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oxbellows · 10 months ago

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Welcome Home! Nothing Weird Happened.

Written based on @emilybeemartin's spectacular Boromir Lives AU comics, with permission. I might write more, who knows.

My whole thought process here is this: if Boromir lives and makes it back to Minas Tirith, he is about to receive an absolutely ludicrous quantity of bad news. And I for one think it would be both plausible and hilarious for Pippin to be the one who ends up delivering that news. So here we are!

Trigger warnings for that whole pyre situation from Return of the King.

It was fitting, to Boromir’s mind, that the battle for Minas Tirith should be decided by dead men. So many had died for the city of kings already, their blood seeping into her soil like rain. Why, then, should her fate rest solely in the hands of the living? An unnatural justice rang out in the clang of steel against phantom blades, heralding the return of a hope long since given up for lost.

“None but the king of Gondor may command me,” the wraith hissed.

“You?” Boromir had roared. “You, Oathbreaker? I am the heir to the Stewards of Gondor. Generations of my kin have died for an empty throne. None but the king of Gondor may command ME. Here stands the king of Gondor before us, and you will suffer him as I have!”

And suffer him they did. Sickly green washed over the last armored oliphaunt as the dead claimed more souls for their own. Boromir pulled his eyes away from the spectacle and spun his sword in his hand, scanning the area around him for the next foe. He found none. Only the backs of retreating orcs, and weary Men attending to their fallen brothers. That and, out of the corner of his eye, the strangest possible trio of a Man, a Dwarf, and an Elf. Finding no enemy to engage, Boromir instead turned his step toward the strange trio to embrace his friends in the wake of victory.

Aragorn, king of Gondor, did not appear especially regal at the moment. He was covered in grime and gore, surrounded by the corpses of orcs left to rot in the open field. Gimli’s sturdy metal armor was slick with blood, and it dripped steadily off the edge of the axe that he had slung over one shoulder. Legolas, of course, was only as disheveled as he might have been after a short run, clean of the muck that covered the rest of them. His hair still fell properly at his shoulder, what witchcraft did the Elf use to maintain it?

Boromir could only imagine what he himself must look like. He knew that he was damp and smelled like death, which did not bode well for a lordly appearance. Nonetheless, even in all his heavy armor Boromir felt lighter than he had since childhood. The battle was over, fought now only by those straggling beasts that had not managed to escape the field on foot. Boromir was still, impossibly, alive, and so were his companions. So was his king.

The enemy may yet prevail, but Gondor would not fall before the White Tree bloomed again. It was more than his grandfathers had ever dared to hope.

“Is that blood in your hair or just its natural grease?” Boromir asked his king, sliding his sword back into its scabbard and stepping over the body of a fallen orc to approach him.

Aragorn laughed, raising one dirty hand to skim his fingertips over the top of his head. “I cannot say, Captain. I only know that in either case, I would wash it before I present myself to your lord father.”

Boromir clicked his tongue dismissively. “My lord father’s not the one we have to worry about. If my brother hears that I’ve brought Isildur’s heir home in such a state, he’ll throttle me.”

He almost continued speaking. He almost added, if he’s alive. Aragorn heard the unspoken caveat all the same. His dark eyes had a softness in them when he spoke.

“The battle is over, Captain of the White Tower,” Aragorn said. “We must turn our efforts now to the dead and wounded. May we not find you kin among them.”

If the taste of ash settled on the back of Boromir’s tongue, it could be attributed to the smell of Mordor’s filthy army laying dead at his feet, and not to the terrible image that flashed across his mind’s eye of Faramir’s bloodied and unblinking face.

“My father will be well,” Boromir asserted, determined not to speculate on his brother’s wellbeing. “He is past his time as a warrior. He will have commanded our troops from a place of safety within the walls.”

Aragorn inclined his head in assent. His hair really was a sight- black blood had matted chunks of it together, and where they stood now in the open field, with the sun just beginning to peek through the enemy’s unnatural bank of shadow, Boromir could see that his clothes were in much the same state. Perhaps this was why Aragorn so persistently favored black for his travel clothes. Were he wearing any other color, it would be obvious that he was as drenched in the blood of orcs as if he had bathed in it.

A warrior of staggering skill was this king of Men, but he preferred not to proclaim his deadliness to the world. He tucked it away into shadow until such skill was needed. Perhaps one day Boromir might look upon this man that he called brother and not be humbled by the mere sight of him.

Perhaps.

“I will search with a sharp eye, then, for Captain Faramir,” Aragorn promised.

Boromir closed the distance between them to grip Aragorn’s shoulder in thanks. Aragorn returned the gesture with ferocity, digging his fingers into the mail covering Boromir’s upper arm. Gimli thumped Boromir’s back in a heavy handed gesture of approval, and Legolas bowed his head with a coy smile. A river of unspoken words passed between the four of them, about great and important things like love and fear at the end of the world, and then they released each other. Aragorn turned his stride towards the Citadel to lend his knowledge of elvish medicine to the House of Healing. Legolas and Gimli set out together to help carry the wounded into the city for aid. Boromir made for the rocky outcrop at the city’s outermost wall, the one that archers favored for its vantage point. There he was sure he would find rangers, and hopefully news of Faramir.

The walk carried him past countless dead orcs and uruk-hai, but also more dead men and horses than Boromir had ever seen on a single field. For every pair of comrades he saw embrace in giddy relief, another wail of grief reached his ears from somewhere else. His mail grew heavier with every step he took.

Boromir had scarcely made it halfway to the archer’s outpost before he was stopped by the sound of his own name.

“Captain Boromir!” a familiar voice shouted. “You live!”

Boromir stopped and whirled about. There, about ten yards from Boromir, close enough to the outermost wall to be half-concealed in its shadow, crouched a man in a forest-green cloak. His hands still hovered over a fallen Gondorian soldier, as if he had frozen partway through checking for signs of life. Before the man in green rose to stand, he brushed a hand over the fallen one’s face, coaxing his eyes shut before stepping away. Boromir felt a dull pang of grief in his already overburdened heart at the confirmation that yet another of his countrymen was dead. He had no time to acknowledge that pain, though, as the man in green righted himself fully. The green cloak, brown leather vambraces, and longbow on his back all sparked immediate recognition.

Boromir knew this man, had met him before, but his weary mind failed to provide a name for him. It hardly mattered. The uniform he wore told Boromir everything he needed to know. Faramir had been clad exactly the same, the last time Boromir had seen him. This was one of the rangers of Ithilien, his brother’s own company. Hope swelled painfully in his chest. He hastened his step towards the ranger.

The ranger rushed to meet him and performed a quick, obligatory salute when they were close enough to speak comfortably. “My lord,” he greeted, breathless. “Your father thought you dead, but we in Captain Faramir’s company held out hope.” A wide grin split across his face. “You cannot imagine how sorely you’ve been missed!”

Seeing his smile finally dragged the ranger’s name to the front of Boromir’s memory. “Anborn,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you alive and well. Tell me, what news do you have of my brother?”

Anborn’s smile dropped, giving way to a look of naked concern as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. “I have no news, my lord, none that is not two days old at least.”

"Then give me the old news,” Boromir pressed, trying not to snap.

Anborn grimaced and nodded. “My lord,” he said, haltingly, “The last time I saw your brother, my Captain, was on the day he rode out to reclaim Osgiliath with a company of forty mounted soldiers.”

Boromir could only stare for a long moment, turning over Anborn’s words in his head to try and make them comprehensible. No clarity came to him. “My brother is- in Osgiliath?”

Another grimace. “If he is still there, he is dead.” Boromir’s lungs constricted and froze. Anborn continued, “Osgiliath was overrun more than a week ago. I’ve heard rumors that Faramir made it back to the Citadel, but I cannot say any more than that without inventing rumors myself.”

“The Citadel,” Boromir repeated. He forced breath into his uncooperative lungs. He would go to the Citadel, and he would find Faramir there with their father, incoherent with frustration after arguing strategy with Denethor. He turned on his heel and started walking. Anborn said something as Boromir strode away, but he didn’t hear it properly over the ringing in his ears.

What he had heard of Anborn’s words clamored in his mind- it sounded as if Faramir had taken a company of only forty men to reclaim an overrun city. That would be absurd, though. Faramir may be prone to bouts of melancholy and brooding, but he wasn’t suicidal. And even if he did, for some reason, decide to seek his own death, he would never bring any number of Gondor’s defenders with him to do it.

Your father thought you dead.

Boromir broke into a run.

Faramir didn’t hold sway over all their troops’ movements. Faramir wasn’t the Steward.

He was moving too slowly. Stumbling to a halt, Boromir grasped at the leather straps holding his pauldrons in place and did his best to unfasten them with numb fingers. Denethor had not been the same in recent years. The shadow in the east had darkened his thoughts, day by day, and set him talking as if the end were already here. His gray eyes had glinted in a way that Boromir scarcely recognized when he’d spoken of the One Ring. He’d never favored Faramir, never encouraged him the way he deserved, but the cruelty that had colored Denethor’s every interaction with his secondborn in the year or two before Boromir left shocked him.

Boromir’s pauldrons landed on the ground in a heap, and now he doubled over to escape the shirt of mail. It was a difficult task without taking off his sword belt, but he managed. He needed to be faster, but he could not bear to go unarmed. The chain links poured gracelessly down over his head, yanking his hair as they went, and then he was free. Boromir took off running again, now unencumbered.

Faramir would never plan a suicide mission.

Would he accept one, though, if he was ordered?

Boromir’s feet touched white marble bricks for the first time in months that had felt like decades. He did not pause. Shouts followed him as he went, calling his name or exclaiming surprise. Arches and edifices flew by overhead. Rubble littered the street. He caught glances of bodies crushed under great stones.

Boromir made it to the stairs. His weary legs burned and protested, but he dared not slow his descent. He needed to know where Faramir was, now. He needed to know what had happened in Osgiliath, before any more ideas had the chance to take root in his head. If he finished the line of thinking that Anborn’s news had set off-

Boromir might kill his father with his bare hands.

So, he would not stop, and he would not think, until he found answers.

He reached the top of the stairs.

A small group of guards, maybe five or six, clustered together at the Citadel gate, all spoke over each other in urgent tones. Boromir could not hear most of their words over his own ragged breath, but he caught a few. He heard “Mithrandir” and “Witch King” and “wood”, and then, “Denethor.”

“Where?” Boromir barked. Every one of the men before him startled and turned to him with unabashed fear written across their faces.

If Boromir had looked a mess back on the fields, by now he must appear absolutely deranged. Half his armor gone, hair wild, white shirt drenched with sweat and blood- he could hardly blame the unsuspecting guards for the shock and confusion they displayed so brazenly at his question. Nor could he blame himself for the urge to grab the nearest one and shake him until he spoke sense.

Fortunately for all present, the guard furthest to the left, a man of slight and youthful stature underneath his plate armor, spoke up.

“The House of Stewards,” he said, voice trembling. He pointed in the right direction. “In the tombs. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.”

Boromir ran like he had never done in his life.

For what possible reason would his father and brother be in the tombs in the midst of battle?

He threw himself against the door to the tombs of his forefathers. They gave way with no resistance, and as he stumbled through the opening, he noted that the floor was dusted with splintered wood. This door had already been broken through. There he stopped short.

He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the scene before him.

In the center of the foyer, directly on top of Húrin’s memorial etching, were the remains of- a bonfire? Heaps of ash and charred wood covered the usually immaculate white marble floor, built up into a high, still-smoldering mound in the chamber’s center. The air reeked of smoke. Neither Denethor nor Faramir were in sight, nor was anyone else. The tombs appeared deserted.

“Faramir?” Boromir called warily.

A clang of metal and the scuffle of unshod feet on stone answered his call, and then-

“Boromir!”

A small form collided hard with his midsection, forcing him to take a staggering step back. Small arms wrapped around him like a vice, a familiar vice, and Boromir abruptly realized that he was in the embrace of a hobbit.

“Pippin?” he demanded, aghast.

The young hobbit turned his face up to meet his gaze and a fresh wave of panic seized him. Pippin’s face was coated in ash and streaked with tears.

“Boromir!” Pippin cried again. “You have to help, Gandalf said that healers were coming but nobody came, there was screaming in the halls so I dragged him as far as I could but he’s heavy and I don’t know where Gandalf went and just- just- come here!”

The hobbit released his iron grip around Boromir’s waist in favor of clutching one of his wrists and started hauling him off to one side of the room, into a corridor of mausoleums. There, poking out of the nearest alcove, Boromir spied the lower half of a single black boot.

Pippin pulled him onward when his own pace faltered. With each step he could see more of the body that Pippin had apparently tried to drag to safety. A small, or rather, hobbit-sizedsword lay carelessly discarded on the floor beneath the alcove’s arching entrance where Pippin had dropped it. That would explain the clanging sound Boromir had heard just before being tackled, then. Which would mean that when he called out, Pippin had been guarding this archway with sword in hand.

Pippin’s relentless tugging finally forced Boromir to where he could see the stricken man on the floor.

It was Faramir.

Of course it was Faramir.

A rough, strangled sound echoed through the quiet tombs, and Boromir only realized a moment later that it had come from his own throat. Pippin darted from his side to kneel at his brother’s head, petting his hair and murmuring a soothing word. Faramir did not react in the slightest. He wasn’t dead; Boromir had seen enough dead men in his life to know with unfailing precision the difference between a dead body and a dying one.

No, his brother was not dead. He was only dying.

Boromir dropped to his knees.

In all this time that he had dreaded coming home and hearing that Faramir had fallen in battle, it had never occurred to Boromir that he might watch him die.

“He needs medicine,” Pippin pleaded, his little hand nestled in Faramir’s hair. Boromir now saw that the hobbit was dressed in the garb of the guards of Citadel, mail under a velvet tunic embroidered with the white tree. What had happened in his city? When had this barely-trained halfling become his brother’s last line of defense?

“Go,” Boromir rasped. He touched the hilt of his sword. “I will protect him now. Go to the House of Healing, down one level. Aragorn is there. He will listen to you.”

Without another word, Pippin took off at a sprint. Boromir and Faramir were left alone, together for the first time since Boromir had left for Rivendell.

Boromir wanted to scream.

Instead, he maneuvered himself carefully to sit at his brother’s side. How Pippin had managed to stash Faramir away in this little nook, Boromir had no idea. He could only just find room for himself against the wall without jostling the motionless body beside him. He reached a tentative hand out to lay it on Faramir’s forehead. He paused before he touched skin, momentarily stunned by the radiating heat. When his fingers settled on his brother’s brow, it was like touching metal that had been left in the sun too long. Faramir burned. Boromir gently smoothed his hand over damp hair.

It wasn’t just Faramir’s hair that was damp, actually. It was everything on him. His short beard, the finely embroidered collar of his tunic, the silk of his sleeves. If his fever was so high, it was not so surprising to find him coated in sweat. The choice of clothes, though, was undeniably strange. There was no blood staining the fabric. Had he not been hurt in battle, then? Had he simply been taken by a violent illness? Was there a plague in the city? That might explain the lack of gore but not the presence of finery. Boromir had only ever seen Faramir wear this tunic for ceremonies. He wouldn’t have put it on before battle, and he would certainly have taken it off if he were falling ill.

