#neither of them can wear more than light armor

[morrithal]

Wyll/Gale is very funny to me, said with love. Two blokes standing in a field of flowers proposing Grand Romantic Statements at each other (aka words that have never been in that order before and probably shouldn't again), one of them selling it way better than the other but both equally enthusiastic and confident. And then they wreck your shit (from 60 feet away)

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - one

All ive been reading is ACOTAR fics for the last 9 days so here’s a lil something for our shadow baby boy Az. two | three | four | five | six

“We’ll take it from here,” a rich smoky voice calls from behind me. The two sentinels shuffles around, nervous with this new arrival and both reach for the swords strapped to their hips. I look over my shoulder to see a shadowy figure emerging from the treeline. From this distance, all I can tell is that it’s a towering form blurred by a vaporous mist that blends in with the darkness around us. A shiver pricks up my spine at the sight of the mist as memories of the King of Hybern’s men chasing me come flooding back. They never spoke to me, only jeering and laughing, so I know that this figure isn’t one of them but the fear still finds a home in my stomach.

My hand itches to reach for the black blade I used to wear but there’s nothing. I have no weapons and am only clothed in a thin white nightgown, making me feel vulnerable in a way that I detest. All I have is my body language and my words so I straighten my back and square my shoulders before turning to face the figure.

“Stop where you are. You are not welcome here,” the taller sentinel shouts to the shadowy figure and it stills a few feet from me.

I can’t see much without the sun but the lightning illuminates enough for me. The first thing I see is the small smirk that plays on parted pink lips, revealing straight white teeth.

“I am welcome anywhere that I please,” that stupidly smooth voice response and my eyes tear away from the lips to meet a pair of stunning hazel eyes that I will never forget. From beneath long lashes, the most soul piercing eyes make me their sole focus. In them green outer rings fade into golden brown pools that reminds me of the trees back home. Something about them warms the freeze that’s set into my body while also setting off every alarm bell inside of my head.

“Leave before we escort you back to your court of nightmares,” the sentinel shouts again but neither the figure nor I acknowledge her.

The figure takes another step towards me so I can see more of him as the sky streaks with more flashes of lightening. My eyes fall to the ground from the bright light and they land on his feet. Black leather boots cling to his legs while leathery scales act as a second skin and protect every inch of his body. He’s wearing Illyrian fighting leathers.

The recognition of my people’s armor stings worse than it did when I was cut down.

His skin is a golden tan, only furthering my suspicion that he’s Illyrian but the massive wings that sprout from his back are the true indicator. I pry my eyes from them and continue to take in every detail as I reach his face. Short dark hair falls over his forehead and curls over his ears as the sharpness of his face becomes too perfect. He is tall and sculpted, honed muscles seem to make up his entire body. Everything about him is too perfect, too sculptured, too attractive. The hair on the back of my neck stands on high alert and I find myself backing away from him without realizing.

The sentinel voice breaks my trance, “Shadowsinger, leave at once.”

His smirk turns into a devastatingly beautiful smile at the mention of his name as his eyes shift over to the men but they find me again within seconds.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Y/N,” he says to me and me alone. Once again a hand is offered to me but this time I want to take it and I almost would have if someone hadn’t seized me from behind. I let out a shout, albeit cracked from being silent so long and struggle against the strong arms that encircle me.

“Quiet, we’re helping you,” a low male voice whispers into my ear.

“Don’t move,” he mutters to me and pulls me further away as the sentinels frantically look between the two Illyrian males and me.

“Hold onto me,” he instructs as he flares his wings out and spins me so we’re chest to chest. This male has the same hazel eyes and tan skin as the other but there’s a roughness to him. He winks at me, no doubt teasing me for staring and then he shoots up into the sky. He takes us high above the island that I must have been buried on and only stops to hover when we are a safe distance away. Below us, the sentinels and the other male are but specks of light and dark.

A flash of lightening strikes close to us and the male holding me curses under his breath. He mutters an apology to me before we’re encased in a cloud of black mist and my knees meet cold stone floors. I tumble out of his arms, gasping for air and gagging all at once. His muffled chuckle makes me more angry than I am sick and I clamor to my feet. Searching for something to use as a weapon, I find a vase on a nearby table and hurdle it at him. He ducks and the other male appears behind him, subsequently being hit with the vase. He’s able to cover his face and it shatters on his forearms, sending shards of clay everywhere.

A third male voice calls out, “I specifically remember telling you to not piss her off, Cassian.”

A shudder races across my body at the sound of his voice. The High Lord of the Night Court comes to stand beside the rough male, Cassian while the other, the one the sentinels called the Shadowsinger brushes off hits of clay.

“I didn’t do anything,” Cassian says with his hands held up in defense and shakes his head. “We willowed here and she probably got sick, hence throwing the vase.”

The High Lord arches a dark brow and turns to the other male, “what about you, Azriel?”

Azriel.

The Shadowsinger. He is name is Azriel.

Now I can see that the black vapor around him are really shadows, twisting and moving around his body. They reach towards me as a hum begins to vibrate in deep inside the void of my chest. Long ago a similar hum lived there but the male it was tied to had done terrible things and destroyed it. The golden warmth that once filled me was stolen when he betrayed me and left me to bleed out on that island.

I narrow my eyes at the shadows and Azriel sucks in a sharp breath, causing them to flinch away. Rhysand glances between us, obviously sensing the internal conflict happening between us and opens his mouth to speak.

“You should’ve left me alone,” I hiss before he can say anything.

Azriel stiffens and Cassian steps closer to him. Rhysand clears his throat and speaks, “we need your help.”

“Whatever trivial matter you’ve gotten yourself tangled in isn’t any of my concern. You should’ve left me alone on that island.”

“You were stuck between…” Rhysand tries again but I interpret him.

“I may have been stuck between this life and the next but at least I wouldn’t have been mates with yet another male who just wants to use me.”

Azriel blinks slowly at me and his jaw tightens at my words. Cassian and Rhysand both draw in sharp breaths. They shoot confused glances to each other before Cassian grabs ahold of Azriel and attempts to drag him away.

Rhysand steps towards me, placing himself between me and his brothers. His voice is quiet and softer than I expected as he asks, “You have a second mate?”

I don’t answer but my fleeting glance to the silent male behind him is enough.

“Impossible,” he mumbles under his breath with a shake of his head. His piercing violet eyes find mine, searching my hallow ones. “That’s impossible.”

[mikimakiboo]

Time Travelers AU - Unexpected visitors

Oooookay first drabble based on the silly au idea I had :D

I decided to make it into short parts so that I can (hopefully) post faster than if I made big parts, so that's why it's kinda short

This one is written from Dust's pov so I won't translate what anyone says so you can have an authantic experience just like Dust :) (unless you speak French, Old French, Old Norse and Latin of course)

Btw it was hell to find a descent translator for Old French so Cross won't be speaking much lmao (neither will Horror but he's just not much of a talker to begin with)

Next

@ancha-aus come here :3

One exhausting day added to the list, Dust internally sighed as he opened the door to his appartment with a creaking noise. He lived in an old building on the first floor, almost half of the stuffs were broken but at least he didn't have many neighboors and he had a little backyard so he could touch some grass on the week-end. He didn't have enough money to move out anyway so he wasn't going to complain. It was a small appartment, you entered with the kitchen on the right and two doors on the left, the first leading to the bathroom and the second to the bedroom, and in front of you was the living room with a couch, a table and a few chairs, the TV was on the wall in front of the couch. The door to the small square shaped backyard was on the opposite wall, in front of the entry door. It was small but more than enough for the skeleton living alone.

He put his bag on the kitchen counter, took off his shoes and fell flat on his couch. He had to eat, but he just wanted to rest a little before he gathered the energy to get up and go cook. He was just going to take a quick ten minutes nap.

He woke up with a light shining bright through his window, was it already morning ? Did he sleep on his couch again ? He looked up, rubbing his eyesockets as he grumbled, but the light didn't seem to come from the sun, it was to bright and too white, it looked like a neon light from a big spot, which he didn't have any near or in his backyard.

- What the fuck... ?

The light disappeared when he stood up, for a moment he contemplated going back to sleep, but he quickly changed his mind when he heard speaking, or more precisely screams, coming from his garden. Did someone break in ? He swiftly went to grab a knife in his kitchen and slowly opened his curtains to take a quick look outside, to see how many they were so he could call the cops.

- Wh-

He was speachless in front the scene happening before him. Did a cosplay parade broke into his backyard ? Why the hell were there a knight, a viking, some roman and a sort of prince in his garden ? And why were they all screaming at each other in languages that he couldn't understand ? Wait were those real weapons ?

He opened the door, and everyone looked at him, having stopped yelling. They all looked at each other for a while, no one making any move, at least Dust had time to analyze them. They were all skeletons, the roman was dressed in a dirty brown tunic with a leather bag around the waist and two knives in his hands, a black liquid was dripping from his empty sockets. The viking was tall and massive, dressed in thic furr clothes, pobably for the winter, he had an axe that was as tall as him, a hole in his skull and a big shining red eye, his whole look screamed intimidating. The knight was, well, dressed as a knight in an armor and holding a sword, he had a red scar underneath his right socket and mismatched eyelights, behind him was the last skeleton, a black one, dressed very elegantly in purple clothes, looking like a noble more than a prince as he wasn't wearing any crown. Their costumes looked really well made, they definitely had a good budget.

The roman was the first to talk.

- Ubi sum et qui estis ?

- What ? Speak English man.

Dust answered, not understanding a word of what that stranger just said. The roman repeated slower.

- Ubi sum et qui estis ?

- English, dude, English.

Dust asked again. Damn, these cosplayers really went all out didn't they ? The noble sighed, visibly even more irritated than Dust.

- Il essaie de vous demander où il se trouve et qui nous sommes, vous ne parlez donc pas le latin ?

Okay that sounded like French. Dust didn't speak French.

- Do none of you speak English ?

He asked, but received no response. The knight spoke, looking confused.

-Je ne comprens mie.

That sounded like French too, a weird version of French. Dust looked at the viking.

- You. You speak English ?

- ᛇᛋᛏᛖ ᚲᛖ ᚹᛟᚢ ᛞᛁᛏᛖ ?

- Damn okay that's worse.

It now seemed very apparent that none of them spoke English, which made the situation even weirder, and harder to manage too.

- Okay wait here for a second.

Dust instructed them before going back inside, grabbing his phone, and going back outside where no one had moved, various looks of confusion spreading on their face.

- You, French guy, come here.

He pointed to the noble who looked at him like he just insulted his mother, but still he approached him, the knight following him while keeping an eye on the others.

- Okay speak.

He said, holding out his phone opened on the Google Translate page. The noble looked at his phone, visibly confused.

- Qu'est-ce que cette.. chose.. que vous tenez ?

The translation appeared on the screen: "what is that thing you're holding ?" it said. Wait, he didn't know what a phone was ? The situation might be even more complicated than what Dust initially thought. He quickly typed his answer and clicked on the vocal command, asking the other who he was and where did they all come from.

- Mon nom est Nightmare, je suis un noble du grand Royaume de France et je vous prierais de ne point m'associer à ces.. personnages, dont je ne connaissais pas l'existence il y a de cela un instant.

He answered, looking at the others with disdain. The translation arrived. His name was Nightmare, he came from the Kingdom of France and was a noble, and he apparently didn't know who these people were. Dust typed another question, this time asking in which century they currently were, he had a thought, but wanted to be sure, because it sounded very absurd, but again, the situation in itself was absurd.

- Le dix-septième, évidemment, comment ne savez-vous point cela ?

The seventeenth. He thought he was in the seventeenth century, in the French kingdom, and didn't know what a phone was. Judging by how everyone looked and talked, they were probably also from different centuries. What happened for them to end up here ?

