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himura-brothers · 10 months ago

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OC’s for this blog!

These are Maku and Sosuke Himura. They are brothers from the manga that I write, Kurai Jinhaku. They are demons created by the God of Death, doomed to feed off of the Children of Life (humans) in order to survive. After a human with golden hair massacred their clan, Maku and Sosuke decided that the only way to protect themselves is to coexist with humans— meaning they must balance between hunger and peace at all times.

CHARACTER BIOS UNDER READ MORE!!

To the right is the elder brother, Sosuke Himura;

Age: 23

Race: Child of Death

Occupation: N/A

Appearance: Sosuke is about 6’1” (or 183 cm). He has pale skin and scarlet eyes. His ears are long and pointed (think like an elf) and he has long nails and sharp fangs. He keeps his silky, black hair long, where it brushes just below his broad shoulders. Often, Sosuke dresses business casual. He is most comfortable in a button up dress shirt and some jeans.

Personality: Sosuke is cold, analytical, and quick witted. He prefers to build a plan (and a backup plan) before making any sort of decision. That doesn’t make him slow to act, however. He’s gotten rather swift and coming up with a plan and executing it without much trouble. He tends to be rather abrasive. Sosuke will tell you exactly what he thinks of you instead of making you waste time guessing. If he thinks you’re annoying he’ll say so. Despite this, he’s a very caring and loyal man, you just have to warm your way through his icy exterior. Sosuke keeps people away because not only does he believe he’s a danger to them, he believes they’re a danger to him. However, once you get him out of his shell, he’s very tender. He’d prioritize your comfort over his own just because he wants you to be happy and safe.

Abilities: ice manipulation

Likes: Books, the smell of coffee, winter, cats

Dislikes: being inconvenienced, being caught off guard, crowds, small talk

To the left is the younger brother, Maku Himura;

Age: 18

Race: Child of Death

Occupation: ((Menace to society— jk)) N/A

Appearance: Maku is about 5’6” (167.6 cm). Like his brother, he too is rather pale and thin. Maku has icy blue eyes, fangs, and pointed ears. His ears are a bit shorter than Sosuke’s and his fangs are a bit longer (he occasionally has a lisp because of this when he gets a little too hyped up.) he has tufty, silver hair which he parts in the middle. On top of his head are two cowlicks that lift his hair like cat ears. Maku is seen sporting leathers, spikes, ripped jeans, and converses. He is a huge fan of the punkrock-scene aesthetic.

Personality: if Sosuke is ice, Maku is fire. Maku prefers to act now and ask for forgiveness later. He’ll do anything for a bit of fun. He does what he wants, when he wants, and prefers life to feel like an adventure rather than a list. Maku has little regards for his own safety. This is how he shows he cares. If he’s attached to you, he’d throw himself into a vat of acid just to keep you safe. He would protect those he loves at any cost. With that said, he has little to no self preservation. Maku lacks the understanding that care and affection is a two way street and that people can care about *him* as well. He acts like he doesn’t care but it’s just his way of hiding the idea that, like everyone else, he’s soft on the inside. Like his brother, Maku tries not to feed often, though it’s not as altruistic as Sosuke’s reasons. Hurting others to keep himself alive kinda messes with him because he values others a lot and doesn’t value himself, like, at all.

Abilities: enhanced physical prowess (faster/stronger than most humans but lacks any magical capabilities)

Likes: cows (it’s a long story he has a pet cow), fizzy drinks, jelly filled doughnuts, loud music, trying new things

Dislikes: being bored, having to think things through, being lonely, the tufts on his head, the fact that he lisps when he gets to excited

#Maku Himura #Sosuke Himura #Demons #vampire #oc #anime and manga #original art #roleplay #backstory #my characters #oc rp #rp blog #god of death #creative writing #Kurai Jinhaku #character bio

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batmurdock · 2 years ago

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The Man Who Fell to Bajor

Heyyyooo. For those of you who enjoy @cineshemp ‘s delightful Vorta OC, Kieran - we have a treat for you! Behold the first few chapters of adventures between Kieran and his budding Bajoran pal [””], Kivak Fey. Below the cut are a couple chapters of original fic based off our concepts. Enjoy!

Chapter I: It's a God-Awful Small Affair...

“Huh.”

There was a puddle of holographic material sprawled out in the center of the desert, and inside that puddle were streaks of incandescent gold, and beyond all that, crumpled up, was the most delicate-looking person Kivak Fey had ever seen.

Shoving his goggles up to the top of his head, the Bajoran crouched down, all lanky limbs and wiry muscle under his layers of coverings, to better inspect the unexpected visitor.

It wasn’t every day on Bajor that people came flying out of the clear bronze yonder. In the midst of a solar storm meeting a sandstorm head-on to create shards of glass in the desert, there weren’t a lot of people, period — especially people like this — who tumbled down from on high.

At least you hoped not, otherwise, they were most likely quite dead.

A more spiritual person might’ve blamed — or praised — the prophets, but all Fey felt like doing was poking said person with a stick.

Not cruelly, mind - but he had learned long ago to keep most unknowns outside of artistic expression and exploration at arm’s length. Fey had absolutely no desire to get mixed up in things that might run the risk of him getting involved. With the Bajoran government or any other, with religious hypocrisy or - well, he could wander those thoughts all day, just like these dunes. Or he could actually set about to find a stick and try his hand [and improvised weapon] at defending his own curiosities.

He settled for a hand, softly nudging the shimmering shoulder till the being rolled over slightly with a groan. Fey froze, but nothing else followed. By all accounts, on their side in the little divot he’d made in the hushin grains, the little beast was very still.

They were alien, Fey decided — not from any part of Bajor, that much was for certain; not even the unpredictable and unruly Outback. Not Cardassia, nor other neighboring worlds - nothing and no one so colorful came from those places. Not that he knew for certain, of course.

But in wracking his mind for anything or anyone even vaguely-resembling his newfound friend-to-be [so Fey had, as he often did, idly decided], nothing came up. Never in his life had the artist seen anything along the lines of dainty purple ridges on the ears, nor ears of that shape, for that matter…not to mention a gently-lashing tail, the tufty end of which was nearly as purple as his ears — no. Darker, actually.

Actually, in one ear, an earring glittered, which gave Fey brief pause - but the make was far from Bajoran, the design much less elegantly-flowing. It was layered gold, the very brightest Fey had ever seen, much less worked with - and positively glowed in the low light of the shifting sand.

In scooting closer, Fey softened his touch as he moved away from the other’s shoulder, moving toward a pale throat — then hesitating. He didn’t even know what he’d be looking for. What if this traveler didn’t, y’know — have a pulse in their neck, or breathe through what Fey assumed was —

“You’re overthinking it,” Fey chided himself, scrunching his ridged nose before the rest of his face followed, screwed up in concentration. All he had to do was look for some sign of life — actually, not even that.

He didn’t have to do this.

His hand, still spattered with pigment, went still as he approached the other’s face.

He could walk away from this, actually. Whatever it was. Sign of the so-called Prophets. Discarded space rubbish. Lost soul, sans soul. No — that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Fey’s problem, was the thing. Could’ve not been a problem at all. Not his responsibility, either.

But he hadn’t wound up here by accident, Prophets or no. When he’d lost everything during the occupation - at the tender age of eight or so - he’d wound up in this seemingly-barren wasteland, the Outback, after a labor camp escape went [mostly] not at all to plan.

The artist-in-residence prior to him, Tivor Fareil, had passed him off as an apprentice before making good on his word. He knew places ‘round here that no solar, dust, or Cardassian storm could reach.

Down below them by hundreds of leagues lay the secrets of a race of survivors, after all - massive caverns that stretched for leagues, long-abandoned for the sake of mining ore elsewhere. Where there was no ore, there was no point, so believed many a Cardassian. And thus life survived, culture survived - the only way it knew how.

By hiding in the darkness, gathering dust.

But Tivor showed Fey a world wherein he had stored priceless relics - art dating back several decades; centuries, even, all from a once-proud community of artists that had since either been taken by the elements, returned to the Prophets, or…worse things by far.

Against his will, somehow, sympathy twisted and twanged beneath Fey’s breastbone.

It wasn’t that they had anything in common, he and this strange little being - in clothes so garishly mismatched, upon closer look, that Fey wondered if they hadn’t hit every laundry line on his way down from the stars.

It wasn’t that he was particularly young, either - small; yes, young, ish. He seemed - ageless in a way, Fey pondered, a finger slipping up and under bunched black curls. Tugging on one, almost on a whim, the Bajoran noted - speaking of stars, he supposed - just how littered with little marks the other was, all vaguely glimmery in the returning light that came as the Sister Storms departed.

In the settling dust, the sharp, curved wing of some wicked ship loomed in the distance. Its dorsal cut through the sandy grains, an elongated, obsidian thing that shone with steely indifference against Bajoran sunlight. The reddish hue of the sky had begun to dissipate somewhat, dulling back down from a burn mark to something much balmier and more welcoming.

In its peachy hues, the figure on the ground looked smaller than ever - spread against the sand, splayed away from a trail the dust had already dragged over, no doubt.