No, the only reasonable conclusion was that Faramir had not been the one to dress himself. A terrible, unspeakable suspicion wormed its way into his heart.

Boromir almost regretted sending Pippin away without first asking him what had happened to create this bizarre tableau. Almost. His answers could wait until Faramir had been brought safely into the care of physicians. He lifted his hand to stroke Faramir’s hair again, but the slickness that clung to his palm bade him pause.

That wasn’t sweat in his brother’s hair, it was something else, something more viscous. Puzzled beyond words, Boromir brought his hand close to his face to inspect it.

His palm was smeared with oil.

All at once, a dozen disparate fragments of information arranged themselves into nightmarish clarity.

Someone had dressed Faramir for a funeral. Someone had brought him into the place where the bones of their ancestors rested and covered him in oil. Someone had lit a bonfire in the center of the tombs.

Not a bonfire. A pyre.

Someone had tried to burn his little brother alive.

“No,” Boromir whispered, as if he could prevent his next thought from taking shape.

Only one person in Gondor could do any of this without being stopped.

In the tombs, the guard at the gate had said. Both of them, lord and son, with orders from the Steward to be left undisturbed.

Boromir launched himself upright, out of the cramped alcove, and was sick all over the marble floor.

For the second time in a day, Pippin found himself running for someone else’s life. At least he didn’t have so far to go this time. He could not remember ever being so tired. It was also fortunate that he knew already where to find the House of Healing. Gandalf had insisted he memorize the route there as soon as he’d made his oath to Denethor, which was a bit insulting, to be honest, but turned out very useful in the end.

The first time he’d entered the House, just a few days ago, he’d thought it was very full. Most of the rows of clean, simple cots had been occupied by rangers returning from outside the city. As he dashed through the sturdy oaken door now, though, he entered a different world entirely.

The cacophony of sound, smell and movement that surged up to meet him stopped Pippin in his tracks. The House of Healing was so crowded he could not see the far wall. He could barely see the nearest row of cots. Tall ladies rushed about in every direction, shouting orders to one another above a nauseating din of groans and cries. Pippin had been standing guard in a cloud of smoke for hours, and yet the onslaught of ugly and unfamiliar smells that accosted him here made him wish for the scent of smoke again.

His foray into the front lines of a battle had been terrifying. This place might be worse.

Boromir had said that Aragorn was here, though, and Pippin would walk headfirst into an army of orcs right now if it meant that Aragorn would help him. He never wanted to be in charge of anything, ever again, especially not trying to keep great lords and heroes alive. Aragorn was good at that sort of thing, he could take over now. Pippin took a deep breath and began forging a path through the chaos, calling Aragorn’s name as he went.

As he weaved his way through cots, ducking underneath outstretched arms and around long legs, Pippin heard questions following him that he had no desire to answer.

“How old is that boy? Who let a child in the guard?”

"Is that one of those halflings? The wizard’s pet or something?”

“Are you lost, little one?”

Some of these Men had the most terrible manners, clearly. Most of them were bleeding very badly, though, so Pippin could forgive them for their rudeness. He ignored them all and kept moving.

“Aragorn!” he shouted again.

A women that had been rushing by him paused for an instant to glare down at him. “Hush, you,” she scolded, in a voice that spoke of unquestionable authority. She wore a sort of veil with a nice brooch on it, so Pippin supposed she might be in charge here. “Lord Aragorn’s doing very important things right now and I’ll not have you disturbing him.”

Pippin’s heart jumped. “Where is he?” he asked.

The woman tsked and shook her head, making to continue along her original path. She held a bowl in her arms that Pippin was quite sure he did not want to see the inside of. Whatever it was sloshed unpleasantly when Pippin lurched after the women and grabbed a handful of her skirt to prevent her from leaving.

“The Steward has ordered me to fetch Aragorn! Show me where he is!” Pippin declared. He didn’t think it was a lie. Denethor was dead, so that made Boromir the Steward in his place, probably.

The woman gasped in surprise. “Lord Denethor lives?” she asked. “Wondrous news, we thought lord and son dead already.”

Pippin avoided the question about Denethor by standing up as straight as he could. “Lord Faramir needs medicine,” he said imperiously. “He needs Aragorn’s skill. Take me to Aragorn.”

With a quick hand gesture to follow and not another word, the woman took off walking at a brisk stride deeper into the crowded hall. Pippin had to run to keep up with her. After what seemed like a dozen maneuvers around clumps of people and cots, a figure clad all in black finally came into view.

“Strider!” Pippin cried with relief.

Aragon knelt at a young man’s bedside with a wet rag and bowl of water in his hands. He turned his face at once toward the sound of Pippin’s voice, a genuine smile gracing his lips as he did. Some of the panic that had been driving Pippin these last several hours faded away at the sight. If Aragorn was here, then surely things would get better now.

His relief faltered a bit when Pippin noticed that Aragorn was simply covered in blood- both red and black, and sweat, and grime that Pippin could not begin to identity. The Men gathered round him didn’t seem to mind Aragorn’s state, but then, most of them were splattered with blood as well, probably their own. Even Aragorn could not dispel the somber truth hanging in the air, that unimaginably many people had died today.

Faramir would join the dead soon if Pippin didn’t get a move on, so he marched past all those tall, bloodied Men to stand right at Aragorn’s side.

“Faramir’s dying,” he hissed, hoping he was quiet enough for none but Aragorn to hear. He didn’t especially want to deliver more bad news to the people in this room. “Boromir is with him, but he needs medicine, now.”

If Aragorn found this news distressing, he did not show it. He just nodded thoughtfully, and asked, “Can he walk?”

Pippin shook his head. Aragorn hummed an acknowledgment and rose to his feet. He handed the bowl and rag he’d been holding to another woman that Pippin hadn’t noticed before, murmuring something that sounded like instructions. He then spoke to the lady that had led Pippin, the one who seemed to be in charge.

“Ioreth,” he addressed her. “We have need of a stretcher.”

“It will be done,” she said, and turned on her heel to vanish back into the crowded hall.

Aragorn wiped his hands on his trousers to dry them. Pippin suspected he made them dirtier in the process. “Pippin,” Aragorn said. “Will you please lead me to Boromir and Faramir?”

“Yes, this way,” Pippin answered quickly. He was eager to be out of this terrifying place. He found it easier than before to navigate through the throng. He realized after a few moments of uninhibited movement that people were stepping aside to make way as soon as they saw Aragorn following him.

Had Aragorn already gotten around to being crowned while Pippin was busy? These people were certainly treating him like a king.

“Did you already become the King?” Pippin asked without thinking.

Aragorn chuckled dryly. “No, and I don’t think the lady healers would much care if I had. They care only that I know how to draw out the poison that covers many orcish blades, and that I’ve shared what I know.”

“Oh,” said Pippin, feeling queasy.

Finally, the door came into sight, and with a quick burst of speed, Pippin flung himself back into fresh air. Mostly fresh, anyway, permitting for some lingering smoke. The smell of blood and death that lingered in his nostrils seemed even more vile when contrasted against another, cleaner scent, and it made him gag. Aragorn placed a sympathetic hand between his shoulders.

“The battle to save the wounded is the hardest and the bloodiest,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in being shocked by it.”

Pippin couldn’t quite speak yet, so he bobbed his head in a jerky, shaking nod. He allowed himself two deep breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Right. Faramir. Shot full of arrows and nearly burned to death, currently stashed in a mausoleum, actively perishing of fever. He had to bring Aragorn there, and then maybe he could sit down for a moment. He set off again at a jog.

Aragorn, being unfairly long-legged, could follow him with a brisk walk. Pippin was growing weary of these big people, he really was.

Back over the same cold marble stone he went, retracing his steps to the tombs. Two men carrying a stretcher had started following them at some point- Pippin hadn’t noticed exactly where they came from, but the stretcher they carried was already stained with red, so he suspected that they had been going back and forth from the House of Healing for a while already. Aragorn let there be silence between them for several yards, but began asking questions as soon as they crossed under a crumbling archway.

“What happened to Faramir to leave him needing medicine?”

“He was shot at least twice, I’m not sure when. Sometime yesterday.”

"Where has he been?”

“Well, he got shot when he was fighting in Osgiliath, and then the horse dragged him back, and that probably made it worse, actually, but then Denethor put him away someplace for a day or so and then brought him into the tombs and tried to burn him alive.”

Aragorn froze for a moment. “What?”

“Denethor lost his mind just before the battle started, he tried to burn Faramir alive on a pyre. And himself too, I think. He thought the world was ending.”

“Where is Denethor now?”

“He jumped off the wall.”

Aragorn took up walking again, now at a faster stride. “Boromir is with his brother now?”

"Yes,” Pippin confirmed, doing his best to keep up with Aragorn’s pace.

“Does he know what happened?”

That was a good question, actually. Had Pippin explained the situation at all? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember most of today, to be honest- it was all a blur of screams and fire.

He remembered the blinding panic he’d felt when heavy footsteps had entered the tombs. He remembered clutching his sword with sweaty hands and bracing himself to get torn to shreds by uruk-hai, and then abandoning his sword to hurl himself at Boromir once he’d heard the man’s voice. What had Boromir said, though? Anything? Had Pippin said anything?

He remembered Boromir dropping heavily onto his knees. The look on his face had been awful. He looked sad and scared and sick all at once. Pippin had never been sure what the word anguish meant, but he was sure now.

“I don’t think so,” Pippin finally answered.

Aragorn muttered something to himself, a string of elvish words that Pippin had never heard before. It sounded like what Legolas said when he missed a shot, though, so Pippin could wager a guess at what it meant.

At last, they reached the door to the House of Stewards. Pippin darted through, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Aragorn was still following. Through the foyer, around the smoldering remains of the pyre, down the corridor on the right, and there they were. The lords of Gondor. Not quite as Pipping had left them.

Boromir had extracted Faramir from the alcove where Pippin had dragged him to lay his brother out in the open. The fine silk tunic Faramir had worn lay in oil-soaked shreds scattered about the floor, and the mail shirt he’d had on underneath was similarly cast aside, half-obscuring a puddle of vomit near the entry to the alcove. Pippin was sympathetic- being in this place made him want to retch, too.

Faramir lay on his side in his undershirt. The fabric had been white once, Pippin knew, but blood, oil and ash had colored it through. Boromir knelt at his back, holding him steady by the upper arm with one hand and gently tearing the cloth of the ruined shirt with the other. The cloth didn’t move the way it should when Boromir tugged it. It stuck stubbornly to Faramir’s scorched upper back and shoulder, like it had been glued there.

Pippin gasped in horror as the realization hit him. Boromir couldn’t get Faramir’s shirt off because it was stuck to his burnt skin, fused in place by the heat of the fire. Had his skin melted? Could skin melt? The thought alone sickened him.

Boromir must have heard Pippin gasp, because his head snapped up to fix the hobbit with a wild stare.

Pippin didn’t usually think of Boromir as frightening. Fearsome, of course, but not to his friends. Certainly never to Pippin.

He looked frightening now. His eyes were wide, and his pupils were tiny pinpoints. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic expression, somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, showing just a hint of teeth. His shoulders curled forward, hunching slightly over Faramir’s still form, and through his thin, damp shirt Pippin could see he was shaking with pent up energy.

When Pippin was younger, one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs had gone missing. They’d found the creature hiding under a shed, nursing a bleeding paw, growling and snapping at any hobbit that tried to approach. Boromir did not make a sound, but Pippin swore he could hear the same wounded dog’s growling all the same.

Pippin felt rather than heard Aragorn approaching from behind him, and it was a great relief when Boromir’s gaze flicked up off his face to fixate on Aragorn instead. With what seemed to be a tremendous effort, Boromir opened his mouth to speak.

“Where is Denethor?” he rasped, voice shaking.

Aragorn took a cautious step forward, moving in front of Pippin. He held his hands up, fingers splayed open, the way he did when trying to settle a spooked horse. “Boromir, my brother-” he began, voice soft and steady.

Boromir interrupted before he could take another step. “Tell me where my father is, Aragorn,” he croaked. “Tell me so I can find him and gut him.”

“He’s dead,” Pippin blurted. “He set himself on fire and then he went off the edge of the wall and died.”

Aragorn stiffened. Boromir’s jaw went slack. He heard gasps from the men carrying the stretcher behind him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken. Gandalf was always telling him something to that effect.

Boromir let out long, low groan and slumped in on himself, bowing his head so low his forehead grazed Faramir’s hair. He released the firm grip he’d been maintaining on his brother’s upper arm to grab fistfuls of his own hair instead.

Aragorn moved swiftly to kneel beside Boromir. He wrapped one arm around Boromir’s shoulders and pulled him into a lopsided embrace. Boromir went without protest, deflated and boneless against his king. Aragorn spoke to him, too softly for Pippin to hear, and coaxed him to shuffle backwards just a pace or two to create space at Faramir’s side. The two half-forgotten men with the stretcher between them seized their opportunity and swept in to gather Faramir up. Boromir twitched forward when they lifted his brother, but Aragorn held him back with a hand on his chest. With quick, synchronized steps, Faramir was taken out of the tombs.

Louder now, so Pippin could hear again, Aragorn spoke with real regret in his voice. “I must follow them. I promise I will give all the skill I have to make Lord Faramir well.”

“I’m coming,” Boromir stated.

Aragorn fixed him with a hard stare. “It will be ugly,” he warned. “I’ll have to cut the shirt off his back, and I expect much of his skin to come with it. If he wakes it will be to scream.”

“I know,” said Boromir.

“I would rather not find your blade shoved through my heart while I work.”

Boromir flushed. “I would not.”

Aragorn raised one eyebrow. “All the same, if you wish to follow, leave your sword at the door for my peace of mind.”

Boromir opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of it and simply bowed his head in assent. Aragorn hauled himself to his feet and offered Boromir a hand up, which Boromir accepted without hesitation.

“Can I help?” Pippin asked, surprising himself.

Aragorn eyed him up and down. One corner of his lips twitched upward. “Yes, Pippin, I think you can help us all very much by staying at Boromir’s side and keeping him calm. If you have any more news to deliver, however, perhaps you could share it beforewe enter the House of Healing?”

Pippin recognized the admonishment for what it was and ducked his head, chastened. On the other hand, now that he mentioned it-

“Gandalf’s staff is broken,” he announced.

Aragorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I see. Thank you, Pippin. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Very well. If you think of something, take Boromir out into the hall and tell him.” Aragorn turned to Boromir and spoke sternly. “Boromir, if Pippin takes you out into the hall, I forbid you to pick up your sword until we have had a chance to speak.”

Boromir huffed out something very close to a laugh. “Wise council, my king.”

#@emilybeemartin #lotr fic #Boromir Lives AU

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deathbyday · 4 months ago

Text

-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ MOUTHWASHING ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

“How could we end up here…?”

