#and you are allowed to eat it foe your own well being

[sereniv]

i literally witnessed years ago Someone talking about amazonian(?) indigenous people, acting like they care, saying veganism hurts native ppl

and a literal person who was of that heritage, so native, spoke up- and got told to shut up

and i have seen this multiple times, not just native ppl but all types of marginalized identities. you know how much that fucking hurts to see? like physically?

to see people act like they care about these people, and when you correct them suddenly they tell you to shut up, or "they arent reading all that " or they block you?

because they refuse to update the information theyve been taught and change the perception they've grown

because they DONT care about native ppl they DONT care about black people they DONT care about autistic people THEY DONT CARE

Or else they would be happy to find that their rant about slave quinoa children is actually false. they would feel happy. but they don't

they seem disappointed

they

are disappointed

time and time again

when proven that there are no slaves

that there is no abuse

or they justify abuse when it comes to slaughterhouse workers

If this was from right wingers it wouldnt hurt as bad bc you expect it

but these are from leftists and not just new leftists- abolishionists- people who are far left who otherwise would be on board with what actual veganism is

people you trust to fight and stand beside marginalized communities because they are part of them

and then they act like right wingers and its so fucking exhausting

Ive told someone "Veganism is literally, simply, doing what you personally can do, within your self identified limits, to avoid all forms of unnecessary animal exploitation."

and they still got mad.

and that is loud and clear in my eyes

"do your best" and you get angry? ok

Anti-vegans are cowards.

They post in the vegan tag on a public website and then when they are called out for their dipshit takes, they cry and scream and block instead of “owning” those criticizing them despite claiming vegans are “too stupid” to do so.

They are especially cowardly little shits when the marginalized groups they were putting on a pedestal to use against veganism and animal rights (or other social justice issues like climate change, human rights, the environment, politics, etc.) come out of the woodwork to educate and/or criticize them.

They then proceed to ignore, argue with, block, berate, or *accuse those people of not being part of the groups that they are*. Because it’s so much easier to sweep them under the rug then to have hard and nuanced conversations or takes.

These people have fake morals, fake ethics, and are fake leftists.

We see you. We see your bullshit. It isn’t edgy, or cute, or funny. It’s misinformation just like that of right-wing conservatives. It makes y’all sellouts and grifters.

[eelnoise]

pulsewidth (nsfw!)

zoro x fem!reader

masterlist kofi

cw: scent kinks, pussy eating, piv sex on a weight bench idk

an: well, here you go. take my post workout brainrot in fic form. pls ignore any formatting issues i phoneposted this

wc: 1.9k

tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @nina-ya @strawheart-pirate @missmugiwara @sanjisjuul @kibblz-n-bitz @sleepymarimo

You don’t join Zoro for most of his time spent training, but do occasionally bid yourself into the Crow’s Nest to quietly work out alongside him – though far enough away to avoid being the victim of a rogue blade to the gut should you accidentally get too close.

You hum to yourself, generally content in your usual routine that’s become so normal that your mind begins to wander from the monotony of your motions. Even the sounds of Zoro’s blades slashing into a dummy across the room begin to fade into the background and merge with the rhythmic, low rumble of the room’s atmosphere.

Though you're ripped from both your focus and the calm when your ears perk at the sound of your name. You pause your workout, body turning to face Zoro with arms still extended – though your scowl of concentration melts into a relaxed smile as you look at him curiously.

“Do me a favor?” he says, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand once he's sure he has your attention. “D’ya think you could try and dodge some swings?” Zoro asks, motioning to the blades in his hands. "Y'know, kinda like a moving target?"

“Only if you promise not to hurt me!” you tease with a wag of your finger, knowing full well the swordsman would never lay a harmful finger on you.

Zoro rolls his eyes and waves you over again. "I'll try my best to keep 'em to myself," he replies, his gaze glinting with amusement. He shifts his stance, golden earrings clinking together and catching a twinkle in the sunlight – and with two swords at his sides and held at the ready, even the air around him seems to crack with a fierce energy.

"When you're ready," he calls out, waiting for you to position yourself.

You know full well that Zoro's a formidable foe but you’re no slouch in the fighting department either. You circle around him, matching his pace, your own muscles tense and ready.

Zoro makes the first move, his swords slashing out in a blur, the dull edges aimed for your torso. You duck under the first strike just in time, but fail to avoid the second and third. His eyes narrow, his lips curling into a predatory grin as his swords whistle through the air, just brushing past your body.

"Nice dodge," he compliments, spurred on by the challenge you present. He switches tactics, the blades now spinning towards your legs, seeking to knock you off balance. "You move quick."

Sweat runs down your brow, mingling with the salt from your skin as you work to keep up with the swordsman. The air grows thick with the heat of the spar, both bodies dancing in a duet of dodges, near misses, and – when you can't quite keep up with his movements – sharp jabs to your ribs with the dull edge of one of his blades.

The sweat-slicked floor threatens to throw off your footing when you try to dodge a particularly quick swing to the thigh – and it ultimately succeeds in doing so following an unbalanced duck that causes you to slide forward. You spread your arms in a feeble attempt to stay upright, but land face-first into Zoro's bare chest.

Zoro's heart skips a beat as your body collides with his, the wet heat of your skin and the scent of your sweat invading his senses. His swords clatter to the floor, the blades falling from lax fingers as he reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your waist to keep you from sliding off.

"Not bad," he grunts, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. He loosens his grip, allowing you to stand, but he keeps his hands on your waist, his gaze locked onto yours. "You're improving."

His muscles tense, the urge to wrap you in an embrace almost too strong to resist. Zoro's thumbs brush against the curves of your hips, his grip tight enough to keep you steady, but gentle enough to hint at a desire to explore more.

For a moment, time seems to freeze, and the only thing you can hear is the rapid thump of your heartbeat in your ears. Zoro pulls you closer, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue flicks against yours, demanding entry as his hands begin to roam, one sliding under your shirt, the other gripping your ass.

Zoro groans, his hand pushing your shirt up to reveal more of your skin. His fingers trail along your sides, lingering over your hip bone and the curve of your waist, the roughness of his skin contrasting with the smoothness of yours.

Your body responds to his, the heat between you intensifying, the air charged with the potency of desire. Zoro's mouth travels down the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses in its wake. He guides you to the weight bench, easing you on it gently – but with the determination of a man who knows what he wants.

His eyes roam over your body, drinking in the sight of your curves, the smoothness of your skin, and the dewy tinge of your breasts. His hands roam to trace their outline, thumb circling your nipples, his touch firm yet gentle.

Zoro’s mouth closes over one of your hardened peaks, sucking gently while his hand cups the other. You arch your back, offering yourself to him, your breath hitching as pleasure begins to spiral throughout your body.

You gasp out his name, fingers finding the length of his toned back as his heavenly ministrations continue. Your body trembles under his touch, each sensation a path to the aching core between your legs.

He releases you with a soft pop before trailing kisses down your body, his gaze never leaving yours. As he reaches the waistband of your shorts, your breathing grows more erratic, the anticipation of what's to come nearly unbearable.

Zoro watches as your eyes flutter shut, the motions of his mouth and hands eliciting soft moans from you. He hooks his thumbs under your shorts and – with the aid of your hips and thighs raising upward – slides them down your thighs.

He spreads your legs wide, his fingers trailing between them and teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the heady scent of your arousal, His finger slips under your panties and pulls them aside before sliding you down the bench and closer to his mouth. Large hands settle on your hips as he buries his face between your legs, his tongue tasting your folds in long strokes.

Zoro takes hold of one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder to give him better access to your core. He grins against your skin, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh, his breath warm and heavy. "So sweet," his lust-drenched voice growls into your ear.

Zoro's tongue flickers against you, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His fingers graze over your entrance, and in an instant he fills you with two large fingers, making you gasp out in pleasure.

Zoro's tongue circles your clit while his fingers plunge in and out, the rhythm quick and deliberate, each curl that brushes up against the sweet spot inside of you. His gaze fix on your face, watching the expressions flicker across it, drinking in the sight of your pleasure – and with a final, skilled flick of his tongue and a deep thrust of his fingers, you cry out in bliss, your body convulsing as pleasure claims you, overwhelming your senses in a glorious wave of delirium.

Zoro continues to worship you, lapping up your essence until your body calms and your breathing returns to normal. He slips from between your legs, and he rises, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck," he mutters, adjusting himself to hurriedly tug his pants down, releasing his thick, precum-beaded cock to the hot air of the nest.

"Hold onto me," he says as his grip takes hold of the backs of your thighs. It's a suggestion, but it's the only warning you'll get. He positions himself at your entrance, cock nudging against you. And with a firm but controlled motion, he pushes into you, stretching you wide and filling you full. His lips find yours once more, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ferocity he uses to claim your body.

Zoro groans into your throat, the sound rumbling through your body as he begins to thrust, his hips moving in a steady, driving rhythm. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place tightly while his cock slides in and out with wet, satisfying slaps.

The rocking of his hips becomes more insistent, his movements growing more urgent, his cock hitting all the right spots to keep you on the edge of ecstasy. His breath grows harsher, the beat of his heart pounding against your chest, your bodies moving in harmony.

Zoro's hand slides between the two of you, thumb finding your clit to rub in circles, the motion in perfect sync with his thrusts. The building heat within you flares, the edge of another orgasm sprawling at your senses.

His movements grow more erratic, his thrusts more desperate and fierce, his grip on your waist tightening, his free hand working your clit with a skill that borders on obsessive.

"Zoro!" you gasp out, your body tensing as the pleasure spirals out of control. His name is a plea, a demand, for him to keep going, to not stop, to let you reach that peak.

He exhales sharply as he feels you tighten around him, the slick, wet heat of your sex milking his cock. "Already?" he muses as if he isn’t about to burst as well. His thrusts grow more frenzied, the look in his eyes a mix of lust and possessiveness.

With no time to consider a reply, your orgasm crashes over you – body shuddering and pussy clenching hard around him. Zoro growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his own release. With one last, hard plunge, he lets out a guttural cry, his cock pulsating as he fills you with his seed.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his lips brushing against your neck, his voice a ragged whisper. "Damn, girl," he mutters, the sharp edge of his tone helping to snap you back into reality.

"What do you mean 'damn, girl'?" You retort with a faux whine and a playful hit to his shoulder. "That was all you, I just went along with it."

"Well, you're a distraction," He chides with a smirk, coiling his arms around you before rolling you atop him. Zoro holds you to him closely, his cheek nestling down into your hair.

You grin, nestling against the warmth of Zoro's chest, the weight of his arm around you a comforting anchor. “Yeah, well, things happen," you reply with an impish grin of your own while your fingers begin trailing up and down the sides of his torso.

Zoro's arm tightens, his fingers linking with yours as you trail them along his skin. "I'm not complainin'," he murmurs, smiling into you.

The two of you lie there, breath in tandem and slowing from exertion. The rise and fall of his chest threatens to lull you into slumber, and you almost let it do so – though you think better of it due to the awkward position that someone else may find the two of you in.

"Take a bath with me, stinky," You say, tilting your chin up to him. "C'mon."

Zoro chuckles at your quip, the sound gentle and amused, before giving a playful nudge to your side. "Alright, stinky.” He says, lifting you up and off of him. “Lead the way."

[hisonlyreid-er]

Everything She Had

Summary: Sometimes Spencer has a rough day, sometimes you do too. Both of you are each others comfort.

Warnings: mentions of stress, being overwhelmed and loneliness.

Spencer Reid x nonBAU!reader

"And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality...."

People. The sheer greatest foe for both you and Spencer, but for entirely different reasons. Spence hates trying to navigate the 'norms' such as handshakes and not relaying facts. It made him dread meeting anyone new. You, however, hate the fakeness and pressure people push. It makes you want to throw hands with everyone who gives you so much as a dirty look. That's why you are perfect for each other, Spence doesn't confront people when they are being bitchy and you do. That's why he admires you with such gravity.

Spencer had returned from a tough case and you had gotten back from work at the law firm. He spent the entire case treading lightly around everyone because tensions were high. You spent the whole day rushing files back and forth, doing everyone's job as well as your own. That stress meant that you didn't even clock the fact there was an extra car in the buildings parking. You didn't even notice the lights on when you got to the door of your joint appartement or the familiar coat on the rack once you opened the door.

Shrugging off your coat, you kicked off your shoes. Spencer stood at the end of the hallway, waiting for you to notice him. He always told you to be more vigilant and if he hadn't missed you for over a week, he may have told you off but he just couldn't. Spence watched you drop everything at the door before running a hand down your face in a tired motion.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. You spun around in fear expecting to find a murderer but instead caught the sight of your love. He just stood there with a goofy smile, watching you. " Spencer" Your voice caught in your throat and your feet began to move towards him. Your pace began to increase as he opened him arms in a welcoming display. Trusting Spencer completely, you jumped at him. Wrapping your arms round him neck, burying your face in him neck and your legs enclosing him waist. His hand flew beneath you to hold you up.

That's how you stayed for god knows how long. Holding each other. Allowing the stress of today to be washed away in the presence of the other. Spencer held on tightly, not wanting to let you go ever again. You held onto him as if he might just disappear if you didn't keep him there. The whole time you were apart was riddled with longing nights and disappointed mornings. It broke his heart every time you had to wake up alone, go through a stressful day alone, eat alone. You hated everyday he was chasing killer, not knowing if you were going to get the call to tell you he'd be injured or worse. But it was times like these when all the worries were washed away and you didn't want to take that time for granted. You didn't want to take him for granted.

Spencer had 3 days without work. So, for 3 days, you laughed with each other, ate together, read together, did everything together to make up for the time lost while he was away. Those 3 days flew by and before you knew it, there was another case lined up. But even with all this time apart, your relationship stayed strong because you knew Spencer would come home one day and you'd have time for just each other. That's why you chose each other. That's why you'd always choose each other.

Because for her, he was everything she had and for him, she was everything he ever wanted to have.

"...I'd find you and I'd choose you,"

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Better Random Encounters

One of the most important steps I made in my journey to becoming a good dungeonmaster was realizing that quite a lot of the system I was learning and the popular advice surrounding it was absolute garbage. 5 to 8 encounters per adventuring day? Encumbrance? Many of these things were holdovers from the days when the game consisted solely of dungeon crawling until level 10, and had no bearing on the character centric narrative adventure game I was wanting to play. 

Random encounters were one of those holdovers: an expectation that every dungeon, wilderness location, and even city should have it’s own list ( level appropriate or not) of various challenges and random sights that the party should roll for by day or hour as long as they were playing the game. Specifically, they’re a holdover from a time when random encounters were the main way that players would find these sights and challenges, as much of the gameplay was otherwise about exploring a large ( and mostly empty) map of a dungeon or landscape. This is where the idea about 5-8 encounters per day really comes from.

The real problem is that encounters these days are quite a lot of work, both in that the DM has to put a lot of energy into making each encounter entertaining/challenging AND that any potential combat or RP is going to eat up a lot of table time. The workload for DMs is compounded by the fact that if the party isn’t having frequent random encounters in the same area, a good portion of their prep work is wasted, which begs the question of why do random encounters at all and not just concentrate all their efforts on one or two really good encounters? This is the route I’ve seen most groups take , leaving random encounters as obligatory filler, if they use it at all.

But what if you still like the idea of random encounters? Well below the cut I’m going to show you not only how to design encounters that take advantage of an element of randomness while still keeping that focused feel, and over here I’ll talk about how to design adventures that embody that element of discovery random encounters were supposed to facilitate in the first place.

The Jack-in-the-Box Encounter: Imagine that your party has crept into the lair of some terrifying monster in pursuit of their current goal, perhaps they’re looting a ruin, or recovering a mcguffin, or rescuing an abducted npc. They know that if they stay too long, the monster will discover them and they’ll have to face down a foe that far exceeds their current strength so they need to be smart, cautious, and fast, despite seldom being any one of these things. Allow them to explore the lair freely but every time they make noise or take a lot of time doing something, you throw a d6 into a cup or small bowl in a way that -plinks- ominously. Six dice in the bowl? Roll them, and if the number 6 comes up, the beast has arrived and the heroes have a hell of a fight on their hands.