“‘And so from the shipwreck came a sailor,’” murmured Fey idly, tilting his head and crouching back down to inspect the figure for - he was losing count of how many times it was, actually. Maybe that was why he related to the stranger. They were two people dislodged by circumstance, shaken out to find their way despite all odds. It would end, no doubt, when the visitor awoke and demanded swift exit from a planet still in recovery from its war-torn ransacking.

Till then, however - Fey supposed they had both come this far.

Delicate fingers tugged back his lapels to look for more answers, careful not to jostle him - who knew if he’d been flung, now that he’d found this ship, or - perhaps he’d been a flying thing, shot down in his prime before taking his enemies with him…

Fey’s impatient humming stopped as his fingers struck something cold.

It wasn’t much, really. Just a pin on his jacket, some symbol that rang a vague bell in the back of the Bajoran’s mind. It was something powerful - rigid, ritualistic, and controlled. A direct contrast, Fey thought, to the person it’d been attached to. Fey, after a beat further of deliberation, finally plucked the thing free to hold it up to the light better, sniffing through the settling grit on his skin.

Up against the fading sunlight, the insignia turned out to be -

“Romulan,” he realized aloud, squinting a little. What in the name of Akorem Laan would anyone from Romulus be doing out here? Another huh nearly escaped him again, before he realized two things at once, shortly followed by a third.

One, the person - who very much wasn’t Romulan, despite his shiny badge - had in fact been breathing, though it’d been shallow and softly raspy enough Fey had initially lost it to the hissing of the reshaped dunes. Two, their eyes were as bright and ultraviolet as the ridges of their ears and the faint flush the sun had left against their skin and their ten-million-odd freckles littering their features.

The third thing Fey realized was that he probably should’ve moved away just a bit faster -

Before, with a snarl, the brightly-dressed trespasser whipped around, shook off a fine layer of Outback sand, and sank his teeth - sharp little teeth oozing with profuse amounts of slime - directly into his forearm.

Yeah, Fey decided in that instant, I definitely should’ve left well enough alone.

Chapter II: I’m the Space Invader...

There was a face above his face, and it was just a face to him.

Two eyes, two nostrils under a crinkled bridge, and a mouth set in a grimace. Comely, the Vorta supposed, in the way that most bipedal faces could be - no doubt appealing to the person’s own species, much like the Vorta were meant to appeal to everyone.

At least, that was what Kieran had been taught, as his fellow Vorta in the cloning center adorned him with garments and spoke to him with the sweetness of deliberate genetic modification - machinery of any kind never ran so smoothly as when it did by means of Vorta “magic” - they wove a symphony on silver tongues that never once carried a tune, but did so by design.

And it was all meant to go so well, until they sent him to the coldest, grayest, and most unforgiving world Kieran could’ve imagined, had he been defective enough to dream of such things. Therein he was assigned a charge - a Romulan of the Tal Shiar variety; an unparalleled and ruthless intelligence agency meant to partner with the Dominion for -

Things Kieran couldn’t have fathomed anyway. It was above his��pay grade, as one of the Terran visitors had put it - with a snide smile on his face and a little look of knowing in his cold blue eyes that had made the fur running down Kieran’s back bristle with unease.

But he only reported on what he had to report, which wasn’t much of anything. The Tal Shiar did this, the Senate did that, the days were slate-gray and structured to the point of teary boredom, but he didn’t know, exactly, what else he could’ve been searching for.

Service to the Founders had been written into his genes, after all - born to worship, made to serve, that alone should’ve been fulfilling. None of his other brothers and sisters seemed to struggle with it. They would detonate their implants at a moment’s notice if they had to, succumb to the mercy of their own brief tenancy of whatever planet they occupied, and protect the Founders. Uphold the Dominion. They would close their eyes, open their arms, and embrace the relentless phaser-fire of Jem’Hadar if they deemed them unworthy.

But Kieran couldn’t settle. He could do his job, sure, but he couldn’t [and perhaps…wouldn’t] settle for something so mundane and empty.

That was what it was, it was empty.

His Tal Shiar host – whose name he must’ve suppressed, or he was more rattled by his descent to an enemy planet than he’d previously considered – had been…bemused, Kieran thought, by his seemingly endless list of demands that he knew had to make no sense whatsoever to a being of such order, organization, and deliberate construct.

He had a series of Klingon operas downloaded to his padd. He’d had every type of cushion available within the compound that served as his…associate’s house sent to his quarters. He’d had jumbo mollusks to gnash his teeth on, finding the shells more satisfying to whittle down with his mandibles than their slimy insides.

And by night, when the debriefing was done and the screens black and glossy as places the stars couldn’t reach, Kieran, [redacted] of his Line, sat and stared out the window, fuming.

Fuming, because he felt like he still couldn’t get it quite right.

And then, one day - a day both long before he met the face hanging over him in the desert, and indeed, a day like any other, as far as he could tell when he roused himself in a trashed room full of half-bitten mugs, shells, and other discarded ornamentation -

Weyoun 6 defected.

It was chaos after that. Unpredictable, unbridled chaos the likes of which none of them had ever seen. Trusted allies began to shoot sideways glances at the Vorta who had been innocently attached at the hip to leaders all over the Alpha Quadrant. The window through to the other side of the galaxy was closed; well-sealed, even so, without so much as a shadow of negotiable entry in the foreseeable future.

Maybe by some inane, long-buried instinct, Kieran could feel the walls closing in. He refused to be cornered. He refused to be the first to fall, but similarly, he refused to be someone the Tal Shiar turned on and, in turn, tortured.

He had, after all, seen what they could do.

Which was why and how he’d wound up here, with his mouth wrapped ‘round so many filthy, leathery layers of fabric that he felt as though he might’ve bitten into nothing more than garbage - garbage adorning a man so tall he seemed to blot out the sun of the world he was on, all golden-rimmed and glistening. Sandy grit clung to him like crystallization, and for a moment, due to the hue and how the harsh glow still burned his sensitive eyes, the Vorta had wildly thought a Founder had, well.

Found him.

No Founder would’ve worn such rags, however - nor been half as solid when sunken into like this. He hadn’t managed to pierce skin, and hauled off to make an effort to do so again before the giant staggered back and made some kind of sound.

And then another, and a few more, and that was when Kieran realized more than just the name of his former accomplice had been knocked loose in his less-than-gentle emergency landing.

On the contrary, it seemed his translator had - malfunctioned.

Fucking perfect.

“Boryhas?” The man asked, in a voice warm and low - only a little annoyed, apparently, as he inspected his now-slobbered-on sleeve. Kieran narrowed his eyes - the blazing sky hurt - and grit his teeth, back bristling. I will not be cornered.

“I can’t understand you,” he replied, annoyed - raspy voice made that much grittier thanks to the fiery descent he’d had, no doubt. How much of the fuel cell’s ejected and burned centers had he actually inhaled? “And if I have to take a wild guess, you can’t understand me.” One hand reached up, wiping the dust from his face as the planet’s occupant surveyed him. Kieran struggled upright, legs shaking profusely, and forced himself to remain so, tail lashing impatiently behind him.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, inhaling, “understand me or not, I must be on my way.” He took a single step, however, and sank in up to his hip with a squeak. There was a snort behind him, and with an indignant burn of lavender cheeks, the Vorta realized the crusty bastard was laughing at him.

“This isn’t funny,” he snapped, seething as he rounded once more on the taller man, “it hurts out here.” The laughter died away instantly, and Kieran had the wildest hope that perhaps he’d finally been understood.

“...Tas’veir?” The man asked, and Kieran’s shoulders sagged, lower lip protruding with a thrust of frustration. Pointy eyeteeth sucked the anatomy back into place, and, drawing in a breath, the Vorta raised clawed hands to stave off any further attempts. He didn’t need any other complications, frankly. He was tired enough as it was.

“Veir Kivak Fey,” the man said - and placed both hands to his own chest. “Kivak Fey,” he said again, in that voice like a flickering flame. After a cold world of uneasy humming and steely indifference, it was a strange thing. Fire in a desert should’ve been far more unforgiving. Kieran shivered in spite of himself, shielding his face with both hands. The man was still backlit - and coming closer.

“Stay back,” he hissed warningly, one finger upraised, “the Dominion won’t be happy if–” the finger curled.

The old lie felt sour in his mouth, now.

They hadn’t cared. They didn’t care. That was why Weyoun 6 had - left, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that he was defective. It was…it was…

Veering dangerously close to the truth, all Kieran could do was stand there in a daze - feeling the coolest little breeze rustle over him as, with a flinch, he jarred back to the present in time to find the stranger who’d discovered him unsheathe some sort of contraption from his belt - producing handheld shade in the form of an intricate bronze webbing which deflected the sun.

In their pocket of darkness, under what most closely-resembled a parasol plant from a planet Kieran remembered only from distant readings - he peered up at the other with suspicion, teeth still slightly-bared.

The man, he realized, up close and in the serenity of shadows, was a Bajoran. Bajor, one of their greatest threats, the jewel in the crown the Cardassians lost, and continued losing. Especially with Weyoun 6 performing what could only be considered a cardinal sin, perhaps as his clone’s direct reflection of the leadership he served -

Speculation wasn’t Kieran’s forte. Anger was. Anger got things done. Deliberate, focused, driven anger which, with nowhere to go on Romulus, led to destructive tendencies.

