#blade fit for a champion

[tloging]

A Blade Fit For A Champion Wotlk Classic

Are you ready to take on the challenges of Wotlk Classic like a true champion? Then you need a blade that can keep up with your skills and ambition. A great weapon is more than just an accessory in this game – it’s an extension of yourself, a symbol of power and determination. In this blog post, we’ll explore some of the best options for blades in Wotlk Classic, from mighty two-handed swords to…

[the-unconquered-queen]

The cast of Blades of Light and Shadow and their Perfect Match types

Ever since I did my Blades/Elementalists attunement crossover to mark the anniversary of the Blades series, I’ve known I wanted to do something like this to mark the wide release of book three, and I love me some Perfect Match and the types system, so what better way than by incorporating that into a piece?

So the match types you see here are based on what we’ve seen of these characters up to book two, so any character evolution they may undergo in book three is not accounted for. You might also notice that, when deciding each character’s type, I went off of the core four traits instead of the match name or description, unless I needed a tiebreaker.

Finally, MC’s type is pretty subjective, as I’m sure everyone has a different idea of what their MCs are like, so for the sake of this edit set, Raine’s type is based on which traits she displays most in canon.

So, are you swiping right?

[acourtofquestions]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Is the MOST Celaena Sardothien song I have EVER heard!

[dtan0914]

So I can confirm that Despy took Alex Shelley’s jersey back to Japan and they did do this trade for real :)

[zaldritzosrose]

Can't Stay Away Part 2 (Feyd-Rautha x Princess!Reader)

Summary: Second daughter of the Emperor and you were well used to being ignored in favour of your sister. That was, until you met Feyd-Rautha, nephew to the Harkonnen Baron. A tourney of old, bringing back the traditions of champions and favours brought him to your side - but how close would he stay?

TW: Minors DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, mild mentions of neglect towards reader (ignored in favour of Irulan), Feyd being a badass, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, lashings of sexual tension, reader enjoying a blood covered Feyd, Irulan being a little bit of a bitchy sister.

Part 1 Here

(Maybe a part 3, we'll see)

Words: 2689

The air was thicker than ever as Feyd finished preparing himself for the tournament. You had helped him repaint his torso before fitting the lightweight and black armour to his body. There had been something so intimate, ignoring your encounter earlier, in the whole situation.

Preparing your champion for battle. Watching as he selected his weapons and psyched himself up for the impending battles. He was fascinating to watch, you realised. And it only made you more excited for what was to come.

“My father has decided we are to publicly show our favour,” You mused, as Feyd hooked his blades into his belt.

You remembered the tradition of favours from the fairytales you had read as a child. A lady would give her champion something special, a sign of her support and luck. Back then, you had found the whole idea ridiculous. But now? The idea that you could publicly claim Feyd as yours, in some way, was enticing.

Soon, you left Feyd to finish his preparations, feeling his eyes on you as you walked back towards the guest chambers. It was only then that you noticed the black smudges of paint on your dress. Your feet moved faster, not wanting anyone to see you in such a state.

You arrived quickly, opening your wardrobe to find an appropriate dress to wear. Your typical choices were far more feminine in fabric than Irulan. Where she chose metallics, more structured pieces for public outings, you preferred softer looks. Flowing gowns that accentuated your figure. Pearls and silks in a myriad of light tones. Always with a hood or veil to match.

Several options were spread out on your bed when you heard a gentle knock on your door. With curiosity, and wrapping your robe tighter around your body, you opened it.

A Harkonnen servant stood waiting, the girl barely looking you in the eye as she handed you a note.

“It is from Feyd-Rautha, princess,” she said so softly you barely heard it, but you took the note and thanked her.

As she left, you pushed the door closed and quickly read.

My princess, not that I wish to command you, but I have one request. Please, for me, would you wear something white. Something to make you stand out on this dark planet. You look so very beautiful in white. Like a goddess sent to tempt me. That is my request. F.

You read the note twice more. He wanted you in white? There was something more to the request and you knew it. But you could not quite figure it out. You had a few options. White was a colour quite synonymous with you, pearls being your favourite jewel as a result.

You looked at the note again. ‘Stand out’ he had said. Asking you to make yourself known. It was something you were quite unfamiliar with, in truth. Having always lived in the shadow of Irulan, you were well versed in fading into the background.

But this was your chance.

You made your choice, picking a gown you had only worn once before. A more fitted design, strewn with layers of pearls that accentuated every dip and curve of your body. As was usual for you, and your sister, you chose an accessory to cover part of your face. But instead of a veil, you opted for a lower face cover, made of silver chains and jewels to match your dress. Feyd wanted you to stand out for him, and there was every chance of that in this.

Something about the choice made you feel powerful. Like you were finally taking a stand. Even if it was a small step.

Feyd stood stock still at the doors to the arena. The first round was being announced and he could hear the murmurings of other warriors in the surrounding chambers. Melee style fighting was first. Each champion would fight, to the death, until the fight was called to an end. The round that followed would consist of any of those champions that remained.

He twirled the blades between his palms, anticipation making his whole body feel like it was on fire. Combat was what he lived for, and these opponents would be a welcome challenge. What excited him more, was knowing you were watching.

Soon, his name was called, and he strode out to the chants of his name, raising his two blades in the air in response.

All eyes fell to you as you entered the room. Everyone from your sister and father to the Baron and his attendants stared. You knew why, and you could not stop the small smile the pulled at your lips.

You sat beside Irulan, who was quick to whisper in your ear.

“You picked Feyd-Rautha? Sister, he is a psychopath…” Irulan whispered harshly, low enough for only you to hear and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Psychotic or not, he is an excellent fighter. Is that not the point of this, to choose the best?”

Irulan scoffed and you ignored her. Feyd had been nothing but kind to you since you had arrived. More than kind in fact. And you were buzzing with excitement at the idea of seeing him fight. There was a feeling, deep within you. Like you needed to be near him.

The announcer called Feyd’s name, and you nearly flew from your seat to lean over the balcony to watch his entrance.

Feyd strode around the arena with confidence. But his eyes searched only for you and soon he found you. The pearls on your dress shimmering under the black sun of Giedi Prime. You looked perfect. Just the push he needed to truly show off, your words from earlier ringing in his ears.

“Win for me, and you can have any part of me you wish.”

He no longer just wanted to win, he needed to. Purely for that promise. He knew he was capable, but he was more determined now than ever.

The announcer began to introduce the fight and Feyd waited for you to look at him. Neither of you hearing the announcer’s words as you looked at each other. But all eyes fell to Feyd when he dropped to a bow for you, making a show of offering himself and his blades to your name.

You leaned over the balcony wall, despite Irulan’s protests and made sure everyone and Feyd could see you. There was no hiding whose champion he was now.

The fight began with a loud bang of a drum, and you watched intently, eyes following Feyd’s every movement. It became clear quickly that there were few others in the arena that could match him for skill. His first two opponents were dispatched quickly, staining the ground below with streaks of blood.

And the rest of the fight continued much the same, Feyd cutting through enemy after enemy with what seemed like pure joy on his face. Blood staining his forearms and face and you found yourself enjoying the sight more than you expected.

You watched as most of the ladies, Irulan included, turned away from most of the gore and violence. You, however, watched every second. Something about it all fascinated you. Especially Feyd. The way he moved, like a predator stalking prey. Cutting down each one with precision and skill.

It was not long before the fight was time out. Leaving only five champions of ten remaining. Feyd included, of course. He wiped his blades on the fabric of his trousers as he was ushered back to the holding room.

You sat back in your chair, letting out a breath you had not realised you were holding.

“Do you really not find this exciting?” you asked, turning to Irulan and the other ladies.

“Watching men fight for our favour and affection?”

Every single one of them looked at you like you were insane. How could you possibly enjoy something like this? It was not that you enjoyed the death per se, but the skill and precision of it all. Watching people who had trained for years show off their skills was exhilarating.

The second round was much the same as the first, though less contenders. And it was clear that some had advantage over the others. It lasted far less time than the first, with Feyd soon coming out as the blood-stained winner.

You stood at the balcony as he was named the winner, the ultimate champion and he repeated his bow from before. But this time you returned it, dipping your head in thanks to your champion.

Feyd was lead from the arena and you did not hesitate to demand to know where he was to be taken.

“You are not going to him.” Your father turned to you, speaking to you for the first time since you arrived.

“And why not, I have every right to congratulate my champion. Would you deny Irulan if her man had won?”

Your father huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. You knew he would not argue, because there was little point. You were stubborn, much like him.

His silence was taken as permission, and you quickly hurried after the guard. You were led down a series of steps before arriving at a room similar to where you had painted Feyd earlier. Except this time, there was a square bath and a bed in the corner. You assumed, then, this was where warriors were allowed to relax after the arena.

“My lord Feyd, the princess is here for you,” the guard called out before leaving you alone to wait.

But you did not have to wait long.

“Princess, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Feyd asked, smirking as he made his way over.

He had yet to remove his armour or clean the blood from his skin and it was a sight that sent a jolt of desire down your spine.

“I believe I owe you a reward, you did win after all.”

Feyd’s smirk widened, forgoing cleaning the blood from his hands and tossing the towel to the side. In a few steps, he closed the distance between you, stopping short just a hair’s breadth from your lips.

“You wore white.”

It was not a question, but it did not feel like a simple statement either. It was like he was thinking aloud.

“You asked me to,” you replied simply, and Feyd raised a brow at you in curiosity.

His hands trailed softly over the layers of pearl, fascinated by each string as it draped over you. You ignored the small red streaks he left behind, it was worth it to have him touch you.

“And I believe your reward is your choice?”

Feyd stopped his exploration at your waist, instead wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tight to him. The tension was back, lingering just below the surface. You had felt it when you first met him. The way he stared, the lingering kiss to your hand. Something had simmered even then and it was almost back at boiling point.

He considered his options for a moment, wondering just what you were willing to let him do.

“A princess deserves a throne, yes?”

You barely stifled the surprise giggle that left you, watching him as he walked over to the bed. Your head tilted as he laid down, stroking a thumb over his lips as he spoke.

“Claim your throne, my princess.”

You hesitated for just a moment and Feyd sat up with a smile. You wondered if he could possibly mean what you thought he meant.

