#has anyone ever even drawn bandit before </3

[side-of-honey]

Found out about Bandits the other day and I literally love them so much....to me they are siblings ok

[potatoesandsunshine]

aaaaahhhhh 1) you posting the name of your Dragon Age WIPs made me remember that I forgot to post the name of any of mine damn but 2) because I trust you implicitly and you are the only person who has ever made me question my staunch opinion of NEVER learning anything about Sebastian, I gotta ask about your 'hawkebastian bad ending' AND/OR also...josie...yes, please talk to me about josie....

<3 <3 <3 oh i WILL talk about both

hawkebastian bad ending is also the working document for the potential hawkebastian ‘good’ ending timeline, and also the place I took notes during my most recent DA2 playthrough (Jessalyn Hawke You Are Everything To Me). I won’t try to sell you on Sebastian because I think this might be one of those ‘the version of this character that exists in my head is better than the one in the game’ situations—but the version that exists in my head is incredible. We meet him in act 1 and his family is all dead, foreshadowing how all of Hawke’s family will be dead, and I find him so miserable and tragic and compelling. Playing this save and doing the rivalmance for him also lets Hawke say a bunch of anti-Chantry stuff and I hate the Chantry so it’s a huge win. 

The Jessa/Sebastian dynamic is so so extremely reputation to me. Delicate is their song. Call it what you want is also their song. Also don’t blame me is their song. Basically if it’s on reputation (and I like it) it belongs to them. And I thought it would be so much fun for my aggressive, direct Hawke to fall head over heels at first sight for the Worst Possible Person.

It takes a bold man to shoot a piece of paper out of the Grand Cleric's hand. Jessa's heart gives a tremendous thump.

These two characters are desperate to escape the loneliness vortex inside of themselves and they do that by secretly getting married in the middle of act 2 after killing a bunch of bandits and having life-affirming sex in a barn that they both decide they need to Take Responsibility for, telling literally no one besides the Mother at the provincial Chantry in the middle of the woods around Tantervale, and then talking themselves out of it by the time they return to Kirkwall. This leads to either the ‘bad’ timeline, where Jessa kills Sebastian at the end of the game when he threatens Kirkwall and demands you kill Anders, subsequently going back to do a takeover of Starkhaven and naming herself regent (a weird Loghain parallel which I’m super into?); or the ‘good’ timeline where she kills Anders and they return to Starkhaven to rule together (but she always remembers that he wants her as a weapon before he trusts her as his wife). There’s definitely not a ‘happy’ timeline for them! They are always at their happiest in that barn, alone together.

   "I have this dream," she says, in that odd, soft way of hers. Her fingers card through his hair, more touch in the last day than he's had in the past year. He is hers, utterly, blasphemous as it is.

   Rain is still coming down on the dilapidated barn. The air smells fresh and new, and the wind is cool enough to raise goosebumps all over her skin.

   "Tell me?" he offers—he offers, like it's easy, like he's not starving for any piece of her, like he won't die if she stops touching him.

   "We never came to Kirkwall. We went somewhere else, somewhere kinder. My brother is a knight and my sister is happy and my mother is quietly proud of them." She is so very vulnerable, even with her hand at his neck. So very lost and lonely, a bird with a broken wing, searching for a safe perch.

   He has never—not even when she walked into the Chantry with blood under her nails, proclaiming his justice done—been more drawn to her. He has never felt so hollowed-out with need. He tries to be a virtuous man. He tries to be a good man. But right now, with her hand in his hair and his cheek against her chest, he wants to keep her. And he knows she wants to keep him—Hawke never wants to let anyone go.

   "And you?"

   "Oh, I suppose I marry someone sweet and have a lovely garden." Her nails scratch his scalp gently. A cat would purr. "We choose each other, and we're happy."

   "Jessalyn," he manages, pushing through the comfortable fog she has him in. "Jess-ah." Her grip on his hair tightens.

   "We choose each other," she repeats, more focused, her eyes boring into his. And he knows what she's going to say, as she tilts his face up into hers and catches his mouth in a brief, fierce kiss. And he has never, never wanted anything so badly.

   "I pretend it's you," she whispers, and he cracks clean through.

-------------------------------------

josie.... is actually the document where I write send your letter, i’ll reply (please ignore how that fic has not been updated since 2021, it is not dead I am still tinkering with it!) It’s actually a fic about Josephine witnessing a friendship blossom between Trevelyan and her sister Yvette! I thought Yvette was so much fun during WE&WH, and I love writing about how outsiders see video games happen, so she was a perfect way in to these characters. Josephine deals with her lover becoming best friends with her sister, the dismantling of the Inquisition as an organization, and the realization that she’s done the work and gets to have the happy ending. The first two chapters are finished, but the third is still in the bullet-point outline stage:

Letter from Kirkwall. Josephine has been settling matters in Antiva. Evelyn spent three days in Otswick before leaving, getting a room at the Hanged Man, and becoming a comtesse. Letter from Varric—don’t let her go back to Otswick, Ruffles. She gets all mixed up. Letter from Evelyn—I miss you, I love you, I’ll see you soon.

Trevelyans got kicked out of Orlais for breaking sumptuary laws headcanon here, an ancestor who discovered the right combo of pigment for Mock Imperial Blue and subsequently had to flee the country. Painting connection to Yvette :)

There are whispers in Antiva for months preceding Yvette Montilyet’s inaugural exhibition. They move beyond the circles of artists; three of the merchant princes requested to see the paintings in advance and five others sent spies. All were easily dealt with���the princes regretfully informed by the artist that the work was in no state to be viewed, the spies turned away by a few Friends and one resident assassin with a habit of walking the Montilyet estate at night. There is such a kindness to Evelyn. It is nonexistent when security threats arise.

What is their life together like? The Herald of Andraste resides a very short distance from Antiva City, and is often found in the studio of a novice painter. Yvette has had fine teachers, but she has not made a name for herself yet.

Beyond a brief presentation to the Queen of Antiva, the Herald has attended no formal court events. She has refused to sit for anything more than a sketch, even for the artist most in favor with the Empress of Orlais. 

Her portrait will be the centerpiece of Yvettes first exhibition. 

Josephine hasn’t seen it either.

It is not a portrait of the Herald of Andraste at all. It is Evelyn, only Evelyn, in the solarium. // Dressed simply—quiet blues and greens, no hint of the formal dress from Halamshiral. Her hair is in a cloudy bun, each wisping strand shot through with sunlight. Across her shoulders, poking fun at a chain of office, is a daisy chain. // She faces the viewer, hands resting in her lap. Everything about her posture speaks to regality; her chin is raised and her shoulders are squared. And then there is her expression. // The serious line of her mouth pulls up at one side, lips pressed together. Her eyes are lively, engaged. // Josephine’s breath catches, somewhere around the time she sees the freckles bunched up on Evelyn’s nose. This is—it is— // The opposite of every portrait, every rumor. There is no declaration of divinity or piety, no assertion of power. Not a single overt symbol. It could be any noblewoman. // Josephine reads the title, Lady Trevelyan Discussing Literature. // Yvette has captured the moment before Evelyn laughs. // No, they will not be parting with this painting. Not for anything.

No declarations of love come for Yvette in the wake of the exhibition, which she pouts over for a time. No censure comes from the Chantry for a disrespectful depiction of the Herald of Andraste, which lets Josephine breathe a sigh of relief.

Her mother has the portrait installed in the family gallery. Evelyn takes to haunting there, too.

The Anchor always hurts her, even now. They have separate bedrooms, connected by a door, and it is not uncommon for Evelyn to begin the evening in Josephine’s bed only to vanish in the night. The pain keeps her awake and restless, and Josephine is yet more grateful to Yvette, who is one of the only people capable of distracting Evelyn.

More than once, the two are discovered giggling next to the kitchen hearth by an indulgent cook. 

Basically, They Are In Love and even when things are tough, they work out :)

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Eridians, Sirens, and the great Destroyer

The Eridian empire was vast, timeless, and completely insular. Their species had watched hundreds of others crawl out of backwater planets over the eons and race headfirst into extinction shortly after, so hairy little pink monkey bipeds that made irritating noises and had gross soft bodies didn’t exactly hold much interest for them. 

Their only real interactions with the system’s humans were with the Siren hosts who were drawn to Nekrotafeyo over time, women who’s energy hummed in the same melodic frequency the Eridians used to communicate, and they would have been more than happy to keep it that way.

Incredibly technologically advanced and so long lived that they would seem immortal to lesser species, they were completely unchallenged in their total dominance of the Galaxy... and still would be if they hadn’t fucked up so badly. 

Big ol’ lore post under the cut, baybeeee:

Siren Song = They just vibin, man. 

It's the constant, endless sound the great powers make. They are alone in that place of other, floating through the endless dark of eternity, so it's not a form of communication or an attempt to reach out - it just is. It just exists in the same way the Siren entities always have and always will.  Maybe they aren't even making noise and the song is just how human brains translate the information they are taking in? Who knows. Not really any of our business anyway.

It reverbs through everything linked to them, so eridium, Siren hosts, Eridian architecture and ruins? They all sing, it's just that most can't hear it.

Pandorans can over time because they live so close to the greatest reservoir of eridium that exists, and it is screaming under their feet. The problem is that once you start hearing it? Well, you can’t really go back.

All Siren hosts are drawn to Pandora not because of what their brain tells them, not cause they want riches, or to make a name for themselves, or to be a Vault Hunter, they are drawn there because it feels like home. Somewhere in the back of their minds, in a part of their brain they can’t access, the song is still singing.

Eridians = Ancient insectoid race of space farers. Cool guys. Really good at poker, terrible at charades.

Through a mix of technology and natural affinity to the great Sirens, developed premonition (future thread sight) and warp travel (colonised a huge amount of planets). Communicated through a chittering song on a frequency inaudible to humans. 

It was similar enough to the hum Siren host’s emanate that they tolerated the women’s confused pilgrimages to their home planet, drawn by the melodic lure of the eridium and the Eridians themselves.

Eridium = Crystallised Siren-Entity energy from their plane. Purple. Sings if you know how to listen to it, tastes like fried pickles.

The Eridians naturally as a species were able to tap into the great power's plane and siphon energy from it, which fueled their entire civilisation. The great Siren Entities did not give a shit about this, they don't about anything in general, it was infinitely replaceable and in no way harmful to them for the Eridians to extract. They wouldn't even notice, really. They don't exist on the same cosmic fuckin' reality anyway.

Eridium sings in resonance with the entities’ song, it's part of them in a very roundabout way, and that’s why Siren hosts can consume it to boost their Siren’s manifested powers.

Destroyer =  The great Eridian fuckup. Don’t blame it though, it would rather just go home.

When your species has developed premonition that’s almost entirely accurate bar when trying to predict Siren power touched outcomes, it’s easy to get overconfident. If everything always works out in your favor, risks feel less dangerous, and holy fuck did these giant cricket dudes take a stupid risk.

Time made them greedy, and ego made them dumb. As their civilisation spread and power needs grew exponentially, they developed machinery to siphon eridium into physical crystals instead of using their own innate abilities, and eventually decided to open a direct link into the Siren Power’s realm. An umbilical that was meant to allow a constant flow of power and increase harvesting, but instead released something terrible... 

For real though it's only a lil guy. The “Great Destroyer” is just a parasite, a bug. Another being like the Siren entities that’s native to their plane except minute in comparative size and power. It's a gnat, a tiny flicker of life that harmlessly swam through the Siren song and consumed energy, till a group of insectoid arseholes ripped it out of it's own reality and into a very shitty one. 

It's confused and pissed, so it does what anyone would do in its position.

It starts eating.

Great extinction = Eridians have fucked up so badly they decide the best plan is to just mass kill themselves out of pure cringe so they won’t have to deal with being laughed at by shitty little monkey bipeds. 

The umbilical was designed to siphon from the Siren power’s plane, never to push something back. The Eridians understandably brick themselves as a race once the problem with this becomes rapidly apparent. The Destroyer is running rampant, consuming everything in its path and growing in size exponentially. Their weapons only seem to feed it more, and it’s being attracted to what it knows - eridium and the song it hums. The energy that fills their cities and resonates through their bodies is now a death sentence.

Their planets have been decimated, and the monster’s sights are set on Nektrotafeyo next. Cue Nyriad and her huge, sexy brain.

Siren hosts have always been attracted to Eridian planets. Their bodies reverberate with the same song despite the huge differences between the two species, just like the eridium that fills their cities. It’s an involuntary lure across the dark of space for women who already feel isolated and removed from their own planets.

Nyriad had been on Nekro for some time before The Destroyer was released - enjoying a friendly if mildly frustrating relationship with beings that saw her as a shitty little monkey biped who was slightly better than all the others because she had rad tats and made a noise they like.

It was her that raised the idea to GLUT this thing into naptime by feeding it the energy it was being drawn so desperately to, and to surround it with eridium after.

...but it was the Eridians who raised that the greatest concentration of that energy was within them.

Billions sacrificed themselves to the beast’s hunger, Nyriad crumbled under the of weight of so many deaths she felt truly responsible for, and it slipped into a great slumber.

Pandora is not a cage, it's a cradle. The Destroyer sleeps surrounded by the sensation of being where it belongs, no longer lost or afraid as it dreams from within the Siren’s song.

Eridians leave = Goodbye bugs, thanks for pretty much nothing.

There were plenty left after the great sacrifice, but they left the system not long after it was completed. 

Whether it was a “Ah fuck, sorry” response or they saw something horrific coming in the future is up to debate, but they left a long, long, long time ago. 

If they had seen something terrible on the horizon, then it either ended up not happening or they left the system a HELL of a lot of time before it was due to. Then again, they couldn't see Siren touched futures, or The Destroyer would never have been accidentally fished out of the nether.

Maybe they will come back some day, but it’s likely the only contact humanity will ever have with Eridian civilisation is through the ruins of what they left behind, and the constructed guardians that defend it so viciously.

The maddening = The great psychosis that ripped across Pandora and whispered insanity into the minds of those abandoned by the corporate wars.

29 years before Borderlands 3 starts, The Leech Siren entity is freed after millennia of rotting alone in a cell. Removed from the song, torn from the others,  half in and half out of the plane it should exit in, it's lost. It’s frightened, it's desperately lonely, and in its panic to find a host ends up split into two, torn between seperated bodies it never wanted in the first place.

Its song joins the chorus, and the sound is horrific. Broken, distorted notes, sharp and flat in all the wrong places, a cacophony of screeching voices and sounds impossible for human brains to comprehend. 

It rips across Pandora's hum like a distortion, and its madness locks into the minds of all those poor, innocent people who'd been around eridium long enough that they could hear the melody without even realising yet.

Pandora goes mad, Bandits screech of the great maw, the all-seeing eye, and Leda Calypso soothes her broken twins.

Phew. 

So, nutshell?

In my Leech Lord AU, all eridium screams in confused song - half The Leech's distortion, half the rest of the entity's melody.

Sirens are drawn to Pandora, not because of whatever reason their logical mind tells them, but because it’s the only place in the Universe with such a concentration of the energy that’s part of them - part of the great powers themselves.

Each Siren host hums with their own sound, Troy and Tyreen differently, like 2 parts of the same broken voice overlapping and crackling. 

When together, they harmonise... and that's why their streams are so deadly. 

That's why they skyrocketed to the level of intergalactic fame they did.

Like, Follow, and Obey.

...it's not the Twins who are saying it.

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

Skies and the crew head through the Dust. Previous! Next! 

--

Chapter 7

Previously

           “Do I have to use a gun?” Rhys whined, “it’s not really my style.”            “This isn’t about ‘style’,” Skies chided, “this is about living on Pandora, where everything wants to kill you all the time. Here, look, I even found you a Hyperion pistol. It’s not as good as mine but it’ll be fine for you.”            “Fine,” Rhys groaned as she handed him the gun. They were inside some kind of old office room in the Old Haven Atlas facility. Skies had repurposed it to be a firing range, with three crudely drawn bandit targets. She held out her own gun and Rhys mirrored her stance.

           “Okay, grip it with both hands, aim down the sight, and squeeze the trigger,” she explained.

           Rhys did so, and the bullet whizzed directly between two targets. His shoulders sagged with disappointment.

           “That’s alright,” Skies said reassuringly, “you’re a beginner. Take a deep breath and keep trying.”            Inhaling deeply, Rhys tried again. Half an hour and about one hundred bullets later, the wall behind the targets was riddled with holes while the targets themselves remained clean and unharmed.

           Groaning heavily, Rhys hung his head and arms in defeat while Skies shook her head with disbelief.

           “Y’know, the saying is ‘you can’t hit the broad side of a barn’,” she said, “but you have no trouble with that.”

           “Whatever!” Rhys snapped, throwing his hands into the air with frustration. “Like to see you do better. What am I saying, of course you’d do bet-.”

           Skies cut him off by firing her pistol, emptying the mag into the heads of all three targets.

           “Whoa,” Rhys breathed in awe.

           “Tch,” she clicked her tongue with disapproval. “I’m rusty.”

           “Rusty?” he exclaimed, “you got all head-shots!”