This method of encounterbuilding allows you to have a threat looming over the party’s heads, acting like a clock that ticks forward whenever they move. The best part is that it’s possible to get to the limit of six dice and not have the jack-in-the-box encounter trigger, meaning that their luck holds out. if you want to give them extra wiggle room ( such as if they have to explore a whole dungeon without alerting the boss) you could do a countdown system, three 6 needed to pass on their first trigger, then only two, then one on every subsequent throw. 

Whether or not the enemy announces itself when triggered is entirely dependant on how you want the encounter to play out: A giant might thunderously return home giving the party one last chance to dive for cover before they’re spotted, while a shadowy wraith might stalk the party from the darkness, waiting for the perfect time to strike under the pretenses that the count is still continuing.

You could also use this to represent a bountyhunter tracking down the party over the course of weeks, getting just a bit closer every time they give themselves away. 

[strengthinbloom]

Strength in Bloom [Chapter 7]

(full chapter for you guys this time <3) (this happens while Sakura is being held hostage by a mysterious nukenin!)

Life was good in the Hidden Village of the Leaf. Over the years, Sakura had made real friends and at least one good rival, and had learned so much with Iruka, Kakashi, Tsunade, Shizune and so many others who were so good to her. There were those who looked down on her for not belonging to a prestigious shinobi Clan, but she had proven them wrong time over time.

She had Naruto to thank for that. After all, he had been the one to prove Neji wrong in the Exams, and when that wasn’t enough, he proved Gaara wrong too. Kakashi-sensei taught them tactics and Ninjutsu, but really it was Naruto who inspired them. Their lives had never been the same since the Land of Waves.

And during the Exams… Sakura grasped at the shortened threads of her hair, letting the memories wash over her once again. Naruto and Sasuke were so brave back then. I wish they could see me now. She had considered growing out her hair again, but she came to like the new haircut. Shizune had short hair too, and she was beautiful. Sakura didn’t have to compete with the likes of Ino anymore.

“What is the difference between shinobi and kunoichi, Sakura?” Tsunade had once inquired her. “Can you tell me?”

Sakura took a moment to think. They were both exhausted and covered in sweat after a long session of sparring; All around them, the training grounds had been reduced to cratered earth and shattered trees. “Is this a trick question, sensei? We learned all that mumbo-jumbo in the Academy a long time ago.” She answered with a know-it-all smirk. “Back during Sengoku Jidai, before Shodaime-sama founded our Village, only men were allowed to fight. So shinobi lead field missions while kunoichi infiltrated as princesses, geisha or serving women. Even whores, sometimes.”

Tsunade chuckled softly. “You aren’t wrong, dear student. But there’s more to it than History.” She took a long sip of her water bottle and splashed it across her face, the coolness a welcome relief. “The difference between shinobi and kunochi is simply what the world expects of them.”

Sakura frowned, so the Hokage explained it further: “Men are simple creatures, kid. You’ll learn that soon enough. Most shinobi, friend or foe, will expect less of you simply because you don’t have a weiner hanging between your legs. Your enemies will assume you are the weak link of your squad, and will lower their guard when they’re fighting you. You can use that. Yeah, kunoichi of the past have taken down tyrants and emperors by killing them when they were most vulnerable: naked in bed, their eyes closed, ready for some fun… That’s pretty badass, not gonna lie. But nowadays, any shinobi can pull that off with a good Transformation Technique.” She winked. “We gotta be more creative than that.”

“I understand, sensei.” Sakura took a sip of her own water. Lady Tsunade always gave her lots to think about after these sessions, in addition to the bruises all over her body. She couldn’t help but wonder if Jiraya did the same with Naruto, and if Sasuke…

Tsunade must have noticed the sadness in her eyes. She stood up and hopped from one foot to the other, raising her fists. “Come on, back to work, now. Your stance is still way too off, you need more practice before we’re done for the day.

O, Konoha! O, Hokage-sama! Those had been good times, and for that Sakura was thankful. If only I could see them one last time. Walk among the trees in the Training Grounds, tend to the deers in the Nara woods, get a big bowl of Ichiraku Ramen with her friends… Kakashi used to give them all-you-can-eat tickets after a particularly tough mission. She had been thinking she could do the same with Neji and Kiba once they were back, even if they weren’t exactly friends. She thought it might make things better. They would be going out in other missions as well, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a non-hostile environment.

But none of that mattered anymore. They had encountered nukenin on the road, and had lost the fight before it even started. Neji had been captured or neutralized. With luck, Kiba would stall the puppeteer long enough for her to run, and she would return to Konoha with news that Hyuuga Neji and Inuzuka Kiba had been killed in the battlefield.

Tsunade would be disappointed. “Neji is one of the finest shinobi in this village, and a martial arts specialist.” She had said. “These are difficult times, and we must make do with what we have.”

Konoha found itself in dreadful need of competent shinobi, and Sakura had managed to get one of them killed in his first mission as a Jonin. The Third Shinobi War, the Uchiha Massacre, and more recently Orochimaru’s invasion had costed the lives of many high-ranking shinobi, including notable names like he Yellow Lightning, Fugaku of the Wicked Eye and Shisui of the Body Flicker.

Even if she survived the mission, Sakura would forever carry this failure on her shoulders. Once she aspired to rise to Jonin, and train a trio of Genin just like Kakashi… But now, how could she ever do it? After she let Neji and Kiba behind, unable to save them, to protect them, to heal them.

“That will be enough.” Said a mysterious voice, far away. “Let her wake.”

Sakura opened her eyes with a snap of invisible fingers.

[End of chapter]

[belit0]

Ayyy i finally figured out how to send a request! I love your writings so MUCH! Finally one good writer who loves Indra as much as I do! Please never stop writing you got a talent!♡♡

Foe the request...Can I request Indra falling in love with a foreign princess who he meets during his travels? Or another place..?(I leave it up to you hehehe!)

THANKS BEFOREHAND ANS ALL HAIL LORD AND SAVIOR INDRA 🙏

Thank you so much for the support 😭😭💕💕 it means the world to me!! This blog is a sanctuary for our man, so of course I had to do your beautiful request!!

It got unexpectedly angsty at the end, so there's that lol. I can make a pt 2 if you would like, just lemme know!🤗💫

Again, thank you for trusting me, and I really hope you like it :)

TW: none Pairing: Otsutsuki Indra / reader SFW

What else could have Indra done apart from running away after losing to Ashura? Not only was his life in danger by staying nearby, but also his ego.

He decided it would be wise to stay away for a while, rebuild his strategy, perhaps even add people to his cause, and then return to the attack. His home would remain where he left it, ruled unjustly by his younger brother.

Setting out on the road was the easy part, gathering just enough belongings and commanding an unknown route. The hard part was convincing himself this was the right thing to do. He fought fiercely with his own impulses to refrain from returning to battle after being defeated, having to think with a cool head and not through his anger or resentment.

Walking freely without feeling watched or pursued was the most rewarding part, once away from the lands he had once considered his own. He had to move cautiously and carefully in the immediacy of his former place, knowing Ashura was probably looking for him, wanting to negotiate some sort of peace between the two of them.

That would not happen.

This new sense of security brought with it the possibility of enjoying things he had lost track of. Walking in the winter sun, eating a bowl of hot soup sitting in the warmth of a local food stall, feeling the rain fall against his face.

Unwittingly, in all the years leading up to the culmination of the conflict with his brother, he had built up a tough, impenetrable image of himself. He stopped feeling like a normal person, no longer rejoicing in the simple pleasures of life, but forging an iron shell around himself.

Training, study, practice. The only three things he lived by for too long. Losing that confrontation and having to flee, he admitted to himself ruefully, somehow allowed him to behave like a regular individual again, and not as an untouchable being.

Finding his journey to be longer and longer, he was experiencing different places and things, interacting only enough so as not to be recognized. He had no idea how far-reaching his family conflict might have been, but he preferred not to find out.

He walked countless routes and places, saw things he never thought possible, and began to understand perhaps there was something beyond all his pain and suffering, beyond his anger. The hatred became smaller inside him, and that malicious dark voice constantly whispering terrible things in his ear, disappeared.

Eventually, the money he had initially taken from home became scarce. He could no longer afford to use it indiscriminately and found himself in the position of needing to work to keep a hot plate of food before him.

Thus, he began to gain experience in simple things which allowed him access to basic necessities. Plowing an old man's field in exchange for a hot shower, helping to shear sheep for some good noodles, and drawing water from a well for a woman in return for a fresh change of clothes.

He took a taste for a life of toil, seeing how his hard work got him things, and entirely forgot about the cradle of power and royalty into which he had been born.

In this fashion, he arrived at an opulent palace, just as holes were emerging in his pants as a result of his hard work. He would surveyed the area before even considering venturing to knock on the door, squatting in the undergrowth of the garden, shouldering a sack with the belongings he still kept.

Right in the middle of his analysis, totally absorbed by ideas that crossed his mind about what services he could offer to the residents of the place, a feminine voice spoke happily behind him.

"It's a nice place, isn't it? Don't even think about trying to rob it, it's heavily guarded."

Surprised at how the girl managed to outwit his personal high guard, he took a moment to look at her and decide if she was a threat.

"I'm not contemplating theft, ma'am. I intend to trade services for personal goods."

"Pretty good vocabulary you've got there! You don't seem to be a simple country bumpkin. Where are you from, where are you going and what are you looking for?"

"Those might be lots of questions, ma'am."

"Perhaps they are. Come, let's go."

The young woman guided him into the palace, where he discovered she was the princess of the land. Her father agreed to provide duties for him, offering a long-term contract and a stay at the manor. He would work, eat and live on the premises, where he was provided with his own hut and privacy.

As time went on, he learned the girl's name was (Y/N), and she had a wonderful personality. Unlike many of the royalty he had met in his past, hell, including himself! (Y/N) broke all the rules.

She was rarely seen following diplomatic protocol, slipping away and preferring to interact more with the employees than with her own family. The two began to spend time together, only because she would show up to keep him company while he went about his daily chores.

She would bring him refreshing drinks on sunny days, and make him hot tea on chilly nights. She managed to convince her father to spare him from working on rainy days, to which Indra flatly refused. Unable to accept the special treatment, it was (Y/N) who cured his cold when he became terribly ill.

Even so, throughout his entire experience, Indra refused to lose his physical abilities, always finding time to keep up with exercise in spite of his work. If he couldn’t train, it felt like losing himself in a different life, and he had no way of coping without having physical relief. He needed to feel soreness in his muscles, pain after long afternoons of moving around. Still, (Y/N) became a great companion in his leisure time, watching him practice his moves and techniques, even asking him to teach her some of them.

The legend of his cursed eyes, though he learned over time and from people who like to spread rumors, became a popular story. The monster with long brown hair and red eyes who tried to mercilessly murder his poor younger brother. The poor younger brother who refused to believe his older brother was evil, and continues to search for him to this day.

It became a bedtime tale mothers would use to put their children to sleep, recounting the words "If you don't go to sleep early, the red-eyed beast will come for you!” It became the warnings parents would give their daughters before letting them go out alone, "Walk in places with people and lots of light, the red-eyed man is out there".

He would hear these incorrect stories everywhere, even leaking into the palace. (Y/N)'s father increased security, fearing the tyrant would come through the gates and destroy his family.

Indra became much more careful with himself, what he said, or how he acted since any false step could push him through endless misfortunes, losing everything he had worked to achieve.

The one who always managed to catch him red-handed, however, was her. At some point, he started to feel a certain discomfort in his chest every time they saw each other. His heart raced and his thoughts wandered to the beauty of her face, her perfect figure, her flowing tresses.

Soon, it became all he could think about, and it seemed to be a reciprocated feeling. (Y/N) started to prove herself closer to him, taking advantage of any excuse for caressing him or getting closer to him. Every training session he allowed her to observe was a way for her to end up entangled in his arms, a closeness that was unfamiliar and adrenalin-inducing for Indra.

He had never considered any woman in this way, never thought he could entertain romantic ideas. His vision of womanhood was only through retrograde thinking, a vessel he would use to carry his future generations once he became the leader of his clan.

This was completely different, (Y/N) turned him upside down, caused him to get tongue-tied, made him feel physically weird and emotionally a mess. She seemed to carry him with ease, as if it wasn't her first time in the ring, having had experience in flirtation.

Without even thinking about it, he let himself go. New experiences also applied to personal situations, things he never thought he would encounter.

But all good things come to an end.

Everything was a wonderful rosy color until the worst happened. Indra allowed himself to let his guard down around her, to relax completely, and once the rumors about him disappeared from immediacy, he indulged in training as he needed to.

Using his Sharingan to its fullest, even unleashing the Mangekyōu, he drifted into his personal session. He trusted (Y/N) was entertaining a family lunch, royalty gathering from all places in her house, princess duties.

He would always conduct his training away from the perimeters of the palace, fearing that its intensity might alert his patrons. But (Y/N) knows the location, and Indra should know by now how hard it is for her to keep up with her political agenda.

She has never seen him use his strength 100%, getting caught up in the moment and practicing even his most difficult techniques. She always observed him in his more physical, simpler movements. Indra didn't plan on teaching any of his true potential, but it seems he didn't have a choice.

At the precise moment when his black flames of Amaterasu self-consume by his own volition, (Y/N) watches him closely. She can see his demonic red eyes burning, with an intricate pattern in his pupil. Indra looks calm, sitting before the fire and spreading it at different distances to extinguish it the next moment.

He does not seem to have noticed her presence, until she tries to move away from a scene unlike anything she expected to see, stumbling over her own feet and falling to the ground. A small shriek of panic escapes her lips as she falls, watching in disbelief as Indra turns to look at her with blood-colored eyes.

"(Y/N)...?"

He asks in a small voice, unbecoming of the man in front of her. It sounds like a small child being caught playing with something he shouldn't.

Before he can react, (Y/N) gets up and flees as fast as her speed allows, running the path she knows like the back of her hand to the immediacy and safety of her home.

It can't be him, it can't have been him all this time.

The monster is here, has been here all along, and sadly, she is infatuated with him.

[mercymaker]

know + intimacy for my girlfriend pls :3

Know: How well does your OC know themself—their wants, their goals, their motivations? Do they engage in any sort of self-reflection? Is there anything about themself they willfully ignore?

Mal actually doesn't really know much about herself. For the majority of her life she'd live by these very bare-bones rules that were constantly reinforced by her mother. Always have enough to eat and drink. Know how to survive in the wild. Never get caught by outsiders. Animals are food at best, dangerous foes at worst. You have to wield power in order to protect yourself. Every interaction with an outsider is a transaction. Better they are dead than you are.

She had very little outside influence to challenge her mother's dogmas. At first, there was some balance with her father, but he disappeared when she was little. After that it was mostly from reading any books, scrolls, or letters that she'd get her hands on, that was her main source of knowledge about the outside world.

It's almost funny how once she was thrust into the real world and forced to interact with a bunch of completely different strangers, she started both gaining and losing her sense of self. It was finally time to think for herself and so she really dug deep in her head. Mal found both her talent to persuade people and a lot of inner turmoil, on which feelings and thoughts were real and her own and which were planted by someone else.

Her main motivation and a source of great conflict is power. While her mother hammered it into her that she must have power in order to be safe (and she did find out that wielding power and influence can feel fucking great), there's also a nagging thought scratching the very back of her mind. How her father had once sat her down and had an oddly serious talk for someone so little. A tale on how too much power corrupts indiscriminately, what this endless hunger for power did to their people, and how even with the best intent at heart, someone with a lot of power can lose themselves to it.

Intimacy: Is your OC the type of person to engage in long-term relationships, or are they more casual in their intimacy and affection? How do they feel about intimacy and relationships in general?

Yet another source of conflict for this drow girlie, woo! Maleane doesn't really know the inner workings of intimacy and relationships, her perception of it is very fragmented. What very little her mother taught her in that area pretty much all boils down to: you take what you want. It's exactly what she tried to do the very first time, but it didn't really work as it made her feel nothing, so it definitely added to the frustration. Of wanting to be held, to be touched, to be had. But where is that without trust? And how do you allow someone's lips to touch your neck when you're expecting a knife instead?

