#my bones break too easily and my organs aren’t protected enough

[drivemysoul]

the people who make drawing tutorials and i have very different definitions of easy

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 3: Counteroffer

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements Continue; Dub-Con; Angst; Politics; Possessive/Manipulative Behavior; Spanking; Choking; Crying; The Dove is Probably Dead: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The return of an old friend brings back the ghosts of old memories.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Notes: Shorter chapters my ass, these outlines are getting unreal. Andy Barber has arrived, Steve Rogers does not approve, the Reader bears the consequences. Things are going to be angstier from here on out and I can feel it in my bones. Please don’t yell at me — or do, your feedback is well-loved and appreciated even if it’s yelly.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

You met Andy Barber fresh from the ashes of his divorce, escaping the gossip and scandal and pain of his past life only to dive into the gossip and scandal and pain of politics. Senatorial campaign, in need of an aide and a law student desperate to do more for the people than hours in clinics and mock trials. Hungry for something grassroots, angling for the impossible.

A match. Whether made in Heaven or Hell feels irrelevant now, long ago as it was.

It was then. This… is now.

Hey Sunshine, didn’t think you’d be able to make it.

He looks the same. Keeps the same beard. Same hair. It’s uncanny and familiar and safe all at once and you slide into the booth with your purse by your side and feel genuinely smiley for the first time in a long time.

It’s been a while since I heard that name.

Yeah? It’s been a while since I got to use it.

The silence is heavy, unwelcome, unwieldy, a reminder of the space between what was and what is.

How’re you doing? Last I heard you were making a name for yourself taking down the…

He trails off, eyes fixed on the slide of your gaze, the sudden interest in a drink menu you wouldn’t normally touch, the tremor of your lips. A man doesn’t serve as Assistant District Attorney for the many years he has without picking up tells.

Sunshine.

Andy…

It’s a warning, a plea, a… confession, all at once, and all the dogged determination in the world can’t hold against the break in your voice, in your control. You’ve cried more in the past few weeks than you can recall and now here he is, soulful eyes and a worried expression and he’s never hugged you really, but suddenly you might want it just that much more.

Don’t be an idiot.

It’s dangerous, your stress, and you know it.

Dangerous enough to send you into the arms of the next safe thing — this is why you don’t do this, isn’t it, this reaching out bit, but no advocacy group on the planet is going to save you from yourself today.

I saw… I saw you win that case. Pretty brutal, standing up to the Syndicate, and getting what you did. He steamrolls past the way you wince, his thumb on that metaphorical bruise and pressing, the Prosecutor’s dogged determination demanding answers, I have a friend in the office, he was convinced you’d be climbing the ranks.

Every word is a twist of the knife, couched in quiet concern, gentle admonition, a warm hug in a smoky tenor and you want to tell him everything, you want to break down in his arms and tell him every word, every buried piece of you he never learned, everything that’s led you to this.

You don’t.

You know better than to trust him too. No one’s going to take care of you but you so instead you shake your head and wave it off and Decided going into the private sector was the better option — one big win doesn’t really make up for the stress, you know.

Private sector. That’s what you’re calling the SHIELD Syndicate now? C’mon, Sunshine…

Look. It’s the Syndicate’s New York, when he made the offer it was… safer than saying no. It’s a cushy position anyway, and I didn’t want anyth—

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you and you’re digging a hole trying to explain your way out of it so you just… shut up, shaking your head, It’s not important. I’m fine. I’m more curious about you — what year is it now, your fourth? What are you doing in New York?

The deflection works, but the look on his face is obvious — you’re not getting out of this so easily. He gives in for now, just for now, for you.

Almost fifth, gearing up for re-election. Had a meeting up here… about the organized crime situation for both states, and I remembered you were in the area.

Oh. You… it’s been a while since we talked, you remembered?

You expect me to forget you, Sunshine?

That stops you in your tracks, or whatever road your mind had been racing on, thoroughly not enjoying the defensive you’ve been on since you met with Steve, constantly under watch and waiting for yet one more shoe to fall on you.

That’s fear, sweetness.

Andy…?

You were the best campaign aide I had — I told you then too, I would have made you Chief of Staff if you’d let me.

It’s a good save. A clever save, and you want to believe it more than anything, want to believe it was all business and no pleasure because the alternative makes your nails bite into the table and want to turn tail before he can say another word and he… sees that panic flicker over your face so keenly it’s almost embarrassing.

You’re not used to this.

You’re not used to the warmth of his eyes when he searches your face for the answers you can’t give voice to. You’re not used to the way he reaches for your hand and rests it over your fingers, curling around your palm like he might actually keep you close and keep you safe and keep you free of the demons you made a part of yourself too.

Sunshine, why does his voice have to be so soft, why does it have to sound like molten honey on your senses, why does he have to say your name like it’s the very definition of the word hope, If you’re not safe…

No. No you’re not, tell him tell him the truth, tell him you’re atoning for the girl you could not protect tell him you aren’t worth it tell him this is your penance tell him you signed a death warrant tell him tell him tell him.

Andy, really. I’m fine. It’s a good job.

It’s a shit lie.

He drops it. Drops it just long enough for a waiter to finally come by, for his hand to leave yours while he talks through the wine menu. Drops it long enough for you to check your phone, realizing with horror that you must have silenced it absentmindedly sometime on your way here.

Ten missed calls.

All from Steve.

And one text, stamped from just five minutes ago.

[SMS] Either you pick up your phone or I pick you up, Counsel.

The next one comes right before your eyes, a picture of a map and a GPS pin. Your location.

You glance up at Andy, still talking to the waiter about the small plates options, feign a smile and Go ahead and choose, you have better taste than me, and return to staring at the picture and the three dots at the bottom of your screen, waiting to see his next message.

[SMS] Make your choice.

The haptic feedback of your keyboard feels like an electric shock with every letter, hurried fingers until you manage to tap out something that won’t immediately put the man in front of you in the crosshairs of the most dangerous organization in New York.

You can’t do that to him. You can’t.

[SMS] I’m at a dinner with a friend.

[SMS] And since I know there’s no emergencies pressing, I’d like my time, thank you.

You have the good sense to set it next to you this time, watching your screen light up with whatever furious response he sends next, glancing over only occasionally every time another one comes through. Don’t let him control you. Don’t let him think you’re at his beck and call.

You’re not.

You’re free, you’re free and you’re going to prove it.

Sunshine? What’s going on?

His voice cuts through the haze of panic like a knife and you swear you don’t mean to jump but you do and there’s no denying what he notices, eyes narrow and lips turned down in a sharp scowl, Sunshine…?

You are not that girl. You cannot be that girl, never again.

Steel. Steel yourself, flash him a smile, take a sip of the ice water left in front of you while you’d been checking your phone, reset yourself. Steady. Steady on.

Don’t let them know.

Nothing, nothing, just the boss — let him know I was busy.

Why is he texting you after hours? The Syndicate can’t be that busy.

He’s too watchful for your own good. Probably just making sure I’m staying out of trouble.

Are you?

Are you calling yourself trouble, Senator?

You like this. You can handle this, the trading of jokes, the crooked way he smiles. His eyes are a little more distant than you remember but you can still see them sparkle softly when he suppresses a laugh, lighting up properly when the joy reflects in them.

Briefly, you wonder when the last time he really laughed was.

By the time dinner is over, his hand, warm and steady, is back on yours as you talk — and for a moment you almost enjoy the way he runs his thumb over your knuckles absently, like he’s making careful appraisal of each one. Could use your skills for the re-election campaign, you know.

Really? You’ve got a gorgeous approval rating, what are you afraid of?

Not having my good luck charm on the staff.

Andy…

I’m dead serious, Sunshine, you ran that ship. You were what, a 2L? Rising 3? You had canvassing down to a science. We need that energy down on the Hill.

The curve of his fingers is a little tighter now, squeezing yours, like proof of his earnestness and oh, you want to keep believing him. You need to keep believing him.

There’s so much in New York I have to get done first. And besides, you know me. I want a life on the bench.

Justice Sunshine, and it sounds absurd when he uses your nickname and it sounds so real when he uses your nickname and in the warm smoke of his voice those contradictions can live together all at once.

That’s the one. Closest you’ll see me to Washington is when I’m appointed to the Supreme Court. It’s a dumb, arrogant, silly joke but it’s the same one you used to make with him over drinks, teasing him about his political goals and making him promise to “go easy on you” at your eventual Senate confirmation hearing.

It’s the one that makes him crack that too-beautiful crooked smile while he takes a sip of his drink — hiding the curve of his lips behind the rim of a heavy glass.

Well. If you ever decide to ditch—

Ever decide to ditch what?

The world moves in slow motion: hearing the low growl from behind you; Andy Barber looking up and rising to his feet, his hand slipping from yours with just the ghost of his comfortable touch to assure you; Steve Rogers coming into view as you turn, flanked by the not-entirely-unfamiliar faces of two of his enforcers — it looked like Wilson and Banner had been selected this evening — and the sudden pressure of knowing you’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.

You stood me up, Counsel. Steve’s voice is a threat, a half-drawl as you stand up and face him, Andy right behind you, Something wrong with taking my phone calls?

She was busy, the sound of Andy’s voice is a balm to your soul and fuel to Steve’s fire, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grits his teeth and resists the temptation to throw the first punch — you can see the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist, can’t you? The slow curve, the watching, wondering if you’ll make the right choice now that someone has chosen to try to lead you astray.

And who the fuck are you? If he can’t get you to respond, he’ll get something from the man talking for you, eyes trained on him like he’s debating whether his own frustration will make this interloper turn to nothingness and return you to his arms where you rightfullybelong.

Do you? Rightfully belong?

Senator Andy Barber. The title practically knocks the wind out of Steve’s sails and you can see it — he may be the Captain here, King of New York, ruler of his domain but he’s not stupid enough to openly attack a man with connections beyond the Syndicate’s web of influence. It’s a comfort and it’s not, all at once.

The room is still, vibrating with tension, the two men staring daggers at one another and you caught in the middle. I worked on Senator Barber’s campaign when he first ran for election, you manage out in some vain hope it might explain and mollify, only to be thoroughly disappointed — and judging by the way Banner winces, only to dig your grave further.

We’re talking about this later, Counsel. You’re coming home.

And what gives you the right to give her orders? You really are going to have to look back at Andy and beg him to not make this worse. You really are going to have to let him see your face, see that you’re afraid, sweetness. He’s not going to let you go easy and this should not terrify you as much as it does.

Senator Barber. It’s fine. Something must have come up,turning to face his burning eyes, until his face softens like he’s seeing you for the first time. And is he? Is he seeing how you just need him to let it go, let you go, drop the protectiveness and step back?

He has to, because he does, nodding before he grabs his coat and glances to the host station. If you say so, Sunshine. Take care of yourself. He doesn’t press, not knowing when he’s beat but knowing when you don’t want him to. When you’re not safe.

And Steve Rogers offers you his hand to walk you out.

And just what the hell did you think you were doing!?

Oh, and you control my time off the clock now too?

He dragged you back home.

No. Not to your apartment, that sanctuary away from all this you’d been allowed to keep as part of the “deal.” His home, the bedroom where you signed yourself away, the space he unraveled you and left you tangled in your new life.

He dragged you back home, in the grim silence of the backseat of his car and you waited. Waited for the inevitable explosion, the one prefaced by Wilson’s nervous looks and Banner’s cautious stare.

This explosion, where he rounds in on you, where livid is still too tame a term.

Meeting with a Senator? Ignoring my calls? I told you, you were mine tonight.

And I told you I had plans.

After I told you that you were mine, Counsel.

Okay. That’s true, even if you’re loathe to admit it.

Plans adjust. Andy wanted to—

Oh, Andy now? I thought it was Senator Barber? You’re really familiar with him, aren’t you, Counsel?

Just what the fuck are you implying?

Maybe you need a reminder of who you belong to.

He loves to do this. Wrap his big hand around your throat, remind you just how easily he can impose his power onto you, watch your protests die behind your eyes when you realize how useless words are in the face of his violence.

The furious look in your eyes is something to behold, the way you embed your nails into his wrist to try and drag him off you, all soft snarls and indignant huffs, You fucking asshole…

You’re mine, Counsel, and don’t you forget it. You gave yourself to me, remember?

Like I… like I had much of a choice, breathy, furious, and clawing at him.

Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, and clearly I need to make sure you know it…

Steve—!

Captain, sweetness, Captain, and don’t you forget it.

There’s a moment, when anger becomes transcendental, when it turns into something cold and calculating and prepared, when a plan forms behind his eyes and you watch as he looks down at you, so full of fury and fear all at once and you watch as he leans in so close and you feel his hand slide until he has you by the back of the neck, until his thumb is the thing pressing under your chin to keep your eyes on him, until the heel of his hand is the thing keeping you from shouting at him further. Such a stubborn little bitch…

You can almost see the words forming in his mind, the ones his mouth won’t say, I could be so good to you, but he doesn’t say them, sliding his lips over yours instead and it is… soft. A capturing of your mouth with his, not caring that you protest, only insistent on leaving you breathless and hazy-eyed from each tug of his lips on yours and there stokes the warmth of more than your rage, a different fire rising in your core, unbidden and unwelcome but yours to own and his to play with.

He can sense it, practically feel it, that mad serum racing through his veins and making his nostrils flare as he pulls back and watches you, lets the scent of your perfume fill his senses like a drug he can’t get enough of and, I should hate you too, for this, whispered low and hushed and you barely catch it, don’t you? Barely, but enough, enough to remember it was said just before he pulls you down with him into the depths of his own lust.

And into his lap, it seems, as he drags you down, sitting on the bed with you draped over his lap, an effortless shift in his skillful hands. You can protest, and you do, even daring to try to pull away with a kick of your legs and an indignant, What the hell do you think you’re doing?But you know it’s all futile, useless as he places one heavy hand on your back and lets the other slide over the smooth chiffon of your blouse, tracing a line along your spine with careful, practiced ease.

Would have preferred this with a little more… circumstance, sweetness, but you need to learn a lesson now and drastic times call for drastic measures.

You can turn your head slightly, to look at him, that wild-eyed fury so sweet on your face and you are still a wild creature he needs to tame but he is patient and he can do this for as long as it takes.

But you’re a sight like this, draped over his lap in a pencil skirt and blouse, so put together and proper and now so prone to him, helpless under the appraisal of his hands and the way he takes no time in hiking your skirt up around your waist. Captain! Your protest is met with a low chuckle, especially as he lets his palm curve around the round swell of your ass, before leaving a light swat on the soft flesh, to draw a yelp from your furious mouth.

If that’s all it takes to get you shouting, sweetness, you’re going to hate what comes next, smug and cruel, as you try to hold yourself up enough to look at him, met with his smirk and the simmering fury still bubbling in his eyes. To say you’re in danger still is an understatement, no doubt, and you know it.

I won’t make you count this time, but piss me off again, sweetness, and we’ll just see how much you can take, you hear me?

Oh you loathe him, really and truly loathe him, hissing with anger and embarrassment, so close to twisting in his arms and clawing at him but remembering his size and just how much worse it could get — but then there lies the undercurrent.

The one you loathe too, more than you hated him, that warmth. Seeping into your core, a low heat kindled by the sly softness of his lips on yours and the sure tenor of his voice, low and soothing even as he promised damnation. The one that — just like now — leaves you flushed and writhing while he purrs threats to you, massaging the soft skin and sliding the lace of your panties down to remove all barriers to the sex he owns so surely.

You open your mouth to argue with him but as you do, you feel his hand lift from your flesh and then the resounding SMACK of palm on skin, turning words into nothing but a sharp cry of pain, surprise, and lust. The heat rises just as your body tenses, reacting to the sudden attack on your delicate form, cheeks flushed. Even as your eyes well with tears your sex strives to betray you and — Oh do you like that, sweetness? — damn him for noticing.

Let me go, Captain, the threat is shaky, your voice wavering with something like want and panic all at once, and all it does is draw another laugh as he soothes the stinging mark left on your cheek, gentle as a lover and four times as cruel.

Do you know what I think, sweetness? And another raise of his palm, to strike you once more, listening to the way that cry of pain and surprise turns into a soft, involuntary moan the moment he begins to soothe the ache, I think you need this. Always so uptight, trying to be the head bitch in charge, aren’t you? Just looking for someone to take over, take control, remind you where your place is.

His fingers slip further, more interested in exploring the soft slickness of your sex, listening to your protests die in your throat with every press of his fingers into your plush folds. That’s why I’m here, to keep you in my lap, all fucked and soft, sweetness. Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you. Even if I have to teach you just like this.

You should hate the way he talks, hates how he finds your center with effortless ease, like he’s known your body for years. Holding you down in his lap still as he draws mewling moans from you with every curl of his fingers, finding the proof of his accusations in the slick need coating your thighs, soaking his fingers, You’re making such a mess of me, sweetness. Are you going to be good?

Hiss at him. Snarl at him, buck your hips and twist in his arms, push him away. Do something more than what you are now, with red-rimmed eyes and tears staining your face, do more than listen to him talk, feel his cock pressing against you as you lay in his lap, I’m going to ask it one more time, sweetness. Are. You. Going. To. Be. Good?

He punctuates each word of his question with a harsh smackagainst your ass, leaving little time for you to do more than cry out, until the last spank draws something like a moan from your perfect lips and therein lies your surrender for tonight, that soft mewl of pleasure born of pain and he soothes you again with soft shushes and gentle touches, back to inspecting the renewed slickness of your cunt, back to enjoying that plump tightness wrapped around his fingers and back to trying to control the shift of his own hips and you can feel him, hard against you, needing you as much as he is compelling your body to need him.

Captain… a low, desperate sort of mewl, the squirm of your body less to escape and more to enticeand he notices. Notices the way your fingers try to cling to him, notices how you look so very sweet when you’re so very desperate and in some way this is your own game of control, a push and pull and the curl of his fingers is suddenly so much angrier, driving you to the precipice of the fall and you are tumbling, tumbling down into a darkness of want you may never recover from.

Say it again. Tell me you need me, sweetness, tell me you need me and I’ll give you everything, and there’s an edge to the way he says everything, like he might meanit, like he might give you the world if you just gave in and you hate him, sweetness, you hate him but you need the things you hate once in a while and you can’t keep bearing his fury on your body and so you sob out your surrender and whine—

I need you, Captain, please…

And that is enough.

Let him believe you.

[fakeloveaskblog]

aw, sweet loceit in the evening sun. logan is actually super good at explaining healthy relationships and boundaries and stuff actually, i betcha he could recognize abuse no problem

…aye remy! REMY!! HAve you thought about going to that gay bar more often? who knows, maybe you'll encounter someone nice, make friends with like-minded people, hear some disco, the full nine yards. janus might be there, remus might be there. (just look around for the guy with the blue tie, he's a great guy, if he's not wearing it he'll look like he has that blue tie kinda energy! you could totally just get drunk and unload your grievances on him and i bet he won't even mind!)

