#Skull Ruffian

[tangledbea]

A Comprehensive Guide to the Thugs in Tangled: The Series

When I watch shows on my computer, I usually have the subtitles on. Because of this, I have learned the names of some of the series thugs who are never addressed, or even never have speaking lines, because the subtitles will inform me who just laughed or grunted or screamed. I've also learned some of them through supplemental reading material.

So, without further ado, here are the names of Corona's criminal Underworld (and surrounding areas). I am including the names of those that we all know perfectly well. After all, it's a comprehensive guide. (Some of them are still unnamed, but I'm going through the episodes when I feel up to it, and will update this post as I discover new things.*)

*Last updated: January 11, 2024 9:23 AM PST

Lady Caine and Her Crew

Lady Caine

The leader of her own band of thugs, with a personal vendetta against King Frederic and Rapunzel, she disguises herself as the Duchess of Quintonia in Tangled: Before Ever After as part of the plot to get inside the palace during Rapunzel's coronation. Implied past linked to Eugene.

Pocket

Lady Caine's right-hand man. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

Axel

Lady Caine's favorite horse and Maximus' #1 nemesis and rival. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

Otter

A hired thug who works for Lady Caine during Tangled: Before Ever After. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

Bandana

A hired thug who works for Lady Caine during Tangled: Before Ever After. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

Dwayne

A thug who idolizes Lady Caine, but also works on his own when not directly hired by her. Helped her escape prison in "Max's Enemy," and had a third of the focus in "Day of the Animals." He's not a very good thief.

Skull Ruffian

A hired thug who works for Lady Caine during Tangled: Before Ever After. (Because his design was based on an old character from a previous version of the movie, I personally call him Crowley.) He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

"Unnamed" Caine Thug 1

A hired thug who works for Lady Caine during Tangled: Before Ever After. Can be spotted in the background in Vardaros. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

"Unnamed" Caine Thug 2

A hired thug who works for Lady Caine during Tangled: Before Ever After. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

The Baron and His Men (and Daughter)

The Baron

A criminal kingpin who operates out of Vardaros. He hired and exploited Eugene and Lance when they were children, and did the same to Kiera and Catalina. Has a personal vendetta against Eugene for "stealing his prized Stalyan." Is bitten by a highly venomous spider at the end of "Beyond the Corona Walls" and isn't seen again until "Flynnpostor," but now is disfigured from the bite.

Stalyan

The Baron's daughter and Eugene's ex-fiancée. She attempts to force Eugene to marry her in "Beyond the Corona Walls". Teams up with Rapunzel in "The Eye of Pincosta" to get a priceless gem that will ensure the freedom of Eugene and everyone else Rapunzel is traveling with during season two.

Anthony the Weasel

The Baron's right-hand man, and our first introduction to this branch of Eugene's past in "The Return of Strongbow." He's sent to collect Kiera and Catalina on behalf of The Baron in "Big Brothers of Corona," and attempts to take over Vardaros in The Baron's absence in "The Return of Quaid." He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas."

Cutter

Sent to collect Kiera and Catalina in "Big Brothers of Corona," he's also one of the thugs to jump Eugene, Lance, and Shorty in Vardaros.

Arkus and Farkus

Twins who work for The Baron, they were sent to collect Kiera and Catalina in "Big Brothers of Corona," and are also at the forced wedding of Eugene and Stalyan. (I am admittedly not sure which is which, since they're always seen together.)

"Unnamed" Baron Thug

One of the thugs to jump Eugene, Lance, and Shorty in Vardaros. (I personally call him Dante, because I think he looks like a Dante.)

Separatists of Saporia

Andrew/Hubert

The leader of the Separatists of Saporia, his goal is to take over Corona in the name of his ancestors, after a marriage between Saporian General Shampanier and Coronan King Herz der Sonne joined the two kingdoms under the name Corona. Introduced in "Under Raps" as Cassandra's love interest, he quickly shows his true colors when he attempts to kill her in order to get the Book of Hearts, which includes maps to all of Herz der Sonne's underground tunnels. Is later to be shown having succeeded in taking over Corona in Rapunzel's absence along with the rest of the Separatists and Varian.

Clementine

A Separatist magic-user who cast a memory spell on King Frederic and Queen Arianna to aid in taking over Corona.

Juniper

A Separatist who helped take over Corona.

Kai

A Separatist who helped take over Corona.

"Unnamed" Separatist of Saporia

A Separatist who helped take over Corona.

Independent Criminals

The Stabbington Brothers

Patchy and Sideburns (nicknamed "Burnsie"), these two have a long-standing history with Eugene and Lance. It's possible that they, too, were taken under The Baron's wing, but that's never canonically confirmed. They hold a grudge against Eugene for double-crossing them with the Lost Princess' stolen crown. They appear in the movie Tangled, "Cassandra v. Eugene," "Peril On the High Seas," and for the final time in "The Return of the King," though a teenage version of them appear in "No Time Like the Past," when their bodies are inhabited by a time-traveling Rapunzel and Pascal.

The Daylight Thieves

Petunia and William are only seen in "Vigor the Visionary," where they are preying upon the town Fortuna. They pose as Kiera's parents, after a case of mistaken identity, since they took over their house, where she found them. Though Eugene and Rapunzel realize who they really are, they arrive on the scene too late to save Kiera and Catalina, since the girls have rescued themselves from the situation.

Dale

Introduced in "Fitzherbert P.I.," Dale disguised himself as The Giovanni, a renowned Italian portrait painter who comes to Corona to paint Rapunzel's first official portrait. He's caught by Eugene before he can escape with the priceless painting of Corona's former king, Robin the Eleventh. He's also on the prison barge in "Peril On the High Seas," where we learn his real name.

The Collector

Hired by Anthony the Weasel in Vardaros during his attempt to take over in "The Return of Quaid". Never says a word, and we never see his face.

"Unnamed" Thug

First seen as a background character in Vardaros, "Peril On the High Seas" is the only other time I remember seeing him.

[darylbae]

never again — daryl dixon 🩰

in which you reunite with daryl after him being taken by the Saviours

note: i had to get this off my brain before i forgot about it & also it's not 100% story accurate as season 7 was so long ago for me lmao

You were a crack shot with a gun. You were quick, reliable, efficient. But nothing prepared you for this.

Negan.

Being on your knees, Lucille being swung around recklessly by the psychopath you'd met only moments ago, you were holding it together. You'd seen a lot since the world had ended, done a lot, lost a lot. Something just felt worse about this, the not knowing, the complete and utter defeat plastered on every face around you. You looked over to Daryl, who you'd only just seen again, being dragged out of a vehicle by one of the many ruffians. The two of you locked eyes for just a moment, hoping to not give anything away between the two of you. His eyes were desperate, helpless, full of every ounce of love his body could carry. Hoping he could give it to you in person soon. You tried to be strong, for the group, for yourself, but this was a loss. There's no trying to be tough here, they had the upper hand. Negan was playing with everyone, playing a party game to choose who dies, laughing maniacally at the tears and shivers you all shared. You lost your breath when the bat clocked Abraham's skull, diverting your eyes away out of pure fear. Fear. At one point that was only reserved for the dead, but you'd come to realize humans were way worse. Everything blurred together after that. Daryl having a moment of courage and clipping Negan before being held down once more. Glenn being hit. Your eyes burning and jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. It had taken every last bit of humanity out of you. You'd lost two parts of the family keeping you glued together. And there was nothing you could do. Your once bright demeanor swapped for one moodier, angrier, emptier. Daryl had been taken by Negan, to be kept. Like a pet. Your mouth dried as you saw him thrown into the back of a vehicle, like an animal, like he meant nothing to nobody. But he meant something to you. The love of your life. The reason to want to survive this mess daily. He meant everything to you. Even from before, you'd never had a connection like this with anyone. Daryl understood you, knew you, cared so deeply for you, and you him. You spoke about marrying, about finding a nice place to yourselves one day, about making a beautiful family to devote your time to.

You stayed in Alexandria, out of fear. You wanted to leave, you wanted to tell Negan to shove it, you wanted to side with Rosita and stand up for yourselves, like you always had. But Negan having Daryl changed everything for you. You didn't want to do anything to put him in harm's way, you wanted him back. Negan and his group would occasionally come in, take whatever they wanted, and leave. You'd see Daryl, all dirty with his head low. And you'd tell yourself it wasn't him. That wasn't your Daryl. He'd look at you, and you could still see him in there, but the looks were always fleeting. So you'd sit in your house, parts of your furniture gone, waiting for your turn with Lucille. You'd sit on your porch, a blank stare cast over your face as you think about him. You'd sit out here together, reading a book to him as he massaged your legs that were propped up on his lap. You'd join him out here for a smoke, not to smoke but for company, and you'd talk to him about a cute thing Judith did that day, or what you thought your own kids would look like. Nobody was happy living like this, trembling at the sound of the whistling, or the men just wandering around the streets and homes. But Rick was submitting, he had to. There was no other way. You'd lost all motivation for anything, you'd force yourself on runs, finding resources for Negan. Then you'd come back, sometimes eat, but mostly sleep and think about Daryl.

There were small talks of a fight back, like Maggie had spoken about the morning after Negan. She was on Death's door last time you saw her, but you had hoped and prayed her and Sasha were okay. Rick had shut down every idea of fighting back, saying this is how to survive now. You'd even gone over to him, pleading to do something.

"Please, Rick," you cried, stood at his door with tears sliding down your cheeks, "I need him back." "I know." Was all he said, pulling you into his arms. The comfort was nice, but these arms weren't the ones you wanted around you.

Then you'd lost Spencer, Eugene, and almost Rosita. Your emotions were burning inside of you, you felt like a spectator in this sick, twisted game. Enough was enough.

"I'm fighting, Rick," you spoke, your voice low. Broken but determined. Michonne stood by you; you needed to go to war. There's no more lying down and taking it. "We've lost so much, too much, for this to be our lives now." You cried, "I'm not losing anything else. Anyone else."

You were headed to Hilltop, where Maggie and Sasha were. You were hopeful for their health, and survival, and to see them both on the other side of those gates, was a sight for sore eyes. "You were right," Rick said to Maggie, but you couldn't hear the rest. Your eyes had drowned out everything around you. Your eyes, you thought, were playing tricks on you. There he was. You'd walked over to him, unsure if this was just another nightmare like the previous nights, or if this was him. Daryl. Standing in front of you. The two of you just looked at each other, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. Until Daryl had opened his arms for you, crying into your shoulder as you were his. The two of you a sobbing mess in each other's limbs. "I got ya back," he whispered, for only you to hear, "I've been thinking about ya every day. I couldn't stop." "I'm here." You cried, holding him tighter against your body. "I'm not going anywhere, you're never leaving me again." "I know, baby, I know."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hey there, friend!! I was wondering if you could give me any advice on writing pirates and kingpin type characters? Im trying to write a love story about this lesbian pirate falling in love with a kingpins daughter, but her mission is to carry out her late captains legacy - which is to make sure both him and his daughter are dead (i hope that makes sense 😭)

Writing Notes: Pirates

The word "pirate" typically conjures up images of a/an:

Slightly comical seaborne ruffian

Parrot perched on the shoulder

Peg leg

Bandana

Eye patch

Gold teeth

Skull and crossbones flag

This comes from a century or more of cartoonish depictions of pirates in Peter Pan, Treasure Island and The Pirates of the Caribbean.

