#or to paint it on a cheap wooden shield

[mootmead]

omg the moot's heraldy is a rooster-dragon 😳 . I absolutely NEED to embroider that

[joyfulcowboycandy]

The Oiran and Her Thief

Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

❥one shot

Trigger warning: chilhood sexual assault implied, obvious power imbalance, possessive behavior, unhealthy relationship and dependent reader... Mentions of suicide. Reader is emotionally dependent on Chrollo. Hinted prostitution (Not Y/n)

Content warning: Reader has albinism. She's an Oiran, and is pretty mentally messed up. I wrote this because I didn't know how else to deal with pent up emotions, If you've seen a similar plotline on AO3 That's my friend and I gave her permission to take heavy inspiration from me.

Note: This is the first part of multiple, but I still don't know if I want to post more than this part... This is pretty different from how HxH oneshots usually are so Idk if I wanna post more of this, it's preeetty niche? We'll see how this goes

fem Y/n

I dreamed of living in a cabin nestled beside a field bursting with wildflowers, each bloom more colorful than the last. My lover would be there, always by my side, never leaving me. I clung to this dream every night as I fell asleep on the rotting, paper-thin mattress in my mother’s cold, damp apartment. My white hair fanned out in every direction, and my mother’s frail, wrinkled fingers would comb through it absentmindedly. Her touch lacked warmth, her smell was sharp and unpleasant—not floral or soft like the field I dreamed of. Her body was sickly thin, too weak to shield me from the cruel winter chill, but I found solace in her presence regardless.

It was those very imperfections, the qualities others might find repellent, that made her my mother. I loved her for them, even when her fingers would tighten painfully in my hair or her nails would dig into my scalp, forcing my red eyes to lock with her furious e/c ones. I loved her even as she trembled from the aftermath of her work, chanting incoherent words into my ears while the stench of cheap cologne clung to her skin.

She protected me—at least, I believed she did. I was forbidden to leave the house unsupervised, and even then, my hair and face had to remain hidden. I hated it. I wanted to run outside, to play and laugh with the other children.

But that life was gone now.

I stared into my reflection, my crimson eyes fixed on the smooth layer of white I painted over my face. My kamuro, Momoka, held the palette steady for me, her small frame nearly trembling with excitement. To my right, my other kamuro, Hinagi, gazed at my reflection with a silent admiration that warmed my heart.

I had already spent nearly two hours being dressed in my heavy silks and fabrics. My elaborate hairstyle and the ornaments—most of them gifts from Chrollo—had taken an additional thirty minutes. The weight of it all pressed against my body, yet it was a sensation I’d grown used to after years of training.

“You are so beautiful, Y/n-sama,” Hinagi whispered, almost in awe. Her voice was soft, reverent, as though she spoke to a goddess.

My eyes shifted to her reflection. She was smiling now.

“I think so too, Y/n-sama!” Momoka chirped, her voice brighter, still holding the palette diligently.

A small smile graced my lips, careful not to disturb the meticulous makeup I had just applied. “Thank you, my dears,” I said, my tone gentle. “Hinagi, will you check to ensure I’m not late for my client?”

“Yes, of course!” she replied eagerly, bowing her head quickly before darting out of the room. The faint patter of her hurried footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, followed by the soft sound of the sliding door closing behind her.

As an oiran, I had the privilege of choosing my clients based on the gifts they presented. Over the years, I’d honed the ability to discern which of them could be useful to me—and by extension, the troupe. Beneath the guise of artful flirtation and polite conversation, I gathered the information Chrollo needed.

Still, my position was not without risk. My red eyes, left uncovered within the safety of the teahouse, marked me as rare and valuable—traits that could easily make me a target for trafficking or worse. But I was always under careful protection. The teahouse itself was impenetrable, and my proximity to other people at all times made it difficult for any would-be assailants. Of course, there were still attempts, but Feitan and Shalnark made sure those were swiftly dealt with.

In this country, I was the last oiran, a figure of mystery and allure—but to the Phantom Troupe, I was far more. I was their information gatherer, their key to unraveling secrets from the most dangerous and corrupt individuals who sought my company.

And all of this… was for Chrollo.

For the distorted version of the dream we once had together.

The click of the wooden sandals beneath my feet seemed louder than usual as I made my way through the corridors. Every step I took was accompanied by the gentle chime of the ornaments in my hair and the soft rustle of the heavy silks that adorned my body. Layers upon layers of fabric weighed down on me—each one carefully chosen to reflect the status I’d worked so hard to maintain. I moved with precision, my movements a delicate balance of grace and restraint. Even the smallest misstep could crack the illusion I’d perfected over the years.

The ornaments in my hair swayed with every step. A few pins, a delicate comb, a ribbon. Small tokens that tethered me to him, even as he left me to navigate this world alone. I told myself the silence he left behind didn’t ache as much as it did. That I didn’t long for him, waiting for the rare nights when his voice would pull me back from the edge, only for him to disappear again. But it wasn’t my place to demand more.

I was his treasure, after all. A gem meant to shine quietly where he placed me.

I adjusted my sleeves as I reached the room, carefully pulling them back so that the intricate embroidery on the silk caught the flickering light. Hinagi stood at the door, her small hands clasped tightly in front of her as she awaited my signal. Momoka hovered just behind me, holding the small tray that carried the sake I would offer to my guest. The soft weight of her presence reminded me of the years I had spent in training—learning how to serve, how to charm, how to survive.

“Y/n-sama,” Hinagi whispered, bowing low. “Shall I announce you?”

“Please,” I murmured, my voice even and calm, the way it always was when I stepped into these rooms.

Hinagi slid the door open, stepping inside first to bow to my client and announce my arrival. The scent of incense wafted out, mingling with the faint musk of sake. I stepped inside a moment later, lowering myself into a graceful bow, just deep enough to honor his position without sacrificing my own.

“Y/n-sama,” he greeted, his tone eager but restrained. His gaze lingered as I rose slowly, meeting his eyes with my own crimson ones. They widened, as they always did, as if he were caught in the pull of some spell.

“Goro-sama,” I said softly, my voice smooth as the sake I was about to offer him. “Thank you for your patience. I hope I did not keep you waiting too long.”

“Not at all,” he said quickly, motioning for me to sit. “Your presence is more than worth the wait.”

I settled down gracefully, arranging the layers of my kimono so they pooled around me like the petals of a flower. 

“Shall we drink?” I asked, reaching for the porcelain sake flask on the tray. Momoka had handed it to me moments before retreating silently. “It’s a fine night for it, don’t you think?”

His lips curved into a smile, and he nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

Pouring sake was an art form in itself, and I performed it with care, tilting the flask just enough for the stream to flow smoothly into his cup. I did not fill it to the brim—leaving room, as custom dictated, for the exchange to continue throughout the evening. When his cup was full, I lifted my own, though I knew it would remain untouched.

“To your health, Goro-sama,” I said, lifting the cup toward him in a toast.

He raised his in return, his eyes never leaving mine. “And to your beauty, Y/n-sama.”

I smiled softly, lowering my gaze just enough to give him the illusion of modesty. When I brought the cup to my lips, I tilted it carefully, letting the liquid touch the rim without drinking a single drop. Years of practice had made the motion seamless, and no client had ever questioned it.

As the sake began to take its hold, loosening his tongue, I listened intently, offering soft words of encouragement whenever he hesitated. My role was not to interrogate but to guide—gently, subtly, until he revealed what I needed to know.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe the treasures they talk about in the mountains,” he said, leaning closer as his voice dropped conspiratorially. “A relic of the heavens, they say. Cursed, too. Superstitious nonsense, of course.”

My hands rested lightly on my lap, my posture still perfect as my heart quickened. “How intriguing,” I said softly, tilting my head slightly. The ornaments in my hair chimed with the movement. “Such treasures must attract great interest, don’t they?”

He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. But only fools would risk such danger.”

I nodded, my eyes soft but calculating. Every word he spoke was another thread I could weave into the tapestry Chrollo sought. Every scrap of information was another step closer to his goals.

The thought of him lingered, unbidden. I imagined him seated here instead, his eyes dark and piercing as he unraveled my carefully constructed mask. He would see through it, as he always did, and for a fleeting moment, I would feel free. But he wasn’t here. He never was, not until I was at my breaking point. And when he left again, the cycle would start anew.

I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the man in front of me. My performance was flawless, as it always was. No one could see the cracks beneath the surface—not my clients, not my kamuro, not even myself if I worked hard enough.

I smiled, pouring him another cup of sake as the conversation drifted back to more mundane topics. Every moment I spent here was for Chrollo, for the Phantom Troupe. It was the role I had chosen, the role he had given me.

The night was a haze of laughter, sake, and secrets—an endless dance of pouring, smiling, and listening. Each client blurred into the next, their voices slurring together, their hands gesturing wildly as they rambled about power, wealth, and forbidden treasures. I smiled through it all, my painted face unchanging, my posture flawless, my voice as sweet and measured as the first sip of sake they took. It was what they paid for, after all. A beautiful, elegant oiran who would hang onto their every word as though each one was a revelation.

Tonight’s guest was no different. He sat cross-legged across from me, cheeks flushed with drink, leaning forward as he recounted some grand scheme to obtain an ancient artifact. His words slurred as he spoke, and the faint sour smell of alcohol filled the space between us. I poured him another drink, tilting the flask just enough to fill his cup to perfection, my hands steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.

“Y/n-sama,” he said, his voice thick with intoxication, “you’re truly a treasure. I could sit here forever just talking to you and looking into your beautiful, crimson eyes.”

My smile didn’t waver. “You flatter me, Kozui-sama. But surely, there are more exciting things to dream about than me.”

His laughter was loud and coarse, ringing out in stark contrast to the delicate chime of the ornaments in my hair. I resisted the urge to flinch. It wasn’t the worst thing I’d endured tonight—not by far.

“Nothing more exciting than this!” he declared, raising his cup in a toast to me. His words tumbled out in a jumble of admiration and incoherence, and I nodded along, letting him believe I cared.

But I didn’t. Not about him, not about his words, not about any of this.

What I cared about—what kept me anchored here, night after night—was the thought of Chrollo. Of his rare, fleeting smiles when I’d done something that pleased him. Of the way his voice softened when he spoke to me, even though it was never enough to fill the void he left behind. I endured this for him. For the troupe. For the promise we made when we were children.

The memory came unbidden, sharp and bittersweet.

"We’ll leave this place together," Chrollo had whispered, his voice filled with conviction. We were huddled beneath the ruins of some long-abandoned building in Meteor City, the scent of rust and decay all around us. "We’ll find somewhere better. Somewhere we can be happy."

I had believed him. I had clung to that promise like a lifeline, dreaming of the day we’d escape the filth and despair of that cursed city. But we hadn’t left. Not together, not in the way we imagined.

And now, here I was, far from Meteor City but no closer to happiness.

I excused myself from the room once the client had passed out, his drunken stupor rendering him useless for any further conversation. The kamuro would deal with him now, ensuring he was escorted out with the illusion of grace and dignity.

The hallway was empty as I made my way back to my quarters, the heavy silks of my kimono rustling softly with every step. The ornaments in my hair felt like weights dragging me down, their beauty a cruel reminder of the life I led. A life I had chosen, yes, but one that suffocated me all the same.

When I reached my room, I slid the door shut behind me with a deliberate slowness. The air inside was thick with the scent of incense—sweet and cloying, an oppressive presence I couldn’t escape. My gaze swept across the room, landing on the gifts Chrollo had left for me over the years. They were everywhere. Hairpins, combs, silks, jewelry, books. Trinkets meant to fill the void of his absence.

But they didn’t.

They only made it worse.

My hands trembled as I reached up to remove the ornaments from my hair, one by one. The first clattered to the floor, then the next, and the next, until they lay scattered around me like the pieces of my carefully crafted facade.

The silk obi came next, its intricate folds unwinding as I tugged at it, the fabric slipping through my fingers like water. I yanked at the layers of my kimono, ripping them free in a frenzy until I stood there in my undergarments, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

My breathing was ragged, my chest heaving as I stared at the pile of silk and ornaments around me.

And then the tears came.

They spilled down my painted cheeks, smearing the carefully applied makeup as sobs tore from my throat. The sound was raw, guttural, a wretched cry that echoed in the empty room. I sank to my knees, clutching at the fabric strewn around me, my fingers tangling in the fine silks as though they could somehow ground me.

It wasn’t enough.

I needed him.

Why wasn’t he here?

The question burned in my mind, a relentless refrain that only fueled the storm inside me. He always showed up when I was at my worst, didn’t he? Always there to pick up the pieces, to hold me close and whisper words that felt like promises even if they weren’t.

But he wasn’t here now.

I curled in on myself, trembling as the sobs subsided into quiet hiccups. My mind retreated to a safer place, somewhere far from the crushing weight of reality. I thought of simpler times, of the games we played as children, of the laughter and warmth we shared. Of the way Chrollo used to look at me, back when we were just two kids dreaming of a better life.

I clung to those memories, letting them wrap around me like a fragile cocoon. But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t hold forever.

He tells me he loves me. He tells me he loves me He tells me he loves me He tells me he loves me

The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of my breathing. The air feels heavier than before, pressing down on me, though I can’t say why. I sit motionless, staring at nothing, my hands limp in my lap.

Then, I feel it—a shift in the atmosphere. It’s subtle, like the faintest ripple in still water, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A presence.

I don’t move, unsure if I’m imagining things. My fingers twitch slightly, the only sign of my unease, but the feeling doesn’t go away. Instead, it grows, drawing nearer.

And then I know.

It’s him.

I don’t hear him approach, but I feel the weight of his gaze before I even turn. Slowly, as though time itself has slowed, I stand up and twist to face him.

Chrollo stands there, close enough to touch but impossibly distant, the dim light catching on the sharp angles of his face. His dark coat brushes his thighs, and his hands rest at his sides, one gloved, one bare. His eyes are fathomless, quiet yet intense, as if they hold all the answers I’ll never have the courage to ask for.

I can’t speak. Neither can he.

He steps forward, deliberate but unhurried, until he’s within reach. His gloved hand lifts first, the cool leather brushing against my cheek, and I flinch ever so slightly at the touch. The other hand, warm and bare, settles at my waist, the pressure gentle yet firm, guiding me closer.

My hands move on their own, gripping his coat tightly as if to tether myself to him. My fingers curl into the fabric, and I feel the coarse texture under my palms. My eyes trace his face—his sharp jaw, the faint shadow of stubble that catches the light, the way his lips remain parted, as though he’s about to speak but chooses not to.

I move forward without thinking, my body seeking his, pressing myself against him like a child reaching for something comforting. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as I rise onto my toes. His shoulder becomes my sanctuary, my forehead pressing against the rough fabric of his coat.

His arms shift, wrapping around me with a quiet tenderness. One hand rests against the small of my back, steady and anchoring, while the other brushes lightly against my hair. It’s not a tight hold—he isn’t clinging the way I am. His touch is measured, restrained, but he stays close, allowing me to bury myself in him.

I clutch him harder, fingers trembling as I tighten my grip. The fear that he’ll vanish seeps into me, and my chest aches with the weight of it. His presence is the only thing holding me together, even as he remains an enigma I can never fully grasp.

We sink down onto the futon, his movements slow and deliberate as he guides me to sit beside him. I don’t let go, my arms wrapped around him as though I can trap him here, keep him tethered to this moment.

His hands stay gentle, one resting lightly on my back, the other brushing over my arm. The contrast between his composure and my desperation gnaws at me, but I can’t bring myself to loosen my grip.

The room feels warmer now, his presence soaking into the air around us. Yet even with him here, the space between us feels vast, his silence an unspoken reminder of the things I can never understand about him.

I keep holding on, my face pressed against his shoulder, breathing in the faint, clean scent of him. My grip tightens further, my hands small and trembling against his broad frame. He doesn’t move to pull me away, but he doesn’t hold me as fiercely as I want him to.

Time slips past without meaning. My thoughts grow hazy, heavy, until exhaustion drags my eyelids shut.

And when I open them again, he’s gone.

[madhatterbri]

Changed | Hangman A.P.

Summary: A bank robbery in a small town leads to the realization of a familiar face. Wild West AU.

Author's Note: Happy birthday to everyone's favorite cowboy. ❤️

Hangman Masterlist

Taglist: @magicalbuttertarts @theworldofotps @hotgirlgraps @smallestsnarkestgirl

Mentions of: Hangman Adam Page, Don Callis, Bryan Danielson

Pure fiction

In the sleepy town of Independence, life moved at a slow pace. Citizens of the small town were rarely disturbed by any lawless activity. That changed one afternoon when Y/N, the daughter of Independence's wealthiest man, found herself in a situation that would alter her life forever.

Y/N's father, Don Callis, was a rich man. The Callis family was one of the first to settle in Independence. They helped build the town on fraud and corruption. Cheap parlor tricks performed on unsuspecting folks that kept the money coming in for the "family." Y/N aware of her father’s crooked ways often found herself questioning her father’s character.

One afternoon, Y/N walked into the town bank to make a deposit for her father. Out of all his loyal "family and friends," he only trusted her with the money. As she stood in line, her mind wandered to thoughts of escaping Independence and her father’s schemes. Maybe she would even find a nice man to marry. Her daydream was cut short when the bank doors burst open.

A man with a black bandana covering his face entered, with a revolver in his hand. He wore all black down to the boots. The robber took a few steps before stopping. Anger could be seen in his eyes when no one dropped to the floor.

“Everyone on the floor now!” he barked. His voice was rough. The revolver in his hand pointed at those that took a little too long to get down.

Panic erupted as customers and bank clerks alike dropped to the floor. Y/N, paralyzed in fear, noticed the revolver pointed at her. She quickly dropped to the ground. As she lay on the wooden floor, she couldn’t help but feel like she knew the robber. His mannerisms were so familiar.

The robber moved around the bank carefully, grabbing any money he could find and stuffing it in a sack. Y/N silently prayed to her dearly departed mother. She may have wanted to escape Independence, but not like this. Not buried six feet in the ground.

She thought of her father. The only biological family he had left was her. Who would take care of him in his much older years? It wasn't like he was getting younger.

When the robber reached the last drawer, he paused and looked around the room. Much to his delight, the room was still under his control. No one dared to go against him. His angry, light eyes locked on Y/N's, and realization set in for him. He knew her.

Before Y/N could process this, the sound of yelling could be heard outside. The man cursed, yet a thought crossed his mind. He grabbed Y/N by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

“You are coming with me and no funny business,” he growled. “You’re my ticket out of here.”

Y/N had no choice but to comply as he dragged her outside, using her as a human shield. The townsfolk watched in horror from the inside of buildings as the sheriff aimed his gun at the robber and his accomplices, wary of hitting Y/N.

“Stand down!" Her captor shouted. “Or the girl's blood and brains will paint the sand,”

The sheriff, a man by the name of Bryan Danielson, narrowed his eyes but lowered his weapon.

The robber laughed, a harsh sound that unsettled Y/N. “Smart man,"

In the tense standoff, Y/N found herself studying her captor’s face. Something about him that tugged at her memory. Adam Page. The man was Adam Page, son of a former hangman. When his father died, he disappeared.

“Adam,” Y/N whispered, hoping to be released in one piece. “Adam Page. Why are you doing this?”

