#sky gauntlet is what i call them!

[tippedarrows]

speaking of mine-imator though uhhhhh these were literally the first things i EVER MADE on that stupid thing...... uhhhhh. this was before I learned to import renders

[polychromaic]

🌸 when the Hindriarch banished Eskhind and her kin from Bey Lah, Neelahind would follow her heart into voluntary exile. To abandon a surefooted life, as well as a coveted spot among the Fellowship, is nearly unheard of among both hindren and Wardens, but Neelahind was glowing when she took her leave. I hear the pair are quite happy together, practicing arconautics in the ruins to the west—at least, that's what the kendren bring news of when they come back to trade.

back at it again w more caves of qud deer gals 😏✨ i'm kind of enamored with the ending to the Bey Lah quest where Esk and Neela both take off, so i wanted to see what they'd look like as a matched set of lesbian pariah-arconauts. geez, i can’t believe it’s been almost two years since i drew them last

image descriptions under break!

img desc: A drawing of a hindren deerfolk girl from "Caves of Qud". On the left a title card reads "Pariah Neelahind (she/her)". Some of the details are labeled. Her fur is a rich cedar red, with a lighter heartwood underbelly curling under her arms and on the inside of her legs down to her hooves; her curly hair is dark mahogany, tied back in a ponytail with a sky-blue bandana; her antlers are a pale heartswood, deepening to a rich velvet at the tines. She’s smiling, looking up and off to her right; she's poised upright, her arms spread to either side of her as she grips the haft of her war-scythe Yal, which is laying across her shoulders. She’s wearing shining steel platemail—a breastplate over a nanoweave surcoat patterned with pale lemon slices over pink (called "Pink Lemonade"); her armor is incomplete, but well taken care of. She’s wearing leather braces, a steel gauntlet on her left hand only, and a woven blue sash and bedroll across her back.

img desc: A drawing of a hindren deerfolk girl from "Caves of Qud". On the right a title card reads "Pariah Eskhind (she/it)". Some of the details are labeled. Her fur is ashen, with her pale undercoat spotting through on her forearms and flanks. Her messy hair is a greenish bleach-blonde, and one of her ears has a hole in it; her antlers are pale and their velvet is darker grey, and they're covered in little tied-on charms and brass tine hornaments. She has an eyepatch over her left eye, and a gap between her front teeth. She's grinning, slouching in a relaxed fashion, pulling back her hood with one hand and flashing a rock-on with the other; her front two legs are crossed, while the back two are spread like she's posing for a picture. She's wearing a well-worn chainmail hauberk, which extends down over her back; a ragged cowl, with buttoned slots along the hem of the hood for her antlers to fit through; a leather bracer on her left wrist, a steel pauldron on her right shoulder, a fingerless elastyne glove on her right hand, and two pairs of croccasins on her hooves. A pocketed saddle is slung over her back, along with a backpack and bedroll; on either side, the pockets are full of tools and bits. Tucked into her swordbelt is a sheathed folding carbide longsword and a gaslight kris; slung across her chest is a bolt-action rifle called "Peashooter" (it has a lesbian flag on its stock). Around her legs are several beaded bracelets and charms; one of them is the rightfully reclaimed Kindrish, complete with its carved deer charm.

[boneblushed]

Glitch

synopsis Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

a/n oh Euro Trip Rafe I have missed you so bad 🥹

The velcro of your left glove snags, the worn edge catching on the handle of your ski pole. You sigh. The gauntlet cuff on the right side isn’t looking much better, all scruffy and threadbare so the underlying skin’s exposed.

“Hold on,” you call out, skidding to a reluctant stop.

It’s high time you replaced them with a newer pair, especially considering you’ve been using the same gear your parents bought you post middle-school growth spurt. But you don’t come to Aspen nearly enough to justify doing so at the moment; not that money’s a particular issue, it’s more so the inconvenience an unnecessary shopping trip will bring you.

“Dude. Again?”

You abandon the broken strap to send Topper a helpless frown. He’s a little way ahead, partially obscured by the crowd, but the exasperation on his face is made evident by his tone.

He draws nearer and glances down at the shaggy velcro, shaking his head disapprovingly. “We’ve gotta buy you a new pair.”

Above him, the sky is a gauzy blue, juxtaposing the sugary white hue of fresh snow.

“Not worth it Top,” you argue. The strap hitches again, an objection. “They’ll barely get used.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, turning again. “Come on. I’m going to buy you a new pair.”

He’ll buy you a new one, your heart sings. And then it stops. You know better than to read into this gesture — he isn’t being chivalrous on purpose; when is he ever? This is the fourth time you’ve had to stop to untangle or readjust, and you’re pretty sure he’s just getting sick of you holding him up. Logic prevails, but your traitorous cheeks warm anyway, demure about the offer.

“It’s fine,” you insist. The velcro barely sticks when you refasten it. Fine enough. “Let’s keep going.”

You continue to push through the horde ahead of you, making your slow way toward the chairlifts. As you near, the ant-like skiers and snowboarders on the mountain become clearer, and you pull down your goggles, blinded by the sun’s glare.

That’s when the accident happens.

All of a sudden, but crashing in dusky orange slow-motion. Some guy hits a rocky bit of the slopes, losing control of his snowboard and nosediving into the snow. It’s a gnarly looking collision, made worse by his concerning lack of helmet, and you share a worried look with Topper before making your way toward him.

“Dude, fucking move—hey, sorry, best friend coming through—”

You startle, halting abruptly. You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“—sorry, ‘scuse me gorgeous, I’m just gonna squeeze past you real quick—”

“Noah!”

In the split second that follows, you endure several emotions at once. The first: concern heightened ten-fold. Because if Noah’s referring to himself as the best friend, the some guy in question is actually Rafe Cameron.

The same Rafe Cameron that you love to hate, almost as much as your poor heart avows it.

The second: a concerning ache. Right at the centre of your chest, within your ribcage, as if the tired ligaments that hold it together are as weak as your velcro straps. The feeling swells, and you feel your heart squeeze through the cracks.

And then there’s apprehension, some excitement, a sudden bashfulness that makes your cheeks burn.

All round pathetic. You force a smile that’s more a grimace, hoping that Noah doesn’t notice your disquiet.

He pauses en-route, a surprised expression on his face. “Y/N!” He exclaims, breathless. The surprise melts into a mixture of delight and amusement. “Tell me you witnessed him bailing just then.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he replies soberly, linking his arms in yours and tugging you forward. Your ski poles cross in protest, your centre of balance askew. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” You ask, evidently bewildered. “Noah…”

You twist around and find Topper in the crowd, who shrugs, equally perplexed. Help me, you mouth, though you’re moving ahead too fast for the poor boy to discern it.

“…uh,” you try again, turning back to the face him, “I don’t know if this is —”

“Y/N,” he interrupts matter-of-factly, zig-zagging through the crowd with ease. “If there’s one person that can talk some sense into him, it’s you. I mean, shit, did you see how fast he was going? He’s going to board himself into a fucking coma if he keeps doing stupid shit like that.”

This brings a pause. It’s sort of endearing, really, how fiercely he cares about Rafe.

Your gaze softens a smidge. “You’re a good friend, Noah,” you say. “He’s pretty lucky to have you.”

“Us,” Noah corrects.

Your pulse jolts. “He doesn’t have me,” you reply, frowning a little.

“Everyone else may believe that Y/N, but I don’t.”

And again, a terrifying emotion bounding forth in your chest. “I —”

You’re saved the trouble of sputtering through an excuse by Rafe’s languid groan, a thready-sounding, “Shit.”

The crowd parts at Noah’s command, and the pair of you squeeze through, now face to face with Rafe.

He’s splayed out on the snow with his limbs in disarray, only one of his boots still strapped onto his board. His cheeks are a chilly rouge, dirty-blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. You resist the sudden urge to reach forward and comb your fingers through it.

“Idiot,” Noah mutters, crouching down beside him. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

He unfastens the aforementioned boot and tosses his board to the side, the nose-end looking notably abraded.

“Huh?” Rafe mumbles, a little dazed. He gropes at his purple-hued goggles blindly, pulling them off to squint up at Noah. It takes a worrying number of seconds for recognition to dawn on his features, and when it does, finally, Noah turns around and beckons you forward.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting down to Rafe’s face. “Someone should call Ward.”

“No!” Rafe yells suddenly, attempting to push himself up before collapsing backward languidly. He clutches his left side and groans, his eyebrows pinching in pain.

His discomfort makes you wince. You spring into action without meaning to, that concerning ache in your chest pulling you forth until you’re crouching down beside him like Noah.

“No Ward,” you murmur, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Noted.”

Up close, you can see a cut on his bottom lip, the rough stubble on his jaw all dewy from the melted snow. Your brow furrows. As he tears his gaze away from Noah to face you instead, you brush back his dirty-blonde fringe, searching for any more injuries. He has a graze on his upper forehead and you thumb over it gently, the furrow in your brow deepening with concern.

You glance up at Noah and nod. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

Rafe tries to do the same, but a sharp ache sears through his head when he attempts to turn it again.

“Stop moving it,” you instruct sternly, exerting more pressure on his forehead to hold it in place. “Noah isn’t going anywhere.”

“Have to,” he groans, his voice all gravelly and rough, “make sure he’s still here.”

He’s almost certain that Noah won’t be, that he’ll turn to him and find that the two of you are the only people sitting on the slopes. He imagines it like that scene at the end of Deathly Hallows, everything in blinding white and playing inside of his head.

You know, because he’s almost definitely dreaming if you’re crouching down beside him right now. With a soft hand on his shoulder, another pressed over his forehead. Two points of contact, he marvels, dazed. He squints up at you again, his reverent gaze falling over you in paces, and it feels as though a fog is descending on his surroundings. Everything blurs. He blinks abruptly.

“Dude,” Noah chastises, leaning over Rafe’s torso so that he’s within his line of sight, “where the fuck would I go?”

Rafe’s eyes widen, and he looks between you and Noah, evidently bewildered. “Bro,” he groans after a pause, his head falling back defeatedly. “I’m fucked.”

Your heart lurches worriedly, and you frown, looking over his figure for more injuries. “R’you in any pain?”

“Not physical,” he mumbles, lifting his head tentatively to squint at you. He drops it again and groans, overwhelmed by your closeness. “You’re really fucking beautiful, by the way. It’s messing with my head.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a tell-tale warm creeping up your neck. “Alright, you guys can go,” you say, turning to address the crowd. “He’s totally fine.”

Noah grins down at him, looking equally parts proud and exasperated. “There he is.”

Rafe isn’t sure what that means. All he knows is that he doesn’t feel fine, his head’s all jumbled and there’s a dreadful ache in every one of his limbs. The sound of blood pounding through his ears is unrelenting, and the chill in the air is downright abrasive. Not to mention, there’s this angel reincarnate that’s leaning over him at present, a concerned expression on her face that’s somehow making her look prettier.

Two points of contact, Rafe thinks again, agonised. Your softened features come to him in slow motion, the light reflected in your wide eyes, the shine of gloss on your frowning lips. You look extremely familiar, but he’s having difficulty recalling your name. There’s this overwhelming pull in chest that tells him you’re a big deal to him—his girlfriend, he hopes, aghast and probably deluded. That’s the concussion talking.

Besides, he isn’t even entirely sure that you’re actually real, all things considered.

“We should probably get him checked out, huh?” You ask Noah.

Noah knits his brow thoughtfully, peering down at Rafe. “You good, Cameron?”