“Don’t overthink it. I have chosen my reward. Sit on my face and let me taste that royal cunt.”

You felt desire fill you at just those words. Something about the directness of it had your skin flushing and heat pooling between your thighs.

“Well, I can’t deny my champion his prize.”

You moved to the bed, watching as Feyd laid back down and waited for you. Your dress wasn’t exactly designed for movement like this, so you made quick work of removing it. Feyd on the other hand, was still clad in his armour. Deep red blood remained on his hands and face. Yet you did not mind.

Now fully bare, you crawled up the bed, not missing the hungry stare Feyd gave you. His hands were quick to tug you to where he wanted you. Large hands found your waist and helped you hover yourself inches above his face. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and the anticipation was eating away at you as you waited.

Feyd took his time, holding your waist tight as he inhaled the scent of you. He could feel the heat of your core already and he had not even begun. With slow licks of his tongue, Feyd took his first taste. But just that feeling had your eyes rolling back. It was not the first time you had taken a lover, but it was the first time you had been in this position.

“Feyd..” you breathed out as he took another long swipe between your slick folds, teasing you.

You could feel him smirk against you, and you wordlessly willed him to keep going with your soft, breathy moans.

Feyd was in heaven, if he believed in it. The taste, the heat, everything about you was divine and he was slowly losing what little restraint he had left. With a sharp tug, he brought you flush to his face, burying himself deep within you with a growl. His tongue was relentless now, soon finding a rhythm that had you moaning his name over and over.

“You taste divine, princess, I would fight a hundred men if this was my reward…” he muttered against your skin, switching from long licks to wrapping his lips around your bud.

Your hands quickly found purchase on the bedframe while his wrapped around your thighs, spreading the wider as he began to alternate between lapping at you and suckling hard on your bundle of nerves. Every sensation was overwhelming, and you could do nothing more than moan and pant his name.

Feyd could not get enough. His own arousal strained against his trousers, but he did not care. His sole focus was you. Desperately working to have you come apart for him, to drench his face as you peaked.

Your nails scratched across his scalp as he growled deep into you, feeling the first pulses of your impending orgasm. And it only spurred him on. The wet sound of his tongue  against your folds and the sounds of your moans filled the room as he pulled you down closer. As close as he could get you and it still did not feel like enough.

Feyd was quick to add his thumb to your pearl as he felt your thighs twitch either side of his head, telling him you were close.

“Feyd..oh..yes…keep going please…” you were near incoherent as he sped up, the bridge of his nose now pushing so deliciously against your bud that you near screamed as you came.

“That’s it, princess…” he cooed, slowing his motions but not removing his tongue from your depths.

He wanted to drink down every drop, commit your taste to memory. With a grunt, he pulled away, smirking at the mix of dried blood from battle and your slick as it stained your inner thighs.

He helped you roll to the side, wiping his face on the back of his hand before kissing you gently. You looked so beautiful, a look of blissful satisfaction on your face. The look in his own eyes was intense.

He knew he could not keep you at his side, but he had never quite felt like this about anyone else. Like he needed you near him. Like he would not be able to stay far from you.

What he did not know, was that you felt the same. It felt strange, being so desperate for someone you barely knew. But it was you who voiced what you both felt. Though no words could truly describe it.

“I fear I can’t stay away from you…”

@blissfulphilospher @tumblin-theworldaway @lady-phasma @anjelicawrites @aemondsbabe

@alexagirlie @avidreader @connorsui @kaelatargaryen @reemoony

@wo-ming-bai @mamawiggers1980

[stylesispunk]

Blades of Fate

marcus Acacius x f!reader / lucius x f!reader

Summary: Lucius and you are celebrated champions of the arena, each with their own unique force. Marcus Acacius returning from a victorious campaign, attends a grand gladiatorial event where he witnesses your bravery firsthand and something about you captivates him.

w.c: 4,4k

warnings: messy writing, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, and mentions of arranged marriage, tension

a/n: okay, I had two days off from work and I still have post london depression, but I finally wrote something and I had no idea what the plot of this was or is, but I was dying for writing something about this two characters and I out them both here. Okay I have no idea what plot gladiator II will follow so this is the only thing that came to my mind. Perhaps some events or details of the story will not fit with the history events of the Roman empire and gladiators, but still this is just for fun. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. I hope you like it and have fun reading 💌.

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

The sun hung high in the Roman sky, casting golden rays over the Colosseum's colossal structure. The massive stone amphitheater, a testament to Roman engineering and grandeur, was alive with the roar of the crowd. Citizens from all walks of life, from the lowly plebeians to the esteemed senators, filled the seats, their cheers and shouts blending into a symphony of anticipation.

The blood of past battles stained the sand in the heart of the arena, a silent witness to the countless lives lost for entertainment. Today, the atmosphere was electric with excitement, for the arena was set to witness a spectacle unlike any other. The gates on either end of the battleground creaked open, and out stepped two of Rome's most revered gladiators.

Lucius, tall and muscular, with a presence that commanded respect, raised his sword to the cheering masses. His sharp and focused eyes scanned the crowd before settling on his partner. You, a gladiatrix of unparalleled skill, moved with a grace that belied the brutality of your fate, matching the rage of your lover. Your lithe form was clad in leather armor, and your hair was braided back to reveal a face marked by determination and a fierce will to survive.

Seeing a woman fight wasn’t something common, but you had won your respect and reputation, and besides Lucius, you had become nothing but stronger, a team, as the two champions you were destined to be.

A hush fell over the Colosseum. The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe.

The only sound was the distant call of a hawk, circling high above, as if it too were a spectator. Then, with a sudden crash, the gates on the opposite end burst open, and their opponents emerged—a team of seasoned warriors, each one a formidable foe, determined to bring down the beloved gladiators.

The battle began with a clash of steel and a flurry of movement. Lucius and you fought with seamless coordination; your movements synchronized as if you were one entity. Lucius's strength and brute force were complemented perfectly by your agility and precision. The two of you moved through your opponents like a tempest, leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in your wake.

High above, in the VIP stands, General Marcus Acacius watched intently. His stern face, weathered by years of warfare and command, betrayed no emotion. Known for his ruthless efficiency and strategic brilliance, Marcus had seen countless battles, but there was something about these two gladiators that intrigued him. Your skill was undeniable, but it was your unspoken bond, your mutual trust and respect, that caught his attention.

As the last of your opponent’s fell, the crowd erupted in deafening applause. Lucius and you stood victorious, your chests heaving from exertion, but your eyes were sharp and alert. You raised your weapons in salute to the crowd and then, as one, turned your gaze towards Marcus.

From his seat, Marcus leaned forward slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Arrange for a private meeting," he instructed his aide, his voice carrying the weight of command. "I want to see if their skills match their reputation."

The aide nodded and hurried off, while Marcus's gaze remained fixed on the two of you. There was something about you both—a spark that he couldn't quite place. He intended to find out what it was and how it could serve his own purposes.

As you and Lucius exited the arena, you exchanged a smile. Another victory, another day of survival in a world you didn’t choose but were destined to be part of. You reached out, gently touching his arm. “We are a team,” you said, trying to convince yourself that the love you had for him was bigger than the exhaustion you felt.

Lucius looked down at your hand on his arm, then back at you. “Yes, Dulcissima,” he said softly. He closed his eyes; there was a sort of pain evident on his face. “But I want us to be free from all of this," he admitted.

He opened his eyes, searching for yours once more. The anger had faded, replaced by a deep sorrow. "Dulcissima,” the nickname, slipped from his lips once again. “I want us to get married, and I want to make you happy.”

You stared at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in. “Lucius,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions.

Lucius took your hand in his; his grip was firm yet tender. "I’ve been thinking about this for a long time," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every time we step into that arena, I fear it might be our last. I don’t want to lose you, not without having truly lived with you."

Your heart ached at his words. You had always known the dangers of your life as a gladiatrix, but hearing Lucius speak so openly about his fears brought a new depth to your own anxieties. "I want that too, Lucius," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. "But how can we ever be free?"

Lucius's eyes darkened with determination. "We’ll find a way. There has to be more to life than this constant struggle. We’ll fight for our freedom together."

Before you could respond, a group of soldiers approached, their stern faces in stark contrast to the celebration that surrounded you. The leader, a tall centurion with a scar running down his cheek, addressed you both. "General Marcus Acacius has requested your presence for a private meeting. Follow us."

You and Lucius exchanged a quick glance, both sensing the gravity of the situation. With a nod, you followed the soldiers through the winding corridors of the Colosseum, your minds racing with thoughts of what the general might want.

The soldiers led you to a grand chamber within the Colosseum, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries and bronze statues of Rome’s greatest heroes. General Marcus Acacius stood near a large table, studying a map spread out before him. As you entered, he looked up, his eyes locking onto yours with keen intensity.

"Welcome," Marcus said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I wanted to speak with you both personally. Your performance in the arena today was nothing short of extraordinary."

"Thank you, General," Lucius replied, his tone respectful but guarded.

Marcus nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "And honor Rome you have. But I sense that there’s more to your partnership than just skill and survival. There’s a deeper connection, one that could be of great use."

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. "What do you mean, General?" you asked cautiously.

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes piercing. "I’m offering you an opportunity—a chance to fight for something greater than yourselves. To serve Rome in a way that could ultimately lead to your freedom."

Lucius’s grip on your hand tightened slightly. "We’re listening," he said, his voice steady.

Marcus gestured to the map on the table. "Rome is expanding, but with that expansion comes the need for strong, capable leaders. I believe the two of you could be valuable assets in securing our borders and maintaining order. Prove yourselves in the upcoming challenge, and I’ll ensure that your skills are recognized. There could be a future for you beyond the arena, one where you have a say in your own destiny." He paused. "However," he continued, a glint of challenge in his eyes, "I propose a new test of their mettle. A special event, where our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a mock battle."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall. You felt a surge of determination at the general's words. This was more than a mere challenge; it was an opportunity to prove yourself further in the eyes of Rome and its most powerful figures.

You stepped forward, your voice clear and resolute. "I accept your challenge, General. I will show you and all of Rome what a true gladiator is capable of."

Marcus nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Very well. The event will be held in two days' time. May the gods favor the brave."