His eyes flickered to her. "You are my ticket out of here. Now quiet,"

“This isn’t you. You were a good man. Your father wouldn't have wanted this for you,”

Adam’s grip on her arm loosened slightly. Regret washed over his face, yet he quickly recovered. “Times change, Y/N. People change.”

[egcdeath]

devil’s advocate - 1

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: life isn’t all that bad as an ex-black widow turned hit woman. that is, until you meet a certain pain in the ass vigilante.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: canon typical violence, ‘kidnapping’ but not really, swearing, mentions of offing people, slow burn, enemies to lovers, a lot of exposition

author's note: this is the first fic i’ve written in literal months, and my first time writing for matt ever, so please be kind because i'm more than a little rusty. this chapter is super short and mostly focuses on the reader for background, but don’t worry, we’ll get into the enemies to lovers goods later :p

You struggled against the ropes that were loosely binding your wrists together and tethering your body to a cheap, wooden chair. Whimpering against the filthy cloth in your mouth for the umpteenth time, you hoped that the dramatic scene you were putting up would be over sooner than later.

You almost had to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation– a former black widow feigning helplessness as she waited for some overrated vigilante to swoop out of the sky and save the day… but maybe that was someone else's M.O. It was hard to keep up with all of the heroes and vigilantes these days.

You almost pitied the useless goons that believed they were kidnapping some feeble woman who couldn’t do anything to protect herself other than kick and scream. But it was really all a ruse, not unlike anything else you did these days.

‘These days’ being the ones you spent at the New York Bulletin, sipping atrocious amounts of coffee, having surface level conversations with your officemates, and producing vapid, meaningless stories for residents of Hell’s Kitchen to read over their breakfasts so they could sip orange juice and ask themselves: “what has this city gone to?”

And that used to be enough. Really! Sure, at times it was a little repetitive and a little tedious. But it beat being one of Dreykov’s minions, doing unspeakable things to countless people under the instruction of someone else, and not being able to think for yourself, let alone make decisions of your own.

In fact, it had been your first choice of what to do after being un-brainwashed by former Black Widows: live in New York City and become a journalist. It had always been a dream of yours as a young girl to move to the big city and pursue your passion of writing. Of course, you hadn’t considered just how drab that lifestyle would be for a woman like yourself. Yet, Nat and Yelena got right to making those childish dreams a reality, getting you all the connections you needed, getting you a new identity, setting you up in an apartment near your workspace, and even giving you a few months worth of rent.

If only Nat and Yelena could see you now! You could almost picture the disappointment painted across their faces, working so hard to track you down and free your mind, only to find you killing countless people on your own free will. But it was your life, not theirs. And if they got to do what you did under the name of SHIELD, what was wrong with you doing what you do under your own name? If anything, it was more liberating... Right?

You grunted when a goon poked you with some sort of… stick. You couldn’t really tell with that loose blindfold over your eyes. It certainly didn’t hurt– even a person who wasn’t mildly enhanced like yourself wouldn’t let out a yelp– but the more noise you made and the greater the struggle you put up, the more likely you figured He would show up.

‘He’ being none other than the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself. Sure, you’d heard stories, seen the aftermath of his wrath, but you’d never really experienced it yourself– which was impressive, considering the amount of havoc you’d manage to wreak on the city since you’d moved in.

Despite your differing methods (he seemed to prefer the coma, while you were a fan of a coffin), you supposed you two weren’t all that different; you took hits on the same kinds of people he liked to take out, probably had a few common enemies, and had both made a bit of a name for yourselves in the media. (You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t written a story or two for the Bulletin about the illusive Widower).

But this hit wasn’t one of your own making. A shell company had reached out to you just a few days ago with the promise of $500,000 (yes, with five zeros), and protection from some of the cities’ more dangerous gangs if you were able to take out this Daredevil character for good. $500,000 was $500,000, and while you knew that the Devil was good, you were nearly positive you were better. In your mind it was a no-brainer. Easy money. Probably. Regardless, who were you to say no to half a million dollars?

You began to feel antsy at the thought of all the money coming your way. Of course, the money was just one of the many benefits that would come with getting Daredevil off of the streets. With him gone, you could finally do your job in peace without constantly having to look over your shoulder, or having to deal with clients acting much more shady than what was absolutely necessary. Sure, you’d never come face-to-face with him, but you were almost certain that you were somewhere on his radar, and the sooner you could get rid of his radar altogether the better.

That was how you ended up here, in an empty, rotting warehouse, tied up by gullible amateurs you’d found on the internet who were foolish enough to not ask questions, and clumsy enough to be framed for the murder of the city’s beloved Devil. (Which you’d totally be assisting in with the help of the Bulletin. And no matter how much you loved her, Karen would not be able to pry this story away from your cold, dead hands.)

The sense of anticipation in your stomach was coming to an all-time high as you noticed the shuffling of henchmen begin to move further and further away from you. You knew it was only a matter of time before Daredevil would make his big appearance, taking down the bad guys to save little-ol’-you– kidnaped, helpless, tied up, and whimpering.

As if your thoughts had single handedly conjured the man himself, you began to hear a rustle outside of the warehouse; a slight struggle with the rather hefty door.

You slipped your blindfold down your face with a slightly contorted shoulder, and resisted the urge to smirk and mutter an ‘I told you so’ to the rest of the world. The masked vigilante had now burst down the door with ease, standing valiantly behind it, proud to have caught yet another gang of no-good guys in his city.

It just so happened that he was also exactly where you needed him to be.

next part

[queensconquest]

@aristarchos​ said: He knew He Xuan would feel embarrassed if he found him snooping around his apartment. Well, after last night he had lost his clothes and was in need of new ones. He quietly opens one of the worn down wooden drawers, trying to ensure he didn't wake He Xuan with his noise. He looked over what was inside, a gentle smile on his lips as he picked out a black t-shirt and brought it to his nose, taking in the smell of cheap laundry detergent and along with faded cigarette smoke.

While it may have been true, He Xuan didn't have much, it was never something that bothered Hua Cheng. After all, there was a time when he also didn't have much. He felt more at home in this tiny apartment then he did back in his own home. So he took his time walking around, quietly taking in all the little details. The stack of books that had been read through, and the other stack that he was probably planning to get through next. All the little things that made this place his, and Hua Cheng felt lucky to see it.

When he had finished his round he quietly sunk back into the bed, not bothering with the blanket. He leans in close and presses a kiss to He Xuan's cheek. ' Are you awake?' he asks warmly. // aquarium verse cuz this has been swimming in my mind today.

   He  Xuan  laid  tightly  curled  up  in  a  fetal  position  as  he  slept  ,  his  chest  slowly  rising  and  falling  in  a  steady  rhythm.  It  was  a  habit  born  from  youth  ,  a  way  to  draw  into  himself  for  comfort  and  warmth.  To  a  degree  it  had  always  worked.  It  didn’t  fend  off  hunger  ,  but  it  could  keep  his  silent  fears  trapped  and  offer  some  warmth  when  only  thin  walls  and  blankets  could  help.  Things  were  better  ,  but  he  always  ended  up  curled  up  like  that  like  he  was  shielding  himself  from  the  world  and  its  cruel  bite.  Oh  but  it  only  worked  so  much. 

   His  place  wasn’t  much  ;  cheap  and  it  showed.  A  run  down  old  table  and  two  chairs  (  why  ?  He  wasn’t  sure.  He  never  had  anyone  over  )  ,  beat-up  cabinets  that  sometimes  squeaked  when  opened  ,  creaky  floors  ,  faded  paint.  Items  were  scarce  beyond  the  books  and  journals  and  pens  that  cluttered  up  the  sole  desk  in  the  tiny  studio.  A  shirt  tossed  aside  ,  a  pan  resting  in  the  sink.  A  rather  dismal  place  but  a  place  nonetheless.

   He  contemplates  not  answering  as  he  feels  the  bed  dip  under  the  weight  of  Hua  Cheng  and  felt  the  kiss  pressed  to  his  check.  He  doesn’t  bother  to  open  his  eyes  nor  does  he  change  his  slow  breathing.  “  No.  “  He  Xuan  answers  after  a  few  seconds  had  dragged  by ,  voice  only  carrying  small  traces  of  sleepiness  despite  the  fact  he  hadn’t  stirred.  He  Xuan  had  woken  to  the  sounds  of  Hua  Cheng  wandering  ;  or  at  least  come  back  from  the  restroom  if  the  sound  was  anything  to  guess  by.

   “  Very  much  fast  asleep.  “  Already  familiar  sarcasm  decides  to  slip  into  his  tone  but  He  Xuan  at  least  finally  uncurls  himself  from  his  position  to  let  himself  stretch  out  with  a  series  of  popping  and  cracking  noises  till  he  lies  still.  All  with  his  eyes  still  shut  to  purposefully  ignore  the  man  beside  him.

   But  eventually  they  do  in  fact  open  ,  gold  eyes  bright  and  focused  on  Hua  Cheng.  Why  would  this  man  even  want  to  be  here  ?  There  were  far  better  places  than  his  run  down  apartment  in  one  of  the  worst  parts  of  town.  He  Xuan  wonders  ,  but  he  does  not  ask  for  fear  of  what  the  answer  might  be.  

   He  lefts  a  hand  ,  prodding  Hua  Cheng  in  the  chest.  “  What  is  it  ?  You  asked  for  a  reason.  “  He  finally  encourages  conversation  further.  He  still  had  eggs  to  make  breakfast.  Maybe.  Toast  ,  if  nothing  else.

[perfeggso]

every fortress falls (AKIRA x NCT)

Please enjoy this anime-kpop crossover for the Lights, Camera, Fanfiction event hosted by @supermwritersnet​! I chose to write for Shotaro and one of my favorite fictional universes ever, Akira’s Neo-Tokyo. If you know Akira, my story will run parallel to the canon plot. If not, I hope you give this a try and enjoy anyway and I highly recommend the source material! <3

If you’re interested, here is my AKIRA playlist. 

Setting of Akira: It has been thirty years since the end of WWIII, begun due to the detonation of an unidentified superweapon known only as “Akira” over Tokyo. The incident and subsequent war decimated the city which was rebuilt into Neo-Tokyo, a corrupt and crime-ridden megalopolis centered on an artificial island in Tokyo Bay.

Characters: Shotaro, Sungchan, Yuta, Akira main characters, other NCT members upcoming. 

Genres: cyberpunk, sci-fi, action/adventure 

Warnings: drug use/abuse, gangs, some swearing, eventual graphic violence

Rating: mature but not explicit 

Chapter length: 1.3k

Chapter 1:

The capsule cradled in Shotaro’s palm is red and white and shiny, like the earrings that Noriko would wear and which, when Shotaro asked, he found out were supposed to look like “blood and come,” respectively. The drone of Tanaka-Sensei’s voice from the front of the classroom barely penetrates the cloak of sullen disruption shielding Shotaro’s wooden amphitheater seat in classroom 12 of the Eighth District Vocational Training School. Even though realistically no one is paying attention, Shotaro tries to hold the pill so that his hand is obscured by his row’s shared desk. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous; Tanaka-Sensei is barely commanding control of the room as he attempts to explain how a carburetor works, the closest kid to Shotaro is reading a girly magazine, and everyone at the school is well aware that you can buy as many of these pills as any broke student could afford from the nurse’s office.

It’s just, Shotaro reasons as the patent-leather-like curves of the capsule glint in the jaundiced combination of natural and fluorescent light, he’s always been a good kid. He doesn’t do things like this – at least that’s what Yuta constantly tells him. He doesn’t buy drugs – no matter how cheap they are – from Kaneda’s girlfriend of all people, and he certainly doesn’t take them. Kaneda, Shotaro has always felt, is inextricably linked to him. For one, Shotaro Kaneda’s family name is the same as Shotaro’s given name (though they use slightly different kanji if anyone ever cared to notice). For another thing, the two boys have known of each other since early childhood, having come up in the same orphanage and school system for boys deemed by the state to be “lacking in future prospects.” (Shotaro doesn’t think this label really applies to him; it’s not his fault he doesn’t really like academics and the one activity he really enjoys – dancing – is far too expensive for him to pursue). For a final, crucial thing, Kaneda is the leader of the Capsules, the rival gang to Yuta’s Clowns. The fact that Kaneda could very literally kill Shotaro’s adoptive brother of sorts any day now understandably precludes him from feeling much of an affinity towards his classmate.

Shotaro has been taunted more times than he can remember for being the “boring” Shotaro. But if skating by under the radar to receive his vocational high school diploma, getting out, and not being sent to Jaws for discipline twice a week is boring to his classmates, Shotaro doesn’t really care.

Well, he didn’t care, until he had gotten to thinking one day last week. It started when he’d found Yuta’s stash of drugs. Yuta tries very hard to keep any evidence of his dependency from his little brother, but he’s not always great at it. Over the years, Shotaro couldn’t help but notice the blissful calm which comes over Yuta when Shotaro has caught him thinking he was taking the stuff in private. Nor could Shotaro help but register the ensuing boost in energy and motivation. It had always made him wonder even if Yuta categorically forbid it and he was good at smothering his curiosity. When Shotaro came to school the next day and mentioned finding Yuta’s pills offhand to Sungchan, the younger boy proved less adept at quashing his hunger for new experiences, and Shotaro had begun to truly let his imagination get the best of him.

“Hey!” The harsh whisper startles Shotaro out of his preoccupation with the look and feel of his capsule, to the extent that he almost blunders and drops it down the five graduated rows of seats below him. But fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he holds on.

The voice is as familiar as the backseat of Yuta’s motorcycle and coming from the level of seats behind Shotaro, so he turns around. Class has devolved to the point that having a full conversation stage-whisper style is about the least disruptive thing occurring.

Sungchan’s oversized frame and comforting smile loom over Shotaro from above, like a benevolent version of the mechanical surveillance vultures Sungchan had once gushed in horror that the American government was trying to build.

“Did I scare you?” Sungchan asks.

Shotaro fakes a glare at his best friend, but only ends up chuckling.

“How could I be scared by a 185cm walking teddy-bear?”

Sungchan tries to look hurt but giggles right back.

“Did you get the stuff?”

Shotaro nods, angling his hand so Sungchan can see the pill.

“Why were you so late to class?” Shotaro asks, feeling irrational panic nipping at the edges of his mind for the first time all day to suggest that maybe Sungchan was held up because someone caught him with drugs. Shotaro wonders why this thought hadn’t occurred to him earlier, hoping that’s an indication of its ridiculousness.

“I got caught up talking to Sawako in the nurse’s office,” Sungchan explains, and Shotaro relaxes a little. “She was very chatty for some reason and I felt bad. I think she’s lonely. Did you know Kaneda got her pregnant?”

“No, what?” Shotaro makes a face as disapproving as he feels. “That asshole. Of course he wouldn’t use protection. Ugh, anyway. Did you get what you wanted? Everything go smoothly?”

Sungchan pulls a button-size plastic bag from his pocket and displays, not quite covertly enough for Shotaro’s liking but he’ll live, the identical red and white capsule within.

“Perfect.”

“I was thinking,” Sungchan continues, “Sawako said she thinks there’ll be a battle between the Capsules and the Clowns tonight. Should we try to catch some of it?”

Shotaro leans his elbows onto the desk in front of his friend and smiles, indulgent.

“While we’re high for the first time? Sounds like a shitty idea.” Sungchan pouts like Shotaro knew he would, so he adds a “we can feel it out in the moment, though,” because he is a weak man when it comes to Sungchan’s wants and needs. They are both that way towards each other, even when it gets them into trouble. But as Yuta always says, “memorable trouble is worth it”; i.e., if it makes a good story in the future, might as well go for it.

“Yuta would kill me if he found out though,” Shotaro wagers, “and I mean that literally.”

The last class of the day ends as he’s speaking and he and Sungchan make plans for meeting in the evening as they filter out of the musty, chipping paint, brutalist structure which is supposed to pass for a place of learning.

Shotaro finds Yuta where he always does after school: unsheathing his motorcycle in the back parking lot.

Yuta’s bike is a souped-up Honda painted to look like a 1940s bomber. Yuta wears a black leather biking suit he probably slipped on in the men’s room before heading out and pulls a helmet decorated with clown makeup over his black mullet as he greets his little brother, following the exchange by offering a similar helmet to Shotaro.

They hop on and head out onto the streets of Neo-Tokyo. Skyscrapers tower grey in the daytime light what feels like miles above the litter-strewn street and block out the sun. They’re so massive they could probably each hold an entire city’s worth of people, Shotaro reckons, and they move sluggishly in opposition to the trajectory of the bike, like cargo ships trudging against water.

“Good day?” Yuta asks when they stop at an intersection next to Flower Alley Mall.

“Yeah,” Shotaro assures. “Sungchan heard something about a battle tonight? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but he’s right,” Yuta admits. “But don’t try to tag along or I’ll murder you.”

With that, the light turns and Shotaro grabs hold of Yuta, mumbling “I know” fondly into his shoulder. They zip away like that the rest of the way to their apartment, the capsule burning nuclear in Shotaro’s pocket as he’s left to ponder his next move.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 39: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

An umbilical cord in a neat wooden box, lined with velvet. The cord itself has small, glassy eyes over its surface.

A disc of black iron four inches across and almost an inch thick, set with raised sigils around the edge, one side having a leather cover held in place by a strap. If the cover is removed a spiraling set of sigils is revealed, each like a twisted spider and there is something deeply unwholesome in the way they hold the eye and seemed to writhe. Touching the sigils underneath the cover creates feeling of extreme pain as if the disc was white hot iron. The feelings dissipate the second the disc isn’t making direct contact with skin.  

An iron bracelet shaped like a coiled serpent with rhodochrosite eyes.

A simple looking box made of plain, unstained and untreated pine boards. The box is two feet high, three feet wide and one foot deep, and has horrific pictures of undead silhouettes burned on the outside of it. The lid is attached by a simple brass hinge and bears foul necromantic symbols. Inside, the box holds ashes that look suspiciously like cremation remains.

A roll of old bandages that has been inked with strange pictograms.

An unusual standing lamp made of brass sporting a vented wheel over top of its wick and a number of crystal chimes along its outer edges. When lit, the rising hot air from the flame slowly turns the wheel which has a number of outward reaching pins which strike the chimes creating soothing tinkling noises, while the light refracting from the crystals creates a rosy glow. While much more suited for an upscale pleasure den, the lamp is sturdy enough for travel if carefully wrapped in fabric beforehand. The lamp will burn for six hours on a flask (One pint) of oil.

A pewter goblet with dark and rancid blood lurking within. The lip is black and caked where it appears others have tasted from it. Scratched deep into the pewter are the words "Taste My Fear."

A vest fashioned from the hide of a large darkhaired ape.

A gallon jug of thick smoky glass wrapped in braided twine. The container is filled with a potent liquor strong enough to strip paint from wood. Only the eldest brigands of the wildlands know the secret to distilling a libation so pure. The devout have no need of drink, but vagabonds always thirst for more. One who consumes this superior moonshine feels they can take on the world and is filled with resolve.

A demonic gnoll totem of gold and silver coins hammered and nailed into a chunk of wood topped with a sheep skull.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An umbilical cord in a neat wooden box, lined with velvet. The cord itself has small, glassy eyes over its surface.

