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the-apocryphal-one · 4 years ago

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Ebb and Flow

Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel

Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!

A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).

Minor spoilers ahead!

A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.

She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.

After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.

It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.

That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.

Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.

But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.

His smugness is unbearable.

Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.

So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.

After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.

When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”

His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”

The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.

For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.

The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.

But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.

She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.

The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.

When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.

It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.

Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.

Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.

He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…

Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.

She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.

Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.

Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.

A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.

So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.

He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.

Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.

Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.

Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.

It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.

The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.

That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.

Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.

He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.

But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.

The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.

How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.

She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.

He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.

At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—

“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”

Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.

“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”

A dream…

Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.

Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.

When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”

“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”

Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.

The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”

“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”

And—oh.

That flash in his eyes. That pain.

Her throat closes.

It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.

It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.

It was her pain, before Eilistraee.

Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.

But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.

She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—

And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.

It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.

But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.

One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.

It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.

The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.

But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…

And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.

There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.

There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.

Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.

She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.

Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.

He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.

Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.

Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.

That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.

Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.

She gives the word, and he lunges.

The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.

But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.

She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.

And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.

It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.

It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.

It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.

Maybe it was inevitable.

Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.

The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.

Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.

Striking. Oh.

She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.

A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.

Astarion is still watching her.

Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.

But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.

Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x mc #astarion baldur's gate #astarion bg #astarion x charname

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courtorderedcake · 4 years ago

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Majestically Too Far Beyond, CSSNS 2020

Emma Swan is a Witch who has made (And apparently makes) bad decisions. Helping a desperate Witch out of a weird situation doesn't seem like a bad decision, even against her, runes, a tarot reading and her friend's Snow druid intuition - until it is and the consequences are very real.

Killian is a Demon with a long history of persecution against him, and his denizens are not much better off. His Angelic brother is on a mission to rehab Demonic image to prevent violence on the streets of Hyperion Heights, as some sort of Holy mission deeply rooted in millenia of guilt. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. After a disastrous meeting, he attempts to drown his frustration with a trip to the bottom of a bottle, but ends up falling in bed with a mysterious Witch in her tower home. Soon he's missing a hand, has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, and a mirror shows that some strange, different, Witch is pregnant with his child.

RATED M for Mature Themes. Written for @cssns 2020 Beta’d by The best team ever ( @jarienn972 @ultraluckycatnd @donteattheappleshook) and Art by @kmomof4

Read on Ao3 HERE. 1 | 2

Chapter 2 - House Evil Spirits to appease of,

Part of Emma was coming to terms with the new fact that she was pregnant, then just as rapidly she reverts back through the cycle of grief, sometimes not in order. The doctor had warned her this would happen when she announced that they would be keeping her for overnight observation as a safety precaution, dropping the news that her new pregnancy hormones would also make her feel even more upside down then she had ever imagined. It was one thing to be told, but feeling it was another thing entirely.

She had gone from laughing at the breakfast menu she was handed to crying over grilled cheese not being an option, to enraged at being brought bright blue jello with her 'breakfast sandwich' made of bologna and eggs. They could not have known the intense reaction the jiggling neon goo would have given her, her magic flaring and sputtering in turn as she launched it away from her. But then again, she doubted any of the staff had spent time in a No-Magic cell. Nausea bloomed as soon as rage subsided, the food on the plastic tray too similar to what had been served to her over those long years locked away.

Now irritation was playing through multiple emotions, a new nurse violently poking her with a needle, and running some sort of IV.

"You're giving me what -"

"A hormone treatment, and a magic suppressant."

"But I need my magic -"

"Would you prefer to shrivel up and die? You'll still have enough to do daily witch activities or whatever. This helps keep the extra at bay, and your baby healthy. It needs your magic."

"Oh. Great." She laughed, half crazed at the news and the nurse's treatment. "Just great."

"Mess with their kind, and well." She shrugged, eyeing Emma's body. "An Angel wouldn't do that to you. A Vampire couldn't, and the rest of 'em could, but you wouldn't have to suffer through all this nasty magic aftermath. You're just early enough for a termination though, thank Merlin."

"I didn't do this to myself on purpose . This was never supposed to happen, at least not like this…"

"Sure." The nurse rolled her eyes as she drew out the word, clearly being condescending. "It's never the Witch’s fault; I hear it every time I'm fixing them for blowing themselves in half for not reading a spell right. You play with dark magic, there's a cost."

Emma scowled, hot tears starting and streaming down her cheeks. Her anger and ferocity that was there just moments before had evaporated without warning into a deep resignation.

"Can my brother come to see me yet?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"After they question you, sure. He can come pick you up - You're done here." The nurse pulled off the empty bag from the IV stand, throwing it in the trash.

The doctor entered, waving a hello. Emma did not notice her, too busy staring at her bump. She joined the nurse as a machine beeped, helping to take out her IV and the pads on her belly. When that was done, Emma sat up, wobbling from her strange new center of gravity.

The doctor smiled at her kindly. "We'll have your test results in a few days to a week's time. You'll feel strange and sluggish the first few weeks as your body catches up to the rapid growth, your hormones, the magic, so on and so forth. From there, you may actually start to grow as normal until you'll need the next dose of suppression. We'll schedule that out for 4 months from now, checking in monthly, but if you grow suddenly, shrink suddenly, your extremities swell, or you begin to exhibit flu like symptoms, come in immediately. If anything seems off, just give us a call. We have a twenty-four seven nurse line should you have any other questions. Good luck!"

The doctor left without much more than a precursory glance back.

Snapping her gloves, the nurse glared over her glasses at Emma. "Leave when you are ready. We got you a different outfit; it's amongst your personals there."

The nurse left in a hurry, leaving Emma to dress herself in a large pair of green hospital scrubs, her new figure completely foreign as she rubbed her hands across the smooth skin. Her once flat stomach was distended, a slight curve that pushed out stretched skin. Her clothes in the plastic bag they had given her were dirty and looked damp. The clothing she was given would have been a small comfort if the stiff fabric didn't feel so much like her old prison uniform.

"Fuck," Emma choked out, gripping the chair for support. She felt dizzy, absolutely nauseated at the idea of a baby. Her baby. She was pregnant. Something in her felt warmth at the idea, a strange, creeping feeling of rightness mixed with calm. The rest of her wanted to claw at her skin, urging her to wake up from this horrible dream.

Every time she closed her eyes, she fervently wished this wrongness was a hallucination. But it wasn't; she was still swaying on her feet every time she opened her eyes again. This wasn't some sort of nightmare, there was a baby, some creature's inhuman child inside her. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Tears began to prick behind her eyes, her face heating as she sat down on the hospital bed with her head cradled in her hands.

( You can't cry over this. This happened because of your shady dealings.

You got a firstborn child alright. Yours. )

Swallowing hard, Emma tried to banish the thoughts bombarding her.

( A baby. A baby you can love and hold, who you will never abandon. Someone you can raise the way you weren't, a second chance. Put your armor back on - for you and your child. )

Emma bit her lip hard, swiping angrily at her tears. Bottling up the emotions, she took a breath, grabbed her purse, and walked down the hallway. To her great surprise, Elsa was waiting.

"Emma, oh my stars. This is - I have no words. I'm so sorry," Elsa whispered. Emma gave a half hearted shrug, her voice still trembling slightly.

"Yeah. Well. Can I go home yet? That's why you're here right?" Emma hated the anxious, pleading edge of her tone.

"No, not yet. You have to be interviewed by the inspector detective here and then you are free to go." Elsa approached and hugged Emma softly. "I got you a nice one though, he's one of my favorites. Jones. He's an Angel - literally and figuratively. He's saved me on so many cases, I can't help but sing his praise."

"Oh Elsa. Thank you." Emma hugged her friend tightly, both of them trembling. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Elsa scoffed. "I don't know what anyone would do. Joking aside, we are all going to be here for you, no matter what happens. It's not going to be like last time." Elsa pushed back a strand of Emma's hair, looking straight into her eyes. "You won't go through this alone. We're going to fight for you, and figure this out. Luckily, our major project is postponed anyway. Until they find the Demon Prince, the council is on a hiatus."

"I just want to go home. I don't know if I can handle everyone right now." Emma mumbled. "It's bad enough David probably knows, which means Snow and everyone else -"

"Please don't push us away, Emma. We know it's a lot, but going into the unknown like this," Elsa took one of Emma's hands, squeezing it lightly. "Having a family, having faith and love - it's the only way to get through."

"Miss Frost," a low voice called from a room nearby. Elsa led Emma to a small office, smiling at the large Angel who stood on one side of a desk. He returned her smile, until Emma met his eyes. His frown was slow, not suiting his features, even when his blue eyes sharply laser focused on Emma's rotund body. She could see his muscles tense, his golden tinged wings giving the smallest of flutters. "Miss Swan."

"I'll leave you both to it, then." Elsa smiled, inspector Jones weakly returning it as she closed the door to them.

Emma sat in the only chair on her side of the desk, landing with an audible noise in surprise. Her body was heavier now. Of course sitting felt wrong. Jones grunted before sitting in his chair, his presence formidable even with his wings unopened. He began jotting down notes, not looking up at her for a long, stretched pause of silence. Emma fidgeted uncomfortably, one foot bouncing on the floor.

"Stop that at once," Liam growled, his eyes narrowed.

Emma stopped, hissing out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just -"

"How did this happen?" Liam interrupted, gesturing at her with clear disgust. "Dr. Mullins indicates it was against your will? You haven't been sexually active to induce conception? Explain."

"Well, I um -"

"And I must remind you Miss Swan," Liam grimaced, marking something on his paper. "Lying to me is a crime itself. Perjury."

"Yes, I uh - I know." Emma nodded with a gulp. She took a breath, centering herself, and began to tell him the entire story of what had taken place with Gothel. He listened in absolute silence, writing the entire time as his frown only deepened. When she had finished, he continued writing in the oppressive silence, until finally flicking his eyes up to glare at her again.

"Is that all, Miss Swan?"

"Yes, then I, um, got the cramps -"

"Spare me the sordid details of the consequences your illegal activity most likely caused," Liam drawled, sarcastically. He leveled his angry, burning gaze at her, and she felt like an animal being cornered by much larger prey. "Now, I have some questions for you. Answer to the best of your ability, but remember -"

"Do not lie, yeah I remember," Emma said softly.

"Who says you Witches can't be taught," Liam sneered, his voice mocking. Emma felt irritation bubble up in her gut, her surprise that Elsa liked this asshole rising. If he was a good inspector, Emma never wanted to meet a bad one. "Now. What exactly did this Gothel ask of you in exchange for her firstborn?"

"Youthful beauty and a long life, I think," Emma stated, thinking hard. "She wanted to be young forever. I told her that it wouldn't be instant or eternal, that she would have to wait. Now I know why it didn't bother her."

"Did she mention any other rituals, Miss Swan?" Liam asked.

"No, but she did say that she was in a time crunch." Emma shrugged slightly. "I don't know if that means anything."

Liam looked at her with more vehemence, still writing furiously. "Did you feel any effects at that time?"

"No, I was surprised I didn't with the amount of magic that detonated. I checked myself twice to make sure, once with a warding bind even." The strangeness of the situation and her clear confusion due to it made her voice sound foreign to Emma's own ears. Did he know how much she didn't want this? "Nothing. Then boom, today I - today this. She showed her true colors at the end, did an evil laugh and everything."

Liam hummed disapprovingly, looking over his notes. Flicking his eyes back to hers, he glared with contempt. "Let me make sure I have this all correct. So, you and this other Witch do a forbidden and illegal ritual -"

"I had no idea it was going to be this illegal, I swear!" Emma began to feel panic, her heart racing. "I thought I was helping -"

"Sure, sure, even though you already have a record -"

"That was - That was different, I was set up and I -"

"It seems like you are awfully good at being set up, Miss Swan. So what did you get out of this?" The inspector looked at her in disgust, folding his arms against his chest. "A Demon child to experiment on? Heightened powers?"

"No! No, I had no idea she would - I didn't know - I thought later on that she'd give me her unwanted child. I didn't want another kid to be unwanted. I didn't know the parentage - "

The inspector interrupted with a loud scoff, leaning forward and leering at her. "Likely bloody story."

"Detective Inspector Jones, I swear to you, I swear it - I had no idea what… I had no idea this would happen. I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to get pregnant, I still don't know what to do."

"If it is a Demonic child, even only a half-breed, the best thing to do is give them up." Something painful twisted in her gut, a deep feeling of dread and wrongness.

"I can't, I want to think about it and wait to look at options -"

"You can . You should . It will get easier the longer you are separated from the leeching thing." Liam's sneer turned into a look of pure disgust. "Don't wait, and get it out of you before it completely ensnares you in its unholy thrall."

"It's a child, sir, and my choice. I'm not making any promises -"

"No Demon has ever been innocent, not even a baby. They are inherently selfish, cruel, and angry. Your mixed breed baby will be the same." Liam looked down at his feet, his fingers interlaced as he rested his elbows on his knees. His voice had lost the cruel edge, and Emma felt her superpower activate. He didn't believe what he was saying, and as she watched him, she noticed how tired he looked.

"Inspector, are... Are you alright?"

"Miss Swan," Liam chuckled darkly, pinching the bridge of his nose before glancing up to look at her. "If I was in your position, I would worry about myself, especially if jail time was on the table."

Emma felt as if he'd slapped her, air rushing from her lungs as her heart beat rapidly.

"Jail time?" She asked in disbelief, "What about Gothel? Why are you demonizing me -"

"That is government business, Miss Swan." Liam stood stiffly, rummaging in his pocket. He fished out a card, carefully sliding it on the table towards her. "If you remember anything, contact us. Otherwise, we will be in touch. I'll have the nurse give you the proper paperwork and instructional pamphlets."

He turned, pushed the curtain aside, and Emma heard a soft whoosh of air indicating his exit. Looking down at her body under the scrubs, she cursed Eloise with every fiber of her being.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

The first few nights were a string of blurry, anger, and grief strewn rampages. Elsa has taken her home, Emma unwilling to let David even see her until she had some space to take care of herself. She had sent a text, and after a lot of back and forth arguing surrounding his lengthy replies, David had conceded.

(She just couldn't right now.

Not right now. Not yet.)

A Celestial, or something similar. Most likely Demon, he had said.

Gothel had not only gotten her pregnant, but with some Demon child that could be claimed by its monstrous father for who knew what awful reason. Emma shuddered at the thought, hands protectively resting on her small swell of stomach. Pulling them away as they trembled, she cursed her body and the invader that was making her feel so attached to it. Demons didn't exactly get along with any of the other demographics, but Witches and Demons had the most volatile relations amongst any of them. Her own child might grow to hate her, all because of how much Witches persecuted Demon kind.

She could still… No. She would not terminate the baby this far along. Every part of her vibrated with the wrongness of the very idea, sending her retching into the kitchen sink. She gripped both sides of the basin, crying hot, angry tears as she came to terms with the parasite - the baby, the small baby, the life - occupying her body. As much as she tried to hate it, the only hate she could muster fell on herself and Eloise.

Part of her felt crazed, crying in her bathtub, nauseated and afraid of every implication and outcome. Laying her head back on the tile, she wondered about what she was going to do. Rubbing her new bump slowly, Emma traced the curve. Sixteen months. A doubly long second trimester, and extended third, all while it changed with her body. Mixed children generally presented like their non-Demonic parent, and the pregnancy bond would be fierce regardless of species. Although it was doubtful at this point it was even in effect despite her behavior and thoughts, Emma smiled at the thought that she already felt attached to her baby. Her own family.

Her brother was going to go insane, and her sister-in-law… Snow was always supportive and full of a positive outlook. Emma had teased her that it was an Elf thing, but her pointed ears would twitch as she blushed, and she'd mumble something about her plants helping. Smoking her pungent blends of cannabis could make anyone positive, and Emma was suddenly envious.

Regina and the coven would be on the defensive, taking over everything in Emma's life without quarter. That would be another comfort, their careful planning and patience having gotten her this far through her difficult life.

In the end, the coven, Ruby, and Snow were over shortly after her emergency summons, flying through her doorway. Ruby was a Werewolf Emma had befriended through Snow. While Regina disliked her, Emma didn't think she was any different than most humans other than her keen sense of smell and bluntness. It was these traits that immediately made it clear what was wrong. It would seem not everyone in their circles knew yet. That would take a few more days.

“Emma,” Ruby whispered, horrified, her nose wrinkling as tears filled her eyes. “What did… Who did this to you?”

"They think it is a Demon, but it's almost definitely Celestial, or something with a dynamic gestational period due to magic." Just behind Ruby, the rest of the coven began appearing, all staring on her porch as Emma ushered them in. "Until I find out the father, I don't know, although most likely it's Demonic."

Regina's head snapped up. “A Demon? Emma, what do you mean dynamic -”

The women went quiet when Emma lifted her shirt to show them her bump, explaining everything.

Emma laid her head in Snow’s lap after, feeling numb. Snow stroked her hair gently, looking at the others. Their coven was small, mostly women, but David and two other men were honorary members by means of dating or marriage. Anna picked at her braid, eyes wide, while Belle's mouth was still open from her earlier gasp. Mulan, Regina, and Merida were all business.

“I'll hunt the Witch and her Demon pet down myself, and bring him back here. We can take turns peeling away his skin -”

“Mulan,” Merida hissed, her curls bouncing when she nodded her head at Emma, who's eyes were welling with tears once again.

“I thought… I thought I was doing something good ,” Emma burst into tears, sobbing into Snow, and Belle excused herself to fetch the whistling kettle from the stove. Pouring everyone tea, they tried to figure out what to do.