Lucius, standing beside you, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. "We’ve faced worse," he whispered. "You’ll show them all."

Your heart raced at the prospect. Could this be the chance you and Lucius have been longing for? Is there a way to escape the bloodshed and find a life together, free from the chains of the Colosseum?

"We’ll do it," you said firmly, meeting Marcus’s gaze with unwavering resolve. "We’ll prove ourselves."

Marcus’s smile widened; satisfaction was evident in his eyes. "Good. The challenge will take place in two days. Prepare yourselves, and may the gods be with you."

As the banquet continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this challenge was more than just a test of skill. It was a pivotal moment, one that could alter the course of your life and your bond with Lucius. And in the shadows, the ever-watchful eyes of Marcus Acacius followed your every move, already plotting the next step in his intricate game.

The next two days were a blur of intense preparation. You and Lucius trained tirelessly, refining your techniques and strategizing for the upcoming mock battle. The anticipation in the air was palpable, both among the gladiators and the spectators who eagerly awaited the spectacle.

On the morning of the event, the Colosseum was packed with spectators, their cheers echoing through the grand structure. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the excitement of the unknown. This was no ordinary battle; it was a test that would determine your fate and perhaps even reshape your destiny.

Marcus stood on a platform overlooking the arena, his presence commanding respect. He raised his hand, signaling for silence. "Today, we witness a display of courage, skill, and determination," he announced, his voice carrying across the Colosseum. "Our gladiatrix will face my finest soldiers in a test of strength and strategy. Let the battle begin!"

The gates creaked open, and you stepped into the arena, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and adrenaline. Across from you stood Marcus’s elite soldiers, their expressions hard and focused. You glanced at Lucius, who stood at the edge of the arena, his eyes locked onto yours with unwavering support.

"Together," you whispered to yourself, drawing strength from the bond you shared with Lucius.

The clash of steel rang out as the battle commenced, a whirlwind of movement and noise. You moved with a grace and ferocity that left your opponents reeling; your every strike was precise and powerful. Despite the odds, you fought with everything you had, driven by the desire for freedom and a future with Lucius.

As the battle raged on, you felt a surge of energy, pushing yourself beyond your limits. You danced around your opponents, using your agility and speed to outmaneuver them. The crowd's cheers grew louder with each successful strike, their excitement fueling your resolve.

Finally, as the last soldier fell, a hush descended over the arena. You stood victorious, your chest heaving, your body bruised and battered but unbroken. The crowd erupted in applause; their cheers were a testament to your triumph.

Marcus descended from the platform, his eyes filled with admiration and something else—something deeper. "You have proven yourself today," he said, his voice carrying a note of respect. "Your skills and determination are unmatched. You are a true warrior."

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking in. "Thank you, General," you replied, your voice steady despite the exhaustion.

Lucius rushed to your side, his eyes filled with pride and relief. "You did it," he whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I knew you would."

As you stood there, basking in the glow of victory, Marcus stepped closer, his gaze intense. "There is more to this than just a test of skill," he said quietly. "I see potential in you—a potential that could change the course of our future."

You looked at him, curiosity and apprehension swirling within you. "What do you mean?"

Marcus smiled a hint of mystery in his eyes. "All in due time. For now, rest and recover. We will speak again soon."

In the days that followed, you and Lucius were treated with newfound respect and admiration. The other gladiators looked up to you, and the soldiers who had once seen you as mere entertainment now saw you as formidable warriors. Yet, despite the praise and the promise of a brighter future, a sense of unease lingered in the air.

One evening, as you were returning to your quarters after another grueling day of training, a sudden commotion caught your attention. The sound of clashing steel and muffled shouts echoed through the corridors. You hurried towards the source of the disturbance, your heart pounding with a sense of impending danger.

As you rounded a corner, you were met with a chilling sight. Lucius was engaged in a fierce battle with a group of unknown assailants. His movements were swift and deadly, but he was outnumbered. Without a second thought, you drew your weapon and rushed to his aid, your determination burning brighter than ever.

Despite your best efforts, the sheer number of attackers overwhelmed you. You fought valiantly, but the odds were stacked against you. A sharp pain exploded in your side as one of the assailants landed a brutal blow, and you fell to your knees, your vision blurring.

Lucius's voice echoed in your ears, filled with desperation. "No! Leave her alone!" But his cries were in vain. The attackers overpowered him, and as darkness closed in, you felt yourself being dragged away.

When you awoke, you found yourself in a dimly lit cell, your hands bound with a rough rope. The cold stone walls pressed in around you, and the air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay. You struggled against your restraints, but they held firm.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each passing second. The door to your cell creaked open, and Marcus stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

"You’re awake," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of regret.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. "Why did you do this?"

Marcus sighed, his eyes dark with emotion. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this," he said, stepping closer. "But there are forces at play here that even I cannot control. I had to act quickly to protect you."

"Protect me?" You spat, your anger flaring. "By taking me hostage?"

He knelt beside you, his gaze earnest. "Yes," he said softly. "There are those who see you as a threat and who would stop at nothing to eliminate you. I couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way to keep you safe."

You stared at him, your mind racing. "And what about Lucius? What have you done to him?"

Marcus’s expression tightened. "He’s unharmed for now. But there are conditions. You must stay here, cooperate with me, and in return, he will be spared."

Your heart ached with the weight of his words. The future you had envisioned with Lucius seemed to slip further away with each passing moment. "What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I want you to trust me," Marcus said, his tone sincere. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to believe that I’m doing this for the greater good. Together, we can change the course of history."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. Instead, you found only a deep, unyielding resolve. Despite your anger and fear, a part of you wanted to believe him and trust that he had your best interests at heart.

"I’ll cooperate," you said finally, your voice steady. "But if anything happens to Lucius, I swear I will make you pay."

Marcus nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "You have my word," he said. "Lucius will be safe.

The next evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the cell, Marcus arrived with a tray of food. He set it down on a small table and took a seat across from you. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You shrugged, picking at the food. "As well as one can feel in captivity," you replied, a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Marcus sighed. "I understand your frustration," he said. "But believe me, this is the only way to ensure your safety."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching for his. "And what about Lucius? How long do you intend to keep us apart?"

"Until it’s safe," he answered, his gaze unwavering. "There are those who would see you both dead. I need to neutralize that threat before I can reunite you."

You frowned, the weight of his words sinking in. "And how do I know I can trust you?"

“Because I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, leaning forward towards you, his expression earnest. "I have given you my word. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

“And Lucius,” you said.

“I don’t care about Lucius.” He confessed, “But if you ask me to protect him, I will.”

You recoiled slightly at Marcus's confession, his words echoing in your mind. "You don’t care about Lucius?" You repeated it, disbelief coloring your tone.

Marcus hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "Not in the same way I care about you," he admitted quietly. "But I understand how important he is to you. If protecting him means protecting you, then I will do it."

You took a deep breath, trying to process the storm of emotions swirling within you. Marcus’s honesty was unexpected, and it stirred something in you, something you could decipher.

"I appreciate your honesty," you said finally, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "But my loyalty lies with Lucius. He’s... he’s a part of me."

Marcus nodded slowly, his expression somber. "I understand," he said softly.

You looked your gaze with his; an electric feeling passed through the both of you, but you ignored it, not wanting to commit treason towards Lucius.

“I don’t like this life, you know?” Marcus began, his voice carrying the weight of the weariness of years and sincerity. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze searching yours as if seeking understanding.

You nodded slowly, feeling a surge of empathy for the man before you, the man who seemed to be different from his strong exterior. "I can imagine," you replied softly. "The burden of command, the weight of decisions that affect so many lives..."

Marcus sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It’s not just that," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I’ve seen too much bloodshed, too much senseless violence. In these gladiatorial games, they glorify death while the people cheer on."

His words resonated deeply with you, stirring up memories of battles fought and lives lost in the name of entertainment. "I never wanted to be a fighter," you confessed quietly. "I wanted... I wanted a life of peace, of freedom."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "Yet here we are,” he murmured. “Bound by duty, by the expectations of others.”

You nodded, the weight of shared experience forging a fragile bond between you.

"I’ve spent my life in service to Rome, sacrificing countless lives for its glory. But lately, I find myself questioning the cost."

You nodded slowly, sensing the weight of his words. "I understand," you said quietly. "I’ve felt that way too, at times. I never wanted to be what I am now—to live and die by the sword. But I grew up with Lucius, and we shared the same resentment and anger at the hand life dealt me."

Marcus’s gaze softened, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "We’re more alike than you realize," he murmured. ”

"I never imagined my life would turn out like this," you admitted, a pang of vulnerability in your voice. "But every battle, every victory—it’s shaped who I am."

Marcus reached across the table, his hand resting gently on yours. "You’re stronger than you know," he said earnestly. "And you deserve more than the chains of the Colosseum."

You met his gaze, seeing a depth of compassion and empathy that surprised you. "What about that?" you asked softly. "What do I deserve?"

“To be caressed and protected,” he replied, not taking his eyes from yours.

His words stirred something deep within you—a yearning for tenderness and safety amidst the chaos of your existence. "And you?" you pressed gently, your heart racing with uncertainty and anticipation.

Marcus’s expression softened further, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. "To find redemption," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To make amends for the lives I’ve sacrificed.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his confession settling between you. "We both seek something more," you said softly, reaching to cover his hand with yours. "Perhaps we can find it."

The touch of your hands and the electricity were enough to make you guilty of sin.

"One of my men has uncovered a plot against you," Marcus confessed while holding your hand. "There are those who believe you and Lucius pose a threat to the stability of Rome. They’re planning an attack."

You drew in a sharp breath, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. "Who would want to harm us?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern and disbelief.

Marcus shook his head grimly. "Enemies within the Senate, rivals who see you as a symbol of defiance," he explained. "They fear the influence you hold over the people, over the rebels.”

You glanced at him, a mixture of fear and gratitude swirling within you. "What do I do?" you asked quietly, realizing the gravity of the situation.

Marcus’s gaze hardened, a flicker of determination crossing his features.

"What do you propose?" you asked, a sense of foreboding creeping over you.

Marcus took a deep breath, meeting your gaze with resolve. "An arranged marriage," he said quietly. "Between you and me."

You stared at him, stunned. "What?”

