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circeyoru · 1 month ago

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Love Trial = Requested

[Sung Jinwoo x High School Ex-Lover!Reader]

The Requests ― Part 1 (here) ― Part 2

Sung Jinwoo. The Hunter who was praised for his bravery and selflessness, the Hunter who was the embodiment of Cinderella, and the Hunter who was hailed as a hero no matter where he went and how he acted. All because he acted for the good of the people around him, be it former foes or strangers in another country, he protected all. He was humanity’s strongest shield and sword against the dangers of the monsters within the vile Gates.

Yet to you, his shining image was clouded with the shadows that surrounded him. In your memory of him, one stood out more than the rest, more than the good deeds he’s done, more than the joyous memories you made with him.

“I’m sorry. Let’s break up.”

His words pierced your heart and body like no other. The shield you held over your heart was long gone and the walls you built around you long crumbled, all because of the knight in front of you. You can’t say you didn’t expect it, you have and mentally prepared yourself, still… It hurts oh so much.

“I understand. I wish you happiness, Hunter Sung. May your days be nothing of smiles and content.”

And you turned and left to hide your tears. Even knowing that Jinwoo would one day leave you because he was stronger now and would have more and better choices, you craved—clung—to the fantasy that he wouldn’t leave you behind after everything that you’ve done for him. You drank till your body couldn’t handle and your bartender friend called in your reliable friend from back in your college days. You cried in his chest. Why? Why weren’t you a Hunter as well? You could have done more! More for your dearest lover! Maybe then, you wouldn’t be abandoned.

That night was agonizing to live through. It was the worst day of your life. Perhaps, you were in love with the idea of love. You and Jinwoo did fall for the other over some silly comment and gossip from your classmates, then you started seeing the other differently. You two thought they were right and loved each other like actual lovers. How immature of you. Look what that led you?

It took some time, but you recovered with the help of your college friend. He helped more than you could ever thank him for. If he weren’t such a workaholic or that heated up then maybe your heart could have been swayed. Still, you knew for a fact; that you couldn’t—wouldn’t—be in another relationship any time soon.

When the world appeared to be coming to an end, you stared out your apartment window and sighed. Jinwoo must be saying his final farewells to his loved ones; his mother, his younger sister, that brother of a Hunter Jinho, and his new lover Cha Hae-In. It didn’t ache as much now than before when you thought about their official relationship and Jinwoo moving on so quickly while you took your time recovering. Now, you were fine with the time you had for yourself.

Your phone rang and you picked it up without a thought, a voice spoke from the other end. “World’s ending, thought I should check up on you.”

“How nice of you.” You chuckled from your end and retreated back into your apartment and away from the window, “Aren’t you busy with your guild affairs to call me?”

“I can still rest, can’t I? Here I was being nice and now I’m scolded.” You hummed, knowing the man from the other end heard it loud and clear. There was a pause before he continued, “Any regrets? Might as well say it since the world is ending.”

“Why should I tell you?” You meant it as a tease since you two have been close and shared a lot with each other. Way more that people could have confused you two as lovers at some point.

“Think of it as a goal for your next life. I wish we had our silly friendship and that there were no more beasts to fight off so I could work.”

You remained silent for a while. What would you wish for? What was your regret? You glanced over to a corner, you know it was because of the lighting that there was a shadow, but you couldn’t help but be reminded of a certain someone. Your lips moved while your eyes were glued to the shadow, speaking your mind, “I regret having let down my guard for him. I wish… I never met him.”

Whether it was the heavens taking pity on you or cursing you, you can’t tell. The moment you woke up, you were back home and alive. The only difference was that you have shrunk. No. That’s too light of a term. To be more specific, you have turned back to a child. It made no sense whatsoever that it was a dream. A dream too realistic since you could feel the clothes covering your body and the wind against your skin, even smell the familiar cooking of your parents. Not to mention, eat it!

You accepted it as reality when a week passed and nothing changed. You figured that you were reliving your life due to regrets. Or maybe a lot of people had regrets so everyone is reliving their lives right now. Yet you were the only one who seemed to have remembered anything about Hunters and Gates. Well, the moment you realized that, you shut up and said it was all a dream to anyone you asked, a child’s fantasy is wild after all, so none was the wiser.

First things first, though, you had to avoid being in the same high school as Jinwoo. Easy enough as you had another school that was much closer to your apartment now. It was so easy for you to change your future since you were the only one that know what would happen. Cha Hae-In is Jinwoo’s fated lover, so at some point, they’d meet each other and fall in love. No surprise, but you want to be away from that drama.

“Dear! Can you get the door for me?” Your mother’s shout brought you out of your musical trance.

“Yes, mom!” You placed your violin down and hopped onto the couch. Your footsteps pitter-patter through the floor. You reached the door and opened it, knowing the metal fence as the outer door was closed to protect you in case of an attempt at breaking and entering. “Who is it—?!”

The bright red hair and the matching red eyes, you recognize them anywhere. The boy in front of his parents smiled with his head bowed to give his greetings. “Hello! I’m Choi Jong-In, your new neighbour. I’ll be studying at XXXX Middle School if you want,” His closed-eyes smile softened as his eyelids opened again to meet your shocked gaze. “We can walk to school together.”

Words seemed to have been sucked out of your mouth as you stared at the boy. Your parents had come to the door and welcomed the boy inside while you were still in a daze. In the past, you had never met Jong-In this early; you met him when you two were in college and Jinwoo in high school. Perhaps because you avoided meeting Jinwoo, now you met Jong-In. Well, you can’t complain. It was a good change.

“What a coincidence! We go to the same school.” You smiled back and introduced yourself. He repeated your name, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you. And so started your friendship with your former best friend from your past life.

As time passed, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, months turned to years. There were no such things as Gates or Hunters or even mana. Everything was just perfectly normal, just as you pleased. You momentarily looked up from your phone at the cluster of people before you stared up into the sky. Your eyes widened as you caught sight of what appeared to be a Gate in the sky. Even after a few moments, nothing happened, and no Hunters were awakened. You couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

You passed by an ice cream shop and wondered if you should grab a cup of ice cream while waiting for your friends. Your attention was taken away when your phone buzzed and you looked down once more to see what the notification was about. Ah, your friend’s here.

You walked away from the shop and entered the crowd, entirely missing the boy who rushed out of his seat from the window table and tried to catch you. You heard your name being called out, and you went in that direction, finding the redhead waving his hands in your direction. You chuckled and went over to him. “Hey.”

“Hey to you too, let’s get out of here. It’s so crowded.” Jong-In placed his arm around your shoulders and led you away from the crowd.

When you look back up at the sky, nothing happens, and the crowd starts to disperse. As you and Jong-In chatted up a storm, ignoring the chatter around you two, you also didn’t notice how the boy had stared at you longingly with guilt and envy in his eyes while the shadows around him twisted and swirled, reflecting his conflicting emotions.

“Have you heard? That running star, Sung Jinwoo, is going to this college too!”

“I heard! I also heard he’s still single too!”

“You think I got a chance with him?”

“No way. I heard he’s a heartbreaker! Even Cha Hae-In’s no match for him.”

“Aw… That’s crazy.”

You stood up and moved to another seating area with a deadpan emotion. After finding a good seat, you sat down and returned to whatever you were doing on your phone. Up until now, you had been able to predict what happened since that was the point in time that Jinwoo went to become a Hunter. Basically, since high school, you were on your own. You managed just fine because the moment you weren’t in the same school as Jinwoo, it was the same as you never having to meet each other. Even better as it saved you from heartache and unnecessary emotions.

Still. You were beyond confused as to why Jinwoo wasn’t together with Cha Hae-In when they were so lovey-dovey in your previous life. There’s no way you heard it right. Gossip is just that, gossip. It’s never true, and even if some parts are, the majority of them are twisted to match whatever the listener and speaker want to hear or know.

The students in the lecture hall suddenly squealed as they all whispered about the newest student who came in. You glanced up and huffed with a smirk, watching with a teasing look at Jong-In, who was called by men and ladies alike. He was popular, after all. He came to your seat and gave you that gentlemanly smile, “Come on, you free to go now?”

“Geez, not sure. I feel like sitting a bit longer.” You taunted shamelessly.

You watched as his eye twitched and his smile widened dangerously. “Don’t be such a tease. You know we’ll be late for lunch.”

“Lunch is a whole few hours long; we can afford to be late for a few… say… 30 minutes or so?”

At your words, Jong-In immediately started packing your belongings for you, strapping your bag over his shoulders, then pulling you out of your seat and dragging you out of the hall. People all cooed in your direction, some even whistled.

You let him do so until you two were in a more secluded hallway when you spoke up. “You know I was just teasing. Who told you to be so popular?”

“And here I thought having you around me would ward off people…” Jong-In sighed, finally letting you go of your hand. “Sorry for being rough.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrugged and took back your bag. “So, the confessions are still sky high?”

“Not sky high, but still a number of them.” Jong-In fixed his glasses, raking his hair with his fingers, “Seriously, I just want to focus on my studies and get started on my work!”

You and Jong-In have been close and the best of friends, in the past and current life. In both lives, he was basically married to work, or study at the moment. Jong-In had no want for romance, and you avoided the whole romance thing, so both of you came to the agreement of being a fake couple to ward off other people. Since you two were close enough to do what couples do without feeling romantically attracted to the other, well, nothing like kissing but hand-holding and hugging was acceptable.

Jong-In looked over to you, who was still very much unaffected and chill about everything. The winds seemed to pick up when his words escaped his lips. “What will you do if Sung Jinwoo finds you when I’m not around?”

Your eyes darted to his before you blinked and looked out the window, “I doubt it. Let’s just say I have a strong feeling that he’s making a mistake if he does come to me.” You smiled at Jong-In while your eyes seemed devoid of light. “I’ll just direct him to the right one.” You blinked and, like a switch, returned to normal. “Why the sudden question?”

A finger of his pointed behind you, “Because he’s coming in this direction and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

Note: First part out! This request has been sitting in my inbox for a while, sorry it took so long. As you could tell, I had other stories and stuff to do. But it's out! Thoughts, everyone?

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #Love Trial

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illyrianbitch · 4 months ago

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Of Our Own Devices — Part Five

For @erisweekofficial Day 5: War

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Since the moment he first tasted hatred, Eris Vanserra has harbored one relentless goal: to rid the world of his father. Now, the time has come to wage the war he's been preparing for his entire life—the war against his own blood.

Warnings: well... death, violence, cruelty, injury, mentions of animal abuse, animal death, mentions of child/spouse abuse. basically, we go into eris's mind as he kills beron.

Word Count: 5.1k

authors note: i'm not a huge fan of long fight scenes, so here is my spin on one. i thought it was important to show that wars are not only won on battlefields. this might be one of my most favorite writings.

Part Four | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris knew that war wasn’t just physical; it was mental, political, emotional. He was a curious child, indeed. A collector. He'd collected secrets, absorbed the hatred and indifference around him like an animal adapting to its environment.

It taught him every skill he held dear.

Eris was skilled in combat, of course. He'd trained himself to be. He fantasized about killing his father with his own hands, dreamt of watching the life leave him, longed for the feeling of his father's power draining into his own veins. But he knew this war would, inevitably, be won another way.

He understood that true victory was achieved through subtler means. That with the right words, with the right plan, you could convince a foe to destroy himself before you ever laid a hand on him.

Eris scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across his men. They were scattered, blending seamlessly among the guests, but each one met his eyes the moment they felt his attention. Subtle nods. A flicker of recognition in their eyes. They were ready—every one of them, waiting for his signal, prepared to do whatever was necessary.

Without needing to turn his head, Eris could feel the weight of Rhysand’s gaze on him, the High Lord's presence nearly tangible, a suffocating pressure that seemed to reverberate in his mind. As much as Eris hated to acknowledge it, to feed into his inflated ego, Rhysand's power pulsed like an unseen echo. His father feared it for good reason, hid his fear through disdain, through disgust.

Eris had seen Tarquin in another far corner. He’d managed to sway the young High Lord, convincing him that his rule was inevitable, promising that he could prove himself where his Father had faltered. He'd seen something in Eris's eyes. And somehow, it had worked.

Spring was absent, as expected. Tamlin had yet to appear in any event, had yet to return to his proper existence. Eris knew he should feel some semblance of empathy, that he should feel for a fellow male wronged by the cards dealt, a male who made errors under the presumption of the greater good. But he didn't.

Winter was also absent—Vivianne had blocked any chance of their participation, had convinced Kallias to flee in haste and not spare a moment for the princeling. Eris had anticipated this, of course, had known that Mor’s influence would weaken his alliances in certain courts.

He had worked with Helion, though it had taken time and effort to even secure a meeting. Eris attributed Helion’s openness to Rhysand’s ability to balance his hatred for Eris with his vision of a stronger, united Prythian. Even he was shrewd enough to recognize that.

Now, Helion stood poised and ready, a few feet from Rhysand, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were searching for something specific, seeking for something he had yet to find. Dawn was unable to attend, but Thesan seemed more open to Eris's words, seemed willing to hear him out despite his presentation the last time he was in his court, his words during the High Lord meeting.

It was enough.

Because Eris wasn't relying solely on them.

