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pyrrhiccomedy · 6 months ago

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I've been following your Heretic updates and I've been wondering, are the Hours akin to forces of nature - or they beings with desires and fears that are simply too alien for humans to comprehend?

They are beings with desires and fears that are for the most part completely comprehensible. Mother White is the only alien one. They are also forces of nature. The Hours are the aeonic powers that hold the universe together, and maintain an order in which life and the pursuit of apotheosis are possible. Their passions, rages, promises and burdens configure and power the architecture of the universe.

You know what, let's actually run through them.

The Madrugad (the First Hour) is the Hour of the Passage. She ensures that one side of a doorway connects to the other. She also presides over the passage from life to death (and back, if she allows it). She is invoked for summonings and resurrection magic. She attends the Sun-In-Rags in hospice, preventing him from passing into death. She is remote and solemn but broadly benevolent, though not necessarily generous.

The Queen-In-Chains (the Second Hour) is the Prophet's Hour. She presides over all causality and the organization of time. She is completely insane, but probably knows everything, and can act with searing and bewildering precision when she launches some petitioner on a called shot through the butterfly effect.

The Stranger (the Third Hour) is the Hour of Deception. She presides over everything that is unknown, and protects the secrecy of everything which should remain unknown. She's one of the three gods of the Wood, and is generally a real jerk. Trickster gods are almost universally manifestations of the Stranger. Her sister is the Ring-Yew, and the pair generally cooperate when called upon to do so. She is engaged in a friendly rivalry with the Black Captain.

The Rending (the Fourth Hour) is the Hour of Annihilation. He is the destroyer. Rage, cruelty, and pestilence are his offices. He wants to hurt you before you die. He loves the Sunflower King, and inflicts endless torments upon him to express his love. Doesn't really have a bone to pick with any particular other Hour. He intends to kill them all equally.

The Kithmark (the Fifth Hour) is the Hour of the Inner Reach. He maintains the boundary between 'you' and everything that is not 'you.' A lot of yogic practices get into Kithmark veneration. Mostly keeps to himself but if you end up fucking around in Idless at all you'll probably become a big fan of him. He is working very hard all the time to prevent you from being colonized by invading intelligences.

The Pyre-Hawk (the Sixth Hour) is the Hour of Exultation. His office is purification and ascension. He's absolutely 100% of the time in a state of ecstatic joy, and you will be too, if you pursue his favor for long enough! Nobody has beef with the Pyre-Hawk. He's the life of the party and we're all thrilled he's here.

The Sunflower King (the Seventh Hour) is the Hour of Triumph. It is by his will that your will has the power to reshape the world around you. Even the physical laws of the universe give way before the will of the Sunflower King. Proud and resplendent, haughty and flensing, in his kingly greatness he submits to be Rended to spare all of creation from facing the same scourge. The most beloved of the Hours for the greatness of his sacrifice. The Madderblade is his guardian and knight. All hail.

The Madderblade (the Eighth Hour) is the Hour of Conquest & Reconciliation. The fusion and fission of every atom in the universe are only the echoes of her towering victories in both love and violence. She is glorious. She is always serving. She is the first force that ever slew an Hour. Her blade bit the heart of Mother White. The Black Captain wants to fuck her so bad it makes him look stupid. She loves him too. They've been in a state of relentless war ever since acknowledging their passion, to prevent themselves from committing the calamitous Sin of the Sky.

The Bent Minstrel (the Ninth Hour) is dead, which is very bad. He was the second of the three gods of the Wood, and presided over the movement of nature. People who know about this sort of thing generally speak well of his memory, although often in the same way that they call the fairies "the good neighbors." Wild Hunts and horned gods aside, he was the right Hour to pray to if you wanted your harvests to be plentiful and the weather to be good. He also inspired art & music, which he perceived to be just more manifestations of the weather. Mother White ate him.

The Ring-Yew (the Tenth Hour) is the Merciful Hour. Every lucky break you've ever gotten when the chips were down was thanks to her. She is the particular protector of children, prisoners, slaves, martyrs, animals, and the lost. She is the third god of the Wood, and by far the nicest one. Fortunate is he who glimpses the edge of her silver hand in his moment of despair, because a path to peace and freedom is about to open up before him. She is completely incapable of any kind of violence.

Mother White (the Eleventh Hour) is the Hour of Vibrance. Hers is the vital force which allows life to multiply and which reanimates the dead. She is constantly hungry and has no other motivation that anyone has ever been able to determine before she ate them. It's hard to even tell if she communicates, or if she's just mimicking communication in order to entice you to come close enough that she can get her jaws around you. She's an awful grub and probably unkillable, but who knows what she'd pupate into if she could ever get enough to eat? Maybe something that wouldn't be so alien and dangerous.

The Stone Beggar (the Twelfth Hour) is also dead, but it seems unlikely that he'll stay that way. He was the Hour of Inevitability, and presided over the turning wheel. His name is still invoked by revolutionaries, and cursed by those who would try to cling to power beyond their appointed time. It is thanks to his kindness and to his cruel indifference that the wheel always turns. He was noble, quiet, and implacable in war. Mother White ate him too.

The Uranian (the Thirteenth Hour) is the Hour of Daring. Alone out of all the Hours, he was once a mortal man. His offices are magic and the movement of the spheres. Kind of a dick tbh, very into backstabbing your way to the top. The kind of guy who would actually say "don't hate the player, hate the game."

The Black Captain (the Fourteenth Hour) is the Hour of Satisfaction. It is by his will that oaths, vengeance, and victory hold power. He used to be the greatest of the stalking kings of Mithra, before the Madrugad summoned him into mundus to defend her domicile (in which the Sun-In-Rags takes sanctuary) from the ravages of Mother White, during the War of Intercalation. Dutiful, cunning, ruthless, and skillful. He's the sink to the Madderblade's source, you know? The Romans were really into him.

Those are all the currently seated Hours. There are more beings you can petition: like the Ecdysiast, the Wakefire, the Flayed Widow, and the Hanged Rider, all of whom were killed during the War of Intercalation and their Thrones have subsequently been taken by others (the Madderblade, the Pyre-Hawk, the Uranian, and the Black Captain, respectively). There are also Great Leviathan and the First Ant, neither of whom have ever been Hours, but are sufficiently titanic beings that they have a lot in common with the Hours. But you get the idea. They're not incomprehensible at all, except for Mother White.

#heretic #dice matters

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forasecondtherewedwon · 6 months ago

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It's Enough, It's Enough - chapter three

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: M (may change) Chapter: 3 / 6

Summary: Five times Jane and Guildford pretend to have sex, and one time it’s for real.

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Jane gets a new title: wife. Then another: queen. She doesn’t know how to do either, how to be either. There doesn’t seem to be room for herself anymore, just Jane.

She’s been wanting to go home. It’s a confusing and indistinct longing; none of the places she calls to mind give her comfort. Where is home? Bradgate House? Lord Dudley’s estate? The Dudley family seat, where she and Guildford spent their short time learning to distrust one another on top of their existing dislike? The palace, where she falls asleep in Edward’s bed and wakes in his robe? Actually, even being expected to be Jane and no one and nothing more feels impossible. All her thoughts are in conflict. All her moods contradict.

She doesn’t know how her cousin did this by himself. She and Guildford still seem far from understanding one another, and he’s only available to her while the sun is down, but she begins to rely on him without quite noting when it starts. They speak about matters of state while observed by the people who seem to be friends to the new queen, about fluff and petty gossip while observed by those she senses to be enemies, about an Ethian cure when it’s just the two of them, and all she really wants to say to him is, What are we?

Besides two people no longer permitted to live for themselves, she would mean by the question.

Besides the loneliest people in England, but lonely together.

Jane thinks of Guildford as an ally she wants to kiss all the time. As soon as they’re within ten feet of each other. As soon as they’re in the same room. When they give in, she always stops it, or he does, and that’s for the best; do either of them know the person they’re offering to the other? With all the travel and the small matter of her blindsiding ascension to the throne, they aren’t much better than strangers. (Except she knows what his engorged member feels like against her abdomen and that he’s secretly a horse.)

They haven’t again come as close to the thing they were supposed to have done that night since that night. Meaning they haven’t fucked. Which is probably wise given… throne, horse, attempted murder, etcetera. Jane believes she could ignore her marital duties entirely in order to attend to her even more vertigo-inducing queenly duties, if not for those two times she and Guildford pretended. The trouble is, she knows just enough (her legs against his, his hands on her hips) to want to know much more (her hands on his rear, his manhood inside her). But it’s not a thing you can rush, she thinks, bedding ceremony be damned.

She doesn’t need actual sex to feel loyal to him, protective of him, or scared for him. She realizes the new depth of her feelings for Guildford all at once upon overhearing Lord Seymour’s plan to go out to the stables at dusk. He doesn’t seem to suspect the truth—and, really, who could guess at it?—but hopes to corner Guildford when he returns from wherever he goes during the day. The thought of Seymour witnessing her husband’s transformation sends Jane into a panic, but she quells it. She has to.

Fortunately, she’s able to get away from the palace by early evening. She tells her ladies she’s tired of being in company. She lets her counsellors believe the political discussion is smothering her female brain and she must take the air. In the stables, Rupert keeps her company awhile, correctly judging her to be restless and upset, before gifting her her solitude until Guildford arrives. Her husband’s is the only company she wants.

The sun slips low, and Jane realizes Guildford might walk back into the stables as a man, after nightfall, rather than returning as a horse before dark. That outcome would be met with its own set of consequences. She begins devising ways of preventing Seymour from seeing Guildford strolling up out of nowhere, but they’re pointless when her husband comes trotting through the far side of the barn, undeniably equine.

“There you are!” she says.

Her horse-husband seems spooked by the anxiety in her voice, so she makes an effort to control it, quickly filling him in on the situation at hand. Too soon, Guildford’s ears prick up. Jane hears it too: whistling. Specifically, the chipper whistling of a repugnant, power-hungry man who’s giddy at the thought of getting someone he doesn’t like into very bad trouble.

“What are we going to do?” Jane demands of her horse-husband.

Guildford flicks his head, tossing his mane. She interprets this as a shoulder shrug and scowls at him. Right away, she feels bad about it; he might be equally irritated with her on the inside, but on the outside, he has big, gentle eyes that guilt her into a muttered “Sorry.”

The answer that comes to her is outrageous, but these are outrageous circumstances—she’s merely adapting, as she has done every single day since her mother informed her she would be getting married.

The whistling is very near when Jane slams her back into the closed door of the stables and releases an exaggerated sound of pleasure. Sorry, she repeats to her horse-husband, just with her eyes this time. But it’s worked—Seymour’s steps have come to a stop. Because he isn’t leaving, she makes the noise again, then looks at her companion and shrugs. Guildford answers her with another head toss. She wishes one of them could go check to see the effect this is having on Seymour, but she’s afraid Seymour’s too near the door for her to risk a peek, and Guildford’s a little too conspicuous in his current form to go creeping out the back and around the side of the stables.

Guildford twitches his head forward, appearing to urge her on. Fine then. Once more.

Jane moans loudly, but when there’s still no indication that Seymour is retreating to the palace, she understands it isn’t enough. The problem is that he doesn’t know it’s them. Well, her, but an implied them. To amend this, Jane follows the noise with a well-enunciated, “Guildford!”

There’s an uncertain shuffle outside the door. More! She has to do more!

“Guildford, we’ve been making love for hours! What am I to say the next time I’m asked how you spend your days?!”

And she moans again—after a pause to suggest Guildford’s decidedly physical riposte to that question.

Finally, she hears Seymour walk away, muttering about their pathetically boring sex life, wondering what the point is without the threat of genuine agony. She thanks her Protestant God for Seymour’s dark tastes, because the last light of day is glowing dimly through the cracks in the door.

With a sigh, Jane sinks onto the edge of the bed Guildford keeps out here. It’s only a minute or two before he changes form, stumbling forward as the man she met at the tavern, the altar, the opposite side of a heavily watched bed. Like all those times before, she can’t tell what he’s thinking. She waits for him to speak—to reassure her sense that she handled that well or to tell her what she should have done instead (at which point they’ll argue, as they do)—but he’s quiet.

“He’s gone,” she says.

And he says, “Yes.”

“He believed we were in here,” Jane continues, going a step further, making an assumption, seeing whether Guildford will say it’s an incorrect one.

“So it seemed.”

She waits. Again. Finally, he must feel prompted by her eyes, though he’s kept his face turned away from her since transforming.

“You don’t have to protect me,” he says.

“Can you possibly be in earnest?!” she retorts, rising to her feet. “Had I done nothing, Seymour would have been in here waiting for you! He might have tied you up in your other form and seen you change!”

