miss her ears. Neither one needed to say exactly why he sounded so upset at her leaving, or rather neither wanted to acknowledge why he was upset.

“Well, there’s always someone else that needs saving. Or a disaster that needs to be avoided,” she said, watching his face carefully.

“Right, right…” he trailed off, not quite knowing where to take it from here. Thankfully, a waitress came by with two bowls, and two drinks for them to enjoy.

“What on earth did you order for me?” Poking her spoon around in the stew like dish in front of her, she arched an eyebrow and looked at the Cajun.

“Dat right der is what we call gumbo, chere. It’s real good. Gotta use dat piece o’ baguette at the end though.” When she still did not eat, he tried a different tactic. “Come on. Humor me before ya head on home, chere?”

If you ever asked her, she would vehemently deny that she had given in to the soft way he pleaded with her. Bringing the spoonful of hot stew and rice to her lips, a symphony of flavors erupted on her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever eaten. The chicken, sausage and shrimp were so tender and perfectly cooked. The veggies melted, and the rice was the perfect binder.

While she was busy devouring her food, Remy was taking that time to lock in on her joyful face. If this was going to be the last time he saw her, he was going to make it count. But his day dreaming was interrupted by the transponder on the table suddenly jumping to life. As fast as she could, she set down her spoon, wiped her face, and grabbed the item.

“Wolverine,” she began, “listen, I got the necklace. Ready when you are on the extraction.”

Her eyes drifted over to the man in front of her who was trying very hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening two feet away from him. The long she listened to Wolverine talk, and watched Remy’s face, the more her heart moaned in pain. It was an unusual feeling to have, especially for someone that she swore she did not get along with or that she had not known for too long.

“Kid, we’ll be there in a couple hours, okay? We’re gonna track you by your communicator and then we’ll-”

“Actually, Wolvie,” she cut the man off, “I think I’m gonna stick around New Orleans for a few days. Just to make sure that nobody comes looking for this thing. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come home.”

The transponder was shut off fast, and tucked into one of the pockets of her uniform. When she looked up again, the startled face of Gambit greeted her. His eyes were wider than the bowls they were eating out of, but she paid it no mind. Picking up her spoon again, she sent a teasing smirk across the table.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’ll be sticking around a little more.” She brought another spoonful of gumbo to her mouth while Gambit took a minute to recover.

“Not at all, chere. Not at all.”

[charonarp]

Minecraft Diaries' Unofficial D&D 5e Guide

Do you enjoy the Minecraft Diaries series? Whether it be the original or through Diaries Rebirth?

Do you enjoy playing D&D or have ever wanted to play it yourself?

Have you ever wondered or desired to play in a tabletop roleplaying game in the world of Ru'aun and beyond?

Well, look no further than the UNOFFICIAL GUIDE FOR MINECRAFT DIARIES! (Created by yours truly :p)

It's finally here! I finally got it completed!!! (Primarily uses the 2014 version of D&D 5e)

This unofficial guide is meant to be used as a TOOL to help kickstart your adventures in the Minecraft Diaries universe. Unfortunately, there no character sheets made of the main cast of MCD or Diaries Rebirth, and that is indeed intentional.

Why? Because everyone has their own headcanons of each character individually. This guide is intended to be headcanon friendly and is open for you to shift and change to your liking!

Don't take everything in here as set-in-stone. Due to MCD being an incomplete story with unknown knowledge of most characters, this unofficial guide may (and does) have some incomplete or unwritten knowledge about certain locations and characters, which is why this is made with the intentions to be used as a general guide to help you create your own version of MCD for your players to enjoy.

Due to the lore of MCD being incomplete and not all villages and regions are fully fleshed out, some tools from Critical Role's TTRPG Daggerheart have been used, particularly their "community cards", to help provide a tool in creating or fleshing out communities. This can be as small as the Thieves' Guild to as big as O'khasis, meant to be used by both DMs and Players alike.

All official artwork from the MCD series is created by an artist named KamiWasa, who once worked for Aphmau and most notably the art in seasons 2 and 3 of Minecraft Diaries. There is only ONE drawing in there by me, which does have a credited handle right beside it :)

All resources (by the most part) have been mentioned and credited upon their use inside of this document. Go forth! Explore the world!

And most importantly, HAVE FUN :D

(btw there might be a few small things repeated a couple of times and I don't feel like going through and editing everything after working on this for who-knows-how-long so I apologize in advance)

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Ghostcrow & Palasaki (The Old Guard AU)

Monty kisses Charles Rowland as he kissed Edwin Payne and it is everything he ever could have dreamed of, getting kissed by a cute boy under the stars.

But they are not boys and neither is he. They are immortal, and he is just a fucking tool to be used to lead them to their doom.

So Monty has to be smart. He can’t fall for them, no matter how much his heart might be a fragile, battered organ in his chest just craving the touch, the kindness, the interest, the affection of the two brightest people he’s ever met.

Monty Finch has never had a future. He is nothing but the past, and even then, his is nothing compared to theirs.

He knows how this is going to end, with every boy involved sacrificed onto the altar. 

So why not be a flash in the pan? Why not live like he's the one dying?

-aletterinthenameofsanity, no grave can hold my body down (i'll crawl home to them)

Fortune up and left me on the hotel floor

Well, you know she never paid me no mind

They say it's good to start the story with a tragedy

What did I do to deserve you?

How did you find me? I was already halfway gone

You were a bright light

You were a fistfight

-The Ballroom Thieves, Fistfight

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@sethlost @catboy-cabin @secretlyafiveheadeddragon @vyther15

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @queen-of-hobgobblers @every-moment-a-different-sound

@nix-nihili @mellxncollie @tumblerislovetumblerislife @lemurafraidofthunder

@likemmmcookies @wr0temyway0ut @thelakeswillbreakourfall

@sapphic-corgi @occasionaloneshots @troublegoblin

@cairngorm-ard @petesdragon @alittleemo @charswithbatsmybeloved

@alilbifurious @bigtirednoodle @the-moons-jade-rabbit

@wikipediagreen @wooooooaaahhhhh-oooooops

[deluxewhump]

bahkauv

cw: nonhuman whumpee, hunters of nonhumans, torture, burning as torture, fire-induced temporary blindness, mentioned digit crushing, self healing whumpee, it as a pronoun, restraints, muzzle, purchased for research

note: I've taken great liberties with this little german mythological creature. As you will see, its physical appearance is about ninety percent human in this story.

one: hunter's camp

The creature was in the worst shape Arthur had ever seen anything alive in. The fact that it looked so unnervingly human, especially from a distance, unsettled him even more.

Once they heard what it allegedly was, Stephan said it should have big paws and the short golden fur of a lion. Francis said that wasn’t right at all— it should have a human head and torso, legs like a calf with cloven hooves, and soft brown, white or black ears like a calf too… Stephan eventually elbowed Francis into silence as they approached a muddy paddock where the ill-fated things were corralled after being caught. 

It was mostly vampires in the hunter’s camp. Vampires were such a problem in the region that Arthur himself had been nearly recruited as a hunter this spring past. He’d been intrigued by the commission bonuses, the idea of travel and sleeping under the stars. He’d eyed the weapons and tools the hunters wore at their belts and tucked in their boots with admiration and envy. But he’d lost his stomach for it after seeing what he would have to do to the vampires he caught.

The Bahkauv was no exception, it seemed, despite being a rarer and much more regional phenomenon, not at all the infamous menace vampires had become. In fact, it seemed to Arthur that the thing was human as it cowered in the mud, eyes tracking the hunter that circled it. 

“How do they know it's a Bahkauv?” he asked aloud, not expecting his friends to have a response he didn't have himself. 

Meanwhile, the hunter sloshed a bucket of thick, oily substance onto the cowering creature and struck a match. 

“Oh good God,” Francis breathed beside him. All three of them were frozen in place, waiting to see if the hunter would toss the match.

He did. 

The substance now covering the Bahkauv was clearly some sort of accelerant. Pitch, maybe. Immediately, the fire spread over it and leaped three feet high so the creature appeared as a burning ball, invisible inside a wall of orange flame. Though they could not see it very well, they could hear it. Its shrieks of terror turned to screams of pain— agonized and gut wrenching. Francis was gripping Arthur’s forearm without realizing he’d done so, as if to say do you see this?His mouth was open in shock at the scene before them. Arthur glanced about. Some of the people, hunters and civilians alike, had stopped to see what this particular commotion was about, but they went back to their own business once they realized. This was not out of the ordinary. 

“We use the sun on the vamps,” said a hunter who had come up to the fence to watch. “Easy and extremely effective. But that thing doesn’t burn with the sun. They find drunken soldiers and latch onto them until they’re weak enough for them to attack. Vicious, thieving little creatures. And since there’s a lack of drunken soldiers wandering around alone here lately, who do you think we found this one leeching on?”

“A hunter?”

The hunter nodded.  “Unwise little thing, no? Sunlight doesn’t really bother it, but we found it a similar experience…” he nodded at the twisting and writhing flame in the paddock.  Whatever the substance was was finally burning off. The flames dwindled in the wet mud until they could see the creature beneath, now naked and terribly burned, but clearly alive. The screams tapered off to loud, alarming moans, separated by thin breaths drawn with great difficulty. 

“Why?” asked Arthur with an incredulity he later realized must have sounded terribly naive to a hunter. 

The hunter looked at him, deciding how to answer. In the end he just laughed, and clapped Arthur on the shoulder before wandering away toward the north side of the encampment.  

The one in the ring, dressed identically to the one Arthur had just spoken to, approached the Bahkauv. Arthur was now convinced it was not human after all, or it would not have survived that sustained heat for so long, with no oxygen to breathe. Right? Surely.

The hunter watched the thing struggling to breathe for a moment, tilted his head and toed it in the ribs with his boot. It shrieked in pain, eyes blind and white, blood and saliva dripping from its open mouth, its burned lips. The hunter seemed to consider the condition of the skin, which looked from a distance as though it was already changing from charred to red, from red to pink. 

“Is it healing?” Stephan asked in a low voice. He was not sure he wanted to know. 

“So quickly,” Francis muttered, his forehead deeply creased in distress. Even so, Francis could not help but watch. Arthur knew he was sharply observing, forming questions. His curious mind would not allow him to look away. 

Arthur, by no means a scientist or a scholar, wondered why it was he couldn’t stop looking. The hunter splashed more of the pitch-like substance onto the creature, who howled and threw up its hands protectively, uselessly, against the second lit match that was coming. 

“No,” Stephan exhaled in disbelief. “So soon?”

The flames flew to the accelerant faster than their eyes could follow, and the screams began in earnest again, filling the paddock. Arthur winced and looked away. 

“I need it,” Francis said, nodding emphatically. “Not a vampire. I need to take that to the University. Why study what everyone else is studying? Sure they’re rare, but that means my research would be rare, too. Possibly unique.”

“You don’t know what it’s capable of,” Stephan cautioned. 

