#Two Old Spirits

[rayalltheway]

Look in the mirror of my mind, turning the pages of my life, walking the path so many paced a million times

I know I’m sporadic with posting LWAU stuff nowadays but it still thrives

A cover for Part 2 of The Little Warrior AU, with the two old spirits

(This is inspired by “The Lovers” trailer btw)

[beescake]

are you secretly the CEO of solkat

solkat r the ceos of me. actually

[thunderc1an]

messy concept feeding off of my last post of a horror + mystery spinoff warriors series

[melissarthomson]

Finally, I present my favorite fic right now by @unorthodoxx-page , A Tale of Spirits!

This is my favorite scene tbh 👀 with my two favorite characters

[gaywebcorenostalgia]

Cherokee Rose, 1998

[tequiilasunriise]

Possible nicknames Lenore called Annabel in life go:

"Anniebell": Sometimes the smallest changes are the cutest, okay? Anniebell Lee sounds adorable as hell and I'll stick by it. Imagine Annabel trying to admonish Lenore for saying some wild shit at a Rich Persons Gala™️ or smth but she keeps breaking out into giggles like, "You- you can't just say that pet!" and Lenore playfully replying, "Oh whatever do you mean, Anniebell Lee?" like UGH I hate them somebody throw hammers at em already 💥💥🔨🔨🔨

“My moon”: in relation to the Annabel Lee poem (‘for the moon never beams/Without bringing me dreams/Of the wonderful Annabel Lee’) and also there’s smth so flavorful of the character with a color palette more akin to the Sun (long shiny blonde hair, warm colored eyes, seemingly more outwardly personality, etc) being called the moon like I loveee contrasting design choices‼️‼️

“Angel”: Also a reference to the poem (but like, worse because it was the angels that separated em) and can be easily pulled from Annabel’s name

“Petal”: Or some other variation of a flower based nickname because imma sad, sad bisexual who loves ✨flower motifs✨ just a bit too much

Anything in Dutch: This can be like common ones like “liefje” (darling) or the previous entries but in Dutch idk go crazy go stupid

“Locket”: An unconventional pick pulled from Annabel’s last name Whitlock + lockets containing pieces of hair from your other half being T H E romantic gesture of the century back then, so, like. Idk. Hear me out like okay I think Lenore could be the unconventional route (I mean girly already faked her death via arson and pulled a Mulan to get the girl soooo you see what I’m putting down?) and like like LIKKEEE⁉️⁉️⁉️ Imagine with me Lenore telling her girl, “You’re the locket I keep nearest to my heart” (many necklaces back then had a chain just long enough for the locket to rest above the wearer’s heart) and it evolves to Lenore calling Annabel smth like “my dearest, my locket” LIKE YOU HAVE TO IMAGINE WITH ME!!! GUYS MY VISION IS VISIONING!!! 🦅🗣️🌈🗣️🗣️🦅🦅🌈🗣️🦅🦅

@incorrect-nevermore cmere and witness my madness

[wlwitchofwhitestone]

I think what's frustrating me the most about what's going on in campaign 3 right now is that the main idea being talked about and given way too much emphasis runs counter to the theme of the m9. If the Nein were about the idea that you can become better no matter what you did or who you were before, the argument set forth and being entertained as a legitimate conflict right now is very "these guys did bad shit a thousand years ago and they should die. Somehow this is good for everyone despite the centuries of good they've done since." Ashton's point was extremely astute that if that's the case, cleanse the entire world motherfucker because we're no better, but the hypocrisy of that was neatly sidestepped (which is at least consistent with Ludinus and fascists of his ilk in general). It's not a real argument, guys. We're not meant to take him seriously.

The gods are the stewards of the only world anyone living has ever known. The fact that they made bad choices that hurt Ludinus and people he knew is a legitimate grievance. The gods are in fact flawed, capable of selfishness, but when confronted with the enormity of the damage they were causing this world, they removed themselves and a whole chunk of their power to seal themselves behind the divine gate. They didn't abandon the world. They didn't withdraw their power and sulk, leaving everyone without their gifts until they begged for a return. They simply care for mortals on the terms of those mortals and ask for nothing not freely given. The people who follow the gods find them worthy of that patronage and Ludinus does not get to erase the choice of everyone else who doesn't agree with him because he's hurt, even if he did have a point (he doesn't).

