#but she is very much a solitary creature so not many experience the protective/would kill for you/would die for you side of her

[silksworn]

what form would your daemon take?

Wild cat Your daemon would take the form of a wild cat! Those who have wild cat daemons are proud and confident people who radiate strength. They aren't necessarily the most talkative, but they have the largest presence in the room wherever they go. As natural leaders, the companions of these individuals know it's their way or the highway.

what kind of wild cat is your daemon?

Your daemon would take the form of a cougar! You are a decisive and impact individual who looks after your own. More so than others with wild cat daemons, those with cougars are protective and communicative, clearly stating their own needs and watching out for those weaker than themselves. They are patient and aware, and get their best work done in solitude.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (13/16)

In which Maul learns what he has done to his brother.

3.8k | Zombie Savage AU | warning for graphic body horror

The world is sluggishly textured, a mess made of strings of gentle metal and rough sleazoid skin; the breath is soft, and Maul is safe. Tame fat cables undulate and rivets melt into him as if they had finally found their home. The skin does not recede either: it encloses Maul into its arms and soothes the worries in his hearts, the questions, the force battering against it, as green and swollen as summer wind. The skin and the steel are his brother, Maul realizes and has always known.

He must not have managed to catch himself, this time, before he tumbled down onto fallen Savage inside this half-remembered nightmare, must not have braced himself up and grabbed hold of his brother’s face. He must have failed his desperate attempt at controlling air and force and life.

Still, there are no wet gasps—no sounds at all, and no blood on a dirty Sundari floor that he left weeks ago.

There is no frivolous apology gasped out with a weak apprentice’s final breath.

Only the steel and the skin remain.

Maul’s hungry hand digs itself into the warm cables and dissolves into shrapnel, into gristle; the cilia of his lungs and the bone marrow and gut bacteria unravel eagerly into a boy that was never allowed to exist. A boy that is held—that is safe, here, for this moment that lasts forever, because this fleshy soup will not harm him: Savage would never, Savage loves him, and this tangle of sweet metal and worried bone and tender force that is melting Maul down with it is Savage, Maul has always known and remembers over and over with every jolt, every breath, every second the pain of being unguarded does not come.

Outside, the howling force and the spluttering green light churn and spin a cocoon.

Inside, they are safe. There is no more child in an empty facility, trained up to become a pointless attack dog by a malcontent liar. There is no first loss, no dissection, no empty exile. There is no vengeance. There is no heinous defeat at the hand of Maul’s—abuser—Master and there are no lightsabers piercing his brother’s—it’s not his, never was, this disfigured fake—chest and their hands do not have to hold on and cling to the one person they ever possessed. They do not have to stand back up and beg for mercy—they do not have to lie helpless and feel every millimeter of their useless torn ‘saber worm itself into their charred torso—they do not have to feel themselves tossed over and over into walls and floor before their Master carries them off to further torture—they do not have to wake up alone after they failed the one brother they had left—they do not have to lose their sisters, their mother, their clan—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn, here, they do not have to mourn, they are liquefied and safe. They are wrapped in each other, alloyed, and neither the force nor the Mother could assort what is left to make any coherent wholes again. Neither the force not the Mother could let one die and another survive, not when all that’s left of their lives is each other. They are amorphous and safe. They are cartilage and rivet and cortex, oleaginous and oozing and ready to eclose. They do not have to mourn.

They are safe.

They’re safe.

Safe. The feeling is terrific; terror-filled; tearing; suddenly, it is far too alien to bear. Safe. Safe? Reality lays its tumescent eggs into the goo of his conscious, eggs bursting and birthing memory and rationality and dread: bringing forth everything Lord Sidious has ever taught him. Safety is a lie. Maul has never been safe. There is no mercy. The very desire is debasement, pathetic for its infantile holdout against education, eradication. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short; it is impossible to bear, and the only reprieve is victory. Passion, strength, power, victory: and Maul but a loathsome worm who lost everything that could ever be taken from him. Legs. Purpose. Grace. Duty. Mother. Title. Planet. Brother, over and over again. Safe? There is no safety in a world of power and irrelevance, where those who wield might will slake their base desires using those who are weak. Where those who wield might will extirpate Maul’s brother before his very eyes and he can only scramble and beg, impotent wretch that he is, for the person he deluded himself into loving. It hurts. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is no teacher, Maul reminds himself. It serves no purpose. He is but a failed apprentice to the Sith, and that dark power will never be his. Pain is pain is pain.

Hope serves no purpose either, save the acolyte’s attempt to protect herself. Savage lives, Ventress had said, and yet, Maul saw him on the cot motionless and her crouched over him with her ‘saber and he begged again and—it is but false hope. Hope is nothing but pain, pain deferred.

Maul’s head rests on the chest he is so sure belonged to his brother, and he forces his hearts to beat louder to drown out the silence where his own rhythm should meet an answer. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is pain is pain, and there is no power to be gained from wallowing in it. From hoping.

He must open his eyes. The false safety will not return, however long he begs childlike again for his brother. The cocoon has disgorged him. He is in the lair of Sidious; he lies unconscious on the sacrificial altar of his brother’s corpse. He must open his eyes.

He does.

The torso looks much worse than it felt. The torso: adorned with Savage’s familiar markings, but that is not all it bears. From his vantage point resting right above the silent hearts, Maul catalogues open sores, suppurating and infested with shining maggots and dark worms, yet clear of any blood. And why should there be blood, when the dead do not bleed, and Savage is dead? Unutterable pain is inscribed gaudy and blatant on Savage’s body. On his brother, whom Maul had left for weeks, abjectly paralyzed by defeat and apathy and fear of his Master—had left him there for weeks, and Maul is learned enough in the decomposition and rot of humanoid bodies to recognize that Savage could not have died weeks ago. Of course, the rate of decay could have been affected by water contact, humidity, the presence or absence of certain insects, availability of oxygen, or heat—though if Master had had the corpse refrigerated for imaginative torments to visit on his failed apprentice, there should not be this many nimble insects inhabiting Savage’s carcass.

This many insects—the body is teeming with steel-shining creatures, far too massive for mere blowfly eggs, and yet there is no bloat. Maul runs his fingers over the belly, carefully pushing aside the shreds that remain of his brother’s old armor and prodding feather-light against unbroken skin, avoiding the edges of burns and slashes so as not to hurt—he cannot hurt a corpse, though the piteous superstition rides deep within him. He can’t hurt Savage. Anyway, Savage’s dead. Dead, but not for weeks. Not for days, even. Not for hours. No bloat. It should have started in the belly—unleashed enzymes should have broken down his intestinal walls—but the stomach is slightly pudgy, soft, warm, not turgid in the least. The muscles aren’t rigid. Its state does not match up with the steel-colored insects, heads like cross-recess screws—the steel-colored…

The corpse moves.

Hot air snorts against the top of Maul’s head, once, twice; the body underneath Maul shudders and stretches. Savage wakes the way he always did in the months he and Maul played at being crime lords, deeply unhappy with his sudden consciousness but far too dutiful to turn over and give in to sleep once more. A warm steel hand touches the back of Maul’s neck.

“This is a dream,” Savage’s familiar baritone rumbles.

Maul rears up and falls to the ground.

“Maul, is that really you? Where did you go?” Savage is sitting up now, the back of his right hand—the arm bisected by a deep wound and full of ferrous maggots though it was whole and hale when Maul last saw him—right hand carefully wiping sleep grit from his eyes. He yawns. “I have not seen you for so long. Is this a vision again? Tell me it is. Tell me where you are, brother. Please—”

Maul scuttles backwards.

��Brother?”

“Lord Maul?”

Voices, taunting. Maul has fallen for these tricks too often—fell for them again, just now, even though the naïve child apprentice was deceived and hurt so often that even he learnt one day not to trust the offerings of his Master. Hope is a foolish pursuit. In the wretched company of his honest brother and loyal fanatic Death Watch, he must have unlearned this most vital of lessons.

Hope is foolish. Mercy will not come. Maul is accustomed to agony.

And yet, he cannot bear this.

Savage’s corpse, moving, and did he not just wonder whether Master refrigerated it to prolong the torture…

“Fight me, Master,” Maul growls. Attempts to growl. It comes out as a plea, a whine, a sob. “Fight me. Kill me. There is no need for puppetry.”

“Brother—”

“Lord Sidious, what do you gain from—”

“Lord Maul! ‘Alor! Maul!”

Rook Kast enters the edges of his narrowed darkening vision, Kast who does not serve Sidious, or does she—? Maul has trusted his senses before, trusted his followers, and it led him here. If even Savage, his apprentice, his brother, was turned into a tailor-made torture, how could he ever discern… how…

A prick in his neck, he must fight, and—

Maul is kneeling on the floor. His head aches, the edges of his vision still bruised—tell-tale sedation. His back is braced against a warm solid chest, and there are yellow-black-metal arms poised at his sides, ready to help hold him up if he should buckle but otherwise not caging him in. Well-practiced, a caution born of prior experience when a feverish Maul attempted to fight his way free, and… Savage would not have shared this knowledge. He would not use it to further the ends of Maul’s Master, Maul’s abuser as he always says. He wouldn’t.

“I apologize for the tranq dart, Lord Maul,” Kast says. She is kneeling as well, a few meters away. “You were having a panic—you were growing slightly discomfited.”

The tips of Savage fingers dance along Maul’s forearm, a comforting gesture. Master would not have known this type of contact soothes Maul. He has never treated—or even witnessed Maul ever before being touched with any kind of gentleness.

“Apology granted,” Maul says.

“What you were saying before—Sidious isn’t here. He’s on Coruscant.” Kast shrugs her shoulders. “While you were—indisposed, I had an instructive conversation with Ventress and the captive General. We are in agreement that Sidious must die. We were waiting for you to wake up before we discuss strategy.”

Sidious is on Coruscant.Where they will fight him. Nobody here is in his employ—they are all his enemies. It must be true, if Savage doesn’t object, because despite the lifetimes of pain inscribed in his brother’s open wounds, the confused state of decay, the person guarding Maul’s back is Savage. Master would never have managed to imitate his mannerisms, his gentle care. Savage is far too alien, too unlike anyone Maul has ever met.

Sidious is on Coruscant. Far away. Too far to hurt Maul. It is a boneless relief—Savage’s hand braces him carefully—and yet… And yet, Kast wants him to discuss strategy for an attack against the unassailable eternal Master of the Sith. She still does not grasp that attacking Sidious is suicide, and neither do her compatriots. She does not understand that finding Savage far away from Him is all they ever could have hoped for; that all the future holds for them now is a desperate scramble to avoid arousing any notice every again, if they want to live. Kill Sidious? Kast is delusional.

If Maul owes any loyalty to Death Watch, for helping retrieve his brother, he must dissuade her. He must tell them again about Sidious. He follows.

On the walk over to the war room, Maul attempts surreptitiously to catalogue his brother’s injuries. It’s not easy, since Savage wordlessly fell into his usual position of guarding Maul’s back, albeit walking much closer behind than he would have, earlier, so close that he would get in the way should Maul have to veer around to protect himself. A tactical mistake, though Maul is not inclined to correct it. He himself is trying to subtly glance over his shoulder. He could order Kast and Savage to halt, so Maul could visually inspect his brother, but then Savage might attempt to engage him in a conversation he does not know how to have. The weeks apart have unbalanced their easy relationship—Savage’s torture has, and Maul’s desperate search, the revelation of how deeply he values his brother—and a repeat conversation about the awful might of the Sith Master is much easier to have than whatever words Savage might expect. So he does not stop.

He listens, instead. The rhythm of Savage’s steps betrays no hidden pain, though they are a fraction more frequent, as if something had shortened his strides.

Maul chooses his path so that he passes under a low-hanging light fixture, and Savage clears it without bumping his head.

Savage’s breath is calm and measured; he does not falter once; he effortlessly matches Maul when Maul speeds up.

He follows behind Kast and Maul into the war room.

Saxon and Jagrub are in there, as well as a random Clone Trooper, Asajj Ventress, and—

Kenobi.

“I was warned that you would show up,” Kenobi says.

Maul bares his teeth.

Behind him, Savage growls. Suddenly, he is so close that Maul can feel the warmth of his skin against his back. Dark cables flare around him to form a makeshift cocoon guarding Maul, and the air crackles dangerous and green.

“In this moment, we have a common enemy. I wish to dispatch this Sidious as fast as humanly possible. I am reliably informed that Sidious did not exactly treat you with kindness, either. He is my priority. I am prepared to forget our—” Kenobi looks pained— “our history, as long as this threat is defanged.”

Maul feels the air vibrate against his skin. He and Savage managed to take on Kenobi once before, though after they had laid a trap, and Maul is still muddled and buoyed by the aftershocks of his dream and Savage’s marked by weeks of unknown torture. They have allies here, but Dooku’s acolyte will likely side with Kenobi again, and Death Watch are resourceful but they still lack the force entirely, and might as well be discounted in a duel of Sith and Jedi. Kenobi and Ventress against Maul and Savage, again. And Savage’s still injured. Kenobi targeted Savage’s weak defenses in the fight on Florral, and Savage was in a decent form then and still tore a knee and lost his arm. He is weaker now, and his survival far more tenuous given Maul doesn’t even know the full extent of his injuries yet. In a fight, Kenobi will most likely kill him. Maul just found his brother impossibly alive after weeks of torture, and Kenobi would…

It’s a calculation Maul never before had to make, because his death would have furthered the ends of the Sith or have proven he did not deserve life in the first place, but Savage was just returned to his side. Even if the demise of a weakling is well-deserved, it would make tactical sense to retreat until he is at full strength once more, wouldn’t it?

“A temporary alliance until we find Sidious is all I propose. Believe me, I’m not happy either.”

Savage would die if Maul attacks now. The walls and the floor swirl in the corner of Maul’s eyes, a faint green vortex—Ventress takes an alarmed step towards him—Savage would die, and Maul wants to murder Kenobi and he wants his brother as far from Sidious as possible and so he says—

“Lord Sidious will asphyxiate us with His mind. Attacking Him is suicide.”

“The Jedi have exterminated plenty of Sith before.”

Maul breathes. In, out, in. He does not remember tasting the ashes of the dead of Malachor. He doesn’t. He would kill Kenobi if he did. And Savage would…

“I fought you,” he growls instead. “I fought you on Naboo and you barely won. I fought you on Raydonia and you needed the aid of Ventress to escape; I fought you on Florral and you barely won, and on Mandalore I beat you.”

Kenobi looks angry. “On Mandalore—” He swallows his words. “Barely, you say? I seem to remember that you were barely half a Sith when I finished with you.”

Savage rests his shuddering hand against Maul’s back. Maul hardly even feels it.

“You barely beat me,” he repeats, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but a hooded man laughing. “My Master squashed me like a bug. He could do anything He wanted to me, right until I deployed to Naboo, and He toyed with Savage and me on Mandalore despite any skills we might have learned. I watched Him skewer Savage, and I know it was not happenstance but His brag that He controlled every moment of our battle. The power of Lord Sidious dwarfs every single one of us, and He will beat all of us together.”

Kenobi is quiet, but just when Maul begins to hope he has finally met a rational creature, he says, “What can Sidious do against a foe who does not die?”

Maul growls again. He bared his vulnerabilities to prevent a predictable massacre, and Kenobi spins fairytales?

But Kenobi keeps on talking, “You created a technobeast, Maul. Are you too squeamish to use it?”

A technobeast: part machine, part organic Sithspawn mutant. Lord Sidious was not impressed with Maul’s fascination for this area of force manipulation, back when Maul’s studies focused of the elementals of Sith history and technique instead of practicalities for carrying out his Master’s plans. Nevertheless, He allowed Maul the study, if only for the reason that droid mechanics and forceful manipulations of machines was occasionally useful. Technobeasts, Maul recalls, are created by infecting living organisms with the nanogene spore, a technovirus developed through a combination of Sith alchemy and a Force technique called mechu-deru. The virus grows metallic tumors over the bodies of its victims, ultimately lobotomizing their brains and transforming them into weaponized cyborgs. Metallic tumors… like worms that resemble cables, and maggots made from screws.

Does Kenobi mean to imply…

“I entered Savage’s mind and saw it,” Kenobi says. His eyes are heavy, sad, disgusted. “You can deny your crime all you want. I saw you transform your own brother into a zombified machine slave. If you did not mean to use your immortal weapon to take on your Sith Master and take his place, then why did you use mechu-deru on Savage Opress?”

The maggots and worms inside Savage: of course they bore such resemblance to metal. Maul has worked on enough droids and speeder bikes and ships. He should have recognized their components. He remembers that moment on the floor in Sundari palace, reaching for every animating power he could to just keep Savage breathing for a second longer: and Maul has always felt the movement in inert matter, has felt the force presence of droids and ships and treated mechu-deru as a fact of life. And mechu-deru and Talzin’s magic were the only force powers animating inanimate matter, after all. So when he reached out back then…

If Kenobi is right, then Savage is dead, and yet Maul brought him back. Maul took away the vulnerabilities of mortal flesh, and changed his apprentice forever. He plugged up every injury with metal, and every further injury will be fixed with more metal still. Maul has power. He could make the choice Kenobi has already condemned him for. He could use his brother against his Master. He could be safe. With Savage changed, undead, undying, they could kill Sidious, and they would not have to live forever terrified of his reprisal. He could…

The warm hand on Maul’s back retreats.

Maul turns around. Savage looks down at him, one eye tender and worried, the other a crater of sluggish shrapnel.

He still had both eyes when he died.

Mechu-deru is a dark art for a reason. It does not respect bodily integrity, consent, independence. It is never mutual but always imposed by the strongest. It is Sith. To infect a living creature with nanospores means lobotomizing their frontal lobe and rendering them incapable of higher thought. Nothing more than a weapon. Savage might be more powerful now, but truly, has Maul ever valued him for his power? The person who found Maul on Lotho Minor and whom he took on as an apprentice was a decent fighter, certainly, and strong but unpracticed in the force, but Maul treated him the way he did because Savage threw him food in the freighter when he was still spider-bellied and insane with pain. Savage sang him songs and tried not to hurt him. Savage was gentle and he cooked inedible food, and he was the only person Maul could turn his back to and sleep leaning up against, because Savage was not just a powerful apprentice, but his brother, his brother whom he claimed when he lowered guard long before he could even acknowledge the word. Before anything, Savage was his brother.

And Maul turned him into a technobeast.

There are thousands of primitive legends a brainless Savage will never be able to whisper at night. Thousands of bad recipes he will never try. Thousands of smiles that will never grace his face.

Every injury will draw in more metal, until there is nothing of Savage left.

Lord Sidious controlled every inch of Maul’s life when he was young, chose his food and his clothing and knowledge and training and, on Mustafar at the very least, the very air supply. But for want of skill or knowledge of the option, Master never possessed his apprentice as utterly as this.

It’s not conditioning nor fear of punishment that leads to loyalty, no: Maul inserted his will into Savage with the very metal that keeps him alive. There is no choice for his brother now but to obey.

No other option.

Not even death.

For the first time in his life Maul has surpassed Lord Sidious.

In the realization there is nothing but shame.

Feeling cold as a glacier, he allows his eyes to stare straight for the first time at the monster he built out of the only person who ever loved him.

[priorireverte]

Congratulations Snapey!