"Think about it," Marcus said, shifting closer. "As my wife, you would have the protection of my name and my position. It would make it much harder for our enemies to harm you. And it would give us the legitimacy and power we need to navigate the political landscape of Rome."

"But what about Lucius?" you demanded, your heart aching at the thought of betraying him.

"I would ensure his safety," Marcus promised. "He would be free, and you could see him. But we must present a united front to the world. This is the only way."

You turned away, struggling with your emotions. The thought of marrying Marcus, despite your growing bond, felt like a betrayal to Lucius. Yet, the logic of Marcus’s proposal was undeniable.

"Please, think about it," Marcus said softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You spent the night wrestling with conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to Lucius and the pragmatism of Marcus's proposal. As dawn broke, you found yourself standing before Marcus once more, a decision forming in your mind.

"I've thought about it," you began slowly, meeting Marcus's intense gaze with determination. "I... I agree."

Marcus's expression softened with relief, yet he remained composed. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with concern for your well-being.

You nodded, steeling yourself against the ache in your heart. "Yes. It's the best way to protect both of us, and Lucius too. We need to do this."

A weight seemed to lift from Marcus's shoulders, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. "Thank you," he murmured, stepping closer to take your hands in his. "You won't regret this. I'll make sure to be the best husband.”

As Marcus took your hands in his, a sense of finality settled over you. The decision was made, driven by a combination of necessity and the undeniable connection you felt with him. Despite the pang of guilt for Lucius, you knew this was a path you had chosen for the safety and future stability it promised.

"I need you to know that my heart belongs to Lucius," you replied softly, meeting Marcus's earnest gaze. "But I’ll believe you’ll prove me right."

A faint smile touched Marcus's lips; relief and determination shone in his eyes. "We'll face this together," he said, his voice steady with conviction. "I'll ensure that you're protected and that we navigate these turbulent times with strength and unity."

Marcus nodded solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he listened to your heartfelt confession. "I understand," he replied softly, his voice tinged with both acceptance and a hint of sadness. "I will do everything in my power to earn your trust and respect."

You felt a surge of gratitude towards Marcus, appreciating his understanding despite the complex emotions involved. "Thank you," you murmured, squeezing his hands gently. "For being so understanding."

A sense of mutual respect and determination filled the space between you, a silent agreement to face the challenges ahead. Marcus's commitment to protect you and navigate the political intricacies of Rome gave you a measure of reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"We'll announce our intentions and make preparations," Marcus continued, his voice regaining its usual resolve. "Our marriage will be more than just a shield; it will be a symbol of unity and strength."

As you nodded in agreement, a sense of resolve settled within you. Despite your heart belonging to Lucius, you knew that this alliance with Marcus was necessary.

When Marcus left your side, you looked up at the sky, promising heaven and God that Lucius would be your only love, just as the weight of your decision settled in your chest—a blend of duty and sacrifice for a greater cause—for your freedom. Despite the practicality of your alliance with Marcus, your heart still yearned for Lucius, a truth you held onto in the quiet moments.

Unbeknownst to you, Marcus observed you from a distance, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound sense of purpose. As he watched you under the vast Roman sky, a resolve hardened within him. He had made a commitment to protect you, but now he harbored a deeper ambition—to win your heart.

[lullinglily]

pairing: malenia x gn!reader

notes: again, moved from my ao3 because i think the tumblr format just fits this better.

 Malenia champions over lust. She can control herself just fine. She always gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead before setting off to wage war in lands far beyond your tranquil home. It’s only when she returns, awash in the crimson blood of her vanquished enemies, does she get all touchy.

You both tend to each other. Malenia takes great care to keep you safe, and you check in on her mental and physical health daily.

“You are more than just your rot," you tell her, “You are more than just your brother’s sword.” She perks up at your words, and responds in her typically stoic tone of voice.

      “Of course. I am your sworn blade as well.” 

      “That is not what I meant, my love.” 

While she herself is infested with rot, she keeps you safe from such a fate. She adorns you in various accessories forged with unalloyed gold and gently strokes your hair as she administers the needle into your skin, valiantly warding off the rot’s influence. You can be sure the wedding gift she gives to you will be made of the same glittering material.

Malenia would shiver as you carefully removed her prosthesis, allowing herself to be vulnerable in your presence alone. You brought the soaked cloth up to her rotted limb, gently cleansing the scarlet rash and brushing away the budding flowers that grew there. She was always silent during these times, but not in the serious and intimidating way that her silence typically was. No, she was at peace. Your tender touches and soft spoken murmurs would often lull her to sleep, and you’d have to flail beneath her weight to keep her from crushing you. Once the wound had been thoroughly cleaned you’d reattach her arm dexterous, raising her golden knuckles to your lips in a lighthearted and sweet gesture. She’s touched of course, but now she’s also extra drowsy. You'll have to escort the lovesick demigod to your shared chambers without getting distracted by her affectionate words. Malenia is surprisingly verbose when describing her love to you. With how melodic her voice is it's a grand shame she doesn't speak more often. 

Dates with Malenia will really only be in or near the Haligtree, as it isn't safe enough for you anywhere else. On occasion the both of you walk along the beach the Haligtree was grown upon, the sound and smell of the sea grounding your beloved to her senses. It reminds her of the beginning, how the Haligtree grew alongside your relationship - blossoming into something both sublime and sacred. Such love was always certain to flourish underneath the Haligtree's canopy. 

Another date spot Malenia would enjoy is Elphael. She isn't very talkative, and chooses to show her devotion in actions rather than words. So, of course, she's going to train in front of you for hours on end. You still have a delightful time despite how mundane the activity may seem, how could you not when witnessing your Malenia disarm so many knights at once? The pride that overwhelms you almost rivals the pride Malenia feels when she turns toward you after a long sparring session, knowing she is fit to safeguard someone so wonderful. 

I imagine the both of you first meet somewhere in Leyndell, before the rot had peeled away Malenia's eyesight. Perhaps she finds you in some part of the capital and begins to frequent that area in hope of catching sight of you again. Maybe you were once a part of Godwyn's entourage, and suddenly so was she. Either way, Malenia is especially reserved. She'll take her time picking you apart, turning you over, letting her gaze wash over you again and again. 

You notice, of course. Even the most dense of mortals could feel the searing holes Malenia's stare burns into the back of their heads. She can sense that you've discovered her, and it's only a matter of time until one of you begins to speak to the other. No matter who it is that starts the conversation, it never seems to end. Crowds dissipate, the stars begin to show themselves, and before you know it you've been chatting up a demigod for almost the whole day. You're terribly embarrassed, but Malenia couldn't be happier. This was her first taste of victory - and how sweet it was! 

From then on she's quite clingy, and wishes to please you as best she can. It's fitting then that she'd ask her brother Miquella for help before every date with you. From what to say to how to say it, Miquella encouraged this compassion that guided his sister towards the object of her affection. It was this same heartfelt compassion that compelled Malenia to ask you to abscond with her to a land far beyond Leyndell. She'd asked you to leave all you've ever known for her brother's purpose, and yet you kindly agreed - a mercy upon her heart that she would forever honor. 

Nightly activities include reading aloud to her, discussing each other's days, sickeningly sweet flirting, and lying in bed together cuddling in absolute silence. The last item tends to be the most common way of spending time together, naturally. 

While Malenia is typically quiet, she can be quite the charmer when need be. When she lost her eyesight she had perfectly wiped away your tears, showcasing how well your face was etched into her memory. She traced each and every distinct feature on your body to prove how the loss of her vision changed nothing, and how she'd perfectly recall your visage even in death. 

Malenia is an extraordinarily loyal and devoted partner. She treats you with the upmost care, afraid of causing harm to you no matter how strong you are. She prays for your safety each day, to whom she is not sure, slaying hundreds of enemies with your protection in mind. No matter what great feat it is she had accomplished, to pull you into her embrace at the end of it all is reward enough. For what is a valkyrie without a precious soul to hold?

[bad268]

Out-of-Pocket (Pepe Marti X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Yeah on Wattpad (ily zep also happy race week!)

Warnings: none.

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 869

Summary: Out-of-pocket grid walks and podcasts

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

The first race of the season was one for the books. The energy was high, the excitement was through the roof, and all of the drivers were ready to get back to racing. As someone with a moto racing podcast, you were having a blast in the paddock. The plan was you were going to do a Martin Brundle-style grid walk, asking random questions to whatever drivers you could find.

“Jak!” You shouted, running up to your American friend who was walking with Ollie and Kimi. “Can I ask you guys questions for the pod?”

“Don’t say tyre deg,” Jak joked as the other two nodded.

“That's a tequila shot, Jak,” You laughed. “Anyway, I don’t have any on me so, Jak, hypothetically speaking, what would you do if you found a dead body in your hotel room?”

“That’s so random, but I would call my team, I guess?” Jak responded, confused about where the question came from.

“Good to hear you trust your team, sounds like you guys will have a good year,” You stated. “Does this mean you are getting along well with your new team?”

“Yeah, I love the team, and I think we’re gonna do well this year,” Jak beamed. 

“Thank you, Jak. Now, Ollie,” You moved the microphone over to Ollie, “You hit me as the type of guy who needs beauty sleep.”

“Where is this going?” He laughed.

“Why is it called ‘beauty sleep’ if you wake up looking like a hot mess? I’ve seen the LAP videos, and you don’t look very beautiful when you wake up,” You teased him.

“Oh you’re one to talk,” He gasped in disbelief, “As if anyone in your opinion looks good waking up unless they’re Pepe!”

“Hey, no need to call me out in my own podcast here!” You jokingly scolded. “I ask the questions. Now, why is it called ‘beauty sleep’ if you wake up looking like a hot mess? I need to know.”

“Maybe it’s not about physical beauty and more about mental beauty,” Ollie quipped. “Ever think of that?”

“No, I did not Aristotle,” You replied sarcastically. “Thank you for bestowing your great mind upon us, oh great one.”

“With pleasure,” Ollie jokingly bowed as he left to follow Jak.

“Kimi! The new man on the block! Tell me, how many pennies do you think would fit in your car?”

“At least five,” Kimi answered immediately and seriously.

“Fair point, thank you,” You replied just as seriously as you moved on to your next target, running after him. “Dennis, do fish drown?”

