#Scion Engines

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Cyrious Garageworks Scion FR-S, 2013. A first generation Toyota GT86 modified for drifting with a 500hp FA20 engine

[devotedlystrangewizard]

if i had a nickel for every surprise rhythm game in a final fantasy game with a number in the title that is dividable by 7 id have 2 nickels which isnt a lot b

[largemouthbassnation]

Is an LS-Powered Subaru BRZ Better than a Corvette? - One Take

Save time, money and headaches at the dealership with CARZING! Find your car, line up financing, and do the paperwork at … source

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

---------------------------------------------------------------

As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

[voidsentprinces]

One of my favorite details about Warrior of Light is how side character will see us fight a Primal and be both awe struck and terrified of us. Like they can't tell which one of us is the real monster out there on the battlefield. The Warrior of Light keeps Lolorito up at night, the Holy See would rather open its gate to the exiled Scions than to spurn the Warrior of Light, better to keep them clearly in direct line of vision and then send them out on a suicide mission to parley with Dragons than let them stay cooped up in Ishgard and constantly a threat, Ysayle is genuinely at lost for words after we fight Ravana saying she hasn't seen us fight like that since she and her fought and despite just being defeated by Ravana, she seems more afraid of us than she is of still being in ambush distance of the One Mind, Elidibus doesn't truly comprehend our power and after we activate the Crystal of Azem, he genuinely falters and asks who we are, Thordan sees us as a terror beyond terrors, his death not being a peaceful one as we are warped from his perspective, Fandaniel chooses Zenos and us to antagonize genuinely because we are literally the only thing on Eitheirys that could guarantee that Zodiark was vanquished and the Final Days unleashed, Ryne is drawn to us for a reason beyond any sense she knows at first much like her she can sense the powerful light like that of Warden and needs to know more of it, and the only ones who outgambit us (Ilberd, Fandaniel, Emet-Selch and Zenos) are not in their right mind to begin with in dealing with us. And then again, all they can really do is STALL us as we are a single person siege engine cutting through waves of soldiers, the Garleans despise us and yet also respect us for what we did in the Praetorium, Zenos is truly in awe of us and calls us Champion of the Savages in reverence. Very few who meet us at first are gladened by our arrival, some are genuinely nervous and unsure when they meet us for the first time. If they do not hear tales of our gentler side from those who know us best.

The Warrior of Light is a beacon of hope but also a power not to be trifled with lightly and its kind of amazing how they write us.

[gee0man]

Rogue Albatross Mackenzie "Mack" Titania Vermilion is the 21st pilot of Garland Vermilion, ancestral frame of House Vermilion, known as the Divine Engine Ancestor.

House Vermilion has dedicated itself to a generation spanning goal; the absolute destruction of the Karrakin Baronies.

Fly True - Motto of House Vermilion

This has been a historical source of friction between the Albatross and House Vermilion, nominally allied against the Baronies. Vermilion has produced some of the greatest Albatross to ever live, as well as some of its most conflicted.

Every scion of Vermilion that becomes an Albatross bears the same burden. Balancing the imperfect reality of the Albatross' ideals, Vermilion's ancient grudge, and the expectations of stewarding the Divine Engine Ancestor. With Mackenzie, its latest champion, that delicate balance has finally broken.

[estavionpira]

Scion Path To Victory Usage

how to land on planet

how to tell an entity how to land on planet

how to do cpr on wife

how to run cycle

how to run cycle EASY

how to keep outfit clean

how to fight fire

how to destroy nuke

how to rescue cat from tree

how to fight conflict engine

how to kill conflict engine

how to escape time loop

how to have fun

how to kill parahumans

how to find my wife

how to find that fucking bug bitch

how to find my wife

how to find my wife

how to find my wife

how to find my wife

how to find my wife

how to find my wife

how to stop feeling sad

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 1

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 2,070

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Under the relentless blaze of the scorching sun, Bucky Barnes, the pampered scion of the country's largest retail business, was far removed from the air-conditioned boardrooms of his family's empire. Grumbling incessantly, he swatted away the relentless flies that seemed to thrive in the rural heat. 

"Pick them up gently, Bucky. We don't want scrambled eggs before breakfast," Y/N instructed sternly, her eyes narrowing as Bucky clumsily reached for the first egg. The delicate shell slipped through his fingers, meeting the unforgiving ground with a sharp crack.

"Really, city boy? You gotta treat 'em like they're made of glass," Y/N scolded, her tone unyielding. Bucky, now sporting a mix of irritation and embarrassment, shot back with a sarcastic retort.

"Glass? They're just eggs, not Fabergé. And who knew these chickens were so high-maintenance?"

Bucky, wiping sweat from his brow, replied with a half-smile of his own, “This is absurd. I'm a Barnes, not a farmer.”

How could the sole heir of the country's largest retail company find himself toiling like this? It all stemmed from a bet he made with his father.

2 weeks ago:

Under the glittering Dubai night sky, Bucky, driven by the thrill of rebellion, decided to join a race car event despite his father's explicit warnings. The roar of the engines reverberated through the darkness as Bucky sped along the circuit, the city lights blending into a streak of colors.

As Bucky pulled into the pit garage, the bright lights revealed an unexpected sight – his father, stern-faced and waiting. The realization struck Bucky like a sudden brake, his heart pounding in rhythm with the fading echoes of the race.

His father's disapproval was palpable as he approached, a storm gathering in his gaze.

"Dad!" Bucky exclaimed, but his words were drowned by the tirade that followed. His father, fueled by a mix of anger and concern, chased after him, leaving no room for escape.

The victory that should have been a sweet taste of triumph was overshadowed by the looming storm of his father's wrath.

His father, face etched in a stern expression, strode towards Bucky, a potent mix of anger and disappointment simmering beneath the surface. Bucky's heart sank, realizing that the victory he had just tasted was now tainted by the disapproval in his father's eyes.

"Damn it!" Bucky muttered as he reluctantly shut off the engine and climbed out of the race car. His father's presence loomed over him, a formidable figure casting a shadow on Bucky's moment of recklessness.

His dad, arms crossed, began to unleash a torrent of frustration. "For the whole year, you roamed overseas to live your wildlife. You promised me after graduating that you'd take a year off before entering the company."

Bucky hails from a family that owns the largest retail company in the country, a business empire built over generations. As the sole heir to this colossal enterprise, Bucky enjoys the privileges that come with his family's success. 

Bucky is set to inherit Verve, a retail giant in the country. Despite the family's success, his spoiled and impulsive nature creates a conflict between his privileged upbringing and the responsibilities tied to the business. 

Seated on a nearby bench, Bucky nibbled on his snacks, a subconscious attempt to deflect the gravity of the situation. His eyes, darting between the snacks and his father, conveyed a mix of guilt and defiance.

He heard his father's words but struggled to understand why he, the heir to the family's business empire, should start as an intern when his friends effortlessly landed positions in their family companies.

"Why intern, Dad?" Bucky interjected his tone, a mix of frustration and confusion. "We own the company. Why don't I get the same treatment as my friends?"

The tension in the pit garage hung thick as his father expressed his feelings. "I'm fed up with it!" he declared, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment.

