#Cowardly Dogs Flee For Their Lives

[erikafauel]

go besties go

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Loss, Betrayal - Curufin & Celebrimbor

Oh, this one has the worst reply...by far :(

Brace yourselves for sadness and hurt!

To my son (if he still acknowledges our kinship, deliver it into his own hands, otherwise, burn this letter)

Dear Tyelpë,

Your uncle sends his fond regards. We’re about to leave this accursed city like rabid dogs, chased away by a flurry of stones and angry words—I thought this admission might cheer you for it strongly resembles the cruel fate you’ve prophesied for us upon your own disgruntled departure.

I know not whether this missive shall ever reach you, and a part of me wishes it never will for I am as ashamed of my reluctance to admit fault as of my inexcusable misdeeds—maybe you were always right, and we’re just too far gone for redemption.

My heart misgives me, though, and I want to have admitted (even in so cowardly a fashion as to write a letter addressed to a ghost) at least once that I know that we were wrong to betray Findaráto, who’d ever been a precious friend and stolid ally to us.

In the end, his loyalty will kill him twice over, and even the best of us shall not outrun the Doom of our people. I truly am sorry about that, as I know how fond you are of the silly creature.

No doubt, we shall soon drown in blood, and you may freely join countless others in hoping that it will be our own—I do not resent you anymore for having tried to leave a crooked path leading only to death and devastation before it was too late.

Thus, I beg you to do just that. Live, son of mine, survive and prove me wrong in my defeatist belief that all is irrevocably lost!

Surpass me by bearing the loss of a beloved father—however flawed and insane as he might have been—with equanimity and unwavering courage rather than maddening grief and poisonous hatred. Instead, find your mother’s people or throw yourself at the mercy of a distant relative, yet untouched and unmarred by the voracious curse grinding those closest to you to meal.

May I be the only one of my generation to see my child flee from me in desperate pursuit of a brighter future! May you find shelter and support in the bosom of another colony.

Your uncle’s ready to leave—I shan’t take the writing set your mother made for me, so I’ll entrust it, together with this letter—and what little remains of my heart—to the safekeeping of one of the few friends that remain to us.

Don’t weep for me, Tyelpë! We’ve both made our choices and the bones are cast; may your destiny be more clement than mine. Stay as vigilant and incorruptible as you’ve been in leaving us! The worst is yet to come, I fear!

In time, you might even come to remember that, once upon a time, you’ve loved me well and admired me truly.

Enclosed in this letter, you’ll find the pendant you’ve crafted for me. I no longer deserve to bear the mark of your filial affection where I’m headed.

I’m stripped to the bleakest, barest form of my former self, and I’m glad you’re no longer here to witness my humbling fall from grace.

Farewell, beloved son of mine, until we meet again,

Your desolate father

Link on Ao3

[pooma-bible]

Morning

Then all the disciples forsook him and fled. — Matthew 26:56

He never deserted them, but they in cowardly fear of their lives, fled from him in the very beginning of his sufferings. This is but one instructive instance of the frailty of all believers if left to themselves; they are but sheep at the best, and they flee when the wolf cometh. They had all been warned of the danger, and had promised to die rather than leave their Master; and yet they were seized with sudden panic, and took to their heels. It may be, that I, at the opening of this day, have braced up my mind to bear a trial for the Lord’s sake, and I imagine myself to be certain to exhibit perfect fidelity; but let me be very jealous of myself, lest having the same evil heart of unbelief, I should depart from my Lord as the apostles did. It is one thing to promise, and quite another to perform. It would have been to their eternal honour to have stood at Jesus’ side right manfully; they fled from honour; may I be kept from imitating them! Where else could they have been so safe as near their Master, who could presently call for twelve legions of angels? They fled from their true safety. O God, let me not play the fool also. Divine grace can make the coward brave. The smoking flax can flame forth like fire on the altar when the Lord wills it. These very apostles who were timid as hares, grew to be bold as lions after the Spirit had descended upon them, and even so the Holy Spirit can make my recreant spirit brave to confess my Lord and witness for his truth.

What anguish must have filled the Saviour as he saw his friends so faithless! This was one bitter ingredient in his cup; but that cup is drained dry; let me not put another drop in it. If I forsake my Lord, I shall crucify him afresh, and put him to an open shame. Keep me, O blessed Spirit, from an end so shameful.

Evening

And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table. — Matthew 15:27

This woman gained comfort in her misery by thinking great thoughts of Christ. The Master had talked about the children’s bread: “Now,” argued she, “since thou art the Master of the table of grace, I know that thou art a generous housekeeper, and there is sure to be abundance of bread on thy table; there will be such an abundance for the children that there will be crumbs to throw on the floor for the dogs, and the children will fare none the worse because the dogs are fed.” She thought him one who kept so good a table that all that she needed would only be a crumb in comparison; yet remember, what she wanted was to have the devil cast out of her daughter. It was a very great thing to her, but she had such a high esteem of Christ, that she said, “It is nothing to him, it is but a crumb for Christ to give.” This is the royal road to comfort. Great thoughts of your sin alone will drive you to despair; but great thoughts of Christ will pilot you into the haven of peace. “My sins are many, but oh! it is nothing to Jesus to take them all away. The weight of my guilt presses me down as a giant’s foot would crush a worm, but it is no more than a grain of dust to him, because he has already borne its curse in his own body on the tree. It will be but a small thing for him to give me full remission, although it will be an infinite blessing for me to receive it.” The woman opens her soul’s mouth very wide, expecting great things of Jesus, and he fills it with his love. Dear reader, do the same. She confessed what Christ laid at her door, but she laid fast hold upon him, and drew arguments even out of his hard words; she believed great things of him, and she thus overcame him. She won the victory by believing in Him. Her case is an instance of prevailing faith; and if we would conquer like her, we must imitate her tactics.

[bogleech]

Maybe this has been said a lot already but neither republicans nor democrats have done much of anything for most of my entire lifetime to help the poverty, decaying infrastructure, meager health care and failing education in southern and midwestern states but between the two of them the republicans keep securing votes from those areas by catering their flippant lies and false promises directly to those demographics. Nobody is going to defeat the right wing without beating them at that game and to beat them at that game they also have to actually make good on those promises and actually help the people whose living situations look like this:

Courage the Cowardly Dog didn’t make this shit up, WE used to live in what was practically this picture. The only civilization for an hour in any direction had mcdonalds, gas stations, dollar general and an extremely small, extremely pricey grocery store and those were your food choices unless you had a reliable car. Big corporations owned the miles and miles of farmland in all directions, dousing them with pesticides the entire town could smell all day. Inches of dust would cake to everything. Nobody had jobs unless they could afford the hour commute and even then what qualified as “the city” was more like a city’s walking corpse, businesses boarding up and fleeing to the coasts if their land wasn’t just bought up and leveled for more corn production.

There are millions of people stuck living this way and nobody is fucking doing anything about it. Even on this website I see people just laugh about it and dismiss everyone out there as a bunch of white racists, as if their living conditions probably aren’t part of why some of them are so angry and ignorant and willing to vote a complete monster into the white house if he feeds them enough bullshit, as if there aren’t also lots of sweet and well meaning people stuck out there starving, as if there aren’t lots of marginalized people out there who have no support network or transportation or escape route, as if even the racists don’t have little innocent children who don’t know better and need a fucking chance to go to school and eat something other than pepsi and hot dogs if they’re ever going to break the cycle of hate they didn’t ask to be born into.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

NAME: Zlydzen

RARITY: ★★☆☆☆

THREAT LEVEL: ★★☆☆☆ | Usually cause destructive mischief, but their tricks can turn deadly on occasion. Will annoy you in your sleep.

ORIGIN: From Belarusian folklore, the zlydzen is a gremlin-like creature that lives in the household, often under the masonry stove. When the occupants of the house leave, the zyldzen emerges and makes a mess around the house. They’re said to be drawn to the homes of individuals who are greedy and seeking to become rich.

DESCRIPTION: Considered a species of household fae, zlydzen are not pretty to look at. They’re almost uniformly described as small, humpbacked creatures that have some of the features of both dogs and cats, though there’s some variation in their appearance. It’s thought that they’re a little self-conscious about their appearance so many of them wear big boots and hats with earflaps. They’re always found in groups of 2-10 individuals-- in fact, being alone weakens them. Today, they usually live in all kinds of crooks and crannies within the home but have a preference for warm places, often near heaters or insulation. In the winter, they go into hibernation, burrowing in peoples’ coat closets and emerging in March. They’re known for popping back and forth between this plane and the astral plane, appearing in the dreams of those whose homes they dwell in, mostly to annoy rather than torment. 

ABILITIES: Tricksters at heart, zlydzen gather in groups and play nasty tricks on unwitting individuals. While some of these are lighthearted, such as making messes in the home, making people think they’re being haunted, or causing damage to household objects, they can escalate in severity. Not only do they make a mess of your home, but their pestering follows you in your dreams, as they can flip back and forth between planes of existence. They’re perhaps one of the most destructive of the household fae, and signs of a zlydzen infestation can come to resemble a tornado blowing through the interior of a home. They have sharp teeth and can get bite-y when handled.

WEAKNESS: Zyldzen are incredibly cowardly and will attempt to hide or flee if discovered and confronted. They have sharp teeth and will attack when backed into a corner, but for the most part, they look more frightening than they are, relying on their appearance to scare humans enough to leave them alone. Wardens can make quick work of them. Like most fae, zlydzen don’t like iron and will not enter a room that has an iron charm fastened to the entrance. They also cannot switch dimensions when surrounded by iron.

[woodlandsandwanderers]

