#some fighter levels wouldn't be too out there

[errantgoat]

I'm always amused whenever your OC is developed enough to have a mind of their own. I'm writing this in the context of me wanting to shove Harvey into a paladin class for whenever I redo his BG3 playthrough... He outright refuses and shuts down my humble daydreams with a big red 'this wouldn't work because' button. I guess this is just one of the classes (like most of the spellcasters) he just wouldn't get saddled with.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

in his corner

words: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, boxer!rafe, established relationship, p in v sex, semi public sex, violence but not in great detail, unprotected sex, mentions of rafes anger issues

rafes head is down as you step into the locker room. it's dark and gloomy, no need for bright lights that just illuminate the blood and grime more.

the fleeting sunlight peeking in through the windows only casts light upon the dust floating in the room as you close the door behind you, causing rafe to finally look up.

his eyes shift from pure focus to something softer. “hey.” his voice is still low, slightly hoarse from not speaking most of the day.

“hey.” you move the rest of the way into the room, your footsteps sounding thunderous in the silence that always cloaks the gym before a fight, especially one like this.

“ill be safe.” you see a hint of humor in his eyes now as you roll yours. you always tell rafe to stay safe before a fight, it's become such an expectation that he beats you to it.

“do you have your gloves?” you ask, looking towards his gym bag, wanting to rifle through it to make sure rafe has everything he needs, even though you packed it for him.

“of course.” rafe smiles, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs and pulling you closer into him, his forehead pressing against your stomach.

“you're nervous for this one.” rafe states. he doesn't need to ask, he can tell just by your energy, the way your breathing is more frantic, your eyes opened ever so slightly wider than normal.

“im not the one in the ring.” you hum, hand coming to the back of his neck, stroking over his hairline, taming it despite knowing it's only a few minutes before it's going to get messed up again, either by rafe rubbing at it or the opponent.

“i know.” rafe looks up at you, a soft smile on his face. “but ya love me.”

“mmm, unfortunately.” you joke, a smile flashing across your lips before you drop your head to press your mouths against rafe, the kiss hungry and desperate, knowing it may be your last for a while if rafe gets his lip busted open.

“okay-” rafe sighs, pulling away, restraint in his voice as his insides call to continue kissing you. “it's almost time. love you.”

“love you too.” you back away but keep your eyes locked with rafe until your back is pressed up against the door. “win for me.”

you step out, eyes flickering around his team, waiting in the hallway for you, knowing better than to interrupt your moment with rafe.

“he's ready.” you nod to rafes coach before ducking out of the way as they file into the locker room.

you can hear the noise of the crowd grow as you walk into the arena, rows of seats all facing towards the central octagon. none of the security stops you to ask for a ticket as you walk to the front, rafe has become a headliner at the boxing gym, and you a vip along with it.

you take your seat, a coveted one, right in rafes corner. you know he has supporters, and while you appreciate most of them, the female ones who fawn over him anger you every time they shout his name or try to give him their number, but his quick shut down of advances always washes away the brief resentment.

“hey y/n.” rafes coaches brother, lewis, sits next to you, your de facto personal bodyguard. you insisted you didn't need someone looking over you, but rafe was always worried about a fight starting in the crowd. it certainly wouldn't be the first one that has broken out at a boxing gym.

“hi lewis.” you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and lean back in your seat as the prematch comes out, beginner fighters to keep all the early attendees from getting impatient while the crowd grows and seats fill.

overall, it's a professional arena. not on a pro level by any standards, but the best you can get in the area without making boxing full time. it certainly puts the smaller gyms rafe started out in to shame.

you were the one who originally suggested it. any sort of contact sport to work through some of his anger. you saw it bubbling under the surface, and you knew rafe would never do anything in your presence, even if he wanted to scream and punch a wall, he'd bottle it all in just to not scare you.

you clap as the first round comes to an end, ever the good supporter and attendee. it's part of the reason the gym likes rafe so much, he's no fuss, no personal drama, just pure fighting.

there's more rounds as you wait to see rafe, the rest of the seats being filled along with standing room in the back for anyone getting in late. 

a new referee steps into the ring, a professional with years of experience who doesn't bother with the lower level fights, saving himself for the main event. 

