#Slayer being angry I should just draw again in general

[crystalchimera]

Angry Slayer.

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

As Much As Is Realistically Possible We Should Avoid Getting Our Panties in a Twist Over Being Faithful To The Canon: Me Giving Dracula Opinions Alongside a Good Does Of Generic Fandom Philosophy Because I'm A Procrastinating Idiot Who Likes To Hear The Sound Of My Own Voice

Don't get me wrong I fucking hate when what I personally love about the canon is ruined in adaptations. Still waiting on any adaptation to actually give me a post-castle Jonathan which is in any way as interesting as he is in the book. But also, the nature of fandom and fanfiction and fanon and all that is we all engage with a story, are drawn to some aspect of the canon which resonates with us, and then typically use this as a jumping off point to explore things that the text doesn't. This is true for pretty much everyone out here draculablogging.

For example, there is in my opinion absolutely no evidence that Lucy Mina and Jonathan were a trio of childhood friends. Lucy's family does not seem to have property in Exeter and Jonathan literally never thinks about Lucy on his own. It seems obvious to me that Mina and Lucy met at boarding school. I'm quite happy to keep this element of canon in my fics because it makes sense to me. Conversely I do like to dabble in Van Helsing: Vampire Slayer, and that is expressly not canon. But idrc because it's more fun and interesting to me to have it that way. People who want to see Lucy, Jonathan, Mina childhood best friend trio bc they think it's cute are just as valid, even though I don't particularly care one way or the other. It's kinda silly to be like *eye roll* well this is fanon not canon when I guarantee you if you really look at your own preferences you're doing it too, and who really cares? People just like different things. Plus the whole point of fandom is you can go places where the canon didn't like if you write in a best friend trio then you get to explore why Lucy and Jonathan apparently grew apart. If you write an occult background for Van Helsing you get to maybe color in some of his odd edges. That's cool and good who cares if it's not strictly accurate as long as you don't pretend you're being canon compliant.

Now, those two examples are pretty innocuous, but bc this novel gets pretty heavy at times, naturally the Discourse amps up when things amp up. For example, I really like to write Mina having a lot of rage. I like her to want to rip Dracula limb from limb (granted my fics always have her role-swapped with Jonathan in the books). I am well aware that this is not in her book character at all, who consistently pities Dracula and counsels against vengeance. Personally, I just think vengeful Mina is more fun, and it's also true that I don't appreciate how Bram Stoker is like "yes perfect christian woman. perfect. all mercy. so pitying." I don't think it's quite realistic to what her feelings would be to a man who assaulted her and I also think she should get to be waaaayyy more angry about the way Dracula abused the two people she loved in all the world. I like feminine rage and I think Mina should have some and so I write her as having some. But I also get that plenty of people don't really vibe with righteous anger and like Mina's whole mercy bit and find it really really compelling, and sure plenty of victims of assault in the real world are not preoccupied with revenge. And that's such a valid take and fics that run with it are more reflective of Mina's book characterization than mine. And once again both are good. Neither side needs to be going "well MY changes are inherently more feminist than yours" to justify our preferences, it's just what we like, we can just like it, and if there is a feminist slant to what we think/write/draw it does not mean the other take is anti-feminist.

This is also why, in my opinion, it's truly not that deep if people want to ship their little harkula dracumina dark romance ships. Like full disclosure I think some of the most fucked up harkula stuff can be hot, but I have 0 interest in reading the stories that really focus on Dracula embodying the repressed desires of either Jonathan or Mina. I do absolutely exclusively read the stuff where Dracula is an unsympathetic abusive monster, and I want to read stories that use that as the anchor for horror, and I want to read stories that have Jonathan and Mina overcoming that abuse.

Now That Doesn't Mean I think the people who want to do the whole twisted love stockholm syndrome thing are bad or shouldn't do it. They are clearly just coming to the text from a completely different place than I am. It's not like I would disagree that at the very beginning before the torture began Jonathan was kinda attracted to Dracula in the Victorian queer horror way. If people want to do the whole reincarnated wife thing with Mina bc idk they really like the Coppola film or whatever, sure. I will not read that, but I'm not going to invent reasons why they're Bad Dracula Fans. It doesn't matter if it's not canon, so long as you don't say it's canon (why did you name it Bram Stoker's Dracula Francis it's not Bram Stoker's Dracula you did not adapt ANY of the characters faithful why are you lying)

Anyway I know I'm not really saying anything new, and mostly the Dracula fandom has been fine but I have seen a few takes out there acting like canon is a trump card that it truly isn't, and i've also definitely seen people get up on the moral high horse on like, depictions and portrayals of abuse etc. and although fandom can be a wonderful space to tell important, compelling stories about heavy topics, when people don't want to do that, they're not less moral than you. Lots of the time they're trying to tell important, compelling stories about heavy topics of a different sort, and sometimes they're writing porn. This is normal fandom stuff.

[glow-in-the-dark49]

Hey! Guys!

This is my new Ninja Slayer episode commentary series!

#WNJSLYR　#NJSLYR　#ウキヨエ

I will explain my favorite ninja with rough illustrations in several parts.

* Sometimes head canon is also mixed! (Especially illustration)

!! attention!!

This graffiti only mentions my favorite ninja!

#WNJSLYR　#NJSLYR　#ウキヨエ

Everyone loves "spinal cord pulling out"!

"Ninja Slayer" destroyed his former affiliation.

The current Ninja Slayer is a different person from the Ninja Slayer at the time, but Sacrilege is on the utmost caution against him.

Weapons produced from the human body are of poor quality.

Casket's jitsu is a long-distance, supportive type, regardless of his strong appearance.

It seems to be compatible with Sacrilege, who has a short range, high instantaneous power, and low defense power.

It's a good party organization.

His necromancer joke was unpopular, but he didn't get angry and apologized obediently.

A little comical scene.

https://diehardtales.com/n/n33539b80161b

If you want to read "Ninja Slayer" in your native language, translating the original text into English and then into your native language will probably make the text relatively easy to read.

Because this novel is a story originally written in English.

The Japanese version is also translated in a very special style.

Summary article 1/3

https://glow-in-the-dark49.tumblr.com/post/648543586675195904/hey-guys-this-is-my-new-ninja-slayer-episode

2/3

https://glow-in-the-dark49.tumblr.com/post/657676361442443264/hey-guys-this-is-my-ninja-slayer-episode

S3第4話【ヨロシサン・エクスプレス】#8

https://note.com/diehardtales/n/nd8f6052e360d

8 1/2

Sacrilege inherits the abilities of Botoku Ninja.

Originally, Botoku-jitsu was a magic power for medical treatment.

Sacrilege is a complete psychopath murderer. On the contrary, Botoku Ninja was a saint who was in charge of medical treatment and funerals.

Sacrilege does not know his holy intentions. Sacrilege only considers Botoku-jitsu to be a convenient and fun necromancy.

There is no right or wrong in the technology itself, and depending on how the user uses it, it can be both a healing power and a killing power. It is a situation like the lesson.

* In the story "Ninja Slayer", such lessons are one of the main themes.

He is a weapons craftsman and artist.

He loves to cheek on the knife that has just been created from the corpse.

He finds beauty in the sharpness that is quickly lost.

"Domo, Ninja Slayer-san. I'm Sacrilege."

His heart is dry and calm when he senses Casket's death in the fight.

His heart always seems to be dry, whether it's fun or painful...

8 2/2

Making weapons while killing passengers, he continues to attack!

Generate a whip from the spine!

When I recycled the whip handle to mace, it broke immediately.

Corpse weapons made with this technique are not eternal.

It's not the way it should be used, so it quickly rots and breaks. However, he feels the aesthetics of Wabi-Sabi in that regard. (This is one of the "hobbies to enjoy inconvenience", but this is too psychopathic!)

He needs to murder to get weapons while fighting Ninja Slayer, and he is in a very critical situation after his partner is killed, but maybe he is fortunate in his psychopathic temperament, he is an experienced craftsman. We are continuing the battle where we can feel a sense of leeway.

"The gaze feels like a moment of insect predation."

He kills people with natural movements, like an extension of daily movements, just as carnivorous insects catch prey.

S3第4話【ヨロシサン・エクスプレス】#9

https://diehardtales.com/n/n62ca1f11fac8

9 1/3

Mysterious remark again

"That fucking bastard"

↓

"Is that about me?" Lol

"You are honest ..."

(While tightening the opponent's neck and pulling out the stomach alive)

This stomach turned into an acid bomb.

A bomb that explodes vomit ...

9 2/3

Sacrilege, who is ready for "perfect preparation", is here!

Bone armor!

Dinosaur fossil-like mask, full-body armor, moving blood cloak.

A perfect armored warrior with both coolness and functionality!

True value!

However, this armor also has a time limit ...

Armor is destroyed by being attacked by weaknesses that deteriorate over time.

He laughs dry and understands his true enemies.

From here, we will enter the flow of "the end of the villain".

He challenges his enemies with the final challenge.

9 2/3

"If so, look at me." *

* Original text 「照覧あれ」"syouran-are" = a special expression when the person is seen by a superior.

An expression used by samurai to swear to God that their words and actions are true.

Probably a statement to the clan master Yamoto.

At the same time, it feels like his vow to the sacred things that are inherent in him.

He turned his ribs and blood into two swords and made his final attack.

However, he was defeated by Ninja Slayer and smashed by Yamoto.

Although his name means "blasphemy," it was a solemn end that made him feel that he had his own sacredness and insistence in his spirit.

S3第4話【ヨロシサン・エクスプレス】#10

https://diehardtales.com/n/ne1e35fd748a7

10

A depiction of a funeral that tells the story of a shocking battle and its end.

The beauty of silence.

Yes! This is the end of the graffiti and impressions of this episode!

If you feel like it, I will draw something again!

Thank you everyone for reading this far!

What I just want to argue with this commentary is that my favorite ninjas died in this episode, but I'm happy with this episode because it was a cool death as a villain.

And still they live in my head without paying the rent！！！！！！！！！about it！！！！！！！！！

[trashyswitch]

The Imperfections of a Dragon Slayer

Roman is proud of all that he's accomplished. He's managed to convince the other sides that he's a strong dragon slayer with no weaknesses. Zero. None. The Dragon couldn't best him even if it tried! But Remus is ruining his plans, and trying to bring a specific weakness into the light of day... In front of all the sides...

I'm back from the Cottage, and I had an amazing time! Lots of family time and socializing, but it feels nice to be back in my comfy bed with the mixed smell of my dog and the Japanese Cherry Blossom aroma filling my bedroom.

I missed you all!

There have been multiple times where Remus has been evil to Roman. But not to the point of physically harming him. He knows that as a side, he can’t die or get severely injured. The worst he can experience is passing out from a head injury. And even THAT doesn’t last long. Instead, he would just annoy Roman. A lot.

Roman has used decades of his childhood to convince the sides that he is a strong, tough side with a bit of femininity and lots of experience. Being the dragon slayer meant training for his fights, practicing his sword fighting agility and being the ultimate savior when no one else can be.

But Remus on the other hand, has been spending time trying to prove to every side that Roman is also imperfect just like him. In the past, this would come up as being defeatable in combat, being to feminine (therefore sensitive) to be macho, and using annoying tactics to prove even annoying the dragon slayer can make him crumble. But one day, Remus had an epiphany: tickling can be used in his plans as well! Tickling is a harmless act that can weaken a person simply by a few touches on the ribs or armpits! The general idea that a man with a tough exterior can be taken down through a childish act, is usually a satisfying concept when done properly. Plus: Roman can’t possibly get mad at him if he’s laughing his head off. So, it’s a win-win situation!