Mal wants love and intimacy on her own terms, but she doesn't really know what those terms are, not yet at least. It didn't help that her first brush with intimacy and relationships was tainted by rushing into it purely based on being in full survival-mode and also trying to play mind games at the very same time. As much as Mal would like to deny it, part of her was seduced. After all, she's just a young woman who thinks she could die at any moment and then there's someone whom she really likes showering her with attention?? Even while Maleane is well aware it's a lie, honey still tastes sweet no matter if it came from a beehive or a dandelion.

At the end of the day, I think, she would like to be in a long-term relationship; she wants to be loved, truly, for who she is and not a role she could fulfill. I don't think she would easily admit it, however. But even if she was committed to someone (hmmmmmmm mm m m m mwho i wonder), it would only be fair for her to indulge in some new experiences, if you catch my drift. VERY MUCH OPEN TO SMOOCHES (from those she trusts/wants) though!

[amyisherenowitsokay]

''before you delete your account'' Sweeti, you gave me the push to make an actual one. (i forgot all the info i made for tht throwaway lolz i didn't write anythin down)

I have a fun question now. You already did one for writing, so. What's your worldbuilding like? How do you do, organize, think up new bits?

Obviously IZ already has a massive canon/lore/worldbuilt to pull from so what's inspired you from it, or from other things entirely? What are/where your ideas? Go off, I want to hear your brain tick, if you don't mind. :D luv hearing ppl's worldbuilding.

welcome to tumblr and rip your old account lmao

OOoh worldbuilding! That IS a new question for me, ooh, okay. Well, you asked for a long reply, and a long reply you shall get.

I have gotten a lot of very sweet comments from people telling me how in-character I make the main cast, which brings me a lot of joy, because the amount of work I put into respecting and establishing my principles on the source material is substantial. My first well for sourcing info for my worldbuilding is of course the show, including the unaired episodes. How the characters interact, why they react the way they do, and any lore I can dredge up is usually based around me exploiting some pattern of reactions that I can use to justify a result I want.

FOR EXAMPLE, I've been working into my fics that Gaz is really into robotics and programming, and it's her 'genius' niche that distinguishes her as brilliant.

In "Gaz, Taster of Pork" (a favorite of mine), Gaz forces some demented-looking robotically modified stuffed animals to attack her brother for putting a curse on her. Due to their design, that doesn't look very Professor Membrane-esque, and later with Gaz announcing that SHE programmed them to eat human flesh, we can ascertain that Gaz came up with the design and engineered them herself. That's incredible for a presumably 9-ish year old child to accomplish.

Furthermore, in "Nanozim," Gaz being able to defeat Zim fairly easily also supports a savant-level understanding of robotics. The show more makes it a joke about her talent and obsession with video games, especially when she makes a point to give Dib the "cheat code" to make his robot transform, but I'd argue that it's both. Gaz is obsessed with video games, but her foundational comprehension of robots and programming allowed her to predict and maneuver a robot with such skill and precision that she defeated Zim, a trained soldier, presumably in what was supposed to be his element. Zim is blinded by his own ambition, and his own ego frequently means he's chronically underestimating his foes (usually to his detriment), but he's not actually stupid.

Dib is a genius in his own way, and more obnoxiously vocal about his own brilliance. Gaz obviously gets far less screen time, and is more reserved as a character in general. While she never announces her brilliance, she does make a point to minimize her brother's. Overtly, we're led to believe that it's because she finds him annoying, but secondarily, let's consider this from the viewpoint of siblings. Siblings get competitive and jealous, especially since Dib, as the problem child and simultaneously Membrane's presumed heir, gets more attention from their father. That's one interpretation. The other could be that Membrane isn't worried about Gaz because he already KNOWS she's showing an interest and exceptional talent in a field of his approval.

All of this to justify that I think Gaz likes robots and I can 'prove' it.

Ideally anything I do that's not explicitly laid out in the show, unaired or otherwise, I try and do something to that effect. In my brain, there's an imaginary audience whom I'm presenting my findings to, and an imaginary opponent I need to argue against, and if I don't leave the debate feeling confident, I'll usually scrap it.

So it's not so much as thinking up 'new' bits as it is re-interpreting the source material. I'm essentially trying to expand the lore rather than reinvent it, if I can. Of course I take liberties sometimes for plot sake, what with RE:MHNY being like "well the PAK is kind of brokennn . . . .? yeah" to justify why Gaz wasn't just swallowed whole by Larb in 10 minutes. In which case, I work from plot-premise backwards. In this case, the premise is that Gaz doesn't get PAK-possessed because it's broken. Well then I need to start asking how its broken, and how it GOT broken. What even is PAK? How does it work? I was satisfied with the simpler explanation that PAK's are really complex pieces of machinery that even Irkens don't really understand unless you're a technician/specialist like Skoodge, and it also left the more open-ended, fun prompt of "Well okay, if you're Zim, and you don't understand something, but don't want the other person to know you don't understand it, how would you react?"

In terms of organization, I use google drive to house all my writing content. Everything is separated by category of fandom, then deeper by series, then deeper by which installment of the series. No matter what I'm writing, if it's not a one-shot or a mini-fic like That Thing on Your Wrist, there's a file named "Randoms" that is strictly for writing something I know needs to happen in the story, but that I don't know where to put yet. Otherwise, there's a bunch of other documents with labels that are associated with the event, or if I have one, chapter title. 90% of the storyline and events I'm able to keep in my head, but I'm also trying out this program called Aeon Timeline. Since I'm technologically inept, it's a little confusing, but I think I'm getting the hang of it and may decide to fully integrate it into my workflow.

MOVING ON, aside from the show, some of my friends also ready the comics, and have sent me some good ones. If I think it's funny, or doesn't contradict anything, sometimes the comic lore sneaks into my work too. Aside from that, I do take a lot of insp from other media, shows, books, movies, music, etc. Sometimes music is just the background noise that supports the vibe in writing I'm going for, and sometimes it inspires entire scenes. All of my fics, even my WIPS and unpublished projects, have playlists. It's usually not a direct 1:1 link to any phrase of chapter, it's more of just a mood-setter, with some exceptions. For example, for the Re:MHNY soundtrack, Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey did inspire this line from Gaz in chapter 11.

All of this is temporary/ All of this is temporary

Dissimilarly, Lavenders by Rivals was just something I imagined as a Zim's perspective panic over Gaz being in danger, as a reference to her hair lmao. There's craziness going on, he's having existential crises, and all the while all he can think about is Gaz.

Cause all I smell are lavenders/ As the world / Burns down around me

But I usually use media to answer questions. I don't think Re:MHNY is a reference to anything but its original, but Paradorx and Dead Weight definitely take reference from other sources. Paradorx, for example, has some The Haunting of Bly Manor, Stranger Things, Bee + Puppycat, Scooby Doo, Charmed, etc. and was originally entirely inspired by a visual animatic I pictured listening to Ed Sheeran's "Bad Habits." One day I will post that animatic, but for now, it's one of many things I have that I haven't finished lmao. Dead Weight as a concept is its own, but I do use other media to answer questions. Like, I for one know nothing about soldiers, or what their training would look like, let alone alien genocidal ones. Similar to music, there's no 1:1 scene copies, but some of the psychological torture was insp'd from shows like Evangelion, Squid Game, Sabrina, etc. I like to watch how other people tackle answers to questions I have, or ideas. How do characters reaction under pressure before and after they realize failure could mean death? How does a character handle the shame of not meeting the standards of societal pressure? What about pressure from a more personal source, like family? What if it's coming from both? Etc.

I use media to fuel my stories when needed, and I use my stories as elaborate tools to justify a story I want to tell. I find it really helpful during development to ask myself "what's the point of this?" Dead Weight, for example, is ultimately a deep dive into Irken society, militarism, and how in spite of the very specific, streamlined efforts to root it out, individuality, friendship, and love can still blossom within it. Re:MHNY was about Zim finally answering his own question of what could possibly be more fulfilling than servitude to the Armada, and recovering from a lifetime spent under the thumb of the Tallest, and all that it entailed. For Gaz, it was forcing herself to change, to accept the affection and support of someone who wasn't family, and opening herself up to vulnerability. (Dib's story arc actually ends on a half-note, and is finished up in 2, so I'll forego discussing that one for now).

I hope this was a sufficiently long answer lmao. This was a lot of fun, thanks for indulging me.

[sekhisadventures]

The Choices We Make

The Glittering Prize, Early Morning

Jaie was in the galley of the ship hard at work. With four more mouths to feed she had her work cut out for her, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to let their new guests go hungry. The members of Avalon and Savage United had agreed (Grimo with a bit of ‘encouragement’ from Nitika) to allow those who had been ripped out of their timelines to call the Glittering Prize home until such a time as they were able to either find alternative lodgings for them or return them to where and when they belonged.

Still, feeding that many people was a LOT of work for one pandaren, even one with her culinary skill. She was doing the best she could, but it was possible that breakfast would wind up delayed.

As she focused on mixing ingredients she heard a knock on the door, glancing behind her curiously. “Hm?”

“Er… good morning…” mumbled Xhu Pai awkwardly, seeing her there and again having the bizarre feeling of both knowing and not knowing someone. “Need any help?” she asked.

Jaie nodded, “Oh yes please if you’re offering. Could you chop those potatoes into small pieces? Just about this big.” she asked as she made a circle with her thumb and forefinger to show the size.

Xhu Pai nodded, walking over and getting to work. She still wore the borrowed martial arts outfit that Jaie had loaned her, her silken one hanging on the deck of the ship to dry from being cleaned before Nitika would mend the tears in it that the outfit had gotten in her panicked flight from the ship.

After a few moments of silence, Xhu Pai asked the question. “So… if I’m stuck here, I get the feeling I might need to know how to fight.” she began, “I know the basics of swordfighting… but that’s all, and I think I might prefer something with a bit more… reach… like a spear… if, um, you could give me some tips on how to use one…” she tried.

Jaie nodded to her, “Well, I mostly use my fists when I fight, but I know enough about how to use a spear. Mola’raum is our big spear fighter, but his fighting style relies as much on his powers as a death knight as it does on using his weapon, so he might not be the best teacher.” she replied. Mola’raum was a death knight whose powers focused on necromancy, the summoning and control of the more mindless undead like ghouls and skeletons. Short lived minions who could swarm his foes… but to use such techniques one would actually need to be a death knight.

Xhu Pai smiled a bit anxiously, “T-thanks… just… um… sorry if I’m still a bit awkward but…” she began.

Jaie nodded, “I understand. Really. I met my father when I wound up in your timeline, and he’s been dead since I was a cub in this one. That was pretty awkward too…” she replied.

She nodded, blushing at that thought. She rather liked Shi-won. He was always friendly to her when she’d visit and eager to try her own father’s new recipes for brews, generous with his advice and feedback on them. The idea of him dead… well… she would definitely be saddened to see that herself.

With Xhu Pai’s help the food was prepared just as Jeemjazo rang the ship’s bell to announce the dawn, the various adventurers rising from their sleep (or in Ed and Mola’s case already being awake as they didn’t sleep) and the group dug into a huge spread of grilled potatoes, spiralhorn sausage, breadrolls with cinderbee honey butter, and the like.

But no eggs. Jaie had learned her lesson.

“Once we’re done eating, we’ll go find some good long sticks and I’ll show you the basics of how to use a spear.” suggested Jaie to Xhu Pai with a smile as she popped a piece of sausage into her mouth.

Xhu Pai nodded, giving her a still slightly uncomfortable smile in return, but she tried to ignore the odd feeling as best she could. It wasn’t easy, but she was managing for now.

Later in the day

Yvain frowned as she gazed out at the ocean, the dwarven woman just wearing a tunic and trousers now. With no fight at the moment there wasn’t a reason to wear her heavy and cumbersome armor after all. “I just canne believe it poppa.” she muttered.

Dareley looked up at her from where he was sitting nearby, the earthen man dressed much the same for right now, reading from his prayer book. “Hm? Believe what lass?” he asked.

She shook her head, “Arthas, th’ Scourge, everythin’ ye told me o’ yer version of ‘im.” she frowned. “I cannae believe it.”

Dareley sighed. Now he understood Nitika’s frustration with his own stubbornness. His daughter (he was having much the same difficulty with that as Xhu Pai was having with Jaie, but he had seen a lot of strange things and was dealing with it better) had been shocked to learn that Arthas Menethil, who she knew as King of Lordaeron and the leader of the Order of the Silver Hand in her own timeline, had become not just a monster, but a king of monsters in this one.

 “Lass, I understand it’s a bitter pill ta swallow, but it be a matter o’ historical record here.” he replied, “Our version o’ Arthas took up Frostmourne outta desperation ta defeat Mal’ganis, ‘n th’ second he did Zovaal had ‘im sure as that.” he nodded firmly, snapping his fingers.

She snorted, “… ‘n now ye count th’ horrors th’ Scourge made as yer allies?” she asked, glancing over to the door to the ship’s interior. Coming out of it were two familiar figures. They were both quite good friends, but then they were the only ones of their team who could really understand what it was like to be in their situation.

Mola’raum of the Ebon Blade emerged, his runeglave balanced on his shoulder as he stepped into the sunlight. Next to him in his purple tunic and trousers, a stylized coffin backpack strapped to his back and his companion and imp Guzzle perched on his shoulder, was Edwood Vargas of the Forsaken.

“Aye, I do. I cannae pretend I’m entirely comfortable with their powers bein’ wut they are lass, but Edwood ‘n Mola’raum are good men. Neither of ‘em asked ta become undead, but they’re doin’ th’ best they can with their lot in li…” he began, then caught himself and cleared his throat, “… er, ye know what I mean.”

“Good men…” she frowned, “Aye okay, I understand death knights dunnae get a choice in becomin’ wut they are… but a bloody warlock?! Yer tellin’ me ye count a thrice-damned fel-tainted warlock as one of yer allies?!” she asked, staring at Dareley.

From his side came a snorting sound. Nelen had been nearby, reading a tome of titan philosophy he’d gotten in Dornogal.

The two paladins looked at him. “Somethin’ funny lad?” asked Dareley.

“Nothing. Just… feels like I heard that once before…” he chuckled, remembering when he had first met Dareley in Stormwind City shortly after the Cataclysm and joined Avalon as one of its founding members… along with the ‘thrice-damned fel-tainted warlock’ Dissonantia.

Mind you, Dareley had turned out to be totally right about her, but it was still amusing to know just how little the apple fell from the tree.

Dareley rolled his eyes at him as Yvain frowned. “I’m just sayin’ I cannae condone it. Death knights may get their powers forced on ‘em from what poppa told me, but ye have ta CHOOSE ta become a warlock!” she shook her head, “Nobody good chooses that!”

From just behind her came a raspy voice, “Aye, well… when yer damned already whats one little bit more, eh lassie?”

Yvain’s eyes bulged and she spun around just in time to see Edwood’s rictus grin vanish in a burst of green light, the warlock appearing halfway across the deck in a circle he’d summoned to pull him out of range. Next to him was Mola’raum, the death knight smirking at the dwarven woman.

“Yer daughter’s voice carries rather well Dareley. Must be good fer singin’ th’ hymns in church aye?” chuckled Edwood.

Dareley sighed, standing up, “Stop feckin’ with ‘er Ed. Th’ timeline she came from dunnae even have Forsaken from what I understand. It sounds like th’ same one ye landed in where ye never died… or at least close ta it.” he nodded.

Edwood smirked at him, then started to walk towards them, his bony limbs clicking with each step. “Lassie, ye wanna know why I’m a darkcaster? Why I took up th’ mantle o’ fel magician?” he asked, cocking his head at her, his eyes glowing green as he raised what remained of one eyebrow.

Yvain suppressed a shudder, then folded her arms over her chest. “I suppose I could hear out a confession… aye…” she replied, gritting her teeth as the smell of preservatives wafted from Ed’s body.

Edwood glanced up, looking to Nelen. “Oi, matey. Ye can make portals again aye?” he asked.

Nelen nodded slowly, closing his book. He had a hunch as to what Edwood was about to ask, “Yes…” he replied.

“How close can ye get us ta Lordaeron City?” he grinned. Nobody called it that anymore, but he wanted to make it clear where they were going.