“It likes to eat drunken soldiers, for God's sake," Francis argued to the backdrop of horrific wailing. “It will be tied up and muzzled, if we have to. And it's so... pathetic. Look at it."

Arthur and Stephan did. The flames had burned off again. The unfortunate creature was attempting to crawl away from the hunter, who was following it slowly. 

“It’s probably less dangerous than a vampire anyway. And it can move in the sunlight without being carried or making a scene.” Francis looked to them for support. Nearby, a shrieking vampire was being dragged into the sunlight. 

“This place is making me a bit ill,” Stephan said.

"I did warn you both." Arthur turned to Francis. “If you really think it’s a good idea, I’ll bargain for you. You’re too excited about it. They’ll realize they can rip you off.”

—

The Bahkauv was badly burned. This was nothing new, but each time was its own unending Hell. Every inch was agony as it crawled, blindly, across the paddock. The cool mud might have been a relief but for the way it sucked at the skin of its hands and knees, taking much of the ruined flesh with it as it made each slow inch of progress. It didn’t know where it was going. It only knew that staying put would mean more pain, and it could not tolerate any more pain. It was stripped to its barest instincts, and its instinct was to get away.

Dimly, it remembered the hunters didn’t like when it tried to get away from them, even just a few feet to curl up in a corner or against a fence. They’d stake it in place with one of their sharp vampire-sticks, through its hand or the tendons of its foot, grounding it in place to torment until it was mindless, incoherent and screeching like an animal.

Its melted sight began to come back, and it could see the blurry outline of men’s legs standing in front of it. It stopped crawling, paralyzed in fear. It could do nothing but lie on the ground and pant, throat and lungs burned from inhaling fire, but unable to die, just like the vampires in the sun.

A heavy collar was fitted around its neck like a yoke, and someone was yanking it roughly to a standing position. The Bahkauv shook so badly from the recent pain of burning that it collapsed once, twice. It cringed deeply as the hunter who held the leash backhanded its burnt cheek. “Up,” he hissed. “Do you want another round as a parting gift?”

“It’s fine,” said a new man's voice. “Enough. Enough. Here.”

Through slowly improving vision, it saw its leash change hands. It was not prepared to look anyone in the eye, even once it could see well enough to distinguish faces again.

It kept its eyes down, trembling violently as ropes were wrapped around its wrists and then looped through the collar so its hands had to stay crossed near its chest. A leather and iron muzzle was fitted over its head and tightened around the back of its neck. The sharp bit went to right the back of its throat, almost far enough to make it gag. The sides bit into the burnt flesh of its face. Once, it would have been ashamed of how it drooled pinkish foam in front of all these humans. Now it neither knew or remembered shame when the threat of more pain was present, which was always.

A man was picking it up. It hurt terribly, but all the Bahkauv dared to do was whimper through frantically grit teeth. Another pair of hands went under its armpits and hauled it higher, up and into the saddle of a chestnut horse. Each point of contact from the saddle was fresh pain, burnt skin and nightmarish friction. It tried to sit up on its own for as long as it could, but lacked the strength. Once the horse began walking in the direction of the road, it had no choice but to slump weakly against the chest of the man sitting directly behind it and holding the reins. 

It received no punishment, except for the way the man's rough clothes touched its skin. As the Bahkauv's sight returned to normal, it looked about to see two more men on horses of their own. Its healing skin itched and burned, but all it could do was twitch helplessly and watch the horse’s bobbing mane in front of it, or the leafy spring forest pass on either side. It shivered intermittently.

"Give it a blanket, Francis," one of the men said.

"Won't that hurt it? Its skin still shines like a burn."

"Remarkable how minor a burn it looks already though," said the man behind it in the saddle. "Considering."

The human voice, so close it could feel the vibration from it in its back, set it to trembling again.

Exhaustion from the days torture soon set in, and it fell into bouts of unconsciousness that only resembled sleep. It woke from one such period of dreamlessness with a startled flinch, unsure where it was or what was happening. The man he was riding with had his arm around its waist, anchoring it so it did not slump to either side and fall from the horse.

Dread and fear pooled in the Bahkauv’s stomach at the human contact, a large gloved hand splayed across its naked belly. Humans were cunning and cruel. They loved fire and tools, like the metal ones they used to crush its fingers and toes in the evenings when the sun was down and the screams of the vampires had quieted. 

It felt one of the others’ gaze on it and turned its foolish head, accidentally locking eyes with one of the men it was now traveling with. He was young, dressed in a jacket of dark green wool. He reminded the Bahkauv of the new recruits the hunters would bring in now and then, to see what they had the stomach for. Heart pounding, it looked away, and did not dare lift its eyes again until nightfall prompted the men to stop and make camp.

[ladyxskywalker]

In Exile, ii

Anakin Skywalker x F!Reader/OFC

During his morning meditation on the mountain side, Anakin faces a new enemy

part one | part three

a choose your own outcome story !

weekly story polls posted at the end of each chapter !

hope you enjoy ! 💌

Cliffs

Anakin didn’t like very many people.

Not since forming a close bond with Obi Wan, and certainly not since falling in love with Padme.

The idea of love never even crossed his mind in the last few years living out his existence on this planet. Monotony, and isolation compounded all of that for him. It was no longer on his radar.

Wherever he ended up in life, he didn’t feel it necessary to speak to anyone, let alone form a friendship with them if he absolutely didn’t have to.

He kept his head down. Stayed quiet. Tended to his field everyday. Watched as his crops and trees took on shape and beauty. That was something he could relate to - hard work, and discipline. Doing his best, and making sure that he was absolutely ‘better’ than everyone.

they don’t know what I’m capable of…

But when his neighbor moved in on the plot of land next to his, everything started to change. A man who once lost his sense of humanity, started to become whole again. 

Her smile did that for him.

And the sound of her voice alone, seemed to have made things the slightest bit better again.

So, when she told him of her troubles the day before involving that lowly fisherman, he got angry. Even more so when he heard more about this from the villagers in town.

It took everything in him just to speak with the modest shopkeepers, and the elders. Going against staying silent in order just to help her.

what do you know about him?

he’s a defector! a scoundrel!

fled fighting in the war?

I don’t know where from, but yes. took off during the clone wars.

how did he end up here?

bar fight, ended badly.

what do you mean?

stole from someone, then killed them. had a bounty on his head but escaped, somehow ended up here.

he won’t be here for long…

we’re good people, lars, none of us asked for thieves and criminals to infiltrate our home…

If only they knew…

As he begins to feel one with all of his thoughts, a light breeze begins to pass through all of the trees behind him. The sweet melodic song birds, delivering their peace to all of the mountainside. Everything is green here. The water, freshest just from falling. All that was once jagged is now made smooth again; the river, freely flowing over all of the stones and rock.

It reminds him of a time when everything made more sense. At least, that is what he settles with during his daily meditation. Breathing like this with his eyes closed makes him feel as though he has some sort of purpose, a reminder that, yes, perhaps I can in fact be whole again. 

But, it’s this one fight that’s been holding him back from all of it.

A kind face, that no matter how hard he tries, can never be forgotten.

Frankly, it’s become somewhat of an annoyance…

A beautiful, and persistent, growing sort of distraction…

you’re nice to me.

I try.

“Ha! Would you get a load of this! Tough guy seems to be one with nature! I know what you really are!”

there he is, perfect timing. 

“And what’s that? I’m just dying for you to tell me…”

With his eyes closed, Anakin smirks, where instinctually he feels the vagrant in question pacing back and forth behind him. 

his steps make the grass fold.

a few twigs have snapped.

“You’re soft! Defending some disgusting woman! What’d you think I wouldn’t hear about where you are?”

“That was my plan all along, not my fault you fell for it.”

there goes a splash into the water.

an echo of a floating basket behind him.

Anakin stands, turning to see what the sound was, only to find broken stems, and dirt, clouding the bottom of a nearby waterfall.

Rose petals. Scattered thorns...

Sunflowers, and broken glass jars.

Stolen garden tools.

Homemade favors, and jam, wrapped in woven cloth of all colors, strewn about the neighboring rocks. 

“You’re nothing, Lars, just like the rest of us! Who knows if that’s even who you really are!”

He smirks, all while lifting the palm of his hand, and controlling the air around them. Watching as his newfound enemy begins to choke on his own breath.

“Perhaps it is best that you address me from the floor.”

Anakin circles him, all while tightening his grip around his neck through the force.

“I was…right…you are…”

With a sharp and instant motion, all at once, he slams him toward the ground.

“Enough.”

Then, he continues with his onslaught.

“It seems you know exactly who I am, and what I’ve done. So the rest is only inevitable…”

His enemy’s eyes are ruthless, but there is only silence. A quiet he can not withhold.

“You’ve led a kind woman into great distress. Destroying her livelihood. And for what? Because she denied you?”

Anakin backhands him, a hardened blow to the face that manages to break the force’s hold.

“Coward.”

He then lands a strengthened kick to his stomach, before stepping on his throat.

Through the grit of teeth, the fisherman snarls.

“You’re…no General…”

“How would you know? You never fought in my war.”

he’s been spreading falsehoods about me and my family throughout the village…

“All you’ve done is harass an innocent girl. Do you take pride in that? What makes you so miserable?”

Releasing his boot, Anakin slowly walks toward the wildflowers. For a second he thinks about collecting some of them when he’s done here. And…the possibility of how they would look on her, worn as a pretty crown.

“She’s nothing but a whore!”

With his back turned, so viciously, he smiles.

“So unfortunate…”

As the nameless vagrant begins to rise to his feet, the entire mountain begins to rumble, causing him to stumble and fall.

“...that now you will be no more than a pile of dust.”

With a menacing crack, Anakin’s wrath lays claim to all of the Earth, forcing his enemy over the ridge ahead of him; listening to his screams ring out from the shattered edges of the cliffs.

what have I done?

why should I feel remorse?

I did nothing wrong...

he deserved it...

“He won’t be a problem anymore.” 

The words come easily, but they are only above a whisper now.

Everything is strangely quiet, where the trees no longer move.

It reminds him of the calm that happens right before a powerful storm.

Except, the carnage has already happened…

And he feels all the more alone.

… ❤️

thanks so much for reading & sharing this story ! I hope you are enjoying the choose your own outcome polls. it has definitely been a lot of fun getting to write these short scenes. sometimes I don't even know what will happen next until I am actually writing them ! I would love to know what you think. 💌😊 xo A

[sendou-shiki]

We thank you all for your cooperation! We will continue to alert you to the situation, so please tell those around you who have been duped!

I received an apology from someone who didn't know anything about it, saying ‘I'm sorry I reblogged this without knowing it was an impersonator.’I didn't know about it and I don't have a choice. We are all victims of thieves. 😢

It's not a good start, but I think that's how some of you got to know me and followed me! Thanks for liking my art! We will be updating the cute furry art, so please ignore, block or report thieves' reposts and enjoy the fresh, original art here!

I use a translation tool, so I apologise if it is unnatural! I hope you can understand my feelings!