“Well, you certainly can't go hunting skips,” Regina scoffed. “And this house, I mean, I get that you fixed it up but it's a dump -”

“Oh! David would be happy to have you back on the farm with us!” Snow lit up, but the thought of being around their saccharine relationship and the smell of incense, patchouli, and skunky smelling herb had her running for the toilet. The others talked and sipped tea, planning out things as Emma curled up on her bath mat. Maybe it was better to terminate, if the leap in growth hadn't made it too late. Would it be better to give it up? Her mind filled with swirling ideas, and Emma let herself get lost in her sadness.

Ruby snuck in a moment later, sitting next to Emma quietly.

“So,” she whispered quietly, and Emma cracked open an eye to look at her friend's face.

“So,” Emma rasped back, her throat raw.

“Apparently, you're going to go live with Regina in the Guest ‘Wing’, yes, not room, ‘Wing’, and work at one of Belle’s bookstores. I tried to chime in with what your input might sound like. They looked at me as if I'd eaten Anna's familiar. Not like Elsa would let me snack on knock-off Rudolph anyway. Miss Ice Queen has her fancy new council to lord over, so who knows. We could have some reindeer snacks.”

Emma snorted, a smile breaking across her face.

“Look,” Ruby started, running a hand through her hair to push back her straight brunette style. ”I know how important it was for you to be independent, Emma. I know you really cared about Neal, too. I just… There's something… There's something really off with this situation, and it's not just my nose saying that you smell weird, like dark magic weird, or my gut saying a Witch that makes contracts with Demons for a baby, knocks you up, then just up and vanishes is bad news. I want you to be safe. I called Graham on your telephone, and there's an opening at his precinct I think you might like. It’s mostly paperwork -”

“Rubes!” Emma laughed despite herself. “That's awesome, thank you-”

“Just listen. I want to meet this… Demon. I still have this feeling like something is really off, and you're neck deep in danger. Besides, you know, the Demon part of the situation. Are you sure that you can't remember, er… Well. You know?”

“No, it was literally one minute I was fine, then the next the worst period cramps of my life while I inflated. I was sort of Instant Knocked Up, just add magic or whatever.” Emma rubbed her temples, and Ruby sighed.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Granny says that's most likely how I was conceived too.” Ruby flashed her a smile, and Emma laughed, hugging her friend tightly.

“I don't know what I would do without you, Rubes.”

“Look, I'm pretty sure Graham isn't into a menage et trois with a preggo, but I'll broach the subject.”

“You're ridiculous,” Emma laughed.

“You wouldn't have it any other way.”

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

Months passed slowly as Emma waited for the other shoe to drop. Work at the station was easy, filing reports and making coffee not troublesome at all. Liam apparently worked somewhere in the massive complex, but Emma made no moves to seek him out or head to the detective offices.

Her house was almost completely redone and brand new; the floors, walls, ceilings, and everything in between redone with the utmost care.

("I refuse to let you live like this and represent our coven," Regina ran a finger along the mantelpiece, grimacing when it came up dirty. "Are you sure that you have to live here?"

"What Regina means," Elsa shot her a glare as Regina shrugged, rubbing her fingers together, "Is that any of us would love to have you. Don't feel obligated to stay -"

"But don't feel like you have to leave either. David and I would love to help you fix up the place, maybe have you make a few rooms?" Snow encouraged. David nodded, his arms crossed across his chest.

Elsa clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh yes, you could make an apothecary room like the one you talked about, and a potion brewing room, a nice place to grow plants, a library -"

"And we'd all pitch in, if you wanted to make a nursery?" Mary Margaret mumbled, almost shyly. "I wanted to throw a baby shower for you since we found out, but I didn't want to overwhelm you like I feel like I always do -"

"Too late," Emma gritted under her breath, her friends already planning the event for her.)

Emma actually had eased into the idea; at first it seemed absurd that they were planning for this when the whole situation was so strange. The father was still unaccounted for, even as the test results made it clear that the baby was of Demonic parentage. Sometimes Emma thought she could feel something, a little tug, the eerie feeling of being watched, or an emotion that wasn't hers flitting through her mind, but she dismissed them easily. More often, she was fascinated by the lack of information on the bond her and this child were supposed to have.

Pouring over books, it was as if someone had removed or rewritten any passages about Demonic parenting, specifically with a non Demon parent. She had found minor information on the bond in a few books. It was supposed to be fierce, the instinct making women hysterical and unreasonable. It only got more intense when the father was around, cases of actions deemed feral surrounding the mixed couples she had managed to find. All of them had ended in tragedy, and Emma eventually found herself unable to stomach reading about them.

Or anything really, food was enemy number one on baby's list, unless it was deep fried, covered in sugar, or drenched in sweetness. Without shame, Emma had managed to eat and keep down an entire jar of marmalade with crackers.

When Snow, Elsa, and Ruby's grandmother had brought up the food options they would make if Emma would let them throw her a shower, she had caved.

( "I will make you a bear claw cake, mini grilled cheese, and onion rings, amongst other things," Granny grinned. "And I will crochet you the most darling blanket for your little girl."

Emma tried not to drool, or give in. "That's nice, but I don't think I want that many people here, you know? That detective is watching my every move, I feel like a whale, I never know which food will agree with me -"

"And I will make sure I have a never-ending hot chocolate drip for you." Granny's eyes twinkled, full of mischief. "With toppings."

"Including cinnamon?" Emma asked, unable to disguise the longing in her voice. Granny nodded firmly. "How did you know? Wait - did you say a girl -"

"I just know," she shrugged. "Call it a wolf's intuition." )

It was supposed to be small, just a few people and family, but somehow it had turned into a full on social event. Emma was grateful that she had added a few rooms in the days before, the space sorely needed regardless of how drained she felt. Even still, she loved the house. It actually felt like hers, the exposed beams and vintage fixtures mixed with tapestries, framed art, and treasured photos. Her herbs dried above a large sink, food was spread along a long bar and buffet sideboard, and people milled around her living room that she had adjoined to two more exact copies through her doors.

No need to be original there.

( Her private door stayed tucked away in the upstairs hallway, and it was unable to be unlocked by anyone but her.

That was more important than a few extra rooms she could collapse after these people were gone. )

Emma was a good sport for the first couple of hours, playing games, being paraded around to people who apparently were important in the city, and sipping hot cocoa. Elsa, Regina, Mulan, and Snow were putting emphasis on her innocence, and although it was a spectacle, Emma hoped it would work.

Two very terrible things ruined her mood.

At some point, Elsa fell away from Emma's side, returning as cake was being cut. Her face was pinched, irritability written across it as she glared down at the slice she's given.

"You okay?" Emma whispered, and Elsa blinked, looking up in surprise.

"Oh, yeah. I just - I thought my date might show up, but he's working." Elsa gritted out the last word, anger seeping into it. "He's on this case, and it's important to him because it's family related, but I want him to understand that I have family too, and I could help if he just -" Throwing up her hands, Elsa groaned in annoyance.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know anything about -"

"Emma," David pulled her up by her arm, looking around as if checking for something. "Kitchen. Now."

There's no time to protest, his grip strong and firm, dragging her into the kitchen.

"David, what the fu -"

"That detective was here, asking about you," Regina hissed, pointing out towards where guests milled. "We made sure he left, but he was asking questions."

"Questions?" Emma repeated, fear gripping her. Elsa walked in, listening to the conversation beside her.

"Like, if you had a history of criminality, if you knew and associated with undesirable magic users, if you knew who the father was or were protecting who did this to you," David said. The stillness around them seemed to tense just as they were.

"If he questions you, you make sure to tell him that you know nothing," Elsa whispered, trying to hold her hand. "Make sure you proclaim your innocence, and he'll believe you, he has to -"

"You think I haven't tried?" Emma ripped her hand away, looking at all of her friends with annoyance. "I agreed to this not knowing it was going to serve as some bullshit trial ball, where I'd be judged like this. I've searched everywhere for that woman, I have nothing to hide. She's disappeared, and not like a new identity in Guam disappeared, no. Like, off every plane of existence without a trace. It wouldn't matter if I did find her, because this is my kid. The bonds of the spell make her of my blood more and more every day. I can't just go back to the way things were - "

"What about the father?" Regina asked.

"I don't know. I know nothing about him or why he hasn't come. As far as I know, he might not. I don't know how he couldn't feel these binds. I know I feel something, but it could be because I'm practically mooing, I'm so huge, and I have these crazy urges. The hormones alone here are making me feel insane, even before you started in on me. Even before that asshole showed up because we have the entire damn city here!"

"I told you this was a bad idea, Regina," Snow mumbled. Regina glared in return.

"We - I just want you to know that no one will judge you for not wanting this, or for giving up the baby -" David said weakly.

"Shut up David," Emma growled out. Her hands rested against her stomach and she felt like she was going to fall over. "Right now, shut up and do not go down that road."

"Emma, it's making you feel attached," Regina said gently. "And if I'm agreeing with him, you know I - "

"I mean it, not another word. I'm keeping my baby, that's it. End all, be all. Say another word and I will curse your tomatoes," She pointed at David, then rounded on Regina. "And hex your wardrobe with bleach stains that don't come out. Try me."

"Fine!" Regina threw up her hands while David grunted.

The kitchen went silent, the tension palpable.

"We got you a really nice layette," Snow offered, trying to clear the awkwardness while smiling. "Come open gifts, and look at all this cuteness. "

Emma begrudgingly moved forward, her eyes widening at the mountain of gifts in front of her.

"Don't worry," Anna whispered as she pulled Emma down to sit. "I'm writing your thank you cards for you."

The crowd thinned after gifts, the night trickling on as the house emptied. If Emma had felt drained before, now she felt completely devoid of energy. The small crowd that's left hadn't bothered her, so when Snow and Regina asked her to do another walk about with them, it seemed safe enough.

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, his head nodding, laughing at something in his self absorbed sly little chuckle that makes her want to break his nose. She must have tensed because Snow was beside her and sucking in breath harshly through her teeth, the coven turning as if they could all feel the disturbance.

( Maybe they can, maybe the unbridled audacity of this man being here with another woman as he laughs with a martini glass in his hand is enough to share one collective experience of hatred. His eyes meet hers and he gives her a smirk that screams pity and humor at her expense as he lifts his glass toward her, mouthing congrats )

A figure cut in front of her, and her rage that feels like a sickening punch in the gut is coupled by this smack in the face - Neal's father grinned at her, his cane on the ground while both hands rest on its handle.

"My my my, Miss Swan," Gold smirked the same smirk that she wants to rip off his face. "When we heard, we were so surprised to not receive an invitation to this… quaint event of yours. Truly poor manners when our covens are no longer supposed to be at odds."

Regina and Elsa were there in front of her in a flash, Snow pulling her away, words being exchanged in hissed tones. Emma could barely hear over her heartbeat, over the sound of her stomach screaming at her to vomit.

"You can protect her all you want, but we know what she did. We know what it will be," Gold's voice slithered over her skin even in the bathroom. "You can't redeem her, and she will be the reason for all of your downfall. Enjoy your council while it lasts."

David shooed everyone out when Emma hastily retreated, the entirety of her patchwork family pushing inside to comfort her.

ﾟ・. ｡・. *✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ*⛧*.・｡*ﾟ.★.・.・✫*.・。.・゜

After the disaster of her shower, Emma began to feel the strange feeling of being watched even more. It became especially noticeable at night when she rocked in the nursery, sorting out piles of gifts. It felt like a presence sat beside her or hovered over her shoulder, and it began to follow her into her dreams.

They didn’t last after she woke, glimpses of a mirror, of the sound of pounding, a muffled voice that she can't make out.

The tip of the weird iceberg happened when Emma had gotten out of the shower, the steam in the room rising to fog the mirror. Dressing in pj's and heading back in to blow dry her hair, she had been dancing along to some new pop song by the Wolves of London, when her eyes caught the words.

On the fog of the mirror, her name had appeared backwards, joined shortly by the word 'Help' in a curling script that she blinked at in confusion before they disappeared.

( A baby, a Witch, and a Ghost. Just what she needs in the never ending chaos that has become her life )

Luckily, the Coven can save her ass again.

Regina glared at Emma, her judging silence lay heavily over the room. She crossed her arms, eyebrows pinching into further scorn, before asking again.

"You want me to do what?"

"Look, I know it's not your favorite thing to do, but you can and I don't have the gift or a guide like you do -"

"That doesn't make it any easier!" Regina threw up her hands, then gestured to her pantsuit clad form. "It's my body, and my mother is just -"

"I am begging you, Reg. Begging. You." Emma moaned, irritated. "The father is a complete mystery, there's a ghost in my house that I think has to do with him, and I'm scared it could be someone like…" Trailing off, she chewed her lip.

Liam's increasing push for her to choose adoption had thrown her off her game these last few weeks, his phone calls almost non stop. In a way, he was right. She wasn't the only parent, and she certainly wasn't ready to be a mom. She was no one, absolutely nothing. It wasn't as if she could raise a baby.

(Even if she wanted to, and the idea of her baby, her family enveloped in the family she chose and created, it made her feel nothing but happiness)

Regina rolled her eyes with a huff. "Fine. Fine!" she snapped, slamming her hands on the table. "I do this for you, and you owe me. I expect you to be at my whim for this."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And I'm not doing it for long." She shuddered. "Every time I check out and she checks in, I feel so just -" She shuddered again, making a gagging noise.

(Regina had done it before for David and her, to say goodbye to Ruth. It had hurt, hurt so badly, but not as much as Cora cutting the reunion short to tell her daughter to do more cardio.)

"I promise, we find his grandma or cousin or somebody, maybe whoever wrote that on my mirror, get the lead, and we're done." Emma nodded.

With another sigh, Regina laid her hands over the table, palms up, and Emma laid her own over them. A lavender spark shot from their joined hands to the air above them, Regina's head falling back while purple smoke began to pour around the table, permeating the air. Regina shook slightly, before violently snapping her head forward and blinking.

"Emma Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure of being ripped from my study?" A higher, nasal, woman's voice spoke out from Regina's mouth. "My daughter feels chubbier, and her skin is just -" Regina touched her face, making clucks with her tongue. "Oh, she is a mess! Did she break it off with that awful Warlock? Ugh, is she stress eating? I try not to pry, but I know she ate at least one slice of chocolate cake when she was out this last week -"

"Cora," Emma gritted out, closing her eyes in frustration. "Cora, Regina is fine. If she wants to discuss her love life with you, she'll call you up on the Ouija. I need your help to find someone, and I don't know the someone."

"Well, aren't you in a pickle."

"Please Cora, it's not just for me!"

"Oh, you're not interested in Regina are you? Because you are much too low a class for her breeding -"

"Oh Merlin, no, no!"

"What is it then?" Cora sighed in a bored drawl. "I've told you I can't find your family if they don't want anything to do with you, I -"

"No." Emma let her chest fall, speaking quietly. "No it's not that. I remember from last time and I have a family now." Emma took a deep breath, pushing back against the hurt in her chest. "I need to know… I need to know who the father is, and I'm having trouble. I need you to see if you can reach a relative, or friend, or someone who knows why his offspring is inside me, as well as what it is. I got a visit from a ghost, so here we are."

"Oooooh!" Cora squealed. "An enceinte pregnancy Miss Swan? An illegitimate baby? A haunting? How very risqué and daring on your salary!"

"Cora!"

"Fine, I'll check. I'll want the details of this though, so don't spare any of the juicy bits." Cora winked with Regina's face, before the woman's body went slack. After a minute, her head lifted back up, blinking slightly. "Well, Emma, what a doozy this is. This woman will not stop talking, and it's absolutely ridiculous how impossible she's being, even if she is ancient looking. Yes, I said ancient looking - well don't get mad at me, I tell it how it is - oh, I don't care who your son is, he can't be that grand if he's knocked up this wreck. Sorry Emma dear, I love you, but I mean," Cora shrugged, unabashedly.

"Cora, ask her what her name is!" Emma hissed.

"What's your name then? Oh, that's interesting. Not as good as Cora, or Regina -"

"Cora!"

"It's Milah. And she's not his mum, she's - oh he's an ex lover of yours? Juicy juicy! Sounds like Emma dear might be getting leftovers then? Oh don't be like that -"

"I need a name Cora, this is so -"

"I'm trying Emma dear, the woman won't shut up about her sweetheart. No - Really? The scandal, but - well that is so weird! Milah says that he's been hidden somewhere and no one is haunting you, but… Ugh! She's speaking so rapidly - yes, I get it, but if he wants the kid he would have come to get it, or - I am listening to you, you're not listening to me! A mirror? You should look at one, why do I have to tell her about a mirror? I mean Emma's at most average, and look at her figure now. A child will do that to you." Cora sighed, and Emma stiffened. Cora seemed to nod for a moment, before Regina's face soured further.

"Don't get smart with me, you may be an old soul but you died far younger than I did!" Cora growled, her eyes slitting at some unseen target. She turned with her head cocked, looking at Emma with pity. "I'm sorry Emma, sweet little duckling, but this woman is a nightmare. She keeps screaming at me about how this Killian fellow is the father, but it's impossible for her to see him for whatever reason. Something about a mirror? She's also absolutely ancient, I haven't seen clothing like that outside of - Pre-Babylon? Is that the robe designer or…? Don't look at me like that miss bed sheet toga, I - Emma, this woman, I swear! It's just incessant chattering, really - "

"His name is Killian? Cora, wait, don't you -"

"I understand that you were crazy in love with him, trust me, you seem crazy Milah dear. Yes, Killian is his name. A Demon of lust for vengeance. Wow, Emma, what a winner!" Cora snickered, and Emma resisted the urge to shriek. "Well, I don't care if the beast is misunderstood, he's a Demon. How touching, now please - oh come now, Gothel in the tower with the mirror? Red spire, Troll falls? What is this, Clue? Do I look like a detective?" Regina's eyes rolled, Emma desperately trying to remember the snippets that might make sense. Gothel, tower, mirror, red spire, troll falls. Killian.