Perhaps the golden Warbird smoking underneath the sand back there was his piece de resistance. Something he’d heard well before everything in his life had seemingly gone haywire, at any rate.

A gentle hand found his shoulder. Kieran shrugged it away immediately, a warning glare in one amethyst eye. The taller man sighed, then shifted around him, passing him the long-sticked parasol, pointing instead in the direction of a few tall dunes, in which - if he squinted; painfully so - Kieran could make out something of a geometrical structure. A hovel, perhaps.

A home.

“Bas’ra?” The man motioned with his head toward the house in the distance. “U balik?” A thumb jutting over his shoulder suggested they’d part ways.

Not liking either option particularly much, Kieran debated simply flopping over in the sand again. Self-destructively.

But he was tired. He was wrecked. He had nowhere to go, no one to understand, and certainly not a species left in this quadrant he could trust.

“Fine,” he said under his breath, and felt the other man heft him out of the sand with a gentle nudge of his leg against the Vorta’s trapped own, “but don’t think this means I owe you anything.”

Though the man surely didn’t understand him, and though his eyes were bad, Kieran swore he caught him smiling.

#sorry most of my Bajoran is speculative linguistic derivatives #but also please enjoy our boys!!#Kieran belongs to cineshemp #Fey belongs to moi #if you need a visual just picture scruffy/longer-hair Patrick Swayze and you're halfway there #deep space nine ocs #star trek ocs #original writing #my writing #my stuff #OUR STUFF COMRADE /shakes Nic's hand

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butterfrogmantis · 3 years ago

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Marco x tufty head canons please?

Ah my hard headed beloveds XD

-They first interacted properly as adults when Tuffy was bragging about his prowess (despite having lost a wrestle with Hefty earlier). Marco has been through some sh*t by this time and quite quickly puts him in place with snippets of his own adventures on the high seas. Tuffy, now in awe of what he considers a real life hero in front of him, very quickly jumps ship (haha) from pining after Hefty to constantly hanging around Marco. He found it annoying at first, but it became sort of endearing after a while of getting to know him

-Tuffy is one of two Smurfs, the other being Marco's best friend Dreamy, that has seen Marco without his eyepatch. Marco hates recounting the tale of how he got his scars, but does trust Tuffy enough to tell him after being caught patch-less one day. Despite Marco's embarrassment, Tuffy thinks he looks seriously badass.

-Tuffy likes to act like he's all that but he's a softie behind closed doors XD Defo a cuddler

-Marco's found that the best way to calm Tuffy down when he's belligerent or tipsy is to wrap him like a burrito in a blanket. Tuffy dost protest too much but it always works

-Despite loving Marco, Tuffy is still somewhat intimidated by him and this occasionally results in instinct kicking in and causing him to call Marco 'sir' formally. This confuses the hell out of Marco and he's not sure if he likes it or not but does find it amusing never the less.

#smurfs #marcoxtuffy #butterverse asks

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ask-ethari-anything · 4 years ago

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Ethari I was wondering could I dare you to tell us an angsty story?

*wholesome chuckle* Trying to outwit a Moonshadow elf during a full Moon? I applaud your ambition, love!

If it's dares you wish to ask, please see my husband--if he's visible, that is. I also prefer to spend the full Moon having fun, but my sense of fun only has some overlap with Runaan's.

But I can have fun with an angsty story. That's not illegal. Not tonight, anyway!

Once upon a time, I set out into the forest to pick up some tasty fruits for a surprise picnic for Runaan. Tethu was very eager to ride out with me, the air was nice and crisp with a warm breeze, and I had my favorite scarf on.

But a moonsquirrel darted out in front of Tethu soon after we left the Silvergrove and challenged him over a fallen nut, and Tethu sneezed in surprise and slipped on a wet rock near the stream and hurt his front left foot. So I decided to walk beside him instead. That changed the menu since some things were suddenly too far out of range, and I got angsty over it. Bumbleberries make for a very nice smoothie, and suddenly I was having to settle for quintzes instead. That's just not the same, not at all.

Then I pricked my finger on a sourthorn bush. Do that and you'll be tasting lemons in the back of your mouth for hours.

Then a molting puffball exploded right near my boots and got them all coated in spores and gave Tethu a coughing fit, and when I tried to wipe them off with a soft shammyleaf, the leaf curled up on me and growled because it was freshly bonded with its assassin wasp partner. And I know better than to mess with an assassin's partner, no matter the species.

And then we had to sneak past two warring nests of yammerbeetles--I say "sneak" but you couldn't have heard me if I'd played my lute and marched at the head of a hundred-elf band, the way those beetles were trying to out-rap each other--and I tried to hop across a stream while holding Tethu's supply basket so he didn't have to, and, well... I couldn't hear the passing elfatee's warning rumble over the yammerbeetles, and she slammed right into my shins and toppled me and my basket right into the stream! I got soaked, and all my fruity goodies floated away!

The elfatee grumbled something unrepeatable at me and swam away, and I sat up to my chest in the cold stream for almost a minute before I realized that my favorite scarf had washed away!

"No, Tethu, my scarf," I groaned. "It was my favorite!" I buried my face in my hands and tried not to cry. Tethu flopped down beside me to commiserate my horrible luck, but when I tried to lean against his warmth, he floated away downstream. My best boy just drifted away, and I felt very alone, and very cold and wet.

I managed to get out of the stream and sit on the bank, but that just made me start to shiver. I felt very miserable as I thought about the long walk back home.

Then I heard a soft rumble, and something nudged my shoulder. It was Tethu, standing in the stream, holding my lost scarf gently in his mouth for me. My best boy had floated off down the stream to fetch it back for me, even though his foot hurt!

Well, then I did burst into tears. I threw my arms around his wet feathery neck and sobbed for a minute, because even though I was having the worst day, I wasn't having it alone.

He shook himself dry--and got me extra wet in the process--and then we started trudging for home with nothing to show for our hours of effort except aches and pains and chills. I was extra grumpy because there's not much that my little enchantments can do about being cold. But then, I spotted something that did cheer me up just a little.

A fluffershroom! A great puffball that can grow as tall as an elf when it's ripe and ready to burst. They look like someone enchanted a star plum to giant proportions. If they've popped and released their seeds, their shells make fine impromptu shelters from passing rainstorms, and the filaments inside them are well known for their water-wicking properties. Moonshadow elves use them in everything from tents to tunics to keep ourselves dry, and it works really well unless we've fallen into a whole stream or something.

I tapped the fluffershroom's shell to see if it was ripe, perchance, and did my best to sense its maturity. It was very nearly ready to pop, but when I knocked, it just sat there like a rock.

My one chance to get warm and dry again, foiled by a stubborn fungus? I don't think so.

I whipped open my tool belt and dropped a very pointed enchantment onto my little jeweler's file and had a very sudden interaction with the fluffershroom's shell. *ahem* I may have yelled at it, too... Not my proudest moment. However, as all my enchantments do, it worked like a charm. *chuckles* Worked a little too well, in fact.

All of the fluffershroom's fluffy purple seeds burst through the shell directly toward me! I couldn't see a thing for a few seconds, but I felt like I was getting wrapped in feathers. When I could see again--barely--I saw Tethu blinking in shock beside me, absolutely swarmed with giant purple tufted seeds about three feet long apiece, like a soft and fluffy hedgehog. And I was very tufty, too!

The seeds absorbed all the water that had drenched us, and we were toasty warm as we made our way home. Of course, the seeds stuck to us pretty firmly, but at that point, I'd given up on having any sort of normal day. I danced my way into the Silvergrove covered in long purple seed filaments, marched up to my home, and started pulling the seeds off of Tethu's fur and stacking them in bundles for later--waste not, want not!

And then Runaan came downstairs, looking worried and geared up to go looking for me. The way his expression softened when he saw me warmed the last cold places in my heart.

"Ethari, have you been having adventures without me?" he asked softly, as he knelt beside me and began to pull the long seeds off of my horns.

"I didn't mean to have any adventures at all," I assured him. "I was only trying to surprise you."

"Well, my precious seedmaster," Runaan said, parting the seed fluff so he could lean in and kiss me, "consider me surprised."

I had to hug him right that instant. He yelped as he vanished inside my purple fluffy embrace, but he snuggled in and started pulling more seeds off of me, until he finally pronounced me seedless again. Then we helped Tethu get all seedless too, and brushed and groomed him until he purred himself to sleep.

Runaan made me hot tea and fetched some moonberry tarts and listened to my recounting of all my disasters, and in the end, we had an impromptu picnic right there on the floor, safe and sound at home, in the best and softest of company.

#ask ethari #angst with a happy ending #story time #ruthari #soft elf husbands #tethu is best boi

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homemade-potato · 4 years ago

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shit i forgot to say like a week ago

Here’s chapter two, have fun reading or smthn

Chapter one for those of you who are too lazy to go back (bcs same)

and here it is below the cut (i know, i’m putting effort in today)

This chapter was surprisingly short compared to the last one lmao, it's only seven pages compared to the last one's nine and it's 1500 words shorter which is good for me, but it was still a surprise.