Pirate - a robber who travels by water. Though most pirates targeted ships, some also launched attacks on coastal towns.

We often think of pirates as swashbuckling and daring or evil and brutish, but in actual fact most of them were ordinary people who had been forced to turn to criminal activity to make ends meet.

Nowadays these sanitized pirates are used to sell everything from rum to home insurance. The pirate has become an instantly recognizable symbol whose meaning is far removed from its dark and sinister origins.

The term ‘pirate’ has been changed over the years.

A ‘privateer’ was a government-sanctioned pirate who did not attack his own people.

The French called these people ‘corsairs’, although even this term became associated with Mediterranean ‘pirates’ instead of ‘privateers’.

A ‘buccaneer’ was a 17th-century raider who preyed on the Spanish in the Caribbean, while a

‘filibuster’ (or ‘freebooter’) was simply a French word for a ‘buccaneer’.

As for ‘swashbuckler’, the term meant a 16th-century brigand, or a 17th-century swordsman, but in the 20th century it was adopted by the writers of pirate fiction, and then by Hollywood. In the piratical heyday most of these terms were never used the way they are today.

Finally, there were ‘pirates’. The dictionary specifies that a ‘pirate’ is someone who robs from others at sea, and who acts beyond the law. Usually, they attacked whatever ships they came across, regardless of nationality.

Sometimes, though, these ‘pirates’ themselves crossed the line from one category to another.

HISTORY OF PIRACY

Spans the time of the Egyptian pharaohs to the present day. The real "heyday" of piracy falls neatly into two halves:

The colourful era of the 17th-century buccaneers who preyed on the Spanish Main – men like Henry Morgan or the bloodthirsty François L’Olonnais.

The ‘Golden Age of Piracy’. The phrase was first coined by the creators of pirate fiction rather than by people who experienced piracy for themselves. There was nothing golden or romantic about the real thing. Still, the term serves as a useful historical shorthand for a time when some of the best-known pirates in history were sailing the world’s oceans in search of prey. This was the brief but heady period in the early 18th century when the likes of Blackbeard, Black Bart and Charles Vane roamed the seas.

This early 18th-century French slave ship is typical of the slavers that were often captured by pirates, and sometimes converted into pirate vessels themselves. They had a reputation for being fast, an important feature for ships engaged in transporting a human cargo across the Atlantic.

Pirate ships usually carried far more crew than ordinary ships of a similar size.

This meant they could easily outnumber their victims.

Pirates altered their ships so that they could carry far more cannon than merchant ships of the same size.

Stories about pirate brutality meant that many of the most famous pirates had a terrifying reputation, and they advertised this by flying various gruesome flags including the 'Jolly Roger' with its picture of skull and crossbones.

All these things together meant that victims often surrendered very quickly. Sometimes there was no fighting at all.

It's likely that most victims of pirates were just thrown overboard rather than being made to ‘walk the plank’.

FEMALE PIRATES

The capture of the two female pirates, Anne Bonny and Mary Read, in 1720 provoked the outrage of a society where women were simply not supposed to become seamen, or pirates, or fight. As a result, the pair became some of the best-known pirates of the ‘Golden Age’.

In this 19th-century illustration, Mary Read, having vanquished a fellow pirate in a duel, exposes her breast to reveal to her dying adversary that he was shot by a woman. After their capture it was said that she and Anne Bonny put up more of a fight than all the rest of Rackam’s pirate crew.

While this depiction of Anne Bonny is probably fairly accurate – she wears the standard clothing of a sailor from this period – the artist felt obliged to emphasise her gender by giving her a low-cut shirt.

Like the depiction of Anne Bonny by the same artist, Mary Read is shown wearing the outfit of a European sailor from the period. A contemporary said of the two women that they ‘wore men’s jackets and long trousers, and handkerchiefs tied about their heads’.

A lot of what is known about pirates is not true, and a lot of what is true is not known.

Pirates could also be civil, neighborly, and law-abiding.

One reason piracy was often an act or a phase, and not a way of life, was simply because humans have not evolved to live on the sea. The sea is a hostile place, offering few of the pleasures of terrestrial society.

The expansion of commercial trade, particularly the slave trade, cemented a colonial social order increasingly threatened by instability at sea and less tolerant of social mobility on land. This change in attitudes led to the period we call the “War on Pirates”—roughly 1716 to 1726—and the advent of sea marauders who, with little hope of ever resettling on land, attacked their own nation.

Some Pirate-Related Tropes - you could use to help guide you write your own character.

Writing Notes: Kingpin

A character trope also referred to as "Big Bad", specifically a crime boss (usually a drug lord).

A character with evil plans (some popular examples of "evil plans").

"The Don"

A similar character trope.

The patriarch of a crime family — most often the mafia.

He is shrewd, ruthless, and very dangerous to cross.

Often he will hold to an arcane code of honor, which is perhaps incomprehensible to non-mobsters.

He will be very protective of his family and he will ensure that his dear little girl wants for nothing, all while maintaining the illusion of morality.

Read or watch media that depict this trope to help guide you write your own character, such as:

Vito and Michael Corleone in The Godfather.

Batman's The Penguin fills this role in Gotham City, having retired from committing crimes personally — for the most part.

Mr. Big from Zootopia is Tundratown's most notorious crime boss (right down to being a parody of Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone), despite being a diminutive arctic shrew. Judy is lucky enough to get in his good graces by saving his daughter's life.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Already sounds like such an interesting story, thanks for sharing it with me! Choose which of these notes to help you build your characters :)

[aoioozora]

Watery Grave

Content: Pirate! Ghost x Sea Goddess! Reader, enemies, no happy ending TW: Blood, gore, death

From your underwater abode, you looked up at the wispy streams of daylight flickering and filtering through the rippling seawater. For the past few months, the waters thrummed with a certain uncertainty and fear. Trouble had been brewing upon the surface, enough for your worshippers to increase their prayers, pleas, and offerings to you, begging for your interference.

A large and familiar shadow floated over the surface and made its way past, far above your abode, momentarily blocking out the sunlight. You rose, took hold of the jet black sword next to you and fastened it to your belt. With a strong flick of your tail, you propelled yourself upward many fathoms to the surface, cutting through the waters past the aquatic life of all shapes and sizes which made way for their ruler's urgency.

It was the right time to strike.

As your head poked out from under the water, you were face to face with a massive wooden ship. Diving again, you swam away to make way for it and then resurfaced to take a closer look. It was unmistakable: the Jolly Roger ruddied in the blood of victims fluttered proudly with the wind as it stayed anchored to the apex of the main mast. Men of all ages, armed with swords, some gaunt and others rotund bustled about the vessel, singing shanties over their duties. At the helm stood the personage most complained about.

A tall, muscular man, Captain of the vessel, stood steering at the rudder, his long blond locks tamed in a single braid and a soiled red scarf wrapped around his head. Upon his face was a mask rumored to have been made out of a victim's skull. Nobody knew his real name, but from the mask alone, he was dubbed 'Ghost', and even called the Underworld's favourite hound for how many people he'd sent there, certainly increasing the work for the god of death and the dead. But you scoffed at the name, for you knew the god of the Underworld had a hound more favoured than this man.

From what you heard of the prayers of your worshippers, this man was an infernal menace. His band of pirates attacked the kingdom's navy ships, home and foreign merchant ships, and fishermen's boats, looting, setting on fire, and upturning every last one of them and bathing in their blood in cold revelry. You witnessed ship after ship, body after body sink into the water that was a part of you, all mingled with the bitter and salty taste of blood that you hated.

They attacked, terrorized, and ransacked the towns and cities, and in their blood soaked hands they held their victims in an iron grip. Not even the navy or the king could stand before their powerful band of bloodthirsty ruffians. That wasn't all. They even looted and destroyed temples and shrines built for you; these heathen didn't believe you existed and watched them.

Believing or not, would they stand a chance against the goddess of the sea upon whose domain they sailed and polluted?

It was time to put an end to this man.

Diving back underneath, another flick of your tail propelled you ahead of the ship several miles. With a twirl of your finger, you began to stir the seas a little, making them a little unstable and stormy but not enough to cause any alarm to the ship yet.

When you were far enough from the ship that it appeared as a little blip against the now darkening horizon, you emerged fully from the water, your tail now changing to a pair of legs as you stood upon the surface, watching the ship approach.

You raised your scaly arms slowly in front of you and at your behest, a small wave pushed forward towards the ship, beating against it and pushing it back slightly. You clenched your fists and the wave held fast, flattening against the surface. You then yanked your arms back harshly, as if heaving a net full of fish into a boat. The flattened wave rose high from behind the ship and hurtled the vessel forward at a speed that was enough to send them shrieking.

With your far seeing eye, you watched Ghost throw around frantic orders to his crew. The deck was flooded and you could see them scrambling to get the water out. With another swipe of your hand, another wave was sent crashing against them, nearly threatening to topple over the vessel. You raised your eye heavenwards and saw the darkening clouds looming overhead.

"I have to get his underlings out of the way first," you thought to yourself as you orchestrated the wild movements of the sea, sending the ship tossing and turning as a drunken man, causing the poor pirate captain to be unable to take control with the rudder.

"Drop the anchors!" called Ghost in his booming, sand-like voice.

"Futile," you murmured, watching as his crew, beaten by the boisterous waves, scrambled to let the anchors go. Over the crash of the water and the wind, the chains clattered loudly; the anchor flew downwards, splashing water. No sooner it sunk, a single snap of your finger was enough to send an underwater current strong enough to snap the iron chains.

The effect of it was immediately noticed by Ghost, who saw that the sea found it easier to toss his vessel. He ordered for the anchor to be pulled back up.

"It's broken, Captain!" called one of his underlings.

Ghost cursed out loud, still trying to take control with the rudder, but it appeared to him that the sea had a mind of its own. The rough tossing threw a handsome chunk of his crew into the sea; you sent the hungry sharks to feast on them, their blood-curdling screams the last thing to echo in the air as they were pulled into the depths. As their blood mingled in the water, you could taste it in your mouth; you swallowed harshly. Nobody's blood ever tasted good to you.

