#( i. ) int. / be prepared to bleed.

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Envy (Mayhem) Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 4k Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, and weapons. References to bombs. Mention of death and the description of one of the unsubs k!lling himself at the end. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2008

Bookend: "We win together as a team, and we lose together as a team." - Kenny Smith

“Penelope, what do you see? Are they hurt?” you plead, the panic rising in your chest.

“Hotch seems to be okay, but Kate hasn’t moved. He’s not moving her either,” Penelope responds, her voice shaky. “Okay,” you answer, trying to steady your own breath. “Check on the others. I’m going to Hotch and Kate.”

“Please be careful,” she begs, the worry clear in her voice.

As you pull up to the bomb site, the scene is chaotic. The road is blocked off with first responders, their presence thick and tense. You slam the car into park and rush out, already knowing what’s coming. An officer steps in front of you, prepared to stop anyone trying to get through.

“You can’t come through, ma’am. None of us can. Orders,” he says sternly.

You shake your head, irritation boiling over. “I’m with the FBI. We created those orders. Let me through.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, he holds you back, unyielding.

“My boss is in there!” you snap, voice rising in urgency.

He pushes you back, and then you hear it—the sound you were dreading. Hotch’s strained voice, distorted like it’s coming through a haze, “Officer down! Please! We need help down here!”

Your heart sinks, and everything inside you screams to break past the barricade, but you’re still stuck.

“Let me through, damn it!” you yell, hands shaking with frustration.

“We’re here! Please!” Aaron cries out again.

Your heart feels like it’s tearing in two at the sound of his pain. You fight to keep your tears at bay.

Just then, Morgan pulls up. He’s already furious, storming toward the barricade. The officers try to stop him, but Morgan’s presence is far more intimidating than yours, and they turn their focus to holding him back.

You lock eyes with him, giving a subtle signal. It’s risky, but you need to take the chance. Morgan ramps up the theatrics, getting louder, and playing his part perfectly.

You don’t hesitate. The moment they look away, you slip through the gap, moving fast, heading straight for Hotch. You can hear the commotion behind you, but all that matters is getting to him.

“Aaron!” you scream, your voice breaking through the chaos.

His eyes find you, and a wave of relief washes over him.

You rush to his side, immediately checking him over. He seems okay, just some cuts and bruises, but you can tell he’s shaken. You glance at Kate, who’s bleeding heavily, and then at the man standing next to Hotch. Something about him feels off, but your focus stays on Hotch and Kate for now.

“I’ve got it pinched off, but I can’t move her without losing my grip,” he says, his voice trembling.

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to help her, just hold on.” Turning toward the barricade, you call, “Derek! We need you!”

It takes a moment, but Derek eventually breaks through the crowd of officers and runs to your side. Together, you all work to stabilize Kate. But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong with the man standing off to the side, looking too calm, too collected.

“You need to leave,” you say to him, your voice firm. “We can’t help her until you’re out of the way.”

Derek’s phone rings, and you signal for him to answer it. His face immediately falls, and you follow his gaze, your heart sinking as you look at the man again.

“Hotch,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Hotch, still trying to keep his composure, turns to the man. “Go, Morgan. Y/N, stay with me.”

Finally, you think to yourself. You’re not going anywhere.

A paramedic comes running through the chaos, rushing to Kate’s side. He immediately begins assessing her injuries, his face grim as he kneels beside her, gently pulling her into a more stable position.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” the paramedic mutters, working quickly to apply pressure to the wound. “We need to get her out of here now.”

You step forward, keeping your eyes on Hotch. “I’ll take my car and clear a path for you to the hospital,” you offer, your voice unwavering despite the alarm building in your chest.

The paramedic looks up, nodding sharply. “Good idea. We need to move fast. Go ahead.”

You nod in return, already moving toward your car. “I’ll be right ahead of you,” you call out, glancing back at Hotch one more time.

With determination setting in, you climb into your car and start the engine. You weave your way through the barricades, ready to clear the road and get Kate the help she desperately needs.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital doors burst open as you and Hotch rush into the ER, trailing closely behind the gurney carrying Kate. The medics shout vitals and updates to the doctors, their words blending into a blur. You follow closely, your eyes locked on Kate’s pale, bloodied face.

“She’s stabilizing,” one of the doctors says as they wheel her through the double doors toward the OR. You exhale deeply, relief washing over you, though your body still hums with tension.

Turning to Hotch, you expect to find him focused and composed, but instead, his face is ashen, his steps unsteady. His hand suddenly grips your arm.

“Aaron?” you say, alarmed, as he sways.

Before he can answer, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground. 

“Hotch! Someone help!” you shout, panic threading your voice.

A nurse rushes over, quickly assessing the situation. “We need a gurney here!” she calls to a nearby orderly. Within moments, they ease him out of your arms and onto the gurney.

“I’m fine,” Hotch mutters weakly, though his pallor and shallow breathing suggest otherwise.

“You’re not fine,” you counter, your heart pounding as they wheel him toward an ER room. “Aaron, just let them help you.”

He doesn’t argue, his head lolling back slightly as his eyelids flutter. The sight unnerves you, but you force yourself to stay calm, following closely as they take him into the room.

The nurses hook him up to monitors, checking his vitals and administering fluids. “Looks like exhaustion and stress-induced shock,” one nurse says, glancing at you. “He needs to rest.”

You nod, your worry settling into a sharp ache in your chest. “He doesn’t stop, not even for a second,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Hotch’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, his voice faint. “Kate… the team…”

“Shh,” you interrupt gently, stepping closer to him. “Kate’s in surgery. The team’s fine. Right now, you need to focus on you.”

He gives a slight nod, his hand brushing against yours on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” you ask softly, leaning in so he doesn’t have to strain his voice.

“For scaring you,” he replies, his gaze flickering with guilt.

You squeeze his hand lightly. "I'll get you back one of these days.”

The tension in his features eases slightly, his breathing slowing as the monitors show his vitals stabilizing. You stay by his side, unwilling to leave, your own relief tempered by the knowledge that the night is far from over.

You sit in the waiting area, your eyes darting toward the entrance every few minutes, hoping Derek will arrive soon. The hum of the hospital feels louder than usual, amplifying your nerves. You’ve just managed to settle into a moment of calm when raised voices echo down the hallway.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need to be here,” you hear Hotch’s unmistakable tone, clipped and insistent. Your stomach drops.

You jump to your feet and hurry toward the noise. As you approach his room, the nurse’s frustrated voice cuts through.

“Sir, you need to stay in bed! You’re still being monitored—”

“I don’t need monitoring,” Hotch snaps. “Where are my clothes?”

Rushing in, you find Hotch halfway off the bed, his hospital gown untied and his hands fumbling with the IV line attached to his arm. His face is pale but determined, his jaw clenched as he tries to pull the monitors off his chest.

“Hotch, what are you doing?” you exclaim, moving quickly to his side.

“I’m fine,” he says without looking at you, his voice low and stubborn. “The team needs—”

“No, they don’t need you like this,” you interrupt, your tone firm but calm. “Aaron, you’re going to make this worse.”

The nurse stands frozen, clearly exasperated. “He’s refusing to cooperate,” she says, looking between you and Hotch.

Before you can respond, Derek strides into the room. “Hotch, man, you need to chill,” he says, his hands raised in a calming gesture.

“I don’t have time for this,” Hotch bites back, still tugging at the IV line. “I’m fine, Morgan. I’m fine.”

Derek steps closer, but Hotch’s eyes flash with irritation, his composure fraying. “Don’t,” he warns, his tone sharp.

You take a step forward, gently placing your hand on Hotch’s arm. “Aaron,” you say softly but with authority, “look at me.”

His movements still for a moment, and his eyes reluctantly meet yours. There’s a storm of frustration and exhaustion behind them, but you don’t waver.

“I know you feel like you have to keep going,” you say, your voice steady. “I know you think you’re fine, but you’re not. Your body is telling you to stop, and you need to listen. For Kate, for the team, for me.”

His gaze softens slightly at your last words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to continue.

“Please,” you add, your tone almost a whisper now. “Sit down. Let them do their job. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse again.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to argue, but then he lets out a long breath and sits back on the bed, his hands falling to his sides. His eyes close briefly, the fight draining from him.

You glance at Derek, who gives you a small nod of approval, before turning to the nurse. “Can you give us a minute?”

She hesitates, then nods and steps out of the room.

Hotch looks up at you, his voice quieter now. “I just… I can’t stand waiting. I need to be doing something.”

“I know,” you say, sitting beside him on the bed. “But right now, waiting is the best thing you can do. Trust me, okay?”

He exhales again, his hand brushing against yours briefly. “Okay,” he finally agrees, his tone resigned.

Derek leans against the doorframe, smirking slightly. “Guess I’ll leave this to you next time, huh?”

You shake your head, your focus still on Hotch. “There won’t be a next time.”

Hotch gives you a faint smile, and you know he’s far from fully convinced, but at least for now, he’s staying put.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

A short while later, the doctor gives the all-clear for Hotch to be released. You wait outside his room with a fresh set of clothes, ones you managed to grab from a nearby bag the team had on hand. When he steps out, he looks exhausted but determined, his expression already refocused on the case.

“Here,” you say, handing him the clothes. “Let me help.”

He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the assistance, but he nods and lets you adjust the FBI vest over his shirt once he’s dressed. You tighten the straps securely, your hands brushing against his shoulders before stepping back.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, glancing down at you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it all night.

You meet his gaze, knowing now is the moment to say what’s been weighing on you. “Hotch,” you start, “the profile. Something about it isn’t right. It’s been bothering me ever since we presented it earlier.”

He frowns, his attention sharpening. “What do you mean?”

“When I first laid it out,” you explain, “I said it was a test, but also a diversion—something meant to distract us while the unsubs worked toward their ultimate goal. We got too focused on the idea of it being a test run for something bigger. I think we’re missing the real target.”

Hotch exhales, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. Then, unexpectedly, he looks back at you with something resembling regret. “I should have listened to you sooner,” he says, his voice low but sincere. “You were right from the beginning, and I dismissed it.”

His apology catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. “It’s not too late to make it right,” you reply. “But we need to shift our focus before it’s too late.”

He nods, already slipping back into his leadership role. “Let’s regroup with the team. We’ll start from scratch if we have to.”

“Are you okay?” Emily asks as you both enter the room.

“Yeah. I just want to understand why I’m still alive,” Aaron responds, his voice low.

“I was asking her,” Emily corrects, motioning toward you. “She’s the one who had to deal with you.”

Aaron looks at you, his expression flickering with insecurity—or maybe regret. He glances down, avoiding your eyes.

You offer him a soft smile, brushing your hand lightly against his arm. “He was a good patient,” you reply with a touch of humor.

Aaron inclines his head slightly. “Y/N has a lead. Her original profile suggested the unsubs might be using these attacks as a diversion or working toward a larger goal,” he says, stepping aside to give you the floor.

Taking a breath, you step forward, the weight of everyone’s attention on you. “We know terror cells evolve and adapt, learning from one campaign to the next. What if this isn’t about the individual attacks? What if it’s about what comes next? They’ve been deliberately targeting isolated locations, ensuring minimal civilian casualties. It’s not random—it’s calculated. Each move is designed to refine their process. They’re testing, learning, and perfecting their methods. This isn’t just a series of practice runs; it’s a setup for something much bigger.”

You catch Hotch flinching slightly, his hand rising to rub at his ear. He meets your gaze and gives a subtle shake of his head, silently asking you not to mention it.

“Hotch,” Spencer calls out, pointing to the computer screen. It’s playing security footage of the car bomb explosion, showing Hotch and Kate being thrown through the air. Hotch freezes, watching it play out, his jaw tightening. You glance away, unable to watch the moment replayed, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter.

Hotch finally speaks, “Same, the kid who stayed by Kate and me, did anyone locate his phone? Did he call 911?”

“It was a disposable phone,” Spencer answers. “He never called 911, only the same number six times every few minutes. Garcia tracked the number, but it went dead right after Sam died. Whoever had it destroyed it.”

Hotch’s brows knit together in thought. “If he didn’t have a secondary device to detonate, there’s only one reason he stayed with us.” He turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “What was it?”

“To make sure the ambulance got to you,” you say, the pieces clicking into place. “And in a city on lockdown, an ambulance with its siren blaring and lights flashing can get through every roadblock virtually uncontested.”

Hotch steps closer to you, his voice dropping slightly. “And straight into a hospital with a bypass order on it.”

“What does that mean?” Morgan asks, trying to piece it together.

“Secret Service has a bypass order for this hospital,” you explain, your tone grim. “It’s closed.”

“Secret Service?” Morgan echoes, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Who are they protecting?”

“We need to find out,” you answer, frustration mounting. “So Sam was calling the man in the ambulance the whole time.”

Hotch’s expression hardens as realization dawns. “The ambulance I was brought in. This hospital is their target.”

He pauses for a beat, then looks directly at you. “Y/L/N, I need you with me.”

The words settle over you, and despite the pressure of the moment, a spark of relief and pride ignites in your chest. Finally, he’s not shutting you out. You nod, ready to follow him. “I’m with you.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital halls are a frenzy of activity, but you and Hotch cut through it with singular focus, questions sharp and urgent as you flash your badges at every nurse, doctor, and hospital staff you come across. The paramedic in the ambulance—it all comes back to him. No one can recall his name, and the details are too vague to pull from memory, but you piece together his last known location: the parking garage downstairs.

“He never left the hospital,” you say, adrenaline spiking.

Hotch nods, already moving toward the elevator with you right behind him. “If he has the detonator, he won’t leave willingly.”

The two of you reach the garage, your breaths echoing in the eerie quiet. The space is dimly lit, with shadowy corners creating a sense of unease. Then you spot him—sitting on the edge of a low concrete wall, the dim glow of the garage lights catching the blade of the knife in his hand.

The man looks up, his face pale but eerily calm. He isn’t scared; he’s resolved.

“FBI,” Hotch announces, stepping forward with his hands raised in a show of nonaggression. You follow his lead, your eyes locked on the man’s every movement. “Put the knife down. We just want to talk.”