His alliances were tools for strength and backup, sources of power he lacked himself—like the ability to cloud the minds of those who might intervene. But other than that, Eris believed in his own abilities, believed in his rage even more.

The moment he had been preparing for his entire life had finally arrived. Every piece was moving exactly where he needed them to be.

Except for you.

Eris’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on you once more. You hadn’t moved since the dance, your eyes still locked on him. He should have known better.

His heart pounded harder in his chest.

He almost growled in frustration, willing you to leave. Begging you, silently, to turn away, to walk out of the room before things spiraled further. But you didn’t move. You stood there, defiant as ever, and he knew in his bones that you wouldn’t leave him—not tonight, not ever, maybe. It was a comfort and a curse all at once, and he hated himself for expecting you to be anything but exactly what you always were: stubborn, unshakable, and entirely unwilling to leave him at surface level.

Eris thought he would've convinced you to leave, that you would've left the ball and never looked back.

He wanted you to give up on him.

Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. He needed you to give up on him. But the conversation of tonight had steered a different way, he'd felt a tug in chest, a longing to say something to you that you would hold onto. He wanted to make things right if this night didn't go as he had planned. Just in case.

His hands clenched into fists, anger simmering under his skin. It wasn’t directed at you—no, it was at himself. For dragging you into this, for wanting you there even now when he should have been protecting you, not keeping you in the line of fire. His thoughts raced, but before he could find a way to fix this—to get you out of here—Beron's voice cut through the room.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening.” Beron’s voice carried a chilling glee as he addressed the assembly, his dull, dead gaze sweeping across the gathered guests. “Your presence here is both an honor and a testament to our shared interests.”

Eris resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

His father stepped down from his throne, his movements slower than usual, though not without their characteristic arrogance. With a subtle struggle masked by his usual flair, Beron flicked his wrist, summoning long banquet tables in a grand, sweeping motion.

Eris knew what to expect—the feast was an integral part of the Autumn Equinox ball, a hallmark of Beron’s gatherings and a grotesque display of excess. It wasn’t just about wealth; it was Beron’s way of reminding everyone of his power. The elaborate food and endless wine were symbols of his dominance, meant to impress, to intimidate. Everything served had its own twisted meaning, every bite meant to feed not only the stomachs of his guests but Beron’s insatiable ego.

“Let this night be remembered,” Beron said, a thin smile creeping over his lips, “For it is not just a feast, but a celebration—a dedication.”

His eyes finally settled on Eris. “To my eldest son, my heir," He drawled, his voice mocking. “So powerful, isn’t he? Could stand here—just like me.”

The room fell into a hushed confusion. From the corner of his eye, Eris noticed Rhysand and Feyre exchange a subtle glance. Then he took notice of the slightest of movements from his men and Beron’s guards alike, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords.

“Why don’t you step forward? Take a seat." Beron’s grin sharpened as he gestured toward the throne looming behind him. "Tell me, is it warm enough for you?”

Eris didn't move. There was something in his father's eyes that unnerved him more than usual, something that prickled at his skin. Eris wanted to turn and look at you, wanted to find some feeling of comfort. He resisted the urge, resisted as he had for centuries.

Even Eris’s brothers seemed to sense the sinister glint in Beron’s eyes, stepping aside from their usual positions, retreating from his throne and his shadow. Their movements were hesitant, almost apologetic, but they did not challenge Beron or attempt to shield Eris. Instead, they distanced themselves, as they often did.

Eris felt a sharp pang of betrayal. It was expected, of course, but it hurt him still. He had loved them, raised them, spent countless hours teaching them how to hold a sword, how to pet a hound— shared with them the fragments of compassion he had left.

If Beron chose to make a move against him now, if he decided to execute him as he had done to others, as he had done to Lucien’s first love, Eris knew his brothers would not intervene. They would not rise to his defense. They would, instead, hold him down, their faces betraying no sign of conflict or hesitation. The years of affection and teaching he had given them would simply vanish, be replaced by a cold compliance that made them unrecognizable.

Eris didn’t loathe them for their cruelty. He understood their desire for acceptance, their need to survive in the oppressive shadow of their father. They weren’t as strong as he was—that was a fact Eris had long since accepted. But he did harbor a certain resentment, a bitterness reserved for those who shared his blood, for their spinelessness. It was a raw, bitter hatred born of disappointment, for they had succumbed to the very weakness he had fought to overcome.

Yet, deep down, Eris knew that hatred was unfair. They weren't as strong as he was. They had found safety, a semblance of life, in aligning themselves with Beron, in becoming mere extensions of his will. They were each equally awful, equally numb, void of the personality and warmth that once marked their youth.

His heart ached when he reflected on it too long, when he looked at the males before him and saw only shadows of their younger selves—reminders of who they might have been before Beron had shaped them into tools of his power.

Beron’s lips twisted. “Seems like you’re stuck. Not enough energy? Don’t have the appetite?” His voice took on a mocking softness. With a sudden cruel smile, he motioned for the feast to be revealed. “Perhaps you need something to satiate you.”

Eris felt his stomach twist, but it didn't show on his face, didn't show in his stature. He’d perfected it over the years, that calm, amused mask. Yet beneath it, something churned—something he couldn’t name.

And then the reveal came.

With a nod of Beron's head, attendants moved swiftly to unveil the centerpiece of the feast.

The array of food was lavish, an impressive display of excess. But as the cover was lifted, a collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a collective step back. Eris’s hearing fuzzed, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of despair crashed over him.

There, displayed as if it were the grandest prize of the night, was one of his hounds. One of the first he had ever raised, ever loved. The animal stared back at him, its body bound, gagged with an apple.

Slain and displayed as a macabre trophy.

The sight sent a shudder through the room, a sense of disgust even reaching the eyes of Beron's soldiers, of the males standing around the room.

And clearly, like a piercing alarm in the dead of night, Eris could hear your voice—a sound of horror, of sadness—interwoven with his own, as if your emotions were etched into his own heartbeat. But now only anger consumed him. He saw red.

Beron wallowed in the shock, bathed in it like a pig in mud.

“My dear son, so arrogant, so ready to take my place. I hear the chatter.” He gestured disdainfully toward the hound. “What a shame that your beloved playthings aren’t immune to the cost of defiance.”

Eris took a deep breath.

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for this," Beron walked over to two of his guards. They presented him with two ornate swords. “How satisfying it must be to finally face your grand plan.”

He turned and threw a sword at Eris’s feet, the blade skidding across the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up,” Beron commanded. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, then do it properly. Give your court a show.”

Eris’s gaze followed the sword. While Eris knew he didn't need to fight to win, he wasn't going to miss out on a bit of fun, wasn't going to resist his chance to decorate himself in his father's blood before his plan came to fruition. He felt eerily calm, felt strangely numb, as he bent down to retrieve the weapon, feeling its weight settle into his hand.

The first time Beron had struck Eris with true malice, he had been no older than sixteen. Instead of the usual heavy hand, Beron had chosen a different method of discipline that day.

He had targeted something deeper—something soft.

Eris was still young at the time, but old enough to have developed a bond with his hounds, creatures he had raised and trained with care. Only one of his brothers had been born at this time, too young to understand his affection for the animals, but Eris—Eris had always felt responsible, protective. He'd been the one to fight for them in the first place, had managed to summon the courage to convince his father they were useful, needed for the Court.

It was a simple mistake during hunting, on a trip Beron had granted them all to take. Eris had let the hounds range too far ahead, and when one of them startled a stag too soon, Beron saw red. Instead of turning his fury on Eris immediately, he called for the hound.

Eris’s stomach had dropped when he saw his father’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching in that way that signaled violence was coming. But it wasn’t for Eris—yet.

Without hesitation, Beron grabbed the dog by the scruff and brought his hand down with a sickening crack across the hound’s side. The sound of bone snapping and the sharp yelp that followed was enough to freeze Eris in place, horror clawing at his chest.

“Your mistake,” Beron had snarled, glancing at Eris as the hound crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “It’s only fair it pays the price.”

Eris had wanted to run to the animal, to shield it, to beg his father to stop, but Beron’s gaze had pinned him in place. The message was clear: any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

“That’s the thing about care,” Beron continued, voice calm, detached. “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Never let them see.”

Eris's weakness wasn’t something entirely physical—it was the things he loved, the things he couldn’t afford to lose. He was sixteen and wanted to be great. He was sixteen and loved his family. But he knew, then and there, that Beron would never hesitate to use those things against him.

So Eris learned to mask it all, to bury the things he cared for deep beneath a layer of cold indifference. He learned to find the weaknesses in others and use them before they could be turned against him.

Find the thing that makes them vulnerable, Eris collected, and exploit it until they're weak.

Beron’s vices had been his easiest prey— his pride, his paranoia.

Beron was already acting out of fear, already on edge. He was quick to draw his sword, quick to make rash decisions. Who could blame him, Eris thought, after he’d come across those letters? He could still feel the seething anger, remember the way Beron’s face had twisted as he read those messages from his high-ranking officials, his allies.

They spoke of Beron’s incompetence, of their desire to betray him. It was so convenient how Eris’s brothers had intercepted those letters, so strangely timed that they ended up exactly where Beron would find them on that fateful night.

Beron had been so angry, so furious, that he hadn’t realized the writing in the letters carried Eris’s careful hand. The curve of the a’s, the dotting of the i’s. Eris hadn’t even fully attempted to hide it. It was a fun little game.

The first strike came fast, Beron’s sword flashing in the dim light as it clashed with Eris’s blade. The impact rattled up Eris’s arm, but he held steady, his face betraying nothing. His father advanced again, faster, more aggressive, but Eris met him blow for blow.

“You think you can stand against me?” Beron spat, swinging again. His strikes were wild, reckless, fueled by a rage that had long since burned out of control. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

Eris sidestepped the blow. “I think you’ve already lost it,” he said, parrying another strike. The blade sliced through a thin layer of skin on his father's arm, the fine fabric soaking up a pool of crimson. Beron’s lips curled in a snarl. The blows were becoming harder, less controlled.

“Ungrateful whelp,” he hissed, “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done.”

“Done to me,” Eris corrected, as his blade deflected another attack. The steel met his father's skin once more.

He could feel the fury rising, could see the cracks forming in Beron’s controlled facade. Every swing was growing sloppier. Eris bit back a grin.

Beron’s face twisted with rage, his teeth bared. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games, whispering in the shadows.”

Eris didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on his father’s, unblinking, steady. “I learned from the best.”

As expected, Beron was desperate to prove his strength, his dominance. His face reddened, the veins in his neck bulging as he swung wildly.

He kept his soldiers at bay, clearly wanting the court to witness him vanquish his son with his own hands, to send a powerful message. But as the fight wore on and Beron’s frustration mounted, Eris could see the flicker of temptation in his father’s eyes, the near impulse to call upon his troops.

Beron would be sorely surprised if he made the call.

Eris briefly registered the movement of a few of his men, clad in his rich green colors, subtly inching closer to Beron’s soldiers. They didn’t advance to engage, no, but shared a knowing look with a few of the crimson-clad guards.

Before his brothers were born, Eris played often with his mother. She taught him countless games—strategy and thought alike. It was during those moments that Eris learned the most dangerous moves were the ones no one saw coming. He realized that the easiest games were often played with those unaware of the parts they were playing. At school, he could win every game if he hid just enough of the truth, allowing his tutors to think they knew the rules, when they didn’t know half of it.

Infiltration had been a long game.

It had taken Eris years, centuries, to meticulously cultivate and train the right individuals. It was thanks to him, whether his father acknowledged it or not, that Beron's men were stronger than ever. His newest soldiers, only a couple hundred of years old, had risen swiftly in rank, filling positions of power precisely when Beron needed them most. They emerged just as Beron’s senior troops had fallen ill of a strange form of Autumn Fever. The healers had said it came with the weakened state of soldiers, that their bodies were too tired to fight off such potent infections. Their weakened state created an opportune void.

The new recruits had seamlessly integrated, even believing themselves to be loyal supporters of Beron. Eris had been careful with them, had played the part of a helpful heir. They were eager for power, viewing their positions as a win-win—high-ranking regardless of whatever outcome. Eris had demonstrated his own worth, had shown his influence by granting them such positions. Without even trying, he'd earned their loyalty, ensured they had no reason to doubt him.

They remained loyal to their benefactor.

After all, everyone wanted to feel like they'd be on the winning side.

The clashing of steel and the cries of combat filled the room. Eris felt the sting of a fresh wound on his side, a searing pain that only seemed to heighten his sense of power. He fought through the pain.

In the chaos, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—he hoped, with a fervent intensity, that you weren’t watching. That you had found a place to hide, tucked away safely from the brutality of the scene. The notion that you might be witnessing this carnage, seeing him in his raw, bloody glory, gnawed at him.

He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford distractions now.

There was a time and a place for them. Because sometimes, distractions— disruptions— were useful. They could turn tides.

The mercenaries were easy to hire.

They didn't ask questions, didn't question the gold they were handed. Eris truly believed, deep in his core, that they found it fun, found enjoyment in creating chaos in the court's infrastructure. He was sure it was cathartic for them, therapeutic for these court outsiders to ruin the place they despised, to be paid to do so of all things.