千堂しき

[vashtijoy]

shido's conspiracy is big: koenkai (supporters associations) in japanese politics

How do you take over Japan, if you're a corrupt piece of shit?

On 11/25, when the Shido's Palace mission starts and you're finally released from captivity in Leblanc, the Modest Housewife in the Shibuya underground mall suddenly becomes the Not-So-Modest Housewife. And what does she tell us?

shido has a what now

What's the "supporters association"? In Japanese, it's a 後援会 kouenkai. From Wikipedia:

Koenkai (後援会, lit. "local support groups") are an invaluable tool of Japanese Diet members, especially of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). (note: in P5, this is the "Liberal Co-Prosperity Party" or LCP, Shido's original party and the original ruling party.) These groups serve as pipelines through which funds and other support are conveyed to legislators and through which the legislators can distribute favors to constituents in return.

The article is fascinating; do give it a read, as I can't possibly do it justice here. These are massive organisations, and relay vast amounts of cash to their members. They organise endless activities for their members—that meeting at the Wilton Hotel on 5/5 is one. They often require a personal connection to be invited, which is why the Housewife says this to her friend:

... she knows she wasn't invited.

Though koenkai are weaker in modern times, there are many examples of them being involved with corruption; here are a couple.

"The Asahi reported in the mid-1970s that the [koenkai of former Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei] "virtually controls… agricultural committees, popular welfare committees, election management committees". This thorough penetration of Tanaka's koenkai into all important facets of Niigata's people's lives propelled him into becoming the father figure of the district. After his arrest in 1976 on corruption charges, many of Niigata's residents still expressed deep respect towards him."

"Due to the huge support [former Prime Minister] Takeshita Noboru enjoyed as a result of his koenkai, his electoral district in Shimane came to be known as ‘Takeshita Kingdom'. Despite being embroiled in many political scandals, related to insider trading and corruption (for which he was never charged), Takeshita's immense local support never waned."

so what does this tell us

In short, Shido's conspiracy is not a few corrupt high-level officials. It's not just Shido, Akechi, the SIU Director and those people on the ship. It is a vast organisation.

It recruits people by reputation (remember those five recommendations in the Palace?) from all levels of society—and those recruits then operate as a bloc, networking, doing favours for each other, advancing their mutual interests, connected via a hierarchy to Shido at the top. This is why Shido can control everything.

It also explains why everyone seems to be linked to the conspiracy—including the hapless Principal Kobayakawa. Did you think it was unrealistic for him to be involved? It seems likely that he was just a low-level member of Shido's koenkai.

When Shido needed someone at Shujin to investigate the Phantom Thieves, Kobayakawa was there—because they have people everywhere. A quick phone call from a higher-up in the organisation—the SIU Director, most likely, who we know Kobayakawa speaks to—and he's eating out of Shido's hand. And will do anything he wants....

So Kobayakawa wasn't anybody at all. He wasn't important. He wasn't somehow part of the deep state. He was just one of likely hundreds of thousands of paid-up Shido supporters looking to advance themselves, getting the vote out, and funding the cause.

He was in the right place at the right time. After all, the koenkai got Kobayakawa his job at Shujin. All his hopes for advancement are centred on it:

Because just like the two housewives in the underground mall, and probably like everyone else in the koenkai, Kobayakawa is a desperate social climber, impressed by wealth and fame and power and flashy titles.

I hope he thought it was worth it.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2023/10/31)—first posted.

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

Heads up this post will contain mentions/comparisons of SA and forced breeding:

This has been something worming about in my head for a bit. I know those of us writing the smut fiction have a good number of the primarchs with breeding kinks, aware of or otherwise. And it got me thinking "why?"

Like it makes sense, but why? Outside of "it makes my brain go buurr"

And for me, at least, is what I feel. A comment made it snap into place: the only form a reproduction a space marine knows is his gene-seed being harvested to make new Astsrtes.

The primarachs all without a choice had their DNA used to make their "sons". There was no autonomy in what they wanted. While they weren't bred say how most narratives are used. Or assaulted in the traditional sense. They were voiceless in this. All done before they were even found. Maybe before they were even adults. "Fathers" before they were even a teen.

The space marines are genetically altered and in a sense a twisted form of offspring to the Primarchs. One that isn't birth, but created in a cold lab, and more vicious than any birth. Many never allowed to remember those who made the body and soul. The actual mother and father.

The primarachs are thieves who steal children to be their own in some twisted idea of family, but only on the surface. Because tools don't have families.

So the idea to make a child, because they want it. Not because it's how it is, or required. That someone wants to create a life that won't be brain washed, and forces to take on aspects of them through science and manipulation.

Something with a mind of its own, and will love them, not because they have to, but want to. And I feel like primarchs like Lion and Guilliman, this could become more apparent as I see their time in stasis, has, I think, caused a level individuality to emerge and growth.

Mostly in Guilliman, who always looked forward to a time when he wasn't needed to fight wars constantly.

[itsseohannbin]

• The Blackened Heart • Part One

A Han Jisung Mini Series

© itshannjisung, 2024

♡ itsseohannbins masterlist ♡

⚓️ Series Masterlist ⚓️

Genre: Pirate SKZ

Pairing: PirateThief!Jisung x Female Captain Reader x Ex-Bandit Lino

Summary: When Y/N, Captain of the Blackened Heart, gets offered a large sum of money to deliver a thief to the Jarl of Serpent Point, she and her crew greedily accept. But while spending time with the familiar thief during their long journey back home, she realizes just how important human connection can be, even for a pirate.

Warnings: Pirate SKZ. Swearing. Mentions of weapons. Violence. Mentions of brothels. Small mention of death.

** The author has left out some warnings to create an element of surprise with certain topics in/throughout this chapter. Reader discretion is advised. **

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: I am aware that a lot of concepts and ideas throughout this fic will not be historically and biblically accurate. I've done my fair share of research about pirates of all kinds, from all different eras and countries, and I know pirates never lived lavishly; they didn't have proper tools for healthy hygiene, they never had 'fancy' meals, they never had access to first aid/doctors to help tend to their wounds after battle or when illness struck, their beds were often nothing but a wooden board and some thin cloth. I know not all dubloons rounded off to $16, and gems were rare to find. I know that in some eras, guns and bows didn't even exist, making combat difficult and more intense with only swords and daggers alike. I know chewing tobacco and pipes were commonly used, and STDs were common amongst the members of the crews.

Let me reinstate that.. **I AM AWARE OF ALL OF THIS AND SO MUCH MORE** 

However, for the sake of this fic and where I wanted it to go, I changed a lot of those things. I pulled a lot of inspiration for this fic not only from Lalalala MV and the Rockstar comeback, but from video games that I’ve played that had pirates and jarls and thieves alike in them as well (mostly ESO, Skyrim, Assassins Creed, ect.).

So, as I've said, I am aware not everything in this is accurate, a lot of the lore and concepts are farfetched and not entirely realistic, but at the end of the day, there is NOTHING realistic about Pirate SKZ 😋

Happy Reading Everyone! Your thoughts and feedback is always appreciated. Enjoy! ♡

Serpent Point was, by far, the most repulsive city you've ever set foot in, and you were ashamed that you had once called the place home.

The small city sprawled out like an ugly scar across the dirty coastline, barely protected by the dead and decaying trees of the forest surrounding it. With rusted hulls, scavenged scraps, and towering heaps of trash, it felt as though it was built by the vermin that scurried across the streets and flooded the docks. Salt and sweat hung heavy in the air, mixed with the sharp sting of tobacco smoke and the lingering fumes of the nearby fish-processing plant, making anybody who stepped foot on Serpent Point soil gag from its intensity.

As you walked towards the shore, your old, muddy boots click-clacked against the broken wooden dock, your quartermaster and personal guard flanking your sides. 

"I'll never understand how we always end up back here," Chan spoke with venom in his tone as he eyed the rickety old fort in the distance that was once his childhood home. Even from the shoreline, you could make out the large cracks stretching out across the stone structure, moss and mildew creeping from every fissure like an untreatable disease.

"I don't understand how the two of you even survived here," Lino commented shortly after, a shake of his head causing his chocolate-brown hair to sway back and forth. With a look of utter disgust, he side-stepped an old man who was sprawled on the dirt, hands reaching for Lino’s trousers with desperate, drunken eyes. It wasn't until the old man began shouting incessantly that the smell of alcohol wafted from his mouth straight to your nostrils, and you pinched your nose closed in revolt. 

"Believe me, it wasn't by choice," you murmured, pushing forward and ignoring the babbling drunk. "If it had been, I'd be born anywhere but here."

"Amen," Chan agreed under his breath.

The walk to Fort Foucher, the Jarl's residence, was quick—partially because the city was small, but mostly because the three of you had little patience for the staggering drunks and pitiful beggars who clogged the streets.

Once you reached the entrance to the Fort, the Jarl's guards welcomed you in with disgruntled noises and curses beneath their breaths. The Jarl may have been expecting you, requesting you specifically by name, but that didn't mean his men held any sort of respect towards females in power. They spat nasty remarks and looks of disapproval your way despite the two menacing men at your side, and their frowns deepened impossibly more when you walked past the group of them with a certain confidence in your stride. It took everything in you not to release your dagger from its scabbard and huck it their way.

You were here on special request from the Jarl himself, and if you didn't need the coin he hinted at in his letter, you would have yet to show up to this low-class city to begin with. Killing his men before meeting with the man himself was not the brightest idea, no matter how tempting it may be.

Thankfully, a short, stubby man in a dirty blue coat and off-white stockings signaled from the back of the main foyer, pulling you from your murderous thoughts. He was waiting patiently to guide you to the throne room himself as if you hadn't been inside the Fort countless times before.

After catching your attention, the pudgy male turned and began walking away. He didn't even bother to make sure you were following as he led you down the old, dilapidated hallway to the set of double wooden doors at the end, where the Jarl would be waiting for your arrival just beyond.

The man stopped short just before the entrance to the room, bowed lazily to you and your men, and then opened the doors, granting you access inside. You took a deep breath as the golden light spilt from the room, making the hallway's darkness seem all the more oppressive behind you.

"After you, Cap," Lino spoke in a hushed tone, one hand waving you into the room while the other sat dangerously on the sharp dagger at his hip. His brown eyes flickered around the room, silently scouting for danger before you took another deep, calming puff of air and stepped inwards.

You bowed formally to the man in blue before entering the throne room, nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

The first thing you noticed when you entered was the stench of old tobacco, worse than outside. That, mixed with the scent of wilting flowers and old wax, had you resisting the urge to scrunch your face up in disgust at the odor. It was an odd, unsettling combination, causing bile to rise up your throat that you had to push back down forcefully.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite buccaneer," Jarl Foucher’s voice scraped against your ears in the most unpleasant way. He struggled off of his raggedy old chair and opened his arms wide in welcome with a toothy grin on his face. His long, dirty grey hair was pulled back from his temples, allowing you a full view of his gross, scraggly beard. His teeth were yellow and chipped, his breath reeking of smoke and moonshine even from across the room, and his eyes were wrinkled and faded from their natural green into something almost stale and completely lifeless.