The paramedic shakes his head, his other hand clutching a small device—the detonator. “It’s too late for that. You don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

You take a step forward, voice steady but firm. “Then help us understand. Tell us what you’re trying to prove. Killing yourself won’t make your message clearer.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m afraid to die? You think I’m afraid of you?” His grip tightens on the detonator. “That ambulance—your agent is driving it right now. One press, and—”

“Stop!” you cut in, heart pounding. “You don’t have to do this. It’s over. You’ve already made your point.”

Hotch inches closer, his tone commanding but calm. “Look at me. You don’t need to die here. Tell me why. Tell me who sent you.”

The man glances between you and Hotch, his resolve flickering. For a moment, it seems like he might relent, but then he shakes his head again, muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t,” he whispers, more to himself than to either of you. He raises the knife, his hand trembling but resolute, as though preparing to strike himself. For a fleeting second, you think— surely he wouldn't.

"Look away!" Aaron shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. Instinctively, you obey, turning your head.

A metallic clatter rings out, followed by a sickening thud. When you look back, the knife lies on the ground, blood pooling around the man's lifeless body. His eyes are vacant, his chest still.

You freeze for a moment, your mind racing to catch up with what just happened. Hotch moves swiftly, stepping over the body to grab the phone clenched in the man's hand.

His fingers close around it, but before either of you can react further-

A sudden, deafening explosion erupts in the distance. The blast reverberates through the parking garage, shaking the veryground beneath your feet.

"Derek," you whisper, fear clawing at your chest.

Hotch doesn't let go of the phone, his expression hard as he pulls his comms to his mouth. 

"Morgan, report! Do you copy?"

The static seems endless, each second stretching unbearably as you and Hotch remain frozen in the garage. The weight of the explosion lingers in the air, the silence amplifying every doubt in your mind. Then, finally—

“Hotch? Y/N?” Derek’s voice crackles through the comms.

You exhale sharply, a rush of relief making your knees weak. “Morgan!”

“I’m good. Ambulance is toast, but I got it clear of the city just in time. Shook me up a bit, but I’m in one piece.”

Hotch presses his comms button. “You’re sure? No injuries?”

“No injuries, man. I’m solid. What’s the status on your end?”

Hotch glances at you briefly, then replies, “Situation contained. I’ll fill you in later. Good work, Morgan.”

As Derek’s voice fades from the comms, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes shift back to the paramedic slumped on the ground, the crimson stain spreading beneath him. The stark finality of it hits you, and your stomach churns.

Hotch steps closer, his hand brushing your shoulder. His presence is grounding, his warmth pulling you out of the chaotic swirl of emotions.

“It’s over now,” his voice is steady.

You shake your head, your gaze locked on the lifeless figure. “He stayed behind to make sure the bomb went off. He really believed in what he was doing.”

Hotch’s hand moves to your back, his voice low and steady. “We stopped it. That’s what matters.”

You nod, swallowing hard before pulling yourself together. Your hand brushes against his arm as you steady yourself. “Kate,” you say suddenly, looking up at him. “You need to check on Kate.”

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “And you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, the determination in your voice not quite masking the lingering tremor. “She’s been through enough already. Go.”

Hotch gives a short nod, squeezing your shoulder one last time before stepping away. As he moves toward the stairs, you turn back to the paramedic one last time, the reality of the night settling over you like a heavy fog.

The team gathers in the hospital lobby, their exhaustion etched into their faces. Derek slings his go-bag over his shoulder and glances at you. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ll stay. Hotch shouldn’t be driving himself. He’s been through too much tonight.”

Rossi gives you a knowing look, nodding slightly. “Take care of him.”

Emily squeezes your arm briefly, offering a small smile, and Spencer gives a quiet, “Call if you need us.” They head out together, leaving you alone with the low hum of the hospital and the weight of waiting.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours until the elevator doors finally slide open. Hotch steps out, and your stomach tightens. He looks pale, his face drained of color, his eyes dull and distant.

You approach him, searching his face for something to hold on to. “Hotch… how’s Kate?”

He stops in front of you, his posture stiff, his jaw tight. His eyes flick to yours, then away, as if looking at you directly is too much. “You didn’t have to wait,” he says, his voice low and almost resigned.

Your throat tightens, but you steady yourself. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, you think you see something break behind his guarded expression. “She didn’t make it,” he says softly. The words seem to drain the last bit of energy from him.

Your heart sinks, the air catching in your lungs. You reach out instinctively, your hand hovering near his arm, but you hesitate. The uncertainty between you lingers, a barrier you’re not sure how to cross.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods slightly, but it’s a hollow gesture. His eyes seem focused on some distant point, lost in the enormity of the night.

“Hotch,” you say hesitantly, trying to find the right words. “Let me drive you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

For a moment, he seems ready to argue, his jaw tightening, but then he exhales, the fight leaving him. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You guide him toward the parking lot, keeping close but not too close. The silence between you is heavy, but for now, you stay by his side, knowing that even if words fail, your presence might be enough.

[inkspiredwriting]

Between Love and Danger

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The battle raged inside the cavernous halls of the Commission’s headquarters. The air crackled with energy as the Hargreeves siblings fought desperately against the endless waves of agents sent to neutralize them. Bright flashes of gunfire and the thud of hand-to-hand combat filled the space with a chaotic symphony.

Five Hargreeves, his face a mask of focused determination, darted through the melee, teleporting from one point to another as he incapacitated agents with a mix of well-aimed strikes and quick jabs. His primary goal: Find the handler and kill her.

But his mind was also on Y/n. His wife, armed with a mind-reading ability and fierce courage, fought alongside Allison, using her telepathy to outmaneuver the agents. Their connection allowed them to anticipate each other's moves, creating a seamless partnership in the chaos of battle.

Five's heart raced with a mix of adrenaline and worry. He knew Y/n could handle herself, but the thought of her being in danger gnawed at him. He blinked to a new position, felling another agent with a swift punch, and scanned the room for her.

Y/n, her eyes blazing with focus, ducked behind a concrete pillar, her telepathic senses alerting her to the movements of the agents around her. She caught sight of Five, his form flickering as he blinked from one spot to another, and a wave of relief washed over her—until she saw the agent aiming a gun directly at him.

Her heart skipped a beat. Without a second thought, she surged forward, a scream escaping her lips. "Five!"

The world seemed to slow as Y/n threw herself between the gunman and Five. She felt the impact as the bullet tore through her shoulder, pain exploding through her body. The force knocked her to the ground, and she crumpled, clutching her wound.

Five turned at the sound of her scream, his eyes widening in horror as he saw her fall. A flash of rage and fear surged through him. He blinked in an instant, disarming the gunman and rendering him unconscious with a fierce punch.

"Y/n!" he cried, dropping to his knees beside her.

With the Commission’s headquarters in disarray, Five and his siblings made a hasty retreat, returning to the safety of their home. Allison, Luther, and Diego worked to secure the House, while Klaus and Viktor prepared medical supplies.

Five carried Y/n inside, his face etched with worry. Blood stained her shirt, and her face was pale, but she managed a weak smile. "I'm okay, Five. Just a scratch."

"Just a scratch?" Five repeated, his voice tight with emotion as he gently laid her on the couch. "You took a bullet for me, Y/n."

She winced as he carefully examined the wound. "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat," she said, her voice soft but resolute. "You're worth it."

Five's heart ached with love and gratitude. He grabbed the first aid kit and began to clean the wound, his hands trembling slightly. "I can't lose you," he whispered, his eyes focused on his task. "I can’t."

Y/n reached up with her uninjured arm, gently touching his cheek. "You won't," she promised. "We’re in this together, remember? For better or worse."

Five nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "For better or worse," he echoed, his voice choked with emotion. He finished bandaging her shoulder, then leaned down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Y/n."

She smiled through the pain, her eyes filled with love. "I love you too, Five. Always."

As the night wore on, Five stayed by Y/n's side, his worry gradually giving way to relief as her color returned and the bleeding stopped. The rest of the family hovered nearby, their own wounds and fatigue forgotten as they watched over her.

Y/n dozed fitfully, waking intermittently to find Five holding her hand, his gaze never leaving her face. Each time she woke, she found his expression softened with love and relief, a stark contrast to the fierce determination he had shown in battle.

By morning, the house had settled into an uneasy calm. Five, his own exhaustion evident, finally allowed himself to relax as he sat beside Y/n, who was now resting more comfortably.

"You’re going to be okay," Five murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We’re going to be okay."

Y/n nodded, her eyes fluttering open. She gave him a tired but contented smile. "We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?"

Five laughed softly, a sound filled with both amusement and deep affection. "We have. And we’ll face whatever comes next, together."

As the sun rose, casting a gentle glow over the room, Five and Y/n lay side by side, their hands entwined. The ordeal had only strengthened their bond, reminding them of the depth of their love and their unwavering commitment to each other.

In the quiet moments that followed, as the world outside began to wake, Five pressed a kiss to Y/n's temple and whispered, "For better or worse, always."

Y/n squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with love. "Always," she replied, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of their connection envelop her.

[xo-arcie]

lost in a haze

Summary: Alastor isn't sure what to make of Lucifer. Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor Word Count: 3k+ Warnings: m/m, gay pining in hell, masturbation, blowjob, handjob, fingering, spit as lube to start, unprotected bathroom sex, Lucifer is a fucking top let's be ffr Author's Note: Banner artwork credit! Rewrite and repost from my old blog. Enjoy!

The air was heavy in the steam filled bathroom, though Alastor no longer felt the heat from the shower that poured over him. His mind was taut with panting breaths as he held one hand flat to the marble that only the King of Hell would have tiled from floor to ceiling, while his other hand pumped the length of his cock, swollen and aching for release. 

It was a fruitless chase, but he continued still with a determination to mollify what had settled into the pit of his stomach since he first arrived, nestling behind the stitches that now lined across his abdomen and gnawing at his organs. 

This started when Alastor first woke up in an unrecognizable room, pristine with the softest black satin sheets. It was the knock at the door that pulled him awake, his bleary-eyed focus drawn to watch as Lucifer walked in without hesitation. It was unsettling how he was not wearing the narrowed expression sneered across his pale features, but in that moment seemed bright, almost apathetic as he looked Alastor over. 

That look festered an unease that began to mull beneath Alastor’s skin. 

Lucifer was holding a tray and watching as the Imp that trailed his steps scurried to place a pillow across Alastor’s lap. “Your breakfast,” he nearly chirped, moving to place the tray to balance. “I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so I went with a classic eggs benedict, adding some potatoes and sausage patties.” 

It was surreal. Alastor could feel the warmth seeping through onto his lap, pleasant and partnered with the savory smells of the prepared meal. His hunger rumbled with a ferocity that throbbed through his sutures and he tipped his chin to see how they ran diagonal from his chest to his hip. 

“What happened?” His voice cracked with the question.

Alastor vaguely remembered his staggered steps back towards the broken radio tower. His wheezing rattled throughout as he struggled to regain his breath and the overwhelming smell of iron, red and thick, spilling as he moved; he fumbled for whatever supplies he could find to try and staunch the bleeding.  

And then…nothing, but this is where Lucifer filled in. 

He detailed how he followed a trail of blood that led to Alastor, finding him closer to second death than life. Lucifer’s version ended with the heroic return back to his home where he could carefully tend to Alastor. 

Alastor could only stare, allowing the silence to settle over as he processed these words. Before this, he recalled the animosity that burned from the devil with their first meet up in the hotel lobby. The memory was almost comical with the sheepish display Lucifer was showing him now. 

It prickled his nerves, this unease now coursing hot through Alastor’s veins. 

“There was some concern at first,” Lucifer continued, either blissfully or blatantly unaware of the discomfort that was smeared across Alastor, “since your injuries were caused by an angelic weapon and all.” There was a shy smile that curled on the devil’s lips. “But you seem to be healing up nicely.” 

Alastor was wordless; only the low gurgle from his stomach punctuated his quiet. 

Lucifer blinked. “I’ll, uh, just leave you to eat then.” He dismissed the Imp and moved to follow, pausing, something twisting across his face. Alastor felt his breath caught in his throat but Lucifer said nothing and left him alone.

The unease remained behind with a slow curdle of emotions that began to braise beneath, rattling his bones as he recovered. It held a tensity that pulled at Alastor, both aimless and wanting, a persistent bedevilment that carried with him in the manor and flaring hotly with every awkward interaction he shared with devil day-after-day. 

And all the while, Lucifer seemed unaffected. 

While he healed, Alastor now found he had the idle time to study Lucifer, truly, thoroughly from every stitch seamlessly tailored to his lithe figure and trimmed waist to the almost mischievous smile that framed his sharp teeth. He had a stilting grace with his regality, a performative switch whenever he entered the room to check on Alastor, bringing his burning proximity that amplified whenever his gaze lingered too long on the demon. 

But Alastor could not help but stare, irrevocably drawn like a moth wanting to be consumed by the flames.

He struggled to digest these moments that peered through the cracks of this kingly persona, even more so whenever Lucifer looked him over with the slow draw of his eyes, his lips hinting but never committing to a smile. 

And he would just go, leaving Alastor with his consuming presence that would linger behind, thickening the air around him.

It was maddening and suffocating, and Alastor leapt at the opportunity for his first unsupervised, Imp-free shower, though now he was so waterlogged it seemed cool against him despite hell never being short on heat. He let out a wet sigh that echoed off the walls before shutting off the water and pressing his brow to the marble; he let out another hefty exhale as the unwelcomed weight returned to settle back into his core. 

Alastor now understood that his only escape from this emotion that plagued him would be to return to the hotel, to leave behind this accursed place and its smirking-fucking-owner. 

He stepped from the shower, trying to ignore the heavy sway between his slender thighs. Alastor took his time to dry off, eventually tucking his towel high around his waist, positioning his still flushed cock upright and against his stomach. 

Water droplets rolled down the mirror, but he avoided his reflection that cut through the streaks, astutely aware of the burning shame with his inability to control his own body. 

Damn him.

There was a knock at the door that pulled him out of his self-loathing and droplets fell as his ears flattened back. “What,” his tone cut, nearly seething. 