Bucky, attempting to downplay the situation, replied nonchalantly, "Dad, chill. At least I gained some money from this."

His father responded swiftly and cut, "And you blew it all in a second! How can I trust our company to you?"

He rubbed his chest, a physical manifestation of the stress and disappointment weighing on him. "I feel like our ancestors are judging me. They were never big spenders like you."

A moment of silence followed as both father and son grappled with the underlying issues. Bucky's father couldn't shake the feeling that he had spoiled Bucky too much, especially since the loss of Bucky's mother when he was still young.

Feeling offended, Bucky retorted, "Do you think I can't handle my own money? I could make a million in one week."

"Really?" his father questioned, a skeptical look in his eyes.

Bucky, fueled by pride, affirmed, "Yes."

The challenge was set. Bucky's father nodded, "Alright, if you could make our farm profitable with a million, I will give you any position you want in the company."

"Really?" Bucky's eyes widened, a glimmer of opportunity sparking.

"Yes. If you manage to do it, I will never interfere with your life anymore," his father declared. Both of them shook hands, sealing the deal.

But then came the unexpected twist. "By the way, I'm going to cut all your access to your money," his father dropped the bomb.

"What?" Bucky exclaimed, shock and disbelief etched across his face.

"Your great-grandfather started his business with $100. You need to appreciate money, stop wasting it all in one day," his father explained sternly.

"But how am I going to live without money?" Bucky protested, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I've provided everything you need on the farm," his father countered, emphasizing the gravity of the challenge. "You're my only son, and I don't want you to be a wastrel!"

The moment's intensity lingered in the air as the weight of the challenge and the drastic shift in Bucky's circumstances began to sink in.

Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes at the daunting challenge ahead. "Fine. I'll show that I can do it on my own. How difficult can it be?" he muttered, perhaps more to reassure himself than anything else.

Oh, how he wished he could take those words back as his Ferrari pulled up to the family farm, the only luxury permitted by his father. To his dismay, the farm appeared desolate and barren, a stark contrast to the lavish lifestyle he was accustomed to.

Bucky, sporting his usual city-boy ensemble of expensive leather shoes and a sleek leather jacket, stepped out of the pristine car only to find the uneven terrain immediately wreaking havoc on his attire. Mud splattered on the once-immaculate leather shoes, a cruel irony of the stark contrast between luxury and the rustic farm reality.

As Bucky surveyed the damage to his meticulously polished shoes, his eyes widened with panic. "No, no, no. You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered frantically, attempting to wipe away the mud with his hands, only succeeding in making matters worse.

The realization of his Red Ferrari parked amidst the farm's untamed landscape hit him like a ton of bricks.

A look of horror crossed Bucky's face as he surveyed the mud-smeared exterior of his prized possession. "This is not happening," he exclaimed, his voice laced with a mix of disbelief and anxiety.

The once-gleaming Ferrari now stood as a symbol of the clash between opulence and the unyielding demands of rural life, leaving Bucky in a state of mild panic about the fate of his beloved car amid this unexpected farm adventure.

His panic only intensified as he turned his attention to the house assigned to him. It was a far cry from the sleek, modern apartment he was accustomed to. With its weathered exterior and superficial charm, the rustic farmhouse left Bucky in shock. 

"Wait, this is my house?" he stammered, disbelief etched across his face. The reality of the situation sank in, and Bucky grappled with the stark contrast between the urban comfort he knew and the quaint simplicity of his new rural abode.

In sheer disbelief, Bucky scratched his head and pulled at his hair. "How am I going to do this? I'm so dead," he lamented, realizing the task's magnitude.

Just as the weight of the situation began to sink in, a voice disrupted his thoughts. "James Barnes?"

Turning around, Bucky saw a woman seated in a farm truck, wearing a practical flannel grey shirt. She stepped out of the truck, her attire markedly suitable for the farm environment.

Still grappling with the shock of the situation, Bucky mustered a response, "The one and only call me Bucky. And you are?"

Undeterred by his casual attitude, the woman retorted with a smirk, "The one who will make your life miserable."

Bucky's eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this how you introduce yourself when meeting a new person?" he shot back, a mixture of surprise and amusement playing across his face. 

Y/N's face remained stoic, her expression unwavering as she delivered the news to Bucky. "I will be straight to the point; your life won't be easy like in the city," she asserted, leaning down to rest her hands on the wooden rail. "I'll be your mentor."

With a pointed finger, she continued, "We're neighbors. My dad asked me to help you." Her tone hinted at an unspoken determination to ensure Bucky's time in the town would be far from a leisurely escape. She was poised, ready to make him regret ever leaving her domain.

Flashback start

Y/N had returned from the farm two days prior, dropping fresh milk on the kitchen cabinet with plans to make cheese—her mother's favorite. Her family, owners of a dairy farm and several crops, had a livelihood deeply rooted in agriculture. The biggest of their ventures was their dairy farm.

As Y/N washed her hands, her father said their family would assist their new neighbor. Y/N, although accustomed to helping neighbors, Y/N couldn't hide her disdain when she heard the name 'Barnes.' She gritted her teeth at the mere mention of the family.

Her aversion to the 'Barnes' name was reflected in her unyielding body language, a subtle tension in her shoulders, and a clenching of her jaw. The prospect of aiding Bucky, the city boy from the family she held some resentment toward, added an unexpected layer of complexity to her already busy life on the farm.

Years ago, in their relentless pursuit of expanding their retail empire, the Barnes family made a business move that significantly impacted Y/N's family farm. The Barnes Corporation, seeking to acquire more land for development, had set its sights on the quaint farmland owned by Y/N's family.

Despite Y/N's family's resistance and the sentimental value attached to their land, the Barnes Corporation, driven by profit, successfully carried out the acquisition, leaving Y/N's family with no choice but to relinquish the farm that had been in their possession for generations.

The ruthless business dealings and lack of empathy from the Barnes family left a bitter taste in Y/N's mouth.

Despite the Barnes Corporation's relentless pursuit of their farmland, Y/N's family salvaged a small piece of their ancestral land.

But, the memories of losing her family's cherished farm to the corporate giant fueled Y/N's resentment and distaste for the Barnes family. 

Flashback end

Y/N flashed Bucky an assuring smile, though it carried an undercurrent of intimidation. Her expression was a blend of warmth and a silent warning. Bucky, feeling the weight of the unspoken challenge, involuntarily gulped.

It was a realization that, from that moment onward, his life was destined to be anything but easy. The smile that seemed promising also bore the weight of a mentorship that would test his resilience in the unfamiliar terrain of the farm.

Still processing the intensity of Y/N's smile, Bucky mumbled uncertainly, “What have I gotten myself into? ... and I have no clue where this is headed." With a mix of trepidation and curiosity in his eyes, he took a hesitant step forward, realizing that the journey ahead was bound to be far more intricate than he had initially bargained for. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7

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[alyrasturnz]

can you write a biker!chris x reader oneshot about "but daddy i love him" by taylor swift?