Your application for Severus Snape has been accepted. I really love how much depth and thought you put in to how his history and life shaped him in to the man he was when he died. I am so excited to see how he’ll be shaped by his untimely un-demise. If he ever gets past the initial panic and doomandgloom.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Snapey, He/Him

TIMEZONE:GMT

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Probably 2 paras a week with occassional explosions of activity flooding the dash

ANYTHING ELSE: Got a looooot of experience. Lots. Also my Snape is both a bad person and a good person because I read the books. I don’t know if this is the place for it, but Severus, being a product of the 1970s has a lot of internalised homophobia, and while, I, Snapey, like to think I’m pretty up to date on prejudice and privilege, this grumpy old turd isn’t. If I post something that’s ruining your ability to enjoy the RP even if it isn’t in the triggers list, or you’re not in the thread, let me know. I never want fun to become work.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Severus Snape

BIRTHDATE: January 9, 1960

DEATHDATE: May 2, 1998

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Male, he/him, probably heteroromantic, definitely bisexual but low self image, so get past that, suitors. He is comfortably male despite his more feminine aspects.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Returned

FACECLAIM: Adrien Brody/ Louis Garrel, either works, got plenty of age appropriate gifs. Got more sneers for LG tho :D

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM:

At first Severus thought that what he was experiencing was the effects of a brain starved of blood and oxygen, combined with hypovolemic shock. Nothing made sense, but that was all well and good when he thought the world around him was a delusion. His behaviour at first was unusual, almost excitable. Every night he went to sleep, sure that this would be the time he never awoke and finally his consciousness would fade into the ether. Morning always came. And oddly, his dying neurons never provided an image of either of the two wizards he had served for more than half his life….nor did they show him the boy he’d made it his life’s work to protect in anything but scraps of conversation and images on newspapers. All in all the delusion was a strange one but it had to be false…didn’t it?

It started to become clear to him that this was not the case, and he was neither awaiting trial for his crimes nor being nursed back to health- the wound that should have been on his neck was not even visible, though sometimes he was sure he almost felt the sharp stab of Nagini’s fangs into his throat. Finally, he realised his position, and the old guarded Severus returned.

PERSONALITY: 

Severus’s personality appears to many to be a mystery. Equal parts anger and sadness, all held tight behind a number of walls. Deeply traumatised by the events of his childhood and youth, Severus hides a great deal, afraid to show too much of any emotion, lest it be considered weakness. The only emotion he allows himself to experience around others is anger, since his upbringing has told him it is the only feeling a man is allowed to have. Rage makes him feel for a moment to be powerful.

Severus is quintessentially Slytherin, despite what the late Albus Dumbledore may have implied with his heinous ‘sort too soon’ comment. Resourceful, practical, and driven, Severus has the makings of a great wizard. If only he had got his name into the history books for something else.

His strengths lie in logic, creativity, and problem solving, but he takes them too far at times, seeking to analyse and overanalyse every action. Looking too deeply for too long.

Severus, despite his former jobs as Head of Slytherin, and later, Headmaster, is not a leader. He has never been such, and never will be. He is solitary partially through choice, as he feels it more comfortable than to have to watch his words and wait for whatever fresh hell will be foist upon him.

His interaction with other living things has always been a weakness, be it plants, creatures magical and mundane, or other humans. He does not trust them and they often do not trust him. And considering all that he is….can you blame them?

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Severus’ family comes in three parts.

His home, a muggle father tossed about on the sea of Thatcherism in the industrial north and a pureblood witch for a mother who had greater concerns than the welfare of her son. It was not a happy home, even though it had moments of brightness.

Lily Evans, his best friend during childhood and a lamplight in the dark of the almost slums of Cokeworth. Her effects on his character and personhood were immeasurable.

Lastly, the Death Eaters, and specifically those he was at school with. As a boy with nowhere to belong, caught between the bright academia of Hogwarts and the dingy grime of Cokeworth summers, the Death Eaters offered him something he had long craved. A disenfranchised, talented youth, he lapped up their promises and made one of the defining choices, and mistakes of his life.

HISTORY

Poor, working-class, neglected, too smart for his own good. Severus had the deck stacked against him at an early age. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, as the cliche goes, Severus succeeded monumentally in the Wixen world. A star Potioneer, an expert in the Dark Arts, an occumplished Occlumens. But those would be victories hard won, working twice as hard as his housemates, for scant praise.

While his childhood was grim, there was some hope, borne by Lily Evans. The girl was bright and vibrant and importantly, a witch. Severus did not know tthe manner of her importance on his future only that he was sure she would be a part of it.

The first stumbling block to their friendship was their Sorting, but even that did not yet spell doom. They still spent plenty of time together, exploring spellcraft and potions, though Severus’ interest was always very practical and with a Darker bent to it. Their housemates however, had different opinions. While Lucius Malfoy’s favour protected him for his first two years from much of the open Blood purity rhetoric by which point he had proved his worth to his housemates, it was always there in the periphery, and the poison dripped slowly into his ear, along with the promises of power and whispers of a world where he never had to deal with muggles like Petunia and his father.

Come his fifth year, in the dead of winter, his distrust for authority, bolstered by the lack of interference from his teachers into the campaign of bullying he had endured, hit a new peak. Not only had his terrorisers attempted to kill him (Severus surprisingly believed better of Sirius Black than to use an ignorant friend as a murder weapon- and worse of James Potter, sure that the other boy had only come along because of the consequences it would have on Remus Lupin’s continued freedom), but there was to be no speaking of the incident and certainly no real material punishment. Add in the stress of standardised testing and the pressure to prove himself every bit the wizard his mother’s blood made him, and once summer rolled around and the sun and blood was high, he lashed out at his stalwart friend, ending a seven year friendship in an instant.

He tried to make amends at first, but pushed away, sought some small comfort in the bosom of brotherhood. And soon enough he was standing shoulder to shoulder with them in a war. As time passed and he began to realise that the aims of this organisation, and more importantly, the methods, were not only distasteful but in direct opposition to those morals he still held, his loyalty began to waver. And once again, a push in the form of an overheard prophecy and Severus found himself knelt at Albus Dumbledore’s feet on a windy November night begging for mercy. For himself, but more importantly for his old friend, no faith in the man who had been his master.

And so began the cat and mouse game, where Severus was always the mouse, tossed between two cats, two masters. Adding to the stress of being a teacher barely older than his oldest students was the constant threat, the fear of discovery, and of the sword hanging above the Potter’s heads.

When news of the Halloween attack on Godric’s Hollow reached him, the bottom fell out of his stomach. He felt -and not for the first time- that perhaps his death at Remus Lupin’s hands in the Shrieking Shack at 15 had been fated, and it was this divertion from the tapestry woven for him that had lead to so much anguish. Certainly he felt like a dead man walking then. And all the worse for knowing that the real target of the attack had survived. It was in an attempt to make amends that he put his life into Dumbledore’s hands. He clung to the last shred of Lily inside himself and out.

Harry Potter- the boy who would occupy many of his waking moments. Even before the boy came to Hogwarts, before seeing the cocky, miniature James Potter sitting in his class, glaring at him with Lily’s eyes, Severus lay awake many nights wondering how the boy would turn out. He hoped, of course, for more of Lily. More of that bright, almost holy, goodness. Time and distance had toyed with his memories somewhat, so when he recalled Lily, he no longer thought of the arguments, or the paranoid way he had viewed her friends, or even his anger at her. A resigned grief and loss was what he felt. But Severus had never had the easy way of things, so when fateful 1991 rolled around, while he knew he was in for seven long years, he could never have predicted how long and how hard they would be.

Firstly, the boy had neither of his parent’s genius. He was lazy with his work and only too eager to play silly quidditch games, putting himself at risk and Severus into mild heart palpitations. Not only did he have to continue to worry about the safety record of his potions class, but watch an ever worsening parade of Defence against the Dark Arts teachers, and a worrying resurgence of the old ways in the Slytherin common room. He tried his best to be the teacher he had never had, but in loco parentis meant something different from his perspective, and he was a stern taskmaster. His colleagues, those he should have been able to bond with at least a little were all older than him, and somehow less mature. They were frivolous in many ways he could not afford to be, they seemed to have no idea of the depths to which mankind could sink, and they doted on Potter.

Three years and multiple apoplectic rages later, terror re-entered Severus’ life. A growing itch on his arm, a darkening Mark until at last, the thing Dumbledore had somehow known would come, came. The Dark Lord returned. And so did Severus. Now he was older, and less susceptible to the Dark Lord’s flattery and promises, but the knife’s edge he walked grew ever sharper the more he ingratiated himself into the Dark Lord’s graces, no longer part of what had once been akin to a family.

And so the Order was resurrected, but he didn’t belong there either, and no-one let him forget it. Nevermind that he was now not only supposed to teach the boy Potions-which he had no skill in- but also Occlumency -which he was even worse at. As the year grew darker, with an ever more invasive ministry presence, and an ever more combative pupil, he found himself removing more and more memories, reliving them each time he returned them to the cramped tense space in his mind. He could feel all he had worked so hard for crumbling beneath him; he was losing his Slytherins to a side he dare not tell them the cruel truth of, the boy he had promised to protect was increasingly reckless, and under it all, like a viper hiding in the long grass, was the very real threat of the rising Dark Lord.

When at long last, the Headmaster aquiesced to what had now become his yearly routine of applying for the Dark Arts post, he knew that a monumental shift in the balance was coming. And he was not wrong. Not only was he to protect Potter, but Draco Malfoy. He was now a trusted lieutenant of the Dark Lord, and almost sole confidant to Headmaster Dumbledore. Severus retreated further into himself, socially and mentally. He knew he did not know all that either wizard had planned, but he knew enough. He knew that he had been used even worse than he had thought. There was no protecting Potter for the memory of those lost, or the hope of those yet living, there was just …maintaining him. Until the time was right. Until the finl chess move, trading one piece for the black King. It ate away at him. Every time he saw Lily’s eyes in that hated face, and knew that the boy must die, had always had to die. And then clever Draco, letting Death Eaters into the school. And first he had to stun Flitwick, in the midst of a growing companionship, if not quite friendship, and then….on the tower…

It probably came as no surprise to his supposed allies that he had betrayed them. And though he now had as sure a position among the Death Eaters as any wixen, was now truly embraced by them. It felt dirty. He felt dirty. Every spell he cast, no matter which side it was for, no matter to what end. It was as if the smog of Cokeworth, kept at bay for so long had finally spread throughout his veins, curled around his nerves, even around his magic.

The office, gifted to him by men he held nothing but disiluusioned distaste for felt colder and lonelier than his self-imposed isolation in the Dungeons had. He had long felt alone, but never had he been so truly alone as when he sat, surrounded by long dead wixen who had held the post before him, in a school that had been more pain than home. But he endured. He had sworn to. It was perhaps the only thing he had left to cling to. And so he did what he could, to lessen the suffering of others, to save them where he could. And the whole year, he knew that should he choose, he could fall back in with the old crowd, could abandon the plans a portrait whispered to him. Could deserve the hate in every glance from old colleagues, every whisper from the students. Could be the traitor they all thought him.

Only stolen glances at a scrap of paper never meant for him and a torn photograph kept him alive those dark days. It was almost a blessing to be ousted from the castle. Almost. The boy was alive, though Severus knew it couldn’t last, mustn’t be allowed to last.

And then came the battle. The grass he had picnicked on torn up and the dirt churned into mud. The loft battlements brought down to rubble. And he couldn’t find Potter to tell him, if he even would have listened. Lucius gave him a summons from the Dark Lord, and unwilling to break cover when there was still a chance to find the boy, he answered it. Back in that dirty old Shack, back where he should have died at 15. And this time, 23 long, hard-fought years later, he did.

And in those final moments, blood and memories pouring from him, all that he was, muggle blood flooding out along with the wixen, left him, but at least, at that last moment, he saw her eyes again, and there was no hate to be found. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. He hoped he had done enough.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? Getting to flex my RP muscles in a seriously challenging environment, exploring a post-war Severus who isn’t free, who isn’t happy, and who has to once more adapt and survive.

ANYTHING ELSE?

The cot creaked as he sat up. Another day in this fresh hell. Only it couldn’t really be hell, because there were others here who didn’t deserve it. He closed his eyes briefly, but only briefly, because while there were safe people here, there were also very unsafe ones. 

His hypervigilance, forged as a child, sharpened during his school years and honed to a razor’s edge by his years of spying and supervising children around cauldrons served him well as he made his way towards the canteens, watching as another no-longer dead wixen was dropped off. The Unspeakables still hadn’t let on their plans or what they knew of these Returned. 

He waited patiently for some space, knowing he would feel safer with a cup of coffee in his hand, and less irritable to boot. As he poured his cup he turned suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He was being watched. He didn’t know if it was by friend or foe, not that he had many of the former. Severus almost hoped it was the latter. He had too often caught glances thrown his way that held an uncomfortable level of respect. 

Of course he wanted that, had always strived to be respected….but this was…not right. He drew his issued robes tighter about himself. The mug felt warm in his hand, and he slowly raised it and took a sip, peering from behind the greasy fringe at his fellow inmates, daring them to meet his gaze.

Show yourself…

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Wild Salt Air 1- Outer Banks Fic - [JJ x OC]

Summary: The ocean is dark and deep, hiding all her treasures. JJ catches the eye of one such hidden creature. 

Characters: JJ x OC, John B x Sarah Cameron, Kiara x Pope, Topper, Rafe

Warnings: Brief mentions of rape (not of a main character), suicide, near death experience 

Word Count: 3728

AN: So I watched Outer Banks, like, forever and a day ago and JJ is my favorite. I mean, when is JJ not the favorite. Anyway, I got this idea in my head that JJ gets saved by a mermaid and they fall in love. It’s not going to be very long. I was going to make it a one shot but the beginning is all background information so I decided that it was going to be maybe two or three chapters instead.

I based my mermaids on the story of the goddess Atargatis. Here’s a website that goes into more detail about her:

Atargatis the First Mermaid

I also based it on a story that I swear I heard somewhere about how the sirens based on Greek myth were created when women jumped overboard instead of being taken by pirates. I swear I heard that somewhere but I cannot find it anywhere. 

I also made this story non canon compliant. John B and Sarah are together and so are Pope and Kiara. They didn’t search for treasure and Ward Cameron didn’t kill John B’s dad. This is mostly going to be about JJ and his mermaid but I just wanted to make it clear that it’s not compliant with the tv show. 

Anyway, enjoy!

Wild Salt Air

Chapter 1

She was called many things.

Nereid

Mermaid

Nymph

Siren

She had but one name that she had been called as far back as she could remember. 

Dahlia

She didn’t remember much from before her life in the water. She remembered where she was born, she remembered her name and she remembered her death. 

She was born in Denmark to humble traders in 1770. She grew up on the coast learning to swim and to fish from her father. Her mother taught her how to bake and to sew, womanly endeavors. 

Her father traveled often, leaving for months at a time on trading vessels. She’d begged to go with him every season and every season he would say no, maybe next year. Her mother always said it was too dangerous. Terrible things happened to a woman at sea. 

Dahlia didn’t care. She possessed a love for the water she’d carry with her into death.  

The year she turned 16, her father finally let her accompany him on his voyage across the sea. He said it was a simple trade journey, delivering a cargo of beef, pork, sugar, butter and so on. It would be months and she would be one of the only females aboard. She didn’t mind, she remembered. Just the joy of being with her father was enough to make the journey worth while. 

They were sailing along near the coast of the colonies when they were attacked. 

They were set upon by pirates and most of the crew was killed near instantly. They were not equipped with more than a handful of fighting men. They were a trade ship after all and most of the crew were merchants and fishermen. Her father had been one of the first to die, huddled as he was in a corner. He’d been shielding her from the attack and his death had exposed her.

Dahlia was one of only three women on board. The captain’s wife and the first mate's mother made up the rest. The captain’s wife had been sequestered in the cabin early in the fight being subjected to unspeakable things. The first mate’s mother had died quickly, falling on the sword of a pirate as she ran. 

Dahlia was unlucky enough to survive the initial attack. The pirate captain was fascinated with her. He’d twisted her hair around his fingers, stroking the nearly white strands with dirty nails. He’d commented on her eyes more than once, astonished at their indigo color. He’d remarked several times on their shifting hue in the light. He’d said they’d reminded him of the ocean and its constant changing waves. 

When he began speaking of taking her with him aboard his own ship, she knew that her life was forfeit. She could not survive at the whims of another. She could only imagine the terrible things he’d planned to do to her and dread had speared her heart. 

His first mistake had been turning his back on her. She’d wanted to attack him but she knew she was no match. She was too small. She couldn’t take on any of his crew either. They had too much experience and she had no weapon. Her only choice, the only way she would be free of him, was death.

While his back was turned, she’d made her way to the side of the boat. The same side that the pirates had boarded. She’d stood on the edge, looking down at the sea. 

She would always remember how calm the water was. The waves lapped at the sides in the gentle breeze. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky. The sun had been shining down on the deck, warming the wood and stinging the soles of her bare feet. 

A perfect summer's day.

She’d heard the captain call out to her so she’d turned. He had been standing a few feet in front of her, one hand outstretched. He didn’t try to move towards her.

He called to her again, flexing his fingers once towards him.

She’d met his eyes with her own and fell back, landing hard in the water.

She remembered closing her eyes, feeling the currents carrying her away. She remembered sinking lower and lower as her lungs began to burn. She had opened her eyes and watched as the sun grew further away as she sank. She remembered opening her mouth to take in a lungful of air when a dark shadow dove towards her. Then everything went black.

She doesn’t remember much after that.

It was as if she had woken from a dream and her life had always been as it was under the sea. 

Time moved differently beneath the water. 

Years felt like days and months felt like hours. Time went by and different ships sailed the seas. 

New ships, bigger ships, louder ships. 

Fewer men died at sea. Women even less so. 

Her sisters began to die off. One right after the other. 

As long as their lives were, they were not immortal. They lived for hundreds of years but they still grew old and gray. 

Their numbers dwindled until there were just a few hundred of them on that side of the coast. 

Dahlia lived a relatively solitary life. She had a tribe that she belonged to and others that would share with her but she liked being alone. 

She may have chosen to die at sea but she didn’t choose to become a predator. 

She loved her sisters and her life below the water but she never developed a taste for killing like they did. She didn’t relish in consuming the unsuspecting sailor who crossed their path. She didn’t enjoy hunting down men who sailed into their territory. Unlike her sisters, she still had some memories of her life before the sea. 

She knew that not all were evil. She remembered men like her father who lost his own life protecting hers. She didn’t think it was fair to kill all men because of a few bad ones. 

She remembered what it was like to walk above water and feel the sun on her face. 

The sun was warm and inviting. The water was cold and unforgiving. 

She had loved the sea in life but death reminded her of the warmth of the sun and all she had to offer.

She didn’t like it but she would do what she had to to survive. 

She often found herself watching the sun shimmer against the waves, her brilliant light blurred by the rolling sea. Sometimes, if she reached out, she could feel the warmth of her rays just barely brushing the skin of her palms. 

Oh, how she missed the sun.

The moon didn’t hold the same warmth as the sun. The moon was cold. The moon hid more than she revealed. 

Because of what she was, she was forced to lurk in the darkest depths of the water where humans couldn’t see. Horror stories travelled through their tribes faster than the changing tides. Stories about some of their kind being discovered and taken to the surface only to be tormented and butchered by humans. 

