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pascaloverx · 4 months ago

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BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading. I would like to thank my best friend who, besides being a faithful reader of this fanfic, gave me the idea of the little confrontation between the Cannibal and Vermax dragons, thank you @dipyouuinhoney ❤️

Warning: This chapter will contain violence, as well as inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.

THREE FIVE

FOUR (+18)

Facing the dragon Cannibal, you heard his powerful roar, a clear attempt to communicate with his new rider—you. His restlessness was evident, perhaps driven by the need to understand why someone had disturbed him or because you were accompanied by a stranger. Or perhaps he sensed your own discomfort. The dark, rugged-scaled beast spread his wings in an imposing display, a signal that he was ready to take flight. His sharp teeth, glistening with a trace of blood between them, were fully exposed. You noticed his impatient paws pressing into the ground, claws sharp and ready. There was no doubt—this dragon would be a formidable asset in the war between King Aegon II's forces and the dragons fighting for Princess Rhaenyra.

"Uēpa taoba, dohaerās. Kostilus, rȳbagon," you command with a firm, dominant tone, attempting to assert control over Cannibal, readying him for what was to come. As you glance back, you notice Prince Aemond gazing at the dragon with unmistakable admiration—perhaps even something more. You could swear that he seems slightly aroused by the sight of you and Cannibal bonding. However, not wanting to acknowledge this observation, you quickly avert your gaze the moment he catches you watching him. The dragon lowers his snout toward you, as if trying to catch your scent. The blood of Aemond, still fresh on your skin, must be lingering in the air, drawing Cannibal closer.

"Sȳz gundjabo, sȳz zaldrīzes," Prince Aemond murmurs as he passes by you, moving closer to Cannibal. The dragon seems aware of the fact that both of you will soon take flight with him. Aemond, of course, never misses the chance to remind you of your station—what you are to him. Yet, in this moment, you’re far too anxious to care about his words. The looming flight, the dragon's immense power, and the weight of what lies ahead consume your thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.

"Sȳz kipagīros, sȳz zaldrīzes; ñuha dārilaros. SōVegon, Cannibal," you gently correct Prince Aemond as both of you situate yourselves atop the dragon. After all, to your dragon, you are the rider, the one who will guide him down paths even you cannot yet foresee. In an attempt to appease Aemond, you address him formally in High Valyrian, acknowledging his status. As you position yourself on Cannibal, the sensation of his rough scales beneath you feels strange, unsettling even. Yet, without hesitation, you give the command for him to take flight. The air is filled with tension as the dragon obeys, lifting off the ground with powerful, sweeping wings.

"Be prepared for battle commands. If I know my strong nephew, blessed with the temperament of his late father, he will attempt to hinder our path. Do not allow Cannibal to kill him. That privilege does not belong to you," Prince Aemond commands, as though you are merely his dragon to control. He must be longing for Vhagar. However, you have no desire to harm any of Rhaenyra’s children. Making such a mistake would be far too reckless, and you are fully aware of it.

Prince Aemond's hands grip you tightly as you turn to look at him in order to respond. It is then that you notice a dragon approaching swiftly from the distance. With green scales and a more agile frame, it is small in comparison to Vhagar or even Cannibal. The rider of this dragon is coming with a speed that suggests a fierce desire for combat between their beast and yours.

"Aderī, Cannibal,"you command, and the dragon responds, accelerating towards King's Landing with a newfound agility.

"I do not wish to confront your nephew, Your Highness," you add, showcasing your ability to communicate both with your dragon and the impatient prince behind you. Aemond lets out a low grunt of frustration, likely longing for Vhagar to teach his nephew a lesson. As the son of Rhaenyra closes the distance, Cannibal visibly tenses at the proximity of the other dragon. With a swift maneuver, he performs a roll in the air, seeking to gain control. Aemond's hands grip you firmly, and you feel the heat radiating from your palms as you hold onto Cannibal, the tension mounting in the air.

Cannibal manages to distance himself from the smaller dragon, soaring above the waters where you once bathed alongside Aemond. The memory floods back, momentarily distracting you from the imminent danger. Your focus snaps back as you notice a flame nearly singe Cannibal’s wing. The heat from the attack of Rhaenyra's son sears your left hand.

"Angōs, Cannibal!" you shout through the pain of your scorched skin. At your command, your dragon rises, pursuing the smaller foe with determination. Cannibal requires no further direction; he unleashes a powerful blast of fire towards the smaller dragon, igniting part of the sky in a fierce blaze, as if he intends to incinerate everything in his path.

He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his. "Lykirī, Canibal!"you call out with urgency, hoping your dragon heeds your words to ensure the safety of his target. Amidst the roars and growls, Cannibal finally begins to settle, responding to your command as he assesses the outcome of the encounter.

"My strong and cunning nephew, hie thee to Dragonstone and alert your mother of the perils of being a wily fool." Prince Aemond takes the lead, addressing his curly-haired, brown-haired nephew as soon as he lays eyes upon him. The young lad's dragon bears a slight opening in one of its wings, likely from the intensity of the flames, or perchance Cannibal has grazed it lightly with his talon.

"My dear one-eyed uncle, I trust you do not believe this to be over. You and your usurper brother shall lose this war," the brown-haired nephew of Aemond declares in his most threatening tone. His words enrage the prince, and in a fit of fury, Aemond loses his composure, shouting, "Drakarys!" in a desperate command to Cannibal. Yet, the dragon does not obey. Instead, Cannibal stretches his claws toward the smaller dragon as if to intimidate, releasing a thunderous roar that shakes the very air around them.

"Choose your next move wisely, prince. You wouldn’t want your mother to bury another son," you warn Rhaenyra's son, your voice steady despite the tension thickening in the air. Though Aemond’s command failed, there is little you can do to rein in both the prince and your dragon. Cannibal, still looming and poised to strike, waits for no one’s control, and Aemond’s rage is far from spent. The weight of the moment presses on you, knowing that any misstep could unleash disaster. Your words seem to have an effect on Aemond’s nephew, who slowly retreats. You watch as he commands his dragon to return to Dragonstone, while Canibal resumes his course toward King’s Landing.

“You should have commanded Cannibal to strike him again,” Prince Aemond mutters close to your ear, frustration seeping into his voice.

“Your Highness, the death of your other nephew is not mine. It was by your own commands,” you reply, catching him off guard with the weight of your words. For the remainder of the journey, neither of you says another word. The silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken tension and the cold reality of what lies ahead.

Your dragon lets out a powerful roar as you approach King’s Landing, as if announcing his arrival. Cannibal swiftly glides toward the Dragonpit, and you can feel Prince Aemond's fingers brushing along your waist, almost as if exploring it. Cannibal lands amidst the growls of other dragons, releasing a burst of fire into the air as he adjusts himself on the ground. The Dragonkeepers gather around, making both you and your dragon uneasy. You wonder if Cannibal might attack them—if he cannot be fully tamed, his value to King Aegon II could be compromised.

You know that maintaining eye contact with Cannibal is crucial to calming him down. Between one growl and another, your dragon settles on the ground, lowering himself slightly. Prince Aemond dismounts with ease, accustomed to the task, while you, on the other hand, struggle on your third attempt to climb down. You start considering whether staying atop your dragon forever might be preferable. Impatience seeps into you as it does into your dragon. Just as you're about to give up, Prince Aemond’s attention shifts back to you after exchanging words with the Dragonkeepers. Like before with the horse, he extends his arms toward you, offering assistance.

"Gundjabo, you must learn how to dismount your dragon," Prince Aemond whispers near your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The way he helped you down from Cannibal still lingers in your thoughts, the proximity between you far too intimate. You try to respond, but no words seem to form, your voice betraying you. The truth, undeniable as it is, swells within you—you are undeniably drawn to Aemond Targaryen, with a hunger that you can no longer ignore.

"The King summons you both, Your Highness. He insists you be prepared for the banquet he is hosting in honor of his newest dragon's conquest. He desires the presence of both his brother and the dragon's rider as soon as possible," one of the King's servants announces as she approaches. Aemond stiffens, his expression darkening in clear displeasure, and he releases a low growl, a hint of frustration in his gaze. He clearly does not relish the thought of being commanded like this, least of all to celebrate a moment you know he feels is rightfully his.

"Inform the King that we shall join him shortly to celebrate this victory. I trust my bath is prepared, and the gundjabo will ready herself in my company. Ensure she is provided with new attire." Prince Aemond's command is sharp and unyielding, and the servant quickly scurries off to carry out his orders. You feel a rush of shock at the thought of undressing in the presence of Prince Aemond, but your mind immediately shifts to a more pressing concern—calming your dragon. As Aemond exchanges words with a few of the keepers, you make your way to Cannibal. His dark, formidable presence looms as you approach, but you reach out, your hand finding his rough scales. You whisper a brief farewell, a silent promise to return, feeling the bond between you and the mighty beast grow with each touch.

In silence, you follow Prince Aemond to his chambers, trying to discern why he insists on you preparing yourself in his presence. Two possibilities run through your mind: perhaps he seeks to assert his dominance over you, a display of power to ward off any designs his brother might have upon you; or perhaps, this is some form of punishment for the wound you inflicted earlier. His blood still stains your skin, and no doubt the pain from where you cut him lingers. The thought settles heavily—whatever his motive, you are likely in for a reckoning.

"Disrobe yourself; we shall bathe together. Afterward, you will be formally introduced to King Aegon II Targaryen . Know that every action you take in His Grace’s presence will be under my scrutiny, and any misstep will bring consequences upon you," Prince Aemond commands, his voice laced with authority as he begins to undress before you. His words send a shiver down your spine, the implications of his warning settling heavily on your mind. The thought of what consequences might await you under his watchful eye is enough to stir anxiety. It’s no surprise that Aemond seeks to instill fear—he thrives on your desperation, needing to ensure your obedience through intimidation.

"I do not think it proper for me to be bare in your presence, Your Highness. Surely, I can afford you the necessary privacy and prepare myself elsewhere. If you would excuse me..." you attempt, feigning modesty as an excuse to escape the looming consequences of your earlier actions. But before you can slip away, Aemond’s hand grasps your arm with a firm resolve, pressing you against the door of his chambers. His fingers trail up toward your neck, lingering there as if assessing every inch of your skin, studying you like prey caught in his grasp. His one good eye follows the curve of your form, tracing from head to toe in a slow, deliberate gaze. Your breath catches, growing shallow as uncertainty floods your mind. You stand frozen, unsure of what awaits next under his unrelenting scrutiny, as the tension between you grows palpable, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Gundjabo, gundjabo... cease these futile attempts to flee from me. Believe me, within these grand walls, I am the closest thing to safety you shall find. And I think propriety is no longer a concern between us. Now, be a good girl and obey me, before my patience wears thin." Aemond's voice drips with menace as he grips your face, turning it aside so his lips hover near your ear, his words slow and deliberate. His hold is firm, unyielding, and the weight of his command sends a shiver down your spine. Your breath falters, betraying the rising doubt in your ability to navigate this situation. Survival seems like a distant notion, slipping further from reach with each moment spent under his watchful eye. You can feel his control tightening like a noose around your freedom, leaving you cornered. With trembling resolve, you grip his hand, pulling it away from your face without a word. His gaze never wavers, a predatory intensity burning within, watching your every move. Though his words still echo in your mind, you begin to comply with his original order, slowly giving in to the dangerous dance that lies ahead.

You slowly remove your clothing, hoping that Prince Aemond won't torture you for hurting him. He lets out a moan that sounds more like a "hmm" as you finish getting off. When you finish taking off your clothes, he motions with his head for you to take off his clothes too. He had already taken off some of his clothes so in a few moments, he was naked. His dick was slightly hard was on display, which caught your attention. He walked over to enter his bath but not before carrying you into the bath with him. His arms wrapping around you, forcing you into the water with him, surprises you. Until then you didn't think Aemond had that much strength. But now that you're taking a bath together, you are trying to force yourself to think about how to calm him down. You approach him, helping him clean himself; all the while touching every part of Prince Aemond's body.

