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scekrex · 9 months ago

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Ask and I shall, deliver! Since you've asked for some prompts, I've had this one in my mind :D

How about a male reader being married to Adam, the whole last extermination day happens, battle at the Hotel and Adam dying. The reader couldn't save his husband, goes back to Heaven depressed as shit and not even for one day believes that Adam is actually dead (reborn sinner!Adam is my jam, can you notice?), so in secret from Heaven he goes to hell under disguise to search for his husband. When he finally finds him, he runs at him full speed at squeezes him as tightly as he can. Adam thinking that reader forgot about him and wouldn't want to be with him even if he was alive since he was now a sinner and the reader just saying: When I was marrying you, I vowed to you "Through thick and thin, through sickness and health, till death do us part", you don't look very dead to me.

Basically just sweet ol' hurt/comfort with a happy ending :V Btw, love your work! Genuinely keeps me awake at night making up scenarios in my head, damn 💀

Also, you've just been squished Adam'd 😎

squished Adam my beloved whoooooo

Till death do us part, but we're already past that phase

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, temporary character death

note: not beta read bc idc

Lucifer was punching Adam, again and again. You couldn't see but you heard. You heard his groans and yelps filled with pain and then there was silence.

You stood up as well as possible. Your leg was badly injured, some fuck up had almost cut it off entirely, your shoulder was shattered because that fucking porn demon had managed to hit your wing with two bullets which had caused you to crash down onto the ground due to the sudden pain.

“Adam,” you groaned as you slowly made your way over to where your husband was. You were worried, fuck that, you were frightened. While the demons hurting Adam's soldiers was one thing, them actually hurting Adam was something different entirely.

Adam crawled out of the pit, blood smeared across his face, a blue eye and several other facial injuries. Fuck it would take a long time for all of that bullshit to heal. “No, you don't get to end this,” you heard the voice of the first man speaking to the sinners that had gathered up around the pit Lucifer had created when he and his hell spawn of daughter had slammed the taller man onto the ground. “I’m fucking Adam, I’m the fucking man,” he stood up, finally facing the sinners he had been battling the entire time and you wanted to rush to him, to simply grab him and fly off before worse things could happen. Adam was already hurt, there was no need to stay longer and make things worse. However, the cannibal that suddenly grabbed your food and yanked it off the ground caught you off guard, made you crash onto the ground yet a second time as a loud scream of pain erupted from your chest. That motherfucker had torn your leg off even more. It was still attached to your body but the wound was huge and the blood had already managed to get through the fabric you had wrapped around it in panic, covering the once black fabric in shiny golden blood.

Adam's head snapped in your direction at that though and he was quick to react and rush over to you. Not that you needed help however, once you had noticed the danger you were quick to shatter the cannibal’s skull and shove him off of you. “Adam,” you called out for your husband again, you stretched your arms out, ready to pull him into a tight, warm hug. A few steps in front of you he stopped though. It took you too long to register what had just happened and your brain only seemed to catch on when Adam's body hit the ground. He had fallen face forward, revealing the little demon girl that was now sitting on his back and that was happily holding onto the dagger that had just been rammed through Adam's chest. “NO,” you screamed, crawling over to the man you loved most. The grip on your halberd was far from steady and the pain fogged up your mind so much that you weren't able concentrate and use it properly, so instead of slicing that fucking whore in half, all you were able to accomplish was to poke her, maybe leave a scratch on her cheek.

However, it did the job and she got up, the little bastard happily walked over to where Charlie stood. “Adam, c’mon you fucking idiot,” you cried out once you had reached his body. Your physical pain was easy to ignore compared to the emotional pain you were feeling, so you sat down and pulled the brunette's head on your lap to steady him. “Please babe, you can fucking do this,” you ripped a huge piece of fabric from your robe and pressed it onto his still bleeding wound, panic filled your body.

What if…

“Don’t fucking leave me bitch, talk to me,” you were yelling and the sinners were watching, a thing you really couldn't care less about. “Fuck, babe, don't you dare and die on me,” you gently cupped his face with one hand, the other continued to press the fabric to Adam's chest in order to hopefully stop the bleeding. The sinners started to mumble, they were obviously talking about the both of you.

Adam turned his face slightly to look you in the eyes and all that he was able to manage was a smile. Fuck. “You’re not allowed to fucking die, you hear me? I-” you flinched when a hand came to rest on your shoulder in order to ground you. It was Lute who was standing behind you. She wasn't providing comfort, that much you knew. She was here to force you to leave. You shrugged her hand off of you forcefully, “Don’t fucking touch me, I'm not leaving him-” Lucifer interrupted you. “Yes you fucking are. You'll gather your fucking soldiers and you'll lead them back to heaven, right fucking now.”

You glanced down at Adam, who's eyes had fallen shut in the meantime and you couldn't help the tear that fell from your eye and rolled across your cheek. You were quick to wipe it away though. As gently as possible you moved Adam to lay on the ground. Lute reached for your arm in order to help you to get up and once she was sure you stood somewhat safely she bent down to grab Adam's halo.

You ripped that out of her hand faster than she was able to react. Usually she had a sharp tongue, this time she remained quiet though. Apparently she knew not to mess with you now.

You moved you wing a little to test the waters, the physical pain was numbed by the emotional pain you were going through and so you flew off, followed by all the angels that were still alive - compared to the amount of angels that had followed you from heaven to hell it was nothing though, so many soldiers had lost their lives.

Adam had lost his life.

Life in heaven without Adam was clearly not the same. Sera had seemed more grateful that the first man was finally gone than sad, fuck that stupid bitch.

It didn't take them long to heal your wounds once you were back in heaven, your leg sure had been a complicated case but only two weeks later it had been back to normal, well if you ignored the scar that was now wrapped around your thigh. But you didn't mind, how could you mind about something so small as a scar when you were dying inside more and more by every day that passed. There was no reason to care about the little things anymore. The only reason that had made you care before was gone for good now and the voices that kept telling you to visit hell weren't helping.

It had started one week after the extermination, one week after Adam had died. At first it had been subtle, just a tiny whisper every now and then, but as time passed they grew louder and louder until you weren't able to tune them out anymore.

You were sitting on the edge of the highest building in heaven and watched. You watched the lights and the angels, how everyone seemed so happy, how most of them didn't know. It seemed like everyone had just forgotten about your husband, that it was nothing, they acted like losing Adam for good was just a thing that they weren't gonna talk about because of him unimportant it was.

Fuck that.

The Hell Embassy was empty when you entered it, no angel ever went there because they wanted to - to be fair most of the time it had been Adam who had set foot in the building. You had accompanied him often enough to know about the elevator that went down there, it was used for Adam to travel down to hell safely when the yearly meeting with Lucifer popped up on his agenda.

You weren't sure why, you weren't sure what it was either but something was calling you, tempting you to use the elevator and go down to hell. Maybe it was so that you could say a proper goodbye to Adam? That had to be it. It probably wouldn't help much, why would it? But it was worth a shot. And you needed the voices compelling you to visit hell to shut up, it was unbearable being reminded about Adam's death daily.

The only angel in heaven that had offered to listen to you was Emily, the little girl had been quick to notice that something wasn't right, that something must've had happened. So you told her since Sera had decided that Emily's only task was to keep the people of heaven happy.

Another bullshit move from heaven, the kid was capable of more.

Once the elevator stopped and its doors opened in front of you, you stepped outside. You thought the voices would quiet down now that you were in hell, but the opposite was the case. The voices and whispers were louder than ever, they were almost screaming, yelling, crying out for you to step outside the Heaven Embassy.

You wanted to scratch your eyes out, rip your ears off, anything that would stop the voices from being so fucking loud. So you listened to them. You stepped outside the church-like building and your eyes roamed over the full streets of hell. There were people everywhere and none of them seemed to pay any mind to you.

Slowly you started to walk away from the building and once your foot stepped on the sidewalk the voices were gone. They didn't quiet down to a whisper, they straight up died, they were gone.

And then you saw him. A gigantic demon with fluffy brown hair, two huge, black horns were attached to his head and you were sure you noticed subtil golden highlights on them too. His face hadn't changed the slightest, he was still pale, maybe even a little paler than he had been as an angel. His eyes were still golden.

Your brain couldn't comprehend what was happening, what you were seeing.

You were seeing Adam.

You rushed over to him, flying faster than ever before. You tackled him to the ground, made sure you'd be the one hitting the ground in order not to hurt him. “Adam,” you whispered happily as you held the taller man tightly. The demon had tensed up at first but the second he had heard his name being spoken so softly, so lovingly, he eased up. “The fuck are you doing here, you crazy bitch,” he mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You didn't respond though, it would be too complicated to explain everything to him and you just got him back.

So instead you wrapped your wings around the both of you and kissed him softly, your hands in his soft, brown hair. The taller man groaned against your lips with pure delight, kissing you back just as passionate. “Dear God, I thought I'd have to die in order to kiss you like that again,” you mumbled against his lips. A soft chuckle rumbled through Adam at that and he pulled you even closer, “Knew it, you can't get enough of me.” You simply placed yet another kiss to his lips, “Correct, that's why I'm gonna stay here. With you.”

Adam froze at that, his arms around your body tightened a little, “You still wanna be with me?” The question seemed stupid to you, what was the man you had married thinking? Of course you still wanted to be with him. “When I was marrying you,” you began, a small kiss placed on his lips, “I vowed to you ‘Through thick and thin',” a quick kiss was pressed to Adam's cheek. “‘Through sickness and health, till death do us part’ and let me tell you babes,” you leaned in close, your lips softly brushed against his ear as you whispered, “We were already past that stage when we got married, I'm not giving you up because God decided to be a motherfucking bitch, that fucker can suck my dick, he won't take you away from me.”

At first Adam didn't respond, he just looked you in the eyes for a couple of seconds. Then he grabbed you by your collar, pulled you closer, closer, closer and hissed, “The only one allowed to suck your fucking dick am I, is that clear?”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #adam x y/n #adam x you #male reader #adam x reader

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ejaysstuff · 8 months ago

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DESIGN REFERENCES FOR LI JINZHA

⚠️NOTE⚠️ I am NOT a researcher, meaning I did not go beyond his baike article for this post, so please don't take this post as a concrete, definite description of Jinzha. Remember that there are different versions of mythology characters all the time, and these are simply some of them. I'm only making this so others can have a starting point in designing him!

Any rbs with corrections/additions are highly welcome!!

Throughout my year of Li Brother Illness TM, I've seen some li brother designs which always makes me incredibly happy. However, I still thought it'd be neat if I shared some stuff that helped inspire my headcannons/designs of the li siblings. This one will be about Jinzha!

I hope this gives a little more insight to my beloveds while also generating more ideas for them <33

Jinzha is described as a handsome young man who wears light yellow/white Taoist robes. Sometimes the ends of his Daoist robes is drawn poofy which is so cute,, he is also depicted wearing a golden hair crown (束发金冠). Other figures like Sun Wukong and Lu Bu wear this too, but with pheasant feathers attached to it

There are also designs that depict him in armor!

SNAKES (蛇）

This is an older version of Jinzha, Bodhisattva Jundali Mingwang. He is a Buddhist figure, and can be seen decorated with red snakes and yellow-collared snakes around his body. He also has a spirit snake (灵蛇), which could either mean a magical snake or a fast and precise one. He uses it as a weapon, which I think means he flings the lil guy at his opponent and it just starts biting them (erlang shen strat with his dog)

While this isn't fsyy Jinzha, I still think it'd be neat to include snake motifs in Jinzha's design more,, plus I think it'd tie in nicely with his Dragon Stake :)

(Bodhisattva Jundali also wields other weapons such as a spear, a whip and a polearm that looks similar to a halberd (戟). Jinzha doesn't have any of these in fsyy, but just gonna put these here if you want more weapons to draw him with :>)

DRAGON STAKE (遁龙桩)

I've shown this weapon briefly here, but I'll show it again so it's much more organized! The Dragon Stake appears time to time in fsyy alongside Jinzha's swords, and is a weapon that can bind any opponent. It's commonly depicted as a pole with three rings. It seems to be able to change its size, growing bigger when in use. In fsyy, Jinzha would sometimes bind the enemy first with the Dragon Stake before finishing them off with his swords.

I was luckily able to find an illustration showing how it looks like in action!

This weapon was used by Jinzha's master before it was passed onto Jinzha. It's also what was used to subdue Nezha when he tried to kill Li Jing

More illustrations with Jinzha holding it:

more illustrations of Jinzha and the stake!

(^illustration credits: 苍狼野兽 on weibo)

VASE OF SWEET DEW (甘露宝瓶)

(For those who use his wikipedia article, the 'Ganlu Treasure Vase' is this.)

甘露 gān lù, meaning sweet dew, is a special substance that functions like holy water. It is contained in a vase, and Bodhisattva Jundali used this to defeat demons. This one doesn't seem to have a particular design, but it looks similar to the one that Bodhisattva Guanyin holds in her hand.

I did find some variations of it online though!

I hope this can give more ideas when drawing Jinzha! There aren't many english sources about him, so maybe this helps make researching a little easier <33

#jinzha #li jinzha #fsyy #chinese mythology #needed my dad to help translate for some of this pfff #jinzha was that kid with a hardcore reptile phase pass it around #manifesting for jinzha content

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got-into-worm-by-mistake · 5 months ago

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Gestation 1.6 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

I didn’t want to be seen fleeing the scene of a fight, and risk being labeled one of the bad guys by yet another person,

Ooof. Again I say. Oof.

All this girl wants is a purpose. She tries for that to be hero, and it ends up not working out for her.

If you’d asked me just a few hours ago about how I thought I would feel meeting a big name superhero, I would have used words like excited and giddy. The reality was that I was almost too exhausted to care.

I do like this touch, both for the character, and because of how it sets the tone for this universe. Who cares who you're meeting? The world's falling apart, and you're fucking tired. Taylor is about to get virtually no rest in the next two years.

When the core group of the top Protectorate members from around Canada and the States assembled in that classic ‘v’ formation for the photo shoots, Armsmaster was one of the guys in the wings. This was a guy who had his own action figures. Poseable Armsmaster with interchangeable Halberd parts.