Anyway, enjoy!

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had barely changed. The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the uniform brass number four on the Dursley’s front door; it crept into their living room which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr Dursley had seen the fateful news report about owls. Only the photographs had changed, ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink boy wearing different-coloured bobble hats. But Dudley Dursely was no longer a baby, now the photographs showed a large blonde boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the travelling fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. The room held no sign of there being another boy living in the house.

Yes, Harry Potter was still there, he hadn’t been abandoned on the front step of an orphanage no matter how much his aunt wanted to do so, he was asleep at the moment, but not for long. His aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice which made the first sound of the day.

‘Up! Get up! Now!’

Harry woke with a start, his aunt rapped on the door again.

‘Up!’ She screeched. Harry heard her making her way to the kitchen and then the sound of a frying pan being pulled from its wrack and put on the cooker. He rolled back on his and tried to remember the dream he had been having, it had been a good one. There had been a flying motorbike in it. He had a funny feeling he’d had the same dream before.

His aunt was back outside his door. ‘Are you up yet?’ she demanded.

‘Nearly,’ said Harry.

‘Well hurry up, I want you to look at the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on Duddy’s birthday.’

Harry groaned.

‘What did you say?’ His aunt snapped through the door.

‘Nothing, nothing...’

Dudley’s birthday - how could he have forgotten? Harry eased himself off of his small mattress and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his mattress and, after pulling a spider off one of them, he put them on. Harry was used to spiders because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

When he was dressed he went down the hall to the kitchen. The table was almost hidden with presents of varying sizes. It looked as if Dudley had got the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Why Dudley wanted a racing bike was anyone’s guess, as Dudley hated exercise - unless of course, it involved beating up somebody. Dudley’s favourite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn’t catch him more often than not. He didn’t look like it, but Harry was very fast.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard for the better part of his life but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age and he looked even more small and skinny than he was because he was forced to wear Dudley’s old clothes and Dudley was about four times larger than he was, in both width and height. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore wire-framed round glasses held together with a lot of sellotape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry really liked about his appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead shaped like a lightning bolt, he thought it looked very badass and had had it for as long as he could remember. The first question he could remember asking was asking his Aunt Petunia how he got it.

‘In a car crash when your parents died,’ she had replied before saying, ‘and don’t ask questions.’

Don’t ask questions - that was the first rule to a peaceful life with the Dursleys, if he didn’t obey that rule…. Well, we’ll get into that later.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon. ‘Comb your hair!’ He barked as a way of a morning greeting. About once a week, Uncle Vernon peered over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, yet there was never any difference, his hair simply grew all over the place.

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother, Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon - he had a large pink face, not much neck, small watery eyes, and thick blonde hair on his head which he inherited from his Aunt Petunia. She often said Dudley looked like a baby angel, Harry thought he looked like a pig in a wig.

Harry put the plates of bacon and eggs on the table, which was quite difficult as presents took up most of the space. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting them. His face fell.

‘Thirty-six,’ he said looking up at his parents, ‘that’s two less than last year.’

‘Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Maggie’s present, see, it’s under this big present from Mummy and Daddy.’

‘Alright, thirty-seven then,’ said Dudley, going red in the face. Harry, who felt a huge Dudley-tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley flipped the table.

Aunt Petunia obviously smelled danger too, as she said quickly, ‘And we’ll buy you two more presents while we’re out today. How does that sound, Popkin? Two more presents, is that all right?’

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work, Harry thought. Finally, he said slowly, ‘So, I’ll have thirty… thirty…’

‘Thirty-nine, sweetums,’ said Aunt Petunia.

‘Oh,’ Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel, ‘okay then.’

Uncle Vernon chuckled. ‘Little tyke wants his money’s worth, just like his father. Atta boy, Dudley!‘ He ruffled Dudley’s hair.

At that moment, the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went up to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley a racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new video games, and a video recorder. He was ripping the wrapping paper off of a golden wristwatch when Aunt Petunia walked back into the room looking like she’d just eaten a lemon.

‘Bad news, Vernon,’ she said, Mrs Figg’s broken her leg, she can’t take him.’ She jerked her head in Harry’s direction.

Dudley’s mouth fell open in horror but Harry’s heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley’s birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure and theme parks, hamburger bars, or the cinema. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away, Harry hated going there, the whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Fiigg forced him to look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned. The only part of going to her house he enjoyed, was when she offered him stale cake and tea about halfway through his visit. The lavender scent of the fondant flowers on top of the cake was always so calming. The bittersweet of the flower’s taste never failed to relax him and then, somehow, he didn’t mind learning about her cats with heavy eyes under the heavy scent of lavender and the heavy, sleep-inducing taste of the tea.

‘Now what?’ said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at Harry as though he’d planned this. Harry knew he should be sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn’t easy when he reminded himself that it would be a whole year before he had to look at Mr Tibbles, Snowy, Snowball, Mr Paws, Tufty, Smokey, Misty, and Coco again.

‘We could phone Marge,’ Uncle Vernon suggested.

‘Don’t be silly, Vernon, she’d kill the boy.’

The Durselys often spoke about Harry like this, as though he wasn’t there - or rather, as though he was something very nasty and beneath them, like a slug.

‘What about whats-her-name, your friend, Yvonne?’

‘On holiday in Majorca,’ snapped Aunt Petunia.

‘You could just leave me here,’ Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch the television and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer).

Aunt Petunia looked like she’d swallowed another lemon. ‘And come back and find this house in ruins?’ She snarled.

‘I won’t blow up the house,’ said Harry, but they weren’t listening.

‘I suppose we could take him to the zoo,’ said Aunt Petunia slowly, ‘and leave him in the car.’

‘The car’s new, he’s not sitting in it alone.’

Dudley began to cry loudly, in fact, he wasn’t crying. It had been years since he’d properly cried, but he knew if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

‘Dinky Duddyums, don’t cry, mummy won’t let him spoil your birthday!’ She cried, flinging her arms around him in a comforting hug.

‘I… Don’t… Want…. Him… T-To come!’ Dudley wailed between huge pretend sobs, ‘He always s-spoils everything!’ He sent Harry a nasty smile through a gap in his mother’s arms.

Just then the doorbell rang - ‘Oh Good Lord, they’re here already!’ said Aunt Petunia frantically and a moment later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polikss, walked in with his mother, Piers was a scrawny boy with a face like a rat - he was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. Dudley stopped pretending to cry immediately.

Half an hour later, Harry couldn’t believe his luck, he was sitting in the back of the Dursely’s car with Piers and Dudley on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life! His aunt and uncle hadn’t been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they’d left, Uncle Vernon had pulled Harry aside. ‘I’m warning you,’ he’d threatened, putting his large purple face up close to Harry’s, ‘I’m warning you now, boy, any funny business and you’ll be in that cupboard from now ‘til Christmas.’

‘I’m not going to do anything,’ said Harry, ‘honestly.’

But Uncle Vernon didn’t believe him, No one ever did.

The problem was, strange things happened around Harry and it was just no good telling the Dursleys he didn’t make it happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, tired of Harry coming back from the barbers looking as though he hadn’t been at all, had taken a pair of craft scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald bar his fringe which she’d left to ‘cover his horrible scar’. Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry who’d spent a sleepless night tossing and turning imagining the kids at school pointing and laughing at him, he was already laughed at for his baggy clothes and Sellotaped glasses. The next morning, however, he awoke to find his hair exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had shorn it off. He’d been given a week in his cupboard with one small meal a day for that, even though he tried to explain, he couldn’t explain how it had grown back so quickly.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had tried to force him into a revolting old jumper of Dudley’s (burgundy with bright orange bobbles), but the more she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it became until it would have better fitted a sock puppet, but definitely wouldn’t have fit Harry. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk in the wash and, to his great relief, Harry wasn’t punished.

On the other hand, he’d got into terrible trouble for being found on the roof of the school kitchen. Dudley’s gang had been chasing him as usual when, much to Harry’s surprise, there he was sitting on the chimney. The Dursleys had received a very angry letter from Harry’s headmistress telling them Harry had been climbing school buildings. But all he’d tried to do (as he shouted to Uncle Vernon through the slats in his locked cupboard door) was jump behind the big bins outside the kitchen. Harry supposed that the wind must have caught him mid-jump.

But today, nothing could go wrong. It was even worth being with Dud ley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn’t school, his cupboard, or Mrs Figgs cabbage smelling home.

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia, he liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were a few of his favourites. This morning, the subject was motorbikes.

‘Bloody bikers roaring along like maniacs, the young hooligans,’ he said as a motorbike overtook them.

‘I had a dream about a motorbike,’ said Harry to himself, remembering suddenly, ‘it was flying.’

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed the car, he turned in his seat and yelled ‘MOTORBIKES DON’T FLY!’

Dudley and Piers sniggered.

‘I know they don’t,’ said Harry, ‘it was only a dream.’

