#oof why is drawing horses so hard

[ace-of-anunnaki]

Inktober 1: "Sun Chariot"

Revisited my design for Aya a bit - I like how she turned out in this one! The scan did some weirdness to the background...

[gracehosborn]

WIP Questions Tag

Thank you so much @sunset-a-story for the tag!

Going to answer for The American Icarus: Volume I for this one. May do another for Ink of Destruction later, we’ll see.

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

I had originally written the first part of a prologue on a whim set the night before Hamilton’s duel with Burr (back when I thought having this story be in one novel was a feasible idea). But a few minutes later I scrapped this because I thought a prologue was stupid. Years later I have gone back and added a prologue, but now it’s in the form of a fictional letter to the reader wherein Alexander explains why he’s sitting down to write his “memoirs”.

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

I would actually love to have an original piece be composed. I just think that would be more fitting. In an ideal world, I’d love for the task to go to Lindsey Sterling.

Who are your favourite character(s) and why?

As most everyone in Volume I of TAI (and the rest of the series for that matter) are based off of real people, I’ll just be super predictable and say here that I of course find Hamilton super interesting. The man was complex, and getting to explore these complexities through a first-person narrative has been super fun. I get to be in his head and play around with all the gritty details in crafting motivations and stringing real events together into narrative form through his actions.

What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

TURN: Washington’s Spies, Hamilton, potentially 1776, though I could see this being wide reaching.

What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

Oh God. The research, for starters (due in large part to my spite compelling me to go above and beyond what’s necessary), but being a history major who wants to specialize in early American history as it is, I find the struggle here to be more overwhelming than actually difficult. In terms of an actual difficulty, that would be the writing itself. As ironic as that sounds. Having TAI be framed as Hamilton sitting down 200 odd years after his death to write his memoirs means that I have to emulate Hamilton’s actual writing style and oof that’s hard. Also, Alexander Hamilton was very extroverted and I am simply Not That so dialogue is a pain in my ass. 😭

Are there any animals in your story?

Yep! Lots of horses will feature in TAI Volume I. And eventually some dogs (owned by generals Washington, Lee, Howe, and the Baron von Steuben).

How do your characters get around?

This is the 18th century. Everyone’s only options are: ride a horse, get a carriage or coach, procure a boat if on water, or walk. Lots of walking and riding feature here.

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve been stuck on this one chapter for months that closes out Alexander’s time studying at King’s College as he decides to drop out to put all his focus towards the artillery company he has been granted command of. I’m super excited to get into Alexander’s time as an artillery captain but man this chapter. It’s the dialogue that’s holding me hostage I fear.

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

Oh definitely the premise. If that doesn’t draw people’s attention, I’ll be super shocked. Another aspect I can think of would be the time that the novel spends on the American Revolution in a way that’s vivid and detailed. Beyond that, I’ll just say that name recognition is a powerful thing.

Tagging with no pressure: @kaylinalexanderbooks @meerawrites @thestarsfightagainstusmyfriend @almaprincess66 @rwwinton and anyone else who wants to jump on in.

[mllenugget]

Hey!

I'm looking for tips on improving my art. I'm currently a broke-beginner but really want to improve. Any advice or drawing tips?

Oof beginner art tip ? Uhm 🤔 My Too Long Didn't Read take is : Fill your head with lots of references from real life photographies, movies, comics or any other artists that inspire you and analyse how they work and why you like them As well as practice practice practice ! Explore and experiment ! There's a LOT of free art ressources on the internet and specific tutorials for what you may be interested in Some of my personal favorites are ARVEN92's My rambling answer is :

Personally, I know that my art level stayed stuck for a very long time because I kept drawing the same things over and over again. I used to never get out of my confort zone.

Exploring new horizons is hard and frustrating and sometimes it takes a dozen of failed attempts before you finally make something look just like how you want it to (I sure did) But I can't recommend practicing and experimenting enough !

Look up artists' who inspire you and study their pieces in order to understand what you like in them (watch their speedpaints if they have any to check out their process)

Google photography of people and analyse how the lighting works. Find painting of landscapes and try to understand why such cluster of pixels looks like a bush from afar, how can you replicate that with your own hand ?

Take/Print multiple pictures of the same animal and TRACE IT, that's right don't be scared to do so ! It's a taboo topic in art communities but it shouldn't be ! As long it's not from a fellow artist and as long as you don't claim it as yours then it's perfectly fine ! So trace over it and try to get a grip of how the anatomy work and where the bones are and how the muscles wrap around all that mess. Then try to replicate that same drawing but without the model. Compare the result to the image again… See what might be off Then do it again, this time try to stylize it and shape it however you like !

Photography source

Also, don't hesitate to take a step back. You won't notice your improvement right away because, just like your own face : you see it everyday and thus may not notice the slow changes as you grow, yet they are still there ! If you feel exhausted from practicing, take a break for a couple of days and come back with a fresh eye and mindset I used to think I never changed my way of drawing horses, but once you look back how far you've come you only realize that is simply not true

[autism-purgatory]

WIP questions (Sculpted Lands Edition)

thanks for the tag @aestheic-writer18

Rules: answer as many (or as few) of the questions about your WIP as you can

1) What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

A lot Lmao. Cambrius and the world of primordial clay was the first first concept, idk it all just came to me one day and I’ve been tweaking and adding to it ever since.

2) If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Volume 1: Dark Souls 3 menu theme Volume 2: Haunting of Hill House intro theme Volume 3: Dark Souls 3 Epilogue (not that I’d ever want Sculpted Lands adapted in the first place)

3) Who are your favourite character/s and why?

Oof that’s hard, I’ll go with Owin, Hanithan, Cambrius, and Isac and Rion (those gay little knights are especially my favorite)

4) What other pieces of media could share a fan base with your WIP?

Berserk, maybe Fear and Hunger.

5) What has been your biggest struggle while writing your WIP?

probably character voice. Most stories in the three volumes are in first person so it’s hard to make the pov character speak differently.

6) Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Oh yeah DRAGONS! SANDWORMS! Spooky salt monsters that can mimic human voices, giant blind spiders, glowing moths, chameleon velociraptors, massive sea squid’s, the works.

7)How do your characters get around?

Walking or horses

8) What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I’ve just started the rough draft of Volume 3. I haven’t started the second draft of the previous two. I just want to write these three little shits so I can edit them later.

9) What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

The world building, the open-ended mysteries of the world, and the complicated characters who go through some SHIT.

I’ll tag @finickyfelix and @valyalyon (no pressure tho!) as well as whoever else wants to join!

[sirfrogsworth]

The Babylon Bee School of Comedy

Have you ever wanted to make Elon Musk reply to you with a double cry laughing emoji?

If you crave that sweet billionaire validation you need only follow this carefully crafted conservative comedy content creation course for that powerhouse of online satire... The Babylon Bee.

Soon you too could be bootlicking billionaire balls with the rest of The BBee writers.

Are you ready to get your learn on?

Let us Bee-gin.

The number one most important rule that all The BBee writers must internalize to their core...

Conservative comedy abhors effort.

Brainstorming for hours on end to craft the perfect premise and punchline... is for the Libs. Check out this Facebook meme that got 10,000 likes.

Can you order Starbucks from a bar? Doesn't matter, it's a snowflake drink for a snowflake Lib.

Does this joke not have an actual punchline? Doesn't matter, get lost you stupid Lib!

Is this technically a joke by definition? Doesn't matter, if you believe it is a joke, then it's a joke! Just like modern currency.

If you put too much thought into a joke, it might grow in complexity. That could be confusing! The death knell of any conservative joke are the words, "Hmm, that's a thinker."

This brings us to rule number two...

NO THINKERS!

Let's take this Ben Garrison comic as an example.

Spell everything out! Label everything! Don't leave anything to the imagination! If your audience has to figure something out or draw their own conclusions, what fun is that?

Conservatives want to hear things that are familiar. They want their beliefs parroted back at them. You must regurgitate those beliefs and then just make it *sound* like a joke. Don't break new ground or introduce new ideas. Don't get all caught up in interesting wordplay or clever puns or subverting expectations.

All expectations should be fully verted.

That is definitely a word because I saw someone use it on Facebook. End of research.

Here is a helpful tip. If you can't imagine the joke coming out of the mouth of late night comedy genius GUTFELD!, then you need to dial it back a bit. Do not surpass GUTFELD! levels of humor. GUTFELD! is your touchstone.

Oh, GUTFELD! I laughed so hard I FELD it in my GUT.

See, I went too far with my fancy pun. That is not the GUTFELD! way.

But what happens if inspiration is fleeting and you can't pay attention to your comedy writing task because you don't believe ADHD is real and thus you are unmedicated?

Don't you worry. If you do happen to get writer's block or are distracted by a funny Pepe meme or a shiny object, just call your racist uncle and say the magic word... "Bidenflation."

As the ensuing unhinged rant darts from subject to subject without any kind of connecting theme, just start writing down every right wing buzzword you hear. Then just insert those buzzwords Mad Libs-style into a derivative joke format.

Let's practice!

Ex. 1: Why did the PRONOUNS cross the BORDER? To get to the DRAG QUEEN STORY HOUR!

Ex. 2: How many GENDERS does it take to GROOM a lightbulb? Two! One to hold the BUTT PLUG and one to GO WOKE, GO BROKE.

Great start! I'm sure with a polishing pass those will make more sense. Or not. The bar is pretty much "will it get clicks?" so we're not too worried about coherence.

Heh... Mad Libs.

U MAD, LIBS?

Get it? Cuz Libs are always mad? About the normalized bigotry and whatnot.

Jokes are always better when you need to explain them.

Oh! That's another rule. Write that down. Wisdom like this is why I am teaching this course, of course. Hah, that's like that horse show song. I got jokes coming out the wazoo. Wazoo is my butt, right? Siri, is wazoo a butt? Oof, I'm kinda spacing on what the next lesson is.

I really wish Matt Walsh hadn't flushed my Adderall down the crapper.

Can I get a second opinion? Top Gun was so good. What does Tom Cruise think about ADHD? He always has good takes on stuff like this. Did I leave my oven on? Shazam, what song goes doodoo doo doo doooooo? Can you vacuum a yard? Has anyone tried that? That sounds more like a marijuana thought than an ADHD tangent. I should double check the THC content of that cotton candy vape juice.

I'm flyin' off the rails over here.

Matt, are you super duper sure it's not real?

Okay, fine. I'm an "energetic boy."

I hope whichever fish absorbs my meds is extra focused on whatever fish shit he needs to get done.

COMEDY WRITING!

Sometimes it is best to learn through observation. Let's eavesdrop on an actual The BBee writer's room to see how the sausage is made...

"So what did your racist uncle have to say?"

"Well, first he texted me a cameraphone picture of Trump as an astronaut that he wants me to print out cuz he doesn't know what a crypto wallet is... but then he said all the woke schools are turning kids into a bunch of gay commies."

"EUREKA!"

Classic! The BBee writers strike again. I mean, they aren't striking. There is no commie clamoring for a union at The Babylon Bee. That's for damn sure. FOCUS!

Do you get the joke though? With the kids and the gay and the communism?

Because all of those woke schools totally cover complex economic theories in 4th grade and all it takes to turn gay is a little persuasion from a teacher with green hair. Libs of TikTok wouldn't lie about that. End of research.

Look at this public school teacher!

I mean, you knooow she has a litter box in her classroom. I can just sense it. End of research.

Sure... it is just a context-free picture of a person with green hair in front of a flag and you cannot actually judge the quality of their teaching ability from this. But yoouuu knoooooow she is skipping right over grammar lessons and giving detailed instructions on how to turn gay.

Step 1: Look at a bunch of butts. Step 2: Touch a bunch of butts. Step 3: Gay sex a bunch of butts.

(Replace butts with cooches for lesbians.)

Grooming accomplished.

And you definitely shouldn't look up that green-hair'd, nose ring'd educator and research her any further. Extensive research is for the Libs, bro. Because you definitely don't want to discover she is a passionate high school English teacher who makes fun content on TikTok in the hopes that people will buy things off her wishlist so her students will have a better learning experience. I mean, caring about her students? That's so gay.

YoooOOOuuuUUU knnnooooooOOOw she is a bad teacher because she has green hair and a flag. End. Of. Research.

So... you have your gay communist headline that is perfect to get all of those sweet conservative clicks. But you still have a full webpage to fill out with more words and stuff.

Now I want to see if you learned anything from my perfectly focused and informative teachings. I want you to write some jokes about kids becoming gay communists.

Ready? GO!

Joke #1 Little Billy has wealthy parents so all the students will share his cookie at snack time.

Joke #2 At the beginning of the day, students pick a new gender out of a hat but all the kids fight over Attack Helicopter.

Joke #3 At lunch, the students have to stand in a peanut butter and jelly bread line.

Joke #4 The teacher makes the kids take turns combing each others' hair for a grooming session.

Wait a sec... are those... THINKERS?

No no no no no! You made my brain all confused and thinky!

You need to calm down, you overachieving silly billy. You forgot the first rule... NO EFFORT.

Just make the same joke over and over again with slightly different wording. EASY!

Remember the classic final rule of comedy...

Jokes always get funnier the more you repeat them.

Anyway, that's probably enough... joke.

Now let's close this article out!

Maybe we can drop the pretense this is comedic satire and just do some hardcore pandering. Gotta own the Libs, amirite?

Gender theory and drag queens and guns, oh my! That is pure pander-monium.

Just shove those factless tactless Tucker talking points straight down their gullet. They'll forget this was supposed to be funny and shake their fist in the air with exaltation. And it's definitely a great idea to put the thought of gunning down drag queens in their heads. That won't backfire in any way!

Congratulations! You are now ready to "write" for The Babylon Bee.

Please purchase this official Trump NFT certificate for $99 that acknowledges that you have completed this course and have a very poor understanding of what satire actually is.

End of research.

[penny-anna]

If you're still doing Geraskier, number 8 for the prompt game?

this one got a bit out of hand!!

better judgement

“I told you to stay down,” Geralt said. “Why didn’t you stay down?”

“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. “I panicked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that. Why did you do that?”

He said, “it might have killed you.”

“Oh, gods,” said Jaskier. “It was my fault. Wasn’t it?”

Jaskier goes with Geralt on a hunt and makes a near-fatal mistake.

(on ao3!)

He was lying on his belly in the mud, the bushes screening him from view; his ears primed for any sound, his eyes trained upon the water of the marsh, watching for even the slightest ripple. He didn’t move a muscle. He breathed slowly. He could do this for days, if he had to.

A nudge against his ribs. “Hey. How long is this going to take?”

He cursed mentally. “I told you to be quiet.”

“I know,” Jaskier whispered. “That’s why I’m whispering.”

Geralt didn’t dignify him with a response.

Jaskier elbowed him again. “Geralt. How long is this going to take? Cause my legs are cramping.”

“You wanted to come,” Geralt said.

“It’s just, and I stand by that decision – it’s just that I’d appreciate a more specific itinerary –”

Something splashed out in the marsh and Geralt clapped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, silencing him.

“Mmf!”

“Shht!”

The marsh had gone quiet. It was only a diving bird. Slowly, reluctantly, he released Jaskier’s mouth.

“You got mud on my face!” the bard hissed, scandalised.

“You said you’d do as you were told.”

If you want to come you’ll do exactly as I tell you, he’d said. Jaskier had smiled sunnily and said of course – of course – I shall defer to your expertise. He should have known better than to trust him.

“I am!” Jaskier persisted.