Your eye turned back to Ghost. Losing most of his crew all at once and right in front of him certainly made his heart suffer the sharp pangs of loss, but adrenaline forced him to look ahead and desperately turn the rudders to control the ship. The darkening skies poured fourth their showers, blocking out all hope of navigation with their fog, only adding to the misery.

"The gods are angry with us, Captain!" the second-in-command, a blue-eyed and brown haired fellow named Johnny cried, holding on to the rudder to keep himself from being thrown into the sea.

"Utter foolishness!" growled Ghost, "Do you believe in these "gods" now that you're in a storm just like any other?!"

"Captain, you know that this storm is unlike any we have ever sailed through!" Johnny exclaimed, turning his face away to avoid a slap from the waves from knocking his breath out of his lungs.

"I do not believe it!" Ghost yelled adamantly, aggressively twisting and turning at the rudder, even though he knew it was futile.

"They must be real! Remember that we have destroyed the temples of the sea goddess?! Those locals have warned us of her wrath!" Johnny tried to reason out his newfound belief, but Ghost was determined to be unreasonable.

The second-in-command was about to speak again, when a shadow in the foggy rain behind them arrested his attention. The shadow walked towards them upon the helm, its glowing golden eyes predatory and vicious, its size increasing in the fog as it drew nearer. Johnny's knees lost their strength and he collapsed to the drenched floors at Ghost's feet, watching with bulging eyes and mouth trembling and agape at this creature that approached slowly.

"Johnny, what are you doing?!" Ghost scolded, but any more words were halted when he saw the look of dread and fear in his lackey's face.

He turned over his shoulder. Standing right behind him was none other than you, goddess of the sea, towering over him a full foot. You stared down at him with your golden eyes. Fear seized his heart as he stared back.

"Who... are you?" Ghost managed to blurt out as his eyes swept over your armor of thick, iridescent scales, clawed hands, and flowing, windswept hair. Before you could answer him, he croaked, "Wait, you are..."

The towering creamy marble temples and idols of you that he personally trashed in the coastal towns came to mind; how he ransacked the offerings and filled your shrines with the blood of your priests and worshippers. The face of the fallen idol he had stepped on was familiar; it was yours.

"Goddess of the sea," you opened your mouth to supply, and it gave him the opportunity to see your serrated, razor sharp, shark-like teeth.

Your voice sounded like the rumbles of the raging sea and wind to him, and infamous and unbelieving as he was, even his knees gave away, making him fall prostrate at your feet. Johnny clung to him, face pale with fright.

"Spare us, goddess! Forgive us!" cried Johnny in pathetic shivers, groveling and begging at your feet.

Your clawed hand placed itself upon the hilt of your sword. "No more," you answered, "You lot have gone far enough, and I have excused your behaviour long enough." Though your voice was calm and even, it was apparent to them from the boisterous waves, the howling winds, and the torrents that you were far from it.

"Please!" Johnny raised his head, continuing to plead.

You drew out your sword. The next thing Johnny felt was the sharp, sizzling hot sting of the sharp metal against his neck slicing against his skin, muscle, blood vessel, and bone cutting through him like he was room temperature butter. With a single sweep, his severed head was sent flying against the bannisters of the helm. His lifeless body slumped down at your feet, his life blood spurting, oozing, and pooling at your feet and at Ghost's knees, soaking into his clothes and the wood beneath him. The Captain of the vessel was frozen with fear and shock. He stared with wide, horrified eyes at the headless corpse of his second-in-command, and at his head being tossed to and fro with the ship, spreading blood all over the helm. He felt something tear in his heart.

"Johnny! Johnny!" he cried and screamed despairingly and agonizingly over the roar of the tempest when he had finally found his voice. He clasped the shoulders of the corpse and shook them vainly, as if it would revive his only friend.

The dead man's blood mingled with the seawater at your feet, and again you felt the bitter taste. You grimaced at it. You took a step back from the two, mercifully allowing Ghost a moment to mourn.

"Rise, you blasphemer," you then commanded, now easing the waves a little, "Draw out your sword and fight me."

"What power have I over a deity?" he answered without looking at you, his trembling hand placed over the back of his dead friend.

You scoffed at this meek answer. "Do not you remember how you destroyed my temples, claiming that you were stronger than the gods?" You pointed the tip of the sword under his chin, nudging his face upwards to meet your eyes, "Prove yourself."

Johnny's severed head rolled over to Ghost's knee at that moment. The fear and panic was frozen into his features, and the Captain felt the weight of his dead friend's reasoning heavy on his heart.

Ghost rose to his feet. You pulled your sword away from his chin, taking several steps back, watching as he drew out his cutlass. He raised his weary, mournful head to look back at you; for a moment he dared to feel something other fear and anger: a sense of awe at your beauty.

"You may be a goddess, but you murdered my only friend in cold blood," Ghost clenched both his jaw and his cutlass as his eyes lingered on the black sword in your hand. Jet black and shining with an ominous, otherworldly glow, it looked like a longsword forged by the gods themselves. The sight of the weapon churned his stomach, as if warning him to not be foolhardy and trifle with it.

"Have you finally realised the taste of your own medicine?" you ask, now beginning to circle him. He copied. "Though I do not murder in cold blood as you assume," your glowing eyes stared right into his dark ones, "Inflicting death is my last resort."

"Is it likewise for me then, goddess? Do you deign to be merciful unto me by letting me live a few moments more before my death?"

"Certainly, I do," you answered, "I must first ensure that you are bark as well as bite."

Ghost blinked once. He didn't see you standing before him.

"En garde, heathen!" you called, appearing directly in front of him. You brought down your sword, aiming to slice his head in half.

Ghost was quick to obey. His arm jerked upwards. Both swords met with a deafening clang. A struggle for power ensued, with the two pushing and grinding their swords against each other. The man was surprised at how you were able to swing your longsword in such a cramped helm.

"Is this a fair fight?" asked Ghost, pushing back against you, feeling his muscles tense and burn at the immense pressure you were giving right back at him. You were after all, in every sense of the word, a deity.

"No, however, for your benefit and mine, I am holding back," you drew back your weapon, easing on the pressure a little.

"You are as merciful as they say you are," he grunted, pushing back.

"I thank you."

The swords grated against each other, causing sparks to flicker at the rough contact. Pulling your sword away, you thrust the long blade to his side to injure him. But Ghost spun on his heel, turning sideways to evade the thrust. He lunged his cutlass to your neck, only for it to be stopped by your scaly armor.

You slashed horizontally against his carelessly open torso. He stomped his back foot further back to widen the gap, narrowly missing his stomach. The tip grazed against his soiled white shirt, burning the torn edges of the fabric into soot. Ghost felt the unusual heat of the weapon against his body and blocked with his weapon, and the swords ground against each other once again.

"What is that sword of yours? It is unlike anything I've ever seen," said Ghost with admiration, stepping forward and pushing against you, daring to meet your golden eyes.

"Of course it is, because it has been forged by the god of the Underworld," you explained, "with its finest underworld obsidian. It is death to any mortal who touches it."

"No wonder it burned when it touched me." He thought.

"And what, did you steal this weapon?" he taunted, smiling under his mask.

"I do not sink myself down to do such devious things," you glared at him, "I have been given complete authority to wield this sword and to kill you."

"And yet you aren't." He continued to look into your eyes, mesmerized by the liquidy gold color with flecks of brown and teal appearing as spokes on a wheel, converging into your black pupils.

This man, Ghost, had been bestowed the privilege of peering into the eyes of arguably one of the most beautiful goddesses of the realm at such close proximity; some would consider him blessed and fortunate, others the opposite, though he didn't realize it.

"Your time is not yet, but it is at hand," You looked back into his dark brown eyes, "and all of heaven, earth, and sea will bear witness."

The fight continued, and so did the tempest. He was an excellent swordsman and put up a fine fight, and you genuinely felt it a shame to kill him. However, duty was paramount. You cornered him to the teetering tip of the bowsprit, pointing your sword at him. He stood in silence, gasping heavily as he considered the raging sea beneath him and its goddess right in front of him.

"You are determined to not spare me, I presume?" he asked.

"Most determined."

The winds slowed from howls to whispers, the rain lightened, and the seas calmed slightly. Ghost maintained his balance on the narrow bowsprit, pondering. He knew he'd eventually die at sea, but never did he think he'd be face to face with the very being he didn't believe in. He looked at you, remembering the sayings of the locals, "Nobody who sees the goddess of the sea lives to tell the tale," and how true it appeared to him now, those words he called old wives tales. Your sword was pointed at him threateningly; even in the dull weather, it glowed with an ominous light, reminding him that Death himself loomed over his guilty head.

You waited, watching him closely to see what he'd say in return. Would be plead and beg? Would he be cocky even at death's door? Or something else?

He scoffed, making you raise a brow. The air was then echoing with his laughter as he declared boastfully, not knowing from whence his own self-confidence came from, "Pity, but the jaws of hell can never hold me down!"

You sighed, "Such is the hubris of man."

Bringing the sword to your side away from him, you lunged. You opened your mouth and sunk your razor-sharp teeth into his neck. He let out a bellow of pain as you pushed him off the bowsprit, sending both of you hurtling into the disturbed depths. Upon contact with the surface of the water from such a height, Ghost felt like he fell down on an iron fortress. The pain pulsated and surged like waves of an earthquake, rattling and breaking his feeble, mortal bones. As the two of you sank, the biting cold water choked and muffled his screams into air bubbles as you held him fast between your jaws.

He was thrown down to the underwater floor, feeling the weight of the entire sea pressing down on his now frail, broken body. When you let his neck go, his blood spurt out, diffusing with the water. You spat the salty liquid out, not even wanting to swallow it, and wiped your lips. He lay there on the ground, somehow still alive, but eyes dimming by the second as he watched the daylight several fathoms over him flickering. You stood over over him with your feet planted on the ground on either side of his waist, blocking out the dim light from his vision. Taking the hilt of your sword in both your hands, you pointed the blade downwards, pressing the tip gently over his heart.

"Have you any last words, heathen?" you asked, staring down at him.

He looked back at you, and there was a certain twinkle in his dark eyes even then as he took in your features. One last time, he observed how your flowing hair floated in the water, how your golden eyes glowed, and how your iridescent scales flickered against the filtering daylight. He opened his quivering lips and croaked a muffled response over the water filling his lungs.

"You are beautiful."

You closed your eyes for a moment and then opened them again.

"I thank you."

He felt the burning metal of your deadly sword sink into his chest, piercing into his heart as you thrust the weapon in. His eyes remained on you, even as they dimmed and his consciousness slowly ebbed away, filling him with a strange peace.

You pulled out your sword and looked down at his body. His blood rose from the wound and mingled into the water like the soft, coiling wisps of smoke of burnt incense in your temples.