But he wished he hadn’t said anything, if there was one thing the Dursleys hated more than him asking questions, it was him talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn’t, no matter if it were a dream or a cartoon. They seemed to think he would get dangerous ideas.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams and then because the smiling lady in the van asked what Harry wanted before they could hurry on, they bought him a cheap lemon ice lolly. It wasn’t bad either, Harry thought, licking it while they watched a gorilla scratching its head. The gorilla looked remarkably like Dudley, except it wasn’t blonde.

Harry had the best morning he’d had in a long time, though he was careful to walk a safe distance away from Dudley and Piers, who were getting bored of the animals by lunchtime, so they wouldn’t fall back into their habit of using him as a punching bag. They ate in the zoo restaurant and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory wasn’t big enough, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish off the first.

Harry felt afterwards that he should have known it was too good to last.

After lunch, they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all sorts of snakes and lizards were crawling and slivering over bits of wood and stone. Dudley and Piers wanted to see the huge poisonous cobras and thick man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon’s car and crushed it into a dust bin - but at the moment, it didn’t look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the brown coils.

‘Make it move,’ he whined at his father. Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass but the snake didn’t budge. ‘Do it again,’ Dudley ordered and Uncle Vernon rapped on the glass smartly with his knuckles once more, but the snake snoozed on. ‘This is boring,’ Dudley moaned and he shuffled away.

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had died of boredom. It had no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It must be worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom where the only visitor he got was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake him up, but at least he got to visit the rest of the house, he thought.

The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until its eyes were on level with Harry’s.

It winked.

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone else was watching, they weren’t, he looked towards the tank once more and winked back.

The snake jerked its head towards Dudley and Uncle Vernon then raised its eyes towards the ceiling as if to say 'I get that all the time.'

‘ I know, ’ Harry murmured through the glass, although he wasn’t too sure that the snake could hear him. ‘It must be so annoying.’

The snake nodded vigorously.

‘Where do you come from anyway?’ Harry asked.

The snake jerked its tail at the little sign next to the glass. Harry stared at it.

Boa Constrictor

Brazil

‘Was it nice there?’

The boa constrictor once again jerked it's tail at the sign again and Harry read on

This specimen was bred in captivity

‘Oh, so you’ve never been to Brazil?’

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump. ‘DUDLEY, MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING’

Dudley came waddling towards them from the lizard section as fast as he could. ‘Out of the way, you,’ he said, punching Harry in the gut. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What happened next happened so fast no one saw what happened - one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning with their noses on the glass, the next, they leapt back with screams of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped, the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake began uncoiling itself rapidly before slithering out onto the floor. Harry could have sworn he heard a low hissing voice that said ‘ Brazil here I come… obrigada amiga.’

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. ‘But the glass,’ he kept saying, ‘where did the glass go?’

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a strong cup of tea while he apologised over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry could tell, the snake hadn’t done anything but snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudey was telling them how it had nearly bitten off his leg. But worst of all for Harry at least, Piers was calming down enough to say ‘Harry was talking to it, weren’t you, Harry?’ With a smirk on his obnoxious face.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could barely speak. All he could manage to say was ‘Go - cupboard - stay - no meals,’ before he collapsed in a chair and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard days later, his stomach rumbling and wishing he had a watch. He didn’t know what time it was and he couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen to get some food before the Dursleys were asleep.

He’d lived with the Durselys for almost eleven years, eleven long miserable years. He’d been with them for as long as he could remember, ever since his parents had died in a car crash. He couldn’t remember being in a car when his parents had died, but sometimes, when he strained his memory during the long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he assumed, was the crash, though he couldn’t imagine where all the green light came from, a traffic light maybe. He couldn’t remember his parents at all, his aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and, of course, they forbade him from asking questions.

There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he was younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation, an aunt or uncle or cousin from his father’s side to whisk him away, but it had never happened; the Durselys were the only family. Yet sometimes he hoped that the strangers on the street that seemed to know him would do just that, take him away. Although they were very strange strangers, so he thought not. For example, and a tiny old man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping, Aunt Petunia, after asking Harry and Dudley if they knew him, had rushed them out of the Tescos without buying anything, the small half-loaf of bread that Harry had stuffed under his huge shirt for just in case aside. A wild-looking woman dressed in all green had once waved merrily at him on the bus. A bald man in a very long purple cloak had shaken his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. the weirdest thing about these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Harry attempted to get a closer look.

At school, however, Harry had no one. Everybody knew that Dudley’s gang hated that odd Harry Potter in his baggy old clothes and broken glasses, and nobody liked to disagree with Dudley’s gang, they had a reign of terror in the playground that all were too scared of them to try and overthrow them. However their reign would be coming to an end soon as they go to secondary school.

#fanfiction #rewriting harry potter #not much changed from this chapter actually #fanfic #harry potter #fix-it fic

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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ESSAY: Fabulous Hair and Other Character Design Fundamentals

Hello everyone, and welcome back to Why It Works. With the fall season in full swing, I’ve at last found time to actually watch some new shows and start to appreciate the finer details of these interesting productions. And in Burn the Witch’s case, that appreciation is mostly pointed in one particular direction: protagonist Ninny Spangcole’s seemingly overindulgent, yet ultimately fabulous hairstyle.

Seriously, it’s easy to overlook if you’re just following the story, but take a moment to break down the finer points of Ninny’s hair. She starts off with those bushy, overflowing bangs, ideal for emphasizing dramatic comments with an aggressive thrust into her opponent’s face. Those bangs are complemented by angular red clips that lead into her true masterpiece: twin ponytails with both upward- and downward-facing components, with tufty top tails that bounce merrily when she runs (something the show's introduction is eager to emphasize), and long descending tails that essentially act as a stylish cape. Ninny’s hair is an imposing statement of purpose, an expression of her personality that gives you an idea of her character even before she starts speaking.

It’s not surprising to see a Tite Kubo character with a great design. Heck, Kubo’s character designs might be his greatest strength — and in Ninny’s case, it’s clear to see the roots of her look in several other characters. Ichigo’s defiantly overhanging bangs, Hiyori’s expressive tufts of hair, and then a little bit of Evangelion's Asuka Langley Soryu in the inclusion of those red barrettes. The overall effect conveys confidence, aggression, childishness, and a clear eye for fashion — additionally, the inherently buoyant nature of her hairstyle means it acts as an extension of her character acting, with her bouncing fox tufts and aggressively overflowing bangs all helping to emphasize her emotions.

In short, Ninny’s hair alone demonstrates that Tite Kubo’s still got a remarkable talent for character design, and fully understands how a great design can set a story’s tone, or elevate its drama. In a visual medium like anime, our initial visual impression of a character is crucial in establishing our relationship with them. An evocative design can convey full scenes worth of characterization, establishing their priorities and lifestyle, self-image, relationship with other characters, or much else besides.

Absent the acute specificity of live-action faces, anime recreates personal identity through expressive, larger-than-life flourishes: a signature jacket, an iconic hairstyle, a favorite accessory, etc. Not all stories have time to flesh out all their characters, but every character still has a design, and thus is still able to express and assert their identity. Great manga artists and animators understand the significance of this — if you’re not using your character designs to express something true to those characters’ nature, then you are abandoning one of the core tools of visual storytelling. From their (hopefully dynamic) profiles to the specific way they fit in their clothes, every character design choice is meaningful — and if you don’t intentionally design your characters to tell the audience something, the audience will still learn something, it just won’t be what you intended.

Of course, this doesn’t mean every character demands a wildly complicated design that tells us everything about them from moment one. Not only would that look absurdly busy, it’s also not particularly realistic — many people keep their feelings concealed and character design can be as much about what people are concealing as what they are revealing. Additionally, character designs are one of the easiest ways to create a sense of cohesion and internal reality within a narrative; so while stories like JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure are content to establish a world where everyone expresses themselves through fantastical fashion choices — more reserved, realistic stories must find different ways for characters to visually express themselves.

But even in shows with more reserved, cohesive designs, it’s clear how much thought goes into the relationship between personality and design. Take one of my favorite shows, Sound! Euphonium, for example. Even though every character in that show wears the same uniform, and adheres to a relatively grounded set of aesthetic standards, their hair alone frequently conveys a great deal about their character. Kumiko’s wild curls echo her slapdash and frequently overwhelmed nature, Reina’s long, black hair is as regal as it is intimidating, and Mizore wilts behind her bangs, often hiding behind the curtains of her own face. Through hair alone, this ostensibly grounded character drama is able to consistently illustrate the fundamentals of its characters, helping the audience to understand them in a manner that circumvents conscious language.

I’m sure your own favorite shows also benefit from the illustrative potential of character design. From live-action films to animated shows, visually-driven media must be constructed with an understanding of how people visually assess their surroundings, offering clues in both the background and character design in order to facilitate the viewer’s understanding of the story. Great character designs can make us instantly fall in love with a character, or fear them, or see them as a natural friend. They embody both anime’s visual diversity and its emotive potential; great animated stories begin with great character designs.

What do your own favorite character designs say about those characters? Let us know in the comments!

Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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uovoc · 5 years ago

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Jon does his best, but he’s still only human. Well, humanish. Based on a true human. They can have omniscience, or they can have Jon, but not both at the same time. Consequently, Jon still has that most human of traits: he makes mistakes.