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — in a rigid town where tradition's grip is ironclad, y/n, a scion of propriety, encounters chris, a tempestuous artist embodying freedom's spirit. enchanted by his untamed essence, she finds herself at a crossroads, her heart yearning for the wild unknown. one fateful night, she casts off the chains of expectation, leaving a life of duty for a journey with chris into the boundless night. as dawn's first light caresses the horizon, y/n embraces her newfound liberty, ready to sculpt her destiny amidst the whispers of the open road.

warnings :: a god awful excuse for a father

— angst with a happy ending

a/n ,, double update!?!?!?!?! 😮

your laughter reverberated through the narrow, cobblestone streets, intertwining with the gentle zephyrs that tousled your hair. the warm, crisp embrace of the summer air mingled with the echoes of your joy, creating a symphony that danced upon the twilight breeze.

the sun cast its golden rays upon your face, illuminating your features in a radiant glow. as your grip around chris’s torso tightened, you released joyous squeals, each sound a testament to the exhilaration coursing through you.

chris, with a wild grin etched across his face, revved his motorcycle. the engine’s roar reverberated through the night, a defiant challenge to the encroaching darkness.

the wind whipped through your hair as the two of you sped past familiar landmarks, each turn a deliberate step further from the life you had always known.

the moon hung low, casting a silver glow upon their paths, as if illuminating a nascent destiny woven from threads of starlight and shadow.

your heart pounded with exhilaration and fear, the boundaries of your world expanding with every mile

in chris’ presence, you felt the stirrings of a new beginning, a life unbound by the chains of expectation

the motorcycle came to a gentle halt, its hum subsiding as he gracefully dismounted, the machine's quieting purr echoing in the stillness.

you removed your helmet and gazed at the gentle waves crashing into the ocean, a grin slowly spreading across your face as you absorbed the tranquil beauty.

your gaze fixes upon chris as he removes his helmet, his impeccably disheveled brown locks tumbling forward to obscure his cerulean eyes, which shimmer with an enigmatic depth.

chris delicately placed his helmet on the handle of his motorcycle, then ran a hand through his hair, the motion both casual and deliberate, as if smoothing the chaos of his thoughts.

his gaze shifted to meet yours, and a soft smile slowly spread across his lips, a subtle yet profound connection forming in the silent exchange.

"staring now, are we?" he teased, his smile broadening as you playfully rolled your eyes, the banter weaving a tapestry of light-hearted camaraderie.

"shut up, chris," you retorted, placing your helmet on the opposite handle as you dismounted, your footing faltering slightly in the process.

"whoa, easy there, princess," he chuckled, his hands swiftly reaching out to catch and steady you, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the stumble.

"that's unbearably cheesy," you say with a grin, wrapping your arms around his muscular arm as you both walk off towards the beach, the sand whispering beneath your feet.

the soft, alabaster sand beneath you gradually infiltrated your shoes, its fine grains weaving their way into every crevice.

the gentle symphony of waves caressing the shore brought a subtle smile to your lips as chris settled himself onto the sand.

chris glanced up at you, a warm invitation in his eyes as he patted the sand beside him. "c’mon, don't be shy, princess," he murmured.

"my pants are hermes," you lament, a note of distress coloring your voice, fearing the potential ruin of your cherished garment.

chris released a low, resonant chuckle, the sound filled with warmth and amusement.

with deliberate care, he shrugged off his leather jacket, the material creaking softly in the evening air. he then placed it gently on the sand beside him, as if creating a welcoming space for you to join.

“better?" he inquires with a mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with a blend of humor and anticipation.

you couldn't help but smile at the warm gesture, feeling a rush of warmth spread through your cheeks as you delicately lowered yourself onto his jacket.

you lean into him, allowing the weight of your head to rest tenderly upon his shoulder, while his arm sinuously winds around your waist, pulling you into an embrace that speaks of both protection and intimacy.

"I feel a twinge of guilt sitting on your jacket," you murmur, your gaze fixed upon the luminescent moon hanging in the night sky.

"It's alright, don't be," he mutters, planting a tender kiss upon your head. "after all, it isn't hermes," he adds with a playful grin.

you release a soft giggle, playfully swatting his thigh with a lighthearted touch.

you both sat in contemplative silence for a while, your gazes lost in the ethereal glow of the moonlight, as the waves rhythmically crashed upon the shore, weaving a symphony with the night's stillness.

you lifted your wrist to glance at your watch, a sigh escaping your lips. "I have to get going soon," you mutter softly.

chris glances down at your watch, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. "mmm, stay for a little while longer," he murmurs, gently resting his head upon yours.

you smiled softly, allowing your wrist to fall gently onto your lap as you leaned into chris, finding solace in his presence.

"the waves possess such a soothing cadence, don't they?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, as chris responds with a gentle hum of agreement, "mhm."

"It's as though they cleanse all our worries, if only for a fleeting moment," you mutter, your fingers absently twisting the rings that adorn your delicate hands.

"It's like a brief escape, isn't it? just you, me, and the endless horizon," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "no expectations, no judgments."

you sigh softly, lifting your head from his shoulder, your gaze falling to the rings on your fingers. a myriad of thoughts whirl through your mind, each one a fleeting specter in the vast expanse of your consciousness.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," you murmur, lifting your gaze to meet his. "just... be."

"why can't we?" Chris mumbles, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "what is it that prevents us from making this our reality?"

you sigh heavily, the weight of frustration beginning to course through your veins like a slow-burning fire.

chris would bring this up every time, and with each instance, he would attempt to persuade you to abandon your glittering life for the uncertain promise of a future with him.

"you know why, chris. my life isn't that simple," you say, shaking your head. "there's so much at stake."

"but is it worth it, n/n? all those stakes, all that pressure?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern as you close your eyes tightly. "a life that isn't truly yours?"

"you don't understand, chris! I have responsibilities, a reputation to uphold. I can't just abandon everything like you," you declare, your voice tinged with exasperation, while chris shakes his head in disbelief.

"responsibilities? or chains? you are ensnared in a life dictated by the expectations of others, rather than one of your own making. Is that truly living, y/n?" chris retorts, his voice teetering on the brink of snapping.

"It’s not that simple. my family, my future—everything is inextricably bound to this," you say, running your hand through your hair as tears begin to well up. "i cannot simply walk away."

"why not? what is the purpose of a future that does not belong to you? you are sacrificing your happiness for what? the approval of those who do not even know the real you?" chris snaps, his voice sharp with frustration, as you rise to your feet, shaking your head and turning away.

"and what would you have me do? flee from it all? confront the scandal, endure the judgment?" you retort, spinning around to face him as he rises to his feet.

"yes! face it n/n. for at the end of the day, it is your life. you deserve to live it on your own terms, not theirs," chris declares, his voice firm yet controlled. "the river shapes the stone not by force, but by persistence. be the river, y/n."

"you do not understand, chris!" you cry out, your voice breaking into sobs as tears stream down your face, mingling with the streaks of mascara. "It is not about me," you croak. "It is about my family, their expectations, their legacy—"

"and what about your legacy, y/n?" he questions, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "what about the life you yearn to live? are you truly willing to sacrifice your happiness for a future that has been meticulously mapped out by others?"