He thinks, for some reason, that his actions won't result in the same kind of harm on a global scale and completely ignores the damage he has already wrought in the name of a higher purpose because that's what the gods did and they're no better than him. But they are, dipshit. They are better than you. There are people in the world they may not be better than, salient point, but you're not one of them.

And after the light and love that was the core of the Nein - the very thing that shaped Essek into the campaign 3 NPC that he is - it feels extremely disingenuous for "do the gods deserve their power now that you've seen them at their worst" to be perceived as an actual, legitimate conflict in the endgame and a talking point in the Fandom. Especially when the Hells have already been pretty clear that they're not looking to be judge, jury, and executioner of the gods. This is not the central conflict of campaign 3, it's one dumbass's weird motivation to be a villain that needs to be stopped and the fact that it keeps coming up as anything approaching credible is a condemnation of the purity culture mindset in online spaces today.

[querido-eh-dump]

1/2

[end-of-xistence]

Lemon Demon Graphics

Not mine, if you are the owner please ask if you would like credit/removal.

Feel free to use!!

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets Thursday

The next part of the one where I made Damas catch a virus because inconveniencing serious characters is funny (found HERE)

This time I give Jak a hard time, dealing with cranky sick rulers 😆 Spargans speak Mando'a as a second language in this story Because I Said So, but there's translations lol

Jak was not having a good day. First that business with Kwan at the garages, then getting scolded like a kid by Damas (wasn't trying to cause trouble-!), and now Blackwater?!

Worse, it was very clearly his fault that the freaking king of Spargus was out for the count. No one still carried that disease except for himself, Daxter, Samos, and Keira. And only one of those four was both in Spargus and a channeler.

The joint pain, the eardrum pressure, the fluid in the lungs-! All of it was Jak's fault!

Suffice it to say that Jak was not his best self when he stormed back into the throne room to collect charred wood from the braziers. It wasn't quite the same kind of driftwood that Samos used to use for the remedy in Sandover, but it was close enough in chemical makeup -- he hoped. When the elevator gears began turning, Jak wanted to throw something. Now was not the time for people to come looking for work or for someone to settle disputes. Priorities, people!

A round man with three jagged scars across his forehead barged out of the elevator with a purposeful stride. When he saw Jak, he faltered, and stopped to look around, clearly expecting Damas to be somewhere in the room.

"You there," he barked, "boy! Where's the king?"

"Busy."

Jak shoved the coal into his belt pouch and wiped his hands on his shirt.

"Come back later."

The man didn't like that. He puffed out his chest and glowered at Jak’s back.

"This is important!"

"I'll take a message."

Jak rolled his eyes.

"Damas isn't taking appointments right now."

"I ought to box your ears, boy," the Wastelander snarled, "You think you speak for the king?"

Jak turned and faced him. He looked almost bored.

"I speak from experience, buddy. And you're welcome to try. But I can't promise you'll like what happens."

The man -- Ektor, Jak would later discover -- stormed up the walkway, clearly intending on some kind of confrontation.

"When you're done playing, go get the bloody king."

"I said he's busy!"

Jak planted his feet and met Ektor's glare, just daring him to push his luck when he had the high ground.

"What's important enough to go bother him, huh?"

Ektor did not have a particularly good impression of Jak. Kid just shows up out of nowhere, turns into a demon -- literally -- in the ring a couple times and suddenly thinks he can walk around the tower without a summons? Like he owns the place? This brat was just looking for trouble. And Ektor consoled himself with the knowledge that when the king caught him in the act, it wouldn't be pretty.

"How about Apex Metalheads moving in a bloody pack formation, just ten miles from the city! Is that "important enough" for you, "your highness"?"

Jak furrowed his brow.

"Again? Wouldn't Kleiver already have headed out to deal with that?"

The look Ektor gave him was almost pitying.

"This is why bloody children got no place in the ranks!" he groused. "No, Kleiver isn't "headed out". They're too close to the city, idiot! He's on the turrets!"

This was not what Jak needed right now. Growling, he turned on his heel and snatched up his talk-box.

"Dax, I need you to take the coal and get that medicine made. I gotta go deal with something."

"H'oh boy. How bad of a Something?"