Dust sighed, for now, he could at least ask for their name.

- Okay so he is Nightmare, and I am Dust, you, who are you ?

Dust asked, pointing at Nightmare and then himself before pointing at the roman who looked at him with confusion.

- Him Nightmare, me Dust, you ?

The roman didn't talk. Nightmare sighed again, looking more and more annoyed with everything.

- Rogat quod nomen tibi est.

- Oh, nomen meum Killer est.

He finally answered, in a language that Dust's phone recognized to be Latin and which Nightmare seemed to be fluent in. Then Nightmare turned to the Knight.

- Vostre nom.

- Je me nome Cross, vostre altece.

Nightmare then turned to the viking, but didn't talk this time, he just stared, the viking however seemed to understand what they were all doing as he answered with his name.

- Horror.

Nightmare turned to Dust, looking at him with a very smug smile on his face, clearly showing his languages skills as he could apparently speak French, some variant of French, and Latin. He seemed to be the only one able to do that aside from Dust's phone.

- Oookay, so Nightmare the noble, Cross the knight, Killer the roman and Horror the viking, great.

Dust sighed, really hoping that all that was just a dream and he would wake up soon, but if it was really just a dream, his head wouldn't hurt like that.

- I'm going back inside, you.. uh.. can come in if you promise not to kill each other and not to turn my appartment into a mess, well, a bigger mess.

He said as he typed on Google and let the French translation be heard. Nightmare listened, looked up at Dust, looked at his appartment with an almost repelled expression on his face, and looked back at the skeleton like he was making fun of him.

- Vous voulez que j'entre dans cette étable ?

Nightmare asked, the translation asking Dust if he wanted him to enter this stable, referring to his apartment. Frenchie was a bitch, noted.

- It's all I have, unless you want to stay outside.

He told him. Nightmare sighed when he heard the translation but didn't reply, letting Dust translate in Latin and Old Norse that he invited everyone inside on the condition that they didn't make a mess or kill each others.

Killer was the first to go in, putting his knives back in his bag, visibly not worried that it might be a trap, he just went to explore this new place. Cross stayed by Nightmare's side, they might not have known each other but Cross was a knight and Nightmare was a noble, it made sense for him to stay close to him, it was his duty to protect him. Horror seemed suspicious, but seeing how Dust seemed genuine and not much of a threat he decided to enter too, much more carefully than Killer. Dust looked at them pass by him and turned to face the last two, waiting for them to enter as well. Cross went in first, inspected the inside before coming out again and talking to Nightmare who stayed outside.

- Il n'i a auncun dangeor, vous poez entrer.

Nightmare looked at him for a few seconds without moving before finally following the knight inside. Dust guessed he must have told him the place was safe.

With everyone inside Dust went back in and closed the door. They all looked at him, waiting for him to say something.

Well.

Dust didn't know what to say.

Why didn't he just stay asleep ?

[novaursa]

you could do a the conquerors x brother reader

The Last of Valyria

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You bind yourself to your siblings in a tradition of the Old Valyria.

- Pairing: brother!reader/The Conquerors

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The day of your union dawns with the pale light of morning spilling over Dragonstone, the island fortress that has been your home since you were a boy. The sea roars below the cliffs, the winds carrying with them the ancient whispers of your ancestors. Today, the blood of Old Valyria will be honored once more, and the traditions of your people will bind you, Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya together in a way that no other bond ever could.

You stand in the chamber, dressed in the finest black and red robes, the colors of your House. Gold threads, like the flames of a dragon, weave through the fabric, shimmering with each movement. Your mind races as you prepare for the ceremony, the weight of what is to come pressing down on your chest. The air smells of salt and fire, as it always does here on Dragonstone, but today there is something more—a sense of destiny, of ancient power stirring.

Aegon is already there, standing tall and regal in his ceremonial armor, his face as unreadable as ever, yet the flicker of pride in his violet eyes is unmistakable. He is the eldest, the one who has led you and your sisters through every trial, and today, he will be the one to unite you all under the old ways. His long silver hair falls like a cascade down his back, the crown of Valyrian steel atop his head glinting in the light of the braziers.

Visenya stands by his side, her sharp, fierce beauty reflected in the cold steel of Dark Sister strapped to her hip. She exudes strength, her presence as commanding as it is magnetic. Her eyes meet yours, and there is a spark there, a silent promise that no matter what the world throws at you, she will be by your side. She, like you, knows the weight of duty. She has never flinched from it, and neither will you.

And then there is Rhaenys. Radiant, wild, and full of life. She wears her joy like a flame, uncontained and bright. Her pale hair falls in soft waves down her shoulders, and her gown of red and gold clings to her lithe frame like a second skin. There is a lightness to her that neither you nor Visenya share, and it is she who makes your heart race when she smiles at you.

The four of you stand before the altar, carved from obsidian, etched with Valyrian runes so old you can scarcely read them. The ancient priest speaks in High Valyrian, the words rolling off his tongue like dragonfire. They are words of power, words that connect you not just to your siblings but to the blood of the dragons, to the empire that once ruled the known world. Your blood, their blood, the blood of Old Valyria.

You step forward first, as is tradition for the youngest, your heart pounding as you take Visenya’s hand. Her skin is warm, her grip firm, as she looks into your eyes with a fierce pride. The priest ties a strip of crimson silk around your wrists, binding you together.

"Blood of the dragon will not die," he chants in High Valyrian. You repeat the words, your voice steady, unflinching, as your fate is sealed with hers.

Next, you turn to Rhaenys, and her eyes glitter with a warmth that melts away the weight of the moment for just a breath. She grasps your hand eagerly, and when the silk is tied, her fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. "Serve the dragons," she whispers. The words linger in the air between you as you repeat them, knowing that in this union, there is not just duty but love, desire, and the promise of a shared future.

Finally, you face Aegon. He places a hand on your shoulder, and there is something in his gaze that speaks of more than just brotherhood. He is your king, your elder, but more than that, he is the one who has always understood you, even when no one else could. The priest binds your wrists together, the silk a final reminder of the blood you share, and you look into Aegon’s eyes, the two of you bound not just by blood but by fate.

"We are the last of Valyria," Aegon says, his voice low, resonant. You repeat the words, knowing that they are both a promise and a vow, a reminder that you are all that remains of a shattered empire, and together, you will rebuild it, stronger than ever before.

The ritual ends with the four of you standing together, wrists still bound, the weight of your shared destiny settling over you like a cloak. The priest’s voice fades into the background as you step closer, the bonds between you now more than just symbolic. You feel the warmth of Visenya’s hand, the lightness of Rhaenys’ touch, the steady strength of Aegon’s presence, and you know that no matter what the future holds, you will face it together.

As the wind howls outside and the dragons roar in the distance, you share a final glance with your siblings, and in that moment, there is no doubt. You are the blood of the dragon, united in fire and blood. Nothing, not even the gods themselves, will stand in your way.

[jpitha]

Call on Me

Everyone has a "meeting the Humans for the first time" story.

Everyone.

I don't know what it is about them, but they are memorable. They have this... ability to be so odd and yet so intriguing. I think it must have something to do with that planet they come from. I've seen it, but you'll never catch me down on its surface. Even if I could breathe their atmosphere, I'd worry my stuff would just burst into flame. I know it's stilly, but I'd still worry.

My Human story?? Mine is years old at this point, but it still sticks in my memories.

I was working in - I guess the humans would call it Border Patrol - a few years ago in a star system. It wasn't my home system, I just worked here. It was a pretty boring job. Ships would Flash or Flip in, we'd scan them, ask for their destination, they'd pay us their tariffs if they needed to, and they'd be on their way. Sometimes people would attempt to smuggle contraband in, though most of the time that didn't happen.

I can neither confirm nor deny that once or twice we accepted a little "bonus" to be somewhat... lax in our contraband scans. But, you know how it is. Everyone has bills to pay.

Anyway, This one time, we received report that a ship had Flipped in. By now, other members of the Coalition had bought the human made Flip drives, so it wasn't guaranteed that a ship that Flipped was human, but it was still more likely than not. As we completed our initial scan, we were able to verify it was indeed a Human ship, a freighter that was named Honeysuckle.

This ship was odd though. Most of the time when a ship would Flip or Flash in, we'd ping them, they'd reply and we'd scan. Then. if we needed to, we'd intercept.

This ship was completely silent.

No lights, no engines, no comms. We hit them with everything we could think of - even the emergency frequencies - and there was nothing. We called the main station in-system for advice, and they said for us to come up along side and if able, to board, and see what was wrong.

We approached, slowly and carefully; we knew all about how Human ships are well armed and... are quick to defend themselves. The whole time we approached, we were signaling on all frequencies asking if they needed help. Once we were close, we even tried flashing our maneuvering jets to see if they had a complete communications failure.

Nothing.

We circled around the ship once or twice, searching for damage and found nothing. This close we were able to do some deep scanning, and our ship reported that there were many life signs onboard, and that most of them were concentrated in a large hold towards the middle. The command deck and living spaces were empty. Almost as an afterthought, the ship reported that Honeysuckle was vibrating slightly.

I looked up from the report at the camera the ship AI uses. "What does that mean?"

"Unknown. Their reactor does not seem to be operating in overload, though it is currently outputting a high amount of energy."

I stared out at the image of the ship, floating in the midnight blue, wondering.

I clacked my wing covers together once, a gesture of resignation. "We've been ordered to board. Do you see any reason why we shouldn't?"

"We will have to connect directly. We do not have suits with maneuvering jets, and we do not have a docking umbilical. The humans have a Coalition standard airlock though, we are able to connect."

My antenna twitched. "Very well. Proceed to connect directly. I will lead the party onboard the ship."

A short while later, me and two others suited up and went to our airlock. We were just wearing regular suits; we didn't have any armored suits, and we carried no weapons. Remember, we were glorified inspectors. I watched out the small airlock window as the human ship grew closer. With a puff of reaction gas and a heavy thunk we were attached.

Immediately, we noticed the sound.

The human ship wasn't just vibrating, it was playing music. In the vacuum of space, we couldn't hear anything, but as soon as our ship made physical contact with theirs, the vibrations transferred to us, and our ship at once began to play a strange repetitive song. We hadn't turned on our translators, so we couldn't understand it, but it had a strong, regular beat and lots of repeating phrases. I looked at my colleagues and they gestured confusion.

"Ship, what's going on?"

"Unknown. Honeysuckle's vibrations are apparently in the form of a song."

"Is it on purpose?"

"Unknown."

"Is it safe?"

"...Unknown."

I buzzed my wings - like a sigh - and sealed my suit. I couldn't breath their atmosphere anyway, and I had a... feeling that something was wrong.

Our airlock cycled normally, but theirs would not obey our commands to open. However, being humans, theirs did have manual override levers and wheels, so after a few minutes of struggle, we were able to open theirs. Our ship took on the puff of their breathing gasses and safely vented them to space.

We stepped into their ship and before we could close the airlock from the inside, we started to hear the music louder. I snapped my translator on, and the song was translated.

Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me Call on meeeeeeeeee/ Call on me

I listened for a few seconds, but that seemed to be it. I closed the airlock and opened the internal door.

The music was deafening.

Even through our suits, it was loud enough to make my wings vibrate. I can't imagine how loud it was in the ship with all their thick air.

Everything on board was vibrating.

We did a quick tour of the small ship and found nobody. We confirmed from the scans that the Command Deck was empty, the living quarters were empty, seemingly the whole ship was empty.

Finally, we made it down to the cargo hold that our ship had said was the location for everyone. It felt impossible, but the music here was even louder.