“No you aren’t.”

“Are we going to lie here all day?”

Against his better judgement, he tore his eyes away from the water. “What did you expect?”

Jaskier shrugged. “More action than this?”

“I told you I was going to wait for it to come out of hiding.”

“Well, I didn’t expect it to take quite this long.”

“It’s been less than an hour,” said Geralt. “Will you just shut your damned mouth?”

“So can I take it this is going to be an all-day affair?”

The water rippled. Geralt grabbed his arm.

“Because – ow,” said Jaskier. “Sooner or later I am going to have to p–”

Shoving him further back into the bushes, Geralt said, “say down.”

“Hey –”

The beast rose out of the water, serpentine, slate-green. He strode out of the bushes to face it, his sword raised. It was bigger than he’d expected and it was quick in the water. He’d need to draw it up onto land –

A sound behind him and the creature’s broad snout snapped around, its attention caught by something else – by an easier meal.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath and turning he cried, “Jaskier!”

He had left the cover of the bushes, stumbling backwards across the rough ground. His eyes were big and round and trained upon the beast and what he thought he was doing Geralt couldn’t imagine. Stepping forward he put himself between Jaskier and the marsh beast, reaching behind himself to touch the bard’s chest, steadying him.

“Behind me,” he said – but before the words were even out of his mouth the beast reared up and he saw what was about to happen.

He had only a moment to react, and he reacted on pure instinct. He didn’t need to think about it. Turning he grabbed Jaskier, pulling him close, curling around him, shielding him with his body. A hand on the back of his head he forced Jaskier’s face into his armoured chest and braced himself for the inevitable.

The beast’s venom burned across his back, a strip of fire as wide as his arm, dissolving clean through his armour, eating into his skin and flesh. He could hear sizzling on either side of him as the vegetation burned away. The air stang his nostrils. White-hot liquid was running down his back, scorching every part of him that it touched, and he willed himself to breathe. In a moment it would be over.

A splash behind him as it sank back below the water of the marsh and through the pain a detached part of his mind registered that they were safe. The bard was shivering in his arms, alive, uninjured.

He sank to his knees in the mud, taking Jaskier down heavily with him. He’d had worse. But it would take some time to heal. The pain was blinding. It would be hard to talk and it was a long way back to the village. It would be difficult to keep the burns clean, out in the mud and grime of the marsh. It would be difficult to avoid infection. He could feel his armour sticking to his ruined flesh and he gritted his teeth at the sensation, at the new layer of pain. He was nauseated. His heart was thrumming – his head swimming –

“Oh gods,” Jaskier said against his chest. “Oh gods – Geralt – what –”

He was aware abruptly that he was still holding Jaskier tight against his body, squeezing him harder than he ought to. The bard was shifting in his arms, struggling, trying to pull away. “Geralt,” he said. “Geralt, are you alright?”

Slowly, with some difficulty, he relaxed his grip. Jaskier was shaking, his eyes big, his pupils frightened pin-pricks. Holding him by the shoulders, Geralt checked he wasn’t burnt. He was fine. The venom had missed him. It was a comfort. “Are you alright?” he said, to be sure.

Jaskier’s eyes went to his shoulder. “Fuck me,” he said, reaching out to touch his ruined armour.

Geralt caught his hand and flinched, grunting in pain, as the movement pulled at his back.

“Did it –”

“Don’t.” Geralt pushed his hands away.

“Let me see.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s arm and Geralt let him look. He didn’t have it in him to fight.

At the sight of the burns Jaskier paled. “Ohh no,” he said. “Oh, fuck no.”

“It looks worse than it is.” His vision was blurring. He made an attempt to get up. His legs wobbled. “Shit.”

“What do you need?” said Jaskier.

“My pack.”

Jaskier nodded shakily, and went. When he came back a moment later Geralt said, “water.” Jaskier fetched his flask and went to put it to his lips, but Geralt shook his head. “No. On the burns.”

“Do you –”

“Need to wash them.”

“I don’t know –”

“Just pour it over.”

The water was cold, and it stang. He groaned aloud at the pain, his breath leaving him.

Jaskier took him by the arm, trying to steady him. “Are you okay?”

“Bandages,” Geralt managed. He could worry about the pain when his back was clean and dressed. It was lessening now anyway, now that the venom was washed away.

Jaskier was glancing anxiously at the marsh. “Is it going to come –”

“Not yet,” said Geralt. “It takes – a few hours for its venom to –”

“Alright – alright, hush.”

He helped him off with his armour and shirt. His hands were shaking, as he began to wrap the bandages around his chest.

“Is that it?” he said as he tied them off.

“Yeah,” said Geralt.

“Good,” Jaskier said, and turning he crawled away on his hands and knees and retched into the mud.

“I told you to stay down,” Geralt said. “Why didn’t you stay down?”

“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. He wiped his mouth. “I panicked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Raising his head he said, “you didn’t have to do that. Why did you do that?”

Alone, he would have dodged it. There’d been no time to warn Jaskier, or get him to safety. He’d known the bard wouldn’t have the knowledge or the reflexes to save himself. If Jaskier had taken the venom to his face or chest it would have killed him, messily and painfully. Taking the brunt of it had been the only logical thing to do.

He said, “it might have killed you.”

“Oh, gods,” said Jaskier. “It was my fault. Wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Geralt shrugged the remains of his shirt back on. It pulled at the burns and he swayed on the spot. With the adrenaline of the fight fading it was getting harder to think around the pain. He could feel his mind turning glassy. This was bad. He’d had worse. But it was bad.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s hands cupped his face. “Geralt? Are you going to be okay? Please say you’ll be okay.”

Geralt grunted.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jaskier pleaded. “I need you to – Geralt, hey.” He lifted Geralt’s sinking head, looking him in the eye. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

He wanted to lie down in the mud and sleep. He might have done, if he was alone.

He gripped Jaskier’s arm. “Help me up.”

Jaskier levered him to his feet. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, you’re okay. Oof,” he said as Geralt leaned on him. “Oh, you’re heavy.”

One foot in front of the other, he walked. He just needed to get back to his horse, he told himself – and then to the village – and then he could rest.

*

Later, his back properly bandaged, a potion in him to take the edge off the pain, he sat upon his bed. He was looking over his ruined armour to see what could be salvaged. There wasn’t much that was undamaged.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked.

“Mm?” Jaskier was across the room, fidgeting in his chair, toying with his notebook but not really writing. “I – I really am sorry.”

“You don’t need to keep saying it,” said Geralt. “You panicked. It happens.”

“I shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” said Jaskier. “You told me as much.”

Geralt thought, I shouldn’t have let you come.

“It happened,” he said. “I’ve had worse. Don’t dwell on it.”

“I can’t help dwelling on it,” said Jaskier. “And, I think I shall be seeing what it did to your back in my dreams.” He closed his notebook. “Are you going to go back out there again?”

“In a couple of days.”

“Is there anything I can to do help?”

“No,” said Geralt. He put aside his armour and reached for the water jug upon the table.

The simple motion pulled at the still open burns on his back and he winced, hissing. “Let me,” said Jaskier, half falling out of his chair in his haste to cross the room.

He filled a cup, and sat tentatively upon the edge of the bed, sitting by Geralt while he drank. “Is it,” he said, “is it going to scar?”

“Yeah,” said Geralt.

“Badly?”

“Probably.”

“Gods,” said Jaskier. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt grunted.

“You didn’t need to let it burn you,” Jaskier said. “It was my fault.”

“I’d do it again.”

“Really?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Why?”

“It’s what I do,” said Geralt. He toyed with his cup. “You did good out there.”

“I really don’t think that I did,” said Jaskier.

“You did what I needed you to when it counted,” said Geralt. “Thanks.”

Jaskier breathed in, and out. “Thank you for not letting it melt my face off.”

Geralt said, “any time.”

[clockworklozenges]

So, a good five or so years back, I played in one of the best worst DnD games I have ever been in. The DM had bought the Libris Mortis book, which, if you were unaware, was a 3.5 splatbook adding in a lot of undead stuff, including some monsters and undead player races and stuff. Wanting to try it out, me and my gaming group decided to play things from it, our then DM deciding to run a completely homebrewed session. This proved to be a...

Terrible Idea™

(for the uninitiated, never homebrew something you do not fully understand unless it's just cosmetic. If you want to make all elves worship the god of garlic bread, Ultimo-Metatron-Omega, go ahead, but unless you know how the game works, don't make mechanical changes). So we all picked stuff from the books-one player played a skeleton Sorcerer who in life was a tribal shaman, but an attempt at healing went wrong, turning him undead as his life energy was replaced with negative energy, explaining why most of his spells were necromancy and suchlike.

Another player played Krug, an antipaladin in very spiky full plate. He was a zombie made by a necromancer of a paladin who was fighting him, but his allies killed his would-be master before he could assert control, and not wanting to just off him, his allies just...yeeted his body into a portal and hoped it'd re-kill him. It did not kill him hard enough. It did, however, explain his stats which...oof. He had already got debuffs to some stats due to being a zombie, and rolled abysmally. Fortunately for the player, he played mostly to socialise, so didn't much care.

I played... Count Nox Feratu, the Campire. As in, a vampire with a very camp German accent, which I did not break for the whole time I was playing him. To the point where "ach, nein, I haf bin heet! Heal me, meine freunde!" was par for the course. My overly camp vamp was a wizard, but due to level adjustment was a bit of a shoddy one. For backstory, he'd been ousted from his clan for ineptitude, and had sworn revenge. I was going for a swordmage build but never got there. All his spells were utility or just necromancy spells.

Our last player played...sigh...Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of Nerull, God of murder and undeath. He was one of the clerics from the book's murder Domain, meaning that he got buffs to damage. He was a vicious arse both in character and out of it, and was so dripping with edge compared to the paladin with the same IQ as a horse after its trip to the glue factory, the shaman who thought killing fixed people and the Campire that if you gave him a pat on the back you'd have finely diced your hand into a red mist. Not going too outlandish with his backstory of wanting to dominate the world as his undead thralls, Damien F***ing Bloodmoon had only taken spells which either charmed live people, dealt negative energy damage or messed with ability drain and suchlike, which he used with aplomb on townsfolk on our way to our objective. He was also, importantly, playing an elf of some sort, I forget which kind. Meaning that of the party, only one was alive.

So, just as an aside, for those of you that haven't played 3.5e DnD or have only played 5e, in Libris Mortis, undeath was gone over in detail, and had a litany of pros and cons. For one thing, undead had only the HP they had-folks like Damien F***ing Bloodmoon could be 'dying', and had some time to be stabilised before meeting the reckoning of Papa John and dying proper. Undead did not, it was just how much you had and if you ran out, poof, you're dust, bones and fertiliser again. You were also harmed by positive energy, so healing spells hurt you, as did potions of healing. However, undead were kind of hardy - poison immunity, some had resistance to non-magical melee damage, stuff that drained your ability scores and levels didn't work on them, some crits wouldn't do extra damage, and the best part- negative energy healed undead. Meaning all the spells our party had which damaged others like the living Damien Bloodmoon were curative ones for us. Keep this in mind.

So, we began our quest, learning of a necromancer a nearby town was plagued by. After using our skills (to whit: Damien Bloodmoon charming and drawing the life force out of random villagers and the only potion seller in the town whilst we went shopping. Krug got a snazzy hat, which we put on top of his helmet, and we chatted to townsfolk as I looked alive enough to pass as human and the shaman had a fake beard and toupee that people were too awkward to point out was fake so went along with it) we learn that the necromancer has a base of operations in the cemetery. "Oh ja, zo original, dahlink. Ve vill need to educate zis guy on vhat is chic and vhat is just shabby!"

So we head there and the nightmare begins. Damien Leads the charge, using all of his knowledge to deduce that the shambling horde moving towards us were stronger-than-your-average-bear undead, and he was right. These were powerful armoured zombie mages of some sort, casting ability draining spells, negative energy ray spells and even having auras of negative energy that dealt damage on a failed Fortitude save. Even their punch and quarterstaves did negative energy damage as well as the usual bludgeoning or unarmed. However...only one of us was really in danger and the DM's face fell when the squishy casters walked up and began shanking their super-special homebrew zombie wizards, being healed by the damage of their attacks as we cut them down.

Like I said, one of the benefits of undeath is that negative energy actually heals you. So the strikes of the magic staves and punches that hit us did some basic damage. Which was then immediately healed by the negative energy their weapon strikes and spells were doing.

However, you'll recall that Damien Bloodmoon was an elf. And not dead. Being a Cleric of a death god doesn't mean that you have the abilities of an undead. That meant that even with the DM being merciful, by the end of the first fight he was covered in blood, mud and withered away to just above half his original strength and constitution. More were patrolling, so we had to run. But that posed a problem.

Remember Krug had heavy armour? And recall his awful stats? He in fact, hadn't got enough strength to wear the armour he'd been given for backstory. He didn't, according to the DM, have enough to remove his own armour. And we attempted to, but also failed our checks according to the DM. And Damien Bloodmoon refused to help, simply blaming Krug and his player. Krug's player thought it was hilarious, and Krug only had enough Intelligence and Wisdom to say his own name, so saw no problem. And Krug, Nox Feratu and Shaman realised that there really...wasn't a problem.

For us, at least.

We slogged through three combats dragging Krug and wading through the mud with him. His speed was so slow that for every step he took, we took about ten. The DM was confused and infuriated that his encounters weren't working, but refused to change them. So we had fun role-playing. Or at least three of us did.

Damien Bloodmoon refused to roleplay, and none of his ranged spells could affect the zombie mages. When he went into melee, he came out wounded as all hell. He went down twice, and it was only the healing supplies of the shaman that saved him.

All the while, he was... Let's say not best pleased. Damien Bloodmoon was getting increasingly wounded, exasperated and longing for the sweet embrace of death as reprieve from the humiliation. His player was getting increasingly redder and rage-filled as time passed. Each fight ended with our characters stronger than ever and his a bloody pulp on the floor, with poor in-character knowledge (and terrible rolls) preventing him from realising why.

Eventually, we reached the final boss, pausing only to paint Krug's armour in contact poison just in case, and to find a stick to help the now-partially-crippled Damien Bloodmoon, cleric of death and murder, walk after being beaten up by angry zombie wizards for hours. And it had, indeed, been hours. Among us, only Damien had a bonus to strength, and we had two swords, a mace and a staff between the four of us. Meaning it was re-death by a thousand cuts for the enemy and a slog and a half for us.

We reach the necromancer and, having taken so long due to dragging the oblivious Krug with us, his big ritual is complete- he raises a fist-sized black onyx egg aloft, crackles with arcane power and causes the bones around him to coalesce into one massive creature - an undead, giant-sized rust monster, radiating an Aura of pure negative energy. Krug opened his arms wide, eager for the metal-eating monster cockroach to free him from his poison-painted metal prison. It ignores him as he's still very far away. Me and the others have our weapons and armour devoured.

Our DM was very much a stickler for note-taking. So because Damien Bloodmoon hadn't written 'clothes' on his sheet, his armour being eaten by the monster left him naked and afraid.

It became clear that the DM had done another f***y-wucky. See, the Aura of negative energy healed me and the Sorcerer by more than its other attacks did. So whilst Damien Bloodmoon was naked, soaked in mud and bleeding to death almost crushed to a pulp in the fetal position, rocking backwards and forwards as his player seethed with hatred, the Shaman and the Campire set about beating the thing to death with our bear hands and a stick.

