#〉 OOC ₎ heretic of the week.

[mtnsedge]

My “totally normal slice of life no cult” au is probably my favorite for Jacob because he gets to say shit like this and it just Works™  

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 3 ✦ 」

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5 [Part 3] Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

A/N ~ hey there, if you're following this story but haven't yet seen my pinned post, you should go and read it since it's where I'll update general stuff regarding the fic~

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Featured in this chapter, we have... a certain dubious duo?

Warnings: half-intentional ooc moments

Word count: 2.3k

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A week or so had passed.

It's not that you were complaining about this endless 'trial period', per se. Still, just going through piles of boring documents, day after day - any immortal being would've lost their mind sooner or later.

Half a millennium dulled all shine there was to a mundane life, so seeking out a bit of excitement was crucial for maintaining sanity. But even making bets with Childe wasn't thrilling enough (though it did come close!)

Without a drastic change of pace soon, you might have just gone feral.

And your colleagues were quite aware of it~ In time, you better believe they would've even stolen the Moon from the sky for you if you only asked for it, but nevertheless, first, you needed to prove that they could trust you.

The Fatui took immense pride in loyalty - yet yours was very fickle, and they knew it. But rather than allegiance, what your Harbingers seeked for was sign of your devotion toward them, something that exceeded the boundaries of professionalism and demonstrated... a much deeper level of trust.

"Was revealing the secret of this stupid Vision a mistake, after all?" a thought that had plagued your mind.

Well, who could say... but apparently, it had been worth it!

No one could really fathom Pierro's decisions, but it seems that after hearing you'd confided a part of your past to some of them, the Director had thought you'd proved yourself enough. And maybe it was because he knew you just a bit too well, having been there all those centuries ago.

But did this mean that all of them now knew of your little conversation with Scaramouche, Columbina and Childe?

Well, such a thought hardly occupied you.

Because more importantly, you were finally about to get (*insert an ominous fanfare*)...

Your very first field mission!

Good riddance, eternal paperwork~

---

A sign of their trust, or... just another test?

You didn't care either way.

"Lady Harbinger," a Cicin Mage had bowed her head after entering your office. "The Jester has assigned you to an official errand with Lords Ninth and Second. You are to rendezvous with them at the gates. Effective immediately."

And girl, you couldn't have bolted out of that room faster! It made the poor Cicins squeak in alarm. The mage only sighed while shaking her head, not sure that you'd come out of this one with your sanity still intact.

So, your bored prayers had been heard. But by the gods, or a devil? A field assignment with this specific pair of Harbingers had the potential to turn out chaotic beyond belief...

and you were all for it!

It was daybreak in Snezhnaya.

The early morning air was even more frigid than usual, making your grip the coat on around you tighter as you waltzed through the snowy yard. From a distance, you could make out two shadowy figures next to the gates of Zapolyarny Palace, their menacing auras unmistakable.

When Regrator and Il Dottore were working together, anyone even remotely involved had better be on their guard...

Lest they wanted to end up in horrible debt.

Or as a part of human experiments.

But the shady banker and the heretic researcher had failed to intimidate you, and they found such fearlessness quite... captivating.

As you got closer, Pantalone offered you a warm smile.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Hello... and no, *yawn*... it's impossible to get decent rest with these working hours. But," a smile made its way onto your lips, "I'm pleased to finally get to work outside of the palace~"

And with the two of you, it might just be twice as fun, a totally weird thought that you didn't voice out, and instead sighed:

"Though, at the cost of skipping my yummy breakfast pancakes..."

You took a bite from the frostbitten, red fruit in your hand. This earned a chuckle from Dottore.

"No, no, you won't get sufficient vitamins from that. How about trying the special pills I gave you? You'd help me with my research while you're at it, too..."

"I'm afraid your experimental supplements might end up turning me into a slime."

An apple a day hardly kept this doctor away. But much to everyone's surprise, you seemed to know how to handle his eccentric personality and... the segments. Even Scaramouche was impressed by this.

"Don't you look rather young today, Zandik?" you questioned with a hint of playfulness; a habit you'd picked up from Damselette.

The Doctor only replied with a smile, gently sweeping away a few snowflakes from your hair as if admiring a most precious specimen (no objectifying here, Dottore's just being Dottore~)

This one seemed to be of the more reasonable segments, if such a concept even existed - though regardless of the form, you were really quite fond of their antics.

Pantalone, too, was a difficult person in his own way, knowing how to both frustrate you to no ends, and yet make you feel so endeared.

As usual, the banker seemed just a bit too amused by everything.

That, and he found you adorable.

"Hehe, I must admit that dealing with the two of you off-duty is always rather delightful~ but we ought to leave duly," he stepped forward and offered you his hand. "After all, we wouldn't want to be late on Y/N's first mission, now would we?"

Dottore mimicked his gesture. "Indeed, off we go."

These two....

But on that note?

"Dare I ask," you raised an eyebrow, "what the mission might be?"

They only smiled at you - Pantalone while adjusting his glasses, Dottore with his expression half hidden by that asymmetrical mask, and both in a suspiciously mellow way.

You frowned. Pierro had definitely been up to something when sending you on a nameless errand, and with this dubious duo, no less...

and you were quite enjoying the suspense!

---

Three Harbingers waltzing through the snowy streets, a dozen of Fatui agents following close behind, was a slightly unnerving sight; one could only wonder who had wronged the infamous organization this time, and pray the lot wouldn't fall on them.

Someone sure was out of their luck today.

You tried to ignore the not so subtle gazes the citizens threw you as you walked past them, though understanding their curiosity.

It was the first public appearance of the rumoured 12th Harbinger, after all.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, you tried to distract yourself by focusing on the scenery. It had been over a month since you'd last set foot outside the palace grounds, but Snezhnaya's beauty never faltered...

At some point, you got a bit lost in thought.

Dottore's lazy comment, however, caught your attention.

"Now then, I've heard some interesting things about that Pyro Vision of yours…"

Pantalone smiled, as if oblivious.

You sighed. "Well, that's unsurprising. From Scaramouche, I reckon."

"Tsk, you have so little imagination." The Doctor clicked his tongue. "Then, allow me to ask you... How long do you think the oldest one of my segments has been around? Or, how efficiently all these clones are capable of gathering information? Or, how much more I can figure out just by knowing a few things about you?"

"Such roundabout hints, Doctor."

"What he's trying to say, of course," Pantalone chimed in, "is that the Second of the Harbingers has many... unconventional ways of finding out what his curiosity desires."

You sighed, "and he shares everything with you, because why not?"

Not very surprising.

It was granted that your secrets were never going to remain hidden from them forever, and frankly speaking, you didn't care. Pierro was already aware of every scandalous detail there was to your past anyway, so was there a reason for you to be so reticent about it?

Well, certainly not anymore...

but it was still a tad too early to completely let your guard down either!

A weird silence filled the air for a while, probably making the lower ranks behind you a bit uncomfortable.

But since Pantalone and Dottore didn't pursue on the topic, you thought, 'why should I either?'

Yet they obviously expected you to.

"Then," you sighed, giving in, "I assume you want to ask me about something? My Visions, no doubt."

Pantalone patted your head, "Only if our little Harbinger wouldn't deem it prying."

"I do, but go ahead."

Knowing them to be exceedingly shrewd characters, manipulating others so effortlessly, you realized these two could have easily lead you into a trap here. But somehow, this subtle controlling was always done gently enough not to hurt you.

And they never would, surely.

One way or another, though, they always found out what they wanted...

Pantalone gestured the Fatui agents to put some distance between them and the three of you - was it courtesy, or maybe... protectiveness? Either way, it would prevent bothersome rumours about your past from spreading any further, so you gave him an appreciative smile.

Dottore was walking leisurely with his hands behind his back, giving you sidelong glances.

"Then, tell me, Y/N - why do you think Celestia grants Visions so heedlessly? Why is it that even some of the strongest individuals never receive one?"

The vapor from your breath formed clouds in the cold air as you took a few deep breaths before answering.

"Well, I can only speak for myself. I've always been ambitionless and ran away from all my problems rather than facing them. So, thinking back, I never should've received a Vision in the first place, fake or not."

You sighed, "Rosalyne, on the other hand... I think she had every right to get a blessing from those crafty deities. She was assertive, gifted - a bit of a diva at times - but somewhere beneath lied a gentle soul."

And here you were again, talking about her; she haunted you when she was alive, and haunted you as dead.

Pantalone raised an eyebrow. "My, I've never heard anyone say such things about the Fair Lady?"

Dottore, too, seemed reluctant to accept these praises you directed at your sister, as he'd only seen her as a shallow, crude woman.

"Don't get me wrong, though," you commented, "she was no saint..."

"But?"

You shrugged, "...nor was I."

The two Harbingers had quietly moved closer to you, now walking on your both sides. You only noticed this when their arms slightly brushed against yours.

"After my father created this... thing and gave it to me, and how I greedily accepted it, I always wondered if we had angered the gods so thoroughly that they didn't grant my sister a Vision out of pure spite."

Pantalone brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

"Perhaps... you shouldn't be so merciless toward yourself."

"I'm not. Rosalyne and I were very similar, after all."

Dottore raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We both wanted what we felt we deserved - power, attention... acceptance. I don't know whose yearning was greater, but neither one of us settled for any less. So, I tied a manmade Vision on my hips, and Rosalyne left to study the art of liquid fire in the Akademiya; the divine refused to acknowledge us, so we searched for our due elsewhere."

Pantalone stroked his chin, seemingly amused. "Well, what a pair of blasphemous sisters?"

"However," the Doctor chuckled, "what you did surely made those self-important gods grit their teeth in frustration. I find such heresy quite commendable. Bravo, truly~"

"And then you went and became a Fatui Harbinger," Pantalone sighed. "Poor Celestia, they couldn't shackle you..."

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at their comments.

"Though, I am curious about one thing," Pantalone continued. "You said Celestia 'rejected' you, yet here you are, with a bona fide Cryo Vision? Isn't that a sign that the gods did, in fact, accept you?"