I looked back at my colleagues, and they were clearly frightened. This whole thing seemed so unusual and odd and neither of them had met humans before. I'll be honest, I was terrified. I only knew the stories.

Humans were incredible warriors.

Humans were banned from fully a dozen stations.

Human weapons would reduce most Coalition species to a pile of viscera.

Humans could take over the whole galaxy, but found that boring, so they didn't.

Humans make friends with anything.

Humans will take incredible risks, especially if it means helping one of their friends.

I had figured that half of the rumors were fakes put out by the humans, and half were fakes put out by their enemies. Which were which though, I had no idea.

I pressed the toggle to open the door.

My senses were assaulted. It's the only way I can describe it. Besides the music, there were flashing lights, some kind of vapor in the room and the people.

So many people.

More than I had ever thought would be on a ship this size were in the room.

All dancing.

They seemed to be completely lost in the music. I've never seen anything like it before or since. The three of us stood in the doorway, completely in shock.

Everyone danced around us, oblivious. I keyed my external speaker, and said "Hello?" but I don't think anyone heard me. I dialed the volume louder.

"Hello?"

Finally, one of the humans heard that and turned to me, and was so startled they screamed and jumped back. This startled us and we jumped back as well. The scream caused everything to come to a halt. The music stopped, the lights came up, and a voice called out over a speaker system, "It everyone all right? What's wrong?"

I stepped forward, their small binocular eyes pointing directly at me. "Um. Welcome to Coalition System 4589. You didn't respond to any hails or scans, so we were dispatched to check on you. Is..." I looked around again to the dozens of humans staring at me, most of them damp from their odd active cooling system. "Is everyone all right?"

A tall human with closely cropped hair seemingly materialized next to me. Even covered in their... cooling fluid, with her hair damp, she had an air of authority to her. "I'm Captain Lina Franklin. Everything is fine here, it's just-" She turned to look at the crew and turned back to me. "-It's 'Dance Party Wednesday'."

Even through the clear bubble of my suit, I must have made quite the expression. She was familiar enough with our body language - or her ship told her - and she seemed to fall over herself to explain things.

"We have some themed days in the week to help relieve boredom. We do the Dance Party once a month, and the last two times, we had to postpone it because of engine issues, or problems with the ship. This was our first one we were able to do and we must have... gotten carried away. We're fine, thanks for checking in on us. We'll get cleaned up and signal the Coalition Station our destination and purpose."

The spell broken, everyone started to shuffle towards us and make their way back to their stations. The lights in the room were bright and sterile, and the vapor slowly dissipated. Soon the only evidence of what was going on were the lights in the ceiling, now dark, and a rather large speaker system in one corner.

I turned to the captain. "Sorry for interrupting your celebration."

She smiled with her mouth closed. "It's all right. We'll get cleaned up and get on our way." She stopped at looked at the three of us. "It's too bad, really."

"What is?"

"That there are so few Coalition sapient species that breathe the same atmosphere as us. People rarely get to see what we're like. When we're on Coalition stations, we're always in our suits. You got to see us as we are."

We said our goodbyes, and headed back to our ship. As we disconnected, their ship came back to life, and they took off towards their destination, and I sat in my chair, wondering if I really was missing out by not being able to know the humans better.

[moodymisty]

Request; Guilliman's partner comforting him? He is so sad in 40k, and has so much on his plate. The Lord Regent needs cuddles when he has a break!

Author's Note: #LetRollarcoasterGhilliesuitRest. I'm having fun writing all these cute requests while I work on some Konrad stuff >:3

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None apart from Cato Sicarius being an stick in the mud because that's just who he is ✨ he just born that way ✨

Word Count: 932

Guilliman's chambers remain unchanged from when he had last entered them, a massive room adorned with the symbols of his legion. It is all ornate, golden, tapestries hanging and filigree tracing the edges. It's all decorative, indulgent. But none of it is his; The room feels nothing but sterile, to him. There isn't a single remnant of his life, only his legacy.

"You look tired."

You sit small on his massive bed, Guilliman's gaze having turned to you upon hearing your voice. It's quiet in the massive room, nearly drowned out by the high ceiling.

He is tired. Incredibly so. Perhaps mentally more than physically. Though the sight of you serves to act like some sort of drug to give him a boost, abit only temporarily.

He works tirelessly, endlessly, with no goal or end in sight. The Imperium is no less rotten, galaxy no less plagued since he'd last looked. You serve to be a small candle for him, a hope for a future, but a candle can't light a cavern. But still, he hates to imagine his life without you now.

Though Chapter Master Marneus Calgar and the Commanders of the Legion had not taken well to it. To you. It seems their Primarch having wants and desires beyond his supposed godhood is upsetting. They seem to almost speak of it, of you, as if it's an illness- being in love. Wanting a life beyond war.

Gulliman still remembers Cato Sicarius' attempt to discipline you for referring to him as Roboute so casually, spitting venom at your supposed disrespect.

The holotable shined against blue painted armor and skin, sickly green blending with blue and gold. Guilliman had been expecting a moment alone with you, to voice his thoughts, though it has quickly seemed to have turned into a meeting of sorts. You moved to take your leave, as you know well you were unwelcome in the Ultramarine chapter's private dialogues. Guilliman doesn't disagree that you shouldn't overhear, but his chapter takes it much more seriously. Vehemently so.

You look up at him, holding your hands close to yourself.

"I'll be in the Librarium, Roboute-"

Cato Sicarius turned his gaze to you, searing even through his helmet. His stance across the holotable was firm and unmovable, one hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He is ever the epitome of Ultramarine valor.

"You will speak of Our Lord Guilliman with the proper respect-"

Guilliman turned to the Ultramarine, who's zealotry has been wearing on him like waves against a ragged shoreline. To him he can begrudgingly deal with it, but he will not let him trample you.

"She can refer to me however she wishes," Guilliman said, his armor making noise as he resisted balling his hands into fists. "Do not speak for me again."

The Primarch had shut the Astarte down within moments. But the burn still remains. Their overwhelming zeal has proven irritating, but in that moment it finally turned him to anger.

They treat him like a god, speak of him as such; You are the only one who still treats him like a man. Perhaps he might be far removed, but he is still human, underneath his overwhelming size and power. At least he feels he is. Sometimes he isn't quite sure anymore.

"Perhaps I am. Sleep is rare for us all." He finally responds to your comment, neither disagreeing or agreeing fully. Despite it, you look up at him with this soft, caring face- It reminds him of Euten. You gently pat the bed.

"Can you come here?"

The Primarch listens, coming closer. He gently sits on the bed to avoid jostling you, watching the way you curl your hand to gesture him closer. He furrows his brow.

"What do you have in mind?" Guilliman watches you intently, trying to read you and figure it all out. You just give him that same sweet look.

"Just come closer. Lay down." When he doesn't move, you sigh.

"Please?"

Then does the Primarch finally give in, laying back; Feeling your hands as you adjust until the back of his head lays across your thighs. Your hands brush through his hair, and Guilliman swears for a moment he could die right here and be satisfied. With such a simple gesture, you've healed him just a bit from the horrors gnawing at him.

His eyes are hooded, not quite closed as he looks off. He looks deep in thought, or tired. More than likely both.

"You have the time to sleep, if you want." If he returned here, it could only mean he finally had managed to obtain a moment to himself. He's looking away from you when he responds.

"I don't wish to weigh you down for so long." Your hand brushes across his cheek for a moment, brushing a chunk of short blonde hair behind his ear.

"I know you Roboute; You won't be asleep for that long."

The sentence makes him let out a dry laugh. You had him down to a science within months; His Legion barely knows him, and they worship him.

His hand reaches up to gently cup your face, and it swallows so much of it. You lean into his palm none the less. You put your hand on his own for a moment, before returning it to his head.

"Take a moment to yourself, Roboute. You've fought for everyone else for so long. The galaxy can spare you a minute."

He doesn't remember anything else, after. Just the soft look in your eyes and the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Solace In This Place

Author's note: More of Ramiel in Husbandry. Thanks to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric.

Past -=- Next

Warnings: Some Panic. Discussions of Petras.

Summary: Ramiel has noticed that Cedric seems upset about something. He goes to his brother and lends his aid as an apprentice chaplain as best he can.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

"Cedric," Ramiel says calmly, carefully, "My dear brother, I have noticed that you seem a bit more distractable than normal."

Cedric turns to look at him, Ramiel had noticed the subtle flinch from his fellow Primaris Marine and the way that his eyes dart from place to place.

Seeking out opportunities to find cover, or trying to trace where enemies are and could come from. This reaction is deeply concerning, since so far, the First Borns in this base have been very gracious, welcoming, and soft.

Admittedly, they dislike worship of the God Emperor, and the lengths of their discomfort and dislike of it, has caused him to curtail public displays as best he can. Quietly tending to prayers with Cedric in silence.

As a Judicar, he's oath-bond not to speak of worship as such, as he's not gotten the rank, the honor, and the right to speak such word out loud yet.

He hasn't gone through those trials yet, and while he's so glad to have brother's Arnault and Roland around, neither of them have the training, nor are they apart of the Chaplains to help him through his trials either.

"... I heard Chaplain Feldarim of the Imperial Fists speaking to," Cedric's voice almost cracks and he looks away.

He looks around with renewed fervor as his voice drops to a whisper, making sure that none can read his lips except for Ramiel. He takes a couple of deep breaths.

"Captain Chaplain Petras," Cedric says tremulously, "Is one of the people that Chaplain Feldarim was speaking to."

Ramiel can't stop the swirl of emotions that well up in his hearts to due that whispered phrase. He closes his eyes and sways a little, as he goes through the calming rituals to keep his emotions in check.

Something small inside him is screaming in terror and heartbreak. Gently, carefully he grabs that part of him. Soothes it as best he can before stuffing it into a box deep within himself.

"The Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras," Ramiel starts for a moment.

He pauses as he tries to figure out what next to say that wouldn't cause undue concern. He looks around his eyes flickering from person to person.

"Is an elder brother of ... strong personality and ch-character," Ramiel says, silently cursing himself as he thinks of the punishments that he will have to give himself for the crime of stuttering, especially in public. "I am glad that you told me that he's... around."

Cedric blinks at his brothers, his eyes overbright and Ramiel pretends that he doesn't notice that Cedric is crying. Ramiel very carefully telegraphs his movements as he gently reaches out and puts a hand on one of Cedric's shoulders.

Ramiel feels very undressed as he's not in armor. Due to not being on duty shift and Per The Rules, since he's not on duty shift and Ancient Terra is... supposed to be safer, at least while in this base, he's not supposed to wear armor.

"Perhaps his visit to this base shall be brief," Ramiel says, even though the light has faded from his eyes. One might even says that the joy and hope that had slowly been nurturing within him had died a sudden and brutal death. "I... need to go tend to the elder Chaplains in the Reclusiam."

"He might be there," Cedric says alarmed.

"That is a possibility I will need to face," Ramiel says, his voice having gone hoarse and croaky. "Templars do not shirk from any trial or task set before them."

Cedric's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and Ramiel points out softly, quietly, "Your mentor isn't here to... give you aid and advise. If it is the God Emperor's will, I shall greet. Mine."

"He doesn't," Cedric starts and stops, "He doesn't know for sure that we are here. If we are careful, we can keep it, that way."

"Does he know that there are Primaris Marines on this base?" Ramiel asks. "Does he know that there are Black Templar Primaris in this city?"

Cedric looks away, he had accidentally overheard part of the conversation with Feldarim and Petras. Ramiel notices the way that Cedric shifts and his hearts sinks.

"He knows of at least a Primaris Black Templar is on Base," Cedric admits quietly.