"I... I don't know," you whisper, shaking your head as chris scoffs. "it's all I've ever known, chris!" you sob out, your voice trembling. "the very thought of breaking free terrifies me."

"fear is a formidable chain, yet it is one that can be shattered," chris murmurs, drawing you in by the waist and planting a tender kiss on your lips. "I know you, and you deserve to live a life that brings you joy, not merely one that garners the pride of others," he whispers against your lips.

"It is not that simple, and you are well aware of it," you sigh, your breath mingling with his. "the repercussions... the inevitable fallout..."

chris draws away from you, his eyes searching yours with a determined intensity. "consequences be damned, y/n. at some juncture, you must decide whether you are living for yourself or merely existing for the sake of others."

"and what if I cannot make that choice? what if I fail?" you whisper, tears cascading down your cheeks.

"then you’ll never know the true essence of freedom, n/n," he says, his voice tinged with slight irritation. "but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

chris was on the verge of walking away when you desperately clasp his wrist, your grip trembling with unspoken pleas.

"chris, please..." you implore, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with desperation and longing.

"no, y/n. I am done waiting for you to choose yourself, to choose us," he says, his tone heavy with exasperation. "I cannot continue to watch you live a life that breaks you."

with a heavy heart, chris turns away, the frustration and resignation evident in his stride as he walks away from you. he leaves you to wrestle with the weight of your choices under the dimming light, each step echoing the finality of his departure.

»--•--«

you stood in the grand library, the weight of your father's expectations pressing down upon you like an invisible shroud, each tome and scroll a silent witness to your inner turmoil.

your father, stern and unyielding, sat behind his imposing desk, his gaze cold and disapproving, like a judge delivering a silent verdict.

"but daddy, I love him," you plead, desperation lacing your voice as your father pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"love? you think love is enough, y/n?" your father exclaimed, his voice rising in a crescendo of frustration as he slammed his desk, causing you to flinch. “that boy has nothing to offer you!”

"no status! no future!" he roared, rising abruptly from his chair, his fury reverberating through the room.

"he has everything that matters, daddy," you implore, desperation tinging your voice. "he makes me happy. he understands me. Isn't that worth more than all the status and money in the world?" you continue, tears brimming in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

"happiness? understanding?" your father questioned, disbelief dripping from his voice as he scoffed. "those are fleeting, frivolous things. your duty is to this family, to uphold our name and legacy."

"and what about my happiness? my legacy!" you croaked out, your voice rising with each word. "am I just a pawn in your grand scheme?" you whispered, the weight of your anguish hanging heavily in the air.

"you are my daughter, and you will do as you’re told," he hissed through clenched teeth, his cold, stern eyes boring into yours. "this infatuation will pass, and you will come to see reason."

"no, daddy, it won't pass!" you say, your voice trembling as you shake your head, tears cascading down your cheeks like a relentless torrent. "you cannot dictate my heart. I will not sacrifice my love for a life filled with empty expectations. I refuse to relinquish the one genuine thing in my otherwise fabricated existence."

"do you even hear yourself, y/n?! you're willing to throw away everything we’ve built for centuries for a fleeting romance?" your father yelled, his voice echoing with a mix of incredulity and anger.

"It's not fleeting! It's real, and it's worth fighting for!" you yell back, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. another sob escapes your lips, your body trembling with the intensity of your emotions.

"haven't you ever loved someone so profoundly that you would defy the entire world for them?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet laden with an intensity that speaks volumes.

"I loved your mother, and I sacrificed my dreams for this family," your father said, his voice heavy with the weight of past decisions. "now, it is your turn to bear the mantle of sacrifice."

"that's the difference, daddy. I don't want to live a life of sacrifice and regret," you pleaded, your voice nearly breaking under the strain of your emotions. "I want to live a life filled with passion and fulfillment!"

"passion fades, yet reality endures. you will marry whomever I choose, and that is final," your father declared, his tone resolute as he turned away and returned to his desk, seating himself with an air of unyielding authority.

"no, daddy, this time, I choose," you say, standing your ground with unwavering determination. "I choose love, and if you cannot accept that, then I have no place in this house."

You begin to walk out of the library, each step echoing with the weight of your resolve.

"you are making a grave mistake, y/n," your father bellows, his voice reverberating with a mixture of anger and desperation.

you halt in your tracks, turning to face him with defiant resolve. "If it is a mistake, it is mine to make. I will no longer allow you to dictate the course of my life."

with those words, you pivot on your heel, your heart pounding with a tumultuous blend of fear and resolve, a storm of emotions swirling within you.

you stride out of the grand library, each step reverberating with your newfound determination, the echo of your footsteps a testament to your unwavering resolve.

the weight of your father's expectations still looms heavily, a shadow that has long haunted your every move, but for the first time, you feel the stirrings of true freedom.

it is a fragile, nascent sensation, blossoming within the depths of your soul, whispering promises of a life unbound by the chains of obligation and duty.

as you pass through the towering columns and intricate archways of the library, the grandeur of the surroundings mirrors the magnitude of the choice you have made.

the ancient tomes and silent corridors bear witness to your silent rebellion, a declaration of your right to chart your own course.

for the first time, you breathe deeply, savoring the taste of autonomy, the exhilarating realization that your destiny is now yours to shape.

though the path before you is fraught with challenges and unknowns, the spark of freedom ignites a fire within you, a beacon of hope guiding you forward.

the weight of your father's expectations remains, but it no longer defines you. instead, it becomes a distant echo, a reminder of the strength you have found within yourself.

with each step, you embrace the journey that lies ahead, ready to face whatever trials may come, secure in the knowledge that you have chosen your own path.

you take a moment to gather your thoughts, allowing the gravity of the situation to settle within your mind. Then, with a sense of resolute purpose, you make your way to your room.

there, you swiftly pack a few essential belongings, acutely aware that this departure may be final, and you may never return to this familiar sanctuary.

with a heavy heart, you sit down at your desk and begin to write a heartfelt letter to your mother.

each word is carefully chosen, laden with emotion and sincerity, as you explain your decision.

you pour out your love and gratitude, expressing the depth of your feelings and the reasons behind your choice.

the letter becomes a testament to the bond you share, a poignant farewell that encapsulates your appreciation and the difficult path you have chosen to tread.

with your resolve as steadfast as the ancient mountains, you slip silently from the house, the silvery moonlight casting an ethereal glow upon your path.

each step is deliberate, guided by the celestial luminescence that bathes the night in a serene radiance.

you make your way to the outskirts of town, where the love of your life awaits, a beacon of hope and passion in the enveloping darkness.

"chris!" you exclaimed, your voice piercing the tranquil night air, reverberating with a blend of urgency and hope.

chris halts, his silhouette etched against the waning twilight, with the ocean's murmurs whispering the echoes of their shared memories.

he turns slowly, a flicker of hope and disbelief intertwining in his eyes, as if the very essence of the past and present collide within his gaze.