(Mentions of U!Virgil but I say beforehand when that happens so those who don’t like U!Virgil can enjoy the rest of the fic up until then)

(Words: 4100)

Remy wiped away a tear while looking at your message. The cold light from their phone was the only thing brightening up the room. Virgil was sleeping beside them, his arm was laid around their waist.

"You just like tots gave me the greatest idea! I'm gonna invite Rem out to the bar! It's gonna the funnest thing like ever! Thanks girl!!"

--

2 days later Remus was dangerously close to eating the moss straight from the gay bar's wall. He had been left without supervision for over 15 minutes while he sat outside waiting for his friend to show up, what else was he supposed to do?!

"SSSSUUUP BABE!!!"

Remy came towards him as fast as they could. They had on a short leather skirt, a neon mesh crop top and a leather jacket over it.

They did a little turn "I just like felt a bit glamorous today!" 

Remus choked on his own spit "The world must be a dark place when you aren't feeling glamorous"

"Awwww babbbe"

He sent them a big grin. He'd just put on his usual oversized dysphoria hoodie and matching oversized (:O) sweatpants.

Remus' smile disappeared in an instant as he noticed dark bruises all around Remy's neck. Shades of purple and green collided against each other.

"Ehm did a vampire come and attack you last night? Seriously are you alri-"

"JUst a reminder that it will be loud in there" Remy interrupted.

"Oh. Right!"

He fumbled around in his bag after his headphones. After putting it and a chew necklace on he did a thumbs up. Remy took off their sunglasses and leaned down so they were face to face.

Their face was so close he could feel their breathe against his lips. They put the sunglasses onto him and sent him a soft smile.

“There’s like lots of bright lights too” They explained.

Remus’ heart fluttered. He didn’t understand why “T-thanks”

They moved their arm around his shoulders as they went into the bar. It was past 12 am so some of the daytime furniture had been moved to make place for a dancefloor. There was indeed lots of neon lights flickering all around the bar and fast pop music was blasting through the speakers.

It was hard to see any details of anyone around him so Remus quickly forgot about the bruise. In this lighting it just looked like a weird choker anyway.

A guy with a see through shirt bumped into Remus. He had top surgery scars. For a moment they looked at each other in the most knowing way. The stranger looked away and continued talking with whoever he was with.

Remus whole body seemed to vibrate. There were so many butterflies in his stomach it felt like he was going to puke, in a good way.

Remy sat him down on one of the tall barstools and slumped down right next to him “So whatcha gonna drink?”

“The squashed down organs of my enemies!!!” He shrugged “Soda?”

They burst out into laughter “What? You catholic or something? Not allowed to drink alcohol?”

He slumped in on himself and started fiddling with his necklace “I-I dunno-”

“No. No babe I was just like joking. Like a stupid bitch. It’s okay” They waved at the waiter “Your most alcoholic fruit mix and your finest coca cola please!”

Remus leaned in to whisper “With salt”

“With salt? Please!”

He kept vibrating like an overexcited weasel. After getting their drinks he kept tapping the glass to stim some of the happiness out.

“Honestly I’ve never been to a gay bar before. I’m digging it. Just like how I’m digging graves”

They playfully hit his shoulder “Then I’m tots gonna try my best to make this the  ultimate first gay bar experience! I can’t think of any other lil fucked up gremlin buddy I would wanna have by my side!”

"Muhahah!! I am officially assigned ultimate gremlin buddy-”

“Greetings” A voice suddenly came from behind them.

Both of them flinched away. Remy let out a short yell and Remus was close to throwing his drink in the person’s face when he saw it was just Logan.

He had on jeans and a black button up with the top button unbottoned. He had with him iced coffee from starbucks because he had to drive home later.

“LOGIE!!!” Remy threw their arms around his neck to pull him closer “Babe this is the Log-legend. Once he was like sooo drunk so when he like tried to kiss me puked on my shoes instead!”

Logan grimaced “I am still very sorry about that”

“Oh I already know him through Janus” Remus replied. 

“Oh my gawd babe” Remy looked between them all “So like we all know Janny?! Wig! Sad he isn’t here then”

Remus held up his cola “Cheers to J-anus!” The other two held up their glasses in agreement.

“Cheers”

“Cheerio!”

“He is very pretty and charming and cute” Logan dreamily sighed. He stopped himself from continuing to say compliments.

“Yeah” The other two sighed back in unison.

Logan sat down on a chair next to them. Remy looked around the bar before squinting at him “No Patty?”

He instantly started looking like a Very sad seal “Sadly my wife is away on a convention with her magical girl anime fanclub this whole week. I estimated that going to the bar would make me feel less lonely”

“You have a WIFe??? Like a real one???” Remus exclaimed, his eyeballs were close to popping out from surprise.

“Yes. This may be a controversial opinion but when I marry someone I prefer them to be physically real” He replied druly.

He got a smug grin on his lips “Does she peg you?”

“She does far more than just peg me”

“Nice!” His eyes went even wider “IS That a stim toy??!”

He pointed at the tangle Logan kept between his fingers “Correct. If I do not have something to relieve my focus onto I can easily go into senso- OH a chewie?”

Remus nodded while showing of his chew necklace. The two of them started rambling about their favorite stim toy. Until they went off into special interests (star trek/astronomy and art/animal biology respectively).

Soon enough Remus was showing pictures of the animal bones he’d found. Logan ooeh and ahhed at all of them before asking the most nerdy of questions (where he’d found them, their bone density, if any damage had been done to them) which only made Rem infodump which made Lo infodump which made them both happy stim.

Meanwhile Remy sat beside them completely zoned out. They got time to drink 2 more of those fruit mixes and a few shots. The room was starting to spin.

The loud music wasn’t keeping out the yelling. They dunked their forehead against the bar table and covered their ears to try and get it out. The music was supposed to keep it out! Why was nothing working! The bruise ached. Their throat closed in on itself until they couldn’t breathe. 

“Remus” They gasped out. They looked over to their friend with a desperate look in their eyes. They just needed a distraction.

“So my theory for why you keep finding bones in specifically that part of the woods is because of the kind of dirt making it take longer for them to deco-” Logan was explaining while Remus nodded along.

“Rem! L-let’s like go up and dance or something. Please” 

This time it caught Remus’ attention. He looked over to them “Sure- are you feeling alright? Did you drink too much? You’re looking like a mummy”

“Yes. No. I just like- Like- They’re playing Charli xcx of course we gotta like dance!!”

“I will protect your belongings then” Logan added.

Remy stumbled up on shaky legs. Remus sent them a warm smile that made them want to cry before taking their hand. He let them lead him out to the dancefloor. Honestly he was pretty nervous about it, but being with them always made some of the anxiety melt away.

They stumbled on their own feet and fell forward. Their friend took ahold of their wrists and pulled them close to his chest. Their faces were so close to each other. So so close.

He didn’t let go. They couldn't remember him ever letting them hold him this close. Their chests pressed against each other. Their arms around his shoulders. His hands on their back. 

"You’re right. It is a good song. Good to crash a car too" Remus said absentmindedly.

Remy let up into shaky giggles from how sudden he’d said it “Yeah. Yeah I guess” 

They kept giggling. He chuckled back. He started spinning around on the dancefloor. They moved with him. His arms wrapped closer around their waist. Their cheek leaned against the slope of his neck (even though they had to lean down to get on his height level).

Remy quietly sang along to the music which made Remus start yelling along to it. The enby threw their head back from laughter. They took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

Remus moved his hand out and spun them around before pulling them close again. Their cheeks were flushed red, his was as well. He playfully dipped them down when the song ended.

It continued on into a song neither of them knew but they kept dancing anyway. They didn’t stay as pressed close to each other but they always had some contact. Holding hands. An arm around a waist. A head leaning against a chest.

When they finally got back to the bar table they were both panting. Remy was completely leaning on Remus since their body had started to hurt, but even through the pain they were both bubbling over with so much happiness they kept breaking out into bouts of giggling.

To their surprise Logan wasn’t sitting alone. A tall person with long dark hair sat on the chair beside him. Xir hand was on his thigh. The nerd had a soft smile on his face as they leant close to talk.

“Uh Lo?” Remus had to wave his arms around to get his attention.

His head shot around to look at them “Hello” He glanced to the person “These are the ones I was protecting belongings for” He stood up and held out his hand “Shall we?” Xir took it. Logan waved at his friends before going off to the dancefloor with the stranger.

“Huh. Good for him” 

“I guess”

Remy ordered another high alcohol fruit mix. Remus happily chewed on his necklace while humming along to the music. Between their chairs their hands hang with their fingers intertwined. Holding their hand had started to make Remus feel all funny in the head for some reason.

The enby watched on as Logan and the stranger danced for a bit before moving to a corner to make out. When the stranger started to lead him towards the bar’s bathrooms Remy turned to their friend.

“Yeah okay he’s not coming back for like a while. Smoke break?”

“Of course!”

They finished their drink before leaving the bar. The pair stopped right outside. Remus sat down on the side of the pavement. Remy tried to sit down but they stumbled over themself and fell flat on the ground.

Remus got up to help “Are you okay? Are you sure you haven’t drank too much?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine” They laughed out.

He sat them down on the pavement while dusting off their clothes. He patted them on the head while pouting “You should get some water”

“Naaaah babe. I’m good”

In the moonlight the bruise was visible again. That horrible dark purple bruise around their neck. It looked like it hurt.

Remus put his hand on their shoulder “Beanie are you alright? I do know it wasn’t some halloween monster that got you that bruise”

For a moment their whole body tensed, they forced a smile “It’s fine. me and my boyf just tried like some new kinky shit in the bedroom y’know. Nothing more” They lied.

They took out a cigarette pack and a lighter from their bag. They traced their thumb over Remus’ lower lip and opened his mouth just slightly. Remy leaned closer while putting a cigerette between his lips. They lit it.

Remus took a deep breathe. It’d been a while since he’d last smoked. He leaned so close the cigarette nearly touched Remy’s skin. They parced their lips as he breathed out the smoke right into their mouth.

A smile spread on their lips. He held the cigarette over to them but they shook their head. They looked around in their bag again and took out a small poppers bottle.

“Should you really take that. Won’t your brain melt out of your ears?” Remus asked “I really don’t wanna have to slorp up your brain juice...yet”

“Relax babe. It’s like not dangerous as long as I don’t like take too much and I only take when partying” It took a moment before they quietly added “And I only party when I need to get out of the apartement”

“What?”

They forced on a bigger smile “What?”

Remy moved the popper up to their nose and inhaled as much of it as they could. It took a few seconds before they let up into a giggle. It was in a higher tone than their usual bubbly laugh, it almost sounded like cackling. They could see stars.

(U!Virgil mentions from here on out)

“Y’know my boyfriend gave me like a flashback or whatever last night” They giggled while swaying from side to side.

Remus gently grabbed their shoulders and moved them to lean against him so they wouldn’t fall over “Uhu. Did you stab him?”

“No silly. He just. He’d been soooo sweet all weeek and I just I just ruined it ‘cause i like overeacted to some joke he made while like we were washing the dishes” They were barely even aware they were speaking “And like it just kept going until we were like screaming at each other”

Remy was still smiling and giggling between every word but tears started to form in their eyes. Their fingers felt numb. Bile was rising in their throat.

“And he just like threw the plate he was holding down on the ground. And it like didn’t hit me. He wasn’t even aiming at me. He was just throwing it at the ground. But it shattered and it was so stupid and overemotional and stupid and pathetic but I just I just curled up on the floor and like had a panic attack like a stupid baby”

They smeared their hand across their face to try and get the tears away. They felt sick. Remus quickly put out his cigarette, it didn’t feel like the right time to smoke.

“And I just like- Is that normal? Is that fine? Like throwing stutff like that? I-I- he’s never done it before. Or I mean like not plates” They looked up at Remus “Is it fine?”

He gulped while fiddling with his hoodie sleeve “Well uh did he apologize?”

“Mhmm. He like- like for some minutes he like kept yelling ‘cause he thought I was just like faking a panic attack to like I dunno manipulate him but then he like comforted me and like calmed me down and like held me and cuddled all night until I fell asleep and- and he said sorry a bunch of times and like he said it would never happen again. He uh usually doesn’t lie”

“Well ehm then it should be fine right? Right?” They both shrugged at each other “I mean everyone can make mistakes! And it was during an argument! Everyone does drastic things during an arguments! So it’s fine. I think”

A shaking breathe of relief left Remy’s lips. They stretched themself over his lap and he moved his arms around them. “Thanks babe. I was like tots worried for a bit but y’know i was thinking like that too. So it’s fine”

“Yeah” He combed his fingers through their hair “You do know you can vent to me whenever right? I promise I won’t gross you out with details about how to pull out rabbit teeth ever again so if I can hold that back then I can also listen to stuff! I can super listen!!”

They closed their eyes. They felt so tired. So tired and sick and horrible. “Mhm. I know babe. I know”

Remy sent him a soft smile before suddenly puking. Some of it came on his pants but mostly on the ground. Remus stood up and carefully moved them down to a sitting position.

He rubbed up and down their back with one hand and held their hair back with his other. Their shoulders were shaking and they were taking in shallow breathes between every sudden throw up.

“It’s okay beanie-boo. Breathe. Breathe. You got all the time in the world. Until the sun blows up at least”

“I-I took- too much- too much” They slurred out before lurching forward again. It seemed to stop for now.

“I’m aware” He carefully wiped away some of the puke left around their mouth with his hoodie sleeve.

They leaned back against his chest. They closed their eyes and focused on breathing. He held them so so gently. As if they would break like glass otherwise. He pressed a kiss to the top of their head.

“There you are!” Logan said as came through the bar entrance “What a relief. I assumed you had left without me because you thought my actions were unacceptable” He noticed how pale and shaky Remy looked and got a worried look on his face “Is everything alright?”

“They feel like someone has slammed a fish into their stomach. Not good” Remus replied.

“I see. I suppose it woud be best to get them home”

Logan picked Remy up with ease to carry them to his car. He was quite sure he’d carried dogs that weighted more than them. Remus anxiously followed along.

He sat them in the passenger seat. He shook their shoulders until they opened their eyes. They let out a quiet whine.

He held up 4 fingers “Remy how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fuck yourself”

“Noted”

They moved to the side and seemed to pass out again. Logan closed the door before turning to Remus.

“Did they take anything?” He whispered.

“Only a popper”

“Good. Do you need a ri-”

“Bus”

“Okay” Logan was about to go but stopped midstep and lowered his voice even more “Oh and Rem...Could you please not ask Janus to hang out next weekend? I am planning a surprise...I hope it will make him happy”

“Good luck comrade....Please text me once Remy is home safe. Please?”

“Of course”

He did a little nod before leaving. Logan got into the car. He couldn’t stop looking at the bruise around their neck. Remy continued to sleep for most of the ride until they they were 5 minutes or so away from their apartment. They suddenly flinched awake.

“Stop the car!” They gasped out. 

“Are you still feeling the same?”

“Logan stop the fucking car!” There was fear in their eyes. 

Logan stopped by the side of the road. The road was barren and dark. It had to be past 3 am at least. Remy crawled back into the backseats while their whole body shook.

“Don’t. Look. At. Me”

“Sure” He stared down into the steering wheel to not accidentally see their reflection in the glass.

“I just. I just have to change clothes. I just. I don’t want Virigl to call me a whore again. I mean. He won’t. But what if. What if he gets mad. I just. I just have to change” They slurred out.

They stumbled out of the car after changing into a pair of long pants and closing their leather jacket. A cold chill went up Logan’s spine. He quickly stepped out of the car as well.

“Okay bye bye Logie!!”

They tried to move but Logan grabbed onto their shoulders. He forced back a choking feeling in his throat “What do you mean by your boyfriend getting mad?”

“Pff! It’s nothing! I’m drunk!! Byyyeeeeee”

They started to stumble away but Logan easily followed along “It did not sound like he called you a whor-...you know what...with your consent. I am simply going to remind you that calling a partner things like that is not okay. Not in any circumstance”

Remy’s expression turned cold. They walked faster “I don’t like what you’re implying”

“I’m not implying anything”

“Yes you Fucking are!”

“Exscuse me for being worried about your wellbeing. What you just said sounded like a very bad sign”

“Yeah exactly it only SOUnded bad! My boyfriend isn’t bad!” Remy snarled out.

“I am not saying he is. He doesn’t have to be bad to say awful things, as long as he changes”

They shoved their hands into their pockets. Their hands moved into fists “You don’t know a fucking thing about me. You tried to kiss me once when you were drunk and that’s all. We don’t know each other”

Logan took a deep breathe “I don’t need to know you to see red flags. Remy-” He searched for words “Remy you’re bruised. How- you can’t expect me to not get worried”

Remy suddenly stopped and turned around to meet his eyes. “MY BOYFRIEND ISN’T ABUSIVE! I-”

“I’m not necessarily saying he is. I just wan’t to talk-” His voice started to sound desperate.

They looked like a cornered animal. Tears were brimming at the edges of their eyes “YOU DON’T KNOW A THING!”

“Remy-”

“I DID THIS TO MYSELF!” Their hand went up to the bruise “I DESERVED IT! VIRGIL DIDN’T DO A FUCKING THING! I DID! I TOOK A BELT AND HURT MYSELF! OKAY?! VIRGIL CARES ABOUT ME!”

He tried to sound soothing “Remy please take a deep breathe-”

“NO! NO! YOU KNOW WHAT LOGAN?! THERE IS STILL CUM ON YOUR FUCKING LIPS FROM YOU SUCKING OFF SOME STRANGER IN A DIRTY BATHROOM! SO NO! I AM NOT TAKING LOVE ADVICE FROM SOMEONE WHO IS CHEATING ON HIS GODDAMN WIFE!”

They stormed away. For a moment Logan was frozen in place before he forced himself to run after them to try and make sure they would be okay.

“I am not-”

Remy looked at him for one last time. The look in their eyes made him feel cold. It was pure hatred.

“Logan get the fuck away from me! I am drunk and high and alone on a street with no one but you who is sure as hell fucking stronger than me and all you’re doing is spouting bullshit! So please get why I want you to leave. And why I don’t ever want you to talk to me again!”

He stopped dead in his tracks “...Right....Yes....I am so sorry”

Remy didn’t even respond. They simply turned and walked away. Logan stayed and watched to make sure they got home to the apartment safe before going back to his car.

He slumped down in the seat. His heart was racing and his thoughts were for once an illogical flurry. He sat motionless for several minutes before finally getting some semblence of an idea.

He took out his phone and dialed one of his usual numbers. It took several signals before Emile Picani picked up.

“Mhm? Logie bear? I can’t today I have clients in the morning” He yawned out.