Case in point: the merry horde of flesh-creatures having the time of their lives chasing two grubby Englishmen across the rolling countryside. It's probably karmic payback for all the foxhunting that used to happen here.

"Are you sure," Martin puffs, "that you haven't got any karate moves" – gasp, pant, leap over a small bush – "stuffed into your brain somewhere?"

Also on AO3

Out of all the fears, Martin decides, Beholding is the most fucking useless one to have as a patron. All right, Elias was legitimately scary, but even he had other people do his dirty work for him. The Eye is all well and good for evil masterminding, but when it comes to practical skills? Nothing! Nada! Not a lick of actual, useful powers when you need them.

This is not a judgment upon Jon in any way. Jon has been doing his best. He warns them about the upcoming crap they have to deal with and whether any given stopping place is likely to kill them within the next 10 minutes. God knows they wouldn't have been able to make it this far without him acting as their tour guide. Martin refuses to credit Beholding for their continued existence. That has all been Jon, cracking open his door again and again to let in the oncoming tide. No, Beholding would have been perfectly happy to let them burn in whichever circle of hell they stumbled into first. It would have been happy to let Martin burn, anyway.

"Are you sure," Martin puffs, "that you haven't got any karate moves" – gasp, pant, leap over a small bush – "stuffed into your brain somewhere?"

Jon gulps and nods. His state of relative invulnerability has not, unfortunately, improved his base level of physical conditioning. He died an office monkey, and now he lives again as an escaped office monkey. No rippling abs for this avatar.

In contrast, the things chasing them have rippling abs out the wazoo. They also evidently have never skipped leg day, or arm day for that matter. Brain day does not seem to have made it into their training schedule, though. Jon had tried to do his Archivist bit when they had first attracted the attention of the gang, but had run into an impenetrable wall of blank stupidity. The whole debacle has Jared Hopworth written all over it.

Martin and Jon pelt over a rise in the land and the sloping meadow opens up ahead of them. They’re treated to a lovely view of gold-green field peppered with taller tufty bits, complete with a second band of flesh creatures coming round to cut them off in front. Despite being too brainless for statements, the things apparently can still execute strategic maneuvers. There is just no justice in the world anymore.

Jon and Martin stumble to a halt. From behind them comes the rumble of meaty hands and feet hitting dirt as the rest of the pack catches up. Jesus, they’re even waxed. Martin frantically flips through his mental catalog of their packs, searching for something combat-worthy. Matches? Dental floss? Beside him, Jon has gone very still as he draws upon his own resources. Martin feels a telltale prickling on the back of his neck, and the static rises around them like pressure in an airplane cabin.

The flesh horde senses an avatar at work and hesitates. The static builds until Martin can barely think. He stuffs his fingers in his ears and braces.

Static.

More static.

Static with a side of static.

He glances over at Jon, who has beads of sweat standing out on his face. "Any minute now," yells Martin.

The horde shuffles uncertainly. They've lost their initial wariness and are edging closer. When none of them are immediately blasted into smithereens, they start to move in for real.

We need to get out of here, Martin thinks desperately as the wall of glistening biceps begins to blot out the sky. We need to leave–

Martin grabs Jon's arm. The flesh horde lunges. Martin steps in, pulling Jon with him. The horde closes on empty space.

Their prey is gone.

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

The static fades by degrees. Martin gradually loosens his grip and lets Jon extract his face from being smushed into Martin's torso. They have not been torn from limb to limb. They are no longer in the rolling green hills. Instead they are… Somewhere. Here.

Martin runs through their litany of usual checks.

“No injuries here. You?”

“I’m-I’m fine too.”

"Are we in immediate danger?"

"… No."

"Is there anything in the vicinity that could cause us harm?"

"Nn... Probably not. Not right away."

Are we safe, Martin wants to ask, but he knows the answer to that one. The best he can hope for is to be safe for now.

For now, they are standing in a place. Looking up, he sees blank white brightness. When he takes a step, his footprint leaves a divot that fills with water before melting back into smooth sand. Jon is turning around slowly on the spot, taking in their new surroundings. It's flat, but not quite featureless. The bare sand is textured with gentle ripples, with the occasional sheen of puddled water. It stretches away from them into the vague distance. There is a damp haze hanging at about the height of their shins that smears the horizon line into the sky.

Jon has finished acclimating – archiving, Martin's brain hisses at him, but he pushes that thought away – and is ready to take a more active part in their newest adventure. He looks over at Martin. "Did you do this?" he asks.

"I-I think so?" Just what this is, Martin isn't quite sure, but he has a pretty good suspicion. He sighs. "We should probably get going. I don't think it's healthy to stay here too long." Martin reaches out his hand, but it closes on empty air. Jon's arms have not moved from his sides. "What is it?"

Jon says, "I don't want to go back out there."

“Neither do I, but we haven’t got much choice about it,” Martin points out. They’re going to have to run the gauntlet whether they like it or not, all to get to the stupid Institute that they had worked so hard to leave.

“I know, but can we –" Jon swallows. "Can we stay? A little longer?" He closes his eyes. "Please. It's, it's quiet here. I can think. It's so quiet."

"Jon –"

Martin doesn't know he should say to this request.

Are we in immediate danger?

No.

"Just for a little while," says Martin.

Everywhere looks like everywhere else, so they choose a spot at random and ease themselves down. Martin immediately feels the dampness seeping into his butt. Jon leans against him and closes his eyes. Martin isn't sure what that means. Sleep is unlikely, so he chooses to interpret it as a generic resting state. He finds himself straining to hear the sound of nonexistent waves. At some point in his life, grade school probably, someone taught him that the ocean disappearing meant that you should run for your life. A tsunami seems out of character for this place, but he raises the issue to Jon just in case.

“The ocean was Peter Lukas’s,” says Jon without opening his eyes. “It’s not coming back.”

Everything is equally flat, no subtle slope to show which way the water went. It’s equally impossible to tell which direction is uphill, for that matter. Relatively safe as they may be, Martin thinks it’s a little too quiet.

"There's no one here anymore," says Jon, not helping. His eyes are still closed.

Martin waits to see where this is going. If it starts turning into a statement, he'll have to deploy fingers in ears.

Sure enough, after a suitably dramatic silence, Jon opens his mouth again. Martin has his hands halfway to the sides of his head, but Jon addresses him directly. "Martin. This could be your place. You could take it. We could stay here. We wouldn't have to, to go through… out there. We don't have to leave. Martin?"

Martin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Jon deflates. "I know," he says. "I just had to say it."

“It’s all right,” says Martin.

They lapse back into companionable silence. Martin runs his hands through Jon's hair. Jon is thinking Jon-thoughts, which he has the privilege of being able to share in his own time, if he wants to. Martin will let him enjoy that luxury. Martin is thinking about the satisfying smack of his fist hitting Jonah Magnus’s smug face. He keeps that smack in a special place in his heart, ready to pull out as a treat whenever they get a bit of downtime.

He’ll make that scene happen soon. They’ve gone through more than half the fears already. The left hook will just be a preamble, of course. He’ll figure out the rest when they get there.

When they reach the tower.

#uovoc fic #The Magnus archives

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tafferling · 5 years ago

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TAFF CAMPAIGN DIARIES: THE CAST

Art Credit: Character art by @trashmuh and @saph-y. Logos and stuff made by Taff with assets from Unsplash. >> Read the thing on Tafferfield.com or right down below <<

When I started the campaign, I prepared a handful of level three characters that my lost soul players could shop for. Which put me a little on the spot, since what do I know about what stats a warlock needs? Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. Mav pulled my ass out of the fire and helped me set them up, and that left me with the time and flexibility to get to doing the really important bits:

Write their physical descriptions and give each of them a life. Because, see, the players (my lost souls) weren’t going to actually know about the lives of the bodies they’d just been put into. Instead, they will accidentally bump into story triggers as the campaign progresses, slowly unravelling their personal mysteries.

Needles to say, this GM is hoping that it will be at the most inconvenient of moments.

But this GM is also not without heart, and so I recruited a guide for them. Or, rather, I sent a character on an important quest, one that made him cross paths with our lost souls.

Tomakos Drake

Guide – Dork – Real Good Hugger

Born into a divine inheritance of murder and bloodlust – oh, and being a werewolf on top of that – Tom tries to make the best of it. He’s a good person, he swears (really, he is), and he even managed to become a knight until word of his true nature got out. Now traveling up and down Faerun, his lycanthropy keeping him unable to stay in one place for long, Tom has all but dedicated his life to adventuring and doing what’s right, battling evil wherever he might find it. Because who says monsters can’t be nice?

Sinvik Shielding

Plot on paws – Not actually a cat

A soul-rending curse would have been the end of her, but a druid’s clever work twisted fate the other way around. Now, forced to walk on soft paws (and pretty kittened off about it), Sinvik’s life lies in Tom’s hands. Luckily, Tom would turn entire planes inside out if that’s what it’d take to hear her voice again, and chasing halfway across Faerun to try and catch the warlock who’d almost killed his lover is barely worth the mention.