"y/n?" chris uttered, his voice a delicate tremor that carried the weight of unspoken questions and the fragile tendrils of hope.

you stepped forward, your heart pounding with a newfound resolve. "I've made my choice," you declared, your voice steady yet brimming with emotion. "I can no longer live a life shackled by fear and the weight of others' expectations. I yearn to be with you, to embrace a life of freedom and profound love."

chris' expression softens, his eyes delving into hers, searching for any trace of hesitation. "are you certain?" he murmured, his voice a blend of caution and hope. "this is a monumental step, y/n. once taken, there is no turning back."

you nod, your voice unwavering. "I understand the gravity of this decision," you say, each word imbued with newfound conviction. "but for the first time, I feel as though I am choosing for myself. I seek happiness, and I desire that happiness to be with you."

a slow, relieved smile unfurls across his face. he extends his hand, its warmth and reassurance palpable. "then let us embark on this journey together," he says softly.

hand in hand, they traverse the shoreline, each step shedding the weight of societal expectations. the horizon unfurls before them, a vast canvas of endless possibilities. the waves crash against the shore, a testament to their newfound courage and the dawn of their shared journey.

you gaze up at chris, your heart swelling with a profound mixture of love and hope. "thank you," you murmur, your voice laden with emotion, "for waiting for me."

chris gently squeezes her hand, his touch both tender and resolute. "I would have waited a lifetime for you, y/n," he whispers, his voice imbued with unwavering devotion.

together, you disappear into the embrace of the night, your spirits unburdened and your hearts entwined, ready to write your own story of love and freedom.

[katakaluptastrophy]

So you know how at the end of Nona the Ninth, Harrow doubts that John is god and goes off into the River to find god, who is maybe Alecto?

It turns out we had a clue right at the beginning that John is not the metaphysical engine of the universe of The Locked Tomb...

When Teacher gives the assembled scions at Canaan House a highly selective history of the OG Lyctors, he says:

Those eight necromancers were first after the Lord of Resurrection; they have spread his assumption across the blackness of space.

Remember that John is, in the theology of the Nine Houses, the "God who became man and man who became God." It's never entirely explained what this means to them, but it's clearly intended to riff on Jesus, the 'Word made flesh' (John 1:14), "born in the likeness of men" (Philippians 2:7).

But here's the thing if you're going to be a Catholic-flavoured god: Catholicism has some quite specific terminology for leveling up in terms of heavenly power.

Jesus, who is God, goes up to heaven after the resurrection. This is described as his "ascension" - it's an active process. He is ascending, going to his heavenly throne. He can do that, because he's God. He *is* the rules of the universe and metaphysics. If he wants to fly up into the sky and transcend into another dimension, he can do that, because he's God.

But there are three other people who are understood to have gone up to heaven bodily: Jesus' mum Mary, and the prophets Elijah and Enoch - for all three of them, this is described as their "assumption": it's a passive process, which they aren't doing under their own steam, it's being done by God. In art, this has historically been depicted by showing them being propelled skywards by a writhing mass of cherubs.

So let's get back to Jod.

You know, the man who became god, etc etc etc? The one who resurrected his Lyctors who then "spread his assumption across the blackness of space"?

Either John wasn't paying quite enough attention when going through Catholicism for Dummies or Teacher is being a bit sly here.

So this is a nod, right at the beginning, to the fact that John isn't actually the metaphysical power of the universe that he claims to be.

[autumnslance]

Normally I'd agree many Final Fantasy games have rather young protagonists. It's because they're usually single-player JRPGs made with the assumption of younger players, and like most Young Adult media, create characters that cater to that, even if it ends up with teens running the world and fighting in wars. And for many players, the first time playing these games is in childhood/adolescence/very young adulthood. So it's YA anime.

Final Fantasy XIV does not fall into that same mold, despite the "Teen" rating for legal and distribution purposes.

The majority of the FF14 cast, including the bulk of the main characters, are between 20 and 40 years old (the Scion Archons, Ishgard Elf Husbands). Many other characters are between 40 and 80 (Ishgard's Counts are all late middle aged to elder dads/grandpas, Gaius is mid 50s, Jehantel and Ran'jit are elderly, all still active). The younger characters (especially with any authority or special position) like the Leveilleur twins, are actually outliers. And the youth of the characters between 16 and 20 years old tends to be plot relevant, where that inexperience and naivety causes problems and drives story (Nanamo's arc at the end of ARR into HW, Alphinaud and the Crystal Braves, Ryne's determination of self in ShB, etc).

Characters have a variety of appearances; some characters in the same age ranges look very different. Varis is only 4 years older than X'rhun but Varis's model shows the stress and disagreeableness of his life a lot more than the RDM trainer's. Cid's in his mid-30s but with the beard looks older--and without it he has a baby face (hair color doesn't matter, cuz they do keep the anime trope of "everyone's got white or silver hair"). Lalafell are designed to be anime-cute halflings so it's hard to tell their adult ages even if they've got facial hair like grandfatherly Papashan. The pad'jal of course look like kids, but the youngest main pad'jal is A-Ruhn in his late teens; all the others are adults stuck in adolescent bodies. E-Sumi is a few hundred years old. Kan-E uses various methods to look older so other leaders and people from outside Gridania will take her seriously as an adult. The padjal introduced in the StB WHM quests is a child, and that's the plot; she's not in charge of anything, or has any particularly advanced-for-her-age skills. She's just a kid having a really rough time.

This inability to determine age by looking and assuming isn't just due to limits of the game engine and character creation options; it reflects real life. I met my work team for the first time in person recently; one person looked older than I know them to be, thanks to months of stress and health issues. While all of them were shocked to remember I'm in my 40s as according to them, I "look much younger". Most people are actually pretty bad at guesstimating ages based on appearance, due to the variety of folks' lives.

Speaking of kid characters, many of the children we interact with, like the Doman Adventurers, are between 12 and 14 and act much younger. Khloe has this going on too, with her age "corrected" to 13 (when previously listed as 10), but she acts way younger to me. Most of the actual child characters are treated like children, and it's not until they get to 14-16 (Honoroit, Leveva) that we start to see them treated like maturing adolescents and having some rsponsibilities, but still young and prone to the kind of choices one expects of less experienced and more emotional youth.

As a MMO, FF14's primary audience is actually adults; teens do play the game, but also age up with it if they keep playing. If a 15 year old began playing with ARR's release, they're in their mid-20s now. Having a primarily adult cast, and treating child characters like children, and adolescents like young people figuring out how young adulthood works, makes sense for this game.

FF14's time bubble is also part of the issue; a developer tool to keep it so they don't have to worry too much about character ages, new models so often, or how long things take in game. Timelines are then intentionally left malleable for the players' benefits, to create our own stories and determine how long things take for our WoLs and their tales. Some folks have their stories pass in real time, some compress it to a year per expac, some expand it out even longer. So the ages the characters have listed in the lorebooks and rarely in game (which is then reflected in online resources), is a starting baseline. Personal headcanons as always should be applied (including changing around some character ages to fit one's own story if necessary).

Also, FF16, made by the same team, has a brief prologue/tutorial section where the main trio is between 10 and 15, guided/trained by adult characters, experience the inciting incident trauma--and then we spend the majority of the game with the main cast in their 20s and 30s. The game also has a mature rating, featuring some sexual situations, lots of violence, and stronger language than other FF games. It's made for adults, and its cast reflects that.