The acts, though not catastrophic, were enough to inconvenience Beron, to create issues in his supply lines. All of the small riots, the court disturbances—each one had begun to eat away at his composure, had begun to sow seeds of doubt. The constant irritation of these minor upheavals fueled his rage. It angered him to think that his lower-court members, the very people who had sworn loyalty to him, would dare to believe they could challenge his authority. In his mind, it was an affront to his pride. Beron was driven to prove himself repeatedly, to show that he was still the supreme ruler, to assert his dominance even more cruelly than before.

Eris moved with a grace that belied the savage intensity of the fight. If this fight, this moment with his father, were a symphony, Eris was its masterful conductor. Precise, deadly. With a swift maneuver, he brought his blade to Beron’s neck, the tip dangerously close to ending the High Lord’s reign.

Beron’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily breaking through his usual composure.

As Eris had suspected, Beron's need to reassert control following the disturbances had led him to become increasingly harsh and unforgiving, to become the cruelest version of himself. It wasn’t just the overt displays of cruelty; at times, even Beron’s own loyal men were visibly taken aback by the severity of his punishments. The once-feared High Lord now seemed to revel in his own brutality, meting out harsh reprisals for the smallest perceived slights.

Citizens of the Autumn Court had begun to pray fervently for change.

Eris took note of their desperation. He began to frequent churches and visit temples more often, subtly goading the very prayers that begged for relief from Beron's tyranny. He felt a pang of guilt for the suffering inflicted on those innocent fae who bore the brunt of Beron’s cruelty. The weight of their pain was not lost on him.

But their suffering was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause. The freedom of all, the chance to redeem the Autumn Court from the grip of a tyrant, to restore his own tarnished name.

Eris’s sword was struck from his hand with an almost too-easy motion, as if he had allowed it to happen, had planned for it. But Beron didn't notice, didn't think too much of the act as his grin widened.

He examined the blade of his sword. Then, with a dismissive flick, he tossed the sword near where Eris’s lay, the clatter echoing through the chamber.

"My son," Beron sneered. "Let me show you how a real ruler fights."

He took a step forward. The crowd took a step back. And then, Beron threw a heavy punch at his son, the impact so forceful that Eris swore he heard a crack. As Eris staggered, Beron’s demeanor shifted, his mockery giving way to raw aggression. He moved in and began to deliver a relentless series of blows.

There had been a point where Eris feared he might have undermined himself, might have jeopardized his plans. A moment where Beron confronted him, unevenly calm, about his meetings with Night Court trash. When he'd unleashed a fierce punishment in response to his alliance with Briallyn falling.

Beron had seen Eris for what he truly was: a significant threat.

Beron was not stupid.

But he was easily distracted, easily provoked. The more Beron’s attention was consumed by rage and suspicion, the less he could focus on the real threats closing in around him. Eris had shown submission, a form of fear, and his father's attention shifted to other alleged wrongdoings, other supposed acts of treachery.

Beron’s fists hammered into Eris with unrelenting force, each punch landing with a sickening thud. Eris’s world narrowed to the sharp pain with each strike. His father was monstrous now, uneased at how quickly his son seemed to fall.

When Eris finally fell to his knees, he was barely conscious of the cold floor beneath him. His father's grip on his neck was ironclad, dragging him upright. He felt the trickle of his own blood mingling with the sweat on his face, the warm, metallic taste filling his mouth.

Through every blow, Eris's cheeked ached with the desire to smile.

As a child, Eris had seen eager men tear each other apart in brutal brawls, rage consuming them entirely. He had watched with cold fascination as he stirred up hidden snakes beneath fallen leaves, prodding them into a vicious battle. He'd seen them strike and coil, each one consumed by its own fury.

He realized, even as a child, that the evil eat their own.

All he needed to do was provoke them and step back.

Beron's supporters were as simple as he could be. Animals led by their desires, by their emotions. It had been endlessly entertaining to create disunity between them. Each faction, desperate to curry favor and secure their own power, began to betray one another. The resulting chaos caused Beron to question everyone’s loyalty, leaving him isolated and paranoid. The more they scrambled with conflicting stories and accusations, the more Beron became convinced that everyone was deceiving him. They all suffered. They all fought.

Beron’s eyes blazed with fury as he picked up his forgotten sword and pointed the blade at Eris.

"Fight back!"

But his son did not.

Eris had exploited Beron’s vices with a precision that only years of calculated cruelty could achieve. He was observant, had to become his father to know how to defeat him. And one thing about Beron: he indulged. He was gluttonous to his core, carelessly so.

Beron’s high-ranking members had wanted to gift him something of luxury—something they’d only heard whispers about, whispers that they couldn’t trace but were plentiful. Interesting how that worked, Eris mused, how easily rumors could spread. But everyone wanted to get into the High Lord’s favor, so they pursued it, presented it to Beron. He accepted it with greedy, sin-sticky hands.

Beron hadn’t wanted the faebane antidote, never had enough contact with the poison to recognize it—didn’t know what it tasted like, how to test for it. It helped that, over the years, the crafters of Prythian had become inventive, altering and manipulating it, infusing it into drinks that were delectable, even addictive. The gradual degradation of Beron’s grasp on reality only made his anger more volatile. Eris wondered how his father hadn’t noticed his deteriorating health, why he never questioned why his strength seemed to ebb or why his flame flickered erratically when summoned.

But Eris also understood. Beron’s pride prevented him from admitting any weakness, from seeking help. He was desperate to maintain an image of invulnerability. What good was a High Lord who couldn't handle his liquor?

What good was a High Lord who grew sick?

None at all.

Eris took another kick and the slash with a stoic defiance.

“This is your chance, boy. Take it. Take it before I rid you of your pathetic life.”

Eris’s response was a grim chuckle, his laughter punctuated by a spray of blood. His chest ached with every breath, yet he couldn’t stop the dark humor from spilling out.

"I already have."

When Eris was nineteen, a male his age was stung by a bee. It was a seemingly inconsequential event—just a small, buzzing creature that landed on the boy’s skin. Yet, within hours, he was dead. The sting had triggered an allergic reaction so severe that the male's immortal body couldn’t cope.

In the aftermath, as Eris watched the reactions of those around him, he learned a profound lesson. The deadliest threats often come in the most unassuming forms, in the things that are overlooked—vital to life, but neglected nonetheless.

Beron lunged forward, blade aimed straight for Eris, for the heart he often forgot he had. But just as the weapon descended, Eris’s gaze shifted to something behind his father. Despite the searing pain, despite the specks forming in his eyesight, a smile managed to curve Eris's lips.

A wave of pride, of relief, washed over him as he watched his mother—sweet, neglected, and unassuming—strike true, slicing through Beron's back with a smooth, lethal precision.

The force of the strike caused Beron to stagger, his blade’s path shifting, falling and cutting deep into a lower area of Eris’s abdomen. With his slackened grip, the blade fell from his father's hold. Eris grimaced as its weight dragged it out of his flesh, as it went clattering to the floor beside him.

His vision was clouded with pain, but he remained transfixed as his mother moved with a fierce grace. Her hand, now wreathed in bright, licking flames, grasped Beron’s throat. With the other, she twisted the blade deeper into his father’s body, the fire searing his neck.

Eris’s ears rang, drowning out all but the relentless drum of his heartbeat. Despite the chaos, he could make out his mother’s voice, the words crisp in the oppressive silence.

“This is for my children.”

There was a sputtering sound from Beron, sick and wet, as the blade was twisted deeper. Eris felt a burning sensation, pain so overwhelming it took his breath, his vision blurring as the agony consumed him. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once.

He had never felt so alive, so broken at the same time.

Beron’s body crumpled beside him with a lifeless thud. Eris blinked through the haze.

Around him, chaos erupted—people running, screaming, power crackling in the air. He strained to focus, his gaze drifting past Beron’s corpse, and through the chaos, he saw something glorious.

An angel, perhaps. Something of breathtaking beauty. The glow around it, a song that called to him. Rushing toward him, screaming his name.

It was you.

At least, he believed it was you. Eris wasn’t sure anymore.

No, he managed to tell himself, it was you. He knew you.

He knew you the way one knows the pull of the moon on the tide, the way his soul knew the other half of itself.

It was your voice, mingling with the din of madness, your voice that called to him. Eris wanted to close his eyes at the sound, to bask in the feelings it stirred. You fell to your knees beside him.

He felt his mother’s hands on him, steady and warm.

Then, everything went black.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: hi guys how did i do??? i just think the idea of a sneaky lil eris letting the people around him fall like dominos is sooo entertaining. i strongly do believe his rise to power will be rooted in SUCH small, calculated moves hes made around people.

a big thank you to my love @sarawritestories for reading this for me<3 mwuah

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz @anainkandpaper @ratgirl2020 @nyenye @rcarbo1 @katana180-blog

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

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maximumqueer · 8 months ago

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Out of all of the many many reasons I love gear 5, one I haven't talked about yet is how much Luffy so obviously loves gear 5 as well.

It is honestly revolutionary to have a shonen protag's final form be enjoyable for them. To not be something born out of anger or hate; a thing born out of strict necessity that has to be unlocked by painful emotions/the loss of someone they loved (temporary or otherwise) but rather born out of joy and a desire for freedom. To have them want to be in that final form, to have it spit in the face of the idea that the only way to be powerful is to be serious, edgy, ""mature"" and to abandon joy and happiness in favor of that.

I LOVE that Luffy's final power-up doesn't come at the cost of who he is as a person, and instead amplifies and uplifts who he is. It uplifts his carefree nature, his goofiness, his creativity, his sense of wonder. And as such, the form is something that he enjoys more than any other gear he has used. It allows him to be the freest version of himself, allows him to bend the world around him to his whims, of course he's going to love it.

It also (in a weird way) acts as a message of self love. Luffy does not have to abandon who he is to become stronger, but rather has to lean even further into who he is. The traits that make him 'weird' and 'strange' by pirate (or hell, even just by regular standards) are the very things that boost him up and allow him to win against his foes.

A "ridiculous power" Kaido called it, and yet it was that power that sent him hurdling to the center of the earth, toppling his reign over Wano with the very thing he robbed from its people.

#one piece #one piece meta #one piece spoilers #wano spoilers #monkey d luffy #gear 5

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erosiism · 7 months ago

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A CASE OF REGRETS | YANDERE DUKE X M!READER.

prompt: you die during a rebellion, and he turns back time for you in desperation | reader is childhood friends with claude (OC), both are planning a rebellion to usurp the throne.

character(s): duke, you

warnings(s): nil

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, excerpt from my fic on wattpad, to make amends

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

"Y/n!"

Blood spurted out.

"Y/n!"

Your vision blurred.

"Oh gods, are you okay? Are you—"

Your ribs hurt: were they broken? Bloodied? You could certainly taste the horrible taste of iron present in your tongue. It was clear to you that somehow you were dying. That something had turned against you. That you were...

"Please, please, please—"

Through your muddled vision you could make out a figure. A familiar silhouette running towards you, legs stumbling in desperation, breaths ragged.

It was nice to know that when you died, someone would grieve for you. That someone would cry for you.

There was only one person in the world who cared so much for you.

"Claude," you murmured. There was a smile on your face. "There's no need to cry..."

"Y/n, please—no—"

"Save it." You sighed, "there's no way I'm going to be surviving this."

It was true. Blood jetted out of your wound in spurts, staining your tailored uniform with a bright, crimson hue. You had loved that color mainly because Claude had ruby eyes, but now it just seemed gruesome, horrid. Pain had simmered down into a steady brew, and you wondered if your pain tolerance had simply grown stronger, or it was a telling sign of your fading consciousness.

"You were such a brat last time." You murmured. "You used to throw tantrums and everything...for a while, I thought you despised me. Even when we became adults, you were still heartless, cold...so why do you weep for me? Why do you grieve my death?"

I was a fool last time, Claude thought silently. I was a fool. I was a fool not to have shown my affections last time.

Because the truth was plain and simple, written in ink, written in the stars: Claude adored you. Was it not you who had held his hand in the gardens for strolls? Was it not you who accompanied him throughout, was it not you who could make him crack a smile, make him laugh? It had been all you. Every single joyous moment he had was caused by you. When he had finally received the title of the Duke. When he had finally defeated his family and his foes.

But Claude had been so wrapped up in his own troubles he had failed to notice your problems. Your dastardly family. Your...

He had neglected your wellbeing—he hadn't seen your deteriorating state, your weakening smile—he hadn't see any of that. He had been self obsessed, too engrossed in his own matters that he hadn't even—

Claude had taken too long to warm up to you. He could have been sweeter earlier. Made your life easier, no matter what it was. Claude had taken a while to truly open his heart to you: he had been rude, ungracious, curt. And you had been patient. Endlessly patient with him.

"We can save you," Claude said desperately, "we can."

You laughed. A tinkling, magical sound—but at that moment, it was so damned. So fucking painful to hear the cracks inside, the strain hiding inside the tone.

He knew it would be the last time he would ever heard it.

"You are the Emperor. You finally reclaimed your right to the throne. You finally..."

"Y/n," he whispered.

You shook your head.

"You achieved everything you sought for."

