#Captain Vola

[cityandking]

8, 23, 52, and 69! for dai bran and niko!

ty!!! // sixty-nine questions for your ttrpg characters

8. what songs remind you of them? if there are specific lyrics or movements, list ‘em!

DAI — dai has a playlist, and off it royal empress by greg laswell is 100% His Song (fun fact—it's the first song I ever put on his playlist. now that's irony.)

I thought everyone was gonna make it out alive And everyone was gonna make it out alive

BRAN — answered!

ENIKO — eniko's playlist slaps. he has so many good songs, but special honor goes to heirloom by sleeping at last (you try your hardest to leave the past alone / this crooked posture is all you've ever known) and bullet by the ballroom thieves

Well, I'll leave this so-called So cold home The burden of its memories Weighs heavy on my bones I dare you all to keep me With the things I never said I need this like a bullet to the head Yeah, I need this like a bullet to the head

23. in what moment did they consider themselves to be “grown up”?

DAI — really really early on. probably around the end of the war/rebellion, so he would have been like. 10-13ish? I'm not sure about my timelines. but he was a kid in a war zone and then he was taking care of his dad afterwards and he just. he's always felt grown up, and everyone's always treated him like he's a grown up ("mature for his age")

BRAN — answered!

ENIKO — oh fuck. yeah also horribly young. probably around 14/15ish. what's funny is, it wasn't the first time he killed someone—it was the first time he saw someone he cared about dying, and was told it was his fault, and understood consequence was always going to be synonymous with punishment.

25. who is their best friend?

DAI — a year ago, he'd have said he'd never had a best friend. three months ago, he would have said izzy. when he died, he would have said he didn't have one, but at least he'd gotten to experience it for a while.

BRAN — canon, it's gotta be haskon and the crew. I think she'd get along with iö especially well as a mischief maker. any au, it's enikö, with sabine as an incredibly close second. bran's the sort of person whose partner is her best friend

ENIKO — canon, nobody, but he was starting to get super close to vola when the campaign stopped and I honestly think they'd have been bffs if we'd played any longer. au, bran. no contest.

69. what’s one secret they don’t want getting out?

DAI — right when he and zaref were figuring things out (i.e. when they had kissed once, not DTR'd at all, and then spent a week in a 20ft hut with 8 other people) he didn't want anything about their relationship getting out, since he didn't even know what it was. even after they talked about it, he wanted to keep it private for a while—he found it nice to have something that was his and private in the mess of Asdor and everything. obviously that ended horribly, but he still doesn't regret the glimmering joy of having that specific kind of secret.

BRAN — she keeps her own fears and anxieties so close to the chest. great daring legendary pirate captains don't have anxiety or doubt or fear. she's got to be better than that.

ENIKO — all of them. anything. if you know anything about him no you don't. bastard is absolutely paralyzed by the fear that someone might learn some truth and use it against him. unhealthy coping mechanisms mcgee over here.

[caranelguild]

After five days of travel south from Snowcrest Village, our adventurers have returned whence they began - to the Hollow City itself, to Samar. Wreathed in the unnatural marsh fog, only the iron tower and a hundred lazy plumes of fire smoke scattered through the area are visible. The setting sun silhouettes Lord Gulian's great construct, now horribly decorated at its tip by machinery and spikes. As our adventurers angle their aeroplanes towards the city limits, they watch a flock of evening birds approach the tower - where they are incinerated, blasted, and shot by fire, magic, and missile. Evidently, the patriarch of the city has outfitted his tower with automatic weaponry.

The aeroplanes are brought down outside of the city in a field Damaia remembers. From there, the gang doesn't waste time but heads into the city, despite the late hour.

Creeping without a sound through the streets, it isn't long before they hear some ruffians ahead, their shadows from a small fire flickering on the walls across the street. Damaia summons a rat familiar to spy ahead.

As she does so, the others take in the city. Krieg and Vola, returned after more than two months. Quagoon, for the first time, looks at the haunting devastation has has only ever heard about.

The rat overhears two conversations between pairs of rough-looking mercenaries. The first pair believes the city is haunted, unnatural. One of them had kicked over a dust pile (the dry elements of a citizen, our adventurers know) once, and the next day he could have sworn it had returned to its previous position! The other pair are discussing the "golden colossus" that apparently dominates the city's high hill. The one relates how they were recruited for months to scrounge up every gold piece in the city, bringing them to the tower square. He shudders, relating the enormous construct that resulted, which now terrorizes anyone who comes close.

Krieg whips up a sound-maker that conjures a horrifying screeching and, along with some magical enhancement from Damaia, this confirms the mercenaries' worst fears. They race off in a panic.

The next party our adventurers encounter on their way up the city streets is one of city soldiers, wearing uniforms very familiar to three of our gang. They decide to take one of these for questioning, trusting the soldiers to know more than the fearful mercenaries.

The ambush is swift. The squad captain puts up a good fight with a frost-magic sword and another swordsman frustrates Quagoon with his katana-cringe, but ultimately the soldiers lie dead (the captain's hand clutching a locket containing portraits and locks of hair from her children) but for one: a bard-class warrior who had wielded a transforming lyre. This one is trussed up and thrown over Krieg's shoulder.

Damaia leads the pack to a secret basement speakeasy in the neighbourhood. With a library upstairs, it was a favourite haunt of hers once upon a time. She makes herself a drink and absorbs the memories.

Krieg interrogates the prisoner, who confirms the story of the golden colossus. Apparently, our adventurers' escape from his tower those 75 days ago set Lord Gulian on a path of paranoia. Surely those random guards who were accidentally preserved from the mass murder, who escaped the city on a stolen military vessel, were dead set on undermining his great plans! (How right he was!) So he did indeed conjure an immense guardian out of half the gold of the great city, in a days-long ritual. Apparently nobody goes near the tower anymore; the colossus has taken to throwing buildings at people.

Unfortunately, this means the soldier (already of a lower rank) is four or five layers separated from orders coming from the iron tower, and even then, he relates, direct orders come through Sending Stones. Lord Gulian has not left his tower for nearly fifty days.

The harpist is fixed a last drink, a gin & tonic with a cucumber twist, and is then killed by Krieg.

Damaia looks through the library upstairs and finds a book of colossus legend, relating no real facts but outlining the possibilities and concept of the immense constructs.

Nothing for it, then, but to face the thing itself. (I guess.) So our adventurers creep up the hill through the old market district and find themselves staring at the bare golden feet, the shapely calves, the thick legs, the enormous schlong, and the chiseled torso of a construct of gold whose upper quarter is lost within the mist a hundred feet above. When an arm that stretches a city block sweeps down to wrench a stone wall from its foundations, our adventurers can make out the faint texture of coins upon the colossus' surface.

The colossus idly splits the wall in two and tosses the pieces away, then turns to step nearer to the tower.

Well, thinks our party, let's stay back and consider how to approach this.

[nimata-beroya]

Thank you @annwayne and also my bestie @photogirl894 for tagging me!! Since today is fic back Friday, let's do this too!

