#or maybe the root dweller

[bumpscosity]

reblog and put in the tags what familiar your icon would be if you became a flight rising admin

[moonselune]

Drow noble who's grappiling with the knowledge that she's falling for a very much not-drow person. Good lord it's a man, too. The whole surface men thing is really fucking with her. Thank you!

yes omfg i love writing drow reader aha

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

As a noble drow, sworn to the spider queen, your world had always been one of rigid power structures, ambition, and ruthless cunning. Emotions—particularly love—were seen as weaknesses, and the idea of falling for anyone, let alone a surface dweller, was unthinkable.

Worse still, Gale of Waterdeep, the very man you found your thoughts continually drifting towards, was the antithesis of everything you had been raised to value.

He was human. A surface dweller. And a man.

You grappled with this knowledge constantly, the war between your upbringing and the unsettling warmth that had begun to take root in your heart. Drow society would scoff at such weakness. Lolth herself would probably strike you down for even entertaining such an idea. Gale was kind, intelligent, and often annoyingly optimistic—traits that would be ridiculed among your people. And yet… despite everything, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was madness. He was nothing like the cruel, power-hungry individuals you had grown up around. Surface men were meant to be tools, meant to be used and discarded, certainly not respected. And yet, here you were, losing yourself to the idea of him.

Your thoughts churned as you sat quietly on a rock overlooking your camp. The surface was unsettling in its own way—the endless sky, the open space. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet, it was also freeing in ways you had never anticipated. Still, this love—or whatever it was—felt too dangerous, too uncontrollable.

You let out a long breath, trying to reason with yourself, when movement in the distance caught your eye. Gale was walking across the camp with his usual absentminded grace, his nose buried in a scroll as he meandered through the grass. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered on him—his messy brown hair catching the sunlight, his deep focus on whatever arcane theory had captured his mind this time. There was something calming about his presence, even if he was completely oblivious to the world around him.

Just as the thought crossed your mind, Gale tripped. His foot caught on a protruding tree root, and in the blink of an eye, he was sprawling forward, landing face-first in a particularly muddy patch of earth with a muffled thud.

You sighed audibly, feeling a mix of frustration and exasperation bubbling up inside you. Of course, this was the man who had somehow found his way into your heart—this clumsy, absentminded wizard who seemed more likely to trip over his own robes than navigate the world with any semblance of grace.

You could almost hear the cruel laughter of the other drow nobles if they ever saw this, and yet… despite it all, despite his ridiculousness, you felt something warm unfurling inside you.

Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him push himself up from the mud, wiping dirt from his face with a bewildered look. He glanced around sheepishly, trying to see if anyone had noticed his less-than-dignified fall. His eyes found yours across the distance, and he gave a half-embarrassed, half-amused shrug as if to say, "Well, that happened."

You shook your head slightly, muttering under your breath, “Idiot.”

But even as the word left your lips, there was no bite to it, no disdain. No, that was your idiot over there, bumbling through life with his mismatched socks and his endless passion for the mysteries of the Weave. As much as you wanted to deny it, to cling to the harsh, unforgiving rules of your upbringing, you knew the truth now. You were falling for him—maybe you had already fallen.

It was absurd. He was absurd. And yet, despite everything, you couldn't help but love him.

You rose to your feet, dusting off your armor as you made your way toward him. His eyes lit up with that familiar sparkle of affection and curiosity as you approached, but you could still see the streak of mud across his face, and it only deepened the exasperation you felt for him.

“You couldn’t watch where you were going?” you asked, your tone dry but laced with affection.

Gale chuckled softly, sheepishly brushing more dirt from his robes. “Ah, well, you know me. Too many thoughts in my head, not enough attention to the ground beneath my feet.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but couldn’t stop the small smile that played on your lips. “You’re hopeless.”

He gave a charming grin, wiping the last of the mud from his face. “Perhaps. But I’m your hopeless mess.”

There it was again—that warmth, spreading through your chest and settling deep inside you. The part of you that had been molded by Lolth’s cruel teachings wanted to scoff, to walk away, but the larger part of you—the part that had grown stronger since you left the Underdark—wanted to stay. Wanted to be with him.

You sighed again, shaking your head. “Yes, you are.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The undercurrents of tension in the camp were subtle but undeniable, a silent hum that hung between you and Minthara. The evening had crept in, the flickering of the campfire casting long shadows on the ground as you sat across from her, the crackling flames making her eyes gleam with a mischievous edge. You’d been grappling with a strange sensation lately—one that didn’t sit well with you. It was as foreign as it was unnerving, this pull toward Astarion. A weakness, you told yourself. A distraction.

And yet, there it was.

Minthara’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as she watched you, her sharp eyes never missing a thing. The tension between the two of you had thickened ever since you’d let it slip, in some small, unguarded moment, that Astarion had started to mean something to you. She had, of course, latched onto it immediately.

"That pale elf of yours," she drawled lazily, leaning back on her elbows as her smirk widened. "He’d make a fine concubine, wouldn’t you say?"

You stiffened, your hands tightening around the ornate handle of the goblet you held. She said it so easily, as if Astarion’s value was something she could weigh and measure, as if he was a trinket, an adornment. You should have agreed with her. The logical, Lolth-sworn part of you should have seen it the same way—a useful tool, a possession to command.

But that thought twisted in your gut, and before you could stop yourself, a fierce protectiveness surged through you.

"Don’t," you snapped, your voice low and cutting, sharper than you intended. You felt your eyes narrow as you glared at Minthara. "He’s not a toy for you to play with, Minthara."

Minthara’s reaction was instant—an arched eyebrow and a slow, creeping smile that made your skin prickle. She was enjoying this far too much.

"Oh, have I touched a nerve?" she teased, her voice a velvet purr. "Could it be that our cold-hearted noblewoman has fallen for her vampiric elf?"

Her words twisted inside you, and you hated how easily she could see through your carefully crafted walls. This was a weakness, wasn’t it? Astarion was a tool, an asset. But the thought of reducing him to something so simple made you feel… wrong. And now, here was Minthara, teasing you with the very thing you couldn’t admit to yourself.

Before you could muster a response, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Astarion sauntered over with his usual grace, his movements smooth and calculated, his smirk as ever-present as the shadows that clung to him. He stopped beside you, a curious look flickering in his eyes as he glanced between you and Minthara. He could sense the tension—he always could.

"Well, well, what have I stumbled into this time?" Astarion drawled, his voice lilting with amusement as he folded his arms across his chest. "I do hope I’m not interrupting anything too… serious."

Minthara’s eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as she looked at you, silently daring you to act. Here was your chance—your chance to prove you hadn’t fallen for him. To show that you were still in control, that Astarion was nothing more than a useful asset, a distraction to be managed, not embraced.

But you didn’t rise to the bait.

Instead, without thinking, you reached for Astarion and pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him in a possessive, protective embrace. The gesture startled him, and for a brief moment, you could feel the tension in his body as if he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then his arms slipped around your waist, holding you with a surprising tenderness, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

Minthara’s smile grew wider, her amusement clear as day.

"Ah, I see," she said softly, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You have fallen for him. How adorable."

You felt a heat rise in your chest, a flush of both anger and embarrassment. Your grip on Astarion tightened, and you pointed a sharp finger at Minthara, your voice firm as you growled, "Go away, Minthara."

She chuckled softly, clearly pleased with herself.

"As you wish," she purred, rising to her feet with all the grace and confidence of a predator who knew exactly when to let her prey simmer.

She sauntered off into the shadows, leaving you and Astarion standing by the fire. The air between you felt heavy, your heart pounding in your chest as you clung to him, still not entirely sure what had possessed you to act so… openly. So vulnerably.

Astarion, for his part, seemed to enjoy it. His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, "You do realize how fascinating you are when you’re all… possessive like that. Quite unexpected from someone of your upbringing." He pulled back slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Dare I say, it’s rather endearing."

You scowled, pushing him away gently, trying to regain some semblance of your usual composure.

"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, but the heat in your face betrayed you.

Astarion chuckled, his voice low and warm. "Oh, darling, I’ll cherish every moment of it."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The midday sun cast long shadows across the camp, where the sounds of practice swords clashing and the grunts of exertion filled the air. Your sharp, calculating gaze swept over the scene as you leaned against a tree, arms crossed in feigned disinterest. Wyll, the Blade of Frontiers, was at the center of it all, effortlessly guiding a group of refugees through rudimentary combat drills. His movements were precise, his words gentle yet firm as he corrected their stances and offered encouragement. It was a sight you should have found ridiculous, even pathetic. Yet you found yourself watching him—again.

The warmth of the sun felt like a strange, foreign thing on your skin, much like the warmth blooming inside you as you watched Wyll in action. He was so good—too good. Too moral. Too heroic. Everything you had been taught to despise in someone. Everything Lolth had warned you against. He was the antithesis of what a Lolth-sworn drow noble should admire.

And yet, here you were, your gaze lingering on the strong lines of his frame as he moved with that effortless grace that came from years of discipline. Wyll was just so… frustratingly kind. A champion of the downtrodden, always putting others before himself, always ready to leap into action to save those in need.

It was foolish. Self-sacrificing. Weak.

But that didn’t stop the traitorous flutter in your chest whenever he smiled, that disarming, earnest smile that made you feel things you shouldn’t—things that no drow noble should ever entertain. Lolth would never forgive you if she knew how easily you were falling for someone like him. A surface-dweller, no less. A folk-hero.

It was unthinkable.

Your grip tightened on your arms as you fought the feelings stirring within you. Weakness, you told yourself. This was nothing more than a fleeting distraction. Something to be controlled, suppressed, forgotten.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, Wyll turned his head toward you, catching your eye from across the camp. For a split second, your heart leapt into your throat, panic rising as you realized you’d been caught staring. His eyes lit up with that familiar warmth, and before you could even think to look away, Wyll smiled—one of those charming, roguish smiles that made your chest ache.

To your horror, he blew a playful kiss in your direction.

Your heart stuttered, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt a rush of warmth flood your face. It was a simple gesture, innocent even, but the effect it had on you was devastating. Your mind raced, torn between the instinct to glare at him, to scold him for being so foolish, so open—and the overwhelming urge to smile back, to let your guard down, to surrender to the inexplicable joy his presence brought you.

Lolth forgive you.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, forcing yourself to turn away, to tear your gaze from Wyll’s infuriatingly charming face. Your heart was pounding now, your mind racing with thoughts that should have been buried.

How could this happen? How could you be so enchanted by someone like him? He was everything you should despise, yet here you were, betraying everything you’d been raised to believe.

Wyll had gone back to his training, unaware of the storm he had ignited inside you. You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the rapid beat of your heart beneath your palm. The emotions you were grappling with—this strange, all-consuming pull toward him—were getting harder and harder to ignore.

You were a drow. You were supposed to be strong, calculating, superior. Love—true love—was a weakness, a vulnerability that Lolth herself had warned you against. And yet… Wyll’s goodness, his decency, was like a light in the darkness you had grown so accustomed to. He made you feel like you could be something more, something beyond the cold, ruthless confines of drow society.

And that scared you.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were already in too deep. You could no longer deny the truth, no matter how hard you tried. You were falling for Wyll, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The question was: What would you do about it?

Would you embrace this unfamiliar, terrifying feeling? Or would you push him away, burying these emotions beneath the weight of duty and tradition, as you had been taught?

For now, you stayed rooted to the spot, watching him from a distance, unable to look away for long. You’d never admit it out loud, but in that moment, you knew.

Wyll wasn’t just a distraction.

He was your undoing.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that wasn’t such a terrible thing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The campfire crackled softly in the evening air, casting shadows across the clearing. The night had grown quiet, the refugees settled into their makeshift shelters, and the others in your party tending to their own business. But you—your mind was in turmoil.

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to ward off the whirlwind of emotions surging inside. You were a drow, a noble Lolth-sworn drow at that. You were raised in the darkness, taught to be ruthless, cunning, and strong. Yet here you were, grappling with something you had never expected, never wanted, and certainly never prepared for.

Halsin.

The very thought of his name sent a wave of frustration through you. He was everything you should despise—everything your kind was raised to reject. A creature of the earth, a druid who worshipped balance and life, someone who saw beauty in the natural world where you saw only the chaos of survival. He was gentle and kind, especially to the refugees you had originally deemed insignificant. His heart was far too soft for a world like this. And yet, it was that heart that had somehow wormed its way into your own.

You caught sight of him in the distance, helping a family reinforce their shelter. His tall, broad form moved with ease as he offered his strength to those in need, his calm voice carrying through the camp. You hated that your eyes lingered on him. You hated that the sight of him stirred something deep within you, something that made your pulse quicken and your thoughts spiral.

He caught your gaze, and your heart leapt in your chest. Halsin's warm, golden-brown eyes softened as he straightened and made his way toward you, his approach unhurried, but purposeful. You cursed yourself for not looking away, for letting him see the conflict etched into your features.

“Something troubles you,” he said gently as he reached you, his voice like the steady rhythm of the forest itself. He crouched beside you, his presence grounding and yet somehow deeply unsettling.

Of course he cares about you. That only made it worse.

You clenched your jaw, fighting to hold back the chaos swirling inside you. How could someone like him—so pure of heart, so rooted in kindness—make you feel this way? It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, though the words were filled with no venom. They sounded hollow, even to you.

Halsin’s brow furrowed slightly, but instead of pulling back, he reached out, his large, calloused hand resting gently on your arm. His touch was warm, comforting in a way that only fueled your frustration.

“What have I done to earn such hatred?” he asked softly, his voice devoid of judgment, only concern. He was patient, as always, willing to wait for your response, willing to listen.

And that—that was the problem.

You felt your composure crumbling. Every wall you had carefully constructed, every defense you had built was breaking apart under his gaze. The dam burst, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“You—” your voice cracked as you banged your head softly against his chest, fists clenched, anger mixing with something far more vulnerable. “You ruin everything.” You pressed your head harder against his chest, as if somehow his strength could erase the turmoil within you. “Damn you, Halsin.”