Remus went through a long phase of using tickling against his brother in the most annoying moments. He tickled him while he hung onto the monkey bars, he tickled him while he practiced his sword fighting, and he even tickled him each and every time Roman quoted anything along the lines of ‘I am tough’ or ‘no one can defeat me’. This funny information was soon taken by the sides and ultimately used against Roman in his most annoying moments.

One day, Patton walked into Remus’s room with a new idea. “What if: everytime Roman tries to deny that he’s a weakling, we give him a raspberry?” Patton suggested.

Remus jumped up and threw his arms around Patton almost immediately. “You’re a GENIUS! AN ABSOLUTE GENIUS!” Remus shouted to him.

While the father was being hugged, Patton giggled and began explaining the plan…

[An hour later]

Roman had been walking around and showing off his big man muscles. “Look at these huge man guns! They’ll truly take every gay man’s breath away…” Roman declared before shoving his muscles into Logan’s face.

Logan, being completely unphased by the muscles, just kept on reading despite the smell of girly deodorant filling his nose. “Wow. You can flex your muscles. I’m astonished.” Logan said in the most monotone voice.

This sarcastic comment ended up making Roman angry. “How dare you! I bet I can beat you in an arm wrestle easily.” Roman declared.

Remus perked up at Roman’s challenge. Would this be their chance?

Logan sighed. “You’re right. You could beat me in an arm wrestle. But that’s only one type of challenge.” Logan explained.

Roman frowned. He wanted to challenge Logan. Remus frowned as well, but for a completely different reason altogether. He wanted to see Roman get tickled again.

“And even if we did do an arm wrestling challenge, I’m pretty sure someone in this group would start tickling you.” Logan added bluntly. Roman’s face morphed into anger, with some fear mixed in. Remus smirked. He’s tickled Roman so much, that people are teasing him about it now! Remus also mentally took a note that Logan was on his side.

“I-...W-well, Remus is ticklish too.” Roman mentioned, pointing at his twin brother.

Remus widened his eyes in surprise. Did...did Roman seriously try to pin this on him?! Thankfully, Remus was already perfectly confident with showing them his own imperfections. So, Remus smiled evilly.

“You’re right. I am. Especially on the feet and hips.” Remus outwardly said. Roman’s face grew so angry, it was almost laughable!

...Let me rephrase that: it WAS laughable. Patton ended up giggling out loud at the bickering.

“But why would you tickle Remus? He’s just gonna stink up the room with the smell of Limburger cheese.” Logan commented as if Remus wasn’t even there.

“But wouldn’t you want the room smelling like the world famous Belgium?” Remus asked in a mock dutch accent.

“It’s not that bad.” Roman admitted. Roman, being his twin, has had to get used to his brother’s overall smell. Therefore: he’s gone somewhat nose-blind to him.

Virgil snickered and muttered something.

Roman walked right up to Virgil’s face. “What did you just say?” Roman reacted, sensing an idea of what he might’ve said.

“I said ‘foot fetish’.” Virgil replied back with a smirk. Remus snickered at Virgil’s bluntness.

“I do not!” Roman argued.

“You basically just said ‘I would sacrifice Remus’s feet smell in order to expose how ticklish his feet are. Therefore: you have a foot fetish.” Virgil replied.

“Or nose-blindness.” Logan added.

“Or both.” Virgil added on top of that.

“True. There’s only so much you can blind your nose from, when a person’s smelly feet are involved.” Logan commented.

Remus got up and walked up behind Roman. “Besides: Why try and tickle me, when I could just tickle you right now?” Remus teased as he started poking his sides and tickling his ribs.

Roman started yelping and grunting in surprise, and attempted to wiggle himself out of Remus’s grip. In response, Remus lifted up an arm and started scratching in his exposed armpit.

“HEHEY! REMUSYOUEVIHIHIHIHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman yelled, falling into laughter almost right away.

“Let’s make a new challenge:” Remus suggested. “But first: I’m gonna need a volunteer to hold Roman’s arms up for me.” Remus explained as he stopped tickling.

“I’ll do it!” Patton declared. Patton summoned a foldable foot stool and unfolded it, before standing on top of the stool with Roman’s arms now in his hands.

Roman gulped at the vulnerable position, and attempted to tug on the grip. But he couldn’t get his hands out. He tried giving Patton a pleading face, but Patton had a confident, smug facial expression. “I...I’m scared. Why does Patton look like he’s going to tickle me to death?” Roman asked.

Patton looked at Remus and giggled at the thing in the mustached man’s hand: a feather. Remus walked slowly in front of Roman, and started spinning the feather in Roman’s face. Roman could feel a wobbly smile starting to form on his lips. Then, Remus started moving the feather around. Back and forth he flutters it to tease the man. Remus moved the feather closer and farther from the twin’s face, as to give him false stress as well as false safety.

“I can just tell this feather is making you veeeeery nervous. There’s drops of sweat practically drawing themselves onto your face.” Remus teased.

Finally, the feather touched down against Roman’s chin. Roman’s eyes widened in horror and slight excitement, as slight giggles started creeping up in his lungs. Then, Remus started gently fluttering the feather under his chin. This feathery lightness made Roman want to curl in and just give into the giggles. But he had to keep his composure better than that!

So, Roman held on as best as he could. “I sense your bravery. But can you resist the feeling of the feather moving around?” Remus asked with a smirk.

Roman could feel more tears of nervous sweat falling down his face. He can handle something like that. It’s just super light tickling. Not even laugh-worthy. It’s not the type of laughter that would take your breath away quickly. So, it should be possible, and even easy!

...Right?

Remus started moving the feather down the neck and slowly down the shoulder. The feather was dragged down the front of his shoulder at an insanely slow pace...and into his exposed armpit. Roman’s eyes widened to the size of donuts, when he felt the ticklish sensation of a feather tip in the deep middle of his armpit.

“R-Remus...Plehease dohon’t.” Roman begged. To that, Remus only smirked and started drawing little circles in his armpit. “Plehehehease! Ihihit’s sohoho slohohow!” Roman giggled helplessly.

“Slow, you say?” Remus teased in a low voice. Suddenly, the feather started moving towards the bottom of his armpit and started making circles again. Roman’s giggles started to hint to Remus that he was becoming a nervous wreck. This was worse than being tickled while dangling from the monkey bars. This was worse than being surprise attacked. This was pure suspense, unpredictability and little to no mercy. But the irony was: there was very little tickling actually happening! So how were these little bits of tickling already driving him up the wall?!

Remus started moving the feather down the side of his ribs. Slow scribbles of the feather tip could be felt as it climbed itself down towards Roman’s squishy side. Remus’s careful maneuvering made every touch feel as light as it possibly can be.

“Ihi-...Ihihihi...Remus, cohohome ohohon!” Roman begged.

“What’s wrong, Roman? A little too light for you to handle?” Patton asked in an innocent voice.

Roman whined. Every light touch made it almost impossible for Roman to keep his sane composure. Everything in him was screaming for him to laugh, but the super light touches weren’t allowing him to have a full giggle fit. But the longer he resisted, the more his instincts would kill him. Even if he let out giggles, the giggles would come out in super short spurts. There wasn’t enough ticklish touch for him to let out a satisfyingly long giggle, let alone a laugh. So the poor man HAD to resist!

The feather moved itself to Roman’s stomach, and started scribbling and drawing madly on his stomach. Finally, he could let out a proper giggle.

“Ohohohokahahahahay. Thisisehevil. Sohohoho ehehevihihil. You twohohoho ahare soho dehehehead ahahafteher thihihihis!” Roman warned.

In retaliation, Remus moved the feather to Roman’s belly button.

“eeeEEEK! NOHO! NOHOHO BEHEHELLY BUHUHUTTOHON!” Roman yelled half-heartedly.

“But why not? Truly it can’t be that bad. I’m barely touching you.” Remus teased slyly.

Roman shot Remus an angry look. “Yohohou ahahass...Ihihihi’m soho gohonna kihihihill yohohou ahafter thihihis.” Roman swore.

“Okay. That’s it.” Patton declared. The father waved away Remus’s feather before letting go, kneeling down, and blowing a HUMONGOUS raspberry on Roman’s belly!

“hehEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PAHAHAHATTYYYYYY! NOHOHOHO!” Roman screamed, not at all expecting that. The feeling of finally fully laughing felt good at first. But now, Roman was expecting the worst from the father figure.

Remus gasped. “Patton! You were supposed to hold him up! Not take over!” Remus yelled at him. His plan was utterly ruined now thanks to Patton.

“You’re being too slow and light on him. What this man needs...is to be dying of laughter!” Patton told him. Then, Patton blew a raspberry close to Roman’s hip.

“NAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Roman laughed hysterically.

“But...being incredibly slow WAS killing him!” Remus whined, before frowning and pointing his finger at Patton. “You just have no patience!” Remus accused.

“I do! I just chose not to take the super slow route. As a loving father to everyone in this room, I feel the need to take over the role as the lead tickle monster.” Patton declared as he squeezed Roman’s hips multiple times.

“BAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI!” Roman continued to laugh.

“Well, that’s not fair! I know my brother better than everyone here! I’m his twin brother! Therefore: I should be the lead tickle monster in this situation.” Remus argued as he tickled Roman’s lower back ribs.

Roman squeaked and leaned himself backwards, before covering his mouth with his hands and letting out squeals with his laughter.

“And yet: I raised you two! I held you two when you were teeny, tiny babies! Therefore: I am the ultimate tickle monster!” Patton declared as he moved his left hand up to Roman’s armpit.

"IHIHIHIHIHIHIHI'M DYHYHYHYHYHYIHIHIHIHIHING! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Roman screamed.

“If that’s the case, then maybe Thomas himself should be the lead tickle monster.” Remus suggested as he tickled Roman’s strong abs.

Roman doubled over and actually started snorting! It took everything in Logan not to laugh at him for that. So, Logan took a mental note to make fun of him for the snort a little later.

“But how does that work?! We ARE Thomas!” Patton reacted, scratching the upper ribs.

Suddenly, Roman’s physical body seemed to disappear. They no longer felt a physical being on their fingers and instead, felt the thin air that filled the house. Patton and Remus paused their tickle attack and looked at the empty space in between them. That space was just occupied 5 seconds ago! Did...Did Roman sink out?!

“Hahahaha...Hahahahehehehe...Ehehehehehevihil...ihihi cahahahahan’t breheheathe...aaahahaha…” Patton heard below him. Patton and Remus looked down at the ground, and found a bright-colored, giggly Roman all curled up on the floor.

Logan chuckled at Roman. “Tuckered out from all the tickling?” Logan asked. Roman, to everyone’s surprise, gave Logan the middle finger. Even Logan lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow...that’s rather rude coming from a dragon slayer who just got bested from a few tickles.” Logan told him.

Roman groaned. Why must they make fun of his one and only weakness like this?!

“It would sure be a shame if I told the next dragon villain about your silly weakness…” Virgil added.

Roman gasped in horror and sprinted up to him. “Don’t. Don’t you even think about it.” Roman threatened.

“Or what? You’ll tickle me?” Virgil teased.

Roman smirked and moved his face closer to him. “Yes. Yes I will.” Roman replied confidently.

Virgil made a big smug look and gave Roman’s hips a couple squeezes.

“NaaAAH! NOOO.” Roman warned.

In reaction, Virgil just grabbed Roman’s waist and gave it a few squeezes before pushing him onto the couch. Roman came crashing into the couch cushions with an ‘oof’ and a long fit of giggles. Before he knew it, Roman was stuck in yet another tickle attack. But this time, it was by Virgil! The emo took a good while just destroying the man with his fingers alone, as well as raspberries when Roman was being too snappy.