Don’t Starve Together Themed Magic Anons: Base Game & Reign of Giants

Disclaimer: The concept for this list was inspired by an old collection of M!A prompts by tumblr user @sugarsweetblonde, who has since deactivated and cannot be located to credit properly. However, multiple users contributed to the current lists, including myself, so credit to @tinkering-survivor, @probablyatrashcan, and @personalrpmemes for their contributions. Pig: Muse experiences a sudden increase in physical strength. However, they’ve also become easily suggestable if offered food. In addition, they’re in for a surprise come the next full moon… Merm: Muse seems to have experienced a bizarre transformation: they’re covered head to toe in slimy scales and have grown webbed hands and feet tipped with sharp claws. They crave fish, despite only being able to hold down fruits and vegetables. On top of that, the poor dear seems to be having a hard time remembering things. Mac Tusk: Muse has stunning aim and Ice Hounds follow muse's commands. They behave very lovingly and nurturing to those they think of as family; perhaps this tendency is influenced by the fatherly mustache they’ve suddenly grown in. Bunnyman: Muse is now nocturnal (they’re still vulnerable to Charlie though). They also begin to crave fruits and vegetables - especially carrots. However, they now detest meat; the faintest scent of it can send them into a fit of sickness. Bunny ears and tail are optional. Beefalo: Muse’s hair has become long and shaggy while somehow turning a light straw color. If someone they’re close to is attacked nearby, they’ll involuntarily attack them no matter what. Koalefant: Muse’s hair is now soft and fluffy, with a coat of short, velvety fur covering their whole body. They’re safe from freezing, but have a harder time in warm weather. They’re more easily frightened, though they may forgo fleeing in favor of defending themselves. Treeguard: Muse becomes a protector of nature! Their body grows signs of the plant of the Anon's choosing, and if anyone causes excessive harm to said plant they will have earned Muse’s wrath. Mandrake: Muse can’t keep their thoughts to themselves, all of their words and thoughts are spoken aloud. They might just find themselves grating on just about everyone’s nerves, what with how they just won’t stop gabbing the day away. Lureplant: Muse is  now rooted to the ground and can’t move. Eyeplants will surround them. Anything small enough that gets eaten by the eyeplant will travel to their stomach and will digest very quickly, no matter what it is. This doesn’t mean whatever they consume won’t hurt them, though. Catcoon: Muse has cat ears and a tail, as well as claws. They’ll behave like a cat, stealing/playing with just about any small object or animal and attack anything within their vicinity if they feel threatened. Or just if they feel like it ‘cause That’s How Cats Do. Hound: Muse is now part Hound and has very animalistic tendencies. They will be hostile to any living thing except for people they know and care about, in which case they might behave like an excited pet dog. Anon can pick which variety of Hound if they wish. They’re susceptible to Hound Whistles. Frog: Muse now has an incredibly long tongue. It’s inhumanly strong, and can actually damage anything struck with it. Their skin is also extremely sensitive and slimy, practically oozing with wetness. Fireflies: Muse can glow in the dark, and is therefore completely immune to the Night Monster! There is a catch, though: if any living approaches them, their light will go out. Butterfly: Muse has beautiful, delicate wings and is light as a feather. But they can’t attack anything, not even to defend themself. They only have an appetite for sweets and their blood is now butter. Bee: Muse is compelled to keep themselves busy no matter what, even to the point of ignoring their other needs. They’ve got a fierce sense of comradery, eager to help their friends and loved ones with whatever they need - though this may just be so they have something to work on. Perhaps those conspicuous antennae, wings, and stinger are to blame? Spider: Muse’s appearance is now more… generally monstrous. Though their demeanor is the same as before, they might find themselves being treated with hostility by creatures that would usually pay them no mind. Spiders and their kin, however, won’t see them as a threat. Spider Queen: Muse is now Spider Royalty! This means spiders follow and obey them. However, sanity drain is still in place and pigs attack them on sight. Other survivors have a hard time being around them, almost as if they were in the presence of a huge spider instead of a fellow survivor. Spider-y motifs/body modifications are optional and can be specified by Anon. Moleworm: Muse now has excellent night vision and can survive at night without any light source. The kicker? Not only are they blind during the day, but they have an immense craving for minerals. Volt Goat: Muse now has highly conductive antlers. If they get struck by lightning, they’ll enter a temporary state of mania. Krampus: Muse now has a demonic new appearance, including(but not limited to) a long, lashing tongue. They get a weird feeling when other people commit “naughty” acts and feel the need to correct them. If Muse feels like someone just isn’t getting the message they might just take matters into their own hands. Gobbler: Muse becomes extremely cowardly, fleeing from any living thing if they get too close. They only can overcome their cowardice if it’s in the name of food. Tallbird: A strange egg comes into Muse’s possession. They feel compelled to nurture and protect it at any cost, even to the point of recklessly attacking anything that comes near it. Whether the egg is viable or not is up to the Mun or Anon. Pengull: Muse is now well-groomed and sporting fancy new attire. However, their high-class makeover seems to have gone to their head; they’ve become a pompous windbag who’s oblivious to the world around them, all the while being painfully unaware of how obnoxious they are. Buzzard: For a specific amount of time, Muse will scavenge anything they find - even if whatever they’re “scavenging” from belongs to someone else. Mr. Skits: Muse is only perceivable when others’ sanity drops farther and farther. When they do finally get someone’s attention, they appear as a shadowy monster and their speech will sound garbled. Redbird: Muse grows crimson feathers and wings(whether they can fly is up to the Mun or Anon). They also gain a fiery disposition. Crow: Muse grows jet black feathers and wings (whether they can fly is up to the anon or the mun if unspecified). They also tend to give others the heebie-jeebies. Snowbird: Muse grows fluffy cerulean feathers and wings(whether they can fly is up to the Mun or Anon). They also keep cool under pressure. Tentacle: From the waist down Muse is rooted to one spot. As if to compensate, their torso is much longer - and more flexible - than before, almost doubling their original height. Their arms have also been replaced with long, spike-tipped tentacles that almost always do what Muse wants. Batilisk: Muse has undergone a startling transformation! Not only are they a quarter of their original size now, but they’ve also grown bat wings and other bat-like attributes. Depths Worm: Muse becomes a blind, ravenous beast. Dormant during the day and stalking the Constant at night, they will attempt to attack and consume any living thing they come across. Slurper: Muse gets hungry much faster than usual. No matter how much they eat, their appetite is never satisfied. They’ll tackle any food they see on sight as if they hadn’t eaten in a week, completely disregarding their own safety if it means they might finally fill that bottomless pit of a stomach. Snurtle: Muse’s skin has become green and splotchy, excreting volatile slime wherever they go. If threatened they can retreat into their new shell until the danger passes. However, if this shell breaks it will reveal a vital weak spot. Deerclops: Muse gains ice powers and is immune to freezing temperatures, but at a cost: they become highly destructive and have lost all functionality of one of their eyes. Bearger: Muse now wears very heavy and thick clothing they can not remove (although they seem to be immune to overheating). They also have a voracious appetite! If they eat too much food at one time, they go into a deep sleep and won’t wake up until roused. Moose/Goose: Muse is now a clumsy oaf, no thanks in part to their new massive antlers and webbed feet. Hopefully this development won’t get in the way of their attempts at nurturing any loved ones they may have. Dragonfly: Muse’s limbs are now adorned in draconic scales and claws, and they’ve grown a big tail to match. Fly-like wings sprout out from their clothes, which have been replaced by rather… revealing garments made of fireproof scales. In fact, they seem to be entirely fire- and heat-proof.

[thefinalyeehaw]

(Obey Me Fic) Deathly Hearts {Ch. 2 - The Great Mammon and the Third-born Brother}

The House of Lamentation was more refined from the usual image of an academy's dorm house. The entrance hall was a grand room; vaulted ceilings emphasized its vastness. The walls were luxuriously decorated with oil paintings and golden light fixtures. Two stone statues of dragons sat hunched over at the curve of the dual staircases as if to attack any unwelcome guest. The floor shined with a fresh layer of wax on the wood surface, a long, intricate runner stretched across the length of the shiny floor ending in another room beyond the grand hall. The rug looked to be recently laundered, definitely by the command of Lucifer.

"This is the House of Lamentation. It's one of the dorms here at R.A.D. Well, it's not JUST one of the dorms. It's the dorm reserved for student council members." Mammon's voice echoed as he strolled into the center of the hall. He gestured lazily around like a bored tour guide.

His fluffy white hair contrasted the dark colors of the entrance hall. Killian noticed a trend with the demonic brothers; all were extremely attractive. Mammon was a handsome demon with a slender yet athletic physique, his tan skin reminiscent of warm chocolate. His golden-blue eyes reminded her of gold and sapphire; a few necklaces she owned came to mind.

Before meeting Mammon, Mattie and Killian were introduced to three other brothers. First, there was Asmodeus, the fifth-born brother, beautiful with wavy champagne hair. The demon's orange eyes held a yellow gradient, reminiscent of a human world sunset. The fifth-born spoke with saccharine words and coquettish mannerism. However, the reaper wasn't blind to the way his gaze slid down her physique before shooting her an impish smile. Killian scoffed in response, quickly neutralizing her face when Diavolo looked at her quizzically. She knew Diavolo would ask her later about it. Fucking Great.

Next, the fourth-born Satan, devilishly handsome as Lucifer. Golden blond locks, reminding Killian of a particular bothersome angel, and smoldering green eyes, blurring into yellow, heavily contrasted the hall's gothic style. Killian grew unnerved as Satan spoke, sensing the unbridled rage concealed by the poise of a gentleman's demeanor. Unlike Asmodeus's seduction failures on Killian and Mattie, Satan's wrath was concerned, to say the less, for many reasons. Many included the safety of her and the human as she doubted the Avatar of Wrath was exceptionally patient with others. Since he greeted the reaper with the warmth of an iceberg.

Last was Beelzebub, the sixth-born brother. Standing the tallest of the other demons, except for Diavolo. A disinterested frown etched on the towering man's handsome face, violet eyes stared blankly at Mattie and Killian. Clear hints of muscles barely hidden underneath his rumpled uniform as Beelzebub shifted slightly. He spoke bluntly to them before complaining about his hunger to Lucifer, prompting a glare from the firstborn.

Although Killian would admit rooming with attractive demons for a year is a plus, to an extent. Honestly, she might have flirted a bit with Mammon or Satan if one wasn't so full of himself and the other being a ticking bomb of rage. The arrogance practically bleeds from Mammon's attitude from the moment he barged into the assembly hall, spewing useless threats and shooting glares at her and Mattie. But, of course, he is a totally insufferable bastard. Even better than Lucifer appointed him as the unofficial babysitter of her and Mattie as luck loved to fuck Killian over sometimes.

Mattie strolled further into the room, eyes twinkling at a stone dragon statue. They hovered a hand over the stone, fingers mimicking the curved designs on the dragon's chest. "So, I guess we are members of the student council, then." They awed. Killian smiled at the child-like curiosity on the human's face. "It seems like it. Although, oddly, mostly all of the council are brothers."

Mammon's face soured at the reaper's words, the second-born began to rant, "Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they can get to insult me. Callin' me scum, sayin' that I'm a money-grubber and stuff...but I'm an officer on the student council, same as them. The elite of the elite, the top of the R.A.D. social pyramid." Mattie and Killian exchanged looks as they watched as Mammon grew more riled, thriving the captive attention of two new members.

Mammon's gesticulation grew more dramatic as he became more impassioned with the speech of his sheer greatness, "In other words, I'm a big shot. A REAL big shot. Like, even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am. So don't you go thinking that I'm just some ordinary demon. I'm nothing like those other peons walking the halls here!"

Killian grinned, "I doubt any of those 'peons' would dare to compare themselves to the great Mammon." Mattie hid a laugh behind their hand as Mammon puffed out his chest proudly. Apparently missing the sarcasm oozing from Killian's words as she studied a painting of an unsmiling couple dressed in Victorian attire.

"Exactly!" Mammon exclaimed, believing Killian's words as the human let out a snort behind him. The second-born cleared his throat "...Anyways, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers all live here together." He quickly summarized, his golden-blue eyes never leaving the emotionless porcelain mask as Killian turned around. "It's time I show you to your rooms. Follow me, and ya betta not get lost!" Swiftly pivoting on his feet, Mammon ascended up the left staircase. His stomps clicked against the marble steps.

Mattie hurriedly followed the demon up the stairs as Killian lagged behind; a bulletin board pinned to the wall against the second landing caught her attention. Although she was a princess, Killian enjoyed working. As a young reapling, Killian helped her nanny with simple tasks such as cooking and cleaning. As an adult, she performed countless jobs in the human realm, accumulating vast life experiences and skills. Maybe she'll ask Diavolo about part-time jobs in the Devildom when their first meeting is scheduled.

Unlike Mattie's tasks as a R.A.D. student, Killian's tasks included monthly meetings with Diavolo, a check-in on her progress in the Devildom. The prince's eyes shone as he cheerfully commented on how he looked forward to their sessions. It seemed he was suggesting the meetings were like a hang-out between old friends and not a conversation between a student and the headmaster of R.A.D. Not wanting to curb the prince's enthusiasm, Killian expressed how she also looked forward to it as Lucifer stared her down like a hawk.

"Hey, don't just stand there with your jaw open. Hurry up, or I'm gonna leave ya behind." Killian's eyes moved towards Mammon standing at the top of the staircase, arms crossed impatiently. "If there's something you wanna ask me, you'd best do it now," Killian snorted at the demon's growl.

Mammon acts like a snarling dog, but he becomes a meek puppy whenever someone bares their teeth at him. On the phone, the demon behaved imperious, dismissing any time she or Mattie brought up what Lucifer had told them as if he was an important king wasting precious time on peasants. After Mammon's audacity to shout through the phone, Killian's patience wore thin. She quickly figured out the Avatar of Greed had a cowardly side. He yelped when the reaper subtly threatened to rip his tongue from his body if he ever interrupted her again.

The slip of cowardice vanished quickly as Mammon regained his crass persona. Although she unintentionally wounded his ego, the drop gave insight into how Killian could handle Mammon if his overconfidence got out of hand again. "Nothing in particular. I just got lost in my head a bit, sorry," Killian flashed an apologetic smile, quickening her climb up the stairs.