“Jane, Jane, you misunderstand.” Guildford makes a gentling motion and approaches her, but she’s too angry to be calmed. If her methods hadn’t worked, he would have been either taken from her for imprisonment and later execution or killed on the spot. Thereafter would she have been charged, tried, and executed for marrying an Ethian. Their families would have gone the same way. Also, the crown would have, in all probability, gone to Mary, much the worse for the whole kingdom. But it would not have been the whole kingdom she’d have been wishing she could have protected in her final moments at the execution block.

“No,” she says, “you—”

“I mean that you do anyway!” he cries out, cutting her off. “You don’t have to protect me, but you do! I am the reason you’re in enormous danger.”

Jane shakes her head.

“I’m in danger regardless.”

“But you care! You care, not just for yourself! I can see it as clear as… as clear as day.”

She doesn’t know what to say. He’s touched by what she’s done, and he’s let her see that. They stand there somewhat awkwardly.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I had Seymour murdered?” she jokes tentatively.

“Notice? Yes. Whether they would mind is another story,” Guildford muses, making Jane smile. “I’ve certainly indulged in fantasies of kicking him in the head.”

“As a horse?”

“Naturally.”

He smirks at her.

“Well,” she says, taking a step towards the door.

“Speaking of fantasies,” Guildford says quickly.

Jane freezes.

“Where did all that come from?”

“What?” she asks.

He gives her a flat, unimpressed look.

“The performance you just put on for Seymour. How did you think of it?”

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she says defensively.

Guildford raises his eyebrows. Blushing, Jane realizes he won’t let the subject drop until she spells it out.

“Faking our marital obligations for our own protection!”

“No,” he says. “I get that part. What I don’t understand is why you… how you…”

Oh. He’s blushing now. This is interesting. She’s not sure she’s ever seen his face go red before, except with an excess of drink or the exertions of defending himself against assassins. Neither of those is the case now. Feeling ruthless after being put on the back foot, Jane crosses her arms and stares her husband down.

“Where did those sounds come from?” he blurts.

Alright, no, she should have fled before. Her palms go damp against her brocade sleeves.

“I know what sexual pleasure sounds like,” Jane says primly, chin lifted and cheeks redder than ever.

“What were you thinking of?” Guildford inquires lightly, though his eyes speak of a more intense curiosity. He’s still blushing, but where her blush springs from discomfort, she has a sudden hunch that his is all desire. There’s an answer he wants to hear. He’s hoping, she guesses, that her passionate cries arose from the memory of their rushed kissing, or even the night of their false consummations. He wants to hear that these sounds were inspired by him, though trapped in her then out of wrongness and self-denial. He’d just love to think that only he could be the source of such sounds, wouldn’t he? What a shame she’ll have to disappoint him.

“Nothing outside the present moment,” she swears. “I’ve drawn those sounds from myself dozens of times. They were as easy to recall as the words of a favourite song.”

“From yourself?”

“Yes.”

She backs away from him on shaky legs because doesn’t look disappointed by her answer at all. He looks… he looks…

Jane’s back is against the door, and Guildford is close, much closer than ten feet, and it’s gotten dark so quickly, but there’s a lantern with a burning candle, and the place feels safe and secluded and expectantly hushed. Beneath Guildford’s doublet, his shirt is unlaced at the throat. She’s staring. She forces her gaze up to his eyes.

He brushes a strand of hair off her cheek and breathes a single word: “When?”

Just kiss me, Jane thinks. It would be simpler, easier, than sifting her brain for the words to say back, and then pushing those words across her tongue and out of her mouth for him to hear. Kissing has served their purposes so far. It’s just the thing to stop, start, and avoid conversations they’re too stubborn or cowardly to have. The more they admit, the more they confide, the more pieces of themselves they’ll have to tidy neatly away when they get divorced and none of what happened between them matters. Desire is one thing, but they’re only using each other, right? To please their parents, for independence, for protection, for companionship, for… admittedly a growing list of needs. And the more they need each other for, the more they seem capable of fulfilling each other’s needs. Which is just so messy, she decides, and why it’s better to kiss than speak, to not give anything else away…

“Since you met me?” Guildford asks.

“Yes.”

His eyes are on her mouth, his lips nearly touching hers.

“Since we married?”

“Yes,” she sighs. She can feel the heat of his body through his black leather and velvet. He must have been running before he returned to the stables.

“Do you think about me?”

Heart pounding, Jane fumbles for the latch and swings the door open. Her escape hardly feels like one. Guildford can follow if he’d like to. He probably will. He’s more than welcome on the grounds, in the palace, in her chambers. She wants him there, in fact. She always does. All she needs right now is a head start, so she can cool her skin and her thoughts.

Although there was nothing he could teach her about handling a blade that she didn’t already know, she wishes she’d asked him for instruction on how to not answer his questions as well as he once refused to answer hers. She succeeded on his last question, but barely. Everything in her quivered with longing. Yes, Jane would’ve said in another second against that door. Yes, I make those sounds when I think of you.

#my writing #My Lady Jane #MLJ #My Lady Jane fic #Jane Grey #Guildford Dudley #Jane x Guildford

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sunderwight · 26 days ago

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Thinking some more about why Old Man Viktor would want hextech to be invented, or to specifically be invented by Jayce, such that his meddling involves giving Jayce the rune that he uses to kickstart his innovations, when a simpler way to prevent catastrophe in any given timeline would but to just... not invent hextech at all?

And I've got another theory!

I think Old Man Viktor is actually looking for a way to unfuck his own timeline.

If it was just about saving others, that doesn't seem like it would be all that complicated, and, unless he's failed every prior time (possible) it should probably have a set routine by now. Also, why would there need to be so many attempts? Is he doing this for every single timeline, or is he deliberately creating new timelines and experimenting with the results?

I think it's the latter, given that we see him provide young Jayce with different runes, and that he's presumably used different methods of persuasion and involved other different factors in the process. Again, it's possible -- given Ekko and the reversal rune -- that this is the first time it's worked at all, but I think that Viktor's comment that in all timelines, only Jayce can show him the futility of his actions would in fact imply otherwise. There have been other timelines where Jayce has successfully compelled Viktor out of his plan, or else I think Old Man Viktor would have phrased it more like "only you might show me this in some version of events" rather than "in all timelines, only you can show me this".

So, probably, there have been other timelines where the world is saved by Jayce's intervention.

Which is great, and Old Man Viktor takes it as a win, but I think why he keeps on doing it and what he's ultimately after is the right formula for a means to sort of unbake his cake, if you will. Old Man Viktor's own timeline has already been doomed. He's the only one left, trapped in his "perfect" outcome that has become a prison of (in his own words) dreamless solitude. He can't escape what he's done and he can't rest, and outside of his scant interactions with the Jayces of other timelines, he's alone. His Jayce is gone, everyone is gone. Like the ingredients baked into a cake, the people that he bound together into his ascension cannot be alchemized back into the individuals that they once were.

Or can they?

After all, this is magic we're dealing with. Magic, technology, and the same genius that created the problems in the first place. If there's a way to undo it, who else could figure it out? I think the main cast of the show comprises the people who might and the people who are most likely to influence and inspire them -- Jayce and Viktor, who started the problem. Mel, an incredibly powerful mage. Singed, who taught Viktor and helped engineer his transcendence. Jinx and Ekko, two of the only other people in either city to actually figure out hextech on their own. Heimderdinger, Jayce's teacher. Even Ambessa brings along the Black Rose, who might feasibly contribute something to the undoing of Viktor's calamity.

Viktor is very stubborn, and he doesn't abandon his causes easily. I think that once he realized the folly of what he'd done, and accepted the reality that he had destroyed the world instead of saving it, his next course of action would be to either finally die or else fix it. If he can't die (probable) then that just leaves fixing it. Fixing it for other timelines is great, but ultimately, knowing Viktor and what he's like, I don't think he would be satisfied with that. He'd accept it as a consolation prize and ultimately if that's his limit, he'll find out one day. But if he has infinite space time to play around in, why not aim big? Why not try for the ideal outcome?

So that's what I think he is really waiting for. A lead into the method to truly undo what he did, and restore everyone to themselves. Not just in other timelines but in his own too.

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane spoilers #arcane 2 #arcane meta #viktor arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season two

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wormstar · 6 months ago

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making wc ocs for like the first time in years. positing a challenge to myself to make characters themed around individual tmv songs.... planning to make a good couple of clans that live around the galapagos islands. more info under cut

these guys come from flowclan, a clan living near a mountain known as the cloud cliff. stories of the cliff bursting and unleashing fatal viscera have been passed down through multiple generations, though such a phenomenon has gone directly unobserved for decades.

sniffstar is an old old man and unfortunately (in his opinion) the current leader of flowclan. a former healer-turned-warrior and part of a political coup in his youth, he aided in the assassination of the previous leader, blossomstar, who was planning to send out a patrol of cats to make the week-long journey into dustclan territory as a feint to encourage war between the two clans. following blossomstar's death, his deputy finchtail, who was a spy for the coup, ascended to leadership and elected sniffstep as her successor. sniffstep supported finchstar's somewhat more just rule, though often butted heads with her for her laissez-faire attitude toward external clan affairs, as he believed that the only way to live in good conscience was to unite the island clans into one. following a bout of sickness, finchstar lost most of her lives. sniffstep secretly snuffed the last one and became leader himself. moons and moons have passed and his diplomatic ideals have become somewhat of a joke among a good sect of flowclan, and especially among the other clans. dustclan is the only clan that has agreed to form a 'connective alliance' with flowclan to honor the coup preventing a war. becoming jaded in his age, sniffstar has become much more meek, especially in the face of other leaders' aggression. these days he is honestly just waiting for starclan to take him.

i have much less for snakebird but vague idea is that she was accused of heresy against starclan by the leader of another clan and was abducted and executed and posthumously mutilated. she was buried far from clan territories to avoid her ascension to starclan, though this was not distant enough — various spirits eventually reached her within the course of a moon and, miraculously, managed to resuscitate her. she made an arduous journey back to flowclan territory and resumed her position, is probably training an apprentice and keeping undercover, restricted to flowclan's camp

#warrior cats #warrior cats oc #draws #yeah that works....#flowclan

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an-idyllic-novelist · 2 years ago

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jack the ripper platonic headcanons with muichiro!fem!reader

warnings: spoilers from the manga, ooc

This is a collaboration project with @onecantsimply, I really had a lot of fun doing this piece with them. Seriously, check their content guys, it is amazing.

With that being said, enjoy these headcanons! :)

[First Name] [Last Name] was the second Valkyrie in recorded history to have been a human prior to their ascension into Valhalla. ‘Mist Hashira’ was the only thing they could remember who they were, and quite frankly she did not care either way. All she wanted to do was have an easy life and spend her days watching the clouds without being nagged by her sisters, especially Brunhilde.

Then there was the incident at the council hall, which led to Zeus allowing Ragnarok to decide the fate of humanity: preservation or extinction. Brunhilde was ready to rebel against the gods and prevent Midgard’s destruction alongside the other Valkyries through the method of the Volundr, the wielding of a Divine Treasure.

[First Name] did not have a choice in the matter, even when she was assigned to work together with the most despicable serial killer in mankind’s history: Jack The Ripper.

To create a weapon that will kill the gods, the weapon and its user must synchronize their emotions. That might sound easy, but it’s a lot harder to pull off when someone in the party, well, lacks any emotion whatsoever. When Jack had formally met his partner for the first time, he was a bit stunned to see the Valkyrie’s ‘canvas’.

It did not exist. More specifically, it was colorless. Cloudy even. [First Name] was practically invisible to his right eye. When she looked at him, her own gaze half-lidded and dull. A blank face to match a blank canvas that should at least be brimming with fear at the mere mention of his name. Alas, his and Brunhilde’s efforts were in vain as the younger Valkyrie remained unfazed. Brunhilde shook her head in exasperation and left in a huff, more than likely to pair up the other champions with their respective Valkyries.

Over the next few days, he quickly realized that [First Name] did not care what he did so long it never included her. And even if he did try to do something, she could stop him without trying. That was probably why he wasn’t too upset with the young lady’s rudeness towards him. She fascinated him.

It became his goal to make her feel fear. The Mist Hashira, in contrast, wanted to make sure he did not die in Ragnarok. So, she put him through a ‘special training’ regimen to help increase his stamina, strength, and agility in no particular order.

But Dear God, she showed no mercy towards a gentleman. Not even a speck of compassion when he was worn out in body and soul, barking at him for being an incredibly weak fighter in the roster as her sword clashed against his knives. She might have the appearance of a young lady, her strength was nothing to scoff at.

