#no but he wears armor and has a magic sword

[astro-nomaly]

Just came to the terrifying conclusion that Lloyd is like a textbook paladin. What do I even do with that information. Like yeah he’s literally a knight raining divine justice on the Overlord and cleansing evil. It’s literally his entire purpose. wtf kid stop it

[mumms-the-word]

I like to think each of the BG3 companions makes a little change in their appearance/outfit after the game ends, if they’ve been persuaded to distance themselves from their abusers gods and masters

like Gale stops wearing the Mystra earring for something else, something he feels more connected to (something related to his partner, perhaps)

Wyll replaces his sending stone eye with a different prosthetic eye. maybe he has a collection! maybe they’re magical in different ways!

Shadowheart throws her Sharran circlet away to experiment with other jewelry (she already changes her hair to white, so why not go a teeny step further?)

Astarion doesn’t really wear any trappings of Cazador but I like to think a spawn version of him would be interested in wearing more colorful ensembles, rather than the tired black and red (even though he looks good in black and red)

Lae’zel begins incorporating more comet motifs if she’s fighting against Vlaakith, or wearing more non-gith clothing if she’s hanging out in the Sword Coast

Karlach, at last, after finally escaping the hells for good and forever, starts dressing in something other than protective/fire-resistant leather. Nothing wrong with leather, but a girl wants to wear something soft every now and again and it’s good to know she can wear something like cotton or linen without setting it on fire

Halsin finally laying down his druidic armor and…well, we know he’d just go without clothing entirely if he could, but getting comfortable with wearing casual, non-armor outfits all the time, getting comfortable with the fact that he doesn’t have to don symbols and medallions showing his leadership role and allegiance to a specific grove (and probably very relieved to finally set those down and never pick them up again)

Minthara contemplating having someone retattoo the symbol on her neck to obscure the connections to House Baenre or adding another tattoo elsewhere to memorialize her allegiance to either herself or her romanced partner

I just like the idea of the companions acknowledging the little ways they’ve reinvented or adjusted their identities by making little cosmetic changes

[rayroseu]

RAMBLES.... This is just a little thing I found on Knight of Dawn's sprite, but HE ACTUALLY WEARS THE AURORAL RING AS A RING??? LIKE ON HIS HAND??? I assumed all this time that him and Silver always wore it as a necklace bcs both their rings has a chain on it and it glows only on their chest.

Maybe they just draw it like this bcs the screen of the game is very limited. It would look awkward if all this time, Dawn wore it as a ring and they tried to place the glow on his hand (which will be hidden by the thick dialogue box lol) TWST just pls make cutscene illustrations for once--

Although this is so interesting though?? What do you mean that Dawn has a seperate sprite where he has no armor and we can actually see the ring on his hand (despite the fact that all this time they have only been implied to wear it as a necklace) I feel like this guy will really come back on main story once we get to the lore of this ring 😭✨✨

PLS twst im clawing at your door,,, the RING LORE,,, we dont know anything about it fr, at least for Princess Glow, we know that stone only works with Meleanor and its able to grant miracles like restoring health, but for the ring, we only know it didnt come from the Silver Owls, it was left with Dawn ever since he was born (so he didnt create it) and its able to guide you out of the darkness and it only operates with Silver's UM.

Now that I think about it, isnt this auroral ring and Princess Glow operates the same way lol Only follows one caster/magic and able to create miracles (auroral ring's miracle is that its able to fight against the darkness and we know no one has been able to rise up from the darkness yet except Silver with his ring)

I personally think that other than Malleus, Silver will still be a relevant character once we get to Book 8. This magic and Malleus' UM sounds like it'll be useful to make Yuu meet Mickey or make them go home ig. Malleus' UM allows you to initiate a dream while Silver's UM allows you to travel around that dream conciously.

Also wild guess, but if Grim's overblot happens, I just know Silver will be the one to make it 😭

If Book 7 allowed Silver and Sebek to work together, maybe Book 8 will be about Malleus and Silver working together??? 🥺🙏✨

full sprite if anyone wants to see it lol (its from @twstassets)

WAITING FOR THE PART THAT SILVER GETS TO CAST A SWORD LIKE KNIGHT OF DAWN TOO ALKSJDALKD LOOK i feel that they made their model look exactly the same bcs they're trying to reuse this animation on Silver on the latter part of the book----

also looking at his normal outfit,,, Dawn's clothes really resembles too much with RSA's uniform 😭✨

[felassan]

New today on DA:TV from Game Informer, 'Breaking Down Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Classes And Factions':

"Breaking Down Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Classes And Factions by Wesley LeBlanc on Jun 25, 2024 at 02:00 PM "As part of the character creation process for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, players will have to select both a class for their player-controlled Rook and a faction. After customizing much of your Rook's body, including things like a Qunari's horn type and material, for example, with the hundreds of options available in Veilguard, it will be time to pick said class.  [embedded link to DA:TV reveal trailer] There are three classes to choose from: Rogue, Mage, and Warrior. As the names suggest, each features a unique combat system and plays differently as a result. Though you’ll be performing things like light and heavy attacks using the same buttons, what those attacks do varies based on your class. For example, a sword-and-shield Warrior can hip-fire or aim their shield to throw it like Captain America, whereas a Mage can use that same button to throw out magical ranged attacks – read more about the combat of Veilguard in Game Informer's exclusive feature here. Plus, as you spec out these classes and unlock their individual specializations, the differences will only grow even more stark.  - The Rogue has access to three specializations. The Duelist is the fastest of the three, with two blades for rapid strikes; the Saboteur uses tricks and traps; and the Veil Ranger is purely range, sniping enemies from afar with a bow. - The Mage can utilize necromancy with the Death Caller specialization; Evokers wield fire, ice, and lightning; and the Spellblade uses magic-infused melee attacks. - The Warrior can become a Reaper, which uses night blades to steal life and risk death to gain unnatural abilities; a Slayer, a simple but strong two-handed weapons expert; or the Champion, a tactical defense fighter. While these specializations don't matter upfront – you class into them via the skill trees you progress through the game – it's nice to see the potential of each class before you choose it."

"For the penultimate step of the character creator, at least during the demo BioWare shows me, players select a faction. The Grey Wardens return, joined by other returning favorites and new additions like the Antivan Crows, the Mourn Watch, the Shadow Dragons, the pirate-themed Lords of Fortune, which is what I chose in my demo for the current Game Informer cover story, and the Veil Jumpers. Each faction has unique casual wear, which is worn in specific cutscenes when the character isn't donning armor, and three unique traits. The Lords of Fortune, for example, gain additional reputation with this particular faction, have increased damage versus mercenaries, and perform takedowns on enemies with slightly less effort. Veilguard game director Corinne Busche says this faction selection, which ties into your character's backstory, determines who your Rook was before, how they met Varric, why they travel with Varric instead of their faction, and more. "The message of The Veilguard is you're not saving the world on your own – you need your companions, but you also need these factions, these other groups in the world," creative director John Epler tells me. "You help them, they help you now.""

"He says BioWare wanted to avoid the trope of needing to gather 200 random resources or objects before helping you save the world. Instead, the team aimed to create factions that want to help you but have realistic challenges and problems in front of them so that narratively, it makes sense why you help them in return for their help when the time comes.  "Gameplay-wise – each of our classes has a specialization, and each of them is tied to a faction," Epler continues. "But beyond that, each faction has a [companion] as well as [people we're calling agents, ancillarily] who exist as the faces of these factions. We didn't want to just say, 'Here's the Grey Wardens, go deal with them.' We wanted characters within that faction who are sympathetic, who you can see and become the face of the faction, so that even if there are moments where the faction as a whole may be on the outs with you, these characters are still with you; they've still got your back."  [old version of this paragraph] If you find yourself unhappy with your lineage or your class, you can change them using the Mirror of Transformation, found in the main Veilguard hub, The Lighthouse. You can also change your Rook's visual appearance there, too." [new version of this paragraph] If you want to make changes to your character's physical appearance, you can do that with the Mirror of Transformation, found in the main Veilguard hub, The Lighthouse. However, class, lineage, and identity are locked in and cannot be changed after you select them in the game's character creator. [Editor's Note: This article previously stated players can change their physical appearance, class, lineage, and identity using the Mirror of Transformation. That is incorrect as class, lineage, and identity are locked after you first select those. The article has been updated to reflect that, and Game Informer apologizes for any confusion this mistake may have caused.] For more about the game, including exclusive details, interviews, video features, and more, click the Dragon Age: The Veilguard hub button below."

[source]

[papurgaatika]

Papaya’s Official Pedro Character Dick List

This started as me trying to just list them in biggest to smallest dick order, but i got carried away so now it’s that but with a few fleeting (horny) thoughts. Enjoy whores. Xoxo

1. Joel

Horse cock, duh

"Just the tip baby" is a line he’s ALWAYS using

Y’know that line about how he never actually went to university to study? That’s bc he was def fucking college girls and lord was he the talk of the town

If you could sneak Joel “big dick” Miller into your sorority house you were a legend.

Yes this might just be me being self gratuitous

2. Frankie Morales

Big and thick

Shy about it but too focused on pussy to care

Can get off just from eating you out, is extremely proud of that because it means he can just stay between your legs for however long he wants

3. Marcus Acacius

Roman army general who comes back aching after months of war

Will fuck you until you’re dizzy bc you can practically feel him in your stomach

Breeding kink galore, wants to see you round with his kids over and over

4. Javier Peña

He cant be that full of himself without having a pretty dick

And he is so pretty, maybe not that thick but he is big regardless

Loves to press against the top of your pelvis to make you feel him a little more if he shifts his hips up

5. Dave York

Look at him. I know you’ve seen his bulge dont lie to me you heathen.

Will trace a knife over your skin while he’s pushing into you to keep you still

Wears a cock ring to keep himself from cumming until you’re absolutely begging for it

6. Oberyn Martell

Royal cock. That’s all i have to say

Look. he is canonically a slut, there has to be good dick

Not a vers, but will switch occasionally if he’s feeling like he wants change.

Jerks off while you watch just to tease you

7. Pero Tovar

There’s something about these dirty sword-wielding men that screams BDE

Have i seen this movie? No. do i know that he’s jerking himself off and not bothering to be quiet about it even when he’s out on missions? Yeah. yeah i do.

He’ll bite and mark you, but will kiss them better afterwards

8. Din Djarin

Above average, but not too big, and he likes it like that

Def a grower, which makes it irritating when you tease him while he’s in the armor

Hates having to adjust while he’s on missions but you make it impossible

Missionary STANNNN, loves to have his forehead pressed against yours

9. Javi Gutierrez

Pleasure dom 100%

Just average length and girth, but he KNOWS how to use it, and use it well

Will slide just the tip in and make you cockwarm him laying like that until he makes you cum at least twice

10. Jack “whiskey” Daniels

This fucking asshole (i love him)

Ties you up with his lasso

Just smaller than average, but claims he’d get too distracted otherwise

Magic fingers. 100% and he knows it too.

11. Ezra

FREAK. He might be the freakiest one here if i speak honestly.

Doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a huge dick, says he can make you feel better than anyone with a massive shlong can (my words, not his, he’s too eloquent)

Into fisting and coos at you about how he can split you open on his hand and you’ll still ask for more

12. Silva

Bottom!

Not that he needs a small dick to be a bottom, but he just prefers it

Likes to grind against the sheets to get stimulation while he’s face down

13. Marcus pike

Cutie pie with a cute dick

I dont remember who it was but someone on here wrote soft!dom marcus so well and it makes me crazy

Overstimulates you while you ride him

14. Max Phillips

This is to knock this asshole down a notch

Endless stamina (vampire) so it doesn’t really matter

Super into slipping a finger inside while he’s fucking you

Also will make you eat his ass

15. Dieter Bravo

He has a small dick and dare i speak my truth when i say it’s hot???

He loves it, he doesnt need to be huge to feel good.

This man is a vers and a switch. Power bottoming for DAYS or being a bratty top. He has the best of everything.

Degradation kink GALORE!! If you call his dick small condescendingly he might cum immediately

[elffhuntr456]

The DC x DP Justice League problem

I've noticed a pattern when it comes to DC x DP crossovers where when the Justice League has to deal with anything involving the Danny phantom world They are out matched and outclassed in every way.

I know most people in the DC x DP fandoms haven't ever picked up a comic, or watched DC media that wasn't animated (or sometimes haven't even watched Danny phantom) in their lives but at some point it gets ridiculous how incompetent the regular JL is made when it comes to combating the supernatural. 