“I feel fucking hungover,” Rafe mutters, pushing himself into a sitting position. Your hand falters as he hangs his head forward, and he reaches up, pressing it back into his skin. The rough pressure makes your breath hitch, less languid and more sure than he’s been since he bailed.

“You’re concussed,” you correct meekly, frowning down at him.

Rafe tries to shake his head, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through it in dissent. “No,” he says, quick to fix his features. He grins dazedly. “I’m Rafe Cameron. And you’re… well, I hope you’re my girlfriend or something, because otherwise this heart attack in my chest’d be pretty concerning.”

You breathe out a scoff, mildly exasperated. A little relieved. If he’s well enough to remember to be an incessant flirt, he’s well enough for the concussion to not have caused any permanent damage.

“Alright, nevermind, no medical attention necessary,” you mutter, sending him a glare. It’s hard to hide the fact that your palms are clammy when you pull them away.

Noah loops his bicep under Rafe’s and pulls him to his feet, steadying him in place. The throbbing in his forehead intensifies, and he groans, staggering forward and doubling over.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Noah replies then, frowning. “Maybe I’ll give my mom a call, just to be safe.”

“Your mom?”

“Dr White,” Rafe supplies, forcing himself to straighten. He tries to control his breathing, ignore the way his surroundings seem to be spinning.

Everything except you. His focus acquiesces. He must look pale or something because your gaze is apprehensive, this pretty furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth his thumb over. God, he must look pathetic right now, weak and mildly concussed, the aforementioned bail notwithstanding.

So he lies, adding, “Don’t worry about it White, I’m good,” mostly for your benefit—so you don’t think he’s some fucking chump who can’t handle a bit of a tumble.

He wants to impress you, bad. He plasters on another grin, going for roguish and landing on dense. “Would be better if you let me take you out later.”

“No way you’re asking me out right now,” you reproach, sending him a glare. “You almost just died five minutes ago, and that’s the first thing on your priority list?”

“You are, yeah,” he agrees, still grinning. He tries to walk toward you, staggering a little. “Seriously though, this has gotta be fate — bailing real fucking hard and finding a beautiful stranger along the way.”

You blink. “Beautiful stranger?”

“Heavy on the beautiful,” Rafe agrees, lumbering forward clumsily.

“Stranger?” You repeat, and then you falter, glancing down at his feet. “Rafael —”

He loses balance far too quickly for you to intervene, and he falls against you heavily, causing you to topple into the snow. Biting cold on your back, delightful warmth on your chest. His instincts must be somewhat intact, because he manages to hold his weight up despite being right on top of you.

Like, right on top of you. A terrifying emotion sears through your chest. The smatter of freckles on his nose are almost faded, his cheeks a brilliant rouge, snow-burned lips parted slightly. His overgrown locks brush against your forehead, just.

“Sorry,” he breathes out, and then he pauses, his gaze flitting to your lips. In the beat that passes, he agonises over the soft planes of your face, how pretty your eyes are up close. His heart’s just about pounding through his skin. How kissable your lips look, your cheeks, your neck, how right your figure feels pressed into his. His palms feel clammy; that hasn’t happened in a long while. He thinks, oh shit. And then, I’m absolutely fucking fucked.

You swallow, watching his pupils dilate. “Cameron. I need you to focus for a second.”

“Listen,” he murmurs, ignoring you, “D’you believe in love at first sight?”

“Rafael —”

“Because I know we’ve only just met,” he continues, drawing closer still, his heady gaze deepening, “and that — shit, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure that if I don’t kiss you right now I’m going to go fucking insane. That’s crazy, huh? I think you make me crazy. Have I mentioned that you’re really fucking beautiful yet? It’s messing with my head. Wait — I think I might’ve said that already —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt again, your eyes widening slightly. “If this is some stupid prank —”

“Prank?” He echoes, frowning slightly. He leans forward a little, brushing his nose against yours. Your pulse jolts. “You’re a prank.” He groans then, dropping his head to your shoulder. Your closeness may quell the pounding a smidge, but not completely. “You’re not real are you? I’m dreaming all of this?”

Your lock eyes with Noah over his head, sending him a worried look.

“Rafael,” you try again, pushing him off you and sitting up carefully. “This isn’t funny. I’m so beyond serious.”

Rafe, still splayed out on the snow, angles toward you with a furrow in his brow. “I’m confused.”

“Noah,” you say then, your voice louder, a little panicked. “I think you will need to call your mom after all.”

Noah frowns, crouching down beside the pair of you. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Rafe answers, groaning in pain as he sits up. “Is that I’ve made a fool out of myself in front of this gorgeous stranger.”

“Ask her,” you continue, your heart feeling a little odd, “how long post-concussion memory loss takes to wear off.”

Noah eyes widen, searching Rafe’s face for any signs of mirth. “No way,” he says. “He’s gotta be fucking with us.”

“There’s an us?” Rafe echoes, raising his eyebrows at Noah. “Dude. Did you know your girlfriend’s a fucking smokeshow?”

“If this is some new pick up line you’re trying,” he replies, eyeing him warily. “It sucks ass Cameron.”

“Oooh, territorial,” Rafe answers, grinning dopily. He props himself up further, leaning closer to you and lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re totally out of his league, by the way. Pretty sure you’re like, out of the Earth’s league.” He frowns. “That doesn’t make sense,” then groans, “fuck. Having a concussion is like drinking on an empty stomach.”

The pillow of his bicep presses into yours, full well engulfing it. You turn to face him, chewing on your bottom lip worriedly. If this was his idea of a prank, you want to believe that he wouldn’t let it go on this long. Especially not when you and Noah look so concerned, the latter retrieving his phone to give his mother a call.

“Hey mom,” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear and getting to his feet. You do so too. Rafe staggers to a standing position far more clumsily. “Yeah — no — the snow’s been sick, but I’m calling because something’s happened with Rafe. No, no, nothing too serious, he’s just a little concussed and may have some temporary amnesia. I was wondering if…”

“Maybe we can go on a double date,” Rafe tries again, grinning hopefully. There’s a bit of snow that’s melted on your bottom lip from the fall, and he aches to thumb over it, tuck his fingers under your jaw. “You, Noah, me.”

“No, no, he remembers me,” Noah continues, sending you a significant look. “But he doesn’t remember — yeah, it’s pretty selective — uh, maybe a few meters? Uh… no, what the hell’s a trigger? I’ll…”

“What d’you reckon?” Rafe prompts.

Noah turns away and you move your gaze to Rafe, half amused, half exasperated. “You, me, and Noah? Who’re you going to bring?”

“You,” he replies, like it’s obvious.

“And Noah?”

“Me.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. Rafe thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. His already muddled brain short-circuits for the billionth time.

“…half an hour?” You hear Noah affirm, the frown on his features audible. “Yeah — no — it’s been just over that — a trigger like what, though? What d’you mean you don’t know him as well as I do, he’s been coming to our house since he was like six years old…”

You don’t realise your brow’s furrowing until your feel Rafe’s rough thumb brush over it. You startle, feeling your skin warm as you look up at him.

“I’m lucky,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You swallow. “Why?”

“You’re worried about me.” His hand drops to your jaw, thumb swiping over your cheek. You swallow instinctively. “And you’re way too beautiful to be worrying about someone like me.”

“You’ve lost your memory,” you answer weakly. “Anyone’d be worried.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He draws closer.

“Which part, exactly?”

“That people would worry,” he answers quietly, his voice gruff. Closer still. “That I’d forget about someone like you so easy.”

“But you have,” you prompt.

“Then remind me, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Rafael,” you murmur, trying for a frown.

“Not my — wait.”

The thumb that’s swiping over your cheek freezes suddenly. “Wait,” he repeats, blinking several times. He scrunches his eyes shut, retrieving his hand to clutch it against his forehead. “Wait — fuck.”

You lean forward instinctively, tugging his arm away to look over his features, his concerning graze. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I knew…” he answers, shaking his head and groaning, “…but…shit, it’s so fucking obvious now —”

You furrow your brow in confusion, locking eyes with an equally bewildered Noah.

He holds his phone away from his ear, walking over and surveying Rafe’s features. “You good, brother?”

“Fine, shit,” Rafe curses again, scrubbing his hand over his face before meeting your gaze, chagrined. He grins hopefully. “That might’ve been quicker with true love’s kiss, though.”

You aren’t about to believe that he’s back without concrete evidence. “And my name is…?”

“Mrs Cameron,” he replies seriously.

You let out a scoff, more relief than indignation, catching the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“Maybe,” he answers, raising his eyebrows, “if you let me take you out I’ll be too busy to bail.”

You roll your eyes. “Nice try.”

“But I’m maimed, sweetheart,” he adds, brushing back his dirty-blonde locks to show off the forehead graze. He pouts for good measure. “C’mon. Not even a pity date?”

You shake your head exasperatedly, catching Noah’s eye over his shoulder. “You’ll take it from here?”

“What? You aren’t gonna hang out with us?” Noah asks, pressing the phone against his chest. “I thought you were my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Off limits, bro,” Rafe says matter-of-factly.

You’re about to protest when he draws closer and ducks his head, his warm breath on your earlobe cutting you off. “I won’t ever do that again,” he murmurs, the smile on his face audible, “I promise.”

“Good,” you answer, frowning sternly.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turn toward him, startling at his closeness. “Hm?”

He grins wider, brushing his nose against your fleetingly. “Missed remembering you bad, dream girl.”

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.1 (Rex x Reader)

Hey everyone! guess whose in too deep!? me! I've clung to these fictional copy-paste men so much, you can call me a fucking LEECH!

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Epilogue

Landing on Umbara

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, reader insert, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

This is very briefly proofread so I die like a man

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

Umbara was dark. From what you gathered, it was extremely fucking dark. 

You prepared your supplies with Kix. As medics, you both needed to double and triple check every pack, case and box. 

Kix would be on the front. His expertise was more front line first-aid rather than your position behind the forces. He would keep the men alive long enough to get to your hands where you’d focus on the more intense medical care. While you would be armed to defend yourself, it was better if you stayed out of the line of direct fire.

Your safety and position were tied to the status you were given. As a natural born human in the GAR, your life was inherently seen as more important than the clones. This thought process was something you were vehemently against. You and your fellow soldiers were on equal ground. You’ve always tried to treat them with respect, kindness and patience.

On several occasions nat-borns would disrespect or belittle clones in your presence, which usually resulted in a verbal lashing from you. Much to the joy of your General Anakin and his padawan Ahsoka. 

And the affection of a certain Captain Rex.

You peered up from looking over the medical supplies you were supposed to carry. Currently your secret lover was across the hangar meeting with the Jedi generals, ARC troopers and commander of the 212th. 

Despite being in his helmet, you knew you caught his eye. Rex didn’t give anything away except a small movement of his hand. Something Fives didn’t miss, who gave you a small wave.

He knew of your relationship with Rex. So did Anakin. But other than those two, it was secret. All for his protection, as clones were forbidden from romantic partners.

There was a surge of energy in the hangar and you looked around. Your eyes met Kix’s before you nodded to him, “Showtime.” The first wave was loading up ready to get to Umbara’s surface. 

“I’ll keep Rex safe until you touch down.” Your medic friend winked at you before he stood, got his helmet on and got to his transport. 

Scratch that, Kix knew about you and the captain too. 

Several of the gunships lifted, flying from the hangar down to the planet below. The first wave of troops, including ARF troopers, were being sent down to clear the field. From there, a second wave of back-up, your wave, would join them. Your command was temporary. All you had to do was get them to the ground before they took orders from Rex and Anakin.