Without hesitation, Halsin wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. His touch was tender, gentle, and it broke you in ways you hadn’t expected. You stood there, your fists weakly hitting his broad chest before they fell limp at your sides, tears stinging your eyes. You couldn’t even summon the strength to push him away.

“Damn you,” you whispered again, your voice muffled against him, but it held no true malice. It was a desperate, anguished confession. You hated him for making you feel like this—for making you care.

Halsin’s arms tightened slightly around you, his breath warm against your hair as he held you. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, simply allowing you to lean into him, to release the storm that had been brewing inside you for so long. His presence was unshakable, a solid force of calm in the midst of your chaos.

“Whatever it is that troubles you,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing, “you don’t have to face it alone. I am here. Always.”

His words cut through you like a blade. How could he be so good? So kind? It made no sense, and yet you couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that surged in response. You felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that terrified you, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. This man—this druid who was so unlike anything you had ever known—had become someone you couldn’t bear to lose.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, voice trembling. “You don’t know what this means. I shouldn’t feel this way… not for you.”

Halsin looked down at you with that steady, unwavering gaze of his, his hand gently cupping your cheek.

"Perhaps not by the standards of others,” he said softly. “But the heart… the heart does not always follow such rules.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. The world you had known—the one ruled by darkness, deception, and power—was crumbling away, and in its place was something you had never expected: love. It terrified you, and yet, with Halsin standing there, holding you so gently, you realized that perhaps… just perhaps, it wasn’t so terrible after all.

And in that moment, as his warmth surrounded you, you allowed yourself to let go, if only for a little while.

“Damn you,” you whispered once more, but this time, the words were softer, filled with something closer to acceptance than anger.

Halsin smiled, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Damn me, then,” he murmured. “If that is what it takes.”

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you didn’t fight it. You allowed yourself to rest against him, to feel the peace that his presence brought. Because, in the end, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you knew the truth: you were falling for him.

And there was no turning back.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I loved writing this and hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[san8ny]

nearby.

an: SFW with fluff, but there is some underlying hinting to Abby’s conflicting attraction to you; not an original trope obviously, so credit to the authors who’ve done this before.

It wasn't that serious.

'It wasn't that serious', is what they told themselves at first, as they looked at you, seemingly feeling like discarded toys a child leaves once they acquire a newer one— a better one

they were utterly absorbed in envy at how much she paid attention to you,

how she would call you over in the languid mornings, sun barely risen, to brush your tangled hair with a wooden-paddle while everyone else gets a headstart on their chores,

Or maybe, how she would click her tongue and swipe the pads of her thumbs across your sticky supple cheeks when you return from the trees during Maple Syrup season,

Abby Anderson truely had favorites, and it was clearly obvious who it was,

Though no one complained, she was growing seemingly aware at the odds you were becoming with your ranch counterparts,

“I just..god, it’s annoying, y’know?” you mutter to her, lifting your head up from where you lay in the grassy terrain, a small place you and Abby would relax in before attending to the crops, “Like, they weren’t always like this, Harriet was so much nicer and Opal actually use to talk to me.”

Abby hums, tying up her horse before easing herself onto the ground near where you lay, “I think you’re overthinking it.”

“You always say that.”

“Am I ever wrong?”

You smile as you drop your head back down, closing your eyes, “Kinda wish you were.”

Abby chuckles at your words before carefully lifting the brim of her hat and placing it on your face, providing shade to some degree, “Mm.”

After some quiet moments with the rustling of the trees and the Cicadas ticking amongst them, you find yourself peering up from the hat and staring at where Abby rests her eyes,

She had to have been one of the prettiest girls out there by far and the kindest ones,

Long dirty blonde hair, firm blue eyes that softened whenever she conversed with people to contradict her ‘tough guy’ persona, little dottings of freckles that would come and go—everything about her was pretty to you.

Albeit, you and her didn’t get along at first when you arrived on the ranch, but she warmed up to your willingness to befriend her in a way that didn’t feel like smooching, it was genuine.

it also, wasn’t far along the road where she would find herself falling for the very traits in you she previously found annoyance in,

the way you’d look at her in blatant confusion when she insults you with terms you’d never heard about as a city-dweller,

“I think i’d rather you call me a bitch or something..” you’d say with several blinks as she sizes you up,

Abby was humored with your presence around her, but it also gave her a sense of comfort.

You were soft around the edges the southern sun had wilted hers.

While you stare at her through the little peeking spot under the cowboy hat ridge, she cracks an eye open— “You have a staring problem.” She says, yawning as she turns onto her side to face you fully,

“Nu-uh.”

“Yuh-huh” She mocks, groaning as she stretches and sits up, “How long have we been here ‘gain?”

“10 minutes, i’d say? Give or take.” You shrug, copying her actions. The afternoon heat consumes you as you unbutton the top buttons of your flannel, “Not even June yet and it’s burning.”

Sorry, were you speaking?

Abby was too focused on watching the dribble of sweat traveling down your neck to the swell inbetween your tanktop-clad breasts,

“Abs?” You say in slight confusion when she doesn’t give you some small, likely smart-assed retort back.

Her eyes quickly flicker up to yours, blinking before shaking her head, “Y-yeah, yeah. Heat’s ‘jus getting to me too” She coughs out, “Let’s head on down to the roots.”

“Right.” You nod before standing up, “ I CALL DIBS ON THE TURNIPS!”

Abby groans as she watches you race towards your tethered stallions, “C’mon, those are my favorite!”

Though, when you’re not looking, she’s giving you the smallest of smiles,

How she would ever say she loves you romantically without ruining this relationship you both had tugs at her heart-strings,

but until then,

she was content with whatever you threw at her.

[fandomnerd9602]

It all started when she was wounded in a firefight with the Brotherhood of Steel. Lucy McLean couldn’t stop the bleeding, no matter how many stimpaks she injected.

You ran to your companions aid with your own loyal canine Dogmeat by your side. "dammit Lucy" you muttered as you shot another brotherhood member before trying to stop the bleeding.

"go" she tried to beg, "I'm just dead weight"

"not an option, vault dweller" you say back as you carry her in your arms to a nearby vertibird. Good old Dogmeat jumps into the copilot's seat as you pilot the aircraft.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asked rather weakly.

“Haven” you answered back.

You met Lucy rather recently. You were kind enough and caring compared to most people in the Wasteland. All she knew was that you were a fellow survivor and that you had recently left your home in search of supplies. You never told her where you were from.

Lucy woke up to a sound she never thought she’d ever hear: the gentle lull of the ocean. This vault dweller found herself in a small oceanside open aired bungalow. The walls were adorned with old posters with a magnificent view of a crystal blue ocean. The bed she found herself in was clean and pristine. Dogmeat was laying next to her bed, wagging his tail at seeing Lucy recovering nicely.

“Glad you’re feeling better“ you give a small smile from a nearby chair. “It was touch and go for awhile but I’m glad you’re doing well”

“I’m dead”

You chuckle, “no you’re not.”

“What is this place? I mean it’s perfect and untouched by-“

“It’s sort of a bubble” you explained. “Completely safe from the fallout”

A little parrot landed on a nearby branch. Lucy was absolutely floored. Life has found a way thrive on this spec of land. The whole island was rich with floral and fauna, an untapped paradise. The island itself was roughly the size of Maui.

“How did you find this place?” Lucy looks around in amazement.

“I grew up here.” You bring her a pic of your own parents. “I head out to gather supplies and my parents…they didn’t make it”

Lucy looked at you, like she was looking in a mirror. Someone who lost a lot and yet was willing to keep going. It wasn’t just about the supplies. She saw you out there, protecting the innocent, stopping the Brotherhood and raiders when lever you could.

“Must get lonely here” she found herself musing.

“You interested in a timeshare?” You asked back with a little smirk.

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe she could set down roots here. With you. With Dogmeat. But the world needed the two of you. Because sadly like the old saying goes:

War. War never changes.

[rea-grimm]

Weapon Luffy

You were one of the few masters aboard the Straw Pirates. You haven't found your right weapon yet. You really knew it would take some time.

For now, you fought with a makeshift battle staff. The weapon you had tattooed on your arm. The mark of a weapon that is meant for its master. You knew nothing more about your weapon, about your soul mate.

You didn't mind that though. You didn't need your weapon when you could rely on your friends. But that's just what you thought. Of course, you wanted a weapon, someone who was only for you. Who wouldn't want this?

Surely you knew that Zoro and even Sanji were not your weapons. These two were completely different weapons than what you had on your wrist. You had a hunch that it might be Luffy, but he mostly fought for himself. You never had the opportunity to check this domain.

After a while, you stopped trying and decided to let things go. Maybe you'll come across your weapon somewhere along the way…

You were on a new island, which consisted mostly of mountains with deep ravines and which was inhabited by rather unhinged people.

You originally went exploring in a much larger group, but very soon you and Luffy got separated from the others. Because Luffy smelled the meat and before you could stop him, he was running towards your nose. You had no choice but to follow him.

His nose led you to a small settlement of bridge dwellers. Unfortunately, you didn't stop him and he threw himself into their feast. This pissed them off and before you knew it Luffy was handcuffed with a sea prism stone.

But he could still change into a weapon. However, it was such a shock to his body that he couldn't fight at all. Unluckily for you, they also tied you up. Even with an ordinary rope, you still couldn't fight properly.

You were surrounded and trapped. They pointed their spears at you and kept you at distance. This is how they led you to the edge of a deep ravine. You looked down and your head would spin from that height.

This was supposed to be the end of you. You noticed that the ravine was not very wide. You were already making a plan in your head to save yourself.

The two of you stood on the edge of the abyss before they kicked you into it. As you fell, you tried to grab the rock, but to no avail. Luffy soon caught on to your plan and tried to save you too.

Luffy stretched under your arms as you hugged him and turned into a battle staff. You grabbed him and directed him so that he got stuck between the rocks.

You were afraid you wouldn't make it in time. Either the rock was breaking or Luffy simply slipped off. You really grabbed Luffy like a staff and stabbed him into a rock.

This finally worked and you stopped falling. Luffy seemed to have a firm hold there, so you could breathe a sigh of relief for a moment.

"Are you OK?" you asked him. A hand emerged from the staff at the wrist, pointing a thumb up. You were glad he was okay. You knew he had a hard root, but you were still worried.

After this, you somehow managed to get down and back to the ship. There you got Luffy out of his handcuffs and Chopper took care of your injuries.

Ever since you got on the ship though, Luffy has been stumped the entire time. As if his thoughts were somewhere else completely the whole time. And that almost never happened. Especially for a time like this.

“Hey Luffy, are you okay? ” you asked him worriedly.

“Y/N, what's the tattoo on your arms?” he asked you seriously. Besides, this was the first time he asked you about your sign.

“A battle staff,” you replied, showing him the tattoo on your arm. However, things have completely changed since you last saw him.

The last time you looked at him was before your tattoo. It was an ordinary seated battle staff. Now? Now it was something else entirely. Although it's true that when you clung to Luffy like a staff, you had this strange, uplifting feeling, as if you were complete with him.

You still had a battle staff on your wrist now, but it was wrapped around a whip. However, the most distinctive feature of it was the straw that was hung from one side. Luffy looked at your tattoo thoughtfully before a smile appeared on his face.

"That's my straw hat!" he rejoiced. Others who were nearby were also in shock. After all, you've been sailing with them for a while now and only now have you found out that the captain has been your weapon all along.

"That's not possible," Nami wondered, while Robin just chuckled knowingly, as if she'd suspected it all along.

“Shishishi,” Luffy laughed. The future king of all fights has found a master. Something like this had to be properly celebrated.

Luffy Masterlist

[phoenixcatch7]

Just finished oracle of ages!!! Good game, good game. I have Thoughts.

I actually really enjoyed the story and characters! I figured going into the oracle games that it'd be a simple, cliché story, not much nuance or depth, and with Seasons that's basically what I got: din gets fridged in a crystal at the start of the game -> go get her -> you need a set of maguffins to do so -> fight big monster.

Admittedly it was the first game, which meant less story, but even if I hadn't linked (heh) the games for extra end game content Ages just did so much more.

Unlike din, naryu has someone else willing to help her. Ralph (the twinkiest twink to ever twink) was a young man who was her devoted friend (there was a weird crush triangle thing going on with him, Link and naryu, I always felt like I was missing subtext) and, spoilers for a 20yo game?? I guess?

He was the dethroned descendant of the ancient queen Ami. His family definitely still have big money though. He was pretty clearly supposed to be a comic relief character with a twist, but I ended up really liking him! He was over enthusiastic and over confident, but not unintelligent, a decent swordsman (I think) who was incredibly loyal to his friends and held some deep rooted responsibility for the people his family used to rule. Kind, determined, good with kids and people in general, he was terrified but willing to sacrifice his very existence to save the people.

The world building was also great! I don't think I've ever played a zelda game without gorons, but hylians were in short supply. To be expected outside of hyrule, I guess? Anyway, there were also lizard people on an island (tokay!) whose entire deal was.. A bit outdated? Rude, brazen and aggressive to outsiders, they lived in crude huts, worshipped things they didn't quite understand and were generally the old Hollywood stereotype of an isolated jungle tribe.

There was also, like, zora racism? There's a zora village underwater, and one of them was like 'us sea zora are nothing like those river zora 😒' which handily solved both my question of if the river/ocean zora divide was canon or fanon and the relationships between the two. Are they even the same species?? It just makes the rito even weirder but hey lmao. In all honesty I was pretty sick of the river zora at that point too, I swear there were two of them popping up in every screen that had even a sliver of water deeper than the knees and they CONSTANTLY shot fireballs istg they were such a pain. They were literally everywhere and so hard to kill.

On the plus side mermaid suit ^u^!! A dungeon item (the mermaids cave), the item had a desc like 'the skin of the mythical beast' which raised SO many more questions than it answered. The zora were delighted to see a young mermaid! The use of 'maid' implied either a) the zora all thought link was a girl and he didn't correct them (eyo genderqueer androgeny) b) the zora don't subscribe to gender the way humans do (eyo genderqueer androgeny) or c) all fish people look like mermaids regardless of their specific gender (eyo genderqueer androgeny). It literally could have been all three who knows. Maybe one day we'll actually meet a mermaid in zelda.