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

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Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

2 MONTHS AFTER THE CRASH

You, Jimmy, Daisuke, Swansea and Anya sat at the lounge table. You haven’t grouped up with everyone in a while. They were always busy dealing with the aftermath of Captain Curly’s doings. Honestly, you were too. You couldn’t believe that he would do something like that.

You all stare at Jimmy, waiting for him to start speaking. You sit beside Anya while Daisuke sits across from you, Swansea right beside him. Jimmy sits on the end of the table, appearing as the leader.

“Anyone else would do the same thing.” Jimmy speaks, his voice calm. “We ain’t touching the damn cargo. The hold is locked down for a reason. The only thing worse than dying slowly is not getting paid.” Swansea argues.

You glance up at him, giving him a weird look. “But it could be something useful. I think-..” Anya attempts to reason with the short haired man, but failed to do so. “Could be what? Hopes, dreams and marzipan?” He chuckles, glaring at the black haired woman.

Anya tries to speak again, but she gets cut off by Jimmy. “If it helps us survive it’s worth it.” He mutters. You stare between the trio, not knowing whose side you’re on. Jimmy did have a point about how if it gives you an advantage to live, you’ll have to take it.

But a small percentage of you can’t help but wonder if it’ll hurt one of you. Or worse, all of you. You bite your lip as Daisuke chimes in. “Man, Pony Express bosses really aren’t chill at all, huh?” Everyone turnes their heads towards him, including you.

“C’mon! A quick look won’t hurt.” You gently shove Daisuke’s leg with your foot, getting his attention. “What if we get hurt trying to look?” You question, a worried expression glazing your face.

“That wouldn’t happen, Y/N.” Anya replies, a soft smile appearing on her lips for a moment. You can’t help but keep thinking about it. Even if it wasn’t going to happen, what if it did?

“How exactly is this group therapy committee planning on getting in there?” Swansea asks before Daisuke turns to him, exposing his solution.

“Right here, boss!” He happily replies. “You’re looking at the meanest swing of the regional junior baseball team. Straight up nearly corked a kid once!” He brags, a grin plastered on his lips.

“I can take the utility axe and-..” Swansea slams his hand on the table before shouting. “You were goddamn born fully corked!” He retorts. Daisuke’s smile slightly softens, but it was still noticeable.

“That’s enough, Swansea.” Jimmy cuts in before he could say anything worse. “There has to be an ‘in case of emergency’ way inside.” Anya perks up before speaking.

“If I remember correctly from the safety protocols, the doors should have an alternate access code. But, it can only be uncovered using a code scanner device.” She explains.

“Isn’t the only person who has access to the code scanner the captain?” You murmur, tilting your head. Jimmy nods, confirming your question. “Of course! Go ahead and ask him all about it then. Maybe he’ll sing ya the blues too.” Swansea sarcastically declares.

“We don’t need him if we find the scanner, get the code, and open the hold.” Jimmy argues. “For better or worse, I’m captain now. I’ll figure it out.” Your brows furrow, hasty eyeing the brunette male.

Nobody discussed that he would be the new captain. Although he was the second in command before the crash, it still felt wrong.

“Right on!” You wish you could punch Daisuke in the face right now. You love him, but god could he be dumb. Now that Jimmy’s the captain, he’s the one to search for the code scanner. You all let him be, going to do your own thing. You follow Daisuke down to the digital screen, wanting to talk to him.

Your arms sit crossed over your chest, a worried expression plastered on your face. You turn your head to see Jimmy searching for the scanner around you two first. You glance back down at the brunette before speaking.

“Are we sure we want Jimmy to be the new captain? It just feels wrong to me. You know Jimmy’s always rambling to himself about how he should be the leader, not Curly.” You mutter, keeping your voice low.

Daisuke smiles up at you, trying to ease any doubt you have about Jimmy. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, babe. You don’t need to worry about him.” He reassures, his voice soft.

You take a sharp breath in, not giving a very confident nod in agreement before smiling back, thankful for his comfort. Suddenly, Jimmy walks up to the both of you, causing your smile to disappear as Daisuke spoke.

“Looks like it’ll be soup again for dinner. You wanna rock paper scissors for the chicken noodle?” He suggests half-jokingly, trying to lighten the current situation. “How much food do we have left?” Jimmy replies, not in the mood for any kind of game.

“I think around 4 to 5 months, maybe in between?” You chime in, glancing at Jimmy. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Less than the remaining air supply, but we can make it last.” He hums.

“We’ll be starting to poke new holes in our belts pretty soon to pull that off.” Your anxiety worsened as he pointed out starving yourselves, not wanting to have to cut down on eating just to make sure the food supply last longer.

“Man, my mom will straight up stuff me when I get back. I’ll look like Swansea!” Daisuke chuckles. “We’ll have a rad story to tell, though. They might even write articles about us. We could be on TV!” His eyes seem to light up at the thought.

You chuckle before placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Daisuke. We still need to figure out how to even get out of here safely.” Although it would be nice to be famous, you couldn’t help but think of the reality.

It was silent for a few seconds until Jimmy spoke up. “..It’ll impress your parents too.” He nods as Daisuke grins like a little boy at his words. “Mhm!” He hums in agreement before nervously chuckling.

“The real problem is us running out of toilet paper. Fatal stuff, man.” He scratches the back of his head. “We should leave that part out for the press, huh?” You bite back a giggle as Jimmy changes the subject.

“Has Swansea been like this towards you for your whole internship?” He asks, his brow raising in thought. “That’s just how he is!” Daisuke defended. “Didn’t want a spud like me following him around for an entire year.”

“This isn’t really the internship experience anyone had in mind.” Jimmy mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t let him push you around too much.”

“His bark is worse than his bite. He may be cranky, but he is legit a wizard of a mechanic!” You recall a few times where Swansea was fixing things in front of you, causing you to chime in.

“Yeah! I’m surprised he still has it in him, seeing as he’s almost at retirement age. I guess hard work does pay off.” You hum, a small smile crossing your face.

“I’m sure he’d appreciate your thoughts.” You couldn’t tell if Jimmy was being sarcastic or not, but you nodded anyway. You cross your arms against your chest once again as Daisuke changes the topic.

“Did you find the scanner thing yet? I’d ask Anya about it, she’s been reading the safety manual like a bible since the crash.” Jimmy nods as a ‘thanks’ before looking up at you, making eye contact for a split second. You instantly look away, not saying anything.

He didn’t mention it and turned his back to you both, possibly to search for Anya in the medical room.

————

You were cut off mid sentence by the sound of the lounge door opening, causing you and Daisuke to turn your heads to where the sound came from. It only took a few seconds for you to realize Anya was the one who ran through the door.

Her legs gave out as she clutched her chest. From the screen of the sunset, you could hear her heavy breathing. You were about to call out her name, asking if she was alright, but Daisuke wrapped his hand around your forearm.

You looked back towards him, brows creased in concern. He shook his head as to tell you to leave her alone and let her calm down, so you did. You kept your voice low, just in case it would trigger her.

After a few minutes, the door opened once again. This time, Jimmy came through it. He walked up to Anya and crouched down beside her.

“We don’t have a whole lot of painkillers left.” He muttered, ignoring the fact she looked like she was going to have a panic attack. “But you still want to keep-..”

“Why do you think he did it?” Anya cut him off, not paying attention to what he said. “Does it matter? What answer would make you feel any better?” He sternly replied, no hint of empathy in his voice.

“I have to believe that our worst moments don’t make us monsters, Jim.” She whispered. “…I have to. Even in his case.”

“He tried to take us all down with him, Anya.” It almost sounded like Jimmy was on the verge of yelling at her. “The way I see it, there’s two reasons to keep him alive at this point.”

You couldn’t stop staring at the two, watching their conversation. Even though Daisuke tried to get you to look away, it was useless. You felt the need to watch them to prevent Jimmy from doing something to Anya. Either verbally or physically.

“Guess the important bit is that we all agreed to it. For one reason or another.” He shrugged, his voice not as strong as it has been. Anya shook her head. “I-I’m still feeling nauseous.. I need a minute.” She quickly got up from her spot on the floor and ran off.

You looked over towards Daisuke before continuing on with your conversation about video games, twirling your fingers around one another.

————

Anya, you, Daisuke and Swansea stood in front of the Cargo Hold, waiting for Jimmy to bring back the code scanner. Luckily, just after a few minutes of waiting, he did. He walked up to the four of you, scanner in hand.

He glanced at you all, taking in your expressions. You just wanted this whole thing to be over. You stood beside Daisuke, one of your hands on your forearm.

“Well? Get on with it.” Swansea urges, his hands over his hips. “This is all you. I want it duly noted that I had no involvement in this.” Jimmy nodded in agreement before turning towards the younger brunette. “What do you guys think we’ve been shipping?” Daisuke pondered.

“If it’s spare parts, maybe me and Swansea can repair the ship and we can get out of here! Right, Swansea?” He turned to the older man who turned to him. “Quit yapping.” Jimmy ignored the two of them and looked to you.

“It could be more food.. maybe we won’t need to starve ourselves after all!” A gentle smile appeared on your lips before the dark haired male turned around to see Anya beside the door.

“Are we doing the right thing..? Let it be medicine, food, or water.” She hoped to herself. Jimmy stepped towards the sign with the hidden code before flashing the code scanner on it.

4517

He put the scanner away and walked up to the door code before putting the numbers in. The door slid open, revealing numerous of shipping boxes on shelves.

————

7 DAYS BEFORE THE CRASH

You stood beside the utility room’s door with Jimmy, peaking into the room. You snickered, not being able to contain your laughter. Daisuke was just trying to fix the vent, trying to be a good intern, but he accidentally triggered the emergency foam which made him slip out and get stuck in the substance.

You felt so bad for him, but at the same time it was so funny. You heard heavy footsteps to your right, causing you to look up. The owner of the footsteps was the captain. He gave you a short lived wave before turning towards Jimmy, glancing inside the room.

“And Pony Express said they don’t provide on board entertainment.” Jimmy slightly chuckled, eyeing Curly. You continued staring at the scene, a dorky grin running across your lips.

“Feels like there’s always something broken in that room.” Curly shrugs, a sigh leaving his throat. “Tulpar’s starting to show her age.” Jimmy raised a brow.

“Passed inspection, right? Shouldn’t be an issue.” He declared. Curly hummed, adding on; “Plus, they added Daisuke last minute.”

You perked up at hearing your boyfriend’s name, taking brief glances towards the two men beside you. “Didn’t account that there’d be six of us now. I only knew one more was coming, not two.” The captain tilted his head towards you before his head became straight once again.

“I really should have made a bigger stink about that.” He complained, regretting his decision to allow Daisuke on board. You were glad he did though. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have met him.

“Maybe you should intervene?” Jimmy suggests, referring to the mess inside the utility room. “Or we could just close the door.” He shrugged. “Your call.”

You and Jimmy kept away from the scene, staying in the doorway as Curly walked inside. “Well, I can see the issue.” He chuckled at the site in front of him. “The kid was brought on just to make me suffer!” Swansea had his arm crossed, the look of disappointment written all over his face.

“I was just trying to fix the vent! How did that trigger the emergency foam?!” Daisuke attempted to get free from his spot, only to be stuck in place. Swansea turned his head towards him. “Because you’re talented in all the wrong ways!” He argued.

“I would’ve dealt with this but only you can unlock the axe case.” Swansea grumbled, placing his hands on his hips. “Every goddamn thing has to go through you.”

“I’ll handle it. Hang in there, Daisuke.” Curly reassured him before walking to the ‘in case of emergency’ box that held the axe. He took out the code scanner, flashing the light on the black rectangle.

2609

He quickly put in the code, opening the case. He grabbed the weapon and walked back towards the two brunettes, ready to swing at the foam. A few seconds later, Daisuke was finally set free from the substance.

“Strong stuff, huh?” He ow’ed in pain but still tried to get a chuckle out of everyone. Swansea wasn’t having it though. “Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits. Fully fucking collapsed inside.” He lectured. “You looking to get impaled, electrocuted and cooked?!”

You lightly smiled, knowing deep down Swansea does really care for Daisuke. But he just can’t show it. “Yeah, but like.. you can’t fit in there to fix it, right?” The whole room went silent, stunned at what just came out of his mouth. You instantly covered your mouth, eyes wide.

“So I can totally handle it-..” Daisuke gets cut off by Swansea turning to Curly. “Captain. Give me the axe.” He demands. “Swansea..” The dirty blond warned, trailing off. “This could’ve damaged the pods. You can’t let something like this happen again.”

You leaned against the doorframe, becoming bored from the lack of excitement. You drown the rest of the conversation out, waiting for Curly to be done speaking to the two of them.

Jimmy moved right beside you, arms at his sides. You twirled around strands of your hair, glancing at the man standing next to you. “Hi, Jimmy.” You muttered, your voice soft. He stared at you, nodding his head before mumbling, “Hey.”

You were honestly a bit surprised he even said anything back. Nonetheless, you give him a light smile, attempting to be sweet. It was short lived as Curly came towards the two of you and Jimmy opening his mouth to speak, ignoring you.

You rolled your eyes before blowing Daisuke a small kiss, making sure he saw it. You backed off, turning around and walked away from the utility room. You wanted a have a small chat about Jimmy to Curly, but he just seemed so busy. Along with that and the fact he’s always near him.

