#and he needed some kind of weapon in the arena aside from his brain

[ofgentleresolve]

since his own hunger games, patrick is proficient with a knife and prefers to keep a pocket knife on hand and under his pillow too. if he's not reading, then he's probably carving something out of wood with it- nothing too fancy. it's a good way to keep his mind off of, well everything :'D

[writtenbyjenn]

I Win (Miraak x Mage!Dragonborn!Reader)

Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1344

“We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to fight!” Miraak and Y/N circled one another at the apex of Apocrypha.

“Herma-Mora is tricking you! Haven’t you heard the whispers of the seekers? The flutters in the pages?”

He fell silent for a moment. Then shook his head, as to him, it didn’t matter anyways. “There is no escape; I will take your soul and make one myself!”

“Listen,” Y/N pleaded.

“If you keep up this blasphemous talk, Hermaeus Mora will kill you himself,” Miraak said.

“His plan is to kill you. You have caused him too much trouble, Miraak. You know this.”

The pair continued circling one another, each deftly doging each other’s shouts and blows.

“How do you know about his plan? How do you even have a plan for escape?” No one in Apocrypha could know more than him. He had been there for so long.

“You see, but you refuse to listen! The walls speak, the seekers whisper… You wish to defy Herma-Mora? Escape without either of our lives being lost,” Y/N said, narrowly dodging a bout of flame.

“Impossible. Hermaeus Mora won’t allow it,”

“He can’t harm us here,” Y/N stood still and looked upwards. Miraak’s eyes followed. The sky had become dark… No, rather, Hermaeus Mora lay just beyond the arena. He couldn’t enter. There was… a barrier?

“He sees I intend to stop you, but not in the way he imagined,” Y/N’s weapon was at their side. It would be impossibly easy to strike now and end them, but Miraak was intrigued.

“You’re a mage? What spell can hold back a daedric prince as powerful as him?” Miraak looked curiously over at the dragonborn sitting in front of him.

“Your time here has made you arrogant… There is always more to learn. And Apocrypha is the holder of all knowledge. I simply asked, and the walls opened for me, leading me to the spell I needed.”

“Now, we can make a plan,” the dragonborn sat down on the floor, the sky growing ever darker as Hermaeus Mora spread himself to almost completely cover the dome shaped barrier.

“No,” Miraak said involuntarily. He didn’t like this dragonborn. He didn’t like being outdone. “What happens when I am released? I will still take over Solstheim.”

“Then I will fight you. I will not hold back. I will destroy you,” Somehow, Miraak knew their words to be true. “But you deserve a chance. The right to be free. The right to choose your path.”

It was a simple plan, really, even though it would take much effort. The barrier would stay intact, and a simple illusion spell, to make it look as though they were still fighting. They would have some time before Hermaeus Mora realized the trick. After that, a much more complicated and tiring teleportation spell to get them far enough away to complete their escape.

Y/N nearly collapsed after teleporting them to a far flung corner of Apocrypha. Miraak didn’t hesitate to help them; his escape was much more important than his pride. Stumbling forward, the pair found what they were looking for- a black book. One that had been tampered with.

Miraak flung it open and felt a strange pull as he was taken back to the physical world.

The first thing he saw was blue. The sky. He hadn’t seen it in so long…

He was laying flat on his back, the ash of Solstheim cradling him. He took it all in; the smell of the wind, the ash in the air, the clouds lazily floating across the sky.

Beside him, Y/N stirred. He hadn’t even noticed them, let alone their exhaustion from the escape. They sat up, looking over at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Why did you save me? I can do anything now. I could turn on you in an instant...” He was free now. He had the choice. He no longer had to rely on the help of some silly little dragonborn who thought they could do anything.

“No one deserves that kind of punishment, to be trapped somewhere against their own will. I made it my duty to save everyone I could, so when I heard about you, I felt compelled to help.” Y/N stated flatly.

Miraak didn’t understand, but didn’t feel as though it was his place to question them. Why save everyone? Why waste effort on strangers and civilians. It confused him. He pushed it to the back of his mind as he stood up.

“What will you do now?” Y/N asked, standing beside him.

“I will follow you. I leave no debt unpaid, and assisting in my escape was no paltry matter,” Miraak stated. It was clear from his voice that he did not like this arrangement, but it was the only thing that Miraak could think of. The world had changed very drastically from when he last saw it; there was no way he could conquer it with his lack of information.

“Then how about we make a deal…” Y/N started, “I will share my knowledge with you, and in return you share yours with me. I know everything about today’s world, and you have information I find most interesting…”

“Oh? And what information is that?” Miraak asked.

“I am very interested in hearing about your magical techniques, and how they differ from today’s… Oh! I know the perfect place we can go. Somewhere we can talk freely with another dov…” Y/N began walking, Miraak trailing behind.

The entire journey from Solstheim to Skyrim and their long trek to the Throat of the World, Y/N recounted many things to Miraak. From the history he had missed, the magic they had learned and pioneered, and their journey as a dragonborn.

Miraak was content to listen. He took this time to take it all in, to learn and to contemplate. What would his life be now? Who was he, if not a man who conquered? Was following this dragonborn the correct course of action?

As time passed, he knew the answer. Ever since he was child, he was always looked at as though he was inhuman. But even though he hid behind his mask, Y/N always treated him as a person. Even after all he had done. He had never felt so… human.

At the same time, the dragon blood that ran through the pair was not forgotten as they trained together most evenings, sharpening their voices and improving their skills.

One such training session began, and this time the focus was hand to hand combat. Weapons strewn aside in the grass, the two grappled.

Being in a forest had its advantages and disadvantages, one of such came to light. A butterfly floated down between the pair, and landed itself on Miraak’s mask, right between his eyes. Y/N laughed, a musical tone Miraak rarely heard.

Miraak felt his chest jump. Quickly pushing this feeling aside, he launched forward, “Stop laughing!”

Y/N was taken down, hands pinned beside their head, but they didn’t seem to mind as they continued their laughing fit. Miraak felt his face flush. He was equally embarrassed and enamored by their laugh. He knew he had to shut them up, and his brain, rife with the feelings he had been stowing for months, sprung into action.

Quickly flicking his mask aside, Miraak pressed his lips to theirs. Y/N’s laughter was interrupted by a sound of surprise. Leaning in and pressing their face to his, Y/N relished the feel of his lips against their own.

“Hah! The first dragonborn wins again. You shouldn’t let your guard down like that,” Miraak knew he won the brawl, thanks to his bold move.

“Oh, shut up,” Y/N retorted, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer for a sweet kiss.

The next thing he knew, Miraak was flat on his back.

“And actually, I win,” Y/N smiled sweetly and laughed again. Miraak lunged towards them once again.

(If you liked it please send me requests!!!)

[thereluctantinquisitor]

“You always do that. You always warm me up.” for Adiran and “I’ll never get over hearing you say my name.” for Riin? (heart eyes) No pressure, as always!

Thank you for the prompt! At first I was certain that I couldn’t combine them, but it somehow happened so TWO FOR ONE - WOO (although I cheated a little with the first one >.>)

Adiran x Riin, in which Adiran’s hands are hopeless in the cold, and Riin just happens to be a human oven. (1412 words)

                                                          --

Adiran hated Hoarfrost. Between the occasional snowfall and the biting wind from the north, everything about the season seemed to conspire to make his life a special kind of miserable. Sure, it would be worse having to brave it outside the palace walls, away from the crackling hearths and heat-trapping stone. But even with all of the luxuries his royal blood afforded, he couldn’t keep the cold from seeping through his skin and into the core of his being. And Divider knows the last thing he needed to be was icier than he already was.

Even training couldn’t solve the problem. Sure, his arms burned and his blood pumped almost audibly through his veins, but when Riin swung down, he fumbled the parry, his grip slipping on the hilt of his blade. Realising what was happening, Adiran braced as best he could, and let himself be thrown down by the blow. The sand rushed up to meet him, and he hit it with a heavy grunt, barely managing to keep his own weapon from smacking him square in the face, broadside.

Sprawled there, with sand in places it had no business being, Adiran just wanted to die.

Or go inside.

Either one would do.

“Fuck!” Adiran threw his weapon aside and hunched over himself, flexing and clenching his traitorous hands. They ached despite his gloves - despite everything they were doing. Damn it - that couldn’t happen! The tournament was in the middle of Vigil; the season just before Hoarfrost. It might not be the coldest, but the weather could still turn frigid with a single gust of wind. If his grip slipped in the arena, or he couldn’t make a proper hold...

“Easy, Adiran. Are you alright?”

Seething, Adiran sucked in a lungful of air and somehow focused it into a glare as Riin crouched down in front of him. “Fantastic, Riin. As soon as the snowfall starts in the north, I stop being able to hold a damn weapon. How could I possibly be better?” He clenched his hands so tightly that his knuckles must have bled to white beneath the thin leather. “Some fucking soldier I am.”

If Riin where a crueler man, he’d shrug call him what he was. Pathetic. But instead, he just shook his head and reached out, taking Adiran’s sword-hand and uncurling his fingers with practiced ease. “I know you think the world sees you as its centre, but you’re not the first soldier to have trouble keeping his grip in the cold.” His hands worked diligently as he spoke, pressing along the softer parts of Adiran’s palm, rubbing small circles into the aching muscle. Even in the cold morning air, Riin somehow radiated heat. It was like sitting next to a campfire, forgotten and left to smoulder gently into late-morning.

Adiran’s eyes lingered on Riin’s hand - on his own, nestled inside it - and for a time, he simply sat in silence, allowing his friend to work. Sure, pride dictated that he should pull away and stalk off somewhere to brood over his shortcomings, but that whole affair was becoming less and less satisfying of late. No - he was more comfortable now. Even when he probably shouldn’t be.

“You always do that.”

Riin stirred, apparently lost in his own thoughts as well. “Hm..?” He glanced up. “Do what?”

“This. That.” Adiran made a slight movement with his hand. Not enough to disturb Riin’s attentions. “You always warm me up.”

This time, an almost self-conscious chuckle rolled from Riin’s chest. “Well, I don’t know about that.” He didn’t stop what he was doing - only let go briefly, so Adiran could tug off his glove. “I have it on good authority that you’re icy in every season. ‘Wind, hail, or swelter’ I think is what they said.”

“Yeah?” There was no point feigning indignation. Not over such an obvious statement of fact. “Who's been saying that?”

“Well... anyone lucky enough to cross paths with you during a soiree. Or a dinner. Or on the palace grounds. Or in the sparring---”

---”Alright, alright. Point taken. Shut up.”

Riin grinned, and it was suddenly hard for Adiran to remember how he’d felt the first time the man had been assigned to him. Back then, he’d just been another set of eyes, ordered by his parents to track him like a bird of prey. There had been nothing but resentment between them for over a year - Divider knows Adiran had never been shy about making his feelings painfully clear. And Riin had just taken it. Sure, he’d avoided him like a plague-rat the moment his duty was over, but otherwise he’d just let Adiran resent him. If he hated Adiran back, he did it quietly.

Sometimes, a cruel thought crept up on him, when they were alone together. Sitting. Talking. Even when they were laughing. It was the thought that maybe he’d done too much damage, back then. That maybe Riin still hated him. Quietly.

“Riin?”

“Hm?”

“You know you don’t have to, right?”

Riin hummed as he worked. “Mm. Cryptic. Have to what?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re the one who asked---”

---”No! I mean, you don’t always have to. When I tell you to. I’m not... it’s not an order or anything.”

Releasing Adiran’s hand and sitting back on his heels, Riin regarded him for a moment, an amused tilt to his lips. “Of course it isn’t. You don’t give me orders, princeling. Never have.”

“But then---”

---”So why do I do it?”

A little mollified by his own predictability, Adiran closed his mouth and nodded. Apparently it was the right response, because Riin’s amused smile suddenly blossomed into a grin.

“Because you always break. Quickly, too, might I add. Most times, I barely even notice the silence.” He laughed, motioning for Adiran’s other hand. “And you know what else? You always get my attention the same way.”

“I... do?” Frowning, Adiran gave Riin his other hand without even thinking, so distracted by the conversation that the other man had to pull of his glove. Despite wracking his brain for a pattern, he couldn’t come up with anything. “How, then?” he demanded eventually, frustrated.

The answer, it seemed, was almost absurdly simple.

“You say my name.” Beginning anew, Riin let his gaze drift down to their hands, the warmth of his fingers soothing against Adiran’s skin. Like an afterthought, the smile on his lips remained. “I’ll never get over hearing you say my name.”

Despite the cold, Adiran felt heat rush up his neck. He would have pulled away, stammering some absurd excuse about having to go, but then that would just make his embarrassment more obvious. So he forced himself to stay almost painfully still, sitting across from Riin on the sandy ground.

That was, at least, until Riin glanced up, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Warmer now?”

The satisfied gleam in his eye only made matters worse for Adiran, who might have actually been sweating a little under his training gear. That sneaky bastard! He was about to snap a scathing reply when Riin hit a particularly sore spot at the base of Adiran’s thumb, eliciting a sharp gasp instead.

“Still giving you trouble, isn’t it?” Amusement draining away, Riin pressed the spot again, gentler this time, working in slow circles around it. “You should see the physicker, Adiran. It might be part of the problem, along with the cold. The longer you leave it the worse it could get. Stretch for me.”

