#smite balance

[umbraastaff]

Occasionally, the Starblaster lands in a place that's actually receptive to their dire warnings. On one such world, with their society being accelerated by the Light of Creation, they even began making plans for how to combat the Hunger.

Barry goes to visit a convene a few months into the year, and finds them developing and honing skills they'll need to detect the Hunger - and to fight it when it arrives. To keep its destruction at bay until it follows the ship to the next planar system.

The skills they train are unlike anything he's seen before. Their healing appears as divine as any cleric's, but without the aid of gods - so cutting off the Celestial Plane won't stop their magic. And they fight, too, infusing that same magic into their weapons, powered by the force of their belief. They call themselves Watchers.

Barry trains with them, just the basics. They teach him how to draw power from the force of belief. From the memory of the Hunger consuming his world, and the promise that he'll do anything to stop it consuming others.

Anything.

Lup would do anything. He's sure. They're all incredibly fortunate to have someone like her onboard - someone who wouldn't ever let them destroy a world just to make this easier (and oh, he wasn't there, but he knows he would have been on Davenport's side about destroying the crystal).

He doesn't take the oath. He can see the way it codifies their belief into reality - the way it powers them, makes their souls divine. He wants to be that person, but he isn't. He doesn't put this foreign world above himself.

(But still, the magic takes to him. His senses sharpen to the Hunger's influence, letting him catch sight of the scouts without Blink. He can raise friends from unconscious mid-fight with just enough healing magic. He's dedicated, he believes, even if he won't commit and tie his soul to it.)

--

For a time, he leaves it there. There's so, so much to do and learn and see on this journey. He stays a level one rogue while Magnus trains up more dexterity and stealth, and he stays a level one paladin too, for now.

On Faerûn, Barry commits hard to an imperfect plan. And when he falls, already dead, from the ship, he already knows - on top of finding her - that he's going to have to defend it.

He's trapped in a cave for months at a time. The thing about plans is it doesn't really take three months to concoct one, no matter how granular he gets (and really, he needs to stop himself getting too detailed - it's hard enough getting his living self to follow basic instructions exactly how he wants). So he takes up other studies in the meantime.

He can't use weapons as a ghost, but he can practice the movements, ingrain the knowledge into pockets of 'muscle' memory. He's no cleric, but he can study their magic, see the ways their spells overlap with that training he underwent all that time ago.

He won't risk asking any god on Faerûn for help with the Raven Queen after him - he's not close with one like Merle is - but he already knows he can pull similar magic from inside himself. And some of the most basic spells look really useful, when he's only ever had wizard spells before.

Even when he doesn't remember, when he's just some guy who couldn't cast a spell to save his life, he feels it: the promise, the belief that drives him. He doesn't remember where he learned to fight, but he knows how to move a weapon like it's a part of his body. He knows when he's really, truly desperate, when his adventuring party of the week is on its last legs, his weapon glows with that fury and hits harder than it ever should otherwise.

--

He appears in his workshop feeling sick and furious, lightning lashing off him. All he can hear is their voices, so casually dismissing the dead guy they'd found the umbrastaff on.

Lucretia knows too. She must know, and she hasn't done anything about it -- still leaves Taako without the knowledge of just how fucking important that thing should be to him.

He drags himself back to some semblance of composure, ignoring the new burns and cracks he's put in the walls. Lup is out there somewhere. Lup still exists in this world, along with Merle's children and Magnus'... well, extended in-laws, and--

And she wouldn't let them flee this world, not with their families rooted here, and she wouldn't let Lucretia destroy this world.

And neither will he.

He's going to find her. He's going to bring them all together. He just needs their trust, and he's sure some echo of that century will get them to listen to him. He can bring everyone together, and once he does that, they'll find some way through this. They always do.

The bonds that tether his soul pull taut, burning now with divinity in the heart of an unholy abomination. He knows now how to change the shape of his soul, how to let its form twist around newfound power.

On the discipline of a decade's routine, on sleepless vigilance, on undying loyalty, he swears his oath.

This world will not be consumed.

[hatedbyiife]

Send drawing reqs, I need to go on a doodle break before this painting drives my desire to draw into another 6 month hiatus

[oceanxveiined]

 Genshin Verse Side Muses:

*Mentions of abuse, dysfunctional families, manipulation, torture, violence, experimentation, ableism, transphobia, and death, not necessarily all present/to various extents depending on each bio, ahead.

1) Chang Da’Lun (500+/appears 23): Half-Adeptus, born some time before the Cataclysm. He can shift into a smaller birdlike form at will, though it does take a bit out of him to switch back. It doesn’t stop him from shifting into it on his own or a friend's whim though.

          His father was a Yaksha named Wuye, alias Caligo, who had inevitably become consumed by his karmic debt and became more akin to a malevolent demon. Though admittedly, the adeptus had already possessed quite the cruel streak, even long before he’d fallen. Being driven mad by the karmic debt meant his slaughters turned to fellow adepti and humans alike, which had also grown to be far more frequent and brutal. Each consumed opponent led his power to grow as he’d absorb their vitality and any abilities they possessed.

          By contrast Da’lun’s mother, Anhe, had been fully human, having been with a group of treasure hunters who’d taken her from her family in ransom when they’d strayed too close to the maddened Yaksha’s territory. When they had realized and tried to sneak away, she risked her life to draw Wuye out and betrayed them all in a desperate bid for freedom and power. She offered them all to be slaughtered and devoured by the corrupted Yaksha, as well as to offered to lure more to satisfy his bloodlust for incentive to make him spare her own life. She even offered to be his mate as well, to let herself be used by him as he saw fit, sparing no expense to give anything and everything she could to ensure she survived this encounter. He conceded out of convenience, taking her as promised and continuing his slaughters about Wuwang Hill with her aid.

          Anhe delighted in having his favor, even with how terrified of him she’d been at first, growing more and more sadistic herself with every massacred he’d rend, every death scream that filled her ears while she remained unscathed. The thrill of power and having a mate so powerful to keep it was too alluring and far too intoxicating, she would never dream of ever parting from him.

         Only for her to end up alone and powerless anyway when the former Yaksha was killed shortly after the birth of Da’Lun.

         Much of his childhood had been Anhe relentlessly tormenting him, using him as a scapegoat for how her life had fallen apart and due to having been affected by his father’s karmic debt as well ( both in her continued presence alongside him up until that point and in stubbornly lingering at his lair where the miasma was all concentrated rather than returning home with him gone ). Da’Lun took the abuse without protest, wholeheartedly believing her and his own guilt. He spent his whole life striving to ‘make up’ for his existence, in bringing her gifts and attempting to make her life easier every way he could. To protect and provide for her as his father had intended.

         It all came to a crashing stop when his mother at last succumbed to the cursed energy infesting their home. Or so he tells himself and anyone who ponders of her fate, not wanting to admit he himself had killed and devoured her. It had been when she’d tried to end his life first and the resulting corruption of them both had his adeptal nature spiraling out of control during the struggle. His Electro Vision had been what had ultimately murdered her, bestowed upon him during his struggle as she denounced and cursed him, which he hadn’t realized until the morning after.

         Plagued with guilt and fear, and knowing he must have taken on her share of the karmic debt's influence, his father's ability considered, he traveled Teyvat to distance himself from his former home for a few years. For 500 years, he witnessed beauty and horrors alike throughout it all, before he decided to settle some time in Sumeru. His main aim had been to learn all he could on humans and their histories ( learning from each Darshan over the course of the centuries he’d spent there, changing his appearance every time he’d reapply ), as well as to pass the time in a way that would not aggravate lingering traces of his father’s influence. It was while he learnt from the Amurta Darshan when he met Danae. With time to spare, and admittedly intrigued by the utter madness of her ideas and her equally frenzied determination to see such impossible fantasies made reality, he signed a contract to assist her in any endeavors she may undertake for them, as she would his own, per its terms. They would maintain it dedicatedly before briefly parting ways when her illicit studies were discovered.

         He himself remained at the Akademiya mere weeks before deciding his life had dulled too much without her odd ideas and eccentric ( not to mention at times exceedingly cruel ) methods, setting off to travel again in search of her. Traveling through his homeland, he would come to meet Ozzy, whom he would follow to Mondstadt, after he’d found him interesting company, especially when the man would encourage him to not feel so wary of the karmic debt’s influence. There, he would become a founding member of his gang when it resulted that the man’s interest had been likewise piqued and thus given him the invitation to stay.

          Ozzy was able to locate and drag Danae into his business thanks to Da’Lun’s scheming and using the terms of their contract to rope her in.

         What could he say? He would be a fool to let one of his favorite toys go. Just as he would the chance to see what would come out of putting so many volatile little components together.

           Surely the end result would be most spectacular indeed.

Oswald “Ozzy” Beauregard / Ásvaldr Bjornsson (appears early 20s): One of the remaining survivors of Khaenri’ah, though he keeps that card very close to his chest, having fled the nation after the surviving the Cataclysm. Only Da’Lun is actually aware of said fact, due to their shared longevity and closer bond compared to many of the others. If asked of his origin, he will always give the half-truth that he is of the Sumeru region. He currently gets a kick out of pretending to work for himself at his little tavern named Fleur de Nuit, from where his gang operates under the guise of a legitimate business.

         Stricken with immortality, Ozzy tends to push the limits of what said immortality will do for him, especially since his perception of pain and danger has been skewed severely by his curse. For the longest time, he had wandered about the desert and Sumeru’s forests, picking fight after fight using the very Abyssal energies he’d been corrupted with. Even with no formal combat training outside teachings he learnt as apprentice mage ( these very learnings being the reason he was was to maintain his appearance as it was, without succumbing to the curse of wilderness ), his increasingly frenzied manner tended to allow him to prove a match for the hilichurls, Eremites, and Treasure Hoarders he encountered, leaving brutalized corpses and wreckages in his wake, and plenty a scar to mar his own body. Some of which healed worse off than others due to his inability and gradual lack of real want to properly care for himself. Eventually, he would be found and formally taken in by the Fatui when he had too grievously injured to fight them off.

Not that he would have wanted to even if he could, considering how much they piqued his interest.