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author’s note

finally getting ready for angst!! I’m so ready to write how some people’s deaths impacts the reader. i can’t tell if i want a certain someone to be added into the mix yet or not..

fifth chapter will be up in a few days!! thank you all for the support, I appreciate it so much! and happy halloween!!! 🎃

bye for now<3

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader mouthwashing #video games #horror games #indie games #x reader

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anger-sama · 10 months ago

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UNKNOWN HORROR Part 2 Made By Anger-Is-Flawed

Dream went back to get his stuff ready and the other two came in and asked what he’s up to. Dream says nothing and says he’ll be back soon. As soon as Dream made it to the destination, Nightmare appeared and saw an easy opportunity to take out his brother for good. Nightmare quickly attacked Dream without warning, but Dream dodged swiftly. They started their battle and it lasted for a while. Nightmare suddenly took a couple hits from Dream’s arrows. Nightmare was now on the floor weakened and struggling to move from the light arrows. Dream prepared his next shot to strike Nightmare down. Before that could happen, Horror took his chance and striked Dream on the back of his head with the blunt side of his axe. Now it was just them two. Horror slowly made his way towards Nightmare to finish him off. Nightmare threw his tentacles at Horror. His tentacles were slower than usual, so Horror could dodge them easier. Horror jumped onto Nightmare and shoved his hands into Nightmare's body. He finally found his soul and pulled it out of his body. Horror took one last look at Nightmare before shoving Nightmares soul into his mouth. Nightmare's body slowly disappeared and Horror teleported, leaving Dream’s body there. Ink and Blue finally make it and quickly go to his aid. Horror makes it to his room and falls to his floor. His body starts stretching and his hand begins to change shape. Drool-like corruption begins to flow out his mouth and nightmares eye forms on his vacant eye socket. Dust and Killer come inside Horrors room and ask where Nightmare is. Horror slowly turns to them and they both instantly go on the offense and attack Horror. After a little bit of fighting, the other two fall on the floor and Horror looks over them. Horror tells them he doesn’t want to kill them yet and he has a plan for them. He calls in Insanity and surprisingly, he comes inside immediately. Killer looks shocked and Dust looks confused. Horror tells them that Insanity will be working with them from now on. Horror immediately sends them on a mission to take out a sans in a random AU. While they do that, Horror makes his way to low level AUs to feed on. Horror would kill and devour one monster and let their friends and family suffer and feed off the negativity. Horror continues to do this until everyone in the AU is gone. He would do this to many other AUs to satisfy his hunger while the other three went to complete the mission. Going through different AUs, he would find different variants of Nightmares and defeat each one. When he devours one, an eye would sprout from his tentacles. While he was doing that, the trio was busy trying to complete the mission they were given. Suddenly, they ran into the Star Sanses and Dream was leading them. Dream commands them to tell him what happened to Nightmare. Insanity immediately goes and attacks the trio by himself. He just joined the team so he’s inexperienced in synergy. All three of them attacked him at the same time and sent him flying. Now it was just two on three. Killer and Dust fought them off for as long as they could. Both sides were injured but Killer and Dust fell in defeat. Dream asked them one more time where his brother was. Unknown Horror appeared behind them and instantly the trio turned around quickly. Unknown Horror told them that Nightmare has been somewhat replaced. Ink had a bad feeling about this and told the other two to follow him as he went inside a portal he made. Blue quickly grabbed Dream and slowly went towards the portal. Before they stepped through, Dream looked back at Unknown Horror and saw him mouth the words “Thank you”. He immediately gets a wave of fear, then the portal closes.

Art Made By @wyllaztopia My Good Buddy Design/Ideas Help By @heartstitched My Good BUCKO

Part 1

#Unknown Horror #undertale au #horrortale sans #horror sans #utmv au #lore dump #my ocs

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imariscoconuts · 26 days ago

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Like Sunshine & Honey: 01

A/N: AHHHHHH it has literally been a decade since I've written anything but it was my birthday last week and I just got this sudden urge to write! I am a long time tumblr reader but first time writing on here so I'm still getting used to it all - sorry in advance! I love punishing myself so this is (hopefully) a slow burn. Lots of angst along the way because I like when it hurts...

I did proofread this but I am a little excited so there may be errors!

Joel Miller (HBO) x female!OC

OC is 29 in this so age gap fyi

[01: Yay! It's You!]

4.5k words

It was a cool September morning when the twins were set upon by six of Jackson's men, out on a patrol on the Northern side of the town. By the time they heard the group it was too late, they were too close. That's what we get for taking a shortcut through the open valley, Marcus thought.

"On your knees, now!" one of the men, Troy, barked. Next thing they knew, Troy whistled while a low growl followed from behind his dark mare.

"We're safe! And we're alone! We promise! " Marcus exclaimed confidently, despite the multiple weapons now staring at him right in the eyes.

Daisy, Jackson's toughest critic - and certified 'infected' inspector - creeped towards the pair, Cece's nerves heightening ever so slightly as the black and white cattle dog approached them. She was an animal lover for sure but she couldn't ignore the severity of the situation.

"Let her decide if you're safe," David, another Jackson native spoke, pointing his nose to Daisy. The canine stared at Cece, as if zeroing in on her specifically. Her and Marcus, now on their knees looked intensely at each other then back at Daisy.

Marcus inhaled sharply as Daisy took another step closer and with one last whistle from Troy Daisy's legs were off, closing the remaining 30ft distance between her and the twins.

Cece closed her eyes momentarily then looked to her right, staring into Marcus's eyes. The siblings were confident to say the least but even the most courageous would lose a little composure in a situation like this. It had been almost 2 months since the pair had ran into their last lot of raiders - a sloppy trio - that left the altercation with less supplies but more cuts and bruises courtesy of the twins. They could hold their own, heck, a 2 v 4 hand to hand combat wouldn't even phase them that much these days but they both sensed something odd about this group. They seemed clean, well fed and… very well equipped. Guns, bows, axes, you name it.

Daisy sniffed Marcus first, from his feet, to his hips up to his neck and face. Daisy dropped onto her belly neatly, a command the men instantly nodded at. Now it was Cece's turn. Daisy moved to the woman, repeating the same sniff pattern but without warning allowed her cold nose to graze Cece's cheeck, causing the woman to laugh lowly without warning. Instantly, Daisy imitated the low position but this time with her tail wagging in the air.

The Jackson men looked at each other warily, only having seen Daisy like this with a handful of people. A quick but friendly bark left her as she looked up at Cece.

"Oh, hello" she whispered, slowly extending her hand to the dog as if a peace offering.

As Daisy approached, Cece smiled. She loved dogs, she loved cats, she loved toads, caterpillars and every animal in between. And you know what they say, dogs can sense if you're a bad person.

Cece was anything but bad even despite all that her - and Marcus - had been through. Marcus always described his sister, younger by only 9 minutes, as "the light of my life and those whose she is lucky to grace". She was caring, sometimes too much to a fault, the strongest person he knew and always knew how to make him smile. She loved her brother with every bone in her body and then some, even if he was a bit too sceptical of things at times. The two had been orphaned, like many, 20 years ago at the ripe age of 10 years old. Scared out of their minds in the middle of Columbus, Ohio (their parents had interesting ideas of what a 'holiday' was…) and with their mother's final words being "run, just run as far away from the city as you can" the pair did exactly that. The twins were known by many in their lives as adventurous and smart, so to some miracle the pair lasted 2 and a half weeks in the Ohio wilderness until they met Gary.

5'6 and still in his Blockbuster uniform, Gary somehow made it out into the forest and snuck up on the kids, attacking them from behind as they tried to start a fire and cook the can of alphabet spaghetti they had found a week back at an abandoned gas station. With painfully pale skin, bloodshot eyes and emitting the most horrendous moan, Gary was definitely nightmare material for the two youngsters. Within an instant Marcus was on the ground, the pair screaming as Gary's teeth nipped close to the boy's face. As quick as he had attacked Gary went limp, falling onto Marcus with his teeth digging straight into the bark above Marcus' shoulder. The pair screamed as Cece tried to pull her brother out from under the corpse. They had seen a few infected during the first two days of the outbreak, before their parents died, but it had been their first encounter with one out in the forest.

"Stop screaming!" a voice whisper-yelled from nearby. The siblings looked forward, spotting a man not more than 20ft away, pointing a gun right where Marcus had just been.

"Where are your parents?" The man questioned, approaching them slowly.

The twins looked at each other, then at Gary, then at the man and back at each other.

Should we tell him? Cece tried to ask without speaking, communicating only through her eyes.

Hell no! Marcus replied, his brows now furrowed. It was something the two loved about being twins - seemingly always knowing what the other was saying without a single word.

"I said, where are your parents?" The man barked a little louder, cocking his gun back up but at the children this time.

"Umm… they're dead…" Cece whispered, a single tear escaping her eye. After weeks of crying it was all her body could muster up right now.

"Bill, what the hell are you doing! They're just kids!" Suddenly another man came into view, running from behind Bill.

"I-I just" Bill stammered and sighed, knowing his interrogation was definitely not happening how he wanted it to now that Frank was here.

"Oh my goodness you're like 5 years old!" Frank exclaimed, slinging his arrow over his shoulder and approaching the pair slowly.

Marcus pushed Cece behind him, wary of the strangers.

"Don't come any closer!" he yelled, holding onto Cece's hands behind him, his heart beating out of his little chest.

Marcus was so, so brave. Cece wouldn't even know what to do without him. He was strong, determined and never let anyone walk over him or Cece.

"We- we won't hurt you, I promise" Frank said, taking painfully slow steps towards the children, offering them a half smile as he did.

"And how do I know you're not lying?" Marcus questioned, his voice quivering slightly. Cece peeked out from behind her brother, only looking at the men for a second before hiding back behind Marcus.

"My name's Frank and that guy" he said, looking over his shoulder at the grumpy brunette, "is Bill."

"We live about an hour West from here and were scouting the forest for some deer or turkey when Bill said he heard something. That 'something' evidently being that guy" Frank said, pointing to Gary - who was now definitely dead. For the second time.

"Now you know who we are, can you tell us your names?" he asked quietly, now crouching down just a few feet from the pair. Bill swayed impatiently from behind, knowing exactly where this was going.

Marcus hesitated, squeezing Cece's hands behind him. The young girl hesitated but let go of Marcus' hands, appearing from behind her brother.

"My name is Cece." she spoke.

"Cece, stop!" Marcus tried to reason with her but she shook away his hand, taking a step closer to Frank.

"And- and this is Marcus, my brother". Frank smiled at the pair and looked back at Bill quickly giving him a look, a look that said "how on Earth can we leave them here?"

"Well," Frank started, "it's a pleasure to meet you Cece and Marcus. Would you like to come with us?"

"Safe!" Troy exclaimed to the group, the interaction between Cece and Daisy heavy on his mind.

"My name is Troy" he spoke, dismounting from his horse and slinging his gun over his shoulder.

"We're from a compound somewhat nearby. We offer people a safe community inside guarded and patrolled walls in exchange for being a useful member of our society. As you have been deemed safe by Daisy and thus are not currently infected I am obligated by our council to offer you two entry into our community if you wish to accept?"

The siblings looked at each other cautiously.

Should we go? Cece tried to ask without speaking, communicating only through her eyes.

I'm not sure. Marcus replied, his brows now furrowed. It was something the two loved about being twins - seemingly always knowing what the other was saying without a single word.

"Y-yes" Cece spoke quickly. Surely this won't blow up in our faces… right? She thought to herself. The pair had been on their own for the last year, dodging infected, raiders and the like left, right and centre as they tried to cross the country and find a slither of solace somewhere, anywhere but the QZ they were in in Indiana.

"We have strict rules and it is vital you are able to prove you can benefit our society in return for sanctuary. If you disobey these rules we have no problem and are bound by our council to discipline those who do not follow through with their part in this exchange. Do you understand?"

"Yes." she said more confidently this time, swallowing hard. She looked to Marcus and he sighed, wondering to himself, Surely this won't blow up in our faces… right?

Troy clamped his hands together and retreated to his horse, pulling two black cloths from his saddle bag. "You will need to wear these on the journey there for security reasons."

"No." Marcus whispered to Cece, panic now growing inside of him.

"Marcus, come on." Cece pleaded, rising from her knees. She looked back at him, holding out her hand for him to take. After arguing with himself internally, Marcus sighed and took her offer, now standing next to her. She always knows best. He thought.

After a rather rough pat down from the other men and removal of their weapons, the two were popped onto different horses and blindfolded. Although the pair have done some questionable things to survive in this crazy world, this was definitely in their top 5, maybe 3. Riding blindfolded on a random guy's horse in the middle of Wyoming.

It had been exactly twelve days since the twins arrived in Jackson.

The first few days were definitely… something. Upon arrival, the two were greeted by Tommy Miller, one of the top men in Jackson.

"Well look what we have here! Haven't had anybody new come around here in a couple months." Tommy explained, waltzing up to the pair with a firm grin on his face.

"Now, I want you to know that a good life here is easy but it ain't cheap. You give to Jackson, Jackson will give to you." Tommy said rather earnestly. "Let's head on over to the hall for a chat and then we'll really get this party started" he smiled, walking off without hesitation. The group that brought the pair back had now dispersed, only Troy following behind Tommy.

"Well, he sure is something." Cece announced, shaking her head and following the men, "come on Marcus" she smiled, looking back at her brother.

He sighed softly, trudging behind her and only now noticing the dozen or so people on the compound's street, eyeing them both intensely.

Cece looked back at her brother and met his eyeline, noticing two men nearby seemingly whispering about them.

Cece looked down at herself, noting her rugged appearance and sighed, "yeah, we've seen better days".

With a soft chuckle to herself she picked up her speed, pulling Marcus along.

"Look at how everyone's looking at us" he whispered.

"Can you blame them? No one knows us from a bar of soap" she said, rolling her eyes. Cece was a very understanding person, empathetic when people didn't even deserve it so she didn't look too much into the hard stares they were receiving from the people of Jackson.

After a brief walk the group had made it to the mess hall when a single bark halted everyone.

Daisy approached the group, zigzagging straight for Cece before stopping at her feet and sitting, offering her a paw.

"It's you again!" she laughed, kneeling down.

Tommy looked between Troy and Marcus, raising an eyebrow at the woman. Odd, he thought.

After a rather longwinded breakdown of Jackson, Tommy alongside his wife Maria and a few of Jackson's council decided the siblings would start on lighter duties for their first few weeks - Marcus behind the bar at the Tipsy Bison and Cece a library assistant. Marcus insisted he could be on patrols "first thing in the morning" but Maria assured him patrol work would come with time, and trust.

As for Cece, she had quite a thorough understanding of basic medical procedures thanks to Bill and Frank as well as a love for learning, hoping she could make her way to the school or infirmary at some point.

Slow dawn, lady! She thought to herself, trying to remind herself that they were newcomers, strangers to Jackson still.

It was a lot for them, being among a new group of people, ones that didn't seem to want to kill them or sabotage them like those in the QZ. But they had only been here just over an hour, so nothing was certain. Maria insisted on putting the two up at "the little green house near Joel's". Whoever that was.

"My brother." Tommy explained, "he's out on a city patrol right now. Probably be back around the 2nd".

Walking past the Tipsy Bison, left at the school and straight down past the apple trees sat the little green house.

A quaint two story home with a sage green exterior, grey roof and white trimmings. Although it was chipping and severely faded, the home still stood out amongst the rest of the houses on the row. Most adorning brick work or a dark colour palette.

"Well, this'll be yours for the little while." Tommy gestured, walking up the steps and opening the front door.

"Just turn right at the corner and you'll see the red mailbox about 3 houses down" he said, pointing his arm straight down the street. Cece smiled wide, looking around at the houses, the trees and the few people on the street, taking it all in.

Security felt good, but weird. After fighting and surviving for years she was unsure how to feel. How long would they be here? Would they make friends? Friends. It's just been her and Marcus most of the time. Only relying on each other in the QZ. The thought of security made her excited. But what if it ends up like the QZ? She thought to herself.

Not wanting to dwell on the 'what ifs' for too long, she decided to stick with what was in front of her, her reality, right now.

"Thank you, Tommy. I- we really appreciate it. And we are ready to contribute to Jackson and get to know everyone here." Cece explained, genuinely feeling thankful for the situation.

Although she loved spending time with Marcus, it had been a long time since she had had a positive experience with another human and Tommy, as well as Maria, and basically everyone they had met so far in Jackson seemed nice, or decent at the least.

"Just swing on by if you need anything. If we're not there, Maria is usually at the hall or down by the stables and I'm, well, I'm a bit all over the place so you'll see me around." Tommy said, smiling back at the two.