It was something you'd been wondering ever since that day as well...

And the lamentable conclusion was this:

"Perhaps Celestia just took pity on me. Or, perhaps the Vision was intended as a warning."

"A warning?" Pantalone smiled eerily. "For what reason exactly, my dear?"

To keep your mouth shut?

To not cross such lines ever again?

And yet... "That's a story for a later time," you told them as well, smiling.

Dottore and Pantalone were adept at concealing how they really thought and felt about things, so you couldn't quite decipher their reactions to your cryptic words.

Still, a fleeting sentiment had flashed across their faces - resentment, perhaps. Not toward you, though.

Suddenly, they both stopped walking.

You took a few steps more before noticing and stopping as well, glancing at them over your shoulder.

"Well, would you look that? Time flies so pleasantly with Y/N around." Pantalone checked his pocket watch. "It seems we're here a bit early."

...and where was 'here', exactly?

It looked like a small, secluded village, somewhat. There were no proper houses, just some dilapidated cottages and cabins, and only a few of them. The people outside, wearing clothes way too ragged and light for this type of weather, had quickly fled inside once seeing the Fatui had arrived.

You knew there was a lot of poverty in rural Snezhnaya, but this was... well, it reminded you of the times when you'd struggled to get by as well - memories you'd rather never have had brought up again.

Dottore mumbled something about "these ones" being "too malnourished for test subjects" as he walked past you.

Pantalone had also went ahead with his subordinates, discussing some questionable economics that apparently concerned this place.

But you lingered behind them for a moment, lost in thought.

The people here have surely lost enough, so why choose to bring themselves even more misfortune by getting involved with the Fatui? I understand the way humans think less and less with every decade that passes...

Just now noticing that you hadn't followed them, the two Harbingers strode back to your side.

You quickly hid any remnant of hesitance from your face, giving them a smile.

"Time to prove myself, no?"

Dottore chuckled, "You don't seem too anxious about your first field mission, my little Harbinger, even though you don't know what's waiting up ahead..."

"Well," you sighed. "For the Tsaritsa, and all that... you know? And I reckon I've faced worse anyway."

"I'll ask you to elaborate on that some other time~ On a similar note," Pantalone mused, playing with your hair softly, "we all saw something in you that day, at the funeral, and it seems... you really won't disappoint us?"

You shrugged, "We should hope so."

And with their arms loosely linked around yours, the two Harbingers started leading you toward a particular cabin...

(to be continued)

[fantasticarcadefan]

Teyvat and the Ascended

Pt 1: Call of the void

Warning: Likely OOC!, Mentions of death, religious worship, emotional breakdown, bad descriptions.

Gn! Reader

Pt 1: Call of the void

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How long has it been since you awoke to this nightmare? Weeks? Months? A Year? You didn't know anymore.Ever since you found yourself in Teyvat, you were hunted all across the land for baring the semblance of the "creator" that you never heard of. From the fields of Mondstadt, to the mountains of Liyue, to the islands of Inazuma, from Sumeru's forests to Fontaine's outskirts, you found yourself wanted dead all across Teyvat. But with help from Teyvat, the wildlife, and a select few, you've managed to make it out alive most of the time, but you do eventually find yourself dead, only to wake up in a different nation, with the scars and pain of old wounds still there. Most of your hunters seemed eager to earn the favor of your impersonator, yet, a handful of them seemed reluctant, and showed signs of remorse for their actions, before either ending you, or leaving you for dead. All the while, the imposter sits all high and mighty.

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After your most recent death, you found yourself in the desert of Sumeru, early at night. Needing to find shelter before your pursuers and the blazing sun catch up to you, you begin your journey to a nearby mountain that you see, hoping to take refuge in a cave there before your hunt begins again. The pain from your last death still there, broken legs and a claymore piercing and exiting your stomach. Your clothes are mostly the ones you wore when you arrived here held together by a bunch of stitches from other pieces of clothing. As you walk there, you can't help but wonder 'what did I do to deserve this'?' It didn't make any sense. You tended to help people out by helping newer players with bosses they were stuck on, often helping your parents in cleaning your home, and volunteering at parks or soup kitchens and helped organize events in your community.

But if someone did something to help piss you off like harassing you or your loved ones, god help them.

For those that drew your ire on earth, it was like them awakening a bear and filling it with strife. You would insult every feature of them mercilessly. From the way they looked, all the way to their desires, you'd insult them so damagingly that they'd feel that till the end of their life and all the way to their next one if they reincarnated. That's assuming that they don't make you get physical. Cause one time when one of your siblings was being harassed and stalked by one of their bullies, let's just say that the bullying stopped shortly afterwards with the stalker losing some major functions of their body. And in order to ensure your siblings were safe when you were gone, you taught them some stuff you knew about their bullies and means of self-defense.

As you walked closer to the mountain, trying to find a reason for this and thinking about your old life, you couldn't help but think about your first days in Teyvat, waking up on the same beach that the traveller did at the start of the game, and finding yourself with a different height, around 6'2 feet tall or around 188 centimeters. With you being innocent and hopeful, wanting to explore the land and see your favorite characters in person, you found those dreams wiped when you were intercepted by some members of the knights of favonius, who immediately began to hunt you, calling you an imposter and heretic. Scared and unsure, you decided to avoid the city, out of fear that the reaction would be the same from the patrol. As you ran from Monstadadt, you shortly after found yourself ambushed by another patrol, but was ambushed by a group of Hilichurls led by a Mitachurl, with it gesturing to you to run, before engaging in combat.

Your time in Liyue was just as bad, with you being hunted down by the Milleth and Adepti, only managing to survive through a series of vision malfunctions, staggering your would-be killers as you made your escape, luckily not running into Zhongli. It was during this chase that you learned of your look-alike, who was temporarily residing in the Jade Chamber of Nigguang while their palace was being built. Your stay there would take a turn for the worst, as you attempt to hide from the Milleth in a cargo crate by the docks, you find it being loaded onto a ship, heading for the land of eternity.

Knowing that the Archon would likely seek you out and execute you, you dove into the water as the islands came into sight, realizing that you moved faster and could breath underwater, with gills appearing on your neck and both your hands and feet becoming flippers as you swam to shore. In an attempt to enjoy the land of eternity, you found yourself a cloak that you could wear to conceal your face. Normally, it would've worked with mortals, but not with the nation's Archon, Raiden Ei. As soon as you landed ashore, she went out to pursue you, with Sara alerting her forces to start preparing for an execution and to be on alert for an imposter of their creator. And before you knew it, you found yourself headless in Inazuma City with a crowd cheering at your death, marking the end of your first life in Teyvat. Yet, as you rolled on the floor, you looked up to see thunder storms starting to form in mass, with you thinking 'Seems like one final fuck you to Inazuma' you thought, thinking you were finally free from this suffering.

Oh how wrong you were.

Over time, you'd become used to this, hiding from the zealots, living with the wildlife, and mostly staying alive. You'd discover that a handful of people were willing to help you, like Dainsleif, the abyss order, the traveller when you two were alone, , Nahida, Furina, Razor, Amber, Alice, Childe, and Neuvillete,to name some of the few, but would oddly call you your grace, the true god, or luprical in Razor's case, but you oddly noticed that some of your hunters had an aura of regret around them, like Venti, Kaeya, and Xiao. It was through those that helped you that you learned that the amount of vision holders was rapidly growing, especially among those that had participated in hunting you. Despite this, you've started to get used to your powers, you've been able to try and recreate the abilities of Avatar: the last Airbender and the legend of Korra to help you survive, but you don't bring this topic up with those that help you, out of fear for their safety, should others discover their new technique and how they learned it, and you not being sure others are listening to your conversations.

As you approached the mountain, you begin to talk to yourself, "Why me? Why?? I never wanted to be here! And if I did, I never wanted to overthrow Celestia or whoever is this creator! All I wanted to do was explore the land, make some friends with those here, and help those that needed it! What did I do wrong!!??" You yell as you enter the cave, resting on the wall of it, with tears starting to form and fall out of your eyes. "Is this what happens to the good people? Is this their fate? To suffer at the hands of those that you seek to care for!!??" You cry, with tears pouring out of your eyes as you finally break down due to the you've pain you've felt. The world tries to comfort you, rearranging your position so you're lying on the wall of the cave, with you feeling vibrations on your back as you cry, releasing the emotions you've held on this time. A geo slime comes from the cave entrance, and attempts to climb onto your shoulder, with it getting on your lap, and trying to climb onto you. Feeling the small slime's attempt to climb onto your shoulder and comfort you, you pat the slime like a pet, and rub the wall of the cave, "Th-Thank you both for b-being with me" you tell both the slime and the land in between sobs with the slime attempting to nuzzle into your neck,and the walls of the cave form a hand, with it resting and on your shoulder and rubbing it, trying to reassure you. You smile in comfort at the reassurance you had, making the pain from your last death get weaker. As you drift off into sleep, you can't help but wonder 'how much longer must this go on?'

When you awoke, the first thing you felt was the sensation of falling, before landing face first onto a metal floor. "Owww!" You yell on instinct to the non-existent pain. Wait, what? There should be pain from falling face first onto metal and where did the metal floor come from? Before you can do anything, an unknown female voice is heard, "Your Grace!" The voice says before rushing to your side and picking you up on the floor and to face her. A million thoughts run through your mind. 'Was the hunt in Teyvat a trial? Was it the beginning, have I finally gone insane? Is this th-' "Who did this to you?" The women's question interrupts your line of thought. As you are brought out of your head, you notice that she's wearing a golden chest plate which seems to fit with her shirt on top of it. Yet, you can't help but notice that on her elbow that the guard piece for her shoulder blade seems to be intertwined with her shirt, like it was one. Her hair is dyed a mix of teal and green with it pointing to the left side of her hair, with the right side shaved off, leaving a stubble there as it regrew, showing her natural black hair. Her face shows a mixture of fear, concern, and anger at the scars you've gained. Behind you, you hear multiple feet alongside something slimy moving in your direction, with a human voice yell out "Mary!" 'So that's your name,huh? You think,before moving your head to look at the new noises. As you turn your head to look behind you, you see a group of beings emerge from the door way ahead of you. The group, noticing you, stops their advance, before kneeling in front of you.