You wiped the blood off the sword, signifying the end of your duty. Stooping down, you sliced off the strings of his skull mask and pulled it away from his face to take a look at this infamous man. A pity he was so handsome.

Taking a step back, you rose and swam away with the prize, letting him rest in his watery grave.

[blank-slate-jay]

In Need

Joel Miller x Male!Reader Word Count: 2.6k

Tags:Angst,Violence(Blood),Comfort, Soft!Joel

Request: "Long story not so short reader's the one to encounter David, he gives Joel the medicine, reader is the one who kills David. Joel and Ellie find him, Joel seeing that he went outside alone, he killed someone for the first time and basically put himself at risk just to take care of Ellie and to prove Joel that he isn't cargo and obviously Joel fucking breaks because the guy he's in love with did all this shit to keep safe the two people he cared for the most and didn't give his life any value even before that. Reader was always behind to warn them if something was gonna attack, or to defendem with his body first and Joel didn't notice until that moment."

A/N: This prompt has a lot of angst and I love it! Has some slow build up so I really hope this is what you wanted anonymous, Enjoy!

“Where, WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!” Joel screamed. His growl was enough to shake the wooden walls and it definitely rattled Ellie, who had her gun pointed at their second hostage tied up against the table.

Joel was furious, with his injury, with the lack of information, and most importantly, your absence. Ellie had told him everything about the raiders, how they came to kill him, how you acted as bait to lure the ruffians away from the town. Ultimately you failed and were captured. He didn’t need to know all the details, just hearing Ellie recite this to him was enough to get him off his deathbed, away from the cold mattress.

The man Joel had in his grasp, screamed out as the knife drove deeper into the man’s knee. “I don’t know…” he cried in anguish. Joel didn’t give a damn, whipping the man’s head back to get him to focus on his words. “Where. Is. He?”Joel's voice is much lower but just as menacing as before.

“They…” the raider muffled, “..there…there’s a town.”

“What TOWN?!”

His screams were enough to cause the second man on the floor to shift, Ellie positions her gun in line with the man’s head. “Leave him alone man, I can tell you where it is. It’s-”

Joel yelled again, “Shut up,” pulling the knife out from the man’s knee. Just on the small table next to him was a map, he grabs it while shoving the knife’s handle into the man’s mouth. “Point to where it is. It better fuckin’ match up with your buddy.”

The man sobs through the handle, with the map being held to his face. He did as told, drawing a line across the crinkled paper. He spits the knife out into his own lap, “There…ok? It should be there, fucking psycho”. Joel looks at the location, Silver Lake. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Joel's eyes look back at the raider, “David’s probably chopped him up by now,” he laughs.

Joel gritted his teeth, eyes as dark as the night. In one swoop motion he grapples the blade and shoves it against him, receiving a cry from his buddy off to the side. “Noo.”

The other hostage tried moving, as if he could somehow save his dying companion. Ellie of course was on it, “Move again, and I’ll shoot you.”

He tried pleading with them, in a state of hysteria, knowing he might have the same demise. Ellie had her gun, her aim shaky, scared to kill again but ready if it meant less obstacles later.

Joel though didn’t want her doing the dirty work, he was up and by her side, lightly pushing her hand down to lower her aim. “Get the horse ready”, he said with a small hint of guilt in his voice. Joel had insisted she stay hidden in the basement while he interrogated them, instead, she wanted to help. The older man didn’t have it in him to argue with her, between his grogginess and his wounded stomach, it wouldn’t have done him any good. 

This time she did as told, lowering her weapon and walking out of the room. 

Keep reading

Joel’s gaze turns to the man, tightening his fingers. 

“We should’ve blasted you motherfuckers when we had the chance!”

“Maybe you should have,” he says, bringing his knife down onto the man’s skull. 

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

The Silver Lake town was in shambles, people were yelling, people were running for their lives, and some were even fighting each other. Chaos ensued outside from your hiding place. Word got out on what was in their last meal, human remains. The people freaked out and began fighting, guns blazing.

You were sat up behind a counter, a pool of red just inches from you. Trembling at the sight, you tried collecting yourself. It was the first time you killed somebody, someone you couldn’t spare for once. You were moments away from being turned into a dish, what were you supposed to do? The thought made you nearly gag, you didn’t know how Joel didn’t feel the same way after he did the same. Perhaps he did and was just numb to it all. 

It didn’t matter though how you felt, you lived, you survived. You’d get to breathe freely even if it was for another moment. There wasn’t much time to celebrate, as nothing was in the world, because another set of footsteps entered into the massive dining hall. The quickness and sudden entrance made you jerk.

You listen carefully, as the person trailed around the room.

He said your name and you recognized that voice. Fucking David. Shit. He was the last person you wanted to encounter, especially in your hazed state. To some degree your fizzled mind was more alert than ever. After all, you trusted him. He gave you medicine, let you and your friends live; he must’ve had a change of heart. Or his plan to raid your rundown base, kidnap one of you even, was his intention all along. 

He called out for you again, sending a chill up your spine, “I know you’re in here. Why don’t you come on out, we can just work this out. Like ole pals”.

His voice, so condescending he might as well just say he wanted you dead. His voice was far, not enough to calm your nerves. Peering around the counter, through all the chairs and tables, you can make out the movement of a gray door. It swung, with a faint bit of light shining from behind. That was your way out, it had to be. The front door wasn’t an option as that would expose you to David and the mayhem happening just outside. There was probably a window, or even better another door just beyond the one you saw ahead. You needed to leave.

“If you take me to your friends, I’ll let you off scout free. We can forget about this whole mess, start over.”

Yeah right? Like you’d put your faith in him again. After he captured you and put you in a cage, after he ordered his man to cut you up like an animal; like hell you’d trust him.

Hearing David’s steps, slowly trailing around made you move, making sure you were as quick as can be. You kept your distance behind pillars, seats, and small walls; constantly keeping track of him through sound and small glimpses from your hiding spot.

You were now close, hiding behind a a seated booth that hid you from David’s sight and had the backdoor completely in full view. Anyone coming through the door would see you. It was tempting just to run for it. Doing so would alert him, causing you more trouble than you could’ve ask for.

A distraction is what you needed, something to keep him busy for a time. But would do that? A molotov might do the trick, the idea came about while you looked over at the bottle on a nearby table. If only you had a rag and a lighter.

Your knife would have to do, as you prepare yourself for a sneak attack.

————

Joel and Ellie made it, Silver Lake. The place was in shambles, they were caught off by the shouting, the combustion; initially thinking they'd have to sneak their way through a heavily guarded town.

Joel couldn't tell if he'd prefer what he was expecting, or the situation they were in now. There wasn’t time to waste, thinking too hard would just prolong your rescue.

The two kept behind a brick wall, watching and waiting for an opening. Joel’s plan was to search all the buildings that likely had a kitchen or butcher room. They’d have to wait until the gunshots came to a steady, not wanting to get caught in any cross fire.

One last shot rang out, before all that was left was the sounds of the howling winds. It lasted long, and the two gazed at each other before Joel decided to peek around the corner. Only three men remained, at least from what he could see. He could easily take them all with just a few bullets, but his aching stomach would prove to make that difficult.

“Jesus, can’t believe they’d turn on us.”

“Yeah, where the fuck did David go?"

Was there a dispute? Did you cause this? Who cared, not Joel. He just wanted to know if you were alive and well, afraid the ladder was high unlikely and wishful thinking.

Fuck it. He pulls his rifle up, groaning as he lined up his aim. Ellie got herself prepared too, locking eyes with Joel and communicating they’re next action through gaze alone. One of the men were facing away from them, he takes aim before pulling, taking one guy out.

It startles the other two, leaving them confused. It gave Joel time to reload behind cover before coming back out and down went the raider. None of them could hide besides one, who ducked behind the opposite side of the building the two were already hiding behind.

He had his rifle aimed just at the edges of the brick wall, ready to tap the raider the moment he peaked over. Ellie had herself up against Joel, somewhat curious if the coast was clear. His sharp, focused eyes said otherwise.

Just as half of the raider's face came into view, Joel was quick to dispose of the last man with a piercing shot to the face. Falling to the ground, the coast looked to be finally clear. The silence almost seemed threatening, like a trap was awaiting them if they stepped out from their hiding spot. Nothing of course convinced Joel of this other than his own worry. 

“Stay close to me”, Joel instructs Ellie. She nods, taking small steps behind Joel to keep her pace steady for the injured man.

They didn’t have a certain route, just trailing the walls and looking into the windows of buildings as they passed by each one; alleyways included. Joel sporadically looked around, trying to locate you while keeping a lookout for any other threats. Ellie did the same, but kept her eyes out for you. 

Joel, so caught up in the moment, hadn’t realized Ellie’s light steps growing distant by the second.

He turned to her, eyes widening at her recklessness, “Ellie”! She wasn’t listening,her eyes were squinted, investigating the figure just beyond the alleyway. She could have swore she recognized who it was, until she got closer. She gasped. 

Joel calls her name again, this time she listen. 

“Joel,” she waves her hand over, “It’s y/n”. She ran into the alley leaving Joel to limp his way over to the other side of the street. She could’ve at least helped him, after hearing that you were alive, the man wanted to run but couldn’t. 

He crosses the street, and is parallel with the valley and spots you at the other side, knees deep into the snow; draped in stains of red.

Ellie had already cross the distance in a sprint. She grabs your arms, startling you from your paralyzed state. Looking up from the snow, you were shocked to see Ellie, she was here. How? You had told her to stay and watch out for Joel, now she was here?

You had some questions but decided to hold them off, just wanting to be reminded what a caring embrace felt like. You reach your hand up and Ellie comes down to you with a hug. You could feel your tears welling up, wanting to forget the hell you just experienced.

Hearing a set of steps hit the snow, you snap your gaze to the side. Some of your questions were answered on sight just seeing Joel struggling as he limped over to you. Your tears finally started pouring down your face. "Joel, I fucking did it. I killed someone," your voice quivered.

You're words barely graced the man's ears. He just was happy you were still here, functioning normally too. He drops down to you, cupping your face and making you keep eye contact with him.

When you tried speaking again, it came out disjointed. It was a blend between an explanation and an apology. Yet Joel knew what you meant by the few words that escaped your shaky lips.

The way he treated you up to this point, your dispute weeks ago, the one that shut you down completely; when Joel yelled at you for not defending yourself. He did it out of fear, you nearly got kidnapped for god knows what reason. By then he was fed up with your passiveness, practically calling you useless and nothing more than dead weight.

He very quickly regretted this over the next few days, the lack of any soul in your voice was aching to hear. Ellie was feeling the effects of this too, trying to make small talk with you, but you never had much to say. The raising pain he felt made him feel guilty, believing his actions didn't justify his emotions. You likely we're in greater pain than he was.