           “Yeah, but the bullets didn’t go into the same holes.”            He blinked at her, stunned. “Are you what they call a ‘crack shot’?”

           Skies beamed. “Well, I have been doing this literally my whole life. Actually, I prefer using knives- has a more ‘personal touch’. But that doesn’t always work.”            Rhys huffed and crossed his arms like a stubborn child. “Well, when I start weapons manufacturing, I’m gonna make guns that don’t require aiming. Yeah, they’ll have…tracking bullets.”

           “Tracking bullets?” Skies snorted with amusement.

           “That’s right!” he boomed, “shoot them in the general area of your enemies, and they’ll take care of the rest. They’ll be unlike any other guns ever.”            “Well, you’ll be pandering to the one demographic no other gun manufacturers have thought about: people who can’t aim.”            “Exactly!”

           Skies chuckled but grabbed his gun and handed it back to him. “Still, I want you to hang onto this. I’ll feel better knowing you have something other than that pixie stick with you.”            “Hey, that stun baton is awesome,” Rhys argued, “but fine, for you, I’ll keep the gun.”

           She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

---

 Now

           Lilith pinches her nose in frustration at the sight before her. The technical is completely written off, the hood practically flattened against the side of the tunnel and the rest of the vehicle blocking off access to the Dust. The only good news is that none of the passengers were hurt, just some whiplash.

           “We’re sorry, Commander,” one of the Crimson Raiders who was in the vehicle says. “We just saw a group of people we didn’t know running from Overlook and we thought it was suspicious. If we knew one of them was Skies the Bodyguard, we would’ve called you.”            “It’s fine,” Lilith insists, “you didn’t know.”            Brick and Mordecai stand beside her while the Vault Hunters examine the vehicle. The only major damage was from the crash, except for the cause which is the left tire torn up by bullets. It’s clear the aiming was precise and exact; the shooter knew exactly what they were doing.

           “Was Skies the one shooting?” Mordecai asks.

           “I think so,” the driver replies, “it looked like a woman.”            “Why would she aim for the tire and not the driver…” Maya muses.

           “It’s interesting/,” Zer0 says, “a crack shot like Skies could have/ killed them all with ease.”

           “What are ya gettin’ at?” Salvador asks.

           “Don’t tell me you actually buy her sob story,” Gaige scoffs. Zer0 merely shrugs, ‘…’ displayed on his helmet.

           “It doesn’t matter anyway,” Maya grunts, “they escaped into the Dust. We’ll never find them.”

           “Oh, we’ll find them,” Axton declares as he reaches into his bag and pulls out Skies Psycho mask. “With this.”

           “You kept that?” Maya scoffs with disgust.

           “You bet,” he grins, “and with it, Dukino can track her scent.”

          “Good idea,” Lilith comments, “you guys get Dukino and we’ll get this vehicle out of the way. Then we’ll track her down.”

           “You got it, boss,” Axton salutes before they jump back into their vehicle and drive away.

           Meanwhile, Skies and her group are quickly covering ground through the Dust. They keep an eye on their tail, to make sure they’re not being followed. When they’re about halfway through the desert, Skies pats the cab.

           “This is far enough, August,” she says, “stop the car.”

           After he does so, everyone hops out.

           “What are we doing?” Sasha asks, “this is the middle of nowhere.”            “I know,” Skies replies as he grabs a grenade from her coat. “We gotta ditch the car.”

           “What?” she exclaims but before anyone can argue, Skies tosses the nade and blows the technical to smoking bits.

           “We go on foot from here,” she clarifies, “it’ll be harder to track us.”

           “You could’ve given us a little warning,” Vaughn mutters as he dusts some debris from his shoulders.

           “Don’t worry,” Skies says as they start walking. “We’re not far. And we would’ve had to walk the rest of the way anyway.”            They trek though the desert, the hot sun beating down on them. Thankfully the journey is pretty quiet and they don’t run into any bandits, just a few spiderants that are easily dealt with.

           After a couple hours, they arrive at what appears to be an old, rundown train station. They only guess that based on the tracks and the busted old train; the buildings are totaled beyond recognition.

           “Okay, we gotta go down the tracks,” Skies says, “watch your step. Some of these boards are pretty rotted.”

           “Where are we going again?” Sasha asks, “I don’t think you told us.”

           “An old town called Lynchwood,” she replies, “it’s been completely abandoned since the sheriff died and the townsfolk went hog wild and killed each other. I stayed there for a while after Jack died but…there were too many memories.”

           “Memories?” Vaughn questions.

           Skies swallows hard, hesitating. “The sheriff was Jack’s girlfriend, Nisha. We were…friends.”            “Of course you were,” Sasha scoffs derisively.

           Skies is silent for a minute before clearing her throat. “A-anyway, she had her own personal fast travel station that she could use to visit Jack. If we can get it working again, we should be able to use it to get into Opportunity.”

           “And if not?” August asks.

           She shrugs. “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”            “Please don’t mention burning bridges,” Vaughn whimpers as he warily eyes the long fall below them.

           They walk quietly for a few moments. Nervously wringing her hands, Gortys constantly glances between the rest of the group and the unconscious Claptrap under Loader Bot’s arm.

           “Uh-um,” she finally speaks up. “Could we reactivate Claptrap now?”

           Everyone stops, looking at her with surprise before glancing between each other. Then Skies shrugs, “sure, why not. Just make sure he doesn’t run away, Loader Bot.”

           Loader Bot rests him on the ground and reactivates him. He looks around for a second, confused, before shrilly screaming.

           “Gah, I change my mind, turn him off,” Skies groans with annoyance as everyone covers their ears.

           “You kidnapped me! You bot-napped me!” Claptrap shouts, pointing at them accusingly. “Villains! Baddies! Criminals!”

           “You said you’d help us,” Vaughn points out.

           “I never would’ve said that if I knew you were working for her!” he snaps, pointing at Skies, who just glares him with irritation.

           “Working with, not for,” August corrects.

           “You won’t get away with this!” Claptrap barks, “my friends will come save me! They’ll stop you! You’ll all be destroyed!”

           “Gah, this is pointless,” Skies scoffs, “he’ll never help us now.”

          “Hang on, I think I can fix this,” Sasha declares and approaches him. Kneeling in front of him, she takes his hands, immediately shutting him up.

           “We’re sorry we kidnapped you,” she says, “we panicked. But we really do need your help. My sister has disappeared. She’s the only family I have left. You’re our only hope for finding her. Please, Claptrap.”

           Claptrap stares into her big, green eyes and at his hands clasped in hers. Then he pulls one out and bashfully rubs the back of his chassis. “Aw, I can’t say no to you. You’re way to pretty-guh, I mean, family is very important to me.”

           “You’re my hero,” Sasha chimes and Claptrap laughs.

           “Nah, I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, “I’m just a good guy with good morals. Yup, that’s what everyone says about me. They say ‘that Claptrap is such a good guy’.”

           Claptrap continues his claptrap as everyone starts walking again. August grins as he nudges Sasha’s shoulder. “Nicely done.”

           She smirks. “Fiona’s not the only one who can manipulate.”

           The sun has started setting when they finally reach their destination. They go through a train station into an old town nestled in the mountains. It’s eerily quiet, with just the wind serving as ambiance.

           “It’s a ghost town,” Vaughn comments as they make their way past the bullet-hole riddled buildings.

           “I told you,” Skies says, “Jack gave this town to Nisha as an anniversary gift. After she died, the Eridium mining was shut down and everyone went nuts.”

           “An anniversary gift?” August scoffs, “don’t most guys give like chocolates or flowers?”

           “Yeah, well,” she smiles wistfully, “Jack never did anything small.”            She leads them through the town to Nisha’s old house. The roof over the porch is caved in, the windows have been completely shattered, and the door is hanging off one hinge. But the inside remains intact.        

           “Okay, we can rest here for a while,” Skies declares as she cross the kitchen to the fast travel station embedded in the wall. She taps it a couple times and sighs. “Power to the town is out. We’ll have to turn it back on.”            “Can we eat first?” Vaughn asks as everyone sits at the table. “I’m starved.”

           “What is there to eat?” Sasha scoffs.

           Skies searches through the cabinets before finding a bottle of Rakk ale and a can of beans. “Here we go. Ale and beans, the Pandora staple. Well, actually that’d be skag meat. I can go hunting if you want.”            “Beans are fine,” August grunts and cracks the can open with a knife. Everyone takes turns scooping some out with their fingers.

           “Humans are hopeless,” Loader Bot comments, “your reliance on sustenance will truly be your downfall.”            Skies chuckles and he looks at her curiously. “What?”

           “Nothing,” she replies, “just…Wilhelm used to say stuff like that. Man. Being here really does…dig up old memories…”

           She looks around the house forlornly before her eyes fall on the bottle of Rakk ale and she snatches it.

           “Welp, if no one else is gonna drink any, I’ll just help myself,” she declares before taking a swig.

           “Is now really the time to be getting drunk?” Sasha scorns.

           “Oh, Sasha,” Skies sighs, “you don’t get drunk off Rakk ale. You just get sad.”            She takes another big swig as she lumbers out the door, leaving without another word. She collapses just outside, by the cliff side, and quietly drinks the ale as the sky darkens.

[shawnpetermuffins]

I Miss You

A/n: I hope this is good because I put this off for so long wanting to do it justice. And this is based very loosely off I Miss you.

Summary: you two broke up recently, and it's not sitting well with Shawn, even though he's the reason you broke up.

Requested by @it-isnt-in-myy-blood: Hi, I recently listened to the song 'I Miss you' (Clean Bandit, Julia Michaels). Maybe you could write a fic based on the song, angsty but with a fluff ending? Thank you... ❤️

***

Kinda_yourname

2,158 likes

Kinda_yourname Cabo sunsets >>>> anything else

•

It may have only been a week, but I'm missing it here! 😭

Comments have been disabled.

I shut my phone off and toss it to the end of the bed. I should have been with her on that trip, but tour got in the way. I got in the way. It's crazy to think that if you asked me three weeks ago, I would have said that my girlfriend and I could overcome any obstacle thrown at us. But ask me again a week later, and I would tell you I was wrong. That being away from her for months at a time was too much for me and I broke it off because I thought it would be what was best for both of us in the end.

Now ask me if I still believe that.

I don't.

I haven't told anyone about us yet. I mean, everyone probably suspects because there haven't been Amy preshow FaceTime calls for good luck, and I'm not texting like a madman during dinner or when we're on our way to the venues. And I know she hasn't said anything to anyone either. How? Because for one, she hasn't blocked me on any social media - I know, I've checked at least ten times just within the last two hours. And two, she hasn't deleted the three pictures of us that she has on her Instagram. They're still there for everyone to see, me included.

Now my fingers are hovering over the keyboard and I'm staring at her name on my phone which is still My Love 😍, and I'll probably never change it. Because she is my love, and to strip her of that title because I'm an idiot just isn't fair.

Hey... I miss you

I type and backspace and type and backspace at least ten times. Because I want to text her. I want so badly to text her, but what if she doesn't want to hear from me? I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to. I was the worst. Breaking up with her over the phone, no less because I was hurting being away from her. Never once did it occur to me that, yeah, she was hurting too. Or maybe she's with someone else. Maybe she's found somebody new. I want her happy, sure. But I selfishly still want to be the one that makes her happy.

Y/n I miss you.

I delete it one last time and open my photo gallery. I have an album saved for photos of us. Photos that I never got to post because she wanted to keep us as private as possible without being a secret. Which is why both of us only have 3 photos of each other on our Instagram. One for our six months, a year, and a year and a half. Two more months and we would have had a fourth picture.

I'm swiping through the photos landing on one I took of her when we were flying back to Canada after our first trip together. We're on a private jet because this was before we went public with our relationship. Andrew made sure that we weren't seen together in the airport or anything. She's sitting in the seat across the aisle from me, legs up to her chest, earphones in, head resting on her knees as she smiles brightly at me. There's another one of us curled up together on this tiny chair in a green room in the UK that Andrew sent me. She's literally curled into a ball on my lap, sleeping peacefully and my legs are spread in front of me, arms wrapped tightly around her body, head resting against the back of the seat.

The next one Brian took. We were at my place for a very impromptu new years party. It was just gonna be me and y/n, but she insisted we invite the guys over. And we did. It was one of the best nights of my life. We're watching the ball drop, with her in my lap, arm around my shoulder. I have one arm behind her back, the other on her thigh. I think Brian knew something was going to happen because at ten seconds to midnight he pulled his phone out and captured out first new years kiss. She's holding my face and I'm practically leaning her back against the couch. It looks like I'm seconds away from crawling on top of her, and it be honest, I probably was. She's just too perfect for me to resist.

Then there's one that Josiah took of us just a few months ago at the studio house. I had y/n on the kitchen counter, she was in these jean shorts that I loved her in and a button up that she'd stolen from my suitcase. Not that I was complaining. It looked far better on her than it did on me. I stood between her legs, my hands on her sides, slipping under the shirt a little bit, leaning her hips exposed. Not that either of u cared with her fingers threaded in my hair as casually as they were. My face is blocked by her figure, but there isn't a doubt in my mind that I was smiling entirely too wide standing between her legs.

The video that follows knocks the breath out of me. She giggling like crazy, but the camera isn't on her, it's on me. On my back, more specifically. She laughs even more when I wince at the feel of her fingers on my red, raw skin that is now home of her fingernail scratches.

"Baby? What happened to your back?" She asked, amused.

"Don't know," I said, turning to face her, my cheeks still holding a slight blush. "But I think the real question is, what happened to your neck, missy?" I pluck the phone from her hands and turn the camera to her where she's trying to cover her face. I manage, however, to take her hands in my free one and the camera focuses on the flourishing bruises that litter her beautiful neck, my favorite place to rest my head.

I close my eyes, the memory of that night filling my mind. Watching her come down from her high, my face still buried between her legs. The weight and cold touch of her hands as she pulled me up to her, into her, because she needed me closer. I can hear myself murmuring the words 'I love you' all over her skin, still remember the way her back arched when I hit the right spot again and again and her finger ran down my back over and over, once more and she probably would have drawn blood. And I may not be home, but I can smell her on the sheets, that constant aroma of warm vanilla penetrating my nostrils. God, do I miss her.

I'm only making it worse for myself by doing this, I know that. But I should feel bad. I lost the greatest thing in my life and I didn't need to. So I got back to our messages, but instead of going to type a new one, I scroll through, reading through our old texts. There's countless paragraphs of us professing our love for each other. Lots of random pictures sent, most from my side. There's conversations about getting a home together, and a dog. And her telling me how much she loves my family and me telling her how much they love her, how much they ask about her. It's all hitting me too hard right now.

And it doesn't help that im literally sobbing at 2 in the morning, in Paris. The city of love. The place she told me was her favorite trip to ever take with me. Where we stood atop the eiffle tower and I gave her a promise ring, a ring that said I would love her and keep her forever. A promise ring that was now probably in the ocean in Cabo because I tore us apart so easily.

I sit up suddenly, struggling to catch my breath. It takes a few minutes, but I'm able to pull myself out of this empty bed that would only be comfortable with y/n laying next to me. I'm scrambling through the room, picking up the pair of jeans I threw off my body earlier and slipping back into them. I find a torn work out shirt in the bottom of my back and push my head and arms through before throwing my youth hoodie over my already overheated upper body. My passport is sitting in my guitar case, and I grab both things without a second thought. My suitcase trailing behind me.

It's difficult booking a flight and carrying a suitcase and guitar all at once, but I get along just well enough and adjust myself in the lobby while I wait for a taxi. I don't text Andrew until I've made it to the airport and am in my seat on the plane, ready for take off.

Emergency... had to fly home. Promise to make it back in time for the Paris show.

And I turn my phone off before he can text or call me back. Because there isn't a damn thing that he could say that would keep me there in a city that's meant for lovers, when my lover is across the world instead of laying in my arms the way she should be.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know there is someone out there who is better for her. Someone who isn't constantly on the move. Someone who can come home to her every night and help her make dinner. Someone who can cuddle her until she falls asleep when she's having a particularly bad day. I know there's someone who can do those things.

But I also know that he won't love her the way I do. He won't know all the little things that I do. Like how she only uses a blue toothbrush. Always has. And he won't notice the tiny scar that she has on her right middle finger from when we tried to make dinner together one night and she cut herself. He probably won't know that she wakes up at 3:34 every single night, because she hasn't been able to sleep fully and soundly through the night since she was four years old. And he'll mess up the way she likes her tea, using tea bags instead of leaves. (She like the herbal taste that you get when you use the leaves. And she likes when you do two scoops of them, and two scoops of sugar, but just cane sugar, the rock sugar makes it too earthy. And of course, she drinks it on ice because she hates burning her tongue with hot drinks.)

I'm thinking way too much as I get off the plane, reluctantly turning my phone back on only to see texts from just about everyone I know. They're all asking where I am, but I ignore them, because what I'm about to do is far more important than anything they threaten me with. I have to make things right.