Gai Bal Manda (Mandalorian OC)

Lost for words, Volas stares at the surrounding destruction and lets out a curse. The last thing he imagined when he had to land on this backwater planet to make emergency repairs to his ship was that soon after the place was going to be destroyed by a groundquake. Little of the small village he is in remains intact. The most affected area is the residential part near the river, where most people live.

The Tables Have Turned (Kalluzeb)

Captain Rhamis walks through the discreet entrance to Seduza, his favorite brothel in Galssop, a nearby town to the garrison in Cophrigin, where he’s stationed; far enough to keep his activities under the radar, but close enough to come and go as often as he can. He’s taking tonight off to indulge in his vices. Little does he know that his evening will end in nothing as he expects.

The Enemy Within (Kalluzeb)

“Easy, Big Guy. Wait till the Ghost is down.”

Zeb is glad that embarrassment is less obvious in Lasats than it is in humans. He doesn’t flush with mortification as light-skinned humans do—and even if he did, his fur would hide the change of color well. He also does his best to control how his ears move, which are the only part of him that can betray how Rex’s amused warning gets to him. For much that he wants to play it cool, it’s hard to miss that Zeb has failed in epic proportions. His eagerness to return to Yavin IV is easy for anyone to see.

Ramaanla (The Mandalorian)

As soon as the body slumps on the ground, Din turns the Darksaber off, and the gathered crowd burst into cheers. He sees the excitement in his people for his new victory, but barely can hear them. The drumming of his heartbeat in his ears drowns the noise.

High Above the Ground (Foxiyo)

Fox wakes up to the soft chirping of birds outside, sunbeams of the breaking dawn bursting in through the crack between the curtains, and a warm body clinging to his torso in bed. Despite having woken up in a similar fashion a thousand times before, he can’t stop marveling at the delightful sensation that is Riyo cuddling next to him. It makes him feel like he’s high above the ground, and he never wants to come down. A fond smile spreads on his lips, even before opening his eyes to look at his beautiful wife. Will he ever be tired of loving her? Only when it snows on Tatooine, he figures.

Something in the Dark (Foxiyo)

The lights in her office flicker once, twice, and then go out, leaving Riyo in darkness. Every second that passes, it gets darker. She can see out of her office window like lights are extinguishing and darkness rolls over the entire city like a tide. Her first thought is that Coruscant is being attacked. Again.

Running Out of Air (Kalluzeb)

Kallus has the instinct to claw at his own throat to fight against the invisible force constricting his windpipe, but with his hands cuffed behind his back, there’s nothing he can do. Panic clings to the marrow of his bones as Darth Vader approaches him, and lifts him until only the tip of his boots is grazing the ground. Kallus struggles to gain purchase and reduce the strain on his throat, to no avail. He gasps and wheezes hard, almost rivaling the sound of Vader’s mechanical respirator. He wills for precious oxygen to fill his burning lungs, without success.

How to Save a Life (Foxiyo)

The unnerving sensation of walking as if his body is a marionette controlled by a puppeteer is stronger than it has ever been. His steps are taking him in the opposite direction of where he wants to go. Fox should turn around and chase after Riyo; his heart is asking him to. The memory of tears streaming down her face and her eyes dulled by sorrow makes his chest hurt, knowing that they're his fault.

Deconstructed Reality (Kalluzeb)

17 BBY Coruscant

With wary expectations and his hands clasped behind his back, Colonel Wulff Yularen observes through the one-way transparisteel as an 8-trooper squad brings the prisoner into the lab. As a general rule, he’d think using that number of escorts is excessive, but this isn’t the average insurgent that he usually deals with. Three platoons under the orders of Yularen’s best student were needed to bring the man down.

Welcome to Yavin IV (Kalluzeb)

By when the Ghost touches down on the new rebel base, Kallus holds himself upright by the sheer power of his will alone. He’s running on fumes but wants to keep the extent of his injuries from everyone. Alexsandr is sure that the rebel crew—Garazeb, in particular—would pity him and waste the ship’s meager medical supplies on his wounds. He won’t allow that. He can’t.

And honorable mention, something that it's not a proper fic but it's related to my works...

Nimata Beroya's OCs Profiles

Tagging without pressure @renee561 @seleneisrising @takadasaiko @genericficerblog @airlockfailure @ahsoka-its-all-of-us @rachaelkelleher @probablynot-john @mistr3ssquickly @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @apocalyp-tech-a @kanerallels

Creator Self-Promotion

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics you posted. If you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

"But K, I don't write but I still create can I still play?"

Post your last 10 pieces and give us a play by play. What was the inspiration? Any fun facts you can share with us?

Anyway let's get on with it

1. Fishing for Compliments - Merman!Crosshair x F!Reader

A sigh passed the young woman’s lips as the sun began to disappear beneath the waves. The waves rocked her quaint vessel as if it were a mother soothing her child. Her meal as well as a plate of identical food remained untouched as she kept her gaze to the depths. Every ripple of its surface a reminder of the mounting minutes that her company kept her waiting.

2. Drop Me a Line - Wrecker x F!Reader

The young woman stifled a yawn as she continued to work the mass of dough to her standards to be plopped into pans to bake. She continued working the dough sparing glances to the chrono on the wall as the sky outside began to lighten with the sunrise. Her pulse spiked when the chrono was checked again. She abandoned the lump of dough as she snatched up a pastry box. The bell chiming as the door opened and closed.

3. Budding Romance - Rex x F!Reader

“And you’re sure you’ll have them there.”

“A bit of faith would be nice, Anakin.”

4. Skin in the Game - Wrecker x OC (Rina) (18+ Please view responsibly)

Wrecker was on the hunt. Thankfully the Marauder held only a few spaces to hide away as he searched the ship. His target tucked away by the sensors. Vibroblade twirling between his fingers while his idle gaze stared at the screen. The demolitions expert took a breath, hoping to find answers.

5. Hair Support - Tup x Reader

The days of the Clone Wars tended to drag on in between assignments. Thankfully, the Republic saw it fit to dispatch your research team with a clone legion escort to ensure the lush jungle planet would not eat you and your colleagues alive. It was in the sweltering heat of the afternoon that one of your study binges was interrupted. You shook your head knowing who dared tread into your tent.

6. Interrogations - Echo x F!Reader (18+ Please view responsibly)

The former arc trooper sighed. Another fruitless attempt at slipping free of his bonds. The chair he was bound to chilled any amount of exposed skin. The room kept dark to prevent him from gathering his bearings. He bided his time, waiting for the tell-tale clicking of his keeper. It was a whisper at first but grew louder as the automatic doors parted.

7. Personal Tastes - Hunter x F!Reader

Strands of meat sizzled and spat as she flipped the tangled mass. Her work distracting from the pair of eyes watching you from the doorway. Her culinary tasks from the staccato chops of a knife to peppers to the accented clink of a mortar and pestle offered a calming tune.

