#and I was like... I should get some sturdier black ones that go with my clothes better

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

just got new sandals and a really nice new dress for under fifty bucks!!!

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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First Chapter

11. 𝓟𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

He descended the stairs leading to the cellar, locking the door behind him. Taking on a path he was no stranger to, he moved with a confident and measured pace, his every step echoing through the dimly lit corridor. Passing the wine cellar, he continued on, guided by memory, until he reached a door that only he possessed the key to.

From his pocket, he extracted a golden key and inserted it into the lock. As he turned it, a resounding click announced the door's release. He winced as his enhanced hearing picked up the sound of the door creaking open. Nevertheless, he proceeded into the room.

On a table within, lay a black casket, and Dorian couldn't help but smile affectionately at the sight. He observed its occupant in silence.

He looked peaceful, his eyelids closed, a vision of serenity, with defined features. A cascade of midnight-black hair, like a river of silk, flowed around him, pooling onto the pillow in elegant disarray. Stray strands occasionally danced in the faint breeze, adding to the enchantment of the scene. His dark eyelashes casted delicate shadows on his cheeks. High cheekbones framed his serene face, and his skin, smooth as porcelain, bore no imperfections.

He caressed his cheek. Some might look at the man and think he was dead. After all, a stake piercing one's heart generally led to death. Dorian knew better, and the corner of his lips quirked up. Vampires like them were far sturdier than mere mortals, after all and while a stake through their heart would immobilize them— put them in a slumber, some would even say —, it wasn’t enough to kill. Decapitation in this weakened state would, though. 

Dorian’s eyes landed on the ring the other wore. He could, if he wished to, remove it. He could then place him under the vicious, unforgiving glare of the sun and watch him burn and turn to ash if he wished to. He could kill him for good. Teach him a lesson. The other vampire wouldn’t even be able to do anything in this state. Perhaps the blonde would wake him up before so, just so he could hear his screams. 

"My visits have become less frequent of late," he acknowledged while passing a hand through the other’s hairs. "I have been terribly busy recently." A smile formed on the blond's face. "We have a daughter."

He paused for a moment, as if expecting a response. His hand inched closer to the stake, and his fingers wrapped around it. He could do it if he wished to. He could free the other from this forced slumber. He could pull it out. A second hand joined the first. Then, Dorian stepped away, letting go of the blessed wooden object.

With a cold gaze sent in the slumbering vampire’s direction, he reminded himself of why he shouldn’t. At least not now. He didn’t deserve it now. He didn’t deserve to wake up just yet. Not when he had tried to leave. 

"Poor Killian," he began sarcastically with a sneer, receiving no answer. "Here you lie, a tortured soul who wants nothing more than to be rid of your nature." Their nature. His voice edged with bitterness. "If you did, you would be dead by now. Rotting, decaying in the dirt, consumed by worms."

He collected himself, brushing any potential trace of dust and dirt from his clothing, and spared one last glance at the man before turning and departing the room. He should just be rid of him. Dorian could get rid of him easily. Killian wouldn’t deserve less in his eyes, after all. The blond might find someone else more agreeable than him. His stomach churn at the thought, though. He locked the door securely behind him and ascended the stairs.

Checking the old grandfather clock in the entrance, he noted the time: 11:40 PM. (Y/n) would soon descend to have a meal with him. The young girl had proven to be quick to grasp new knowledge, and she had adjusted to her life within the estate. She was, if not content, at least no longer overwhelmed by her past. There had been a time when her cries filled the days, and instead of restful sleep, she shed tears over the prospect of her new — far better — existence. Now, an air of resigned apathy clung to her, a stark transformation from her earlier emotions. She had learned. Learned not to mourn such matters. She had also readily adapted to her new schedule, her days spent in slumber and nights in activity. 

The vampire found himself pondering the recent transformation in his child's demeanor, contemplating whether her newfound apathy might, in fact, be a welcome change. He had grown accustomed to the serenity that accompanied her lack of protest, appreciating the tranquility of moments when she refrained from making a fuss. Children were better when they behaved after all. His child was meant to be seen by his side, adorned in lavish dresses only fit for princesses, looking like a beautiful little doll. Her purpose was not to voice her opinions or express herself through tantrums, but to exist as a silent but striking presence, a living embodiment of grace and beauty.

Dorian entered his bedroom, making a wardrobe change into more appropriate attire for the evening meal. He then proceeded to the dining room, where he took his usual seat. While food was not a necessity for a being like him, he still indulged in the occasional delicacy, and the time spent with the child was a welcome diversion. He was served a glass of blood and sipped it slowly, paying no heed to which servant's life had been sacrificed for his drink. As long as they didn't soil his estate while spilling the blood, he spared little thought for such matters. Dorian avoided killing within his home. The paintings and tapestries on the walls were too precious to be stained. Furthermore, hunting was far more gratifying, satisfying an urge within him. Yet, with a child who he preferred not to leave on her own, he had settled for this arrangement.

By 12:10 AM, he noticed the girl still hadn't come down to eat. A frown furrowed his brow, and he resorted to ringing a bell, summoning a servant to remind the girl of her mealtime. Ten minutes passed, and still, she had not appeared. His patience wore thin, and he sighed in frustration. He had believed that they were past the point of dealing with her tantrums. Pouting, glaring, or even crying he could endure, but refusing to eat was an entirely different matter. She was still a mortal after all, eating was a necessity for beings such as herself.

Dorian rose from his seat, frustration building within him. He made his way to her room, hardly paying attention to the bustling servants he encountered along the way. Upon reaching the girl's bedroom, he opened the door to find two servant ladies engaged in an agitated conversation.

"Where is my daughter?" He demanded, annoyance evident in his tone. He had little patience for another one of her tantrums. The two girls exchanged uncertain glances before one of them spoke. "I do not have all night," he sneered, issuing a warning.

"We don't know, sir," the first servant admitted, following her words with profuse apologies.

Dorian's eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"We are all looking for her," the second servant began, but he silenced her.

He stormed out of the room and thundered, "I want everyone here. Now!"

In a short span, the entire staff of the household had gathered, all looking highly anxious. He paid no heed to their nervousness, as he had more pressing concerns.

"Where is my daughter?" He repeated his question, prompting various answers, all centered around the fact that they had no idea of (Y/n)'s whereabouts.

"Speak. Clearly," he growled.

"We don't... we have searched everywhere, sir," one man admitted. "She isn't here."

Anger surged within his chest. "She can’t have vanished," he reprimanded, throwing his arms up in frustration. The assembled staff instinctively stepped back in fear.

Attempting to regain his composure, Dorian's enhanced senses failed to pick up any trace of her scent. Every corner of the house had absorbed her fragrance by now, and the servants' constant muttering and apologies drowned out any other sounds he might have detected. 

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he hissed, "Quiet!" Even in the ensuing silence, the sound of their heartbeats echoed loudly in his ears. 

Perhaps, if he were to slaughter them all, the silence would finally prevail. He soon chased that thought away; he needed more people to search, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t furious at them for their incapability of finding one child.

"You are useless," he ranted, his canines emerging, and his nails taking on a more menacing form due to his anger. "Utterly incompetent! Split into groups and search every floor. Leave no stone unturned." The servants hesitated, apprehensive of his demeanor. With another surge of anger, he snapped, "NOW!"

[vodika-vibes]

Rex x Reader

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Word Count: 1736

Warnings: None

Songs: None

A/N: A half idea that I'm toying with, mostly. It is an AU. Plus, I feel like Rex should be written about more.

Divider by Saradika

“You know, I did tell you that this was a bad idea,” You say to your cousin as you sweep your flashlight from one side of the room to the other, making a face at the rotten wood, “I think I just saw a rat.”

“You probably did, Miss Priss.” Your older cousin, Yani, said with a roll of her eyes, “It’s not like anyone’s lived here in, like, years.”

“I think this building is a hazard,” You add as you direct the beam of light from your flashlight to the ceiling, which looks one violent sneeze away from total collapse.

Somehow your cousin manages to project her eye roll into her whole body, it would be impressive if it wasn’t so annoying. “You can always leave, baby cousin.” 

“Ugh. I didn’t say that I wanted to leave,” You counter defensively, turning the beam of light towards your cousin, “All I’m saying is that we need to be careful.”

“I definitely should have left you behind,” Yani says loudly, “Come on, the floor looks safe this way.”

“You can’t determine structural integrity by looks alone, Yani. You know that.” You reply, though you still follow after Yani. Exploring condemned houses is not your idea of fun, but you can’t let her go alone either.

The floor creaks loudly under your feet, and you’re careful to make sure to walk close to the walls. Theoretically the floor should be sturdier near the walls, right? Yani, however, bounces down the hall like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Why are you walking so slow? Hurry up!” Yani orders from the end of the hall.

You sigh, and weigh your options. And then you sigh again, Yani will absolutely leave you behind if you don’t keep up with her. So you step away from the wall.

Halfway down the hall, there’s a sickening crack, and your stomach falls as the floor gives way beneath you. You see Yani’s horrified face as you begin to fall and you hear her scream your name…and then the world goes black.

The first thing you note when you wake up is pain. Pain in your head, your arms, your back, and your legs.

You’ve never been in so much pain in your life.

You slowly open your eyes. You expect to be laying on concrete, or something, looking up at the hole that you fell through. But you’re not doing either.

You blink blearily, trying to understand what you’re looking at. It looks…well…it looks like Yani’s canopy bed. Only decorated in dark blue rather than Yani’s neon yellow. 

Slowly, very slowly, you sit up and look around.

You’re in a bedroom. A very nice looking bedroom, decorated in dark blues and whites. There aren’t any windows, but the room is comfortably lit with natural lighting from somewhere.

You slide to the edge of the bed, and swing your legs out from under the silky comforter, painfully getting to your feet.

You’ve been changed into a different outfit. And you’re covered in bandages, bacta infused bandages, based on the look of them.

You limp over to the door, each step like a knife into your feet and legs. You’re barely halfway across the room when the door clicks open, and a man steps into the room.

He looks just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

He’s tall and broad, with blond hair. And he looks very concerned to see you up and about. “You should be resting,” He says. His voice is deep and soothing, somehow.

“Where am I?”

He pauses, and sets a tray of bandages and medical equipment on a table next to the door. “You’re in my home. I found you. You’re very badly hurt.” He gently, but firmly, guides you back to the bed and settles you back on the pillow, “My name is Rex. How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” You reply honestly, wincing in pain.

“You shouldn’t have tried to walk,” Rex chides, walking back over to the door and grabbing the tray of medical equipment. “I have some pain medicine and bandages for you. Let’s see if I can get you comfortable.”

You watch as he treats your injuries, his hands sure as they check and rewrap sutures. “Are you a doctor?”

“Hm? Oh, no. Some of my brothers are though. My brother Kix is the one who patched you up originally. I’m a soldier.” He pauses, “Or, well, I was a soldier. No need for soldiers when the war is long over.”

You tilt your head, “What war?”

He’s quiet for a long time, “Ah. Never mind that.” He presses a water bottle into your hand as well as some medicine, “Take these, it’ll help with the pain. And you’ll go back to sleep.”

“...thank you.”

Rex shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.” He waits until you take the medicine, and then he takes the water bottle back, and waits until you drift off to sleep again.

It takes time for you to recover.

After a month of him caring for you, Rex admits that when he found you, every bone in your body was broken, and that the first time you woke up was after two weeks in a bacta tank to try and stabilize you. 

And slowly, very slowly, you come to view Rex as a friend. He’s calm and patient, and so very gentle with you, as though he’s afraid that he’s going to hurt you.