Standing in front of this door that I've stood in front of hundreds of times should make me feel at ease. Remembering all the times I had her pressed against the other side of the door because I just couldn't wait to have her all to myself. But if anything, it's making me more nervous. So nervous that my hands are shaking, palms sweating, my breathing is jagged and I know if I don't knock right now I might never get the chance again and I can't lose her for real this time. So without giving myself the chance to rethink, I knock on the door three times and I wait, handing in the pocket of my hoodie.

I wait a solid thirty seconds, which feel like an eternity, before the door finally opens and I see my beautiful girl. Her face is bare, hair only halfway straightened, and she's in those shorts I love and my old Led Zepplin t-shirt.

"Shawn," my name still sounds like heaven spilling from her lips. "What are you doing here?" She crosses and then uncrosses her arms, shifting her weight from one leg to the other before standing completely straight.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I sniffled and heard my voice crack with just three words, "I miss you."

"Shawn," she shook her head.

"I tried not to," I insisted, still standing like a fool on her door step. "I swear I did. But I couldn't stop. I looked through all our pictures and texts, and I couldn't stop myself from missing you. And I know I have no right to because I broke things off. But I was in Paris and I was miserable because Paris was your favorite place, and that was where I promised to love you forever, and I'm still keeping that promise. I was an idiot," I continue to ramble. "If there's a better word for that, then I'm that too, because I thought it would be easier if I broke things off. This tour was going to be so long and to go that long without each other, I was scared that it wouldn't be enough for you. But it's not what I wanted, y/n. It's not, and I just-"

"Shawn, stop."

I shut my mouth instantly, ready for her to tell me to leave. But what she does instead throws me completely off guard. She pulls me into the apartment and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her head deep in my chest.

"I miss you, too." She mumbles and I exhale slowly, only to inhale that scent that I love so much. The scent that is naturally her. She starts to pull away, and even though I don't want her to, I let her but she only leans back enough to take my face in her hands and before I even have time to blink, her soft lips are on mine and I'm whole again.

She's mine again and I'm never letting her go.

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @bbellbagel

This took me longer to write than it should have, but I kinda really like it. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you Wednesday for more content! 💙

Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

[metalgearkong]

Horizon Zero Dawn - Review (PS4)

4/2/20

Developed by Guerrilla Games, released February 2017

...Yet another big game I was late to the party on. Horizon Zero Dawn got a lot of praise when it came out, but I never got time to play it; Three years later, I can finally see what all the hype was about. Horizon Zero Dawn is a beautiful and detailed open world action-RPG with tons of things to do and see. Its deep combat mechanics, breathtaking environments, crafting, exploring, and character interactions make this one of the best games in the genre. Its enigmatic story was a blast to uncover, and rivals some of the best of the science fiction genre in gaming. Horizon Zero Dawn is is a massive RPG that will satisfy the tastes of those who enjoy epic titles, such as The Witcher 3, Far Cry, or Mass Effect, all the while establishing a brand new IP.

Horizon Zero Dawn couldn’t be a further departure from Guerilla Game’s Killzone series. We play as Aloy (Ashley Burch), a hunter in the forests and mountains raised by her adoptive father Rost (JB Blanc). The story takes place in the deep post post-apocalypse, where the Old Ones have left behind rusted skyscrapers and mysterious underground ruins, forbidden by the Matriarchs to be entered. The game never establishes where physically on Earth the game takes place, but contains biomes from all hemispheres. Life has reverted back to clans and tribes, with no advanced technology or luxuries whatsoever. Each tribe is distinct and has their share of superstitions and philosophies. The world is also populated with machines in the wild that resemble animals, each with their own strengths, weaknesses, and behaviors. 

The machine combat is Horizon Zero Dawn’s biggest draw and its most unique aspect. Aloy can use several weapons to help take down these foes, ranging from bows with elemental arrows, to a slingshot that launches bombs, and a weapon that ties down machines with metal cables. The game does a great job of putting you in the mindset of a hunter. Many of the low level machines are easy enough to take out, but often run in packs. The idea is to lure away individuals from their pack and take them out silently (if possible) and whittle down numbers before things get too chaotic. The game gives you tons of tools like tripwires, mines, and other traps to help prepare for fights. I love this beings every encounter starts off in stealth, and if you’re good enough, many of the enemies you face (machines or human bandits) can be taken out quietly.

Machines have plates of armor, and several weakspots to target before they can be killed. Every machine has a different build, and its components are all weak to one element or another. Aloy gets a tool called a Focus, which is one of the only working pieces of tech from the Old Ones. It essentially gives the game Batman: Arkham vision, allowing you to see animals, people, machines highlighted through walls, and see their patrol paths. The Focus also lets you scan machines and learn where their weakspots are, and what element (ice, shock, fire, etc) that component is weak to. It’s fun to study the machines and eventually learn better and better how to take certain ones down. Each machine drops different kinds of loot and eventually you learn which machines to hunt to get which kind of loot.

If I had to give Horizon Zero Dawn one complaint is that there’s actually too many machines, and too many of them behave too aggressively. Virtually all of the machines will be hostile, and encounters can turn into an assault from every angle in seconds. Sometimes during a battle I would get so focused on running, dodging, and shooting, my fight would spill into the site of another animal herd, making them join the fray as well. Too much of the time I would get frustrated being drawn into fights I didn’t even want to start, and battles would get far too frustrating to be enjoyable. I did however always love the fights with just Aloy and one big machine. The t-rex and polar bear machines were my favorites, acting like stand-alone boss fights. If there were 20% less machines in the wild and they behaved 20% more docile, it would have been more realistic and more enjoyable.

Horizon Zero Dawn feels like a lost BioWare game that BioWare never made. I wasn’t expecting such an emphasis on story and characters, nor how much time is spent in dialog. Much like Mass Effect or Knights of the Old Republic, Horizon Zero Dawn lets you chose responses during dialog to find out new information and learn about your quests. The amount of main quests and side quests was truly impressive, usually involving exploration, combat, and several conversations before a climax. Next to The Witcher 3, I think this game has some of my favorite side quests in any game I’ve played. It lead me to completing every single main quest and side quest that had any narrative appeal, and nearly all of them subverted my expectations in some way. 

The environments are visually stunning, and the world has a beautiful day and night cycle. I can’t say how many times I would stop at a vista or a moonlit grove and just breathe in the scenery. From  a Wyoming mesa bathed in orange light from a sunset, to a midnight blizzard atop a snowy mountain, the environments in this game were consistently gorgeous and varied. I also never ran into a character or background NPC that I ever saw copied (aside from city guards and hostiles). The voice acting all around was very good as well. I can’t think of a single weak performance in my entire 55 hour experience with the game. Aloy gets a lot of concentration on her character development, and it begins when we play as her as a child. The developers and actors did a great job making us care for her and identify with her plight. She does get a bit sardonic for my taste late in the story, but its the only chink in the armor of an otherwise excellent RPG protagonist, one who stops at nothing to help anyone she comes across.

Rivaling the best juggernauts in its genre, Horizon Zero Dawn fits in with the best of the industry. From the well crafted quests, to the emphasis on character, to the environments, to the deep combat mechanics, this game is easily one of the best exclusives on the PlayStation 4. Other than the sometimes frustrating machine encounters and battles, I enjoyed myself throughout the experience, plus the Frozen Wilds DLC expansion. I hope Guerilla Games continues this series, as Horizon Zero Dawn has laid the foundation for a fantastic new series. Some room for improvement here and there, but as it stands, this game is definitely an action-RPG fans of the genre need to own and play.

9/10

[inactive-zym]

Zymphadora “Zym” Purpura  CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONNAIRE

BASICS 

1. Height?

5’4

2. Eye color, skin color, hair and horn color?

Completely, moonish white with no visible pupils. 

Her skin is light purple like lilacs and her horns darken to near black-purple and lighten as they get longer, however the remaining sections of her horns are mostly dark. 

Her hair is a darker shade of purple than her skin. 

3. Do they need glasses?

No.

4. Scars and birthmark?

Zym has thin scars on her fingers and knuckles. Her knees and shins are also pock-marked from less than graceful falls from trees and stairwells while exploring her father’s estate. 

Her broken horns are still jagged beneath the metal caps. 

5. Tattoos and piercings?

Zym’s ears have several piercings, though they aren’t particularly dramatic or gaudy. She has two piercings on each lobe and two in the cartilage of her right ear where a small chain connects the two silver studs. 

Delicate tattoos of her her favorite flowers drape across Zym’s shoulders and tumble down her sternum and across her collarbones. They flood down her left arm and across the back of her hand, but her right arm has yet to receive the same treatment and the flowers are limited to her shoulder on that side. Sunflowers, violets, lupins, cornflowers, trilliums, irises, and many more are all carved into her skin. 

On the inside of her right upper arm, normally only visible when her arms are raised, is the symbol of her bandit crew, the Lurkers. The crudely drawn symbol itself is of a set of scales with a cartoonish eye sitting in both sides. The black, harsh lines are incongruent and ugly beside the flowers. Next to that is a small, equally crude bird in reference to Zym’s nickname within the gang. They called her their Larker rather than Lurker because larks always sing at daybreak and even while they’re flying unlike most other birds. The sight of a meadowlark is meant to signify abundance and good harvest as is the case when Zym reappeared after a heist. 

FLOWER TATTOO REFERENCE 

6. Right or left handed?

Ambidextrous. 

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

None.

8. Do they have any allergies?

Ironically, she has seasonal allergies and her favorite flowers make her nose stuffy. 

9. Favorite color?

All of them, but pink especially. 

10. Typical outfits?

Day-to-day Zym wears gathered white shirts that, while occasionally billowing or lacey, can be tucked into her waist or tightened to remove risks of it getting caught during her sneakier deeds. She rarely, if ever, bothers to button them up all the way and the tattoos down her chest and dancing on her clavicle are always in view. Pale rainbows of color, suggestions of what lies beneath the fabric, peek through the white as she moves. 

She wears plain, often black or brown pants that are gathered and tucked into her laced boots. Both are unremarkable, but functional. Atop her pants she ties a shin-length skirt of light, breezy, and layered fabric of whatever color she decides on that day. Most often it will be pink, pale blue, or ivory. The skirt itself is not a full circle skirt and instead is much like a cape and ties secure around her waist with a ribbon. There’s always a slit up the side, but the fabric is bushy enough that the slit isn’t easily visible and it acts like a normal, full skirt. She can easily pull her skirt free if she needs to flee or climb, but she’s nearly always wearing it and it’s light enough not to encumber her. The layers of the skirt also hide the large number of small pockets and sheaths strapped along her thighs where she keeps her keys, trinkets, daggers, and her thieve’s tools all secure and easily accessible. 

When cold, she wears thicker pants and a jacket that fits snugly to her frame. Alternatively she’ll wear billowing cloaks that are easy to throw off and leave behind. She wears no jewelry other than her earrings. 

11. Do they wear any makeup?

She rarely bothers with makeup and her skills begin and end with lining her eyes in black kohl. When she wants to feel festive, or pretty, she’ll apply some. 

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

She carries a short sword, a shortbow with a quiver of arrows, two daggers, and her thieves tools. The latter pieces of equipment are secured to her thighs beneath her skirt while the former hang from her waist or her pack. 

PERSONALITY 

13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

She’s utterly, irrevocably, impossibly optimistic. Really, it should be rather concerning how hopeful she is and how enduringly cheerful. 

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted, but not always in her excitable, hyperactive way; she desires to be near people and adores being in people’s silent presences as much as she does the bustling, loud atmosphere of a tavern or party. 

15. What are their pet peeves?

People who are needlessly negative or who go out of their way to try and make others feel the same. 

Squirrels. They’re always better climbers than she is and she doesn’t like it. 

16. What bad habits do they have?

She bites the tips of her fingers when she’s nervous and is unable to sit still for long if she doesn’t have something specific to focus on. If she’s laying in wait and preparing to rob someone, she can stay still and silent for hours at a time. Similarly if she’s having an interesting conversation she won’t fidget. If not, she bounces on the balls of her feet, swings her arms back and forth, hums, spins or dances in place, and swooshes her skirt back and forth. 

17. Do they have any phobias?

She’s scared of the dark, but it’s not quite a phobia as she can still function in darkness. It’s one of the many reasons she adores cities: their lights never dim. If she’s forced out into the wilds, she’ll refuse to leave the safe net of light from the campfires or insist on carrying the lantern or torch. If someone knows the Light cantrip that’s the person she’ll stick close to. 

18. How do they display affection?

Zym is incredibly tactile and if given permission, or not outright refusal, she’ll hold anyone’s hand, link arms with them, hug, and kiss them freely. When given the opportunity, she’ll often show her affection for someone by merely pressing into their side and resting her head on their shoulders or lap. 

She’s always enamored by one thing or another. An activity, a book, a performance and she’ll always want to share whatever neat thing she’s fixated on with people. 

19. How competitive are they?

Extraordinarily. If she’s in the competition, she wants to win, but the moment it becomes too serious, or the fun is lost, she likewise loses her competitiveness as well as interest.

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

She’d want her horns back. She knows her personality is pretty great, and so is her smile, and she’s a great thief and all, but her horns were always part of her. She’s an even better thief and burglar because of their absence and she no longer runs the risk of the long, curling protrusions catching on something or stopping her from fitting into small spaces, but she feels like she’s lost her crown and will be self-conscious about them.

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

She loves to find academics and experts and ask them as many questions as possible. She’s both truly curious about anything and everything, finding art as well as plants endlessly fascinating, but she also wants to see how many questions it takes for them to become irritated with her. The better professors take several hundred questions, but the stuffiest, haughtiest ones only take three or four of her truest inquiries. 

She then steals from the mean professors. 

Before she joined the crew of thieves she would change her name every few weeks. Not for any particular reason, but they all got boring after awhile. Her name is from a very old, silly tale of adventure she read only a few weeks before joining the crew and it’s stuck for many years.

BACKSTORY 

22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

Father [human]: Lord Argus Encrois, 67

Father’s wife [human]: Lady Gisella Encrois, 52

Their four legitimate daughters: Heather, 27; Holly, 25; Merilla and Jonie, both 20.

Too many bastard siblings to name: Aged 16-40s. She isn’t in contact with any of them, but fears the worst for some of the bastards left behind in Itresa and knows her father wouldn’t do anything to protect them or keep them from going to the plantations or into the slave army. They never cared for her, but she still wishes them the best.

She never knew her mother, but she knows she’s a tiefling. She likes to think that she’s a grand adventurer or thrill seeker, but also never wants to meet her because she might not like the truth. 

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

Yes. Definitely not. A few of the bastards she hadn’t minded, but they all acted as a hivemind and scorned her. 

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

She was born and raised in Itresa. 

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

No. 

26. Have they had any pets?

No. She wants a monkey, though. Especially the species that look like they have mustaches (Emperor tamarins).

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

Sort of rich, but mostly poor. She was raised as the ignored bastard daughter of a low-ranking, yet rich merchant noble and wanted for nothing but attention until her early teen years. Living on the streets she was technically homeless and often times penniless, but it never felt like poverty to her. 

28. What is their educational background?

Tutored by the best and the adequate until she was fourteen and was thrown from the estate. Any other skills she has she picked up from people she met in Itresa, from being taught by members of the crew, and by harassing academics. She has fun facts about nearly any body of research, but very little technical or applicable knowledge. 

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

She wanted to be an adventurer and a treasure hunter. She still entertains herself with fantasies of far-fetched heists and journeys to the center of the world or to the depths of the sea in search for gold and magic. In a way she is a treasure hunter… she just happens to hunt for it in people’s houses. And pockets. 

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

Run away sooner and look back a little more. 

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

Her half-siblings, the legitimate ones and her fellow bastards, all bullied her. She stared too much, she was too quiet, she moved too much, she spoke too much, her horns were funny, her eyes were scary, she was dumb, she was too smart, she was too fast, she was disrespectful, she was a know-it-all and a teacher’s pet. She could never do anything just right for them so she stopped doing anything for them at all and avoided them whenever possible. 

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

She used to say Garriss, the unquestionable leader of the Lurker crew, but now she has no one. 

PRESENT 

33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

Nope.

34. What is their most treasured possession?

She has a gilded, ever-sharp dagger she stole from someone her first week free and loose in Itresa. It’s never failed her and has a habit of always returning to her even when she thought it lost. 

35. What is their drink of choice?

She hates bitter drinks, but anything else she likes. If offered coffee she has to put at least a pound of sugar in to enjoy it. 

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

None. 

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

Never and she doesn’t want to. 

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

She promised Garriss to keep her theft from the other crewmembers a secret. She kept it and technically has continued to keep it as no one gave her the opportunity to reveal the truth. 

LOVE 

39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

She kissed a fellow street rat after they successfully upturned a market stall to avoid the raging guards and the tavern keep they’d stolen a bottle of mead from. She and the girl were street partners and hellions together for many months, but one day the girl left without a word and never returned. 

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

No and beyond casual flirtation she’s never had an actual relationship. 

41. Have they ever been in love?

Never, but she really wants to fall in love. She’s read about it and it sounds very nice. 

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

Only by her family, but not by a lover. 