I like how... practical, Worm worldbuilds the existence of superheroes? Like, yes, it's not as if Wildbow invented the superheroes in-universe being commodified like this, but there's something about this phrasing of it here that really works for me in painting the picture.

Stepping closer to me, he tilted his head, “You don’t look like one.” That stung, especially coming from him. It was like Michael Jordan saying you sucked at basketball. “That’s… not intentional,” I responded, not a little defensively, “I was more than halfway done putting the costume together when I realized it was already looking more edgy than I’d intended, and I couldn’t do anything about it by then.”

Ooof, Armsmaster. Man. Foot. Mouth.

On the other hand, I think Taylor is just overreacting a bit. It's less 'Michael Jordan saying you suck at basketball' and more 'Michael jordan saying your uniform sucks'. And Armsy isn't exactly wrong, is he?

I had considered applying to join, but the notion of escaping the stresses of high school by flinging myself into a mess of teenage drama, adult oversight and schedules seemed self-defeating.

You know, one thing I see in the fandom is to what extent Taylor going the villain/Independent route was actually essential. Some people think it was vital, some people seem to think not so much, in the end the same effect could be achieved if she'd joined the Wards...

We'll see what I think when we get that far.

But I do understand the impulse for some fanfics that want to explore some what-ifs to feel like Scion is actually an inhibitor to storytelling freedom. Because whatever AU they write, no matter the changes they explore, sooner or later, the golden idiot is gonna try to destroy the world.

Then again, what happened in canon wasn't the only way to beat him, and yet... no one else was coming up with anything that worked by the time Taylor pulled a Khepri, so... who knows.

“I’ll try to look at it that way,” I said, struck by how he easily he was able to employ the whole ‘take a negative and turn it into a positive’ mindset I’d been trying to maintain. I envied that.

Easy to do from his position. I don't know what his trigger was, or if it's ever given, but it was presumably some time ago. I gather from some commentary that there's at least some notion one never moves entirely past their trigger event, but age and distance has to play some role in it.

Taylor is 15. Everything seems like the end of the world at that age.

Really, who the fuck authorized teenagers to be given this sort of power? :P

“Lung has an extensive gang throughout Brockton Bay and neighboring cities.

Really? That's never come up in fics, though it's always made sense. But then, it did make sense that something like E88 wouldn't only be in Brockton Bay, and yet, it never seems to have figured into things.

Granted, everything I know about superhero media is that it does tend to make 'the city' where the action happens seem both incredibly small and incredibly large, and weirdly isolated from the rest of the world.

I gather Worm averts some of that, but probably not all of that. It is still trapped by certain conventions of the genre.

“You’re saying I shouldn’t take the credit,” I said. “I’m saying you have two options. Option one is to join the Wards, where you’ll have support and protection in the event of an altercation. Option two is to keep your head down. Don’t take the credit. Fly under the radar.”

The wikipedia summary (and large chunks of the fandom) presents this as Armsmaster stealing credit out of being like, a glory-hound, and he's sure being... not ideal in how he presents this whole thing, but equally, again, he's not wrong.

And he's not being that bad. Doesn't come off as glory hound. But I suppose this, paired with some of the other stuff coming down the pipeline for him really colors his perception.

“Please keep my involvement in Lung’s capture secret,” I told him, painfully disappointed to have to say it, even as I knew it made the most sense.

Again, I think Armsmaster has a point, but honestly, I think he forgot what it was like to be a teenage hero, assuming he was one. He really should have considered how much the recognition would have mattered to her.

It could have gone worse. Strange as it sounds, those words were a security blanket I wrapped around myself to keep myself from dwelling on the fact that tomorrow was a school day.

In this scene alone, Armsmaster doesn't come off that bad. Yet. We'll see how he comes off when Taylor calls him about trying to go undercover. I've heard he's a bigger ass then. But then, he was supposed to be a huge ass here, and he's just not.

#worm #worm web serial #wormblr #worm parahumans #worm wildbow #kylia reads worm #Gestation 1.6 #Taylor Hebert #I keep wanting to call it 'Herbert' which is what I've been doing for a while honestly #Armsmaster

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landoftheway · 2 years ago

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Doing my first playthrough of FE: 3 Hopes now that I finished Elden Ring, and I realized my brain was even bigger than I thought for basing my Tarnished on Edelgard:

I initially made that decision to create both a parallel and a contrast to Ranni since that was far and away my favorite ending and she’s my favorite Elden Ring character. Both Ranni and Edelgard are bisexual women obsessed with overthrowing the status quo for the sake of a better future even if it means committing evils in the present. However whereas Ranni is associated with ice, magic, and a blue and white color scheme, my Tarnished by the end of the game becomes associated with fire, strength, and a red and gold color scheme. Ranni tends to take an indirect path to her goals; plotting from the shadows, acting through multiple agents, and perfectly willing to deceive if necessary. My Tarnished instead always takes a direct path to her objectives, relying first and foremost on her own strength (with the very occasional ally when the opportunity presents itself), and is honest to a fault. I’d like to think within the more unstated aspects of Elden Ring’s narrative that the two wind up drawn together because of both their similar goals and all of the above differences.

However, I realized that this basis for my character actually worked diagetically in more ways than I’d initially realized. I used the Hero class to build my Tarnished since it’s what was the most optimal to get the final stat spread I needed, but it actually makes a lot of sense for my character along with her Aristocrat descendance. Like Edelgard my Tarnished is from a noble family who experienced a trauma in their relative youth (exile from the lands between in the Tarnished’s case) which would go on to shape their desire to seek power to overthrow the status quo that caused that trauma in the first place. Given that the Hero class is described as “a stalwart Hero, at home with a battleaxe, descended from a badlands chieftain”, if we treat that descendance as being more metaphorical in this case I’d like to think my Tarnished after their exile specifically chose to emulate Hoarah Loux. His leadership of the other Tarnished, overwhelming power, and belief in the right of those who’ve obtained power to rule would definitely appeal to my Tarnished, and would thus explain why they show up in the Lands Between in badlands attire and wielding an axe (she’d also probably look up to Nepheli Loux for much of the early game after meeting her for similar reasons).

The way my Tarnished would develop as I pursued my final build also works diagetically. She starts with a crude battle axe whose associated Ash of War is Wild Strikes, reflecting her likewise crude imitation of the person she’s chosen to emulate to grow stronger. As she gets stronger she switches to using a greataxe with the Ash of War Lion’s Claw along with a hodgepodge of more weighty armor, showing her improvements in both strength and skill as well as her pursuit of an identity and strength distinct from just emulating Hoarah Loux. By the time she’s fought through Leyndell and decided to burn the Erdtree with Melina, my Tarnished has at last settled on the Gargoyle’s Halberd with the Ash of War Flaming Strike; the slight change in style of weapon reflects her settling on her own fully distinct style of combat and way of life, the fire ability is a parallel to her now directly blasphemous actions against the Golden Order while still tying into her core belief in personal strength (and also creates a parallel with how Edelgard is able to imbue her axe with fire in 3 Hopes), and her final armor set is a mix of different once-noble warriors (Leyndell Knight Greaves, Cleanrot Knight Gauntlets, Radahn’s Lion Armor, and a Great Horned Headband) sharing a motif of gold accented by red (again, tying back to burning the Erdtree and the creation of something truly new from the old).

All of this of course culminates in the fight with Godfrey. Like him my Tarnished is fighting for the sake of her god-queen to put the old order of the world to bed, but quite clearly the Age of Stars she’s fighting for is fundamentally distinct than anything Godfrey would make with Marika at his side once more. And more directly apparent, by this point my Tarnished has surpassed him in martial ability with an axe-like weapon to the extent that he has to stop acting as a lord at all and revert back to fighting as the real Hoarah Loux (who I’d presume my Tarnished never saw given the presence of Serosh during Godfrey/Hoarah’s time leading the Long March of the Tarnished). So by the end my Tarnished has surpassed both the figure she idolized and who he truly was by finding her own identity and strength.

#i honestly don't usually put this much thought into designing video game OCs #but once i realized all these parallels were there i couldn't stop thinking about them #elden ring

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crazy-form · 2 years ago

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omg in my playthru of ds1 right now i just rung the second bell and did i think the next two/three bosses after that but now i'm stuck again TT i would say that imo… having played all of them except demon souls.. perhaps a bit controversial!!! but i personally found dark souls 3 and elden ring to be the easiest! mostly in terms of like, most user friendly esp towards new players! 3 was the first one i actually finished finished, then i played bloodborne and i really love it sm that one is my fave and i think that one can be a bit easier if you like playing at a faster pace? if that makes sense? it's def more fast paced! but the hardest ones for me have been ds2 bc the mechanics are soo so different and then sekiro was a really steep learning curve for me!!

i've seen lots of rumors and theories going around that the dlc could be something like miq's dreamworld in his egg thingy and that godwyn could be involved SO im hopeful 👁️👁️

im doing a faith+elden beast greatsword run in my ng+ now to mix things up but im honestly a big big fan of the dex+arc builds hehe my first playthru i did rivers of blood!! i played like right on release so i didn't deal with all the patching and enemy scaling so when i did it, the weapon was a lot less op imo i dont know why they even patched it to begin with kkfddfkd but i really wanna try a moonveil playthru then i THINK i wanna try using a halberd bc i always have so much fun with those after i do my faith run but like you said the holy damage sucks so bad in this game that i'm not sure if i'll be able to stick to my plans 😭

it's funny bc in each game there's always one thing that kinda sucks… like in ds3 the bleed damage is like ULTRA trash bc they patched it to be worse but ds1 tbh has a good balance? i'm currently using a morningstar for bleed buildup in my playthru of that one and it's been going well for me so far!

no i agree with you!! especially elden ring really is very beginner friendly!! and i think that's kinda what fromsoft aimed for with this game 🥰 i have yet to play ds3 tho... and ALSO i have heard a lot of bad things about ds2... i try avoiding spoilers as much as i can, including game mechanics and such but even the little i heard about the game, i can confidently say i'm terrified of playing it 🧡

ohhh that's fun though!! yeah sorry to say dex+arc builds are easy mode sdjafkhlasdjfh but i respect it!!! seriously!! it feels higher paced and it's a nice change from strength builds! but personally i prefer feeling like i didn't cheese the boss with frost + bleed + god knows what else jdfhljdsaf i do that when helping someone kill a boss though jsdfhasjdfh can you believe i never in my life touched moonveil... i feel like i should have at LEAST tried it but... yeah... but i can only recommend using halberds!! the golden one from the limgrave tree sentinel is especially fun! and holy damage sucks but honestly unless you're on ng+3 or higher it doesn't make that much of a difference 🥰 i went for a holy build on ng+4... regrets......... so many regrets......... all the late game bosses have 80 resistance to it..... sdjfhsjdfhs

oh yeah i used morning star in ds1!! then i found claymore oops. but i'm definitely taking notes for when i play ds1 again 👀 but i love my claymore so much sjkafhljksfh

#🍑 mail #sanchelinz #luna <3 #good luck with your tattoo btw!! 🥰 saw your post hehe #hope whatever you decide for will make you happy!

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sillovn · 7 months ago

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Adventures of the Aurora Saint

Became inspired to play ER again, so I finally finished the game on the Int/Fth character. Here's some thoughts.

~ Background ~

I still very much like (and stuck with) the character theme of "Snowfield Paladin". The idea being Cold status and the Light spells (ie. auroras) would be central to the build.

Lore wise, I imagined him as an ex-fundamentalist or "proto-Miquellan Knight"; a servant of Miquella who traveled into the northern snow in search of a place to plant the (future) Haligtree. He dies on expedition, but is revered as a minor saint in future times.

~ Build ~

Character ended being a spellsword+support incants. We had a very distinct Int=offense, Fth=defense split in our kit; both for lore and ease of control reasons. As per usual, I don't like pure-caster or 'dual-caster' sorc+incant styles, hence the focus on melee.

Here's the final stats...

Mainhand: Glintstone Kris

Offhand: Zweihander + Golden Order Seal

We want to use Glintstone Kris' projectile weapon art quickly in fights. Meanwhile, buff incants and using 2H Zweihander (we cannot use it 1H) is something done before combat (or at least requires a big disengage during fights). Put simply, Mainhand = "fast actions", Offhand = "slow actions".

This works because Mainhand takes priority for weapon arts (when off-hand has 'No-Skill'). By soft swapping to our 2nd Offhand (Seal), we get to immediately fire Glintstone Kris. Thus, if you do the reverse (Offhand - Kris), one also needs to 2H the Kris to use it's weapon art. Having G.Kris + Seal out at the same time also lets us easily access all our ranged combat tools in the same place.

Essentially; swap "style" from melee to ranged with 1 button. Though switching back to melee requires 2 buttons (swap Offhand > 2h grip). Its not that big of a deal though, since ranged combat gives you space from the enemy; and thus time to switch back to melee.

Zweihander was used with magic infusion. The original cold infusion idea is not very good on our stats. Still, its possible to have most of both worlds thanks to 'Freezing Mist' AoW. It procs cold more less in 1-hit, and there's few other weapon arts that pair well with colossal sword class anyway.

Feeding into this, we had Banish Knight Halberd as a 2nd melee weapon (Offhand hardswap). Here, we had a ranged frost attack in 'Ice Spear'. Ended up using the Halberd sparingly, mostly because I enjoy the distinct melee/range swapping style the main weapon setup had - having another range attack was excessive IMO.

Some alternatives to Glintstone Kris as a 'bullet stick' were any light weapon + Glintblade Phalanx. And of course, Sword of Night and Flame.

Spell options were largely lore-driven, I used support incants + Golden Order sanctioned offense spells (ie. Golden Order discs + assorted Dragonbolts). Though, having assorted Int weapon arts meant that 'generic projectile' Incants had no real use. By the end, incants were largely for buff, though the occasional Discus/Lightning Spear still had a use (namely, evasive enemies don't dodge them well).

Which then brings up the question; is it a good idea to run such an odd hybrid just to use some buffs? Unlikely.

Yeah, Golden Vow is good. But what if instead of spending FTH for a temporary dmg/def buff - we just add INT for more damage, or END to wear better armour?

Since we finished the game before hitting Meta-level, there's still a few points to spend. The current MIND/END values are not optimal, and one can easily throw more END for better armour. Alternatively, more STR to 1H Zwei.