He looked exactly how you remembered him to be.

"Jarl Foucher," you smiled back, the action forced and not at all reaching your eyes. You lowered yourself respectfully to the floor before him, Chan following suit. Meanwhile, Lino remained still at your side, his eyes flittering over the guards cautiously. The raised pink scar that slashed over his left eye and down his cheekbone twitched in anticipation as his body tensed, his face hard as stone.

"Greetings Cristoff," Foucher barely spared his estranged son a glance before his attention was on Lino, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. You turned slightly to glare up at Lino, silently yelling at him to get on the ground and bow to the Jarl, but instead, Lino just stood unwavering, looking calm, cool and completely collected.

“And who may this gentleman be?” Foucher asked, his eyes lingering on the man, sharp and calculating. “I haven’t seen him amongst your crew before.”

“This is my guard, Lino Lee.” You spoke carefully, hoping to break some of the tension that was rolling off of Lino’s shoulders in waves as Foucher analyzed him. He seemed unbothered, but you know it was only an act he performed in the presence of authority figures. He hated Royals with a burning passion.

“The boys and I pulled him from the sea a while back after his boat up and sank, and he’s been indebted to us ever since. Rest assured, he poses you no harm.”

Foucher scrutinized Lino with curiosity, but his gaze eventually returned to you.

“A rogue bandit put in charge of keeping you safe? Surely you’re not that foolish, Captain.” The Jarl’s eyes gleamed with amusement as if he could tell what dirty things were going on between you and Lino behind closed doors. It was hard to resist Lino’s rogue image and impeccable charm, you had to admit that, and you hoped to god it wasn’t as obvious to the Jarl as it was to the rest of your crew.

Yes, you and Lino indulged in each other regularly while out at sea, you were only human after all, but everything that happened between the two of you was purely physical. There were no lingering feelings, second guesses or confusion as to what you two were to each other. You two had been clear and concise from the moment you first took that step only a few months prior, and you were determined to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Not that the Jarl needed to know any of that, but based on the look he was giving the two of you now, you knew he suspected romance was in play. You felt a sudden urge of determination to shut his suspicions down, but you didn’t want to draw any more attention to it than deemed necessary.

“I can assure you, Your Majesty, Lino is no longer a bandit, and as I’ve said, he is indebted to me.” You tried to assure him. “He has pledged himself in my honor and strayed from the path he once walked. I apologize for his defiance, he is still getting accustomed to life on Royal territory.” 

With a nod of his head, Foucher turned his body around to address his guards in a silent conversation, no doubt telling them to keep an eye on the young lad, and in that time, you reached over and punched Lino on his leather-clad arm.

“Ow! Why?” he hissed under his breath.

Ah yes, Lino Lee, the man of many words.

“Show some respect,” you growled in a low tone. “You’re in the presence of the leader of Serpent Point.”

Lino rolled his eyes, his fingers coming down to fiddle with the sheath that one of his two daggers rested in; the matching one sat on his opposite hip.

“After everything he’s done to Chan? To you? Not a chance.” Lino glowered back quietly. You raised your eyebrow and gave him a look of warning at his usual act of defiance. The two of you then stared off for a second, silently challenging one another, before Lino’s eyes fell from yours and he gave in like he always did when it came to you. He may have quickly established himself the title of the crew’s most lethal and loyal protector, but you were the one who had control of the leash.

“Fine,” he grumbled under his breath. “I’ll be as respectful as I need to be, but I’m not getting on this filthy floor to bow down to him.”

You had to resist the urge to roll your eyes at him again. As if he hadn’t lain on floors worse than this in his days of being a delinquent.

A smart-ass remark sat on the tip of your tongue, but before you could release it, Foucher turned back around and clapped his hands, capturing everyone's attention once again.

“Everything alright, Captain?” he asked with a smirk, staring at you as if to say ‘trouble in paradise already?’. You straightened your back and gave him an assured nod of your head.

“Everything is fine, Your Majesty. I do, however, have a lot of work to be done on my ship before our scheduled departure come morning. As much as I hate to cut our visit short, may I ask why you’ve called upon us today?”

The words rolled off your tongue with a bitter aftertaste, but Foucher barely registered the annoyance in your tone, his smile warm as he retreated to his seat.

“Of course,”

You, Chan and Lino, waited patiently in silence while Foucher settled back into the worn-out fabric. A couple of long seconds passed by before he spoke again, his fingers tapping against one another in boredom.

“Queen Aliyah of Cliffpoint Hollow has sent word that she has a criminal sitting in her jailhouse. The criminal in question is a thief who has been robbing me and my men for nearly a decade. He had escaped our jail unnoticed merely three years ago and he’s been evading us ever since.”

You gave Foucher an expressionless look while you waited for him to continue, wondering what any of this had to do with you and your crew. Meanwhile, Chan’s eyes practically bulged out of his face, his mouth open in surprise.

“Wait, the Queen Aliyah? As in-”

“The leader of the land, ruler of Fatewatch? Yes, indeed, the very one.” Foucher confirmed, cutting Chan off without a glance his way. His eyes stayed focused on you as he continued with his proposal.

“I have a chest in my treasury containing more than fifty thousand gold doubloons, alongside a large amount of stolen gems and jewelry. I cannot be bothered to take it all to a moving man, so the lot of it can be yours if you travel to Cliffpoint and bring that thief back to me.”

Your jaw dropped disrespectfully in utter shock, and you felt both boys tense up beside you at the offer. Fifty thousand gold was an unfathomable amount of money. If each of those coins was valued at sixteen dollars a piece like they usually were, you were looking at at least eight hundred thousand dollars in gold, not including the stolen goods.

You’d be stupid to turn that down.

However, if there was anything you learned from your time spent at sea, it was that everything came with a price.

Absolutely everything.

“Sir, I-”

Foucher cut you off abruptly with a raise of his hand.

“I would prefer him alive, but he is known to be quite cocky at times, so if it comes down to it, his dead body will do. Of course, it’ll dock your pay, but I’m sure you’d still have enough to cover the costs to get your beloved ship back in order.”

Foucher waited while you, Lino and Chan exchanged mixed looks of confusion, apprehension and disbelief. The room was silent for a few minutes as the three of you attempted to process the information.

That was until Lino opened his mouth.

“And what exactly is it that this thief stole from you?” Lino spoke suddenly, cocking his head to the side like a cat as he eyed Foucher as if he were merely a peasant and not the goddamn overseer of the entire northern point of Fatewatch. “How bad of a crime did he commit to justify us travelling across the globe to fetch him for you? Why not let the Queen kill him instead?”

“Lino!” you hissed between clenched teeth, seemingly having enough of his attitude. “Will you cu-”

“It’s alright Captain,” Foucher raised his hand to cut you off once more, a sly smile on his face. “The bandit has the right to ask, I suppose.”

Your fingers twitched as Foucher raised from his seat and walked towards the three of you again, his hands folded neatly behind his back. A sense of unease washed over you as you took in his calm and relaxed facade.

“You see when I was a young boy, my mother fell incredibly ill and passed away tragically. When she died, she left behind her ring, one that had been passed down through generations and generations of ancestors before me, and this criminal stole it from right under my nose. He now wears this ring on his pointer finger like some trophy he’s won for robbing me blind. I simply want it back.”

Lino scoffed as he crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest, raising an eyebrow in defiance. “You want us to travel halfway across the globe to fetch you a flimsy ring?”

Before anyone could say another word, Foucher’s hand retreated from behind his back, and in one swift motion, he backhanded Lino across the face. Foucher’s eyes burned hot as he smacked the younger man, and if it weren’t for Foucher then raising his hands to halt the guards behind him who were bustling for a fight, you would’ve run to Lino’s side.

However, shock rendered you stuck in place.

Lino stood in shock as well at the Jarl’s actions. A strand of hair fell into his face, but he didn’t bother trying to fix it. He simply stood there, eyes angry as he whipped his head back to glare at the Jarl, whose eyes widened in what you could only assume was a sliver of fear at the dangerous look now planted on Lino’s face. 

For a second, you worried for the Jarl’s life, but Lino didn’t move, for which you were thankful. He may have hated Royals with every fiber of his being, but he knew when to fight back and when not to. You silently thanked the gods that he didn’t retaliate.

“Watch your tongue, boy.” Foucher snapped, seemingly masking his terror behind his title of authority. Droplets of spit spewed from his mouth and into Lino’s face. “That ring is a family heirloom. Sixteenth-century gold, embedded with only the finest diamonds and rubies alike. You should be thankful a lowlife pillager like yourself will even be able to set his sights on something so magnificent.”

Without a second thought, Foucher stepped away from a now-fuming Lino and approached you with a wide, almost sadistic smile. The anger in his eyes had vanished so quickly it nearly gave you whiplash, and you had to slightly raise your fingers to stop Lino from rushing to your defense.

“So, Captain. Whaddya say?”

You opened your mouth to give him your answer, to tell him just exactly where he could shove his chest of treasure and stolen goods when Chan spoke up first, cutting you off. His tone was harsh and venomous, clearly pissed at Foucher’s assault on his crewmate.

“But Father,” he paused and corrected himself quickly with a smirk. “Sorry, Foucher. Why are you asking this of us? You have an entire army of men at your beck and call, as well as one of the best navigators in the country no doubt naked in your bed as we speak. Why do you need us to do this for you?”

Although it was meant as a dig at the Jarl and his piggish personality, Foucher laughed humorlessly at Chan’s words. The sound was like metal scraping metal, and it made all the hair on the back of your neck stick up.

“Well because, dear Cristoff,” Foucher spoke his name with a sneer. “Captain Y/N and the crew of the Blackened Heart have unfortunately become infamous across the country. Stories of your victories have been passed through taverns and inns alike for years. It’s the only reason I haven’t called on you to return to my side. If there’s anyone who could travel to Cliffpoint Hollow and bring this criminal back to me, it’s you guys.”

Your face reddened immensely at the Jarl's sudden praise.

“Cliffpoint is merely a few months or so away, and quite frankly, none of my men are trained and confident enough to make the trek themselves. As I said, do this and the three of you, alongside the other five, will be rewarded greatly for your service. We’ll provide you with enough supplies for you and your goons to make the journey there, as long as you bring that scum of a human being back to me so I can put an end to his pathetic life once and for all.”

It felt like a dream. Sure, Cliffpoint Hollow was a long journey from home, halfway across the globe as Lino had pointed out before, but if all you had to do to earn fifty thousand gold was deliver a thief to the Jarl’s doorstep, you’d be stupid not to say yes.

You looked at Lino, whose cheek was still burning red, silently asking for his opinion. He ignored the stinging in his face and shrugged at you nonchalantly, but the twinkle in his eyes showed he was anxious for the adventure.