Eternally grateful for the change of subject, Adiran cleared his throat roughly. “Yeah. Maybe.” At Riin’s instruction, he flexed his hand, the muscle tugging uncomfortably as Riin started to work on it again. “I’ll go tomorrow or something.”

Riin sighed and dug his finger in again, earning a yelp as Adiran tried and failed to pull away. “No,” Riin said, “you’ll go now. And by you I mean we, because I can’t trust you not to slink back to your quarters and take a hot bath instead.”

“Oh come on, I wouldn’t...” Under the full weight of Riin’s unimpressed stare, Adiran huffed and abandoned the lie halfway. “Fine. You win. Help me up.”

Riin raised his brows. “Last I checked your legs still worked.”

“Yeah? Well last I checked, my feet were frozen inside my boots.”

“Alright, alright. Here, give me your other hand...”

[eziocauthon89]

Mighty Nein Cyberpunk AU

This thought occurred to me the other day after hearing Amaranthe’s song “Digital World”, and I spent yesterday’s downtime at work working on it in tidbits, and here it is! Mostly put under a Read More, cause there’s A Lot! (Tagging @criticalrolo, who let me randomly blurt the parts out at her over the day!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Consider, if you will, an Exandria very akin to the one shown in the upcoming Cyberpunk 2077 game; very post-transhumanism world, cybernetic augments are beyond accepted, they're virtually expected.

It's a world of corporations, where The Company is all, and the little guys either work with them or get ground up in the gears. The most powerful one is the Rexxentrum Assembly. They've stood solid For decades, having fingers in every profitable venture imaginable.

The only ones to oppose them are the Xhorhasian Conglomerate, a collection of smaller corporations who've banded together to survive, and possibly someday defeat, the mega-corp that is Rexxentrum.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beau works for the Cobalt Soul, an ancient order of hackers that have existed since before the transhumanism event began, keeping their eyes in every corner of the web. They used to be activists, but these days, they're largely archivists and data/info brokers. Beau thinks they should return to their roots and join with the Conglomerate against the Assembly, and is actively working to that end.

Like much of the party, she's an expert hacker, specializing in getting access through stolen info. Physically, she is the least augmented of the party, save for a few tweaks to make her blows a bit faster, and an analysis system to be better able to determine weak points and the "stats" of her enemies.

Her hacking signature is the sigil of the Cobalt Soul, positioned in front of a pair of wrapped fists crossed at the wrist as though over a chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jester Lavorre is a young and fresh hacker. Daughter of the owner of that digital and physical smut empire, known only as The Ruby, and heir to the vast network of anything one could want in that arena. After inadvertently destroying the career of a local prominent politician with a cyber-prank, it was decided that she needed to get out and experience more of the world.

As a hacker, she predominantly focuses on digging up embarrassing secrets of high-level individuals, and then broadcasting them on the web, in her signature saccharine pink and unicorn-decorated infodumps. In the real world, she does her best to make sure her team is in the best shape they can be, getting supplies to help with that whenever she can.

As mentioned, her trademark is the infodump, usually in the form of a bullet-pointed video, coated in sickly sweet pinks, with unicorns and the like dancing in the background.

Aside from the usual strength and endurance mods that basically everyone has, she also has a mod in her skin that lets her shift colors and patterns to almost anything. It's usually not good enough for any proper stealth, but it's fun as hell! She has a similar mod on her horns, but stronger, where she can brighten them and basically become a living rave lighting system. The tips of her horns can also become the most literal version of "headlights" ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fjord is one of the more interesting party members. Heavily augmented, he once followed the orders of his patron, an entity named Uk'otoa who he only had contact with through the deep web. This entity led him to great troves of augmentations, each with a nugget that Uka'toa itself desired. These troves helped to find the efforts of the party, leading to at least tolerate the presence of the outside force.

Recently, however, his new circle of friends led him to realize that Uk'otoa was, in fact, an incredibly malicious AI from beyond The Walls. With effort and some excising hacks from his friends, he cut off his ties with Uk'otoa. Unfortunately, many of his augments required an external AI to continue to function, and so he let himself be connected to another AI, dubbed the Wildmother by another of his party, one with a far more gentle motivation.

Fjord remains the least hack-savvy member, preferring reality to anything cyberspace can offer. Among his augments, he can deploy a macro-molecular bladed sword seemingly out of thin air, sharp enough to slide between the molecules of most materials, neatly slicing them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caleb's story is simple enough. He was a Company Man. See, though, the thing about being a Company Man, is you can't ever really stop being a Company Man. Especially when that Company is the Assembly.

After one of his tests to enter the upper ranks resulted in the immolation of his family, he snapped. Gathering what he needed, he disappeared, a truly impressive feat in such an interconnected world, and doubly so when not even the Assembly could find him again. Now, he seeks a way to burn them down from the inside out.

Caleb's hacking signature has been dubbed "Scorched Earth", because when he's finished getting what he needs from a target, if he so chooses, he will burn them down, leaving them nothing behind, right down to the system files, and even the hardware itself if he can swing it.

Physically, his augmentations reside chiefly in his arms and his head. Highly experimental neuromods that boosts his already almost eidetic memory, letting him pick out any memory since installation and recall it in perfect clarity, and even overlay filters to uncover further information. Additionally, mini-producers across his body and microjets imbedded in his forearms allow access to his secret weapons: nanites and plain ol' fire.

The micro-producers scattered across his body can generate a cloud of nanites under his control, allowing him much of his near-magical feats. As a way to maintain an at-hand supply of them, he usually forms them into the form of a small animal, granting a measure of hivemind capabilities to allow it to impersonate said creature. The microjets allow him to be as near to a pyromancer as he can without using actual magic. Additionally, he has two small computers, resting in holsters under his arms, that together hold enough power to brute force hack into nearly any system he needs to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Caleb's story is one of the simpler ones, Nott's can be argued to be the most tragic. On the face of it, she appears to be a Goblin, a faction of heavy augmenters who actively renounce form over function, and typically change their bodies as far from conventionally attractive as they can. Sure, the way Nott openly despises other Goblins is a bit odd, but who's to say what that kind of modding does to ones brain?

Except. She isn't a Goblin by choice. Due to some unknown reason, perhaps for an experiment, or as recompense for some perceived slight, Nott's original form was destroyed, and her brain and mind supplanted and locked into this Goblin form. Now, she follows Caleb, in the hopes that someday, he can learn how to let her leave this body behind and return to one more like her original.

Not to say this form is without it's pros, of course. An enhanced stealth suite and active targeting means that when she hits you, you won't have a clue where it came from.

Typically, Nott doesn't do much hacking, favoring the real world and protecting Caleb (and eventually, the rest of the party) as they do their deep dive hacks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Molly and Yasha were strangers, drifting in from another distant city, claiming to be entertainers, but far more capable at defending themselves online and off. The pair came together and bonded over their lost histories. Yasha, having had a section of hers stolen and sealed away, unsure what she was or did during that time. Molly, having no recollection at all before waking up in that shallow grave. 

Molly's mods were as flashy as the man, able to produce holographic fancies from his fingertips on command, making for a handy show (and distraction) as needed. When he fell, on a mission to rescue their fellows, it nearly broke the team apart.

Yasha's mods were more straightforward; she relied largely on brute strength to overcome her foes, both in reality and in the web. Nobody cheered when her memories were finally unlocked, as they changed her, turned her on them. The team still hopes that, someday, they might bring her back from that dark place she found herself sucked into, but they know, that day may well be far off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caduceus was something of an enigma. Where Beau was one of the most human of the group, Cad was very much the most inhuman. Not even he was entirely sure how much of himself was still organic, but he doubted it was even near 15%. He spent nearly all of his time plugged into the web in some capacity, resulting in a more distracted and absent-minded demeanor than the others were used to.

Nobody was quite sure what all his mods could do. One thing that they were (relatively??) sure about, was that he had a direct line to some powerful AI, one that he called the Wildmother. She seemed to have good intentions for those who followed her, but the party was still wary. They'd been burned before, with Uk'otoa.

Cad's hacking signature was... Well, actually, nobody was quite sure what his signature was. Every now and then, he'd take credit for some random hack, usually one that someone else also claimed shortly after, and always it turned out to have farther reaching implications than anyone else thought it might have.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

The Beginning... Episode 1 Part 3

Game 1

Ganondorf: Alright, alright alright! It’s finally time fro our first game of Volley-Bomb! Representing the Crying Goombas is Link, Leaf, Red, Joker, and Rosalina! Representing the Ugly Koopas is Samus, Roy, Pit, Lucina, and Erdrick!

-

In the Confessional

Samus: I had high hopes going into the first round. I mean, Leaf and Red can barely be qualified as teens. They’re tiny. Then again we’ve got Pit... but the kid’s an angel! And he’s beaten Dark Lords and Evil Gods without any Pokemon.

-

Ganondorf: The rules are simple... don’t kill each other! Oh, and stay on your side of the court. Aside from that? Go nuts!

Joker: Wait, seriously? No rules?

Ganondorf: People don’t want to see a fair fight! They’re here for blood, guts, and the occasional booty shots. *to the camera crew* Make sure to get Link’s moneymaker. Apparently fangirls like it.

Link: *covers his butt with his hands*

Ganondorf: And, without further ado... BEGIN!

*Link serves the bomb, throwing it over to the other side. To counter it, Erdrick draws his sword and uses it like a baseball bat, sending the bomb flying back to Link’s side.*

Link: Oh, so that’s how you want to play?! *draws the Master Sword* I’m the sword Ping-Pong champion!

-

In the Confessional

Link: Finally! That Final Boss sequence in Ocarina of Time pays off! Never thought I’d be thanking Ganondorf for something.

-

*Link charges up and unleashes a Great Spin sending the bomb back over with the force of a comet. It hits Lucina and the subsequent explosion sends her flying out of the arena*

Ganondorf: Point, Goombas!

Lucina, legs sticking out of the sand like a reverse ostrich: Sorry guys.

-

In the Confessional

Samus: I may have spoken too soon.

-

*the game begins again. This time Samus serves and sends it over to the other side. Rosalina catches it with her wand and whips it around her head like a sling*

Rosalina: Let me drop THIS bomb on you!

Everyone: ... *crickets chirping in background*

Rosalina: What, I thought it was a good one. *sighs* Oh well. *hurls the bomb back to Samus’ side*

*Roy intercepts the bomb and ripostes, countering and sending it back at Link’s team.*

Samus: Nice one flame-brain!

Joker: Oh yeah? How about this! *dramatically rips mask off, summoning Arsene* ARSENE! FIRE YOUR- *as he is preparing his epic anime-style attack the bomb hits him square in the chest sending him flying and dispelling the Persona* Oww.... my everything.

Ganondorf: And the Koopas even the score!

Link: Okay, no more screwing around! *picks up a new bomb* Just call me Marcellus Wallace, ‘cause I’m going Medieval on your ass!

-

In the Confessional

Rosalina: Oh, so when Link does a one-liner it’s cool! How is that one different from mine? Puns make great one-liners!

-

*Link tosses the bomb in the air and draws his bow and arrow. He lines up a shot and send the arrow flying. It hits the bomb and sends it over at Samus’ team.*

Pit: Oh yeah? Well two can play at that game! *Pit fires Palutena’s bow and sends the bomb right back at Link*

Link: Grr! *fire his bow again, hitting the bomb and repeating the process.*

Samus: I don’t think so pretty boy! *Samus summons up her Power Armor and Z-Jumps into the air. She fires her Zero Cannon, blasting the bomb down with such force it takes out both Link and Rosalina*

Ganondorf: Oh, snap! That’s  two-fer! Way to play for keeps Samus!

-

In the Confessional

Link, bruised and bloodied: Okay, not gonna lie... that was pretty hot.

-

Samus, her Power Armor flaling away: I play to win.

Ganondorf: Damn! Guess it’s down to just Redie Freddie and Leafy Green for the Goombas. How are they gonna get outta this one?

Red: Welp, guess it’s time for Plan P.

Pit: Plan P?

Leaf: Plan Pokemon!

*Leaf and Red throw their Pokeballs, summoning Charizard, Squirtle, and Bulbasaur.*

Roy: Wait what?! They can do that?!

Ganondorf: Nothing says they can’t.

Erdrick: That’s totally cheating!

Ganondorf: Guess who doesn’t give a shit ya Goku rip-off.

-

Confessional

Erdrick: It’s not my fault I was designed by Akira Toriyama!

-

Leaf: Bulbasaur! Use Vine-Whip!

Bulbasaur: ‘Saur! *grabs the Bomb with their vines and throws it into the air*

Red: Charizard! Use Flamethrower!

Charizard: ‘Zard! *Blasts fire at the bomb sending it at Pit with the force of a meteor*

Pit: Oh, applesauce. *Gets blasted out of the court*

Ganondorf: Oooh! And that’s another one for the Goombas!

Samus: Alright, that’s it! *turns to Erdrick and Roy* Morons! Swords out!

*Erdrick and Roy draw their weapons. Samus nods and spikes the bomb over the net.*

Leaf: Bulbasaur use Vine-Whip! *Bulbasaur grabs the bomb out of the air and tosses it high*

Red: Squirtle, use Hydropump! Charizard, use Flamethrower at the same time!

Charizard: 'Zard!

Squirtle: Squirtle!