In her sisters’ eyes, humans were the enemy. Evil creatures put on the earth to destroy their kind. She didn’t remind them that they once used to be human. 

Because of the humans, her sisters felt that they couldn’t travel during the day. It was safer to move at night. Hunting at night offered easier pickings. The weaker males didn’t last as long in the night. It made it harder for them to be seen, too, so they were less likely to be caught. Dahlia didn’t agree but she held her tongue. She was the minority among her kind. 

She didn’t count how long she’d been what she was. She knew that it had to have been years since she passed from her earthly life into her sea life but she wasn’t sure exactly how many.

She used the ocean activity to gauge the passing of time and to distract her from her unhappiness. 

Boats traveled further. They didn’t have to use oars anymore. Boats got bigger as well. Faster. 

Women started to frolic in the sea the same as men. Their bathing costumes grew smaller and more revealing. They created games in the water. 

Small boats that they would sit on individually and glide across the surface of the water. They chased each other on these contraptions, sending spouts of water into the sea as they traveled.

Big, long, boards that men and women would stand on and ride the waves. Small boards that would do the same. Skinny sticks that people would strap to their feet and then be pulled along by the boats. 

So many amazing things that Dahlia only dreamt about enjoying. 

It was on one of those days when she saw him.

She’d been hovering contently above an outcropping of reef, clinging low to its base, her tailfin slowly flicking from side to side. Her eyes scanned the ocean above her, watching the people play. Men and women, boys and girls, all of them were enjoying the ocean that day. 

She caught him out of the corner of her eye.

He was riding the waves on his board, dissecting them as they cut into his path. He sent foaming spray up every time he twisted the back end of the board. 

It was the sun that made him stand out. It shined off his body like wheat on a summer's day. His hair glistened in the light, sparkling as he crested each new wave. His body was browned by the sun, a new trend that she thoroughly enjoyed. 

Men and women alike were tanned. When she was a human, it was frowned upon for anyone to allow their skin to darken in the sun. The only people who did it were the ones who worked in the fields all day. Farm hands and servants. Any proper lady or gentleman would never allow the sun to darken their skin beyond its natural creamy complexion.

She found that she liked the browned skin of these new people. The way the sun licked their flesh was utterly fascinating. 

His skin was dark and wet, shining in the sun. 

She could tell he was strong. The way he kept his balance on the board showcased his core muscle strength. His legs were solid pillars of power as he steered the board through the water. She caught a glimpse of his hands when he briefly touched the surface on one of his passes across the waves. They were big and long and cut through the water like a blade.

She didn’t realize she’d followed him down the coast until he began paddling into shore. She was no longer covered by the reef and had exposed herself to anyone who happened to be swimming by. 

She found a large rock close to the beach that afforded her some level of protection. She poked her head out above the water just enough to watch him run ashore. 

He met another man on the beach. This man was sitting with a pile of what she assumed were their possessions. He had long dark hair and some kind of dark shield covering his eyes. The golden man ran out of the water and up the beach, slapping hands with the man sitting. 

She watched as they gathered their things and left the beach, all the while the gold one shook water from his hair and glistened in the sun.

She found herself looking for him after that day.

At first it was just every once in a while when she found herself watching the water but eventually she would stop every day and watch the waves. She found that the more she stopped the more likely she was to see him. 

She learned new things about him when he was on the water. She learned that he was stubborn, falling off his board and getting back on every time, never letting the water defeat him. She learned that he was funny, making his companions laugh when they played together. 

Mostly it was his spirit that made her love him. He rode every wave like it was the most important thing he needed to accomplish. He sailed the ocean like it was what he was born to do. He looked ready to conquer the world some days. Others it looked like the world had conquered him but he always rode the waves with a determination her father would have been proud to see on any of her suitors. 

It was when that thought first crossed her mind that she realized she may be in love with him. 

Her kind didn’t fall in love. There were no males of their species. 

They were created when the goddess Atargatis jumped to her death after the death of her beloved. The water would not conceal her beauty so she was turned into a half-woman, half-fish, forever roaming the waters alone. 

This tragic love grew through the centuries into despair and death. Women who jumped to their untimely death from any vessel at sea would be given the kiss of Atargatis and turned into a half-woman, half-fish, forever roaming the sea, killing unsuspecting sailors and men when they crossed their paths.

She was given one such kiss and forever bound to the water. 

She could become human again, if she so desired. 

If the pull of her heart was ever strong enough, and she gave the kiss of Atargatis to a man, she would forfeit her extended life and transform back into her human self. She would save the life of her human man and, in turn, become human herself.

There were only whispers that this had happened before. Not one of her sisters to recall if one of their kind had ever actually bestowed the kiss of Atargatis onto a man. She didn’t even know if it could be done.

She would try though. 

It really was only instinct that drove her to do it. She didn’t intend to give him the kiss of Atargatis but it did happen. 

It had been a dreary day. A storm was coming. She could feel it in the water.

The waves had been angry all day, beating the coast without mercy, washing debris onto the shore and back out again as they retreated only to bombard the sand with more fury. 

It was on days like this that her sisters took shelter far beneath the surface of the ocean where the gods’ wrath couldn’t reach them. 

Dahlia liked days like this. 

These were days where she could swim freely near the surface without fear of being seen.

Humans were less likely to venture into the water when the waves were this angry. 

She was swimming along the drop off when she saw golden legs splash into the water. She jerked back and darted away, retreating far from human eyes. 

When her heart stopped racing, and she was well hidden behind an outcropping of rocks, she lifted her head out of the water and searched the coast. 

The air froze in her lungs when she saw her golden boy cutting through the waves on his board. 

The dark gray clouds moved menacingly towards him, his frame shrinking as the waves rose and crashing around him. 

She could just make out the lines of his from her distance. His brows were drawn together in a deep scowl and his frame was tense. His eyes were wet but not from the ocean and his lips were nearly bloodless, he pressed them together so hard.

He was angry. 

She didn’t know why but she didn’t care. 

Behind him, a towering wave rose up, dwarfing his body against its deep backdrop. She saw it happening just seconds before it really did. 

The wave crashed down on him, dragging him down into the depths of the ocean before he had time to blink. 

A cry escaped her lips and she dove down, frantically searching for him beneath the black waters. 

She swam across the ocean and down, diving further away from any light as she went. Her eyes adjusted easily but her golden boy still remained out of sight. 

Her eyes grew heavy and her chest tight as she searched the waters in a desperate bid to find him. Her hair swirled around her in frantic tendrils as she whipped her head around. 

Just as she felt that hope was lost and her golden boy was gone, lightning lit up the sky and she saw the outline of a body floating gently just a few feet from her.

Her heart leapt with joy and she darted towards him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and flung herself towards the surface as fast as her fin would carry her. 

She broke the surface and desperately searched the shoreline. Several feet to her right there was a stretch of beach with several small hills obscuring part of the short from view. She needed to be as hidden as possible.

It didn’t take her long to reach the shore even with his additional weight. She pushed him up as far as she could. She settled herself at his side and pressed a hand to his chest. He wasn’t moving. 

She laid her head where his heart was and heard no beating. She felt tears come to her eyes and rush down her cheeks before she had time to stop them. She closed her eyes and nuzzled against the side of his chest, begging Atargatis to save him.

A deep calm settled over her and she opened her eyes.

She sat up and gazed down at his face. He could’ve been sleeping. 

She stroked her fingers down the plains of his face, tracing the smooth slope of his nose and hard angle of his jaw. She ran her fingertips over his eyebrows, shaking off the dampness that lingered. She dragged her thumb over his full bottom lip, tugging it down and clicking her nail against his teeth. She smoothed her hand across his face, tracing the shell of his ear. 

She leaned down, bumping her nose against his. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled of salt and sand. The aroma lingered in his sinuses and she savored it. 

She pressed her forehead against his, bracing herself.

She touched her lips to his, the barest hint of skin against skin. 

He tasted like the salt of the sea and sunshine. 

She pressed harder, willing herself into him. 

After what felt like several minutes, she pulled away, stroking her thumb over his cheekbone. 

She didn’t even know if it would work. She’d only ever heard rumors. She hoped it worked. He was beautiful. He was the light of her sun. He shined bright upon her under the sea, allowing her to feel that much more warmth from the sun. He brought a newness to the ocean that she hadn’t seen in a long time. He made her feel alive again, so much more than the predator she’d been turned into. 

She felt a shift in her center of gravity, like a piece of her she didn’t know was missing finally locked into place. A cooling sensation followed. It started at the crown of her head and slowly worked its way down her spine, settling over her. It was then that she knew it had worked.  

She watched as the color returned to his cheeks. His eyes began to move beneath his lids. His fingers flexed against the sand but still his chest did not rise with breath. 

“JJ!” She looked up when a shout echoed through the tense air. 

Four people came down the beach, frantic. One she recognized as the long haired man who’d greeted her golden boy on the shores so many weeks ago. The others she’d never seen before. 

There was a dark skinned boy whose hands were clutching the back of his head in desperation. An olive skinned girl who cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted again, “JJ!” 

The final person on the beach was a tanned girl with golden brown hair flowing down to her waist. She clutched the hand of the long haired boy and frantically searched the beach. 

A strangled gasp resounded beneath her and she looked down. 

His eyes were unfocused as he gazed up at the sky. His chest heaved with each breath that he took. She stroked her hand down the side of his face and he jerked his head towards her. 

She hovered over him, really gazing down into his face for the first time. Until now, she’d only ever seen him from a distance. He was beautiful then. Now he was striking. 

His crystal eyes shifted in and out of focus, staring up at her. He brought a hand up to cradle hers against his face. 

“JJ!”

She looked over. He followed at a sluggish pace. They were getting closer. 

She looked down at him. His face was turned towards his friends. She glanced back over at them before she dropped her lips down to his, placing a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth. He tried to move, to react but she didn’t let him. 

She slithered down his frame, her hand trailing across his chest as she disappeared back into the water. 

She could feel the strength leaving her tail fin and knew it was only a matter of time before it was gone, replaced by human legs. She needed to find a place away from here where she could shift under the camouflage of the beach.

She sank below the surface and watched as his friends discovered him supine on the shore. She watched as they lifted and carried him away. 

A flame of hope sprang up in her chest when his head turned to look over his shoulder. She hoped he was looking for her. 

She felt her lungs tighten and release, a sure sign that she was rapidly losing her abilities. She ducked down under the water, swimming with minimal strength to the cover of a cave only a few yards from where she’d left her golden boy. JJ. 

With hope burning bright in her chest, she settled in her cave and let her transformation take hold.  

[realm-sweet-realm]

do you headcanon ink creatures like ink demon or projectionist to have any personality or tendencies

The Projectionist

- barely has any thoughts beyond that of which an animal would have. Ink has really wrecked Norman’s brain. What remains are mostly the strategic parts of his mind- he feels very little emotion and is a completely solitary beast.

-Started out as a lost one in the Lost Village when he was saner. He volunteered to be experimented on, which is why he has

-After being kicked out for violent behaviour, he wired the projector to himself and slunk down into the dark corners of the studio. This way, he knows his way around, while everyone else is blind, thus placing him at an advantage.

-The other thing he does to protect himself is collecting ink hearts. If an ink creature (lost one or cartoon) loses its ink heart, it loses the ability to respawn and will die permanently if killed, even leaving a corpse. He keeps as many as possible so that there will be fewer monsters in the long run, and so that he can replace his own if it gets damaged.

-He no longer remembers why he feels protective of the ink hearts, or why he feels most comfortable in the dark. He just does.

-plays cartoons sometimes for his own entertainment. Sometimes butcher gang members or lost ones join in (from a distance, of course!).

-Has an inexplicable soft spot for Alice, and lets her take the occasional ink heart.

-Sturdier (like, harder to turn into a puddle) than any ink creature in the studio other than Bendy and Bertrum.

Ink Demon

-has always been aggressive, but Joey chaining the poor thing to the chair in the throne room and forcing it to watch Bendy toons in order to make him into what he was supposed to be- well, that made him downright vengeful.

-Bendy memorabilia makes him angry, because it reminds him that he was made for a specific purpose instead of being allowed to carve his own fate. Seeing it destroyed makes him angry because it reminds him that the reason for his creation is worthless now. Basically angry all the time.

-Doesn’t really care about Sammy. Occasionally gives enough of a damn to kill him during a ritual as a way of letting him know that he’s wasting his time, but all in all, if the dude wants to worship him, go ahead, I guess.

-Basically just wants to be left alone.

-Super bored. He has free range of the place because he’s most powerful, so he can do what he wants- there’s just not much to do. He’s read every book in the place and watched all the Bendy cartoons dozens of times.

-Mischievous, playful, and horribly sadistic. Likes scaring and intimidating people for fun. Has never taken an ink heart, because that would mean fewer ink creatures to enjoy tormenting!

-He literally disfigured Alice just cuz he thought she was vain and the fallout would be fun to watch. Thinks it’s funny that Alice thinks she’s protecting herself from him when actually he keeps her around for entertainment. Doesn’t like that she kills things after taking their hearts but it’s a fair trade-off.

-Hates Norman because he also permenantly kills ink creatures, which is why he killed him. He also removed his ink heart beforehand.

-Can’t beat Bertrum in a fight.

[maanling]

HC: THE LUPIN FAMILY GENEALOGY.

[ I didn’t think this would get so lengthy so I put most of it under a “read-more”! Please don’t feel obliged to read all of this -- I just felt like rambling about the Lupin family history ]

          The first known records of Remus’s ancestors are from 15th-century Scotland, when muggles Radulph Creich and Rhona Brothaigh wed. Unbeknownst to either of them, Rhona carried magical blood in her veins that did not become apparent until their youngest child Mairi (b. 1489) reached the age of nineteen. 

        Mairi, only just married to Carrick Lippincott, tried her utmost best to hide her powers for two whole years, but was eventually found out by her husband, who tried to have her imprisoned. By then, their family was already expanded with two children, named Greer (1508) and Dunbar (1510), who never saw their mother and were raised by maids.  Carrick, who was nearing his fifties and would be unlikely to find a new wife, hoped that his children could live as ordinary heirs if only he were able to suppress the magic that they possibly got passed on from their mother. However, both son and daughter displayed signs of their powers at the ages of twelve and fourteen, respectively. 

                Greer, like her mother, tried to hide her magic, but Dunbar saw his own potential and wanted to explore his skills and their limits. He travelled a lot, experimenting with spells, and eventually found out about the magical community that existed amongst the ordinary people. Dunbar began attending several courses at Hogwarts at the age of 26, which was not uncommon at that time, and was sorted into Ravenclaw house. Gradually, he became further removed from his father and sister, taking on the surname Lupin as a shortened version of Lippincott to ensure he would no longer be associated with the muggle name.  In 1540, he married Florence Fawley (b. 1520), an early ancestor of the Fawley pure-blood wizarding family, and moved to Glasgow. 

                        Florence and Dunbar got a total of seven children: Hilda (1542, Ravenclaw), Agnes (1545, Hufflepuff), Symon (1547, Ravenclaw), Gaufrid (1548, Ravenclaw), Morogh (1553, Gryffindor), Jonet (1555, Gryffindor) and Lycidas (1559, Ravenclaw). Morogh Lupin lived together with several Gryffindor friends after graduating, including a woman named Mariella Carmichael with whom he fell in love and had a son, Coire (1585). Although he never married Mariella, Morogh openly acknowledged his son and gave him his surname. 

     Coire Lupin, sorted into Ravenclaw like many of his aunts and uncles, became renown for his elaborate theories on arithmancy, even teaching the subject at Hogwarts for two years. He married a Dutch witch named Antonia and lived in the low countries for several decades before moving back to his family home in Glasgow in 1621. The pair had five children on the continent: Lourens (1610, Slytherin), Dierdre (1611, Ravenclaw), Angus (1613, Ravenclaw), Lyall (1615, Ravenclaw) (not to be confused with his later relative), and Alida (1618, Ravenclaw). Their move back to Scotland had been partly because of the unrest caused by the muggle Eighty Years' War, but also because their eldest son was to attend Hogwarts. 

                                   Lourens Lupin showed no interest in his father’s field of study, but was rather fascinated by darker forces and ways to counteract them. This interest led to his untimely demise in 1637, when he interrupted a druidic ritual involving black magic and was killed on the spot. Lourens left his modest estate in Glasgow to his wife Elspeth and their three children Lourens II (1630, Slytherin), Finnea (1633, Gryffindor), and Ranulf (1637, Slytherin).

             Ranulf Lupin lived quite a solitary life with his wife Nairne, who sold potions for a living on the local market or to the occasional traveller. Their wish for children lasted many years but was not fulfilled until they attempted a fertility ritual, and were finally blessed with twins in 1685. Rafe and Laire (both Gryffindor) were eager and adventurous, yet their frail health prevented them from doing many energy-draining activities. Rafe passed away aged 20 due to a flying incident and a pregnant Laire was abandoned by a man who had promised to marry her. Ranulf, a proud man, did not recognize her son Eachan (1707) as his grandchild until he was on his deathbed.

        Despite trouble with her parents, Laire loved and protected Eachan and ensured he never had to wish for anything. The shy boy was sorted into Ravenclaw and proved an apt yet quiet pupil. After graduation, he married Isobel MacLennan, the daughter of a renown bookbinder that specialized in educational spell books, and was taught to continue this family business. The two got a total of eleven children, two of which passed away during or shortly after childbirth. Their second-youngest son, Lorne (1750), soon became the odd one out as he was the only one of his siblings to be sorted into Gryffindor rather than Ravenclaw.

   Lorne was a talented duelist and was often punished at school for engaging in battles against classmates. He strove to make a living off duelling, but his parents believed there would be no money in it and discouraged him to do so. Determined and stubborn, Lorne signed up for the auror program, introduced by the ministry only a couple of years before he was born. That very same month, he eloped with a witch named Paisley, promising her riches from his future job. Although his duel technique was "worthy of sincere admiration", his temper was a failure and he was not admitted into the training program. Paisley reminded him that he could always find another job, which utterly harmed his pride and caused him to turn quite bitter for the rest of his life. They got four children: Tavon (1771, Gryffindor), Wynfreda (1774, Gryffindor), Murdoch (1780, Gryffindor), and Neilan (1785, Ravenclaw).

                                Although practically all his ancestors resided in Scotland, Murdoch moved to Liverpool in 1815, which had become both a muggle and wizarding hub due to the increasing industrialisation. The magic community still very much had to live a life of secrecy and found that Liverpool was a suitable location for magical trade. Not soon after he had set up his trading business, Lupin Purveyors & Co. ( “ supplier of the freshest ingredients & latest spell books ” ), he wed Viola Firmstone. The pair was blessed with six children: Karter (1818, Gryffindor), Remington (1820, Gryffindor), June (1823, Ravenclaw), Eloise (1825, a squib), Godfrey (1830, Gryffindor) and Tidus (1835, Ravenclaw).

                                                  Godfrey Lupin continued the family business along with his older brothers, but despite the fact that Liverpool had grown as a trading port for the wixen community, Lupin Purveyors & Co. did not make the family incredibly wealthy. Godfrey figured that their connection with Diagon Alley in London should be strengthened in order to flourish, for their main clients were now only owners of smaller shops in Liverpool and its surroundings. He owled frequently with several stores in the busy shopping street and managed the advertisements for their company. By 1860, the purveyors had grown somewhat in status. One year later, Godfrey would meet Meriel Hopps, with whom he fell hopelessly in love, and get two children: Ives (1862, Ravenclaw) and Leopold (1866, Ravenclaw).