        He had been with them long before Danae had joined, having willingly surrendered himself to be experimented on by Dottore out of boredom and curiosity to see what the man could get out of it. As well as a vain hope to possibly stave off his Erosion and keep his mind with the Abyssal energies eating away at it when his own treatments would prove increasingly inefficient. Needless to say, Ozzy’s sanity had still taken quite the toll throughout the centuries he’s been alive, and the outright torture he faced through the time he’d been with them had truly not helped in the least. Especially not while being injected with god remains had steadily twisted up his mind, more and more. The Abyssal energy he’d already been afflicted with had ironically been what helped keep himself through it though, allowing him to fully assimilate the god’s lingering energy into himself and steady his condition.

         When Danae had decided to desert the Fatui, she broke Ozzy out from containment and left him an experimental Delusion to have him serve as a diversion so she could escape, figuring he would have some exploitable grudge that would prompt him to seek vengeance. And he served his purpose well, slaughtering Fatuus after Fatuus he encountered with the three tail-like, bladed chains he could manifest from it. He did so with great delight and utmost zeal, damn near like an animal in frenzy. But in truth, he really cared not for getting even. He rather merely wanted enrichment, as he called it.

         While Danae had figured the Delusion would simply kill him in the end, his own longevity and the god remains he’d assimilated allowed him to use the Delusion so freely without truly debilitating consequences, though still at certain cost to his body after particularly prolonged usage. It severely aggravates the place with the god remains had been injected, low at his right side where the Abyssal energy was at its highest concentration. Due to it also being the place of his most severe wound and one of the ones that truly never healed properly, it leaves him feeling as though something had been gouged right out every time he’d stop its use. Still, in the moment of that first use, all he could think of was the thrill of the fighting and being able to run about, free at last. To this day, that very thrill is what keeps him using it, even knowing the painful consequences.

         The euphoric high he felt back then lead him to completely destroy the location all together, both in his own kills and in tampering the delicate machinery that would consume the rest of the location along with it in the ensuing explosions. He himself made his getaway before the destruction caught him up along with everything else, after finding and bringing along a fellow victim ( not that he consciously saw himself as such ) of the Fatui experiments.

         After hearing tales of Monstadt, her homeland, the idea of a nation whose Archon had no real say in its ruling appealed to him greatly, Thus, he would hijack and man a Fatui ship to gain leave off Inazuma, heading to the Southern side of Liyue, and making their journey back to Mond that way.

         Ozzy’s aim in making the gang had solely been to collect interesting people to surround himself with, nothing more nothing less. Something to help stave off ennui and keep his mind sharp; a little pet project he could maintain or ruin at his leisure when the time came. It only became a formal organization incidentally, but he finds it a decent pastime to run it and especially the business he and Da’Lun came up with as a front. Especially when he genuinely ended up attached to a certain select few, though he maintains it is only out of how entertaining the lot of them are, themselves and with him.

          Due to past experiences, particularly what he witnessed during the Cataclysm, he has a mild to severely violent visceral reaction to fire based abilities; which is only worsened by his love of deliberately avoiding triggering his own phobia and habit of gambling with extreme stakes, typically involving fire in some way.

         What sort of gambling man would he be if he let something like that stop him, after all?

Elisabeth “Eliza” Merrimack (18) - A Mondsadt-born girl whose family lineage traces back to the Imunlaukr clan, after the clan had broken up due to a schism. Originally Visionless, she would gain a Dendro Vision ( chronologically set late in the events of the Sumeru Archon Quest ) and take up Catalyst-based combat.

         The eldest daughter of her main family at the time, she had a horse riding accident in her youth that left her paraplegic, exhibiting little to no movement in her legs even after treatment at the church. The fact that it had taken them some time to get her there, seeing as she had been lost for days, was probably behind it. Regardless, her family despaired at the incident, frantically trying everything they could to heal her, even as the church insisted nothing could be done. Even as she herself tried to reason it was alright; that she didn't need to be, having accepted their verdict when her family could not. And they never truly did.

         When she was fifteen, the Merrimacks ultimately accepted an offer from the Fatui to aid them ( though in hindsight, Eliza couldn’t but wonder if it had been seen as an excuse to have them take her off their hands ), and carted her off far from home. Betrayed at her family giving her away so easily, especially after she realized they would not check up on her or visit, Eliza at last fell into despair after seeing what awaited her at the hands of the Fatui. Her parents had been lied to, after all–Eliza had not been taken in to receive care, instead becoming subjected to experiments with god remains like every other subject they got their hands on.

          And no one would be aware of that to come save her. Assuming they would even care to try if they did.

         Things began to change years later after meeting Danae, who was assigned to oversee her. To be precise, Danae had at first been in charge of her post-op treatments, ensuring the effects of the experiments didn’t disrupt her vitals and in keeping her alive overall. They began to know more of each other and interact after the then Fatuus had been promoted and would have her as an exclusive subject, due to her ideas and personal project.

          Even with how callous Danae could be, she and Eliza eventually came to get along well due to Eliza coming to understand Danae’s wordless gestures and tough-love care after the former had begun to get attached to Eliza. Said care usually being in the form of snuck treats and material comforts. It wasn’t until later on in their friendship that Eliza learned it had been because she reminded Danae of her younger brother, that she had specifically requested to oversee her treatments because she wanted to help her like she'd intended to help him. Learning why and how she intended to do that did embitter Eliza rather than endear her though.

That said, they truly became each other’s first real friend and confidante after Eliza had been–even if gruffly–encouraged by Danae to start speaking up for herself and the first thing Eliza did was tell her off for thinking she ought to ‘fix’ her and any other person, for that matter. It had been a gut reaction based on Eliza’s own resentment of how her family regarded her as well as the god remains in her acting up due to her agitation.

         Still, even while the burst of temper had startled Eliza, it had been enough for Danae to not only respect the girl, but also to begin to doubt her own goals. Most notably, it was enough to prompt the Fatuus to pick up her old ideas anew rather than continuing the original experiment plan she’d had altogether, choosing to help make amends in fashioning Eliza a special wheelchair to take her out for enrichment. Not that Danae would ever admit that’s what it had been for, even in present day, but Eliza understood and was grateful for it all the same.

            The day Danae broke out, she had actively tried to reach Eliza to bring her along, but was unable to in the chaos she’d wrought and severely underestimated. Thinking her dead, she prioritized her own survival and left without a second thought.

           Eliza hadn’t realized she’d been abandoned once again, rather had been merely confused by the happening and chaos around her. She patiently awaited Danae to come, trusting the Fatuus to soon fill her in and protect her if need be. Instead, it was the newly freed Ozzy who had found Eliza and offered to bring her along after having slaughtered her guards and in hearing her request to see the stars outside before he ‘put her out of her misery’ had moved him.

          And especially because she then tried to cut his throat the instant he got close enough to try and carry her.

          After convincing her he did want to bring her along, not kill her, she at last conceded and let him take her away from the wreckage of the lab. Eliza's tales of her home nation had been the reason Ozzy had chosen to settle there, and she was more than happy to return with him, though flares ups of the god remains in her did pose some problems both were unsure of how to handle. Not that he trusted anyone in Teyvat to be able to take care of her as they should, especially considering how she’d ended up in the Fatui’s hands in the first place.

         Still, she is grateful he took it upon himself to allow her to stay by his side as his ward, even while she couldn’t offer him much in return in terms of fighting skill, money, or knowledge besides that of her home. When he founded his gang, she did find purpose in aiding with the logistics aspect of running the front for his gang, using the learnings of her youth. Without her, it would have fallen apart from the start, Ozzy would always say, leaving her giddy with excitement and her heart full. After finding and enacting a solution to quell the unstable god remains in her ( taken place post-Sumeru archon quest, story-wise ), she would start taking a more active role in the gang as aid to their resident healer. In addition, her wheelchair would be adapted for combat, to suit her needs and her Vision’s abilities.

          She is well aware that elemental concentrations worsen the god remains' extreme and dangerous flare ups, but she still constantly insists upon staying with everyone else in the gang and utilizing a soothing device relying on Elemental energy anyways. She’d rather spend it in comfort and with her friends, even the lot of them encourage her to when she frets what could come out of it ( even Ozzy telling her the risk of that danger is exactly why they are so comfortable was a twisted solace that wound up giving her more confidence to accept her wants to be with them ). Once the traces of god remains in her would be sealed off enough, she is able to head out with them with her wheelchair from that point on, as well as set at ease her fears of hurting them. She still feels chronic flares up of pain due to her affliction, but with less risk of it going out of control and killing her dear friends, she can bear it a lot easier.

          After all she’d been through, this was nothing. Nothing, in the face of being able to smile and delight in her life to the fullest once more.

Durene (19): Hailing from Natlan, Durene is a demigodess, born from the union of a mortal man, Jevaun, and a nature godess Jaladri, whom he had ensnared with a talisman along with several of his friends and fellow warriors when her tempests had threatened their home village. She had fallen for him when he had been watching over her, and had been the kindest of her captors, eventually conceding to be his wife after enough time in his company, as well as certain courtship of his had won her over.

          Even while bound to human form, Jaladri had been content in their union at first, up until her husband began to get exceedingly paranoid and possessive of her following being imbued with several of her blessings that granted him great strength and renown in his tribe. She began to grow miserable, cursing Jevaun and unable to do much to fight him as he was, as her powers had become considerably weaker compared to his over the years, especially after Durene’s birth. And it didn’t help that it was especially so because the man kept her away from the sea, an important source of vitality for her. Still the goddess did not fault her daughter upon her birth, teaching Durene the ways to be a soothsayer and healer so she could properly go through the initiation process and her actual training in the village once she was of the apt age. At the same time, Jevaun had taught Durene the art of war and trained with her every chance he got, hoping his daughter could bring him renown and glory with her exploits in the yearly games.

          Durene took to both her learnings quite well, eager at the thought of being able to contribute to village and her family this way. She particularly excelled in serving as an herbalist and healer, though she did work hard to improve her skills when it came to divination to impress her mother. It always did seem to put Jaladri in a far better mood whenever she did, as well as when she would listen to her mother’s tales of gods and places she’d been, of her life prior to being confined to mortal form. Of their Archon, and her great deeds. More than anything, she loved singing for her mother, songs she learned from her and the others in the village, seeing how her voice seemed to bring the goddess some semblance of solace, when she felt her weakest.