Griphi

Cute – Cuter – Burdened with Darkness

This lithe Tiefling with her thick, black hair and those short, stubby horns that look to be a little out of alignment, lived a mysterious and dark life before a lost soul found itself misplaced in her body. Her skin is a dull, milky purple, patterned generously by large, light splotches ranging from stone grey to almost white, and her eyes are a soft hue of silver. Griphi, so far, has learned that her dreams are full of countless curious eyes whispering dark promises at the edge of the black. She’s found out she’s a warlock, and pierced through the thick fog of memories that aren’t quite hers to learn the use of her cantrips.

Vana

Really likes fast cars – Accidentally zaps kobolds

This dark-skinned Aasimar, with her thick locks of black hair textured by threads of grey, has a soft dusting of feathers adorning her shoulder blades and delicate, fiery tattoos dancing down her arms. They match her dark eyes flecked with a smouldering fire. The misplaced soul who’d found himself in Vana quickly found out two important details: She- he- is no longer a man. And she’s a wizard. Oh, and a Pirate Queen, as it turns out. Wanted for 3000 gold for murder, kidnapping, theft, pillaging, more theft, more murder, and a whole lot of indecency.

Brolla Treegrower

Mmm, food – Soft – Raunchy Jokes

This plump, strong, and sturdy half-orc has tusks almost big enough to pass for a pure-blooded one. He keeps his brown hair cropped unevenly and his eyes are a kind, soft green. Broll is a druid, as the lost soul found out only recently. He’s also a man, so that was a bit of thing for the soul to adjust to. Though at least his name is known for merriment, joy, and good food, rather than plunder. Broll has learned how to bust a nut in the last session, by which I mean he’s found his druidcraft spell and made a small green sprout grow from an actual nut that came from a tree.

Fen

Feisty – %&!” – Sleepy

She’s a sturdily built halfling who keeps her hair long with cleanly cut bangs stopping just short above her dark brown eyes. A single ear stud adorns her left ear, simple and with a green stone set in it. Fen was the most recent lost soul to have joined the group, what with how Tom and Vana intercepted her getting marched towards Seaspite Town so the local clergy could destroy the demon that’d taken over her body. A body that is decidedly more woman than the soul had been used to, and- well- shorter.

Feyrith

Kind of short – Foot, meet Mouth

He’s a bit short for an elf. His long, thick red hair is the colour of greedy fire, offset by the strands of fabric and beads woven into it, which come mostly in hues of green and blues. Sharp, grey eyes laced with shreds of green look on keen an alert, and he’s lithe and well built. Honed, maybe, a little more by intent than his craft. Holes in his ears indicate he’s had piercings. The soul placed into Feyrith hasn’t learned much about himself yet, aside of that he’s shorter now than he used to be, and that his dreams are filled with memories of mortal pleasures.

THE UNCHOSEN

Griphi, Broll, Vana, Fen, and Feyrith weren’t the only characters I’d prepared. They were the ones that my players picked, but I am not about to forget about the ones that didn’t get pulled from the hat.

Patterned in a mottled mess of browns and reds and whites, Bright Button is an especially puffy Tabaxi with a bushy tail and tufty ears. They’re slender, with narrow shoulders and narrow hips, and keen eyes the colour of the setting sun.

Herdek lost his hair somewhere on the way, or decided to turn it upside down, what with his thick, long ashen blond beard that reaches past the middle of his chest. It’s well kept, braided here, cropped there, and how he eats without staining it is anyone’s best guess. His eyes are the colour of a storm encroaching on brilliant blue skies. But unlike a storm, they are steady and kind.

Faegella is a young (and probably still growing) Firbolg with pale, thick skin lightly dusted with mossy green, a colour that matches her large eyes. She has ridiculously long hair the colour of lightly red straw, which she keeps bound in a thick tail.

AND HERE WE ARE.

The characters have arrived on the board and they’ve got a whole world to explore. On top of a cat to turn into a woman again, of course. And spells to learn without blowing themselves up. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll also try and look for a way home.

#DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #DnD 5e #Werewolf #Tiefling #Awoken Cat #Homebrew #Campaign Diaries #Warlock #Half Orc

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petnews2day · 2 years ago

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Star Wars cat Yoda taken to Maidstone vets after huge thorn goes through his paw

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/cat-news/star-wars-cat-yoda-taken-to-maidstone-vets-after-huge-thorn-goes-through-his-paw/

Star Wars cat Yoda taken to Maidstone vets after huge thorn goes through his paw

A cat named Yoda felt the force of a 1.5inch thorn after it punctured straight through his paw and came out the other side.

The three-year-old feline, from Maidstone, needed a trip to Pennard Vets in College Road to remove the thorn before being sent home with antibiotics and painkillers.

Yoda, from Maidstone, needed to visit Pennard Vets after a thorn went through his paw

The Star Wars named cat was in agony after standing on a large thorn

He was named after the legendary Star Wars Jedi Master because of his flat ears and tuft of fur in the middle of his head.

Owner Julie King, who is a local foster carer, said: “Yoda was quite an ugly kitten really, and as soon as we saw his ears and tufty fur, we knew exactly what to call him.

“We got him from my daughter’s friend, as the children I foster love having cats in the house, we have five in total.

“We also brought his brother, Willow, home at the same time, and they are inseparable.

“Yoda is a prolific hunter and is constantly in and out of the cat flap but then he also loves to cuddle up and relax in the sunshine in the conservatory.

The 1.5inch thorn went straight through the cat’s paw

“One morning just before school, one of the children was giving him a pet, when he felt something sharp in his paw.

“When he touched it, Yoda jumped up and ran off. I tried to take a look, but he wouldn’t let me touch it, so I knew I needed to take him straight to the vets to get him checked out properly.”

Vet Sarla Balse, from Pennard Vets, which was formed in Sevenoaks, said: “I have been a vet for 28 years and still find cases like this very satisfying to treat.

“There was a spike coming out of the top of Yoda’s paw and I could feel a small lump in the underside of his paw between his pads.

“On closer examination, it soon became clear that it was a substantial thorn measuring 1.5 inches long that had pierced straight through his paw.

“I grasped the bottom end of the thorn firmly with forceps and quickly removed it. Yoda was extremely brave throughout.

“We were all surprised when we saw just how big it was! We suspect he had jumped down and landed on the thorn, which was then forced right through his paw.

“Afterwards, we sent him home with some antibiotics and pain killers to rest and recover, and when we re-examined him ten days later his paw was fully healed.

Yoda, from Maidstone, was given the Star Wars themed named because of his “flat ears” as a kitten

“Cats are incredibly agile and curious, and often get into all kinds of scrapes as they explore. Julie told us this is the second time he has injured the same paw, as he trapped it in the cat flap when he was a kitten, so it’s obviously his unlucky paw.”

Julie added: “Sarla and the team at Pennard Vets did a great job. When I got him home, he relaxed on his back, in his favourite spot in the conservatory and had a good sleep.

“I was so relieved to see him up and about the next day and he was soon pawing at the cat flap in the morning to get out.

“He is such a loving cat; he loves a cuddle and can be picked up like a baby by any of the children, but as soon as he is out of the house, he is such an adventurer. Hopefully this will be the last time he hurts himself but I’m not holding my breath.”

Pennard Vets has practices in Sevenoaks, Tonbridge, Maidstone, Allington, Borough Green, Langley Park and West Malling.

Source link

#Cats News

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satoshi-mochida · 7 years ago

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Nippon Ichi Software has released new information and screenshots of Liar Princess and the Blind Prince, introducing things only the “Princess” can do, things only the “Wolf” can do, and basic systems.

Get the details below.

■ The Adventure of a Wolf Transformed into a Princess, and a Blind Prince

The player is a wolf monster that can transform into a “princess.” In order to heal the blind eyes of the prince, the wolf must guide him by the hand to the depths of the forest to reach the witch’s house. Dangerous monsters and complex challenges await them in the forest. Make proper use of the “princess” and “wolf” forms, and head towards the witch alongside the prince.

—The “wolf” can use its powerful strength to break normally unbreakable obstacles.

—The “princess” can hold the prince’s hand and cooperate with him.

Various Challenges

Various challenges await the two in the forest. From obstacles that can only be broken by the wolf’s strength, to switches that can only be pushed by the princess’ hands, and footholds that react to weight, there is a large variety of mechanisms in the forest. Using your wit and ability to transform, find your way past these challenges.

—A foothold that goes high and low in response to the weight of what stands atop it—like a weight machine.

—The light of the moon shines in through the clouds. Under this light, you can untransform and return to your original monster form.

Requests for the Prince

If the wolf is in “princess” form, it can asks “requests” of the prince as a mechanism for solving puzzles. There are two kinds of “requests” you can ask of the prince: “Hold (or Drop)” and “Walk.” Use these to cooperate with the prince and move forward.

—Only the prince is able is able to hold things. When he is holding something, you can grab his hand to guide him, or request that he “Walk” and bring what he is holding to the target location.

—If you find a fire lantern, you can burn obstacles and light up your surroundings. The wolf (princess) is bad with fire, so only the prince can hold it.

■ The Strange Creatures You Will Meet in the Forest

Many man-eating monsters live in the forest where the game is set. Proceed with caution in order for the prince and princess to avoid being attacked.