A disc of black iron four inches across and almost an inch thick, set with raised sigils around the edge, one side having a leather cover held in place by a strap. If the cover is removed a spiraling set of sigils is revealed, each like a twisted spider and there is something deeply unwholesome in the way they hold the eye and seemed to writhe. Touching the sigils underneath the cover creates feeling of extreme pain as if the disc was white hot iron. The feelings dissipate the second the disc isn’t making direct contact with skin.  

An iron bracelet shaped like a coiled serpent with rhodochrosite eyes.

A simple looking box made of plain, unstained and untreated pine boards. The box is two feet high, three feet wide and one foot deep, and has horrific pictures of undead silhouettes burned on the outside of it. The lid is attached by a simple brass hinge and bears foul necromantic symbols. Inside, the box holds ashes that look suspiciously like cremation remains.

A roll of old bandages that has been inked with strange pictograms.

An unusual standing lamp made of brass sporting a vented wheel over top of its wick and a number of crystal chimes along its outer edges. When lit, the rising hot air from the flame slowly turns the wheel which has a number of outward reaching pins which strike the chimes creating soothing tinkling noises, while the light refracting from the crystals creates a rosy glow. While much more suited for an upscale pleasure den, the lamp is sturdy enough for travel if carefully wrapped in fabric beforehand. The lamp will burn for six hours on a flask (One pint) of oil.

A pewter goblet with dark and rancid blood lurking within. The lip is black and caked where it appears others have tasted from it. Scratched deep into the pewter are the words "Taste My Fear."

A vest fashioned from the hide of a large darkhaired ape.

A gallon jug of thick smoky glass wrapped in braided twine. The container is filled with a potent liquor strong enough to strip paint from wood. Only the eldest brigands of the wildlands know the secret to distilling a libation so pure. The devout have no need of drink, but vagabonds always thirst for more. One who consumes this superior moonshine feels they can take on the world and is filled with resolve.

A demonic gnoll totem of gold and silver coins hammered and nailed into a chunk of wood topped with a sheep skull.

A shard of a mirror that shows strange shadows in its reflections.

A bizarre, metallic lump of iridescent crystals of concentric geometric shapes expanding outward in rough steps. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as bismuth.

A small silver dish inscribed with a smiling moon that will fill with fresh milk or food when placed in front of kittens, orphans, and kindly old half-blind men.

A black glass orb eight inches in diameter, that appears to have octopus tentacles that reach to grasp the inside of the sphere. Often, they separate, revealing one large cephalopod eye.

A steel mirror set in a fanged maw of iron.

A mask made from white ceramic in the round shape of a cherubic human child’s face. The lips are painted bright red and the hair deep black. The eyes are blank and empty.

A one gallon cask of Well Wishes Whisky that has a smooth finish and a warm, golden scent. This whisky is distilled from an ancient wishing well and rumor has it that the liquor grants people luck when drunk. Knowledgeable PC’s have heard that it is especially popular among students at the Wizard Academy during exam time.

A mage’s rod made of the smoothest black wood. It stands about three feet in height and had a base of five inches or so. At the top held by four intertwining pieces of silver ivy is held a crystal orb.

A set of pewter tankards, five in all, which have various pictures of historic castles and their coats of arms. On the back of each tankard is a verse which, if deciphered, will reveal a ribald and amusing fact about the holders of the coats of arms.

A small leather pouch, about the size of a book. Unfastened, it reveals inside several sheets of fine writing paper, a wooden stylus, a wax tablet, two quills and a pen-knife plus a small bottle of ink. A careful examination of one of the sheets of paper will reveal that it bears the impression of what was written on the sheet above it (now long gone). This will be the first half of a letter that gives some tantalizing hints regarding a mystery of the DM’s choosing.

A tall, black hat of a witchfinder, inside the hat is sewn the name Erasmus Pottingley.

A roughly circular slab of obsidian an inch thick, or thereabouts, and just the right size to be cradled comfortably in one's palms. Roughly shaped around its circumference, though one broad side is simply stone-pecked to a slightly convex, pitted surface the other has been polished to such a high degree that the surface is unblemished as still water. Perfectly smooth, the polished side can act as a fine (If dark) mirror. Those who peer into the silky smooth reflective face of slab long enough, however, see floating within the midnight depths a rendition of the starry skies in smoky points of light. Focused on the zodiacal constellations, these tiny dark "stars" change with the day and the seasons in perfect step with those in the sky above.

A small idol made of bone and crimson gems of unknown nature. It represents the blackened skull of a horned ox with six red eyes that seem to gleam slightly in the dark.

A burlap sack in which is stored a 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations. The foodstuffs take the semi-appetizing form of sparrow jerky which has been pressed into small cakes of many thin sheets. Each cake is wrapped its own linen cloth for travel.  

A cherry-wood box carved with arcane symbols of conjuration and binding. The interior is covered with scratches made by small claws. Knowledge PC’s can deduce from the nature of the magical runes that the box is meant to trap and contain an imp so that it can be become a mage’s familiar.

A fine pine box bound with a leather strap. Inside are five hand rolled cigars. They smell of spice, toasted almonds, and honey. They look quite expensive.

A small ivory box, carefully engraved at all sides. It depicts scenes of a nobility: feasts, dances, a marriage, and peasants tending fields. On the inside, it is divided into small square compartments. They were probably meant to store makeup or perfumes, yet none remain. It might have been part of noble bride's dowry.

An old but seemingly undamaged piece of abstract art containing a pattern designed to befuddle the viewer's brain.

A floor tile with a footprint on it that reads: "Step here to summon Balog." The tile is slightly charred.

A cheap wax seal stamp, depicting a generic shield shape.

A light woman’s coat with the emblem of a gryphon embroidered to the back of it.

A black obsidian crystal sphere filled with a dark inky fluid. Inside the sphere is a small white dodecahedron with black text on each of its faces. The sphere gives off a faint divination aura.

A pewter brooch with a galloping horse embossed on it.

A silver turtle shaped locket with a black opal shell. Inside the locket is a picture of somebody's loved one.

A scabbard of black ash and bronze decorated with a sneering bearded face with tourmaline eyes. It is suitable for longsword or similar straight blade.

A large tapestry depicting an ancient battle with tentacled monsters.

A missing poster with the image of a well dressed Minotaur and his children. It reads, “Hyam Hyrule. A loving, kind and down to earth family man. 200 gold reward to whoever can find him alive.”

A candle made from the grisly, severed hand of a hanged criminal, if lit it is believed to help people remain undetected as they enter an abode.

A soft cloth handkerchief on which is a limerick, written in blood: There once was a man with one sandal. His appetites most couldn't handle. He stalks the streets hunting souls. Cooks their feets over coals. And writes limericks about being a cannibal. A soft cloth handkerchief splattered with blood.

A scrap of parchment that reads; "It is done. Meet me in the graveyard at dawn, near the crypt."

A fine doublet of incredible intricacy and beauty, with a pattern of nymphs playing in a garden along the back.

A beautiful painting of a late autumn lake in the forest. The longer you look at it, the more mesmerizing it becomes. As you stare, the leaves on the trees seems to jostle in the wind, the lake seems to breathe as water, and the clouds seem to drift ever so slightly into the sunset, like a portal into a perfect glimmer of peace. The only curiosity is a sad old man with a gnarled crown sitting upon a small bench, not quite in the foreground though impossible to ignore. He seems to loom over the lake, and is vaguely familiar… He seems to weep, giving the painting a sense of loss and sadness, as if this world so perfect was dying with him.

A boldly colored quartz the size of a pigeon’s egg, etched and painted in such a way that when it is placed to one’s eye in the light, they see a clever but naughty image of a beautiful person in the nude.

A baby’s blanket made of the finest cloth. It was kept in a mothballed container for years. It smells faintly of mint, as if someone meant to store it for a very long time.

A durable, clear glass bottle filled with ashes and a note. The says “These are my wife's ashes. She always wanted to see the world but spent her life looking after me and our children. Please take her with you on your travels, we'd both appreciate it”.

A spiked red leather dog collar with a steel dog tag on it that  reads “Murderface”.

A sadistic violin that no matter how much it’s tuned, will always play terribly. The instrument seems to want to annoy and bring misery to as many people as it can. If anyone ever starts to actually enjoy the out of tune music, the violin will change to a different worse sound, ensuring no listener ever brought joy by its sounds.

A fist-sized glass bauble with beautiful coruscating colored lights inside.

An iron gorget with a large peridot in the center of it.

An ancient cup, now cracked and chipped, that was carefully carved out of a single large block of translucent red amber.

A simple framed painting of a figure leaning back in a chair, it's face shrouded in shadow.

A small, black, triangular stone, about the size of a human's fist. Engraved in the center is a spiraling mark.

A perverse and gaudy replica of a cleric's mask. When this facial covering is worn, the spirit feels nebulous, boundless even. The vast distances between each being dissolves, revealing a vision of the world beheld by a thousandfold eyes.

A censer filled with perfumed incense that can be held or hung from chains. The sweet smell wafting from this censer hides a poisonous reaction within. Knowledgeable PC's will know by the style of the stylized inscriptions that cultists used these burnt offerings to confuse and confound their senses. In a state of rapturous delirium, they behold obscene truths and righteous falsehoods.

A crudely made jack in the box child’s toy constructed from unfinished unpainted pine carelessly hammered together with varying sized of nails. The crank is a rough twist of metal bound with a length of burlap over the handle. On the front of the box, burned into the wood are the words “Turn the crank, close your eyes, and pray to the gods for a pleasant surprise.”

A stone tablet with fine holes drilled through it that seem to be arranged in some sort of pattern.

A bracelet of bone beads carved into skulls, the eyes are polished jet.

A brass monocular telescope, etched with decorative markings, but due to poor maintenance, stuck in its collapsed state.

A wooden peg-leg in the shape of a dragon's leg complete with splayed-toed clawed foot tipped with hooked claws of iron.

A shipwreck in a water-filled glass globe. At the bottom is a massive kraken with tentacles up through the water. The ship is in big pieces that float with different levels of buoyancy. There are tiny sailors that float and sink to the bottom.

An incredibly life-like sandstone statue of a cockatiel.

A chipped and cracked porcelain tea cup with a rose and leaf motif marked with a stamp on its bottom in an unknown language.

An agate scarab the size of a human palm with writing in Mulhorandi that reads "Even in death, I serve".

A brass and crystal hourglass that when turned over plays softly tinkling chimes as the sand passes through it for the unit of time known as a "song", lasting a minute or two.

A seemingly normal conch shell. When pressed to the ear, faint sounds of surf and wind, rustling palms and crying gulls can be heard. The area around the listener's ear is specked with sand afterwards.

A pair of carefully wrapped baby shoes, never worn.

A silver holy symbol sculpted to resemble a shining sun. Such an image is sometimes used by clerics and paladins not associated with any particular deity. The amulet is small enough to be gripped in one hand and a religious bearer can feel that it contains the divine spark of a truly holy object.

A gilded acorn containing a feather, a tuft of fur and a fish tail.

A one gallon cask of The Nine Hells, an alcoholic beverage that's traditionally served in tiny flasks. The drink is a very potent brew of vodka, extra-strength peppermint, pure capsaicin extract and garnished with a single drop of wolf's blood in each serving.

A violet shawl that twists and melds with the darkness, becoming as black as coal in even the faintest shadow.

A swirly mahogany wand that changes to a different color every night at midnight.

A copper chalice engraved with a geometric pattern.

A wooden jeweler box with copper detailing.

A simple chunk of flint broken off of a larger rock eons ago by natural forces. A closer inspection, however, reveals one edge of the rock has been carefully napped down to a razor edge, while the opposite side has been shaped into a crude handgrip. Small, primitive figures of deer, wolves, and bears are etched into the stone. The carvings sometimes appear to have changed places of their own accord, though they never move while being observed.

A brass statue of a winged wolf with quartz fangs.

A copper candle holder shaped like a galloping horse.

An embroidered silk tablecloth edged with lace.

A set of sheet music for a lost operetta composed by a respected composer.

An ornate scabbard set with agates of multiple colors.

A wooden flute from a birch tree from the feywild that sprouts small leafy branches.

A golden cloak clasp in a pattern of knotted vines covered in small leaves.

A large musical horn carved from the tusk of a mammoth and decorated with gold bands.

A brass lever nutcracker with head shaped like a bird of prey.

A drum made of dark oak and covered with hide from a giant elk with drumsticks carved from antlers.

A wand made of a sturdy ash. Each end is seamlessly reinforced with bronze.

A black chunk of obsidian that is roughly a round shape and has no sharp edges. Looking into its cloudy depths one can see an almost infinitely receding sea of gold, white, and blue flecks of colour. When held, the bearer will swear that he can hear the sound of perfect silence, the call of the infinite void...

A large forest green tapestry bearing a symbol stretching across its length switched in gilded thread. Its accented with white and red and all along its hem is a complicated mantra of magical sigils and signs.

An angular carved crystal vial holds a thin light blue liquid. The crystal vial feels chilled to the touch and when let sit for long periods of time it forms crystals throughout the liquid that quickly dissipate when disturbed again.

A porcelain disk painted with a detailed representation of the God of Random Domain.

A map to a series of underground tunnels with an area marked ‘tentacle-head’.

A set of sheet music for a popular folk song adapting it to tablature needed for a three-handed mandolin player.

A staff that more resembles a long and skinny marble column with white pearls embedded along its length. When used as a cane or walking stick, the wielder's step feels sturdy and secure.

A sturdy cloth backpack made of high quality cotton, adorned with exotic feathers and pretty cross stitches.

A small, framed painting of a castle, the details of which (The number of towers and parapets, the banners flown, siege weaponry on the battlements, and similar features) change subtly when no one is looking.

A crumpled map of Corvid Commons marked with the entrances to the hidden shrines of the Shrouded Lord.

A bewitched slip of paper which, if placed on the bark of a tree, reveals in writing the species of that tree.

The deed to a mysterious abandoned house in the Dreamers’ Quarter, wrapped around the brass key to the front door.

A fashion magazine, Rich Filth, describing the latest trends for the ultra-wealthy, including the most recent Slimewear, Cathedral Chic, and Roachdress looks, as well as even more outré fashions such as “Patching," which involves magically transplanting patches of flesh (Usually taken from corpses) to one's body in peculiar designs.

A taxidermy wolpertinger (A hybrid of rabbit, bird, squirrel, and deer) native to Mooncalf Valley.

A blackened diamond corrupted in a failed resurrection attempt.

[hhjs]

saudade. (holding on. letting go.)

pairing ⇁ lee know x reader.

genre ⇁ angst, borderline fluff.

trope ⇁ exes to lovers. (again, i know. but it’s a good fit for him imo idk why)

word count ⇁ 1.6 k.

It was an awfully precarious position that you put yourself in, that was most certain. In that childish, scary feeling that comes with loving someone but loving them anyway.

And yet, in retrospect, you concluded, you'd do it all over again.

"Keep it."

You stared up at Minho's glossed over stare, the blinking light above contributed to rendering a vague view of his rubicund face, the little ornaments glued on to complement his sparkly eyeshadow, the extravagant looking satin shirt and you concluded, if the strong stench of alcohol didn't already give away that it was certainly not complete sobriety with which he was speaking, everything else did.

Underneath the act of being confused about the packaged banana bread he'd passed to you from across the counter while you bagged the rest of his groceries, you took the luxury of staring at him in an unabashed way - the newly dyed black hair unkempt, the narrow jut of his nose, small set of lips, completed by big, feline-like eyes - which seemed to be stand out amongst all the aforementioned features- and you waited for it to hit you suddenly for the umpteenth time since your awfully confusing dynamic had begun to flesh out, like a rush of blood to the head it came, a realisation, a secret, - that you want this to mean something, you want this to mean something so bad it hurts.

"What?" His bored frown was quickly replaced by a set of pouted lips at your reluctance.

You wanted to hate Minho for it, his proclivity to be hot and cold that ever so often served as a reminder that this split wasn't at all cut and dry - now, you reasoned, aren't drunken gestures supposed to convey sober feelings? Or was it just nothing more than wishful thinking on your part? "It's your favourite."

Minho said this with such unwavering certainty, even in his inebriated stupor, that you wondered when he'd come to know you so well. If he knew everything about you. And when you let him. If you let him.

Your idle fingers made a quick move of shifting your cap down to shield an expression of fluster once you managed to tear your gaze off of his face. "Yeah." You cleared your throat, slowly repeating, "It's my favourite."

(He smiled lazily, slowly dragging his fingers to brush them against your cheek, in an unhesitating manner that conveyed touching you was a habit. And you begin to ask yourself where it all began, how it all started, how it got to this, you imagined holding a map before your perplexed face and looking for the routes, the passages, the oceans, the rivulets, the cities and every little thing that plotted your falling so miserably in love with Minho. All over again.)

...

When the engines rumbled again.

You were positive about two things; one, seven minutes in heaven had outlived all its contenders in the department of shitty alcohol induced games college students thrived on - and two, this wasn't the first time you were seeing Minho behind his moody barrier that initially gave you a different impression from the awfully cheerful personality he was around your miniscule circle of friends.

Through the course of being his ex partner, spending much time in his apartment, in his bed; maintaining a poor recreated "friendship" even after the breakup, you'd begun to understand that it was not intention that led Minho to assume the position of a renowned tsundere - 

But it was only just that he didn't know how to express himself. 

Though that wasn't true for your encounters. You were too familiar with him for his own good, not failing to notice the way he seemed to slacken around you, despite the big change in your dynamic, a permanent crack through which you could make out the unknown territories of his heart. 

That, to a great extent, satisfied you. 

There was a great opportunity to rekindle. Because in hindsight, it was merely a stupid fight that brought you to where you are; and frankly, with the kind of pride both of you had, it was impossible to know who’d take the first step.

Now that you think about it, it’s almost as if your friends put you up to the transpiring events, the setting suspiciously working in your favour.

Before your turn came up, you took note of Minho's unwillingness for the game when he tried to get up halfway but Jisung yanked him down with a sly grin on his face, like it was an apparent punishment for poking too cruel jokes at him; so now, you paused, partially hopeful, partially scared, watching Minho, if he objected with being paired with you, this was his chance to show it and you would tap out.

But Minho didn't say anything, sticking to simply following you behind through the famiiar territory of your flat. His footsteps mimicked yours, growing louder and louder. Softer and louder. Louder and softer.

After staring at the cracked paint of a wooden door that was now secluding you from the rest of your friends, an attempt to gather enough courage to let the situation sink in was being made - you were alone now, you could recognise his scent, under the fabric softener and after shave and cheap cologne, a distinct fragrance that solely belonged to him. It's the first time you'd been so close after he'd decided to break it off, the warmth radiating off of his body felt at a daunting proximity.

His long fingers ghosted along your shoulders in a smoothing down motion as he leaned forward to say something, his breath tickling the back of your neck.

You made a quick, impulsive gesture to flaunt how you were completely unfazed by this movement.

Minho gasped, the noise passing through pursed lips. His stare flickered between the now emptied solo cup in your hand to the purple stain on his sweater, blinking gaze scanning you with judgement, he held his arms up from his body and your interest for this game mitigated as fast as it surfaced.