"Your Highness seems tense, perhaps there is something I can do to help you release all that tension..." You say as you run your hands over Aemond's chest, your fingers moving delicately down groping the hitherto unexplored body of your beloved Prince Aemond. When your fingers reach Aemond's cock, you see the Prince close his eye. He is receptive to your touch as you run your hand over his cock, stimulating it. Your hand moving back and forth slowly as you listens to the muffled moans of Prince Aemond who has his head turned back. Your movements become faster as you feel him becoming more and more surrendered in your hands. You approach Prince Aemond's neck, kissing the spot you cut. The Prince lets out a moan as you kiss his neck again now rising with the kisses, while continuing to make movements on his cock. You kiss Aemond's chin, then his mouth. You try to have some dominance in the kiss because his eye is still closed but as soon as your tongue meets his, he seems to light up. He sucks on your tongue as if tasting a delicious fruit, while pressing you against the bathtub. He then cums in your hand, while letting out a grunt as if he enjoyed it. His gaze upon you is a mixture of pleasure with something else, like pure evil. He gives you a mischievous smile just before pressing you underwater. His hands are pushing you to stay underwater while you try to use your strength to not drown. You're thrashing around, touching every part of Aemond's body to see if he'll let go of you. You start to run out of air, your attempts to survive aren't working so you decide to accept your imminent death. It is then that Aemond pulls you up, as he watches you trying to breathe desperately. As soon as your breath returns to you, you face Prince Aemond. He has a victorious smile on his face, as if he is teaching you a lesson.

"Next time you consider harming me, make sure I do not survive. Otherwise, you shall face a fate far more cruel than merely sharing a bath. But I must say, your skills with your hands, gundjabo, are quite... relaxing." Prince Aemond's voice is chillingly casual, as though the near-murderous tension between you has been nothing more than a passing amusement for him. His gaze lingers on your expression, clearly relishing the fear flickering across your features. For a moment, you stand frozen, words failing you in the face of his menacing calm. The weight of his threat settles in your chest, but you decide it’s best not to challenge him further.

Without uttering a single word, you quickly finish bathing, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere surrounding him. As soon as you step out of the bath, your hands tremble slightly while you hurriedly dress in the green gown laid out for you. Wasting no time, you leave Prince Aemond's chambers as swiftly as your legs will carry you, the feeling of his predatory gaze still burning at your back as you depart to face the next trial—an audience with his brother, King Aegon II.

TO BE CONTINUED

GLOSSARY

Uēpa - Old

Taoba - Boy

Dohaerās - Serve

Kostilus - Please

Rȳbagon - Obey

Sȳz - Good

Gundjabo - Prostitute

Zaldrīzes - Dragon

Kipagīros - Rider

Ñuha Dārilaros - My Prince

SōVegon - Fly

Aderī - Quickly

Angōs - Attack

Lyriri - Calm down

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beesmygod · 9 months ago

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do the forbidden woods have any connection to the beasts or great ones, aside from being geographically adjacent to byrgenwerth? Are the snake infested fellows just "normal" as far as yharnam is concerned? Like before yharnam got all bloodborney, was the Yharnam Cartographer's Guild map of the woods still just a big circle with SNAKES written?

this is a really good question because, as a lore psycho, i think the understated lore implications of the woods are genuinely fascinating. i think there's a lot to unpeel, even if we take into account that it was one of the places in the game that was chopped up at the 11th hour and scrambled before release.

as always for these lore posts, important nouns are bolded and speculation is in italics. we are going to discuss the woods in three parts: from the gatekeeper to the windmill is "the village". from the windmill to byrgenwerth is "the woods". the subterranean cave shortcut back to yharnam will just be called "shortcut." i'll expand on this shit GREATLY when we reach this part in "you hunted" (I HAVENT STOPPED WORKING ON IT I PROMISE IM JUST SWAMPED) so considered this a light overview. feel free to ask for more details on things and ill do my best to fill in the blanks.

THE VILLAGE:

-from the jump, the village gatekeeper is a fucking weird little blip in bloodborne's narrative. i haven't thought about him enough to figure out if he's more than just a spooky, unexplained element but he has some cut dialog that sheds some mindboggling information about yharnam: he seems very confused about WHEN it is and will cite the last time he had a visitor as anything from a year to a century.

-the lamps in this area lighting the way to the village are little burning fetal beasts of some sort.

i'm starting to understand more and more about how fire operates in the world of bloodborne, since most of the time it appears in the game, it's seemingly impossible. the thing that confused me the most was how old yharnam was still burning if it happened a long time ago. i think it's time to start thinking of the old blood as impossibly combustible and a great source of light/fire. this isn't the first in-universe example of creatures being used as fuel: the lamps in the fishing village are slugs (also infants? they strongly resemble the hunter's appearance as a baby great one in the "childhood's beginning" ending). this is a whole fucking like, thing. it's its own post.

next, the huntsmen enemies here are dressed funny. you probably noticed it but couldn't pin down how. they're dressed in white church clothes! the first model here is used only in the forbidden woods. the two on the left are from central yharnam. note the gloves on the first two; these are church doctors!

(this post goes on like this for some time)

the white church doctors are the ones that were doing "experimentally backed blood ministration". the butcher's garb further defines it as "forbidden research". these white church doctors are the citizens of this "village". in the clustered buildings where the majority of the huntsmen are, you can find blue elixir and beast blood pellets in abundance. both of these items can only be purchased from the store after obtaining the choir's badge, drawing a firm connection between the white church doctor's research and the goals of the choir.

although, this probably isn't too much of a surprise; it's almost certain that this is where fauxsekfa came from. she took the same shortcut we did, right? i'm not really sure i understand the shortcut too much. but let's talk about it.

THE SHORTCUT:

although not explicitly stated, i am strongly convinced that this cave is the entrance to the hintertomb. at the very least, it is absolutely an entrance to the labyrinth. the presence of tomb mold, blood gems, parasite larva, and pthumerian giants/corpses makes this very clear. the root chalice for the hintertomb describes it as "a cesspool of noxious snakes and insects"; i think it's likely that the snakes came from the hintertomb given they can be found in the swamps there.

the giant graves here and further into the woods are referred to as "tombstone[s] of a great one".

the hunter's mark i think would suggest these are pthumerian made. its possible that the hintertomb is spilling out into the world above but frankly all of the graves here are baffling. grave placement and appearance needs more research. the graves in the woods only are developing a strange sort of honeycomb rot pattern not unlike the head of an amygdala. this pattern shows up enough that it warrants more investigation.

the slow poison-inducing "water" here has similar properties to the slow poison pool in the research hall. they are different colors, but have similar origins: the poison pool in the research hall is from the decomposing bodies of the patients, who were exposed to bizarre blood ministration and parasitism. the pool here is likely from decomposing great ones. with this in mind, perhaps the silvery liquid is mercury.

the ladder leading out of this area is fucking insane and i have a hard time understanding what occurred there. like what in the hell is up with that grave you exit into in yharnam. who popped it open. why is it so cavernous. what happened to the contents.

anyway, let's just go back to the woods.

THE VILLAGE (again)

there's really only two more things to mention here before we move on: first, beast roar can be picked up here. it's the undead, still twitching hand of a darkbeast. nothing touched by the old blood can truly die, and these severed limbs are no exception.

second are the butchers. these are the people who collect specimens, hack them apart, and present them to the church doctors for research. they show up in three different ways: the surviving madaras twin wears the butcher's set (the hunter picks up the set from the other twin's corpse), the "executioner" enemies (REMINDER: a better translation would have been "butchers" [or, literally, "dismantling men"], i have no idea why they went with "executioner" outside of their superficial appearance) wear the cape with the popped collar, and there are huntmen enemies skulking the streets below the grand cathedral hunting for victims dressed in the garb. they literally only appear there.

ah, one more thing. this is the place where you can find the suspicious beggar and interrupt him while he's in the middle of chowing down on one of the biggest families i've ever seen in my life. at first i thought the devs hysterically fucked up the sizes of the corpses, but they're dressed like the citizens of yahar'gul. while not outright stated, evidence strongly suggests that the beggar is irreverent izzy or one of his followers such as the close proximity of one of izzy's inventions and the beggar's clothing reflecting his past as both a veteran tomb prospector gone mad and former church agent. there's a lot of meat on that bone, but for another time.

OKAY. LAST PART NOW.

THE WOODS:

this is the part you probably remember the most bc it's snake hell. the first thing we absolutely need to keep in mind is that the snake-infested guys you meet are a reference to doobie from jojo. the snakes are parasites to people, but the snakes themselves are also being parasitized? they are covered in ticks, those are the huge bloated blobs all over them. given that the augurs of the great ones are invertebrates...what does that imply about the inclusion of the ticks narratively?

there's something absolutely fascinating happening to the flora and fauna in this section of the woods but it's hard to know what it all means. some notes:

-when enemies in bloodborne die, the game handles their corpse in different ways. some of this is lore related, some of it is to reduce hardware strain. some corpses turn into ragdolls, some explode into blood, some explode into white particles (sometimes with blood but not always). snakes explode into white particles. i got way too into the fucking weeds with this, but (outside of the slime scholars....kind of) all of these enemies either appear or were intended to appear in the chalice dungeons, the nightmare frontier, or the nightmare of mensis (the lecture hall containing the scholars connects the waking world to the nightmare). all of these locations are, arguably, the nightmare.

-there are statues of amygdala and a presumed evolution of the celestial child sprouting out of the ground. i am almost certain these are original versions of the statues in the grand cathedral and yahar'gul, respectively.

-remember that strange pond with the fireflies? the only place in the game where there's fireflies? what the hell is up with that lol. i kind of have an answer:

most concrete is this: back when the original boss of the woods was snakeball, you would have faced a rematch in this pond.

insane theory crafting moment: look, this is stupid complicated and a reach so if i have to get into really defending it it, ill do it in another post. but in bloodborne people can be teleported around via "communion". communion is the means of entering the chalice dungeons and requires three things: ritual blood (or perhaps just liquid, if rom's arena is anything to go by), something to hold the blood (typically a chalice, but sometimes the "chalice" is a skull), and light (this is almost always achieved with candles). this pond is probably full of blood, if the rotten bodies nearby are any indication, and the fireflies offer light. but, look, this shit was cut so don't think too hard about it.

-its in the art book but also in the game (but hard to see): the wall separating byrgenwerth from the rest of the world is melted.

wait wtf there's dudes in it. lol. what da hell!

oh my. the name for this asset is "wall of divine tomb". cool. every day i lean some new insane shit about this game, for real.

anyway the only other point of interest is whatever the fuck valtr and the league are doing. too deep of a topic for now. anyway, those were the points of interest in the forbidden woods. i hope this was....whatever counts for informative when it comes to video game trivia

#bloodborne lore #bloodborne

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cheapsweets · 10 months ago

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The nocuous Shonweak

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum

Jinhao shark fountain pen with fine, hooded nib, with Monteverde Raven Noir ink, over initial pencil sketch. I'd considered adding some colour, but didn't have time this week; imagine it's got telltale orange/yellow and black warning colouration :)

It's been interesting trying to relearn pen shading techniques from scientific illustration again (as ever, suspect going a bit bigger would make this easier, I'm also going to have another rummage through my pens to see if I can find an even finer nib, since the one's I've been using don't come close to using a dip pen).

Reasoning under the cut;

The Shonweak is so called because it is proof against fire.

Okay, first things first, we get no indication about what type of creature this is. My default assumption when the bestiary authors don't give us any more detail is that is must be a Beast, but I've been wanting to mix it up a bit. But what to go for...?

Of all poisonous creatures, it has the strongest poison. Other poisonous creatures kill one at a time; it can kill several things at the same time. For if it has crawled into a tree, it poisons all the apples and kills those who eat them. In addition, if it falls into a well, the strength of its poison kills those who drink the water.

Okay, a poisonous critter, and not just poisonous, the most poisonous...! Okay, this narrows it down a bit. We get some creatures that are occasionally poisonous due to their diet (including certain birds, and snakes!), but mostly we're looking at amphibians, insects, echinoderms, fish, flatworms, and some others too.

This also made me think about the line between poisonous and venomous. We've all been on tumblr a while, so we've probably seen the memes, but technically the main difference is that poisonous animals deliver their toxin passively (in this context, being eaten is passive...)

We also know that this thing can crawl into a tree, so must be able to climb (that eliminates most fish, for starters).

I've gone for a beetle, since drawing an arthropod is pretty different from anything I've done thus far. Main influences are;

The diabolical ironclad beetle, a tiny awesome critter that is nigh on indestructable. It has a flattened body, fused elytra, and a cool, knobbly surface to its armour; I gave the elytra a bit of an overlap, so it could consider clamping its body down if it gets into a sticky situation (like a fire).