8. Just This Once, Everyone Lives - Rex x Reader

Your bottom lip remained captured between your teeth as the speeder came to a stop. The building looming over the city streets twinkled in the night. A beacon for personnel to gather while dressed to the nines. A hand curled around yours, smoothing over your knuckles.

9. Keep Away - UniversityAU Wrecker x Reader

You filed out with your fellow undergrads as your last class for the afternoon let out. the professor's voice offering mention of the end of the first sprint. You traversed amongst the student body's current before veering off to a corridor. The current loosening its grasp the closer you ventured toward the sanctuary of paper and ink.

10. Nothing Fight - Crosshair x F!Reader

It could be easy to say Clone Force 99 had a culture separate from the sea of clones. Clone medics would be reassigned in the blink of an eye and nat born medics often assigned whoever pissed off the higher ups. This led to your current long term assignment. Having a medic on board being the main reason one of your patients was released to his squad early pending observations.

NPT - @photogirl894 @rain-on-kamino @tecker @techs-stitches @littlemissmanga @annwayne @fakegingerrights @merkitty49 @moodymisty @starrylothcat

Wanna promote your work here too? Do it!

[heroineimages]

Warfare is about constantly adapting. Your enemy’s using a new shield type? Build a better weapon to get around it. They start using a new weapon? Design a new armor to protect from it. They start using light cavalry to harass your archers? Put your archers on horseback so they can stay away better. They start deploying a new warship type? Do whatever the fuck people do to improve their boats. Adapting to changing warfare may not always save ya, but failing to adapt leaves you fucking screwed.

Captain Vola

[wonderwheeljdblog]

One World, One People

ultima puntata ... 

Finalmente riusciamo a vedere cosa c’è nella scatola/regalo dal Wakanda, una super tuta per il nuovo Captain America. Sam vola a New York indossando un nuovo costume da Captain America e affronta i Flag-Smashers con l'aiuto di Bucky e Sharon Carter, che arriva all’improvviso. 

Sam combatte contro Georges Batroc (molto ricorda lo scontro con Steve sulla nave cargo del film “Capt and the winter soldier”) all’interno della sala per la votazione della GRC, che è stata evacuata.  i Flag-Smashers fuggono prendendo come ostaggi i membri del GRC, che sono stati portati in “sicurezza” all’interno di camionette della polizia. 

Bucky, Sam e John Walker, che arriva per vendicarsi su Karli combatte, ma allo stesso tempo si redime e mette da parte la vendetta, lottando contro i Flag-Smashers e salvando gli ostaggi. 

Karli fugge ma viene fermata da Sharon, che rivela di essere Power Broker (aaa sapevo mi sembrava troppo strano) e la accusa di averla tradita. Batroc minaccia di rivelare l'identità di Sharon e questi gli spara, mostrando il suo ruolo malvagio in tutta la faccenda. Sam cerca di parlare con Karli, ma Sharon la uccide per salvarlo, invece così facendo ha nascondo la sua reale identità.

 Bucky e Walker aiutano la polizia ad arrestare i Flag-Smashers. Sam si presenta in pubblico come nuovo Captain America e convince i funzionari del GRC a rimandare la votazione del Patch Act e ad aiutare le persone per le quali Karli ha combattuto. il discorso è molto interessante e rivoluzionario, finalmente si mette in evidenza che la vita della gente è nelle mani dei potenti che se volessero potrebbero aiutare chi è in difficoltà e limare il divario che continua ad esistere. 

in un attacco combinato, il maggiordomo di Zemo uccide i Flag-Smashers arrestati, fuggiti dalla battaglia, ma non è così ... una finta uccisione per essere utilizzati dal Barone che gode della notizia dalla sua cella nel Raft. La contessa de Fontaine consegna a Walker un nuovo costume e gli assegna il ruolo di U.S. Agent, ma non sa in che mani si sta mettendo l’ignaro Walker. 

Bucky confessa a Nakajima di avere ucciso suo figlio, riuscendo a terminare la sua missione di pentimento e saluta la sua psicologa. Sam va a trovare Isaiah Bradley, che ammette il suo coraggio nell’iniziare il suo ruolo di Capt America, e lo accompagna allo Smithsonian, dove è stata eretta una statua in suo onore.

In una scena dopo i titoli di coda, Sharon riceve la grazia dal governo e viene reintegrata nella CIA, riottenendo il suo ruolo con  l'accesso a armi sperimentali e segreti governativi, che subito dopo annuncia di voler utilizzare per i suoi nuovi amici criminali. 

Agente Carter will come back - JD

[passionpluto]

Fun Things About The Altador Cup That My Old RPers and I Established

(In other words, I’m feeling especially nostalgic about Altador Cup season as someone who did an absurdly long AC RP. So long, in fact, that I accept most of these things as 100% canon even now. Special shout-out to my old RP buddy @vola-volarevia for coming up with some of these ideas with me!)

Sabotage occasionally happens and is handled by an elite team of players. At first they were vigilantes, now they’re Committee-approved. Antola and Derlyn have both been leaders of this group.

Every player that’s had their gender messed up by TNT are canonically trans.

Antola is allergic to Chokatos.

Zax’s favorite ice cream flavor is cookie dough. He practically runs on the stuff.

Teams have reserve players who sub when the main ones are ill. Some attain quite a following, and eventually become full-time players.

Committing crimes as a full-time player opens you up to a range of punishments. Committing crimes as a reserve is cause for perma-banning.

The current holder of the “fastest to get a reserve perma-banned” record is Darigan Citadel, which they are not proud of. Basically, everyone in the DC team and fandom hates this guy’s guts.

Derlyn was a genetically enhanced child soldier for a shadowy organization on Kreludor. She eventually meets a genetically enhanced child soldier from Altador, who now works as a reserve. They butt heads more than you would think.

Tandrak is a playboy, but also the kind of playboy who has intense platonic connections with his female friends. Being friendzoned by Tandrak puts you in ride-or-die territory.

He’s also loaded. Layton, meanwhile, comes from a lower-class war family and lost his brother in the second battle against Meridell.

Elbin Towse has no inside voice.

The Ixi commentator probably likes his coworker, but he’s a widower who isn’t quite ready to open up about that yet.

Nobody is 100% straight, but Mirsha and Zax are reputed to be the gayest.

All the Team Darigan members like pastel-cute cartoons. It started as a joke and snowballed from there. Also, they’re the most likely team to be monsterfuckers.

The Squeaky who plays on Roo Island is the other guy’s son; he just retired and passed on his nickname.

Prytariel is a Tsundere.

Lyvon was bald for the Sixth Cup. He attempted to poison a team captain, and the guy’s girlfriend shot him with a blaster. It was an embarrassing time for him.

The Coliseum gets destroyed at least once a season; the real one’s been gone for years.

There’s basically no concept of team rivalries and a lot of players do Truth or Dare together before a big game.

Lor from Mystery Island is the real edgelord.

Layton almost never gets people’s names right. He also has an Iroh-level love of tea.