Also, there's a mini game in Seasons, which I played first, the subrosian dance. It's a pretty popular part of their culture, it's got music, it's got professional dancers. In Ages, you find the gorons doing the exact same dance! Rosa, a subrosian performer you meet in Seasons, is also there, saying her people's dance is better (tbf it is), but if you go to the past you'll find the gorons actually invented the dance first, as part of their love of games and entertainment, and you can talk to two subrosians who are talking about bringing the dance home! It's so interesting to see little details like this, where the travelling subrosians visited their fellow cave dweller lava eating people centuries ago, brought it back home where it exploded in popularity and centuries later became refined as a whole folk dance with spinning and everything, with the people forgetting where it came from, where the gorons keep their dance exactly the same (having to do a rhythm game without rhythm is hard).

Actually, there was so much political fantasy drama going on in the past?? Like, you've got the childless queen taking care of her people, a budding village and a few more settlements across the kingdom. Early in her reign she tried to build a tower to act as a beacon to her fiancé lost at sea, which is a romance story all on its own, but it was cut short (maybe because of funding?). Centuries in the future, it's just ruins. You've got people living on an ACTIVE VOLCANO starting a symmetry cult around a artifact called 'tuni nut' which, presumably, stabilises the volcano? And it's entirely cut off from the outside world. The goron elder is crushed under rocks and their economy is failing. The zora king got poisoned and he's about to die without an heir because a witch turned the fairy queen into an octorock, but the man in charge of the only cure refuses to hand it over until someone passes his tests.

Most of it is solved relatively easily by link and a copious amount of time travel, but the thing with the ruling queen only gets worse. When the evil witch invades the kingdom, she possesses the oracle of ages, naryu (who's a little implied to be the Actual Creation Goddess Naryu reincarnated) and travels back to the past to bring about an age of despair in the present. She does this by slipping into the royal court and befriending the queen as a serving girl, rising up the ranks to become her closest advisor and corrupting her (pretty sure mind control magic is used a li'l). She convinces her to restart the black tower project, pouring all of her and the towns resources into it - forcibly conscripting every able bodied worker and working them to the bone, all while monsters start to circle the tower. With all the fear and resentment, it quickly becomes a beacon of dark energy, a perfect focal point to perform black magics.

Link (and Ralph) end up in the past and get hauled in front of the queen, with possessed naryu at her side, who basically jeers at them and ensures the queen won't listen to their untrustworthy lies. The townsfolk are getting increasingly stressed as their village fills with rubble and their men are worked to the point of collapse. Armed guards start to appear to keep the workers under control. Eventually, Ralph uncovers a hole in the guard rotation, and he and link sneak into the palace through a secret entrance Ralph oh so casually knows about. Link and naryu fight, but with stupendous timing the queen walks in to see naryu collapsed on the floor, Link standing over her with a sword. She calls for the guards, but before anyone can react, the witch, banished form her first vessel, leaps into the queen herself instead. Ralph shoves past the arriving guards and into naryus arms, while link moves in from of them. The queen orders the guards to attack, but naryu, reawakened, pulls them back to the present in the nick of time. In the present, the black tower is magically growing, reaching higher and higher into the sky, terrifying the people of the city.

Then! Ralph, who at this point is suspiciously invested now his actual goal is completed and naryu is safe, vows to go back into time again, away from naryu, to live under the now evil queen and bring protection and comfort to the villagers as a direct act of resistance, because the witch is feeding on their sorrow to power an unknown ritual (link knows. Link, canonically, has told nobody). So this teen in fancy robes and cape goes back to the oppressed, poverty stricken town under the thumb if someone who wants him dead and lives there for weeks if not months dedicating himself to supporting the village and bringing people's hopes and spirits back up, presumably while living out of someone else's wooden hut. In the middle of a literal depression inducing miasma that's sapping everyone's joy and will to live.

That just. Takes insane strength of character. That's a feat of pure, distilled, compassion as anarchy.

Link's off bouncing between past and present doing dungeons and solving easier issues through either sword or magic item, but Ralph is out here doing the long hard slog for little reward.

Link finally returns to the black tower completed, affecting even the people of the present, and, preparations complete, rushes to the past. Ralph is nowhere be seen. Talking to the villagers reveals several have a crush on him, but an old man saw him running for the tower, sword drawn. There's a man pacing by the entrance, who saw the kid run in, tried to stop him. He said Ralph said that he no longer cared what happened to him. That the man realised that Ralph had quietly succumbed to the same curse of despair they all were under. Link fights his way up to the top of the tower, where Ralph confronts the evil queen, sword at her heart, but every step she takes into it, he steps back. The witch laughs. She asks him if he's really willing to write himself out of existence - being the queens descendant, and all. Ralph leaps back, into links chest. He's shaking and stuttering, but he lunges, and is knocked out in one blow. The queen now asks link the same question: is he willing to erase Ralph? If he strikes her, kills her, the queen will die, childless, and he will never live. She leaves, and link rushes to Ralph. He's awake but unresponsive, defeated. With a heavy heart, Link leaves him to chase the queen. It's naryu who finds him, brings him out of the tower.

When the witch is defeated, the curse is lifted, and Ralph is once more energetic and kind. He's a little quieter now, though, sticking close to naryu. For all he was a loud and headstrong kid, I gotta say I was very impressed.

He would have made a good king.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Beneath Stormveil

Here the damage seemed the worst. In places, the walls were red and raw, almost as if they were bleeding. I continued down and reached a room with a very interesting painting.

It was Stormhill, before Stormveil Castle was ever built. The world looked so much wilder and more vibrant back then. The colors were deep blacks and rich greens, not the washed-out greys and pale greens of current Limgrave. The place that would once become the Chapel of Anticipation was part of the mainland, separated by a waterfall rather than a chasm. There's no trace of the black stone pillars that underlay the entire land. The Stormfoot Catacombs are open, with no door. And, while something was gleaming gold, it sure didn't look like the Erdtree.

Yet the Divine Tower and bridge were already there, and already so ancient the bridge had started to crumble. Curious.

After examining the painting as much as I could, I unlocked the door back to the Site of Grace and continued downward.

This was by far the oldest and most neglected portion of the castle. It's unlikely it would get any light except at high noon. The only creatures down here were vermin. Giant bats and rats, the scavengers and dwellers in the dark.

Now that I was down here, it became clear that this was a dumping ground for the castle above. Specifically, it seemed that all the statues removed in the various ideological purges were just shoved into the abyss.

There's the expected statues of women holding ewers or missing their hands, but there's a few statues that stand out to me. They're almost completely buried, so possibly the oldest statues ever dumped down here, and depict hooded figures either holding a book or holding a dagger. Unfortunately, I don't have any context to interpret them. Maybe I'll find some more later.

A scarab almost misses my notice, were it not for the sound they make. I track it down and it's carrying an unusual Sorcery called Rancorcall.

I say it's unusual because using it would require almost as much faith as intellect. That unnerved me a little. Sorcery is supposed to be the result of consistent, observable phenomenon. Concrete things that may be more difficult to observe and comprehend, but are ultimately just as real as a sword. To apply your intellect to the task of how best to surrender it to a higher power seemed perverse to me.

The voice said:

Sorcery of the servants of Death. Summons vengeful spirits that chase down foes. Once though lost, this ancient death hex was rediscovered by the necromancer Garris.

Going on my theory that scarabs only appear where abilities like ashes of war, sorceries, or incantations are used, and somehow they gather up some invisible residue to make their spheres, I would suspect that Garris must've been here at some point. Perhaps this is where he even developed his techniques? I doubt he's still here.

To draw a connection, I found the Rancor Pot recipe in the Tombsward Catacombs. It has a similar effect of summoning vengeful spirits, though different methods. Am I to assume Garris might also have been there? That might explain how Deathroot got inside...

Now I came to a cliff overlooking a root-choked and damp chamber below. Bones littered the floor. Some were stacked up in drifts, but there were also complete skeletons resting in what looked like old, rotted canoes. Perhaps a vestige of some water burial in the past? At one time, they might have sent the dead over the waterfall that once ran through here. Once that dried up, they instead just buried the dead in their canoes.

But what interested me most was the grand baldachin, now rotted and torn, draped across the chamber beyond. Something important must be there.

Before I could approach, a terrible creature burst out of the ground. I'd seen its ilk once before, in the Fringefolk Hero's Grave. An Ulcerated Tree Spirit, a great writhing snake-root, like a serpentine mandrake. Even as I knew its movements, it was still so erratic that it was hard to predict at times. As it slammed me against the walls, I knew now where the drifts of bones had come from.

Once I had slain the beast. I was free to recover its treasures, both here and in the chamber beyond. Much like the last, it dropped a Golden Seed.

As for the chamber... I can scarcely describe it. I'll try to sketch it but I don't think I can do justice to the sheer presence of this thing. Despite looking like a stone carving, I knew on an instinctual level that it was alive.

It was a face, or approximation thereof. Yet it could not have been more inhuman. It at once looked floral, fungal, and animal. The lower half of the face was like an oyster mushroom, and from there emerged thick tendrils like thorny vines. The upper half had a disturbingly human nose but two oddly angled eyes, or at least eye sockets. The lids themselves were empty.

The whole thing burst through the stone wall on a thick body like a salamander, though if it had arms, they had not emerged from the wall. And its was very clearly a violent entry, with rubble piled up around it. Nearby, there was a bloodstain, and a corpse holding an item in its hands.

Oh hell. The bloodstain was Rogier. If he can't see Grace anymore, then can he even come back? Is he just dead for real now? I couldn't even see what got him but it looked bad. It lifted him up and seemed to impale him from multiple angles. I hope he's okay. I actually kinda like the guy. It was rare to talk to someone both intellectual and down to earth like that.

The corpse had a... Prince of Death's Pustule?!

A fetid pustule taken from facial flesh. It is said that this pustule came from the visage of the Prince of Death, he who used to be called Godwyn. As First Dead of the demigods, it's said he's buried deep under the capital, at the Erdtree's roots.

It is said, it is said, it is said. I hate it when the Voice uses weasel words. Who says?

If Godwyn was the first to die, then it is his death that created the Deathroot. Deathroot sprouts similar faces to the one on this pustule. The same milky white eyes, the same thorny tendrils... There was a couple things that puzzled me. I noted fish fins on the Deathroot growing in various catacombs and Summonwater Village. Despite its aquatic appearance, this face held no trace of such details, resembling an amphibian more than a fish. Second, while the Deathroot and Pustule share the milky white eyes, this visage does not. Instead, its sockets are empty.

Third, if we take the voice at face value and say that Godwyn actually is buried under the capital... why did this face burst out of the southeast wall? The capital is to the northeast. I can buy the Greattree roots spreading throughout the Lands Between, but I'd still expect such a creature to burrow through from the correct direction. The only things off that direction are the Stormfoot Catacombs and the Fringefolk Hero's Grave. And since the painting confirms that at least one of those was here before the castle, I find myself doubting if this is even Godwyn at all, or some other, forgotten Prince of Death.

I'll review my notes about those places and see if I can gain any insight, but arbitrary skepticism doesn't do any good. I have to assume that this is Godwyn, or at least an aspect of him, until strong evidence presents itself otherwise.

Still, to quote the only cleric I ever got on with, "Doubting is what I do."

With my investigation concluded, the only way to go was up. Thankfully there was a conveniently placed, if alarmingly tall, rope ladder. I began what was sure to be a very long ascent.

I had at last gotten answers on the rot infecting Stormveil, but they only left me with more questions.

Who are the dagger and book statues? Why were they purged?

If Godfrey built the earliest Stormveil, who built the tower and bridge?

Is that face Godwyn? If not, who could it possibly be?

If it is Godwyn, why would it come from the wrong direction?

Why does this face look so different from the other faces? Why is it missing its eyes?

Who is Garris? What was he doing beneath Stormveil?

What happened to Rogier?

Why was he looking for this?

[bicycleboyblog]

mabye this is a weird one but does Poet have a favorite food or drink? Does he even like eating or drinking? Does he wish he could feel the sensation of touch? (cus I'm guessing he can't on account of being 'borged)

Ah, for Isaac it was anything pumpkin flavored! The man's got a sweet spot for savory pastries, and squash in general, I guess. Kabocha, butternut and delicata are other favourites.

Otherwise, he never showed a huge interest in food. Eating was inconvenient. A chore. In dad's big empty house and the pseudo-military, you don't gotta cook.

Poet retains similar tastes. He's got a better appreciation for water, as any desert dweller, but he despises the metallic tang when it comes from a tap. Steeping it in tea helps mask the flavor, so tea is good. Any tea. Preferably decaf because this guy does not want or need any more heightened stress.

But eating for Poet is a complex ritual, having some of his intestines removed makes it difficult to absorb nutrients, and he needs to be in a calm place to have a meal, or his stomach will be up in knots and he can't keep it down. It's stressful, easier to avoid. There's a reason his ribs are poking out sometimes. :[

Not that we could really tell until we got to Fort Anne, but the story takes place in autumn. Maybe Poet's squash-loving ass is in luck. But such delicacies are a little hard to come by in the desert. He's gonna have to make friends with Buffalo or LSC for that. OR THE GREENERY THAT IS FORT ANNE, I GUESS, but nobody we're rooting for is going to encourage this.

[americanphysco]

WalMart Supercenter

A Rumpus Original Poem by Erika Meitner

God Bless America says the bumper sticker on the racer-red

Rascal scooter that accidentally cuts me off in the Walmart parking lot

after a guy in a tricked out jeep with rims like chrome pinwheels tries

to pick me up by honking, all before I make it past the automatic doors

waiting to accept my unwashed hair, my flip-flops, my lounge pants.

The old man on the scooter waves, sports a straw boater banded in blue & white,

and may or may not be the official greeter, but everyone here sure is friendly—

even the faces of plastic bags, which wink yellow and crinkle with kindness,

sound like applause when they brush the legs of shoppers carrying them

to their cars. In Port Charlotte, a woman’s body was found in a Jetta

in a Walmart Parking lot. In a Walmart parking lot in Springfield,

a macaque monkey named Charlie attacked an eight year-old girl.

