#it's partly a burn scar because her sword is fire

[onlineviolence]

now that im trying to draw gabriel with somewhat consistent scars.

this one is from Yuriel

[gregorio-loves-art]

AU Kai Smith!

1. Is 5’11

2. Was 12 when his parents vanished. He and Nya were alone for 7 years. Is 19 at the start of the series. 31 at the start of dragons rising.

3. His mother is Chinese and Is father is English.

4. The mark of the Anacondrai is a blessing from general Arcturus at the end of the AU equivalent to the TOE. It is said to symbolize strength and honor (the most celebrated traits in Anacondrai culture)

5. His dragon, named flame, was the guardian of the temple of fire. Flame is 9’10

6. The burn scare goes across his right eye and all the way down his arm, it ends at his hand. He got the scar from a lack of control over his powers when he was very little. For his childhood, he wore a ring that his father had made him (not knowing it was made of vengestone.

7. He considers him self just as much Lloyd’s older brother as he is Nya’s.

8. While he loves all the ninja like his brothers, he is closest to Cole and considers him to be his best friend.

9. He and Skylor had a very flirtatious relationship for a long time but kept not confirming the relationship, partly because they were incredibly anxious (despite there seemingly strong confidence) and partly cuz they knew it annoyed everyone else.

10. He has two main weapons. 1). The sword of fire 2). Half of the dragon blade. He and Nya intentionally broke the dragon blade in half during battle and they each carry one half.

11. He is the first to call out Wu on his bad judgment, withholding information, and all his other shenanigans.

12. Is incredibly overprotective and often overbearing.

13. Likes sports cars, video games, and ramen.

14. Is a perfectionist yet incredibly impatient.

15. Struggles with his anger issues.

16. Hates when he needs to rely on others.

17. Feels guilty of the fact the Nya wasn’t spared her childhood. As if, despite his parents leaving, it his fault cuz he couldn’t provide everything.

18. As a tendency to be incredibly oblivious to his own issues.

If you have any questions, ask away!

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

[razorblade180]

interdimensional Dads 3

Jaune:Alright, you’re up Blue. Tell all about a world where we manage to get our Beacon crush. That’s how I know you aren’t lying when you say there’s magic in your Remnant again.

Jaune:Magic had nothing to do with it! It’s called time and life. Also I told her I was going to cut my hair and she felt appalled so I didn’t. She told me how much she loves it a little shaggy.

...

Jaune:What?

Jaune:(Did cutting my hair really change my life that much?) It’s nothing, continue.

Jaune:Okay? Well, where to start? I guess the magic is as good of a place as any. Not much on the surface has changed. The climate seems to be a bit more intense though. The gods are back as well, but no one knows exactly where.

Jaune:It’s not on any map?

Jaune:No, apparently it’s constantly changing. Those who get close to finding it usually get turned around by something. Even Oscar doesn’t know.

Jaune:Oscar is still himself? Oz didn’t take over?

Jaune:Why would be? We saved the world and he got to move on. Oscar does however still have all the memories and experience. Not to mention the one hell of a fighter. Though these days he prefers using all that knowledge for counciling.

Jaune:Good for him.

Jaune:He’s a therapist? Huh, yeah he’s definitely been through hell and back in all of our lives. I never really stop to think how crazy it all was.

Jaune:He’s also married to Penny.

Jaune:Penny is back!?

Jaune:Your world is kicking my world’s ass.

Jaune:It’s pretty wild for sure. Yet it feels vaguely normal. Most of my time is spent still doing huntsman work. I take bodyguard missions mostly these days since they normally aren’t as dangerous. Saving towns from grimm is something I have to leave to the others like Ruby. Weiss gets a little anxious otherwise; even more than the kids do these days.

Jaune:Now for the good part, gushing about your kids.

Jaune:*smiling* Nicholas and Summer Schnee, my little Twin Snowflakes. Both sixteen and quite the handful.

Jaune:You know of any of us needed to have twins, I’m glad it’s the one who married into wealth.

Jaune:Well you’re sorta right. However, Weiss was cut off for years until her father wrote her back into the family on his deathbed. So she’s become financially savvy from having to live in Argus for years. That includes the kids when they were little and even a pet dog. I’d like to think we’ve both grown up through the years but she’s definitely changed more than me.

Jaune:I think that might be true for all of us.

Jaune:Hehe, I got a feeling you’re right.

Jaune:Yeah my Weiss has gone through some shit and took it strides as well.

Jaune:Anyways, being rich is nice but we did pretty fine before it. Yeah we had to work constantly but it’s not like there wasn’t anybody we couldn’t ask for help. I say by far the craziest thing about my world is team RWBY is now a connected on the family tree and then some.

Jaune:Wait...that would mean- who married a Schnee besides you! Qrow married Winter and that’s it right!? Right!?

Jaune:*smiling* Is someone a little jealous of thinking about a world where Ruby married Whitley?

Jaune:...A little.

Jaune:I guess I can spare you those details then. Just know they’ve done some real good for Remnant.

Jaune:That, I didn’t doubt for a second. It’s just a little weird hearing she isn’t with me.

Jaune:You named your kids after Weiss’s grandfather and Ruby’s mom?

Jaune:Nick is the future heir and Summer got her name because....sigh

....

Jaune:It was the right thing to do.

The other’s didn’t probe that avenue any further. Without saying anything, they already knew.

Jaune:Ruby must really appreciate that.

Jaune:Yeah. She might not realize it but she shows a little bias to Summer because of it. Not that Nick particularly cares. I think he might enjoy not being on someone’s radar for once.

Jaune:Let me guess, Mr. Popular?

Jaune:President at combat school, runner up in regionals, gold in figure skating, future heir, master of promoting various events and hosting parties. Kid has it made, and yet...

Jaune:He doesn’t seem to be having fun? I think we might’ve found a similar thread between our kids.

Jaune:Makes sense. Nick has the same problem I still have sometimes.

Jaune:Overthinking?

Jaune:Taking the blow for others?

Jaune:Burdening himself for no reason.

Jaune:Yes....

Jaune:Oh...

Jaune:He’s the kind of kid who finds a way to finish work quickly so he can finish other work faster; in a never ending loop. All for the sake of making others lives easier. This also causes him to tunnel vision sometimes and not really ask what that person wanted in the first place. That, or he puts himself in a position where he doesn’t get to enjoy being a teenager. It’s partly the reason why Weiss and I don’t give him too much slack whenever he does something for the fun of it.

Jaune.Even in a time of peace, someone like him is taking a lot of responsibilities. Not sure if that’s an Arc thing or a Schnee thing.

Jaune:Trust me, it’s both. He seems to be handling it well though. Weiss really gets on him about taking time to just be himself. Honestly it feels like there’s a couple times he’s even trying to put on a face for us instead of cameras. Fortunately people like Valerie and Veronica seem to cut through that act.

Jaune:Oooh, lady friends?

Jaune:Valerie is Ren and Nora’s kid. He has a giant crush on her but I sort of think he tries too hard and should consider looking elsewhere.

Jaune:That’s ironic coming from you.

Jaune:That’s how you know it’s bad. Me, the guy who wrote a terrible song just to get a date to the dance. To be fair he’s not that bad but I feel like he’ll end crushing his confidence. I mean Veronica would be nice. Blake and Yang’s daughter has a thing for him that’s just as obvious for his crush on Val.

Jaune:(Huh, that’s two sets of different kids from the same parents now. I guess some relationships are harder to change than others.) Nick sounds like a fine young man. I bet things will workout. He seems bright.

Jaune:Yeah, I just hope nothing blows up in his face. As for Summer, she’s practically the spitting image of her mother except with my eyes and light blonde hair. She’s pretty timid and a really kind girl. Smart as a whip too! Definitely got that from her mom; as well as her singing.

Jaune:She performs?

Jaune:Yeah, Atlas loves her music. She has good range, learned guitar from yours truly, tops the charts sometimes in other kingdoms, and genuinely seems to enjoy the life of a singer.

Jaune:But she’s timid?

Jaune:Yeah. Off the stage, she tries to get by life like a background character, but still wants to hang around Nick who’s always in a spotlight! When she was younger she got into a incident with dust that severely injured her. Thankfully she lived but now Summer has several scars over her body that she can’t stand. Also...that wasn’t all she got. Scars are least of her problems. The dust mixed with her cells in unexpected ways.

Jaune:Over exposer, did she get some sort of chronic illness or deficiency?

Jaune:Honestly, we don’t know what to call it. Whenever she gets too cold, Summer changes. Her hair goes white, eyes look like mother, and her personality does a 180. More than that actually. It’s more like she’s been possessed and what’s nothing more to rule everything. We call it Shiva. We have it under control mostly after ten years of dealing with it but there’s still scares now and then. Whatever Shiva is, she’s strong and capable of terrible things. Thankfully no casualties yet, but plenty of close calls and extra scars for almost everyone involved. The mental strain it puts on Summer almost seems crippling. I...don’t really know what to do about it at this point. She’s been distant, and I feel like she isn’t telling me something.

Jaune:....

Jaune:Well...you haven’t lost anything yet right?

Jaune:Huh?

Jaune:Don’t look so bummed. Ten years and nothing too tragic to show for it. Maybe it’s luck, or everyone is way stronger than this problem after all. Including your daughter. Trust me, daughters are way stronger than what father’s give them credit for.

Jaune:Ha, you know he might be on to something with that. You heard my story. Yujin was keeping things together for a long time. That being said, they’re still our little angels and can only go so far. Eventually they’re gonna wish to see someone like their dear old dad to to lean on. That’s our job after all.

Jaune:Yep. You’ll figure it. Like you said, you’re not alone.

Jaune:I might have a daughter but I know a thing or two about distant kids. Take it a step at a time, and let them know you’re always there.

Jaune:...*smiles* Thanks guys.

Jaune:No problem!

Jaune:I wonder what’s up with those two right now? Probably training for their tournament no doubt.

xxxx

Training is putting it lightly. The cold Argus air is filled with smoke as a fire burns in the forest. Nick kneels with his sword stabbed int ground. His body trembles from exhaustion and sweat runs down his face while his hands still grip the blade handle til his palms bleed. Surrounding him is Apathy as pale as ghost with ghastly blue eyes that make them look like they’re right out of horror movie.