you sit up a little straighter in your seat as your eyes move to the door, a smile stretching over your cheeks as rafe steps out to applause and the thumbing base of a rap song. you applaud as well, keeping your eyes on rafe despite knowing he won't look at you, not until he gets in the ring, some sort of superstition that he's developed as he keeps his head down.

the other fighter comes out to the booming announcement of their name, a silly nickname you immediately disregard. clearly someone trying to rise the ranks and become a well known name, but you can tell just by his stature that rafe will take him down.

you breathe a little sigh of relief as rafe climbs into the ring and looks over to you, a slight smirk you're sure only you can see. he knows just as well as you do that this will be an easy day.

the official facilitates the handshake between the opponents before they're back to their corners to tape wrists and put on gloves, getting everything prepared. you keep your eyes on rafe, of course, taking in his every movement.

you feel a stirring in your stomach as he stands, tank top stretched tight across his body while his shorts are looser, allowing him to move easily around the ring.

you hear a woop coming from the back but know better than to divert your attention, rafe surging forward right when the official starts the round. he wastes no time throwing quick punches before defending, stepping to the side to miss the opponents swipes.

rafe lands a few more blows, but you don't cheer yet. you've made the mistake before of thinking he's in the clear too early.

the movement of rafes body is almost a dance, one driven by passion. his biceps bulge with every punch, swear gathering on his chest, making your mouth water as you watch.

the officials whistle to end the round makes you jump, too wrapped up in rafes looks to pay attention to the fight like you know you should.

you really do try to shift your attention back, but as the next round starts, you're quickly drawn back to watching rafes body and smooth movements. 

every punch he throws makes your legs tighten further, hoping the pressing of your thighs offers you some sort of relief, but any comfort is fleeting.

your body responds for you when the fight comes to end, rising to your feet and clapping as you snap back to attention. rafe of course wins, the opponent not even getting a punch to his face other than a brief touch on his jaw that didn't even knock his mouthguard.

“i knew you'd win.” you smile and step forward as rafe comes to the ropes, leaning over to press his lips against yours.

“let me talk to the team and shower then we'll get out of here, yeah?” rafe kisses you again before leaning in to whisper into your ear. “i can tell you're turned on.”

--

“how'd you know?” you question as rafe shifts the car into drive, his free hand immediately coming to your thigh as he pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road.

“that you were- are turned on?” rafe smirks, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead. “you get a look in your eyes, baby. and i can tell you want me.”

“and i have that look right now?” you hum out, turning the volume up on the radio slightly as the kid cudi song comes on.

“mhm. and it'll only intensify when i do this-” rafes hand slides upwards between your thighs. you quickly part them for him, letting out a soft moan as his fingers rub right where he knows you like it best.

“shit.” you lean back into the seat, trying to keep yourself from jumping over the center console and pouncing on rafe instantly. you pray you don't hit traffic as he presses harder on the gas pedal, ready to get home as well.

“you looked so pretty tonight cheering me on baby.” rafe pushes his fingers harder against your pants, creating tight circles. “even if you were spaced out the entire time.”

“mhm.” you hum, not even truly listening to what rafe is saying, just enjoying the tambor of his voice and the feeling growing in your stomach.

you know when rafe laughs that it's at you and your current state, but you've done far too much and been with him far too long to be embarrassed or ashamed by your lust as you let out another moan.

your eyes are glossy as you turn to look at rafe, hand gripping the wheel tightly with a clear tent in his sweatpants. you blink a few times to clear your vision as you take in his hard set jaw, tension building as he is forced to wait to get inside you.

you reach over to place your hand on rafes crotch, hoping the pressure of your hand sustains him a little longer.