                Even though neither sons wanted to take over the family business, having more ambitious goals in life, Ives Lupin owned the business for five years. In 1889, he got into financial trouble with Gringotts and was forced to sell Lupin Purveyors under a new name. Leopold, in the meantime, still lived in Liverpool, but worked as an Obliviator at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in London. He was married to a Hufflepuff named Cindy Shires, with whom he had three children: Fiona (1890, Ravenclaw), Harris (1892, Ravenclaw) and Elsie (1904, Hufflepuff).

                            Harris soon followed into his father’s footsteps and became an assistant-Obliviator in 1914, shortly before the start of the First World War. He was sent to the front-lines, tasked with obliviating muggle soldiers whenever involvement of magic occurred. He came back home in 1917, having lost his left leg as the result of a severe hex by an enemy wizard. Shortly after the war ended, he married the witch Coralie Bicknell. They pair had two sons: Bryce (1923, Gryffindor) and Lyall (1928, Ravenclaw).

                                The youngest son grew up with a fascination for ghosts and creatures, and eventually became “a world-renowned expert on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions”. While Lyall was chasing a particularly violent boggart in the Scottish Highlands, he met Hope Howell, the daughter of a muggle pharmacist. He saved Hope from said boggart and eventually married her after she fell pregnant of their son Remus (1960, Gryffindor).  The pair moved into Lyall’s apartment in Liverpool, where they lived for five years.

         Remus’s youth started off happily enough, until he was bitten by werewolf Fenrir Greyback at the age of five. The boy would be cursed for the remainder of his life and rarely got in contact with strangers until he began attending Hogwarts in 1971. During the Second Wizarding War, Remus fell in love with the younger auror and metamorphmagus Nymphadora Tonks, both of whom were part of the Order of the Phoenix. Even though he tried to talk her out of starting a relationship with him, since he was older and dangerous due to his lycanthropic condition, they married and got a son named Edward “Teddy” (1998). 

[evirixflutra]

Name: Evirix Minetta Flutra

Age: 23 Rotations

height: 5'8"

Race: Anthropomorphized Red Fox

Fur Colors: Dull red fur, Cyan, and Black. details to color locations are unique.

Hair colors: Dull crimson and cyan

Occupation: Rogue Assassin by night.

"Full moon, 3rd summer pre-autumn day 25, year 1995 Evirix was the name given to me by my parents at birth. I was still but a baby when they had passed and landed me and my older sister into a penitentiary known to the locals as an "Orphanage." My older sister, her name was Zera. she was my grand protector ever since i was the measly age of 1 rotation, her at 5. My older sister stood at 6'5" tall and very strong the last time i had seen her, she had been missing for 6 years and i still continue to search for her. During our time in the orphanage she had vowed to protect me with her life with promises of gaining strength to protect me. At the age of 9 rotations she had taken up street fighting with the adults who would hold fights just outside the orphanage grounds.

Zera had proven fairly quickly that she could hold her own against the adults and before my very eyes my older sister gained enough strength to nearly take on the world. she would teach me some of the styles she learned while watching others fight and i use the most cunning of tactics that i learned from her in my line of work today. I miss my big sister. When i was around her i felt like nothing could harm me and i would feel like a little cub again. Zera and i had stayed at the orphanage until she was the age of 18 rotations. By this time both of us had been adopted numerous times separately only to be brought back as we would not go without the other, we were inseparable. My sister had continued her fighting career in order to keep money coming in while i began performing tai chi and practiced keeping my feet light in the training room we had made in our new home. Doing these things daily is what aided me in getting my current job.

My first hit was still the most interesting one i had done. i was still living with my sister at the time and it was a friend that had tasked me with killing an old boss of hers. It was an odd request to me at the time because i was a very innocent boy still at the age of 16 rotations. Little did i know that this hit was going to lead to many more in my life. My friend's old boss was interestingly enough, a contract killer by sunfall, and a gynecologist by sunrise. My friend had informed me that her boss would be working on a Saturday with only 1 patient, me. Apparently to her boss, my name sounded like a girl's name, and i had the figure to back it up. I had the resemblence of a female and the stealth and prowess of a ninja, i was the perfect subject for the job. Normally i would have refused but the price she held over my head was too much to not say yes.

Saturday had rolled around and i was set in the chair to be prepped for my inspection. As my friend's old boss knelt between my legs she noticed really soon that i wasn't in fact a female so i had taken my opportunity right then and closed my legs around her head. she was trapped between my thighs, and to her misfortune i had been running and exercising my legs every day since i found out i could run. she couldn't escape, she was locked in. as i squeezed my thighs around her head i twisted my body in a quick roll and the force of the roll had dislodged every bone and structure within her neck, internally decapitating her. The plan was perfect as nobody but us was in the whole office that day, it was personally set up. Disposing of the body was easy, and i received my payment.

My friend however had a big mouth on her and word got out of what i did. My sister was unhappy with what i had done but her unhappiness was on the same level as if i had just spilled a glass of water, it wasn't that bad. but a few more people had hired me to perform hits which were pretty simple. my sister began to turn a blind eye seeing as how much money i was bringing in would set us for life. Up until the day the government had caught on to me. I was ambushed by a group of men in masks, about 3 of them. trained military men i would presume, however they didn't capture me because even i hadn't realized how deadly i was by then. i didn't kill them because i wasn't contracted to, but they couldn't move for a while afterward.

A few days later a larger group with guns had subdued me when i was away from home. i thought i was going to be taken to a prison for my crimes and, due to my figure i know i'd get some interested thugs. But that wasn't the case, i was taken to a CIA investigation room while covered in shackles, as if i wasn't going to comply if they simply asked. During my time there they claimed i would be arrested if i didn't comply, who would i be to disagree with them then. They had used me to hunt down Experiments gone wrong and bring them back dead or alive. Some experiments were feral creatures like an anthropomorph like myself but injected with a virus that make them a mutated killing machine.

I had lost count of the amount of hits and experiments i had to kill or retrieve. however during this time i had not seen my sister. it took a year for the government to find me and they had been using me for 5 years to do their dirty work. i was not allowed to leave the compound unless given permission for those 5 years and i had not seen my sister since i had been kidnapped, i didn't struggle though because if i hadn't complied then i'd be in solitary confinement for multiple lifetime sentences, and i wanted to see her. Now we get to today. year number 6 of being a contract killer. according to the government i had paid my dues for the murders and i had not been paid in money by the government but instead paid in my freedom from their control.

Now i am free to perform contracted hits and make money off of them, even government officials contact me from time to time in the past year to perform a hit, and i am widely known throughout the enforcement of the law as to have a blind eye turned for murder, if i can prove it's contracted. i am not obligated to give out the name of my contractor when i do the hit, therefore the person who contracted me cannot be acquitted. Still though, for this past year i have searched for my sister. my old home is owned by a new family. i had requested they let me know where my sister is but they do not know as they are the third family to purchase the home since i departed. My trail to my sister is cold, even i have not tasted her scent all over the country where i have been sent. I will continue to look until my last breath. I have a small photo of her that i keep on my person at all times. I miss you, Zera.

As of currently however, i've been contracted by an unknown source on the dark web to assassinate another contract killer going by the name of "cobalt". I have very little information about him other than his code name and his race. a Ferret of light color. Tracking this one seems to be difficult but i was told he would be in this area. That is when i ran into you thugs. I had seen three of you robbing a small department store and decided to intervene because even a contract killer has morals. I thought there was only you three, i had not seen the 6 others in the back. i had surrendered because quick as i may be i am still no match for a group of shotguns point blank. You had captured me and brought me to this safe house with the rest of your crew to interrogate me and understand who i was, and now you know, i am a dangerous man who has a job to do."

~O'Nell Interrogation log number 11: Anthropomorphic Fox "Evirix".

[othercat2]

Fic: Eriond: be the Rogue of Hope 2/?

==>Taiba: prepare a meal for your guest

It would have to be something simple. You weren’t quite sure what he’d be able to eat. (The only reason you knew he was even “he” was because Eriond had said so. “He” was only superficially like a human, the closer you looked the more differences become apparent. There was nothing about “him” that seemed male or female to you.) He’s strange, and a monster, but not mad the way the monsters in Ulgo are. (When you were living in the caves, you had a feeling Ulgo were the mad ones, given the proprietary concern and bizarre affection they had for the creatures who drove their ancestors underground when the world was cracked.)

You heat up some broth, and poach four eggs in it. When they’re done, you ladle them into a bowl, and set the bowl on a tray. You cut a few slices of bread, and add them to the tray, along with a small bowl of honey.

You carry this to Elgin’s bedroom, where your guest is staying. You knock before entering the room, and hear something that might be an acknowledgement. The guest is awake and sitting upright with one of Elgin’s books in his lap. He had been studying the illuminations, you thought. “Taiba,” the guest says. He closes the book (his fingers marking his place) and makes a gesture as if he wants to return it.

“I don’t mind if you look at it,” you say, though you know he doesn’t understand you. You set the tray down on his lap. “Breakfast,” you tell him.

The guest smiles, and says something that might have been some variety of “thank you.” He taps his chest and says something, and then something else in no language you’ve ever heard.

“His name is ‘Signless,’” Mara’s voice says softly in your mind. “He also thanks you for the food.” Signless spoke further. “He also asks if you would assist him in learning the language.”

“Ask him if he’d be willing to teach me his language,” you say. You give “Signless” words in the language that everyone in the world seems to use, and he gives you words in his language. You’re extremely curious about the name, but have no way to really question him. Some of the words are hard to pronounce, but Signless is patient, and it isn’t hard for you to patient as well. You name the food items, the utensils, as many items as Signless indicates, all through breaking his fast, and sometime after.

Relg makes an appearance an hour later, standing in the doorway, watching you with a little smile on his face. “I see he’s awake,” Relg says quietly.

You nod. “Relg, this is ‘Signless,’” you say, and watch the curious tilt of your husband’s head. “Signless,” you say in an approximation of the name you heard. “This is my husband Relg.”

Relg nods at your guest. “Hello Mister Signless,” Relg says. “You’re welcome to stay here and recover.”

Signless speaks, and Mara translates this. “He says that he thanks Taiba and you for the hospitality,” Mara says so you both can hear. Mara chuckles softly. “He also says he hopes that Eriond has not volunteered you against your consent.”

“Eriond’s a very good boy,” you say, over Relg’s stunned and earnest “will of the gods of course he’s welcome,” speech. The speech sputters into Relg’s “I can’t believe you said that,” look and horrified silence. (It’s nice that you still haven’t lost your touch.) “He wouldn’t have ordered us,” you say. You can sense Mara translating. “The condition you were in, we never would have said no,” you add.

“He thanks you for your kindness,” Mara translates. “Also, he won’t admit it, but he’s very tired.”

“Tell him we’ll leave him to rest, Father?” you ask as you gather up the empty tray.

“Of course my child,” Mara murmurs.

You head out into the hallway, trailed by your husband. “Darling husband,” you say in Ulgo. “I know you’ll explode if you don’t shout about it, but wait until we’re on the verandah, you’ll frighten our guest.”

“I’m not going to shout,” Relg says in Ulgo, amused and also a little exasperated. “I’m used to your ways and reasons, and know well how you love to make my heart stop.”

You laugh at that, and leave the dishes for Ulma in the scullery. “Eriond is a very good boy,” you say.

Relg sighs at you. “He’s a God,” Relg says, lips twitching with his amusement. He’s trying not to laugh. He does have a sense of humor, you’ve learned. A very subtle one that is apparently amused by what he calls your “blunt spirituality and terrifying approach to philosophy and theological concepts.”

“A very young one, one I remember having to look for his shoe in the middle of an army camp,” you point out. “Always the same shoe, and always just long enough for me to stop worrying about…whatever I was worrying about because I was too busy trying to find the damn thing.”

Relg, smiles gently at you, obviously amused by the idea of your searches among the campfollowers’ tents. Ugh. At least you made female acquaintances that weren’t flighty noblewomen mooning over warrior-princes, flouncing like giddy mad things or having histrionics over their husbands. (The last you could almost sympathize with. You were sick with fear and worry for Relg and very little could distract you from it.) You’d met laundresses, seamstresses, tradeswomen, nurses and cooks. You had met prostitutes and soldiers’ women and wives from many nations and learned a great deal from the experience. (You still receive regular mail from many of the women who could read and write. A few of them had even settled in Maragor with you and Relg after the war.) And then there was Lady Polgara, who was kind, though in an indifferent, distant way that was almost as upsetting as the flighty noblewomen.

“All right, a very young God,” Relg says. “But it seems strange.” He makes a frustrated little gesture. “The nature of his concern.”

“It doesn’t seem strange to me,” you say. “You wouldn’t think to worry about something like that though.”

Years and years ago he would have said something like, “no one should worry about what their God commands.” But that was years ago, and he’s learned a great deal since then, so he frowns thoughtfully instead. “He is not moved by blind trust in the Gods,” Relg says. “And he doesn’t presume that others would be.”

“And takes care that his presence is welcome, and not a burden,” you say. “Though he’s also an idiot; where did he think he was going to go if we said yes, we were being forced to take him in?”

==>Signless:  recover and learn the backstory of your hosts

Within a few weeks you’re well enough to get around on a crutch thoughtfully provided by your hosts. You learn a great deal about them, and their little community. It’s a village of somewhere between two and three hundred adults and wigglers, many of them you learn, escaped slaves. Your hosts Taiba and Relg are the leaders of the community. They tell you of how they met, a story adjacent to a fantastical tale full of prophecy, sorcery and war, and how the village was founded.

It’s a harrowing tale, full of personal grief and small triumphs, translated by Mara, who has his own part in the tale, speaking of his grief at the destruction of his people, and his rage against Destiny Itself. Taiba was a slave rescued by a sorcerer-led band of questors, of which Relg had been a member. Taiba had been grieving over the death of her daughters, determined to somehow get revenge against the priests who had sacrificed them, only to be caught in a cave in. Relg, who had a psionic talent for phasing through rock had been sent to rescue her, which he’d been at first unwilling to do due to religious feelings related to purity and impurity.

(Caught up in the story as you were, at learning this, you had glared balefully at Relg, much to the cackling glee of his matesprit. Apparently you are not the first to be outraged by this.)

The story continues with the questors’ reckless flight to safety, pursued by soldiers and enemy priest-sorcerers. Taiba spoke of her confusion and fear, and her surprise that one of the sorcerers knew her language, a language only she and her mother had spoken. Relg spoke of his own confusion and how Taiba shattered his long held prejudices and assumptions about the world. They both talk about their slowly growing feelings for each other, and you are touched, though also a little confused.

“It seems almost as if you would have been pitch,” you say thoughtfully. “Though I suppose it could have as easily been pale as red.”

This causes some confusion to your hosts. “Pitch?” Taiba asks when she hears the translation of your words. “Red?”

“I would have expected a romance based in rivalry and arguments, where each is challenged to change and improve,” you say. “‘Pitch’ or ‘kismesis,’ is what it’s called among my kind.”

“And red, and pale?” Relg asks.

“Red is matesprit, a love based in compassion and protective caring,” you explain. “Pale is moiraillegiance, which is romance based in kindness, advice and the calming of anger. There’s a fourth, called ‘Ash,’ or auspicticism, which is diverting or otherwise stopping two angry people who shouldn’t be kismesis because they’re terrible together from killing each other.”

“Oh, that sounds more complicated than an Arendish romance,” Taiba says. “I don’t think we really have such fine distinctions.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s very specific to my kind. Our society in many was depends on quadrants in order to form social ties. We tend to be solitary, except for our quadrants, and those who we interact with through our quadrants.”

After the war against the “Dark God,” Relg and Taiba “married” and came to Maragor, the ancestral homeland of Taiba’s people. They built a home and began raising children with the assistance of friend acquired during the war and Relg’s people, the “Ulgo.” (The Ulgo were rather fascinating. They lived entirely underground and had become somewhat adapted to living in the darkness, which somewhat explained the construction of Taiba and Relg’s home, which was partially built into a hill.)

You ask many questions, and learn a great deal about your hosts and this world. Relg and Taiba ask you questions in return, and you tell as much as you feel comfortable telling them. They are very kind, and don’t press you when you come to things you can’t speak about, but you do tell them about your family, and about your childhood. They are very curious about your descriptions of technology, (which they don’t assume to be magic) which may or may not disprove Troll Arthur C. Clark.

As you get better and it’s easier to move around, you attempt to help with chores. You assist with dinner, help in the kitchen garden and ask lots of questions. Taiba and Relg have many children from adults to little wigglers, all of them curious and full of questions themselves. You quickly pick of the language, and bits of two other languages that Relg and Taiba’s family speak: Marag and Ulgo. (You’re a little curious about how there’s a mostly universal language, but the only scholars are “Toldnedran monks” who run a small school in the village, and Relg. Relg’s area of expertise is not the spread and development of language, and the monks who seem to have various areas of knowledge are still trying to wrap their heads around your existence after your one meeting with them.)

Eriond is not around during this time. He went somewhere called “The Vale of Aldur,” and from there, went to Mishrak ac Thull. (Mara is not at all mysterious about Eriond’s doings. Apparently Eriond went to talk to Aldur about you. Your presence is apparently somewhat controversial. The trip to Mishrak ac Thull was apparently to rescue Grolims.) At your query, you learn that “Grolims” are a priestly caste, and Thulls violently hate them, apparently for very good, absolutely valid reasons.

==>Eriond: ride through the desert on a Horse with no name

You’re being escorted by Thull soldiers back across the Mishrak ac Thull/Cthol Murgos border with would-be Grolim missionaries. The Grolim have all of their fingers and toes and haven’t had their tongues cut out, so this is a major victory. It took a lot of fast talking, and You think the Queen Mother is warming to You, so everything went well.

You wait until the Thull have pulled the Grolim out of their saddles, cut their bonds and gags, and led the horses back across the border before You dismount from Horse. The Grolim drop to their knees, praising You and asking for mercy. Horse snorts and nuzzles at Your shoulder, sending You amused, flitting thoughts about scraggly desert asses. “Desert asses have more sense,” You tell Horse, making sure your voice is loud enough for the Grolim to hear.

The Grolim cringe. A few of them start explaining, a few of them start begging for forgiveness. You pat Horse’s neck until they come to a more or less natural stop. The only one who hasn’t said a word is the single priestess, Tsubai. “You’re the only one I’m disappointed in,” You tell her.

The Grolim relax, because Grolim, decades after Your brother’s death are still dogs who have been beaten too much and immediately try to avoid blame by blaming others. You cut off any “it was her idea, I was led astray,” accusations with a brief exertion of will. Tsubai bows her head. “If it helps, Lord, I wasn’t attempting to proselytize, and I wasn’t caught until later.”

She had been disguised as a wealthy Nadrak merchant’s daughter, working on a plan to bring Thullish midwives to Gar og Nadrak to teach Nadrak midwives and physicians. It was a good plan, and a worthwhile goal. Thull medical knowledge was a well-kept secret that needed to be shared. “Tsubai, you have agents,” You tell her. “Agents who are not Grolim. You almost ruined your own mission. Fortunately, the Queen Mother was willing to keep the project going, even if a Grolim was behind it.”