So it is a matter of audience expectations; for a MMO, you're going to have an older and aging player base, and the varied ages of the cast reflect that, as do their varied appearances and experiences as adults. The young characters are treated closer to how their youth should be; still with respect for those in positions like Nanamo, but also prone to errors due to inexperience that drive story. In other FF titles, which were made to be more YA-focused, a teen and young 20s cast were treated much differently. But even in the single-player FF titles, if they are made with adult players in mind, their cast and stories likewise reflect that.

[gunbun]

Gunbun's Attempt At A Tiona Eryut Explainer Because I Apparently Have Some Kind of Following Now

(For the record I'm bun.breaker on discord, just send me an ask telling me who you are and I'll gladly accept any and all requests if you wanna yell about OCs)

Preface: All references to things like "now" and "x years ago" are relative to the start of Dawntrail. I uh… look, the developers gave us a time bubble so I'm lettin' time happen. ANYWAY.

All of this is subject to change due to MSQ or because I fuckin' feel like it.

A HISTORY OF A VERY AGGRESSIVE RABBIT WHO IS ALSO THE SAVIOUR OF THE KNOWN UNIVERSE follows below.

Tiona Eryut was born in the springtime as Tiona Eryut approximately 203 years ago in Yyasulani (now known as Heritage Found). She is the last of seven children to be born to the Eryut clan, a weird shetona hippie collective that had a couple of martial artists in it.

At some point in her youth, Tiona left Tural and ended up traveling far to Radz-at-Han in search of formal education and a desire to see the world. Not uncommon for Shetona.

Upon arrival in Thavnair, she spent a lot of time attending university at Radz-at-Han and learned about civil engineering. She was always good with her hands in addition to martial combat and paid her way via odd jobs… and then she discovered adventuring.

Over time she met a bunch of people who were viera refugees from Dalmasca who were getting their shit kicked in by the Garlean Empire.

She joined the Resistance. And did a few unnecessary civilian murder/terrorism things as part of that. She then got bumped on the head real bad in combat and forgot everything I just wrote down.

Tiona is recovering in a field hospital who-knows-where when she gets the cosmic text message to Hear, Feel, Think. Well, her hearing works. She feels like shit, and she thinks her name is Tiona Eryut, but anything more than that is just…. vague. To this day, apart from a few instances from her past that I occasionally bring up in fanfics for dramatic purposes, she doesn't remember much from before then. She also lost the ability to read, but chalked it up to her being in a new place. That new place is Limsa Lominsa.

The Main Scenario Quest pretty much plays out like it does; Tiona had a roommate named Keltgeim for awhile who helped her find her feet and eventually Tiona sets out to Be An Adventurer, because that's a decent living and she's here now, time to make the best of it.

Upon meeting and joining the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, she is taught (again?) how to read by Urianger Augurelt, but due to the particular nature of her bonk on the head, it's slow going.

Events continue, and Tiona and Urianger become fast friends. He lets her know that he's trying to get to the bottom of everything and might need to do deep cover missions. She was in a sort of military before, she gets it.

Tiona was developing feelings, and was about to say something to Urianger about it when Moenbryda came… and went. He was so grieved that she compartmentalized that fact for probably longer than she should have.

Heavensward proceeds for Tiona pretty much as advertised. When the Warriors of Darkness come around and Urianger finally gives the jig up she yelled at him about how THAT was his SUPER SECRET DISGUISE? Dude. (But hey, it worked… somehow?). Same with Stormblood.

Except by now Tiona and Urianger are dancing around the fact that there's this mutual attraction thing going on. They finally put on their Big Scion Pants and make plans for a date --

-- and then Crystal Exarch fucks up his gacha pull.

Now we get to Shadowbringers. Tiona was Big Mad at Crystal Exarch, even knowing who he was. And then The Plot got in the way of her and Urianger even having any kind of discussion about what was happening between them, and besides, it had been years for Urianger. So much could have changed.

Well, no, nothing changed, and right after Urianger's Big Lie, they skipped like eight steps in the relationship process and had some eager, rushed sex and I-love-yous before going off to the Tempest.

I WROTE A FANFIC ABOUT THIS PART. THREE OF THEM ACTUALLY, YOU CAN READ THEM HERE.

Don't worry. Tiona and G'raha Tia work it out and become bros.

Endwalker happens. Again, mostly as advertised. Tiona is doing her maximum emotional compartmentalization to get through it all.

At the end of all things Hydaelyn says to her that she will finally be granted the clarity she was looking for, because she found the answer to the big questions. This puzzles Tiona, who forgets all about it when she discovers that Sharlayan. Was Building. A Starship.

Adventuring AND engineering? Sign her up! During this time she notices that she's actually able to read things more quickly, but chalks it up to adrenaline.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn become Etheirys' very first astronauts. Somehow she manages to hold it together through all of Ultima Thule and the big fight with Endsinger. She pats Meteion on the head, tears Zenos Galvus into pieces at the edge of the universe, and then promptly dies of her injuries.

BUT HEY REMEMBER, WE'RE IN A DYNAMIS FIELD. The Scions are shocked, but G'raha Tia has been shipping Tiona and Urianger across two goddamn timelines and he swore this one wouldn't go sour --

-- and the Scions accomplish a true resurrection to bring Tiona back to life. How? Why? IDK, dynamis.

Tiona is fucking wrecked from her fight with Zenos and has a prolonged recovery time and medical supervision from cutting-edge Sharlayan chirurgeons.

She decides that she's got nothing better to do and bullies Fourchenault Leveilleur into giving her Sharlayan citizenship and a chance to present an Archon thesis. (I'M WRITING A FANFIC ABOUT THIS PART BUT IT'S KIND OF HIT A WALL. THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS ARE HERE.) This appears to be what Hydaelyn meant when she said Tiona would obtain clarity. Her memories of her past will likely never come back, but she can move forward with everything in order to be the best version of herself.

Tiona Eryut spends the better part of two years in recovery developing the Azem F-1 aetheromagitek starship engine. Notable contributors to the thesis are Urianger Augurelt, Nero Scaeva, Jude Rose, and Thrustingway of Mare Lamentorum.

It's during this time that Urianger and Tiona do something highly improbable and MAKE A WHOLE BABY. His name is Alsault Eryut. Urianger heard somewhere that viera are matriarchal and Tiona doesn't even remember that she's from Tural so that sounds good to her.

Then 6.x patches happen, and riiiiight before we start hearing about going to Tural, 15 years pass. During this time Tiona and Urianger adopt a war orphan named Roroko Roko. Sharlayan formally commissions her to begin development on a useable whole starship based around the Azem F-1 engine. She calls up Nero Scaeva and the gang again and they get to work.

Oops, Urianger and Tiona fell in love with Nero along the way. Oops.

Dawntrail! Again! Exactly as advertised except when Tiona decides to let Erenville show her around Shaaloani, something interesting happens.

Someone calls her by name.

That's fuckin' weird, Tiona thinks, remembering nothing. Erenville, ever helpful, asks some leading questions and we learn that Tiona and he are from the same general area!