You go ahead and take a look at them from the top down, with the first beings you notice are three small floating clam like creatures, well, least without the lower half of with 8 tentacles total in various colors, with a common factor of near black by the front of the it's tentacles, with the first one having a dark blue shell and white lines on it's shell, the second one having a green shell with brown lines on it, and the third having a grey shell with white lines.Near the front of it you see a big black half of a ball on where your looking at, before you realize that the ball is a face, near the top of the doorway, which you think is, about 20 feet high. Under them, you see what appears to be a tall beetle with what appears to be two pincers on its back with its antennas on the top of its head, wearing red robes. In front of it, you see what appears to be a man who looks like some out of Hollywood with combed back hair and a stubbed beard and mustache, wearing a blue suit of sorts with golden dashes where the shoulder blades are. Next to him, you see a tall blue cybernetic elf in a red and white sweater, who's had his right arm replaced with an artificial limb. On the edges of his face and some parts of the top of his head, you notice that there are pieces of metal across his head, fitting in alongside his scales. His eyes are noticeably different, with them both being a bright blue light instead of there being eyes there. The smallest of the group was a bear cub on its hind legs, with it as tall as your knees. There seems to be a black goo surrounding each of them, yet it doesn't seem to be harming it, rather, it seems that the cub is using the parasite as arms. Unsure of their names for now, you decide to settle on making your own names for them until you find out their name. But before you can decide, the one who called your holder Mary talks to you, with him looking like his composure is about to break "Your grace, my name is Alexi Brown of the Ascended Species, those that you personally guided. It is an honor, to meet you."

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Greetings Readers, this is my first story here. If you have any ideas on how to improve, please post it in the comments, so I can improve it.

[12-16lostsoul]

【UndertaleAU】Rebuild! Frisk of Origins (short story)

*Frisk (female) perspective, the character setting chapter is in the first part (click me here!)

* Stream of consciousness, disordered writing, a lot of OOC (I haven’t been inspired for a long time (fainted)

* Players in this world line have bad tastes, pay attention to selfish cp elements

Thank you to everyone who is willing to come! ! (tears)

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

Now... what time is it?

... What day was the first week she experienced?

——When did she crash and delete AU at the beginning of the last episode?

After so long, she can't remember clearly, she was in a void

Although these are things that can be known by looking at the code, she can check it at any time anyway, so she doesn't bother to look for it.

Probably at the beginning of a certain day, she gradually felt the power that controlled her, and occasionally there would be thoughts in her mind that did not belong to her

But, at least that power spared the monsters along the way like she did

Does that prove that at least that power is the same as her goal?

she thought optimistically

But on the way of the journey, she began to worry about the things in the world above

What do they do when they get back to the surface?

And she is regarded as a "heretic" by humans who worship magic on the surface. How can she convince other humans?

The village she lives in is very anti-technology, punching and kicking the androids she serves, let alone other places

What if the magic barrier is actually protecting them?

"Your father is a bionic!", "Your mother is a freak scientist!", "She not only researches technology, but also has a baby with bionics. You are a freak too!","Respect bionic freaks , Touch technology freaks!"

When she was still young, she kept running away listening to those words, and at the same time, the magic from the same kind of human beings kept greeting her face.

Not like that! Her father was still a human being, so what if he was a bionic person by definition! Her mother implanted her soul into the machine body for her father's sake. Her mother and her went to learn technology just to save more people!

Why do they suffer so much blank stare for doing so? And why her parents were besieged to death because of technology!

The trauma of the past is so vivid that her memory keeps going back. She doesn't want to indulge in the despair of the past, but her brain can't bear it and she repeatedly touches the pain

can she...

can she can can she can

The monsters replied to her:

"my child,"

"Humans, things won't get any worse! I, the great papyrus, assure you,"

"Hey, kid. Don't worry about that, you can convince us that you're not as bad as you think, and we're here this time, aren't we?"

...

Encouragement from everyone filled her with determination

Until she was only one step away from redeeming everyone and returning to the surface, her vision was suddenly cut off, and the darkness in front of her didn't take long before she returned to the golden flower she fell on at the beginning—the entrance of the ruins

The timeline was suddenly reset

She couldn't react for a while

Why?

Why did it suddenly reset? Is it to control her existence and feel that there is something else that needs to be done?

Until she met the monster that was out of control, and overwrote the archive that was only one step away from saving all the monsters

Could it be that everything she did along the way was a joke? Wouldn't the power that controlled her regret the result that "he" was about to complete?

She bit her lip, her pride did not allow her to cry, but she still moved forward with the tears on her face

"What's the matter, child?" After arriving in Snowdin, she met Sans just like last week. He wanted to ask Frisk what happened, so he made Frisk turn to look at him, until Sans paused when he saw her abnormality, "you……"

He didn't say it, but turned a corner and said his lines, guess the players are still staring at them outside

He felt the fluctuation of the timeline at the moment of reset, and from Frisk's reaction, it seems that the reset is indeed not Frisk's will

With the progress of one week after another, the power controlling her will dodge more and more attacks from monsters, but the number of monsters killed will also gradually increase with each week.

Going against her wishes again and again, reminding her of the scene of her parents being besieged and killed

After almost slaughtering all the monsters and repeating week, the condemnation and helplessness from her former friends in the process, and the voice call that told about the underground situation after each week got out of the enchantment, and the tone gradually became tired. , her sanity was lost at that moment, she didn't know what happened, she only knew that she was roaring at the entrance of the ruins, everything in front of her eyes gradually turned white

"Error in file.exe"

"Error in file.exe"

"role error.exe"

"Document crash.exe"

"Failed to run .exe"

...

everything is gone except herself

Frisk looks around at nothing

Why didn't she disappear?

She found that there was an unknown power that was not LOVE on her body, and the existence that controlled her disappeared, but she desperately called out the blue cyber keyboard at the first moment and decided to delete herself.

"Kill [<Frisk>]"

"Kill [<Player's Name>]"

"Delete [<Frisk>]"

"Delete [<Player's Name>]"

After waiting for a while, she still feels no pain or can't think

……No effect

What about external force?

She tried to increase her stats from the knife, and even created an unseen, self-aware monster to destroy herself, but it didn't work, so she had to delete the monster

Although it was a big project, she decided to restore AU after she regained her senses

"Failed to restore file"

"Failed to restore file"

"Failed to restore role"

"Resume run failed"

...

"Rewrite program failed"

What's more strange is that she was familiar with the code in the process of learning technology, and the source code and recovery program of this game are still intact, so why was AU deleted by her? Why can't she delete herself? And why can't she restore AU?

Because she is the initiator of the order? Because she is the last character?

She didn't want to think about it anymore, she lay down on the empty floor

She's so tired,and don't know how long it's been

and also--

She didn't know that the power that once controlled her had collected the complete "normal ending" until the deletion of the AU was in charge of the highest authority, and the last cut off took the "no forgiveness route", if she hadn't cut it under the collapse Cut off the AU, maybe the next week will take the route of massacre, and everything will be completely impossible to recover by then

Another day in the white void, she found out the code of the shuttle AU, so she began to travel through each AU, the most original version of Undertale, the cruel Underfell, Underswap and Swapfell that reversed the positioning of characters... During the process, she Knowing that her AU is called "Rebuildtale", some AU timelines are beautiful, some timelines are tragic, or crossed with joy and sorrow - but in any case, they did not find her under the cover of the code she wrote , she did not interfere with the AU

However, when she sees the happy endings of other AUs, she still can't help but wonder if her AU's happy endings are successful, will her life be as good as theirs

Also, she misses her old friends so much

Toriel, Papyrus, Sans, Undyne, Alphys, MTT, Asgore, Asriel, those friendly and cute monsters——

Keeping thinking about it, she covered her face, she finally couldn't stop trembling and crying due to her strong self-esteem

Sorry to didn't "save" you everyone

——Temporarily finished, to be repaired——

[ein-liebloser-wanderer]

Following the request of Anon here...

Apologies. Due to a technical glitch, I couldn't answer this request directly. I already reported my problem to Tumblr

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⸸ Devotion ⸸

(A Yandere AU of Lobotomy Corporation where the Manager thought he could save the facility by sacrificing the Twelfth Apostle, but Bean Boi did the Reverse Uno card on him. OOC and fanon to be expected because I am not going to bother writing his dialogue into Elizabethan English.)

Characters: WhiteNight (Lobotomy Corporation), Gender Neutral Love Interest (refers to themself as the 'Agent', while WN them 'Twelfth Apostle' or 'Heretic'), the Manager/Ayin (only in mentioning, referred to as 'the Shepherd' by WN)

Warning/Dead Dove - Do Not Eat/Mature Audiences Only: physical abuse, slight violence/terror, mature/dark themes (read the contains list)

Contains: unhealthy established relationship, controlling behavior, WhiteNight has an overwhelming fear of betrayal, victim-blaming, mentioned suicide attempt (as per the canon Heretic), mild angst,

Word Count: 1200+

Description: He no longer remembered how many Apostles he had loved, had lost, nor how long ago he had come to this facility. Years? Centuries? Millennia? Many times throughout, he had tried to save them. All of them. For every cycle, a new clock was built with the names of the new Apostles.

"Dear."

Voice as soft as the white feathers of his wings rang clear throughout the containment unit.

"I still remember our vows from last week. How you promised that you would forever love me. That I, and I alone, would be the only one to receive your faith and devotion. Really, it feels like you just told me those yesterday."

The holy entity spoke so dreamily as he paced around the room. Behind him, the hem of his long, white robes flowed so smoothly like water over the concrete floor. To the human observer, it would seem unnatural how graceful his body was. Every flutter of his lashes, his wings, his posture, and even the way he held his chin up so regally felt otherworldly.