The session ended once we killed the necromancer, or rather when Krug walked up to him, closed his arms and just crushed the noodle-armed bad guy to death with the weight of his ridiculous armour and poisoned him with its paintwork.

We never revisited the game afterwards. We were told later on that the DM wanted us to use the non-undead races. But at no point had he said as much, even when we asked him about our characters and the restrictions on them. We also learned a valuable lesson. DM for the players who are there, not the ones who you have an idealised mental image of. Tailor your game, otherwise you'll get a sitcom featuring a camp nosferatu, a shaman with no healing, a paladin who could barely move and a Cleric of murder who was ironically the only one at risk of actually dying.

[mirdaniaa]

heaven holds a place for those who pray

Rated T

When traveling together, Aelswith and Uhtred are forced to take shelter from the rain. Unfortunately, the inn only has one room.

written for @tlkfanficfest bingo

read it on ao3 if you wish

Aelswith draws her cloak tighter around her as the rain goes from a light mist to a torrential downpour.

“Uhtred!” she calls to the horse ahead of her. “We have to find shelter!”

“We would not have had to find shelter if we had ridden faster!” he gripes.

She huffs at the impertinence of the man, but then, she doesn’t know what she expected from Uhtred. He was ever thus, doing things his own way in his own time. It has been a constant source of irritation to Aelswith over the years.

But she has to remind herself that Uhtred doesn’t answer to her anymore; not the way he used to. He used to answer to her husband. But Alfred is dead now, God rest his soul, and her son rules in his place. Uhtred would never have agreed to escort her to Ceaster if Edward had not ordered it. So she must be patient with him, even if she finds him impertinent.

“We will catch cold if we stay out in this!” she calls ahead.

He’s quiet for so long that she thinks he must be ignoring her.

“Uhtred, please!”

“Peace!” he says, irritated. “I’m thinking.”

She purses her lips. She doesn’t think his tone is at all appropriate, but she tries to remind herself that he wants to get out of the rain just as much as she does.

Finally, he says, “There is a village up ahead. It’s some ways off the main road, but there will be an inn.”

“If you think it a good idea, I will trust you,” she says generously.

He grunts and urges his horse forward.

Impertinent man, she humphs to herself. Of all the men Edward had to send with her, it had to be this one.

.

By the time they reach the inn, Aelswith is soaked to the bone, and shivering so hard her teeth are chattering. She climbs down weakly from her horse, following Uhtred into the inn.

Instantly, she wrinkles her nose. The smell of cheap ale is strong here, and there are women sitting on the laps of their...patrons.

“This is a house of ill repute,” she whispers.

“Is it not good enough for you, Lady?” Uhtred asks with a dark humor. “I am sorry to hear that. Do you know of any other inns on the road to Ceaster?”

She purses her lips.

Giving her that irritating smirk, he turns to the innkeep. “Good evening. My mother and I are in need of rooms for the night.”

She purses her lips even tighter at that, but the innkeep doesn’t even spare her a glance; he wipes a meaty hand over a sweaty brow, sighing. “We’ve only got one room left for the night, and there’s only one bed.”

Uhtred glances back at her, his gaze questioning.

She nods, eager to get to this bed. The sooner she can lie down, the better.

Uhtred turns back to the innkeep. “We will take it.”

.

As soon as the innkeep has shown them to the room and had his daughters bring them bread, cheese, hot water, and fresh linens, Uhtred hands him some silver and then bids him goodnight, closing the door behind the innkeep and his daughters before he sits down to remove his boots.

Aelswith grips her cloak, trying not to look as alarmed as she feels. “Uhtred,” she ventures, “what are you doing?”

He gives her a confused look. “I’m taking off my boots. What does it look like I’m doing?”

She swallows. “It looks...as though you are preparing to spend the night in this room.”

His expression changes to one of disbelief. “Where else would I spend the night, Lady?”

Such a question startles her. “Why, in the stables, of course.”

“The stables?” he gapes. “I am not a horse!”

“No,” she agrees, but not without some reluctance. “But it would be...improper, for us to share a room.”

He points at the door. “I told the innkeep I was your son. He will grow suspicious if I sleep in the stables.”

She purses her lips again, because that is true, and they cannot afford to bring suspicion down on them. “Well...I suppose. But you must sleep on the floor.”

“Believe me, Lady, I have no wish to lie beside you,” he says with disgust.

She flushes. “Well. It is settled, then.”

“Yes, it is,” he grits out, pulling off his boots.

Aelswith hesitates before she takes off her cloak, sitting on the bed to remove her own wet shoes. She moves carefully and noiselessly, considerate of her companion.

Uhtred shows no such consideration. He takes off his boots and hurls them against the wall, grunting as he does so. He splays his legs as though the room were his to command, unbuckling his swordbelt and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter even louder than the one created by his boots.

Aelswith clenches her teeth, unused to so much noise being made so near to her. Over the years, she got used to people trying to please her, always showing concern for her welfare. From lowly servants to noble lords, she has been the subject of much waiting upon throughout her life.

Uhtred shows her no such respect; indeed, he shows her less deference than he probably would one of those fallen women out in the hall.

Huffing at the thought, she removes as many of her layers as propriety allows before reaching for a blanket.

“Lady, you cannot stay in those wet clothes; you will catch cold,” Uhtred says with something like concern.

Aelswith feels her hackles rise. “I cannot undress in the same room as a man who is not my family.”

“And I will not deliver a corpse to Edward in place of his mother,” Uhtred grunts. “I will turn around, Lady.”

She hesitates, but he is already turning his back to her.

Does she dare undress when Uhtred is mere feet away from her? If he turned around, if someone walked in, if he even told anyone else, she would never be able to live with the shame.

But he’s right; if she stays in these wet clothes all night, she will catch cold, and the last thing she needs on this godforsaken journey with Uhtred is to fall ill.

So she removes her clothes with more alacrity than she’s ever shown before, ignoring the wet slapping sound they make against the floor as she reaches for two blankets and wraps them tightly around her. She moves quickly, breathlessly, fearful that Uhtred will turn around at any moment and look at her, but he does not; to his credit, he does not so much as move until she tells him he may. Even when he turns around, he barely spares her a glance, more intent on the bread and cheese that the innkeep left than anything.

Oddly, she is almost offended. She knows she is not a young woman, or a particularly alluring one, but she’s still a woman. A mostly naked woman, at that. And he’s…

Well.

Uhtred.

Seized by some mad impulse, she sits with him at the table, her bare arm slipping out from the blankets to reach for the food. “Is it good?” she asks lightly.

Uhtred does not so much as glance at her bare arm; he has eyes only for his plate. “It is acceptable.”

“Ah.” Tired, confused, and inexplicably wounded, she makes no more attempts at conversation, and they eat in perfect, painful silence.

.

Aelswith has only just drifted off to sleep when she’s roughly woken by Uhtred shouting.

“What is it?!” she asks, sitting up and clutching the blankets to her chest.

“The rain!” he complains, getting up. “It’s seeping through the floor!”

“Oh, dear,” she says, at a loss.

Uhtred lets out a string of swears that redden her cheeks, heaping the wet blankets on the chair by the fire. She watches him uncertainly, clutching the blankets.

At last, he sighs. “I will have to sleep on the bed.”

Instinctively, her fingers dig into the blankets. “No.”

But he’s already sitting at the foot of the bed. “I have to, Lady. There is nowhere else for me to sleep.”

Her heart is pounding in her chest. He cannot. She cannot. They cannot. “For us to share a room was already improper, but for us to share a bed...I cannot allow it, Uhtred.”

“I will sleep at the foot of the bed,” he says irritably.

“Uhtred, I really must protest—”

“Why?” he demands. “You would rather I sleep in cold water and fall ill?!”

“No…of course not…” she protests weakly. “But…think how this will look, Uhtred.”

“Why does it matter how it looks if it keeps us both alive?” And then, to her horror, he plants his hands on the bed, leaning forward over her legs. “What is it you are really afraid of, Lady?”

“Uhtred!” she exclaims, raising the blankets higher and pressing herself back against the wall.

She loathes the look he’s giving her now, smirking as though he knows exactly what she’s thinking. And then she flushes, because why is she thinking that?

“I think you are afraid of how much you want me,” Uhtred declares. “I think you are afraid that I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“You are vile!” she cries. “Vile, and heathen, and—”

He moves up the bed, leaning in so close she can feel his breath against her face, can see the glint in his eyes as he grins at her.  “And you’ve always wanted to know what being with a heathen feels like, haven’t you?”

“No,” she hisses.

“It’s a sin to lie, Lady,” he murmurs, leaning in as though to kiss her.

She slaps him.

They stare at each other for a moment, wide eyed with surprise.

And then Aelswith does something that surprises her even more.

She kisses him.

It’s clumsy and far too eager, but Uhtred responds by tearing the blankets from her, pushing her back onto the bed and pinning her wrists on either side of her head.

“Uhtred,” she whispers.

And then she does not have the breath to say anything else.

.

Neither of them utter a word in the morning, but Aelswith cannot help but notice that Uhtred keeps throwing her self-satisfied smirks.

She holds her head high, maintaining a cool facade, but when she climbs into her saddle and lets out an involuntary, “Oof,” Uhtred roars with laughter.

“Do shut up,” she snaps, digging her heels into the horse’s sides.

It is going to be a long journey to Ceaster.

[dreaminpeaches]

(Welcome to the daydream drawing board, a tag where I share some my newest ideas not all of these ideas will be thought out--mostly just quick points-- but it's just nice to have them some where...oof)

TW: angst, mention of domestic abuse, child abuse, alcohol mentioned, father mentioned, bullying and guilt...

(Be sure you're mentally ready, you can come back later or take breaks while reading, it's kind of long...oof)

The most recent concept I dreamed up is about a couple consisting of a reformed/"retired" highschool bully/jock who falls for the new nerdy woman in town, this paracosm is mildly inspired by A Silent Voice, Bojack Horseman and Strange things (but only like a little bit)

Beau

He was the high school quarterback and star player

He was super popular and everyone wanted to be around him

His fave after school activities where smoking under the blenchers (after practice), going out to parties, making out with hotest girls in school (usually the new girls), bullying the weaker "outcast" kids, flirting with older women into getting him and his friends alcohol, and other dumb jock stuff

Beau always made fun of the weird nerdy kids; giving them swirlies, stuffing them in lockers, hiding their belongs (glasses, inhalers, backpacks, calculators, handle gaming devices etc), and throwing a few knuckle sandwiches at them on his worst days.

Beau bullied other because he had a rough home life, his father was abusive and usually came home angry and would take out his anger on the family (, mostly Beau's mom)

Beau's parents had him at young age, Beau's dad had big dreams at becoming a famous author but had a hard time getting his books picked up and blamed his career failures on Beau

Beau would try to protect his family from his dad's outburst but the only person he could protect successful was his little brother, Devin.

When Beau would try to protect his mother he would get brutally beaten by his dad in process, sometimes he would get hit so bad that he blacked out, because of this Beau's mom would tell him go to the treehouse and take his little brother with him in hopes they wouldn't hear their parents fight

In the treehouse, Beau would read books to Devin to distract him from what was happening, one of Devin's favorite books was "Is there a horse in your house?" A simple book about looking for a horse in a house, Devin would always find this book funny and hearing his little brother's laugh made Beau feel better, so Beau wouldn't mind having to read it over and over again. (This was back when Beau was in early middle school and Dev was in kindergarten)

Beau and Dev knew it was "safe" to come out, when their mother said dinner was ready, but there would be some days where they end up sleeping in the treehouse and waking up to their mom telling them breakfast was ready and they had to eat quietly while their dad slept

It was in middle school, Beau started to bully other kids, he liked the power and feeling of being able to fight someone and win, to be the one to be feared instead of being afaird, it was addicting

Football became a better way to cope with his feeling but he still bullied none the less.

Football was the only time where his dad wasn't as much of jerk, it was almost like Beau's dad was felt like an actual father when watching football, and being on the football team was an achievement his dad was actually proud of beau for, so thanksgiving and super bowl season was a somewhat peaceful time

Around sophomore year his mother finally got away from her abusive husband, soon after Beau's mom fell in love with a nice man, who actually cared about her and they got married and had a daughter together who became Beau's little sister, Carrie whom he loves dearly..

Beau is super over protective of his family (protecting both his siblings from other bullies, ironically), to the point where even when his mom found a new lover, Beau still keep his guard up and because of this his step dad is kind of intimidated by him

Beau was able to bond with his step dad over cars and mechanics, a topic Beau was obsessed about since middle school because he would dream of building a car that would be able to drive him and his family far away from his father as possible without stopping

Beau's step dad owns a gas station/mechanics shop, Beau would help out in the shop on weekends when he was free and occasionally steal beer for parties.

Despite his bully/typical jock persona Beau is actually quite patient especially when it comes to younger kids

Due how stressful her home life was, Beau would take it upon himself to look after his little brother and do chores around the house when his mom was unable to, he would even cook dinner and breakfast (a skill he learned to do at an earlier age compared to his peers), his dad often called him a "Sissy" for doing so..

Beau never asked for allowance, since his family was kind of tight on money he felt bad for asking, so he just took lunch money and allowance from the kids he bullied. Money would go to grocery money, money to buy gifts for his mother/brother, money to help with rent , or money just to buy the new NFL game or some alcohol or cigarettes.

In his high school days , sometimes when Beau didn't want to deal with his dad/home life he would crash at friends place or stay over after a party but he would call up to make sure his little brother/mother/sister were okay

Beau started smoking on a dare, when he realized it kind help ease the mental pain, he started doing it for real (same with drinking)

Even Beau liked to drink, he never drove drunk or let his friends drive drunk, if was a party mostly consisting of his friends he would try his best to be the sober one to drive everyone home

Beau was set to be a big football star once he graduated highschool he even got into an ivy league school, but there was something stopping him from focusing fully on his studies, (that and the fact he kind of cheated since he let the nerds he bullied do most of his homework since he didn't have time or just do lazy to actually do it himself in highschool), so he ended up flunking out

During the time he dropped out his step dad needed an extra hand at the shop, so he thought might as well go back home

At first Beau thought his family would be disappointed in him but they couldn't be more happy that he was back home especially his siblings

It was when he returned to his hometown that he finally realized what was feeling was haunting him this whole time it was the feeling of guilt he had gotten from being a bully for so long. Since most of his jock friends were busy with their college career, it left him with little to no friends in his hometown, Everytime he saw a familiar face around town it was usually one of his former victims, seeing them would give him a weird sick oozey feeling in his stomach, and it didn't help that his step dad ran popular mechanic shop that was frequented by the locals, the feeling of guilt got so bad at times, he would stay home from work but wouldn't really tell his parents why out of fear that they would hate him.

So, when Beau meets the new woman in town, Bonnie who works at the comic book shop/arcade/maid cafe, who becomes the only person Beau can talk to in town besides his family, and he starts to fall for her. He feels conflicted because this would be someone he would totally bully in high school, but shes really so nice and sweet to him, does he really deserve girl that nice, what happens if she finds out about his past, will Bonnie still love him.

Beau makes it his mission to try and make amends with the people he has bullied over the years, at first he does this on his own (with a little help for Dev whose middle school age now), without Bonnie knowing but one of the nerds used to bully kind of sorta also gets a crush on Bonnie and feels like she's too good for Beau, and tries to expose him for the "fiend" he is. This leads to Beau having mental break down when he knows Bonnie knows about his past, but she comforts him and accepts him for who he is, and helps him try to make amends with his past victims...