By the time Virgil had stopped, Roman’s face was as red as his sash. And surprisingly, it wasn’t because of his tiredness. I mean...it partly was, but...it was also because of how flustered and embarrassed the poor slayer was. He was embarrassed that he was so ticklish. And the worst part? He might actually like it!

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to despise the weakness! But...the man just couldn’t. Being tickled is just too fun to be hated. Especially when it’s people who love you and who are willing to make you feel loved despite being a ticklish weakling. Roman’s eyes widened in surprise and...slowly turned into an evil, mischievous smirk when a theory clicked into his head.

“Ooooohohoho...I get it now. You guys were making me feel weak, because you. poor. muffins, couldn’t handle my manly buffness!” Roman declared. He kissed his bicep before looking at Virgil and winking. “Are you jealous?” Roman asked.

...It didn’t take long for Roman to learn that he was absolutely dead wrong in his theory…

Looks like Roman would make a terrible MatPat...

[honestsycrets]

Soiled VI: The Shieldmaiden, Gunnhild.

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | in the aftermath of the attack, jonakr doesn’t react how you might expect. of course, that doesn’t mean you’re happy.

❛  warnings | mention of death, assault, angry hvitserk, elements of misogyny.

❛ sy’s notes | another chapter as requested by... i feel like @alicedopey​ did at some point.

x x x

A few stabs. Ten, fifteen, twenty swishes of an ill-fated blade. Maybe a hundred. It’s a great big blur of red-- of just how many times your sax met his limp body. Only that your blade snaps into two, leaving you clinging onto the handle of horn, shaking. A bloodied hunk of meat in your tower. The blood streams in rivulets from the puddle of blood freely, and as you stand, your miserable sobs break from your lips. Come tomorrow— Jonakr would see what you had done. You lack remorse for killing this man. But Jonakr… he was different from his brother. A man of honour.

You would feel for his loss. Even if this man— Valtýr sickened you to the bones. 

On his belt, you find keys slippery with blood. Your fingers tremor, making quick work of the castle door. This doesn’t make sense— you tell yourself, why princes had to fight over someone who was so clearly not worth it. You were a daughter of slavery, no matter where you went, it chased you to the ends of the earth. You swing the door open. There you find Jonakr standing on the steps, his large fists turned over one another. Your one and only instinct— run. 

You slip down the steps. He doesn’t dare, nor his men, to stop you.

Once out of the tower you found Hvitserk’s camp beside the brothers’ own. Your feet carry you within his camp despite the succession of voices shirking, like a woman in childbirth, within the tower. “Hvitserk,” their voices weave among one another. A thrall guides the flaps of his tent back. He sat with his cup to his lips, and he stops, jerking up to stand. 

“What are you doing here?” he says. 

“Clothes.” 

“Why do you need--” 

“Hvitserk,” you whirl about. “Please. His blood is seeping into my skin.”

“His blood?” Hvitserk prompts as if he could not articulate the gravity of the situation completely. He steps back, allowing for you to strip out of the sodden, iron dress. He lurches out to draw the flaps of his tent shut, barking your name. 

“(Y/N),” he curses your name. You would too if you could. Curse the very day you were born. Because now you were here, living and breathing, knowing you want neither to live nor breathe for what you’ve done. The gods might see it as just, but all the same, your maiden’s dress is nothing to be thankful for. “What have you done?” 

“Shut up Hvitserk! Shut up!” you pace, your fingers picking and lifting the matted down blood on your cheek. Hvitserk looks off to the flaps, then back to you, sweeping up a bucket of water. A cloth bobs in the water. He seizes it-- and brings it to your bloodied cheek. 

“Stop just-- hold still. There, that’s it.” It’s cool by now. The water that had once been boiled and warm frosts your skin. In small circles, Hvitserk bides his time. The warm tears spilling over your cheeks help loosen up the blood.

“I killed him,” you say. “I killed Valtýr.” 

Hvitserk remains silent, keeping to his work. His patient, caring eyes serve as the only indication that he heard you-- truly heard the tremble in your voice. “Jonakr will come to kill me next.” 

“You know he won’t.” 

But you wish he would. You wish he’d come put an axe through your head, because at least then-- for that split second of pain, there would be no more anxiety of knowing what might be coming next. That if you lived, who could tell what poor, awful man might treat you next? Hvitserk’s toy, the brothers’ little wife, and still-- what next? Hvitserk ran the cloth down your chin before walking to the roll of clothes over his makeshift bed. He unrolled a deep green tunic and offered it to you. 

“It’s a little short,” he says, almost humorously, and helps you into it. 

A knock at the wooden post is short-lived. Then, bending within the tent, you spot Jonakr. His large frame overwhelms the door, filling it like a great bear. Although, instead of charging forward, he tilts his head. Your lips part posed to say something, not for yourself. For his sorrowful eyes. Hvitserk shifts in front of you. Blood stains Jonakr’s muddy tunic red, painted in long streaks, as if by the god’s own hands. He holds up his hand to stop you from offering condolences. Or excuses. 

“You needn’t do that. I’m not here for revenge,” Jonakr says, shifting his head to look around your shoulder. “I knew why he went to your tower. He told me what he planned to do.” 

You glance up, staring at his large bloodied hands, then beyond him to the pale tend behind him. You wonder how it would look, bloodied, splattered. Take a step back. “What did he plan on doing?” Hvitserk prompts his question. 

Jonakr ignores him, takes a step closer. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Maybe,” you say noncommittally because there is no part of you that believes that. It’s a lie. Pain follows you like a second skin. Even now, the moments only hours ago feel like a distant dream, hazy like the blood over his belly. “But that doesn’t make him any less dead. You should do it-- you should…” 

“No,” he says, a slight frown furrows his brow. “He wasn’t in his right.” 

Wasn’t he? He said it himself. A woman wasn’t her own. She belonged to her countrymen. That was why what happened was such a sin. Your eyes flit back from the tent behind him, over to him, his eyes somehow cold and somehow warm all in one. He wasn’t looking at you but through you. Maybe some part of him was torn between what he wanted to do-- and what he couldn’t do.

“He wasn’t.” He repeats. “It… I’m is not right for a man to slaughter a woman. Whatever the reason, the gods chose you to live. I know you don’t want to marry me. Perhaps it isn’t… it… It’s better to let you go. I give you your freedom.” 

Your arms fell at your sides, peering up toward him, astounded by the offer and perhaps, distrustful. You’re smart enough to know that a Viking didn’t mean his words. But a man like Jonakr is different. Perhaps he does not want to meet the wrath of the gods for killing an innocent woman. 

Perhaps he was punishing you further by sending you back home. Back where Ivar the Boneless was with his corrupt rule. Where Thora would be stomping around, showing off the product of her beauty-- stealing away the man that you thought, and knew, and loved as yours. 

“If that is decided, we pack to sail home,” Hvitserk readies his roll. At that moment, Jonakr turns, starting toward the door. Without thinking you rush forward, fisting Jonakr’s braid, and tug him back. Hvitserk drops what he works on, barking your name ostentatiously. 

“What are you doing, woman?” he barks. 

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you stand there and treat me like a lady after what I’ve done.” You bark out, snapping his braid around your fist tight. You rope it around your fist, forcing his head to your knuckles-- shaming him further. So what, you think, what have you to lose? Hvitserk calls out to you, your name rolling off his lips like a curse.

“Let him go.” 

“I am not going back home to Kattegat. The gods-- they’ve shown me. I want to learn to fight. I want to be a shieldmaiden.” You snap your head toward him. His expression was soft as butter, and almost wounded, as if the same sax you ran Valtýr through with had turned upon him, carved his heart out. It was easy for him to make that face, you told yourself. He got all that he wanted. Thora, the fight, you. It all fell into place for him. Everything always fell into place for the sons of Ragnar. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks. 

You loosen your grip, allowing for Jonakr to stand upright, careful and measured he looks down upon you. “I am a warrior. I can’t show you to be a shieldmaiden. You would need the shieldmaiden Gunnhild.” 

“Who is she?” 

Hvitserk crosses the room, snatching your hand upon Jonakr’s hair, and forces your fingers to give. His voice is clipped and concise. Jonakr stands upright at your side. “I left her in Kattegat for you.” 

“A shieldmaiden who left for Norway. She married an earl in York,” he continues. Your chest pulls, an excitement so distant and strange there, and Hvitserk rolls his eyes, carrying on as you return to Jonakr. An earl, you repeat, turning against him again. At that moment of a heavy heartbeat, Hvitserk grasps your waist, whirls you around. 

“(Y/N), don’t do this. Come home, be with us. We can find a way. A shieldmaiden? You’ve never wanted to be a shieldmaiden.”

Perhaps its that instant. The instant your hand connected with his full cheek, blotching over, then caressing the space as if you never struck him. It’s that moment that you caress him, and purse your lips against his forehead, that he understands. His hold on your waist loosens. Disheartened, disenchanted. Somehow, he accepts it.

“You won’t do it.” 

Your press your lips to his, cradling his jaw like an after thought. Tense in his surprise, Hvitserk brings a hand to your side,keeping you there in place against him. Your warm breath trickles over his lips between soft, sweeping kisses. His facial hair scratching you occasionally through the kiss. You begin to draw back when he tugs you forward again, maybe for the last time, with a kiss that simply pleads for more. For the time being, you humor his kiss, allowing him to take you in a way that’s light and soft. He pulls away, half-lidded, resigned. 

“I’m sorry, Hvitserk. I can’t do it.”

x x x

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit​ @deathbyarabbit​ @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr​ @lol-haha-joke​ @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071​ @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl​ @chinduda​ @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa​, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl​ @sallydelys�� @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots​ @ivarandersen​ @stra-vage​ @tgrrose​ @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​

[fyrapartnersearch]

Calling for dedicated roleplayers with a passion for writing

Hello! My name is Aaliyah or Ally for short, and I will cut right to the chase. I am looking for a mature role-player, preferably 21+ but will also accept 18+ (just to be sure that you are of legal age, otherwise it’ll be very uncomfortable).



As I am 26 years of age with 12 years of experience, I hope to meet someone who shares my passion in creative writing, as well as formulating interesting plots and characters. 

In case you are curious about me as a person, I am a full-time student and a young writer who works at the gym on the side, but also enjoys other creative outlets such as drawing. Usually my schedule is fairly full, including the attendance of friends or family. However I always have ample time for a good roleplay. :) 



I am seeking a literate writer who is committed to a long-term partnership, and by that I truly mean it. Please do not respond if you are uncertain of upholding a stable roleplay. Furthermore, I’ve noticed the “ghosting after the first few messages“ trope is a fairly widespread issue in the roleplaying scene / community. I would like to implore you from refraining it. I’ve grown quite irritated by it lately and rather like to avoid it in the near future. That way we don’t waste anyone’s time. Thank you in advance. If you are hitting a hiatus, that’s completely fine! A simple message of putting things on hold is completely sufficient, but I would like to keep in touch in case the story bears great potential. Now I have a wish, or as other say it, a certain craving for something new and fresh. And that something is quite specific, as my interests are a little unorthodox. Not the typical ‘Marvel, DC, My Hero Academia, etc’ type of stick. (Not to throw shade on them! They are great! Just not my cup of tea at the moment)


I heavily enjoy video-games, tv-shows, comics, films, books, the list goes on. Hopefully I can attract some kindred spirits. 
 I do roleplay both Canon and Original!



So if there’s no luck in finding a fitting Canon based story, we can always switch to original world building. First, I like to list all of my heavy cravings and interests. The ones marked in bold are usually the ones I am very willing to do.