Bombadier beetles; in case you're not aware of them, their defence mechanism is spraying near-boiling noxious chemicals at attackers (you'll also be familiar with them if you've ever read the Spider World books by Colin Wilson!). The most famous ones are yellow and black, and you can see the nozzle on the end of its abdomen.

While the bombadier beetle does actively spray toxins, keeping them in its body also makes it poisonous - best of both worlds!

Also can't deny the influence of the blue death feigning beetle, a very aestheic insect indeed, and if I'm honest, the tanker bug from Starship Troopers...!

I did look at large beetles like the goliath beetle for some inspiration, especially around the legs (I imagine the Shonweak to be pretty big as beetles go), but decided against it since they're a lot fancier, and I figured a tough, fire-braving critter like this to be a little plainer and unadorned.

It resists fire and alone among creatures can put fires out. For it can exist in the midst of flames without pain and without being consumed by them, not only because it does not burn but because it puts the fire out.

Okay, if this is the creature I strongly suspect it is, this is an interesting wrinkle to the mythology around it; it's proof against fire because it puts the fire out (not something I've heard before). I'll have more to say if it does turn out to be what I suspect...

Okay, hear me out... The bombadier beetle combines exothermic chemicals in its body to produce its boiling, caustic spray... What if a creature could do something similar for a seriously endothermic reaction; it would be almost like a tiny, living fire extinguisher... I imagine the Shonweak as a bomadier beetle relative, spraying freezing toxins at enemies (or just generally if stuck in a fire, or if it falls down a well, or if those apples are looking particularly hostile...)

#maniculum bestiaryposting #bestiaryposting #shonweak #my art #🪲

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steak-n-popotoes · 4 months ago

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FFxivWrite '24 - 10

"Is something the matter, Beef?" Erenville asked.

L'kozu stopped and looked back over his shoulder. It seemed Beef had stopped short of setting foot on the bridge. For some reason, he was studying the flagstones and support pillars rather intensely.

"Beef? We've a long walk ahead of us, we had best get moving."

But Beef still dawdled at the Xak Tural Skygate.

L'kozu glanced toward Erenville, and could already feel a stern look burning a hole in the side of his head. Alright, time for some interpretation, then.

Judging by how long Beef's gaze lingered on the stones versus the carvings upon them, it wasn't the decoration that had caught his eye. What's more, when something of that nature held his attention, Beef had a tendency to take out his sketchbook and capture their likeness. Gale usually trained her sights on the subject while Beef focused on the drawing. Or perhaps in this case he would have taken a charcoal rubbing...

Hold on a moment, where was Gale? L'kozu looked around, but she didn't appear to be in Beef's immediate vicinity... He subconsciously patted his traveling bag around the crystals pocket, but felt no intruders. Though he could try to listen for her feathers rustling, the sound of the falls would drown out any attempt. Where in the world...?

While Kozu looked around for the little beast, his eyes locked briefly with Erenville's. This is another reason why it is more simple to travel alone, Kozu's companion said wordlessly.

In the upper corner of Kozu's vision was a flutter of green feathers. After craning his neck to get a better look, it seemed to be that Gale was surveying the upper support structure of the bridge. At that distance she was likely straining the 'tether' between her and Beef, which was doubtless taxing for the both of them. Surely he wouldn't do so without good reason...

Was Beef trying to ascertain the bridge's structural integrity?

"Beef, I assure you, the bridge is quite stable."

This comment seemed to snap Beef out of his focus, and he looked up at Kozu in surprise. Gale hadn't returned yet, though, nor did he take the first step. Well, at least he had the boy's attention.

"I can tell that the structure and placement of the stones is very sturdy. You trust my judgment, right?" Kozu smiled. A half-truth, as the Yok Huy's masonry baffled L'kozu in its precision and ingenuity and remained a bit outside of his purview, but there was no need to trouble Beef with such details that moment.

"This bridge has been here much longer than the capital has, and it will no doubt remain long after we're gone. It won't collapse today."

As he waited for Beef (and Gale) to come around, Kozu wondered what Beef had noticed that had given him pause to begin with. A structure this large would likely have some level of sway to it, but such movements would be near-imperceptible unless measured intentionally, or perhaps if someone with exacting vision... viewed it from...

Kozu's eyes wandered to Hunu'iliy, the lighthouse towering over the nearby Landsguard barracks.

"Beef," Kozu asked, "have you been climbing things you oughtn't again?"

Though he had been staring as per usual, Beef suddenly became very interested in his boots.

L'kozu sighed. "Just show me the sketches you took later. I'm sure the view was lovely."

#FFxivWrite2024 #FFxivWrite #Beef Broganoff #L'kozu #7.0 Spoilers

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paperanddice · 11 months ago

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Last Friday I said a bunch about how demon lords aren't easily converted between the different systems, and this whole section of the book was one I'd been putting a lot of thought into. None of that applies to Akyishigal, who at level 12 in the Tome of Beasts really doesn't count as a real demon lord even by that system's expectations. Akyishigal might announce itself as the lord of cockroaches and a power of the Abyss, but its only real claim to fame is being effectively unkillable, having survived despite its general weakness in comparison to even regular demons. As durable and adaptable as the creatures it claims lordship over, Akyishigal carves out hidden lairs within the realms of true demon lords, remaining below notice and ready to escape at any moment.

In Golarion, Akyishigal can't grant clerical powers like a true demon lord, but it is doing its best to worm its way into being recognized regardless. Its spawn are released into the world to spread the word of the lord of cockroaches, and while few have any respect for that title it does what it can to provide for those who call out its name. So far, small numbers of weaker humanoids, in particular kobolds, goblins, and roachllings, as well as some escaped slaves or thralls, have thrown their lot in with Akyishigal, providing it a hidden but growing base of followers.

In the Dragon Empire, Akyishigal has snuck out from under the attention of both the Diabolist and the Crusader, and makes its own home hidden somewhere under one of the great cities. Managing to avoid drawing too much attention to itself, it skulks among the refuse and the forgotten, offering aid and power to those who live in the garbage, and making plans to grab for its own power without the oversight of any Icon.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Akyishigal Creature 12 Unique, Large, Demon, Fiend, Unholy Perception +24; darkvision, scent (imprecise) 60 feet Languages Abyssal, Common, Draconic, Elven, Infernal, telepathy 100 feet Skills Acrobatics +21, Athletics +23, Deception +25, Stealth +25, Survival +22 Str +5, Dex +3, Con +6, Int +4, Wis +2, Cha +7 AC 33; Fort +26, Ref +23, Will +22; +2 status to all saves vs. magic HP 250; Immunities death effects, disease, poison; Resistances acid 15, fire 15, physical 10 (except holy); Weaknesses holy 15 Speed 35 feet, burrow 20 feet, climb 35 feet, fly 35 feet Melee claw +25 (agile, magical, reach 10 feet, unholy), Damage 3d8+13 slashing Divine Innate Spells DC 31, attack +23 ; 6th dispel magic (×3), divine wrath (×3), summon animal (vermin only, x3), summon fiend (demons only), vomit swarm (every 1d4 rounds); 5th translocate; 4th translocate (at will); Constant speak with animals (vermin only) Divine Rituals DC 31; demonic pact, planar ally Claw Flurry [2 actions] Akyishigal makes four claw Strikes, each against a different target. These attacks count toward Akyishigal's multiple attack penalty, but the multiple attack penalty doesn't increase until it makes all its attacks. Cloak of Swarms [2 actions] (aura, divine) Akyishigal emits a cloud of flying, stinging insects in a 5 foot aura. While the aura is active, Akyishigal is concealed, and any living creature that enters the area or starts its turn within it takes 2d10 piercing plus 1d10 poison damage (DC 31 basic Reflex save). The aura lasts for 5 round; it disperses immediately if Akyishigal takes 15 area or splash damage from a single source. Akyishigal can't use this ability again for 1d4 rounds. Skitter [1 action] Akyishigal Strides up to 20 feet, and makes a claw Strike against a creature in its reach at any point during the Stride.

13th Age

Akyishigal Triple-strength 7th level troop [demon] Initiative: +14 Claws +12 vs. AC (4 attacks) - 20 damage. Natural 14+: Akyishigal can pop free from the target and move as a free action. If it ends this movement engaged with another target, it can continue making attacks. C: Cloak of Swarms +12 vs. PD (1d4+1 nearby enemies) - 10 damage plus 15 poison damage. Natural 16+: The target is also weakened (save ends). Repeat: Akyishigal can repeat this attack as a quick action at the start of each of its turns, dealing 1d6 damage and 2d6 poison damage instead of the regular damage. If Akyishigal takes 35 or more damage from a non-weapon attack that doesn’t deal acid or poison damage, it can no longer repeat the attack. Limited Use: 1/battle, recharges when the escalation die first reaches 6. Burrower, Flier, and Wall Climber. Teleport: As a move action, Akyishigal can teleport to a nearby location it can see. Resist Acid and Poison 16+. AC 23 PD 21 MD 20 HP 314

#pathfinder 2e #13th age #homebrew #my homebrew #monster #demon #fiend #pathfinder level 12 #13th age level 7 #tome of beasts #long post

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sepublic · 1 year ago

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Back in sixth grade, I attempted to write my own version of Bionicle: Rahi Beasts that was updated to include all Rahi introduced since the original 2005 release. I never finished it, given it was an enormous list from Biosector01 to work off of, but a great deal of the charm for me was writing the entire thing in the Matoran alphabet, to really sell the idea that this was an in-universe book.

Of course, the mental and physical labor of memorizing the Matoran alphabet and writing it, as well as my limited Elementary skills, made the entires fairly short and simplistic. I also included drawings for the Rahi, and clearly couldn’t decide if I wanted them organic and/or biomechanical in their depictions. I’ve included translations, with spelling and grammar mistakes retained for accuracy. I’ve still got two more posts on this due to photo limits, so here’s the first section;

Bionicle Rahi Beasts

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to the world of Bionicle. There are many species in the vast world of Bio.

Some include Rahi. Rahi are the wild life of the Bio universe.

Some are small, and some are enormous.

From Acid Flies, to Energy Hounds, the rahi are all unuique!

Domain: Southern Continent

Acid Fly chasing Protodites.

ACID FLY

Acid Flies are dragonfly-like Rahi. Found on the Southern Continent, they can oftenly be found flying on the continent. Their main means of defense is spitting acid at its prey and predators. They tend to go after small insects, such as Protodites.

One strange, ironic thing is that while the inside of their bodies are immune to their acid (obviously), the outsid isn't. As a result, there have been a few rare incidents where an Acid Fly has been injur by itself.

Domain: Karda Nui

An Air Serpent enjoying the view.

AIR SERPENT

An Air Serpent is a reptilian creature that can glide for short distances and, like Acid Flies, shoot acid at prey and/or predators.

Living in Karda Nui, these Rahi often terrorize the Matoran living nearby.

Unlke Acid Flies, their acid does not harm them at all.

When Makuta Antroz, Bitil, Chirox, Gorast, Krika, Mutran, and Vamprah invaded Karda Nui, most of the Air Serpents were captured.

Domain: Metru Nui

The Archives Beast as an empty room.

ARCHIVES BEAST

The Archives Beast is a powerful creature that can take any shape it wished.

Like the Krahka, it has been once proposed that both species are related.

The only known specimen was stored in the same level as the Onu-Metru Great Disk. When Toa Whenua and Nuju were searching for it, they went into the same room as the Archives Beast. Appearing as an empty room, it tried to kill them, but they escaped.

Domain: Onu-Metru

An Archives Mole on a stroll.

ARCHIVES MOLE

These small Rahi originally dwelled in Po-Metru, but had to migrate when the number of villages increased. A majority wound up in the Archives.

Of all Rahi, Archives Moles are probably among the best at working together. Being relatively defenseless against larger predators, they have learned to work togethr. They have been known to form living ladders and bridges.

When aione, an Archives Mole hides in a small area.

#bionicle #810nicle day #810nicle #bionicle day #rahi #acid fly #air serpent #archives beast #archives mole #fanart #my art #drawing #sketch

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solitaire-sol · 1 year ago

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Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 7

Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

I wanted to try writing something longer and lighter/cuter/sexier? than most of my microfics, but instead this thing showed up and I wrote it in a couple of hours. I edited it as best I could, but I wanted to post it before Prongsfoot Week officially ended (for me) so there may be some stray typos or something I didn't catch.