The Seventh Cup was an utter disaster, to the point where it was almost cancelled. In order to shake things up, a fourth Committee member was added, who made several immensely unpopular changes, from the Xana/Timu switch to advocating for a 16 team Cup. Were the 16 team Cup idea to go through, Roo Island, Darigan Citadel, and Faerieland would have been out of the game that year, with the sixteenth team being composed of players he’d hand-selected. He was fired soon after the mob of FL, DC, and RI fans came for him. (And this is to say nothing of his wild brainwashing schemes.)

For this very reason, fans are practically begging for a 20 team Cup, due to the “well actually” sorts always insisting that the Committee member’s team technically counted as one even though they never played. Saying “Starmoon was the nineteenth team” will get you kicked out of fan clubs and viewing venues.

Starmoon, just like the land it was meant to represent, never existed.

Many people thought the Seventh Cup would be the last after all the damage it did. Meanwhile, the Cup is still going to this day.

[zamboni-princess]

GRE Word Root Study

A – agnostic

An – Anonymous

Ab -  abdicate

Able – insatiable

Ible – Tangible

Ac – acidic

Acr – acrid

Act – actuate

Ag – antagonize

Acou – acoustics

Ad – advance

Al/Ali/Alter – alternate

Am – amorous

Ambi – ambiguous

Amphi – amphibious

Ambl/Ambul – ambulatory

Anim – animated

Annui – Annual

Enni – perennial

Ant/Ante – anterior

Anthro – anthropology

Andr – androgynous

Anti – antimatter

Apo – apogee

Aqua – aquatic

Arch/Archi/Archy – archetype

Ard – arduous

Auto – autonomous

Be – belittle

Bel/Bell – Belladonna

Bell – antebellum

Ben/Bene – benefit

Bi/Bin – bifocal

Bon/Boun – bountiful

Brev – abbreviate

Brid – abridge

Burs – reimburse

Cad – cadence

Cid – coincidence

Cant/Cent/Chant – cantor

Cap – capture

Cip – participate

Cept – intercept

Cap/Captit/Cipit – captain

Card/Cord/Cour – cardiac

Carn – carnivore

Cast – outcast

Chaste – chastise

Caus/Caut – cauterize

Ced/Ceed – intercede

Cess – abscess

Celer – accelerate

Cent – centennial

Centr – central

Cern/Cert -  discern

Cret/Crit - discriminate

Crim – criminal

Chrom – monochrome

Chron – chronological

Circu/Circum – circumvent

Cis – desist

Cla/Clo/Clu – close

Claim/Clam – clamor

Cli – incline

Co/Col/Com/Con – collective, comradery

Cogn/Conn – cognitive

Contra/Contro – contraceptive

Counter – Counterproductive

Corp/Cors – corporation

Cosm – cosmic

Cour – courier

Cur – recurrent

Cre/Cret/Cresc - crescendo

Cred – credible

Crypt – cryptic

Cub/cumb – succumb

Culp – culpable

Dac – didactic

Doc – doctrine

De – detach

Dele – delete

Dem – democracy

Dext – ambidextrous

Di – diary

Di/Dia – dialogue

Di/Dif/Dis -discontinue

Dic/Dict/Dit – diction

Dign – dignity

Dog/Dox – dogma

Dol – condolences

Don/Dot/Dow – endow

Dorm – dormant

Dors – dorsal

Dub – dubious

Duc/Duct – aqueduct

Dulc – dulce

Dur – durable

Dys -dysfunctional

E/Ex – extramarital

Ego – egotistic

Em/En – engage

Epi – epidural

Equ – equilateral

Err – erroneous

Esce – adolescence

Eu – eulogy

Extra – extraterrestrial

Fab/fam – fabricate

Fac/Fic/Fig/Fait/Feit/Fy – fiction, figure, counterfeit

Fal – fallacy

Fatu – infatuate

Fer – transfer

Ferv – fervent

Fi/Fid – fidelity

Fin – infinite

Flagr/Flam – flammable

Flect/Flex – deflect, reflex

Flu/Flux – Fluctuate, reflux

Fore – forbearance

Fort – unfortunate

Fort – fortitude

Fra/Frac – fracture

Frag/Fring – fragment

Fug – refugee

Fulg – interfulgent

Fum – fumes

Fus – refuse

Gen – genesis

Gni/Gno – agnostic

Grad/Gress – transgress

Gram/Graph – telegram, telegraph

Grat – gratitude

Greg – segregation

Hap – happenstance

Hemi – hemisphere

Her/Hes – Adhere, adhesive

Hetero – heteronormative

Hol – holistic

Hom – Homogenous

Hum – humanity

Hyper – hyperactive

Hypo – hypochondriac

Icon – iconic

Idio – idiosyncrasy

In/Im – impartial

In/Im – Impervious

Inter – interstellar

Intra – intrastate

It/Iter – itinerary

Ject – object

Joc – jockey

Join/Jug/Junct – conjugate, conjunction, conjoin

Jour – journal

Jur – jurisdiction

Juv -juvenile

Lang/Ling – lingual

Laud – applaud

Lav/Lau/Lu – launder

Lax/Lease/Les – loose

Lec – lecture

Leg/Lex – Lexicon

Lect/Leg – selection

Lev – levitate

Li/Lig – ligament

Liber – liberty

Lith – blithe

Loc/Log/Loqu – loquacious

Luc/Lum/Lus – illuminate

Lud/Lus – delude, illusion

Macro – macro-economics

Mag – magnificent

Maj – majestic

Max – maximum

Mal/Male – malevolent

Man/Manu – manipulate

Mand/Mend – commend, demand

Medi – medial

Mega – Megadome

Micro – microorganism

Min – miniscule

Mis – mishap

Mise – compromise

Mob/Mom/Mot/Mov – motor, movement

Moll – emollient

Mon/mono – monorail

Mon/Monit – monitor

Mor/Mort – mortician

Morph – amorphic

Mult – multitude

Mut – mutation

Nat/Nas/Nai/Gna – cognate

Nau/Nav – nautical

Nihil – annihilate

Noc/Nox – noxious

Noct/Nox – nocturnal

Nom – economy

Nom/Nym/Noun/Nown – renown, nominate

Non – nondescript

Nounc/Nunc – annunciate, pronounce

Nov/Neo/Nou – novitiate

Null – annul

Ob – obstain

Omni – omnipotent

Oner – exonerate

Oss/Oste – ossicles

Pac/Peac – peaceful

Palp – palpable

Pan/Pant – expandable

Par – partake

Para – paradigm

Pas/Pat/Path – pathology

Pau/Po/Pov/Pu – impoverish, pauper

Pec – pecuniary

Ped – pediatrics

Ped/Pod – podiatrist

Pel – propel

Pen/Pun – compensate

Pen/Pene – penultimate

Pend/pens – compensate

Per – per chance

Peri – pericardium

Pet/Pit – competition

Phil – philanthropy

Phob – phobia

Phon – phonetics

Photo – photosynthesis

Plac – placate, complacent

Ple/Plen – plentiful

Plex/Plic/Ply – complex

Poly – polyhedron

Pon/Pos/Pound – position

Port – portage

Post – posterior

Pot – potion

Pre – prefrontal

Prehend/Prise – apprehend

Pri/Prim – primordial

Pro – proficient

Prob – probe

Prod/Prox – approximate

Pro/Proto – prototype

Psud/Pseudo – pseudonym

Pug – repugnant

Punc/Pung/Poign – punctuate, poignant

Pyr – pyrotechnics

Quad/Quar/Quat – quarter

Que/Quis – quest

Quie/Quit – quiet

Quin/Quint – quintuplets

Raci/Radi – radiate

Rami – ramification

Re – repeat

Rect – erect

Reg – regal

Retro -retrograde

Rid/Ris – ridicule

Rog – interrogate

Rub/Rud – ruddy