You adjusted your gauntlet with the communicator on it. T-minus 5 minutes. Your fingers danced over your supplies, double-checking everything you had. 

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits…

“Ready, doc?” A trooper, Ringo, took you out of your thoughts.

With a nod, you lifted your pack and stepped up onto the gunship, “Ready. Let’s load up.”

Others followed your orders and soon, you were in the sky above Umbara. 

Despite the first wave’s efforts, chaos still reigned. Almost immediately your gunship was assaulted by artillery fire. A shot exploded next to you, shaking the entire air vehicle. A ship to the west of yours burst into an explosion of flames.

In response, your second hand shot up for stability. A trooper had their hand on your shoulder to help keep you steady. After a moment, the transport stabilized and you let go, stepping to the back where a crate of supplies waited.

“Dare, how close are we?” You chimed on your communicator. Hopefully you didn’t startle the pilot.

“Landing in 30, I can’t get to the landing site, so you’ll have to walk some to the staging area,” he responded.

“Play it safe,” You commanded, “Land where you can. And try not to crash, I like living and I'm sure the other men do too.” A couple of clones snickers in their helmets. Your little quip helped ease the atmosphere it seemed.

You prepared a speeder. The small vehicle had been modified to carry a patient and allow you to transport extra medical supplies. It was outfitted with some extra armor and protection as well, so in an emergency you could activate a rayshield at the cost of the vehicle's speed.

“Doc, landing in 10.”

“Good job.” You spoke into your communicator before getting on the speeder. You counted down in your head, and just as you got to 1, the doors opened. 

The troopers unloaded, guns ready. Shots were fired, though it didn’t seem as concentrated. Explosions were going off, but at a relatively safe distance. Seemed the first wave did a better job than you originally thought. Your speeder got to the ground, and you made your way to the staging area with the rest of the men.

The battalion had established some trenches, allowing a brief moment of rest and preparation for everyone. You stopped right at the small medical area Kix had skillfully established. Already there were injured in the double digits. Without pause, you got to work.

“You nearly missed the party,” Kix snarked, handling a blaster burn on the thigh of a shiny.

“I’d call this fashionably late,” you quipped back, getting your hands on a different soldier. Blood was seeping from the bottom of his damaged helmet, staining his blue and white chestplate in red. Your mind kicked into training, “What's your name?” You asked, voicing a kinder tone. 

The poor clone was clearly in agony, responding with a tremor to his words, “S-Stag.” He swallowed, trying to control his mental state.

These damn soldiers liked to pretend everything was fine. 

“Alright Stag, I’m gonna remove your helmet.” 

He didn’t argue when you pulled it off revealing the extent of the damage. 

Severe blaster burn. Missing eye. Jaw visible. Shrapnel from the helmet had pierced his cheek and temple. Concussion possibly. 

His remaining brown eye looked wildly at you. You recognized fear. terror.

So, you gave him a reassuring soft smile, “Not too bad, I’ve dealt with worse.” Your fingers quickly wrapped around an injector filled with painkillers, “Here, I’m gonna give you something to help with the pain.” Your words seemed to have a positive effect because he nodded and let you treat him.

You worked quickly and efficiently, stemming the bleeding and getting him stabilized. When you were finished, he had calmed down considerably. Once Stag was stable, you moved on to the next trooper. 

By the fifth, you realized one of them couldn’t be saved.

He was a shiny. Barely off Kamino you guessed. The plastoid of his chest piece looked to be shattered and singed from a bolt to the chest. His breathing was shaky as he leaned against the dark trunk of a glowing tree. 

“I need a trooper.” you called taking the soldier’s hand in your own. You learned quickly into the war that the clones always wanted to die with a brother near them. A reminder that they weren’t alone.

“I hope I’m good enough.” 

That voice. 

“Rex,” Your head turned, looking up at him. You wished you could smile, but you had to keep your excitement under a mask. Plus, the situation didn’t call for it.

His warm eyes were on yours as he pulled off his helmet and knelt. There was clear sadness, knowing that this was the end for one of his men. So the only thing he could do was offer comfort.

“Fyre.” The captain spoke softly, “You did well.” He put one armored hand on the dying man's shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you gave Fyre a shot for the pain and held his hand, “Everything is alright now.” you whispered to him. This wasn’t uncommon, when you or Kix were too late to save someone. 

At the beginning you would burn through supplies trying to save everyone, only to fail and lose them anyway. Over the course of the war, you knew to recognize when all you could do was ease their pain and let them slip away. 

It was the grim reality of the war. You couldn’t save them all. 

Fyre coughed and squeezed your hand. His eyes closed and the clone took his last breath. 

“Damnit.” you swore, checking his pulse. You only felt stillness. He was gone.

Rex sighed, “You tried. So, thank you,” He stood and helped you stand. He couldn’t let his grief from the loss overwhelm him, “I wish you stayed on the ship.” The clone captain admitted, “I get the feeling Umbara is going to be brutal. More so than previous battles.”

“You can’t get rid of me so easily,” Your eyes quickly scanned around. No one seemed to be close enough or paying attention to the two of you, “My darling.” you added, interlocking your fingers.

Your lover looked around quickly before he responded quietly, “Mesh’la, be careful what you say.” Despite his warning, he made no move to pull away. In fact, he stepped closer, “For now, at least.”

Of course, you knew the two of you had to reign in your love and affection in front of others. On the battlefield he was the captain and you the field doctor. Trying to push those boundaries would stress him out. Afterall, if his romance with you got to Kamino, they’d call for a decommission. Something Anakin would never go for, but better safe than sorry.

However, he warmed to small touches and brief moments whenever the situation allowed. 

Your lips had a small smile, “I’m glad you're not hurt.” you raised one palm to stroke the side of his helmet. The battle wasn’t even an hour in and already his armor was dirty.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” Rex murmured, keeping his voice down, “Please, ner kar’ta.” He was being protective again. Normally the captain was better at prioritizing. He was the leader of the battalion first and your lover second. But right now he seemed…spooked. Were things getting bad already? 

Umbara must be getting to him. After all this assault was much different than other battles.

“I’ll promise if you promise,” Your lips quickly pecked his visor. It was chaste and fast, so no one could see. Just a sweet kiss between the two of you.

He was about to respond when his communicator went off. 

“General Skywalker,” Your lover pulled back and raised his wrist up. 

“Come find me, I need the status of our men.” Anakin’s voice sounded on the other end, “and tell our good doctor I said hello.” 

You snorted.

“Right away, General.” the clone captain said, returning to his professionalism. He looked at you one more time before stepping away to find the jedi.

You sighed, “Back to work.” Without waiting a second, you found another injured soldier and began to treat him.

Your eyes glanced at the shadowy sky for a moment, unable to shake the pit in your stomach. It felt like something was deeply wrong.

The darkness on Umbara must already be getting to you too.

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

watched the s1 finale with my sister two days ago (but it was like semi-late when we finished watching and then some shit happened the next day so i didn't post her thoughts until now):

"vander would go on my hear me out cake"

"she has the fighting equivalent to blue balls. she's all revved up and no one to punch" (about vi when jayce left her with the gauntlets)

"i think you're just talking out of your ass" (about silco after renni's son died)

"i would've had your son killed for this" "i would've punch him in the face cause who the fuck does he think he is"

"you could go back to noxus if you like to talk about it so much" (about ambessa)

"with respect, i don't give a shit what any of you think of me anymore" "period, kind of attractive of him to say, just that though. i don't forgive how you've neglected viktor"

"this is a dinner party from hell"

"i was hating him but now i feel bad for him" (about heimerdinger)

i jokingly called the show a masterpiece sometime after we finished watching and she went "i wouldn't say that" so do with that what you will

"kay but the thing is, nothing he said was wrong" (about finn after he died)

"are they flirting?" (about jayvik when they were on the ledge)

"i feel bad for her but i'm not sad that he's dead" (about jinx and silco)

the credits rolled and she went "i'm sorry what" which is so me-watching-arcane-for-the-first-time-coded of her to do

"there's too much moral greyness for me"

okay and then i had her list her top 5 and bottom 5 characters (she struggled to find three more top characters after the first two, probably tells you a lot about her viewing experience)

top 5:

vander: "he has clear morals and he's just trying to protect his people and he's a good father figure"

ekko: "he's the little guy, when we first meet him that is, he's like a tech wiz. and for him to build this place, i'm proud of him"

caitlyn: "she's an actual good enforcer like she's actually trying to listen to the people"

viktor: "he just wants to help people and he's looked over a lot and downgraded so he tries not to do the same"

claggor: "he's just a homie, he's a ride or die, literally, i don't know, he just has a special place in my heart" (that "literally" was UNNECESSARY)

bottom 5:

silco: "he is the archenemy. he is persona non grata. he. killed. vander. so- he's also a crime lord who doesn't care about his own people. silco doesn't have a code. silco has no scruples"

sevika: "sevika is just annoying. why she tryna kill vi all the time? i mean vi's tryna kill her but-"

marcus: "i hate a crooked cop"

jinx: "the crimes. like the killing of those six cops, and the almost killing of caitlyn, and the kidnapping of cailtyn. like she's obviously a pawn of silco's so that's why she's lower than silco but she did some crime independently"

ambessa: "ambessa's a bad mother"

special mention: deckard: "he is bad, he was really creepy and a predator" and any of silco's goons (reason is obvious i guess)

and these are her thoughts on some of the characters who aren't in either of those lists (no ranked order, just the order she spoke about them):

jayce: "i don't care about [him], you're a bad friend and i hate when people are bad friends"

mel: "you're kind of two-faced but i do feel bad about the situation with your mom"

vi: "i'm still upset with what you said to powder but i like that you're trying to make up for it but unfortunately words stick"

cassandra: "booo *thumbs down*" (that's it i guess i don't-)

mylo: "booo *thumbs down* i feel bad that he died but he was really mean to powder"

heimerdinger: "i judged him quickly cause he was a bit annoying but by the end, he had a warm place in my heart and i always go back to him in the orchestra" (the scene with ray chen's insert)

sky: "i feel so bad for her. it's also kind of a commentary. even without meaning to, the man destroyed her to save himself"

tobias: "he cares about his daughter and what she wants and realizes there's a time and place for chastising"

episodes 1 and 2

episode 3

episode 4

episodes 5 and 6

episodes 7 and 8

[blooms-in-april]

The first time, they are young, dumb, and it's Ivy's pollen that does it.

It’s one of the early Superman and Batman team-ups. The title World's Finest is still awkward and clunky on their tongues. They know each other's identities, but it's barely even a partnership at this point. Even Clark can barely call them friends.

So when things go wrong with Poison Ivy, it's a sticky mess both of them want to forget.

Together, the two of them apprehend the villain, dodge her hostile plants and hand her over to the police commissioner. It’s a fairly typical fight and Gotham’s reporters crowd around, asking the friendlier visiting vigilante for his statement.

"I got involved because the labs Ivy was originally working out of were located in Metropolis. This incident involved the safety of both our cities."

"So that means we won't be seeing the World's Finest in Gotham anymore?" Someone asks.

Clark expects Batman to jump in on that question, but the man remains silent beside him, fists clenched, breathing deeply.

"Batman is perfectly capable of guarding Gotham on his own. As for the World's Finest, well, let's see what the future holds."

Batman's heartbeat is dangerously fast. Clark goes to look at him in concern, but something grabs the back of his cape.