“There was a difficult bit of negotiation,” Tsubai says. “In my arrogance, I thought I could manage it myself.”

You sigh. “Tsubai, what am I going to do with you?”

Tsubai gives You an impish look. “Forgive me?”

“I’ll consider it,” You tell her, amused. “The reason I’m disappointed with her,” You tell the other Grolim, “Is that she shouldn’t have been caught in the first place.” You go ever and help Tsubai to her feet. “I’m not disappointed in you, because that would be like being angry that bees sting.”

The two younger Grolim flinch. The three older Grolim sulk.

“The Thull do not want Grolim in their country,” You tell them. “Urgit won’t back Grolims going into Mishrak ac Thull, Zakath won’t do it, the Nadrak hate you just a little less than the Thull do. That should be enough of a deterrent to going in yourselves.”

“But how may we spread word of your glory, Master?” Rutegar, one of the older Grolim asks.

“There are already those who speak of me in Mishrak ac Thull,” You say patiently. “They just aren’t Grolim.”

“But we are Your priests,” Chorach, one of the younger Grolim says.  

“My fallen brother treated them as beasts,” You say. “Of all the tribes of Angarak, they were the lowliest and most downcast. And You were His butchers. There are many still alive who remember the horrors they lived through. It will take time for them to accept you as something other than walking nightmares.”

“But you sent her?” Rutegar asks.

“I sent myself,” Tsubai says. “Thull midwives have a most excellent talent, that the physicians and midwives of Gar og Nadrak would greatly benefit by.”

“What talent?” Rutegar snorts. “They breed like pigs, their women are sows in--” Rutegar stops talking and his hands fly to his throat as he chokes.

“Tsubai, no,” You say firmly.

Tsubai unclenches her fist. “I hope the rest of you ‘missionaries’ didn’t think of the Thull you preached to as the Green Rank does,” she says in a grim tone.

They had the typical opinions other Angaraks had for Thulls, but I wasn’t going tell Tsubai that. “Perhaps you could instruct them, on the way to Rak Urga?” You suggest. To the other Grolim you say, “all of you are under Tsubai’s authority. You’re to walk to Rak Urga, and report to the Hierarch there.”

“Master,” Tsubai protests faintly.

You smile at her. “Penance,” You tell her brightly. Tsubai makes a face at You, but bows in acknowledgement. You create tents and enough supplies for the journey, and sort of “encourage” them to actually obey Tsubai and the restrictions of their punishment. You didn’t want them to acquire horses, or accept rides or other assistance. They were going to walk, and Tsubai was going to shout at them.

You mount Horse and journey back through the mountains toward the Vale of Aldur. You don’t stop to stay at the cottage or your brother’s tower on your way back. In the mountains just outside of Maragor, Your brother Mara contacts You with news of Signless. “He’s healing well, and seems to be making friends with Taiba and Relg,” Mara tells You.

“Good,” You say. “Let him know I’m returning, and tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet him when he awoke.”

“I will.” Mara says. He shows You images of Signless recovering, interacting with Relg and Taiba, their children, and the people of their village. Influenced as they are by Ulgo culture and customs, Relg and Taiba’s people are remarkably unafraid of Signless’ appearance. The Ulgo are unafraid of monsters, who they consider to be brothers, even though the monsters in turn have more or less forgotten UL in their madness, so Signless might be something of a wonder to them. A “monster” who isn’t mad.

Something about Thull: okay, so in the Belgariad/Mallorean story canon, Thull women stay constantly pregnant in order to avoid being chosen as sacrifices. They also have the largest “quota” of sacrifices, which is another reason they stay constantly pregnant, but never mind that. Other nations consider Thull to be bestial and inhuman and very stupid, which is agreed to by the Narrative. My strong feel, based in some headcanoning from @violent-darts is that Thull have really, really good midwives/medical practices given the survival rate of children and mothers. (For language reasons I’ve decided that Angarak nation/caste names are both singular/plural, though canon was generally attaching -s at the end.) 

Grolim tend to be power-hungry backstabbing little shits, even the ones who have converted, or “converted.” They are massively dysfunctional and Eriond is at His wit’s end with these idiots.

Tsubai is only Grolim because her mother was, more or less. She is actually half Nadrak, her mother having successfully ditched her family for a slightly less dysfunctional one after the death of Torak, when she married a Nadrak merchant. Tsubai’s mom then gleefully killed her indignant and homicidal relatives who tried to murder her or her husband. her husband had the most awkward fear boner.

Writer reserves the right to maintain Canon’s irritating tendency toward “racial stereotypes are absolutely true genetic/phenotypical essentialism” where funny.

This chapter is largely an excuse to write Relg/Taiba domestic fluff. Because Relg/Taiba domestic fluff is pure and necessary.

Also, the Ulgo who leave the caves to hunt and gather food/resources are also the most ridiculous Steve Irwin naturalists. Ulgo in general love their monster upstairs neighbors like kids love dinosaurs. (Not seen in the Mallorean or Belgariad: Ulgo kids have stuffed Algroths and Eldrakyn toys, and little wooden and clay models of Hulgrin and dragon and unicorn. All the monsters okay. All of them.)

Previous Chapter.

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Believe Me

Chapter 16/??

Relationship: Rin x Reader (Your/Name) , (Full/Name)

Summit: Inside the class there was the same confusion of always, Rin and Bon were fighting over something stupid, Shima and Konekomaru were trying to stop them while Shiemi and Izumo were laughing for the scene. Everything was as always. Until the bell rang. The Exwires notice that the professor was late, but nobody knew why. When the door opened… A new student arrived to the True Cross Academy. She’s smart and strong, still a quiet and solitary person. Moved by a strange feeling, Rin would like to know her, help her if he can but nobody would think that that student was someone so… special.

--- 

<<You hidded another Satan's dinasty, Lord Pheles?>> a women voice asks.

<<I did not. She is not like Okumura Rin. She can explain more in details.>>

<<Then, who are you?>> now an older voice, <<What's your name demon?>>

<<(F/N) and I'm not a demon.>> you answer raising your head, <<Nor a human. I am a thing.>>

<<Explain yourself.>> again the woman, <<Do it well so we can understand.>>

<<Even if you tell me to do it, it's not easy. I have an amnesia due to one of my demons who sleeps inside me.>>

<<Call him then->>

<<I can't.>> you interrump a young man and Angel points his sword in your throat, <<I refuse to call my friends for you. You will talk to me, not to them.>>

<<And why?>>

<<Isn't obvious? They are demons, what will be the end for them? I'm not an idiot, I will not lead them in a death path.>>

<<That's a shame.>> with a head move, an exorcist brings a boy with him, <<What about now?>>

<<Nee-san...>>

“!!” you turn your head to see, hoping you are wrong, <<Shion...>> he walks towards you but the guard stops him holding his arm, and the wolf growls at him.

<<He must be near me.>> your eyes paralyzied the three members of the Grigori, <<Grant my wish, it's better for all of you.>>

<<I think we should too.>> Mephisto speaks in your defence, <<If that boy will be with her, I think she will definitely wakes her demon up. So you could ask him whatever you want.>>

<<Very well. Let him stay.>> Shion walks until he reaches you and hugs you firmly.

<<Sorry...>> you tried to hug him too, but the chains blocked your body, you could only rest your tail on his back, <<Are you sure you will not afraid of him?>>

<<Don't worry. Do what they asked so we can go back home together.>>

<<I have a question, may I speak?>> recived the permission, you stand up and look at the Grigori, <<This demon is the strongest, if you say a wrong word he might kill you. I have no control on him, I can’t guarantee your life. Knowing this, do you want to meet him anyway?>>

<<Yes, he will answer at our questions and we will decide if you are dangerous or not.>>

<<As you wish.>> with nothing, you destroy the anti-demon seals and everyone gets ready to kill you, <<I needed to do this, I will not break the chains.>> with a deep breath, you concentrate yourself.

<<Be careful nee-san.>> Shion take a few steps back and Yatsufsa protects him standing next to his leg.

A heavy silence grows in the room. Who tries to speak, is stopped immediately by Mephisto or the Grigorio, they know, that silence is important. Your heartbeat is loud, every beat grows louder but slower than the previous one. Your breath is relaxed, and when you are ready, your head falls backwards.

<<Great and fearful God of the universe...>> a strange aura goes all over the room, it's impressive, <<Grant your will and do not weak me again...>> after seconds, you stumble and fall down noisily.

You’re immobile, your breath and hearbeat are gone. Wait, are you dead?! Before someone could touch (Y/N), Shion warned everyone: nobody must touch her, not until the demon will respond. Rin is worried, what happens if that demon doesn't come out? He wants to rush to your side, but both Bon and Yukio are pulling his shirt to block him. After five minutes, your friends are really thinking that your creature won’t answer, and you will stay dead forever.

<<(Y/N)...>>

Rin's voice activates something. A powerful dark-ish aura surronds your person, painting the hair and tattoos with a dark black, and slowly your body is moving again. Moving like a creepy doll, (Y/N) stands up and stays still. A deep and fearful voice breaks the air.

<<Who called me?>> her eyes are different, not in the color but with the shape, the pupils are tighter, dragonic kind of... They stare at the Grigori, <<You?>>

<<Reveal yourself!>>

<<I am the one who comands the universe, Ariel. My Master told me to answer your questions, so, what do you want to know?>>

<<Wait, Ariel you said?!>> the three members are shocked, <<Don't be blasphemous! Ariel is a high ranked angel that lives in the heaven!>>  

<<Who said that?>> Ariel looks at them with that pierce gaze, <<My Master's father turned me into a demon. I suppose that this is not write in your stupid books.>>

<<Let me explain this!>> Mephisto speaks before Ariel could do something bad, <<He is sealed in her body, which you can well see his wings on her back. He now lives->>

<<What do you want from my Master, humans? I am not patience with your race, do your questions.>> he interrumpts the principal with his powerful voice, <<My powers damage heavily her body, so hurry up.>>

<<...(F/N) said that she’s not a human or a demon, but a thing, what she meant?>> the woman asks almost scared by that creature trapped in a girl body.

<<She was human, but her father turned her into a vessel for powerful demons.>> Ariel explains with rage, <<That bastard tortured her and her brother, hurted them, and made of their body a test subject for his crazy experiments. She can "house" demons inside her and control their powers.>>

<<So inside her there's Satan too?!>> the old man raises his tone, but Ariel is not affected by him.

<<You are wrong.>> this time, Mephisto answered, <<She can be our trump card against Satan! She fought and defeated him once. Thanks to Ariel, (F/N) can assimilate everything, like Satan's powers. She is famous in our history.>>

<<What do you mean Lord Pheles?>>

<<The name "Universe Scale" doesn't help you to remember her?>> on his face there’s a grin, <<She’s a legend, she can be very useful to us with our battle against Satan.>>

<<This is bullshit!>> Angel screams, <<The "Universe Scale" disappeared centuries ago! She->>

<<My Master is immortal. She has 72 demons with her, she can't die by a stupid thing as time pass.>>

<<S-she is... what?>> everyone is so shocked that their brain doesn't work anymore.

<<Like that person said, we fought against Satan, and we defeated him easily. No one can defeat my Master, she’s the strongest in the world. Of course, I must say this; her blue flames are powerful but they’re weaker than Satan's son’s.>> Ariel looks at Rin and the young jumps a little, <<He’s the only one who can kill all of us, (Y/N) and me included.>>

<<So that boy there, is a demon too?>> another member comments, but Shion explains the situation himself, <<If not, where is her true brother? And what her frather wanted by turned her into a demon vessel?>>

<<Leon was murdered by the people of his village. He was burned alive...>> now his voice is sad, while Rin and Shiemi recognize the name, you screamed it when you fainted, <<Her father wanted to conquest Assiah and Gehenna.>>

<<Not start a new race? (Y/N) is a girl, she can->>

<<Not anymore.>> Ariel stops the young jury, <<One day, when she went back home, the father pierced her belly with a holy sword, throwed her in the village and the people didn't let escape a chance to kill her. She can't have children due to that, and that man kept hurting and make experiments on her even when she was badly injured...>>

<<What kind of bastard does that his own daughter!?>> Rin makes it know that he doesn’t like your father... at all. Bon and the other classmates are furious with him, he’s the monster not you.

Ariel keeps answering their questions, he explains that he sealed her memories because that man was a deadly poison for her, so he helped his savior to overcome a painful and horrible past. He explains that after ran away from home, (Y/N)'s body and mind was too tired and she fell aspleep, until Shion found her and woke her up.

The old member asks again: "The Universe Scale was feared by all because it slayed both humans and demons, so she must die for her crimes." those words upset Ariel and he increases his voice, his tone is like a roar. He says that you never killed, only punish who breaked the life balance, no matter who was, human or demon. The creature remarks that you punished humans for being evil and cruel but never killed anyone; after all, her existence is like a true scale, she must balance evil and good, and humans sin too.

<<What?! How dare you->>

<<You know what my Master thought when she met Okumura Rin?>> Ariel won’t leave that topic so easily, <<She was shocked how the son of Satan is more human than most humans.>>

<<You're taking too many->>

<<My Master always said this to people who believes in God too much. "It's hilarious. You always hide your actions and justify them behind God's name. Then tell me, if your holy compositions say that the human is made like God's image, why they’re so selfish and evil? Your God doesn't exist, if he was like your holy books say, he must do something and the world would be a better place. But nothing happens, the person who you pray is just an empty doll. That's why humans are so blind and foolish.">> with those cruel words, Mephisto laughs with a grin, the Grigorio goes silent and the others are wide eyes open staring at Ariel, who has an evil smile on his face.

<<The time is ov->> before Ariel could retires inside you, a strange barrier suppresses him and force you to wake up. Your body is so heavy, the wounds hurt, and what are these lights all over you?

<<Are they talking about our story, my little dear?>>

<<!!>> everyone jumps when a man enters the room, and you’re immediately afraid of that presence.

<<Fa...ther...>>

---Continue...

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

[realm-sweet-realm]

Infinity: chapter 3- A way out.

Time to start the “where did this character end up?” game.

---

To Allison Pendle, immortality has been a blessing, but also a curse. In the past century since her transformation, she’d seen the downfall of Joey Drew Studios, joined a gang in which she worked under Lacie Benton and Shawn Flynn, gone through rehab, seen a multitude a countries, been a singer, an actress, a missionary, a mother, and a drug dealer, rubbed shoulders with Wally as a performing circus freak, gone to rehab, been rich, been homeless, tried almost every hobby imaginable, read more books, met more people, done more drugs, and had generally lived life to the fullest. The past little bit, though, she was bored with it. She’d begun to envy older people, who were able to slow down with age, and eventually die. And so, she eventually returned to Brightdale.

Brightdale as Allison remembered it, was a small and mostly unnotable little town, but it was a very significant place to Allison. It was where, in her time randomly traveling the country in her early twenties, she’d first discovered that witchcraft was real.

In present, the place had been deserted entirely. As Allison walked the empty streets lined with overgrowth, a delightfully haunted feeling came over her. She’d have to explore these dusty houses when she was finished with her mission. It was on the edge of town that she found the house of the witch she had stayed with and stolen from. Its windows and doors were thoroughly grown over with vines roots at this point. Thankfully, Allison had half-way expected the place would be patroled by some sort of guardian creature and had thus come prepared with a shotgun and a machete. There was nothing special about the foliage and it gave way fairly easily, allowing Allison in.

Within it, Allison found the place nearly untouched- nicely lit, no dust, nothing. Was the witch still here? Allison raised her gun and listened as creaking wooden steps gave away the old woman's presence. "I have a reversal shield on me. Don't try anything," Allison asserted. It was a lie, but not one to be taken lightly- casting a spell, especially an offensive one, on a reversal shield could very easily prove deadly.

"Allison?" the witch growled. "Very well, you fucking thief. What do want from me?"

"Ingredient number 30."

The old woman went to her spice cabinet, took out the ingredient, and threw it at Allison. "Anything else?"

"Well, there is something I'd like to ask you. You don't actually look like that, do you?"

The witch smiled wryly. "No... I actually look quite a bit like you. But you see, if I looked like you, then boys would be following me home all the time, getting to learn my secrets because they're after the one between my legs. It's protective to look like this."

Allison nodded. "That's what I thought. So," she pulled a recipe of sorts out of her pocket, "do you think this could kill you?"

The witch stared on in fear.

"Not that I want to kill you. I just think we should have the option."

---

It was the middle of the day when Henry received that very important letter (not the first Very Important Letter he'd received from someone in that bygone studio!). He had been in his office at the official headquarters of Disney, and the letter had been brought to him by his wife, Elaine. It read:

Dear Henry Stein,

This is  one of the immortals. I have found a potion that can cure our immortality. If you'd like it, or just like to see the rest of us again, me in Brightdale, Ohio at seven at night exactly one week from today.

See you soon (oops, that sounds ominous),

-Allison Pendle

"What is it, honey?" Elaine asked. Elaine knew that Henry was immortal, along with with pretty much everything else about him. They'd been married for fifteen years now, from her late twenties to her early forties, and had fostered many children together. Henry loved her, and certainly didn't think of her as some mayfly pet. But he wouldn't have wanted to talk about this with anyone.

"Nothing," Henry responded, perfectly calm.

"Okay," Elaine said, leaving with a look on her face that suggested that she suspected things maybe weren't.

Henry immediately tossed the letter in the trash and attempted to focus on the paperwork on his desk- fourums on the theme park he was planning on building with the help of Bertrum Piedmont. Finding he couldn't, Henry turned over the sheet and turned to his oldest coping mechanism- drawing. He was good now- all that time loop stuff was forgotten. But he was never in a million, billion, trillion years going to risk seeing Joey Drew's face again. Infinity didn't scare him much nowadays, and it scared him infinitely less than that.

---

The next house that the letter found its way to was a big, but run-down. Not many knew it, but it was where a pair of extremely well-established drug lords operated. As of right now, there were several people passed out on the crack-dusted leather couches, one of them being Lacie Benton, who was hungover from having used more substances than she could name the night before. "Hey Lacie. Letter from your old lover is here," Shawn called.

"Which one?" Lacie returned.

"The Raven."

Lacie rolled her eyes. "It was one kiss. She wanted to try it. Are you going to tease me about that until the very ends of time?"

"Probably," Shawn replied, gathering up some crack from the end table and snorting it. He couldn't wait until their next shipment would arrive, later in the afternoon.

Groggy, she got up and took the letter from Shawn's hands.

"Oh my God."

"What? Is she coming back to us?"

"No, it's better than that. She wants to give us a suicide drug!"

Shawn shared her excitement. At this point, they were both due for life-sentences, and for them, that would mean jail for centuries or millennia. Not anymore. Not with these. They were going to that meeting.

---

"So, Samuel Lawrence, explain to us why we should allow you, a man currently on parole and with many, many felonies in your past however distant, become a priest."

Sammy took a deep breath. In a similar courtroom to the one he now stood in, he'd answered the same question five years ago when he'd argued why he should be allowed in a seminary. now he had to argue it again in order to be licensed. At very least, the church where he'd done his practicum had agreed to hire him if he got through this, so he wouldn't have to make this same speech a third time.