Or maybe he was just anxious to get the hell away from Serpent Point once and for all before his annoyance took over and he beheaded the Jarl before anyone could blink an eye.

Chan gave you a nod of encouragement as well, clearly desperate to experience the world the way he said he wanted to when he walked out on his father and showed up at your ship all those years ago. This was a free ticket across the globe, something he never would’ve been granted if he still lived under Foucher’s watch. There was no way he was turning this down.

You cocked your head back to look at Foucher, rubbing your hands nervously against the black trousers you wore. You cleared your throat once, bringing yourself to ask the one question you were dying to know since the mission was brought upon you.

“What’s the thief's name?” you inquired with a raised brow. If Foucher was asking this of you, whoever it was had to be important. And transporting important prisoners usually came with enemies who would do anything to make sure the jailbird wouldn't make it back alive. If you were going to potentially put your men in danger, you needed details.

Foucher must’ve mistook your question as a ‘yes’, because he clapped his hands and opened his arms wide, a joyous victory on his lips. He smiled brightly at you and he came forward, wrapping his large, wrinkly hands around your face and holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The feeling made your gut twist uncomfortably.

“Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s Scout’s youngest boy. You know Scout, yes?”

Your teeth clenched tightly the second the name left his mouth. A burning coil of anger sparked in your stomach as you recognized the name of the leader of the Thieves Den. The one who took everything from you, including your family. The one who committed the bloodiest heist on Serpent Point soil and still somehow got away. The memory of it punched you in the chest, while the memory of his son nearly brought you to your knees completely.

This was why Foucher wanted you and your crew to do this. This was why he called upon you and your men to take on such a task, making such an unfathomable offer for the job.

Anybody in the world could do it. City patrons and pirates alike have been doing so for years with little to no payout as a reward.

This wasn’t just a delivery mission.

It was a test of loyalty.

One he was expecting you to fail if the sparkle in his eyes was anything to go by.

Fifty thousand gold hung in the balance, and you were determined to get it. Not only for you but for the seven men who happily followed you and worked for you as if you were their Queen.

Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood, but the Jarl continued to speak, completely unaware of the turmoil happening in your chest.

“He was the one who ambushed me and my men in Fogrush Bay. I believe he goes by -”

“Jisung fucking Han II.” you seethed.

“I’m just saying, if Queen Aliyah is the leader of all of Fatewatch, why does she live on a whole other continent instead of here?” Lino grumbled, trailing after you and Chan as the three of you made your way back to the docks. His confusion drew hearty laughs from you and Chan, echoing in the quiet dawn that settled over the town.

“Who knows, Li,” you shrugged, stepping aside to let a small carriage clatter past before falling back in line. “Maybe the rum is just better in Cliffpoint.”

Lino scowled, unimpressed. “Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense to me.”

You chuckled, enjoying how such a trivial mystery could get under his skin so easily. It was a welcome distraction from the anxiety that still swirled in your gut after that tense meeting with Foucher. Lino probably sensed it too; he had a knack for reading your mood without a word, one of the reasons why he was such a reliable guard—and an even better lover if you might add.

“Nothing ever makes sense to you, Lino. You’re about as dense as Paisley’s baking.” Chan’s grin was wide as he gave Lino a playful shove, making him stumble.

“Oh, shut it, Chan,” Lino muttered back, though a reluctant smile crept onto his face as he regained his footing.

“Just another one of life's greatest mysteries,” you teased.

Lino rolled his eyes, nose wrinkling in irritation. “Like the time you got all riled up about why cats stick their tongues out when they’re happy.” you then added with a grin.

Lino’s dark eyes slid to you, narrowing in a faux glare. “Yeah, well, at least felines are cute.” You snickered and patted him on the back in mock reassurance.

“Hey. I hear Queen Aliyah’s pretty cute too.” You winked, but Lino’s gaze darkened to a scowl, and for a moment, you caught the dangerous edge in his expression, sending goosebumps down your arms.

“As if I give a damn,” Lino sneered. “You know how much I despise royals.”

Chan clicked his tongue disapprovingly, bringing your attention back to him. “Listen, Lino,” he smirked, pink creeping up his cheeks. “You don’t have to fancy royals for them to be a good lay.”

His words made you scoff and cross your arms before granting him a bored look. “Oh, please Channie—you’re practically a virgin.”

Chan’s eyes widened, mouth gaping, too stunned to speak as he tripped over his own feet. Righting himself, he looked at you in betrayed disbelief.

“I am not!” he finally managed, clutching his chest dramatically. You ignored the strange looks the three of you were now receiving from passers-by and gave him a sly but interested smile in return.

“Oh, is that so? You’ve spent the last eight years at sea with me. When exactly would you have had a chance to ‘entertain’ a royal?”

The colour in Chan’s cheeks deepened, and suddenly, he looked like a man with a story to tell. He shrugged, straightening with a newfound confidence before Lino draped an arm over his shoulders in intrigue.

“Let’s just say, Jarl Alderidge’s daughter wasn’t the only woman I… indulged in back when I was set to court her,” he admitted. You and Lino both raised your eyebrows at him in question, trying to piece together his meaning.

Chan had left his father's side when he was barely eighteen years old. He was set to court and marry a royal from a few cities over, but he left shortly after the courting began.  You blinked a couple of times, thinking back to the awful family he was supposed to be wed into, and realisation finally dawned on you as the pieces fell into place. Your stomach turned in mock disgust as you reached out and gave him a light punch on the arm.

“Oh, for the love of—Jarl Alderidge’s wife?”

Chan blocked your half-hearted blow, laughing. “What? Lady Tatiana is a beautiful woman, and the opportunity presented itself. Who was I to deny her?”

You aimed another punch his way, but Lino quickly tugged you back with a laugh, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other clapped Chan on the shoulder. “Good grief, Channie, you should have been born in a brothel.”

The two of them snorted, and you rolled your eyes, suppressing the urge to smack the pride off their faces.

“Does Paisley know about this?” you asked, shaking off Lino’s arm and falling back into step beside them.

“Of course, she knows.” Chan’s expression softened at the mention of his soon-to-be wife. “I’d never keep anything from her. Paisley and I—there’s nothing we wouldn’t tell each other.”

You and Lino exchanged a look, simultaneously groaning in exaggerated disgust.

“Ew.”

“Gross.”

Chan shook his head and gave the two of you a pointed stare.

“What’s the matter with you two?” he asked, clearly offended by your reactions.

“Human connection is what’s the matter,” you answered with a shrug.

“It’s absolutely sickening,” Lino added with a cringe.

Chan's face fell. “What? What’s so gross and sickening about having an open and honest relationship with the one I love most? What is it about having someone to come home to after weeks at sea that makes the two of you so disgusted?”

You gagged theatrically. 

“Literally every part of what you just said.”

Chan then rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. 

“You two are closer than anyone else I know. Isn’t that deeper than what Paisley and I have? Seungmo and Millie? Jinn and Ophelia?”

You let out a long sigh as the three of you finally stepped back onto the old, decaying dock. The boards of wood groaned beneath your feet, some barely holding together. “Oh please, Channie. There is absolutely nothing romantic between Lino and me. We’re just… mutually beneficial.”

“Right,” Lino agreed as you squeezed past the rows of empty carts crowding the walkway. “I’d rather jab a dagger into my own eye than settle down.”

Chan shot the bandit a look of pure disbelief.

“And I’m the one who belongs in a brothel?”

Both you and Lino shared a final laugh as you approached your ship, anchored at the end of the dock like a beast at rest. Leading the way, you crossed the narrow plank that bridged the dock to your vessel, landing with a solid thud.

Jinn, your sharp-eyed sailing master, was leaning against the railing, chewing idly on tobacco, while Binni, your burly artilleryman, sat next to him on a creaky old stool, the two of them mid-conversation. Their words stopped short the instant you touched down.

“Welcome back, Cap.” Jinn greeted, flicking his head to the side as he spat overboard without care. “How did things go with the Jarl?”

You let out a heavy exhale, mind already on the meeting you’d be calling shortly with the rest of your crew. They wouldn’t be happy that you decided on this new job alone; normally, the entire crew weighs in before a vote is held. But today, your gut had already made the call.

“Went fine. Important business,” you replied with a curt nod of your head, watching as Jinn’s expression tightened slightly in response. You then turned to Chan, the light-hearted mood from earlier gone. As soon as your feet hit the surface of your ship, it was business as usual. “Get everyone together below deck. Crew meeting in ten.”

Chan nodded, the humour in his eyes vanishing as he took off to round up the others. You barely spared him a second glance as you turned back to Jinn, whose lounging posture now told you he had no intention of springing into action like his crewmate.

“Are the twins back yet?” you asked.

“Not last I saw,” Jinn replied. “They went down to the market.” He raised a brow and shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

You let out a quiet sigh and glanced at Binni, who only gave you a knowing smile in return.

“Go get them, Jinn. We’re in a hurry.” 

You watched with little patience as Jinn rolled his eyes with all the petulance of a bored child. “Why me? Binni’s been sitting here gnawing on jerky all day. Let him get off his ass for once.” he complained in his typical tone of defiance.

Binni raised his eyebrows, slowly standing as he glowered at the younger male. Although he was a head shorter than Jinn, his solid build made him all the more imposing. He loomed over Jinn with a look that would send most men scurrying away in fear, but Jinn, ever used to the infamous glower, held his ground unfazed.

Before either of them could escalate, you stepped in between them, pushing each back a step.

“Enough,” you snapped before turning your glare back to your navigator. “Jinn, unless you’ve suddenly developed a talent for taking stock and loading the armoury, I suggest you stop whining and get moving.”

Jinn's face turned red, and with a small bow of compliance, he brushed past you, grumbling as he left the ship.

“Move it!” you called after him. “We don’t have all day!”

“I know, Cap!” he yelled back, though he picked up the pace as he disappeared down the dock. You watched him go in the dying light of day, shaking your head. “One more comment like that, Jinn, and you’ll be scrubbing bird shit off this deck for a month!”

Jinn spun to bow quickly once more before breaking into a jog, knowing full well you meant it. With a sigh, you turned back to Binni, but he was already stowing the stool and heading off below deck, tossing a salute over his shoulder.

“Inventory check. I’ll meet you down there when I’m done.”

You gave Binni a thankful smile as he ran off, leaving you to stand in the light of the sunset alone. There was a light breeze coming off the ocean across from you, and you allowed yourself a brief moment of peace, watching the sky morph from blues and whites to purples and pinks and oranges.

The smell of saltine water, the cool breeze of the summer air, the soft sway of the ship, the caw of gulls wheeling overhead. It was moments like these, moments of complete serenity, that you enjoyed the most, that made you feel completely grounded. It made you feel sentimental, reminiscing back to when you began your life as the first female pirate in all of Fatewatch. It reminded you why you began adventuring in the first place.

You stood for what felt like hours, watching the sky morph and change with each passing second. You admired the way the sun lowered itself on the horizon, bright and satisfied at the day's end, and how the clouds and warmth seemed to chase it. And although you always found the rise and fall of the large orange star in the sky beautiful, you couldn’t deny that you were aching for nightfall.