In the end, Im really fond of the character. Sure, hes mostly a 'jank spellsword' with support spells - nothing that a pure 60 INT character couldn't do better. At least, if you only count offense in solo play. The weird combo of Int missiles/frost + Fth buffs, IMO make him a very interesting PVE coop phantom - and Ill taking him to the DLC as such.

Below is some discussion about INT+FTH hybrid weapons.

~ 50 for Damage ~

One common statement about Int/Fth is the lack of weapons besides Sword of Night+Flame. And while its true that Int/Fth has no dedicated infusion, consider that in ER - damage is pretty free.

What Im trying to say is; ER lets you have way more damage than you ever need. Also, plenty of weapons/spells will hit hard without optimal stats.

The idea I ended going for is "50 damage stat". This something Ive picked up from PvP, where you get 50 in your main damage stat and spread out the rest to wear more armour/use a greater diversity of weapons. Sure, this isn't a PvP char - but the logic here is to do an uneven split of Int>Fth, treating Fth as a utility stat (sort of).

Main reason for Int > Fth stat spread is that you get more utility splashing Fth than Int. Int>Fth gets to use Int offensive tools + Fth utility tools - while the inverse doesn't work since Int doesn't have much in the way of utility.

Since Golden Order Seal scales Int/Fth equally within the 30-45 softcap bracket (eg. there's no difference between 40/30 or 35/35). Thus, the ideal Int/Fth ratio depends on what incants you want, and if offensive spellcasting is your main goal.

Worth noting that for Incantations, going above 30 Fth gives few new spells (above 35, even fewer). For support incants - Protection of the Erdtree (35 fth), is last the major one. There's the advanced heals/regen spells but those are not that much/strictly better than the basic versions. For offense, pretty much all 30+Fth incants are some form of cataclysmic AOE attack (see. Radagon's Ring, the various Dragon Lightnings). How many do you really need? (if any at all).

The 45 softcap also means that our weapon/spell ideal stats are not in sync, which leads to...

~ The 45+5 setup ~

A solution I settled on was 45 Int + Heirloom talisman (Int or Fth). Throw on the +5 Int if you want to swing weapons, hitting the magic infusion softcap (50). Swap for +5 Fth to in you want better offensive casting.

This was because we were squeezed for levels during most of the playthrough. For the final build (depending on target 125-150), you can easily ignore this swap.

That is all for today.

#build journal #elden ring #adventures of the aurora saint

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ltadoriyuujl · 1 month ago

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read the cws on this one and immediately had to put it down and come back when i was in a better position to not explode on impact but im back and GOD was it worth it. let's get into it.

You wake first, tucked and folded into the space between your prince’s chest and the wall.

smth smth bkg would hollow out his chest if it meant we could sleep even a bit more soundly

“Selfish fucking–” “You're injured,” you try to dip closer in inspection but Bakugou riots. In the ballroom he clung to you, in the shadows he invited you close, in this hallway he is the sun of your orbit. He is fire. Your prince jerks a hand over your bandaged heart without much mind to your company and seethes, “You are reckless.” “I am exceptional,” you breathe without thinking. He is the brightest, angriest thing in the sky. He is arora and you’re a girl in golden fields, staring. His fingers warm your breast where dragontooth used to perch. Does he not get it? “I will die for you.”

this part made my head spin bakugo vs falling in love with ppl who can kick his ass and are not apologetic about it

“Pantry mission.” Kaminari shrugs to hoist his bread basket high enough for you to see, “Food and rest..” he grins Alderan. You finish, “build blood.”

it's kinda crazy the real allegiance i feel to this fake country. need a tshirt that says proud citizen of aldera

Soldier Sero instinctively drops his head to speak to you, “No sign of him since last night.”

this shouldnt have made me giggle like it did I LIKE WHEN MEN ARE SUBMISSIVE SUE ME

“Kill a mage, call for help, go the fuck home,” Mina grumbles with a moutful of bread.

she's so real love her

He glows in the remnants of his formalwear, stripped down to a bloody undershirt and charred white trousers.

i know he looks so good with his arms out GOD

“Me?” You almost snort. He tries not to let your amusement warm him, not an ember, not a spark. You begin fingering through your bandages again and he instinctively reaches to stop you. “You are not my queen to be doling out orders like that.”

i really do love how both bkg AND eyes grew over the course of the story. she never wouldve dreamed of this conversation back in featherbit

Bakugou is a cocky brawler on his first day of training with Jeanist and you are lugging weapons to the Keep. He is suffering through class and you are just outside the window, rushing to your lessons still trailing smoke and dragonfire. He is kneading dough before the holiday feast in roaring kitchens and you are armed, halberd and crossbow over your shoulder, collecting a plate the cooks put aside for you.You are supposed to be sleeping. He is supposed to be sleeping. You are both pretending to watch the stars and not each other in the library at midnight.

they're having a yearning off. a devotion competition if you will.

He stops you talking with a shake of his head and winces again when you rip another bandage free, “Will you stop it!”

You are swelling with Alderan fire, a pot boiling over, a hound, a dragon, a phoenix itching to fight. When you smile for bloodlust it is even more beautiful. He doesn’t know he is holding you until you stop speaking.

they're so "missionary to continue our argument from before" coded

“..Katsuki,” you murmur, and he kisses you. You who are just like him.

pomme if you were listening closely you could actually hear me cheering and screaming from halfway across the world

“I’m sorry,” he gasps in correction. He holds your head in his hands like a gentle promise even as his bones break themselves to be closer.

he needs to be fused to her bonesss he needs to be in her skinnn REAL MEN ARE BACK

He is nervous, he is trembling, you are something else, something black and infinite.

scared and horny alternating like a feedback loop in his mind until they become the same emotion

Your prince takes your jaw back up between his fingers and molds his lips to yours like he might give his life to you.

im dizzy im dizzy ive waited 87 years for this day and it was worth every second

He catches your throat with his teeth in your surprise above him and lays as many kisses up your pulse as you will let him before cupping his stinging jaw back up where you want it.

feeding my "katsuki the hickey king" addiction THANK YOU POMME

The swell of your thighs is unbearable in his palms. Your tattered dress parts for him– your damp flesh vibrates with his magic and he wants to sink so deeply inside of you– it is the only thing can could heal this ache, the one thing to make it worse. He wants to hear just one noise. Who taught you not to make a sound? Why can’t he stay quiet?

it is too much the picture of you, laid out under him in half-torn clothes, overheating, breathless– inside, let me have you, hips grinding through this heat until–

need to be bouncing and gasping and moaning on it OMG WHO SAID THAT

“Please,” Hawks groans, suffocating, into the Alderan pillows propping him up on the bed, “don’t fuck in here.”

genuinely made me laugh

bkg and anika 🤝 bkg and eyes

"for the love of GOD get a room without an audience"

“She’s,” he grunts, thrashing against his restraints, “she’s escaped.”

SOUND THE ALARM WE GOT A RUNNERRRRRR

anyway this chapter cleared my skin watered my crops seasoned my food to perfection WE LOVE YOU POMMEEEEE

𝟏𝟗 | 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"He quiets you with the sound and your smile falls. You are captain of the guard all dressed in red, training squires on spring mornings. He is the king who rises at dawn to watch you."

cw suggestive, kissing among other things, tooth tongue saliva, fingers and lips, manhandling, grinding, disregarded injuries, an audience if you squint. a beleaguered team regroups in the castle underbelly and someone is a flight risk. yn is thrilled and itching to fight but her prince can't focus. he can't let her go 5.2k

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Autumn in Takoba is hell everywhere else and even with the first ticklings of sunrise, the cold is immeasurable. Like the queen made a deal with grief and now her country becomes her heart. You wake first, tucked and folded into the space between your prince’s chest and the wall.

Your comfort is found between groggy thoughts, in the rough blanket someone has wrapped you up with, and in Bakugou’s arm that falls over your waist to keep that warmth inside of it. He’s dreaming, muttering something into the back of your head. He smells like home. Even unconscious, his bicep strains through the effort of holding something gently.

The night returns to you in pieces under the pathetic white light of a candle sconce. Something nearby reeks of the sea. A single roll of your shoulder confirms the bandages there, crusted in stiff blood and still too sore to stifle a wince because you were something not quite war fodder. A golden hand flexes broad across your stomach when you fidget in the dark. You were a guest at the queen’s ball, you were target practice, you killed Takobans. You underestimated your bloodloss. You are falling through the air into Bakugou’s arms again, dancing, glowing, bleeding, clingy. The king embraces his undead son. The mage. You fly up to sitting so quickly the world cannot react to you.

Bakugou is curled around the space you left in the dark, bloody and spattered with ash. His own blanket is pulled up over his jaw to ward off the chill and behind him is Mina, cheek flush to his back. Blood crusts down her temple in a path from her hair.

Sweat has soaked into the two places the prince held you most closely and chills now in the free air, heat and damp from his breath at the nape of your neck and down the small of your back where his hips cradled yours all bundled in good-enough blankets. The sweat is welcomed, it is ammunition, it is warm, it’s proof of your still beating heart. Don’t need a fucking babysitter. Cover yourself. Quit starin’. Don’t call me that. Eyes! You are mine. His eyebrows flex and knit in the seconds before he wakes up, but he is safe and he is exhaustingly whole.

It stinks like ocean foam because this hallway where you shelter is in the bowels of the castle, deep in its belly, tucked under the kitchens where your prince hid from you for weeks. Damp stone, fire in the air, the memory of this hallway from over the prince’s shoulder. Of stepping through the only red door here and returning to Aldera.

“Y/n?” A voice floats in whispers through the dark and down the hallway from the dim light of another candle.

“Who's there?”

There’s no response, no time, before one golden hand is flat across your chest and your prince raises his other to the sound, bristling with sparks. Bakugou startles from sleep and pushes you behind him. Mina groans, rubbing the back of her head.

In the dark, damp, and cold, he is made of starlight. When your prince exhales, the frost from him is tinged with tiny sparks.

“Calm down, Sleeping Beauty.”

You realize as the prince does that the voice is Shinsou’s and in the momentary relief Bakugou swings on you. Even before the Takoban guard can emerge from the dark he turns, hands snapped around both your wrists, apprehending his criminal. Red eyes, breath of smoke and a growl, the boy who laughs when he dances is back at home and you are left with the prince who hates your company.

“You.”

A defiant breath falls from you but you don’t dare voice it. No longer hidden in sleep, his still-beautiful face is marred at the jaw, a red burn in the lopsided shape of a hand. You would take his cheeks up in your fingers if he weren’t holding you steadfast. You would take the head of the man who hurt him. Your prince tightens his grip. He is staring strong enough to brand his fury on the backs of your eyes and without his chest, without your blankets, the chill creeps in like a tide.

“Selfish fucking–”

“You're injured,” you try to dip closer in inspection but Bakugou riots.

In the ballroom he clung to you, in the shadows he invited you close, in this hallway he is the sun of your orbit. He is fire. Your prince jerks a hand over your bandaged heart without much mind to your company and seethes, “You are reckless.”

“I am exceptional,” you breathe without thinking. He is the brightest, angriest thing in the sky. He is arora and you’re a girl in golden fields, staring. His fingers warm your breast where dragontooth used to perch. Does he not get it? “I will die for you.”

Too much and not enough, he is spiteful and aggressive and alive, and maybe now he hates you enough for Takoba to have been a dream.

“Where is our company?” You speak again, nerves itching.

“Think they’re lost without miss martyr?”

Mina swats at him but he doesn’t let you go. “What’s wrong with you?” He glows at the edges like you haven’t seen since the forest outside Takoba. Bakugou’s teeth are bared but his wrath is different than before. He’s not picking a fight, he’s not forcing himself free of you. Your prince holds you tight in front of him where you cannot hide. He stares.

“Highness, where are they?”

“In the castle,” Shinsou interjects. He points up with a finger when he approaches your little group and emerges from the shadows in odd pieces of armor– greaves, cuisses, and faulds but nothing other than light padding on his chest. He yawns and he is bloodspattered. He looks like Uraraka and your panic begins to rise.

“Highness?” You turn back to the scarred prince who will not release you. Kirishima is not nearby, Kaminari and Sero, Uraraka, Fuyumi– “There’s no time, we–”

“We? We don’t have to do anything,” he drops you gently even though he is angry and you shake out your shoulders on instinct. “You need to sit the fuck down for once in your life and trust someone without a stab wound to shovel this shit.”

The hallway is different than you remember, it is colder without your fever, it’s taller. Shinsou yawns again and behind him you can just make out mixed voices in the dark. Your prince is orange amber, molten honey, chip and shoulder. He does not rise but tosses blankets away towards you like he no longer needs comfort. Mina glares over his back.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s almost dawn,” she replies, helpful, not so much like magma. “We escaped down here with a few others but–”

A sudden scraping door overhead forces your group to lurch towards the ground. Shinsou drops to a crouch, hand on sword, and creeps forwards into the dark. Bakugou isn’t far behind, a warning hand outstretched to try and keep you down. “Fear not soggy citizens,” a voice hisses from the source of the sound and Bakugou straightens immediately. “We’re back.”

“Took you long enough,” Shinsou is firm but fond and you and Mina creep behind your prince to peer deeper into the dark. The charred remains of her white gown are stiff with mixed blood. Who’s out there? A few shapes catch light from a sconce past Shinsou’s shoulder and you have never been so unarmed in your life. The prince refuses to let you in front of him.

The light ahead flickers when someone handles it. Prince Natsuo�� dusty but alive, thank gods– is illuminated clearly for a moment as he takes a candle from its sconce and a pair of footsteps descend from the kitchen door above. Kaminari and Shinsou stride down the last stairs into their prince’s hidden hallway and beam over a bounty of bread baskets.

More candles are lit by the Takoban prince and the hallway is quickly not so dark and not so lonely. A handful of Takoban lords and ladies lay scattered at the edges of the hall, all deep in sleep. It’s difficult to navigate but you rush past a golden arm and towards the Alderan boys, rejoicefully free of blood, as quickly as you might without stepping on sleeping hands so that your relief doesn’t overflow in loud noises.

“Where were you?”

“Pantry mission.” Kaminari shrugs to hoist his bread basket high enough for you to see, “Food and rest..” he grins Alderan.