You question, only once, why you’re not in a hospital and why you’ve not seen your parents. Rex’s answer gives you only more questions than answers, but it’s easy to trust Rex, so when he asks you to not ask questions until you’re completely healed…well, it’s a simple thing, really.

In total, it takes you over four months to recover enough that you’re able to walk without pain. And Rex is there for every day.

“You’re doing much better,” Rex notes as he watches you go through physical therapy with the droid that he acquired for you. 

“I feel a lot better,” You agree as you limp over to a chair and settle on it. According to the droid, you would likely have the limp for the rest of your life, “Everything doesn’t hurt, at least.”

He smiles at you. “I’m glad to hear it. There was a time I worried you weren’t going to wake up.”

You shake your head, “You and your brothers have taken excellent care of me. I’m lucky I have you in my corner.”

His smile widens, and you blush slightly, averting your gaze from his, “I’m always happy to help, cyare.” Rex says easily.

He’s started calling you that recently, though whenever you ask when it means, he just grins at you and tells you that it is a nickname and it’s nothing bad.

“I know you are. You’ve done…more than I would expect from a stranger.” You get back to your feet, wincing as your bad leg twinges uncomfortably.

“And you’ve done too much, cyare.” Rex replies as he gets to his feet and walks over to help support your weight.

His hand is warm against you, and you lean into his warmth without really thinking about it. Rex smiles down at you, “Trying to leech my warmth, cyare?” He jokes.

“I wouldn’t have to if it wasn’t so cold in here.” You grumble.

“Maybe I keep it cold to have an excuse to have you pressed against me.” Rex says easily.

You blush dark red, and bump him with your shoulder, “You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” You mumble, “I might actually start believing you.”

Rex shifts and brushes his lips against your ear, “That’s the point, cyare.” And then he pulls away and winks at you, “Come on, I had your favorite lunch made.”

You’re blushing even more, “You spoil me.”

“Yup.” Rex guides you out of the exercise room and down the hall, but he stops before getting to the dining room.

“Rex?”

“I’m in love with you,” He says quietly, and then he laughs as your jaw drops and your face burns, he reaches out and lightly brushes his thumb against your lower lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“...yes please.” You whisper.

You barely manage to get the phrase out, before his lips are on yours. His lips are warm and dry, and so very gentle against yours. He breaks the kiss for only a moment, before his lips are back against yours. The second kiss is deeper and more desperate than the first, and your back bumps against the wall as you hook your arms around his neck and his hand slides around to cup the back of your neck.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against yours. You’re both gasping for air, and Rex leans in to kiss you again. And then he closes his eyes and, with great effort, he moves back to give himself some space.

You look up at him, confused, and he laughs, “Can’t think when I’m that close to you.” Rex admits, “There are…I need to tell you some things. The truth about some things.” He murmurs, “Should have told you ages ago. Don’t want you to leave me though.”

You blink at him, hazily, “You’re married?”

He laughs, “No. No, I’m not.” He pauses, to collect his thoughts, “When you fell,” Rex began, “You fell a little further than you thought, or than I ever thought possible. I, we, had no idea that it was possible for someone to fall from the Mortal Realm into ours.”

“Rex…what?”

He sighs, “Cyare, you fell from the mortal realm into the realm of the fallen.” He grips your hip tightly, “The realm of demons. We…we don’t know how to send you back to your mortal realm.”

You gape at him, “So…you’re a demon?”

“Captain of one of the many Demonic Battalions, in fact.” Rex admits. 

You hesitate, and then you nod slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” You confirm. “You’re…Rex, you’re you. I’m not more afraid of you now than I was 10 minutes ago. You’re Rex.” You say, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Which, really, it is.

Tension drains from his shoulders, “You’re not leaving me.”

“Of course not.”

You squeak when his lips crash back against yours. One of his hands tangles in your hair, while the other one slides around your back, pulling you flush against him. “Thank you,” he breathes against your lips, before pulling you back into another deep kiss.

[capricioussun]

It’s been quite a while since I really talked about my version of horrorfell here and since I’m taking nine million years to finish the reference sheets for everyone, I’d like to explain a little smth about Dusk’s design and how I typically draw him. (CW for medical stuff)

If you go in his tag, you’ll see two primary designs, presurface and post, post being the one I draw more often. Since I’m not great with details it probably doesn’t stand out very much, but the way his face (and much of his body) was “restructured” was using a medical-magic procedure I decided can and should exist for more serious injuries. I’ve thought a lot about medical-magic stuff and how it works depending on type of monster, but I won’t get into it now – back to Dusk.

Being a skeleton monster worked in his favor, as they could treat specific wounds with a sort of “bone graph” (made from supplementary magic and some of his own) that works sort of like paper mâché. They put a brace inside his skull, applied the “graph”, let it heal enough to remove the brace, then applied another sealing/protecting layer. They did this for most of the damage on his head, and some of the smaller issues elsewhere, but it can’t be used for larger damage since it runs a little weaker than actual “bone” would.

It worked very well, but as I’m sure is very apparent, half his face is still missing! Partially because of the above problem, but mostly because a lot of excess magic actually escapes from that opening. Sealing it up would worsen the difficulties he already has with magic build up (he has a harder time expelling what would be a healthy amount of magic because he can’t utilize means most others can or like he used to (usually via sparring or general exercise) which is extra bad for a monster with as high levels of magic as he has!).

That’s why there’re so many eyes in there, and also why you can’t see into his skull. The magic causes distortion similar to the way you can’t really see the back of any skeleton monster’s skull through their eye sockets! Sometimes it even emanates red or black “mist”, which is usually indicative of Dusk needing to expend some extra magic.

Anyways! So those are the patches, but he also has fake teeth! They’re made of a sort of “magic acrylic”, which, while similar to the patches, are much sturdier, and were one of the other methods used elsewhere on his body (primarily for damage to his limbs and ribs, metal was also used on his spine, hands, and feet, since they needed the most support). A lot of the smaller cracks on his skull were also patched up a bit, which is why they’re more faint.

Overall, I imagine it took several years to implement and perform all of his procedures and treatments, since they also had to take a lot of time and be careful with as damaged and delicate as his body was to start off with. But! It’s well worth it! On top of the medicines, he is much more comfortable and capable of movement than he would’ve been otherwise!!

So that’s why I draw his teeth more prominently and try to add lots of sort of “fault lines” where the patches are! If I coloured him more properly, those spots and his teeth would also be slightly different colours from his natural bone, due to his own bones being permanently discoloured while the replacement looks more like healthy bone :*)

[theowritesfiction]

Okay so I haven't been posting about the ATLA characters in D&D lately, but that's still on my mind and I've created the Fire Nation kids in D&D.

Let's start with Mai. Mai is obviously a rogue, I don't think this needs much explaining. Even if we mostly see her attack with throwing daggers from distance, I think she'd be just as happy stabbing people from stealth, up and personal. <3 Mai's alignment would be True Neutral, although I guess before Boiling Rock you could argue that Lawful Neutral also fits her.

Ty Lee. What's the closest D&D class to a circus performer. Obviously, a bard! Ty Lee gets to be the proverbial jack of all trades that fits her quite well. Ty Lee is the Chaotic Neutral member of the cast. :)

Azula and Zuko. I didn't want to go the obvious route and make them both wizards or sorcerers who specialize in fire spells. Also, both of them are skilled in hand to hand combat, especially Zuko, and I wanted their D&D builds to reflect that. So, I decided to do the following. Azula got to take the Court Mage build, which gives her some interesting defensive tools and basically allows her to be in the thick of the melee as she dishes out magic damage. As for Zuko, I recreated him as a Fighter, but he got to take the Spellblade subclass. I think this solves it quite nicely. Azula is better at bending/magic, and Zuko is better with swords.

As for their alignment, well, I'm sorry, but Azula is going to be Lawful Evil. As for Zuko, well I guess that depends on whether we're talking pre or post redemption. Still, it's hard for me to see even Book 1 antagonist Zuko as evil aligned, I mean he was kind of a soft villain most of the time. Post redemption I would put him as Chaotic Good because he's still kind of a mess and like he himself admits, he doesn't really know how to be good.

After I had created these characters, I decided to put them through some of the Solasta campaigns. My first group was dangerous ladies + Katara. It worked pretty well. Azula and Katara ended up holding the line, while Mai popped in and out of stealth to pick off the enemies one by one. Ty Lee just bounced around pitching in, but unlike her show counterpart, not being very effective lol.

For my next campaign, I decided to replace Ty Lee with Suki, just because I figured Suki would be both a little sturdier and also do a bit more damage than Ty Lee. It proved to be a good decision. Ty Lee could be occasionally useful, but as the characters level up and gain power, Katara can easily do all the healing by herself, and Azula is starting to dish out some insane damage, so a bard's supplementary damage/healing isn't necessary, sorry Ty Lee :( I wish the game would allow me to play with a group of five.

Lastly, I happened to find a spell scroll, but I'm still debating whether it's responsible to let Azula learn this spell. Let's make a poll:

[magpiecaranthir]

Hi! Hope your ask box sitch gets fixed soon 💜 Do you have any thoughts or opinions about clothes and fashion in middle earth from any time period and any people? I’m doing a little fashion timeline project for myself and thought it could be fun to hear other opinions if you feel like it 💜

Oh, from what I hear it's not going to get fixed like, ever. But that's fine that's what I have this acc for now :)

Ok ok so you opened a big can of worms I'll try to keep the lid on best I can

So I'll ramble about the Dunlendings first because I have been knee deep into their existence with my recent fics I cant leave my babies alone. It's all over the place bc I got in ramble mode sorry. Also, it's very long lol.

Ok so dunlendings are said to be the descendants of some of the haladin, right? So their clothes are partially influenced by that in the same way gondor is influenced by former numenorean trends and the likes

I fucking hate the movie depiction of the dunlendings. Look at this shit. No. I refuse.

What I will take from that shitshow is the primarily dark hair and the preference for shorter (not more than like 5cm) unadorned beards, and some incorporation of furs.

The dunlendings used to live in the forests of Middle earth, not just in what would come to be Dunland. But when the numenoreans needed wood they chased them off.

Based on that I think they used more muted, natural colours like greens, deep reds and oranges, brown, the occasional black. They preferred light fabrics back then, especially in the settlements close to the shores and further south. They did a sort of tiedye to imitate natural fur patterns during hunting. That's something they do even in later ages.

When they were forced to migrate inland and into the mountains (what would be Dunland) their fabrics in general became sturdier. Thicker linen, more wool, and the likes.

They keep the population of larger predators in check in the mountains, so their furs make it into the garments fairly often. Usually used for children's clothing because they are very much mortal and they know babies and elders need a bit of extra protection from the cold.

Usually they also have ceremonial furs for special occasions (usually any type of bear for holidays of sorts)

And pelts with peculiar colouring/patterns or from mountain lions/wolves/other pack animals and the likes for special festivities relating to members of the community. (Think wedding, burial, birth).

Not everyone wears those to all celebrations. They are worn by the one who is the star of the show and their family, so to speak. Bride and groom's families wear those, while everyone else wears normal festivity clothes.

Those are accompanied by fairly unadorned clothes with sturdy but artful geometrical embroidery, usually around the hems, collars and cuffs.

Belts worn by the males are the centerpiece beside the felt, and are very artful, especially because in my hcs every village has mastered the art of burning patterns into leather. The belts are wide and loose, and usually are made from a prey animal of their formal fur garment bc they believe they should not deprive predator from prey, even in death.

Women wear usually dresses for celebrations, they are sturdy and have several layers so you can mix and match depending on the season. So several underlayers, chemises, stockings per ensemble.