Rud – rude

Sacri/Sanct – sanctify

Sag/Sap/Sav – sage

Sal/Sil/Sault/sult – somersault

Sal – salt

Salu – salutations

Salv – salvage

San – sanitary

Sang – sanguine

Sat – insatiable

Sci – omniscience

Scribe/Script – scripture

Se – separate

Sec/Seq/Sue/Sui – sequential

Sed/Sess/Sid – possess

Sem – seminary

Semi – semicircle

Sen – senior

Sens/Sent – sentient

Sin/Sinu -sinusoidal

Sol – solitude

Sol – solace

Sol – solstice

Somn – insomnia

Soph – sophisticated

Sourc/Surg/Surrect – resurrect

Spec/Spic – speculate

Spir – respiration

Sta/Sti – stationary

Strict/String/Strang – stringent, strangle

Sua – suave

Sub/Sup – subliminal

Summ – summit

Super/Sur – surpass

Sym/syn – sync

Tac/Tic – tactical

Tact/Tag/Tam/Tang – tactile, tangible

Tain/Ten/Tent/Tin – maintain, tenant

Tend/Tens/Tent/Tenu – distend, tense

Test – tesify

Theo – theologian

Therm – thermometer

Tim – intimidate

Tor/Torq/Tort – contort

Torp – torpedo

Tox – toxin

Tract – tractor

Trans – transatlantic

Ult – ultimate

Umbr – umbrion

Un – unavailable

Und – undertow

Uni/Un – universal

Urb – urban

Us/Ut – utilize

Vail/Val – valiant

Ven/Vent – venture

Ver – verity

Verb – verbiage

Verd – verdigris

Vers/Vert – convert

Vi – viable

Vid/Vis – visualize

Vil – anvil

Vira – viral

Voc/Vok – vocation

Vol – volunteer

Vola/Volv – revolve

Vor - carnivorous

[ichaserabbits]

Our current d&d party is so much fun.

We have

Bharash Vangdondalor: A Dagonborn Eldritch Knight with a Pirate background who's looking for his missing girlfriend who may or may not have joined an evil cult. He can't remember what happened the day she went missing and doesn't know why. He's an old man and all he wants is to find her and get his own pirate ship to captain.

Vola of the Barefoot Tribe: A Half Orc Zealot Barbarian who never wears shoes, was born in a different plane, and has an Urban Bounty Hunter background with a boss who is a tiny gnome named Bilf Boondiggle. She has no idea who her actual parents are but was raised by a nomadic orc tribe before moving to Neverwinter.

Bash: A Dwarf Forge Cleric with a guild merchant background who sells survivalist shovels, uses a transforming shovel as a weapon, and who's family run store/forge was destroy by basically evil snow white who tricked him and his six brothers. We found him in a cage being held prisoner by goblins because he was trying out his new shovel model in a dungeon alone and got his ass kicked.

Jasper McCarriger: A halfling Inquisitive Rogue with a charltan background, a gambling problem, and low int AND wisdom. He has never successful used his archetype skills but he has successfully cheated at every dice game we've played. He also spends half his time sneak attacking from under Bharash's legs.

Aramil of House Othronus: A wood elf ranger with the Noble background, two retainers named pinkus and brainiacus, and a squire who isn't allowed to have a name till he does something useful. This player also wrote five pages of information solely on his families background and secret smuggling opperations.

Aife: And me a human Shepard Druid with the outlander background who was raised by talking wolves after being abandoned in the woods. An evil ranger killed all my animal and druid friends on the island I'm from so my characters main goal is to find him, turn into a big wolf, and eat his face off. Ive been pestering Vola about how to track people down. I hate to sleep indoors, hoard bread rolls to feed to birds and mice, and I frequently scare the shit out of our Rogue by turning into a giant spider and lurking on the ceiling.

[memetrash-coyote]

@whats-ursine and @beingatoaster wanted to see more of Vaska's last captain, Vola the Mako Hunter. So here they are together. Vaska is missing some tats because she doesn't have them at this point.

[cityandking]

hang time

The mission is a blue-eyed man dressed in gold, and the Asset cannot understand why he knows him. [enikö & sorrel, ensemble. 3k. avengers au.]

a winter soldier au based on the prompt a relieved hug from @darlingicarus who also drew this inspirational art and also to whom sabine incidentally belongs. sorrel belongs to @clericofchaos; vola belongs to @noswearwolves and nenny belongs to @heeyrebecca.

hang time (n). –– the period of time a self-launched object stays in the air before it begins to fall

.

For a moment he is weightless, and then his body remembers to roll and the world spins for a moment and he lands upright, hand braced against the asphalt, staring up at the Target who look down at him and says,

“Nikö?”

It echoes in the space between him, just enough to catch him off guard, just enough that he stops to take stock of the target. He rises slowly, staring at the mark, who stares back at him with mouth slightly open and hair in disarray, red welt across one cheek, and his eyes open wide and––

Blue eyes staring, horrified, and the sensation of plummeting, and––

“Who the fuck is that?” he asks, words too loud in contrast to the ringing silence inside his head. The target stares back at him, wordless.

It takes him a moment too long to process the snapshot of–– of what he does not know (memory) and so it takes him a moment too long to raise his firearm again, and in that moment of confusion one of the Target’s associates skids into the fray. She ducks his wild shot and slips beneath his guard, laying into him with a series of lightning-quick blows that jolt him out of any shredding uncertainty and back to the mission at hand.

Later, though, later, while they work on the dented plating of his arm, he stares up at The Man In The Suit and tastes the edge of understanding like blood in his mouth.

“The man on the bridge,” he says slowly. “I knew him.”

The Man In The Suit sits in front of him, mouth a firm line, and holds him by the chin to stare him in the eye. Whatever he is looking for he must find it, because he sighs and releases his face.

“Wipe him,” he orders, rubbing his hand against his jacket as though he has dirtied it. “Start again.”

The last thing the Asset sees as the helmet lowers and the blinding blue static of the wipe slices through his mind is The Man In The Suit closing the heavy metal door behind him as he leaves. Then there is electricity, and burning blue, and nothing.

.