Books:

Harry Potter Next Gen (original character cast)

True Blood

Vampire Hunter D (or Manga / Anime)

Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Game of Thrones

Videogames:

Dragon Age (from Origins to current instalment)

Castlevania

Devil May Cry

Infamous series

The Darkness

Smite

Star Wars the Old Republic


Webcomics:

Lore Olympus

Lookism

True Beauty

Comics:

Constantine

Hellboy

Witchblade

The Darkness

X-Men

Films:

Alita Battle Angel

Kingsmen

Vampire Hunter D

TV-Shows live action:

True Blood

The Boys

Vikings

Game of Thrones (Open for discussion. Still haven’t recovered from the season finale however…)

TV-Shows animated:

Hellsing

Castlevania (Netflix adaptation)

Devil May Cry (Anime adaptation)

Demon Slayer (I have only started watching this)

FMA Brotherhood

Jojo’s bizarre adventure

Black lagoon

As for original plots, I am very keen on urban and gothic fantasy, but also mythology as well as horror and crime and action. I have plenty of ideas up my sleeve, some of them quite fleshed out and some of them being concepts in the making. Either way, I would rather have these ideas introduced throughout email or whatever platform we choose to communicate on. Themes for an original story I am most inclined to do are:

Supernatural / Metaphysical (Demons, Angels, Spirits, Monsters, etc.)

Mystery

Crime

Action

Sci-Fi & fantasy (Aliens coming in contact with unsuspecting earthlings during the middle ages / ancient time-periods)

Urban fantasy mixed with high school / college themes (similar to Supernatural with local monsters, creatures, etc)

Now onto the qualities of what my roleplaying partner should have.

What it all entails: What the Partnership should be: I strongly encourage an active roleplayer who is not afraid of sharing 50% of ideas, plotting, length, detail but most important of all, passion. A bird cannot fly with only one wing. Communication: I love making new friends and brainstorming, and communication is the bedrock of it all. It strengthens our compatibility and the story. Should there be anything that might bother you, or if you think you are left out in some type of way (be it a mistake on my part or if we’re both at fault here), simply tell me. It really doesn’t bother me rewriting certain scenes to better fit the narrative. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. The Way of Writing: No one-liners. No text-talk. No half-assed replies. And certainly no ‘quality over quantity’ when you can have both. I don’t expect anyone to write a novel, absolutely not. I don’t either, but if I get the feeling of my partner wavering in their effort and not investing as much as I do, I have to give them the chop, unfortunately. Too often have I encountered partners who showed strong enthusiasm at first, but after a while… they slacked and eventually only put the adequate effort into their side of things whilst completely disregarding my characters. I hope to avoid this in the future. And now to myself and how I write: My writing: Third person perspective usually, although I have made some exceptions in my years of writing. My style is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it also depends on the given situation and partner. And yes, I do double, preferably even, most likely in a canon universe. However this again wholly depends on the type of story, partner and cast of characters. I am very open and willing to discuss.


Rating: So you are writing with some of mature age. I have 12 years of writing under my belt. There will be violence, there will be swearing, gore, intimacy, uncomfortable topics, drama, conflict and other dark themes included when you are writing with me. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner. And lastly, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty, unless it doesn’t serve a particular purpose in forwarding the story.

Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between. In other words, don’t be scared of making them flawed.

Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adaptable with this one. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I’m on board with it! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that funny business). I encourage eroticism, but always in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well), though it is never the main focus of any of my stories, rather a tool to further the plot. Erotica is welcome but never the focus of any kind of roleplay. Content: Drama, violence, sex, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am not explicitly bothered by certain subjects that may be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep treating them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured, etc. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and a tool for furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical altercations among other things. But I also endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments for our characters to grow in. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Again, this is mature and I am not here to coddle, I am here for a challenge. Should I hit a hiatus myself, I will inform you as soon as possible. :)



Platforms I usually roleplay on are email and google-docs. I also have Discord in case for plotting and chatting outside of the RP. Though Google Hangouts has proven itself as a sufficient chat-medium for such things, so I rather stay with that one. 



When you message me, please use the given codenames so I know what you like to specify in.

Blue Rose: Canon 


Red Feather: Original 




I’d be happy to receive a small description of yourself and what your passions are! :) Message me here: EMAIL: aylosreverie@gmail.com I am very excited to hear from you! Sincerely yours -Ally

[ladyramora]

It starts with a bar fight.

Ramora, drunk enough to ignore her Echo, and angry with her situation and the general way life - or the Gods, or Fate, or what-the-fuck ever - seemed to seemed to want to screw her over. What does she do? She does what she does best. She makes it worse because that's what she's good at.

She starts the fight.

Sometimes the biggest, angriest looking guy in the establishment is the most sensitive, and insulting him only makes him burst into tears with the "last bloody straw!"

Damn, was he having a bad day, too? Ramora just feels like an asshole until his friends jump to his defense and start swinging.

There's glass in her hair from where more than one angry patron tried to take her out with a bottle. It only made her smell like ale, and left her feeling just a tick more annoyed.

"I'm sorry I made you cry," Ramora says to the actually not so grumpy looking Roegadyn man, in between punching and kneeing his midlander buddies in the face and stomach respectively, and sending them stumbling into each other.

"I didn't mean any of the rude things I said," Ramora continues, tripping one mindlander when he gets back up and making him fall into the other. "I was just trying to make you angry enough to start a fight."

The Roegadyn's face crumples again with tears as he buries his face in his hands and bawls, "It's all right, I've just," sob, deep shuddering sigh, "had a rough couple of days!"

Ramora frowns, patting him gently on the shoulder and getting walloped in the face for her inattention. She can feel her nose crunch, wetness dripping over her lips. That'll hurt to fix later.

One tries to grab hold of her from behind, but Ramora flips him over her shoulder to land flat on his back on the tavern floor. The other straight on tackles her, going for her middle, but not getting far as Ramora digs her heels in and bends forward to grasp him by the waist, disrupting his grip and tossing him away. It was unfair to them, really, being that she was so much taller. Well, that, and a slayer of actual Gods.

"Do you wanna talk about your feelings?" The Roegadyn says with a tearful frown, "You seem real angry, lady. It might help to let it out?"

Ramora pauses. "I've got some heavy troubles, buddy. I think I prefer the violent method of venting."

The Roegadyn sighs, shrugging his shoulders and scrubbing away his tears on his sleeve. "Suit yourself."

Suddenly the other two get wise, ganging up in her instead of coming one at a time, and grasp her arms before she can send them stumbling away again.

Ramora grunts as the Roegadyn catches her by the collar, yanking her in as he raises his fist. He smiles sheepishly. "I know you already apologized, but mind if I hit you a few times anyways? This is the most stress relief I've had in a bloody fortnight."

Ramora shrugs even as she scrabbles at his hand fisted in her coat. "Sure, buddy, that's the idea!" It should be concerning that Ramora preferred being punched in the face over talking about her feelings, but here she was.

The Roegadyn beams and Ramora thinks she might've just made a new friend as he makes like he said and punches her across the face.

Ramora tongues her teeth in surprise, lip definitely split. "Nice punch," She says in mild praise.

The Roegadyn laughs, "Thanks," and raises his arm to do it again.

"Enough!" The Barkeep roars, shooting into the ceiling with a pistol.

They all freeze.

"You!" The Barkeep snaps, stabbing his finger in Ramora's direction. "I've had about enough o' you comin' in here to start fights! Yer disturbin' my clientele and wreckin' my establishment!"

Ramora grimaces. "Sorry? It won't happen again?"

The Barkeep's eye twitches, face flushing bright red with a vein bulging in his forehead. "That's what you say every bloody time! I'm done forgiving you! Get out, and take yer new friends with ya!"

"Can I get some ice for my face?" Ramora asks meekly.

If looks could kill. "Get!"

Ramora and her brawling partners scramble to comply.

- - -

Ramora sighs, sitting in a filthy alley just outside the bar, alone now. Her new friends having taken their leave after much apologies all around.

"Look at you," She grumbles to herself. "Can't even start a bar fight properly. Your life is going to Hell. Guess that's what you get for making a deal with an Ascian."

Ramora buries her face in her hands, the heavy pressure of tears building behind her eyelids.

A shadow falls over her, and Ramora does not look up.

"What a sad sight you are," A familiar voice drawls.

Ramora laughs wetly. "Go away, Elidibus."

There's a heavy pause.

"Have I been gone for so long that you've forgotten my name, woman?"

Ramora freezes, head jerking up in shock as hot tears stream down her bruised and bloodied face.

"...Zenos?"

An Elezen man stares down at her, his face hidden from view by the shadow of his hood. But the golden locks of hair spilling out of his coat were far too rich in shade to belong to any Elezen Ramora had ever met. And that voice, Gods, Ramora knew that voice. She dreamed of that voice.

The Elezen kneels down in front of her, pulling back his hood.

His face - Zenos's face - staring out at her from an Elezen body.

"You died," Ramora mutters thickly, holding herself taught, carefully apart, so as not to touch him, or heavens forfend, throw herself into his arms and bawl her eyes out.

He is your enemy, Ramora has to remind herself. He never cared about you. It had been naught but a manipulation on Elidibus's part.

Zenos smiles that same smile, languid and deliciously wicked. "I got better."

Ramora bites her lip, her eyes still hopelessly leaking. He must think her so weak, witnessing her in such a state."I can see that."

Zenos reaches out a hand, hardly pausing at Ramora's instinctual flinch, and grasps her wrist. Ramora blinks, very much confused, as Zenos drops a wrapped bundle of ice into her palm.

"For your face, my beast," Zenos says dryly. He does not comment on her tears.

"To think you let those unworthy fools strike you. Did it bring you relief? Forcing yourself so. Holding back so as not to kill those insignificant savages by accident? Did your blood sing as it did when we last fought?"

Ramora's more than certain his bout of questioning is rhetorical, so she says nothing.

His lip curls, the shake of his head sending golden hair spilling free from being tucked in his coat to swish around his face, "Nay, I should very much think not."

Ramora gapes at him, mouth dry and hand slowly beginning to burn from the chill of the ice in her palm. "...I felt nothing."

There was no release. No rush of blood as Zenos had claimed before. There had only been half-hearted violence, and ignoring her Echo so as to allow herself to be struck. To feel pain rather than feel nothing at all. Ramora did not wish to become numb again. Apathy was very hard to shake.

Zenos leans in, capturing her chin between his fingers. "Good. The right is mine, beast. I am your opponent. I am the only one who can give you such."

Ramora quirks a smile through the sting of her split lip. "Is that your way of telling me you want to go steady?"

Zenos grasps her by the collar and Ramora gives a soft, hissing gasp as he leans in, parts those perfect lips of his, and licks a stripe up from her chin over her lips with a velvety, warm tongue. Tasting the blood coating her skin.

What a weirdo. Yet Ramora would be lying if she said his particular brand of weirdness didn't make her hot.

There is a fire in her blood now as Zenos pulls back, seeming satisfied at the expression on her face. His voice a rumbly, satisfied growl liken to a coeurl's purr. "Your blood is mine, woman."

"Ramora," Is all Ramora can croak in response, a desperate sort of plea in the raspy quality of her voice.

Though his expression does not change, his eyes darken with heat. "Ramora," he says, obliging to her wordless plea, drawing the word out in that growling purr.

Ramora closes her eyes, swallowing thickly as she allows the sound to roll over her. To have Zenos - the real one - finally say her name was... Well, it was pretty damned good.

When she opens her eyes again, Zenos is gazing at her most peculiarly.

Peculiar only because this was Zenos. Actual Zenos, no matter what body he was in, and he was looking at her like...

Like he could devour her. Like Ramora was the most sumptuous feast he had ever laid eyes upon and he could not wait to sink his teeth in.

"What's with that look?" Ramora asks him, very much against her better judgement.

His hands circle her wrists, her ice falling to the wayside as Zenos yanks her close. "I finally caught up to you, my beast," he smiles smugly, gazing at her through the fan of his eyelashes, "Ramora. And now I'll not let you escape me again."