The dresses themselves formal but not center-stage formal, but every single one has a decorative overskirt you tie around the waist. That comes on and off, and the dress is perfectly complete without it. That one has lots of embroidery.

The women in the family usually start embroidering a fabric when the baby is around 5 and shows some character, and its finished when they marry. Jts their dowry of sorts. If no women are in the family/can sew then theres usually elders who are more than happy bc while dunlendings do not particularly care for fashion statements, the overskirts are an expression of love from the community for the girl/woman.

Every day clothing is still muted in the later years of the 3rd age, and each settlement has their own preferred garment and usually pelt of choice. For example, you'll have a settlement close to the mountains of Dunland where the people prefer bear fur over wolf, while a settlement further towards Rohan/south prefers wolf pelt over bear. It's not entirely dependent on where they live.

Also families that havent moved away for a few generations have developed special embroidery similar to family heraldry, which gets more elaborate with every generation bc they take pride in their heritage and survival despite the numenorean's best efforts to get rid of the dunlendings.

I'll cut myself off here because it's already so long lol.

Idk if the dunlendings are something you're interested in, but imo much of these things (use of natural colours and tyedye to blend into woodland realms, use of ceremonial furs and artful belts and hand-me-down dedicated embroidery) are what have been passed down from the haladin people, and adjusted to the current time/living situation of the dunlendings

[odekiisu]

Basic Guide to Clone Trooper Armour

I don’t know about you guys, but I have a hard time keeping the terms for various parts of clone armour straight in my mind. So, I decided to make this Guide To Armour, to make my life easier for those times I’m drawing or writing stuff and need to reference what this, that or the other piece is called, how it’s put on or taken off. (I’ve also tried to include/come up with some casual or slang terms for some parts because you cannot seriously expect these guys to use the Right Proper Terminology for everything all of the time.)

This is based on the Clone Wars cartoons, because that’s what I know best. Also, this is just the standard armour of regular troopers; if y’all want something about the possible additions/variations that you could have then lmk and I’ll see what I can put together I guess?

Note: a lot of this terminology is taken from medieval knights’ armour. Many terms are originally French; alternative names provided where possible. I did do a bit of research on medieval plate armour, which is the closest thing I can think of to clone armour, but I am by no means an expert so if you have any input or corrections feel free to @ me. Likewise, if you’ve cosplayed as a clone trooper or stormtrooper, I’d very much like to hear about your experience wearing this stuff, how it moves and how it might be similar or different to the “real thing” so to speak.

Figure 1: Clone trooper armour, front view. Kix got chosen for this because he’s a vain little bastard and loves to be painted. (ETA: this diagram now comes with a second, funnier version.)

(long post under cut)

Figure 2: Back view of armour.

According to Wookieepedia: The armour is produced on Kamino and has UV spectrum markings visible to Kaminoans. It is made of plastoid-alloy composite, and the plates are attached to the bodysuit via magnatomic gription panels. In general, Phase II armour is lighter, stronger and more ergonomic than Phase I, which has been described as heavy and uncomfortable (Wookieepedia also says that it weighs ‘just under forty kilograms’ which sounds like way too much but eh, I’ll roll with it.)

Body glove/bodysuit – the stuff worn under the armour. Provides thermoregulation, some level of protection from things like blasterfire, vacuum, etc. AKA: blacks.

Helmet – The Bucket. Stuffed full of various tech: tracking device, display screen, comlink… Phase I helmets also have life support capabilities, while Phase II helmets do not, requiring an external oxygen supply*. Helmet crest contains comlink antenna. AKA: bucket, I think Rex once called them sun-bonnets, etc… this is the piece likely to have the most slang terms associated with it. Go wild.

* this is according to Wookieepedia; I’m a bit sceptical but I haven’t yet seen the episode it refers to. I headcanon that Phase II is capable of limited life support for emergency situations, but extended missions require external respirators.

Cuirass – there is some conflicting information on whether this refers to just the front chest armour or both front and back. If both, it consists of breastplate and backplate, joined at the sides and shoulders. Shoulder connections appear to be different for Phase I and Phase II: Phase I has a separate piece covering the shoulder seam, implying that it can be opened, whereas Phase II looks like it has an integrated flexible band; it may or may not be possible to disconnect. Either way, the front and back pieces must be able to separate in order to get the whole thing on.

Plackart – belly piece, wraps around the back to protect kidneys as well. Probably flexible to some extent, has been seen to slide down under belt, as demonstrated by Jesse in Figure 3. Might also have to have at least one open-able seam in it in order for troopers to get into it efficiently.

Figure 3: I have no idea how the lower edge of this isn’t stabbing him in the crotch, but *shrug*.

Spaulder/shoulder bell – also known as pauldrons irl, but that term refers to a different item this context (the pauldrons that commanders, captains and ARC troopers wear), so I feel like it might be better to differentiate between them with different terms to avoid confusion. That’s just my opinion though, you feel free to do as you wish.

Rerebrace – bicep plate. Phase I has cutouts in the back to fit pointy elbows (see below); Phase II does not.

Couter – elbow plate. Pointy elbows in Phase I, unpointy elbows in Phase II, as shown on Figure 4. In Phase I appear to be attached to vambraces in the animated version, Phase II is more mobile. I admit, I’m not a huge fan of this word, I kinda prefer elbow plates.

Figure 4: Phase I and II elbows. Am I getting way too into this that it’s gotten to the point of studying clone elbows? *shrug* who knows.

Vambrace – forearm armour. Has wrist-mounted comlink (see below).

Gauntlet plate – covers back of hand. The 212th absolutely calls these “droid-punchers”, no you cannot convince me otherwise. I think I’ve seen fanon that some troopers sharpen the front edge of this plate to do more damage when punching. Decide for yourself if plastoid alloy would do more damage to the metal of a droid’s chassis if sharpened or unsharpened (and therefore sturdier).

Codpiece/crotch plate – covers the front hip and crotch area. Possible slang term, courtesy of @mockingjay34​: cockblock

Skidplate – covers butt and back hip. A lot of troopers probably just call this piece their shebs, and once again you cannot convince me otherwise. Note that in the clone wars cartoon, Phase I armour is triangular in the back and has a sort of erm… diaper shape, in that the codpiece and skidplate are connected in the crotch (I cannot imagine that being comfortable in any situation, but then again, I have Thicc™ Thighs. Do clones have thigh gaps? Also, I would not want to get pinched by the armour joint between crotch and thigh plates).

Figure 5: Sniper Butts! (Featuring Echo and Fives in quite possibly the only comfortable position in this armour.)

In Phase II the crotch and butt pieces are separated, which sounds a lot more sensible, as well as having better butt coverage – think cheeky panties vs full briefs.

Figure 6: Hardcase kindly demonstrating the new crotch plate alongside some significant gaps in his armour… please get yourself some bigger shoulder bells my dude!

I’d imagine that, given the amount of time these guys spend fully armoured, there should be some way of conveniently opening some of this up or removing individual plates for practical reasons (and if any particular trooper wanted to use this feature for… other things, well, that’s their own business).

Cuisse/Thigh plate – covers thighs. Phase I and II have different shapes in the back to account for skidplate shape, with Phase II having significantly less coverage in the upper thigh/butt area, but I guess better range of motion.

Figure 7: Troopers Hardcase and Dogma demonstrating the Butt Cutouts, or Buttouts.

Poleyn/knee plate/knee pad – important for maintaining kneecap integrity. Like elbow plates, appears to be integrated into greaves in Phase I, but moving freely in Phase II.

Greaves – cover shins, nothing fancy.

Boots – boots. Do not appear to be armoured, are soft enough to bend your toes for walking/kneeling/whatever you need bendy toes for.

Belt pouches/boxes/compartments – A place to keep your stuff when out & about. I’m assuming this is a Pocket Substitute. Clones deserve pockets too!

Comlink – Generally four large square buttons and one smaller one (live action has more buttons). They also have comlinks in their helmets. Wookieepedia mentioned that they used wrist comms in the show so that the audience could clearly see when characters were talking to each other. Possibly used for long-range communication, whereas the ones in the buckets could be for shorter range?

Life support/those box things on their back – I have no idea what they’re actually called but these also have different designs for Phase I and II. On stormtroopers they contain a power pack and a small oxygen supply, and I guess it’s reasonable to assume that they have the same life support function for clone troopers. Also read somewhere that they have comlink scanner for long-range communication?

Thermal detonator – why would they all have bombs on their back? Seems unsafe. Also I don’t think I’ve ever seen one used? Idk. These things confuse me.

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Waffle House AU

It’s never mentioned but for clarification, Jaskier has a beard in this. Anyway, @officerjennie, @all-hail-the-witcher, and myself shouldn’t be left alone together because then things like this happen. I love you both.

Geraskier, rated t, modern au and Geralt's still a witcher

-

The first time the man showed up, it was nearing three in the morning. The Waffle House Jaskier worked overnights in was as packed as ever, that’s to say there were two regulars sitting at the bar and a hoard of bugs flying around the place.

The man in question was dressed head to toe in some sort of armor that looked like it belonged in a steampunk cosplay and covered in an odd black substance that looked sticky. Even from across the restaurant, Jaskier could already smell the foul odor rolling off the man in waves. It was so strong Jaskier was surprised that he couldn’t see it.

Walking to the other end of the bar, closest to the corner table the man had seated himself it, Jaskier shouted at him, unwilling to get any closer than necessary, “What do you want to drink?”

“Coffee,” the man’s voice was deep, more a growl than anything else.

Wrinkling his nose in displeasure, Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and made his way over to the table, singing loudly to himself as he did so. Jaskier’s voice bounced off the shitty interior of the Waffle House, making it echo in a most unpleasant way. Jaskier switched to humming an upbeat tune as he approached the man at the table and began pouring the coffee.

“So, what do you think of my singing?” It was a question Jaskier asked all of his late-night customers. Their answers would determine whether he would keep them as regulars or do his best to run them off.  And his best never failed.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier frowned at the non-answer, “Come now, three words or less.”

“Filling-less pie.”

Spluttering, Jaskier pointed at the man angrily, “You know nothing about music. What do you want to order?”

“Hashbrowns. Smothered and covered.”

Spinning on his heal, Jaskier stalked away from the man without responding, instead muttering angrily under his breath, “I’ll show you filling-less, you bastard.”

-

Dropping the plate in front of the man, Jaskier watched as the rubbery meal bounced uncomfortably off the plate before landing back on it, somehow looking even worse than it already had.

“What is this?” The man’s voice held no inflection and Jaskier had no way of knowing the man’s feelings as he looked at the pathetic plate in front of him.

“Your food.”

“I ordered hashbrowns.”

Jaskier had to hold in his gasp as the man’s eyes, the most unusual golden shade, met his.

“Well, this is what I’ve brought you.”

The man looked back at the plate, flipping open the joke of an omelet, revealing that it was just eggs cooked in a pan and folded over, “There’s nothing inside. What kind of omelet doesn’t have anything in it?”

“Oh? Do you not like filling-less omelets? What a shame.”

Jaskier stalked back to the bar and took a seat by the regsiter, pulling his book back out and pretending to read it while he watched the man from the corner of his eye. He didn’t even look back to Jaskier’s direction, instead staring grumpily at the eggs in front of him before beginning to eat them.

The man ate quickly and before long he was walking over to the register where Jaskier sat, throwing a wad of bills down on the counter, “Keep the change.”

“I will.”

“You’re a shitty waiter.”

“You smell bad.”

And that, Jaskier assumed, would be that and he would never have to see the weird, smelly, strangely attractive man ever again.