Nelen raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Dareley. The earthen man sighed, then shrugged, “She’ll have ta face th’ truth o’ it sooner or later lad. Not like we know when Nyloc is gonna come after us again.” he replied.

Nelen nodded, then held out his hand as his staff appeared in his grasp in a swirl of arcane energy. “I do still remember the co-ordinates we used during… what happened after the War of Thorns, yes.” he stated, drawing a circle in the air with the head of the staff. A stream of purple energy trailed behind it, making an oblong shape in the air as the atmosphere within distorted, and suddenly a hole in the world appeared. “Right this way please.” he gestured to it.

Yvain frowned, then walked through the portal… and into a nightmare. The Forsaken had been doing what they could, but the War of Thorns had left it’s scars, as had the Third War, and the Cataclysm, and much more besides. Tirisfal Glades in recent times had seen more than its share of horrors.

She stared, looking around, “Wait… where th’ feck are we?” she asked as Dareley, Edwood, and Mola’raum emerged from the portal. Nelen stayed behind to maintain it so they could return when the history lesson was over.

“Well lassie…” chuckled Edwood, “Once upon a time this was known as th’ Kingdom of Lordaeron. Now, we just call it Tirisfal Glades as th’ kingdom kinda went tits up a while back.” he nodded, pointing out one long bony finger towards the distance. “See that?” he asked.

She squinted, shading her eyes as she gazed out. “Looks like some ol’ ruin… what of it?” she asked.

“That’s Lordaeron City, after ol’ Arthas got done with ‘er.” nodded the forsaken man.

Yvain started, then leaned forwards and stared, her eyes going wide. “Wait… I recognize those hills… ‘n those walls… it really is Lordaeron, but…” she stammered, “What th’ bloody FEL happened?!” she asked.

“Exactly.” replied all three of her companions.

Dareley cleared his throat, “Th’ mournblade ‘n th’ Scourge were th’ creations o’ Zovaal th’ Jailer, but ta get them ta Azeroth he needed th’ Burnin’ Legion ta make him a sorta… prototype Lich King. From what we learned in th’ Shadowlands, that was th’ soul o’ an orc named Ner’zul. Th’ Dreadlords were workin’ for Zovaal ‘n convinced Sargeras that they could conquer Azeroth with an army o’ th’ dead, which allowed ‘em ta get Frostmourne ‘n th’ Lich King’s crown here.”

“Aye matey. I heard o’ what Arthas was like in yer timeline lassie. His faith got tested, but he didn’t change his course fer nothin’ ‘n stayed a paladin… well… welcome ta th’ timeline where he was tested ‘n found wantin’.” nodded Edwood, gesturing to the ruins.

“If ye were ta go east from here ye’d wind up in a place we call Th’ Plaguelands. Even years after th’ Scourge’s defeat it’s still ruined and covered in feral undead, despite yer dad’s friend’s best efforts ta heal it.” he explained, “Go ta Quel’thalas ‘n ye’ll find th’ Ghostlands ‘n th’ Dead Scar that th’ Scourge left. Head south ‘n ye’ll see th’ ruins o’ th’ original city o’ Dalaran…”

He glanced at her and meaningfully tapped his bony chin, “That’s where I got topped by th’ by… I was a student there when ol’ Arthas came knockin’… ‘n the fecker knocked me good ‘n hard right in th’ bloody face. ‘s what happened here.”

Yvain frowned, “So… you were brought back by th’ Scourge in this timeline?” she asked.

Edwood chuckled, “What else do ye think would do this ta me? A buncha murlocs?” he asked, “Aye, spent a few years as one o’ their slaves… don’t remember much of it ‘n th’ bits I do I’d rather not.” he frowned, “Woke up some years later near what used ta be Andorhol ‘n ran away in a panic right inta a patrol o’ Deathguards. They took me back ta Lordaeron City, th’ catacombs underneath it specifically. Told me what they were ‘n what I was… ‘n I was one o’ th’ Forsaken from that day.” he nodded. “Couldn’t go back home ta Kul’tiras… so here I stayed. ‘n we had a really bad demon problem after th’ Legion was sent packin’ at th’ end o’ th’ Third War, so I became a darkcaster ta help ‘em deal with it. I knew magic already, but this let me deal with th’ demons that were still loose in Tirisfal directly.” he finished.

“So ye did choose ta be a warlock…” frowned Yvain, suddenly wishing she had her armor and her hammer with her, the paladin woman narrowing her eyes at him.

Edwood sighed, “Lassie were ye not listenin’?! I am Forsaken! It ain’t just a fancy impressive name!” he snapped, “We’re stuck like this… all o’ us wot got our minds back from Arthas ‘n th’ Scourge. We’re damned, through no choice o’ our own. So feck it! At least this…” he gestured to his clothing and Guzzle, who waved at her with a rather unnerving grin, “… was MY bloody choice.”

Yvain muttered something and glanced over at Mola’raum next. “So what about ye tusk-face?” she asked.

The death knight glanced at Dareley who shrugged apologetically at him, then replied, “I be dead a long time before any o dis happen.” he explained, “I died… I tink two hundred years before de Dark Portal open? It be hard ta remember now. I got sent ta Maldraxxus, ta join de House o’ Plagues. I made weapons o’ war for de Maldraxxi ta defend da Shadowlands.” he nodded… then noticed Yvain’s expression, “… eh, long story.”

Yvain nodded slowly. She had been told of Zovaal by her father, the Jailer and former Arbiter who had been condemned to the Maw for his crimes, only to plot his escape using Arthas Menethil and later Sylvannas Windrunner as his pawns in his attempts to claim Azeroth’s world soul and the power it held to dominate all realities… but learning about the concept of the afterlife and how it had been actually discovered with certainty what lay after death was still something she was having difficulty wrapping her head around.

“De point bein’, back ‘bout… eh… between twenty ‘n thirty years ago I got called by Margrave Sin’dain, me boss woman in Maldraxxus, ta go ta Northrend. She’d heard rumors bout de plague de Cult o’ de Damned be usin’ ta make undead, ‘n how it sounded really fookin’ similar ta one we made but declared a failure. We sealed it away, but it went missin’, ‘n de Margrave be thinkin’ dat de Scourge be de ones who stole it, or at least usin’ it.” he explained.

“I went because me Margrave ordered me ta go… but I be no fighter back den. I just be a potion-maker. De Scourge caught me ‘n I got taken before Kel’thuzad. He knew what I be… ‘n…” he shuddered.

Edwood was watching him curiously. Even though they shared the unspoken bond that all the Scourge’s victims did… Mola’raum had never told them of the memories he’d regained during his visit to Maldraxxus.

“… he called in Arthas ta see me… ‘n while he was dere, Zovaal took him ova…” he nodded firmly, “One minute he almost seem ta be fightin’ de Jailer’s influence. I shouted bout de Maw ‘n Zovaal… ‘n he hesitated. He said he remembered somethin’ bout dem, like he dream it. Den Zovaal step in ‘n it was like he be just a puppet dat de Jailer be pullin’ on dere strings. Zovaal sealed me memories o’ Maldraxxus ‘n me past, den Kel’thuzad had his boys make me inta a death knight. No memories mean I couldn’t warn Maldraxxus if dey send somebuddy else, ‘n as a death knight I can’t fookin’ die so I couldn’t go back.”

“Ye were there…” whispered Yvain, “Ye coulda saved ‘im! Ye coulda done somethin’!” she shouted, the idea of the man she knew in such a state sending a chill down her spine.

Mola’raum shook his head, “No sistah, dere be no savin’ ‘im by den. He’d had Frostmourne fer years at dat point, ‘n he wore de crown almost as long. Arthas Menethil be as good as dead by den, he be de Lich King when I met ‘im.”

Yvain stared at him, then turned to look at the ruins of Lordaeron. Below it, the Forsaken were hard at work making the Undercity habitable again, but it was slow going. Sylvannas’ plague had done tremendous damage not just to the city, but to the land itself. It might never be restored even to the ravaged state it had been before.

Finally, after a long moment, she turned to Dareley. “Why are ye showin’ me all this poppa?! If I go home, none o’ this’ll have happened for me!” she demanded, her eyes wide.

Dareley glanced around, the golden orbs he had for eyes looking sad as they gazed out at the ruins of Lordaeron. Somewhere in those ruins were the bones of this timeline’s Misti Steelhammer. He couldn’t recover her body when he fled, she never got a proper burial. All he could do was gather what living he could find and flee into the wilderness, leading as many as could survive the trip to the safety of Ironforge Mountain, away from the Scourge.

“Because its important lass.” he replied, “It was hard fer me ta accept it too, but workin’ with these two taught me a lot. No matter what we are, our choices are what decide who we are…” he nodded.

“Arthas, that day in Northrend, made a choice. In yer timeline, he chose well. In our’s…” he sighed and gestured around them. “Aye… but both Mola’raum ‘n Edwood ain’t just undead. Their powers come from a dark place lass, but they dunnae use ‘em fer dark deeds.”

Dareley looked Yvain straight in the eye at this point, “Mola’raum is a death knight aye… but he chooses ta use his powers ta protect Azeroth. After we got ta Khaz Algar I ran inta another death knight named Garnal, ‘n he’s fightin’ fer our enemy Xal’atath. I tried ta stop ‘im from wreakin’ havoc down below, but if it weren’t fer Mola’raum arrivin’ ‘n drivin’ Garnal ‘n his partner back, I’d be dead right now. Same be true fer Edwood. He’s never once turned ‘is demons on us, or used his fel magic ta curse us.”

Dareley gazed back out at the battle-ravaged lands of Tirisfal again, “… it’s a bloody important lesson lass, ‘n one th’ Old Silver Hand tended ta miss a lot. Even th’ best ‘n brightest o’ us can fall… but those who had their lives ‘n choices stripped away, who did what they had ta do to survive… they can rise.” he nodded, thinking of Aziguni’s brother, Malgum. A man’ari, but one who was press ganged into becoming one under threat of death and soul destruction. Without his aid and what he discovered after being captured by Dissonantia, the Witch of Blackwald Forest would plague them even today.

“Even th’ darkest powers can be used fer good… ‘n…” he continued, gazing to the west, towards an old monastery building on a hilltop in the distance. It had been purged several times, but like cockroaches the occupants kept stubbornly returning, “… even th’ Light can be used fer wicked ends.”

Yvain stared at him. This sort of talk was downright heretical to what she learned growing up under the teachings of the Church of the Holy Light. The Light was always a force for good, the Fel and Necromancy could only ever be evil. Yet, this was her father… of a sort… saying this, and she could feel the conviction and certainty in his voice.

“What th’ bloody fel happened ta ye in this timeline poppa?” she whispered, sounding equal measures amazed and afraid.

“A lot.” he replied simply, “But… we should be headin’ back. Keepin’ a portal goin’ ain’t easy, ‘n we’re not exactly welcome ‘ere after th’ war. Best not let th’ Deathguards find us.” he nodded, turning and walking back towards the portal.

Yvain walked after him, glancing towards Mola’raum and Edwood as she did. “… sorry, fer what I said…” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing as she stepped inside.

Edwood watched her go, then smirked, “I think that’s about as good as we’re gonna get matey.” he chuckled.

Mola’raum nodded, “Eh, she be Dareley’s kid mon. She’ll learn, if she be smart like her dad.” he smirked, walking back into the portal along with Edwood.

The portal snapped shut and, just like that, its like it never was.

In this timeline the kingdom of Lordaeron was no more. The royal line was extinct in every sense of the word. The only ‘surviving’ member, if surviving was the right word, was undead and serving on the Desolate Council, though Calia Menethil had made it quite clear she had no desire to declare herself queen and only wished to aid the people of what Lordaeron had become as best as she was able.

The other Forsaken didn’t really know what to make of her, but her help wouldn’t be refused. They had a world of work ahead of them repairing the damage that Sylvannas had caused while still under the baleful influence of Zovaal. Whether it was a supernatural compulsion from him having a fragment of her soul, desperation at threats of being imprisoned within the hellish realm of the Maw, or if she truly believed his lies, they could not say but she had fallen as far as a person could fall.

The Forsaken, however, would rebuild. They would recover and, perhaps one day, they would rise.

Next Story

Previous Story

[diinferi]

ORIGIN

[CITIZEN] You are an ordinary member of Japan’s populace. Perhaps you once wielded a sword or called yourself a samurai, but those days are long behind you, and you’ve taken to the change quite well. You work an ordinary trade in this era of change, or make a living through enjoying peaceful days. Of course, even so, there may yet be trouble in your part of town...or a cause to protect with your old skills.

PERKS

[HONEST WORK] This isn’t an age of the sword anymore, and the future lies in the future of industry. Or in your case, a simple trade. Pick a simple trade or crafting skill available in the current era of Meiji Japan. You now have about five years of training in experience in that field, enough so you could make a decent living off of that alone. -You have an assistant, a little bit younger than you, who’s all too happy to invite you out drinking and partying after a hard day’s work. You later discover they’re having a bit of debt trouble involving some particular shady types...maybe you can help them out?

[A KNIFE IN THE DARK] The ones who decisively affect the future of a nation are the ones who know how to dispose of opposition. That’s when they called in someone like you. You now have 5 years of experience and knowledge in the art of assassination, both subtle and overt, along with the use of stealth and infiltration.

[BLANK] It’s important to keep your own intent and demeanor hidden from the wary, especially when you plan to drive a sword through someone’s heart. Your facial expression and body language can now be completely segregated from your actual emotions and intent, letting you keep a calm and cheery smile while tearing your opposition apart, or looking incredibly angry and intimidating when you’re just thinking about what to eat for dinner that night. This doesn’t actually affect your own capacity for emotions, and severe amounts of stress can break this facade. -As it turns out, being able to control your expression so easily has given you a talent for gambling. Whether you dabble on a boring evening or have an addiction, you’ll eventually meet a cheery gambling buddy who will become a friendly rival to you, should you allow it. Something you will notice after a while is that they also have a talent for sneaking about and getting into places they shouldn’t…

[KILLING INTENT] The presence of an assassin or a warrior is one that brings shock and horror to those who gaze upon them. You can now project your own bloodlust or killing intent forwards, creating a powerful aura of intimidation. This is strong enough that the weak-willed or inexperienced combatants will experience paralysis or suffocation, the feeble likely collapsing within seconds of being introduced to your overpowering presence. A practiced warrior or a strong enough will can overcome this, but even then, you will unsettle and disorient others with your presence, making them more prone to making errors in a straight fight. This may not matter if your foe is incapable of fear...but even then, your blows are more deadly, more vicious, and harder to predict. Kill them all. -You’re in the middle of putting some upstarts in their place when someone marches up to you and bops you on the nose with their sandal. They look at you and vocally scold you for scaring the customers and the locals, wagging their finger at you all the while. Despite whatever you do or were doing, they don’t seem to be scared of you. Do you put them in their place, strike them down...or perhaps you’re impressed?

[IDENTIFYING SCAR] If you so wish it, you may have an aesthetic scar or ‘keep’ one from a past wound that will become associated with you when you build a reputation or are identified by others. It will compliment your appearance and remain as long as you wish. This goes for any wound in the future as well, and you may choose whether it will heal and fade, or remain as a reminder of some past battle.

[WARRIOR’S SPIRIT] Regardless of your background, you are prepared to deal with dangers that come with this new era. You know how to wield a common weapon available in Meiji Era Japan, and have years of experience with said weapon. You also receive a minor willpower boost, enough so that you won’t freeze or be helpless against the more notable swordsmen in this setting. Incidentally, this can include martial arts or hand-to-hand combat.

[HEART OF THE SWORD] You’re not just any swordsman, however. Your skill with your chosen weapon above is the stuff of legends, making you both feared and desired by those who know of your prowess. The price you buy this perk at determines your starting skill level. 100 puts you above the human average in sword skill, able to fight defensively against some of the stranger foes in this setting without immediately being cut down. 200 places you above that and enters into the realm of fiction, where the common man can be cut down by you in a swing, maybe two if they’re armored, and lets you fight all but the most skilled in Japan evenly. 300 puts you in the realm of Kenshin Himura and other legendary warriors, able to use your weapon with enough skill that you can end a fight against most opponents within seconds after drawing it.