“it's taking everything in me not to pull over and fuck you here in the car.” rafe says through gritted teeth.

you look out the windshield as rafe moves his hand to grip the steering wheel with both hands, needing it now that you're touching him to keep the vehicle steady. “we're almost home.” you hum out, petting your fingertips over his length, contemplating pushing his pants down and bending over the center console, but your clenching pussy needs him.

rafe pulls into the driveway at speeds he shouldn't be going inside a residential neighborhood, the car calming to a halting stop, and not even a second passes before you're out of your seats and out of the car.

rafe beats you to the front door, throwing it open for you to rush inside, locking it tight after you've entered.

you know you won't make it to the bed. you never do on nights like this. both on a high from rafe winning his fight, an easy opponent with not even a scratch to his knuckles.

rafe presses you against the wall of the hallway, his body molding against yours as his lips smash forward into a passionate kiss. you reach between your bodies immediately, knowing you're already soaking wet and ready from rafe playing with you in the car.

you push down on the hem of rafes sweatpants until rafe moves his hips and allows you to shove them down along with his underwear. 

rafe lets out a sigh as your hand wraps around his length, holding his cock in your grasp as you quickly begin to stroke.

“fuck, baby.” rafe places his fist around your hand. “as much as i love you touching me like this i need to be inside you now.”

there's a desperation in his voice that makes something in your chest tighten.

you nod and release him, undoing your button and zipper to shove your pants to the ground and kick them away. rafe grabs the hem of your tshirt before you can take it off yourself, pulling it up over your head before it also joins the clothes scattered around the foyer.

rafe connects your lips back together, his hands sneaking behind your back to undo your bra before pulling the cups off, large palms quickly replacing them as he holds your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze that has your mouth falling open in a satisfied sigh.

“bedroom, counter or right here?” rafe asks, pulling on your lip before you can answer and giving it a tug.

“right here.” you reach down and take rafes cock in your hand, giving it a stroke. “right here, right now.”

“mmm, don't have to tell me again.” rafes arms circle around you and pull you up, pinning you against the wall. your body moves so naturally like it's done a hundred times before, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

rafe lines up his cock with your entrance and sinks forward. your arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him in tight, mouth dropping open and eyes squeezing closed as he slowly enters you.

“oh god.” rafe groans, mouth opening as well, but to press his teeth against your skin, biting down gently so as to not actually hurt you, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“fuck me rafe.” your fingertips are digging into his shoulders, trying not to pierce him with your nails as you grip onto his muscles, muscles he just used to pummel his opponent.

“fuck me hard.” you don't often ask for it hard or really give him any direction. rafe knows how to please you, but it's different today. you need his full force, everything he has left in him.

and he doesn't make you wait.

rafe pulls his cock out slowly before slamming in, forcing your ass back into the wall with a thud, your whole body shuddering as he thrusts.

you tighten your arms even more, needing your bodies to become one as he pumps his hips forward, the sound of skin meeting together spreading through the empty house.

tomorrow, you'll clean up the clothes off the floor. tomorrow, you'll make a large breakfast to replenish rafe from his fight and open every window in the house to let in light and air, but tonight, you're going to remain in the dark hallway with your legs wrapped around rafes waist.

“harder.” you beg again, even though you're not sure you can take it.

rafe complies, swinging faster as one of his hands manages to find a way between your bodies, tips of his fingers pressing against your clit. he knows he should fuck you longer, but he can build you up again for the second time in the bedroom, you've teased each other too much and he needs to feel you fall apart in his arms.

“you're so tight and warm.” rafe mumbles, burying his face in your neck as he huffs, absorbing your heart after being apart physically for too long, the cold air of the gym and locker room now being replaced with you.

“i love you.” rafe mumbles, lips against your neck as he presses a few kisses to your throat. “thank you.”

he doesn't need to say what for. you understand. for being with him, for encouraging him to try boxing, for standing by his side and knowing what's best for him even when he didn't know himself.

“i love you.” you moan out, pussy clenching around rafes cock as your high suddenly hits, back arching off the wall in pleasure only to be slammed back against it as rafe pushes as deep as he can go inside of you, the squeezing of your cunt triggering his own high as his cum spurts inside of you.

“f-fuck.” you whine, nails fully leaving marks now as you breathe deeply, chest rising and falling, pressing against rafes with every breath.

“let's go take a bath.” rafe says, his voice suddenly softer, almost like the sex was the last bit of excursion he needed to calm himself after the fight.

“okay.” you can't help but giggle.

despite your agreement, rafe doesn't pull out, his softening cock still inside of you and bodies connected.