“This is about one of your patients. I am fearing that they are in danger”

In an instant all of the sleepyness in Emile’s voice disappeared “In danger? Physical? Is it urgent? Do I need to call someone? Which patient are you even referring to?”

Logan hesitated. If Remy had reacted that strongly to him just attempting to ask about his boyfriend it was very likely that they would stop going to therapy if Emile brought it up. His throat tightened, he didn’t want to put them in any more danger.

“I....Nevermind Emile....This was just a far too gone joke...Someone dared me to call you. I am sorry. Have a good night”

He ended the call. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a long sigh. His hands held onto the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened.

Logan had no idea what to do. No idea at all. All he knew was fear. Fear for Remy’s safety. Fear for their well being. Fear that anything he did would only make their situation worse.

[morgana-ren]

Empty

Another small short for Shigaraki this time. I’m sure it had a point originally. Yandere Shigaraki and his captive darling and him being a real dick about proving that you’re better off at his side under his protection than you are on your own in the cruel, cruel world. After all, better the devil you know that the devil you don’t.

Warnings: Kidnapping, allusions to death, rotting corpses and rot (indiscernible animal), noncon, captivity, Shig being fuckin’ mean as usual, purple prose again, whump I guess? (In my sister’s words “It’s sad. Is it supposed to be this sad?”)

Rating: Definitely E on this one.

You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes. 

Eyes are how we see the world, but in equal capacity, it’s also how the world sees us. Someone’s eyes, unlike their mouths, don’t have the same capability to lie. They can be a tell-all when we’re reluctant or can express the things we don’t have the courage to say. The things you can learn can be overwhelming. Sometimes you see too much. Sometimes not enough.

And when you looked into his eyes, it was like there was nothing inside them. Nothing at all. 

His eyes were beautiful, even if you couldn’t see any of your own humanity mirrored back at you in your reflection. Stark red and violent, an open wound bleeding contempt for the waking world and everyone in it. 

It hurts you more than you care to admit to know that you’re included in the group he believes to be the scum beneath his ruby red shoes. 

Even as he watches you now through narrow lids with a casual sense of detachment, every bone in your body longs to see something in those eyes other than carefully concealed disgust. Something. Anything. Some shining light of pride or care or even just simple recognition that you aren’t just a parasite that clings to him for some sick sense of purpose, even if he is the one who has bound you here.

But you know that’s impossible. Even if he wanted to. Even if he had the capability. 

Truthfully, you’re not sure what it would be like if he did.

The closest you will ever get is that he allows you to ride his coattails alongside the dirt and mud, slowly shrinking in the darkness of his shadow as you follow behind him and stare resentfully as he eclipses the sun and all the light it brings. It’s impossible to bloom without nurture and care but somehow, like a weed, you’ve found a way to stay alive in an environment that wholly starves you and deprives you of love and affection. He makes you whole. He makes you real. 

He makes you sick. 

Worms and maggots crawl across a dead something or other, blood matted fur giving next to no indication of what the small mammal might have been when it was living. Small pieces of bone are visible through the rotting muscle tissue, mangled limbs sitting limply beside the body. It’s a tableau of death he wants you to witness; decay that makes your still living flesh crawl. 

“That’s what happens,” he states matter of factly, pale, thin finger pointing at the carcass as the other squeezes the side of your waist tight enough to make you seize. “When you die. You rot in the ground and no one will remember or care.” 

The sick crawls up your stomach, bile resting uneasily at the low of your throat. You don’t want to look anymore, but you know if you try to look away, he’ll make you look again. There’s still tender bruises on your skin from the last time you tried to defy him, and you know what happens if you make him angry. Your tears mean nothing to him and you swear you see the ghost of a smile twitch on his lips as he watches your eyes well up.

He’s not giving you a simple organic chemistry lesson, of that you’re completely certain. He wants you to know the power he holds, wants you to understand that if he so chose, he could easily expedite the process of your own fragile form’s decay.

He didn't used to be like this. He used to be Tenko. Used to have a soul. 

But he sold that soul the day his daddy took a step too far and then overtook the devils throne and used the contract to wipe his hands clean of the blood. Tenko doesn’t exist. He’s made sure you understand that. Any mention of the boy he used to be is enough to get his fingers twitching and ready on your throat. 

He watches as you cry with an expression that’s equal parts elated and aroused, not bothering to conceal it from you any further. Desperately, you shove down your sorrow and keep your back straight against him; your pain is an aphrodisiac for him. Wipe the tears from your eyes and cast them bitterly to the floor. Swallow the hiccups and sobs that bubble in your gut and keep a trembling straight face despite your every instinct longing to curl at his feet and hide your face in the dirt.

It’s far too late. 

Anytime you concede to the power he wields, it re-energizes him, and you’re his favorite little power source. He’s learned to tune you like a fiddle until you play whatever song he desires and he’ll dance with you until your feet bleed and your body crumples. He’ll step on the arch of your back and use you as a pedestal to reach the greatness he knows he’s destined for and punish you if you falter under his weight. 

It’s a mock symbiosis you live in, neither wholly at peace but each one needing the other. You’ve tried to leave, tried to run. He finds you, dragging you back to him kicking and screaming and clawing at the ground. With a gnarled hand twisted through your hair, he tells you how pretty you are, puckers your ruddy cheeks with his nails and kisses you deeply as the tears stream down your face. 

‘Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t survive without me, idiot. Where would you go? Who would take you after I have?’

You hate it, you despise him, but he’s right. Who could ever accept you after you’ve allowed him to have you time and time again? Where in the darkness could you hide that he wouldn’t find you? Even if you did find someone who would care for you after your body had been tainted by his touch, Tomura wouldn’t stand for it. He’d find you as he had time and time again, seek out the source of your light and snuff it out. 

“Don’t you care about me?” He’d say, leading you away with hands still stained red. “Don’t you want me to be happy?” 

And when you start to cry again, he’d simply wipe them away with a filthy thumb, smearing the grime across your cheek. 

“Don’t worry. I forgive you. But don’t do it again.”

Long have you given up your silly dreams of freedom, but still he likes to drive the nail further, either out of necessity or malevolence. So he drags you far from home into places you could never find on your own to show you the pitfalls of life without him. Cold and shaking, you’ll follow wherever he leads you because when he asks you nicely to come, there is no other choice. He’ll take you on a personally guided tour of the horrors of the world, horrors he orchestrates just for you and watch gleefully as your vision tunnels and your view of life becomes even darker and more damning until it’s as cynical and deprived as his own and you cling to him for safety.

Only when your eyes clouded and your outlook bleak will he pull you into the dirt, touching you in places that contrast starkly against the misery you feel and coaxing a bliss from you that makes you bend to him all over again. He’ll kiss you softly as he pushes your face harder against the floor, letting the leaves and the muck tangle in your hair, forcing you to face the maggot ridden corpse not far from your entwined bodies. In this moment, he offers you only two choices: Pleasure or pain? Him or death. 

Sometimes you wonder how long it will take before you finally shove him off and opt to let him touch you for the last time, placing five fingers down instead of four and watching as you rejoin the Earth as newly formed ash. And that’s if he decides to be merciful. You doubt he’d give up his favorite plaything so easily.

But apparently you haven’t reached your breaking point yet, because you let his fingers wander lower, arching into his touch and keening against his bony shoulder as it digs into your own. Quickly enough, your clothing is cast aside and he marvels in your flesh like it’s the first time all over again. He leaves you bared before him, vulnerable and quaking beneath his cage of limbs. Brand new bruising patterns over the old in a myriad of colors as his hands grip just a little too tightly for comfort wherever he can reach. He holds you callously down, as if you could run even if given the option, and soon his pants are pulled down just enough over his hips to allow him to violate you the way pleases him most. 

He pushes inside of you, stealing your bodily warmth for his own. It’s the closest he comes to removing the mask that is his personality now. His mouth slacks and his eyes close and you can forget, if only for a moment, that the man who has chosen you is incapable of loving you, and equally incapable of letting you go. When you can no longer see your reflection in his apathetic eyes, it’s easier to stomach that you’ll be stuck in the suffocating purgatory of his desire until you perish. 

It becomes easier to play pretend that he actually cares. 

He goes through the motions and hits all your sweet spots, but you know this isn’t for you. It’s for him. He prides himself on being able to feel whatever it is he wants you to feel, and even though you know damn well he’s manipulating you, it’s almost impossible not to take the tenderness when he offers it. Though you are fully aware he is conditioning you to favor him and his cruelty over the world and its cruelty, you are beginning to relent. You can only struggle against the tide for so long before you have to acknowledge that you will never make it back to shore. 

So you’ll allow his kisses, sometimes even returning them when you lose yourself enough in the moment. You won’t hold back the noises he wants you to make because the ones he will coerce from you if you do will be less kind. You’ll lock your ankles around his waist and follow his rhythm because he will get what he wants, one way or another. 

No matter how uncomfortable, no matter how filthy, you’ll allow him your body because it’s easier when he asks rather than when he takes. It’s better to try and fool yourself into believing that his are the gentle hands of a lover rather than a captor. You’ll revel in the one simple time you are allowed to mark him, and that’s when your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer. You’ll croon into him and say his name in a manner that’s genuine, because in the moment, it is. 

You’d give anything for him to love you. Not to own you, but to love you. Maybe then, just maybe, you could find contentment in your place in his world.

There may come a day when he no longer wants you. There may come a day when the indifference in his eyes might seem a gift in comparison to boredom or irritation. On that day, you might find yourself wishing that you had been a little more convincing in your act, or perhaps that you had been a little less difficult. Maybe if you had scooted closer instead of running away, he wouldn’t have tired of you. 

Or arguably worse, perhaps he’ll never tire of you at all. Perhaps he’ll keep you caged until your wings have lost the ability to fly entirely and even when offered the chance, you’ll cower at his side. Perhaps he already has. 

Chances are that you’ll never know, because when he’s finished and your thighs are slick from his completion, he’ll lead you back home and you’ll follow despite there being no tangible leash that pulls you along. You’ll lie in his bed and eat his food and find false comfort in his arms even as your mind screams to the wind for freedom and you pray for some deus ex machina to set you free. 

But even as he sleeps soundly and those empty red eyes aren’t focused on you, you can hear his voice in your head. 

‘What would you do without me? Where would you go? Who else could love you?’

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to accept your fate with a sense of dignity than to fight against him and drown. 

Maybe this is where you’re meant to be.

[sleepysailorghost]

The Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel had been out of contact for quite some time. If records were accurate, years even. Attempts to restablish communications via radio had not been successful.

Still, the Mojave was a very long distance from the Commonwealth. It would have made more sense to organize a team from another closer chapter. Maxson had denied that. Tracey couldn't really imagine any benefit to his decision. Walking there alone would take many weeks, not to mention the preparation that would be needed. She couldn't even take her power armor as there was "too great a risk of it having to be destroyed".

The whole assignment reeked of punishment to her. This was how he was punishing her for not executing Danse. Either that, or he couldn't stand to look at her because of his guilt towards what he had done.

The only real up side to the trip was that the Mojave chapter wouldn't know about Danse's exile-he was free to accompany her. It was a minor thing, but it was very nice to be able to spend time with her husband without worrying about it. And there was plenty of time. After all, the Mojave was almost on the other side of the wastes.

There was months of walking and collecting rations and scouting out locations. Plenty of danger. No one had warned them about the Cazadores.

Things were very different in the west. Even the supermutants they came across seemed strange, skin an unnatural blue color. Tracey swore she saw one activate a stealthboy, but she couldn't find any proof of it. Certainly, something to be noted.

A voice on the radio even talked about some sort of...supermutant refuge? Mr. New Vegas, as he called himself, spoke of all sorts of things, both bizarre events and what seemed to be local news.

There were a lot of soldiers around, belonging to the ruling power in the area, the New California Republic. Tracey was not personally familiar with them, but she did have some knowlege of them. After she had combed through Kellogg's memories, she had done some research on them. They were enemies with the Brotherhood-if the Brotherhood had allies in other factions, Tracey had never heard of them.

The New California Republic seemed fairly decent to her. In a lot of ways, it was like the old world government. Maybe a little too much like it even. Apparently the Republic hadn't controlled the area long, having protected it from an opposing force from Arizona known as the Legion. The more she hears about them, the more she is glad they hadn't passed through Arizona.

The last recorded message from the Mojave chapter had been around five years ago. Tracey doesn't imagine they are still alive after all this time, but it isn't impossible. Maybe a few knights are still left. Perhaps the Brotherhood soldeirs stationed here became caught up in the fighting at Hoover Dam and were wiped out. The timeline certainly lines up if that were the case.

Reportedly, the soldiers had been stationed in a pre-war bunker in an area called "Hidden Valley". The door to the bunker opens easily, not even locked. Walking in, she tries the intercom. There's no answer.

No answer could mean that no one is around to answer. Then she tries the door, which pops open easily thanks to a practiced hand and a bobby pin.

Then there are power-armored hands grabbing at her, locking a collar around her neck. A voice demands that she drop all of her weapons. She acquieses. She's seen these types of collars before. They're explosive collars.

The man in the power armor-a paladin if she's reading the paint correctly (which is difficult to do when you're being restrained)- demands that she identirfy herself.

While all of this only takes a few seconds, Danse has his lazer rifle on them in an instant.

"Let her go. Now. I won't ask again." His voice is unflinching, a hint of a threatening growl.

Danse, in full and pristine X-01 power armor, despite their long and arduos treck across the desert, is an intimidating sight.

"Don't be foolish. That's a slave collar, and we'll have it detonated in seconds if you try anything."

"If that happens, there wouldn't be a force in the world strong enough to prevent your deaths. That woman is a Brotherhood Sentinel, and I'll kill you if anything happens to her. Check her holotags if you must."

"Anyone can wear holotags. That doesn't prove anything."

"We were sent by Elder Maxson of the-" The man who wasn't holding her slaps her across the face, cutting the skin with his power armor gauntlet.

"You were not asked to speak!" he shouts, but the Paladin interrupts. Danse aims his rifle at the man who had struck his wife, but knows that if he wants Tracey to live, he can't attack.

"Elder Maxson? You're from the Capital chapter?" The Paladin asked.

"We were stationed in the Commonweal-" Tracey's knees buckle and she spits blood onto the floor. The Paladin's grip on her arms are the only thing keeping her standing. "ugh"

People weren't meant to be hit with power armor. They're fleshy and soft. They've got a lot of bones that break if pressure is applied to them. Even a heavily armored foe can be badly injured if hit by an opponent using power armor.

"She needs medical attention. Now." Danse said, unable to keep concern from trickling into his voice.

"Yes." The paladin holding her agreed, lifting her into a fireman's carry. "You may accompany her into our base while she recieves treatment for her injuries. Keep in mind the slave collar. If you attack anyone here, we'll have it detonated. I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

Danse bit his tongue to keep from saying anything.

Her injuries aren't life threatening. Still fairly severe for a slap, but she'll pull through. Danse had waited by his brothers and sisters bedside before, but it was never as distressing as it was to wait at Tracey's.

He can't help but think about a young man he saw after the purifiyer was turned on a decade ago. He was waiting for his friend to wake up and unsure if they were ever going to. Of course, this was much less significant than that, but he can't help but feel that he can relate to that young man.

When she wakes up, she is clearly in pain. Her speech is a little slurred due to the bruising and swelling in her cheek, and they'll have to wait out the concussion that knight gave her. It would be foolish for them to endanger themselves by leaving with a concussion, even if he wants to leave this place as soon as possible.

"Hey," he says softly.

"I hate this place." she responds, voice raspy.

"Me too." He takes one of her hands. "I'm glad you made it."

"They put a slave collar on me." she says numbly. "Could have gone off. I'm sorry I brought you here."

After a while, the paladin who carried Tracey to the bunker's clinic returned.

"We ran the Sentinel's holotags and DNA in our system. We have confirmed that you are Sentinel Tracey Love, ma'am. I would like to apollogize for my actions and those of Knight Lewinski."

Tracey's face was bitter and pinched.

"Take me to your elder. I have some things I need to discuss regarding not only your conduct but the lack of communication." She didn't say she forgave him because she didn't. He was clearly remorseful, but it was remorse for having attacked a higher up rather than recognition that what he did was wrong.

"Yes, of course ma'am. Please allow me to escort you."

"Take the collar off first."Danse said, and the glare he directed towards the Paladin was hot enough to scald.

"Greetings, Elder." Tracey said, as though she hadn't been assaulted by one of his men and didn't have a bruise the size of Texas on her face. "I am Sentinel Love of the Commonwealth chapter of the Brotherhood. I am under the command of Elder Maxson, who sent me to investigate why this chapter hasn't been heard from in the last five years."

"Ah yes, Sentinel Ly-oh, excuse me. Sentinel Love. I was informed of your arrival."

"Yes, and we'll discuss that in a minute. Do you care to explain the chapter's radio silence?"

"The generator for our system failed-"

"And it's taken five years for you to repair it?"

"No, not exactly. Rather, we need specific pieces to repair it. Parts that are unavailable to us."

Tracey didn't believe him. There was something oily, something wrong about this man.

"I'll take a look at it once we've finished our discussion. Is that all on your lack of communication? Do you have a record of what has happened?"

"Yes, I'll have one of the scribes allow you access. Now, you wanted to discuss your arrival to our base of operations?" He smiled like this was some sort of minor incident, a late package instead of what it had been. "As I understand, you picked the door open?"

"Yes, as there wasn't any other option. No one responded when I tried the intercom."

"Well, that would be because you need the password."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, sure. Say, do you collar all your visitors or am I just lucky? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm fairly sure that goes against the Brotherhood's law, as outlined in the Codex." Danse chimed in with the exact location of the clause at this point. Tracey's anger was a hot thing, but subtle. It was dry and ate away at anything around it and it was shining in her eyes.

"We were concerned that you-"

"Were you concerned that two people could wipe out your fort? Were you concerned that the security of your base would be compromised?"

"Sentinel Lyons, if I may, you simply don't know what it's like out here. I am the second elder of this chapter, and we have already lost many men in order to establish it. Our last elder fled after he led our men to failure. We had to cooperate with the NCR to prevent them from wiping us out entirely!"

That was it. He had prevented communication with the other chapters because of his alliance with the NCR.

"Why did you use a slave collar?" Tracey asked, not bothering to sugarcoat the issue. The whole issue squicked her out, and it was entirely immoral to force someone into slavery. Honestly, if she was less restrained, less in control of her actions, she might have killed him for this alone. She didn't mind that the NCR had allied themselves with this chapter. It "Why, in god's name, was that necessary?"

MacNamara sneered at her.

"How did you become a sentinel if you're so soft? I did what was necessary in order to preserve this base. An explosive collar is just a tool, at the end of the day. We did not force you to do anything. It is unfortunate that you came to harm, and Knight Lewinski will be punished accordingly."