         At twelve years old, Durene had bonded with a Koholasaurus she'd named Aje, who helped her gather materials from the seas and magma caves, often keeping Jaladri company whenever Durene would gather from the land, or while she worked to make her treatments or to preserve her supplies. Around that time, she also learned the full story of her mother’s plight. Horrified and moved, she would elect to repay her mother all she’s taught her in concocting a clever plan to gleam out from her drunken father the location of each piece of the talisman needed to complete the needed ritual and free the goddess. With this knowledge, Durene was able to find and bring them to her mother with Aje's aid. The goddess would aid her in completing the necessary steps once it had all come together. As her bonds would break and her strength returned, Jaladri lamented being unable to take her child with her. Promising to return with a means to ascend her as soon as she could, the goddess would transform into a pillar hundreds of crabs that would scatter into the sea and leave Durene standing alone at the outcropping. Bittersweet and all-too brief as their parting was, she felt content in knowing her mother would be happy at last.

          The good mood would not last long, as Jevaun flew into a deadly rage in realizing what had happened when he awoke to the sounds of a howling sea storm after she returned home.

          His rage did not frighten her, even as he demanded answers. Did the she not care about their village? Of what the goddess would do to them, now that she was free? Of why she’d been confined to mortality in the first place?

Durene truly cared not, insisting Jaladri had borne and suffered enough under his suffocating hold. If they were all to be destroyed in her vengeful wrath, it was for the slight they’d done against her, and thus truly fair.

          Her answers would brand her a traitor in the eyes of her father and, to his claims, their people. To ensure the goddess wouldn’t completely destroy them, he killed Aje and locked Durene away, making made sure Jaladri could never find her and that no one else would in turn ever think to help free her, as no one else would be aware of where she'd 'disappeared' to. As far as anyone knew, she and her Saurian companion had been killed while gathering materials.

          She couldn’t say how much time had passed since he’d left her there. Days, then weeks, then months went by languishing in her prison, in the presence of no one else but her father, whenever he would stop by to bring her food. If her refusal to concede to his pleas to betray her mother and attempts to break out didn’t enrage him enough to leave her to her own devices the next few, that was. It wasn’t until she’d exhausted every desperate, rage and grief-stricken attempt at escaping that Durene formulated a proper plan to escape.

          The next time Jevaun came to see her, he found his daughter seemingly unresponsive. The man freed her from her bonds and frantically attempted to wake her, only to find his daughter conscious after all, taking advantage of his closeness to grab hold of him. The man was only able to catch a brief glimpse of her newly bequeathed Anemo Vision mere moments before she would sap the breath from his lungs. Her face, twisted in every trace of hatred and resentment she felt towards him, was the last thing he’d ever see as he would succumb. Durene would hold no remorse for her actions, even as the village people would come to find her and try to seize her in retaliation.

          Escaping their clutches and leaving them to the mercy of her mother’s wrath, Durene would take to travel about Teyvat as a wandering soothsayer, making a pretty coin on divination and healing. Truly, that whole time she had been seeking a way she may ascend to join her mother, sparing no expense wherever she may go. She'd even forged a binding vow for herself, giving up her tongue, and thus ability to speak in exchange for power. Through her journey, she fostered a particular resentment born in her in Sumeru and the way the Akademiya had gone about managing knowledge at the time ( such as the reason they had rejected entry for her, thinking her to be of the desert folk ). Which lead to her resolving to ensure that place would be the first she may pay a visit to once she reached her goal, to tear it asunder for the offense, seeing as its god would surely not be able to match her when the time came.

          It was in being found by Ozzy in Liyue and being requested to come with him, Eliza, and Da'Lun along the way that she came to have company once more. The final founding member of his gang, she would happily settle in Mond with them. But by no means does this mean she had given up on her goal. With Da'Lun and his influence, as well as the addition of Danae later on, Durene would find use in the team’s members to further seek the information she required for her own ultimate goal. Who knew, perhaps she would just need to be a little more patient, just a little bit longer.

           Well, fine by her. That, she had plenty practice in.

Jaeda Purmizra (18): The daughter of an affluent family in Sumeru and the most recent addition to Ozzy’s gang. She joined them after running away from home and continuously hitching rides on caravans then later merchant ships that guided her to Dorman Port in Mondstadt. From there, she hid among a lucrative-looking delivery, which lead her to Ozzy’s tavern, where she would be promptly caught for having stolen foods from the convoy and attempted to make off with other items to try and sell in the main city. Danae had nearly left her bound and at the complete mercy of Treasure Hoarders as punishment, had Eliza not intervened and personally pleaded her case to Ozzy. He accepted to take Jade in as well, only because he knew it would anger Danae in the process, and because he was intrigued by her Vision in particular,

          Born male and then named Jahar, Jade had been the family’s sole heir and was raised into the role accordingly ( read: impossibly strict ) by her mother. It was thanks to a young servant girl who tended to her every need that she even began to experiment with and realized her actual gender identity. All because the girl had wanted to play dress up and needed a friend to help her, not realizing all the decorum she was breaking in daring to ask the heir, of all people, such a thing.

          It had been quite the relief in realizing it, though, even when she hadn’t been actively searching for it. But to her, it meant everything from then on. And it meant despair, as she continued to masquerade as her mother’s precious only son and heir. She didn’t want to upset her mother, after all, especially since the woman banked so much of her bid for power as head of the family upon her. So she kept that her little secret, playing with the girl and growing up happily alongside her over the years.

         Up until she and the girl had been caught playing.

         The girl had been punished severely for her ‘crime’ and Jade was forced to bear witness to the bloody ordeal for humoring her. Only after the girl was left near death did Jade face her own punishment, the horrid humiliation her mother enforced upon her before an audience of the woman’s closest friends and advisers.

          The anger she felt in seeing the life dwindling in her friend’s eyes and the cruelty she faced ignited a single-minded determination to make every last person in the room pay for her beloved friend's pain, enough to for her to black out, coming to only when her mother had screamed.

Snapping back to consciousness, Jade felt bloodcurdling horror and cathartic relief in realizing she’d burnt her mother’s lovely face beyond recognition, every other cruel person who’d participated in her torment left as naught but charred corpses in her wake. In spotting the gleaming, blood-red gem clutched tightly in her hand.

          She didn’t stay long, stealing her friend away and running away from home with an intent to bring her along. They could make a life together away from them now, she was sure of it. She had a Pyro Vision after all, she was no longer powerless to protect them!

            With the severity of the girl’s wounds though, her friend had little time left. With her last breath, the girl made her promise to live life for the both of them and to be happy. To stay safe, and never let anyone dictate how she may live her life ever again.

          That day, Jahar died along with the servant girl. In his place and bearing the name of that girl to carry on her memory, Jaeda would set off to find that happiness she’d promised.

Mako du Raie (16): A Visionless young heir to a prolific merchant family in Fontaine, and the member who had joined the Snake-Eyes gang before Danae and Tua had. His father, Benshi, had been a doushin from Inazuma and met Mako’s mother, Marie, while she learnt the trade from her father, prior to the Sakoku Decree being fully enacted. Mako is their illegitimate child, though he was claimed to be his mother’s younger brother to save face for the family. As such, he was raised primarily under the strict watch of his grandmother and even stole the title of heir to the family from Marie, due to the story they’d given him.

         He took to his studies like a fish to water, being quite bright and precocious for his age. And in his eagerness to pursue his grandmother’s approval, he went far above and beyond the efforts his mother had ever put into her own. The family agreed he was definitely a far more suitable heir than she as a result, though he avoided his mother’s jealous wrath by asking she be involved in everything he did. Like this, the woman’s temperament was appeased, her going as far as to even take credit behind his talent and boast of him to all who would meet them.

          In all honesty, he would have been content enough handing her the reins of the family, had a business venture to Mondstadt not changed his mind entirely. His mother’s boasting lead to drawing Ozzy’s attention, the man having been seeking a nice, convenient little liaison for his gang’s front. With the boy being as young as he was, not only would he be easy to exploit, but his talent and influence would absolutely prove worth the effort to draw him in, just as he'd hope.

          As such, Da'Lun would be the one to meet and gain his trust. To persuade him to join Ozzy’s gang as their merchant contact. And, to ensure Mako’s position and control over his family’s affairs, Da'Lun would even go as far as to encourage Mako to eliminate each and every family member that could possibly stand in his way of managing it all himself.

           Mako couldn’t help but give in, even with how complacent he’d been before. Even being fully aware of the horrific task he would have to taken on to ensure his control over the family's business and finances. All it took was being given the affection and doting he always wanted, rather than lauded praises for his potential and saccharine-sweet yet ultimately empty words he knew better than to believe. It took one friend, who cared and spoiled him so, to make him turn his previous wishes of simplicity and contentment from before and pursue a more ruthless ambition without a qualm. Even as he gazed into his mother’s dulling eyes, frozen in horror and anguish, he would only feel a strong sense of satisfaction as he stepped over her without a qualm. As he would make his way over to Da'Lun, who would fondly ruffle his hair with genuine praises aplenty before carrying him back to Ozzy’s little haunt.

           He knew full well he was to be used by Ozzy’s group, having realized it early on in Da'Lun’s attempts to worm his way into his heart. But once he’d met with the others in the gang and Ozzy himself, there was no longer a single trace of lingering doubt in his heart that his brutal choice had been in his best interest. Looking at the lot of them gathered to see him, all varying shades of proud of what he’d accomplished, no matter how horrific, he determined the excitement and validation that came with what they did was a lot better than living his life within conventional rules.

            Where else could he feel like he was at the top of the world like this?

Tusitala / Tua (20): Originally hailing from a coastal village in Natlan then migrating to and eventually settling in Liyue due to his father’s relentless pursuit of riches and lack of interest in the wars that ravaged their nation, Tua had been a Treasure Hoarder well before his coming of age. He is rather proud of the fact, too, often boasting of his own successes compared to other factions, especially after he’s fought his way through a group of them in a show of his own Natlanian battle prowess. 

At first it had been at his father’s urging that he joined and stayed with the Treasure Hoarders they’d met up with on their way to Liyue Harbor. It was only to serve as something to make for a side hustle while his father took care of other business dealings at first ( taking care of logistics for that gang while Tua himself got to take on the more dangerous aspects, as he also managed an artifact appraisal business with things Tua and the gang would bring in ), then it became Tua’s sole obsession as his own greed grew, right along his addiction for every victory and bounty he secured them.

         Tua was quite content with this life, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world to have this chance. Even if he did have to surrender near all of his share of their spoils to his father, to quell the man's avarice ( and to ensure the man didn't try and take it all from him, by force or outright theft ). But with what he was allowed to keep or what he managed to squirrel away to pass off as such later, Tua would take to decorating himself handsomely to show off his successes. As such, he’s got several piercings ( many of which he did himself ) along his body, as well as bits of gold embedded in his skin, particularly about his shoulders. He also has a few tattoos to commemorate his victories and his comrades, which glow whenever he uses his Vision.