Perhaps he did. But the thing he truly wanted had been in front of him this whole time and he had been blind. Utterly blind.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

The tears slipped. His voice felt suffocated; choking.

"Don't cry," you touched his cheek gently and that pulled Claude temporarily out of his panic—"don't cry, alright? It was inevitable, Your Grace. Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Your Grace. Even then, you hadn't referred to him by his name. If he had another chance—just one singular chance—

He would allow you to call him by his name.

You were his everything.

You're my heart, Y/n.

If you die, then that would make me heartless.

There was so much blood, Claude realized. Coating his palms, running down your back. So much of its thick texture, its color, all drenched. Every single bit drenched—

Why was there so much blood? It wasn't his. He wasn't unhurt, really. He wasn't that well off, but not to your extent. You sounded so tired when you spoke, so faint. So weak. You could have disappeared any second. Claude held you in your arms softly, gently—you could disappear any moment, your breaths wavering and quivering.

No, no, no.

I love you, Claude thought deliriously. I love you. I love you. I love you so much—

The voice grew and became stronger; louder even as you grew cold. Claude rocked you even when your hands fell, holding one to his own cheek. Your hands still had the faintest bit of warmth. He clung onto it desperately; motionless with the tears dried up with his throat feeling like sandpaper.

You can't leave me, he'd thought deliriously, hugging you close and rocking you again and again and again, you can't leave me.

Y/n L/n, I love you too much to let you go.

Claude had failed to save you. In front of him, your beauty was still visible in his eyes; your (h/c) hair, your (e/c) eyes—because of his arrogance, his incompetence, you had unfairly died. He had not noticed the blooming feelings in his stomach until you had been cold in his arms, and his tears had splattered on your cheek.

The universe has been cruel to you.

He had stood by your side and had watched you suffer and suffer and suffer; and for what? Only for the gods to turn their back on you? What was the point, really? Claude had been with you this whole time. Had seen the sacrifices you poured in, had seen—

He should have been the one that died, Claude despaired. Not you. Never you.

That night he couldn't sleep. The place was too empty without you. He had been crowned Emperor. But there was no you to accompany him by his side.

There was...absolutely no point.

Why was he even alive at this rate? Claude wondered. Everything would go back to life before you. Tedious. Long. Meaningless.

"Your Majesty, the Empire—"

"—do whatever you want." Claude rasped out. "Just...just..."

Please. If the Gods are listening. Please, please—

Turn back time. For me, for Y/n.

For...

[ The Gods have heard your prayers ]

Turning back time was unheard of. Something in the legends. Something Claude didn't believe in. Yet when he woke up—there had been disappointment in him, he had assumed that this was heaven yet you were nowhere in sight—there was the familiar surroundings of a room.

Not the Emperor's bedroom.

The bedroom from the manor he once lived when he was the illegitimate son of the Duke.

I must be dreaming, Claude thought. There was a flicker of hope he didn't dare to believe in. I must be dreaming of the happier times and the million what ifs.

Pain was tugging at his heart. It was painful. Everything was painful...

"—don't bother him. He just recovered from a sickness."

What?

Delusional. Hallucinating. Delirious. To hear your sweet, sweet voice in such a dream—perhaps this was heaven after all. Claude didn't ever want to wake up. He didn't.

Because you were there. In front of him.

He sucked in a breath.

As sweet, as polite as he remembered. Every inch of his face had been committed to his memory. Every contour, every line. He had mapped you out in his head and had aligned you with the thousands of dazzling stars in the universe because you were the reason he bothered to continue living. Because you had become his reason for living.

You stood, in regal attire, with your posture as graceful as he had remembered. The sunlight streamed in through the paneled windows, caressing your features and alighting upon your lashes. He swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Ah, you are awake, Your Grace." You smiled at him.

"Y/n L/n," he said finally. "Y/n L/n." It's been so long since he could say this name to someone who would hear and respond to it. So many times he called your name out of your desperation in vain: hoping for some sort of hallucination to pop up, for some sort of inkling that your voice would carry over to his ears.

And you smiled.

Smiled.

Smiled—

Claude reached out to you and buried his face into your clothes.

You gave a startled smile.

The Duke had done a 180 complete turn.

"Y/n," he spoke with uncharacteristic fondness that you just didn't understand, "you are..."

Tears. There were tears on his cheek. Had you done anything to offend him? You thought not.

"Your Grace..." you reached out to brush his forehead with your fingers, "are you alright? You don't seem to have a fever."

Claude stared at you with wide eyes.

"Oh," You heard him say, and then, "you are as beautiful as I remembered."

What?

"Your Grace, are you really sure you are fine—"

Claude dashed forward, not even registering your words. He crushed you in his arms, a hand in your hair, head buried in his neck. He missed this. This warmth and this scent. Home, home. It's the smell of home. It's the smell of you. It's you. It's you. It's you.

It worked, he thought. It worked. It fucking worked. I traveled back in time.

"... Well then," you gave a small chuckle, confused upon what was happening, "it's a relief to see you have awoken—why are you crying?"

"You're here," Claude breathed, his first tangible words since his return. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here, Your Grace." You looked at him with confusion etched all over your features, frowning. "What's wrong? You..."

The Duke was looking at you like you were the only one that mattered in the world. And that—

Wow. What kind of coma did he have, to be behaving so peculiarly?

You wiped his tears, sighing and fussing.

"You know what—never mind. Tell me later—why are you still crying, Your Grace?"

Claude held onto you tighter.

Maybe he had bad dreams in his coma, you thought. He was holding on to you like you were a lifeline. Like you would disappear any second, any minute.

As though he would never let go of you again.

You patted the Duke's head gently, slowly, fingers running through his hair. "Don't cry. The future Emperor doesn't cry."

Those words. It was so hauntingly painful to him.

Claude didn't want to remember anymore. He didn't need to remember. He had succeeded. The Gods had listened to him. You were alive and breathing, in front of him. You were—

Alive.

reblog/like the post! comments are appreciated even if you read this before :)

#male reader #male #yanderemale #angst #hurt/comfort kind of #Time travel #yandere x darling #yandere x male darling #yandere x male reader #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere x you #yandere x reader #eroswrites

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dailyadventureprompts · 9 months ago

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DM Tip: Lining up the Pieces

A few years ago I saw a video that changed the way I design combat encounters, using chess pieces and 4th edition monster roles as a handy way of conceptualizing the enemy roster and making better combat.

I’ve wanted to refer back to it for ages now, but I can’t seem to find it. As such, I’m going to reproduce it’s wisdom here for everyone’s benefit and hope I can find the source one day. ( I feel like it was a Matt Coville video, but my searches have turned up nothing. Seriously, if you can find it I will be extra grateful).

TLDR: You can break down enemy combatants into six (ish) roles represented by different kinds of chess pieces, and you can mix and match them when designing encounter to create fun tactical scenarios. You can also use this as an alternative to CR picking a “budget” of these enemy roles based on how many players are in the fight. Check out the types below the cut:

Infantry (pawn): Generally weaker and mechanically simpler than any other type of combatant, the infantry uses teamwork or sheer numbers to overwhelm the party. This can be anything from rank and file soldiers to a necromancer’s skeletal minions to a pack of wolves, anything that takes up space on the battlefield and prevents the party from targeting who they want or generally getting their way in a fight. 5e combat is a numbers game, and the infantry is there to swing the numbers in the enemy’s favour (until the party cut through them to even the odds). Infantry likes battlemaps with chokepoints they can hold and crossroads they can use to outflank opponents. When budgeting they’ll have a balance of 2 infantry per 1 player they’re matched against , but the weaker they are, the thinner you can spread them.

Brute (rook): High defence, high offence, the brute is an outright threat that the party should not want to take in a head to head fight. Giants, beasts, constructs, and heavy armoured warriors are your traditional brutes, but you could also go with a buffed to hell battlemage getting all up in the party’s face. Conversely, every brute has some kind of weakness that the party can exploit. They might be slow, or be unable to maneuver as easily, or like a werewolf, fiend, or troll, have particular weapons or damage types that overcome their natural resilience. Their job is to force confrontation, blunder into the middle of combat and force the party to act defensively rather than proactively. They soak up the party’s frontline’s attention while forcing the mid/backlines to scatter under the threat of too much raw damage. The brute Likes open spaces where they can have a direct path to the party and dead ends they can corner their targets against. Budget: Around 1 per 3 players

Skirmisher (knight): A very broad type of opponent, the skirmisher’s job is to bully the party’s weapsots whenever they’re exposed. They can do this by being ranged fighters ( traditional archers, magic users) or by being highly mobile (stealthy, mounted, flying, teleporting). They’re the bane of the party’s backline, generally targeting whoever has the lowest armour/or least health, then using their evasiveness to deny any kind of retaliation when the group rallies to protect their squishy friends. Skirmishers have great offence but are generally pretty weak, made helpless when you can deny them their movement/terrain advantages. Skirmishers like unfair fights, terrain that gives them a movement advantage, cover, or allows them the highground over their foes. Budgeting: 1 per 1-2 players.

Controller (bishop): The controller’s job is to fuck with the party, Either by locking down some of their stronger options (counterspelling, mind control, status effects, grapples), by manipulating the battlefield in some way that disrupts planning (aoe spells to prevent grouping together, summoning to reinforce numbers, barriers and banishment to single targets out), Or by advancing the baddies’ goal while the party is otherwise occupied (the cult priest finishing the disastrous ritual, the master thief making off with the mcguffin) forcing them to split their attention. The controller likes to distinctly be away from combat, and will usually be on the otherside of some kind of hazardous/hard to bypass barrier, sometimes of their own making. Budgeting: 1 per 2-3 players:

Support (king): Usually a healer, bodyguard, or some kind of buff-bot, the support wants to piggyback on other sorts of units or make them better at doing their jobs. Generally this means they’ll ignore whatever the party is doing to focus on staying with effective range of those who most benefit from their abilities. Supports will stay back in safety while throwing out buffs, bodyguards will put themselves between the party and their designated defendee. They tend to prefer whatever type of terrain most benefits their partners. 1- 2-3 players

Elite (queen): Something to be reckoned with, an Elite mixies the strength and abilities of two other kinds of combatants and uses both to devastating effect. Combine a brute and a support for an unstoppable frontline commander, or infantry and a skirmisher for an elite striketeam that attacks in perfect coordination before fading back into the shadows. Mix and match for whatever combination you think would be most interesting for a situation, then supplement it with a different unit or two for contrast. Elites make up your traditional “big bad and minions” bossfight, without escalating to the full party challenge of “solo” monsters. Budgeting: 1 per 3-4 players.

Picking the right Pieces:

Generally what you're going to want to do when planning a combat is to first think of what the baddies are trying to acomplish with the fight then pick 2-3 different types of baddie that you think would work well in concert to achieve that goal. "Kill the party" is an all too common goal, but you could easily imagine others that provide for dynamic stakes:

A group of forest bandits intend to rob a caravan, so they unleash a captive warbeast as a distraction while their archers rain chaos from above (Infantry, brute, skirmisher)

A villain abducts an important npc into a carriage while their dutiful muscle run interference (controller, brutes)

A necromancer hurls curses from behind a barricade of gravestones while their undead minions pour from surrounding tombs ( Controller/infantry)

While the party is ambushed by an archer in a tower, a cloaked figure waits in the underbrush, waiting for them to thin out and begin picking them off one by one (paired skirmishers of different types)

After the fighter is tricked into single combat against the mounted arena champion, the rest of the party will have to search the crowd for the caster secretly channeling healing magic to their opponent. ( combined brute/skirmisher elite, support)

Once you've got your pieces picked out, you can start designing the battle arena taking the desires of each combatant into account while also throwing in any environmental flourishes you'd like to enjoy.

As an added benefit for DMs like me who don't have the inclination or budget to collect huge batches of minis, it's SUPER easy to pick up a second hand chess set or two and use them as stand ins. Your players will have an instinctive understanding of what each piece does which will help them understand the roles outlined above.

Artsource

#dm tip #dm advice #combat #dap combat hack #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #ttprg #pathfinder

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the-lazyyy-artist · 8 days ago

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Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x GN!Reader Synopsis: He left as a hero, and he returned cold and heartless. What adventures have made him like this? Would you still love him? Themes: angst, post-WC! Kunigami, set during Blue Lock's two-week break after their win against JP U-20 (chapters 150 - 153), reader is hopeful, Kunigami lost all humanity, established relationship, if you squint a little it's kinda like Epic's OdyPen lmao Author's Note: Epic The Ithaca Saga is ruining my brain chemistry. A mutual and fellow writer already created something like this but I wanna put my own twist on this hehe!

@thebestsetter ✨

Kunigami Rensuke was a hero before he became yours.

He always believed in goodness, helping everyone else, and acting like a big brother to those who needed his guidance. It's no wonder his morals bleed through his play on the field. To win each game fair and square while he showcases his skills. Watching how he turned into a knight in shining armor every time he stepped onto the field, defending his team from the enemy and scoring his goals was mesmerizing.

So, when he was invited to the Blue Lock Program, you weren't so surprised.