SPIRITUALITY 

43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

No, but Mask and Sune intrigue her and she prays to them when she’s bored or needs guidance. 

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

A sparkling void of something-something. 

45. What is their spirit animal?

Sugarglider. 

[crookedmoonlight123]

The Rain Woman - Chapter 15 - Icy water

The Rain Woman - Chapter 15 - Icy water

  A/N:- Thankyou to Juvia.Hanks for your continued support and Review after such a long break from this story, thankyou to everyone else who has followed, favourited and reviewed, a slightly shorter chapter but choc full!  Enjoy!

  Gray lay in the muddy ground, the dirt wedged under his fingernails, wishing he could become part of the park, tears streamed down his face, his eyes still staring at the plushie, where Juvia had stood moments, minutes maybe hours ago now, he didn’t know, he felt empty again, what had they done to her?  The Juvia plushie smiled at him from her spot, although soaked by the rain Juvia had captured her own smile perfectly in the plushie, it could brighten anyone and anything.  The memories of their missions, their arguments and Juvias general persistency over the years played over in Grays head.  His heart squeezed, he missed her, he wouldn’t give up on her, she would never give up on him.  He remembered when she melted his ice-make gungir earlier, she had become her old self, she was the Juvia he knew if only for a few moments, which meant that she was still in their and could still be saved.  

 The ice mage pulled himself up gradually, wincing and cursing at his ribs.  Glancing over at the red tote bag proved fruitful, some potions and bandages were not destroyed in Juvias final attack.  Gray walked over slowly assessing his injuries before picking up a potion and drinking it, almost instantaneously feeling the benefits of it working in his system.  He found some wound cleaner and a few gauze strips to patch up the worst of his gashes and bandage for his torso.

 “Right, I’m coming for you Juvia.”  Gray looked up to the rain heavy skies, the colour wasn’t much different to what it was during their battle which meant that she must be close by.  Gray stuffed a few of the smaller potion vials into his baggy trouser pockets, deciding to leave the plushie in a nearby hollow of a tree with the remainder of his tote bag on top of it to keep it dry, Gray strode off, looking at the ground he noticed there were footprints, three sets, not yet been washed away by the rain, it was worth a shot to follow them he didn’t remember anyone else passing by.

 Juvia walked through the doors of a large house owned by her father on the outskirts of Allium Town, she had wondered why they hadn’t stayed here before.  The watermage took in the magnolia colour walls with their white skirts and navy-blue carpet, almost like a beach, she walked into the living room where there was a glass coffee table, a sofa and an armchair arranged neatly around a open fireplace with old logs sat in the middle ready to be burnt. The kitchen was again simple but large and charming, a range cooker, a large kitchen sink, work counters and a wooden dining table with four seats around it, there was a small downstairs toilet which was completely white tiled.  There were many other spacious rooms; a study, a dining room to seat eight guests and a few rooms for storage and what appeared to be a small library of some kind, the shelves and book all with a thick layer of dust, the house felt damp, unlived in, which was odd for a house which could quite easily be lived in.

Upstairs more rooms, 6 bedrooms, 3 ensuite and 2 large bathrooms which both held big deep bath tubs with jets which Juvia could imagine sinking her cold aching self into, shower cubicles were also in each one, a lovely ivory sink with a big rectangular mirror above and an empty counter next to it with a cupboard door so it must have been for storage.

 Juvia looked in each of the bedrooms, 4 of them all had a double bed with white duvets and pillows and nightstands next to them, a white chest of drawers and wardrobe for storage, the 2 single bedrooms had a single bed each with magnolia duvet and pillow sets, and a wooden chest of drawers and wardrobe, all the rooms upstairs had the same magnolia walls as downstairs but the carpet was now cream and pristine like it had never really been walked on, it was still soft and springy underfoot.  The watermage felt the house was homely, but it smelt musty, damp and unloved.

 “Juvia!” Her fathers voice rang loud and clear from downstairs his voice echoing off the walls.  Juvia made her way down the stairs to find her father and Mitch sitting on the yellow sofa in the living room smiling a strained smile at her as she entered.  Juvia took a seat in the armchair, relaxing back against the soft spongey fabric.

“How do you find the house?”  Jimquin grinned at her and Mitch looked uncomfortable his face tight and drawn.

 “It is a nice house,” Juvia paused, she just had to ask, “why is it unlived in?” Juvia met her fathers gaze which seemed to falter.

 “To tell you the truth…” He began, looking down at his hands which were clasped together. “I brought this house for your mother and I to live in, to move her away from Primrose Village, of course I didn’t know you were my child, I didn’t even know she was with child.”  He took in a deep breath.  “I would have tried harder if I had known that you were with her.” Juvia nodded.

 “That explains why it is all furnished then….”  Juvia thought back to her mother, with her loving smile and how she loved her garden so much tending it day after day making the most beautiful blooms.  “Does this house have a garden?”  The question blurted out of Juvias mouth without her realising.

 “Why of course it does Juvia, your mother loved to garden, it has a greenhouse aswell.”  Answered Jimquin, it all seemed a little too perfect to Juvia.

 The watermage sat in silence for a few minutes, as memories came back to her, the memory of her agreeing to work with her father if he were to free her mother, how terrified her mother was for her safety.  “How is Juvias mother?  Did she get home alright?”  Juvia asked, Mitch snapping his attention to her, eyes sorrowful as the room seemed to hold its breath.

 “Juvia, your mother died on her way back home… bandits attacked her…”  Her father held her gaze as Juvia seemed to disappear into herself, her eyes going wide, her hands scrunching up her dresscoat as they held onto it tightly.

 “She…she…” Juvia stuttered, “is dead?”  Her eyes were hollow and distant, the rain began to pour out the sky in torrents, the wind whipping and lashing against the window panes, pots and outdoor furniture bashing, crashing and flying around all over the place “Juvia needs to excuse herself.”  The watermage got up without permission and made her way up the staircase into the furthest double room and threw herself onto the plump unslept in duvet, burying her head.

 Her mother, her beautiful and kind-hearted mother…was…dead.  Juvia felt emotion surge through her as tears began to roll down her cheeks, she wished she had gone to visit her sooner, that she had plucked up the courage to get to know her and not be a coward because of her step-father.

Juvia lay on the bed for a while, her head swimming, she felt guilty.  Slowly the blue haired beauty got up, pulling herself together a bit more and made her way over to the bedroom mirror, she looked at her reflection, really looked and what she saw made the tears spill out silently again.

She was not who she wanted to be, how had she become so lost?  Her mother would be disappointed in her, the way she had been acting, yet, it felt to Juvia as though it wasn’t actually her who had done all those horrible, maniac, torturous things to those poor people in the bar, that it wasn’t her who had held an elderly man by a water noose, that it wasn’t her who had held her beloved-

“Gray-sama…”  Juvia whispered bringing a fist up to her chest, she had hurt him, really, badly hurt him, not once, but twice, how would he ever forgive her?  She felt the tingle of the dark magic again, Juvia swallowed hard trying to shove it back down, she would control it and not the other way around.

 “Juvia?” Jimquin knocked on her door, “may I come in?”  Juvia felt a sudden panic, as well as a swell of anger, he had used her and nearly destroyed her soul.

 “Yes.” Juvia spoke as mute as possible she had to pretend that she was still under the magics influence.

 Jimquin entered and noticed his daughters red tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes, she had evidently been crying, “are you alright?”  His voice didn’t sound like a concerned father but more like someone who was fearful that all his hard work would go to waste.

 “Yes, Juvia is fine now.”  She met his gaze, her navy eyes cold and unyielding.  “Juvia would like to know the next plan of action?”  Her heart thudded as she waited to her what her father plotted to do when they got Midi.

 “We will gather more followers and use your power to make them yield to us, I want complete control of Fiore.”  A big grin spread across his face, “I need you and your unrelenting magic to do so Juvia.” He pulled subconsciously at his suit, a greedy expression on his face.

 Juvia felt her temper rising, but she had to control it, she had to get downstairs. “Juvia thinks she can more than handle that task, after all you have unlocked the true power that Juvia possess’.” The watermage brushed past her father as she felt a sudden feeling of desperation course through her, she had to get out of here, she had to get home.

 Mitch was in the living room pacing, he looked troubled, oh no, Juvia thought, I forgot about Mitch, his shield could block me in if I don’t dispatch him first.  The watermage chewed the inside of her cheek, her father was hot on her heels.

 Gray had been walking for about half an hour in the constant, fine drizzle, he had his eyes cast down partly to keep the rain out of his eyes and partly so he didn’t lose the three sets of tracks in the mud, he felt like he was getting closer and closer.  The icemage looked up through some trees, a spot just through them in a small circumference seemed to be having an absolute downpour, Juvia!  Gray knew that must be her, as the rain used to follow her and only her, when she was particularly upset it would focus on one area where she was.  Gray broke into a run, the sodden ground trying to stop him in his tracks, making his feet feel like leaden weights as it sucked and pulled and caked his shoes.  The rain grew heavier and colder on his bare torso, soaking his bandages and flattening his raven hair, the wind was ripping off branches and hurtling them about, uprooting small trees, it appeared like it was almost like a hurricane or a monsoon. A large house came into sight, bushes and flowerbeds were strewn everywhere with furniture and smashed pots blowing about, he’d have to be careful to not be knocked over or be assaulted by pottery shards.  The house had lights on and Gray could make out Juvias shape in the living room, his heart leapt as he ran for the door like never before.

 “I have told Juvia about our plans in Midi.”  Jimquin said proudly, as him and Juvia walked into the living room, Mitch was scowling, his fists clenched.  Juvia wondered what he was so worked up over.

 “Your plans to use her, us as pawns you mean?” Mitch spat at his boss, “you are willingly to destroy her soul, her life all for your own selfish gain.”  Jimquin looked taken aback.

 “I think you’re tired Mitch and need to rest, you know I care for my daughter.”  Jimquin glared at Mitch.

 “Juvia…”  Juvia clenched her fists as a wave of homesickness jolted through her, “Juvia will not be your pawn-“ She started, her eyes narrowing.

 “No, you could be my equal Juvia.”  Jimquin tried to tempt her, Juvia could feel his magic at the ready to attack.

 “Juvia does not want to be your equal!”  The watermage spoke through gritted teeth, “Juvia will not be used by you, Juvia is no longer shackled to her power!”  Jimquin looked worried, he fired a water cyclone at Mitch sending him flying back against the wall knocking him unconscious for safe measures after his little outburst.

 “He might get in the way, was it him who turned your head? I knew I should never have put him in charge, he hadn’t been with me long enough.”  Her father raged, Juvia looked to Mitch, remembering how he had tried to help her, how he would talk sense into her every time her magic got too much.

 “No.”  Juvias voice went soft her head bowed, “Mitch had nothing to do with it.  He did as you asked, and this is how you treat him.” It wasn’t a question it was a fact. “It was Juvias mother who brought her back, Juvia would feel disgraced if she could have seen what Juvia had done, and it was Gray-samas persistence that brought Juvia back also.”  Juvia looked up to him again, she had to escape, she had to get out.  “JUVIA WANTS TO GO HOME!  BACK TO FAIRY TAIL!”  The watermage wailed as tears spilled down her face as she turned to see Gray-sama in the doorway having heard her plea for freedom, her heart jumped and squeezed as delight filled her soul, he had come back for her.

 “I want you back to Juvia.”  His eyes were cold and hard as he eyed up Jimquin preparing for battle.

 A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter :D the next one will be up by Monday/Tuesday, as always please review!

 REVIEW HERE--->  https://www.fanfiction.net/story/story_preview.php?storyid=12261807&chapter=15/

CrookedMoonlight

[larissaloki]

Come what may.

So i got a prompt from @lolsparklingstuff and the prompt word was- pillage. Requested details was Dom/Alpha Thor or DMC characters. In the end the muse that took control was Thor. This is a Alpha Thor with pre-serum Omega Steve. This is a one shot I’m afraid but if you would like to commission me for more or your own prompt message me. Unbetad as well as my grammar app kept spazzing out lately so I’ve had to uninstall it and keep forgetting to reinstall.

Enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~. ~. ~ ~

“What do you think happened here?..” Valkyrie, a beautiful female Alphas with long gently curling brunette hair, bright wickedly curious eyes with a smirk to match more often than not; pulled her horse to a stop as the small travelling group surveyed the smoking village below. Today her mouth was pulled down into a frown.

The village below down the hill was in ruins, smouldering fires still dotted the destroyed buildings, billowing smoke rising thickly from the place. This particular group often came by this village on their travels, the taverns knew them by name and would usually welcome them with an open door, as despite their intimidating appearance they are a pretty friendly group. Provided that no one disrupts them while drinking.

“From the looks of thing, nothing good” Loki, an Alpha Prince and brother to Thor who was the groups lead Alpha. Loki was tall, trim and handsome with long slicked back black hair that stopped at his shoulders. He dresses head to toe in black, green and gold leather armour that looks like normal every day wear so as to fool their enemies.

Thor, the head Alpha, was the complete opposite of his brother. Blond hair left to freely fall and curl a bit around his head, some pulled back into a pony tail to keep it out of his face, he was even taller than Loki though with a much more muscular body.

The last of their entourage, a shorter Beta called Bruce who was by far the weakest looking one. Wiry frame and shorter than even Valkyrie by an inch. He wears a tunic over his trousers and cloak, all loose and thin clothes that would loo out of place in this colder season.

“Come, lets take a look and see if any one is still alive down there…” clicking his tongue, Thor urged his stallion forwards and down the hill towards the most likely pillaged village.

Pulling up scarfs to keep it the smoke as they dismounted just outside the village, the group cautiously make their way towards, swords and knifes drawn in case anyone not friendly was still around. Carefully they picked their way through fallen debris and cleared a path as they went. Calling softly into buildings to see if anyone responded, occasionally if they could, Loki would navigate the fragile buildings to see if anyone was still alive but unable to call out.

Unfortunately, not many buildings were safe to do this or even had enough of a structure left to do so. At least ¾ of the village was nothing but massive piles of ashes, with the scent of burning flesh in the air.

Every few metres they came across a burnt corpse, Thor could hear those behind him whispering prayers for those they found and the ones the couldn’t see.

They eventually reached the square, where most the villagers where found. Pausing as he looks around what was once a wonderful village, Thor felt great sadness well up inside of him, if only they had been quicker they may have been able to prevent this.

“I’m… I’m going to check out that way,” Thor gestures to one direction, his body only halfway turned to his group.

“Do you think being alone is wise right now brother?”

“I doubt the murders are here anymore brother,”

No one commented that that wasn’t what Loki meant. Everyone knew that Thor insisted on visiting this village each time they left their home Village and again on the way back, that Thor had begun courting a certain Omega that had lived in this village.

With determined step, Thor picked his way across the village, even with the destroyed buildings his feet still remembered the way. Slowly Thor climbs over charred barrels and carts, fallen walls and roofs; until eventually he reached one specific house.

Little guy Inn.

The Inn they always visited for good food and to take shelter in, the first place that Thor first met his beloved Omega. Steve Rogers.

A tiny Omega that had a massive heart, always willing to shelter those who needed it regardless if they had the money or not, because Steve believed no one should have to sleep out on the dangerous streets.

The Inn was listing dangerously to the right, half of the roof caved in and the wall on the far right was practically torn half way off the other walls. Cracking through partly the building next to it. The Inn sign was hanging on barely to the iron bracket by the front door, the doors themselves were hanging off their hinges and strewn around the entrance.

Taking a deep breath, Thor carefully moved the burnt doors so that they were propped up outside an out of the way. The scent of burnt wood and Cotten and food reached his nose; glad for once that Steve had refused to have alcohol in his Inn.

Carefully as he could, Thor worked his way into the centre off the room, the reception desk in front and a door leading to the dining room an lounge to the left. To the right was what left of the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. Behind the desk is another door that led to Steve’s private part of the building.

Deciding to just take one last look, to see if anything was salvageable, Thor goes through the door. To his surprise and great delight, the room back here weren’t as damaged. It must of helped that this build was near the edge of the village and seems furthest from where the fire started.

Steve was always careful as to what he had in his home, worried about fires starting accidentally. Keeping to the walls where it was safer, Thor scanned the room for anything, for what exactly he was looking for he wasn’t sure.

Still looking back at the front room, Thor opens the door to Steve’s bedroom slowly, just as he turns his head to look into the room a bit of charred wood smacks him in the face. With a yelp, Thor jerks his head back and clutches at his nose that he’s positive is now bleeding.

“What the- stop I’m a friend!” Raising his free hand as he backs up, Thor calls out, hoping that whoever is in that bedroom is a friend not foe. “It’s ok, it safe to come out now…”

“Thor?” A small voice calls back, a short Omega steps out from behind the door, causing Thor to freeze, stupefied. He had expected a child perhaps taking shelter in the mostly safe room. Not this.