Some people accept Beau's apology right away (understanding his background), others take a while, some don't forgive Beau at all, which he respectfully understands, he was kind of jerk

Oof, this is prolly gonna be the most heavy paracosm I have if I continue it, but if I do post about it's mostly gonna be fluffy light stuff--nerd/jock dynamic interactions, along with toll/smoll dynamic interactions. OH by the way this paracosm is set in the 80/90s maybe early 2000s because they don't use smartphones in this paracosm it's mostly payphones, landlines, VHS tapes, DVDs and tape records (but I will use modern music if and when I make a playlist, so it might be a mixed timeline) also I don't have a name for this paracosm might edit one in later...

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #425

“evolution repressed by our backwards contest  /  breeding our torrential demise as we come to this edge”

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? I think Nutella is a godsend, but I use peanut butter waaaaay more often. We don't even really buy Nutella because I will destroy the jar. Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Baked. What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? Kathryn. I think. Do you like breadsticks? I just like bread, man. What are your favorite things to spend money on? Tattoos, uuuuugggghhhhh <3 Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Neither, really. Most puppies drive me insane (even though they're cute as everliving fuck), and I don't want another cat. Mom actually talked about getting another, but I really just want my one boy. Roman would get SO jealous, anyway. I enjoy just having my baby. How old will you be on your next birthday? 26. Yikes. Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? As "the fat one," I can be sometimes. I would say though that more often than not, it's sort of whatever to me because I'm a human that has to eat. When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I thought I slept way later than I actually did. What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My stuffed meerkat Rebel. Jason got it for me for my first birthday that we were together. Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? Never again. I was once able to think "agree to disagree," but sometimes by doing so, you're siding with evil by not enforcing what is more than just a belief. It should come with being a human. Also given my own sexuality, it would be a slap in the face to me. Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? Hell no. I'd date one though, if they were modest about their position. Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Wow, no. Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Quite frankly, nowadays, my appearance. I need it. My self-confidence is so far below "shit." Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? Nope. You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? Hm. I know I talk about it a lot, but it would still probably be a 40 gallon terrarium for Venus. She needs - and deserves - it. Honestly, have you ever danced naked? NOOOOOOOO. What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? Downloaded music. My mom eventually found out, but didn't care much. What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Google. Do you like to write poetry? I do, but I haven't done it in a while. :/ Are your ears pierced? Yes. If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? Piercing gun. Which, by the way, do not do. There are many more risks with a piercing gun versus a needle by a professional. Do you wear makeup regularly? I never do. Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? No. I've been on a bagel kick lately. When was the last time you tripped over something? Last night, actually. The rug in the living room was slightly turned up, and I tripped in the dark. I didn't actually fall, thankfully. Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I'm diagnosed with OCD. I experience more ruminations and intrusive thoughts more than obsessive behaviors, though. Who was the last person you yelled at? Probably Mom. Why did you yell at them? I don't remember. Favorite type of apple? I like pink lady apples. I really enjoy any, so long as they're crisp. Ever seen live horse racing? No. To be totally honest, I don't really like the concept of it. Motivating a horse to run by hurting it doesn't exactly seem moral... How about live greyhound racing? No. What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The Internet, haha. Have you ever touched a giraffe? No. What does your mom call you? Britt. What stresses you out the most in life? I really don't think I could pick a top one. There are so many. Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Yeah. Y'all probably know WoW is my favorite. If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? I used to be able to slam out Expert easily with only very few songs I had to play on Hard, but now it's been YEARS. I've played less than once in a blue moon, and my skill's definitely faded some. It really depends on the song. What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? He couldn't handle my depression anymore. What’s your favorite country song? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw, probably. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Fail to communicate what he was feeling with me and then make a dashing break for it very, very abruptly after three and a half years. It put me past a state of shock, but trauma with how no less than obsessed I was with him. What were you for Halloween last year? I didn't dress up. :/ I wish I had the money and motivation alike to. Are you feeling guilty for something? I always will. Are you usually quiet or loud? Quiet. How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? Like... uh... all of them, oof. What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? Meerkat Manor. Do your siblings text you? Not really. Do you want a small or big wedding? Small. Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Not the house I currently live in, but I have before. Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don't know. Ever kissed someone who smokes? No. Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Frankly, no. Do you own your own computer? This laptop, anyway. Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? Yes, with my younger sister as a kid and pre-teen. What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? I hear the video I'm watching, as well as my fan. Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yes. What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? Nothing. Not like that's a surprise. What do you typically order from Wendy’s? Son of the Baconator. @_@ Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No. Those are so awkward to me. What do you love most about yourself? I don't know these days. Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? No. What are you doing right now? This survey and re-watching John Wolfe play Outlast 2. What’s bothering you right now? I'm immensely nervous about tomorrow. I have my first (and I pray the fuck to God not only) session with my new personal trainer then, and I'm terrified by how my body and my mental fortitude is going to react. Y'all have no fucking idea JUST how out of shape I am, and the muscles in my legs seem basically non-existent by now. I have to do something about my health, though, and I'm determined to make this shit work. More than determined. I know the first day is going to be hard, but I need to do this more than I can explain. What was the last thing you drank? ... What great fucking timing, I have a can of Mountain Dew, lol... That's another thing that needs to change. I've gotta stop the emotional and boredom-eating and chill the fuck out with soda. Be honest, do you like people in general? Quite frankly, no. There are plenty of people I love and think are amazing, of course, but I think I lean towards humanity being too shitty to like "in general." Do you want your tongue pierced? I miss my snake eyes. :/ That was suuuuch a cute piercing. I just had to take it out for the safety of my teeth. I kept accidentally clamping down on one of the balls when eating, and it would cause tiny fractures. Do you change your phone background a lot? No. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? It's not funny-sounding, no, I just think it's too manly for me to enjoy as part of my name. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Yes. Oddly enough, I don't remember what I OD'd on now... You'd think I would, given how extreme the situation was. It was some cold medicine. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I absolutely do. It's extremely insensitive to people like myself who legitimately suffer - and I do mean "suffer" - from the disorder. Describe your day so far in three words: Dull. Lazy. Anxious. What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? Probably my senior project and the presentation I had to do for it. I taught about the fallacies and misconceptions of snakes, and I made a PowerPoint and some drawings to color and crosswords for the special ed children. I was so, so very nervous, but I got through it fine and the kids seemed to enjoy it. I actually still have the recording. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: MILKY WAY. FUCK I love those. Have you ever stepped in dog poop? UGH yes. What was the last thing you spent money on? My niece's birthday present. Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I almost said "yes," but then I realized he doesn't know me at all anymore. I've changed so much, hopefully mostly for the better. He hasn't "known" me in many years. Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? It's terrifying to imagine my life without Mom; Sara, too. Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? I prefer no coffee. Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? Nah. Do you enjoy being outdoors? If it's cool outside and I have somewhere to sit that's not the ground, yes. Do people tell you that you have an accent? Sometimes. Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? They're pretty, but I don't support their usage by this point in my life. They're a fire hazard, triggering to some vets with PTSD, and beyond terrifying for animals. What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I get most heated about child molestation. You do not fucking touch a child like that. I don't even write any of my bajillion evil guys committing it in RP because I just can't stomach it. Even when my little sister (a children's social worker) is telling Mom about some stuff she sees at work, I have to not be present, 'cuz that shit isn't rare. It's nauseating. Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? A good number of people, honestly. Do you enjoy tanning? Hell no, I avoid the sun and heat at like all costs. Are you a virgin? This is going to sound weird, but I actually don't know, but I lean towards no. Who’s your celebrity crush? mARK EDWARD FISCHFUCK Did or do you get good grades in English class? I was always excellent in English. What part of your body are you self-conscious about? My stomach. But I'm self-conscious about everything else, too. Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? No. Everyone knows I can't cook worth a damn. Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Truly close, no. Unless you include pets, actually. Then a few. :/ Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yep. When was the last time you got a shot? Earlier this year for Covid. Get your fucking vaccine, btw. :^)

[the-awkward-outlaw]

“ I hate you. ”

Oof, this one made me sad! There’s a lot of angst in this one! 

Masterlist on AO3! 

Arthur’s been in a strange mood for the past few days. He’s hardly been in camp, which is nothing new. This man is constantly running around, doing jobs for people in camp and finding treasures, hunting and trading animals, meeting new people. What’s weird about his recent behavior is that the times he’s been in camp, he’s avoided you. 

You and Arthur have been a couple for nearly a year and you’ve rarely fought. Arthur’s always been thoughtful and sweet, and he knows you better than anyone else. If he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes. A few days back, he’d been in camp and he’d just snipped at everything you seemed to do or say. It was almost like he wanted to start a fight. Worse was that he didn’t seem to want you close to him. You’ve never been an overly touchy person, but he’s the exception. That day, whenever you tried to hold his hand or touch his arm, he’d brush you off. 

Then later that night, he went into your shared tent and found your journal, which you’d left there and forgotten. It was lying open on a page where you’d drawn his face and a small entry that had nothing to do with him. Arthur picked it up and flipped through the pages and found that on almost every single one, he was mentioned or you’d drawn him.

When you came in to go to sleep, he jumped on you. He accused you of being obsessive, even on the edge of being creepy. He said some pretty bad things along with those and you just stood there, not defending yourself. It was a habit of yours from your childhood as your parents constantly yelled at you and if you argued back, they’d get meaner. So you just let Arthur be mad and say those things. You wiped away a tear before he saw and left the tent to sleep elsewhere. 

Were you creepy? Was your habit of focusing on Arthur unhealthy, even borderline stalker? You don’t know, you’ve never been in love before. Not like this anyways. He saved your life a few months before you started dating, there���s no doubt about that. 

Your parents had died a long time ago and they left you in the care of your mother’s sister. She was more of a proper mother than yours ever was and she raised you properly, teaching you how to take care of  yourself. She was your best friend too. But then she got sick and within days was dead. In your grief, you left her home and just wandered, searching for purpose. Sunk in your grief and depression, Hosea found you and brought you to his gang, but it was Arthur who helped you go through your grief. He was the one who took interest in you, who you told about your past, and it was he who helped you go through the motions of grief and he was always the one there to help you stand when you didn’t have the strength. There’s no doubt in your mind that without his help, you would have killed yourself. Arthur saved you. 

You never saw your habits of drawing him or talking about him in your journal was unhealthy. Sure, you stuck to him more than the others, but he was your boyfriend, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? You’d thought your relationship was strong, healthy, but Arthur pointed out the obvious flaws that night. You still remember the way he threw your journal on the ground. 

Over the past couple of days since the fight, Arthur’s hardly been around and he’s avoided you like the plague. You’ve come to a particularly painful decision; it’s time to end the relationship. Arthur clearly wants nothing to do with it, or you for that matter. He strolls in on his big horse and you call him over. You see him roll his eyes a bit and take in a deep breath, but he walks over. 

“What is it?” he says in a cold voice, his hands on his gunbelt. 

“We need to talk, Arthur. Alone.” You walk off into the trees, listening to him follow. When you’re near the river’s edge beneath Horseshoe Overlook, you stop and turn. Your chest is tight and there’s a big lump in your throat. You don’t talk for a while. 

“You gonna say somethin’ or am I free to let my mind wander?” Arthur snaps after waiting a few moments. 

You sigh again. “Sorry. I’m just… trying to decide how to do this.” You bite your lip and then speak up. “Arthur, I think it’s best we stop seeing each other.” 

“Well that ain’t possible, the camp ain’t that big.” 

“You know what I mean, Arthur. I clearly creep you out and I… I don’t want to be with you anymore,” you lie. 

Arthur lowers his brow and looks at you hard. “Fine. That’s just fine.” 

He stalks back up the hill before you have a chance to say anything further. You sink down on a rock and cry. Time passes and when you’re ready to rejoin camp, it’s well into the afternoon. 

The next few days are particularly difficult. Arthur comes around camp more often now that you’re not dating, but whenever you’re in ear shot, you swear you hear him make some kind of snide remark. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that you broke up, but he doesn’t go boasting about it either. At least he has the decency to do that. Whenever he goes to greet the girls and make sure they’re doing fine, he pointedly ignores you. 

Four days of this go by and you’re not sure how much longer you can take it. You feel yourself sinking into that familiar pit that Arthur helped you climb out of. 

One afternoon, you’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, making the last parts of tonight’s stew. Arthur walks past without throwing you a glance, but then Abigail walks up to him. 

“How you doin’, Arthur? I hear you went and saw that Mary again.” 

Arthur just chuckles and hides his eyes beneath his hat, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Yes, but I just helped her with a favor.” 

“I always did like her,” Abigail says. You know she’d never say this in front of you, but she clearly hasn’t noticed you. “You two sweet on each other again? Sure it’d be a change for you.” 

Arthur huffs a bit. “Nah, like I said, just helpin’ her with a favor.” He peaks over Abigail’s shoulder and spots you. “Was nice bein’ with a woman who at least pretended like I wasn’t the center of her world.” 

You wince at the remark as it was clearly intended for you. Your eyes begin to tear up and you hear Abigail say something, but you don’t hear what she says over the roaring in your ears. “I hate you, Arthur Morgan,” you mutter under your breath. 

Feeling hurt and betrayed, you slam down the corn you’d been stripping of its hair and stalk off over to the horses. Without looking back at him, you mount up on your horse and gallop out of camp. You hear someone calling your name, but you ignore it. You’re glad that you always keep your tent, bedroll, guns and extra clothes in your saddlebag. You’re leaving the Van der Linde gang and you’re not coming back. You can’t come back. 

*********************************

Right after Arthur made the remark about Mary not being “obsessed” with him, he felt incredibly guilty, especially when he saw your face. How your entire face went red and your eyes grew shiny with moisture and your lip trembled. He knew he’d taken things too far, but then you got off on your horse and ran off. He’d called your name but you ignored him. 

Arthur puts his hands on his hips and sighs. He’s really messed up now, he knows it. He shouldn’t have been so hard on you, but he was devastated when you’d broken things off with him. When you said you didn’t want to be with him anymore, it broke his heart but he wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. 

It was true, Arthur had found it strange and a little unsettling how he seemed to be your entire world. When he’d flipped through your journal, he hadn’t really bothered to read the passages. He’d just seen his name scribbled among them and seen your sketches of his face, his body. If he’d read it, he would have found them filled with emotion, gratitude and love. He’d gotten angry with you because he was worn out, exhausted from how much he’d been sent off on jobs. Then he’d gotten that damn letter from Mary and his mind went into a confusing whirlwind of emotions, with memories of both you and Mary tumbling around. 

Arthur did love you more than Mary, but she had some kind of mysterious hold on him. She always had and he hated it, especially since she knew it and played him better than anyone else could. You never once accused him of being a horrible man, never asked him to change, never looked down on him. He felt better when he was around you, like he was worthy of gaining redemption for his bad choices. Mary only told him how she should have hung him years ago. 

Arthur rubs his jaw, staring off into the trees where you’d run off. He’d heard you mutter that you hated him and he doesn’t blame you. He knows he’s taken things too far since you broke up and he has a feeling you didn’t do it because you wanted to, but because you were under the impression it was what he wanted. He also remembers the horrible things he’d said to you in the tent that night, how you’d just stood there. You must have believed those things, why else wouldn’t you try to contradict him? 

Hosea walks up to him and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Son, think you got a little out of hand with her,” he says. 

“No doubt,” Arthur says. “But maybe it’s for the best, Hosea. After all, she was a little….  Don’t you think she was a little too obsessed with me?” 