          Speaking of, his Geo Vision came to him during a show of his conviction to protect his Treasure Hoarder ‘family’ by all means and any costs. In this case, it had been in protecting them from a squadron of Milileth by the skin of his own teeth then later its aid, having chosen to cover them on his own to ensure they could make off with a particularly rich score. Because of it, he became quite popular among them, with the lot thinking he would lead them to the greatest successes and eventually take over rival gangs and become their overall leader.

          The thought strongly appealed to him, enough that he resolved to make it a reality. As leader, he would have a greater right to a bigger share of the spoils, and he could be independent enough to break away from his father, too. And of course, being able to protect his closest comrades and look after them with greater responsibility and authority. That was his greatest desire above all else, one he would swear before them during the celebration of his blessing by the Lord of Geo.

          Though he did eventually fail to keep his promise to them when a conflict with Fatui, and severely underestimating them, left his group all slaughtered or near death, himself included. With his last lingering traces of full consciousness, he lamented not being strong enough to protect them all, and expected to meet his shameful end along with them.

          However his survival had been ensured when Danae had stumbled across the massacre. Though initially focused on eliminating the injured and resting Fatui and with her own hatred of Treasure Hoarders having her near ready to ditch them all as it was, it was due to her having determined his potential usefulness upon noting his Vision that prompted her to nurse him back to health.

          Deliberately leaving all the others to their fates, as she didn’t need them.

          When Tua would ask later after awakening, she would swear they were all goners by the time she had found him. That Tua had supposedly been the only one strong enough to survive because of his Vision.

          Grief would take hold, but he wouldn’t linger on that feeling too much. Not enough for it to consume him, anyways. Not when his savior made him an offer to come with her, a suggestion to carry on in his comrades’ names and honor their memories in continuing to plunder and seek the treasures they'd so craved. Feeling both indebted to her and a thrumming need to protect someone once more now that he was without a family ( he dared not return to his father nor join up with a new Hoarder faction after such a harrowing defeat ), he would choose to follow Danae to Mondstadt.

          Along the way and upon reaching their destination, they would take up mercenary work and end up wrapped up in the group they currently associate with now, after participating in an attempt on the young head of the Snake-Eyes gang alongside others like them. Said hit actually having placed by the young head, Ozzy, himself, using it as a ploy for recruitment to test if Danae had been worth Da'Lun's recommendation to his group. Tua likewise making it out alive alongside her and having demonstrated his immense strength and capabilities had been the icing on the cake. He was more than happy to accept the offer to join after that, no need for incentives or anything.

          Well, okay, maybe the pay grade and further chances to seek riches while with them was a pretty good incentive. That, and being able to take part in a whole new gang he could protect and grow stronger with helped convince him, too. There was something reassuring about being able to protect them them of all people, those who didn’t need to depend wholly on him and could defend themselves should his strength fail them. But would still rely on his skills to add to their own, and truly ensure they would all be okay. And he will make sure they would be. He refused to lose any one of 'his own' ever again, swearing the very same oath he gave his late comrades before.

          He will protect his newfound family, with all he has. Whatever it takes.

Mason Ennosigaeus (17): Sidon’s actual biological child. He was stolen away from his family by Morjena when she had found out of his existence, snatching him during the chaos she'd set off after tricking Eremites into looting the caravan the man's wife had traveled with on her way to the main city. It was a move meant to ensure Danae had no competition to being the man’s heir, especially after the woman and her attendants had been killed in the ensuing struggle. Danae was supposed to kill Mason upon being left with him, as Morjena had thought she’d thoroughly beaten the heart out of her. When it turned out that she hadn’t and even wound up with an attachment to the boy, Mason became an opportunity for Morjena to ensure Danae stuck around, regardless of the abuse she faced, regardless of how much harder she became to control the older she got.

           Mason himself was frequently abused by Morjena while Danae was gone and quickly came to rely on the latter for everything. Not that it necessarily meant he was entirely helpless. His weak constitution left him frail as it was, sure, but in truth, Danae never failed to endlessly dote on him every chance she was home to see him, even going as far as to sacrifice her own meals for his sake. She would even forgo sleep to guard him against Morjena as best she could, and when she did, she would deliberately sleep in a way that if the woman pulled anything, she would be the one to take the brunt of her mother’s abrupt assaults. Every little thing he could ever want or need and THEN some was his at his command, and without hesitation. He need only ask. She couldn't offer him comforts like reassurances and gentleness, but this, this she could do for him. And he was wholly all for it, appreciating the one good thing he had amid the horrid life he was stuck in.

             Inevitably, her boundless devotion and their environment twisted him up as badly as it had her, albeit in a different way. The one who truly wound up heartless and cruel, through and through, just as Morjena was, had been him.

          He may come off as shy and unassuming but in truth, he is twice as vicious and self-serving as Danae, behind the gentle demeanor. He is the one person who can ask of her to do anything at his whim, no matter what it is, no matter how hurt she would end up in the process. And he's used that, time and again to sic her on whoever it was he so chose, be it strangers for his own amusement or even people he's realized she started to get a little too close to, in selfish need to ensure she wouldn't start giving away her loyalties. To test that she truly did mean her loyalties to him, and act accordingly if she hesitated or doubted. In his eyes, he still needed her to survive, after all. Especially after an encounter with hilichurls had nearly taken his life, and had cost him his legs just above his knees, even after being rushed to Birmastan.

          At the same time, he is also the person others could use to strongarm Danae into damn near anything if they hold him captive, as any threats to him lead her to be all to eager to comply for his safety ( though woe betide those who lose him as a bargaining chip at any point during ). He is the One and Only Thing she has left to lose, but the feeling is not mutual. It hasn’t been from the moment she’d left him at the Akademiya on his own.

          Even having been left in the lap of luxury when she'd been forced to flee, being torn from her side and the endless doting, from his greatest asset, left him stewing in a resentful rage. His bitterness and broken heart earned him a Cryo Vision amid the enraged outburst within his room, gleaming enticingly within the wreckage of her final gift to him. That Vision, however, he deemed the greatest gift of all, and one he thoroughly believes was the Tsaritsa’s personal wish to him and show of support.

         As such, as of earning his Vision, he swiftly abandoned the idea of staying at the Akademiya. Instead, he sought to join the Fatui, using his power as incentive to be kept of use to them alongside the Cicin Mages. Though he was sure to mask what he did, telling Danae he got to travel for his studies so she never suspects. So her constant stream of money and gifts from afar never end, having them brought to him by agents he roped into his whims that happened to be stationed in Sumeru.

          In learning she had also once joined the Fatui only to abruptly disappear, he knew before any of the lot that she was still alive, and elected to keep this fact to himself, to ensure none of his comrades could seek out and find her. However his intentions are far from protective out of any genuine concern. He has full intentions to personally hunt her down and make her face the full consequences for abandoning him. And the Fatui, too, of course. But if possible, he would like to be the one to bring her end himself. To look her right in the eyes as he would use his Vision to make of her a pristine statue for himself to keep.

         Maybe then she’ll actually keep her promise to never leave his side.

[24-jay-42]

Ashton is not contradicting himself, in fact he is being incredibly consistent.

Ashton is a punk. Now we all have preconceived and general ideas about punk and what it means, But Taliesin has stated multiple times that punk in Exandra is different then punk in our world as The injustices in Exandra are different to the injustices in our world, at least where it concerns Ashton. Taliesin Has described punk in Exandra as quote:

“Life’s not fair. And either you believe that life’s not fair because life is chaos or you believe life’s not fair because there’s a bunch of interventionist assholes above you who have decided you don’t get to be a winner, for whatever reason.— Is it a world Where there are winners and Losers or is this a world where there are Interventionist gods who are like ‘You.’ ‘Not you’"

This is doubled down with the fact that there is seemingly no clear reasoning as to why the gods choose who they like and don’t choose who they like. At least not in any reasoning common folk know of and understand. 

Ashton also has always somewhat respected the Matron of Ravens, Because she is the only god that always keeps her promises and because she is the only goddess who will have to face every single mortal at some point while the other gods get to play favourites. 

Doesn’t help the fact that despite begging a god for help throughout almost all their life, the only time Ashton has actually witnessed divine intervention was when an angel was sent to smite him and his friends down for removing a colonial unwanted ministry from a Village. Of course that would fuel the perspective that the gods are self-serving and only interested in their own gain. 

Which is fair. Why is one person who cries out in pain granted divine repreval and guidance while someone else experiencing the same pain is left to fend for themselves? Why do the gods get to have it both ways where they can plead non-intervention in some cases but intervening in others when it serves them. 

This isn’t about being ‘Deities Specialist Boy’ This is about "Why do you get to decide who is somebody and who is nobody? Why do you decide who is ‘Special’ and who is not with seemingly no reasoning as to why? (other than self interest)."

Ashton literally said himself, to paraphrase: “The gods never chose me so i am not going to choose them. I will Listen which is more than They ever did”

Which he’s been true to. He’s listened to both the Arch Heart and the Raven Queen. The gods that approached him and the rest of the bells Hell and directly to ask for their help.

Which moves onto my next point: The Gods have No checks and Balances. So the gods are free to do whatever they like with no one able to stop them.

As we saw in downfall, and to quote Brennan Lee Mulligan “The Lord of the Hells and the Dawnfather have more love between them then either of them has for [Mortals]” and if you’re a mortal that is horrifying. Because no matter how much suffering they cause, no matter how much love the primes have for mortality, the Prime deities will never put a permanent end to the betrayer gods. They will always live another day to cause misery because the primes don’t have the heart to stop them.

And no one can do anything about that fact.

The Last beings that dared challenge the Gods, the Primordial Titans who were Exandra's original inhabitants and had much of a right to be there and have a say in what’s happening as the primes, Got smited into oblivion. There are no living Primordial Titans anymore. And why is that? Because When the primordials took issue with the gods giving the mortals that inhabited their planet magic and tried to do something about it and take back what was originally theirs, the primes buried them. 

Is there more nuance to it than that? Absolutely. But that is not a stretch of a viewpoint to come to. 

Of course Ashton is going to be attracted to these grand powers that are separate from the Gods, that the gods fear. The Primordials, The Luxon. Because these are the few things that might be able to keep the gods in check, because they sure as hell aren’t doing it themselves. 