“Steve?” Steve is a blond 5”3 Omega, his body frail looking and thin to the point that a slight breeze could possibly blow him away. A cream button up shirt hung loosely over Steve’s frame and hi trousers were rolled up so that they didn’t drag. Others had mocked Thor for his infatuation with the small Omega. Asking him why would he want such a weak ill Omega when he could have a much prettier and stronger one. Thor would always respond, that Steve had the strongest and most beautiful heart that he has ever seen, that he would always pick Steve over literally any other Omega in the world.

Surging forwards before Thor even registers his own body moving, Thor pulls the Omega into his chest, relief floods his body and mind like a drug. “You’re alive! Oh Omega min I’m so glad you’re ok, when I saw the village i..” trailing off, unsure what else he could say, Thor pulls Steve back enough to see his face. Looking over the soft yet stubborn features he’s come to adore.

Steve himself was crying with joy at seeing the Alpha, he was terrified that Thor would never find him, simply bypass the destroyed village. With his injured leg causing Steve to limp, he wouldn’t be able to get very far on the road, his weakened body would likely fail to illness before any bandits found him.

“You came, oh god me and Tony were worried that it was the pirates coming back around when we heard you!” Trying to calm his breathing before he started wheezing, Steve lays his head on Thor’s chest. Listening to his heart and taking comfort from it’s stead rhythm, allowing it to ground and calm him.

“Tony? He is in the room as well? Did anyone else survive?” Worried for Steve’s breathing, he scooped the Omega up and carried him in, seeing Tony sat in the corner behind the door cradling a young teen.

Protectively, Tony hunched over the teen as he initially sees Thor, upon seeing the familiar Alpha he relaxes. Tony was a dark brunette Omega, hair curled around his ears and on his forehead, he wore a vest with trousers and a black smith apron over the top and thick gloves. He must have been in the forge when the attack came.

The teen under him looked like a carbon copy of Tony, except for slightly lighter brown hair that was a tad straighter. The teen himself was more curious than scared but was still wary of this new-comer. Thor hadn’t seen this kid before and wondered if it was a child of Tony’s, judging by how protective he was over the teen.

“Only us that we know of survived, a few others made a break for the wood but who knows how many are still alive.” Tony spoke quietly as he stroked the back of the quivering Omega in his arms, possibly still in shock. Tony was an Omega that defied society’s expectations of what Omegas should be like, he was brash and just as strong and capable as any Alpha. The dark haired Omega was a forge smith by trade, usually dabbling in household items as it was what the village mainly needed.

Tony also happened to be the Omega that Loki had started to take an interest in, last time they had come through the village. The both of them trading witty quips and snarking at each other.

“We need to get you all out of here, you’re all coming back home with me and my group. Can you two walk?”

“We can walk big guy, it’s Steve that has the injured limb.” Tony assured the Alpha as he urged the teen to stand. “Up you get Peter, keep close to me ok?”

The teen, now known as Peter, nodded at the older Omega and kept close to Tony’s side. Later when they were all safe, Thor would ask more about their connection or maybe leave that for Loki to ask. Nodding in acknowledgment, Thor heft’s up Steve into his arms getting a better grip so that he won’t accidentally drop him and heads out of the room, making sure the other two follow as well.

“Then lets go home,”

[pirate-cannons]

Just found your blog and it's so good to see a HC blog that's active, and I love the style you write yours in. Could I get some hcs for Zoro, Usopp, Sanji and Ace with an S/O who's a strong magic user? i.e. S/O is no slouch on the battlefield with their spells, and during calmer moments like when S/O is crafting a potion/preparing a ritual spell, they can faintly see the outlines of fae/sprites and other magic creatures normally invisible to the normal eye, but are drawn to their S/O.

Thanks so much! (I have a style?? cool) I feel bad you complimented me being active only for me to take so long to get to this one…OTL I am active I promise, work’s just been a bit crazy lately BUT THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCEThis one was very interesting and since OP hasn’t really touched on the whole  magic thing (I mean there’s been some cases of it) this is kinda au kinda not…if that makes sense

Anywho thanks for waiting and I hope you like it!!

Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, and Ace with a s/o who is a strong magic user:

Zoro

Zoro doesn’t really understand Magic or anything about it, but totally thinks his s/o is one badass mofo

Obviously quite proud

“I’ll stick to my swords and you can do your…hand..motion hocus pocus thing…”

“Zoro, its called magic. It really isn’t that difficult.”

It’s inevitable that the two will get into a Sword vs Magic argument, but it’s all in good fun. The two respect each other too much to cause any problems

His s/o is a bit of a jokester and will play pranks on the rest of the crew

One time they  cast a spell on Sanji that made him an old man for a couple hours and he ran around to Nami and Robin trying to convince them they needed to kiss him to break the curse

Zoro never let him forget that one

On the battlefield, Zoro never gets tired of watching his s/o annihilate their enemies, whether it be via fireballs, thunderstorms, even gravity

He’ll ask his s/o to train with him and develop these crazy practices that revolves around them casting spells at Zoro as he tries to defend himself

In the quieter moments, his s/o is content to read a book while he sleeps in the corner, most of the time they’ll be chatting excitedly about a new spell they developed and want to try in battle and Zoro will doze off with a smile on his face

But just before he fell asleep, he sees some odd shapes gathering around his s/o…?

Nah must have been a trick of the light

…Gotta remember to ask ‘em if they can summon me up some sake…?

Usopp

Needless to say, Usopp is the Number 1 Fan of his s/o

He thinks they are absolutely the coolest thing to ever have existed and will say so to anyone within a mile radius who will listen to him

Being the magnificent storyteller he is, you can bet the simple feat of his s.o warding off some bandits with a fireball will turn into…‘‘AND THEN THEY BROUGHT FORTH AN ERUPTION OF THE GREAT VOLCANO FIRETOP TO RAIN DOWN HELL ON ALL WHO DARE CHALLENGE THEM.”

Generally how most of the stories go~

His s/o will be amused and mention that they can’t actually make volcanoes erupt…

They also help Usopp in coming up with new ideas for weapons and improvements for previous ones, as well as helping him craft pretty deadly stuff for his slingshots

They can even enchant them to make it much stronger

A lot of times the two will just sit in a room, back-to-back as they work on their own separate projects

One time, Usopp leaned over to ask them something real quick when he noticed a faint outline leaning over his s/o shoulder

‘It’s kinda like when I thought I saw Merry…’

He’s not sure if he should ask them about it or if it was even there at all

Maybe he’s just delusional

His s/o eventually notices him staring at the space next to them

“You can see them too? They help me out when I’m in a pinch.”

If that’s not the coolest thing in the world, Usopp doesn’t know what is…

After that his stories become even more elaborate

According to him, his s/o has contracts with dragons, leviathans, and all sorts of creatures that do their bidding at will

Sanji

Sanji loves watching his s/o tear through a fight with their impressive powers, although he won’t admit it

He’s the first to sing their praises after a good fight and the last to stop

While Sanji is preparing food in the galley, his s/o is always close by with a book and a pad of paper

They enjoy going on and on about their craft and Sanji couldn’t be more enthralled

He loves listening to them go on about new spells, and improved potions and oh I should try this out next time and watching the way their face lights up in the process

They also offer what advice they can to him about new recipes, mostly on adjusting proportions and the like because that’s something they do often when it comes to potions

Sanji in turn offers what he knows of different ingredients and their properties, usually unknowingly helping his s/o discover that last piece of the puzzle they couldn’t figure out

Its in times like these, Sanji’s noticed a faint aura around his s/o…

He thinks he’s crazy at first, but after a couple of days, he realizes there is something there

At first he kinda panics that something is trying to harm his s/o but after watching closely, Sanji comes to the conclusion that they must be helping his s/o in some way

Because of course they gather to his s/o, they’re just that kind of a person

Ace

Ace was skeptical of the whole ‘magic’ thing and wasn’t really sure what to think of it

However, that quickly changed once he watched his s/o for the first time light someone on fire…

He decided magic is pretty cool after that

The two work well together on the battlefield and have even been called ‘The Flaming Duo’ by the rest of the crew, due to his s/o having a natural affinity for fire magic

…not to say they didn’t need to employ some water magic to put out stuff Ace accidentally lights on fire

The two will often be found together, either training, eating, or sleeping

Ace is an excellent punching bag when it comes to trying out new spells due to his logia

Although after nearly setting the ship on fire, they weren’t allowed to practice on the ship anymore (it was one time)

He doesn’t really understand magic or how it works, but he won’t complain when his s/o animatedly tries to explain it to him

Honestly he was lost 5 minutes into the explanation but didn’t dare stop them when they looked so happy to share their craft with him

Ace does have to interrupt them when they get to the summoning bit…

“So you can conjure up some food then? I’m starving!”

“Uh..no Ace. That’s not how this works.”

“Even just a sandwich?”

“….no.”

He sighs, but lets them continue on with their explanation

When he focuses more clearly on his s/o, he spots a hazy outline of something he can’t quite make out…

Weird

He gets up to take a closer look when he instantly falls down onto his s/o…asleep. A frequent occurrence honestly

Guess it’ll have to wait til morning

[lyannablackbeak]

Nessian Fic <3

HAPPY SECRET SANTA MARCI!!!!!!! 

LOVE YOU SOOOO MUCH <3 @foxboy-lucien 

Here is your very own Nessian fic, I hope you like it!!!!! xoxox

The Calm Before the Storm

Part One: Training 

Word Count: 3084

Cassian was fidgeting.

He was a ruthless soldier, alive for over five hundred godsdamned years, and he was fidgeting.

The living room of the townhouse seemed stuffier than usual. Cassian nodded to himself, desperate for any excuse that would fit. But as he adjusted his collar for the fifth time, his eyes caught Azriel’s from where he stood across the room, smirking.

Cassian flashed his brother a rude gesture while he fought to keep his hands still. It wouldn’t be much longer now. He could do this.

Mercifully, before he had any room to doubt this questionable resolution, laughter sounded from the kitchen.

Mor, Elain and Feyre emerged, laughing amongst themselves while they balanced plates of food and bottles of liquor. The bottles were taken from Rhys’s personal collection, Cassian noticed with a grin.

He took no small pleasure in watching Azriel straighten suddenly at the presence of the females. Cassian silently wondered whether Mor or Elain caused the abrupt crack in Az’s armor…

Later, he resolved, he would mull that over later. He had enough to be worried about at the moment.

It had been a few months since their final battle with Hybern. The time had somehow dragged and flown. There had been much to do, and so much that still needed to be done. Recruiting and training the Night Court’s legions had taken near all his time, keeping him from Velaris for weeks on end. But he wasn’t the only one. While Feyre, Rhys and Mor had stayed behind, Mor spending most of her time protecting the city from the Court of Nightmares newfound presence and Feyre and Rhys busy with seemingly endless meetings with our allies. The rest of them had been away, tied up with various duties and responsibilities.  

Amren had volunteered to help rebuild the Summer Court. Azriel, in between recon missions, had spent most of his time helping Elain hone her seer abilities. They spent the majority of the past few months in the Dawn Court, experimenting with various inventions in an effort to enhance her powers. Lucien had gone with them as well, for protection.

Cassian wondered how that was going.  

As if he heard his thoughts, Lucien sauntered in from the back garden.  He and Azriel exchanged glances, ever the gentlemen, but at his entrance Elain fumbled with place settings, seeming very deliberately busy.  Cassian questioned whether she would hand Lucien the plate of food, or ask her sister to do so.  

They had all been away from each other for so long, but it many ways it felt like nothing had changed.

But if he was being honest, some absences weighed heavier on him than others. He hadn’t seen Nesta since the day after the final battle and their last interaction still ate away at him. Since then, Nesta had surprised everyone with the severity in which she took her position as emissary. In the months since the battle, she had formed her own coalition, an embassy of sorts, made up of delegates from their various alliances. High Fae, humans, and other Fae species, including Seraphim, Illyrians, and apparently even a Water Wraith, if reports were to be believed. The group was all female, a fact Cassian was more thankful for than he would care to admit.

Whatever the coalition was doing, it had kept Nesta busy. While she had returned to Velaris on several occasions, she never lingered. All business, she only stayed long enough to report to Feyre and Rhys. And each time, Cassian had been away. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if this was intentional. But today, any minute now in fact, they would all be reunited.

Five days from now, the leaders of Prythian would hold a meeting and Feyre and Rhys had asked the inner circle to return to help prepare.

“Anyone care for a drink?” Mor’s blonde hair flashed in the corner of his vision as she twirled around the room.

Before he could answer, a rush of wind filled the living room and a cat like voice broke through the breeze. “What are my options?”

Cassian fell into an easy smile as the room turned its attention on the tiny arrival and her towering escort.  Amren, skin slightly bronzed from her time at the Summer Court, regarded her family with a serpentine smile. Varian stood beside her, hand resting on her lower back as if it was his most natural stance. Perhaps it now was, Cassian realized.

“Afraid we’re all out of blood, Am. Can I interest you in a glass of wine? Red, of course.” Rhysand stood at the living room threshold, his eyes full of a quiet joy as he surveyed us all.  

Feyre approached her mate, slipping under his arm. “There’s is a stray cat that’s been lurking in the garden, in case you’re desperate.”

Cassian barked out a laugh, nearly spilling the glass of wine Mor had slid into his hand. But Elain barely stifled a gasp, her eyes wide and full of horror. Cassian noticed Azriel flinch.

“Relax, seer.” Amren cooed, with more warmth in her voice than Cassian would have expected, “My tastes have changed.”

Varian smiled down at her. The look they exchanged was charged enough that Cassian turned his attention to the floorboards.

“Well,” Feyre cut in as she poured a glass for Amren and Varian, “I don’t have to tell you how good it is to see you all. We certainly have our work cut out for ourselves this week, but before we get to any of that-”

Cassian didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Instead, his entire body went taut. He could feel his heart pounding as elegant steps approached the front door. Rhys’s eyes met his, before turning towards the entrance.

This is it.

Cassian started fidgeting again. Until Azriel pointedly cleared his throat, giving him a look that seemed to say: Be cool, man. Be cool.

Easier said than done, Shadowsinger. But Cassian took a deep breath, counting the seconds as Rhys opened the door.

Rhys reappeared first. The look on his face made Cassian go still.

“Nesta!” Elain exclaimed, as the eldest Archeron sister emerged into the living room.

She wore Illyrian fighting leathers and a black cloak, the hood drawn over her face. But Cassian didn’t need to see her. He could feel it. His thoughts blurred as he struggled to remain calm.

In response to her sister’s greeting, Nesta drew back her hood. It was as if the entire room, even the walls themselves, gasped.

Her soft brown hair was wound back into braids that disappeared in a complicated knot behind her head. Her face was as rigid and breathtaking as ever. But the right side… 

All around her right eye, her normally flawless porcelain skin was a deep purple. Her cheekbone and eyebrow were still slightly swollen and a large cut ran from her hairline to just above her eye. Despite her Fae healing, the gash was gruesome enough that Cassian wondered if it would leave a scar.

Before he could help it, he was moving. In less than two strides, he cleared the space between them. This close, his body roared around her, surging with longing, concern and earth shattering anger for the one who caused her injuries.

The room was as quiet as death, quieter. Cassian’s voice was tight with restraint when he said “How?”

She met his eyes, her gaze full of fire and steel. But there was something else there too. Something so unexpected that Cassian nearly reached down to trace his fingers along her face. But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned towards Feyre, who at some point had appeared at his side.

“We received intel that the human queens have been kidnapping children and transporting them to a fortress outside the capital.”

Feyre, still wide eyed from her sister’s appearance, shot Az a look across the room. He gave a curt nod in response.

“We learned of a transport, scheduled to leave the night before last, carrying fifty children.” Nesta hesitated then, and though she intentionally kept her eyes from Cassian, he could feel her stare all the same. “We were disguised as bandits. It was supposed to be a quick job, unlock the caravan, disengage the guards. We were told there would only be 10 of them, there were more.” 

Her eyes met Cassian’s briefly then, and as their gazes locked a charge of lightning went through him. 

“We failed.” Nesta’s voice was a whisper filled with fury.

“How could you be so reckless??” 

Cassian nearly jumped at Feyre’s tone. He had been so fixated on Nesta that he failed to notice the fury building in her sister.

Nesta slowly turned back towards her, any lingering remorse now gone. No one in the room was breathing.

When it was clear Nesta had no intention of responding, Feyre continued, this time her voice slightly softer, “You could have been killed.”

“I am emissary to the humans, Feyre. I am responsible for them. Did you expect me not to do my job?”

“I wish you had come to us first,” Rhysand cut in, sensing the tension. “Azriel has been monitoring the situation. This issue will be addressed at the meeting with the High Lords.”

“I’m sure the fifty children now imprisoned in that fortress will applaud your restraint.” Nesta bit back.

Cassian could feel her anger rising. The room crackled with tension. Elain stood to the side, worried eyes never leaving her sister. Mor downed a glass of wine before quickly pouring another. Only Amren seemed to be enjoying herself.

This reunion was not going well.

“I’ll train you.” The words left his mouth before he even had a second to consider them. Everyone, including Nesta, turned toward him.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll train you.” Cassian said, “If you insist on trying to get killed, you should at least know how to defend yourself.”

“No.”