You finish, “build blood.”

Sero starts speaking over your shoulder and you turn to catch the briefing for your prince and the Takoban guard, “There were no combatants in the kitchens. A few shuffling feet from the dining hall when we checked under the doors, otherwise,” he hands his basket off to a bloody and impatient Mina, “otherwise, I think they must be patrolling the exits.”

Bakugou grunts and chews at his cheek. It’s not lost on you how pointedly everyone speaks over your head, like you would throw yourself onto the nearest broadsword if given the chance to fight. Though, if you could see the amount of blood in your bandages you might hesitate to speak to you too. The cloth is stiff with it even if you’re no longer bleeding, but the wound that pinned you to the floor, the poison that knocked you from consciousness, no longer grip you with their icy fingers and you thank Shuzenji. You’re sore not a war casualty. Your friends are being hunted upstairs. If it takes the general’s voice to be noticed, so be it.

“Where is the mage?”

Soldier Sero instinctively drops his head to speak to you, “No sign of him since last night.”

“No new fires,” adds Kaminari, “he could be anywhere.”

“Where is the doctor?”

“You’re awake.” You turn to the new rasp from the floor. Screaming her son’s name once used up all her voice like a long night singing and Queen Rei is scorched at the edges, but alive, in a pile of rumpled skirts. She sits among her sleeping people as Natsuo lights a candle for her to hold, “The doctor is upstairs, I’m afraid.”

“Still with the princess?”

She stiffens but nods, “We can hope.”

If that’s the case, you can also hope that they’re being protected by the two champions you left them with. You speak as you turn, “How,” and Bakugou’s silent eyes are the first you catch, full of something, “are all these people still asleep?”

The group gestures to Shinsou in their own ways– Kaminari cocks his head, Sero points with a shoulder– “We couldn’t know who was friend or foe,” the apprentice clarifies of the civilians the group managed to collect on their way down to the safety of this underbelly. “We still don’t know. It’s not safe to keep them conscious with the queen, not while we have so many injured.”

“How do we proceed?”

The group hums for a moment before Sero clears his throat, “We can’t escape with a group this big,” he looks to the bodies littered and pushed to the sides of the hallway, “we could be caught and with so few fighters, with so many injuries…we’d have to send a scout ahead and Shinsou’s the only one here besides His Highness and Her Majesty who knows this castle well enough to outsmart turncoat guards.”

Your ears perk at the claim and your prince bristles. Takobans are not the only ones here who have memorized cold hallways.

Kaminari interjects, “But without Shinsou here to keep the civilians out cold, if a potential traitor wakes up–”

“Worse– if the scout is caught upstairs with no way to communicate– overwhelmed in numbers– gods forbid the mage– we don’t know what weapons they have up there but we have to assume that it’s, it’s everything.”

No help’s come yet,” Mina adds to Sero’s point and drops to a seat on the cold floor to eat.

“So assume none will,” you exhale and she shrugs in agreement. You nod a few times and review your company. They are battered, all of them, and your breath inflates frost in stubborn puffs. Assume every enemy is dressed in Takoba’s full armory, how many survived the night? How many know about this secret Alderan hallway?

If the royals stay hidden here, Shinsou must stay too. Two exits, one to the kitchens and the other straight out to the beach where any mage worth their magic would keep a close eye. Too open. The only way is up, and more accurately, through. “We just need contact with the outside. Reinforcements.”

“Blasty could get out no problem, but we have to assume guards stationed in the city are working for the mage too.”

“Can we get word to Aldera? Another kingdom nearby?” Kaminari speaks with his hands like he’s grasping at thoughts “Carrier pigeon?”

“Not how those work.” You massage your knuckles with your thumbs, “We need the doctor.”

Mina’s magic hasn’t returned, what about Aizawa? Is Hawks alive? This party isn’t enough without the doctor’s magic, You need Kirishima and Uraraka, and the youngest Todoroki prince and his champion if you could manage it. Where is the useless king?

“If there were no injuries what would the plan be?” You roll your sore shoulder back and then freeze. There’s a weight under your bandages.

“Kill a mage, call for help, go the fuck home,” Mina grumbles with a moutful of bread. She rifles through Sero’s basket to find the softest pieces. Rolls are tossed to conscious members of the party, fresh and sweet, and you catch Bakugou’s eyes once more. His clenched fists give off the faintest popping. The prince you know wouldn’t be so quiet, he wouldn’t let his friends– wouldn’t let anyone– venture into the dangers of the castle without him.

“Highness?” you attempt as Mina pelts him with a pandemain. “Are you injured?”

Mina raises her hand, “I’m injured.”

The question unbalances Bakugou who simmers behind you, but he redirects his anger quickly enough with a gnash of rations. His burn almost glows under his jaw. “Course not, you are.”

“It’s my job to be injured, sir. What are your orders?”

He snaps forward but you are already palming your bandages. It’s still there. He glows in the remnants of his formalwear, stripped down to a bloody undershirt and charred white trousers. He glows in anger, he glows with something you don’t recognize and the prince who hates your company thrills you once more. You will kill the mage and you will take him home. You press your fingers to the shape tucked between your bandages like holding a hand over your heart.

“Then, I request an audience with His Highness Bakugou Katsuki.”

Hell can’t deny you. Bakugou reluctantly marches you down the dark hall and curses Alderan pride. A prince would never refuse his general’s audience.

You’re walking well, your breathing is even. He clenches his jaw instead of picturing the last time you came to his room, half on his back, half in his arms, all saltwater and sweat heartbroken with fever. The braids you keep neat at home fray in Takoba. The remains of your red dress are eaten black with burns and you are more phoenix than dragon ahead of him in this hellish castle.

“In,” he grunts when the red door is finally in front of you, “quietly.”

You turn around to confirm, turn into his chest and look up at him with those horrible eyes he loves to see watching. He rolls his own and pushes you both inside.

The air is iron with blood. You startle the second you enter because Captain Hawks is sprawled sideways on the bed under furs, back exposed to the cold air without life in the fireplace. His wings, wings, are a collection of odd scorched feathers protruding from his spine like boney fingers and a few feathers litter the pillows keeping him turned on his side.

They did their best posting him up after carrying him from the party, but even Bakugou concedes the scene is grim.

Candles are lit at intervals around the room, a few on the mantle and a dozen around the floor on mismatched candlesticks. Furs and tapestries are nailed over windows so that the light can’t be seen from outside. Aldera is three days away, home is only three days away and he can’t even get his people outside of the city gates– outside of the castle.

You take a deep breath and face him, “What’s your–” But he can’t let you speak.

“You’re not fighting. No more, you are completely reckless.”

“Stay here.”

“You are my job,” your voice staggers a bit when his hands take up yours to keep them from pulling at your bandages but you stare through surprise with glinting, obsidian eyes, “my purpose.”

Will you stay when this is over?

You stare through him and Bakugou stares at you in the candlelit chill of this makeshift bedroom. “Who mended your cape, Highness?”

He furrows both brows and sighs. He won’t win, “A friend.”

You’re smiling now which he should hate and in one jerk of your arm you tear a strip of bandage free. Dust of blood and the crack of its cast make him wince, but under the red material, soaked pink from your wound, is a small stitched square, a repair date, and a family seal. Yaoyorozu. “The traveling merchants Yaoyorozu don’t only mend capes.”

“And?” Of course they don’t. They’re the richest family on the continent, engineers, the lot of them.

“This seal is on half the tonics in the potions closet and on half more in the pantry. Weapons, clothing, ammunition–”

He stops you talking with a shake of his head and winces again when you rip another bandage free, “Will you stop it!”

“Aldera couldn’t study dragons without the tools that family designed– Takoba would succumb to winter every year without their insulation, without one of their boats in port. They are ubiquitous.” You continue unwrapping yourself, bare skin becoming raw scar until a piece of glass glints under the last of the wrappings. You tug it free before the stiff bandages even fall, and press it into Bakugou’s chest.

The glass is warm with the heat of your heart and you beam so close to him. He studies you. His hand closes over yours.

“Highness, we can fight with this. We can fight the mage and what we have left we’ll bring home. The Yaoyorozus can engineer something to reverse the effects– we have allies– not just them, we aren’t– aren’t–” You are swelling with Alderan fire, a pot boiling over, a hound, a dragon, a phoenix itching to fight. When you smile for bloodlust it is even more beautiful. He doesn’t know he is holding you until you stop speaking.

Bakugou cups both of your cheeks as you offer up the mage’s stolen vial of poison. You are formidable. You are terrifying. He holds you like you might go out candlefast in a breeze.

“We can still–”

“Y/n,” he quiets you with the sound and your smile falls. You are captain of the guard all dressed in red, training squires on spring mornings. He is the king who rises at dawn to watch you. “Thank you.”

The corner of your bodice has been cut away to expose your wound for the doctor and it is raw at its edges so close to your heart. Your collarbone shines with the new and mended skin there. Another scar from a wound that might have killed you, another injury you took in his place. You are reckless but that’s not the problem. Maybe derealization will hit Aldera after you die. Did you outsmart the ghost even as you were being raised from the dead?

“Highness–”

“Don’t.” Bakugou traces the shape of your pulse with his thumbs, “Don’t call me that.”

He’s hardly thought about home since you laughed with him on the catwalks. Since he gave you his hands to do what you’d like with and you told him they make something beautiful. He always thought he might not be able to hold things gently. He knows it’s hard, he knows his hands are meant to break and burst and destroy, but you are a relief. Your hands can kill, they can catch, they fold laundry, they break joints, and they tremble when sparks run through them.

“I don’t–”

“Anything but that, anything. Asshole, coward–” he wants to be upset with you, it is easier when you hate him. It is easier to fight.

“Bakugou.”

Closer. He knows there’s no time but he wants to be closer. You clutch the vial tight in one hand and rest the other over his bloodstained heart. He can feel your heartbeat in the curve of your jaw with his clumsy, heavy fingers. He shakes his head.

“..Katsuki,” you murmur, and he kisses you. You who are just like him.

Your back finds a wall smoothly this time when he dips low to catch your lips with his. There is no desperate grabbing, no stumbling, tripping, every push of his tongue against yours is deep and slow and starving. Your hand cups his chest in both protest and invitation, somehow you are scalding, somehow you are hungrier.

There is a thank you that chases every parting of your lips for everything he owes you. He owes you two lifetimes and a spar. More than that. He presses deeper. Blood flakes from his blond hair when your fingers rake through it and you pull just enough to make him growl.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps in correction. He holds your head in his hands like a gentle promise even as his bones break themselves to be closer.

You manage, “wait,” through the pause and when he jerks back you are no longer the nervous soldier crying in cold hallways. He is nervous, he is trembling, you are something else, something black and infinite. You lower your hand to his cheek and stare almost too close to see him clearly. The hand that kills becomes soft fingers that drift over his temple and push his shaggy hair from his eyes. You watch every part of him. Your eyes and fingers make shapes of his face as he stands above you, as he submits to your touch happily.

What else can he kiss from you? What will you offer him? Breath and tears, he wants more. Memories, exhaustion, boredom, tell him more about yourself, favorites and enemies, show him more tragedy, selfishness, joy. Take him to study dragons, not your soldiers, not your queen.

Your knuckle ghosts his burn and catches the swell of his lip and the wet there. Time be damned, blue mages, civilians, home and hell wait for you. He rumbles somewhere deep in his chest when your thumb presses just slightly harder, your breath catching, at the soft pink flesh and the tongue that darts out to wet you. Bakugou kisses the tip of your finger, again, again, you swipe saliva under your thumb and he kisses you there, again until you can’t take it anymore and lean forward to taste him. He has no such patience. Your prince takes your jaw back up between his fingers and molds his lips to yours like he might give his life to you. You knock hard against the wall and push against him with just as much force so that he must knock you back again to keep you where he needs you.

More of this, more of your greed, more of your desperation stolen in gasps, more of your body fitting perfectly into his hands. You pull at the neck of his undershirt, nails catching flesh. He’ll praise you. He’ll watch you. He only wanted to kiss you. He doesn’t know what it is to want, to be close to someone he needs to keep.

He can’t push any closer– chest to yours, legs between– you inhale sharply when he rolls too deep and he wants to apologize again but you arch your hips higher on instinct. It almost tips his head back. He thinks he says your name. You press warm and shaky against the thigh that pins you to the door while your lips keep him close, bobbing between sloppy presses and a tongue kneading wet against his. The friction of your hips stutters the yawning starving kisses. Where does he hold you? Sweat collects between his knuckles, the excitement soaks through him, you’re alive you’re alive, he grasps you under your thighs and up into his arms.

The pressure is worse here, you are a fire against the rawest parts of him. He catches your throat with his teeth in your surprise above him and lays as many kisses up your pulse as you will let him before cupping his stinging jaw back up where you want it.

He wants to dance with you. You nip where he offers himself, tongue and lip and neck, because your thrill never left you. He wants to fight, he wants to blow out all the candles and make magic for you in the dark. Bare, his shoulders beg you to find hold there, to grasp and scratch, draw blood, breathe fire, don’t let go of him. The swell of your thighs is unbearable in his palms. Your tattered dress parts for him– your damp flesh vibrates with his magic and he wants to sink so deeply inside of you– it is the only thing can could heal this ache, the one thing to make it worse. He wants to hear just one noise. Who taught you not to make a sound? Why can’t he stay quiet?

“Highness,” you breathe. He will break you of that habit, “Highness, I–”

He grunts the low sound of a question and pulls wet away from your kiss in strings of desperation. He wasn’t– he isn’t thinking. Bakugou loses half his halfgone composure when you stare into him with huge, burning eyes and bring an embarrassed palm up to your lips. His ears catch fire. Immediately he knows both of his cheeks and half of his chest are lost to flush. A chill through the air makes you shiver in his arms, back to the door, and he shudders, his own eyes widening at the crease of your brows and the sound you bite back.

“Your shoulder.” He blinks a thousand more times than necessary, “you–you’re– injury.” He almost drops you, almost falls over. Bakugou lets you to your feet– your braids catch on the wooden door above your startled bonfire eyes and it is too much the picture of you, laid out under him in half-torn clothes, overheating, breathless– inside, let me have you, hips grinding through this heat until–

“Highness,” a different voice drawls from the dark. It kills the thought and the silence of the room so suddenly both of Bakugou’s palms ignite in plumes of violet on either side of you. “Please,” Hawks groans, suffocating, into the Alderan pillows propping him up on the bed, “don’t fuck in here.”