"Thank you, really." Marcus spoke from behind Cece, reaching out to shake Tommy's hand before he set off towards his own house, waving at the two as he jogged away.

"You promised it was our turn to host." Cece complained, trudging alongside Tommy as they headed to the mess hall.

"Yes, that is true but my brother just got back and Maria really wants to cook a stew for everyone." he shrugged, smirking as the two walked side by side.

"Fine," Cece replied, "but I'm bringing an apple pie". She nudged Tommy's shoulder with her own, knowing him and Maria were already head over heels for her baking skills because the pie she bought over to their house last week was devoured before they even left the 'welcome dinner' Tommy and Maria had put on for the siblings. Cece had been in Jackson just shy of two weeks and had already cooked 8 pies for those of Jackson, including her neighbours, except Joel, who apparently lives across the street and one house down, the head librarian Betty and Ellie, who she met in a rather absurd way. On the Monday just gone as Ellie left her and Joel's home she became overwhelmed with the very pleasant smell coming from the little green house. Five minutes, two beady eyes watching Cece through the kitchen window and one ear-piercing yelp from Cece later, the two were sharing an apple pie and two glasses of milk on Cece's front porch. The two spent an hour talking about baking, tacky jokes and someone named Dina, who Cece was yet to meet.

"Deal." Tommy confirmed, tipping his hat to the woman, before entering the hall. "See you and Marcus tonight." he called over his shoulder.

Marcus. Cece had never seen Marcus so locked in. He had worked almost every day at the Tipsy Bison while spending most of his free time with Troy and a few of the other men of Jackson. Although still his very reserved and sceptical self, it was nice for Cece to see her brother taking a real liking to Jackson, its people and its system. This morning he told Cece he had met with Maria and would begin training for patrols as early as next week.

Meanwhile Cece had been spending the past week getting to know as many people of Jackson as she could including Betty and her daughter Lucy who was the same age as her. That's one thing Cece definitely hated about the QZ - most people didn't want to or couldn't just have a conversation with one another. It was too hostile. In the first few years they were there it wasn't too bad, she had Finn and Joey, but once they were gone it was only a few people that were civil with her. Cece didn't take it to heart though, she had been in this crazy world long enough to know it was survival over everything and she respected those that just got up to do what they had to do. That didn’t stop her from taking any opportunity to talk to people when she could though. Even as a child, she was always the first to talk to strangers, much to her parents' dismay, and always tried to include everyone and make others happy.

Whether at school, the local park and even in the QZ. She would often do favours for people to get extra juice rations for her neighbour's son, Carl because the joy he got out of a cup of apple juice was enough. That's just who Cece was, even in the messed up, depressing world she had been left in.

Not wanting to waste any more time, she began making a list in her head of all that she needed to pick up for this evening's pie when her thoughts were quickly interrupted by a whistle from behind.

"Cece, how's it going?" Troy asked, approaching with Daisy trotting closely behind.

Cece smiled genuinely at the two, finding Daisy just the cutest (and most hardworking) dog she'd ever met. Although she hadn't asked yet, she put Troy in his late 40's, judging from the few lines that adorned his face. Despite the brashness of their first encounter, Troy had been exceptionally welcoming to Cece and Marcus, something not ignored by Cece. Not in a weird way, he just seemed genuinely friendly to the woman.

She crouched down, meeting Daisy's eyes when the dog suddenly offered her a paw. "Pretty good, I think. Most people have been really welcoming to Marcus and I. It's… it's nice." she smiled shyly, patting under the dog's chin.

"Well that's probably because you're nice" he said, patting her shoulder as she returned to her own height. "Or it could be because you keep baking for people" Cece laughed, pointing at Troy, "and that's just apple pie! I also do a spectacular pecan one too."

Troy chuckled at the woman, patting her shoulder, "I'll be waiting for one!" he said before heading off with Daisy.

Joel was sick of his city patrol about twelve days ago… the day he left Jackson. His partners, Jenny and Brad were slow and incompetent according to him so to say he was glad to be only minutes away from the gates was an understatement. Despite his personal problems with the two, the trip was somewhat of a success - besides the run in with a group of raiders just a few days in. They had found medical tools, some weapons, winter coats and a '1001 Dad Jokes' book, for Ellie.

"Open!" they heard as the three of them approached the front gates. Joel sighed, wanting nothing more than to sleep. In his bed. As the horses trudged through the gates Joel was met by Tommy and a few others.

Dismounting his horse, Joel unclipped his bags and met Tommy, "nice to see you brother," Tommy smiled, pulling Joel in for a hug. Joel was not a toucher, but for Tommy he would tolerate a hug… on certain occasions.

"How does stew and an apple pie sound tonight?" Tommy asked his brother, walking with Joel and Beardy, his horse, while Jenny and Brad led the way to the stables.

Apple pie? Joel thought. Maria has never baked that before. Sensing his confusion Tommy turned to Joel and smiled deviously, "you have new neighbours in the little green house".

Joel rolled his eyes, really not in the mood to meet new people.

"Oh come on Joel, they're really nice. Well, Marcus is a little quiet, like you, but Cece, she's great!" he exclaimed, kicking a rock in front of him as the two walked on.

Oh great, another couple. Joel thought.

"Brother and sister." Tommy said, reading Joel's mind.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I'll unload, go see Ellie and see y'all later then." Joel said, allowing his furrowed brows to tell Tommy how he felt about this 'dinner party'.

After taking all of the trip's finds to the infirmary and mess hall Joel finally arrived to his street. Passing by the little green house he noticed a few new flower pots on the front porch as well as two new chairs. A stark difference to what it looked like before he left - dirt all over the porch, with a broken rocking chair and surely at least twenty spiderwebs. No one had lived in that house the whole time Joel had been in Jackson. A family of three apparently used to live there for a few months when Jackson was first established but ultimately they decided to leave Jackson for some QZ in Salt Lake City that was apparently 'promising'. And they were never heard from or seen again. It's just been sitting there, fading away ever since.

Not giving any more time to the little house, Joel trudged down to his own house that he shared with Ellie. Well, she was often at Tommy's or Dina's so his house that he shared with Ellie sometimes. After yelling out, hoping to hear Ellie he was instead met with silence. Taking off his coat, Joel groaned, his shoulders feeling as stiff as a brick wall from sleeping rough for almost two weeks. He had a sleeping bag, of course, but that wasn't much on top of a forest or concrete floor. Rubbing his shoulders he sighed and laid down on their couch, not wanting to trek up the stairs. Joel laid there, looking up at the peeling roof for about twenty minutes, wanting nothing more than to sleep but it just never came. Sick of laying there he stood up and gathered his coat, deciding to go find Ellie and visit the Tipsy Bison for a whiskey or two.

As he walked back past the little green house he then noticed the doormat he hadn't seen before. Walking up to the porch, hoping no one was home to see him snooping around he snickered and rolled his eyes.

Yay! It's You! The brown doormat said.

"Where do you even get something like that these days?" he asked himself, shaking his head at the mat, the house and whoever lived in it.

Guess I'll see which idiot owns that mat soon, Joel thought, trudging back down the street.

One thing about Joel, he was a realist. He knew fun and happiness was far and few these days, at least for him. Maybe Ellie, Dina, heck even Betty the librarian knew how to have a little fun these days but Joel took everything in Jackson pretty seriously. He did what needed to be done and stuck to his business. Most of Jackson just let Joel be, knowing he was a 'grump' - to be frank.

As he rounded the corner near the mess hall his eyes set upon Troy and a woman with long, light brown hair. He couldn't tell who it was from behind but he watched as she laughed at Troy, her shoulders shaking from her laugh.

Yeah, he think's he's funny. Joel thought, rolling his eyes. He wasn't the fondest of Troy. Not that he did anything particularly wrong, he was just too loud. Especially once whiskey had hit his lips.

The woman said something back to Troy, now his turn to laugh. Joel didn't see much purpose in all of the thrills of Jackson - the socialising, the movie nights, the holidays - at least for the adults. He would much rather everyone just do their work and leave it at that. Less likely to meet new people, new women that way, he thought. Joel had flirted and entertained a few women in Jackson but never anything serious, and never when he was sober.

Before he looked away he noticed the woman bend down to Daisy, patting her on the head before Troy and Daisy walked away, leaving the woman to walk the opposite direction. He watched as she passed two of the councilmen, smiles immediately filling their faces. The biggest smiles he had seen on them, probably ever.

Who the hell is that? He thought.

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fantomyoshi · 1 month ago

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Nerus and his dragons as hatchlings!

Some lore down below. Hope you like reading!

Lore dump about these three little gremlins-

Nerus found their eggs abandonned in the middle of a jungle. He didn't immediately took them and instead waited to see if the parents would come back. No luck. While looking around for them, he found them. They were killed by something. Or someone... their heads were missing... After seeing this nightmare, Nerus took the responsibility to take and care for the eggs until their hatching. While they are not biologically his children, Nerus takes them as his own's and fiercely protects them from harm.

Fun fact: Nerus has a weak spot for animals. He just has that "Must touch and pet" vibe.

Blue as you saw is Volt, and Nerus' main mount. He is the eldest and wisest of the trio, and always commands his siblings when Nerus is unavailable. - Volt is a Lightning Wyvern. - His electricity is blue and ivory in color. - He is the only one of his clutch to not have a "beak" and instead has outwards horns on his snout. - The gills on his neck absorb electricity for future use. They open and close depending on if he uses it or not. - Volt is the type to have trust issues, and takes a while to warm up to others. - Volt is the largest dragon of his clutch, with Fang and Quill being slightly smaller. - His electricity creates slight explosions upon touching the ground. Stay out of the way! Orange one is Fang. He is the second eldest, but is the most shy and most gentle. Curious, he always cautiously approaches people he has interest in. - Fang is a Fire Wyvern. - His fire is orange-red colored. - He has the hardest armor of the siblings. His scales can counter arrows and spells, as well as sharp axes and swords. When shedded, they make great use for an armor more resistant than Netherite. - Being the heaviest of the trio, Fang cannot make sharp turns or ascend/descend rapidly. This is caused by the amount of heavy plates on his body. - Unlike his siblings, Fang has to run to take flight. He doesn't have enough momentum to immediately take flight. White one is Quill. She is the youngest by a few hours, and is the most playful, although sometimes too rough. - Quill has dual elements. She breathes Ice, but her tail spines and front fangs are filled with venom. - Quill has four legs instead of two. - Her ice is white with a hint of blue. - Her venom acts as a sedative. Once they hit a target, they deliver a cold but strong toxin, which can knock out a Ravager with ease. One is enough to knock out smaller targets, two for larger ones, and three can even knock out the Ender Dragon. More than three can result in serious headaches, long illness and even death. - Quill shoots her spikes by swinging her tail fast towards her target. - She would be considered the most aggressive of the trio, and can be ruthless when fighting. - She is the lightest of the trio, and the fastest, both on ground and air. She can make tight turns rather easily, and her dive bombs can be as deadly as a Creeper blowing up behind an unexpected target...

All dragons cannot survive well in the cold, even Quill who is an ice dragon. They are also not immune to Quill's sedative venom. Big weapons such as giant spears can also pierce through Fang's hard scales.

#dragon #illager #wyvern #pillager #minecraft #minecraft oc #minecraft illager #minecraft pillager #baby dragons #illager oc #pillager oc

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starblizzard247 · 7 months ago

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Slight HSR leaks spoilers/speculations

So I was thinking about how similar Feixiao is to a certain Edelgard von Hresvelg (white hair, army commanders, using axes and swords, frank personalities, Crests/Moon Rage affliction, shortened lifespans that cause them to go to prolonged war because they don’t have the time to wait around for the change that they want, tragic backstories involving groups of villains who they want to get rid of, and more) when it occurred to me that like Edelgard who has two right hand men in the form of Hubert von Vestra and Mr. I-am-Ferdinand von Aegir, Feixiao has two right hand men in Jiaoqiu (voiced by Seteth’s Eng VA and Claude’s Jap VA amusingly) and Moze (whose Eng VA I’m hoping will be recast like m!Byleth Eisner).

With this new realization in mind, I am now headcannoning the Yaoqing Trio’s dynamic to be the Adrestian Trio’s dynamic until proven otherwise.

SO ENSUES THE ADRESTIAN TRIO GOOFBALL CHAOS REBORN AS THE YAOQING TRIO GOOFBALL CHAOS

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mostrandomgallery · 3 months ago

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And now, for the main healer of the Cotton Candy Elephants, give a round of applause for Delicia von Hevring!

With Delicia von Hevring’s enrollment into the Officers’ Academy, it has been speculated whether or not the Hevring family themselves or the Crest of Cethleann naturally makes one disgusted at the sight of blood, as was the case with Linhardt von Hevring. In Delicia’s case, the mere mention of blood makes her want to puke on command. For this reason, she took up faith magic and healing in order to heal gross, icky injuries involving blood and guts. Rumor has it that Delicia would rather eat broccoli than look at blood—and she absolutely despises broccoli.

And now, time for Delicia's stats!

Crest: Cethleann (major)

Heroes’ Relic/Sacred Weapon: Caduceus Staff

Strengths: Faith, Reason, Flying

Weaknesses: Sword, Axe

Hidden Talent: Lance

Personal Skill: “Ew!”— After landing a hit with a battalion, will push away all enemies in range 5 spaces away and gain 2+ to Mag, Res, and HP

Ideal Classes: Monk, Priest, Bishop, Gremory, Dark Flier, Pegasus Knight, Falcon Knight

Learnable Magic: Heal, Physic, Ward, Restore, Nosferatu, Aura, Seraphim, Wind, Cutting Gale, Excalibur

Ideal Combat Arts: Tempest Lance, Knightkneeler, Hit and Run

Selection Quotes (Academy): "Ugh, Battle!" (normal), "Okay, I got this…" (mid-health), "I think I’m gonna be sick!" (critical health)

As the primary healer of the Cotton Candy Elephants, Delicia specializes in Faith Magic first and Reason Magic second. However, her Reason growth rates are slightly higher than typical healers, and are on par with an offense mage like Dorothea. Delicia herself was envisioned as a combination of Dorothea and Linhardt, having the fashion sense and attitude of the former, combined with the healing focus and smart-mouthed personality of the latter, minus the sleepiness (there's another student in this class who's always sleepy, but she's related to Lorenz). She's even got his Academy Phase selection quote. Her best stats are Res, Mag, and Cha.

A social butterfly, Delicia is super easy to build support with. Due to her high Cha stat, she is easy to have tea parties with an is an excellent candidate for the Dancer class (I'm just gonna say that making Tristesse the Dancer is funnier). For dining, her favorite meals are: Vegetable Pasta Salad, Sweet Bun Trio, Saghert and Cream, Peach Sorbet, Two-Fish Sauté, and Bourgeois Pike. At the dining table, she has unique dialogue with another classmate, Envidia Desiree Dominic. Delicia's preferred gifts include the Stylish Hair Clip, Floral Adornment, Gemstone Beads, Tea Leaves, and Roses. While she can support with everyone in her class, her supports outside her house are limited to: Dorothea, Linhardt, Ferdinand, Sylvain, Lorenz, Hilda, Constance, Manuela, and Flayn. As for S-Support, she is locked to Male Byleth.