Hosea gives him a curious look. “No, I don’t think that at all.” 

“Well, you didn’t see her journal. I was on almost every page of that thing.” 

Hosea smiles. “And how many pages of your journal does she occupy? I dare you to count them, Arthur. You might be surprised. There’s a fine line between being obsessed and being in love.” 

Arthur just huffs and walks off to his tent. Hosea’s got him thinking: how much of his journal are you in? He pulls it out and flips through it. Sure enough, you’re mentioned or sketched on a large portion of the pages. In fact, most of them have you. Arthur’s heart sinks further and then he looks up at the table where he keeps a picture of you next to the photo of his mother. Lying next to it is your journal. You never picked it up after he threw it on the ground, too afraid to come back to the tent to collect it. 

He grabs it and flips through it again. He takes the time to read the passages and most of the ones he’s mentioned is you stating the things he’s taken you to see or do, how grateful you are he helped you to live so you could experience life. He realizes your behavior is not obsession, but love and adoration. 

When he gets to the last page in your journal that you wrote in, he comes to the conclusion that it’s a good thing you dumped him. After all, he’s not worthy of you.

***********************************

Two weeks have passed since you left camp. You’ve made no plans or intentions to ever go back, not when you know Arthur will be there. You’ve set up a small, make-shift camp in Big Valley, a place Arthur showed you months ago. It’s been one of your favorite places ever since and the sunrises and sunsets are out of this world. Game and wild herbs are plentiful, the stream provides more than enough water to support you. This is the perfect place. You’ll stay here for a long time. 

Of the gang, you’ve heard nothing, to which you’re grateful. Most of them were your friends and you didn’t take the time to say good-bye. Arthur had hurt you so badly, you couldn’t stay any longer. You still think about him everyday. How could you not? You were intending to be with him your entire life, even if you never got married. You just wish things hadn’t ended so badly, all your memories of him are tainted by it. Sometimes, you wish you’d never fallen in love with him. It would make things easier. 

It’s late afternoon and you’re out hunting. A large herd of pronghorns graze peacefully near a large dead tree on the banks of the shallow stream. You take down a buck easily, but you feel another pang that if it weren’t for Arthur, you’d be starving right about now. He was the one who taught you how to hunt and butcher. You skin the pronghorn and take as much meat as you can carry, then you go back to your little camp. When you get there, you’re forced to a stop. Someone’s in your camp. 

You recognize Arthur’s form too easily and your heart begins to pound in your chest. What has he come here for? Has Dutch sent him to hunt you down and drag you back to camp? No, Dutch always said no one was forced to stay with the gang, it’s not a prison camp. Then is Arthur here to start another fight? Is he going to try and kill you? You don’t like to think he intends to, but the thought still crosses your mind. 

You stand there and stare at his back for a long time. He’s sitting at the fire, clearly waiting for you. He must feel your presence because he finally turns around and looks at you. He sighs, looking a little relieved. He stands up and turns his body to face you. 

“Hey sweetheart. Don’t be nervous, I ain’t here to hurt ya.” He puts his arms up as if he’s surrendering. 

You’re in a defensive stance, your eyes don’t blink as they flit over his form. “What do you want, Arthur?” you say quietly. 

“I just wanted to come and apologize. I’ve always been a fool, but lately I’ve been a complete ass.” 

You breathe out hard, almost as though you’re skeptical. “Why would you apologize to me, Arthur? I’m your stalker, remember? I give you the creeps.” 

He looks down. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I should never have said those things. They aren’t true, never have been. I just… saw your journal, but didn’t bother to really look at it and I jumped to conclusions. Hosea gave me some hard truths and I’ve realized you ain’t ever been what I accused you of. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He looks up again and his eyes are glittering. “Darlin’, I ain’t here to try and convince you to take me back. Hell, don’t! I don’t deserve ya. But I made ya feel like you weren’t welcome anymore and that’s not fair. I just wanted to let you know you still have a home with the gang. I won’t get in the way of that.” 

You haven’t relaxed your stance. He sighs again. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry. I… I hope you’ll come home. Not for me, but for everyone else. They all miss you. Especially Mary-Beth and Jack. They’ve missed your funny stories.” 

Arthur heads over to his horse and mounts up. Without another word, he rides off. When you’re sure he’s gone, you creep over to your camp. Nothing has been moved or taken, in fact you see a folded piece of paper on your bedroll. Opening it, you see a sketch of you. You recognize Arthur’s work. At the bottom of the page, you see in his loopy writing, the words “I love Y/N”. A ball forms in your throat again, but you’re not really sure how to respond from here. 

*******************************

Two days later, you finally pack up your camp and head back to Horseshoe Overlook. When you return, you’re welcomed with open arms and happy smiles. Hosea pats your shoulder, stating it’s good to have you back. Pearson’s ecstatic when you give him all the pelts and meat you’ve collected during your trip. Jack runs over, asking if you saw any unicorns (your last story had been about a princess who met a unicorn in a forest). 

The last person who comes to greet you is Arthur. When you both lock eyes, everyone turns away and goes back to their own tasks, knowing you both need your privacy. Arthur wears a small, shy smile and he walks over to you. 

“I’m glad you came home, Y/N.” He shuffles his feet a little, wanting to say a thousand things to  you. However, he doesn’t want to pressure you to take him back, knowing it’s not fair to you. “Well, let me know if you need anything.” He tips his hat and starts walking away. 

Before he gets far, you grab his hand, spin him around to face you and bury your head into his chest. His chest clenches hard, but he folds his arms around you. He feels the moisture from your eyes seeping into his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He kisses the top of your head and squeezes you. 

“I love ya,” he whispers in your ear. 

You look up at him, your eyes red and puffy, fresh tracks running down your cheeks. “I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

[wistfulwisteriawitch]

Arthur Morgan x Lilith Vallent OC: Vas Ura (My One)/ Vas Soluna (My Bonded) Part 01 Chapter 02: Colter

The night falls, but everyone is warm, everyone has a bed, everyone is safe. I smile to myself and find Dutch who is puffing a pipe and some of Bel’s favorite tobacco, he and Belial are chatting with Hosea and Arthur when Dutch thanks him, “you really saved us there.”

“Not I.” Belial shakes his head and I smirk. Arthur is scribbling in a journal, it is something else entirely to see him do so in person, and I stay in the shadows to watch as he listens halfheartedly.

“Oh? Surely you’re the one who—“ Dutch begins laughing.

“You mistake the hierarchy Mister Van der Linde.” Bel smiles and shakes his head.

“The red head?”

“My One. But niet. No.”

Hosea chuckles, “the small one? I believe you said your little sister.”

“Hm.” He nods at the men who look floor struck except Hosea.

“You’re telling me that tiny woman.” Dutch begins.

“Though she be little, she is fierce.”

“Shakespeare.” Hosea mutters.

Arthur’s attention seems to have paused on his writing and his eyes snap up to where I am. For a moment we both regard one another before I step forward into the light.

“Bel?”

“Ah here she is, Sool Iña.” Good evening. Bel is on cloud nine, he has been able to speak with his favorite characters, Hosea especially. “I was just explaining the hierarchy.”

“You mean about how I clobbered you for rank?”

He snorts and shoves at me with his foot making my chair scoot a bit when I sat down.

“You’re really in charge?” Dutch asks.

I sigh, and drop the gentle approach, harden myself and straighten fully in my seat, leaning back and tilting my chin up, allowing my gaze to ease into a hard edge. “Yes Mister Van der Linde. Do you have issue with it?” I allowed a rumble to echo through my chest for a moment.

“Not at all, just surprising.” Dutch smiles glancing me up and down. “Not every day you meet a tiny woman capable of such things.”

“And that’s just the beginning.” Bel muttered and I kicked a foot out smacking his ankle, “ouch!”

“Siblings.” Arthur grunted as he continued to write.

“So tell me Mister Van der Linde, what brings three men worth a bond in collection of several thousand dollars this far?” I ask sipping some whiskey from a flask.

Dutch tenses as does Arthur and Hosea merely laughs.

“Relax. You are in good company.” Bel snaps.

“Oh?”

“Belial is wanted for at least five thousand.” I explained.

“And you?”

Bel chuckles, “where are you at now?”

“Not much but that’s because I don’t get caught.” I huffed taking another swig. “Last I checked for My name it was three thousand, but last I checked for The Red Wolf it was at ten thousand.”

“The Red Wolf?” Hosea tilts his head.

“A nom de guerre.” Bel explained. “We all have one.”

“We?” Dutch asks glancing at them both.

“Yes. My family is Vallent. I am of a people called Volkier, think of us as a ah….specialized family…we…handle things. Bad people.”

Dutch grips the glass of whiskey in his hand, “and what are we?”

“Good people who survive doing bad things.” I shrug, “like anyone else in the world Mister Van der Linde. You choose who to rob, you don’t destroy everything in your path.”

I knew using the words he had used with Cornwall would resonate and he nods, relaxing substantially.

“We would like to join you.” I said and all three men pause.

“Why?” Hosea asks tilting his head.

“Do I need a reason? You need more people who are skilled, I have skilled family. And I’ve taken a shine to you. We Wolves do not consider such trivial things. We do as we please.”

“Wolves.” Arthur smirks, “is that what you’re called.”

“It is Mister Morgan.” I softly reply. “Volkier have been around for ages, thousands of years we have passed down our knowledge to our kin, we have survived this far, in the wilds of the world— but the world is changing. And so we must change with it or perish. However, we survive best in numbers.”

Dutch laughed and nodded, leaning over and patting my knee, “indeed. I do believe I like you Miss Vallent.”

“Thank you.”

Belladonna entered the cabin and draped herself over Belial’s shoulder. “I am tired love.”

“Hm.” Bel grinned and excused himself, finding it hard to walk with Bella entwined around his arm.

“Puppies.” I snorted into my drink. “How vulgar,” but no venom was in my voice as Bel gave me the finger behind his back. “Hurry up and make me an Auntie!”

All three men almost coughed into their drinks.

“I CANNA BARELY TAKE CARE A THIS FOOL OF A MAN!” Bella’s laughter could be heard as they shut the door to their quarters.

“Sorry, we’re a bit…ah…open with how we speak of such things.” I grinned a bit sheepish. “Please allow us to show our use to you gentlemen.”

“Hmph.” Arthur was still glaring over his sketchbook but it was different— was he drawing me? I felt a curious urge to lean over and look but he guarded the edge with a hand.

Awe, bummer.

“I hope your quarters are suited to you. Mister Morgan I’ll show you to your designated spot.”

He sighed and got up to follow where I led him to a smaller cabin to the left of the bunker cabin. He walked in and glanced around. “You’ll be sharing space with myself. I hope that’s alright.” He seemed to pause, but without a fight nodded. “It is still colder than hell, it’s better to bunk up where we can.”

“Hah, surely you ain’t wanting to bunk up with me.”

“Do you see any other ornery cowboys here?” I asked crossing my arms. No way in hell are you staying in a drafty cold place cinnamon roll. Get your ass into bed. “Don’t get shy on me we can only burn wood for so long and I don’t feel like freezing to death, I won’t bite you. And I dont trust anyone else near me, and I am in no way sharing space with my brother and his bonded.”

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

Arthur could understand that well enough, but as she went into another room and came out with her hair in a thick braid piling wood into the fire to bank it so it wouldn’t go out and at least keep it relatively warm, she turned to him. “You alright?”

She trusted him. Why, she hardly knew him, but she acted as if she’d known him for a long time— and damn it if it wasn’t rubbing off on him too. Through the evening she had quietly chatted with him about horses, guns, poker, anything that actually might peak his interest, California being one of the things he was want to talk about.

He even spoke of Bodicea, watching her eyes cloud with pain. “I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t fix the pain…”

“No but…s’preciated.” He muttered.

Now here she was bundled in a bed piled high with furs and pelts and all manner of blankets like a bug in a rug.

“Look I can.”

Her warm gaze snapped open. “Don’t make me fling you into this bed Mister Morgan, I am tired.”

“Hmph.” As if she could. But he shrugs, “fine don’t say I didn’t warn ya that you’d be uncomfortable with a mean old bastard like me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah grouchier than a bear in winter, get in here already.” She yawned big and rolled herself over.

He got himself down to his union suit and crawled in, almost groaning at how warm it was already and settled into the goose mattress— how long had it been since he’d slept in a god damn bed weeks…months?

His eyes slid shut for a moment, and drunk on exhaustion he glanced at her, half her face hidden by blankets her wide eyes blinking at him like a curious animal.

Why did she look so damn happy.

“Ya warm?” He mumbled.

She nodded. “You?”

“Considering yer like a god damn furnace shore.”

“Hehehe. I know. My family always sidle up to me during winter, my brothers and I tend to run hot like Mama.”

“So that a family trait.” He jolted when her hand found his and he realized she wasn’t joking, she was warm and he found himself dragging her closer.

She was pouting, “If you wanted to huggle-up just say so.”

“Hm?” He wasn’t sure what that meant.

“You know, huggle-up, like a puppy pile….you ever see wolves pile up on each other during winter?”

“I don’t make it a habit to wander into wolves dens.”

“Psh, sure you don’t.” He realized she was referring to the three of them.

“You all take this wolf thing seriously.”

“Yep.”

“Hm…”Arthur felt himself drifting off, unaware of how tight he was holding her warm hand. “Thank you.” He muttered.

“Of course Arthur…”

Sometime in the night he could hear the ever so soft whisper….

Amongst the leaves and twining branch.

The moonlight sways in winter’s dance.

Within the Company of Wolves, I keep.

That I may lie down in peaceful sleep.

He wasn’t sure what time it was as light filtered through the window frames. But it was burning up despite there still being a damn blizzard outside rattling the cabin.

“Hmph?” Arthur grunted a bit and tried to move but was weighed down as something….no…someone…was tangled with his legs.

He damn near panicked but opening one eye and looking down he flushed bright red.

She was half under him, tucked into his shoulder with a sleepy smile, hair undone as somehow in the middle of the fucking night he had buried a hand into her locks.

Fuck…move damn it… he said to himself.

“Arthur?” She opened one eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Um I’m sorry…” he blushed again.

“For what?” She muttered.

“uh..”

She glanced down at themselves and laughed, “oh please.” An arm wound about his waist and she bundled closer lightning her legs around his limbs. “Sleep it’s too early.��

He sputtered, disentangling himself and falling off the mattress to the floor with a low oof.

“Awe! You okay?” She popped up scratching her scalp, humming to herself, “ugh guess I’ll get up too if you’re so hell bent. Geez, getting up with the sun is a bitch.”

He grunted and stood up rubbing his bruised lower back.

“Arthur?” She called him, and he jolted a bit, “coffee?” She held a mug as he buttoned his shirt over his union suit.

“Thanks.” He took a long drink feeling the heat go straight to his gut.

“Welcome.” She drank her own cup, “I’m sure Belladonna has breakfast going.” She got herself bundled up after she went into the other room in a warm dress and boots, along with her wolf cloak that was dark black fur fluffed out all over making her look bigger than she was. “I’ll go check on it.”

He frowned to himself glancing at the unmade bed. Had he really spent the night bundled up to a total stranger….

A rather cute stranger.

No…no…a stranger nonetheless.

Yes he had. And he wasn’t too sure how he felt about it.

But upon entering the cabin with the bunk beds he could hear the men chattering rather amiably, warmed up with the small stove that kept the room comfortable, “ah it’s Morgan, where the hell did you sleep?” Micah asked. “Saw you heading off with that tiny woman, get lucky?”