Cora grew louder, her voice rising in pitch.

"Oh, how dare you! I'll have you know your cheap robes aren't exactly chic either; you need a wardrobe update, badly! You look like a ten cent frat party attendee!" Cora spat, and Regina's face pinched tight. "Excuse me? More important things, WELL , I never - Oh you rude little tart, I've had enough!"

"Please Cora, no, I -" Emma attempted, but Cora flipped Regina's hair back, sniffing with haughty indignation.

"It'll be alright Emma, duckling. It seems that your little orphan persona is perfect to parent this little babe! Shut up! No, I'm done with you, you crazy broad. Go back to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and buy some new linens!" Cora hissed, her mouth curled in an ugly snarl. "Anyways, Emma, just accept that you can't ruin a child to be like you if you're giving them a home, even if their father is some failed Demon. Or something inspirational, I don't know." She shrugged, Regina's shoulders going up in a blasé dismissal. Her eyes snapped to look behind Emma, her face contorted in rage.

"Cora. I am begging you - " Emma tried again, but Cora's focus was elsewhere, on someone unheard and unseen.

"Shut it, shut up thread count Cleopatra!" Turning back to Emma, she smiled serenely. "Tell Regina to summon me later, I need to know how she is. And tell her no more sweets, especially if she ever wants to be a wife. Ta!"

Regina fell forwards, her body shuddering as the lights flickered, purple smoke dissipating into the air. She moaned lowly, cracking her shoulders and neck as she rolled backwards.

"Dammit!" Emma exclaimed, sitting up and violently stalking to the fridge. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"Ugh, I can taste her perfume. Bring me a beer please," Regina groaned. Emma pulled a beer and a soda out of the fridge, giving the beer to Regina. "Emma, don't you ever say that I don't love you after that." Regina shuddered again, flicking her hand to open the beer and drinking down half of it in one go.

"I know you do. You just have… You're just abrasive with it. Like a big cat, or an alligator."

(Or a wood chipper wearing lipstick)

"Shut up, and tell me how it went. Was it worth it? Mother never is, but -"

"She, uh, well she got me some information to go on. So, that's something." Emma averted her gaze, licking her lips.

"She talked about my weight, didn't she," Regina sighed. When Emma said nothing Regina drank the rest of the beer and walked to the kitchen, depositing it in the trash. Pulling out a wine glass, she reached under her cabinet and produced a bottle of wine. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Don't even start on me."

"I wasn't going to," Emma whispered.

Laying her palms flat on the countertop and bowing her head, Regina looked up after a moment's pause.

"So, what now?" She asked.

Emma chewed on her lip, thinking hard. "I have his name, or at least I think I do. I think all that's left is to, well, summon him."

(Summon him, and say what? 'Hey, Mr. Demon, I'm having your kid and thought you might like to know', as if it would care, or want anything to do with her...)

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "Not alone, surely -"

"No. I would ask Snow, David, and maybe Mulan and Belle. I know Belle would be delighted, and she has the spellbooks."

"That actually sounds like a relatively good plan." Regina nodded, then took a sip of her wine.

"Don't sound so shocked, Regina." Emma grumbled.

"Miss Swan," Regina smirked, swirling the wine in her glass before taking another sip. "If you ever cease to stop shocking me with your antics, I'll assume I have gone to meet my mother and maker."

#Courtorderedcake #September #2020 #September 1st 2020 #cssns #CSSNS 2020 #captain swan au #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff au #CS FF #My writing #MTFB #1st

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obeymefanatic · 5 years ago

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Just started following you (really love your art ❤️) and I feel the same way with how uncomfortable the way the boys are projecting onto MC as a replacement for Lilith. When the main story is updated again, I really want it to focus on them learning how to work through their trauma of losing their sister, realizing how obsessing over the past is unhealthy and recognize that MC is their own person. What do you think? What other content do you want to see in the main story?

Hehe, thank you very much! I appreciate it.

Right, right! I would've loved for something like that as well. But they've lived for so long and not all of them are as hung up on Lilith as Beelzebub and Belphegor, imo.

Out of all the brothers, the twins are the ones, actually---Beelzebub is the MOST affected by her death. While the others weren't happy about her death, I'm sure, they seemed to have moved on enough to at least not remember her every waking day of their life. Meanwhile, Beel kept having nightmares, and his regret really ate him up from the inside. It didn't help that Belphie was kept away from him for a long time as well. Out of the bro's, he was the one who's always thinking about it, always reminiscing so sadly.

Mammon and Levi are always occupied by their money and games respectively, it's all they talk about. Asmodeus is as cheerful as ever, we all know this one goes clubbing a lot. He has a lot of distractions. Satan on the other hand isn't even acquainted with her, she's practically a stranger, and the only memories of her that she knows is not even his. They're Lucifer's. When MC was brought up as Lilith's descendant, Satan said he felt happy, but he was confused. He doesn't know why he was happy and relieved--but it's because he was once part of Lucifer.

Lucifer can also be argued as the one affected most, but he hid it so damn well, I'm sure that even though he was also hung up over her as somebody who knew she lived on as a human, he had to suppress his desire to watch over her. And in suppressing so, he had to have numbed himself and told himself that she's living a happy life now, and there is no room for him---someone who is now simply just a part of her past---to interfere and intrude in her life.

Compared to Beel, whose sadness always seemed to show, Luci handled it a little too well, and was still able to go through his daily activities without looking down out of the blue. He was still Lucifer, working hard, scolding his brothers, keeping up with Diavolo's whims and getting along with Simeon and Barbatos.

Meanwhile, Beel's "arc" revolved around her. And he was actually the one who seemed to be overjoyed by the fact that MC is Lilith's descendant. I remember it all too well. But I'm not confident actually,??, but I just remember it by feeling! He's really the one who misses Lilith the most, and he's always the one who's bringing her up. I doubt Belphie's feelings because he got over her too quickly and was quick to apologize to MC, even though he could've been more confused about how he's supposed to feel. It was because she fell in love with a human that he started hating humans. It's a bummer that his hatred was looked over, and he quickly reverted back to being gentle.

Still, I'm sure they were all affected deeply. It's just a question of who showed it the most, and that was Beel and Belphie. (Beel, who couldn't forget about her even in his unconscious. And Belphie, who started hating humans because of her reason for dying.)

It would be nice if every brother was given a time to think about the revelation. They just accepted it straight! So questionable and mysterious. If we want them to get over their tendency to link MC with Lilith, especially Beel, this would have to be addressed and brought back to the story, which is a little too late, I think.

So I'd like for them to have a one-on-one bonding time with MC, and actually give MC more options to be themselves! Which means more questions for them, and more options to choose. I want to see the brothers ponder, and just realize that MC is an entirely different person, and while they cannot replace the hole left in their hearts with Lilith's passing, I want them to realize how important the MC is to them, not to their family, but to them, as an individual.

And meanwhile, I want this kinda arc of bonding to be about moving on and letting go. But really, with how old they already are, how long are the lives they've lived, it shouldn't take much. I just also want to see a speck of immortality woes on the way they act. I want to feel that they're beings that have already lived this long! We don't feel that very often, actually.

And I'd also like to see a lot of action and plot conflicts in the future, instead of the dang family drama. Maybe if they focused on the present this time and the troubles that could befall their peaceful times, many things may be realized and could help them get over their past!

For example, MC's life might be threatened. Instead of how they glossed over that in favor of the joy the revelation brought in the last plot, this time, I want them to get scared, to actually think about it, and to act upon it.

The last plot concentrated too much on the brother's troubles. The MC was pre-occupied tryna fix their family instead of worrying about themselves. And with how the game's narrative ran, we were also only given chances to talk or "choose an option" whenever it's to move the scene forward (m not even sure about that) or when the brothers or the other people ask for our opinion. (I think the only time we get to do an action without it being a response is when we're tryna kiss or get in the brother's pants HSBSHSH--)

What I'm tryna say is, we really don't get to speak up or talk in the most crucial of moments where we want to have a say in! There are times when I wish I could've said something or said no in the game. When I could've DONE something instead of getting swept up with whatever the MC was getting into in the game!

That sneaking in in the past so that MC wouldn't be found out and accomplish their mission of tryna find out who let Belphie out! It was a little too forced how they were found out when we could've PREVENTED it from happening by being SMART and EXTREMELY CAUTIOUS about it!!!

But we weren't given an option to be like that. T'was like the odds were stacked against us so unfairly. I was so eager to accomplish that mission, because MC's pride was also riding on how well they'll be able to do it after challenging THE Lord Diavolo! It was the moment I was waiting for---MC's moment to shine!!! But no. We weren't given much of an option to succeed. We crashed and burned and witnessed our death, and because of that, the original timeline was erased. Like. Damn. But then everything quickly went back to normal and we didn't GET to give a DAMN!

....Anyway (god this is getting so long im so sorryHSHSHDBDVDG)

In the future stories, I want it to finally dawn upon the MC that the Devildom is a terrifying place full of demons with conflicting ideas, and not everything can and will be solved through the brothers and Diavolo alone.

In stepping unto Devildom and getting to know creatures from two other realms you didn't even know existed until you were dragged into their worlds, there are bound to be otherworldy things that can happen that would be far from the boring happenings in the daily life of a human. I want to feel that in the next stories to come!!

(So basically, I want them to focus on the MC's feelings more now!!! And show how important they are to the brothers---and I want more action! More magical battles and shows of power and all that stuff!! I want serious conflicts against the brothers and the MC--and how it will affect them and their peaceful lives!! I want to see how they will handle such troubles, and how their relationship with the MC will grow!! G I V E S E P A R A T E R O U T E S / E N D I N G S D E P E N D I N G O N O U R F I R S T C H O I C E S)

It's fun that we can go back and choose another option, but I'd like for the initial option to have an impact on where the story will lead us. That'll make it more interesting and fun!!

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thatboomerkid · 4 years ago

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Crown of Venom & Coil

Crown of Venom & Coil -- Akhu Path for use with Vampire: the Masquerade 20th Anniversary Edition

The art of Serpentis is well-studied by the myriad enemies of Set’s undying faithful; its dread techniques -- by which a Follower might metamorphose her pale flesh into a terrible, soul-devouring simulacrum of Apophis itself -- are legendary in their majestic & obsidian potency.

Over the last seventy dark centuries, many ignorant, fortune-seeking fools have found themselves torn to wet ribbons of spattered crimson & drifting black ash by the fangs of those devoted to the mysteries of Sutekh’s will.

Yet there are other mystical traditions of the Snake Clan: when, in 1520 BCE, the God-King himself -- already some three and a half millennia old -- led his most-blessed worshipers to slaughter Nergal and all the whimpering brood of that false god at Knossos, in the culmination of the Second Baali War, the eruption of Thera was called-forth by incalculable blood-sorcery predating the late rise of the trembling Usurpers by more than two thousand years.

In truth, the secrets of Akhu run much deeper, and much darker, than any modern-era student of the occult could dare to suspect.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

If you enjoy this content and would like to see more dark, modern horror material by the author, Bloodlines & Black Magic and The Hole Behind Midnight are available now.

Hugest of thanks to Dr. Joe Weinberg and to the The Broken Token for their invaluable editing-assistance and development during the creation of this fan-content.

image from here

All of the arts of the lector-priest are carefully hidden, of course, but the Path known as the Crown of Venom & Coil is perhaps the most protected of all: for it does not allow a practitioner to merely take on the twisting, poisonous shape of a beast pleasing to Set and thereby work the Red God’s will.

Instead, it allows a practitioner to become like Set himself: given command over all the serpents of the night, and the power to call-up a death-dealing ophidian plague with which to scour the cities of men as clean as deepest desert.

To Bear the Crown of Venom & Coil: A lector-priest who desires to call upon the power of this Path -- locked-away, as it is, from use by all but the most devout of the Hierophants and their favored students -- must meet successively greater requirements as her mastery grows:

Level One: The supplicant must be instructed in the art by a mentor.

Level Two: If she does not yet walk a Path of Enlightenment, the supplicant must possess a Humanity of 4 or lower.

Level Three: The supplicant must walk either the Path of Typhon or one of its ordained sister Paths (such as Path of the Warrior).

Level Four: The supplicant must diablerize at least one pretender to the majestic legacy of Sutekh: a non-Setite or apostate Setite known to practice Akhu, Serpentis or another mystical tradition exclusive to the Snake Clan.

Level Five: the supplicant must possess True Faith in the God of Storms and Violence and must furthermore actively seek-out & destroy any and all creatures who falsely claim the magic of Set.

LEVEL ONE -- Wreathe the Flesh in Serpents of Ink & Shadow

By means of this art, the lector-priest gives limited life to the serpent-tattoos which encircle her long, pale limbs: lifting them from her own skin to dance about her in a cloak of terrible fangs ... or sending them invisibly across the airy darkness to wrap a terrified victim in the shifting grandeur of Set’s favor.

System: The lector-priest spends a point of blood and makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty 4); success causes strange illusions of moving serpents to slither across the flesh of the lector-priest, moving as she desires and even rising up off of her skin to take terrible, half-substantial form.

This effect lasts for one scene and requires no active concentration.

Use of this ability is a very clear breach of the Masquerade and leaves no doubt in the mind of any witness that the lector-priest is blessed with dark supernatural gifts. Use of this ability causes all mundane and electronic recording equipment within line of sight of the lector-priest to glitch for the duration of this effect: a camera trained on the lector-priest when she invokes this ability records only eerie static.

While this effect lasts, the lector-priest gains an extra die in her Intimidation dice pools and adds one to the difficulties of all ranged weapon attacks against her. During this time, she may always use an effect identical to Feral Whispers (V20, pg. 129), although she may only affect snakes with this ability.

Alternatively, the lector-priest may cause these writhing serpents to “leap” from her own skin to the flesh of another creature she can see, afflicting the target with a cold, nauseating spiritual venom: an opponent suddenly covered in animate, poison-dripping snake tattoos subtracts a number of die from all her Stamina dice pools (including soak) equal to the lector-priest’s Akhu Trait. A creature targeted in this way makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty equal to the lector-priest’s Willpower): each success reduces the drain her Stamina dice pool by one, to a minimum of zero.

Mortals, ghouls, and other living creatures reduced to zero Stamina by this obscene curse begin to asphyxiate and hyperventilate, dying an ugly and undignified death over the next several minutes: those killed show signs, postmortem, of exposure to thousands of different snake venoms.

Only one target or subject may be affected by this power at any given time: either the lector-priest or a single victim.

The unnatural appearance of this power proves extremely disconcerting to mortals and animals (and, at the Storyteller’s discretion, Kindred who have never witnessed it before). Whenever this power is invoked within a mortal’s vicinity, that individual must make a Courage roll (difficulty 8) or suffer a one-die penalty to all dice pools for the remainder of the scene due to overwhelming fear of the coiling, unnatural serpents.

LEVEL TWO -- Depthless Pit of Holy Vipers

By use of this strange and terrifying technique, the lector-priest transmutes the very ground beneath an opponent’s feat into a writing mass of serpents, which immediately envelop the hapless victim: dragging her down into the darkness, enclosing her in a thrashing whirlpool of scales, fangs and unblinking eyes.

System: The lector-priest spends a blood point and makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty 6); the number of successes scored by the lector-priest on the roll is the number of successes the victim must score on a Strength roll (difficulty 8; Potence can add to this roll) to break free of the pit.

Each subsequent round, on her turn, the victim may attempt a new Strength check at the same Difficulty to escape the pit; if she fails to meet or exceed the required number of successes, she suffers one Health Level of Lethal damage as her flesh is torn apart by countless fangs. Mortals submerged in a pit are also subject to poison, dealing an additional Health Level of Bashing damage each turn. This damage may be soaked as normal.

A lector-priest may choose not deal damage to a creature submerged in a pit she has created, if she so desires; at will, she may cease or resume the dealing of damage. In this way, the pit may be used -- in a pinch -- by the lector-priest to evade incoming fire.

A subject may be only held in a single pit at a time, although the caster is free to invoke multiple uses of this power -- over the course of multiple rounds -- targeting separate victims, and may dispel any number of pits at will.

A serpent-pit created in this way reverts back to unblemished earth or flooring when its victim escapes, at the end of the scene, when the victim trapped within dies, or when the pit leaves line-of-sight to its creator, whichever comes first. A creature who dies within the pit is entombed when the pit closes.

image from here

LEVEL THREE -- Blood to Serpents

By the blackest of blessings, the lector-priest transmutes the soul-thick water of her victim’s life-force into a thrashing mass of razor-sharp fangs, foaming venom and squirming serpentine flesh: her victim’s skin bulges and tears as snakes spill forth from his wounds, his mouth, and the ruptured sockets of his eyes.

System: The lector-priest chooses one target she can see. She may, if she chooses, first touch her intended victim directly or grasp an object spiritually connected to her victim -- such as a scrap of her victim’s hair or clothing, a measure of her victim’s blood, or a living creature with a deep emotional bond to her victim, for example -- to establish resonance.

This ability normally has a range of only one yard. If the target of the effect is not within range after successes are counted (see below), the magic fails.

The lector-priest then spends a blood point and makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty 6; Difficulty 7 if the lector-priest does not have resonance with her target); each success does one of the following:

adds 10 yards to her range

converts one of the victim’s Blood Points into a living serpent, trapped within the victim’s body

One success kills a mortal within a few minutes as the serpent inside him fights its way out, usually exiting his body through the mouth.

Vampires who lose Blood Points to this power also suffer dice pool penalties as if they had received an equivalent number of health levels of injury. This penalty lasts until all serpents have been removed from the victim’s body.

Serpents trapped within the victim’s body attempt to exit as swiftly as possible, dealing one level of Lethal damage apiece as they tear out of the victim’s flesh (this damage may be soaked as normal), with one serpent -- on average -- exiting the victim each round.