"Your honour. I do not deny my crimes. However, as you said, they took place now nearly a century ago. I led unofficial church groups in prison which turned many people to better behaviour. I has released from my sentence- 7 charges of attempted murder at eight years each and seven charges of first degree murder at twenty years each- literal centuries early for my good behaviour, an absolutely unprecedented decision. And as one of my letters of recommendation will tell you, I stayed in prison an extra year to support the people I'd met there. What's more, and I know this is old news to you, I am immortal. The amount of life experience I could gain is immense, and I want to climb my way up through the catholic church system so that I can pass it on. Even now, I am 133 years old. Through prison and in my music career before it, I heard the stories of more people than I can count. I have experience in dealing with the worst sinners, and as we all know, a church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints. There are few people with as much life experience as me and fewer whose minds are still sharp. In short, I have made a positive impact on people's lives, and I want to get myself in a position where I'll be able to do that for as many people as possible. Thank you."

Sammy was breathing heavily from emotion as he finished his speech and sat back down. The judge said some words that Sammy barely registered about letting the jury decide. Sammy's stomach knotted up and he felt like either screaming or disappearing.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the courthouse elated, as a licensed priest. The letter was in his mailbox once he got home. Sammy laughed, then ripped it up. Today was the first step on the path to his destiny. Why would he in a million years want to die?

---

A copy of the letter came to Bickmore Insane asylum. The receptionist opened it and saw that it was addressed to one of the patients, Joseph "Joey" Drew. The receptionist did not feel badly for reading the patient's mail. For one thing, Joseph couldn't have read it anyhow. For another, Joseph honestly deserved it.

Rumour had it that decades ago- and it was decades, since Joseph was one of the immortals- Joseph had been given l a sentence spanning centuries for seven charges of attempted murder, twenty-something charges of murder, and innumerable charges of unlawful imprisonment. One of his victims had been the murder of a seventeen-year-old boy, and as a result, prison was not at all kind to Joseph. The other prisoners would beat the life out of him regularly, doing things to him that would kill most people, including giving him severe brain damage and forcing him to stumble around for hours on end as his brain repaired itself. As a result, Joseph was quickly moved to protective custody, and then to solitary confinement.

After the trauma of his treatment by the other prisoners and the solitary confinement had left him far too anxious and aggressive to be kept with the others, he was sent to Bickmore, where he at first seemed to make a quick recovery. There was, after all, a physical component to trauma, and Joseph's brain was just as resilient as the rest of him. But every time he seemed nearly ready to be transferred back to prison, he would cause a scene with panic visible in his eyes. He would begin to scream nonsense about beetles in his veins, throw objects, and attack faculty members and fellow patients. It didn't matter how many times it was explained to Joseph that he would be transferred right back to protective custody this time and the other prisoners would not be able to hurt him. Joseph did not want to go back to prison, and would do anything to buy himself more time.

As time went on, Joseph's apparent breaks from reality became more and more realistic. He would question faculty members about whether he was going back to prison, and attack them out of suspicion. The final straw, however, was when, on the first day he'd been allowed near other patients unsupervised since his last outburst, stabbed a 60-year-old schizophrenia patient with a butter knife and then a fork because he was convinced she was a spy for "the prison system." Joseph was pulled off of her, put into permanent solitary confinement, and sedated. Even now, he was in solitary, treated with the extreme care one would use for a dangerous beast, and kept heavily sedated.

Of course, the secretary didn't know any of that. Unless one had access to his files, that was all rumour- myth. She passed the letter onto her superior, who called Allison to ask that she send the drug. It was about time that someone put Joseph Drew out of his misery.

---

Thomas Connor had been making pancakes for his family when Boris brought him the mail in his mouth. Thomas smiled and took it with no word but a pat on Boris' head. The mail that day consisted of two letters and a newspaper. The first letter was just a bill, but the second one was from Allison Pendle.

What could that crazy bitch want from him? Thomas didn't know. A while ago he would have been mad, but now it had been so long that he honestly didn't feel anything. At least he had Alice to talk to if it was romantic. "Boris, could you take over for me?" he asked, moving over to the kitchen table to open the letter. Once he'd read it over, he crumpled it up, then uncrumpled it and found a fresh sheet of paper on which to write a reply.

Dear Allison

Thomas paused. He supposed he ought to keep this formal, at least at first, and wrote down her last name before continuing.

What are you up to? I don’t think I’ve seen you in person since that one time with the New York City Police.

Me, I’m still an engineer. Not for GENT- they went out of business a while after I left them. I’d worked for a few different places, but most recently (ha- “recently.” It was decades ago!) I’ve been  hired by an elite team of researchers who were looking into the ink machine. We eventually figured out how to save the people within these ink shells. You see, some of them have a human soul and a toon presence, and some get a third, demonic presence mixed in. We just had to separate them and give them separate bodies. Or cubes, in the case of the demons and toons. Don’t want them running away on us, do we? Anyhow, the humans took first priority. I saved that Buddy kid that we met and kept him at my house for a few years so that he could finish his schooling. After we were done with the people though, some bleeding heart thought we should give proper bodies to the cartoons because they “had over two decades of life experience, could feel pain and emotion,” you see where this is going. I thought it was stupid, but I was being paid to be an engineer, and if this was to be my project, so be it.

Thomas stopped and looked up. An Edgar (yes, an. Thomas had two) was playing Snakes and Ladders with Bendy and Alice on the floor. Dog, who was one one of his three Borises and the only one who walked on four legs like, well, a dog, was currently getting confronted by two sets of Charleys and Barleys for making his other Edgar cry. The Boris lowered himself to the ground in a doglike show of submission and apology, which the butcher gang members seemed to accept.

I guess they were right. Bringing them all back was a gradual process, and we could adopt some of them out. You’d be surprised how few people want to adopt a bunch of living cartoons with a truckload of trauma and no knowledge of the real world, though. I ended up with eleven of them. And it was supposed to be temporary, but now there’s a whole bunch of em’ I don’t want to separate (butcher gang trios especially) and, well, I guess I’m stuck with them. Not that I don’t like them, but I kind of wish I weren’t so tied down. I feel like I could do great things as an engineer, and while I love my kids, I kind of don’t want them to be my eternity, you know?

So that’s all to say, no. I can’t die. Can’t abandon my kids. But I’d love to see you again. Maybe I could come into town and meet up?

-Your fellow immortal, Thomas Connor

[kiss-my-freckle]

2x9 Rewatch: Shiizakana

Doing a season three watch prior to Randall Tier's storyline allows the ability to see things as they are in the moment, not only the point in which Will started to change, but why he had the desire to run away with Hannibal. I felt his change started during Randall Tier's storyline, so I'm doing a second 2x9 rewatch, and including bits of season three storyline as I believe season four would've fed off season two. As Chiyoh said, Hannibal grew up to be one of the big cats. Given his power and level of aggression, I'd consider him the tiger. He's attempting to pull the lion out of the lamb while that lamb is baiting him for Jack.

The episode opens with Will having a nightmare. Even in dream, he's unable to get intimate with his instincts. Difficult to do when you love someone. He's got Hannibal tied to a tree, demanding he admit the monster he is. He whistles for the stag to walk forward, tightening the rope around his neck. Every bit of their conversation is in Will's own mind. It’s stewing from his time at the stables, in his time spent with Peter. Will envies his hate because it would allow him to kill Hannibal. Even after everything he's done, he still loves him. "No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true." Killing Hannibal in dream or imagination is the only power he's able to feel. 

Hannibal's therapy helps to bring out Will's second self because it's outside of the FBI. He's the one who hired Hannibal, so everything that happens between them is completely confidential. "Therapy only works when we have a genuine desire to know ourselves as we are, not as we would like to be." It's been the core since the pilot episode. Who Will is, and how his relationship with Hannibal will change him. It gives reason for dialogues such as this one: "I don't care who I am, tell me if he's real." Killing Hobbs made the lamb feel powerful. Killing Randall gave the lamb his first taste at being the lion. This gives need for the human-animal crossover in Randall Tier's storyline. Margot’s line, "Did you just dehumanize me?" What happens at the end of season three. Will sheds the rest of his humanity, embracing the lion and taking his lovely tiger with him.

They discuss Will's therapy in front of Jack in a roundabout way. "And he's not denying its natural instincts, he's evolving them." Jack refuses to understand. Animals act on instinct, they know nothing of bloodsport. I'm sure many species play with their food prior to killing and eating, like domestic cats like playing with mice before they tear into them, but I've never seen an animal shed blood for sport. Will visits Peter, a character that I love very much becuase of his love for animals. Every conversation Will has outside of his sessions with Hannibal is an experience because it’s not to service an agenda. He learns just as much about Hannibal from other people. Peter is perfect example. "Um, I mean, you could - you could train - train a bear to be a wolf, or a wolf to be a bear. Train - train them long enough, and they will hunt together, feed together. Enough - enough time, there's - there's a great deal I could train even you to do, Will." Forward this to Hannibal's conversation with Bedelia regarding the shepherd's dog. "Almost anything can be trained to resist its instinct. A shepherd dog doesn't savage the sheep." With Peter, discussing the opposite. The instinct will always be there no matter the training, resist or embrace. "Animals, they, they do have, they have friendships just - just like us. We're the same." As Jack said, Will and Hannibal are identically different. The tiger and the lion are capable of friendship. "Please, don't - don't blame - blame the animals. Don't. Man is the only creature that kills to... kill." Tigers don't kill to kill. They kill to defend their family, they kill to protect their territory, and they kill to eat. "They're just... meat to him. Prey." Animals are... animals. The tiger, the lion, and the dragon.

"It's not rage. Rage is an emotional response to being provoked. This is something else." Will accepts this is instinct rather than rage. "Instinct. It's the way he thinks." Hannibal could've trained Randall to resist his instinct, but an animal is more likely to unleash another rather than train it to resist. Hannibal continues this with Will, trying to pull the lion out of the lamb. "You were hiding... behind the gun. You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will." Hiding beind the gun, behind the nurse at the mental hospital, behind the stag in his nightmare. He's unable to get intimate with Hannibal's kill because he loves him. Jack’s line, "He didn't build a bridge, Doctor... he built a suit." One person suit for Hannibal, one person suit for Will. "During our therapy, he reported a moment of clarity." What Will stated after killing Hobbs. "With noise and clarity." Will could sense Hobbs’ madness like a bloodhound. "He understood in that moment, he was an animal born in the body of a man. He kept a solitary life. He would hide and behave in ways resembling animal behaviour." The man who builds a family of dogs and has difficulty socializing with others. "A therapist's life is equal parts counsel and curiosity. We set a patient on a path, but are left to wonder where that path will take them." He's the same with Will, equal parts counsel and curiosity. "What have I done?" Randall's question, like Will after Chilton was set on fire. "Are you accusing me of something?" And like Randall, Will bore the same screams from Chilton... "like a sculptor bears dust from the beaten stone." The shy boy isn't so shy anymore, as Randall isn't that crying boy anymore.

"This threatens to be a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality, so I will thread carefully." Hannibal informs Jack about Randall, and at the same time, prepares Randall to go after Will. "But they will find you, Randall. When they do, it's important you do exactly what I say." More when Jack and Will visit with Randall. "Well, look inside the skull and you'll find what the job is." Look inside the skull, the way Hannibal tried sawing into Will's. "Used the right tool for the job." Jack uses the right tool to find killers. It takes one to catch one. "Do you know what it's like when the skin you're wearing doesn't fit?" Will knows, he doesn't have to imagine. "There's something so foreign about family…like an ill-fitting suit." Randall knows exactly who he is. "I know who I am now. And I'm doing much better." Will still struggles to identify. "I don't care who I am, tell me if he's real."

When Will is interested in a woman, he looks at Hannibal’s calendar to find out her name. "I tried to kill my brother." Will assumes Mason had it coming, then hides his feelings about whether or not Hannibal did. I don't think he truly knows because his love for Hannibal blinds him. I’m still not sure what bothers Will more. Hannibal's therapy being successful with Randall would give him reason to fear his therapy being just as successful. Or Hannibal treating more patients like him and Randall, igniting his jealousy... something I saw in Will when The Dragon came into storyline. He pulls Bedelia into the conversation, reveals what she said to him, then adds that she knew there were others like him. Will asks if Randall believes in God. I believe this is his jealousy caring too much what Randall believes in, so it feels more like an invite to me. He wants Randall to face the man who feels he's doing God's work. Hannibal bites. I love the slow-motion run Will does through the snow. “Even Steven.” I don't believe Hannibal was trying to kill Will. I think he wanted to see what would happen, see if the lion could get intimate if love was cut out of the equation. “If we learn our limitations too soon, we never learn our power.” Love limits Will. 

[exsanguisdraconis]

Headcanon: Dragonem and racism 

bc i was already on this today might as well post it

Dragonem, aside from the dragons and the other large quantities of enormous animals, is generally an idyllic place to live with its one major draw back being just how divided everyone is. 

Most people on Dragonem live in small villages or trading caravans. The dwarves and the armored men have some of the largest cities in the realm (aside from the capital) and the dragons allow very few of those major cities to exist. Elves live in small villages in clan clusters and often rotate those villages throughout the year based on resources. Giants are largely solitary creatures.

The species of Dragonem live in tense company with one another. Things like religion and skin color might not mean much to them, but species is a really big deal. The best way I can think to explain this is by simply listing the relations outright.

First and foremost dwarves just about hate everyone. Officially the dwarves have an alliance with the dragons and many members of the political community have good relations with Areta and Vivek (the Hydra Heads of the Draggardic Council of Elders). The last big fight between dragons and dwarves was over a million years ago when the dwarves killed one of the elder dragons at the time. Premoria was so offended by this she took every citizen within the capital city of Yik and it’s sister city Gonvorr as slaves, and had them construct her temple. When they were finished she tortured and slaughtered them all. Dwarven legend says that the dragoness then turned to the last remaining great dwarf city and vomited what was left of the corpses on their people; causing untold deaths and damage, and raining down her putrid sick for days. There is no concrete proof of this and Premoria neither confirms nor denies it. Still the dwarves have a saying “to insult a dragon is to rain death upon us all”.

The elves aren’t much better when it comes to being accepting. Relations have always been tense, but since the dragons discovered the role of some clans in the capture and selling of young dragons to the fighting pits, it is a miracle they still populate the realm. There are over three hundred different clans of elves, some large and some small. Some hate dragons, while others worship them. As a whole elves get along with dryads and have a peace treaty with the moon bears.

Giants are solitary beings and while none have ever claimed to hold and prejudice against other species, they avoid them ardently. 

Moon bears and dryads don’t dislike other species, it is just they believe in sticking with their own kind. It is highly discouraged to associate with creatures of other species.

Honestly no one knows what’s going on with the Ore. They’re getting on Verena’s nerves and that’s the only info I got for y’all.

The sekt do their best to keep their heads down. These long imprisoned citizens of Dragonem are not native to the realm and not welcome. Even the dryads despise them, and they are barred from trading inside the capital of Proll. The feelings of disdain are mutual for most of the sekt. Their kind are long lived and many still keenly remember the war, and the days when the dragons raised the barrier around the realm, forever imprisoning them on Dragonem.

The tahathii began their existence as an experiment. In the brief period where dragons allowed passage from Midgard to Dragonem, five of the major elven tribes liked to study Earth’s wildlife and how magic could affect it. The tahatti were once no more than dusty grey elephants from Africa, but through experimentation their size was enhanced as well as their mind.  The elves took the tahathii as slaves for the next several centuries. Some remain among the elves as slaves to this day, though the practice is quickly fading, thanks to Verena’s loud and violent stand on slavery and the much less aggressive work of the people in the Free Cities. 

Surprisingly despite their horrible treatment from the elves, these kind creatures are some of Dragonem’s most tolerant citizens. Their kindness is not readily returned by other species, however, and most hardly recognize them as more than fancy cattle. Tahathii have made their home in the Free Cities, where people are more accepting.

Finally the Julmeal people neither trust nor like the ground dwelling citizens of Dragonem. They hold dragons in great respect, as it was a dragoness (Cliona) who saved their species from extinction and gifted them with flying whales. Most citizens of Dragonem fear the Julmeal rather than hate them, but that is just as violent, if not more so, than the alternative. 

Most societies on Dragonem enforce strict rules about associating with the other species. These rules allow them to trade with one another in specific ports or in times of dire need, and keep them from starting wars with one another every chance they get.

This negative world view is being challenged more and more by the day. Only two decades ago, the first Free City, Mond’era, was proclaimed to be its own independent society under Draggardic protection. Now more than 12 Free Cities exist. The populations in these cities are diverse and racism is not tolerated, nor is it much of a problem. Old prejudices die quickly among the citizens of the Free Cities, who bond quickly out of necessity. Any citizens of Dragonem can join the Free Cities and Draggardic decree states that no one can be barred by old laws or leaders from becoming a member. Among the Free City streets tahathii are free and valued members of society, surface dwarves find refuge and respectable living, sekt are welcomed as natives would be, and elves are not held responsible for the past actions of their clans. 

The leaders of Dragonem as a whole hate the Free Cities and if it were not declared to be under the protection of the dragons (as decreed by Areta and seconded by not only Verena but the High Dragoness Premoria herself) they would be destroyed by war. The Cities remain under constant threat, and those that govern them endure a constant struggle against the outside world. They are strengthen by the knowledge that their purpose is noble and that the truth is evident; the people of Dragonem not only can live as one, but thrive under a single banner.

[zippdementia]

Part 30 Alignment May Vary: In for the Long Hall (sic)

The water trapped room slams shut behind them as they exit, Karina’s tampering having disrupted it for now. They cannot go back, so the players must go forward. But first, they decide to add a new member to the team.

Long ago, the players defeated an enchantress known as “Rose,” and Karina stole her magic book, setting her on the path to multi-classing into wizard. Now, Karina decides to cast one of the spells she studied so long to learn. She casts find-familiar.

Guts of Barghest. Ground bone dust. A hot fire. Blood of a demon. Purified water. Such were a few of the items in the list of components needed for the spell. Karina did not know where she would have found the guts of a Barghest, but she had seen plenty of bones in her journey, and she happened to have a steady supply of demon’s blood, being a Tiefling. Anyway, Rose’s component pouch (which she had also stolen) had the remainder of the items (at least she guessed the dried out entrails which looked like fat worms were the guts of an unfortunate Barghest).

The rest of the instructions were as complex as the ingredient list, but Karina had studied them for weeks and found, as she did with most things magical, that understanding seemed to come to her less than a gut feeling that led her movements and gave the words she spoke power.

The ritual took an hour to complete, while her companions rested on the landing as best they could, their armor loosened so as to give some relief from its weight.

Near the end of the ritual, things became loud. Booming laughter echoed from the circle she had drawn in chalk on the floor. Smoke exploded in small puffs with sounds like the cracking of skulls. And then, in the midst of one of the puffs of smoke, a shape formed.

It was small. It had wings and also a tail. Its body was humanoid with a few distortions that made the whole thing seem wrong somehow, a hodge podge of elements like the tail and the horns and the flat pig nose and the sharp row of needle-like teeth that lined the too-large mouth.

“Mistress Rose?” the small creature asked. “Moonglum has come back to answer your call!”

It takes a little explanation to get the imp caught up the speed and a little cajoling to get him to agree to work with the party. Then, with her new imp familiar, Karina begins to scout out the remainder of the dungeon, as they plan their next move. Their goal: find the end of the tomb. The obstacle: this isn’t the real tomb.