*Squirtle and Charizard use their attacks at the same time. The resulting blast on the Koopas side blasts Samus, Roy, and Erdrick off the court*

Ganondorf: Holy Jompin' Gibblets! Red and Leaf win the first Game with an abolutely EXPLOSIVE VICTORY!

Red: Boo yeah!

Leaf: Pokemon Power! *they high five*

*The others of their team come and crowd surf them while Koopa Team picks themselves up and dust themselves off*

Samus: Well, that was the most humiliating thing ever.

Erdrick: My three favorite Pokemon just beat me up! This is a dream come true!

Samus: Lucina, hit Erdrick for me. I'm too tired.

Lucina: *whacks Erdrick upside the head.*

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

Game 2

Ganondorf: After that explosive display, it's time for Round 2 of VOLLEY-BOMB! Both teams gave a great effort and, frankly, both deserved to win... is what I'd say if I were a LOSER! The Koopas sucked harder than a Hoover vaccum making sweet, sweet love to a Roomba!

Peach: Well... there's another image to repress with alcohol.

Ganondorf: The Koopas are going to need this win just to tie it all up. This time we've got Daisy, Ike, Corrine, Marth, and Bonny Janet representing the Goombas! Opposing them is Zelda, Dark Pit, Robyn, Peach, and Captain Falcon!

Captain Falcon: Aw yeah baby! Let's get this party started!

Dark Pit: I hate everything.

Peach: Uhh... Dark Pit? How are you not sweating.

Dark Pit: I'm an emo. Emos don't sweat. We simmer along with our burning hatred for all things bright and happy.

-

Confessional

Pit: Pittoo scares me sometimes. But I know that deep down he's a big old ball of sunshine! He's my brother after all. How bad can he be.

-

Confessional

Dark Pit, stabbing a voodoo doll of Pit: Why! Won't! You! DIE!

-

Bonny Janet: Ai'ght ya bleedin' coonts! Time ta show these hootin' tootin' flea-ridden, sheep-humpin', rat-faaced, doo-lillies tha' the Goombas ain't ta be messed with!

Corrine: Yeah! ...I think. Was that supposed to be inspirational?

Ike: Yeah.

Marth: How can you tell?

Daisy: The adorable Scot is right! LET'S FUCK 'EM UP!

Peach: Umm... Daisy darling? I'm right here.

Daisy: THERE ARE NO BREAKS ON THE ASS-KICKING TRAIN!

-

Confessional

Daisy: Yeah... did I mention I can get kind of competitive?

-

*Peach pulls down Captain Falcon by the arm and whispers in his ear*

Peach: Take Daisy out first. She's good. Too good, you get me?

Captain Falcon: *nods*

Ganondorf: Alright my funky-fresh friends! Let's get ready to ruuuuummmmmmmmbbbbbllleee!

*The battle is joined. Captain Falcon serves the bomb, sending it flying at Daisy. Daisy whacks the bomb with her baseball bat and sends it back over.

Daisy: GO LEGALLY BRAIN-DEAD BY CHOCKING ON MY ENTIRE ASS!

Zelda: Well that's just uncalled for! *Zelda summons up her armor to whack the bomb back over*

Ike: AETHER! *Ike swings Rangell, the sword wreather in blue flame. The bomb flies over... and out of the court entirely*

Ganondorf: Ooh, tough luck! Ike is out!

Corrine: What?! You didn't say anything about that!

Ganondorf: It's one of the basic rules of Volleyball Corrine, get with the fucking program girl.

Corrine: But this is Volley-Bomb!

Ganondorf: Look, I'm the host and I say that Ike's out.

Marth: Corrine, please just drop it.

Corrine: But he's just pulling this out of his ass! What we can use our powers but we can't knock the ball out of the court?!

Ganondorf: Okay, you know what?! You're out to missy. Grab Hunk of Burning Love over there and get off my court.

Corrine: WHAT!?

*Ganondorf Warlock-Punches her off the Court*

Ganondorf: ANYONE ELSE WANT SOME!? *turns to Ike* HOW ABOUT YOU MUSCLES!? YOU WANT SOME

Ike: Nope! No. Nuh-uh. *leaves and collects a delirious Corrine*

Ganondorf, cheerful again: Alrighty then! The Goombas are down two players. Can they make a comeback? Let's find out!

-

Confessional

Corrine: Okay, arguing with the Man-Child of Evil may not have been my best move. But I don't like assholes doing whatever they like! Such a prick.

-

Bonny Janet: A'ighty then... we're fooked ain't we?

Daisy: No we aren't! No yet! Come on guys! We can still win this. If Red the Twig and Leaf the... well Leaf the Leaf can pull off a win against all odds then we can too! So let's roll up our sleeves, grease those elbows, and WIN! THAT-

Captain Falcon: Falcon PAWNCH! *The bomb, struck by the Falcon Punch, hits both Marth and Bonny Janet, koncking them out of the arena*

Daisy: Game... Fuck.

Captain Falcon: FALCON PAWNCH! *Falcon knocks Daisy out of the arena with another bomb*

Ganondorf: AND LIKE THAT THE SECOND GAME IS OVER! THE KOOPAS TAKE AN ABSOLUTELY EXPLOSIVE VICTORY! Not losing a single player and absolutely DOMINATING the Goombas!

Captain Falcon: Oh yeah! High fives all around!

Ganondorf: And with that, the score is all tied up. You know what that means. It's time... FOR A TIEBREAKER!

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

Tiebreaker

*The entire cast has assembled, including those nursing injuries.*

Ganondorf: The rules of the Tiebreaker are simple. Each team will select one, I repeat: ONE, champion each. These two champions will play each other in a 1 v. 1 game of Volley-Bomb. But this time, instead of ten player and one bomb... it's ten bombs and one player each!

Marth: Well, I'm out.

Robyn: Me too.

Red: Cowards.

Marth and Robyn: Yup.

Ganondorf: So, select your champions and let's get to this Sudden Death Elimination!

-

With the Goombas

Link: Okay, so since most of us are nursing injuries and they're probably going to be sending out Captain Falcon... who should we choose?

Bonny Janet: Oh ho? So now yer askin' our opinions?!

Link, fed up: Bonny, shut up! I don't know what crawled up your ass and died but shut up and let me talk!

*there is a long moment of silence as Bonny Janet glares at Link... but remains silent*

Link: Thank you.

Corrine: I can't go. I'm still working through that concussion.

Leaf: You all look pretty banged up.

Red: And they'll probably be planning for our Pokemon. We won't be able to pull that trick again.

Daisy: I'll go.

*They all look at her*

Marth: Daisy-

Daisy: No. I owe it to the team to try. Besides, I owe Falcon a little bit of payback.

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

*The battle lines are drawn. Captain Falcon representing the Koopas and Daisy representing the Goombas. Ganondorf  grins evilly and throws all ten bombs into the arena, ten to Daisy and ten to Falcon*

Ganondorf: Lights! Camera! SLAUGHTER!

Daisy: Oh yeah! *Daisy catches four of the bombs and delivers a massive kick upwards, sending the last one into the atmosphere. Daisy*

Catpain Falcon: You're going down girlie! *Falcon catches one, two, three of his bombs* Falcon KICK! *Falcon kick's one of the remaining bombs at Daisy.* Falcon KICK! *Falcon sends the other one at Daisy

Daisy: Sorry Falcon, but this flower's got thorns!

-

Confessional

Rosalian: And now Daisy's doing one-liners two?! Ugh.

-

*Daisy catches both bombs and sends one sailing at Falcon. Falcon dodges as the bomb hits the ground. Daisy throws the second one, but Falcon dodges again.*

Falcon: Hah!

Daisy: Sorry Cappy... I'm not done. *Daisy prepares to throw her remaining four bombs.*

Captain Falcon: Aww crap.

*Daisy throws three of her bombs. In a panic, Falcon responds. The bombs crash into each other, exploding on contact with each other. Falcon is officially out of bombs and Daisy has one left*

Daisy: Dodge this Falcon Dick! *Daisy throws the final bomb*

*Captain Falcon front flips over it. The bomb hits the ground where he had been standing moments prior.*

Captain Falcon: Wait a minute... we're out of bombs. What now?

Daisy: Oh... are we?

*Captain Falcon frowns, not understanding. Daisy smirks and points up. Falcon looks up and sees the final bomb. The one Daisy launched skyward, hurtling right towards his face.*

Captain Falcon: Aw, fu-

*the bomb explodes in his face, launching Falcon out of the arena. Daisy has won!*

Ugly Koopas: NOOOO!

Crying Goombas: BOO YEAH!

*The Goombas race forward, wrapping Daisy in a massive group hug*

Ganondorf: Well Holy Hell! That was one awesome tiebreaker! How're ya feeling Falcon?!

Captain Falcon, from the CF shaped hole in the nearby cliff face: No mommy... I don't wanna wear the pink bow...

Ganondorf: Eh, he'll be fine. Goombas! *The winning team stands at attention* I promised you a reward and now I'll deliver! You win invincibility, you cannot be voted off this island tonight. In addition, your team has earned... a beach party!

Crying Goombas: WOO HOO!

Ganondorf: There'll be good food, fine drinks, and all the volleyball you can play! … The none explosive kind, of course.

-

Confessional

Daisy: Wow! So this is what it's like to be the hero? To be the one who saves the day?! It *sniff* It feels good.

-

Ganondorf: Koopas. I'll be seeing you at the bonfire site, where you will vote off one member of your team. *evil grin* See you there.

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

The Bonfire Ceremony

*As the lights of the Goombas' beach party blaze in the distance the Koopas sit in front of a massive bonfire in sullen silence. Most are nursing injuries and glaring daggers at the team bellow them on the beach. Peach sits with Pit and Zelda on either side of her*

-

Confessional

Peach: I was confident that I wouldn't get voted off, especially after the poor showing of Samus and Falcon. Then again both are pretty powerful. I'm not sure if their failures today will be enough to get them voted off. Samus is more tolerable company, and she didn't fail as spectacularly as Falcon did. Still...

-

*Ganondorf walks around the fire to face the Koopas, carrying a tray of One-Up Mushrooms*

Ganondorf: Welcome, losers, to your first bonfire ceremony! I have on my plate, nine One-Up Mushrooms. These one-ups represent immunity and safety for the coming week. If you fail to receive a marshmallow, you will walk the Dock of Fools, board the Boat of Failures, and be taken away from the Camp forever. And, lose your chance to ear the twenty million dollar reward.

*the Koopas shift around nervously*

Ganondorf: When I call your name, I'll throw your mushroom. The first goes too... Peach. Ganondorf throws it at Peach* Next up... Erdrick. *The Hero gratefully catches the mushroom.* Zelda. *Zelda catches hers* Roy. *Roy spear his mushroom as it flies at him* Pit and Pittoo.

Dark Pit: THAT'S DARK PIT!

Ganondorf: Shut up and eat your mushroom! *Pit happily eats his One-Up as Dark Pit begrudgingly chews on his* Next is... Robyn. *Robyn sighs in relief and eats her One-up* The second to last Mushroom goes to... … … Samus.

-

Confessional

Samus: I was actually scared that I would be voted off first episode. Whew! I'd of never lived that one down.

-

Ganondorf: I have, on this platter, the last One-Up Mushroom. Falcon, you let your team down when they needed you the most. And Lucina? You got knocked out before anyone else, pretty pathetic.

Lucina: Fuck off.

Ganondorf: Prettier girls than you have tried sweetie.

Lucina: Hmpph.

Ganondorf: And the last mushroom... goes too... … … … … … … Lucina!

Captain Falcon: What!?

-

Confessional

Peach: Sure, Falcon's strong, but Lucina is by far the better thinker. Strong can be replaced. Thinkers can't.

-

Confessional

Dark Pit: He's the one person on my team more annoying than Pit.

-

Confessional

Roy: Call it a Fire Emblem bias... but Lucina should stay.

-

Captain Falcon: This... this can't be happening!

Zelda: Sorry Falcon... I wish it didn't have to-

Falcon: This is bullshit! I-

Ganondorf: Cram it buddy! *Ganondorf grabs Falcon by the scruff of his neck and hurls him to the Dock of Fools* And that's your first episode of Total Drama Smash Bros! Falcon is the first to go, but have we seen the last of him? And what will become of the new teams? Find out next week, on Total, Drama, SMASH BROS!

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And that’s a wrap on episode 1! I’m so excited for this series you guys. I’m going to have so much fun with it!

I really hesitated to put Falcon down as the first off, but he was one of the few characters I didn’t have long term plans for. Sorry if you wanted him to stay.

Also, for a bit of extra fun, submit your own ideas for challenges! It will definitely help get my creative juices flowing.

Be good people!

[fluffyseapancakes]

A Heart of Vibranium

So this was a prompt and I was going to write a short fic to it, but then everything went black and the next thing I knew, I had written over 2,000 words. I’m putting it into a separate post for personal formatting preferences so here’s the monster of a fic that poured out of my brain. 

ᴵ ˢᵗᵃʸᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ʷᵃʸ ᵗᵒᵒ ˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠᶦⁿᶦˢʰ ᵗʰᶦˢ ˢᵒ ᴵ ᵈᶦᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵒᶠʳᵉᵃᵈ. ᴵ ˢʷᵉᵃʳ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵈᵒ ᶦᵗ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ, ᴵ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵘʸˢ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶜᵘᵗᵉ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᴵ ʷʳᵒᵗᵉ.