The immediacy of her response hurt more than he would have expected. Cassian changed tactics, his eyes finding his High Lady’s. Feyre regarded him, her anger fading into an unreadable expression. She and Rhys exchanged a glance then, a wordless conversation whirling between them.

“He’s right.” Feyre turned to Nesta, her shoulders back and face calm, every bit the High Lady. “I can’t stop you from risking your life. But if you insistent upon doing so, you should be prepared.”

“You can’t force me to train, either.” Nesta reminded her, her posture stiff and ready for a fight.

“I’m not forcing you.” Feyre answered, her eyes falling on Elain. “I’m asking you, as your sister.”

The response seemed to surprise Nesta, because for a moment she was quiet. The entire room waited on baited breath as she stood there, unmoving. Only once the tension had reached a boiling point, did she answer.

“Fine.”

Not a second later, Nesta turned and climbed the stairs. Even the walls seemed to sigh in relief at her departure.

“Well,” Amren purred, from where she sat draped across Varian’s lap “that was fun.”

Cassian blew out a heavy breath, the aftershocks of the encounter hitting him in waves. He couldn’t decide whether the conversation had been a roaring success or an utter disaster. He settled for both.

~:~

Nesta hadn’t come to dinner.  Afterwards, he lingered outside her bedroom door, tempted to knock.  Instead, he settled for a note under the door.

House of Wind. Nine O’Clock. See you then, Nes.

The ninth bell chimed through the night air as Cassian paced across the training ring. Still no sign of her.

Did you really have to call her Nes? Cassian thought, cursing himself.

If she didn’t show, he would just fly back to the townhouse and drag her here himself. His High Lady had demanded she train. But even as he said it, Cassian knew would do no such thing. If this had any chance, if they had any chance, it would need to be Nesta’s choice.

He was beginning to run through plausible excuses to return to the townhouse when a rush of icy flame coursed through him. He forced himself to take a calming breath before turning slowly.

Cauldron boil him.

Standing there in the starlight, Nesta was a vision. Even with the injuries. She was a steely, soul crushingly beautiful, vision.

She removed her cloak and he saw that she was still in her fighting leathers. The outfit clung to her features like a second skin. The sight alone nearly undid him.

He wanted to tell her that she was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes on. He wanted to confess that not a moment had gone by since they parted that he hadn’t thought of her. He wanted to say so many things.

Instead, he said, “You’re late.”

Nesta didn’t even blink. She merely took a step forward, tossing her cloak to the side “You’re lucky I came at all.”

So this is how it’s going to be? Cassian could feel his temper rising. Why did she always insist on being so difficult?

Cassian crossed his arms, his mouth curling into an edged smile “When I left, Mor and Az were going dancing. I’d hardly call myself the lucky one.” It was a cheap comment, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

Nesta merely cross her arms as well, “Then go.”

Cassian watched her watch him, their standoff seized with tension. He knew his irritation was a placeholder for something else. The desperate frustration that overcame him whenever he was around her was enough to drive him insane.

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to stay away. No matter what he said, there was nowhere he would rather be.

He took a step towards her. Their bodies, faces, lips, now only inches apart. This close, he could feel her heartbeat, the heavy rush of her blood coursing through her veins. He wondered if she could feel his.

So close, yet there was still so much space between them.

How had that happened? He knew what she felt. Not a day went by where he didn’t think back on that moment with the King of Hybern. The moment where Nesta offered her life to protect his.

It was there, it was all still there, he could feel it. But her walls had come up, harsher and stronger than before and he didn’t know how to break through.

His eyes fell on her lips and he felt her pulse shudder. What would happen if he tried? If he just said fuck it, and took her in his arms. His body begged for it, the need so fierce he could hardly see straight.

Instead, he met her eyes once more, his voice slightly unsteady “Pick your weapon.”

He was more than a little impressed when Nesta wordlessly selected two large fighting axes. She scoffed when he removed the shirt he was wearing, but she didn’t look away.

He gave her a smirk as he tied back his shoulder length hair. He could have sworn he caught a slight blush spreading across her cheeks.

Then, they began.

She was both faster and stronger than he remembered. Her time in the field had turned her into a weapon. Not for the first time, he wondered about that power that dwelled inside her. He had not seen or felt any sign of it, but as sword clashed with axe, Nesta spinning and slicing, meeting him blow for blow, he knew it was there.  How she could keep it buried, keep so much buried, he could not understand.

They had moved from defensive maneuvers to offensive strikes when he finally got up the nerve to ask, “Why didn’t you tell Feyre and Rhys about the mission?”

Small beads of sweat lay across her brow, her fingers twirled axes in both hands.

“There wasn’t time.” She answered simply.

That was bullshit and she knew it. But he didn’t want to fight he wanted to talk.

“Why so eager to put yourself at risk, Nes?” This may have been her first injury but it was hardly the first time she had been in danger. More and more of her missions had involved the human queens’ territories. But Cassian always seemed to learn about them after they had happened.

“Why do you care?” Nesta bit back, her weapons slashing and spinning.

Cassian stilled, pulling back from the exercise.

“You know why, Nesta.” His voice was low but firm.

Nesta straightened too, her posture suddenly defensive. When she looked up, her gray eyes burned with steely fire.

All at once, he couldn’t take it.

His sword clattered to the ground as he closed the space between them.

“What is going on with us?”

Her eyes bore into his, full of resentment, fear and something else. His resolve cracked all around him. He wanted to shout, to storm off in frustration, but more than anything, he wanted to take her into his arms and never let go.

“I know you feel it too.” It was almost a plea.

“What if I don’t want to?” 

Cassian drew back as if from a physical blow. The pain from her words was so strong he nearly brought his hand to his chest. He didn’t know what to do, how to react.

All he could think of was: Why?

He was so lost in thought that her voice surprised him.

“BECAUSE YOU ALMOST DIED!” She screamed, her tone unlike anything he had ever heard from her. “Because they all die! And if it was you- I couldn’t. Because, I couldn’t survive it.” Her words were heavy sobs; coming so fast Cassian could tell her shock was the same as his.

But it was the seconds that followed. The moment Cassian saw Nesta realize that he hadn’t asked the question aloud, that truly shook her. Her lips parted, her eyes a sea of panic as the implications began to set.

He knew. He had known for a long time now. Had she?

“We’re done here.” She whispered. The icy calm returning to her voice.

Before his mind could form a response, she turned and disappeared inside.

Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stood there. The cold wind wound through him as his frantic thoughts struggled to take shape. All he knew was he had five days. 

Five days to reach her. Five days to break through.

He wouldn’t fail.

[pathfindernerds]

Worldbuilding Stuff

So, for the longest time, I’ve mostly played/run games set in the Pathfinder setting of Golarion. It’s a good setting, with lots of interesting stuff, and it’s one I’ve spent a lot of time reading about. But, as I think is the case for a lot of GMs and aspiring GMs, I’ve always wanted to make my own setting.

I’ve tried it before. A few times, actually. The first was an exercise in hubris, where I sought not just to make An Entire Planet, I decided to make a whole system of 9 Planets (one for each alignment), each created/ruled by a homebrew God. In the end, I made a single planet poorly, and I’ve long since abandoned that attempt at a setting.

My second attempt was really only half an attempt. I believe I had drawn up a rough world map, and I had roughly outlined a few countries and their loose politics, but that’s about it. I got sidetracked by other things (namely college and the other games I was running at the time), and my interest in that world waned.

I’m not yet ready to make a third attempt. I’m far better prepared than I was before, but I’ve neither the time nor the energy currently to put pen to paper and draw maps, nor set any names in stone. However, there have been a few very rough worldbuilding ideas that I’ve had bouncing around my head for a while now, and I want to put them out here to A) potentially inspire others to use them and 2) have a place I can look back to so I remember, should I find the time/energy/etc to actually begin to build a world again. This might go long (this has already gone long), so the rest will be under a Read More.

1. Ritual Magic

I really like the idea of Ritual Magic. By that, I mean I really like the idea of, if you’re not a Wizard (or maybe just not a good enough one), you can still cast Scry by taking a pitcher of spring water that was taken under the light of the Full Moon and placing it in a silver bowl under the darkness of a New Moon while holding something representative of the target of your Scry and burning the proper incense. Obviously this is just an example, but you get what I mean.

5th Edition has rules for “Ritual Magic,” but that’s just “it takes longer to cast but it doesn’t burn a spell slot.” You still have to be high enough level to cast it. I want magic that literally anyone can do, even a level 0 commoner, if they have the time, patience, resources, and know-how. It’s not Easy, but it allows literally everyone to have some degree of magical ability. Because, after all, it’s High Fantasy, and the world is filled with (made of?) Magic.

Not everyone is a Wizard/Witch/Sorcerer/Warlock/etc, but everyone can potentially be a Magician/Thaumaturge.

2. No Gods, only gods

Pantheons are cool, but one thing that always kind of bugs me is thinking “okay, but what is Sarenrae doing now?” Because as far as I know, for most Gods, there is no great answer for that. Like, Pharasma is judging the dead, that’s her thing, but what’s anyone else actually up to? I guess you can play the “It’s not for Mortals to know or even be able to understand the plans of the Gods” card but also I find that remarkably uninteresting. So, no Gods. But, instead, gods.

Lower-case gods. “Gods” that are just really strong spirits, or maybe Fey or Demons or Angels or Whatever, all of which have gained a following. The power of that Prayer boosts them, but never to Capital-G God status. Maybe there is a God or Gods, but they’ve long since fucked off and left this world to whatever may happen. So, instead, gods. Lots of little gods. Dozens of them. I guess more Shinto Kami style is vaguely what I’m thinking, but I also don’t know nearly enough about that belief system to officially say that.

But yeah, the folks of Town X pray to the spirits of the nearby River, or the Forest, or the Bird species that always seems to caw just before something bad happens, giving just a little heads up but only to those who remembered to leave out a few berries right before they went on their most recent hunt. Some are good, some are bad, some get along, some are fighting. Maybe the Spirit of the River gets overcome and defeated/devoured by the Spirit of Industry that took up residence once the factory got built upstream. Then, sorry buddy, the followers of the River Spirit are out of Divine Spells until they can either find someone else, or take out that Industrial Spirit and get their now-weakened River back in order.

And yeah, there would be some that span more globally. Sky and Rain and Water and Earth would be pretty strong and pretty universal, but because of that they’d also be a bit more Neutral about things, not really stepping in to help much, but granting Divine spells to anyone who worships them right. Worshiping them is something pretty universal, and I don’t think there’d be anyone who doesn’t do at least the occasional rite to the Sky, but arguably more practical for the Adventurer is to perform rites and worship the Crow. ‘Cause Crow looks out for those who look out for them. Feed the crows, do the right rites, and now you’ll have something of an advance warning system any time there’s a Crow around.

Or, if you’re worshiping a particular Angel or Demon or Some Other Kinda Outsider, maybe they actually step in every now and then when you really need it. After all, you spread word about them, and 3 folks in that last town built little shrines to them because of what you said and did. So hey, don’t worry about that bandit camp ahead, ‘cause one of the bandits suddenly found themselves overcome with rage and went a little nuts with his crossbow. Or maybe a few wolves decided to prowl in and take a few strategic throat-bites while everyone slept. Or, just possibly, a big Holy Orbital Laser blasted them all to oblivion, but holy cow I gotta take a nap for a bit so don’t get into too much trouble and hey if you could burn a little extra incense today that’d be great.

Both of these things will obviously take a lot of time and effort to flesh out. I mean, a whole new system of magic, and considerations for the nearby Spirits, as well as what “Deities” would be powerful/prominent enough to be worldwide (or at least country-wide or region-wide). Like, a lot of work would have to go into these systems/ideas, but they’re definitely something I want to make happen when/if I ever actually decide to make a full Setting. I don’t know if that’s ever gonna happen. I’m pretty happy overall with Golarion, and hopefully the open-world game I’m running there will last a long time and I won’t need to think about this stuff. But yeah, who knows what the future will bring?

[nitewrighter]

May I request for some fluffy Gency in a Witch Mercy AU please?

Me, @ me: Please, Sarah, we can’t keep doing this

Also Me, chanting: WITCH! MERCY! NOW!

Edit: Wow, I’m amazed the story has been going on as long as it has, Here’s a table of contents!

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

Read it on AO3 here.

—-

Many years ago, a witch in Eichenwalde was out gathering mushrooms when she crossed paths with a monk from a far-off land. The monk was terribly hunched over from a great weight on his back and the witch, being a woman of a charitable heart, approached to help him. As she drew closer, she saw the sack the monk had slung over his shoulder wasn’t very large at all. Curious, she addressed him.

“Monk,” she said, “What have you got in that sack there?”

“A terrible burden that I shall be glad to be rid of,” said the monk, continuing to walk.

The witch matched his pace easily. “May I see it?” she asked.

The monk looked her up and down. The witch didn’t exactly look like a witch, she was tall and fair, with white-gold hair and gray-blue eyes, so, supposing he might as well stop for a breath, he opened the sack to her. Inside the sack was a fine porcelain tea leaf pot, painted with chrysanthemums and blooming tree branches, and the pot itself was veined with gold. The top of the pot was corked, and the cork itself sealed around the rim of the porcelain with paper with fine calligraphy on it, though the witch could not exactly make out what it said.

“How lovely!” said the witch, “Why should anyone want to be rid of such a treasure?”

The monk gave a huff. “I’ve trapped an evil spirit in this pot,” he said, “And I go to throw it in the icy seas north of here.”

“An evil spirit?” said the witch. It is worth noting at this point that the witch did not believe him, simply because of the fact that whenever she had to travel with an object of high value, she would tell anyone who asked about it that it was terribly cursed and she was going to destroy it, and usually they believed her and she was able to avoid many a bandit by that means. She was a witch, this much was true, but hers was not a magic of demons trapped in jars sealed off with cork and paper, hers was a magic of healing, of green and growing things, and of ancient texts. For her, demons were minor nuisances who made milk soil and put blood in goose eggs and were easily warded off with a word or a good sweep of the besom. If the demon were any serious matter, she would feel it.

The monk nodded gravely. “I was very lucky, you see, this spirit is drawn to beautiful things, so this pot made a good trap. The first time I trapped it in the pot, it screamed and railed and shook so that the pot shattered. Undeterred, I repaired the pot and filled the cracks with gold so that it was even more beautiful. The demon could not resist, and thus I trapped it for good this time.”

“How did you get it to fall for the same trick twice?” asked the witch with a smile.

“I was also lucky in the fact that this demon is also a fool, and a vain one at that. But now I really must be going. I am not moving nearly as swiftly with a burden like this, and I must reach the northern sea.”

“I could take it to the northern sea for you,” the witch offered politely.

“Would you?” said the monk, and before the witch could sell her suggestion further with talk of how well she knew these lands and how hale and swift she was, the monk shoved the tea leaf pot into her arms and was already walking back whence he came. The witch was stunned for a few seconds, then glanced down at her pot, smiled, and shrugged. It wasn’t nearly as heavy in her hands as it had looked on the monk’s back.

 She felt a bit guilty about taking the treasure off his hands. Holy men were so quick to overreact over boggarts. She herself was not really one for riches, though. It was lovely to look at and would probably be worth a pretty penny to sell for food if her crops blighted or goat sickened. When the witch got home, she set the new gold-veined pot among her apothecary jars. Not in too obvious a spot, for the village would surely be suspicious as to how she got such a treasure, but in the open enough so that she could look up at it fondly as she worked at her cauldron.

The witch lived where the village ended and the wood began, though “witch,” as a title and address, was conditional. She was “witch” until bones needed setting, until boils needed lancing, until fevers needed breaking and until the miller’s wife was with child (again) and needed goose-grease ointment. In such circumstances, the witch was no longer “witch” and called “Miss Gramercy.” The witch herself preferred “Mercy.”

 Save for curing ails, Mercy kept to herself, and the village left her well enough alone. On some days when the children were feeling particularly bold, they would throw rotten vegetables at her when she walked through the village, but aside from that she was a necessary presence in their village that for the most part, the villagers liked to pretend didn’t exist. She didn’t mind this. She liked the privacy—more time for her books, more time for her experiments, more time for her tinctures and extracts, and, while she would never admit this to any of the villagers, more time for magic. Her books were her dearest treasures; texts on chemistry and mathematics and astronomy from Arabia and Greece and China, and several secret texts she kept in a locked box behind a panel in her wall that the village would surely burn her for possessing if they were ever found. To feed herself she kept a garden, and she had a goat and a goose, given to her in exchange for her services several years ago, but her only true companion was an ugly, one-eyed, foul-tempered-with-all-but-her black cat she called “Old Scratch.” 

For the next few weeks Mercy returned to her work and all but forgot about her exchange with the foreign monk, and the gold-veined tea leaf pot on her shelf was little more than a decoration. That is, until one day while Mercy was busying herself with a mortar and pestle, a sparrow flew into the house with Old Scratch in pursuit, and the cat, in leaping after the bird, knocked the tea leaf pot from its shelf. Mercy sat up with a start with the sound of porcelain shattering behind her and she whirled around. “Scratch, you old devil! What have you done…now…” she trailed off as black and red smoke with green lightning sparking through it billowed up from the broken remains of the pot. She covered her mouth with her hands and slowly stepped back as the smoke and lightning formed itself into a human figure wearing a terrifying mask. 