"He could have killed her. Are you taking that into account?" Danse sneered. He did not like MacNamara either, he wasn't the sort of leader that Maxson was, even if he wanted Danse dead. Maxson made morally dubious decisions on the occasion, but he was a skilled leader. Didn't that count for something? Maxson would have never allowed the use of slave collars on anyone...Wouldn't he?

MacNamara looked at Danse now. He was still wearing his helmet because it prevented identification.

"And who are you?"

"I destroyed the terror of the east. That's how I became a sentinel."

"I hardly think you killed Legate Lanius." MacNamara said flatly. "Was that all you wanted? To complain about how we treated you and lie? If so, leave. I have to get back to work."

"Yes, I'll be leaving shortly. After I repair the generator, of course and ensure that communications have been restored. Don't worry; I'll be sure to tell Elder Maxson all about it. And I'm looking forward to reading your report, every month."

The generator turned out to be repairable. It wasn't an easy fix necessarily, but between Tracey and Danse's practiced hands and a satchel full of junk parts, it was doable. It took most of an afternoon before they could reach the Commonwealth via signal.

Near the Boston Airport, on one of the Prydwen's consoles, a light that had been dormant for several years flipped on. Confusion, and then understanding greeted it. Captain Kells was summoned, as was Elder Maxson, both curious to see how the new Sentinel had fared on her long distance mission.

"This is Sentinel Tracey Love, reporting in from the Hidden Valley base."

"We're reading you, Sentinel. This is the Prydwen, Captain Kells speaking."

"Hello, Captain. The mission was successful. Communications have been reestablished, and the base is fine order."

"Excellent work, Sentinel. I expect to read all about it in your report."He paused for a second, then continued. "Will you begin journey back today?"

"No, I sustained a concussion and it would be foolish to brave the wastes in this condition."

Arthur Maxson thought it over for a second. Concussions weren't rare in the wasteland, but Sentinel Love wasn't the type to fight up close. Besides, he knew Danse had gone with her. He was young, not stupid.

"Sentinel, how did that happen?" He asked, taking the microphone from Kells.

"A power armored opponent struck me."

Arthur hadn't heard of any other groups in the Mojave using power armor.

"Where did this opponent come from, Sentinel?"

"Hidden Valley. He was a Brotherhood Knight."

Oh, it was like that.

"You were injured during a sparr, Sentinel? I must admit, I expected more from you."

"No, that's not it at all. When I entered the Hidden Valley Bunker, I was caught and an explosives collar was put on me. When I tried to explain who I was and why I was there, the Knight struck me."

Maxson's mouth tastes like ash. He's heard of these collars, has heard of their use on slaves.

"They did WHAT?"

[evolutionsvoid]

The Forgebill is a large vibrant bird that is found in tropical climates, primarily in coastal habitats. Its territory stretches through beaches, shorelines, tide pools and estuaries, wherever there is seawater to be found. Though found in the domain of seabirds and other majestic ocean fliers, the Forgebill is flightless. Instead of wings, its forelimbs have stretched out into elongated legs, using them to walk upon all fours. Its fingers have turned to hooked talons, creating fearsome obsidian scythes. Instead of flight, it chooses to patrol the shoreline and wade through the shallows, all in the pursuit of food. While they stand tall, they possess long flexible necks that gives them a wide range of movement. They can reach down to grab food from the sand, stretch upwards to pluck high up fruits or even bend all the way around so that they can groom the hard to reach areas! At the end of this serpentine neck is a large blade-like beak and a hefty casque. While these structures are pretty to look at, they are more than mere decoration! There is a reason these birds are called Forgebills! While other helmeted bird species may use their casques for beefing up their calls or for protection in battle, this structure in the Forgebills is quite unique. Instead of it being hollow or made of solid keratin, the casque is actually filled with specialized organs. It is believed these organs are heavily modified muscles, altered so that they may create powerful shocks! It isn't fully understood yet, but these structures can release the element of lightening! It isn't nearly as flashy or powerful as a lightening bolt, but the amount a single organ can create is impressive! Now imagine dozens of these all packed inside of this bird's casque! The power of a thunderstorm, worn upon their heads like a hat! Though I speak of lightening and shocks, the Forgebill does not wield this power in such a fashion. They do not stun prey like Stormtails do, instead they use it in a truly bizarre way! When the casque is activated and its organs start pumping out this energy, it directs all of it towards its beak. The striped bill of the bird has a rather unique composition, containing a high amount of metallic materials. Veins and coils of this substance is spread throughout their entire bill, and this is where the energy is directed. With all that power flowing through this special metal, the beak begins to heat up! Within moments of activating its casque, the beak of the Forgebill will become glowing hot, like a sword straight from the forge! The temperatures this beak can achieve is astounding, and also quite dangerous! Like a flaming blade, the Forgebill can swing this searing weapon around and use it to cleave through its true target: Clams! Indeed the blazing billed bird uses this impressive weapon for hunting, but it isn't going around cleaving herbivores in two. Instead, the searing beak is meant to tackle hard shells, mainly those found on clams, mussels, oysters and even fruit! Before it fires up its special organs, it uses its claws and beak to dig up buried clams or pluck coconuts from trees. With the tough morsel held in its beak, the Forgebill will turn on its casque and heat things up! Within seconds, the beak will be hot enough to slice through that shell like a hot knife through butter! The Forgebill will flick back its head, open its mouth and then slam it shut, cleaving the stubborn critter in half! After that, the meaty morsels can be eaten, and the steaming shells will be tossed aside. For larger creatures that cannot be held in its mouth, the Forgebill will heat up its beak and then whip its head around, wielding the burning blade like an actual weapon! With the strike of a skilled swordsman, the Forgebill will slice off a chunk of the shelled opponent, leaving an opening that its beak can reach into so that it can retrieve the tasty meat inside. While it does eat meat, the Forgebill rarely goes after anything faster than your average mollusk. Clams, snails and other slow armored creatures is all they really prey upon. They aren't all that fast themselves, so giving chase is out of the question. Especially when your face is a super heated knife! And you thought running with scissors was bad!

The burning beak of the Forgebill is what makes them famous, but many often get the wrong impression of its ability. Mention it to anyone, and most folk get the idea that these birds use these weapons constantly, performing impressive duels and slicing all that stand before them. In truth, this ability is used quite sparingly, as it is quite costly! The amount of energy it takes to fuel such a weapon is staggering, so they cannot just do it with reckless abandon! That is why it is only used for mere seconds while eating, as it is burned so that they may obtain hard-to-eat food that others cannot crack. The other issue is that Forgebills are not fireproof! That hot beak can slice through flesh and bone with ease, and that includes their own! If one is not careful, they can easily injure themselves. With that, Forgebills use the upmost caution when wielding their beaks. While it is heated, you will notice the birds taking a special stance. Their heads will be jutted forward and upward, aimed far from the body. They will barely move in this state, refusing to walk or run while the weapon is heated. While active, the Forgebill will use special organs that run down its back to vent off excess heat. These exposed pipes move hot air and blood, forcing it outwards so it doesn't fry itself from the inside! After it has sliced through all the food they want, the beak will be dunked into the sea to cool it off. This is a habit of theirs, as they will dip their bills in water every time they wish to preen their feathers, groom or interact with others. It is all for safety, as they don't wish to burn themselves or their partners. Since I mentioned their "partners," I figure I should dash this hope right off the bat: no, Forgebills don't use their heated beaks to duel others during mating season. Cripes, imagine the mortality rate of that! The species wouldn't be doing so hot (ha!) if they kept lopping each other's heads off when it came time to breed! No, these giants instead stick to song and call, using their voice to  bring in females. If an opposing male gets too close, then they may square off and try to scare the competition away. Beaks may clatter and a fight may break out, but they don't use their heated blades in this instance. The time when this heat-producing system is used during the breeding season is when the females wish to warm their eggs! When nested, they will rest upon their eggs and tuck their heads into their bodies. With careful control over their output, they will heat their bills slightly to create extra warmth during the cold nights. During this time, males will go out to collect food, bringing it back to females. Once the chicks hatch, the duty will switch back and forth between mom and dad. With such a magnificent weapon and rather gorgeous looks, it should be no surprise that Forgebills are quite famous in the regions they frequent. Their plumes are collected for decoration and adornment, while their special beaks are prized as both trophies and weapons. Though the casques do not work when dead, and the beaks themselves do not produce this energy, skilled magic users have found ways to channel their own powers into these structures. This makes these bills quite popular in the realm of mages, and even for those in the Underworld! I have heard that demons are quite fascinated with these creatures, and pay well to get a hold of these special beaks. Unfortunately, this means that this species faces heavy hunting and poaching, as folk know that there is good money to be made. Faced with dwindling populations, some regions have placed protections on the species, which is good! But that often doesn't stop poachers, which is bad. Thankfully, in my case, I found that some well aimed rocks and a hefty walking stick does wonders when driving those jerks off! I just hope that others can succeed in protecting these incredible species, as their brilliance deserves to be shared with all generations.       Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------- This birdie comes from an idea Xhodocto385 gave me a loooooooong time ago. It was a toucan-like beast that used a super-heated beak to slice and dice! It took me quite a long time to figure out a design and how one would pull off such a thing, but I think it payed off in the end. This bird is more hornbill than toucan, as the anatomy worked perfectly for this concept. Hope you enjoy!  

[reliciron]

Eternal Empire After Effects

In addition to that post I made a while back about how your characters deal with either the boost in Force sensitivity or the brand new sensitivity for your smugglers/troopers/agents/bounty hunters. I want to talk about the general fucked up-ness that the Commander has to deal with post-KotET.

Like DAMN. Bare minimum, they’ve had to deal with carbonite poisoning, the general mind games of Valkorian, and then they had their mind literally broken in the last chapter. At worst, they get all that, plus taking a lightsaber to the gut. To say nothing of having to fight an impossible war for a little over a year straight with everyone’s hopes and dreams riding around on their shoulders.

A lot of the posts I’ve seen about other people’s ocs has some form of lingering effects from everything. And I just want to talk about it for a minute, cause I live for filling in the scenes we don’t see. [Take this with a grain of salt, as I’ve never played a dark side character, so my perspective will be skewed.]

Long term physical effects:

They were poisoned slowly over the course of 5 years, you can’t tell me that one little dart thing can fix that, at least not right away. This could take the form of lingering nausea, migraines, dizziness. The symptoms of heavy metal poisoning would fit well here. And I hc my consular as having some permanent nerve pain from it.

The stab on Asylum is absolute bullshit in the game. Valkorian or no, there’s no way they’d be walking out. I think I posted a pic I took before, but the stab is easily close enough for the heat transfer to damage the spine. Bone cracks and warps with heat, so you can see the problem there. The wound is almost dead on for where the stomach sits and the lungs, liver, kidney, and intestines are all in range to get badly burnt (yeah I know, alien anatomy might be different, but we’re assuming its mostly the same).

We’ve seen what a lightsaber can do to a blast door in The Phantom Menace, take that and apply it to a person, and Arcann held that blade there a loooong time.

Yes, Valkorian saves them, but I think of it more as he kept them from dying, and not, he completely stopped the blade from cooking them from the inside out. So the three days Lana mentioned are horseshit. The Gravestone’s tiny ass med-bay is absolutely not equipped to handle an injury like this.

I always figured a better way was Valkorian kept them alive long enough for Lana to threaten her way onto an appropriate station and made the doctors fix them. Even so, getting what amounts to several organ transplants, implants to bypass possible spinal chord damage, replacement ribs and vertebra, and a whole lot of skin and muscle grafts will leave your Commander pretty messed up, even with magical Star Wars tech and Force magic. And their allotted recovery time seems to be the length of the base’s construction on Odessen, so there’s no way in hell they’re really done healing by the time they have to go back out into battle.

Specific injuries aside, a year is a long time to fight more or less constantly. At least during the base game you sort of had rests between chapters. They’re gonna rack up an impressive list of injuries, alongside wear and tear like their knees and feet having trouble from the constant running and jumping. And their elbows and shoulders will break down from hours upon hours of absorbing the recoil of a gun or the constant flurry and clash of a lightsaber.

Long term mental effects:

As ugly as the physical stuff is, the mental effects are just as bad. Depending on what class they are, having the goddamn Sith Emperor riding shotgun in their head will fuck them up big time.

Classes who faced off with him more-or-less directly, like the Knight, Consular, and Warrior, are going to have the worst time of it because they KNOW what this sort of thing leads to. The warrior has seen the dead eyed puppet on Voss and knows that could be them soon. The consular had to deal with the emperors children and the First Son. They’ve seen a prominent and powerful Jedi master absolutely crumple under the power of the emperor and he wasn’t even IN there. And Knights have already experienced the emperor’s control first hand.

Not to say the others won’t have trouble with it, it’s just that the reasons will be a little less direct. The smuggler and bounty hunter are used to being their own people, not tied down to anything or accountable to anyone, and now there’s the threat that everything they have will be taken from them and there’s no amount of sneaking or shooting that will save them. Troopers built up their command from basically nothing and now they’re Republic heroes, but Valkorian now threatens the lives of everyone they’ve sworn to protect. The agent is easy, they’ve suffered mind control before, they’ve been slaves in their own body, and they’re terrified of it happening again. And inquisitors were literal slaves who clawed their way to the top, and they’d sooner die than be a slave again.

So just having that asshole there means constant stress for the whole of KotFE and KotET. Insomnia must be a given. How do you know you’ll wake up as YOU? That Valkorian won’t hollow you out in your sleep and walk around in your skin the next day? And for the Knight, Agent, and Inquisitor, I’d think panic attacks are probably a thing, even if they don’t let anyone see it.

The stab will definitely cause some trauma. Pretty sure any wound that gruesome would. And if they didn’t have nightmares before, they sure do now and I’m willing to bet that they might shy away from lightsabers for a while, which leaves an interesting dilemma considering they’re in a war with Force-users, and some of them are Force-users themselves.

Fighting a guerrilla war with an absurdly powerful adversary has to be incredibly taxing, especially for classes who’ve never had to command anything. Smugglers and Bounty Hunters are very screwed here, assuming they care about running the Alliance well. And the burden of saving the galaxy is a heavy one. I can definitely see classes who have saved the galaxy multiple times to be getting increasing bitter about always having to be the one to clean up the messes. Why are THEY the ones who always have to suffer? Why isn’t there ever a hero to save THEM when they need it?!

Agents get their own little special bit here with the bullshit that is Vaylin’s conditioning. They know exactly the kind of misery she’s going through, the powerlessness that one single phrase or word causes. I can understand that the writers couldn’t figure out or bother with a whole separate scene of the agent refusing to use the conditioning, cause then they’d have to figure out how to not have Vaylin murder them on the spot. But goddamn we could’ve at least seen them struggle with it! Maybe an extra few lines of them pleading with Vaylin because they desperately don’t want to use her control phrase. Ugh, at least behind the scenes an agent can have a break down about how they’ve become exactly like the intelligence officers who’d decided that they were too much of a liability to go without a leash they could pull. And now they’ve pulled an identical leash on Vaylin.

And then we have their mind being broken. That could be a post in and of itself. Valkorian came within a hair’s breadth of destroying them entirely, and they were so broken that they didn’t even know their own name. And in the space of 10 or so minutes, they scrape themselves together and fight a god. It’s very impressive (and I’ve got my own issues with that fight) but I don’t think you can pull yourself together that fast after being that messed up without some lingering issues.

Chronic insomnia and night terrors, full blown PTSD, panic disorders, severe anxiety; something THAT traumatic will absolutely leave marks.

And after that? They just keep going. Yeah, things calm down, but they’re still at the head of a very powerful faction now (if not ruling Zakuul), there’s no going back after this. And they’ve got a massive restoration project ahead of them as tensions continue to simmer between the Republic and Empire. The more dutiful characters must be near the end of their rope. There’s no rest, just the next fire to put out, and they continue to run themselves into the ground. And the more flighty characters are now forever shackled by the Alliance. There’s no flying off into the sunset for them. No more anonymity as a bounty hunter or smuggler. Their old life is over, whether the wanted it or not. And how can they really relax when there’s this many people looking at them for direction. They’ve become just like those asshole military leaders who they used to mock.

And for just about all of my characters, they hide it. No one can know that they’re falling apart at the seams. Either it’s about personal pride and acting unphased cause they’re just THAT good, or because they’re trying to be the leader the Alliance deserves and don’t want to disappoint or frighten them by showing just how badly they’re coping. Either way there will be a breaking point.

And even after it all comes out in the open, and they (hopefully) get the help they need. It’s never completely over. Chronic pain and fatigue, depression and anxiety, persistent insomnia; these things don’t just disappear, they’re an ongoing struggle that helps color their future actions.

I just… I really like considering things like this because it hits close to home. Seeing them struggle with some of the things I deal with makes them feel more like people. Cause god knows the writers aren’t gonna put this kind of stuff in there.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Illaoi, the Kraken Priestess build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

I’ll take “Champions Everyone Hates” for $300, Larry!

Jokes aside Illaoi was a beyond obvious build with all the Unearthed Arcana subclasses being shown off. With Tasha’s Cauldron on the horizon and recent news that Illaoi is actually getting another skin it only makes sense to make a build for her.

But this is also an opportunity to make something interesting. In particular I see a lot of people online saying that the only viable melee Warlock is Hexblade, and while the Hexblade subclass certainly makes creating a melee Warlock easier it isn’t the only path you can choose. So to prove that you can play other Warlocks with a big ball to slam people with here’s a more melee focused Warlock build!

GOALS

Sheeyutu Nagakabouros - So Illaoi needs tentacles. What? Lurker in the Deep Warlock? I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Broken bones teach better lessons - Illaoi is a buff lady and I want her to crush my head between her thighs... What? Uhhh STRENGTH BUILD TIME!

Many gods ask for worship; they are weak gods - Probably the only hard part about this build is going to be ripping people’s souls out of their body... Good thing I’m honestly probably not going to do that and simply reflavor some stuff.

RACE

League of Legends has its gods and monsters, but the majority of the characters are human. Variant Humans get to start with a little bit more than the average human, but let’s get the normal things out of the way first: increase your Strength and Charisma by 1 to break bones more easily and to find more people who want you to break their bones. You also get a proficiency in a skill of your choice such as Athletics to lug a giant Kraken god head statue around all day, and a language of your choice like Deep Speech to speak to your god through your statue.

But most importantly you get a free Feat, and unfortunately this is a case of me being forced to stick feats into this build for the sake of aesthetic. Illaoi doesn’t wear armor in-game but I could make the argument that her massive arm pauldrons and general outfit could be seen as Medium armor. So even though you could get Heavy Armor “proficiency” thanks to the Eldritch Armor Invocation from the Class Feature Variants UA I’m instead going to suggest taking the Moderately Armored Feat for Medium Armor proficiency and +1 to your Strength score. Feel free to take something like Great Weapon Master instead if you’re okay with actually wearing Heavy Armor at the cost of an invocation.

ABILITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - Eat your heart out The Last of Us 2 haters. (BTW screw everyone who’s been harassing Laura Bailey on Twitter. I know this is old news but still.)

14; DEXTERITY - Something something Medium Armor, even if Heavy Armor is an option.

13; CHARISMA - Ultimately this is a requirement for the class we’ll have to be playing, but I’m sure there’s a reason this tentacle-lover keeps showing up to ruin my soloqueue games.

12; CONSTITUTION - Illaoi is a tank in-game and while I’d love this to be higher unfortunately we need other things more.

10; WISDOM - Illaoi has knowledge of the old gods which I’d personally consider to be more Wisdom based than Intelligence.

8; INTELLIGENCE - Signing yourself off to be the priestess of some deep sea Cthulhu monster isn’t something you do when you have a high GPA.

BACKGROUND

Fun fact: you can be a priest and not be a Cleric! The Acolyte background lets you grant your service to a god, even if that god isn’t commonly accepted. You gain some Religion proficiency as well as general Insight, as well as two languages of your choice like Abyssal and Primordial to speak to all the ancient beings of Bilgewater.

Your feature Shelter of the Faithful will be a... little odd for your DM to implement. There are few temples to Nagakabouros, but if you can find followers of the Bearded Lady they will provide shelter for you and your allies, and also support you (and you alone) as their Priestess. But regardless you will still be able to find your people in your hometown, and will be able to perform sermons for your god. Even if those sermons involve cracking skulls.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - WARLOCK 1

Did you enjoy seeing the word “Fighter” a lot in my Garen build? Well you’d better be ready to see a whole lot of “Warlock” in this one. As a Warlock you get two proficiencies from the Warlock skill list so learn about the History of Nagakabouros and also take Intimidation proficiency because I’m pretty fucking intimidated when an Illaoi comes into my lane if you know what I’m saying.

But unlike most classes Warlocks get to choose their subclass at level 1 and low-and-behold we’ll be going with the Lurker in the Deep Unearthed Arcana Patron which will soon be appearing in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. One may ask why I didn’t wait for that book to come out to which I reply “I need to make content.” Regardless you get Scion of the Deep at level 1 to communicate telepathically with (almost) any creature that has an innate swimming speed that’s within 120 feet of you. The creature can understand you regardless of your shared languages and can respond telepathically. Look all I’m saying is that you’ve gotta be able to talk with Nami somehow.

But of course what you’re really here for is Grasp of the Deep. As a bonus action you create a tentacle at a point you can see within 60 feet of you. The tentacle lasts for 1 minute or until you make another tentacle. When you create the tentacle, you can make a melee spell attack against a creature within 10 feet of it. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 cold or lightning damage (your choice when it takes the damage) and its speed is reduced by 10 feet until the start of your next turn. You can also move the tentacle up to 30 feet as a bonus action on your turn and repeat the attack with said bonus action. You can summon the tentacle a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

Yes I did just copy-paste the description of the ability because it’s a lot of words to say something very simple: make tentacle in 60 feet, slam people with bonus action, move it up to 30 feet per round.

But unlike in League you get more than just tentacles at level 1! You also have access to Pact Magic! You can learn two cantrips from the Warlock list: Lightning Lure lets you pull your opponent’s not-quite-soul closer towards you, and Eldritch Blast is an Eldritch Blast that lets you Eldritch Blast; I’m not going to pretend you don’t know what this cantrip is.

You also get two spells from the Warlock list and now it’s time to just take any spell that has the name “Hadar” in it. Arms of Hadar lets you strike everyone near you with tentacles; isn’t it fun to get your ultimate at level 1? For some sort-of Soul Stealing action I’m actually going to recommend Witch Bolt: after hitting an enemy with the spell you can keep hitting them from a distance and they can’t do anything about it! Truthfully though there are a lot of really great spells for this build at first level and I’m sad I can’t list them all, so if you don’t like my spell picks try out:

Hellish Rebuke (Thornmail)

Hex

Protection from Evil and Good

Thunderwave (Subclass-specific spell, otherwise known as “better Arms of Hadar that aren’t tentacles so they’re actually worse)

Yeah level 1 is always overloaded.

LEVEL 2 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get access to Eldritch Invocations to improve their abilities, and you know what we still need? A proper ability to rip out people’s souls. Shame we won’t get that, but Grasp of Hadar will pull them closer and Lance of Lethargy will slow them for trying to escape their Test of Spirit. These invocations do stack (IE there’s no rule saying you can’t apply both at once) so you can theoretically pull someone 10 feet closer to you and make them 10 feet slower, resulting in 20 total feet of distance you’re gaining on them.

You can also learn another spell at this level and while there are plenty of good ones I’m going to suggest some Thornmail, or rather Armor of Agathys. The spell doesn’t require Concentration, gives you some bulk, and makes enemies think twice about hitting you. And it scales well too!

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 3

So how about we get something big to bonk our enemies with? Hello Pact of the Blade! In short you make a weapon in your hands to fight with, and I’d argue that a Maul is probably the closest to a big two-handed bludgeoning weapon.

I should mention that technically you need the Improved Pact Weapon invocation to be able to cast spells while you have a weapon in two hands, but you can get around this by using a component pouch instead of a focus. (And Illaoi seems the type to cast with squid organs.)

Oh and you can learn second level spells now! Spells like Earthbind to make sure your foes don’t take to the sky to escape the wrath of the ocean.

LEVEL 4 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement so it’s time to invest in your main stat: Strength! What was that? Charisma? No no silly Warlocks use Strength obviously, so put +2 into that.

You also learn another spell at this level, and another cantrip! For your cantrip Mage Hand will let you summon a little tentacle for you to grab smaller things at a distance. As for leveled spells Ray of Enfeeblement will let you pack Exhaust for your foes, reducing their attack damage. It’s a bit of a dirty trick but Nagakabouros doesn’t fight fair.

(Artwork by ERDJIE on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 5 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Invocation so guess what we’re taking? Yup: Eldritch Smite, pretty much a given whenever I make a Pact of the Blade build. This will let you slam your foes so hard that they fall over! I’m also going to suggest you replace Lance of Lethargy with Thirsting Blade, as by this point Grasp of Hadar is already pulling them close enough thanks to two Eldritch Blasts per turn.

You can also learn another spell at this level and remember when I said we’d take any spell with the name “Hadar” in the title? Hunger of Hadar lets you make an area pitch black and summon a bunch of tentacles in that area. Basically Hadar is this world’s Nagakabouros. "Bearded Lady, Nagakabouros, names don't matter! Action does."

LEVEL 6 - WARLOCK 6

At 6th level your tentacles finally have some lifesteal! And by lifesteal I mean defensive properties. Guardian Grasp lets you use your reaction to make a tentacle shield an ally from a hit, reduce the damage they would’ve taken from an attack by half. The tentacle can shield any ally within 10 feet of it, and it disappears after defending them. Note that this works for spells too, so if someone’s having their soul ripped out of them you can use your abilities to pull it right back in!

Additionally your servitude to the Bearded Lady grants you a Fathomless Soul for the ability to breathe underwater, a swimming speed, and resistance to Cold damage.

And finally you can learn another spell like the Unearthed Arcana spell Spirit Shroud. This spell will let you slow enemies that are near you and also do extra damage.

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks get another Invocation but there’s nothing that particularly interests me. May as well get Devil’s Sight in case you’re playing against a Nocturne.

You can also learn another spell at this level and hey look more tentacles!  Evard’s Black Tentacles is a subclass-specific spell that makes tentacles that can hold people down!

LEVEL 8 - WARLOCK 8

8th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: increase your Strength by 1 and your Constitution by 1, as those are your two main stats as a Warlock. Definitely.

You can also add another spell to your list, and while there are plenty of great choices I’d opt to rid yourself of the unworthy with Banishment.

(Artwork by Diazex on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get access to another Eldritch Invocation, but again none of these are that particularly interesting so I suppose you could grab Otherworldly Leap for the Jump spell at will?

But you get access to another spell and if you need guidance from Nagakabouros then Commune with Nature will let you gather information to aid you to spread your faith.

Now (or ideally sometime before) would also probably be a good time to replace a lot of your old spells, so depending on your DM here’s some spells you should probably swap out, and what they should be swapped to:

Arms of Hadar (RIP tentacles) with Vampiric Touch (3rd level) for some lifesteal. (Enervation at the 5th level is also a decent alternative that works at range.)

Witch Bolt with Dimension Door (4th level) for a Teleport back to lane.

Earthbind with Synaptic Static (5th level) for a Leap of Faith against your foes. (By that I mean it’s my build and I like this spell.)

Ray of Enfeeblement with Cone of Cold (5th level) for another powerful AoE spell in a teamfight.

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 10

At 10th level Lurker in the Deep Warlocks can feed their god’s Devouring Maw. As an action you can create a 10 foot radius sphere centered on a point you can see within 60 feet. Each creature in that area must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be restrained. And then: teeth... this feels like Pyke’s thing. Regardless any creature that starts its turn in the area takes 3d6 cold / lightning damage (your choice.)

Restrained creature can try to get out on their action, and at the start of your turn if anyone is in the area you gain temporary hit points equal to your Warlock level. You can use this ability once per short or long rest, so essentially consider it like an extra spell that’s exclusive to you and your faith.

Speaking of extra spells you don’t get another spell known but your tentacles do more damage now: 2d8 to be exact. You also get another cantrip: Minor Illusion will let you summon more small ghost tentacles, except these ones don’t do anything except for fool the enemy into thinking they’ll have a fun laning phase.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 11

11th level Warlocks get their 6th level Mystic Arcanum, which is a spell you can only use once per Long Rest. Basically it’s a regular spell slot, unlike your Warlock slots which come back on a short rest. Unfortunately there really aren’t a lot of Mystic Arcanum options, and the ones at level 6 aren’t spectacular. Circle of Death is probably the best even if the lore is a little iffy.

You can also add another Pact Magic spell to your list: many say that a Dream is a window into one’s soul, so messing with people’s dreams only makes sense for you to test their souls. Oh and you get a third spell slot for your Pact Magic! Yay!

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 12

12th level Warlocks get an Ability Score Improvement but I’m going to instead suggest the Resilient feat for Constitution, increasing your CON to a 14 and giving you proficiency in CON saves. Constitution is one of your main stats as a Warlock after all!

You also get another Eldritch Invocation and now it’s finally time for an invocation we will keep! Lifedrinker will let you add your Charisma modifier as damage to your weapon attacks. I know it’s such a weird thing for Warlocks to have since they rarely use Charisma, but it’s still useful!

(Artwork by sharrm on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 13

At level 13 you get your 7th level Mystic Arcanum. To test weak souls Power Word Pain will see how much they can take before they reach their limit. If a target is at 100 HP or less they are affected by crippling pain. Their speed can be no higher than 10 feet, they have disadvantage on attack rolls, ability checks, and saving throws (other than CON saves), and if the target tries to cast a spell, it must first succeed on a Constitution saving throw, or the casting fails and the spell is wasted.

A target suffering this pain can make a Constitution saving throw at the end of each of its turns. On a successful save, the pain ends. While this may seem weak this doesn’t require your concentration, and can set up for all your allies to break the nonbelievers.

You can also add another Pact Magic spell to your list like Elemental Bane. Here’s the trick: pick a damage type of your tentacles that your allies are also doing. This will make both them and your tentacles stronger!

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 14

14th level Lurker in the Deep Warlocks get their final ability, Unleash the Depths. As an action, you choose a point within 30 feet of you to summon a manifestation of Nagakabouros. You then have one of two options:

Transport. You and up to five willing creatures of your choice that you can see within 30 feet of the manifestation point are grasped by spectral tentacles and teleported to a point of your choice within 100 miles that you have visited within the past 24 hours.

Fury. You can direct a barrage of spectral tentacles to strike up to five creatures you can see within 30 feet of the manifestation point. Each target must make a Dexterity saving throw against your spell save DC. On a failed save, the creature takes 6d10 cold or lightning damage (your choice) and is knocked prone. On a successful save, it takes half as much damage and is not knocked prone. The tentacles then vanish.

You can only do this once per Long Rest, so you can essentially consider it another Mystic Arcanum of sorts.

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 15

15th level Warlocks get their 8th level Mystic Arcanum and to truly test one’s faith try Feeblemind. You choose a target to damage and force them to make an Intelligence save: if they fail their Intelligence and Charisma become 1 and they become unable to do most things that require thinking. (Detailed in the spell.) This spell lasts for thirty days unless healed by a specific spell, afterwards they can try to repeat the save.

But more importantly you get some more Invocations and sweet Bearded Lady we can finally get some good ones! Grab Witch Sight to know the truth behind one’s soul.

And you get one more Pact Magic spell like Sickening Radiance to exhaust the spirit... because it causes Exhaustion... the D&D status not the LoL Summoner Spell.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 16

16th level means an Ability Score Improvement so it’s finally time to stop beating around the bush: get more Charisma so Lifedrinker is better. There really isn’t much other use for it.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 17 - WARLOCK 17

At 17th level you get your 9th level Mystic Arcanum; the strongest spell you can cast! When a soul is too weak to fight it must die: Power Word Kill will instantly kill a target with 100 health or less.

In addition you learn more Pact Magic: by this point your foes should truly Fear you (and the fact that I’m not allowed to take any spell that creates undead.) Yes most enemies by this point can resist fears, but on the bright side you finally have four spell slots for your other spells! (Or Smites.)

LEVEL 18 - WARLOCK 18

18th level Warlocks get their final Eldritch Invocation: Visions of Distant Realms will let you use the vision of the Bearded Lady to see across all of Runeterra... or at least as far as Arcane Eye lets you.

LEVEL 19 - WARLOCK 19

19th level Warlocks get our final Ability Score Improvement and yeah: Charisma for Lifedrinker... among other things.

And you get your final Pact Magic spell: take Hold Monster as the final option to keep an enemy down as you beat them into shape.

LEVEL 20 - WARLOCK 20

20th level Warlocks are Eldritch Masters. You can spend 1 minute praying to regain all your expended Pact Magic slots. Once you regain spell slots with this feature, you must finish a long rest before you can do so again.

...I mean yeah you could just spend an hour to Short Rest, but being able to get 4 more 5th level spell slots in just a minute could be useful! ...Maybe...

FINAL BUILD

PROS

They need wisdom; they don't need teeth - Even though you only have two attacks as a “casting” class you do plenty of damage thanks to Lifedrinker and your tentacles. (Assuming you’re using a Maul) you’re doing 4d6 + 10 bludgeoning, an extra 8 necrotic, and an extra 2d8 of Lightning or Cold damage with your Bonus Action. If you take the averages of those numbers you’re going to be doing about 44 damage per turn! Not to mention Eldritch Smites to truly break their spirits!

Blessed is motion - Your AC shouldn’t be terrible with Medium Armor, but the real strength is in Guardian Grasp. Being able to reduce the damage of an attack by half is universally useful. Above-average HP (thanks to a good CON mod) definitely helps too.

I am a teacher; Bilgewater will learn - Despite your weak mental stats you have a good amount of utility with proficiency in a number of skills and spells to gather information like Arcane Eye, Commune With Nature, and Dream. Not to mention Witch Sight which will see through any illusions or shapeshifting. This means you’re a fighter who can see through invisibility!

CONS

If I hate something, I destroy it - Illaoi is a big lady, and while her physical abilities may be strong her mental capabilities are a little lacking. Your Wisdom saves are fine enough thanks to Proficiency but your Intelligence and Dexterity saves are rather subpar, and as mentioned earlier your Ability Checks aren’t going to be great thanks to your low mental.

My god is not love; it is a kick in the pants - All the memeing I did in this build aside the focus on Strength over Charisma was probably not the brightest, especially considering that the hit chance of your tentacles is based on your Charisma. See if you can get Point Buy for this build instead to max out Strength and Charisma: Medium Armor was taken more for cosmetic than anything, and Heavy Armor would probably be a better choice. And of course feel free to take Charisma ASIs early if you think you need them.

Something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens - Truthfully while 9th level spells an extra invocations are nice this build would’ve probably benefited a lot more from some Fighter or Paladin levels to get a Fighting Style and subclass features. I built this build Warlock-exclusive partially for flavor and partially to show that melee Warlocks are possible outside of Hexblade, but 5 levels into Fighter or Paladin would get you Extra Attack (so you wouldn’t need Thirsting Blade) along with other class features. And starting as Fighter or Paladin would let you take armor proficiency too, so you wouldn’t need a feat for it! (You could grab something like Great Weapon Master instead!)

But here you have it: a level 20 Warlock build, a melee Warlock that isn’t Hexblade, a devout character with no Cleric levels, a Tasha’s build before Tasha’s comes out, and a powerful melee fighter with good use of their Bonus Action and plenty of utility through spellcasting. As long as you live life to its fullest and grab every combat by the reigns then Nagakabouros shall be pleased. Test the nonbelievers and strike at the heart of corruption! For it is her way... to get camped all game by the jungler... and still get double kills.

(Artwork by epimeral on DeviantArt)

[thelastyetfabolousmidwestmadman]

Detective Conan Deconstruction/Plot Twists/Subversion's

Howdy!

I've been thinking a lot because I haven't slept or been made sensible enough to see reality through rational means of comprehension.

For a black and white series of tales such as Gosho Aoyama's DCMKverse I can sure think of a multitude of ways to turn it grey. So many dark, bloody possibilities, such a endless plethora of grief, angst, and schadenfreude, of voided bowels and lost innocence, so many terrifying ideas yet so little time...

Anyway, to summarize the contents of all that verbal diarrhea, my mind has created a vast orchestra of sinister ideas that I can't put them all in one or more stories. Some of them I'll use later, some of them I will not. I guess my main inspiration for this stream of consciousness that shouts madly into the abyss of the World Wide Web, is the idea that some intrepid, curious wanderer may come across my inane rantings and be inspired to write their own atrocities.

Or maybe it will the stoke the wondrous imagination of a writer who is more of a sick fuck then I am, (:

There are five areas that can be twisted into something cruel. They contain the following:

Cases

Heists

Romance

Character Flaws

Black Organization

Get it on!

Case’s

Suspect Gets The Last Laugh- Killer is revealed but manages to poison the victim with Ricin or something more subtle allowing the target to die a couple days later. Simple enough.

More Then One Killer- The killer is caught! However a quick look back at the scene reveals he wasn’t alone and he ain’t spilling the beans.

Hannibal Lector Wannabe- A killer decides to fuck with our beloved Teen Detectives by playing a game of manipulation and horror while he threatens their loved ones into continuing.

Escaping Through Statute Of Limitations- When Our Teen Detectives decide to give their customary breaking speech,

Killer Gets Out Of It, Now After Detectives- The killer proves much too clever and sees through our casts tricks. Maybe he begin’s to notice Conan’s con and swears revenge out of his ego.