“Shut it Micah.”

Javier chuckled, “she speaks Spanish you know. Her mother is from Mexico.”

“Really? I thought they were Russian.” Lenny said.

“Father is Russian.” Bill corrected sipping his coffee.

“Well whatever they are, sure am grateful.” Lenny smiled.

Arthur always liked Lenny, he was a good boy, did good work and was smart to boot. “We should be, be in a hell of worse set of circumstances without em.”

“I dont trust em.” Micah snapped. And everyone frowned at him.

“Just sad about Davey.” Bill muttered.

“When I go I don’t want no one to be sad just fucking move on.”

“Why when you go Micah there will be a party.” Lenny chuckled and Bill laughed.

But before Micah could land a blow Lilith stood before him.

“Gentlemen.” She chided. “Such behavior.” Arthur tensed, watching her body language as she sighed deeply as if disappointed. “What seems to be the issue.”

“Ain’t gonna be laughed at by the likes of these idiots.” Micah snapped.

Lilith chuckled, “Mister Bell, surely such a trivial thing could do you no harm, yet you’re willing to draw blood for such a thing from family?”

Everyone tried to move when Micah’s palm lashed out, “you Bitch!”

But a small hand gripped his wrist making the big man stop, he jerked but the grip was iron.

“Mister Bell. I don’t take kindly to violence intending to draw blood amongst friends and family.”

Lilith’s gaze was sharp, her lip curled in a sneer and she clenched her hand tighter around Micah’s wrist making the man grunt. “Right now I am grinding your radius and your lunate bones in your hand together…hurts doesn’t it?”

Arthur watched with a deep frown, Javier was laughing, and Lenny just stepped back a bit Bill kept drinking his coffee seemingly glad she saved him from getting his jaw punched.

She stepped forward, pushing Micah back by bending his wrist at an unnatural angel towards him. Her voice was gentle, scolding. “If I wanted to… I could easily snap it back and dislocate your wrist. I would of course set it…but it would hurt…quite badly. Bear that in mind when you decide to bare those dull fangs of yours at me for such an idiotic reason. You shall not get any leeway from me again. Do I make myself clear?” She didn’t even wait for him to respond, jerking his wrist and forcing his legs to buckle from the pain. ”Be a good boy and DOWN.”

No one moved.

Everyone was too shocked to move.

Belial was leaning in the doorway with a lopsided grin, “Lioshka?”

“It is fine.” She flung Micah’s arm back with a rumble in her chest and kept her head high, staring down her nose at the blond man, before slowly glancing over everyone. “Gentlemen,” she brushed snow off herself and adjusted her hair which was piled up in a half Gibson girl style, “breakfast is ready, come eat.”

With that the siblings left.

“God damn.” Micah hissed rubbing his wrist glaring at the door, “something is wrong with that fucking bitch.”

Charles was trying not to laugh as was Lenny, “seems fine to me.” Lenny said.

“Don’t worry Micah, you’ll get her next time.” Javier chuckled as he walked out.

Arthur merely glared at the man. “Don’t let me ever catch you acting to hit her again.” He growled.

“What protective of your little she-bitch?” Micah spat.

“Watch it.” Arthur snapped. “She’s helped us be grateful.”

Breakfast was a strange affair, everyone was piled into the cabin, and that meant everyone, the Volkier family stated it was good to eat together. A potato hash, baked greens and melted cheese on toast and a type of strange meat chop dish that was riddled with wild onions and herbs.

Pearson was in heaven. He didn’t even complain and he had apparently been helping.

Lilith had informed everyone over the meal that afternoon meal would be a simple dish like breakfast, when was the last time they even had three meals a day…everyone was brighter, their morale boosted, and Dutch and Hosea were chattering away together.

“So Dutch, tell me. There are O’Driscals nearby?” Lilith asked.

“You know of O’Driscalls?”

“We hate them.” Belial snapped from across the room.

“Oh good.” Dutch said laughing, “we’ll all get along fine then.”

“We can help.” Belladonna smiled wide, “may I?”

“You and I will go, Belial, stay with the group. Ensure no one comes if they do, slit their throats open.”

“Yes little sister.”

Hosea glanced at Arthur they seemed to be thinking the same, how could one so young speak of killing so easily.

“May we join you?” Lilith asked Dutch, “I promise we will make it easier.”

“Why not.”

With that, it was decided, and Lilith went to prepare, stating a dress was not clothing to fight in.

Arthur huffed and leaned in to Dutch, “we sure bout this letting women on a job?”

“Arthur have faith.”

Have faith…that was always the answer….Arthur seemed to be running out of faith as he followed Dutch, “Dutch we ain’t got the luxury of revenge… you’re always sayin that.”

“Best that we hit him before they hit us.”

[inikavulpixelreviews]

Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Gen 8 Retrospective

This Generational recap itself might be a bit on the shorter side, since I already said my peace on the games themselves and their less than stellar impact on the fandom before I even started them. (Not that there isn’t a lot I’m talking about here today though, hoo boy.) Though just know between a repeat playthrough and my opinion on the Pokemon dropping as I've analyzed them more, I'd say my final verdict is that they're a decent enough swan song to the way Pokemon games used to be that made Gym battles feel special again but lacked in a lot of other areas. 6/10 overall.

Though obviously Gen 8 isn't done yet. Since DLC is on the way, as I've said several times already. My general thoughts on the concept of Pokemon DLC replacing the traditional “Third Version” is good. For one thing I'd much rather pay $30 for access to new content immediately over paying another $60 for a “Pokemon Armor” version that had most of its new content back-loaded in the postgame. $30 is still steep... but it's better. And of course, the prospect of releasing more new Pokemon via DLC is a good one too. Hopefully releasing DLC rather than a full game every year will relinquish some of the workload off Gamefreak... so perhaps we can get smaller batches of new Pokemon released mid-generation to help mitigate just how many Pokemon felt like they didn't get finished in time. But also hopefully it'll mean Gen 9 will be all the better when we get there... Gamefreak has stated they're really challenging themselves with the next major Pokemon games so hopefully they're taking the more level-headed criticism to heart and it's not all talk but we'll have to see.

Yeah, that's about all I have to say about the state of Pokemon as of right now, neverminding my multiple rants and tangents since I've already gone to great lengths to state that Gen 8 isn't as good as I might've initially thought. I still like it overall, and it's probably still not my least favorite Gen... but it's very much like Gen 4 with an EXTREMELY mixed bag. Certainly felt like for every excellently designed Pokemon they had below-average flunky that feels like it should've gone back to the drawing board once or twice. But even all that aside, one of my more annoying sticking points with Gen 8 is the severe lack of new animals.

So in place of my usual ramblings on my thoughts on a generation as a whole, let's do a little Compare and Contrast. Let's look at the past few Generations and see just how noticeable this flood of species redo's is. Green checks are significantly new enough animals, Red crosses are for animal origins that have been done before, Yellow slashes for Pokemon with vague or heavily mixed taxonomic origins, and Grey circles for Pokemon that are disqualified for being Objectmon, since we've yet to get repeats of those. (Also disqualifying Gen 8's regional evos other than Obstagoon since it's not necessarily their fault that they're repeats.)

Are there arbitration in places? Probably. But I feel like the point still stands that Gen 8 was waaaaay too reliant on touching up on animals already covered in Pokemon before. Especially when there's still so many animals that have yet to get a Pokemon to their name. The one plus Gen 8 does have in this regard is that it has a few more “taxonomically vague” Pokemon than usual. But repeating animals in and of itself isn't all that bad, if you make the repeat different enough to be interesting in its own right. The one thing you could do wrong in that regard is to just make your monster notably more “normal” compared to the Pokemon it's repeating. So how does that hold up?

As much as I've established that one's a crow and the other's a raven, the two animals are still very much similar creatures. But I do feel like Murkrow and Corviknight are differentiated enough while both still being a “fantasy” creature in their own way. Murkrow is very much a gangly, cartoony crow while Corviknight covers the more majestic side of corvids.

Another one that's pretty blatant is that we now have two regions with a Ladybird as the common bug. Orbeetle does however get to be more accurate to the Ladybird life cycle, starting out with a larvae and ending with the beetle. Again, Ledian and Orbeetle are very different flavors of the same creature, Orbeetle not skimping out on any outlandish elements. In fact, it's more visibly outlandish than Ledian was.

This is where things start to get hazy. I've stated that Nickit and Thievul are sadly my least favorite fox Pokemon to date, simply because it has the least to offer imaginatively than all the other foxes that accompany it. Ninetales has the kitsune thing going on, while its Alolan variant covers Arctic Foxes. Zorua is a fantastical take on the tricky nature of foxes by combining aspects of shapeshifting kitsunes or tanookies while throwing in a bit of Kabuki. And Fennekin grows up to be more of a wizard. Thievul is very much a stereotypical red fox while having the trickster nature of foxes that's not only been done by Zorua before, but also in a much more stereotypical thieving way like a Swiper the Fox sort of thing.

Wooloo always struck me as odd ever since it turned out it wasn't the region's common Normal-type. I can excuse plainness in the common woodland animal since they're rather uniformly not terribly interesting (and arguably are like that by design). So it turns out it's more of a common early-game fodder just like Mareep is, but Mareep is just a smidge more interesting by being elemental, and also it turns into Ampharos, a weird little bipedal lamb with little flippers for some reason. Which is reasonably more imaginative than a Pokemon that's mostly just a sheep.

Sandaconda is another one that feels significantly fantastical and unique compared to its previous serpentine cousins. The only snake Pokemon beforehand that was hugely different from the template of what a snake usually is was Snivy. Sandaconda is even unique as far as cobra monsters go, with its “hood” being a big ol' sac that it keeps its projectile Anakin-repelent in.

Centiskorch is a little iffy. It's cool that they turned a real centipede's grappling maneuver and turned it into an even more effective weapon via its heat spots. But in terms of body shape it's significantly more normal looking for a centipede than Scolipede's almost horse-like proportions, isn't it?

Another iffy comparison since they're both fairly “regular” looking Octopus monsters. But even so, I'd count it as a point against Gen 8 since there's been more than plenty of time to come up with a cool and unique body type for an octopus.

That's better! Eiscue, while normal-looking if you only count the penguin body, is still a funny and imaginative take on a penguin monster that is a completely different flavor from Empoleon's stern look to boot.

Another dodgy one to justify. There's neat theming in there, but there's hardly any denying that an elephant that rolls up into a wheel and rolls around is notably a much weirder take on an elephant that Copperajah going by an elephant's body shape to a T.

Had they gone for a look more purposefully weirdly geometric like they SEEM to be going for, I probably would've given it a hand-wave, but even with that in mind, Copperajah is pretty vanilla in terms of Elephant monsters. Especially compared to Donphan.

...So even then, it's pretty mixed in that regard. Some Pokemon feel like worthwhile additions to the biodiversity, but others I can't help but wonder what the point was. Did Wooloo really need to exist in a series that already had Mareep? Couldn't they push Copperajah's concept further to better contrast with Donphan? Having repeats isn’t BAD, pretty sure every Gen past the 2nd has done them. But it’s hard to find sticking points on Gen 6 and 7′s repeats. Aurorus is totally different from Meganium. Vikavolt, while being much more close to realism in body structure compared to Pinsir, is still a vastly different fantasy creature just on account of having a gun for a face. And the whole Goomy line is almost nothing like Magcargo. And all that is WHILE still bringing in plenty of new animals to play with.

So yeah, I hope all that can help with understanding why I was a little harsh on Gen 8. It's still not my least favorite, cause we still got a ton of good out of it, and I would much rather have a mixed Gen of “Some Really Good, Some Not So Great” over Gen 2 and 4's “Some are good but the rest are really plain and boring.” But of course, as per usual, we gotta do the lists...

Top 10 Favorites of Gen 8:

Like I said, the new Pokemon that are good are REALLY good. Still struggled to make a Top 10, for good reason!

Top 10 Favorites Overall:

That said, there wasn’t a ton of impact on my Top 10. Top 50 maybe, but not here.

Bottom 10 Least Favorites of Gen 8:

Sadly there was plenty I was just plain not a fan of. Has there ever been a Gen where I just straight up dislike the whole Bottom 10? Hmm...

Bottom 10 Least Favorites Overall:

And tragically, this Gen did make a pretty deep cut into my least favorites, oof. It is an unholy image to not see Gallade be all the way to the left up there.

The Cutest:

The Coolest:

The Prettiest:

Corviknight and Eternatus aren’t just there because I ran out of traditionally pretty ones, just so you know. There’s something about a sleek, nearly all-black design that is genuinely gorgeous-looking to me.

The Spookiest:

Most Creative:

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Most Forgettable:

Most Personality:

At least there were still plenty of personality-driven designs! Look at all these adorable little charmers and smug little shits.

Most Under-Appreciated:

Best Regional Variants:

I’ve probably said it already but I am legitimately ecstatic with Regional Variation being a mainstay feature now. There is INFINITE potential with the concept and totally didn’t deserve to get ditched after a single use just in Alola. In fact I think it’d be rad if they do any more remakes they retroactively made “Sinnohan” or “Hoenn” forms of Pokemon. I thought they might’ve made some “Kantonian” forms for Pokemon in Let’s Go and redesigned a few modern Pokemon to look a bit like they were designed back in the 90s... but sadly that didn’t happen. Despite how cool it would’ve been. But Kanto is sacred ground that cannot ever be changed, I guess...

Best Ultra Beasts: (????????????????)

h

Best G-Maxes:

I still love the concept of G-Maxes, and we’ll probably get a few more before Gen 8 is done entirely. But it does stink that the concept in the end felt a little half-baked. Speaking of which...

Pokemon That SHOULD'VE Gotten G-Maxes:

Because G-Maxes wound up being locked to only be for Gen 1 or 8 Pokemon, with only a handful of exceptions. MAYBE they’ll stretch into other Gens in the DLC, but until then lemme just make a personal wishlist of SQUANDERED potential. Though I’ll limit myself to Pokemon that are only in the current Galardex as to not be here all day.

I’m sure if you pay attention to the Fakemon scene at all, you’ve already seen a few G-Max Dhelmises where the seaweed has grown so massive that it’s now able to possess an entire haunted ship. And they are CORRECT to make such a thing because GOD what were they thinking NOT doing that?!? It’s right there under your noses!!!

Still bummed there was never a Mega Vanilluxe... but this could easily make up for it! A towering snowing mountain of ice cream is a super cool idea for a kaiju-size ice cream monster, maybe even ditching the icicle shaped cone in favor of having it rest in a “bowl” of ice!

Like??? Hello????? Are you telling me you’re making Kaijumon over here and you’re NOT gonna make a giant mecha?????????????????

Because a giant living beehive deploying swarms upon swarms of Combee is a badass concept just by itself.

Like c’mon this one was REALLY staring you in the face. A region set in Poke-England and you’re not gonna make a funny giant Zeppelin?

Just trying to imagine a colossal haunted chandelier is giving me chills by itself. Especially if you were to make it look elaborately regal and all that.

I’ve not got a specific idea, you’d just think they’d compensate for the lack of a Mega form.

G-Max Rillaboom has me feeling like this one’s likely to not happen, since I imagined a cool idea for a G-Max Trevenant was to make it a giant Deku-Tree looking haunted tree with a colossal trunk and even bigger canopy.

I guess Butterfree already had the spot taken for “Mothra stand-in”, but I feel like Frosmoth has just as much cool potential for a G-Max form as Butterfree did. Especially with the powdery snow scales it has.