"How long will you be there?" you asked him once while you were on his bed, watching him go back and forth around his room, packing a small duffle bag of the things he might need in the facility. "That's something I can't answer right now, love," he replied, "it's something they never clarified in the letter. But let's say 2 or 3 months, give or take."

"Take care of yourself in there, okay? Show them the hero that you are," you reminded him, smiling up softly as he zipped the bag close. He was ready. Ready to face a new adventure, new challenges, and new foes and allies. You can feel the excitement radiating from him. "I will. Then when this is all over, I'm coming home to you with stories from my training."

"You're not leaving me behind, are you?" you teased, reaching for his hand. On his ring finger was a promise ring, the same one you wore. A symbol of his love for you and his promise to marry you. Your fingers gingerly held on to his ring, feeling the rough metal against your skin. "I will never. I'll always take you with me, remember? I'll be back before you know it."

3 days later, he left with a kiss, a promise, and a vision of him taking over the world with his aspirations.

A few weeks in, you received a call from him, happy and excited to talk to you. He told you about the things he's learned, the friends he's gained, and the foes he's made. He spoke about an Isagi, a Chigiri, and a Bachira, and how these people made him feel stronger with how they all blended on the field. You were proud to hear him grow and find friends.

"How did you get your phone anyway? I thought the letter said phones aren't allowed?" You asked him.

"We were given a star system where goals are exchanged for points that we can use for different privileges," Kunigami explained, "I exchanged my first goal for steak, and shared that with Isagi. Now, I exchanged two of my goals for my phone so I can talk to you."

Always so considerate. Your hero never changed despite the changes he's experienced in Blue Lock. With every point he earned, he'd always exchange it for phone time to call you and tell you about his adventures.

Suddenly, the calls stopped.

You're sure Kunigami wasn't the type to never make a goal. Was he getting into harder challenges in there? No matter how hard it was, you knew your hero would never back down.

Right?

It worried you. You kept looking at your phone, waiting for a call. You kept replaying your conversation weeks ago about a possible second selection and how it would play out, and you worried it was even more challenging than the team matches. Would he get out of it alive? Triumphant? Of course! Since when did you start doubting your hero?

You began to twist your ring, anxious about Kunigami as the days went by, each one feeling longer than the last. It's making you sick. He was never the type to just disappear without saying anything.

The announcement of an exhibition game with Japan U-20 made you feel hopeful again. Knowing your hero, he would be part of the starting 11. You saved enough for the tickets for you and your sibling to watch him play live. You were excited about what skill he gained in Blue Lock, and if he improved to be the best version of himself.

But why wasn't he there?

You know Isagi was there... Chigiri... Bachira... but where was he? Where's your hero?

The win was a blur. How can you even cheer for his team when he isn't there? It's impossible that he's benched too. Kunigami was never the type to warm the bench for the whole game. You wanted to ask Isagi... Maybe Chigiri because Kunigami has talked about him the most. Bachira might know too. But it's impossible to reach them, especially with how they disappeared into the building after the game.

"Where are you?" you whispered into the empty stadium.

Maybe it's time to let go. No. Kunigami made it clear that you would never let go. You'll wait for him to call. You'll wait for him to send you some kind of sign. Anything. Letting go is never the answer, he would say if he's beside you. So, with every passing day after the match, you never went anywhere without your phone, hoping soon he'd call.

How cruel must fate be that the only time you let your guard down was on the day he decided to show up?

Your mother opened the door for him, a gasp leaving her lips. She led him to your door and left him to talk to you. From the outside, Kunigami tensed as he wrapped his large hand around your doorknob, hearing your voice spilling out as he opened it slowly. And for a moment, Kunigami would like to believe nothing has changed. For a moment, all he could see was the light he held on to.

There you were, sitting on your desk as you studied with headphones on, singing one of the songs from the playlist he created for both of you to listen to. Clearly, in your little world, you didn't hear Kunigami enter and close your door behind him. Kunigami sighed, and then he opened his lips to say your name.

Oh, it felt like a lifetime since he spoke your name. Kunigami felt a piece of him remembering what it was like to say your name the first time he met you.

"Y/n."

No answer.

"Y/n," he said once more, a little louder. He saw you perk up a little.

You don't know if you're just imagining things or if Kunigami's voice sounded nearer than how you'd usually imagine it on the days you missed him. And then...

"Y/n."

You removed your headphones, standing up so quickly that your chair toppled over and fell to the floor with a thud. In front of you right now was your hero, the man you waited to return. You held your breath for a moment as you took a good look at him. He looks... he looks...

Tired. His build was bigger, but he looked tired. His hair was a thick mop of messy orange, his eyes...

"Rensuke?" You spoke with caution, "Is it you?"

Kunigami felt like he could fall to his knees the moment you spoke. But he wouldn’t allow himself to do so. You stepped away from your desk to walk to him, holding out your hands to touch him, that this wasn't a dream. He was cold, his cheeks, at least.

That was enough to break you. You embraced him, crying and grateful that your hero had returned. "You're back," you sobbed softly, "my Rensuke, you're back to me." You felt him lift his hands, but instead of embracing you, he gripped your shoulders and pulled you away from him. "Y/n," he spoke, his voice ragged but soft, "I'm not entirely back."

"W-what do you mean?" you asked, your teary eyes, wide and confused, looking up to meet his dull orange eyes. This was the first time you've seen him so lifeless. What the hell happened?

"I'm not the Rensuke you once knew. That version of me is gone."

"What?"

"I'm not the hero I promised you to be."

"What... I-I don't understand. What happened, my love?"

Rensuke looked at you with a slight hint of vulnerability. He must not show weakness. It was drilled into him that he'll be ruthless, he'll become irrational if it means becoming the best that the world will see. But with the sight of you, it felt impossible. "They... changed me. I'm not the hero we both envisioned to be. I... I had to become cruel and let go of my beliefs... The Rensuke you fell for because he believed in doing the right thing fair and square is dead.

"That's why I decided you can no longer love me, Y/n. Because I can't."

You're not hearing this, right? Yet, he sounded so sure. His voice was firm, the same one he would use on his teammates.

"Who are you to decide that?" you asked calmly, reaching for his hand again. Your gaze lowered to his hand, callused and tired, yet the ring was still there. A little worn out than the last time you saw it, but he's still wearing it. Your fingers worked on twisting the ring off his finger, causing him to tense up.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of panic in his voice. You looked up at him with determined eyes. "You once told me when you got these rings for us that if we no longer love the other, we should remove our rings.

"I'm removing yours for you, Ren."

The ring was almost off his finger when he suddenly closed his hand. You looked up at him, and there he was, the Rensuke you fell in love with. "Don't, please..."

"But you said you can no longer love me," you reasoned, still holding his hand. Rensuke stared at you, his walls slowly breaking down at the reality of what he just told you. A stupid, stupid decision because he can't stop loving you.

The whole time he was in the Wildcard Project, the only thing that made him hold on to the little humanity he had in him was the promise of forever in your arms when he returned. The ring on his finger comforted him on nights when he almost gave up because his dream of becoming the best came from you. He promised he'd bring you with him and that he'd come back to you. So, he persevered and came out triumphant... but at what cost?

"How could you even love a cold-hearted man, my love?" he asked, his voice now a mere whisper, slightly cracking, "I have nothing left in me but the drive to win. I am no longer the warm man you want to be with for the rest of my life. I did all I could inside that facility for us to reach our dream, but they drained me. How can you still love me if I have nothing to give you any more?"

"I would still love you because no matter what, you're mine. You're my Rensuke, the man who made me believe that love as pure as yours exists in this world," you replied, "I don't care how much you've lost in there. As long as you return in my arms, I know a part of you that loves me and believes in us is still in there. I know you're still in there, Ren."

And with that, Rensuke broke down in tears in your arms. The place he had always longed for in the days he felt so alone. The warmth that he always yearned for in the coldest and loneliest nights. He's home. He's here.

"If you didn't care about me, you should've removed your ring a long time ago," you added, "but the symbol of your love for me is still there. A little worn, but I know you still have love for me.

"I've waited for you to return. This is all that matters now."

"I love you," Rensuke said between his tired sobs, his orange eyes sparkling with a little bit of life. He's still in there, the hero you loved is still in there.

"And I love you."

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darksilvania · 1 year ago

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The 5 Underground Lake pokemon

HAGABABA [Hag + Baba Yaga + Baba (Slime in spanish)] Poison/Dark The Slimey Pokemon Abilities: Gooey/Liquid Ooze - Corrosion (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become acidic. Its body is naturally covered by a layer of slime that protects it from the corrosivness. It can alter the properties of the slime all over its body, making it slipery or sticky at will. It can even make it acidic and use it to attack its foes.” Moveset: -Slimeball: >Poison type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user spits a large glob of acidic slime to its opponent” >This move its also considered dark type >This move leaves the field covered in slime that causes entry hazard, if the move is used a second time, any entering pokemon will become poisoned -Sludge Wave -Nasty Plot -Acid Armor

THINKERFISK [Thinker + Inketfisk (Octopus in french)] Psychic The Starry-Eyed Pokemon Abilities: Clear Body - Misty Surge (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has become psychoactive due to the presence of special fungi. This has altered and greatly expanded this pokemons mind.” Its brain is said to be in a constant altered state, thanks to this it has achieved the ability to see through time and space, past and future, and even achieve enlightment.” Moveset: -Psychedelia: >Psychic type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user bombards its foe with a terrifying mental blast of changing colors and sounds.” >This move confuses the target. >This move reduces the target speed -Expanding Force -Power Gem -Cosmic Power

SPOOKIMERA [Spooky + Chimaera] Ghost/Flying The Long Nose Pokemon Abilities: Cursed Body - Perish Body (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water has lost all oxygen, making it impossible for anything to live in it. This pokemon are the spirits of the fishes that used to live inside the lake before it became inhospitable, now they remain trapped in it, wearing their old skins as cloaks” Moveset: -Breathtaker: >Ghost type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user sucks the air from the field, making breathing harder” >This move its also considered flying type >fire type moves can’t be used after this move. >fog, mist, haze or gas are removed -Hurricane -Ominous Wind -Mean Look

TERRORICE [Terrorize + Ice] Ice/Steel The Terrible Claw Pokemon Abilities: Ice Body - Bulletproof (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches subzero temperatures without freezing. To withstand the cold, it covers itself with a thick ice armor, stronger than steel. Its giant claw works just like a chainsaw, using it to cut through ice and rock when looking for food.” Moveset: -Chilling Chainsaw: >Steel Type/Pwr 110/Acc 85/PP 5 “The user slashes at its opponent using its ice cold chainsaw-like claw” >This move its also considered ice type >If the opponent is frozen, this move deals double damage and removes the frozen condition. -Ice Hammer -Metal Claw -Sword Dance

SCALDORM [Scald + Ormr (Dragon in old norse) Fire/Dragon The Intense Heat Pokemon Abilities: Water Absorb - Storm Drain (HA) Dex: "It can only be found inside an underground lake where the water reaches temperatures above the boiling point without evaporating. It withstands the immense heat thanks to its unique oily skin. It produces an oily substance that protects its skin from the water’s heat, this same oil can be used as fuel, and will keep fire burning even underwater.” Moveset: -Liquid Fire* >Fire type / pwr 110 / acc 85 / pp 5 “The user attacks with a stream of burning oil that remains on the field afterwards” >This move may cause burning >This move leaves a fire entry hazard on the field >This move is super effective against water type pokemon -Scald -Dragon Breath -Fire Spin

#Pokemon #fakemon #fake pokemon #deep sea #deep sea fish #greek mythology #fish pokemon #underworld #poison type #poison fakemon #fire type #fire fakemon #ghost type #ghost fakemon #ice type #ice fakemon #psychic type #psychic fakemon

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tobiasdrake · 8 months ago

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Haven't had a chance to talk much about the Ginyus yet, so here we go. Talking about the Ginyu Tokusentai/Ginyu Force/Dairy Special Forces requires putting them into context with the greater Dragon Ball universe around them.

Something that has always been incredibly limiting for Dragon Ball's worldbuilding is that, despite much of the brand being about presenting Goku with new ladders to climb, Goku doesn't climb ladders. He leaps from ladder-top to ladder-top.

What this means is, Toriyama had a tendency to be hyperbolic with the challenges Goku was presented. Toriyama doesn't pit Goku against powerful foes. He pits Goku against the most powerful foe, then has to sit back and figure out another arena for Goku to go fight the champion of.

This creates issues of perspective. We don't get to see a lot of development of the worlds Toriyama creates because Goku only shows up to fight the Very Most Powerful Guy and then leaves. And this also means we don't get to see what being the Very Most Powerful Guy means relative to people who are not.

If you followed Dragon Ball Super, you might have noticed that issue with the Tournament of Power. The way the story leaps straight from "Multiple universes exist" to "Goku vs. The Strongest in Universe 6" and then to "Goku vs. The Strongest Guy in the MULTIVERSE!" without even stopping to breathe.

What is that universe even about? Who knows? But this guy sure is their STRONGEST GUY. And that's something that's been with Dragon Ball... honestly, since all the way back at the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai when his second arc adversary was the Earth's legendary ultimate martial arts master.

The whole concept of aliens enters the Dragon Ball universe by way of Raditz introducing the Strongest Alien Race in the Universe.