ITEMS

[A GOOD BLADE] You receive a single weapon that matches your chosen style or weapon specialty in Warrior’s Spirit. It is of good craftsmanship and will be replaced the following day if it is broken, but is otherwise nothing special.

[MEIJI-ERA CLOTHING] You also receive an era-appropriate set of clothes to wear and blend in with the locals. Like the weapon, these are replaced the next day if destroyed, but are otherwise nothing special or unusual. They perfectly compliment your appearance, at least.

[TRAVELER’S BAG] A simple bag you can sling over your shoulder when you need to carry things on the road. It has a little more space than a bag this size should have – you can fit an entire human arm in there before reaching the bottom.

[BASIC COOKING GEAR] You receive some basic kitchen and cooking equipment available in Meiji Era Japan, as well as a week’s supply of rice. The rice will restock the following week.

[MEDICINAL SUPPLIES] Similar to the above, but it provides a much-needed commodity in this time and place. You receive some basic herbs and first aid supplies available in the era, all of which is in top notch quality. Nothing like the medicine available in the later centuries, but enough to make do without killing your patient.

[ASSASSIN’S GEAR] The appropriate tools for breaking and entering in this world. Some civilian clothing with hidden pockets for small weapons, a fake police uniform, rope, and darker clothing for moving about at night (though it obviously doesn’t work very well in a well-lit area). Always adjusts into something fitting, but mundane, for the world that you’re in.

DRAWBACKS

[RIVAL] Someone has dedicated themselves to defeating you. Not necessarily KILLING you, but they’re obsessed with one-upping you in any way they can. Unlike the previous drawbacks, though, they have some sort of technique or skill they can actually match you in. Losing to them at any point will create a serious setback or risk for you, even from an otherwise innocent contest. They will challenge you to a final duel – in combat or intellect – on the final day of your jump, and if you are victorious, you may take them as a companion.

[THE BURNING TIMES] Well. You don’t start at the early years of the Meiji Era anymore, but instead during the bloodied times leading up to it as the Bakumatsu is in full swing. You begin in the year 1868 A.D., during the beginning of the Boshin War. A young Kenshin Himura is still an assassin for the Imperial side of the war, and many of the incredibly skilled and powerful swordsmen of the era are in their prime. This is a time of fire and blood, and you will inevitably be sucked into the clash, unable to leave Japan’s borders until the war ends. The interim period that follows won’t be very peaceful either, and you can expect powerful foes and turmoil to deal with during that time. Things will normalize around 1878 A.D., regardless of who wins from your intervention...and that’s when the rest of the jump begins. Yes, you are staying here for 20 years.

FUTURE

[MY TIME TO WANDER ONCE AGAIN] It’s time to see another world. You keep everything you’ve gained from this world, and continue along the chain.

[clericofsune]

How to Play as Aphrodite in DnD 5e

This is not the first time I’ve built one of the Greek Gods, as I’ve built Apollo in the past. Like with Apollo, this is not just how to build Aphrodite, but also how to build a child of hers, such as Piper McLean, a counterpart to her, such as Sune, or a chosen champion, such as Zagreus on an Aphrodite run. Obviously, we can’t make a perfect Aphrodite incapable of dying or that doesn’t need to eat or sleep, simply because that’s just how DnD operates. Still, we’ll do our best to get as close as possible to playing as the goddess of passion.

The best race I can think of for Aphrodite is an Eladrin Elf, specifically, an Autumnal Eladrin Elf. As an elf, she resists charm effects, can’t be put to sleep by magic, and can just trance for 4 hours instead of sleeping, putting her closer to acting like an immortal. More importantly, the Autumnal Eladrin Elf charms nearby foes when it uses its fey step feature, which mirrors the Passion Dash boon you get from Aphrodite in Hades. However, if that doesn’t appeal to you, Custom Lineage is the best way to play as a Celestial, plus it comes with a free feat. The best feats for Aphrodite includes: Inspiring Leader, Eldritch Adept (Mask of Many Faces), Actor, Metamagic Adept, or Fey-Touched.

For her background, I think Aphrodite works best as a Noble, for History and Persuasion. Of course she’d know History, she likely lived through the event. Position of Privilege works fine for her, or you can give her the Royal Retinue, and have her attended by the Graces or the Erotes who serve her.

Aphrodite is utterly Chaotic, however whether you call her Chaotic Good, Neutral, or Evil is mostly dependent on how you define the morality of DnD. If Evil means being self-serving and petty, then Chaotic Evil is where Aphrodite fits perfectly. Sune is considered Chaotic Good, and she’s the DnD counterpart to Aphrodite, which gives a valid reasoning for Aphrodite to share Sune’s alignment. Ultimately, I’d say she’s neither Good nor Evil, as she’s more a slave to her own whims and impulses, which sounds more Chaotic Neutral. She can aid, undermine, or annihilate anyone on any side of a conflict. It’s just a matter of how she feels at that exact moment.

BARD

It’s really not a surprise that Aphrodite works best as a bard. As Charisma casters with access to skill expertise, plus their reputation for being flirtatious, the Bard was ideal for Aphrodite’s skill at inflicting mortal minds with whatever passions and whims she so desires. However, she surprisingly works extremely well with multiple colleges, enough so that I decided to rank them from most appropriate to least, and provided a reasoning for each. As bard subclasses don’t come with subclass spells, we’re left just looking primarily at subclass features and flavor to find the best fit for Aphrodite. As a Bard, take Insight, Deception, and Intimidation for her skills. Put her Expertise into Persuasion, Deception, Intimidation, and Insight.

COLLEGE OF GLAMOUR

The most obvious subclass, the Glamour Bard weaves fey magic that focuses primarily on charms and beauty, fitting Aphrodite’s skill set of awe-inspiring beauty and sway over the hearts of men. Aphrodite’s ability to give her party up to 14 temp HP as a bonus action is a decent support ability. Casting command as a bonus action can likewise serve her well if she forces enemies to drop their weapons or move in a way that triggers opportunity attacks, while still allowing her to make attacks of her own. Unbreakable Majesty is by far the most Aphrodite-flavored feature, as your otherworldly beauty is so magically compelling that weak-willed creatures won’t even harm her, a very fitting power for the goddess of beauty.

COLLEGE OF ELOQUENCE

One of Aphrodite’s strengths is her ability to sway the minds of men, and no subclass is better at compelling people to action than the Eloquence Bard. Aphrodite is a very persuasive goddess, getting the gods to break their promises, violate their marriages, and kill their own children. With her silver tongue and expertise in both Persuasion and Deception, she won’t be able to roll below a 27 at max level, and even at level 3, she still won’t roll below a 17, making her an excellent Face for the party. Her Unsettling Words can make creatures more susceptible to her charms, while Unfailing Inspiration prevents her Bardic Inspiration die from being wasted. Universal Speech will ensure she can be a Face to any enemy, no matter the languages they speak, and Infectious Inspiration makes Aphrodite an even more invaluable support to her party by allowing her to inspire multiple allies at once.

COLLEGE OF VALOR

More than just a goddess of love and passion, Aphrodite is a goddess of war. Among her epithets are titles such as “Bearer of Nike���, “Digger of Graves”, “Slayer of Men”, “Weapon-Bearing”, “Armored”, and “Ally in War”. Aphrodite’s spell list is also very support-heavy, so having a subclass that lets her inflict serious damage with her weapon is a nice bit of variety for her abilities. Adding her Bardic Inspiration die to weapon attack damage is a nice feature, and Valor Bards can make weapon attacks and then cast spells as a bonus action, so she can force an enemy to drop their shield or take off its armor, and then hit it with a weapon attack now that it’s vulnerable to her. While it lacks the charm of Glamour or the support mastery of eloquence, Valor makes Aphrodiite herself more dangerous with her damage output.

COLLEGE OF LORE

While being knowledgable doesn’t sound like it’s up Aphrodite’s alley, the actual subclass features fit her well enough. You could always justify it as knowing the secrets that lurk in the hearts of man, as passions and impulses are her forte. Cutting Words is a great way for Aphrodite to suck the passion for combat and confidence out of her adversaries, and peerless skill can allow Aphrodite to use her Bardic Inspiration on her own skill checks. It’ll also give her much needed bonus skills, like Athletics, Religion, and Performance.

OPTIONAL MULTICLASS

HEXBLADE WARLOCK

While there’s little mythical precedent for Aphrodite using a sentient Weapon, if we were to play a bit more loosely to give her the Bow of Eros, Hexblade is just a nice way to allow Aphrodite to make weapon attacks without splitting her focus away from the importance of her Charisma stat. If the DM won’t permit a Hexblade Longbow without Pact of the Blade, Aphrodite’s war aspects were often depicted using spears. This is mostly as a means of giving her a way to fight in a battle where her charms won’t serve her, she’ll need something else to rely on, and Eldritch Blast will also give her a standard attacking spell to use as well. Of course, if all you want is Eldritch Blast and you don’t care for Aphrodite to have and use a weapon, just take Magic Initiate as your 4th level feat, then take Eldritch Blast, Mind Sliver, and Hex from the Warlock Spell List. While Hexblade can be explained away with sentient celestial weapons, Archfey Warlock works better with her Charm-focused build, but doesn’t give Aphrodite variety in the event of charm-resistant creatures her Eldritch Blast can’t harm. It pairs well with Valor Bard, since it can make two weapon attacks as an action.

BUILD INFORMATION

Race: Eladrin Elf (Autumn) Class: College of Eloquence Bard (19) Multiclass: Hexblade Warlock (1) Background: Noble Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

STATS STR 10 DEX 16 CON 16 INT 8 WIS 10 CHA 20

SAVING THROWS STR 0 DEX +9 CON +3 INT -1 WIS 0 CHA +11

BASIC INFO

HP: 163 AC: 14 PP: 13 DV: 60 ft SAB: +11 SDC: 19

SKILLS

Deception (+17) History (+5) Insight (+12) Intimidation (+17) Perception (+6) Persuasion (+17)

APHRODITE’S SPELLS

C Eldritch Blast, Friends, Light, Mind Sliver, Prestidigitation, Vicious Mockery 1 Bane, Bless, Charm Person, Command, Disguise Self, Heroism, Hex 2 Aid, Calm Emotions, Enthrall, Gift of Gab, Suggestion, Warding Bond 3 Bestow Curse, Enemies Abound 4 Charm Monster, Compulsion, Polymorph 5 Dominate Person, Geas 6 Mass Suggestion 7 Tether Essence (EGtW) 8 Glibness 9 True Polymorph

BUILD FEATURES

FEATURES

Fey Ancestry. You have advantage against being charmed and you can’t be put to sleep by magic. Trance. You can meditate for 4 hours instead of sleeping for 8 hours, and remain semi-conscious the entire time. Silver Tongue. Cannot roll below a 10 on Persuasion and Deception checks. Hex Warrior. Proficient with Medium Armor, Shields, and Martial Weapons. Make attack rolls with your Charisma Mod instead of Strength or Dexterity. Jack of All Trades. Add half your Proficiency Bonus to skills you’re not proficient with. Song of Rest. Perform for your allies during a Short Rest. Any who spend a Hit Die to recover HP gains an additional 1d6. Magical Inspiration. A creature with your Bardic Inspiration that heals or deals damage can add your Bardic Inspiration die to the health restored or the damage dealt. Expertise. Double your proficiency bonus to Deception, Insight, Intimidation, and Persuasion checks. Font of Inspiration. Recover all expended uses of Bardic Inspiration on a Short or Long Rest. Unfailing Inspiration. Unsuccessful uses of your Bardic Inspiration are not lost. Magical Secrets. Learn 2 spells from any spell list at level 10, 14, and 18.

ACTIONS

Countercharm. Give creatures of your choice advantage against being charmed until the start of your next turn. Universal Speech. Select a number of creatures equal to your Charisma mod, they can understand you for 1 hour regardless of the language. Inspiring Leader. Make an inspiring speech, up to 6 creatures gain Level + CHA temp HP.

BONUS ACTIONS

Fey Step. Teleport up to 30 feet away once per short or long rest. Up to 2 creatures within 10 feet of your must pass a Wisdom save against your Spell DC or be charmed by you for 1 minute or until you and your allies harm them. Bardic Inspiration. Give an ally creature an inspiration die, which it can add to any roll in the next 10 minutes. Hexblade’s Curse. Choose 1 creature you can see. Add your Proficiency Bonus to damage rolls against that creature, attacks against them crit on 19 or 20, and recover 6 HP if they die. Unsettling Words. Subtract your Bardic Inspiration die from the next saving throw an enemy makes before the start of your next turn.

REACTIONS

Infectious Inspiration. When a Bardic Inspiration die is used successfully, add your Inspiration Die to another creature within 60 feet without expending a Bardic Inspiration die.

At the end of the day, this build came together rather nicely. We have our primary focus on Charms as is befitting of the goddess of lust and passions, but we also have Eldritch Blast and our Hexblade Weapon in case we run into someone who dares defy our sway over their hearts. Granted, this is a heavily support-centric build, but if you play her right, Aphrodite can very well raise armies and fell nations with little more than a wink and a few charming words.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 8

Summary: Forced to face their feelings, neither the Darkling nor his wife dare to speak them out loud. Influenced by Genya’s words, Y/N starts to wonder about her husband’s past.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven  

=================================

As a young girl, Y/N often daydreamed about her first time. She believed it would be with a kind man who’d move mountains to find her if she called his name. Reality was quite different – this man wasn’t kind, but he’d burn the world for her.

Whether he realized it, she saw through him easily. The Darkling is a symbol, the fear surrounding his name is all for show because he’s not evil. In fact, she’d go as far as say he’s redeemable. Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved and while she didn’t know what he needed saving from, her heart told her he’ll need her. And she knew he cared, she felt it in the way he held her in that tent, and again in the way he’d touch her when he had all the power just the night before.

Moving her head toward the other side of the bed, Y/N looked at her sleeping husband. His lashes are long, thick and dark, a beard that tickled her neck adorning his face. Asleep, his cheekbones were not as sharp, his face much more welcoming and relaxed. He didn’t seem as the formidable foe she imagined him to be.

Aleksander laid on his side, facing her. Pursing her lips, Y/N allowed her eyes to roam over him. His broad chest had a small area of dark, curling hair. His muscles are made large, shapely mounds. His arms are capped by a round, firm muscle. Biting her lower lip, her eyes continued down to his hard, flat stomach with faint lines forming separate areas of muscles, making her swallow thickly. It was only after a moment that her eyes went lower. What she saw did not seem so powerful as it felt the previous night, but as she watched, his manhood began to grow.

She gasped and her eyes flew back to his. He was awake, watching her intently with a smirk, his eyes growing darker by the moment. No longer was he the gentle man she had awakened to, but a man of passion, the general who showed her he was just as capable of leading a woman in the bed as he was of leading an army on the field.

Y/N tried to move away but Aleksander still held her trapped by her hair that strayed on his side, under his back. What was worse, she didn’t even want to fight him. Y/N recalled her plans for him clearly; but this was more than a plan she carelessly implemented. Everything was different now when she had the memory of his body and the pleasure he infused her with when he made love to her. Could that term even be applied to them, she wondered. Did he see it as making love or simply satisfying his needs?

“Stubborn wife,” he whispered and the tone of his voice made chills run along her arms. It’s more than the tone he used or the look of his dark eyes that had her insides turning, but the words he had spoken…it almost felt like a term of endearment coming from him.

Grimacing, she rolled her eyes at him, “Dreadful husband.”

Pursing his lips, he seemed amused rather than insulted.

She was right, their relationship has changed.

Irrevocably.

Last night she had thought she learned all there was to know about love between a man and a woman, but now she thought, perhaps she knew very, very little. There was much more to learn from this man and of this man and how to use that knowledge for her own gain, but right now? She just wanted to let herself go. She wanted to enjoy his company. For once, he was good-natured, playful even. She felt genuinely happy in their little bubble.

For a moment, Y/N wished to stay there. She wished he could always look at her as he is now.

She looked at him, his hair still a mess in the bright morning sunlight. She watched him intently, perplexed how he could look more handsome and more human than she’d ever seen him.