-

The next night when the man arrived again, this time covered in a weird flaky green substance, Jaskier couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. People didn’t typically return after Jaskier provided intentionally bad service, at least not if they were sober and of a sound mind. Jaskier couldn’t confidently say this man’s mind was sound, although he did seem sober.

Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and stalked over to the corner table. He filled the cup halfway.

“More hashbrowns?”

The man wrinkled his brow, a frown on his face “Yes.”

Wandering back to the kitchen, in no rush, Jaskier stuck his head back in to look at the cook, “More eggs like last night. And can you add something weird to them this time?”

The line cook saluted him before reaching up to grab something off the shelf above his head. Jaskier winced, he wasn’t sure what exactly was in the mixtures of spices that were kept up there, but he had never had a good experience with them, that was for certain. This would for sure run off the weird tone-deaf man for good. The cook was done in no time and Jaskier walked the plate over to the man in the corner, throwing it down on the table like he had the night before.

He did no more than blink in surprise when the table collapsed. Jaskier wasn’t sure exactly why the table collapsed, the plate and shitty eggs didn’t weigh very much, and he hadn’t thrown the plate down particularly hard. But, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he has ever seen in the Waffle House, so he simply caught the man’s eye and shrugged, turning and walking back to his seat.

He watched amusedly as the man juggled his plate off the table before propping it up awkwardly and moving seats. That hadn’t been part of Jaskier’s plan, but it would certainly work in his favor.

-

Jaskier was shocked when the man walked in for a third night in a row. The normally difficult to fluster waiter was very aware that his face was the very picture of surprise. Luckily, the man didn’t even look at him as he walked over to the table in the corner. He shook it a bit before sitting down, presumably making sure it wouldn’t collapse today. To be honest, Jaskier wasn’t overly confident it was any sturdier now, but it did appear that someone on day shift had at least made it look as though it was fixed.

Grabbing the coffee pot and a mug, Jaskier couldn’t help but hope this wouldn’t truly become a ritual. He didn’t want a man in his Waffle House if said man couldn’t tell that Jaskier’s singing was nothing short of marvelous.

“Hashbrowns again?”

The man nodded, staring out of the window rather than looking at Jaskier. He wasn’t in the weird steampunk armor anymore, this time wearing a soft black tee shirt and worn in jeans. It also seemed he had managed to find a bath and was able to get all of the weird grimy things off of him.

He really was quite attractive all cleaned up, Jaskier couldn’t help but notice.

“What’s your name?”

The man turned to look at him, “Geralt.”

Walking over to the kitchen, Jaskier put in the order and sat back down by the register to wait. It wasn’t long before One-Eyed Larry grunted at him from his usual seat at the bar, “Napkin holders on fire, kid.”

Looking over at the table in front of Geralt’s, Jaskier saw that the napkin holder was, indeed, on fire. Sighing and getting a glass of water, Jaskier walked over to the table and poured the glass on it, drenching it thoroughly. Waving away the smoke, Jaskier turned the napkin holder around, making sure the fire was completely out, before putting it back in its place and taking his seat again.

Geralt’s golden eyes followed him curiously the whole time.

If the man was going to be spending his nights here, then he would need to get used to these kinds of things. It was three in the morning in a Waffle House, weirder would happen.

A few minutes more passed before there was a bell ding from the kitchen, signaling that Geralt’s food was ready. Jaskier tossed the plate on the table as was tradition, smirking when he saw the surprise flit across the man’s face. No doubt he hadn’t been expecting to receive hashbrowns, smother and covered as he had first asked for two nights prior.

What could Jaskier say, he was rather weak for a pretty face. Even if was a rude one.

“If you agree that my singing is spectacular, I’ll let you take me out for coffee sometime.”

“Good coffee or this shit?” Geralt gestured to the mug in front of him.

Jaskier scoffed, “You think I would ever eat or drink anything from here?”

“That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.” Jaskier sat a notepad and pen on the table, “Leave your number and I’ll call you tomorrow to cash in.”

Later when Jaskier cleared the table, he couldn’t help but smile at the neat handwriting on the notepad.

Looking forward to hearing from you. You should get your napkin holder checked out.

-

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[life-in-the-monster-haus]

"i know she doesnt have a body any real person can have but you shouldnt bodyshame it!!" ok so does how someone treat a doll show how they feel about real peoples bodies or not??? @ that person not you

I don't know how to answer this because it's not directed at me.

But I'm gonna do it anyways.

I love Monster High with all of my cold black heart, HOWEVER one thing I have always had contempt for was how super thin the characters were.

On one hand, as an artist myself I get it! they aren't supposed to look like real people, they are stylistic skinny! but on the other hand - any style that does not allow for bigger characters is a garbage art style and whoever endorses it is a hack artist whom I refuse to respect.

That being said: the G1 doll bodies set an unrealistic standard for actual people to try and replicate and you all KNOW they did. I comb the MH tag pretty regularly and I have seen the most depressing eating disorder posts, pro-ana/mia propaganda, calorie counters to look like cartoon characters. it's not right, As someone who had an eating disorder in High school I refuse to let that social sickness ruin my happy place and I report these posts with extreme prejudice because I don't want that brainwashing that infected me to hurt anyone else, I didn't deserve that, NO ONE deserves that! I will shield this fandom from that poison with every fiber of my being.

The G1 bodies looked good while dressed but the nude dolls looked so awkward, there is only one person I can think of who looks like that, a French Model named Isabelle Caro, Should I perhaps message Ms. Caro to ask how she feels about having this one in a million body that she shares with a popular doll line?.... oh wait! I can't! Because she's fucking dead.

She was only 28 when she died. The cause? immunodeficiency due to anorexia. This poor woman needlessly died because of an obsession with being thin. Her death was not in vain though, 4 years after she died France (her home) put a ban on super thin models and in her later years Ms. Caro used her platform to denounce super thin models and warn others to not be like her. a beautiful person taken from us too soon.

I also have personal reasons for not wanting people to get the wrong ideal about super skinny bodies. When I was in High school I had a boyfriend with Anorexia, I loved him with all I had I told him he was beautiful and that I will love him, thin, fat, buff, whatever makes him happy... but my words fell upon deaf ears as the disorder was a lot louder than I was, he was so painfully skinny. 3 years later he had a heart attack and died. I'm not a doctor or nothing but maybe if he was sturdier he would have survived the attack and still be here with me... I don't know. But I would not wish this pain upon my worst enemy.

Now that you know -why- I am so highly motivated to protect others from this blight I hope you'll understand me a little better when I say that Mattel making their dolls thicker is good for everybody involved, there is literally no downside. People who are naturally skinny still get dolls to relate too but now so do other types of people! it's an absolute win! except for Muscular girls y'all kinda got the shaft - but fingers crossed Abbey brings us a new buff body! (which we need, we also need an even chubbier body too but I'm not going to hold my breath) We need every BODY to make our world work. G2 gave us a weak and pathetic attempt at meatier doll bodies, it was too little too late but an attempt was made!

Now... if you read all of this and your a thin person with hurt feelings (Like whoever sent this anon clearly is) you need to get over yourself buttercup. I'm a busy bitch and I don't have time to coddle thin people. Similar to how Black people should not have to tip toe around White folks because their precious white feelings get hurt when they're told they have privilege, I am not going to coddle the thin who make it sound like being told to "eat a sandwich" once in a GREAT while somehow compares to what People of Size face daily, I don't play in the Pain Olympics, there are no winners in the Pain Olympics only losers.

I just won't do it, it's exhausting and I'm already exhausted from navigating a world that doesn't want me to exist.

If your thin and normal I'm confident you can see where I'm going with this and won't wrongfully misinterpret my words as some thinly veiled skinny shaming (which isn't real) Unless you are a Bride in Uganda I don't want to hear a word about how hard life is being thin, that's it! that's the only group of people who I'll give a pass too. everyone else can get a grip and do some research yourself, I don't get paid enough to pander to curious but cowardly thin folks.

[arsonisticscholar]

I found this in an old doc I hope you enjoy!

I left Castletown at dusk after gathering reports on black-blooded monster sightings. Since I don’t eat and I don’t sleep, the evening and nighttime spike in monster activity doesn’t impact my day-to-day routine.

I was walking along the path to the area where there were monster sightings, right in their line of sight. My plan *was* to get ambushed to draw out all the monsters and take them down with my swords.

The moment I set my plan into action, it all started to crumble.

I was ambushed, as expected, and I began hacking through the monsters and taking them off guard, as expected.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large group of boys and men charge into the fray and completely get in the way of my fight! It isn’t unusual for travelers with hero complexes to try to step in, but it was always infuriating when they do.

I continue to hack and slash and roll and counter the large number of bokoblins and moblins while a bunch of the new group decides to take on the stalnox that seems to be leading the small brigade of monsters.

The stalnox managed to set a few trees on fire. Luckily it didn’t spread but it got in the way of the travelers.

I grabbed a few arrows and lit them on the bush. I knocked two arrows and fired at the eye of the stalnox. The others had already gotten it down twice so when it fell it only took a few swipes to get it to turn to dust along with the rest of the monster horde.

The men regrouped together and started to do a headcount and pass out red potions and bandages. In the past eleven thousand years, Hylians seemed to become sturdier and sturdier, but I still figured they may need some more potions. Especially because they were on the way toward Castletown rather than the way away. Not like I needed it, I was in pristine condition.

I walked closer to their group and one of them asked if I was injured. I said no, obviously, and handed him my extra supplies. He redistributed it, and the whole group seemed to be relatively uninjured after the treatment.

It was when I turned to look at the group that I saw them.

The captain’s son and the rancher’s husband. How they were alive after all this time, I didn’t know. And I certainly didn’t know how they could exist at the same time. I was never very sentimental, even in life, but it took all that I had to not run up and hug the both of them.

“What- how are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Link.” The shorter one said.

“Wait wait wait wait, hold on. You’re a hero too? And how do you know Four?” One of them said.

“Four?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Link, “You know what, I’m going to ask for an explanation, but I’m not going to listen to it while standing over dead monsters. There’s a small clearing nearby, I can start a fire there and we can sit and chat.”

“...Yeah, ok. Guys let's move.”

At the command of one of the others, all the boys started moving, and one motioned for me to lead the way. We went to the clearing and some of them split off into pairs to get firewood, and one of them began to prepare a meal. I started the fire and Link- Malon’s husband- began to speak.

“You know me and you somehow know Four,” His eyebags seemed to grow tenfold, “And I would like an explanation for that. Eventually. But for now, I think I should tell you how and why we are here. I’m assuming you came through a portal to get here?”

I raised my eyebrows. “No actually. Though now I'm guessing that that is where these empowered monsters are coming from. Is that how you and he are here at the same time?”

“Hmm. Yes, that is how we are traveling. We’re chasing a black lizalfoe through time and we’ve been collecting the heroes from each era we visit to join our group. Do you know anything about there being a hero?” He continued.

“Well, that depends on who you ask. If you asked me I’d say there is no hero. But if you asked the sentimental old grouch that is the Deku tree, he would say it was me.”

“So will you put your life on the line for Hyrule and join us?”

I huffed. “Sure.”

That’s when what seemed to be the rest of them came back to the clearing with the necessary materials to cook a large meal.

“So, I guess it’s time for introductions then.” He rattled off a list of names and introduced himself last.

“Since all of our names are Link, you’re going to have to pick a nickname as well. Do you have a title?”

I thought to myself for a moment. “Maple. Like the tree.” Like the trees in the Korok forest.

“Welcome to the club, Maple!” Wind shouted.

I turned to Time and Four. “So I’m sure you're wondering how exactly I’m still alive, ten thousand years later. I’ll skip the sob story and just say that, well, I’m immortal. The only people that know are you all, obviously, as well as Malon and Four’s father. Oh, and the koroks.”