Though he’s tired, he manages to lift his head up and see his sister on her hands and knees, not as roughed up as him but more drained from the grimm. Summer looked at her brother with eyes that constantly flickered between shades of blue before turning the shade of their father’s. Summer fell forward, all motivation to move taken away.

Nick:You okay...?

Summer:Y-Yeah...thanks. Sorry.

Nick:Next time....we’ll bring Ruby just in case.

He found the strength to walk towards his sister and carried her on his back. The summoned Apathy keeping a certain range around them like a dome as he walked. Summer found whatever strength she had to raise her right hand up and snapped her fingers. A cool wind came off her finger tips and snuffed out flames before it got out of hand.

Summer:Can’t have this place burning down right?

Nick:You’re gonna get cold again.

Summer:She’s tired...and I’m spent. Even if she comes out, my body can’t move so...zzzzz

Nick:Sigh, saw that coming.

Nicholas walked as fast as his body let him. Abandoning both of their swords in favor or retrieving them later. They’d gotten lucky, the sun was out and he had handled the situation before Shiva could find her stride. Warm clothing also did its part.

He felt Summer shift around on his back and started moving faster. He hated this part.

Nick:I don’t wanna talk to you.

Shiva:That’s no way to treat family.

Nick:But an icicle to the leg is?

Shiva:How else was I supposed to slow you down? You’ve gotten stronger, dodging it the way you did. How unpleasant for me. I’ll aim higher next time, I’ll make sure not to rough up that money maker of yours though.

Nick:Next time I’ll throw you in the fire so you’ll be too tired to talk. Your days are numbered. It must be a pain dealing with me and trying to keep control. Sooner or later you won’t be able to do anything but lose until Summer snuffs you out. Then you’ll be nothing more than a bad dream.

Shiva:....Hmmm aha!

Shiva:I’ve decided then. I guess I’ll just have to kill you first before that happens.

A chill went down his spine as he could feel her ice cold breath hit his ear as she whispersed...

Shiva:Let’s see if I’ll be a bad dream them.

Nick looked over his shoulder and saw nothing but his sister’s sleeping face. Not a sign of anyone or anything else; just peaceful slumber. The boy continued walking in silence. He was still sweating, still trembling, but no longer from the cold. Exhaustion crumbled to adrenaline. He started going back to the sight of their training to grab his sword. After all, who knows what could happen on the way back?

Part 2

Start reading Twin Snoflakes?< Part subzero

[herald-divine-hell]

Warming Treats in Cold Days

A/N: Is it winter time? No? Not yet? Well, I don’t give a damn. Have some wintry fluff with Amayian and Leliana as a married couple!

-

When Leliana peaked out from a pulled scarlet curtain, the fabric heavy but recently pressed and swipe of any shrouds of dust, she watched as stars fell, flashing silvery-white beneath the cool strands of pale sunlight, from a blanket of silvery and gray clouds. In the far distant, she could just make out the wavered small dot of the early morning sun, a disc of pearly white. Snow clamped over leafless branches, wooden arms twined in a tapestry of darken browns and glimmering whites. Darkness pooled, with slivers of gray streaked with flashes of white. Mounds of snow piled, and the once bluish-green lake near the gardens, used often for swimming, was a solid smooth ground of ice, splashes of blue and black within the white surface. For a few moments, she watched the colors trembled and twirled, as if the water underneath the lake danced freely within its frosty constrains.

Shivering, Leliana let the curtain fall back into place, pale light cut out aburpt. But there was enough of the amber glow of torches burning in iron-wrought sconces to keep herself from tripping or getting lost. Tugging at the heavy velvet blue bathrobe, regretting not throwing on a blouse before heading out her bedchambers, Leliana began her strode toward the kitchens. At least her feet were warm, stepping on the carpets of blue and red. Before she had walked off, she let her toes flex and wiggle against the soft surface, like she was stepping on a warm summer cloud. Leliana wished that it was summer. The winters in Ostwick was unbearable, somehow even worse than the ones in Ferelden.

The castle was quiet, the only soft whisper of the winter winds pattering against glass window panels, intersected in crosses of iron, and the low chippers from the torches. Leliana was glad that the children did not wake up yet, though she knew partly the reason why they slept so late into the night was because they spent it scavenging the castle for the secret pathways and rooms their father had hinted about. They had only found one, an ancient armory filled with swords, battleaxes, pikes, spears, and arrows. Amayian and her had only just been able to put Jacqueline off learning the spear - she already had her sword-training to do. Yet the girl had as much patience as her father. Leliana was the pinnacle of patience...when it mattered.

Shaking her head, Leliana could not keep the soft chuckle from bubbling at her chest. Jac has heard far too many stories of us. Especially Leliana. Amayian did not waste a moment in story time to praise Leliana’s abilities, fictional or real. The man was as stubborn as a Ferelden.

Pushing the stone doors, laced with hammered silver twined in vines and rearing stallions, Leliana found her husband in a pleasing sight.

A low hum came from the man, who’s neck was bent down, looking at something hidden from Leliana’s view. Though, what she saw was something she would never complain about, either. Scars littered the broad, muscular back, white lines that slash here and others there, some curving around over his side. Some new scratches also accompanied the old battle scars, and Leliana could not keep the small curl of her lips from rising to her face even if she had wanted to. Battles happen on fields or by sea; others in the bedroom. Or in Amayian and Leliana’s case, any surface they could get their hands on. A shiver crawled up her spine in memories, and warmth sparked within her limbs, knitted at her heard, before slowing seeping down between her thighs. There will be chances like that for later.

But besides the lovely sight of her husband, a sweet scent lingered in the air, alongside warmth that caused already blossomed goosebumps to riddle further down her arms and back. The scent caused her smile to grow, lapsing, if not for a moment, the desire into the back of her mind. She trod gently up to her husband, his great size dwarfing her even more so without the help of her shoes.

Arms wrapped around a wide waist, the roughness of scars and the tautness of skins contrasting well with the warmth rolling off him, like some beating fire within a furnace. Amayian never seemed to be touched by the changing of seasons, be it warmth or cold. His body always adapted, but for Leliana, she preferred when he was warm. Her body felt always safe with his unending warmness, and his strong arms around her. She felt small compared to him when she did the same, but she tightened her muscles and nuzzled her face into his back, taking in his earthy scent, touched with something warm, alive; a fire within the liveliness of woods.

A chuckle came from her husband. “Good morning to you, as well, ma cherie.” She could hear the smile upon his lips.

When she glanced up, one eyelid lifting lazily open, she saw Amayian glance over her shoulder, down at her. Golden eyes burned with a touch of scarlet, like flaming morning sunlight capture in pools. A soft rustle and clatter came from beyond her vision, and Amayian turned as easily as a flow of air, smooth and swift. Heavy, muscular arms wrapped around her, a large hand tipping her head back, before soft lips met hers in a gentle molding and graze. A sigh left her lips before she could stop herself, but Amayian’s were gone as swiftly as fall. Leliana could not keep the pout from her lips.

Amayian’s lips were just a shadow of a smile, a mere twerk of the corner of his lips. There was a hunger within Leliana to kiss those lips again, especially the small scar that cut his upper lip. “Tease,” murmured Leliana, softly, but her fingers began to trace the curves and lines of his muscles, and the gentle bumps of his scars over his back. “Good morning.”

His smile grew, and Leliana’s heart ached, beating with affections she once had to keep so hidden and locked away. Now it flourished like a flower in spring, petals flaring out in a need-filled embrace. One of her hands lifted away from his back, raked through the chest hair and over the long jagged scar crossing from his right shoulder down to his left side of his hips - she stopped for a moment to lay a kiss at it - before cupping a chiseled jaw, the scruff of a beard tickling her palm as her thumb roamed gently over the edge of a cheekbone. His dark black hair came in waves, curling at the tips, a little passed his shoulders. Peppers of gray touched his temples. Save for the darkness bagged underneath his eyes, he seemed younger in a way, despite the graying hair. He always looked younger when he smiled, far less severe.

A few moments passed, brown-touched blue eyes meeting scarlet-splashed golden eyes, the calling of flame and wind edged away into near silence. The world bleed away. There was only them, safe and happy and alive.

Leliana stepped on her tip-toes, hands resting on his broad shoulders, and kissed the center where the scar lashed over the skin above his heart. “What are you doing?”

Another chuckle, though this one was touched with shyness. That only caused Leliana to raise her eyebrow. Amayian turned away from her, stepping to the side, and Leliana’s other rested eyebrow lifted alongside the other. Surprise filled her.

Before her were eight silver cups with steam weaving thinly overhead, beneath twirls of some white cream that thinned at a point at the end. “Hot chocolate?” And beside that were platters of sweets, some Orlesian in origins, others in Ferelden or Ostwickan; a few were crusted in white glaze, others dripped with chocolate and crowned with strawberries. Leliana glanced at her husband, smiling. “This is what you’ve been up to the entire morning?”

Amayian nodded, his smile never wavering. It never seem to waver when it came to Leliana or the children. Leliana’s heart was touched with that, the desire before slipping away into something softer, sweeter. He is far too good for me. Regardless of how many times Amayian denied it, Leliana knew it to be true. Stop it. No need to be a downer, not now. He is yours. Be thankful for that. And she was, more thankful than she was had been in her life. Sometimes, however, it felt as if she was unworthy of any affection Amayian gave her. Enough this, you foolish girl.

Once more, she stepped on her toes to press a kiss on his chin. She was too short to give him one on his cheek. Amayian laughed at that, and bent down, pressing a light kiss to her lips that made her breathless, her mind numb, emptying of all thoughts besides the feel of Amayian against her; of only Amayian. “Go ahead, have some hot chocolate. It’s an old family recipe,” said her husband - her husband. How long would it take for her to stop being so giddy at that? - in a low murmur, like the deep echoes of a cavern beneath a mountain.