Every action was performed so beautifully. Anyone that sees him might as well be looking at an oil painting come to life.

But that beautiful portrait changed into something disconcerting—something sinister—when his eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes that foreshadowed the massacre that will ensue from his 'Salvation'.

What a bloody contrast against his angelic face.

His Twelfth Apostle was kneeling on the floor before him, eyes gouged out, and their skin a deathly shade of white.

"But what about you?" he asked, tilting his head their way. The Heretic squirmed slightly as they 'saw' his gaze turn toward them. "Do you remember?"

WhiteNight had expected this to happen. It always did with the Twelfth Apostles. The first one betrayed him for a pouch of silver coins that the men of Caesar promised. The second had abandoned him for some lesser creature they called the new 'God', and as for the third...well.

He just stopped keeping track by that point.

He knew from the very beginning what would become of a union like this. They were the tenth, the hundredth—no, thousandth Twelfth Apostle he blessed.

This human wasn't any different, but like a fool, he willingly blinded himself because he 'loved' them.

"It was in a different facility, I believe. One of the ones at the Upper Layer? I was still donning the façade of what you called a ZAYIN. But now, you are uncertain of what I am, aren't you? Not even your precious Shepherd seem to understand what I am."

The human's fearful gaze answered his question. By now, they should be realizing the true scale of his power. Did they really believe that healing was the only miracle he could create?

"What is with that look? I don't plan on harming anyone, child. Do you not believe me?"

He walked toward them, only stopping to get down on one knee to see his beloved apostle eye-to-eye. His pale hand reached for those loose strands of hair. He had always affectionately tucked behind their ears before. So, why now did something like this make them flinch?

He could only stare, dumbstruck, at the human leaning away from his touch, before the room darkened.

The lights dimmed, flickered as purple mist begun to overtake the room.

That was his last straw.

Dropping all pretenses of gentleness, the Abnormality violently snatched their chin, forcing them to face him when they tried to back away. They grasped at his arm, his chest, his waist. Their now mutated nails were scratching and digging too deeply into the soft flesh of his mortal body.

Of course, it was futile.

Mortal he may look in this form, a single flesh wound would never be enough to kill him. If it were, then the first betrayal should have been his last.

"I really did have faith in you," he said, voice as dark as his eyes. "Even though you were the last of the Apostles...even though you took the longest to understand my mission—" ...I truly did hope that we would one day see the world the same way.

He spoke in a tone most might believe as composed, but deep down, he was anything but. There was a tempest swirling about within him, feelings so powerful that even he was surprised by how much they were affecting him.

For a being who thought himself higher than the vermin he ought to 'save', it was distasteful how much he was acting like them.

It was his fault, really.

In the first place, he should have lowered his standards and expectations.

He was the fool for wanting to believe in a fantasy. That somehow, this little mortal would be able to break the cycle of trust and betrayal the first Twelfth Apostle had begun.

It was all so foolish that he wanted to laugh at himself. How could they possibly achieve something as grandiose as that when they couldn't even leave the time loop their precious Shepherd had trapped them in?

The Abnormality's hands hovered down their neck before wrapping tightly around their throat. Given their condition, the Apostle couldn't even cry. Without eyes, all their tears just pooled at the back of their socket.

How befitting for a heretic, he mused.

"Shh. Hush now." The gentleness of his voice was a great contrast to the cruelty his hands were displaying.

As he wanted, the Heretic shut their mouth into a thin line, fear taking over the pain. He could still hear them hicking and sobbing, but at least they were trying to contain themselves.

In the past, seeing them flinch even just a little from his touch was enough to make his heart crack. If that version of himself saw his beloved human falling apart like this, he would be heartbroken.

But this version of him felt nothing.

The only reason he could even tell they were weeping was through the choked ugly sobs coming out of their lips, and the snot streaming down their nose. It was such an ugly sight that it made the corner of his lips curl up in disdain.

"Weren't you already planning to hang yourself? What difference would my hand make?" WhiteNight asked in mock jester. "Do you detest me so much that you would rather off yourself than die under my cause?"

Without warning, he suddenly released them, making them ungracefully collapse onto the concrete floor. As they laid there, panting and gasping for air, they would flinch ever so slightly whenever their fingers grazed over the bruising circles on their neck.

Still, he felt nothing.

"To be honest, I predicted that you would one day turn away from me for some con."

He couldn't help but frown slightly at the last word. Just thinking about the false messiah with the crown of thorns made him sick.

"You humans had always been so fickle. Something like this can no longer surprise me. Yet...here we are. Even though I knew this was inevitable...even though I knew I could never truly call you mine...I—"

He stopped midway, forcing the words that wanted to come out of his mouth into silence.

It was unlike him to be this flustered. He should be eloquent, composed, just, as befitting of someone with divine power. He should never be acting this pitiful.

The Agent, as if noticing the sudden plummeting of his mood, looked up, only to notice something flicker behind his eyes. But before they could so much as decipher it, the atmosphere of the room changed.

No longer did it hold the malicious intent of an Abnormality, nor the purple mist from earlier.

It was all just red now.