“You can see them too!?” Wild and Wind exclaimed at the same time.

“Haha, yes. I lived with them for over ten thousand years. In fact, I was there when you pulled the master sword- both times. Now I know I said that I would skip the sob story that was my life but if you want to hear about something specific, I’m more than willing to share.” I missed sharing stories about my experiences, and their resemblance to Malon’s kids made me so nostalgic.

“So how do you know Four and the old man?” Twilight asked.

“Ah-ah-ah, those are two stories,” I said, waving my finger at him, “One step at a time please.”

Wild jumped in before Twilight could answer. “How old are you?”

“That could also have two answers, my friend. Physically, I am a little older than fifteen. Though it has been eleven thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven years since I died. Or gained immortality, depending on how you look at it.” I said with a sad smile.

I turned back to Twilight. “Do you have a better question now? Maybe one that can’t be easily answered by Time or Four themselves.” I said with a smirk.

“Uh, well, how many of us have you heard of at least?” He asked instead.

“Well, when I was alive the first king of Hyrule- Sky- had recently passed. Then I met Four when he was little, and I met Time when he was around the same age, I believe I heard about Twilight in passing, when I was in the Korok forest I heard that the Sheika were building machines to assist the hero, though I’m not sure if that’s any of you, and then I saw Wild drawing the sword from its pedestal.”

Twilight nodded, “Hmm yeah, I don’t think I ever met you. I pretty much went back to Orodon after my adventure.”

“Ah, Orodon,” Maple started, ”I only visited once, and for a very short period of time.”

Twilight's face lit up for a moment. “You’ve gone to Orodon! What did you do there?”

“Ah, now that’s a story! Buuuuuut I’m gonna have to have Time sit out for this one, it’s got spoilers~”

Time let out a sigh and slowly stood up from his spot on the log next to Twilight. “Well, it’s about time for one of us to go on patrol anyway. Legend, you’re coming with me.” Time motioned for Legend to follow.

The vet let out an annoyed huff, but got up and followed him into the tree line.

Once they were out of earshot, everyone leaned in close to listen.

Maple told them of how he was a family friend of the Lon Lon’s for a few generations, starting with Malon’s parents. He explained that Time and Malon had died and he and their granddaughter, along with her husband and baby were traveling into Castletown for a day trip when they were attacked and killed. Maple told them about the battle and how he and the infant were the only survivors. He told them about how he knew of a couple in Orodon village who had been trying for a baby but were unable to have one. They were good people who would happily take in a child, and Maple had to trust them. He told them of the journey to get to the village and how hard it was to protect a baby while on the road.

“You know, he would have been about your age by your time, do you know him by any chance? It was uhhhh… Rusl and Uli! Yeah! Do they still have a kid?” Maple asked.

Twilight stuttered, “That’s- You- I-“

Wind spoke up “That’s Twilight! Holy shit you knew him when he was a baby!” Time emerged from the tree line at that moment to scold his language.

“So I’m guessing the story is over?” Time asked, glancing between the stunned Twilight and Maple.

Maple started bombarding him with questions about his personal life and made remarks relating his physical features to his parents that made Twilight flush and shy away from his gaze.

“Well if you’re traveling with us you’ll get to meet his family” Warriors remarked.

Heres the backstory part of what I wrote for my lu oc Maple!

Keep reading

[wishfullyeternal]

Crowley x Reader- Healing Your Wings, My Dear

Crowley x Reader- Healing Your Wings, My Dear

Words- 1192

Warnings- Depictions of blood, cuts, scrapes, etc. Swearing

Anon Requested- Sorry to bother you but I wanted to know if you could make another Crowley fic where he has wings again? Totally don’t have to but I read the first one and I thought it was an amazing thought and I can’t stop thinking about it! It could be a fluff where Crowleys wings somehow get injured and the reader helps bandage them and then they lay down and the reader grooms them and stuff idk. Again, you totally don’t have to do it! Thank you!!

A/N- Ayeo bros! Back at it again! Thank you for the request, had a lot of fun making this! Hopefully you like! Love you lovelies!

"Ah, bloody hell!" You jumped up from your chair, dropping the book you were reading, quickly scanning the room to find that Crowley was facing away from you, his suit soaked in blood.

"Crowley? What the hell happened to you? Where have you been-"

"Just a few little cuts from the Winchesters, nothing too bad darling..." He trailed off, his eyes rolling into the back of his head before slowly focusing on you. He slid against the wall and to the ground, his face going far too pale for comfort, much like a porcelain doll. Except he wasn't porcelain, and should never be.

"Ah fuck!" You ran to the bathroom, looking desperately for things to help Crowley but only found a small first aid kit. (You'd think he would keep at least something useful for injuries, but alas you were wrong)

"Hey, hey, you'll be okay." You opened up the first aid kit to find little to no supplies.

"Damnit Crowley how do you not have anything! At least invest in a good first aid kit you blithering idiot," Crowley started to chuckle but then sucked in a breath, wheezing harshly. You grabbed some alcohol and poured the clear liquid onto a cotton round, making sure not to get too much on your hands.

"No not that dear, it's not me, it's the wings..." He trailed off and winced, letting the wings appear behind him, void-like black with sparks of red scattered throughout, more towards the scapulars than anything else. But they weren't like how you had seen them the first time, instead, they had large cuts and scrapes all around them, with feathers bent out of place and down covering the floor. He shook them up and had to harshly bite his lip to keep himself stable.

"Oh Crowley, please let me help," He nodded and lent the left-wing to you, it was so bad that through some of the cuts you could see the light shine through, barely covered in anything but a thin layer of skin. The veins that coursed through the wings were the most visible and caught your eye with not red blood, but black.

Quickly though you put the alcohol pad onto the dried patches of blood, smeared from cuts that were still oozing. Crowley let out a harsh breath and sighed heavily. Looking at him his chest was rising and falling rapidly and if you weren't fast enough he would go into shock. He was a demon but still inhabited a human body, so ailments still affected him just as much as a regular human.

"You're gonna be okay, don't fall asleep on me, gotta make sure you're still breathing," Crowley's brown eyes looked at you with an emotion that was somewhere between the spectrum of disbelief and comfort. You began to clean the bigger cuts, making sure to keep them sterile before packing them with the small amount of gauze in the first aid kit. The cotton round soaked in alcohol was now a dark grey color from the blood as you threw it to the side, examining the scrapes and putting bandages on as needed.

"I'm going to need to pluck some blood feathers Crowley, but let me do the other side first," Crowley noticeably shook his head, knowing the process would be quite painful, but if not done swiftly and correctly the feather wouldn't clot itself and he would lose a lot of blood.

You then again soaked another cotton round in alcohol, swiping along the sides of scrapes and cuts, letting the round grow more and more black with the more blood it picked up.

"Damn, that hurt," He winced when you went over a tender spot, a bruise already forming over the exposed skin of his wing.

"Sorry," You were blunt with your response, focusing on the task at hand, and pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a particularly bad wound, allowing it to fizz up and grow white, killing the bacteria that would be too painful for you to use straight rubbing alcohol on.

"Now I'm going to take these tweezers and pluck out some feathers, promise you won't kill me okay?" Crowley lightly laughed and nodded,

"Gotcha love, no killing" You put the tweezers at the shaft of the feather that was broken, blood already beginning to hinder the process. It covered the surface of the tweezers and caused them to slip, making you resolve and use your fingers. You didn't warn him, knowing that if you did the pain would probably be greater, and instead pulled harshly, letting the feather release itself from his skin. A small amount of blood came from the pore of the wing, but other than that it was quite clean, and a new one would eventually grow in its place.

"Now for the others," You said to yourself,

"This time try to warn me, darling, I don't fancy being violated in such a way," You rolled your eyes and shook your head, warning him until the last one.

"Done," You said, brushing off your hands and cleaning up the mess you had made. Crowley plopped himself onto his bed, and sighed deeply, desperately wanting sleep to overcome him.

"Get up for me, I want to do something," Crowley groaned and reluctantly sat up, you sat behind him and looked at the ruffled feathers, seeing ones that were out of place and down in places where down should not be.

"Let me groom them," You weren't really giving him a choice, but he obliged and stretched them out. You ran your fingers through them and began carding through the ones that were obviously bent out of shape, and massaging places that were swollen.

"Thank you love, I appreciate it" You nodded and just smiled,

"Happy to help my king of hell," Crowley quietly stretched the wings again, letting you gently reach to his uropygial gland, where oil secreted and allowed his wings to be waterproof and sturdier than before. He tried to control his breathing, but at the touch of that gland, his breathing became erratic, knowing the area was quite sensitive.

"Sorry, I just want to make sure they'll heal correctly," Crowley didn't respond and let you slowly spread the oil onto the wings, allowing it to seep through and cover the entirety of the wings. Once finished the wings showed new life, although the scars wouldn't heal completely, and he would still have some missing feathers, they were still beautiful to you. After leaving the room to wash your hands from the oil, you found him sleeping soundly in his bed, his suit still on and wings lazily spread across the bed.

"Crowley," You shook him gently, he only groaned and said,

"What, I'm trying to sleep," You pursed your lips,

"Crowley move, give me some room!" He began to bitch and moan, but stopped himself,

"Fine," He moved the wing covering the bed over himself, cradling his chest and letting you finally lie down. The both of you were immensely tired from the debacle, and sleep came easily. You felt Crowley's wing begin to brush against your midsection, slowly letting itself release the tension it held. You let the warmth envelope you as you fell asleep, letting your eyes close and mind quiet.

[crackinwise]

My pet AU is Kiyotaka and Mondo somehow out in the post-Tragedy Japan, surviving and saving people. Like either they didn't agree to stay locked in Hope's Peak for safety, or they survived the game and left with the others but didn't join Future Foundation. Major points up front, details divided into sections under the cut:

Mondo's objective would be to find his gang, and Taka's goal, besides finding his dad, would be repairing society while punishing those responsible for its destruction. But their direct task is keeping each other safe & helping victims along the way.

Mondo even stresses calling Taka "Ishimaru" instead of "bro" or his given name in front of others, so they might KNOW who's saving them. Taka caught on quick & is very grateful.

Taka would have kind of a breakdown reconciling who he is with what he has to do in a lawless world where every public moral is ignored. He keeps a small ledger of places they loot from, to compensate in the future.

At the start, Taka can only sleep burrowed against Mondo's chest or back, blocking out their damaged surroundings & pretending everything is as it was.

He cries in Mondo's arms one night after he couldn't avoid killing someone to save Mondo's life, and that's the tipping point. He thinks if he was better, stronger like his bro, he'd have noticed sooner & found a better option. Mondo is being so brave; he's Taka's rock and Taka wants to be as steady for him too. Their souls are already connected so obviously he just has to borrow more of Mondo's spirit, right?

That's how Ishida is created.

(In reality, Mondo just compartmentalizes and shoves down unhelpful feelings. You thought he needed therapy BEFORE all this, oh man-)

Ishida:

Taka ends up slipping into the Ishida facade for fight and flight; any time adrenaline kicks in and he feels he needs that boost. Sadly, that's most of their waking time. He guards Mondo and anyone they're saving like a fierce watchdog, and won't hesitate to bite.

He'll only come out of the role when he personally verifies it's safe and if Mondo can confirm it. Survivors are confused by the dual-sided Ishimaru switching right in front of them, but they're so grateful (and so much weird crap has happened) that it never phases them long.

Too many times, Ishida will go all day without a break. This means when their hideout for the night is absolutely safe, that it's okay to let go, Taka just collapses in exhaustion. But Mondo is there to catch him.