Although there were times when he wanted to simply quit and rest his weary body, Jack knew he could not do that. He was the one who took up on Lady Brunhilde’s offer to fight in this competition. And as much it pained him to say it out loud…he has noticed the changes in his body. He had been a nimble fellow when he was alive, yet his speed between then and now was….well, the difference is unbelievable. Not to mention he was not as tired as he used to be when doing anything particularly strenuous or physical.

He’s changed quite a bit this past month….including his Volundr.

It had been a slow process of [First Name] warming up to him, but now he can with certainty that she has actually begun to enjoy nibbling on the sweets and drinking Darjeeling tea when the clock struck three in the afternoon. However, there is still the issue of performing the Divine Treasure ritual.

He had many emotions, and she still had exhibited nothing else beyond annoyance when he corrected her table manners and the slight wonder of gazing up at the clouds. Truly, what was so interesting about spending hours laying around the tall grass of a floating island and doing nothing?

When Jack tried it out himself, sitting on a large boulder that was conveniently settled right behind his Volundr, he actually managed to space out a bit. Him, a productive gentleman and an artist! In retrospect, it could even be called a miracle that he has been able to form a bond with [First Name].

It was not an instant connection like some of his fellow fighters, but he knows she has grown more comfortable around him, even while knowing what he had done as an assassin who wanted to see the color of fear in his victims. Pardon him, his targets.

A slow, platonic relationship? He’s fine with that, even though you are still a little rude. A gentleman must be patient, after all~.

He eventually dragged her away from the island and back to the Valkyrie compound, only getting a blank stare instead of a glare this time….but he’s not too sure if that’s actually an improvement or not.

With the clock ticking down to the first round of Ragnarok, he and his Volundr spend the rest of their time trying to link their souls together. They eventually were able to agree on a single emotion that did the trick: betrayal.

Jack felt betrayed that his mother had never loved him, instead seeing his very existence as a chain to connect herself to a playwright that abandoned her to marry nobility. [First Name] felt betrayed that the pantheons wanted to destroy humanity, even after you had supposedly died to save them from demons.

That’s all Brunhilde would tell her just to make sure the ritual would be completed. Jerk.

When the ritual activated, a bright green light surrounded the two of them before a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories entered Jack’s mind. By meticulously piecing them together like a puzzle, a tragic story unfurled before his eyes. [First Name] had lived a hard but happy life in the mountains with her twin brother Yuichiro after their parents died, but it all came crashing down when a demon destroyed everything.

It was [First Name]’s rage towards demons that kept her moving forward, even when she had been pushed into a corner by Muzan’s commanding officer, the Upper Moon One ranked demon known as Kokushibo. Even when her memories had been buried again in the dark corners of her mind, not because of the shock, but because of Brunhilde’s machinations.

She wanted another Valkyrie amongst the ranks, a soul who was powerful and yet malleable enough to twist to her own design. After all, what use is the soul of a Hashira if they’ve lost their fighting spirit and desired peace?

Ah…poor thing. To go past her limitations and become a Hashira within two months, to obtain the Demon Slayer Mark and single handedly kill an Upper Moon demon…all of that power, to die at such a young age. And just when she had begun to express herself more, exhibiting a compassionate, teasing persona towards her comrades. The one she’d liked the most was a young man named Tanjiro.

Jack assumed that he, at least, had survived against Muzan in the final confrontation.

Including learning the truth behind her memory loss, he was also able to discover what was his Volundr's ability in combat: anything that he can touch with his hands would become a Divine Weapon. Even a small pebble can be lethal to a god.

The given name of his Volundr is Muichiro. In the Japanese writing system known as kanji, the name meant ‘nothingness’ but ‘Mu’ could also be written as ‘infinity’.

Upon the transformation being released, Jack’s opinion of [First Name] changed. Someone he’d believed to be a disrespectful, slightly spoiled brat, to a young lady who struggled on how to cope with her memory loss.

Right up until the fourth bout of Ragnarok, he made sure his Volundr was comfortable and fully relaxed with snacks or blankets for her to curl up under on the couch.

[First Name] was quite confused with his behavior, but did nothing to stop it. She was, however, taken off guard when her partner confessed that he saw her as a surrogate child. If something went wrong in the match, he wanted her to commence the separation ritual as quickly as possible and get to safety.

Thankfully the confusion did not cause any mishaps as she transformed into a pair of tailor-made leather gloves, synchronizing their hearts together as a single unit to fight against Heracles, the beloved Grecian God of Fortitude.

(Jack did have to hold back a snicker when his Valkyrie asked if she could punch Heracles just once, really hard, because the spiel he gave about asking Zeus to spare humanity if his opponent ‘laid down his arms’ is really fucking stupid. If Heracles loved mortals so much, why not just fight with them as a representative of humanity?)

As to be expected, the battle had been tough. Timing was everything in order for Jack’s plan to be executed perfectly. He defeated a god, and gave humanity an advantage they desperately needed in Ragnarok.

So why was [First Name] happy that her partner had changed over the course of round four? She’d seen through his memories, the good and the bad, and she didn’t mind it. Now, all of a sudden, his heart seemed to be purer than before….more than willingly to change some parts of himself? It did not make sense.

Neither was the hate that Jack received from the angered guests in the god’s stands. Heracles knew what he was getting himself into, so why all of the fuss? What part of a combat tournament that can end in total annihilation for either party did these idiots not understand?

Quickly releasing the Divine Weapon ritual, the sword at her waist quickly unsheathed, creating a veil of mist that disintegrated the shower of stones flung at Jack into a pile of dust on the ground. But one attack did not faze the screaming spectators, who now resorted to using glass and garbage.

Annoyed, [First Name] maneuvered her grip on the hilt and created a thick veil of fog around the arena. Originally it was supposed to provide some cover until the two of them made it pass the drawbridge to humanity’s side of the coliseum, but hearing the crowd become confused and panicked amidst the chaos was worth it. Served the idiots right.

Jack also seemed happy that she had helped him…but why? More importantly, what was with the sudden change of heart? She bluntly asked him this question, though the only answer she received was it had been Heracles’ unconditional love that saved him.

A stupid answer, but whatever.

Upon arriving at the medical wing, [First Name] kicked the door open just when a group of winged nurses were coming back from their break. Quickly realizing they had a patient, they immediately guided the Valkyrie to an empty unit where they instructed her to lay Jack down and let them start working on him.

[First Name] nodded, following the command before plopping down in a chair and staring off into space. Ah…she was tired. Is it time for a nap now?

Bonus Content:

After hearing that Jack will need to spend a night under observation before being released, [First Name] left the medical wing to go get cleaned up.

Once she had taken a hot shower and changed into some spare clothes, the Mist Hashira decided to reward her human partner with a box of sweets from a high-end patisserie shop. Purchasing two boxes and some other items, she ventured down the corridor leading towards the medical wing when she was attacked from behind by a god. She hasn’t had an opportunity to draw her sword when her entire body was encased in a floating sphere of water.

The thought that she may die again in Valhalla triggered a flood of emotions to encompass her body, followed by…memories? Ah….that’s right….this is the second time she’s lost them.

How annoying.

Feeling her face burn, it took only a moment to realize that her Demon Slayer mark appeared again. Half a second to decapitate the god who had the guts to try and kill the Mist Hashira with the same trick Gyokko pulled when she said his art was shit.

Wiping the god’s blood off with the hem of her shorts, she sheathed her sword and continued her trek towards the medical wing, teal sneakers squeaking across the marbled corridor.

Blinking, she stopped walking and looked down at herself. Ah…she was covered in blood and water. Should she go back to her room and change again? No, it should be fine. Water will dry out, and these clothes - a black, long-sleeved hoodie, shorts with teal suspenders, and kneepads - were all that she had right now besides that stifling Valkyrie uniform.

Besides, Jack was an assassin. Seeing her like this shouldn’t be too much of a shock to him when she tells him that she recovered her memories, right?

Spoiler alert: The Ripper almost fell out of his bed when she greeted him, his face white with fear and shock even when she handed him a big slice of apple pie on a paper plate. He wouldn’t have reacted in such a manner if he didn’t just wake up moments ago.

Taglist:

@yellow-snark

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@recreationalfanfics

@radioactivesweet

@staticradiotv

@thatstrangesheep

@nixes-noxes

@thequietkid-moonie

@myrisan-melodies

@kiannas-stuff

@praisethesuuun

@zodiacs-web

#muichiro!reader #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #ror x you #ror x reader #snv jack the ripper #jack the ripper record of ragnarok #ror headcanons #jack the ripper x reader #platonic headcanons #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv x reader #an idyllic novelist

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ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit · 3 months ago

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Stone Heart AU: Jafar post-Overblot

Jafar is unsurprised but disappointed that the system has remained unchanged in all his time and even after his ascension to djinn. Jamil does not have the Red Hand brand of his ancestors, thank the ever-evolving sands, but that does not mean it doesn’t hurt when he sees him make himself small.

But, and it’s noticeable, and he makes an effort to remember for fear of falling in resentment, Kalim is so different from Sultan Hamed. At the beginning they were frightfully similar. Childish, arrogant, playing naive, playing stupid and harmless when they are the most dangerous man in the room. Kalim was all of this. But Kalim has learned and changed, recognized his privilege, and has made efforts to change the very system that oppressed both of their potential. Kalim’s potential by not giving him any actual challenges and Jamil by releasing him of mediocrity.

But the road to progress is filled with pitfalls. He can pull these two out of the quicksand before they fall too deep, if he is mindful. Jamil certainly won’t take orders anymore, not even from the Great Vizier. Kalim would, but to do so mindlessly would bring them back to the captured tail in this twisted Ouboros.

No, it had to end carefully. Gently.

But somebody has to say it. He has been slipping it into the girl’s thoughts, a drop at a time, for weeks now.

I feel you, she thinks, and I know. But they’ve both made so much progress, wouldn’t this take them back?

It is to prevent them from going back to this point at all. He answers, supplying a vision of red eyes glaring down. It must be known, both of their power is dangerous if unchecked.

Yuu cannot tell if those red eyes are Kalim or Jamil’s.

That’s probably Jafar’s point. Clever bastard.

Yuu glances at the door. Jamil is back in the kitchens cooking for all three of them. Despite the changes, he is still Kalim’s handler, there are still roles expected to be filled. Kalim, bright eyed as always, works more diligently on his assignments than ever before. Jamil would be out of earshot, for once.

“Hey Kalim, can I ask a personal question?”

You have an option Ouboros. Bite down or let go.

“Of course!” he chirps, twirling the pen in his fingers.

“We’ve talked before about how mind control works, right?”

She isn’t saying it to hurt. It’s going to hurt, but this isn’t a crack in the jaw.

“Yes,” the pen stops, settling on top of the papers, “But Jamil hasn’t used his magic on me since the incident. We are good!”

“I get that.” She says, reaching for the silk of the shawl before stopping herself. “But he can’t pull something out of somebody that they aren’t capable of.” she shrugs, looking down at her own paper. “Like, he couldn’t order me to do a handstand and me actually do it.”

“Well...no. But if you want to learn, I could teach you!”

He is deflecting, the way he always does.

“So he couldn’t make you act in a way that wasn’t already there. The orders, the cruelty, the long work hours...it’s already in there. Isn’t it?”

Kalim’s easy smile slides off his face with a sigh, leaning back on his hands.

“Well. Yes.” He closes his eyes. “My Father, well, he cares. He is a good man. He can be a good man. But his temper is...dangerous. I understand why Jamil’s parents told him to play dumb. Father is a final sort of person. It doesn’t take much for him to go with the most severe punishment.”

“I know that I am capable.” Kalim continues, opening his eyes to trace the patterns on the ceiling. “But I choose not to. I choose to see the good in people. I choose the bright side of situations. I choose to see the beauty and wonder in the world. It’s more of a challenge some days,” he shrugs, “There is plenty of awful and scary things. I’ve had enough attempts on my life to know that. But if I let those things rule my decisions, then haven’t I let them kill the most important thing of all?”

Yuu tilts her head.

“Hope” he looks at her. “They won’t kill my hope. That we can change things for the better, for everybody. I don’t have to be cruel or aggressive to do that. I just have to be aggressively kind.”

“Besides,” he stretches, shaking out his hands, “Isn’t it more fun when everybody is smiling?”

He flops over, catching Yuu off guard with a yelp. The echoes of his laughter ring in the room as easy as music.

Outside the door, Jamil stands white knuckled grip on a cart of steaming food, counting his breaths.