Joel ran his fingers across your cheek, wiping away the drops leaving your eyes. You look down, "I'm sorry I...I tried protecting Ellie, and you..."

Hearing your voice was just furthering the wounds in the older man's heart. He shook, his head reminded of his wrongdoings. "No no no..." he pulls your face back up, "Sweetheart, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Joel tried hiding the cracks in his voice. "You saved me, you watched over Ellie, I can't thank you enough. And..." he paused, his guilt coming back into the forefront. "''m sorry, for everythin'. I shouldn't have said any of it, I'd go back and change it in a heartbeat."

His words were touching, as if you didn't have enough to keep your tears flowing. You close your eyes in an attempt to hide yourself, to save the two people you cared about much the trouble of witnessing you break down. A combination of everything you'd suffer through just came crashing down onto you. The embarrassment of appearing weak in front of Joel, wasn't enough to stop your cries.

This time, he wouldn't push you away, not like last time. He pulled you in, his forehead pressing up against yours. He just kept repeating his remorsefulness, each time his voice grew softer until it was a whisper like the wind.

Ellie was also providing you extra security with her head leaning into the back of your shoulder. She would thank you later, with her own words, but she thought it was appropriate to comfort you now. Without you, she'd have no idea how to mend Joel or even handle David. It scared her thinking about doing everything you've done all alone.

You spent some time regaining your composure in Joel's warm palms, reaching up to place yours over his, you didn't realize how numb it had gotten from the freezing cold. You grip them tightly, clearing away the sorrow with a sniff.

"We need to go, okay?"

You took a second but eventually nodded.

Joel nods too in approval, he grips your hands in his own, and stands slowly, pulling you up along with him. Ellie lifts herself on her own accord, giving you some breathing room to physically reconcile with Joel. Seeing him wrap his arm around your back, his chin stuck to the side of your forehead, gave her hope that things going forward between you two would get better.

She informs you, "The horse isn't far," grabbing ahold of you before leading you forward.

Being that close to you, glued to your side, he wish he could tell you how much you meant to him. With the nightmare you just experienced, dropping something heavy like that would have to wait, you’d been through more than enough.

For once he was just happy, to finally make up with the man he loved, dearly.

[sweet-berrry]

Feel free to reblog :)

[knfmemarbles]

The Devil's Promise pt. 1

Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I have posted any fics but I hope you enjoy this one as it is part one of a series!

word count: 2.5k

pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, Johnny "soap" McTavish x reader

warnings: none I am aware of (if there are any lmk!)

I sighed and tended to the bar at the Saloon, trying to make a little side cash while my father was off at another meeting. It was always nice not to have to deal with his company, having their prying eyes or clinging hands near me. Sometimes, living under the watchful eyes of politicians was the worst place to be. No freedom, no adventure, and no love life the way I would’ve hoped for. My hand was likely promised to the new person willing to protect our town. Many gunslingers were responsible for safeguarding towns and saloons from outlaws and ruffians. However, my father had been swift to draw a line in the sand, almost crossing it as he attempted to enlist more than he could afford. I brushed my hair to the side, standing straighter as I tried to keep my manners with the newest entering patrons. A broad figure entered the Saloon with his posse, eyes scanning the room before staking a claim on a corner table. A mask dawned on his face, a red skull obscuring his features from vision as a back cowboy hat covered the top of his head. It wasn’t one of those cliches where the whole Saloon went silent as they watched the newcomers come in and were suspicious; they were hardly noticed. After all, the town was quite large, and people passed through on business or travel constantly. However, no one had masks like theirs adorning their faces. It was the only thing that caught people’s eyes as they walked by, but they turned back, knowing it was better not to ask. Better to mind your own business. The man settled on a stool, gesturing for one of his buddies to get up and get drinks as the rest of the posse flocked to the table. They began to joke around and became vivid, nothing like how they entered. The group’s vibrant energy while sharing a drink was now nothing less than fun and bubbly. But the cautionary tale of the Devil’s posse only made my hair stand up on end as I knew the danger they posed and why they were in the part of my town only bothered me further.

The information was like an itch I couldn’t reach as my dad only fed me pieces of what was going on between him and the gunslingers in the area. These men did not play fair. They were more than willing to shed petty blood: At least, that’s what the stories say. Their leader was the one in the red mask. He was known as the Devil himself. Father warned me to stay away from this business if possible as my future was already promised away. He did not want to have his bargaining piece used against him. The one who stood closest to the Devil himself was the one to make quick of getting up. He grunted with effort as he was left with the task of acquiring the drinks for the group. He signaled to you as he walked up, hand twirling around in a circle before gesturing towards his table as he approached your bar. He pressed himself against it with his elbows resting against the old polished wood. After all, your town was wealthy. 

“Round ‘o whiskey.” He said as he eyed me subtly with his head tilted. He looked amused more than lustful as he let his eyes wander. It gave me a short time to take him in. His hair, neatly shaved, faded almost into a mohawk. His jaw stubbled enough to make him look rough around the edges. The clothes adorning his figure were nothing short of cowboy: a cowhide vest resting on a long-sleeve black, thin top, not to mention the chaps that complimented the jeans. 

My gaze flickered up to the cowboy to give him the acknowledgment he sought before moving to grab the closest bottle of Tennessee whiskey. The thick glass was cold to the touch as I reached to grab a few cups to fill, “How many would you like, sir?” 

He tilted his head back to the other side, getting a small head count of his group. He rattled off the number of men in his posse with the smile never leaving his lips. He stayed, leaning against the bar as his eyes wandered around the walls and other tables before settling on a staircase tucked right out of sight unless you were looking hard enough. His curiosity began to get the best of him as he leaned forward to speak over hushed words. 

 “Have any women upstairs?” His words laced in a heavy accent as his eyes followed the staircase. “Or is that just rooms?”

Had he had the accent the whole time? My brain tried to recount as he continued to talk. It sounded almost Scottish. However, his questions did get a laugh out of me. A polite smile eased onto my lips as I shook my head no. “Unfortunately, sir, if you’re looking for company for the night, you must visit a brothel. Those rooms are off-limits to guests.” 

He put his hands up in defense with a chuckle. “Alright, miss, you got me there.”

 The silence hung in the air as I filled the last few glasses with alcohol. I started to set them on a tray, willing to carry them all over myself before the man rose to his feet. 

“Allow me.” He murmured, gently taking a few off the tray to lessen the load. 

“Oh, well, thank you,” I waited for him to reply with a name. 

“They call me Johnny.” he winked before moving to the table, raising the glasses in the air while the gang around him cheered for the first round of drinks. 

 I couldn’t help but linger on the group; watching them with such excitement only made my world feel so much smaller. My heart yearned to be a part of something bigger than myself, even if it was as dangerous as gunslinging. But I was merely a woman; I needed to be prim and proper.  

 I began serving each drink in front of each member. Some took directly from my hand, offering thanks here and there. It wasn’t until I placed the whiskey in front of the man in the red mask. 

His eyes narrowed once he saw it. His gaze rose to mine before placing the liquor back onto the tray with a clink.

“Bourbon.” He spoke gruffly, a thick British accent correcting the drink as he leaned back against his seat. “Kentucky.” It was almost an afterthought like I wouldn’t have figured it out alone. It’s not like the chain of saloons carried many different selections. This one is the number one contender and is currently the only bourbon in most stores as of late. 

I gave a meek nod, pursing my lips as I pulled the tray away from arm’s length.

” Kentucky bourbon. You got it, sir. Was there anything else I could help you with? “I asked with almost a sarcastic rasp to my voice. The man had easily gotten a rise out of me. I flickered my eyes from the cup to his gaze, not allowing myself to let my eyes wander as I stood straight back up. He didn’t bother speaking another word, only grunting, turning his attention elsewhere. I felt my eye almost twitch at how dismissive he was. I shouldn’t want the attention of the gunslinger, but it was difficult trying to ignore the annoyance bubbling instead of fear. I almost wanted to scold him for his mother not teaching him manners.

  I strode back to the bar, setting the tray down to attend to a new glass of bourbon for the man.

While my attention was redirected, Johnny just grinned before turning back towards his boss, who gave him a questioning brow raise. He shrugged in response. "What? She's a pretty gal, and you need to talk more." He says, shrugging as if he wasn't scheming some plan. "She's got a slippery tongue too, might tell you what's up there." He grabbed a thumb backward towards the staircase. "It's a secret, from what I've found out." Redmask sighs briefly before looking at me with a slight hum as if thinking of Johnny’s suggestion.

After finishing pouring the glass, I stopped to check the time. A small curse slipped through my lips as I returned to the table. 

I returned with a small set of menus and gently set them in the center of the table before setting down the bourbon in front of the gentleman with the red skull obscuring his face. I gave a quiet “here you go” before looking to all the other men in the group, “I brought some menus; if you are interested, feel free to wave any of the other waitresses by, and they will be able to help you there.” I smiled and pointed out a few before getting ready to turn and head back to the bar to serve a few patrons waiting for me to serve them.

Johnny smiles at me before touching my wrist, not grabbing it but gently touching it with his finger to stop me. “Thank you, sweetheart. One more thing, though, is there a place we can stay for the night?” He asks, removing his finger from your skin to not make me uncomfortable. In the meantime, Redmask digs around in his pocket and provides a large wad of cash he holds out for the taking.

I felt my face heat up at such a gentle touch. Most men in the bar were very grabby and demanding, rarely using feather-light touches. I gently brought my hand to my chest, touching where his hand had once been. “Ah well, I am sure the local motels around here would be more than willing to take all of you in for the night. Virginia run the one three blocks down.” I smiled, feeling they were trying to figure something out about the upstairs rooms. I looked towards the cash and tilted my head at the red-masked stranger. “Closing the tab?” I asked. I turned to face them with genuine confusion as they were barely served one round. I glanced at the other cowboy and gave him a kind smile, “Would you like me to have someone go over to let Virginia know you need a place to stay?”

He nods, mentally noting the place before taking hold of his glass and drinking. “Ah, that would be appreciated; thank you, sweetheart.” Johnny cooed while his boss sipped at the drink. His eyes leave you after returning to the other men as they talk and joke. The red-masked man, however, just nodded to the question he asked, huffing in slight annoyance. “Any other drinks can be bought by themselves.” He grumbled out, not wanting to feed into his men’s drinking problems. Nor get blackout drunk and cause problems while trying to stay low.

“Okay, I can close that for you. Let me get your change.” I murmured and grasped the money from his gloved hand, brushing my fingers as I rounded to the bar and counted out the Change. I kept glancing at the group, returning to why they were there. Maybe Father had business? No, he never talked well of the posse—quite the opposite. I was utterly lost in thought when counting the money, almost wholly zoning out. 