"If you ever betray me again, heed the words of your Shepherd over mine...I don't know if I'll be able to show mercy."

~~~ End ~~~

This was requested such a long time ago...oh my. I hope it isn't too late. (My sincerest apologies, Anon... ;-; )

As you can probably tell, 'save' is just a euphemism for 'exterminate'. In my fanon, WhiteNight (much like Blue Star) considers genocide a solution. Humanity is already heading towards its own destruction, so wouldn't it be more merciful to end it all before all their sins become unforgivable?

(I am no expert when it comes to abusive relationships or cults. It would be better for you to be informed about these from reliable sources.)

[person-behind-books]

imagine this: wei wuxian the most terrifying Hufflepuff ever

Worldbuilding:

Wen Ruohan, the minister of magic, is starting a war against the other strong/powerful/old wizard clans

WWX, 5th year Hufflepuff (I feel like he would fit in well with all houses but his most prominent quality is his loyalty); JC, 5th year Slytherin (all that political manuvering that being a sect leader that young and buiding lp that quickly back to strengh. you tell me he isn’t made to be a slytherin); and JYL, 7th year Gryffindor  (that girl got a backbone of steel, tell me otherwise - you can’t one look at phoenix mountain and all your arguments wither away) are the only survivors of the massacre of the Jiang Family. They’re being kept alive as political slaves or sth like that

WRH sealed their magic or sth

WWX, JC, and JYL (because I stan Yunmeng trio) begin to dabble in dark arts. 

(No one ever used them and survived or stayed sane so it’s a pretty narrow exploited path no one knows anything about.)

They figured out how/why everyone that used it died/went insane: their magic and it fought against one another.

They come to the conclusion that they need at least one dark arts user and that for them to stay healthy and sane the seal put on their magic will have to be made permanent.

TOGETHER they decide on WWX: JYL is sect leader after their parent’s death and has to stay that way to protect her left brothers, after all: the Jiang name still holds power. It can neither be JC because he’s her heir until she gets a child (or adopts) and like in the previous case: a sect leader/potential sect leader can’t use a heretic magic. also their family magic would fight with the dark one. So it’s left to wwx who was never a member of the main family of the Jiang clan and just the best friend of JC, which made JYL adopt him as their brother in her mind.

So they seal WWX’s magic permanetly and with dark magic he kills WRH and his assosiated (not all the Wen’s because fuck genocide) very publicly (because WRH never leaves public in fear of assasination)

They unlock JC’s and JYL’s magic. They go back to school.

Since JZX (JYL’s fiance) now has to marry in, he was only heir while JYL was a sect leader) (we’ll get a Jiang Ling and ) JGY, the only other child having been acknowledged by JGS before he died under mysterious but nothing too OOC for himcircumstances, becomes heir. (yes jgy killed him so he wouldn’t bring in more half-siblings, that could threaten jgy’s position)

Happy with his position and with a better relationship with his half-brother, now that he isn’t a threat to jgy, jgy doesn’t care about what wwx is doing, maybe he even helps him a bit. after all it would do no good for people to connect the jin name to a criminal (it would be connected ia a way that jzx was tecnically wwx’s older brother and he came from jin sect)

so with jgy and jyl’s protection wwx is allowed back to school for his 6th and 7th year even with his dark magic.

(If you’re so inclined you can imagine a bit romance between him and the hufflepuff seaker, 6th year lwj ( he isn’t loyal in the way wwx is: to everyone he has a dept to and who he care for. He’s singedly devoted with his whole being to a single person - can you guess wo ;)?):

with everyone scared of wwx he spends a lot of time with his siblings and in the library where he can learn new things, honestly it’s a wonder he wasn’t a ravenclaw.  there he gets closer to lwj. and after 7-8 business weeks of pining and a big misunderstanding he confesses to lwj right as he saw the snitch - he fell from the broom and their team lost but lwj is ok and everyone too terrified of wwx (and the most stoic hufflepuff) too say anything.

Wangxian spend the rest of their hogwarts days being the couple you don’t want to meet alone in a hallway (for two reasons ;) ) and wander the world after it for a few years, helping people and creatures, hunting monsters, being disgustingly domestig and horny in front of everyone’s salad)

[dreamsatdusk]

Analysis:  Baghra and the Apparat

I received an Anon ask a while back and accidentally published it before it was done a while back.  Privated the post but decided to have the final product as a new post just in case; I don’t want it buried in tags from way back.

The Ask:

Hello! Can you do a breakdown on Baghra's character and the Apparat's? I'm interested in reading your thoughts about them

Thank you for the ask!  And apologies for the delay in response.

Baghra

One of the first Grisha meta posts I wrote years ago was about how the way Baghra and her hut are portrayed evoke the impression of Baba Yaga.  Her appearance, hut in the woods (likely amidst birch trees), and something of her attitude all lend themselves to it.  Since then, I’ve also come to think there might be a bit of tie in to the tale of Vasilisa the Beautiful, who was forced to go and bargain with Baba Yaga for a light against the darkness.  

Looking past that surface, in the trilogy we are presented with Baghra as a figure both ascetic and penitential, as well as bitter and unkind.  The latter traits are well explained by what we learn of her history:  she has had a long life filled with a great deal of loss, with countless threats to Grisha and particularly to she and her son, different as they are even from other Grisha.  Her childhood was a sad one brimming with trauma and what she recalls of her parents to Alina causes me to think that she did not feel truly loved by either one of them.  I think their treatment of her and behavior toward each other shaped her perspective on life in profound ways, ones she never got past.

But the former traits don’t have so obvious a cause on page if you look more deeply.  Her lifestyle is very austere despite the fact there is no need for it - she is not on the run and in hiding any longer as she was in the Darkling’s youth.  Her conversations with Alina in regards to her son are couched in religious terms:  she is worried about his being beyond redemption, she speaks of merzost as abomination, and so forth. In R&R, she has Misha read religious parables to her to pass the time.

This clashes with what we know of contemporary Grisha.  It is said at one point in S&B that Grisha don’t put much stock in religion and we see the Darkling does not seem to either.  Not to mention the fact that he and his mother knew at least several Grisha who later became considered saints.  I find it likely they suspected other saints could also have been Grisha - Grisha and martyred for it, their true identities obscured so later people could pray to them and not have to consider the ‘unnatural’ people they were.  It makes a lot of sense that neither Baghra nor the Darkling would invest much consideration in Ravkan religion as it is presented on page.  In fact, it seems like they’d find it more infuriating than anything.  And yet.

The Second Army has no need to lead lives of deprivation.  Yes, they eat ‘peasant-style breakfast’ and such, but their rooms are gorgeous, they have beautiful clothing, sugar for their tea and so forth.  Baghra surely wouldn’t be living in a tiny dark hut in the trees unless that is what she wanted.

There’s also the fact that she shows signs of not using her summoning powers.   Even before S&S, she’s apparently quite chilly a lot.  It makes sense she wouldn’t show she could summon shadows where other Grisha could see.  But the indication is she isn’t using her powers at all.   That is another way she seems to have chosen to deprive herself, to the point of impacting her health.  Perhaps she even hoped that it would lead to her death, but apparently it has not been enough to override the impact of her amplification talent.

Looking back at the woman seen in Demon in the Wood and was glimpsed in the tale she tells Alina of her past, it very much seems to be something happened to turn who Baghra was into who we see in the trilogy.  

I suspect much of the true reason is that she is pretty much a plot device in the story.  She needs to spook and horrify Alina into running.  Her talk of ‘redemption’ and ‘abomination’ are peculiar in terms of many other elements we see in the books.  I’m writing a meta on the amplifiers and merzost and such that goes into this further, but I’ve also written some in the past about how there’s no real reason to believe merzost is inherently bad. Baghra has clearly decided it is though and speaks of it and her son’s actions in absolutist terms.  Because she needs to in order to have the narrative run how it does, more than once.

And again, what reason would this character really have to put so much faith in Ravkan religion?  

What’s a possible in-universe explanation for this?  I think the creation of the Shadow Fold works well for that.  We find out that what the Black Heretic was actually trying to do was recreate Morozova’s amplifier experiments and something went wrong.  (This is the focus of the upcoming meta I mentioned above.). The Fold happened and all of the people within its bounds were transformed into volcra. All in all, a horrific situation, however much an accident.  This could have functioned as such a systemic shock to Baghra’s worldview that she sought solace and perhaps forgiveness in religion.  I suspect she felt guilt, which is pointed to in things she says in the trilogy.  Also, she’s the reason the Darkling even had Morozova’s journals - she went back to the village she was born in and found them, per R&R.

I still think her being invested in the Ravkan religion itself is a weak point, but could be generously explained by just how traumatized she was by the Shadow Fold situation.  She may have desperately wanted something to believe in.  That said, the lack of any sign in the books of what more lies behind Ravkan religion than Saints and the fact that Baghra knows that at least several of those Saints were actually Grisha, doesn’t make this the strongest argument to me.

I also wrote some weeks back on how Baghra was portrayed as emotionally and physically abusive to Alina and according to their own accountings in R&R, other Grisha as well.  In the early days of the fandom, I never really saw that acknowledged, though it has gotten far more recognition this year with new people reading the books since the release of the tv show.

Overall, she is a very bitter person and I think a lot of what we see of her is driven OOC by her being largely a plot device and IC by guilt.  She feels guilty about the Fold’s creation and so forth and lashes out at others in misdirected anger.

I think this also relates somewhat to her treatment of Alina in S&S and R&R.  She blames Alina for not ‘adequately’ running away (went after the stag instead), blames her for the Darkling putting himself beyond redemption (in Baghra’s mind - like too many people IRL, she seems to not understand what redemption actually is), blames her for the sea whip, for wanting to find the third amplifier.  She blames Alina for these things, but it is likely a mask for further personal guilt. Of all people, Baghra is likely the one who would have been most successful in stopping the Darkling before things took the path they did.  He trusted her.

But her nasty treatment of others obscures that Baghra is largely a passive character in the trilogy. Whether out of love or some variety of religious concern, she doesn’t try to kill her son.  She doesn’t remove Alina from the situation in a more final way, only tells her to run.  And in the end, she commits suicide rather than more directly confront the Darkling.

The Apparat

Okay, after all that, I don’t have near as much about the Apparat. *L*

If Baghra’s surface details are meant to evoke Baba Yaga, then I think the Apparat’s point to Rasputin.  His physical description was practically a caricature (if you’ve only seen the show, he looked far less revolting in that than he was described in the books) and he starts out as a trusted advisor to the Ravkan royal family.

One of the big questions about the Apparat is about what he truly believes.  He was in cahoots with the Darkling around the coup against the Lantsov dynasty in S&B, but he later swung his support behind the Sun Summoner.  I think it would be a believable reading of the text to suspect he may have planned to do so since learning of Alina’s existence.  There’s no real reason to think he truly supported the Darkling’s cause or cared much for Grisha themselves; on the latter point, I think the greater support is for the idea that he does not care about the Grisha and just used them to get what he wanted.  

His presentation is a mix of True Believer and power-seeker and a great deal of the questions around him relate to where one thinks he falls most strongly on that spectrum.  Alina’s interactions with him in S&B have the hallmarks of a fanatic, but then, these signs are also seen through Alina’s eyes and you have to consider whether she is seeing reality or a careful act.  I think the case could be made for either.   But either way, I also think he wanted power.  I suppose you could argue he wanted power on behalf of Sankta Alina, but I think his actions in R&R show that an Alina who wasn’t going to comply with his wishes was deemed more trouble than she was worth. If she had died, I don’t think he fundamentally would have cared.  She had established enough of a reputation, was known to enough people, that he could have exploited her as a martyr without having to deal with the reality.

The Apparat was the sort of character I tend to really dislike (religious manipulation, etc.).  Something that struck me in all the books is how more than one character was strangely...tolerant of him. He backstabbed people more than once and yet nothing was every truly done about it.