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #disney twst #stone heart au #twst great 7 #twst the great 7 #twst Kalim #kalim al asim #twst jamil #jamil viper #twst Jafar

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inchidentally · 1 year ago

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Crown Prince Lando AU idea based entirely on his appearance today in Italy for his trophy and Lawrence writing about how every team is courting Lando

okay so I wrote this rly fast on the work laptop and you have to just ignore the weird interpretations of how royalty and inheritance etc works. and completely fucking with how things went down in F1 history. it's an absolute mess and possibly unreadable but I literally couldn't stop myself.

if you're a fic author then pleaaaaase have a look and see if you can take this and actually make anything out of it even if it needs a lot of changes.

Crown Prince Lando has been fought over by nations since he was seventeen years old. His parents had retired from royal duties to live quietly in the countryside but a series of deaths and lack of heirs resulted in Lando living most of his life being prepared for ascension to the throne. His parents did as good a job as they could to keep Lando humble and "normal" while having to live a kind of sequestered monastic existence.

As he grew so did his future subjects' love and adoration of him. They loved his humor and his cheeky treatment of the solemn institution surrounding him. As he grew into being a beauty the country took endless pride in him and watched his exploits as a touring royal closely.

Fernando Alonso was the first to pledge his troth to Prince Lando because he could see the promise in Lando of one day becoming a truly beloved ruler - a quality he himself had found wanting in his own slow gathering of power. However he was persuaded early on by his advisers and Lando's parents to withdraw due to his 'already advanced age'. Lando's debut at court was postponed by his parents to prevent any other establishment attempting to lay their claim before Lando felt comfortable and ready.

The powerful Sainz Vázquez de Castro family swooped in next and arranged a series of public meetings between Prince Lando and their wicked (meaning "experienced") and devastatingly handsome son Carlos Jr. His charisma and dark eyes charmed Prince Lando immediately and a wedding date was set for the following year. Lando's debut at court was hastily arranged to happen mere days prior. Probably should insert something here about Lando being made to live this period of life in a guarded tower and attendants being present whenever he was with Carlos because chastity being required for marriage. And the only way to keep Carlos' dick out of Lando was the threat of a priest's guard cutting it off. But lbr they manage to sneak around well enough to do everything else.

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: Sovereign Prince Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former sovereign, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo's unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (and unable to become sovereign himself due to being a second son, again my weird rules). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn't bear the thought of being sovereign let alone of a land that wasn't even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders siezing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be King Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos' fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles' lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando's picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

Prince Lando is of course too heartbroken to consider other suitors and his court is demoralized by their own failure to seal his future. Only brash American tycoon Zak Brown keeps the faith that Lando's appeal as he grows will land him a better match than any Euro old money looking to aggrandize themselves and take advantage of Lando's youth to displace his rightful future as King.

A stroke of genius is the arrival of commoner Daniel Ricciardo whose rise up the ranks of society has hit more than a few speedbumps over the years. He's in the perfect position to act as placeholder and a sort of 'playmate' for the young Prince Regent. Daniel does the job of squiring Lando around and cheering him up beautifully. So beautifully that Daniel begins to see in his charge's wide eyes a future that he had only ever let himself dream of before. He begins to publicly push the boundaries of propriety with Lando like holding hands, embracing him from behind, dancing scandalously close together. The dam begins to break when Daniel opens a public social media account and begins posting adoring and fairly intimate videos of Lando that prove to be a massive hit with the public… and that fan rumours of the Crown Prince breaking with tradition and marrying a commoner.

Exeunt Daniel Ricciardo.

(Yes I know this isn't remotely his role but go with it) Newly appointed Lord Chancellor Andrea Stella proposes that only a candidate the same age as Lando - or ideally younger - should be considered to ensure that his claim to the throne be safeguarded. Because Lando hasn't spent the intervening years doing nothing but swooning over a succession of suitors, he's perfected his role and learned his court and won over the hearts of his people. He's effected harmonious relations with rival kingdoms seemingly effortlessly. The royal coffers have never been so full and trade is booming. Lando and his court all know that Lando could easily rule alone. But the fire that the now King of Monaco had lit inside him refused to go out. It begged to be fueled and to burn brighter.

Then one day Andrea hears a murmur of controversy happening in the middling levels of the aristocracy. The scoundrel Alonso had construed a match between one Oscar Piastri and Frenchman Esteban Ocon as a means of effecting his (Alonso's) escape and aggrandizing the Alpine dynasty. There were further details about a drama between Ocon and countryman Pierre Gasley but all that interested Andrea was that young Piastri had ordered a direct pronouncement be made against the match and any further association with Alpine. He had already rejected the opportunity of being presented at court and clearly had plans for his own future that would not depend on the protection or condescension of any other power but his own.

Imagine Andrea's surprise when Zak Brown announces at the next privy council meeting that preliminary arrangements had been made with young Piastri to be the Crown Prince's companion for the following season. A pretense at Piastri having an interest in royal politics was to be given to everyone, including Piastri himself. But Andrea and Zak shared a knowing look across the mote-stained light straining through the high windows of the old chamber. The Crown Prince barely even hears the details as he wearily signs off on the public notice along with the other endless papers at his elbow. He doesn't even dream that a wildcard is being played for his future happiness.

The eldest son of the prominent and noble Piastri family from Tuscany is suitably beautiful with the characteristic straight brow, fine pale features and soulful deep amber eyes of his people. He is tall and still growing with an effortless regal bearing despite his youth. The first few meetings between him and the Crown Prince are cordial and with a promising warmth. Andrea is encouraged by the pink that rises high on Piastri's pale cheeks whenever he shares smiles with Lando but he's even more encouraged by the steady intensity of his gaze when Lando isn't looking.

For the first few months, Piastri remains a faithful but distant part of Lando's royal retinue. They interact often enough and clearly like each other. But it also comes at a time of unrest in Lando's kingdom as a result of the ascension of an ambitious and possibly ruthless young King in the Netherlands. Lando proposes a visit to Castle Toro Rosso and asks Piastri to accompany them due to the Italian affiliation with the Dutch royal house. Something about Piastri's calm and quiet confidence helps stabilize Lando and he needs all the support he can get.

The visit is strained and the Dutch court is intimidating - and rather grating - in it's brash opulence and show of dominance. The young King is more of a mystery, seeming cold and aloof but flashing a wry smile at Lando's well-known charm and humor. The tide turns entirely in Lando's favor at the tourney. Lando has been barred from jousting following his formal presentation as crown prince due to some finicky archaic British law and it eats away at it him to have to sit and watch while the Dutch King was allowed to ride for himself. More than once Lando moodily pushes at the circlet that keeps slipping over his curls and can feel himself being increasingly bratty and short with his attendants.

Piastri was already reknowned for his prowess in jousting and was automatically given the seat to represent the Crown Prince. When he appeared mounted on a blood bay charger that gleamed almost golden and black in the hot sun (MCL colors kinda??) Lando has A Moment when Piastri tips his visor open and addresses him formally and those intense brown eyes behind the cold armor make him look so much older. Lando causes a stir when he descends from his seat and gives Piastri his favor in the form of a ribbon from one of his full sleeves. They have one of Those Looks between each other before Piastri turns to take his place. He bests every one of his opponents and isn't unseated once.

Then the Dutch King Max Emilian appears and strangely shuns any pageantry associated with a knight's entry, let alone a king's. His Lady sits in his place flanked by both her own and the King's powerful families and court. Lando finds himself suddenly flooded with fear because what would happen if Oscar lost? What would happen if Oscar won? When had he become 'Oscah' and not just Piastri?

The collision unseats both King Max Emilian and Oscar and they draw swords. The fight is precise and clinical and breathtaking. Perhaps it was because of having more to lose or perhaps it was the press of the Crown Prince's lips against the silk ribbon he gave as tribute but Oscar suddenly anticipates a step too far ahead for the young King and a unified gasp is heard when Max Emilian's body hits the dirt. It's instinct that has Oscar's sword held at the King's throat. But when Max Emilian throws his visor back his bloodied mouth is stretched in a wide toothy grin. He barks out a series of high cackles and ceremonially begs mercy. Oscar breathes out in a rush and claps his armored hand around the King's and helps him to his feet. Max Emilian flicks Oscar's visor open for him and lifts his hand declaring Oscar's well-earned victory. Lando forgets himself and leaps up yelling and cheering as his court smiles ruefully over at the stiff, formal "celebrations" coming from the stands opposite.

Holy god I've written way more than I meant to but let's have it finish off with Lando whispering to gain access to the tent where Oscar is undressing and cleaning his wounds. Perhaps his armor has been removed down to the hips the way driver's drop their race suits down after a race. Oscar startles when he sees Lando alone with him and rushes to kneel to him. Maybe Lando puts his hand under Oscar's chin and tells him to rise up and oh maybe seeing Oscar sweaty and dirtied with a cut to one cheek and a few bruises on his body makes him forget himself. Maybe he surges up and kisses Oscar and maybe Oscar is shocked but also feels exactly the same way and kisses him right back. Then probably Oscar decides to make his boldest move yet and says that if Lando doesn't want him then he'll quietly go away - but if Lando does want him then Oscar would welcome the title King Consort, would be proud of it in fact to be in service a king like Lando one day.

Then Lando either passes out because he's been in blue ball hell since Carlos and years worth of arousal hit him all at once or maybe he just whimpers a little and starts wondering how fast a royal wedding can get planned so he can Get That Dick ASAP.

Fin.

#landoscar #this is also carlando and dando and charlos in passing #fic prompt #mine #crown prince lando #prince charming lando #f1 royalty au

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grailfinders · 9 months ago

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Grailfinders #338: Taisui Xingjun

if I can say one nice thing about taisui xingjun, it’s that lasengle went out of their way to make him feel very cursed. sometimes waiting for a servant to pop up in their event gives you cool new abilities to work with that aren’t part of their in-game kit, and sometimes they show up at the last second, throw out a vague party buff on for the last fight, and then fall asleep immediately. this time’s the second one.

thankfully, taisui’s not all that difficult a build, at least on the surface. he’s a Divine Soul Sorcerer, and that’s it! though to be fair, that class alone is really kind of mashing together two classes as-is, so he’s still not that simple.

check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

next up: make sure to like, comment, subscribe, and turn on notifications to see this build first!

Ancestry & Background

if we were being more objective taisui’d probably be a custom lineage, but it’s our build and I want him to be able to turn into his big form at will, so he’s a Changeling. with that, he gets proficiency in performance and persuasion, and his plastic presentation makes him a Shapechanger as well, so he can turn into any small or medium race as long as they have the same number of limbs, and you can’t turn into anyone specific without having seen them first. on top of all that, you get bonuses of +2 Charisma and +1 Dexterity.

finally, your background. you literally just sit there the whole event until like three deus ex machinas pile on top of each other to summon you into a vaguely human body, so that sounds like the Book of Many Things’ new background, the Rewarded, to me. that nets you proficiency in Insight and Animal Handling, as well as the Lucky feat for literally free. why anyone would ever pick a different background ever again, I don’t know, but now you get three luck points a day, and you can spend them forcing a reroll on any d20 roll directly affecting you and pick the better option of the two. whomst’d’ve the fuck thought putting that on a background was balanced.

Ability Scores

your highest score is your Charisma, because you’re basically skating by on your good looks and hoping that’s enough to make people farm the ungodly number of Cons needed for all your ascensions and NP levels. it is, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. second highest is your CON. yep, there’s a buncha them in there. third is Dexterity, because you don’t wear armor. like, at all. honestly this should probably be lower considering how easily you get eaten, but I’m trying to make a build that’ll survive level 1. after that comes your Intelligence, because the Con are quick studies at least when it comes to construction and video games, so they’re at least a little above average. that means your Strength is nothing to write home about- you’re a god, but you’re a kid, and your arms are kind of noodly. finally, we’re dumping Wisdom. as the Con you’re easily swayed, and as a god your tired ass isn’t helping anyone on watch duty.

Class Levels

1. as mentioned before, you’re a Divine Soul Sorcerer, which gives you Spells you cast using your Charisma. before we go into those, you also get Divine Magic, letting you pick spells from the cleric spell list as well as the sorcerer’s. you also get Inflict Wounds for free for your spooky shadow hands. I know taisui is technically true neutral, but his god form’s a god of curses and retribution, so I’m saying at the very least his powers are evil-leaning. speaking of, you’re Favored by the Gods, so if you fail a save or attack, you can add 2d4 to it once a short rest. whether being favored by this god is a good thing or not is anyone’s guess.

so then, spells! for cantrips, Blade Ward will keep your body in once piece for now, Morgan worked hard on that, while Chill Touch is another kind of spooky hand that prevents people from healing, which is pretty cursed in my book. you can also whip out your bell and Toll the Dead, dealing extra damage to injured targets, your you can curse someone with an Infestation, forcing them to move in a random direction if they fail a constitution save.

for leveled spells, Bane is a light cursing for a first level spell, forcing up to three creatures to make a charisma save. if they fail, every attack or save made for up to a minute gets a d4 taken away from it. we’re also giving you Mage Armor for +3 AC because we’re not that sadistic. even if taisui is.

oh, speaking of saves, you have proficiency in Constitution and Charisma saves, as well as Arcana and Religion. you kind of are a god, after all.