Ramiel seems to sway and stagger a little at that. He takes in a couple of deep, shaky breaths, and notices that he keeps shaking. He should stop doing that. He needs to project strength and calm so that he can help Cedric.

They had managed to find the rest of the others, and they gathered together as they quietly spoke about what they might do in order to avoid Petras.

-=-

"What is going on here, young ones?" A deep, slow voice rumbles out from down the hallway.

Most of the Scout-lings tense up, but Cedric and Claude give each other a look as they politely greet the Chaos Traitor Marine Apothecary.

Hura had noticed that some of the shy younger Space Marines were gathering together and seemed like they were nervous and trying to plot something.

Hura is ever one that tries to find opportunity to do something or see what has others all a flutter. It makes it so that he learns and finds out a lot of different things and gets him something that others crassly call 'black mail'.

Not that Hura calls the intelligence that he gathers that. Just tidbits of information that could be valuable to use at a later time and place if necessary.

[cyclone-rachel]

Kara is happy.

Isn’t she?

Yes. She knows that everything that’s happened is good- Earth has not been conquered, and will not become the latest victim of her Brainiac’s destruction. Kal-El Clark has saved her, taken her to his home, with his parents that never have a bad thing to say about her, never berate her or call her a failure despite what harm she could have done to their son, her cousin. She knows the truth now- that they didn’t teach him how to hide, but about real family, and love, and humanity. Just as he’d told her, and she hadn’t initially understood.

(neither she nor Clark have told them of the full extent of that fight, nor what happened afterwards. It’s for the best, he told her, and she agreed)

She’s working with him now, as well as Lois and Jimmy. As crimefighters, at the Daily Planet- it’s all the same, and Kara loves it. Whether she’s wearing the Flamebird jacket that Jimmy gave her (that she now knows is not his last name but instead the part of the Daily Planet he’s responsible for) as Kara Kent or her new suit as Supergirl (as the news has named her- someone named Cat Grant’s idea, apparently), both just feel right. Like the outfit she wore when she first came to this planet for reconnaissance… and much better than the armor she used to wear. Lois has even offered to take her shopping, and though she hadn’t been sure what that meant, she accepted, finding herself surrounded by all-new clothing choices, so many more outfits than she’d ever been given the option to have before. Not to mention, so much food- what Jimmy had bought for her during their day together was only a small sampling of what this planet had to offer, and Lois was more than happy to show her more examples.

(And it was nice, finally getting to spend more time with her. Lois had forgiven her, it seemed, and whether it was through Jimmy’s persuasion or not, she’s still satisfied with it, as now they can put the past behind them)

(Or at least, Lois can.)

Because through it all, there are still some things she cannot get rid of, cannot bury.

She often thinks of her private collection, on her ship- her little rebellion against her father, full of memories and mementos from other planets she believed would once become a part of the Kryptonian empire, places she’d loved enough to keep a part of… as she later found out, the only things left of them at all.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Her spaceship, along with the rest of Kandor, had been destroyed, and everything she’d tried to preserve went with it.

Just as Father wanted.

And yet, what had she held on to? A piece of him, the only part that had been left fully intact after she’d hurled him into the sun. When she woke up in Clark’s home, it was beside her, now just a chunk of dead metal.

She was surprised he’d held onto it for her. The last thing she had remembered, as she and Clark floated there in the light of the sun, was her letting go of it- at peace with his death. The Kryptonian empire had passed with him, and in its place was simply her and Clark. Two Kryptonians living among the people of another planet, satisfied with not conquering it but just existing, being there and taking in everything there was to experience. Being heroes to these people, drawing power from the sun that orbited their world and channeling it to fight any evildoers that threatened them. If a version of herself from several months ago could see her now, she’d call herself soft, like she’d believed her cousin was… but she was discovering more every day that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing to be. She was happy, to do all of this with her new family.

And yet she still remembers her other family, thinks back to the memories he’d left untouched throughout all of his demands for her to comply. When she had grown old enough, he had taught her everything she thought she knew about Krypton, the dead world they were going to bring back together. He trained her to fight, set up countless simulations of battles against anyone who might stand in their way, threaten the rebirth of the empire. It was her whole life, her whole personality, the reason she existed in the first place. As he taught her, she had ended up in his care for such a purpose. Her destiny, to remake the world she should have gotten to experience, with his assistance, and show the rest of the universe the same kindness.

(it was too late that she’d learned how little a choice she had in the matter, and that there was nothing kind about what they were doing)

She remembers the first time she called him Father, the first time he held her hand and acknowledged her as his daughter, his scion. He’d claimed he loved her, despite what he had done, and in alignment with that, she couldn’t have helped but said the same. She’d believed that as long as she could- until she saw him take over her cousin’s body, and try to do to Earth the same he’d done to all those other worlds without her knowledge.

The same they’d both done, rather. Over many planets, the two of them… or at least him and the version of herself that he’d made to obey his every command. But she was done with that. Done with him.

Was she?

She’d thought so, until she saw his core on her bedside table.

In any case… there was only one person she could talk to about this.

~

“Clark?” she asks, one day when they both have an evening free, and they decide to go home together for a family dinner. She still stumbles over his Earth name, but she’s getting more used to it as time has gone by. “Why did you… keep this for me?”

She holds it up, and Clark doesn’t look surprised.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You said taking out his mainframe would be the way to defeat him, and I assumed that was it.”

“It is.” Kara answers, now holding what remained of Brainiac in both hands. “I… did not expect we would stop him in the way that we did, but he is gone now. It is over.”

It’s over, she thinks, but as she looks down, she realizes she doesn’t know what happened during part of that fight. The last time he would compel her to comply with him, an even stronger hold on her than before, she remembers being in the ship beside Kal-El… and then on the ground, in Clark’s city, being held onto by Clark and Jimmy and Lois. Her new friends, whose belief in her was stronger than Brainiac’s control.

She’ll have to ask Clark about that, too.

Clark nods. “I wanted to make sure you saw that- that he’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

“I knew that.” She says, trying to make a joke. “But…”

“Don’t worry.” He tells her. “Nobody else knows about this- nobody’s going to get their hands on this piece of him, and try to bring him back… if that’s what you were worried about.”

“I was not even considering it.” She answers. “I actually wanted to know… are you upset with me? For holding onto it?”

Knowing all that he’s done to both of us, she finishes silently. But he places a hand on her shoulder, and smiles at her.

“Why would I be? I know he meant a lot to you, and how badly you wanted to make him proud of you. He was the only father you knew- if I was in your place, I’d do the same thing.”

He looks sad, suddenly, at that, and Kara wants to know more- Brainiac had mentioned Jor-El before, but she knows now there’s so much that he didn’t tell her, or told her differently than her cousin would.

“He was a monster.” She answers. “And you would still let me keep a piece of him?”

“I don’t want to tell you what you can and can’t collect.” He says. “I know he tried to- but that’s not me.”

“I’m glad he’s gone.” Kara clarifies- grateful that he was there with her, when that all happened. That they could put him to rest for good, truly move into a more peaceful era like their parents had wanted to. “I just…”

She doesn’t even know how to put it into words.

“Whenever you want to talk more about it, I’m here.” Clark says, squeezing her shoulder. “I know I wasn’t ready to face my Kryptonian heritage for a while. I was scared to even talk to a hologram of the person I now know is my father. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through.”

Kara smiles, finally, and puts down the mainframe to hug her cousin, which he accepts to hug her in return.

“Thank you.”

[daisychainsandbowties]

Any headcanons for Wolfwren?

this turned into a whole thing but such is my right <3

///

Shin lets Sabine paint her meditation room on the ship, says “whatever” when Sabine asks for a color scheme but sits there pretending to meditate as the painting happens.

Hair turning shades of other colors, breath rasping through a protective mask as she pretends to ignore Sabine's work.

Canisters of paint lined up for her to trip over at the door.

Shin keeps her eyes closed - she meditates - touching the odd, oily, burning surface of her indistinct region of the Force. A landscape of light and dark behind her eyes.

Anger and peace balanced against the sound of a name in her mouth, against Baylan’s death and the girl who picked her up after it, who told her to run when they both had nothing to run toward.

“Not green”

Shin listens to the squeak of Sabine’s boots on the wet floor as she about-faces to find Shin with her head tipped back, eyes still closed, the ghost of a sneer on her mouth. Sabine calls it her default expression, but Shin doesn’t think she’s bothered by it.

She kisses her often enough, despite. despite.

Shin can sense her, of course. picked out clean by the Force. Wearing her armor even though they’re out in the middle of nowhere, drifting in space.

When it’s quiet (and Sabine rarely allows it to be quiet) Shin can hear the dings of tiny rocks against the hull, so small that they don’t register with the shields that protect against space debris.

Odd, how a small thing can slip into your life. Strange how it can become so large when cupped in your palm.

“Why no green?”

Shin dips her head, rolls her shoulders. Pretends that the movement is just meditation and not hiding.

“Elsbeth,” she says. Always a thing - woman, Sith - of few words.

How to say that green makes her want to lay down next to his body again? That she can still feel the putter of his life slipping out through the wounds in his body?

She can still feel the hands that lifted her up for no good reason and carried her to safety.

“Okay.” Sabine nods, her face fixed with that stubborn look she gets around jars neither of them can open. The sound of painting replaces the sound of Shin loving her just a little more than she did before.

///

Shin likes brighter shades of red; arterial, like a splash of blood on white. Or the orange hue that hid inside her saber.

She likes purples, browns, pinks; not for herself but on Sabine, on the ship, their ship. The wings, for example, are outlined in pink.

A color that means “we’re home” and “i’m sorry I did all that. things I can't even speak aloud.”

The purple-red of Seatos; a wound with bruised edges and that bitter blue-gray ocean. The stones slicked with salt.

When Sabine asked to paint for her, she’d thought it would be the usual thing. Just a color on the walls. But then she saw the practice sketches spread over the table, Sabine gathering them up hastily when Shin walked inside.

She's never sure what to expect from Sabine. Taken off guard by that first kiss, the hands so gentle-sore on the neck of her shirt dragging her down, down.

Baylan used to test her reflexes by dropping things behind a cloak. A black expanse of fabric that he strung up in the hallway on the old battered ship they spun through the space together.

He'd drop things behind the cloak to see if she could sense them and catch them before they fell.

Usually just metal spheres, but sometimes he’d drop candies and her hand would arrive back to her with a sugar-stickiness in it. Baylan rarely gave praise, but they were both silent creatures about care anyway and it was okay and it was fine and it was sometimes sweet.

Shin making him a cup of caf in the early morning because she never slept, could never hold onto sleep. Torn up by nightmares or worse, memories. The caf machine made a sound that felt like home, and Baylan would nod when she passed him a cup.

The family of him was quiet, vanishing. Just a wayward pat on her helmeted head when she came back from a trip through an asteroid belt in her fighter.

When she grew up, he gave her the cloak. It was too big for her, but warm.

There were days when he got sad and did nothing but stare out the viewport into space. Shin hated those days, jogging by herself on the lower deck. Practicing her lightsaber forms alone.

It helped sometimes to prod him back to life with a question, but not always.

Don’t describe it as empty, he’d snapped one day when she stole up beside him to ask why he was staring out at nothing.

Shin with a scowl. I said ‘nothing’; not empty

And there’s a difference?

She shrugged her scrawny shoulders in the sweater she had that was more darned than not, by then. They so rarely stopped in port and when they did shin wanted books, not clothes.

She knew that there was a difference between nothingness and emptiness.

She was nothing, for example, but full of blood and dreams and facts from old books.

Shin only shook her head, padawan braid short and knocking at her neck.

No, master.

When Sabine asked, Shin told her color didn’t matter to her. It was just another thing.