[dayofazure]

I let work and video games take over my life for the past five days, wassup.

[trials-by-blood]

Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

  This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

  In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

  Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

  One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

  Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

  Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

  The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

  Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

  Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

  It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

  She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

  Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

  One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

  She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

  The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

  When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

  This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

  Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

  Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

  The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

  "You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

  Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

  Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

  "I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

  Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

  "N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

  Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

  A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

  Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

  She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

  The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

  Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

  She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

  "UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

  Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

  Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

  Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

  "I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

  Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

  "Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

  Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

  There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

  There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

  In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

  "Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

  He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

  She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

  Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

  Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

  After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

  More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

  It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

  "The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

  "W-hat was it? His name?"

  "Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

  Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

  "I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

  "Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

  "As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

  If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

  Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

[grishasteelrpg]

As announced on our Discord, our site will be opening on Friday, May 14th! As such, our next preview pertains to the site rules!

ONE. Be courteous and respectful. It’s the first rule on any site, and it’s the one who hold most dear. The basis of all interactions between members is expected to be the principle of treating others as you want to be treated. We have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, harassment, and discrimination. Roleplaying requires the segregation of IC and OOC motivations and interactions. Our primary goal is to create an inclusive and interactive forum for writers that is built upon mutual respect and a deep enjoyment of this fandom. We ask that you treat others with respect-- and do not hesitate to contact a staff member should conflict or mistreatment arise. TWO. Grisha Steel is a mature, literate roleplay. Members of Grisha Steel are required to be at least eighteen years old. If a member is found to be in violation of this rule, they will be permanently banned. This site has a 3/3/3 rpg rating. This means swearing and mature language are permitted. Sexual content may be described in detail and explicit violence is permitted. THREE. Make use of appropriate warning labels. While the site does have a 3/3/3 rating, if you are writing or mentioning topics that may be triggering or not safe for work, we do require trigger, content, or mature warnings be included. Thread descriptions should feature either [TW], [CW], or [M] as appropriate. We also encourage the inclusion of more details warnings within your roleplay posts. Warnings should be included within your character profile and shipper, as well, if needed. This rule is also applicable in our discord. Please provide a warning and utilize the spoilers tag to allow other members to read such content at their discretion. FOUR. Grisha Steel is an alternate universe site. We do not permit any of the canons from the books or show. Additionally, here are the most important modification of Grisha-verse lore:

Playable Etherealki subsets include Sun Summoning and Shadow Summoning. However, this ability must be acquired via our site store. Acceptance of characters with these abilities requires consistent activity. Each writer is limited to only one character with this rare ability.

The Shadow Fold exists. It was not created The Black Heretic as such a person never existed in this universe. However, it was formed through Merzost.

The Universe stands in balance. With the emergence of Shadow Summoners came their counterparts: Sun Summoners. More about the first pair of Sun and Shadow Summoners can be learned about in our site lore.

Due to the site having a 3/3/3 rating, we have elected to limit the age of playable characters currently studying at the Little Palace. Though Grisha begin their studies in Os Alta in adolescence (most before the age of 8), no minor characters will be accepted. The youngest age for any playable character is 18.

FIVE. Face claims are required for each character.

Celebrities who have requested to not be used for roleplaying will not be accepted. We ask all members to not use an individual has been accused of predatory or abusive behavior. Staff reserves the right to reject any face deem inappropriate.

18+ Face claims must be over 18 years old. No underaged faces are permitted.

+/-5 Your chosen face must be no more than five years older or younger than your character.

We require a face claim that is a living actor, signed model, or musician.

For example, if your character is 23, their face must be between 18 and 28 years old. If your character is 18, their face must be between 18 and 23. Current age of the celebrity is used in this evaluation.

SIX. Diversity is a core tenet of Grisha Steel.

We heavily encourage diversity on site. However, there are specific countries within the universe that if your character is from there, we ask that you be mindful of regional demographics as outlined below:

Shu Han natives are encouraged to be portrayed by faces of Asian descent. We have elected that the Northern portion of Shu Han is Mongollian, the Central portion Chinese, and the Southern portion Japanese. The Western Coast aligned with Filipino culture, and the Eastern Coast is Korean.

Noyvi Zem natives are encouraged to be portrayed by faces of African or Middle Eastern descent. On Grisha Steel, the lower half of Noyvi Zem is predominantly Turkish, Iranian, Pakistani, and, at the most Northern tip located closer to the Southern Colonies, Israeli. The upper half of Noyvi Zem predominantly draws from Morocco, Egypt, Tunisia, and Mali.

Natives of the Southern Colonies should be portrayed by Latinx faces. While this region is not touched on in any currently published books, it is seen on the maps. We have chosen to model this region after Latin American countries, such as Argentina, Chile, and Brazil.

The Suli people are described in the universe as being similar to the Romani people, with influences from South Asia. Predominantly, we ask that you use faces of Romani, or Indian descent for these characters.

SEVEN. Character creation limits.

Your first three characters are free. However, from there, we ask that you have at minimum 20 posts on each account prior to the creation of additional characters. Writers are permitted five characters, but may buy more characters slots via the site store. This limit has been instated to encouraged a focus on character development.

EIGHT. Activity requirements and checks.

Character activity will be checked at the end of each month. This will be done automatically without any additional action required by writers. If you miss posting in character for the entire month, you will be messaged on site and via Discord by a staff prompting you to post within two weeks of receiving that message. If you fail to post two weeks after receiving an activity message and are not on an absence we will automatically archive your character and release associated claims.

We hold 2 major activity checks per year in March and September. During this time, we will require you update your character profiles to reflect development since their creation or the last activity check. Regular profile updates are encouraged to make this easier on writers!

NINE. Graphics

When completely a character profile, three images are required. Sizes are outlined below.We will be providing two sets of sizes, one larger, and one true to size. We recommend going larger, as some people have larger optics.

Avatar: Minimum 220x500, Recommended 440x1000

Square Aesthetic Images: Minimum 100x100, Recommended 250+x250+

TEN. Non-Grisha Characters

Non-grisha characters are permitted. These characters may be anything from First Army, to Drüskelle, to gangsters in Ketterdam and more. Please remain mindful of the Grisha-verse and site canon for these characters in building their backstories. The Shu Han have queens. Fjerdans worship Djel and other gods that are distinct and different than those worshipped in Ravka.

ELEVEN. Templates

A code bank of templates has been provided for use. Members are welcome help us grow this! If you wish to contribute to the codes used on site, we ask that you follow the following aesthetic parameters:

Site Typography

Site Palette

Max Width

When contributing a template, please post it in the correct thread for staff review. Do not make use of any templates without prior acceptance to the code bank.

TWELVE. Claims

Within 48 hours of acceptance, all character claims must be complete, otherwise we will not move your character’s account into an accepted role.

[mtnsedge]

ooc. ₎  Had to work late yesterday and had a busy morning, so I will try to get to my DMs at lunch, but after years of decaying at my current job ya boy is finally getting a promotion 😎🎉

[thehereticaldeserthermit]

𝔻𝔼𝕊𝔼ℝ𝕋   𝕍𝕌𝕃𝕋𝕌ℝ𝔼   ℙ𝕊𝔸

}}} OOC: Darling Friends: If I am working with you on a para reply, gif chat know that I am tracking  !!! Y O U !!!

You can find Gra’s Thread Tracker  H E R E   -I will update as new things come in, you will see me tag ‘moved to separate post for tracking’ for this reason. When you reblog my last reply it notifys me of it. 

I tend to rely heavily on ThreadTracker for replies.

Gra is not my only muse and I like be an organised Mun | Admin. 

That being said, Gra’s blog is new, I forgot that when you make a new blog the activity is WHAACKED for about a week then it settles down into normal \ minimal fuckery. I was relying on this to keep things in order until yesterday when I started to work on a tracker for Gra, its up, its live now!

Additionally, shit happens if you suspect something has slipped through the cracks Throw Something At Gra & DM me. I do not mind at all, I’d rather be on the same page as my writing partners and not leave anyone out, I know how that can feel’ 

If you have replied to Gra’s OPEN STARTER - Heretics Bonfire  &&& YOU are not on my thread tracker, please shot me a Direct Message real quick, a ‘hey I replied’ will let me know to watch for your work because it’s new.

Thank you to all who have welcomed my Gra into the fandom, I look forward to working with you.

J {{{

[ask-abaddon-the-despoiler]

OOC Waffle!

I like to keep things seperate, on different blogs and such. Soooo, here is a big long list of who is me and who is not, who is active and who I forgot existed:

@heretic-deb - Miniatures, personal blog, links and other general stupidity

@ask-astorath - Some Loyalist I adopted the other week, kinda like this guy/

@askahzekahriman - Space Wizard, Currently inactive

@ask-the-black-talons - A terrible, disgusting idea, inactive

@ask-night-haunter - Whoops

@ask-corvus-corax - He likes Fireworks... Inactive.

I was also once Magnus, but that died a long, long time ago and I have no wish to ressurect that particular monster.

[hellsbovnd-archive]

LF RP — Rosemund Blackthorne

Rosemund Blackthorne, born Rosemund de Valieroix, is an Ishgardian Elezen of 34 summers. The head of a house regarded as low nobility, Rosemund quickly plunged his house into debt. Rumors circulated about the family after Rosemund's father was tried for heresy by being thrown from Witchdrop, and in an effort to maintain the House Valieroix's outward social status, he tried to appeal to his peers with lavish gifts, which of course they accepted without giving him what he sought in return. 

While the House's good name was cleared along with his father's post-mortem, Rosemund's faith in the church never recovered. Resolving that he could not stand by and watch a broken system prosper, Rosemund took up the sword of the Dark Knight in secret. Since then, he's wielded it to defend those who have no means to defend themselves—namely once-accused heretics and those of low social status, who despite Ishgard's various reforms, still face no shortage of discrimination from above.