"Get us out of here." Batman growls, and while Bruce tends to growl his words more often than not, this is so much deeper below his normal register that a shiver runs down Clark's spine.

Nodding farewell to the bystanders, Clark allows Batman to get a firm grip on his shoulder and takes off into the smoggy Gotham sky. Bruce's breath is scaldingly hot on his ear, his heart pounding like a ticking time bomb. As soon as they are out of earshot, Clark turns to his partner.

"Batman. What's wrong? Your vitals are all over the place."

His dark passenger is silent for a moment, before gritting out. "Land. I need- Land now."

Concerned, Clark lands on the firescape of a derelict building. Batman clutches at him for a moment, gloved hands digging fiercely into the collar of his suit, before ripping himself away to grasp at the railing.

"Batman. Bruce." Clark reaches out a hand, but Bruce flinches away. "Bruce. You need to tell me what's wrong."

"I can't hold it." Bruce is shaking so badly the whole rusted metal structure is shaking with him. "Fly away, fly away now, I can't hold it, Clark, leave. Leave now-"

Clark frowns. “I’m not leaving you alone if you’re in trouble. I thought you knew me better than that. I’d never leave someone who needed my help.”

Batman barks a laugh. “You can’t give me the help I need. You need to get away from me now.”

“No. I want to help. Bruce.” Clark clasps one wrist, the pulse beating so furiously he can feel it through the gauntlet. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

Blank white lenses meet his eyes and he looks into them steadily. Bruce takes a deep shaky breath, and something snaps as the Dark Knight pulls him into a deep kiss.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of my fic:

[doshmanziari]

Shadow of the Erdtree: Some Reflections

Well, folks, since no one asked, here are some thoughts I've had while exploring Elden Ring's add-on, Shadow of the Erdtree.

The existence of an alternate shadow realm has solidified my conviction that what Elden Ring is depicting on micro and macro scales is the phenomenology of etheric bodies -- extending even to the moon, the double of which is visible from the Moonlight Altar plateau (this is reflected by Rellana's Twin Moons spell). Each of these bodies possess a regulating function. Although each might be generally described as doppelgänger, the occult scientist Rudolf Steiner wrote of the Doppelgänger proper as its own sort of body, responsible for the tension between aspiration and temptation. It's interesting to me that this is such a major preoccupation of the game, because it indicates a layer of esoteric involvement, on the part of Elden Ring's narrative conceptualizations, that I don't think anyone in the so-called lore community has picked up on yet. The shadow realm helps explicate the otherwise inexplicable Godefroy the Grafted, too.

Various details have also strengthened my impression that the revolt against Nature we see in Elden Ring is a revolt against motility -- motility being the ultimate enemy of utopia: a human conceptualization reliant upon infinite stasis. In the base game, I think we see this revolt most profoundly in the narrative of Ranni, who first abandons her own flesh and then strives towards the realization of an Age of Stars, that "thousand year voyage under the wisdom of the Moon." Although the Seedbed Curse represents its own revolt against Nature, it remains within the organic order. Ranni's vision is of the inorganic and remote. And I don't think it's unrelated that, in certain esoteric cosmological systems, the moon stands as most distant from the Absolute.

The colors of the landscapes and sky are amazing: vivid, autumnal, and strange. These palettes have only made me dislike the game's rain effect all the more, which does not deepen the arboreal colors (as it should) but drains all surfaces of color and sets them into a depressing, bland grayscale. To say that the rain is a part of why I consider Raya Lucaria to be Elden Ring's low-point in the realm of major level design could be seen as a trivial complaint, but visual drudgery will wreck even the best schemes; and Raya Lucaria is as far as you can get from that anyway. FromSoftware has done fine with types of snow (see, e.g., the Frigid Outskirts or Painted World of Ariandel), but I think they've yet to figure out rain, among some other graphical technicalities.

The forges are among my favorite instances of discrete level design, even if, or maybe because, they tend to contain only two or three enemy types, feature no bosses, and severely scale back the level of challenge. I happened upon one yesterday that I did find a little dull, but the other two were wonderful, brief, atmospheric knots, quiet sequences of colossal architecture, that sort of evoked shades of Stonefang Tunnel from Demon's Souls. On that note, I'd call special attention to the forges' theme music. The only other piece of music from the DLC that's gotten my attention is the theme for Belurat.

Plants are People, Too.

Torrent is just... a terrible inclusion for this game. It's maybe obvious enough to not warrant being said, but -- any design decision has to be evaluated on what it contributes to the system it's been set into, and Torrent adds nothing outside of the occasional, brainless convenience. I could maybe see an argument for Torrent's presence if he had some emotionally charged narrative integration, maybe like what Shadow of the Colossus did. Without this, Torrent is nothing but a tool which perpetually problematizes the overworld's scale (a bit too big, yet no fun to traverse at high speed) and trivializes all of its gauntlets on a potential and actual level far worse than anything the Spirit Ashes could ever do. Better to me would've been if the only way to use a mount were by defeating a mounted knight without killing their horse and then sneaking up to the runaway to gain ownership of it.

I'm finding the map much more engaging than that of the base game because of how it plays with abstractions and builds anticipation through that. One part of the map, for instance, shows a bunch of trees with red leaves. Reaching this place reveals these "trees" to be enormous red flowers. Another section shows pink, purple, and orange specks. What are these? And what are the gray, finger-like lumps erupting from the mass next to it? I've also found it tough to figure out how to progress from one plane to another because of how densely stacked and knobby the continent's features are, so consulting the map has been helpful in a way I rarely experienced with the base game's.

Love how much the Ancient Ruins of Rauh resemble The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, from the explosion of verdure, to the crude, architectural naivety defining the pseudo-Gothic structures.

With Shadow of the Erdtree, I keep coming up against an unresolvable simultaneity like the one mentioned above regarding the overworld. There's a lot of good level design to be found here among the dungeons, castles, and forts, yet the abundance and enormity of it all seems to have deprived the game of significant contrasts, and those special spatial moments, which I found much easier to locate and reflect upon with, say, Dark Souls or Bloodborne. Sure, the sky-piercing spiral of Enir-Ilim is a sight to behold; but soon enough the sequences of grand staircase upon grand staircase, great bridge upon great bridge, creates a perpetual climatic grandiosity that diminishes the very effect of a climax (and I'm not even sure that Enir-Ilim is the DLC's intended final location). Anor Londo or the Nightmare of Mensis could feel special because the qualities and features of their spaces stood apart from everything else. Elden Ring, I think, has gotten itself into a predicament by trying to one-up its internal material and all prior FromSoftware games through the enormity of its scale -- and challenge. More and more, I've been craving a new project from them that resets these terms of engagement, even while enjoying the consistency of the material at hand.

That's all for now! In time maybe I'll turn these thoughts to an essay for my Substack page, perhaps with a focus on the first two points.

[callsign-rogueone]

allies - b.s.

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader (part of my Brennan and Duchess series!) ✉: Would you mind telling us how they got each others attention in Basgiath? What made them fall for each other in the first place? words: 801 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers! just bb bren and duchess meeting in year one at gauntlet training + a little happy moment from threshing day (and some info that will be relevant later in their story hehe). italics are spoken in Tyrrish!

Your foot slips out from underneath you, and there’s no recovering from it -- you’re falling. You manage to grab onto the nearest rope, the rough fibers burning your skin as they slide through your hands. Your descent slows, but you still hit the ground hard enough to wind you. You lie flat on your back for a moment as you attempt to catch your breath, just grateful to be alive.

A familiar face enters your vision; a boy in your wing whose name you can’t remember. He’s cute, his hair falling over his forehead in soft waves as he leans down, light brown eyes watching you with concern. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him, stunned at the sound of the words you’ve only ever heard from your parents. How hard had you hit your head? “You speak the old language.”

He nods in confirmation that you’re not losing your grip on reality. “My father taught me. The ancient languages are a passion of his.” His pronunciation could use some work, but he’s got the vocabulary down. 

He extends an ink-stained hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. 

“How did you know I was Tyrrish? That I spoke the language?”

He blushes, suddenly shy. “I saw you use it to write your notes for Battle Brief. And your hair. I’ve only seen braids like that on portraits of the old queens in history books. It’s beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment -- Tyrrish doesn’t have the same parts of speech or grammatical structure as Navarrian, so his use of it, likely referring to your intricate hairstyle, could have very well been him calling you beautiful in your entirety.

“Thank you,…” you hesitate, trying to remember his name — he keeps to himself, and he’s never been a threat to you, so you had never learned it.

“Brennan,” he offers. A good name. Strong. 

You smile at him. “Nice to meet you, Brennan.”

The crisp accent you say his name in stirs something in his chest.

For a moment, everyone else ceases to exist. You’re the only people out here, the only two who can understand this conversation, who are aware of the magnetism between you.

You still can’t look away, both of you locked in place as you commit every detail of the other to memory; the small scar on his chin, the way his eyelashes move as he blinks at you, the light wash of freckles across his nose… the pattern of your braids, the impeccable neatness of the stitches holding your patches to your uniform, the soft curiosity in your eyes…

Something tells you to trust this boy with the soft voice who knows your language and recognized your traditions, who is looking at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky. 

“Allies?” you ask.

“Allies,” he agrees.

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

You whistle across the flight field, and Brennan’s head snaps toward the sound, every muscle in his body relaxing as he spots you.

There’s a massive black dragon behind you, the largest of the group you’d seen at Presentation, the one that had taken interest in you from the start of the term. She stands with the same regal posture as you as she surveys her surroundings, appraising the rest of the freshly bonded cadets and their dragons.

You’re grinning from ear to ear, unable to contain your joy. You want nothing more than to run to Brennan and embrace him, but you keep your feet planted to the ground until you’re told to line up to have your names recorded by the scribe.

“Banriondorcha,” you state to the group of officers. A few pairs of eyebrows raise, including the General’s, but they quickly replace the concern on their faces with flat disinterest.

Professor Kaori is the first to speak, the only one who smiles at you. “I was wondering when she’d finally decide to bond. She has chosen well. I look forward to seeing your signet manifest, cadet. I have no doubt that it will be strong.”

“Thank you.”

Brennan had been ahead of you in the line; he’s already returned to his orange daggertail. They look right together, the afternoon sun bringing out the red in Brennan’s hair to compliment the dragon’s scales.

You stop ten yards away from them and lower your head in deference, not daring to speak to him directly, but it’s clear what you’re saying: you come in peace.

He steps back, allowing you to move toward Brennan.

You’re both freezing, having been wholly unprepared for the chill of the air at 3,000 feet above ground, but there’s warmth between you as you embrace, laughing in relief.

“We did it,” you breathe.

He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his face. “We did.”

[mostlycorrectdipandpip]

Writing Phan Fiction About Ourselves Stories

I literally just listened to the video, typed as fast as I could, then edited the red squiggles and formatted it to look nice. Let me know what edits need to be made!

Story 1 - The Dragon Prince by Dan Howell

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Dan, from House Fire, whose motto was, "The fire in our ass will never die" and from Phil, the House Amazing, the Kingdom of Squatting. They were sworn enemies whose houses had been at war ever since The Great Lamp Licking incident. One day, Dan was bathing his fiery drake, Kamala Harris, when he saw a glint in the refection of his gauntlet. It was a surprise attack from that scally wag, Phil. He mounted his dragon and yelled his signature war cry, "ZING!"