And as an all-things DC enjoyer this hurts me.

Like Superman, multiple times in the past has gone up against ghosts, ghosts like beings, and ghostly Abilities using his powers like for example:

Superman was able to freeze Ghost Soldier, who could turn intangible, using his freeze breath.

He could Freeze Zatanna's astral form

He was able to decimate the Phantom Stranger's physical AND metaphysical form.

He used his freeze breath to freeze the essence/spirit of H'el in time.

When the Fortress Of Solitude's security program projections were turned into ghosts, he could still blast them with his heat vision.

He withstood being stabbed through his heart and soul with magic a sword.

He tanked silver banshees scream (which affects the spirit) head on.

His super vision can also look past someone's body and mind to examine their soul.

When it comes to Wonder Woman her shield, blade, braces, lasso, tiara, and entire body are all blessed with the power of the literal gods there is no way she wouldn't be able to go straight up to a ghost and punch it intangibility or not.

Her lasso can even drag a soul out of someone's body if needed.

Same goes for Captain Marvel and his lightning.

All of Hawkman and Hawkwoman's armor (the little of it they actually wear) and weapons are made out of nth metal, which is a metal in DC that affects supernatural beings like ghost, zombies, vampire, Spirits, specters, shade's, werewolves, "the Lazarus demon" and reanimated corpses, just like any other creature no matter how strong.

Batman and Green Arrow have an entire arsenal made out of the stuff too, just in case.

In injustice both Green Arrow and Green Lantern have whole suits made out of it.

And even if you don't count injustice, (which is understandable) Green lanterns can easily have their rings copy the atomic structure of any thing they need (like kryptonite for example) and since their suits are made from their rings, they would still have no problem making a suit (or really any weapon they need out of the stuff).

Batman has a pair of gloves that John Constantine gave him specifically used to fight ghosts.

And it's been stated that the Batcave has supernatural barriers and wards to stop ghosts and stuff from getting in. (so no just casual walking into the bat cave).

And when it comes to the whole "ghost king summoning" thing I get it it's a fun concept to play around with, but the JL and JL Dark have so many other options other than to summon what they usually believe to be an interdimensional eldritch being into their world.

like the phantom zone projector something that was able to work on Mister Mxyzptlk a full-blown reality warper from the 5th dimension.

Or contacting the other supernatural experts that aren't just Constantine and Zatanna (which are usually the only contact for supernatural problems the JL has in most fic's for some reason).

Or batman just contacting the strongest supernatural being he knows, who without a doubt would come stop a major supernatural threat (as its usually depicted)

SPAWN. (The guys so op in supernatural power it's crazy)

There are so many other options than summoning the ghost king.

And in a lot of fic's the supernatural members (or just any member that would could help in a given situation) are off world (for some reason?) so they can't be contacted.

That just doesn't make much sense when the JL has the technology of so many advanced civilizations and individual people (witch some are said to be among the smartest in the universe) at their disposal, they should be able to contact their people halfway across the universe.

All of this is to say that due to widespread ignorance of the world of Detective Comics and the capabilities of its hero's (and sometimes Danny Phantom) that most DC x DP situations, stories, and scenarios end up with the Justice League a collection of the earths greatest hero's, being completely and utterly helpless and incompetent against any problems coming from the world of Danny Phantom (or just the supernatural in general).

This is to no one's fault of course, believe me no one knows all of DC lore and all it's details in its entirety.

But being someone that knows a lot about DC and seeing how useless a lot of DC characters are portrayed in most situations when you know they really wouldn't be having that much of an issue handling it, creates a weird disconnect between the two fandoms where it always seems more like the Danny Phantom fandom with DC characters stapled to it.

[comatosebunny09]

talk to me | astarion a.

genre(s): erotica, romance (?) warning(s): praise, dirty talk, female reader, blood drinking, p-in-v, cock warming, terms of endearment, language, blue balls of the female kind summary: astarion discovers you have a thing for praise. what sort of rogue would he be if he didn’t exploit such a weakness? now listening: the lost soul down - nbsplv notes: hi. no excuse, just horny. for @nanaoise08squad. 😅😅😅 thank you for reading, my turtle doves. ❤️❤️❤️

Astarion learns all too quickly that you have a thing for praise. 

He first discovers it by accident. 

After you solve a tricky puzzle standing between you and some much-needed status buffs for your party.

“Excellent work,” Astarion lauds as the magic cools in his veins. He shakes his limbs, sighing like the satisfied cat that finally caught the canary. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you, my dear.” 

He pats you between your shoulder blades for good measure. A seemingly harmless, friendly gesture that causes your body to tense and the leather hilt of your sword to scrunch in your fist.

Keen ears capture the hitching of your breath, your quickening heartbeat, and a mousy squeak pinched from your throat. The pheromones you begin to ooze are sweet as sunmelon, amplifying his intrigue and filling his head with static.

“Oh? What’s this now?” Astarion purrs, stepping around you to have a look at your face. He wears a smirk that bears one canine, and you try valiantly to tuck your bashfulness into your armor, turning your head with a cough. “Did the little pup like that bit of praise?”

If you had a tail, it would surely be wagging. The idea that something so meaningless could get you off makes something glacial sink into Astarion’s belly.

“Bugger off,” you murmur whilst he leans closer. You dismiss him with the wave of your hand, spinning ’round to mask the waver of your voice and the heat igniting in your face. 

You jog away to reunite with the rest of your party at the mouth of the cave, hoping to put an end to this conversation.

Astarion clicks his tongue, drumming his fingers on his chin as he watches you retreat. Can’t help the Cheshire grin that splits his face in twain at his new discovery. 

There was no mistaking the look on your face. The widening of your eyes, the sudden clench of your thighs. The musk of your arousal sits fresh on his tongue.

You liked his little compliment, didn’t you?

He entertains this newfound information a moment longer before joining the lot of you, all crinkly-eyed and smug in your peripheral. 

Your sigh is weighted, and you drop your shoulders, knowing he intends to milk the hells out of this

And milk it, he does.

He has you spread so pretty on his lap, fingernails digging into the meat of your sticky thigh to keep you nice and open. 

Astarion’s free hand manacles your arms behind your back, pinned between your bodies. You could easily break free if you so choose. But you being such an obedient pet for him…

Fucking hells.

His breath is cold and ragged as he roots his nose into the slant of your shoulder, ingesting your earthy aroma and the blood coursing like molten liquid through your veins.

“Darling,” Astarion croons, all teeth and tongue, whilst he nips at the notch of your shoulder. You suddenly feel the hot, lazy drag of a viscous fluid coasting down your arm—your blood. You hadn’t noticed the prick, too swept up in the delightful pressure building between your legs. “Gods, you’re delicious, aren’t you?” 

His voice reminds you of rolling thunder and cured leather. The notion, mixed with the blood loss, causes your exposed nipples to tighten against the frigid whisper of the breeze.

He clicks his tongue. “My sweet little treat. You are intoxicating.”

You moan in reply, wriggling in his grip. Try to clamp your legs shut. To bear down on his cock nestled deep within you, having been teased and stroked until the moon sat high between the stars—until you’ve nearly seen stars. 

But he won’t be having any of that.

He licks a wet stripe up the column of your throat, the puncture wounds slowly healing. It’s positively maddening and obscene, and you instinctively flex your pelvic muscles to feel him pulse within you. To feel him pressing further against that pleasant mesh of nerves buried deep within. Anything to relieve the infernal ache stewing in your belly.

“Oh no, no, no, my love,” Astarion scolds in the most doting tone. “The party’s just begun.” He notches his pelvis up against yours in warning, eliciting the sharpest yelp from betwixt your lips. “Look at you. You’re absolutely drenched. Taking me so well. Such a tight fit. It’s as if you were made for me.”

Your responding whimper makes something feral brew within Astarion’s chest. It takes every bit of him not to end this tortuous game and fuck you into the forest floor. After all, you’re quite a ways from camp with nothing but the rustle of the trees and symphony of the forest dwellers to accompany you. 

No one would hear you—not that he cares. 

He shushes you in that dulcet timbre, lazily rolling his hips to continue his torture. You blink sluggishly to dispel the bleariness nestling beneath your eyes. Saliva puddles in your cheeks. You’re teetering along the edge now, your resolve thrown to the wolves.

Sensing your plight, Astarion nips your shoulder to keep you conscious. Tugs on your arms. “Stay with me, my love. I know you can do it. Gods, I love the way you feel. My filthy little cock sleeve. I could stay like this forever, fuck me. You won’t come without my permission, yes?”

It’s more of a threat than it is a request. Regardless, you nod, your tongue lolling about in your mouth. Your eyes roll back, and the back of your head crashes into his shoulder. The stars above ebb in and out of focus. Streaks of curly white stain your vision before your lids shutter.

“Good, good girl,” Astarion husks, rewarding you with a few more shallow undulations of his hips. Languid like the drag of a tide. He chuckles, something dark and guttural, at how greedily you suck him in. How wet you are, your pussy squelching lewdly around him. “It will be a long night for you, my sweet, if you do not use your words. You’d do best to heed me. Do you understand?”

You’ve no choice but to comply. Not that you could deny him, your mind overhauled with only thoughts of your little star, filling you to the brim. 

You squeeze out a breathy “yes.” And it makes Astarion smirk into your skin. He’s gentle as he brands your neck and shoulder with slothful kisses. A complete contrast to the debauchery taking place in his lap. 

“So, so good for me. I adore it when you listen.”

Tears gather in your eyes. Your lips curve into a crazed smile. You’d give him the world in a handbasket if you could. But for now, you’ll settle for this. Sitting pretty in his lap, leaking around his cock, testing his restraint as much as he pushes yours. 

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 8

We have finally got to the part that started this whole story. Steve being validated by a professional.

Robin gets a pretty dress. And Eddie gets a little jealous.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!!

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Eddie joined them at the shop just as they were finishing up. Will used the extra ten he had to buy Steve a pretty little dagger that was mostly a letter opener, but Steve fell in love with it.

The dagger was silver with a moon in the hilt, the cross guard had moonstones on either side. It was nestled in a black velvet box that he was told he had to leave the dagger in and not pull it out while at the fair.

Steve promised he wouldn’t and turned around to nearly run right into Eddie.

“Whoa!” Eddie said, putting out his hands to steady Steve. “I didn’t realize I was that close to you.”

Steve blushed. “You get your schedule sorted for tomorrow?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, sweet thing. Will get his staff?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so happy,” Steve said with a smile. He jutted his thumb behind him to where Will was happily chatting with the seller.

Eddie peered around Steve to see where he was pointing and sure enough, Will was talking to the guy about magical users in DND and how they should expand it to include other types.

Will spotted Eddie and said goodbye to the seller. He rushed over to where Steve and he were talking.

He held out the staff for Eddie to look at. “What do you think?”

Eddie and Steve shared a fond smile. “It looks great. Will the Wise has finally got a staff worthy of him.”

Will blushed.

“We should put it in Eddie’s van,” Steve suggested, “so it doesn’t get stolen.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Why my van?”

“Because it won’t fit in my car,” he replied with a blush staining his cheeks and creeping up his ears.

Eddie cackled. “Fair enough, Stevie!” He looked around and spotted Gareth with an arm full of all sorts of wares, from swords and armor, to decorative goblets and boxes that no doubt held jewelry.

“Hey Gare!” he said following an ear piercing whistle.

The younger man lit up and jogged over to the trio.

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth said with a shit eating grin. “You like my haul?”

Eddie shook his head. “Sometimes I think your parents have more money than sense, but I’m not about to begrudge a well plotted haul.”

Gareth grinned. “Oh, they absolutely have more money than sense. I just know how to use that to my advantage.”

Will and Steve laughed with them.

Eddie pulled out his keys. “Since you’re clearly in need to be relieved of your loot or grow three extra arms, you should take Will to stash your stuff for later.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s a great idea!”

Steve just shook his head fondly as he watched the two boys walk off chatting about their prizes.

“It’s nice to see Will come out of his shell around new people,” he said to Eddie. “He really needs friends outside of the Party.”

Eddie nodded. “And it helps that I forced them to be read in with Wayne because there was no way I was going to keep a secret that big with the people who are my family.”

They began their stroll through the other stalls, stopping here and there.

Steve spotted a clothing shop and armory and he sided eyed it longingly. There was no way he would the money for anything in that shop. He chewed his bottom lip and was about to move along, when Eddie grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a black leather cloak.

Steve was admiring the construction when he heard a voice behind him say, “That’s a neat tunic, but you do know that you’re supposed to wear a chain shirt under that specific kind, right?”