The masked stranger watched as I counted the change. Though he didn’t intend to let me give it to him, he would hand it back, even as a tip, if anything. He turned back towards Johnny, who was already looking at him. He subtly tilted his head in my direction and asked a nonverbal question. It was answered with a single nod. They had come into the town for something. And they would get it no matter what happened—a score to settle almost.

I stopped before bringing the change back and setting it on the table. “Virginia is aware of your upcoming visit. I hope you all enjoyed your time here.” I murmured before heading back to the bar before moving to make my way to the staircase, ready to take a small break from the smell of alcohol and bustling bodies. The amount of people trying to grab my attention slowed my movement to the room, but I needed to get going. I kept glancing behind me, feeling burning gazes on my back, my head on a swivel until I met his from across the bar again. I gulped before continuing up the store, fishing in the small pocket I created in my dress for a key to the room I had been using. 

I looked over my shoulder before unlocking the third door and sliding through quickly before giving a soft sigh and moving to set the key down on the nearby dresser. Looking at the time, I promptly began to head to my father’s, moving to strip from the corset and dress to something a little more fancy and ladylike. That way, my reputation would not be affected as my father used me as his little pawn. I wish I could avoid it at all costs, but family love ran deep, and I felt I would only let them down if I didn’t do as told. Not to say mothers’ punishments weren’t the other reason.

I slipped on a different pair of shoes, throwing on light makeup before snagging the key and leaving. After locking the door, I descended the stairs and started through the bar, dodging touchy customers and waving bye to some of the ladies, knowing my father was about to have my head for being late. I cleared my throat, passing by the posse as I waved a tiny bye. The curiosity of who they were gnawing at me as I truly wished I could get to know them.

Johnny gave a tiny head tilt along with the tip of his cowboy hat, grinning as he watched as I walked away. He was unaware of the second set of eyes following me as I left, yet he made no motion to say goodbye. After I left the bar, though, redmask stood. He signaled to Johnny to follow; he was the closest thing to the second in command he would get. They also waited a few minutes before leaving the bar, looking around to see where I had scurried off to.

I waved over my driver and watched the horses slowly trot up, smiling as I approached. I stroked the nose of the horse gently before talking to the coach before moving to get into the cart. The smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared, a frown taking place as I knew I would now have to face my father’s men and wishes. I grew mildly frustrated. I was wishing that I could sneak off and go on my adventure of sorts. After slinking out of the Saloon, I hadn’t even felt the gaze or the men following me.

[marshmallowprotection]

Mystictober Day 6

Mystictober 2024 | Day 6: Skull/Possession

His wings fluttered behind him as he leaned over the edge of the building to get a better glimpse at the devious humans below. The work of a demon was never done, especially not a demon employed by the new Devil herself, and his job was to ensure that a new crop of miserable souls was punished for their misdeeds before they landed in the dirt to rot.

Of course, the Devil told him he could do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted, but he always picked the humans who were horrible first. He picked the ones who deserved to suffer the way others suffered at their hand. The souls of the damned were the souls who committed crimes against humanity, and the jobs of demons were to tempt and punish humanity for falling for an obvious ploy.

Luciel hated the way his hands were stained after every encounter he had with these humans. They were covered in filth that wouldn't dare go away no matter how much he washed them. Even demons weren't always enthralled by the temptation to feast on humans. If he had his way, he never would’ve bothered with humanity again, but there were far too many sinners who needed to suffer.

Criminals who deserved to feel miserable, just as miserable as their victims felt when they were harassed and beaten, were the only creatures he was after. He hated demons who targeted the innocent. It was easy to corrupt someone, but it was more enticing to make the most corrupt pay over and over again until they pleaded for a way out. He wanted all of them to burn until there was absolutely nothing left of them.

Any pleas of stuffing them out of their misery would simply send them to Hell sooner.

Of course, tonight felt different for some reason as he watched many punks and crooks alike walk down the darkened streets in one of the worse-off areas of this particular city. It normally didn't take long for him to catch one of them thinking something awful, much less than it was for him to catch them before they thought their plan through. Still, when his eyes locked onto the form of an innocent human who was at the wrong place at the wrong time, he knew they were in for something deplorable.

A group of ruffians was two steps behind them. It wouldn't take long for one of them to act as the thoughts bouncing between the beings on the pavement began to clear.

I'll grab them...

I wonder if they're hiding something good...

I'll tear through...

Leave me alone... leave me alone... leave me alone!

He didn't wait.

He leaped from the rooftop and soured down to the scene of the crime yet to be. He took one solitary look between the souls of the damned and the innocent and closed his eyes to slot his body into that of the innocent human. It took no effort on his part to settle in their body. It was so shiny, and unlike his, tangible, malleable, and with a heartbeat that'd lull any angel to sleep if they were to catch wind of it.

Luciel never felt someone as bright as this human, but it made sense why someone would want to chase after them. They wanted to taste something sweet, and what was sweeter than a soul far from corruption that tasted of the light?

His devious smile overtook their features as he turned to look at the criminals who wanted to feast on their body. "Well, well, well. It looks like it's the worst day of your life, fellas. You picked the wrong human to mess with."

"Ha! Are you trying to make yourself big and bad? We aren't bears, we can do whatever we like, whenever we like. You're not going to do any damn thing about that, either!"

"Ya' hear that, guys? They think they're gonna win tonight, trying to act so high and mighty, like they're above us. No wonder everyone wants to get a rise out of them after they leave class. I hate people who think they're better than me!"

"I was hoping you would say something like that," Luciel said. His voice was now tinged with layers of dread and fury, voices of every soul he'd ever consumed screaming out in agony and protest to warn the fools of their fate. "Did you know the tastiest souls are the ones who try to run away after claiming they're not afraid of anything? It's their fear that excites me. It shows that you know what you're doing is all wrong but you don't care until someone stronger threatens your safety."

The ambiance of their threat swiftly to fear as they tried to decide whether to challenge him or run away.

He wouldn't give them a chance to think about it.

"I believe this human warned you to leave them alone before," Luciel made a point of stroking the body's cheek. "It seems you've ignored their warnings three times in a row. Isn't that delightful? I get to mock the Trinity while I devour you whole. Go ahead, try and run away. I will give you something you never gave this human... a running start. But, just know, once I release their body and return to my own... it'll be the death of you."

He never could taint a perfect soul with his sins. But, he could solve their fears in an instant in a way the angels never would.

Those criminals never knew what hit them, but you? Your body was safe and sound at home with a warm meal waiting for you by the time you woke up... unaware of the demon who saved your life.

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: 'Darklord' Vlad Drakov

Domain: Falkovnia Domain Formation: 690 BC Power Level: ⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫ 0/5 Skulls Sources: Domains of Dread (23); Domains and Denizens (2e), Ravenloft Gazetteer II (3e); Secrets of the Dread Realms (3e)

Ah, Vlad Drakov, the impaling loving little hireling Darklord of Falkovnia. Falkovnia is a land of rolling lowlands, fertile fields, and lush forests...All these resources are the only reason any other Domain in the Core puts up with this miserable failure, never-was conqueror.

Though the story changes slightly from pre and post Grand Conjunction days, Vlad was originally from the Kingdom of Thenol in the realm of Talades. Not Oerth, so clearly unimportant. Vlad and his little band of ruffians, who called themselves the Talons of the Hawk, were mercenaries. Vlad being the “Hawk” and the rest of his band of brutality being the “Talons”. Vlad doesn’t have a lot going for him, but he managed to scrape up enough charm to convince these Talons of his to do whatever he asked of them, which mostly amounted to them brutally slaughtering people for coin and Vlad impaling captives and watching them slowly die while he took on his evening meal.

Eventually, these hirelings wandered into the Mists and found themselves in the southlands of Darkon. Believing he discovered a new land, Vlad set about slaughtering my people. This did not work out the way he thought it would as his murders only gave me more weapons to work with. I sent the newly fallen and many of the old against him and his men. They fled, like the cowards they are, into the Mists.

Our ever present Tormentors thought it fit to gift Vlad with the Domain of Falkovnia then. Oh there’s some nonsensical “history” about Vlad overthrowing a “wizard king” known as the “Falcon the Great” before he settled in Castle Draccipetri and became the leader of the realm, but I place little validity on that story. Vlad couldn’t overthrow an army of ants let alone a powerful wizard king. Castle Draccipetri stands in the middle of an island on the Lukar River, a single, narrow bridge the only entryway, making it easy to defend, which matters little as no one would bother to send forces against him in the first place. The victory would be too easy.

The hireling was always looked down upon by the mighty lords and leaders that needed his brutality to win their wars and he desired nothing more than to be their equal and earn their respect. He was granted a position of rulership by our Tormentors, but the rulers of the other Domains will never respect him if they even notice him. He is akin to a fly; annoying yet easily swatted away.

Vlad tries to conquer the Domains that surround his, yet fails at every attempt. He has his heart set on Darkon, my Domain being vastly superior and richer than his own. I have lost track of the number of times the little hawk as attemppted to graps my lands in his talons, only to be swatted away by a horde of zombies. These failed attempts are barely worth the effort of a moment's work it takes for me to utterly destroy his forces. But some men do not recognize the futility of their own actions. Vlad also fails to understand where he is and why he is haunted by unsuccessful campaigns...well, besides the fact that he is always overreaching.  King of the Dead here, stop sending your soldiers into my Domain and adding to my side of an utterly pointless fight.

Failing conquest and gaining the respect of his fellow lords, Darkov has little pleasure in life except impaling his victims and watching them slowly die. He also is quite fond of “hawking” and treats his hawks better than any of his mortal companions. He takes out his frustration on his people with oppressive and extensive laws, making life in Falkovnia about as meaningless and futile as Darkov’s campaigns against Darkon.

Vlad is a fearsome warrior, but given his curse is to never know victory or respect, I will award him zero skulls. Good day sir!

[ask-the-pkmn-trainers]

Trainer Spotlight: Gladion

Used to be a total sweetie

Still is a total sweetie deep down (Would either die of embarassment or kill you if you found out though)

Originally only became edgy to spite Lusamine, but eventually he started to actually like the aesthetic

Respects women (so long as they aren't named Lusamine)

Goes from 'sneering punk ruffian' to 'pathetic, soggy Litten' in a heartbeat when he's anywhere close to Wicke (Or 'Auntie Wicke' as he still calls her)

Still working through anger issues; Nearly broke a Team Skull grunt's nose after being called a 'mama's boy'

Was CEO of Aether Foundation for three days after Lusamine stepped down and hated each and every single one.

Still deeply regrets not taking Lillie with him when he ran away from home (Doesn't want to bring it up to her because he'd probably be a blubbering wreck by the end)

His entire 'tough guy' demeanour is 100% an act. Sure he may still spend most of his time brooding and giving people death glares, but behind closed doors he's a huge sucker for sappy dramas and Caramel Cluster ice cream.