I am a Walmart shopper, a tract-house dweller—the developments

you can see clearly from every highway in America that’s not jammed up

on farmland or pinned in by mountains. I park my car at a slant in the lot,

hugged tight by my neighbors’ pickups. I drive my enormous cart

through the aisles and fill it with Pampers, tube socks, juice boxes, fruit.

In the parking lot of the McAllen Walmart, a woman tried to sell six

Bengal Tiger cubs to a group of Mexican day laborers. A man carjacked

a woman in the parking lot of the West Mifflin Walmart, then ran

under a bridge and disappeared. Which is to say that the world

we expect to see looks hewn from wood, is maybe two lanes wide,

has readily identifiable produce, and the one we’ve got has jackknifed itself

on the side of the interstate and keeps skidding. The one we’ve got has clouds

traveling so fast across the sky it’s like they’re tied to an electric current.

But electricity is the same for everybody. It comes in the top of your head

and goes out your shoes, which will walk through these automatic doors.

In the Corbin Walmart parking lot a woman with a small amount of cash

was arrested for getting in and out of trucks. A man stepped out of his car

in the Columbus Walmart parking lot, and shot himself. I get in the checkout line

behind a lighted number on a pole. The man in front of me jangles coins

in his pocket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The girl in front of him

carefully peels four moist dimes from her palm to pay for a small container

of honey-mustard dipping sauce. In the parking lot of the LaFayette Walmart,

grandparents left their disabled 2 year-old grandson sitting in a shopping cart

and drove away. Employees in the parking lot at the La Grange Walmart

found a box containing seven abandoned kittens. I am not a Christian or

prone to idioms, but when the cashier says she is grateful for small mercies,

I nod in assent. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. The Latin root of mercy

means price paid, wages, merchandise, though now we use it as

compassion shown to a person in a position of powerlessness,

and sometimes forgiveness towards a person with no right

to claim it. God is merciful and gracious, but not just.

In the Walmart parking lot in Stockton, a man considered armed

and dangerous attacked his wife, beating her unconscious.

A couple tried to sell their 6-month-old for twenty-five bucks

to buy meth in the Salinas Walmart parking lot. We who are in danger,

remember: mercy has a human heart. Mercy with her tender mitigations,

slow to anger and great in lovingkindness, with her blue employee’s smock

emblazoned with How may I help you? Someone in this place have mercy on us.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 12: Starvation

Underground Caverns + "Just a little more"

3602 Words; Raised by Serpentine, pre-canon

TW for death, blood, injury

AO3 ver

Cole had never seen the sky.

This wasn’t unique, in the tomb—the last dwellers to see the sky had passed away long before Cole was born, before even his parents were born. But his father told him that stories had some root in reality, so even if Cole had never seen it, he had to imagine it existed, somewhere above the rock.

He’d heard it was blue like the hanging moss that grew in the corners, that it had a big ball of fire in it brighter than any torchlight. He’d heard about clouds, too, big white balls of fluff carrying water.

“And it changes color, too!” Cole added, excitedly retelling the stories to his peers. They had all heard the same stories, of course, but the sky was always a popular topic to the tomb’s children—certainly a preferred story to the tale of the Surface War and the Evil Master Chen. And at almost five years old—by tomb time, which ran based on growth cycles of the moss and mushrooms, though Cole of course wouldn’t know about the cycle of seasons that defined the surface’ faster calendar—Cole was no different.

“No it doesn’t.” A new voice joined the group as Beffa walked up. One year Cole’s senior, a whole head taller than him, with bright eyes and more scales on her face than Cole had. “The sky’s not real.” Beffa declared, hands on her hips as she looked down at the group. “It’s just rock.” She said it with such certainty, too, as though maybe there really was just more rock above the barrier they couldn’t dig through.

“Nuh-uh!” Adel was the first to protest. “My dad ssays my great-grandmother ssaw it!”

“Yeah, it’s real!” Alina added, Lyssie and Bryan and Cole voicing their agreement.

Beffa sniffed. “Nope. It’s just a story for hatchlings.” She sat down, pulling a beaded cord from her dress pocket. “I’m doing you all a favor, really—you can’t hold onto fairytales forever.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong.” Lyssie said, crossing her arms. “My momsss ssay the ssky’sss real, sso it hasss to be.” She turned her snout up with a hiss, as though it made her words any more convincing.

Cole scowled. “My dad says all stories have their roots in truth.” He added. “So there has to be something up there.” He nodded, satisfied with his argument. His dad was smart, and knew all of the stories in the tomb, and Cole trusted him implicitly. Culture was important, Cole’s dad claimed, because it was how people connected.

Beffa snorted, fiddling with the cord. She tied the two ends together, threading the new bracelet on her wrist and examining it. “You’re all dummies.” She decided, standing back up. “I’m gonna go hang out with smart people.” And with that, she left, ducking down a tunnel at the edge of the cavern.

Adel was the first to break the silence. “Is the ssky fake?” He asked.

“It can’t be.” Lyssie reassured him.

Cole nodded. “It’s up there.” He promised, pointing towards the ceiling. “Somewhere.” Past dwellers had seen it, from before the Surface War’s end, and they had passed the stories down. If someone had seen it, then it had to be real.

And maybe Cole and all his friends would get to see it, too.

+=+=+=+=+

There was always some gathering going on in the central chamber. The tomb was a community, after all—they all had to work together to survive.

It was a festival, the kind with music and dancing, harsh and heavy vibrations that the Constrictai loved played in tandem with the harmony of voices singing. The noise rose all the way to the ceiling high above, and Cole laughed, dancing with Alina. This was fun!

Spirits were always high, in the tomb—festivals always lasted several shifts, so that everyone could participate no matter what cycle they slept on. Cole giggled, running over to his father as the song changed and Alina grabbed Lyssie’s hands to drag her into a new dance.

“Daddadad!” Cole had caught his dad between dances, and his dad turned to him. “Are you and Mom gonna dance together?”

“Well, of course!” Lou chuckled, moving to hoist Cole up, and wincing only slightly as Cole clambered onto his shoulders. “Well, can you spot her from up there?” He asked, and Cole peered out into the crowd.

“There!” Cole pointed to where his mom was dancing, darting from partner to partner, the polished stones of her necklace glinting in the torch and firelight. Lou broke into a light run, dancing through the crowd as Cole laughed, keeping his finger pointed at Lilly. “And there’s Skal!” He added, as his mother approached the General.

His dad twirled around a grinning pair of teens—Dreska and Vera, who liked to help out in the medical caverns and used to sneak Cole treats during festivals—and slid to a stop in front of a bemused Lilly and Skalidor. With a tired sort of groan, Lou put Cole down—and Cole wasted no time in grabbing at his mother’s hands. “C’monc’monc’mon! You gotta dance with dad!”

“Ah, give me a moment,” Lou breathed. He reached out and ruffled Cole’s hair. “You’re starting to get too heavy for me to carry!”

Lilly had no such problems, sweeping Cole up into a crushing hug as he laughed. “There’s my little Beetle!” She greeted, pressing a kiss to Cole’s forehead. After a moment, she passed Cole to Skalidor, who fumbled to hold Cole and the staff at the same time as Lilly grabbed Lou and dragged him to an open space.

Cole fell to the ground with a giggle, grabbing Skalidor’s free hand as he watched his parents start to dance.

He didn’t need to see the sky to be happy.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole watched the fighters in the Slitherpit from his vantage point on the stairs winding up the central chamber, enraptured. It was a little hard to make out details, here, but this was also the prime spot for Not Getting Caught watching the Slitherpit when he was supposed to be sleeping.

As there was no day-night cycle in the tomb, there was no set “day” or “night”—dwellers slept when they were tired, in overlapping shifts that meant there was always some awake to watch for cave-ins or tend to cavern upkeep.

Of course, there was a shift where children and their families all tended to be asleep at once—and that was the shift with the most Slitherpits, and the most exciting Slitherpits.

That Cole and Lyssie were supposed to be asleep right now meant little to the six and a half year olds—the Slitherpits were just so cool. It was a lot like watching his mom and dad and Skal dance late at night—but the Slitherpit had weapons, which made it so awesome!

Cole leaned forwards as one of the combatants bowed down, leaving the pit as another took their place. After a moment, the pair launched into motion, and Cole started to whisper-shout his excitement in tandem with the crowd below. Lyssie’s eyes sparkled with the same excitement, her hands thumping the stone in tune with the excited chanting below.

“Cole.”

Cole’s head snapped around so fast he almost fell off the edge—scaled hands grabbed his arm to haul him back towards the wall, towards the rows and rows of names and handprints. Cole squirmed, putting on his most innocent face while Lyssie attempted to disappear into the shadows between the torches. Skalidor simply stared at Lyssie until she trudged forwards, arms crossed.

Skalidor sighed. “Cole, Lyssie, you are both supposed to be sleeping.” He turned his attention onto Lyssie, “What would your parents think?”

Lyssie hissed softly, chastened.

“And where is Adel?” Skalidor added. At the mention of her brother, Lyssie frowned.

“I dunno.” She denied.

Skalidor glanced up the stairs, then sighed. “Both of you need to go to sleep.” He ordered, before slithering up to where Adel and Bryan were trying to hide in a crook in the wall.

Cole scowled, then sighed. He was supposed to be the Master of Earth, eventually. Which meant being responsible, even if Slitherpits were so cool—”c’mon.” He offered his hand to Lyssie, who took it in her own.

“Let’s go home.”

+=+=+=+=+

“A healthy baby!” Lilly said, holding the infant and making faces. A flick of her hand, and the clay in the bowl she had brought came to her fingertips so she could mark their forehead.

Cole watched his mother work, murmuring blessings of strength and heart to the baby in her arms. It was a sight he had seen plenty of times before—this was part of his mother’s job, and would eventually be Cole’s job, too.

Cole respected his parents a great deal, even at almost nine. His dad collected stories and dances and songs and came up with new ones—and helped put together all the festivals and events that unified the community. Skalidor was the General, which meant he carried the staff with him nearly everywhere. It was his job to make sure things ran smoothly, to hear out concerns and make plans. He was so cool, and for a bit when he was really little Cole had wanted to grow up just like Skal—

But Cole was fated to be something else.

His mother was the Master of Earth, able to bend rock and dirt to her will. It was a prestigious role, Cole understood, and one that would pass onto him someday. To be a Master of Earth was different from being General—where a General impressed order through command and action, the Master of Earth was a pillar of community and strength. It was often that Cole would follow along after his mother as she traveled through the caverns, offering a helping hand where she could and representing tenacity in human form.

Which meant holding babies only a few days old to bless them with some luck, in the hopes of them living through their first year. Lots of babies were born, especially when the fan mushrooms bloomed, which meant visiting a lot of caverns to personally see all of them.

Lilly handed the child back to the father, wishing them well before exiting the cavern to head to the next. Cole trailed after her like a shadow, bowl of clay in his hands.

On and on, from cavern to cavern, blessing babies or just checking in, until the shift was over and it was time to head back to their family’s cavern. Some shifts were just like this, while others saw Lilly attending gatherings in the central chamber. Whatever it was, it was the Master of Earth’s job to give to their community in the ways that only they could.

They were halfway across the central chamber when Bytar ran up to them, wringing his hands. “Oh, Lilly! There was a cave-in—”

Immediately, Lilly straightened up, any trace of cheer or tiredness gone. “Where?” Bytar started running towards one of the tunnel entrances, and Cole rushed to follow as Lilly shot off after him. They made it to the tunnel entrance, worried dwellers scattering to the sides as Lilly rushed through. Cole pushed through the crowd, afforded some leeway but less than his mom, and arrived just as his mom was pressing her hands against the collapsed wall, feeling for any air pockets. It looked like two cavern entrances had collapsed—that was pretty big, as far as cave-ins went.

Cole jolted as he realized where they were. That cavern… Bryan’s family lived there. And Beffa’s was right next door—

Cole spotted Beffa leaning against the opposite wall, pebbles scattered at her feet. She looked shaken, in a way that Cole had never seen her look. Slowly, as his mom began to push the stone up, expression taut, Cole made his way over to Beffa. “You okay?” She had a cut on her arm, and Cole dug into his pocket for spare fabric to wrap it with.

“Just peachy, dirtclod.” Beffa spat, pulling her injured arm away from Cole. “My dad was in there—” She cut herself off, looking down at the ground, pale brown hair falling over her eyes.

Cole turned back to the reforming entrances—it didn’t look like the left cavern had caved in fully, and Cole could see Bryan and his moms crawling out through the opening Lilly had made. But the cavern on the right—

Stone lifted to reveal the bloodied paste that used to be Callum. Cole grimaced—cave-in deaths were always the worst. He glanced at Beffa, who stared at the corpse with wide eyes, jaw clenched—

“I’m sorry.” Cole murmured, as someone asked where Bryan’s little sister was and Bryan burst into tears, as his mom declared the area unstable and everyone started to shuffle out.

“Sorry won’t bring dad back.” Beffa muttered, and Cole shrank in on himself. She was right. It wasn’t enough.

It never was.

+=+=+=+=+

“I’m sorry, Cole, but Lyssie and Adel aren’t feeling well today.” Vera said, from where she was standing in front of their family’s cavern.

Cole huffed, scowling at the carvings framing the entrance. “When will they get better?” A lot of people were falling ill recently. It was starting to get worrying.

Vera shrugged. “I don’t think the symptoms are too bad? They’ll probably be hale again in a few shifts.

Cole sighed. He trusted Vera to be telling the truth—and it wouldn’t do to worry over things he couldn’t help, anyway. He turned back down the tunnel, heading towards the central chamber. He had started trying to push a pebble upslope without touching it, recently, having turned ten just a few weeks ago—his mother had been able to make rocks jump up the steps around his age, and her powers had started to wane ever so slightly. So Cole made his way to one of the dips in the central chamber, taking a pebble from his pocket and setting it down.