Mammon eyed her, determining whether to question the reaper further. "Hmph...fine then." He grunted, not caring enough to pry. "Now, I'm gonna give you a piece of advice, so listen up. If you wanna survive even a day here in the Devildom, you'd better listen REAL close to what I'm about to say." Mammon stopped to turn towards the two exchange students.

Golden-blue eyes observed them, shifting between the two curious students. He leaned close if he was about to reveal a big secret. "If it ever looks like a demon is about to attack you…" Mammon's voice dropped low. Killian ignored the shiver down her spine at the huskiness.

"...run away. Either that or die," Mammon stated, drawing back to gauge the reactions. Mattie blinked, their eyebrows furrowed in sheer confusion, their mind progressing Mammon's advice.

"Huh?" They muttered under their breath as Killian raised an eyebrow.

"How about this? I vote for YOU to die, Mammon." A venomous voice hissed. The three turned as another demon stormed down the hallway towards them, orange-blue eyes glared daggers into the second-born.

"D'ah…! Levi…" Mammon paled, eyes widened in surprise like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The second-born stiffly gestured to the fuming demon, failing to school his features. "Uh, l-listen up, human! This here is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. He's the oldest of us brothers." His voice slightly trembled.

Mammon coughed as a fake smile appeared on his face. "Since his name's sorta hard to say, you can just call him Levi!" He began to usher Mattie and Killian further down the corridor, trying to flee the anger of the third-born.

Levi's glare intensified. "Mammon, give me back my money. Then go crawl in a hole and die." He demanded, stomping closer to the white-haired demon. Unsurprisingly, Levi was just as attractive as his brothers, with fair skin that lacked any blemishes or scars. His indigo hair was styled nicely with sweeping bangs, framing his orange-purple eyes that glowered at Mammon.

Mammon winced under his brother's angry stare, "Come on, I told you I'd get it to you! I just need a little more time. … And you still want me to die even after I give it back? That's real harsh, Levi!" Need more time? Sounds like famous last words. Killian wasn't too surprised the Avatar of Greed was indebted to others.

The frown on Levi's face deepened, "You need a little more time? How much more?"

"A little more, okay?! A little more means a little more!" The second-born tried to reason, but to no avail.

"You've been telling me that for the last 200 years, Mammon." Levi shot back. Mattie made a choking sound while Killian let out a low whistle; that is a long time to wait for the money.

"Hey, no! It hasn't been 200 years! It's been 260! Get it right, Levi!" A pause of silence stretched as the three stared at Mammon in disbelief.

Killian let out a baffled sound, "Why would you correct him on that?" She couldn't believe Mammon actually corrected how many years he owned Levi's money. She must have offended Diavolo in the past, and now he was punishing her by making this idiot her guardian as revenge. Killian made a note to be more cordial to the prince during her stay. Maybe she and Mattie could upgrade to a more competent guide as a result.

Levi sighed at his brother's dumb remark, obviously used to Mammon's lack of filter. "Unbelievable. Seriously Mammon, you're-"

"I'm what? Scum? Is that what you're gonna say?" An unreadable emotion flashed in Mammon's eyes, frowning at Levi.

"-you're a lowlife and a waste of space." Levi continued to spew insults.

Mammon let an offended gasp, "Hey! Come on, that's even worse!"

"Whatever." Levi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms impatiently. "Just give me back my money. I need it to buy the Blu-ray box set of Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of a Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion." His angry face slightly brightened at the mention of the show, "The initial round of copies includes promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus."

Mammon huffed, growing frustrated with the conversation. "I've got no idea what you're even talking about, but it doesn't matter! Because I don't even have any money to give you. How am I supposed to give back money I don't have, huh?!"

"So then. You're telling me you refuse to pay me back?" The air in the room grew thicker as the tension built.

"...What? You looking for a fight, is that it?" The smirk on Mammon's face fueled the boiling tension as the air pulsed with solid auras. The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous. Demon fights were notoriously nasty to witness. Killian feared Mattie and her were about to get stuck in the crossfire of one.

"Mattie," Killian spoke low, catching the human's attention as they watched the brothers' bickering. "Stay behind me no matter what happens." She felt almost bad as Mattie flinched at her words. Their eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. With the potential of the bickering becoming a brawl, Killian knows she can easily defend herself if someone happens. Still, Mattie doesn't have the power to protect themself from something as brutal as a demon fight. Mattie said nothing as they quickly followed Killian's order, stepping behind the tall woman, partially hidden behind her slender frame.

Killian raised her right hand slightly, her thumb stroking the obsidian ring on her ring finger. She felt the familiar tingle of energy warming her arm as it swiftly spread through her body, ready to activate her scythe at a moment's notice.

As if sensing the mounting stress of the room, Mammon turned his attention to the two exchange students. Killian remained rigid, her arm raised to her chest with feet firmly planted to the carpeted floor. The porcelain mask was void of all expressions. Two piercing blue eyes glowed in the shadows of the eye slits, trained on the scene as if waiting for an opening to defend. Mattie stood semi-hidden behind the alert reaper, watching the scene, fear etched on their face as their frame slightly trembled.

"Listen, you two. You remember my advice from before about what to do when demons attack? Well. You're about to witness that for real. So…" Mammon inched backward, walking a bit further in the hallway. Killian's eyes widened at Mammon's flighty action, wasn't he about to—.

"Hold on. I thought your advice was to either run away or—damnit, Mammon! That ass...he ran off…!" Levi screeched furiously as Mammon sprinted down the empty corridor, vanishing past a sharp turn.

Mattie stumbled out from behind Killian, taking in a shaky breath as their eyes stared down the hallway where Mammon had once been. "What just happened?" Shock trembled in their voice, gawking at the fact the second-born had just ditched Killian and them at the first sign of trouble.

Killian heavily sighed as she relaxed her stand, rolling the tension out of her neck and shoulders. It wasn't indeed a surprise Mammon escaped at the first mention of conflict. She figured that the second-born brother was a coward. Rarely do cowards actually fight, usually fleeing as Mammon had done. "Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me!" The third-born retorted as Levi glanced over to Killian and Mattie, irritated by his older brother's escape. "Or maybe I should say he used both of you as sacrifices."

"I think it is a little bit of both," Killian commented. However, she didn't appreciate the slight blame behind Levi's words as if they were naïve toddlers swindled for their candy.

Levi ignored the two as he rambled, "I'll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you'll ever meet...a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of both of you letting him use you like that."

"Excuse me?" Killian placed her hands on her hips, angrily gritting her teeth.

Levi was too ensnared to notice the increasing amount of magic slipping from the frustrated reaper as he chose to continue his rant. "This is EXACTLY why reapers and humans are—Wait a second. Humans....yes, that's it...Suddenly, I've got an idea." Levi turned towards Mattie; his face grew a focused expression as he studied the human.

"You know what? Never mind." Mattie yelped in surprise as Levi's hand reached out and grasped their wrist, tugging them deeper into the house's unknown bowels. "Either way, you're coming with me."

Levi let out a squawk, jumping as a warm hand gripped his wrist. "No. We're coming with you." Killian stated, smirking at the glare Levi shot in her direction. "We're both exchange students, guests in your house. It is rude to ignore a guest, right?" Slipping on a polite smile as she not-so-gently tugged Mattie from the third-born's grip.

Where the human goes, I go, remained unsaid, but the warning was apparent in the reaper's tone. Killian wasn't dumb enough to let Levi drag Mattie away, to allow a demon to carry a human away in unknown territory. If Mammon was any instance, it showed that the brothers weren't as reliable as Killian initially thought. It was already apparent the disinterest of some brothers towards both Mattie and Killian. She already wanted to punch Lucifer, and she hadn't even known him for a day!

"Well, yes...but no! I don't want to bring a bunch of normies to my room!"

She ignored whatever the fuck a 'normie' was supposed to as she shot back, "Then, tell us right there and right now. If it is revenge on Mammon, you can tell us. I doubt he will be for a long while." The straightening of Levi's back revealed his idea did involve revenge. Taken back, Levi muttered about 'stupid normies' as he tried to make a decision, fidgeting.

Mattie shot a concerned look to the reaper, who gently patted their shoulder in reassurance. Killian predicted it was up to her and Mattie to properly survive this year. Telling Diavolo would only make matters worse and just piss Lucifer off more if he had the demon prince breathing down his breath. Not to mention how complaining to Diavolo would only hurt her reputation further. She couldn't afford that, especially this early in the program.

Fuck, she wanted a cigarette.

Killian felt a buzzing in her pocket. She reached into her jean pocket to retrieve the vibrating D.D.D. There were four unread messages from Mammon.

Mammon: Heya, I suddenly remembered I have some business I gotta take of. So, if ya need something, just ask Levi.

Bullshit.

Killian scoffed at the winking demon emoji Mammon had sent. It was a blatant attempt to placate her after his vanishing act.

Mammon: Oh, and just to make sure... Don't go around tellin' stuff to Lucifer, ya got that?

He sent a glaring demon emoji, which Killian promptly sent back to Mammon. But, of course, she wasn't planning to tell Lucifer to begin with. She might be a royal, but Mammon being a cowardly bastard wasn't worth the energy for a conversation.

She smirked as Mammon quickly sent a nervously grimacing emoji back. Oh, she had an excellent idea as she tapped the keyboard.

Killian: Okay, I won't tell Lucifer.

Killian: But Mammon, the next time you put on that stunt, you won't have the chance to run.

Killian slipped the phone back into her pocket, ignoring the buzzing on her thigh. Glancing back up at Levi, she grinned. "So, what is your good idea?"

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

I finally had the time and energy to edit this!!!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, please reblog and heart it if you want (constructive criticism is also appreciated!)

Stay in-tuned for the next chapter: How to train your Avatar of Greed (with blackmail).

Thank you!

[domerics]

jamie dornan, thirty five, antegra, cis male. ––– i believe that is domeric radoslav zharkov, the duke / sellsword of bolton. they are thirty five years old and are known to be very resolute & strategic, though they can also be very despondent & merciless. they remind me of a doe’s neck caught betwixt the jaws of feral beast ; jowls dripping with saliva, an archer on horseback barring wolves from the gates ; digits grazing fletching before loosed arrow embeds opposing jugular, a body comprised of faulty organs ; life has dug deep into stomach and ripped out the lining ; the heart missing, a blade post execution ; its vermillion edge dripping blood upon marred stone &. vast lands of littered dead ; the shadow is his and so is the valley.

I. ━━ GENERAL.

NAME :  domeric  radoslav  zharkov.

AGE :  thirty  five.

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN :  antegra.

FORMER TITLE / S :  lord  of  bolton,  sellsword,  general  of  the  zharkov  army,  the  hound.

CURRENT TITLE / S :   duke  of  bolton,  commander  of  the  zharkov  army,  the  hound.

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN : scorpio.

II. ━━ PERSONAL.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION :  demisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION :  demiromantic.

PERSONALITY TYPE :  entj,  the  commander.

MORAL ALIGNMENT :  chaotic neutral.

HABITS :  folding  arms  atop  chest,  furrowing  brows,  narrowing  eyes,  bearing  a  stoic  demeanor.

SINS :  lust  /  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  pride  /  envy  / wrath

III. ━━ TRAITS & PERSONALITY.

cowardly     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      brave

energetic    ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○     lethargic

forgiving     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●     vengeful

charitable    ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○     selfish

authentic     ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○      deceitful

chaste     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○      lustful

humble    ○ ○ ○ ● ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○     boastful

naive     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●      experienced

cautious     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●     daring

restrained     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●    bold

trusting     ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ●     suspicious

IV. ━━ PHYSICALITY.

HAIR COLOR :  mix  of  light  /  dark  brown  with  dark  copper  undertones.

EYE COLOR :  slate  blue,  at  times  appearing  more  grey  or  intensely  sapphiric.

HEIGHT : 6′3.

WEIGHT : 193lbs

BUILD : mesomorph.

ACCENT :  due to his travels,  you  can  find  underlying  tones  of  various  kingdoms  laced  throughout  antegra’s  native  notes.