Steve turned around to see a buxom red head in a bodice and flowing red dress. Her hair was piled messily on her head, but Steve could tell it was artfully done as the structure seemed too sound to be accidental.

“Can’t afford the see the armorer,” he said with a wink and a half shrug.

She laughed. “I guess I deserved that.”

Eddie smirked.

“I like your tunic,” the red head said, looking Steve up and down. Eddie bristled next to him. “Where did you get it from?”

Steve grinned, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s elbow. “I made it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No shit. Really?”

“Yes, he did,” Eddie defended. “He’s amazing.”

Steve flushed with pleasure at his praise. “I dabble. I’ve been sewing for about a decade now.”

She walked up to him and admired the stitching on the hem on the tunic. “That’s really impressive.”

“Thanks, I was admiring your work on the construction of the cloak here,” Steve said. “Was it hand sewn?”

“Fuck no!” she said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t have time to breathe if I did that.” She smiled to have him join in on her joke. But when Steve continued looking at her in awe. “Wait...” she said, as it slowly dawned on her. “You did all of this by hand?”

She brought the hem of his tunic up to her face. Steve blushed and Eddie batted her hand away.

“Oi! Don’t get fresh!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think a name would be a good start before you go and get grabby,” he growled.

“Oh!” she said slapping her forehead. “Right, sorry! I’m Katie. I run Damsel in this Dress. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Steve and this is Eddie,” Steve said.

Eddie looked only slightly mollified and Steve rubbed his lower back soothingly. Eddie preened, leaning into the touch.

Steve cleared his throat. “But anyways, yeah I stitched it all by hand. My parents didn’t think a boy should ‘play’ with a sewing machine.” He put play in air quotes.

Katie’s eyes went wide and she looked back at the tunic hem in her hand. “But it’s so tight and even...”

Eddie grinned. “Isn’t he amazing?”

She looked over at him. “He do yours too?”

Steve shook his head. “No, not his.” He spotted Robin walking by. “But I see someone else’s outfit I worked on.”

“Robin!” he called out.

His soulmate came to a...well stop wouldn’t be quiet accurate as she kept in motion, flailing around a bit trying to regain her balance from her aborted step.

“Steve!” she called back and hurried over to him.

Katie looked her up and down. “You did her costume too?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Steve.

Robin grinned. “Hell yeah, he did! He’s awesome!”

Katie looked back and forth between them. “May I look?”

“Oh I know!” Eddie said cheerfully. “Why don’t they try on something of yours so that you can take a look at their costumes without you having to get all handsy.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at Eddie but turned gleefully to Katie. “That sounds like a great compromise.”

Katie cocked her head back and forth. “Could do, I suppose.”

Steve immediately went for the chain shirts, while Robin wandered around some.

“You’d look pretty in one of my corsets,” Katie said waiting for Steve to get out of the tunic to hand it to her.

Robin blushed. “Aren’t they like painful and gross?”

Katie laughed clear and bright. “Not really. For centuries they were the only form of support a women had. Now, there were tight lacing bodices and corsets, but that wouldn’t happen until much later.”

Robin chewed her bottom lip. She really liked the blue dress and the blue and gold corset. “Can I try on those?” She pointed to the ones she liked.

“What’s your bra size?” Katie asked pulling out the right size dress.

“Uh...” Robin said with a blush. “It’s not very...”

Katie nodded. “It’s fine. I think I’ve got the right one for you anyway, but if it’s too tight or too loose let me know and I’ll find a different size.”

Robin nodded and Steve came out of the dressing room to hand her his tunic.

Eddie let out a low whistle. “Looking good, Sir Stephen.”

Steve did a slow turn and both Eddie and Katie gave him appraising glances.

Robin peeked her head out form behind the curtain. “Um...help?”

Katie was immediately by her side. “What’s up?”

Robin walked out with the laces in her hands and corset not tied.

“Oh!” Katie said. “God, the heat must getting to my brain today. Odd’s Botkins!”

She grabbed laces and showed Robin how to lace it properly.

“How does fit?” she asked stepping back to admire her creation on Robin.

Robin grinned. “I never realized how much I slouched until just now.”

“Yeah,” Katie said with a laugh, “I hear that a lot.” She spun Robin around causing the skirt of the dress to billow out like water rippling in the breeze.

“Wow, Robbie,” Steve said in awe. “That’s gorgeous.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. “Looking good, Buckster!”

Robin squeaked and then dashed back into the dressing room. She came back out with the shirt Steve had altered for her.

Katie took the shirt and tunic and laid them both out on the counter where the cash box was.

“It’s literally seamless,” she said in awe. “And you did this by hand?”

Steve nodded. “But I’ve been doing it for years so...” He half shrugged.

“Hey, man,” Eddie huffed, “don’t diminish your awesomeness. This is hell of a job.”

Steve nodded, blush creeping back up on his cheeks again.

“What’s this?” Katie asked, tapping the embroidery on the hems of both pieces. It was a lovely little floral pattern that was off white on Robin’s shirt so that it blended in, but was a striking silver on Steve’s tunic.

Eddie leaned forward. “Oh, I never noticed that before.” He smiled widely at Steve. “It’s cute.”

Steve flushed even deeper, the red now covering his whole face. “It’s a little something I add to all of my designs. It’s a little signature if you will, so you’ll always know I made it.”

“A Harrington pattern?” Robin asked, leaning over to inspect the embroidery, too.

Steve nodded.

“Have you thought about selling your pieces?” Katie asked. “You could be making bank with these.” She lifted up the shirt to emphasize her point.

Steve shrugged. “Sure, but I wouldn’t have any idea where to sell them or who to sell them to.”

“I’ll sell them for you,” she said, “for a cut of the profits, of course. I sell at gaming and comic conventions, Ren fairs, sci-fi and fantasy conventions.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “I don’t make them very quickly. With them being all hand sewn.”

“Which makes it all the more valuable,” Katie insisted. “A hand sewn dress from a major clothing designer would be worth thousands, sweetie.”

Robin mouthed the word ‘thousand’ in shock.

Eddie pounded Steve on the shoulder. “Hell yeah! Just sell a couple of pieces every once in while and you’ll always having spending money.”

Steve thought it over and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Katie and Robin cheered while Eddie and Steve shared a warm smile between them. A smile that sent butterflies through Steve’s chest. Eddie was always there for him.

Always.

Katie pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you’ve got pieces you want to sell. And don’t leave off that signature either. Your Harrington Pattern as your friend called it.”

Steve took the card frowning. “But won’t that make it harder to sell? Especially the male stuff?”

She shook her head. “The people that buy this sort of thing are the last people that would care about a floral design, particularly since it would make it more authentic.”

He blinked and mouthed ‘oh’. She was right. “Yeah okay.” He lifted the card. “Thanks for this. I guess Robin and I better go change out of these so you can have them back.”

Katie shook her head. “Think of them as an investment in Steve Harrington’s clothing venture.” She lit up and dashed over to the cloaks. She grabbed the leather one that Eddie had been admiring and held it out to him.

“For you too.”

Eddie blinked, he wanted to turn it down and would have, had Steve not taken it and draped it on his shoulders.

The inside had a soft almost fur like material that was a slate grey. It would be too hot to wear in the summer, but in winter he would be outright toasty in it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking her or Steve, but it didn’t really matter. He was grateful to both. He looked up at Robin.

“You’ll probably want to change out of yours, Robbie,” he said, carefully removing the cloak and draping it over his arm.

“Why’s that?” she asked with a pout.

A grin took over Eddie’s face. The mischievous one that always sent a lance of heat in Steve’s gut every time he saw it. “Because you’ll want to look rocking for the joust tomorrow.”

Katie grinned too. “That is an excellent idea, good sir!”

Robin seemed to agree because she grabbed her shirt and dashed back into the dressing room.

Steve was surprised she remembered the shirt, if he was honest.

Katie and Eddie helped him get the tunic over the chain shirt without snagging the cloth on the metal.

Robin came out mere seconds later with her prizes clutched to her chest.

“Thank you!” she squealed. “I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow!”

They all went to the parking lot to put away Eddie and Robin’s prizes. The cloak in the van, and the dress and corset in the trunk of Steve’s car.

Steve was grinning from ear to ear and couldn’t stop.

****

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Damsel in This Dress is an actual Ren Faire staple from where I'm from.

Yup, still on my Gareth lives in Loch Nora agenda.

And while I don't ship Will/Gareth Will needs friends who aren't trauma bonded, you know?

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1@zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter

[reds-skull]

More Cyberknight AU sketches... I can already tell I'll have to do something with this universe, considering how much I'm thinking about the world building, plot, characters...

Speaking of world building, gonna write down some of it under the cut, if anyone's interested... (it turned out to be....... a lot..............)

Alright, so obviously there's a lot of influence of medieval knight armor, so my first line of thought was adding some sort of magic system. Initially I was like "well, can't use the magic system I have in my original stories, since Revenant AU is based on that, and if I do that again it would be way too similar". I considered scrapping magic off this AU completely, because I didn't think I could make a magic system different enough from rev AU to not be just the same thing but To The Left. And then it hit me.

COD already has a magic system. In Zombies.

Now, the Aether is not really treated as magic, more like scientific phenomena, but it's practically magic, taking to account the field upgrades, and its effect on living being (zombies, and special zombies like manglers, mimics, disciples...).

And the moment I thought about that, everything started clicking together.

Picture this, post apocalyptic world. Operation Deadbolt failed, and the Aether spread from Urzikstan to the rest of the world. Decades later, humanity found ways to ward it off, leaving swaths of land infected with the Aether, quarantined away from the remaining human cities.

This quarantine isn't perfect, however, and certain Aether forms threaten the delicate peace on the cities. This is where the Cyberknights come in.

Using Aether portals (the ones in-game), they teleport deep into Aether territory, and with motorcycles traverse the land, tracking big Aether forms that pose a big enough threat.

Scientists have found ways to build weapons made of Aether. The more in the metal, the better, so guns were now dwarfed by the power of swords and spears. These new weapons use the Aether of fallen enemies as a power source, for charging a powerful attack (in-game they're called Field Upgrades, and I'm giving them a lore explanation as to why it takes a while to charge them, and why it charges by killing zombies).

There are a few types of Aether forms: Aether-Mechanical (think the Manglers from the game), native Aether forms (Disciples, mimics, Aether worm), and infected Aether forms (humans turned zombies). Because of that, each unit must include at least one of each: a mechanic (in charge of equipment, and the mechanical nature of Aether-Mechanical forms), an Aether expert (for teleporters, and Aether forms in general) and a fighter (acting as sort of a tank as the others work).

I also thought a bit about the 141's weapons and field upgrades, so here's a little blurb on each:

Soap - Wields 2 short swords, the right with Cryo Freeze (Ammo Mod in-game), and the left with Napalm Burst. Field Upgrade is Frenzied Guard: Killing zombies grants a shield, but all hostiles are attracted to Soap once he turns it on. This Field Upgrade is usually reserved for fighters, which Soap used to be, but he's now acting as a mechanic for the 141 unit.

The blue and red in his design are for his ammo mods, ice and fire, and the helmet obviously resembles his hairstyle. Originally I went for something more Scottish, but it didn't look exactly like I imagined (Scottish warriors were notorious for not wearing a lot of armor, and they kinda scared other cultures, sometimes carrying the head of their enemies to intimidate others. So metal haha).

Gaz - Wields a spear, that uses Aether as a sort of magnetic force, meaning he can throw it and pull it back. Field Upgrade is Energy Blast: turning it on will create a force field around him, pushing and injuring anyone attempting to get close to him (this is a modified version of the Energy Mine in MWZ, just thought I can make it more interesting).

The purple on his belt are Aether crystals, as he's the 141's Aether expert. The "horns" on his helmet are actually a detector of Aether forms (and they're there to look cool).

Price - Wields a foldable shield, and a short sword, with Brain Rot applied to it (Brain Rot will make a zombie turn to your side for a short while, attacking hostiles for a few moments before their head explodes). Field Upgrade is Healing Aura, which will... heal everyone around him, obviously. Price is the fighter of the 141.

Price is nicknamed "The White Knight", as a well known fighter with a long history of felled Aether superforms. The piece on his right arm (his right), is his shield in folded form.

G.H.O.S.T. is a robot, powered by Aether, the first of his kind. This means he uses 2 Field Upgrades: Aether Shroud, making him go invisible for a short while, and Tesla Storm, which channels bolts of electricity through his body and his teammates', as well as his knives, so he makes sure to throw them in tactical positions before activating this. The electricity doesn't hurt his teammates, their armor makes sure of that, but it will kill lower Aether lifeforms, and damage the stronger ones. G.H.O.S.T. is the secondary fighter of the 141.