2. second level sorcerers become a font of magic! rn that just means u can cast another first level spell every day, like your new one, earth tremor! most of you is still down there, after all, just twitch a lil.

3. congrats! you survived long enough to get second level spells! now you can feed your party parts of yourself to aid them, giving them a bigger hp bar for the day! you also learn metamagic this level, so now your font of magic actually does stuff that’s important! you can spend your sorcery points to make a spell heightened, giving your target disadvantage to their save, or careful, automatically making the save for some of your friends! taisui’s got kind of a yin-yang thing going on between his feeding and his cursing, so this is the best of both worlds!

4. since ur kind of a nega-jupiter, you’re now a scion of the outer planes! yaaaay! since your god’s evil, you get resistance to necrotic damage, and you get chill touch again!

you can also cast mold earth to cover yourself up again, and you can cast wither and bloom! with this spell, every creature you choose takes necrotic damage, and one creature you choose can roll a hit die and gain hp back! it’s literally everything you do in a single spell!

5. fifth level, you have magical guidance, spend sorcery points to reroll checks, whatever! the important thing is now you can bestow curses! the phb gives some suggestions, but really you can do anything your dm lets you get away with!

6. sixth level divine souls have empowered healing, so whenever you or someone next to you heals someone, you can spend a sorcery point to reroll some of those dice, once a turn! i’m not sure if that works for life transference or not, but either way this spell makes feeding yourself to someone a lot more visceral. you take damage, and then someone else gets healed for twice the amount of damage you took!

7. you can now give urself an aura of purity, making friendly creatures in it immune to disease, resistant to poison damage, and they get advantage on saves against a buncha common status effects too!

8. at eighth level you get another ASI, so now you’re a Baleful Scion. that rounds up your Charisma and lets you pull people into the Grasp of Avarice- once a turn, you can add some necrotic damage to the damage you deal, which also heals you for that amount. your best healing spell so far uses your HP, so you need to fill that back up somehow.

you can also summon a Spirit of Death for an hour, making a floaty medium boy you can ride around on! you don’t even need to spend any actions commanding it or nothin’. it can only attack one creature at a time, but it’ll lock on to them and let you know where they are the whole time!

9. you can now make an insect plague! don’t misspell that, trust me. now you can make a 20’ radius sphere of locusts that obscure the whole place, and everything inside it has to make a constitution save or get piercing damage!

10. tenth level sorcerers have another kind of metamagic like extended, doubling the length of a spell you cast, up to an hour. you can also cast resistance to protect someone from a saving throw-related dangers.

speaking of saves, you can cast the most messed-up spell in the game, Contagion! if you hit your target, they have to make a constitution save at the end of each turn, working like death saves. after three successes, the spell ends. after three failures, you can curse them with a terrible disease for seven days.

11. at eleventh level, you can cast sixth level spells like Heroes’ Feast! after casting this, you can feed yourself to up to twelve creatures, curing them of all diseases and poisons, immunity to poison and being frightened, and they had advantage on all wisdom saves! on top of that, they gain extra HP, and all for a full day! just… maybe don’t tell them what the feast’s made of.

12. twelfth level, another ASI! bump up that Con for more Cons! it’s health, you’ll get more health. this is retroactive, remember, so you get an extra 12 HP this level.

13. thirteenth level sorcerers get seventh level spells, and its time to get real curses! with Divine Word you can hit any number of creatures within 30’ of you, forcing a charisma save on all of them. depending on how many HP they have, they’ll become deafened, blinded, stunned, or even straight up dead if they fail a charisma save. this also banishes any celestial, fey, or fiend if they’re not from around here, so that would make Dagon a real cakewalk. also, on the “instantly killing people” front, this gives you more than enough room to take out some poor bastard’s whole extended family.

14. your Angelic Form is a lot different than most people would expect, but you can still use your bonus action to fly around on your curse lump, with no limit on flight time!

15. eighth level spells! you can now Regenerate your allies by forcefeeding them a whole Con, giving them a healthy amount of HP immediately, with a trailing 1 HP per turn for an hour afterwards. two minutes into the spell any missing limbs grow back, though they can also instantly be reattached by just slappin ‘em back on if you got ‘em.

16. another ASI, another Con for more HP.

17. you can now use twinned metamagic, turning a single-target spell into one that hits two creatures!

speaking of single target spells, Power Word Kill’s a hell of one, ain’t it? if the chosen target has 100 HP or less, they die instantly! no saves, no nothin’.

18. you spent so much time putting Cons into other people, we almost forgot to get some Cons into you! with Unearthly Recovery, letting you spend a bonus action to regain half your HP once a day! big heal energy.

19. one last ASI before the build finishes! with the Tough feat, it’s like you ate two Cons at once, giving you an extra 38 HP now, plus another two next level.

20. at level twenty you get the sorcerer’s capstone, Sorcerous Restoration! every short rest, you get four extra sorcery point!

…yeah there’s a reason we usually multiclass.

Pros and Cons

Pros:

you have an amazing Con-stitution for a caster, giving you way more HP than most would expect of you. having a healer that doesn’t die easy is super helpful. this also means you have great con-centration. your more powerful spells don’t need it, but dropping a spell always hurts.

not only are you a great healer, you’re great at making other people heal too! you also have access to some strong defensive buffs like heroes’ feast, aura of purity, and resistance. also, being able to grow back limbs can be pretty useful!

you also dish out devastating debuffs, destroying enemy defenses with divine words, curses, and disease.

Cons:

yep, there’s a lotta them in there.

(but seriously, a lack of direct attacks drags fights out, the sorcerer capstone sucks)

#fgo #fate grand order #D&D 5e #DND #Taisui Xingjun

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yoonkinii · 9 months ago

Text

We Were Human

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Part 3:

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent ascended Astarion from losing himself the only problem? You don’t have a lot of time.

Warnings: Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worse.

Note(s): For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware.

Thank You.

“Soldier, are you sure about this? I can always come with you.”

Karlachs pouty face watched me as I looked over at all the supplies we packed for the hundredth time. I mentally went down the list of essentials we would need for this trip. Dammon grins over at Karlach and I, popping his head out from the canvas covered wagon.

“Karlach, you and I both know she can handle herself. Plus, she’ll have an Ascended Vampire with her.” Dammon waggled his brows at Karlach. I rolled my eyes playfully, handing Dammon the final essential we would need- our tent.

Our plan was simple, we would set up camp at a safe distance away from the goblin camps. Once that was done we would scout the camps and try to locate the generals that run the place. Once they are out, everything will fall apart. Or so as Minthara stated.

“Karlach, sweetie, my dear, the light of my life-” The more cheesy names that flew out of my mouth, the wider her grin stretched, thinning out the worried lines on her forehead. “I’ll be fine.” I said sincerely, taking her hands into and I prayed that my eyes conveyed what I said. She would never let me leave if she found out that I was beyond scared. I only had one chance to save Astarion from his own death but I had no idea how to stop it. I only knew something occurred while he was out and nothing more. I had no idea what to look for or how to even stop it.

Karlach sighed, shoulders slumping slightly, “You’re right.” She said with a small nod of her head. She released my hands, taking a step back to look at me like this was our final farewell. Only the subtle flicker of her eyes looking behind me gave me any warning. A cool cheek was pressed against my own, tufts of hair tickling the skin. Arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a chest.

“Is there a reason why you are making heart eyes at Karlach, my dear?”

The low rumble of his voice sent shivers down my spine. I pretended to be in thought, drawing out a hum as my pointer finger tapped against my chin, “Probably cause she has my heart.”

Astarions grip tightened around my waist, almost trying to keep me from going to Karlach. Karlach laughed, her hands resting on her hips and head tilted to the sky. After calming down from her fit of giggles, she shook her head, “You’re asking for trouble, soldier. Fancy pants looks like he is going to skin me alive right now.”

I feign confusion, placing my hand over my heart in dramatics, “You do not believe me? I am devoted to you, my beautiful lady-” I suddenly yelped as a white hot pain pinched against the left side of my neck. My mouth fell open as the pain turned into something else- something sensual. I wanted to curse Astarion out for doing this to me; for making heat pool low in my stomach. The nails of my fingers dug into the skin of his forearm, his arms still wrapped around my waist and keeping me from moving away. I don’t know how I didn’t feel the absence of his cheek against mine as he angled it to get near my neck. I wanted to curse him out but not only did I deserve it- I could not formulate the words I wanted to speak. Just when I thought it was going to become unbearable, his lips released from my neck. I shuddered as his tongue trailed against my skin, running over the two wounds- not only closing the wound with his saliva that could do just that but also lick up the droplets of blood that ran across my skin. I knew my face was flush beyond belief even if my skin was always pale, my ears burned and my cheeks felt like they were the color of apples.

Astarion pressed a kiss on the wounds, unwrapping his arms around my waist and pulling away.

“Know who you belong to, Pet.” was all he said as he left me to feel like my body was overheating with Karlach who was grinning at me like a fool. Swiveling on my heel, I watched as Astarion headed to the front of the wagon, checking on the mules that would be dragging the wagon.

A hand slapped in between my shoulder blades suddenly causing me to jolt forward a step before I regained my balance. I looked over my shoulder to glare at Karlach, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, not when your face is as red as mine and that's saying a lot since you’re usually pale as a ghost.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes as I walked away to busy myself with anything. The echoing sound of Karlacks laugh followed me as I walked away.

The setting sun was beautiful but blinding. It’s warm and bright hues creating a view I have forgotten about. It was simple things like that that I forgot about- the sun's rays bouncing off water, bleeding through the openings of tree leaves, colors painting the sky. It all seemed so new to me even though the sun had always been around.

“I think this is a good place to set up camp.” The voice of Astarion tore my eyes away from the sky. We had been riding for a good few hours, out pace slow but necessary so we didn’t tire out the mules. I had been sitting beside Astarion the whole time on the seats of the wagon, our thighs pressed close together. We spoke to each other the whole way, only stopping every now and then to relieve ourselves before continuing on. We talked about anything and everything, even about the things we knew about each other. It was almost surreal hearing him speak so freely to me, to not look at me with disdain or as if I was an object. Seeing him be and treat me so normally was almost scary to see only because the lingering thought of how I could lose him lurked in the back of my mind.

Astarion looked up from the map he was holding that marked where we should stop and set up camp- a gift from Wyll that he handed us right before we left the city gates. Astarions brows knitted together, a question forming on his lips just as I snapped back to reality and pushed myself up from sitting on the wagon.

“Thank the gods!” I sighed with relief, stretching my arms over my head. Astarions lip quirked up into a smile, standing from his seat and stepping off the wagon. He didn’t wait for me as he took out the supplies we needed to set up camp. I only watched him for a moment before setting out to help him by unhooking the mules from their wagon harness and leading them to graze the area. I wasn’t worried about losing them, they were trained to not stray too far. I mentally thanked Halsin for speaking with the mules to ensure they wouldn’t run away from us as we did this mission.

Only after making sure the mules weren’t hurt or anything, I rounded the wagon to find that Astarion had finished pulling out what we needed and was already setting up the tent. I rushed over to help him,

“You could have waited for me. You didn’t need to do this yourself.” I softly complained, my hands making quick work of setting up the tent; trained from the various times I had to set up my own tent before helping others.

“I know I didn’t have too but the sooner it gets done, the better I can lay down to rest.” Astarion replied with a yawn. I raised a brow at the action. Astarion being a high elf didn’t mean he had to sleep and in my ‘previous’ life he rarely ever slept, not that I saw him long enough.

“You don’t sleep though?” I questioned, lips pursed together. Astarion looked up from where he was squatting, securing the tent to the ground,

“My dear, do you not remember the habit I had started before I ascended?”

My brows knitted together in thought, searching Astarions gaze for an answer he would not give. He tilted his head, giving me a knowing look. It suddenly clicked. My mouth fell into the shape of an ‘O’ as I remembered a small but sweet fact about Astarion. It started before he ascended and turned me into his consort. When we weren’t sure about our future together and clung to every moment we had together. Since I was human, I needed to sleep which killed Astarion since he had no need to sleep and felt like the hours that I slept was precious time wasted. I once mentioned to him that he could always try to sleep with me even though there were no benefits with doing so. After multiple times of sleeping beside me, it became a habit his body got used too. Even though it didn’t benefit him, his body was so used to it that he would even feel tired when in reality, it was just his body wanting him to stop moving for a while.