"I told you not to carry drinks around the house. You always spill." He chided, shaking his head in dismay. It was impossible to think of a manner to immediately treat the stain in here, where accessing detergent was a distant remedy since you’re only surrounded by boots, heels and sneakers. You groaned, running your hands over your face, looking up at him through the gaps of your fingers, “Just take it off before it gets on your shirt, will you?”

He grumbled under his breath but resorted to slow compliance, pulling the dark fabric over his head, balling it up in his hands to set it atop a shoe box.

The blinking studio light above was on the verge of giving out but its fading colour still succeeded in bringing his sharp features to an intimidating exposition, dull gold dousing the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones, his mouth, his chin and the jut of his Adam's apple in thick, frequent splatters, out of reach in areas where his long eyelashes casted thin streaks of shadows.

It was only when Felix made an announcement of the remaining minutes you had at hand that you were pulled right out of your trance.

There was a faint blush pooling into his cheeks whilst his gaze flitted between your eyes to your mouth as if to communicate that he was making an attempt to gauge your intentions. He shoved his hands inside his pockets, assuming your stationarity for reluctance. "This is stupid." He huffed.

You rolled your eyes. "You act like we haven't done worse."

Minho avoided your gaze, his face only seemed to deepen in colour, "That's why it's stupid."

"But you’re blushing though!" You cooed, reaching out to pinch his reddening cheeks, which only seemed to aggravate the colour and subsequently prompted Minho to grab a hold of your wrist, pulling you close enough for you to make out the distinct black of his eyes, not a single speck of another colour visible in them.

"No, I'm not."

It was then that you decided to act on temptation, in a memorised manner. But also, not really. Because it's daunting, every time, you've to remind yourself that it's just as easy to let go of Minho as it is to hold onto him.

And in spite of this, it has always meant something so much more to you. So much more than you've allowed yourself to express.

No, you told yourself, you want him to come to you this time, you want him to tell you how he feels without making you wonder. You want him to want you for good or not at all.

But that doesn't stop you.

Minho raised an eyebrow, watching you attentively. Completely unsuspecting.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and pecked his parted lips briefly before returning to your position with a nervous tick of rubbing your hot nape over and over again.

The sudden act seemed to have deemed him speechless, his lips were still pouted, giving away that he hadn't quite recovered from the unanticipated kiss, blinking momentarily until his expression morphed to something indecipherable, giving away that a sudden thought had hit him.

He made a quick move of cupping your face with his hands as his thumbs swiped across your cheeks, kissing you in a proper fashion. You reached out to tug at his raven strands in an endeavour to deepen the gesture which elicited a deep throaty groan from him, prompting the act of bumping your head accidentally against the door.

You should've pushed him away, should've fed him some made up litany about how you were completely "over" him, like you'd practised in your head over the months -

But you didn't. You hadn't. You couldn't.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to.

[xallreaders]

Queen and Country

Courtiers rushed through the halls of the castle while decorators and caterers fretted about the quality of their work. Today was a day of vast importance; today was the day The Princess of House Yayorozu was to be crowned Queen.

Everything had to be perfect. All of the riches and power of the kingdom needed to be displayed. The coronation, after all, was a show of strength and prosperity. It was something that would show that the kingdom was still in a powerful position despite having a new ruler. 

The soon to be Queen was still in her chambers. It was a tasking day for her. Many would think that a day such as today would be jubilant for her, that a day where the entire kingdom celebrates in her name would be one of the fondest moments of her life. 

They would be incorrect.

The coronation was scheduled for midday exactly. Momo had been roused from her slumber at six in the morning in order to be prepared for the day’s events. It was now eleven and she was very nearly done. Her makeup and hair had been painstakingly prepared, with the time it took it seemed as though the handmaids had moved each hair on her head individually and had been able to paint a work rivalling the masters on her face. Though, she did have to admit that while time-consuming, she did find herself taken aback at her appearance. She couldn’t wait for you to see it.

Staring into the mirror she thought back to a more simple period of her life. Which led to her reminiscing about you. “Nine years,” she thought to herself.

~~~

It was an average day. For her at least. She’d woken up, washed, dressed and enjoyed a light breakfast. She planned to go riding that day, so she didn’t want anything too heavy. She had already sent people to prepare her horse and she made her way outside.

It was there her father found her. Next to him stood a young man, about her age, clearly nervous. He stood firmly and wore a straight face, though the sweat on his brow and tremble in his knees told the full story.

She looked at her father questioningly. Soon enough he spoke. “Momo, my dearest, I’d like for you to meet Sir Y/N of L/N.” His level tone carried its usual authority. “He is being assigned to your guard detail. Your mother and I both felt as though you could use the companionship of someone your own age, so young Sir Y/N here is to be made your personal bodyguard. I shall allow you two to become acquainted with each other.”

“Your grace,” you stated, rather out of nowhere, before bowing low. 

This action threw her off and she stammered “Oh, um… You may rise”.

Almost instantly, you bolted upright. “If I may ask,” you began, “where are we headed for today, your highness?”. 

~~~

Now, finally, she was ready to leave. Her handmaids had finished tightening her corset to inhumane levels and had tied her dress. She took her first step outside of her chambers, her first step to rulership.

The soon to be Queen walked through the hallways, every aspect of her appearance still being fussed over by her attendants. Not far ahead were the oh so familiar set of great wooden doors. An entry to the throne room that she had used countless times before, never before had they seemed so daunting.

~~~

She was seventeen, the two of you had known each other for a year. You’d become a lot less awkward very quickly, something she was thankful for. She laughed and understood when you explained that you had been intimidated by her title. 

The two of you had developed a good friendship. Something that truly made her happy, when you spoke there were no flowery formalities, no bows, just relaxed chatter. She trusted you entirely. So much so, that she confided in you one of her secret desires. 

It was something she’d read in a fable. About a member of the royal family sneaking out in the dead of night to visit the town under the guise of a peasant. It was something she had always dreamt of doing, being able to behave unrestrictedly.

You had only smirked...

~~~

It was midnight. You crept through the palace halls and gently knocked on Momo’s door. She answered, clearly tired and confused. The sight of you in casual clothes seemed to rid her of the drowsiness, but confuse her further. You smiled and threw her something. She unfurled it and found a rather cheap dress. You winked and she knew exactly what you had planned.

That night was easily the most fun she had ever had. You snuck into a tavern, laughed, danced and sang. The two of you spun until you fell and laughed until your vision blurred. You became best friends with people who you’d met five minutes ago and when they had to leave you made new friends. 

Later that night, or as it could be phrased, early the next morning. The two of you stumbled back to the palace. You snuck through the woods to sneak in through the cook’s entrance. Still laughing, Momo fell to the floor pulling you on top of her. 

All laughter ceased.

You stared into her eyes, your mind absent. Slowly, you kissed her. Surprise took her, but she kissed back.

~~~

You headed towards the palace. The coronation was to take place soon. You had been busy, making sure security was airtight. The people were out en masse so anyone could be hiding anything. You’d done your job, the gates and walls were secure and guardsmen were strategically positioned throughout the crowds. Now you could enjoy the festivities. 

~~~

A year had passed since your kiss. The Princess had come of age a few months after you. There was a stark difference. You had a small party with some of the other guards and a secret meal with Momo. Momo had a feast for the ages. 

And afterwards, you had prepared a rather self-indulgent gift for her.

You discreetly entered her chambers. Quietly you lit candles and threw rose petals across her bed. Finally, you undressed. And lay on the bed.

The door opened and the Princess entered. She noticed all of the decorations, finally noticing you on her bed, waiting for her. She turned an adorable red at the sight of you and gasped. You stood, walked to her, and kissed her. She melted into your arms. You undid the ties of her dress, allowing it to drop to the floor. You finished untying her corset, gently lifting the material off her body and slowly revealed her body. You failed to think of a man in the Kingdom who wouldn’t envy you.

You moved atop her. Connecting your lips once more. Your right hand found her breast and squeezed, indulging yourself as you listened to her soft moans. Blood to race through your body. Your thoughts wondered how you were holding one of the most popular sights in the nation.

Slowly, you entered her. The tightness of her causing you to grunt. She whined, mewled, at your invasion. You broke the kiss, resting your forehead against hers, you gazed into her eyes and began to thrust your hips. The bed shook and cracked with each movement as the two of you moaned in unison. Every thrust bringing the two of you closer, every feeling better than the last. 

You began to feel light-headed, sweat running across your forehead. You thrust into her again, letting out a choked yell as she gasped loudly. Your seed spilled into her, the feeling bringing you on edge more than any previous action, but at the same time, satisfying and calming you. Momo had reached her end simultaneously. Her hips rose to press against yours. Her eyes squeezed shut as her face scrunched up. The moment seemed to last forever and no time at all.

The two of you fell onto the bed and held each other close. A sweaty mess.

~~~

You walked through the exterior hallways of the castle. Everyone had migrated to the grand hall so everything felt a little colder and emptier. Every footstep echoed and your breath sounded uncomfortably loud. You paused for a moment. Your footsteps weren’t echoing. There was someone else here

You ran towards the footsteps. Your hand ready on your sword. You were right to be prepared. Six men stood in the shadows, cloaked in black, daggers at their belts. There was a second of hesitation as you took each other in.

Acting decisively, you struck first, drawing your blade and lunged towards the man closest to you. You felt resistance and heard a grunt as he fell. The second man ran towards you, deftly you stepped back, evading his dagger while bringing your sword around in a wide arc, making contact with his ribs.

The remaining four regrouped, facing you as a single line. They moved in. you struck at the one closest to the wall, with the aim of puttingon putting your back to it, it would not stop much, but it would cost them a direction to attack from.

He fell. Though your back felt warm. You saw red dripping from the dagger of one of the assassins, you knew he had struck you. The three men fanned around you, surrounding you. They approached cautiously. Acting fact you raised your blade to shield you from the men to your front and left while dropping your shoulder and charging into the man to your right, as he fell you used your momentum to swing around and cut down the man closest to you.

The final assassin charged at you. You ran towards him, parrying his blade and he fell to the ground from the impact.

Or so you thought.

Quickly, he rebounded, swinging up at you with a second blade, this one found your ribcage. As your legs began to give way, you took a final strike, bringing the edge of your blade to his neck with a punch.

He fell. You used your sword as a crutch and stood, limping towards the main palace. You heard quick footsteps. The man you had tackled, you realised that you had done no more than that.

Desperately you swung around, flailing your blade wildly. And, as your sword caught him, his stiletto found your stomach.

You fell to the ground, leaning against the wall. You felt cold. You closed your eyes and thought of something warm.

~~~

Momo’s soft body was pressed into your chest. The two of you naked from a night of passion, the thick covers isolating you from the world. At this moment, only the two of you existed.

You were broken from this reverie when the sun invaded the room and struck your face. Begrudgingly you rose from the bed. As you did a soft voice called out to you. Momo. “Stay five minutes more? I can put someone else on your patrol. Please, I want you just a little longer.”

You replied to her. “I’d love to. But I want to make sure that you’re as safe as possible, my love. I’ll be at the celebration, we can finally announce our relationship there. Then we have the rest of our lives”.

[quillsareswords]

Crooked Grin

Damian Wayne

Your smile shouldn't look like that.

[Reader lives with John Constantine, and is similarly a demonologist and magic user. About 16-18.]

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

"Are you ready to go?"

You turn away from the book on the table, and face him. "Sorry?"

"Are you ready to leave?" he repeats. He leans against the doorjam, arms crossed, clad in black, much like yourself. He doesn't look impatient, but he does look a little anxious.

You cock an eyebrow and shoot him a lopsided grin. "Nervous, Birdy?"

He rolls his eyes as you snap a leather bound journal shut. "Please, I've assisted you before."

You set the book on your dresser. You shoulder a messenger bag on your way to meet him at the door. "Sure, but you already know what I'm up against this time."

"I didn't see it," he argues.

"But you felt it."

He doesn't answer you. Turns away before you can get a proper reaction.

You shut the door behind you, and enter the Wayne Manor. If anyone were to open the door again, it would be an empty closet.

Ah, how you loved your little door trick.

It was fairly simple magic, something you learned quickly. You could simply replace doors—switch one with another, if you will. With a rune and a mumbled phrase, you can make any door lead to any room that has a door you've marked with the same rune.

"Tim's the one who saw it on CCTV."

You stopped in front if the bookcase in Bruce's office, allowing Damian the grand honor of pulling the right book and pulling the hidden door open. "Video footage isn't exactly trustworthy when it comes to paranormal—haven't I told you this before?"

"Probably," he answers, throwing you comical wink.

Now you're the one rolling your eyes. "One if these days, you're gonna wish you listened," you sing, beginning your decent down the metal grate stairs.

He starts down after you. "No I won't." He slows his pace when he's next to you, "Because you'll be there to remind me." Then off he goes, taunting you to chase him clear down to the cave, through the secret hideout, and clear over to the vehicle bay.

You've never liked riding on Damian's bike. Or Robin's bike, rather. You much preferred his Lincoln, all leather seats and metal walls. Though he insisted it would be faster tonight, so you relented. The bike felt less secure, gave you less of a chance if anything were to happen.

Don't misunderstand; Damian is a fantastic driver. You'd rather him behind the wheel than yourself any day. It's more the people in the city he calls home you don't trust.

You've always had a love-hate relationship with Gotham City. You love the dreary atmosphere, the rainy days. You adore the old buildings and even older libraries. You live for the underground, more-than-human clubs and shops peppered throughout the streets.

You hate the crazed clowns, killer plants, and murderous penguins. You despise the snobby people and jacked up prices. You detest the crumbling ruins left to decay alone. Most of all, you abhor the other side of the coin.

Gotham has no shortage of darkness. In its people, under its streets, below the waters, above the rooftops. Though it sends a shockwave of thrill through you, the danger only you seem to be aware of is forever just around the corner. From ghouls to vampires to demons to dark witches, Gotham is crawling with things darker than its skies.

You, if course, stay in your lane unless absolutely necessary. Demons, ghosts, angels. That's your specialty, after all.

You're who the Bat Gang calls when things get a little too weird. Your father figure isn't one to drop and run at anybody's beck and call (except, perhaps, yours), so you're the one who gets the call first. You don't conplain—you enjoy the practice.

Damian slows and steers the bike off the backstreet, into the tiny parking lot of a little abandoned church. Little, meaning most likely one big room, and maybe a backroom and a bathroom at the end of the building.

He twists the key and silences the engine, one foot anchored on the asphalt, then removes his helmet.

You unwind your arms from his torso, lifting off your helmet as you slide off the machine behind him. You stare up at the stark white building and the wide brown mounted to the front of it. "How long has it been empty?" you inquire.

He dismounts the motorcycle and pockets his keys. His eyes find the same spot yours have: the busted glass of the front door. "Three weeks."

You turn to him, incredious. "Three weeks? Really?" You face the building again, studying the sprawling vines and waist-high grass by the playground, the chipping paint and the grimy windows.

In the light if dusk, it wasn't a place you'd want to find yourself on any Sunday morning.

"Three weeks," you breathe. You steal another minute or so to run through your mental database. What causes such decay so quickly? What was powerful enough to take residency in a church?

You head up to the doors, treading over busted asphalt and shattered glass and dry leaves on your way. Damian follows you closely, peering around at the surrounding buildings and streets.

The streetlights flicker on behind you, but you're too busy trying to get a good look at the inside before opening the doors to notice.

You try the handles first. It doesn't budge. You don't want to risk irritating whatever is inside before you're ready, so you duck down and carefully slip through the bottom pane of the left door, which had been shattered. Outwardly, you note. Whatever broke the glass came from inside, leaving the shards of glass scattered on the sidewalk.

Damian hesitates before he follows you. His muscles tighten the moment he crosses the threshold.

Beyond a short hallway consisting of three flimsy doors, you find the sanctuary. It's laden with over turned or broken pews, stained red carpet, and papers and pamphlets scattered all around.

Damian joins you in the middle of the isle a moment after your entrance, footsteps muffled by the thick red carpet. "The two doors on the end of the hall are bathrooms. I didn't see much there, besides some blood splatter in one of the sinks."

You nod, gaze shifting around the alter. "What about the far end? Have you been in that one yet?"

"No," he answers, "but if the other two were bathroom, it's most likely an office or a kitchenette."

You point to the far end of the sanctuary, at a door looming in the corner. "That's the office, I bet." You turn to face the entrance doors. "Let's check the door in the hall first, that one over there's giving me a bad vibe."

He follows you to hall, but you make him wait by the sanctuary doors.

When you nudge open the ajar door with the toe of your boot, Damian's suspicions are confirmed. A slim white refrigerator, four feet of vinal counter top, and a shallow sink. The only thing out-of-the-ordinary is the rancid stench and the cock-eyed chair by the window.

You dig out a maglight from your messenger bag and click it on. Light floods the dim room as you wave it around, gliding over counter tops and in open cubords. "Nothing in here," you report absently, fingers hooking around the refrigerator handle. You yank it open, just as a precaution.

You gasp suddenly, more out of shock than fright. You puff out your cheeks with the excess air, staring down the red and white mess caught in your flashlight beam with high eyebrows. "Found what's making that smell."

"What?" Damian stalks into the room, posture tense and guarded.

You press the door closed to save him the scaring image of three dead, mutilated chickens and a severed cat head. "Some sacrifices, apparently. Looks like they've been in here for a few days, maybe. A week, at the most."

He tries to look again, but you slam the door too quick and push him out of the room.

You know he's seen far worse, and frankly so have you, but one less thing to pop up in nightmares could make all the difference.

The pair of you make your way back through the hall and down the sanctuary aisle, to the flimsy wooden door at the very back, behind the podium and the alter.

However, your gait hitches a few feet yards away. You stick out your arm to stop Damian.

He looks to you for an explanation, but you don't hear his question.

You're too busy skimming the room with your eyes. The air seems to cool around you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You mentally recite the hand motions and spell for a barrier rune, just in case.

The streetlight outside flickers six times exactly, before it goes out completely.

The room is considerably darker now, leaving shadows to dance upon every wall, to whisper in your ears, to nip at your ankles.

Your growing paranoia gets the better of you, and you jump closer to Damian as your light darts in the direction of quiet crunch, eyes narrowed.

A gray cat scurries out of the way of your light, skinny and panicky.

You exhaled slowly, light beam passing through the room one more time before you turned back around.

Damian knows better to comment on it. Not that he would have—he just thanks his lucky stars you jumped, too.

You hook your index finger with his before you move forward, beam still highlighting all areas within close proximity to the door.

Shielding rune and defensive spells fresh in your mind, you waste no time in opening the door. You bypass the formality of the knob this time, and decide instead to kick it wide open.

The handle crashes against the wall, thundering echo bouncing trough both rooms. You search the ceiling thuroughly before entering, sure to hit every inch of the textured surface with the beam of your light.

When you are confident there's nothing hiding there, you move past the threshold cautiously. As you tightly swing your light around the room, a story unfolds.

This room, that appears to an office with cheap bookshelves of holy literature and a desk right out of an Ikea magazine, more closely resembled a warzone. Books strung throughout the room, some flipped over, some split open, some with pages in taters, and some with their covers ripped clean off.