And just to address one more thing before I Finish this post. I’ve seen a few post along the lines of “The Gods don’t owe Anyone anything/Don’t have to do anything for anyone”...

Then What’s the Point of having them?

[utilitycaster]

Do you think any of the other items the party has rn (ie Ashton’s hammer, Imogen’s robe) could become more relics of the red solstice? If yes, which god do you think would bless them? Vox Machina probably not, they’ve got all their vestiges already, but do you think the Mighty Nein could earn any?

I don't think this will be much of a focus, to be honest; Matt just poked fun at his Campaign 1 fetch quests. I especially don't think it will be a significant focus of the Mighty Nein as I think they and Vox Machina will only be viewpoint characters for their specific missions; a couple episodes at most. And, to be honest, one of my favorite things about the Mighty Nein is that they were never terribly focused on magic items to the ridiculous (affectionate) extent Vox Machina were. No shade to Vax but I think a lot of people did not realize that without two vestiges and an overpowered homebrew item and a bending of the rules re: smiting on thrown items, he's just a guy with 30 feet of movement who can attack twice with a dagger in melee and pump in a second level smite once he gets to the high levels.

I think it is possible with Bells Hells, but I suspect it will only really be those who sought out any kind of relationship with a god, even if it's relatively last minute. I'd love to see an exploration of Braius since I really don't think Asmodeus is fueling those paladin levels, but otherwise, Imogen and Ashton are currently the only ones with plans, so the gods in question are the Stormlord and the Arch Heart. It would be a nice touch, personally, if the Changebringer showed up and perhaps imbued the fragments of FCG with something minor, but I'd also be happy if the only relic we have is Seedling simply because again, Orym's the only one who's really been pursuing this consistently.

Just for a quick elaboration, I think one thing with the Vestiges that Matt realized is firstly, if he gives the party a list of everything, they will try to catch 'em all, which led to some episodes in C1 that, frankly, didn't have much connection to the characters and their goals (specifically the Fire Plane stuff; also while its retrieval was great, Scanlan used Mythcarver like, twice, and once was to do a two gnomes in a trenchcoat situation); and that you can end up with some really fucked party balance. I remember in Campaign 2 when people felt like everyone should get a Vestige again once it became apparent the Star Razor was one, but Fjord was a sword-focused character who put immense work into a relationship with a god; some classes and characters are just not item-based in the same way. To make D&D balanced, sometimes some characters get more toys; and also, following specific narrative paths is rewarded by the GM because it involves player dedication or risk or is just really fun and cool.*

I will also note that while time is short, not all the Vestiges of Divergence were tied to a deity. One could get a relic created by mortals; I don't, for example, know what Dancer and Imahara Joe are up to.

*at the risk of taking a pretty straightforward post and turning into an avenue of discourse, this is yet another reason why the "Raven Queen/Wildmother relationships with Vax and Orym are abusive" arguments feel in such profoundly bad faith and, quite frankly, taste, that they're hard to even engage with. It's such a deeply bleak and cynical worldview out of game to say "yeah, I think the GM is looking at an interesting player choice and is punishing them for it," even more so with a player like Liam, a person who is not precious with his characters and does not see tragedy or death in the service of a cause at the close of the story as narrative failure.

[ikeoji-subs]

Zettai BL Ni Naru Sekai VS Zettai BL Ni Naritakunai Otoko 2024 - Episode 2 Eng Sub

VS SMELLS and VS AGE GAP RELATIONSHIPS

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translation notes:

about Fish Cake Man (7:28)

As we state in the subtitles, this guy’s monologue isn’t something we’re equipped to translate and if we did, it probably wouldn’t make much, if any, sense to English-speaking viewers. We learned from Snow’s Japanese friend that he's a comedian who is famous for doing this particular bit. After we had already finished most of the subtitles, I rewatched seasons 1 and 2 of the show and found that he was also in the other two seasons. In the first season, when Mob is explaining about how he's a side character and intends to keep it that way, he looks at a gardener on his university campus who is pulling weeds, illustrating that the world of BL needs to include some people who are unlikely to ever become main characters. That’s this dude. He appears again in season 2, when Mob is scouring the university for signs of Kikuchi after reading his goodbye letter. In every appearance, he's shown wearing the same sort of nondescript work clothes and cap and seems to work in some kind of maintenance or cleaning capacity at National BL University. –Towel

His name is Nou Misoo (脳みそ夫) which means brain tissue. I believe there's a pun here I'm missing but you can check our his sillyness on youtube, instagram or tiktok. –Snow

about “the gods decided to smite me” (10:24)

The first version of this line said that Mob “received divine punishment” for his Mob Move. That was already a great line! But I thought it had the potential to be a little more specific and evocative in an English-speaking context. At first, I was just trying to think of something a bit more specific to replace “received.” I thought of a few possibilities, including “I was smitten by divine punishment.” But since “smitten” is barely used anymore except to describe someone who's in love, it had the wrong connotation. Then I thought about how another tense of the same verb, “smite,” avoids those connotations and has a kind of King James Bible quality. But if I was going to say “smite,” I’d have to change the sentence from passive voice to active voice (which is generally best anyway) and give the sentence a subject who is doing the smiting.

I thought a unitary, capital-G God would make it sound a little too Biblical, possibly tipping it over into sounding overtly Christian. I knew that some religious traditions practiced in Japan, like Shintoism, included multiple gods. So I tried “the gods decided to smite me.” This seemed to balance out the Old Testament-ish aspect of “smite” a bit. The end result seemed more vivid than the earlier version, and it seemed like something Mob would say.–Towel 

about “select shop” (11:30)

Observant English speakers might notice that when the guy who used the same shampoo as Mob talks about where he got it, he uses a term made up of English loan words. He says he bought it at a “serekuto shoppu" (in English, a "select shop"). While both parts of the word are borrowed from English, the term you get when you put them together isn’t commonly used in the US. I ended up replacing it with “boutique,” which gets across some of the meaning. But I’ll explain in more detail here. 

It turns out that a “select shop” is a kind of smallish shop with carefully curated items that all fit a certain aesthetic. A business like this might be called a “lifestyle boutique” in America, but it’s slightly different from any business model used widely here. The big selling point of a shop like this is the fact that they’ve already vetted and coordinated these products. Their offerings are tailored for a particular niche, so that if you’re into the general idea a select shop is going for, you’re likely to be interested in a lot of what they’re selling. The items for sale will also have been hand-picked by a professional who’s able to find just the right thing in a way that a typical consumer wouldn’t be able to. 

You can imagine what kind of college student would not only shop at this sort of place but declare it proudly. Even if Mob was going to fall in L with a B, this guy would be a bad fit.–Towel

about “a listless ne’er-do-well” (19:04)

The more literal translation of this part goes “a man like this, without ambitions or vitality.” It’s a nice turn of phrase, definitely, but I thought if I could localize it a bit it might evoke more of the right feeling. I thought it would be more typical in English to express this in terms of an adjective plus a noun describing the kind of person he’d appear to be, rather than saying he was without these qualities. From “without ambition” I got “ne’er-do-well” and from “without vitality” I got “listless.”–Towel

Tag list: @absolutebl @bengiyo @c1nto @come-back-serotonin @lurkingshan @my-rose-tinted-glasses @porridgefeast @sorry-bonebag @twig-tea @wen-kexing-apologist

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Could you do a yandere Idia, Malleus, and Floyd with a darling who acts like Jane Doe from ride the cyclone? (If you can’t do this I understand!)

I liked the play

and I love her ballad

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Jane Doe Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

(Y/n) (L/n) is known best for your stiff motions and disconcerting observations. Usually met with fear, impervious to insults you don’t understand, and often forgetting your name you certainly become a person of interest to many. And the many that get to know you realize you’re not nearly as frightening as they perceived nor do you mean to be creepy just confused. Unfortunately for them the more people who begin to realize this about you tend to get closer to you. Not on their watch:

Idia Shroud

“You know what I think is scary? That a bear who happened upon some cocaine started eating and became addicted. What stopped the bear was not his desire to use the energy he got from this new prey but because he died. It disturbs me how far addiction can disguise the hand of death.”

“If this is some round-about way to tell me to stop gaming then I don’t buy it.”

He’s not as off-put when he realizes you don’t fit into that ‘normie’ category

Nor do you fit in his slot as an ultimate gamer

Well he can fix that really fast

It starts with putting a controller in your hand

And he slowly finds he doesn’t get nervous around you…for awhile

He still finds his hair alighting in pink flames when your cheeks touch as he governs you over your shoulder

Or how he overheats at your willingness to follow his menial acts for your friendship affection

“Y-yeah n-normal friends sit very close no matter the setting!”

“Like this?”

“Y-yeah!”

“And I should wrap my arms around your waist like this?”

“Y-yup!”

And you are none the wiser when you’re practicing all his lessons with others that he’s watching with absolute rage

So like the game master, he is he keeps his eyes on the field having cameras anywhere and everywhere watching your every awkward movement

Fanboying when he gets the perfect angle of you curiously tilting your head

And for the trash NPCs that bother you him+ he’s using his technical prowess to put them six feet under

“Ha, stupid NPC they really thought I’d let that slide?! Fat chance.”

Malleus Draconia

“Would you like to brush my doll’s hair?”

“I would like to but it seems her head is missing.”

“Hmmm, that reminds me of something.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I’m sure I can–” 

*Detaches head from body Frankenstein style*

“Oh yes I still can.”

“Oh my–”

Not only do you have no fear of him but you are the most interesting character he has the pleasure of meeting

You're so unorthodox he’s never bored

Not that he ever would be

He truly falls when your blunt affection for him as friend lover+ stirs something deeper in him

He can’t begin to imagine life without you being beside

Him learning from him and freely sharing your observations

And despite many others cringing at your creepy statements

He delights in them

“It truly is horrific how easily guinea pigs decide to cannibalize their young.”

“Haha! Yes, that is true. If you were in their place would you do the same? I ask because I can relate to the jealousy of the male. I would rather keep you to myself for all eternity.”

He doesn’t hide his affections and immediately dives into courting you 

And you don’t have the knowledge to turn him away though

But should any unfortunate interloper put it lightly on your radar that you don’t have to accept

He’s smiting them then and there

“See. (Y/n)? He says such negative things and the lightning struck him immediately after. It is only the balance of cause and effect.”

Floyd Leech

“(Y/nnnn)!”

“....”

“(YYYYY/nnnnn)!”

“....”