“NO!” He shouted, started by your sudden appearance. “No, I looked this up and drowning is inhaling water. Fish breathe water, so unless they stop moving and water blocks their gills, they can't drown, but they can suffocate on water.”

“Damn, thanks Bill Nye the science guy,” You said sarcastically as you moved on, beelining for one of your favorite F3 drivers to ask questions to. “Sebastian Montoya, I have a question for you.”

“I love these,” he said to himself before leaning into the microphone and shouting, “Hi Pod!”

“Don’t! I’m the star here,” You joked. “Anyway, if you punch yourself in the face and it hurts, are you weak or strong?”

“Neither, you’re gullible,” He answered.

“Oh, that's a dollar word, look at you go!” You chuckled as you moved on once again. This time you ran into a world champion. “Fernando! My favorite Spanish driver!” You shouted as you ran over to him but not before whispering into the mike, “Lies, Pepe is my favorite.”

“We all know Pepe is you’re favorite, no need to flatter me,” He laughed.

“Well, at least we’re all on the same page,” You dismissed. “In your opinion, what is the worst mode of transportation?”

“Roller skates,” He said after a moment. “The ones with the wheels in a line.”

“What do you have against roller blades, Nando?” You chuckled, genuinely curious.

“I just never learned how to ride them,” He laughed.

“Fair enough, thank you!” You said as you heard back to the Campos garage, knowing Pepe was probably finished with his interview by now. You saw him sitting on the couch in the driver’s room that he shares with Isack, scrolling through his phone. “And here we find the friend of the show, Pepe, in his natural habitat; hiding from everyone.”

“You do know I can hear you,” He chuckled, not even looking up from his phone.

“Oh shit, I thought he was deaf,” You whispered into the microphone, but still loud enough for him to hear. You moved into the room and sat beside him, leaning into his side. “I have a real question for you.”

“Something tells me it’s not a real question, but go on.”

“How does it feel to be in a relationship with the most out-of-pocket moto racing podcaster on the planet?”

“Wouldn’t change it for the world,” He replied as he placed a small kiss on the top of your head. “You should talk to Clement to get on Screaming Meals. I bet that would be the most chaotic episode ever.”

“Don’t give me any more ideas,” You groaned. “Also, I’m trying. James said no.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[guiltygearconfessions]

dnd 5e builds for base strive cast (+ goldlewis!)

Sol: either an Artificer (Battlesmith) w a Barbarian (Totem) dip where his Steel Defender is his bike and Elk/Bear rage is dragon install OR a Wizard (Bladesinger) with a belt (headband) of giant strength and Tasha's Otherworldy Guise as his DI

Ky: Hexbalde Warlock w a Battlemaster Fighter dip since he seems charismatic and his patron cld be the Thunderseal. His manouevres: Trip (Stun Dipper), Lunge (Foudre Arc), Riposte (Vapor Thrust). Meanwhile, Eldritch Blast = Stun Edge, Booming Blade = Dire Eclat, can blow his limited spell slots on Lightning Bolt (Sacred Edge) or Hasted Booming Blades + Relentless Hex or just Thunder Step (RTL). Possibly take a sorc (Storm) dip or the Metamagic Adept feat to transmute spell and change his damage types to lightning + gain flying speed.

May: Ranger (Beastmaster) for sea animal shenanigans. Possible dips into Paladin (Devotion, to the Jellyfish Pirates) or Fighter (Cavalier) for mounted combat features and bonuses (e.g. Find Greater Steed)

Axl: Ranger (Horizon Walker) + Monk (Kensei)/Fighter (Battlemaster). The boring and "correct" answer here is pure bladesinger wiz using a flavoured whip for the Time Stop spell, but the teleportation offered by Horizon Walker and the idea of slipping between planes of existence seems flavourful. Ranger features also have a bit more trap laying flavour. Monk bonuses for movement speed + unarmoured defense to remain slippery while dressing casual.

Chipp: Monk (Shadow) with the Fey Touched and Shadow Touched feats for access to Shadow Teleport + Misty Step + Shadow Blade and maybe a small spellcaster dip into Sorcerer (Shadow) if only to get Quickened Spell for ninja flavour + Mirror Image (multiple Chipps!)

Potemkin: although a pure Fighter (Champion) is tempting, the 4 attacks per turn feels at odds w the slower, lumbering idea of Potemkin. Instead I propose DM fiat to allow smiting while Unarmed, then build Potemkin as a Variant Human (base feat used to learn Unarmed Fighting style) with full Paladin (Glory or Redemption). His devotion and larger than life presence give him moral power behind his blows which are weighty (big ass smites) but infrequent (2 per turn). The other athleticism, tanky abilities come from his Paladin subclass features. Spells like Command and Compelled Duel reflect his intimidating presence and ability to control the field. Spells like Thunderous Smite and Destructive Wave reflect his sheer terrain-altering strength. Feats could include Grappler, Tavern Brawler, Tough.

Faust: Pure Wild Magic Sorcerer or an even split btwn Wild Magic Sorc and Life Cleric. Dimension Door/Misty Step for teleports. Items could represent by: Meteors (Minute Meteors), Bomb (Delayed Blast Fireball), 100T Weight (Earth Tremor/Earthquake), Donut/Banana (Healing Word/Cure Wounds), Afro (reflavoured Web since its also a control debuff that turns into damage after fire exposure), Minifaust (so many summon spells but I like the idea of Guardian of Faith from Cleric), Trumpet (Insect Plague), Hammer (Catapult). And then Haste can be used with Quickened Spell to simulate item throw super. Tack on a couple fighter levels perhaps to Action Surge and emulate the 100 tension version + give some oomph to the occasional scalpel normal.

Millia: not base dnd but i think she fits a Blood Hunter (Lycan) pretty well. The flavour of undergoing a dangerous and forbidden procedure for power, the hair transformations... probably uses Rite of the Oracle (psychic) and Blood Curse of Binding (tandem top) to hold enemies in place for devastating up close "mixups" while still remaining highly mobile.

Zato: Fighter (Echo Knight) w a Monk (Long Death) dip (or, potentially, Undead Warlock). Fragile but frequently summonable puppet fighter w a Monk dip for the "unarmoured melee fighter" vibe + undying flavour or Warlock dip for more spell slinging vibe+ access to flight spells.

Ramlethal: taking a bit more from her Xrd incarnation, a mixed Cleric (Twilight) for access to Spiritual Weapon for the "remote/hovering sword" + a hover/fly movement rather than regular walking and a Warlock (Hexblade) with the Eldritch Smite invocation to burn spell slots for chunky damage that knocks enemies flat on their asses (Mortobato).

Leo: Rogue (Swashbuckler ) + Barbarian (Totem). Probably a Tiger/Elk Barb for the movement speed and the animalistic vibe, while the Rogue levels and Swashbuckler features give the idea of a speedy duelist who occasionally snipes out big damage hits from "converting" movement speed based mixups. (also Swashbucklers benefit from Charisma, which leo definitely has since hes led so many soldiers to their deaths 🥰)

Nago: Fighter (Samurai). I think a majority of Nago's features and design are reflected in this subclass- the idea of a fighter who takes a slow and measured approach while occasionally bursting into a flurry of sudden violence. The high level Samurai feature of taking another turn upon getting dropped also kind of feels like Nago blood rage- a last second gambit at the verge of defeat type of deal.

Gio: Monk (Astral Self). Gio's features as an unarmed, unarmoured, mobile fighter w a not-quite animal spirit are perfectly encapsulated in this subclass, down to her appearance transformations at high tension

Anji: Bard (Swords) with Fighter (Battlemaster) dip and the Dual Wielder feat. Swords Bard explains his armoured twirl (Defensive Flourish) and other more magical effects like the butterfly, koi, and his cinematic super. Battlemaster Trip (rekka low), Push (corner carry off fuujin), Sweep (spinny spins), Parry/Riposte (dedicated counters).

I-No: Oddly enough i dont think she's a pure bard. If anything, I think her style seems more offense oriented than support, so she probably has way more Sorcerer (storm) levels for flying and her other magic shit. For her Bard dip, probably a Whispers bard to play into her role as a mysterious and menacing antagonist figure.

Goldlewis: Paladin (Watchers) with a Warlock (GoO) dip. Watchers paladins already deal w abberations and aliens, and his smites could be flavoured as his big behemoth typhoons/down with the system. Warlock spells and blast reflect the gadgets stored by his alien.

Wow! Points for being so thorough! This is cool

[missdaytonawrites]

light shower • a. anderson

summary - a pleasent lil' domestic evening with abs. :)

WC - 853

cw/tw - none! just a fluffly take on evenings with abby, still 100% MDNI. afab!reader, domestic!abby, kissing, teeth-rottingly sweet fluff, gendered pet names (pretty girl, my girl etc.) just a whole lotta love here.

A/N - ..heeeey people... heres another fic for my abs!!! i promise theres a POTO fic comin.. bear with me lol. i love everyone elses love for "kintsugi" so i wanted to get somethin' out that gives ya' a taste of abby on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. just a little refresher after this weeks previous smut. hope yall eat this up!