According to the mission briefing the Target is a captain, decorated war hero and spec ops team leader gone rogue from a classified government agency. The mission is find-and-neutralize, with extreme prejudice. Known associates include a defector KGB agent known for a mutative anger management problem, a fence working in the private sector and an assassin with multiple kills to her name and no confirmed prior allegiances but multiple rumors. A standard DNC mission.  

Except he keeps returning to the Target. The image in the brief is a postage square of a photograph, the Target staring at something to the side, and though the image is black and white he cannot shake the certainty that, were it in color, the Target’s eyes would be blue.

“You ready for this?” asks Strike One, who is also designated Field Handler. The Asset nods once, silent. He is always ready. It is what he is designed for.

Strike One shakes his head and laughs. The Asset watches impassively, and restrains himself from flinching when Strike One claps a hand on his flesh and blood shoulder. The blades of the chopper whir above them as they approach the dropsite.

“Anworth’s not gonna know what hit him.”

Anworth, who is––

The man on the bridge, I––

Who is––

Blue eyes and the sensation of falling––

Who is––

“Targets at three o’clock,” calls the pilot over the headset, and the Asset pulls up the mask.

Acquired.

“Ready for drop,” he orders the team, and checks the knife in his belt and the other one in his boot and accepts the chute Strike One passes him without another word.

Far below them three figures race for the relative shelter of a half-finished building at the construction site where they have gone to ground. The Target is a spot of gold bracketed by green and red. He shrugs on the chute.

“Go,” he orders, and falls like a stone from the sky, and the Strike team follows him down.

.

It is not the clean fight he would like. Strike gets tangled with the associates, and the Asset is left to pursue the Target to the penultimate floor alone. That is not the trouble; the trouble is that the Target keeps speaking to him as though attempting to reason with an entity, and the Asset does not understand why.

So he retreats to what he knows best, and decides that permanently silencing the Target will also end the inane questioning.

This proves easier said than done.

He feels the pop in his knuckles as he catches the lip of the shield instead of the target’s face. Dislocated: second and third proximal phalanx, lunate. Nonoptimal for attack. He switches to the other arm instead. Servos whir in the elbow joint––misaligned; he feels the grating like an itch at the back of his skull––but not enough to impair movement. The target’s head snaps around at the force of the blow.

The Asset pulls the arm back to strike again, but something stills him, something he cannot put a name to. Even as the hand clenches and unclenches in the air––the metal one; the other falls limply at his side, fingers half curled, a throbbing pain welling around his hand––he is unable to strike again until the target’s head turns back in his direction.

“Nikö,” the target says. It is the same word he used previously. The Asset does not understand why the target uses it. It denotes no one. “It’s me.”

“I do not know you,” he replies. This is forbidden––he is not to speak with the target; the order was made exceedingly clear during the initial briefing––but something deeper than the orders insist he speak.

He does not understand that either. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and he wishes it would not. The fight would go more easily without it, and the without needless hesitation, and without the way the target stares at him as though the Asset is responding incorrectly to his actions.

The Asset has a singular action to take, and that is to neutralize the Target. The rest means nothing.

The Target stares again now, shield angled poorly to deflect, and he clenches his (broken; the pain centers him again) hand and drives him back, a one-two-one punch as he slips through the fallen defense. The target skids back beneath the force of the augmented blow; the servos in his elbow grind again, set his teeth on edge.

He raises the shield before the asset delivers the final blow, and the impact jars through to his shoulder, and he crouches, panting, and resists the urge to shake out his arm. He misses the familiarity of a knife in his palm, but he lost his over the side of the scaffolding in the opening salvo of this fight. That was many long minutes ago now; it has dragged on longer than intended.

They will be displeased when they learn it has taken him so long to dispatch the target.

As the thought comes to him, and with it a wave of fear that almost washes away the confusion, the structure shakes around them. Each of them loses their footing; the target stumbles backwards as he ducks to the left, narrowly avoiding a metal beam that topples from above. The floor beneath cracks, a deafening boom as the concrete fractures. He launches himself forward as the ground underfoot vanishes, taking a portion of the building down with it in a cloud of dirt and dust.

The Target struggles upright among the dust and dirt. Below there is the sound of crashing, and the whole of the building shakes.

“Nikö,” he says, panting. There is blood across his uniform, and blood at the corner of his mouth, and blood on the ground beneath them. “You know me.”

“I do not.” He pushes himself forward and strikes out at the Target, who is slow to block; the Asset’s fist connects soundly with the Target’s jaw and his head snaps back. His blue eyes land on him again.

“You do,” he insists, and the Asset strikes him again. He takes the blow, and the Asset falls back, panting. The Target––Anworth––stares at him. Blue eyes. Falling.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Anworth says, and his shield falls from his grip, disappears between the cracks in the concrete into the dust and rubble below. “You’re my friend.”

The Asset stares at him a moment longer, something unfamiliar welling in his chest, tight and hot and angry, and he pushes himself forward with a wordless shout. Anworth folds beneath him, falls prone half hanging over the endless drop between them and the river that runs alongside the construction site. He strikes again, and again, and––

Anworth stares up at him, one eye swollen shut. The Asset hesitates.

“Go on,” Anworth says. “Finish it. I’m not going to fight you, Enikö.”

He pulls his hand back further, broken fingers of his hand curled into the uniform Anworth wears, sun splashed across his chest, and he cannot–– he cannot––

The building rumbles again, and another steel beam crashes down next to them, and the floor cracks, and he just manages to grab hold of a strut as the whole thing tips riverwards, and Anworth slides from beneath him and falls.

He holds a heartbeat–– two––

Blue eyes, horrified, and the sensation of––

And plummets after him.

.

The red one tracks him down him.

Amaretti, Sabine; previous work for the Russians, Americans, Chinese, and at least half a dozen other organizations. Current affiliations: unknown. Known associate of Anworth, Sorrel. The Target.

And there she is, sitting in his kitchen, legs kicked up on the table. His wrist is still splinted, though mostly healed. The arm grates with every motion; it is getting worse and he does not know what to do about it. He thinks of the half dozen firearms hidden around the barebones apartment and the sack stuffed behind the fridge for moments such as these when he needs to leave without warning.

“It’s alright,” she tells him as he freezes in the door. “I’m not here to fight.”

He does not move. “What are you here for?”

“We talked,” she says. “The doc figures she can help you out. And Anworth won’t say it but he’s obviously worried about you. Been stressing for weeks. Nenny hasn’t said anything about it yet, but she’s pretty social. She’ll come around. I’m the welcoming committee.”

He hesitates. “I don’t understand.”

She stands, and he shifts back into a defensive crouch. She waves him away and taps twice on a piece of paper folded up on the table.

“Whenever you’re ready, we can help you out.”

“I do not need help.”

“Yeah,” she snorts. “That’s what I said too.”

She brushes past him on the way out, and he gives her as wide a berth as he can but she makes no move towards him. Still, it takes him a long minute to enter the apartment after that, and he spends three hours meticulously going over each and every failsafe he has implemented to find out how she got in. He spends the night staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the sound of his alarms to activate.