“You’re awake!” You gasp because there’s nothing else to say.

“Not on purpose.”

Your prince cannot form a thought. He’s never had– never wanted the things he wants from you. He’s never been distracted from a fight. You begin patting yourself down, searching for a place to tuck the vial, settling the layers of your dress, pushing your hair back where you like it to lay, clearing your throat, catching your breath.

“Did I hear right?” Hawks grumbles again and the prince prepares to escape the end of the sentence, but both captains continue, “you need a Takoban scout?”

“You’re hardly fit enough for that.” Your tone is all disbelief but excitement shows through your embarrassment and he hates how readily you offer up all those sanguinary thoughts. Bakugou shakes his hair down from where you pushed it. He wipes his face with the back of a fist and sucks his teeth.

You will dive into the castle, you will cut down soldiers and dancers, and you will be killed by the mage before he can get you home all because you made a promise to a queen who is not here. He dreaded this. He should have taken Sero as his second. Kaminari would have done, why didn’t he just leave you?

“Can you walk?”

“I sure can’t fly.”

Bakugou bursts, all blush and bitten lips, “Neither of you are fit for reconnaissance and both of you will heel. We don’t have time to limp through the castle.”

You snap around, bright eyes, teeth shining, possessive and kiss swollen and wild. You turn to fight and then there is a crash. You are between your prince and the thrown open door faster than that injury should have let you.

He has half a mind to toss you over his shoulder when a blast of air so frozen it takes form, shatters through both of you in the doorway. You’re quick to bear through it and without waiting to cover Hawks’s hiding place you’re both down the dark hallway, longing, starvation, wet and warmth left behind you. The damp of the hall freezes over completely underfoot.

“Enemy?” You bark, death to stealth.

“The queen!”

The dim light of your meeting place is more pathetic than before, now that candles are dashed and sconces are punctured in awkward icy stalagmites. Mina and Kaminari are picking themselves up off the floor as their captain and prince race forward. Sero has Natsuo under the arm, “Shinsou.”

He throws his gaze over your shoulder to the wall in horror and you turn to follow it, past shining cobblestones, over clouds of breath to the Takoban guard, pinned half up the wall in a crashing wave of ice. Most of both legs and half his hip are trapped in the tide, leaving enough of his torso free to breathe easy. “She’s,” he grunts, thrashing against his restraints, “she’s escaped.”

Bakugou should hate the look on your face but he knows he looks much the same. Thrill makes you glow like he hasn’t seen in a long, long time.

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

tagged angels ! @ltadoriyuujl / @cherripunch26 / @chandiewashere / @sakurarr1122 / @ihavefixations-and-onehiccup / @juni-does-art / @romiinlove / @todorokiskitten / @zukowantshishonourback / @phoenix-draws77 / @starryparkrr / @misscaller06 / @420mitskilover / @kalulakunundrum / @the-omnipotent-phlowr / @butterscotch-ripple-icecream / @cutiepatoodie / @catsoupki / @acid-rain27 / @sky-angel101 / @flyhighinthesky / @hurtfulhore

(if you’re tagged but not receiving a notification, dm me)

#annotations #my fic is like halfway done pomme TRUST you will have it by this time next week

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raviotherabbit · 3 years ago

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There were quite a few things Wild wanted to do this weekend. Like maybe sleep in for a bit, maybe cooking a special breakfast. They’d even been planning on visiting little Zelly, a promise that her mother was sure to scold them for not keeping.

Instead, they were rudely awoken by a rough collision with the dirt, and they quickly realized they weren’t in their soft waterbed in Zora’s Domain anymore. Blearily blinking their eyes open, Wild feels like they’ve been hit by Ruta’s Cryonis again.

They’re in the castle courtyard of Warriors’ time. Which, as they seem to recall, is tens of thousands of years removed from their own era.

“Oh great,” Wild scowls as the golden light fades behind them. Ten years since their tearful goodbyes with their fellow heroes, and all of a sudden, Hylia’s playing games again.

Wild pushes themself off the ground, dusting whatever they can off with their one arm. It’s only then, when several halberds are pointed right at their face, that they realize they have an audience.

“Stop right there!” one of the soldiers, presumably a higher ranking officer, shouts. “Put your hands in the air!”

Wild frowns, but some part of their mind still remembers Warriors’ lectures to respect authority in his era. It was always so annoying, especially since he was the only one who cared so much about how they were perceived by the guards, but the anger in his eyes after Wild’s third infraction for trespassing (it’s not like those people were USING their roofs!) was enough to convince them to behave. So, after a moment of hesitation, they raise their arm above their head.

“Both hands!” The guard juts his halberd closer to Wild’s face.

“This is all I’ve got, man.”

A lower ranking guard lifts the side of Wild’s poncho. “They’re telling the truth, sir,” they announce, gesturing to their missing right arm.

“W-well!” the officer stammers, and Wild can’t help but smirk. “Take them to a cell! Trespassing on castle grounds is no laughing matter!”

Wild rolls their eyes as one of the soldiers forcefully grabs their left arm. “You’re gonna regret this, you know.”

“Quiet you!” the senior officer snaps at them. “I’ll have no disrespect from magicians who infiltrate our defenses against the crown!”

“Fine,” Wild scoffs. “Hey, while you’re processing my intake paperwork or whatever, could you tell my brother where I am? He’ll be sooooo worried about me.”

The senior officer’s eye twitches. One of the lower ranking guards whispers, “It is protocol to inform citizens of incarcerated family members.”

“Alright! Alright!” the senior officer throws his hands up in frustration. “Just tell me and get out of here!”

“He’s the hero, Link. Ever heard of him?” Wild forces down a laugh as the officer’s face turns red. “Tell him Wild’s in prison again, and it’s not their fault this time!”

“Take them away!” the senior officer points the guard holding them towards the dungeon. “Now!”

And even though they’re being dragged into the dreaded dungeons of Hyrule Castle, Wild can’t help but laugh the entire time.

- - -

“You’re going to be in big trouble,” Wild lightly scratches at the rusty bars of their jail cell. They’re sitting on the nasty dungeon floor, legs crossed. “Seriously, it’s not too late to let me go.”

The guard stationed outside their cell sighs. “I’m not in charge of that.”

Wild huffs, pouting to themself. A little recognition wouldn’t hurt, would it? They were here all the time a decade ago! And even then, everyone knew they were with Wars. These kinds of theatrics and blunders are just rude!

“So, is Commander Link really your brother?”

Wild’s ear twitches when the guard speaks up. “Commander, huh? Wars got a promotion?”

“Uh, I-” the guard stammers. “I don’t-”

“Yeah, he’s pretty much my brother,” Wild answers. “It’s been a bit since I was in town, though.”

“YOU WHAT?!”

The shout rings through the dungeons, a shrill entitlement that Wild would know anywhere.

Wild clicks their tongue. “That’d be him,” they point their thumb towards the entrance to the dungeon. “You know, it’s been nice hanging out with you.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m going to die.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” Wild promises, standing up and gripping onto one of the bars just as Warriors rounds the corner, flanked by the senior officer, who now looks flustered.

And that’s Wild’s confirmation that it’s been some time for their brother, as well. He’s sporting some well-manicured stubble, obviously, because everything about Wars is well-manicured. His hair is longer, tied back in a ponytail that reminds Wild of themself. Of course, they didn’t have a chance to do their hair before landing in the past, so it’s all loose and tangled.

“Wild?!” Warriors shouts, mostly in shock. “You’re really here?!”

“Oh thank goodness!” Wild feels like they could cry. “Wars get me out of here!”

“What are you doing here?” Wars ruffles their hair through the bars, a warm smile on both of their faces. “I thought we agreed, no more trespassing.”

“It’s not my fault, it was the portals!” Wild explains quickly. “They wouldn’t listen to me. I just woke up here!”

Hearing Wild’s poor circumstances, Wars snaps back towards the senior officer. “You ARRESTED my brother!”

“Your one-armed brother!” Wild pipes up from behind him.

“My ONE-ARMED- wait,” Warriors turns back to Wild, his tone suddenly soft as he looks at them with concern. “You lost your arm?”

Wild stares at Warriors blankly. “Don’t tell Twilight.”

“I’m not-!” Wars sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How would I even tell him?”

Wild simply shrugs.

“We’re talking about this later,” Warriors asserts, before turning to address the officer once again. His glare is cold, and his fury is burning. “I can’t BELIEVE that you saw a clearly disoriented individual in your courtyard and decided to ARREST THEM, of all things! Who is your superior, I’ll have to inform him-!”

Wild leans over to the guard, who’s standing frozen with fear next to the cell. “I told you,” they whisper.

#yes wild uses they/them #yes they prefer to be called brother #linked universe #reunion tour au #lu wild #lu warriors #fanfic #rav's writing

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gaysex-pred · 2 years ago

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S15+ Apex Heirloom Ideas

I’ve been thinking about these a lot lately, and I have a blog for it now!

Fuse - Easy: Brass knuckles made out of the golden grenade shards. Tiny explosions when you punch something. Includes a can opener. You’re welcome.

Loba - For something worth so much money, it can’t be her staff that she already carries. There’s been leaks for a war fan, which would be super cool. I don’t quite get the vision for it (in terms of it aligning with Loba’s character and being a weapon that she would actually use). Some of her mains have been asking for bladed brass knuckles or something clawlike to go with her subtle wolf aesthetic. Fade took that thunder from her, but DAMN is his heirloom cool. I bet the devs (understandably) want something more refined for her character, hence the war fan. But what about a fencing sword that’s hidden within the black market staff? That way you can have animations with both the staff and an elegant new weapon. Plus, it would totally make sense for her rich parents to have her take fencing lessons as a kid.

Horizon - Space blade. No, I will not expand on that.

Ash - Same with Loba, can’t be the sword. Something like blades coming out of her arm or spikes coming out of her hand. Give her something creepy. A part of her mechanical body, oozing black fuel, something to scare us and scare herself about the person or thing she’s evolving to. Her rat friend tries to comfort her as she grapples with her competing personalities, both brutal in their own ways. Or just lean into the dominatrix vibes and give her a whip.

Mad Maggie - Flail. A lot of things could work for Mags with her I’ll kill you vibe. Brass knuckles would go with her as well, but better for fuse. It resembles her drill and her wrecking ball. I’m not sure what the animations and lore connections might be, but it just feels right. The devs can make up lore. Flails look cool and do violence, what else can you ask for?

Newcastle - Halberd (staff with a funky axe end). A lot of legends would look great with a halberd. It would lean into his medieval knight aesthetic, and I can’t think of anything better, unless they went with a medieval sword. But Crypto has the Biwon Blade.

Seer - I honestly don’t care, as long as they have fun with it. Not just elegant or flashy or with another moth. A glowing or iridescent scepter, maybe a staff with a lantern hanging from it. Make him the eye-catching mystic he’s meant to be. I don’t see the devs taking this route, but pretty please.

Vantage - A slingshot. I get why heirlooms can’t be guns or otherwise shoot things, but if anyone should be the exception, it should be her. When Vantage was younger, she made this slingshot to play with that she still uses to distract prey while hunting. A boomerang or bolas could also work.

#@ fusehound stans hear me out #the golden grenade gauntlets (wait thats catchy as fuck) is about taking his power back from what took from him #and fuse carves a rune into it like bloodhound did to his guitar at some point #@ devs your welcome #now you can focus on fixing your game #or adding content #to their credit the recent heirlooms have been amazing #and vantage is incredible #apex #apex legends #fuse #loba #horizon #ash #mad maggie #newcastle #seer #vantage

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fallout-lou-begas · 2 years ago

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Thoughts as I’m nearing the end of Elden Ring, and just about to enter the Erdtree:

- Haven't done Miquella's Haligtree yet but probably not going to before beating the final boss. This game is so absolutely enormous that I'm finally losing steam, to where the idea of going for Malenia feels like procrastinating. I’ll probably go back for her in my post-game after a good break because I really just want to finish this game and be done with it because my file playtime ranks at about 200 hours over the course of, like...one month.

- Having gotten to level 160+ as an unga bunga STR build two-handing a halberd, I can't tell if being nearly a pure martial is actually viable or if I'm just good and persistent. I've found that I have very little interest in the more flashy and spectacular Ashes of War or the affinities like Blood that can occasionally let you nuke a boss' healthbar, and instead I've had a lot more fun with Ashes that just give me more bread-and-butter combat tools that I can use often and repeatedly. I’ve alternated between Impaling Thrust and Bloodhound Step on my halberd especially; it’s sort of funny how I’ve grafted these normally keen abilities onto my heavy halberd. Bloodhound Step especially became vital in the late game where, despite my abundance of Vigor, I needed an extra evasive option. Another funny thing is how often I’ll try powering through a boss by stacking a lot of different buffs or strategies to exploit its weaknesses but when that fails I eventually succeed by just hitting it until it dies.

- I have such a love/hate relationship with how obtuse a lot of NPC questlines are in that they will relocate to parts of the map without any indication and you will just completely miss their quests if you don't find them. I did the whole middle of Millicent's questline without her and never got to see her fight because I missed her in Altus; I know her ending is in the Haligtree but still. But this is obviously a game design decision to make everything feel much more organic and surprising instead of, like, a checklist to complete or errands to run in the open world, and as frustrating as it was to miss so much of the characters I liked, there were other times where that sense of total freedom and self-directed gameplay were a treasure.

- Co-op multiplayer in this game is like a machine for memorable moments. The combination of how thoroughly every player can customize their appearance and extremely limited avenues of communication through mechanical actions (crouching repeatedly, attacking objects, mashing the block button to twitch a little bit) and gestures (taunts) reminds me immensely of making transient friendships in Team Fortress 2. I’ll never forget the character who helped me through the last stretch of Farum Azula and Maliketh pointing out items that I would have otherwise missed using the actual in-game point gesture, or “The Overcompensator” who invaded my world and attacked exclusively with colossal weaponry, or every time I’ve been summoned into a world and saw my two allies standing in the same ridiculous pose together or just literally sitting around waiting for me. A big part of why I’m so high level and at so much playtime before the final boss is because of how much time I spent with my Golden Effigy active, getting summoned into peoples’ worlds. The mid-game, about levels 40-80, is especially fun because the lower power level makes for a lot of really scrappy co-op scenarios.