Leliana pressed against him, his warmth ebbing away the cold, as she reached a hand to grasp the handle of the tea cup. It was silver wrought, with lines of gold twined in elaborate loops which encircled around the sides and rim. Leliana lifted it to her lips, felt the ticklish of the white cream against her upper lip, and than the sudden rush of warmth dancing with the coolness of the cream. Her body shivered. It was just sweet enough to get her addicted, truth be told. When she pulled away, inhaling a sharp of breath that seemed cool in comparison to the drink, Leliana said, “Delicious.”

Amayian’s lifted his own cup, a smirk twerked at his lips. “You now have a mustache, my dear.”

Leliana blinked, raising a finger to upper lift, and a smear of something went over it. She glanced at the white fluffy cream, and giggled. “I suppose I do.” She licked it and smiled. “That too is delicious. Did you make all of this yourself?”

Amayian said nothing, eyes trained on the licked finger, a hint of blush on his cheeks. Leliana smirked at the realization of what she had just done, but Amayian quickly regained his ground with a cough into his hand, and a slow drink of his own drink. “Yes. It took me a while, though you tried it once, you had tried it one thousand times in my family.” He sipped at his coffee again, a white glaze splattered over his own black mustache. He dabbed at it with a napkin. “Let’s get this settled for the kids. I have one last surprise.”

Leliana’s eyebrow rose again, and watched as the platters that contained the cups of hot chocolate and sweets lifted into the air, trailing behind Amayian, as he wrapped his arm around Leliana’s waist and began walking to the living room.

They enjoyed the quiet as they made their way toward the room. When the doors opened without any physical effort, Leliana was alarmed by the transformation.

The once neat room, with high-backed wooden chairs, with cushions of soft velvet, long walls trailed with books in bookshelves, and a marble hearth blazed with fire had been turned into a winter wonderland. Snow fell light and gentle onto blankets of white, some where mounds rose in a gentle lift. Trees of fire twined with branches of scarlet and gold and violet and azure. Ribbons of light danced high into the air, in the currents of winds, some shivering out into a constellation, be it man or dragon or griffin, before returning into those streaming stars. Their couch had been moved, facing away from the fire, toward this great snow-filled play of lights and flame.

Amayian walked toward the coach, the snow never once seeping into itself in the shape of a footprint, and she did her best not to disturb it as well. As they placed the platters and plates onto a table made of ice, with curve legs, and with flaming tendrils playing about underneath in a dance of shadow and light, Amayian drew her close, and onto the couch. Leliana let herself grow limp against her husband, cuddling close as she rose her feet onto the coach, resting it to the side of her body. She still held her cup of hot chocolate in her hand, as did Amayian. Neither of them said anything for a while, taking in the display wrought by her husband. “It’s beautiful.”

“You are,” said Amayian, and when Leliana looked up, she saw that his gaze had never been on the display, but on Leliana. She could feel color rising to her cheeks, but so did the smile on her lips which grew. 

“You’re a fool of a man, you know that?” She had not remembered when a sudden shirt appeared over him. No doubt he had twined snow into one, magically. Amayian had been discovering new ways to use magic with his cousin. Their striking progress at times worried her. But not know. She did missed the sight of him without one, however. In any case, she will see it later.

“You do make me foolish when you smile.”

“That was terrible.” She could not keep herself from giggling, however, before snuggling up closer to her husband, who’s chest vibrated with mirth.

Amayian kissed the top of her head, his arm around her. Warmth surrounded Leliana like armor. “You know I was never good at this.”

“You’ve gotten better over the yours.” She patted his chest. “Though, that was not your greatest performance.” And you always had your own charm about you. It was one of the many reasons why she fell in love with the man.

Amayian hummed, and than turned back to stare at his own creation. “Do you think the children will like it? I don’t want them getting sick, so it will not be good for them to go outside. And-”

Leliana rushed up, kissing the man into silence. “Amayian,” said Leliana firmly, but with fondness that she could not keep away from her voice. “They’ll love it.”

Amayian’s smile was sheepish when she pulled away, that shyness mingling with the concern of a father. “You’re right.” He took a deep breath, eyelids fluttering close for the briefest of moments. “You’re right.”

Leliana hummed as she kissed his cheek, before nuzzling her face into his chest, watching as a ribbon of orange flame twirl into a flying raven, bursting into amber leaves that were carried by the unfeeling winds. Amayian’s breath came steady, soft, content. “At least take the few moments before your handwork is destroy, ma amour.“ Leliana leaned forward and sneaked a star-shaped chocolates-coated pastry into her hand and mouth. “I will, at least.”

Amayian laughed, and Leliana swore it was the lovilest sound she could ever hear. He never laughed when he was younger, not even as Inquisitor. It touched more to see him so calm, especially around her; as she was around him. 

Maybe she did not deserve him - by the Maker, she really did not - but he was as stubborn as a Ferelden stallion, and he was sooner allow himself be corrupted by the Taint than leave her. Truly, she did not deserve him, his smiles, his laughter, his love. But if she held it in a delicate hold, than she will cherish it. It was a promise she made so long ago to the portrait of his mother, and its a promise she will continue to hold until the sun died out and the moon was swallowed into shadow and the oceans dried and turned to mud. He was her flame, and she was his.

[meteor752]

My headcanons of how the Bowmans look

Bard

Exactly as in canon, great casting 10/10

Eleonore (aka mom)

Tall

Very tall

Or, at least taller than Bard

Dark skinned

Blonde hair

Long fingers cuz efficient for playing the lute

Blue eyed

Mom bod

She’s loving it

Sigrid

Also Tall

Lean bodied

Still a bit muscular, because of the Axe-wielding

A wonderful smile, but doesn’t show it too often

Dark skin

Vitiligo

Dark brown hair

Always has her hair into a single braid

Mud brown eyes

Very cold eyes, despite the warm color

Bain

This one’s tall as well

They are all very tall

Muscular as hell

Blonde haired

Brown eyed

Or used to be brown eyed

He’s blind

A sword slashed his face and removed his ability to see

Doesn’t let that stop him though

Very feral

Lots of scars

And a wrist that clicks weirdly when he moves it

But he’s still going strong

Tilda

This one’s short

Is not happy with that fact

Not too muscular, but quite strong

Her fighting technique is all about being light on her feet, so a lot of mass would slow her down

Caramel skinned

Turquoise eyed

Is often described as having ocean eyes

Black hair, always braided elven style

Quite a few burn marks, partly because of Smaug and partly because she likes fire

Never dresses in anything but green

Always has a grin on her face, for one reason or another

I really like this family, somehow they are my favorite Lotr characters

AU Masterpost

[vergils-daughter]

Nero x Reader. “I’ll be watching you”

Because if she is too shy, she would rather spy on him

You are a wolf. You are a lone hunter, an arrow with soft feathers streaking silently through the night. Your goal is not important - only the path is. And the path leads through the ruins of the once beautiful city, ruthlessly desecrated by hordes of demons, and above their dead bodies. You do not remember when was the last time that your feet touched the ground. It is not safe to travel on the streets these days.

You are the silence. Your arrows – yes, even in these modern times you do use a bow, a magical artifact that you stole from the gods themselves – brings them death from out of the blue, fast and almost painless. Some of them can be used as a smoking screen, others could knock out cold a human - although these are not sufficient for these hard, spiky demon heads. For demons you have prepared some special ammunition.

You are the flame. There is the will of survival in you, although you do not remember who or what fired up that particular flame in you. The urge to keep forward ignites in you, but you do not know what becomes after. Or will there be any “after”. You just keep going and it is good. You keep killing, and it is good.

And you are quite lonely. You do not remember when was the last time you have seen a human being.

And one day you learned something new about yourself. That you are a very, very curious creature.

So you sit on a roof of an old church, well hidden behind a statue of a saint. You eat slowly, your gaze carefully sweeping the surroundings. You never ever loose your vigilance, not even by such prosaic activities like eating, not even on such a nice day.

Suddenly, something catches your attention – a spot of blue at the far end of the street, and then a flash. After that you hear distant shooting, multiplicated by echo. There is something going on. Someone is fighting. Demons do not use firearms. There must be a man involved.

A man.

That thought makes you freeze for a second or two. Then, you put that partly eaten candy bar into your bag and sling it over your arm. You take the bow that was laying on your lap. The arrow is already in your hand, you did not even have to think about drawing it. And you listen.

The shooting does not last long. You hear what might be a cry and then a roar. Afterwards, lots of roars. So, perhaps a single man is fighting a pack of demons. Heh. You give him a zero chance of wining. You do not know what was he seeking in these ruins, but certainly not his death. You can only hope it would be fast.

But to your surprise the fight extends, the cacophony of the shooting becomes more powerful - and suddenly it stops. You wait for a couple of minutes and carefully, without making any noise, move in that direction. You slip past the roofs, using paths only known to you, small bridges and ropes hanging over empty streets. You know most of the buildings here inside out and this particular alley has lately become sort of a territory for you.

When you reach your destination - a small square with a sad ruin of a fountain you see demons’ bodies already melting on the pavement. The creatures that lost their physical forms are coming back to their dimensions. Among all this carnage stands a bright haired boy with a huge sword in his left hand. His jacket was the spot of blue that caught your attention a moment ago. Now it is covered with blood, but, as far as you can see, that blood is not his. He stands still, as if contemplating what he has done, and does not seem wounded. You watch him with curiosity as he is cleaning his sword and then moves closer to the broken fountain, where some water is still flowing.

He takes off his jacket and tries to wash off the demons’ stains. You watch his bare arms and notice that the right one is artificial. He looks strong and resourceful, well armed. You smile subconsciously as it lightens your heart that he may survive in here.

Of course you can’t just walk down to meet him. The next few days you spend watching him from the safe distance. Spying on him is not hard at all – he is quite noisy, careless and does not even try to walk stealthily. He lashes out on the groups of demons with a loud cry, swinging his sword and firing the pistol attached to his artificial arm. You cheer on him silently and sometimes, only sometimes, help him a little with a well-aimed arrow. Most likely he has not noticed yet that someone is helping him. Or he may have, but is not showing that he has, even with those bloody arrows laying on the ground after the battle. You never go down to take them back, although you really should. You are too afraid that he would notice you.

One day you see him by a strange van. Its driver – a black haired girl. They talk a little -are you jealous?- and then he disappears in the vehicle. He leaves the van looking refreshed, with brand new prosthetic arms hanging from his belt. But apart from this single meeting, he travels alone.