The windows on the north and west side are so thick with spiderwebbing fractures, neither of you are able to see through them properly. The carpeting is shredded in random places, as if wild cats had been set loose to ruin it. You look back to the windows, at the curtains, and wonder if that could possibly exactly what's happened here. But with a spotlight on the paintings and pictures on the wall, you decide that cats have nothing to do with it.

You approach one of the paintings slowly, light focused on the face of what you guess is Mother Mary. Your mental check has you listening to Damian's boots crunching on discarded pages as you observe the hollow place where her face should be.

"Look at this."

You turn away from the image at Damian's call. You find him in you beam, crouched in the middle of the room, hunched over an open book, his micro light poised between his thumb and his index finger.

"What is it?" you inquire, crossing the room to lean over his shoulder.

"There are words written in this one." He points to the red, black, and blue circles highlighting specific words.

"It was very swift?" You squint at the page. "Why would you use three different pens for that?"

He shakes his head. "We're investigating a possible demon and you're questioning why somebody would use different pens in a book?"

You roll your eyes once again. "Firstly, you should always assume poltergeist before demon, and secondly, who do you know that would make any kind of mark on a book in a church?"

"Point taken." He stands, waving his light around by the wall you'd come in by. "Closet."

You turn again to find where his light is pointed. "Awesome," you heave, stalking toward the feeble sliding door. You motion Damian away from its direct path, positioning yourself on the opposite side.

In one swift motion, you jerk it open.

"Shit!" You jump away as a man falls out, his head hitting the floor with an awful thud.

"I really hate closets," you hiss, pulling the high neck of your shirt up over your mouth and nose, the stench tumbling out with him.

With his shirt fitting the way it does, Damian is left only with a sneer and his hand.

You narrow your eyes and refocus your beam on the mystery man. With your boot, you roll him over.

Black button down, white collar, brass belt.

"Preacher," you announce. You take a closer look at his face. Bald head, strangely proportioned features. "A weird one, though. Looks more like he belongs in a trenchcoat at a playground."

Damian nods, fearing that if he opened his mouth, he'd have to taste the smell of rotting skin.

"What exactly were you doing here, buddy?" you ask aloud, half expecting an answer. When none comes, you look to Damian again. "I would say it was just straight up murder—maybe a robbery-gone-wrong—but this guy doesn't have any marks.

A look passes over your face, as if you've just reminded yourself of something. "Get me a pencil off the desk."

Damian creeps the short distance back through books and scattered paper in the now pitch black room, relying heavily on his tiny (yet impressively bright) flashlight to keep him from tripping on anything.

At the desk, he reaches across it for a pencil from a plain white cup, but stops short when his gaze snags on a book spread open there.

Thick black lines scrawling across thick, yellowing paper that alarmingly resembled dried skin, thin and black red letters in a language he only vaguely recognized. He could only guess a few words; that one could be blood, this one might be chicken, over there could be human. He knows better than to touch the book at all.

He returns to you quickly, though you're already looking at him. He holds a sharpened No. 2 pencil out to you. "When you're finished with him, there's something you should look at."

You accept the pencil, flipping it in your hand so you were using the eraser for whatever you were planning to do with it. "What is it?"

He watches you gently press the eraser to the preacher's eyelid. His brows furrow, but he doesn't ask. "It's a book. The pages don't look like paper, and I don't recognize the language. It's partly Latin." He grimances as you carefully push one eyelid open. There is no eye, only a round black, coal-like stone. "And some runes, or something alike."

You turned to look over your shoulder at him. "Really?" You look back down at was once an eyeball. You're quiet during your examination, poking your way all around the poor man's face.

Damian stands at the preacher's opposite shoulder, watching from above. He doesn't ask what you're looking for. As whip smart as he is and as quickly as he learns, he gets lost in the centuries-old homemade terms and lack of scientific logic.

Finally, you stand. "He's been possessed," you concur. "The skin's gone cold, so it's been a least a week. And the rot in his mouth is pretty progressed, so it's probably been a little over that." You meet his eyes in the dark, as if you're expecting something.

"I don't have any intent to ask, beloved."

You bob your head with a little smile. "Fair enough. Desk, then?"

"Desk."

You follow him back across the room again. You lean over the surface, pointing the wide beam down on the old book. You kept attentive to how close you were to the edge of the desk, as well as how far your many necklaces and bracelets hung above the miscellaneous items and papers strung about the flat wood.

"This is an old language, one of the original ones the first demonologists and occult studiers used to record everything and communicate with each other—"

"Why did they need a separate language?"

You kept your gaze focused on the open page. "Most serious demonology—outside of Bible stuff—and focused paranormal study started around the same time people were called witches for curing sicknesses, Dame."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I'll stop boring you with the history lesson. It's basically a mashup of Latin, Greek, and little freestyling."

"Can you read it?"

"Yeah, I read stuff like this in the House Of Magic's library pretty often. It's similar to what is used in modern day demonology."

You squint down at the page, scrutinizing the dull lettered lines. Damian noted that you weren't blinking.

"It's . . . It's labeled as an invocation, but it's a summoning." Your eyebrows gather above your nose. "Which is pretty obvious, considering–"

"(Y/N), as much as I adore hearing you talk about the things that interest you, what exactly does it summon?"

You fall silent, eyes darting further down the page, to the two intricate symbols scribed there. Finally, you announce, "Crossroads demon—for making deals. But it doesn't make sense, because crossroads demons don't need this much, uh, drama."

"What does that mean?" A creak echos from the sanctuary. He moves quickly and quietly, back to the door to see what's caused it.

You speak a little louder to be sure he can hear you. "Well, a crossroads ritual is so much simpler than this, and you don't need any kind of rune, symbol, or anything, really. As basically as I can put it, you put a box in the dirt and beg for it to work." You grab your longest necklace in your hand and pull it away from the desk, allowing you to lean closer to the book without the programed stone touching the desk. "And this right here would mean–"

You eyebrows unfurrow immediately. That would mean I summon thee to take my soul. Your eyes dart wildly across the page, rereading and rechecking every letter of the old text.

That isn't the right center for a crossroads demon.

You mentally run through everything but of information you'd compiled since last night, when Tim had shown you the footage.

You bounded down the stairs, Damian on your heels, as you chattered on about Constantine's rotten habits and The House's typical invasions of privacy.

"Speak of the devil." Tim throws you a cocky, yet oh-so-tired grin.

You jump the last three grate steps, landing with a hard thump on the cement. "Close, but not quite," you laughed, sauntering over to join him at the massive blue screen. "What can I do for ya, Trombone?"

His eyebrows slant together in annoyance at the aged nickname. You try to play a trombone one time—one time. "Found this yesterday," he grits. His pinky tags the tab button, just as Damian joins you.

The black and white CCTV clip is taken from a security camera, focused on the building across the street. Nothing seems to be happening.

You lean closer to the screen. Maybe you're missing something? You doubt it's a prank, considering the last time they tried to jumpscare you. Your gaze bounces around to all the windows and the doors, the dark corners and the shadowed strips.

Then, out of the blue, the three streetlights bordering the parking lot and accompanying sidestreet flicker off. Then on again, then off.

You blink. Squint. "Rewind it."

The footage speeds backward a few seconds, then takes proper motion again. You focus on the windows. A shadow moves just inside the door. "Right there," you point at the glass entry doors. "Go back and watch the edge of the left door."

The accelerated decay of the property.

The dead animals in the kitchen.

The intact cross.

The flickering streetlight.

Possessed priest.

This is for something far stronger.

You pull away from the table and shoot forward, nearly tripping over an outstretched arm. "Damian!" you bellow, stumbling out into the sanctuary.

He's halfway down the isle, flashlight swinging to face you in surprise. "What?"

You run through the room to close the gap between you, beam of light cutting through pitch black empty space, peeling back inky air from the ruined room. Paranoia swells in your chest, knowing something was looming in the shadows so close to him.

He subconsciously reaches out and grasps your arm. "What's wrong?"

You're still steadily searching the room with your light. "It isn't a crossroads demon, it's worse, it's bigger, it's meaner. We should go back to The House, regroup, get some tougher stuff."

"What do you mean?" Now he's skimming the room with his light. "What is it?"

You shake your head. "That's the bad part, it wasn't specific, so I don't know for sure."

"For sure. What do you guess it is?"

"Educated guess?" You flick your light behind you. "Fourth ring—bad news."

"Aren't all demons bad news?"

"Not the ones you can reason with."

You both spin on your heels to face the crashing commotion by the entrance. Your light caught it just in time to see pages settle on the ground around a newly over turned pew.

"We're leaving," you state firmly, pushing against Damian, a silent order to move your ass.

His light must have hit every edge of the room as he creeps forward, step by step, toward the entrance of the sanctuary. You walk backward behind him, keeping your eyes from settling on one thing for too long.

When the pannel doors slam shut with enough force to knock the remaining photographs and painting off the wall, you feel the pressure of Damian not only stopping, but jerking back a step against your back.

Your beam settles on the office doors. "The doors shut?"

"Yes."

"Did you hear the lock?"

"Watched it."

"Fuck."

"Shit."

You move your beam to the podium. Then the fractured statue of Jesus nailed to a cross on the furthest wall. The head and arms had been broken off, laying sadly at his sides.

"Damian?"

"Yes?"

"We're going back to the office."

"Obviously." He spins around to stand at your side. "I'm far more comfortable with the remains of the living than the presence of the dead."

"Not really the dead, but I know what you mean."

You lead the way down the main isle, light skimming and skipping through the room as you went. You listen intently, for any sound that might tip you off to intentions or locations. Demons lower (or higher, depending on how you looked at it) than a Sixth Circle require a body to walk the living plane. If you're right, there must be a form of some kind around here some place. A physical body.

You reach out absently, hooking your index finger around his pinky. You've had people and things snatched away in silence before, and you weren't about to let it happen to Damian.

He doesn't say anything. No typical snide remarks or well thought jabs. The first few times he'd accompanied you to an exorcism or a hunt, he'd been just as cocky and arrogant as the day you met him. He'd laughed when you whipped out a canister of table salt.

The third time, though, he'd been pinned to a wall by something he couldn't see or feel. He couldn't fight it, couldn't intimidate it, couldn't distract it.

He never mocked a thing about your practice after that.

Another crash echoes from the left side of the room, drawing both of your attention. Your light finds the broken crucifix, now toppled over and laying across the podium it knocked over on it's way down. Your light lingers.

"Go ahead into the room," you poke a thumb in the direction of the open door. "Set Carl back up in the closet, if you don't mind."

"Carl?" Damian edges his way back to the open door, using your favorite tactic of keeping an eye on him. If he was still talking to you, odds are, he's just fine.

"Yeah, I named the poor guy. Didn't want to offend him with that dead dude on the floor." You creep closer to the crucifix.

"And you chose Carl because. . ?" he pushes the door the rest of the way open, the creak bouncing off the walls, throwing the sound in every direction.

You kick a shredded Bible out of the way. "Just what came off the top of my head," you answered honestly. You shift your gaze from the broken religious symbol to the surrounding area, just to make sure.

"What about Davis?" He sets his little flashlight between his teeth to free his hands. He hesitates, but hooks his hands under the dead man's shoulders, grips his shirt, and lifts him back to a near-standing position.

"No way, look at the stubble of his chin. No Davis would let it get that bad."

He stuffs the body back into the closet with as much grace and pride as he can manage. He shoves the door shut double checks the latch to make sure it doesn't swing open with the added weight. "Mark?"

"No way." You nudge the wooden cross with the toe if your boot. It must weight at least seventy pounds, and it from the six inch industrial screws on the back of it, it was bolted to the wall. "Not with hair that thin."

He shakes his head. What to talk about now? "Find anything out there?"

"Not yet." You crouch, running a hand over the carved robe.

He sweeps the room with his light again. But this time, it catches on the farthest corner from the door.

His heart leaps. His spine stiffens, his blood runs cold.

It's staring right at him.

His mind reels, grappling for something—anything—you've mentioned about dealing with a demon face to face.

He's panicking. Why is he panicking? He works well under pressure, one might even say best. Why now? He feels terror grip his heart, and his breath is coming and going in short, silent bursts. Terror floods his mind—but why?

Why, why, why?

He was raised for this sort of thing, groomed for it even. He's never reacted this way before–

It's a demon, he reminds himself, through muddied thoughts of escape plans and defensive manuevers.

It's got to be messing with him. He remembers you mentioning things like this, both in idle conversation and over sparring.

He does his best to push it away, keep the blood rushing in his ears at a manageable level.

What does he do?

Does he yell for you? Will that startle it, or push it to action? Should he make a break for it? Is there even a chance he could get to you before it gets to him?

What if he takes you from the equation entirely? What can he do? Can he hit it? He can see it now, mostly, at least. What about shielding himself?

"Damian?" Your voice sounds like church bells ringing on a dark and foggy morning.

There's his out, if all else fails. You'll be coming to check on him in a few seconds if he doesn't answer, and he's finding speaking more difficult than usual anyway.

He tears his eyes from the piercing red and orange globes hanging in font of a foggy face. An old, dogeared bible lays on the floor. Surely that would do something.

"Hey, Dame. Everything good?" He doesn't hear anymore movement from you. You sound more focused. "Damian?"

He holds his breath. Counts to five. Releases. Counts to five. Another breath.

"Damian, I swear if you're just too focused to listen to me. . ." Your warning trails off as you draw closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you moving around the corner, coming through the doorway, and then you stop.

He doesn't look away from the thing in the corner. He knows you're looking at it. He knows, because you haven't called his name again.

He nearly jumps and your voice, cold and level. "You nasty bastard."

The thing's glittering orange irises slide slowly to you. The rest if it doesn't move.

He takes the diverted attention to get a better look at it.

It looks like a man—all the pieces are there, the arms, the legs, the hands, the feet—but it just looks wrong. Like. Poorly designed animated character that was meant to resemble a real person, but was just off enough to be nearly unrecognizable.

And the face. It was distorted in an indescribable way. He could almost pick out the details—a nose, a mouth, even eyebrows—but it was like they were just out of sight. Like looking through a foggy mirror, but the air was perfectly clear.

"What brought you to Gotham, then?" you question.

Damian tries to sneak a step backward. You're only a few feet away, and if he can get to you, you'll be able to tell him what to do. Give him something to hit with.

Unfortunately, the discarded papers and books scattered along the floor expel any and every chance of stealth he thought he had.

Orange irises flicker yellow and snap back his way, and he finds himself unable to look away. Panic is starting to rise again when you take two daring steps sideways.

"Hey, what the hell, man? We were having a conversation, you know. It's rude to look away when someone's talking to you." You're only a foot away from blocking him entirely.

It's eyes are back on yours now.

"As I was saying, what brought you 'round this side of town?" Damian sees your hand sliding into your back pocket. "Thought you'd be up in the skyscrapers, ya know, with the big dogs in fat ties with fatter checks." You slide on a pair of knuckles.

Damian shifts his weight. You're about to charge it, he can read it from your body language. As loudly as his instincts are screaming, he knows he'll only be in the way if he stays where he is. His best bet is to at least get out to the sanctuary, so you can get your job done without worrying about where he is.

You're both silent for exactly two seconds. Muscles curled tight, like wild animals waiting for the right time to strike.

Then, in barley a blink, you're leaping forward, words of a dead language flying off your tongue, bring orange shapes he doesn't register encasing your hands. He's swerving behind you, slipping on papers in his rush for the door.

He speeds around the first row of pews, and takes the farthest left right isle. He makes it to the double doors at the back of the room, before discovering that the doors are still very firmly locked. Thankfully, the doors were cheap and easily gave way to Damian's forceful convention.

He shoves one side the rest of the way open, and discovers exactly why such a task was so difficult in the first place.

The dining table from the kitchen had been lodged in the doorjam.

He blows out a breath when the leg catches on the wall of the hallway. It's not going to open without shattering that table leg, which he doesn't have time for.

You let out an angry shout, shoving forward the spinning, glowing sigil you're using to shield yourself from the demon's razor-like fingertips.

You thrust it through the doorway of the office, quickly pinning it down on an upright pew.

Damian swears under his breath and ducks past the doors, opting instead for a more stable place to hold his ground, should things get as bad as they were looking.

The room is nearly pitch black, both his and your flashlights abandoned in the office, providing the smallest amount of light to the most obvious parts of the room. The only other sources of light are your magic and your eyes, both a mesmerizing shade of dark orange, glowing fiercely in contrast to the stale dark air surrounding you.

There were times when those glowing irises were a calming, steadying presence; something to lean against to keep himself grounded.

This is not one of those times.

At the moment, he's hunkered down behind a church pew, waiting for you to tell him to do something, watching sparks of magic fly around the room as you battle against a demon you weren't entirely prepared for. The great room is filled with encantations in a language he doesn't care to understand and ungodly shrills and growls.

Then, he hears a pained shriek so deafening and strangely pitched, his hands involentarily fly up to cover his ears.

The room goes quiet and still, papers settling back on the cheap red carpet, dust finding it's way back down to the wooden surfaces.

He peers over the edge of the church pew once more, eyes flicking through the whole room in a near desperate search for that orange glow. It couldn't have been you that made that noise, could it?

Finally, he finds two tiny, bright orange circles flickering around the room as well. The palms of your hands still have a soft glow to them, in the fuzzy outlines of your veins.

"Damian, where'd you go?" Your voice is level—you aren't worried. You know he didn't go far enough that you couldn't be heard.

It always left him just a bit tender in the chest when you reminded him just how well you knew him. "Right here," he beckons, straightening out and picking his way back across the room to the doors, where the dim beams of the streetlights out side have away his outline.

You start up the isle immediately, eyes still piercing the darkness. "Do you want to go get your light?"

He doesn't answer you right away. "My–? No, I have more at home. What happened to the demon?"

"Killed it," you answer dryly. "Or mostly did, anyway. Either way, we better go before we find out."

He's about to follow you back up the rest of the way to the doors, but stops halfway. "Wait, I do need something from that office."

You turn to ask what is, but he's already running back down the main isle. Your grip tightens on the strap of your messenger bag, the same strap that had been sliced in two at some point during your little skirmish. Eyes dart around the great room. You raise your maglight again, and click it back on. You'd gotten yours from the office, but Damian's was too small for you to waste much time looking for it. You point it after him, and when he vanishes into the mostly dark room, you direct it to the darkest edges of the room. When you're satisfied, you pinch the light between your jaw and your shoulder, drop your bag, and set your hands to work with moving that blasted table out of the way.

You've just about got it completely clear when the sound of the office door reaches you. You turn halfway, just to check. And then, your heart drops along with your flashlight. It feels like the floor's given out from under you when your light catches him.

You start to shout, but the words get caught in your throat. Your hands twitch and suddenly the world seems like it's slipped into slow motion.

Then, your knees are bending and the rubber soles of your boots claw against the carpet. Your rushing toward him, but it doesn't feel fast enough.

Faster, faster, faster.

Your heart is palpitating and your mind is reeling already, and all you can hear is the premonition his screams.