Serpents created in this way crumble into ash one round after leaving the body of their victim or when their victim leaves line-of-sight to their creator, whichever comes first.

LEVEL FOUR -- Call Up the Writhing Hydra

Without a word, vast and deadly serpents emerge into the world of flesh from impossible angles to serve the will of their crimson god.

System: The lector-priest spends a blood point and makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty 7); each success enables the creation of a single vast serpent.

The lector-priest loses one point of blood for each serpent created in this way; this is not considered an expenditure of blood for purposes of generational blood expenditure limits.

Each serpent is six feet (two meters) long and possesses Strength and Dexterity ratings equal to the invoking vampire’s Akhu Trait; note that the lector-priest’s Potence and Celerity dots are added to these Strength and Dexterity ratings, respectively. If the lector-priest chooses, she may spend a blood point to increase the Strength or Dexterity of a single serpent she controls by one.

Each serpent has four health levels, is affected by fire and sunlight as if it were a Follower of Set, and soaks bashing and lethal damage using the lector-priest’s Stamina + Fortitude. Serpents called-forth in this way cannot soak aggravated damage.

Serpents created by use of this ability may bite and constrict foes: both attacks inflict (Strength +1) lethal damage per turn. Breaking the grasp of a constricting serpent requires the victim to win a resisted Strength roll against the serpent (Difficulty 6 for each).

The lector-priest controls serpents she creates in this way purely by mental action, and commanding them does not require complete concentration; if the lector-priest is not incapacitated or in torpor, she may control her serpents while carrying out other actions.

Serpents created in this way crumble into ash at the end of the scene or when they leave line-of-sight to their creator, whichever comes first.

image from here

LEVEL FIVE -- Vomit Forth the Serpent-Vessel

By twist of vitae, dark prayer and obscene desire -- in worshipful reflection of Set’s own blessing of undeath upon his adoring Childer -- the lector-priest may call into the world a beautiful, living receptacle for her own occult will.

System: The lector-priest spends 3 blood points, then reduces her permanent Blood Pool by three (but see below), then makes a Willpower roll (Difficulty 8).

One success is required to create either a single constrictor snake or a single poisonous snake (V20, pg 390); this serpent is a ghoul created by the lector-priest with a Blood Pool of 3, and it gains all the appropriate benefits (V20, pg. 388 and 497) of that condition. This serpent immediately emerges from the lector-priest’s mouth, from her wounds, from the folds of her cloak, from the twisting depths of her shadow, or from any other place directly adjacent to the lector-priest; it may immediately act.

A creature created in this way crumbles to ash, blood, shadow, and wisps of ceremonial incense-smoke when destroyed or dismissed by its creator. A lector-priest may always dismiss a serpent she has created in this way back into nothingness at any time even if unconscious or in torpor. A lector-priest may possess any number of serpents created in this way, but she may not reduce her permanent Blood Pool below five.

When a serpent created in this way is destroyed or dismissed, its lector-priest creator immediately increases her permanent Blood Pool by three.

Creatures created in this way obey their progenitor lector-priest to the best of their -- admittedly limited -- ability, otherwise behaving like any serpent born of living flesh.

In addition, the lector-priest may always use an effect identical to Subsume the Spirit (V20, pg. 131) upon any serpent she has created via use of this Path. She may expend a point of Willpower to use this ability over any distance, without making direct eye-contact with her created serpent.

NPCs of the Crown of Venom & Coil

— Cecil Savage is a Caitiff ordained into the Followers of Set as a true believer, a fervent disciple walking the Path of the Warrior. He has a natural gift for Akhu, combining his talent at the Valor of Sutekh (Path of Mars) with a smattering of low-level Disciplines picked up during his time in the Anarch Free States. Over the last few decades he’s found work as a double agent on several occasions: acting as a seemingly-mindless bully-boy to a variety of arrogant Sheriffs while quietly expanding the influence of his ophidian masters in the long shadows of their rotting Camarilla cities.

— Ra-et Amduat is an elder Setitie Sorceress who maintains a number of occult temples throughout Europe and the United States, establishing new power-bases from her stronghold in Las Vegas whenever her auguries show her that the Red God’s war upon the Aeons might find a fertile new battlefront. Her experiments into the deeper mysteries of Akhu are expensive, costing her dark oceans of freshly-spilled blood: for this reason, she maintains a vast web of loyal ghouls, sycophants and novice mystical practitioners.

image from here

— Mr. Habushu is a former Serpent of the Light who long-ago abandoned the Sword of Caine to serve his God more directly. He now works for the Clan & Faith as an active Sabbat-hunter, investigating uses of blood sorcery among that sect and -- in many cases -- cleaning up the legacy of the Tremere Antitribu and diablerizing the occasional Infernalist as he does so. An ally of opportunity to any number of Josian devil-hunters and Sabbat Inquisitors alike, the affable and charming Mr. Habushu keeps a cabal of Yakuza ghouls on-hand to quickly and quietly eliminate any threats to his sleeping master.

— Winter Bellamira is an Elder ex-Assamite Baali entirely devoted to the Path of Screams, a creature of night & horror who walks the coldest, most desolate places of the world with a jagged song in her heart, a smile upon her ruby lips, and blood dripping from her delicate fingers. Amongst her ten-thousand sins, she takes great pleasure in torturing, shattering and re-embracing (V20: Lore of the Bloodlines, pg. 17) weak-willed members of the hated Followers of Set into her own dark religion. Those ex-Typhonists corrupted into mindless slaves of the Aeons by her gentle ministrations are utterly lost: anathema worthy only of swift destruction at the hands of Set’s faithful.

— Ms. Candlebriar and Oberisuku are a mutually blood-bound Tremere & Gargoyle pair, chasing after occult secrets and operating independent of any formal Chantry. The two are dangerously obsessed with unlocking the root powers of Akhu, which they suspect to be a predecessor to Koldunic Sorcery; their methods are extreme even by the standards of other Warlocks, combining Auspex & Dominate “psychic surgeries” performed on staked victims with more mundane techniques of kidnapping, brainwashing and blood-experimentation.

#vampire the masquerade #v20 #snake magic #follower of set #urban #modern #horror #blood magic

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terry-perry · 5 years ago

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Preyed Upon pt. 1

Yet another piece of fanfiction that is dedicated to @ladyfluff, especially since I have a few OCs on here that she had created. Give her a follow if you haven’t already to see more of them because they’re the kind of OCs that like to pop up every now and again on her tumblr. Also FAIR WARNING: this oneshot will contain some dark themes to it such as kidnapping, torture, and all that good stuff! You have been warned...

Enjoy the read!

There was no stopping Adam as he swung open the door hard enough to take it off its hinges. He charged over to Raymond sitting in the den and used more of his inhuman strength to lift him off the couch and hold him by the front of his shirt. Everyone else trailed behind not soon after and barely even put a stop to the antics.

“Where is she?!” Adam spat out, his eyes lit up with malice.

“Won’t you come in?” Raymond said with that sneering grin that made you want to punch him in the face.

“Cut the shit!” Peter hissed while standing on Adam’s left. “Where’s our sister?!”

No one had been able to reach Y/N for a little over two weeks. It wasn’t like her to go off the grid for too long, not even when she was busy working on one of her art projects or on the hunt for another addition to her antique collection. She always took the time to give one of them a call and even update them with her progress. Everyone’s concerns were confirmed after they all decided to check for her at her apartment and found her gone. The worry grew only worse when Ava spoke up about what Raymond had been spewing out since he came back into their lives, and how he was ready to give Y/N what she had coming to her.

“Ava told us everything,” Eve explained coldly on Adam’s right. “So don’t bother lying your way out of this.”

Raymond had the nerve to throw his head back and let out a mocking laugh before looking over to Ava, who was peeking from behind Eve’s shoulder like a frightened child seeking solace in their parent’s arms.

She knew this was her fault for bringing him back into the picture. She had heard all the stories about him throughout the several decades he had been around, but she saw it all as more adventurous and exciting than terrifying. She fell for Raymond’s charm and bloodlust; his goal of making every night a party for their kind. Him being Y/N’s ex was just a bonus since they never really got along all that well, and she enjoyed doing what she could to annoy her.

But this trumped their rivalry and whatever Bonnie and Clyde type romance she thought she could have with him. Now it seemed like lives could be at stake because she refused to see what he really was: a monster.

“Oh I sincerely doubt she told you what I have been up to,” Raymond said, pulling himself out of Adam’s grip. “Because she still thought that all this was just another attempt to get Y/N back when she left to warn you guys. And I’ll admit, I did make a final attempt to win her over when I had stopped by to see her. But it really seems like she’s taken by the new pet she has...”

He peered over to Ian standing behind everyone else and giving him an equally cold stare.

“I thought about killing her,” Raymond admitted. “But that seemed too good for her. Even if I took my time with it. So, I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine.”

The group were all paler than usual, but each pair of eyes were still slits of fury and disdain.

“What the hell does that mean?” Ian asked sharply.

Raymond looked at him with an out-of-place casual smile.

“Have any of you ever browsed online before? I myself thought the internet was a bit of nonsense. Another waste of time these modern zombies created. That was until I found certain sites that only a few can stumble upon when you know the way to access it all.”

He kept his voice in an eerily calm level and still went on smiling serenely.

“One particular website I found was host to a lot of eccentric rich folk. People who were actually willing to pay millions - even billions - for items that are otherworldly or supernatural. Imagine my surprise when I also saw that even creatures could be up for sale. Entities...supernatural beings. Like us.”

“Oh no...” Rowan mumbled.

“You should have seen the bidding war there was over her-”

There was another violent lunge for Raymond, but from Ian this time. He bellowed out a growl-like yell when he almost knocked over everyone to attack him. He got a few hits before he was pulled back by Peter and Rowan. His face was red with fury, and his hair was disheveled. Angry tears spilled out his eyes.

“I’ll kill you!” He shouted. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Where is she?” Eve asked, doing her best to keep her own composure steady. “Who did you sell her to?”

“Now, now, she hasn’t been shipped off just yet,” Raymond stated with mock assurance. “Her buyer is some rich widower from the U.K. He’s planning on picking her up and flying back home with her. He should be here in about 2-3 days. Until then, I’m keeping her in a safe place that is on a need-to-know basis for those I do business with. So maybe there’s something better you can offer me for he-”

“This is Y/N we’re talking about, not some item you’re auctioning off of eBay!” Peter exclaimed fiercely. “We are not negotiating or offering anything!”

“Give her back to us!” Adam threatened with a menacing step toward Raymond. “Or else-”

But suddenly, Raymond took out a small remote and immediately pressed a button on it. Not long after, there was a terrible and drawn-out shriek in the room. Everyone looked around the small apartment until Rowan pointed at the cell phone they were all too distracted to have noticed on the couch. With it being on speaker, they all heard Y/N’s pained screams go on as they all began to panic.

“Y/N!”

“Stop it!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Stop!”

Raymond eventually pressed another button on the remote that seemed to put a stop to whatever it was that caused her screams since there was no longer any noise from her end but small pants and whimpers.

“What did you do to her?!” Adam screeched, tears of his own wanting to come out.

Raymond lifted up the remote and looked at it with pride.

“Oh that was courtesy of another neat little thing I found on the web. This baby controls something Y/N has around her neck at the moment. Kinda like one of those shock collars people have their pets wear when they want them to behave.”

Everyone’s eyes widened with fear and surprise, with some even looking like they might be sick. But he just continued to look smug and even had his thumb graze over some of the buttons on the remote.

“This one’s a little more intense. It even has levels! So far, it seems like it’s doing a great job keeping you all in line.” He gave each and every one of them a hard glare. “And you’re all going to stay in line by either scrounging up more than $7 million in three days, or just butt out and let me get the money that’s already guaranteed to come my way. Try anything else, I’ll be sure to crank this all the way up to 11! Then we’ll see what I can do with whatever is left of her.”

They all remained quiet and each felt a good amount of helplessness. What was there to do now that there hands were tied? They needed time to figure out what their next move needed to be. They just hoped Y/N wasn’t gone by the time they came up with a plan.

“Let us talk to her,” Adam demanded softly. “We, at least, deserve to know that she’s safe, for now.”

Raymond gave some thought to the request before deciding to hand over the phone to Adam.

“No tricks,” he said, raising the remote once more.

The group crowded around Adam once he grabbed the phone and called out to his sister in a shaky voice.

“Y/N?”

“Adam?!” They heard her croak out. It was heartbreaking to hear her wheeze. “Adam, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where he’s taken me! I’m in some sort of basement, but that’s all I know. I’m so scared...”

Adam glanced at Raymond on the couch, but he just looked bored and tapped his fingers against his cheek with impatience. He reverted his attention back to Y/N. Eve did all she could to rub out the tension he was feeling.

“It’s going to be fine, Y/N. You’re going to be okay. I promise, we’re going to do all we can to save you. You just keep hanging on and be the strong person we all know you to be.”

He had to stop to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

“Are all of you there?” Y/N asked.

Peter took the phone from his brother’s trembling hands to answer. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re all here. You’re on speaker, so we can all hear you.”

“Hi everyone. Sorry if I had you all worried...”

Peter couldn’t help but let out a choked-up laugh. “It’s what you’re good at, I suppose. Even when we were growing up, you were always the one that had the habit of wandering off into the woods.”

“Just wanted to see those witches mother would always prattle on about for myself,”

Peter pressed his lips together and shut his eyes tight, doing all he could to keep it together.

“Is Ian there as well?” Y/N asked next.

“Yeah, baby, I’m here,” Ian answered immediately. He grabbed the phone from Peter, who was now being held by his husband.

“Is it all right if I speak with you, in private?”

Ian looked at Raymond to see if this was okay. He gained some agitation, but he only rolled his eyes and gestured towards the bedroom nearby.

“Make it quick,” he ordered. “Leave the door open, and keep it on speaker.”

Ian walked the several feet away and sat down on the bed while listening to her voice, despite the fact that it pained him with the way it sounded so hoarse and strained.

“I don’t know how much time he’s given you, but I wanted to tell you a few important things in case-”

“Y/N, please don’t,” he interrupted her with a small cry. “Please don’t act like this is the last time we’re going to talk to each other. You’re going to be okay. We’re going to find you.”

“I know, I know, but with the chance that something does happen to me-”

“I can’t!” Ian exclaimed tearfully. He couldn’t let this be the end for them. He needed her by his side; to take care of her, and love and admire her the way he always did. His eyes were clamped shut as though he was afraid this all wasn’t just a terrible nightmare he could easily wake up from. He needed to pretend for at least a moment that he’d open his eyes and find himself in her apartment where he would get out of bed to follow the scent of the late night breakfast she would be cooking for him while wearing one of his shirts.

“I don’t want this to be the last time I hear your voice,” he proclaimed. “I know there’s a lot we can’t do together, but there’s also a lot we can still do that we haven’t done yet!” He struggled a somewhat to catch his breath. “We still need to move in together, and travel, and make music.” He huffed and drew a sad smile on his face. “I was even thinking that we could get a dog. You like dogs, right?”

She gave out a broken giggle. “I love dogs. What do you think about getting a labradoodle?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. It’ll have a lot of hair, like me.”

“You know how much I love your hair,”

They shared a soft laugh and had some momentary relief from the dire situation.

“I want to do all those things with you, baby. And so much more,” he whispered, not trusting himself to have his voice break. He needed to be strong for the two of them. He couldn’t let her know how scared he truly was. “Please try to hold on until we find you. Promise me you will. And if you get a chance to escape, you tak-”

“All right, Romeo. That’s enough.”

Ian didn’t care anymore about making a scene once Raymond came into the room to snatch the phone away. He pleaded with a whimper for him to have another minute with her. He needed her to be okay. Last thing he heard was her panicked voice calling for him before Raymond ended the call. The love and worry he was carrying for her was now replaced with a rage and hatred for the man in front of him that was giving him a hateful scowl of his own.

“Pathetic,” Raymond scoffed. “Of all the people she could’ve replaced me with, she decided to go for you.”

Ian didn’t bother responding, only sinking to his knees due to his legs feeling too much like jelly. He was shaking from head to toe and ached as his breathing came out like there were painful stabs to his chest. He could only imagine that Y/N was in a much worse state. Because right now he didn’t care about living or dying. Only that the pain would stop.

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iwritethat · 6 years ago

Text

Zatanna Zatara: Who-Doo

A/N: Thought I should have some variety on here. :)

>>>>——————————>

Zatanna refused multiple times, even going as far as to looking into dark magic herself - a thing she vowed to be forbidden. If she could do it then there was no need for the team to traverse the spookiest forest known to man for a psychotic dark magician discovered by John Constantine. That was her first warning, John meddled with the most dangerous sorcerers so why was this enchanter any different? She'd met you before on many occasions, considered you a true friend who she loved dearly but after the loss of her father she vanished from your life and didn't want to drag you back into hers - in response you delved deeper into the dark arts, to what extent, she dare not find out.

Regardless of her futile attempts, she had to accompany Nightwing and their team on their mission to assist in hopes of defeating Kalrion, Felix Faust, Wotan and the demonic army that hunted them. Regretfully, she was incapable of handling this by herself due to her inexperience with the blackest of magic and those were 3 of the most powerful sorcerers they'd encountered. With fearful thoughts racing through her mind, they instantly ceased when a gloomy cottage decorated with all kinds of warding fell into her peripheral vision - why they had to arrive in the dead of night she had no idea.

As they approached, the wooden shack door flew open with a hollow bang, talismans clattered and flame torches sparked to life as if welcoming them inside but the supernatural presence only caused them to freeze in place.

"Why so nervous heroes?" A devious laugh followed after the eerie voice that echoed behind them, causing them to turn back to the origin to find nothing but a whisper of wind along the deserted pathway.