Loved Ones Hurt In The Crossfire- They were too quick for Conan’s soccer ball, Heiji’s sword, Kogoro’s Judo, or Division One’s reflexes. The bullets, blades, bludgeons. and Pelvic Thrusts couldn’t be avoided and the innocent were hurt before they could be saved.

It’s Too Much All At Once- When the cast see a suspect state his intention to kill himself, especially in the early episodes, the cast would dare them to do it, thinking it is a bluff. It isn’t.

All For Naught- Going down a dark rabbit hole isn’t worth it, if a killer turns out to have escaped or has been dead for a long time.

Big Troll- There was no murder or kidnapping, they just wanted to humiliate them.

Green Mistake- Not all detectives succeed at once. Sometimes they make mistakes... Okay just here me out here. I sincerely doubt that all those amateur detectives despite their talent have a perfect track record in solving cases or even not getting a innocent person hurt. Just look at Heiji’s, Kogoro’s, and Sera’s early (or in Kogoro’s case many) mistakes. It’s statistically impossible to get it right all the time.

Victim Is Worse- Conan and the gang successfully prevent a client from being murdered. The criminal screams at them, telling them how evil he was, and how this was mistake. When they learn of the clients sick actions, they understand why.

Romance

Waiting For Someone Who Is No Longer There- Lets think about the situation between Shinichi and Ran for a sec. if your like me you come to a unfortunate realization that was also in the OVA “Stranger In 10 Years.” Shinichi may never get back to the way he was. Maybe there is no antidote. What if he disappears in that time? And I don’t mean move on, I mean dies without anyone knowing. Ran now has to deal with both a missing Shinichi and a vanished Conan. Yet, throughout her whole life Ran holds out hope, waiting for them. Waiting for Shinichi to call. She refuses to fall in love with someone else and becomes obsessed with finding them... Until in her old age, she dies.

The Sleeping Sleuth Sleeps Around- Okay just listen to my reasoning here for a sec. I know many of you are probably sharpening their knives in the comments but let’s really think about this for a sec. This is the same Kogoro who smacked the butt of one of the Black Bunnies, and repeatedly motorboats whatever young woman he comes across. I doubt if Eri is okay with that. Plus, alcoholism and nymphomania is not a winning combination. He could easily make a mistake while in his delirium.

Shinichi’s Toxic Jealousy- Once again bear with me on this. I don’t think either Shinichi (or Kogoro for that matter) are evil. They have flaws just like any other person. However, Shinichi can be sort of a dick with it comes to how territorial he is with Ran. Just look at Eisuke. Unlike most of the perverts who are after her, Eisuke is a genuinely nice guy and Shinichi treats him like garbage. That got me thinking... Maybe Shinichi’s claims about wanting Ran to be happy aren’t entirely true. A part of him knows what he’s doing is wrong but a selfish side can’t. What if Shinichi’s jealousy starts to hurt Ran severely? Again it have to be written well so Shinichi doesn’t come off like a unrepentant dick but I think there’s something there.

Character Flaws

Hot Headedness Get You Or Others Killed- This idea concerns Heiji mostly. A rather temperamental fellow isn’t he? Always rushing into danger without thinking or having trouble with guile... Ain’t that a losing combination innit? I wonder how many criminals can take advantage of that eh? How easy it would be to trick Heiji to go into a trap if Kazuha is threatened, how simple it would be to switch a blunted blade with a sharpened one, how effortless it would be to get important information, how utterly painless it would be to manipulate him... Well I’ll leave you lovely sick bastards to come up with more.

Dysfunction Junction- Let’s talk about the Mouri’s. They’re... Not healthy to say the least. With Kogoro’s gambling/drinking/man-whoring problem barely touched upon, as well as his abuse of Conan along with Eri’s absenteeism I can say that’s a huge target for blackmailers, debt collectors, and Count Of Monte Crisco wannabes.

Conan The Gremlin- Y’know for such a seemingly innocent little boy, he sure gets into a lot of trouble don’t he? Murders keep happening around him like a curse, and that animal tranquilizer can’t be healthy for Sonoko and Kogoro... Plus people could find out who he truly is and... Well it would probably be really messy wouldn’t it?

Incompetence From The Police- In all seriousness, let’s think about this for a second. You have a overburdened police dealing with a intense rise in the murder rate, illicit narcotic consumption, and terrorism... But before we can get any further let’s talk about real life Japanese criminal procedure. In Japan you can be held for 21 days in a tiny dark cell without due process or access to a lawyer. Your are also being interrogated with the police officers using abusive tactics such as telling you how ashamed your family would be, something that can’t happen in a culture based on Confucian values. You confess but take it back only to find that you’re basically fucked since Japan has a 99% conviction rate regardless of innocence. If your a drug addict, you are literally considered nonhuman by the public at large and due to the Reaganite standards treatment isn’t a option. If your on death row, you are never told when your going to die and even if innocent is unlikely to get out. Stressed at the rising crime rate, the police refuse to investigate any suspicious death and just like in Osaka (yes this actually happened) will simply not add to the police statistics. If your a police officer what are you to do? Just a few years ago there was so little crime and now your stressed to the bone. You’re largely conservative and full of pride so you won’t admit that you must change tactics. This quick jump to conclusions and borderline incompetence can be seen in so many episodes of Detective Conan that’s it’s a wonder that more people haven’t been wrongfully convicted or got away with it... Or perhaps they have.

Black Organization

Government Corruption- Given how much sway the BO has, it got me thinking. What if everything wrong with the Japanese Government is because the BO IS the government. Something sorta akin to how the Russian Mob are basically government officials. So many possibilities other then the usual blackmail, assassinations, and bombings. Electoral fraud, jury tampering, manufacturing consent, subtle revisions of the law to encroach on democratic rights such as those the Third Way, and Neoconservatives did in the west. So many more subtle yet intriguing ways to go about this! Perhaps the BO serves as a lobbying for other more savory companies that proudly align with them such as legalizing gambling or deregulating protections.

Caught!- The BO discovers Conan’s true identity. Hell follows.

Heists

Heist Bombing- Some madman or maybe the MK organization decides to bomb the Kid Heist. Lots of people die, are traumatized and have to deal with the aftermath. I’ll leave the rest up to you guys.

Crazy Fans- Self explanatory until you really think about it. If Kaito Kid is real in this universe, how toxic is the fandom? How many of them have pedophilic undertones with the beloved Kid Killer? What if a stalker discovers Kaito’s real identity and goes psychotic? Riots could happen! So many possibilities! Doesn’t have to dark like in my sick mind, can be played for laughs.

One last thing, because of how long this took to write, a certain beloved detective’s birthday is here.

So HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHIN-CHAN!!!

[starlocked01]

Seldom All They Seem

AO3  First- Previous- Next

Content Warning: Swearing, Innuendo, Body Shaming, Mention of Insect, Descriptions of Physical Injury

Chapter 4 Curiosity-  It's You I Like, Every Part of You

"Well, can you pull them out?" Janus hovered behind Roman as they watched the two sides sleeping. It hadn't been very long yet, maybe an hour since they'd sent Logan in but Janus didn't want to think of the consequences of Thomas being without two of his core sides for much longer.

"Logan I could wake up- I'm just not sure about Remus," Roman bit his lip and the tone in his voice gave Janus pause.

"You're lying," it was neither a question nor an accusation, simply a fact.

"No, that's your job, Two-face," Roman brushed him off with a wave but suspiciously glanced at him out of the corner of his eye in a way that killed any doubt in the deceitful side's mind.

"You can wake them both up at any time. Why did you send Logan in?" Janus' smile was a mixture of confusion and pride at Roman's successful deception.

Roman rolled his eyes, "look, it's spotty. Sometimes I can feel both of them and other times Remus slips away. Right now they seem pretty tethered together so I'm not worried," Roman sighed with a small shrug, "Remus won't admit his crush on Logan because he's convinced we all don't want him. I know for a fact that Logan doesn't see him as the evil twin despite my warnings so I gave them a chance to talk it out. I don't make dangerous daydreams like Remus does; I make romance happen. And if you and Patton are anything to judge by, I'm pretty damn good at it."

Janus flushed at the mention of what he thought were secret rendezvous. He was almost disturbed how subtly Roman must have manipulated the situation for him to not notice, "well, aren't you just so devious. Luckily for you, Remus' affections are mutual otherwise this meddling could have hurt your friendship with Logan even further."

"I had a feeling they were mutual, but how did you know?" Roman asked, turning back towards Janus.

"Well…" ---- Logan knelt beside Remus in the stillness of the forest floor. The wounds looked fairly superficial but Logan wasn't sure how hard Remus had fallen from his back when they'd tumbled in their escape from the gigantic stick bug.

Remus groaned and arched his back to stretch it out, "you didn't warn me that you like it that rough, nerd daddy."

"Does anything feel broken?" Logan's eyes scanned over the various cuts and abrasions. Remus looked down at himself, at the torn clothes and small beads of blood, and crossed a protective arm over his stomach. Logan’s close attention both thrilled and humiliated him. He wouldn't be hurt like this if he could just run and keep pace with the nerd. Like Roman said, too many cookies lately.

"No, I'm not broken. Why would you think I'm broken? I'm fine," Remus huffed, painfully pushing himself up to sitting.

"I didn't say you were broken," Logan replied softly, "I merely asked if anything felt broken, like bones. I don't see you as defective, Remus."

"The only thing broken here are your glasses," Remus winced as he took a deep breath, "and maybe a rib. Thank hell this isn't permanent."

"Unless we can't wake up and are stuck here," Logan reminded him.

"Or we could just try and heal things by dream logic. C'mere," Remus reached up to Logan’s shoulder and pulled him down to his level. The gash on Logan's forehead was no longer bleeding, but it looked pretty nasty. Remus leaned forward and kissed the injury, smiling as the flesh stitched itself back together.

Logan’s eyes went wide as he reached up to touch his forehead, astounded by the lack of blood or scar.

"Oh come on, you do the same thing in the mind palace. I just do it with style," Remus grinned, shaking the scrapes off of his arms.

"I- you're right. But- oh I don't know. I don't work here, remember?" Logan said sourly.

"Awww that's a shame, 'cause you could work it if you tried," Remus giggled, smacking his side and sitting up in less pain. Logan really couldn't understand how aggravating an injury would fix it but Remus seemed confident in what he was doing.

"Are you good to walk?" Logan asked, standing and brushing himself off. He flexed his left hand a few times, thankful they were no longer stuck.

"Yeah, but I'm tired. Can we just chill?" Remus looked up at him with what were apparently puppy dog pleading eyes. Logan chuckled and sat down next to Remus.

"You're never chill. Are you sure this dream hasn't gotten to you?"

"Eh probably has but this isn't so bad is it?"

"No, it's not bad," Logan sighed and leaned back against a log, leg crossed over his knee.

"So why'd you come after me, Specs?" Remus scooted a bit closer to Logan.

"I told you. You've been in here for a week and Roman said he couldn't wake you up," Logan explained matter-of-factly.

Remus gave him a pointed look, "yes but why did you come? Roman could have sent anyone in here, so why did you agree?"

Logan contemplated in silence for a moment, looking out at the trees as Remus watched him curiously, waiting for his answer, "honestly, Janus blackmailed me because he knew I'd be concerned about your absence."

Remus sat back, unhappy with that answer, "oh. I should have guessed…"

Logan turned to look at him, "emphasis on the concern. I-" he looked away again, embarrassed "-care that you wanted to leave permanently."

Remus bounced his foot on the ground, smooshing a mushroom and humming to himself. Logan had to admit, he'd never seen Remus so calm. Perhaps his rampage here had been helpful.

"Why didn't you want to wake up?" Logan asked softly. Remus' foot stilled and he looked back up at Logan, blinking back tears.

"No one wants me around. I'm just your least favorite intrusive, annoying thot. I hurt Thomas with ideas I can't help thinking. Nothing I contribute is redeemable in anyone's eyes. All of those are the reasons I tried to convince myself it would be better this way, but honestly, I was running."

"Running from what?"

"From you."

"Me?"

"Yeah…"

"Oh," Logan watched Remus very carefully, attuned to his defensive body language. If he acknowledged he had a heart, it would have been breaking to see Remus this terrified- especially of him. He cleared his throat, "what did I do to scare or hurt you?"

Remus looked up and shook his head, "no no no. Not scary or hurtful…" he took a deep breath as though he was trying to brace himself before blurting out, "you are the hottest side, aside from me." Logan snorted back a laugh, "oh come on! I have a mustache- it sets me apart."

"Did I disagree?" Logan asked with a smirk.

Remus turned several shades of pink and ran his fingers through his hair, "uh you weren't supposed to agree with me."

"But you're right," Logan's cheeks flushed and he stretched out his arm to wrap around Remus' shoulders. Remus leaned into his side, almost as if he were trying to disappear into the hug.

"You're also good at rationalizing and compartmentalizing me," Remus hesitated as he reached out to grab Logan’s hand that was resting on his own ankle.

"I don't compartmentalize you. I help Thomas examine your contributions. Sometimes the more hurtful suggestions need ignored. I do the same thing with some of Roman's more fanciful dreams and Virgil’s inaccurate outbursts," Logan smiled and offered his hand and Remus quickly accepted, hoping they'd get stuck again.

"Dressing me down, figuratively and literally," Remus winked, "really does help a lot. I guess I'm just used to being the bad guy so Roman can be the hero."

"I think we all can start to move past that simplistic idea of you," Logan pulled Remus in tighter. Focusing on the conversation was like following a single thread through a knot while trying to untangle the whole thing. Figuring out exactly where Remus was coming from was vital to getting them both out of the dream, together, but also perhaps, unlocking a different level of relationship. He stroked the back of Remus' hand with his thumb and continued, "I do appreciate what you contribute, Remus. Thomas is a good person and you are a part of him. You are not evil. I quite enjoy your spontaneity."

"I like messing with you."

"Perhaps I enjoy organizing the mess."

"I like you," Remus let go of Logan’s hand and traced one of the rips in the logical side's shirt, "more than any of the others. Like romantically."

Logan’s breath caught in his chest at the unexpected confession and the brush of Remus' fingers on his abdomen. It had been hard enough for him to admit his own thoughts about Remus to himself, and on accident when they had been vocalized to Janus. But Remus liked him?

"This has to be a dream because I never had hope of hearing you say that," the admission left Logan feeling weak and nauseous.

"Lo, do you… like me too?" Logan simply nodded and Remus wrapped him in a hug. He could have never dreamed Logan, the real Logan, would ever like him the same way.

"Remus, please get off," Logan's voice was tense and Remus immediately panicked.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I need to lose weight- I was just so happy-"

"This isn't about your weight. I just wasn't expecting that and need to stand up," Logan cut him off and gently pushed him aside while he stood, offering both hands for Remus to pull himself up on, "believe me, you're not in an unhealthy weight range at all. I can easily lift you. There's no reason for you to be worried," Logan watched a tear slip down Remus' cheek as he smiled gratefully back at him. Logan smirked and picked Remus up, twirling him in a hug to prove his point.

"Thanks, Lo," Remus smiled and grabbed his hand. Without another word they both continued on, Remus leading Logan towards where the beacon had been.

Tag List: @fandersides1234567 @sirprplsnail @bisexualdisaster106 @theiwatobiicepic @nerd-in-space @lost-mentally @intrulogicalweek2020

[kamari333]

I had to actually look back to see if I made any tumblr posts about these guys. I couldn’t find any??? So I guess this is my oppertunity to scream about these absolute fucking bastards.

Now. Um. Forewarning: I don’t actually know a lot about the original dreamtale. Or, I don’t keep up with it, at least. I read the first origin comic (and a bit of the cream ship comic) one time a while ago and... i dunno. found it lacking? I liked the premise but there was something distinctly missing in it for me. So these headcanons are more like an AU (an AU of an AU, surprise surprise, I’m on my shit again XD) that I thought up to help me enjoy the concept more when writing it. I’ve been calling it ‘Dr33mtal3’ in my head, but a friend named it ‘Dryad Dreamtale’ so either of those names work.

So. Dream and Night are tree spirits shaped like skeletons, born of the tree of duality to be its guardians. They were made to be more like monsters to better protect the tree and put its power to use.

Now, plants and gods (and especially god-plants) have very different ideals, morals, and expectations than mortals and humans and monsters. Dream and Night are half plant/god, but they are also half monster/mortal, so they cannot relate entirely to their tree mom or completely understand her. Likewise, she could not completely understand them. Thus, the twins understandably had a stressful, dysfunctional childhood and have long lasting mommy/daddy issues.

They also suffer from significant other kinds of trauma inflicted on them by their villager guardians.

So they are both psychologically fucked up.

They both have “wings” and “tentacles” but Night hides his wings and Dream hides his tentacles. Night’s wings are smaller than Dreams.

they aren’t actually tentacles though. they are roots and vines. because they are tree spirits. using those roots/vines, they can directly soak up energy and water. likewise, the “feathers” on their wings are actually leaves (except near the base and ridges, which are more like flower petals). they use these leaves to breathe in ambient emotions.

when injured, they bleed resin. that goop on nightmare? excess sap/resin he’s overgenerating thanks to consuming so many apples.

usually only strong internal emotions would make them do that. its only because of such strong internal emotions that nightmare continues to do that even after a thousand years.

i think that, being plants (which are terribly spiteful and innovative creatures) night and dream can control the consistency and nature of their sap and resin. dream keeps his sweet and sugary at all times, but nightmare switxhes between spicy-like-ghost-pepper-in-the-face caustic and rubber, and mild maple syrup, depending on his mood and how much he wants the person he is touching to hurt.

i think that dream is both terribly selfish and painfully selfless all at once, both kind and cruel. i think he is a very seelie fae who will never break a promise, but will not let you go unpunished for breaking yours. i think he has no problem breaking your legs if it means saving you from something else. dream will happily beat someone within an inch of their life, then nurse them back to health, if he thinks for a moment it is for the greater good.

nightmare goes to great lengths to make people hate him. at the end of the day he is as disgusted with himself as anyone else, but he does it and will keep doing it because if no one fears him, they will destroy him. nightmare is a terrible unseelie fae, but he will never speak an untrue word or break an oath once struck. it is not in his nature. he will rule with an iron fist, but he is just as capable of selflessness as he is of cruelty.

i think dream is so concerned with the big picture he sometimes forgets little details. i think he is the type to take in strays before he has a home to keep them in. he befriends ink and ink makes him a multiverse home to keep his people safe in. dream then takes it upon himself to make sure it stays operational, despite eventually accumulating a city’s worth of people in what was originally a 4 bedroom townhouse. lucky him that ink has his back, continually expanding as needed.

i think nightmare is far more artistic and clever than folks give him credit for. i think he enjoys making things. i think he is the type of man to take great pride in building everything he has himself. his castle is made out of his own power: stone made of his own resin, hardened into amber; wood grown from his own bones; tapestries woven of textiles made from his own leaves, pets, and processed wood. his castle of black amber is constructed of his own blood, sweat, and tears, lovingly handcrafted art for him to live in. all natural. all his. (such a shame he never got around to furnishing all of it, having only enough time and drive to do the first floor with how long handweaving the carpets took; such a shame no one noticed or cared because the fear for their lives overshadowed any awe they could have had upon seeing the delicate craftsmanship of the arching ceilings and looming statues).

i think dream and night both love fresh water and sunlight. they get incredibly sleepy if its too hot or too cold. they are terrified of fire, squirrels, fungi, and insects. they dont like birds much either. they easily get jealous of other plants (comically so, to the point of sassing or threatening or passive-aggressively insulting non-sapient rose bushes or fica or succulents they come into contact with). they are scared of mistletoe (being a plant that eats other plants, kinda).

i hc that dream with faint dead on his feet if he gets too scared, and nightmare screams like a white girl in a horror movie.

i like to think that because they are trees, they have a “season” (like heat, but for trees) where they are very pro-affection. their leaves turn pink and they involuntarily cover themselves in pink pollen that drives nearby creatures’ libido into overdrive. neither brother likes this, so when their season hits they hide away so nobody notices (night because he does not want to seem weak, dream because he does not want to inconvenience anyone else).

i like to headcanon that a holdover from their human attributes means each brother can only formulate one set of sex organs. i’ll give you a hint: nightmare is trans in my hc (be gay do crime). he takes great pains to make sure nobody knows this.

i like to think that both brothers hide all of this, hide all of their tree-ness as best they can, and instead hide behind the aspects of being an angel and a tentacle abomination in order to throw off anyone who might look for weaknesses. so nobody knows what they really are.