Title: this universe of you and me (we'll make ourselves inevitable) Wordcount: 2,644 For: @prongsfootweekarchive AO3: Link Notes: It's sort of a soulmate/canon divergence/time loop (?) AU, but it's James and Sirius and their bond being recognized by Magic Itself, which throws up Its hands and goes "Okay, let's make your mad love/codependency official." They're just First Years right now so there's nothing to warn about, but that might change as they get older.

“Some say that magic has a mind of its own, though no evidence of this theory has yet been found by even the most dedicated researchers. It is my belief that magic lacks a mind, as we might consider it; magic is not alive in the strictest sense, or even in the loosest, yet it does have a will, and the foremost instinct of that will is to seek out its own expression in the world. This is why magic forms in the improbable ways that it does, producing all forms of magical plants and beasts without interference from a wizard’s hand. Indeed, in the course of my own work on the subject, I have come to believe that this is why magic works at all: The magic within an individual, what some refer to as “magical essence” or the “magical core,” instinctively moves outward, allowing those with the ability to cast spells and otherwise work their will through the medium of magic.

“Magic perpetuates magic, as like is attracted to like, which occasionally results in the creation of alysída mystika, more colloquially known as a “magic chain” or a soul-bond. Despite the ominous sound, the alysída mystika is generally viewed as a positive effect, a spontaneous event wherein a witch or wizard will find themselves connected to another through the very essence of their magic, forming a bond closer than any that is possible without it. Alysída mystika has only formed between those of unusually powerful magic and often serves to compensate for deficiencies in both parties by making them, in many ways, one whole.

“A proper alysída mystika brings its own benefits, such as the stabilization and even enhancement of previously unstable magic, but its occurrence is such a rarity that some in the magical community still refuse to admit that it exists. Even among those who acknowledge its existence, the difficulty of studying a ‘soul bond’ is immense, both because the parties of such a bond are rarely amenable and because doing so comes dangerously close to violating the First Fundamental Law of Magic. Nonetheless, evidence of such phenomena is undeniable, and if magic can indeed be said to have a Will of its own, the alysída mystika may be the most overt demonstration of that Will in action.”

- Adalbert Waffling, Deep Magic: Magical Theory and Esoterica

This is a story that has been told a hundred, perhaps a thousand times before.

In 1971, a young boy prepares to board a train. He is slight for his age, but he hardly seems aware of it: His fine robes are as well-tailored as any adult’s formal robes would be, and he tows his trunk along with an ease made possible only by the levitation charm that allows it to float behind him like a half-inflated balloon. On the platform, he’s enveloped in his mother’s arms as she does her best to smile through her tears; his father clasps his arm, beaming down at his son, before kneeling (just a little creakily) to hug the boy, too. They look old enough to be his grandparents, elderly without being decrepit, dressed in exquisite fashion because although they will miss their precious child, their little miracle, they want this to be a celebration. It’s his first year at Hogwarts, the school where his parents found each other, and they want him to know that this is a milestone as important as any grand ceremony. Hogwarts, they’ve told him, will change his life.

James Potter detaches himself reluctantly from his mother, and hugs his father one last time before drawing himself up to whatever height he can manage and giving them what he thinks of as a confident, mature nod. He’s never been away from his parents for any real length of time and a part of him wants to cling to his mother’s skirts, to refuse to go-- James has never been denied anything, not really, and he’s sure that if he puts his foot down, his parents won’t make him leave. That would be babyish, though, and James is not a baby, so he carries himself as manfully as possible - his parents’ eyes tear up once more at how much he looks like their little boy, hair mussed and glasses recently-straightened - and steps aboard the Hogwarts Express.

On that same platform, another young boy has already said his goodbyes. His family came with him, one of the rare outings that is not to some exclusive shopping street or the estate of a similarly blue-blooded line, and neither of his parents had tried to conceal their distaste for that brief time spent among the hoi polloi. Orion Black, a rare sight anywhere besides the most exclusive clubs of wizarding London, stands like a statue and regards his eldest son with the eyes of someone whose prized racehorse is about to start down the track. Walburga Black looks as if she’ll be off to some prestigious gala, no less exclusive than her husband’s clubs, and as if she’d rather be there now, were it not for her son and Heir.

Sirius Black stands before his parents like a soldier on parade, childish features already foreshadowing his father’s sharp lines and his mother’s beauty. His black robes are perfectly tailored, every fine black hair in place, and the rich shade of emerald in the lining of his robes makes his future allegiance plain. His mother tells him that this day marks the end of his time with childish things, as if eleven is not still firmly in childhood, as if he hasn’t been disallowed from being childish for years. She gives him his orders: Meet the right people, make the right connections, establish himself as a force to be reckoned with. He is, after all, a Black. Toujours pur. Sirius’ father says nothing but nods once in support of his wife. Sirius’ brother has not been allowed to attend; young Regulus is not as talented as his elder sibling, and it would be imprudent to take him from his tutors just to see his brother off. Sirius gives them a brief but respectful nod each - Mother, Father - and boards the train. His luggage is already onboard; transporting it himself would be beneath the dignity of a Black.

Sirius finds his compartment, checks on his luggage and takes the seat by the window. There are no reservations on the Hogwarts Express, besides needing a ticket to board; it’s one of the school’s nods towards equality, though it doesn’t seem to work as well as the school might hope. Cliques form early, like finding like, but Sirius remains undisturbed as the rest of the train begins to fill up: When the door happens to slide open, he turns and fixes them with a supercilious gaze, grey eyes steadier than any child should be. The air of superiority is enough to chill even older students, those who don’t take one look at his general appearance and decide that they’d rather sit with someone a little... less. Can eleven-year-olds be truly intimidating? If they’re tall for their age, obviously wealthy and clearly secure in their semi-hostility, then the answer is yes. For the more magically-sensitive, the unseen warning is even greater, a certain coldness in the air that spikes at another’s approach. This boy does not want company.

James doesn’t care, in general, what other people want, unless those people are his parents; and since they always only want him to be happy, James has developed a certain blithe arrogance that is charming in a child, potentially less so in the man he might grow to be. James picks a compartment at random, or he thinks it’s random, though in later years he comes to wonder if it was Fate, if it was simply the Will of Magic appearing in his life as it would so many times. James is a miracle child, after all; by all accounts, he shouldn’t have been born. By the time James sets foot on the Hogwarts Express, he’s already accustomed to the idea of being meant for greater things.

James slides open the door of the compartment, fully intending to push his floating trunk into the corner and make himself at home, regardless of who might already be in there. Sirius looks up at the sound of the door, eyes already narrowing as he prepares to shoo off whoever might be intruding on his space. Hazel meets grey.

Something kindles within each boy as if there had been a glowing ember lying buried deep within them, waiting for the moment that would fan it into life.

Their futures, the ones in which they had lived without the intimate, instinctive knowledge of each other’s hearts, go up in flames. They have no words for how good it feels, will have to wait a few years before they have anything comparable to the sensation of feeling someone else’s soul slot into place alongside their own, but it may be enough to say this: Their families are forgotten, the coming school year is forgotten, everything in their lives that is not contained within that train compartment no longer exists as their magical cores unravel and weave themselves together in a new, joint pattern, returning to each with a little of the other.

Sirius thinks of molten gold, a soothing warmth where searing pain should be, spilling over the sides of his heart as it fills the fractured spaces he hadn’t even known were there.

James hears the distant rolling thunder of a twilight storm, dark clouds with a silver lining enfolding him as protectively as his father’s Cloak, silver light like silk against his skin.

James speaks first, as he so often will: “I know you,” he breathes, eyes wide behind his glasses so that he looks more owl than lion, brown and green and amber catching the sunlight through the compartment’s windows and melting into gold. He doesn’t know this boy by any conventional measure, doesn’t know his name or his life or his favourite food or how he cries, but James recognizes him in a way that supersedes such superficial things. It’s impossible to love someone without knowing them, after all, and James loves this boy more than the parents who until now have been his world.

Sirius answers, as he always will: “I’ve been waiting,” Sirius says, without quite knowing why, and his words collide with each other in his throat as it grows tight, and tears spring to his eyes before he understands that he’s crying. Sirius has never met this boy before, doesn’t know his name or his life or his family or the sounds he makes in his sleep, but Sirius knows that his life until now has been a cold and empty thing, a mausoleum dedicated to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. This boy with the golden eyes has thrown open the doors and let in the light; Sirius is loved, and he is helpless to do anything but return that love with all the ferocity of one who has always been without.

James moves instinctively, dropping onto the seat beside the other boy and hugging him tightly, small arms reaching around Sirius’ waist because he’s a little too tall for his shoulders to be in easy reach. James has always wanted to be taller than he is, but now he feels it more than ever; he has to be taller, he reasons, to give this boy the perfect hug. He wants every part of this boy with the pale skin and the bewildered, tear-streaked face to be no more than an arms-length away, forever. “James,” he says, and then he repeats it, lifting his head a little so that his words aren’t muffled by the other boy’s robes. “I’m James.”

Sirius is already embarrassed by his sudden, inexplicable loss of control, by the way that hug makes him feel so much better than he can ever remember feeling yet makes the tears well up again until Sirius has to bite them back. Tongue firmly between his teeth, he masters himself enough to look down into those hazel eyes, to really study the boy who’s attached himself to Sirius’ side like a limpet: Having a name to put to this face, to this heart, is almost too much. James, Sirius thinks. There’s nothing remarkable about that name, especially not in comparison to the many celestial monikers that adorn Sirius’ own family tree, yet he would trade a sky full of familial constellations for this one terrestrial boy. Sirius doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll do exactly that, and it will cost him no more in hesitation than he has at this very moment.

“Sirius,” he says, and James grins whitely, rolls the name around in his mouth like a sugared almond (precocious as always, Jamie) and finds it to his taste.

“Sirius,” James echoes, his arms tightening around Sirius as best they can; the tears have ceased to slip down Sirius’ cheeks, and James wants to make sure that no others follow, ever again, except in happiness. Sometimes James’ mother cries when she’s very, very happy, and those are the only tears that his Sirius should have.

“James,” Sirius replies, head inclined in acknowledgement, a hand coming to rest on the shorter boy’s back. Sirius is not one for physical gestures and has not been raised in a family where anything but perfunctory contact is either warranted or expected, but that doesn’t matter now. The action feels natural, and James beams up at Sirius as if it was expected. Of course. This is his James, after all.

Not long after, shortly before the train is due to leave the station, a girl with red hair plaited neatly into twin braids makes her way down the corridor, poking her head into the compartments she passes and frowning slightly in disappointment when she sees that each is full. A dark-haired boy tags along behind her, slight and slightly dishevelled, lacking the air of neatness that surrounds the girl in her brand-new school robes. The girl tries the door of the next compartment, but the door only rattles a little in its frame.

“It’s locked?” she says, mildly surprised as she reflexively tries to peer through the inset window. The frosted glass reveals only coloured shadows, but the compartment hardly looks full: As far as she can tell, only one of the seats is occupied, though she can’t really say if it’s by one person or two. Her companion clears his throat in a pointed sound of impatience, and the girl shoots him a look before moving away from the door in acquiescence.

“Alright, let’s go,” the girl says decisively, continuing down the hallway, the boy trailing slightly behind her in the narrow confines of the rail car. “There’s bound to be an empty seat somewhere.” Girl and boy continue on their way, and in the train compartment, James and Sirius fail to notice them at all; even the brief rattling of the door had failed to draw their attention, the two already talking furiously, eager to share every notable thing about their individual pasts, in anticipation of their shared future.

The train chugs onward, and the story unspools itself in familiar loops and whorls, similar and yet shaped anew, picked out and rewoven like threads of magical essence. One fated meeting occurs, in a slightly different form, and another fated meeting is delayed; one domino falls in a slightly different direction, and the trajectory of the entire path is changed.

Or maybe nothing changes except the details, and every beat falls exactly where it’s fallen before. Regardless, those boys on the train sit beside each other, hands linked in a physical, unconscious imitation of their newly joined souls as if nothing else matters besides each other.

And maybe that’s true.