"Zatanna what's g-"

"I don't know! I don't know! It's some kind of illusion." They'd never seen Zee so spooked, although they couldn't feel the darkening auras that lingered around the area like she could - something was very wrong with this place.

"It's no illusion, I'm right here Zee. You just didn't look hard enough..." They flicked back to the door instantly, readying a defence stance contrasting to your more laid back one as you leaned against your doorframe.

It was peculiar, they never seen anything quite like you. Your skin was decorated in elegant designs whether painted or tattooed they were unsure, your feet were bare but your ankles were laced with string, shells, bone and other fragments hanging off them that jingled as you walked much like those on your wrists. You were adorned with golden bangles, hair littered with braidings and feathers with your loose belt holding pouches and jars, a golden animal skull decoration handing from it. You were beautiful though many would deem your attire mystical like that of a voodoo god/goddess and the hissing Death Adder entangled around your arm certainly didn't help to put the team at ease. Zatanna had forgotten how beautiful you were, clearly the bayou had rubbed off on you but the difference from her memories of you still left her speechless. Although if you were to return to the city then you’d probably revert to your usual clothing.

"Are you coming in or not, Umbra doesn't bite... much. I can whip up some tea if you'd like since you need some demons taking care off and it's been a while Zatanna I hope you're alright." And your voice was like music to her ears, she'd truly missed you and began to regret the way she left things but still believed that your safety was more important than her feelings.

"We are not walking in there until we know we can trust you." Zatanna commented, stepping forward protectively as you raised a brow and clicked your fingers with a degree of flair - before they could even register what was happening, their surroundings morphed to that of a grand contrasting interior, artefacts littered the elegant shelves, presumably ingredients filled the delicate cupboards and it definitely wasn't the haunted forest they were in moments ago.

"Aha, no need to walk in Zatanna Zatara, and you are going to have to take the fact that you are all still breathing as your 'trust'." Your tone was cold yet kind, your abilities leaving the Team awestruck.

With a calm demeanour you offered them tea as they grew comfortable enough to confide their situation to you so you could potentially lend you assistance. However, chaos levelled the grounds outside of your illusive cottage, you felt the vibrations on the tips of your toes causing you to glare at your door.

Upon exiting behind you, the Team relished in the fallen demons littering the grounds with shadowy dust dispersing from their bodies no doubt assuring you of their demise.

"How did you -"

"It wasn't me." You stated rather proudly.

"TEAM GUARDS UP!" You heard Nightwing's bellowing voice, the curiously large 'log' he was inspecting suddenly moving smoothly through the undergrowth with piercing crimson slits causing them each to go on the offensive - however when your hand shot up to disarm them, weapons instantly locked to the ground like it was some form of magnet, they had no choice but to watch in horror. The beast brought its head down to your level, the snake massively oversized compared to any reptile that currently roamed the earth and it's scaly forehead gently met yours with your hands reaching up to greet it.

"Ah, thank you my darling. You did wonderfully."

"That's... a Titan boa..." Zatanna remained awestruck like the rest of her comrades, the sight alone enough to strike fear into even allies.

"Impossible, they went extinct millions of years ago!" Nightwing added, marvelling at the creature.

"You're both correct, but it's amazing what a little voodoo and some fossils can conjure. He's a loyal friend, he won't hurt you. Although more are on their way, are you ready to go?" You released their weapons, heading off toward the dangerous auras.

Zatanna appeared in front of you, hands on your forearms with a sense of urgency. "You're not coming!"

"Excuse me?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement, especially after your previous display.

"You’ve changed so much (Y/n) and your magic, it's forbidden! It could kill us, for all we know you could be working with Klarion."

"Voodoo is dangerous yes, but as is all sorcery - it depends on who uses it! If I was working with Klarion do you really think you'd be alive right now? No. Do you think Demons would be invading my territory? No. So I'm sorry I do not reach your incredulous standards and that I make you feel 'funny' Zatanna but you'll finally have to accept it." You brushed her off, walking around the worried magician

"How- How did you know that..." She became flustered, skin flaring a beautiful shade of pink.

"Oh come on Zee, I'm good at magic but it's not that hard to read a person." You halted, turning back to answer her, still frustrated with that lack of compassion you were receiving from her despite your proven efforts.

"Then... you're not very good at it..." It was an embarrassed whisper, yet you’d caught it.

"How so?" You looked back incredulously eyes shrouded in a brief golden glow.

However before you could extract an answer, the 3 demonic sorcerers made a chaotic entrance which only left you to sigh with your Titan Boa as well as your fellow comrades prepared for battle.

As predicted, your abilities were dangerous - exactly as Constantine had recommended and with assistance, you had all collaboratively sent the demons back to their realms, bound them into submission or reduced them to ashes. Although, not without cost, it was a thoughtless act but you'd seen Zatanna's fatal demise and without hesitation had stepped to her aid leaving you with a ravenous dagger imbedded in your skin. With a twist of your wrist, your magic decapitated the demon at close range and left you collapsing to the ground with a hiss.

"(Y/n)! No no, please no!" You heard the devastation her voice, the woman immediately embraced you, her hand gently grasping the handle of the knife over your own with a worried expression.

"Don't! Not yet! Geez Zatara, are you mad?!"

"I - I'm sorry, you can’t die - this is exactly why I didn’t want you involved! I can heal you if you'll let me!" She tried again, enchantment slipping from her lips.

"Oh what you trust me now? Stopped feeling 'funny'." You rolled your eyes, silencing Zatanna and removing her hands from yours.

"It's not what you think, I may not have expressed it as I should've. I didn't want you to get hurt, I value you more than that but anyone who gets close I lose, just like my father and I can't lose you (Y/n)..." Her tone was quiet, she understood what she did was miscalculated though her intentions were pure.

"Aw, knew you cared." You joked, smirk on your lips.

"This isn't a joke, if it were different, I would've asked you to dinner... We'd make one hell of a team... but obviously I couldn’t do that, it’d mean putting you in danger, and yet after we grew apart you still put your life on the line to save me. (Y/n) I wouldn’t be able to cope with your loss." You hadn’t explicitly noticed her tears, the way she took every detail to memory in case it was the last time she saw you and it made your heart melt.

"Dinner then, Friday night? I know this nice place down in Metropolis, that way you won’t have to lose me." Your smile was now genuine, pulling the dagger from you heart - to her surprise only the handle remained, the blade nonexistent besides the evidence of decay.

"You - how?" Her tears continue to fall, although her cries ceased, overcome with sheer happiness at your improved well being.

"Basic spell really, decomposed the dagger as it reached my skin but not fast enough, still got a little cut. But I can protect myself Zatana, don't worry about that - hopefully you know I won't leave you, as much as I can help it love." Half way through your explanation, she’d embraced you whole heartedly, pulling back with a beautiful relived smile on her features, her fingers intertwining with your own as you both basked in the content of the other’s company.

“Love? You’ve spent too long with Constantine.”

“So... that’s a yes to dinner?”

“Yes, although I should’ve asked a long time ago.” Zatanna laughed, the two of you walking back to your home so lost in conversation that you were oblivious to awestruck expressions left on your comrades regarding the events of the last minute - none of it making sense to them. Surviving a dagger to the heart? Ancient languages? Date plans?

Maybe you and Zatanna were meant for each other after all.

#zatanna zatara #zatanna zatara imagine #zatanna zatara x reader #dc #dc imagine

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maxs-monster-menagerie · 6 years ago

Text

Shadow’s Caress

You had a living shadow for a girlfriend. Well, she called herself your girlfriend, but you were pretty sure Duskmantles didn’t really have any sort real concept, as a species, of any sort of gender or biological sex. But that didn’t much bother you after the first 30 seconds of thinking about it, to be quite honest.

You didn’t set out to be in a relationship with a Duskmantle. In the grand scheme of things, they were a newly discovered species of magical creature - the first time arcane scientists discovered one was only about 20 years or so ago. Not much was really known about them, since for obvious reasons a living shadow was a little difficult to find and study. But from various documentaries and news stories about the species, you knew pretty quickly you had just encountered a Duskmantle on your way home from the corner store one day - a telltale sudden slight calm fell over you, and you heard your own voice in your head, speaking words that weren’t yours. ��Plus, the fact that a floating field of darkness was suddenly right in front of you was a pretty dead giveaway. She came up to you, saying she was new in town and was asking if you’d show her where the Office of Magical Creature Integration was. On the way, you found out that she’d literally only that come into town, and had nothing else going on - she didn’t even have a name yet. Granted, a living shadow doesn’t really need much to get by, given they don’t actually eat food, they just absorb ambient magical energy coming from the Earth, and can just hide out in a small dark corner. Not entirely sure why, you offered your apartment as a place to stay. At the time it just seemed natural. Coincidentally, that was the same reason she gave for approaching you for help in the first place.

For a while, as she adjusted to living in society, you simply referred to her as Shay. It felt more personal than just “Shadow” and you admit, you felt a little clever for that one. You also helped her socialize and develop a voice of her own, taking her out with your friends, because while you didn’t tell her, hearing your own voice in your head whenever she spoke to you was rather unsettling. Her voice grew more distinct from your own by the day, until it was a warm, soothing sound in your head. The only thing you could really compare it to was the feeling of drinking warm tea with honey and lemon when you had a sore throat. It came to be one of your favorite “sounds.” When she spoke, it was clearer than if she were standing in the room with you, and often when you were sitting at home together, you’d ask her to read the book you had at the time to you. It was the third or fourth time she did this that you realized, Oh No, you had feelings for a shadow.

Not too long after, you and her went out with some friends to the local art Museum, and for the first time, you saw her show herself in a more humanoid way. Her shadowy mass twisted and curved in and around itself, implying the shape of a tall, full-bodied woman, her hair long and straight as an arrow, her clothes long, elegant, and draping over a pear shaped figure. You were quite sure how shadows could convey something like this, but you were sure that you very much enjoyed looking at it. At home, she would revert mostly back to a shadowy mass hanging in the air, but she kept the head, her hawklike nose giving her a striking profile, so you’d have a place to focus your attention when you conversed. The shift didn’t much bug you, to be honest, since looks weren’t a big deal for you. You were far more interested in people for who they were than for what they looked like - a nice appearance was just the cherry on the cake, for you. Around the same time, she chose a name for herself. “Radiance,” she said to call her. A few people might find that an odd name for a living shadow, but something about it just felt right to the both of you about it. You often called her “Rae” for short - that is, when you weren’t calling each other “Hon” or “Babe.” It was shortly after that, as you were wine drunk on a saturday night, chatting on the couch as some garbage romantic comedy was playing on TV in the background that things got more serious. You’d made an offhanded comment about how garbage the male protagonist was being towards the female protagonist, and before you even realized what you were saying, you told Rae you’d never treat her that way. Things were a little awkward the rest of the night, but a sober you and Rae had a conversation the next day, and decided, why not give a relationship a chance? You had a living shadow for a girlfriend. And tonight, she said, she had plans for you.

She had accidentally walked in on you masturbating, a few months into living together, and you were embarrassed beyond belief. You knew she hadn’t meant anything by just letting herself in, she did it often as she was still learning “proper” behaviour around other beings, and you didn’t really like to call attention to specifically wanting alone time. But she was just curious about what you were doing, and with a face redder than a stop sign, you explained to her that many corporeal beings stimulate their reproductive parts for a variety of reasons, like stress relief or simply pleasure. That event lead to her becoming fascinated with intimacy of all varieties, which lead to a lot of awkward hushed conversations in public if something popped into her head. Eventually, she learned you preferred to keep those conversations private, and kept them for when you were at the apartment. The act of intimacy she was most fascinated by was cuddling - she couldn’t quite grasp the concept of two people just enjoying being pressed up against each other, absentmindedly touching while otherwise absorbed in music or a movie, or even nothing at all. Given she didn’t have much in the way of a tangible body, trying to figure out how to experiment that was a bit of a challenge. You definitely felt something when you touched her - it felt vaguely like coming into touching a cool, velvety blanket. She could exert pressure on you somehow, but there was nothing actually tangible to touch or hold. Eventually, you had the idea to buy a body pillow, and have her form herself around it so you’d have something to grab onto, and the two of you found that quite satisfying. In the summer, especially, you found it helped you keep AC costs down at night, as you could just “cuddle” with her all night, and be at a nice comfortable temperature.

About a month into your relationship, the idea of sexual intimacy came up. You honestly weren’t sure how to proceed from that point, given how difficult cuddling had been. She suggested that you just masturbate while she sits next to you on the bed, and told her what you were doing to yourself and why. You definitely felt that could be a little awkward and clinical feeling, but you didn’t have any better ideas, so you went with it. You introduced her to the idea of foreplay, and slowly ramping up the size of anything going inside of you, so as not to injure yourself, and she took in every word. The next few times, you let her give it a try. The coolness of her touch, along with the fact that she utilized what could best be described as tentacles to touch you, definitely threw you for a loop the first time or two. Finishing with her stimulating you on her own just wasn’t going to happen then. She was a little disappointed, she enjoyed the idea of giving you pleasure, but you promised her it was something the two of you could work on. Each night, things slowly moved forwards more and more, until she could make quick work of you quite easily. It was around then that she discovered you had a thing for slightly rougher sex and being restrained, though she didn’t act on it at the time. Tonight, that was going to change.

Earlier in the day, she asked you if you were okay with trying something new tonight in the bedroom. You didn’t have any plans for the next day short of doing some errands, so you figured what’s the worst that could happen? She told you that after dinner, once you were ready, just get into bed naked, and she’ll take it from there. That piqued your interest, you wouldn’t lie. You waited until an hour and a half or so after dinner, not to seem too eager, but inside you had to admit - whatever it was she had planned, you wanted it. You stripped out of your pajamas that you threw on after work, casting them off into the corner of the room. No doubt you’d be annoyed trying to find them later, but you didn’t care for now. Your underwear came away sticky - you were definitely more than a little bit excited for her. You dimmed the lights a little, and laid on the bed. Just as soon as you got comfortable, the door slowly swung open. She stood in the hallway, this time wearing her more feminine shape - she entered the room with her best approximation of strut, her hips swinging side to side, wisps of shadow flowing off her like water. She leaned over the side of the bed, and kissed you for what felt like an eternity - the cool, softness of her mouth against yours simply getting you more excited for what was to come. Your heart began to race, but a calm soon washed over as she climbed onto the bed. She kneeled next to you, first gently tracing all over your body with her shadowy limbs, touching you in just the right places to get a slight reaction out of you. She was teasing you, and she knew it, as you squirmed and shuddered under her touch. Eventually, it was too much for you to bear - even with her calming effects you couldn’t take it anymore, and begged her for more. And she obliged

She straddled your hips, and rocked slowly back and forth on them, as you felt a touch on your wrists and ankles. Soft at first, it eventually solidified and you realized she had you completely pinned down. She leaned forwards, cradling your face and kissing you deeply, as more tendrils gently picked their way over your naked form. Eventually, she came to your crotch, gentle at first, rubbing and stroking, making sure you were nice and ready. Slowly, you felt a tentacle slip inside of you, small and gentle, just like you’d told her. Like all other times she touched you, it was soft, and cool - It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced before, and you couldn’t help the moan that escape your lips as she softly began thrusting in and out of you. Slowly, she made the tentacle larger and larger, and longer and longer, until she was deep inside you, with something larger than you’d ever thought you could take thrusting in and out of you. You weren’t quite sure how large, but you felt yourself stretched out more than you ever had been before, and you were loving it. Suddenly, she gripped your ankles and wrists tighter, then held down your thighs and upper arms, as well. Her thrusts came much stronger, a few causing you to see a slight bulge form in your stomach as she thrust inwards. You felt her envelop your whole body, each thrust causing you to bounce backwards and forwards in bed slightly. Moans and squeals escaped your lips, unbound by any sort of will to keep quiet. Her warm honey voice popped into your head, asking gently if this felt good for you, and that was your tipping point. The gentle voice of your lover, in combination with her simultaneously rough yet gentle touch was too much much for you to bear. You climaxed, loudly, harder than you ever had before. Startled, Radiance sat up on you, all her tentacles and tendrils retracting into herself, and she asked you if you were okay. You simply reached up to touch her cheek, telling her you’d never felt better in your life. You also joked that you were almost certainly going to have to change the sheets after this, but before that - you wanted her to do it again, for as long as she could. You had a living shadow for a girlfriend. And she was the kindest, softest, most amazing lover you’d ever had.

#terato #fiction #ft rae #my writing #living shadow girlfriend

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jaegermau · 4 years ago

Text

Interactivity Essay Re-Exam #2

Jaeger Ehrenbeck

Interactivity

11/30/2020

An Exploration of Design Contexts for Embodied Interaction and Button-based Interaction

This essay seeks to explore and compare two different approaches of input and their effect on the impression of the output within the context of interaction design in general. The aforementioned approaches being compact interactions, and embodied interactions. Both of these different interaction approaches can be highly customizable and tuned for different design contexts with regards to parameters such as expression, joy of use, utility, and control and nuance. This essay argues that the design context is the most important factor for the application of each approach rather than any inherent characteristics of either respective approach and explores through examples why one approach is suitable for its context.

For the sake of this essay my terminology will be defined before any comparisons and explorations are made in order to add some clarity to what I am really trying to describe here. This essay is more focused on exploring how movement and control affects interactions and what design contexts these parameters might be more suited towards. While the term embodied interaction is a broad label for interactions which incorporate the body in some capacity. In the context of this essay, it is used to describe interactions in particular where there is movement that is not strictly limited to a parameter, for example, the movement a body tracker could allow to initiate an action versus the movement a switch allows to initiate an action; examples of the embodied interaction described in this essay could be the movement allowed by a digital art tablet, an Xbox Kinect, the interaction of driving a car, or operating another vehicle. For lack of better terminology interactions that do not allow for the level of movement described above will be defined as “compact interactions,” as a lot happens during those interactions and they do not allow for a large degree of movement. Some examples of these “compact interactions” could be switches, buttons, dials, levers. etc.