These are all superficial HCs of course. The big thing is that i wanted their natures to be... more complicated than simply good and evil. They believe and say that they are guardians of positivity and negativity (and in a way thats true), but only in its most simplistic of forms.

Dream is the aspect of Giving: he radiates pollen and magical influence to embue those around him with his power. He can give them emotions. He eats positivity, thats what sustains him, but his power is to give. He could just as easily give his people bad feelings as good ones (not that he knows this). However, Dream only knows and cares about giving positivity. So he does. He leaves his magic and influence on the souls of anyone who will give him the oppertunity, and once the door is open, he will continually feed them his power to make them happy. He will eat/breathe that happiness, converting it to energy, perpetuating the cycle.

But unmitigated mania has its drawbacks. There is a price to be paid in the end.

Nightmare is the aspect of Taking. He takes and takes, taking the emotions and energy of others for himself. He can even take the entropy out of an injury to heal a wound. Nightmare can take positivd feelings out of others, but for some reason his body doesn’t like him doing that and makes him sick/hurt. He has a much easier time taking negativity, draining away the hurt and fear and exhaustion, leaving a calming emptiness behind. Nightmare cannot process or use everything he takes for himself, needing to expell it as a waste product. He converts negative feelings (and the wasted energy disipated through entropy) into energy, which lets him continue his taking.

You cannot fill a hole that is already filled, after all. You must empty it first.

These two aspects are neither good nor evil in and of themselves. There are good and bad things about them. But these aspects have been oversimplified and misinterpreted by those around the twins that even they themselves do not fully understand what it is that they are.

and i think a story about them coming to understand themselves would be so much more interesting than a simple story of good vs evil.

[space-blue]

The Mummy

'No, really, I don't believe in the whole mummy curse resurrection thing. Whatever medium they're fit in, these stories break my suspension of disbelief in a hurry. If you look at how it's always plotted out, it never makes any sense!'

'You don't believe in necromancy? Second life, reviving the dead?'

'There isn't any belief to hold on that art. It's almost as clean a science as Newtonian physics. But you can't restore a consciousness perfectly even minutes after death, and you can't invest spirit force in an old body, least of all a mummified one! Embalming involves taking out the viscera, including the brain, and turning the flesh into some form of organic resin. Hardly material for raising the dead! No, the real catch I'm talking about, is who buries the doomed mummy, in all these movies. If they want to keep the thing dead forever, might as well burn it. Same goes if the dead doesn't want to be disturbed. Why actually raise from the dead for vengeance? Isn't that a lot of effort for someone who wanted to be left alone?'

'You're making light of many people's beliefs here. Burning the body means no after life. No good believer would do that to anyone.'

'I'm not criticising mummification! Only the cheap thrills people get out of thinking mummies can come back from the dead and "claim" the world–nothing less!–or choke whoever disturbed them in their sleep. They're dead. Nothing to disturb.'

'What of seal magic? Don't you find it on tombs all the time?'

'Oh, sure. Archaeologists struggled with them at the beginning too! It's hard to protect yourself against old magic when the knowledge behind it disappeared, or is preserved somewhere deeper in the very tomb you're trying to break into. A lot of the ancient sealing techniques were forgotten over the centuries you know, stuff that used to be common, like generational decay, body wasting, insect targeting–all gone, until we could piece the knowledge back together and craft counters. But again, seals were a workman's trade, or a priest's speciality. Little to do with the mummy itself. Rich folks didn't have to learn such magic, and once mummified, they really can't care less.'

'You sound very sure of yourself.'

'Oh, this isn't a savant lecture, just my educated opinion, for what it's worth.'

'Well, you're very kind to indulge me with your opinions despite your misgivings on the legitimacy of my very nature.'

'What, are you going to curse me and send scarabs to eat me inside out?'

'Would that I could!'

'And here I thought we were friendly.'

'We are, we are, I am sincerely grateful for your conversation.'

'The best you've had in four thousand years, I bet.'

'I'm still a bit confused with the dates, but yes, about that.'

'Anyway, don't feed the fools any more ideas of you being a mummy. It'll make my reports look messy.'

'I can't help with all the musty bandages and the fact that I was taken from a stone sarcophagus in a tomb built in my name. You truly aren't afraid that working on me might unleash on you some terrible curse?'

'Didn't we just have that entire conversation? Besides, whatever you are, I'm pretty sure you never died. I know what I'm seeing, and whatever this is, it isn't a curse.'

'I beg to disagree. It is one to me. Everyone around me ends up dying...'

'Yeah, living four thousand years tends to do that to your social circle.'

'I'm being serious.'

'You're being talkative. What's with the sudden chattiness? You left me monologuing all day yesterday. Not that I mind or anything, you're alright to talk to, and you sure can listen, and I have little else to do so long as I'm cataloguing, but I hope you realise they sent me here because you wouldn't talk. No way Earl Pence and Fitzwilliam Gerald would let anyone else touch their precious mummy if you hadn't made their life so miserable.'

'These men's grammar was poor and their accent intolerable. Their questions from ignorant to rude. I don't waste time on the rude.'

'Give them a break, your native language is long dead.'

'No one tried to speak Kore before you.'

'No one but initiates speak Kore, and we aim to keep it that way, so don't flaunter yours around. Line powering isn't a mild science like necromancy. The least people know the trade, the better off this world is.'

'What trade is that?'

'The same as yours, I suspect? Unless you're not the one who decided to tattoo your entire body in lines of power designed to engineer perfect, looped regeneration?'

'Is that what you will say in your report?'

'What concern of yours is it? Aren't you The Mummy? Precious property of the Egyptology Society come back to life? Ward of an Earl and a millionaire? Whatever I say in my report, these two won't consider you any less precious for it.'

'Well. I wasn't expecting anyone to understand the nature of my curse this easily. I wasn't expecting much of anything at all, really. I was rather hoping for eternal slumber. This is inconvenient.'

'What.'

'What?'

'What are you sounding all cold footed about? You think I'll actually tell those two lunatics about the true meaning of your tattoos? And spill half of my guild's most precious secrets? Hah!'

'So what are your plans here exactly?'

'Well, first off the Egyptology society paid decent money for my expertise. Then I hoped to discover new, historical tattoos. Add to our repertoire, something to experiment on. I wasn't expecting the key to immortality though–hold on, this might hurt.'

'It's fine. You seem to know what you're doing.'

'I do, but they don't. And it has to stay that way, you feel me? All they want to know is how you came back from the dead, and how your flesh is regrowing over time. They want transcripts of your tattoos, and analysis of their potential meaning. They guess at what it is, but modern power lines look very different. They're thinking about Necromantic related stuff, because they're ignorant.'

'The tattoos are useless without the Kore words to say as you line them.'

'Aha! You are knowledgeable! I knew it. I'd love to talk shop with you. I bet you'd be interested to know how much progress we've covered in four thousand years too.'

'Yes, I am curious. Any other plans for the immediate future?'

'Okay, don't move, this one is the last I need a picture of–right–thank you for your cooperation so far. Now, how about proper introductions?'

'Indeed. Ameon Decarenon, "the ageless", former Korenian Master of the Sun Temple. An honour.'

'Asmilya Nassandi, Korenian Master of the ages-old Korenian Guild, founded over a thousand years ago, while you napped. The honour is all mine, elder.'

'I believe we could learn much from each other.'

'Yes. And so I propose to break you out of this room and bring you back to the guild to discuss as equals, catch you up on history and all the exciting stuff you've missed on.'

'And how do you propose to kidnap me from my rude owners?'

'Can you walk yet?'

'All my joints are stiff, but with help I should manage.'

'Excellent. I assume as well that this empty space on your chest is to draw temporary lines?'

'Indeed.'

'Perfect! The plan goes like this: if I cut a bit of myself like so–please move aside so I can draw there–Ahm Pta Ehum Kish Ossun Ra.'

'You make it grow.'

'Yes. See how the lines have become simpler and smoother? More into the subtle inflection, the width of the line? This slant there makes the growth rate tremendous.'

'I can see that! How big is this blob of flesh going to get?'

'As big as me.'

'Mmh... And then you will use Akto Essum...'

'Akto Min Essum, rather, with a rippled line, so it'll be mostly spray and not enough gore for them to notice the lack of bones or organs. Then... I guess I don't need to teach you how to break a few walls? Invisibility lined on your chest and off we go.'

'You don't mind "dying" in this process?'

'Well, they hired "apprentice Indra", and I don't mind her dying.'

'So... The evil mummy kills the poor guild apprentice and runs away, leaving no paper report to reveal its secrets? Presumably to avenge itself on the world?'

'Yeah I'm telling you, it's a terrible plot, but people dig this stupid shit. Hope you can grow a beard?'

'Four thousand years and you still haven't come up with a power-line to help with that?'

'Please tell me that's not what you buried yourself for!'

'Hah! No. Maybe I was waiting for more exciting times...'

'Yes, well, with our very first evil mummy loose on the world, times are about to get very exciting!'

~~ February 2018 – Theme : Write a story in a subgenre you normally don't like!

[friendly-familiars]

UVB and Your Reptile

Having UVB available for your reptiles is quickly becoming the standard of care EVEN if the reptiles are nocturnal or don't exhibit Metabolic Bone Disease without UVB. They still seem to  benefit from just having the option available to them.

In this post I’m going to break down the basics, but it’s still going to be a lot of information. I mainly want this to be an introduction for your own research, as we all know getting information from a single source can be harmful. Anyway, carrying on!

So, what is UVB?

It's a form of Ultraviolet radiation. It's the type of light that helps us humans and most reptiles convert a sterol from skin into a usable vitamin that manages Calcium and other metabolic pathways. Too much UVA and UVB from the sun causes sunburns and, through careless exposure, skin cancer. It is important to note that most UVB bulbs for reptiles do not provide heat, however there are some that do. Be sure to read product information carefully when shopping for bulbs!

How is UVB important? UVB reacts by penetrating skin and turing a molecule short handedly known as 7-DHC into previtamin D3 which isomerises (fancy chemistry word for changes shape without adding or taking anything away) into vitamin D3 and attaches to a protein. The protein allows the vitamin to travel through the blood and into the liver and kidneys. It is then "activated" and used in regulating Calcium and Phosphate metabolism. Vitamin D, Calcium, and Phosphate are very important when it comes to helping our organs function.

D3 is often synthetically added in calcium supplements for reptiles as a means to "get around" the UVB exposure debate and, while it works, there are some controversies to it which will be mentioned later.

So what type of UVB do I use for my pet?

While I can sit here all day writing a list of all sorts of hundreds of reptiles and exactly what type of UVB bulb they need, I'm gonna just give you a few tools so you know how to research and find the answer for yourself. If you're the science-academic type that can understand fancy science articles like myself, here is a small but helpful study on UVB. 

If you're not the science nerd, do not fret, friend. I'm just gonna need to you google your pet's habitat and if they're nocturnal, crepuscular, diurnal, etc. Once you figure that out. I'm going to direct you to this image I've yoinked from the study I linked above and break it down for you.

Shade Method and Sunbeam Method refer to how direct the UVB light was in regards to the enclosure. Sunbeam allows for more direct exposure on basking spots while shade method seemed to provide low level UV exposure covering a larger portion of the enclosure. Distance from the basking spots/substrate do influence the UV index, and it's typical for the boxes that the bulbs come in to provide a inches to UV index chart to help you figure out the appropriate distance to set your lamp up. 

**Do note that Nocturnal animals seem to be not included in the graph. The study I've linked touches on Nocturnal animals, and how they may get enough d3 through their prey in the wild, or may occasionally find themselves exposed to sunlight. In the communities I've surrounded myself in, everyone who has switched to providing UVB for pets like Ball Pythons (who aren't typically considered as needing UVB) has said they've caught their snake basking either in the early hours of the morning or as the sun lowers at night. Providing UVB on a timer so that it is available for a couple hours at dawn and dusk may be worth while in enriching your pet's life and health. Notes and Controversies:

UVB bulbs seem to have a variation in regards to the UV index not only across each brand available but between bulbs within the same brand as well. To be absolutely sure your pet is getting a safe amount of UVB exposure a solarmeter is needed, these however are expensive (~200 USD). I personally don't have one, but plan on getting one eventually. In the meantime I've been told trusted brands are Arcadia and Zoo Med's reptisun. And of course, always be vigilant of your animal's behavior and bone and skin condition. 

Synthetic D3 vs UVB - Like I mentioned earlier, D3 is often added in calcium supplements (there are Cla Supplements that come without it, so it's not added sneakily or anything) as a means to forgo the use of UVB in enclosures. And while it definitely works, it seems that this supplementation can easily lead to calcium deficiencies or an overabundance if handled incorrectly. (E.g. leopard geckos will sometimes get calcium "bubbles" under their arms which usually means they've been given too much calcium or other nutrients). Too much of one vitamin or mineral can actually inhibit the use of others in the body and cause deficiencies elsewhere. In short, it is worth the consideration of offering a type of UVB for your reptiles with some synthetic supplements or more naturally sourced supplements.

Albino animal morphs and UVB -- There's been some concerns in the community whether or not we should adjust UVB exposure for morphs that lack protective pigmentation. Most seem to provide either a lower percentages of UVB or the same but with more shade, hides, etc for the animal. The concern mostly is that it's harsh on the eyes for these pets, since scales can be fairly protective against UV. Studies on this are few and far between, however, but it's definitely something we should be thinking about. 

It's important to do as much research as you can in regards to the care of your pet! I could go on and on about Metabolic Bone Disease, brands to use, what I use personally, brands I'd like to try, etc, but I feel like I've rambled enough. I hope that you can use this as a stepping stone in furthering your knowledge on subjects like UVB, because my word isn't the end-all-be-all. I'm open to conversation and furthering my own knowledge on subjects like these. So go forth, friends, and start enriching your pet's life!

-Mod Jean

[helboar]

LFRP – Sulking Boar

The Basics ––– –

Age: Mid-late twenties.

Birthday: 30th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon.

Race: Hellsguard Roegadyn.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Grey-Ace.

Marital Status: Single.

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Brown-black, mid-back-length.

Eyes: Amber.

Height: 7′10″

Build: Fat, round, bulky in a soft way.

Distinguishing Marks: Heavy tattoo coverage across his back, parts of his chest, shoulders, and arms. Weathered blast patterns of scar tissue inside his palms, one worse than the other.

Common Accessories: Tusk and fang veneers. Rings that can serve as extra focii in a pinch.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Taxidermist, Reagent Supplier, Undertaker.

Hobbies: Pampering himself and his cat, studying biology and aetherology, trying new handicrafts, devising increasingly more avant garde taxidermy projects.

Languages: Fluent Eorzean and Amaljiic, passable Hingan.

Residence: Southern Thanalan.

Birthplace: Ul’dah.

Religion: Venerates Hydaelyn first and foremost, but follows the traditions of the Traders.

Patron Deity: Nald’thal.

Fears: Being used or manipulated outside of his knowledge, The Syndicate, dense crowds, chocobos.

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: None.

Children: None.

Parents: His birth mother worked for Eshtaime’s as a lapidary, died young. His foster mother is an esteemed member of the Order of Nald’thal.

Siblings: None.

Other Relatives: None.

Pets: His cat, Iron Maiden, a little black shorthair.

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Very rarely, but occasionally open to a little something to take the edge off. Drugs: Only of the medicinal or above sort. Alcohol: Good with a book or a meal, but not to be mixed too profusely with delicate work.

RP Hooks ––– –

Taxidermy... Half a hobby, half a business. Boar offers commissions. Common critters can be requested or even bought off the rack at any time, but anyone looking for something with more mystique will need to provide their own carcass. Non-traditional rogue works are also on the table. For example, Boar has produced several faux behemoth heads, a number of imaginary creatures frankensteined from multiple specimens, and lastly a variety of “functional” pieces of taxidermy such as elk head chandeliers and chocobo clawed arm chairs.

Reagent & Raw Material Supply... Namely organic ones cut from fauna both exotic and mundane. What isn’t utilized for his more artistic pursuits is carefully excised, packaged, and sold through the proper channels. Bone to jewelers. Meat to larders. Humors, glands, and organs to apothecaries. His provisions are known in Ul’dah for their freshness, owing to a special method of thaumaturgical preservation.

Embalming & Funerary Rites... A practice he's mostly moved on from since taking his leave of the Ossuary, but one he occasionally still provides out of sympathy. He can’t bear the sight of grieving mothers, brothers, and sons thinking their loved ones are bound for the hells just because they can’t afford the Ossuary’s staggering fees. That said, the rites aren’t entirely sentimental, as they do offer some protection from body-snatching voidsent, along with some of the phenomena that give rise to ashkin and soulkin.

Thaumaturgy at more reasonable rates than that wretched Arrzaneth Ossuary... With his other businesses keeping him busy and his life fairly stable, he prefers jobs that can be handled in-house. Appraisal of objects with unknown aetheric properties, purging aether-borne maladies, suppression of unwanted memories, thaumaturgical sleep aides — anything within a disciple of Thal’s regular duties. But, he can be coerced to take on more adventurous work for the right reward or intrigue. He’s a capable enough mage in combat, albeit an extremely cautious one.