His eyes are nearly black as he pulls her to him again. He runs his tongue along her lips, touching the inner corners especially. She parted her teeth for him, desperate for a taste of him. He’s better than the richest honey; hot and cold, soft and firm. She explored his mouth as he had explored hers, no longer shy or reserved with him. How could she be when his fingers have delved lower, pushing inside her?

Gasping, she smiles against his lips. “Genya will be here soon”, she warns him.

"I don't fucking care", he insisted as he crashed into her, his arms wrapping around her like a cage she never wished to escape from. He brought his mouth on hers, inhaling her, "Do you even know what it feels like to be around you?! I can't", he paused as his arms drew away from her and she shuddered as he took the warmth they provided. With bruised lips, she watched as he ran his hand through what used to be perfectly tousled hair. Disheveled, he turns to her, "I can't breathe around you."

She chuckles at him, "Well, I am breathtakingly beautiful."

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling shakes his head, "Well, you're not unattractive. I'll concede on that."

She ran her hands over his back as he lowered his head to her neck, running his tongue along the pulsating beat of her carotid, the only friend he had in her – her pulse couldn’t hide how enamored or exhilarated he made her feel. Instinctively she leaned her head back, her breathing turning deeper, quicker.

When his lips and tongue touched her breasts, she nearly cried out. She thought perhaps she might die under such torture. Trying to pull his head back to her mouth failed as he gave a deep, guttural laugh that made her shiver, her insides turning with the sweet melody and her heart? Her heart felt warm, big and incredibly full.

Maybe he did own her.

A knock on the door had interrupted their bliss as Y/N stiffened, looking at the door in slight panic. If someone saw them right now, no one would doubt their marriage was a successful love match. They seemed happy, truly in love. That’s not how it was meant to be.

“Someone doesn’t value their life”, he grumbled under his breath. “GO AWAY!”

Clasping a hand over his mouth, she chuckled. “Who is it?!”

“General?” Ivan’s voice faded her smile instantly.

Even with Aleksander’s hands cupping her bottom, his body covering her and the door being shut, Y/N felt ashamed as if she was bare in front of the entire world.

“Unless the world is burning, leave me alone!” Pecking Y/N’s lips, he smirked, “I never get a peaceful morning anymore.”

Come to think of it, Y/N never found him in the bed when she woke up. This was the very first night they spent together and he stayed by her side. Considerate was never a word she’d use describing him before, but he is considerate, kind and incredibly cautious when it comes to her. It made her heart sink.

Hearing no word from Ivan, Aleksander’s hand moved. Caressing the inside of her thighs, he made her shake in desire. Holding her breath, she bit her lower lip. Still sore from the night before, she felt her stomach twist as he lined himself up with her entrance once more. Pushing himself inside, he captures her lips as she cries out. The pleasure is undeniable, but she couldn’t deny there was pain too. She clutched at him, her legs pressing around his waist as she rose to meet each thrust. Sweet torment he had inflicted felt as if it would split her in two - one Y/N to plot his demise and the other who’d never let him leave her bed.

Finally, when she was sure her heart would explode, she felt the pulsing throbs that released her and soon after, Y/N felt him speed up and his own release followed. Collapsing on top of her, Aleksander held her so close that she could hardly breathe. In that moment she didn’t really care if she ever did breathe again.

Aleksander didn’t move, still buried deep inside her as if she is his saving grace. It’s insane to think he could fuck her into submission and feelings. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she developed feelings for him, but that realization created doubts. Eventually, something will have to break – and the thought of hurting him suddenly felt too much to bear.

“Are you alright?” He moved her hair out of her face, remaining on top of her as if she’s a conquered territory he refused to leave.

Swallowing thickly, she nods. “Why aren’t you moving?”

Eyes widening, the Darkling felt heat rush to his face. He was trying to be sweet, to show her it was more than a quick fuck. It was indescribable for him – a dawn after a long night he’s lived in. No woman ever lessened the loneliness inside his heart and then she waltzed into his life. He couldn’t imagine living without her again. She was the northern star in his dark sky and he never wanted to leave.

“I should see Ivan about earlier”, he murmured, nearly wincing as he pulled out. She wrapped herself up in the sheets again, her eyes wide as she stared ahead, thinking about how badly she’s already failing her mission.

Frowning as she shifted, Y/N felt Aleksander’s semen leave her. She cleared her throat, her eyes watering. She felt disgusted with herself, like she needed her skin rubbed off with scalding hot water and peeled off if that didn’t work. She could feel him, smell him on every inch of her skin and the worst of it all? She loathed just how cold she felt when his arms weren’t wrapped around her. She absolutely detested how giddy her heart felt when she saw the shit-eating grin on his face as he brought her to climax.

“When will we visit the armies by the fold?” She asked, switching into the woman she is instead of the woman she’s molded into by his lips.

Impassive, he looked back at her as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. “Why? Don’t believe I’ve kept my word?”

It unnerved her just how cold his voice felt, how impersonal. Standing, she wrapped the nightgown around her body. Taking his kefta in her hands, she held it open for him to slip into.

His eyes flicker from the kefta to her, as if he’s confused as well. It felt odd not knowing their place now. Their previous dynamic was easy to settle into, bickering felt like second nature. Conversing without spewing venom brought unfamiliar discomfort mostly because they’d much rather return to the bed behind them. Leaving that room carried an unspoken possibility of their time together being nothing but a fluke – a onetime deal. The outside world carries responsibilities, the kind that places them on opposite sides of the war.

“Thank you”, he turns around, allowing her to help dress him. Wives do that, he realized. Loving wives help their husbands dress just as often as they help them undress. Husbands do the same for their wives – though he much preferred the undressing part.

He kissed her brow unexpectedly, eyes flickering to her trembling lips as they passed a surprised gasp. “I know you want to see the results on a field, but rest assured I’ve kept my word.” Licking his lips, he reached for a glass from behind her. Pouring himself a glass, he watched her gnaw on her lower lip. For once, the ice queen showed there are emotions inside her capable of more than just disdain.

Breaking out of her daze, she cleared her throat. “I prefer to have confirmation”, she remarked.

Snorting, he looks up in frustration. He wanted to grab her by the throat as he would with any other human who’d dare challenge him, question him. In his mind, he pinned her to the bed, his hands wrapped around her delicate little wrists. ‘Don’t play games with me’, he’d say, ‘Don’t ever think you’re capable of that.’ He wanted so badly to treat her the same, as an enemy, but she had done something to him. No matter how hard he wished he could fight it, something inside him came to life – his heart beats unburdened by the shadows, for her. It was always going to be her.

“I guess I’m asking you to trust me”, he looked at her with a softness he visibly struggled with. His hand griped the glass far too tightly for it to fool her. He was hurt by her insinuation and she didn’t know how to respond.

“Aleksander.” Calling him by his first name for the first time felt so natural, but terrifying as his eyes lit up when it crossed her lips.

He shuddered. “Say it again”, he commanded, his eyes darkened as he pressed his lips together.

The look on her face would surely haunt him for an eternity. She was shocked, maybe even frightened. She didn’t mean to call him by his name, she had made a mistake and he could read it on her face.

She spun, fleeing into the bathroom. She ran from him like he had come to steal her soul. He thought about chasing after her, but it would be futile. She would return on her own. She lost the game, she was his. He swallowed his whisky and smiled. Perhaps the way his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name passing her lips should have been a sign he lost the game too, but he didn’t give it a second thought.

She is his.

Once he left, she did exactly as she wished – she scrubbed herself clean of any remainders of him. He’ll walk around with her scent clinging to him, but she will not be branded his. Though her hips bear his markings, she felt satisfied they were easily covered with a kefta.

“You don’t have to say it”, Genya raised an eyebrow at the shadows of Kirigan’s fingertips across her friend’s hips.

“Say what?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, her heart picking up pace.

Smirking, Genya lowered her voice, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N, exhaled audibly through her nose. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Ha!” Genya clapped her hands, “We are winning today!”

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N turned her undivided attention to an overly excited Genya. “Care to explain?”

“Well”, she shrugged innocently, “I may have found us a new ally.”

Stunned, Y/N sat on the edge of the bathtub. “Who?”

“David”, Genya exclaimed.

“Isn’t he Kirigan’s little…pet?”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya huffed, “No! He’s a brilliant man and he believes in equality and a brighter future.”

“But can we trust him with the secret?”

Swallowing thickly, Genya paused. Inhaling deeply, she nods. “I’d vouch for him.”

“I need concrete proof”, Y/N sighs, “This isn’t going to end well for us if he decides to spill everything to Kirigan!”

Rubbing her temples, Y/N felt as if the pressure inside her head would cause her brain to burst. It’s pressing in, choking every good idea she’s ever had.

“What would happen if he did know?” Genya crouched before her. With her hands on Y/N’s knees, Genya sighed. “Maybe he’d be receptive too.”

Snorting, Y/N couldn’t believe how naïve Genya is. “No. He’d be too angry to see the big picture.”

It didn’t matter that he’s begun colonizing Y/N’s heart or that every inch of her skin craved the touch of his hand. It felt as if she were invincible when he stood beside her, as if he had made her fireproof. No scar hurt when he kissed her, no grief was too difficult to bear when he looked at her.

“Damn it”, Y/N covered her face, “I want to believe in him, I do.” She couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings are the aftermath of the night he saved her life or the night of ecstasy he had given her. Is it really genuine emotion or did her heart move to her vagina?

“So believe”, Genya encouraged. A sympathetic smile adorned her full lips, her eyes kinder than before.

“How can I ever trust him when he’s got a superiority complex regarding humans? He’s never going to willingly protect one!”

“He did with you”, Genya pressed her lips into a thin line. “You’re paranoid because you are afraid allowing yourself to see the good in him might actually make you love him.”

And she is. She’s afraid to love him or let him love her. What would be the point? In the end, they’re too different.

“Talk to David again”, Y/N stood, sniffling. “I’ll head to the library.”

Genya raised an eyebrow. “Library?”

The first casualty of war is innocence and Y/N had none left. She was once called ‘angel’ by her father, by her comrades in the army too. She was the epitome of a pure heart who would sacrifice itself for others. She didn’t feel like an angel anymore, but she will play the part. No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.

“Yeah”, Y/N breathes out. “I want to look for something.” Truth be told, she wanted to research Aleksander and his lineage.

If the dark heretic is from his bloodline, she needed to know everything about him, about the hearts of those he came from. If she’s ever going to consider her husband as an ally, she has to know him – all of him. If she asked, she worried he’d cover up the darkest parts of him. He’d deem her too human to understand, too fragile to know all the horrors that tie into who he’s become.

It was time to find out if she could trust Aleksander.

=============================

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Part 9

[dailycharacteroption]

Dark Lurker (Rogue Archetype)

(art by NK Art on Artstation)

 In the shadows of the worlds largest city, there exist many lowlifes, ne’er do wells, and cutthroats, but many fear the ones that become truly one with the darkness. Some call them the hungry night, or living shadows, but all are… Dark Lurkers.

Despite the dramatic name though, the dark lurker isn’t doing that much to stand out from the crowd, at least in terms of basic theme. A rogue that uses the cover of darkness to conceal their deeds? What will they think of next?!

Sarcasm aside, the real usefulness of this archetype shows itself when you actually look at the mechanics.

At it’s most basic, the dark lurker specializes in fighting in darkness, more specifically in negating the disadvantages of being a light-dependent character that wishes to use the darkness to their advantage without having darkvision and without providing their own light spells to see what they are doing.

In this way, despite their reputation, they are something of a counter-rogue, negating the advantages that other stealthy combatants have when in the dark to achieve victory, which unlike the description above, is actually interesting.

 At their most basic level, dark lurkers learn how to trust their instincts and target where the vitals of foes should be, even when they cannot see them clearly, their precision improving with mastery.

As they grow in skill, they also sharpen their senses to fight without their eyesight, growing better and better at it.

The most powerful of these rogues hone their senses to the point where they can pinpoint foes nearby even if they cannot see them, picking up on subtle clues from all their senses.

This archetype also recommends rogue talents that disorient the targets of their strikes, allow them to slip away, and strike from afar with precision.

Wanna play a human rogue, or some other ancestry that lacks darkvision or even low-light vision, but don’t want to have to worry about the GM remembering that you suffer the same penalties in the dark as your foe? This archetype might be for you, granting a nice natural progression for blind-fighting, and ways to negate a foe’s concealment, (or cover if you play the unchained version). I’d recommend a build focused on using the darkness to your advantage, slipping in and out while your foes swing at empty air.

 This archetype may give a flavor of being the ambusher in the dark, but really, such rogues can have all sorts of motives and methods. Some may come from a rough and tumble part of their home city where it pays to master fighting in darkness to survive the dog-eat-dog world they grew up in, or they might be as the flavor says and prey upon those that take a wrong turn into the darkest alleys of the city. Some may even be assassins specializing in hunting those that use the darkness to their advantage.

  Surface elves and drow have long warred over the sacred ruins they once shared in Dulva, and the surface elves have devised all manner of tricks to combat the darkness their shadowy kin wield, even turning the tables on them with incredible senses and alchemical tricks to inhibit their night-sight.

 Rumor has it that the Night’s Embrace Club has recently hired an air veela dancer. However, the club lies in a bad neighborhood with all sorts of villainous types looking to take advantage of the attraction. As such, the owner Milla has put out a discrete job offer to clear out any ruffians lurking near her establishment.

 Ever since she could remember, Vikari has had to fight for everything she had, and she swore that no one would ever get the jump on her. So she honed her instincts, training in secret to sharpen her senses. Of course, this suited her burglar father just fine, who used her as a lookout for many years. What exactly happened to him, she will not discuss.

[draconic-ichor]

His Sweet Lamb

Elden Ring fic

Part 3

Varré/female tarnished

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, medical gore, cannon typical violence

Summary: Varré and Noor get used to their new arrangement

Feedback appreciated, 18+

As the afternoon stretched on, Varré packed to leave. Noor felt a shot of worry surge through her as she watched him.

“Wait…you’re leaving?” She questioned.

“Did you expect me to trail after you constantly?” He questioned back, not glancing up from his pack.

“I thought we were like, a team now?” She murmured, the idea seeming childish now.

“I’m your maiden, not a constant traveling companion.” He corrected, “I will assist you if needed but I have my own matters to attend to.”

Noor nodded.

Varré slung the pack over his shoulder, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, come now.” He reached out, taking Noor’s chin softly. Both their faces were hidden from the other, only their eyes showing.

“You must go and follow the path of grace.” He instructed.

“How would I be able to reach you?” She asked.

“Call out to me and I’ll hear you.” His eyes narrowed as he added, “But only if I’m truly needed. I have higher duties then being maiden, remember that well.” He tipped her head up more, mask inches from her, “This, everything I do for you, is a kindness.”

She wanted to pull away from his hold but fretted it would spur the surgeon’s help. So she simply met his gaze, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“Good.” He purred, releasing her to straighten. He retrieved a medallion from his robes, activating it. He melted into thick, crimson ooze, soaking into the earth. In moments he was gone, and she was again alone.

She filled up her days with exploring deeper and fighting more than her fair share of foes. She met a friendly face in a noble named Kennith, and was able to purge the interlopers from his keep. The man was very appreciative.

She hung around Mistwood for a long while, avoiding the runebears was it’s own feat.

Varré would appear from time to time, helping her put her runes to use and catching up on her happenings. He would usually pop up around nightfall, while Noor was cooking or setting up camp.

~

Noor held the carcass over the fire, turning it every so often.

When Varré returned she extended the offer, “I’m making supper, would you like some?”

“I’ll respectfully decline.” He raised a hand.

“Why?” She sounded offended, “I’m not going to burn it this time.”

“I put more scrutiny into what I ingest into my body than everything found crawling across the earth.” He shrugged, “But don’t change your habits on my tastes.”

Noor narrowed her eyes but continued to slowly turn the meat.

“What in Marika’s name was that before you mutilated it?” He tilted his head.

“A springhare…I think.” She admitted.

“Astounding.” He mused.

She sat back, tucking in to eat her hunk of blackened meat. Pausing she looked up to where he leaned against a rock.

“Varre..when do you eat?” Noor asked curiously.

“When I’m not playing nursemaid to a lowborn tarnished.” He answered without pause.

She made a sound of offense, biting into her meal. The meat gave an audible ‘crunch’ as she did so.