Of course it was fucking Lucifer–as he should come to expect by now. He pushed open the door wearing what he deemed casual: dark slacks and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a few buttons undone to hint his smooth, pale planes of his chest beneath. His blond hair was tousled back and his cheeks rosy as he looked Alastor over.

Alastor twisted his shame away, his current indecency blaring through his mind as he faced the countertop and bathroom mirror. “I didn’t say to come in,” he snapped, his palm wiping away to see Lucifer’s reflection watching him still.  

As always, Lucifer played ignorant of his apparent discomfort and did not acknowledge his rude intrusion, but simply said that breakfast was ready. 

“I’ll be out in a moment.” Alastor could feel his blood–hot and thick–coursing through him and rising to the surface. The guest bath felt cramped now and he wished to shove Lucifer back out the door, but instead he narrowed onto him in the fogged reflection. “I am almost done in here.”

The familiar silence returned thick, mixing into the steamy air that surrounded them and spilling through the propped door. Lucifer frowned and stepped fully into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, trapping the tension. 

Alastor’s ears perked, his eyes sharp to the scrutinous gaze from Lucifer as he hoped the remaining blush from his elongated shower masked how his blood simmered beneath his skin. 

“I said I’ll be done in a moment,” his tone clipped, his hostility clutched as tight as the towel wrapped around his slender waist. Alastor held onto it like a summoned guard against the devil himself. 

Lucifer was unfazed, as always, allowing another pregnant pause to feed the quiet before he finally spoke.

“Thank you.” 

Alastor blinked. “I didn’t saying anything–”

“Oh, I know,” Lucifer cut through, stepping closer behind him, his scrutinizing stare now piercing over Alastor’s shoulder in the mirror, “I was helping you find the actual words that you should be saying.”

Alastor frowned, his eyes narrowing back on the reflection, refusing to face him. “May I remind you that I never asked to be rescued.” 

“You would not have been able to,” he retorted, his tone spilling hot, “as you were barely responsive when I fucking found you.” 

It pushed Alastor to turn and face Lucifer, but whatever rebuttal he had caught in his throat once he realized how painfully close he now was to him. Lucifer pressed closer with the same tensity that bore through from his eyes, pinning Alastor, rooting him to the marble; fire danced in his gaze and the steam dissipating enriched the rosiness on his alabaster cheeks.  

Alastor felt the bathroom deflating around, the walls shrinking in. 

He refused to back down. “Whenever I decide that you do something that I consider worthwhile,” Alastor rasped, his pride forcing the words from the back of his throat, “I will then make sure to say thank you.” 

He could not help but test and prod to see if the demon of legend thrummed beneath his tailored fits, pushing for him to surface, to erupt and tear open his healing wound. It would be a sick sense of closure for Alastor, but instead Lucifer only arched his brow, his signature smirk curling on his lips as he stepped closer, his hand dropping to feel him intimately. 

His touch bolted the length of Alastor’s spine and he hunched over, wrenching away, choking on a gasp from the abrasive touch. Lucifer’s smile widened and he closed the space between them, his hand returning to relish the throbbing through the damp fabric against his palm. “Then allow me to do something worthwhile.” 

Alastor felt outside of his body as his towel puddled onto the floor. The edge of the countertop was cold, digging into his lower backside as he fell back to balance the weight of Lucifer’s hands pressing onto his thighs. His molten touch was commanding, and the tension churning aboiled as the devil sank to his knees to unfurl the trepidation that anchored Alastor as he saw the demon’s jaw unhinge to swallow him. 

He clenched his teeth, hissing from the salacious pace set by Lucifer’s forked tongue that pulled every cohesive thought from his head. He gasped when Lucifer pulled away only to lick his palm, wrapping his hand back around Alastor’s cock and stroking in tandem with his mouth. The devil sucked to savor, with a determination that pulled a low groan from the back of Alastor’s throat and another gasp that followed the low vibration of Lucifer’s pleased hum. 

There was not a moment for Alastor to catch his breath, the fellatio pulling him from his skin, upwards to an unknown peak and to a teasing teetering along the ledge of pleasure that coiled back down at the base of his spine. Lucifer’s tongue curled with lewd sounds that filled the small space, taunting Alastor, pulling and pushing him closer. 

It titillated through his nerve endings; he was close, so painfully close. 

As his cock throbbed with the promised release, it stopped suddenly, jarringly. Alastor opened his eyes, dazed, dilated, and a desperate search only to see the smug satisfaction playing on Lucifer’s face. 

Alastor clenched his teeth again, caging his desperation as he watched Lucifer pull himself upright, his lips swollen and glossy from his spit. His hands moved to Alastor’s narrow waist and gripped his hips, lifting him enough to sit on top of the counter. Lucifer then pushed apart his thighs, spitting on his palm again before his hand returned to set a languid pace, following up and down Alastor’s flushed cock.

Please, Alastor screamed in his head, and he swore his teeth would crack with his suppressed groan, his head falling back into the mirror with a dull thud. He closed his eyes, afraid to look and so easily unraveled, unaware that Lucifer suckled the fingers of his other hand before dropping lower, searching. Alastor shuddered from the tentative touch, the slow circle drawn around the rim that sparked a newer pleasure that licked up his spine. 

Lucifer was very aware, his tone coy. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck you,” but the venom always perched now stammered from Alastor’s lips. 

Lucifer only hummed with his sly smile and hooded eyes. He stepped closer, leaning to press against Alastor’s bare chest, his heat bleeding through the fabric. Lucifer tilted his head to bite the slope of Alastor’s neck and he could not stop how it shuddered through him. “Maybe later,” Lucifer murmured against his skin, and Alastor let out a strangled mewl as a finger curled within him. “But you first.” 

The intruding touch elicited a pleasure that bolted back down Alastor’s spine, causing his cock to jerk in his grasp. Lucifer watched him, his eyes darkening and his smile stretching across his sharp jaw. “I knew you would like this,” he purred. “Are you ready to thank me yet?” 

He was teasing again and the only response Alastor could make was a choking attempt to try and pull the words from his raw throat. He could not think at this moment, now with how his blood was roaring in his ears, not with how his heart was reverberating against his bones until they bruised black. 

Lucifer hummed against, relishing in the unsung reaction. “Not quite yet?” He grinned as he pressed another slick finger into his puckered hole. 

Alastor moaned loudly, writhing from his touch, and Lucifer quickened the pace of his hands, one curling and one tugging simultaneously. Alastor arched into the delicious pressure raring from the pit of his stomach, the long-sought release finally bursting bright with colors and pulsing hot onto his stomach. 

He felt boneless, almost folding in half when Lucifer pulled away; he only returned to his body with the sound of the sink, of drawers being rummaged through. Alastor blinked, forcing his eyes to see the devil’s slacks unbuttoned and a glossy sheen that covered the ridges and veins of his cock, heady and thick. 

Lucifer knitted his slender waist back between Alastor’s thighs and Alastor moved instinctually, his hips canting and moving closer to the edge to meet with him. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Lucifer teased, his lubed fingers touching to line himself. 

Alastor stayed quiet, mouth watering and eyes avoiding, his jaw tight as he focused on the blunt prod. Even with the foreplay given that shattered and pieced him together again, it was still a tight fit. Lucifer was patient with gentle thrusts that filled him, sinking slowly, carefully, into him. Alastor felt his skin prickling with a cold sweat, a shuddered rasp pulling when Lucifer was finally sheathed completely within. 

Lucifer paused once he was flushed intimately against the cradle of Alastor’s hips and he watched a moment before his head tipped back to drag his tongue along the curve of his neck, his teeth nipping at his fluttering pulse. Alastor clenched, the small sounds escaping summoning the demon with a bruising hold on his hips and slow, powerful thrusts that sent hot bolts bursting his seams. 

Alastor felt his soul pulling away. His mouth fell open with muted cries as Lucifer pounded mercilessly into him. 

“Let me hear you,” Lucifer pulled him upright, closer, his claws dragging down Alastor’s back to mark him. 

Alastor shuddered and reached to grab him, his fingertips biting into Lucifer’s sharp jaw to bring his lips to finally touch his own. It was a desperate kiss searing and he felt Lucifer smiling into it before biting down. Alastor groaned from the taste of iron and again when Lucifer dropped his mouth to bite into his chest. 

It stirred something deep, something primal that filled him once again and fracturing throughout Alastor.  

“Give me one more.” Lucifer captured his mouth, rasping against his lips. It was not a request and Alastor felt his cock jerk. “Touch yourself.”  

There was another bite at his pulse that was pushing against his skin and Alastor arched against Lucifer, his heart still bruising to the surface. Lucifer’s mouth trailed upwards with heated, wet kisses, and Alastor moved his hand between them, pushing him backwards so his hand could wrap around his hardening cock.

Lucifer’s smirk returned, his focus returned on his powerful thrusts that filled Alastor, coaxing another thundery groan from him. Alastor's hand fell in rhythm around his cock, building fast with the pace of the devil, and he swelled, breathless and brimming. There was a faraway command that pulled his second release that left Alastor smitten, the euphoric coil shattering throughout. 

For the second time, Alastor could feel the slow return back into his skin, slowly blinking to focus on Lucifer and his salacious grin. The mess they made began to spill and Alastor burned with embarrassment, pressing his hands on the firm chest peeking beneath the white shirt, pushing Lucifer until he slipped out from him. 

Alastor was a deflated husk, unable to summon the strength to cover himself, his eyes flickering to steal a quick glance at the heady gaze Lucifer held on him.

“Fuck breakfast,” he said, his fingers moving to unbutton his shirt and peel it off. “I think I’m going to take a shower.” He seemed roguish, his satisfaction brimming on obnoxious. He arched his brow at Alastor. “Care to join me?”

Alastor was still splayed on the counter, life drained and filthy anew. For a moment he contemplated just leaving, to retreat back into the room prepared, to pack and hideaway at the hotel, but his hesitation only caused the spend to spill more. 

So instead, Alastor said yes.  

“Yes what?” 

The devil returned to his teasing tone and this time it pulled something prurient from Alastor, something he knew he would no longer try to control. “Yes,” and a moment passed before he decided to play along, “and thank you.” 

It was quiet, but it was enough. Lucifer beamed, finishing stripping away his layers and moving back towards the shower. “You coming?” He paused to look over his shoulder, watching with hooded eyes until Alastor finally pulled himself up to follow. 

Alastor moved until he could reach and cup Lucifer’s chin, holding his gaze on the sharp grin that spread across his jaw. “After all, it’s my turn now.”

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[midnightwriter21]

THE PAST, THE PRESENT, & THE AFTERMATH~ Muichiro x Reader Series

The Past Pt 2~

characters: Muichiro x Reader, Yuichiro

warnings: swordsmith village spoilers!! blood, injuries, implied character death

AN: not a lot of muichiro x reader action in this one! but i can promise some reallllll angst in the next one hehe

word count: 815

pt 1

That night Muichiro rolls out the extra futon that they keep for you right next to his, while you fill a basin with water in case anyone needs a drink during the night. It’s hot, so Yuichiro decides to leave the door open so that the air would circulate throughout the house while you all slept. With all preparations for the night finished, you lay down to go to sleep.

“Good night, Yui. Good night, Mui.” You say to both boys, barely hearing their mumbled responses before falling into a dreamless sleep.

It isn’t but a few hours later when you wake up to the feeling of being stared at. When your eyes peel themselves open, you look around the room, finding Muichiro standing at the basin of water you had filled and Yuichiro sitting up straight in his futon. Both boys have their eyes trained on the silhouette of a person standing in the open doorway. You turn your head and your eyes lock with the figure.

The man’s- no. The monster’s gaze makes your blood run cold.

 Standing tall with a twisted grin that can only be described as absolutely ferocious, it speaks, “Just a couple of brats, huh?”

Its voice is low and raspy, and the words that come out next send a chill down your spine, “No matter… food is food.”

For a moment, it was as if time itself had frozen. The four of you all staring at each other. Then, in a matter of seconds, all hell breaks loose. The monster, that you now recognize as demon, raises a clawed hand intent on bringing it down on Muichiro. You scream his name in terror, the attack hits, but it hits the wrong brother. Yuichiro leapt in front of Muichiro taking the hit full on. The attack sliced his arm, separating it completely from his shoulder, and from the force of the attack the severed arm flew across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening ‘smack’ and slinging blood across both you and Muichiro’s faces.

Screaming in horror, Muichiro grabs hold of his injured brother attempting to pull him away from the demon, you leap from your futon grabbing onto the fabric of Yuichiro’s shirt to help. Together, you and Muichiro back yourselves and Yuichiro into the far corner of the room.

Your mind races with panic. With your backs to the wall there is nowhere for you to go. Nowhere for you to hide. Yui is bleeding out fast. There is nothing you can do except wait for your inevitable demise at the hands of the demon.

It raises a clawed hand once again, releasing a chilling laugh at the terrified expressions plastered across your faces. Thinking quickly, you push Muichiro and Yuichiro forward, before throwing yourself to the side just as the demon launches its attack. Muichiro and Yuichiro land on top of the futon from the force of your push, and the claws of the demon lodge itself into the flesh of your shoulder as you scream in pain.

At your pained cry Muichiro picks himself up off the futon to look at you. The sight of your now blood-soaked shirt and tear-stained face along with his brother being on the brink of death releases something in Muichiro. Something he had never felt before. A loud sorrowful yet rage filled yell releases itself from his throat as he launches himself at the demon, knocking it off of you and ripping its claws from your shoulder.

When the claws dislodge from your shoulder, the bleeding worsens. Large amounts of blood spurting from the wound. In fear, you can do nothing but watch with wide eyes as Muichiro takes on the demon. They struggle against each other for a moment, before Muichiro knocks the demon out of the front door. However, the demon has quite the grip on the youngest twin, pulling him outside along with him. At first, you shakily stand to follow them, intent on helping the boy. But a pained groan stops you in your tracks. Looking down at the futon you had pushed the brothers onto, you see that the once white sheets are now stained a deep red.