Shortly after that, Goku is fighting the Strongest Saiyan, who is technically referred to as Strongest in the Universe... right up until a retcon introduces the Planet Trade Organization and Goku fights Frieza, the Actual Strongest in the Universe For Realsies.

So. Yeah. It's hard to get a sense of perspective for how powerful our guys are when they leave Earth because they only ever brush elbows with outlier titans.

But to give some idea, we already know that Earthlings are considered to be a pretty weak species.

Raditz's arrival retroactively explains Goku's destructive Oozaru transformations. This thing?

This is the Doom of the Earth. The planet-killer meant to exterminate every last human being on this planet. Boy, sure would be fun to be in the ring with that, huh?

It's also clearly touching down outside of the ring so I don't know why this wasn't a ringout. Since when is the waiting room's rooftop considered part of the stage? But I digress.

When Goku was three years old, his Oozaru was measured to be sufficient to slaughter this world. That is how weak Earth is on the scale. By contrast, Namek is considered to be one of the more powerful worlds. Vegeta describes Namekian fighters as "extraordinary".

That's something we get to see for ourselves, when Extraordinary Namekian Fighters happen to Frieza Force soldiers like a typhoon.

This is what's considered extraordinary on a standard galactic scale. These are three warriors from one of the stronger races in the universe tearing apart soldiers whose job is to exterminate races. Once they start fighting, Dodoria reads their battle powers as 3,000.

For comparison, Raditz was said to be equivalent to a Saibaman at 1,200. We never got a read on Nappa but he found the idea of Kakarot being at 5,000 unbelievable enough to go into denial, and he shit himself over 8,000.

So, with that in mind, we can understand that these nameless Namekian nobodies are pretty fucking tough, well within the realm of Saiyan ability. They're also familiar with advanced martial arts concepts like ki suppression that the Planet Trade doesn't understand.

There's probably a reason why, despite Namek apparently being well known to the Planet Trade, nobody's seen fit to gentrify this one yet. This is a fight Frieza's more elite forces can win, to be sure. But also, there are easier pickings to be had.

And then we have the Saiyans, said to be the most powerful race in the universe. Raditz, a loser scrub who doesn't know a thing about martial arts, is able to thoroughly humiliate Goku and Piccolo in terms of sheer stats, even after Goku's been trained by Popo.

This guy is the Saiyan equivalent of Appule. Goku's been personally trained by God's right-hand attendant, and Piccolo is the reincarnation of God's evil counterpart; These are not humans of this planet, but two guys who demonstrated five years ago that they're in a realm beyond the humans.

And this loser is still doing this to them. This is what a low-rate Saiyan looks like.

And this is what a Saiyan elite looks like:

Like I said, we're never given an official reading on Nappa but he found 5,000 BP to be ridiculous for Goku to have and 8,000 to be unthinkably terrifying. The Daizenshuu pegs him at 4,000, but they also peg Piccolo at 3,500 which would mean Piccolo and Nappa are closely matched.

I don't know about you but I don't see it. But that may just be me.

In any case, this gives us a general understanding of how powerful the races of the universe are. Earthlings weak. Namekians strong. Saiyans strongest. And then there's outliers.

Throughout the universe, there are... mutants. On rare occasions, an individual is born to a race who have vastly, unbelievably, ridiculously, stupidly tremendous ki.

The Planet Trade employs these mutants for their upper staff. Zarbon and Dodoria are mutants, as are the Ginyus and even Frieza himself. Especially Frieza. The reason we've never gotten elaboration on Frieza's race is because Toriyama didn't want Frieza's traits to be taken as indicative of a whole people.

According to interview, Cold was born with abnormally high power and cruelty for his race, and these traits were passed down to his son Frieza. Whatever species they came from, it is nothing like them.

They're not the only ones. The Planet Trade collects and employs these uniquely ultra-powerful mutants for its elite forces. The Saiyans are the strongest race in the universe, but these mutants are the strongest individuals in the universe.

To grasp how powerful these guys are relative to the rest of the universe, we need to talk Saiyans again for a moment. Raditz? Raditz was the yardstick for what the bottom-tier of Saiyans was. He made Earthlings look like trash, but he would have been eaten alive by those unnamed Namekian warriors.

However, a Saiyan's true strength lies in the Oozaru. Goku as an Oozaru was meant to be able to reduce the standing population of the Earth to 0. Raditz, as an Oozaru? Would still have gotten his teeth kicked in by Vegeta, the Saiyan super-elite. He is so ridiculous, he could win a straight fight with the planet-killing Oozaru.

...I mean, not after being beaten within an inch of his life and taking a Genki-Dama to the face, he can't. But if Vegeta were still at the top of his game, this would be a very different fight.

Meanwhile, the Ginyu Force.

So. Yeah. By the time we get to them, we are far beyond the ordinary limits of the universe. Saiyans are the strongest race, and Vegeta's pressing up against the limit of Saiyan ability. He's one Zenkai away from breaking through the Saiyan ceiling. Goku already has.

And these mutants they're up against are the most powerful freak aberrations of unexplained super-ki ever to have occurred anywhere in space.

IIRC it's never directly stated but for reference, Broly would probably be considered a mutant. Whether he is or isn't, he makes as a pretty solid equivalence. These guys are to their respective races what Broly is to Saiyans. What Uub is to humans.

This is all vital context for understanding the way the Ginyu Force fights.

Because.

Like.

You need to understand.

These guys suck.

On purpose.

From a technical standpoint, they're not good fighters. They're sloppy. Poorly trained around big showy moves that are meant to look cool. Style over substance.

This is because they can get away with it. They are the most powerful beings in the universe; Powerful on a scale that is an order of magnitude beyond everybody else that exists. Even the Saiyans look like shit next to these mutants.

Saiyan super-elite hits Recoome with everything he's got right in the face at point-blank range.

And the mutant takes it like a fucking champ. Vegeta's about to be killed by a man who keeps pausing to do this.

The Ginyu Force is badly trained on purpose. Which isn't to say that they're trained to lose fights, but rather that they aren't trained to compete with an equivalent rival. They can afford a martial style focused entirely on showmanship because there is no competition for them. They're too powerful to ever lose fights. Nobody else in the known universe even compares to their mutant might.

Which, as previously noted, is something Frieza is also afflicted by, in different ways. There is no reason for the Ginyus to hone their skills the way the Earthlings do because. Like. Who's going to challenge them? They're naturally born into being top of the field by a wide margin. They're going to auto-win every fight they ever involve themselves in, so their idea of self-improvement is centered instead on looking as cool as possible while they do it.

This is precisely what the Muten-Roshi worked so hard to prevent Goku from becoming.

Something else I mentioned before is that Trunks demonstrates his serious goal-oriented nature by never naming any of his techniques. He has some distinct and identifiable moves, but none of them have a formal name that he shouts out when firing them. He's here to get the job done, not to show off.

The Ginyus are in the opposite boat. They know they can't lose fights, so they are absolutely, 100% here to show off. They name the shit out of their techniques.

Flying knee? Nah, bro. That is a Recoome Kick.

Running in and throwing a punch? Nuh-uh. Recoome Mach Attack.

Lobbing a ki blast at the opponent? Crusher Ball.

These basic attacks are given huge, flashy names. And, I need to specify, they're English names. Moves like the Kamehameha or Taiyoken or Sokidan or Makankosappo also have names but they tend to be Japanese names with descriptive meanings.

Turtle Destruction Wave, signature move of the Turtle School of martial arts.

Fist of the Sun, an intense blinding art.

Winding Ki Bullet, a remote-operated bullet of ki that Yamcha can manipulate how he likes.

Demon Piercing and Killing Light Gun, a Mazoku technique that pierces and kills.

This is not the same thing. These guys are screaming exotic English words to look cool while throwing hands. "RECOOME KICK!!!" Recoome screams in English as he throws a kick.

There is only one other character in Dragon Ball who fights like this.

That's right. Recoome Kick is the same kind of thing as Satan Miracle Special Ultra Super Megaton Punch. All shouted in English as well. The Ginyu Force is what Mr. Satan would be if he was as formidable as the world believes he is.

They're showmen, even moreso than the Earthling martial artists who were born for a tournament stage. Hell, some of Recoome's moves are inspired by pro wrestling.

They are the ultimate demonstration, both of the unquestionable might of the Planet Trade's human resources, and of the absolute waste that is the Planet Trade's capitalist philosophy towards martial arts. The PTO doesn't train warriors; They scout the strongest guys their money can buy and give them marching orders of "Get 'em." Their super-elites are no exception.

Except the Captain.

Much like Vegeta was with Nappa, Ginyu is the only one who gets it. He sees Goku's reading and immediately assesses that Goku's suppressing his ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's just never drilled this kind of information into his soldiers, opting instead for cool-looking battle poses.

It makes sense that he understands ki suppression. He's Frieza's highest-ranking officer, and Frieza is the universe's unparalleled master at ki suppression. The lengths Frieza has gone to for the sake of suppressing ki....

But he hasn't taught it to his men. They're learning flashy modeling poses instead of martial arts.

I guess I can see the logic. Powerful as they are, why would it matter? Those three extraordinary warriors earlier were also suppressing their ki, but a range of 1k to haha actually 3k doesn't mean shit to the Ginyu Force. If nobody's true strength can match them then why waste time on tactical study?

But unlike his soldiers, Ginyu himself has the spirit of a martial artist. He doesn't waste time on battle poses or scream "GINYU FLYING PUNCH" in English when he throws a punch or do elaborate two-minute windups for his signature moves.

He's even pretty good at reading people. Ginyu lowballs Goku at 60k before the fight, but reassesses after he's traded blows with Goku a few times and estimates 85k instead.

Goku's official non-suppressed Battle Power at this point in time is 90k. So 85k is a pretty fucking good estimate for a guy who can't sense ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's as reliant on tech as the rest of the PTO but he's experienced enough to have a strong understanding of what various levels fight like.

This is especially impressive when you remember that he's never fought someone at 90k before. Remember, further up, when he first judged Goku as 60k? He was getting excited about his lowball 60k estimate and saying he's never had a chance like this before.

If he's never fought 60k, he's certainly never fought 85k. He just. Knows enough about how lower levels fight that he can apply that knowledge and extrapolate to higher levels. It's an impressive estimation that demonstrates his experience. Ginyu isn't just the second-most powerful guy in the Planet Trade. He's the best martial artist in the Planet Trade, bar none.

He's also got a... theoretically cool ultimate technique that utterly sucks in practice: Body Change.

He may be the best martial artist in the Planet Trade but he's got nothing on martial arts master and analytical counter-fighter Son Goku. It takes Goku no time at all to realize that Ginyu's technique sucks. He doesn't know how to fight with Goku's ki.

Ginyu-Goku thinks this body will give him 180k BP because that's what he read on the Scouter when Goku used the Kaio-ken. But not only does Ginyu not know how to perform Kaio-ken, he doesn't even know how to use Goku's ki at all. It's not his. It doesn't work the same way. In Goku's body, Ginyu's reduced to a distressing 23k BP when Jeice reads him.

He's not just failing to put out Kaio-ken power. He's getting his teeth kicked in by Krillin. It's embarrassing.

I've heard the theory go around that Ginyu started out weak and worked his way up via Body Changing anyone that was ever stronger than him, but I'm not convinced that's the case. Because this right here? This seems like a critical flaw. It's hard to believe he'd be entirely ignorant of this drawback if he's ever seriously used this technique before.

Ginyu being incompatible with a Body Changed host's ki doesn't seem like something an experienced Body Changer would need Goku to explain to him. In practice, the hypothetically awesome technique is bad for reasons Ginyu wasn't able to foresee, not unlike when Tenshinhan brought Shishin no Ken/Multiform to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. Or Goku's first time attempting Super Saiyan 3 in a living body. Cool in theory but a massive fucking oversight costs him the entire fight.

This seems more likely to be something Ginyu, the only real martial artist in his crew, developed in his own time and showed off to his men. Something he's never actually stress tested, that he's been sitting on and waiting for an opportunity to use in the field.

Whatever the case, it pins an unexpected and interesting capstone on the Ginyu Force. They're a group of clowns who can get away with clownishness because they were born into unparalleled privilege. And they're led by a shockingly well-educated and capable martial artist who's never worked the kinks out of his ultimate technique for lack of adequate competition in a universe that could rarely hope to ever challenge even his weakest man.

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #ginyu force

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theoddest1 · 2 months ago

Note

Regarding Alastor's backstory and how he rose to power in Hell... it just kind of feels out of character to me.

Because he's more like someone who puts in the work for what he wants, because it would feel more rewarding than just asking for it on a silver platter.

Now, I can understand him making the deal if it was around the time he first arrived in Hell and tried to rise up, only to get curb stomped by demons stronger than him and did worse things. And he makes the deal to feel in control again like when he was alive, that I can understand.

But the leak just... completely destroys Alastor's character AND his role in the story.

If I were to write his character, I'd make it where he never really asked for such things because the thought of asking anyone for help was absurd and breaks his already set idea of himself. [outside of the spirits, he asks for help and protection though he sees then more as tools than gods.]