“You’ve been staring at that horizon for a long time now, Y/N.”

A slow smile spread across your face at the sound of the wooden artificial leg being dragged against the surface of the ship. A wooden door closing against its hinges a second later had you popping your eyes away from the sky to come face-to-face with the blue-haired boy from across the way.

“The Captain won’t like you skipping important meetings.” Yongbok teased with a smile. You sent him a bright grin as your arms folded across your chest.

“Hello Yongbokki.” you greeted, bumping your shoulder with his when he stopped beside you. He took a moment to gracefully lean his body against the railing behind him, a small wince flashing quickly across his freckled face. He was still getting used to living with his new leg, and you reached a hand out instinctively help support him.

“You guys made it back just in time,” he spoke as if he wasn’t in any pain at all, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was no longer looking at you, but out across the ocean at the same horizon you were moments before, you would’ve scowled at him for trying to play it off.

“I think I finally perfected those salmon steaks I’ve been struggling with for the last month.” His eyes sparkled with pride and excitement at his small victory, meanwhile, your stomach growled loudly at the mention of food. You clapped him on the back with a pleased laugh. 

“Perfect timing, Yongbokki. We’ll have to set the table for everyone before the meeting starts. I have a feeling the boys will take my news better on full stomachs.”

Yongboks grin turned suspicious, one brow arched as you pushed yourself off the railing you were also leaning against and held a hand out to help him stand. 

“What did you do this time, Cap?” he teased. “Sold Binni to another cathouse I presume?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing once more as you took hold of his hand and headed towards the creaky old door that led below deck. “Will you let that go? That was one time!”

Yongbok’s laughter echoed as you entered the ship, veering down to the kitchen at the end of the corridor. “One time too many, Cap. If it happens again, I’m afraid Bin will be gone for good.”

Jinn returned moments after everyone else had settled at the dining table, Jeo and Seungmo trailing behind. The three of them exchanged quiet jokes as they hastily took their seats, their faces lighting up at the sight of the meal before them.

Fish steaks, steaming and fragrant, rested on thick wooden plates that Binni had crafted weeks prior. Cutlery was arranged meticulously beside them and metal tankards were filled to the brim with ale, allowing the table to be a testament to the care Yongbokki had poured into the preparation.

You leaned back slightly, observing your crew as they dug into the meal. Despite the unease swirling in your gut, you waited, letting them savour the peace of a shared dinner table before revealing the storm on the horizon.

You watched as Jinn, ever the orderly one, gestured for Seungmo to take the breadbasket from his hands, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he said, “You’ll thank me later for making sure you’re not just eating meat, Mo.”

Seungmo rolled his eyes, tearing into a piece of bread but muttering something about ‘overbearing mother hens.’ Jeo chuckled, his fox-like eyes catching yours briefly before he focused on his plate.

You felt the weight of the news pressing against your chest as you watched them—your crew, your family. The money Foucher offered was good, almost impossibly good, but there was that nagging whisper in the back of your mind, the one that suggested it might not be enough to sway them. Especially not Jinn and Seungmo.

When most of the plates were cleared, Jeo broke the casual hum of conversation. He wiped his mouth with a serviette and leaned forward slightly, his sharp, curious eyes locking onto yours.

“So, Cap,” he began, his tone light but pointed. “What’s this meeting for?”

Binni shifted, leaning back in his chair and tossing you a quizzical look, meanwhile, Seungmo perked up, his brows drawing together.

“Oh yeah! The meeting with Foucher. How’d it go?” his voice held a genuine curiosity, though you could see he was already trying to piece together why it needed to involve all of them.

Setting your fork down, you glanced at Lino and Chan, both of whom offered small, encouraging nods. That gave you just enough courage to speak.

“The meeting with Foucher went...well.” you began carefully, letting your words hang as you measured everyone's reactions. “He’s got another job for us.”

That caught their attention. Forks paused mid-air, and a hush settled over the surrounding tables where the two and a half dozen sailors under your command sat, waiting for you to finish. Jinn tilted his head slightly, studying you with a guarded expression as he began gathering a small stack of empty plates.

“What kind of job this time?” he asked, voice calm but curious.

You hesitated for a brief moment. “He wants us to travel to Cliffpoint Hollow,” you said finally, your voice firmer now. “We’re to escort a prisoner back to him.”

The impact of your words was immediate. Jeo, mid-drink, choked and nearly sent his ale spewing across the table, causing Lino to reach over and clap his back while he spluttered about.

“Cliffpoint Hollow?” Binni straightened abruptly, his easygoing demeanour gone. His wide eyes pinned you in place at your end of the table. “Did you just say Cliffpoint Hollow?”

“I did,” you confirmed with a single nod. Silence fell over the room again for a moment before Jeo spoke up once more.

“Captain, with all due respect,” he started in a gruff tone from his choking, his fingers now toying with the handle of the metal tankard in front of him. “We’re supposed to be on break right now. Seungmo’s dying to get home to see Millie, and Jinn still has yet to even meet his kid. I don’t think any of us could take on another adventure.”

Seungmo cast a glance towards you. Though he kept his expression neutral, the flicker of disappointment on his face was unmistakable. He was usually calm and composed, but even he had his limits.

You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temple before clasping your hands together on the table before you. You watched as Chan began wiping the dirty surface with an old rag before you continued your plea.

“Look, guys, I understand.” you grimaced before meeting Seungmo’s gaze again. He was leaning against the archway to the kitchenette, waiting for whatever you were to say next. “I know we were all looking forward to this break. But Foucher offered us more money than we’ve ever seen for a single job before—and you know what that kind of coin could mean for all of us.”

“Enough for how long though?” Binni asked with a wary glance. “I mean, we risk our necks for him time and time again, and all he does is keep upping the stakes. First, it’s cargo runs, now prisoner escorts halfway across the globe?”

Yongbok nodded in agreement from where he was standing next to Seungmo with his arms folded across his chest. His usual smile was nowhere to be found. “Binni’s right. This isn’t just a supply run or a simple trade, Cap. Cliffpoint Hollow, as beautiful as it may be, is nearly six months away, and that's if the ship is sturdy enough to make it. There's no other towns and outposts across the open waters for miles. There’s nowhere to stop for resupply, and if the rumours are true, those waters are crawling with hostiles.”

Murmurs of concern spread throughout the dining room, each of your men weighing the risk in their minds, grumbling and conversing in distress. You had to raise a hand to quiet them all down once more.

“I hear you guys. Believe me, I do. Your concerns and uneasiness do not go unnoticed. But this is fifty thousand gold we’re talking about here.  That’s not counting the stolen jewellery and gems Foucher’s throwing in as part of the deal.”

Jeo’s eyes widened, his initial shock giving way to an almost childlike excitement. Yongbok, too, couldn’t hide his intrigue, though he tried to mask it. Even Binni, skeptical as ever, seemed to soften at the mention of the payout.

But Jinn and Seungmo remained unmoved. Jinn crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “How do we even know he’s good for it?” he asked. “Did you see the loot, or are we just taking his word?”

“I saw it,” you said sharply, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. “I wouldn’t be here asking this if I wasn’t sure.”

You didn’t need to see the loot to know Foucher had it. The loot was rightfully yours after all, though you weren’t about to admit that to your crew. You’d been keeping your past a secret from them for years, and the less they knew about it, the better.

Everyone was silent for another moment before Binni set the feet of his chair down on the wooden floorboards and leaned forward, his interest piqued.

“When does he want us to leave?” He asked. His tone was casual, but the weight of the question hung heavy. You swallowed roughly and let out an exhale

“At dawn.”

Seungmo was the first one to crack under the pressure. He surged forward in annoyance, his feet scratching loudly against the floor. 

“Are you fucking mad?” His voice rang with frustration, his cheeks flushed. “Jinn and I are supposed to be home by the end of the week. Home, Cap. To our wives!” His hand hit the table with a dull thud, punctuating his words as he leaned over the table. “You promised us the summer to rest!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Seungmo was too far gone, his emotions taking over. “We just finished a brutal job from Hawthorne, and now you want us to play delivery boys for Foucher? Do you even hear yourself?”

Your jaw tightened. The reaction wasn’t unexpected, but the raw edge in Seungmo’s voice still cut deep. The room bristled with the tension of his outburst.

“Seung, sit down,” Lino said evenly, though his voice carried an edge of warning. His gaze darted briefly to you before returning to Seungmo. Seungmo, however, ignored Lino’s demand and hit the table again with another thud.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” his laugh was bitter. “We were supposed to go home. I mean, did you even stop to consider Jinn and I? I have a wife at home waiting for me, fuck. Jinn has a wife and a newborn baby boy that he hasn’t even met yet! Are you trying to tell me we’re not allowed to go home and see them? That we have to stop our lives and do Foucher’s bidding once again?”

“Seungmo, that’s enough!” Lino growled, his eye calculating the younger male’s every move. He knew Seungmo would never outwardly hurt you, not intentionally anyway, but Seungmo’s temper was a force all its own.

You stood abruptly then, slamming your hand down on the table hard enough to rattle the few tankards that were still being used. The sound snapped the room’s attention back to you. Your blood was beginning to boil from his insinuation.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” you snapped, your voice rising with authority. “You don’t think I took any of that into consideration when Foucher offered us the deal?” you nearly snarled at him. The room fell silent once more, every pair of eyes on you as you pushed forward, your voice shaking with conviction. 

“Of course, I want you two to go home and spend time with your family. I want all of us to have a break. But this isn’t just about today or tomorrow, Seungmo. This is about our future. All of ours. I want you and Yongbokki to have enough money to open the inn that you guys are always raving and ranting about in every goddamn city we stop in. I want Jinn to be able to afford a nursery for his son so the poor thing doesn’t have to room with them until he’s of age to leave home. I want Jeo to have enough money to open the orphanage he’s been planning out since he was thirteen, and I want Lino to start up the Fighter’s Guild in Eagles Bay. I want Chan and Binni to buy their own ship one day and continue on the legacy we started. I want all of us to be happy and content, and with the payout from this job, I know we can get all of that and more.”

You squeezed your hand into a fist and dug your nails into your skin, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself down before finishing.

“I only want what’s best for all of you.” your voice ran with unyielding conviction, though a tremor of emotion lurked beneath the surface. You swept your gaze over the rest of your crew members once before landing back on Seungmo again. “Don’t you dare, for even a second, think I don’t put you guys first in every decision I make.”

The room fell eerily silent. The faint sound of waves lapping against the dock outside was the only movement in the air, the tension thick and palpable. Seungmo’s hard expression wavered, his eyes narrowing slightly as your words pierced through his frustration. The defiance that had lit his face moments before began to soften, replaced by the faint shine of regret.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.

“I-I’m sorry, Cap,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He dropped his head, the tips of his ears burning red. “I’m sorry for lashing out.” His hand moved quickly, swiping away at the corner of his eye before disappearing behind his messy brown hair.