Phil looked down on the Fire Kingdom. "More like squishy kingdom!" But before he knew it, Dan was on his tail. He was so close he was practically on his toe. Their beasts, Kamala Harris and Markiplier, realeased flames at the same time, like a torrent of lethal piss. Double KO, they fell to the ground and loss consciousness. Dan awoke to find Phil's brain stuck in Dan's eye. He shouted, "Wow, this is a moist situation." Phil roused, gayly. "You saved me," he said.

They locked eyes and knew in that moment how futile their feud was. They saved each other, did they have to slay each other? In that moment, Phil felt something skipping down his hips. He swam as hard as he could and suddenly, he felt it. Phil had birthed a beautiful purple egg. Dan scoffed, "the prophecy is true! It's our child!"

"The legendary worm, and we shall name him Gary," said Phil.

THE END

Story 2 - The Princes by Phil Lester

Once upon a castle, in the Kingdom of Evony, there were two princes belonging to warring families. Tonight was the last time they would meet before the great battle. Danielo awoke, sword in hand as he heard a shuffle at the door. Philipus walked into hid bedroom wearing a panty.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, but I thought I'd tell you that my father is bringing a dragon into the battle, and also a large enchanted hippo." Danielo cried a single tear.

"I don't want to die for this stupid family. I just want to be a knight with you and help old ladies cross the street."

"Why must we spill blood?" Danielo smirked. "Glory and amazon coins."

Philipus says, "Since it's our final night together, I thought we could do our favorite activity, twerking together. It might make up a bit sweaty, but it makes me constipated."

As the sun rose, the two knights had fallen asleep in a hay field using rabbit shit as bedding. This was the morning of the battle, they would be rivaling sides, leading the charge against each other. Danielo few into battle on his dragon, Jeff, scanning lines for his prince, Philipus. Philipus raised his sword into the sky as he was silhouetted by the beast. This was not a fair fight. The war had begun, thousands were being killed. Philipus has a secret weapon, a medieval salami.

His best friend flew down from his dragon and approached him. They crossed swords.

"I can't do this, Philipus" screamed Danielo. "I want to move to North Korea and start our jobs as OnlyPhans' models."

Philipus tried to reason with him, but suddenly Danielo's dragon, Jeff, started to breath fire at them both. It was so hot that Danielo was on fire. He had one final word for Philipus.

"Yeee," as both knights burned to death. They were then eaten by the dragon as a toasty BBQ snack. They tasted like Takis Fuego. The dragon went on to kill all soldiers and both kings. It ruled the castle in a happy gay life with his dragon boyfriend, Alessandra and laid a dragon egg they called Kip. They never saw a human again. The Princes were always remembered as the tastiest snacks in the Kingdom.

Story 3 - The Big Sword by Phan Howlter

They stared at the intimidating shape, thinking, "damn, that is one crusty shaft". Two lowly village boys had found a cave filled with sour cream and onion pringles. One of us must grip this with our teeth. They know one of them would gain the power of hamster flicking.

"I believe its you!" Mr. Phil, the wet pauper, exclaimed.

"Thank you. I got this for you. It's my favorite Party Hat."

"We will never know which on of us is truly the chosen one," uttered Dan, sexily. "We'll have to do it together."

And so the boys stood wearing sports bras, daring to survive the cyclone threatening to bare down on the. They interlocked hands on the shaft as they thought of their favorite food, egg.

"Either we both become heroes, or we might as well become trump supporters."

They yanked it with the might of a thousand anteaters and it burst from the ground, but in that moment, a glint of greed in each boys eye. They wanted the greatness for themselves and all of the steak knives waiting for them in the village. So they tumbled as the blade ripped open their jockstraps and with boing, they knew it was over and they were both impaled on the sword. Gravity was pulling them closer, like a toilet lid. As their noses pressed together, the blood poured out of them like a hydro pump.

"I always knew it would end like this," says Dan.

"You mean scared and throbbing?"

"I wouldn't rather do this with anyone else."

Then they died. Then forever, their petrified bodies stood as a warning to all who sought glory, if you dare to thrust, you will get put on the naughty step.

(respectfully, this was like.... a hard launch right? Like this is the hardest lauch I have ever seen??)

[moondustgleam]

Every Armor Description in TDP: Xadia

There will be no accompanying visuals on this post, the designs are already on my blog under the individual character's tags. This is a compilation of all of them for people who don't want to scroll through all the images to get to the juicy lore. I reccomend everyone read Rayla/Runaan's, Callum/Karim's, Claudia's, and Soren/Viren's if you care about the show's lore.

They're organized by order they appear in the hero select menu in TDP: Xadia, region, and type of armor if you were wondering.

Rayla & Runaan’s Armor

Firebrand Wraps - Seize what is yours and burn away the rest.

Firebrand Waistcoat - Meant to keep the heat out!

Firebrand Runners - Let your colors shine in the light of the Sun.

Shadowblade Gloves - An assassin knows she holds fate in her hands.

Shadowblade Cover - An assassin knows she is already dead.

Shadowblade Footpads - An assassin knows we are all, in the end, alone.

Nightsky Grips - The Nightsky Bandit had no interest in the Great Climb, only in its climbers’ pockets.

Nightsky Vest - While the others sought a single treasure, he had his pick of plenty.

Nightsky Buckleboots - Only the Nightsky Bandit ever grew rich from the Great Climb - and his feet never left the ground.

Amaya & Zeph’s Armor

Katolian Gauntlets - “We are the hands of our kingdom…”

Katolian Surcoat -“...we raise blades, we bear shields, we carry the scars of the past…” 

Katolian Greaves - “...but we are the strongest when joined with others.” - Katolian Soldier’s Oath

Nightguard Gauntlets A relic of long-ago warriors who served the Dragon Queen, Luna Tenebris.

Nightguard Brestplate The Nightguard vanished with their Queen, but their spirits remained.

NIghtguard Sabatons Now they roam the Moonshadow Forest, searching for Luna’s heir.

Stormrunner Gauntlets - Maybe you could punch the Eternal Storm in the face!

Stormrunner Cuirass - Armor that really says, “Come at me, Eternal Storm! Bring it on!”

Stormrunner Sabatons - You know what? The Eternal Storm could use a good kick in the butt, too.

Callum and Karim’s Armor

Flamedance Tassels - Dance, little flame, dance to a silent song.

Flamedance Chemise - Warm our hearts and bodies, keep our spirits strong.

Flamedance Sandals - Dance, little flame, dance - for the night is very long.

Illusionist Handwraps - “Most people believe that reality is truth and appearances are deceiving…”

Illusionist Amice - “...but the Moon Arcanum tells us we can only truly know the appearance itself…”

Illusionist Treads - “You can never touch the so-called reality that lies just beyond the reach of your own perception.” -Lujanne

Feathered Wrists - Let nothing clip your wings.

Feathered Jerkin - Let nothing weigh you down.

Feathered Footwraps - Let nothing keep you from the sky.

Claudia’s Armor

Dawnheart Maniple - No shadows escape the wrath of the Sun at its zenith.

Dawnheart Amice - You buried your shadows deep - but the Light sees them still.

Dawnheart Slippers - When the darkness in you burns away, what remains?

Silvergrove Bracers - The traveler told a breathless tale: a village, there one moment and gone the next.

Silvergrove Vest - Impossible, they laughed at him: the forest’s magic has simply played a cruel trick.

Silvergrove Boots - But when the Moon is dark, is she not still there in the sky…?

Daybreak Reach - “I found my lover weeping, gazing up at the night skies…”

Daybreak Doublet - “... I took his hands in mine and said, my darling, dry your eyes…”

Daybreak Walkers - “...the dark is not forever, love! The sun must always rise.” -Skywing Song

Janai’s Armor

Golden Knight Vambraces - Gold, for the Sun’s light.

Golden Knight Hauberk - White, for her radiance.

Golden Knight Treads - Red, for her power.

Moonfire Grips - Some say the Moon is the Sun’s shadow, a pale imitator, a sad reflection.

Moonfire Tunic - Some say the Sun kills the Moon hen she dares grow bright enough to challenge her radiance.

Moonfire Greaves - The truth? The Moon and the Sun are sisters, a fire charred between them.

Empyrean Gloves Some - Great Climbers keep an open mind about strategy.

Empyrean Brigandine - One path to victory is to beat everyone else to the prize…

Empyrean Stompers -  …another path to victory is to beat everyone else with your fists.

Soren and Viren’s Armor

Blacksteel Grips - Something echoes in the metal.

Blacksteel Aegis - Does it sing, or does it scream?

Blacksteel Boots - What did they bury down there beneath the earth?

Ghostfeather bands - “Bit by bit the moon fades away, then bit by bit it will brighten again. That is our cycle.”

Ghostfeather Treads - “...for those who will come after you, think on all you will give them.” - Lujanne

Ghostfeather Tunic - “For those you have left behind, think on all they have given you…”

Skyblazer Vambraces - A group of elves called the Skyblazers were the first to ever attempt the Great Climb

Skyblazer Collar - Their ambition drove them higher, higher, and higher still…

Skyblazer Sandals - …but hubris brought them down again.

[ahabthetaco]

Turning you into a dragon monster girl would be pretty fun.

Like a long con thing, like magic gauntlets, made from a red dragon, with claws made straight from the dragon. Probably should have explained the curse of what happens if you wear dragon scales without checking with a wizard but I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

How you can't take it off cause it has great stats, how the days go by and it's easier and easier to use, like it's becoming part of you. The scales spreading up your skin, you think an allergic reaction at first but it's not, but the gauntlets call for you, it feels wrong to not have them on. Until one morning you wake up and forget to take them off the previous night, but finding them, no, finding yourself with scales lining your arms, your hand with black claws, with scales spreading more towards your back. Trying to stop it, drinking a counter potion but making it worse as you feel yourself change more and more. Feeling as you reshape and grow, your clothes and armor barely being able to hold you together as the scales spread, as your body grows to a proper dragon size, one to instill fear. Your chest bursts out, cracking your armor and clothes into pieces, a remnant of your humanity, as softer scales grow around them, perfect to still be grabbed~

The rest of your armor doesn't fair better, you use your new claws and strength to rip apart the remaining pieces, as your leggings snap and crack, showing off more and more of the new you, as the scales spread more and more, but the scales reach your face, as you feel your face reshape, your horns coming in, your muzzle growing, everything changing as heat builds up, the cries of change let out in a burst of fire, as more change comes. Feeling your wings pop out your back, each throb another growth and growth, you can feel your mind breaking, not of pain but of pleasure, letting out another roar of fire as you spread your new wings, illuminating the sky with your beautiful flames. The finale is almost here, as you grab your ass for the new sensation, a providing pain in your rear as your tail pops out, sending another wave of pleasure as it flops down, falling in pleasure as the first of your dragon orgasmic.

There you stand, in the remnants of your armor, torn to shreds, 10 feet tall, wings spread out, your tail loving with joy, as you explore your new body. Quite the figure, curves to make any adventurer think twice, and even with scaled all around you're still soft in the places that matter, squeezing your new bust size with a moan and a flame escaping your mouth. But as you explored more you went to the white dragon in the room, your leaking pussy, and one touch sent you into overdrive.

Your fingers not enough, your mind quickly filling with the need to mate, begging, your party members finally arriving to hear the commotion, only finding a dragon girl, begging for relief, no, demanding it as it pins them and kisses them, leaving scales on them as well...