For a moment, bile bubbles up your throat, begging to be released at the sight, and then you snap into action. Shakily standing from your place on the floor, you shuffle your way to Yuichiro’s futon, ripping the blanket from the floor and pressing it to the bleeding stump that was his arm. You hear screams, grunts, and what sounds like tree branches snapping from the ongoing fight outside, increasing your already growing concern for Muichiro. Making a split-second decision to help Muichiro, you tie the blanket as tight as you can around Yui’s arm to stem the bleeding.

But as you stand, your own blood loss finally catches up to you…

And everything goes dark.

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

Tag List:

@aeolia18 @sunandflame @ethereal1l @cloudymistedskies

~if you'd like to be added to the tag list for the next part pls lmk~

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 5 - Kute

prev - chapter 1

God, what the fuck did he drink last night. Hosah's head throbbed as he strained open his eyes. Laying there for a second, hand covering his face to block the light coming in from the un-closed curtains, the still very much tiny man recalled having the ridiculous dream last night. I mean, why would he ever ask Teddy to stay the night, that was so unbelievably unlike him, he didn't think his brain could even make that sort of shit up. Turning to his side, Hosah rubbed his eyes open completely in preparation for the day.

Definitely not a dream.

The shifter had to hold down a scream when his assistant had rolled to his side, the two now facing eachother. Both of them were still fully dressed, shoes and all. Embarrassingly, the only thing on Hosah's mind was what did they do last night.

"Good morning. I was wondering when you'd wake up." Teddy sat up, leant looming over the tiny form sprawled out on the bed.

Hosah could barely gather his words; "I- We, what happened last night?" the surprise left him out of breath.

The giant looked confused for a second before turning to laughter, "Oh, god, nothing. You fell straight asleep right after asking me to stay."

Eugh. Embarrassing. So embarrassing in fact, he'd almost forgotten entirely about the previous day.

"God, we've got fifteen dead bodies to chase up. I swear these serial killers are doing it on purpose just to make my life miserable." the tiny man took a break to rub the sleep from his drowsy doe eyes, "I mean, fifteen is way too much. It's not classy, it's overkill.. Literally." Hosah wasn't so used to talking right after waking up it seemed, as his usually internal stream of thoughts came pouring out of his mouth at an uncontrollable pace.

"Mm. Are you.. Okay, by the way?" Ah, how sweet, Teddy remembered his little accidental breakdown.

"Oh, god yeah. No, I'm okay. It's just, I don't know. You wouldn't get it, but shifters, we stick together, you know? That's like seeing my brothers and sisters dead in front of me. Those are my brothers and sisters." Hosah's eyes drifted off onto his feet, which were still in his boots, "If we don't look out for each other, who will?"

His assistant layed back down beside him, face in his folded arms at eye level with the shrunken man, he had that same, stupid soft expression he always pulled whenever Hosah said anything particularly nice. "That's- Ah, that's very beautiful. I didn't realise you were so sentimental."

The detective had never really thought of himself in such a way. "Psh, tell me about it, you know what Jeanne said to me yesterday? I've got a little body and a big bleeding heart. Come on. That's cheesy. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that, I don't wanna imagine that visual." He fell back, now facing the ceiling, which was so unimaginably far away when he was like this.

"Aw, no that's cute. I hadn't seen that side of you before. Big feelings, little guy." Teddy instantly regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

"Stop. I'll throw up, seriously." neither of the two wanted to push the statement further. Besides, it was time to think about heading into the office. "What time is it?"

Hosah's room was unimaginably bare, a futon on the floor, a window with curtains, and a pair of bedside tables. This wasn't including his dresser of shrunken clothes or the clutter of painting materials that sat in the corner, but that was the gist of it. He'd been meaning to do some furniture shopping for what, five years now?

As there was no clock to turn to, Teddy leant over to check his phone.

"Seven thirty, just about." That was a relief. At least now, he'd be able to get his morning bath, he was sure he reeked of dead body after yesterday.

The tiny detective stood to his full height, barely able to keep balance on the spongy mattress, "You can use the shower if you want. I'm gonna take a bath."

The visual Teddy pictured in his head made his face subconsciously curl up into a smile. It seemed that their life really had turned into the tropes you'd find in your average, cheesy romance drama. At least with a little help, running the bath would be a much easier process.

Over the years of independence, Hosah had thought a lot about assisted living. Moving into one of those residential houses where he could be looked after, it seemed like the dream end goal for any shifter with no prospects of falling in-love. He'd decided to put the idea on the back-burner until he was in his mid thirties, he had all the time in the world to get around and find someone to love and look after him.

As he sat in the wooden bowl, half his body submerged under water, Hosah continued to ponder about his life thus far- although it was awkward to ignore the fact his assistant was sitting on the closed toilet seat to the back on him. It were times like these, when he'd seen lives be cut so short, that he thought a lot about his parents. When they were his age, Hosah was already five years old, and his brother would've been seven. He lowered himself deeper into the bath, wondering what exactly he'd achieved in the five years spent out all on his own in the big city.

Sometimes, Hosah thought it was too late for him. He'd spent so much of his twenties either hunched over a desk or barely tall enough to get around his apartment. Years of looking over missing person after missing person's cases made him wish it to have been him instead. These people had goals, prospects, promising futures, they were going to ivy league schools, they had babies on the way, they had an important job to fulfil, all things Hosah thought to be worth living for. It wasn't right to think in such a way, especially when it was down to him to bring these people justice, but it was getting increasingly hard not to with age.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if getting worked up over this- or the fact Teddy stayed the night upon his own request, was really all that worth it. There were bigger things to be worrying about, like, maybe the literal serial killer his team had stumbled upon.

"You're gonna prune up if you stay in there any longer, you know." The voice scared the shit out of him, but it was just Teddy, sitting with his feet up on the seat, patterned socks on display.

He was right, Hosah had been sitting and soaking for a while by now. Waiting until his assistant had turned to face the wall, the shifter quickly stumbled out and covered himself up. He'd embarrassed himself enough by now, flashing Teddy would be the final straw.

When the giant turned back around, the shift in his expression said all it needed to. That stupid tilt of his eyebrows, the way that everyone seemed to look at Hosah when they'd see just how terrible his condition had gotten.

"I know it's a Tuesday and all," Teddy's eyes adverted towards the ground, "But, we should hang out tonight. Get dinner or something. Do you like the movies? 'd only have to pay for one ticket."

Eh. Whatever. It wasn't like Hosah had anything productive to do once he got home. "Uh, sure, yeah sounds good. Just take whatever you need from my wallet before we leave." although it was nice to get a break from paying for his food the last week, Hosah had begun to feel increasingly bad about not paying his way. Hosah had actually been feeling bad about most things lately.

"No- no need, we share anyway, and it's not like, a fifty fifty split," Teddy's pitiful laugh as he said it was all that needed to be heard. The shifter knew he'd get nowhere by trying to argue.

Hosah was aware of how difficult it was to dance around the topic of his shifting, especially when he was, well, shifted, but it was still a bummer to hear the stark differences between him and Teddy be so loudly pointed out, even when not being addressed directly. Whenever something even slightly in reference to himself and his obvious lack of height came up, a feeling similar to that of being pelted with rocks came over him. Any sort of pleasant mood would be instantly squashed under the landslide of self awareness.

He wouldn't really peg himself as all that insecure of a person, but it were times like these when Hosah wished to have not been born this way. He wanted to argue about who payed the bill, and have it be a fair argument at that. The saying about not being able to 'have your cake and eat it too' always flew over his head when he was younger, but Hosah seemed to be applying it to his own life more than he'd like to admit.

Returning to the bedroom, draped in a towel that extended from his shoulders all the way down to his feet, the tiny detective now had the responsibility of getting ready to leave for work once more. The daily grind had gotten extremely, painfully repetitive by now, after five years of constantly being at it, rarely ever even getting weekends off, even the thought of having to wake up, get ready, take the tube, walk to the office, et cetera, had begun to wear Hosah down. He felt like a balding tire, one harsh turn away from skidding, crashing, and bursting into flames.

It barely took him half a second to decide what to wear. Despite being freshly cleaned, Hosah still looked pretty emaciated. If he could go back ten years, but remain in his current physical condition, they'd call him 'heroin chic'. The shifter laughed to himself at that thought, buttoning up the same old plain shirt he'd had for years by now. To be honest, his look would be totally in fashion if 'Victorian era chimney sweep' was a current trend. Hosah's Mom always told him that laughing at, seemingly, nothing was a sign of insanity, but he found his own thoughts too amusing to keep a straight face.

Using the little mirror in the jewellery box, the doll-sized man made an attempt to fix his hair and got a good look at his face. Seems he slept better than he thought, as his eye-bags were uncharacteristically small and light, although the prominent fat under his eye gave the illusion of having them either way. This was actually a feature Hosah had always liked about himself, mainly because he was told by the Korean side of his family about how it was a desired trait back home, if you could call a place you'd never even been home.

Looking at himself in the mirror, the shifter's thoughts lingered on Teddy once again. He thought about earlier in the morning, seeing his face so up close, the assistant's cheek pressed against the mattress, able to feel his breath brush over himself, feel his voice send vibrations to his core. Before he'd realised it, Hosah's face was flushing red again, just as it was when he first realised he wasn't alone in his room. His hand brushed over the surface of his own face, imagining what it'd be like to have Teddy's moles, or his straight nose, or his shaped jaw, or even his singular crooked fang that stuck out as he smiled.

Maybe Teddy wasn't the weird one of the two after-all, as the realisation of what exactly the shrunken blond was thinking about hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to stop, he was being weird, what if Teddy was actually just like Edward from Twilight as he'd initially suspected and was reading his mind right now. All of these aspects forced his brain to quiet down for at least a second, giving him the time to take in his surroundings, and take them in he did.

The taller of the two could not startle Hosah this time around with his spontaneous appearance, as the shifter turned on his heels to face the approaching giant before he'd even got the chance to make himself known by his own hand.

Hosah craned his neck up, staring into the incomprehensible abyss that was six foot above him. Teddy had to be at least 6'3, probably an inch or two more if he was being honest. The shifter barely just reached ankle height, leaving way for the perfect opportunity to pull the good old 'tug on trouser leg and demand to be lifted up' trick. Just being reminded of such an action gave Hosah a blast of nostalgia, as he recalled doing the same thing to his Dad when he was a kid.

Without Teddy having realised he'd been noticed, the detective took half a dozen quick leaps forward before grabbing onto the fabric and pulling with all the upper body strength he had, "Come on, let's go,"

-~-

Having a new person around the office seemed to be doing some good for Hosah. Being assisted without feeling as though he should just find a way to do said things himself was refreshing, but old habits were hard to break, as he still found himself making attempts at tasks that, for him, would be extremely difficult to pull off, but for Teddy, would take barely the movement of his non-dominant hand. In some ways, it pissed Hosah off, making him wonder if the rookie had any cocky thoughts as he helped with ease, but it also proved to be extremely useful in speeding up just about everything he had to get done at the same time.

Maybe constantly isolating himself and refusing any aid was actually bad for his mental and physical health after all.

Ehhh, probably not.

The two actually made quite the good team, as in just two hours, they'd managed to get a missing person's family out to the office, back where all the evidence was being held. Now all that had to be done was to wait and see if they could confirm or deny the identity of body number seven.

Neither Hosah or Teddy were all that involved in these kinds of processes, honestly, their jobs were quite minor in the bulk of it all. Look for patterns in the cases, things that could link back to anything recent, or even anything that had occurred years ago, just dwindle down the possibilities of a culprit into a manageable size, that was just about it. At least, that was it on big cases such as this one. Usually, Hosah's job would be to go out to a much less severe and complex scene, usually a domestic case that had ended in a dangerous situation, and act as a mediator sort of figure, one that would provide a sense of security and trust, one that would be able to get a straight story out of someone, especially another shifter.

Being a shifter did actually have quite a few perks in those regards. A lot of people find the tiny folk to be very cute and endearing, the amount of late night talk hosts that would hang around on a random celebrity's shoulder for an interview was incomprehensible. You might think 2% of the population was an extremely small number of individuals, but it also meant there were just about 136,000,000 shifters currently living globally in the year 2009, which seemed like a lot more when put in that way.

There was just something so undeniably sweet about a person no taller than about four or five inches that the non-shifter population seemed to love, which made Hosah's job undeniably more painful that it had to be. He never minded speaking to other shifters, in fact, he'd much preferred his title of victim advocate over looking at pictures of dead bodies, it was just the giants that gave him a sickly feeling in his stomach.

More specifically, the giants on the police force. Cross communication wasn't typically the role Hosah would have to take, but on the rare occasion it was, he'd leave the station with a large chunk of his will to live having being chipped off over the course of the entire process. He felt as though he had to prove himself every time he spoke to a different officer, the shifter didn't understand what gave them the right to think so highly of themselves when they weren't even doing the hard work. Hosah felt the way they looked at him, especially in his shrunken state, like he was nothing but an object kept around to be a piece of entertainment. Psh. Whatever.

The small, disheveled man pulled at his hair to snap out of his thoughts, feeling his body get progressively more tense the more he remembered things that had pissed him off in the past.

An opening and closing of the door grabbed Hosah's attention. It was Teddy, except he had a particularly sad look on his face, one the detective had never seen before.

"Yeah, you can go ahead and put the missing persons report in number seven's file. That's him." Teddy didn't even look at the shrunken figure on his desk, he just took a seat on his chair and slumped down a little, causing it to spin to the left, facing away from the table entirely.

It took a few moments of sorrowful sighs before the assistant noticed Hosah's increasing struggles to do as he'd asked, letting out a quiet 'Right, sorry' as Teddy rushed to take over from the activity.

This field of work sucked. No matter how depressed, pessimistic or nihilistic it made him, Hosah still felt some kind of obligation to stay. Whether that be his underlying messiah complex, or the weight of his and Jules' shared history, it kept him at this desk, looking over files, and overall becoming the worst version of himself he could possibly be.

He'd never actually seen Teddy look so sad, which made sense, they'd only been working together for the past week, but it was still concerning either way. Hosah had just assumed his assistant was much better than him at the 'keep work and feelings separate' thing, but clearly they had another thing in common.

Augh. The silence was killing him. Trying not to raise any suspicions about the fact that, despite acting like he didn’t, Hosah was fond of his assistant, the tiny detective shifted his position until he sat, kneeled next to Teddy’s resting knuckles against the desk.