G.H.O.S.T. - Wields several knives, that use a similar technology to Gaz's spear, meaning he can pull them back at will.

[Edit: forgot to mention that the things sticking out of his forearms are his knives]

His design is based on the "Gilded Ghost" skin in-game, without the gilded part lol. The purple parts are the Aether powering his mechanical body.

For the story, I have something planned... but I don't wanna spoil you lmao. I was thinking a lot about Soap, who (if I make a fic which lets be honest I probably will) will be the POV.

Soap joins the 141 mainly as a mechanic. Each unit has a fighter, a mechanic, and an Aether expert. Gaz is the Aether expert, and Price is the fighter, G.H.O.S.T. acting as a support for Soap when the unit splits up. Soap comes from the northern territories, so he's very different from the rest in terms of his background, basically an outsider. He used to be a fighter, but a knee injury forced him to change positions. All members of a unit can fight, but it's not their main job, bar the fighter of course. He feels bitter about that.

He finds in G.H.O.S.T. an odd companionship, considering the robot can't feel. His AI is exceptionally advanced, so he does talk unnervingly, almost like a human. Soap often just rants, talking about his home city, about the life he used to have, and G.H.O.S.T. listens with no complaints, not that a robot can really complain.

It all changed on one fateful deployment, where Soap and G.H.O.S.T. get separated from the rest, and Soap finds the truth behind G.H.O.S.T.'s technology...

That's all I'm gonna leave you with for now, haha. As you can probably tell, I spent a lot of time playing Zombies in MW3 (idk I just find it a good way to relax), so I really enjoy trying to think of explanations for each mechanic, and how the world would look like 50 years in the future.

[catcas22]

Maedros in Troy AU

Long, long post about my very niche obsession. Original AU by @sweetteaanddragons can be found here.

Every so often when I'm listening to EPIC, my mind will play six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon and I'll end up back at this AU. This particular addition was inspired by my remembering that Achilles was a redhead (Or maybe strawberry-blonde, idk enough about the Greek language to say for sure. His son was a redhead, and he once went by the alias of "the redheaded girl.")

The morning after the sack of Troy is a somber affair, even, surprisingly, amongst the victors. The surviving Achaean princes limp their way back to the feet of the horse, finally able to take a headcount. Odysseus and Ajax the Lesser are missing, Neoptolemus is nursing a nasty leg-wound, and less concerning but equally inconvenient, Menelaus and Helen have absconded to Sparta to start their second honeymoon.

Neoptolemus, in particular, has been having a day. First he got paired with Odysseus, which he has come to learn means he's going to be acting as the muscle while the Ithacan takes the credit. Then Odysseus was granted the honor of ending Hector's bloodline, and Neo couldn't even say anything because the order came directly from the mouth of Zeus. (Odysseus already took his father's armor. Could Neo not at least be allowed his vengeance?) Then Hector's woman took a swipe at him with a dagger, which Neo handled quite easily, then a madman burst out of the crypts and nearly cut his leg off, which presented a bit more of a challenge.

The princes compare notes, slowly piecing together a picture of The Stranger who carved a bloody swath through their armies and then disappeared as quickly as he materialized. Finally, Eurylochus says what everyone else has been thinking (fearing). Towering in stature, redhaired, wearing armor that turned their blades and wielding a sword that pierced through bronze like soft clay? They all know who that sounds like.

Yes, the others reluctantly admit, The Stranger is most definitely the ghost of Achilles, returned from the grave to once again punish them all for the sake of some personal slight. (Neo can't stop thinking about the look in the man's eyes, that look of pity or maybe disappointment before he left the youth bleeding on the steps of Hector's tomb).

Diomedes is the only one to object. Aside from Neo, he was the only one to get a good look at The Stranger and live to tell about it. That wasn't Achilles. In fact, he made the man bleed, so he wasn't a ghost either. No one else seems convinced.

Neo confirms that Odysseus went into Hector's tomb alone, and only The Stranger emerged. Sage nods are exchanged amongst the other princes -- Achilles must have returned to avenge his old comrade, Greater Ajax. But then why would he kill so many Achaeans after presumably taking his vengeance on Odysseus? (Agamemnon scoffs. As if Achilles ever needed a reason to be a pain.)

Then a messenger arrives, breathlessly announcing that Ajax the Lesser has been found. Specifically, he has been found dead by a blow from The Stranger's magic sword, lying at the feet of a toppled statue of Athena.

Now that's clearly an omen of some sort, though no one can agree on what message to take from it. Athena is Odysseus's patron, but is the toppled statue a sign of judgement or of disrespect? Does this have anything to do with The Lesser's cousin The Greater? Nestor suggests consulting the Trojan oracle Helenus. They left the boy tied up on Agamemnon's ship after Odysseus finished with him, and he was still alive the last time they checked. Perhaps he can interpret the omen.

This plan only makes it as far as the beach, where the gang discovers that both the oracle and Agamemnon's flagship have been stolen.

Suddenly it all makes perfect sense. Diomedes explodes -- yet again, Achilles is punishing them all for the sake of his feud with Agamemnon. The High King sputters out a denial -- he and Achilles were square when the man died. His conscience is perfectly clean. He still looks as if he is actively having a heart attack.

Nestor attempts to intervene. Diomedes shouldn't jump to conclusions... But if Agamemnon knows of anything that might have brought a vengeful Achilles back from the grave, he really should tell them. They promise they won't be mad.

Agamemnon has the horrible, sinking feeling that this might be about the fact that he took a leak on the ashes of Achille's funeral pyre. But he's certainly not going to admit to that. Wounded or no, Neo has a good couple of inches on him, and the kid is built like he strangles oxen for a hobby. He has that same twitchy look in his eye that his father always had.

This man cannot have been Achilles, he insists, and Agamemnon is going to bring back his head to prove it! (No one else is willing to set sail while the son of a Nereid might be after their heads, and Agamemnon is quite sure that they're one more bad omen away from sacrificing him to appease Achilles. It's what he would do, were he in their position.) Eurylochus and his crew quickly get pressed into service -- they need a captain, and Agamemnon needs a boat. And don't they want to avenge their fallen king?

Neo insists on coming along, much to Agamemnon's horror.

Maedhros isn't ready to panic just yet. Disorienting as that first night was, he's now fairly certain that he knows where he is. He's on the eastern side of the Sea of Rhûn. This is an inland sea, and the climate and general look of the people suggest that he's somewhere south and east of Dorwinion. He's a long way from home, to be sure, but at least he knows how to get back. He takes a moment to privately curse that storm Maia for dragging him so far out of his way.

He's fairly certain that the woman he rescued is the baby's mother. At least, she seemed very relieved to have him back. So if he recalls the storm Maia's threats correctly, that would make her the prince's widow. The others seem to tentatively consider her to be in charge, and she's at least attempted to communicate with him. Maybe she can help him get his bearings.

Unfortunately, she doesn't speak any of the Easterling tongues he learned from Bór. That's not terribly surprising. Rhûn is a land of many nations, and this particular clan must be rather isolated if they're still casting weapons out of bronze. That's fine. He might not invent new languages on a whim as his father did, but he does enjoy learning them.

The golden-haired girl hasn't stopped watching him. She looks away with a pained expression every time he catches her at it, but even now he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. He saw eyes like that once before -- the first time he saw a mirror after Thangorodrim.

The others give her a wide berth, though she does nothing apart from sit curled under the mast, arms around her knees. During their flight, she broke from her stupor long enough to lead them to this ship -- the same ship where they found the prisoner who Maedhros assumes to be her twin brother. It almost seemed as if she knew where...

But that would be ridiculous. She couldn't have known. Maedhros rather forcibly shrugs the notion off. They're twins. He's seen Amrod and Amras do far stranger.

On his first night, Maedhros was too preoccupied to look up. Even had he chanced to look at the sky, the smoke of the city's burning would have blotted out the stars. He spends the following day tending to the wounded, despite having nothing but torn clothing and seawater, and offering what comfort he can, despite speaking not a word of their language. When the sun sets, he forces himself to stay awake. One look at the stars will give him his heading, and from there he can plan the route home...

Oh. Maedhros doesn't know those stars.

Maedhros is beginning to suspect that he isn't in Rhûn.

More coming soon, by request of @sweetteaanddragons !

[katyakurae]

You don't want to face an aasimar's wrath, right? Don't even think on attack the Hazbin Tavern then. A DnD AU

Lucifer's variations! More facts under the cut:

Armor:

His usual attire for... basically anything. He is a paladin after all.

He wears nothing behind so, when he has tried to wander around the Tavern without armor, Alastor has attacked him. With a fireball.

He is inmune to fire damage tho. Alastor may know this or not.

When someone asks him why does he still wear Lathander's sigils, even shattered, he just changes the subject or make a shitty excuse.

No-shirt:

There is nothing under the armor and the chest plate. Even when it should be. Lucifer has a kind of war against shirts going on.

Walking around the Tavern like this usually goes wrong.

His full body is covered in golden cracks.

His hands change color from the burnings he got in the fall.

Proud of his body, likes to show.

Alastor and him had reached some kind of agreement. Lucifer will not wander half naked around the Tavern (except when he is training, he still practice sword, used to ground him and is still working even now) and Alastor will not attack him if he see him like this after a training session.

The piercings in his ears are post-fall too.

Aasimar's wrath:

Lucifer's look before the fall, when he was not only a Lathander's paladin, but also his most perfect son, his champion and Choosen.

His magic and strenght were at full here.

Yes, that's a third eye. Is usually closed.

He used to wear inmaculate white robes in the day to day. This was more like a war attire.

He did not have cracks before the falling. Why? Well...

No one in the Hazbin Tavern has seen him like this. Mainly cause they weren't alive. (Not even Alastor; even if he is a high-elf, he is way younger than Lucifer.)

Both the serpent in the sword and the one around his waist are both the same one. One he is in full attack mode, they become the same creature, his familiar, Eden.

He used magic to fight as well as the sword.

His oath used to be the Oath of Devotion.

In this past form, he has no ring.

Fallen Aasimar:

Lost part of his magic and power when he fell. As well as his wings.

The golden cracks appeared right after the fall.

He bleeds gold. The cracks are actually open bleeding wounds. He has only told this to two people: the first one to know was Lilith, who healed his wounds after the falling + wedding (what a day).

The second one is Alastor, after knowing more about his patron. A secret for a secret they said.

Charlie doesn't know cause he doesn't want to worry her.

He shouldn't have wings either, since it burned in the fall, but he can summon something like a ghost of his wings.

He suffers itchs and ghost pain from the loss of his wings.

If a battle forces him to summon them, he has a hard time going back. Alastor and Charlie are the ones who soothe and care for him after.

Wanna read more about the Hazbin Tavern? Here is Lucifer's full character sheet!

[phoenixyfriend]

Shmi Acquires Some Teenagers... Sort Of

Read on AO3

Two weeks pass before something changes, and someone new is introduced to Satine and Obi-Wan's routine. Unfortunately, the someone new is not Qui-Gon Jinn, here to rescue them. Fortunately, the someone new is not a torture specialist or some other horror Death Watch is keeping up their sleeves for when Tor arrives. The woman has near a decade on them, and seems meek as a mouse. She is not shoved into the cell like they were, and isn’t even made to wear cuffs. Her clothing is threadbare and stained, but she is… clean and fed, and not carrying any particularly visible bruises. When she turns to the closing door, her profile is visible for long enough that Obi-Wan can see the bulge of her stomach. Ah.

Anyway, yeah, have a thing where Shmi, for Reasons, ends up in a Kyr'tsad jail cell with Obitine.

Shmi is twenty-eight years of age when she is purchased from Gardulla.

She is also seven months pregnant.

Her new owner is young. Fifteen, perhaps as young as twelve, though the tattoos make it hard to tell. He is gruff and rough and angry, stiff with the Hutts and their enforcers in a way that tries and fails to mask that he’s not yet fully grown. He is not particularly careful with Shmi. He ensures that she is not too damaged, at least, because his master—and he insists that he is an apprentice, not a slave, but she has her doubts how he radiates his fear—is interested in the child she carries, not her.

She is a little bruised, by the time they are in hyperspace, but she is not ill or bleeding, not even from a blister. There is a medical droid to ensure it.