#ProngsfootWeek2023 #Day 7 #i wrote a thing?#that is longer than my usual things #prongsfoot #bambibelle #starbucks #james potter #sirius black #james potter x sirius black #sirius black x james potter #fics by sol

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springfallendeer · 2 years ago

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Happy Birthday Juicy! (Wholesome)

A wholesome little story for @juicyyyboxxx to celebrate their birthday! (Would you believe we’re only a day apart?)

3300+ words

Edit: Hey guys. Do me a favor and don’t like/reblog this if you find it. I don’t want to delete it, and I’m not sure if there’s a way to private/mute a post this old. But the person I wrote it for isn’t in my life anymore, for reasons I don’t really know and therefor can’t really understand. It hurts being reminded of someone who decided to cut contact out of the blue.

Thanks.

Loneliness has a way of sneaking up on people.

It lays in wait. Watching for the worst possible time to make itself known.

Regardless of the shape it arrives in, it is always recognized. Always known.

It is the echo of an empty home. The heavy sigh of a tired mind. The ambient chatter of an unwatched television screen.

Loneliness made the quietest things seem so unbearably loud. It made the emptiest rooms feel the most suffocating. It made everything into something unpleasant.

So unpleasant that it practically triggered some primal form of fight or flight. Whether you chose to fight the loneliness or flee from it was irrelevant. The best way to do so was to get out of the house. So get out of the house you do.

You haphazardly throw on a coat and go outside. There isn’t really a plan beyond that.

The loneliness is eating away at you and all you really want to do is clear your head. You can’t do that if you stay at home.

Home is where all the painful memories are.

Home is where all the reminders of better days lay waiting.

So you just pick a direction and start walking. And you keep walking. You use the idle sounds of the world around you as a distraction from your own muddled thoughts. From the roaring of passing cars to the quiet chirping of birds. Anything that could be of a distraction, became a distraction.

Though nothing made for a good enough distraction to keep you out of your own head.

Sorrow has a way of keeping itself at the front of your thoughts. To the point that you fail to even realize when you’ve wandered off course.

The concrete path you walk suddenly transitioned into grass and soil. Buildings gave way to trees and bushes. The ambiance of the city became the chorus of the wilderness.

You notice your change of surroundings only when you find your hair getting tangled in the low hanging branches of a tree. At which point you turn about in your confusion.

Everything that you might have recognized is gone. Gone is the city. Gone are the roads. Gone are the paths you might have been able to follow. Its as if you’ve unwittingly passed through some sort of gateway.

A gateway which decided to dump you in the middle of the woods. You don’t even have the chance to try and reorient yourself before the rustling of foliage draws your attention.

You turn to look at the sound, rightly startled. Both from the sound itself and from the confusion of your situation.

What emerges from the surrounding woodland is an entity that doesn’t rightly belong in such a wild area. A hulking metal beast peeks out from behind a tree. Glowing violet eyes settle upon your frame.

You want to say that you recognize this entity. It resembles one you already know. One you already miss. Its so similar and yet so different.

Eclipse, but not Eclipse.

Pointed metal arrows form a crest around its head. A head which rotates idly from side to side as the entity studies you. You hear the clicking of its crest as each individual ray retracts. One after another. In then out. Flowing as if replicating a buffering symbol.

A bright purple light flickers on when its face stops rocking.

The rays upon its head form a halo of light around its dark, almost featureless face. Wide robotic orbs lock with yours. Its lower face parts into a smile.

A wide, sharp smile.

The jaws of a bear trap effectively grin at you. Wide and unnerving.

All at once you feel the dread. Alone in the wilderness with a giant animatronic peering down at you. Fight or flight kicks in again when this entity fully emerges from behind the tree. It reaches for you with two of its four large, clawed, robotic hands.

You run.

You run because that thing that’s found you isn’t the Eclipse you know. It isn’t your friend.

It is a warped, twisted depiction of the animatronic that you miss. Just a nightmare created by your lonely thoughts. An illusion made to validate the fiction created by your own mind.

But illusions aren’t real. They lack a solid form. An illusion cannot catch you. It cannot grab you or pull you back.

Yet somehow this one did.

Those massive, metal hands wrap around your frame and yank you into the air before you can make any reasonable distance. This massive metal beast catches you so easily that its as if you never ran at all.

Tears well in your eyes as your body is jostled about. You lock eyes with the beast as it turns you towards it. The smile it once wore is gone. Replace by an obvious frown.

Against your will your body is lifted higher into the air, held tightly by the animatronic limbs.

You clench your eyes shut, anticipating the worst. You feel your body being moved, and you tense in response. You tense in fear of the pain that is clearly to come.

But the pain never comes.

What comes is the alarmingly gentle embrace of the animatronic body. For as large and unyielding as the beast is, it handles you with utmost care. You’re pulled to its chest. All four arms carefully tangle to wrap around you. Your head is positioned to rest against its chest.

Then you’re simply held. Held and gently swayed. Swayed and rocked like a child.

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden change in attitude. For as ominous as the entity is, it handles you so gently.

Cautiously you peek up. That same, unnerving face is still there. The same dangerous looking smile has returned to its features.

But now you can see the gentleness in its eyes. Because now you were taking the time to actually see that gentleness.

Whatever this thing was, it was very, very real. For as terrifying as it looked, it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.

A clawed hand moved to the back of your head. You tentatively relax into the touch as the entity begins to lightly massage your scalp.

This alternate Eclipse doesn’t say a word as they proceed to carry you off. You don’t say a word either.

What can you even say?

You’re lost. Physically and mentally.

Lost and being whisked away by an absolutely massive animatronic that you didn’t know, but recognized purely due to an association with a close friend. You were carried through the woodland. What must have been a long walk for you was made so much shorter thanks to the wide gait of the animatronic.

What he carries you too is something rather surprising.

What lays before you is a small lake. There’s swans swimming about in the water. Near the pond is a picnic.

A picnic with two additional animatronics, accompanied by an unfamiliar woman.

If the animatronic which carried you was some alternate version of Eclipse, then it was easy to tell who the two new animatronics were. An alternate Sun and an alternate Moon.

The woman, Sun, and Moon took notice of you right away.

Eclipse carried you closer. He set you down upon the blanket that had been laid upon the grass. You’re immediately offered a cup of tea and a sandwich.

“Lost?” The woman inquired, casting you a knowing look.

For a moment, you can’t help but just stare at her. All of this was so strange.

Somehow you had managed to walk miles in the span of a few minutes. Somehow, you had stumbled across this futuristic Eclipse. A futuristic Eclipse that both terrified and comforted you.

Then he brought you here. To this mundane little picnic out in the middle of the woods.

And the people and machines that were already here didn’t bat an eye. They approached the situation as casually as a cat might approach an unguarded lap.

You stare at the offered food and drink for a moment.

“Yeah...” You utter quietly. Lost describes your situation pretty well. Physically and emotionally, you were lost.

Eclipse proceeded to take a seat in the grass behind you.

“Found.” Eclipse states in turn. You turn to look up at him. He’s still got that dangerous looking grin. That dangerous grin made comfortable by the kindness in his eyes.

“We have a knack for finding lost folk around here.” The woman comments, gently pushing the plate of food closer to you. “Not usually folk like you, though.” She adds. You look to her, confused. She just sort of motions towards the animatronics with her eyes.

It takes a moment for you to register what she means. She means that animatronics keep finding their way to her. Maybe even the same ones that now sit around you eating sandwiches and cake.

Cake.

Your eyes start to water as you observe the scene. The broken wording on the already cut cake made it clear what this was.

You had just unwittingly stumbled upon a birthday party. A birthday party that reminded you of what you didn’t get to have.

Try as you might, you can’t keep the first tear from falling.

Sun reaches to wipe away the tear before you can do it yourself. You peer up at him, and he smiles. He smiles a soft, reassuring smile.

“So. What brings you here?” The woman asks, now ushering a piece of cake in your direction.

More tears spill from your eyes as you stare at the cake. In trying to escape your negative feelings, you had found yourself in a place where you had no choice but to confront them.

And it hurt. It hurt to be confronted by the things that tortured you so.

Still, you don’t feel a hint of malice from the woman or from these animatronics. There’s an aura of understanding around the space. One that both comforts and terrifies you.

You take a shaky breath.

“I-I needed to clear my head.” You admit, albeit reluctantly and with a quivering voice.

The woman lifts the cup of tea to put it in your hand.

Somehow, the glass is still warm. You wrap your fingers around it. It feels so pleasant.

“Rough day?” She asks in turn. You nod.

Yes. Yes it was a very rough day for you, all things considered.

“Talk about it. You’ll feel better.” She requests, her tone soft and knowing. She speaks as if she’s been in your shoes before. Its reassuring, to say the least.

“I-its my birthday, today...” You admit, bringing your free hand up to your face to wipe your eyes “I-I have to celebrate it alone, this year.”.

The woman offers a soft hum in response as she takes a sip of your tea.

“Not as alone as you’d think.” She muses, a slight note of playfulness entering her tone. “We might not be the company you wanted. But we’ve got decent food and cake and all the privacy in the world. You could scream or cry if you wanted. The swans won’t give a shit either way.” She states, cracking something of a joke at the end as she reaches into a bowl.

The bowl is full of peas and grains.

She casually tosses a handful of feed to the swans, who swim to the edge of the pond to enjoy their snack.

You purse your lips slightly, trying to hold back the tears.

She isn’t wrong. Somehow you’ve gotten far enough away from town that no one would notice if you screamed. No one here would be bothered if you cried.

The woman sat beside you seemed like she would let you throw your head in her lap and let you bawl your eyes out. The unspoken offer proved quite tempting, but you held back.

She was a stranger to you, after all. A stranger that gave off ‘wise old sage of the woods’ vibes. It was as if you had wandered into a modern age fairytale.

She laughs softly to herself just as you make this mental comparison.

“Look, sweetie. Life is hard. The world is a cold, bitter, unfeeling place that would have no problem sending you adrift. Most days, the only comfort you get out of it is the people around you.” She speaks, looking back to you.

You sit, stunned, as she proceeds to take up the role of the ‘wise old sage of the woods’. Maybe you had walked into the world of fairies and there were just the forms they chose to take for the sake of comforting you.

“Its hard, those days that you have to spend alone. Those days where the only friends you have are your own thoughts. And your thoughts often make the worst friends. Especially when they’re left alone with you.” She further elaborates, coaxing you into taking a drink of your tea.

You do so. Its warm and sweet and leaves a minty taste on the back of your tongue. The calming effects are near immediate.

Still, the tears make their way down your face.

She says and does nothing to make you self conscious of your tears.

“What’s important is that you abuse those negative thoughts right back... But that’s easier said than done. Intrusive thoughts know all your insecurities. They know how to take the things you love and twist them into weapons used to hurt you... And sadly they’re gonna hurt you. Your emotions don’t care about logic and reason. You can know for certain that the people you want to see desperately want to see you as well. But those evil little thoughts still find a way to make you second guess that. And it sucks. Its painful and its stupid and it leaves you feeling worse, because you know those thoughts are wrong and you’ve still gone and gotten upset over it.” She continues to speak, describing the ways and methods of your internal demons to a T as she encourages you to eat and drink.

The sandwich is nothing special and the cake is just a cake. But for some reason you start to feel better the more you eat and the more she speaks. Because she describes your plight so well that its as if she’s just another part of you.

At this point you think she might be some other version of you. Though there’s so little for you to have in common.

She pauses for a moment to sigh.

“Its okay that it hurts. Painful as it gets, its just another part of being alive. You miss the people that you want to see. You think back on better days and wish that they could come back. And you worry that they won’t come back... But they will. Maybe not right away. But generally speaking, things will get better. As long as you put in the effort. Loneliness is only as strong as you allow it to be. You can be in the room full of people and still feel isolated. The silence can be deafening. And the tears sting so much more when there’s no one there to help you dry your cheeks. But the way to fight loneliness is to find companionship. It can be something as simple as a pet or something as great as a spouse... And it takes time. Loneliness is a beast that tends to linger. It waits until the room is empty. It waits until the space is silent. And it comes creeping back. You can fight it. But you can never beat it. Because its just as much as part of you as the joy you feel, and it can be just as fleeting as the air you breathe... To be lonely is to be alive. No matter how much you hate it, its important when its there. So long as you’re willing to fight it, you’ll eventually find the way to overcome it.” She speaks, going off on a bit of tangent as she lets her thoughts take the form of spoken word. She speaks harsh truths and words of comfort in random patterns. All the while her words encourage the tears to continue flowing down your cheeks.