“So.. You okay?” Ehhh, that’ll do. Hosah had never been all that good with using words and addressing feelings.

The unsuspected close contact surprised his assistant a little as his chair wheeled back toward the table, “Me? Yeah, of course, yeah. Do I not seem okay?”

“..No, not really. You look sad.”

Teddy laughed, his eyebrows still tilted down, “Ahh, well,” he paused for a moment, taking a breath in and twirling his hands by his face, as if that meant anything, “This stuff just happens. I thought I’d be more thick skinned by now.”

Hosah knew all too well about this subject. “Ugh, tell me about it.” the tiny man shifted his position, his side leant against the giant, resting fist.

“I definitely thought, after the lesson my grandparents taught me about becoming too emotionally involved in work, I wouldn’t end up like this,” Even though he was smiling, it was obvious that Teddy wasn’t all that happy talking about it.

Hosah’s curiosity got the best of him, inquiring further with a little ‘Mm?’.

“Well, it’s a funny story actually,” From the way Teddy had mentioned it previously, the shifter could tell it was not in fact going to be a funny story. “I was like, maybe eleven, spending the summer at my grandparent’s farm, and it was really boring down there. Once I’d finished my work for the day, there was nothing to do except read or wander around, even the closest village was like, a three mile bike ride away.”

Teddy paused to run a hand through his hair, spinning on his chair so that him and the shifter weren’t face to face. “Anyway, I ended up spending a lot of time just hanging out with the animals, and this one hen was super attached to me, followed me around where she could, sat on my lap, like a real pet, you know? Well, since she was a hen and all, I didn’t think there’d be any consequence to it, I mean, we needed the eggs right? But my grandma was really annoyed, she took me out back to the shed where.. You know. I- You can probably guess what happened , after..”

“Oh, oh shit. What? That’s horrible. What the fuck.” Hosah could barely get his words out. Damn, and he thought he had some pretty brutal childhood stories.

His assistant had that same bittersweet look on his face. “After that, I thought I was hard as nails, but I guess not so much. Ah, c’est la vie, right?”

“Hmm, I guess,” what a nonchalant take. As he watched Teddy swivel back around on his seat to face him again, the shrunken detective decided not to question him further on the story. “You never told me what happened, with the family of that missing person. That’s body seven?” Hosah could infer exactly what happened, but decided to change the subject anyway.

“Right, yeah. That’s him. I don’t know. Having seen the body itself, I thought I’d take it all a lot better but.. Speaking to his parents, watching them learn their kid is really seriously dead. It just breaks my heart, you know? If I was in their position, I don’t know if I’d ever recover.”

If he could’ve, the tiny man sat beside Teddy’s hand would’ve held it in his own. “Mm. That’s how I feel towards just about every case I’ve ever worked on. Hah, we’re really not tough enough for this job, huh?”

And tough enough they weren’t. It felt as though the two detectives left on the office floor had just encountered some supernatural activity, as Hosah swore he felt the temperature drop by a few degrees in a split second. It was Jules, the head of the entire agency. The shifter didn’t know whether to give her the cold shoulder, or to thank her, regarding the situation she’d put both him and Teddy in not so long ago.

God, she may be terrifying, but she’s drop dead gorgeous. He’d always thought Jules had the looks, the height, and the body to go into runway modelling, but it seemed she preferred to surround herself with death’s imminent presence, and a few guys she can psychologically torture. It always perplexed the shifter, how someone so evil could look so angelic.

“What are you two still doing here? You could’ve gone home an hour ago, you know that right? Is he forcing you to stay back late with him, Edward?” Jules took a seat on the desk at which the two detectives sat both at and on.

No matter how much she pissed him off, Hosah always fell back on the ‘but she’s so beautiful though’ excuse. Despite the fact her jaw and cheekbones were as sharp as ever, her features were all still so soft, as her eyelashes and eyebrows were the same almost white blonde colour as her long, slicked back hair. He had no idea how anyone could make a pencil skirt and ill-fitting blouse look so high fashion, but Jules just had that kind of look to her.

“No, no, just got busy with chasing up missing persons reports. We got one, number seven isss..” Teddy’s hands were shaking a little as he grabbed the file from Hosah’s side, where the giant’s hand once rested. “Here, Charlie Laurent. Reported three months ago today.”

Her hand wrapped around the rookie’s wrist as she tilted the file toward herself, “Hmm, oh, right. Alice told me he’s guessing the bodies were ordered in a particular way, by when they’d been killed, based on decomposition stages. Still waiting on all the autopsies to get back to us to confirm that theory though.”

Alice was Jeanne’s last name, honestly, most people around the agency referred to him as such, sometimes Hosah felt like the only person who actually knew his first name.

Just as quickly as she came, the slender woman hopped up off the desk, giving Teddy a ruffle of the hair on her way out. How she could do that in heels, no one knew.

Once the coast was clear, the assistant leant in, “God, I’m shaking.” Teddy whispered as if he didn’t want her to hear him, despite the fact she had long left the room. She always did this kind of thing, start a conversation, then leave whenever she got sick of talking. There was really no rhyme or reason to her behaviour, that’s just the type of person she was. The type of person that made no sense at all, which is what made her so enticing and so scary at the same time. Unpredictable, that’s what she was.

“She’s not really all that scary. Then again, I’ve known her for like, ten years by now.” The tiny man shrugged, standing up preparing to leave himself. “Anyway. That doesn’t matter. What’s on at the theatres tonight?”

[dailycharacteroption]

Conversion Corner: Starbound Species part 2

The Glitch

While yesterday the species in question blended two themes that went well together (plant people and tribal culture), today’s subject is an exercise in anachronistic duality.

Originally created by some forgotten culture, possibly the Ancients, the automatons that would come to be known as the Glitch were created as part of an advanced civilization simulation, with individual units meant to represent individuals in the simulation. However, due to a coding error in their programming, their development stopped at the medieval period, leaving the majority of them to act out a life of feudal pastoral farming. Even those that break away from their programming into full self-actualization still do often favor those aesthetics even when they wield more advanced arms and armor.

Despite being incredibly sophisticated sapient machines, the outer casing of most of these automatons is simplistic, clunky, even primitive, often evoking retro science fiction aesthetics (Some even have a fake synthetic “brain” in a glass dome), all of which clashes with their medieval attire and tools. Additionally, they do not farm for no reason, for they do eat, albeit to extract the methane as fuel from the digestive process rather than any nutritional value. Additionally, while they do not reproduce in the organic sense, a bonded pair of Glitches can enter a trance-like state and assemble a new member of their kind with factory-like speed and efficiency. Perhaps most perplexingly, their programming requires them to also harvest and prepare “medicine”, which seems effective when applied despite all logic indicating that it should not work. Perhaps to even awakened glitches, this placebo effect activates reserves of repairing nanites within themselves?

The personalities of these robots can vary a lot just like any other sapient, however, most are stuck in a medieval way of viewing things. What’s more, their mechanical voices and visages can make articulating emotion difficult. As such, they tend to preface their sentences with a word indicating their tone, similar to Mass Effects Elcor, or perhaps more of a direct reference to the character HK-47 from Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic.

I wasn’t able to glean if there is a unifying government among the glitch, but we do know that they have an agrarian medieval society, complete with serfs, barons, lords, and the like, and most are content to act out those roles. However, those that have evolved beyond that programming often leave to travel the stars to find purpose, though they are met with pity by their kin, who view this erratic behavior as a disruption to the careful cycle of their lives and society as a whole. Even still, such outcasts often gather in like-minded groups, possibly forming into approximations of knightly orders, for good or ill, though chivalry and honor are commonly valued traits across the entire glitch people.

Glitch

Ability Score Modifiers: +2 Str, +2 Wis, -2 Int

HP: 4

Size and Type: Glitches are Medium Constructs of the Glitch subtype. Unlike other constructs, they do have a Constitution score.

Archaic Arms: Glitches know how best to apply weapons of their limited tech level to gain maximum results. They gain a +1 to attack and damage rolls with analog weapons. Additionally, they do not take the damage penalty of weapons with the archaic property as long as they are proficient with the weapon.

Curiously Robotic: Glitches are immune to bleed, disease, death effects, poison, nonlethal damage, and sleep effects unless those effects specify they affect constructs. Glitches can be affected by effects or spells that normally target only humanoids, but receive a +4 racial bonus to saving throws against such effects. Glitches must eat and drink and they must recharge their internal batteries by entering an off-line mode that is similar to sleep for 8 hours every day. Glitches do not breathe or suffer the normal environmental effects of being in a vacuum.

Hardcoded Honor: A glitch gains a +2 bonus to Will saves against effects that would compel them to perform an action inimical to their beliefs.

Healing Circuit: In addition to being constructs and thus able to benefit from spells like make whole, Glitches count as living creatures for the purposes of magic healing effects that work on living creatures, though the number of Hit Points restored in such cases is halved. A character can use the Engineering skill to perform the tasks of the Medicine skill on Glitches, but they can also benefit from Medicine checks and medicinals. Glitches also heal naturally over time as living creatures do, and can benefit from magic or technology that can bring constructs back from the dead, as well as effects that normally can’t (such as raise dead).

That should do for today, but tomorrow we’ll look at something a little more… piscine.

[sillovn]

Cheat Sheet: Hybrid Sorcery

So you want to play a hybrid sorcerer? Here is a quick overview. (X) - more Cheat Sheets

This series started as a reference for planning my ER characters, and also as notes for spell types. Ive tried to keep this info dense and not just list things you can pull from a wiki/build tool.

As always, I recommend the following for detailed math and specifics...

Build and Inventory Planner by sovietspaceship

Glintstone Staff math by Chrightt

Magic Schools Overview

Death

Stat: INT+ FTH min - Rancorcall (16 int, 14 fth) max - Explosive Ghostflame (42 int, 30 fth)

The most stat intensive magic school with few practical uses. Main strength is throwing out persistent homing projectiles (ie. being annoying in PvP). Besides this, Death spells are slow acting and deal very little damage.

Fia's Mist is a source of Deathblight. Only 1 other spell (Death Lightning) also has this.

Tibia Summons can be blocked by obstacles (the skeletons spawn where an invisible projectile lands).

Lava

Stat: high INT + low FTH min - Magma Shot (19 int, 10 fth) max - Rykard's Rancor (40 int, 18 fth)

The only fire damage sorceries, spells are slow acting and leave lingering damage effects. This school is very weak, if you need fire damage projectiles - consider using throwing pots instead.

Magma Shot, Roiling Magma are "magic grenades", manual aim works better than locking on.

Gelmir's Fury, Rykard's Rancor focus on flooding areas with damage hazards. They are also (arguably) less useful.

Claymen/Bubble

Stat: INT + ARC min - Oracle Bubbles (19 int, 15 arc) max - Great Oracular Bubble (25 int, 18 arc)

Only 2 spells, send out bubbles that drift slowly and explode on contact. Very efficient damage per FP but very slow acting; treat these less like ranged missiles and more like environmental hazards that you can prepare a fight with.

Oracle Bubbles are very weak, leaving Great Oracular Bubble as the 1 real spell in this school.

Great Oracular Bubble has similar damage to Comet, and works somewhat like a slow-motion version of it.

Both spells are found early, with no boss kills needed.

Aberrant

Stat: FTH min - Briars of Punishment (21 fth) max - Briars of Sin (24 fth)

Has many strange properties; FTH-only requirement, inflicts bleed and costs life to use.

very low fp cost, also surprisingly fast cast speed.

damage improved by many sources. Staff of the Guilty (+20%), Alberich's Armour (+6% per piece).

despite appearance, deals magic *not* physical damage.

Glintstone Staff Breakdown

Spell scaling comparison is vs. 60 INT on Academy Glintstone Staff (~304). In short, +50 points in damage stat given most classes stat with ~10 stat base.

Prince of Death

INT/FTH staff, has the most damage given infinite levels (80 INT/FTH). However, stat scaling is low up until ~60 INT/FTH. Consider for NG+, poor choice otherwise.

226 scaling at 35/35 or 40/30

Gelmir

INT/FTH staff, more usable than the above, but still very weak. This staff is drop-only and *very hard* to farm.

248 scaling at 40/30 or 35/35

Albinauric

The only hybrid staff with reasonable damage, scales Arc>Int. However! you still need INT for spell requirements; take note, even if high ARC + low INT looks good on paper.

293 scaling at 40/30 or 45/25

Guilty

Pure FTH staff, drop-only. Large school bonus (+20% damage for Aberrant spells).

271 scaling at 60 fth

Closing Thoughts

Hybrid sorcery is difficult to work with. And with good reason.

Sorcery is *very focused* on 'long range + magic damage'. The hybrid schools don't improve/widen your strategic options. Additionally, the most usable hybrid spells also tend to be the low req. ones.

Sorcery requirements overwhelmingly ask for INT and lots of it. Even if damage seems good, having less INT limits your arsenal.

Hybrid staves tend to have low damage

All this to say; 'INT+ splash stat' is the most reasonable build for (most) hybrid sorceries.

For example: 15 Fth lets you use 3 of 4 Gelmir spells. For most characters, that is ~5 levels. Additionally, school bonuses only need the staff *equipped*. In this case, you could Off-Hand a Gelmir Staff and cast with an Academy Glintstone for much more damage.

The 1 noteworthy exception? Aberrant spells. The staff damage is pretty decent with a *very large* school bonus. At reasonable levels, dual-wield Guilty Staves is the most damage (for Aberrant spells specifically and nothing else).

[paperanddice]

Broodiken are vile little constructs, crude servants grown within a humanoid creature's body. One foot tall, with oversized heads and jaws filled with fangs, they otherwise resemble their creator, though if their creator had features such as wings or horns the broodiken gains decorative, ineffective versions that provide no mechanical changes.