Compact interactions are an excellent way to attain efficiency, Buttons provide a good example, simply press and the action is performed. The idea of button-pressing being easy and efficient is so well known that the English language even has idioms such as “as easy as pressing a button.” Though compact actions such as buttons, seem quite simple, several states occur during the press of a button. The user is offered an affordance by seeing the button, the user actuates with the press, causing the button to move, which simultaneously provides feedback, and then it typically either reverts back to its original state, or stays indented. Compact interactions may seem quite bland since they are often associated with mundane tasks such as pressing an elevator-button or flipping on a light switch, while compact interactions could be thought of as perhaps bland there are plenty of counter examples against this, the best perhaps being a synthesizer. A synthesizer often contains many buttons in the form of keys and these buttons can be so expressive that their very function can be changed via settings such as “poly” or “mono” synthesizer engines, which change the very dynamic of the buttons themselves allowing more than one synthesizer “voice” to be triggered by the oscillator than one. Compact interactions also use the sense of touch, and there is even an embrace of the sense of touch in some of these, namely ones utilizing haptic feedback or requiring a rhythmic action from the user.

As mentioned previously, buttons tend to be very dense inputs, a lot occurs in a very brief span of time and because of this a lot of the nuance is tightly coupled towards that particular action, whereas embodied interaction has less constraints in movement, and because of this has more of a propensity for control. A lot of how we perceive the world is through the senses, it should also be noted that individuals vary on this, there is a dichotomy between an internal and external locus of control which naturally depends on the individual. Generally speaking, however, individuals use their senses to “feel” the external world and then that is picked up internally where the individual can process what that particular tidbit of sensory information fits within their individualistic interpretation of the stimuli. Compact interactions provide this sensory information, there is no doubt about that, but compact interactions are sometimes not the best suited for certain design contexts. Flying a plane (the pitch and yaw namely) calls for a very different set of actions than what compact interactions can provide. The external world that the plane traverses is obviously not privy to the plane’s system, the plane exists externally to it, which means it must be adaptable to the nuance of the landscape. A switch may help you set a mode within the plane but the control required to shift 12 degrees to the left is much more easily accomplished by a center stick which is more embodied in the sense that you are finely tuning it with your arms. This is also the same case with the experience of driving a car which Fogtmann (2008) mentions is a good example of kinesthetic interaction.

In project M1, we worked on creating an expressive interaction where the voice was used as a finely tuned instrument to create a highly coupled way to interact with the prototype. The prototype was an exploration of how sound could be used as an input. What we created was an interface which could generate “bubbles” and manipulate them through a series of embodied actions. In order to generate the bubbles, a low frequency hum would emit them, from there whistling made them move sporadically, and snapping was a way in which to “pop” them. After we created the final prototype, we were able to test what the full experience was like. The overall feel was that you were more involved in the interaction, and it felt more internal because of this. We also designed it in a way to mimic the actions of the actual real-life experience of blowing bubbles. Humming is low frequency and feels gentler, which you would be if you are blowing a bubble, if you blow too hard it will pop, or bubbles will sporadically fly everywhere. The second action we mimicked was popping the bubble, which we decided snapping would be the most logical thing to do, snapping has an underlying societal connotation of making something brief, people (rudely) snap at each other when they want something and fast, but also snapping has an inherent association with on/off, you are either emitting the sound of a snap or you’re not, thus, it imitates an on/off function. Lastly, the action of whistling has the inherent feeling of something being sustained. If an object is moving in a linear fashion, it is being sustained by some sort of force acting upon it, so by whistling you are acting as the “force” in this scenario. Now, consider all these actions were performed in a less kinesthetic, embodied manner, such as compact interaction, which we tested personally through buttons. We had to be thinking in a more external manner about which button we would need to click in order to perform the desired action, meaning we became more subconsciously focused on that and not in really becoming a part of that experience which using one’s voice feels more akin to, which eliminated much of the expression of the overall experience.

In the case of my personal design work during M2, we created an anthropomorphic “creature” that you could interact with through a number of actions with some even being conditional to the level of light. We created the “creature” in a box that housed the innards of the design and allowed for a bit of mystery as to what is inside. The very structure itself allowed interaction, depending on how open or closed a small door on the side was it would change the propensity to “scare” the “creature.” While this overall interaction does include some compact interactions, such as the sensor in the box which is triggered by tapping (essentially a button), it is the manner in which the box is comprised in its totality that makes it embodied. The design is very structural, so while interacting with the box the user is walking around it touching it and reaching within it which creates the movement I describe for the definition of embodied interaction within the context of this essay. The structural qualities of this prototype are what make it expressive; there is a sense of connection to the artefact since there is a lot of direct touch and play centered around changing the structure itself. Had compact interaction been used in this, for example a board of buttons that replace all the interactions described above, the box might feel a bit distant and less engaging. A lot of this prototype is focused around touch, and using compact interaction might erase the sense of interaction with the “creature,” if someone where to play fetch with their dog via a button-based system that would somewhat obstruct the emotional feel of that interaction and be very mechanical.

As mentioned early on in this essay, the context of the design is the most important factor for which approach should be chosen. Compact interaction and embodied interaction can both express the same qualities such as utilitarianism, expressiveness, joy of use, and nuance and control. So, when evaluating which would be more suitable an array of factors must be considered. Should it be expressive? Which is more efficient for the action? must be weighed as well. Another design context to be considered for utilizing either compact interaction or embodied interaction would be the workplace, namely technical fields, like the sciences or some sort of utility work. Under the lens of utilitarianism, it is perhaps best to perform the action that conserves the most energy to allow for more productivity, rather than one which is the most expressive, or brings the most joy to the user. That is not to say that society should not strive for a more enjoyable workplace, but when utilitarianism is the aim of the context the efficacy of the action should be paramount to the evaluation. So, the aim of the design context is obviously the biggest evaluator for whether to choose embodied or compact interaction.

Interaction design, again while contextual to the design scenario of course, should also account for the user’s enjoyment for the sake of enjoyment, and not always efficiency. The focus in some scenarios should be the joy of the user if it is to be placed in their home, of course this depends on the individual, but why should turning on a lamp be done in the most efficient way as opposed to the manner that is most expressive and maybe takes a half second longer? The interaction does not even necessarily need to be complex. It could be as simple as having a lamp that you must twist or shake which creates a mesmerizing effect, or something else that is expressive as a byproduct, as opposed to switching on. The interaction can be simple, but still give more joy to the user through movement than a compact interaction’s limitation of movement may be able to provide.

A counterpoint may be made that embodied interaction can always be made more efficient by being replaced by compact interactions because of how much of the interaction occurs in such a brief period of time, but I would cite the work I did in project M1 to disprove this notion. We tested at one point the same interaction with buttons as it was quite easy to implement through the code, and we found that the cognitive load of looking for the correct button made the interaction take longer than performing it with the voice, which also felt more natural and made it easier to perform the actions.

In conclusion, there is a time and place for both inputs and it is difficult to accurately pin down where each should be utilized, as it is highly contextual to the particular design scenario; though certain lenses can be utilized to ascertain which might be more suitable, such as nuance and control, expression, utilitarianism, and joy of use.

Works Cited

Fogtmann, M. H., Fritsch, J., & Kortbek, K. J. (2008, December). Kinesthetic interaction: revealing the bodily potential in interaction design. In Proceedings of the 20th Australasian conference on computer-human interaction: designing for habitus and habitat (pp. 89-96).

#interactivity

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vajranam · 4 years ago

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THE 70 VERSES TO KUNTU ZANGPO

THE 70 VERSES TO KUNTU ZANGPO : Homage to the awakening warrior, the entirely good Kuntu Zangpo . 1. Homage to the Buddhas gone to bliss, endowed with an accumulation to immeasurable precious qualities, who have uprooted every last poisoned tree of moral failings and who abide during the three times throughout the ten directions. . 2. Homage to the truth of Dharma, that opens the wisdom eye of beings in all three realms, that disperses the gloom of unknowing and is the means for extracting the poisonous arrow of latent tendencies. . 3. Homage to the Ones Gone to Bliss, the sangha intent on virtue, who never revert to (worldliness) and whose thoughts are motivated by great compassion. Unceasingly I bow my head to all who have opened the eye of their mind. . 4. Whatever slight nonvirtue I have committed throughout my lifetimes, or have encouraged or rejoiced in, I lay bare before the Conquerors and pledge never to commit them again. . 5. Without exception I rejoice in the virtue accumulated by those Gone to Bliss, Solitary Realizers, Listeners and Conqueror's Sons, and other wholesome deeds of worldly beings. . 6. Whatever nonvirtue creatures commit confounded by venomous afflictions, for them may I surely plunge alone with pleasure into the realms of hell. . 7. Having satiated the world with the nectar of peaceful delight, may everyone's mind become active in virtue. May I willingly take on myself as much misery as beings have. . 8. May perfect awakening itself be produced soon in the minds of those beings. May those who have generated the pure awakening thought perfectly accomplish the collections for enlightenment. . 9. By accomplishing the collections of virtue and attaining the spiritual levels, by remaining in the lineage of protectors of all three worlds and by annihilating the foes (of Dharma), may the abode of the great kingdom of truth over the three worlds be attained. . 10. No matter how many days there have been since the awakened beings became enlightened under the Bodhi tree--I beseech those who are alive and abiding hereafter to cause the incomparable nectar of truth to rain upon ongoing beings. . 11. I entreat those nobly-minded ones who have completed sublime activities for the sake of others and who are about to enter the supreme state beyond sorrow to remain for a long time acting to benefit others. . 12. However many sentient beings there are wandering in the gloomy three worlds, I shall invite them as my guests to savor the blissful nectar of extreme peace. . 13. Whatever virtue has been accumulated in this way shall be totally dedicated for perfect awakening. . Thus, may I never be apart for even an instant from Bodhichitta, the mind intent on enlightenment. . 14. Until the rank of those gone to bliss, the basis of complete perfection, is gained, may I never be apart from the leader of the subdoers and the awakening warriors. . 15. They are the ones who finely elucidate the path of benefiting others. May I also advance, free from despondency, through every spiritual level of sons of the Awakened Ones. . 16. May my body be complete with the physical attributes of a human and amassed with the qualities worthy of praise of all creatures. May I recollect past lives, be born to an honorable family, and have an attractive body. . 17. Having discarded the vile action of ceasing to aid others, but zealously working for my welfare alone (aroused) by thoughts tormented by compassion, may I cherish dearly all creatures without favoring one. . 18. May there not be the slightest grasping in the thoughts of others at my possessions, which I consider the wealth of others, but may they take and use whatever they wish like someone who never doubts their own wealth. . 19. Even if someone should demand my flesh may I offer it with pleasure in my eyes. May I always donate my limbs and so on for the welfare of sentient beings. . 20. May I, like a wish-fulfilling gem, provide all that beings desire and may I, like a wish-granting tree, completely fulfill their hopes. . 21. May I spontaneously banish all evil actions far away like filth and may I never breach the dam of precepts proclaimed by the supreme subdoer. . 22. By abolishing concern for my body and life, may I always enjoy places of solitude, and may my thoughts turn away from all gains and honor as if they were poisoned food. . 23. Like a child of lonely status, I will discard arrogance, self-importance and pride towards beings, and shall act to establish harmonious relations like in the gathering of kin from a noble family. . 24. May I be accustomed to ethical discipline, an ornament utterly pacifying all obscurations, stainless like moonlight and the root of a lotus--untorn, unmixed and unsoiled. . 25. Although someone against whom I have done no harm should saw my head, splitting it into thousands of pieces, I shall unceasingly hold him dear in my mind just as a mother cherishes her only son. . 26. Should someone be angry with me from his heart and needlessly rob me of my life, may the unbearable and bitter fruits of his actions never arise. . 27. Although anger, abuse, provocation and aggression should besiege me, may I never forsake patience, but willingly take on all adversity to willingly practice the deeds of the conqueror's sons. . 28. Thus, may the dangling rope of doubt never saw into my mind for even an instant over the extremely profound and highly logical Dharma of the Subdoer, that never before I could find. . 29. May I, who am born from lifetime to lifetime, by earnestly acting to benefit all beings, never fail to engage in vast virtues for even a mere moment in time. . 30. Like a servant may I accomplish all the tasks of every living being and, having accepted the burden of working for all, may sentient beings abide in happiness. . 31. Since my body acts as a servant for others even when speaking, may I be pleased to teach them Dharma and may my thoughts constantly be empowered by the mind endeavoring to benefit others. . 32. Even if I alone have to undergo misery for innumerable aeons in hell, still may I ripen sentient beings spiritually without ever becoming weary. . 33. Surely, in the very process of accomplishing (the welfare of others) I actually will don this very armor of spiritually nurturing the three types of beings so they may become disciplined. . 34. May I joyfully cross without hesitation pits so filled with burning embers of fire that there is no space so as to hear even one word of the good doctrine. . 35. In abandoning being enticed by the results of all concentrations and formless absorptions, but by dwelling on the supreme limit of perfection, may I be accustomed purely to the bliss that arises. . 36. Having mounted the horse of calm abiding that is not obsessed (with the warm experience of meditative absorption), may I tame the mind that naturally roams, is most difficult to tame, and ventures alone on the wrong path. . 37. Since the supremely fine riches possessed by rulers of gods and universal emperors, being in the nature of desire are just like filth, may I never hold them in high regard. . 38. There is no joy drifting through this existence similar to a burning house of iron, but being led by compassion, may I be reborn wherever it is conducive to assist others. . 39. Whatever absorptions all spiritual sons of universal protectors have mastered such as the stance of a lion, the sport, or the hero of the warriors' activities . 40. The going bravely, the treasure of space and the stainless--Having attained all myself I will bestow their bliss on the three kinds of beings, thus allowing them to enjoy their sublime accomplishments. . 41. May I thoroughly and supremely protect the ocean of craft, literature and art, and may every sentient being be wise in knowing the entire meaning of their own language. . 42. Having gained the stainless, sharp and infinite intelligence, distinguishing all words and meanings, may I share with sentient beings the extremely profound and logical teachings. . 43. To every living being without exception who does not understand the Buddha's word, may I finely elucidate the teachings as though inscribing letters in their own mind. . 44. Having surely ascended to the state of the ten truthful powers, may I actualize these practices that are the means for making the purpose of living beings completely worthwhile. . 45. Just as all prayers of the subdoers are the cause for helping sentient beings, so may I work constantly for the perfection of prayer. . 46. By immediately suppressing as they arise all overwhelming masses of foe-like emotional afflictions and not wavering from mental activities, may I remain only to be of benefit on earth. . 47. By having perfectly realized these phenomena to be like illusions, mirages and magical emanations and having discarded the mesh of conceptions, may I be of benefit throughout the three worlds. . 48. Just as a father especially cherishes an only son, so will I remain in meditation on pure love for every ongoing being by removing all stains (of aggression). . 49. Just as mothers, out of affection for an ailing son, in taking his burden on themselves (suffer) accordingly, so will I work to enhance my compassion towards each and every sentient being. . 50. When I see success in delighting others may I, especially by generating much pleasure, remain meditating on joyfulness as if only my dear son were happy. . 51. Having dispersed with anger and attachment towards sentient beings that correspondingly cause me to harm or favor them, may I accomplish the tasks of all three worlds like completing one's work for one's son. . 52. Having realized the powers, heightened awareness, analytical knowledges, mystical spells, and the doors to liberation, may I simultaneously be of benefit to sentient beings throughout the immeasurable expanse of the universe. . 53. Whatever countries where the name "Buddha" has not entered the ear, there may I act according to the deeds of a Buddha through imparting his various methods. . 54. Until the son, the teacher of the three worlds, rises here, may I, like the sun, dispel the darkness of ignorance from each and every embodied being. . 55. Whatever beings there are whose thoughts are saturated with evil and who have been rejected by many beings gone to bliss, may they be tamed by relying upon the sphere of action of my speech. . 56. So that I may serve everyone in the universe, I will be loving like a relative, kind like a mother, and like a father, give beneficial advice. . 57. Even by merely recollecting my name, may all sentient beings immediately be protected from fear and may all misery of the three worlds be dispelled. . 58. May I be a vase of goodness and a medicine against illness for people who are destitute in hundreds of ways. May I also provide a cool pool of nectar continuously for the masses of hungry spirits. . 59. May I be warmth for the cold hells and cause rain with sweet breezes to shower on the hot hells as well. May I placate every harm in the very low realms of bad migration. . 60. Even by merely remembering me, may I be a true friend to those who face destitution, solid armor for those stricken by a rain of arrows and cooling water for those afflicted by fire. . 61. When beings remember me, may I be an opponent for the venom of defilements, a firm bridge over the torrent of the three worlds, and may I bar the door to the unfortunate destinies. . 62. May even merely recollecting my name be enough to prevent all beings from falling into the abyss of worldly existence. May I become the foundation of the stairway leading them to the pinnacle of pure peace. . 63. Even if someone out of anger should recall my name for just an instant of time, may he never plunge into bad destinies and may he surely accomplish perfect Buddhahood. . 64. May my excellences, stainless like moonlight, bring happiness throughout the whole universe. May I work to generate immeasurable delight for others by merely breathing. . 65. Having attained perfect awakening itself where all is fully complete, may I also settle all ongoing beings in that ultimate awakening itself. . 66. At that time, may not even the slightest faulty actions arise in the minds of whoever (may be my disciples). May they always help others and remain on the path of the ten virtues. . 67. May the realms of bad migrations never be seen even in the dreams of anyone (fitting to be my disciple) and may the far reaches of places of bad destiny be pleasurable like the realms of celestial beings. . 68. As long as anyone remains in the midst of the ocean of the three worlds nonvirtue, though I have completed the deeds of a Buddha, may I remain in this world for them. . 69. When I have enacted my passing into the state beyond sorrow, may my teachings not become disordered and may the ache of my followers not be swayed for even a moment by the dangling rope of doubt. . 70. Thus, by delighting in the performance of the conqueror's sons, may whatever virtues I have gathered all be shared with each and every living being without exception.