“okay.” you repeat, pressing your lips against rafes cheek before resting your head against his, realizing what he needs in that moment. “i love you.”

you stay there, still, for minutes that stretch into what feels like hours, but you wouldn't trade it for the world.

“okay.” rafe finally responds, eyes blinking with a new clarity, any sort of anger or frustration he had before the fight now freed from inside him. “bath time, yeah?”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hii 👋 i really love your works i would eat it if i can, especially freelance inventor, will you ever countinue writing it? (Sorry if it sound rude, English is not my first language)

"So what's the deal with them?" Steph dares to ask when Bruce and Mr. Fenton finish passing out the souvenirs the inventor brought back. She wasn't sure why she was included in the gift giving, as she never even met the man before, but she now had a bowl from Irland tucked in her purse.

She's heard about Mr. Fenton through Tim and a bit from Jason. Both boys practically worshiped the ground the man stepped on. She understood that, on some level, they owed him their lives.

Jason, after being rescued from the Joker and Tim after Mr.Fenton found him on the rooftops all those years ago. She won't lie. How they spoke about Mr.Fenton painted a completely different image in her mind.

She expected someone regal, with a cold, calculating glance, who could figure out what she was expecting with a mere glance. Someone that she wouldn't be surprised if he was found tucked away in a pure white lab, working with glowing chemicals. She knows that they never claim Mr.Fenton was terrifying, but she had personally witnessed Dick threaten to tell Bruce to the man.

If he could make Batman cower by his mere mention, Steph had been expecting someone closer to what an evil version of Alfred would be.

Instead, she got a man in faded jeans, beat-up boots, and gentleness that hurt her teeth with how sweetly he smiled. If Bruce was a Bat, then Mr.Fenton could be a flower.

Gentle. Pretty. Unassuming.

Steph had logically known Mr. Fenton was a civilian. But she thought that he would be a scary one, at the least. Maybe someone in the justice system, a personal fighter like a boxer or hell, someone good with firearms.

"Hmm?" Damian glances up from his painting. Steph noticed that he has been doing a lot lately. Leaving his room to paint around the manor. She hasn't known the boy for long.

Steph had only recently forgiven Bruce for the whole Robin stunt he pulled (making her think she was his partner only to be used as bait for Tim, burned), and she wasn't around when Bruce's bio kid was found. Based on the stories Tim, Jason, and Dick shared, though, she thought he was a little more bloodthirsty.

He is more prone to violence after his upbringing, but he seemed to be shimmering down the last few weeks. Damian had apparently been given a talking to by Mr.Fenton, who took him out of the manor into the city for some "undercover training."

Steph hadn't been in Gotham then. She was busy helping a few teen titans with a mission that had her traveling to the other side of the world. But apparently, whatever harsh training Mr.Fenton had forced Damian to undergo had brought back peace to Wayne Manor.

Or as close as it could be.

He still referred to himself as the actual blood son.

"Bruce and Mr. Fenton," she repeated, nodding to where the pair could be seen conversing in the hallway. However, it looked more like Mr.Fenton was the only one talking. Bruce was too busy staring at him like he was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "They seem really close, but in a weird way."

Damain's intense green eyes snap at her. She raises a brow, unwilling to let the brat see he made her flinch. "Do you have a problem with Father getting close to another man?"

It takes her a few seconds to understand why he sounds so guarded before she gasps. "It's not the gay thing! I don't care if their gay!"

"I should hope not. You come into our home and eat our food, Brown." The boy clicks his tongue distastefully. Steph has never seen someone look down their nose at someone two heads taller than them, but Damian proved it could happen. "I would not allow for homophobia to enter these halls. It is not within the rules of social justice."

"Social justice?" She repeats a little surprise that Damian was speaking to her without an insult so far. The only time the brat had bothered to talk to anyone besides Bruce had been to insult them. At least in the two months, she had seen him wander after her Teen Titians mission.

"Danny has pointed out that Father's civilian reputation is tied heavily with social justice. It would not due for his heir to cause trouble in his affairs." Damian places his paintbrush back on his canvas, sneaking glances at the window.

Curious, Steph creeps closer to take a peak and finds herself memorized by the water painting he is working on. It's Bruce and Mr.Fenton. In the painting, Bruce is staring lovingly at Mr.Fenton, who seems to be in the middle of laughing. Though neither have arms- Damian is working on those- it doesn't detract from their loving expressions.