“I take it you remembered?”

I nodded sheepishly, avoiding eye contact as I finished setting up the tent. It was just in time as the sky had gotten a lot darker since we started. The enclave we were in was surrounded by trees and various bushes, almost creating a barrier between us and the outside wildlife. Which was ridiculous to think because we were in the wild but the flat land padded with grass contrasted greatly against the heavily wooded surrounding areas.

“How about you go wash up? I hear a river nearby.”

Glancing at Astarion, I nodded. He had peeled open the tent flap and was setting up our bedding for the night. I raced off to the stream after pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, which resulted in him grabbing me in order to kiss me directly on the lips before releasing me to go wash up.

I had promised him that I would hurry and wash up since he hated the feeling of being dirty. I tried my best to hurry, using the moonlight to guide me to the stream and to wash up quickly. I was sure that I didn’t take too long but as I returned to our camp, the tent flaps were closed and only the soft glow of a lantern shined through the tent fabric.

Gingerly pulling back the flap of the entrance, Astarions name dying in my throat as I saw him already laying on the ground, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I blinked in surprise- he really was tired. I quietly laid beside him after putting my soiled clothes in a burlap sack, pressing my chest against his as I nestled close. His body seemingly reacted on its own as his arm came to rest across my waist, my leg hooking across his own. I laid there for a while, listening to his breathing and the sounds of nature until keeping my eyes open and straining my hearing to detect anything amiss became too much and the familiar embrace of sleep overtook me.

Pain bloomed in streaks across my back, the crack of the whip blending in with my pleas. I didn’t need to look in order to know that the back of my dress was in scraps, hanging loosely off my shoulders. I heaved a shaky breath, tears falling off my face and to the floor. Another broken sobbed racked through my lungs as I was struck again, and again, again, again, and again. My own blood pooled on the floor, soaking my garments.

The assault stopped and I tensed, afraid of the silence. Silence was worse than the air of pain, I had no idea what to expect with silence.

Hands harshly grabbed my cheeks, jerking my head up so I wasn’t looking at the dirty floor stained with my bile, tears, and blood. Instead, I looked at him- there was no remorse on his face, only pure annoyance with me as if hurting me beyond belief was troubling him.

He tutted his lips as he frowned at me, “Oh pet,” He said in such a soft tone would’ve caused anyone to believe he actually loved me. “Your face is ruined.” He complained, his grip on my cheeks tightening, digging into the bruises and cuts that littered my skin. I knew I looked horrible; he always made sure I knew. I wasn’t allowed the ignorance of my appearance from the lack of my reflection, he always told me how I looked to him.

“No matter,” He continued, letting go of my face but not without pushing it away like I was the one forcing him to hold my face. “It is not your face that matters to me but beauty would’ve been a bonus.”

I stood in silence, pretending that his words weren’t as painful knives. Pretending that his words didn’t leave invisible scars on my skin. He used to tell me I was the most brilliant thing he ever set his eyes on. He used to kiss the skin of my body when it felt clouded by others' judgment.

“Lucinda,” He called. Lucinda appeared immediately, most likely standing in the hall and listening to my cries of pain.

“Yes, my Lord?” Her voice was filled with confidence she didn’t have before.

“Assist my dear concort with stripping her bare.” His voice litled as my title left his lips, mocking me even further. .

“Of course.”

I couldn’t fight her off even if I had the chance to do so. My body pulsed with pain, vibrating through my whole body. I didn’t know where the pain began and my body ended. I was almost lifeless as hands guided me to strip, obeying while fear coursed through my veins, mixing with the pain.

My skin pimpled as it became exposed to the cold air of the punishment room. I stood bare before him, my scar covered body decorated with blood open to him. I couldn’t read his face as he store at my body, his eyes racking up and down my flesh, bile rising in my throat as he met my gaze and recognized the look he had in his eyes.

“On your knees.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Please no.

I must’ve lost my mind as I chanted that single phrase over again. There wasn’t any other explanation as my head shook in disagreement as these thoughts raced through my mind. I didn’t have a chance to bed for forgiveness before pain shot through my face so hard that I collapsed to the floor. Perhaps there was a time when a slap across the face was nothing but with my mind and body weak, I crumbled.

“No?” He questioned, my head snapping up to his direction, eyes blown wide in fear. “How dare you? You are ungrateful. I provide everything for you. Everything!” He yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls. “You are my consort. You live to serve me, to please me. Your very existence is to ensure I am satisfied. You kiss the ground I walk on. You gulp down the air I breathe out. You sit there and look pretty for my gaze. You are nothing more than that.”

My mouth opened to say something, anything to calm him down but it never came- not when a metal tipped shoe collided with my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs. I curled around myself, arms covering my head as I was kicked harshly repeatedly. His voice seemed blurred and muffled in my ears, my own eyes releasing tears that become more common to me than anything else. I couldn’t do anything other than squeeze my eyes shut and not cry too loud. He would become angrier if I did.

Please. Someone help me. Please. Please. Please. Please. Ple-

My body snapped up straight, choking on air I couldn’t get enough of. Sweat coated my skin, my hair sticking to my neck as I took in heaving breaths. Darkness greeted me, the buzzing of insects and chirps of crickets pulling me back to reality.

A dream. It was just a dream. Well more a memory than a dream. I felt sick to my stomach as the memory flooded my head without permission. Things happening like that were a norm for me but to wake up in the past and dream about my old life was mind numbing.

I inhaled deeply, letting the night air cool my nerves. The pounding of my heart subsided after a few breaths and I laid to close my eyes and try to grasp onto much needed rest. Laying on my back, I was greeted with the sounds of mumbling. Sitting up again, I reached over to turn the lantern on again, the light immediately brightening the tent.

My heart seized in my chest as I looked at Astarion. His entire being was shaking as though he was unbearably cold. He was laying on his back, hands clutching at his own skin, nails digging as if he was trying to tear it off. His face was scrunched in pain, brows pinched and lips curled into a snarl, his fangs peaking out. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his voice too low. I flinched as he suddenly bit down on his bottom lip, fangs puncturing the skin and blood immediately budding.

“Astarion.” I said, shaking his form slightly in hopes of waking him. I repeated his name, shaking him harder when my first attempt failed. My brows furrowed as he still laid asleep.

“Astarion!” I yelled, desperation digging its hands into me. Both of my hands shook his form harshly. “Astarion ple-”

It happened suddenly. His eyes snapped open and one moment I was shaking him awake, the next I was pinned under him. My chest heaved as my gaze met with Astarions- no his eyes. The ruby red was darker, clouded by something I could never understand. His lips pulled back into a snarl, a low rumble sounding from his chest.

“Astarion-” I began, rallying up the courage I didn’t truly feel, “Please, stop.” I begged but my pleas fell on deaf ears. My whole body tensed and shook as he leaned in closer. He had me pinned to the ground by the shoulders, his nails dug into them as he leaned in.

I winced at the pain, “Astarion! You’re hurting me!”

It was as if those words were magic themselves. He blinked and his gaze was no longer clouded, the anger falling away from his face. He stood frozen, wide eyes darting all over as he took me in and what was going on.

“Oh Gods,” His voice cracked at the same time mine did. “Oh Gods,” he repeated, quickly getting off of me like touching my burned him. He sat beside me, breathing deeply. His hands fisted tightly into his hair, tugging harshly at the white strands. His chest raised and fell way too fast to be considered normal, the sound of wheezing escaping his lips.

“Astarion-” I called out, reaching for him. He flinched away from my hand freezing in the air, a mere couple of inches away from him. “Astarion.” my voice was soft against the tense air, “Look at me please.”

He didn’t answer, his chest heaving- weighed down by panic he didn’t know how to get rid of. His gaze flickered over to me, his mouth slightly parted as puffs of laced filled panic left his lips. Since he turned, my hands were now grazing over her skin. Seeing that he didn’t flinch I gently cupped his cheek in my palm. I was slow, patient to see if there was any hesitation in his eyes. When he didn’t pull away, his eyes holding my own, blown wide in fear, I cupped both of his cheeks. His breath grazed my wrists, alerting me just how fast he was breathing.

“It’s okay.” I mumbled, guiding him closer and closer until I laid back, his face pressed against my chest. “Breath with me.” I instructed, running my hands through his hair soothingly as I inhaled and exhaled deeply. He followed, his chest stuttering a little in the beginning before smoothing out. His arms came to wrap around, pulling himself impossibly closer as he calmed down. The air was silent but my thoughts raced.

Just how long has this been happening to him? Why hasn’t he told me about them? How have I never noticed this before? Is this the first step to Astarion becoming him?

Panic seized my heart as a thought entered my head,

Am I already too late?

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rain-world-headcanons-2 · 3 months ago

Note

This is a long one, so bear with me here.

Saint is NOT the TTA. Based on the dating sim (I can't believe I'm using this for a hc), Saint is looking for the TTA. Why would Saint be looking for it if he is it? Saint could have been made by Sliver to help her find the TTA.

Saint went home one cycle, found Sliver’s ascended body, and left to go figure out how she did it. At some point Saint decided to try to find the TTA in ascension, realized it wasn’t there, and echoed.

Because Saint echoed, maybe there is leftover void fluid inside of him, and after getting max karma, or attunement to the other echoes, he can use that void fluid to ascend things (which is also why there's a cooldown after doing a lot of ascension blasts in a row; Saint needs to the void fluid in them build up again).

Sliver did actually ascend based on the dating sim. In one of the eggsplosion endings Inv can find presumably Sliver in wherever ascension is (rubicon?), who talks about how she thought she would see another iterator here first, not a slugcat, and asks if Inv wants to become her apprentice.

If the egg is the TTA because it ascends you without using void fluid (aka without the chance of echofication), Sliver could have found some sort of other version of it (or just made the egg) and accidentally ascended herself with it.

Even after echofication and being able to ascend things with his stored void fluid, Saint isn’t the TTA, because it still uses void fluid.

The reason he needs karma 10 to do it is because he needs attunement to the other echoes and by extension the void sea to be able to use his stored void fluid without it just ascending him on the spot.

Because Saint wouldn’t have been born until much later after Sliver’s ascension, the Saint we play as is probably a reincarnation (and has most likely reincarnated many times before). Saint probably echoed in this current body, based on the fact that when going to a new timeline after escaping the void sea, he starts where his campaign started. He echoed and his echo was tied to that spot, but because of his attunement he is able to leave that spot and just gets sent back there whenever he goes to a new timeline (as I also hc the end of his campaign is just him going to a new timeline).

Intriguing! A very in-depth interpretation of how Saint is capable of ascending others. I love the HC you have of saint being filled with void fluid in some way. From that angle, it is almost like a firebug egg in nature. Something technically capable of ascension, but still derivative of the void sea (and thus subject to the pitfalls of void fluid, preventing it from serving as a true triple affirmative). Interpreted from that lens, Saint serving merely as a vessel to move void fluid to the surface is almost tragic. It isn't a breakthrough solution to the unsolvable problem, it is just the next facet of a very old system. The pilgrimage to the depths, the filtration system, the saint.

#rain world #rw slugcat #rw saint #rain world headcanons

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sasukimimochi · 2 years ago

Text

So i decided to repost the original sketches [plus one i thought was appropriate to put with these, since its got a butt i put it under the cut] and delete the cringe original post- since it didn't get any notes anyway- after cleaning them up/adding a block of color behind them [plus me toying with demon wwx's colors] so i hope you enjoy them!! More about the fic under the cut :D

The extra sketch that has a bumbum which is why the read more line. [plus the extra info and all].

Scroll to the bottom for links! [up to date as of 3/25/2023]

“Clash of Immortals” / COI is an upcoming project I’m super excited about with Demon WWX and Angel LWJ. I use my own version of hell/heaven for this, allowing for lots of fun details and some creatures unique to my universe, including A-Yuan who is a “Garden of Eden” [not drawn yet].

Information i can share!

Demon WWX / Wei Wuxian - Demon type: A black-blue feathered “Captive” or “Fallen” - a type of demon caused by cutting an angel’s ascension short as they are being lifted into the heavens, caused by demons trying to prevent as many new angels from entering heaven as possible. This means originally he was supposed to become an angel, but his line was cut and he was dragged past hell’s gates, causing him to descend instead of ascend once he passed through the gate.

This leaves a nasty scar on his back from the hook used to pull him up [if ascended the hook will disappear harmlessly] and this is why they are also nicknamed "Hook Demons" as they will sometimes even go around with the hook still in their back, just filed down, because they are going through a vital area and can't be fully removed.