Prompt: I wish you would write a fic where : the reader is around the same age as Peter and has a father/daughter kind of relationship with Tony Stark. One day, the reader calls Tony ‘dad’ and gets all embarrassed so Tony tickles her to get her to say it again

____________________________________________________

You didn’t want to brag, but your life was pretty freaking awesome. Sure your parents died in a mysterious accident and you basically had to teach yourself how to control the powers you somehow were born with, and a giant dickbag tried to kidnap you to use you as a weapon, but the moment when Iron Man foiled his plans and took you under his wing, it changed your life forever.

It was a big surprise when you found out that Peter Parker was the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, especially when he went to the same school as you and was in some of your classes. Meeting all the Avengers was absolutely nerve-wrecking, but thankfully everyone accepted you and treated you like their little sister. You and Peter quickly teamed up and started frequent prank wars in the tower which almost always ended with you two on the ground getting tickled to pieces by the disgruntled Avengers. Tony usually just stood aside and watched the situation unfold with an amused smile on his face.

You respected the hell out of Tony, and if you were honest, you were a little intimidated by him. It amazed you how Tony had gone through so much horrific trauma in his life and somehow he was incredibly successful and was the superhero that everyone depended on. You strived to be like Tony and you trained endlessly to learn how to use your powers and you kept your grades up in school. You barely had time to be a kid and Peter often had to drag you out of the training arena to go get ice cream and play video games. Every time Tony praised you on your progress or patted you lovingly on the head, your heart soared and it motivated you to work harder. The Avengers were concerned that you were working too hard for your age and might burn out, but Tony had faith in you and praised you as often as he could. As the mentorship went on, your bond with him grew and you learned to trust him with your life.

This week was going to drive you insane. For some reason, all your teachers scheduled their most difficult exams back to back with each other, you had three major projects due, and you had to fit in eight hours of training everyday. All your notes were sprawled on Peter’s bedroom floor and you tried to focus on reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream but you could barely understand Shakespearean English, Peter was humming happily as he worked on some chemistry problems.

“I give up,” you groaned, throwing the book down in defeat.

“Thee wanteth to passeth the exams thee not?” He swiveled around in his chair and looked at you with a grin.

“Huh?”

“You want to pass the exams don’t you?”

“Yeah, but not really for my sake. To be completely honest, I don’t care about school, I’m doing this for Tony,” you sighed, glaring at all your notes in distaste. Peter nodded with understanding and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I get it, I do a lot of things for Mr. Stark that I don’t actually want to do, but I don’t want to disappoint him.”

A silence fell upon the room as you tried to focus on history homework instead but your brain refused to retain anything from stress, you punched the textbook and your lips started to tremble from frustration. Peter had a concerned look on his face and he smiled softly. “Want to hear something stupid I did the other day?”

“What?” You whispered, your voice trembled ever so slightly and Peter winced at how vulnerable you were.

“I accidentally called Mr. Stark ‘dad,’” he laughed embarrassingly. You chuckled softly and shook your head.

“What did Tony say?”

“He said he saw me as his son, so he didn’t mind that I called him that.”

“Well that’s good,” you smiled, “I would absolutely die if I called him my dad.” Your phone pinged and you saw that Happy had texted he was ready to pick you up. You quickly gathered up your assignments and shoved them haphazardly into your backpack. Waving goodbye to Peter, you walked out the door and into the waiting car.

During the whole ride home, all you could think about was having Tony Stark as a father. Your parents died when you were very young, so you didn’t know what it was like to have one. Tony was probably the closest to a father figure you had, next to Steve and Clint. He taught you how to control and use your powers, gave you good life advice when you hit a roadblock, got you over-the-top birthday and Christmas presents, and gave you the support and stability that you desperately needed. You knew, deep down inside, you wanted Tony to be your father and the Avengers to be your family, but you were scared that they were going to reject you.

I’m a dirty orphan that no one wanted, you bitterly thought, staring out the car window and watching the Stark Towers emerge from a distance, Tony will kick me out if he ever knew how I felt.

As Happy pulled the car up to the entrance, you got out and headed to the main living room where everyone usually hung out on Saturday afternoons. You pressed the respective elevator button and shot up the tall building. Quickly the elevator stopped at your floor and as soon as the doors opened, you heard the laughter of your friends flood throughout the room. You smiled and followed the laughter, entering into the living room you saw that they were all surrounding the table playing Cards Against Humanity. Tony turned his head and smiled brightly when he saw you come in.

“Hey Y/N! Perfect timing, we’re about to start a new game once I crush everyone on this round.”

You smiled and threw your heavy backpack onto the couch, “Hey dad, I’m just gonna grab a snack then I’ll play,” you strolled to the kitchen to hunt for some chips. You realized that everyone had gone dead silent and you turned around to see surprised expressions on their faces.

“What? Do I really look that tired?” You joked.

“No Y/N…you called Tony your dad,” Steve had a soft smile on his face but he was watching you carefully to see your reaction. You felt like your heart had stopped beating and your tongue turned into a dry sponge.

“Oh that,” you chuckled forcefully, “that was a dare Peter made me do…to see your reaction…”

Tony slowly got up from his chair and walked over to you, you felt tears of shame threatening to fall down your cheeks as he crouched down and looked at you in the eyes.

“You don’t have to be ashamed Y/N,” he said softly, he reached out his hand and tucked a couple strands of hair behind your ear, “I don’t blame you, you lost your parents and you’ve never had someone look out for you until now.”

You hung your head and shrugged, “I’m sorry I called you that and I completely understand if you want me to leave,” you whispered.

“Why would I do that?” Tony sounded genuinely surprised and suddenly pulled you into a tight hug, “I love you very much Y/N, mentoring you and Peter are the greatest things that’s happened to me and I see you two as my own kids.”

You wrapped your arms around Tony’s neck and closed your eyes, breathing in his usual scent of aftershave that’s always comforted you. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you cried silently into his shoulder, he rubbed your back and patiently waited for the tears to slowly stop. You sniffled and was embarrassed that you had soaked his shirt, but you continued to hold him tightly.

“Since we’re technically your family, you can call me dad if you want,” he whispered in your ear, you smiled and finally unwrapped your arms and parted from the embrace. Tony looked at you with adoration and wiped the remaining tears from your cheeks with his thumb.

“Are you done moping around now?” He playfully joked, poking at your belly. You jumped at the touch and giggled, shaking your head.

“Only if you’re done being sappy,” you sassed back, Tony’s eyebrow went up and suddenly he had you pinned down on the ground. He lightly straddled your legs so you couldn’t escape and dug into your belly. You squealed and tried to squirm away, but he had you securely pinned down. He went from torturing your belly to gently squeezing your sides, high pitched laughter poured out of your mouth and you could hear the Avengers laughing along with you. A couple snorts were mixed into your laughter and eventually you started screaming as Tony started to squeeze your ribs, suddenly he stopped and kept his fingers firmly placed on your bottom rib.

“Y/N you’re one smart girl, if you count each rib in Latin I might give you a break,” he winked at your breathless face, your cheeks were flushed and your eyes twinkled with happiness. Everyone laughed at the ridiculous game and started placing bets on who would win. Your brain was still foggy from crying and laughing, but you vaguely remembered Peter quizzing you for the Latin test. You’ve never seen this playful side of Tony before so you decided to play his rather unfair game, you nodded at him in agreement and slowly he wiggled his fingers on your first rib. You threw your head back in a fit of giggles and searched your brain for the answer.

“ūnus,” you barely managed to giggle out. Tony grinned and moved on to the next rib, for some reason that spot was particularly sensitive and you let out a loud squeal.

“D-Duo,” you stammered, and for what seemed like hours, you counted each of your ribs in Latin and Tony moved to the next one and tickled it with more intensity than the ones before. Your brain was turning into mush and all you could focus on was laughing and trying to squirm away.

“Vīgintī ūnus.”

“Vīgintī duo.”

“Vīgintī  trēs.”

Tony finally attacked your last rib, everyone was cheering you on and you were utterly exhausted. You wracked your brain for the Latin number for 24, but all you got was a blank. Come on Y/N, it’s literally the number 20 with 4, it’s not that hard. You shrieked as Tony teasingly tweaked at the rib and his other hand lightly dug into your belly.

“Well Y/N? It’s now or never,” he laughed, he sounded joyful and almost childlike, which was unheard of when it was about Tony Stark. Sure he joked around and played games often, but he never let out a genuinely happy laugh even when he was a child. All the Avengers smiled at this rare sight and wished that laugh would never go away.

“Vīgintī…,” you said unsurely, screaming as his fingers found their way to your bellybutton and started to very lightly trace around it.

“Vīgintī what?” He teased, suddenly dipping a finger inside your bellybutton and wiggling it around, you bucked hard as an electric-like shock traveled into your spine and down to the tips of your toes. Hysterical laughter erupted from your mouth and you felt like you were going to burst. You were ready to surrender and admit defeat when suddenly the answer fought its way through the jumbled mess in your brain and appeared as clear as day.

“Quattuor!” You screamed, Tony pulled back from his torture and you gasped for breath, you could hear the Avengers clapping for you as you tried to recover from the tickling.

“I knew you could do it,” Tony smiled, slowly helping you sit up. He ruffled your hair and gently pinched one of your bright red cheeks. You swatted his hand away and grinned.

“You sound like a dad already,” you teased, completely entranced by the liveliness in his eyes, usually they were filled with fatigue and sternness, but the Tony Stark you were seeing now was completely different from your mentor Mr. Stark. You loved this side of him and you wished that he could stay this happy forever.

“I’m so lucky to have you as my daughter,” he wrapped you up into another hug and you snuggled into his chest, your ear rested on the arc reactor and you listened to its gentle hum.

No matter what people say, your dad certainly does have a heart. A heart of vibranium.

[if-only-we-could-read-it]

The Training - Isabelle & Damian (District 2 and 3)

based on the writeblr hunger games by @ratracechronicler! This one is slightly different again, since I combined their chapters, so it’s longer. 

Izzy was exhausted before she even reached the training room. She’d spent basically the whole night having a meltdown over the idea that Damian had also been selected as a tribute, and had then flatly refused to come out of her room to eat breakfast that morning, even though she could smell how great the food was through her door. Antheia, at least, seemed more predisposed to sympathy than anger, which was a relief.

The only reason she’d bothered to come down to the training room anyway was because she knew Damian would be there, probably bright and early.

Sure enough, when the doors slid open, she saw him across the other side of the room and practically hurled herself at him, holding him tightly. He hugged her back. She could see the Peacekeepers in the room instinctively go for their weapons, but stop when they realised she wasn’t attacking him.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Damian mumbled into her hair, and she let out a short laugh that was nearly a sob and pulled back. “I saw your reaping right before I went on the chariots.” He explained, scanning her up and down. She was wearing practical clothing and trainers, and she looked exhausted. Then again, he doubted he’d look much better.

“I didn’t know,” she said softly, looking like she was trying really hard to reign her emotions in. “I didn’t know until I saw you at the Chariots, and then I couldn’t really react because of people- but seriously, what is the chance that we’d both end up here? Don’t actually answer that-“ she held her hand up, even though he hadn’t moved to say anything. “I went over it last night. There’s no way to tell, but very small.”

“Well, it’s the games. These things have a way of working themselves out for the worst.” Muttered Damian, who was just glad that Isabelle was smart enough to keep herself together in front of anyone. He shouldn’t’ve been, he knew that, Isabelle had never had any problem giving off a cool aura, but he still worried.

Glancing around, he realised that everyone had just given them cursory confused looks and then gone back to milling around.

“Look- we can’t stand around here. We’ve got to keep busy, we have to-“

“Build a reputation?” suggested Isabelle, wryly, and Damian was relieved by her sense of humour.

“Make everyone take us seriously.” He finished, with a shrug. “Also, my ‘angle’ is meant to be this mysterious mastermind type, and no offense, but this isn’t really working for it.”

Isabelle snorted. If there was one thing Damian wasn’t, it was mysterious, but she headed over to the computers anyway. “Really? Cause my angles ‘sweet’. And this kind of fits in well.”

“That’s the perfect angle for you.” He grinned, feeling himself relax a little. He could stress while he was in the arena.

Instead, they focused on doing the quizzes, and talking about what had happened before they’d reached the Capitol. Damian took his time, reading through the information multiple times and making mental notes to himself. Every time he finished reading something, he’d try and recite it back from memory before taking the quiz.

Izzy, on the other hand, scanned through all the notes in about five minutes, and then proceed to hurtle through the quiz with reckless abandon, getting questions wrong over and over again.

“Why don’t you just read the notes properly?” He asked, frowning at her, and Isabelle rolled her eyes.

“Because they’re boring, and if I did, I’d stop being able to concentrate, and it’d be pointless. Trial and error works better.”

He didn’t really get where she was coming from, but she started getting full marks faster than he did, so he let it go.

For the remainder of the week, they made sure to spend at least an hour training together before splitting off to do their own thing. They needed to show the rest of the tributes that they weren’t dependent on each other, and on top of that, they both needed to focus more on their own tactics.

Isabelle managed to master the quizzes pretty quickly, and came back to them for a warm up every morning. Aside from that, she tried out every single weapon she could find.