PITCH : low, some gravel.

SCARS & BIRTHMARKS :  most  prominent  are  various  scars  from  a  lifetime  of  abuse,  a  variety  from  torture  during  his  captivity,  several  distinctive  marks  from  arrows,  and  a  scar  through  the  right  side  of  his  mouth.

V. ━━ BIO  /  HC  POINTS.

the  son  of  radoslav  zharkov,  domeric  is  the  only  surviving  true  born  son  and  heir  of  the  bolton  dukedom.  raised  beneath  the  torturous  roof  of  radoslav,  domeric  held  the  severity  of  his  father  from  an  early  age,  his  mother,  perhaps,  being  the  reason  he  did  not  entirely  fall  to  the  dukedom’s  sinister  illness.  a  warrior  in  her  own  right,  his  fondest  memories  being  of  the  woman  training  him  in  archery,  it  pained  him  to  witness  her  waste  away  beside  an  abusive  and  unfaithful  husband  ;  neither  mother  nor  son  could  flee  from  his  patriarch’s  ceaseless  wrath.  and  when  she  perished,  radoslav  merely  had  the  body  burned  within  the  zharkov’s  courtyard,  perhaps  turning  the  only  light  domeric  had  known  to  ash  before  solemn  eyes.  by  the  time  domeric  was  fifteen,  his  physique  was  smothered  in  scars  you’d  expect  a  man  thrice  his  age  to  bear  from  an  eternity  of  war.  a  steeled  youth,  he’d  carried  out  numerous  charges  on  his  father’s  behalf.  though  it  was  rare  he  agreed  with  the  man’s  executing  terms,  the  young  man  was  spared  radoslav’s  tormenting  fury  when  seeing  orders  to  their  designated  completion.

when  antegra’s  borders  were  attacked  &.  the  bolton  dukedom  threatened,  the  zharkovs  were  forced  to  answer.  leading  the  zharkov  army  alongside  his  father,  domeric  soon  faced  the  pandemonium  of  war  (  despite  already  living  what  he  deemed  to  be  hell  by  radoslav  ),  and  found  he  had  a  taste  for  it  like  his  father.  victorious  at  each  battle’s  conclusion,  domeric  was  able  to  gather  an  inkling  of  warped  admiration  for  his  father  as  a  commander  despite  the  realities  behind  it.  however,  all  sense  of  commendation  vanished  as  his  father,  driven  by  greed,  plotted  against  antegra  alongside  his  bastard  brother,  rogar.  with  antegra  distracted  by  a  greater  war  between  kingdoms,  domeric’s  father  thought  it  time  to  seize  the  surrounding  dukedoms,  and  make  for  antegra’s  throne.  domeric  sought  various  allies  in  order  to  deliver  the  information  he’d  gathered,  though  his  father’s  plan  to  overthrow  the  surrounding  dukedoms  had  already  been  set  into  motion.  when  the  fighting  began,  the  zharkov  troops  were  split  in  their  allegiance.  half  stood  with  domeric  and  antegra,  while  the  rest  met  their  demise  united  with  opposing  forces,  including  radoslav  zharkov,  whom  domeric  beheaded  and  left  for  the  rats  of  antegra  to  devour.

some  time  after  the  internal  skirmish’s  conclusion,  domeric  is  brought  word  of  his  bastard  brother’s,  rogar  zharkov’s  tyranny  at  the  bolton  dukedom.  unable  to  take  zharkov  troops  from  antegra’s  fight  against  iilyria,  he  rides  back  to  the  dukedom  alone  in  attempts  to  secure  it  from  a  usurping  half  brother.  upon  his  arrival,  however,  domeric  is  met  with  dire  circumstance.  rogar  has  gathered  an  army  of  his  own,  both  reigning  terror  across  the  dukedom’s  outskirts  and  those  he’s  imprisoned  upon  their  own  land.  vastly  outnumbered,  he’s  arrested  by  rogar’s  militia  and  placed  within  the  zharkov’s  dungeons.  punished  within  their  harrowing  tunnels  throughout  his  youth  by  radoslav,  he’s  able  to  surmise  swift  escape  by  knowledge  of  the  underground,  liberating  a  volley  of  potential  victims  in  the  process.  weakened  by  his  maltreated  internment,  he  is  unable  to  flee  rogar  and  his  hunting  party  unscathed.  when  domeric  falls  from  his  horse  amidst  antegra’s  cliffs  he  is  unconscious,  bestrewed  by  arrows,  and  near  death.  when  he  wakes  a  few  moons  later,  he’s  within  the  walls  of  his  rescuer,  a  nearby  dukedom.  in  exchange  for  both  saving  and  harboring  him,  he  offers  up  arms  as  well  as  the  dual  exchange  of  support  between  their  dukedoms  once  he’s  reclaimed  zharkov  land,  forging  a  personal  alliance  between  these  two  areas.  becoming  a  sellsword  during  his  exile,  domeric  steadily  gains  his  own  band  of  mercenaries  in  order  to  retake  the  dukedom,  where  he  then  moves  upon,  able  to  reclaim  the  bolton  dukedom  and  once  again  pledge  his  soldiers  &.  support  to  antegra  until  the  war’s  completion.

the  bolton  dukedom  has  always  been  considered  separate  from  the  rest  of  antegra.  due  to  their  more  isolated  location  as  well  as  monstrous  reputation,  the  rest  of  the  dukedoms  have  always  kept  their  distance  until  domeric  assumed  the  role  of  duke.

the  bolton  dukedom  has  been  known  for  their  weapons  and  barbaric  brutality,  and  domeric  hasn’t  been  spared  the  stereotype.  highly  proficient  in  archery,  horsemanship,  swordsmanship  &.  hand - to - hand  combat,  he  is  a  formidable  opponent  like  the  rest  of  the  zharkov  line  demands.

the  zharkovs  value  their  hounds,  and  like  his  horses,  domeric  holds  a  special  bond  with  them.  domeric's  fond  of  dogs  as  much  as  he  is  horses,  having  trained  animals  for  various  kingdoms  for  various  needs  throughout  his  life.

though  domeric  is  unsure  he’s  ever  known  the  term  family,  he  does  value  his  band  of  mercenaries  as  well  as  the  bolton  dukedom  troops  which  remain  loyal  to  him.  a  great  commander,  he  treats  those  who  follow  him  with  respect,  expecting  it  in  return.

he’ll  never  be  able  to  wash  his  hands  clean  &.  he  won’t  apologize  for  it.  from  an  early  age,  radoslav  forced  domeric  to  carry  out  his  more  insidious  work,  including  the  flaying,  torture,  and  execution  of  numerous  individuals.

VI.      ━━  CHARACTER RELATIONS.

DUKE  RADOSLAV  ROGAR  ZHARKOV  (  patriarch,  deceased  ).

DUCHESS  DOMINIKA  ZHARKOV  NÉE  MOROZOVA  ( matriarch,  deceased  ).

LORD  ROGAR  ZHARKOV  (  half  brother,  deceased  ).

DUCHESS  MERYEM  ZHARKOV  NÉE  MATTIS  (  spouse,  twenty  five  ).

VII.      ━━  WANTED  CONNECTIONS.

anyone  who  has  hired  domeric  /  his  mercenary  group  during  his  time  as  a  sellsword.

anyone  from  the  dukedom  within  antegra  in  which  domeric  was  rescued  by  &.  then  allied  with.

families  he’s  trained  horses  for  or  provided  war  hounds  to.

soldiers  /  comrades  of  war.

members  of  his  band  of  mercenaries  as  a  sellsword  who  are  now  a  part  of  the  bolton  dukedom’s  new  order.

uc.

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Dee! Remus! Got any other fun stories to tell us about before the cave incident? ~little bird

(I guess snippet dump? Is that what you were asking for? Cause that's what I'm going to pretend you meant, lmao)

   Dee and Remus start to rattle off various stories of their exploits, most of which involving saving Virgil from dangerous situations he got himself into either by the unfortunate circumstance of 'being a dark elf' or via his own ignorance...

   One time, the three of them had to fight their way out of a group of Grimlocks in the Underdark. Grimlocks are flesh-eating humanoids that are totally blind, but have excellent hearing and smell. They have an age-old hatred for Drow, and can smell them from a mile away; so, despite being the stealthiest in the group, Virgil couldn't avoid their detection forever. Luckily, though, Grimlocks worship Medusa like they were gods, and Dee happens to be very smart. He spoke to them in snaketongue, and with the help of some illusion magic and Remus's glowing ability, he convinced them that he had turned Virgil to stone, and yelled at them for interfering with his hunt. The aggressors fled, and Remus and Virgil had gotten their first look at how terrifying Dee could sound when he was really playing it up.

   Another time, they ran into a colony of Rust Monsters - giant, bug-like monsters that rust any metal they touch, and have a ravenous hunger for it. They scurried towards the three of them, smelling the metal in their weapons, and Remus, without blinking an eye, dropped all his shit and just started punching them. The wounded, terrified bear-sized beetle creatures ran away, deciding the meal wasn't worth it, and Virgil and Dee received a curt reminder of just how battle-horny Remus is at all times.

   Once, they wandered into Goblin territory, and were attacked by a band of worg-riding hunters after stepping into a booby-trapped stretch of woods. Worgs are big, gross dire wolves with missing skin and fur on their faces, and Goblins are small humanoids who are cruel, cannibalistic, cowardly, and cunning. It was a long and difficult process, where each of them was almost captured multiple times, but they ended up winning the fight, and the remaining hunters ran away once their numbers had gotten uncomfortably low. After knocking a fleeing goblin archer off of it, Remus managed to wrestle one of the huge dogs to the ground, and started to talk to it in Goblin. He actually ended up befriending the awful thing, and kept him as a sort of 'pet' for a few days, before letting it go to "be free, you beautiful boy!" Virgil and Dee were absolutely disturbed by the nasty flesh dog, and were not sad to see it go. But, Remus was happy to finally know what it was like to have a puppy!

   Another time, while in the swamps, they were attacked by one of the Dragon Witch's dragon children. A green dragon, which made Dee suitably uncomfortable. It burst from the water like a crocodile, and a yellow smoke jettisoned at them from it's gaping jaws. All three of them were caught up in it: Remus found himself still standing, but coughing up a storm, his lungs and eyes burning with the chlorine poison. Virgil had absolutely collapsed into a hacking fit, thoroughly poisoned and unable to concentrate long enough to even hold a weapon. Dee, on the other hand, was completely unaffected. With absolutely marginal help from Remus and Virgil, Dee was eventually able to scare the dragon into retreating. This is where they learned his serpent blood was more than just a snake's (and where Marissa learned that, next time, she should send one that breathed ice).

   While on a boat somewhere, stowing away with some largely incompetent pirates, the boat sustained some damage during a storm, and they had to stop on a nearby small, uninhabited island chain. Of course, the damage was no coincidence, as some nearby sea creatures had felt Remus's presence and felt the need to attack him. That night, while the three of them were camping separately from the crew, a throng of Sirens attempted to lure them in. Funny enough, Remus was the only one who wasn't affected by the music, and was able to restrain Virgil and Dee so he could go handle the threat... Of course, after he listened in for a while, to hear what it was they were seeing in their charmed states. Remus wouldn't spill about what he learned, but he did laugh quite a bit. 

  In yet another stretch of woods they probably should have avoided, Virgil encountered a plant he recognized from home - Assassin's Vine. It is a plant that grows in the Underdark, feeding off of decaying matter (it had living vines that would grab living creatures that weren't careful and constrict them to death) and producing clusters of incredibly sweet berries, sort of like grapes. Obviously, he knew how to harvest them, and he hadn't had them in a long time, so he went for it. What he failed to realize was that, because this breed grew above ground in the sunlight, it was much bigger and much stronger. He very nearly died, only being found by the other two after he had already passed out. After killing the entire plant with fire (Dee panicked, okay), they were able to save him, though Virgil came out of it with some pretty nasty burns and bruises. After trying some of the berries (which they had actually managed to get a lot of), Virgil made a joke about the entire exchange being worth it. This made Dee very angry. Virgil was only half joking. It remains his favorite fruit.