—At the very beginning of the forest, you’ll meet a small creature with tufty fur. It moves by crawling on the ground.

—A frog-like creature lives where many mushrooms grow in the forest. It jumps up and down while moving.

—You will find bird-like creatures in the caves. They are always airborne, and may attack from overhead.

■ Flowers and the Prince, and the Witch’s Tale

As you walk through the forest, you will come across small flower gardens.

If you give one of the flowers blooming there to the prince as a present, the prince will gradually tell you of the “Witch Fairy Tale” passed down to him in his kingdom.

While this is an optional collection element of the game that is not necessary to clear the story, if you gather all the flowers, the forest witch’s past will become clear… perhaps.

—By collecting flowers, the witch’s story is added to the “Album” on the menu screen. You can also replay event scenes at any time from the Album.

Liar Princess and the Blind Prince is due out for PlayStation 4, Switch, and PS Vita in Japan on May 31.

View the screenshots at the gallery.

#Liar Princess and the Blind Prince #The Liar Princess and Blind Prince #Nippon Ichi Software #PS Vita #Nintendo Switch #PS4 #Gematsu #long post

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ad-homomen · 6 years ago

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Show Me The Way Home

A/N: I have been so stressed with the new semester so I decided to write something to release my stress and to practice my English and writing. It’s in 1AM sorry for the typos. Please leave comments, positive or negative is welcomed!

I love Lance and Angst.

——

Title: Show Me The Way Home

Characters/Pairing: Lance-centric, Hunk, Pidge, Keith, Shiro, Allura, Coran, Romelle, Lotor, Zarkon, Krolia, Sendak, Space Wolf

Word Count: 1,504

Summary: Lance is struggling and wants to go home.

—————

They were supposed to be kids, they were never supposed to be heroes. Lance has always been missing home. There was no single day that would pass by that he won't think of his sister Veronica, his brothers Luis and Marco, his mother and importantly his grandmother.

The sea in Matanzas was as blue as a jewel waves ripple gently as of a song at soothed young Lance, and squabbling seagulls flew above. Clumps of seaweed got washed up the shore dipped in earthshine-gold. He remembers how he and his siblings would go by the beach every day to play, he and Luis would play in the water meanwhile Veronica and Marco would pick seashells along the coastline. The horizon was cleared with tufty white clouds they drifted apart as the color slowly changed to red. This would be the time Mother would call the kids back for dinner. The young Lance loves watching at the stars reflection in the water, while he's laying down with his head resting on Mama's lap. Lance promised to his mom he will be in space, someday.

Lance had always been a dreamer! His Mama did not believe him when he said he will enter Galaxy Garrison to be the best fighter pilot of his generation! Mama knows his son was not best at everything but he is sincere and dedicated this dream to be a pilot. So, it was not a shock when he landed the position of the Cargo Pilot Cadet. Even though Lance got his heart broken, he promised himself to make the most of it and become the best Cargo Pilot and begun his small rivalry with the prodigy fighter pilot Keith Kogane a protege of Takashi Shirogane of Kerberos Mission.

Lance indeed was the second best in class. When Keith Kogane was expelled from the Garrison, he became the fighter pilot he had been dreaming.

Lance had always been a thrill seeker and a rebel. When he, Hunk and Pidge saw the meteor crashed nearby the Garrison, without hesitation they ran to the scene to rescue someone they presumed to be dead, their hero Shiro.

Finding Blue, with Keith's magnificent sleuthing and Hunk and Pidge's devices, was Lance's show time! He never thought the gigantic robot lion would respond to him with just a knock. The connection was instant. After a long time, Lance felt special. With no manual or simulation, he managed to pilot the Blue Lion and warped into a wormhole that changed his destiny forever.

Space was vast, with Altean technology though obsolete after the ten thousand years had passed was far better than earth's. In a sna of your fingers, Team Voltron is on the other side of the galaxy fighting the Galra empire on their conquest to colonize the known universe and freeing planets left and right. Lance is a hero, yet at the same time his demons never left him.

Lance was the seventh wheel, but that position might changed not that Lotor -- the son of Zarkon and the Emperor of the Galra Empire -- has won everybody's heart, specially Allura. Team Voltron changed so much when Shiro returned and Keith left for Blade of Marmora. Lance became the new Red Paladin and Allura became a better Blue Paladin. Lance misses Blue.

Lance is the new right hand of Shiro and Voltron. Lance knows he is nothing like Keith, he will never be. Though Lance got over the petty one sided 'rivalry' with Mullet, he has to admit tat Keith has a 'thing' and Shiro was right to entrust the leadership of Voltron and the Black Lion to him. Lance trained endlessly until his bayard could change into a double-edged broadsword, rifle and a sniper.

Lance only had Kaltenecker when Team Voltrom had to evacuate the Castle of Lions. The castle ship is the home of Princess Allura and Coran for ten thousand years that kept them safe from the Galra. It had been the paladins second home away from Earth. A sacrifice must be made to seal the rift of quintessence to save the universe and defeat Lotor's intention.

Lance was guilty, he failed to listen Shiro's warning about the imposter. He was so close to the truth and it was right in front of him, and yet he could not save Shiro himself. He was so close Bt so far.

Lance has grown, in Keith's absence.

Lance is quiet, on their journey back to Earth. Since the Castle of Lions was destroyed they can no longer wormhole to the other side of the universe. The Paladins now has more time to bond and catching specially with bigger, cooler, grizzled Keith and new friends thecosmic wolf, the Altean Romelle and Keith's mother KroliaEven though Lotor is no more and there is a vacuum of power, Team Voltron is still on the job fighting Galra troops and liberating planets expanding the coalition.

Lance was excited to return to Earth. Home. He could not wait to tell, Veronica, Marco and Luis about his and his friends adventure in space. The water planet he and Hunk crashed into in the aftermath of their almost deadly battle with Zarkon. Team Voltron's awesome and epic battles to defend the universe! Time is weird in space, they had been at war for months it might be Deca-Phoeb on earth since they left the Garrison. He wants to apologize to his Mama for making her worry. Nevertheless, he did what he promised, Lance is in space, not just a pilot but a hero the universe is looking up to. Voltron is a symbol of peace, and will continue the next generations to fight for freedom.

"I can see it!" Pidge's voice broke into the comms,

"It is Earth!" Hunk chimed "We are home!". Cheers and scream of joy flooded the comms.

Lance was laughing.

But the celebration was cut short.

" Oh no, that can not be! It is Sendak!" Allura exclaimed. There were massive Galra ships on the earth's atmosphere, it was approximately three fleets but there was something odd. She could not put her finger on it. Earth's defenses were doing its best to resist the alien invasion.

"Are they invading Earth!?" Panic can be heard of Lance's voice. It was his family that first entered his mind

"Okay, team we need to form Voltr--" Before Keith could finish his sentence a blinding light engulfed everyone. A purple laser from Sendak's ship was fired to blue planet. In an instant, the blue planet that used to be filled with life was powdered into smithereens. The earth that's used to be their home was destroyed I'm a second, with nothing left. Sendak has a literal death star in his arsenal. It was likely one of Haggar's experiments for the glory of the Galra.

Lance's eyes widen as he just sat there and watched Earth getting destroyed by the Galra, "NO!" He screamed, and the Red Lion broke formation and lung forward to attack Sendak. He could hear the others cry for his name telling him to stop! With no other options left the team joined in the battle.

In no time he was surrounded by fighters who are shooting the red lion, restlessly. The tears won't stop.... The Red Lion was faster than ever, ruthless and cutting down the enemies around her. Red was glowing and a huge canon took form and mounted on the lion's back.

Veronica....

Marco.....

Luis......

Lance poured all his heart and quintessence on this attack, with an intention to obliterate Sendak in the face of the universe. He could hear Red purrs at the back of his head. But he made up his mind. Meanwhile, Sendak's ship was charging another laser, similar to the one destroyed Earth. If it can destroy a planet jna snap, what more a robotic lion?

"Lance, get away from there, now!" Keith commanded,

"I can not shake them off!" Pidge cried,

"We need a plan!" Hunk said gritting his teeth,

"There is too many of them!" Allura groaned as Blue was hit,

"We only have one shot, Red. Let's make it count," he said and pushed his controls forward and a huge red laser was shot from the canon on Red's back. Sendak managed to fire the laser in mere seconds before the Red Lion's laser hit the fleet and annihilate them.

"LANCE!"

The Red Lion was hit with the deadly laser and a flash bright light engulfed the universe with a shockwave that sent the other Lion's few meters back. Lance had used up all his quintessence for that attack. Nothing left inside of him, he couldn't pilot Red without any. The Red Paladin lean against his seat to accept his faith, as the white light swallowed him and Red.

"Lance!" A familiar voice called his name, he gently opened his eyes to see who it was. Lance gasped, he was no longer red, everything was white and peaceful. Lance ran up to the figure and hugger her tight, "Mama!"

#voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #katie holt #pidge gunderson #hunk garret #takashi shirogane #voltron lance #keith kogane #vld lance #voltron fic #voltron fanfic #fanfiction #vld fanfic #vld fic

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