Angel LWJ / Lan Wangji - Nearly a white wing, shares a nearly identical wing color to LXC, His is white with minimal jade undertones; he has MANY piercings to compensate his abilities in order to prevent his body from tearing apart. He does however have a unique trait- two of his flight feathers [one on each side] are completely black [I will test this with his design so don't hold me to this]. After his descent heaven is a bit perplexed- they allow this type of movement but LWJ is a very important for heaven’s force of angels, as one of the most powerful.

Fun Facts ;]

When they see each other for the first time as angel/demon they bristle, [in my universe, angels and demons feel wrong when in each other's presence, even if they're very soft and sweet. It'd probably be a good mirror to how LWJ and WWX don't necessarily get along in the actual series when they first meet too.] but then it’s a cheery reunion- LWJ might be somewhat uncomfortable, but WWX tames the sensation more easily as he is nearly unrestrained in power.

Someone comes within 50 feet of A-Yuan and Wei Wuxian sends the person’s heart to their throat just by looking at them despite this being a bad habit he probably shouldn’t use around the "Garden of Eden."*

*original species invented which will be explained better in story, I don't wanna spoil too much

and then we have "BED" HABITS

WWX is aggressive as all hell with everyone else besides his kind [in hell anyway bc he doesn't like everyone's attitude] -not in an intimate way he wouldn't do anything with anyone else- but becomes tame with LWJ, it's like a switch gets flipped. LWJ is the growling demon in bed while WWX is the purring angel, despite their anatomy quite clearly showing otherwise; and let me tell u I love purring demons and growling angels

NO ONE believes him when LWJ says wwx isnt the aggressive one, thinking the demon is tainting their precious second jade despite wwx not having a choice about his demonhood. LWJ be like: we still husbands regardless of who's the more aggressive one anyway. Yes, I’ve just decided we’re still married no extra ceremony required.

my COI music playlist can be found here. My favorite COI song is this one: "Into Darkness" by Thomas Bergersen.

all art in this post drawn in drawpile and edited on clip studio paint

Here's all the sketches for COI in order! ♥️ They update regularly on my original COI post [you are here] / the mdzs ff masterpost.

OG POST - Demon WWX & Angel LWJ [you are here].

COI - MXY YLLZ WWX Demon WIP COI - Chibi kisses COI - Cuddles COI - Slumber COI - hugs COI - Hellscape Concept art [ficlet included in this post] COI - Er-Gege COI - Marks COI - Reunion COI - Thank you! COI - I'm Home! (Previews) COI - I'm Home! ...

Reddit Posts!

See the OG Reddit post here [contains 11 drawings] Rough Hellscape Concept art [has more art here that i didn't post on Tumblr!] Slumber Hellscape Concept art [same as Tumblr] hugs/hold er-gege reunion Thanks [separated drawings] Marks Reunion Thank you! I'm Home!

See the Explicit™ COI ficlet here [i can't post this on tumblr, so i posted this on Reddit, sorry!

See the first peek at Ch 1 of COI here!

You can find all my other projects here!

Did you get this far? :0 hello! Thank you for reading it all ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

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Spark the Light - Chapter 3: The Hunt for the Galespun

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Asterdawn wasted absolutely no time, marching them furiously through the forest and calling for a meeting the second her whiskers crossed the threshold of the gorse tunnel. She was already sitting atop the highrock when the rest of the Kirkyard group slipped in after her, taking grim seats at the base as the those who stayed behind sleepily stumbled into the main clearing, confused but panicked. Obviously they remembered the last time their Storm had called a meeting directly after a meeting had been to announce the ascension of Scornedclaw to leader of the Fennyield and how he’d forced territory from the Shorerisen’s paws.

“There seems to be trouble brewing with the Shorerisen and the Fennyield,” the molly explained, recapping the entire meeting portion of the Games.

“But didn’t they back down?” Wolfpaw asked, slightly confused. “The Styrman even apologized.”

“That was the most insincere apology a cat has ever given,” Cardinalfire told the cadet gently, ignoring Urchintail. “He probably only did it to save face given his stand-in lieutenant clearly didn’t agree with his decision.”

“He's right,” said Asterdawn, eyes flicking to him before returning to her seniors. “They were just on opposing sides for most of the meeting but when it was brought up that the Galespun rightfully deserved to be returned to their territory, they each expressed displeasure.”

“Nightrattle I understand,” scowled Callastorm, his long and feathered tail twitching with open agitation. “Though he is more ambitious than I thought when I extended that moon of peace to him.”

“Don't claw yourself,” Asterdawn told him kindly. “It is clear that the Fennyield have grown comfortable with holding more land than they can even patrol. If they wish to take advantage of a deal offered with good intentions, then may the souls judge them accordingly as the ahaliim sets in.”

“But why would the Shorerisen want the Fennyield to keep the uplands?” Nadderpelt inquired, Lynxpaw staring up at her drillmaster.

“They want them to keep them?” Chaffinchpaw demanded, a tone of confusion entering her voice.

“When Nightrattle mentioned the moor, not once did the Styrman attempt to claim them for his own faction,” Nadderpelt explained. “He just got angry at giving them back.”

“Perhaps he means to take them from Nirghtratthe directly?” Cardinalfire offered. It was a reasonable question after all - he wouldn't personally fight for an enemy to keep a large slab of territory that put them closer to their own border… “if the Fenns keep the upland, their border brushes the Shorerisen. Then they could reasonably dispute the border.”

“That would let them claim whatever they could defend of it,” Nadderpelt agreed. “But that doesn't explain why - the river is the most stable source of prey in the forest. When everyone else starves, the Shores remain strong and plump.”

“...geese,” Quietpaw said, likely pulling from what they'd been told. “Osierstream said she was promoted fighting off a few geese that stuck around.”

“Geese alone shouldn't be enough, we must be missing something,” said Asterdawn before shaking her head, as if to dislodge any thoughts she was still considering. “Well, we can't read the minds of the Shores and we can't prevent the Fenns’ growing greed - all we can do is guard our borders and prepare for the possibility of a Shore-Fenn alliance against us.”

She flicked her tail allowing Callastorm to quickly rattle off, “So Wildheart, Chickadeechitter and Pricklestripe, head out as the moonpeak patrol and mark our border with the Shores. Everyone else, rest up - we’ll have to be on high alert.”

With the meeting clearly over, Cardinalfire didn’t hesitate to follow after Jackdawstripe with a yawn, slinking towards the comforting warmth of his nest. He was asleep almost before the thick-feathering of his larger tail had draped itself comfortingly over his back.

| | | |

He chased the squirrel swiftly, unable to suppress the laughter attempting to bubble up from his chest as he swiped tauntingly at its bushy tail. He wasn’t hungry for once, not really intending to catch anything merely seeking to burn away his additional energy. The squirrel went up a tree at the same time he caught the clear scent of a mouse and he turned on paw, sprinting into the messy fallen leaves with a tom-ish snicker. He caught sight of the little brown rodent, rifling through the leaf litter and branches, launching himself onto the tiny creature’s back.

Just as he released it, intending to start the chase anew with whatever else he could find, his body seized up and a familiar ashen scent filled his nose.

I’m dreaming, he realized and the brilliant, cloudless blue of the sky immediately flashed blood-orange as a starless night-sky began rapidly crawling above his head, almost like it was devouring the very sun itself somewhere on the horizon.

The petrification of his dream vanished, invisible shackles dropping at his paws and Cardinalfire took off. His eyes flicked down briefly, his paws flashing between a gentle lilac and his usual ruddy coat. The comforting heat thudded powerfully in his chest to the beat of his heat, like Ashara’s Hearth had taken up a happily humming residence within his lungs. His paws stung lightly with the force of his pawsteps as he cleared the distance between the glade he was in to- to- he wasn’t sure, his paws were tugging him on like they were possessed by an outside spirit of some sort. All he knew was an growing sense of urgency, a distant but painful sense of panic urging him to move faster, move faster, you’re moving too slow-!

He burst from the bushes he doesn’t think he was running through before, chest heaving as he staggered onto the deer-trail with achy paws. He whirled around, searching desperately for whatever it is that had drawn him here, what had called him to the trampled grass but there was nothing.

What’s here? I have to find her- find him? What am I looking for? I’ll deliver this message - what message, what delivery- I-

A sudden shriek of pain erupted, seeming to come from every direction at once at the same time agony exploded through his body. He staggered, collapsing to the ground and tried to pull himself away, crawl away from the strange sourceless pain like claws shredding through his skin.

His paw slapped a pile of ashes, embers raining down around his head not burning his skin but blurring his vision and when he raised his ash-covered paw, he was stricken with horror at the crimson sheen it had taken on.

| | | |

Cardianlfire’s eyes snapped open as he scrambled as quietly into a sitting position as he could, releasing a panicky startled breath. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness of the legionary’s den but that was alright, because with ever deep and distressed breath he took in, the calmer her felt. Slowly he was able to make out the shape of various legionaries curled up in their own nests, dreaming peacefully with a few empty - a dawn patrol most likely. There was no blood here, no ashes to smear his fur - there was only the soft snoring of his denmates, the intermingled scents that made up the Stormborn concoction and the tattered remains of his nest scattered beneath his paws.

He took a shaky breath in, sheathing his aching claws back into his paws and started grooming.

There was no way that he would go back to sleep after a dream - a sight - quite as horrible as that one, so he might as well clean away the scents of fear and discomfort drenching his fur, making it stick out in various random directions.

Maybe Spottedholly will have something to help me, he mused. The grooming was already working wonders - with every swipe cleaning away the upset trying to stain itself into his fur, he felt his nerves beginning to settle down. His breathing returned to its normal pattern and when he was finally presentable, besides his thoroughly mangled nest, he’d be surprised if anyone could tell what had happened.

The growling of his stomach that he’d been ignoring finally coaxed him out of the den and into the steadily cooling sunlight. He squinted at the brightness, blinking furiously as he half-stumbled to the ukennva with awkward steps. He sniffed blearily at the pile, snatching a pair of mice for them to eat together and fumbled the rest of the way to the healer’s den. He did his best to avoid looking too traumatized or ruffled as he peered in. Much to his relief, the healer was already awake and seemed to be getting a head-start on sorting between dried, useless herbs and the dried, ‘can be stored for later’ ones.

“Spottedholly?” he called out, clearing his throat a little when his voice got stuck.

Her ears perked up and she twisted around to look at him, her expression immediately becoming concerned, “Hey Cardinalfire, it’s early.”

He stalked in, dropping the mouse in front of her and sitting down, “I brought a snack.”

“Cardinalfire, what’s wrong?” she asked gently.

“Ka mamanku,” he murmured, lowering himself into a crouch and took a half-hearted bite from the prey. He shuddered a little - the taste of the blood washing through his mouth bringing his dream back to the forefront of his mind. He gagged a little at the thought while Spottedholly quickly mirrored his pose. “...I… had another Sight. Vision.”

He watched her expression slowly morph from confusion and sympathy at his exhausted state to alarm and concern as he recounted the dream - from the panic, the pain, the ashes turned to blood and how he’d sat in the destroyed remains of his nest before finally making his way to her. She draped her tail over his back while he explained, offering a sympathetic purr when he stuttered in a few places.

“What do I… do?” he asked tiredly at the end.

“What you do is rest,” Spottedholly told him. He gave her a confused expression and she chuckled lowly, passing over one of the piles of herbs she’d been sorting. “You’re here now and you’re safe - with no blood, no fire. You’ve told me about the dream - it seems like someone might get hurt on the deer-trail, so I’ll stock up on herbs and review techniques for handling those injuries.”

“Can’t we stop the accident from happening?” he fretted.

“Maybe and maybe not,” Spottedholly told him, pushing the herbs more insistently to him. “We can warn our cadets, exercise extra caution around the trail and teach cats what to look out for but in the end, all we can do is prepare. You’ve done your part Cardinalfire, now try to get some sleep - a tired legionary can’t prevent anything while he’s tripping over his tail.”

Cardinalfire nodded mutely in acceptance, tiredly chewing through the herbs she’d offered him before pushing himself back to his paws.

“Your sister mentioned you used to share nests - see Jackdawstripe will share with you,” Spottedholly suggested. “It might help you sleep better to have another body.”

He made a jumbled sound of confirmation and walked back to the legionary’s den - the sun was already starting to climb higher into the sky, it would be a very not-fun battle fixing his sleep-schedule back to being away during the sun-peak period but that wasn’t something he would worry about for now. He just ducked into the den, opening his mouth to subtly wake Jackdawstripe only to pause.

His best friend was already sitting up in his nest watching him with sad, yellow eyes. The remains of Cardinalfire’s nest were gone, while Jackdawstripe’s seemed to have doubled in size and a Cardinalfire-sized space had been left at the tom’s belly.