“So you have freed me,” the figure spoke, drawing itself to its full height, “So you have my servi—”

He was immediately met with a face full of broom bristles.

“Back!” she smacked him with the broom, “Back!” she smacked him again, “Back from whence thou came! With this besom, I banish thee hence!”

He caught the broom handle. “What are you doing?” he said flatly.

“Banishing…you…?” said Mercy.

“You expect to banish me with a cleaning utensil?” said the demon, “I, whose sword can stir up great whirlwinds with one swipe? I, whose steps can be as loud as thunder or silent as death? I, who–Gah!” Mercy had shoved forward with the broom handle and he caught a face full of broom bristles again, “Will you stop that?!” he snapped.

“It usually works with other demons,” Mercy said a bit sheepishly, drawing back but still holding the broom in front of herself, ready to strike him again.

“The other demons?” said evil spirit tilted his head. 

“Boggarts, you know,” said Mercy, “Usually no bigger than your hand. Mostly they just turn butter rancid and hide things from you.”

“I–do I look like I have any interest in your butter?!” said the demon, clearly insulted by this comparison.

“I–um…” Mercy fidgeted with her hair a bit, “I don’t know. You’re the first demon of your kind that I’ve seen,” said Mercy, walking around him, broom still at the ready, but moving to get a better look at him. She glanced down. ���No cloven hooves or anything…”

“Ah yes, I heard those in these lands had interesting ideas of demons,” he said, “I can give myself cloven hooves if you wish. I can take all kinds of forms, but I like this one,” he removed the mask, “It is the most handsome, is it not?”

Mercy drew back a little, her grip tightening on her broom. He was handsome. with fine cheekbones and a strong jaw, though his eyes were bright red, between blood and fire. She leaned in a little.

“Try not to be too distracted by my good looks,” said the demon with a grin.

“…Do you make your eyebrows look like that on purpose or do they just look like that with whatever form you take?” said Mercy, squinting at his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” he said, some hurt in his voice.

“Nothing!” Mercy drew back again, “Nothing at all!”

The demon put his mask back on sullenly.

Mercy exhaled. “What do you want of me?” she said, gripping her broom.

“It’s not what I want of you, it’s what you want of me,” said the demon, “As I was saying before you so rudely assaulted me with that broom, you freed me and thus, you have my service,” he gave a bow, “At the very least you have no ill-will from me, and are free to send me on my way with no repercussions.”

“Your service…” Mercy said skeptically, “Do you have a name?”

 “You may call me Genji,” said the demon.

“Genji,” Mercy repeated the name, “Very well, Genji.” 

“It sounds lovely on your tongue,” said Genji. Mercy wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her voice or praising the beauty of his own name, “What are you called?”

“I am called Mercy,” said Mercy, “Well… not really. They call me ‘Witch’ or ‘Miss Gramercy’ but I call myself Mercy.” 

“A witch!” Genji seemed pleased by this, “Finally someone interesting!”

“Interesting?”

“Usually most ask just me for fame, or riches, or slaying their enemies and send me on my way. Witches tend to be more… mutually beneficial partnerships,” Mercy could hear the smile in his voice beneath the mask. 

Mercy frowned. “And what is the price?”

“What do you mean, ‘What is the price?’” said Genji, “I said you have my service.”

“Your only true reward to me for freeing you from that pot is the fact that you haven’t possessed me or killed me or done something terrible yet,” said Mercy, “You’re a demon. If you’re offering a service, there is always a price.”

“Several moments ago you were beating me with a broom like I was some second-rate imp and now you speak as if you’re an expert on the nature of demons,” muttered Genji.

“That was practice, this is extending a bit more into theory,” said Mercy with a slight smile, “But there is a price, isn’t there?”  

“You witches are irritatingly clever about these things,” said Genji, “Yes. Fine. There’s a price, but nothing you need to pay now.”

Mercy folded her arms and gave him a sharp look, indicating to him that she would not tolerate being vague and threatening.

“Your first-born,” said Genji.

“Oh,” Mercy seemed to relax considerably at this, “All right then,” she said with the same cavalierness as if she was buying bread at the market. 

“What–Really?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Mercy, who had no intention of even having a first-born to begin with.

“This is why I like you witches,” said Genji, “Not nearly as much dramatics as most humans. Very well then!” He clapped his hands together, “I am at your disposal, Witch Mercy. What do you desire? Secrets of the lands of the dead? Grant you a silver tongue with which to charm all men?”

“Hmm…no,” said Mercy.

“I’d offer you youth and beauty but I cannot offer what you already possess,” said Genji.

Mercy scoffed and smiled. 

“What can I offer you…hm…” Genji seemed thoughtful, “I could… turn into a dragon and you could ride me stark naked across the moonlit skies?”

Mercy’s nose wrinkled, “What…Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s fun?” Genji shrugged. “I saw a woodcut of witches from this land and from what I could gather, they seemed to have a fondness for flying naked,” 

Mercy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to fly naked,” she said, exasperated, she was quiet for a while before saying at last, “Protection.”

“Is that your desire?” said Genji.

“I have seen witches and innocent women alike burnt at the stake for little more than healing sicknesses or rebuffing a man’s advances. I consider my work important and would not like to die before I am satisfied. You say your sword is swift and mighty?”

“The swiftest and mightiest,” said Genji with no small amount of pride.

“And you can take the forms of many things?” said Mercy.

“All sorts of things,” said Genji.

“Then I would like your protection, against man and demon alike,” said Mercy.

“I could simply devour your enemies,” Genji offered. 

“I don’t have enemies–if I do, then they haven’t really done anything yet,” said Mercy, “Gods willing, I won’t ever need your protection, but it would be nice to have.”

“And so you have it,” said Genji with a bow, “I could also give you the means to escape your enemies–you could ride the wind as I do…”

“You do not have to give me what I intend to gain for myself,” said Mercy with a grin.

Genji chuckled. “Witches always were more interesting,” he said, lifting his mask.

—

Part 2 is here

[realisticallycynical]

In the Rough

(based on this) part 1 (you are here), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

There’s a lot about Mari that Yuuri loves. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that he loves his sister more than almost anyone else, except maybe his parents. Despite their six year age difference, neither of them have ever had any other kids to really interact with. As such, each of them were the other’s best and only friend. But the fact has always remained that Mari is older than Yuuri. One day, he’s always known, she will be the queen of Yutopia. What he didn’t expect was for that day to come so quickly, or have such a profound effect on their relationship.

It was gradual at first: Mari turning him away from her door when he asks her to help him with his studies, Mari spending more and more time in the library with her own when she was never the best of students before, Mari lashing out at him when he actually gets the courage to press for her attention occasionally. Time and again, Mother assures him that it’s just the responsibility of being the crown princess that’s weighing on her. Still, Yuuri can’t help if he’s lonely.

That’s what led to this.

“Not now, Yuuri.” Mari is sounding increasingly irritated with him, but he can’t really seem to stop himself. It’s been months since they’ve had a proper conversation.

“It will only take a minute, I promise!”

“I don’t have a minute!” she finally snaps, rounding on him. “I don’t have a minute to myself because the coronation is so soon. What on earth makes you think that I have time to spare for you? Don’t be such a clingy child!”

Yuuri silently curses the way his eyes well up with tears. “I… Excuse me.”

“Yuuri, wait. I didn’t mean–” He can hear her calling out to his back, but the words don’t really register.

Being too overbearing has always been Yuuri’s biggest fear; he’s emotional and soft in a way that no self-respecting royal should ever be. Mari knows this, and used it against him. He really must be too much if she of all people is telling him so. He can just leave her alone until after the coronation. Maybe longer, if it looks like she’s feeling too overwhelmed by his presence. He has an outfit that he uses sometimes when palace life is too much for him and he sneaks out to go to town. He can use that to sneak out. He can take a horse, a sword, and some money, and hide out somewhere until everything blows over in a couple of months.

It doesn’t take Yuuri long to slip past the guards and get off the castle grounds. He’s done it countless times before, once even smuggling Prince Phichit out with him. He slips out the back way, through the forest. Everyone in town knows his face, and most of his subjects do too; it will be best to avoid people for a while.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s brave enough to stray from the path. The woods between this and the next kingdom are deep, and more than one traveller has gotten lost within them, or attacked by robbers. If his maps are right, he’ll be able to get to the next kingdom within a fortnight.

Sleeping on the forest floor is irritating, but hardly anything new; this isn’t the first time that Yuuri has disappeared for a few days, even if it’s the first time that he’s planning on leaving the kingdom without permission. By the eighth day, Yuuri’s rations are beginning to get a bit low. He’s grimy, there are leaves and twigs in his hair, and his ratty cloak is rattier than ever. Still, he doesn’t turn back. At this point, going home would create more distress than it would relieve. If need be, he can just… kill a rabbit or something. There’s a stream less than ten minutes from the path, and making a fire is no problem. He can make it to the next kingdom.

The sound of a carriage jolts him out of his thoughts. He darts back into the trees, hiding in a bush. He still hasn’t crossed the Yutopia border, so it’s possible– probable, even –that the driver of that carriage knows who Yuuri is. As the carriage draws closer, Yuuri can make out little details that start to change his mind. Its blue, for one thing, and only a single carriage; most trader caravans are made up of several plain wagons with faded paint.

Yuuri hears rustling behind him. In less than a second, the quiet rustling becomes shouting. Bandits. Seven men attack the carriage from all sides, one even jumping from a tree to land on top of the carriage. Yuuri doesn’t even realize that he’s drawing his sword until it’s already out.

The door to the carriage flies open and two men– one man and one boy, really, no more than thirteen –jump out, weapons drawn and ready. The boy shouts something that sounds like “Stay the fuck there or I’m telling Dad,” but Yuuri can’t focus too much on him. He’s taken down one of the robbers, but there’s another one coming at him.

It takes the three of them nearly twenty minutes to knock out all of the robbers, and when they do, they’re panting.

“Thank you for the help.” The dark-haired man from the carriage holds out his hand for Yuuri to shake. “We might not have made it without you.”

“It–It was nothing, really.” Yuuri holds up his hands, as if that will deflect the praise. “I was just trying to help. Anyone would have done the same.”

“Tch.” The boy sheaths his sword. Now that Yuuri has a chance to look at him, he’s amazed. The boy is beautiful, almost fairy-like, but he fights like a demon. He’s also dressed like a royal. “At least you didn’t get in the way.”

Yuuri doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. There’s a laugh from inside the carriage and someone else exits. This man is definitely a royal, and it’s possible that he’s even more beautiful than the boy. They must be related, with their strangely colored hair and eyes.

“That’s high praise coming from you, Yuratchka.” The man looks Yuuri up and down, and Yuuri has to force himself not to blush. “I’ve decided. He’ll be my new bodyguard. I’ve been needing a new one, and I can’t bear to see my beloved younger brother fight on my behalf anymore.”

The man swoons dramatically, but it looks like he’s actually about to fall. Neither of his companions make a move to catch him, and neither does the driver, a woman with bright, fiery red hair. Yuuri is there before he knows it, catching the man before he can actually fall to the ground.

He finds himself looking into the most piercing pair of eyes that he’s ever seen. His eyes inexplicably heat up and Yuuri can tell that if he looks for too long, he’ll be overwhelmed; those eyes can see straight into his soul.

“Be careful,” Yuuri manages.

The man flicks a piece of silver hair out of his eyes and smiles, standing up straight. “Yes, he’ll do nicely. I’m keeping him.”

He ends up on the floor a second later anyway, courtesy of the flying kick that the boy– his younger brother, Yuuri reasons –aims at his back. “Don’t just assume that some random man in the forest is trustworthy enough to be your bodyguard! Think this through, old man!”

“I’m only twenty two,” the man pouts from the ground. “You’re so mean, Yuratchka. Besides, he saved my life, and he doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go. Dad will allow it.”

Yuratchka rolls his eyes and walks over to the carriage. “Whatever. You might want to ask him what his name is before you ask him to risk his life for you though.”

The door slams and Yuuri is still a little confused. The man is still on the ground, the dark haired man from earlier is sheathing his sword without a care in the world, apparently used to this sort of behavior.

“He has a point!” Silver-Haired Man bounces up and picks the twigs out of his hair. “If you’re my new bodyguard, I must know your name.”

“Yuuri,” he says without thinking. Then he realizes that giving his true last name could be a very bad idea. “Yuuri… Nishigori.”

Silver-Haired Man introduces himself as Victor Nikiforov, the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom. The fairy-like boy with the foul mouth is indeed his brother, Prince Yuri. The other man is Georgi Popovich, Yuri’s personal bodyguard, and their driver is called Mila. The four of them have apparently been travelling together nearly all of Yuri’s life.

The reality of what he’s just inadvertently agreed to doesn’t hit until he’s sitting in the carriage with them later: he’s agreed to become the personal bodyguard to the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom, who would no doubt know his name but not his face. Yuuri can’t help but wonder how he’s going to get himself out of this one without causing himself and everyone around him massive embarrassment.

Luckily, he has several months to come up with a solution.

[bbjhfgjngdbliy-blog]