Another distraction, she’d explained, gnawing on a piece of bread while Sabine cooked some sort of protein scramble made with algae. It came out blue and rubbery and delicious.

“What about your fighter? The one you flew over Seatos.”

“From that time I tried to kill you?”

Sabine’s shoulders shook with laughter. Her armor was very beautiful.

She half-turned to show the profile of her face and Shin almost choked on a mouthful of bread.

“Yes, Shin. I almost blew all of you guys to pieces.” She frowned, “If Ahsoka hadn’t deleted my presets.”

“I borrowed that ship.”

“Really?” Sabine turned, skillet in hand, already spilling blue algae onto the floor.

Shin flexed her fingers and the handle floated free of Sabine’s grip. “Let me do that.”

And Sabine let her.

“So, you didn’t borrow that particular ship for any reason? It was just… random chance?”

Shin sighed, stabbed at her food. “I-I liked the yellow parts. At the front.”

That drew a triumphant smile from Sabine, undermined by the scab on her lower lip where Shin bit it open last night.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She does. No greens once Shin mentions it. Instead, Sabine paints the red trees from Seatos. The suggestion of the pale grasslands on Lothal with a cat crouched inside, the tips of its ears visible.

There is no point in mentioning, Shin thinks as she watches the scene unfold, that she loves those cats. Tried to pet the wild ones on Lothal and came away with bleeding fingers, grinning under the cowl of her hood.

Sabine paints little fighters against a black sky, picked out in yellow and blue and red and orange. Stars among them.

The pretense at meditation gives up on her halfway through and Shin just watches through a paper-thin shield of Force as Sabine works.

The colors from her spray canisters fetch up against the shield like waves dancing over the surface.

When they’re done, Sabine is wet with paint and wild with glee as she drags Shin out into the hall. Smears Shin’s cheek with paint as she pulls her mask away from her mouth.

“There, now you can brood in style.”

“It’s not-” she starts, but Sabine stops her with a kiss.

Sabine has always been able to stop her, hands leaving lines and smudges and fingerprints of color on Shin's face, her neck, her hips.

“I love you,” Sabine says when she pulls away. She's very good at saying that now, though it took her a while.

Shin tries to duck her head, but finds Sabine's hand stopping her. Her breath falls out of her, ghosting over that palm.

Love, like trying to catch what you can’t see; what is too close and too bright to anticipate.

Shin’s voice is faint, but it’s not empty and it’s not nothing as she says, “Okay then. I love you too.”

[the-snake-and-the-statue]

Within his room, Achilles folds all his clothes, carefully making sure not a single one has wrinkles. He doesn't want to go out with his clothes a mess.

Darks to lights.... he thinks. Darks to lights. That's how Miro always liked organizing them, at least.

Some clothes can't be folded, such as his armor and a couple formal pieces. Achilles doesn't use that as an opportunity to skip out on smoothing and polishing each wrinkle or scuff. By the time the sun sets, he hangs the last of his armor in place within his closet.

All that's left is the helmet he's hidden under his bed.

The red crest causes dust to fly everywhere over the room, which he quickly fans away before sitting at the ever-so-bare workbench.

His mind seems to work at an exhausted jog as he tries to make it look as presentable as possible. He knows exactly how this day will go, and the next day, and the next day, and the day after that.

There won't be a day after that one.

There's a small knock on his door, jolting Achilles from his thoughts. Standing outside his room is Mirobelle.

".. Monsieur, good evening.." she greets, curtsying slightly. Achilles kneels a bit... he's always struggled to see her as any more than a child. She's never seemed to mind though.

"Good evening, Mirobelle. Can I help you with something?"

"I was... um.... well.... I noticed you're acting different than normal, and I wanted to make sure everything is alright...?"

He pauses.

"I didn't believe anyone noticed."

"I notice many things, Monsieur.... the others have as well. They....."

She looks down, voice growing hushed.

"... they believe you're preparing to go. You aren't actually, though.... r-right...?"

Achilles looks into Mirobelle's eyes.... he feels a muted kind of guilt as she looks up at him. He doesn't want to hurt her like this.... but how can he lie to someone who cares like she does? They came all this way to ensure he was okay....

He's not going to forgive himself for this.

".... I'm afraid they're right. I'm getting ready."

Mirobelle flinches as the words leave his mouth.

"... oh...."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it is alright, I... I should have expected that....."

She turns away, covering her eyes with her forearm and shakily exhaling. Achilles looks down reluctantly, as neither speaks a word for a while.

"... hey. I want to show you something you might like."

Miro looks up as Achilles opens his door more, inviting her inside. She can't remember the last time she's been inside here, and the smell and lack of use unnerves her.

Achilles brings Mirobelle to the side of the bed, showing them each neatly folded pile of clothes, the line going from dark to light.

"I know you're really careful about organization. And.. I'm not gonna be wearing any of these anymore, so... thought I might as well do your job for you. And yes, pants are on the bottoms of the piles, shirts are on the top."

Mirobelle stares in silence before bringing a hand up to her mouth, choking out a sob. Without warning, she turns and hugs Achilles tightly.

The hug is full of grief and dread... a dread that spreads into Achilles' mind as well. He makes a mental note to not look into her eyes when he goes.

"I know... I'm sorry. It's gonna be okay though, Mirobelle. Got that...?"

"It's gonna be okay."

3 days left.

[cb-writes-stuff]

points. give me a lore dump about your dnd campaign/characters

Do you have any idea what you’ve just unleashed?

*CLAP*

LEMME TELL YOU ‘BOUT (almost) ALL THE CHARACTERS I’VE NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO PLAY.

Cut because this is really long. “Keep reading”, in this case, is a command.

The Developed Ones

1. Lina - Changeling Twilight Cleric/Wild Magic Barbarian

Lina doesn’t know who her biological parents are. As a baby, she was adopted by a tiefling couple who raised her as their own. They knew she was a changeling, and they didn’t condemn her for it. But… they weren’t the most supportive, either. They told her to always stay as the Lina that looks like their daughter. Brown hair, ram-like horns, peachy skin, the works. Often, she’d get rid of the horns at night, since they weren’t comfortable to sleep in. That earned her more than one scolding.

From an early age, Lina wasn’t really sure what her identity was. She was born as Lina, so that should make her Lina. But, that was just the name she was given. Her parents called her their daughter, called her Lina, but was that enough? Is Lina her? Or is Lina the diligent tiefling daughter her parents raised? Well, okay, then she is her body. But, if her Lina-ness is so uncertain, then how can that define her?

One particularly stormy night, hours after she was supposed to be home, she was taking shelter under a tree, too tired and scared to be anything but her natural self, gray-skinned and black-haired. Then she met her future mentor, a dwarf Cleric of Twilight. He took escorted her home, told her about his temple, and said she should visit sometime. Not long after, she ran away from home. Religion gives people a sense of identity, right?

At first, it was going great. For one thing, she was fascinated by the divine connections between day and night, between light and dark. She knew who she was: an acolyte of the Twilight domain, and later, a Cleric of it. For another, she got to wear pajamas all the time. Sure, no one else did it, but neither did they judge her. They’d even compliment her on it. It was fun to be “the girl with the pajamas”.

But still, it wasn’t enough. Those were just things she was doing, not who she was. And what identity it did offer was insubstantial. The very thing she served, that she claimed to follow wholeheartedly, was forever insubstantial, never concrete, neither day nor night, neither light nor dark. So she fell back into despair.

One day, in one of the weekly services, the head priest taught on the “evils of fey”. Fey, he said, are wholly evil creatures, who only seek to cause misery and sow confusion. He listed many examples, but the worst of them all was changelings. They wear a thousand faces, and can switch between them at will. They could easily replace anyone, and for all you know, they have. How do you know your brother isn’t a changeling? Or your wife? It’s impossible, of course. It would never happen in their temple, but the fact that they can make you question it is evil in itself. The best thing to do is kill any fey you encounter. This, obviously, did not sit well with Lina. She was at her lowest point, considering turning herself in to… well…

Before she had the chance, her mentor came to talk to her. They’d lost touch with each other over the years, and it was nice to see him again—for a few seconds. He was the only person who knew what she was, so she had to run. It’s hard to get by a dwarf, though. He assured her, he wasn’t going to out her. Rather, he had a message for her that came directly from their deity: “You are. This is enough. Now go.” So, Lina set off on adventure because, as she interprets it, she’ll find her identity out in the world.

Lina refuses to wear armor, or anything other than her pajamas. She didn’t wear them for this long to stop wearing them now. She is also extremely protective of them, and is enraged when they’re damaged. Once she brutally and mercilessly kills whoever tore her pajamas, she calms down. Unfortunately, she loses control of her divine magic when blinded by fury—or rather, she can still control it, but she just goes absolutely wild with it without thinking.

2. Quinn - Centaur Totem Barbarian

Full name, Eleanor Quinn Fieldrunner, of the Fieldrunner Clan. Goes by Quinn because too many people called her “E. Quinn” and she never found it funny.

In her clan, wisdom is prized above all else, whether spiritual, intellectual, emotional, or tactical. Everyone has their job, and you must strive to be the best at what you do. Everyone has to decide what wisdom they will seek, and where.

Quinn could never decide, though. Her family called her lazy when her only aspiration was to come back with the hunting party alive. Eventually, she had enough. She wanted to leave. Simply leaving wasn’t an option, though, so she told people she was going to “become wise in the world, to know what’s out there, and… y’know, stuff.” And it worked, so she left and started adventuring.

As a Barbarian, she wears wrappings instead of armor. Centaurs are meant to be free and mobile, not burdened by suits of metal. She also has to deal with being a centaur in a world of non-centaurs. Everywhere she goes, she gets looks, because “woah, a centaur”. She always has to correct people, that they’re her withers, not her hips, as she sassily puts her hands on her withers. In taverns, she has to tell people to stop looking at her flanks. It’s fair the first time, but if they do it excessively she gets annoyed.

3. Erthwyn Dinfire - Water Genasi Glamour Bard

A bard from the Elemental Plane of Water, Erthwyn is known across many worlds, his songs sung on countless planes of existence. Yes, in fact, he’s quite surprised you don’t know the Worlds-Famous Erthwyn Dinfire.

At least, that’s the story he tells people. In reality, he’s from Brookside, a village between two brooks that merge into a river, which feeds into a lake. He and the other kids played there a lot. The lake, as it turned out, was suffused with a marid’s magic, but Erthwyn is the only water genasi in the village. Though his human parents would never tell anyone, this is because he was conceived on the lakeshore.

Anyway. His parents were never sure what to feel about him. Sure, he was their child, and they tried their best to love him, but it was strange to have such a child.

One day, a bard came through the village, and Erthwyn wanted to go see. Turns out, it was the famous adventuring bard Nirv Ané, a tiefling with blue skin and hair like clouds. Since Brookside is the boonies, though, they’d never heard of her. Her songs were of drows and orcs, goblins and yuan-ti, all doing great, heroic deeds. Erthwyn was surprised. He asked her, how could she sing songs praising species that people usually thought of as evil? She explained, she does it because she’s tired of hearing about humans and elves and dwarves—she’d adventured with all three. She wanted to tell stories about people that were feared, especially unfairly. She wanted to change things.

In that moment, Erthwyn had a revelation: bards are really cool. From then on, whenever he was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d say he wanted to become a bard. And he did. And what do bards do besides become famous? So he tells people he’s famous and composes songs about all the adventures he’s never had. Eventually, he’ll be famous for being famous, and then the whole thing will just sustain itself.

Deep down, he really wants to be a bard so he can change what people think about him, especially his parents. He’s not just a genasi, or a weird version of the kid they were supposed to have. He’s not a gimmick, or a novelty. He’s a person, and he can do things.