Axes weren’t her thing, too heavy, and they’d be awkward to carry around anyway. The bow took more effort than she’d anticipated to use, and even though she trained with it a little every day, she could tell she wasn’t going to get good with it. The knot tying and snares were relatively easy once she had help from the person manning it, mostly because she’d spent sometime braiding wires back home, and nothing was fiddlier than that. The camouflage was also fun, but she found she wasn’t great at it.

Unsurprisingly to her, her best stations were the climbing wall and obstacle course section, and the quizzes. Years of exploring district three, with all it’s electric fences and barred off areas, had left her pretty nimble, and she was a quick learner. After her first few rounds on the former, she deliberately flunked around and then made an effort to avoid it so she didn’t give her one talent away too much. Instead, she assessed the other people who did it.

The knife station was the first weapon she was really good at, both with stabbing and throwing them, but it either required her to get in close quarters with people or risk losing her weapon, neither of which were convenient. The hand-to-hand combat one was also good, but had a similar issue. Still, something about being able to punch stuff was really hard was satisfying.

She also tried out sword fighting, which was only a little bit harder than using the knife for her, and gave her a lot more reach. This she could probably handle in the arena, but she found herself wishing she was better with the bow and arrow. A long distance weapon would be ideal.

The thought of having to kill people made her shudder, and she switched from the sword back to the camouflage station. She thought about what Ava had said – ‘you’re good at surviving’. She was. She’d had enough experiences in her life to prove that, and she had no doubt that could definitely survive for some time out there. But surviving and not being killed weren’t quite the same thing in the Hunger Games, given that everybody was armed and going into full kill-or-be-killed mode. In most games, if the tributes drifted too far apart, the Game Keepers found a way to force them back together.

Which would put her directly into the firing line, especially if she couldn’t fight. But could she kill someone using her brain instead of her physical prowess… there had been a victor once who’d won by tricking someone to eat poison.

She doubted she could do that, manipulating people wasn’t her strong point, but the games were still full of things she could use to her advantage- steal someone’s food, and they either starved to death or, more likely, were pushed by the game makers into an altercation with someone to end it quickly.

It was cruel, she supposed, but would it be easier than killing with a weapon? Probably.

When she walked into the Game Makers room at the end of the week, she took a moment to decide. She could take the quizzes, which she would definitely ace, but she didn’t know how impressive that would be to the judges themselves. And she definitely didn’t want to try out any of the weapons, because she wouldn’t get a high enough score on any of those. So, obstacles it was.

First, she hurled herself up the climbing wall, which was shaped like an actual cliff face. She made it to the top with in a matter of minutes, and then promptly swung herself down as fast as possible. Was it just her, or did the Game Makers look impressed?

She hit the button on the obstacle course, which meant it started to move and fire things out across her path. After taking a deep breath to steady herself, she ran across it.

Final score: 8

Damian made a point of spending at least a few hours a day on each station, except for the knots and snares one, and the camouflage one. Those he made sure to check out twice during the week, but he’s fairly sure he won’t need perfect knowledge in them, and mastering the weapons seems more pressing.

He spends his allotted one hour with Isabelle doing quizzes, and trying not to think about facing her in the ring. Then he rotates between the rest of the stations, trying to vary his schedule so it doesn’t become routine.

The sword is one of the easiest, and the knife isn’t too bad, especially once he gets good at throwing it. The bow and arrow was more complicated, but he manages to get to a point where most of his arrows land on the target, at least, and he’ll take that. He decides against the axe almost immediately- it’s too clumsy, too awkward to throw and too violent in close combat. If he’s getting through any fights, he needs to be quick and smart. Still, he practices at least a little with it each day.

The assault course is more fun, and it takes him a few days to figure out the climbing wall, and then a few more to be able to complete the entire course. It definitely wouldn’t help him score high, but it’s a basic enough knowledge.

Speaking of scoring high… right now, that was a priority. If he wanted people to team up with him, he had to prove himself a good ally. Still, though, he had to be careful – if he came off as a threat, people would absolutely aim for him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He made a point of asking people at each station for help. If he seemed open to help, it might lower his threat level – and really, he only needed to come off as mysterious for the audience. Everyone going into the arena would know he was acting anyway.

As for teaming up with people… he realised, looking around, that that was probably going to be something he’d have to decide once he got in there. As it was now, people were so preoccupied with training that the only people really talking to anyone were the ones who were actively trying to sow the seeds of alliance with as many people as possible.

It would’ve been easy enough to try and team up with them, but he had no doubt that they’d be assessing who their most powerful allies were before the games themselves, and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself if they decided he didn’t make the cut. At best, it would lower his standing with everyone, at worse, he could get killed.

He thought about Izzy. Would they team up? He hadn’t asked. It seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them that they weren’t going to talk about the games themselves, which was both frustrating and a relief.

Could he team up with her? Inevitably, one of them would have to die, and did he want to be there when it happened? The best case scenario would be witnessing it, the worst case would be getting to the final two and realising one of them had to kill the other.

Neither of those things were ideal, but abandoning her in the games felt somehow wrong. Having her in them at all was horrible- it meant there was no possible happy ending. Either he died, or they both did, or she died and he had to live with the consequences, and Damian was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it if that happened.

To get his mind of it, he through himself back into training.

By the time he came to his evaluation, he already had a clearly thought out plan. He started off with the quizzes, acing them, and then moved on to show his skill throwing the knives, since that was his best weapon. He hoped the combination of mental and physical strengths would be enough to pull him through.

Final score: 8

[unlikely-allies]

**Slight Spoilers**

5/5

For years, prodigies, people with unique abilities, were forced into the shadows. Those who showed themselves and their powers faced prejudice and persecution. One man, Ace Anarchy, believed in a different kind of world for prodigies. Ace led a rebellion that left chaos and tragedy in its wake. Government, law enforcement, and structured elements of society were reduced to ruin, allowing for villainous gangs and corruption to run amuck. This 20-year period would come to be known as the Age of Anarchy. Many prodigies used their powers to thrive in this new age, but some chose to use their abilities to try to restore order. Six specific individuals took it upon themselves to act as vigilantes, defenders of justice and crusaders for good.

They called themselves Renegades and donned superhero costumes and names. Like a band that makes it big, they moved out of the garage and into an official headquarters. After the defeat of Ace and other villains, the Renegades formed the Council to serve as lawmakers for this new age of peace. Gang members were given the chance to start a new life under the Council’s rein, and prodigies from all over the world were invited to join the Renegades. Many idolize and look up to the Renegades, perfectly content with allowing them to handle everything. Others are not as complacent in letting the Council dictate what everyone can and cannot do. Not all of the new Renegades are as wholesome as the Council, some throw around their power, especially when it comes to ex-gang members who are bullied and mistreated.

Nova Artino was just 6 years old when her family was killed. Her father used his gift to craft weapons for the Roaches gang. When he stopped and sought help from the Renegades he was promised protection, but when the time came the Renegades were nowhere to be found. Nova used her gift to protect herself and was ultimately rescued by her uncle Alec, aka Ace Anarchy. From that day forward Nova understood that the Renegades could not be relied upon, that they would lie and let you down. Nova has since joined the Anarchists under the name Nightmare, and has vowed to destroy the entire Renegade operation. While the identities of the other Anarchists are known to the Renegades from the Age of Anarchy, Nightmare is a new villain on the scene. Her secret identity allows Nova to join the Renegades as a spy for the Anarchists.

Perceptions often change when one changes their perspective. In joining the Renegades, Nova gets an in-depth look at her supposed enemy. This causes some inner turmoil for a morally ambiguous character such as Nova. She must constantly remind herself of her objective and that these people she is working so closely with are the enemy. Nova finds in increasingly difficult to dislike her new patrol team, a group of young Renegades with whom she grows close. Oscar, aka Smokescreen, has a rare bone disease, but he does not let that overshadow his power or his wit. Ruby, aka Red Assassin, is as charming as she is deadly. Danna, aka Monarch, could be the friend that Nova never knew she wanted, but perhaps needs. And Adrian, aka Sketch, who is team leader and the son of two of the original Renegades. Adrian is the first to welcome Nova to the team, and there is undoubtedly chemistry between the two. The only problem is that Adrian is fixated on capturing Nightmare because of a connection she has with his past. If Adrian puts the pieces together and figures out that Nova is Nightmare, her entire mission could be in jeopardy.

Renegades is truly a breath of fresh air. While the superhero theme may be overdone in movies and television, literature is one arena that it appears to be in short supply (aside from graphic novels of course).  While the idea could so easily become cheesy, Meyer is able to create a world and storyline that is both complex and fun. Renegades is kitschy comic book meets science fiction dystopian thriller. Nova is a badass female lead who is driven not only by vengeance, but with the desire for people to take on a little more personal responsibility. She believes that the Renegades have created a culture governed by the Bystander Effect, in that people will not act if they have someone else to do so. Nova does not lose her ambitions when faced with a love interest, but continues on in her pursuit in spite of Adrian. Nova does not need saving, even when she isn’t using her powers she uses her brain and her brawn to defend herself. Each of the supporting characters is given an adequate amount of backstory and the perfect amount of personality to make them each interesting and unique. They serve to add to the plot and the turmoil surrounding Nova. The book ends with the perfect surprise and I can’t wait to read the next book in the series. Renegades is a novel I would recommend to anyone, but especially to those who enjoy science fiction and who are into the superhero genre.

[p-artsypants]

No, You Go First (Part 1)

This ones been rolling around for some time. Changed a little bit here and there…kind of thought about making it longer. Maybe someday.

What would happen in the first movie if Stoick listened to his son at a key point?

FF.net | Ao3

—

Hiccup snuck in the door quietly. The run in with the Nightfury had taken much longer than expected, and he only hoped no one noticed he was missing.

Who was he kidding? No one would miss him.

Though, when he entered his house, Stoick was sitting at the fireplace, whittling, and waiting for him. The boy bit his lip and fled to his room, hoping to not be spotted.

“Hiccup?”

“Dad! Hey! Uh…I-I have to talk to you…”

“I have something to say to you too…”

They both spoke at the same time, mashing their sentences in a mess of scrabbled words. Then, “What?”

“You go first,” urged Stoick.

“Okay…” And he took the chance, because when would his father ever listen to him?

“I was thinking, you know we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough bread-making Vikings, or small home—“

“Get on with it Hiccup.” Stoick said, crossing his arms.

“I don’t want to fight dragons.”

Stoick stared at his son, blankly, and then laughed. “Come on, yes you do.”

“Rephrase, I can’t kill a dragon.”

Stoick was prepared to rebuttal, but seeing his little son so hunched, so withdrawn…so un-viking, made him hold his tongue. “What was all that bravado about then earlier? You were begging me to let you out there!”

“I know I know…” Hiccup rubbed his arm. “But I…realized something.” He glanced up shyily, wincing all the while. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

Stoick let out a massive sigh doing everything in his power to stay calm. “I promise. I’d rather you not hide things from me.”

Hiccup nodded meekly, still holding his arm. “I…I did shoot down that dragon. So I went down to Raven’s Point to make sure, and maybe finish the job if I needed to. When I got there, I saw him…and I raised my knife, ready to strike…and then I looked into it’s eyes. It was…scared, terrified…I saw myself in it. I couldn’t…I just…I cut it free.” He clenched up, waiting for the onslaught of anger from his dad.

But it never came.

Hiccup peeled his eyes open to see his dad red in the face and a frown on his lips. Then Stoick puffed out air. “So you cut it loose. It didn’t hurt you?”

“He pinned me to the ground and roared in my face. And then he took off.”

“What kind of dragon was it?”

“I think it was a Nightfury…”

“A Nightfury! And you let it go!?”

“I know!” He cried. “I’m sorry! I just…”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “Look, Hiccup.”

He looked up and met Stoick’s eyes.

“Your mother was a lot like you. She was convinced that dragons weren’t as evil as we believed. Even up until the day she was taken.”

“They are still a pest! They do make it hard to live! I just—I just—…” He gestured helplessly.

Stoick steered him over to sit him down at the fire.

“When your mother was here, most of us only used hammers as weapons. We agreed that the beasts weren’t evil, but after she was taken…” He sighed. “Hiccup, I understand where you’re coming from, I really do. But I can’t lose you.”

“Dad…”

“I have to know that you’ll be safe in a raid. But you can’t lift a hammer, you can’t swing a sword…”

“Dad, dad!” Hiccup interrupted. “I’ll stay in the forge.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll work. I’ll lift heavy stuff and build up my arms and learn how to use weapons…”

Stoick, who was now calming down, saw the slight tremble in his son and the fear that persisted in his eyes. “Son,” he said softly. “It’s alright. The forge is a good idea.”

“You don’t look 100% sure…”

“It’s not the most honorable. Everyone loves the Blacksmith, but not for a chief. But, you’re only 15. Things may change.”

“Yeah.” Hiccup vocally agreed, but that look in the Nightfury’s eyes had been so haunting, he knew he couldn’t raise a weapon against a dragon ever again. “But…I’ll start to win everyone’s favor by staying out of the way.”

Stoick managed a laugh. “A start it is.”

The little family fell into silence. Stoick continued his whittling while Hiccup sat by. He felt like there was more to be said.

“Dragon training starts tomorrow. I was going to have you start…but while Gobber’s training the new recruits, someone will have to be in the forge.”

Hiccup nodded in agreement, some of the tension coming off his shoulders.