Masters of Earth held the tomb together. The whole community gave what they could, and through that there was enough for everyone—but Masters of Earth could prevent and undo cave-ins, or dig new tunnels and caverns with little effort—

Cole wanted to help. It was going to be his job, eventually, to bear these powers and use them for the good of everyone. And as much as he hated to think about his mother no longer having those powers—

(She’d had trouble lifting Skalidor a few shifts ago. Loss of strength was one of the first signs.)

Cole needed to be ready for when that did happen.

Cole concentrated on the pebble. It was small enough to fit in his fist, a little smooth in some places and rough in others. He happened to like this pebble; he had found it when he was three and kept it ever since. It was a good luck charm, something to turn over in his hands when the ceiling looming above him felt too heavy to bear.

Cole glanced up towards the ceiling. The central chamber’s stairs wound all the way up to where the tomb had been sealed, to that massive rock that couldn’t be budged even by a Master of Earth in their prime thanks to the magic keeping the tomb closed—

Cole turned back to his pebble, and pushed out with his hand. He had attracted a few spectators, mostly children wondering what in the name of the abyss he was doing. Cole ignored it, breathing in, out, and imagining the pebble rolling up the slope—

Much like the tomb entrance, the pebble didn’t budge.

+=+=+=+=+

“We’re going spelunking soon, right?” Cole was excited, to finally see the deeper, unused caves, way down past the underground lake and the tunnels used to grow moss and hunt cave newts. Those deeper tunnels had been blocked off since before Cole was born, accessible only to a Master of Earth. Cole wouldn’t be able to open them, yet, but he had managed to make a pebble roll upslope last week—one of the first signs that he was inheriting his mother’s powers.

“Of course!” Lilly said, before getting swept up in another dance. Cole grinned, letting the music pour through him, low vibrations and mixing voices filling the central chamber.

Cole looked for a group to join in with—he was itching to dance, to let his body move with the rhythm until he felt as bright as the torchlight dotting the chamber. He looked for Lyssie or Alina or Bryan—he spotted Beffa, hanging back and leaning against one of the walls, chatting with Alina. Bryan was trying to get an impromptu Slitherpit going—

And there was Lyssie, exiting the central chamber, despite the shift not being over yet. Cole jogged over to the tunnel, tapping the wall as he followed after her, finding her in a crook at the bend.

“Lyssie?” Cole asked. She was sitting down, arms curled around her knees.

“I misss him.” Lyssie murmured, as Cole sat down beside her.

Cole winced. Adel had passed weeks ago. Sickness. Slowly, he reached out his hand. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked.

“No.” Lyssie said, taking Cole’s hand. “I’ve already talked about it.”

“Okay.” The music from the festival was still audible here, vibrations faint through the walls. “I’m sorry.”

“‘Ss not your fault.” Lyssie said.

They sat in silence for a moment, side by side against the stone.

Eventually, Lyssie broke the silence. “You know the sstoriesss, about the ssurface?”

Cole nodded. “Yeah?” He wondered what Lyssie was getting at.

“I heard one, once, about the ssun.” Lyssie said. “How it fallsss, and the ssky turnsss the color of fire.”

“They called it sunset, I think.” Cole nodded, having heard this story himself.

“But nothing actually burnsss,” Lyssie continued, “How doesss that work? How doesss a ball of fire fall, without ssetting fire to the ssurface?”

“I dunno.” Cole murmured. “Maybe it doesn’t actually fall. Maybe it goes out.”

“I think it fallsss.” Lyssie decided. “I think it fallsss, and when it doesss, ssomeone diesss.”

Huh. “You think that’s why the sky turns red? Because someone’s dying?”

“Yeah.” Lyssie nodded. “Becaussse I can’t imagine Adel dying under a bright ssky.”

Cole had never seen the sky, or the sun, or experienced any kind of weather. Nobody still alive in the tomb had, for all that they still had the stories about it from their ancestors. The tomb was sealed tight, magically unopenable, leaving them with only solid stone above their heads. But the sky supposedly existed somewhere up above the stone, above them all—

“Yeah.” Cole agreed. “I can’t imagine it, either.”

+=+=+=+=+

His mother was getting worse.

She wasn’t the only one, either—the weeping cough kept spreading, despite everyone’s efforts. Another blight had hit, as well—the tomb was once again fasting.

Still, Cole did his best to smile through it. To greet his neighbors and tombmates warmly, to stay connected in all the ways his mother couldn’t. His dad was doing much the same, singing and dancing at festivals.

Cole had to be responsible. He was eleven, now, only four more years from hitting majority. He had to hold together, so he could hold the community together. He and his mother had never managed to go on that spelunking trip, despite her promise to show him the way down—but surely, she would get better, and then they could go down to the uninhabited cave network. Surely.

So Cole smiled, and chatted, and worked, and danced. He smiled, because crying and fretting wouldn’t do anyone any good. He chatted, to stay connected to everyone and make sure everything was going well. He worked, because the moss wouldn’t harvest itself, clothes wouldn’t weave themselves, and everyone had to do their part to keep things together. And he danced, because his mother wasn’t well enough to attend the festivals and dance herself—and if he didn’t dance, if he didn’t lose himself to the rhythm, then he’d gnaw his own arm off.

His mother would get better soon, surely. Sure, the weeping cough had proven deadlier than other sicknesses, and sure, his mother’s breathing was getting more and more labored—

But Cole could not let himself worry, because if he started—

He’d never stop.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole stared at the empty bed, at the rock scraped clean of the moss his mother had once rested on.

It just wasn’t fair. There was never quite enough in the tomb for everyone, even when they all pooled what they had and worked together—

Cole rubbed his eyes with his arm, his chest tightening. He needed to go out and walk around and smile and talk and—

And he just couldn’t. Because he wasn’t the pillar of strength he was supposed to be, because eleven and a half wasn’t enough—because there was never enough—

Cole let himself fall forwards onto his knees, leaning over onto the cold stone as he buried his face in his arms. He wanted his mother back. He wanted everyone who had died early to cave-ins or sickness or starvation to have never died so unfairly in the first place. He wanted things to be better, but all he could do was keep smiling and persevering—and he couldn’t even do that right now.

Beffa was right. Cole had been holding onto fairytales as a child. He glared up at the ceiling, at the unyielding stone that refused to recognize him as its Master, at the barrier cutting his people off from the surface and its supposed bounty—but it didn’t budge, and never would.

The tomb was sealed tight.

Cole would never see the sky.

[stalkerofthegods]

Odin deep dive

Odin is a wisdom god and a war god, given up his eye for sight in wisdom, may he send blessings upon all of his worshipers.

Herbs •mugwort (oldest of all herbs), plaintain (mother of herbs), stonem, root (drives away evil), wormwood (venom-loather), chamomile, wergulu (maybe chicory), apple, chervil, fennel, chamomile, crab-apple, stinging nettle, mugwort, sweet cicely, corn salad/rampion, monkshood, Amanita muscara, yew, mistletoe, Ivy, juniper, rye, poppy, clover,

Animals• raven, crows, horses, eagle, bear

Zodiac • He was born at the beginning of the time so he doesn't have a birthday... sorry...

Colors • Grey, deep cobalt blue, black, blue

Crystal•  gold, amber, and jasper

Symbols• his staff, his horse, raven, hats, runes, tree of Yggdrasil

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• necklaces that remind you of him and rings

Diety of• war, half of the death, heroes, magic, runes, poets, wisdom, rulers, sovereignty, shamanism, the dead, ecstasy (the reasoning in patron), prophecy, healing, royalty, the gallows, battle, victory, frenzy,

Patron of• war, half of death, heroes, magic, runes, poets, wisdom, rulers, sovereignty, shamanism, the dead, ecstasy (the reasoning behind this is that he has epithets calling him this, and also because he holds the item of the magical mead, and he ventures around the world, simply for his own "pleasure", and his historical mentions of fertility around this god, I may be wrong but I do think he is also a fertility god, and since ecstasy is also believed to be caused to be from desire, and since he inspires the desire for poetry that could also be a point, and also his ecstasy for war, also contributing for his desire for knowledge.), prophecy, healing, royalty, the gallows, battle, victory, frenzy, intoxication,

Offerings• Your blood (not from your wrists or any heat points because that could mean ur livelihood ur offering to him, and he had human sacrifices to him back then, but please be careful, and please sterilize the tools before and don't do this as self-harm get away, he will get pissed!), apples, arizona tea (UPG), books, stuffed animals of his animals, tree imagery, toys of thrones, imagery of thrones, wine (he does not drink or eat food, for wine is both water and food for him, so his dogs eat his food, so make sure to keep in mind wolf/dog-friendly food, like spices/etc.), dog treats, meat, rye, thorns (from a myth when he put a valkyrie to sleep as a consequence for sabotaging a battle), mead, beer, ale, fruit, berries, vegetables, Spearlike vegetables (ex- leeks, asparagus, garlic)

Devotional• Learn runes, write runes on flashcards and bottle caps or play cards or coins to learn them, study, do your homework, research things you are interested in his honor, take care of yourself, think out of the box, learn new skills, set boundrys, donate to war veterans and animal shelters in his name, drink alcohol or something you love to him (raise a glass to him ), eat 3 meals a day, work on communication skills, learn cartomancy/pyromancy/shufflomancy, honor your ancestor, write down and interpret your dreams, work with veterans, do community service in his honor, learn basic med, face your fears, create things that remind you of him (art, tapestry, baked goods, etc)

Ephithets•  “Master of Ecstasy”, "all father, "raven-god", "army-god", “Father of Men”. “Gautr of Men”, “The Ancient Gaut, “Delight of Frigg”, “Eagle-headed One”, “Attacking Rider” or “Attacker by Horse", “Wealth Friend”, “Enemy of the Wolf ”, “Father of Balder”, “Feeble Eye/Flame Eyed”, “Shield Shaker/Spear Shaker”, “Feeble Eye/

One Eyed”,  “Bear”, “Blind One”, “Bale-worker”,  “Battle Enhancer”, “Chieftain”, “Brother of Vili”, “Brown One”, “Son of Borr”, “Spearman”, “Lord of Ghosts”, "Sole Creator of Magical Song", “One with a Straight Forehead”,  “Ever-Booming”,  “Dweller in Frigg’s Embrace", “First Husband of Frigg”,

“Father of Magical Songs”, “Cargo God”, “Journey-Empowerer”, “Burden of Gunnlöð’s Arms”, “Gallows’ Burden”, “Snatch” or “Gain”, “Mighty God”, “Mighty Thule (Poet)”, “Very-Wise/Concealer”, “Much Wise”, “Lord of the Earth”, "One Who Rides Forth”, “The Found”, “Contrary Advisor/Gainful Council”, “Father of Galdor (Magical Songs)”, "Gallow’s Lord", “Wanderer", "Journey Advisor”, “One in a Gaping Frenzy”, “One from Gotland”, “Gautr” (Latinized Langobardic version), “Dangler”, “Spear Inviter”, “Spear God”, “Spear Master”, “Spear Charger”,  “Guest”, “Blind Guest”, “Deceiver, “Riddler”, “Seducer”, “Goði (priest) of the Raven-offering”, “God Protector”, “Yeller",  “Wand Bearer”, " King of Hliðskjalf", “The Masked One/The Hooded One”, "Gunnlod’s Embracer", “Warrior", “Battle Blind", “Master of Fury” (Romanised Langobardic ), “Master of Fury” (Westphalian), "Skillful Worker”, “Hanged God”, "God of the Hanged", “Hanged One”,  “Ruler of Gods”, “God of Gods”,  “Teacher of gods”,  “Fetter Loosener”, “High One”, “Grey Beard", “One Eyed”, “Lord of Hliðskjalf”, “High One”, “Visitor of the Hanged”,  “Blinder With Death/Host Blinder”, “Hang Jaw”, “Host Father”, “Host Gautr”, ” Host Lord”, “Host Glad/Glad of War/Glad in Battle”, “Host God”, “Battle Wolf”,  “God of battle”, “Engager of Battle”, “Helm Bearer”, “Screamer” (that's very ominous..), “Famous Lord/Mound Lord”, “Inciter/Thruster/Shaker”, “One Eyed”, “Hatter", “High One”, “Raven-tester”, “Raven God", “Fetterer/Ripper", “Blusterer”, “Roarer”, “Lord of Gods”, “God”

Hrossharsgrani – “Horse-hair Mustache”, “Whet Courage (Mood)”, “Roarer”, “Splendid Ruler”, “Just As High”, “Yellow-brown Back”, “Gelding”, “Iron Grim”, “Horse-wolf/Bear”, “Yule-father”, ”Yule", “Mighty One”, “Old Man”, “Nourisher”, “Long Beard”, “Shaggy Cloak Wearer”, "Lord of Light"

"Lord of the Wild Hunt", “Son of Borr”, “User/Enjoyer”, “Frenzied One” (Old Norse),  “Frenzy”, “Divine Inspiration”, “Breath",  “Opener”, “Boomer/One Whose Voice Resounds”, “Wished For/Fulfiller of Desire”, “Master of Fury”, “Red Moustache”, “Wagon God”, “Chief”, “God of Runes”, “Mover of Constellations”, “Truth Getter/He Who Guesses Right”, “Truth”, “The Truthful”, “Longbeard”, “Slouch Hat” or “Broad Brim” or “Deep Hood”, ”Long Beard,” “Broad Beard”, “Victory Bringer”, “Father of Victory”, “Victory Gautr”, “Victory Protection”, “Victory Author”, “Victory Tree”, “Victory Successful", “Victory Sure”,  “Victory God”, “King/Trembler”, “Treachery Ruler”, “Son of Bestla”,  “Friend of the Goths” "Speedy One", “Luller to Sleep/Dream", “Fleeting/Changeable”, “Wise One”, “Wise One”, ”Sweller", “Welcome One”, “Quarreler/Raging, Furious”, "Third”, “Triple”, “Burgeoning/Inciter to Strife”, “Strength”, “Sweller”, “Lean/Pale”, “Double”, “Twice Blind”, “Beloved”, “Foe of the Wolf ”, “Dangler", “Wayfarer”, “Swinger of Gungnir”, “Awakener/Vigilant”,  “Ruler of Gallows”, “Ruler of Heaven”, “Father of the Slain”, “Slain Gautr/Gautr of the Slain”, “Chooser of the Slain”, “Slain Tame/The Warrior”, “Slain God”, “Slain Receiver”, “Wayfarer/Waytamer”, “God of Men/God of Being”, “Stormer/Ruler of Weather”, “Contrary Screamer”, “Killer”, “Swinger”, “Friend of Loptr”, “Friend of Lóðurr”, “Friend of Mímir”, “Friend of Altars", “Master of Fury” (Gothic), “Dangler”, “Phallus”, “Smith of Battle”, “Master of Fury” (Allemanic, Burgundian)", “Master of Fury” (Frisian), "Wise Victory Tree", “Wolf”, "Wolf’s Danger", “Wish”,  “Terrible One”, “Stormy”

Equivalents• Mercury (Roman), Indra (Hindu), Thoth (egyptation)

Signs they reaching out• seeing his signs, seeing him in a dream, seeing his family and him in dreams, seeing his animals, seeing imagery of him.