One evening he sets up a camp within the wide hall of the museum. He prepares a small fireplace. You can see him well from a nearby building as the big windows of the museum were shattered some time ago. You yourself do not light a fire, as you do not need the light at all. You eat your food rations and wish him a good night. But somehow you know that the dream will not come too fast. The boy looks impatient, unable to stay in one place. He pokes at the fire with a stick, jiggles around as if something was upsetting him. He looks around as though he expects someone to join him. There is no chance. Within many kilometers there is only him and you, his silent guardian. Unless that van chick jumps in from thin air, no chance.

To your surprise, he unbuckles his pants with a sigh and takes his cock out. When you half expect him to piss on the fire, he grabs it firmly with his hand and starts to pump it rhythmically.

You hold your breath watching his parted lips and his closed eyes. In that one moment you distinctively feel his solitude and abandonment. You cannot avert your eyes from him. This act of self love in the middle of destroyed city moves something in you - something long forgotten. He sighs heavily and leans on one elbow. In complete silence you can hear his every motion. All your attention is focused on him, backlit by bustling fire, with hair so bright that they seem to burn...

This night you do not sleep.

And there comes the day that all your life turns upside down. When something goes terribly wrong. The fight is too quick for you to catch the moment when he was wounded. One of this nightmarish Sin Scissors must have attacked him from behind and stabbed him. Or one of lizard-like demons may have swung its tail and knocked him off his feet.

You don't know.

You don't know the moment when you failed to save him, even though you were shooting an arrow after arrow.

Not thinking much you fire a smoke arrow and, making best use of the cover, descend quickly using the gutter pipe. You remember where he fell. In the dark you find his leg and unceremoniously drag him out from the choking smoke. You put him under the wall and with a feeling of terror rising inside you, you notice the long streak of blood, leading straight to you two.

Demons feel it too. You just manage to notch an arrow when one of them crawls out of the cloud with its nose close to the ground and rushes straight to you. The arrowhead thrusts directly between his foul eyes, but one of the Scissors is already coming up. The first arrow disappears in the depths of its long robe, the second deflects from its scissors. You know there is no time to shoot the third, but you remain in place, guarding the boy with your own body.

The Sin Scissor rises her horrible blades ready to cut you in pieces when suddenly her head explodes. You cover your face with your arms, trying to shield it from the falling fragments of the demonic body. Then the Sin Scissor melts in the air, even before reaching the ground.

“At the last second, huh?”

You turn yourself and see the boy, supporting his body with his hand on the wall, his artificial arm risen high and gun still smoking from the recent discharge. He smiles at you unsteadily and suddenly his eyes roll back. He slowly slides down to the ground.

...

You do not remember when was the last time you were that close to another human being. All the activities related to taking care of him are like coming from the dark forest – the light brings out all the small things that normal people do not pay attention to. For example, how does it feel to touch someone else's skin, one with a different texture. Even the sound of rubbing it is interesting. His body wears the traces of former battles. The scars have different shapes, some thin and barely visible, others thick and palpable - and you touch every single one of them. When you wash his wounds you notice that his blood smells differently than yours. When you wrap his side with bandages you note that his chest is smooth and without a single hair, unlike his forearms and legs. His hair is not like yours, thinner, but the tone is similar – bright blonde. You have no idea how old he could be, as you lost the ability to determine another human's age. You call him a boy because of his rare facial hair, but he may be even older than you.

And how old are you exactly?

His lips are soft and thin. And very chapped. He needs to drink. You press the water flask to his mouth. He is barely conscious, but his lips immediately suck on the mouthpiece and he drinks greedily. A trickle of water goes down his chin, and you carefully wipe it with your hand.

You want to lick it up.

You take the dirty bandages out – later they need to be burned as the stench of blood could attract some unwanted attention from the demons. When you are back, his eyes are already open. You badly want to hide, to climb on the roof before he sees you, but it is too late. His blue eyes – you finally learn their color – look at you with growing amazement. His gaze stops above your shoulder - on the bow.

“You” - he says quietly. He tries to rise, but for that he is still too weak. “You are the archer”.

You come closer and kneel next to him. You pull up the blanket that slipped off from his shoulders. You say nothing, you do not know what and how. To tell the truth, you are not even certain how your voice sounds like.

"You saved me" - he says, raising his left arm towards you. "Thank you."

You try to move away, but despite his condition he is fast. He grabs you by the wrist. He is weak and you could easily free yourself. But you do not want to. You savor the push of his fingers on your skin and the warmth that spreads from it.

“Do you talk at all?” - He asks and there seems to be a bit of anxiety in his voice. “Is everything OK with you?”

You nod and smile. For some reason this soothes him. He releases your hand and lays back down. Resigned or relaxed, you cannot tell. You are not good at this stuff. You are not sure how to read someone’s face and voice. Only once have you seen him in a state when his emotions were pure and you had no doubt about them.

At the very thought of that moment you feel something familiar at the bottom of your belly. Suddenly you are out of air. He starts to say something – in fact, he is saying something for quite a time – but you do not hear him. You look at his moving lips and badly want to touch them.

And so you do it. But with your own, slightly parted lips, stopping him in mid-sentence. Then you move away a bit. For a few seconds you breath with his breath and focus on the sensation reported by your nostrils. On his scent. Then you move your tongue along his lips and this seems to switch something in him, as though a spark ran though his body. He inhales through his nose and embraces your waist, stronger than you would expect from him. His lips crush yours with a hard kiss.

You are not entirely sure what is happening or how you should proceed, but your body leads you and your own thoughts are pushed somewhere to the back of your head. You free yourself from his embrace and put away your bow and a quiver. You take your jacket off, followed by the blouse, then you pull off your boots and pants, gradually showing him your skinny, sinewy body, covered with scribbles.

These are not scribbles, these are ritual tattoos.

You put his blanket away and lay next to him. He is naked, too, as earlier you undressed him completely. The boy's eyes seem filled with some sort of a strong emotion when he moves you closer. You let out a loud sigh when his lips close around your nipple and suck it softly, while his hands stroke your sides. It is interesting how the artificial arm feels on your naked skin. You push his head closer to your breast. You hear a moan, and you realize that it is you who moans. Your voice is quite pleasant, even though it is a little inhuman.

He moves his lips higher, to your neck, and you try to hug him carefully, to avoid touching his recent wound – although considering his current behavior, he must regenerate quickly.

You stroke his neck and back and your hand goes all over his scars. Lower and lower, until you touch his buttocks.

Suddenly you feel him touching you between your legs, in the area from which the warmth spreads and which is already very wet. His biological hand slides over your labia, fingers gently learning their way, clasping the folds and pressing a little here and there. Your legs instinctively spread out, encouragingly, and your hips lift up a little. His fingers slip in easily, without any resistance, and his palm presses the knot of nerves a little higher, sending a shot of pleasure up your spine.

You arch your back and sink your fingers in his arms.

“I do not believe this is happening” - he murmurs, with his lips on your neck. His hand starts to move slowly, but you shake them off. You force him on his back and you sit on him astride. Before he manages to protest you put a finger on his mouth and shake your head.

How exactly you know what to do? The memories – no, the senses – are guiding you when you put his cock inside you and drop down on him with one smooth motion, until your hips connect. His eyes widen with ecstasy and his mouth barely catches the breath.

Try not to kill him.

You begin to ride him vigorously, your eyes still fixed on his face. He tilts his head backwards and closes his eyes, submitting to you, almost inert. His facial expression now resembles that which you saw when he was making self-love. The memory of this act brings out a low purr from your throat. You lean on his chest curling your fingers, pushing your fingernails deeper into his skin.

You feel something urgent, some hunger that does not allow you to keep the current rhythm. You want more, you want it harder and you want it right now. You clench your tights with all your strength. You move up and down, moaning every time his cock rubs your sensitive spot. You push yourself upwards from his chest, leaving streaks of red where your fingers where, and arch your back, changing the angle. You feel his hands on your hips when he supports you, rolling his lips and driving in harder.

Your bodies are wet, the light of the fire deepens the shadow and underlines smooth surfaces dewy with sweat, his upper body covered with scars and your back and legs incrusted with strange symbols. The boy is looking at your small breasts that bounce in the rhythm of your movements, then on your neck and your long hair. His eyes are blurry, insentient and full of delight.

Your breath becomes erratic and a shiver runs through your body, the walls of your vagina start to clench around him. You put your hands on his and hold firmly as if you needed something stable, that would not let the great incoming wave to wash you off the cliff. Something impossibly pleasant takes over you, and yet somehow you manage to ride him even faster. You bite your lips so hard that they start to bleed. You hear a groan and some sort of warmth spreads inside you, but it does not stop you. Your long moan turns into a cry when you reach your own climax, and it enervates you, deafens and blinds you completely.

You open your eyes to the sudden silence. You feel a fragile wind, blowing in through the broken windows, cooling your wet skin and causing you to shiver. You look down at your bodies, still connected. It looks like the boy has just drifted away. Well, to be honest, you did not let him to rest, didn’t you? At least he still seems alive.

You slide off him and put a blanket on him. When you reach for your clothes, you hear his voice.

“But you wont leave me now, will you?”

You shake your head.

“I do not want it to be a dream. Do not go away, please.”

You smile, what more could you do? For as long as he needs to recover you will be guarding him, that's for sure. But you cannot promise him what will happen afterwards.

In the end, you are the lonely wolf, the silence and the flame.

And he is merely human.

[dormienschas]

A New Legend Begins Chapter 2

A/N: We finally get to one of the good turning points of the story!!! Currently working on Chapter 3 as I post this chapter! Constructive Criticism is acceptable here! I know these first two chapters don't really have much going on, but chapter 3 is where the story starts to take its turn! So please, enjoy chapter 2 of A New Legend Begins for right now! Feedback and questions are welcomed!!!

Previous || Next

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Word Count: 2,890

Chapter Title: The Lowly Farmer Meets the Legend

           The doors to the throne room were slammed open as the King marched through the line of guards up to his throne, the fire emitting from him burning hotter than usual. He looked around the room at the nervous guards and tapped his heavy boot on the floor in irritation. “So, where is he?” There was silence for a few seconds too long and he started to tap his finger on the arm of the throne. “I said, where is he?!” The fire surrounding Enji Todoroki grew bigger with his anger.