[cogroni]

Coint Dracula

Coint Dracula

Birth Name: Dracula De Ville

Nickname: Coint

Gender: Male

Personality:

family man

calm

anxious about losing his powers

fast at calculating

stands up for his colony

is an empath

not risktaking, cowardly

likes his life t be structured and safe

moody

cunning

Likes:

Dart games

drinks

blood

silents

reading the news

Dislikes:

hustle and bustle

blood hunger (gets nasty from it)

Weaknesses:

sensitive ears and nose

hunger for blood

his colony

daylight weakens him

Powers:

His powers were granted by the Devil for the exchange of his loyalty.

Strength:

Has incredible strength.

Wallcrawler:

Dracula can walk upside down on the roof. He also sleeps in that position.

Transform:

He can transform into different animals that are exaggerated big. Including dogs bats and wolves.

Immunity:

At night Dracula has a resistance to conventional means of attack. He can't be stabbed or shot. At daytime, his resistance vanishes.

Immortality:

Dracula can't die of old age. Cursed by the Devil he stays alive for eternity, or be killed by another person.

Weather manipulation:

Dracula can't do much about the weather, not summon rainclouds or making it sunny, but he can manipulate fog, mist, and strong winds.

Backstory:

Dracula's father was the colony leader before Dracula, he was a wise man and knew how to lead his family. Dracula had an easy life with no hardships, he got married to his wife early and the whole colony lived happily. After the father's death everything changed, Dracula was made the leader, against the wishes of few.

Dracula was not a good leader, he had little experience and wasn't as brave as his father was. Standing in the shadow of the former leader, more and more grew tired of his inability to lead. On top of that, a marten started rampaging in their home in the mountains.

Dracula and his colony had to flee.

In need of a home, they grew desperate in their search and asked the Devil for help. The Devil, being a heartless beast had no thought on helping them out of his kindness, granted them a deal that would enslave their colony and the bats declined. Their living conditions grew harder and no place to live was in sight. Dracula started reconsidering the deal against the wishes of his colony. His wife pleaded with him not to deal with the Devil.

But he did.

He made the deal to protect his kind. "It is better than dying out in the open", he convinced himself. He grew strong and impressively large compared to his friends and they became the opposite. Weak, little bats, lacking personality and everything that made them who they were, except his wife who from that day on took on the name Lady Lucy.

Dracula became the money guard for the devil, protecting his saved up money in the tunnels below the casino. From then on he became Coint Dracula.

He has since then seen his failures as a leader and does his best to be a better person. His main goal is to get out of the contract and make sure that his old friends are turned back to who they were before.

Little Bats:

Sometimes sleep at random and bad places. Dracula collects them before sleeping time.

They like to collect shiny things and hide them at high places.

Finally, this is done. Long overdue but here is Draculas ref :D

[ffxivimagines]

FFXIVWrite 2019 | Prompt #15: Appetite

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​

FFXIV Write 2019 | Prompt #15: Free Day | Rating: M

Warnings for: blood, violence, character death, dehumanization, Zenos's psychology

Zenos yae Galvus is a man of little patience. He has time to spare and no wish to waste it on savages and their foolish machinations. He named Yotsuyu goe Brutus as viceroy in his stead solely for the respite it granted him—with which he gladly rejoined the hunt and struck down foe after foe, each more thrilling than the last—and yet here he is! Surrounded by gaudy opulence and tittering, made-up courtesans! How absolutely dreadful.

Unfortunately, sitting in a red parlor with the smell of fermented tea leaves filling his helm is a requirement of his retention of stewardship. He does, indeed, sit. He does, indeed, wait. Yotsuyu shows up late and moderately unapologetic with yet another foreign flower in tow as if he would be best served by some uncultured savages. He very forcefully shoves his hatred to the wayside the moment they open their mouth to greet him. 

“This one greets His Imperial Highness.”

The warrior he faced in months period had far more spine than the sniveling, scraping ornament bowing before him. They were a stunning little creature with a sharp tongue and vicious ferality. Zenos sighs and does not ignore the shiver that thrills down the courtesan’s back at the sound. They’re pathetic. A broken and boring item. They are just another savage with a spine made of paper. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. 

Yotsuyu sits down and works through the usual pleasantries and provides reports of the exports from within Yanxia. There are papers including expenses and expenditures for each outpost and encampment, but nothing of a new courtesan. 

“And the import expenses?” 

“Taken care of,” she replies with a leisurely wave of her hand. “If that is all you’ll have of me, I will take my leave. Orchid can stay if you’d like company.”

Zenos regards the courtesan for barely half a moment before speaking. He does his best to be civil, truly, but it does not always come out as such. “I am not your petsitter, Viceroy.”

“Of course not, my lord,” she agrees easily, “but you are a visitor to the garden. Orchid is familiar with your type.”

Zenos ignores her, stands, and leaves the pavilion one slow, deliberate step at a time. “Were it not for your convenience as a living servant to Garlemald, I would have slaughtered you for that utterance alone.”

Yotsuyu apologizes with sincerely insincere platitudes. He does not listen to any of them, striding toward the barracks with purpose. He may find some sport there, at the least.

Orchid is too giving. Too soft. Zenos would like to cleave them in half for even so much as playing at being worthy prey. They are pretty and well pedigreed, not an ounce of bloodlust to be seen, like some sort of ornamental sheepdog. They could be some sort of proxy with which to get rid of the itching that’d been building in his bones since the raid on the Reach.

But they are still not his beast. 

Three hours later, thoroughly blood-covered and bored, Zenos begins to regret his faith in the supposedly unbreakable Doman spirit. Even without armor on and only one blade at his side, he is simply too much for the footsoldiers and their cowardly commanders. How disappointing. 

He would prefer to raze each and every member of the east barracks's XXCII squadron to the ground and allow dogs to feast upon their bodies than allow them to keep their rank and uniform. They were savages playing at worth and culture. Nothing more, nothing less. It would be a mercy for him to kill them where they stand than allow them the terror of choosing a death. 

Yotsuyu always was better at that than he.

He flicks viscera from his blade and sheaths it with ease. The new one he had taken from some swordsmith is well made. A shame it’s of less-than-worthy origins. He’d quite like to use it for ceremonial battle instead of the blunted claymore so commonly seen at commencement speeches and duels for the crown. There is no fun when he can only hope one dull thunk is enough to fell an opponent. All his challengers should bow at his feet (just like that courtesan) and defer to his judgement (with a downcast gaze barely hiding their fear). Ah, to behold that ridiculous, feral fury he had once faced. That adventurer had been weak, a feast for his blade but not his mind, and yet nearly every waking moment is consumed by how long they had lasted against the strikes constantly leveraged against their fragile might.

Thinking back at it, the adventurer could heal. It’s not so uncommon a skill that he likened all who could practice healing arts to that of his past opponent, but just uncanny enough that he wonders if Orchid can do it too. It feels like a slippery slope to be looking for a subpar partner in someone so obviously broken in. One moment he’ll be striving for someone who can challenge him and he next he’d be soft and soothed by a courtesan’s touch.

He knows the law of beasts—that they who fight and win are those worthy of the spoils—and wonders if there is any of that greed left within Yotsuyu’s new pet that he could coax out from within them with blade and blood. He tries it, anyway. They flee. 

He tries again. And again. And again. Each and every time they run from him, a blur of respendence and terror. He wonders if it’s an invitation to chase more than it is an attempt to get him to give up on seeing them fight. 

He knows how the rumors warp at the sight of them tearing through the entirety of Doma Castle. Garlemald’s Mad Prince, the heir who gives Varis such worry, courting a flower of Yotsuyu’s own design. It would be unheard of, had the servants and soldiery not known of Zenos’s uniqueness already. As it is, the rumor is distributed, Zenos fills his time with the sight of a heaving chest and flushed face, and Orchid very nearly faints from fight a few dozen times in the span of a week. 

They continue their cycle like it’s a rehearsal; Zenos chases them, always catching with a steel grip on their arm, neck, side, ankle, whatever he can close a hand around and leverage to knock them to the ground before him. But, like always, the moment he has them, the fight drains from every ilm of their body. 

(“A conditioned response,” Yotsuyu told him, when he asked. “Requisite for their work.”)

Zenos hates it. Hates them. He wants a fight in any form he can have it, but all he gets is the vision they make with reddened cheeks and disheveled robes. He decides to try one more time. Just one. 

“Entertain me, little beast,” he orders. “Prove your worth.”

And they run from him like they have before, but there’s somehow an edge to it─desperation morphing to hunger at the sight of them disappearing around a bend, the sound of their heartbeat syncing with the pulse of his Resonant, how they struggle for breath beneath him when his hand closes sharply about their throat. He wants them solely for the rush they grant him, paltry as it may be, and he wonders if this is what Yotsuyu meant when she said they were familiar with his type. To drive him so out of his mind with so little effort. What incredible skill they yet hide from him. 

When he catches them, it’s with the entirety of his body. They tumble to the earth together, intertwined, and he has a revelation. He wants this, the closeness that comes with finally capturing his prey, and maybe something more. Not with Orchid, but very possibly with his beast. 

Only his beast is worthy of such trust and affection as to be pressed closely to his chest─to his heart─and he craves the taste of their skin so acutely it burns. He stares at Orchid, the fainting and fragile beauty Yotsuyu had seen fit to give him as a placeholder, and sighs.

He would need to find his beast soon. He could subsist off of a dream for only so long. 

Askbox | Ask Rules | Commissions | FFXIVWrite 2019 Fills

[ffxivmingxiajiang]

Turning the Spear

He prowled alone in the Black Shroud, living, training, and hunting in his own company.  He rarely stopped by any sort of settlement anymore.  There was little reason to since he was exiled from Gridania.  Word got around quickly, after all, that one of the Lancer's Guild students had stolen from the Guild coffers ('the Duskwight, of course.  Only they are so without morals that they would cheat and steal without a second thought.  Without remorse.').  Nobody would offer services to a thief, after all.

Even though they were starving.  Even though, in reality, there had been more than one of them.  He took the fall for them, came forward and confessed- while they reneged on their promise and walked free.  So much for 'if we go down, we go down together'.

Well, whatever.  He didn't need them.  He could do more like this anyways.  Learn more, training  more, become stronger.  He needed to be stronger, faster, braver- those who abandoned him were too weak to face their consequences.  He wouldn't  be like them.

They were weak.  Cowardly.

He saw them from time to time.  His old friends.  They were always with their little groups.  One of them, he'd heard,  was possibly going to be part of the Seedseer's personal guard.  He didn't  know how true that was.  He didn't care.  Better to be free and live life on his own terms than to be someone else's dog.

He hunted wild beasts.  He always won.  It was too easy, no longer a challenge.  He goaded them, angered them, took them on in groups, and still he bested them.  At least with multiples of them it was sometimes more difficult.

He told himself it was to train.  To have enough to eat that day.  To hone his skill.  Occasionally to get enough gil to replace his spearhead or repair his armour when it wore out.  Sometimes he found himself thinking it was to protect the civilians, those deer in the cities who could not defend themselves.  Sometimes he fought off a beast preying on some hapless walker that strayed too far from where the Wood Wailers could see.  They rarely stayed- if they weren't fleeing his foe, they fled from him, sometimes throwing an insult over their shoulder as they ran.

Feh.  Cowards.  Hardly worth defending.  

Perhaps he stepped in because they were so helpless.  He quickly banished the thought.  It was only for power, to prove to those cravens in the guild how weak they were, how useless the guild's teachings were.  Gridania had nothing worth protecting.  Babying the recruits?  Ha.  How could they possibly last outside the safety of the halls?  They'd never be able to defend themselves in a true battle.  They'd soil themselves and run away screaming.  What an insult to the way of the spear.