Vows/omans• seeing his animals, his blood pact of brothership with loki, and his marriage vows.

Number• 9

Morals• questionably lawfully chaotic

Courting• Frigg

Past lovers/crushes• Jord, some say Freyja, and some say he's married to Freyja and Frigg.

Personality• trickster, his deminer can change easily, one saga describes Odin, “when he sat with his friends, he gladdened the spirits of all of them, but when he was at war, his demeanor was terrifyingly grim.” this shows that he can be a very kind and accepting deity, but he also has another side, so when worshiping his war epithets be aware of this, he is quite competitive. He is also serious and demands respect.

Home• Vahalha

Mortal or immortal • mortal

Fact• He often changed genders just to get passed obstacles

Curses• no knowledge, not being able to go home or know who you are.

Blessings• knowledge, someone coming out of a battle as the victor

Roots• Germanic paganism, perhaps rooted from the Anglo- Saxon gods

Friends• Mimir, loki used to be his friend, Frigg (his wife), Lóðurr, loptr

Parentage• Bestla, and Borr

Siblings• Ve and Vili, loki

Pet• 2 talking ravens called Huginn and Muninn, a magical horse called, Sleipnir, two wolves called Geri and Freki,

Children • Thor, Balder, Hod, Hermod, Heimdall, Vidar, and Vali. 

Appearance in astral or gen• Odin is frequently portrayed as one-eyed and white long-bearded, long-haired, wielding a spear named Gungnir or appearing in disguise wearing a cloak and a broad hat and a golden ring, and in the 'astral' he can be seen as anything, but mostly in a human-like form (never seen him in a dream or astral personally.)

Festivals • Yule.

Day • Wednesday.

Status• Ruler of Asier, the father of the gods, has an army of the dead, powerful.

What angers them• disrespect, betraying oaths, and ignoring him.

The music they like• I take it Viking and hunting and gothic/metal music.

Planet• Murcery

Tarot cards• hanging man, the magician, the priestess, the chariot, the

hermit, death, suit of swords.

Reminds me of• goth, bikers (motorcycles), yelling

Scents/Inscene • sandalwood, sage, cedar, mugwort, basically all his herbs except the dangerous ones.

Prayers• Prayer for Wisdom in Teaching

Allfather, Ancient One Eye-plucked Wanderer Teacher of Runes and Mead-stealer Bless me, keep me As  I wander and in gift-for-gift, Teach others from Your path

https://sarenth.wordpress.com/2011/02/24/prayers-to-odin/

The Ninefold Blessing of the Allfather

Grace me, Father, with the blessings of the breath of life, and, with the lips that shape the ond into forms beautiful and terrible Grace me, Father, with the blessings of the Runes, with the markings that break fetters and heal the sick Grace me, Father, with the blessings of wisdom, with the discernment and care it brings, with the faculties to use it properly Grace me, Father, with the blessings of pain, with the forging and strength it bestows, with the edge it sharpens Grace me, Father, with the blessings of inspiration, with the knowledge and comprehension it gives, with the ways it opens Grace me, Father, with the blessings of joy, with the openness of receptivity and growth, its seeds, with the way it enlivens life Grace me, Father, with the blessings of power, with the ability to choose and stand firm, with the ability to change the world around me Grace me, Father, with the blessings of intelligence, with the ability to comprehend and deduce the meaning of things, to understand the world in all its complexities Grace me, Father, with the blessings of faith, with the trust and determination to embrace it, to always reach to understand You and the World better, in all the ways I can

https://sarenth.wordpress.com/2011/02/24/prayers-to-odin/

Links/websites/sources • https://www.britannica.com/topic/Odin-Norse-deity https://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/the-aesir-gods-and-goddesses/odin/#:~:text=As%20mentioned%20above%2C%20Odin's%20name,can%20take%20countless%20different%20forms. https://www.worldhistory.org/odin/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odin https://wytchofthenorth.wordpress.com/2013/04/16/odin-and-herbs-ask-me-about-odin/ https://wanderingwomanwondering.wordpress.com/2017/06/22/deity-offerings-series-for-odin/ https://www.norseshamanism.online/blog-norse-shamanism/offerings-to-odin-and-how-to-make-offerings-to-odin https://www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/odin/writing/altars-and-offerings-for-odin.html https://odindevoted.wordpress.com/2013/07/26/offerings/https://study.com/academy/lesson/yggdrasil-the-tree-of-life-norse-mythology-symbol.html#:~:text=Yggdrasil%20is%20a%20tree%20in,god%20in%20the%20Norse%20pantheon. https://www.tumblr.com/alder-bos/669862051714318336/deities-and-their-tarot-cards-long-post

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

ODIN DOES NOT SUPPORT NAZIS

[demialwrites]

Butterfly in a Jar Ch 1

Safe, sane, & consensual goes out the window because of President Shinra. Rufus is grounded (or in the doghouse) at Turk HQ and you're made to bully him into behaving. Prequel to Sand Through Fingers

I made the decision to switch up the layout of the Turks HQ compared to what's shown (and implied) in Before Crisis. I picture it more like the one in Remake but with more rooms. Also, having Rufus confined to just one room almost 24 hours a day (as is implied in the game) seemed excessive. I believe the rest of the Turks would not let the information regarding his presence leak from their ranks, anyway. I also made the decision to exclude detailed mentions of any specific Turks other than Reno, Rude, and Tseng for my own sanity. I'm not good at long, detailed fics, so baby steps!

AO3 Link

Your body hair is pin-straight as soon as you walk into the executive suite. It's worse when you walk through the door into the president's office. It's not said but you can feel it. You're only here for this man's use. What's useful to him is only what he wants. Not your words, not your opinions, and possibly, not your life, if he so wishes. No evidence backs up that last part but your gut tells you to be careful. To watch, to wait, and possibly agree to whatever it is until you can leave.

When you're alone with the man named Tseng, you're much more relaxed. It speaks to how extremely you felt in the president’s office. Tseng is a Turk and you are a Slum-dweller. Usually, you are enemies.

You had gone into survival mode because you don't know what you agreed to after you came out. You remember something about a “stupid son,” “not fit to run anything,” and a large sum of money to be paid. To who? You? You just nodded along. You were back in your body when Tseng was mid-sentence and the doors of the elevator just closed, mercifully cutting you off from the oppressiveness of that top floor. Your world trembled and threatened to crash down around you because you didn't know what a “stupid son” had to do with you. You remembered the blindingly polished dark floors and red carpet leading to President Shinra's desk. If someone told you he was sitting on a throne with a sceptre and a crown, your fuzzy memory would have warped to match. The sight of anything behind him was missing, like an elementary schooler messed up a project and cut it out with safety scissors. You turned your shaky focus to what Tseng was saying.

“You don't need to worry about how to get in. I'll meet you each time. Only our keycards access that floor.” Tseng waves the card at the elevator panel. It beeps in recognition. The sound helps root you in reality. “I'll get you a uniform so you can blend in. However…no one at HQ will believe you're one of us. Not that they'll mind.”

He doesn't sound worried about that last part. The initial dip as the elevator accelerates downward threatens to make you dizzy.

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask after several seconds of silence.

Tseng glances at you in confusion before his lips curl into a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. People must disassociate in front of President Shinra often enough for him to recognize when it happens. Astonishing, that this man is in charge of an entire city. You're starting to feel sorry for this “stupid son.” You've heard of Vice President Rufus Shinra before but you can't recall anyone calling him stupid. Well, his father would, and did. Why make someone stupid the vice president, anyway? Maybe it's because the president is an asshole. This drama is all very confusing.

You keep your eyes to yourself or on Tseng's face as he explains. You let the elevator take you to your destination without glancing out the glass to see where it’s heading. You don't want to get in trouble for knowing too much. You're in enough trouble as it is and have to keep all of this secret.

Tseng starts by saying your contract concerns Vice President Rufus. He is under house arrest in Turk HQ. You brush away the urge to ask why by innocently scratching your neck because you already feel like what you're going to be told could get you killed. Especially if it involves the Turks. You've never had to deal with one yourself but you've heard enough dark rumours floating around the Slums. Tseng continues to explain that while Rufus is in trouble, he is still the president's son and he has stopped taking care of himself. Tseng can't get through to Rufus by himself and he doesn't have the time to babysit a grown man, who also has seniority over him, twenty-four hours a day. Your new full-time job is to manage said grown man and the Turks will back you up.

Tseng looks at you to check if you have any questions. Millions, but most of them seem unsafe enough to ask.

“Why not let him out?” you hesitantly ask.

“The president hasn't given that order.”

That's absurd but fair enough. You wouldn't question that scary man, either. An intrusive thought of the president holding Tseng's balls in a tight fist almost forces a laugh, which you cover with a single, spluttering cough. You feel awful about it but you need any levity you can get right now.

“Pardon me,” you say from behind your hand.

Tseng nods.

“Why me, Mr. Tseng?” you ask, hurrying past the mental image.

“Just ‘Tseng’ will suffice. And I looked into your background. It's clean. There's no criminal activity or anti-Shinra leanings.”

“Anti-Shinra?!”

Tseng stops and turns his face to you. “Why? Was I wrong?”

You shake your head immediately. “No, not at all. It's just…wouldn't you prefer a psychologist or something?”

“The Vice President will not accept someone who will…” He presses his lips together thoughtfully. “Someone who is invasive.”

You find that strange and contradictory. Either way, you signed that contract. No one in Midgar could break it for you except the president. You had no choice. At least you could afford to move to the plate with the reward money, you just had to maintain when you got there. But that felt far away so you let that train of thought die.

You briefly consider whether Tseng hired you because of what you do in your free time. In your private life. You did just buy a new dog collar, and not for a dog. But that can’t be it. He can’t be asking you to collar the vice president of Shinra. Maybe you’re just here to show the president that Tseng is doing something and he can't say no to his boss, either. You had the silly urge to reach out and squeeze the other man’s hand. We’re in this together.

But you don't. It's just another intrusive thought.

You’re to return the next day. You have an initial panic about paying your rent on your tiny unit in your tiny apartment building but apparently, the contract includes an allowance. Yet another detail that was forgotten in the panicked signing of the contract. You had a nagging feeling you should worry about your job but you’re either going to fail and possibly disappear or succeed, meaning you won’t need to worry about money for a while.

The uniform Tseng gives you is mainly for the walk across the lobby to the elevator, to avoid anyone working for the company getting too curious. The uniform has the pleasant side effect of putting a soft blanket on your anxiety about being from the Slums. If anyone judges you up here, it would be for what they–incorrectly–guess what your occupation was, not that you were poor and live in a city-sized trash heap under the plate. You resist the urge to give yourself a cursory sniff to check if you smell different from the setting you were in. Not that your nose could tell the difference.

You're not allowed in most of the rooms at Turk HQ. You see the main office in passing only because there's a glass wall with a glass door leading to it. It looks so futuristic and slick, causing a slight pang of inferiority when you automatically compare it to where you live. Having this many rooms barred to you initially makes you feel unwelcome but Tseng hurries you along in such a professional manner that you don’t have time to dwell on it. You end up spending most of your time in the small kitchen and adjoining dining room. It's going to be strange sitting at a dining table made up so nicely in a suit but, yet again, you have no choice. You guess that there's also some kind of gym or training room because you see a couple of sweaty Turks walking around in workout clothes, carrying towels.

You also noticed, with relief, that several of these Turks are from places other than atop the plate, making your guard start to lower. Also, some of them are so different from what you’ve seen, even from the variety of individuals living in the Slums, that you’re convinced they’re not from Midgar. Dealing with the VP might involve some disgust on his part but you hadn't considered being on a floor full of people that might feel the same. Now that that unconscious worry has been put to rest, you could get more comfortable with coming here.

[mjrtaurus]

Lots of questions about Monkey D Momma plague me (What kind of person was she, how did she die canonically, how does one catch the eye of Garp of all people) but the most burning one by far is

How did she end up in the Blue Sea?

The Shandians, from what we've seen of them, have incredible amounts of pride in their people and insurmountable belief that they will one day reclaim what is rightfully theirs and finally go home.

How does one just…leave all of that?

I have two theories:

1. She left voluntarily and willingly. Maybe she dreamed of seeing the Blue Sea for years, neck craning down towards it any given opportunity. Maybe the stories of her ancestor and his Blue Sea dweller friend enamoured her beyond reason and she had to see it for herself, just once. (Maybe the war exhausted her, maybe she always knew deep down she is not the one meant to ring the bell and bring them home. Maybe the City of Gold were just like the clouds she laid on, deceptively within reach and yet impossible to truly hold.)

2. She was ousted from Skypiea, the so-called ‘God’ and priests deeming her crime of carrying Kalgara's blood condemning her to be nothing more than a dirty sinner who needed to be removed so true paradise could be achieved. All she could do was scoff, did they truly believe the undying flames of Shandora would die with her? That the seeds of rebellion that were planted hundreds of years ago would not bear the sweetest of fruits one day? What a rude awakening they were in for, her only regret is that she could not be there to witness it.