“(YYYYY/NNNN)!!!!

“Ah, that is what I’m called…right?”

“Hmmmm nope, your name is Shrimpy!”

He’s had the most fun with you in a long time

Anything with you around is fun

Whether its because everyone’s reactions are fun when you talk 

Or how you make people run perfect for an ambush

To say he gets angry at your occupied attention is an understatement

It's more than joy 

its you 

your his, his territory, his name-forgetting shrimpy that belongs to him

“Your eyes are nice.”

“Ahah that’s cute Shrimpy! I share them with Jade!” 

“They’re wild…like that of a carnivorous predator. The kind that gut their prey while still alive.”

“Awww Shrimpy! Marry me.”

If it isn’t a given that he squeezes anyone who diverts your attention

But he can’t help but decide you don’t need to move at all from his reach

[y-rhywbeth2]

I'm always dissatisfied with how priest pcs are handled in the crpgs because it's hard to do the roleplaying justice and there are degrees of punishment depending on level of trespass, but still, clerics, druids and rangers should be subject to the oath nonsense paladins are.

You fuck up badly enough and you get forced into reclassing - you've fucked up one too many times/too badly and you're not a priest class any more. Depending on the god you are also now dead by divine smiting, though I assume Withers can at least keep you around on a loan in that case.

Selûnite priests should probably be more reactive.

Could Mystran Tavs please not encourage Gale to play with the shadow weave or go mad with hubris, thank you. The Mother of Magic is going to have Words with you.

Druids should also have a deity selection (most circles do not in fact cycle between gods, and most druids venerate one god in particular). You're not a worshipper of Mielikki and you're using metal armour or tools? Violation of your sacred oaths! Eldathyn? You're literally forbidden to engage in violence except in self-defence and also you're permanently stuck on non-lethal damage.

Rangers too, although they don't necessarily have to worship a nature god, any of the pantheon are acceptable.

Ilmatari being cruel or ignoring somebody's suffering? Divine sanctions incoming.

Do you dare experience joy as a follower of Laduguer???

Tymorans should probably have slightly more political clout in Baldur's Gate due to their being one of the temple faiths in the city, even if they are themselves a minor priest.

Lathanderite or Kelemvorite (or most druids) and you're not killing the vampire or talking him into 'being laid to rest'? You're fired. You get turned into a vampire and you worshipped a good or neutral deity? Unfortunately we have to let you go because you literally cannot handle or be in the presence of your god's holy symbols and places of worship anymore. Druids and rangers are now extra fucked because nature itself rejects you as an abomination unto the Balance.

And where the hell is Durge getting their divine magic from? Themself?? It's very contradictory, on the one hand it says there's no answer from the gods and yet at the tabernacle you do get a response from the appropriate god. It could be Bhaal masquerading, but you still get it even if he fires you. Hmm...

[zephyrrising]

Honestly I'm with everyone saying that the admins wouldn't just kill an egg off. Some of those eggs were in complete safe zones. These admins have shown time and time again that they want keeping the eggs alive to be difficult but fair. Even if some eggs come back, if any of the eggs die despite the creators doing EVERYTHING to ensure they were safe while asleep, how are the creators much less the characters continue to believe that there is any safety anywhere? What was the point of Phil's caution, BBH's constant assistance (and paranoia), Fit's guidance, Foolish's langauge exchange, the N.I.N.H.O, the entire Ordo Theoritas, Etoile's training, Pierre's helpful factories, etc. if any of them would be taken away and die with no way to prevent it?

Bobby, Trump, Juanaflippa, Tilin, these egg deaths were so heartbreaking because they were preventable. With some better decisions or better communication, these tragedies would have never happened, and we would not be dealing with the fallout these little ones have left in their wake with their passing. There is a reason no eggs have died permanently to a creative-mode code attack. The admins know that it would tank player and audience immersion if the parents had no chance of defeating their adversary or getting them to flee. It would be like the admins spamming /smite repeatedly or just using /kill to take out an egg. There may be some argument that "these are the consequences of the new players having a death". I would argue this would be similar to the above issues, as the old players had no ability to affect Tubbo dying before they could get anywhere near the ice prison. If that's what it turns out to be, that's what it is. I won't be happy about it, but it's not my story.

TLDR: I think the admins have built enough goodwill with us as a community to trust them to continue the balancing act they've pulled off superbly so far.

[ilovedagain]

A story of Damian coming to terms with the world he grew up in, told in verse

He fights a girl who, in another life, might have been his friend. Their blades sing when they parry in tandem. The runt of the family is still an heir, so they fight for the title. If he were kinder, he would not strike her. Would not look into flinty eyes and smite her fire into the ground harder. Would hold her hand and throw away titles, rather than battle for heir apparent.

As it is, and as it should be, a kind prince Damian was not.

Lazarus waters used to enchant his young gaze. He looked and saw life restored and health dealt in spades. Second chances in pools of jade. He would stand, frozen in awe, forgetting to close his jaw, green reflections playing on the walls. His grandfather would catch his expression and smile, a fond hand mussing his hair. A lucky child who had it all.

There was a day, a moment, that Damian will never forget. Mother found him at dawn, roused him awake, and shushed his protests. She crouched before him in the dark, waited for his eyes to adjust, and held them when she said, "Listen closely, my love, and remember what I'm about to tell you."

He was wide awake. His heart pounded, sweat pooling at his temples with the amount of focus he took to imprint Mother's words to memory.

"There may come a time when you lose hope in the world. There are horrible things and terrible people that will make you believe all the world has to offer is rotten. But for every bad thing in this world, there exists good out there to balance it. Always remember it, my love, yes? Say it with me: for every bad deed in the world..."

"For-for every bad deed in the world..." his little voice repeated in the darkness.

"...there is good too" Mother finished.

"...there is good too."

"Say it again."

"For every bad deed in the world," Damian said, "there is good too."

"Yes, my love."

Mother wrapped him in her arms, his face buried in her shoulder in wild hair that smelled like flowers.

It was that day, that noon, that Damian began to understand why Mother had said what she had said. That was the day his training truly began.

"Fight to the death." Grandfather's voice echoed and filled the dungeon. His green eyes, calm as they were, said this wasn't a matter of discussion.

Damian's opponent was a white man with an overgrown beard and no legs. His arms, thin as blades and with sores like eyes, fell from their chains when Grandfather set him free and handed him a scabbard. His shockingly blue eyes did not look at Damian.

There was a certain glory to battle, no matter how bloody and brutal, that was a balm on taking a soul. Damian had known that glory before. But fighting this man was no fight at all. No battle, no glory. Only the simple

and irreversible act

of killing a man.

Damian vomited beside the man’s corpse. Grandfather, that one time, did not disapprove and clasped Damian’s shoulder with his ringed fingers.

"Well done, my grandson."

Blood had long since left Damian's head. He sat on his bed with numb legs and tingling fingertips. A drop of vomit was on his shoe. He hadn't cried, and yet his nose was clogged. Air weighed tons as it settled in his lungs. Black spots danced and danced, and a steady beat hammered inside his head.

"For every bad deed in the world," he said through a thick throat, "there is good too." He didn't understand it, but he said it anyway.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too."

The sun rises and he rides at dawn. Across empires, with a metal spine. His horse runs and never tires. Sparks fly at the beat of her hooves. He delves deep into tunnels and catacombs. Down, down, near the earth's core. Heat presses at his bones. Into the crucible, he goes. Trials are how swords are forged.

He pulls his sword from the sheath at his spine, and takes it to families and hordes. Cuts a path through bodies bigger than his own, until he wears more blood than clothes. His spine is heated, shaped, and hammered. Down, down, through the fire he goes.

The last opponent is the runt of the family. A small creature too young to fight, too soon to know battle at all. He strikes the ground with his torch, sparks fly at them both.

"Fight! Fight for all you're worth!"

The creature is the last of its kind. It makes a mournful sound and kisses blood off his nose.

He sinks to his knees like a heated sword through water.

The trial is done and he rides home. The sun sets on his soul.

The anatomy of him is why he lies down in the dunes at night and watches the stars to remember—to remember and think of the good things in the world.

"For every bad deed in the world," he tells the night sky and curls his fingers in the sand, "there is good too."

There are mothers who protect their children the best they can, and hugs that smell like Taif roses. There are fathers who stretch the limits of their bodies to protect their home cities, and fabrics that stop bullets. There are cousins who have fire in their spirits even when they are unfavored, and blades that sing when they meet. There are animals in caves who kiss the little fingers of a boy who did unspeakable things, and stars that are magnificent. And there is a day that will come when Damian won't have to look to find the good in the world.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too," he whispers.

Tears fall from the corners of his eyes, down his ears, into the sand.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too."

[blueishspace]

Here is what I meant by writing down some boons for the HC/life series Hades au.

Grian- God of The Sun. (Because, of course)

Boons:

Grian's Aid- Your call fires 4 rotating rays of light that damage foes at a rate of 9 dmg every 0.2 seconds and inflicts Blind. Lasts 4 seconds (Rare-4.5 seconds, Epic-5 seconds, Eroic-5.5 seconds).

Blinding burst- Your attack is stronger and inflicts Blind. Attack damage: +50% (Rare multiplier: 1.2-1.4, Epic: 1.6-1.8, Heroic: 2.2-2.5).

Shots in the dark- Your special rapid-fires a series of 10 glowing bullets that inflict Blind. Damage: 10 per bullet. (Rare: 14, Epic: 16, Heroic: 20)

Delayed trap- Your dash creates a small glowing orb that explodes after 3 seconds and inflicts Burn. Damage: 65 (Rare: 70, Epic: 85, Heroic: 90)

Blinding smite: Your cast summons a ray of light that inflicts Blind in a big area. Damage: 70 (Rare: 80, Epic: 90, Eroic 100).

Cactus ring (of course): After being damaged summon a ring of glowing cactii around you dealing revenge damage and inflicting Blind to all foes. Revenge damage: 15 (Rare: 20, Epic: 25, Heroic: 30)

Burning Light: Every foe inflicted by Burn has a 40% chance of also becoming Blind. (Rare: 50%, Epic: 60%, Heroic 75%).

The all-seeing: All blinding effects last +3.5 seconds (Rare: 4, Epic: 4.5, Heroic: 5).

Burning metal: Enemies with less then 20% health have a 10% chance of exploding after being hit thus Burning nearby foes. (Rare: 12%, Epic: 14%, Heroic: 16%)

Denied Sunset: When health is below 30% take half damage. -Legendary.