Days pass. They are jolted from hyperspace. They are boarded by Mandalorians in grey-blue armors, and her new owner—or fellow slave—is subdued. He had a sword, red and flaming, and is missing a limb by the time he makes it to the escape pods.

Without her.

(She pities him, a little, to be so young and so desperate to please a master who does not care.)

The Mandalorians find her, and she does not fight. She does not imagine they will be any more careful with her than the boy was. She does not wish to lose her child, for all that it has put her life in danger more than most slaves would expect of such a condition.

They aren’t sure what to do with her, and she does not speak enough of their language to know what it is that they are saying. She thinks—thinks—that this was an opportunistic boarding, not a deliberate attack.

Her Basic is a little shakier than it could be. They do not speak Huttese. They put her in a brig, and mostly forget about her for the rest of the week and change that it takes to reach their destination.

She is fed, and the medical droid from the zabrak’s ship is given leave to check on her just long enough to prescribe some vitamin or other.

They reach the destination. The Mandalorians argue with each other, and the only words she catches are portmanteaus with Manda: Mand’alor, Mando’ade, Manda’yaim, and so many more that she worries for ever learning more than a fraction of this language.

And Jedi. She’s mostly sure she heard Jedi.

--

Obi-Wan is a failure of a padawan.

Satine scoffs and kicks him when he says it, telling him that he’s fifteen—though he might be sixteen, at this point, given how time slips away when on the run—and all the magic in the world isn’t a sure thing against a dozen heavily-armed Death Watch. They’ve been captured, fine, so what? He’ll get them out. Between her brains and his magic, they’ll escape.

He thinks she’s trying to be nice.

It sort of works.

Even if she technically called him stupid.

They keep track of guard rotations and scrounge for dropped scraps of metal and glass, pretending to be too caught up in kissing and crying to figure out how to escape.

Kissing is a great cover for trying to pry up the casing on Obi-Wan’s Force-nullifying cuffs.

Two weeks pass before something changes, and someone new is introduced to their routine.

Unfortunately, the someone new is not Qui-Gon Jinn, here to rescue them.

Fortunately, the someone new is not a torture specialist or some other horror Death Watch is keeping up their sleeves for when Tor arrives.

The woman has near a decade on them, and seems meek as a mouse. She is not shoved into the cell like they were, and isn’t even made to wear cuffs. Her clothing is threadbare and stained, but she is… clean and fed, and not carrying any particularly visible bruises.

When she turns to the closing door, her profile is visible for long enough that Obi-Wan can see the bulge of her stomach.

Ah.

“You stay here,” the guard says, slow and careful, more so than they bother with when speaking with Obi-Wan. “Do not run.”

“I understand, Masters,” the woman says, softly and with a heavy accent.

Hutt space.

The guard nods stiffly, and then leaves.

The woman looks around the room. Obi-Wan scrambles to his feet. “Here, sit down!”

She blinks at him, and then nods and makes her way to the bed. There is a bench, but the bed is padded, if barely.

Satine scoots over a little to give her room.

“I’m Obi-Wan,” he says. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. That’s Satine.”

“Satine Kryze,” she corrects. “Bit late to hide my identity from Kyr’tsad.”

Kyr’tsad, the woman mouths, brows pinching. She blinks, and shakes her head, and says, “I am Shmi Skywalker. I do not speak Basic much. I will need help, if you can.”

Obi-Wan thinks, and tries, “Mi man-tie Huttuk no vanlocha.” [1]

A smile passes across her face. “Basic is better for me, ah… Not Huttese for you.”

There’s a pause in the middle of her speech, as if searching for a word she cannot remember.

“We can both try,” Obi-Wan offers, “and learn.”

Shmi nods.

(Continue on AO3)

[screamintoad]

Silanche kid-Fleur Vanrouge

“Now I’m one step closer to becoming a knight!”

Voice claim: TBA

Character info

  Finally we have Fleur Vanrouge, eldest child of the Vanrouge family. When she was younger her hair formed thick and fluffy curls that seemed to be as wild as her personality, as she grew older, nothing changed. She’s rarely found inside, she’s mostly outdoors with the animals, exploring the forest around their house, or running around castle Draconia. She aspires to be a knight like her father and uncle Sebek so she did everything to become one. She learned horsemanship, sword fighting, and studied everything that she could. From linguistics, to history, and science. When the time came for her to be sorted into her dorm at NRC she was ready to hear the mirror shout “Diasomnia!” Only it didn’t, it shouted the name of her mother’s dorm. Pomefiore. Now she’s an agent of chaos for the current dorm leader as a type of rebellion. 

  Growing up in such a large household is something she adores. When she was younger she would always go with Silver to the castle if he didn’t have to be on patrol, if he was then she would hang out with her grandpa or uncle Sebek. As kids, Lilia gifted her and Alaric matching crystal necklaces that were enchanted with a protection spell, ever since then they always wear them. 

Fun facts: Always has something stuck in her hair (flowers, leaves, twigs, etc.). When her or Alaric visits home, they have a tradition of going on a trail ride past a waterfall that they’ve dubbed the “Fire Fall” because at sunrise the water appears golden-orange, then they’ll race back home and the winner chooses their next activity. Always has some type of armor on under her casual clothes post-graduation. Veryyyy baby-faced during her first year at NRC. People assume she’s a daddy’s girl but that’s not 100% true, she loves her dad and is his mini me but much like her brother she’ll always call Blanche “Mama”.

Basic info

Age: 16-20 (first year-post graduation)

Height: 167cm/5’4 during first year, 182cm/ 5’10 at graduation 

B-day: May 17th (Taurus) 

Dominant hand: right

Family: Blanche and Silver (Mama and Dad), Alaric (brother), Lilia (grandpa), Granny Primrose (great grandma “granny”)

Nickname: Wildflower (by family and close friends)

School years

Class A

Club: Horseback riding club

Best subject: P.E

Hobbies: archery, horse riding, loving her significant other

Pet peeve: People underestimating her 

Favorite food: Her mom’s baking

Least favorite food: Her grandpa’s cooking

Talent: Swordsmanship 

Unique Magic: Rose Armor, similar to Blanche she can grow thorny vines around her and even grow roses from the vines. Similar to Miss Acacia from Jack and the Cuckoo-clock Heart. 

Character dynamics

Alaric: Thick as thieves, they’re inseparable when either of them comes home. Despite having different hobbies and interests she tries her best to remember everything he likes. 

Jane: Little sister numero uno. Fleur sometimes enables Jane’s chaotic tendencies but she always makes sure that she doesn’t get hurt. They would explore the Vanrouge property and Fleur would show her all the good spots to look for rare rocks. Girl talks go hard between Jane, Fleur, and Luna. 

(Jackrose AU)

Joey Howl: Lovers! They grew up together and have a classic friends to lovers relationship. She’s a year older than him so at NRC they meet up either between classes or after the school day to talk about stuff. Usually it’s Joey complaining about the ruckus at his dorm or Jane complaining about Pomefiore. 

Luna Howl: Little sister numero dos. If Luna wasn’t causing trouble with Jane and Alaric she would be with Fleur. There’s been numerous times where Fleur’s had to stop her from chasing the chickens. 

(Emmeleus AU)

Aria Draconia: They’ve known each other forever and Fleur is even her personal guard. As serious as she likes to be on duty, Aria always reminds her that they’re friends first before knight and princess. Perhaps even more than friends. One day Aria began leaving gifts for Fleur and she assumed it was because they’re friends or maybe the princess was being polite or she knew about Fleur’s crush on her and is just indulging it in a way that isn’t rude. Until one day the king himself pulled Fleur aside to ask if her and Aria were in a courtship. 

HOWL KIDS AND ARIA BELONG TO @blood-red-hummingbee

TAGS: @gimmeurmoneyagh @babyghoul138 @skibidibabygirl @4necdote @twtysevapr

@angelwishess @moonyasnow @beneathsakurashade @h0neybane

@justm3di0cr3

@bunniehunn @midnightmah07 TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED OR NOT. TAGGING EVERYONE THAT I REMEMBER FOR THE FANKIDS

[imperiuswrecked]

But the hour is getting late. My son. My heir. My legacy. Let us go then, you and I. And I will show you how to save the world.

King Victor Von Doom & Prince Kristoff of Latveria

Thank you to the wonderful @ecairnsart for my Von Doom Royal Family Portrait! I'm once again in awe of your beautiful talent and art. ID and more below the cut~

[ID: Victor Von Doom sits front and center on an elaborately carved wood throne as the King of Latveria, the back of the throne shows a letter D engraving, and there is a detailed open mouthed lion’s head carved into the visible arm, the other side is covered by Doom’s cape which is draped over it. Doom wears a furred cape fastened by detailed decorative clasps, and a fine sash crosses his tunic. The medals on his chest represent his heritage, one is a symbol of the Roma flag, one is a letter W to represent his mother’s symbol, one is a pentagram to represent magic. Doom’s eyes are locked on the viewer from behind his mask. One arm rests on his knee while his other hand holds a unsheathed medieval inspired longsword by the hilt with its sharp end resting on the ground. 

Two black dogs sit at Victor’s feet, while his son, Kristoff, stands to his right and just behind his throne. Kristoff also wears sashes and medals on his suit that represent his heritage and place as Prince of Latveria. He wears a fine cape with the symbol of Doom visible to the viewer. Unlike Victor who is completely armored and wears a hooded tunic and cape, Kristoff’s hood is drawn down, while his face and hair are visible, he wears gloves rather than metal gauntlets. Kristoff’s armor is minimal and the only visible parts cover his neck, jaw, and the lower part of his head. Kristoff’s eyes are also on the viewer while he stands proudly beside his father. His left hand rests on the pommel of a sheathed renaissance era sword. 

The unmasked version shows Victor’s face, the right side of his face shows a jagged scar that runs from under his eye, down his cheek. /END ID]

Artist Notes:

Doom of course is seated front and center, with the dogs at his side and Kristoff at his right hand. The throne is elaborately carved wood and kept relatively dark so that it doesn't draw the eye away from the main figures of the painting.

The portrait composition is inspired by 18th/19th century aristocratic/royal portraits. 

Doom’s sword, inspired by Maleev’s various paintings of Doom featuring a sword, is a medieval inspired longsword. In contrast Kristoff’s sword is a renaissance era inspired weapon, reflecting Victor as the medieval king and Kristoff as his younger heir. 

Victor’s sword and position upon his throne works well as a kind of powerful element, like most royal portraits, it is intended to project a particular image of Latveria's rulers - specifically one of strength, in a bit of contrast to the early portrait representing Doom as a paternal figure and friend to the children of Latveria as represented by a young Kristoff.

You asked me to use some symbolism relevant to their backgrounds for the medals and such: I used a W - like shape from his mother’s chest of magical items in one of Victor’s medals and also on the top of his throne. A wheel-like design (as on the Roma flag) on a medal to represent his heritage, this design is also present in the medallions and on the chest/shoulders holding Kristoff’s cloak. A pentagram symbol on another medal and on the hilt of Victor’s sword to represent his use of magic.

Both of them are wearing somewhat "fancier" versions of typical outfits that we've seen them in from the comics - I've pulled various elements in, (the sashes and medals from Doom's wedding issue) and from Kristoff's appearance in New Avengers. 

Victor’s scar is designed after Jack Kirby’s unmasked Doom drawing. 

Quote Source: Marvel Voices Infinity Comic (2022) #10

This art commission is a companion follow up to a previous Von Doom family portrait art that Ecairnsart created for me, in the older piece Victor and Kristoff have a more whimsical vibe, with Victor reading a book of children’s tales to a young Kristoff while their pet tiger lounges by them.

After Ev presented this piece I knew that I needed an art that showed them in later years, that it needed to be something more somber and austere than the fanciful family portrait of Kristoff’s youth. I wanted to show that years have passed, how the hardships and their personal choices have created a sort of invisible gulf between them but they have a deep bond as adopted family that they can’t ever fully sever. Both are dressed in their best clothing and armor, their portrait shows the image they’ve created for themselves, this is how they present themselves to the world. In contrast to the older portrait there are no colors nor fantastical tiger, instead there are two dogs that give off an almost cerberus vibe, guard dogs instead of a powerful but tamed tiger. Kristoff is waiting just outside of the shadows as Victor’s heir to take his place on the throne of Latveria while Victor sits at the ready to swing his sword in defense of his beloved country and people.