- That being said, my love for the multiplayer aspect of this game combined with my developing remorse for how deeply I’ve fallen into the hole of it for a month has made me feel like I’ve gotten addicted to an MMO that isn’t even an MMO. Not a great feeling! I don’t think that I ever want to play a game this huge ever again and if I do another playthrough it’ll probably be MUCH less completionist.

#elden ring #louposting

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dr-ladybird · 1 year ago

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Oh the Golden Halberd’s not much use to a proper faith build anyway - it can’t be customised and almost all its scaling is with your strength. You can check the weapon stats to see what they scale with - just because something needs a wee bit of faith doesn’t mean it’s good for a faith-focussed build. The Golden Halberd’s for the “knight with a diploma in being a fireballs wizard” flavour of Strength builds (and yeah it’s a bit slow)

(You don’t like playing dex? I’m confused - Bloodhound Fang’s a dex weapon, more or less… scales well with dex and OK with strength…)

Using the Cipher Pata as your only weapon: bad idea. Some of the weirder shaped enemies have buggy hitboxes that makes it hard to do damage with tiny little weapons, and it does about 20% damage to Those Three Guys Who Eat Holy Damage For Breakfast. Using it as your favourite or second favourite wizard sidearm: lovely DPS and pretty good poise damage against anything that doesn’t have weird hitboxes or horrific holy damage resistance, zero wasted stats in strength and dex, never bounces off shields, and you get hit less even though you’re in kissing distance of the enemy because it’s so fast. There’s a huge difference between situational and bad - its uselessness against the final boss isn’t a reason to avoid it, only a reason to put it away for that fight.

Which endgame weapons were you thinking of? Black Knife is dropped by a random assassin in Altus - not gated behind anything except getting to Altus, and she’s no harder than her 5000 sisters - and the main things standing between the beginning of the game and killing Rykard are that Godskin Noble (hard but not endgame-hard) and learning to dodge the skulls, I’d call Rykard midgame. I’ve heard the holy weapons you get from the final boss are good, but I’ve never tried them… Inseperable Sword’s nice but you can make an less blinged-up, equally strong early-game knockoff out of Sacred Blade and a Banished Knight’s Greatsword, and the real thing’s available mid-game if you don’t get lost… Golden Order Greatsword, now that’s a genuinely interesting faith weapon that really does take ages to get to, but it’s nothing special in the stats department. solid damage, fun if you don’t mind the slow moveset, looks cool, never gonna be OP.

…btw while I’m recommending good spells that a lot of people like, find the Crucible Knight hiding out the back of Stormveil Castle and either kill him or make him fall down the lift shaft. And then once you’ve killed Rykard and talked to Tanith, go back to the boss room and attack Tanith (I haven’t personally tried that spell but it’s supposed to be good)

Hey Elden Ring peeps. So I went through the whole game about a year ago and finally beat it about 3 months ago. This was when I was trying to actually 100 percent everything (every item / quest) this sadly didn't end up happening as I ended up missing key things and couldn't do the whole Malenia area thing.

That said my first playthrough was really a mess and I need / want to start over fresh. The thing is I don't have any idea of what even build to do / make. So ideas would be great on good starting weapons / builds anything to help.

I wanted to do a faith build but realized all the early game weapons are kind of really bad. The only weapon I have used to this point is bloodhounds fang which I went through my whole game with. I want to branch out and try new builds / things so any recommendations.

#long post #elden ring

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honourablejester · 4 years ago

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Zealot Barbarian Concept: Warrior Preacher

Okay, so, barbarians are my favourite of the martial classes, mostly because two things: toughness and rage. Thematically, I adore that well of savage fury that all barbarians have. And the two subclasses that immediately catch my eye with barbarians, possibly to no one’s surprise, are Ancestral and Zealot. Because ghosts and gods. I’ve talked before about how cool I find Ancestral Barbarians, the idea of the noble bloodstained scion literally haunted by their vile, heckling ancestors. Here, though, I wanted to talk about Zealots.

There’s one line in the description for the Zealot’s ‘Warrior of the Gods’ feature: ‘Your soul is marked for endless battle.’ It’s the explanation for why zealots are so easy to raise from the dead, why they’re so hard to put down in the first place. Some god, some deity of war, has marked them out to just keep fighting, even beyond death. When they die, they just get back up again, and keep fighting.

Thematically that’s just gorgeous. Because there’s so much … Is this a blessing? A constant Valhalla to soothe the rage in their soul? Or a curse? A divine mission that not even in death are you allowed to lay down? That’s toothy. Savage and tearing and raw. I love it.

‘Your soul is marked for endless battle’. Did you agree to that? Did you have a choice? Do you embrace it joyfully, in the surety of a warrior’s heaven? Or do you shoulder it as a mission and a sacrifice, to bear the horrors of war so that other people don’t have to?

I like the former. One of the reasons I love the idea of Warhammer 40K orcs is this idea, that all of chaos can throw the worst horrors in the universe at them and they just scream in giddy delight at the chance to make battle with awesome horrors. The Nac Mac Feegle in Discworld, where the deepest hell would be their idea of heaven, because look at all the targets. Endless, joyful war, and nothing you can do to them can dent their raw enjoyment. It makes for a deliciously fun and durable character.

But. But I also like the other angle. And it also kind of bumps into another character archetype I like, from a slightly different genre: the western’s warrior preacher.

The thing is, preachers in westerns often have a bit of a dark past. They’re ex-charlatans, or current charlatans, or fire-and-brimstone rabble-rousers, or philosophical warriors struggling with the duality of the gun and the cross. Josiah Sanchez in Magnificent Seven. And I love that too. Combine that with a war god. With a call to the fight that not even death will let you escape.

So. A character to play into the religious angle of the zealot barbarian. The Acolyte background, for a god of justice and protection of the innocent (I like Torm for this). A wandering preacher. Maybe a bit of the charlatan, in that maybe they weren’t originally the most devout, maybe they were mostly paying lip-service, until they have their Road to Damascus moment, a lightning strike of pure rage at injustice, and abruptly their deity starts paying rather more personal attention to them …

Character Sheet: Elias Walker

Name: Elias Walker

Race: Half-Elf

Age: 67

Background: Itinerant Preacher (Acolyte)

Class/Level: Barbarian 3 (Zealot)

Deity: Torm, the Loyal Fury

Statistics: Strength 16, Dexterity 14, Constitution 14, Intelligence 8, Wisdom 12, Charisma 12

Skills & Languages:

Skills: Athletics, Insight, Perception, Persuasion, Religion, Survival

Languages: Common, Elvish, Orcish, Undercommon, Celestial

Ideal: “Better one sacrifice for the protection of many, than allowing the death of all.”

Bond: “My soul was given unto the fires of war, so that better ones need not be.”

Flaw: “I’ve never believed in anything before, and the size of this calling, the depth of this rage, terrifies me a lot.”

Allies/Connections: The priesthood of Torm. Rosa & Luther, the married couple who nursed him back to health after that first death in their and his god’s service.

Traits, Feats and Background/Class Features: Darkvision (60ft), Fey Ancestry, Skill Versatility, Shelter of the Faithful, Rage, Unarmoured Defense, Danger Sense, Reckless Attack, Divine Fury, Warrior of the Gods

Equipment: Common clothes, vestments, halberd, 2 handaxes, 4 javelins, amulet of Torm’s holy symbol, prayer book, belt pouch, explorer’s pack

Description: A slim, almost cadaverous half-elf, with dark skin and golden eyes, bald except for greying stubble across his shaven scalp. His face seems fixed in a wry, gentle expression, but its harsh lines and the premature greying of his hair bely that somewhat. He wears dark grey vestments hung with an amulet of the Hand Resolute, and leans heavily on the halberd he seems to primarily use as a walking stick.

History: A shiftless, lackadaisical wanderer for almost all his life, with few contacts or connections anywhere, Elias eventually fell into the life of an itinerant preacher of Torm. Mostly, it must be said, for the sense of camaraderie and belonging it granted, not necessarily out of any true devotion. He was a lacklustre preacher at best, bordering on paying lip-service.

But then. In a little village on the far edge of civilisation, Elias happened to be present when a bandit warlord came to town, seeking wealth, slaughter and slaves. By luck or chance, in all his shiftless life, Elias had never seen butchery on that level before. Children slaughtered. People dragged screaming from their homes. He’d never seen the like. And it enraged him. It broke something in him, snapped some tether. His mind went blank, a perfect fugue state, and he did his savage damnedest to slaughter every bandit in range in defense of the town.

He didn't survive the effort. One skinny preacher against a bandit warband? Of course he didn’t survive. Elias Walker died that day. But in the embrace of death, the god he had always only ever paid lip service to finally came to him. Drawn by that shocking well of fury at injustice. Torm appeared, and asked him if that fury, that sacrifice in defense of the innocent, was a thing he offered willingly. If it could be something he offered up again, again and again, as many times as might be necessary. Even beyond death. And for some reason, though the thought of it terrified him … Elias said yes. Because some part of him was proud of what he’d done. And another … glad that it had been him, the useless layabout, who’d fought and died, and not someone better, some innocent who didn’t deserve that fate.

For Torm, that was good enough.

Elias woke up in a refugee camp, having been dragged from the burnt remnants of the village by the few survivors he’d died to save, when they realised that by some miracle he still seemed to be breathing. Two of them in particular, a married couple, had taken it upon themselves to nurse him back to health, out of gratitude for what he’d tried to do. They’d lost almost everything they had, neighbours and homes and friends, but they’d tried to help him anyway. Brought back into the world, given a mission so much bigger and more terrifying than anything he would have allowed before, Elias clung to that, and to them, for the courage to move forward.

#d&d #character concepts #barbarians #deities #westerns #rage

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johaerys-writes · 4 years ago

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Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 5: Draw, is up! Where Alucard is trying hard to mind his own business (really, he’s trying so hard), but he absolutely cannot do that when Trevor invites him to a duel. A friendly one *wink wink*

Read on AO3! Read from the beginning

“Just do me a favour, will you, Alucard?”

The dhampir lets out a slow, exasperated breath. “What would that be, pray tell?”

Trevor turns to glance at Alucard over his shoulder. He is standing at the far end of the large, circular room that serves as his training room. It is filled with weapon stands, heavy with blades of every possible length, width and shape. Many of them Trevor knows of or has used at some point or other— epees, rapiers, bastard swords, greatswords, halberds and spears. Others, he has only seen in books, like the wide, flat blade that curves at the end, that’s hanging from a peg on the wall. Some of them he has never even beheld before, like that spear with the ivory-worked handle, sporting blades at both ends.

Now that is a weapon Trevor would very much like to use on that tall stickler of a man who is regarding him with thinly veiled contempt from across the room.

The pale grey morning light streaming in through the window illuminates Alucard's sharp features, casts dark shadows around his eyes, catches in the highlights in his golden hair. Alucard is gazing at him with a look of infinite boredom and forced patience, but underneath it all Trevor can see a faint twinkle of amusement.

“None of your little floating tricks, if you don't mind," Trevor says as he turns to face him. "They’re a bit unnerving.”

Alucard quirks a brow. “Unnerved so easily, Belmont? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Do whatever you like with that information, just please. No flying around, or floating above the ground. I’d hate to see you falling from a great height after I kick your arse.”

Alucard clicks his tongue in disgust and rolls his eyes, and Trevor grins. There. That’s the spirit. Anything but that ice cold facade he’s been putting on ever since he and Sypha have stepped foot in that castle. Trevor knows there’s something there, underneath the surface, and he’s determined to pull it out of him.

“Are you quite done boasting, Belmont? Or are you planning on ending me with terrible jokes? I have to say, it’s working. I’m feeling rather faint.” He flicks his finger ever so slightly, and one of the swords that are hanging from a peg on the wall slides from its scabbard, flying directly into Alucard’s hand.

The sword in Trevor’s own hand, the one that Alucard gave him as soon as they walked in, is an unfamiliar weight. He slashes at the air a couple times, the blade hissing. It is a good sword, all things considered: freshly whetted and oiled, expertly balanced. Not as good as his own, of course, which is lying in its scabbard in his room, but good enough. Alucard is an irritating prick, but he does have a good eye for swords. Trevor was a bit surprised at first that Alucard gave him a sword that’s good enough to match his own, but he knows now that he shouldn’t have been. Alucard would never have given Trevor a sword that would have been less than a match for his own. If there’s one man that appreciates a challenge, an opportunity to show off how skilled he is, how smooth and how graceful, to have his flowy hair ripple as he moves, and his coat flutter in his wake, and perhaps even break out a bit of a sweat, just for the hell of it, just to make a fine performance out of it all, then who else other than bloody Alucard himself?

“That’s a nice sword you gave me,” Trevor remarks, pointedly ignoring Alucard’s earlier comment. “Did you polish it yourself? It’s very well done. Is that how you spend your time these days? Polishing swords?”

“I understand your powers of observation are… disappointing at best,” the other man replies acridly as he gets into position, body melting to the side, “but have you seen anyone else in this castle, all the while you’ve been here?”

Yes. The people hanging out on stakes by your front door, Trevor thinks. The question is right at the tip of his tongue, but Trevor holds it back. For all intents and purposes, Alucard behaves as if they don’t even exist. It’s a mystery if Trevor ever saw any; and he does not like mysteries he cannot solve. But Alucard is reticent, more reticent than he remembers. Unpredictable. Trevor still isn't sure whether he's the same person he and Sypha left behind. One wrong move, and they might both find themselves in trouble. It's best, he decides, if he takes things slow. Test him out a bit. Push him, just the right way.

Trevor gives him a small smile. “Not really, no. But one can never know with you vampires.”

Alucard’s eyes flash with indignation, but it’s quickly reined in as he takes a step forward, his sword singing in the air. Trevor brandishes his own weapon, his body melting in a defensive stance. The wound nips just a little under the bandage; he will have to be careful.