When he absolutely must venture into danger, he prefers to have allies, whether they’re freelancers assigned to the same mission or help that he’s brought along himself. He can sometimes be found guarded by two helmeted figures with unusual, rotten aether. Another companion he has also at times been spotted with is a lizard-like beastman. Their smaller stature and truncated crest get them easily mistaken for a Mamool Ja, but to the eyes of someone more experienced with the tribes they are almost certainly an Amalj’aa.

He regards conjurers with a great deal of respect, though anyone with the ability to perceive the voices of the Elementals will also sense that they dislike him quite a bit.

He can sometimes be found in Hingashi enjoying the street fare even when he has no particular business there.

Possible past affiliations... If your character was a member of the Ossuary thirteen or more years ago, has spent time in an Ul’dahn prison, has taken refuge in Little Ala Mhigo, or has ever had reason to hire a young, up-and-coming pair of mercenaries, then it’s possible they’ve had some interaction with Sulking Boar before. This requires some OOC spitballing, but I’m generally pretty open to pre-established relationships! In the same vein, I’m also always looking for returning customers and business partners. If your character wouldn’t be interested in his wares, he has cut deals with hunters/adventurers in the past to provide him fresh game in exchange for a cut of the sales.

Contact Information  ––– –

Timezone is US EST

I’m open to anything from SoL to heavy plot and/or from comedic all the way to grimdark themes. I’ll even do AU stuff if that’s your style.

Normally, I’m down for both in-game meet ups and discord threads, but lately both my schedule and energy levels have been rocky so I’d really prefer breaking the ice over discord for the time being. I’ll edit this line when that changes.

I play on Balmung but will gladly RP with characters from other servers.

Please send a DM if you want my #discord!

[apatheticabstractapotheosis]

Thaw

So I wrote another thing for @bace-jeleren this time featuring Sophi as well as Megumi and Grii. This time the guest star is Greta, an old cryomancer from Dominaria. Note there is character death in this just so you know. All other characters are used with permission.

83 years is not that old compared to some of the other planeswalkers Greta had met previously, but it is old enough to remember the time rifts and the Mending. She liked to tell people she ignited due to the events surrounding the sealing, much like that nice boy, Vance or whatever his name was. Far grander than the actual events a year after the Mending, when she tripped and fell off a cliff whilst out foraging.

Travelling the multiverse had been such a grand adventure, a youth spent learning cryomancy from any teacher she could find. But time passed, as it is wont to do, and Greta found her reflexes weren’t as sharp as they used to be, she couldn’t keep up with all these young children with their necromancy and mind reading. In short, she was getting old, she was only human after all.

She didn’t fear it or long for the old days some of the ancient walkers talked of, when they were gods, it’s hard to miss something you never had. So now Greta was content to live out her days in her small cottage, back home on Dominaria. Adventure was for the young and able, not old women like her. So it was a great surprise when adventure came knocking on her door, quite literally.

“Yes, yes I’m coming.” She called out, hobbling over to the door and peering out through the peephole. There outside the door stood a powerfully built woman in familiar armour and a small Soratami child stood behind her. The pair didn’t appear to wish her harm so she undid the latch and opened the door.

“Forgive the intrusion Madam, but we were informed you could perhaps give us food and shelter for a while.” The tall woman’s accent was familiar and upon closer inspection Greta realised the armour bore the markings of Flight Goldnight. Now this was a surprise.

“And pray tell who might have sent you to my door then hmm? Not often you see an angel around these parts, not less one without wings or fromInnistrad.” The moment Greta mentioned the wings, something changed in the angel’s demeanour, something dark and twisted lit up in her eyes.

“You have no place to question me or my choices, crone. You don’t now what I’ve seen, what I’ve done to deserve this.” She snarled out, though Greta stood her ground. “The darkness I’ve seen, the void that looked back into me.” Suddenly, the small child wrapped herself around the angel’s leg and whimpered out.

“Please Miss Sophi, you’re being scary again.” At the girl’s cries, the madness in her eyes dimmed and was replaced with regret.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I-I’ve done something horrible haven’t I.” She hung her head. “If you do not wish to help us, I understand.” Greta just snorted in disdain.

“Oh please, I’ve been shouted at and threatened by more people than years I’ve lived. Come in, come in.” And she shuffled aside to let the pair in, closing the door behind them and leading the way into the small kitchen. “You never told me your names, or who directed you to me.” She continued as she filled the kettle and set it above the fire.

“Sorry, I’m Sophi and this is Megumi.” The child waved in greeting. “And we were directed to you by a minotaur who said you were the oldestplaneswalker who was easy to find.”

“Oh Angrath, such a good boy he is, though such a temper on him.” Greta tutted, fetching various items from her cupboards. “So why did you come seeking little old Greta then?”

“I’m lost, I can’t get home.” Megumi answered. “My mommy and daddy made a nasty cyclops lady angry so she tried to kill me but I escaped but now I don’t know how to go home!” She wailed and hugged onto Sophi for comfort.

“I can’t say I’ve met a cyclops planeswalker before, where’s she from? Surely not Theros, those things are barely sapient.” Greta mused, setting out three mugs and pouring the hot water in.

“He name’s Grii and she’s a hunter from Cirn.” Sophi explained, patting the teary child awkwardly on the head.

“Ah, yes. Went there once a long time ago. Didn’t like it much, couldn’t say a word. So I left and never went back. Here now child, drink up.” Greta passed the mug over to Megumi and another toSophi, taking the last for herself. “So am I right in thinking you came to me for help in teaching this one how to planeswalk properly?” Sophi nodded.

“We hoped that as one of the oldest walkers, you would have some expertise you could share. Megumi can’t direct her planeswalks, it was sheer luck we were able to get here.” She confirmed and Greta just nodded sadly.

“Yes, you would think that. But I’m afraid there’s very little I can do to help I’m afraid. Planeswalkingis different for everyone, some find it hard, others it’s like stepping through a doorway. If she could control her planeswalking I could teach her how to follow someone’s path through the Blind Eternities. I’m sorry child.”

“So you are unable to help us then.” Sophi murmured regretfully.

“Now I didn’t say that now did I?” Greta chided indignantly. “You young ones, always so negative.” She left out a huff of light irritation. “I may not be able to help teach this child how to planeswalkproperly but I can help in other ways. You both look dead on your feet, when was the last time you had slept or had something to eat?”

“We’ve been chased non-stop across the multiverse, there’s been no time to stop.”

“Well there is now, I’ll get you some food and you can take a nap, I’ll wake you if anything happens.” Sophi opened her mouth to argue but was shushed by Greta. “No buts, now, where did I put that kavu meat…?”

Soon enough Greta had put together a platter of cold meats and cheese which the two travellers dug into eagerly. For the most part, Greta stayed quiet throughout the meal, keeping half an eye on the window outside, it most likely would not be long before this Grii turned up. After the meal, Megumi curled up in Sophi’s lap and fell asleep whilst the angel stroked and disentangled her hair.

“Why are you protecting this child anyway? Who is she to you?” Greta finally asked now able to talk freely.

“She’s a child who needs help. What else is there to it?”

“You can’t bring them back you know.” Sophi looked up at her in shock. “I heard what happened on Innistrad, I’m so sorry for your loss and the pain you must have been through.”

“I did so many evil things under Emrakul’s influence, something I still feel at the back of my mind. If helping this child can help atone for even the smallest part of what I’ve done, then it’s enough.” Greta nodded.

“I won’t pretend my soul is completely clean. I’ve lived a long time and done many things I regret, I even let it consume me for a time. It took my darling Ember to break me out of it and she taught me how to forgive myself and move on. So now I’m teaching this to you. We aren’t time mages, we can’t change the past, so we have to let go eventually.” Sophi regarded Greta with an odd look in her eyes.

“Be that as it may, this is the right thing to do.” She finally answered.

“Yes it is.” Greta smiled down at the small child, dozing peacefully when a loud roar rent the quiet air startling Megumi awake.

“She’s here!” She squeaked, burrowing into Sophi, who stood, reaching for her sword.

“None of that now!” Greta spoke sharply, waving at the angel to put her weapon away. “You and the child need to leave, go out the back and into the woods, find somewhere to planewalk safely.”

“What about you Miss Greta?” Megumi asked fearfully, clinging to Sophi.

“I’m going to go have a chat with this Grii, she sounds very rude. Now go!” She chivvied the pair towards the backdoor, Sophi halting just before they left.

“Thank you, if I can I’ll come back.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve lived a long time and I intend to live for a while yet.” And with that she shoved the pair out the door and slammed it shut behind them. Wheezing for a moment, she straightened up as best as she could, and shuffled through the house, and out the front door where she stood and waited.

A large shape crested the nearby hill and approached the house at a gallop, soon reaching the garden wall and stepping over it easily, slowing down in front of the old woman.

“Where is the child.” She snarled at Greta, waves of fear rolled off her, washing over the cryomancerwho just gave the cyclops an unimpressed look.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she sniffed in disdain.

“Why are you not curled up in fear, begging me to spare your life?” Grii growled in rage and frustration.

“I’ve fought things you young whippersnappers could only dream of. I’ve fought Phyrexianremnants and gone toe to toe with gods. I faced Nicol Bolas alone and lived to tell the tale.” It wasn’t an impressive one, she’d frozen one of his feet to the ground then run away in absolute terror, but the experience was paying off. “As for the child, she’s long gone by now.”

“And now you’re standing in my way.”

“Yes, I am.” Greta glared defiantly up at the cyclops. Without warning, a massive hand shot out and grabbed Greta around the neck, easily hoisting her up in the air.

“Then I’ll just have to kill you.” And she slammed Greta down into the ground hard, brittle bones shattering and piercing organs. “Nothing personal.”

Greta screeched in pain as Grii released her and stepped back to admire her handiwork. After a few moments of choking on blood, Greta was able to speak.

“One thing, before I die.” She gasped, blood bubbling at her mouth. “You should not have stood there.” Grii’s eye snapped to look at the ground and the intricate rune engraved there. She tried to move but it was too late, Greta slapped a hand onto the rune and channelled as much mana as she could into the stored freezing spell. There was a flash of light and Grii was encased in a massive block of ice. Moaning in pain, Greta was able to crawl back to her feet and admired her handiwork. The cyclops wasn’t dead, but the ice would hold her for a good long while, long enough for Megumi and Sophi to put some distance between them.

Painfully, she staggered away from the frozen hunter, around the side of the house and to the back garden where a gravestone sat inscribed with the words: ‘Ember, beloved wife, may you burn forever more’ beside which Greta settled down and leaned against its surface

“Well Ember, I guess my time is over. 83 years is pretty good I reckon.” Her chuckles broken up by bloody coughing. She looked out towards the cliffs where she’d fallen all those years ago and smiled at the memory of being caught by the beautiful flame-kin woman she would fall in love with. With that happy memory, Greta closed her eyes for the last time and whispered.

“I’ll see you soon.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Alex in the cellar, part one

Alex is @whump-sprite ‘s oc.

That day, when the Hunter watched Lux and his friend in the park, talking and laughing, the warlock caught his eye. The one named Alex. There was something about his ragged, crushed down magic, paling so drastically next to his little light’s radiant shine. Something about the faded ends of those scars peeking out from his hoodie, at the back of his neck, that looked a lot like the slender, delicate raised scars along Lux’s back from the whip.

Alex has scars, and his mind is unwarded, and his magic is weak. And the look on Lux’s face when the Hunter forced Alex to choke him that day… the trust his light must have in Alex. It makes him special. If Lux is his friend, then it would be so, so fun for him to find out, one day, what became of Alex.

The Hunter doesn’t plan to let him leave the cellar. Alex will shatter and he’ll beg and maybe, the Hunter can have fun breaking him for a long while before he gets his little light back.

He’s in the cellar with his newest catch, the latest boy. He’s waking up. His arms are bound behind him, manacled to the floor, between his ankles. Kept kneeling. It’s a good look on him.

A better look, the Hunter predicts, will be this one lying dazed and sprawled out on the floor, bloody and promising to be good. Call it an artistic vision. He can’t wait to make it a reality.

“You don’t want to talk,” The Hunter notes, taking hold of the prisoner’s wrist. Not as slender as his light’s. Probably hasn’t been broken before. “I understand. You’re a member of the Resistance, you’re strong, you’re brave, aren’t you? Lux, he was just a warlock, all on his own out there. But you, you have an organization, a team, a family who’ve got your back.” The wrist bends backward, pressed into an uncomfortable position. Alex stares ahead, not looking at the joint. His other arm twitches, slightly, and he winces as the bone broken below his elbow makes his nerves burn with pain.

“You won’t break.” With a shove and a bit of a twist, the wrist gives way with a snap. The Hunter loves breaking wrists. Ribs, then wrists, then arms. People really try to twist free when you do that to them.

Alex has tried to yank his arm away, with a cracking yell of pain, which jumped up in pitch as he tried to wrench his arm away. He’s kneeling, one arm still manacled behind him, panting and still trying to stare straight ahead. Probably doesn’t want to see his own wrist at an odd angle.

The Hunter’s fingers are still wrapped around the wrist, it’s still bent - he moves it, pivots it so it’s straightened out, slowly. Alex is breathing hard and letting slip whimpers as the wrist is bent forward, now.

“You must know Anders Reyan. You know that my late friend, Maura - fond of fire and whips? - you know she broke him, owned him. Did you know that I - well, I won’t take much credit. She put in the hours, she’s the one who earned his love. But I had my fun with him.” That wrist bends back again, farther this time, until there are little pops in it. Alex is shaking with the effort of staying silent. “She broke his leg, and I kept it broken, kept it twisted out of place so she could make it hurt worse. And then I’d visit him in his cell,” He twists the wrist, holding it tight, feeling the bones shift - “And I’d touch my fingers to his temple, like this…” His hand finds the side of Alex’s head. The prisoner doesn’t try to pull away, held taut with the twisting grip on his arm and the restraints.

“And I’d force my way into his mind. He was so sweet, ten years ago, all horrified and shocked. I replayed his worst memories, and read his thoughts, and if he wasn’t very good and afraid, I’d give him such pain in his head that he passed out screaming.” His fingers are in Alex’s hair. Sweat is beading at the warlock’s brow, and his lips part for sharp huffs of breath as his wrist is manipulated. “I’m going to do that to you,” The Hunter informs happily, quietly. Very close. “You don’t have to look at how I hurt you, you don’t have to speak. Everything you’ve ever felt, everything you think, I will see it. I can make the world melt around you. I can make you believe anything. And do you know what else I can do?”

He squeezes Alex’s wrist, making him moan, but then with the pulse of pain comes a wave of - power, in him, spreading, warmth in his chest, his lungs fill deeply -

“What -” The first word he’s spoken, as the pain dims from his focus in favor of the incredible, glowing feeling in him.

“Your magic, restored. Like it was never ruined. Doesn’t that feel amazing?”

Alex blinks - all his nausea, the magic-exhaustion tingle in his arms (besides the broken bones throbbing) gone -

And then it’s back, heavy as ever, cold welling in his chest. Alex coughs, and shivers.

“Just for a moment. A taste. I could fix it for good. I think I’d rather hear you scream.” With that, the hand at Alex’s temple sends a mass of power into his mind, shoving in with more force than it takes to invade an unguarded mind.

Alex screams, desperately, with all the breath he’s just caught in a moment of wonder. It empties from him, welcoming his new agony.

There is the screaming in his mind, the no no no no please, fuck, fuck - he’s, he can’t be, it hurts, please no -

All very fun, very run of the mill. Panic and distress and this can’t be happening. Then come more interesting thoughts, the ones lingering from before the invasion, like no way Anders loved that pyromaniac bitch, no way he was fucking sweet for this guy and Lux was here for a year, how is he fucking sane and my arm, my arm, not that, don’t break it - fuck!

The Hunter’s magic soaks it all up easily. He knows it feels wrong, utterly wrong to suddenly not be alone in your own head. He can taste the horror Alex’s mind is steeping in.

Are you scared, warlock?

Who - I didn’t think that - scared, try fucking terrified, he’s got magic I couldn’t dream of fighting, like fucking Lux, this guy, off the charts - it’s like before, the feds, no control - memories flood to the front of Alex’s mind, and the Hunter watches and listens eagerly. Lux has grown used to not allowing himself to remember things, in order to protect against instinctively vulnerable moments like these. Alex doesn’t know that as he remembers the feds, the Hunter sees it too.

Sees Alex tripping, with a manacle around his ankle and a chain on the ground - his hands shaking, his magic flickering, nearly slipping to the floor, and getting grabbed by his hair, a guard whispering in his ear, then make it work, warlock, or you’ll get the whip, before and after you pass out. Then, a memory of coming to consciousness, getting dragged up, back to his cell, his back torn open, and he’s screaming and begging reflexively, tiredly, even as he’s ignored or laughed at. Never spoken to, never treated with mercy or sympathy.

Oh, you poor thing, you were terrified. The Hunter is smiling, watching Alex’s painful memories. Another one almost pops up and then is shoved back, which is Alex trying not to remember - the Hunter sinks his grip into it and drags it forward. Alex shudders violently.

Now this is a painful memory. You have lots like this. Neil, he had some fun, didn’t he?

Alex’s mind is flooded, now, with shame and horror and disgust. “Don’t - don’t -” He mutters, unable to eke out more with his mind being invaded.

The Hunter’s magic wells up viciously, and Alex cries out, panic overriding all other feelings in him with the agony spiking.

Telling me to stop, that will be punished, The Hunter informs. He isn’t angry, because Alex didn’t know yet. Just amused.

But I want it to stop, I want it to end, the pain, it feels wrong, I want it out of my head, Anders wouldn’t beg, I won’t, I won’t, but I want it to end -

Anders would beg. He has begged me many times, and I only twisted his shattered leg worse, I only drove into his mind for longer. Begging is cute. It won’t save you pain, but it will make me very happy, if it’s the right kind.

The Hunter decides he’s had enough of explaining, and he’d like to teach with experience. So he listens to Alex’s thoughts, and drives the already present pain up into agony at thoughts that displease him. Thoughts like gotta be a way out and his magic will run out sometime, has to and someone will find me, the Resistance will come for me.

“Please -” Alex begs aloud, still unaccustomed to mindspeak, at the lastest furious wave of power from the Hunter in his mind. “What - why are you -”

“I punish bad behavior,” The Hunter answers. “And you are just full of bad thoughts, little warlock.”

Bad - I’m not, that doesn’t mean anything, Lux is scared of being bad when he’s out of it but that’s just this fucker’s way of controlling people, it doesn’t matter -

The Hunter punishes that thought, too, dragging another startled scream from the prisoner. You are bad, The Hunter reinforces, in his mind, with a pulse of power. Bad, bad, bad. Pain on pain on pain. A bit too much for merely the second time having his mind invaded.

Poor, silly thing - the warlock passes out, five minutes into having his mind invaded.

The Hunter stays in there just a bit longer, to makes sure those words take root. Very, very bad.