IN CHARACTER

Profession(s): Lesser Noble—As Rosemund is a lesser noble, head of House Valieroix (an honestly, quite pathetically small house that pledges its allegiance to the Haillenarte), he doesn’t really need to work. But he might be able to find a job for you, even if money is tight right now. Dark Knight—Fashioning himself a defender of the persecuted, he pays special attention to those accused of heresy. Now that the truth behind the Dragonsong War has been revealed, he does not believe that heretics deserve to suffer any more than they already have within Ishgard’s walls.   

Alignment: Chaotic Good. Loyal to the Eorzean Alliance. Dubiously loyal to the Holy See.

Professional Talents: Nobility—Rosemund’s upbringing afforded him many luxuries that others may not have been able to afford, such as schooling via a tutor. He also was trained in swordplay (including fencing) and chocobo-riding. But now, he uses a Zweihander exclusively. 

Current Residence: Private manor in The Pillars.

Likely Haunts: Ishgard and Coerthas—The Pillars, especially the Jeweled Crozier. Avoids the cathedral. Tailfeather—A man of surprisingly simple pleasures, Rosemund occasionally retreats to Tailfeather for “time to think” and has considered packing up and moving out there more than once. Eorzea at large—He doesn’t have many obligations and the continuing failure of the Blackthorne house after his father’s untimely death is something he can only barely bare to face. Have Zweihander and some okayish wine, will travel.

Hobbies: Wine sommelier, or so he claims. He’ll drink anything, but has a deep appreciation for fine wines, especially Ishgardian vintages. Botany—He honestly kind of has a black thumb and can barely take care of house plants, but he likes to keep them around and occasionally presses leaves and flowers to affix in journals later. 

MORE INFORMATION: Full Bio WIP | Tag

OUT OF CHARACTER

Hi there! I’m Crow/Mid and I use they/them pronouns! I’m generally most active during NA Evenings and Late Nights. I play on Balmung, but I’m open to RP connections from across the Crystal datacenter.

You can find detailed information about my hopes and expectations for RP on my dossier, here. The quick and dirty version:

OOC Communication > All

I am a med/heavy lore-strict RPer. I prefer medium-to-low power levels in RP and character- and plot-driven scenes. I won’t RP with any player under the age of 18 but as long as you’re not making it weird/creepy, I don’t have a problem with underage characters.

I run an FC and an LS, so I can be pretty busy OOC because I have to run a lot of stuff related to that.

I do not RP on Discord, but I have always been smitten with Tumblr RP as a longform format, so if in-game RP is impossible for some reason, I’m happy to write starters.

In terms of things I’m looking for:

Casual acquaintances and friends!

Enemies, especially Temple Knights (since being a Dark Knight is probably not the most law-abiding profession...)

Ishgardians!! I love me a good political story, and the ins and outs of high society in Ishgard is <chef’s kiss>

Long-term plot-focused RP connections!

Recommendations for events to attend? (And company to drag me along since I hate flying solo.)

Discord and Linkshell communities!

DETAILED RP HOOKS UNDER THE CUT!

Thanks for reading! If you’re interested in playing with me then please feel free to send me a message or make a note of it in the tags or comments on this post. My Discord is available for OOC arrangements and chatter upon request! If I’m slow please bear with me; I have a habit of getting absolutely swamped with stuff at more or less complete random, and my energy levels vary wildly from day to day and week to week.

tagging for visibility: @balmungrp @mooglemeet @ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp @ffxiv-balmung-rp

RP HOOKS

1. House Valieroix

Rosemund refuses to use his surname, instead keeping the epithet Blackthorne from while his house was under suspicions of heresy. Many regard this as a symbolic gesture, but others regard it as silly and perhaps even a little immature. It’s difficult for a conversation about Rosemund to happen in any social circle without bringing up this quirk of his, though thus far his peers prefer to watch the rumor mill turn than ask him about it to his face. To be fair, if he were to dispel the mystery, that would probably be a lot less fun.

House Valieroix was never a terribly important house, though it aligned itself with House Haillenarte for political purposes, and generally did not get along well with associates of House Dzemael. Rosemund has speculated for a while that the “zealots” or more conservative members or associates of House Dzemael may have been behind his father’s charges of heresy, but he has no evidence to back up this claim. 

House Valieroix is also in deep debt because of Rosemund’s poor financial skills, and it’s likely that they will be bankrupted soon without intervention.

2. Chocobos

While not the biggest fan of chocobos there ever was, House Valieroix owned a few prized birds that Rosemund loved dearly when he was younger. Unfortunately, in recent years he’s had to sell off a number of the house’s possessions in order to pay down debts and hold onto properties that have been in the family for generations. Including the birds. The decision broke his heart and he misses them dearly.

In general, Rosemund is also a fan of chocobos. He just thinks they’re neat. And before the eternal winter fell over Coerthas, he’d occasionally play polo with his cousins and family friends in the Coerthan lowlands.

3. The Road to Hell

As a Dark Knight, Rosemund takes it upon himself to protect those who lack the means to protect themselves—including accused heretics. While the end of the Dragonsong War and the revelation of the truth behind it effectively decriminalized heresy, that didn’t stop those accused from suffering social consequences, or from the powerful coming up with new reasons to persecute the accused...

In general, despite decidedly lacking the funds to do so, Rosemund is at his core a charitable soul, and occasionally takes in those who have no place to spend the night, especially during the winter moons. Those who have stayed the night generally leave with shining reviews of his hospitality and willingness to accommodate, though also note that many of the less-often rooms in the manor are caked with a visible layer of dust and remark that the food “needs work.”

[saviorgoddessastrid]

Behind the Scenes Update [OOC]

Right, so, I’ve told several of my partners about this before now, but I think that it’s best that I get this out of the way for everyone else so you all don’t get blindsided.

I’ve been writing Astrid for quite some time now (this current iteration of the story was first uploaded online in 2015, but I’ve truthfully been writing it for longer than that), and I’ve been looking back on my earlier work and realized that I’m very unhappy with the way the story turned out originally.

As a result, I decided that I’m going to enact a reboot of Astrid’s Story.  Originally I intended to have this not affect the RP blog proper, but as I worked on the details of the reboot and how the setting works over the past few weeks, I really rather enjoyed what I’ve come up with so far.

As such, I decided that I wanted to enact the reboot here, on this RP blog too.  I realize that several of you enjoy the current setup we have between our muses, and I would hate to simply tear that all away from you, so for those of you who want to keep what our muses have going for each other, I implore you to come into my inbox or IMs so we can work out the details from there.  Or, y’know, we can start fresh with the reboot, nothing wrong there either.

As for threads that are currently active between our muses, those will continue to remain active until either they are finished or dropped.  I may come up with a specific tag for them to mention them as being pre-reboot, but once they’re done, I’d rather work with the rebooted setting for threads.

For those of you who are wondering what exactly is going to be changing here in this reboot, I got a long list of things I’m changing (enough that it’s in its own document), but the things that are of the most immediate concern is that Astrid is no longer running the Empire of Hope.  That is to say, Astrid no longer controls an interstellar empire that has too many things going for it that Astrid got with very little effort on her part.

Astrid’s faction does still exist in the reboot, what I now call the Astridian Empire, but it’s going to function differently, be more fleshed out than before (I literally wrote a document on the economy of the Astridian Empire, mostly because I felt like putting my Business Management degree to good use, that’s how in-depth I’m going into this), and also smaller in territory, comparatively speaking (still the largest faction on her world, but not the only faction).

Another big factor is that Terra Hope, which was in this current continuity an alternate Earth, is now being spun off into its own setting, with many new changes like a calendar system, its own pantheon, detailed nations and people, and other details like that.  In fact, it’s unlikely that I’m going to keep the name “Terra Hope” as the name of the planet for the reboot.

What’s more, I’m leaving more room for different thread types, since Astrid will have to deal with a rebellion in the reboot.  Old plot lines I had that never really got fleshed out like the Arch-Heretic Adam and his demon patron are going to show up in the reboot, though with better, more refined things like motivations, while other plot lines that I had included mostly out of lack of forethought such as what’s in the Ruins of the Old Temple are going and not coming back.

As for Rebecca, she’s going back on her redemption quest, but I have a better thought process in mind for how the redemption quest develops rather than the previous one, which looking back on it all didn’t really make a whole lot of sense from a redemption point of view.

Now, you’re all probably wondering to yourself: Alright, when is this reboot happening? Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for you, as there are several things I’m working on with others (notably the nations and the world map) and I don’t have a definite timetable for those things.  So the answer as to when the reboot happens is As Soon As It’s Ready o’Clock(tm).

Sorry to say this out of nowhere all of a sudden, but I felt the need to give you some forewarning about what I’m planning, and no way am I digging through my entire list of RP partners just to dig all that stuff out, plus that doesn’t cover all of those who follow me but don’t interact with me.

Right, that’s enough words from me.  I’ll keep you all updated on this reboot as time goes on.  Thanks for reading this wall of text.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, KATHERINE! You’ve been accepted for the role of JUDGMENT with the faceclaim of RICHARD MADDEN. Judgment is, admittedly, a personal favorite of mine. I think that when held up in similar lights religion can look much the same as love, and you illuminated this perfectly for me. Nothing about Francis bows or bends or breaks even when it desperately wants to -- so long as they are backed by Undeath. You have shown me someone with an iron will and a need to see the way through, whether their path be cut with a sword or gently plucked apart with the most delicate hands. The balance here you have shown me with Francis is un-matchable. I believe in their faith, and what they’ll do for it -- and that, more than anything else, is awe-inspiring.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER NAME: Katherine PRONOUNS: She/her AGE: 24 TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: CST, 6?? I have a full time job but I’m also working from home indefinitely/still cannot go outside, so I have the time. IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Judgment NAME: Cleric Francis Daumantas FC: Richard Madden / Lee Pace / Kofi Siriboe AGE: 33 if Richard / 37 if Lee / 30 if Kofi DEATH: “For if we live, we live to the Undying, and if we die, we die to Undeath. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Undying’s.” aka: do it cowards GENDER/SEXUALITY: Non-binary / Eternally irrelevant! No ring fingers baybee! DETAILS: I love a priest!!!!!!!!! But the religious lore of Dishonored is what drew me in fully.  I love the idea of them worshipping a god that is not disguised as something wholly Good. One could make that argument for the Catholic/Christian God: that they represent all good things, and the devil is blamed for all that’s evil. I love that this god is both, and can be both at any given moment. The Christian Bible makes the fear of God positive: you fear him because he is just, and holy, and angry because we’re sinners, and fearing him makes you a more faithful person. But Undeath is feared because they can take life, and create chaos, and that is simply the Way. The idea of worshipping a God that is capable of this, and that there is no forced justification as to why-- simply because that is what they are-- is fascinating.

I love Judgment in particular because they seem to exist in a sweet spot between orthodoxy and heresy. It is said that only the High Cleric can hear the voice of Undeath, and yet Judgment hears it, too. I love the idea of writing Judgment as a character who firmly believes the voice is real, but framing it in a way so outsiders (us, the ones reading) aren’t so sure. Another fine line, between sanity and instability.

EXTRAS: TAG / MOCK BLOG

I lift up my eyes to the hills-- where does my help come from? My help comes from the Undying, harbinger of life and death. They are born into dirt, like their God before them.

In the middle of winter, they think, but whoever was there to witness it is not there any longer. All children who are born have parents, they know this much, but theirs might as well not exist at all. They grow up alone, like all the misplaced children in Tyrholm, wondering: what they were like, and why they left.