Still she reaches to dry your tears, her eyes soft and knowing.

“I-Its so hard...” You eventually manage to choke out, your voice cracking from the quiet sob that wracks your body.

She responds in turn by taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I know its hard. Staving off loneliness is a constant, unending fight... A fight that can leave you exhausted. Sometimes you need a break. Sometimes you need to rest. And that’s alright. Its okay to be tired. Its okay to be sad. These emotions are a part of you and for as ugly as they feel, they’re part of what makes life beautiful. Just like the sun or the rain. Sometimes they’re pleasant, and sometimes they ruin your day. You need them, all the same. For as tragic as they can be and for as exhausted as they can leave you, they’re important.” She hums, idly scooching closer to you.

You in turn let your face fall against her shoulder. She doesn’t move or shy away, even as you stain her shirt with your tears.

“The hardest part of loneliness is not knowing how to escape it. It makes you feel pathetic. It makes you feel weak. It makes it hard for you to ask for help. Because it makes you feel stupid for getting so worked up over something so trivial... But its okay to ask for help. Something as simple as sharing small talk with a stranger can give you that feeling of relief when the people you need the most can’t be there. There’s nothing wrong with needing company.” She murmurs, rubbing your back as you continue to cry into her shoulder.

“Does it get easier?” You can’t help but ask between the hiccups. She gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“Eventually. But you have to put in the effort.” She responds. “Not everyone will want your company. Not everyone will share your interests. You have to be willing to branch out and meet people on common ground... And it takes time. But so long as you keep at it, you’ll be bound to find the company you crave. And it won’t keep the loneliness away forever.” She states.

You nod against her shoulder.

“Is any of this real?” You murmur. The whole situation feels overly convenient. For as real as the moment feels, you logically know it can’t be.

A walk in the city doesn’t just dump you in the middle of the woods. You don’t just stumble upon strangers that conveniently have all the words needed to describe your suffering.

You listen as she laughs quietly to herself.

“I ask myself that a lot.” She replies, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Maybe you’re a dream. Maybe I’m the dream. Maybe all of this is real and we just can’t explain it. Life is full of things we can’t quite understand. Either way, we’ll have these memories. We might forget each other’s faces. We might forget this talk. But we’ll remember how we felt. And that makes this real enough for me.” She states.

You pry yourself away from her shoulders, your tears having finally stopped.

Again, she coaxes you into drinking your tea. Somehow the glass seems just as full as when you started. The cup feels just as warm, despite the time that has passed.

“Happy birthday...” You murmur, not quite sure what else to say. She offers a soft laugh in turn.

“My birthday is tomorrow.” She states, before taking a sip of her tea. Your eyes widen as she smiles at you. “Happy birthday~” She replies in turn, her smile soft and knowing.

How peculiar it all was to have found her here. How peculiar it was to find this total stranger who knew so much yet explained so little.

You smile to yourself, feeling the moment fade away.

A dream, but not a dream.

You blink and suddenly you’re home. As alone and isolated as before. Yet the emptiness feels less suffocating, thanks to the memories.

The memories of her words. Of her understanding.

The taste of mint tea still lingering on your tongue.

#big juicy #happy birth #Ayala #Eclipse #Sun #Moon #Realm Jumper AU? Unsure #close enough tho #do not like or reblog #thnx

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luxheroica · 2 years ago

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Fandom Fic Rec: Throwback Edition

Tagged by @blackestglass

Choose 5 fandoms you are no longer active in (as in actively participating/creating in), and then choose 1 fic for each fandom that's stuck with you. Tag 5 people when you're done!

1. The End of the World by FernWithy and sequels (Hunger Games, Haymitch/Effie)

I don’t consider myself a Hunger Games fan. I consider myself a The End of the World by FernWithy fan, and that it incidentally happens to take place in the same universe as The Hunger Games is incidental. I came to these fics having not read anything in The Hunger Games, having only watched the first Hunger Games movie to give me any familiarity with the characters and the stories, and absolutely fell in love. FernWithy has written six full novels and three interstitial novellas clocking in at nearly a million words to tell the story of Haymitch Abernathy (and Effie Trinket) from age 16 to adulthood and they are masterful. Her worldbuilding and plotting are top notch and her ability to mimic the styles of other authors is superb. (I came to know FernWithy through her Harry Potter fanfiction, which is about as stylistically different as it is possible to be.) I come back to reread these once ever few years.

2. Yggdrasil Dreaming by Barkour (MCU, Sif/Loki)

Ah, Sif/Loki, my beloved ship of yester year. This was the fic that really got me shipping them and I never looked back. It goes so hard with the dream imagery and the mythic storyline that draws a lot from Norse myths. The characterization is absolutely top notch, and Barkour has the most gorgeous lyrical prose I’ve ever read. This provides an alternate (ie, written pre-Avengers) take on Loki’s storyline post Thor (2011) and is absolutely beautiful.

3. Cowboys and Indians by Minisinoo (Twilight, Gen Fic Jasper & Leah)

Taking a page out of Trish’s book and rec’ing a fic by Minisinoo. This is what I think of when I consider a fanfics power to be transformative. Obviously the big glaring problem (of many big glaring problems) at the center of the Twilight series is the treatment of the Quileute Tribe. This takes that premise and turns it on its head and creates a deeply poignant metaphor for the relationship between white people and Natives in the offering. Minisinoo is Native (though not Quileute) and the perspective offered in this bit of fanfic is fascinating as it explores an unlikely friendship between a former Confederate soldier turned vampire and a 21st century Native woman turned werewolf.

4. Cutting Water by NessieGG(Naruto, Neji/Tenten & Sasuke/Sakura)

This is basically a wuxia AU and... what a knockout premise for an alternate universe, frankly? This reads like a Chinese fantasy drama in all of the best ways. Technically it’s a Naruto fic, but also I don’t know that you need to know a thing about Naruto to enjoy this. This is high drama, with lots of adventure and action and factional politics with no side necessarily being completely wrong. I love the worldbuilding, and I love the two romances which both are quite distinct and interesting!

5. Baiting the Beauty by @glamaphonic (Game of Thrones/ASOIAF, Jaime/Brienne)

Technically it’s unfinished, but only by a few chapters and still absolutely worth a read. Jaime/Brienne Regency AU in the style of the Regency Romance Novel. This is pure romance novel tropes in the best ways. Brienne makes such an excellent unconventional heroine, a wallflower through and through, and Jaime absolutely fits the role of the rake. The rest is all enemies to lovers and sexual tension and uncovering one anothers hidden hurts and furtive misunderstandings. As befits George RR Martin’s reversal of the Beauty and the Beast trope, they fit the roles of hero and heroine of a romance novel perfectly, and yet they are still recognizably Jaime and Brienne.

6. Mass Effect: Discovery by @pigeontheoneandonly (Mass Effect, Shepard/Kaidan Alenko)

Bonus sixth rec because while I still consider myself in the Mass Effect fandom this fic rearranged my entire brain and I still think about it constantly since I read it. This is a narrative retelling of Mass Effect 1 (with a WIP sequel telling the story of Mass Effect 2) with Shepard/Kaidan as the main pairing. And the characterizations in this are absolutely fantastic. There is a tendency in Mass Effect fanfic to idealize Commander Shepard a bit (owing both to the game idealizing them and their placement as player proxy) that this fic elides. Nathaly Shepard is a fully formed and deeply flawed character from moment one, and Pigeon manages that neat writerly trick of making all of Shepard’s flaws her strongest traits as well. That same level of incisive characterization is applied to everyone else, all woven together with some of the most interesting and tense action scenes I’ve read.

Tagging

@rogueimperator @blindvogel @siderealsandman @wheremermaidsdwell @deliriumsdelight7 and honestly anyone else who wants to do this give me fanfic recs.

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wytfut · 1 year ago

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70 going on 20..... riding the flat lands of Nebraski

Time really does fly the older you get. I understand that this is quoted all the time, but I gotta say its all so true.

Thus.... there seems at times not enough time to ride. Or enough riding time.

Been extremely lucky.... with all of my chronic back issues, that I've been able to keep on riding at my whim. with no issues. Well maybe except for the first part of this week. I couldn't sit comfortably any where..... another time, maybe...

I started riding way back in 1973... bought my CL 350 honda brand new with a collection of "bean checks"... in Fairbury. And haven't looked back.

Even when I didn't own a bike, I was still riding time to time.... buddy here, friend there, test rides, etc. Long dry spell of owner ship, but I kept my taste buds active.

I've never been to much of a subscriber to motorcycle rags. ... have done a couple over the years. But now with www, i get more than enough info.

Obviously I'm a huge EH fan. And because of it, I've gained some notoriety here in the midwest, as "that guy".... I find that funny.

But to be real, I just love to ride. Even if its the same old route time after time. I do change it up, on a "whim". And I do like most of the time to ride "lone wolf". There are exceptions... where as I'll ask around to see if anyone wants to go... But I'll jump on my X in a second, just for the "ride".

What is it? Why is this so addicting? Well... for one, I know, I'm a weird one hard to follow, but once I'm on my favorite beast, I'm instantly in my younger 20's. That very first ride on my old 350 boils all back into my head, grinning ear to ear.

Nothing like a road trip.... out in western NebraXi..... oh lordie thats mystical and transforming.... such long lonely stretches of soft curves, no traffic, green fields of waves.

Some of it, I can't deny, is the attention side of it. Owning an X always draws someones attention. Usually somebody that knows a little bit about bikes, and can't figure out what this thing is. That is fun....

I can ride just a couple of miles, and come home with a very good attitude, and a smile.

It is dangerous, and I know it. But that's a part of my adrenaline addiction. I miss the days when there was no helmet law. There was nothing like it, so very hard to describe. So very hard to describe even with a helmet law. The NebraXi helmet law is going away January 1. I'll be a good boy, and wear it.... I've too may years of fire and rescue under my belt not to understand that it is a true injury preventer. But I'll admire those that will not.

Its also my best stress reliever. If I'm enduring a stressful situation... I'm looking for a quick chance to go ride. My back for instance, and all the unknown nuances attached to that situation. That has been a heavy load with unknowns what is going to affect me for the rest of my life. This week I was looking directly that I may not be able to ride anymore........ GAAAHHH!!!

My last surviving adrenaline rush. It'd be very hard at this time for me to give up riding. ... I do think about my age, and when will I give it up. I don't know....

I'm hoping when riding with someone, and they notice what ever, they tell me that I need to reevaluate....

I also need to plan ahead a bit... unknown how far ahead. ... but what is going to happen to my X when I quit riding? And I hope that when confronted I'm of the right mind. Not trying to be the guy who won't admit.....

My initial thoughts way back in the day was to give to Luke.... as he has never rode big bike much, nor was he a part of X world when we first got into it. But he has shown no interest at all. In fact I can tell, he'd like to own it, but he'd never ride it. At least not like I may feel it should be.... no no, not the storage of it, but enjoying riding it.

Jake and Josh both are previous X owners. Jake at this point doesn't have time to ride... I don't want it shoved off into a corner. Josh bitches about the windshield height (LOLOLOL). But his time is also a bit limited, with everything he has his toes in.

My latests has been towards my grandson Jack. He loves to ride... mostly dirt, but loves to ride. His other grandfather bought him a street/cruiser Husky thumper. I think he'd enjoy it, respect it and maybe even wrench on it as needed. I don't know that he'd sell it.

Being I wouldn't be around, I guess it doesn't matter. I may just leave it to the estate... and let them wrestle with all of that...

The old cliche of "if I have to explain it, you won't understand" .. is definitely a cliche, but its so true. How does a person describe the true joy of riding?

hopefully I've a few years left in me.... wish me good luck

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shingansoul · 2 years ago

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Unto Thee, Exaltations (Trigun fic)

Summary:

Vashwood week day 4: Faith

A man of god can not be without a deity in which to offer his praise to, so when the world offers him one up right at hand, it is only right he offer up all he has in a place of worship. The divine have no choice in their existence, only in what they choose to do with it. And Vash was certainly a most benevolent of beings.

@vashwoodweek

To read on AO3, follow the link below. To read here, continue past the read more!