Eventually during one of his visits he awarded Noor a nickname: Lambkin. He always said it so sweetly to her, making her heart thump harder. She didn’t know if it was out of a place of real affection or just another way to get under her skin.

For every way the man helped her, he found two to annoy her. He was not a guardian, making that painfully obvious. Varré allowed her to make her own mistakes and live, or more usually die, with the consequence.

He was always there to help her back onto her feet when she rose at dawn. They developed a mutual understanding between each other.

~

Varré heard her call, a request echoing around his head. He gave a sigh, whipping blood from his hands before going to clean himself up a bit. He soon used his medallion to instantly teleport to the closest grace.

The ruins of an old church greeted him, the day waning into brilliant vermillion hues. His eyes fell on a huddled shape near the base of an inner wall.

“My Lambkin?” Varré tilted his head.

Noor jerked, having dozed off. Her face wrappings were stained crimson, her right eyes held at a squint.

Varré came closer, “Tell me what happened.”

“It was a troll…” Noor shifted, stretching out her legs in front of her, “Ambushed me as I left the woods.”

When Varré didn’t respond she went on, “It won’t stop bleeding, I-I didn’t know what to do.” She blinked at him as he knelt down, setting his pack beside her thigh.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“Oh hush.” Varré flashed a smile from behind his mask, “Let’s see the damage, shall we?”

Noor gave a small nod.

Varré removed her head wrappings gently, Noor closed her eyes. He slowly revealed jaw length curls the color of fresh fallen snow. He’d noticed her eyes were unusually pale and the small bits of skin that flashed between her robes were akin to alabaster. Seeing her bare face he realized she had albinism. He kicked himself for not noticing sooner, but now wasn’t the time. He parted her curls, finding the gash near her temple.

Varré hummed, pulling out a cloth, soaking it with alcohol, dabbing the wound. Noor winced, the alcohol stinging terrible.

He made a little soothing sound, taking her chin with his free and to tilt her more towards him. He pulled a needle and thread from his bag. Noor opened her eyes, gulping at the sight of the needle between his fingers.

“Oh good heavens, you face demigods but a simple needle worries you?” He chided, holding her still. He quickly and deftly sutured the wound shut. Her face pinched as the needle pierced her skin but bit her tongue against any sounds.

Varré pulled back, admiring his work showily, “There!”

Noor opened her pale eyes, a weak smile over her lips, “…Thank you.”

“It’s my job.” He brushed her away.

Noor wiped the drying blood off the side of her face with her robe sleeve.

He turned back towards her, almost sweetly toying with some of her snowy curls, “You truly are a little lamb, I had no idea.” She could see his smile through his eyes.

“It’s a curse…” she leaned back against the stone, fatigue catching up with her.

“Perhaps.” He shrugged, rearranging items in his bag, “Quite interesting though.”

She made a sound of acknowledgment, not agreeing but not in any mood to argue. Varré moved next to her, getting comfortable against the wall and draping a blanket over them both.

He leaned his head back, completely prepared to attempt sleep right there and then. Noor shifted to look at him, over the featureless mask. Oh how she wished to remove it, to see his bare face.

During her musings he cracked open an eye, lips curling at her shameless staring.

“Keep that up and you’ll make me blush, my lambkin.” He murmured, making her cheeks rosey.

She quickly looked away, hearing him chuckle.

“D-Do you really think my condition interesting?” She asked. Oh she was reaching for compliments.

“Of course.” He held up a gloved hand, palm in a silent request. She slowly lifted her own, placing her hand in his. His fingers easily wrapped around her, holding her arm outstretched as he used his other to push her sleeve up to her elbow. He bared the skin of her forearm to the firelight, marveling at the latticework of veins easily seen through alabaster skin.

He ran a gloved finger along a particularly prominent one, pulsing a vibrant purple.

“Beautiful.” He sighed, imagining her skin pale flecked in crimson.

She sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling hot. His face tipped up to meet her gaze. Noor realized just how close they were, hips almost flush beneath the blanket.

His yellow eyes crinkled in the corners, giving away a hidden smile, “Your skin is a perfect canvas, showing any mark like a magnificent stroke of paint.” His voice became low and wistful, “Oh…to see the beautiful white bathed in blood. Like lace.”

Noor hung on his words for a long moment, everything he spoke dripping with flowery sweetness. She pulled her hand away from his grasp, rubbing her thumb over the shadow his touch left.

“Don’t worry,” she shrugged, not meeting his gaze, “You’ll see my body ripped open plenty.” She sounded dismal.

“Oh there is a striking difference between the gore of battle and the work of a loving artist of flesh, a assure you.” He hummed. When she shot him a worried glance he chuckled, “Don’t fret, my sweet lambkin. I’d never draw knife to you without permission.”

“Are you proposition me, Varré?” A sudden cord of boldness shooting through her. Maybe her weariness was wearing her down like a strong ale. She met his gaze almost challengingly.

He flushed a bit, quickly answering, “Merely trying to quell your fears.” Adding with a tut, “Brazen tonight, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, shifting to lay her back flush against the stone. Varré made a small sound, resting his head back.

[moxfirefly]

I have to thank @southernblossoms for this one, she got evil!Leo in my brain and he hasn’t left ever since.

TW: Violence, Gore, Blood, NSFW content below

Rated Explicit (18+ years)

“She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal

She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

She said that I don't look like me no more, no more

I said I'm just tired”

Leonardo always knew there was an inch inside of him that was darkness.

If left alone and unchecked, it would spread. Fester like some disease and he feared that someday he’d allow it to course through his body so freely.

And let it win.

It seemed today would be that unfortunate day. A night like any other, just more bloodshed than necessary. But hey, who said they should go and kill his father? Torture him to such an extent and string up his body for his brothers and him to find.

In that very moment that inch had grown in his soul to a degree that it blinded him. All he knew was to destroy, to hurt and erase those who had done this. He felt so cold, hands cupping his fathers motionless bloodied feet, the gentle tapping of blood and the cries of his brothers echoing in his ears.

So when Leo stood, bloodied (not bathed in his own), holding the head of the monster responsible, how could he regain peace? This had only brought a momentary second of reprieve and it was so fleeting. He looked into Shredder’s lifeless eyes, numbness spreading but a need that had started out as an inch. A need to kill everyone who had been part of this, directly or indirectly.

They all deserved so much worse.

They all deserved death.

Slow and torturous.

He had disappeared after that night. His brothers knew that this was the end of their leader, of their beloved brother who wanted to believe that good in this world could prevail.

For them they never imagined that Leo would just let the darkness take hold of him, nestle him with such a loving embrace. For him to embrace it right back felt justified, for his brothers it painted the gory picture of things to come.

They never expected to meet him in the opposition. To view him as foe and not family. Leonardo had quickly taken hold of the scum of the earth. He had molded the darkness to serve him.

Raphael thought Shredder was their worst enemy.

He never expected to have Leo claim that spot in a matter of months.

The Foot had fallen under his ruling, and he wasted no time in setting examples, and the bloody path those examples left behind never seized to churn the brothers stomachs.

There was no means of bringing him back, and perhaps it’s for the better.

Because whatever has eaten away inside of Leonardo cannot simply be flushed out of his body, nor ripped from his very soul. The body counts too high by now as he strays further and further away from what he was taught.

From what his father taught him...

_______________

You run with the unsavories. An eat or be eaten mentality that has caused you to survive years and years of gang wars and mutant freaks. Not like you’d throw about that last bit, much less when you’re standing single file, close to pissing yourself because he’s there.

And Christ he’s a sight to behold.

A rumor, a legend, a monster.

You tell him you’ve got valuable info, you know where to follow the trail that’ll lead to success. Even when your partner tries to push his chin up in front of Leonardo, you’re already wincing at what his demise will be shaped in.

Leo really loves cutting heads off.

A strong emphasis on loves.

You swallow, eyes flying anywhere but the rapidly growing puddle of blood that approaches your feet. Even then, your eyes stray towards the newest leader of the Foot, Leo punctures his katana into the head, a crude skewer as he lifts it and examines the severed body part as if answers lie in the gush of blood that falls. Those dark blue eyes move on you, you swallow.

He walks over to you, blade in hand, blood tap tapping onto the ground “Your information” Leo’s voice is weightless, bored almost. You motion towards your pocket, the crumpled up note with a poorly drawn map the key to your salvation. Leo reaches his hand in and you’re still, stiff and frightened by the intrusive touch and his proximity.

He pulls the note out and examines, the ghastly expression of horror on the decapitated head so close you can smell the coppery scent. “Can you get more of this? The coordinantes?” You crane your neck to look at him, his stature imposing. “Yeah, I’m your girl for that shit, swear on it” He flicks the blade and the sound of the head rolling makes your stomach flip flop along with it.

You feel the tip of a bloodied katana on your chin.

“Don’t make me cut off such a pretty head, hm?” You want to nod but the blade digs and Leo’s mouth twitches in something akin to a smirk. The small cut to your chin stings, but you wonder why other parts of you vibrate.

The danger, the adrenaline, Leonardo.

_____________

Your next meeting doesn’t quell your nervousness. Leonardo is an impressive sight as always and it’s imposible to ignore that maybe you won’t make it out alive every time you both meet. Unless proven useful, which you take to heart. You bring all sorts of information, names, rumors, possible gangs wanting to take him on, the police. Any word you heard in regards to him.

“It’s possible they might try to meet you half way, catch you off guard” The warehouse is chilly, that fall weather starting to hit but Leo’s unfazed, the black tails of his mask move with the gust of winds. “Stupid of them to assume that” The second floor of the warehouse seems to be his own, leaving the rest of the crew bellow. He sits on the windowsill, cloth running up his katana, it had been bloody when you were brought in.

“I’m just repeating what I heard, I’m sure you’re more than adept to take them on” You stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you’d been frisked not like you were stupid enough to bring a weapon to this.

But then again, the more he polished that sword, the more you wished you had something.

“What else have you heard? Any word on Karai?” The woman in question had appeared to have disappeared into thin air after Shredder’s death and Leo taking command of the Foot soldiers. Wether she planned to reclaim what was hers or if she had simply quit was beyond you and anybody else. “Nothing on her, she might’ve skipped town or the country” You offered, eyes following the sword as Leo placed it on a nearby table.

“She strike you as the type? A coward?” He walked over towards you, his expression so eerily unreadable.

Yet, your eyes wandered over him. Over muscle and scales. Overs scars and bruises. That illogical part of your brain making you wonder and fantasize, because fear could be exciting.

There was something exciting about Leonardo.

“Well?” He was in front of you, looking down at you. It hits you how minuscule you must look to him.

“Probably plotting? You did murder her dad” You find his eyes, you swallow.

“Well he murdered mine. Eye for an eye...” He spoke gently almost.

“Makes the whole world go blind” You finished for him, and maybe that was stepping on a line but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. For a brief second you catch his eyes scan yours, move across your face and settle at your lips.

Passed your neck, towards your breasts.

He turns around and grabs his sword.

“One week, find more info on her, your pay is downstairs” You’re dismissed and before you process anything a Foot soldier is ushering you downstairs and shoving an envelope in your hands.

That night you dream about what your lips might feel like against reptilian scales.

—————————

Karai’s whereabouts are practically unheard off. If there was a trail it had run cold months back and judging from the word of mouth being passed around there wasn’t anything sustainable. You dig up anything and everybody. Every dirt bag with an agenda, ex Foot soldiers, opposing gangs, the mob and just about anybody you have in your radar.

It yields nothing.

You can’t return to Leo with nothing.

Rubbing a hand across your tired face, you make your way through the back alleys of the city. Your one week was coming up and all you had were weak possibilities and baseless assumptions. In your line of business enough information to create doubt can go a long way, but this was conspiracy levels bad.

So you thought and you thought quick.

Pulling out your phone you called him first. Perhaps a dumb move but at the same time you figured it showed that you were trying. You asked if the two of you could meet, the line briefly went quiet before your text tone startled you. He hung up and you were met with the address of a building in Brooklyn and to go up to the roof.

To say you were scared was to put it lightly.

You were shitting yourself.

The roof of the building had a green house which seemed unused but it looked like it was being kept up with the vegetation still green and alive. Your hand made for the door knob but something you could only name as a sixth sense made you freeze.

Leo was there, the shift in the atmosphere was impossible to deny. Your turned and blinked.

Wherever he had been, it must’ve been worse. There was blood on him, a fresh gash by his arm and the steady drip drip of blood hitting the concrete. “Jesus are you...?” You knew he was ok, but whomever had been on the receiving end of this had it by far much worse.

“Inside, go inside” He motioned for the green house and you did. Your eyes scanned around hoping to find something to help with. There was a nest of sorts in a corner, several blankets and cushions, a table and a chair amidst the plants. You found what you were looking for near the bonsais, a shelf with a box of first aid. Leo went towards a counter with a basin and a jar of water, he went about cleaning the gash on his arm.

You approached him with the box of first aid, blue eyes were cautious as you took out antiseptic and gauze. Leo had turned to face you, giving you more room to work on his arm as you bandaged it. “You alright?” Your voice held hesitation, Leo’s questioning gaze turned to amusement. “I’m fine, what I want to know is why you wanted to meet” You finished bandaging him and took a step back.

Pick your words wisely, you thought with a slight shutter.

“Listen I’ve spoken with any and everyone who might have any clue but Karai is off the radar”Swallowing a lump in your throat you shrugged off your jacket, worry manifesting in heat. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and I’m really fucking good at my job but this bitch is either underground or who knows! Dead for all I know!” The exasperation and worry was clear as day, he either took this the right way or the wrong way.

Wrong way being you end up pushed off this very building, at best ironically enough.

Leo swallowed the information, clearly bouncing it around his head. The dry specks of blood scattered across his green flesh. An odd silence fell amongst you both and even when he rose in all his imposing glory you kept your eyes focused on him. Getting a read on that cold calculated gaze of his was hard enough.

Your throat feels painfully dry once he has you backed up against the wall. Something about dying alone with not even an audience to witness it didn’t sit too right with you.

But then again, Leo’s large hand gripped your neck, nothing too tight but enough to alert you to its presence. Those blue eyes looked haunted but just beneath that laid something you couldn’t just place your finger on. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed you, one of them fascinated with your quickened pulse. You can’t blink, unsure what may happen and when he dips down your adrenaline makes you flinch.

Leo halts his movement, his blood feels like it’s pumping loudly enough for you to hear. Wide eyed you lean up instead and ghost your lips against his, Leo sighs through his nostrils and it stays that way. A pull but not enough of a push because there’s still fear in your blood and a hesitation that you can’t put a name to from Leonardo.

Your phone going off startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin and to a fraction of your dismay Leo takes a step away. One of your contacts name flashed on the screen which meant there could still be some good news. Your turned away to speak, pulling a marker from your pocket you write down some information on your forearm. It’s a quick conversation and once done you turn to see Leo putting together his gear again.

You bit your lip, whatever was about to happen would just have to take a back seat. ‘Fucking coward’ you can’t help but think about yourself.

“One of my guys says he might have it on good authority that Karai is still here” You watch him turn his head to listen, even if he’s got his back/shell to you. “Well?” He pushes while adjusting his swords.

“He says she might’ve just met up with...with one of your brothers” Tense doesn’t even begin to explain what his body did, the mear mention of his family was a sore subject and you had been warned to not even attempt to open that can of worms. Swallowing and feeling your throat stick from how dry it felt you see him pull out a key and toss it to you. “Send me that address, you’ll get your money at the warehouse” You barely manage to catch the key to the greenhouse, but still you raise a brow at the offering.

“Come back here when you’re ready” Is all he says about it, confusion is painted on your face but when he moved to leave he takes a moment to hold your chin. “Don’t make me regret this” He says and before you can attempt to ask he’s gone.

You stay there, twenty minutes or so in nothing but your thoughts and his words swimming around your mind.

Feeling heat between your legs and a lick of frustration consuming you.

_____________

Two weeks you contemplate the key in your pocket.

Two weeks you let your thumb hover over his number but never press down.

For two weeks you find your pillow between your legs, trying to reach the sensation he managed with just his body close to yours.

But nothing.

It’s not enough.