To him, being a Fawn was completely out of the question. No longer will he be under someone else's egregious, yet sloppy, thumb. He pulls the reigns, and so he shall always do so. This also plays a huge part in how I believed he performed his radio host persona when alive.

"Amongst the people, I am the announcer, the charismatic showman, the one who provides the latest news and tales to tell. I have made the stage and set the standards so no man, woman, or child could ever hate or doubt me in a world made against people who look like me. So how, then, would I be touched? I am no ordinary man, I am their star in their night sky, and they don't even see me! Hah! All they see is tale after tale, horrors that they had no rhyme or reason to believe could bleed into their realities. Yet, without a single thought, the one who marks each harrowing inclination that rattles within is the one who made sure each drop of blood stained their perfect white cloth. Oh, how I LIVE for the spectacle, and they live for me."

This is how I viewed him. Meglomaniac, who is assured in his strength, who doesn't think he needs to make deals, or feel threatened when another powerful foe comes to face him regardless if he were dead or alive during this encounter [He is too assured of his self worth to care about what another strong enemy thinks of him]. He is all about being "alive" in the moment and in control. He does what he wants and sees no hope in his well-being, and with that, he manages to at least gain wisdom in being honest with himself. He knows he's a shithead and understands that what he has done was with no remorse or care because he gave up on being a kind soul long....loooong ago. Someone made sure to seal that fate for him. Why should he care what people think when he already has a stubborn viewpoint of himself? It is what it is.

EDIT: I forgot to add that I also made this one of major reasons for why in Hell he is made into a buck/deer. It is a reminder of what he hates most: an animal known stereotyped as docile, a perception he once wore before he turned to a life of crime. This form is a mockery of his ideals and his self-image.

But nah, the show instead has him as a piss baby spouting modern terms like a braindead Twitter user losing an argument over subjective material. He feels far more insecure and irritable, making whatever rule he set up about his smile feel more like cope rather than a well-rounded point. He smiles, yet his irritation and need to prove himself lessens its impact. He laughs, yet will turn around and cuss at someone all cause they think his name for the Hotel is trash rather than making a confident witty comeback. He asserts "dominance" but the way he does this is by using pure force alone and barely any mi d games, making it feel as though he isn't truly as clever or well thought out as he had hoped. Everything we have seen of him in the show destroys what little he had in the promotion of the pilot AND the pilot. He was more witty and charming back when Ed was still his VA on Hunicast. A true waste of a potentially well-made character.

#anon ask #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel leaks #hazbin leaks #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #viv get a grip

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chobani-flip · 5 months ago

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outsider perspective @bucktommypositivityweek

Lady Cassandra Elizabeth Andromeda the First despised the tall loud one with all her heart. She longed to dig her claws into his stupid big arms and hiss-scream in his face: "LEAVE AND NEVERMORE LET YOUR HORRID STINK DARKEN OUR DOORSTEP!" but she knew there was no use.

For she'd already tried to do so the first two times he invaded their domicile with his loud noises and twitchy feet. But Her Human had always prevented her from driving her point home by picking her up and trying to cuddle her against his lovely warm kneadable chest. The ignominy! And he had the AUDACITY to make low, distressed, sorry noises at the Loud Stinker INSTEAD OF APOLOGIZING TO Lady Cassandra FOR THIS EFFRONTERY!

"I'm so sorry, Evan, I swear I don't know what's got into her."

"Hahah...Er, well, I suppose I need to give her time to get used to me."

The Loud Stinker was back again. Lady Cassandra supposed she'd have to add the use of forbidden magics to the black book of his sins for he appeared unexpected, uninvited and entirely under his own power! Without Her Human! One moment she was napping in a glorious sunbeam by the Tastes-Evil-Green-Leaves, and the next He was there! Armed with a horrific minion whose obedience he compelled by the continuous twitching of a thin black wand.

But Lady Cassandra would not be so easily threatened into submission! Not even by a chimera such as the one The Loud Stinker controlled, whose hideous long furred limbs and feathered tail quivered to the metallic beat of the jingle bells affixed to its collar.

She would allow that she had first chosen to take cover under the Tastes-Evil-Green-Leaves receptacle. But that was only to ascertain the threat and decide on the best plan of attack.

SHE WOULD NOT GIVE HER LIFE CHEAPLY!

She tucked her front legs under her neatly and readied her back legs and tail. She could feel her warm blood rushing through the clenched muscles of her belly, tension tingling from the the tips of her ears to the end of her whiskers.

"Jingle-lin-lin-ling," mocked the chimera.

Lady Cassandra let out a low growl and leapt. Like an avenging fury, she flew through the air and fell upon the foul beast.

With fang and claw, she tore at its treacherous limbs. With her back legs, she pummeled the soft body. She was not yet victorious for some evil magic still moved the chimera, trying to reanimate its corpse through a thin black hair. But Lady Cassandra was stronger and her cause was righteous and the jingle bells now tolled the invader's death!

Yowling, she gnawed at the hair. It was tenacious but her molars where sharper and stronger and at last, the beast lay dead at her feet.

"I honestly don't think she swallowed any of it, babe, she just bit through the elastic and the moment it wasn't moving, she lost interest. Well, she tore it up a bit. But it's all accounted for. Still, I wanted to let you know anyway ... No yeah no, you're right, I shouldn't push it. I just thought the toy might help, you know? ... The bedroom, I think. I thought I saw a bit of fluff under your pillow. ... Listen, I wanted to surprise you with dinner and wait for you here but I don't want to stress her out, so... You sure? ... OK, then. See you later, Tommy. L- See you!"

One foe vanquished. Another to go.

Unseen and in the comfort of her sanctum, Lady Cassandra bided her time. The Loud Stinker was in the Treasury now--she could hear his clanging and banging--but that could not be helped. She might have been worried if she thought the Loud Stinker shrewd enough to discover Her Human's stash of Delicious-Soft-Juicy-Meat-Bags in the topmost cabinet, but Lady Cassandra had observed the Loud Stinker enough that she was certain he lacked the wit.

Still, she needed a plan. The Loud Stinker could not be allowed to take up her side of the bed with impunity, nor beguile Her Human into his mating ritual when, accompanied by wretched new sounds from the metal box, he and Her Human slowly shambled back and forth from the Treasury all the way to the Sunbeam Room WHEN IT WAS TIME FOR LADY CASSANDRA'S DAILY BRUSH AND CUDDLE AND SHE COULDN'T EVEN NUMBER-EIGHT BETWEEN THEIR LEGS AND THUSLY MARK HER POSSESSION OF HER HUMAN BECAUSE THEY MIGHT STEP ON HER!

Lady Cassandra contemplated the contents of her stomach and whether there might not be enough for a hairball which she could then deposit into the Loud Stinker's shoe.

Hmmm, perhaps. It would not be very large, but in such cases Lady Cassandra believed a little went a long way.

She rose, stretching leisurely and began to plot her route. Moving swift and unseen until the deed was done was the key!

Lady Cassandra shot towards the sofa, then stilled, pressed her belly against the ground, and with bated breath listened for signs that she'd been detected.

Nothing.

He hadn't even turned one ear her way, the fool!

She allowed herself one satisfied wriggle and a swish of a tail before she rushed towards the hall. Keeping low to the ground, she danced through the shadows, claws contracted, not letting even a whisper of a footfall sound.

Almost there, almost there, just one more corner, then behind the door, almost-!

A loud wooden thud sounded from the Treasury and Lady Cassandra felt her feet freeze unbidden under her. She blinked, twitched her ears and hoped against hope that-

And then, as she knew it would, the siren song commenced.

Snip-snip-snip-sliiiice-scrape, resounded gloriously, tingling through every nerve and hair follicle of her body.

It was stronger than her.

Lady Cassandra turned and with the mien of one going to their own execution began her walk towards where the song of the Long-Shiny-Claw was calling her.

She made no effort to hide now, what use would it be? The Loud Human saw her then, stopped his song and made a hideous pigeon sound. Lady Cassandra was dismayed and disgusted at herself for approaching closer.

"....grrrssshh-ooo-argh-Lady-Cassandra-aeoiwgoad-lovely-girl-joihwadivawečtgae-would-you-like-some?"

Curse him! Somehow he'd learned the Spell only Her Human knew!

Ensorcelled, she stepped closer and craned her neck. Before she knew it, the Loud Human was bowing low to her, producing an offering.

Gingerly, unable to resist, Lady Cassandra took it between her teeth.

"Hi?! I-"

"Shhh!"

"-thought you... were asleep... What? I don't get a hello today?"

"Look. L o o k! Look at her!!"

"Oh wow! That's only what? One and a half? Two feet? How did you do that?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, what got her out of hiding?"

"I'm telling you, I have no idea. One moment I'm mincing the carrots and the next she's rubbing up against my leg!"

"Oh yeah, the magic of the cutting board."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, works better than her name. Every time. Am I right, lovely girl?"

"Don't wake her! She'll remember she hates me!"

"Nah, the way to Cassie's heart is through her stomach and you can bribe her stomach so very easily. Isn't that right, Cassie-girl?"

"Oh my god, she touched me! Can you see that? She's touching me!"

"Honestly, I don't know who's more adorable right now."

"Is she purring?!"

Lady Cassandra Elizabeth Andromeda the First stretched one of her paws languidly and shuffled closer to the warm Human. With five crunchy carrot sticks and a whole inch of a bacon rasher warm in her belly, she felt quite reconciled to his presence now.

After all, following his enterprise in the Treasury, he didn't even smell entirely objectionable now. His fingers under her cheek were perhaps untrained, but not altogether unpleasant. Lady Cassandra signaled her approval with one single soft trill of a purr.

It wouldn't do to show too much fervor, of course.

But yes, she decided, perhaps, with a little training, she might grow to enjoy having Her Human's Human around.

___

author's note: look, i don't know what happened? hope you enjoyed?

#bucktommy #911 abc #9-1-1 #bucktommy fic

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evilbihan · 11 months ago

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A guide to writing Tomáš

This is a Bi-Han centric blog, but I really want to talk about the mischaracterization of Tomáš too because it irks me to no end and I believe he deserves better. Not to mention that most of his mischaracterization usually comes at Bi-Han's expense as well.

Tomáš is not the sad, broken, overly sensitive crybaby the fandom likes to portray him as. Every time I see yet another version of the same fanart where poor Tomáš is bawling his eyes out and running into Kuai Liang's arms because Bi-Han was being "mean" to him, I immediately unfollow the artist. Tomáš is a grown man, it's disgusting how the fandom keeps babying him. Not to mention it's getting boring and on top of that, it's completely wrong characterization of both Bi-Han and Tomáš. In the scene where Bi-Han snaps at him, Tomáš barely even bats an eyelash. He looks confused and annoyed if anything, not heartbroken, and he certainly doesn't break down in tears either. Tomáš literally chose to talk back to Bi-Han, he's not afraid to say what he thinks, which is proven by the fact that he even confronts Liu Kang for letting his family die. Tomáš is courageous and he stands up for himself. This man watched his entire family get murdered in front of him and chose not to let it haunt him. ("Their ghosts no longer haunt me.") Of all three Lin Kuei brothers, he's the one with the highest emotional maturity, choosing not to let emotions cloud his judgement, unlike Kuai Liang (blind anger/hatred) and Bi-Han (frustration). Tomáš is so much stronger than people give him credit for. He's not some damsel in distress that needs saving and he definitely doesn't need Kuai Liang to defend him, especially not from Bi-Han who respected Tomáš and his skills enough to let him join them for important missions when he had everyone else in the Lin Kuei at his disposal. It's awful how some fans deliberately paint Tomáš as weak and Bi-Han as cruel, so they can make Kuai Liang look better.

A lot of the traits that define Tomáš are usually taken away from him in fanfics and fanart and given to Kuai Liang instead. Tomáš is the loyal, brave and kind brother who wants peace above all else, who wants his brothers to reconcil, who is truly selfless and respectful, even towards some of his foes. Believe it or not, Tomáš is not the "soft" brother. He chooses to be kind and fans mistake it for weakness. Despite being angry at Bi-Han, Tomáš doesn't want vengeance against him. He wants his brothers to stop fighting, for Earthrealm's sake and because they're family. Tomáš might be the youngest of the brothers but he's wiser than them. He has seen enough death and bloodshed to know no one will come out of this war as a winner.

Tomáš used to idolize Bi-Han, not Kuai Liang. Bi-Han, who is known to be cold and ruthless. As I said before in another post I made, Tomáš is no less ruthless than his brothers. He is not sweet and innocent. Just like Bi-Han and Kuai Liang, he was trained to be a lethal and stealthy warrior. Even before joining the Lin Kuei, Tomáš was a hunter. He grew up in a family of hunters. Listen to his taunts at the end of each round and the way he giggles while performing one of his fatalities. Tomáš enjoys hunting, he enjoys the thrill of it.