To call Wolfwood a priest is a stretch, it’s reaching for a label the same way calling him a religious man would be. Yes, he was taught the doctrines of both the old faith of an earthly God who gave his son for humanity’s sins. Just as he was taught the new faith that called synthetic living energy sources angels on high and a man who wanted to cull all of mankind it’s God. Yes, the Eye of Micheal had done their best to try and indoctrinate him plenty in his time with them, his body warped and so tried they with his heart and beliefs. Well that could suit them just fine, but Wolfwood didn't put much stock in the beliefs of people that made his life a resource for their own needs. They had him in a position, not because he sided with them of his own free will, for what little he had left.

He was ordained in ministry by a church and faith he didn't believe in, a priest to spread their gospel through his ministry. And if that was all just a load of fancy terms to call an assassin for hire, it didn't make much difference to Wolfwood. The title served as a fine cover to make it easier for him to travel amongst other people in the towns, made people trust him more. Wolfwood was an ordained priest for a cult he spat at and he spoke the words of an almost forgotten religion he didn't believe in. The rites and rituals of earth’s god were a comfort in their own way, noble sentiments he didn't quite believe in and structured actions he could repeat without thought. It suited him just fine.

So when he saw Vash’s wings unfurl for the first time in the rubble of the dirty slums of an already decaying town, he was not prepared for the tremble to his legs and the stuttering of his heart. He could hardly comprehend what he was truly looking at, knowing it was supposed to be Vash and yet his brain unwilling to consider the mere man he had traveled with for years to be this radiant being that snapped and snarled like a fierce beast despite its body and cries only calling forth to mind the thoughts of an angelic choir. With every inhuman scream and wail from the being, Wolfwood felt his bones humming in his flesh as he fought the urge to sink to his knees despite the situation he was caught in. Emotions rolled off in waves that seemed to lap at Wolfwoods feet, not quite forced upon him in full, but the whispers of what surely would have been something so clear if he had gotten any closer. And were it not for the situation at hand, he still wouldn't be sure if fear would send him to the ground where he stood or if yearning would draw him on hands and knees to crawl closer regardless to such a radiant one the world had no business harboring.

It hurts. I’m scared. It’s my fault, don't make me look. That moment, my anguish, my regret, do not make me look upon it. I have to keep them safe, they’re all dead, I have to protect them. Stand up, stop it, it hurts. Dont hurt them, dont hurt me.

It was a litany of fear, of pain, of anguish. This otherworldly being was weeping, and all Wolfwood could think to call it was holy. He was in much a deadlock with the guns aimed his way as with the divine beast baying to his right. And then the literal shot cracking through the air snapped him out of his stupor, throwing him into motion as the insurance goal seemed to materialize from underneath the long feathers attached to the gnarled bones of a too long wing, limb forced beyond its true shape and size presumably to serve a better shield at the cost of hurting it’s owner. He no longer had time to focus on what should have left everyone breathless as he was shooting off and dodging bullets best he could from what felt like all directions.

The next minutes were a rush and a blur, everything all at once seeming to happen at once to where Wolfwood could only do his best to keep up with each as it came not long enough to process anything really. As Legato’s prattle and spittle alike dripped past his lips like venom, all Wolfwood could think was ‘You speak so fervently of a being as almighty when there’s true benevolence right before our eyes?’ He couldn’t dwell further because now even the sky was dropping bullets and spikes his way with Elendira’s arrival and again he was scrambling across a battlefield.

He only dared stop and stare as the energy that had snapped and crackled ever since Vash’s large wing struck out of the rubble was finally starting to dampen, drawing his attention to the other once more. He was left almost slack jawed, eyes wide as he once more was unable to truly process what he was looking at; Vash had seemed to start coming back to himself, the man he had traveled with now once more compared to the ethereal creature crouched down amongst the filth of the slums. However, where beautiful twisted feathers and a wing once protruded, now was an utterly phantasmagorical sight. An almost endless string of twisted and torn flesh connected to a wide variety of disconnected yet all equally functioning on their own body parts. Eyes blinked and looked around wildly, tears and blood falling from them to drip onto the ground below. Mouths both with teeth and fangs screamed and wailed and gnashed as Vash himself had done earlier. Underdeveloped limbs twitched and clenched from the mass of flesh, all white like the feathers had been before but the blood spilling out from every new additional orifice of it dyed it pink and red quickly.

It took a good few beats for Wolfwood to process that Vash was both of his own will changing the very composition of his body as well as using still somewhat clawed hands and even his still over-sharp teeth to rip away at the offending growths. Blood sloughed off alongside flesh just to evaporate into froth and unidentifiable viscera at Vash’s feet and spilling out to the dirt and stones around him. He was screaming, but it wasn't without direction now, he seemed to be having some kind of argument with someone that simply wasn't present in any physical sense. At this point, from everything of his fight against Midvalley to the shootout and to the his mere human self trying to comprehend the scope of what he was now apart of, his legs finally started to give out and he did his best to scooch back and lean against a partially collapsed wall not too far from Vash and the insurance girl they had initially come here to save.

He couldn't help but call out to the Crimson Nail, unsure what he hoped to gain yet unable to sit there when he had no idea of her motives in all this. And with a flippant answer as undefined as anything else about her, she took Legato with her and left as quick as she had come. He took the next moments to try and get the world to stop spinning while he tried to remember how to stand, none alone walk. He overheard what The Gauntlet said to Vash in his last moments as if through a haze, a migraine pounding through him like a jackhammer. When all grew still, Wolfwood waited now for his cue; when Vash was back to himself in full and done with his fresh grieving of yet another bastard who tried to kill him, Wolfwood would inevitably have to help him as well as recollect the punisher and they’d have to go return the girls to some semblance of safety and a hospital in town proper.

And so he did, and they did, and after some ridiculous promise he had been roped into with the idiot about “fixing what he broke”, they were allowed some respite from the locals to simply sit and heal. Wolfwood was honestly itching to get out of town as fast as he could, knowing that there were Gung-Ho Guns around still and with those two girls still hanging around they could get pulled once more into something as quickly as this time had stopped. But Vash was content for once in his life to just sit here and exist and so they did for the next few days as he got his gun fixed and they busied themselves with odd jobs around town or the bar at the edge of town, whatever caught notice first one day to the next.

Everything was fine except it wasn't but it was fine enough that they could keep moving forward. Until that squirmish broke out in the town square, Vash being duckmarched out of the church and Wolfwood drawn to him by the sound of gunshots down the streets from where he had stopped for food. This was to go like all the other times he’d been roped into Vash’s nonsense, except it wasn't like that, this time it was different. Vash was different now, he couldn't go back anymore. When everyone in that square saw white feathers twist into something solid and catch the bullet before Vash could even try to dodge it or just take it like always, it was the true turning point. Yes, Wolfwood thought as he saw the feathers curl to hide beneath a red collar but not quite dissipate, things were much different now.

And so they ran, chased out of town once more, finally separating from the insurance girls which was inevitably for their benefit on both ends. The girls couldn't keep up with them, that was a fact. And as much as their companionship was easy and nice, especially for Vash, they were in the way if everything with Zazie was any proof. Besides, with how the short one was acting when they left and with Vash as he was now, he didn't think it would prove for the best for the blonde’s sake at this point even if she did come back around.

Speaking of as he was now, Wolfwood took stock of Vash properly once they were clear of the city limits and out a ways into the desert heat before them. Vash’s gaze was tired, he didn't seem entirely focused on where they were actually going so much as just letting momentum carry him. An almost dazed expression was on his face, his arms at his side as he fidgeted with the material of his coat between the fingers of his flesh hand. Wolfwood shifted to walk a bit closer to the blonde, their shoulders lightly brushing every so often as the punisher’s weight shifted his balance with every other step. Vash didn’t quite startle, but he shook his head abruptly and cocked it to look at Wolfwood. Wolfwood offered a warm smirk, trying to make himself come off as open as he could. He didn't want Vash to scare off, not now, not at this point in their journey. Not at this point in whatever they had, trust was too measly a word for it but to call it anything further proved too presumptuous and hopeful for the lives they were leading.

After a few moments, blue eyes seeming to search for something in his expression, Vash seemed to relax a bit, his shoulder not held quite so tight and he let his hand wander from wearing his jacket’s edges to instead reach out to lazily hold onto one of Wolfwood’s belt loops for his hands at his hip. He offered in return a tired, but more genuine smile than the flimsy hollow thing he had offered the big girl back on their way out of town. It wasn't one he was obligated to, but wanted to offer. Wolfwood felt a bit of tension roll off his own shoulders at that, letting his own smirk give way to a grin.

They traveled in companionable silence like this, the only shift being in the every so often lit cigarette, Wolfwood more looking for something to gnaw on and roll between his teeth than actually looking for a hit of nicotine this time. Judging by the positions of the suns above, Wolfwood guessed they had walked a good few iles before Vash suddenly perked up, raising his free hand to cup over his eyes as he squinted ahead of them. Wolfwood followed his line of sight before he found himself squinting as well, grabbing for his sunglasses to make it easier. He blinked in surprise, finally getting an idea for the shape and kind of building ahead of them. It was maybe another ile or so before them, but Vash seemed more energized than he had been in days and when Wolfwood felt a tug at where he was still being grabbed at his hip, he sighed and indulged.

“Yeah, yeah, we can make a stop. You better not put me on the spot though, I ain't ever given a real sermon to a congregation before. You’ll get what you get, it might not even be for-”

Vash didn't seem to care as he tugged again before suddenly moving from belt loop to snake out and grab Wolfwood by the wrist and before Wolfwood could even scold or protest, he was being dragged at a dead sprint just a few steps behind the humanoid typhoon. Not even in the Eye had Wolfwood ever seen anyone this excited to be in a church, but if it was the little things Vash wanted then he would give it easily.

The place was empty and long since abandoned, that was a quick realization they had upon entering the little church all on its lonesome out in the sand. It wasn't even part of a town, not that they could tell anyway, just a small but sturdy thing weathering the elements and sand. The outside was a painted brick, the inside proving simple enough and a bit bare bones. It was no swathing cathedral, but it was certainly a place of worship for a religion Wolfwood never expected to be in a true place of worship for of his own volition. The pews were hard wood but care was put into a white lacquer painted on them, the little books of hymns still present in the cubbies nailed to the backs of each pew and a couple bibles could be seen, one or two per row.

While Vash seemed taken with the place, still standing at the entrance but taking in what it had to offer with wide eyes, Wolfwood made his way up to the front, stepping up to and behind the altar and seeing that the tabernacle remained at the back wall gave pause. He shook his head, miffed at his own hesitance before he opened the little box, gilded in flaking gold paint with intricate but shapeless designs carved into the wood of it. It was meager, but earnest in its attempt to build a place for God’s presence and the flesh of his son. If the God of earth could see it, Wolfwood thought that he might be touched. Maybe. Looking inside, there was an empty container of what he assumed would have held the eucharist and then a small but not beyond use candle affixed a gold saucer. Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder, dark eyes landing on the red garbed man slowly wandering further up the church aisle towards him. Turning back, he nodded to himself and after fishing out his lighter, he lit the candle and gingerly coaxed the tabernacle door closed once more.

“What did you do that for?”

Wolfwood craned his head back and to the side to look at inquisitive blue eyes. He offered a lazy smile, taking off his sunglasses and returning them to his jacket's inner pocket as he spoke.

“ I’so you know the lord’s spirit is with us here, you light the candle to indicate he’s in the church with his followers, and when the service comes to a close, it’s put out as the lord leaves the place of worship since his teachings have been given and praise received. Yer also supposed to keep the eucharist, the little wafer yeah? You keep those in there too, it’s like God’s little bedroom in his house when he visits from heaven…Sorta.”

Vash giggled despite himself, his heavy boots loudly thudding against the creaking wood floor as he walked up to the altar to lean over it and get a better look at the tabernacle. He hummed to himself in thought as he inspected it, leaning up unnecessarily onto his toes to get a better look despite the distance being small and his height more than enough to compensate, and as Vash stared at in wonder, Wolfwood stared at him just as much.