He lifts his sword when Alucard lunges for him. Their blades clash, small sparks flying when the metals collide. Alucard is fast— too fast for Trevor to fully engage him in his condition, but this is supposed to be a friendly training session, anyway. He immerses himself into the rhythm of the fight, getting a bit of satisfaction every time he swerves past Alucard’s attacks. He smiles when he sees the tiny flickers of frustration in the dhampir’s eyes, the pinch of concentration in his features. Even in his current state, he’s more than a challenging opponent.

Alucard falls back for a bit, letting him catch his breath. He swings his blade to the side, rolling his wrist to relax it. “You think you know so much about vampires?” he asks idly. There is a bit of an edge to his voice, and it’s lower than usual.

“I know that I’ve killed a good deal of them,” Trevor says. His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and he can feel the pleasant buzz of exertion already. “They’re an irritating lot, to say the least. Don’t you think?”

Alucard isn't looking at him. His features are calm, but Trevor can see the tension climbing up his shoulders underneath his snug-fitting coat, the tendons in his pale neck. “I think,” he says, “that people make a lot of assumptions about vampires. Some of them are true. Some are not.”

“So they’re not… irritating?” Trevor asks with feigned puzzlement, squinting at him. “Judging by you, I’d say they’re really bloody annoying. So much pomp and circumstance, and not much substance underneath.”

“Perhaps that’s just my human side showing,” Alucard says. “Have you ever stopped to consider that?”

Before Trevor has time to respond to that, Alucard lunges at him, aiming for his sides. Trevor evades the blow, stepping away, but only by a hair. He slashes at him, and misses, again and again. Now that he’s fully warmed up, Alucard is quick and agile, and Trevor is still weak from his injury. It’s perfectly clear that Alucard has not been idle while they’ve been away.

“Human?" Trevor pants, grinning. "Please. My horse is more human than you are.”

“Is that the ‘thank you’ I get for helping save your life? How lovely. I could have just left you outside, you know.” The dhampir floats backwards, regarding him with detached amusement and something -almost- sad.

“Hey. I told you: none of that floating business, yeah? One thing. I ask for one tiny, simple thing—” Trevor sighs and threads his fingers through his hair, scratching his head, then lets his hand fall. “Alright. You got me. Perhaps... I should have started with that.”

“With what?”

“With the ‘thank you’.”

Alucard tilts his head to the side. “For…?”

"For saving my life," Trevor groans and rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Alucard. Much obliged. You probably didn’t have to, but you did it anyway. You could have left me to bleed out on your front door, but you did not. How very kind, how noble, how magnanimous of you.” He gives him a sweeping bow, with a hand flourish. “I am entirely in your debt. Or, well, perhaps I would have been, had I not literally saved your sorry hide a few times myself, but who’s talking about that, right? It’s all ‘Alucard this’, and ‘Alucard that’, and ‘oh, look at me, I’m so pretty with my hair flowing all over the place, and so serious and broody, and I like to wear my shirts open to my navel because I’m just so sophisticated, it’s practically oozing out of me, and’—" Trevor stops when he notices Alucard's eyes widening in shock. "Oh, sorry. Did you want to say something?”

Alucard gapes at him for a moment. The quiet laughter he lets out is sudden, a bit startled. He seems more surprised at the sound of it than anything, as he blinks at Trevor. “That was… that was quite a performance. I didn’t know you had it in you, Belmont.”

“Is my gratitude accepted, then? Sypha will probably kill me if it’s not.”

"Did... Sypha ask you to thank me?"

"You know how she is. She wanted to make sure you know we're both grateful."

Alucard’s throat bobs as he swallows. He looks very uncomfortable all of a sudden, out of place. "Oh."

“What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?” Trevor asks. He brings his sword up, the edge of the blade glimmering between his eyes. “Will I have to beat an answer out of you?”

A huffed laugh escapes Alucard's lips. "If you can." His eyes flash red, then he disappears.

Trevor rolls his eyes. "I said: no vampire tricks." He spins on his heel, searching for him in the shadows that stretch around him. A whisper of fabric behind him— and Trevor brings his sword up only a blink of an eye before Alucard’s blade collides with his. He grits his teeth, holding the sword steady. Alucard has gotten closer to him than he would have liked. They are now staring at each other, the blades trembling between them.

“I’m not used to others being grateful for what I do,” Alucard says. His hand that is holding the sword is shaking, but his voice is flat like a cool, still lake. “If it was one of your tactics to get me off my guard, it worked.”

“Tactics? Oh, no,” Trevor grunts, giving him a toothy smile. “It’s the infamous Belmont upbringing you so like to sneer at.”

Alucard lets out a small harrumph, and the breath that brushes Trevor’s cheek smells faintly of almonds, a hint of clove. “I’m not used to being called pretty, either.”

Now it is Trevor’s turn to gape. He blinks at the dhampir, and if it weren’t for his sharp reflexes, he would have lost his balance. “That wasn’t— that— It was just a figure of speech.” He narrows his eyes, just to preserve some of his dignity while warmth is creeping up his cheeks. “Please don’t let it go to your head. You’re insufferable as it is.”

Alucard quirks a brow, and the look he gives him is more piercing than one of Sypha’s ice bolts. “Hm.” The pressure from Trevor’s blade eases away as Alucard steps back, floating out of his reach.

“Jesus,” Trevor grunts, ignoring the light pain in his sides as he straightens, “how many times do I have to say it? No vampire— oh, fuck it.” He lunges forward, slashing at Alucard as quickly as he can, in a flurry of quick strikes. One of them manages to graze Alucard’s shoulder, another tears slightly at the fabric of his shirt. The thrill of those small victories rushes through Trevor, and he grins in triumph as he starts gaining ground. He’s still careful to keep his strikes light, though, to simply graze and not to wound. This is only a friendly bout, after all. “You’re lucky I don’t have my whip with me.”

A soft, throaty laugh echoes in his ears. Alucard’s eyes flash red, then he disappears again.

“Ah, damn you,” Trevor grunts, glancing about him. He will never get used to this.

The brush of air against the side of his face is the only sign betraying Alucard’s presence, before he strikes in earnest. Their swords clash, the din of steel meeting steel filling the room. There is a strange vivacity in Alucard’s gaze, a sort of joy, a hint of a blush staining his cheeks. A part of his mind, the one that isn’t fully absorbed in the exhilaration of their fight, finds that almost… endearing.

The wound tugs at Trevor underneath the bandage, and he can’t help the sharp hiss that escapes him when he rolls out of the way of one of Alucard’s attacks. He tilts forward without meaning to, and presses his palm to his sides.

“Fuck,” Trevor breathes, wincing.

Alucard's blade stops only a few inches away from Trevor before he drops it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and for a split second, Trevor thinks he sees genuine worry in his gaze, underneath his icy facade.

It startles Trevor, but only for a moment. He takes the opportunity and dashes for him. Their blades clash with a sharp, high-pitched clang that echoes through the large room. Trevor grins when his swift attack presses Alucard back.

“Never let your guard down,” he says with a smirk.

Alucard recovers quickly, much more quickly than Trevor expects. His surprise melts into a frown of determination, brows drawn together in utmost concentration. The bastard parries his blows like he’s meant for it; it’s not long before beads of sweat start arcing down Trevor’s brow. He had forgotten how quick Alucard’s reflexes are. If Trevor weren’t in such bad form, and if he had his whip as well as his sword, their odds would have been far more even, but as it is, he's barely holding his own.

He growls in frustration when, after a daring move that got him close enough to graze the dhampir’s cheek, his sword is knocked out of his hands.

Alucard smiles, a flash of sharp white teeth behind pale rose lips. It’s friendly enough, yet it still manages to look threatening. Trevor can only gaze at him in defiance, nostrils flaring as he pants, when the tip of Alucard’s blade is pressed under his chin.

“What’s wrong, Belmont? No more tricks up your sleeve?”

“There’s a few that come to mind.”

Alucard quirks a brow at him. “I do hope it isn’t another kick in the balls. We both know how well that went last time you tried it.”

Trevor huffs a laugh. “Nope. I tend to learn from my mistakes.” His gaze never leaves Alucard face as he reaches into his coat pocket. As expected, Alucard’s eyes flick towards the motion, pupils widening like a hunting cat’s. With his attention diverted, Trevor ducks to the side, escaping the sharp edges of the blade under his chin, then kicks Alucard’s feet from under him. The dhampir falls back with a surprised huff, and, before he can move or fly away, Trevor pins him to the ground, one hand holding his wrist down, the other pressing the tip of the dagger that was hidden in his sleeve against his heart. “You, however, do not.”

Alucard glares up at him, unblinking. He is completely still in Trevor’s hold, unnaturally so, not even a muscle moving. His hair is spread like a golden halo around his head, his skin gleaming bone white against the dark stone floor beneath him.

“You know I could still teleport and stab you in the back. Yes?” His voice is slow, his tone flat, not an inkling of emotion showing. It sends a slight shiver down Trevor’s spine.

“I suppose so. But you won’t. Because that would be cheating, and you don't do that, right?” Trevor lets the corners of his lips curl in a smug smile as he leans forward, holding the dhampir’s gaze. “I believe that means I am the victor of this match.”

Alucard’s gaze never leaves Trevor’s. From this close, Trevor can see the flecks in Alucard’s eyes, different shades of gold glittering in the light trickling through the high windows, the thin crease between his eyebrows, the tension at the corners of his lips. Alucard is holding his breath, it seems, his chest barely moving under Trevor’s blade.

Something bright, something feral flashes in Alucard’s eyes before he surges up.

Trevor freezes when their lips meet. For a moment —a brief one, a blink of an eye— he’s sure his heart has stopped beating, yet it’s not long before he can feel his pulse in his throat.

If he could move, he would have pinched himself, because this is surely not happening. Alucard’s lips are on his own. Alucard's lips, on his lips. They are slightly cold to the touch, but not by much. Soft. Softer even than Sypha’s, which are often chapped. His skin smells of almonds, of berries, a hint of woodsmoke.

A sudden spike of fear rushes through Trevor when he feels the edge of a shortsword pressing against his sides, through the fabric of his tunic.

“How did you put it before, Belmont?” Alucard whispers, edging back. His eyes are blazing with smug satisfaction underneath his fair eyelashes, but there’s also a hint of surprise there, that Trevor suspects matches his own. “‘Never let your guard down’?”

Trevor swallows thickly. They’re not touching anymore, not like before, but Alucard’s mouth is still frustratingly close to his own. “A hell of a cheap trick, that was,” he mumbles, trying as best he can to keep his composure.

“No cheaper than yours, surely.”

Trevor gapes at him for a long moment, unsure what to say. His pulse is still beating in throat; he wonders if Alucard can hear it. He finally lets the dhampir go with a huff and stands up, and the fact that his legs are a little weak now does nothing to lessen his frustration. “I’m still the winner of this match,” he says petulantly, to which Alucard laughs.

“That was most certainly a draw.” Alucard pushes himself up, sliding his shortsword smoothly into the scabbard hidden in his boot. “But you can keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better.”

“You really are one smug, arrogant bastard, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse."

"Always so dramatic," Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “With your agreeable disposition? That's hard to believe." He sheaths his own dagger without looking at him, then goes to pick up his sword that was knocked to the far side of the room. He busies himself with returning it to the weapon stand where it belongs, in hopes that the warmth that has crept up his cheeks isn’t too noticeable.

Why is he blushing, anyway? Trevor really isn’t in the best shape today, that’s for certain.

Trevor turns to glance at him over his shoulder. Alucard is boredly brushing the dust off his coat sleeves, thoroughly ignoring him, but Trevor finds himself gaping at him like a fish.

The front of Alucard’s shirt was ripped by one of Trevor’s attacks during their swordfight, but it must have ripped even further with his tumble, leaving his chest and stomach exposed. Deep, criss-crossing scars interrupt the expanse of smooth pale skin, red and angry against its alabaster-like whiteness. They’re not quite as deep as the one in the center of his chest, a souvenir from his fight with his father, but they look no less menacing.

Trevor’s stomach sinks at the sight.

“God,” he breathes. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Alucard glances up at him in curiosity. He freezes when he realises what Trevor is staring at. His spine straightens, his features turning as rigid and cold as ice. “Nothing,” he says, buttoning up his coat with lightning quick motions. “Nothing happened to me.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” Trevor takes a step closer, reaching out to stop his hand. “Who did this to—”

“I said: it’s nothing.” Alucard steps back as if by instinct, out of his reach. His expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts, but the way he avoids Trevor’s gaze has his stomach clenching even further.

This doesn’t seem right. Nothing about this seems right.

They both linger in tense silence for several moments. It’s Alucard’s magical sword that interrupts the quiet, when it lifts off the floor and slides into its scabbard on its own.

“I would suggest you get some rest,” Alucard says flatly. “Your injury requires it, if your current fighting skills are anything to go by.” He turns around and leaves without a word.

There are several scathing responses that spring to Trevor’s mind, but they all die at the tip of his tongue as he watches Alucard walk away, spine straight and rigid as a plank.

When Trevor returns to their room, he finds Sypha curled up on the armchair next to the fireplace, a large leather-bound tome open in her lap. She beams at him when she sees him coming in.

“Well? How did it go?” Her smile falls considerably when she notices Trevor’s expression. “Oh, no. That bad?”

Trevor walks over to the bed and sits down slowly. Sypha is watching him with wide, questioning eyes, and he isn’t quite sure what to tell her.

“I invited him to a duel.”

Sypha’s eyebrows climb up her forehead. “Oh.” She lets the book fall closed and sets it on the low table before her. “Odd way to thank someone for their hospitality, but do go on.”

“It was a friendly one. We were just... practicing, I suppose.”

“Alright. Who won?”

“I did. But then he kissed me.”

“He what? ” Sypha’s eyes widen even more, her mouth falling open on a gasp. “Damn it! I knew I should have been the one to go and speak to him today.”

“What?!”

“What?” At his bewildered stare, she lets out a small laugh. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’ve never thought of it before.”

Trevor stares at her in affront. “I have not!”

“That makes one of us, then,” she mutters, and it could be Trevor's imagination, but her cheeks get slightly flushed.

“You’ve thought of kissing Alucard?”