Ramora feels dazed by the heat of him, the heady feeling of him so close that she could touch, the scent of his skin and of his beautiful hair. Yet, "Uh, not to point fingers, but you were the one who tried - and succeeded in - killing yourself. I wasn't trying to escape. You did."

And now an Ascian - and not just any Ascian, the bloody Emissary! - was walking around in his body.

Zenos hisses a guttural sigh, his hands tightening about her wrists as he pulls her closer still. Any further and she'd be straddling his lap. "I was rash in mine decision," Zenos admits. "I made a mistake. Now I mean to fix it "

Ramora quirks a brow. Did he now.

"There's an Ascian wearing your face. Your whole body. Doing things you probably wouldn't do." Like me, Ramora doesn't say.

How would she broach that subject even?

Hey Zenos, good to see you hale and whole. I have disgustingly tender emotions for you and I've been fraternizing with the Ascian wearing your body while you've been gone. No hard feelings, right?

That would go over well.

Instead Ramora only reaches for the discarded bit of ice he had brought, brushing off the cloth before resting the cold lump against her aching face.

"What do we do now?" Ramora asks.

If Zenos is surprised by her use of "we", he gives no visible reaction of it.

Zenos only smiles, blue eyes gleaming with that particular monstrous quality she had missed from being around Elidibus in his body for so long.

"All in due time, my beast."

"Now," he leans in, smiling slow.

"Did you miss me?"

[layla256]

Key to Her Heart Chapter 3/52: Wants and Needs

A/N: Chapter 3! I was actually really excited to write this episode because I wanted to talk more about the different characters besides just Spike and Buffy, who were pretty much the main focuses of the last two chapters.

For reference, in the universe, Giles never becomes a Watcher because of his dark past. Instead he continues to study magicks while assisting the Council on a consulting basis only. We also get to see a bit more of SoleSlayer!Faith in this one.

I know a lot of people really like Faith, and I know she gets redeemed in season 7 and some in Angel, but funny story . . .

So I got to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer on rented DVDs from Hollywood Rentals, and yes, I type this knowing I’ve dated myself in the process. We didn’t have any kind of streaming subscription because my mom was scared of entering her card number on the internet, and the episodes only aired while I had dance class, so I only had access to the first four seasons of Buffy for years, and none of the seasons of Angel. Meaning that, from middle school until college, I never saw any indication of a redemption for Faith.

Now that I have seen everything, I don’t hate her nearly as much, but she still sets off a lot of red flags for me as a character, and I know I’ll never really get over those several years of thinking of her as the girl who took over Buffy’s body and slept with Riley using it. Then again, after watching seasons 6 and 7, I just generally don’t like anyone past season 5. They kind of become assholes.

The prompt this time was:

“You really think this is a smart idea?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I’d be concerned if you did.”

And that, to me, just reeked of the Angel-Plan. I should be posting the fourth chapter tomorrow at the latest!

. . .

Giles was totally wigging, and Buffy was worried. It’s not that Giles never wigs. He’s in a constant state of wigging, but there was something different about this panic-fest.

And Buffy wasn’t just saying that because he went to Faith instead of her. Either way, that seemed like a problem/conversation for after Giles was being hunted by the demon of the week.

“Look, B,” Faith said, brushing off Willow and Buffy’s concern with a wave of her fingers, “We’ve got this, all right? We’ve got a whole plan and everything. Once we get the big bad demon out of Ms. Calendar, it’ll jump to Angel who can fight it off with his own demon. Then it’ll be dead, your would-be watcher can play his Get Out of Hell Free card, and everything’s five by five.”

For a solid ten seconds, Buffy considered bashing Faith’s head in with a four by four. It probably wouldn’t stick (Slayer healing and all), but it would certainly make her feel better about the situation overall.

“And Angel’s sure he can fight Eyghon off?” Xander questioned, raising a disbelieving brow. “Doesn’t he have a big ‘I can’t fight my demon without curse-y help’ problem?”

This was apparently the worst thing Xander could have said because Faith was immediately in his face. “Angel’s more man than you can manage to be Harris,” she growled. “Way more. So just shut your breakable face and stay out of our way.”

“Not gonna happen,” Buffy declared, drawing their attention to her. “If it was just Rayne, I’d say go ahead, but it’s not. If Giles is involved, we’re all involved.” Stepping between the Slayer and her best friend, Buffy made sure her voice was firm and clear, almost mimicking her mother when she threatened a grounding. “There’s no version of this where we don’t get involved. Got it?”

Faith looked like she wanted to argue, but Amy cut her off. “Let them tag along Faith,” she sneered, looking down at Willow and Buffy over her nose. “See how actually protecting the Hellmouth looks for once.”

Big talk for a girl who got possessed by her own mother the year before, but Buffy wasn’t enough of a bitch to throw that in the other girl’s face. Just barely.

“They don’t need to,” Jesse complained, glaring daggers at Buffy. She held back a scoff. Frankly, she much preferred him glaring daggers than staring at her tits.

“I don’t care what you think,” Buffy growled. “That ‘would-be-watcher’ is our friend, and we’re not turning our backs on him and just hoping you three aren’t gonna toss him to the wolves to save your own asses.”

Faith scowled at Buffy, chest puffing up in aggressive arrogance. “Fine. Just remember this: your ‘friend’ got himself into this mess, and he came to me to get out of it.”

“Only because he didn’t want us in danger!” Willow protested, looking just as annoyed as Buffy felt, but Buffy put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. They needed each other.

In the end, everyone agreed to run home, lie to Mommy and Daddy, and make it back to the library for the main event.

Except Buffy didn’t go home.

. . .

 “Have you lost your bloody mind you stupid bint?” Spike growled, prowling carefully in the shadows of the refinery with a furious look on his face. “This close to fucking sunset an’ you walk to a demon nest like you own the bloody place!”

“Giles is in danger,” Buffy said quickly, pulling Spike out of his wrath. “Some Emo-thingie demon is chasing him and they’re main plan hinges on Angel beating it.”

Spike stood for a moment, blinked twice, and sighed heavily. Something he seemed to be doing often in Buffy’s presence. He held no malice for her pseudo-Watcher, but he was getting a little tired of this white hat that kept getting dropped on his head.

Still, it seemed the man cared for Buffy at least.

. . .

 Spike had been enjoying luring some idiot blonde named . . . Melody? Something like that. Name didn’t matter, just that she was stupid and full of delicious human blood. Suddenly though, his meal was out of his arms and a crossbow was pointed at his chest.

He looked up, expected the Slayer or one of her annoying little shit friends, but instead looked at the face of a furious Would-Be-Watcher. Rupert Giles looked like a bloody demon hunter the way he was decked out, not a hint of tweed in sight. Yes, he looked every bit the man willing to fight his own battles.

Odd for a Watcher.

“What the fuck are you planning with Buffy?” Watcher growled, tightening his grip on the crossbow.

Spike was honestly surprised. From his own experience with Watchers, he assumed that they weren’t even allowed to know a curse any worse than damn. More and more, this man was moving up in Spike’s esteem.

It didn’t mean Spike wasn’t going to kill him, but he’d at least do it in a respectful way.

“Ain’t got a problem with the girl Watcher,” Spike finally said, putting his hands in the air. “She an’ Red are fine by me. Know better than to piss off a couple of witches.”

Watcher obviously wasn’t buying it. “Ah, yes. That would be why you murdered the entire Frat house they partied at last night then. Angry you missed your intended dinner perhaps?”

Now that was a line crossed. Spike moved faster than the other man could see, knocking the crossbow out of his hands before slamming him into the nearby brick wall.

“Now you listen ‘ere,” Spike snarled, face deformed into his usual demonic visage. “Now, I like me a good slaughter. Screams every which way, blood soakin’ the soil. Get’s me all touch-y feel-y with the Brit deep down in me.” His mocking smirk turned into a frown, “But I don’ touch girls like that. Any bint comes to my bed comes willin’ or not at all. That’d be your boy Angelus’s schtick.”

The Watcher’s face, now red from a lack of air as opposed to anger twisted in disgust. “Not . . . my . . .” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to; the point was made clear enough.

“Ah, you don’ like the lad either then. Good, then you’ll understand.” He lessened his grip. The human wouldn’t be able to escape, but he’d at least be able to breathe. “I don’ do the ‘rape’ bit Angelus was so keen on back in the days. Don’t let my boys do it either. They know better.” He looked down, focusing on the water puddles at his feet. “Those bastards at the Frat should ‘ave as well.”

Suddenly, he released the Watcher, pacing in front of his gasping form. Spike’s hands clenched and unclenched while his fangs pricked at his lips. His demon howled angrily, demanding blood and retribution. More than had already been taken.

“Buffy an’ Red, they’re good chits, yea?” he asked, turning to stare at a shocked Giles. “Genuine good ones. Ya don’ see that shit often. Girls that strong or kind. Showed some kindness to a soulless shit like me. An’ what’d they get for it? Bunch of arrogant fuckin’ shits slippin’ ‘em roofies and—and—”

Spike couldn’t finish. Much like Buffy the night before, he couldn’t seem to get the words out of his mouth, seeming to find them caught behind his fangs. He kicked at the wall opposite the Watcher, watching the bricks breaking under the force.

It didn’t make him feel better.

Not like their blood had.

“They—” it seemed Giles couldn’t handle it either, staring at his knees in disbelief as he knelt on the filthy ground of the alley. “Those repugnant little cunts,” he finally ground out, knuckles white as he gripped his hands tight. “I’ll—”

“Whatever you wanna do Watcher, I promise I did it already,” Spike said, face fading back to his human image as he came back to himself, shoulder slumped and heart still heavy. “Every damn thing I could think of.”

Giles nodded, standing up and brushing his knees as that good, old British upper lip kicked in. “I’d best check on them then,” he said. Though his stance and face were neutral, the shaking in his voice belayed his true emotions. It seemed the git genuinely cared for the girls, unlike the actual Watchers of Spike’s past.

The two began walking away, Spike not feeling like a meal after having his stomach turn the way it did. “Thank you.”

The words stopped him. Spike turned around, shock on his face as he stared at the still neutral Watcher. “Wha?” he said, not understanding.

“I said ‘Thank you,’” Giles repeated, picking up his crossbow, but not pointing it at Spike. “You defended my . . . charges when I could not. I may not approve of your methods, but . . .” the words were left hanging in the air.

Watcher may not approve, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful in the end.

 …

“How’s Peaches ‘sposed to help you lot then?” Spike asked, taking out a fag to pull on so Buffy couldn’t see his worried face. “He’s killed plenty o’ demons ‘fore. Sure even a poofter like him’ll be alright in the end.”

Buffy shook her head, not looking convinced. “Faith and her merry band of muck ups think it’ll be a great idea to have him get possessed by the demon and fight it back with his demon. You know, like a shitty WWE match that no one wants to see.”

Spike almost choked on the puff of smoke he pulled in, saved only by the fact that he didn’t need to breathe in the first place. “You really think this is a smart idea?”

“Nope.”

“Good. I’d be concerned if you did.” He threw his finished fag into a puddle nearby, biting the inside of his lip in thought. She was right to be concerned. Angelus couldn’t control his own demon, let alone another. Either he’d keep his own demon too far at bay and lose to the interloper, or he’d let it loose far too much, and Spike doubted that good ol’ Angelus was all there after a hundred years trapped with a soul.

“I’ll let them try, though,” Buffy admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “Faith is the actual Slayer. Even if she doesn’t act like it half the time.”

Spike snorted. The Slayer acted it often enough to get on his last bloody nerve.

“But I want you there, in case something goes wrong.”