"If it is not due to their gender, what do you find weird about Father and Danny?"

Steph considers the question before slowly getting closer, wanting to oversee the young boy splash some white into Mr.Fenton's eyes, making them appear glowing. "It's just.....weird how Bruce likes someone so normal. No training. No big fancy money. No ties to the capes. Just a man who's really good at science."

Damain shoots her a complicated glance over his shoulders before he slowly replies. "Yes. An average Joe, as you Americans would say. That is Danny."

"Right? Isn't it weird? And besides the fact Bruce is so obvious with his crush, Mr. Feton has no idea. But he can pull apart a toaster in ten minutes to curl Babs hair for her dance? Don't you think it's odd?"

Damian hums. "A true master does not need to show who they are until the blade is at their opponent's neck. But I will admit that Danny's appearance can be rather deceiving."

"Damian.....do you know something?"

The boy's face turned more complicated before returning his attention to his painting. He taps his paintbrush against his palate before he mutters. "I knew only Danny did not treat me like a rabid animal. He took me to the zoo. I haven't been outside the manor since his last visit and grew wary of these walls."

His words hit Steph like a brick. Her first instinct is to explain why it was essential to keep him here, but then she thinks more about it, and her teeth slam shut.

Crude, has she been acting like Bruce? Had she really allowed him to convince her that a child should be locked up like it was nothing? Then again, Damian isn't a prisoner here.

Even if he was, she helped break him out.

"Say, kid, you want to come with Tim and me to the mall this afternoon? I think they have an art store."

Damian twists around to stare in utter shock. For all his training, he really is just a kid because Steph can see the genuine yearning in his eyes as he tries to casually cover up his reaction with a regal shoulder shrug. "I suppose I will have time for more undercover training."

Strange, Steph thinks while texting Tim about Damian joining them. Mr. Fenton hasn't even spoken to me that long, and he already changed how I viewed Damian. Is this why Bruce is into a civilian?

[0mg-bird]

i would love it if you did a fic about bob finally introducing his shyer!girlfriend to the daggers! cute teasing, fluff, all the works <3

unrelated, but would you ever consider making a masterlist?

Hi! Thank you for the ask! And yes, I will be working on a master list soon, it just takes too much work for me to do as of this moment 😭. Bear with me y’all! I’m new at this! Anyway, here’s the story, hope you don’t hate it <3

Bob Floyd x Shy!Girlfriend Reader

“No.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Absolutely not, Robert.”

Bob sighed, leaning against the door while he watched you comb your hair. He’d brought up the idea he’d been toying with all day, only to get the answer he suspected he was going to get from you.

“Honey, it won’t be horrible. Look, the squad wants to meet you, and I want to introduce you to them."

He's hard to resist, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes of his. You understood his reasoning, but the idea of being surrounded on the beach with a bunch of cocky aviators...well, that was something you didn't really like the idea of.

You groan, looking at his reflection in the mirror before fully turning to face him. You give him a pouty look, one that makes him come forward and hold your face in his hands. "They're not gonna like me." You say, muffled from the way your cheeks are squished in his hold.

"Yes they will." He says.

"I'm boring."

"Your the most interesting thing in the world, honey."

He was always so sweet with his words, he calms your nerves every time. You know it means something to him to have his squad know who his girl is, so you try and be brave, pushing your worry out of your mind. You smile reassuringly. "Okay." You say. "It's a date."

Bob smiles, leaning down to kiss your lips, then your forehead. "It'll be a good day, I promise."

As you get into his bed, surrounded by the scent of him, he pulls you closer. "Maybe then they'll stop saying I'll never get laid." He states, making you look at him with disbelief.

"What, are we in middle school?" You ask.

He lightly chuckles. "You're gonna see the level of immaturity these guys have on Saturday, then you'll understand."

And when Saturday came, you gripped onto his hand like your life depended on it. You wore a white baby doll dress over your bikini, your sandals in your hand as you walked across the sand. As the two of you come closer, you see the group of pilots all gathered, setting up camp.