“Once or twice. Alright, perhaps a few more times. I mean, he’s gorgeous, right? That's just a fact.” She leans forward on the armchair, setting her chin on her fist. “So, how was it? Is he a good kisser? Did he make the first move, or did you? And what weapons were you using for the duel? I want to know all about it. If I knew you would have got on this well, I would have come to watch.”

Trevor blinks at her, then drags his palm down his face. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” he groans. He’d forgotten how relaxed Speakers are when it comes to romantic relationships. There’s usually no such thing as strict monogamous relationships in Speaker clans, unless a couple wishes it to be so; members of the clan are free to sleep or flirt with others, and no one bats an eye. Trevor himself isn’t particularly possessive or jealous of Sypha in that way, and he thinks that the Speakers might be doing something right there, but there’s something about the fact that she has thought of kissing Alucard that has this very frustrating blush creeping up his cheeks again.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says hastily. “He did it to distract me so he could win… I didn’t expect it.” He shakes his head, “He drew a knife on me, the sneaky bastard.”

“Oh,” Sypha says, a hint of disappointment in her voice. “Well, I still wish I was there to see. Anyway. So, did you talk at all? Did he tell you how he is, how he’s been doing? Did you ask him about the…?” She raises eyebrows in question, tilting her head towards the main entrance.

“No. I didn't get the chance. But…” Trevor frowns as he let his words trail away. A tendril of worry coils in his gut, same as before. “Sypha, there are scars all over him. I don’t know what caused them, but it must have been some sort of magical weapon… or something consecrated. Something that is used specifically against vampires.”

“Consecrated?” Sypha sits up in her chair, her expression darkening. “Like the ones you have?”

“Must be. Anything else, and those marks would have healed long before.” He rubs the stubble on his chin, taking in a slow breath. “If it was those people out front that did it…”

“Then they were trying to kill him,” Sypha whispers. Her lips tighten in a line, and her brows furrow in thought and worry.

Trevor nods, “Perhaps. Perhaps this is what happened. It could be the reason why he’s been so… so much more ‘Alucard’ than usual.” His frown deepens. “It still doesn’t explain why he mounted them on stakes. It could be that we have it all wrong. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions.”

“Then there’s only one thing for us to do.”

She stands up, and Trevor follows her with his eyes.

“Next time we see him,” she says, that same determination Trevor knows so well burning in her gaze, “we’re doing things my way.”

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #alucard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #trephacard #alucard x trevor x sypha #adrian fahrenheit tepes #alucard/trevor belmont/sypha belnades #where blood roses bloom #johaerys writes

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barbaracleboy · 3 years ago

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Royal Kombat...Training

Another little Blurb, this one being more comedic again: not as silly as the Santa Claus one, but still.

One day, Queen Bianca invited Queen Elizant II to The Hive, but this time was somewhat unusual. While normally, Bianca’s messages would say things like “I would love for you to come so that we can chat personally!” or “You and I should go to the Golden Settlement together!”, this time the message simply said “Please come to The Hive at your earliest convenience, and be at your best status: I have a proposition to make.” Bianca did not request things from Elizant very often: she was typically more of a giver than a taker, so the message was slightly strange to Elizant. Elizant came anyway, having little reason not to trust Bianca. When she came to The Hive she was greeted by some guards and was led to Bianca’s throne room. There she saw the Bee Queen, who excitedly came over and gave her a big hug.

Bianca: Oh, Elizant, I am so glad you made it! Not that anything but your own will could stop you, of course! And as usual, you appear to be in tip-top shape!

Elizant: Yes, Bianca, I am glad to see you well also…

Bianca: So, would you like some tea? I made a special blend today: it’s lacking in the usual honey but it makes up for that in nutrition!

Elizant: That, er, could be nice...Bianca, what was your...proposition?

Bianca stopped for a moment before blushing, apparently having been caught a tad off-guard.

Bianca: Ha, I-I didn’t expect you to bring it up so quickly…

Elizant: It just wasn’t what I tend to hear from you.

Bianca: I suppose so...oh, now that the time has seemingly come I somewhat regret asking in the first place…

Elizant: We’re friends, Bianca, you can ask.

Bianca:...You promise it won’t be a bother?

Elizant: Well, I don’t quite know enough to promise much of anything.

Bianca:...Mm...you are a very strong woman, Elizant.

Elizant was a little flustered by the remark, and now she was the one blushing (though, luckily for her, her mask hid it).

Elizant: Err...thank you? What does that-

Bianca: You train your soldiers, do you not? At least some of them?

Elizant: Indeed I do: I have trained Zaryant and my Lieutenant, as well as a few other high-ranking warriors. I have even given some training to Team Maki.

Bianca: Excellent, you have experience with combat training! That was just what I was hoping for!

Elizant:...Bianca, you weren’t going to ask me for a hit on someone, were you?

Bianca: What-no! Of course not, I would never!

Elizant: Well, I would hope not...what did you want then?

Bianca looked to the ground for a moment, contemplating, before gathering her courage and turning back to her fellow royal.

Bianca: I...I wish for you to train me.

Elizant was completely surprised by the question, and for a brief moment she thought she had heard Bianca wrong.

Elizant: Train you? Like in combat?

Bianca: Yes!

Elizant: But aren’t you-

Bianca: A pacifist, yes. However, I admire your battle capabilities so much. I must admit that my physical state is a tad...lacking for physical confrontations, and this stinger is only so useful.

Elizant: Bianca, you needn’t feel bad for how you do in battle. Ants are naturally quite powerful.

Bianca: I know that, but even a fraction of that power would be more than satisfactory for me. Besides, if you train me, I can potentially train my daughters, and we will be much more capable of protecting ourselves and those we care about! Even if I don’t wish to harm anyone, it would be in my best interest to ensure that none could harm me or mine.

Elizant was not at all expecting this level of enthusiasm to fight from Bianca. She did care much for her hive, though, so it did make sense for her to want to protect it as best as she could.

Elizant: Hmm...you make some compelling arguments, Bianca. Very well, then! I shall train you to the best of my ability, and by the end of this I intend to give you might worthy of an Ant!!!

Bianca jumped for joy and clapped upon hearing this.

Bianca: Oohoohoo, thank you so much, Elizant! (To Some Guards) Brianne, Hannah, please bring the training dummies in here!

Brianne and Hannah: Yes, your highness!

As the two guards left to get the dummies, Bianca turned to her friend with a look of excitement.

Bianca: So, what will we work on first?

Elizant: Hmm...I feel that we should train your legs first: we will begin with some snap kicks. Watch me.

Elizant stood firmly before lifting up one of her legs, bending it so that her knee was almost level to her chest.

Elizant: Now, you do not need to keep your leg this high up: how high you bring your knee can assist with how high your kicks can go.

Bianca: I see. Hmm…

Bianca attempted to lift her leg in the same way Elizant did, but she was clearly struggling with it. Bianca was trembling before her knee was even up to her waist.

Elizant: A-again, Bianca, you do not need to keep your leg that high…

Bianca: I-I-I know, b-b-but I th-think it would help...with…

Bianca loses her balance and falls to the floor with a small yelp.

Elizant: You know, Bianca, balance is very important to good fighting form...have you considered using your wings to help?

Bianca: Ughhh...with all due respect, Elizant, I feel that I will be at my best if I avoid using any crutches, literal or otherwise.

Elizant: Suit yourself…

Elizant was starting to get concerned for Bianca's wellbeing, and as she helped her friend back up the guards had come back with a couple blocks of wood.

Elizant:...Are these your training dummies?

Hannah: Yes, Queen Elizant! They are excellent tools with which to improve our halberd proficiency.

Brianne: [Help with stress relief too…]

Elizant: Somewhat thick for use in hand-to-hand training, are they not?

Bianca: Oh, Elizant, don’t undersell yourself: I am entirely certain you can put those dummies to great use!

Elizant: Well, I-I was actually concerned more for-

Bianca: Why not test a snap kick of yours on one of them? Give me a frame of reference?

Elizant sighed before stepping in front of one of the dummies and unleashing a kick on it. This was not too strong a kick, but it was enough to knock the dummy high up, crashing it into the wall above the throne room doors. As it falls back to the ground, the Bees in the room show amazement at the Ant Queen’s strength.

Hannah and Brianne: WOAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

Bianca: Oh, that is so very impressive, Elizant! (To The Guards) Hannah, Brianne, please take no offense but may you two leave for a moment? Just so Elizant and I can focus on our training better?

Brianne: Are you certain, your majesty?

Elizant: Yes, a-are you?

Bianca: Of course, it’s just a little friendly sparring.

Elizant and The Guards: Sparring?

Bianca: Sparring, training; my point is that by the time we’re through I hope to be a much more powerful Queen. And besides, with Elizant here I doubt I would need to fear any threats.

Hannah: If you say so, Queen Bianca…

As the two guards leave the room, Elizant turns to Bianca again, concern hidden on her face but very much emanating from her person.

Elizant: B-Bianca...would...would you like to attempt kicking one of these dummies?

Bianca: Oh, of course!

Bianca turned to one of the dummies and gave it a sloppy attempt at a kick...the dummy barely reacts, but Bianca tears up a tad and clutches her foot in pain.

Elizant: L-look, Bianca, there other ways to fight in close quarters. Take one of my blades.

As Elizant pulls out her swords and hands one to her friend, Bianca takes a turn to give a concerned look to her.

Bianca: You don’t mind giving me one?

Elizant: I have spares.

Bianca: You are so generous!

Elizant responds with a simple “Mhm” as she brings the dummy she kicked moments ago back to where it was originally placed.

Elizant: Now, in good swordplay, form and steadiness are just as important, if not moreso, than the pure force of your swing. Observe.

Elizant takes her blade and, in the blink of an eye, slices her dummy clean in half, once more amazing Bianca.

Elizant: See that? A clean, straight slice. Not only should you swing hard and fast, but you should hold your sword tight and swing as straight as you can.

Bianca: Understood!

Bianca gives her dummy a fierce look before swinging her blade. Unfortunately, she does little more than nick a little of the dummy’s top.

Elizant: Tsk, see, your swing was a tad wavy there. Try again.

Bianca does, but this time she hardly even chips the dummy, dealing less damage than last time.

Elizant: There your swing was too slow: remember, swing steady but fast.

Bianca: Steady but fast...steady but fast…

Bianca tries one more time to cut the dummy...and gets her sword lodged into it. Elizant tries to stifle her laughter, but a little does escape. The Bee Queen doesn’t notice, though, too busy trying to get the sword out.

Bianca: I-it’s stuck!

Elizant: (Chuckles) Bianca, let me help you.

Bianca: I am so silly, how did it get stuck?!

Elizant: I-it’s fine, Bianca, this sort of thing happened to me plenty of times…[when I was a teenager].

Bianca: I need to get...it…

The sword is removed...and flung straight up into the air. The two Queens scramble for a moment, trying to determine where the sword will land. Bianca stops and nearly screams when it lands hilt-first into her fluff, the blade scarily close to her face. Elizant is most certainly done laughing now, and she comes over to get the sword back.

Elizant: Really, Bianca, you do not need to force yourself to be a fighter. You can-

Bianca: I do not wish to be a fighter, I wish to be capable of fighting...Aha! Fisticuffs!

Bianca puts up her dukes and gives Elizant a determined look. Under her mask, Elizant gives Bianca the most worried look she had given anyone in a long time.

Elizant:...Bianca, I do not want to hit you.

Bianca: Will you allow me to hit you?

Elizant: I-I mean, I...I’m certain I’LL be fine.

Bianca: Then it is only fair for you to hit me back: sparring does not go just one way.

Elizant: Ehhhhhh...should I teach you how to throw a punch?

Bianca: I feel that I have a decent idea, but thank you.

Elizant: Ummm…

Bianca: I will go now!

Bianca runs up to Elizant and unleashes a flurry (if you can call it that, it was rather slow) of punches onto her. After fifteen or so blows Bianca is tired and needs to catch her breath.

Bianca: *Huff*...*Puff*...How was that? Are you hurt?...Oh Gods, I am so sorry if I hurt you too hard.

Elizant was perfectly fine, Bianca’s punches being about as effective as a young ant...one that had no combat training.

Elizant: Err, I am...alright, Bianca. No need for concern.

Bianca: Phew, I am so relieved...alright, now attack me!

Elizant: B-B-Bianca, are you certain? Ants can carry ten times their own weight, I-I-

Bianca: Well, you needn’t give me a full-force uppercut, just a punch with about half-power!

Elizant:...Um, how about a quarter? Or a tenth, to level the playing field more>

Bianca: However you feel is necessary, just don’t hold back too much: after all, this will help me with my durability!

Elizant: I pray it does…

Elizant really does not want to harm Bianca, but she would also rather not disappoint her, so she knows she should use at least some force...With relent, and a little regret, Elizant winds back her fist before sending it, with about .9/10 of the force she would otherwise use in battle, straight into Bianca’s belly. Bianca immediately fell to the floor clutching herself, all breath knocked out of her.

Elizant:...OH GODS, BIANCA, I AM SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE-

Bianca: R-really Elizant, I am fine. You don’t need to apologize.

Elizant: A-are you certain!? Entirely!?

Bianca was clearly in a lot of pain, and her normally sweet, soothing voice was now weak and raspy. Despite that, she still had a smile on her face.

Bianca: Yes, Elizant, I am…

Elizant kneeled down to lift up her friend, and gently walked her over to her throne.

Elizant: Look, Bianca, training is only part of getting stronger. You also need to focus...on...your diet!

Bianca: Mm, I understand that...far too much honey for me, I suppose, (weak giggle followed by a cough). I assume your diet is purely the most healthy of foods, yes?

Elizant:...Y-yes…

Elizant failed to mention the Plumpling Pie she partakes in every morning and night.

Elizant: Let’s start by setting up a list of good foods to eat, making sure your meals are nutritious and that you eat a reasonable amount of them.

Bianca: And soon we can train some more?

Elizant:...Yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyes…

Bianca: Ohhhh, thank you, Elizant…

The two friends hugged again. Though Bianca was hurting, she looked forward to the future very much. Elizant, on the other hand, was very much worried for Bianca’s health (and worried as to what her guards would think that she sent their queen/mother to the floor with one punch), but at least Bianca was enthusiastic...

#bug fables #queen bianca #queen elizant II #blurb #writing

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