Three days pass like this, he holed up waiting for the slightest hint that someone has come for him, before he believes her. Whenever you’re ready.

He is unsure what to do with that. He resolves to do nothing at all.

.

His hand heals, and his mind gets… clearer is not the word for it. Holding onto anything is like trying to capture smoke, but the images that drift past become more solid. He remembers places and people he cannot name, only knows they are memories from previous jobs worked. He remembers The Man In The Suit, and the conditioning. He remembers Anworth.

The curiosity wins out, eventually. And he is tired of stealing everything from the shadows, of living like a rat in a hole. He unfolds Amaretti’s scrap of paper. He finds the address.

Darkmaw answers the door. One lens of her glasses is matte black; she peers out at him from the other. She is not nearly as green now as he recalls. He does not trust that one bit.

“Great,” she says, voice utterly devoid of inflection. “He’ll be pleased.”

He takes a breath. It takes him two tries to get the words out. “She said you could… help.”

Her expression flickers for a fraction of a second. She opens the door wider. “You coming in or what?”

He hesitates, but his decision was made up when he knocked. He crosses the threshold.

She closes the door behind him but does not bolt it, and that is more of a comfort than he cares to admit.

.

She pokes and prods him over, muttering all the while, and in the end informs him she can’t make any promises but she’ll do what she can. He accepts it with a nod. It is... well, it is more than he thought to find, and certainly more than he thought to find here. It is not all that long ago that he was meant to kill them.

Darkmaw leaves him alone in the lab shortly after without another word, and he lingers as long as he can stand among the needles and equipment before the walls become too high and the ceiling too heavy and he must leave.

He walks nearly directly into the Target. Anworth.

Sorrel.

That much he has remembered these past weeks. The name echoes through his memories. It means something important, he knows, but that understanding slips away each time he grabs for it until he is so desperate for any sort of clarity he could shout. It still evades him.

Anworth freezes in the middle of the hallway like a struck animal, eyes wide. Even shocked still like this, he looms, too big for his own frame. For a moment, neither speaks.

“Enikö,” he says finally, voice a little strangled. The name still does not mean… Well, whatever it is supposed to mean. But he recalls it, which is more than he could say two months ago. It will have to be enough for now. “What are–– Why are you––”

“I was invited,” he says.

“Invited?” he echoes. And then, a moment later, he sighs, fingers pressed against his forehead. “Sabine.”

“If it is a problem––” He has only the barest understanding of what he has done, a glimmer of remembrance following years of blankness, but from what he can piece together... Well, he would not be surprised if Anworth–– Sorrel did not wish to see him around. He is surprised any of them would willingly have him here, after all he has done.

“No! No, it’s no problem.” Anworth shifts back a little, as though he realizes he is standing over him. He takes a breath. “Do you, um. Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.” Anworth is still staring down at him, though, his eyes a little too wide, a little too hopeful, so he swallows again and adds, “You are Sorrel.”

“Do you know who I am... to you?”

“You knew me before. You were my... friend.” Friend is inadequate, he thinks, but the memories he manages to catch leave him with only the imprints of things that may-have-been, and he still as trouble separating the fact from the conditioning, the truth from the falsehood. There is the sense of soft eyes, and warm hands, and a protection that is so alien it nearly turns his stomach. He wets his lips. “You helped me.”

“We helped each other,” Sorrel corrects too quickly, voice a little too thick. Emotional, a part of him denotes, close to tears. Open to manipulation. It would only take a little pressure to––

He silences that voice as best he can. Darkmaw tells him it will get better, that the memories will sort themselves out with time.

He would like to believe she is correct.

“Yes,” he agrees, because he cannot think to say anything else, and because he wishes it to be true.

“I–– I’d like to help you now. If that’s alright.”

It takes him a moment to find his voice. “It is.”

“Good,” Anworth says. “Good, that’s. Good.”

Anworth steps forward suddenly, and he tenses, hand falling to the knife at his belt, but the larger man only wraps his arms around his shoulders, and it takes him a moment to realize that this is a hug.

Still. His heart beats adrenaline-quick in his chest and it takes him some time to relax into it.

“Sorry,” Anworth says, voice thick and damp again, and something unpleasant twists in his gut. “I never should have left you there.”

He cannot recall where there is, but in the moment that does not seem to matter. He brings one hesitant hand up to pat Anworth’s back.

“It’s alright,” he replies, uncertain. “I am here now.”

That seems to be the right thing to say; Anworth takes in a shuddering breath and steps back. There are tears down his cheeks. The twisting in his gut redoubles.

“If there’s anything you need–– Er, money, or… or weapons, or��–”

“A glass of water would be nice,” he says, and Anworth nods so quickly he must get dizzy. Something else settles in his gut at that, not the twisting. Something softer. He does not know the name for this feeling either.

“Water, yeah. Okay. Um, kitchen is this way. And obviously you’ve seen the lab already…”

Anworth leads him on a haphazard tour of the building, and slowly but surely he begins to believe it when they say they want to help.

.

“Well of course he’s staying,” Nenny says when the others have returned. Amaretti toasts him briefly with her glass of water. Darkmaw folds her arm. “Was that even a question? We’re not just going to leave him out in the cold.”

“It’s summer,” Amaretti injects unhelpfully.

“Shouldn’t we ask him?” Darkmaw asks, jerking her chin in his direction. Anworth turns to him, with his––

wide blue eyes––

expression hopeful and asks: “Are you–– Do you want to stay?”

And the Asset–– Enikö says, “Yes.”

[caranelguild]

Our adventurers arrive at the abandoned mining site and observe the snow-covered scene. Tools, carts, and rubble lie about, dusted with white, and the cliff face ahead is scarred by few days' work. The deepest scar is a cleft into the rock; evidently, where the miners uncovered the hidden dungeon of the dragon. One by one, our adventurers and their lackeys squeeze through.

Inside, it is hot, and the passage (wide enough for two abreast) is lit by a sourceless flame. With Quagoon listening at every corner and followed close by Vola, ready to leap in the way of danger, the gang advances slowly.

Soon, the sound of a roaring furnace reaches Quagoon's tuned ears, and the flickering light grows stronger. The wood elf peers around a corner and spots the tail of a moderately sized dragon whip around a far bend - followed by a bat-like fiend made entirely of hot white fire and dripping magma. This latter monster seems to be producing the roar of hot fire heard by the whole party.

Our adventurers give it a moment and then follow, but when Quagoon approaches the far bend and pokes his head around it, he gets a face full of dragon breath. They had been heard in the corridor, and the mephit and wyrmling had readied an ambush.

With no immediate alternate recourse, the eight interlopers respond with blade, arrow, and spell. The mephit quickly retreats, leaving the dragon alone to bite at its attackers, its thick scales repelling half of the arrows and blades that come at it. But soon enough, it begins to feel threatened under the onslaught and retreats also.

Our adventures elect not to press their advantage, fearing another ambush of firebreath, and turn to investigate a fork they had passed in this corridor while creeping after the monsters.