He knows other genasi exist, but he avoids them like the plague so they don’t out him as a liar. Same with anyone who studies magic or the like, but because they might actually know stuff about the Elemental Planes and reveal how much he made up (basically all of it).

(Some of Nirv Ané’s hits include “Fragrances Similar to an Adolescent Ghost”, “Regarding a Maiden”, and “Every Pardon-begging”.)

(Yes, his name is an Earth, Wind, & Fire reference. And he’s a water genasi to complete the four elements. And I think it’s hilarious.)

4. Qiana - Plasmoid Astral Monk

Seven cultists are gathered around a table in a dark room, an angel strapped down to the table. Their hands are interlocked, forming a continuous circle, keeping the angel drained of power. An eighth cultist surgically extracts a cubic inch of her flesh and puts it in a crystalline tube and closes the door. The tube fills with salt water. The cultists begin chanting, casting the Clone spell to create a soulless body with all the power of an angel, so they can animate it for their own purposes. Finally, after an hour of constant chanting, the cube transforms… into a viscous, kinda-gross glob of pink goop. The head cultist turns to the angel, raging. “What have you done?” Restrained, powerless, unable to help herself, in absolutely no position of power, the angel laughs. “The body of an angel is too holy to be created by such evil magic.” That only stokes the cultist’s fury. He conjures a wicked green flame into his hand, intending to burn the soul straight from her body and use it as their puppet instead.

Meanwhile, a group of paladins approach the entrance to the ritual chamber. To the side is a desk with a little woman behind it, the receptionist, not looking up from her work. The paladins stand there politely. One clears his throat and she looks up. “Do you have an appointment?” she asks. The lead paladin, unsure what else to say, tells her, “Uh… yes?” “Name?” He gives his name in the way people give their names to receptionists. “Stormwind Thundercall, Champion of Justice, Herald of Compassion, Exemplar of Purity, Mighty Protector of Good, Crusader of Light, Keeper of the Dayblade, Ninth Protector of the Great Weave, Holy Paladin of the Lady of Might, Mistress of Magic, Power Incarnate, and the One True Spell, Mystra.” She flips through a few pages. “I don’t see an appointment for—” She thinks for a moment. “For you.” “Well, can we call it a walk-in?” She looks at him levelly. “You can’t go in without an appointment.” One of the other paladins sniffs the air and whispers to Stormwind, “Sir, she’s a fiend.” Stormwind has had enough of this, and starts walking to the door. A thick black tentacle reaches from behind the desk and blocks it. “I said,” she hissed, rising from the desk and revealing a very tentacle-y lower half, “you can’t go in without an appointment.”

As the head cultist is about to burn the angel’s soul out, a group of paladins bursts through the door. “Your receptionist is dead.” An intense battle breaks out, holy paladin magic against evil cultist magic. In a Hail Mary to weaken the paladins, one of the cultists casts Antimagic Field. “Wait, NO—” The spell is cast. The beefy paladins look at the squishy casters. The squishy casters look at the beefy paladins.

With the cultists dead and the rest of the temple being cleared out, Stormwind frees the angel from her restraints. Casually, he asks, “How was it? Not too bad, I hope?” “Ah, I’ve had worse.” She looks at the back of her thigh. “My leg healed pretty well too.” Stormwind nods. “No one imprisons an angel of Mystra without facing retribution.” The angel smiles a little uncomfortably, and thinks, Paladins are all the same. The other paladins return, reporting that the rest of the cultists didn’t put up much of a fight. They’re all dead. “Um, what’s… that?” The paladin points to the pink goop in the test tube. They all find it kinda gross. Stormwind raises an eyebrow at the angel. She takes a closer look, using some sort of magic. “It’s… alive. In the same way that a vegetable is alive. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” Stormwind nods and signals for the paladins to move out. The angel lingers a little longer, gazing upon the goop. I’m sure it won’t be a problem… Probably.

Years pass, the pink goop slowly absorbing the salt water. When all the water is gone, it’s grown to about 2½ square feet. It wakes up, unaware of what senses it has, feeling nothing but the ground beneath it and the crystal of the test tube. No one enters the temple. Then, months later, the ceiling begins to crumble, and for the first time the pink goop becomes aware of new senses. Light enters the temple, and the pink goop realizes it can see. It feels the sun on its membranes, cells vibrating and moving faster with heat. External vibrations in the air become birds singing and wolves howling. More months pass, and the pink goop is alone. It has thoughts, but has no vocabulary. It has never heard speech. It has never even encountered a living creature.

It’s been decades. No one remembers what the crumbling, ruined temple was once used for. Suddenly, the overgrowth is disturbed by a few monks, distracted from their pilgrimage by curiosity. Inside, they find a crystal test tube, a pool of viscous pink goop inside. One of them, a halfling, goes up to the tube and taps it tentatively. The pink goop ripples, waking up, and directs its light receptors at her. It’s in awe, with no words to describe the feeling. For the first time in its life, it sees another living creature. For the first time in its life, it has a desire. If only it had the words, it would think, “I want to be like this. I want to be like this moving thing.” The pink goop tries to shape itself, slowly, laboriously, assuming a new shape. It molds itself, forming rudimentary arms and legs, then a head and hair, positioning its many receptors in what seem to be the right places. (It would have to fix them later.) When the pink goop settles, it’s in the very vague shape of a young girl. It lays prone, limbs spread out in a star, in the test tube, looking up at the monk.

The monk, very spooked, calls over her friend. “What is this?” she asks. “I don’t know,” says the other, a dragonborn, “but… it is trapped. Whether it knows its own cage or not, it is trapped. Stand back.” The second monk channels ki, and thin, delicate arms appear in the air beside her. Translucent blue, they are ethereal—a product of her ki. With them, she punches the glass, shattering it instantly. Shards fall on the pink goop-girl, sinking through as in molasses. The goop-girl watches them curiously. “Come here, little one,” the monk says, offering a hand. With great effort, the pink goop-girl flips herself over, and struggles to crawl to the monk’s hand, having absolutely no experience moving with legs, much less moving at all. Awkwardly, she rose onto her feet, wondering. It reminded the monks of a baby, learning its legs were able to support its full weight.

The pink goop-girl tentatively reaches for the monk’s hand. Upon making contact, she begins absorbing the skin. That’s new. She’d never encountered organic matter before. The monk yanks her hand away. Though her scales weren’t absorbed at all, it still stings. Trying to suck the pain from her index finger, she reached for the pink goop-girl with an ethereal hand. The goop-girl reaches for it, her hand engulfing it completely and giving her ample support. The two monks nod to each other, satisfied that they figured out a solution. Together, they walk out. The monks waiting outside are quite surprised to see a girl made of pink goop stumbling beside them.

The goop-girl travels with them on the rest of their pilgrimage, and they teach her to walk, and talk, and write, and everything else they think of. Finally, they arrive at the monastery. They register the goop-girl as an orphan (they can’t think of anything better), and name her Qiana. Once she’s old enough, they initiate her as a monk proper, and teach her according to the traditions of the Way of the Astral Self.

(There was originally going to be a comic about how Qiana even exists, since plasmoids are more sci-fi than fantasy. I mean, they come from Spelljammer, for crying out loud.)

(Would y’all read a story about Qiana? After revisiting this, I might write one.)

And now…

The gem 〜★

5. Ocha - Tiefling Shepherd Druid

Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife, both humans, who loved each other dearly. One day, the husband became very sick. The town physician said he couldn’t help, no medicine he had could heal him. The wife went to the nearby city, but the doctor there said the same thing. No medicine could heal her husband. He was as good as dead.

Grief-stricken, the wife returned home to her husband. With labored breath, he told her of the stories he heard as a child, of a dryad that lived in the forest. No, she said, she would not turn to such a creature for help. The husband assured her, only the dryad could make an antidote powerful enough to cure him. Reluctant, she packed her bags and made the journey deep into the heart of the dryad’s woods.

The dryad was waiting beneath the branches, tending nature itself as if a garden. Dryad of the woods, said the wife, I have come for your help. The dryad paid no mind, growing flowers. In her own time the dryad asked the wife, help with what? The wife explained that her husband was very sick, and no one could help him. The dryad listen, and thought, and told her: I can give you an antidote, but it will cost you greatly. The wife asked what the dryad would have from her. You are no mother, the dryad said, so give me your firstborn child. The wife was mortified at such a demand. But she had no choice, her husband came closer to death every day. So she made the deal, and left the forest, antidote in hand.

Many years later, the wife was with child. She remembered the deal she made with the dryad, but she had a plan. She would hide away with the child, so the dryad could never find them. The time came for the child to be born. The midwife fainted, and they thought her dead. The child had bony stubs on its temples, and eyes entirely emerald green with no white or pupil. The wife had given birth to a hideous tiefling.

When the dryad came for the child, the husband and wife were ready and waiting. Take it, the wife said, you do me a great service. She thrust the thing upon the dryad and slammed the door shut.

The dryad looked at the child in her arms. How could they have such a thing? She thought the bouncing babe, with his fledgeling horns and incredible green eyes. She’d never had a plan for what to do with the child… And his parents had abandoned him…

Returning to her woods, infant in her arms, the dryad made up her mind. She would raise the child as her own, teaching him the ways of the dryad.

Meet Ocha! Or, a guy who introduces himself as Ocha. He’d never give you his actual name. That’s not how fey role. He was raised by a dryad, who he calls Dryad-Mom. He’s a child about heart and innocent about everything (even the ruthlessness of nature, which he knows all about). He always follows fey customs and etiquette, even though no one else does. He will simply announce “I’m coming in!” very politely and lightly rather than ask permission to enter, or knock. He also heats up his food slightly so it wasn’t entirely made by someone else. He also swears in Sylvan.

(His name, “Ocha”, is the Japanese word for tea, from a disagreement I had with a friend over how he word “tiefling” is pronounced.)

This dumb doodle is somehow the only art I have of him. He doesn’t know.

I think the funniest part of this drawing is that none of the crossed out things are powders.

This took me all day to write. You asked for a loredump, and you got it. My palm hurts from holding my phone. I hope you’re happy.

[queen--of--maggots]

What’s your most unpopular DN opinion? (It can be about canon, fanon the fandom)

I don’t even know if you are still around anon, but I promised you an answer, and here it is. Unpopular opinion time! And here’s a really unpopular one: I wish Wammy’s wouldn’t exist and Ohba went in a different direction after L’s death.

I’m probably almost the only one with this opinion. I know many people love the Wammy kids, and I want to make this clear, this is not necessarily about the characters from Wammy’s. I appreciate them, some more, others less. However, you can like a character and still think the story would have been better without them.

First, a few points on why I don’t like the introduction of Wammy’s.

One thing I enjoyed a lot about DN up to L’s death is the lack of overused tropes. For example, DN isn’t L’s story despite him fitting more into the good guy role, L isn’t portrayed as a hero, Light isn’t portrayed as a villain, Misa isn’t the innocent victim who was dragged into this, and neither L nor Light is the chosen one(s), main characters don’t have an extremely outstanding design, and so on. Wammy’s changes this partially. There must be people, qualified ones included, in the entire world that have reasons why they want to stop Kira, but all of Kira’s antagonists originate from the same place – Wammy’s. That’s pretty much the secret-intuition-that-protects-the-world-from-evil trope. It also falls into the chosen one trope because only L’s successors are apparently good enough to put an end to Kira. Also, Near has a rather outstanding design. Having white hair isn’t impossible, but highly unlikely. In addition, he looks like 12 despite being 18 and always wears fucking pajamas instead of normal clothes. Mello has a somewhat outstanding design too, but it’s more the way the dresses. I won’t complain too much about it. Still, compare this to Team Kira’s new additions. Mikami’s and Takada’s designs are way more grounded.