Shows affection exclusively by hanging around in the same general area as someone, sort of like a cat

If you gave this dude a hug he'd probably turn into a sobbing mess

Slowly warmed up to having actual friends in Elio, Selene and Hau over the years; would absolutely snap someone in half with his bare hands if that person even thought about messing with any of them.

[susandsnell]

Nolancrow, 🌀

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

🌀 — from the number generator on google: 39 — heartache

One way or another, he would subject Bane to the toxin before their makeshift fiefdom’s clearly numbered days were through.

Crane knew himself well enough to understand that it was not purely scientific curiosity driving the quasi-suicidal impulse, a poor academic though it might make of him. He’d leafed through his own possible motives with the casual interest he might one of the psychology journals he’d stocked up on before mail service from the mainland was cut off, along with everything else.

Leverage, if he were to insist on his own mind for strategy, for contingency. One never knew when next the winds would change, what hat they’d have to don and allegiances they’d have to profess. We plant and sow, but only the good Lord gives the harvest, he had heard repeatedly as a boy, and loath as he was to recall the decrepit drawl, the best wisdom oft came from one’s enemies. Should Bane decide to turn on him, should the League’s progressive implosion since the death of Ra’s Al-Ghul accelerate, should the military or a miracle or the Batman (dare to dream, just where had he been?) show up – he would require the upper hand through the targeting of a weak spot.  Resentment through experience offered a less flattering reason for the burning desire. He understood most humans carried the base impulse to sling stones at a Goliath and emerge victorious, driven not the will of any God, but the will of the ego, by the pageantry of defeating that which incited primal fear – that which is bigger and stronger. Bane was more cunning by far than the schoolyard bullies of yore he had been made to endure, and more competent than the ruffians he’d had to neutralize during his stint in the drug trade. But a bully was a bully, highfalutin speeches notwithstanding, and muscle memory and scar tissue had bred in him an instinctive antipathy towards the burly. The axe forgets but the stump remembers; hence why it’s better and more fun besides to strike first.

Fun; the third possible motive. In the ensuing ruckus of the fall of Gotham (not that it ever stood, but who was he to deny himself an opportunity to tip the hat to Poe?), although Judge Crane had risen to the occasion, the Scarecrow had found unfortunately scant opportunities to stalk and strike. Inflicting fear with the bang of a gavel had its charms. But like taking a new lover while still longing for the old one, the magic just wasn’t quite there. 

What a sight it would make, Crane thought more than once, to see several hundred pounds of mercenary writhe and quail before him.  (He’d writhed above him once, keened a bit towards the end, but that had been but the purchase of some short-term insurance and the scratching of a mutual itch between allies, and nothing more.)

And wouldn’t it be hysterical to hear the thundering reverberations of such a skilled orator be reduced to screams of abject terror? He often reminded his people’s court that Bane has no authority here, but what greater delight could be wrung from making that statement literal – from making fear the true equalizer by inflicting it on a false one?

He'd assured the League his stores had been destroyed in the wake of their revolution, a half-lie, of course. He’d managed to salvage enough to be safe, enough that it could be replicated when the time was right. And the possibilities promised, were just too tempting to resist.

Administering the toxin was easy enough; as was ever the case for anyone who made it big in this city, the mask was the key. 

He knew the man’s hideouts; knew where he slept. Knew that the cannisters resting at the back of that skull held the analgesic gas piped into his lungs to keep those old injuries this side of tolerable. (Bitterly, Jonathan rather felt he could have used one of those in his adolescent years. Ah, well – this would be the next best thing.)

He also knew just which of their lackeys were corruptible, and which were easily cowed; a small slip of the hand into a tray scheduled for night-time delivery, and it wasn’t even his head that’d roll when the smoke cleared. As for what would happen when Bane inevitably put two and two together; well, that could be finagled later. Right now, standing over the hulking man’s prone, shaking form, donning the sackcloth once more, it was all about drinking in the moment. And what a moment it was; huddled over himself, that filtered voice whimpered and wailed and pleaded – not for mercy, for like himself, Bane had never known any. No, what he murmured over and over was not an ode to his tormentor, but a refrain of despair. 

“Talia,” he pleaded, once-powerful hands now outstretched as if in plea – as if to hold a limp frame. “My love, I beg you- ”

Talia, he said, and Talia, he repeated. A woman’s name - easy enough to guess the rest, before the endearments started pouring forth amidst the simulated grief. The Scarecrow tilted his head; a mockery of sympathy. Feeling audacious, he even petted his head.

“It’s such a shame she had to go the way she did, isn’t it? All that intellect, that conviction, that stubborn resolve…gone in a flash of fire and smoke, buried under debris.”  (He had felt no love for Rachel Dawes, of that he was certain, but her convulsions under the toxin’s influence were a kind of kiss - and there was something close to grief to be found in one’s beautiful nemesis dying at a hand that wasn’t one’s own.)

Bane agreed by way of a wail, which made him sputter a laugh at the sheer incongruity of his state with his persona. 

It wasn’t defeat Bane feared, nor was it betrayal, plague or even his own naked vulnerability. It was something far simpler - something that Crane was almost sure he himself had abandoned to his solitary, miserable youth - give or take a flash of red hair and a snarl of determination that swore he would only ever be alone. 

Heartache. 

[avaflourine]

Neon Hell: Chapter two

(Warning, graphic descriptions of violence ahead.)

Francis looked around in shock as he slowly, but surely, crawled his way down the tree branch. He was in a vast plains area with faded blue grass and a lot of impossibly massive tree stumps like the ones he came out of. He walked around a bit. "Hello?" He called out into the fog, "Is anybody there? I'm scared…" As he moved through the fog, he noticed there were strange brown rock formations, some tall, others not. However, Francis's eyes were focused on something else, something that made his eyes swell up with tears in horror. The area was littered with many corpses, who seemed to be wearing very similar sets of armor to that Francis was wearing, littered around the formations, some seeming to have had their skulls bashed into the rock formations, the blood still fresh. Francis ran over to them, crying in horror. "W-what happened here…who did this to you guys?" As Francis looked at the corpses, he felt his blood freeze as his vision went blurry due to fear as he heard galloping. Loud galloping. A primal sense of fear overtook him as something in his mind told him that whatever did this to these guys was what the galloping came from. Francis frantically looked through the knapsack strapped around his shoulder, seeing what resources he had in a desperate bid to survive.

There was a small bag of stones, an empty flask, and nothing else but Francis's heart sinking. He patted himself down, hyperventilating, finding a sword strapped to his back, in a hurry, feeling a rush of fleeting relief as he had something to actually defend himself, he pulled it out, slamming it in front of himself.

The sword was beautiful in its rigidity. Covered in scratches, it had the word "FATE" etched into it, along with a long fabric tied to the handle that flowed behind the sword in the wind. Both sides of the sword had an edge, and the end of it had a thick piece of stone that the blade went into, so it could double as a club.The sword was as long as Francis was tall, and around a meter wide. Francis could tell that it weighed a lot, yet he didn't seem to have any trouble wielding it. "Shit…" Francis said to himself. Francis looked to see a large creature with crude reins stapled into it that had 4 fat porcupine-like creatures wielding meat on bones as clubs charged at Francis, with the leader using 2 long bone-like spears, shouts "Seems like we missed one, eh, boys?" The other creatures laughed maniacally in agreement as the leader stabbed his crude weapon into Francis's shoulder in between the plates of the armor, causing him to drop his sword. "A-AAAUGH-!" Francis yelped in pain, the helmet of his armor having a toothed jaw piece that moved with his as he screamed, painting the picture of a rabid animal desperate for escape as he was picked up by the gang of ruffians, the leader laughed at him. "Feel good, don't it? Well– have some more!!" He stabbed his other spear into the same place on Francis's other shoulder. Tears flooded his eyes. "I'm gonna die here…" He thought, struggling to breathe due to the stress and pain, only managing to get a few pathetic sucks of air. "Don't worry bruv. You'll make some fine entertainment for me and the rest of us lads, you'll be useful one way or another." The leader said smugly to Francis before letting out a deep cackle. This infuriated Francis enough to want to keep living just so he could see his grin turn into a desperate plea for help.

"Doesn't matter, you're too weak to be entertaining anyway." The leader said, which sent Francis into an angry frenzy. He grabbed the spears and clenched them so hard it felt like his fingers were gonna snap, he let out a yell in a mix of pain and anger, and snapped both of the spears in two, causing him to stop moving with the porcupines and the creature. Francis uses the jaw on his helmet to his advantage, using the fake teeth on the helmet to "bite" into the creature the porcupines were riding on. The creature let out a saddened wail as it stumbled and fell to the ground, which happened to everyone on it as well.

Francis stumbled to his feet, and due to the fact that they were only riding in one big circle, he walked over to his sword and picked it up, and turned to face his attackers. "You know how bloody annoying it is to get this twat to start steadily going?! We'll kill you for that!" One of the porcupines said to Francis. "Oh you're gonna wish my hatred for you was because of something that small." Francis said as he charged at them, with the porcupines doing the same. Francis plunged the club end of his sword at one of the creatures, causing it to fly backwards into another. One of them lunged at Francis with an unintelligible war cry, but Francis caught and spun it on the blade of his sword. Then, he slammed him into the ground below, causing it to crack under the weight of the sword, a small sea of pure red leaking out of the lifeless pieces.

Francis spun himself and his sword again and launched the pieces of the creatures' fallen comrade at them, before charging at them, ripping the spear from one of his shoulders and throwing it so it hit one of the creatures in the leg, before leaping onto it and clubbing it with his fist over and over until it stopped moving. Francis rips the spear from his other shoulder and crushes it in between the jaw pieces of his helmet and drops the pieces behind him as he charges the last 2 creatures. "Get him already, lad, it's just one guy, do you have a leak or something?!" The leader shouted at his last teammate. "Y-yes sir!" They said, before the leader picked him up, threw him at Francis, before running to the creature they were riding on. Francis caught the creature and threw them in the air, before slicing them in two with his sword with an upward slash.