The call back to Victor being the “Lion of Latveria” is in the engraved lion’s head which I thought was another brilliant idea from Ecairnsart. I love how much thought they put into every detail of their work, and how they brought in Victor and Kristoff’s Romani heritage. Ecairnsart also created an unmasked Doom version which I absolutely love as much as the masked version. I love how Victor’s unscarred side is the one he presents to the viewer while the scarred side is hidden a bit more, how he might be uncomfortable being seen unmasked and that perhaps this version of the portrait is one he keeps only in family living spaces in the castle while the other masked version is prominently displayed in the public spaces of the castle. I’ve been a big fan of Ecairnsart’s work for years now and every new piece they create only reminds me how wonderfully talented and dedicated they are to their craft.

I love Victor & Kristoff very much and I’m overjoyed to have another family art of them to cherish. 

[felassan]

Just poring over some of the new images. ◕‿◕

Docktown, Minrathous (in the daytime, in contrast with the gameplay reveal video), reminding us that Minrathous is built on an island. maybe the magic-monorail-looking bridge here is actually the single bridge that goes to Minrathous, like in the lore?

Docktown is the home of Neve. the distinctive floating building is in the distance again. compared to Ferelden, the buildings in Minrathous are like another planet entirely! Tevene architecture/design is so hostile - spikes on chairs, spikes on the sides of buildings.. I wonder if the doorway here is the entrance to the tavern/bar here [second image]. if you look in the window to the left of the door, the figure on the right could be the 'bouncer' at the top of the steps in the bar image. also, outside of here are tables and barrels, like you might expect outside a tavern establishment.

I'm curious about the heraldry of the boat in the harbor with the blue unfurled flags. it reminds me a bit of this Fereldan heraldry, but the animals are the wrong way round and it isn't quite right. either way, the heraldic animal is also present as the prow of that boat and one other.

Elf Rook (either City or Dalish but without vallaslin applied in CC), Emmrich and Harding. Rook is a sword-and-shield warrior here, Veilguard symbol on their chest plate, Warden symbol on their shield. Maybe this Rook has the Grey Warden background? anyways, looking closely at Rook's chest plate here, with the gray metal armor, the purple Veilguard symbol on the left, the 'bandolier' of three brown leather pouches across their chest, and the diagonal lines on the plate going the other way, it looks like maybe this Rook is wearing the same 'iconic[?] Rook outfit' as in the key art, or at least the torso piece. They both also have the metal shoulder plates, purple fabric over the elbow area, brown leather gauntlet etc. It's just that in this screenshot Rook isn't wearing a helmet/hood (or has them toggled off in the Options menu? ^^). anyways, I love that purple seems to be the 'iconic[?]' color for Rook, and also look at how this long-haired Rook's hair flows and sits around their neck and shoulders! and again the detailing is cool, like scratches on the shield and stuff.

Harding's arrow is glowing. Is her bow or arrow enchanted or have some kind of stat buff, or could this be an example of her magical powers in action, like her tarot card art might suggest? also, we can see from the tall skeleton/undead statues in the background and the skull-lid vases in the foreground that this shot is from the Necropolis.

The groupshot at HQ is so [cat crying screaming].. 🥺🥺 I love it so much, with the round table it has like Knights of the Round Table vibes or something and it's so nice to see everyone together and in their casual outfits too. I hope there are lots of moments like this in the game. ^^ Davrin is whittling wood, something that reminds me of Halsin and my Inquisitor (who is Dalish, and also had that hobby). Did some people.. bring their chair of choice to the meeting room hh? Davrin's looks like it was carved from a tree stump. Harding and Neve have a comfy sofa. Emmrich's looks kind of gothic and Nevarran. Taash's stool [?] is gold and practical-looking.

Taash looks so bored hhh. here we can see Bellara without her magical gauntlet. Do you think Manfred and Assan come to the team meetings..? :D Lucanis has impeccable tailoring, with lil bird-skull looking buttons at his collar. he's buttoned right up and professional looking even in his casual downtime, even when some of the others are the opposite. unsurprisingly his casual clothes have that blue-black corvid feather sheen. surely he has coffee in his mug. ^^ I wonder what Neve's drink of choice is though? from the way Lucanis leans here, do you think Lucanis and Emmrich is one of the companion-companion relationships that might develop like Taash and Harding?

Harding looks so cute and cozy on the couch with the cushion and her slippers, I can't take it. and I really love Neve's casual look with her scarf and hair like that!!

I think this scene is probably from the Lighthouse. Game Informer mentioned that it had a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse, and that it's there the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next. Could this be one of those moments in there? ^^ in the background are stacks of books, and books on shelves, like a library would have. on the table is an assortment of scrolls, maps, papers. you can see a feather quill pen and red wax seals. having the maps in front of Davrin, a Warden and monster-hunter who has probably travelled far and quite a lot, is a nice touch. some of the books look quite ornate and arcane-ish, and are there a few of the 'Bellara'-style triangles on the table as well? and what do you suppose is the blue diamond-looking thing with white veins on the table?

(I'm also curious what the golden thing in the top right is.)

we can tell from the way it looks but we also know from a file name that this is the Rivain Coast. it's beautiful, it looks so bright and hot, the water is so blue. we first saw this locale in the Thedas Calls trailer from Dragon Age Day 2023. again, in the distance, we can see that statue.

From a file name, this is Arlathan Forest. everything is suffused in soft golden light, almost whimsical and Fable-like the Game Informer piece said. this shot is framed with those familiar trees with orange foliage e.g one, two, three. this place reminds me of some of the elvhen ruins we got to see in Trespasser. in the top right is green Veil/Fade shenanigans. a place where the Veil is weak, or the edge of this particular Veil bubble? past the wall of green it looks like some of the buildings are broken thanks to the warping, and there are floating rocks.

and look closely at some of the assets -

there's an owl, which are associated with Falon'Din and Andruil. lots of those howling Fen'Harel wolf statues. they look just like they do in DA:I (I don't mean that they look bad graphically or old or anything, just that the details are the same!!) which is awesome for consistency (also cool to see these return, so many of the art assets in DA:I were rly cool), and might even be the same assets being re-used (which is sensible and sensical for game design, something Mark Darrah talked about before). nb, just in case, I'm not saying this as a comment against asset re-use, it makes sense to do and I was excited to see these DA:I or DA:I-style ones in these caps!

[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 3

Since you’re new to this, and Sir Tomura has no squire, Itsuka is kind enough to tell you which pieces of equipment a knight requires for a duel. Gauntlets, vambraces, pauldrons. A breastplate, but Sir Tomura’s is damaged. A shield, but Sir Tomura fights without one. And of course, a sword.

Most knights have auxiliary weapons, less valuable than the named swords they carry into important battles. Sir Tomura has no sword other than Decay, but Itsuka assures you it’s all right – Sir Katsuki intends to fight with his own magic sword rather than an ordinary weapon. You gather up Sir Tomura’s equipment, wrap the sheathed sword in a swathe of fabric to further protect yourself from its edge, and chase after Itsuka, tripping on your skirt with every step.

It’s been raining on and off all day. The training fields are a sea of mud and wet sand, but the walkways and viewing platforms are dry, and the nobility of the High Kingdom is arrayed upon them, peering down into the largest arena. On one side of it stands Sir Katsuki, attended to by his squires and friends. On the other side, attended by no one, stands Sir Tomura.

You’re sure there’s a proper way to get down into the arena, but you can’t see it at first glance, and the need to reach Sir Tomura before Sir Katsuki’s finished arming himself overpowers everything else. You pick a likely spot, squeeze through the railing, and slide and stumble the ten feet or so into the arena. It’s all you can do to keep your grip on your Lord’s armor and weaponry, and keep it out of the mud in the bargain. The sound of it clashing together in your arms draws everyone’s attention, but most importantly Sir Tomura’s. You pick yourself up and hurry towards him.

“I didn’t call for you,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“A squire told me,” you say. Sir Tomura’s eyes narrow. “Did my Lord intend to fight unarmed?”

“If necessary.” Sir Tomura lifts one pauldron and moves to secure it over his shoulder.

He’s slow. You can see that the movement pains him. “Let me,” you say, and he nods once. Once you have the laces firmly grasped, you admit the truth. “I don’t know how.”

“Secure them loosely. Then place the other, connect them, and tighten both.” Sir Tomura speaks so quietly that you can barely hear him, but you follow his instructions to the letter. “Tighter than that. If I must wear them, I’d rather they didn’t slip.”

You pull them tight, the way Lady Nemuri made you pull her corset lacings when you used to wait on her, and Sir Tomura grimaces. “Better. What are you doing?”

“Hiding your laces. He’ll cut them if they’re visible.”

“You’ve seen Sir Katsuki duel before, I take it.” Sir Tomura’s mouth twists disdainfully around his opponent’s name. “Does he have any other endearing habits?”

“He aims for the face,” you say, and curse yourself. “My Lord, your helm –”

“I’d rather my vision was clear,” Sir Tomura interrupts. He’s putting on his vambraces and gauntlets – or one of his gauntlets. The gauntleted hand is too indelicate to accomplish the laces. H holds his arm out, and you slide the second gauntlet into place before tightening the laces yourself. “If you are entertaining notions about serving as my second, stop. I have no need of one.”

“I had no such notions,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you a skeptical look. “I have so little skill in combat that you would be better off with no second at all.”

One corner of Sir Tomura’s scarred mouth pulls slightly upwards. “If you continue to serve me, we will have to remedy that,” he says. He pulls his hand from your grip, flexes his fingers inside his gauntlets, and frowns as you hold Decay out to him. “I told you not to touch that.”

“I was careful, my Lord. It never left its sheath.”

“And it shall not.” King Izuku’s voice rings out from a platform higher than the rest, exactly midway down the field. “Sir Tomura, you may not wield that sword within Castle Ultra’s walls.”

Sir Tomura raises his eyes from the sheathed sword to meet the king’s. “I have no other weapon. Do you mean for me to face your champion unarmed?”

He said he would earlier, but – “Sir Katsuki does not speak for the High Kingdom in his challenge,” King Izuku says. His eyes are clear and hard. “In this castle are weapons of every kind. Any one of them is available for your use.”

“Any of them,” Sir Tomura repeats. Your stomach lurches. “What about that one?”

A shocked, scandalized gasp echoes through the training ground. Sir Tomura is pointing at the king. Sir Tomura is putting King Izuku’s word to the test. The offer of any weapon in the castle includes the king’s own sword, One For All, and no one wields One For All but the rightful ruler of the High Kingdom. Not even King Izuku’s most loyal councilors would dare to ask to hold it, and yet Sir Tomura is demanding it for his own use in a paltry challenge. If King Izuku refuses, he goes back on his word in public, proving that there are some things honor demands which he will not do. Sir Tomura doesn’t repeat the demand, and King Izuku doesn’t answer.

Finally, Sir Tomura laughs, a low, harsh sound that sends chills down your spine. “Your sword would ill suit my hands,” he says. “I will go without.”

“You think I won’t face an unarmed man? Think otherwise,” Sir Katsuki sneers from the other end of the field. “If you choose to fight weaponless, my victory will be even more certain.”

Sir Tomura ignores him. He rewraps Decay more surely than you had done, then catches you by the arm, pulling you towards the edge of the training field and the nearest viewing platform. He looks up and addresses the nobles there. “Does your distaste for me stretch so far that you will not help one of your own out of the mud?”

“I would help were she one of our own or not.” Lord Tenya crouches at the edge of the platform, hands outstretched for yours. “Hurry. Sir Katsuki is unlikely to wait long.”

Sir Tomura says your name, and you glance over to find him forming a step with his hands, ready to help you up. It doesn’t seem at all like the sort of thing a noble should do for a maid, and it crosses your mind to refuse – but then you hear Sir Katsuki’s battle-cry from the far end of the field and step up in a hurry, Decay cradled in the crook of your arm. By the time Lord Tenya has helped you over the edge, the battle has already begun.

You’ve witnessed Sir Katsuki’s duels before. Hard not to, when they occur so frequently. They’re cacophonous affairs, full of war cries and insults and clashes of metal against metal – and, of course, explosions. Explosions are difficult to generate and control with ordinary magic, but Sir Katsuki’s sword Dynamight generates them at will, in the exact intensity he desires. Sir Katsuki’s duels are noisy. And Sir Katsuki’s duels are brief. In the time it takes you to get to your feet again, most are concluded already.

But the battle with Sir Tomura is ongoing, and the battle is silent, other than a strange low crackling that occurs every few seconds. Ordinarily you would have nothing approximating a view, but Lord Tenya hasn’t ordered you away, and he’s at the edge, watching intently. He glances sideways at you, and you freeze, expecting to be banished to the servants’ viewing platform. Instead: “It was not chivalrous of the king to take Sir Tomura’s weapon and allow Sir Katsuki to keep his.”