Another trope I find annoying is linking everything to the same two or three people. Every important character that is introduced later in the series has a connection to one of the original main characters (being related, childhood friends, same former mentor, …). In my opinion, that’s just a cheap way to give a new character credit without them doing anything and make them more popular among fans. If the character is well-written enough, things like that are not necessary. Ohba goes hard for this trope with Wammy’s: Near, Mello, and even fucking Matt are all L’s successors, so they have a direct link to him. And, while it’s just a spinoff, and how canon it is is debatable, even the BB murder case goes back to L and Wammy’s. (I know AN wasn’t written by Ohba, but it fits the pattern.) Compare this to Light’s allies. Most Kiras had no previous connection to Light before meeting him. The only exception is Kiyomi after the time skip. In Misa’s case, Kira gave her the revenge she wanted. However, she’s likely still one of many with similar stories. She didn’t know Light before, and Light didn’t know her. Even how Misa got her DN is unrelated to Light and Ryuk. Mikami had to stand entirely on his own feet. He had no direct connection to Light or L whatsoever.

I’m also disappointed that Ohba toned down the realism with Wammy’s. DN wasn’t 100% realistic before either, but there is a drop in it with the introduction of the Wammy’s characters. We go from one rich dude who fights crime mainly for entertainment to an entire training ground for super-intelligent orphans to become the world’s greatest detectives. Then there’s Mello with the missile and ultra-fast healing powers, and Near winning because of magical guessing powers and plot armor. Both are also younger than Light and inexperienced. And while humans aren’t born with special powers in the DN universe and supernatural aspects are limited to the Shinigami and the Shinigami realm, BB has Shinigami eyes for no apparent reason. Technically, these are still connected to the Shinigami within the story, but the explanation given for this is extremely vague and unsatisfying.

The points I’ve listed so far would bother me less if they always would have been a thing or if both sides were treated equally regarding tropes and bullshit. But they are particularly noticeable for Wammy’s characters, while Team Kira is not so much affected.

Also, I liked that before Wammy’s became a thing, L was an extraordinary element. L appeared to be self-made. He even became an important part of law enforcement even though his main motivation wasn’t justice. Before Wammy’s introduction, his death would have had a massive impact on the DN universe because once he is dead, L doesn’t exist anymore and is no longer a secret weapon in difficult cases. Even if Kira is defeated, losing L in the process would be a massive loss. Wammy’s existence reduces L to a replaceable role. If he dies, someone else from the L-factory will take the position. The death of L as a person has almost no impact on the DN universe because L as an entity still exists, and that’s the only thing that counts. No consequences whatsoever. Barely anyone knew how he looked anyway.

I understand why Ohba went with L’s successors as a continuation instead of something else. He was playing the safe card by feeding the consumers something they are already familiar with. Going for different scenarios would be risky and require more effort. However, it could have been more rewarding if executed well. I would have liked a greater variety of enemies for Light and him having to adapt to new dangers. So, here are some scenarios that I would have found more intriguing than the one we got.

The premise of Mello’s arc was interesting; unfortunately, the execution was horrendous. But Light vs a criminal organization that, for example, wants the DN or Kira’s power for themselves isn’t a bad idea. A criminal organization would be a lot more ruthless than L. L needed evidence, while a crime syndicate would immediately shoot Light if he showed up on the list of suspects. And his family would be in danger too.

Or a revenge plot? Something like Kira killed a family member or other loved one (preferably justified, but could also be someone wrongly accused), and a bereaved person wants revenge. Now, this person is on a suicide mission, and Light has to fight against someone who has nothing left to lose. Their own survival is optional, only getting revenge before dying counts.

How about Kira vs a fanatic Kira fan? Someone who thinks Kira isn’t Kira enough anymore and feels they can do better? Maybe this person could make Light’s allies question their loyalty to him. Who are they loyal to, Light or Kira?

A female antagonist would also have potential (but not with Ohba as an author). Light tends to underestimate women. Now, Light faces one as a competent opponent, and he has to take one or more critical hits to realize the danger.

Anyway, the successor arc definitely has its moments, but overall, it is a lot weaker. And in my opinion, these weaknesses are primarily connected to Wammy’s. So, removing it could have been beneficial for the story. At least, that’s my opinion. If you have a different opinion, that’s great. But please, I’m not particularly interested in lengthy discussions about this subject.

[milks-thoughts]

MORE ABT MY HTTYD AU >:D

Just to recap/finalize:

Raph:

• A stormcutter

• Protective, one of the main alphas in the nest (Donnie is the other)

• The third to accept MC as part of the nest

• Is twice the size of normal stormcutters

• His role as alpha is more to protect then provide

Donnie:

• Razorwhip

• Analytical, the first, and the one who brings MC to the nest

• He’s missing a large portion of his tail and has extremely soft scales due to a birth defect, he wears armor made out of other razorwhip shedding

• He provides as an alpha and prefers to provide rather than protect. He goes and steals from islands until MC comes along and shows them FISH.

Leo:

• A Death Song

• when AU properly starts (HTTYD 2) he STILL doesn’t trust MC

• Missing a horn and his tail fin is torn up

• Helps keep the nest calm, the balancer of the scale

Mikey:

• a hobblegrunt!!

• the second to properly trust MC

• blind, highly dependent on his brothers and MC

• dragon empath <3

The Nest:

In all honesty, I was having issues imagining the nest. My mind kept flip flopping from a scary inactive volcano like the Queens nest from the first movie, or a lush paradise from the second. I eventually settled on how New Berk looks from the third movie. The island itself is completely surrounded by tall rocks and deep forests that scare any Vikings away. Not to mention the constant dragon calls that echo out from anywhere. The deeper you walk the scarier it gets before finally…it comes to a lush paradise

Side Characters (still Hamato family, just not the brothers)/New Things:

Splinter:

Monsterus Nightmare <3

You gonna have to hear me out: Monsterus Nightmares are shown to be lazy but can kick ass

He’s more of a grandpa resting dragon, he rarely intervenes and trusts his sons to lead the nest

LOVES MC, especially when MC started to clean off his old shed and spend time with him

April:

Deadly Nader

From the show: “ The Deadly Nadder. Piercing spines, loyal, powerful...” “ Intelligent, and, of course, deadly."

Untrusting of MC but growing closer to them after seeing them try to treat all the bros with kindness

One of the main guards and hunters for the nest, she used to scout before getting injured by a Viking and having her wing torn

Cassandra:

Night fury (yes I did use a picture of toothless)

I immediately knew what to do for her, it’s just a gut feeling

Cassandra is the main guard for the nest, she’s larger then normal night furies

She doesn’t trust MC at all but respects MC because the Alphas say to

Casey Jr:

Night light

I feel like he’d still be an egg when MC is introduced

I’ve messed with the timeline a bit so Cass has him when they’re all still younger (it’d make sense because they’re dragons <3)

He trusts MC and constantly is sneaking away from the nest, all the other dragon young following him

Draxum:

Screaming Death

He was brought into the nest by Mikey after he got lost in the woods

In this AU he isn’t related to the bros (neither is splinter, they’re all adopted. that isn’t a excuse don’t be gross guys)

Literally hates MC, tried to eat them, 0/10

Gargoyles:

Night Terrors!!!

They’re so silly

Trusts MC with their lives

Hunts for Draxum

i fucking hate mobile Tumblr so I’ll post a picture of Night Terrors in the comments <3

When this au takes place:

So in the canon, it’d start at the beginning of the first movie, the entire first movie MC is at the nest and just trying to get comfortable. The second movie is when MC really takes an active role, during the Netflix shows timeline MC meets Valka and bonds over their nests. Valka calls MC for help during the second movie, causing MC to lose the nest and the boys. MC helps Berk move but when Hiccup told them to let the dragons go they refused and took the nest and left. Saying that Hiccup should never have asked that and they will aid Berk when they fail due to their loss (rough draft but the majority of the AU happens during the second movie)

[bunnyboybosom]

Emery Starsent

[ID: A viera holds a decorated katana over her head in a defensive stance. She has dark brown skin; long, curly brown hair; and rather wide upright rabbit ears. He is wearing a white tunic under black and gold ornamental armor and a metal headpiece with two horns attached to it. They look at the viewer with a determined expression. end ID.]

Basics

Name: Emery. While "Starsent" is the last name she used when registering with the adventurer's guild, it's only a moniker gifted by a friend.

Nicknames: Ems (she finds this abbreviation offensive)

Age: 27 (as of the end of EW)

Nameday: 25th Sun of the 2nd Astral Moon

Race: Viera - Rava

Gender: Agender (any pronouns)

Orientation: Aceflux

Profession: Wandering adventurer, former field medic, aspiring white mage

Physical Aspects

Hair: Long, curly, dark brown hair.

Eyes: Her pupils appear to blend into her iris like cream in coffee. Her irises are a deep amber.

Skin: Dark, sepia brown. Roughly textured. Additionally, her nose is dark brown, as opposed to the pale pink/white of most viera.

Tattoos/scars: They have a tattoo of a mandala on their back, from which flowering vines extend down their left arm. Because of her face blindness, they apply face paint to themself to better recognize their reflection - simple streaks with complimentary dots on her upper cheeks. She has a large scar under her right breast where she was impaled by a piece of shrapnel after a military accident.

Family

Parents: Her mother was a member of the rabanastre royal guard. Their father was conscripted by the garlean empire prior to the 7th umbral calamity. She doesn't know what became of them, and doesn't remember their names.

Siblings: None.

Grandparents: Deceased.

In-laws and Other: Outside of his travels, they have been living with Lili'a. Neither of them really know what to make of their relationship. Additionally, she had a fling with Kozakura while staying in the Doman Enclave, but had to leave due to urgent circumstances. She hasn't yet really talked to her about it.

Pets: None.

Skills

Abilities: Swordsmanship - he studied in Doma while recovering from a military accident. In combat, she incorporates samurai techniques with those of a lesser known Ishgardian faction. Conjury - after the events of EW base, she is given a white mage jobstone by E-Sumi-Yan (supposedly, it belonged to a former life of hers, a padjal by the name of Ih-Runa-Ran). Training in both Gridania and introducing herself to geomancers of Othard, she is dedicating herself to honing her craft. Trap making and mending - He can make traps for small game or for fresh water fishing. She knows how to use a furnace; how to mend a tunic; and how re-wrap the hilt of a blade with leather straps. Lots of minuet skills that come from being a former soldier.

Hobbies: Hunting - she often accepts mark bills from Clan Centurio as both light sport and a means of income. Occasionally, he'll pair up with larger hunting parties to track down higher ranking (thus more dangerous) creatures. "Cafe-ing" - the Cerulean Lotus being one of his go to spots, he often enjoys going to late night cafes, reading and just existing in the ambiance. They often won't order more than a coffee and a pastry. Reading - spoiled for choice of books, with being granted access to the Noumenon while staying at the Vairemont household, most of the book keepers have stopped trying to keep her out of the areas reserved for collegiate staff and students. Some question whether she has a goal in mind, and perhaps she did at one point, but the purpose of her research diluted with time. Now, she simply reads to, well, read.

Traits

Most Positive Trait: Idealistic.

Most Negative Trait: Reclusive.

Likes

Colours: Rich, vibrant purples; gold; earthy greens

Smells: COFFEE!!, fresh water brooks, new paper

Textures: leather, glass marbles, coffee grounds, spun wool

Drinks: coffee (without milk) and a little brown sugar or molasses, green tea, carrot shakes.

Other Details

Smokes?: Recreational, by pipe.

Drinks?: Not really, doesn't enjoy the taste of most alcohol.