"i was surprised to see heaven in your eyes."

an extremely loud “crash” noise comes from the slammed-shut screen door, it follows the squeal leaving your lips and the thumping of your footsteps against soft soil. as you full-sprint into this spring's greenery, your senses are flooded with the pine-y scent of the season.

not much time passes before you hear the screen door creak and then loudly slam again. but this time, its abby, ever-burly and beautiful as she barrels down the back porch and into her yard to get you. “can’t hide from me, pretty lady!” you hear her shout from behind the bush you're using as camouflage, “gonna find you and get you!” she triumphs.

you were current reigning hide n’ seek champion, having won three games more than abby just today! always finding new or adventurous spots that would have her searching for hooours. you were typically the one who insinuated these seemingly childish games, practically begging for abby's attention as you whined and tugged at the neck of her shirt.

abby, on the other hand, secretly loved this. the domesticity of it all? her absolute favorite, she loved coming home from work and playing a couple rounds of tag or hide n’ seek with you. pretending she was a kid again with her person was the best part of her day. she never really could let the stress of work bother her when she knew what was waiting at home.

exactly where she was right now, looking high and low through the botany to find you. hoping that this time, you’re in a spot she can actually get to you in. you were infamous for climbing up into trees or into hidden cabinets when you really wanted to win. at this point, abbys ready to give up! feeling as though shes looked in every bush and behind every tree, just as she hears a faint rustling and… umph-

in the blink of an eye, she’s got you in her arms bridal style and has damn-near tackled you to the ground. boy, was it a sight to see. the two of you stumbling about, like a pair of idiots, trying to come back from the giggling fits you’ve both fallen into. once abby has safely caught her balance and has you secured in her embrace, she erupts with giggles again as she lets you both clumsily fall to the ground. “can’t believe ya’ got me!” pouting as she pulls you close to her, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “dunno what you want me to say,” she shrugs against the grass, “i got a knack for findin’ pretty girls hiding in my backyard.”

you scooch even further into her. “yeah, yeah. you do this time.” abby brushes you off her shoulder and leans over your lying form, plucking a longer piece of grass from the earth. rolling back over, she props herself up on her elbows and begins to trace your features with her freshly picked possession. the blade of grass traces up the bridge of your nose and over one of your eyebrows. it goes down and over your cheekbones, then brushes your lips. the faint texture of the plant sending you into an all-encompassing nirvana.

now she twirls the grass, just barely, against your cheek. letting it drop while she closes the distance between you two, her lips grazing yours for a fraction of a second then passionately pressing into yours. abby couldn’t ever get enough of your kisses. she would kiss ya’ till she ran out of breath if she could! your lips were so plush and typically moisturized, you always smelt like fresh fruit. getting absolutely lost in the intimacy, she begins to alternate between kissing and nibbling on your lips. practically sucking a hickey onto your lower face, she takes a deep inhale of your scent and then pulls away. slowly detaching her lips from yours with a dreamy sigh.

“such a pretty lady i got beneath me..” she sits up and your head sorta naturally falls on her lap. “love comin’ home to my pretty girl.” these parts of your evening, where time feels sticky-slow and the hot air starts to cool, make your heart swell. life with your abby was everything and more, something you’d wish for twenty times over in another life. so there you and abby sat, wrapped up in one another while you softly hum into her leg. she whispers sweet nothings as her fingers rake through your hair, and it doesnt take long for you to start to doze off in her lap. she doesnt let you drift too far off into sleep though, scooping you up and courting you in the house.

she gets you into bed and mutters something about being right back before leaving to go turn out all the lights and lock the house up. once she returns, there you are. the sweetest thing to ever walk gods green earth sleeping peacefully amidst her sheets. clicking out the bedside lamp, she climbs in next to you and makes sure your tucked in. “g’night pretty girl.” and then, same as you, she's out.

i hope you liiiike! im such a sucker for sweet gf abby maybe you are too, i promise there are more fics to come!!

[daydreaming-in-hyrule]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 (prologue)

synopsis: tales of old will always regale the listener with praises and recognition of the feats of esteemed gerudo champion urbosa. but time wears thin on the stories of pivotal companions, and most of them will ultimately leave out one vai, arguably just as important — a warrior, an advisor, a personal guard. most of all… a friend, and yet so much more; the chief’s light in the approaching darkness.

pairing: urbosa x f!gerudo!reader [reader is her personal guard & advisor]

word count: 544

warnings: use of Y/N, urbosa’s mother’s name is azrah, and reader’s mom’s name is isir. also a little bit of my idea of how urbosa’s lightning abilities were first discovered :)

a/n: not yet onto the main storyline! originally I was gonna just dive right in and start with the cutscene of her entrance in age of calamity, but I thought it’d fit together better if there’s a prologue and a little bit of introduction first. and I adore the idea of urbosa’s hair just sticking up all the time as a child bc she hasn’t learnt to fully control her lightning, I think it’d be so cute 💕

anyways, enjoy! <3

After a whole week of steadily rising temperatures that made even the desert-adapted citizens of Gerudo Town suffer, the scorching sun seemed to have taken mercy on the town. Children played in the streets, and vendors’ loud sales pitches rang through the air.

The Gerudo chieftain stood underneath the minimal shade of a palm tree, her personal guard standing to attention beside her. Their eyes followed the movements of two children, playing together with loud giggles and shouts that could probably be heard even from across town.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they? It feels like only yesterday when they drew their first breaths.” The chief’s tone carried a hint of nostalgia, as if memories from her own childhood were stealing their way into her thoughts.

“It truly does, my lady.”

“I am sure it’ll be no time at all till they’re grown… and then my daughter will take the throne.” The chief paused, shifting her gaze to her daughter’s playmate. “And what of your little one, Isir? You plan on beginning her training when she is of age, and inducting her into the guard?”

“Yes, Lady Azrah. I come from a long line of chiefly guards; it is only natural that I give her the training she needs to prepare her, should she be chosen as the next chief’s personal escort.”

A flash of yellow light caught Azrah’s eye and she looked at the children in surprise. “Isir… did you see that light? What was—”

The guard turned to the girls and alarm flared in her eyes. “Hey! Y/N! Put that down!”

Isir rushed forward to gently pull the small dagger out of her daughter’s hands, the blade glinting in the sunlight as she took it away from the children. Her child pouted, and Azrah’s daughter gave a little whine of protest.

“But Isir! We were playing Guards and Thieves!”

“Urbosa, you can do that without the knife,” Azrah crouched to place her hand on the little vai’s shoulder, unable to stop a smile from forming as she brushed a lock of unruly red hair from her daughter’s forehead. “Now, run along. I’m sure Hefza will give you a voltfruit — but only if you ask nicely.”

Urbosa’s eyes lit up again and she grinned, grabbing Y/N’s hand and turning to rush off into the streets to find the vendor. Azrah watched the children run off, a small frown creasing the space between her eyebrows. She could’ve sworn that she saw… something crackling, wreathing around Urbosa’s fingers. Something that charged the air around the girl and put a metallic taste in Azrah’s mouth. Perhaps there was a reason Urbosa’s hair refused to lay flat for more than five minutes at a time.

The Sage’s gift… could it be? But that would mean—

“My chief, with all due respect, I think those two will drive poor Hefza up the wall. As it is, she’s one of the few vendors who humour them in their little games.”

Azrah laughed at Isir’s wry words, turning to her guard. “We’ll pull them out if — no, when — she tires of being the Thief in their game. Until then… let them play, Isir. Let them be children. These carefree times will desert them sooner than you think.”

divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

[silverstonesainz-archive]

ok but i j feel like this fits so well???

❛ you always see the good in people. even me. ❜ + max

pls it really does fit SO well. huhu

good heart (mv1) ─── just a little reassurance

max sighs softly, but he smiles anyway. he thanks the interviewer, nodding at whatever else they had to say before turning on his heel to return to his driver room. his pr officer is in tow, but she says nothing, and for that he’s grateful.

it was a rough day on the track. another win under his belt, but alas another sunday of being attacked and berated for the way he drove. and he’s learned to compartmentalize it, to ignore snide comments about his aggression on and off the track. he’s been taught well, trained to smile even if he wanted to scream, and shake hands even if he wanted to throw a punch.

but today was different. he couldn’t place why, but it was. he thought he drove great, albeit a fairly boring one considering he was leading for the majority of it. but some how he was at fault for charles’s result was beyond him. 

he drove dangerously! he ran too wide, basically pushed charles off and fucked his race! max has no regard for anyone else but himself! he doesn’t deserve to be a champion!

but none of it was true… right?

he hangs his head low, mumbling thanks to greetings and congratulations. he just wanted to disappear, hideaway, and be with you.

when he slides the door of his driver��s room open, you’re sitting on his massage table on your phone. you take a moment to wrap up what you’re doing before you look up at him. the smile on your face drops the moment you see his sullen expression. 

“hey there stud, what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t say anything, just wraps you up in his arms, burying his face into your neck. you freeze for a moment, caught off guard at the sudden affection, but you melt into him just as fast. your hands come up to rest on his shoulder blades, rubbing softly. you coo, asking him what’s wrong, but he grunts in response. 

“tired of being the villain.” he mumbles against the skin of you neck. his breath is hot, hold is tight. “tired of being the bad guy.”

you cup his cheeks, pulling his face from you so that you can look at him. his eyes are tired and dull with sadness. his lips curve downward ever so slightly in a frown, bottom lip jutted outwards. “where is this coming from?” 

he shrugs, turning his head to release himself from your hold. he removes his arms from around you, running his fingers through his damp hair. his actions are rough, filled with frustration. you hang back, sitting back on the massage bed as you watch him change and get ready to leave the track. he moves quickly, slipping off his race attire and swapping it for his normal redbull polo and blue jeans. 

“hey,” you call out, “c’mere.”

max looks like a little kid. his shoulders are slumped, feet dragging along the floor as he shuffles over to you. you part your legs, giving him room to stand between them. his jeans touch the inside of your thighs, his fingers coming up to push the stray hairs over your shoulder. his frustrated movements moments earlier contrast the gentle way he handles you. you take his hand into yours, pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“i just feel like im under a microscope, now more than ever. and i feel like no matter what i do, i’ll always be a bad guy.”

“you’re not a bad guy max. don’t let snide comments get to you and make you villainize yourself.” you squeeze his hand, but he sighs and shakes his head. 

“c’mon, let’s just go.”

“wanna know what i think?” you tug him back to you, and he plants himself between your legs again. “i think that you’re a good guy, the best guy actually. you’re talented, fucking phenomenal at more than just driving. you’ve been through so much, and yet you’ve managed to take all that and channel it into something positive. people are cruel, but it doesn’t mean they’re right okay?”

“you’re just saying that.”

“no, i could tell you you’re a piece of shit if you were being a piece of shit. but you’re not.” his sulky demeanor cracks, a smile curling onto his pink lips. you stand up, left hand resting on his cheek. “you are a good person, with a good heart max. okay?”

he smiles, “you’re my favorite person, because you always see the good in people. even me.” he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “i will never understand how i got so lucky with a girl like you, loving a guy like me.”

you smile, kissing him again, “you were just being you, and loving you is easy.”