Mondo feels conflicted over the Ishida role because Taka is just a beast in it--it's very flattering and a little hot--but it also makes him worry more than before about Taka's health. He comforts Taka with a lot of praise and reassurances, and Taka sleeps lightly but otherwise fine.

Relationship: (slight mature warning)

When they touch, Taka swears he can feel the link between them flare to fuel them. Twin fires ignited. Mondo doesn't know about all that, but when their eyes meet it definitely makes him feel invincible, so, he can believe.

If they weren't already new boyfriends when The Tragedy hit, all this closeness makes sure of that soon after. Being together is their happiness and, for a while, their only link to pre-Tragedy lives. Vows not unlike marriage were exchanged one night. Where one goes, the other will follow. Anywhere. Always.

When they kiss, safe and alone, Mondo will ask what Taka wants; what he can handle that night. Sometimes it's just the kisses before passing out, sometimes it's more intimate touches to please them both after another hellish day.

Sometimes Taka will ask to be made love to, for obvious couple reasons, but also because Mondo inside him makes their tether feel stronger, more complete. Like going over the invisible line in bold marker. Taka believes any marks they can create with their mouths, any traces of themselves they can leave on or in each other, the easier they can find their bond and tap into it. (He had started a nervous habit of pressing in on lovebites to keep Ishida going when tired.)

Mondo tells him he doesn't need to find a poetic excuse for fetishes and Taka lovingly answers with a stomach punch.

Crazy Diamonds:

Mondo's gang members, the ones not dead or overcome with Despair, are slowly found and joined back up.

Any smaller and sturdier motorcycles are kept when found. If Mondo was able to keep his own in this version, it's a bit heavier than would be good for any off-roading--and much too loud for any stealth--but he refuses to part with it.

Every gang member respected Taka/Ishida the second they saw him fight beside their leader. Before Mondo says a word about him. They readily take orders from him in either form. The change in appearance was a surprise, but they're already used to some members wildly changing demeanor in or away from the gang, so it's easily accepted.

With the gang as backup to keep watch during downtime--after Ishida sized each one up and watched them for loyalty--the pair can feel a lot more relaxed. They joke about having a date in a blown-out restaurant they find, and they can finally enjoy a deep sleep.

When the group finds safehouses with more than one room, Mondo & Taka are given their privacy. Taka tries to insist everyone deserves a chance at privacy and they should rotate, but changing a gang's long-established hierarchy is a losing battle. And Mondo's not on his side because when they're alone he can be as sappy or touchy as he likes.

Legends:

Taka and Mondo save a lot of people over their journey and kinda become a legend that gets spread around and gives people Hope.

This area still needs work from me. Probably some research into Japanese myths and supernatural symbolism. A placeholder right now is something corny like "Two Men with burning eyes and thunderous voices will answer your cries for help. But if you're evil, the two will appear to you as One Demon and drag you down to the land of the dead."

There's also probably a need for costume changes since their color scheme is the same black & white of the Despair Remnants and monokumas killing people. Legend or not, it'd be easy for traumatized survivors to not know they're good guys at first.

Darker Moments: (blood, violence and vague attempted sexual assault)

After he killed a man to save Mondo, Taka luckily (he wouldn't use that word) doesn't have to again. Hurt? Yes. Beat unconscious? Yes. Maim? Yes, but some of the vile dregs of humanity are caught doing things that deserve worse--

--That deserve Mondo. Once when they were still traveling alone, a group of Remnants jumped them, managing to separate the two, and one knocked Taka out with a bad blow to the head. Mondo dispatched the others attacking him and got to Taka right as the Remnant was about to do something unforgivable.

Mondo snapped. He still doesn't remember what he did, he just remembers coming to in all the blood and dazedly picking Taka up to take him to a place he knew was safe.

Taka never finds out. He woke up a day later with a bandaged head and Mondo crying and kissing his hands. Mondo just told him he beat some and scared away the others.

Minor Details:

They try to always fight back-to-back and, to observers, seem to read each other's mind for where to move.

Taka/Ishida would use a sword or hand-to-hand. The pickaxe might just be a random pickaxe they find, if he uses it at all. Kinda hard to carry both a sword and a railroad pickaxe on your back, and I can't imagine it balances very well. (The size in official pics would be a 5lb head w/2-3lb handle.)

Mondo seems like he would use anything lying in debris to fight. Poles, pipes, chains. Aaaand maybe the knives he mentions in School Mode.

For any costume changes, Mondo would keep his jacket at least. A beacon for the Diamonds. Maybe a purple tank top, and different pants better for knife holsters. Unless the holster should wrap around his waist or hip instead?

Any changes to Taka's outfit would keep his armband. It's a reminder of his Talent and his goal to make Japan even better than before. Also wanna keep his boots or change to more rugged ones.

End Goal:

Obviously they'd end up in Towa, after the events of Ultra Despair Girls. They're reunited with Takaaki and Takemichi. Maybe they help set things right there a bit, or Makoto would get word to them about his plans vs Future Foundation's. Look at me, do I look like someone that knows how to end things?

There is no way you read all that. (I love you if you did.) But feel free to use all or any bits of it in your own works. Almost positive I'll never get to compose all this into a coherent fic format. I might update in short scenario posts under a 'Tragedy-survivor au' tag if I think of anything.

If you have a question or want something expanded upon, ask away.

[potatoes-is-are-food]

Demon Shit [Part 2]

I’m making this a whole ass series, we’re gonna call this the demon shit au or whatever, feel free to send in asks about it and stuff, and get ready for more parts!

| NSFW - no actual secs scene in this one

When you woke, you felt like you’d been hit by a train. You struggled to move, shifting a little and groaning. A light chuckle came from slightly above you and you pried your eyes open to look into Dabi’s cyan ones.

“Sore?” he teased, running his fingers through your hair. You gave him a look and he clasped his hand dramatically over his chest, “not the kicked puppy look, doll,” he pulled you close and inspected the bite on your neck, stroking along the marred skin carefully with his thumb before letting his hand rest on your shoulder.

“That doesn’t hurt anymore, right?” He asked, giving it a little tap. You craned your neck, reaching up to feel it yourself and finding only ridges like an old scar and not the gaping wound that it should be. You looked up at him, intrigued by the look of concern on his face, and shook your head.

“Good,” the corner of his mouth twitched up and he leaned in, placing a chaste kiss to your lips. You trailed your fingers lightly along his bare chest, skin catching on the metal of his staples.

“Do these hurt?” You asked, meeting his eyes again. He gave you an expression you couldn’t read.

“Yeah, but not to the touch,” he paused, “They’re sort of like a punishment. I’m not as nice to everyone as I am to you, little sacrifice,” he teased, half-smiling and planting another soft kiss to your forehead. You felt you shouldn’t press the matter, settling back into bed and burying your face in his chest.

He hummed, stroking your hair for a minute before giving your back a pat and detaching you from himself, standing and opening the curtains. The lighting outside hadn’t changed at all in the hours you’d spent in the house. He stretched, and your eyes moved across the taught muscles in his back and arms.

When he turned to face you again he materialized the same outfit he’d had on yesterday. He helped you stand, shaking a bit and clutching the soft, white bed sheet around your body. He sighed,

“Shit. Shouldn’t have ripped your dress,” he muttered, looking down at your little sheet-clad form.

“Can’t you make clothes?” You asked, giving the sleeve of his jacket a little tug. He shook his head,

“Nope. I can only do that to myself. Technically speaking they’re not real. And I can only do a couple things,” his hand curled under his chin, one finger tapping against his jaw. “It’s fine,” he said, ruffling your hair, “You just stay here for a bit and I’ll be right back, okay? Take another nap or bath or something.”

You shook your head, grasping his sleeve again tightly, “Don’t leave me here by myself,” you felt a lump form in your throat at the thought. This place wasn’t even real if your assumption of what a “pocket dimension” was was correct.

“It’s safe, sweetness,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you pleaded with him with your expression. He tutted at you, giving your forehead a light flick.

“Less than an hour. Promise,” two fingers tilted your chin up as he leaned down, swiping his forked tongue along your lip and flicking it into your mouth when you opened for him, followed by his lips meeting yours. He groaned softly against you before pulling away, wiping away the strands of saliva that followed.

“Be right back,” he trailed his thumb down your cheek, planting one more brief kiss to your temple, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You followed, opening the door to find him gone.

With a little shiver, you pulled the sheet up around you tighter, bunching up the material so it wouldn’t drag behind as you explored the house. You went down the stairs, wincing as several places on your abused body flared in pain, and padded through a little sitting room. The whole house was like a doll’s house, and everything downstairs seemed to be fake. The sinks didn’t work and the fridge didn’t open, and you quickly grew bored, deciding to take Dabi’s advice and have another bath.

Entering the room he’d ...had you in, you took in the sight of the disgusting bed.  The blankets were bunched in various places, shredded in others, and the whole thing had pools and specks of blood, sweat, and cum on it. Your sacrificial dress was in shreds in the corner. You awkwardly turned away, into the attached bathroom.

You dropped the sheet in front of the mirror as you gasped at your reflection. Your hair was a mess, and your body was covered in bruises and scratches, mostly hand-shaped or matching the spacing of his staples. You hadn’t even noticed them scraping along your skin, but they definitely had. The bite he’d left looked like an old scar. You noticed your lips were a little swollen, too, and not just the ones on your face.

Starting the bath, you tried to comb through your hair with your fingers and splashed a little cold water from the sink on your face. You sat on the edge of the tub, blankly staring into space. Was this a dream? You knew the witch meant business, she’d told you if you fucked up her ritual she’d kill you and she definitely meant it. You laughed in spite of yourself at the thought. You’d fucked up the ritual and then fucked her demon.

Lowering yourself into the hot water you sighed, stretching and letting it soothe your sore muscles. You wondered what it meant to be a sacrifice. What did he mean when he said he was going to “keep you”? There was too much to try to sift through, so you pushed it all to the back of your mind and decided it didn’t matter. He clearly didn’t have any intentions of killing you or he’d have done it. And at least some part of him seemed to care about you. Your face burned whenever you tried to place your own feelings, though.

What you thought was roughly half an hour later you heard movement in the house. Feeling shy you grabbed the sheet off the floor and pulled it over the top of the tub, covering most of the rim. The footsteps stopped outside the door and Dabi knocked, opening the door without waiting for a response.

“Got you something to wear, little sacrifice,” he held up a bag from a store you’d never heard of, setting it aside and crouching beside you, “What’s this for?” He trailed his finger under the sheet, raising a brow at you. You felt your cheeks heat up and sank further into the water. He chuckled, grabbing the sheet as he stood and holding it out for you to use as a towel, keeping his eyes on yours.

You begrudgingly stood, cold air making goosebumps raise on your skin. Dabi wrapped the sheet around you and helped you out of the tub, rubbing the fabric over you to dry you off.

“So shy,” he taunted, running a thumb along your cheek affectionately. “I know I fucked you stupid earlier but you remember me seeing you naked, right?” He crouched, bunching the sheet up and drying your legs. Eye level with your hips, he reached and gently dragged a finger along your puffy, still sore folds, making you whimper.

“Poor little thing,” he withdrew his hand, placing a brief kiss to your pussy that made your breath hitch before reaching for the bag and rustling through it and producing a white dress, similar to the one he’d ripped off you, “We’re doing another ritual. The dress isn’t necessary but it’s traditional and you looked so cute in the first one.”

You stepped in, using his shoulder for support, and he pulled the soft material up your body until it was settled in place. It was very similar to the first one, but made out of sturdier material. You shifted a little, squeezing your thighs together uncomfortably.