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ngakpakonchokdorjetsondonmystic · 4 years ago

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THE 70 VERSES TO KUNTU ZANGPO

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saiyanprince541 · 8 years ago

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A trip with daddy

Okay, so with all the Bra art/literature going around and no fresh ideas in mind, I thought I might share this cute little Vegeta/Bra-fic, I wrote last year hehehe. Enjoy! 😁 Summary: Left alone to babysit Bra, Vegeta takes a trip to the convenience store with his little girl, but things take an unexpected turn, when a mugger enters the scene and threatens the store owner, at gunpoint. A trip with daddy:

"Dammit Vegeta, quit wasting my time, I'm gonna be late for this press conference!" Bulma seethed, pulling up a stocking.

"That is no concern of mine, woman!" The Prince growled. "I never agreed to this!"

"Yeah, well tough luck!" She fired back. "Mom and dad suddenly decided to take a vacation and Trunks planned this camping trip with Goten for the last three weeks, so I couldn't ask him, alright?!"

"Well too bad, I refuse to go anywhere near that grubby little creature!"

"That's our daughter you're talking about, you ass, not some creature!" The heiress walked up to him, glaring right in his face, her sapphire eyes blazing as ever. Ever since Bra's birth around two-and-a-half years ago, Vegeta had been neglecting his fatherly responsibilities to the poor child and Bulma refused to have it any longer. "Seriously, spend some time with her! Get to know her better! You might actually enjoy it!"

"Pah!" He spat.

"Don't be such a namby-pamby!"

"Damn you woman!" He grimaced. "You're insufferable!"

"So er- is that a yes?" Bulma asked hopefully.

"Fine, fine whatever, now get lost!"

"Oh, thank you Vegeta." She cheered, her anger ebbing away quickly, as she abruptly crushed him into a tight embrace.

The heat rose to Vegeta's reddened cheeks and he was instantly hard, due to her lack of garments.

"Let go of me!" He demanded, trying but failing to tug her away. At last, however, Bulma shifted back and pecked his lips before putting on a formal black business skirt and a white buttoned shirt, beneath a full-sleeve, indigo overcoat that flowed to her knees and matching stiletto pumps, to go with everything. As she was doing so, she gabbled on about Bra's favourite meals, kids' programs, board games and whatnot, while Vegeta tuned her out.

Gone at last, the Prince turned towards the tiny, sleeping form of the little bundle within the crib, her hair just as blue as those of her insane mother's, with a big tuft on top that spilled out in every direction, like the branches of a palm tree. Bulma dressed her in a strange set of powder pink, buttoned, bloomer overalls when taking her to the park this morning and since she'd fallen asleep on the way back, the heiress had put her right in the crib, without bothering to change her into her sleeping pajamas. The outfit covered her torso, as well as her arms and legs up to the points just below the elbows and knees, respectively.

"What a peculiar thing you are." Vegeta mumbled, hesitantly reaching a hand out to her. Gods, was she small or what? Although he was more attentive to her than he'd been during Trunks' infancy, he found her too much of a mess to be around, frequently playing with worms in the dirt and eating like a caveman, with morsels of food flying in every direction. It was outright disgusting. She'd likely consumed more in the last year, than the average human adult would, in ten years. Funny, how it never really affected her. She was still a pint-sized little twerp, perks of her Saiyan DNA. He smirked at the thought, gently placing a hand on her rising and falling belly. Bra began to stir and her big, cerulean eyes, slowly fluttered open.

"Daddy?" She mouthed groggily, yawning thereafter.

'Shit!' Vegeta cursed inwardly. Dammit, he should've left her as she was! Now, he'd have to deal with this crazy half-Saiyan toddler, all by himself and he was not looking forward to it!

"Daddy!" Bra exclaimed happily, placing her tiny hands atop his. The move sprung a strange feeling within the pits of Vegeta's stomach.

"What're you so happy about, brat?!" His mouth pressed into a hard line.

"Bwat?" She repeated. "No, no Bwat. Ish Bwa."

Her attempt at correcting him was quite amusing, he decided.

"Brat."

"Bwa!" She rectified more forcefully this time, with narrowed blue eyes.

"Brat." The Prince smirked teasingly.

"BWAAAAA!" The little girl screeched so loud that the Prince nearly toppled over.

"Okay, okay, Bra!" He relented, waving his hands in front of him, shocked by her sudden caprice. "Stupid child. You're just as crazy as your banshee mother!"

"Mama?" The half-Saiyan's anger suddenly melted away. She stood up and grabbed the bars of her crib, looking curiously at her father. "Where mama?"

"She's gone to an important meeting, but she'll be back soon."

"Soon?"

"Yes, soon."

"Oh."

Vegeta frowned at the child, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"Cookies?" Bra blinked up at him with those innocent, blue eyes of hers and he suddenly felt himself beginning to melt, from the inside. Dammit, what was this bizarre feeling?! He didn't know what to make of it!

"Ugh, fine." He groused. "Come on then." Vegeta lifted her up and placed her on the floor, feet first, before proceeding forward.

"Daddy!" The blue-haired toddler squealed. He turned around and saw his daughter looking at him imploringly, with those endless azure depths of hers, as she held out her stubby, little arms.

"You can walk just fine on your own!" He declared crassly, which only made her burst into tears, not two seconds later. Vegeta was suddenly plagued with an unfamiliar sensation of guilt, as his daughter continued to bawl and call him "meanie".

"Alright, alright!" He groaned peevishly and took her into his arms, whereby her sour mood suddenly vanished. Bra smiled and held him tight, as he carried her out of the room. The Prince mentally cursed his unexpected weakness, around the puny brat.

Sifting through cupboard after cupboard, drawer after drawer, inside the kitchen, Vegeta quickly realized that all the chips, cookies, lollies, munchies and other treats that would appease his crazy daughter, had gone missing. No doubt, Trunks had seized them all, for that absurd trip with mini-Kakarot. Curses!

'I'm going to make him wish he was dead!' The Prince vowed. Oh, this most certainly warranted an arduous training session, aka thrashing, for the purple-haired brat!

Left with no other choice, the Saiyan grabbed a few bills from the living room cabinet and whisked Bra to the nearby convenience store.

Entering through the automatic double doors, Vegeta perched Bra on his shoulders and took hold of a basket, filling it with all the best confectionary he laid his dark eyes on, as the giddy, blue bundle on top, clapped and cheered in delight.

"What a spoiled girl." The Prince grumbled.

"You think I'm bluffin'?!" A thick, middle-aged voice suddenly hollered from nearby. Vegeta turned in time to see a ski-masked hoodlum pointing a sawed off, single-barrel shotgun at the man on the counter, who had his hands up in surrender. Between them was an open briefcase. "Open the fucking cash register and toss in everythin' ya got, else I shoot!"

All of a sudden Bra began bawling and the Prince's protective instincts kicked in, as he lowered the shopping basket to the floor and cradled the girl in his arms. She nestled into his chest and he awkwardly placed a hand on her back, to try and soothe her.

"P-please, sir I- I-"

"NOW!" Roared the mugger, which only made Bra cry louder.

"Shut up you imbecile, you're making her cry!" Vegeta yelled at the thug.

"You, back away, this instant!" The gaunt man pointed his weapon at the flame-haired Saiyan. "Or so help me, I will spill your guts! I swear it by the horns of Lucifer, himself!"

"No!" A horrified Bra cried out, clinging to her father even more tightly, if it were possible, big, blue eyes brimming with tears. "No hurt daddy!"

Vegeta's stomach churned at the heartfelt plea of the tiny bundle of innocence within his arms. Gods, she was just so- precious.

'Ackh, that was way too corny!' The Saiyan mentally slapped himself, for his excessively sentimental thoughts and turned his attention back to the crook.

"Put that thing down before you hurt yourself, fool!" He took a step forward.

"I- I'm warnin' ya!"

Vegeta, however, did not heed the warning and moved another pace towards the mugger.

BANG!

The attacker discharged his weapon, however, the Prince simply flashed his ebony eyes and in that very moment, the blast exploded before it even left the barrel, causing the gun to implode and the wide-eyed carrier to fall on his behind.

"What in the?" Scrambling to his feet, he tried to run off, only for the double doors to open and a bizarre man with a white bandana, wayfarer sunglasses and the most outlandish green and black outfit, to appear before him with a grim look on his face. But- why would be here, of all places?! It made no sense!

Vegeta's face flushed and he placed a hand over it, groaning in disgust, while an intrigued Bra rubbernecked the mysterious newcomer, listening to his bizarre preamble.

"Beware evildoer, for I, the Great Saiyaman have come here to bring justice upon those who would mean to harm the innocent and-" The new arrival cut off his speech, as he recognised the father-daughter duo, not far off. "Vegeta? Is that you?" He asked, only to bite his lip, realizing that he'd mistakenly gone back to using his normal accent. The comical figure cleared his throat, before reverting to that lower-pitched hero inflection of his. "I mean, greetings my fellow-"

"Oh God, just shut up already, you moron!" The Prince cut him off peevishly, his tone as gruff as ever. "Seriously, have you not embarrassed yourself enough for one lifetime?!"

"Mowon!" Bra echoed, balling a tiny fist and waving it at the intruder.

"Braaaa!" The costumed man protested in shock, before catching himself and covering his mouth, once again realizing the slip of his voice. Only then did he notice the crook, furtively trying to sneak around him, in an escape attempt.

"Oh no you don't!" The vigilante tutted, shaking his head at the would-be absconder. "No one escapes the justice of the Great Saiyaman!" He promptly gave him a light tap on the temple that knocked him unconscious, before laying out his wobbly frame, on the tiled floor.

"Th-thank you, Great S-Saiyaman." The store owner stammered.

"You're most welcome, venerable sir!" He replied in his hero voice.

"Moron." Vegeta muttered.

"Mowon!" Bra repeated loudly, whereby the outlandish man cringed and walked over to her, with a disapproving expression, bending down so he was face level with the toddler. He shook his index finger at her.

"Now look here, young lady, you should not be using such foul- YYYYAAARRRGGGHHHH!"

Bra bit down on his poor finger, mid-sentence, whereby it throbbed and the chucklesome hero began howling and sucking on it, in an attempt to ease the pain.

Vegeta barely managed to hold back a smirk, at the sudden rush of pride, surging through him.

"Owww, that smarts!" Saiyaman looked towards Bra with a hurtful glance, while clutching his bruised finger. 'Man, like father, like daughter.' He thought to himself. Straightening his posture and puffing his chest out, he decided that it was time to be off. "Well then, farewell, good citizens!"

The owner stared incredulously, having no clue what to make of the baffling events that had just materialized before his very own eyes.

'Can't believe this idiot was stronger than all of us, not too long ago.' Vegeta thought to himself.

The superhero meanwhile, grabbed the crook, so he could deliver him over to the West City authorities. He'd come all the way here to pay a surprise visit to the Briefs, until he'd heard angry shouts in a nearby store and so, decided to transform into his hero outfit and intervene. Oh well, he decided it best to come back another time.

Not long after, father and daughter sat on the living room sofa, voraciously feasting upon the snacks they'd just purchased, while Bra was watching 'The Lion King' for about the hundredth time ever.

"He bwave!" The girl commented, as she saw Mufasa easily take on three hyenas.

"Tch, he's a weakling." Vegeta snorted.

"Weak?" She frowned. "No weak! Stwong!"

"No, he's weak." Replied the Prince. "I'm strong."

"Daddy stwong?" Bra was intrigued.

"The strongest." He answered, smiling smugly.

"Weawy?"

"Of course." He nodded.

"Show me?"

"Okay." He decided and gandered at the screen. "Watch the TV."

Bra did just that and gaped in fascination, as it began to levitate, all of a sudden.

"Daddy?" She looked back towards her father and saw his concentration, fixed upon the hovering, flat screen. The girl observed the television descend back atop the entertainment unit.

"Wow, so cool!" Bra cheered, clapping her hands excitedly.

"Hmph, that was nothing." The Prince remarked.

"Can you fwy, daddy?" The child asked, with longing blue eyes.

"I learned to fly when I was three years old."

"Fwee?!" An awestruck Bra goggled.

"That's right." He quirked his upper lip.

Bra looked at her father in wonderment for several moments, before grinning.

"Fwy me daddy?" She asked, eagerly.

"Hmmm." Vegeta pondered the request. One look at the ridiculous song playing on the screen, with the legion of hyenas marching before that strange lion with the black mane, was enough for him to make up his mind. "Alright."

The Prince turned off the television and gathered Bra's tiny form in his arms, before heading through the backdoor, locking it and taking to the skies. Bra held onto her father from behind, in a piggy back.

The blue-haired girl gushed with joy and ebullience, cheering and squealing in delight, as her father took her half way around the planet at a nice, even speed. She looked down in marvel, at the forests, deserts and icy landscapes they crossed, with a bird's eye view. A multitude of cities and country towns alike, bustled with life, all oblivious to the duo that flew above them like hawks. Bra had never experienced this much excitement and frenzy, all her life.

"I wuv you, daddy." She twinkled, fastening her hold around him.

The Prince grunted in annoyance, not one for sentiments, though he could feel his heart pounding against his chest at the heartfelt proclamation of his daughter. Damn feelings! This darn girl was turning him into a big bag of slush!

"Do you wuv Bwa?" She asked innocently.

"I- uh- you- urgh-" He sputtered, unable to formulate a proper sentence. Stupid girl! Why'd she have to ask him that?! If he said "no", she'd definitely be devastated, which would ruin all the headway he'd made with her today. For some reason that he couldn't quite figure out, he liked the adoration she bestowed upon him and certainly didn't want to spoil it, but he couldn't say "yes" either, so he settled comfortably, for something in between. "You- uh- you're not so bad."

"You're funny daddy!" She giggled, holding onto him even tighter.

"Hmph."

Around two hours since taking flight, the pair finally returned to Capsule Corporation. Bra was fast asleep and the Prince was cradling her against his chest, as he entered the residence through the back door.

"Where the hell were you?!" Bulma screeched all of a sudden, whereby Vegeta cringed. "I was worried sick about-"

"Shhhhh!" He scowled, pressing his index finger to his lips.

"O-Oh." The heiress suddenly realized her mistake, as she saw him holding the slumbering form of their daughter. Her heart practically melted at the sight. She grinned widely at him. "So how was it?"

"It- it was okay." He shrugged indifferently and Bulma saw right through his fib. It had taken years, but after all their time together, she could practically read him like a book. He was ecstatic.

"Told you." She said smugly, arms akimbo.

"Tch, whatever."

"You want me to put her to bed?" Bulma asked.

"It's fine, I'll do it myself." He replied and proceeded upstairs, while Bulma gaped at him, positively dumbstruck. Yep, he was totally ensorcelled with that girl.

A/N: And there you have it folks! Hope you enjoyed! Be sure to review and tell me which bits you enjoyed most and which you didn't (if any)! :D

#bra #vegeta #Vejita #Vegebul #bulla #DBZ Fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #dragon ball z fanfiction #literature #saiyan prince #Prince of all Saiyans #saiyanprince541

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isotopiesobelle-blog · 8 years ago

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* axiom

POWER RULE

(d(u^n)/dx) = n(u)^(n-1) "YES, I CAN CHANGE THINGS. SORT OF."

A hereditary trait brought down from generations of alchemists (save for her mother who is powerless), Isobelle Yu was born with the power of transmutation - the ability to change the form, appearance, and composition of all matter. It was the same ability that her late father had, her father who had taught her well yet whose lessons were cut short due to his untimely death.

"It's a rare talent," her father used to tell her. Very few are born with the ability and even fewer have mastered the art. Due to her father's early death, her training was not finished and she was not completely able to reach her full potential. Her powers are limited to changing objects only to things of lesser value. Unlike her father who can turn missiles into doves in a blink, Isobelle cannot generate life out of nonliving matter. (Although she has once tried turning a live organism into a stale object, but more on that later.) She also cannot change the weather as it is too big of a conundrum for her to understand, much less control.

While the thought of the ability to change objects sounds amazing, Isobelle is anything but amazed. Because of this, the soft-spoken girl rarely uses her power. She's underrated, her efforts always underappreciated, because next to her stellar element-controlling sister, she's a lackuster asteroid. She has since doubted if it's a real power at all because let's be honest, who wants the coal when you can have the diamond?

INTUITIVE NOTION OF A LIMIT

lim x→a f(x) = L "I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE."

Age 9 and fatherless (see also: mentorless), Isobelle attempted practicing on her own. She has tried multiple exercises which her father left behind but none of them she actually perfected, except for reverting — or the ability to change a transmutated object back into its original being. Age 15 and still talentless, she grew tired of practicing without being fruitful. She decided on giving up on her abilities six years after trying.

Occasionally, however, she uses her powers to get her out of troublesome situations like once turning a snake into a rope. It was her first time altering anything with life which made her elated and proud of herself for the first time in a long while. However, reading further her father's notes, she has discovered that the snake's life was taken away permanently and the act cannot be undone.

Traumatized by the thought of having killed an actual creature, she has since stopped trying her abilities on the living: plants, animals, humans, and metahumans.