"Average." Jak unhooked the leather pouch and dropped it on the throne in tense motions. "It'd be faster if you were on the guns, but somebody has to hold things down here. I've got the Beam Reflexor. See you in a couple hours."

"Roger roger, good buddy. I am very on-board with not going on whatever dangerous hunt this is."

"Yeah. You get the fun job."

"....suddenly not so on-board."

Jak stowed the radio, tightened his bracers, and turned back to Ektor with a sigh.

"Alright, show me where they are."

Ektor looked at him a little differently now.

"Kleiver wasn't kidding about you having some kind of death wish," he said, shaking his head with a low oath.

Ektor wasn't the only person Jak ran afoul of in the coming evening.

Damas did not want to stay in the apartment.

The temporary relief the first of the ten charcoal mixtures had provided gave him a false sense of strength, clearing away the pain and the respiratory difficulty. Damas thought he could just go back to work like nothing had happened!

Jak was bone-weary, fingers still numb from how many times he'd shot components off the backs of the Apex Metalheads. There'd be an absolute goldmine of salvage for the next round of scouts. All Jak wanted to do was sleep. But someone kept trying to jeopardize his recovery.

Jak braced himself against the door controls, blocking a man just as stubborn as he was. They glared at each other while Daxter ignored them both to grind up the next charcoal batch. Damas tried to reach around him, and Jak knocked his arm away just as quickly. His reaction time was slowed with exhaustion, and his reluctant patient took advantage of that.

Damas took hold of the iron ring over Jak's chest. He had enough strength back to lift Jak up to eye-level, leaving him on his tiptoes.

"I will not," he hissed, "be kept back like a witless noble when I have duties to attend to. Do not test me, boy."

Jak barely flinched.

"And then what? You collapse into one of the pools when the eco toxin rebuilds? Are you trying to get sicker?!"

"Not to mention," Daxter called, more calmly than Damas thought the situation warranted, "There's already peeps who act like bein' king around here only lasts until you show weakness. And frankly, I don't want any of those suckers in charge. Just take the vacation already, would you?!"

The boys had a point. He hated that the boys had a point. Hated that he'd been reduced to relying on children just to stand.

"You think they will not already assume weakness if I abandon my duties for three days?" Damas demanded.

Jak lifted his chin. "I already told everyone who came in that you were busy."

Damas pulled Jak a little closer by the ring, too astonished to even notice that he’d left the door controls free.

"You were not authorized to make that call."

Frustration bubbled in his veins, tipping too close to anger for his liking.

"Fine. Go out then. Get them all sick. Get the whole city sick, why don’t you! Go ahead!”

“Copaani mirshmure'cye, ‘ad?” Damas muttered under his breath.

You looking for a fight, boy?

Not like he needed to keep his voice down. He knew no one had taught the boys more than a few sentences in Joha -- the language Wastelanders used in front of enemies -- yet.

Jak pried Damas’s hand loose and dropped to the balls of his feet.

"You won't slow down for your own sake? How about theirs?"

Anger stirred the eco in Damas’s blood, and the eco circulated too close to the virus in his core. The pain began again, a dull ache for now that promised future knives in his lungs.

"Don't you dare, boy-" he warned.

Jak dared, apparently.

He had the temerity to push Damas, shoving him back a step.

"I deal with this all the time and it puts me down for days! You've never had it! It could kill you, don't you care?!"

Seeing the black look on the king's face, Jak pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply.

"This is going to get worse before it gets better. And it's my fault you caught the virus, so I'm not going anywhere until it passes. It's hell staying inactive. I know. It's-"

His voice quieted.

"It's like the Fortress. You're in pain, and you can't leave, and you know more pain is coming. But- but at least yours only lasts three days."

Damas faltered.

Jak had not told him the story of what Praxis had done to him willingly. Damas had walked into the washrooms below the Arena by chance just as Jak had been patching himself up after earning his second war amulet. And the scars he'd seen were not the kind a young fighter picked up in combat. The shame on the boy's face as he'd scrambled to get his wrist wrappings and shirt back on had struck a chord in Damas. Without really knowing why, he'd taken off his vambrace in the space of a minute, and moved back the wrappings to show the shine of old burns.