He craved a  challenge, still.  How could he get stronger with these measly pickings?

He challenged the guild, again and again.

Disgusting.  The new recruits all flinched away.  He had no desire to fight mewling kits.  The more senior ones were not so difficult to defeat either.  He supposed of skill they were...passable, but lacked strength.  The Guildmaster would never answer his challenge.

So he left again.  Perhaps he'd return another day.

Until then, he would train and he would hunt, if for no other reason than to try to satisfy that gnawing hunger that drove him on, that made him glance back towards the city with fleeting thoughts about how might it have been if things had gone differently.  

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 4

Summary: in which exsanguination is one hell of a drug

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word count: 2,720

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Warnings: Blood and Injury

*

Chapter 4: The Devil You Know

“What have you done?”

He repeats the words, icy tone thawing into rolling fervor.

She gives no answer. Though her mouth is silent, her lips are pursed as if she might spit. Blood trickles through her clutching fingers, and her eyes, blazing with pain, with hate, dare to meet Einvald’s as he shakes her in frenzied pique.

“He will not want you like this!” He yells, bared teeth inches from her face. “No prince would be willing to pay for a woman with such blemish, no man at all would desire a scarred, ugly little wife!”

And Loki knows, with a wrest in his gut, that this is the heart of it. So greatly does she not want to marry him, so disturbing the mere thought, that she would sooner mutilate herself than be with him. Here is a girl he has not once met before, yet whom he has somehow terrified unto desperation. Is he truly that much of a monster, that one look at him would cause an innocent girl to draw a blade against her own flesh, to carve up her face in her defiance, just to get away from his clutches?

Uncharitable bitterness wells up like bile behind his teeth, wringing his face into a frown.

***

You’re shocked. Einvald is shaking you, hard, your whole body swaying on unsteady legs. His face is so near to you, so angry, that tears spring to your eyes, and it hurts, it hurts, the whole side of your face burning like an iron brand, like your cheek is pressed against the red, fulgent coals of a freshly killed fire. And the blood. There’s so much of it, slippery and hot, flowing out of your body even as you try to stanch it. But the words he says tear through the fear and agony and lodge like an arrow in your chest, stopping your breathing as you go limp, numb. Or rather, one word in particular.

Wife. Not a whore. You blink once, twice, dazed.

“No man at all would desire a scarred, ugly little wife.”

The word rolls around your mind and you frantically try to concentrate on it. How could... But that wasn’t... Hadn’t Einvald told you... but perhaps he hadn’t. He had never told you anything. You had been the one to connect the dots, you realize, feeling utterly lost and confused. But then... but why... Why would Prince Loki want you as a bride? You try to grasp at that, try to focus, but your upright body feels like it’s falling, and Einvald is still barraging on about how you’d ruined everything, how he’d never get what was due to him because of your failure, and your vision narrows and dims, and any moment now your body will give one final lurch and then-

“Leave me,” a different voice says in a low hiss.

Einvald stills as if only now remembering he has an audience, and your eyes, which had drifted closed, flicker open as you both, captor and hostage, look at the source.

Loki — stood taut and stately in a loose, silken tunic of patterned silver, and black, close-cut leather leggings, hair neatly combed back from his face — looks both ferocious and imperious, all over a prince, anger roiling behind soft green eyes. At you or at Einvald, you are uncertain.

“Your Highness,” Einvald says in a way that’s meant to be pacifying, turning to the prince with a nervous grin, and it’s jarring to hear him speak so obsequiously after seeing him snap and order around his men and Pínaluk.

Prince Loki doesn’t let him finish.

“You asked a moment of my time, Sir Einvald,” he says crisply, fixing the man with the full brunt of his hard stare. “You stood before me, striving to sell me lies, and offered me this woman, this girl. A noblewoman you said, yet she is nothing of the sort. Do you really believe that, because she doesn’t dress in the rags of peasants, she must have political standing? Or would you attempt to so deceive me, to line your own pockets in my foolishness, and laugh once my back is turned? Know well, Einvald, that I am no fool. Nor do I have want of a bride, much less a frightened little runaway presented to me like wares that can be bargained and purchased!” His voice, while still quiet and restrained, has risen in severity, his fury a low hum waiting to be unleashed. Palpable. He stalks forward nimbly until he is glaring down at Einvald, who has gone pale in the wake of it. “Your moment is over. Now leave me.” The words are bitten out and leave Einvald no room for argument, for smarmy placations or endeavors to wriggle out of the corner he’s been backed into.

You watch with a distant sort of fascination at seeing Einvald so cowed by the prince’s words, subdued like a dog brought to heel by its master. It satisfies some execrable part of you, a dark little recess in your heart that is storehouse to your spite and rancor for the man who stole you and would pawn you off for his own avaricious benefit.

Einvald takes you by the upper arm as he wordlessly tries to flee, and all the halfway-there thoughts of revenge scatter like startled, flighty birds in your head.

Prince Loki holds up a hand in a halting motion.

“No,” he states simply. “She stays.”

Einvald gapes, likes he’s about to protest, to claim he has been somehow cheated, but evidently thinks better of it, and after stopping just long enough to retrieve his fallen seax and wipe it clean in the grass, departs with his men back along the path from where you had come.

Prince Loki approaches you, and you look up at him in question. His countenance has not lessened, and uneasiness laps at your tentative consciousness.

He wraps his fingers around your wrists and pulls your hands from your face. They come away horribly stained, a smeary mess of dark red. You wonder for a passing moment how you’ll ever get all of the blood off your skin. The wound has stopped spewing, and now viscous crour gurgles to the surface indolently.

“Hold still.”

Loki bends down slightly as he inspects the damage you wrought on yourself, and his dark head bobs in front of you. It makes you feel a bit dizzy.

He pries strands of your hair, clumped and tacky with drying blood, out of the wound and turns your head to better observe it. His hands are firm but not harsh, and his manner has the detached brevity of one who is accustomed to tending to impersonal injuries.

This is news, you observe as your eyes droop. You hadn’t heard any talk of the prince’s healing abilities, though you hadn’t heard much talk of him at all, come to think of it.

You’d heard lots about Prince Thor, though. Of his ardent pluck in his many battles, of his might, which made him something of a hero in the eyes of little boys everywhere — as well as many a grown man — as they played at being warriors with their imaginary hammers. Of his boisterous ale-talk, the hearty and captivating tales he told of the adventures of he and his companions when he was in a drinking mood. Of the sweetness he bestowed on Lady Sif without measure, the kind of lingering glances and soft touches that were the envy of the young women who would giggle as they spoke of them, carefree in their yearning for their prince’s affections. You’d heard it been said that a simple smile from Prince Thor was enough to charm even the most callous of people into his good graces.

Yes, Prince Thor was a very popular conversation topic, for everyone loved their future king. It had never occurred to you before to wonder if there was a reason no one gossiped so casually about Prince Loki like that. You frown.

You’re pulled from your slurred thoughts as the prince prods an investigatory finger too close to the raw, open flesh of your cheek, and you cry out and wrench you face away from him, snarling defensively as your eyes water.

“That hurts!” you hiss indignantly, before you can think better of it, before your eyes regain focus and you remember who you’re talking to, and that it would beseem you to show respect for your prince.

“And who, exactly, is to blame for that?” he grits out, more cross than he had been. You say nothing, trying to blink away the last of your tears. “I thought I told you to hold still.”

You set your teeth and brace yourself as he returns to his work.

He leans in further, so close you can smell his hair — and isn't that just plain weird to notice. You wonder if he can smell anything other than the acrid tang of your blood — with a frown of concentration, of irritation, of both, tugging his mouth in a lopsided line.

His fingers once more touch the laceration, and they feel cold over your hot, inflamed skin. It still stings savagely, but the chill numbs the worst of it and you let your eyes fall shut as they’ve been longing to do for a while now. As he drags his fingers along the length of it, it slowly starts to ease, and a curious, tingly sensation spreads, like the rent flesh is being put back together, mended.

Prince Loki pulls his hand away and mutters a curse and you force your eyes open. He’s staring at the place the wound had been in mild alarm, and you feel suddenly cold.

He waves his hand over the spot, trying something else, and a feeling like a warm wind stirs over your face for a second before choking off abruptly, and then he leans back, dumbfounded.

You reach up and find a long line of a scar beneath your fingertips, and the sensation is dull on your face, the rigid, raised flesh hardly seeming like part of your skin, part of you.

Then Loki is shouting.

“You stupid, witless, cowardly little girl!” he seethes, sneering with unchecked malice. “You’ll bear that scar as long as you live,” he says, and there’s something triumphant in the way his eyes gleam, something ugly and gratified, like he knows you deserve it. “That blade must have had an enchantment on it. Elf magic, if my guess is any good, which, if you didn’t know, is notoriously impervious to being tampered with, to being... undone. If my magic cannot heal that wound, nothing in the Nine will.”

Outrage flares in your chest at his demeanor, at the repugnant medley of smug superiority and sheer glee. But his words prick you like nettles, and the sting of them is what smothers the spark of anger. He’s right, and that’s the worst part. This is what you wanted, is it not? It was the plan all along. Although, it never would have been if you had only known ahead that you were never meant to be sold into the prince’s bed. But that hardly matters now, in the aftermath. As the dust settles, what matters is the cold, dead tissue under your fingers, and though the wound no longer pains you physically, there will always be the sharp ache of desperation, of helpless fear in the memory.

You don’t give Prince Loki an answer. You don’t have one to offer even if you deemed him worthy of one. Instead of glowering at him, as you’d very much like to do, you contain yourself, barely, and fix your eyes firmly on the ground, at the spattered drops of blood soaking into the grass. So much blood, you think absently. On your hands. On the earth. Drying to a stiff crust on the front of your dress. All outside of your body. But blood is supposed to be inside. How much of it, of you, did you lose? How much is still left? Is it enough? you wonder woozily, and the thought that it might not be scares you.

You think you hear a voice nearby. It sounds familiar. It sounds... anxious. Maybe it’s your own voice, worried about your lack of blood. But there are footsteps, and surely those aren’t yours. You’re not walking. At least you don’t think so. You glance at your feet, and the slight movement sends the earth reeling beneath you. As you swoon, arms close around your shoulders and you know those aren’t yours. And that’s the last thing you know as fade into full oblivion.

***

Loki grunts as the slack body of the woman crashes into him, and he grabs at her before she can collapse on the ground, supporting her sprawled weight on one knee he’d hurriedly jut out to brace her with his arms clutching at her shoulders. He shifts his limbs so he can haul her up properly, and it’s a little bit awkward, trying to maneuver a good grip without letting her drop, but he manages it eventually. He stands and carries her, her arms and legs limp, hanging weight and her head rolling toward his bicep. He presses her bloodily clothed body closer and mourns a bit at the inevitable blood besmirching a favored tunic of his, but doesn’t dwell on it overmuch as he sets off, again, for the palace.

He walks steadily through the long, echoing halls, the sound of his boot heels on the stone thrumming unduly loud against his eardrums. Servants pass him on occasion, and he pays little mind to their curious eyes and rumor-ready mouths, not daring to think of the nonsense they’ll no doubt spew up to contextualize his cradling of a half-dead looking woman as he traverses the palace corridors and makes his way to the healing wing.

He deposits the woman there in one of the many empty beds, not bothering to turn down the cover as he simply drops her on top of the floral and cream quilt and turns to find Eir. It’s the matter of but a moment, since the goddess of medicine is never far from her halls, even when there are no sick and injured to tend. Her eyes land on his bloody fingers and smudged tunic, and the next moment finds her coming closer, hands instinctually lifting toward him as if to check him over for injuries. Her immutable concern for him is touching, if unnecessary, and he pushes back his lingering acrimony and sore confidence, for the time being, as he addresses her.

“It’s not mine,” he says quietly, before she gets a chance to fret over him in earnest. “I’ve merely bee the unwitting sumpter of your newest patient.”

That causes her to pause and frown in confusion, and perhaps a fair amount of skepticism, before setting in on him with a slew of analytic questions.