“You have nightmares a lot and Asha said sleeping together makes them less intense,” the dark-gray tom admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you but, um…”

Cardinalfire’s eyes stung as he trotted toward the nest and gingerly stepped inside. He turned twice in place before settling down, allowing Jackdawstripe’s massive, fluffy tail to settle over him. The russet tom shuffled backwards, instinctively cuddling into the thick, gray fur and releasing a soft sigh.

“Are you okay?” Jackdawstripe asked him quietly.

“...I think I am now,” Cardinalfire murmured back sleepily.

“Okay - sweet dreams, Cardinal.”

| | | |

“Cardinalfire? Hey, Cardinalfire.”

“Mm…?” the russet tom grumbled, tugging a paw up to cover his ears.

He heard a little laugh, “I know, I know, you’re tired but Our Storm wants to see us, surindi.”

Cardnalfire groaned and forced his eyes back open, feeling like he’d barely even closed them a moment before. He blinked tiredly at the gray paws filling his vision, a half-eaten squirrel resting between them as he drew his gaze upward to Jackdawstripe’s fond, amused expression. It took another moment for his brain to properly decipher what he’d heard before he sighed and slowly pushed himself back into a sitting position. A yawn broke free from his jaws as he shook his head.

“Surindi?” he said, trying to force the tiredness from his voice as he moved to gulp down the rest of the squirrel.

The thin skin of the larger tom’s ears turned red with obvious embarrassment as he looked away, “Sorry… it slipped out.”

“S’fine, what’s it mean?”

“It’s a name maam calls me sometimes,” Jackdawstripe admitted sheepishly. “It means ‘little bird.’ I can stop.”

“No, it’s okay,” Cardinalfire tells him. “I don’t mind.”

But now I have to come up with a name for him, Cardinalfire told himself. A good name too, something as sweet as ‘little bird.’ He stretched, trying to wake himself up even a little more though given how tired he still felt - this was probably the best he was going to get. He shook out his pelt then quickly licked down the worst of the stray patches to make himself look presentable for his leader. Seeing that Cardinalfire was done with his usual ‘pre-leaving grooming,’ Jackdawstripe led the way from the den.

“Thanks for last night,” Cardinalfire murmured as they stood in front of the entrance to the leader’s den.

“Don’t worry about it,” the tom said, his ears going red once more. “I used to do the same for Ravencroon… before…”

Cardinalfire licked his shoulder, conveying his sympathy and gratitude in the same motion. He turned and released a soft ‘meow’ into the den, announcing their presence to Asterdawn. There was a brief moment of silence before another echoed back, granting them entry.

Cardinalfire climbed in first without hesitation, used to lounging in the den with his ex-drill master. His paws sank lightly into the thin layer of moss and baby-grass that lined the inside of the log-den, the small bit of dew built up on the blades feeling cool and comforting on his own warm pads. He waited for Jackdawstripe to join him, the larger tom having to shake the draping lichen and ivy from his back and releasing a soft ‘mrrow’ of pleasure at the soft feeling on his paws.

“This den is reason enough to want to become the next Storm,” he whispered, making Cardinalfire snicker.

At the back of the den, Cardinalfire was slightly surprised to see three figures waiting for them. Asterdawn’s presence on a smooth warm rock, soaking in the last rays of sunlight on her pelt was a given - this was her den after all and Callastorm, with the remains of a rabbit piled a short distance away from where he laid on his belly wasn’t too surprising either because he was her lieutenant. But Quietpaw, slightly ruffled and shuffling in-place with her tail lashing back and forth across the ground was an unusual sight.

The two toms exchanged a glance before pressing on to sit before them.

“Thank you for coming so promptly,” Asterdawn said. “You have an important mission ahead of you.”

There was a brief pause, as if she was letting them think before she concluded, “The two of you will be joining Quietpaw in the quest to find the Galespun.”

“I- really?” Jackdawstripe blurted out while Cardinalfire blinked with surprise. He’d understood the implications from the Kirkyard meeting that it would be the Stormborn’s sole responsibility to return the moor-cats back to their rightful places but he’d assumed that his Storm would choose more senior legionaries - like Wildheart or Cedarfur.

“It will be a true testament of your skills,” Callastorm added smoothly. “You’ll likely be crossing through hostile territory and the Galespun has likely left faction-territory altogether for their own safety.”

“Why not Cricketleap?” Cardinalfire suggested.

“Because I trust you two,” Quietpaw said firmly, drawing their eyes back to herself. “Asterdawn says you’ve met my Gale and you’ve always been against Scornedclaw from the beginning. I’m only taking cats I can trust with me on this mission and the only ones I’d want are you and the others are cadets.”

“Aside from that, we need our largest and strongest legionaries to remain guarding our borders,” Callastorm added. “Scornedclaw expressed intent of revenge and I wouldn’t put it past him to attack us just as ahaliim starts thinning the prey.”

Cardinalfire exchanged a look with Jackdawstripe before they nodded together.

“Alright Quietpaw,” Cardinalfire said. “Let’s find your faction.”

“Good,” Asterdawn said, approval and pride for their decision ringing through her voice. “Go to Spottedholly - she’ll have some traveling herbs for you to take and some basic herbs to bring along. And remember, once you cross the borders you represent not just the Stormborn, but all four factions in your words and your behavior.”

| | | |

Thing moved pretty quickly from there - Spottedholly had already been alerted that a party of three would be leaving for a long trip and handed over the herb bundles with a kind set of well-wishes. Quietpaw led them from their territory and directly to the Kirkyard, her paws finally moving through the forest with the grace of a Stormborn cat with every careful leap and bound. Even the few times she stumbled didn’t slow her down, the molly still moving like the gods had given her wings and the ability to float over all mortal obstacles. By the time they had made it to the moor, they were all panting lightly from the unexpected sprint and Cardinalfire shook his head.

Forgot to pace myself, he panted while Quietpaw sniffed the edge of the land.

“I smell the stench of Fenn and Shores,” she grumbled, tail lashing with open frustration. “We need to be careful.”

“Okay,” agreed the two toms.

Quietpaw immediately took off again, seemingly alternating between striding tall and unafraid in her own territory and skulking cautiously, worried about enemy warriors.

“Ugh,” complained Jackdawstripe, squinting across the wide array of grasses and brush. His ears were pulled back against his head, faced screwed up from the force of the wind. “Is it always so windy up here?”

“There aren’t enough trees to stop it,” Cardinalfire said. He was faring a bit better than his best friend, his eyes well adapted to handling the smoke from the Hearth that billowed from the cub’s clearing though the way the wind dried out his eyes still wasn’t pleasant. “I guess that’s why this is the gales.”

“The factions were named after the founders,” corrected Quietpaw. “Ours was named for Fading Gale by Nimble Breeze herself.”

“Still don’t know either of them would step onto this scraggy patch of land and think ‘wow, I sure do love the way my whiskers are whipping my muzzle!’”

“We wonder the same thing about Rumbling Storm walking into your land and deciding, ‘stars you know what would make my day? Pricking my paws on eight different thorns.’”

“Well I think you’re both crazy - ‘oh yes, let’s sleep in the cold instead of near a hearth.’” mocked Cardinalfire.

“You kingdom cats are crazy for sleeping near fire,” scoffed Quietpaw good-naturedly.

Quietpaw led the way through the brush, her amused and joking manner fading away the closer they got to the Galespun camp. The deeper they got, the worse it looked - with torn up patches of grass and dirt, broken bushes and clawmarks scraped into the various rocks and earth. Drips and spatters of dried blood became ever more visible, what Cardinalfire had initially thought were dandelion tufts dancing through the air ending up being bundles of underfur.

Cardinalfire could hardly bring himself to curse out the tangled gorse that lined the dip leading into the Galespun camp, too distracted by the clumps of blood and fur tangled in the thorns.

“Gods…” Jackdawstripe whispered, looking in horror around the camp

Cardinalfire agreed. Even if the Fenns had wanted to deny what they’d done, it was too obvious what had happened here - there was bedding scattered throughout the open camp, torn up and half trampled in front of the various little tunnels. Even more smears of blood and claw-marks gouged into the ground, this time accompanied by the scores and marks from Magpietail’s spark. He could only imagine the confusion, the raw terror that must have overwhelmed the elders as they were dragged spitting and shrieking from their den, the fear and distress of cubs as their parents fought furiously to defend them in the nursery.

Jackdawstripe nudged him, still staring in muted horror as he pointed his whiskers toward a corpse laying splayed on the ground. Cardinalfire felt his heart sink as he took in the mostly decomposed shape swarming with flies and crawling with maggots and beetles, long limbs and ears identifying the lump as a likely Galespun member. Worse, the carcass wasn’t very big even with the chunks missing, likely from scavengers coming across the body.

Quietpaw walked quietly toward the body, lowering her head to touch noses with the corpse.

“Volepaw,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry…”

Jackdawstripe slunk forward, draping his tail across her back in silent support of their friend while she grieved her faction.

Did the Shores come this far down? Did they see what was done here? They couldn’t have or else they would agree that what happened wasn’t right…

“We should bury him,” Jackdawstripe suggested. “Put his spirit to rest. Where do you bury your cats?”

Quietpaw gave a bitter laugh, “Doesn’t matter, he’s too far gone to move that far. We can bury him here, in the camp - at least he’ll still be able to see the stars.”

The toms started digging without saying anything else, just scooping out earth to create a hollow large enough for the little body. They pushed the body carefully, clearly in agreement that any movement too hard would have the body dissolving and falling to pieces like cobwebs in the rain. The hole was shallow, not nearly as deep as they would usually bury a body but the shape it was in made Cardinalfire inclined to believe the scavengers had already gotten as much as they wanted from the young tom. They took a moment to pat the small grave down, Jackdawstripe solemnly planting a stick up-right in the earth to mark the location before Quietpaw dragged herself away.

“Over here,” the molly murmured, gesturing to a tunnel that Cardinalfire knows he would’ve walked right past. “It’s an escape tunnel.”

“How come the Fenns didn’t find it?” Jackdawstripe asked, sniffing around the edge.

“There are others - so we can evacuate the whole faction at once,” she said blankly. Her tail flicked to another spot, a large pile of dirt and rocks lumped up seemingly at random. “They noticed and started collapsing tunnels. Even when there were cats in them. So many cats drowned in earth…”

A shiver ran unbidden through her body before she turned and slipped into the den.

Cardinalfire shot his abashed looking friend a scolding look - now was not the time to ask those sorts of questions - before following the slender molly into the darkened cavern.

He coughed a little as he breathed in. The scents in the camp had been so stale, so faint that without the signs of a battle, Cardinalfire could’ve been convinced that no one had lived in that little camp at all but the cavern was different. His lungs were flooded with the pungent scent of terror and fear of Galespun cats fleeing a massacre in their own home. There was more than just drops or spatters of blood here but rather, fully formed dried brown pawsteps and blood streaked across the tunnel walls like cats had been dragging their open wounds across it.

He made a strangled noise in his chest as he stepped over a tiny crushed and mutilated body - a cub trampled as the faction fled, yet another life wasted.

How long did she stay in this camp before the Fenn-patrols made it unsafe to say? Cardinalfire wondered, frazzled. How is she just walking through this like she doesn’t see it?

He was glad suddenly that no one else would see this, that none of his faction-mates would ever have to see the Galespun brought so low.

He tried to be discreet in the way he sucked in a breath of fresh, non-stale or fear drenched air when the tunnel curved upward toward the surface.

“There’s another route they could have taken but… it goes out of Empire territory,” Quietpaw noted, her tail lashing slowly with discomfort. She twisted, looking over at the two toms. “So if either of you are ready to bow out-”

“No,” said Cardinalfire said firmly, Jackdawstripe straightening up in agreement with him. “We’re going to go find them.”

“Aside from just being the right thing to do, we have friends in your faction too,” insisted Jackdawstripe. “Hornetpaw and Tumblepaw were our friends - and if… if they’re gone… well the best thing we can do is bring their kin back home.”

Quietpaw looked between the two of them and then sighed softly, an expression of relief dawning on her face.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Come on, the sun is setting so we can rest in one of the Escort Outposts.”

/ / / /

Faction Translations

Ahaliim | The cold season before it starts snowing (lit. falling eye)

Ukennva | the place where all recently caught prey is gathered to be eaten at leisure (flit. fresh-prey)

Surindi | An affectionate pet-name passed down through Jackdawstripe’s family. As the word for wren (rindi) can be used as a catch-all word for ‘seed birds’ it vaguely means ‘little seed bird’ or simply ‘little bird.’ (lit. little-wren)

Sivake Translations

Ka mamanku | I’m (currently) exhausted

/ / / /

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#strelles au #strelles cardinalfire #fanfiction #fanfic #spark the light chapters #strelles quietpaw #strelles jackdawstripe

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