You stare at him, as much as you can stare while keeping one eye on the field below, where Sir Katsuki has yet to generate an explosion or land a direct hit with his sword. “What other course of action could the king have taken?” Lady Momo murmurs. “Dynamight is a terrible weapon to be sure, but it cannot kill with a single touch as Decay can.”

“Then his Majesty should have removed both weapons.” Lord Tenya’s frown doesn’t fade. “If Sir Katsuki had refused, then we might have dispensed with this an hour ago.”

“My Lord,” you venture, and he looks at you, “may I ask what happened?”

“Indeed you may, as it concerns he whom you serve,” Lord Tenya says. A yes would have served to answer, but you keep your silence rather than saying so. “The council met to address the issue of the borderlands. Sir Katsuki was angered by Sir Tomura’s suggestion that we had sacrificed them deliberately in favor of a more defensible border, and challenged Sir Tomura after Sir Tomura stated that deliberate sacrifice was a more noble motivation for our abandonment than simple cowardice.”

“It wasn’t cowardice,” Sir Ochako says sharply from Lord Tenya’s other side. “We did not know.”

“We did not know because we did not wish to see,” Lord Tenya corrects. He glances down at the training field, frowns, and removes his spectacles, polishing them with a cloth before replacing them on his face. “I am surprised that Sir Katsuki has yet to strike in earnest.”

“He has not had the opportunity,” Lady Momo says. “Sir Tomura moves too quickly for an accurate strike, and Dynamight is not without its limits.”

Too quickly? To your uneducated eyes, your Lord appears to be standing still – aside from quick steps to one side or the other, which seem to cover far more space than they should. You never doubted that the rumors of Sir Tomura’s fighting prowess are true, but this is something else. “It’s magic.”

“Indeed. A most delicate and exacting magic – the brief folding of space, allowing one to traverse more distance than a single step can allow,” Lady Momo says. She’s a skilled magician in her own right. You’ve heard that when she and Itsuka fight side by side, Itsuka protects her from physical attacks while she casts enchantments that shield the king’s soldiers while striking out at his foes. “It is not the sort of magic one would expect the White Death to know.”

“It is a wise strategy,” Itsuka adds. You’re always amazed when squires speak out of turn, but you shouldn’t be. Nobles require much more from their squires than their maids. “Sir Katsuki is frustrated. When he is frustrated, he makes mistakes.”

You’ve seen Sir Katsuki frustrated before, but you’ve never seen him make a mistake. On the field, he lowers Dynamight, its edges smoking. “Damn you, Shigaraki. Why accept my challenge if you don’t intend to meet it?”

“You wish for me to meet it?” Sir Tomura sidesteps, then sidesteps again, appearing well inside Sir Katsuki’s guard. “As you wish.”

A feral grin crosses Sir Katsuki’s face, and he lunges forward, closing the scant distance between himself and Sir Tomura to strike at Sir Tomura’s head with the hilt of his sword. It’s a move you’ve seen him execute a dozen times, but Sir Tomura whips his head sideways to avoid it, then steps closer still. His body is angled, blocking the view from one side of the platform, but you can see it clearly – he’s trapped Sir Katsuki’s arm at its full extension, pinned between pauldron and vambrace. Then he raises the other hand, closes his fist, and brings it down.

Sir Katsuki roars in pain as his arm dislocates at the elbow, and a collective gasp rises from the onlookers, you included. But although you’ve never seen Sir Katsuki wounded, you know better than to think that a single wound will stop the kingdom’s most vicious knight. Sir Katsuki’s right arm is still trapped, but he curls his left hand into a fist and drives it twice into Sir Tomura’s unprotected ribs. Sir Tomura’s body jerks from the impact, but his expression doesn’t change – and you don’t understand. You know your Lord feels pain. You know Sir Katsuki’s blows must hurt. But Sir Tomura sidesteps as smoothly as ever, leaving Sir Katsuki’s arm limp and dangling, Dynamight all but useless at his side.

Sir Katsuki is ambidextrous. He switches Dynamight from his right to his left. “You should have finished what you started,” he spits at Sir Tomura. “Is the White Death so cowardly? Who’s the coward now?”

You don’t think Sir Tomura is a coward, but it’s strange that he retreated – and strange, too, that he’s holding still as Sir Katsuki charges him. There is nothing magical about his sidestep this time, nor about the strike to his torso that he blocks. Still, his expression doesn’t change, and you’re struck suddenly with a realization you can neither explain nor doubt: Sir Tomura doesn’t care about the outcome of this fight. He is not fighting as the White Death is rumored to. He’s barely fighting at all. And even when he’s barely fighting, he’s Sir Katsuki’s equal on the field.

Sir Katsuki swings at him in an overhand chop, and Sir Tomura catches Dynamight’s blade on his gauntlet before the strike can reach its zenith. Sparks fly as he tightens his grip and twists hard, and you hear the blade crack even before the first fault line appears. Faced with losing his sword temporarily or losing it permanently when Sir Tomura wrenches the blade from its hilt, Sir Katsuki chooses the former – but he calls up a final explosion as he’s letting go. The sword flies upwards, leaving both Sir Tomura and Sir Katsuki unharmed.

The explosion carries the sword high into the air, and on the ground, Sir Katsuki and Sir Tomura grapple for the best position to catch it. Sir Katsuki closes the distance between them, trapping Sir Tomura’s arm with his injured one and forcing it upwards, past the angle Sir Tomura would have needed to secure his pauldrons without help. “Fight through that,” Sir Katsuki snarls, and at last Sir Tomura’s expression shifts, “or yield now. I thought the White Death would give a better fight.”

A smile hundreds of times worse than any you’ve seen on Sir Katsuki’s face distorts Sir Tomura’s mouth, and a chill goes down your spine. “As you wish,” he says, and smashes the elbow of his supposedly trapped arm into Sir Katsuki’s face.

Sir Katsuki howls, staggers back. Sir Tomura shoves him the rest of the way without looking, sending him sprawling into the mud. The sword Dynamight plummets towards the ground at last, hilt first, and lands squarely in Sir Tomura’s hand.

It landed in Sir Tomura’s hand, but it’s the White Death who turns to face Sir Katsuki, that awful smile still fixed on his face. Sir Katsuki curses at him. “Dynamight will never bend to your will. You don’t know its true name.”

“I don’t need to bend it to my will to kill you with it,” the White Death says, and Sir Katsuki blanches beneath the mud. “But as it happens, I know its name, too.”

“What?”

“The same name they all share.” The White Death speaks a single word, quieter than the whisper of a shade, and Dynamight blazes to light in his grip. He points it at Sir Katsuki. “Yield.”

Sir Katsuki summons magic – a spear, or perhaps a shield. Whatever it is, the White Death blasts it aside with a flick of the fingers of his free hand. He takes a step closer. “Yield.”

“To a monster like you? Never.”

“Yield.” The White Death closes the distance completely as Sir Katsuki struggles to his feet. He smashes Dynamight’s hilt into Sir Katsuki’s face and knocks him down again. “Yield, or I will defeat you the hard way.”

“Do it, then!” Sir Katsuki says through gritted teeth, as blood flows from his nose. “What are you waiting for, White Death? Kill me and show everyone what a monster you truly are!”

The White Death considers for a moment, and for that moment only, you think Sir Tomura might relent. Then he raises the sword again, an explosion beginning to boil along its length. “When you reach Hell, true knight, tell them who sent you.”

Someone cries out from the crowd for the White Death to show mercy. Someone else curses him. Sir Katsuki’s blood-spattered face is frozen in defiance, his eyes flickering with fear. The White Death’s red eyes are illuminated by Dynamight’s flame, or by some mad light from within, so different from Sir Tomura’s empty, hollow gaze. Even as others beg for him to stop, he aims the growing explosion directly into Sir Katsuki’s face.

“Enough!”

The voice is King Izuku’s, and if he wasn’t already capable of bringing everyone in Castle Ultra to heel in a heartbeat, the fact that he’s thrown down One For All between Sir Katsuki and the White Death would silence all. Where the blade strikes the earth, there’s a brilliant flash of light, and each of the combatants are thrown back by it. Sir Katsuki skids a few feet through the mud and comes to a stop. The White Death, by contrast, is hurled nearly the length of the field, landing hard and sprawling out on his side, mud staining his pale skin and his armor and his hair.

“That is enough,” King Izuku says again. He climbs the railings on his platform and drifts down to the retrieve One For All. “This duel is concluded. The victory is Sir Tomura’s.”

Another gasp from the crowd, and from his place in the mud, Sir Katsuki protests. King Izuku ignores him and looks to the far end of the field. “Sir Tomura, what forfeit would you claim?”

For a long moment, Sir Tomura doesn’t stir. In spite of what you just saw him do, your heart goes temporarily still in your chest, only returning to life once he pushes himself to his knees. “I would claim nothing,” he says, his voice flat like it was when you first came to his rooms. “There is nothing in your kingdom that I want.”

To fail to claim even a nominal forfeit is already a breach in propriety. To reject one so harshly is unheard of, and a disapproving murmur runs through the crowd. “Back to your daily work,” King Izuku orders, and your fellow servants scatter. “Councilmembers, we will adjourn and resume debate in the morning. And someone call a healer. Sir Katsuki has need of one.”

You wait for him to make a similar call for Sir Tomura, but none is forthcoming, and just as Lord Tenya was displeased with the breach in chivalry, so too are you displeased with this. King Izuku ordered the servants back to work, but last night he made Sir Tomura your only task, so you choose another likely spot and slide back down to the training field at your Lord’s side.

His clothes are stained with mud. His shirt is ripped open along his flank by the spikes of Sir Katsuki’s gauntlet, and beneath it, you see bruises already beginning to form. “My Lord,” you say, and he looks up. “I’ll call a healer.”

“No need.” It begins to rain, and Sir Tomura lurches fully upright with a grimace. All traces of the White Death are gone from him. “Show me back to my room and leave me be.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You have the length of the walk to change his mind.

You say nothing, and neither does he, but he does not attempt to banish you again. When you reach his room, you leave him by the armor stand and hurry to the bathing chamber to draw a bath. You set out towels and the collection of soaps and oils you cobbled together based on what you’ve seen while cleaning other knights’ rooms. By the time you’ve finished that, Sir Tomura is out of his gauntlets and vambraces and working on the laces for the pauldrons. The sleeve of his shirt is pulled up and you can see a bruise blooming on his forearm, too. He’s grimacing as he pulls at the laces.

You remember how easily Sir Tomura shook off Sir Katsuki’s maneuver, the one that trapped his shoulder and forced it high, and a question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. “Do you not feel pain in battle, my Lord? I saw you raise your arm without flinching.”

“Pain doesn’t matter to me.” Sir Tomura says that, but once you come forward to help with the laces, he lowers his arm at once. “Sir Katsuki’s maneuver was reckless, and he made it believing that pain would prevent me from making him pay. Do you think I succeeded in breaking his nose?”

“Yes,” you say. “On the second blow, if not the first. He won’t forgive you for that.”

“I neither seek nor desire his forgiveness,” Sir Tomura says. “If there was justice in this world, your kingdom would seek forgiveness from me.”

You remember Sir Tomura alluding to a wrong done to him by the High Kingdom, but you’re unsure whether asking will irritate him, and whether he would answer at all. You have the sense that while serving Sir Tomura you will need to choose your questions carefully. You lift the pauldrons from his shoulders and set them on the armor stand for cleaning later. You’ll have to ask one of the squires how it’s done.

You step back from Sir Tomura and lower your gaze. “I drew a bath for you, my Lord. The water will remain warm as long as you desire it.”

Steam is leaking out of the bathing chamber already. Sir Tomura glances at it. “And where will you be?”

“There are more tasks I must complete,” you say. You’ll need to secure new clothes, first and foremost. “Otherwise I will be present, should you require anything.”

That’s something else you need to find, perhaps before you find new clothes – the tokens personal servants wear, by which their masters can summon them at all hours. You don’t give Sir Tomura the details, and he doesn’t ask for them. He nods and turns towards the bathing chamber, and you take off as soon as he’s looking away.

You find Mei first. Mei has already crafted paired tokens for you and your master, but she’s upset with you for failing to recommend her skills as an armorer, and not at all dissuaded when you tell her that there hasn’t been time. “The man just fought a duel against an armored knight. There’s no better time to discuss his armor,” she snaps. You reach for the wrapped objects she’s holding and she holds them out of reach. “Tell him. Or I’ll pay him a visit myself.”