“You’re not a warrior.” Stoick declared, giving him a side eye. “You aren’t bursting with muscle, and weapons are useless in your hands.”

“Thanks…”

“But you have something most of the vikings in this village wish they could have.”

This was news. All his life he had been called useless and a screw up. What could he possibly have that no one else did?

“You have brains, capable of resourcefulness and creativity.”

Hiccup just stared at his dad, open mouthed.

“You couldn’t throw a bola, so you made something to throw it for you. I’ve seen your craftsmanship, I’ve heard your wit. You’re different from all of us, Hiccup.”

Hiccup hunched his shoulders. “I don’t want to be different. No one likes different…”

“Of course they don’t. Because they can’t understand it.” He leaned forward, beckoning Hiccup to look him in the eye. “You won’t be able to lead the tribe like I have, or like my father before me. But you will lead it, one day. You just have to find your niche.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“If you truly believe that the beasts are capable of something more, find a way to make them stop raiding us. A thousand years of fighting hasn’t changed a thing.”

Hiccup considered this thought heavily. His father was putting a lot of trust and faith on his shoulders.

“But son, if you don’t find that solution…one day, you’ll have to put your reservations aside and be like the rest of us. Deal?”

Hiccup glanced to the duffle bag by the door. Stoick was leaving, and this could very well be the last time they saw one another. He nodded. “Deal.”

“Good. Well, keep up the good work. I’ll be back. Probably.”

“And I’ll be here. Maybe.”

—

The next day, Hiccup went down to the training academy, and sat along the upper edge with a notebook.  

“Welcome to dragon training!” Gobber called with gusto.

“I hope I get some serious burns.” Declared Tuffnut.

“I’m hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back.” Added his sister.

“Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out of it.”

Hiccup chuckled a little as he watched.

“You sure you don’t want to join us, Hiccup?” Called Gobber.

“Pul-lease,” interrupted Snotlout. “He wouldn’t last five seconds in the ring.”

“You’re right Snotlout,” Hiccup called with a smug little grin. Though, no one could see it from that distance. “I’d much rather you be in there.”

Gobber interrupted the little spat. “Let's get started! The recruit who does best will win the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village.”

“Which we all know, is going to be me.” Said Snotlout, with a flourish. “I mean, come on. Who else could it be?”

“Maybe me?” Said Astrid, hand on her hip.

“Yeah maybe, if you weren’t a girl.”

Hiccup had to hold back a laugh at the absolute rage that crossed her face.

Soon, Hiccup realized he had made the smart choice of declining dragon training after all. Since Gobber was merciless in his methods. The Grockle sputtered around the arena, it’s eyes focusing on the shields and the weapons. Gobber hung back by the wall, and the dragon paid him no mind. Neither did it notice little Hiccup who sat above. Hiccup noted this. But knew the solution of just ‘not having weapons’ would be received with a firm kick off of the cliffs.

In the end, Astrid careened the shield into the dragon’s snout disorienting it.

“The dragon will always, always, go for the kill.”

Hiccup wrote this down, and then scratched out ‘always’. “Then why didn’t he…?”

—

The Nightfury was not as free as Hiccup had first thought.

Now that it was trapped in the cove, sans tail fin, he had a chance to double his efforts on observation, and perhaps even befriending the Nightfury. Perish the thought!

But he remembered his father’s words and returned to the cove day after day. Every once in a while, he would go the academy and sit on whatever wisdom Gobber seemed to be preaching.

From the look of things, they weren’t fairing very well. He had always assumed Snotlout would be the winner of the class, but it seemed like his ego was his downfall.

And his lack of common sense didn’t help.

Astrid on the other hand, took training extremely seriously. Almost to the point of alienating herself from the rest of the group. She was trapped in her head, focused, with death on the mind.

It was one night at dinner when he took a look into her head. All the other tables were filled, as he sat at one, sketching some ideas for Toothless’s tail. Nothing too noticeable for the other vikings around.

But he was startled when she sat across from him.

“Uh hi Astrid, hi Astrid.” He stammered. Smooth.

“Mind if I sit here?” She drawled as an afterthought.

“No- not at all, you’re fine. I love you—I’d love to have you! Here. Sitting. Just sitting.” He over corrected, his voice too loud.

She stared at him, wide-eyed as he blushed and covered his face with his hands. Then she snorted. “Now I can see why you’re not training with us. Jumpy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, words aren’t my friend.”

She hummed in amusement and took his notes closest to her. “So what is the great Hiccup Haddock up to this time? What mess will we have to clean up?”

Hiccup snatched his notes back with a frown. “I’m not up to anything.”

“Right. Why do you keep watching us in the academy?”

“Why do you care?” He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but it came out that way. She had never cared about him before. Not unless he did something stupid. Then she was there with her perfect blue eyes, and rolling them.

Astrid shrugged. “I don’t. I’m just curious.” She picked at her food. “You just seem like the only person around here with any decency is all.”

“Oh…did Snotlout do something?”

“He always does stuff.”

“But he didn’t like…you know…”

“Gods no, Hiccup!”

“Okay! I was just making sure!”

She flipped the switch on him. “Why do you care?”

He smiled, “As future chief, I want to know of any drama before it happens.”

She scoffed, “Future chief?”

“I mean…I am the next in line. The only other option is Snotlout, and who would you rather have?”

“You got me there.”  

He cocked his head to the side. “Why are you talking to me again? Not that I don’t enjoy your company or anything...”

“I mean, you said it. You are the future chief. My parents mentioned that I should be nicer to you.”

He shrugged. “Well, I don’t know if I want you to be my friend just to take advantage of my status.”

She cringed. “Yikes, I really didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

“I meant that I want to support you to be a good chief. If no one is here for you and no one believes in you, how are you supposed to lead us?”

He shrugged. “My dad thinks I still have some time.”

“Maybe...” she acquiesced. “But you know, there’s something about you that’s refreshing.”

“What? That not everything I have to say is about strength and death?” He said with sarcasm.

“Basically.”

He wasn’t expecting that. “Oh.”

“You know, I’m kind of surprised your dad didn’t have you enter dragon training.”

Hiccup scratched his cheek. “He wanted me too...but I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Astrid nodded in understanding and glanced at his notebook again. “So what are you doing?”

He blushed, prepared with a half truth. “Observing dragon behavior. My dad kind of gave me a task, I’m assuming to keep me busy and out of the way. He wants me to see if I can find another solution to our dragon problem...since fighting isn’t changing things.”

“Did I just hear you say you’re trying to get out of fighting dragons?” Snotlout interrupted, approaching the table. “I saw Astrid sitting with you and I was trying to figure out why she would do something so crazy. Now I get it, she’s worried you’re going to doom us all.”

Hiccup bristled, closing his notes. He prepared to leave, but Astrid held a hand out.

“For your information, I’m sitting with Hiccup because he’s my friend, and he’s not a complete idiot.”

Snotlout scoffed. “Like I actually care...” and he walked off.

“Wow...” said Hiccup, breathlessly. “I’m…I’m not used to people sticking up for me.”

“So you made a few mistakes. But you’ve tried to be helpful. I don’t think you should be ridiculed for it.”

Hiccup swallowed, a lump in his throat. “Thank you, Astrid.”

She spared a smile. “If Stoick gave you this task, then I’ll make sure to help you.”

“It’s...it’s kind of a secret. I’m not sure how the others will take it.”

“Can I see your notebook?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not always at the academy for classes. I’ve had more up close encounters with dragons than you have.”

He shrugged and handed over the book. Debatably, he had more up close encounters with dragons, since the few times he visited Toothless and learned from him. But she didn’t need to know that.

Astrid opened to a new page and began to write down her observations and thoughts from dragon training. They sat in silence for a while while she scratched away, thought, and then wrote some more.  

“Here,” she had dated the page and titled it ‘Astrid’s thoughts on dragons’. “This is my two cents.” Then she stood with a smile. “Your dad is a really good chief. I’m glad he found a way for you to help in your own way.”

“Yeah.” Hiccup didn’t want to mention that he was the one that had come up with idea in the first place. “And, Astrid?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

She grinned at him. At him! “See you later, Hiccup.”

—

Over the next few days, something began to form between him and Astrid. Nothing romantic…well, at least not on her part. He was pretty obviously smitten with her, and blushed every time he saw her. But she had the decency to never comment on it.

No, there was something like a feeling of camaraderie between them. A sort of friendship, but without the deep emotional talks.

Those were reserved for Toothless.

At meals, and only then, did Astrid join him at his lonely table and share her wisdom. Likewise, he told her some tricks, like the fact that the dragons didn’t like eels and that if you reflected light off a shield, they’d chase it.

She was doubtful, but filed these tricks away for a later date.

Everyone else in the tribe, on the other hand, were being to be merciless to Hiccup. He was of age, and yet refused to go into dragon training? What a brat. Pathetic. Worthless heir. There was talk of him being a dragon sympathizer as well, curtesy of Snotlout. And since Stoick wasn’t around to set the record straight, things only escalated.

Daily, Hiccup was pushed, tripped, and shooed away from vendors and food carts, and even children.

Hiccup thought he couldn’t be any more lonely. He was wrong. The only kind faces waiting for him were Astrid and Gobber.

Even his work in the forge was becoming a problem. People would come to get their knifes sharpened and refuse to let Hiccup do it. If they picked out a weapon he worked on, they’d drop it like it was still hot from the forge.

“Lad, maybe you should just work in the back for a while. Until this all cools down.”

Hiccup scoffed. Like this would ever get better. If one thing was certain, it was that Vikings were stubborn.

Astrid came in one day, Hiccup could hear her. “Is Hiccup here?”

“Depends, are you here to bully him?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“Because that’s all anyone wants with him these days.” He gestured with his thumb. “‘Es in the back.”

Hiccup stood quickly, however, and stepped outside to hide his secrets. “Hi Astrid, hi, how are you?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

His shoulders hunched, “I’m…I’m okay.”

She shook her head, but didn’t argue. “I need my axe sharpened.”

“Uh…couldn’t you just Gobber to do it for you?”

“Nope. I know you’re the one that’s been servicing my blade for the last few years. You’re the one who knows it.” She handed the axe over willingly.

It took a little effort to lift it. Like most things did. Put he held it sturdily. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled broadly at her.

—

There will be a part two. I’m just on vacation and wanted to publish this chunk first.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Viridian Vanguard (Part 32)

Elsewhere in the Grove during the duels, Weiss was in her nest, Penny snuggled up to her chest, Cheese and Winter’s summons around her for company, menial tasks, and/or food as she watched holos through Penny’s projector. (The quality was far superior than her comm-crystal’s.)

“I feel it… the purity of their love…!” screamed the monster of the week. “This is it… the power, of YURI!”

A wave of purple-black miasma shot out of the monster, washing over the convention floor, reality itself beginning to warp and change as bright, prismatic energy was sucked out of them.

Hina gasped. “Akane, Aoi, look! All the couples, the anime and manga, even the doujins and the fan art—they’re all losing their gayness!”

“You monster!” Aoi screamed. “Do you know how long that slow-burn was between Diya and Nene?! This is an affront to all of Girls Love!”

“You’re going down, Yarama!” Akane screamed as she whipped out her spear, Hina and Aoi doing the same with their weapons.

“Piper, this show is so fucking stupid...” Weiss muttered.

“Would you like to change to something else?” Penny asked through an annotation on the holo.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it!” Weiss said.

A fight sequence began, the tables and displays being torn up and destroyed from the empowered monster, the heroes trying their best to spare the panicked, confused convention goers, and the merchandise, too, if they could help it.

“Face it, Spiral Hearts!” the Yarama cried. “The power of women loving women is just too strong!”

“That is true…” Hina replied “… but it’s not as strong as the true fans of yuri, those who make and support new content for fans everywhere, not filthy parasites like you! Akane! Aoi!”

“On it!” they both cried, before they all joined their weapons into one giant cannon. “For the love of all that makes our lives worth living… SPIRAL PIERCER…!”

The projection suddenly stopped, Penny’s eyes flashing green.

“What happened?” Weiss asked amid the disappointed growls and groans of the summons.

“It seems there was a serious accident during Jaune and Pyrrha’s training!” Penny replied, untangling herself from Weiss’ arm, then hovering towards the window. “I’m afraid my medical expertise is needed on-site, apologies, Weiss.”

“Don’t you just have first-aid equipment right now?” Weiss asked as she sat up.

“Yes, but I still have my treatment database, patient history, and high-precision scanners,” Penny replied. “I’ll inform you of any new developments as soon as I can!”

Weiss sighed, frowning as she watched Penny fly out the window and out of sight. One of Winter’s summons gently prodded her on the side, and gestured to her comm-crystal charging on a dock in the corner; she turned to them and shook her head. “You’ll have to find out what happens next later, I’ve got a hunch I need to investigate,” she said as she stood up. “Help me get dressed, everyone!”

The summon sighed, before everyone available either fetched Weiss’ garments from the closet, or helped her put it on. “Cheese, you’re coming with me,” Weiss said as she scooped what remained of him from his plate, now just a small blob no bigger than her hand.

c:

“I’m heading out to the training grounds!” Weiss said as she passed by Winter in the living room.

“Don’t try to squeeze in more exercise when you’re supposed to be recovering, I really did mean that was the only time I’d carry you back!” Winter replied, not looking up from the Nivian-Actaeon book she was reading.