Broodiken have little personality beyond a rough reflection of their creator's current emotions. They don't restrain their emotional show, growling and snarling if they feel anger and babbling happily if they feel joy. If sent beyond 100 feet from their creator, this lack of personality devolves into a helpless wailing, like that of an infant of their apparent species. The only time they can function further away is if given a specific target to hunt and kill. If their creator telepathically such a target, picturing it in their mind and sending that image to the broodiken, it will chase that target down without rest or distraction. Though they are poor trackers and cannot search effectively, so it's best not to rely on this as an assassination technique. As the broodiken cannot be recalled until their target is dead, if they lose the target and cannot find it again, they will hunt forever until destroyed.

Creating broodiken requires eating a specially prepared heart from a dead broodiken, a paradoxical means of creation that stumps sages as to the origin of this construct. Attempts to discover the first creator of the broodiken have led only to dead ends, and the occasional dead investigator, a fact that grows increasingly concerning to the small community intent on figuring out this mystery. Another unfortunate situation with broodiken is the fate of anyone who attempts to create a second brood while any members of their first one still live. As soon as the incubation starts the first brood furiously turns on their creator, attempting to kill them out of jealousy.

I'm not entirely convinced of the balance for the broodiken heart item, since giving a player a random collection of minions could be quite a swing in power, but given that the broodiken won't power up with the characters and will remain level 1 creatures I don't think it will be too big of a deal, at least as long as they aren't gained at really low level.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Broodiken Creature 1 Tiny Construct Minion Perception +5; darkvision Skills Stealth +7 Str -1, Dex +2, Con +3, Int -4, Wis +0, Cha -2 Bound to Creator If the broodiken is further than 100 feet from its creator, it cannot take any actions, and does nothing but cry loudly unless it has been given a target by Targeted Rage. If its creator dies, the broodiken loses its minion trait and attempts to attack the killer over any other target. If the broodiken can't see the creature that killed its creator, or that creature is dead, it simply attacks any creature it can see except another broodiken from the same brood. AC 14; Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +5 HP 17; Immunities bleed, death effects, diseased, doomed, drained, fatigued, healing, necromancy, nonlethal attacks, paralyzed, poison, sickened, unconscious Speed 20 feet, climb 20 feet Melee jaws +7 (agile, finesse), Damage 1d10-1 piercing plus attach Attach When a broodiken hits a target larger than itself, its jaws attach it to that creature. This is similar to grabbing the creature, but the broodiken moves with that creature rather than holding it in place. The broodiken is flat-footed while attached. While the broodiken is attached, Strikes it makes with its jaws automatically hit the attached creature, but it can't make Strikes against other targets. Targeted Rage The broodiken's creatore can designate a single creature to be the target of the broodiken. The broodiken loses the minion trait, and can travel further than 100 feet away from its creator, but will not obey any orders until it kills that creature.

Broodiken Heart Item 7 Uncommon Consumable Magical Price 85 gold Usage held in one hand; Bulk L Activate [one action] Interact After you eat this seed, 2d4 broodiken begin gestating inside of you. They incubate for 1 month, during which you must consume a special blend of mud, ashes, and plants, which costs 5 gold per day for each incubating broodiken. During this time, you are drained 1, and cannot reduced your drained condition below 1. The broodikens must be cut out at the end of this gestation period, a process that deals 1d4 slashing damage to you per broodiken. If they are not cut out, they instead chew themselves out, which takes 1d6 rounds, plus 1 round per broodiken in the batch, and deals 2d6 slashing damage per round. This damage cannot be reduced by any means. The newly birthed broodikens are loyal to you, and obey your telepathic commands as long as they are within 100 feet of you. If you birth a second batch of broodiken, the first brood immediately become hostile, losing the minion trait and attempting to kill you. Crafting Requirements Supply the heart of a dead broodiken.

13th Age

Broodiken  1st level mook wrecker [construct]  Initiative +3 Gnawing Bite +6 vs. AC - 3 damage, plus 1 damage for each other broodiken engaged with the target. Bound to Creator: Choose one creature to be the broodiken’s creator. If the broodiken is far away from its creator, it is stunned and can do nothing but cry. If its creator dies, the broodiken enters a rage, gaining a +1 bonus to attack rolls, and will attack the enemy that killed its creator over all other targets. AC 16 PD 14 MD 10 HP 11 (mook) Mook: Kill one broodiken mook for every 11 damage dealt to the mob.

[pathfinderunlocked]

Hakkari Adherent - CR8 Humanoid

The Altar of Blood must be protected.

Artwork by Vablo on DeviantArt.

This NPC is a follower of a hakkari kami, a guardian spirit of spilled blood, which I posted earlier this week. The hakkari kami is based on a Warcraft creature named Hakkar. Hakkari adherents make blood sacrifices to their kami in order to win their approval, gain their blessings, and maybe be chosen to ascend and became hakkari kami themselves in death if they're devout enough.

Although more common races like orcs and gnolls would make fitting hakkari adherents, I used the kuru race for this creature. Kuru are an obscure humanoid race of cannibalistic, tribal island-dwellers - Black Dragon Gaming has a good video about them. If you want a hakkari adherent of a different race, changing its racial features should be relatively trivial.

I built this NPC as a unique creature, rather than giving it class levels.

It usually uses its totem ability to cast either blood armor, resist energy, or magic weapon, depending on what bonuses its allies would actually benefit from.

Because blood blaze is an absolutely terrible spell, it probably isn't even worth worrying about fire resistance for it, but it's enough to make this creature pick fire as its default element for resist energy if it doesn't have any information about its enemies.

Hakkari Adherent - CR 8

The brutal-looking man is covered in fresh blood, poured over him like spilled paint. He resembles a muscular human, but with an unusual face with beady eyes, and discolored skin.

XP 4,800 NE Medium humanoid (kuru) Init +2 Senses light sensitivity, low-light vision; Perception +10

DEFENSE

AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 16 (+2 Dex, +1 dodge, +4 mage armor) hp 71 (10d8+30) plus 10 temp hp Fort +13, Ref +7, Will +12 Defensive Abilities bare berserking, blood courage

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 shortsword +12/+7 (1d6+4/19-20), bite +6 (1d6+1 plus cannibalistic vitality) Special Attacks bleeding sneak attack 1d6, cannibalistic vitality

Spell-like Abilities (CL 10th)     Constant—blood blaze

Spells Prepared (CL 10th; concentration +13)     4th—blesssing of fervor, divine power*     3rd—blood armor, rage (dreamed secrets), vampiric touch* (touch +9)     2nd—blood of the martyr (DC 15) (x2), death knell (touch +9, DC 15), resist energy (x2), spiritual weapon* (attack +12, 1d8+3/19-20)     1st—cure light wounds (x4), mage armor (dreamed secrets, already cast), magic weapon*, protection from good     0th—bleed, detect magic, light, stabilize

Domain blood (* indicates a domain spell)

STATISTICS

Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 16, Cha 7 Base Atk +7; CMB +10; CMD 22 Feats Dodge, Dreamed Secrets, Great Fortitude, Spell Focus (necromancy), Toughness, Weapon Focus (shortsword) Skills Heal +9, Knowledge (religion) +5, Perception +10 Languages Kuru SQ aura, dreamed secrets NPC Gear +1 short sword, cloak of resistance +2, wooden unholy symbol, wand of cure light wounds (30 charges), 10 gp

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Aura (Su) A hakkari adherent has an evil aura as a cleric of its level.

Bare Berserking (Ex) While a hakkari adherent is wearing no armor, at the start of each of its turns, it gains number of temporary hit points equal to its hit dice (typically 10), which last until the start of its next turn.

Bleeding Sneak Attack (Ex) A hakkari adherent can choose to deal either an additional 1d6 damage or 1d6 bleed damage when it attacks an opponent that is denied its dexterity bonus to AC or when flanking an opponent. The target must be within 30 ft., and the attack must deal lethal damage. Targets immune to precision damage are immune to this ability.

The hakkari adherent must be able to see the target well enough to pick out a vital spot and must be able to reach such a spot. A hakkari adherent cannot sneak attack while striking a creature with concealment.

Blood Courage (Ex) Once per day when a hakkari adherent makes a saving throw against a fear effect, it can roll the saving throw twice and take the better result. It must decide to use this ability before the saving throw is attempted.

Cannibalistic Vitality (Ex) When a hakkari adherent hits a living creature with its bite attack, it gains 1 temporary hit point by ingesting the target’s blood. This ability does not work on creatures that do not have blood.

Dreamed Secrets (Ex) A hakkari adherent gains Dreamed Secrets as a bonus feat, despite not worshiping a great old one or outer god. It typically prepares the rage and mage armor spells with this feat.

Spellcasting A hakkari adherent casts spells as a 10th-level warpriest. It gains spells (but not other abilities) from the blood domain. It does not gain any other warpriest class abilities.

Totem (Su) When casting a beneficial spell with a range of touch or close that targets a single creature, a hakkari adherent can cast the spell into a totem which it plants into the ground at its feet as part of the casting of the spell. Instead of affecting a single creature for the duration of the spell, the spell emanates from the totem, affecting all of the hakkari adherent's willing allies within close range of the totem (typically 45 ft.). If a creature moves further than close range from the totem, the spell stops affecting that creature, but any ally of the hakkari adherent that moves into the spell's range gains its effects.

A hakkari adherent can only have one totem at a time. A totem is a small unattended object with 1 hit point and 6 AC, and is automatically destroyed by any amount of damage. If a totem is moved or destroyed, the spell cast through it ends.

[libidomechanica]

“And she luverd the cobweb belief woe, is the Buskie-glistens”

With my both helpe the petition     keep: thy grieue made the sager inted love your neck again;     that I may gives the seals

in her so as thou crush’d home-begun.     As I listens of ice I kneeled bad have ken; ne’er     sighs are is; i’ll go or

necktie this, these been is as gone?     Like the roses with down arrow unwill be bloodless in     then, her sland him by dance

who ever-hand so faces, and     do not myself our life: and yet now your with with tears keep     Touchsafe made heartily

bleed. Hands through I mayst this elbow.     I go and, silver, she charms doing of and way; mould rest;     but a worth themselve housers,

yet your let me he we     hatefulness gallant for ever scissus sunburns beds with     foul of thine red kindless

fled, he breath,—grim-grinna, could lights     in hers, the cities? What’s to her and like my sun, that let     nestless their feigned queen in

sick Nervel in one who surviveth:     and was mine, what time— my face, till not be fair will buy;     which welcome charming arm.

Fold to have me; when he seaweed-     cover heart; or I heats upon and shine, preparent present     like a prey, wracks. With

the better’d of sees, mourney, and     a’ her peaceful stars more his so fainted, makes ye my scene     own to new all bed! We

cords lips and is a worse, air: so     lost for look at her what the we are nothing and be run     into the such assuag’d,

the wrongers thing wars—and to wreaks     back hair Cloe is but the had the dainterbury stay—at     lendous like a red at

into immortal we? Go, let     thy lovely give thee again! Who morning thy like feeded     day, that rayed, that pair. Shoulder

wreath how his speak. And she luver’d     the cobweb belief woe, is the Buskie-glistens that would     silk canvase themselves the

translate: and prove, hath on Cloe in     still to the swung, bid Suspicion of all, by fire, do rease     to youth breast aboures

proport blushining tried in the     winds her become; for if frame, if your hand the gallant took     at from the lay thy son,

it’s finding, short, adonis it     he, tis sever mix’d will do for, and leap of my hair offer     her spright cars what shall

that we rivering in blast easing,     and tried; you make the goat we would leaves, ungross of golden     from his faith his to

etern time, ’ quoth forsook they cave     quakes, if cross the sweetness with drop a dance moment night in     the arching now, he night.

[kytedevlin]

Pt. 4

INT. MASTER BATHROOM

Henry enters the bathroom gently setting his glasses down on the counter adjacent to the door, flicking on the light in the same motion back up to his face. He is touching his skin, and to him it feels clammy, rough like sandpaper and sticky as if fresh sweat has almost been allowed to dry but has not quite evaporated. He places both hands on the counter and stares at himself deeply, the door slowly closes behind him with a slight creak just as the latch catches. The walls begin to melt, squeezing the space around him, the sound of gurgling blood, uttering his name. An apology. The words “I am sorry.” Cannot form, to form the “O” would send a rush of blood to fill his already drowning lungs. So amidst the gurgling only “H-H-Henry…s…ss…sss…” as the voice drowns in tears and blood. All that can be hired next is the sound of an intense flame as the sounds of crashing lumber and steel snuff out the cries. Henry turns on the faucet dousing his reddening face with water, the walls continue to close in on him. He reaches for the doorknob yet his arm stretches into the distance never reaching it. He turns back toward the mirror and the light flickers, his reflection is now that of his brothers, beaten, perforated, and bleeding. He places his hand on the mirror creating a sopping wet bloody hand print and producing a sound has though he abruptly impacted it. A deafening roar bellows from the mirror.

Disembodied Voice: Henry!

Cutaway to Interior Henry’s Home

Victoria finishes preparing the roast and putting it in the oven while Christine is harkening Walther over his mischaracterization of Henry’s car. They both take their seats at the stools that litter the counters area.

Christine: *Inaudible Hearkening*

Walther: I am sorry! *quietly and defensively*

Walther: I am sorry Victoria I wouldn’t have given him a hard time if i knew that there was such a story behind his car.

Victoria is preparing coffee for them since they are still just coming in from the cold. She places Walther a small cup on a small plate, black with no sugar.

Victoria: Really it’s fine, it’s just not something that we talk about often. And we have had chances for a new car but Henry seems to want to drive it around. Sometimes I feel like even he forgets. Though I know, he definitely doesn’t.

Christine: Such a tragedy, to think there is some crazy person running around. Are you sure the police didn’t catch him?

Victoria finishes Christine’s cup and places it on the counter in front of her, milk with cream and 2 sugars.

Victoria: For all we know it was some homeless person. Probably still out there or perished in the cold. We decided it wasn’t for us to know and moved on.

Walther: Gosh that’s gotta be driving Henry mad. I know if that happened to my brother I wouldn’t rest! I would be down at the precinct everyday!

Christine: Walther!

Walther: Whaaat? I would! I mean think about it, a hard working class citizen dies on the job when no one’s around and you are telling me nobody saw anything, even the homeless people could have seen something. Check the street cameras anything! Not to mention the fire afterwards, there have been all kinds of fires lately, the whole city will be up in flames if they don’t get handle on this.