[lagtrained]

HIIII i decided to make better versions of my funny little anteater voices au :D these took a surprisingly long time to make actually

i am. overall happy with them but some of them are a little more basic than others (cough cough cold and skeptic)

but i think i like. smitten hunted and contrarian most they are so silly to me :) also i decided to give stubborn a little wrestling champion belt it just felt fitting, same with the little blade shard things in cheateds tail :)

[amakumos]

kiss and cry — yang jungwon. (teaser)

kiss and cry is out now! read here.

synopsis. At the age of 22, Yang Jungwon wants to retire. The ice, which was what he considered his second home, does not seem as welcoming as it used to be. Figure skating is no longer fun - the sport that he devoted his entire childhood to seems more of a chore, rather than a passion. He claims that this season will be his last as a competitive figure skater - that is, until he meets you, who somehow makes him fall in love with the ice (and you) again.

genre. fluff, angst, friends to lovers, figure skating au.

pairing. figure skater! jungwon x figure skater fem! reader

warnings. swearing, mentions of injury and unhealthy training habits, jungwon is 22, reader is 21. set during the 2025/2026 figure skating season. (please pretend a walk in the skies by joe hisaishi is long enough to fit the criteria of the length of a short program)

word count. est. 20k+ (teaser is 1.3k words)

author’s note. haven’t written in a while, so i guess here’s my comeback to blr ^_^ thought i’d release a winter / icy (?) themed fic for the season! this fic is scheduled to be released around 26th ~ 27th, so keep an eye peeled if u happen to be interested hehe

You feel nothing but excitement when you enter the Taereung International Skating Rink, and you hear the sound of blades across ice that brings a smile to your lips. You see Irene, standing rinkside with her arms crossed, and skating on the rink, is Yang Jungwon.

Yang Jungwon’s made quite a name for himself in the last few years. 6th at the 2022 Olympics, a great finish for someone who was only 18 at the time. He also just won Worlds, and was a five-time national champion.

Yang Jungwon is an incredible skater. His movements on the ice are as fluid and soft as water, but when he jumps, he’s incredibly powerful, like a rocket taking off. You’ve seen many people say that Jungwon’s one of the few ‘complete skaters’ — those who can combine artistry with jumping seem to be extremely rare nowadays.

He’s one of those skaters that can get you mesmerised the second he steps onto the ice, and when he finishes his program, loud applause resounds throughout the arena, with tons of people throwing cat plushies onto the ice.

Jungwon is incredibly talented. Thinking about the fact that you two are going to be training mates brings a smile to your face — all the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon went quite well. You remember his pleasant voice and his kind smile, the one where his eyes crinkle into crescents and could make anyone swoon.

You make your way over to Irene, who turns her head and greets you with a kind smile when she sees you. “(Name)!” she beams, wrapping you in a hug. “Nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Irene!” you say, and she smiles at you. “I’m excited to be working with you.” she tells you, and her words just fill you up with joy.

“Thank you so much,” you beam. “I’m excited to be coached by you.” A smile graces Irene’s lips at your words. “Jungwon’s on the ice right now, with Taemin. He’s just learning the last part of his choreography for his short program for next season.” she tells you, and you nod.

“Jiwon’s gone for lunch break, and Eunchae and Jongseob should be somewhere around here… you can go meet with them and say hi later.”

“Sounds good.”

“Irene!” Taemin, the choreographer, calls out to her. “Jungwon’s got this. He’ll absolutely kill it.”

You notice how Irene and Taemin’s smiles seem wider than Jungwon’s when Taemin says that. The smile plastered on Jungwon’s lips barely reaches his eyes.

“Why don’t you go lace up your skates? You and Jungwon can share the rink.” Irene suggests to you, and you nod. You find a seat, pulling out your skates from your skate bag as you take your regular sports shoes off, slipping into your skating boots. You tie the laces incredibly quickly — after all, you have been doing this for years.

You take off your skate guards, leaving them on the bench as you skate onto the rink, skating laps to warm yourself up as you put your gloves on.

Somewhere along the way, you find yourself accompanied by Jungwon, who catches up to you. “Hey,” he says. “Heard that Irene’s coaching you now.”

“Yeah,” you beam. “We’ll be training mates from now on, huh?” you say, and Jungwon nods. “Saw you practicing your short program for next season… you’ve started quite early. Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon says. “I like to get started earlier, so I’m more familiar with it when it’s time to compete. Do you have any ideas for the music you might skate to?”

“Oh, I’ve got no idea. My friend told me to skate to Bolero, though.” you say, and you see Jungwon grimace at your words. You let out a loud laugh that makes Jungwon chuckle. “Bolero? Really?” he asks.

“Riki knows nothing about figure skating, but I think he goes on Twitter to find what music people hate seeing skaters skate to the most… Bolero is definitely one of them, which is probably why he recommended it to me.” you laugh. “Once he even asked me if I could do a ‘triple double camel spin axel’. Like what in the world is that?”

Your words make Jungwon burst into laughter, and you think it’s one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard.

“A triple double camel spin axel? Your friend might just have invented a new jump.” he quips, and you nod. “You ready for the Olympics next year?” he asks you, and you shake your head.

“Who says I’ll make it?”

“Of course you’ll make it. Your skating’s great.” Jungwon says, and you thank him. “You’ll definitely make it. To next year and the one after. You’ll probably make it to the one in 2034 too.”

“Hah, that’s funny. But no, I won’t be making it to the 2030 or the 2034 one. It’s probably nice to think about, though.” Jungwon replies.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “What? Why? I mean... maybe 2034 is a bit of a stretch, but surely the 2030 one.”

“I’m retiring after this season.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. Yang Jungwon was going to retire? At the age of 22? Was he joking?

You almost can’t believe it.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t like skating anymore.” he hums, and he says it so casually. “It’s more of a chore now, rather than something I love. I guess I fell out of love with the ice.”

You can somewhat understand how he feels. You had burnout too, but you never got to the point where you wanted to quit. You just wanted to take a break, to refresh your mind and to take care of your health and body.

But Jungwon sounds like he’s determined to quit. As if nothing will get him to change his mind.

“What would it take for you to fall back in love with it?” you ask.

Jungwon shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think anything would be able to change my mind at this point. Skating is just so incredibly… draining. I want to enjoy it as much as I used to, but I just don’t think I can continue competing.”

He sounds like he’s truly given up hope on finding love for the sport again, and it makes your heart ache. Yang Jungwon is undoubtedly one of the best figure skaters you’ve ever seen, and to see him possibly end his career because he just simply ran out of love for the sport saddens you.

And for some reason, you want to try and get him to fall back in love with the ice again.

So with a sudden burst of confidence and determination, you decide to ask him: “Are you free any time next week?”

Jungwon looks at you, puzzled. “Yes?”

“I’m going to try and get you to fall back in love with the ice.”

“(Name), I’ve made up my mind—”

“That’s fine. I just want you to enjoy skating again. No competition, just having fun. You know, I was in the audience the day you won the Grand Prix final two years ago. You looked so, so, incredibly happy — I want you to feel the same feeling you felt when you were skating on that ice.”

Jungwon looks at you hesitantly. “You’d do that for me?”

You nod. “We can get to know each other better too. What do you say?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment to think.

“Sure.”

You beam at him. “Cool. I’ll give you my number after practice and we can make arrangements.”

Jungwon nods, and you two end your conversation there, focusing on training instead.

As you land a clean triple salchow-triple toeloop on the ice, you add a new goal to your bucket list.

Get Yang Jungwon to fall in love with figure skating again.

[avenger09]

Raziel MK1 Guest Fighter

Raziel: You tamper with lives as readily as any would-be-god.

Lui Kang: Only to disarm the wicked and unbound unseen potential.

---

Liu Kang: Your Elder God is no such thing. Merely an exceptionally large parasite.

Raziel: That I have already discerned for myself, "Titan."

---

Raziel: Thunder all you like, but you will not be spared if you impead my retribution.

Raiden: Well at least your honest.

---

Raziel: What madness drove your "Titan" to place an actor amongst his champions?

Johnny Cage: Somebody had to be the light of the party.

---

Johnny Cage: You have a killer voice dude. Ever thought of doing VO work?

Raziel: That... sounds intriguing.

---

Kung Lao: Just so I'm sure, are you a zombie or a ghost?

Raziel: *sigh* A wraith, you ignoramus.

---

Raziel: Your bravado reminds me all too much of myself and my brothers.

Kung Lao: Please. I have infinitely more style.

---

Ermac: Your brothers souls cry out for release.

Raziel: Then I shall extend the same mercy they offered me, and do nothing!

---

Kenshi: Something about your weapon provokes Sento.

Raziel: Your blade and the Reaver are kindred - two sides of the same bloodied edge.

---

Homelander: I already killed you, how are you still alive?!

Raziel: I am not so easily vanquished, wretch.

---

Raziel: How fitting that one with the temperament of a mewling child, should have the appetite of one as well.

Homerlander: *Chuckle* When I'm done, your going to look even more like a corpse.

---

Peacemaker: Hey, I put the bad guys in ground, just like you.

Raziel: Yes, alongside the innocent, the young and unfortunate.

---

Raziel: There is no righteousness here, only the desperate justifications of the fanatic.

Peacemaker: You think I like being this way? It's not easy fixing what's broken.

---

Nitara: To tear the wings from a vampire is the gravest of transgressions, in my realm.

Raziel: One I shall repay a thousandfold upon that bastard Kain.

---

Raziel: I will devour your soul and restore my wings!

Nitara: You won't find me easy prey.

---

Quan Chi: Shinnok will reward me for my faith.

Raziel: Then you will share the same fate as Moebius!

---

Noob Saibot: We have both of us been transformed by death.

Raziel: But only I remain free.

---

Geras: You were meant to bring an end to all remnents of the vampires in Nosgoth.

Raziel: Instead my pursuit of Kain allowed me to retake by destiny.

---

Raziel: I have done your timeline no wrong automanton, why pursuit me?!

Geras: Because history abors a paradox, and I, am its guardian.

---

Raziel: In my experience, paths to redemption lead only to further disillusion

Ashrah: Yet you were able to renounce the man you once were.

[arclundarchivist]

Spoilers for C3E93

-

-

-

Lonesome Roads

Morrighan finally stopped running when she realized her only companion was a literal shadow, clinging to her like a chilled coat.