Fun Fact: Delicia's name means "delightful". Ironic, considering that she's someone who is rarely delighted by anything, and is easily repulsed by everything around her.

DO NOT REPOST!!! Also on deviantART

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #delicia von hevring #fe3h au #crossover #inside out #inside out 2 #pixar #disgust #inside out disgust #i literally gave her linhardt's selection quote #it just fits her so well #fanart #my art #museum of stephanie #artists on tumblr

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muirmarie · 7 months ago

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slams into your askbox, i saw the words timeloop sequel and i need to know more immediately

@thegeminisage

ty both!

if anyone hasn't read the time loop fic (it ends or it doesn't), please don't read the readmore, because it contains extremely big spoilers, and that fic is probably the only fic i've ever written that i'd say this about, but spoilers really do matter here imo.

okay! the time loop fic sequel.

this one i have very little actually written out, because i have other fics i need to finish first, but i still consider it an active wip because i go in it pretty routinely to make notes (so many notes).

this is almost def going to be in the 30k-40k range, though (maybe more, idk, we all know i'm a terrible judge), and it's absolutely on the back burner for now.

The working summary is long lmao, BUT:

Three months after they're rescued from the time loop, Starfleet Command asks the Enterprise to pick up Ambassador Sarek and Amanda Greyson and accompany them to the Arexilian home world. It's clear that Starfleet hopes to leverage the Arexilians' goodwill towards the triumvirate into reopening talks with the Federation, and aren't above using Spock's father to do so. Kirk uses his own leverage to get two weeks shore leave on Vulcan before they leave. But what should be a pleasant shore leave before a pleasant voyage to a pleasant people quickly starts developing snags: another Federation ambassador is coming along for the journey, and it's clear that he has his own axe to grind, Spock's parents have their own opinions about Spock's relationships—both those disclosed to Starfleet and not—and the triumvirate is still dealing with their own fallout from their choices on Arexon-3, as much as they might like to pretend it's behind them. Most importantly of all, Bones has to find a way to make Sarek like him.

They're basically all working through their own trauma, there's elements of Arexilian generational memory that McCoy ends up with due to going into the device some 270-odd times (I've been playing with him having dreams of flying), the other Federation ambassador is trying to get information on what the Arexilians did (both the teleportation, but also, they're beginning to suspect, why/how the sun exploded.....possibly w/ interest on that as a weapon), Sarek & Amanda are both extremely nosy in their own rights, I think Sarek & McCoy end up hostages at one point, Kirk won't admit it but he doesn't exactly trust his CMO right now, Spock can't hear 0900 without checking his wrist to make sure the mark is still there/the loop hasn't restarted...

At its heart it's them navigating the fall-out of what happened, and how actually being in a relationship together works when they're still struggling to remember what normal even feels like.

Plus it's the fact that I really like those purple feathered humanoids, and I think it would be really fun to get to explore them a little more! (like, did you know: they're extremely long-lived! Their lifespan averages about 340-400 years, so despite the fact they'd been on Arexon-3 for 800 years, there were a handful of them who returned to their homeworld whose parents had actually been born there!) Plus the idea of generational memory bleeding into McCoy's dreams means I have an interesting way of exploring it (for me, I mean, it might not be interesting for you, but I'll try lol) rather than just, say, info-dumping.

Plus I just really liked the dynamic I set up between the trio and Larissaya & Iratha - and the idea of the Arexilians and those that stayed on their homeworld (I haven't decided on a name for their homeworld yet) having to adjust to being back on the same planet again? Also very much Interests me. And I'm very, very fond of Iratha. They're my (gender neutral) girl <3

It's also supposed to be for my Planet Vulcan prompt for my bingo card hahaha, although we're maybe a little past that. But they DO go to Vulcan!!!

Part of me thinks that I might split up the shore leave on Vulcan and use it as bookends. Actually, now that I write that here, I'm almost definitely going to do that. Okay, lmao, I'll stop rambling now, if any of you are still with me ilu <33333 tyyyyyy

#answers #fexiled #thegeminisage #wip tag list game

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dreamsy990 · 1 year ago

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ok so i finished bbs so time for thoughts!!!!

god this game has. issues. its my least favorite so far and im not saying its BAD im just saying it could be. better

i realize i was supposed to play terra > ven > aqua but i went in order of who i was least excited about to most so i did terra > aqua > ven. also i was super underlevel as terra and aqua so when i got to ven i grinded to level 10 the moment i was able to and then breezed through the whole game

i dont wanna say that i think the game should be shorter but i do think that its not very enjoyable for like 80% of the runtime. like i think most the worlds are boring idk. im not a very big disney person but usually the worlds are pretty interesting but this time around it simply Did not hit and i think it couldve been better? idk man. a few worlds were really good like all of hollow bastion as ven is super fun like i love seeing the org cast theyre just endlessly fun. seeing ansem tw in the ending did make me very angry though i hate that guy

this whole game is a downer and i knew that going in but still like. holy shit its depressing.

i love the main trio they are such a fucked up family i love their dynamic its honestly the best part of the game. also vanitas is a joy but also he is a total fucking wimp i could beat him up in real life. also fuck terranort! that about sums up my thoughts

hate the command system id honestly rather be doing coms card game at least that required some level of thought. i hate how the game can just rip the command i just made right out of my hands that is SO rude. also ima be real i still dont know how to play command board i never read the rules

honestly the game isnt that fun i didnt really enjoy it it kinda felt like a chore to play a lot of the time. i tend to be chronically underlevel in games and tgis is the game where i felt it the hardest so every once and a while i had to just set aside a couple hours to grind and like. i enjoy a challenge so i dont mind being underlevel but this was just painful i simple Could Not. also FUCK terra if i ever have to play as him again ill throw up and die.

the opening is my second favorite so far and the story is pretty good when i know whats going on

decent game. 6.9/10 if they axed the whole command system id give it a 7.5. i think it works better in concept than in execution and replaying the exact same worlds 3 times over gets stale pretty quickly. i wish they cut out some worlds as other characters like you cannot tell me deep space ventus was necessary. solid game though

#doodles #ventus #terra #aqua #birth by sleep #kingdom hearts #kh bbs #kh review

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writingamongther0ses · 2 years ago

Text

Ax Gleam

Dorothy is the one to realize that she has the parts her companions need.

She is a lonely girl in a new world, frightening even among all the wonder and color. A witch is hunting her for the silver slippers she earned from an accident she didn't mean it. Glinda is no help, just telling her to follow the yellow brick road to the Emerald City with no explanation of what she should do if she runs into danger. At least that command leads her to the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. Joy fills her with each new companion. (She doesn't tell her new friends about the witch.)

The Scarecrow is loyal and so, so smart- imagine what he would do with an actual brain? The Tin Man is kind and for something that claims to be heartless, an actual heart would have to be bigger than normal for him. The Lion is passionate and brave when it matters, now he needs actual courage to back it up.

When they take a break for the night before reaching Emerald City, the Tin Man builds a fire. Dorothy sits in the Scarecrow's lap, serving as a shield from the deadly flames. The firelight catches the ax as Tin chops up wood, making the head gleam silver. Dorothy stares at it. (She's not sure why.)

It's when her pursuer is revealed and the task to kill the Witch of the West is set, when Scarecrow kneels in front of her and promises he's with her no matter what, Dorothy remembers the ax. (And how sharp it was.)

She waits until they stop for the night. Lion has taken Toto with him while he hunts for himself. The Scarecrow went with them to find some more firewood and, knowing him, some more food that isn't what Dorothy just has in her basket. Like before, the Tin Man is chopping wood for fire until he notices her stare. "Is everything alright, Dorothy?"

"I...um. Tin Man?" She taps her fingers and tries to put the suggestion to words. "I was just thinking...what if we didn't have to kill the Wicked Witch of the West?"

If he still could, he would clearly raise a brow. "What do you mean?" Dorothy, staring at the ax, reaches up. She traces her brow, on the skin stretched over her brain, before moving to her chest, feeling her heartbeat. The Tin Man stares at her before her silent message sinks in. "Wha- no. Absolutely not."

"It'll be easier."

"Dorothy Gale, you are fourteen years old. You have an entire life- you need to go home."

"This is a death mission." She snaps, lifting up a silver slipper covered foot as proof. "The Witch is going to keep trying to hurt you guys-"

"Dorothy-"

"-until I'm dead. And I'm not even sure-"

"Stop."

"She'll even stop at that-"

Hands clamp down on her shoulders.

"ENOUGH!"

Dorothy's teeth audibly click when she shuts her mouth. The Tin Man stares her down, eyes so, so sad. (That's she's gotten to this point.) "We are going to figure it out." he says. His grip on her loosens, instead turning into a soft rub to help with any bruises. "We always do. We always find a way. We've done it before." She can't even protest at that.

Because they have. All the way here, they've found ways.

Silently, she nods.

Satisfied, the Tin Man sits down next to her.

"...don't tell 'Crow?"

He stares at her. "Alright."

The trio returns soon after that. Lion boasts about how he fought off a huge vulture, Tin Man argues that claim and Scarecrow is rolling his eyes as he and Dorothy arrange themselves. "It was a butterfly and he hid behind me." he whispers in her ear. She giggles.

She ignores the gleam of the ax.

#this is a redone version of an older story #my writing #The Wizard of Oz #fiction #fantasy #Dorothy Gale #The Tin Man #cw: suggestion mutilation #cw: suggested child death

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kharia-adarkim · 5 months ago

Text

In Crimson it Began

"This should be as good a vantage point as any," Pipin declared. Alphinaud set down his pack and began to pull out the surveying equipment when a series of explosions echoed across the canyon. "What was-" the lalafel soldier began to speak, but was interrupted by Alisaie.

"That came from the northeast- Rhalgr's Reach!"

"I'm going back," Kharia drew her gunblade and set off back up the trail.

"I'm coming too," Alphinaud chimed in, weaving a spell. "Carbuncle, to me!" Pipin and Alisaie nodded in agreement and joined the others. As they ducked under branches and scrambled over boulders, Kharia prayed to Nhaama that they wouldn't be too late.

As the four of them crossed the shallows of the Velodyna, Kharia spotted a contingent of Garlean soldiers moving towards the Reach's western entrance. Realizing she'd be unable to close the distance in time, Kharia drew her pistol from her belt with her free hand and fired a few shots at the leader of the pack, pulling the Garleans' attention away from their destination and towards the Warrior of Light. One soldier - likely their commander, based on his more ornate armor - gestured towards the four of them and gave a command, which was obscured by the rush of the river and the sounds of fighting in the valley. The specifics didn't matter to Kharia, though, as her potshots had the intended effect, and the soldiers raised their rifles to take aim at her while their lancers began a charge. With practiced precision, Kharia deflected the incoming gunfire with her blade, charging in to meet the lancers head-on. Pipin followed close behind, shield raised, and Alisaie began to weave a spell. A flash of red light and a gust of wind threw one of the lancers off his feet, and the momentary distraction gave Kharia time to bring her blade down upon a second, ending her before she'd realized her mistake. The remaining trio of lancers regained their composure and began to drive Kharia back with timed thrusts from varying angles.

"I can handle these three!" Kharia yelled to her companions, "Go for the gunners!" Alphinaud nodded, and his familiar lept at his command, harrying the Garlean backline while Pipin closed the distance. The commander drew his blade and pistol and took aim at the charging Lalafel.

"Oh no you don't," Alisaie muttered, channeling her magics for a burst of speed, knocking the pistol from the commander's hand with her rapier. The two of them traded blows back and forth, as the gunners dropped their rifles and drew sabres to fend off the gladiator and carbuncle. Kharia feigned a misstep, causing a lancer to overextend their next strike, and she grabbed the haft of their spear and pulled them into her blade, firing a cartridge point-blank for good measure. Finding her gunblade lodged firmly in the soldier's armor, she released it and lept back. As the remaining two lancers advanced, she pulled a device from inside her jacket and tossed it into the air, where it unfolded into a small propeller-lifted turred and began to fire at the lancers. Caught off-guard by the machine, Kharia used the lancers' hesitation to draw another device from her belt. Pressing the activator, it unfolded into a waraxe, and she charged with a roar, bringing it down on one of the lancers. He raised his spear to parry, and the magitech axe splintered the haft of his weapon, but gave him the space to dodge a fatal blow. Kharia roared, using the momentum of her swing to raise the axe and turn towards the final armed lancer, who dropped her spear and scrambled away as the Xaela woman cleaved the ground behind her. Further ahead, Alphinaud's carbuncle knocked a soldier to the ground, and Pipin bashed the pommel of his blade against their helmet, knocking them out cold. Alisaie locked blades with the commander and stared into his visor.

"If you value your life and those of your remaining men, surrender now," she said coldly. The commander glanced past the Elezen lass to see Kharia charging through the river, axe held high, and swore.

"Surrender? My girl, I'd rather fight to the death than face Lord Zenos' punishment for failure."

"Have it your way," Alisaie sighed, and a burst of flame erupted from her hand, sending him flying backwards. As he struggled to regain his footing, Pipin threw his shield, which clanged against the commander's helmed and knocked him back to the ground. Those soldiers who remained scattered, with their commander defeated and Kharia approaching rapidly.

"Run, cowards!" she cried, "and pray to your emperor you never see me again!" She paused to catch her breath, and Alphinaud put a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy Kharia," he said, weaving a spell of healing. "We may have won this skirmish, but the greater battle is still ahead. Retrieve your blade - quickly. Judging by the smoke, we've no time to waste." Kharia nodded and returned to the Garlean corpse her weapon was lodged in. Standing on their chest for leverage, she unsheathed it from the unfortunate soldier's burned armor, and rinsed the blood off in the waters of the river. Indistinct cries drew her attention to the valley, where a group of resistance soldiers were retreating, Krile and Arenvald in their midst.

"Kharia!" Arenvald yelled. "Thank the gods. It's a bloodbath in there. Zenos, he's- he's a monster. A few stayed behind to cover our retreat, but-"

"Where's Y'shtola?" Alisaie asked. "And Lyse?"

"Still fighting," Krile shook her head.

"I'm going in there," Kharia said. "Viceroy be damned, I'm not letting anyone else die if I can help if."

"I'm coming too," Alphinaud agreed. "I can tend to any wounded."

"I'll lead these folks back to Castrum Oriens," Arenvald volunteered. "What of the rest of you?"

"I need to see the situation firsthand," Pipin said grimly. "I'll join the Warrior of Light."

"And I'm not going to let my brother get himself killed playing hero," Alisaie answered.

"Then it's settled," Krile said, "I'll lead them back to the Reach. There are some Garlean patrols in the valley, and we'll want to avoid them." Arenvald nodded.