-- oh it's the dome? Well, shit.

Cahciua says "you look like one of my cousins!" and Tiona laughs it off and isn't really thinking too much about what happened in Shaaloani, there's world-changing weird-shit going on--

Then the MSQ got in the way and we were partying hard in Tuliyollal, happy to end Yet Another World-Ending Threat.

Erenville does Tiona a solid and gives her the following information:

Yatzil Eryut - Tiona's father. (Imagine a viera who looks just like Danny DeVito.) He has the same blue hair she does. He's living in Solution 9. He is a cousin of Cahciua. (that means Tiona and Erenville are first cousins once removed, but she was born ages before he was, so this is just a fun factoid at this point.)

How Erenville feels about having Tiona, who makes Wuk Lamat look like an indecisive scaredy cat, as a blood relative, is yet to be determined.

Chel Eryut

Seti Eryut

Nima Eryut - Three of Tiona's six siblings. All women. Alive, but locations unknown.

Alsault Eryut followed his little-big sister Roroko Roko to college after partying around Tural with his dad and Uncle Thancred. He's about 19 or so now. Kind of a himbo but a very accomplished artist.

[itsmaferart]

SPY x FAMILY x CHAIR Vol. 7~8~9

SxF Vol 7 · Damian Desmond - Willow Chair

The Willow Chair was designed by Scottish architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh in the early 20th century. The chair was originally designed for use in The Willow Tea Rooms Company, a cafe and tea room that Mackintosh also designed in Glasgow, Scotland. The chair was part of a larger collection of furniture pieces designed for this company.

The concept of tea rooms was popular in Victorian and Edwardian times, and was considered a meeting place for the upper middle class.

The design shows a progressive approach to design, suggesting that the chair is at the forefront of creative thinking and is sleek, modern and curious. It stands out for its simplicity in geometric patterns. The chair features straight, minimalist lines in its structure, with curved wooden elements at the top to provide head and neck support.

A distinctive feature is its triangular backrest, which extends upward from the arms at an acute angle to create a sleek and elegant silhouette. The seat also features an elaborate lattice pattern, made from hand-woven wicker, which adds texture and dimension to the chair.

I’m Damian, scion of the Desmond family! I’ll be a politician one day and protect this country!

I love the way the dimension of the chair in disproportionate to Damian's body, who is clearly a kid with a very big precedent behind him, a very big ego and pride in possessing the last name Desmond, and it projects very well the way it makes Damian look more imposing for his age while giving you a look that continually judges you, adorably.

Damian is someone who projects himself from greatness, and his constant yearnings to be a recognized figure such as his family, even so, his childlike soul continues to exist.

However deep down, behind all the Desmond pride (Reflected in the chair) are his yearnings to really have fun and enjoy his childhood wanting to play with his balls, read manga, play with dinosaurs. He is definitely a little boy with a lot behind his shoulders.

SxF Vol 8 · Franky Franklyn - Eames Lounge chair & Ottoman

The Eames Lounge Chair and Ottoman were designed by Charles and Ray Eames in 1956, an American designer couple.

It was created from the idea of a "comfortable as a glove" chair, with an ergonomically molded seat and back shell combined with a plywood base. It was originally designed for the Herman Miller furniture company.

It was designed to provide comfort and relaxation, elegant and attractive that will complement any living space. The chair features clean, simple lines and a minimalist structure that emphasizes its elegance and ergonomics. The base is made of plywood, bent in several layers and smoothly polished to give it a smooth, refined finish.

Can we talk about how relaxed and cool Ostania's best informant looks? I love how the combination of this chair reflects Franky's relaxed but refined personality, a genius at his job even if often not properly appreciated. However, we can see his details, a bit messy, his taste for money, some good cigars, some confidential envelopes.

It's interesting when you remember that Franky seems to hate the handsome, moneyed show-offs who seem to be very lucky, even though he wishes he was one. He is simple and laid back, with a classy side and a profitable bottom line.

SxF Vol 9 · Becky Blackbell  - Coconut Chair

The Coconut chair was designed by architect and designer George Nelson in 1955 who was the design director for Herman Miller.

The chair was inspired by the designer's tropical landscape during his visit to the Fiji Islands. Nelson observed a group of children playing with one half of a coconut shell and realized that the shape and curve of the coconut shell could be harnessed to design a comfortable, modern chair. It was created as a highly engineered piece of furniture that offered a high level of comfort.

Although originally designed as a lounge chair, the Coconut chair is suitable for any space, from offices to homes. The stainless steel tripod base is an attractive design element, its fine details such as the apparent stitching on the upholstered

"You and I should be best friends"

I like how both the Coconut chair and Becky could be described as elegant, sophisticated, avant-garde and with a lot of personality. Despite her young age, we know that Becky has a very definite personality, sometimes with a very volatile and fanciful imagination.

Unlike many Spy x Family characters and their respective chairs, the elements are usually placed at the back or bottom with respect to the chair, always covered by some slight shadow, reflecting those elements that characterize the respective personality.

However, all of Becky's things are clearly displayed and stacked with bright colors. We know that it refers to all the riches and luxuries Becky has, as well as her passion for fashion and shopping.

But also, it's a way of expressing how authentic Becky is and how she's not afraid to show her true personality without having to hide it.

You can read the previous review here!

You can read the next part here

[andreisvechnikov]

Hurricanes’ Seth Jarvis leans into status as an honorary Harvard grad

By: Luke Decock, April 24, 2024

When Tripp Tracy was asked to speak at a meeting of the Harvard Club of the Research Triangle last week, he naturally invited the Carolina Hurricanes’ two other Harvard Men to join him. Jack Drury, owner of a Harvard diploma, class of 2023. Seth Jarvis, owner of a “Harvard Alumni” T-shirt, class of not quite veritas.

Neither Drury nor Jarvis could attend because of the team’s pre-playoff dinner gathering, but Jarvis was nevertheless welcome despite his self-proclaimed “Grade 6” education, because if there’s one thing that’s true about the Hurricanes’ third-year forward above all else, it’s that if you try to make him the butt of a joke, even a heartfelt, good-natured one, he’ll find a way to turn it back around on you.

When Drury returned from his Cambridge graduation last summer with the crimson T-shirt as a gift for Jarvis, he never expected Jarvis to cut off the sleeves.

He never expected Jarvis to make it his undershirt and wear it under his shoulder pads every single day of the season. For every practice. Every game. Every postgame interview.

“I thought, there’s no better way to put it to use than cut it into a tank top and wear it under my gear,” Jarvis said.

Seth Jarvis. Harvard alum. The shirt says so.

“There have been a few people who have seriously asked me if I went to Harvard,” Jarvis said, “and they’ve obviously never had a conversation with me.”

The Hurricanes have always had a strong connection to Harvard, through Tracy and his youth teammate and future front-office executive Jason Karmanos, through players like Craig MacDonald and Craig Adams.

They’ve had players from the rest of the hockey-playing Ivy League schools as well, other than Brown: Jeff Hamilton (Yale), Kevin Westgarth (Princeton), Lee Stempniak (Dartmouth), Riley Nash (Cornell). Now Drury. And, apparently, Jarvis.