The sight of Seungmo, the crews usually unshakable morale booster, humbled like this tugged at your chest. You leaned forward, reaching across the table to rest a hand on his shoulder. The fabric beneath your touch was worn but familiar, and you pressed your thumb into small circles, a gesture of quiet reassurance.

“It’s alright, Seung. Take a breath,” you said gently, the edge in your tone giving way to warmth.  You waited as he inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself.

“I understand your frustrations, and I’m sorry for not consulting with you guys first. If you truly want to go home, if any of you do…” you paused, letting your eyes sweep across the room. “We’ll drop you off on the way out. No hard feelings. Chan will keep your share safe until we return.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, a quiet reckoning passing through the room. Jeo fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his wide eyes darting nervously between Seungmo and Jinn, while Yongbok began chewing on the nail of his thumb, a nervous habit he picked up years ago. 

It was Binni who finally broke the tension, leaning back in his chair with his usual devilish grin. “I think I can speak for the majority of us when I say, we’re with you, Captain.” He let out a bark of laughter, his chair tilting precariously. “You’re a crazy sonofa bitch, but you’re our crazy sonofa bitch. I’m in.”

Jeo let out a breath of relief and nodded. “Me too,” he said, his voice lighter, though the faintest trace of unease lingered in his eyes.

“Aye,” Yongbok called out with glee.

You felt a swell of gratitude, but the real test lay in the two pairs of eyes that hadn’t yet confirmed their loyalty; Jinn and Seungmo. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath as attention shifted toward them.

Jinn was the first to speak, his mouth quirking into a faint smile.

“I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to Cliffpoint,” he said, his voice rumbling through the stillness. “If Ophelia finds out I had the chance to see her homeland and didn’t take it, I’d never hear the end of it.” His grin widened as he glanced around at the rest of the crew. “Besides, it’s not a true journey without all of us. Eight makes fate.”

Your heart lifted at his words, and you gave him a grateful nod before turning to Seungmo. All eyes fell on the young man, who shifted uncomfortably under their weight. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the implications of the decision before him.

The silence stretched, almost unbearable, until Seungmo let out an exasperated huff of laughter. “I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head as a reluctant grin tugged at his mouth.

You didn’t wait for him to say more. You reached across the table, pulling him into a firm, grateful hug. His shoulders were tense for a moment before he relaxed. Letting out soft chuckles as you squeezed him.

“Oh, hush up,” you said with a laugh, releasing him and falling back in your chair with ease. “By this time next year, we’ll be the richest pirates in all of Fatewatch.”

Jinn ran a hand through his hair, leaning casually against the edge of the table. His easy smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by a flicker of concern.

“I hope you’re right about this, Cap.” he said, his voice quieter now, though it held more warmth than doubt.

You felt that same unease twist in your gut but pushed it down, forcing a confident smile onto your face.

“I’m always right,” you replied, your voice steady. But as the room began to fill with the hum of conversation and plans for the journey ahead, that gnawing feeling in your gut refused to leave.

Because deep down, you knew this wasn't just another job. It wasn't just another risk.

This was a gamble with the stakes stacked so high that one wrong move could unravel everything you worked your ass off for—and not even fifty-thousand gold could buy your way out.

Tags: @moonlightndaydreams @collisvng @frequentlykit @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @n0y4 @chuuyaobsessed @newhope8 @palindrome969 @krayzieestay @lunearta @nightmarenyxx @queen-in-the-shadows

⚓️Next Part ⚓️

[gachagon]

I love it when characters who were previously incredibly pompous and egotistical realize that the pedestal they've placed themselves on is actually worthless given the current situation they're now in.

Kaiser is realizing now that his idea of what it takes to be on top, to be the best striker is wrong and that it's probably been wrong for a while. And that's really got to suck, because while Kaiser has accomplished a lot of great things, ultimately his goal pales in comparison to the people he now has to go up against. Isagi and the other Blue Locker's aren't just there to rise up the ranks slowly, this is a last man standing program and Kaiser isn't strong enough to stand on his own.

He had become a great player, but he's not the best player. And he needs to be better in order to even have that position of acclaim in the first place. I am reminded of what Isagi taunted him with earlier, calling him a "Naked Emperor/King" which is an obvious reference to the "Emperor's New Clothes".

In that short story, a king orders himself new clothing that outshines everyone else and so the court creates "Invisible Clothing that only he can see" for the King. The king accepts the clothes and "wears" them, and so to him he is wearing the finest cloak imaginable, but to everyone else he is just a naked man making a fool of himself.

In a way, Kaiser ended up being the naked emperor in that he only came to the realization that his past achievements weren't good enough to stay in the team until this very game with Isagi.

I really think that fear of losing everything he worked for was always holding him back from really going above and beyond as well, because while he does have the support of a partner to do passes for him and he's able to read the field accurately, he doesn't take chances that tougher opponents hand him.

His backstory as a thief really puts this into perspective too because thieves wait for the right moment to strike instead of going out into the open to steal. And just like a thief, everything they get is "unearned" because they just take it from other people. In a way, you could almost say Kaiser's position as the best and the king was unearned because he hadn't actually done what needed to be done in order to get to that level.

And that's why I think this makes him so upset when Ness rattles off all of the thing's he's done, because ultimately none of those things will really amount to anything if he can't keep control of this team and be the best among them. It won't matter if he's scored a goal in every match, or if he's gotten offers from top teams, his goal is to be better than everyone and right now some dude from a no name prefecture in Japan is wiping the floor with him, and easily.

You really gotta feel sorry for Ness too, because he thinks of himself as one of Kaiser's "accomplishments" in a way, but Kaiser literally doesn't care about him enough. He just see's Ness as a tool to use, someone who's easily replaceable and loyal like a dog.

My moot (@miyamiwu) made a really good observation about how Ness might just leave Kaiser soon if he doesn't keep playing in that magical way that captured Ness in the first place, and I think that's true now especially since Kaiser himself seems to also realize it. When he's thinking about all of the achievements he could potentially lose if he doesn't win this, Ness is one of them.

"I thought I was becoming human." Is so sad too because I think deep down he really did think that by being close to Ness that he was truly becoming a normal player, that he was on the fast track to achieving his goals. But because he doesn't really know what that goal is anymore, the rug has been pulled from under him now and he has to literally reevaluate what is probably years worth of self reflection.

I also think this chapter is Kaiser ditching the rose as a symbol of his ego because he's truly looking back on things and realizing that the object that really gave him solace wasn't that symbol of the impossible, but the soccer ball itself. He is coming to terms with the fact that without soccer, he doesn't have anything at all, and that it is the only reason he was even able to get this far or have the courage to fight back against his abusive shitty dad.

Instead of the rose tattoo being here, we see there's a new tattoo that's prominent now and it's in the shape of a crown. And rather than being in a place where he's most vulnerable (his neck), the tattoo is on his hand, which I think symbolizes how he is able to take his own freedom and by extension his own place as a king with his own two hands.

Kaiser's solitude is something he really needs to become the best, because if he can't do it alone, than he can't do it at all. He is clinging desperately to the things he has managed to gather throughout these years, including Ness' loyalty and he's so afraid of losing even one of those things that it's making him a worse player.

However, whether or not being totally alone is what he needs to heal as a person is another thing entirely, which is ultimately why I don't think Kaiser will ever beat Isagi and that if he does it'd actually be the worst ending for him. Throughout this entire manga, Kaiser comes off as a really calculated person who's always thinking ten steps ahead, but inside he is just a damaged kid who is using soccer as his one means of coping with the trauma he faced as child.

And that phrasing "I thought I was becoming human" really just makes me feel so sad for Kaiser, because to him if he doesn't have soccer he is less than human and has nothing to give back to the world. He has never allowed himself any time to just be a normal teenager and just make friends in a healthy way, and the one friend he does have might just up and leave if he's not playing in a groundbreaking way. He thinks so lowly of himself that he hinges his entire identity around how other people perceive his abilities in the game, and if he's not the best at the game, he surely can't matter that much as a player, no matter how much Ness tries to placate him with words about how he's "already done enough".

Ego Jinpachi said it as well after Nagi made his really good goal, that some people are content with just being average and "good" instead of being great. And that it's because they're content with where they are in life, that they never advance at all. The idea that they are totally fine in their current position makes them lose the drive they normally would have if they weren't still thinking about trying to get better.

And Blue Lock's philosophy hinges on the player wanting to always get better and better and beat the other players on the field. Being "good" is never enough, hell being "Great" isn't enough at times, you need to be the best forever. You need to make it so that dethroning you is an uphill battle.

[senjutsunade]

Godaime Characterization

Note: This became a bit too long but I feel will be useful for those who interact with me.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, and now that my keyboard’s finally cooperating, it’s time—

My portrayal of Tsunade is that of someone unapologetically snarky and, at times, delightfully full of herself. But this summer, a nagging doubt crept in: am I depicting her right? Or worse, am I letting my own personality bleed into her characterization?

So, I went back to the source. I rewatched every scene of hers in the anime, scrutinized every manga panel featuring her, and came to a glorious conclusion—the woman is a menace. She’s brutal with her words, smug as hell, and absolutely insists on having the last say. Any reservations I had went straight out the window, and my Tsunade officially became the reigning queen of snark.

That left me wondering: why had I doubted myself in the first place? The answer was clear—fandoms. They’re incredible spaces, no question, but sometimes, fanon bleeds into canon so much that the lines blur. Over time, Tsunade’s portrayal shifted. In fanart and fanfiction, she’s often reduced to either the “drunk grandma” trope or a hypersexualized symbol, and somewhere along the way, her canon personality got lost in the shuffle.

But NOT here. Not on this blog. Tsunade is no one’s trope.

Why is she the way she is?

She’s a prodigy, plain and simple. The fandom tends to forget that sometimes. Tsunade became a Genin at six. Six. By the time most kids are learning to tie their shoes, she was already on her way to revolutionizing the medical field—single-handedly, might I add. She defeated Chiyo, the world-renowned poison specialist, while still in her teens. Let that sink in.

She’s also a Senju. One utterly spoiled by her grandfather. Shinobi royalty, through and through, treated as such from the moment she could walk. The “Hime” title isn’t just for kicks—it holds weight. Even Danzō uses it, and we all know he doesn’t do respect lightly. Tsunade was used to getting her way from an early age and rarely, if ever, heard the word “no.”

Her teammates? Just as guilty. Watch any scene with the three of them, and you’ll see it. Jiraiya and Orochimaru practically invented the art of indulging her. No matter how outrageous or dramatic she was being, they always gave in. They solidified her Hime lifestyle long before anyone else could question it.

And then there’s her clan name—that privilege that few in Konoha could dream of having. When she decided she was done with shinobi life and walked away, leaving the village to wander the world, what happened? Nothing. No hunter-nin were sent after her. Anyone else would’ve had a team on their trail within days, but not her. Being a Senju gave her a free pass.