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comic-watch · 7 years ago

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The Trinity has found Steve Trevor, but not the way they were expecting. Now Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman must stop Deimos and revert Steve back to human form. Read all about it in Trinity.

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Trinity #21 Author: James Robinson Artists: Patch Zircher & Tyler Kirkham Colors: Gabe Eltaeb Letters: Josh Reed & Carlos M. Mangual Publisher: DC Comics

!!!Spoiler Warning!!!

What You Need to Know: The Trinity has become the closest group in the DC universe, and together they have been trapped in a dream world, thanks to Poison Ivy, and even fought against Circe and her demonic Pandora Pits. No matter what the big team of DC gets themselves into, they know that their friends and allies have their back. Recently the Trinity had gone searching for Wonder Woman’s home island of Themyscira. They found a ship that was in distress and, as the good heroes they are, went to save the crew. However, instead of saving anyone, a portal opens up and sucks the team into a magical world known as Skartaris. On arrival, Superman notices he is powerless, and Wonder Woman seems to be blind! The depowered trio have to fight through hordes and hordes of different mythical creatures before finding Warlords home and daughter as they are being raided by the evil Deimos’ army. The Trinity helps defend the city of Shamballah and then realizes that the land has aged them significantly. Warlords daughter Jennifer changes there age back to normal, then shows the team around the castle including a room full of familiar and unfamiliar technology that Batman was significantly interested in. Without getting many answers, Warlord sends the team home where they started debriefing the mission to Steve Trevor; an ARGUS member that has been longtime friends with Wonder Woman and the rest of the League. Before the team lets go of all their information they realize that all is not as it seems. Steve asks about the task force they found dead in Skartaris by name, which no one had mentioned before, and without another word, the team confronts the phony Steve Trevor just in time for Deimos to reveal himself. Deimos had captured Steve and tricked the Trinity and now they must search around for clues as to where he has hidden their friend. Batman had been investigating the Blue Strike task force team since they arrived back home. Batman had found encrypted data that each member of the team had to go find, and afterward, they found a guarded temple in the middle of a jungle in New Guinea. Guarding the fortress is a couple of orc-like creatures, one being Steve Trevor!

What You’ll Find Out: As the orcs come raging after the team they realize that this is a harder fight than first thought. Obviously, the orcs are just regular people transformed so the team has to hold back while fighting. Luckily, Batman had knock-out gas that put the orcs right to sleep so the team could search and rescue Steve and defeat Deimos.

The story transitions throughout the issue from current time to the last arc when the team was still in Skartaris. We get a little more detail as to what was said between warlord, Jennifer and the rest of the group. Warlord explains that his lack of morality stems from the need for survival on Skartaris.

The story flips back to the team infiltrating the jungle fortress and beating up a team of Blue Strike security. Together they break open a huge vault door and find what seems to be a trophy room. Like most comic book trophy rooms we find mostly mystical items and relics. Batman determines the artifacts are new and that they are a mix of magic and modern tech. The only answer he can come up with is that Blue Strike is mining Skartaris for its weapons and tech; the only question is, where is the security?

A small security team seems a little light for such a large secret, as a portal begins to show a huge army led by Warlord and his daughter. Flipping back to the computer chamber seen in the previous adventure, Batman and Jennifer walk together as Jennifer tries again to justify her earlier actions. Jennifer explains she used the Trinity as bait for Deimos and Batman doesn’t buy it, believing that Deimos is hiding from Warlord. Jennifer promises this isn’t true and that no matter where Deimos is, his evil follows. In the now, The team hears a voice before opening the portal for Warlord as Deimos finally reveals his true self to the team.

He immediately captures Superman and Batman with magic forces and sends orc Steve back into the fight against Wonder Woman. With doubt as to who the true bad guy is still lingering, the issue closes with Deimos getting closer to destroying the Trinity.

What Just Happened? James Robinson, Patch Zircher and the rest of this creative team starts to head in the right direction as “Trinity” starts to wrap the Skartaris story up. This issue uniquely went back and forth in only two periods of time, and not truly enough to annoy the reader. A bit of detail is added to the earlier story from Robinson as we get to see inside the conversations between the patrons of Skartaris and the team. Each has their own speech bubble on the first page that gets further context in later conversations; showing how the conversations and events lead to the current actions of the team. I have gone on to complain about Robinson’s treatment of Superman and Batman and in some ways, I still argue that he can’t write these two characters well. Their interactions and one-liners are cringe-worthy and at some point, you have to wonder how dumbed down you can make these two characters. In another mindset, it almost reminds me of the bronze/silver age of writing, which can be taken as a compliment or insult depending on how you take it. In my opinion, it’s not the worst writing I’ve found in the industry, but definitely not the best either. The fight scene at the beginning is a fun ride and as always, the fights are the highlight of “Trinity” this issue. So it really takes a lot to say this issue is worth reading when there is only one fight scene. Yes, the fight against the orc Steve and the other Blue Strike members is the only fight scene we get other than a quick panel of the team rushing at security guards. Other than that it’s mostly a bunch of standing and walking around. Thank the lord, Zircher and the art team comes in to fill the bleak blanks left by Robinson’s story with amazing linework and color that highlights the team at their strongest. The fight against the orcs does look amazing and makes you wish there were more punches and kicks thrown around during this issue. Instead, we get some incredibly drawn Wonder Woman and an extremely detailed version of both Warlord and Deimos that bring chills down the reader’s neck.

Rating: 7/10.

Final Thoughts: While I have wanted so badly to enjoy this last arc of “Trinity” James Robinson has truly made it difficult. At this point, I only read the title so I can warn fans of what “unique” taste you’d have to have in order to enjoy this title. I grade the title so highly due to the incredible art by Zircher and the fact that, as a child, you may actually really enjoy this easy-to-read story that, in one way or another, maybe kind of fun. For someone that has a love for these characters and their complexities though, I’d recommend staying away from it.

Love DC Comics? follow me @Austin_Braun on Twitter for other DC Comic reviews! Join our Age of Social Media Network consisting of X-Men, Marvel, DC, Superhero and Action Movies, Anime, Indie Comics, and numerous fan pages. Interested in becoming a member? Join us by clicking here and pick your favorite group!

REVIEW: Trinity #21 (The Lies of Warlord and the Rise of Deimos) Any thoughts on the latest issue of Trinity? Read my review before the last issue comes out! The Trinity has found Steve Trevor, but not the way they were expecting. Now Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman must stop Deimos and revert Steve back to human form.

#Batman #DC Comics #Deimos #James Robinson #Patrick Zircher #Superman #Trinity #Warlord #Wonder Woman

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mexcine2 · 7 years ago

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Post-Apocalyptic Fashion Show: "Let Out the Beast" (1950) and Planet Comics 35 (1945)

What does one wear after the apocalypse (assuming you’re one of the survivors, of course)? Pop culture has some suggestions, from “whatever you were wearing before the apocalypse” to “rags & furs” or, perhaps, “futuristic outfits.” Today’s essay takes a look at two extremes, the 1950 Canadian paperback “Let Out the Beast” and Planet Comics 35 (March 1945).

“Let Out the Beast” was written by Leonard Fischer, about which little is known (one website gives his birth/death dates as ?1903-?1974), and who doesn’t appear to have written any other books, at least under this name. Although I’d never heard of this novel before, it’s apparently rather well-known, as least among post-apocalypse literature aficionados, although it doesn’t exactly have a stellar reputation: “There are tons of novels and short stories better than this effort…” , “badly written…inept” and “I tried to read this but it was, without a doubt, the worst novel I've ever started” are typical comments.

The book was published by Export Publishing Enterprises in January 1950, in both Canadian and U.S. versions, and does not seem to have ever been reprinted. The highly readable and informative Fly-By-Night website indicates Export published 28 paperbacks in U.S. editions, and 20 of these had dust jackets, a rare but not unknown phenomenon. The dust jacket for “Let Out the Beast” is a stylised image of an explosion, with the tag-line “The World Destroyed by Atomic Blast in 1965,” whereas the cover of the actual paperback is what we’ll examine here (where the tag-line is much smaller and simply reads “The World Destroyed by Atom Bombs”). Most of the Export dust jackets featured similarly toned-down and symbolic images as opposed to the representational art on the covers of the books themselves, presumably to allow these rather lurid, exploitative novels to be sold in more conservative venues.

The actual cover of “Let Out the Beast” was the work of artist D. Rickard; Fly-By-Night discussed him a number of times, but concrete information is hard to come by. It seems his name was Douglas Rickard and he probably worked for a Toronto advertising agency at one time. “He was one of only two artists to have worked for the big three publishers” of the era, painting numerous covers in the 1949-53 period but apparently vanishing afterward (possibly because his market dried up: Export went out of business after a fire in late 1950, White Circle ceased publishing in 1952).

The cover of “Let Out the Beast” depicts two men fighting over a woman in the middle of a post-apocalytic, ruined landscape (or possibly a municipal garbage dump…or maybe Detroit). The man on the left is clad in what appears to be a sports jacket, buttoned for modesty’s sake, since he doesn’t seem to be wearing anything underneath it. So, you found a coat but you couldn’t find any trousers? His blonde opponent wears a toga and tennis shoes, although it’s just as likely that the “toga” is a repurposed table cloth. This is a better look than jacket-no pants, however: at least a toga is a recognisable article of clothing, whereas Blackbeard resembles a pre-apocalypse flasher (who is also wearing tennis shoes or--given this is a Canadian novel--“runners”).

Let’s stop to consider the no-pants world of “1965” (when “Let Out the Beast” takes place). In the modern Western world, trousers have been popular for quite some time (even the Scots generally wear kilts only for ceremonial occasions now), and if the atomic cataclysm of 1965 destroyed the world’s supply of pants, this would be one more source of anxiety for the (male) survivors. It’s going take some getting used to, all this fighting for survival and such, especially if you’re going commando, the full Monty, free-balling, whatever.

The unconscious redheaded woman on the cover wears a standard (for pulps, paperbacks and other pop culture literature) dress--which is to say it exposes her shoulders, 50% of her bosom, and her legs--not much the worse for wear. Perhaps Blackbeard is battling Toga-Man for the right to claim her outfit (alternately, one might cynically speculate that she’s dead and the men are fighting for the right to barbecue and consume her corpse).

Attire aside, there are some other things to like about this cover. Notice their weapons: Toga-Man has a barbecue fork, while Blackbeard is wielding what looks like a microphone stand. Also, Toga-Man apparently believes a bird in the hand is worth two on the barbecue fork. The background features mostly indistinguishable garbage, but a bed (on the left) and a toilet (on the right) can be glimpsed, which unfortunately only reinforces the impression that this cover doesn’t really depict desperate men struggling to survive the apocalypse, but a confrontation between two impoverished people in a landfill. Or, as they might say in Mexico, a pleito entre pepenadores (a clash between trash scavengers).

The art on Canadian original paperbacks in this era, whether by D. Rickard or anyone else, tends to be less polished than contemporary U.S. paperback covers. This is not necessarily a negative value judgement, since Canadian publishers were drawing from a smaller pool of artists, selling to a smaller potential audience, and were thus constrained financially and technically. Nonetheless, and contrary to the opinion of some people, I like the cover of “Let Out the Beast.” It’s a bit “naïve” but isn’t artistically incompetent, does convey the basic theme of the novel (mankind reverting to savagery), and is rather eye-catching.

The second entry in our Post-Apocalyptic Fashion Show is the cover of Planet Comics 35 (March 1945). Planet Comics was published by Fiction House, a company that put out both comic books and pulp magazines. In both media, Fiction House specialised, although not exclusively, in certain genres: science fiction (Planet Stories and Planet Comics), jungle tales (Jungle Stories, Jungle Comics, Jumbo Comics), and aviation-themed (Wings pulp and Wings Comics). [They also put out Fight Stories and Fight Comics, but the pulp was boxing oriented and the comic was generic action.] The pulp magazines were certainly aimed at a somewhat older, presumably more literate audience, but Fiction House comics--as evidenced by their cheesecake-laden covers--were also a bit more "adult" than many of their competitors' works.

Planet Comics ran from 1940 until 1953 (Fiction House got out of the comic book business in 1954). Although most of the Fiction House titles were genre oriented rather than "starring" a single character, there were recurring series in their comics. Planet Comics featured space heroes like Flint Baker, Reef Ryan, Gale Allen, Star Pirate, Mysta of the Moon, and Auro, Lord of Jupiter. Another continuing strip was "The Lost World" (issues 21-69), set in the 33rd century: "Civilization on Earth died--crushed by the inhuman Volta hordes--but Hunt Bowman and Lyssa lived and roamed the devastated planet."

The cover of Planet Comics 35 is based on "The Lost World" strip, and depicts Lyssa in the grip of a Volta Man, while (in the background) Hunt wields his bow-and-arrow (his name is "Hunt Bowman," after all) against the despotic conquerors of Earth. Since we're concentrating on post-apocalyptic fashion in this essay, let's admire the wide variety of costumes on display here. But first, a few words about the cover artist, Lily Renée. One of a relatively small number of female artists who worked on comic books in the "Golden Age," Lily Renée Wilhelm was born in Austria in 1925 but her family fled the country after the 1938 Anschluss which left the country under Nazi domination (the Wilhelms were Jewish). Eventually, Lily and her parents wound up in the USA and the artistically-talented teen went to work for Fiction House, which was trying to replace male artists drafted into the armed forces. Renée worked for Fiction House and other publishers until the mid-1950s. She was (much later) re-discovered by feminist cartoonist Trina Robbins and feted by comics fandom.

On the right-hand side of the cover is a Volta Man. The primary menace in most (but not all) of the "Lost World" saga, the Volta Men appeared in the very first series story (Planet Comics 21) but looked considerably different than their later incarnation: their faces were yellow and skull-like, and they wore space-type helmets with spikes on the top. However, it was not until the next time they showed up (Planet Comics 25) that their classic "look" emerged--sort of a green, mummified Creature from the Black Lagoon-ish face, and a helmet definitely reminiscent of the German military pickelhaube. This story was drawn by Graham Ingels, best known for his later work for EC horror comics in the 1950s, and subsequent artists, including Lily Renée, would follow his lead. [It's probably not a coincidence that the change in the appearance of the Volta Men--from generic aliens to quasi-German soldiers--occurred in 1943, right in the middle of World War II.]

The Volta Men on this cover are garbed in their familiar outfits, although the unknown colourist went wild, giving the main figure a golden helmet (instead of grey), a yellow tunic and blue leggings (instead of uniform military green) and absolutely fabulous fuschia boots (rather than the boring black ones seen inside the comic). It might also be noted that one of the other Volta Men in the background has a blue tunic--in the actual series, the Volta Men were rarely individualised and were garbed identically. Still, it's a jolly look for the normally sinister alien invaders.

Lyssa, Hunt's main squeeze, is the primary focus of the cover of Planet Comics 35. Although her usual costume in the interior stories was a tight blue top (exposing lots of cleavage) and a red miniskirt (sometimes skin-tight red shorts--she later switched to a tattered red mini-dress), Lyssa obviously dressed up for her rare cover appearances. She's wearing a red mini-dress on the cover of issue 33 (also drawn by Lily Renée), and a tattered skirt & blouse combo on issue #30 (Joe Doolin art--he also changed the spike on the Volta Man's helmet to a shark fin!). For Planet Comics 35, Lily Renée went all out to create a slinky emerald green dress that showcases Lyssa's lithesome lines (although, ironically-- given the plentiful cleavage on display in the interior art--she's technically covered up to her neck).

In the background, Hunt is garbed in his usual leather suspenders and kilt outfit, proving that Planet Comics was not averse to beefcake in addition to cheesecake. It's amusing to compare the always clean-shaven, short-haired Hunt with the shaggy, scruffy looking battlers on the cover of "Let Out the Beast"--apparently an alien-invasion apocalypse is less disruptive to personal grooming than an atomic-war apocalypse.

[If you're interested, the cylindrical object partially obscuring the word "Comics" in the masthead is a reasonable facsimile of a Volta spaceship, pointy protuberance (which resembles the Volta helmet spike) and all. I'm not sure why the craft is shooting, given that Volta soldiers are clearly in the target range. One assumes the warlike Volta are not averse to sacrificing their own troops to "friendly fire" if they can eradicate the pesky Hunt and Lyssa.]

The covers of "Let Out the Beast" and Planet Comics 35 share a similar but not identical vision of the future. Both covers depict deadly struggles in a post-apocalyptic, ruined landscape. While D. Rickard clothes his disheveled opponents in cast-off rags, Lily Renée presents a future where the opposing sides are both stylishly clad. In "Let Out the Beast," the survivors are armed with makeshift weapons, but Planet Comics shows that alien high-tech (ray guns, a spaceship) can be effectively countered with a traditional Earth weapon (a bow-and-arrow). On the cover of the Canadian novel, we see a fight for survival between two humans: symbolic, because humanity has destroyed itself in atomic war between "Americanada" (probably pronounced "Ameri-Canada" rather than "American-ada") and "Europasia." Planet Comics, on the other hand, is about the aftermath of an alien invasion of Earth, and the opposing forces--humans and Volta Men--are the antagonists in the artwork as well.

The media are different: "Let Out the Beast" is a paperback book with a serious theme: "... clearly intended as an awful warning..." about the moral consequences of nuclear holocaust. The novel was aimed at an adult audience and the cover, while mildly exploitative, reflects that. Planet Stories 35 is pulp-light, a space opera comic book whose readers would have been, on the main, younger than those for a text-heavy pulp magazine, let alone an actual novel.

So, a similar premise, depicted differently: but in both cases, the colourful, outré artwork is intended to catch a buyer's eye and hint at the fantastic content within.

#post-apocalyptic #science fiction #planet comics #lily renee #let out the beast #d.rickard #science fiction comic #golden age comic book #canadian science fiction #post-apocalyptic fiction

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