There is no part of the story or any intros that indicate that Kuai Liang and Tomáš were ever close before their falling out with Bi-Han, but it is said that Tomáš used to admire Bi-Han. I don't know why the fandom made up the wholesome bond between Kuai Liang and Tomáš because of that one scene in which Kuai Liang conveniently tells Smoke that they're brothers because he needed him on his side. Kuai Liang doesn't even bother interrupting when Bi-Han reprimands Tomáš. He even questions Smoke's resolve. What brought them both closer are a few shared ideals, such as the wish to honor their father's legacy and continue their duty of protecting Earthrealm. Kuai Liang is now the only family Smoke has left, which is why he's doing everything he can to prove worthy of his trust. He calls himself the Shirai Ryu's second in command, he's the one who recruits Hanzo, he's supportive of everything Kuai Liang does and never contradicts him despite having different opinions than his brother, possibly out of fear of losing his family yet again.

Tomáš is a very curious and open-minded person. Unlike Bi-Han and Kuai Liang who are both equally disgusted by the idea of fame and stardom, Smoke seems eager to play a part in one of Johnny's movies when Johnny suggests giving him a role in a film he made. He's also the one reaching out to others to try and bond with them, to make friends. He tells Raiden that he wants to visit Fengjian, he asks other characters questions about themselves etc.

Tomáš is without a doubt traumatized from what he's seen and been through. Similar to Bi-Han in the previous timeline, Smoke is concerned that he's tainted by evil due to his nightmares about the Enenra. Ashrah reassures him that her kriss can't sense any evil, but there's a chance he might still become corrupted.

I hope this makes sense and will help writers and artists out there to portray Tomáš more accurately in their works. Too many people in the fandom have a wrong idea of who this character is.

#tomas vrbada #mk smoke #bi han #mk sub zero #kuai liang #mk scorpion #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mk1

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caplanbuckybarnes · 3 months ago

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Thunder & Vibranium (MK & MCU X-over)

Summary: When Bucky walks through a portal thinking it was one of Stephen Strange's doing, he meets with the Thunder god, Raiden in the Outworld.

Warnings: none :)

WC: 820ish

A/N: i've been thinking about doing this crossover for a lONG time now. I couldn't figure out how to do it until a few days ago. I d hope this makes sense to y'all. lol. Also, idk who to tag??? So i'm just tagging bucky & marvel & MK forever tags.

Read on AO3!

Bucky Barnes had faced many enemies—soldiers, HYDRA agents, and even himself. But as he stood in the middle of an unfamiliar, storm-torn battlefield, it was clear he was far from home as he glanced around him, slain bodies of all types. Some creatures held numerous limbs, others had bled green, purple, or even blue..

The sky above rumbled, thick clouds swirling with electric energy. The last thing he remembered was a portal opening up during his mission, a golden rift tearing through the air, something he’d assumed Stephen Strange had opened up. Now, he was somewhere else—definitely not Earth as he knew it. His metal arm buzzed in the charged atmosphere as if it could sense something, someone, watching him.

“Where the hell am I?” Bucky muttered, scanning his surroundings trying to find a person or creature who he could speak with..

"Earthrealm," a voice echoed, deep and booming.

Bucky spun around, coming face to face with a man cloaked in blue and white robes, eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Lightning flickered around him, the energy crackling along his fingers as if it obeyed his command.

Raiden.

“I’m guessing you’re the one responsible for dragging me here?” Bucky’s voice was sharp, his stance tense, ready for a fight. He had heard of gods in myths but had never expected to meet one—let alone someone who looked like he could turn him into a pile of dust with a flick of his wrist.

Where the hell was this place?

Raiden stepped forward. His face was calm, though his presence demanded respect. “You were brought here for a reason, James Buchanan Barnes. Earthrealm is under threat, and your skills are needed.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. He had been manipulated before, used as a weapon by forces much stronger than him. He wasn’t going to fall for it again. “Why should I care about this ‘Earthrealm’? I’m not one of your soldiers. And i refuse to be soemone else’s pet for pleasure.”

Raiden’s eyes flashed as a streak of lightning split the sky. “Because Earthrealm’s destruction would mean the end of all realms—including yours. There is no choice, Winter Soldier.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. His metal fist curled into a ball, but he knew better than to fight against something this powerful. "Alright, Thunder God," he growled. "What's the plan?"

They were at the heart of the chaos, Raiden and Bucky side by side. The ground shook as monstrous foes from Outworld charged at them—creatures with tusks, claws, and powers that rivalled any Bucky had faced before. The Winter Soldier fired off rounds from his rifle, precision perfect as always, while Raiden summoned lightning, striking enemies with the wrath of a storm.

As another wave of foes came crashing down on them, Bucky found himself thrown to the ground. His weapon skidded out of reach, and his mind flashed back to countless battles, each moment forcing him to fight for his life. He couldn’t understand what he was fighting. And he fought aliens from space, which was saying something.

But before his enemy could strike, Raiden appeared in a blur of blue, lightning fast. With a shout, the Thunder God unleashed a bolt of pure electricity, frying the attacker before turning to help Bucky to his feet.

“You fight well, James,” Raiden said, his tone as calm as ever despite the battlefield around them. “But in this realm, power must be balanced with wisdom.”

Bucky grunted, wiping blood from his lip. “Wisdom won’t do much if you're dead.”

Raiden’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Perhaps. But I believe there’s more to you than just the soldier. Your past does not define you here.”

Bucky looked at him, surprised by the words. No one had ever spoken to him like that—as they saw beyond the Winter Soldier, beyond the killer.

The battle raged on, but Bucky felt something shift inside him. Raiden wasn’t just a god wielding lightning—he was someone who understood the weight of responsibility, of carrying the burdens of an entire realm on his shoulders. In a way, it reminded Bucky of his own journey, trying to break free from the chains of his past while fighting for a better future.

Together, they were an unstoppable force. Raiden's lightning complemented Bucky's ruthless efficiency, each move calculated and lethal. They tore through the enemies like a storm sweeping across the battlefield, unrelenting and unyielding.

As the dust settled and the last of the Outworld warriors fell, Bucky stood beside Raiden, breathing heavily but alive.

“So, what happens now?” Bucky asked, looking at the destruction around them. “We just keep fighting? Forever?”

Raiden turned to him, his glowing eyes softening. “There will always be battles to fight, James Barnes. But it is up to us to choose which ones are worth it.”

For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like maybe he had found a cause worth fighting for.

#bucky barnes x raiden #raiden #raiden mortal kombat #raiden imagines #bucky barnes imagines #mortal kombat imagines

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sashi-ya · 1 year ago

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𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 yakuza! roronoa zoro x f! reader. [+𝟏𝟖]

❀ tw: MDNI. Would you like to serve a mafia boss like Zoro as his sugar baby? I would. car fucking. squirting. pure smut. creampie. I do not romanticise mafia, this is just fiction. ❀ wc: 1.3k

Who carries a katana nowadays?

Why, from all the men you could have fallen with, you chose him? Having an affair with a Yakuza should be the last thing to do for a young woman like you… and yet, there you are still, getting inside an all-black car, with armoured walls and windows.

Your tiny frame compared to his gets dragged to the back seat and then over his lap.

“New perfume, hm?” he asks, nuzzling on your neck.

Straight nose, lips a little cracked. Strong arms around your waist, pressing you down. Zoro, better known as the King of Hell around friends and foes, needs to destress after a long day making business…

“You bought it for me, King of Hell” you mumble, almost robotically. You don’t want to commit any type of mistake… you are there, only and for one purpose; serve Roronoa Zoro with your body.

Truth is that you are scared of him, and yet, you can’t wait for the night to come to get absolutely destroyed by his demonic thrusts.

“Good girl… I thought of a special plan tonight. I kinda wanna have some fun, some drinks and perhaps fuck you anywhere I please” he says, so nonchalantly as he squeezes one of your breasts.

You jolt to his touch; you are used to this treatment. Is not disrespectful, he only does what the contract you signed stipulated.

The bumpy roads of the city he controls become a blessing for a shameless hardness growing underneath of your legs.

“I’m already getting hard, maybe we won’t get to the place without me filling that pussy with cum…” he whispers, with raspier sexy voice, in your ear. Zoro bites your neck soon after, owning a beautiful moaning coming from your lips.

“In fact, stand up” he commands, lifting you up from your waist. His strong arms can make his katana cut steel; you weight nothing to him.

The sound of his black pants zipper going down competes against the melody of your accelerated breathing. He wants to fuck you right there, in the car, with the chauffer a few centimetres from where you are. And the only things separating you from him is nothing but a black frosted plastic.

Slowly turning around, you see him pumping his dick to get ready for your walls. There isn’t much space, even if the car is pretty big, is just what it is. The windows have gotten pretty foggy already, your skin is burning.

“Com’ere” he orders, so impassively calmed, with a hand on his sex and the other one loosening his tie.

You nod, lifting the tiny skirt you are expected to wear, with of course, no panties underneath.

Biting your lower lip, you slowly get closer to his sex by sitting back into position.

However, Zoro has no time to lose, and he needs to feel your warmth around his shaft now.

Huge hands, with a thumb pretty calloused, squeeze your hips. “Sit down already” he grunts, pressing you violently against his lap.

Hardness that feels like the sharp of his katanas impaling you, makes you moan loudly. Some tears form in the corners of your eyes, and a mixture of pain and pleasure invade your body leaving your brain completely blank.

“Ugh, so tight! I just love to fuck you, little bitch” he growls, as he begins to pump inside you, deeper each time. Your legs hang on each side of his legs, without reaching the floor of the car. No matter how tall you are, you aint bigger than him.

Zoro lets go of your hips to invade your chest in between jumping buttons of a Gucci shirt he bought for you.

The erect part of your nipples, so sensitive, feels like the perfect place to pinch for him. He is rough, but precise. He knows exactly where to squeeze, where to pull too.

Your back lays over his prominent chest, and the interior of the vehicle smells like sex. His own body scent is stronger than any perfume… and it’s spellbinding to you.

As he keeps fucking you, you notice the car isn’t moving. The lights of Shibuya cross outside show that once again you are stuck in the typical rush hour of Tokyo. But he doesn’t care, nor you do.

“Spread those legs, bitch” he tells you, passing his hands from behind to your inner thighs. Mercilessly, Zoro spread them by carving his nails on your flesh.

He smirks, biting your shoulder with no delicacy. “What about ruining the upholstered, mh?” he laughs, still inside you and his hands in behind your knees to keep your legs open as much as he can. Your ass is also brought a little further, making his dick to fully hit your special spot with indescribable pressure and pleasure.

Your eyes open wide, your accelerated breathing; the shame in you too high to even let you say something.

The depraved yakuza wants you to cum all over the seat… why? Oh, cause he can. Cause he wants. Cause he have thousands of cars too. And also, because he despise his chauffer named Sanji… he wants him to clean the seats.

It takes Zoro a matter of seconds -and deadly thrusts- for you to experience in your guts the “losing control” feeling.

“I can feel you are throbbing around my dick, that means you are close… aren’t you? Come on, I want to see you so wet before I fill you up” he keeps whispering, low, with warm breath and some nibbling on the lobe of your ear.

You can only nod frantically, short of air, printing your palm on the foggy surface of the car window. “Yeh- yes�� King of Hell…” you whine, feeling exactly what he described; an unstoppable throbbing that will soon lead you to explode.

He goes harder, even faster. Your eyes going white, a pressure building in your core and dripping fluids running through the sides of his caramel, veiny dick.

Zoro can sense the pressure pushing his sex out of your spasming walls. He keeps going, forcing it to keep growing inside your womb, trying to make your belly bloated from pressure and his thrusts. He wants your climax to be strong enough to push him out of you. And with his perfect demonic hips rhythm that doesn’t take longer to arrive…

“Zo-Zoro-sama!!!” you moan, loud enough to be heard by half Tokyo -not to mention by the chauffer-

“Come on, little bitch! Cum, now” he celebrates, allowing a big pushing spasm to make him slide out of you. As he predicted, you explode. Dripping, with a stream tinting in the soft red lights filtering through the foggy windows, getting everything around wet.

Your nails carved into the sides of his muscular thighs, as a sign of your body trying to grab for dear life not to pass out…

“FUCK, FUCK FUCK FUCK!” You repeatedly swear, making your green haired dom to laugh so pleased for your reaction.

And as you tremble, because of non-stoppable waves of climax, he impales your right back in.

This time, Zoro lets go of your legs, and now he pushes you against the plastic wall in front of you. Your cheek squeezed against it, seeing the blurry image of the driver through that not that private separation.

Zoro’s hands land on each side of your face, also pressed against the plastic. It cracks a little, yet it is able to hold both of your weights.

His back hits the roof of the car, and he doesn’t care. Zoro only wants to finish, and for that he will have to fuck you just a little longer.

Your inner thighs are completely dampened, and the once again penetration makes won’t allow you to rest. A state of constant climax has invade you, it isn’t stopping… you aren’t breathing properly, you aren’t even thinking straight.

Completely dampened in your fluids, you are about to be blessed with the sticky release of the man who posses you.

One of Zoro’s hands passes around your neck, gripping tightly to it. Big enough to grab it all, to squeeze it and make sure not a single molecule of oxygen reaches your lungs.

“I want you to walk inside the bar with my cum dripping down your legs, ok? My sweet little bitch?” he murmurs, causing you to shiver strongly than you have been until now.

“Ye-yes, Zoro-sama” “Good girl, I might wanna make you my wife after all… now… Hold. It. In. Until. We. Arrive…”

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