           A guard hesitantly threw his hand up and stepped up before properly kneeling. “We don’t know sir. All we know is that he is nowhere in the capitol.”

           The fire blew from the king’s body with anger. “He left!?” He rose from his throne to stand in at the edge of the stairs. “You let him leave the capitol?!”

           The guard coward down in fear and brought the other knee down. “S-sir, Prince Todoroki must have waited until the shift change at night and left. None of us would have known during that time.”

           King Todoroki growled in humiliation and irritation and maybe a bit proud of how smart his own son has become. “Find me the Hunters and make it quick. I have a job for them.” He watched as the guards all saluted him and left the throne room. King Todoroki sighed and began to wait patiently. “Shouto. You will be punished for leaving.” The ruler sat back in his throne and began to tap his finger as he waited for the Hunters to arrive.

           Back into the village just outside the walls of the Capitol of Endeavor, Izuku, Ochako, and Tenya were all getting the punishment of their life in the forms of Inko and Toshinori.

           “What do you think you children are doing not going to school?” Inko pointed her finger in Izuku’s face and he couldn’t help the nervous swallow.

           “And what about bringing a hooded stranger into your home Midoriya? Who knows what this guy’s intentions are! You’re being careless again!” Toshinori also pointed his finger in his face and Izuku couldn’t help the nervous shiver going down his spine as the two towered over him with a threatening gleam in their eyes.

           “That’s not it, Miss. Midoriya! This guy is not a stranger.” Ochako went up to Todoroki and pulled the hood down. “It’s the prince.”

           Inko and Toshinori paused and stared at the heterochromia prince with wide eyes before quickly getting down on a knee in respect. “Oh my gosh. I am so sorry your highness.”

           Todoroki held up a hand to stop the further apologies. “No need for that. I’m trying to stay hidden from the guards. They were only trying to help me out by covering me and please, just call me Todoroki. I’m not much for formalities.”

           Inko was the first to stand up and quickly pull his hand into hers. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Todoroki! I will be happy to have you stay here for as long as you need! Are you hungry? You probably haven’t had breakfast yet. But, it’s a little late for breakfast now. Maybe brunch? What would you like to eat?”

           “Please mom. Calm down.” Izuku quickly pulled his mom back from the prince to give the man some room to breathe.

           Toshinori was next to properly greet him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Todoroki. I’m Toshin…”

           “I already know who you are. I’m actually surprised that I am able meet you again after all this time All Might.” Todoroki grabbed his hand and shook it. The whole room was quiet and Toshinori’s face was surprised and shocked, but quickly turned into a grimace when he looked around the room. Everybody was staring at the lanky man.

           “W-wait. Did you just say All Might? As in the legend of the most powerful knight that ever existed, All Might?” Izuku was shaking now. He could not believe that Todoroki just called his master All Might. The very knight that he looked up to his whole life.

           “Yes. This is All Might. He’s not a legend. He’s real and standing right there.” Todoroki pointed at Toshinori, confirming Izuku’s thoughts. “His real name is Toshinori Yagi. He was a very powerful knight back in the day. I was only a child at the time, but I remember him very clearly.”

           “But the legend said he disappeared!” Tenya gestured to the man with wide eyes.

           “Yeah. He disappeared into this village because of the wound he received. He asked the King to leave because of the severity of the injury and retired to this village, leaving his name, All Might, behind and keeping his identity a secret to live peacefully after defeating the Underworld Demon.” Todoroki looked back to Toshinori. “I’m glad to see you’re living well.”

           “Master. Is this true?” Izuku was shaking. This man that has been living with them for years was the All Might. The man he looked up to for so long. The man who has been training him.

           Toshinori cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would recognize me Todoroki. But I’m glad you did. I’m glad the people in the castle can still recognize me, never mind the prince himself. You’ve grown up quite a bit.” He turned towards a freaking out Izuku. “Young Midoriya, what Todoroki says is true. I am All Might, your master and motivator.”

           Izuku couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe it, but the whole idea of his master being All Might could be plausible. There were many instances, now that he thinks about it, that has him partly believing the unbelievable. Izuku felt himself losing it before the room blacked out and Izuku laid on the floor, passed out from shock.

           “Midoriya?” Izuku groaned and tried to open his eyes a little. His head hurt from the shock of All Might. The thought jostled him awake and he quickly sat up. “Oh. You’re awake.”

           The green haired boy looked over to the lanky blonde man, who could possibly be All Might, and Izuku’s eye widened. “A-All Might. You’re All Might.” Toshinori sighed heavily and scratched the back of his neck and looked out the window. Izuku then noticed that the sun was starting to set.

           “You want to go train before we lose sunlight?” Toshinori was looking at him now with a serious expression. “We should talk too.” He stood up and walked out of his room, leaving a chill down his spine. This might not be a good training session. Izuku sighed and put on his red boots and grabbed his sword to head out into the field.

Toshinori was sitting on the stump like usual, the yellow rays turned into a pale orange as the sun touched the tree line afar. He cleared his throat to gain his master’s attention. “Do you know about the legend of All Might Midoriya?”

           “Yeah. You saved Musutania by yourself and was the Kings’ most trusted knight. You held a power that no other could dream to have. The power itself could also rival that of the Kings’ but you would never use it to overthrow the throne which made you admirable and loyal. But as the legend says, you disappeared after you fought the Underworld Demon, the most powerful Demon from the Kingdom of Demon Leagues. You gained a major injury and after defeating the Underworld Demon back into his own kingdom, before conquering Musutania, you disappeared without a trace. At least, that’s the gist of the story.” Izuku walk onto the large dirt patch in front of Toshinori and got into his basic stance to start warming up.

           “That’s right. My power is extraordinary and helped me push the Underworld Demon back into his own territory. Straighten your right leg. You missed that rule twice already,” he pointed out. “Do you know the name of this power?”

           Izuku stopped moving and gawked at Toshinori. “Your power has a name?”

           The man nodded his confirmation. “The name of the power is One for All and I was not born with it. This power has a unique ability to be passed on from one user to the other to continue growing and to hold the peace of the Kingdom of Musutania.”

           Izuku sucked in a breath and stared at the lanky blonde man before him. “You mean, your power was given to you?”

           “Do you want to know why I’ve been training you Young Midoriya?” Toshinori was now standing up and Izuku watched as the lanky blonde man started to change form, into the familiar sketches in his book. The lanky blonde man before him was no more. All Might stood in front of him, the power radiating from him and making Izuku feel the wall of strength coming at him in waves. “I’ve been training you, so that I could pass this power onto you. You, Young Midoriya, should be the next greatest knight of the Kingdom of Musutania.”

           Izuku’s heart skipped many beats. “You mean, you want me to be the next holder of One for All?”

           “Indeed. You have the heart of a pure knight.” All Might smiled down at the crying boy.

           “B-but what about you?” Izuku remembered a part of the story that he never put thought into. “So, do you really have an injury that was so severe to where you had to retire?”

           Suddenly, there was a blast of air and Toshinori was back to his small self. He sat back on the stump and started to unbutton his white top to reveal a nasty slash on his left side. The wound looked like it was trying to heal but could open at any minute. The skin around it was jagged and scarred. “I missed a step and the Underworld Demon took the opening to attack me. I still pushed through, which probably was another reason as to why the wound won’t heal properly. But as you just witnessed, I’m only able to stay in that form for about five to ten minutes before I revert back.”

           “So, you’re losing your power,” Izuku finished Toshinori’s thoughts.

           “Indeed. So, Young Midoriya, are you willing to take on One for All and train to use this power for the greater good of this kingdom? Will you be the next knight that will defeat all evil and protect the people? Will you be the next All Might?” Toshinori held his hand out towards the young, trembling boy.

           Izuku had to take a few seconds to wipe his tears away and properly face the man. He took the hand that reached out to him and stared into Toshinori’s intimidating teal eyes. “I will.”

           Toshinori smirked grabbed Izuku’s sword and transformed back into All Might. “Now, I need you to hold onto the hilt of this sword with me and the power of One for All will transfer into you.”

           The freckled boy watched as a yellow fire-like glow starting to surround All Might like an aura. His eyes widened as he saw the sword start to shift and grow into a larger blade. “Now, witness the full power of One for All, and take it as yours Young Midoriya.” The yellow glow around All Might was being sucked away by the sword until the glow left the powerful knight and the sword embodied the power before the glow licked at Izuku’s hand and grabbing onto him. The power crept up his arm then, his torso, all the way down to his legs and head. Midoriya himself was now surrounded by this power and Midoriya had to breathe deeply as his heart rate speed up. The yellow suddenly changed color, a seafoam green covered the green haired boy and the fire-like aura began to shift and disappear before coming back as green lightning surrounding him. The aura crackled around him before collecting all at his chest and entering his body. The sword slowly changed back into its original form and so did All Might.

           “Now, Young Midoriya, you have the power of One for All. You will be the next savior of this kingdom.” Toshinori smiled down at the boy and let the sword go.

           However, the sword suddenly came crashing down into the ground along with Izuku’s body, creating cracks into the dirt “What the hell? The sword is heavier!” Izuku had to grab the hilt with both hands to properly hold the sword. “What’s going on?”

           “The sword is heavier because the sword also holds the power of One for All along with its holder. The heavier the blade is, the more power you hold. You must be strong if you can barely hold the blade. You need to train more to properly hold and wield it now that the power infused with the blade.” Toshinori stared at his soon-to-be successor and sighed in relief. “I’m glad I chose you Izuku Midoriya.”

           Izuku looked up at his role model, a gleam of motivation and determination glimmered in his eyes and smiled up at him and held a fist against his heart. “I will not let you down All Might.”

           “Good. Now, we should head back in, the sun is beginning to go below the horizon. We shouldn’t worry Inko.” Toshinori would not want the end of that spoon in his face again, or have the woman yell something about keeping her baby out too late.

           Izuku heaved the sword back into the sheath and was surprised that the sacred blade felt lighter. “That’s odd.”