Perfect opportunity to give Goodra a giant, more monstrous slug-like form. But no dice there either. Maybe next form gimmick...

Okay, C’MON. We KNOW they weren’t that bothered about giving G-Max forms out to Pokemon that already had Megas. This is the most obvious one of all! ESPECIALLY since its defacto-Mecha Godzilla got a G-Max but it didn’t.

Most “Unfinished” Feeling:

Since “least favorite” doesn't necessarily meant “unfinished.” (As much as I dislike Toxel, it doesn't really strike me as “not done.”) Not that I have clairvoyance on Gamefreak's internal workings, but some of these Pokemon definitely feel like they're not up to scratch with the series's usual quality standard.

My Disappointment is Immeasurable and My Day is Ruined:

To pick on Gen 8 one last time... and since it was a running gag anyway, here's the Pokemon that just crush my dreams the most. Except Appletun, mostly. It's good enough to be let off the hook. The rest? They were things that were on my wishlist of things and animals I would've LOVED to see get turned into Pokemon, only for my hopes and dreams to sink faster than the Titanic. Considering a majority of concepts within Pokemon don't come back, if not for a very long time, these Pokemon mean that I have to reluctantly strike a cake monster, a snowman, a coal monster, a train monster, a sea urchin, a pie monster, and some fresh Lapras attention off my wishlist. Sigh.

With two rounds of DLC coming, the main Pokemon review series probably won't be back until the tail end of this year shortly after Crowned Tundra is released. I am excited to get to talk about some of what they've shown so far, but I'd rather wait until the content is released and we know everything about the new Pokemon and Regionals. There will however be at least one more little bonus article about Gen 8 and the future of the series, but I wouldn't expect it to be out for a while. Before the DLC is out probably, but still a long ways off.

[Archive]

[cheshasleverage]

The Miracle Job Rewatch

Wow it sure took me a while to watch this episode damn. Also I’m gonna start putting these under read mores because they’re too long

Anyways, I think I understand why they might’ve switched the Two Horse Job with The Wedding Job, on account of it would explain why Nate is ordained and can marry off a couple without anyone questioning the validity of it

If we think about it going in the order it was supposed to though, with Nate marrying off the couple before telling the team he was a priest (or was going to be anyways) its kind of funny because that means the team didn’t care about its validity and just wanted to get the con over with

The mural in the church though, it’s gorgeous. The statue? can’t stop laughing at his little Y arms

The priest is definitely a guy Nate would be friends with, what with his humor and all

Listen I’m not religious and I know this is a running theme throughout the episode but seriously who beats up a priest, or any holy man for that matter? Unless the guys a fucking asshole I understand but come on

How did Sophie get that role? Knowing her the actual cast member dropped out or something and she jumped on the chance to play

Eliot playing Russian roulette with a bunch of criminals is somehow not as bad as watching Sophie’s play and I want to think he’s just exaggerating to get his point across but also Death of a Salesman is almost 2 and half hours long so maybe it really was that bad (either way I think Eliot needs to lighten up on Sophie)

Ok Ok, smooth Nate really smooth

Do you think Nate actually watched the play? He probably already knows the premise of Death of a Salesman so he can cover his ass if he fell asleep but the way he was watching Sophie in the first episode makes me think that maybe he is just fascinated with watching how her version plays out

First mention of Maggie, and with Sophie’s tone and with what we already know, we can kind of figure out that whatever she’s telling Nate is important and that the client is possibly connected to Nate (great writing tbh)

“You read the police report?” “Yeah, I do that.” 

The back and forth with Nate being All Business and Paul trying to get him to tell him if it had been Maggie he was talking to is very.... telling of how Nate feels about his “job” and his old life. Nate lost everything, including the wife he really loved, and now he’s driven himself into the ground trying to do anything that might distract him from what happened to Sam and his old life basically. 

I never realized before but parker has probably never actually experienced church or interacted with any religion in a....... religious way

Nate trying desperately to convince the team to help out his old friend like they hadn’t already helped out Sophie’s against the mob, or like they wouldn’t be all over it after learning some dudes jumped a priest. 

They have better hearts than I think themselves, and Nate, give them credit for

They were fully prepared for Nate! Hardison knew he was gonna start asking about who wanted the church and got signs of each place.

“I don’t do gangs” Do you think this is the episode that Hardison started to learn how to defend himself from attackers?

oof, look at how happy and proud Nate looks. That little boy was his life

This scene really drives home the fact that Hardison and Eliot have had very different experiences in life. While Hardison has mainly done cons behind the safety of his hacking and never really had to fight anyone, Eliot has done this before. He knows where gangs have their hideouts, he knows walking into their turf will draw them out, he knows they’ll pull guns or knives etc.

Side note: Eliot grabbing that dudes gun and holding it down his pants while he interrogates them? kind of hot ngl

“A specific range of efficacy” Yeah ok sure, he hates them because most inexperienced people use them in the least effective range instead of the fact that he’s probably got PTSD 

ANYWAYS DISARMING THAT DUDE WITH A HEADBUTT IS KIND OF HOT ALSO

However, Hardison freaking out is exactly how I would feel in that situation, mainly because I (and Hardison) realize that Eliot is there and after seeing what Eliot can do there’s very little chance he would let anything happen

What was that move, Hardison? Did he shove him??

Hey, at least he noticed that dude was acting weird. He’s very observant and picks up on a lot of things which helps out when he’s hacking

“Somebody’s gotta fight the injured, shoot that’s my niche”

Can we talk about how Eliot keeps looking back? Like he’s expecting a gunshot, whether it’s at the gang member or at them

God when the team is going hard against someone they really go hard. First smacking him with wood and changing his pills, then dumping his assistant on the floor to get him alone in an elevator

“You gave speed?” Hardison’s half-assed attempt to make an excuse for Parker because he did beat up a priest but also, speed?

Parker is so smart. Like, especially when she’s doing anything involving stealing but there are moments like this where she comes up with an elegant way of saying “let's ruin this dude”. 

I peg Hardison for being agnostic. Or something along those lines. Mainly because I feel somewhat similarly toward what they’re doing. Cus there’s a difference between taking advantage of someone’s greeds/fears vs taking advantage of their religion and faith

DID PARKER REALLY DRAW BLOOD FROM HIM

Sophie is vicious. I think they all are in their own way but Sophie gets next to her mark, gets cozy and they trust her and then she turns around and uses them for her con

1) Hardison is an amazing artist 

2) Eliot’s got a point because at 10 feet when you’re not moving and your target is standing still, you should have time to aim and hit it

Alright so digging in: Nate harbors guilt over Sam’s death and the falling apart of his marriage..... and his little game of cat and mouse with Sophie. He never cheated on Maggie, there may have been some flirting but he was honest and never slept with Sophie or anyone else, and I highly doubt Sophie ever tried to push him to sleep with her knowing he was married. But he still feels guilty because, well come on, one guilt piles on another and soon it’s snowballing. He’s thinking about every little mistake, whether Maggie cared about it or not, and wondering if he could’ve done things differently, how would things have turned out?

Sophie, on the other hand, knows he was honest, knows there’s nothing he should be feeling guilty about, at least not when it comes to what they had before the team. Maybe she harbors some envy toward Maggie, but she’s also in a very unstable and unsure spot. She doesn’t know where she stands with Nate personally, only professionally as a grifter on his team. And maybe she does feel somewhat guilty, but she’s trying to lessen the burden that Nate’s put on himself (not that she’s supposed to do that, and it’s another reason I’m glad the writers pushed off their romance)

You know you fucked up when the Vatican rolls up

(now I wanna see a job that takes place in/near the Vatican where the team has to avoid the Vatican and try not to get themselves smited for another fake miracle because Hardison, Parker, and Eliot booked it as soon as they heard the Vatican)

Paul really nailed Nate. At this point, Nate is an alcoholic and he’s depressed, like severely. Nate is using this team as a way to maybe redeem some part of himself, and possibly end him in a way that’s well.... it either does some good for someone or it ruins his reputation

I also wonder if Nate ever did go back before they moved. Maybe just once or twice, even if it was just to talk to Paul. 

Also very clever to use Saint Nicholas. After digging around (googling about him) I found out he’s technically the patron saint of repentant thieves

[som3thingcr3ative]

And I am Wanting 2

It’s here! I wasn’t sure when I’d have time to write this or post it- I tried last night but it. wouldn’t. post. grr. I have a few crazy days coming up soon but I’ve been wanting to write this sooo badly, especially when I go through the tag lol. 

ENJOY!

part one part two part three part four

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier leave Lord Corro’s town; a debt is paid; Jaskier hears something go bump in the night. 

Warnings: abuse, bruises, minor character death, revenge...oof

Pairings: pining!Geralt and pining!Jaskier, eventual geraskier x oc 

Geralt has a bad feeling about leaving Lani behind. Her green eyes are piercing and focused directly on him as he lowers himself into Roach’s saddle. He looks over at her as she hesitates, standing beside her father as always. Loretta the handmaiden stands an appropriate distance behind her, but her eyes are careful. 

The Lady Corro steps down from the steps in front of her fathers’ house. She walks slowly to Roach’s side, where Geralt watches but doesn’t stop her from placing a hand on the mare’s shoulder. Jaskier’s eyes widen in surprise, but Geralt can see the way Lani is leaning her weight onto the mare. She’s exhausted, he can see it in her face. “Where are you going next?” She asks, conversationally for the many ears listening. He can see her true question hidden behind the facade, though. 

“North.” He gruffs, squinting at the noonday sun. It’s been just over twenty-four hours since Lani slayed the beast, fewer than that since he claimed the bounty. Then, quietly, “We’ll stick to the main roads. Travel slowly for now. The bounty is enough for three months.”

Lani nods, bowing her head just briefly. Her skin is paler than before, Geralt notices, and his heightened senses pick up the coppery scent of blood beneath her clothes. She’s not doing well, but she’ll live, and he can take comfort in that. A fighter like her is rare, too rare to let die.

“Be careful.” Geralt says, his lips barely moving. 

She steps back, smoothes her hands over the skirt of her dress. “Safe travels.” She says. “May the wind stay at your backs.”

If he hadn’t seen the gleam in her eye, he would’ve thought she didn’t hear him. Her eyes slide to Jaskier, whose fingers pluck idly at the strings of his lute. The tune is familiar, but slightly different than what he’d played last night. For once, the bard isn’t fidgeting or talking incessantly. His eyes are bright and only on Lani, who looks back at him with an unreadable expression. She smiles, bright and pure.

An hour later, once there’s plenty of space between them and all residents of the town under Lord Corro’s rule, Geralt turns to Jaskier and asks; “The song. What was it?”

And Jaskier grins. “It’s the truth of what happened. I sang it for her, and she liked it.”

Geralt smiles to himself and thinks that maybe one day he’ll ask to hear it. 

~~~~~~

Forty-eight hours have passed since Lani slayed the werewolf. She wakes in her bed with her entire body hurting from the fight. Her bruises had quickly turned black and purple, so significant that she’d been pale from it and weak. 

Sunlight streams through the crack in the curtains to her left. She blinks, turning her head toward it. Even the small motion hurts, but she can feel that something’s off. Loretta hasn’t opened the drapes. In fact, Lani can’t hear her bustling around setting out breakfast or arranging clothes. She sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

When she moves her hand from her face, a scream catches in her throat. Her ribs hurt to much to give voice to the sound and even if she’d tried, it’s like she’s been punched in the chest all over again. 

Loretta hasn’t opened the drapes because she’s dangling from the end of a rope at the foot of Lani’s bed, barely on her tiptoes. She doesn’t make a sound- none of the men in the room do- and there are a lot of them. 

“What is this?” Lani rasps, chest heaving despite the pain. She clutches her sheets to her body, trying to hide the bruises under the guise of protecting her modesty. Her free hand quests under her pillow, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger. “What are you doing?”

Her father’s eyes are cold as he peers down his nose at her. Loretta chokes, her face turning blue. She can’t dangle there much longer. “Your handmaiden was caught washing blood-soaked clothes that a guard recognized, Lani. Do you know why they were recognized?”

Lani’s wide eyes go to Loretta, who is desperately trying to mouth something. ‘I’m sorry-’ she reads on her lips, heart breaking at the sight before her. 

“I don’t.” She says, despite it all. “Father, please let her down!” Lani lets the tears come; now is not a time to be stoic, not when her handmaiden is choking to death at the foot of her bed. She lets the wracking sob push its way up her throat, acting just the way a Lady would at a sight like this. “She’s dying!” 

“She was caught washing the clothes of the vigilante, Lani sweet. For aiding a criminal, she must die.”

“Why are you doing this?” Lani questions through tears, her hysterics making several of the knights shift uncomfortably, glancing at each other. They’re sworn to her father, but Lani had made sure to win many of them over as the heir. Those are the ones who seem most likely to stop the killing. “She doesn’t deserve to die!”

Her father is unmoved. “Did you know about this?” He asks. A burning fire rages inside Lani’s chest as she watches Loretta struggle. There are too many knights for her to fight off with nothing more than a dagger and in her bedclothes. She can’t do anything. 

Helpless, Lani’s mind whispers: exactly what you swore to never be again. 

The castle shakes. Everyone standing stumbles; the wooden beam holding Loretta drops dust like so many snowflakes, catching in her hair and eyelashes. Her eyes are barely open. 

“What was that?” Lord Corro demands, looking around at the gathered knights. No one has an answer.

Again, the castle shakes. This time several people scream down the hall, cut short in a gurgle that even Lani can her from her bed. She takes the confusion as an opportunity and lunges forward, severing the rope in one neat slice, her blade so sharp that it doesn’t even catch. 

Loretta drops to the ground, near-lifeless. 

The doors to Lani’s room bang open and everyone looks up; standing there is a woman dressed in crimson, though patches of white show through. It’s blood, Lani realizes with a sickening lurch in her stomach. Blood on a white dress.

“Lord Corro,” the woman says. “Thanks to you, someone killed my pet.” She steps into the room and holds up a hand. The knights fall to the ground, each one with a sickening crack as their spines break. Her eyes fall on Lani and a wicked smile curves her lips. “Now I will take what you love most.”

~~~~~~

Geralt dreams of an open plain filled with flowers; flowers whose scents he can often catch on Jaskier. He dreams of open air, of a life with nothing tying him to one place. There are no contracts, no monsters, no people. 

He’s content. In the dream, his stomach is full, the air is warm and Roach grazes nearby. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s hoarse whisper sounds near his ear. He startles awake. The air is cold, his stomach is empty and there’s a new knot in his back from the hard ground. He growls, eyes opening to the black sky. There’s no moon tonight and Jaskier is almost wholly blind in the dark, his hands fumbling for Geralt’s arm. “Something’s out there!”

Now normally, Geralt would listen to find that it’s a squirrel or some other not dangerous forest creature, but this time isn’t normal. 

His ears pick up something on the path they’d been walking all day. He hears a horse’s tail swish, a quiet grumble of a breath from the animal. Its hooves make no sound on the rocks, and that’s how Geralt knows something’s wrong.

The second he leaps to his feet and draws his sword, he hears the rider draw the horse to a stop. Through the trees, he catches a glimpse of a massive black animal’s glistening hide, a second horse just beside it. Jaskier curses and the rider tugs the horses into a circle. 

Geralt steps out from between the trees. Oddly enough, he can feel the riders’ eyes on him despite the pitch black. Why are they out this late? Surely they’re as blind as Jaskier in this. 