Feeling as their once regular dick turns into a dragons knot, the warmth growing hotter and hotter, hearing the moans from other members as they try to resist the changes, holding on to each other, trying to fight back but falling into the lust themselves as they change, ripping off their armor to freely let the change happen. You felt as if you got filled for the first time, a hot mess filling you deeply, as another mate grabbed you, another poor soul still needing to finish the process. Hours and hours, your once noble party of heroes turned into nothing but a mindless horde of dragons, breeding, and breeding, lost in lust. But in the end, you were left, that last one not passed out from it all, an expanding belly as you felt the egg start to form, what you didn't expect was me coming along.

A simple collar would do, marking your once troublesome party as mine to control, and to further my plans. Soon I will have my own army of fearsome dragons at my disposal, but it'll take time, the time I may not have, so enjoy this spell darling, just this once, feeling as you rapidly swell with both eggs and milk, feeling as your first eggs comes out, one by one, a nice batch of 4, great for a first time. Now relax my pet, for tomorrow is another day of fun~

[howlingday]

What if insted of the everafter team RWBYJ + neo landed in the dc universe

Ruby is in metropolis with superman

Weiss is in gotham with batman

Blake is themescera with wonder woman

Yang is in central city with the flash

Jaune is on oua with jessica

And neo with lex luthor

So, full disclosure, I have not seen much of RWBY/Justice League beyond the little stories in the comics (that I did not like all that much). However, I do enjoy what if scenarios, so let's see if I can make a little something out of this.

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

Hailey Rose

Ruby's eyes fluttered open. After her unfortunate fall from the bridge between Atlas and their destination of Vacuo, she thought herself as good as dead. And with the death of her sister, she supposed it was fitting, in a tragic irony sort of way. However, as the stars once gold now changing to white, she realized she was falling from the night sky.

What truly clued her in was the honking of a horn below. She turned around, finding a veritable metropolis, like a much, much warmer Atlas. In the distance, she thought she saw an angry Neopolitan falling herself. She hoped she was wrong. Unfortunately, as her signature parasol opened, she'd known it was too good to be true.

And now she was falling. Aura low, weapon gone, it all added up to being a bad day for her. Or night. Bad night. Maybe the last night of her life. Should she scream? Cry? After everything going wrong in Atlas, she began questioning herself as a huntress. As a hero. And so she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Whoa! I got you!" A voice said, her body suddenly supported by something warm. "Are you okay?"

Ruby opened her eyes, whirling her head around and finding a smiling face looking at her. He had dark hair that ended in a little curl at the top of his forehead. His blue eyes held so much kindness in them, and a bit of worry, too. Looking down, but not too far down because they were still who knows how high in the air, she saw a blue outfit and a red cape fluttering behind him.

"Miss?" Ruby shut her eyes, thinking this was a dream. People can't fly, right? "Miss, your heartbeat is a little erratic. Try to breathe." Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

"Can we go to the ground, please? I've never been this high up outside of a bullhead before." With a nod, he slowly lowered themselves down to the rooftop of a nearby building. With her feet on solid ground, Ruby gave a shudder of relief. "Even with my semblance, I've never gone that high before."

"I take it you're not from Metropolis, are you?"

"Metropolis?" Ruby cocked her head. "Where on Remnant is Metropolis?"

"Ah..." The man nodded. "Definitely not Metropolis. This is a planet called Earth." Ruby's eyes almost popped out of her head. He raised his hands in a calming manner. "Let's start from the beginning. My name is Superman, and I'm a hero. And you are?"

"I'm... I'm Ruby Rose. And... And I was a huntress."

_______________________________________

A Cold Reception

"And what exactly is a huntress?"

"A person who dedicates their life to protecting the peace from the Grimm." Weiss couldn't tell, but the... man?... whom she was speaking to didn't offer much emotion on his end. If he was confused, angry, or some third emotion, she couldn't tell. What she could tell was he wasn't happy. "And you are?"

"Responsible for protecting the people of this city." The man tapped into his gauntlet. His entire appearance was nothing like she'd seen on Remnant. His face was mostly hidden, with stubble dotting along his jawline. His entrance was also concerning as she saw no sign of him or even heard him, and yet he took hold of her unarmed, only to let go when he got a good look at her. "You might say like a huntress. I'm going to scan you."

"What?" Weiss, surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation, could only watch as a little camera pop out of his wrist, and a shimmer of pale light quickly passed over her.

"Hm. There's no record of you. At all." By his tone, he wasn't happy to hear this.

"And this is a problem because...?"

"You just neutralized a gang of thugs using a weapon that encases them in ice." He took a step closer. "There is no record of you in any database I have, and I have everyone in my database." He now towered over her. "And now you're in my city, from out of thin air. There's a lot of problems."

"W-Well," Weiss gulped, "it's not like I came here voluntarily. I fell off a bridge in my world, and now I'm here without my team."

"And who else is on this team?"

"And why should I tell you anything, Mr. Batman?" Weiss stepped away. "For all I know, you could be just as dangerous as these men I just neutralized."

"I'm not." He leaned closer. "I'm more dangerous."

================================

Ominous Omens

"I swear, I'm not dangerous!"

"That is not for you to decide." Said the woman holding Blake at spearpoint. "Your arrival could be a foul omen from the gods, and even if not, you are still an intruder."

The situation swiftly went from bad to worse. Not only was she down a weapon, she was also low on aura and separated from her team. Or at least, what was left of her team. Her jaw clenched at the memory. She then felt her entire body tense. The warrior in front of her was about to strike when suddenly,

"Enough!" A voice called. The spearwoman relaxed, stepping away from Blake. A new woman arrived, donned in armor that reminded her of a more colorful Pyrrha Nikos. She placed a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Allow me, Agnes." The other woman bowed and stepped away. "You have trespassed on sacred Amazonian ground. Explain yourself willingly, and you may be pardoned."

Blake took a moment to glance up and down the imposing woman in front of her. She didn't have armor covering the space between her wrists and torso, nor anything from the top of her knees and the top of her thighs. At her hip, she wore a lasso and sword in it's sheath, and she saw the round edges of a shield peek over her shoulders. This woman was a warrior and considering how the other women bowed at her approach, she was also royalty.

"My name is Blake Belladonna. I come from another world, my world, and I fell onto your island." Blake began. "I was separated from my team after we were escorting civilians from Atlas to Vacuo."

"Atlas?" The woman asked. "The titan, Atlas?"

"What? No, Atlas is a city. It was in danger from a man named General Ironwood, and we were ambushed by a woman named Cinder Fall-"

"Enough." The woman held up her hand. "Agnes, Gloria. Escort her to the prison. I wish to speak more on this in private."

"As you wish, Princess." The two bowed and took Blake by her arms.

"And be careful," the princess warned, "there is something about her that tells me there is more going on here."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash Fact Yangers

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"A semblance." Yang repeated herself. "Everyone on Remnant has one. Mine is when I get angry, I catch on fire."

"And you think my 'semblance' is super speed?" Asked the man in the red bodysuit. With a big lightning bolt in the center of his chest, he looked pretty ridiculous, though it wouldn't be the first time she was caught off guard by a guy in a onesie.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it." Yang shrugged. "There was an Ace-Ops chick who really put my sister through the ringer back in Atlas."

"And where's Atlas now?"

"Far as I know, it's still floating where it was when we evacuated." Yang gave a sigh. "Too bad I fell off and now I'm here."

"That's pretty nuts. You think everybody made it?"

"Probably. Even with Cinder and Neopolitan attacking us, I'm sure she kept her head on tight and got everyone out of there."

"You must have a lot of faith in your sister, huh?"

"Oh, uh, y-yeah." Yang blushed. "My sister. Totally."

...........................................................................

Guardians of Peace

"Penny!" Jaune awoke with a start. Looking around, he found himself inside a prison cell. As he approached the green window in front of him, a girl half his size stepped into view. "Uh, hi?"

"Who are you, and why did you come to Oa?"

"Oh-ah?" Jaune repeated. "What's an Oa?" Her eyes went wide, and she turned away cursing at herself. "H-Hey, are you okay? Let's start over. My name is-"

"Prisoner 07132013." The girl finished. "And you were imprisoned on Oa by order of the Guardians while you await your trial."

"Trial?" Jaune looked around. "Wait, what happened to Atlas? And the civilians?! My team-!" Jaune stepped away and started taking deep breaths.

"Um, are you okay?" The girl asked. "What civilians are you talking about?"

"We..." Jaune took one more deep breath. "We were escorting civilians from Atlas to Vacuo using a bridge made between the kingdoms. Suddenly, we were ambushed by Cinder Fall and Neopolitan, both criminals and monsters working for Salem. We tried to fight them off, but Cinder escaped with both of the relics, and I was too late to escape."

"Wow..." The girl breathed. "You're, like, a real hero."

"No." Jaune felt his chest tighten, remembering green eyes just like the girl's. "I'm not a hero."

"Well... I think you're a hero." She looked left and right, then whispered to him. "I'm supposed to be impartial, but I'll be rooting for you. Just... quietly. Really, really quietly." Jaune chuckled at that. "I'm Jessica. And, uh, what was your name again?"

"Jaune." He smiled. "My name is Jaune Arc."

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

Worst Case Scenario

"And you must understand that I have a... certain image to uphold." The man said, pouring himself a glass of bourbon he keeps on special occasions. Though, he never drank it in front of company. Instead, it was a show of wealth, power, authority. It let people know where they stood with him. "An image that cannot be compromised under any circumstance."

The man approached the window, glaring down at the city. He kept a certain distance away to ensure this... visitor didn't try anything funny. Lex Luthor was a businessman of many interests, chief among them being not dying at the hands of some creature lesser than himself. Or dying at all, really.

"You say you fell from the sky, after being betrayed by your previous employer in a grab for power." He turned around. "I suppose I can relate to such circumstances. I too have been betrayed by those closest to me, and all because I wanted to live in a world that I felt belonged to me."

He kept his eyes on her. If she made a move he didn't like, she would be full of holes from the gun turrets in the ceiling before eleven and at the bottom of the lake before midnight. Still, it was slightly unnerving how she didn't move. She sat perfectly still, poised with a straight back. She clearly had a sort of refined academy, likely similar to his own.

"You want revenge." He stated plainly. "I've met many like you, and only so few of them are not after me. So I must ask. What's in it for me if I help you?"

In an instant, the girl changed in front of him. Her body fell away like shattered glass, replaced by a new face. This time, a different girl sat in front of him, with silver eyes and short hair that ended in red tips. She smiled at him.

"And why should that matter to me? Do you think I'd care about someone I never met?"

The next body she adopted was a man. Tall and imposing with burly muscles and dark hair. The only thing that didn't change with her was the color of the cape behind her. She then drew a thumb across her neck with a sadistic grin.

"So you're saying you saw the girl and Superman with each other? Why should I care?"

At this, Neopolitan changed into Lex, and gave the exact same smarmy smirk he'd been constantly giving her.

"Alright. I'm listening..."

[the-wayward-arc]

What happens to the iron dragons and thunder Lords after Nora and Yang's passing? Do they have some way to keep their memories alive? What about the rules they had in Legion what happens to those?

Loyal Au: The 2 companies became their chapters when the Legion split. With Yang passing peacefully at the age of 109, she was buried with her family, the private cemetery heavily guarded by three Iron Dragons at all times. Her gauntlets were reforged, at her request, into weapons befitting of the Iron Dragons chapter master. They are a symbol of his office and one of the very few things they have left of her. Iron Dragons repainted their armor to match her palette. Their chapter insignia being Yangs with a Dragon's skull in the center of it. They do their best to live up to her legacy.