He answers her inquiries best he can, which isn’t much, but it’s enough to satisfy her until the woman wakes and can answer for herself.

And so Loki returns to his own rooms, to finally have that bath after all, now that he really needs it, all blood and sweat and simmering irritation from head to toe.

And as he scrubs the refuse of the day from his skin, water long gone tepid, his mind lingers on thoughts of the scared but unrepentant eyes of the girl, of her too-pale lips gone nearly white from the pain, from the loss of blood. Of her grim determination, to do that to herself, to pull the blade across the soft, tender skin of her face. He winces as if he is in pain, just thinking about it. It’s a potent image.

He had called her cowardly. And perhaps, in a way it it is true. Fear of the unknown, of him, had been her motivation. He knows this, just as he knows that the venom that burns in his heart like acid that the thought brings will never truly be silent. But, he realizes uncomfortably, with a twist of his stomach that is dangerously close to something admiring, it was a brave thing to do as well.

Part 5

[canonconspiracy]

Escaping Kings Landing

Fandom: Game Of Thrones

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Reader

Fic Writer: @rmorningstar21

Warnings: None, despite mentions of blood and battle

This is cross-posted upon my wattpad (@rmorningstar21).

AN: I won't be posting each and every update that I do on wattpad on here, but I see all this love for Sandor and thought why not bring some more.

___________

Though you had been instructed by your sister to stay in the Red Keep with the other women, you were nothing like your sister.  Those out there that were risking their lives over Stannis Baratheon’s attack were people that you cared for, and you were not going to sit in hiding while the men were slaughtered by Stannis’s army.  You had taken the sword that your brother Jamie had given you years prior, back when he found out your little secret enjoyment of sword play, and you had tied your hair back under a set of armour. When the attack had struck the walls of King’s Landing, you fought merceliously by the side of your fellow people.  

Unlike your sister, you actually cared for the supposed underlings that were out risking their lives.  Those whom would fight for the kingdom did have a leader beside them, though they were blissfully unaware of your presence.  The one person, though, whom had been there to protect your arrogant nephew, sister, and all of the kingdom as what most would refer to as “The Hound”, knew every knight, squire, and face of everyone that came in and out of King’s Landing.  It had not taken long for him to realize that it was you, and though he did not announce it to the world, he did keep a careful eye on you during the battle.  

As time went on, arrows flying back and forth, swords clashing aggressively upon one another, King’s Landing was falling.  The army was being slaughtered, and no matter the help of one person whom stuck their nose where they were told not to, the results were looking bleak.  Through the chaos, you had felt yourself being pulled by your armor away from the battle. Originally, you had thought that the strong arm belonged to a Stannis knight, and you brought your sword up to slash at the man holding you.  Much to your surprise, the man had Lannister armor adorning him, and shushed you with a gruff voice.  

Pulling you away from the action fully, he somewhat forcefully removed your helm.  From under his own helm, you could hear the gruff voice say, “Don’t fret, little bird,” and you could almost hear a soft smile upon the gruff man’s face.  That voice, though it was somewhat muffled by the helm, was familiar to you. Though you were not absolutely sure, you figured that Sandor had found you and taken you away from it all.  “You could have gotten ya’rself killed out there.”

“It’s better than my cowardly sister holding up in the keep,” you countered firmly, your gentle voice having a stern underlay to it.  “This wretched battle was her atrocity anyhow.”

He let out a hearty chuckle, placing an armored hand upon your shoulder.  “I take it ya’re not a fan of ‘er?” he questioned between fits of laughter.  

“I’d much rather die in battle than spend another minute in the throne room, Sandor” you said with a soft sigh.  

“Let’s get ya’ out of ‘ere, then,” he said firmly, though under his helm he was somewhat softened by the fact that you had addressed him by his name.  The two of you were never particularly close, seeing as your sister would not have allowed that, but you did treat him with respect. For that matter, though it was your secret alone in all of King’s Landing, you were fond of the scarred, apparent brute.  Sandor Clegane had been nothing but kind to you, and you showed him the respect that he deserved. He was not a dog, a mutt, or any of those wretched things that your nephew, sister, and just about anyone in your family had said about him. He was a killer when it was necessary, but his brother, the Mountain, was the only one that seemed to truly enjoy the endeavour outside of orders.  

Sandor had allowed you to strip out of the heavy armor that you adorned before sneaking you through the castle.  Stopping at your room, you had grabbed a few small necessities that you would be able to carry upon yourself, and while you gathered them, he watched softly from the doorway.  He had stripped himself of the helm that he wore, though he insisted upon keeping the armor that was against his own body. After all, you rarely saw the man without plated armor on him anyhow.  When you were ready, the two of you flee King’s Landing entirely, the sounds of battle slowly grew silent behind you as you ran.  

Once the two of you had reached the town itself, you stopped at the stables to grab his horse, which he had helped you onto before the two of you rode out of the area.  Where you two were going was a mystery to you both, but as far away from King’s Landing was the current objective. Most of the ride was silent, and you held on tightly to his armor plated waist as the two of you rode.  The further that the two of you ventured, the more free you had felt for the first time in a long time.  

When it had been hours that the two of you rode, he finally offered for the two of you to stop at a nearby inn.  Though you had not grabbed a lot of gold from your chambers, you had grabbed more than enough to suffice, agreeing that it would be nice to actually get some rest.  The two of you saved money by getting one room, and you let out a relieving sigh once the two of you got into the room.  

“Sandor,” you said softly as you sat upon the bed in the room the two of you were sharing, causing him to glance over at  you. At first glance, with the blood stains upon your face, as well as the outfit you adorned, you did not look like a princess, let alone a queen.  Not to say that you were not beautiful, but you showed your difference from your sister Cersei in the way that you carried yourself this day. To your call, you received merely a grunt from the man, urging you to continue, but something in his eyes showed that despite his indifference in his tone, his eyes awaited each and every word.  “I wanted to say thank you.”

He tried to fight that gentle smile that perched against his lips, but even the will of the strong man was nothing compared to someone showing him a simple kindness.  His brown orbs may normally have been cold, yet they never seemed so towards you. They had a warmness about them as they met your y/e/c orbs, and you could not help but let a light tinge of blush rise in your cheeks.  “Don’t mention it,” he murmured out, though you could tell that he was just trying to play off the smile that was previously upon his lips.  

That night, though he had protested, the two of you had shared the inn’s bed, and subconsciously you had rolled into his arms.  Since you were fast asleep, he had allowed himself to wrap his arm firmly around you before he finally fell into slumber. In the morning, if the two of you still lied together so tightly, he would argue that he merely meant to keep you safe, though deep down he just may have been able to admit that he enjoyed the feeling of your fragile frame in his arms.

[mezzopurrloin]

Mezzo Plays Final Fantasy X: Part 3

Surprisingly, Tidus isn't dead.

He's just washed up on the coast of some island. He's hit in the back of the head with a blitzball, and spies some people on the beach waving to him.

He decides to do a midair flip kick to send it back, impressing their leader.

Then he swims to shore and introduces himself, first saying he's from Zanarkand, then after that confuses everyone, telling people he was infected by Sin's toxin.

His name is (probably) not a Pac-Man reference. Tidus asks if it's true Zanarkand was destroyed a thousand years ago, and Wakka dispenses some exposition.

"It was just as Rikku had said. Wakka and Rikku couldn't both be lying. Why would they? I appreciated the fact that Wakka was trying to cheer me up. But at that time, all I could think about was... everything that happened to me -- all of this -- started with Sin. Maybe if I could find Sin one more time, I could go home! For now, I'd just live life until that time came. No more worrying about where, or when, I was. Sure it was hard not to think of home. But I started to feel better already. A little better...maybe."

Wakka decides to escort Tidus back to his village.

Of course, they end up meeting some fiends along the way. Wakka fights using his blitzball as a weapon, which seems a bit odd, but it makes for a good throwing weapon apparently.

He also tells Tidus about a big blitzball tournament coming up. Wakka says that maybe someone there will recognize Tidus if he plays, and Tidus agrees to help out.

Here we get a nice view of Besaid Village. Wakka joined the Aurochs 10 years ago, but the team hasn't won a single game since then. He's about to give up on the blitz, but wants this last tournament to be his best yet. Tidus agrees and hopes to steer the Aurochs toward victory.

Just before entering the village proper, Wakka asks Tidus about the prayer, which of course just makes Tidus more confused.

You just put your hands in this position while saying "Praise be to Yevon."

"Any blitzball player would know that prayer. It was the blitzball sign for victory."

Time to loot some stuff! This house was wrecked by Sin and the owner never bothered rebuilding it, so it's not like they have any use for these things anyway.

There's also a little lodge here belonging to a group called the Crusaders. They're sworn to battle Sin, but no one's ever been able to truly defeat it, so their duties mainly involve keeping it away from populated areas.

One thing I forgot to mention about save points is that they also provide a full HP/MP recharge. This makes them a convenient replacement for the inns of other RPGs, though you're free to rest at the Crusaders' lodge if you want.

Once that's done, Tidus heads into the temple. It's the biggest building in the village, and faces away from the ocean, as that's where Sin comes from.

Inside the temple plays the Hymn of the Fayth, another plot-important song. No, 'fayth' is not a typo.

"It was then, standing in that place. I began to realize how different this world was from my own."

Tidus talks to one of the temple attendants, and after using the toxin excuse again, gets some more exposition.

"It was funny hearing myself make the same excuse over and over. Funny, and a little sad."

"So what he meant...was that we should respect some kinda great men or something like that...I figured."

Tidus goes back to Wakka's place for a quick nap.

Which leads us to another flashback sequence. Young Tidus is happy to see Jecht gone from his life.

His mom isn't quite that sympathetic to him.

After he wakes up, Wakka is gone. Tidus heads back to the temple to find out what's going on.

It seems that the summoner is in trouble, and Tidus immediately runs into the temple depths to help.

Monk: "The precepts must be obeyed!"

Tidus: "Like I care!"

This takes him to the Cloister of Trials, a puzzle that must be overcome before reaching the chamber of the fayth. This one's pretty simple and teaches you the basics of these rooms.

The puzzles are based around spheres. Glyph Spheres open the way to the chamber, Destruction Spheres destroy things to uncover hidden treasures, and each temple also has its own type of sphere. Only one sphere can be held at a time and you can stick them into sphere-shaped slots to activate things.

In this case, there's a Besaid Sphere powering this lovely Tron lines complex.

If we replace it with a Destruction Sphere...

It blows up a wall to reveal a hidden chest. Inside is a Rod of Wisdom, which we can't use yet. It's important to get every Destruction Sphere treasure we can, as there's a late-game reward for obtaining them all. And generally, it's important to grab everything we can the first time, since backtracking isn't really a thing for 90% of the game.

Anyway, after completing the Cloister of Trials, Wakka meets up with Tidus again, and he explains that only summoners, apprentice summoners, and their guardians can enter. Wakka is free to enter because he's a guardian. Summoners go on a pilgrimage to every temple in Spira, and the guardians protect them.

We meet some more guardians outside the chamber. And then the door opens, revealing...

"Man, was I surprised. And here I was, thinking summoners were all old geezers."

The group heads out to the town square, and the summoner decides to show her prowess.

"I had never seen anything like it in my life. Sure, it was a little scary, but still... I could feel a strange kind of gentleness from it."

You get to pick a name for the aeon too. Her canon name is Valefor, but I went with Yvonne on a suggestion from Umbra.

The celebration continues into the night, and Tidus and the summoner finally get to meet face-to-face.

Yuna forgives Tidus for barging in, as she feels it was her fault for taking so long.

"I remember... That night, we talked for the first time. I didn't know it then, but after that night, everything changed. For everyone... For me..."

If you haven't already figured it out, yes, Yuna is the main love interest. After talking to her, Tidus heads to the Crusaders' lodge to sleep.

It's only been one day and you're already having dreams about her?

Yeah, yeah, Rikku's cute too.