"Twelve protect you," he said, then turned towards the broken ranks of the Resistance. "The Warrior of Light and the general are here," he called out, "let's leave the heroics to them and get ourselves back to safety."

The scene in Rhalgr's Reach was worse than any of them had feared. Bodies of Garlean and Resistance soldiers were everywhere. Fires raged and buildings laid in rubble. Spells and bullets flew about, and dozens of skirmishes taking place, far too many in the Garleans' favor. Kharia charged the nearest fight and cut down an unsuspecting swordsman, rallying the few Resistance fighters they were engaged with. With help from the twins and Pipin, the remaining soldiers were quickly dispatched. Alphinaud tended the Resistance fighters' wounds.

"Situation report," Pipin ordered.

"The battle's all but lost, sir," a Roegadyn man sighed. "We were outnumbered and unprepared to begin with, and even with the Scions' help, we'd have been hard-pressed to fend them off. But the damned Viceroy..."

"Where is he?" Kharia demanded.

"No offense miss," a Miqo'te woman interrupted, "but that man's a force of nature. It's not worth it."

"That's not what I asked," Kharia replied through gritted teeth. "Where is he?"

"Last I saw, headed north," the Roegadyn man answered. "Probably leading his damn Crania Lupi to go after the commander."

"Conrad..." Alisaie muttered. "Let's go." She and Kharia took off towards Conrad's tent, and arrived in time to see a towering man in black steel armor cut down two Resistance fighters in a single blow.

"Shall I have the Skulls flush them out milord?" a blonde Hyuran woman called to the behemoth.

"No," he replied, "I will deal with their leaders myself. Tell your men to aid the rest of the rank and file in cleaning up this mess."

"Yes milord," she replied, clearly disappointed. She waved for the other Garlean soldiers to follow her and they set off to another part of the reach.

"That's Zenos?" Alisaie whispered, her voice a mix of awe and fear.

"We need to stop him," Pipin said, climbing over the rubble. "We can't let him kill Conrad." The Garlean viceroy strolled towards the mouth of a tunnel with unnerving casuality, turning only slightly as a blast of wind magic flew past him. In the entrance of the tunnel stood Y'shtola, who was already winding up another spell.

"I won't let you in," she said calmly. Zenos scoffed.

"You think a barbarian like yourself has the right to tell the crown prince of Garlemald whete he can or cannot go? Your hubris knows no bounds." The man put a hand to the hilt of one of his blades. Y'shtola threw a spear of ice at him, and he deflected it as if he was swatting away a fly. As she began to prepare another spell, Pipin let loose a battle cry and charged Zenos from behind. The viceroy seemed to not notice, until the Lalafel was but a few feet away, at which point he intercepted with a whirling kick and sent him flying. "Is this truly the best your so-called Resistance has to offer?" he asked. His voice was bored and disappointed. "Where is your fury? Your rage? Where is the sport?" Y'shtola conjured a bolt of lightning, which Zenos caught with his blade and sent arcing harmlessly into the soil. "I was promised a hunt, yet I find only vermin before me. This has been a waste of my time." With supernatural speed, he dashed towards Y'shtola and brought his katana to bear. The sorceress' eyes widened and she fell to the floor, and Zenos nonchalantly wiped his blade on his cloak. Kharia charged, gunblade at the ready, and lept into the air. Zenos whirled around and caught her sword with his own, sparks flying from the clash. "Is there no end to the pests seeking to dull my blade?" he complained, turning Kharia's strike aside. The Xaela grit her teeth and unleashed a flurry of swings, each effortless parried in time. As the two dueled, Alisaie slipped past to check on Y'shtola's wounds.

"Thank the gods, you're still breathing," she murmured, casting a spell to staunch the bleeding. "The Warrior of Light is here now, don't worry." Kharia's onslaught continued, and though her blows continued to be deflected in clashes of sparks and ringing steel, ilm by ilm she eventually forced the viceroy to take a proper defensive stance, gripping his blade in two hands and drawing his full attention.

"Warrior of Light you say..." he mused. After dodging to the side of an uppercut, he struck at Kharia' open flank. Regonizing she had no time to parry, and that dodging or retreating would cause her to lose the meager ground she'd gained, she raised her hand and caught the blow with her forearm, clenching her teeth against the pain. Zenos paused for the briefest moment at this maneuver, and Kharia seized the opportunity to fire her gunblade into his knee, forcing him to withdraw his strike to prevent further injury. She roared in defiance and chambered another cartridge. She raised her blade over her head and brought it down with two hands. Zenos caught her blade as she knew he would, and she pressed harder, the strain causing her forearm wound to bleed even more. As Zenos' blade shifted to better parry, Kharia fired all of her cartridges in rapid succession, the barrage of gunfire knocking Zenos back and cracking the visor of his helmet. To Kharia's surprise, Zenos began to laugh. "Yes, I see it now," he chuckled, "You must be the one who laid van Baelsar low. It is obvious to me now." He put a hand to his damaged helm and undid the latch. "I will admit, I did not expect such... tenacity from a barbarian, but you will not get so lucky again." The crown prince pulled off his helmet and shook his head, blond hair falling upon his armor. Kharia glared daggers at him as his expression turned from boredom to a smirk. He threw his sword aside and drew the second from its sheath. "Come, Champion of Eorzea. Let us see if you're worthy of providing me with entertainment." Kharia fell for his obvious goading and charged once more, loading another two rounds into her gunblade. Rather than take a swing herself, however, she threw her legs into a slide, causing Zenos' attack to go over her head and letting her elbow him in the back of the leg. She winced as pain radiated through her arm, and rolled to her feet, turning to face Zenos as he regained his balance. She ran back at him, blade brace on her side like a lance, forcing him to dodge rather than parry. She continued to strike with reckless aggression, constantly shifting her approach and strategy to prevent Zenos from establishing a rhythm. Eventually, the crown prince decided to begin his counterattack, which Kharia answered with her own dodges and parries. More than once, she let his blade find purchase where the blow would only be glancing to give herself the opportunity to gain ground. As they continued their chaotic dance, Kharia realized that the longer this went on, the worse her odds would become. During one brief gap in their swordplay, she cast aside her bloodied, torn duster, relishing in the feeling of air against her sweat-and-blood soaked body. After this short respite, their duel resumed, a concerto of clashing steel, booming gunfire, and cries of exertion. While their battle raged, the rest of Rhalgr's Reach grew quiet. Resistance fighters watched in quiet trepidation as their blood-soaked savior danced about the viceroy, and Garleans looked on in amazement as beads of sweat dripped from their unstoppable leader's brow. For what felt like the hundredth time in the fight, Kharia reached for more ammunition, only to find her supply was finally spent. As Zenos charged, she bit her lip, and poured her own aether into the chamber of the gunblade. As her strength waned, the blade glowed with magic, and her mind returned to Radovan's tutelage.

"This technique was only taught to the most skilled of Gunbreakers," he'd explained, opening the gunblade's chamber. "By channeling your aether through the weapon, you negate the need for proper ammunition. But it is only to be used as a last resort - to finish a fight - or you'll leave yourself on death's door and make for easy prey." Kharia watched intently as Radovan performed the rituals and motions required to attune his aether with the firing chamber, and then with three quick shots, dispatched a curious drake that had been circling overhead. Veins of energy ran across his body and blade, and as the beast's corpse landed with a thud, he let out a deep sigh and collapsed in the snow.

Kharia finished the ritual and closed the chamber just as Zenos angled his sword to strike, and it clashed against her shoulder, cutting deep. Rather than an expected spray of blood, however, the wound glowed blue, and Kharia yelled and drove her own weapon upwards, cracking Zenos' armor and forcing him to roll to the side and abandon his weapon to avoid greater injury. Kharia fired a barrage of aether-shots his way, but before she could follow through, her legs gave out and her grip weakened. She fell to her knees and, gritting her teeth, wrenched the katana from her shoulder. As she tried to steady herself, Zenos kicked her to the ground.

"Is this all you've got?!" he roared. "Is this truly the best Eorzea has to offer?" His voice was a mixture of fury and disappointment. Kharia tried again to steady herself, and Zenos wrapped an armored gauntlet around her shoulder. He lifted her into the air, and she grimaced and clenched her teeth as pain filled her senses. "You disappoint me," he said quietly, his words laced with venom. Kharia lifted her head and stared into his eyes. Zenos shook his damaged gauntlet off of his hand and grabbed her chin. "For a moment, I thought you might finally be prey worthy of my time, but you're nothing more than a hound answering to the so-called Alliance's beck and call. What a waste." Fire raged behind Kharia's eyes, and though she willed her body to fight, her strength was gone, and her limbs failed her. Zenos gave her one last disapproving look, running his thumb along her bloodied jaw. Kharia seized the opportunity and bit down hard, at last drawing blood from Zenos, who threw her aside and laughed. "Yes..." he murmured. "Yes!" He began to laugh, to the confusion of the gathered crowds. "You are no mere pup after all," he said, running his hand through his hair, leaving red, bloody streaks. "You have a fire in you, one I've tried and failed to stole in this miserable country for years. Feed the flames, girl, and feed them well. I am not wont to show mercy again." The viceroy turned to the assembled crowds. "Enough! We withdraw. Return to Castrum Abania."

"Sir?" the hyuran woman from earlier asked in disbelief. "What are you saying? We've all but won."

"Do not question me, Fordola," he replied coldly. "I've finally gotten what I want. I will not squander it. We are to withdraw immediately. That is an order." He walked to the side and kneeled next to Kharia's limp body. She strained and raised her head to give him one last defiant glare. "I will be seeing you again," he whispered, "do not disappoint me."

#kharia adarkim #my writing

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hmshermitcraft · 2 years ago

Note

:For theme:

The Scarlet Pearl the dreaded monster of the dark oak forests a monster all fear. She who commands a legion of wolves armed with an axe of crying obsidian they say if she catches you in her gaze you will never be seen again….of course that’s the horrible legend Pearl has been associated with since she was a baby. You see Pearl was abandoned in the forest as a baby all because she was born with a crescent moon shaped birth mark on her face that runs from her left eye to her chin luckily she was found by a rather abnormally large pack of wolves and raised her like their own.

And sure as she got older she turned the red cloth she was found in into a very comfy and soft jacket. But that doesn’t mean she’s an omen of freaking death! The only reason she has this stinking axe is because she found it in some ruins from a broken nether portal not to mention she didn’t have claws and fangs like her family so she needed some way to defend herself. No that’s not what hurt the first time she came across another human it was a family of three and when she tried to say hi they ran away like she was a monster…so fine if they wanted a monster she’ll be a monster.

Now Etho, Cleo, and Mumbo are in their opinion’s decent monster hunters so when they get called to hunt down the omen of death called the Scarlet Pearl they thought it would be a normal gig go in kill the monster get the reward money go home. So they tried to gather some info on this monster and all they got were a bunch of random folktales and vague descriptions at best the only solid information they were given is that the monster wore a bright red cloth that was visible even in the dark oak forest surrounding the village.

Now the three were used to getting vague descriptions of their targets but this was pushing it! But they luckily learned something important the Scarlet Pearl won’t attack as long as you pay an offering usually of meats and coins now this the trio can work with. So they geared up Mumbo with his netherite shield and redstone bombs, Etho and his trusty fishing rod, and Cleo with her potions and sword. After they double check everything they head into the forest at night getting ready for the hunt to begin.

It was just another night for Pearl patrol the woods maybe hunt some game but no this time she had visitors so time to go through the whole “I’m a big scary monster routine” whoopee…so when she arrived to where these visitors were she noticed something different these people looked like they were looking to fight already spotting her family hiding in the bushes and behind the trees…this was gonna be fun. So she slowly walked out of the woods with her head down axe grinding against the ground before stopping looking at the three.

“Do you have the toll?” She asked in the low ominous voice look just cause she didn’t like this part of her routine doesn’t mean she can’t have fun every now and then. And when the woman with snake hair stepped forward saying “No we’re here to stop a monster and I’m guessing that’s you?” Oh boy these ones are actually smart and kinda pretty wait no! Focus Pearl! Before the woman could step closer she snapped her fingers causing her family to appear from the tree lines making the mustached one jump gave Pearl a little laugh.

And that’s when the mayhem began as they all began to fight in the dead of night the sound of exploding redstone and the shattering of potion bottles filled the air before the clashing of blades did. Now the trio knows they’ve been fooled for one this wasn’t a monster this was a person albeit a very powerful person she tore mumbo’s shield in half with her bare hands! That was 7inches of solid enchanted netherite?! They only managed to get her to stop when Cleo pinned an older looking wolf to a tree causing Pearl to drop her axe and run over to Cleo only to be tied up by Etho’s fishing rod and once the adrenaline wore off the three noticed this woman was covered in dried blood, scars, and muck the only remotely clean thing on her was the red jacket she was wearing so they took the opportunity to do some questioning.

And boy oh boy! Did they get some answers because it turns out Pearl as she was called was not only abandoned because of a birthmark but was feared by a regional superstition by association with it and they were just hired to kill her! And Pearl learned who the three were and thought this was the end but nope Etho let her go and asked if she wanted to tag along with them if her family would allow it and they did on the condition Pearl’s closest sister Tilly came along with. But now the village is in for a very rude awakening not only in ethics but also learning why pissing off monster hunters was a bad idea.

(Might actually turn this into a fic!)

Pearl knows her original parents had... Intentions. She's not sure if she'd say they're good, but it was abandon her or to let the people in the village kill her. The village assumed she'd died, which protected her and her family until Pearl was old enough to fight back.

She never saw the point in revenge, though. She lived a happy life with her family. They didn't have much, but they didn't need much. A comfy place to sleep, enough food to eat, and plenty of time for grooming is good enough for them.

Well, it was certainly a challenge as Cleo tried to brush Pearl's hair for the first time. They begin to realise there is some truth in calling Pearl a monster, because Cleo thinks those bite marks in her arm might actually scar. They're able to get Pearl into cleaner clothes, even if she refuses to let go of the cloak. Nobody is allowed to touch it.

Pearl, it turns out, is a very useful addition to her ranks. Pearl's pack is on good terms with a lot of other ones, so Pearl is privy to the local gossip. If a monster has been nearby, the wolves are going to know about it. The fearsome creatures that once terrorised them are now valuable allies.

Pearl is also very easy to please romantically. She nearly falls over at any gesture! They just wish she'd maybe find an alternative to licking them...

#hermitshipping #ask #zombiecleo tag #mumbo tag #etho tag #pearl tag #docleopearlbo #child abuse tw #abandonment tw #mod 🎀#weekly theme: hurt/comfort

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undertale-writing-times · 2 years ago

Note

how many children do they want? For everyone?

Normally I might not do something for every single one, but because this is simple! (if you have any questions about why I put the number that I did, I would love the question!)