You come to a near-screeching halt in the tiny space between your lover and the charging black mass, fully intending to push him clean to the exit, eyes hardly focused before it happens—

Something hits you, hard, fast, and cold. Your eyes roll back and ice shoots through your veins, you can feel it, and the pain is overwhelming as you stumble backwards with the world spinning around you and—

Damian feels it in his chest before he sees it. Heavy and tight. He spins around, though it takes a measure of courage and willpower, because he has a feeling he knows what's happened, but he doesn't want to see it.

You're a few feet away, crumpled, hunched in on yourself as you sit on your knees, between two intact pews. Your back heaves with every strangled breath. Your hands are out of view, pressed firmly against the rough red in front of you to anchor yourself.

"(Y/N)?" He braves a step or two forward. "What happened?"

You don't answer.

Chills rush over him in waves. The temperature in the air hadn't been in any way warm to begin with, but his breath billows out into the stream of light from the flashlight he'd managed to pick up on his way out of the office. He tries your name again, and this time, you side to your feet.

You don't stand, mind you, so much as levitate gently until your feet are beneath you. You turn very slowly, with jagged and barely controlled movements.

You grin widely at him, but it's crooked and too sharp at the ends. It reaches tour eyes, sure, but really wishes it didn't.

Part 2; but I can't link it because Tumblr is still being a bitch with links. I am so sorry. If you go to profile, it should be the first post until further notice. 🙄

because Tumblr apparently has a limit of 250 text blocks per post

[andr0leda]

THE CHOICE

What will you choose? Will you live to regret it?

Pre-Sidestep Era, Rangers have a cameo at the end | ~2,400 words CW: violence, guns, blood, strangulation, light stabbing, but no one dies! [READ ON AO3]

You wouldn't be able to say how long you've been standing here. Staring at the desserts through the smudged glass door of the freezer. Could be two minutes, could be twenty. It was around two am on this uncomfortably hot night when you walked in here but you're not sure what time it is now.

The only thing that you are sure of is that the finalists are rainbow and cookies & cream.

The cookies & cream have little cookie pieces that you discovered that you really like a couple weeks ago, but the fun mascot of the rainbow seems to beckon you, the spectrum of colors blending together when your eyes slide out of focus.

The tinny radio in the convenient store is tuned to a station that's playing looping easy listening music. The budget fluorescent lighting buzzes faintly overhead, one flickers occasionally, and you wonder, in a distant sort of way, if you have entered a liminal space. It's possible you need to sort out your sleep schedule.

You open the freezer door and the brisk air whispers over your face, the tubs are cold in your hands, but it doesn't seem to be helping you decide any quicker.

You are staring unblinkingly into the black lifeless eyes of the cartoon mascot on the rainbow ice cream when you hear it.

The intent before the voice. You step back until you're against the aisle behind you, hidden from the front of the store.

“Money. Now,” gun, raised.

Gun held up to the level of your head-

No, not your head. The head on the shoulders of the young teen behind the counter, they’re only a year younger than you are supposed to be. They are terrified.

You are terrified. There’s five-

No, there’s only two thieves and only one gun.

You’ve gone up against worse odds.

You put the ice cream tubs on a shelf and move to the end of the aisle, silent. Your hoodie has been up since you entered the store and you pull the collar of your turtleneck up over the bridge of your nose to cover the lower half of your face.

At the end of the aisle you pause, the door is only a couple feet to your left, you know you’re silent, you could make it. If you chose to make a run for it.

The cashier is trembling trying to put the cash and cigarettes into the backpack, they are clumsy in their terror and the thieves are getting impatient.

You chose no to run.

Red and black at the level of your eyes catch your attention, you take a bottle of cola off the shelf, a glass one. It flips easily over itself in your hands, as you weigh it up, weigh your options. The one with the gun seems fresh to this, plan already forming in your mind.

Your heart-rate picks up, the adrenaline before a fight is reassuring in its familiarity.

Fuck it, you step out from behind the isle and shout “Hey!”

The armed thief turns his whole torso, including the hand with the gun, towards you and away from the cashier, like you knew he would.

You have already thrown the bottle and it explodes on impact, opens up and scatters sugar coated glass, knocks the gun out of his grasp. It hits the floor and spins away and you're already running.

Your knee lands in the second guy's chest, throwing him hard into the aisle behind him, packets and tins tumble off the shelf.

The first, nursing the hand that formerly held the gun, swings at you with his less dominant hand. You kick him in the solar plexus and he crashes into a display to the side of the counter, a tower of sunglasses landing on top of him and he’s down but not out.

The second, still currently has the use of both his hands, and they are closed fist and coming for you. You dodge, spin on reflex, strike him under the ribs, kick him into the shelf opposite the one he was in before.

You know he’s going to take out the knife and lunge at you so you duck, easily, as he slices open packets where your neck was. Contents spilling down onto the linoleum. You tackle him to the floor of the aisle and it only takes one hit to get him to stay down. You stand above him full of some wild, unnamed thing, heartbeat racing.

The first is finally managing to extract himself from the heap, so you move back to the front of the store. He‘s slow, fishes out his own larger knife and you’re grinning behind the black fabric.

You grab his wrist with one hand, put your other into his nose hard enough that it cracks, and he falls boneless back into the mess and everything becomes silent. A wet heat slowly drips down your knuckles. You have won.

The cashier is knees to chest behind the counter, shaking. You don't get too close.

“Are you ok?” because that's what you’re meant to ask.

No, is what you hear.

You try to send them feelings of safety, of relief, but they just break apart against the wall of blinding fear. You’re not sure what those things feel like anyway. So you pull down the mask instead, show them your face, try to wear something reassuring instead.

“You’ll be ok,” because that's what you’re meant to say. They just look up at you with big brown eyes, so scared.

They aren’t ok so instead you tell them, “You’re going to make it out the other side of this.” You flip the knife you took from first so you’re holding the blade, hold it out to them to take, offer them the weapon of those that wanted to hurt them.

You don't know how to say out loud what you want this to mean.

What you want this to mean to them? Or to yourself?

They look at the knife for a long moment before they take it.

Before a noise behind you startles them, and you look over your shoulder to watch a third larger man walk out of the bathroom.

You yank up your mask, how could you be so fucking stupid.

You stand in front of the cashier who gets under the counter to hide.

He is built, muscles just as strong as the walls around his mind.

Fuck.

You shake out your hands, ignore the ache of oncoming swelling, take up a stance, you haven’t had a proper fight since-

You don’t know where the gun is.

He takes in your pulled up turtleneck, his guys out cold on the floor and drawls, “You want to play hero?”

“I just wanted my fucking rainbow ice cream you son of a bitch.”

You see the gun on the ground when he does, and you lunge for it, kick it hard and it slides away and under the shelves.

He strikes faster than you expected but you still turn and duck and kick him in the back of the knees. He buckles, but turns just as quick and you’re too close to avoid his fist and you catch it in the ribs. Punching the air from your lungs and you stagger back. He is up again, too quick.

Or are you just too slow?

No.

You’re gasping under cold fluorescent lights, past a fractured rib, slow is not acceptable, if the unit does not meet directive standards it will be recycled-

No.

You straighten up, through the pain in your ribs and snarl, underneath the fabric so that it reaches your eyes, so that he can see.

He sneers at you, and you run at him, using a freezer box to kick off, you deliver a punch down across his face that sends him reeling and you are alive.

So you punch him again, and again. And you dodge and sidestep and punch him harder.

Feel your knuckles open up, feel adrenaline rush to your head in exhilaration.  

And this is where you slip up. Literally, on the spilled guts of the coke bottle.

He has already grabbed you by your jacket front to slam you down onto the freezer boxes hard enough that you hear it crack. He wraps his gold ringed fingers around your neck, and you feel the cold caress of the freezer seeping into you as you struggle. You bring your forearm down to buckle his elbow and slam your forehead into his nose, he doesn't let go. Just straightens his arms and looks down at you, a warped smile on his cruel features, and he squeezes and-

And How Dare HE.

He recoils and you know at once that you couldn’t have spoken that, you couldn't get air past your throat for a noise let alone words.

His smile is gone. He’s afraid now, afraid of what will happen if you get back up.

You always get back up.

You release your death grip on his wrist to pull your knife from your hoodie, flick it open and bury it into his guts.

His hands vanish from your throat and you gasp down a wretched sound.

Gripping the edge of the box you bring your legs up between you and launch him off.

He’s flung backwards, clips the end of an aisle and goes down, spits out a curse, clutches a scarlet hand to his side.

You get up, unhurriedly in a way you know unnerves him. You don't wipe the blood dripping down your forehead and that unnerves him too. His shields decay with the panic. You see yourself in his mind's eye, a dark silhouette looming above him back lit by the flickering fluorescent light above you.

Your breath pants out in half gasps, half growls, past the bruising in your throat. You’re not sure whose blood drips from your knuckles and off the blades drop point.

He manages to stand only to receive your right hook to his jaw and he’s down once more. He doesn’t try standing again. Instead scrambles back towards the bathroom, leaving a fragmented red streak behind.

He’s not fast enough.

The cheap wooden door splinters as you kick him through it. You sink the knife into the door frame and stand over him, sprawled onto the dirty tile floor. You put a heel hard onto the side where you put your knife and he screams.

You feed him back his own fear, the terror of the cashier, feed him your own horror from somewhere dark and deep, until you see it consume him, until it’s up to his eyes. Then with a bloody hand you smash the back of his head into the tile.

And it's over. It’s a mess, it’s-

Five bloodied soldiers dead on the cold tiled floor of a gas station in desert Nevada, painting the walls red-

No. It’s just three unconscious thieves in a convenient store.

You take a deep breath through your aching throat, and pull the knife from the frame. The soft looping music of the radio drifts back into your awareness. Then exhaustion creeps back, you feel more tired than you were holding the ice cream. You can feel a headache forming at the base of your skull and you’d rather spend what little money you have on a smoke, or several.

Stepping over first on your way to the counter you pick one of the almost stolen cigarette packs and drop it by the register.

You’re opening your wallet to get your only twenty dollar note with red and aching hands when the cashier says.

“Just take it,” they’re looking directly at you like you grew a second head, they're standing up now, white knuckling the knife you gave them, like an anchor, a lifeline. It’s the first thing you’ve heard them speak.

You check upstairs to make sure they're going to be ok. You’re startled to see they’re wondering the same of you. They're having a hard time processing the deadbeat mess that stood for half an hour in front of the frozen desserts with the brawler that just took down three guys and possibly saved their life.

Was it really half an hour?

“And don’t choose rainbow, my boss changed the dates. Take the cookies and cream instead” they say, voice no longer shaking. Cookies & cream is their favourite.

“Thanks,” your voice is almost unrecognisable, you’ll have a necklace of bruises for sure.

"No, thank you. I don't know what would've happened but you probably saved my life." A hero , they think, their hero.

And you don't know what to say to that so you just thank them again and tell them they should probably call an ambulance for the guy bleeding over the bathroom floor. Then you take the cigarettes and the ice cream and you leave.

You go home, rest your split and swollen knuckles, hold the frozen tub against your violet throat and eat your dessert.

It was a good choice.

***

Marshal Charge stands in the Rangers Headquarters kitchen, arms crossed and staring at the tv mounted on the wall.

“Chen, have you seen this?” she throws over her shoulder, eyes not leaving the screen.

Steel looks up from cutting fruit to see grainy footage showing a figure in black kicking a larger man into a convenient store shelf. Text rolls across the bottom of the screen that reads, “Citizen hero takes down 3 armed men in attempted robbery.”

He continues with making breakfast, “we already deal with too many vigilantes.”

Anathema walks past him, “but this one’s weird,” she steals a strawberry to which Steel makes a face.

The Marshal turns and looks back for the first time in a while, eyebrow raised.

Anathema just looks pleased that she’s hooked an audience, “I looked into it, the full security footage shows them staring at the frozen desserts for like 35 minutes before they take down 3 guys with what I believe to be a variety of martial arts. Their reflexes seem unnatural too,” she steals another strawberry and Steel frowns harder.

“There's a point where the guy pulls down their mask to calm the cashier, but when the police questioned them all they would say was that they ‘couldn’t remember’ what the masked person looked like,” which is said sarcastically, her disbelief evident. “They just seem… interesting,” she finishes.

Steel throws the strawberries into the blender before she can steal a third, “Los Diablos is interesting enough.”

“Hmm,” comes the reply from the Marshal, a small smile hidden in the corner of her mouth as she watches the footage again. The figure appears to move faster than they should. Her smile grows wider.

[unholyhelbig]

The Vampires Familiar

Read Both Posted Chapters on AO3 

Title: The Vampires Familiar

Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/Hope Mikaelson 

Hope Mikaelson took three even gulps of the shop's air and tasted magic. Old magic that burned the back of her throat and nipped at her lungs until she felt like they were on fire. The odd odor of rosemary and chamomile clung to her clothes. The herbs were stacked in even and dusty jars against the far-right shelves like candles in a store. They had no lids, and separately everything was harmless. But she feared what could be created when combined.

She listened as the bell chimed with her entrance to the small business at the edge of the French Quarter. It was narrow and long instead of large and wide, posters for an upcoming circus littered the walls and a few sheets of paper advertising summer babysitting had the bottoms crudely ripped off, number smeared in black ink.

When she was younger, Hope used to enjoy taking trips to magic shops with her Aunt Freya, the jazz scene in New Orleans had just sparked a flame and different melodies, melancholy and otherwise, flowed through the city like air. They would find herbs and boil them up and fix things that had been broken for a long time.

That strength was felt the moment she walked through the door of Conrad Drew’s, Jade at her heels dutifully. There was soft gold light and the building shielded them from the sounds of the city, the bustle of parties, and iron wheels of cars.

Drew was an old man now, still holding himself correct behind the glass-paned counter with his fingers leaving little smudges. His hair was graying and his body fell rigid with fear when he glanced up, smile fading. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.” Was all he said.

“Don’t worry, we won’t stay long,” Hope responded, walking across the wood floor until she reached the desk. “I just have a few questions.”

“Take them somewhere else, plenty of magic shops in town.”  

Conrad Drew was a resolute man, once young and vibrant and strong in his words. He had held the shop under his thumb for the better part of a decade, before that, it was his fathers, and his before that. Hope met him when he was twenty, simple, and able to down liquor as if it were pure water. He had aged, and so had she.

“Oh come on, I thought we were friends.” Hope cooed, letting the glass cool her fingertips. The heat left small crescents close to the service. They dissolved as quickly as they appeared. “Besides, it isn’t up for much discussion.”

He clenched his teeth and thinned his expression into a tight one. His leathery skin was glossy under the low light of the magic shop and his lungs growled like a lion pacing it’s iron cage, shoes kicking around sour hay.

Jade picked up the nearest book, dust pulling from the pages. “Don’t touch that. What do you want?”

Though the words were directed towards the curious vampire, he never moved his ghostly stare from Hope. Her fingers twitched and he noticed entirely all too quickly. Hope Mikaelson had a temper like stained glass, just like her father. Intricate and beautiful but shatter prone.

“There’s been an unusual spike in magic lately. It’s buzzing around us even as we speak, Mr. Drew, I can feel it.” She was soft with her words but still moved her fingertips against her bare arms until they left little white lines from the pressure. “You can too.”

“It’s a magical city, girl. Of course, you can feel it.”

“This is different. This is darker- an uprising of sorts. And I want to trust that I’m not foolish enough for believing in the loyalty of your witches.” Hope leaned forward and the scent of old magic was replaced with cheap cologne and sweat, primal fear that Conrad Drew didn’t show well. “Am I foolish?”

The French Quarter witches had been rooted in New Orleans for centuries before they branched out into different covens. Hope had an unmovable fist around the throat of each of them- and that stemmed from the control of the company Conrad liked to keep. The ninth ward kept to themselves, kept their magic in check.

“If there’s strange magic it’s not from us. We’re not naive enough to practice right where your castle stands.”

Hope couldn’t’ tell if that eased her worry at all, or the strange electric feeling that danced across her skin in a dangerous tango. But she believed him, even in his annoyance and bubbling anger at her for crossing the boundaries they had drawn a long time ago.

He let out a sigh and pulled a yellowed jar from the shelf behind him, Hope couldn’t read the label, mottled with age. “You should try the Garden District.”

“The Garden District?” Jade had long ago abandoned her book, “Those hippie freaks don’t have it in them. Don’t they worship their regent like a God?”

“They’re unconventional, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can discount them.” He said.

Jade shrugged her shoulders dejectedly and wandered over to the far wall. She squinted at the contents in the mason jars, careful to shove her fingers in her pockets like she was in an art museum, gazing at pictures expertly painted, gold plaques carved with the words DON’T TOUCH.

Hope had no such worry about the witches that dressed in white to get closer to the pure source of magic. They had been holed up in a large house on the west side of town since she herself was a child; her father let them be, let them simmer, and practice what they wanted with the respect and patience of a noble man. So she had done the same.

“Was that all, Miss Mikaelson?”

It had been. The early evening was bleeding into a desolate night filled with the sound of crickets and the wet summer air that made her want to peel her own skin off. An expertly crafted wooden sign indicated that the magic shop was closing its own doors and Hope was never one to linger after hours when a place lacked good liquor.

The door with the little bell and the burgundy paint flung open with enough force to crack the double-plated glass that protected it. Jade drew in a sharp breath and Hope felt the defensive bit of energy strike against her fingertips akin to a match.

A girl crashed to her knees and winced as they stung tearing against the aged wood. She was drenched in the pungent smell of sweat mixed with swamp water and mud, it left an even ring against the midsection of a pure white dress, something that had once been spotless but was now torn with the scent of blood and moss.

Hope exhaled because she decided that it was better than the opposite, perfectly content with the heir of magic instead of muck. This girl was captivating and a near stranger. Her blonde hair was stained similarly with mud and tears streaked down her cheeks. Eyes so pale they were almost gray. Mud darkened behind her nails and blood soaked close to her collar, not from a bite, but a tear, a simple slice in her skin that looked all too intentional.

Conrad moved across the shop wordlessly and flipped the large iron lock against the door “What in God’s name-“  

“I need help,” She girl gulped out, her voice was broken, pained from screaming. “There are people after me and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“A hospital?” Jade suggested, blinking at the scene.

“No, no I couldn’t. That can’t help me not against them.”

Hope hesitated “Who did this to you?”

The girl’s breath slowed, no longer a jagged pant but something loose and unstable. She hugged herself close, still sitting against the floor and dripping mud that would be nearly impossible to scrub away. “I took something important from a group of witches. It was for the greater good, I swear it, but they don’t’ see it like that. They have a tracking spell on me and I figured— fuck if anyone was strong enough to counter it with a cloaking spell it would be”

“Me,” Conrad finished the sentence. “Whatever it is, I’ll need more power than I have. It was half-witted to show up here. One man can’t take down an entire coven.”

“What about yours?” She searched desperately.

“They’re indisposed. You can’t hide here, girl. I’m sorry, it’s not my fight.”

Hope rolled her eyes, staring the sad excuse for a regent down. He liked to protect his people, and the tribrid could admit to her own motives as well. But watching the girl, so small and unsure of herself, it pulled at her. Pulled at her the same way that it did with Jade in the 1800s and countless others that shared her disposition. She blamed her mother for her soft side.

“Have some pity, Drew. Where would the world be if we didn’t take mercy on anyone?”

“A hell of a lot safer, your daddy knew that.”