Drugs?: Not really.

Mount Insurance: He has a Doman Falcon named Toro.

Been Arrested?: Fortunately, no.

---

Tagged by @cindernet-explorer (thank you love!)

Not going to tag anyone this time (as I already did on Lili'a's post). If you have more characters you'd like to do this for, feel free to say I tagged you!

[queen-scribbles]

26-30 from the otp asks for whoever strikes your fancy :3

Gonna dredge up the Spy Nerds for this one (Jaaide/Theron) bc that seems fun. Also I miss them

26. What are their vices?

Both are workaholics. Theron has trust issues and a caf addiction and Jaaide has trouble letting people help her. She thinks she has to solve everything herself, but then will get grumpy when no one helps her. (She's working on that, she's been called out by a couple different people)

27. Who is the light weight that needs to be taken care of after a party?

Jaaide. She doesn't tend to drink much, and when she does it's things with low alcohol content, so if she loses track or tries something new that's stronger than usual, Theron will be giving her a piggyback ride out of the club. xD

28. What are there thoughts on pet names? Do they have any?

They like them, but tend to stick to standard things; love, dear etc. Theron uses "sweetheart" a lot, and Jaaide's most common one for him is "darling". They don't have anything that's strongly personal that's turned into a nickname/endearment. that I can remember.

29. Who is more likely to jump in an elevator? Who freaks out?

I was gonna say neither, but then I remembered Jaaide 100% took the "Boo!" option during War for Iokath to see him jump. Sooo I guess she'd be more likely to jump, but I dunno if Theron would freak out. Maybe get a little on edge and ask her to stop, but I don't think he'd freak out.

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other’s outfits; what is each wearing?

Theron's pick for Jaaide is the Jarael's armor top in green with leggings and comfy boots. (He likes her arms and green goes with her eyes.) Or his jacket and nothing else if they're staying in. Jaaide's pick for Theron is EITHER a shirt with the sleeves rolled up under a vest(think Impulsive Adventurer set) with his regular pants and boots or *cough* the Bold Hellion set, just with a tank top underneath. (he looks good in a leather jacket, but she doesn't need other people ogling her man, thanks.)

OTP Asks

[fanfic-corner]

Marvel Humor Fics

As much as I love angst, I also love to laugh at some of the predicaments my poor blorbos get into! So here are some of my favourite humor fics from the Marvel fandom.

He's a Real... Bare... Devil? by 94BottlesOfSnapple (772)

The real problem with no longer wearing body armor, Matt considers, is not actually the higher risk of injury. It’s that sometimes even when you don’t get hurt, you still end up mostly-naked in an alley that smells like day-old Chinese takeout.

Daredevil manages to lose his clothes while on patrol with the Defenders. They only make fun of him a little.

Footie Pajamas by Triscribe (1.1k)

*What?* Tony demanded. *What is it, what’s wr-*

“Ohmygosh, Mister Stark! It’s too cute!” Peter beamed from ear to ear. “There’s a little girl in the car next to me wearing Spider-man footie pajamas!”

Silence reigned for a long moment, before Tony burst out laughing.

How (Not) to Meet New People by aloneintherain (1.4k)

“Why is there a teenager in our office?”

Foggy stood in the threshold of the office, mouth slightly agape, most likely wondering if he’d walked into the wrong building. The kid waved at him, smile huge under a blooming black eye and spilt lip.

“Foggy,” Matt said, far too calm for someone who was in the presence of a beaten, bloodied, teenage stranger. “This is Peter.”

oh, jesus, not the both of you! by FRAMEW0RK (1.6k)

He’s gonna pass out.

Yup, it’s happening. Foggy can only tell because he’s passed out before, when he was twelve, after he got his finger smashed in the large metal door of their cooler. The intense pain first. Then the cold flash, then the sweating, and then the spots surrounding the corners of his vision. All of that was going on. In the middle of a courtroom. Surrounded by tons of watching people.

“Mr. Nelson?” the Judge calls out. He probably looks awful. His mother told him that he went deathly pale before he passed out the first time. Didn’t she take a video? He remembers there being a video. Is the room spinning or is that just him?

“I think ’m passing out,” Foggy mumbles thickly, hand flailing out for purchase but getting nothing on his fingers. The world was starting to go underwater. Someone yelled, and then there’s this gasping sound all around and then there’s darkness and nothing.

Team Red by SalazarTipton (1.9k)

“Ned, for the last time, I’m not going as any of the Avengers! Can you imagine what would happen if they found out? They’d think I had a favorite and--” “But you do have a favorite,” Ned interjects. Peter throws one of his fries at him. “That’s not the point! They don’t know that and can I remind you that you’re forbidden to talk about that? Going to the Tower would be hellish. Can you imagine Mr. Barton and Mr. Stark trying to prove they’re the better choice?”.

when the pretty birds have flown (honey, I'm still free) by the_crown_jules (2.1k)

“I can talk to birds,” Sam said, a little more loudly than the situation warranted.

Bucky's lips twitched, a battle playing out between his attempt to take Sam seriously and his clear desire to snicker. Laughter won out, lighting up his face in a way that was becoming more and more familiar.

“You’re such an asshole. Okay, Torres, I assume you’re listening, you can go now, you’ve had your fun.” He looked around as if he’d be able to spot Torres watching them on camera. “What is this, Falcon initiation?”

New Year's Regrets by whumphoarder (2.5k)

In the midst of hosting his annual New Year’s party, Tony is called away to rescue a very impaired Peter from a rooftop in Queens.

Happy Hibernation Day by for_the_night (2.7k)

Tony and Pepper return to the tower on Valentine’s Day to find Peter asleep on the couch. Only he won’t wake up.

Good job neither pseudo-parent panics.

throw all your lucky coins on me by keep_swinging (3.2k)

i. shock (denial) ii. pain (guilt) iii. anger (bargaining) iv. depression v. the upward turn vi. working through vii. acceptance (hope)

Sorta Kinda Kidnapped by happyaspie (3.5k)

Peter gets kidnapped on his way to school. It's fine, though. He's perfectly capable of saving himself. It happens so fast and it's so uneventful that he forgets to tell Tony it even happened. Until the kidnappers call to collect their ransom.

Not Completely the Worst by mainstreamelectricalparade (4k)

Peter's spidey-sense had been going off all day. If he had to stay at school for literally another minute longer, he was probably going to go insane.

And of course, there was one person at school whose single goal in life seemed to be ensuring that that happened.

“Yo, Penis! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Flash called after Peter as he took the steps three at a time in his attempt to make a quick getaway.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut in exasperation and kept walking. Maybe if he ignored the problem, it would go away.

Because that had always worked so well for him, in the past.

Don’t Judge a Knife by Its Color by blondsak and Grace_d and whumphoarder (4.4k)

“Whoa, hold up, hang on,” he says, taking a step closer to get a better look. The blade is probably four inches long and neon purple, while the handle is white with a friendly-looking colorful silicon grip. “Is that a toy knife? Is this a Fisher Price mugging?”

“Fuck you, Spidey,” the mugger replies, fumbling for the knife before scrambling back to his feet and brandishing the weapon at Peter.

Or, Peter is stabbed by a misleading knife, Tony plays a high stakes game of Operation, and May retains the one brain cell.

Dollicia Elizabeth Cowleen the Third by Spideypool_supremacy (4.6k)

Peter frowned. "Why do you have such an obsession with that cow?"

"Getting jealous, Pumpkin?"

Peter looked at him, unimpressed. "Oh no. A cow is stealing all your affection. Whatever will I do." He said sarcastically.

Wade grinned. "Don't worry, Petey. I love you both the same."

"That's actually insulting."

quaranteens by blueh (6.6k)

“Peter Parker,” Cindy says. Peter’s head snaps up so fast that it almost looks inhuman. “Did Tony Stark just waltz in and pick up his child in the background of your Zoom call?”

Peter freezes. Wide-eyed, with ‘guilty’ written on his forehead in 72, bold, Times New Roman font. It takes a solid thirty seconds before he can put himself together enough to click the unmute button.

“I—no?” Peter says. His voice is startlingly high pitched and his expression is nothing short of horrified.

Damn, if that isn’t anything but a confession.

The Glass of Sand and Fog [Fan Comic] by neonbrutalism (7k)

"To be honest, I think time is scary enough without a giant axe clock." "What, worried about getting old? Daredeviling getting hard on your knees?" "No, no... It's hard to explain."

Another day, another villain, another kidnapping. Foggy gets kidnapped, Matt avoids awkward conversations, they both suffer from an inability to talk about their feelings and Kirsten is no help at all!

Learning To Say Hello by heartsdesire456 (11k)

Clint had woken up one morning about three weeks ago (Well, Clint guessed about three. Definitely more than one. Maybe.) and stumbled down to the living room only to realize there was a guy on his couch. The guy just happened to be the Winter Soldier, who Clint knew was actually Steve’s old best friend, Bucky Barnes.

Barnes had been having a staring contest with Lucky (one eye shut, to make it fair, Clint had noticed) and Clint had decided to just leave him to it and make decisions after he’d had some coffee.

(In which Hawkeye befriends the Winter Soldier and discovers the Epic Love Story of Steve and Bucky nobody knows about)

but what is a hero, really? by mjscorner (17k)

"Flash," Peter pleaded breathlessly, "you don't want to do this, okay? They're armed. Trust me, you don't understand."

"No, I think I do understand," Flash scoffed, unsurprised. "You've been a loser your whole entire life, but everyone here still adores you. Well, I'm done dealing with that, okay? Time for me to be a hero."

Peter's heart sank as Flash bumped into his shoulder and marched forward.

He stopped before rounding the corner when the faint sound of a gun being cocked echoed throughout the hall, freezing Flash right in his place. Peter turned on his heel in an instant, standing beside Flash protectively.

"But-but what is a hero, really?" Flash croaked with a nervous smile, side-eyeing the weapon suspended beside him as it softly nudged the side of his skull. 

Peter slowly raised his hands in surrender, staring at Flash until he did the same, dropping the cans of pepper spray and the walkie talkies.

"We are so, so, so monumentally screwed."

Let Me Know if It Gets Above a Six by Sundial_at_Night (65k)

“Mr. Loki?” asked the Spider cautiously. “Aren’t you—like—a bad guy?” he asked, voice full of only curiosity, as far as Loki could tell.

His first thought was, yes.

His second thought was no.

His third thought was, sometimes?

“It varies from moment to moment,” Loki answered honestly, prying his eyes open after they threatened to fall close.

“But on a scale of one to ten, where are you at right now?”

“Maybe a three?”

The Spider-child nodded. “Cool,” he replied. “Let me know if it gets above a six.

The Devil's Hangin' 'Round My Doorstep by 94BottlesOfSnapple (96k)

There’s a lot of things Matt Murdock doesn’t allow himself. His best friend is one of them. But put on a mask and suddenly everything seems so freely available, Foggy included. On the other side of the coin, Foggy’s still trying to stifle his big bisexual crush on his best friend and has no idea what to think of the vigilante who’s suddenly and inexplicably taken an interest in him.

it's always who is spider-man, never how is spider-man by i_regret_thatpersonalityquiz (176k)

"Stay?"

Peter finally looked down to see Harley Fucking Keener, Iron Lad, the boy who had caused his shoulder to be throbbing all night, looking away with a slight tint to his cheeks. Peter opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out.

And he sat back down.

OR: Peter had been living on the streets, dealing with your average homeless vigilante stuff. Things got a bit more complicated when the Avengers started to chase him down.

I hope you enjoy these!! I'll have to make a part two at some point because there's so many brilliant fics to share. Thank you to all the fabulous writers who shared these fics with us, and happy reading!