Let's get it going >:3

Sans: 0-1

Papyrus: 1-3

Blueberry: 1-2

Stretch: 1

Red: 0-1

Edge: 0-2

Axe: 1-6

Noodle: 0

Lord: 1-3

Mutt: 1-2

King: 1

Alpha: 0

Overlord: 1-5

Pup: 0

Commander: 1

Hound: 0-4

Chief: 0-1

Wolf: 2-6

Royal: 1

Fang: 0

Prince: 0-3

Canine: 1

Leader: 3

Beast: 2

Grandeur: 2

Behemoth: 3(already has one!)

Tycoon: 1

Brute: 10

Cloud: 0

Bat: 0

Superior: 1

Exo: 0

Briliance: 0

Werewolf: 3

Vivid: 1

Lycan: 0

Ruler: 0

Pooch: 0

Sheriff: 0

K9: 0-1

Crowned: 0-3

Whelp: 0

Dynast: 2

Mongrel: 0

Rebel: 0

Shards: 0-4

Regicide: 0

Cur: 0

Luce: 0-12

Hellhound: 3-6

Baron: 2

Pawls: 2

Palace: 5

Cad: 7 (in Fellswap Blush, large 'litters' of babies is seen as very good luck!)

Duke: 0-3

Bull: 0-2

Captain: 0

Dogfish: 1-2

Regent: 0-3

Coyote: 0-4

Cosmos: 1

Galaxy: 0

Nightmare: This one really depends tbh.

Dream: 0-3

Passive: 2!

Oxi: 0

Sleeper: 4

Coma: 0-3

Gloom: 0-1

Wiseguy: 0

Bones: 0

Clip: 0-4

Boss: 1

Books: 0-4

Crank: 000000000000!

Envy: 3

Pride: 0

Calamity: 4

Tragedy: 3

Crisis: 0-2

Misfortune: 0-2

Scourge: 0

Field: 0!

Crop: 0-1

Diva: 0

Charm: 0-3

Vibrant: 0-1

Corn: 3-6

Harvest: 2-7

Sheep: 2-7

Duster: 1-9

Shot: 0

Soil: 1

Repeat: 0

Lover: 0-3

Hearts: 1-6

Heartbreak: 0

Beau: 0-3

Dreamboat: 0

Reap: 0

David: 0

Wraith: 0(duh)

Screen: 0-3

Keys: 1

Mimic: 3

Ringer: 0

Burn: 6

Arman: 2

Levi: 0

Chua: 2

Dracul: 3

Shifter: 0 >:\

Maiden: 0

Vestal: 0

Eros: 4

Aphro: 1

Venus: 1-2

Cuddles: 0

Astra: 1

Aloith: 0

Sugar: 3-5

Sweetie: 5!

Hop: 1

Sway: 2

Stomper: 0-1

Jazz: 0

Flamenco: 2

Uprock: 2

Ballet: 1

Taps: 2

Waltz: 4

Boogie: 0

Cross: 0

Error: 0

Ink: 5(but shouldn't have any)

Drain: 0

Glitchy: 0

Static: 0

Fairy: 0

Splat: 3

Fresh: 0

Rad: 0

Fresh Ink: 0

Dusty: 0-2

Powder: 0-2

Cupid: 0

Fragment: 0

Stardust: 0-3

Shooting Star: 0-3

Slay: 2

Killer: 2

Yanberry: 6

Snap: 4

Echo: 1

Pinks: 0-10

Passion: 0-2

Desire: 1

Feral: 0-3

Sharp: 0

Oak: 5

Sunflower: 0

Supernova: 3

Sunspot: 0

Snackers: 3

Butcher: 0-3

Timber: 4

Bark: 5

Bud: 0-4

Vine: 0-1

Strawberry: 2

Chum: uhhh

Rigel: 0-2

Vega: 1

Light: 1-4

Deep: 0-2

Daydream: 4

Delusion: 0-3

Mur: 1

Solar: 2-3

Nightfall: 0-4

Sunset: 0-5

Scarlet: 0-1

Leopard: 1-10 (wants a lot of babies but is okay with only just one or even none!)

Rosy: 5(has some already, but he just sorta uh… found those)

Shadow: 0-1

Lace: 0

Lamp: 0-4

Shade: 0-3

Luna: 0

Chills: 0-2

Shiver: 1

Nymph: 4

Fae: 6

Sprinkles: 0-4

Crumble: 0-1

Sticky: 4 (isn't sure if he even could)

Mallow: 1-5(already has the hungry time trio lol)

Empire: 0-3

Aquatica: 1-4

Skillet: 0-3

Determ: 5

Cielo: 3

Comet: 3

Badar: 5

Soul: 2

Chains: 0

Moonlight: 0

Suns: 0

Breaker: 4

Undertaker: 2

Corpse: 1

Inker: 0

Angel: 0

Bane: 2

Defect: 0

Fable: 1

Thorn: 1

#I have a lot of reasons for these funnily #like why those few or why so many #it's kinda exciting #undertale alternate universe #undertale alternate timeline #undertale ask blog #undertale au #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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veliara · 8 months ago

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Lost Part 2

Grinnaux`s PoV Grinnaux kicked the door with his foot, attracting the maximum attention of those in the room. The etheric chains instantly closed around the necks of those standing across the room. He only withdrew the chains as Zephirin and Paule approached the fallen pair of Elezens. Hyur, on the other hand, decided not to give up just yet. The dark-haired man, tried to slip through the door and ran into a very unhappy warrior. Dropping the man to the ground, Grinnaux easily held him in place with a foot on his back and an axe to his neck. Lilac eyes slid across the small room and stopped on the motionless, like a broken doll, body . He couldn't see if the boy's chest was rising, and at this distance he couldn't hear the usually frantically beating heart. He just stared unblinkingly at the motionless body and felt something inside him grow cold. Their commander stood up and walked over to the boy. He took a potion from his pocket, handed it to the mage and helped him pour its contents into Ciel's mouth.

He was sure it was the first time he had seen the commander in such a state. All lines in the normally soft face seemed to have sharpened. The eyes, which often resembled summer greens, were now more like light green ice. Grinnaux couldn't hear what the mage was saying, but it was clear he was addressing the boy. After a moment, too long in the warrior's opinion, there was a painful groan and then the boy moved.

Eyes clouded with pain glanced around the room, at the knights standing there, but closed almost immediately. Inquisitor cursed quietly.

(Warning: what follows are my self-made, laughable attempts at photoshop bruises.I've never used photoshop before. There was no time to redo it and to ask someone else was not possible…well, brace yourselves.)

"Grinnaux, Paule, take these three to the temple cells. Alive please. I think brother Charibert will wish to speak to them later. " "I'm already burning with anticipation" mage practically purred. But his tone sent a chill down Grinnaux's spine. "I`ll take Ciel to the infirmary. Charibert, please, find Haumeric and Noudenet," Zephirin commanded softly.

From the looks on their faces, Grinnaux assumed that the captured trio wouldn't be in the world of living for long. P.S.I purposely skipped the scene from Ciel's side. When I do gather courage to translate and post the story I'm writing (at least part 1, which is already written), you'll be able to read the full version.

#ffxiv #heavensward #oc: ciel ashborn #ffxiv screenshots #ff14 writing #ff14 screenshot

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fence-macabre · 2 years ago

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Scales of Eidolon - Session Twelve

Vivistrasza guides Fiona’s Pride ever closer to the Lost Glacier. The journey is filled with a lingering anxiety and anticipation. The sealskin coats, gifted by the Qayassiq, keep bodies warm and protected from the frigid, biting air as Fence Macabre and the dragons make landfall, alone, upon the glacier.

The dragons forge ahead, clearing a path through swaths of feral scourge to reach Kyranastrasz’s final resting place as Fence Macabre prepares themselves. They rush through the opening, temporarily rid of undead, and join the others.

The Scales of Eidolon began their work, channeling their magic into a blossom already radiating with energy. A miracle in the snow as the flowers pulse with magical warmth - it is certain a small part of Kyranastrasz’s spirit still remains here in this hellish, frozen landscape.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the scourge abandoned on that lonely glacier took notice, and gradually Fence Macabre noticed them prowling up the edges of the icy cliffs surrounding them.

Salix, Royalle, and Neil are quick to throw up their barriers, the massive burst of energy too tempting for some, and curious scourge inching too close disintegrated in a puff of ash. A damned Scourgelord, accompanied by a horde of undead and its mindless abominations, presses forward to the trio, hungering for their magic.

Outside the shields, thousands of feral undead of every shape, size, and state of decay wait with a ravenous stare, crowding the cliffs in every direction. Among them, a colossal skeletal amalgamation comes over the horizon, wielding a massive ax made of bone. Three gargantuan skulls, six glowing blue eyes, all watch with an eerie silence. And wait.

There was no telling how long the three could hold that barrier against what waited outside of it, and every precious second needed, all the available firepower they could muster to rid themselves of the scourge advancing forward.

It was time. Do, or die.

The feral scourge that made it inside the barrier surged forward at the band of heroes.

The scourgelord commanding them, turns to one of his abominations, channeling dark energy to empower it as it throws its hook at its first victim, yanking them over.

Fence Macabre engages with ferocity, slaying some of the weaker scourge where they stood. The abominations were tanky, dealing harsh blows with their axes and spewing poison haphazardly.

Hours felt like minutes as the bodies of scourge began to pile up, until… The scourgelord raises its arms into the air, necrotic energy swirls around. The defeated undead are given life and rise again! Fence Macabre is flabbergasted. How were they going to get to the scourgelord when its entire battalion just resurrected?! Would they even have the energy and will to do this same exact fight all over again?!

The dragons are notably starting to struggle as they continue to channel all they can into a single blossom.

Salix focuses, taking a deep breath as embers come fluttering down from his shield. As each one lands upon them, Fence Macabre suddenly feels stronger. Much Stronger.

With this renewed vigor, the undead drop again at a much faster rate, the flames of passion literally burning at the bodies. The scourgelord cannot keep up, its desperate efforts to empower its comrades have drained it so much it has left itself vulnerable. Fence Macabre makes quick work in slaying the foul creature.

The scourgelords waiting above lean back, ever so slightly, judging the fall of their fellow with careful observation.

Vivistrasza calls out, straining to keep up her channeling, “I … I do not know how much more I can give!”

Illavia calls beside her, “We are so close! I can feel it!”

The Scourgelords turn back, blue pinpoints set in their skulls glowing brighter with interest as they sense the faltering. A collective howling rises from the feral scourge as they begin throwing themselves at the barrier.

Neil, Roy, and Salix are now under added pressure as they do their best to keep up their concentration of holding the line.

Fence Macabre rushes back to aid however they can. However, one by one, the dragons begin to fall to their knees, trying to hold it just a little longer. A desperate attempt as Vivistrasza channels her very life essence. Just a little more to allow Kyranastrasz to find his way… Vivstrasza’s eyes start to flutter…

But then, Salix inhales harshly through his nose, his breathing increasing as his heart pounds. His chest feels tight, and tears sting the corners of his eyes as he falters.

“VIVISTRASZA!!” Salix breaks his concentration. The great fire barrier reinforcing Royalle and Neil’s barriers disappears instantly. He whirls around, sprinting towards the Blossom. Neil and Roy are now simply repelling the scourge as they are no longer being vaporized, taking the full brunt of the scourge’s increased assault.

It is as though everything slows, as Salix sprints forward. Petals kick up from under his feet, as he clutches his staff in his hand. He throws a hand out, the other slamming the end of his staff into the ground as he pours all of his magic into the Blossom.

His scream echoes across the frigid landscape, as he joins briefly with the raw magics of five powerful dragons. It is too much for his mortal form, as the recoil rockets through him, forced through every vein in his body. His eyes flare with unimaginable power, and then dim as quickly as a snuffed candle. He drops. Gone before his corpse lands amidst the gently swaying flowers.

Vivistrasza’s screams rip through the air, a deafening roar as her magic snaps back into her. She visages once more and rushes to the side of her fallen son. Tears flow down her cheeks, cradling him against her as her life magic fails to return him.

Lucidre, the small green whelp, finally collapses onto the snow. The child is thoroughly exhausted from trying to keep up with the much older dragons.

Illvaia, Glaros, and Saudormu are filled with shock as their channeling too ceases. They visage and join the others. Saudormu gathers up the whelp into his arms, holding them close as they all approach Salix.

It is immediately after that Royalle can no longer sustain the toll being taken on her body and mind as she blacks out and collapses. One barrier falls. Neil calls out to her. With sharp instinct, he catches her just before she hits the ground and he falls to his knees with her. The last barrier falls.

As the final barrier drops, the Scourgelords above brim with accursed magic, and the scourge bristle with anticipation. The colossal three-headed Amalgamation, no longer looming menacingly, begins its slow advance upon the Fence Macabre and the Scales of Eidolon.

They have run out of time.

Remington calls out to Fence Macabre to brace for the worst, should they need to clear a way back to the barge.

Ilvaia begs Vivistrasza that there is still time to escape but she refuses - she wants to stay with her son, so tired after enduring everything. Glaros urges the others that they must leave. Now. Ilvaia reluctantly agrees.

Remington tells Fence that even if they fall today, she is proud to be alongside them. Everyone braces as the scourge starts to close in.

A small gasp comes from Lucidre… Their voice is barely above a whisper, soft and full of awe.

“Ooh…. the flower…”

The single blossom among the warm patch of green, surrounded by cold snow, begins to glow. Brighter and brighter, the green magics of life blossom and dance outwards. A great roar rises, echoing, musical, joyful as massive wings spread and the spirit of a mighty dragon takes flight straight into the air.

Vivistrasza reaches upwards with a trembling hand, smiling through her grief as she sobs. “Brother…”

Fence Macabre and the Scales of Eidolon stand and witness the wonder unfolding in the sky.

As Kyranastrasz’s spirit enters the Emerald Dream, a great pulse of Life magic spills out, spreading above like a sacred arc. His joyful roars are heard, alongside the beating of great wings ascending, accompanied by birdsong and the warmth of hope. The magic crests into the scourge surrounding atop the cliffs, and with a clattering, they are felled.

A second pulse and the advancing Amalgamation collapses, all magic fading from its bones, and everyone feels their injuries and exhaustion fade away to a distant memory. Above, a faint outline of the sunlight is seen, a dappled canopy of G’Hanir as Kyranastrasz soars higher and higher.

A third pulse, and he is gone, rejoined with his brethren on the branches of G’Hanir. The air stills with peace, as flower petals softly rain below.

Salix opens his eyes with a soft groan, “Mother..?”

Vivistrasza is overwhelmed, weeping with joy and embracing her son as she rocks back and forth with him.

Tears, smiles, shouts, and cheers. A miracle has happened on this cold, lonely glacier. Friends and loved ones embrace each other, thankful to have each other and to see another day.

Remington is happy to break the tension with a grin as she turns to Ilvaia.

“Now, I’m all for touchin’ brushes ‘a near annihilation. But, ya know what I’m goin’ ta ask. And after today, I think we sure as hell have earned our part. Ilvaia, where are the Blacktalons?”

Ilvaia can only break out into a full-bellied laughter, erupting with joy and relief.

“A deal is a deal. Let’s talk further..”

The walk back to the barge doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#scales of eidolon

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