He'd spent more than his fair share of time on "excavations" -- a pretty word for Wastelanders being punished by the former king, left carving out of the cliff what eventually became the stables. By hand. In chains. In the midday heat. A lot of men died working that wall.

He didn't know why he'd told Jak that story. Why he'd told Jak about the two years when he was in chains more than out of them.

And yet it had meant something to Jak.

In that moment, a dam seemed to burst in the boy. The whole sordid tale had bubbled out of him in a tangle of words and desperation. He spoke as though he'd never encountered anyone who understood what it was to be that kind of survivor. To bear those kinds of scars. Like someone who had been asked why he couldn’t just “get over it” when the evidence was in his skin forever. He spoke like he was expelling poison from a wound.

That thought rang in Damas’s mind like a solemn bell.

Jak had overstepped, that was undeniable. But he seemed...

He seemed like he was desperate to keep the closest thing he had to a kindred spirit alive. The boy was legitimately afraid for him, wasn’t he?

Jak looked up again to meet his eyes, and there was a lot more emotion there than Damas had been expecting.

"Please," Jak insisted, "Just- Just rest! One more day, at least one more day, please!"

Damas felt a new round of pain beginning, starting in his vertebrae this time. Still, he couldn't just back down.

"Jak," he tried to gentle his voice past the harshness of pain. "I...know you do not understand what being king means. What is required."

"If it means breaking yourself down to bloody bones for people who will never be grateful, then yeah. He understands," Daxter said bitterly.

"Come on," Jak sounded like he was scolding now, "Didn't you say you have to pick your battles wisely sometimes?"

Oh confound that boy.

Damas’s spine twinged, but pride did not let him bend. Even so, Jak seemed to sense his pain. He sighed and, without a single word -- not even "I told you so" -- he offered his shoulder to support Damas long enough to get him back to the couch. Damas’s face burned with frustration and shame alike. To lose control of his body and have to do as the boy sais was infuriating. A little of that pique left him before he had time to guard his tongue.

"For the record, since you lack experience in the matter, most fathers would not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner by their sons."

Jak stiffened, and Damas regretted it. He knew that was a sore spot for the boy and he'd carelessly lashed out anyway.

Jak gave him a Look.

"Well you're the closest thing I got to one, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”

Damas actually winced. Jak seemed to mistake it for physical pain and sighed again.

"I'll get you more water. You're gonna need it in a minute."

"Less than a minute." Daxter glared at the king as he held up another glass of the vile liquid.

"Guess what, buddy? That attitude just earned you one free trip to Vomit Town."

"Dax," Jak called over his shoulder, "He's in pain as it is. You don't have to rub it in."

Daxter narrowed his eyes at Damas. He pointed silently at Jak’s back, then at Damas. Dramatically, he drew a finger across his throat: a clear warning of what would happen if Damas brought up absent parents again.

At the moment, Damas was more occupied with both the sensation of the virus congealing the eco in his core into an infected mass, and the mixed emotions he had about Jak’s parting shot.

"You're the closest thing I got to one", he'd said. The closest thing Jak had to a father. Him?!

Confound that boy. How does he always catch me off guard so easily?

More as a peace offering than anything else, he muttered, "Did you at least give them a reason?"

"Who?"

"Everyone you told I was busy. Did you give them a reason?" he pressed.

Jak returned with a recycled bottle filled with water.

"Yeah. But you're probably not going to like that, either," he said matter-of-factly. He nodded at the charcoal.

"Probably don't one-shot it this time."

"Don't tell me what to do," Damas grumbled rebelliously. But he noticeably didn't chug the medicine.

He'd survived on worse foods before. But that was irrelevant to his gag reflex. It took some doing to swallow the first sip, and each one after that got harder.

"Tell me what you told them, Jak." He narrowed his eyes over the rim of the glass. "I can't help you out of whatever mess you're determined to get yourself into if I don't know what I'm walking into."

Jak was generous enough to let Damas keep his pride. He shrugged and dropped to sit next to him with the weary expression of someone twice his age.

"I said you were researching the tunnels under Haven for something, and to mess up your concentration at their own risk."

Damas forced the last of the charcoal down in one gulp. Soon it would start absorbing the two enmeshed ecos that had caused the infection, and he'd be able to get some relief for a few more minutes. Physical relief, anyway. His mind was racing. That excuse- Jak wasn't supposed to know about the invasion plan. It was an "utmost end of need" scenario: if the Daystar impacted on the planet, he wanted his people safe in the Underport.