Chaos Au: Yang's violent death came to destroy the Iron Dragons. In their anguish, as their Legion fell to the powers of Malal, the Iron Dragons allowed themselves to be possessed by great daemons in order to gain the power they need to avenge their mother. Great was their rage and Anguish, their need for power, that they actually turned the tables into the daemons that possessed them. Instead, devouring the daemons within themselves to harness the power, greatly mutating into their namesake while growing massive in size and keeping their will and personality. The Iron Dragons are extremely violent and ensure they rain down fire from the sky.

Thunder Lords

Loyal Au: The Thunder Lords chapter is unusual in the fact they are small in number and all their battle brothers use only terminator armor. The reason why they have such an amount is because they scavenged as many as they could during the heresy. Raiding Traitor Armories and scavenging them off the dead, both traitor and loyal. As such, the chapter is only 300 strong. As such they have a motto "Strike like a hammer! Hard and thunderous!" The peaceful passing of Nora at 98 did hit the the Thunder Lords hard. Repainting their armor to match her colors and wearing her symbol with great pride. They honor Nora by being not only being the heaviest hitters but coming down like a hammer upon their enemies, destroying everything in one fatal strike. The chapter keeps itself at its current strength due to limited number of Terminator armor. Much like Yang's weapon, Nora's was reforged into a might Thunder hammer for the Chapter Master to signify his status and office. It is a terrifying weapon capable of much more devastating destruction than it previously was, know that their mother would absolutely love it as such.

Chaos Au: Holding their Nora as she took her final breath in front of them sent every single Thunder Lord into an eternal rage. Their minds became fragmented at the lost of their mother and even more so when they mutated into Chaos Obliterators when they fully gave themselves to Malal who bestowed them his own vile version of the virus that severely mutated them and turned them into violent hulking killing machines. Fused to their very armor, they are in eternal agony but also eternally furious as they relive the moment of Nora's death in their minds. Seeing both allies and enemies as obstacles in their way to save Nora, always calling out for her. Forever reliving that moment. In a subconscious vain attempt to be closer to her, their right arms are permanently fused to their thunderhammers. Swinging violently to anyone that gets near them. Their are only 40 of them left (bit of a retcon from 10 I stated before.) Gunnvaldr is the only one of his brethren to keep his sanity and the only one they listen to outside of Jaune. Even at times, above Jaune. They are kept in stasis or restrained.

[xbunnybunz]

that shore, you're sure. [Mizu/Reader]

Summary: You opened your eyes, saw his blue ones. Closed yours again, opened them, and drowned. 

Genres: Romance, Angst, Historical

You remember what it felt like to wither at sea, it felt like a dream, a long and winding dream.

You opened your eyes, saw his blue ones. Closed yours again, opened them, and drowned. 

The tide was gentle, but the waves were never as small as they seem. 

No one on the coast could have saved you, not the urchin divers, the sailors, nor you, or you, or your past self, learning the waters with your heart ripe in upturned palms.

When seawater weighed in your belly, you did not think of death. You only bore the thought of oneness with the shore. The hush of lapping foam along the sea-torn sands. Peace. Hiss. Shh. 

His hands ghost up your arms, barely skimming skin. An onryō. He is your poltergeist in the flesh.

You tremble and he watches with still eyes, steady hands.

“You are afraid.” He speaks. 

A rolling tenor in his voice, gentle and almost familiar. Where have you heard this before? 

Hiss. Shh.

“I always am.”

Your hometown was by the water before you were sold. There were white gulls, crates for trade, new boats ready for voyage, old boats ready to sink with the next storm. There, you learned the beauties of the world.

Here, you learned of its bitterness. 

How the world leaves you more and more splintered every time you dive back into the water. How it devours you, tosses you, spits you up again, sodden, gagging and gasping air. You are a shipwreck that will always be less a boat and more a remnant of the sea. 

How do you love the oceans that know only to swallow you whole?

He traces a single finger across your shoulder. The sleeve of his yukata shudders and collapses, and you see, today, he is not wearing the gauntlets. It drapes down his arm in folds, revealing the pure and toned flesh underneath. 

He rests the rough pad of his thumb on your exposed collarbone. 

Keeps it there. Watches you.

How do you love?

You’ve spent moons laying with faceless men, body plated and devoured time and time again.

But he never strips, only ever discards that heavy cape, shrouded in a thin layer of powdery snow. He has a beautiful face. One you couldn’t forget if you tried.

Strong brows, high cheekbones, a sloping forehead. 

A demon, the other hostesses call him. They turn their backs to him and unlike other frequentors, he lets them. 

They say the sky gives the ocean its color. But what makes a man a monster, the blood he has spilled, or his own? 

Even behind amber-tinted lenses, there is no mistaking the hue. 

The honey colour of his glasses fused with the blue of his eyes to make a strange, damp color. He never removes his hat even when he is in the private room with you, alone. Always just observes from under the shadow, gaze heavy. Hiding, hiding. As if he is afraid of being discovered.

“Don’t be.” He replies.

What makes a man, a man? The bodies he has claimed, or his own?

You’ve seen the litheness of his form under the cloak. The sinewy stretch of neck and elegance of battle-calloused hands, so formed to the shape of a blade’s hilt you almost missed it the first time.

You can feel your pulse on his fingers, ba dum, ba dum. It is racing. This broken body cannot tell from lovesickness to seasickness. Drowning and swimming. 

Samurai must keep secrets. That’s what other men you have lain with before have said. In this way, names have slipped through your fingers like sands through a sieve. Purposes, lives. You bore yourself to them and received nothing in return, and you are used to it, cannot find it in yourself to be heartbroken. 

Still, now, something aches. 

You remember what it felt like to wither at sea.

He holds your heart in his hands like a ripe peach, though light-handed as he is, muscle memory or affection or fear or love will teach you to split yourself apart for him, but he does not seek to ruin, does not seek even self-destruction. He will turn his gaze away when you lower your kimono past your shoulders.

How then, do you love? 

You imagine the ways his body may become nicked with new scars while he is out in battle, how always, he comes back merely to behold you with his eyes, in the flesh, as he bleeds out, panting heavy, fading in and out of consciousness, but eyes blue and thrilling and always always always so fierce. 

You think of him even when he is gone. 

How his face never betrays his thoughts, how because of this, you must watch his body. A muscle jumping under the snowy skin of his rippling forearm. Throat tightening and releasing with a swallow.

How do you swim in oceans that have only wanted you asphyxiated?  

You think of the spit in his mouth, thick and viscous, imagine it in your mouth instead. That is how you always begin.

In your room alone, when you finish, you cry. 

You are the sea and the shipwrecked all at once. He can leave you sputtering on the shore for more, that you know. But he doesn’t. He is gentle, he is unlike other men, unlike even the corrupted you who knows love as only a worldly pleasure, yet still, he haunts without laying a hand on your body, this beloved and horrid onryō man. 

His finger on your pulse. 

Gossamer. 

It devours you whole, a fire. A touch no mere man could give. 

He never goes further than this. Self-control no mere man could have.

When you sleep, you often have dreams and nightmares woven into the same ball of unraveling twine, spinning and spinning and spinning a memory of seafoam frothing between your toes, then swallowing kicking in the dark, swallowing salt water by mouthfuls. 

Last night, you slept and envisioned a desiccation. 

You do not know what you can do with this ship of a body without the ocean to toss it, turn it into castoffs.

It is what you were made for.

What makes a man a liar? What is said, or what is left unsaid?

“I could never love a man again.” You confess.

He does not respond.

You remember what it feels like to wither at sea. 

He watches you silently from behind his tinted spectacles, from under the shade of his hat. He is good at hiding. Eyes azure as the ocean blue, broken and as familiar as flotsam. But he is an abominable reflection of yourself in fractals, that, neither of you can avoid.

His gaze does not falter. Does not falter. 

He drops his hand from your pulse and somehow, it thrums on painfully without him there to caress it. He looks away and the tide crashes at your feet. You are back on the shoreline, alone and ready to be wreckage.

You understand.

You remember what it felt like to wither at sea. 

It felt like opening your eyes, seeing her blue ones for the first time. Closing yours again, opening them, and swimming.

[suckinitup]

bug jar thought again. i think that the trickster liked to fuck around with mark and the lizardry and the temperature thing, right. make it super cozy warm and then super freezing cold and see how he handles that shit. silly fucker bullshit whatever i dont wanna get too in-depth with that rn but what i DO wanna think about is mark. the clever fucker. with electricity powers and a great understanding of insulators.

i think it takes a while, right, for the trickster to decide to both a) leave mark alone for a while and b) keep him cold as fuck. it’s not on purpose but its just how things end up. mark, though? He’s been waitinf for this. He has to wait even fucking longer to make sure the trickster js gone. he waits what feels like an hour, sluggish, the cold bleeding even through his winter coat, and then huddles down. Covers himself with whatever he can. Presses his hands to the glass, and electrocutes the shit outve it.

fun fact about glass!! it acts as an insulator when its cold. Insulators generate heat. cold glass is full of tension, and introducing heat to that tension is… explosive.

the jar shatters around mark. The jar is broken. hes free. he spent so long thinking about that shit and waiting for an opportunity and now he can GO. i dont know where all of this is taking place but i feel like its some abandoned fuckoff building in the middle of some woods or something. he’s still slow because its still so fucking COLD but he leaves the building and starts trudging into the woods as fast as he can. he just has to reach civilization, or some shitty little gas station, or something with anything that can get him a phone or tools or gadgets. he knows the trickster will be after him again. he knows he only has a limited amount of time. He keeps going as the sun gets lower and lower in the sky and he spends his time planning contingencies. if he builds a bomb, will that slow the trickster or hurt ashe? better gauntlets—will that hurt the trickster or bring mark within stabbing range? if he brings the trickster towards a neighbourhood is he going to get stuck with heroes who will team up with him or against him? wavelength isnt well known. what level of pathetic does he need to act to get them automatically on his side?

and then, when the sun is almost entirely hidden behind the trees, ashe’s voice calls out behind him. he sounds scared. “Mark?”

“Yeah?” marks response is automatic and unthinking, already turning to see what’s wrong with his kid before his brain catches up and he starts to run. he’s not fast enough. The trickster keeps calling “mark?” with ashe’s voice, getting closer and closer and louder and louder. It takes a lot to make mark panic but this has been a lot and he’s running too fast to stop when the space between two trees is suddenly a doorway. he slams into a glass wall so hard that his nose starts bleeding and when he turns the door behind him is gone. he’s in another fucking jar.

and there’s the trickster, not in the woods. standing just outside the glass, staring at mark. Not smiling. Then, he says, “You ran away.” Then, earnestly, ashe’s voice again, “Were you bored? Is that why you ran?” It smiles, and mark is thankful that it’s not one of ashe’s smiles when it says, “I can help.”

and that, i think, is the turning point. this is when mark starts to break. not quite yet. I think that comes later with the time loop thing. but— listen. he’s a stubborn motherfucker, and he doesnt give up. not when the generic reality bending nightmares start. not when the trickster keeps pretending to be his son. not when he has to endure constant tap tap tapping on the glass, or watching the prime defenders (who he Knows can’t be the real prime defenders) walk past his prison over and over and over again just to be torn to pieces or hugged or laughed with (this one, he thinks, isnt for him. it fucking sucks go watch kids get hurt. it sucks worse when its his kid. and it is the worst what the trickster has already done. he doesnt know id the trickster is working through weird feelings or just fucking around and he doesnt ask. he doesnt think about the fact that, with him in here, the prime defenders are the only ones who are equipped to rescue ashe. he doesnt count how many times he sees them killed).

like this fucking SUCKS okay he has a bad time and the more time he spends in here the worse he gets. but he’s stubborn as fuck mark winters and he’s got his pride and his hope and he has all these plans he keeps going over for what he’s going to do when he gets out of this fucking jar again. he’ll shove a sock in his mouth or something just so he doesnt dad-response give himself away again. he’ll do better when he gets out next time. he just has to be patient. he’s rewarded when the trickster makes it cold again and leaves again.

mark waits an hour because he has to, has to not fuck this up. But that hour passes and he’s shaking when he presses his hands to the glass. shaking as he builds up an electrical charge. and shaking when nothing happens.

the glass gets warm and doesnt break. it’s tempered. he cant escape. and its the combination, right, the plans destroyed and the hopes squashed and the stupid fucking obvious fact that the trickster would have figured out how he’d escaped and fixed it—the fact that mark didn’t even consider the trickster (couldnt even consider) shutting down this escape route—the glass, solid under his hands after constant yearning—thats when he knows that he cant fix this. thats when he knows that this is out of his hands. whatever happens to the trickster—whatever happens to ashe… the prime defenders are the only ones who can save mark’s son, and mark has seen them torn to shreds already.