The sound of a furnace pursues them.

They creep slowly down passage after passage until they arrive at a stone door. This is unlocked by Quagoon and his tools, and Krieg advances first into the round, empty chamber beyond.

The floor tile under his feet compresses, and a burst of electricity erupts around him and those near him.

The round room features a collection of doors and arches leading elsewhere in the dungeon. Through one arch is heard a patrol of some sort of soldiers speaking draconic; this arch is avoided.

Another arch leads to an empty corridor.

Two doors are found to be stuck; even after Quagoon picks the locks, they are fixed in their jambs. The iron one is left alone; Vola begins throwing herself against the one made of stone, and it begins to crack.

But the noise of this alerts the patrol! Half a dozen fire newts come running into the room, spitting fire and swinging scimitars. And as they do, the wyrmling and mephit see an opportunity to get some revenge, and rush in!

Battle is met, and our heroes are holding their own - but then the half-broken door behind them bursts open and a hail of stones shoots through from slings held in the hands of a dozen kobolds populating the room beyond!

But slowly and surely, the eight stalwart dungeon delvers thin the ranks of the three enemy parties. Damaia and Quagoon wreak havoc on the kobolds with a one-two punch of a fear spell and a sweeping area-of-effect clerical spell. Soon, only the hardy kobold captain remains in that room.

In the round room, Krieg lands the final blow on the dragon, chopping its head off with his axe, while the others take out the newts and the mephit - which bursts into magma on the point of death, scattering burning chunks of itself at Vola and those near.

When Krieg shows the kobold captain the head of the wyrmling and Quagoon kills the last of its underlings, it elects to surrender, and is promptly bound up.

Tired and wounded, the gang holes up in the room to rest.

[odinspattern]

DnD shenanigans. Depending on how much I get done, these are the scenes, characters I want to draw. Mama Rook, a badass orc bandit queen, Freedom, our tiefling ranger as her alias, half-orc Volva, Captain Scarlet (adoptive daughter of Mama Rook, our captain) gushing over «Vola», the Real Iron Maiden (a character in history in the universe), and Asili (my dwarf disaster cleric) in disguise as The Iron Maiden.

[heroineimages]

Battle is a rush, don’t get me wrong. But foremost protecting people should always be the most important reason to go to war. I don’t trust anyone who cites any other reason above it. I don’t trust kings and soldiers who prioritize wealth or their gods or honor or the glory of battle as their main reason for fighting. I fight battles and lead soldiers because I am *really* fucking good at it, and I serve a great queen who I know prioritizes the safety and prosperity of her people above all else.

Captain Vola

Author’s note: Vola is a brute and a savage who’s not afraid to fight nasty, cold-stab a bastard, or torture an enemy spy. But at the same time, I want her to be smart and even philosophical in her own way. While at first she might come across as some barbarian horsewoman who screams a lot and kills people, I want readers to view her as a deeper character as the story progresses. Hopefully these kinds of discussions help with that.

[doppisensi]

- Quando farai sesso con una donna, sii gentile e ascoltala. Trattala con rispetto e dignità anche se tu non la ami. - Lo so. - Dì sempre la verità, da' sempre l'esempio. - Lo so. - Vivi ogni giorno come se fosse l'ultimo: goditela. Sii avventuroso e coraggioso ma gusta tutto: il tempo vola. - Lo so. - Non morire. - Non voglio.

Captain Fantastic

[cosmic-gemstone]

“Razok...” Qessyn murmured, watching him walk off. Her brow furrowed in concern, but she had four startled children to deal with at the moment.

They all clambered on to the bed, their eyes filled with worry. “Mama, what’s wrong with Papa?” asked Vola, squinting a bit without her glasses, “he seemed sad...”

Scooping her children close, she gave them a hug. “Papa had a very bad nightmare, sweetie.”

“What was it about?” asked Soyai.

“I don’t know.”

“He said he had bad dreams before. Was it like that?” piped up Neyzi.

Sighing softly, she gave their kits another hug. “I’m not sure, but it will be okay. Mama and Papa will talk about it soon and we’ll figure it out together.”

Dhestoi looked up. “Can we help?”

The Ieuzunoan smiled softly. The children were always so eager to help, and were sensitive to any suffering, whether it be amongst themselves or their other extended family. She didn’t want to burden their children with such problems, but she also wanted them to feel included in family discussions. Humming in thought, she smiled.

“You know what? I think your Papa could use someone to keep the mean old nightmares away. Do any of you happen to know anyone good at chasing away dream monsters?”

Vola piped up almost immediately. “I’ll go get Mr Floof!” And took off towards their room.

“Captain Rocket is brave, I’ll get her too!”

Soon all four kits had scurried off to their room to gather up stuffed toys, leaving Qessyn momentarily alone. She got up and walked to the bathroom.

“Razok...?”

cosmic-gemstone‌:

Qessyn had awoken to her husband groaning and thrashing in his sleep. He’d had nightmares before, but this seemed like something else entirely. It had taken several tries and Qessyn nearly screaming her head off for him to finally jolt awake, his eyes frantic.

“V-Vola’s in her room, Razok, all the kids are, asleep.” His grip was tight, but she ignored it and put her hand on his cheek. “Babe, what happened? You were practically screaming in your sleep!”

The door to their room creaked open and Dhestoi’s head could be seen. “Mama? Papa? Wh-What happened? We heard you screaming and got scared…”

Qessyn looked back at Razok, then to Dhestoi. “Papa had a nightmare, sweetie, it’s okay.” She turned back to her husband. “Razok, what happened? What did you see?”

Only just now was his heart rate slowly starting to slow down as it sunk in that the vision was only a dream. Oh, he hoped it was only a dream and not a premonition. His grip on Qessyn’s arm loosens and he takes a deep, slow breath. His good eye flicks over to his concerned son, and then to Qessyn again. 

“…I.. It’s hard to explain.” He mutters, reaching down and squeezing Qessyn’s hand, lowering his voice so that only she would hear. “I don’t want to scare the kits anymore than I already have…”

As though they were summoned by even his muttering, three more heads peeked in, wary and curious and somewhat sleepy in the early hours of the morning. At this moment, Razok swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pats the empty space. 

“Come lay with your mother, kids.” He asks shortly before slowly (reluctantly) getting up. “I’m going to take a quick shower, Qessyn, I’ll be back soon…”

[universalmovies]

Box Office Italia - Oltre 3,5 milioni in quattro giorni per Captain Marvel

Box Office Italia – Oltre 3,5 milioni in quattro giorni per Captain Marvel

La corsa di Captain Marvel verso la vittoria del Box Office Italia continua a dare nuovi frutti, e con sabato l’incasso vola sopra i 3,5 milioni.

Nella giornata di ieri, sabato 9 marzo, Captain Marvel ha incassato altri 1,46 milioni di euro, con una media per sala da oltre 2 mila euro. Complessivamente il film con Brie Larsonha raccolto 3,54 milioni di euro in 4 giorni, ed entro domenica sera…