Saihen of the Sound part 3 The Unseeing Gaze

He had spent weeks inside the cave mending his wounds. "Im no Kabuto but I still think I did and okay job" He spoke to the empty cave. No answer was given. He felt slightly confused as to why that disappointed him. "Ive been in this cave too long." He muttered to himself. "This is what I get for thinking I could take the raikage and his B. I was so stupid I thought myself smarter than the enemy. I underestimated my foe. Orochimaru would be so disappointed!" His throat tightened as he spoke this. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the musky smelling wall behind him. In his mind he saw a face silhouetted with no features except the eye of "that" clan. The voice echoed through his mind "Pathetic. If thats all you have then you are truly worthless to me. No wonder I had to give my life. It's becuase you couldn't help me think of a better way." The eye got closer and Saihen could feel the disdain coming from it. "IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M DEAD" Saihen jerked awake ignoring the wetness he could feel on his cheeks. It's just a dream At least thats how he tried to convince himself to calm down. The emotionally distraught shinobi stood up and grabbed the summoning scroll laying by his bedroll. Without this it would've been for nothing. The scroll and the absence of his custom arm is all the proof he has of his encounter.  His wounds healed he sets off for the Village of the Leaf. Hoping to run into a old friend. The journey to the leaf was uneventful. The aide of a kind vender kept him from halving to walk the whole way. While riding on her cart the woman had offered him a lift saying the leaf was her destination. Saihen accepted of course it was a very long walk. As he climbed into cart he took a look at her. Her short red hair hair that fell past her ears. He took notes of the dark kimono she wore and her arm guards. She held out a hand to help him up. But what caught his attention most were the blue of her eyes. One was a dark blue like the sky before a storm but the other was a light blue like a still lake. Along the way they chatted about multiple things. The woman was actually delivering a shipment of medical supplies and rare tea leaves to a cafe ran by a woman named Kaika. "Really all types are allowed there she doesnt descriminate. She was a medical nin before the shop opened. Since then she rarely leaves." The woman smiles. "She offers asylum to any who need it no questions asked" Saihen smirks to himself What are the chances that he gets a ride to the exact place he was heading? Things might actually work this time. The woman stops talking with a confused look on her face "I am so sorry I dont believe I ever caught your name" Saihen started to lie but then decided the woman was no threat to his current goals. "You may call me Saihen" "You may call me Mai" She replied. After that they merely chatted about the weather and the state of the world. For two weeks they traveled together. The fact that no bandits or anything of the like attacked surprised Saihen. Multiple times along the trip he had thought they would be. He felt eyes watching and they passed through many perfect ambush spots. Yet Mai just kept on driving seemingly oblivious to the dangers. Maybe he was overreacting after all the war had changed things. Maybe bandits were no longer in these parts. "Maybe that new hokage brat actually has good security measures now" Saihen thought. "Well if bandits are no worries that merely leaves skirting the Anbu until I get what I need" As they approached the front gate of the village guards stopped them. One approached the cart. "Who are you and what is your business here" Mai reached into her kimono sleeve and withdrew a paper with the emblem of the leaf stamped on it "Im sure everything is in order." Saihen had never seen a guard look so surprised as he saw the paper "Yesyes of c-c-course go right in." Mai smiled "Why thank you" As the went through the gates Saihen was struck with the size of the village. It had grown so large since he was last here. The streets were packed with people runnings errands or just enjoying the weather. Skyscrapers dotted the skyline. The sky had airships coming and going. The mountain had more faces since he was last there. The stoic gaze of the new hokage gazed upon the village. Judging all those who traveled its streets. Turning to Mai he asked "How did you get through security so fast? They didnt even check us." Her eyebrows bunched together "Oh I must have forgot to mentio-" "My lord" Both Saihen and Mai heads turned to see a robed figure kneeling in front of them. Hood hiding its face "Any orders?" Mai looked down at him "At this time no. You did an excellent job go back to base with the others and rest up." The figure stood up and Saihen saw under the hood. His brain reeled from what he saw. " A ceramic mask! In the shape of a fox. Anbu.Lord?!!!!!!!!!?????? The bandits? Of course! That means.. Oh no" as the pieces fell into place. 'How did I not notice? Am I slipping this much?!" The thoughts raced in his head. He turned towords Mai and saw a slight smile on her lips. "Piece it together did we?" Saihen focused his chakra around himself ready to flare it out. "Release!" He fell to the ground agony racing up his arm. Yanking up his sleeve he saw a seal glowing on his forearm. "Of course why would anyone actually help me? Foolish" He looked up at her from the ground "So sorry about the ruse. But when the Raikage sent word that a one armed shinobi had attacked him and then I picked you up. It was just too much to resist. Didnt you find it strange i just happen to be going where you were planning on going? She laughed. "I assumed one as smart as you would figure it out but oh well. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mai, high lord of the Anbu, the strongest of the leaf and you, well you are my prisoner. " From the ground Saihen tried to focus his chakra again only to be met with the same searing pain on his arm. "That seal on your arm prevents chakra usage of any kind as well as disguising my face. A custom made seal specifically crafted to aid in prisoner transport." Saihen struggled to his feet. A crowd of people had formed around them. He was sure she had other Anbu watching. He could use no chakra while this seal was on his forearm. He couldnt fight without his puppet arm. He was truly and utterly out of options. "I give up. You win" Saihen stood shakily "I surrender" Mai strode up to him "As I thought. come with me the hokage wishes to see you personally." As she turned and started to walk four Anbu dropped down around Saihen completly surrounding him. The crowd parted to let them through. "My own personal funeral march with her leading the way." Desperately looking for any way out. As long as the seal was on he was helpless. The Anbu kunoichi lead the way through back streets. "Probably to keep me away from the civilians. No collateral damage. No witnesses" Passing by an alley he saw a small basin used by blacksmiths to cool hot metal. As they approached the smith came out holding a red hot hunk of metal inbetween a pair of tongs. "This is my chance." Saihen launched himself towords the smith and pressed his hand against the metal "What are you doing?!" The smith took a step back as the smell of Saihens burning flesh filled the air. "Come on come on" Gritting his teeth as the metal seared the skin on his hand. He pulled it back to see that the seal and been divided cleanly in half by the burning. Ignoring his pain he touched the inside of his sleeve sending a bit of chakra to release the summon he had there. Instantly dozens of smoke bombs fell out of his sleeve filling the air with enough smoke to almost be tangible. "GET HIM HE IS RIGHT HERE STILL!" Saihen jumped onto the roof only to find an Anbu waiting for him "Damn. perimeter guard" The Anbu started to reach up to touch his communicater. Saihen launched himself at the ninja, arm drawn back and glowing with chakra "HIRODURAA" The Anbu recognizing the attack vanished. Saihen landed where the anbu was and stopped the chakra flow "Heh,didnt think that would work. They really are jumpy" He heard the sound of multiple feet landing behind him. Not even turning around he took off. Focusing on his surroundings as he leaped roof to roof. Then he saw it,Kaikas cafe safe haven to all. Even the anbu need express Hokage permission to go in. He landed on the street, ignoring the people staring ran as hard he he could towords the doors. All he needed to do was get inside. The he would have a few hours while the went through the process of getting permission. "STOP HIM HE HIS RIGHT THERE! STOP UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE HOKAGE UZUMAKI NARUTO STOP" Mai's voice sounded out behind him. He was sure she had a small army behind him but he dared not look back. As he approached the doors and saw the guards out front he started yelling his own message "ASYLUM ASYLUM" The guards in front of the cafe spread apart and openend the door to let him pass. The second he touched the inside of the cafe the doors were shut behind him. He looked around the cafe finding the owner standing behind a bar serving the most exquisite meals he had seen in weeks. The room was brightly lit and packed with people eating.Barely any of them paid him any attention apparently used to this kind of thing he sat down at the bar. "My name is Kaika you can tell me your name or not however you wish. You are safe here until the hokage himself tells me otherwise. You may stay as long as you wish. Now are you hungry or require any medical aide? " The owner was standing over him looking mildly shy but also eager to help. "I do have a slight burn I would like some treatment for" he pulled up his sleeve for the first time seeing the damge he did to his arm. The skin from his knuckles to halfway up his form was simply melted off. He could see the fiborous muscle under neath. Kaika gasped "That looks pretty bad however." She placed her palm over his burn and Saihen watched in amazement as new skin crisscrossed across the wound stitching it closed. He gazed up at the owner "I..I don't know what to say. Thank you" She smiles "Its not a problem. Is there anything else youd like?" "Actually is there someplace private we can talk? I need your help finding someone who may not want her name being broadcasted everywhere." Kaika nodded and motionend for him to follow Saihen got up and followed her to a back room.she shut the door behind them. The room was small and filled with boxes fhat smelled VERY strongly of tea "So who is it you need to find?" Saihen pulled the scroll from his robes and unrolled it on the table between them. He unlocked the seal and in a puff of smoke Sammehada appeared on the table and promptly wrapped its hilt around Saihen's wrist enjoying the chakra. "Her name is Abunai. We used to travel in the same circle so to speak. I merely wish to find her and return this." Kaika's eyes widenend. Her voice came out out slightly above a whisper. "Is that..HIS sword?" "Yes" "The one that Killer B took?" "Yes" "So that makes you the shinobi that attacked him and his brother and stole it?" "Yes" She sat down on a box. "You are a VERY wanted shinobi. The entire alliance has people looking for you. The Hokage, once he finds out that you are in here he will come himself. He and B were quite close In the war." Saihen was shocked. "How close?" She looked up at him a sad look in her eyes. "They were like brothers. The hokage takes family quite seriously." Saihen sighed. "I will be out of here as soon as I can I dont wish to cause trouble for you. Do you k ow where I can find her?" Kaika pulls out a map and marks a place on the map. "She told me if anyone is ever looking for her to send them there. I hear the beach its on is quite beautiful." Saihen fills with dread "That is months away without an airship. There are no non alliance airships. I can't possibly get there." Kaika is lot in thought for a moment "I think I can help that actually. One moment." She walks to the door and pokes her head out and starts talking. A few moments later a petite girl with curly bown hair and glasses comes in and smiles at Saihen. "Oh I can work with this." She drops a case on the floor "Im a but of a master at appearing to be someone im not. I bet you think im a girl" "Arent you?" She giggles "wouldnt you like to know? My name is pidge by the way and im going to change how you look" Kaika walks out saying "have fun you two" Hours later Saihen walks out of the room. He had to admit pidge did amazing. He has a new puppet arm that does things he hadnt even thought of. He walked with a limp thanks to uneven shoes. His eyes were a light green thanks to contacts and his hair was now down to his waist and a dark black thanks to some chakra enhanced growth. She even gave him a chakra suppression device to hide his chakra. Pidge had said any time he needed help he was welcome to get ahold of her she was fascinated by his ideas for applications of chakra and machinery. He thanked both her and kaika profusely and walked out the front door. Right past Anbu waiting outside. They didnt even look at him twice. The ticket clerk paid him no attention as he bought a ticket and took his seat on the airship He had a new identity courtesy of Pidge and a full belly courtesy of Kaika. He wished he could stay. As he watched the village grow smaller on the horizon he actually felt sad to leave them behind. "Another day perhaps"

[betabites]

Dragons of Tiamat - Deeds

Overview - Dragon Chassis - Templates - Deeds - Opposition - The Prison

Now with DM Commentary!

Flirted With A Mysterious Stranger Tall, foreign, and wrapped in sensual mystery. Benefit: Like the stranger, the benefits of this card are mysterious.

DM Commentary: The stranger was connected to the main plot, and would have given the PCs a secret ally in the second adventure.

Robbed A Potioneer Stolen potions always taste better. Benefit: You recover an additional 5hp from healing potions. You have the following additional potions: Potion of healing x3 (heals 15hp [20hp for you]) Potion of shield (+4 AC for 10 minutes) Potion of magic fang (+1 to hit and damage with natural weapons for 1 minute; counts a magical weapons) Potion of fertility x5 (Half-dragons ho!) Potion of infertility x5 (always fuck carriages responsibly, wyrmlings! Otherwise, you get half-dragon carriages, and no one wants tanks)

DM Commentary: One of Flix’s picks. More options never hurt.

Burned Down The Inn And the stables, and the carriage house, and the outhouse, and the well, and the town. Benefit: Whenever you deal fire damage (by any means), increase the damage dealt by +5.

DM Commentary: If you’re prepared for the PCs to burn down absolutely everything, you may as well give them mechanical incentive to do so.

Drank the Cellars Dry Are you even legal to fly after that? Benefit: You have an alternate breath weapon. It is a 30ft cone of alcohol fumes that linger for 1d4+1 rounds. Any use of fire within the area causes the fumes to explode, dealing 5d5+5 fire damage within the area, including the damage from the triggering fire, if any. You must wait 1d4+1 rounds after using this breath weapon before using any other breath weapon.

DM Commentary: One of the dangling combo options I included. Combine it with ‘Burned Down The Inn’ and let the bodies hit the floor.

Ate A Whole Horse Bigger dragon = More powerful dragon. You might also stress-eat. Benefit: You start with 25 temporary hit points. Once lost, these temporary hit points cannot be regained.

DM Commentary: Inspired by the Queen of Blood from Rich Burlew’s incomparable Order of the Stick.

Fought A Duel And won two. Math that, sages! Benefit: You can reroll an attack roll with a +2 bonus. You can use this ability three times.

DM Commentary: Sometimes, PCs need a little extra luck. May have been better to make it applicable to any roll made while in combat, just for that extra bit of versatility.

Saved Some Bandits... For Later Your ascension to the position of dread tyrant has only just begun. Benefit: You have three bandit minions. They are slavishly devoted to you, but they aren't great in a stand-up fight. Lex, Vic and Minny, Bandits HP 24 (3 HD); AC 15, flat-footed n/a, touch 13 Fort +3 Ref +5 (Evasion) Will +2 Init On bosses's initiative; Spd 30ft Melee Club +4 (1d6+2) Ranged Shortbow +4 (1d6+2) Special Sneak Attack +1d6 Skills Hide +7, Intimidate +7, Listen +7, Move Silently +7, Spot +7 Str 14 Dex 14 Con 13 Int 9 Wis 8 Cha 8

DM Commentary: One of Minnen’s picks, confusingly, because of Minny. They’re 3rd level Rogues, mostly. Surprisingly, all three of them survived, despite being the rearguard in the big fight. One survived a 30ft fall, even. I was very impressed. They’ll be coming back.

Cracked The Cult's Codes Oh yeah, make that brain throb with thought. Benefit: You can decipher secret smith-cult messages, know an array of standard call-and-responses, and various identifying passphrases. Most of them are silly.

DM Commentary: One of the fluff-heavy Deeds. Didn’t get used, so I’m not sure what would’ve happened with it.

Sacrificed A Treasure To Tiamat And it was so shiny. Benefit: You can reroll any one die. You can use this ability three times.

DM Commentary: One of Bhela’s picks. May be too close to ‘Fought a Duel.’

Smitten (By A Paladin) They were hot, you panicked, and next thing you know, you were being smote. Yea, mightily. Benefit: You can smite an enemy when you make an attack (before or after you make the to-hit and/or damage rolls). You are at +4 to hit and +8 to damage. You can use this ability three times.

DM Commentary: One of Rezzy’s picks. They’ve requested that the paladin show up again, since they want to know more.

Captured A Pixie And forced it to tell you the secrets of the speedy-zoom. Benefit: As a free action, you can move your land speed. You can use this ability three times.

DM Commentary: One of Rezzy’s picks. A slimmed-down Travel devotion. It’s insane that the Devotion lasts for a minute. Good, but insane. It’s still useful as ‘trade turn attempts for moving your speed as a swift action.’

Interrogated An Old Pilgrim Tall, foreign, and wrapped in sensual mystery.  Benefit: You have a map of the Temple of the Smith-Cult. The detail isn't the greatest, but it's more than you had before.

DM Commentary: Another fluff option. It would have cut down on the information-gathering segment considerably. The fluff text is the result of me using the ‘Flirted with a Mysterious Stranger’ option as a template, and forgetting to replace the fluff text. An option: It’s amazing how good a drawing it is, given the circumstances.

Joined An Orgy You licked it. Benefit: You have an alternate breath weapon. It is a 30ft cone of lubricant that lingers for 1d4+1 rounds. Anyone who moves in it make a Reflex save or fall prone. You must wait 1d4+1 rounds after using this breath weapon before using any other breath weapon.

DM Commentary: Mmm, delicious crowd control.

Dug Up A Hidden Horde Nothing exceptional, but a nice horde seed nonetheless. Benefit: You have an additional 1000gp in various denominations, materials and origins of currency.

DM Commentary: Money is a superpower, after all.

Became A Patron Of The Arts The troupe was putting on your favorite play, Kitty-Orc and the Land of Wanton Wyrms. Benefit: The troupe is in town at the moment, and can be consulted for information or minor services.

DM Commentary: Another fluff entry, more on the social end of things.

Recovered A Grimoire From A Ruined Tower No harm ever came from reading a book... Benefit: As a standard action, you can summon a bearded devil for one encounter or ten minutes, whichever is shorter. It will obey your commands to the death, but will make rude and unhelpful comments the whole time. You can use this ability once.

DM Commentary: One of Bhela’s picks. “Lets get beardy!” Public service announcement: bearded devils have horrifying sewer beards, and you should absolutely not be friends with them.

Extracted Tribute From A Druid And by 'tribute', we mean 'there's an angry owlbear in a flask at your belt.' You may have been swindled. Benefit: As a standard action, you can summon an owlbear with 75hp for one encounter or ten minutes, whichever is shorter. It will obey your commands to the death, but it will be surly about it. You can use this ability once.

DM Commentary: One of Flix’s picks. I mean, who doesn’t want a grumpy birb-bear? A really tanky one.

Ate An Anvil... Like, With A Fork That blacksmith was absolutely terrified. Also, it was tasty. Benefit: You have an alternate breath weapon. It is a 60ft line of iron shards deals 5d6+5 piercing and slashing damage (Reflex for half). If they fail the saving throw, they also take 2d6+5 damage the following round. You must wait 1d4+1 rounds after using this breath weapon before using any other breath weapon.

DM Commentary: I can’t have a campaign with the abbreviation ‘DoT’ without including a damage-over-time effect. I probably need more DoTs.

Ran Over Some Peasants With A Cart Their bodies are in the back, and are killing the resale value. Benefit: You have a cart, drawn by a vicious heavy warhorse. It's not a warhorse by breeding or training, but it is an enormous jerk. You also have eight peasant bodies, with their effects.

DM Commentary: Oddly enough, I’ve had multiple sessions that involved carts, cart-based vehicular manslaughter, and the depreciation of cart values. This is one of the ‘I have no idea what they’ll do with it, but PCs are inventive, so I’ll see what happens’ options.

Indulged In A Manicure And visited a barber. Luxury! And very sharp claws and teeth. Benefit: Your attacks are improved. Bite +10 (1d8+5) Claws +8/+8 (1d6+3) Wing Attacks +8/+8 (1d4+3)

DM Commentary: One of Minnen’s picks. Nothing wrong with more pluses.

Bearer Of The Creepiest Bag of Holding Ever Nothing like Santa. Kind of like Krampus. Benefit: You have a bag of holding type III. It can hold 1000lb. It is currently filled with 800lbs of dead bodies, in various states of decay. Cleaning it will be a Herculean task.

DM Commentary: Useful, but creepy. Related, I once played Krampus in a Christmas one-shot. I built him as a dwarf shapeshifter variant druid/warshaper, and had a type 4 bag of holding. My problem-solving was a) kill it and/or b) put it in my bag.

Prayed To A Forgotten God Derelict altar, nearby copses, what could go wrong? Benefit: You can reroll a saving throw with a +2 bonus. You can use this ability three times.

DM Commentary: Of a kind with the other reroll Deeds. Not the most exciting option.

Ate Very Alarming Foreign Food In retrospect, they were fucking with you. Benefit: You have an alternate breath weapon. It is a 30ft cone of writhing green worms that immobilizes and entangles all within the area for 1d4+1 rounds (Reflex to negate immobilize). You must wait 1d4+3 rounds after using this breath weapon before using any other breath weapon.

DM Commentary: Man, I made a lot of crowd-control breath weapon options.

Developed A Symbiosis With Canaries There are seven of them, and they clean your mouth, and they are your best friends. Benefit: You deal maximum damage with your breath weapon. You can use this ability once.

DM Commentary: Powerful, but limited. Another nod to Bahamut, whose human avatar wanders around with seven canaries that are polymorphed great wyrm gold dragons. ...Don’t know how that would have affected the ending.

Fought A Werewolf Moon Moon will regret that night. Benefit: Gain Damage Reduction 5/- for the rest of the encounter. You can use this ability once.

DM Commentary: Powerful, but limited.