           “The sheath helps hide and compress the power the sword holds. Makes the blade easier to carry when travelling,” Toshinori looked behind him to see Izuku examining the sheath and smiled to himself. “Always needing to know how everything works huh?”

           Izuku hooked the sheath back on his belt. “Of course! I like to know how magic works and how birthed powers work. But now…” Izuku held up his own have and made a fist, imagining that green lightning surrounding him but shook his head of thoughts that could keep him up all night.

           Toshinori opened the door and gave his trainee one last look for the day before bed. “Goodnight Midoriya.”

           “Goodnight Master Toshinori.”

           Todoroki was in the sitting area of the home, reading a book that Midoriya knew came from the shelf in the far corner of the room. “I see you’re still up. You can sleep in my room. Do you want the bed or?”

           “I can deal with whatever you lay out.” He watched the prince close the book and placed the old text into its proper place on the shelf and followed Izuku into the room. Luckily, Inko already placed the rest of their blankets by his door for him to use and the extra mattress she made a year ago with the small pillows to accompany it. Izuku tried to make the makeshift bed look comfortable. He was still housing the prince and would like to make sure he was comfortable.

           Todoroki sat down and was satisfied. He took off his vest and shoes and shoved himself into the top few blankets. Izuku couldn’t help but stare at the heterochromia prince before he decided to ask the question that’s been bothering him since their run in. “Todoroki.”

           “You want to know my real reason for running away right?” Todoroki looked over at him and Izuku made a sound of confirmation to his question. The prince sighed and placed his hands behind his head. His red and white hair flared across his forehead and puffed air out to moved stray hairs out of his eyes. “I’m not worthy yet.”

           “What? Not worthy?” Izuku sat up a little and placed his arm under his head to roll onto his side.

           “Yes. I’m not worthy to be king yet. There’s still so much to learn and I feel like I know nothing about the kingdom itself, the people I mean, and I’m not strong enough to rule this kingdom yet. I left the capitol to find my worth. I’m not returning until I do.” The prince looked over to the freckled boy. “All Might was training you right?”

           Izuku nodded in confirmation. “Yeah. He’s been training me for a year and a half so far.”

           “Hm. It’s been awhile. He has been weakened majorly since I last saw him. Can I ask a personal question?” Todoroki turned onto his side to fully acknowledge him. “Are you going to be his successor?”

           Izuku swallowed and stared wide eyed at the prince before calming back down. “Yeah.”

           “Did he already give you that power of his? One for All I mean.” Todoroki was looking into his eyes now and Izuku was starting to think that Todoroki was asking him for help in some way.

           “Yeah. Today actually.”

           “I figured that’s what you two were doing.” Todoroki turned onto his back again. “I’m glad.” Izuku stared at Todoroki. “I’m glad he chose someone he trusts. I’m glad he chose someone that I can trust.”

           Todoroki turned away and Izuku could see his breathing slow down into a steady rhythm. Izuku couldn’t help the smile that graced his features and turned towards the ceiling of his room. “Goodnight Prince Todoroki.”

[fisticuffs-lesbian]

just rewatched the red/white/black/yellow trailers and like...god. what can compare

red trailer was short but so fucking good. ruby’s versatile use of her weapon is fucking STUNNING, absolutely love the way she used the kickback from firing it to accelerate in different directions. dope as shit

the grimm looked hilariously wack, not even close to how they look now. idk i found that funny

love the constant use of petals, everywhere. not just for the red trailer but for all of them. ALSO the delightfully subtle usages of ruby’s semblance... love that

for some reason i felt like ruby’s eyes looked... more silver? in the red trailer? at least compared to the series... it’s definitely partly because of the art style change, of course, but idk

ruby has so many fuckin crosses on her outfit for a girl in a story that doesn’t have christianity... that, and the way she put her scythe in Sword Mode for the final attack in the red trailer, make me feel Emotions abt her and qrow... she rlly like imitates him so closely cause she admires him and looks up to him so much.....OUGH

weiss...i still find it weird that her actual VA doesn’t do any of her singing bits, i remember it being ESPECIALLY noticeable in volume 4, once we’ve heard her speak for like, fuckin, 3 and a half entire seasons. idk

the mirror transition between Weiss singing and starting the fight against the armor... that FUCKED

seeing the glyphs was dope, though idk how she fought the giant suit of armor..was it posesses by like a geist grimm or something?

the goddamn lighting during the singing shots halfway through the white trailer... literally that was SO cool. something abt it blew me away

also i also completely forgot that the scars around her eye are two different scars? do we know how she got the one under her eye?

anyways myrtenaster is dope as fuck. all the different dust types... SO sick. and WEISS’S FINAL STRIKE AGAINST THE ARMOR... GODDDD THAT SLAAAPPED

blake..baby girl i love u....the voice work in the black trailer was super awkward but i don’t even care

love those generic robots

i hate adam. but his weapon is kind of cool. only kind of, though

i find it interesting that while blake and adam work well side-by-side, they don’t really work... together? like they never interact directly during fights. there’s no teamwork, no dual attacks. it’s interesting

the schnee family logo on the crates in the train... HOOOOO

the fact that blake just fucking leaves in the middle of the mission I’m hhfjddhdfjkdghdf

the silhouette shots FUCK. that is all.

yellow trailer BIG fav hhhgghfjgfh

the way the quote at the start mentioned being symmetrical...couldn’t help but think about yang and her arm....god.

as soon as yang was onscreen i yelled WIFE....i love her so much. can’t believe she was wearing a helmet on her motorcycle for like three frames, very ooc LMAOO

the music in the club in the yellow trailer is the remixes of everyone else’s trailer songs until it finally transitions to yang’s GODDDDD it fucks So hard

building on that: i absolutely LOVE how the first theme they remix in the yellow trailer is ruby’s bc then you immediately associate yang with ruby — aside from it making sense cause ruby was the first and is the leader, it makes a bunch more sense given she and yang are like, y’know, sisters, and we should associate them strongly right off the bat. definitely a thread made stronger by ruby showing up at the end of the trailer — that’s both when we first hear her speak, and when we’re immediately told that she and yang are sisters. not to mention it’s the only time in any of the trailers that one of the other title girls shows up

ANYWAYS torchwick was in the club?? damn that was cool

love how the only other colors in the club are red, white, and black

when she fuckin grabbed junior’s dick i YELLED...i love her so fucking much. literally everything she did made me scream.

those two other girls look like those two ugly as all FUCK widowmaker skins tbh, the horrible Ballerina ones

when she reloaded ember celica...BITCH...... i have romantic feelings for You......

LOVE the crazy footwork with yang and the girl in white and teal

yang fuxking decking junior, her eyes finally turning red as we hear “I BURN” in the song at last... GODDDDDDD

yang xiao long will u marry me please

fuckng love ruby showing up at the end just bein like ‘lol hey sis!! what up!!!’ like why was she there. i love her

love how there was generally more talking and like, content? in the yellow trailer? like every trailer had a little more substance to it, i love that

general stuff:

colors!!!! the colors are good. very bright and eye-catching

the moon starts full in the red trailer and shatters a little more in each trailer until it’s almost totally fucked up in the yellow trailer... that’s dope as shit

everyone gets a dope as FUCK MIDAIR SHOT, I LOVE IT

another connecting thread: the fuckin bird... at least in the R_BY trailers

ough the connections to their fairy tale origins in their trailers... little red traveling through the forest, attacked by wolves... snow white singing about the mirror... beauty and the beast (aka blake being the only one to truly share the spotlight of her trailer).... goldilocks walking into a home that’s not hers and fucking shit up

ruby’s trailer is the only one that didn’t get a quote at the start (unless you count the one on her mother’s grave), nor was her name given in the trailer, unlike the other three... hm

the action....HHGGH THE ACTION......it was so fast-paced and incredible and i loved every SECOND of it

tl;dr these slapped, obviously. but it also made me so sad and angry about monty’s death all over again, like he was SO insanely fucking talented and he had so much more work to do...so many things to accomplish, and now he never will. god idk it fucks me up, thinking about that.

still, i’ve got plenty more left from him to watch, as of now. three whole volumes. and then whatever comes after; it’s not the same, but it’s something. let’s do this

[unbearablydeer]

This Is The Eye Of The Hurricane | SoO

Name: Serneth Tahromor

Alias: Sern

Race: Dunmer/Altmer (Werewolf)

Gender: Female

Sexual Preference: Demisexual

Romantic Preference: Panromantic

Age: 38

Class: Nightblade

Birthdate: 28 Evening Star

Birthplace: Solitude

Alignment: True Neutral (borderline Chaotic)

Affiliation: None presently

Occupation: Mercenary (Sword-for-Hire)

Figure: Straight rectangular

Height: 5'8

Weight: 136 lbs

Skin tone: Light Blue Undertone

Hair: Silvery blonde

Eyes: Candy apple red

Distinguishing Features: Vibrant colored eyes, Sharply angled features, Warpaint across left half of head, Giant scar up her inner left thigh

Personality:

+Adaptable +Adventurous +Articulate +Efficient +Independent

/Aggressive /Ambitious /Casual /Maternal /Sarcastic /Self-Conscious /Solemn

-Aimless -Arrogant -Asocial -Callous -Crass -Faithless -Fiery -Hostile -Paranoid

Dress: A mixture of light leather and elven armor, her common clothes are relatively simple but nice enough makes her inconspicuous like she likes.

Special items:

She usually carries her first actual whittling project with her, it's small and aged, and certainly nothing great, but she keeps it none the less.

She also carries a torn bit of fabric with her father's craftsman signature on it that she often ties around her wrist.