[watcher-servant]

A Knight's Test

After the dam had bust and the outburst with Ruby, Jaune looked down at the water and the bridge. The screams of the people still echoing in the ears mixing with the sound of the water, as mist would start to rise and the ghostly whine of horse echoes. Jaune stands up, his face twisting in shock and turning to the other 3 before settling on Weiss.

Jaune: "Weiss, take Juniper and go with the others after Ruby."

Weiss: "Wait, what do you mean we should be going together?"

Jaune: "Weiss I'm begging you go with the others and take Juniper with you to find Ruby. She needs you more than me right now."

As he says thus Juniper would get close nuzzling against him

Jaune: *Pets her* I know, girl, but right now they need your speed and nose. I'll catch up when I can."

Weiss: "Jaune, are you -"

Jaune: * turns towards her face in anger* "GO NOW! He only wants me anyway, and there's no chance he'll let you interfere."

Weiss would approach Juniper as a small glyph that appears to shoot out a chain to create makeshift reins. Yang and Blake would hop on Juniper's back as the four of them would ride off. Juniper would call back jaune, wanting to stay at his side, but knows she cannot.

Jaune: *Turns to the mist as he would draw sword getting into a stance as rain droplets start to come down* "Come on....I'm right here."

From the mist, another whine of a horse is heard as walking ethereally across the water appears a knight clad in black armor with a horned helm on horseback. The horse snorts puff of smoke as the knights visor act as it eyes showing that glowing red pupils at Jaune

???: "Finally done running, Rusted Knight?"

Jaune: "Yes...I am."

???: "Do you know who I am?"

Jaune: *Lowers his stance slightly* "I do...well, I know the legends...the stories, but I didn't want to believe. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks, but I need to accept what I'm looking at."

???: "Then say it. Say my name."

Jaune: "....Spirit of Chivalry!!"

A bright flash of lightening lightens up his form as azure flames would appear casting the spirit's grisly and dark form in the light of a phantom.

S.O.C: "Indeed I am he, and who are you vagrant knight? You who lost his path clinging to the past acting a shield knowing in truth its nothing more than your shackles? Tell me vagrant...WHO ARE YOU?"

Jaune: "I....I'm Jaune Arc, only son of Nick Arc. A family of warriors that served as guradians and knights for generations."

S.O.C: "Ah...a legacy then. However, a knight doesn't stand before me. What I see is nothing more than a coward boy playing fantasy. There is hope, though, for I see a spark no matter how small or how fleeting I shall test you to see if you possess strength."

Jaune: "Strength...what strength? I've trained and pushed myself to improve so I could protect everyone! Yet.....yet when I thought I reached a good spot, it all slipped through my fingers. I wasn't strong enough....I never was."

S.O.C: "Foolish Boy!" *His horse would stomp its hoof as lighting would crash down* "Strength does not come from physical form alone, blind reliance on it shows your weakness. You may be dammed like me, faltering when the crucial moment comes....I've seen countless disappointments like this, and all met their end with my blade."

*As he says this, multiple warriors and knights would appear in the mist looking on the new victim of their lord's trial*

S.O.C: "Be it blade or shield, lance or ax, no matter how grand or well made they are it holds no power if the weilder lacks inner strength to use it. No victory is won with just muscle it must be backed by mettle and focus. Now show me your resolve...show me what lies within your soul. Or else you'll fall here....AS YOUR LIFE BECOMES NOTHING BUT RUST ON MY BLADE!!!"

*A flash of red would appear on his gauntlet as a sword handle would grow from it. Gripping it and unsheate it showing a blade that glows with dark energy. With a loud whine of his horse, spectral spears fly down from the sky, making jaune dodge backward. Jaune would come out a bit unscathed, leaving him no room to breathe between them. The S.O.C would appear before him swinging his blade down, shattering Jaune's shield and gauntlet. Letting out a cry of agony, Jaune would try to counter with a slash only for it to meet the spirits blade, causing a flash of blue light breaking the remains of crocea mors and destroying his other gauntlet. The S.O.C would let out a mirthful chuckle as his horse would knock Jaune back.*

S.O.C: "Yes that's it! Show me your resolve, your will to fight! Show me how hard you're willing to push yourself to achieve even the slightest of victory!" *His horse would let out another whine as it dances back as more spears would rain at Jaune.*

*Jaune would dodge the barrage but would take some hits as the spars would hit his leg armor, destroying them both. With no chance to counter the S.O.C. would come in for another swing of his sword, destroying Jaune's plate mail and with a follow-up slash destroying his helmet.*

*Jaune would be sent tumbling back as his vision would darken with his shallow breathing. He considered laying there and letting his death happen, but then a myriad of voices would come to him as memories would play in his mind. Pyrrha's smiling encouragement, her sacrifice as he was helpess to stop her. Penny's words of reassurance, her sacrifice, he was forced to assist... and despair. Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang....Nora, Ren, Oscar, stilling waiting on the other side in Vacuo. They would need him... Winter as well, they need allies. He just needs to stand up and survive.....but should he fall here, what's left? What would happen to a broken team RWBY, would they make it out alive with their sanity intact?. He had to help those in the Ever After....it was his duty as the Rusted Knight.

S.O.C: "Foolish child, you cling to a false prophet. The Rusted Knight is a hollow soul, his armor rusted because he does not possess the strength to stand on his own and take care of himself. He does not trust others, but a true knight does not treat his oath as shackles to hold themselves down. They are treated as reminders to boost himself, perhaps had you not feel sorry for yourself instead of steeling your resolve until no problem couldn't stop you, then maybe you would've succeeded and survived. Now stand up, and face your death like a proper knight."

*Jaune would slowly pull himself up as a spear would come down, piercing his chest. As he coughs up blood, his vision would darken as the voices of more poisonous comments come to mind. His father's words saying knights are no longer needed, no worry to continue the legacy. The derisive words of all the people at Beacon and Qrow's harsh words*

Jaune: *Thoughts* "Then...if they were stronger than him why aren't they here. Why am I the only one standing?"

????: "You know the answer....for those in the dark who's voices aren't heard. For the fiends that would slink back into the shadows thinking they're safe."

*A small light would come through the shaft of the spectral spear making jaune look down. It was small and it flickering, he had to reach it...to strengthen it. Jaune would grab the spear trying to force his aura through it slowly but surely making the light grow.*

*Outside the S.O.C would look down at the man, his body still skewered by the spear. His head looking down as if dead.*

S.O.C: "A true knight isn't strong because of their weapon. The only thing they would need is the balance of strength and will to their mettle. You have failed child of Arc...fall into the shadows and take your spot along with crowd of lost warriors." *Turns away from Jaune's body only to stop as sense a pulse*

*Back with Jaune in his mind, the glowing in the spear shined bright like a star as it would crumble absorbing into his body. The dark landscape would would reel back from the light forming into another figure wearing grey armor as he places his hand on Jaune's chest.*

???: "You are close...don't forget those that trust you why we still fight."

Ren's Voice: "Despite everything, when I look at him, Yang, I see no fear in his heart."

????: "Now come we have test to past!" *The armored figure would force his hand into Jaune's chest, making him scream as light would engulf them both*

*Back in the real world, the spectral spear that held Jaune's body would crumble, absorbing into his body as light sparkles would come from his body*

S.O.C: *Turns back seeing the light coming from Jaune* "Hmmm has he figured it out*

Jaune: *Screams out as energy would cloak his right arm, forming a flickering blade of aura... yet despite the bright color and fragile appearance there's a hint of black keeping it stable* "I'm not done yet...there's still much more for me to do *Points his new blade at the spirit*

S.O.C: "Hmm so you come to me bearing new power...very well let's see if it's enough! *Would pull his arm back blade ready to strike as his horse would kick the ground ready to go*

*Jaune would get into a stance ready for anything as the horse would rear up and speed towards him the S.O.C ready to strike. Both warriors would run to each blades ready to strike as they would even clash with a loud boom.*

*Meanwhile, other parts of the Ever After would shake and rumble as the residents would turn towards a large column of black and white would pierce the sky scattering the rain clouds. With Ruby and little, both would feel the ground shake as they look to the column. With the curious cat, it would hiss at the column feeling a dangerous intruder over there. With WBY, as they rode Juniper, they would stop seeing the column, hoping Jaune is fine.*

*Back at the mist covered area Jaune and S.O.C would have their backs to each other as Jaune would fall down trying to keep himself up*

S.O.C: "Good...very good" *As he says this, one of the horns on his helm would crack and fall down. On his chest, it would bear a gash showing a eerie blue* "Your light has shine strongly, you walk the path of Sigurd, slayer of demons....no I sense darkness in your blade as well. You walk the path Taivas, warrior that overcame a infecting darkness making it hos own. Do you why I say this....what did they have in common?

Jaune: *Gets up and turns to the spirit* "They didn't lose their way...so nothing could hold him"

S.O.C: *Turns his horse towards jaune* "Very good you have passed my trial young arc come close wield your new blade." *Holds his sword out towards Jaune*

Jaune: *Summons his new sword feeling the aura cloak his entire hand as it makes the flickering line of aura and clash it with the knight's own blade*

S.O.C: "Hear me now young arc, fear and doubt only leads to death. One that doesn't acknowledge his faults doesn't deserve to be called a knight...however with you understanding this and making peace with yourself, have shown you have earned it. Do not forget this lesson if you do I will come after you again*

*With his peace said the S.O.C would disappear in a flash of light as the mist would finally clear up*

Jaune: *Turns towards the water, looking at his reflection....then back at his new sword. Grabbing his ponytail, he would hold it enough as he used the new aura sword to cut the pony tail off. Looking down at it showing it still holds the last remnants of Pyrrha's sash, Jaune would let it fall from his hand into the water, making it disperse* "Goodbye Pyrrha....Goodbye Penny."

*Jaune would turn only to be greater by another armored figure. Waiting to see if they would try something, the armored figure only plants his greatsword in salute before disappearing, leaving the blade. Jaune, confused by what he saw, walks up, grabbing the blade as it turns into a hooded button-up grey coat.*

Jaune: *Thinking on it for a bit, he would put on the coat buttoning up near his mouth, making it look like a cape* "Time to make amends....and to catch up." *Starts walking towards the dark Acre sensing Ruby and the others in that direction as he would put the hood up*