He stopped and stared at her for a moment. Want. It was an odd word to focus on, one he rarely heard in reference to himself. Drusilla had needed him. Needed her Dark Prince to shield her from all the dark monsters that prowled their world, but she had never wanted him. No, she only wanted her precious Daddy. Anything she said differently, he knew, was either a momentary delusion or an attempt to placate him.

Buffy though—Buffy meant it.

“I’ll be there.”

 …

 Spike was almost disappointed to see his Grand-Sire manage his feat, pouting at the thought of a lost fight. Still, he figured this was for the best. Watcher was safe and sound, Buffy had been appeased by his mere presence, and the Slayerettes had no idea about Buffy’s “special friend”, meaning they wouldn’t be giving her any kind of hell.

Catching her eye as she carried a harried Watcher between herself and the Whelp, he gave her his signature smirk before sinking into the shadows, glad to see her smile in return before he disappeared from sight.

She hadn’t needed him tonight, and, deep down, he was sure both of them knew that when they’d come up with their little “Plan B”.

But she had wanted him there, and that was the important part.

...

The part about want vs need was added in completely last minute, but I loved it so I kept it. I recently had a talk with a friend about relationships and how some people prefer to be wanted over needed and vice versa and how that can say a lot about a person. 

Spike always seemed, to me, like the kind of person who would prefer to be wanted. In my headcanons, going to those awful parties was a requirement for both him and the hosts out of polite obligation. No one but his mother ever really wanted him around, meaning she was the only one who ever gave him positive affection. As a result, I think he spends the rest of his life and unlife chasing that dragon; wanting to  be wanted.

[9r7g5h]

Slayer

Fandom: Carmilla

Rating: K+

Genre: Action

Summary: Betty hadn’t actually meant to become a dragon slayer. It had just kind of...happened?

Words: 2,231

AN: So, xenawarriorgay and I watched the Carmilla movie on Halloween, and that reawoke some feels I still had for the series. It’s such a good series and was such a good movie, and that little mention towards the end about Betty’s new career choice just reminded me of my position in the Betty Spielsdorf Protection Squad. It has some slight Lawdorf, but main this is Betty focused. Enjoy! 

And @elizabethhawkes, I hope you gt a kick out of this. 

Disclaimer: I do not own Carmilla. 

She hadn't meant to become a dragon slayer, not really.

Betty had expected she would go into law- the fact that supernatural creatures were real had thrown a wrench into the legal system, among other things. What was a life sentence when the accused could never die? Did normal laws apply to the paranormal? How did the legal system apply to the semi-incorporeal? It was a landmine that needed to be sorted out, and Betty had thought, after her time at Stanford was done, she would be the one to draw the lines. Or she would go into science. In her research on werewolves, she had come across an interesting spell that could theoretically duplicate hearts, making a never ending source for the werefolk that lived off of them. It had been impossible two hundred years ago, but with the scientific advancements of the modern era, and LaFerry Corp's special equipment and funding, Betty had been sure she could take that discovery and change the world. At least make it so fewer murders happened every full moon.

Either way, she had known she would be doing something to help with the supernatural issues that had arisen by the Dean pulling off the wool that had been covering everyone's eyes. And she was one of the best people to do so, given her inside connection to the weird and all. But she hadn't expecting her "help" with the supernatural issue would come in the form of dragon slaying, of all things.

Especially when she had just been trying to find a nice date spot to have a good night with her girlfriend.

It wasn’t often she and Danny had time for each other. Of course, they had “time”- between essays on the rot rates of giant anglerfish gods and research into the legal rights of the technically undead, between final projects and court cases, when the two of them plopped into bed beyond exhausted and fell asleep cuddling before more than half a dozen sentences could be said. They had time, but not the kind Betty, recently, had been craving.

But her finals were done, and Danny’s last case, while not the resounding success she had been hoping for, had still been a win nonetheless. With a full week ahead where neither of them had anything pressing to do, Betty had decided that they would have a picnic dinner and an actual conversation that didn’t involve questions about old sentient library books or blood supplements.

She had left mid-afternoon, a bag carrying her special homemade chicken salad, pink lemonade, and a couple bottles of soy blood slung over her shoulder as she kissed the still sleeping Danny on her cheek, a note on the bedside table for her to find at sunset. She wasn’t sure where the picnic would be- somewhere out in the woods, perhaps by the cliffs, giving them both a nice hike and a bit of privacy from the world at large. Wherever, Danny would find her when she woke up- benefits of a vampire nose, one of the few things they both considered an improvement. No need to worry about losing cell service when your girlfriend could track you from a couple hundred miles away.

So off she had gone, driving first out of the city, almost desperate to get away from humanity for a while. Sure, they were risking wandering into the territory of a playing pixie, or maybe even a demanding fairy, but it was a risk she was willing to take for a little bit of time free from the constant noise. That was one thing she missed about Silas, even if it was the only. But luckily the drive hadn’t taken long, the metropolis falling away behind her, the houses giving way to forests and undergrowth that man had yet to try and claim, and that the smart ones dared not to, lest they risk the wrath of whatever lurked in the shadows.

Not that she had to worry. Between the stench of vampire covering her, her blood still being neigh undrinkable from the brain parasites, and her own knowledge of how to deal with the fair folk, Betty had nothing to worry about. Catching glimpse of a clearing by the side of the road, Betty had pulled off and set out from there, hoping to find a nicer clearing further in, perhaps by a stream, where she could set up camp and wait the last little bit before Danny joined her.

It had overall been peaceful- a couple of wood nymphs, peering out from between the limbs, their faces curious as to why such a pretty young thing like her would brave the woods alone. For a moment she had thought she had heard a pan flute, but instead of investigating (she wasn’t Hollis) she had instead altered her course, steering clear. Best outcome from something like that, she would get to see some of the fae dance, a sight she would be allowed since none of them considered her fully human, not any more. Worse, she would stumble upon a spirit that would make her play, and, if she failed, make her pay.

Not something she wanted to deal with, not on her day off.

She had eventually found it- a lovely clearing, not near a stream but a pond instead, the water crisp and clear and completely void of naiads, everything kept fresh by a nearby waterfall that tumbled down from high cliffs. It had been supposed to be a new moon, and whether they stayed in the clearing or Danny carried her to the top of the cliff, either way they would have had a beautiful view, especially if the sky had remained clear.  

It was the perfect romantic spot, one Betty had quickly claimed as her own. Burning sage to drive out any spirits that might be haunting it, taping temporary wards to the trees surrounding the edge so nothing could intrude upon them, even scattering a small bag of dried beans in a corner to catch any of the mathematically inclined supernatural things should one of them appear. Betty had come ready and prepared, determined to have her night with Danny.

She had just finished, the sun had been just about to set, when she had heard the rumble.

At first she had thought it the waterfall- it was similar in sound, just slightly deeper, slightly more menacing. Perhaps a surge up above, some melted snow finally making its way down to her little pond, increasing the volume of the waterfall’s road that much more. At first, Betty, after a careful moment’s stare into the forest around her, had shrugged it off.

Until she had heard it again. Louder, this time, and coming from right behind her.

Betty had learned her lesson from Silas- never go anywhere unarmed. It was a lesson she had learned well, and while she had left her heavy artillery at home, Betty had slid the blessed forearm length knife from its holder on her hip with a practiced ease and turned to face whatever stood behind her, her feet planted, teeth bared, ready to tell whatever it was to back off or prepare-

Prepare to turn her into a shish kabob, the Betty had been expecting something small and generally harmless, like most of the forest paranormal creatures were. She hadn’t been expecting to come face to face with a scaled, clawed foot, a single talon the size of her leg, and a giant blue fanged face smiling wickedly down at her from almost twenty feet in the air.

Another lesson Betty had learned from Silas- don’t wait to be the victim. So when the dragon’s mouth had parted, a slight flicker of something showing between its teeth, she hadn’t hesitated.

Instead, Betty had darted forward and stabbed her dagger right between the crack in the dragon’s scales, drawing blood and an angry roar that had shaken the forest as the dragon jerked back, taking her dagger with it. Clawing at its chest, its own talons doing more harm than good as it tried to pry loose the blade, the dragon had lost sight of Betty as she rolled towards her bag, her ears still ringing as she tried to fight through the panic and find anything that could save her. It was still a while before sunset, and even if Danny had been awake and on her way, she was only so fast and there was only so much even she could do against a dragon.

Her fear kicking up a notch at the pained but triumphant cry, followed by the sound of her dagger clattering to the rocks that lined the pond’s edge, Betty had grabbed the first hard thing her hand touched, turned, and thrown it at the dragon, right at its face.  As if to taunt her, to show her just how useless her attempts at surviving were, the dragon had snatched the container of homemade chicken salad right out of the air, its teeth crunching through the plastic, the dragon swallowing what should have been her lunch without a second thought.

Almost laughing, the dragon had continued to advance, its smile wide, drool dripping from its jowls, ready to rip her to shreds, to feast upon her flesh and add her name to its long list of victims.

Only for both of them to discover, in that moment, that water dragons were, in fact, incredibly allergic to birds.

She had cut off its head after it had stopped twitching- she wasn’t going to take that chance, not if it could just be in a coma and come after her later. So she had retrieved her knife and cut through the giant mass of muscle, sinew, and bone, dragging the head (almost larger than herself) a dozen feet away when she was done to make sure the deed was done. Thus covered in blood not her own and smelling worse than she had in a long time, Betty had gathered up her things and left, the very idea of a picnic something beyond comprehension of her beyond exhausted mind.

Only to be stopped by a group of fairies as they tried to crown her their new queen of the forest.

The dragon had been a terror, one of the fairies had explained to her and Danny (who had finally shown up late with Starbucks, a confused and almost scared look on her face as she took in Betty’s blood soaked clothes and the fairies forcefully trying to braid marigold into her hair). A fearsome creature that took pleasure in causing pain, more often than not torturing its food before it ate. In the four hundred years since it had moved into the giant cavern that existed behind the waterfall, it had decimated the magical population, leaving only a few of each species left to amuse it and keep it fed when it began to hunger.

By killing the dragon, Betty had done everyone in the forest a great favor, thus earning their unending gratitude and all the dragon’s hoard as her own.

A hoard that had been filled with silver and gold, sapphires and pearls and every gem that was reminiscent of the ocean, even piles of sea glass the finishing touch. It didn’t match Carmilla’s fortune, no- she had the wealth of millennia, hoarded by the Dean and left to Mattie in the “will” that had shown up after the Dean’s death, which had then passed on to her youngest child since Mattie was dead. But it had been more than enough, if the two of them had wanted to settle down, to finance all of kickstarter twice over and still never want for more.

Both of them carrying as much as they could, with plans to come back and get the rest later, they had left the clearing, Betty sure that that would be the end of that.

Until, two weeks later, just as she was finally getting the last of the dragon blood’s stain off her skin, an alicorn showed up on her roof, a message begging for help from the ‘Great Dragon Slayer’ tied to its horn. Because, apparently, fae liked to talk, and word had quickly spread.

Danny had protested, of course (“Why risk yourself running into a battle that could get you killed?”), but Betty, just like she always did when Danny when into protect mode, had ignored her. Had just gathered together a handful of weapons, gotten a packet of frozen fish from the freezer (water dragons were allergic to birds, the odds of a fire dragon being allergic to fish seemed quite high), and jumped onto her ride, Danny only just joining her in time on the alicorn’s back.

Because she couldn’t just leave them. As much as she hated to admit it, Laura and Danny and even Carmilla’s hero complex had rubbed off on her a bit, and if she could help? She had to.

She hadn’t meant to become a dragon slyer. Betty had thought she would change the world through her knowledge of the law or some scientific breakthrough. But apparently the world had had other plans, and those included her buying a sweet sword to chop off heads with and a cooler bag filled with whatever allergen would take out what was trying to kill her next.