Hoo boy, this is gonna be a long one so bear with me

There had been a fungal blight in the crops, which then got into the soil through the rotting of the roots and plant matter that couldn’t be harvested. Blighted soil can’t be restored, and plants that would be hardy enough to grow despite it wouldn’t be edible. The fungus is toxic.

They had enough surplus to make it through to the next harvesting season, but that would be all. Sewing season was near. Very, very near, but when the soil was sick, it would be pointless to plant. She had been caught “stealing” vearth from Upper Yard by a couple of White Berets, who decided to throw her to the white sea- and the blue sea far below. It was only thanks to her wings which, while not nearly big enough to fly, could slow her descent to the point that the impact with the seawater wouldn’t have killed her.

She was found by a fishing vessel out of Mock Town. Her story was always laughed at, because at the time the people of this portion of Paradise were of the same mind as the North Blue in thinking that the sky islands weren’t real. Nobody would help her find her way back home, and she couldn’t do it all by herself. This understandably infuriated her, and pushed her even further out of her homeland. She planned to find her way to Elbaf as a stowaway.

From the oral traditions, Shandia was more widespread before the Void Century. One of the peoples of the blue seas who had been most accepting and respectful of their cultural presence were the giants. It wasn’t much to go on, and the sheer span of time could very easily have made the giants either resent them or not even recall their existence. It was all she had.

Until she found herself on a warship under the command of one Monkey D. Garp.

Now at the time of her disappearance, Gan Fall was God of Skypiea. He was unpopular at the time for wanting to make reparations with Shandia after centuries of war between the two peoples. He did not order what had been done to her. He had not even been informed of the “theft”. He didn’t even catch wind of it until there had been a particularly violent raid on Upper Yard, and a demand that she be returned along with the fresh vearth she had risked her life to bring them.

Only when these demands were made did ANYONE outside of the Shandia know that she was of Kalgara’s line. Distant, but honored. Gan Fall did what he could, having to fight pressuring from both sides. At the end of it, though, all the Shandia were given was fresh soil for their crops. They just… couldn’t find her, and Gan Fall had to do much of the looking himself for how poor a job the White Berets were doing.

This allotment of vearth Gan Fall gave to the Shandians was one of the major points in Enel’s eventual usurpation of the title of God. The animosity and hatred the Skypieans felt for the Shandians was easy to manipulate to his favor.

(Amaru!Dragon side tangent: Interestingly enough, Enel ascending to the title was even MORE offensive to Shandia because one of the great beasts they revered along with the giant serpents was the storm god Amaru, which… Enel had a logia transformation of a thunder deity lookalike he called Amaru…)

Meanwhile, her relationship with Garp was by no means one of these “love at first sight” types. At least it wasn’t for her. Garp was hopeless over her, but respectful of her desire for space.

She knew of Marines. Stories had passed down for generations of Seagull-men who would set fire to their settlements at the behest of their “Nobles”, or worse, take them from their homes and offer them up as “gifts”.

No, she did not like Garp at first. Not at all. Not even when he promised to get her safely to Elbaf.

But like all the Monkey D’s of the One Piece world, they kind of just happen to you. Garp was no exception to this. He treated her like he treated everyone he liked, as if she were a friend he had known all his life. It was a sort of honesty that she found herself drawn to. It was… comforting. He felt like home.

They didn’t marry by World Government standards for the sake of her safety. The Navy kept meticulous records of spouses and their backgrounds under the veneer that it was for informing family should anything happen to an officer. Garp was of a high enough rank to know it was mainly for spying. They did have an unofficial little ceremony just between the two of them, though. Finding ways to incorporate their respective wedding customs was a fascinating foray into cultural exchange.

Garp would have loved to know more of Shandia, but… she still wasn’t ready for it. It was still too painful, and so much of it was lost because of displacement, slavery, ethnic cleansing, and forced assimilation that there was precious little to tell.

Dragon’s birth had been a difficult one. It had been a wakeup call for her. Had she died, his father would not have been able to teach him of their culture, because she had not shared it with him. Had she died, another bit of Shandia’s dwindling history would have died with her.

Dragon wouldn’t have known how to take proper care of his wings. Dragon wouldn’t have known that Kalgara was not a fairy tale, but an ancestor. Dragon wouldn’t have known of the Golden Bell of Shandora and what it was meant for…

Dragon would have been another casualty of the monsters that pushed her people to the brink of extinction.

As far as how she died, nobody really knows if she is dead. She just… disappeared one day. Garp was off on Marine business, and Dragon was in his cadet years living in the barracks by then. Both of them wonder if someone in Goa tipped off the Nobles. Both of them wonder if she went on to Elbaf on her own.

Both of them wonder if they were at fault.

[parvulous-writings]

Dear Friend // Vander x Piltover!Reader

Summary: There is a silent friendship between you and an Undercity dweller.

Warnings: Brief mentions of violence and injury (not explicit)

Words: 2.7K

Notes:  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my gif

The Bridge of Progress may have been built to unite two people's, but most saw it as something that partially furthered division between the two cities. On both sides, the people's knew it was safer not to cross, to stay far from the bridge, lest the guards on the bridge are particularly crabby. Which they almost always were - no one wanted to be stationed there for any length of time. The complaints were always the same; the air was thicker with smog the closer you got to the bridge, there was always this smell of... Mustiness, that came along with it. No one enjoyed it. At least, that was Topside's view of the Bridge. Something to keep away from, to avoid, to not think about it, if it could be helped. For the dwellers of Zaun, however, it was something quite different. It was constant, looming reminder of what they were to Piltover. Nothing more than the things down below - not even people to most of them. Most Zaunites either were entirely indifferent to Piltover and it's so called progress, or held a deep-rooted disdain for each and every person Topside. You, however, weren't like your fellow city-livers. You didn't hate those who lived below you - you didn't see them as less-than for being born into something far beyond their control. Though, that could be in part because of a strange connection you had formed with one of the Zaunites. You knew nothing about him; not his name, his life, none of it. You didn't even know his eye colour - neither of you had dared to venture closer to one another, to close the gap over the bridge, for whatever reason. Whether it was the fear of repercussions from the watching enforcers, or fear of one another you had never really managed to put your finger on. You just knew that it had become an almost ritual for the two of you. Thankfully, the enforcers had never asked what you were doing, visiting the bridge almost every day, at the same time. They didn't care, so long as you left them alone, and didn't cause a fuss.

Today, the fog towards the opposite end of the bridge didn't seem to be as thick. It was still there, of course - it always was - but you could see through most of it, down part of the practically defunct cobble road, but your vision was soon rendered void as the road disappeared into the darkness of the city below. You sat down in your usual spot, about a quarter of the way along the bridge, waiting for your 'friend' to make an appearance. He always turned up after you, but he did turn up at the same time every day. Maybe it was because he knew you'd already be there, waiting for him. There had only been a handful of times where he hadn't shown up. And those days you'd spent as long as the enforcers would let you, sitting in your spot on the bridge, waiting, hoping that your friend was alright. Of course, so far he'd always turn up in a day or two - you came to realise he was probably sick. You'd never really thought how bad conditions down there must have been, and how often illness must've made it's rounds in the populous - it simply wasn't a thing in Piltover, it was something you had always really taken for granted. Everyone did, no one imagined a life without the healthcare that the citizens of Piltover were given. You supposed, for your friend, and any family he may have, that was their reality. No help, besides whatever home remedies they could scrounge together. You pitied them, but you didn't think there was much that you could do.

Whilst deep in your thoughts, you caught a shadow lumbering up the road in the distance. The broad shoulders - even though tiny from how far they were from you - were familiar enough. You sat up a bit straighter, trying to see if he was okay, without exchanging a single word with him. He looked more run down than usual - and even with the space between you, you could see the dirt on his face, the tears in his clothes. His shirt was torn in several places, exposing his skin and a few wounds here and there. His nose was battered and bloodied, and one eye seemed to have swollen shut. You felt your jaw practically drop at the sight. You had seen him recovering from illness before, you had seen him with some minor injuries, but this... This was something else to you. You had no idea what to make of it - was he the one to instigate whatever brawl he had been in? Was he jumping to someone's aid, someone's protection? You had no idea. For all the time you had spent with him, you had never said anything to him; never learnt his name, or who he was beyond his appearance. He could have been anyone - from Zaun's most vicious criminal, to their sweetest habitant. In the state that he was, though, vicious man or not, you were surprised that he had still come. You glanced over your shoulder towards the enforcers standing at your side of the bridge, to check if they were keeping a close eye on you. Of course they weren't - they hardly did, you caused no trouble, so why have cause to believe you would now?

Biting the bullet, you pushed yourself to your feet. Warily, you made your way further down the bridge than you ever had done before, taking yourself closer and closer to your friend, and by proxy, Zaun. At first, your friend didn't notice you. He was preoccupied, trying to rub his hands clean of the grime and blood that caked his knuckles. A fighter, clearly a rough one. You drew close, and crouched down beside him. "How badly are you hurt?" You ask him, your voice as gentle as you could make it, but it still made him jump a mile. So much crossed his face in that moment - fear, surprise, relief, scepticism. He had no idea what to say to you. Why were you this close to him? Why were you talking to him? You give him a moment, to collect his thoughts and his composure, but he still doesn't say anything. He just stares at you, as if you had asked him something unthinkable. "Are you okay?" You ask him, hoping that maybe this time he'd respond to you. "What happened?" He continues to stare for a while longer, before clearing his throat quietly. "Fight..." Was all he responded with, as if that was the most difficult thing to figure out about his current situation. "I see that..." You answer slowly. "But... What happened? How badly are you hurt?" You asked again, now that he seemed to be responding. He looked at you for a moment, seeming to be... Analysing something. Perhaps if you would understand, as a Topsider. "Someone was bein' less then courteous to a mate of mine... Wanted to stick up for him..." He told you - and for some, odd reason, this struck you. You'd never considered that fissure folk would fight for more than just trivial things and necessities. The man must've seen the look on your face, as he scowled a little bit. "What? Think we don't look after each other down there?" He asked, gesturing with his head towards the way he had come. "Well-" You started, though you weren't even sure what you were going to respond with. "Well we do. We're not savages, we're people." He told you, clearly this was something he had more of an opinion on than yourself. You supposed, as you crouched there beside him, that the bridge, and the separation of the cities was something far more prominent in the lives of the fissure folk, than it was in yours.

You snapped out of your thought-filled daze, patting yourself down, your gaze flitting this way and that, as you look for something, anything, that could help him. In a flash of what you thought to be genius, you tried to rip off part of your shirt to wrap his hand; it was something that you had read in adventure novels that seemed to work every time. When you attempted it, however, nothing happened, you couldn't even make a small tear in the fabric. The man just watched, his gaze moving between your hands, and your face. The corner of his lip twitched upwards slightly, clearly he was trying not to laugh at you. You sigh quietly, "Listen, I've not-" "Done this before, yeah, I can tell..." He replied, "I don't need bandages, these'll heal by 'emselves..." He told you, "'S not the first time this has happened, I'll live." "But you're bleeding-" "So? We all bleed. It's only a little, anyway. I'll be fine." He reiterated, shaking his head slowly. "I've had worse." Worse? Worse?? The man looked like he had crawled through hell and back just to sit on the bridge with you, and yet here he was saying he'd had worse? Your jaw when slack, and he huffed in laughter, "Don't s'pose you see much like this often, do you?" You shook your head. "Um... No..." You replied, your voice was soft, almost meek in comparison to his. The pair of you lapsed into silence for a while, sitting the way the pair of you normally did, just much much closer than usual. It was quite surreal, actually. Though you had often thought of the way the gap between you might one day lessen, you had never for one moment thought that this would be how. A few more minutes pass by, and as the midday sun starts to hit the top of the bridge's pillars, an idea strikes you. You start to rummage deep in your pockets, eliciting a strange look from the man beside you. You grasp at many small coins - just spare change you had grabbed and left in your pockets. To be honest you were surprised that there was any still left there, the amount of times you go to get something from your pocket and lose several coins. "Look-" You start, shoving the coins into his bruised and broken hands, "I know it's not much, but it's something, right-?" You hurriedly say to him, and his brows furrow. "I don't need your pity money." He tries to hand back what you had given to him, but you refuse. "I've got enough of it - I can get you some more, if you want-" "I just said-" "I know!" You cut him off, "But... It's just hit me how different our lives are, you know? Like... How much... Better, I have it." The man looked... Unimpressed. "You're joking, right?" Of course, to him, the differences were obvious. They were something thought about and discussed often, unlike with you, where it was a train of thought often shoved away, something that was not discussed in polite conversation. "It only just occurred to you?" You shrugged lightly in response, and he just sighed. "Listen... It's not that I don't appreciate it. I do. But..." He paused for a moment, "I can't just... Take your money, no matter how much you may have - it's not right." "You're not taking it!" You assure him, "I'm giving it to you... You need it a lot more than I do." And at this, he just... Looks at you. You couldn't really tell what he was thinking - then again, he didn't even know what to think in that moment. Were you just doing this out of pity, or was it genuine kindness? His mind logically went to the former, but something in his heart wanted to settle on the latter. A small glimmer of hope within him desperately wanted to believe that you weren't doing this just because you felt sorry for him, but because you genuinely wanted to help him. "I can bring some more tomorrow..." You told him quietly, glancing over your shoulder as if the guards would hear you. You knew they almost certainly wouldn't, not that they really cared anyway. "It's not a lot, but I'll get you more..."