The feathers and ethereal glow and crackling raw energy not of this world were all safely tucked away under scarred and tattered skin, it’s natural porcelain hue disrupted with dark scar tissue and metal twisted in to give support and guard to injuries even this heavenly body could not recover from truly. Even so, Wolfwood knew what lay within and knowing only made his feelings all the stronger as he stopped fighting impulse. In an old abandoned church alone with a deity playing pretend at man, and who had decided that Wolfwood of all people was the one he trusted and clung to most and would smile for in earnest when no other man could dredge up the same. Wolfwood gave in to his impulses, and he reached out to Vash’s shoulder. Vash hummed in attention but didn't make to move, so Wolfwood gripped his shoulder and spun him around to face him. Startled but not unhappy, he tilted his head in wordless question.

Wolfwood reached out and placed Vash’s arms around his own shoulders and neck, and when he felt Vash grab on after a moment, he reached down and hoisted Vash up by his thighs onto the altar. Wolfwood let himself chuckle at the indignant squeak the blonde made at the sudden handling, but he didn't try and wriggle out either which only encouraged Wolfwood’s sudden brazen streak. Vash didn't let go of the other, and so Wolfwood pressed on with creating the vision that had come to mind watching the other explore the church. No, maybe even earlier it had just not taken such a certain shape until now.

“Don’t panic, I'm gonna take off your coat. Can I do that?”

Vash grimaced briefly, more a reflex than thought out reaction. He searched Wolfwood's face, trying to gauge his intentions and after a moment's hesitation he nodded slowly. Wolfwood smiled gratefully and got to work, doing his best with steady hands but worn fingers to unbuckle and unbutton the length of the red garment. It took a solid couple minutes, but once complete and the jacket was dropped to the floor nearby in a small heap, he turned to the art piece of a being before him in satisfaction. Aside from the leather straps and utter excuse for a shirt, Wolfwood could see and trace with his hands many of the scars across Vash’s body like this, marring almost any free space of the other’s skin with little room for any more to possibly ever fit; The canvas was full as it was. Wolfwood traced a few of the older scars across Vash’s stomach and sides, making the blonde shiver from featherlight touch dancing across his skin. This wasn’t Wolfwood's real goal here though.

“Wolfwood…”

“Humor this man, for his actions hold no malice.” Wolfwood kept his tone as neutral as he could, even under Vash’s sharpening gaze.

“Wolfwood, I-”

“Indulge this sinner, for he wishes to give praise.”

He knew he was pushing, especially now, but there really was no other chance the world could provide him to possibly recreate this image as vividly as right now. So he pressed on. Vash looked almost stricken, but he had never heard Wolfwood speak like this, want like this. Who was he to deny him, after everything, even if he could never understand what Wolfwood would possibly see in him to want such. He swallowed hard, nodding in more of a jerk than anything else but it was enough for the raven haired man to let a small smile grace his lips. Gone was the usual snark or even the gentle offering he gave to others on occasion, this was utter self satisfaction at its purest.

Wolfwood carefully and slowly edged his way back from the altar and once a few feet away, he let himself drop to his knees right there onto the floor, the wood beneath serving no gentleness as his legs took the brunt of the drop. Vash made to move to help, worried, but the look he shot Vash was intense and brought him to still up on his seat. This was part of whatever Wolfwood was asking of him, so he pursed his lips hard and remained where he had been placed. Wolfwood then reached beneath his shirt, and pulled up a cross necklace with numerous carved beads making up the loop of it: a rosary, Vash’s mind supplied a bit late. He held the cross in his hands tightly clasping his hands before him as he then bowed his head.

“Hear, O Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Guard my life, for I am devoted to you. You are my God; save your servant who trusts in you. Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I call to you all day long. Bring joy to your servant, for to you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. You are forgiving and good, O Lord, abounding in love to all who call to you. Hear my prayer, O Lord; listen to my cry for mercy. Among the gods there is none like you, O Lord; no deeds can compare with yours.”

With every line past his lips, his tone soft and reverent, he felt his heart beating against his ribs as if fighting to burst out. He was terrified of what sort of face he would look up to when he finished, whether he would be loved or rebuked, whether he would bring comfort or repulsion. Regardless, Wolfwood felt compelled to press onwards, to offer this exaltation to such a being made of love and mercy for humanity and all its lowly existence. For him, with hands stained like rust with years of caked dried blood that could no longer be washed clean. For him who spoke himself as a guide when his destination was the execution platform. For him who had already been forgiven such transgression before he had even completed it or ever admitted it with his own tongue. For he who had become so monstrous he should not even be spared a glance, and yet held the loving and devoted gaze of the divine despite himself. He who greedily clawed for purchase to cling tightly to the very one he would cast away, and for every too-tight grip upon an already frail form he was gifted in kind with gentle hands along his face and through his hair to keep him close.

“Wolfwood….please…”

Wolfwood began once more to speak in psalms, but he dared raise his head to look through his bangs with dark unworthy eyes at the being of otherworldly beauty seated above him just so. He felt his breath catch but he only stopped for a moment before he picked back up, refusing to stop half way. He was tired of doing things in halves, at least this he wanted to be sure of himself with, this utter indulgence. When he had looked up, Vash had looked at him with a quivering lip bitten between teeth and eyes beyond compare to any color in this world glazed with fresh tears. If he was hated for this, that was fine. If he was loved for this, that was fine. If it was too much, he cared not. He was greedy, and whatever this would yield, he would eat it as his daily bread and drink in the view as his wine.

When he finished the second round of verses, he stopped truly, his attention utterly wrapt on the golden one before him. Vash’s tears had since come in earnest, soft hiccups passing his lips and shaking his frame and in his distress, whether he was aware or not, soft white feathers began to bloom against his neck and highlighting his cheek bones. He reached out a hand towards the man kneeled down before him, grabbing at the air between them.

“Nicholas.”

As his voice cracked over the name, Wolfwood almost instantly scrambled up to his feet and shot forward the short distance between them to lace their fingers. He closed the distance fully standing right in front of Vash as close as he could, leather clad legs pulling apart to let him get just that bit closer against the altar’s edge so they could press their foreheads together. Vash squeezed his thighs against Wolfwood’s sides, as if to keep him in place, and just like earlier he childishly grabbed at the belt loop of the priest’s pants with his unoccupied hand. Wolfwood’s free hand found itself in gold locks that melted into dull black, and remained firm and solid as he felt the being before him shake in his grip and desperately rub their faces together. From foreheads to brushing cheeks and nose bridges ever so lightly brushing against each other, Vash in his wordless upset seemed to be trying to caress every part of the other he could reach without using his hands. Eventually, Wolfwood simply pulled the other's face into his chest, pressing his face down into spiked hair.

This being so kind, so strong, so weak, so scared. This man so scarred by the world, offering only a smile to face it all. Who wept for sinners and apologized for surviving, who spoke affections to his own executioner by day and offered himself up entirely by night. How utterly indulgent this all was, truly Wolfwood was no better than anyone else on this forgotten hellscape of a planet. Gods existed to offer structure and hope and comfort for the lowly humans who were full of sin and selfishness and the muck of the world, and Wolfwood had certainly chosen the most benevolent and beautiful of all those descended down from the heavens and stars beyond hadn't he? He smiled against the other’s scalp, tightening his grip on threaded fingers and against gloved palm.

“Hallelujah, Needle-Noggin.”

Vash made a strangled sob around a soft mewl against Wolfwood's chest. “Nicholas…”

“Shhh, shhh, I’m not going anywhere. I'm right here, Spikey. I’m here, just like always.”

Vash only seemed to cry harder, pushing himself into Wolfwood even further, like he could crawl behind his ribcage and make his home between the beats of his heart and breaths of his lungs. If that were possible, Wolfwood would gladly do so. His body could much more take the cruelty of this world, if it could prove his castle he would gladly provide. But he couldn't, so he simply held him close as he had been and would continue to until his once human form gave out finally some day. He had no illusions about surviving whatever encounter the twins would have when they eventually found the end of this journey, whether fighting alongside as he had been or simply taken out with the rest of humanity, he was foolish but he was no fool. And so in this church he praised a god who wanted to be mortal, and he smiled, content, as the god lamented being loved.

#vashwoodweek #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #vashwood #fanfiction #trigun maximum #trigun

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toytle · 2 years ago

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i’ve gotten some very kind and thought-provoking tags, and i thought i could respond in one big batch here! thank you for playing along in this au of mine ^__^

#very weird thing to say but i like how their faces r softer when they're older (@ceeloilights)

#i looooove the barry transition timeline sm there is so much love in his receding hairline and wrinkles <3 age that beast (@f0rvalaka)

i rly appreciate these tags bc i’ve been on an Aging Romanticization kick, and i’m so glad it shows. i have such a habit of drawing halbarry in their 20s, but they’re 30s-40s in my mind by default. it was a real treat finally getting to draw the wrinkles and softness that they deserve! they’re settling into themselves :”)

#FINALLY... TRANS BARRY TRUTHER #most unremarkable trans man in existence and I respect that #old man. delightful (@malganis)

you have no idea how thrilled these tags made me, it’s the trans experience of turning the mundane into the sublime. while i was adding gender songs to their playlists, i stumbled upon one for barry called man of my dreams by ezra michel that truly encompasses the serenity of post-transition unremarkable living. old man barry watering his house plants and cooking dinner for his loved ones… that’s the dream :”)

#and hal's gender journey! i don't usually see trans hcs with characters who realize a little later in life so this is so refreshing #such a fun glow-up! (@f0rvalaka)

it’s so nice for him too bc he’s matured and gotten more introspective with age. he’s still the most emotionally constipated lantern, but he also becomes a good mentor, a caring uncle, and a better brother, and i feel like this leaves room for him to be better to himself. hal is a rly interesting case study to me bc it’s not often i see characters make peace with their trauma so early on while continuing to struggle with it (as opposed to the trauma being their driving force or active conflict). none of it is linear ofc, but it’s that duality of knowing who he is/not knowing what he wants that makes his identity a playground to explore.

i’ve also just been rly into trans hcs that diverge from canon-current genders lately. it’s the reassurance that it’s never too late, the building on top of what’s already there, the privilege as a viewer to be able to experience their journey alongside them in real time,,, so underrated. i’m getting the best of both worlds with these two (pre-canon transitioning x post-canon transitioning <3)

#barry and hal going thru the same "i rlly just dont have time to cut my hair' and then went opposite directions #barry complains about his hair getting too long and in his face and hals like 'y dont u get a buzzcut' bec he went thru military #in return barry sometimes combs and styles hals hair like his mom used to do w him (@ceeloilights)

you get it! it’s the t4t of it all!! it plays into the halbarry dynamic of being foils (+ making up for each other’s blindspots) by having them bond because of—not despite—their differences. plus, i like pushing the visual contrast in their designs for that opposites attract theme. their journeys go in opposite directions but they’re helping each other find their way (god i love trans love). also, i may or may not have a hairstylist barry in the works… 👀

#nora put barrys hair in a ponytail Once and then found barry with it on his neck while playing scientist so they compromised w hairclips #EKDNDKFNSKSK barry including his earpieces on his suit and everyone thinks its to honor jay and copy hermes #but he also added them bec it reminded him of the clips his mom gave him when she accepted that he may be a little different (@ceeloilights)

this is so close to a future work i have scripted, i’m starting to feel seen rn and perhaps exposed (/lh). tho i would like to add that barry chose the hair clips himself! he wanted to look like his favorite comic book hero so he begged his mom to “get the ones the flash has!” T__T and the connection to his mom is still there bc she’s the one that introduced those comics to him in the first place!

on the topic of acceptance… i’m not sure if barry would have come out or even known he was trans before nora died. i think she could tell smth was up and waited on his terms, but he didn’t start transitioning until high school. she would have accepted him regardless and barry probably felt that unconditional love in his upbringing, but i imagine that he would have a lot of complicated feelings abt becoming someone his mom might not recognize. i try to make my aus generally canon-compliant (additional flavoring if you will), but i think one thing i would change is that barry’s middle name would take after nora instead of henry. and he would keep it ;__; bartholomew nora allen,,,

edit: wait remember how nora thought barry was gay and said she’d love him no matter what. yeahh she definitely knew that boy was trans

last but not least are the various bigender hal appreciation comments! shoutout to everyone that’s having some kind of gender awakening/euphoria bc of her 💚

the first installment of my t4t childhood friends halbarry au! haven’t quite introduced them to each other yet, but a hair journey is worth a thousand words for now 🏳️‍⚧️

hal is m/f bigender (he/her), barry is a trans man (he/him)

close-ups:

#halbarry #barry allen #hal jordan #the flash #green lantern #dc #danbles #t4t hb

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