Haggemoth always knew that his legend would attract tomb robbers and he needed to be left in peace to complete his master plan, his life’s opus. Furthermore, because of the many blockades he had put in place to actually finding his tomb, he knew that anyone who did come would be either (a) a powerful and hungry monster from the jungles of Rori Rama, or (b) a proven group of adventurers who likely had experience in traversing deadly places deep under the world.

Because of this, he built two tombs. First, he dug out tunnels inside the mountain and layered these halls with traps and the trappings of a crazed wizard, hoping to frighten adventurers away (or kill them) before they could get to his real tomb. Only this wasn’t meant to be a tomb. Deep beneath the mountain, Haggemoth has his true home, a place of magical comforts and research, only dangerous because Haggemoth’s final preparations didn’t go as planned and chaos ensued as a result. But more on that later.

For now, the players begin exploring the second part of the upper levels, rooms 17-25 on the map below. With Moonglum looking for traps and dangers, they soon discover that there are dangers all around them, including walls that slam together and a strange fungal growth breaking through the secret door leading to room 19. Room 20 controls the water trap, but there is a dead man here with his face burnt off from steam. They take his helmet of telepathy and some unidentified healilng potions he had on them, which they get very nervous about when I tell them (innocently) to record them as “Dead Man’s Potions” (note to self: if you want your players to drink a potion, maybe don’t put “dead” in its title).

The biggest threat comes from the shaded hallway to the east, amrked 23 on the map. This is a complex conveyor belt trap whose function they discover by using the crystal ball from the tomb of Udo the Grey and some experimentation. When activated, it  turns the floor into two conveyor belts that run towards the middle of the hall, depositing anyone unfortunate enough to be caught on them into a set of industrial strength grinders that can easily be an instant kill (or at least a permanent loss of a limb). This terrifies them, rightly so, and they decide they need to find a way to turn this trap off before proceeding.

Eventually the players proceed north, which they deem the most safe passage, taking a winding set of stairs down to a large room with a single solitary statue...

Cloaked

“That has to be a trap,” Karina said to the group.

“Oh most certainly,” Tyrion said.

“It would seem to make sense,” Xaviee added.

“Why would it be trapped?” Abenthy asked, the one voice of dissent. 

The statue in question was tall and seemed very old, judging by the battered feet and the areas where paint had peeled away and become mildewy in the cold damp of the chamber. They couldn’t see much beyond the feet, for draped over the statue was an old leather cloak, large enough to cover most of its features.

Karina’s mind went through a half dozen possibilities, none of them good. Was the statue a hibernating gorgon, having been defeated at last moment by a cloak of slumber wrapped over it? Would they release its terrifying gaze when they removed the cloak? Or was this the sign of a lurking basilisk, who waited for adventurers to wander into its lair and then trapped them here? Karina quickly looked over her shoulder at the one entrance to the room, almost sure she could hear soft padding footsteps descending the stairs towards them. Maybe the cloak was magically cursed, set here to entice adventurers, and then  draining them of their abilities the longer they wore it.

“Let’s leave,” she said. “This is too obvious, too easy. We need to leave this room now.”

If Abenthy heard the panic in her voice, he ignored it. “We leave no stone unturned. It’s the only way we will find Haggemoth. Justice will protect us.”

And saying no more, he reached for the cloak. They had a glimpse of the statue underneath, the face either worn smooth by the years or left blank intentionally by its creator. Either way, it was non descript, and it did not come to life to attack them. But the cloak shifted in Abenthy’s hands, wrapping itself around his arm, his chest, his face. Before any of them could react, it was pressed tight against him and they could hear a terrible grinding and gnashing, accompanied by a muffled yell of dismay, as something wet and messy happened underneath the cloak.

Xaviee ran forward, but suddenly a whiplike tail emerged from the folds of leather and its spiked end caught him in the chest. He coughed once, then collapsed in a crumpled heap. Tyrion ran to help him.

Karina lowered her bow and instead conjured up a skeletal hand, which clawed and pulled at the cloak, leaving dark red splotches where its necrotizing touch damaged whatever the thing was, but it was unable to break it away from Abenthy.

Abenthy fell to one knee, making a deep choking sound.

“It’s suffocating him!” Karina yelled.

“Working on it,” Tyrion mumbled, as he drew his lute and began to strum madly at the instrument. The melody that came forward sank deep into Karina. It raised the hairs on the back of her neck and made her feel ill, like the world was tilting madly. The sensation passed quickly, thankfully, but that was because it wasn’t targetted at her. The creature left Abenthy with a deep sorrowful moan, peeling away to reveal a wingspan like that of a Manta Ray, and a pale underbelly with a gaping fanged hole. The creature drifted into the air as if on an unseen wind and gracefully floated from the chamber. Karina darted forward behind it and slammed the door shut.

“A Cloaker!” Karina said. “We have to hold the door!”

“What in the bloody hell is a cloaker?” asked Tyrion, running to join her. Xaviee limped after him, to add his weight to the door.

“What we just saw—that’s a Cloaker. Abominations, they inhabit the old places of the world. Not very common to see one anymore. They live on rodents, mostly, but aren’t adverse to a larger meal when they can get one.”

The door suddenly shuddered, as the fear spell wore off and the Cloaker came back, seeking its prey.

“For something that seemed made of cloth, it certainly packs a punch,” Tyrion said as the door shuddered again and cracks appeared in the thick wood.

“Open them, and I will tear the beast in half,” Abenthy growled, getting to his feet. The Aasimir’s face was a hideous red color, punctured in multiple spots by deep circular wounds from which blood flowed freely. He staggered towards the door, drawing his longsword with a schinking sound that hung in the air like a spell. He flung open the door and raised the blade... but nothing was there.

“Tricky creatures, cloakers,” Karina said quietly. “We have to be on guard. They can disguise themselves in the most clever of ways. I read about them in that book from Celaenos. One man, Vollo, describes how a Cloaker settled over a pit trap, looking just like the floor. When Sir Griswald stepped on it, it dropped him onto the spikes and then floated down while he was impaled to feast on him. It kept him alive while it ate, and left him ultimately to bleed out on the spikes. We need to keep our eyes open.”

As she talked, the four companions had begun to ascend the spiraling staircase out of the room, keeping their eyes everywhere: ceiling, floors, walls, cracks in the walls.

Then, as they came to the top of the stairs, they saw in front of them a hanging leathery curtain. It definitely had not been there before and its level of conspiciousness in the setting of the tomb was ridiculous.

“Clever, huh?” Abenthy said, and strode forward to rip the Cloaker in half.

And that’s what happens when a Cloaker rolls a critical failure on a hide check.

The Long Hall

“We are not alone.”

Moonglum was shaking as he said it, the tiny imp looking over his shoulder and biting his long fingernails in a display of fear that would be comical if they weren’t inside a deadly tomb.

When he described the creature that had pulled itself from a crack in the ceiling back near the water room, the three companions knew that the skeletal centipede-like monster had caught up with them. They stood in the place where the four corridors came together, the only light Tyrion’s magically illuminated hand. Their voices were soft but still cast unsettling echoes all around them.

“We are dead,” Abenthy said.

“Not so,” Tyrion chided. “What if we run? We have the headstart on it? We could lock ourselves in the statue room and hold our ground, or run through the long hallway.”

Abenthy scoffed. “So we either make a last stand or sprint over a deadly trap? Doesn’t seem like that would improve our odds.”

“Where is your optimism?” Tyrion asked with a grin that was more than half manic.

“I am practical, not optimistic. False optimism only leads to grave dissappointment.”

“I believe you about the grave part, certainly.”

“Quiet, all of you,” Karina said, who had been studying the hallway in front of them with rapt attention. “We have only moments to pull this off.”

In seconds she explained the plan. They would bait the creature, using her illusion magic to create a false image on the trapped long hallway of the party. If the skeleton bought the illusion, it would hopefully charge and then be caught by the trap. There was only one catch...

“To cast that spell, you have to be within sight of the hall,” Tyrion said. As a fellow student of magic, he knew the restrictions. “Which means it will walk right past you.”

Abenthy looked from one of them to the other. “Can you drink our potion of invisibility?”

“No,” Karina responded. “The casting of the spell will cancel the effects of the potion. I will have to trust that it is more interested in the illusion than in me. I have my boots of Elvenkind and my cloak, I may be able to—”

“No.” Abenthy’s voice was firm. “No, we will come up with another plan. We will make our stand in the statue room. I do not like this. It puts you in too much danger.”

Karina tilted her head slightly and regarded Abenthy with the deep black pools of her eyes, hearing somethign in his voice that she had never detected, or suspected before.

“I don’t like it either,” she said gently. “But we cannot stand against that thing, nor run from it. We are weaker and slower. But we may be smarter. It is our only chance.”

Before she could say more, Xaviee emerged from the darkness, breathing heavily. “I saw it. And it saw me. It’s coming. We have moments to run.”

Abenthy looked sideways at Karina. “We are not running,” he said. “Karina has a plan.”

Thirty seconds later, Abenthy, Tyrion, and Xaviee had disappeared down to the statue room, using the helmet of telepathy to keep in touch with Karina, who was now alone at the crossroads. Down the hallway, an image of Tyrion and Abenthy sat with their backs against a wall, seeming to sleep. She hoped it was enough. The image seemed distorted to her eyes. There was a limit to this kind of illusion, and she was pushing it past its boundaries. Abenthy was squatter than in real life, Tyrion’s clothes less colorful. They made no sound—she wished she could make them make sound—and altogether she felt that if she were to see the image in the hallway, she would question it. But then, these were her companions. To her they meant friendship, comraderie, and life. To the monstrosity they were food, perhaps, or maybe just interlopers in its world, something to be killed. To such a beast, the details might not matter.

She heard the sound of bone scraping against stone as the creature emerged into the fourway corridor. She pressed herself back against the wall, not daring to breath, trying to control her shaking. It was huge. It didn’t have hands. The bones that made up its arms and legs were sharp and stunted into tusk-like appendages that it slammed into the floor and wall to steady its bulk as it moved along the corridor. This close, she could see the dried blood on its front arms. Her blood, she realized, from when it had attacked them before.

The creature pulled itself along the corridor, barely ten feet from her. Its skeletal head turned back and forth and she heard a raspy sigh emerge from it. It looked at her and paused. But it was only an instant. Then the head moved on and saw what she had put down the hallway. It rasped again. Its four front arms lifted up like the mating sign of a praying mantis. It tapped the bones against the walls in a stacatto beat.

And then it turned back towards her hiding place.

No, she thought, and it was all the time she had before the thing was moving. But it wasn’t moving towards her. Its head snapped back to center as it screeched and charged the illusion she had made. And a moment later the hallway was filled with noise as the floor came alive. The floor stones lifted and sunk back into the wall, pieces of granite and an ocean of dust cascading off of it as it shifted. Underneath the stone was a moving belt. The floor tilted downward slightly and the belt was pulling the creature forward towards the grinders at its center, massive metal discs that cracked together like the teeth of some angry god. The skeleton’s own momentum was its downfall. It tried to skitter to a halt, but its speed was incredible and its body whipped around on the belt, turning it to face Karina, pulling it backwards until it got caught by those teeth and with a scream began to be eaten by them.

Karina watched in fascination as the bones exploded into fine white powder as half of the skeleton’s body was pulled between the grinders. Only briefly did they seem to halt under the enormouse beast being fed them. But they never truly stopped and the speed at which they decimated the bone was shocking.

But then the beast was moving, pulling itself up. Appendages dug into the stone walls and it ripped itself front half free from the lost back half. The torso began to climb up to the ceiling and then back towards her. She tried to raise her bow, but fear had finally taken hold of her mind. It was coming, so fast for something so injured, and she could do nothing, and her plan had failed afrer all.

Not failed, a voice in her head said.

Abenthy was there beside her, then. He tapped the telepathy helmet on his head knowingly and smiled for the first time in weeks. A flash of light erupted near him as Tyrion cast spell after spell at the creature, his bardic voice singing out the words to the spells. Xaviee was firing arrows at the beast. And then Abenthy cast his own spell and a massive spectral greatsword appeared in front of the creature. It sliced and the bones came free from the ceiling. It fell with a cry and was carried backwards again, into the grinder, into its doom.

And then the halls of Haggemoth echoed for the first time in their history with the sound of cheers and victory.

Noxious Growth

The companions cheer does not last forever. They have just seen a massive beast get chewed to dust by the trap in front of them and are understandably wary of approaching it themselves. They know that there are devices in this dungeon which shut down traps and so they determine to find the one for this hallway.

On a (correct) hunch, they head south, to the room where they found a secret door with a fungal growth coming through it. Abenthy, immune to disease, opens the door, enters room 19, and...

Even knowing that whatever spores or infection lingered here could not hurt him due to his divine background, Abenthy could not help but cover his mouth and nose as he entered the room, as if it could actually help protect him.

The room was thick with fungus. Every spot of the floor and walls were covered in a violet tapestry of interwoven strands of mold. Every step he took, his steel clad feet crushed the delicate rug and sent up explosions of a violet dust—more of the spores, he knew. It was impossible to tell what the room’s purpose had once been. Its only decoration now was a body.

It was a curious corpse. It hung suspended at the far end of the room, wrapped in a thick web of the mold strands. It was definitely humanoid, but its features had eroded, leaving fungal growths where limbs should have been. The feet were still barely discernible, though melded together into a fleshy mass. The head lacked most features except a gaping, too-wide hole where perhaps the mouth had once been.

As Abenthy stared, that mouth suddenly closed and then opened and a clicking sound began to emerge from it, like a tongue rapidly tapping against the roof of a mouth. The body began to gyrate madly in its prison. Abenthy raised his shield and only this saved him from death. Acid spewed forth from the mouth in a projectile vomit that went fifteen feet across the room, splashing against the shield. Even so, the air around Abenthy suddenly shimmered with heat and his lungs burned as spores began to burst into small explosions all around him. He grabbed a javelin from his side and threw it, cleanly impaling the gyrating corpose. It clicked at him in response and continued to push at the confines of its webbing. Abenthy backed up and bumped into something. He spun, ready to see another of the creatures having snuck up behind him, but it was Karina, her eyes wide at the sight of the horrendous room.

“Out!” she commanded, and then she pointed a hand at the creature. A skeletal hand ripped at its chest and the effect was terrifying to see. Where the claws touched, the fungus rotted and died, almost instantly. A gaping wound was left in the creature’s chest and it screamed for the first time, a horrible half human sound like a man trying to cry for help from underwater. The creature strained again and this time the webbing broke and it fell to what passed for its feet. Then it was charging them...

This is yet another time I have dipped into Kobold Press’ Tome of Beasts. It really is the second monsters manual I always wanted from DnD 5 and my most used third party supplement. First of all, it has some tough monsters, nicely filling out the later level gaps left by the original MM. Also, each encounter, whatever the CR, is simply interesting. Each monster has a mechanic that adds to the tactics of the system, whether it is dealing with poisons, grapples, pushes and shoves, or diseases (as in this case). I drew inspiration from this book to create several of my own monsters, including the Skele-Pede and I can’t recommend it highly enough for 5th Edition DMs.

This particular beastie is a Mindrot Thrall and I cannot detail exactly what its infectious spores do, because it is very possible that at least one of my non-Aasimir players has become infected by it and I don’t want to spoil the surprise when they read this.

Suffice to say, they do end up defeating the creature, as it vomits forth acid and spores and makes a mess of the rooms. They then push on, find the trap mechanism, and clear the way for next time’s post: Ever Deeper.

[thelordice]

I Am Not Your Kind

tw depression, suicidal thoughts

I’ve got to vent about this somewhere, and this is about my only option. Advice and condolences are welcome if you have them, but this is mostly me screaming into the void.

So, on account of my life being utter shit just all around, I was recently forced to move to LA, moving in with my best friend - essentially, my brother, and I call him such (since this is the second time in a year he’s saved me from homelessness and death). And I’m eternally grateful for that generosity. But living here is Hell.

Not due to the conditions or my treatment - ostensibly, everything is wonderful except for an annoying neighbor. It comes down to the fact that my brother... is married. And that’s great, I’m glad he and his wife are happy together. But as disgustingly selfish and petty as it sounds, I hate seeing it every day.

I am, by nature, a passionate and romantic being, even if I’m socially inept and would likely be very bad at expressing this. But all my life, as long as I can remember, I’ve dreamed of having what I now see every day - a happy, normal, loving relationship. I know it’s possible, I know it exists. It just doesn’t exist for me. I’ve only ever had one relationship, and it was... toxic doesn’t do it justice. I literally refer to that relationship as the Four Years War.

But that was simply a catalyst for a lifetime of suffering. I’ve always been a solitary creature, but it was never by choice. About the only things I remember from middle school are bullies. In senior year of high school, I used a yearbook to write down the names of all the faces I’d see mocking me on a regular basis. That list had 126 names on it, faces I’d see cackling at my expense at least once a week. Keeping friends is hard, people usually just... drift away from me, or just straight tell me I’m annoying and to fuck off. Eventually, during school, I just walled myself off - pushed everyone away, tried to bury the pain and sorrow and loneliness with a carefree smile that I’d practiced over years.

But it failed. The ache only grew, the hole I felt inside myself stretching slowly into a gaping maw of hate and bitterness that it took all my restraint to keep in check. I eventually let a very few people know this. One... he told me he had a friend that needed someone to talk to. I obliged, opened up to her... and that’s what led to the Four Years War. My ex exploited the most hopeful part of me, drew on my desperation to manipulate me day in and day out before casting me aside in such a way that, without my brother, would have led to my death. I don’t know if I can ever trust someone like that again. She turned my greatest dream into my worst nightmare, and that hurts like hell.

But I know that I need to. Every part of me screams “this is what I need,” but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have it. Not only because of my own traumas and wounds - who, after all, would want something as broken as I? No, the result of my only relationship also solidified a belief I’d had growing in the back of my mind for years. Humans are... a social species. Social dynamics are a core part of human culture and customs, and certain social interactions are necessary for healthy brain function. And for that reason, humans pack bond - they fall in with others of their kind and repel all else. That’s why the Uncanny Valley exists - things that look just human-like enough to be both realistic, and primordially disturbing, and so humans reject those things. Because humans typically cast aside things they see as not like them that does not please them.

And so I find myself here... straight at the bottom of the Uncanny Valley. I look human, I sound human, I smell human, everything about my biology functions just as a human’s would. But given the near-universal rejection I’ve experienced from humanity - all kinds of people from all backgrounds and walks of life - then there is only one answer to the conundrum of why I have had to experience this for so long. As the Great Detective once said, “once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains - however improbable - must be the truth.” And so, with rejection from so many different types of people - some with no commonality whatsoever aside from this - I have been forced to conclude that the only logical reason for it all... is that I am not human, despite all appearances. I am not a person. I am less. I am a plaything, a novel distraction to be discarded when its novelty wears off. Eventually this will happen here, too, and I’ll be set adrift again. And one day, it will kill me. But I welcome that. Because there is no other escape from this torment. An overactive self-protective reflex has thwarted every attempt I’ve made to put myself out of everyone else’s misery, and I hate myself all the more for it. I cannot be happy, I cannot be human, I can only be... this. Alone, miserable, and in agony from seeing my greatest dream made real while I can never know that simple bliss that so many take for granted.