"You didn't even have to give me this…" He mumbled, finally seeming to accept your gift to him. "I know… But you need it… I'm… I'm not going to miss it.." You admit to him, and he's just… Astounded. Not missing money? He could hardly fathom the idea. It just wasn't a concept in his day-to-day life. It was a small difference between your lives, but at the same time, it was something that had such an impact on both of you. There's a beat of silence as he considers this. "You sure?" He daren't pass this opportunity now - the one time he's found a Top-sider who seems to have any sort of empathy towards him and others like him. You nod, completely and utterly certain in your actions. "Yeah, I'm sure. You need it." "Thank you." The words are quiet, not quite ashamed, but appreciative. Truly and deeply grateful for this kindness, even though to you it was only small. There's another beat of silence, as he considers what to say next. "Name's Vander." "Huh… Suits you." You smile back at him, and Vander just watches you for a moment, almost expectantly. "You going to tell me your name?" He asks you, and you consider doing so for a moment. "Maybe." You reply, a smile playing on your lips. "But… Maybe we should be on better terms first…" "What, so you're now my mysterious benefactor?" He asks, shaking his head a little bit. "Come on… It's just your name…It's not like I'm askin' for your whole life story now, is it?" "Well, no.. but… Well you offered your name first, and I was totally fine to keep things anonymous between us… That's how it's always been, and… I don't know if I'm ready to take the leap out of that mystery just yet…. You know?" You turn to look at him, and after a moment, he begins to nod slowly. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean…" He replies slowly. There's a beat of silence before he speaks again. "I respect it… I won't pry. Could be… Fun, I s'pose… Though I don't know if telling folks back home that I got this money from 'a mysterious topsider' will go down well…" Before you could reassure him about the situation, and give him something to tell the other people back home that wouldn't get him in trouble, he spoke once more. "Ah well… I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, eh?" "You could always say it's from a dear friend?" You suggest to him, and Vander shakes his head. "They'd never believe that, not in a million years… I think the mystery will probably serve me a little better, might be able to make some story with it…" He nods thoughtfully at his own words. "Well, so long as you're sure…" "I am." Vander replies assuredly, clearly despite the inconvenience of the lack of information you've given him has had no effect on his confidence at the moment. "Besides, I think people'll be more concerned about this." He chuckles as he holds up a fist. There's another moment of silence between the two of you. Content, almost friendly. Then, Vander puts his hands on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. You follow suite, and he turns to you. "Well, um… Thank you." He tells you, almost awkwardly. It's clear he's not entirely sure what to say to you here. "I've… Got to get going… But I'll be back, tomorrow, like always… If you are, of course…" "I've never missed a day." You respond with a light chuckle. "You take care of yourself, alright? Try not to get into anymore fights?" You ask, like a concerned parent worrying about their rebellious son. "No promises." Vander laughs quietly, before slowly starting to plod away. "I'll catch you next time…" By the time you've glanced at him to say your own goodbyes, he's gone too far down the path for you to follow. At least today. Perhaps, you think as you turn to start on your own way home, you may be able to summon the courage to cross the bridge at a later date. But for now, you're just happy you have your own little meeting place, with Vander. It'll do, for the time being.

[st-armand]

Pixel Play

( Reposted from @armands-sanctum ) Author’s Note: Request from @blueberry-soda57​ <3 Shout out to all my raccoons in the club, after finishing this I WILL be playing Maplestory, I kinda rushed it but everything i write can get multiple parts so :P

Content Warnings: Pre-established relationship, suggestive, being a basement dweller. Not proofread (yet ill get to it in the morning)

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist

Hobie doesn’t like the word ‘Loser’ he feels that insults like that are always based in ableism, and as an autistic person (He’s sensory seeking) very wary of words rooted in ableist histories.

That being said he CHORTLES when you call yourself a ‘Loser Gamer’, he definitely sees why.

Early on in your relationship before he disclosed his identity as Spider-Man, he would text you before and after patrols, like at 4 AM

“Luv you awake?”

“Wanna crash a’ your flat for a bit?”

A beat in time, a few moments, and then a response would be received on his end, sat on the roof of a random building, leaning lazily on the fire escape, mask dripping sweat down his neck.

“K”

“Doors unlocked, busy rn”

Busy..? 

When he’s seen you during the day he has to PHYSICALLY force you to attend events; shows, galleries, demonstrations and protests, and you fight him off like a feral cat being trapped for a spay and neuter.

Your preferred way to spend your day, is sleeping, to the point where you would jump up at 4 PM, haven’t eaten anything or taken your meds. Hobie would watch the hours of the day pass by waiting for you to wake up, like Beth and Mary of Nazareth waiting for the resurrection of Lazarus.

He would take the initiative to get up (Usually 12-1 he’s a late riser too, but he pales in comparison to you) before you, feed your pets and make a quick breakfast or lunch, setting them aside for when you would arise later.

You always wake up in a daze, going in and out of sleep for an hour before fully getting up, and even then you made no plans to go outside and do anything, preferring the isolated 4 walls of your space, a sanctuary in the frenzied world of Earth-138.

In the hours you sleep he admires (snoops around) your space, gingerly looking at the figurines that grace your desks and shelves, animated characters in alternative outfits, and meticulously designed platforms, or looking over your multitudes of gaming consoles.

You don’t let him use them without explicit permission, you definitely don’t want Hobie to mess with your save data, he’s a genius but he never got the chance to be acquainted with gaming in his formative years because he was too busy surviving homelessness.

Hobie’s favorite aspect of your home is your computer setup, Hobie is a genius but he’s always blown away by the determination and time you put into modifying your setup.

Hard drives, Processors, Logic Board strewn about, cables interwoven between each other sloppily, making the small space even smaller and cramped, bed planted right next to your set up so you can wake and be connected onto the Wired as easy it is to breathe. (think the computer setup Lain had towards the end of the anime)

“Ya enjoyin’ yourself in your ‘obbit hole?”

“All connected yeah?”

When he does stagger his way to your place, you’re wide awake, furiously inputting on your keyboard or controller, cursing and hissing into your headset.

Brows furrowed in concentration as you quickly input combos, blocks, grabs.

Maybe you join parties with people on MMOs, your on call with them screaming and sniggering at the actions of the pixels that represent you and your friends, trying to complete obstacles, puzzles, and defeat bosses.

The sounds of your fingers clicking and pressing reverberate the walls from the sheer force, legs lifted up into your lap, in the most uncomfortable posture possible as you ignore the aches in your muscles to get one last game in, one last match, or a few hundred more mobs.

Hobie sits down softly on the bed beside you, watching you intently as you completely disregard his presence (he learns soon that this isn’t on purpose, you're just concentrated on your daily quests and bosses)

When you finally notice there’s something in the space with you, your take a slight glance behind you and scream, eyes not adjusted to the dark room from the searing LEDs of your multiple monitors, your eyes can’t register its Hobie.

“Oy pretty ‘s me, don’t go yellin’ like that someone’s gunna think youre dead”

“Oh fuck Hobie, I thought you were a ghost or something…”

At this point he’s fucking exhausted, and he really wants to snuggle, so he whines like a child trying to get you off the game, or gets an attitude at you when you say, 

“Please Hobie, baby, one more game and I’ll be off” 

cue the sun coming up as your still playing and Hobie knocked out drooling into one of your pillows, wicks splayed out and bent around because he couldn’t be bothered to put on a headscarf or a bonnet. 

(its giving those videos where gfs/wives unplug consoles so their partner pays attention to tasks around the house, except Hobie doesn’t know which chord does what and he doesn’t want to break anything considering it means so much to you.)

Currently in your relationship, Hobie (who can be quite creepy) after patrol likes to take off his heavy docs on your fire-escape, he will watch you game from outside the window, waiting for the perfect opportunity to… SLAM on your window, sending you flying 5 inches into the air, and cowering into your bed, abandoning your game and dying in the process.

After you’ve calmed down, he’ll slink into the room laughing hysterically,

“Shoulda seen your face luv, scared shitless!”

“Hobie the next time you make me die in a game; I’m letting you bleed out on my fire escape.”

You also act as his ‘person in the chair’, keeping track of coordinates, or structural plans to buildings in the city, digging through archives as he brings webbed justice done onto the heads of villains and criminals of all sorts, frantically hacking into CCTV cameras to keep track of his fights and warn him of sneak attacks or other assailants entering the quarrel. Desk littered with snacks, crumbs, and empty soda cans like “Valley Mist”.

Hobie sometimes gets shit from acquaintances at bars or venues who tease him about your appearance.

“Hobie, my bro, they’re just so plain, they just don’t have the look”

Comments like this piss Hobie off so much, some people don’t have the energy to perform beauty, some people just don’t want to and they shouldn’t have to, no matter which category you fall in or between.

Plus regardless he thinks you look adorable, hair strewn about from waking up at 3 PM, a treasure trove of comfortable sweats, adidas track sets, slides and comfy slippers.

But when you do perform beauty, a strike of pleasure ripples down his spine, you can’t blame him, he does forget how good you look sometimes.

“All dolled up, what’s the occasion, yeah?”

“Lookin’ bare leng today”

On days he’s feeling especially needy, he wraps his arms around your torso while playing, pinching and groping at your chest, trying to annoy you enough to the point where you stop playing and give him some kind of attention.

When you don’t he’ll resort to sucking deep purple bruises into your neck and shoulders that has you whimpering and crying softly at the pain, you immediately mute yourself in the game call.

If not that, he’ll stand next to you,

“Lemme ‘ave at it luv, wanna see whats goin’ on in this thing.”

(I play MMOs, Maplestory specifically so this is geared towards that)

You don’t let Hobie play on your characters where your key bindings are specified by class or fighting type, you let him choose his class and make a fresh character, he’ll start playing, frustrated at the boring leveling in the beginning.

He quits cause it’s so time consuming, but you end up grinding his levels a tad after every time he plays so he has new quests and areas to explore.

Regardless he loves his partner no matter what eccentricities they have, he takes every part of the package and values every piece of the puzzle.

[chloe-caulfield94]

The demonic bargain of the Storm

I think that the most accurate interpretation of Max's nightmare in general and the character of Other Max in particular is that it symbolizes an internal struggle of Max against her fear, self-doubt and self-loathing. I think that interpretation most likely corresponds to what the writers intended and is most firmly rooted in the game.

Having said that, I think there's also a different interpretation that fits the events of the game quite well. Not a psychological, but a metaphysical interpretation of Max's nightmare and the final choice. In which Other Max is not just a figment of Max's mind and the Storm is not just a meteorological phenomenon. Rather, they are both facets of an independent, conscious and malicious entity. An entity of the kind that we usually call demons.

Now, one might say that a demon would be out of place in Life is Strange. Would it really be, though? In Season 1 and BtS there's plenty of metaphysical events already.

Max's reality bending power that despite the best efforts of Max, Chloe and Warren cannot be explained away using "chaos theory". Chaos theory could only be used to explain the reverberating effects of rewinding time. But it most certainly doesn't explain how Max is manipulating time with a flick of her wrist.

Rachel's fire and/or wind based power, which was only teased and never thoroughly explored, but definitely seemed to escape any rational explanation.

Numerous sightings of various "spirit animals".

Rachel's ghost, in the form a doe, guiding Max to Rachel's grave.

Chloe's visions of William, which may have been just nightmares, but may also have been her communing with the dead.

The blue butterfly, which may have been a guardian angel, or another spirit animal, or something else entirely, but most certainly wasn't just an insect.

Life is Strange has always had a strong undercurrent of spiritualism and mysticism. Just listen to one of Samuel's talks.

So with all that already present in the game, is a demon really that far out?

Let's imagine that just like Samuel said, there's a powerful spirit lingering in Arcadia Bay. However, that being is anything but benevolent. You could call it a demon, you could call it a vengeful local deity. Maybe it has always been always hostile. Or maybe it is just a reflection of the hearts and souls of Arcadia Bay's dwellers. And as the dwellers became more and more hateful, cruel and greedy, they tainted the town's spirit too, making it malevolent.

Whatever it was and however it came to be the way it was in October of 2013, the spirit had acquired a taste for evil.

And the dwellers of Arcadia Bay provided a steady supply of it. Sadists kidnapping and tormenting others for their sick "art". Bullies driving others to the brink with their hatred. Drug dealers preying on minors.

But evil acts done by evil people quickly become predictable. Boring.

And that's when Max came back to town. Someone unique. Someone with a beautiful heart. Full of love, strength and courage, even if Max herself didn't realize it yet.

Just like Jefferson wanted to turn the "innocence" of his victims into "corruption", to taint, despoil, contaminate, brand them, the spirit wanted to do the same to Max. It wanted to empty her heart of love. To break her strength. To replace her courage with doubt. And that would be achieved by tempting Max, the genuinely good, kind and well-meaning person, into commiting the worst sin of all.

In the interpretation I'm proposing, the final choice represents Max being tempted to sin. The sin she is being tempted to commit is the rejection of love. Just like love (both romantic and platonic) is the root of everything good in the world, the rejection of love is the ultimate sin, in which all other sins are contained - hatred, greed, cruelty, disdain. Max is tempted to reject Chloe's love, to take back her own love, to erase it, to make it so that it never even happened.

One could say it's unfair to maintain that sacrificing Chloe would be a sin on Max's part, because she would do it to save the town. But that's the whole point! Temptation is not about presenting someone with a choice that is obviously evil, both at its core and at the surface. Temptation is about presenting someone with a choice that is evil in its essence, but is dressed up as something else. Usually it's dressed up as something alluring, something pleasurable.

But the best kind of temptation (and by "best" I mean the most insidious and most effective) way of tempting is to present something evil as something that would lead to "a greater good". To present something evil as a "necessary evil". To make someone consciously commit an act of evil by inducing in them a mistaken belief that there's no other way forward but to commit this act of evil.

That's precisely what Max is being tempted with. She is told to become an "everyday hero". To save her hometown. But to do that, she must commit the ultimate sin - reject love. This is truly a demonic bargain.

In my mind, by tearing up the photograph, Max defeats her tempation. She sees through the rotten, sadistic deal she has been offered. She chooses not to commit an act of evil. Rejecting love and friendship, taking back the hope you've given someone, leaving them to die alone, abandoned and afraid - it's always an act of evil. Always a sin. No matter what it would accomplish on the physical plane.

There is no such thing as a necessary evil. EVIL IS NEVER NECESSARY. And a lesser evil is evil still. You are only responsible for the things you choose. So if you choose evil, you are responsible for it. Even if it's a lesser evil, even if you've deluded yourself into thinking that it's a necessary one.

If you're presented with a choice to stop a greater evil at the cost of commiting a lesser evil and you refuse to do so, that doesn't make you responsible for the greater evil. On the contrary, it shows you chose no evil at all.