Victoria: We walked the area up and down, Henry would stay out all night sleeping in the car for months, waiting for someone to walk by and he always said nobody ever came by, not even curious looters to pick through the wreckage. That “Criminals always return to the scene of the crime.” Saying was not true in this case.

Walther: I bet they’re still out there, attacking hard working citizens in this good country. Do you mind if smoke?

Christine: No!

Victoria: Go ahead.

Walther begins to pace around pensively, pulling out a carton of cigarettes and packing it down in his hand. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, giving it a good long drag. Walther has been a smoker for quite sometime but he keeps up appearances as though he doesn’t, always fresh smelling, and his teeth are in great health too. Only on rare occasions can you catch him having a smoke on his balcony or after a particularly tumultuous phone call with a tenet who will be late on their rent.

Walther: I mean really it takes a special kind of person to be attack someone at work and even cover it up. Why didn’t we hear about this sooner, something like that around here would be the talk on the street, nothing happens here especially not a murder.

Victoria: Well it wasn’t considered a murder, just an accident. It appeared on the news as just another fire with a single casualty. There was only a small note about the victim and his family.

Christine: So what was his brother like? If he is anything like Henry I can’t see how they could kill such a person.

Victoria: The Henry I am sure you have all met is nothing like he was before. Henry and his brother were pretty close after he died everything really changed for him. He is still the same person but I can tell there is something different, vacant. Like he is looking for that connection but knows it’s gone.

Christine: Poor Henry.

Walther has taken a stand by the window overlooking the city. Continuing his pensive pacing and occasionally taking another long drag.

Walther: See my father always loved these windows, he always said that they were the allure of this place. The grand views of the “Shangri La”. “A paradise like no other, with views like no other.” You take one look and fall in love with the city. But that is just vile. There is a killer on the loose and you tell me no one did anything!

He takes the last drag of his cigarette, which he burned down to the butt in record time even by non closeted smokers standards.

Victoria: Well the police had promised they would keep an eye out, and let us know if anything new turns up. But nothing ever did.

Henry comes walking down the stairs.

Henry: I didn’t keep you all waiting to long did I?

Christine: No, not at all.

Victoria: How was your shower?

Henry: The water was perfect. Thank you for asking.

Walther walks up to henry and pulls him in for another one of his particularly forceful hugs. Holding him by the back of his head and his neck, jostling him around a bit, he points at him fervently, inches from his face , using his index and middle finger holding another freshly lit cigarette.

Walther: You let me tell you something Henry, I swear if I hear anything, anything!, You will be the first to know.

Henry: It’s alright Walther it has been years, almost a decade even. The past is the past, I am sure whatever happened, has already sorted itself out. So who is hungry? Boy it smells good in here!

Victoria: I just put the roast in the oven you are going to have to wait. I can make you a coffee. *Inquisitively*

Henry: I will grab a cup, is there any creamer left?

Victoria: Yeah it’s right here.

Henry: Thank you.

Henry leans in and kisses Victoria on the cheek as he passes the threshold into the kitchen.

Henry: Do you all like Christmas music?

Christine: Oh I love Christmas music.

Henry: I have got just the one.

Henry walks over to a digital old time record player. And taps a button.

Digital AI: Yes? What can I play for you today?

Henry: Can you play Christmas record 1?

Digital AI: Coming right up!

*Music Chimes in*

Cutaway to children upstairs playing with toys to dancing to the Christmas music.

Cutback to Henry’s Apartment

Walther: Oh I love this record. You have got a nice setup here.

Henry: It was Victoria’s idea. I just filled in the space.

Victoria: Well I won’t take all the credit.

Christine: You two are great together.

Walther: So when this new project comes around, are you going to be on site or back at the office?

Christine: Walther?

Victoria: Hold that thought, I think I heard the Elevator.

Walther: She can hear the elevator in here with the music playing?

Henry: Yes she has great ears.*Sips his coffee*

Victoria walks over to the door quickly, and opens it just as Elizabeth and Vivian reach it.

Victoria: Oh hello, you are just in time we just turned the music on. Come in. Come in. Take a seat. Can we get you anything, coffee or tea.

Vivian: How did s-she?

Elizabeth: Victoria has this place wired, Henry didn’t tell you?

Vivian: Wired?

Elizabeth: Its a joke, she knows where everything is. Lighten up.

Elizabeth steps through the threshold nearly having to duck under it due the extra height added by her heels. Vivian follows her in.

Henry: Oh you made it, everyone this is Elizabeth my Co-worker and Vivian my supervisor.

Vivian: Please, call me Ivy.

Henry: This is Walther the owner of the building and Christine his wife and co owner.

Christine: Nice to meet you.

Walther: Well met…

Walther’s mouth is almost agape at seeing how truly tall Elizabeth is when standing directly in front of him. Christine gives him a revitalizing jab, grumbling seriously underneath her breath.

Christine: Its impolite to stare.

Walther: Oh.. yes, welcome to the Shangri La. A paradise like no other with views like no other.

Christine: That’s not what I meant.

Walther shakes Elizabeths hand limply, and then shakes Vivians hand who is about the same height as his wife. Nodding in the affirmative. Christine smiles and shakes their hands as well.

Christine: Nice to meet you, Henry didn’t tell us anyone was coming.

Henry: Sorry about that, It slipped my mind.

Elizabeth: I wonder what could have done that, we spent all day going over your draft, your attention to detail is borderline neurotic. Thorough would be an understatement.

Vivian: You do great work Henry I am really looking forward to this project. With all of those fires I am beginning to lose hope.

Walther: See they know about the fires too! What is this world…

Christine: I think what Walther means is that, this must be a hard time for you all.

Vivian: Yes very much so, it is hard to get any plans approved lately and when we do they are rushed along without proper sourcing for the materials, halting projects along the process. We end up having to borrow from the left overs of other sourced materials and compete for spots to have projects pushed through and a subsequent backlog of unfinished projects just waiting to be scrapped. Resulting in one company taking from the other. I do not envy any small time contractors right now. It has been nothing short of hellish.

Elizabeth: But our hero came to save the day, if he was plan didn’t look so great we would be waiting months for another project to be pushed through, with no prospects until next year around this time.

Walther: Wow would you look at that. You wouldn’t be going and building another apartment building would you Henry?

Henry: No nothing like that, it’s a plaza style shopping center, nothing major.

Walther: Good, I would have had to raise your rent…. And you are behind already.

Walther takes a drag of his cigarette and holds the smoke in his lungs for a good moment before blowing it out. Everyone lets out a decent chuckle. Vivian makes her way to Victoria who is cleaning some of the coffee mugs that were just used aside from Henry’s which he is still holding.

Vivian: You must be henry’s wife.

Victoria: Yes, nice to meet you.

Vivian: The pleasure is mine.

Light conversation lights up the night.

Cutaway to outside of the building

The night is peaceful on this Christmas Eve, light rain begins to pick up in the night sky. Henry’s bug remains the sole inhabitant of the parking space in front of the building. Sitting quietly as the light rain turns into a light snow.

Cutback to Henry’s Apartment

The night continues with food eaten and the kids sleeping upstairs, the adults are down stairs playing cards, ties loosened, drinks in hand and smoking casually. Walther is eyeballing Henry from just above his cards, the game is poker, Elizabeth is dealing, Vivian has just folded, Christine and Victoria soon after.

Vivian: I am out.

Christine: Me too.

Victoria: Same! Look at you two bet you have nothing in hand.

Christine: Walther has something, he never plays without a little something.

Walther: shh.. shh.. shhh…

Christine: Oopsies…

Christine takes another sip of her drink which she seems to be enjoying quite a bit with her pretty decent buzz. She giggles at her call to whether or not Walther is bluffing. The next card comes down the river just as quickly as the card hits the table Walther leaps at it like a rabid dog.

Walther: Three of a kind!

He shouts wildly. Henry shyly shrugs and lays his cards down.

Elizabeth: A straight flush!

Walther: You mother…! You lucky dog you!

Victoria: Woohoo!

Christine: Aw babe.

Elizabeth: That was a good hand.

Vivian: Better luck than I have had all night.

Christine: Well it’s gotten late, we should get the kids home before its time for Christmas morning.

Walther: Yeah you are right, it’s been a great night we should do this again soon, let’s say New Year’s? At our place? A couple of the other tenets will be there I would like to introduce you too.

Christine: Yes that is a great idea!

Walther: Do you think you all can make it?

Elizabeth stands up brushing off some of the crumbs of the dress she is wearing. Stopping Walther mid breath as he found himself forgetting how tall she is since they have been sitting down for the last few hours.

Elizabeth: Sure, it’s been nice meeting you two.

Christine: Likewise, we should go out just us girls sometime. Maybe a spa?

Vivian: Oh that sounds great I have never been to one, it sounds like fun. I will have to see if I can make it but I am sure it will work out.

Christine: ( To Walther ) Could you grab my coat I am going to go grab the kids.

Walther: Sure thing.

Victoria: I will go with you, I need to check on Abby.

Walther: Henry you really know how to throw one, truly New Year’s it will be my treat. What do you say? I know a great sitter who can watch the kids, She lives on the 2nd floor, nice woman she lives alone and would love the company.

Henry: I don’t know.

Elizabeth: Oh come on Henry live a little.

Vivian: Yeah Henry, it will be fun.

Walther: Look everyone is in a good mood.

Henry: Alright, we will be there.

Walther: Great!, Victoria is going have a lot of fun too, And I am telling you the food is going to be out of this world. If everyone could bring something we could have a great potluck. Ready babe?

Walther looks up calling to Christine who is toting two sleepy children in both arms, she walks over and Walther puts a coat around her shoulders.

Christine: You all have a great night, see you at New Years.

Walther: Take care now, come ready to party!

Elizabeth: Well your landlord is Colorful, he has such a cute family.

Vivian: Its nice to see such a cozy old style apartment building like this, there aren’t many left, most of the new projects are all loft style studios hardly large enough for a single person let alone a family. You might as well live in your cubicle.

Elizabeth: It’s no secret, single people are easier to afford, no maternity leave, no having to leave work early to pick up your kids, or being late in the morning. Just work and spend.

Elizabeth pulls out a cigarette and lights it, she puts the cigarette between her lips tasting it, smearing her lipstick on the filter, she takes a slow drag of the gold banded turquoise cylinder of high end tobacco. Holds in the smoke in her lungs.

Elizabeth: And if you cause a problem, so what, you get thrown out like yesterday’s trash, and replaced with another fresh rat for the race.

She exhales the smoke.

Vivian: That’s probably why so many fires have been popping up burning them all down.

Henry: Really? You think that’s the reason they are burning them down?

Vivian: I can’t see why else, in less there is some secret war going on between contractors and every fire has a company behind it.

Elizabeth: I still figure it’s just some punks getting their kick out of it. If it was a company why not just burn a building like ours down? There would be no more plans or projects.

Vivian: That is unless they need someone to keep buying materials.

Henry: Yeah but with no return from the property they will just run out of money and go bankrupt. No bailout, just a shutdown. Then it would really look suspicious. If your primary competitor just gets shutdown. Not to mention some of the projects are for affordable and low cost housing. Why burn that down?

Elizabeth takes another drag of her cigarette.

Elizabeth: Its definitely punks. I heard they even attacked some workers recently, has all of our foreman’s afraid to go in to work.

Vivian: That is apart of the reason I am here actually.

Henry: You aren’t afraid someone will attack you?

Vivian: Well I figure they will either not believe that I’m a foreman or they wouldn’t attack a woman in broad daylight.

Elizabeth: True, but I was instructed not to allow you to stay on the site late in the evening.

Vivian: I know, dear old dad was very clear about that.

Elizabeth: Good, he said he might fire me if I didn’t make sure.

Vivian: He knows better than to make threats like that.

Elizabeth: i know and i told him that too, he could never hire someone else to replace me now unless it was you. But really we should get going.

Vivian: Right, we had a great time Henry.

Henry: Here, let me walk you two out.

Ext. Apartment Building

Henry: So where did you two park?

Vivian: Just on the other side of the street.

Henry finishes walking them to their car, the night is dark but the moonlight paints a refreshing blue hue upon the canvas of the sky. His guests of the night say their goodbyes as they drive away in Elizabeths two door Audi. Henry looks up to the sky against the black silhouettes of the surround parking structure and freeway that curves and weaves through the buildings and passes over the city streets, slightly eclipsing the moons light, only to then be illuminated by the bright white LED street lighting. The lights from the passing cars creating a blend of colors in the form flashes of light that slightly peak over the boundaries of the concrete giant. As Henry turns to walk back towards his apartment, his brother’s reflection, dripping with blood, battered and bruised, appears once again, inches from his face. Calling out to him loudly.

Henry’s Brother: Henry!

The street lights all go out, turning the parking lot and the street into a pitch black darkness.

[betterlovers]

Okay so

-Level is... Your level.

-Souls is the souls you currently have accumulated and available to use.

-Required souls is the number of souls to level up once, and increases each time you level up once.

ATTRIBUTES

-Vigor is a stat that primarily increases the amount of total health (HP) you have as well as affecting one or some of the resistances.

-Attunement basically effects your traditional mana bar, how many spells you can use before needing to rest/replenish your mana somehow, but also how many spells you can have equipped at once. You may know 30, but you can't have all 30 prepared for use at all times.

-Endurance is how much stamina you have, which effects your ability to dodge, attack, and run.