She ignored the comment and the mention of her father. Flames licked at her skin, and an acid taste pressed against the back of her throat but she swallowed it down, kneeling in front of the scared witch, so pulled into herself that she barely noticed another presence until now. Her beaten stare flashed in recognition, and fear, and something else entirely that Hope couldn’t read.

She whispered, soft “Now, I think you and I can make a deal.”

“I’ve heard stories about you.” The stranger swallowed the dirty taste on her tongue “I think I’d rather risk my luck in the quarter. I don’t need your protection.”

Hope gave a wolfish grin, fighting back a bitter laugh. Even now, even crouched low coated in every kind of grime that the Louisiana swamps had to offer, she refused her. It made an odd bout of pride swell in Hope’s chest because the stories had lived on and so had her presence in this town seeping with the history of her family.

“You took something from a bloodletting frenzy of homicidal witches. Like hell, you need my protection.”

The girl gulped in the same air that Hope had when she first entered the small shop. She stared at her supposed savior, at Conrad Drew, and a stranger leaning close enough to the shelves to clear them entirely. She felt the hot floor against her knees and tasted the waters of the swamp she had waded through, and though it was slight, she could pick up on the magic of a woman entirely too patient to compete with the fairytales.

She conceded “What kind of deal?”

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 34: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

An eccentric plum coloured hat decorated with a silver buckle and a long egret feather that droops over the bearer's eyes.

An unremarkable gray stone covered in myriad tiny pink growths, ranging in shape from rough textured flowers to near-perfect spheres. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as rhodochrosite.

A blank envelope containing a single jigsaw puzzle piece and a  note that reads “You have two months to find the rest of this puzzle. If you do not, the entire population in this forsaken area will die.”

A centaur hair pictorial prayer rug.

A small harp with little vines for strings and a oaken body with stray leaves. It appears to be alive, requiring water and light to sustain itself. Its leaves change with the seasons and it blooms in the spring. If broken or damaged, it will slowly but surely repair itself.

An accordion made brown suede of with bronze keys.

A tiny hourglass no larger than a man's pinkie finger filled with phosphorescent sand that emits a faint Random Coloured glow in the dark. It takes one hour for the sand to pass from the top end to the bottom.

A shiny leather doublets trimmed with seal fur and belted with checkered woollen sashes.

A single stick of chalk carved with swirls and twists across the powdery stone.

A finely crafted leather backpack that seems to have been handmade from excellent materials by a master’s needle and knife. The style is simple, but durable and effective.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An eccentric plum coloured hat decorated with a silver buckle and a long egret feather that droops over the bearer's eyes.

An unremarkable gray stone covered in myriad tiny pink growths, ranging in shape from rough textured flowers to near-perfect spheres. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as rhodochrosite.

A blank envelope containing a single jigsaw puzzle piece and a  note that reads “You have two months to find the rest of this puzzle. If you do not, the entire population in this forsaken area will die.”

A centaur hair pictorial prayer rug.

A small harp with little vines for strings and a oaken body with stray leaves. It appears to be alive, requiring water and light to sustain itself. Its leaves change with the seasons and it blooms in the spring. If broken or damaged, it will slowly but surely repair itself.

An accordion made brown suede of with bronze keys.

A tiny hourglass no larger than a man's pinkie finger filled with phosphorescent sand that emits a faint Random Coloured glow in the dark. It takes one hour for the sand to pass from the top end to the bottom.

A shiny leather doublets trimmed with seal fur and belted with checkered woollen sashes.

A single stick of chalk carved with swirls and twists across the powdery stone.

A finely crafted leather backpack that seems to have been handmade from excellent materials by a master’s needle and knife. The style is simple, but durable and effective.

A small, flat slab of dark stone that, nondescript though it is, gives off an unmistakable eeriness.

A torc fashioned from a coiled length of interlocking chains, constructed of two unknown metals. Black and white, they swirl around each other like yin and yang, darkness and light.

An armoured gorget consisting of a metal throat-shield and a series of overlapping metal plates that encircle the neck. The entire device is connected to a belt made of leather. When worn, the battle gorget protects the wearer from physical strangulation and bites to the neck such as the case if they were hung by a noose or attacked by a vampire.

A clear crystal the size of a child’s fist, covered in eldritch runes. The gem flickers with a weak glow in various coloured hues depending on who its being held by.

A heavy iron bell inscribed with distorted musical symbols that releases an incredibly cacophonous noise when rung.

A magnificent goblet formed from a basalt-like stone permeated with veins of violet crystal.

A hauntingly terrifying mask that appears to have be fashioned from leather, metal and nightmares.

A druid’s staff fashioned by woodland spirits. The shaft is carved from sturdy oak and bound in vines. The head piece of the staff is a slightly oversized rose bud which blooms whenever its wielder casts a spell whose power stems from natural magic.

A peacock-feather quill that always writes smoothly and never needs to be filled with ink.

A large oil painting of some otherworldly sea, where creatures who are octopoid from the neck down but with human heads float in bliss.

A piece of torn red cloth bearing a royal insignia.

A leather bandolier that can be worn over one shoulder and runs diagonally across the chest and back. It has small loops or pouches for holding eight objects the size of a flask or small dagger. The bearer can easily retrieve any of the items stored in it during combat without having to dig through their pack.

An obsidian icon of a forgotten deity.

A recorder carved from brilliant white ash.

A short necked, round bottom flask that could hold about a half-gallon of liquid. Clearly visible through the glass sides, though, is a city. When viewed extremely closely, such as under a magnifying glass, what appears to be tiny people walk through the streets, conducting their daily lives. No matter how the bottle is moved or tilted, those within don’t seem disturbed.

A leather military horse saddle, engraved with battle scenes of human knights slaying kobolds.

A damp beaver skin bagpipe.

A marble sculpture of an elven woman being swallowed by a large wave.

A twisted warhorn blasted into a dark ebony hue and wrapped in bands of bronze with draconic runes that glow with purple eldritch fire. The low moaning drone of the horn discomforts all who hear it.

A wooden armband, intricately carved with interweaving vines and snaking dragons’ heads,

A silver horseshoe with foreign writing etched on to the side of the shoe. Roughly translates to "Trailfire".

A high, conical mask, intricately decorated with dried corn kernels of different colours.

A war banner depicting a bone-white skeleton on a field of midnight blue.

A maple linen chest with false bottom holding a number of lewd porcelain figures.

An innocuous-looking, fist-sized piece of faceted glass. When placed upon a flat surface the object floats about three feet into the air, glowing and chiming softly.

A fist-sized orb that resembles the eye of a dragon and dangles from a heavy gold chain.

A simple quartz crystal with a series of emerald green and brown straws extending from within its central structure. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as tourmaline in quartz.

A colourful ball formed from silk ribbons that randomly unfurls in a multi-hued explosion of noise and whipping fabric, before suddenly reforming.

A small cut glass bottle has a hinged silver top emblazoned with a caduceus.

A bronze rattle with a set of small openings that allow you to see the glowing purple stone within it.

A lacquered wood-carved mouth instrument resembles a duck-hunter’s call, except for the red band along the mouthpiece and the hooked dragon’s claw wood-burned into its side. Blowing into the object causes it to sound like a drake's mating call, barely resistible to any draconic creature within earshot.  

An empty djinn lamp. There is a note attached on which are written the words: “It's out. It is coming for you.”

A pair of small ceramic vials stoppered with corks. The sigil of the local constabulary has been stamped into the sides.

A handful of small, silver and copper coins pressed with unfamiliar faces and strange lettering.

An empty, crumpled leather belt pouch with a large hole opened along the bottom seam and a snarling beast embossed on the side.

A set of thieves’ tools that includes a small file, a set of lock picks, a small mirror mounted on a metal handle, a set of narrow-bladed scissors, and a pair of pliers.

An egg-sized smooth white stone poorly carved on one side to resemble a grinning skull. The tiny eye sockets appear far deeper than should be possible on an item this size.

A dozen brass keys in various sizes linked on a polished steel ring. One of the keys appears far too intricate for any mechanical lock you have ever encountered.

A polished dark wood box inlaid with silver tracery and lined with velvet, suitable for displaying a single piece of jewellery.

A small metal cube with dark glass on two opposing faces. Holding the box up to a light source causes it to project a colourful image of two men in orange robes, arguing over what appears to be a carefully flayed human skin.

A garish tabard made from simple red cloth, with gold-coloured trim that has frayed badly. The effect of the wear is such that the tabard’s edge appears to be fluffy; the strands of cheap gold fabric float like tentacles in the slightest breeze. The front of the tabard is dominated by a somewhat-successfully stitched image depicting a drop of blood. The back is adorned with a single letter “I” and has undergone the same transformation as the gold trim. Donning the tabard causes several wayward strands to drift upward into the bearer's face.

A doss lute carved from alder wood in a graceful, pear-shaped form. Abstract designs were inlaid in the wood in copper.

A mask of smoked glass cut into a half shell that obscures the bearer's features.

A golden, translucent bracelet made of a lightweight, silky material that resembles warm amber. In fact, small creatures can be seen trapped within. If watched closely, they seem to move.

A disguise kit consisting of cosmetics, hair dye and small props that allow the bearer to create disguise and change their physical appearance.

A coinpurse crafted from shimmering bronze-hued fabric that features humanoid teeth as part of its clasping mechanism. The incisors seem particularly pronounced.

A rough, milky white gem with a red crystal grown directly through one side and tinged with yellow discolorations. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as realgar.

A curious jade rod tipped with a glowing knob of crimson that shimmers with eldritch phosphorescence like a live thing.

A tiny finch made of overlapping metal plates. A gentle tug on its tail causes it to unfold into the shape of a small flower. Touching the centre of the flower causes it to reconfigure into the shape of a small lizard.

A tightly rolled vellum scroll, apparently blank on both sides, but with a deep blue shimmer as it catches the light.

A simple clay pin in the shape of a human face. Its eyes dart about and its mouth moves as though attempting to speak.

A small brown leather bag contains a double handful of black shale shards that ring like coins as it moves about.

A slate-grey box covered in tiny blinking lights. Along one edge is a panel which folds down to reveal a seemingly random assortment of letters and numbers on individual buttons opposite smooth black glass.

A padded trunk that contains a device to extend and display several small drawers when the trunk is opened. Beneath the display drawers are several additional removable padded drawers, all of which contain neatly sorted tiny decorative beads and wires.

A simple silver mirror that shows a perfect reflection delayed by several seconds.

A soft fur stole lined with black satin. Something solid has been sewn within the lining at one end.

A filthy, mummified monkey’s paw, curled into a fist and clutching what looks like an egg.

A tiny, polished wooden coffin. The lid is sealed with wax and the sound of tumbling glass shards can be heard as the box is moved.

A pair of excruciatingly detailed false glass eyes, in grey and green. While held or placed on a solid surface, they gradually turn to face each other.

Some garish crushed velvet pantaloons, monogrammed with the initials ‘AJW.’ So obviously out of fashion that they can only be antique.

An old, thick coin, dented but cleanly cast with bas reliefs. Some runes on the obverse; and on the reverse: the cruel-eyed face of a woman with spiral horns. The con has a scent of mildew and copper that rubs off when handled.

A small glass cube filled with a faintly luminescent blue fluid, with a small latch on one side securing the top. Something about the liquid suggests a degree of consciousness to its movements.

A leather drawstring pouch filled with a dozen perfectly spherical polished stones. The stones stick together as though magnetic, but come apart again with almost no effort.

A hard black leather case containing a flawless set of well-used professional kitchen knives, one nearly as long as your arm.

A coloured glass hemisphere made to resemble a distant galaxy seen on a clear dark night.

An odd red badge in the shape of a hunting bird’s head. The maker’s mark on the reverse appears strikingly similar to the local duke’s seal.

A folding leather wallet filled with strangely coloured bits of paper. Tucked within, you also find a small pewter badge showing the symbol of a great wyrm atop a castle wall, with the initials ‘GG’ on its reverse.

A shattered magenta stone with two dark green edges and that vaguely resembles sliced fruit. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as watermelon tourmaline.

A miniature castle constructed from a series of slick, modular blocks. Tiny, smiling figures man the parapets.

A well-polished brass oil lamp covered with intricate characters and a strange landscape in relief.

A brass and steel orrery, animated by clockwork and magic in real time. The spheres are nearly perfectly aligned.

A military chest with silver handles, three drawers, and iron-edged pigeon holes. The chest is covered in crossbow bolt holes.

A bronze candelabrum depicting angels being chased by stirges.

A crystal-beaded gossamer headpiece that sparkles with the slightest movement. The pattern of beads is that of an icon for a long-dead religion.

A clay pot with four faces; one a jackal, one a crocodile, the third a vulture, and the fourth a grinning hawk swallowing a human eye.

A large pot scarab filled with mummified human fingers.

A flat brass clockwork dial so richly studded with circles and hands and curious symbols that it looked like a cross scowly face.

A painted limestone incense burner set with a garnet.

A black basalt statuette of a lion wearing a gold crown and crushing slaves beneath its paws.

A leather wallet stamped with the design of a market stall, containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a member of the merchants guild. The section containing the member's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A pouch filled with a dozen silver coins of great age, depicting forgotten gods and god-kings engaged in carnal acts.

A terracotta lamp with silver filigree work depicting lions killing escaping slaves.

A suspiciously clean wallet made from sewn mice and rats.

A scroll case made of sewn snakeskin and metal plates.

A fancy snuff box made from carved whale bone.

A set of flint and steel in an old calfskin wrap with the tail still attached held in a wool holdall.

A walnut, iron, and onyx pipe with a clay bowl depicting a swan.

A set of dice carved from white dragon bone. They will chill small quantities of liquid if placed inside a vessel of any kind. If rolled the dice will cover a small surface in a thin layer of ice.

An ornate linen headband with brass decorations.

A strange looking stone made of a material that looks like basalt, only with small insets of strange red, almost gleaming, material. It is slightly warm to the touch, and if one examines it very carefully or is very tactile to the touch, it seems to be almost pulsating.

[zionipiw545-blog]

Getting Tired Of How To Install Snow Rails On A Metal Roof? 10 Sources Of Inspiration That’ll Rekindle Your Love

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The 12 Best Snow Roof Guards Accounts To Follow On Twitter

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15 Reasons Why You Shouldn't Ignore Metal Snow Guards

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15 People You Oughta Know In The Roof Ice Guards Industry

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If you're going for a far more rustic appear, then you might want to take into consideration a metal roof that is painted that has a rustic concept. Together with becoming a terrific option for this particular variety of roof, it also can support secure versus UV rays and provide a much more resilient and lengthy-Long lasting roof. This type is additionally ideal for those who need to purchase a roof that features a solid aesthetic attraction.

For individuals who like the traditional seem, there are also steel snow guard for metallic roofs that can be found in white. This roof is one that is usually dearer and is also not a really sturdy solution. Nonetheless, it can protect your roof towards The weather and will give it a classic feel and look. On the other hand, for all those searching for a considerably less common glimpse, You will also find variations that are available a more modern day design and style.

For those who wish to insert a bit more fashion to their metallic roof, then there are actually much more alternatives out there for individuals who are seeking a far more classic structure. By way of example, a steel roof may be built with brick or stone. This gives the roof a more standard search and is likely to make it look a great deal more classy than one that is made out of a far more up to date product.

What The Heck Is Snow Guard For Metal Roof Canada?

Lastly, you will discover even more classic models that are offered for individuals who would rather spend their cash on the most effective kind of steel roof and shield their residence from the elements than for the sake of fashion. These consist of standard designs like the slate or clay.

No matter which type snow stop on metal roof of metallic roof is utilized for the objective of snow guards for metal roofs, Take into account that the appropriate safety is essential. As a result, it's important to pick out the very best option for the local climate and the home you reside in.

In case the temperature is warm, then a metal roof is normally the best choice In relation to snow guards for steel roofs. Nevertheless, if It is cold, then a steel sheet or roof can be utilized at the same time. When selecting the best elements for the metallic roof, it is best to consider each The weather as well as the roof you have chosen.

In regards to sizzling weather conditions, it is best to choose materials that may be capable to face up to higher heat. This fashion, the steel roof will be able to keep interesting more than enough for more often than not you would like it to.

On the other hand, if you live in sizzling climates, then a metallic roof might be the best choice. to employ to safeguard your roof with the heat of summer season and keep it cooler when you're residing in the colder months of Wintertime.

In terms of metallic snow guard for steel roofs, you should also think about the type of roofing that is definitely finest suited towards the climate also to the local weather. It's best to get the proper components for the climate where you reside and in order that you are doing the appropriate exploration prior to making your remaining choice.

You can find Several possibilities On the subject of purchasing the top snow guards for steel roofs. You will find that a great deal of the suppliers you pay a visit to have an in depth collection of such goods, and this can sometimes be frustrating. It is because There are many of products to pick from, and there is no wrong or right method to buy one particular.

Are You Getting The Most Out Of Your Metal Roof Ice Guards Canada?

When looking at this kind of products, take into consideration what you are looking for within a roof, and then take a little bit of time to research them. In truth, it is often a good idea to do some investigate in advance of you truly head out and purchase everything.

This is due to there are a lot of issues you'll want to consider when you are thinking about if a certain item is the best. For starters, evaluate the roof itself. What substance could it be made from? It's possible you'll realize that some are better than others, which is frequently according to the environment exactly where the roof was made.

The ideal snow guards for metallic roofs are those that allow for a substantial amount of light penetration. It is because This enables the light to penetrate in the structure, which is a lot more Strength effective in addition to lessens the probability of rainwater obtaining inside of and creating problems. Additionally, you will locate that this also stops the snow from build up about the roof, which is something which you don't want. If you purchase a thing that would not let for this light-weight penetration, you could anticipate to pay quite a bit of funds with the product or service.

A different variable that you must consider In relation to obtaining the most beneficial snow guards for metallic roofs is the load. This is due to it might be tricky to move huge amounts of major gear round the roof whether it is manufactured from a lighter substance. In truth, it might be a bit also complicated, so you might have to work with cranes to assist you.

14 Savvy Ways To Spend Leftover Roof Snow Guards Canada Budget

One of the better snow guards for metal roofs that you can get is just one fabricated from aluminum. This material is very potent and sturdy, and it has been identified to previous for a long time, which can be something that you absolutely want. If you prefer a roof which will last for some time.

One more issue to consider when paying for a snow guard is its capacity to guard your property from problems. If you live in a place where by it snows quite a bit, then you will want to uncover an item that could face up to The weather, and continue to glance good. You will probably want to think about products that are made of top of the range supplies.

They are just a few of the factors to consider into consideration when acquiring the ideal snow guards for metallic roofs. You can find an incredible range on the internet when you look around and locate the very best one that fits your needs. Just Ensure that you make time to investigation the products which you're checking out.

Appear about the solution evaluations for that product or service and see what Other individuals need to say about the protection components. When you buy something, there isn't a cause of it not to work, and you won't want to obtain to switch it at any time quickly. You can also check out a number of Web-sites online to understand the different types of merchandise that exist, as well as their positives and negatives.

A lot of people will hunt for a selected form of style. so that they can maintain their house, shielded from the climatic conditions that they're accustomed to. If You're not certain about what you wish to receive, you could normally question another person in the store. that can assist you out with that decision.