Status effects:

Blind: Enemies are 25% slower and have a 50% chance of missing. Last 4 seconds.

Burn: Enemies take 10 damage every 0.2 seconds for 2 seconds. (Like scorched except does less damage per second but lasts longer)

(I'm not... good at making things balanced so I would be very grateful for all suggestions on changing specific values)

Scott

[occasionally-good-ideas]

The Ancients are Gods

Just straight up Gods, one’s you can pray to, give offerings and such and maybe get a lil blessing or help from

Get nightmares?? Offer Nocturn some tea and dreams in exchange for no more nightmares, ‘man you can Have those dreams as long as I get some good, no nightmare, Rest.’

Your asshole neighbors keep raking your lawn but you need that Free Mulch for your garden next spring? Tell Overgrowth about it. 40% chance you won’t even need to give him anything, the promise of a garden will be enough for him to Smite your neighbors tool shed (and maybe their house but that ain’t your fault)

Need help juggling classes?? Phantoms literally the God of Balance & Discovery (along with Space but only aspiring astronauts call on that part of his domain) most students will give him food and Space Shit in exchange for better work/life balance skills and better understanding In classes. But if you’re really desperate or need a Big Favor… give him one a These

[rayshippouuchiha]

Sometimes a lot of people kinda forget that Gojo's been practically raised in isolation. His birth literally shifted the balance of the world. He's the closest things to a god born unto the world. And that means he's known nothing other than the pedestal he's been put on since birth as the closest thing to him. That's why Geto and Shoko meant a lot to him. That's why Geto was the one he opened his heart to. Geto clawed his way up and climbed up to him. Gojo Satoru could see someone at his level for once in his life.

That's why he loved Suguru. Still loves him. Could probably never love as much he loves Geto Suguru.

And then shit hit the fan and Gojo's rosy springtime of youth was violently taken from him. (If Geto had said on that day to kill everyone, the Jujutsu world would've been a totally different world.)

That's why Kenjaku was able to do what he did. Love makes even the divine fall after all.

Just the sight of Geto Suguru's face, alive and well, made the godborn falter. But even then Gojo's very soul knew it wasn't his Suguru.

If Gojo was actually raised in different circumstances...well he would've still been a little shit, but the story would've been completely different.

(And that's why I love contemplating ideas of Naruto or Ichigo raising Gojo. They're also Godborns, shit Ichigo was tailor made and designed to have the same genetic mishmash of literal God for cripes sake and Naruto is an Uzumaki Jinchuuriki born to another Uzumaki Jinchuuriki and the Yellow fucking Flash enough said....different pedestals same damage you get me? Naruto or Ichigo would totally raise Gojo better! Kid's gonna be off the rails insane, even more than before, but he's gonna be happy about it. Will smite the higher ups much sooner.

God complex is probably gonna be higher too when raised by actual gods lmao. That last sentence is mostly a joke.)

All jokes aside there is an astonishingly high number of JJK fans who do not understand Gojo as a character or the implications and outright stated examples of both his life and how his birth impacted the world itself and why he dislikes the current system that rules the Jujutsu world

[terrence-silver]

Can you do one with violent sex with drunk old man Terry? Beloved get’s apreenssive cause she already knows what’s coming for her when she sees drunk old man Terry stambeling late night into the house

---

Scorpions are 100% unpredictable.

They will sting you, even if they kill themselves in the process.

Several species of Scorpion have a courtship ritual that appears to walk a fine line between wooing and attacking. A male Scorpion will lead a female on a dance-like walk, known as a promenade à deux, holding her by the pedipalps (large claws). During this waltz, males have been observed stinging their partners;

--- Idle trivia pounded through his mind even as he stumbled over the manor's threshold, shoulder rubbing against the frame of the door, leaning on it as he attempted to maintain balance. He knew you'd be waiting. He knew it. You always waited for him. Even though it was three in the morning, little loyal devoted thing that you were, he knew you would be right there, diligently expecting his return and he isn't wrong. He's never wrong as he hears your voice call through the darkness of the lobby, undoubtedly alerted by the sound emanating from the hallway. He wasn't exactly trying to be quiet. Wasn't exactly trying to be sneaky or discreet. He wanted you to realize he was coming. Oh, did he ever.

-”Terry! You’re back!”-

He sees your form emerging through the shadows, seeming worried, moving at a brisk pace, arms extended, reaching towards him like he needed any fucking help. He was old but he wasn't a fucking cripple. He wasn't handicapped. He was more capable than you were at your green age. More agile. Stronger. Thirty years back, he'd show you a thing or two about endurance. Real power. Real damage. He clicks his tongue, brushing you off, stumbling wordlessly forward. Your brows shoot up, overshadowered with concern, like you were confused with the gesture --- hurt and attempting not to show it, right before trying again, stubborn in your devotion. He knew you would do that as well. So predictable. Everything you did was sweet, stupid and predictable. The fact that you were eager to him coming home, even though he was coming him in a state...it ached so much he could feel his skin shiver. His jaw goddamn nearly trembling. -”Terry, let me help you, please!”- You grab his forearm, tenderly, doing so without asking, stepping in front of him, cutting his space of movement off. Now, that he doesn't appreciate. -”I don’t need your,”- Terry seethes, not caring how inebriated he sounded, his words laced with hiccups. -”Or anyone’s help!”-

Maybe that would give you a hint to keep your distance.

-”You’re not doing well.”-

You remark, ever so politically correct and caring of his fucking feelings, trying to avoid calling things by their proper name. He wasn't doing well? No. Correction; he was drunk. Plastered. Shitfaced. A lesser man would be crawling all over the floor by now, but he? He was no lesser man. He still had enough tenacity in him tonight to smite you for even giving a damn what he was up to. Terry reaches forward, not bothering to give you a warning, snatching your wrist and squeezing on the gentle flesh. -”And who do you think is to blame for that, huh?”- He slides forward, face to face, until he was certain you could smell his breath; Perfect. Be repulsed by it. You should've been a smart little robot and gone to sleep by now. Instead of your disgust, though, against all anticipation, he's met with profound grief. You yelp. -”You’re hurting me!”-

-”Good.”- Terry coos, feeling his gut grow warm at the notion.

It was either that or all the whisky in his Limo's minibar.

Possibly a little bit of both.

-”You deserve a cruel tutelage.”-

He murmurs, looking you up and down, his eyes finally landing back on your face. Your mouth partially open in shock. Eyes befuddled and lost. Sharp intakes of breath burdening your chest with a visibly panicked pace. Fear is palpable. -”Do you want to know why I’ve been getting shickered up tonight? Do you really?”- He chuckles, feeling the bitterness coil inside of him like a wildfire. He's been drinking because of you and here you were, acting the saint. All worried and concerned about him. A patient paramour, waiting for him to come home. You should've ran. Should've ran while you had the chance. Now, you were faced with the scorpion and he was about to prick. Then again, what was he thinking? You, running? Where? How? As if he'd let you go. As if he'd let you get away. You shake your head, your teeth gritted with pain, not knowing the answer to this question. Ever naive. Ever dumb. With his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, he drags your forward, further into the dark lobby and down the foyer. You squeal in surprise. -”For the past thirty years, my life’s been bullshit.”- He confesses, chuckling at the notion. No, really. It was complete and utter tripe. You sound distressed even as he pushed you forward, like you wanted to dissuade him. Convince him his life wasn't wasted in a feeble attempt to console him.

Figures.

-”Terry!”-

Your voice is horse and he shakes his head, leading you down the corridor by force. Force is just about the only language you and your pigheaded attempts at pity would understand right now. -”Shrinks, reinvention, pills, damage control, living up here —”- He taps the edge of his own forehead as he lists everything that came to mind off in a haste. -”Those schmucks I’ve kept around.”- He digs his teeth into his lower lip, feeling particularly infuriated at the thought that he's wasted time with a bunch of mimes when he could've had you instead. But, you weren't in his life then, were you? You only came into his life recently. Fucked everything up. -”John.”- He adds, reaching a door, grabbing its handle. Another person he loved. Another person that fucked everything up. Just like you did. -"Denying myself every impulse! Everything that ever made me happy! For what?"- Terry slings the door open not caring if it hit the interior room's wall with a loud thud, pushing you forward and shoving your back inside. You stumble forward. Terry shuts the bedroom door behind himself. The loudness of the sound resonates. -"Did anyone ever say 'Thank you'?"- He murmurs, looking at you. He could've had you. Ten years ago. Twenty. Thirty. When he returned from Vietnam, or even before. If only you were older. Born earlier. Instead, he was there idly wasting his time trying to shed his skin and reinvent himself into a happiness that wasn't even born yet. If that wasn't the biggest irony of his life, he didn't know what was.

Yeah, he drowned the conclusion in a bottle.

What else was there to do?

Let it drown him instead?

-”And you come into my life when its about to end.”-

The scorpion pricks when he saunters forward, fingers coiling into your hair, hardening into a fist, pulling your head backwards and trapping you like that. You moan in pain. Your hands attempting to grab at his own hand, peel him off somehow. Your knees coming up helplessly, trying to put distance between you and him. Your expression fading into a blur. There was four of you in front of him and he'd fucking break all four tonight. -”Legs. Open.”- Terry growls his order, pushing your thighs apart. Placing his own leg between them as a barrier, right before he thrusts on the mattress behind your back. You fall limp, bouncing ever so slightly, hips parted, just as he liked them. There's no finesse to the act. It is crude. It was meant to be like that. He grabs you by the shoulders, holding you down with his weight as he grips the hem of your blouse, dragging it forward and ripping the fabric, splitting it where the buttons connected, sending them flying like bullets ricocheting off of the floor. You shriek. Hands coming up to conceal your chest. -”Why? Couldn’t? You? Let? Sleeping? Dogs lie?”- Terry feels his own voice coming out like a growl and no, there would be no mercy. He grabs both of your arms. Away from your torso, pinning them over your head.

-”Why did you have to poke the bear?”- He breathes furiously, close enough to sense your nostrils flaring hot breath as you exhaled and inhaled at a rapid pace. You blink, protesting. About to defend yourself.