Weapons: Orcish bow, Ebony Daggers,

Proficiencies:

One Handed

Sneak

Illusion

Pickpocketing

Lockpicking

Alteration

Light Armor

Archery

Speech

Magic/Special Abilities:

Armsman

Decapitation

Backstab

Shadow Warrior

Quiet Casting

Invisible

Muffle

Detect Life

Detect Dead

Waterbreathing

Wind walker

Merchant

Persuasion

Strengths:

Dependable

Observant

Adaptable

Perseverance

Social Intelligence

Zest

Weaknesses:

Belief in eye for an eye judgement

Blunt/Callous

Hedonistic

Paranoid

Over-ambitious

Pessimist

Uncontrolled beast form

Damaged right leg (slowed gait, heavy limp)

Backstory:

Childhood: It's safe to say that Serneth wasn't planned. She was born to Cyloi Tahromor and Saurmia Gaeire, the latter of which was a well known noble in their region. Naturally, if news got out about Saurmia's tumble with Cyloi, it'd be an entirely new scandal, especially with a child coming out of it. So, being the woman she was, Saurmia had Serneth in secret, and instantly handed her over to her father Cyloi, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the child. Cyloi was a woodcarver, so it was safe to say, he may not have had as much renown as Serneth's mother did, he was well enough off to take care of the babe. Serneth grew up being raised by Cyloi and his friend Daralo, learning both how to defend herself, and traits of both men's trades, whittling was where she shined when it came to woodwork, but with Daralo, she quickly picked up on the particular skill of thievery, much to her father's distaste, however, he let her make her choices in the end. Serneth was clever and grew up with a fair sense of book smarts and street smarts alike. She grew curious and ready to learn, which lead to the ultimate question of who her mother was. You see, Cyloi had been quiet about her mother's absence, and for some time, Serneth simply thought it was the normal to not have a mother until she began to spend more time around the few other children in their town. When she finally brought it up, Cyloi was hesitant, but finally sat her down and shortly explained her situation. At the time, Serneth didn't fully understand why her mother wanted little to do with her, and she began to grow a sort of resentment towards this woman she'd never even met, and even some towards herself for the worries of not being good enough began to form.

Adolescence: In her adolescence, it's not easy enough to say that Serneth was a troublemaker. Especially for the fact that she learned her birth-mother had married and had two more children. Two siblings she would more than likely never meet. This simply brought more disdain to her mind, whilst also strengthening her doubt in herself. Fueled by a mixture of a need to prove herself and simply straight up spite against Saurmia, she approached Daralo and began to undergo proper training with the blade and bow. Her tongue became just as sharp as her blades, especially when her finesse with the blade and bow became apparent to Daralo. His and even her father's praise quickly brought on a sense of arrogance, despite her own constant inner worries. She became harsher, her needs driving her further and further to the point that she began to take jobs alongside Daralo. The duo quickly became untrusted in their town, and more often than not, Serneth's father would find himself swamped with complaints from people Serneth had "assisted" for Daralo. Due to this, it was little surprise to anyone when she became outcasted in the town. Of course, what really got her going now, was because this was only partly because of her acts, the rest of it was due to none other than Saurmia Gaeire advising against even acknowledging any friend or family of Cyloi and Serneth Tahromor. Fanning the fire in her chest, Serneth had been ready to confront her mother, especially when sales began to go down for her once reputable father. She became much more angry and spiteful, and because of this, Cyloi became worried his daughter might do something brash, so with agreement from Daralo, the two urged her to set out on her own finally. Naturally, she'd been appalled by the idea at the time, but with her father's pleas, she finally relinquished to his wishes.

Adulthood: Serneth came into her adulthood bitterly sometime after leaving her hometown. She took to travelling and taking on odd jobs here and there, some of which were legal, others not so much. Although she appreciated the new sights, the itch to "right" her mother still burned in her chest, and fueled her spite and even some of her still remaining self-doubt. Aside from speaking with contractors, she became rather isolative, keeping to herself and setting up a small camp on the outskirts of cities or even in the midst of the wilderness at times. She's been rather disinterested in settling down anywhere permanently, and of course she's thought of returning to her hometown, but she's more than aware that if she did, there'd more than likely be trouble of some kind. So, as of now, she's simply taken to be one of the passing faces in cities and towns every once in a blue moon. And if when she is, who's to say everything will stay in it's right place. No one can keep track of everything, now can they?

Relationships:

Parents: Cyloi Tahromor (father), Saurmia Gaeire-Chamlock (mother)

Siblings: Paloril Chamlock (half-sister), Ryaalmo Chamlock (half-brother)

Children: -

Relatives: none that she would deem worth of recording

Partner: -

Familiar: -

Mentors: Cyloi Tahromor, Daralo Lerar

Friends: Fubuki

Allies: -

Rivals: -

Enemies: -

Pets:

Halitus (hawk)

Interests:

Calligraphy, Whittling, Collecting Flower Petals, Card Games, Reading, Body Art, Travelling, Astrology, Falconry, Poetry

Quotes:

"Ya know, if that coat's worth snapping at strangers over I guess you're just as ready to be buried in it?"

"Trust me, honey. I think you've done enough with that mouth of yours."

"I'm not worth much of anything these days."

Other:

Headcannon Voice: Amy Vorpahl

Don't mention her flower petal collection unless she brings it up. She'll bash the whole book into your head. Trust me, it's a big book.

10/10 best bird mom

Also don't talk to her about her mom. It's a horrid idea.

Guess who's a werewolf?

Roleplay Info:

Status: Open

Time Zone: EST

Script/Literate: Literate

Ratings:

G

PG

PG13

R/M (Gore/Adult Content)

Methods:

Discord

Skype

Deviantart Notes

Tumblr

Other

[thewiseworm]

Star Wars AU That We All Deserve

Logan Mekalanos

- Human, through and through

- J E D I MASTER Like his father before him

- Grew up in the Order and is considered one of their best. Doesn’t have many friends though he knows and gets along with most of the Jedi in the Order

-His Master was (is) Dottie Hynse, who took him on at the age of ten and trained him into Knighthood until the age of 24. They have a close, if snappish relationship with each other, and Dottie still swings by to check in on him

-He is well aware of her breaking the Code with the pilot Larry, but hasn’t said anything to anyone other than his Master. Everyone has....needs after all. Dottie bopped him over the head the first time he suggested that

- Had his eyes torn out by a Sith Apprentice, got bionic eyes to replace them. He woke up to Dottie’s voice and his Master’s hand on his after the incident

- The largest fight they had was about him going back out on the battlefield after that. It took place before he had his eyes replaced, and he eventually broke down at the thought of not being able to travel the stars. Cue Dottie hugging him

- Has one (two) attachments: The stars (and his Master)

- T R A N S, a wonderful, handsome transman in the middle of transitioning, he wears flowing robes to help pass. Dottie is the most supportive Master

- Demiromantic Demisexual

- Is sent to save and retrieve Senator Alcyone after he goes missing

- Roman both gets on his nerves and earns his respect in the exact same moment. Not many without the Force would stand up against the Sith the way the Senator has

- Virgil fascinates him, having never seen a species like his. The smuggler is the least of his concern in the trio however and provides a welcome relief of sanity compared to the other two

- Patton, the “Sith” Lord, took him by surprise, leading to their first encounter being a loss for the Jedi. The lack of yellow eyes both concerns and gives him hope, seeing as that much Darkness would mean Logan would be duty bound to slay him

Patton Goode

- Human

- “Sith” Lord, actually a Grey Jedi

- Trained under Remy until he was pressed into service for the Separatists and the Sith. Gained his red saber during that time, eventually went on the run with Virgil, deserting the army and becoming a smuggler instead

- While training with Remy, got to know many people around the local systems. He loved the diversity and friendliness that people showed even in the midst of the war

- caught Dooku’s attention, and as such, trained under the man for a period of time. He hated pretty much every minute of it, which only fueled his being pushed towards the Dark

- Was ordered to terrorize several planets and people that reminded him of the people he had grown up with. Which lead to him hating anyone in a position of power, hating the innocents that get caught up in their power struggles

- Concerns Virgil with the way he talks. Does not hesitate to kill criminals and people he believe deserve it, believing that their deaths are the best way to stop their atrocities. Mentioned his own death in the same vein off-hand once, but Virgil’s never forgotten

- Genderfluid, though he leans mostly towards masculine. Bisexual, with a preference towards males

- Born deaf. He can lip read with the best of them, and Virgil helps him cope when people aren’t facing him. Often wants to strangle Roman for the way that he turns away in the middle of a sentence

- Follows his heart, regardless of the Light or Dark sides creeds and principles. He’ll listen to the Force and his friends. He lives with the Passion of the Sith but the Morality of the Jedi. Logan hates it

- Pining after Virgil basically since they’ve met, help him. Virgil is just so strong and brave and handsome and steady and kind and-! The moment Virgil laughed for the first time he was gone r i p

- Logan is an amusement and a hero all rolled into one. Patton respects him following his morals, and appreciates that Logan doesn’t mind stopping to help out the little guys

-Roman pisses him off. Patton Fights The Man, and Roman is The Man. Roman doesn't see his privilege and the people who love him and the power that he wields and it makes Patton want to wring his neck. (A little hypocritically)

Virgil Quill

- Part Alien, passes as human if he dresses carefully, though his skin is a light purple that looks pale in the right lighting

-Other alien features include: The tiny spores on his hair and crotch that he hides with floofy hair and carefully tucking them in his pants, raised scale like skin with spikes that start around his waist and dot his legs down to his heels, raised dark stripes that start at his waist and wind upwards to around his shoulder that release low electricity with high emotinos

-Basically? Mom was a plant alien while Dad was a Human. Got his last name from his Dad

- Naps in the sun whenever he gets the chance. Does he photosynthesize? .....yes, to a degree though he still needs to eat.

-Prefers to just let people think he’s human, easier anyway

-has hundreds of siblings. Alpha Mother aka Mom had tons of children, all of them with varying degrees of her species. The more plant like the most likely they are to stay home. Those that do leave tend to do great things that cast a shadow over Virgil

- Stole a ship from under his sisters’ noses from Alpha Mother to do great things of his own, but got caught up in smuggling from inexperience. Panicked on his first run and shot the rest of the crew to release the slaves on board and flew away without another word

- Realized he could keep doing that and help protect some of the people who need it most

- got caught during a normal smuggling run during his second year on the circuit, and meet Patton there. Saved Patton’s life and ended up stuck with a sort of Sith since then

- Ended up with a large electrical scar that spans his left side from their punishment before he escaped with Patton. It still causes him muscle pain and spasms, as well as the occasional headache

- Aporagender, who strongly identifies as male. Pansexual, he don’t care, humanity’s strangely concerned with the binary anyways and fuck that

- Anxious Bean

- Pining for Patton, also since they’ve met, hELP HIM. Patton’s been through so much and is still so kind and has saved his life so many times before and have you seen the light hitting his hair??