Here’s the thing: Tsunade likes to have her way. Always has. But the difference? She’s got the skillset to back it up. Honestly, who in their right mind would dare to challenge her?

The Konoha I write is a far cry from the idealized version often found in most fan portrayals. There are no shining heroes here—save for Naruto, the outlier. My depiction leans heavily into the grim reality of what it means to be a shinobi.

What are shinobi, truly? They are assassins, thieves, spies, saboteurs, and manipulators, trained from childhood to master the art of psychological warfare. They operate in shadows, their hands stained with blood, their morality twisted into shapes that serve their purpose. Their loyalty isn’t to some lofty ideal of justice—it’s to their Hokage and their nation. Konoha and Hi no Kuni come first. Always.

To protect those, no act is too foul, no line too sacred. Once they fasten that hitai-ate, they cease to be individuals with their own wants or friendships. They become weapons—willing, obedient tools forged in fire and duty. On missions, there is no room for personal morality, no hesitation over relationships or past bonds. A shinobi of Konoha will burn villages, poison wells, and manipulate lives if the mission demands it.

This is the shinobi world—cutthroat, ruthless, and unrelenting. My Konoha basking in sunlight is more an illusion; in truth, it thrives in the shadows, because that’s what it takes to survive.

As the leader of such people, my Tsunade is no heroine. Her loyalty lies with Konoha—her homeland, her inheritance, her duty—and she will protect it at any cost. This is the essence of leadership in a world as brutal as theirs.

Take, for example, the moment she places a bomb seal on Kakashi and sends him to Hiruko, knowing full well it could mean his death. She hates it but goes through with it. Doesn't hesitate—not because she’s heartless, but because the mission demands it. Protecting Konoha always comes first, no matter the personal toll.

Then there’s Jiraiya. Sending him to Ame wasn’t a decision she made lightly, but it was one she made without faltering. He was the best suited for the mission, and as Hokage, her duty was to assign it. Even when it meant sending her oldest friend to what might as well have been his grave. She hated it, but it was her duty to send the best person for the job, even if it was her best friend.

Tsunade’s choices aren’t about heroism; they’re about survival. That’s the cold reality of leading shinobi.

As Hokage, Tsunade isn’t here to coddle her shinobi. She doesn’t have the luxury of being soft or overly kind—not like Sarutobi was. Her leadership is harsh, but fair, grounded in the cold reality of their world. Konoha’s survival depends on it.

The village has lost too much—too many shinobi, too many elite warriors. The wars, the Kyuubi attack, the Uchiha Massacre, the Suna/Oto invasion… each loss has chipped away at Konoha's strength. The names they’ve lost are legendary: Hatake Sakumo, Kato Dan, Namikaze Minato, Uchiha Fugaku, Orochimaru, Uchiha Shisui, and Uchiha Itachi—shinobi who had the power to solidify Konoha’s reputation as the greatest force in the shinobi world. Now? That power is gone.

Tsunade doesn’t have the luxury to be kind. She doesn’t have the luxury to be gentle. Every decision, every action, must be ruthlessly pragmatic. Konoha can’t show weakness. If it does, every other nation will pounce. They’ll capitalize on it—crush that illusion of Konoha's might.

After their defeat in the Third Shinobi war, Kumo and Iwa were desperate for the chance to topple Konoha. Tsunade knows this better than anyone. And she’s prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the village’s strength isn’t seen as anything less than absolute.

Her personality as Hokage is often reduced to that of an angry, impatient, sullen woman. That’s the general consensus, isn’t it?

Let’s break that down.

Yes, she’s angry. But why?

It’s because the state of Konoha when she returns as Godaime is a direct affront to everything she’s ever stood for. Konoha is barely hanging on, and it terrifies her. The administration? A disaster. The hospital? Using techniques she’d deemed redundant and inferior more than twenty years ago. The village infrastructure? In shambles. The elite shinobi? Either dead or too wounded to serve. Konoha is bleeding out in every sense of the word, and no one is acknowledging the scale of the damage.

They’re broke. The shinobi who remain are spread thin, and they can’t take missions fast enough. Refusing missions? It’s not an option. The clients they depend on would abandon them, and with that would come the collapse of Konoha’s reputation, its economy, and its power. The other villages are hungry, and they would use this vulnerability to tear them apart.

So what does she do? She sends exhausted, overworked shinobi—people who don’t even know her, who are only loyal to the Hokage title she was suddenly thrust into—on missions. No breaks. No recovery. Physically drained, mentally shattered. Tsunade KNOWS how dangerous it is, how damaging this will be. She knows this could ruin any future relationships with these nin, but she has no other choice.

For Konoha’s survival, for the survival of the Will of Fire and everything it stands for, she has to bury her compassion, stifle the medic within her, and step into a role she never wanted.

Because sometimes, survival doesn’t care about what you want. It only cares about what you’re willing to sacrifice. As a war veteran, she understands that.

She lacks patience. Why? Because while all of this is happening—while her focus should be on pulling Konoha from the brink—the damn council insists on getting in her way. They act like they can push her around, like they can dictate the way things are done—the way things have always been done. Politics. She hates that shit. She doesn’t have time to deal with their petty games. But the village is still unstable. The system is crumbling. So she grits her teeth and tolerates their interference, for now. She knows that once she has a firmer grasp on things, once Konoha is breathing again, she’ll finally be able to shove them all out of her way and take control. Until then, it’s just another battle to survive.

She is sullen. Why? Because in a matter of days, her world has been reduced to a narrow, suffocating window. She’s always been a free spirit—wild, untamed, the kind of woman who craved freedom, who spent the last two decades roaming, choosing her own pace, living without the burden of responsibility. Now, she’s shackled to duty. She understands the weight of the job, the honor, the privilege of the seat her ancestors once held. She respects it, gives it her damned best. But it’s a duty she never wanted. And that realization eats at her, slowly, like a poison she can’t spit out. It takes its toll, grinding her down, moment by moment. This was her brother's dream. Her lovers dream. Her having it is a double edged knife.

She’s back in a village that mirrors the one she left behind, yet it feels so alien. So many faces are missing—comrades, friends, family—gone, never to return. Does anyone else realize that an entire generation—her generation—never made it home from the war? That she’s one of the few survivors, one of the handful of nin out of hundreds? Do they understand the emptiness that lingers in the village, the gaping hole left by those who used to fill it? She does. And it fucking hurts. She barely recognizes anyone here anymore. The ones she does know—Shikaku, Inoichi, Choza, Kakashi, Genma—she remembers them as bumbling, clumsy Gennin and Chūnin. Not as the adults they’ve become. It’s… disorienting. The sharp, bitter jolt of seeing them as grown nin. Something she didn’t expect.

She’s fucking irritated. The state of the village, the crumbling infrastructure, the political cesspool she’s had to wade into—it’s all too much. And it's endless. Paperwork and reports pile up like a mountain she has to climb every damn day. She's forced to get reacquainted with the village she once knew so well, only to realize that it’s changed in ways she could never have imagined. The entire structure has shifted since her absence. The leadership, the economic landscape, the political networks—everything has morphed into something she never trained for, never prepared for.

She was never meant to be Hokage. Hell, she was never trained to be Hokage. She’s a medic, a fighter, a leader by force of will, not by political maneuvering. But now, she’s thrust into this position without warning, without preparation. She’s forced to navigate through a maze of alliances and rivalries, figure out the intricacies of the village’s economy—an economy that’s buckling under the weight of too many wars, too many lost resources—and the cold, calculating clan politics that lurk in the background, waiting to seize any opportunity to further their own agendas.

On top of all this, she has to ensure the day-to-day operations of the village run smoothly. Shinobi still need missions. The people still need security. The economy still needs to turn, even as it teeters on the brink of collapse. All this responsibility weighs on her shoulders, with resources running dangerously low, and no clear path forward.

She’s brilliant, yes. But this? This is a goddamn nightmare. Balancing all these responsibilities with nothing but her sharp instincts and raw determination? It’s like trying to juggle a thousand knives with only one hand. And the worst part? She can���t let it show.

In light of all this—

For most of her shinobi, Tsunade is a no-nonsense, iron-fisted leader. Loyalty isn’t just expected; it’s demanded. Unquestioning. Absolute. These are her subordinates, not her friends, and they will respect that distinction. She doesn’t have the time, the patience, or the luxury to coddle them. Her expectations are high, and she won’t tolerate the slightest hint of insubordination. They’re tools, necessary for the survival of the village—and they better damn well know their place. The fact that the name of each nin that never returns home from mission is carved on her heart is a secret she shares with no other. The longer the list becomes, the less she sleeps.

Then, there are the nin who eventually become part of her inner circle—

The ones who get to see beyond the Hokage title, those fools she’s somewhat at ease with. The idiots who can get away with being obnoxious and absurd around her. They take the brunt of her endless snark and biting insults—don’t mistake it, though, there’s no permanent damage. Just enough to keep them in line and remind them who they’re dealing with. It’s the price they pay for being in her somewhat trusted circle. But then they of course know when to abuse their freedom and when to bow before their leader's will with no questions asked. Tsunade trusts them to know this.

Among this circle, the most prominent is Kakashi—her right hand. She considers him one of her closest friends, despite his tendency to be an irritating enigma. Then there’s Shizune, often seen as Tsunade’s assistant, but her actual role goes far beyond that—she’s an advisor, head of the Hospital, and reformist, shaping the place into something Tsunade would approve of.

Shikaku enters the fold next, stepping up as her left hand, a level-headed voice in the storm.

Then, her guards—Genma, Raido, and Iwashi. They’re stuck with her now, so she may as well make it worth her while to torment them. Genma, in particular, becomes her favorite target. He gets away with being far more obnoxious than the others, but also endures the brunt of her snark and absurd demands.

Anko, the ever-persistent menace, forces her way onto the list. Tsunade doesn’t have the energy to kick her off, so she stays—reluctantly. It’s not like Tsunade can’t handle her, but sometimes, the headache isn’t worth it.

Gai. His eyebrows will forever make Tsunade cringe. And if he cries one more damn time about how much he respects her “power of youth,” she’s going to be the one to make him lose all his hair. She has her limits, and that? That is crossing them.

Izumo and Kotetsu—her favorite jesters. Reliable idiots, the pair of them. She has a soft spot for them. Why? She doesn’t know. She just does, dammit.

Ibiki—Tsunade works closely with the stoic man for weeks and learns to appreciate his dark humor. The man’s got a decent alcohol tolerance, and Tsunade takes a twisted satisfaction in watching him terrorize his subordinates. A kindred spirit if there ever was one.

Shikamaru—Goodness, the Nara kid had no right to be as damn tactical as he was. Besides, he was the only one who could balance out Naruto’s absolute stupidity. Some days, she wonders if the kid's maturity came straight from his smarts or his sheer exhaustion from putting up with everyone else’s nonsense.

_

@konohagakurekakashi & @minaa-munch I finally got around to this after forever. Cold medicine gives me twitchy fingers. xD