“Um, Dabi?” Your brows knitted together as you looked up at him. He hummed in response, shifting through a different shopping bag, “Could I have some other stuff to wear with this? Like under it? And shoes…?” You trailed off, trying not to sound ungrateful for what he’d already given you. He gave you a wink,

“I’ve got ya, doll,” he lifted your feet one at a time, guiding them through the lace panties, pulling them up around your hips and giving the waistband a little snap. You stepped into the stockings he held up next, his hands gliding up your legs as he fixed them for you, planting a soft kiss on each knee as he finished.

“Why are you dressing me and stuff?” The question came out quiet and nervous as he pulled the dress down to affix a bralette around your chest.

“I take good care of my things,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head as he fixed your sleeves back into place. He reached into one of the bags and pulled out a long black coat, draping it around your shoulders. Pulling out a pair of boots and helping you step in, he tied the laces for you as you spoke,

“What are you going to do with me? After we summon your friend?” You fidgeted with the hem of your dress, not looking directly at him as he stood, adjusting the coat on your shoulders.

“Sacrifices usually live in pocket dimensions like this one. Sometimes their demons will let them stay in what you’d call the real world, but they can’t visit as often like that so it’s not as popular,” he explained, tilting your chin up to look at him, “I’m going to keep you in a bigger pocket  and you’re going to live there. I’m also gonna use you to summon my friends and they’ll be able to visit you. You don’t have to do anything, just keep a couple demons happy for a few thousand years.”

Your eyes widened and his hand wrapped around your shoulders to stabilize you.

“Thousand?” You gasped, gripping his wrist and gaping up at him. He laughed, flicking your forehead as he’d done earlier,

“Yeah. Thousand. You’ll live as long as I do so probably another six thousand or so,” he pressed his lips to the spot he’d flicked, clearly amused at your shock, “So,” he continued nonchalantly, “Time to go.” His fingers threaded through yours as he pulled you out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

Once you stepped through the front door with him the pocket dimension was gone and you’d stepped into a busy street, struggling to keep up with Dabi’s fast pace as he dragged you behind him. You tugged on his hand to try to get him to slow down, but he just tugged back, making you stumble a little. Pulling you off to the side he lifted you onto his back, continuing down the street quickly, weaving through the crowds of people easily.

“What’s your friend’s name?” You asked, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Tomura,” he paused for a second, “he’s… not as used to people as I am. Women especially. Just, uh, be aware of that,” he finished, still sounding unsure of his words. You tensed a little and he rubbed his thumbs gently along your thighs as he supported them.

The streets became less crowded as he carried you, eventually setting you down and holding your hand as you maneuvered through desolate alleys. You came to what looked like the back door to a business and Dabi entered, pulling you in behind him before slamming the door shut and leaving you both in darkness.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

[kwonhoshi0]

𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 | fic

navigation | requests : open | 12th march 2021

pairing : dabi x fem!reader

genre : fluff, angst

word count : 3.1k

warnings : fire, death, trauma

themes : strangers to lovers, mutual pining, denial, story changes,

summary : you had to get away from the toxicity that is your father and the hero society. after 17 years of being trapped, you finally have a chance to escape but with a man you didn’t really expect to help. you wondered why he helped you, you don’t know it’s because you don’t question his looks, you saw him not his scars.

you didn't plan for this, you didn't expect him to save you.

the corrupted superhuman society, the toxic society you lived in angered you. maybe things would've been different if your quirk, or your parents weren't who they are.

they wanted to mold you into the perfect weapon against villains, were the villains really the bad guys? who had the right of calling people heroes and villains. what separated them.

those thoughts you asked yourself each day growing up, if you could even call it that. 

everything was okay at first, you felt loved, but once your quirk manifested that changed, drastically.

training everyday until you couldn't move, the tears, the bruises. when would it be enough, is this really what it took to be a hero, to be deemed worthy of such a title?

you had already had to endure 12 years of training constantly, for your dad. you always wondered what is would've been like, to grow up in a stable happy home.

your father had been rejected by the superhuman society, his views were called sick and twisted. he wanted, needed to make you the best. that would've been okay if he let you have a childhood, if he trained you like a daughter not a robot. 

your fathers quirk is jet fire, he can quite literally make jets of fire with his mouth. the green haired man wasn't always bad, he didn't always push you or bruise you. you remembered there was a time, he would hold you, he’d spin you around. 

your quirk is the manipulation of fire, with the particles around you, you can create fire and other gases like smoke. it was a literal merge of your parents quirk, except you don’t breathe fire you create it with your hands.

your mother hasn't talked to you properly since your father started training you at the age of 5. maybe it was the guilt, she never questioned her husband, he had left another woman for your mother, personally you thought she was the last thing holding your fathers sanity together. the guilt of ruining you, corrupting you had haunted her so much she didn't even notice the scars and bruises on your body.

you had never had a real mother figure to show you how strong women are. she would never tell you this but she wondered where you got your anger and courage from.

everyone has a breaking point. yours was when you realized your parents would be living your life for you until they die. that terrified you more than you'd like to admit. the thought of living your life as a hero, a hero you didn't believe in or want to be. an entire lifetime in someone else’s shadow.

did you really live 17 years for this.

you thought about this as you stared up into your ceiling. it was 1am and you couldn't sleep, again.

you had had an argument with the green haired man you were cursed to call dad. it got heated and you locked yourself in your room, you had a bag packed full of clothes and money. staring at it you thought, is it worth it, will all this be worth it.

heroes and villains, you scoffed, they're all the same.

hearing loud steps coming up the stairs, you panicked standing up quickly and shoving the bag into your closet.

“y/n!”

“what” you looked at your door where the man stood, putting your book down next to you. 

“training in 1 hour” you stared at him incredulously, it is 1 fucking am and this lunatic wants me to train, Now.

“no” you deserve sleep, you only finished training a couple hours ago.

“you will train with me in one hour, or else i’m taking your phone and you’ll be training until tomorrow night.” you sighed frustrated and angry as he slammed your door shut. of course he’d take away my one fucking escape.

your eyes darted to the bag peaking out the corner of your closet, maybe today is the day.

you stared at it for a minute before grabbing the bag and checking everything was in there before grabbing a couple more items of clothing and your charger cable. you quickly got changed out of your training clothes and shoved on some baggy jeans and a black turtle neck with some boots. ‘fuck okay, we’re doing this’

you grabbed a pillow and shoved it under your sheets to make it look like you’re sleeping and opened your window, your room was on the second floor so you weren't worried about the drop, you jumped down using smoke to soften your fall and you ran through the alleyways of the city.

after an hour of running you leaned against the wall of an alley and checked your phone to see 30 missed calls from your father. before leaving you made sure to turn off the tracking app and restrictions on your phone.

as you turned to run through the alley you felt eyes on you, a cold breath made the hairs on your neck jolt up, yelping slightly you jumped forward to see.. some sort of sludge monster?

‘fuck’ you breathed as it backed you against the corner, throwing your bag to the side you floated up a little with your quirk and blasted fire at it, it parted where you aimed the fire before molding back together, ‘strong, worthy of me’ it breathed and it collided with you making you scream out in pain, it was agony, it felt like it was ripping you apart inside out.

you could hear voices coming closer but you were a little preoccupied. you had an idea, you slowly created as much fire you could with your hands, the creature shrieked pushing you away as you gasped air filling your lungs again.

you noticed a circular black matter at the end of the alley where the sludge monster appeared from, before you could inspect it it shrunk until it was nothing.

the same voices you heard earlier yelled as the sludge monster slipped through the drains “she’s valuable, she defeated that monster” a man said coming closer to you, you looked at him with furrowed eyebrows “touch me and you die” you breathed standing up from the dirty alley floor. “feisty too” he chuckled.

you were outnumbered, it was 6 to 1 in a small alleyway. before the men could come any closer a voice behind them made them turn, ‘the people you wanted dead are just that, where’s my payment ’ you couldn't see his face so you attempted to look around for an escape, you noticed a drain pipe leading up to a sturdier metal one, if you could jump onto the electric box and swing your up you could make it onto the roof, you just needed to time it perfectly.

one of the men turned to keep an eye on you, “we’ll have your payment in a week” the man in the middle scoffed turning back to you, “you know that’s not good enough, the payment, now or i’ll burn you to ashes” he said with venom laced in his voice, one of the 6 men had moved to the side, you had a clear few of who they were talking to you, you felt as your face heat up at him but you shook it off.

you raised an eyebrow at him signalling to the metal bar, you weren't sure if he’d help you but he’d probably help you if it was for his benefit as well. he flicked an eye between you and the metal bar immediately smirking at your plan. 

you took his smirk as a confirmation and grabbed your bag from the floor and lifted yourself up with smoke from your feet and jumped swinging yourself from the metal bar to the roof, before you could fully push yourself onto the roof you felt a hand gripping onto your leg, you tried shaking the man off only to feel blue heat take over the alley beneath you.

your eyes widened slightly as the scarred man continued burning the men below you, “stop it!” you yelled as he raised an eyebrow at you the blue flames dying down to nothing.

you sighed in relief rolling onto your back, the men scurried away, burnt but alive.

“why’d you stop me?” he asked, you supported yourself on your elbows as he climbed up onto the roof, he didn't look mad, it was a genuine question. “i don’t know maybe i didn't want to see anyone die.” you deadpanned sitting up dusting the dirt off of your clothes.

he looked at you as if you were the most confusing person in the world, you hadn't asked about his scars or flinched when you saw him, or stared at the purple marks around his face and body. he wanted to know why.

“what?, do i have something on my face” you pouted slightly running a hand through your hair. “no, just surprised” you pursed your lips as if waiting for him to say more, you stood up and grabbed the bag full of your belongings you mumbled a “thanks”.

“what was that smokey?” he smirked, a nickname, really. you rolled your eyes at his remark “you should be thanking me as well, without me you would’ve been cornered” he nodded a little at your words “hm well, what’re you doing out here”.

“ran away” you said quickly as you stared at the missed calls on your phone screen. “i need to get away from here” you added as he watched your every move as if trying to decipher you.

“well, you wanna go to hosu?” you looked up at him in disbelief, “what’s in it for you”, he looked conflicted you weren't great at reading people, its not like you had friends or anyone other than your parents around growing up. 

“might change my mind” he grinned before motioning you to follow him, you cautiously followed his steps along the rooftop. “wait i don’t even know your name”. he turned around for a split second before jumping onto another roof, you did the same, “what’s yours”.

“y/n mido- just y/n” if you were really going to leave this world behind then this is where to start, leaving behind your fathers name.

“names dabi, why did you run away” he’s intriguing, besides you needed to get as far away as possible and he’s willing to help so telling him this isn't exactly a danger to you.

“my dads a dick, he’s trying to train me to become the greatest hero but if this is what it takes to have the fucking honor of being called a hero then i don’t want it. i don’t want to be controlled my whole life, or live a life i don’t want”.

“huh, sounds familiar” he joked leading you out of the alleys closer to the lit up streets of the city. you smiled at his joke before jumping down the building as he did using smoke to soften your fall again, he zipped the trench coat up around his mouth and let the hood cover his hair, his piercing blue eyes and nose were the only facial features visible, you laughed slightly at the sight making him roll is eyes at you.

you moved to peak around the corner of the alley, dabi stuck out a protective arm before peaking out as you tried to do a couple seconds before. he let his arm fall to his side again before motioning you to join him, you walked beside him. 

the large lights and billboards made your eyes go wide, “what you never seen the city at night before?” he joked watching your expression stay the same, you looked like a child seeing fireworks for the first time, it was endearing yet sad. had you really been isolated like this, never even seeing something as simple as lights in the darkness.