- Logan scares him, just a little bit. Law enforcement + a freaky obsession with his species, no thanks. He is a nice break from the other two and their arguing however

- Roman is a never ending source of entertainment and concern. Princey is clueless about so much despite being a Senator, yet still rushes recklessly into everything. Virgil’s debated locking him in the cabin to make him stop

Roman Darrold Alcyone

- ALIEN PRINCE!! Second in line for the throne so he became Senator for his planet instead

- Covered in red markings, two slashes on his face, and spiraling marks all along the rest of his body. He’s as red as he is white. Has blue colored Vitiligo that don’t cover his markings. Colorful Boy

-He glow. His marking glow in correspondence to his feelings and how high they are. Being Roman, that means he emits an almost constant light

- His skin can stand up to ridiculous temperatures, being able to stick his bare hands in lava without getting burned. Most acids won’t bother him either, leading to his people becoming master metalworkers and their planet a difficulty to visit without proper preperation.

-In turn, because of his high internal temp, gets cold, really, really easily. He’s susceptible to the cold

-His older brother being Emilie Picani Alcyone. Emilie adores his brother and Roman adores him right back. He learned how to ride a horse, wield a sword, fire a blaster, and so much more from Emilie

- Became a Senator partly to help sue for the peace and help that Emilie insisted their people needed. His brother was needed on planet so Roman would be the one to go shout at the rest of the galaxy for him

- Could never compare to his older brother, who was always faster, smarter, kinder, stronger. No one ever truly said anything about it to his face, but Roman knew it anyways. Life might have been easier if he could hate Emilie, but he never could

- Knows that he’s expendable compared to Emilie, but has only voiced that thought out loud once. It made Emilie cry and clutch at him tightly apologizing. Roman still hasn’t figured out for what

- Polygender and Polysexual

- Autistic and has ADHD r i p his focus. He struggles to read other people’s emotions the most, and often runs them over with his own interests and need to be stimulated. Has wandered off from the group more than once when something’s caught his attnetion

- Smuggles himself onto Moxiety’s ship to escape the Sith occupation of his planet with vital information concerning the war

- Can occasionally be found in the back of the ship, tracing the stars in the direction of his home. Always when he’s alone though, because he feels like he can’t let the others know how scared and confused he is

- Logan confuses the hell out of him. He can’t even get the most basic read on his emotions or thoughts so he butts head with the Jedi without meaning to. Would adore having his approval and respect though

- Virgil seems strangely attracted to him?? He keeps leaning into Roman’s side?? Which Roman appreciates when he’s feeling so alone but at the same time?? Why?? (Heat + Light = Sun, and Virgil’s plant brain like)

- PATTON PISSES HIM OFF. He doesn’t grasp responsibility or the greater good at all, and doesn’t respect him and how dare he judge him without knowing him!! Roman’s doing what he thinks is right!!

[wmdiscovery93]

A small continuation from the previous weapon sheet, this time focusing on Aurelie's own weapons she possesses. Just below is some backstory and info about the individual weapons above, ^_^ ~Artacios and Dirahm~ After Aurelie led a detachment of the Tyrith guard in rescuing the Dwarven and Elven ambassadors from an attempted coup with a heavy cost to her men, The Dwarven Guild and the Elvish Province formed an alliance with the Kingdom of Tyrith, partly in honor of the sacrifice Aurelie's men made to ensure the peace treaty was signed as well as protecting innumerable elven citizens from the coup's onslaught. The alliance fostered a sharing of cultural customs as well as acess between the three to knowledge and resources that was once kept from each other. As a result, Tyrith received new technological development and magic knowledge from the Guild and Province, The Dwarven Guild and the Elven Province has access to trading routes and ports belonging to Tyrith, and the three can send forces and resources to assist one another in times of crisis. Another unusual outcome of the diplomatic mission was the amount of respect that the guard, and especially Aurelie, would receive having held off over 400 turncoats with just sixty men. The Dwarven ambassador in particular made a vow to allow scientific collaboration between the three factions, something unheard of in centuries, so that the guard would not have to suffer such an immense loss of men. This vow included brand new rifles and armor for the Tyrith guard and army. Aurelie in particular would be given special attention in that she would be given two very special swords as gratitude for her role in the rescue as well as to replace her original sword which was shattered in the battle. The two swords would be Artacios and Dirahm, sister swords that were forged together by the first collaboration between elves and dwarves in centuries. Artacios and Dirahm are swords especially crafted with the best aspects of both races formed together; the legendary strength and durability of the dwarven forges and the unparalleled swiftness and cutting power of the Elvish kilns all mixed into two swords. The swords, though sharing similar backgrounds, are also very unique from each other in order to serve different functions, but altogether form a deadly weapon pair. Artacios is a hand and a half sword crafted to be remarkably agile and quick to allow a skilled user to attack hidden or open weak points in an opponents defense through long reaching flurries of strikes. This versatility is emphasized by the intense sharpness of the the blade, which is so sharp that it could cut cleanly through a thick gnarled tree trunks with ease with one powerful swing. The blade, despite it increbile lightness, is also incredibly durable against attacks and will never dull. Because of this and it's swiftness Artacios can deflect or parry any strikes in the hands of a skilled swordsman. Dirahm is a knightly sword designed for the exact opposite of Artacios. It can be quick, but it's strength lies in the sheer raw power it can unleash with a strike; cleaving all but the thickest steel plate armor with ease. With hacking and slashing as it's primary form of attack, Dirahm can be more accurately described as an axe in sword form, due to the point of the blade being weighted, allowing a user to use the kinetic energy and momentum of weighted point to hack apart anything that Artactios can't cut cleanly. Another attribute the sword has is that because the blade is weighted on one end, the sword can be thrown with decent accuracy and power as a last ditch-maneuver. The two sister swords, although both unique share one very important trait, they are magically endowed with a powerful enchantment. Anyone pure of heart can pick up the swords, but the swords and their sheaths are enchanted so that only Aurelie herself can draw the swords from their sheaths and wield them against an opponent. The blades also were enchanted so that they can never cut an innocent. Should anyone try to pick up the swords for malicious use their hands will be severely burned and branded by the weapons even if they were in their sheaths. Aurelie was entrusted with these powerful swords because of her character and valor she displayed in the diplomatic mission. The sister swords served and reminded Aurelie of her duties as a protector of the innocent. ~Aurelie's Carbine "Sunderheart"~ Because of the new boost in relationship between the Kingdom of Tyrith and the Dwarven guild, The Royal guard had access to better rifles such as the Fenrir rifle. In the development of the Fenrir rifle Aurelie, as an advisor, personally commissioned the first carbine variant of the standard rifle with personal improvements and touches based on her recommendations. She christened the rifle "Sunderheart" due it's ability to hit split apart the heart of a creature with ease. The rifle was the one the first Fenrir carbine made by the Dwarven guild, and the first to be commissioned specifically for personal taste. As an already good design, the carbine was improved even further with recommendations made by Aurelie based on her experience with the obsolete Galesse rifle. Some of the improvements included a reinforced breechlock and hammer to withstand full powered cartridges in a smaller frame, a slightly longer 24-in. reinforced octogonal barrel, polygonal rifling for better pressure seal and accuracy when firing, enlarged trigger guard, and lighter trigger pull, improved notch sights, upper walnut handguard to prevent burns from a hot barrel, and checkered and recessed grips for stronger and more secure handling. Aurelie rarely uses Sunderheart, only taking it with her on personal assignments or when she requires huge firepower and range for extremely dangerous situations that her usual Longbow can't provide. However, she practices plenty with it and is a crackshot with it. ~Laminated longbow~ Probably the only ranged weapon besides the crossbow that is significantly older than Aurelie, the Tyrith bow is a laminated Longbow that utilizes several woods with favoring characteristics such as tension and compreession layered together to make an incredibly strong and powerful longbow.  Aurelie tends to favor using the bow over a rifle in a city due to it's fast firing speed and versatility, as well as being quiet enough to not leave a crowd in a panic during a chase or arrest. ~The Blade of the First Captain~ An ancient weapon by all rights, the sword was the weapon of the first captain of the guard of Tyrith, an origin that is well over 700 years before Aurelie's time. Having passed through 16 captains in the centuries, the blade has been used in innumerable conflicts and has been at almost every single significant events that has happened in the kingdom. A one-handed sword, the sword was once mated with a shield, but the shield was destroyed and lost in a battle some 600 years before the present. It was also during this battle that the sword would no longer become effective as a weapon when in the hands of the 4th captain it blocked several earth-shattering blows from a bandit chieftain battleaxe, nearly cutting the blade in half but saving the then king of Tyrith. After this the sword came to represent what the Captain of the Guard, and by extension the Royal Guard, stands for: to protect the royal family and innocents and to persevere in that duty. Ever since the battle the sword would become less of a weapon, but a badge of office and authority of the Captain, being used to legitimize and knight the sucessor as the next Captain by authority of the Roayal family. Aurelie's responsibilities for the blade included maintenance and safekeeping, logkeeping and historical archiving of the sword's condition and use, and the knighting of a sucessor should the time comes to pass the mantle. The sword is practically sacred to Aurelie as it represents a large part of her identity, but at times she feels reluctant to be it's keeper due to having such an integral part of the kingdom's history. However like the sword during it's final battle, she will dutifully fufill the responsibilities required of her in safekeeping the blade. ~Papa's Throwing knife~ One of Aurelie's most prized possession and something she always carry around with her, Aurelie's knife was the first weapon ever given to her by her father. After the incident where a bandit cut a large scar into her face, Aurelie was given a knife from her father when she started to play around with wooden swords. He explained to her that the knife was an heirloom passed down from his father, and now belonged to her so she can defend herself. He also told her that she must not use the knife for the sole purpose of killing, but only in defense and utility. Afterwards He taught her how to use it for almost everything, from whittling wood to throwing it accurately and precisely at a tree stump 16 yards away. Even after becoming Captain of the Guard, Aurelie always carried with her this knife as a fond reminder of her papa and the lessons taught by him. Thanks about it! Hope you liked it!