[veronicatheslayer]

Reza and Veronica’s Not So Excellent Adventure || Reza, Veronica and Veronica [AR]

Reza and Veronica have a dimension shifting mis-adventure.

Reza was bored to death. Or undeath. Hanging around in a cramped up basement with a very limited selection of books to read had gotten real old, real fast. Going out to buy a crummy pack of cigarettes that really, he could barely afford, was the best and only thing he could come up with to relieve his boredom. After a year spent doing nothing but drinking, trying all sorts of illegal drugs and getting dragged into ridiculous situation by a murderous vampires, anything else was bound to feel dull in comparison. Still, Reza felt mildly pleased as he left the store, a single pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He still hadn't shaken that particular habit but it wasn't like lung cancer was going to kill him now. Reaching for the pack, fingers itching to hold one, he only halted when his ears picked up on footsteps falling just a second out of beat to his. More than wary after his incident on Harris Island, Reza quickened his pace and then immediately took off on a sprint, not even daring to look over his shoulder. If there was no threat, he'd just get home quicker, right?

It wasn't exactly like Veronica had tried to be particularly stealthy or anything like that, which was something that she immediately regretted when the lanky vampire shot off in front of her. Moving only as fast as a vampire can, she sped after him, accelerating into a sprint as they hurtled down the street. The night rushed by them, lights whipping past her peripheral vision. She hoped she was quick enough to keep up with this one, because him sprinting off was the only thing that had stopped her from ripping his throat out. At least, she assumed that it was a him, from his general build and height. It could just be a woman, the hoodie was somewhat confusing on that front though.

Apparently, being a non-homicidal vampire didn't matter to slayers at all, which really didn't come as a surprise to Reza. At least, Reza assumed that it was a slayer who was currently sprinting like crazy to catch him. A marathon athlete mugger seemed less likely but either way, Reza wasn't keen on stopping to check. The wind suddenly whipped his hood off and Reza freaked; a slayer knowing his face was bad news. Desperately, he made a turn into a side street, almost banging into a large dumpster as his speed made him skid on the pavement. He just needed to get someplace with more people -- more witnesses-- and he should be... fine? Where the hell was he? Slowing to a walk, Reza looked around, dumbfounded. It was Ashkent but then it... wasn't. Like an alternate dimension. "Holy shit," he breathed, throwing his hood back up as a heavy stone settled in his stomach.

Veronica vaulted over a line of bins and sprinted after him. Most vampires wore out pretty quickly and she hoped that it would be the same here. She was trained for this, she had the stamina to keep up with him. His hood went down and she caught sight of the back of his head, but he was off down a side street that she recognised. It should branch out into an alleyway that was behind a dive bar she'd often find vampires preying on humans in. But, the alley way looked different and as she rounded the corner she found herself in unfamiliar territory. Which was something that she never really expected to hear herself say. Not in Ashkent Creek, she thought she knew the town better than the back of her hand. "What the hell?" she muttered as she rounded a corner. But, before she could really investigate she spotted the vampire, lunging after him, she clawed at his hoodie, hoping to grab him.

Before Reza could even begin to consider what this meant, that there was another Reza Burki strolling around here somewhere, hands were violently grabbing at his clothes. So he was still being chased by a slayer, and a very stubborn one at that. Thinking on his feet, Reza zipped down his hoodie and manoeuvred his arms out of the sleeves, once again sprinting. He really didn't have the training or stamina for this much running, vampirism or not, but there was no other choice. He wouldn't stand a chance against a slayer either. With the hoodie gone, he couldn't even risk a look back at his would-be killer. These streets were different and unfamiliar and Reza hoped it would give him an advantage as he turned another corner and luckily, spotted people. Still, in an alternate universe, there was no reassurance that the slayer would let witnesses stop them. Reza really didn't want to get dusted. Maybe he just ought to run into one of those bars...

It didn't take Veronica long to realise that she wasn't in Ashkent Creek anymore. Everything here seemed different and as her yellow eyes shone in the dark, she took her environment in. She was in somewhere unfamiliar now and she was determined to come out of this alive. Somehow, she would have to make it back to Ashkent Creek, not that she was quite sure how she was going to manage that. But, for the moment, the vampire was getting away. She was left with his hoodie hanging from her hand and as she sprinted after him she could see that he was indeed male. At least, he looked like that from the back. As he ran out onto the street, she too spotted people, more importantly someone who looked like a very dull and very drab version of herself? Except she wasn't wearing any makeup (seriously, going outside without contouring? Who did that?) and a silver cross hung from her neck. She seemed to notice the vampire running towards her, though she looked confused about what she was meant to be doing now that she was in this situation.

Reza slowed his sprint just so as he approached the small group of people, listening to the pounding footsteps of the slayer behind him. He needed someplace to hide, and fast; he couldn't risk the slayer killing these people and... no way. The mop of red hair seemed as mocking as ever and now, with the added benefit of a shiny cross hanging around her neck, Veronica looked more insufferable than ever. Running into two slayers in one evening, while getting thrown into an alternate universe? Where in the actual fuck was his luck... Recoiling away from Strange-Veronica and her friends, Reza found that he was backing up against a wall, drawing a blank for any ideas that didn't include running until he passed out. Unsurprisingly, he'd caught the group's attention while running down the street like a maniac and of course, he still had the first slayer's attention, creeping in from the side. And that slayer was... also Veronica? What? Oh no...

The other Veronica seemed confused by the appearance of the other teen, but as soon as they had appeared in Ashford River, they were gone. This time they were returned to the exact same spot in Ashkent Creek and the crowd of people that had been surrounding the vampire dissolved into nothing more than thin air. Veronica stormed over to the vampire and without thinking pinned him to the wall he was in front of. It was only at that moment that she recognised the face of a teenager that she'd spent so long trying (and not to mention failing) to help. "Reza?" she asked, confused. He was definitely who she had been chasing and that would mean that, "you're a fucking vampire?" she asked in a shrill whisper, "what the hell?" she asked, "who turned you?"

Reza was struck dumb, his feet lead, bolting him to the ground even as everything around him faded and shifted until the familiarity of Ashkent Creek surrounded him once more. Still wondering if he'd failed at his sobriety and was currently high as fuck on some very effective drugs, Reza barely reacted when a sharp and muscular forearm pressed against his chest, holding him hostage against the wall. It was Veronica; the one he recognised and not the one with the confused and almost scared gaze. Thankfully, this Veronica recognised him, too. "Veronica," he replied, somehow lacing his words with an amount of sass his shellshocked brain had somehow mustered. "Does it mattered who turned me? Or even why? Aren't you just going to slice my head off, anyway?" His tone grew more aggressive with every word, the final question practically spat at the slayer as fear and shock morphed into harboured anger.

Veronica considered doing it. The part of her that was remorseless, despite the fact that was a part of her that she was hardly aware of, but subconsciously she considered it. She could decapitate him with her bare hands, tell Bridget that she had nothing to do with it. In the end, it was Bridget's love of Reza that stopped her from doing what she would have done to every other vampire. She didn't want to see her beautiful girlfriend cry, not over someone who was barely a blood bag, less than that now that he wasn't even human anymore. She sighed gently and loosened her grip on him, looking down at the ground, she stepped away and shook her head. "It matters because someone who makes a habit of turning someone who is barely out of their teenage years isn't a good person, and they're the type of people I deal with." She paused, it was true that usually she would've just sliced his head off. "No," she lied, "I told you, I have a code, I don't kill vampires when they haven't broken my code. You've yet to break it, so I'm not going to kill you."

"They did it as a favor to me, so no need for another obsessive manhunt," Reza muttered, holding out a hand for his hoodie. He wasn't cold and it wasn't even one of his favorites but no way in hell was he letting Veronica of all people, take it from him. "You sound sure that I haven't," he retorted, not really sure why he was taunting her. Presumably because he was angry, feeling like he still had every good reason to be. "Not saying I have but I didn't take you for someone who sees the good in people. Especially not vampire scum like me."

Sighing gently, Veronica shook her head gently. "You wanted this? Why-why would you want that?" She could understand Reza being turned, he didn't exactly have a great track record of hanging out with people, hell he had a terrible track record of actually hanging out with actual people. "Well, at the very least I hope you haven't done anything wrong, not in that way at least, because deep down, I hope you're not a bad person, I hope you're a good kid who has had a lot of terribly shitty things happen to you." She shrugged gently and handed his hoodie over to them. "I know why you hate me Reza, really, I get it, I expect if I was in your situation I'd feel the same as you. But you're stereotyping me down to every other slayer, which is exactly what you accuse me of doing to vampires."

Reza scoffed, even as he felt some of the anger slowly seeping out of him. Being angry all the time was hard, and usually just made him feel like shit afterwards. Didn't mean he was forgiving Veronica, though. "I don't need to explain why I did it, it happened, end of story." Reza shrugged the hoodie back on, arms crossing over his chest defiantly. "I'm not stereotyping! You almost killed me back there, without knowing who I was or whether I was dangerous, which is exactly what every other slayer--" Behind Veronica, the... Veronica, the one wearing the cross and non-Veronica outfit seemed to, simply put, appear out of thin air. Reza fell silent, really at a loss for words now. Blinking, he looked between the two slayers, stance now defensive.

Veronica watched Reza argue with her, though she thought that she could see the fight in his words draining from his eyes. Yet she said nothing. "Whatever kid, just don't get yourself into as much of a mess as you did last time." She shrugged. "I just ran after you kid, how do you know I wasn't trying to return your wallet, besides, I didn't kill you. Did I?" Then he slipped into a fighting stance and Veronica whirled round and saw herself. She had to be honest this was probably the most confusing thing that had happened to her to date. But that didn't change the situation. This could get messy, the other Veronica might well try and kill Reza if her parents had anything to do with it.

AR Veronica had to admit that she was confused. She had seen and sensed the vampire and the red head before, but they had disappeared not long after they had ran into her life. Then she hand done her best to follow them and she found them, apparently arguing. Confused, she sighed gently before striding towards them. "You're a vampire and by all the rules they put in the treaty that means I've got to challenge you to a duel," she smiled sweetly, hoping that this duel went better than every other duel before this point, "so ple-" she then noticed that the red head looked exactly like her. "Woah, you're, me?" she was so confused, maybe the other her could help her find her parents, after all they were still missing. "We'll have to talk in a minute, I plan on duelling this vampire first."

The treaty? What? For a moment, Reza's presence was ignored as strange-Veronica noticed her... alternative self, before the apparent 'duel' was apparently back on track. "Yeah, fuck that, I'm not duelling anyone, lady," he gritted out, fists clenching all the same. "Just wanna go home, alright." His eyes shifted back to the Veronica he knew, the one who was apparently not going to kill him. At least not yet.

Veronica had to admit that she was confused by this situation. They were being faced down by herself? She wanted to try and kill Reza. As much as Veronica wished that she could just kill Reza and forget about him, she knew that Bridget held the young man close to her heart. That was the only thing that made her do what she did. "Reza," she said quietly but firmly, "I think it is time that you go home. I'll handle, well ... I'll handle myself." She smiled briefly at Reza. "Run along now."

Reza was unnerved by the smile, taking a step back away from the doppelgangers. The second Veronica looked rather displeased at this turn of events but Reza was just relieved to skip any and all fighting. Another step back and it seemed like he could actually leave without a hitch. "This doesn't make us even," he declared to Veronica as he turned on his heel, running back home on weary legs without looking once over his shoulder. Yeah, he was never going out for a pack of cigarettes again.

[planarchaosproject]

Planar Chaos: Chapter Fifteen

 We Need to Go Deeper

"Did you hear that?" Rinok said, moving instinctively into a fighting stance. He drew one of his many weapons: a long, curved sword favored by Mardu raiding parties.