“i told you, my dad trained me most of my life, so I've never had the luxury of seeing this, never mind at night.”

he hummed at your words as he turned another corner grabbing your arm and dragging you in at the last second making you yelp, a couple motorbikes and cars stood in a line along the small street. the man eyed each of the bikes, you watched as he grabbed a key from a pocket in his oversized trench coat and placed it into a black and blue motorbike before throwing a leg over the seat and turning a head to you. “you coming or not?”.

you grinned before jumping up into the seat.

the world blurred past you, lights buildings and people became one, it really was beautiful, your wide eyes tried to catch everything as you sped past. “where are we going!” you yelled over the noises of traffic and people. “1 day in the city, then hosu city”.

you had never felt more alive, of course you were taking a risk going somewhere you didn't know with a stranger but this was better than being trapped in a house you couldn't call home. 

you gripped his waist as he sped up slightly, he probably didn't how much you hadn't seen, or how much you'd been cut off from the world you thought, in reality he knew more than anyone.

he was busy in thought as you sped past the lit buildings, he watched in the small metal mirror at your expression.

she’s the type to fall in love with everything unreachable, just like i once did.

maybe this was a bad idea, i could’ve just told them i lost her.

the sun started rising a little after you left for the centre of the city, the sunrise you knew all too well rose, sleepless nights led to you watching the sunrise on the rooftop of your house. it was lonely, being alone wasn't something you thought about often. people are disappointing is what you had been taught through experience but however much you wanted to be okay with loneliness you knew you’d find someone to change that, a friend.

“aye you still awake?”,

“mhm”, he grunted in return as you asked him about how much he’d seen of the city, the conversation went onto talk of your family. 

“my mother, she was so in love with the idea of my dad that she kind of just ignored how he treated me, they were good parents at some point, but somewhere along the line that changed”

the day was the most fun you had ever had and much to his disgust you went shopping, you were taking a while “fucking hell, yeah that’s fine”, you frowned at his tone before grinning “hm ill find something better”.

“No, no that is good, yeah its great stick with that”, you laughed at his annoyance before going to pay, “i’ll pay” you shook your head a little grabbing the card you put your fathers money on. 

he rolled his eyes before shoving his own card in the machine and punching in a couple numbers, you thanked him and took the bags resting them on your arms. 

the day went by faster than you liked, you soon found yourself heading towards the motorbike, the black haired man followed next to you eyeing your every move.

she’s going to hate me.

you followed the road out of the city towards another, the lights slowly becoming only dim streetlights. the bright yellow lights of the city were far behind you but even within the peace something was off, you could feel the tension between you and the male, even if you were to ask its not as if he’s going to tell someone he’s known for a little over a day.

“where are we staying in hosu?” you tried to fill the tension with small talk, the man sped up a little before answering “with a couple uh friends, they’re weird”. you nodded as if he could see you, just as you were about to ask him about his ‘friends’ you felt a drop of water hit your cheek.

as the rain slowly got heavier you giggled feeling the drops slide down your face, “what’s so funny smokey” he turned slightly to look at you, you blinked the rain out of your eyes to look at him not expecting to see his bright cerulean eyes looking straight into yours, your breath hitched slightly but you didn't look away, his eyes averted back to the road again and you let out of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

he found himself somehow jealous of the fact that the rain got to touch you, your eyes lit up as you watched the lightning flash across the night sky.

he huffed in anger at himself for even feeling these things, whatever, shes gonna hate me after this anyway.

with only an hour left for hosu you felt yourself getting tired and you grabbed a monster from your bag, you opened the can shuddering a little at the cold you chugged most of the acidic down your throat before hearing the boy in front of you elbow your knee, his hand was held out for the drink, you rolled your eyes pouting slightly and handed him the drink, the rest of the sugary drink drained down his throat. 

something about him intrigued him, maybe it was his mysterious nature, mystery had always drawn you in, it was fun figuring out mysteries and conspiracies, so why is he so difficult to figure out. his eyes were the most mysterious to you, his bright ocean filled eyes. they held so many stories, so many emotions you couldn't decipher.

“hey i asked you a question” you shook away your thoughts and asked dabi to repeat it he sighed shaking his head before smirking for a split second, “i asked how much you hate villains”, you furrowed your eyebrows at his question.

“i don’t hate villains.” you said simply he looked back at you as if asking you to carry on.

“its unfair how quick people are to decide the difference between heroes and villains, most heroes aren’t even good people, they're just fakes hiding behind the mask that is saving people, you hurt people in secret your whole life and then save a couple people and you’re suddenly a hero?, i don’t hate villains, i hate people who think get can choose who’s a hero and who’s a villain just from their appearance”.

he thought for a couple minutes before his lips curled into a small smile, she really gets it huh.

“i’m not stupid, i know you’re deemed a villain dabi, but you don’t seem one to me”, his smile softened a little as if you said the most meaningful words to exist, he felt his walls slowly breaking for you, worst part is he let it happen.

he turned one final corner before parking outside what looked like an abandoned warehouse, you hopped off the bike and followed the man to the door he sighed slightly, he let you go in front of him, you stopped at the door and turned around to look at him questioning his sigh.

he inched closer to you as your back pressed against the door, your eyes widened as his former comforting smile turned into a sad smile, as if he wished this could last.

your breath hitched as his face got closer, he grinned for a second his nose brushing against your own, just as you thought he was going to kiss you he pulled back slightly and lifted his hand which was clenched as if he was holding something, his hand stopped level to his mouth, he opened it and blew the powder into your face making you immediately collapse.

you didn’t expect him to save you anyway.

A/N : damn so part2? DJSF

FUN FACT : manga spoiler : when he said “ she’s the type to fall in love with everything unreachable, just like i once did.” he was talking about his desire to become the greatest hero with his quirk but because of his body is was unreachable.

taglist : @todoroki-shoto-is-life @blazedbakugou @luluwiie @blue-gold-demigod-clouds @gazelle-des-pres

[three-words-or-less]

How to write Roach (and other horses)

I’ve seen a LOT of fics starring Roach. And it’s amazing, I love how this fandom just accepted a horse as an important character and went with it. I’d like to help the writers out and give some tips about writing horses! So, here we go:

physical limitations of a horse:

two riders won’t fit in a saddle simultaneously (except if one of them is a very small child). a second rider won’t fit in front of the saddle as the saddle is located directly behind the neck of the horse. so the only way for a horse to carry two riders is one sitting behind the saddle as we saw in the djinn episode

however it’s not a good idea to frequently ride in tandem as it’s very hard on the horse’s back

about what a horse can or can’t carry: generally, it’s best to avoid the horse carrying above 20% of its body weight frequently. that includes the rider and the equipment. an average horse weighs about 500 kg, or 1100 lbs (though draft horses can be over twice the weight, but they’re not really built for riding). so 100 kg or 220 lbs is already quite a lot for a horse. obviously those are modern day standards based on modern knowledge and and historically horses used to carry quite a bit more

horse height is measured in hands. an average horse is around 14-17 hands or 140-170 cm, though they can be significantly smaller or larger. Geralt is quite tall so Roach is probably somewhere around 170 cm, or 17 hands

horses have a really large field of vision to their sides, but have a blind spot directly behind and directly in front of them

a top speed of a horse is around 70 km/h, or 44 mph. note this is a top speed of a horse specifically bred for going fast, for a very short time 

the average speed of a galloping horse is 40-50 km/h, or 25-30 mph

the gaits are walk, trot, canter and gallop. walk is slow-paced (about the same speed as human walk or slightly faster) and comfortable to ride. trot is faster but usually quite uncomfortable, being quite bouncy. it depends a lot on the horse, though. canter is generally faster than trot, is similar to gallop but slower, and actually more comfortable for the rider than trot. canter is the gait we see in ep5 when Geralt first brings Jaskier to Chireadan. a horse can also alter its speed within a gait, so, for example, fast trot can be faster than slow canter

a horse can move at slow pace for a really long time, but only run at full speed for a short time. the most a horse can gallop at full speed is around 3-4 km, or 2-3 miles

80-100 km, or 50-60 miles in a day is a long distance for a horse to travel though doable. 50 km, or 30 miles in a day is more realistic, less if the terrain is difficult

some pointers about the gear: 

 the horse wears a bridle when ridden. usually, the bridle has a metal mouthpiece called a bit. the part that the rider holds is called reins (not reigns. a king reigns. the bridle has reins) and the reins are connected to the bit from the both sides. the reins are gently used for steering and stopping/slowing down. a rider can let go of the reins while riding and they will hang against the horse’s neck, though if the horse lower its head, the reins may slip over the head to the ground (I can totally see that happening to Jaskier if he’s riding)

alternatively, the horse can wear a halter. that’s what we see on Roach in ep6, when they’re preparing to leave for the mountain. halters aren’t generally used for riding, they lack the bit and are simpler but sturdier. they are used for tying or leading the horse. the lead rope is attached to the halter under the horse’s chin

the saddle bags are placed behind the saddle on both sides and should be evenly filled

the saddle is secured in place by a girth, which needs to be properly tightened. not tight enough girth can cause the saddle rolling to the side. you can use this to add some nice drama to your story!

the rider’s feet are placed in stirrups. they can slip through the stirrups, which can potentially be really dangerous if the rider falls off the horse and gets dragged behind with the foot stuck in the stirrup. drama potential, again!

random things:

a horse’s snout is called a muzzle. it’s very velvety soft and lovely. it’s also extremely flexible as well as sensitive, horses actually are able to differentiate between plants and tell which ones are edible with their muzzle. if you give a (well-behaved) horse a treat, she’ll gently pick it up from your palm with her lips and it will tickle a bit

Netflix Roach is chestnut in color. game Roach is bay. some other horse colors are black and brown (duh), grey (the shade can vary greatly), palomino (golden), buckskin (golden with black mane and tail), dun (sandy), piebald (large black and white patches). true white horses are extremely rare, white-looking horses are usually white greys

some horses mentioned in The Witcher 3 are Nilfgaardian black (”from the purest Nilfgaardian stock”), Redanian chestnut (”a pureblood Redanian. gallant steed, but too headstrong for my taste. difficult to control”) and Zerrikanian bay (”Zerrikanians are reputed to have incredible stamina”)

limping in a horse is called lameness. a horse can go lame for a ton of reasons and it’s quite common. even a horseshoe coming off can make some horses lame

a horse can kick really hard, easily hard enough to kill someone. horses are also able to kick incredibly high, even someone on the head, and are really precise with their kicks. a horse can kick with its front legs too, it’s called striking. kicking with back legs is usually defensive or fearful behavior while striking is full on aggression. horses can also bite or even grab people with their teeth but it’s really uncommon

sometimes horses can also kick on accident, like knocking someone with their front hooves when rearing or trying to kick off a fly but kicking a person instead. that can happen easily if someone stands in their blind spot

horses get spooked easily. when spooked, they usually rear or jump to their side and it’s easy to lose balance and fall off. a spooked horse can also bolt, which means galloping uncontrollably at full speed

horses don’t neigh a lot. it’s really not that common. the most common sounds are nicker (a soft sound, often heard when a horse is happy to see its owner), snort (usually means contentment), or whinny (when the horse is spooked)

an angry or frightened horse flattens its ears back towards its neck. its called ear pinning

horses are extremely smart. they’re able to tell human facial expressions apart, recognise other horses and people even after years of separation, and learn very well. they’re not dogs, though, so they won’t sniff stuff out

many horses will try and grab a bite of grass or leaves when riding at slow pace. stubborn ones may also stop to nibble on an especially delicious patch of grass

This ended up being quite a list, but I really hope someone will find this useful! Let’s make our favorite equine that little bit more well-written!