You know he’s speaking truthfully; Mei is the most fearless person you’ve ever met, and nothing will stop her in pursuit of plying her trade. “I will tell him,” you promise, and she smiles and relinquishes the tokens. You unwrap them and get a surprise. “The colors were chosen just this morning. How did you –”

“The old king stopped by.” Mei shakes her head. “It seems there are there of us interested in the White Death’s welfare.”

Mei’s interest is less in his welfare and more in his armor, but you elect to set that aside for now. You thank her and set off in search of Hakamada. Hakamada has been hard at work. When you arrive at his workshop, he meets you at the door and thrusts a pile of clothing into your arms. “Here. This will do for now. I will have the rest within the week.”

“Thank you,” you say, then cringe. “I mean, my Lord thanks you.”

“I very much doubt that. In any case, thanks are appropriate for you as well – I have included your new uniform,” Hakamada says. You blink. “In your Lord’s newly chosen colors, of course. And since it seems you will be playing the roles of both squire and maid, you will be wearing trousers.”

“Trousers,” you squeak. “I – what?”

“For your Lord’s dignity and your own, whatever remains of both. It’s shameful to see a maid carting around arms and armor through the mud,” Hakamada says. You wonder if he was watching the duel, or if news has simply spread at lightning speed through the castle. “Sir Katsuki was not honorable in his intentions or his conduct. Next time, recommend to Sir Tomura that he not rise to the bait.”

You nod and bow and back up into the wall by accident, nearly dropping the clothes. You manage another set of thanks to Hakamada before setting off again. You’ve spent more time sprinting around the castle today than in all the previous years you’ve dwelt here. It’s unwieldy enough to carry things and run at the same time without the complication of picking up a skirt.

When you get back to Sir Tomura’s room, he’s nowhere to be seen – but there’s a pile of filthy clothes just outside the bathing chamber and steam still billowing out, and if the White Death was wandering the halls naked, you’re fairly certain you’d have heard about it by now. You set the new clothes down on the end of the bed and inspect the old set. The shirt is ruined beyond your ability to mend. The breeches are salvageable, and the belt and boots as well, but all three are in bad shape. The boots in particular. They look like they’re falling apart. You sigh inwardly and add yet another item to the list of things that must be addressed.

But you’ve bothered the artisans of Castle Ultra enough for one day. The boots will keep until tomorrow. You wipe your muddy hands clean on your apron, then turn your attention to dusting out the wardrobe. Clean clothes won’t be much use to Sir Tomura if you store them in a place that’s coated in cobwebs and dust.

You’ve almost finished both the dusting and the storing of the clothes when Sir Tomura calls out from within the bathing chamber. It startles you badly to hear your name in his raspy voice – until this moment, you’d forgotten that he knew it. You calm yourself with an effort. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Bring me a knife.”

A sharp jolt of fear runs through you. “My Lord?”

“You heard me,” Sir Tomura says. He sounds rough, frustrated. “Beneath the mattress, on the right side. Now.”

You go to investigate, moving on shaky legs, and discover the knife. No magic radiates from it; other than its hilt, crafted to resemble clasped hands and interwoven fingers, it’s completely ordinary. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, before you make your way into the bathing chamber. Why does Sir Tomura need his knife in the bath? You’re about to find out.

When you part the clouds of steam, however, you find nothing out of the ordinary occurring. Sir Tomura sits in the raised basin, the water deep enough that only his head and shoulders and the tips of his knees when he draws them up are visible. Another man might look relaxed, but your Lord looks uncomfortable and angry. He’s wrestling with his long white hair. As you come closer, you see for the first time that it’s full of knots.

He doesn’t look at you, but he extends his hand for the knife. “Give it here.”

You hold it out in response, but you’re hesitant, and Sir Tomura notices. “What?”

“Do you intend to cut your hair, my Lord? I can summon a barber, or find some shears.”

“I need no help.” Sir Tomura frees his fingers from the knot they’re trapped in with a sharp yank, one that has you wincing, too. “I will do it myself. I should have done it –”

He curses, and although you shouldn’t speak, you find yourself – once again – opening your mouth. “If you untangle it first, it’ll cut easier. And look cleaner, in the end.”

“Untangle it,” Sir Tomura repeats. “You see how well that has gone.”

“I can help,” you say. Sir Tomura looks up, eyes wide – shocked, or maybe affronted. You’re unsure which, and you can’t withdraw your offer. “If you would like, my Lord.”

He continues to stare at you, and you wonder if what you’ve offered is really so strange. When you waited on noblewomen and lady knights, they often expected help with their hair, in the bath and after. It’s not so different. If you set aside your Lord’s monstrous nature, and the fact that he’s your Lord and not your Lady, there are very few differences at all. After a long hesitation, Sir Tomura gives a curt nod, and you kneel alongside the basin. “Wet your hair first.”

“I tried that.” Sir Tomura sinks beneath the surface again regardless, then sits up. “Now what?”

You uncork one of the vials of oil and empty it over your hands. “I thought you intended to use magic,” Sir Tomura says warily. “You do not fear to touch me?”

“My magic doesn’t work that way,” you say. You reach out slowly towards him. “May I, my Lord?”

He nods again. You lift a section of his hair, one containing several knots, and run your oil-slicked hands over it before beginning to tease the knots apart from the ends and upwards. “You did not answer me,” your Lord says from where he sits with shoulders stiff and back hunched. “You don’t fear to touch me?”

“I touched you yesterday, my Lord.”

“Yesterday you had not watched me fight.”

The smaller knots come undone easily, if not quickly. You’re moving with the utmost care to avoid pulling even slightly. “My Lord expected the duel today to change my opinion?”

“Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice hardens. “If you cannot give me a reason, you are simply addled, and I will dismiss you in favor of someone in their right mind – or no one at all.”

“I know little of fighting,” you say. Little about the mechanisms, the maneuvers and exercises, at least. “But I know a little of honor, and it was not honorable of King Izuku to bar you from using your sword, nor of Sir Katsuki to attack an unarmed man.”

“I was far from unarmed.”

“The nobles I observed with were impressed with your skill,” you say. “Some of them agreed that the duel was not conducted honorably. And it seemed –”

You trail off, fingers working mindlessly through Sir Tomura’s hair. “What?” he demands. “Speak.”

“It seemed you did not care about the outcome of the duel,” you say. “Not as your opponent did. At least not at first. Once you did, it was different.”

“Yes,” Sir Tomura says. “My opponent, in spite of an advantage in arms and armor, chose to strike at a perceived weakness. He did not fight with your oh-so-precious honor. It freed me from my self-imposed obligation to do the same.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “The High Kingdom wished to see the White Death. I simply gave them what they wanted.”

You haven’t heard Sir Tomura speak his own epithet before. His voice is bitter, mocking, cruel, and it leaves no space for a response. You continue to work your fingers through his hair, smoothing out the tangled section, then reaching up to his scalp, checking your work along the length of the strands. Once you’re sure, and you’ve tucked it away over his shoulder, you pick up another set of knotted strands and get to work once more. You try to get your thoughts in order in the bargain.

“You have yet to answer my question,” Sir Tomura says after a little while. Another bruise is darkening on his shoulder. “Why are you still here?”

You have an answer for him, maybe. “May I speak freely?”

“I am not some highborn fool. You do not need my permission to speak.” Sir Tomura’s voice crackles with frustration. “You do not need theirs, either. If you continue to serve me, you will speak to me as you would speak to those you consider your equals.”

The idea of speaking casually to a noble makes you anxious, but you choose your words carefully as a rule. Perhaps this is not so different. “My Lord, I do not doubt your past deeds, good and bad.”

“More bad than good.”

“That said,” you continue, smoothing out more strands from scalp to end, “I think that a man who was nothing more than the White Death would not have spent the first half of an unfair fight behaving otherwise.”

Sir Tomura makes a discontented sound. “Perhaps I was simply denying my true nature.”

“If it was your true nature, my Lord, you would feel no need to deny it.”

Sir Tomura says nothing in response, and you come to a knot that’s a true struggle to untangle. Your own thoughts are sorting themselves out slowly, and you share them as they go. “A person can be more than one thing at a time. Sir Katsuki is a valiant defender of the high kingdom and a cruel man. King Izuku is a kind man, and still dishonorable in his conduct if it will smooth his way. Most people are many things, all at once.”

Part of the knot comes loose, but the other is even more tightly wound than before. “I believe you are the White Death, my Lord. I do not believe that is all you are. Have I answered to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” Sir Tomura says. “I am convinced that you are not mad. At least no more than I am.”

A small flare of triumph blooms in your chest, even as you give up the fight against the second half of the knot. “This piece is more than I can undo. May I cut it?”

“And any others you find.” Sir Tomura raises one hand from the water, grasps the sheath, and holds it steady as you draw the knife. It’s sharp enough to sever the strands neatly an inch above the knot, and a twist of matted white hair falls to the floor. “Cut it all, if you choose.”

“Is there a reason you chose to grow it out, my Lord?” You spill another vial of oil over your hands and begin untangling the newly cropped strands of hair, beginning at the scalp this time. “I only ask because long hair is more difficult to manage than short, and with a helm involved –”

“I fought without a helm more often than not.” Sir Tomura’s head tips ever so slightly back against your hands and you freeze. You don’t know if he even knows he’s doing it. “What would you suggest I do with it?”

Your chest feels tight. You don’t know why. “I will have more of an idea once I know how many more knots must be cut out,” you say. Sir Tomura nods. “Do I have your leave to continue?”

“If I’ve given you leave once, continue the task until it is complete or until I tell you to stop.” Sir Tomura glances at you over his shoulder. “That you feel the need to ask my leave for breathing in my presence speaks poorly of the freedom your realm is famed for.”

You nod and go back to your task rather than admit the truth – you’re more deferential to him than you’d be to anyone else, simply out of fear of arousing the White Death’s infamous rage. But now it seems that you’re more likely to irritate Sir Tomura with continued deference than by speaking your mind. You have no response to Sir Tomura’s statement, so you don’t waste your breath, and eventually he turns away again, staring off into space as you continue to untangle his hair.

It’s a slow process, made slower through pauses to add more oil to your hands and pauses to cut free the knots you can’t untangle and the fact that Sir Tomura’s head continues to tip backwards into your hands while you work. At first it confuses you, but then you notice that he’s no longer sitting hunched, that his shoulders aren’t quite so tense. He’s relaxing. He’s relaxing for you.

No. You push the thought aside at once. Baths are relaxing. Being tended to is relaxing. You’re incidental. You could be anyone. Any of the five maids who fled from him, any of the squires who refused the role. Sir Tomura fought a duel today against the kingdom’s fiercest knight and won. Relaxing now is a natural response. It has nothing to do with you.

But something catches in your thoughts when you consider the duel, something that slips to the forefront of your mind. “My Lord, when you bent Dynamight to your will, you said that all swords bear the same name.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I suppose you should know, if ever you should need to turn one aside.” Sir Tomura leans back against the side of the basin, looking up at the ceiling. “The true name of any weapon is Death.”

He speaks the name in the language of magic, and a shiver runs through you. You know only a few scattered phrases – your own magic requires none – but it’s impossible to mistake words of power when you hear them. “Repeat it back to me,” Sir Tomura says, and you stumble through the syllables. Match my inflection. Death.”

“Death,” you say hesitantly, and Sir Tomura nods. “My Lord, what sort of magic is this?”

“It’s not dark magic, if that’s what worries you,” your Lord says. “Dark magic is not the only magic without mercy.”

That’s not difficult for you to believe. Alchemy is a kind of magic, too, and you’ve seen how cruelly it can be wielded. You go back to your work, this time evening out the length of the strands you’ve untangled to match the spots where you had to cut knots away. It’s not until sometime later, when you’re setting out towels and bringing in a set of clean clothes, that it occurs to you that you’ve forgotten something.

You dither for far too long over whether to speak, then decide that late is better than never, and throw it over your shoulder as you scurry for the door. “Thank you for the lesson, Sir Tomura.”

“Save it for when it counts,” Sir Tomura says. He has yet to rise from the bath. Instead he’s running his hands through his hair, first one hand and then the other. You wonder if he’s displeased. “And to you in turn, for – this.”

Nobles don’t often thank their servants. Acknowledging a job done well is not the same as offering thanks, as thanks implies that whatever service was provided was more than expected. But you’re learning quickly that you cannot treat Sir Tomura the way you would treat another noble. Telling Sir Tomura not to thank you will provoke frustration. So instead of accepting or refusing, you bow your head. “It was my honor.”