-”I didn’t, I —”-

-”You did!”- He cuts you off, insisting, seething through lips pushed together firmly. You know what you did, and now, you would bear the brunt of the consequences. Determined fingers pull down his zipper and he feels himself hard before he's ever even done anything, even though he was certain the potent mix of tonight's Cognac will have him cumming quickly and sloppily inside of you, spilling a mess of anger, desperation, inebriation, his own age and desire inside of you like a hot flood, that's a chance he's willing to take as he starts stroking, preparing himself, unkind to his own flesh, kneading back and forth to the point of it being almost painful. -”You made an old man happy. That’s war.”- He grunts, never looking away from you, because there was nowhere he'd be rather looking in the whole fucking World. You did, you know? You really did. You made him happy. Profoundly, unbelievably happy. Terry Silver never liked ironies he had to endure on his own back, and him finding the love of his life at nearly seventy years of age was an irony that made him want slam his fist into the wall into he bled. -”I should finish you for that.”- He nearly spits as he throbs into his own fist, leaning forward, until his face was between your legs, split apart by the presence of his knee. Removing his own thigh as a barrier, he leans down, licking you and humming. Pleasure mingled with a half-growl.

-”But, I love you!”- You plead, this time, through a hiccup of oncoming sobs.

You try to squeeze your legs shut, but not before long, the head of his cock is massaging your flesh, up and down, up and down, preventing you, slipping into your loose, slippery, wet slit. -”See! That right there! That’s exactly the problem!”- Terry finds time to be analytical and smiles somewhat bitterly, letting go of where he was holding you, below your knee, wiggling his index finger and smiles somewhat bitterly, amused by how critically the point was flying over your head right now. And yet, he was the drunk one. -”I don’t have the time left for that shit.”- He thrusts as he speaks, pushing into you, groaning. He loved you too. Loved you more than a mosquito craves blood, but that crap wasn't anything that he could actually live to its fruition. How did you not realize that? If he ever fucked his children into you, he'd be dead before they ever went to school. You'd be far from middle aged by the time he would be turning centennial. How the fuck was that not a cause for grief and wrath!? It would be easier if he simply never cared for you. If you were some warm body. Someone he was compensating with loads of cash. Favors. Trips. Garden cocktail parties. By kickstarting your inane, idiotic business or something. They all wanted a business kickstarted nowadays, but not you. You were actually in it for love and you made all of it for free and fuck you for that. For making it ache like a motherfucker.

The Scorpion's out to kill.

-”This right here! This is just about the only thing we have time to do.”-

He feels himself growling, rutting into you, sweat trickling down his forehead, heated by the alcohol. By you. Gesturing to where his cock connected with you for emphasis. Yes. Sex. Validly, he couldn't start planning anything concrete with you because he didn't have the decades necessary to pull it off. Fucking you until he physically could for as long as he still could was believably all he had left and he'd utilize every moment like it could be his last, because it could. It could be his last. Maybe if he just dropped dead from a stroke while still inside of you, it would be a perfect way to go. Sure. He was always meant to die on the battlefield, but dying with lodged inside of living heaven incarnate was a step up the figurative ladder. Yeah. Sex was all he had. -”That’s not true, Terry! No!”- At this point you're crying and something lurches in his gut. For a second, he thinks it is arousal, seeing you like this, and then he recognizes it as the putrid, horrendous swell of regret. He finds himself slowing down, nearly growing limp inside of you. Not true? What else was there? Could he have a family? Could he be with you all of his life? No. This was the winter of his life. You were a spring turning summer. That's why he was drunk. That's why not even a whole private cellar worth of bullshit would help numb him.

Because you came too late.

And there was nothing in the world he could do to change that crap.

-”You don’t get to decide what’s true and what isn’t when you’re the one getting pounded.”-

He threatens you, or at least he tries and for a moment or short-lived glee, arming himself with a sort of barb he never gets to use to the extent he wanted to use it and he isn't certain if the saltiness of sweat from his scalp was running down his cheek or if he was silently crying too, without making a sound, the rage deflating along with his body and he slips out of you with a moist popping sound, entirely flaccid and soft, his shaft leaking cum over his fingers and unto the bedsheets crumpled from the onslaught as he practically falls over, or rather, lets himself fall in a half-embrace, holding you for dear life, feeling you return the hug, ragged sobs shaking against him, his cock twitching painfully. Fuck sake. Your care would get him off faster than what he just did to you. Humiliation, indignity, yearning and wrath mixing, he wants to hold you like his and squeeze you until your bones crack and turn to dust under his vice grip and this very bed becomes your funeral shroud. Instead, he just lays there, inhaling your scent, his lips finding it in themselves to touch the nuzzled spot of your neck, peppering it with saliva ridden spots, licking you, finding that even now, like this, disheveled, shitfaced, unbuckled pants, he was still happy.

Desperate, but happy.

-"You know that bullshit fable,"- He slurs, feeling his eye lids grow heavy.

Voice heavy with desire and intoxication.

You no longer fight. Wiggle. Struggle. You're perfectly still. Listening.

The bedroom dark, suddenly achingly quiet.

He swears he can hear you gulping and swallowing.

-"When the Scorpion pricked the Frog crossing the river on its back, the Frog asked why and the Scorpion answered he had to, because its in his nature. They both sank."- Terry doesn't see your face, but he hears you sniffling --- your breathing and heartbeat stabilizing and he nuzzles even closer --- needing to be closer like life itself depended on it, chuckling, hand squeezing itself around your waist. He doesn't know what he was trying to say with that or what he'd conclusively add to it as he closed his eyes, finding your warmth soothing from the sudden dizziness and the profound headache he knew was coming, but he figured, that if you and him sank, at least you'd sink together --- and he'd be capable of that. He'd be capable of piercing himself on his own venomous needle after he was done with you. There was nobody Terry Silver would rather sink with.

Nobody else he'd ever allow you to sink with but him.

[spotaus]

i love how Balance is all about symmetry and stuff when his halo is slanted

HAH not balanced you nub

(basing this off of the design i saw on those sticky notes from before)

Fr!! It's totally slanted! (He's such a hypocrite and hates when folks point it out-)

Canon reasoning tho: The more the world is "balanced" then the more equal his halo becomes! Once upon a time in the early days, it was a perfect circle, solid and hovering vertically behind his head (kinda like images of saints I think w/ their fun logic-defying circle halos) but the longer that mortals came around, the more gods that spawned, the more frayed and lopsided the halo ended up looking.

It took a huge shift in two seperate occasions:

Once when Hearth (also known as Chance because he has 2 domains- (Grillby)) was born. Hearth really threw a wrench into things for Balance, because while he's *currently* a God of Chance and Luck and can control it, he was the first instance of a mortal being able to defy Fate and Balance's perfect plans for the mortals. Hearth, just by existing and making choices of his own without knowing it, threw off the Balance immensely. (Balance wanted to smite him, but Judgement insisted that Hearth join the pantheon after his death instead.)

The second was when mortals figured out how to craft the chains that could hold the gods. The gods newly restricted powers made them weak, and their influence was redirected to natural magic outside of Balance's control. Then when gods were killed? That frayed his halo, making it lose chunks at a time and wobble and tilt. He knew exactly when and how each God died because he could *feel* their magic slip away from his grand scheme. He was just too prideful to do anything about it.

[salchat]

Little Wing

“I did it.  I’m back.”

Sleep cleared away.  Dean focussed on the figure in front of him - Jack, carrying a large bundle of something.

“You did it?”  

What the hell?  He was definitely awake, but his brain didn’t want to catch up.  He should really have eaten.

“I did it.  But I thought - he needs some time.  Some time to heal.  So I’ve given him that time.  See?”

Dean pushed back his chair, its whining scrape hurting his ears.  He stood up, swayed, got his balance, rubbed his eyes again, blinked and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Jack spoke to the bundle in his arms.  “Look, Dean’s here.  You remember Dean, don’t you?”

The bundle had feet.  Small, bare feet with pink toes that wiggled.  Then the whole package changed shape and a tangle of dark hair emerged from the crumpled tan cloth.

“Come out and say hello.”  Jack’s arms shifted, adjusting his grip and suddenly, with a snap, two black, shiny, somethings shot out from either side of the cloth wrapping.  Jack looked up at Dean, his mouth twisting into a rueful smile.  “He’ll learn to control that.  It’s because he’s so little.”

Wings.  They were wings.  Little black, shiny wings.

“Is that?”  He cleared his throat.  “Is that Cas?”

“Yes,” smiled Jack.  “I thought this was the best way for him to heal.  To have a kind of vacation.”  He smiled at the little boy - little angel - curled up in his arms.  “He can play and have fun!”

“Uh…”  Dean rubbed his forehead, his thoughts losing their race toward understanding.  One thought made it to the finish line.  “Isn’t that going to be a problem?  Like… if he doesn’t get candy, won’t he, like, smite everything?”

“Oh.  Oh no.  He’s just a cherub.  That is, he has very limited power.  It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”  

Dean took a step closer.

Jack smiled.  “Take him.”

The little wings had sagged.  One of them flapped and twitched and then fell limp again.  And then they both disappeared.

“Bye bye wings,” said Jack to the tiny Cas.  “He’ll learn to control that soon.  Take him, Dean.”

Dean found himself with two arms full of little boy.  Little angel.  He was wrapped in Cas’s trenchcoat.  He looked up at Dean with clear blue eyes.  And he smiled.

“Dean!  Heyo, Dean!”

All of the circuits in Dean’s brain shorted out completely.  

“Cas?”  The small, happy face dissolved into a watery blur.  Dean’s throat closed up and he felt his face crumple, as a loud, messy sob burst out, ripping through the silence of the Bunker.  “Cas.”

His chest heaved.  His eyes streamed.  His nose streamed.  He couldn’t stop.  And the kid was heavy.  Cas was heavy, so that Dean’s arms ached, but he held on tight, hitching up the small figure and holding him as close as he could, wrapping his arms around and rocking him and kissing him and sobbing.  And he wasn’t even embarrassed at the noises he was making.  He just didn’t care.  

“Dean?”  Sammy’s voice, worried and urgent.  “Jack?  What?  Jack, is that…?”

“Yes, it’s Cas.  I brought him back.  He’s a kid at the moment.  Just for a while.”

“He’s a…  Right.  Okay, then.”

“It’s just temporary.  So that he can play.  And have fun.  And get better.”

Dean’s whole body shook.  He still couldn’t stop.  There was a hand on his shoulder and something pushing behind his knees.

“Dean, sit.”

He sat.  And he held Cas on his lap and Cas’s little arms were around his neck, squeezing hard enough to strangle him, a little bony shoulder pressing into his throat.

Cas was back.

Carry on reading on AO3