New York is covered in rain as you make your way through the sea of people. Regardless of the many umbrellas you still get soaked and by the time you’re up on that roof, hand digging out the key to the green house you’re drenched.

Inside you shake off the excess and remove your jacket. The cold hits you and you can’t help but feel silly that you’re here, maybe this is his way of taking you out, you’re not needed anymore by now you assume.

You turn on the few lanterns that are scattered through the room. Kicking off your boots you rub your arms and shiver, flesh breaking out into goosebumps as the door creaks open once more.

Leo’s equally drenched when he steps through, the black tails of his mask sticking to him. The two of you just stare at one another, steady drips of water and the rain outside picking up more strengh.

Carefully you watch him begin take apart his gear, leaving his katanas by the door. He’s trying to keep your apprehension at low levels, his steps slow and soft. You let your arms fall to your sides and as your heart tries to hammer out of your chest you don’t flinch this time, even as his hands go for the hem of your long sleeve. You take a deep breath as his eyes wander across your now exposed flesh. The fascination goes straight to your core, feeling yourself warm up as his hands rest on your stomach.

With trembling hands you unbutton your jeans and step out of them and the inhale Leo takes as he closes his eyes makes you reach for him. He holds you against him and sighs, large frame shuddering at the feel of your skin against his reptilian one. He buries his snout against your neck, breathing harder as his hands run all over your back and rear. Leo grips and kneads the flesh and a groan escapes against your ear that makes your wrap your arms around his neck. He feels the softness of your breasts against his chest, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about them for months now.

You can’t wrap your head around it but he feels just as you fantasized about him. The roughness of his flesh, the edges of his shell and god his teeth nip at your neck with a growl. Wiggling out of his hold you start to undo whatever else needs to be taken off and Leo can’t help but smirk at your frenzied movements. He allows you to undress him, he’s gutted when your hands land on his waist as you start to kneel before him.

“No, no, kiss me first” He cups your face and presses his mouth against yours and that’s it, you’re done for, you’re hooked and can’t go back now. His kiss is possessive, forceful and it drowns every thought in your brain.

You pressed against one of the tables with the many Bonsais when Leo’a tongue slithers into your awaiting mouth. He sits you down on the table and nudges your legs apart to fit himself in between them, you crane your neck up losing yourself in his kiss. He can taste rain water, feels the sweat and rain mingle on your skin. God he wants to run his tongue all over you, eat you whole if he could.

It feels like forever when he pulls away, reluctance in his body. Blue eyes search into your e/c eyes, he wants to see something maybe your fear so he denies himself falling into this rabbit hole. Your hands press against his plastron and gently you run your nails down the hard plates, you shake your head fascinated by the texture. He’s rough but strong, a marvel of a species.

With some difficulty you managed to push your underwear off and spread yourself again for his viewing pleasure. “I want you,” You nodded, eyes falling to the hard length between his legs. Leo wraps a large hand around it and pumps slowly, body shivering at the sensation. “God I fucking want you so bad” You feel him come back to you, mouth on yours in yet another harsh kiss.

The tip of his cock nudges against your wet heat and he bites your lip at the sensation. Leo pushes into you so frustratingly slow, even as his girth stretches you to a point you’ve never been before. You want him inside of you now, and Leo couldn’t agree more. He bottoms out inside of you with a lengthy groan, head thrown back in ecstasy. “You feel... so fucking good” He growls out through gritted teeth, hips picking up speed as you wantonly take him in. You press your lips to his chest and moan with each slow but pronounced thrust of his hips.

His hand finds itself at the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to keep your gaze on his. The slight tug burns so good and you can’t help but keep your pleasure filled gaze on his own. Lips parted you let him rock into you steadily until his thrust start to slam into you. The sensation spreads all over your body, little shocks of pleasure rocking your body.

“Mine, you’re going to be mine and only mine” He voices lowly, a threat laced in his passion. You’re too far gone to speak, nodding aimlessly at his every word, moans falling from your lips. “Nobody will own you like I do, nobody will touch you, Y/N? You understand? I’m making you mine” He pressed his forehead to yours, lost in this feeling.

“Fuck yes, yours, I’m gonna be all yours” You lick his lips and when he reaches a hand between both your bodies your mind goes blank. A vicious shudder overtakes you as you muffle a scream against his jaw. He fills you up so good and so warm with a strange vibration that sounds like an endless growl. Each rope he pumps into you making his eyes roll back. You’re shattered against, limp and raw throat from the scream that leaves your mouth.

He watches your come down, hand against your cheek, thumb running across your lips. When he pulls out just enough to watch his essence cascade out of your pretty little hole, he pumps himself back into you. His eyes say it all, from here on out whatever your life was up to this point is over and done with. Leo nuzzles you still lazily pumping himself in you, blissful to the little tremors your cunt produces around his member making him harden once again. Picking you up, bodies still joined, he makes his way to the nest of blankets on the floor.

You hold onto him, all you can do is hold onto him.

____________

It’s rather odd to be in this position. With an entire year that’s passed it never seems to feel normal, not that you’re complaining though.

Being in a position of power by proxy has its fucking fun rewards.

For example nobody in this city will ever contemplate taking you out. Unless they want a very pissed off Foot Leader to set fire to the city and maybe even the world. From opposite points to now standing at his side. No one is to address you as below them, or touch you or let alone breath the same air you do.

You can still hear the bones that were cracked when one particularly unruly Foot soldier made snide comment about you. Each crack of the mans arm being slowly twisted until his arm broke still rang in your ears to this day. Leo hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even scowled even as the twist turned to pulling the limb off.

He did in fact fuck you hard against the glass windows of the hotel suite he had you both in. The copper scent lingering on his scales, but enraptured with the heat enveloping his cock.

With the city at war everyone had began to run amok to do their own barbaric things. Each part of the city divided between gangs, mobs, mutants, police and civilians. You were out on active Foot duties, you were still free to do as you pleased but with protection and Leo demanded your whereabouts on the hour due to possibilities of abduction.

He knew you were a weakness.

But did he give a shit? Of course not. Let them try, he hasn’t needed an excuse for his tyrannical acts thus far, but if harm did ever befall you, you only wished you could witness what his methods would be to exact his revenge.

And he was so familiar with revenge after all.

You admire yourself in the full length mirror, examining the body that training under Leo has provided you. The mutant terrapin in question comes up from behind you and wraps his strong sculpted arms around your waist. You can’t help but smirk as he rest his chin a top your head. “We’re heading out in half an hour” He mumbles against your hair, enjoying the scent. You watch through the mirror as his hands rub up and cup your breast, with a sigh you rest against his strong build. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Purple dragons?” You feel him shake his head, fingers dipping inside the cups of your bra. “Mob,” Is his sole reply.

You bite your lip, gripping his wrists. “We’ll be late” You try to muffle a moan as he tweaks a nipple, he grinds against your backside. “I’m killing them regardless, and I much rather have the scent of your cunt on my hands while I listen to their boring excuses for parley” Your knees buckled when you felt his hand slither inside your underwear, finger already parting your lips and humming as he feels how wet you already are.

You feel his other hand wrap around your neck, keeping you upright and your gaze on the mirror as his finger dips into your welcoming heat.

He engulfs your every thought, every sensation; and what’s the fate of the world when you’ve got him? He chose you just as much as you chose him. You’ve never considered yourself good, scumbag street rat who just happened to make a living amongst the other scumbags. But this? With Leonardo and the trail of bloodied heads he’s left behind, it’s hard not to be excited to see gasoline be poured on the city. He trails his lips to the shell of your ear and you can’t help but grin.

“Mine” He says.

Burn everything.

[transformers-fan-continuities]

Spotlight: Ties That Bind

This one’s a doozy folks! If you missed the last spotlight you can go read it here, but strap in for The Ties That Bind, an absolutely brilliant take on humanformers. It’s hosted here at @tiesthatbind-tf​ created by @artsy-hobbitses​!

Q) Give us a run down of your cont! What's it about, what's it called, what's it like?

Ties That Bind is a humanformers-based original continuity which is part Science Fiction and part Alternate History where the invasion of Quintessons and introduction of their technology to Earth in 1920 sets the world and humankind on a completely different trajectory. The active narrative spans a period from 1920 to 2070, covering the First and Second Quintesson Wars, the interplanetary Antillan War (leading to the creation of Unicron on Mars) and the Great War which involves the Autobots, Decepticons and Functionist stalwarts, and how it affects the characters.

The cast is pretty sprawling and the narrative is mostly centred around human drama with bits of humor interspaced and a dash of horror (mostly centred around how the previous government often chose to utilize the technology left behind from the Quintesson Wars to create new systems of oppression, which affected many of the characters, in the name of worldwide rebuilding efforts).

Q) What characters take the lead here? Any personal favorites?

I will admit to this continuity being very much heavy on the relationship between Old Bastards  Optimus Prime and Megatron, which is given considerable weight as they were best friends who had known each other since childhood and were deeply intrinsic to each other’s growths as individuals, which makes it all the worse when guilt and betrayal enter the party. Despite being captains in two corners of this battle, there’s a part of them that just cannot let go of their pasts together and they need to reconcile with how this will affect their agenda (Megatron) and how they lead their team (Optimus) who don’t necessarily share their history.

Other characters with significant development include:

Starscream, a Cold Construct in a toxic working relationship with Megatron with whom he is hiding a dark secret, who struggles to balance the underhanded viciousness he believes he needs to gain power and his innate desire from his Senate days to make the world a better place. 

Windblade, a Camien native who fights her government’s apathy concerning the situation on Earth which they see as unsalvageable compared to their more Utopian society. 

Prowl, a Cold Construct raised from childhood to be a cop in a police state, who finds out that he was brainwashed several times  to ensure his obedience and efficacy as a government asset and is now working to reclaim some semblance of the humanity he was never allowed to feel and figure out how much of him is who he really is and how much is programming.

Hound, a sheltered Beastman who joined the fight to ensure that Beastmen the world over would have the same rights he did in his homeland of Shetland Isle, but is forcefully stripped of his humanity and faced with his animal side during the war and has to relearn what personhood means amid his trauma.

Q) Is there a bigger point to this, like a theme or some catharsis? Or is it just fluffy fun?

God with the amount of time I spent sleepless trying to figure out how the logistics of this or the semantics of that were supposed to work in universe, I cannot for the life of me say it’s fluffy fun, but I can’t exactly say it hasn’t been pretty engaging either!

There’s elements of war being messy for everyone involved where there doesn’t seem to be a clear line between friend and foe at times, but I think for most part it prescribes to  Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s belief that people are inherently good, but are corrupted by the evils of society. Despite its dark themes (Including but not limited to child abuse, torture, illegal experimenation  and brainwashing), love and friendships do prevail, kindness does beget kindness, found families are made, even the smallest actions matter, and things do get better because there are people on both sides who genuinely want to, and strive to make it better.

With Cold Constructs and Beastmen, it also delves heavily into what it means to be human; to have agency and personhood.

There’s also a strong undercurrent of taking responsibility for one’s actions, even if they were made with the best of intentions (Avoidance of this is what eats up Starscream and Megatron from the inside, and what Starscream eventually embraces).

Q) How long have you been working on it?

There’s two answers to this!

I’ve had a Humanformers-related universe going all the way back to 2007 around the time the first Bayformers came out---basically I had a choice between learning to draw cars or draw people (I was an anthro artist back then) and I immediately chose people.

The 2007 draft however had no worldbuilding or connective storylines and was mostly a fun little venture into character design and practice which were actually instrumental to me experimenting and learning how to draw humans properly.

I left the fandom for about a decade and when I came back to it in late 2020 around September via the War for Cybertron series on Netflix, I immediately got hooked on the 2005 IDW comics I missed out on and wanted to get around to updating my old designs as well find a way to translate several of the concepts I wanted to explore in a human sense, so the 2020 update became its own full-fledged original continuity with detailed worldbuilding and history.

You can see the artistic evolution of several characters from their original incarnation below!

Q) It’s incredible to see your artistic improvement too! Give us a behind-the-scenes look! Show us a secret ;))

Say hello to my workspace! I’ve been working exclusively on the Ipad Pro since late 2016, which is fantastic because I can basically whip up concepts and sketches on the go anywhere. Nowhere is too out of bounds to work on TTB!

Also, do enjoy this sneak peek at true!form Rung, whose synthezoid human body took years to perfect.

Q) YESSSSS alright I must admit this is one of my favorite Rungs, and certainly my fave within TTB. Amazing. Phew, anyway. Where did you draw inspiration from? What canons, what other fiction, what parts of real life?

TTB was initially conceived as a faithful retelling of the IDW 2005 narrative before it was transformed into its own continuity and as such, it borrows heavily from concepts and mirrored plot lines introduced in that run! I chose to have the series inspired off it specifically for the amount of history and worldbuilding it introduced to the franchise.

Anime like Gunslinger Girl and Beastars inspired the depictions of Cold Constructs, especially the more harrowing aspects of their upbringing as government assets instead of children, and Beastmen (Beastformers) in TTB.

I haven’t depicted the world itself in my art all too much, but the architecture from Tiger and Bunny, which has sort of a futuristic Art Deco feel to it, is what you’d usually see in major cities. There is an in-universe reason for that---with a Point Of Divergence set in 1920 followed by 25 years (an entire generation) of progress basically being kicked to the curb due to the Quintesson wars, mankind was basically in a time-locked bubble until the end of the wars, and by then their heroes were 1920s-style rebellion leaders, which lead to 1920s fashion (especially among the Manual Working Class---Megatron, Jazz and Optimus all rock 1920s fashion at some point of their lives) and architecture being celebrated and retained as sort of a reminder of how things were before The Invasion. This anime’s background design is also where I adopted the tiered system TTB’s major metropolises are often built on (with each tier being designated to a different working class) from.

The main artistic style itself is a love letter to 90s cartoons, in particular Gargoyles’ deep and drama-driven character narratives and designs as well as The Centurions’ take on body armor logistics.

I also take inspiration, especially armor-wise, from the characters’ given heritage and background. As an example, Hotrod who is depicted as Irish has the flames on his armor done up with Celtic knots. Welsh aristocrat Mirage’s armor bears olden knight-style filigree and has his Autobot logo designed as a coat of arms. Indonesian Soundwave’s armor and Decepticon logo takes cues from Batik and Wayang Kulit while their mask is based off the Barong.

Q) They are absolutely gorgeous! Show off something you're really proud of, a particular favorite part of your cont.

The worldbuilding in general! Most Humanformers I’ve seen tend to treat it like a fun exercise which it is and is definitely valid, but I found myself wanting a full-fledged world to lose myself in and I sought to try and make that world myself by drafting a detailed history and timeline of events which would affect ongoing narratives, having indepth worldbuilding to include almost all societal aspects of the universe and  expanding on the concept of Beastmen and Cold Constructs existing in a human setting.

I’m not so secretly proud of the research and diversity included to make the cast look like the multicultural, globally-based team that they were meant to be instead of being locked to a single region! My original draft from 2007 was, to put it simply, quite culturally monolithic and I wanted to improve on that aspect with TTB.

I’m also proud that I’ve kept to it this far! I’m a notoriously flaky person jumping from one idea/fandom to another and to have kept at this continuity for the better part of ten months is honestly a personal feat.

Art-wise, this scene depicting a young Megatron working alongside Terminus and Impactor (cameo by @weapon-up-wallflower​‘s OC Missit!)  is definitely one of my favorites since it helps build up the world they live in and plays to familial bonds and comfort found in one another despite their less than ideal circumstances.

Q) Everything has come together so beautifully, you absolutely should be proud. What other fan canons do you love and why? Would you like to see them interviewed?

I am dying to hear more from @iscaredspider​’s Sparkpulse continuity! Her designs are MIND-BLOWINGLY GORGEOUS and I want to hear more about what inspired her to work on it!

Also YOU. Yes YOU BLURRITO. LET ME HEAR MORE ABOUT SNAP.

Q) [wails and squirms away in the mortifying ordeal of being known but in a very flattered way] I WILL SOMEDAY I PROMISE aflghsdjg thank you QwQ

Well that was fantastic, Oni, thank you muchly! A magnificent continuity with so much to look forward to! Coming up next is another personal fave of mine, the first inspiration for SNAP, so stick around...