“I won’t, sheesh! It’s been what, four years since that happened?” Weiss said as she opened the door.

“I know you, Weiss, it takes a long while for you to give up on something you’ve put your mind to,” Winter replied as she turned the page.

Weiss shook her head as she shut the door behind her, called for the elevator before taking a bite out of Cheese.

He was down to just his soulstone by the time she arrived, by which point Jaune was securely strapped to a spine board and being carried away by Taiyang and Nora, Ren and Penny following them with medical supplies.

Futher away, Yang was on a bench, comforting the rather glum looking Pyrrha sitting beside her. After a few moment’s consideration, Weiss stepped over and asked, “May I ask what the hell happened to Jaune this time?”

“We were dueling, and I accidentally threw him far harder and further than I intended,” Pyrrha replied. “His landing was… ugly.”

“Should I…?” Weiss asked uneasily.

“In short: he looked a human pretzel,” Yang said. “Just so you know, the un-pretzeling process wasn’t pretty, either.”

“Uh... huh...” Weiss mumbled. “Do you need me to stay, or should I just leave…?” she asked, thumbing behind her.

“If your brain is functioning enough again for Pit Fighter business, sure!” Yang said.

“I’ve made quite a lot of progress on the weapon choice front, it’d be a shame to waste this time,” Pyrrha added.

Weiss nodded, and sat down with them. “So how’s it going, exactly?”

“If we’re being thorough about it, I’m halfway through the process,” Pyrrha replied. “I still haven’t explored any of the Fae firearms that weren’t almost-complete replicas of AFA armaments, but now I know for sure that I have a solid idea of what I’m looking for in melee weapons.”

“And what would that be?” Weiss asked.

“Something versatile with reach, coupled with a shield and elemental mediums for an all-rounded offense or defense,” Pyrrha replied. “Weiss’ temporarily limited powers aside, both of you are highly specialized fighters, and I’d rather not lose a good chunk of our effectiveness, or expose glaring weaknesses in our defenses should one of you be downed, or otherwise indisposed. Whether it’s defending against attacks from any range, leading a charge into our enemies, or wreaking some elemental havoc, I’ll be ready for it.

“That being said, I haven’t seen what Fae ranged weapons can bring to the table, and if the melee weapons were any indication, they should be quite the learning experience.”

“You should probably join us at the firing range later, Weiss!” Yang said. “Get a feel for how the Fae deal death from a distance.”

“I’d rather not,” Weiss replied. “After all that training at the Terrace, my arms will definitely become too sore to even hold a gun as soon as I’m hit the recoil.”

“I meant in a mental, tactical sense, see what you might go up against in person!” Yang replied. “You’ve barely seen anyone really use a ranged weapon outside of all-out war where tracking who fired what was the least of your worries. Plus, the special ammo will give you a great idea of what happens when you mix elements up—nothing wrong with your using pure, but you miss out on useful things like Melty Wash that way.”

“’Melty Wash…?’” Weiss asked.

“Melty Wash,” Yang repeated, nodding. “It sounds just as stupid in Actaeon, don’t worry.” She winced as her stomach growled. “Ugh, all this drama made me forget how hungry I am—come on, let’s go get some grub and a nap, then on to lighting shit up!” she said, getting up.

Weiss shrugged. “Alright, fine, I’ll go!” she said as she hopped up. “I figured I needed to get out of bed and do something productive today, anyway...”

Jaune was left in the cabin he bunked in, Taiyang and Penny stayed behind to take care of him and keep him company. Everyone else had lunch and rested a while, before discussing Pyrrha’s firearms training.

As elementally-infused ammo, alchemical grenades, chemical weapons and the like needed to be specially ordered by and used under the supervision of a senior watcher or other qualified individual, and Qrow was far too drunk at the moment, they started out with the standard Fae firearms.

In contrast to the practical, sleek, and streamlined AFA guns Pyrrha was used to, the Fae practically made it a point to have their guns as flashy and embellished as possible. Every one of them seemed to have as many engravings, stylized components, and decorations as they could possibly add without compromising function too much, like an iron sight made out of some long-dead predator’s skull, the gun barrel coming out of its jaws

Metal and wood were the materials of choice for most of them, all manner of colours, grains, and sheen from the varieties, mixtures, and treatments, with the rest of the parts made from bone, rock, crystal, plant fibers, and whatever else the Fae could get their hands or hand-equivalents on. There was barely any built-in magitech to be seen, no small-form targeting systems, recoil adjusters, or ammo management systems, just physical springs, levers, hammers, revolvers, and whatever else.

And almost all of them were powerful, even the quietest guns having massive impact.

Thip. Crack. Thip. Crack. Thip. Crack.

Pyrrha fired her “Fang Gun” into a log target, each bone projectile lodging an inch or two deep into the wood, splinters flying out from the holes, the cracks clearly audible to Weiss even as she watched from well away to the side.

She stopped after six shots, putting her rifle down and massaging her arms. “Not the kind of gun you fire just for fun, is this?” she asked Ren.

“Not unless your idea of ‘fun’ is accuracy competitions, or clean hunting kills,” Ren replied calmly. “Shall we focus on lower-caliber weapons that are easier to fire for sustained periods, such as repeaters? Most every Fae firearm hits the user almost as hard as they do the target.”

“No,” Pyrrha replied, picking the gun back up, and aiming for a farther target. “I suppose I’ll just have to learn to make every single shot a hit from here on out!”

Ren nodded. “One well-placed bullet’s all you really need, most of the time.”

“And the rest?” Pyrrha asked.

Ren smiled. “Two bullets.”

After Pyrrha started getting used to the intense recoil, and firing far less frequently than she would have with human guns, they started planning which weapons she was to try out, how she was going to test them out, and who would be involved.

Everyone except Weiss donned a set of armour; a small arena was built by a copse of smaller trees with the help of deployable cover, ballistic shields, and the foliage; and several dozen crates of ammo were carted out of storage, their contents transferred to smaller boxes set around the area, or to loaded into all manner of belts, bags, and quivers just waiting to be strapped on.

Before Pyrrha’s first live-fire exercise, however, Ren wanted to demonstrate how Fae opponents would be using firearms themselves, exchanging his usual sickles for two “Shredders,” Fae-style SMGs.

“The first thing you need know is, except for heavy weapons like Hailstorm cannons or extreme long-distance weapons like Shardslingers and Farslingers, Fae tend to prefer shooting on the move, and most can shoot quite accurately and survive getting shot at also,” Ren said as he loaded one of his guns with a clip.

He dashed towards some training dummies, shredding their canvas coverings with short, accurate burts. He maneuvered around their cover and shot them from behind, slid on the ground to slip through tiny gaps and holes in defenses, even leaped off a ledge and fired the last of his clip in mid-air.

“Predicting your enemies movements and firing where they will be in a second is a helpful skill in lower ranks, and absolutely vital as you move up,” he said as landed, pulled out his second shredder and loaded them both.

“The second is that, thanks to our biology and engineering advancements, dual-wielding guns isn’t as stupid and dangerous idea to us Fae as it is to you humans,” Ren said as he adjusted the stocks, shortening them and fitting them over his forearms. “In fact, it’s actually quite popular inside the Pits, both as a stylistic choice and a significant combat advantage.”

He calmly crossed a bridge lined with target dummies, both guns blazing and ripping apart targets on both sides, casually bending his arms further and more dramatically than any human could to shoot behind his back, over his shoulders, and even under his leg.

“And the third and arguably the most important is: we Fae are far, far more mobile and agile than any of you are right now, or will be in the immediate future, so do consider any way your enemies can outmaneuver and flank you,” Ren said as he holstered one gun, replaced the empty clip with a drum magazine.

He moved towards one of the “bases” in the arena, a tight cluster of trees with platforms rising up two stories above him, a small sniper’s nest on the third. Several dummies stood behind cover, well-protected from any shots angled upwards, free to pump Ren full of bullets if they were actually armed and alive.

Then Ren started jumping from branch to branch, running up and along the trunk and the walls, swinging from the ropes or running on top of the ziplines, raining metal hell down on all of them from above and behind.

Ren zipped down from the base, gracefully landing back down to the ground. He unloaded the empty drum, turned over to Pyrrha and Weiss said, “Generally speaking, never forget to look up. Now, any questions or concerns?”

“None,” Pyrrha said, smiling as she put on her helmet. “Let’s get shooting.”

“Oh yeah!” Nora cried as she shot out of her seat. “We about to get all John Woo up in here!”

Note: Aside from the tendency for special ammo and the like to deteriorate over time, to the point of being unusable or dangerous to use, it’s also expensive to produce, and capable of causing severe injuries to folks and damage to property that oftentimes require urgent, specialized treatment, thus the many hurdles to legally acquiring and using them. Due to the nature of the Keeper and her team, restrictions are a bit looser and relatively easier, but not by much.

The shardslinger is the non-elemental version of the farslinger. Though they use many similar designs, the key difference is in the loading mechanism and the insides of the barrels, with the latter being specially treated and much, much, MUCH more expensive, to be able to handle the severe wear of high-power elemental mediums. It’s not unknown for substandard barrels to simply explode or melt during stress testing.

This chapter was coded “Shooty Shooty Bang Bang.” The next chapter is coded “John Woo-ing It Up In Here.”

[origami-goblin]

Starfinder Theme Focus - Ace Pilots and Bounty Hunters

—-

This week I’m going back to the scene of the crime to revisit the themes in Starfinder and offer some possible avenues down which you can direct your creative character-building energies. In case you’re completely in the dark on this topic, Starfinder introduces the concept of themes that you can use as a small puzzle piece in sculpting your character. In addition to providing some RP definition, each theme will give your character a boost to a specific stat and bonuses at 1st, 6th, 12th, and 18th level. As an aside, Paizo’s choice to have the theme progression remain identical throughout the possible selections helps to limit the min-maxing a bit, by ensuring that players aren’t choosing themes based on whichever ones grant them bonuses the soonest. Of course, the bonuses that each theme provides inherently enable some level of power-gaming, but that is going to be the case with nearly any pen-and-paper PRG. 

Last time, as a part of my deeper dive into themes, I specifically touched on the Icon and listed several examples of character concepts that a player could use when creating a Startfinder character kissed by the Icon theme. The point of the post was to show that themes aren’t meant to limit creativity; they foster it. Just as there’s no wrong way to eat a Reese’s, there are countless interpretations to each theme and the characters that can be molded into existence. Today, I’ll be firing up my brain engine to offer some different charger ideas for the Ace Pilot and Bounty Hunter themes. Buckle up, we’re making the jump!

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Ace Pilot Character Concepts

“You are most comfortable at the controls of a vehicle, whether it’s a starship racing through the inky void of space or a ground vehicle zooming between trees, around boulders, and across dusty badlands. You might be a member of an elite military force, the recipient of intense courses of training. Alternatively, you might be a total amateur with innate skills that make you a much-admired hotshot.” – Starfinder CRB

Cargo Transport Pilot – You’ve been on the open road…er…space your whole life. Maybe you enjoy the solitude that comes with transporting outrageous quantities of goods across planets or star systems. These goods could be anything – weapons, construction materials, medical devices. Or maybe it’s a grab bag and half of the excitement stems from wondering what the next shipment will contain. The many laws governing tariffs & import/export taxes come second-nature, and your expertise in maneuvering an unruly behemoth transport ship is unrivaled. I’m sure you have some fantastic stories about the characters that you’ve met at depots and docks along the way. Have you operated with a crew or are you more of a lone wolf? Are you ‘by the book’ or are you known to bend the rules when regulations aren’t being followed? And hey, I’m not going to judge if you smuggle something every now and again – that’s completely up to you.

 Mining Rig Operator – A specialist when it comes to operating heavy machinery, and someone who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. Whether it be a massive drill, asteroid borer, front-end loader, or excavator, you have the honed precision required of someone who could easily level a structure or cause a fatality with a minor slip of the controls. You might harbor a deep love of geology, wealth, or the smell of space-diesel. If you’ve seen Disney’s Atlantis, Gaetan ‘The Mole’ comes to mind here, in all his grimy glory. Has mining been in your family for generations, or were you trying to make some credits in whatever profession was available? Have you pocketed any of your unearthed materials and sold them on the sly? What sort of role would you have on a starship that isn’t a dedicated mining vessel?

Stunt Driver – Inhabitants of the Pact Worlds crave entertainment, and you know how to deliver. From hologram tapes to over-capacity arenas, the lengths you go to appease your audiences is unmatched. How do you prepare yourself mentally to be fearless? Is there any stunt that you won’t do? Huge flames, steep jumps, free-falling acrobatics – you’ve done it all! Have you become an adventurer to satisfy a new craving that’s suddenly emerged deep inside? Are you an adrenaline junky with no care for your personal safety? Or are you THAT confident in your abilities that you simply must show them off at every opportunity?  

 Military Training Pilot – You’ve risen through the ranks of a military sect, but you figured that you’re done with combat missions. Instead, you are now responsible for grooming the fresh batch of hot-heads in the Academy to ensure that engagements end favorably at the minimal loss of life and equipment. You could be highly decorated and revered by all, or maybe you’ve never actually seen combat but have a brilliant mind for tactics and strategy. Did you develop a sophisticated training module for recruits? Are you a master of physics and can perform complex equations regarding acceleration, drag, and gravity on the fly? Maybe you’re not pleased about being given a non-combative assignment and yearn to be back in the fight, wherever that might be.