The leader was terrified and frustrated as Francis ran at him, right before Francis tackled him. "A-ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, JUST TELL ME WHATCHA WANT, GOOD HEAVENS!" The leader said, shaking. Francis turned his back to him and simply said; "Leave me alone." The leader wordlessly nodded and ran for the hills, never looking back, not even once. Once Francis had cut the reins off of the creature the porcupines were riding on, the realization of what he had just done had set in. He saw the blood on his hands, and the odor of death that just refused to leave him alone. His vision got blurry, placing one hand onto his head as he stumbled, leaning on a nearby rock formation. "Gods…what have I done?" He said as he sat down. He sat down for a good long while. No sound but the wind there to accompany his wordless grief. Grief not only for the ones that met their end at his sword, but for the bit of himself he lost.Eventually, he got up. It was strange, it was as though his wounds had closed themselves, as the only blood running down his body certainly wasn't his. Taking off his spiked pauldron, he realized that his wound was actually closed, like it was never there. This only caused Francis to perspire out of fear even more. Francis looked to one of the corpses that he drained the life out of. He looked at it for a good long while. The corpse's head snapped into Francis's direction, the life still being missing from its eyes. "Don't you think you've caused enough trouble?" It said in an emotionless voice. Francis, shaking, mouth agape, could only think to run. Just like when he was about to escape from the infinite library, he ran, and he didn't stop running for a good long while. When he eventually did stop, he took off his helmet and stared at it for a few minutes before putting it back on. "Never again."

[inherlight]

Tofar / Lore / Loyal but Ferocious

Tofar’s most notable physical features are their faintly-poisoned keratin spines, but especially their ominous bone masks. Like deciduous teeth, it breaks and sheds a few times in their childhood, until permanent one starts forming during teenage years. It grows from temporal and mandible parts of a skull, really tight to their skin, with a layer of microflora between – as a way of protection from dirt, dust, infections and diseases that can occur in these hard-to-clean gaps.

Remains of primal and feral ancestors show that ancient Tofars had a much different mask than their modern, specially Noble, descendants. It was longer, with deformed nostril airway in the mask and an actual skull; thicker bones, with sharp teeth and tight-closed jaw; a superficial layer of powerful muscles and skin was covering mask itself as well. Presumably, it was mainly used to bite off big pieces of raw meat and chomp it into smaller pieces before chewing once more in inner mouth. Another use would be as a natural weapon during primal hunting and wars.

Nevertheless, such basic craft as cooking, and then future technological advancements, drastically reduced Tofar’s dependence on their bone masks even for food consumption. After thousands of years it shrinked, exposing mouth, and only basic muscles around still remain. Loosing or even badly damaging mask, hence exposing real face beneath it, is still very embarrassing and shameful experience for Tofar, and they afraid of it more than pain and torture.

***

As a tribe, today Tofar learn to be devoted to a family, a pack and a nation – obeying orders of social hierarchy, and put interests of a group ahead of own ambitions with a strong incline for self-sacrifice from a young age… and as well they learned about deep-seated aversion towards their tribe, which became mutual, converting them isolationists.

During early Age of Crumbling Tofar kin were driven away from the Sea of Birth and Thigh Region by other tribes, for their erratic brutal nature, high prospects to turn Envious, and especially for indiscriminately meat-based diet – abhorrently, othertribe sistren were not an exception for Tofar during primitive era. As a result, Tofar were one of the first to settle in unexplored far away regions of Her Gorgeousness as a whole tribe, not just as a handful castaway. Most of Them went south, to Her Mountains, founding first settlements there – they were forerunners of Noble Tofar; and centuries later, when they subdued inner primal ferocity, would establish Kingdom of Bosom, alter growing to the Realms of Bosom. Still their views on being civilized and courteous are differ to what most othertribe sistren consider polite and amiable – they are aggressive and ruffian even among Royal family who represent themselves as the best of own kin.

Hair poses specific meaning in Noble Tofar society – higher status members grow it long and fashioning into various coiffures to indicate current sentiment or professional mood: hair gathered in a knob is neutral, a sign of fairness, or an indication of being engaged in important undertaking and not be disturbed for pity reasons; ponytail or single braid thrown over right shoulder is a sign of dominance and command, aggression, self-confidence and libido, or disapproval of circumstances; ponytail or a single braid thrown over left shoulder is a show of friendliness, respect, approval of current situation, willingness to act and cooperate; setting hair loose means exactly that – being free of duties and responsibilities, in which case tilting head left or right is equivalent to what was previously described. It is also traditioned for Tofar who are married, engaged or not looking for relationship to retain at least some visible braids in public.

One of Noble Tofar’s belief, which spread and deepened in Bosom and Waist Regions, is a physical and mental bonds we gain when eat food of the same source: from family eating dinner prepared on the same oven, to a nation eating bread made from the same harvest, but most importantly – all of us are always connected, as we all feed on what is bestowal and gathered from Her Gorgeous body.

Other Tofar, who were fierce and uncultured even for their own people (and still are), discarded themselves far north with other outcasts – they are called Ferals, and they earned this name rightfully at that time. Not a lot of their kind left now – throughout hardships of history many died in virulent swamps, malignant jungles and hot deserts of the Crus, from bane and hunger, by claws and thorns of warped animals and plants, by the Brood of the Crus, and then storms manifested by the First Angel of Candor would take lives of many. Feral’s torment lasted even into current age, until thirteen century, when Tofar Chiefess-great-grandmother Tagara Fohr united hidden clans of her kin before they all shamelessly succumbed to Serpent’s influence. She had the only dream – redemption: to prove her children loyal to Her Light even if animus by other tribes. Today Tagara’s dream is alive, today Feral Tofar are twice proclaimed citizens of Feet Republic, and many are ravenously committed to become Jagers in their mission to eradicate verminous Cult of the Snake which still nest and incarnate in perilous plaguelands: because they see it as their duty to erase from existence these shameful blots of their kin who despicably flocked to a false salvation.

***

Modern Tofar can be brilliant in mind, well-educated and disciplined, but don’t ask them to focus and participate in activities where significant precision, tidy, recurrence and calmness are required – they still retain bestial temper and such activities drive them really mad. What irritating and vexing them the most, fueling their hotheaded temper, is this modern more polite way of society they reluctantly force on themselves, with repetitive values and artificial prohibitions of own nature. You should especially worry that even so today Tofar control their savagery better than their predecessors millennia ago, they still retain the highest number of Envious and Abominations among Eight Major Tribes, but without culture they abide now it would be much worse.

Abhorred by other and loathe these others, Tofar chose to stay on the same side with them and live the same live as them – not for forgiveness, nor in fears of corruption… but for Meora alone, because they are Her children too, Joyful and Gorgeous like Her. They understand own problem and from young ages they mold themselves to be ready to axe own life at the last moments of conscience rather than succumb to the Envy and betray our Allmother; and they do so in horror of burden and dishonor they leave for sistren if they won’t be in control of own body and thoughts anymore. In best case they go on a Sacrificial Hunt, to seek proper death through fight in hope to take as many heinous procreations of the Serpent with them as they can; those who are too powerful to perish even this way still can ask to avoid feared fate in the most honorable way they recognize – death by breast smothering. In any case they refuse to surrender to Black Capes of Herquisition – doing so regarded as abominable as proclaiming oneself a traitor, which is not far away from views of other tribes.

Nevertheless, Tofars ARE exalted by Meora with the Aspect of Hope, vindicated by Her Light; and so, even the most mindless zealots of Red Capes do not dare to vacuously question rights to exist of not just Tofar, but other envy-pliable tribes as well: if Tofar are blessed with Her Aspect – then still our Allmother loves them, and so She loves all of us with flaws we bear.

[aitchnkay]

Jiang Gunian Made A Change Part 10

As the days turned into weeks, tempers started flaring. Casual sparring between clans turned into free-for-alls. Sitting in a Sect meeting after the latest brawl sent over fifty men to Wen Qing and her people for healing (including her younger idiot brother), Jiang YanLi fumed.

“This is unacceptable,” Jin ZiXuan frowned and wiped blood from his forehead. “Someone needs to keep those ruffians in their place.”

Nie HuaiSang swung his fan and played with his sleeves. “And who are you suggesting act as peacekeeper? You?” The question sounded idle; it very much wasn’t. 

“If need be,” Jin ZiXuan groused. “Most of the major sects’ cultivators are too well trained, and they have a chain of command.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nie HuaiSang slyly agreed. 

Jiang YanLi coughed to disguise a smile. Had the Nie heir heard Wang Ping dressing down the Jin heir?

“if we’re going to appoint one of us to command this group, it should be me,” Lan XiChen insisted. “I’m the eldest and I’m a sect leader, not an heir.”

Jiang YanLi agreed. “Yes, Lan Zongzhu is wise. I concur with that.”

Jin ZiXuan bristled. “Well, I don’t!”

“Neither do I, actually,” Nie HuaiSang sat up primly from a slouch. “Lan Zongzhu’s credentials are impressive, of course, but they are not the ones needed to run a camp. We need someone people can respect, of course. One who is clever and already.”

“We are not electing Wei WuXian to lead us,” Jin ZiXuan spat.

“I concur with that,” Jiang YanLi gave a look of caution to the Nie boy. “My brother is smart and clever, but he is more likely to join in these fights than figure out how to stop them. In fact, I honestly think the only reason he isn’t in the infirmary right now is that he was out hunting crabs when it was happening.”

Lan XiChen nodded. “Wei WuXian is not the leader we need.”

Nie HuaiSang snapped open his fan and waved it angrily. “As I was saying before I was interrupted,” he glared at the Jin heir, “We need someone who is clever and already knows logistics. Like... someone who has already redistributed cooks, and who already controls the food distribution around the camp so no one goes hungry. Like... someone who has already set up a separate site for the women because some men were trying to treat them as camp followers.” There was another glare at the Jin heir who tried, and failed, to look repentant for his disciples’ actions. “Someone who has already demonstrated competence in running this place.”

“No.” Jiang YanLi’s stomach filled with rocks. “You can’t mean....”

“I do,” the Nie heir smirked. “It would be helpful, don’t you think, to give leadership to someone who has earned it through her actions rather than as a birthright?”

The initial vote was tied: two against two, until Jiang Cheng limped in to the meeting. Upon being briefed, he raised his fist at the Jin heir. “You will follow my sister, or the next time there’s a fight, I won’t block my disciple’s blade when he tries to bash your skull in. Hopefully, he’ll at least take an eye. Help you see the world around you better.”

The final vote was four to zero. A notice was distributed to everyone that Jiang Gunian was now in charge of the entire camp.

Her first order was to require everyone involved in the fights over the last few weeks to dig new latrines and then fill in the almost full ones while their Cores were sealed. “Hard work builds character and reduces time to get in trouble.”

[augment-techs]

Matt: Cute gender neutral things to call your partner? Billy: Bastard. Zack: Scoundrel. Tommy: Charlatan. Kim: Harlot. Bulk: Rapscallion. Skull: Hooligan. Jason: Ruffian. Trini: Swindler.

[musesbymeri]

Laughing at the thought of someone trying to fearmonger Team Star to Lillie.

"You don't understand!! They cause trouble all over the city! They're just a bunch of ruffians in bad clothes! And they're leaving grafitti all over the place!"

Lillie, who has first hand experience dealing with Team Skull: ..... And????