“I think it’s been awesome,” Tracy said. “I would have liked to have had him on the roster.”

Even within the hockey world, it’s hard to imagine two teammates as different as the goofy Manitoban and the cosmopolitan Harvard grad becoming so close. Jarvis left home at 14 to play junior hockey in the Western Hockey League and was in the NHL by age 18.

Drury, scion of a prominent hockey family, spent two years at Harvard and another year overseas in Sweden; even though Drury is two years older than Jarvis, Jarvis has played more than 100 more NHL games than Drury.

The two are akin to brothers as much as they are friends or teammates, so when Drury gave Jarvis the shirt, it was with the best of intentions. Still, give Jarvis an inch or two, he’ll take all 200 feet, same in the dressing room as on the rink.

“I got it for him hoping he would wear it,” Drury said. “Using it as the undershirt, I love that. I didn’t know he’d do that. Once he started to do it, I thought it was awesome. He’s a character. But you couldn’t have a better guy around the room.”

Every single day, the shirt goes into his laundry bag to be laundered with the rest of the team’s base layers, an old-school throwback amid the sweat-wicking, high-tech gear.

By now, seven months into the season, as the Hurricanes head north for Thursday’s Game 3 against the New York Islanders with a 2-0 lead in their first-round series, the T-shirt should probably be in tatters. It looks just fine. Other than the missing sleeves.

“It’s hung on,” Jarvis said. “It’s high quality. Only the best at Harvard.”

At the end of the regular season, when Jarvis sat in on the Bally Sports broadcast with Tracy and Mike Mansicalco while sitting out Game 82, he told Tracy he would have liked to major in “micro-macro engineering” at Harvard, which sounds like a typical Jarvis malaprop, mishmashing economics and engineering. But it also could very well be somebody’s bespoke “special concentration” in Harvard’s engineering school, studying “theories of engineering principles” or the “interactions between microscopic innovation and large system models.”

Jarvis, with his elite hockey IQ and even quicker wit, may be more evidence that you don’t have to be book smart to be smart. He plays up the dopey-goofball angle because it gets laughs — “There’s still a lot of stupidity going on throughout my day,” Jarvis said — and won the Josef Vasicek Award this season for his quotability, but he’s the son of two educators, and there’s a spark that animates both his personality and his game, burning bright under all the self-deprecating humor.

“He plays a little dumb, but he’s pretty smart actually,” Martin Necas said. “I’m positive. He’s pretty smart. He just makes himself look like it on purpose, sometimes.”

Watching his game grow over the past two seasons, as he spent last year becoming a two-way player and this season reaping the rewards, it’s fair to wonder what would happen if he applied himself in the classroom as he has to his hockey career. Who knows what might be possible.

“It’s never too late,” Drury said. “He plays it up a little bit but he’s smarter than people realize. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

And the T-shirt over his shoulders to sort-of prove it.

[elliewiltarwyn]

I've decided to take a particular spin with this year's entries and emphasize the fact that i titled this blog "the personal journal and scrapbook of Elilgeim 'Ellie' Wiltarwyn". hopefully that will make the creative juices flow easier, especially since i'm post-surgery and in painkiller hibernation so that's a pretty severe debuff lol. sooo:

FFXIV Write 2024 | #1: Steer

Word Count: 436

Fourth Umbral Moon, 23rd Sun

Cid stopped by the house today - surprising, and welcome with how long it’s been. Even more surprising was the vehicle he arrived upon: a prototype magitek bike that runs off a “twin-bank ceruleum” engine, whatever that means. Somehow he had convinced Jessie to have me be the one to test-drive it, put it through its paces. They seem to think I’d be the one most likely to wring the most potential out of it, and he also alluded to Jessie determining I’d be the most marketable person and therefore the best candidate to show it off.

I must admit, even after all this time, I still don’t understand Jessie’s business acumen and I’m not certain I wish to. That being said, when I took it for a spin later that evening, with Mia as passenger holding on tight from behind… it was an amazing sensation, like those manacutters but without the pesky third dimension. The thing (Cid says its model is called the Garlond GL-II, but I’m thinking she needs a sexier name than that) can outspeed chocobos, and feeling the wind in my hair as we sliced a path through the Lominsan plains posed a thrill I haven’t felt since well before Ultima Thule.

Every day, I’m grateful for these peaceful times we fought so bloody hard for - for the chance to engage in fun times like this, testing inventions by good friends. Some days, I still wonder how I ended up in this position of trust for so many, with someone as famous and genius as Cid Garlond entrusting me with his prototype vehicles of dubious safety. I mentioned this to Mia when we stopped for a break near Red Rooster Stead, and she just smiled and pointed out that I’ve done a lot of work to ingratiate myself with so many influential figures. “Which is funny, considering how rude and standoffish you were when we first joined the Scions,” she teased as well. “You certainly put in the effort to become a much more agreeable person overall.”

Couldn’t let her get away with that - “You know that that’s your fault,” I shot back at her with a grin, “you steered me along those paths to become that person - away from the whole ‘reckless brute’ thing you kept calling me back then.”

She looked stunned by the idea, but smiled back eventually in that coy-yet-comfortable manner that arrests my gaze every time. If she insists I’m such a good person, then she should get to feel good about helping me reach that point too. For being that person in the first place.

[lansplaining]

I’ve decided to consolidate my brainrot

SO YOU’VE BEEN TADPOLED au

characters are chosen not so much for personality matches as for who would best pick their plot threads

Wei Wuxian is of course a necromancer wizard who needs to snack on magic artefacts because of a teeeeeny little mistake that wasn’t even his fault really!! except all the ways it was! I’m sure he won’t be tempted by either self immolation or the chance to grab the power to reunite with his family.

Jin Guangyao is a trickery cleric of Shar, who comes to learn that the Father Superior is in fact his real dad, holding his Selûnite priestess mother captive.

Jiang Cheng is of course a disgraced scion of Baldur’s Gate, who soul his soul to a devil to protect the city but can’t tell anyone about it, and definitely isn’t still desperate for his dad’s approval.

Lan Wangji is a devoted Githyanki fighter whose faith in his whole world is shaken when he discovers that the power behind Jin Guangyao’s mysterious artefact is none other than his own mother, imprisoned by his father. He decides to work together with his uncle to free her and overthrow his father. Incidentally, he was in Hell looking for…

Lan Xichen, kidnapped during a mission gone wrong and sold to the archdevil Zariel. Being in Avernus corrupted his powers so now he is a wild magic barbarian with an infernal engine for a heart. Also Zariel turned him into a tiefling idk.

ok here’s the ones I’ll get in trouble for

Xiao Xingchen is a vampire spawn who has spent 200 years being tormented by the vampire Xue Yang, who forces him to seduce and kill innocents. Maybe if he gained infernal power, he could silence this hunger and begin to atone for his wrongs…?

Nie Huaisang is a lore bard with some… memory issues. He comes to learn that he is Bhaalspawn, and used to be heir to the Cult of Bhaal until his older brother, in a fit of their hereditary murderous rage, decided he was an unfit heir and attacked and left him for dead.