"It sounded like laughter," Vilhelm said, rubbing his temples in frustration. I'm surrounded by idiots, he thought to himself, I'll never get out of this maze.

Seems like a personal problem, a cold and clear voice responded directly into his mind. Vilhelm froze once again, eyes wide and nostrils flared. He took a long breath in, trying to filter though the powerful stenches of the men in his company to find the source of this mental intrusion.

You're a mind mage too, huh? Well you're no fun. You know what's coming next.

Rhyne had managed to scramble his way back onto the same path as his companions. He prodded Vilhelm with a single finger and stood there without a hint of shock on his face when Vilhelm rounded on the wild man with bared fangs and the most stereotypical vampire hiss in Rhyne's recent memory.

"Dude," Rhyne knit his eyebrows together. "Really? You're going to pull that with me? I could dismember you in so many different ways you wouldn't know your head from your ass by the time I'm done."

"Rhyne, Vilhelm, silence," Rinok barked, still retaining his stance. The command of authority fell on deaf ears.

"Shut up!" Rinok bellowed, finally catching the attention of the two bickering walkers. The vampire's face was expressionless, the wild man's angry.

"Who do you even think you are?" Rhyne turned on Rinok. "I eat whelps like you for breakfast."

"We have an unknown enemy in the area and you two are sitting there fighting like an old married couple. You're going to get us killed, you know that?"

"Nothing can take me on and live. I've killed kings and dragons and dragon kings." Rhyne crossed his arms haughtily.

"And I command the single largest army in the multiverse. My generals get the order, all the planes I have touched will burn with scorched and salted earth. I am War itself."

"If you children are done with your contest to see who has larger genitalia, I would like to point out a problem." Vilhelm was looking over the other walkers' shoulders.

"What is it now, bloodsucker?" Rhyne spat.

"That." The vampire gestured to a large, crablike creature that appeared to be made entirely of metal, easily as tall as the three planeswalkers stacked on top of each other and with a leg span of at least twice that length. Its joints made whirring and clicking sounds as it effortlessly navigated the pathways of Xerex.

"I, personally, am no good in any sort of physical fight and this being doesn't seem to have a will for me to dominate. Gentlemen, if you please?" Vilhelm made an ushering motion.

"Worthless bloodsuckers," Rhyne growled, rolling up his sleeves. Fire danced around his hands and his eyes took on a manic glow. He began shouting at the construct lumbering towards them. "I am Rhyne, Wildfire of Fiora and slayer of gods! You will fear me!" He reared back and went to lunge forward, but found himself stuck in place.

Tsk tsk tsk, a voice said into his mind, is that any way to treat your welcoming comittee? Here I am excited to have friends after such a long time and you're going to destroy the only thing that can lead you on a straight path. Well, Mr Wilfire of Fiora, forgive me for not allowing that.

Rhyne felt icewater begin pooling in his stomach. Rinok's sword clanged off the metal beast with little effect and Vilhelm was apparently nowhere to be seen. A large metal claw, almost spherical in shape, closed around Rhyne, trapping him inside. Its prize claimed, the crablike construct lumbered away with Rinok and Vilhelm unable to follow.

"Damn," Vilhelm cursed.

"Why? He wasn't going to help us much anyway," Rinok replied.

"No, but the best kind of suicide missions are carried out by willing pawns, wouldn't you agree?"

Rinok searched his memory and found that Vilhelm was, in fact, correct on this assessment. "There's something of a warrior in there after all."

"It is true, I once was in command of a small force during a territory conflict with a rival bloodline. The Voldaren were a force to be reckoned with, and even the Markov thought that my bloodline, the Falkenrath, were insane for attempting to curb Olivia's expansion."

"So you're from Innistrad. Fascinating plane, by the way. I love the eternal struggle between the angels and dark forces. It helps keep the plane fresh, in my opinion." Rinok breathed deeply through his nose. Xerex smelled stale to him, but there was a gentle breeze that pulled him to where the construct had taken Rhyne. "We need to go deeper."

00000

"Okay, Marthel, Sa'Raah, I need any sort of pyromancy you two have. I'll take point, you two on my flanks. Kyari, stay in the back and keep us from dying." Brock stood up on the hydra's back and leapt onto the ground, thankful his feet actually met the space he intented them to. His yellow robes swirled around him as he called upon his magic. He felt fire blazing around his hands, but didn't see it. The secrets of Ghostfire were supposedly lost, but there were some records and recollections buried deep within Tarkir and within the mind of Chandra Nalaar, whom the monks of Keral Keep viewed as a spiritual successor to Jaya Ballard, the founder of their order. Brock squared off against the crab construct, confident his team would obey his orders and fall in line behind him.

"I'm not just a healer, you know," Kyari sighed.

Just let him lead, Marthel said into her mind. It's where he's most comfortable.

Good to know, this voice was not Marthel's. Kyari caught her breath and locked down her mind the way Marthel had taught her. He wasn't a particularly strong telepath though, just like he wasn't a particularly strong pyromancer. The dark skinned walker in the white cloak was a mage of many talents, which he viewed as better than being a savant in one area. In some cases Kyari had to disagree and this was one of them. The new voice didn't go away.

Elf, huh? From Shandalar. That's a nice plane. You've got alot of knowledge in here, you know. I think we could have some enlightening discussions. If you could just let me in, please?

"Kyari!" Sa'Raah shouted, snapping the other elven woman out of her thoughts. The crab construct had broken through their line of defense and was making a beeline for Kyari and the hydra. Before Kyari had time to react, six of her hydra's heads smashed into the construct, knocking it over the edge of the pathway they stood on. The construct fell, sustaining several dents before righting itself and making its way unhindered along the pathways. Nadia, who had followed the creature downwards, had no such ease making her way back to the planeswalker she had sworn to protect.

"Jace Marthel," Nadia called out in warning as the construct clambered back up onto the path in front of the Maelstrom Mage.

"What is with this thing?" Marthel said, lashing out with alternating holy and demonic fire.

"It isn't confused by the maze at all, and it isn't affected by the gravitational shifts," Brock responded.

"Could it be because it's an artifact?" Sa'Raah ducked under a swinging claw. "It doesn't have a true mind, so it might be unaffected by all the defenses Urza added to this maze. Maybe it's a part of the defense."

Ooh, the voice in Kyari's head returned. She's clever. Maybe I'll take her.

In an instant Kyari knew what the voice was planning. That was the trouble with telepathy that Marthel often complained to her about. A door, once opened, could be passed through from either side.

"Sa'Raah look out!" Kyari leapt from the back of her hydra and pushed the dragon girl out of the way as a large metal sphere closed around her. Kyari beat against the inside with her fist in frustration.

"Kyari!" Marthel cried out, drawing Brock's attention from the legs the monk had been fighting. The crab construct began bounding away with Kyari in its clutches.

"What did you you?" Brock shouted, rushing at Sa'Raah. "You let that thing take her?"

"Brock," Marthel laid a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, calling him to heel. "It isn't her fault."

"She jumped in front of me," Sa'Raah explained.

"We have to go after it. We have to get her back." Brock swallowed, reining in his anger. He turned to look at the now clearly distressed primordial hydra. "We need to go deeper."

000000

"I think we ought to stop for the night," Sverre said. "Oona's getting tired."

There wasn't any true day or night on Xerex, but Odom and Ashleigh agreed that it was time to stop. Maelstrom Wanderer was halted and settled in for what should be an uneventful night.

"Did anyone think to bring any food? I might be a semi-immortal necromancer but I still need to eat sometimes."

"Ash thought way ahead of you, Sverre. We've got provisions that should last us long enough to reach the center if we're making good progress. At least I still think we're going downwards." Odom reached down into a bag up to his shoulder. Sverre's eyes popped when he noticed the bag itself was too small to accomplish such a feat, even with Odom's ooziness.

"Just a spell I borrowed from a guy in a blue box." Ashleigh winked at no one in particular.

"Ash, you promised you'd leave the fourth wall breaks to me," Odom sighed.

"Fine." Ashleigh crossed her arms only to quickly resume snuggling Abby. The infant abomination was yawning, an act that came with an adorablly high pitched sigh. "Besides, I think someone else is getting tired too. But not before mommy feeds you."

"Is it going to be the syringe or the bottle?" Odom asked, still rifling through the bag.

"Syringe. It responds best to alternating meals of high and low viscosity mana."

Sverre sighed, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to the question that followed. "How do you even obtain such a thing?"

"Mostly from Broster Strudel," Odom explained. "It's kind of what he eats."

"So, back to my original inquiry," Sverre said, "what do we eat?"

"We eat this," Odom replied, pulling several baskets of bread and fruit out of the bag. "It doesn't look like much, and these are technically experimental and property of the Simic Combine, but how will they ever be tested unless we actually have to survive with no other food?"

"So what is it?" Sverre asked again.

"Take a bite," Ashleigh said, demonstrating with an apple. She continued speaking with her mouth full, "wait a few seconds, and viola!"

"You mean voila," Sverre said.

"Bless you." Odom smirked.

Sverre watched in curiosity and awe as the apple regenerated, appearing to never have been bitten in the first place. "Amazing," he breathed.

"It's wonderful," Oona said, crawling out of Sverre's hood and flitting down to sit on his knee.

"You might prefer something more like this," Ashleigh fished around in the basket and produced a ripe blackberry.

"Yes, excellent," Oona smiled, taking a bite out of one of the many drupelets. She took special care to keep the juice from staining her hair or dress. An experience from her youth had left the Queen of the Fae with pink hair for several weeks after a blackberry binge.

The drupelet regenerated within moments.

"So we won't starve," Sverre smiled. "Excellent."

"The fruit is the only regenerating thing," Odom cautioned. "The bread is gone once we've eaten it all.

"What about Abby?" Sverre asked.

"Once Abby's digestive system matures, it should be able to consume solid food like any other being," Ashleigh explained.

"And I'm guessing that's where the transparent stomach comes in?" Sverre asked between bites of a pear. He held the pear in one hand, the other held the blackberry delicately over Oona's head. She had assumed a lounging position on Sverre's thigh while he fed her the blackberry like he fed her grapes back on Helheim.

"Of course." Odom gave Sverre a puzzled look. "It's like you don't know me at all, man."

Ashleigh finished feeding herself and Abby and proceeded to rock the infant abomination to sleep while singing a lullaby she recalled from her childhood. It was something about pretty little horses, she couldn't remember all the words and hummed the tune in the gaps of her memory. Abby gradually stopped moving its tentacles and closed its black eyes. The cooing and gurgling noises ceased and were replaced with soft breathing.

In the quiet, they heard the telltale clanking and whirring of an artifact creature.

"I think we've upset someone, Sverre," Odom said. He looked over his shoulder, trying to locate the construct.

Not upset, necessarily, a voice said into Ashleigh's mind. Ashleigh knew this voice wasn't one of the usual voices. It was too clear, too coherent. She could sense the mind on the other side and it was filled with all sorts of fun spells for her to borrow. She also could see exactly where the hidden artifact creature stood.

No, but my baby is trying to sleep, Ashleigh responded to the voice. So you've upset me. Hey, that's a neat spell there. Can I borrow it?

She used the voice's spell to destroy the artifact creature and a spell of her own to terminate their mental connection. Gears tumbled from the pathway above them, falling to either side.

"Ash, have I told you lately that I love you?" Odom said.

"I don't believe you've ever actually said it before now," Ashleigh smiled smugly.

"You two are so cute it's almost gross," Sverre mocked, sharing a satisfied smile of his own with Oona. "That said, we might want to find out who sent the creature in the morning. In order to do that..."

"We need to go deeper," the three planeswalkers said in unison.