He doesn’t voice his concerns. If the rider can see him, then the sight of a witcher would be enough to frighten anyone. They face each other for a second, just long enough for Geralt’s eyes to narrow on the canvas bags over the horses’ hooves. 

Why are you riding alone at night? He could ask. Why are you trying to hide?

A slight breeze comes from behind the rider toward him, just as the person urges their horse to move along. Geralt stiffens. Vanilla. Wild mountain air. Wood smoke. And just below that scent, the coppery tang of blood. 

“Lani.” Geralt gruffs. The rider stiffens, a spike of fear through her scent. 

“Lani?” Jaskier questions, stepping out of the woods. “Oh my, Lani is that you?”

Something’s wrong if she saw me. Something’s wrong for her to be riding alone at night, Geralt thinks. He steps toward the horses, puts a hand on her mount’s flank. Lani twitches away from his touch. Even in the dark, even at night her hood is drawn over her head, obscuring her face. Not even Geralt’s eyes can see past it at this angle, but she turns her head and there’s the unmistakable flash of firelight reflected in her gaze.

Reflected. The Witcher thinks. Like an animal.

“Don’t, Geralt.” Lani breathes, her voice near-broken. “Let me go.”

He wraps his fingers around one of the straps attaching a saddle bag to her saddle. Her face turns toward the motion, the most he can see past the hood. “No.” he growls. She yelps when his hands suddenly go to her hips, lifting her out of the saddle even though she sits about shoulder-height with him. Lani grips onto his arms, her fingers digging in as he lowers her to the ground in front of him, hands moving to her wrists. He has the feeling that if he lets go, she’ll bolt. 

“Geralt, what are you doing?” Jaskier asks, coming up behind him. He still can’t see and has both arms held out in front of him, so when he bumps into Geralt’s side, he grabs hold of his tunic to keep the Witcher close. “Is it Lani?”

“It is.” Geralt hums, reaching up to remove her hood. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of her eyes; he remembers the vivid green of them, but now they’re a molten dark gold with a slitted pupil like a fox. “What happened?” He snarls, brushing his thumb along a fresh bruise high on her cheekbone. Her eyes are even more obvious due to the black bruising around the left, the red and purple bruises that frame her throat. 

She looks away, toward Jaskier. When she speaks, her voice is raspy- from whatever caused the blooming colors across her throat, he realizes. “The witch came back.”

“No-” Jaskier gasps, startled. He clutches onto Geralt’s tunic, tightening his grip. “Are you okay? Geralt, what does she look like?”

“She’s not okay.” Geralt grunts as Lani’s eyes drop between them. “She’s staying with us.”

Her gaze flickers up to his in shock. She shakes her head quickly, but his grip on her wrists only shifts so he can grab her horses’ reins; the second horse, the one her bags are tied to is connected by a rope to her mount. “Go back to camp, Jask.” He says, dragging Lani and her horses behind him as he moves toward their firelight. Jaskier dutifully stumbles toward the light in front of them.

“I don’t want him to see me like this.” Lani’s low whisper reaches Geralt’s ears all the same. He shakes his head. 

“You’re staying.”

“Why?” 

Geralt turns to look at her over his shoulder. She’s not stumbling in the dark like Jaskier is: her pupils are barely dilated. Those fox eyes are focused on his face, still just as stubborn as she was before. ‘Don’t tell my father,’ he remembers her saying as she lay broken on a cold stone floor. Stubborn to the last. “You’re hurt and traveling alone.” He says, like it’s obvious. 

“I can handle myself.” She retorts, trying to yank her wrist out of his grip. 

“I’m not leaving you to the wolves, Lady Corro.” 

She snorts, sounding terribly self-hating. “Didn’t you see, Geralt? I’m one of them now.”

He turns so fast that she slams into his chest, his eyes blazing with fury. She seems to realize her mistake as she looks up into irises that are so similar to hers. “There are far worse things than being like a wolf, Lani.” Geralt snarls. “You could be dead. You could be attacked by a monster you can’t kill, or overpowered.” He doesn’t say the other thing that could happen to a woman traveling alone, but he gets the feeling he doesn’t have to when her fear spikes and her pulse quickens beneath his fingers. Regret flashes through him- his intention hadn’t been to wake some hidden demon in her thoughts. He eases his grip on her wrist and softly adds, “Jaskier won’t judge you for your eyes. He’s still just as likely to write songs in honor of you.”

“It’s not just my eyes.” She murmurs, raising a hand to gingerly touch the very edge of the bruising around her eye. 

“Did the witch do that?” He growls, a protective urge burning through his body. 

“No.” She says, and that’s the end of that. He knows by her tone that he won’t get any more out of her. 

Geralt turns, releasing her wrist but still leading her horses. He steps toward his camp, trying to keep his gait even though he listens almost anxiously for her to follow. When he hears her careful step through the brush, a tightness in his chest eases. She’ll stay, he thinks with an odd sort of satisfaction. 

Jaskier is waiting in the ring of firelight for them, wringing his hands together anxiously. When Lani walks toward him, he breaks, lunging toward her and cupping her face in his hands. “Oh Lani, what happened?” His eyes linger on the bruises around her throat, the darkness blossoming across her cheek. He blinks when he sees her eyes, but he doesn’t react to that any more than to the evidence of a fight. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes go to Geralt who has tied her horses beside Roach. The three sniff noses, her gelding arching his neck. The Witcher is undoing her saddlebags and saddle, glancing over at her and Jaskier every so often. “I’m alright.” She says at last, brushing her fingers over Jaskier’s hands as they rest on her face. “Thank you, Jaskier.”

His brows furrow anyway, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes in the darkness. He pulls her against his chest suddenly, and though she freezes for a second, his embrace is warm and welcome so she relaxes against him, taking comfort in the hug. Tears threaten to rise when she rests the right side of her face against his chest and squeezes her eyes shut. He doesn’t let go- her arms are tight around his slim waist and his are comfortable around her shoulders. He smells of sandalwood and flowers, like home, though she doesn’t know where that is anymore. 

“It’s my turn to take watch.” Geralt says. “Get some sleep.”

Lani relaxes her grip on Jaskier’s waist, finding that he releases her as soon as she’s ready and not a second before. She offers him a grateful smile before she turns to Geralt, warming her hands over the fire. “I’ll take watch.” she says. “I can’t...the sun’s too bright during the day for me, and besides, I’m not tired.”

Geralt frowns, remembering his first weeks with his enhanced vision. It had been the same for him, though he’d been forced to adjust rather quickly. He knows exactly how much the sunlight burns and how if felt like his pupils would never fix themselves. But- he can’t tell if she’ll run off before first light. She’s clearly been cursed, that much he can tell, and whether it was that or something else that has her running three day’s hard ride from home, she’s obviously not in a great mental state at the moment. 

He doesn’t want to threaten her to stay. He wants to trust her, this wild woman who has so much to prove to the world, but trust isn’t his strong suit. 

“Hmm.” He says instead, turning to the two bedrolls laid out side by side. 

“He says that’s fine.” Jaskier murmurs to her as Geralt lays down, his back to the fire. “You can share my bedroll if you want.”

Lani smiles just slightly, feeling a bit more relaxed now that both of them have seen the effects of her curse and not judged her for it. She undoes the straps around her saddlebags, pulling a rolled blanket from amongst them. With it in hand, she moves to where Jaskier is settled against Geralt’s back and takes a seat on the bedroll in front of him. Jaskier reaches out and threads his fingers through hers as she drapes the blanket over her shoulders. She squeezes his hand, taking comfort in the soft touch, glancing over at him to see his eyes slipping closed. 

Before long, both Jaskier and Geralt are asleep. Lani stares into the fire, silent tears streaking down her face. Her body hurts from three days of riding and the fight before that. The bones of her face ache from the pressure of the swelling, her throat is raw from what she’d endured. She feels like death warmed over, but Jaskier’s hand in hers grounds her to the present and she looks over to see his features softened by sleep. 

The bard’s eyelashes brush his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. Lani giggles through her tears when she sees a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch between hers and he unconsciously moves closer to her, wrapping himself around the warmth of her body. She drapes the blanket over him, encircling them both in its warmth. Geralt remains unmoved when she looks at him, though it’s no surprise. 

Her aching heart throbs, but the pain is dulled now that she’s no longer alone. For whatever reason, the two men care about her. Thinking about that and how she in turn- despite barely knowing them- cares as well, she watches the woods for danger and tries to adjust to her new, heightened vision. 

TAG LIST (OPEN):  @little-piece-of-tamlin​ @inforapound​

[tsukiya-hoshimiya]

Alright-

Pretty sure no one asked for a Fanservant: Dinadan | Lancer Voice Lines but I’ll just put them here hahaah- this is kind of embarrassing but i’m getting slowly used to it! i think

Summoned: “Yo! Servant, Lancer... Dinadan, I came here in response to your summons. I hope we can get along well!”

Level Up: “Woah, I feel some weird and tingly sensation- ... Wait, that’s level up?”

First Ascension: “Ooh, this feels nice! I think I wore these clothes when I was still a mere squire among The Knights of the Round Table... Ahahaha, thank you Master!”

Second Ascension: “... Master, Master, you know you can waste your materials on someone who is stronger than me right? Then why- Eh, seriously? ... Jeez, I don’t understand that kind of logic at all!”

Third Ascension: “Aah, is this...? These kinds of memories, eh, oh! Ahahaha, don’t mind my behavior just now, I’m just overwhelmed over how much you care for a mere knight like me!” 

Fourth Ascension: “Master... This may be incredibly unusual for me but... Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Seriously, thank you for believing in a knight with no amazing qualities or gifts like the rest of the knights, it... made me feel at ease. In return for your warm kindness, I will devote my life as your knight and serve you until the time comes.”

Bond 1: “Yo Master, what’s up, are you doing well?”

Bond 2: “Ah? You want to hear the stories of the Knights of the Round Table from me? Well... Not that I complain but... Are you sure about that? I might end up dead because of this, you know?”

Bond 3: “Ahahahahahahaha! Yes, Lancelot really did that, I can’t believe it up until now but I applaud him for having the guts to wear that disguise! If you’re with me at that time, I would literally let you view him in his glory- ... Hey Master, I had a feeling someone is planning on killing me right now.”

Bond 4: “Oh, it seems like I’m running out of stories to tell now, are you enjoying yourself so far Master? If so then... I’m happy to hear that.”

Bond 5: “Now that the stories of The Knights of the Round Table has come to an end, we need to make way for a new story, no? Master, do you mind if I make a ballad of our journeys? I don’t promise a well-crafted masterpiece but I’ll do my best.”

Battle Start 1: “H-Hey, can we at least settle this without a fight? No? Fine then.”

Battle Start 2: “Eh, guess we got no choice. Let’s get this over as quickly as possible then Master!”

Battle Start 3: “Alright, what’s up with you guys starting a fight?”

Skill 1: “Hup!”

Skill 2: “Let’s take this easy now!”

Skill 3: “No hard feelings~!”

Attack Selected 1: “Alright~!”

Attack Selected 2: “Got it!”

Attack Selected 3: “Oh~?”

Noble Phantasm Selected 1: “Wait, are you serious about this Master?”

Noble Phantasm Selected 2: “Guess I’ll go with it then!”

Noble Phantasm Selected 3: “Looks like I need my horse for this!”

Attack 1: “Hah!”

Attack 2: “You’re too slow~!”

Attack 3: “You let your guard down!”

Attack 4: “Weak spot detected!”

Extra Attack: “A thrust right there and we are good to go!”

Noble Phantasm 1: “Alright, alright, Noble Phantasm unleashed! I’m not holding this strike back so don’t hate me for this! Sorelais Joust!”

Noble Phantasm 2: “Time for me to unleash my Noble Phantasm then... Release your negative feelings, for this will end soon, my dear enemy... Here I go, Sorelais Joust!”

Normal Damage 1: “Guh!”

Normal Damage 2: “Oof!”

Noble Phantasm Damage 1: “Ow! That really hurt you know?”

Noble Phantasm Damage 2: “Aaah!”

Defeat 1: “Sorry Master, I’ll be taking my leave here...”

Defeat 2: “S-Shoot, I let my guard down there, protect Master for me... Please.”

Battle Finish 1: “Haha, we did it Master! We shall celebrate this victory with drinks and good ol’ rest!”

Battle Finish 2: “I’m beat, can we rest after this?”

Battle Finish 3: “... So, did I do well for a mere knight, Master?”

Dialogue 1: “Say Master, do you mind if we take a walk outside for a while? ... Not that I mind staying indoors of course, but wouldn’t they nag us to do our duties?”

Dialogue 2: “Jousting? Hmm... To be honest, Sir Gareth is better at jousting than I am so I’d recommend- Eh? It’s alright if I taught you? Hmm, alright, I’ll try my best Master.”

Dialogue 3: “Hmm, hmm, hmm~! Master, do you think they’ll mind if we decided to pull some prank or two here?”

Dialogue 4: “Oh, good timing Master, I was just thinking on making a ballad... Care to hear what I can think of so far?”

Lancelot: “Wait, hold up, that’s Sir Lancelot right? Man, it’s been a while since we’ve last met! I think the living me at that time has a rocky relationship with him, but I hope this time, we’ll get along well!”

Tristan: “Is that... Sir Tristan? Is he sleeping or is he not? I don’t want to wake him up if he is sleeping but- Wait... Master, got any marker there? We’ll make a run for it once we drew something on his face!”

Mordred: “So Sir Mordred is here too huh... Master, excuse me for a moment, I forgot to clean my lance.”

Bedivere: “Even though he is called the most humane knight out of us all, I have to say that he has the endearing qualities of a knight- Though I wonder about that prosthetic arm of his... Do you think he’ll let me observe it?”

Gawain: “Eh, Sir Gawain? Aah, that knight who is unstoppable as long as it is day time, of course! He is nice, save for the other times I believe... Hmm, I wonder what he is up to now... Maybe I should hang out with him?”

Gareth: “Ah- Sir Gareth! How are you- Eh? You want to joust with me right now? That’s expected from you ahahahahaha!”

Merlin: “Oh~! It’s none other than Merlin himself! How are you- Geh!? Master- Is he alright? Why did the creature suddenly kicked him straight at his face? That’s like a head shot too!”

Artoria(Altria) Pendragon: “Oh, if it isn’t your majesty, how are you doing lately? Though I am serving under Master as his servant, I hope we can get along well.”

Any Saber-Faces: “Your majes- Wait, you’re not your majesty? Huh? Wait- Then why do you look like him? Huh? Wait what? Master, I’m confused about this please help me.”

Likes: “What I like? Making ballads of course! If it were not for my impending fate as a knight then I would be a minstrel by now! ... Well, yeah, I also like jokes too.”

Dislikes: “I have to say fighting and courtly love isn’t my cup of tea... But it’s not like I completely hate it, it’s just that I don’t get the appeal of it... Though I won’t complain about fighting considering the circumstances we’re in.”

Holy Grail: “Oh, isn’t that what we’re searching for? Looks golden. Yep, very golden... I can see why he got the Holy Grail now.”

Event: “Oh, whatever is happening there has piqued my interest! Say Master, is it okay for me to accompany you in this grand festival?”

Birthday: “Wait, seriously, today is your birthday? Why wasn’t I informed about this? Okay- Wait right here Master, I’ll prepare a memorable party! Someone give me the guitar, drinks are on me this time!”

If you managed to read most of it, have this- um, I’ll try to finish the drawing as soon as possible so have this for now!