“Will they be okay?” Cyrus asks, his voice distant and near in equal measure like a whisper from an opposing cliff.

“I- I don’t know,” she murmurs, slumping to the ground, her sword clattering to the ground beside her.

The last remnant of Opal is hot in her other hand, yet she refuses to release it. Holding it all the tighter.

“I love you.”

Her ears fall as the tears begin to fall yet again.

“Morrighan?” Cyrus prompts again.

“I said I don’t know!” she exclaims and falters, staring into the blank eyes of her friend’s spirit, and sees his face fall.

Why does she cling to him so?

‘I did not make you mine just for you to die here.”

But a part of her has.

And she needs direction.

Where can she go?

Where is she needed?

What will be demanded of her next?

How much more will she lose?

“Fate is a funny thing, deary, but one can always find a way to tug the threads in the right direction.”

The voice of the woman who cast her on this path, the one that took her first name.

She could have answers.

But what would the cost be this time?

What more could she give… no, what more would she give?

“What would you have me do?” she asks, speaking to the empty air.

There is no response, no urging, she misses when the guidance was a constant, an ever-present ringing in the back of her mind that showed her where to go.

But now there is silence, a comfort akin to the grave.

Fitting, perhaps, when she considers her position once more. 

“Where will we go?” Cyrus demands, shifting closer to her, and she part of her wants to push him away, the other wants to pull him into an embrace, but she is not sure if she can accomplish either.

“I wish I knew,” she mutters.

There is a flash of black, winging through sun-set tinged sky.

She looks up, and there is a raven winging towards the horizon.

A sign. 

She stands, taking up her blade, and glances back the way she came.

The road is being set before her.

“Cyrus… how does it feel?” she asks.

“Hollow, yet comforting, for I am not alone.” he murmurs, shifting closer to her once more, “Do you know where we are going?”

“No… but I hope it leads us back to the others in time,” she states, and she starts walking.

Unspoken is a worry she fights to bury.

She has seen Opal. 

What the Spider Queen demanded and stole from her?

Morrighan gave away her name.

She lost her friends.

Her only companion is a literal shade of himself.

She’s going to walk the path and go where she is needed.

Yet, she can’t help but wonder: “What will be left of me at the end of the road?”

----

Fy’ra stands, her fists drenched in blood as she confronts yet another band of this “Vanguard.”

Flowers and mushrooms of verdant shades are already beginning to bloom from their corpse.

It was true what she said all those weeks ago, “The Wildmother is not kind.”, but to see her vengeance, her rage enacted by her own hands, was… both haunting and exhilarating.

Her flames now carried a green tinge to their breadth, granting life as readily as they consumed it. She was a font of regrowth and healing the likes of which she had never been before.

And that had been helpful, for more than the Vanguard had become Opal’s target.

Mad Arcanists, cultists, supposed traitors, aberrations born of the Red Moon, and a horrid spider that dogged their every step.

One the Queen refused to call off as if she was elated by the constant challenge.

The constant growth of her champion.

Fy’ra was still herself but growing stronger every day. The Wildmothe had been truthful in her promise. Theirs was a conversation, a growing bond that she wasn’t truly certain the conclusion would bring.

Opal, though… was twisting all the more.

She continued to stretch in height, her six arms casting aside the blades at most times to wield lengthy and ichorous claws.

But what truly hurt Fy’ra in her soul was the young woman’s eyes.

Jet-black, with but a glimmer of the old opalescent sheen. And she swears when she watches her as the night overtakes the day, she sees others open in the corners and panes of her face. 

She looks to Opal now, pulling her claws from the belly of the woman who led this band. A towering goliath woman, now so much meat scattered about the ground.

Fy’ra’s heart seizes as for but a moment, Opal brings her fingers towards her mouth as if tempted to taste the blood soaking them, but then her hands drop.

A sign that despite it all, her little sisters are still in there.

She approaches as Opal stands, looking down at Fy’ra with a flat expression.

“Are we done here?” Fy’ra asks.

Opal speaks, her voice now tinged with an insectile trill harsh to the ears, “She says yes. If we succeed, those not fool enough to kill will get to be as they were before… or they will seek to martyr themselves as well. I don’t know, and she doesn’t care.”

“Of course, she doesn’t.” Fy’ra remarks bitterly, “But we can rest?”

Opal is silent, staring at the red moon resting on the far horizon to the south.

“Yes. For now, her son is attacking her somewhere else, so we have time.” Opal remarks, and she turns stiltedly and begins walking toward the dark woods from which the pair had come.

Fy’ra jogs to keep up, “Opal, is she still listening?” 

Opal glances at her, “Not fully.”

“I suppose that is the best I can hope for,” Fy’ra mutters, and she reaches out, gently taking the hand she knows to have originally been Opals.

“How are you?” Fy’ra asks, and Opal squeezes her hand just a tad.

“I’m surviving,” she returns, and then in Fy’ras mind, so rare now, her true voice speaks, “And it’s so hard, Fy’ra.”

“I know, I know, but this will not be forever.” Fy’ra comforts.

“She doesn’t like that,” Opal warns aloud.

“I do not care,” Fy’ra replies defiantly, and the wind around them flares with heat as if in agreement: “We walk this path together until the threat of the Ill Omen is finished, then…”

She lets the implication hang, and Opal smiles, but she can’t tell which part of her it is.

“How is Ted?” Fy’ra asks, and the look on Opal’s face is stark confusion.

The words that follow turn Fy’ra’s flaming blood to ice.

“Who?” Opal asks.

“Y-your sister.” Fy’ra chokes, a dawning realization punching into her core.

Opal pulls her hand from hers, and looks into the dark shadows between the trees and there, the flaring of additional eyes.

After several moments of silence, she looks down at Fy’ra, and it is not an illusion, for four pairs of inky-black eyes burrow into her as Opal says, “You’re the only sister I have in this world, Fy’ra.”

Fy’ra is stunned into silence as Opal keeps walking, her true voice trickling into her mind: “And I will always remember that. Thank you for being here with me.”

“I- you’re welcome.” Fy’ra returns, the realization that Ted had once again paid the lion’s share of her sister’s actions drilling a cold nail of resentment ever deeper into her heart.

“This is only until this plight is over, swear it to me.” Fy’ra growls, feeling a point to her teeth that was not there a moment before.

The wind caresses her in warmth, which she takes to be an agreement.

So she will wait, and she will work and she will protect Opal from all that comes at them in the days to come.

But not forever.

Nature is not kind, and it appreciates an ambush.

----

Dariax wanders Zephrah for days until he finally accepts that Dorian is truly gone.

“Why’d he leave me?” he asked himself and pretty much everyone around, but they couldn’t find the answer any better than he could.

He was alone. Again.

Had he upset Dorian? Did he blame him for Cyrus dying? He-he had the healing mojo. He could have got to him, done something, paid close attention but-

But he’d wanted to save Opal.

To hug her and tell her everything would be okay to rip that crown off and chuck it in a hole.

But he failed at that, too, huh?

Maybe that’s why they had all left him.

They were better at this than him, saving the world. He’d always been just along for the ride, trying and not really managing to keep up.

Dorian was a hero, Morrighan was a Champion, Fy’ra had all the answers ever, and Opal… Opal was strong. She’d held onto that burden without complaint for so, so long.

And he… had just run along behind them, trying to prop them up when they needed it.

But it wasn’t like the first three ever actually needed him. They had their shit together in ways he couldn’t even dream of!

But Opal, he could have- he should have-

“I should never have let her take that crown,” he mutters, bitter with himself as he downs another drink in that little post Dorian had left him in. He glances at the lute, and more self-loathing burbles up.

“I should have put it on, or let Poska take it, or left it with the Wildmother.” he continues rambling, “I should have done something.”

“You trusted her.” a soft voice remarks beside him, but he doesn’t look up.

“I did! I do, I- she was- she is- I should have done more to help her!” he yells, and heads turn to look at her.

“You did,” the voice comforts him. Suddenly, his head feels lighter, and a memory comes unbidden.

She hadn’t asked them to leave her.

She’d fallen into his arms, curling in and sobbing softly for a moment before falling into a peaceful sleep. The first in a while.

“You did what you could, how could you have known a god could feel desperation?” the voice offers, and he glances up, a beautiful Kitari woman smiling down at him, one he recognizes.

“It-it’s you.” Dariax breathes as the Observer smiles and gently moves some of his unkempt hair out of his eyes.

“It’s me,” she states.

“Do you need me in the fight, the big moon fight that folks have been telling me about, cause I’ll go, I just…” he falters, uncertainty eating at him, “I don’t know how much good I can do.”

“You do good in everything you attempt, Dariax,” she comforts, “But I require nothing of you, for I am simply content at the moment to watch how this all transpires.”

“You-you’re not afraid?” Dariax asks.

“The fear of the unknown is never far away,” she offers, “But unlike others, I will not let myself be ruled by it.”

“Then… what should I do?” Dariax murmurs.

“Be true to who you are, aid where you can, I am not looking for a Champion Dariax, but there are many out there that simply need a friend.” she offers.

His face falls, “I was a friend to Opal. To Dorian and the others, look how well that turned out.”

“Their roads have diverged from yours for now, but I do not think that will be forever.” the Observer states.

“Really?” Dariax remarks, hope returning ever so slightly.

“Their road will be trying, the paths winding, for you and for them each, but nothing in the stars states that the end that awaits you all is a tragic one. Keep hope.” she offers.

“Well…” Dariax mutters, swirling his drink and glancing up at her. “I guess I have something to fight for after all, yeah?”

“I’d say so,” she states with a smile.

He grins back, somber and reserved, and then glances around, catching that same look in the dozens of faces around him.

“Hey folks!” he calls out, drawing their gazes to him, “Next rounds on me!”

The mood around him goes on an upswing, and he turns back to the Observer as she looks around her with gleaming eyes.

“So… wanna stay for a drink?” he offers, “Or a song, maybe?”

She laughs, “You amaze me, Dariax Zaveon.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his head bashfully, “Th-thank you.’

And he sits with her, talking about times long past and hopes yet unachieved, his heart soaring at the prospect that when all this is over, he can see his friends once again. 

Not considering how changed they all might be.

But as the saying goes: Ignorance is bliss.

Goodbye, Crownkeepers, for now… or forever.