They are a nameless child, like many others. They were not given the gift of a name, nor a crest or a home, but rather seemed to pop into the world one day, like a necromancer’s spell gone wrong.

Tyrholm has no mercy for unloved children: there are simply too many of them, as part of the streets as the roads and the horses, begging for coin that nobody has and searching for food that doesn’t exist. They are brushed aside, forgotten. It seems as if there are more children in Tyrholm than there are parents, and the number in the orphanage only grows with each passing year. They are turned away, day after day: the nuns have no bed for them to sleep, no food for them to eat. They witness death long before any person should, their friends turning cold beside them, from malnourishment or neglect.

Though they grow up small and dirty and never not hungry, they grow up indeed.

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. They know the streets of Tyrholm better than anyone, for before the Sanctum and before Undeath, Tyrholm was their home, was their god. They worshipped the dirt that housed their bare feet, prayed to the sun and the stars that lit their path, thanked the river that gave them drink. They did not know it then, but they know it now: it was always the Undying that kept them in this world.

They were made to worship Her.

It was She that found them food when there was none to eat, She that gave the river water for them to drink, She that gave them shelter in the storm. It was She that revealed the shrine to guide their way home, in an alleyway they had never seen before. Though they were tired and weary, they climbed onto the statue, wrapped their arms ‘round the figure of Undeath, and fell asleep to the sound of Her voice, clear and strong in their mind. Rest, she said, and they did. Tyrholm was drowning, but for once, they were not wet.

They are born again in summer, when they awake with their arms still holding steadfastly to Undeath. They are changed; they are better. They are no longer alone, for the voice of Undeath stays with them, guides them to the Temple. They dedicate their life to her miles before they arrive, but it is there it becomes official.

They are named, for before Undeath they had none. It is given to them by Undeath herself, taken from the pages of Her book, passed between the lips of their peers before it settles on their own. Francis, after St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of the poor, for that is from whence they came, and Daumantas, after the saint who was so beloved by his hometown.  (Editor’s note: if Saints do not exist within Dishonored I have no problem cutting this and having it be ~symbolic~ on the OOC level.)

Through the glory of Undeath, they vow to live up to their namesake, to watch over and heal the poor and needy like Saint Francis, and to protect all of Tyrholm, like Saint Daumantas.

They are not a heretic, as many who do not understand them claim. Rather, they were chosen by Undeath Herself. They are blessed with the gift of Her voice in their head, an ever-present guiding light. They are moved by it and called to it, like a moth to a flame. Undeath led them through life, first on the streets of Tyrholm, then to the Temple, and back again, to sing Her praises and heal Her wounded.

I cry out to Undeath, to She who fulfills Her purpose for me. It is the voice of the Undying that guides them through the tenets of priesthood. Dedication is administered first, for Undeath does not care for those who defy Her.

While the others shuffle their feet, exchange wordless glances and looks of concern, they remove their ring fingers from both of their hands with hardly a cry of pain, and speak clearly the words of promise: I shall give to Her freely, and mine heart shall not be grudging when I give to her, for it is She, the Undying, who shall bless me in all I undertake.

With blood spilling from their hand, they ask for more. They need not be a eunuch, but a whisper of encouragement that only they can hear makes it so. They are nothing if not dedicated, for they are nothing without Undeath.

Dedication is the easy part. One fleeting moment of pain is an easy sacrifice to make in exchange for the life the Undying has gifted them. It is the rest that takes time. They learn to read the words of the Undying, and learn to speak them from their heart. They learn how to bind those together for eternity, and later, how to lay them to rest. They learn how to serve the Undying and the Undying only: to eliminate their worldly desires, to be free of possessions, to exist within the perfect balance the Undying provides.

It is these learnings that take time, these that take clerics years to master. Even Francis, with all their dedication, was made to learn. For a child who grew up with nothing but desire ( for food, for shelter, for family ) it took them years to learn to let go.

With the Undying’s grace, they learn.

Thine heart was lifted up because of thy beauty, thou hast corrupted thy wisdom by reason of thy brightness: I will cast thee to the ground, I will lay thee before kings, that they may behold thee. The king does not allow the orphans past the gates of the castle, does not wish to see the poor on his doorstep, so when they return to Tyrholm, as Cleric Francis Daumantas, it is they who must come to them. They do not mind the visits. They prefer them, in fact, to the company of King Septimus. They walk amongst the commoners like they are visiting old friends, hear their prayers, cleanse them of their worldly errors, clutch their hands between their own and bless them with Undeath’s love.

( They are not a spy, but they could be. They listen well, and hear it all. The King serves no one, neither his people nor Undeath, but himself. )

We ought to obey Undeath rather than men. To worship the Undying is to understand the beauty of balance. Their God is both suffering and salvation, birth and death, light and dark, and the world exists in harmony because of Her. The King does not serve Undeath. They do not pray. They do not set foot into the Sanctum unless, seemingly, by force of The Queen. They seek out chaos and do not care for peace, and Francis has no love for those who defy their God.

Do not misunderstand: Francis is not a tyrannist. They exist on this plane solely to serve the Undying. They do not serve King Septimus, just as the King does not serve Undeath.

They watch in horror as the war begins. They spend three weeks on their knees, praying to the Undying, asking for Her guidance and Her mercy. But the King does not pray. Septimus wades through death like a duck through water, unbothered, unscathed.

Then Undeath whispers in their ear, and reminds them of their purpose. Harmony. The King does not believe in it; he spits in the face of peace, sits idly by while his subjects are starved or slaughtered, and in turn spits in the face of Undying Herself. When the war ends, and the King throws a celebration, Francis makes another vow to Undeath: no more blood shall be spilt, unless it is that of the King.

EXTRA LIL THINGS I HAVE NO PLACE FOR: They may be off-putting to non-believers; their piousness and manner of speaking make for uncomfortable or even strange encounters, but parishioners know them for what they are: earnest and, at the pulpit, inspiring. Have a handful of...herbs...ready for when they must go on a spiritual journey. They do not need them to speak with Undeath, but it does help. And brings them great clarity.

PLOT IDEAS: JUSTICE: If Francis is Judgment, then Justice should be their counterpart...and yet. They do not understand where the hatred for them stems from, but for the first time, they are beginning to understand hatred. (They can’t help but wonder what Justice truly thinks of King Septimus, and what the King is like, when the doors are closed and they think Undeath cannot hear them, but they do not ask. Yet.) They try to reach out, on the odd chance Justice enters the Sanctum, but they are always rebuked. Still, an effort is made, each and every time. If they were not meant to meet, not meant to speak, Undeath would not have brought them to the Sanctum at all. (Editor’s note: hyped over the idea of existential conversations between these two.) STRENGTH: They don’t understand what this feeling is, but it is undeniably there, whenever Strength occupies the same space as them. They fear it, frankly, and push it aside as much as they can. Of course, it’s easier to ignore when they aren’t standing right in front of them. If it’s love, if it’s devotion, it is different than what they feel for Undeath, and they’ve already committed themselves to Her and Her only. They wonder if it is a test. If it is, they are determined not to fail it. THE STAR: They do not trust them. They have seen what they are capable of, but unlike with those who wield magic, they do not understand it. Where does their power come from? How they could walk into the Temple, spin a web with a song, and leave with three who have renounced their faith, they do not understand. And unlike with Strength, they do not want to. THE EMPEROR/THE WORLD: Francis tries not to judge them on the faults of their father, but it is hard not to, when they’re such a perfect mirror. (Editor’s note: I would love for them to develop a relationship based on faith, but ofc the details of it depends on each characters' faiths. It could go either way: piety, to change Francis’ mind about them, or impiety, to solidify it-- and show Francis that they are unfit to replace Septimus. Useful information to share with La Résistance!) THE HERMIT: Bound by fate from the death of The Hermit’s father. Francis heard of the massacre, through one channel or the other, and offered to lay The Hermit’s father to rest, even without a body to bury. It is not the first time Francis is disappointed by the King, and it won’t be the last, but this instance of senseless killing sticks with them more than others. THE FOOL: They can sense their suffering. They want to help. They want to tell them that Undeath is about balance: that peace cannot exist without suffering, that life cannot exist without death, but one must have both. Not just peace, not just life. Not just suffering, not just death. (Editor’s note: potential for them to team up against the King.) THE HANGED MAN: Their relationship begins as transactional, withThe Hanged Man providing wine and bread for the weekly Communion, but it’s developed into something more like a friendship. They understand one another: they both came from nothing, and became something. It’s a rare occurrence, in Tyrholm. (Editor’s note: potential for them to team up against the King as well! I love the idea of them both discussing unnecessary deaths and what they could do about it.) THE DEVIL: They’ve come to Francis before, in search of information, but they do not give in. Confessions are sacred, a bond between the sinner and the Cleric and Undeath, and are not to be shared with outsiders-- especially not ones as sacrilegious as The Devil. If Justice is their counterpart, then The Devil is their opposite. THE HIGH PRIESTESS: Touched by The Undying, Francis views them for what they are: blessed. And yet, they know the limits of a necromancer’s power. They do not spend too much time around the Priestess, to avoid illness or worse. Their relationship is purely professional-- for now-- for that is Undeath’s  way. (Editor’s note: depending on age, they could’ve been at the Temple at the same time. Also, again, team-up potential.) THE MOON: They know mages to be cursed by Undeath. One should never be wholly one thing: not just destruction, not just healing. And yet The Moon is both. Francis thinks that might mean something. (Editor’s note: depending on age, they could’ve been at the Temple at the same time.) Francis asks for their help from time to time, when meeting with the commoners who are ill or dying, in exchange for a confession, or assistance in the greenhouse. They do not have the same gift as The Moon, but they are capable enough. They whisper prayers into the dirt as they plant, and it helps them to grow. AND/OR: They are often in the library at the same time. For a man who does not believe in Undeath, King Septimus’ library certainly holds a large number of ancient religious texts, and it is a Cleric’s duty to translate them. They wonder what The Moon reads. THE TOWER: They worship two different gods. Though Francis knows The Tower’s is not real, as theirs is, they enjoy the conversation, anyway.

WRITING SAMPLE The rituals of sermon are second-nature by now, but Francis does not perform them half-heartedly. They handle them with the care and the sacrality they so deserve. Every motion is deliberate, every step and every word as meaningful as the very first day they were uttered. The Word of the Undying flows through them, as much a part of them as the air they breathe and the blood in their veins. They do not walk in the Sanctum so much as they glide, their voice clear and true as they proclaim the word of their God: “Let all glory and honor come back to You, Undeath, for You have been with us from the beginning. We ask that You balance our hearts with stillness, through the peace and chaos that You create for us.”

Francis waits to hear the chorus of amens from the congregation, a serene smile on their face. It is my honor to serve, they think to themself, and the Undying smiles back.

“Go,” Francis concludes the sermon calmly, their hands lifted in praise to the congregation, “and serve. For through Undeath, you are free.” They hold their stance while the parishioners begin to file out of the Sanctum, the sounds of shuffling feet and whispers of conversation filling the once-quiet hall. They stand still at the pulpit as the others go, flipping idly through the pages of the Book of Undeath, buying themselves time. It is selfish of Francis to wait here alone, rather than join the parishioners to shake their hands and send them off with a blessing; they know this to be true. It is an act they will surely regret later, but for now they are consumed only by their desire to be alone with Strength, who sits, spine straight, in the back of the grand Sanctum.

Their eyes meet. A feeling that Francis can’t quite place hits them in their chest, sharp and soft all at once, and they allow themselves to smile. A minuscule movement of the lips, one that they pray goes unnoticed. Whatever this feeling is, they know it is wrong. And yet-- they stay. They both do.