After you have decided on what you want, you can begin hunting as a result of product evaluations to find out what Other individuals must say about it. In this way, you might know you have an idea of what Other folks consider it. When you've got a good suggestion of what you need, it is possible to go ahead and purchase the merchandise that you think is best. For those that are Not sure of this, you can also get in touch with the manufacturer and obtain some customer care suggestions from them.

The most important element of the merchandise is the fact that it ought to be water-resistant. since This is often what's going to figure out simply how much protection it has for your house. You'd like something that allows the rain to have off and hold the roofing secured.

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The Most Hilarious Complaints We’ve Heard About How To Install Snow Rails On A Metal Roof

The primary position you'll discover snow guards for metallic roofs in Canada is the website from the Canadian National Research Council (CNRC). CNRC is actually a federal company of Canada That may be a division in the Department of Marketplace and Science. This organization is chargeable for finding methods to stop snow and ice from coming into your house, as well as helping you make your property far more cozy in the course of the Wintertime season.

The snow guard for metallic roofs is one of their principal tasks. You'll be able to understand quite a bit relating to this solution by browsing the web site or by checking out their shop. There are also several videos available online that explain to you the set up method for both new and used styles.

If you reside in Canada and you have in no way regarded buying a snow guard for metal roofs, it could be a smart idea to achieve this. These are a great way to keep your house safe over the winter year, and you might come across that they are quite useful even during the summer months months.

What type of snow guards for steel roofs in Canada can be obtained? Nicely there are numerous differing kinds, but all of them tumble into among two types: All those with metallic roofing panels and those without. These solutions usually Expense a little bit more than These devoid of metallic roofs. But eventually, you will certainly realize that these are extremely durable.

How To Solve Issues With Roof Ice Guards

You can also get snow guards for metal roofs that use other components including Wooden. Wooden is a superb alternative as it is simple to put in, straightforward to wash, and really lightweight. Wood snow guards also do an incredible position at trying to keep your property dry.

Wooden panels are normally very expensive in addition. If you do not want to spend lots of money over a snow guard for metallic roofs in Canada, you are able to opt for to set up the panels to the roof by oneself. On the other hand, in order to save cash and do the set up skillfully, this option is usually open up to you personally.

The snow guard for steel roof will present you with many years of service, so long as you just take right care of your respective steel roof. By caring for your roof, you can help safeguard it for your Winter season and allow it to be final extended.

As you can see, there are plenty of reasons why it is best to think about using these snow guards for metallic roofs in Canada. Despite the fact that it might Price tag a little bit over the traditional components, you will definitely see how important They are really to the winter time.

7 Things About How To Install Snow Stops On Metal Roof Your Boss Wants To Know

Based on exactly how much you want to spend and on what you feel would be extra acceptable, you may have your own perception of fashion in the snow guard you install. You may want to obtain one which matches your private home decor, or that is totally diverse. A lot of people also like to acquire their snow guard tailored and made particularly since they desire.

One more excellent notion for introducing a contact of flare to your house is to possess some steel trim installed within the foundation of your respective guard. This fashion you should be able to enhance it any way you would like. from the skin, and have it match the color of your private home, to your inside decorations.

Discovering the right merchandise to protect your roof is essential. It does not issue if you select the standard components like Wooden or steel, or if you decide on Wooden, you should try out to buy the very best security to keep your roof Harmless.

Normally keep in mind that when you are looking at acquiring a snow guard for your property, you'll want to make sure you purchase the appropriate product and not merely a cheap one that will provide you with no added security. There are lots of options to choose from to select from, and you wish to ensure you choose the one that offers you the most effective protection for the worth you will end up purchasing it.

Metal snow guards for steel roofs are a great way to shield your roof in the harsh aspects of the Wintertime and The weather from the roadways. First polycarbonate-steel roofing, while not low cost, can also be a sturdy product or service which can last for many years with no injury.

Steel roofing - A Steel roof is built out of numerous levels of just one product. Because the roof is staying designed, a protecting framework is produced from aluminum or metal. Along with the frames, the sheeting is typically coated with zinc to repel the elements, along with to safeguard it towards harm caused by UV rays.

A Trip Back In Time: How People Talked About How To Install Snow Stops On Metal Roof 20 Years Ago

When picking a metal roof for your private home, Understand that some models of polycarbonate have a tendency to peel when it will come time to use the coating. For the reason that this sort of roof is relatively weak and won't rise up to the elements like other types, it's important to pick out the top form of polycarbonate to employ for your private home.

For anyone who is likely for a more rustic search, then you may want to look at a metallic roof that is definitely painted using a rustic concept. Along with getting a terrific choice for this unique form of roof, it can also aid secure in opposition to UV rays and supply a way more tough and long-lasting roof. This design can be perfect for individuals who are looking to purchase a roof that features a strong aesthetic enchantment.

For those who choose the standard look, In addition there are steel snow guard for metal roofs that come in snow stops canada white. This roof is one that is generally dearer and can also be not a really sturdy solution. Even so, it is going to shield your roof from the elements and will give it a common feel and look. Nonetheless, for those seeking a less standard search, Additionally, there are variations that can be found in a more present day structure.

For those who are looking to increase a little bit more type to their steel roof, then you'll find even more options out there for those who are looking for a far more regular layout. As an example, a metallic roof is often designed with brick or stone. This provides the roof a far more common look and is likely to make it search a great deal more tasteful than one that is made out of a more present-day substance.

17 Reasons Why You Should Ignore Snow Guards Metal Roof

Finally, you will find all the more classic designs that are available for individuals who would rather devote their funds on the best style of metallic roof and defend their household from The weather than for your sake of favor. These incorporate regular variations such as the slate or clay.

Regardless of which style of metal roof is used for the objective of snow guards for metallic roofs, Remember that the best defense is very important. Consequently, it is vital to pick out the absolute best choice for the local climate and the house you reside in.

In the event the weather is heat, then a steel roof is normally the most suitable choice In relation to snow guards for metal roofs. However, if It truly is cold, then a steel sheet or roof can be utilized in addition. When choosing the ideal materials for the steel roof, you should contemplate equally the elements plus the roof that you've got chosen.

In relation to hot temperature, you ought to pick components that can be equipped to resist large warmth. Using this method, the metal roof will be able to keep amazing more than enough for more often than not you need it to.

Conversely, when you reside in very hot climates, then a metallic roof may be your best option. to utilize to safeguard your roof in the warmth of summer and retain it cooler while you are residing in the colder months of winter.

With regards to metal snow guard for steel roofs, you should also look at the form of roofing which is greatest suited on the climate and also to the weather. It is best to obtain the ideal resources to the local weather where you reside and to make sure that you do the correct research before making your final choice.

You'll find A good number of selections In terms of obtaining the ideal snow guards for metal roofs. You will find that a lot of the shops you go to have an in depth assortment of those goods, which can sometimes be mind-boggling. This is due to There are many of goods to choose from, and there is no right or wrong strategy to acquire 1.

3 Reasons Your Metal Snow Guards Is Broken (And How To Fix It)

When looking at these types of goods, take into account what you are searhing for inside a roof, after which you can acquire a little bit of time for you to investigation them. In reality, it is often recommended to do some analysis before you truly go out and purchase something.

It is because There are plenty of things you need to look at whenever you are considering whether a selected solution is the greatest. For starters, consider the roof itself. What material could it be made from? Chances are you'll discover that some are a lot better than Other people, and this is often according to the atmosphere in which the roof was designed.

The ideal snow guards for metallic roofs are those that let for an excessive amount of gentle penetration. This is due to This enables The sunshine to penetrate to the composition, which is way more Electricity efficient as well as reduces the chances of rainwater having inside of and creating hurt. Additionally, you will come across this also prevents the snow from build up over the roof, which can be something that you don't want. If you purchase something that will not enable for this light-weight penetration, you are able to hope to pay for a substantial amount of cash to the item.

Another element that you have got to think about In regards to buying the ideal snow guards for metal roofs is the weight. It is because it might be challenging to transfer significant quantities of weighty devices across the roof whether it is made from a lighter content. The truth is, it could be slightly also challenging, and also you might have to make use of cranes that will help you.

11 Ways To Completely Revamp Your Snow Stopper Roof

Among the finest snow guards for metallic roofs that you could get is just one made from aluminum. This materials is kind of solid and sturdy, and it's been known to very last for years, and that is a thing that you definitely need. If you'd like a roof which will last for some time.

Yet another aspect to consider when acquiring a snow guard is its capacity to secure your private home from harm. For those who live in a region where by it snows a lot, then you will want to obtain an item that can stand up to the elements, and continue to search good. You'll likely want to contemplate products which are made of high quality resources.

They are just a few of the aspects to choose into consideration when getting the best snow guards for steel roofs. You could find an excellent collection on-line for those who look around and locate the finest one that satisfies your requirements. Just Be certain that you go to the trouble to research the products which you are investigating.

Look over the item testimonials for your merchandise and see what Other individuals must say about the safety components. When you purchase something, there is absolutely no basis for it not to operate, and you won't want to get to interchange it at any time soon. You can also visit a number of Web-sites on-line to learn about the differing types of items that exist, and their benefits and drawbacks.

Many people will look for a specific form of style and design. so which they can preserve their property, protected against the weather conditions that they're accustomed to. If you are not positive about what you want to obtain, you could generally request another person in the store. that will help you out with That call.

Upon getting decided on what you want, you can begin on the lookout by way of merchandise testimonials to discover what Other individuals must say over it. This fashion, you are going to know you have an idea of what Other folks think about it. When you have a good idea of what you need, it is possible to go on and get the merchandise that you think is finest. For the ones that are Not sure of this, you can even contact the manufacturer and get some customer service tips from them.

A very powerful aspect of the solution is that it ought to be water-proof. considering the fact that That is what is going to decide just how much security it's got for your home. You wish a thing that will permit the rain to receive off and maintain the roofing safeguarded.

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5 Bad Habits That People In The Metal Roof Snow Guards Industry Need To Quit

The number 1 place you will discover snow guards for metal roofs in Canada is the website of your Canadian National Investigation Council (CNRC). CNRC can be a federal company of Canada That may be a division of your Section of Sector and Science. This organization is answerable for obtaining strategies to forestall snow and ice from getting into your private home, along with serving to you make your home much more relaxed through the winter year.

The snow guard for steel roofs is one of their key initiatives. You can discover a lot concerning this product by searching the web site or by checking out their retail outlet. You can also find various movies available online that teach you the installation course of action for both equally new and employed types.

If you reside in Canada https://roof-experts.ca/metal-roof-snow-guards/ and you've got in no way regarded as buying a snow guard for metallic roofs, it could be a smart idea to accomplish that. These are definitely a great way to maintain your home Secure through the Winter season period, and you may locate that they are very handy even during the summertime months.

What sort of snow guards for metallic roofs in Canada are available? Properly there are lots of different types, but all of them slide into considered one of two categories: All those with steel roofing panels and people without the need of. These goods generally Price tag a little bit a lot more than All those devoid of metal roofs. But ultimately, you will certainly see that they're quite long lasting.

9 Signs You're A How To Install Snow Rails On A Metal Roof Expert

You may also get snow guards for steel roofs that use other materials for instance Wooden. Wood is a superb alternative because it is easy to set up, easy to wash, and really light-weight. Wooden snow guards also do a great career at trying to keep your own home dry.

Wood panels are typically quite costly also. If you don't want to invest a lot of cash on the snow guard for metal roofs in Canada, you are able to decide on to install the panels within the roof by by yourself. On the other hand, if you need to save cash and do the set up skillfully, this selection is usually open up to you.

The snow guard for metal roof will present you with many years of support, so long as you consider suitable treatment of your metallic roof. By taking care of your roof, you should help safeguard it with the Winter season and enable it to be previous for a longer period.

As you'll be able to see, there are several main reasons why you should think about using these snow guards for metal roofs in Canada. Although it can Price tag a little bit in excess of the normal products, you will certainly see how worthwhile They are really for the Winter season year.

5 Tools Everyone In The Snow Stops Metal Roof Industry Should Be Using

Depending on how much you need to commit and on what you're feeling could be much more suited, you can have your own private sense of style in the snow guard you put in. You may want to obtain one that matches your home decor, or that is totally various. Some people also like to possess their snow guard custom-made and designed accurately as they drive.

Yet another good thought for introducing a contact of flare to your home is to have some metallic trim installed throughout the base of the guard. Using this method you should be able to embellish it any way you'd like. from the skin, and have it match the colour of your private home, for your interior decorations.

Getting the appropriate product to safeguard your roof is vital. It does not subject if you decide on the standard elements like wood or metallic, or if you decide on Wooden, you should attempt to obtain the best possible security to keep the roof Secure.

Normally do not forget that once you are considering getting a snow guard for your property, you should ensure you buy the correct product or service and not merely a cheap one which gives you no added defense. There are several choices around to choose from, and you wish to ensure you choose the one that gives you the most beneficial protection for the worth you can be purchasing it.

Steel snow guards for steel roofs are a terrific way to guard your roof through the harsh components with the winter and the elements in the roadways. Unique polycarbonate-metallic roofing, however not low-priced, is additionally a tough solution which can final for a few years with no injury.

Metal roofing - A Steel roof is made out of a number of levels of an individual content. As the roof is currently being designed, a protective framework is created from aluminum or metal. Together with the frames, the sheeting is typically coated with zinc to repel the elements, along with to shield it versus harm a result of UV rays.

How To Win Big In The Metal Roof Snow Industry

When selecting a metallic roof for your home, Remember that some makes of polycarbonate have a bent to peel when it will come time to apply the coating. Simply because this sort of roof is relatively weak and won't get up to the elements like other types, it is vital to choose the ideal style of polycarbonate to utilize for your private home.

If you are going for a far more rustic glimpse, then you may want to think about a steel roof that may be painted by using a rustic topic. In addition to becoming an excellent option for this certain type of roof, it also can enable protect against UV rays and provide a way more long lasting and extended-Long lasting roof. This design can be perfect for many who need to buy a roof that features a robust aesthetic attraction.

For individuals who desire the standard seem, There's also metal snow guard for steel roofs that are available in white. This roof is one which is normally dearer and is additionally not a really strong merchandise. On the other hand, it is going to secure your roof from the elements and can give it a basic feel and look. However, for those seeking a a lot less standard search, You can also find variations that can be found in a far more fashionable design.

For people who wish to increase a bit more design and style for their metallic roof, then there are far more alternatives obtainable for individuals who are trying to find a far more regular design and style. For example, a metallic roof may be designed with brick or stone. This offers the roof a more standard search and is likely to make it search way more exquisite than one which is produced from a more modern day materials.

10 Best Facebook Pages Of All Time About Snow Guards For Metal Roofs

At last, there are all the more classic kinds that are offered for many who would prefer to commit their dollars on the top sort of metallic roof and guard their property from the elements than to the sake of favor. These incorporate conventional styles like the slate or clay.

Regardless of which sort of metallic roof is utilized for the goal of snow guards for metal roofs, Remember that the best protection is vital. Therefore, it is vital to pick out the very best option for the weather and the home you reside in.

If the climate is heat, then a metallic roof is normally the most suitable choice In terms of snow guards for metal roofs. Nevertheless, if It really is chilly, then a steel sheet or roof can be used as well. When selecting the proper products for a metallic roof, you need to look at equally the elements as well as roof that you've got picked out.

In relation to hot weather, you'll want to decide on products which can be equipped to withstand significant warmth. In this way, the steel roof should be able to continue to be amazing plenty of for usually you wish it to.

Alternatively, when you live in scorching climates, then a steel roof could possibly be the only option. to implement to shield your roof within the warmth of summer and hold it cooler when you are living in the colder months of Winter season.

With regards to metal snow guard for steel roofs, It's also wise to look at the type of roofing that is most effective suited into the climate and also to the weather. It's best to obtain the correct products to the climate where you live and to make sure that you need to do the right investigation before making your remaining option.

You will discover quite a few possibilities In relation to purchasing the most effective snow guards for steel roofs. You will discover that a great deal of the retailers you go to have an intensive collection of those merchandise, and this can at times be overwhelming. It is because there are a lot of products and solutions to select from, and there's no wrong or right technique to acquire a person.

What The Oxford English Dictionary Doesn't Tell You About Snow Guards For Corrugated Metal Roofs

When thinking about these merchandise, contemplate what you are searching for within a roof, and then get a little bit of time to research them. In fact, it is usually sensible to perform a little investigation ahead of you actually head out and purchase everything.

It is because There are plenty of points it is best to think about whenever you are thinking about if a selected products is the best. Firstly, look at the roof alone. What substance can it be product of? You could find that some are a lot better than Some others, which is often according to the environment in which the roof was manufactured.

The top snow guards for metal roofs are the ones that permit for quite a lot of light penetration. It is because This enables the light to penetrate in the structure, that is much more Vitality productive and likewise minimizes the probability of rainwater obtaining inside of and causing harm. Additionally, you will uncover this also stops the snow from building up over the roof, which can be something which you do not want. If you purchase a thing that isn't going to allow for for this light-weight penetration, it is possible to assume to pay a large amount of funds for your merchandise.

Yet another component that you will have to take into consideration when it comes to purchasing the very best snow guards for metallic roofs is the load. This is due to it could be tough to transfer huge quantities of weighty devices around the roof if it is made of a lighter product. In fact, it might be just a little way too challenging, so you may need to work with cranes that can assist you.

Does Your Ice Rake For Metal Roof Pass The Test? 7 Things You Can Improve On Today

One of the better snow guards for metallic roofs which you could get is 1 product of aluminum. This content is kind of strong and sturdy, and it has been identified to past for many years, which is something that you absolutely want. if you want a roof that will previous for some time.

A further aspect to consider when buying a snow guard is its ability to guard your house from hurt. In case you are living in a place where by it snows a lot, then you'll want to come across an item that may face up to The weather, and still glimpse fantastic. You will probably want to contemplate products that are created of high quality resources.

These are definitely just a few of the factors to just take into consideration when purchasing the most effective snow guards for steel roofs. Yow will discover a great collection on the net in the event you look around and locate the most effective one that satisfies your preferences. Just Be certain that you make an effort to investigate the products that you might be looking at.

Search in excess of the item critiques to the product and find out what Others should say about the security aspects. When you purchase a thing, there isn't a reason behind it not to operate, and you will not want to obtain to replace it at any time quickly. It's also possible to check out various websites on-line to learn about the differing types of merchandise that are available, as well as their pros and cons.

A lot of people will try to find a selected form of design. so they can preserve their dwelling, protected from the weather conditions that they are utilized to. If You aren't absolutely sure about what you would like to get, you could generally inquire anyone in the store. that can assist you out with That call.

Once you've decided on what you would like, you can start searching as a result of products assessments to view what Other individuals need to say about this. By doing this, you will know that you've an notion of what Other folks give it some thought. When you have a good suggestion of what you want, you are able to go on and order the solution that you're thinking that is best. For people who are Doubtful of this, you can also call the manufacturer and obtain some customer service tips from them.

A very powerful facet of the item is that it should be water resistant. considering the fact that This is often what will decide just how much protection it's for your house. You desire something which enables the rain to receive off and retain the roofing guarded.