Jecht, stop being such an asshole. This is why your son hates you.

Tidus awakens and sees Wakka and the girl in black, Lulu, talking.

You know how they say Final Fantasy characters are obsessed with belts? Yeah, here's a prime example. Apparently they made Lulu's dress entirely out of belts as a challenge to the animators.

The camera moves up so we can get a nice head shot of her too.

Wakka gives some context on the conversation after coming inside. His brother Chappu joined the Crusaders, and was killed by Sin. Wakka learned the news on the day of the last blitzball tournament, which understandably threw his game off.

In the morning, Wakka presents a gift to Tidus.

This sword is called Brotherhood, and is quite fancy. It was originally meant to be a gift for Chappu, but he never used it. Tidus leaves the village with Yuna's group, as they're going on the same ship.

Well, not quite yet. There's one more thing to grab first. See my comment above about how it's really important to pick stuff up the first time around.

No, I don't get it either.

Once that's done, the group stops to pray at the monument above town. Chappu didn't pray at it the day he left. While making their way back to the coast, we get some more random encounters.

Flying fiends are Wakka's speciaility. They have a big evasion bonus vs. melee, but Wakka's ball can hit them with no problems.

This slime monster looks dangerous, though. Its amorphous body gives it strong resistance to physical attacks.

Time to call in our black mage. Lulu uses these adorable little plushies as weapons and as focuses for her magic. Many are references to other Final Fantasy creatures, like the moogle up there. She also takes the time to explain this game's element system. Fire and ice oppose each other, as do lightning and water. This blob is water based, so...

Zap! Problem solved.

Tidus runs a bit ahead of everyone else when we reach the next area...

And runs into this furry guy, who we saw at the temple earlier. He doesn't take kindly to Tidus and attacks. The two trade blows for a bit, until everyone else comes in and puts a stop to it.

He's another one of Yuna's guardians. He doesn't talk much, and can't be used as a party member yet, but he will be later.

I know this post is already overloaded with screenshots but really, check out the view here.

Anyway, upon encountering a large flying fiend, Wakka decides that rather than handling it himself, he lets Yuna try out her summoning. You can swap party members in and out at any time during a battle.

Time to see what our aeon can do. By using the Summon command, Yuna calls Yvonne to the field. All other party members disappear while the aeon is summoned.

Yvonne can use standard attacks, cast black magic much like Lulu, and has the Sonic Wings special which deals damage and delays the opponent's turn.

Much like players, aeons have their own Overdrive bar too. That's what picking up the thing from the dog was all about. In this case though, I decided that her first Overdrive, Energy Ray, was enough for this fight.

She charges up a laser in her mouth, then fires it at the ground.

Then, explosions. Perfect for taking out any irritating fiends.

One last encounter to show here. In this case each character is up against the type of fiend they're specialized against. You want to have Tidus hit the wolf thing, Wakka go for the flyer, and Lulu cast Thunder on the blob, and they're finished off easily.

All of our other party members have their own places on the Sphere Grid, and they gain S.Lvls and spheres the same way Tidus does. Tidus learned a new ability too: Flee, which guarantees escape from any non-boss fight. Some say that fleeing from battles is cowardly, but it's still handy to use in a pinch.

Oh, by the way, that Rod of Wisdom we found? It's a weapon for Yuna. It gives a good magic boost and the Sensor ability, allowing her to show enemy HP and traits. When not using aeons, Yuna acts as our white mage, giving out heals and buffs when needed.

One last thing to grab as we hit the beach. This is a component for a postgame weapon for Yuna. I don't know if I'll get into the postgame for this LP, but it's good to have anyway.

Yuna and her crew board the ship. Yuna waves goodbye to the villagers as they set off.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

🐇 What animal would they say best represents them? (For all your kids 😃)

This was a super fun one to work on! Thanks so much for asking!

Okay listen, I know this took a while lol I’ve been pretty busy…! It doesn’t help that I spend forever working on asks, anyway! I just love to ramble! But, after twenty-two days of intermixed not-working and oh-holy-shit-I-need-to-finish-that-ask, it is done! Fourteen individual dorks and their animals! 

I actually have my Wardens’ and Inquisitors’ “Spirit Animals” on their Ref pages (here for Wardens and here for Inquisitors!)

((From this post!))

I am putting this under a “Read More” link because, well, you’ll see why…

Redren, Fallow Deer I chose the Fallow Deer for Redren not only because it ties into his childhood and the deer of his home village, but because of the wildness that the Deer represent. Contrary to most interpretations, the gentleness of the Deer isn’t as tied into him as other aspects, namely the skittishness, wildness, and spirituality. The redness of the Fallow Deer ties into both his long orange hair and his blood magic, as well as his concerningly fiery temper. Redren’s personality and how it relates to the Deer is surprisingly spot-on, and concerning the antlers, sure, just like Redren, they can be a little intimidating and used in a fight, but, also similar to Redren, they can break if put under too much pressure…

Andrea, French Poodle I decided to go with the Poodle because, like, come on. Not only are they associated with vanity and beauty, but most people see them as dainty, feeble, and cowardly. These views, while widespread, are more misconceptions than anything. Poodles are an incredibly intelligent breed of dog, underestimated and capable of far more than most believe at first glance. Andrea, even though she most certainly doesn’t look like a warrior, is a political genius and a loyal, loyal bitch.

Orest, Coyote It took me a long time to settle on the Coyote for Orest. The Coyote is usually thought of to be cunning and wicked, but the more I looked into it, the more I liked pairing Orest with the Coyote. Coyotes are associated with traits such as honesty and a captivating personality, of truth and finding joy in the simple things in life. The Coyote’s laugh is loud and full of life, and nobody can claim that Orest’s is any different. The association between the Coyote and a lot of Native American cultures was also a large determining factor, as the Dalish are so heavily coded as Native Americans and Orest’s character design is unquestionably Native-based.

Faelyn, Lop-Eared Rabbit I love Faelyn’s connection with bunnies, and so does she. She loves rabbits, especially the lop-eared ones. Faelyn is a little jumpy, spontaneous, and certainly a positive force to have in your life. She also fits into the “fertile” aspect of the Rabbit’s symbolism, as she’s obsessed with weddings and babies and happy little domestic lives. She’s small and her ears flop a little and her front teeth are a little overgrown, but she likes her features. She’s grown into the slur that people have always called her, turning “rabbit” into “Bunny”. Also, she’ll flop over onto her back and let you kiss her if she likes you enough.

Hundir, Ram Well, the Ram fit really well for Hundir. The Ram symbolizes power, force, drive, energy, virility, protection, and fearlessness, and Hundir’s got all of those except, well, the fearlessness one. He’s a little… sheepish. God, I’ll show myself out for that one. I love the parallels between the two, especially since Hundir’s an Aires. He really fits his horoscope. He’s most comfortable when in charge, but not in the spotlight, and would prefer to simply bash at things instead of trying to find peaceful alternative options.

Gemma, Badger She’s such a Hufflepuff, I swear. Not only is she very closely tied to the earth—being an Orzammar dwarf and all—but she’s adorable and could very easily rip a man’s throat out. She’s very confident in her own strength, even if she has moments of doubt. She’s loyal to those close to her, and willing to defend both them and herself. Coming from a world of kill-or-be-killed, both her and the Badger are very in-the-moment, constantly alert and two steps ahead of danger. But, as fierce as she may be, she’s still ever so fluffy and cute.

Mallory, Peacock I think the Peacock fits Mallory quite well. Despite the fact that fics I write containing him usually veer negative and a more than a little angsty, he’s really a fun, excitable person at heart, who wants nothing more than to express himself. Peacocks are associated with traits like freedom, self-expression, and attraction, and Mallory certainly doesn’t shy away from those. Peacocks are also closely tied to the myth of the Phoenix, and nothing says Mallory Trevelyan more than rising from the ashes of a depressed, disastrous, noble life and reinventing oneself as a loud, bubbly, makeup-clad sex worker.

Kiora, Sloth I was originally going to pair Kiora up with a cat because, well, of course, but as I looked more into it, she didn’t fit most typical descriptions. She wasn’t a cunning, shady, and mysterious kind of person. The Sloth fit her perfectly. Physically slow and relaxed, people tied to the Sloth are seen as diplomatic and able to adjust to changes with little fuss, with personalities that are kind and giving. Kiora’s patient to a fault, and passive to her own detriment. However, she moves, slow and steady, toward her goals, quietly and with so little show that people don’t notice until she’s already long gone.

Aelon, Lizard It was really hard to find an animal I best associated with Aelon. Most of the time, “spirit animals” symbolize virtues, and, as good as he can be, Aelon’s unfortunate amount of anxiety and anger and a million other things outweigh most of the common traits mentioned. However, I did find the Lizard to be a good match. Sure, he’s not great at “going with the flow”, but he is decent at handling things life throws at him, albeit with very little grace. He is willing to replace things from his old life with new things, and can face things head on, but would rather dart away to his safe space. He’s quick to run away, and getting a hold of him (both emotionally and physically) is incredibly difficult. And, well, he’s also very small and very cute despite being an angry little fella who would very much so like to be put down.

Ashavise, Fox It wasn’t hard to figure out Ashavise’s connection to the Fox. She’s cunning and shifty, always analyzing others and figuring the best plan of attack. She’s untrustworthy and always ready to run, but that doesn’t mean she’s in any way a coward—she just knows when not to waste her energy fighting. Of course, she isn’t afraid to make a fuss over something, and she’ll nip at people’s heels to get what she wants. However, she’s also very good at lying in wait, spending ages in anticipation for someone to let their guard down before she pounces. She’s not above lying and cheating at all to get what she wants. But, despite her more unsavory traits, she’s a fiercely protective woman who will do anything for her kits—whether they be dead or only partly dead.

Ademamar, Draft Horse It may be ironic, but Ade’s got a lot of similarities to the Draft Horse. Bulky and dense in more ways than one, Ademamar is more like the Horse than other animals reflective of his actual physique. The Horse is symbolic of freedom and power, but also limited by perceived obstacles. Just a shadow in the road can have him skittish and leave him unable to cross over it, even if the obstacle would be nonexistent for others. He may be able to pull an immense amount of weight and he may have the stamina to do it for a very long time, but once he falls, he falls hard, and finds it incredibly difficult to get back up. But, much like the Horse, all it takes for him to get back up is some food and a loving companion.

Harta, Cocker Spaniel She’s small, loyal, excitable, and a bundle of curly, curly hair, but Harta can be feisty and stubborn, too. An intelligent young woman, Harta’s eager to please and possessive over what’s hers. She’s small and full of energy, and her looks can be very deceiving. She can put on a sweet personality to match her friendly outer appearance, but she’s still got sharp teeth she can bring out at any moment. Not to mention, she’s part of quite the sizable litter of siblings…

Ozol, Frog First off, like with Ade, I recognize the irony of pairing up a character with an animal that is so wildly different from them size-wise. But pairing Ozol with the Frog made perfect sense. the Frog is a symbol of rebirth, renewal, opportunity, and healing. For someone who escape the oppressive Qun regime, Ozol was lucky to be someone blessed with the ability to not only get out, but to heal and grow from the experience, emerging as a better version of himself. Frogs are the first indicators of spring, singing out happily at a new, warm, and fertile world. Ozol counts his blessings every day, knowing that he was one of the lucky ones. He’s a good companion for long, troubling journeys, and prides himself on being a reliable guide, both along a trail and in life.

Semiha, White-Tailed Doe Having Semiha Adaar share a very similar animal to Redren is—if one knows how wildly different the characters are—strange, to say the least. Much like the Deer, at a distance, Semiha is tall and beautiful, she wields her magic beautifully and with immense skill. But, once you get close to her, she stumbles over her own two feet, drops her weapons accidentally, and fumbles over her words when faced with a pretty girl. But, even though she may be a little skittish at times, and tends to wish she could flee scary situations with all the grace of a startled, clumsy forest creature, she can stand tall and proud when the situation arises.