And it hurts. It hurts so... fucking... much. I’m so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of scratching by on the skin of my teeth to survive to see another miserable day as the world collapses around us, tired of pretending to be something I’m not. This is the most open I’ve ever been with these thoughts... and it’s almost a comfort to know that there’s a near-certainty that nobody will ever read this. Because nobody cares. And they’re right not to. I’m not worth caring about. I’m not worth anything. I’m just a miserable waste of space and resources and I hate myself more and more every day.

[emlisswriting]

Chapter 6: Growing Home

Restoring life in my domain took a whole moon turn. So for ten rotations, I remained largely motionless to conserve energy and let nature take over.

My ants managed to grow from half a colony to three full ones again. Plenty of insects and birds from outside my domain came to feed on the insects I slaughtered in my creation of Eva. I even managed to kill a few birds and create molds for them, although I did not risk making any.

After I created a few more ubee constructs Eva began to build her hive in a tree almost directly above my core. Once she made a hive and some honey she began spreading her scent all around the edges of my domain. Apparently my constructs cannot breed with her. The wild ubees did not directly follow my commands but they followed Eva’s orders.

Furthermore, Eva’s offspring inherited the same connection to me as Eva. This means breeding loyal monsters will maintain their own populations by rather than requiring constant energy upkeep from me.

Now that my resources are at a safe level again, I want to experiment with plant life. Unlike most living things I am able to directly interact with plant life. Using my limbs I can push, move, or cut the trees around me. When I cut down one of the smaller trees around me I received a minuscule amount of energy, the same amount as a few ants despite the tree’s much larger size. Too bad, looks like direct farming won’t be a realistic method of energy gain.

For my next experiment, I infused my energy into a sapling. The young tree soaked it up like a starving babe. When the tree became fully saturated on my energy I could feel its body, the nutrients being soaked up through the roots, the sun shining on its leaves and even how the tree would grow. Eventually this tree would be a towering behemoth. To see if it was possible, I imagined the roots expanding farther and the future trunk growing shorter but thicker.

As I finished the image, the energy saturating the tree began to move throughout the tree. The tree started growing so rapidly that I could barely perceive the changes. Quickly, I found which nutrients the roots sought and water in a stream at the edge of my domain. Bringing them to my sapling, the growth exploded! The tree shot up five clicks in less than a spin. Then the trunk swelled and branches burst out to create wide foliage.

“Bzz bz!” Eva excitedly flew through the newly grown tree, twirling and twisting. Her children also began exploring the new addition.

“What do you think Eva? Now I know how to grow and shape the different plants around here!” I exclaimed with glee.

To demonstrate my increased magnificence I then instructed the tree to bloom entirely with pale white blossoms. This sent the ubees into a frenzy, immediately they went to work collecting pollen. One of the female ubees also began the process of forming a hive in the top branches.

Flying to me, Eva bobbed up and down. “Bzzzzzz!” She then raced back to the tree of her own hive and circled it while still buzzing.

I couldn’t help chuckling to myself. “Yes of course I can grow your tree, Eva. I’ll make it extra special just for you.”

Another moon turn later and all the trees in my domain towered over the rest of the forest. Eva’s tree turned out especially tall, its branches winding up the entire trunk like a spiral staircase. I also put in plenty of natural tree hollows for creatures to live in. Eva’s tree covered the ground above my gem core now and the roots encircled me in a web of safety. At the very top of the tree grew dozens of plump, pearly white fruit.

Nearby birds obsessed over the fruit as soon as they grew. When a bird consumed a fruit they grew faster and stronger than before. But as soon as Eva realized the potential of the fruits she posted guards to vehemently protect the fruit. Every rotation the guards honed their combat abilities more and Eva improved her tactician abilities. Where originally four ubees needed to work together to take down a bird, now two could manage. Her best warriors were rewarded by consuming pieces of the fruit, increasing their size and speed. Thus Eva’s Queen Guard formed.

By now I also created several types of bird constructs. Yet I decided to hold off creating any monsters until I got another large influx of energy.

Now that I took control of all the plants in my domain, I not only made the trees larger and vibrant. I also cultivated the underbrush to be dense, full of poisonous plants and thorny brush. No large creature stood a chance at getting through without slowly chopping their way through.

At this point, I nurtured all of the insects, plants, and birds in my domain. My energy stores are full and defenses stronger than ever. Now to expand my domain further.

This time I decided to try expanding differently. Instead of slowly pushing out, I fill up my domain up with over half my energy. Once everything is saturated I begin spinning all the energy. Faster and faster, my energy whirls around with my core as the eye of the storm. Slowly, the energy all moved to swirl around the edge of my domain and became extremely dense. Every second I glimpsed a wisp of visible energy. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. What originally felt like whirling a rock on a string now felt like a boulder.

So I cut the string.

Energy whizzed out everywhere. Whereas before I needed to push and force out my energy, now it sliced through space. My radius doubled. Accomplishing the same feat with my old method I believe would use eight full cores worth of energy.

I quickly evaluated my new domain. My domain now contained plenty more vegetation, a larger stream, but more importantly, several new species of animals. I sensed squirrels in a tree, fish in the stream, a rabbit den with a python lurking nearby, and stalking the python were several mongagers. A monster hybrid between the mongoose and badger, mongagers are vicious and fearless predators capable of taking on monsters many times their size. Normally solitary, these parents seem to be teaching their two cubs how to hunt.

The father mongager crawled forward silently. When the snake twitched its head, alerted to something, the mongager struck. Lunging for the back of the python’s neck, the python barely dodged those deadly jaws. Yet the python failed to dodge one set of claws that raked down her face. Hissing, the python counter attacked, tanking another swipe to bash into the mongager and try to wrap around him. The mongoose genetics showed their strength as the mongager swiftly dodged around crushing coils.

Their dance continued, the mongager swiftly dodging while chipping away the python’s health. Finally, the mongager’s balance failed him as a stick broke underfoot. Before he recovered the python entangled the slippery monster. The mongager stood no chance now. If he was alone.

The other mongagers swarmed the python. There was nothing for the snake to do, she could not dodge or retaliate without letting another enemy go. So she squeezed as quickly as she could, trying to claim revenge before her own death.

In the end, the python successfully took down her kill before she succumbed to her own wounds. Then the energy I expected flooded me. Acting quickly before I passed out, I chose two hawks nesting at the top of a tree and ordered a two dozen queen’s guard ubees to take them out. The hawks never knew what hit them and swiftly fell to the barrage of elite ubees.

I consider the standard mold for the hawks. In the end, I simply scaled up the size of the male’s mold and made him stronger. Then I placed the mold over the bodies. As with Eva, the bodies of the hawks flowed into one, twisting and merging. As the energy void appeared I fed it the python’s, mongager’s, and two hawks’ energy. With such large sources of energy I did not need to siphon off any of my insects this time. In fact, the only required an additional quarter of my core energy.

As I watched, the newly made monster rose, the size of the two hawks combined. He stood there, magnificent and dignified.

“I name you Avir, hunter of the skies and all-seeing eye.” I proclaimed as another chunk of energy left me to name him.

Avir bowed deeply before me, a gleam of light sweeping across his eyes. He looked ready for the thrill of the hunt. Unfortunately, I felt the feedback of previously holding so much energy at once starting to hit me. Soon I would pass out for a time.

“Avir, protect my core until I return. Work with Eva, the queen ubee. Do not engage unless necessary, I will return soon.”

I faded to darkness.

[monascienceblog-blog]

Aggression in cats towards others

Aggression in cats towards others

Aggression in cats

Aggression in cats is a negative word: It is loaded with value judgment. When the word aggressive is used to describe something or someone, it predisposes the listener to dislike and distrust that thing or person. For animals, however, aggression is a natural, normal, healthy, appropriate behavior or reaction.

In cats, aggressiveness can be about self-protection or defense, or it can be offensive—often for the very same reasons. It can also be about play or sex.

Cats are small and vulnerable creatures, and if they did not have aggression as part of their arsenal, it is doubtful whether they would have survived for so many millennia.

This article that follow describe the kinds of aggression in cats you can expect to see in your cat and help you see what is normal and what may fall outside those boundaries.

TYPES OF AGGRESSION IN CATS

Fear aggression: a cat attacks when frightened

Food aggression: a cat attacks to protect her own food or take another’s food

Inbred aggression: the result of poor breeding by people without the knowledge to make good choices in breeding pairs

Maternal aggression: a mama cat defends her young

Paternal aggression: an unneutered cat (a tom) kills kittens sired by another male

Play aggression: mostly exhibited by kittens and adolescents while playing

Prey aggression: a cat stalks or kills another creature

Redirected aggression: a cat cannot get at the object of her fury, so she lashes out at a “bystander”

Sexual aggression: between a male and female in heat

Territorial/status aggression: a cat uses force and/or intimidation to control others and get what she wants

(A) FOOD AGGRESSION IN CATS

Cats have been known to attack to protect their food resources, or in order to steal food from another cat. Food guarding and aggression are generally an issue only in multi-cat homes.

If your cat was a stray, she may have had to fight for meals or go hungry much of the time, and if she spent time at a shelter, she may have encountered a similar competition for food.

Living in close quarters with another cat in your home may trigger that response in cats with those backgrounds.

FOOD AGGRESSION IN CATS CAN BE AN EXPRESSION OF DOMINANCE BETWEEN CATS

If one cat is clearly dominant, there will be no problem—the subordinate cat accepts his place, the dominant one makes clear her supremacy and the dominant one always eats first.

It is only when two cats who are about equal in the pecking order have not determined who is on a higher rung that aggression erupts over food, resulting in nasty fights. Feeding time becomes a contest to see who can top whom, rather than a pleasurable experience.

Solutions

1. Things You Can Do to Avoid Food Aggression

The easiest fix for this problem is to give the cats separate feeding areas at different locations in the kitchen. Have two food dishes and two water dishes—the safety net of the distance between them may be all it takes for the aggressive cat to show no signs of her problem.

2. If the Problem Is Between a Cat and Dog

Since dogs love the extreme smelliness of cat food, both canned and dry, your dog will probably make every possible attempt to help himself to the cat’s yummy food. This can irritate your cat no end. But the solution is easy as pie: Elevate the cat’s food dish, placing it up on a counter, and the mutt will have to make do with his own food.

3. For Severe Food Aggression

If your cat really wigs out when another cat comes near her food bowl, rather than putting the nonaggressive cat in such an uncomfortable position, the easiest thing to do is to feed the cats in different rooms.

The aggressive cat will eat more comfortably if she doesn’t have to fret that someone else is going to get her food, and the cat who is the victim of the aggression is going to be eternally grateful to you.

(B) INBRED AGGRESSION IN CATS

A cat who is unpredictably aggressive may just be “wired” wrong. This type of aggressive behavior can only be blamed on or explained by the cat’s own biological makeup.

The cat may lash out at the slightest provocation—for example, when she is startled, when someone comes too close or when a person reaches out to pat her.

Aggression can be passed on in the genes, and since aggression is obviously not a desirable attribute in a cat (despite the “Beware the Attack Cat” signs you may have seen for sale), clearly no breeder would knowingly want to perpetuate this tendency passed on by the parent(s).

A consultation with your vet should help you determine if this is truly inbred aggression or if it is caused by something else, such as a medical condition.

If your cat is a purebred and you got her from a breeder, then you have a legitimate claim with the breeder, depending on what age the cat was when you become aware of the aggression.

There is no hard and fast rule on what that age might be, but using common sense you wouldn’t expect a breeder to honor your claim in a cat who has reached adulthood or her first birthday.

Depending on how serious the problem is, a good breeder should offer to exchange your kitten or cat. At the very least he should remove her parents from his breeding program until he can discover which of them is responsible for this unfortunate trait.

(C) REDIRECTED AGGRESSION IN CATS

This usually happens with indoor cats, generally because they have access to a window and see an unfamiliar cat outside whom they cannot get to. The adrenaline that flows when your cat sees an intruder and the frustration she feels at not being able to go deal with it can cause an outburst of aggression directed at the next creature who comes along.

This poor victim generally has no idea what triggered the attack and may retaliate or not, depending on her personality and also the underlying hierarchy with the attacking cat. (There may be times when you need to rebuild the self-confidence and self-worth of the cat who has been attacked, which you can do at least in part by spending extra time playing with her.)

Watch your cat. Start paying attention to whether your cat is behaving oddly when she looks out any window, and then see what she is reacting to. If there is a stray or a neighbor’s outdoor cat out there, you want to block your cat’s visual access to her. You don’t want your cat’s redirected attacks to become a habit, so you have to be on alert as to what is triggering the attacks. Such aggression can also be redirected at people or at a family dog.

Potentially, an ongoing problem may result from these moments of frustrated rage, setting up a negative dynamic between two cats where the victim becomes terrified of the aggressor, who may have developed a habit of “beating up” on the victim cat. You may have to separate the cats into different areas of your house until the two are settled down again. At that point, allow the cats back together in the area where the attack happened so it can become a neutral zone.

(D) AGGRESSION TOWARD PEOPLE

It is not considered normal for cats to be aggressive toward people—especially if they aren’t provoked. However, that doesn’t take into consideration the fact that for many cats, too much affection can be a provocation—to which they respond by aggressively lashing out.

This negative behavior from a cat is something that almost everyone has experienced at some time, when a cat they are touching turns on them unexpectedly. Since this is a common occurrence, you need to be prepared for it, understand why it happens and plan ways to avoid provoking it in your cat.

Keep in mind that cats are independent animals who, if they were living on their own without people, would rarely have physical contact with other cats or other animals (including the human animal). Cats are natural loners, and other than to mate or fight, they do not normally have physical contact—which means they will be in a heightened state when touched.

1. Biting Aggression During Petting

Biting is the most common form of aggression in cats toward people, and it is a kind of communication: Your cat is telling you to back off. However, it is pretty unpleasant to be petting your cat and suddenly receive a hard bite when you thought she was friendly and enjoying herself.

Being bitten in this situation can be especially disturbing because it seems to come out of the blue: Your cat is next to you, purring as you pet her, when without warning she reaches back and bites you hard. Did you do something wrong? Is your cat suddenly “possessed”?

Cats bite because of a basic incompatibility between human and cat: We like to pet a whole lot longer than they like to be petted. There is a too-much-of-a-good-thing aspect of giving affection to any cat—the animal reaches a saturation point when she just can’t take any more.

The bite is meant to let you know when that moment has arrived. Cats are not naturally sociable animals—they are intended to live a solitary life, and we interfere with that by making them part of our “family.” Although many cats adore physical affection, they aren’t naturally programmed for it, so when we pour on the affection it seems to cause, in essence, a short circuit in their brains.

2. Petting Aggression in cats

Petting generally creates similar problems to the biting behavior discussed above, but there are some other twists and turns worth noting here.

Physical affection toward a cat that elicits an aggressive reaction from her is sometimes called the “petting and biting syndrome.” It varies from cat to cat, but basically the cat attacks (with teeth and/or claws) the person who is caressing her.

This can happen when a person has been stroking her only briefly, or in other cases after prolonged stroking, but the reaction is sudden and severe, with teeth, claws, and sometimes a powerful backward kick.

Following such an attack, a cat will usually put some distance between herself and you, and then will settle in to groom herself as a way to calm herself down.

The “scratch and bite” response is something you may be creating in your cat if you stimulate her physically more than she can handle. If you pet a cat too intensely or for too long, she may have an eventual meltdown and turn on you because you have stimulated her past the point where she can process it or control herself.

This can be true of a cat you have adopted who came from a situation where she was neglected and craving affection—but then when you give it to her she is overwhelmed. It’s too much of a good thing, too “rich” for her system, and she lashes out without understanding why.

What Causes Petting Aggression in cats?

One theory is that the cat is in a kitten-like frame of mind when accepting your physical attentions and so she allows herself to be coddled. But then all of a sudden her brain switches gears to the adult, independent side of her personality, which rebels against being held or confined in any way, even against being stroked on your lap. And so she lashes out to assert her independence.

Another theory is that a cat’s personality type has a lot to do with it. Whether or not a cat becomes hyperaroused from affectionate contact may be a reflection of her underlying nature. Think of cats as being generally divided into two personality types, warm and cool.

There is rarely, if ever, an aggression problem with warm cats, who demonstrate a need to spend time with people and to experience physical affection from them. It is logical that when a warm cat’s desire for contact is the greatest, she is highly unlikely to respond negatively to human affection.

Conversely, cool cats may be all right with contact that they initiate and can terminate at will, but they may reject advances from a person who tries to pat or play with them.

You May Need a Check-up at the Vet.

If you think your cat may be hurting somewhere—inside or out—you should let the vet have a look at her. If you realize that your cat bites you every time you touch a certain area, this could be a pain response and you need to get it checked out.

Bite Warning Signs

A direct stare

Eyes squinting, narrowed

Ears point flat back against her head

Growling

Tail swishing, especially the tip

Tense body position, rigid

Leans away from you

Mouthing your hand or arm

Ways to Avoid Triggering Biting

Neuter your cat before she reaches maturity.

Handle and groom your cat frequently and from a young age if possible.

Groom with the same guidelines as for petting: Keep it short and sweet.

Give your cat her own space—don’t be constantly physical with her.

Let your cat come to you for affection, not the other way around.

Keep petting sessions really short—no more than 1 minute.

Try to stop petting while the cat is still eager for more.

Try giving a good treat (such as chicken) after a petting session.

Try desensitization: no petting at all for a few days, then make it very brief when the cat initiates contact, and gradually increase the length of petting sessions.

Ways to Deal With a Cat’s Aggression In Cats Toward People

Learn when your cat tends to react aggressively so you can avoid those circumstances.

Limit the amount of time you spend caressing or playing with your cat, and the number of times you engage her. If she does attack you, try to figure out how long you were caressing her before she lost it, and next time stop short of that amount of time.

Leave your cat wanting more.

Don’t touch the sensitive spots on your cat—her belly and hind legs. A cat’s back and head are the least sensitive areas, generally speaking.

Be prepared with a squirt bottle or water pistol when you see your cat stalking you!

Clap your hands and say “No!” sharply to interrupt what she was going to do to you.

  (E) TERRITORIAL AGGRESSION IN CATS

A dominant cat in a multi-cat home may show you some of the same aggressive behavior she displays to the other cats to maintain her position in the hierarchy.

This behavior can include blocking your path by lying across doorways, staring directly at you, mouthing (where she puts her teeth on you without applying pressure) or actually biting you when you try to lift her.

General Tips for Dealing with Aggression In Cats

See the vet to rule out possible underlying medical/physical causes.

Learn your cat’s individual body language and be alert for warning signs.

Avoid situations that triggered the aggression previously.

Spend time sitting in the room where the cat tree is or where it’s most likely that fights might take place so you can be there to intervene.

If you are there when aggression begins, turn it into a play session instead.

Interrupt aggression with an unemotional reaction: Clap your hands or throw a shake can, but don’t make it about your disapproval.

Use the least amount of aversion technique (spray bottle, splashing a glass of water) needed to get the desired results.

Create distinct “safety zones” where each cat has food, water and a litter box and can avoid the other cat(s).

Consider reducing the number of cats you have in the household.

Discuss drug therapy with your vet and, if appropriate, use the smallest possible dose for the shortest possible time, combined with behavior modification.

Read More About:

How to brush a cat

How much to feed a cat

Feline Nutrition Guide

Burmese cat information

Aggressive dog behavior

Cat Nail Trimming

How to Choose a Healthy Cat Food

  https://www.xyqmfc.com/aggression-in-cats/