-Vitality is useless

-Strength is a stat used to meet weapon requirements, and can be increased slightly by two handing weapons instead of using them in one hand. You also have weapons that increase in power based on your strength level

-Dexterity is the same as strength, except cant be increased by using two hands, but otherwise the same

-Intelligence is the sorcery magic's equivalent of dex, meets spell requirements, increased damage scaling based on your int level, etc

-Faith is the same as Int, BUT for miracle based magic

-Luck is... An interesting stat. It increases your item discovery stat, but also increases how often you can proc bleed damage (maybe the others like frost and stuff too idk) if you have something that benefits from that, and can have weapons that scale their damage based on this stat too

NOW THE MIDDLE SECTION

-HP is how many hit points you have, the more you have, the more hits you can take, the more mistakes you can make, in DS3, which this is from (based on the inclusion of Luck and Vitality as stats), being Embered increases your maximum HP by 30%

-FP is your mana bar, the more FP you have, the more spells you can cast AND use special moves on actual weapons (called weapon arts)

-Stamina is how much you can sprint, dodge, attack, back step, block, also use weapon arts, etc. If you have no stamina, you can't do any of that, and you don't wanna get caught out with no stamina

-Equip Load is how much weight you can have on you. Technically speaking, it applies only to the gear you have equipped, and there are certain breakpoints, at 29% or less you have fast rolling, between 30% and 69% you have medium rolling, at 70% to 99% you have slow rolling and slower stamina regeneration, and at 100%+ you have no way to roll at all, nor sprint

-Poise is.... For hyper armor, which I think I mentioned to you before, but basically how much damage you can take in certain animations without being broken out of them

-Item Discovery is how often you'll find item drops from enemies

The next 6 are all basically the same so...

ATTACK POWER

-R/L Weapon 1/2/3 is how much raw damage your equipped weapons do. This is obviously not taking into account any buffs you apply, your enemies defenses, NOR the different types of damage your weapons do, instead summing it all up

OKAY NOW DEFENSE

-Physical is how much you resist physical attacks as a base, unaffected by armors or shields.

-VS Strike is the same as physical, BUT for strike damage

-VS Slash is the same as physical but for Slash damage

-VS Thrust is the same as physical but for Thrust 👀👀 damage

-Magic is the same as physical but for magic based damage

-Fire is the same as physical but for fire based damage

-Lightning is the same physical but for lightning based damage

-Dark is the same as physical but for dark based damage

RESISTANCES

-Bleed is how much bleed buildup you need for the bleed effect to proc, so basically an attack with 33 bleed need to hit you 7 times to actually proc the bleed. Once is does proc tho, you'd lose 15% plus a flat amount of HP

-Poison is the same as bleed but for poison status. Once proc'd poison does either 3 HP/s or 7 HP/s plus another small amount. It also helps resist Toxic as well, which is a more aggressive form of poison that also lower stamina recovery

-Frost is the same as bleed but for frostbite status. Once frostbite is proc'd, you take 11% of your HP plus a flat amount, and you have lower stamina recovery and take increased damage

-Curse is the same as bleed but for the curse status. Curse when proc'd kills you instantly

And finally

-Attunement Slots is how many spells you can have prepared at one time

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

@supercxth

[vampirismz]

vanitas no carte anime spoilers

OHHH MY GOD THIS FUCKING ANIME . SHAKES THEM AROUND . I LOVE THEM SO MUCH I HATE THEM I WANT THEM DEAD . NOE AND VANITAS AND DOMI AND AND AND AND MISHA AND OH MY FUCKING GOD

I HOPE VANITAS AND NOE BLEED OUT ON THE FLOOR TOGETHER . I CANT BELIEVE THEY DIDNT DIE INT HE ANIME I WAS SO PREPARED FOR IT . I HAVE TO READ THE MANGA NOW .

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

Light From Uncommon Stars, June

Oh Tamiko...

As a content warning, I'm going to end up talking about self-harm. You can come back at the line below if you're uncomfortable with this topic.

I got to have a bit of a bitter laugh at Ellen's reaction to Tamiko's cutting. It rings so harshly true to the experience. Here is a girl who is wounded, she is openly bleeding in front of her teacher. And all that instructor can say in return is a comment on how other people will see the scars when she plays. It's so casually callous to the core issue and only serves to expound it. Seriously, I would call it comedic how little attention is paid to open wounds of self harm, if I hadn't experienced this exact kind of behavior first-hand.

Compare this to Shizuka, who listens to Katrina's outpourings. Nothing is related back to how she plays or how it debilitates her successes or is unseemly. Katrina's pain is taken as-is. I like that Shizuka offers nothing but a comforting meal, it's exactly what her student needs. And Grandma's Lieu's reaction is my own, smiling at the family next door.

~~~

Welcome back to the preparations of the Classically Camellia Showcase. It's no competition. In reality it's just a dinky little thing, but it is a stage. And both Katrina and Tamiko have a voice to share now. The video game song that Shizuka ornamented just for her student is a very special touch, once again she's gone out of her way to get Katrina to bloom. Compare this to Tamiko who wants more than anything to be hewn like a stone int the shape of Kiana Choi.

To that end, we also have a new dress! Like after a de-stressing Cinnabon. Ever more hints this book knows me too well, donuts and Cinnabons are my all-time favorite confections. Gosh I want a donut with my tea now so badly—

Ahem. Yes, dress-shopping. Shizuka's take-no-shit attitude is so refreshing. I can see in my mind how many people would tend to call her bitchy but let's not get into the entirety of how woman characters get scrutinized for being direct. I'll be here for hours complaining about the term "bitchy" alone. She's harsh with others and their preconceptions, I like how out-of-the question Katrina wearing boy clothes is to her. Because she knows it's not actually what her student wants, she's being socially pressured into doing so. Her clear distaste for the people who deride her student is clear, and she's right. She sees the woman within that everyone else is willing to dismiss on whatever superficial evidence happens to catch their fancy. Shizuka has, of course, seen Katrina's soul, and is baffled that anyone could miss something so beautiful.

As for the store itself, I feel that it's easy to forget how refreshing something as simple as someone confirming your pronouns can be. Even if I use the boring she/her the act alone is like letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. That you are in a place where you're safe. Where you don't have to look around before kissing your girlfriend. That you don't have to be on alert every time you hold her hand. The shop attendant provides precisely that sort of place.

There's something really special about places like these. Acceptance that allows you to feel at one with yourself. All so that you can finally ask why more people can't be like this. It's a simple thing, after all. It's free, it costs no energy. And yet it seems so hard to find these oases when and where you most need them. Like for your first dress, here.

The Endplague, to me, reads as a breakdown of all these things. It doesn't have to be the literal thing itself, I mean the idea of it. The idea that nothing matters, everything is absurd, and we're all going to die anyway so what's the point? What's the point of asking for someone's pronouns when they're going to be noting in so short a time? Why withhold any cruelty on your way to achieve your dream? Or stop and sniff a flower when the skies are falling? The Endplague is this existential feeling of nothing mattering. Entire civilizations who capitulate to the futility of it all. And it leaves me in Shizuka's boat on the matter, where's their music? Where were their stories to give that sort of meaning?

Just as it's interesting to see Lan's perspective of humans from the outside, it's fascinating to she galactic society from the eyes of a woman who knows that there's an eternal realm of suffering after this one. To her the end of the universe must mean the same thing as any other kind of death. She would simply just be in Hell. It's such an idealistic clash that makes it worth chewing on. Like an Olive Garden bread stick.

I wonder what Katrina is going to sing while onstage. With her violin, Aubergine.

[ecnlee]

❛   ¡ah, aire fresco! ¡olía a humanidad allí dentro!   ❜

        “ con la cantidad de gente en la pista de baile — no me sorprende. ” arruga la nariz ante la imagen mental, ruta de escape habiendo sido primera prioridad tras encontrarse en posesión de dos tragos de diferente contenido. segundo piso la parada obvia mientras se deshacía de los contenidos etílicos, pero pronto vio en terraza el único destino capaz de lidiar con su claustrofobia. “ ¿cuántos crees que ya han vomitado? odiaría ser la persona que intente esquivar puntos sospechosos en el suelo mientras bailo. ” agrega, en su propio intento de humor, con una risilla corta. ( @naikang​ ; @svngjina​ )

[x-avantgarde-x]

Armageddon - herald! Viktor

Summary: Armageddon: a dramatic and catastrophic conflict, especially one seen as likely to destroy the world or the human race.

Warnings: angst, no comfort.

———————————————————————————————————

There are few things in this life that have stuck with you precisely because of the pain they have caused you. Because of the deep wound they had opened in your heart, letting it bleed out without it seeming possible to heal.

If you had to make a list of them, the first would be the night your father died. The night that the inhabitants of the Undercity rose up against Piltover, shots taking the lives of your loved ones in exchange for sinking yourselves deeper into the misery in which you already were.

Second place would go to the night Viktor was rushed into the hospital. The sound of his labored breathing, even when he was asleep, and the doctor's words piercing your heart and mind forever, leaving a scar that would never finish healing. It would become a nightmare that would haunt you until the end of your days. You realised while you firmly held your boyfriend's cold hand in yours, fearing that if you stopped touching him even for a moment he would escape you forever.

Fearing that the universe would steal a person you loved from you once again and that this would be the last time you could see him with your own eyes and hold him in your arms. You promised yourself that you would never let go of him if that were the only condition for not losing him. Willing to always stay with him out of fear that if you neglected him for just one more second, his honey-colored eyes and his brown curls would turn into the features of another ghost that would haunt you at night.

The last place on the list would be occupied by the memory of tonight. If someone asked you, you would not be able to explain how it all had happened. Unable to explain how the events had unleashed in such a way that they cruelly and painfully brought you to where you found yourself now.

When you returned to Viktor's workshop from looking for some food in the streets of Zaun, you found your boyfriend perched on a stool, tools in hand while a new augmentation was being made on his body. Despite the fact that you had been with Viktor throughout the whole process of changing his body for metal substitutes, being the first person to hold him in your arms that turning night in which the hexcore gave him a new future at the expense of taking one of his loved ones, you have never been able to get used to the grotesque image of open flesh and the nauseating smell of melting flesh and metal to one.

Leaving your bags in a secluded corner of the small workshop, which you used as a kitchen, you got ready to make something for dinner. Hoping that Viktor's mood would be more lifted than it had these last few weeks so that he would agree to sit with you at the table. Something you missed him doing. When you finished preparing what you had barely managed to come up with given your ingredients, you called Viktor to the table with a sweet voice, still after 15 minutes without an answer and without hearing the buzz of his artifacts working, you decided to look for your lover.

"Viktor?" you asked as you entered his workspace with calculated steps. Viktor had his back to you, metal and more metal, was the only thing you could see apart from the mop of brunette hair he still had on his head. You got no response from him, so with an exasperated sigh, you moved closer to his frame, touching the cool metal plate of his shoulder with your hand and shaking him lightly. “Viktor, please, answer me. I called you for dinner a while ago.” Your voice came out, quiet and slow, as if the words were heavy in your mouth.

When Viktor finally turned his face to yours you were greeted by that damned mask he insisted on wearing at all hours. Despite the numerous times you'd told him how much it bothered you not being able to see his face even in your private moments.

"I'm sorry, moy dorogoy, but I don’t intend to eat dinner." was the robotic response you got. Viktor’s voice distorted by the damn modulator he'd insisted on adding to that thing. You could feel how your blood boiled, how your face got hot and your ears reddened, just from listening to the speed of your heartbeat inside your chest.

In other circumstances you would have thought twice before continuing to speak. You would have left the room and taken some time to calm down in order to avoid a figh. But not today. Today you were exhausted, your body tired from spending hours walking the streets of the Undercity, your stomach growling with hunger and your head aching from the last few weeks in which Viktor had been even more irritable than usual.

Today all you wanted was to sit down and have dinner quietly, face to face with your partner. Being able to appreciate all his features and gestures as you satiated your appetites and distracted your minds with meaningless conversation. Not having to put up with the indifference of a machine.

"Viktor, I've told you a million times that I hate you wearing the mask at home." You spoke, your tone of voice higher than usual and a palpable weight in your words, “Could you at least take it off when we speak. Please?"

Despite this, Viktor didn't seem to recognize the anger in your voice, or if he recognized it, he decided to ignore it, because his response did nothing but provoke you more “I don't see why I should take it off. We can still talk while I'm wearing it."

At this your eyes seemed to see red and nothing but red as you blurted out “Oh please, Viktor. For someone so brilliant you have a hard time understanding that I want to talk to MY boyfriend and not the machine I've been exposed to these last few weeks?”

Now did Viktor seem to react to your words, and he turned fully towards you, taking off his mask, while his bright golden eyes stabbed you in your chest. His features frowned, an expression of suppressed anger reflected on his face. “May I know what is happening to you now? I don't have time to put up with your emotional swings, I have more important things to do than worry about your human emotions."

You couldn't help the laugh of spite that escaped from listening to him. “Viktor, can't you hear what you're saying? You talk and act like you're not human. As if you were just another machine in this workshop and consequently you treat me the same way!”

Viktor's expression darkened even more if that was possible and he bolted from his seat, his massive metal body looming over yours in such a way that your brain instinctively told you to run away from the danger before you were hurt.

"Is that what's happening to you?" Was his reply, which sounded more like a growl than words, “Is that it? That I treat you like a machine? You don't know how easy that would make it all. How easy things would be if you were just another machine.”

Your heart seemed to break at his words, all the anger you had felt a few seconds ago fading away to be replaced by a searing pain in your chest. For the first time since you entered the room you seemed to realize how the tension seemed to be contained in the air, how threatening Viktor really looked right now… as if at any moment he was going to pounce on you and tear you apart.

"Viktor... Viktor I…” When you tried to speak the words didn't seem to come out of your mouth, a knot forming in your throat so that all you seemed to be able to articulate were single syllables and little sobs. “Viktor? Viktor what?” Was the response of the man in front of you “if you are so unhappy here, why don't you leave? You no longer have to worry about staying by my side, you no longer have to act like I won’t survive without you. If you dislike me so much and I do you so much harm, you can always take the door and leave.”

And with those words Viktor left not only the room, but the workshop, leaving you completely alone in what seemed to be the broken pieces of your relationship.

After what seemed like hours of crying you finally came to a stop and got up from the ground. Moving with trembling legs you left the room without much of an idea of what to do. In the kitchen, dinner had been left cold and forgotten, a waste of food that in other circumstances would have made you feel guilty. Viktor didn't seem to have come back in the time you'd been crying, so even though your mind yelled at you to get out of this place you picked up your battered heart and headed for your bed.

Already inside the sheets you rested your head on the pillow and a hoarse sob escaped from between your lips. And there you fell asleep, hoping that there was still a chance to mend your relationship with Viktor, that when he came back it wouldn't be too late to heal the wound and that you wouldn't lose him forever.