 Getaway Driver – You’ll ‘wait in the car.’ You know the best nooks and crannies to hide in after a successful operation, be it a heist or a GTA. Apart from having nerves of steel, your ability to handle any vehicle makes you highly coveted in the high-stakes game of evading the authorities. Perhaps you have a catchy pseudonym, like “Leadfoot” or “Afterburner” that adds an edge of mystery to your growing legend. Are you available for hire depending on the highest bidder, or are you loyal to a dedicated group of criminals? Or maybe you’re not a criminal at all, and you’re an undercover agent networking to root out the top dogs of the criminal world. What drives you (pun intended) and keeps your foot on the accelerator? I haven’t seen Baby Driver, but I imagine that he would make for a fun Starfinder character.

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Bounty Hunter Character Concepts

“You track people down for money. It is a dangerous profession, as most of your targets understandably don’t wish to be caught. You wouldn’t have it any other way. You might have a code of ethics, never taking jobs that, say, target children or members of your own race. You might hunt down only escaped criminals. Or you might be completely amoral, taking any job that comes along—for the right price.” – Starfinder CRB

 Great Mouse Detective – Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself on this one, but a Ysoki Detective? Come on! Okay, we can drop the ‘mouse’ portion of this to generalize it a bit, but a detective makes for a great Bounty Hunter. Searching for clues? Check. Interrogating witnesses? Check. An independent free-lancer? Check, check, check. Now all we need is a mahogany pipe that functions while wearing an airtight, pressurized helmet. Are you a Private Investigator, helping people track down lost relatives? Do you offer your services on a contract basis, assisting the local authorities when your services are required? Maybe you’re exceptional at finding clues, or adept at making accurate deductions based on the information on-hand. Or perhaps your forte involves the canvassing of a crime scene to gather the word on the street, or you could be skilled at poring over historical documents and ancestry lineages.

 Gung-Ho Repo-Man – It’s time to pay the piper. Whether it be collecting vehicles or ships that have defaulted loans, or shaking down debtors who are skipping town without paying back the credits owed, there are plenty of avenues to venture down as a repo-man (or woman). Are you employed by a roving band of outlaws or by a seedy brand of space mafia? Do you find honor in returning to others what is rightfully theirs? You can be cold and calculated, or a wild child with a smoking gun. Do you believe in using violence to get the job done, by obtaining the required items by whatever means necessary? Or do you have a strict code of conduct and will only resort to fighting if it is absolutely necessary and all other accessible routes have been exhausted? Either way, you get the job done and collect that paycheck, because if someone is going to get paid, it might as well be you.  

 Corporate Headhunter – Everybody’s looking for that perfect candidate to fill the shoes and help their company prosper. Sure, you’re a bounty hunter, but you aren’t collecting the reward on some beat-up Toyota Star-is or trying to bring in a fugitive; you are trying to find the right people and put them in the right seats. Corporations pay you top dollar (after six months) when you track down someone with the appropriate skillset and convince them to accept a position at their firms. You have an absurd eye for noticing talent, even when it isn’t a skill that people recognize themselves as having. These aren’t rush jobs; you know that the only way to scout ability is to dig in beyond the resume and get to know the person behind the paper. Whittling down long lists of candidates to a select few and engaging them in social situations is your true calling, and you truly want them to succeed. If they’re not a fit, it’s on to the next one until you find that diamond in the rough.

 Pre-Gap Antiquarian – Not much is known about the Gap (that’s why it’s called ‘the Gap’), but you recognize that there is much to be learned about the past, and that the key to unlocking the secrets of what we’ve collectively forgotten lies in the relics that remain. You seek out machinery, trinkets, baubles, clothing – any odds and ends whose origins have long since been forgotten. Perhaps you scour through old histories and manuscripts, trying to locate legendary items of extraordinary power. Do you have magic at your disposal to aid you in your search, ala a dowsing rod? Do you gravitate towards items of a certain kind, like ancient weapons? What draws you to these items in the first place? Maybe there have been stories passed down through your family and you became attached to them, bringing nostalgia into the mix. Or maybe you believe that the way technology is progressing leaves people disconnected with nature or causes us to lack the stronger bond that comes in a slower-moving culture. You probably hoard some of your treasures and keep an exceptionally special item on your person. You could be a hoarder, or run a shop that deals in the sale and acquisition of oddities and antiques.

 Zealous Proselytizer – Instead of being driven by the promise of gold or riches, you seek out the good fortune that comes from your deity looking favorably upon you. Whether it be Talavet, Weydan or any deity in between, you seek out others in attempt to show them the enlightenment that comes with becoming a follower. In a way, you are a bounty hunter of souls. Maybe you preach openly in front of large crowds and then try to personally recruit the ones who come up to your afterwards who show interest and promise. Or perhaps you spend more time watching and listening, following people whose dispositions align best with your deity’s tenets. You don’t necessarily have to be pushy, but you certainly could get aggressive if you become frustrated with your efforts. What if they don’t see the world as you see it? You might not be terribly high on the totem pole, either; you could be passing out leaflets in hopes that you ascend the ranks if you make your quota. Do you have a quota? If so, is it more of a personal goal or an appointed goal? What if you’re not aligned with a deity at all, but you hop between them depending on the one that grants the most benefits? After all, nobody’s perfect.

---

And there you have it! Since I’ve already done the Icon in a previous post, our next stop will be the Mercenary and Outlaw themes. I’m really looking forward to these two, as they both have a negative connotation and I want to see if we can’t shrug off those predispositions and put a positive spin on them! The main problem I have with posts like these is that I want to start putting together a bunch of characters, most of which will never see the light of day. So, please - create! I shall live through your characters!

 Until next time – the stars aren’t the limit; they’re only the beginning.

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

Fury in the Dark City

The roar of the crowd was near enough to drown out any thoughts within the Khan’s head. Blind rage was all he needed, as he swung the cleaver-like blade into the collarbone of the charging battle-thrall. He might have pitied the man—for it had indeed been human at one point—had his brain not been clouded by savagery, the crowd’s cacophony, and the pounding of his own heart. Even as he fought onward, his superhuman immune system was working itself to death trying to filter minute traces of dozens of poisons from the cuts and scratches he had received over the last battles.

The thrall screamed as Jaghatai cut it down, without a hope in the galaxy of standing up to the Primarch. Like him, it was dressed in little more than rags and ramshackle armor, but it did not have the privilege of centuries of experience. It was fodder—the crowd knew that.

It had been hours in the arena. Hours of Orks, beasts, slaves—even some of the Eldars’ own, sent forth for nothing more than death. The colosseum was massive, opulent even—the battle standards of hundreds of kabals flew in the stinging winds of the Dark City, largest and most plentiful of all: those that bore a black heart, inset with some xenos runic eye. The sands of the arena floor were painted shades of black, red, other colors, all from the carnage the Primarch had wrought this day. The devils were loving it, and the Khan felt nothing but hatred.

How much more can they take from me? His mind eked out between gasps of fury, and his overworked senses. My freedom, my people, my damned bike!

“Bron'tannas!” The keening voice of the announces issued forth over the resonating speakers, capping off the latest slaughter. It spoke in the foul tongue of the Eldar, which Jaghatai knew not. “Bron’tannas! O lucht leanuna?” it dripped with arrogance.

Without warning, a jetbike skimmed overhead, and a buzzing sound was heard just in time for Khan to sidestep. Embedded in the ground where he’d just stood was a gleaming sword, human make—a ceremonial tulwar, from one of his Keshig terminators. Khan’s eyes widened with fury he didn’t know he had left in his tired from.

“Ooh!” the announcer hummed in a mocking tone, “Cad eh arm mon’keigh! Cosuil leis an Suin Daellae!”

“Silence!” Khan roared back, though his cries were drowned under the tides of the crowd, “Cur! I shall find you when this is done! I shall find you and carve their names into your skull!”

The announcer continued, not even noticing. “Am don iontrail!”

A grand cheer went up, deafening the Primarch once again. He snarled in rage, spittle leaking down his ragged beard. For a moment, his vision shimmered with the wet haze of some venom working through his system, and the crowd appeared as swarms of reptilian beasts, all mocking him. Mocking him despite their own degraded forms.

Another voice slipped into the din, at the sound of a throat being cleared. Khan looked up to the announcer’s podium, centered between two of the heart-banners, to see—so small at this far distance—the figure of a human. A man’s voice, speaking in a clear but cracked High Gothic, came to Jaghatai’s ears.

“Jaghatai Khan—Alpha human—” he heard it quail for a moment, before continuing “Alpha ‘mon’keigh’. You shall now face your final opponent for this day.” As the man spoke, his xenos master’s voice still hummed over the crowd. It seemed the translation was just another product of arrogance—the Khan had to know who was to kill him, but the announcer couldn’t be expected to sully his tongue with human speech.

“The Archon presents to you his latest champion: Murgan!” at near the same moment, the Eldar spoke the name as well, and another grand cheer arose. Accompanying was the shriek of jet-engines, and a black silhouette dove down from the ramparts of the coliseum. The thing sat astride a xenos jetbike, and was clad head to toe in black armor, bladed and sleek. In place of a traditional helm, its face was a mirrored dome, glinting in the sickening light of the city. Its panoply was bereft of ornamentation, save for multitudes of tiny blades. It emanated a dedication to but two things: speed, and pain.

“High Dracon Murgan, the Archreaver! Champion of Lord Vect, and winner of six-hundred days of combat within the Grand Arena; holder of the highest awards at the Commorragh and Ynnealidh Circuits. The Shining Blade, the Reaver of Bloody Wings, t—”

Khan tuned out the heraldry, having as little care for such pleasantries as he’d always had. His hawk eyes peered across at the still form, staring back at him with mirrored gaze. He bore no weapon that Jaghatai could see, but the wind-vanes of his mechanized steed were alone painted red amongst the black that dominated the rest of his armor.

Khan had faced such ‘reavers’ before. Ruthless, yet fearful and pathetic, like all Eldar kind. For his grand list of titles, the Primarch wondered what honor there was to be gained in cutting down a slave on foot, even a superhuman one.

The creature did not want a battle. It wanted sport.

Jaghatai was tired of being entertainment.

“Shelwe Vileth! Mael dannan!”

The jetbike screamed and pushed off with anti-gravitic grace. In a straight line the champion rushed him, lights of the high walls of the arena glinting off its silver helm. Jaghatai stood stock still, tulwar clutched tight within his fist, legs firm to the dusty earth. Breathing out, the Primarch set his eyes past the faceless visage of his enemy, seeking to look into his very soul. In the Khan’s own mind, noises dulled, time slowed, and every minute happening upon the wide field came to him in equal measure. He was at the center of a vortex of hunger. Thousands of gathered xenos, all waiting to see what was left of his glory be cut down by a creature they thought was his measure.

He would deny them. As the jetbike neared, red edges of its bladed side keening from wind-channels carved along their length, the Khan—stepped aside. With a sliding motion—slow in his own mind, yet lightning-fast beyond compare to all onlookers—the Primarch stepped a hair’s breadth out of the way of the jetbike. He spun as he did so, and with the momentum he threw the shining blade, that had once belonged to a champion far greater than this “Murgan”, like a furious dart. It sailed forth a foot, to the gap in the reaver’s armor where chest met stomach. The speed of the biker did the rest. Murgan went hurtling off to one angle, and with so much velocity and no control, the bike spun off in the other. Grav-engines sputtered, and the vehicle flew a hundred yards before coming to a rolling crash in the sand, exploding in a fireball of orange and blue.

Khan came back to his senses—or rather from them. He glanced over to see the form of Murgan laying in a pool of black blood a few yards away. Dead, though he twitched like a slain fowl, as sparks crackled forth from his shattered helmet. Out of his chest, the golden hilt of the tulwar stuck out like a flagpole. All was silent.

The crowd could not bare it. The fight had been over in less than a moment! Boos and jeers poured out like waves of venom. Far off at the edges of the sands, Khan could see the small puffs of side-arm ammunition failing to reach the target of their ire.

As the jeers continued, Jaghatai spied the far form of the announcer, standing rigid, with the composure of a ruffled bird. Catching the warrior’s gaze, the alien turned away and set about trying to pacify the crowd in its dripping language. Just beyond the host, beneath the largest banners of the kabal, Khan could just about make out the one figure still lounging. Even at this distance, the size and opulence of the warlord’s armor could be seen. The Primarch extended an arm, pointing at the xenos, and nothing more. He did not know this creature, this king of scum, but in his mind Jaghatai marked this down as the first denial he would suffer upon the cur.

He relished it for a moment, before a searing shock wrapped around his neck, and the Khan fell unconscious. The stun-collar at work.

That night, in his gladiator’s cell, none came to ogle at the captured demigod. Not even a torturer, or a jeering wych, came to bother him. The sole thing he could see changed was the color of his guard’s armor—once a bruised purple, this new guard wore black.

Bron’tannas! O lucht leanuna? — A gift! From a fan?

Cad eh arm mon’keigh! — What a human weapon! (mocking)

Consuil leis an Suin Daellae! — Like the weapon of the Avatar!

Am don iontrail! — Time for the main course!

Shelwe Vileth! Mael dannan! — Song of Vileth! (High Dark Muse) No quarter!