"And what..." he had to choose his words carefully.

He would overlook the major breaches in protocol Jak was tossing around like confetti. The boy's heart was in the right place. And it was very Spargan to act first and ask permission after. But he still wouldn't give Jak top secret information! If Jak was getting into dossiers he has no business touching-

"What made you think of tunnels?" Damas muscled through another painful spasm and feigned a teasing tone. "Planning to invade Haven, are you?"

Beside him, Jak's cheek twitched in an exhausted equivalent of a smile.

"Wishful thinking, honestly. But they bought it."

"For now."

Damas dug his fingers into the couch as the coughs he'd hoped to avoid made their next appearance.

"But you- still- can't-" the hacking overtook the rest of his words.

Jak scoffed. "It's not like I was making any decisions for you. They were all jobs you would've sent somebody to deal with anyway."

He lurched to the side as the first of the gel-like corrupted eco eruptions shot from Damas’s mouth and into a bucket Daxter had found. Poor guy. He had about three more rounds of the medicine, three hours apart, before the coughing gave way to just vomiting. Unfortunately that part lasted a whole day before giving way to musculoskeletal pain and vertigo.

Blackwater sucked.

"I'll take over, Dax," Jak yawned. "Go get some rest. You good with doing this tomorrow?"

He didn't ask Damas, notably.

"What're you gonna do this time?”

Jak fought to keep his eyes open. "Seem lost a party of monks in the volcano. I said I'd look into it. Probably going to end up putting the fear of Precursors into the asshole in the North Market who just started overcharging rookies for water to the point where they're stealing it. I said I'd look into that, too."

"Did you." The ottsel didn't sound that surprised. "And how, in your infinite grasp of diplomacy, did that go?"

A little too tired to be embarrassed, Jak made a helpless gesture.

"I said Damas was busy, and they'd better deal with their issues before I came over to deal with it for them."

"Yeah," Daxter sighed, "I was afraid you were gonna say something like that."

It was a little disturbing how the boy seemed to have set himself in a role like an enforcer. Like Sig's cover act in Haven.

"That's. Not. Your job," Damas gasped between retching coughs.

"I know: you said," Jak acknowledged. He rubbed his face with fingers just barely shaking. "Too late to take it back now."

He thought Damas was still upset about the crossing of boundaries he'd done. It was more than wounded pride that drew his concern though. Older feelings. Unpleasant memories.

"Crowns. Were not m- meant. To. Weigh. Down the. Young." Damas managed to fight through the pain in his joints to elbow Jak.

"Not. Your burden to. Bear."

Jak hesitated. Then,

"I know.”

[spirited-splashes]

Ford redraw (Not What He Seems)

This one is pretty old (June 3rd) but I think it’s still good. I traced over the original screenshot for the lineart (ofcourse, I added my signature ‘I hate drawing eyelashes on men’ artstyle on him) that was a lie, I hate drawing eyelashes on everyone actually

(P,s if you can’t read what it says on the top-left corner: ‘The author of the journals, my brother.’)

Screenshot below:

I just realized I made him look less disheveled then he actually is lol

[keeps-ache]

pals and other things :D

[tamymew]

behold! a beast!

[thisisvoided]

Since the Amusement Park DLC is coming out soon, I thought it would be fun to make a personal little bingo about what predictions I have for it so far (I divided it into four general columns for my own sanity lol,,, it goes Game Mechanics, Scenes/Spirits, Characters, References):

[allthepandasintheworld]

good omens reference and also, halsin is HUGE ok, in game, rene literally only comes up to his shoulder

im assuming body type 2 for drow are around 6ft but i dont think(?) they are(?) HOWEVER. elves are canonically on average 6ft tall, and halsin is considered abnormally tall for an elf, which can only mean he's 7ft at least, in this essay i--

[wolfsbanesparks]

Hey y'all!

Today is Captain Marvel's birthday! It's also (in some continuities) Superman's birthday too! So I've written a little fic for the occasion!

Summary: Captain Marvel doesn't have a birthday so he turns to the people of Fawcett City for help in choosing one. This turns out to be more overwhelming a task than he anticipated.