"Well, look who showed up." One of them call out as you come to join them.

You immediately blush at the amount of eyes on you They all look you over, almost like they were detectives and you were a case they needed to crack. You get introduced to them and quickly come to learn just what Bob meant, this group of the best fighter pilots in North America were no better than kids.

"I uh, I brought some snacks if y'all want some." You say, laying out multiple floral tupperware containers that were filled with homemade goods. Immediately, the boys were on it, fighting over who got what. They reminded you of seagulls.

Natasha, who was the most excited to meet the girl who Bob spoke about non stop, is yelling at the boys to mind their manners. "You wouldn't even think they were functioning adults." She jokes, making you smile.

You wait till the last minute to take your cover off, looking at the well built bodies around you made you retreat to modesty as a defense. You didn't put on your usual bathing suit because Bob said you should wear his favorite one. One that showed more skin, one that drew more attention to you. Stupidly, you agreed with him and put it on. You regret that decision now.

"Aren't you hot?" Nat asks as she pulls her tank top off.

"Oh no, I'm good." You say, giving her an awkward smile and then dig in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen.

You didn't really think it'd be embarrassing to pursue the routine you always have with Bob when you come to the beach, so as he, Hangman, Coyote and Rooster stand, talking about something way above your pay grade, you come to Bob's side. You try not to interrupt their conversation, but words slowly start to slow and they get distracted by the way you pull Bob's glasses off his face. You squirt some of the sunscreen out and into your hands, then you gently apply it to his face. The three others stop and watch, faces full of amusement as you make sure he has an even coverage. Bob doesn't mind, he was never one to be embarrassed of the loving acts you do for him, so you find it strange when you turn around and see the guys watching you.

"That's awfully sweet of you." Coyote comments, and you make the mistake of taking him literally.

"Bob, do you get your mom to fly in and do it for you when she's not around or do you just risk the sunburn?" Hangman teases, making the other two laugh.

You look at the tall aviator. "Sunscreens important, Jake, do you need some? I could help you with it or I'm sure your boyfriend here could do it for you." You say, motioning to Coyote.

Rooster bursts with laughter, wheezing at the joke you make, and behind you, Bob stands with a proud and smug look on his face.

Jake fumbles with his words, in disbelief that you’re being outspoken.

Back at your beach blanket, you clip your hair up and look around, making sure no eyes were directly on you as you pull your dress off and drop it into your bag. Any previous jokes that some of the boys made about Bob finding a goody-two-shoes for a girlfriend, are immediately regretted when they see how great you look in a bikini.

Payback looks ultimately confused. "Anyone else wondering how Baby on Board gets to sleep with a girl like that?" He asks out of ear shot from you.

"Probably because he's not a total dick like you are." Nat suggests.

"Bobby?" You get his attention as you lay on the blanket, holding up the sunscreen, silently asking him to get your back so you can tan for awhile.

At the sound of the name, some of the boys laugh, making you blush.

"Hey, Bobby, will you get my back next?" Fanboy teases, making Bob glare as he sits beside you. "Did he just glare at me?" He asks, in utter disbelief that Bob was capable of it.

Bob undoes the back of your suit, gently running his hands over your bare skin. "Are you good here for awhile? We're gonna play a game of dog fight football." He asks.

You turn your head to look at him. "I'll survive."

He ties your suit back together, then meets your lips as you lean up to kiss him.

It was peaceful, laying and watching the aviators goof around, running up and down the beach. You had no idea that the questions being asked between plays were all about you.

"What'd you do in order to win her over?" Rooster asks, grunting as he throws the football.

"I'm still trying to figure that out." Bob huffs, blocking Fanboy so he can't intercept.

"She's cute, doesn't talk much though." Fanboy adds.

"She does, just not to people she barely knows." Bob defends.

As Hangman runs by, he pauses. "Be honest with us, Bobby, you ever get bored of her?"

Bob looks at him like he's crazy. "Never. One of these days, Hangman, you'll learn that crazy bar girls don't make girlfriends. Maybe my girl's shy but she's a whole lot better than whatever new girl you can't make stick around."

The ones around them laugh at Hangman getting called out for the second time today.

"Jokes aside." Rooster says. "I'm happy for you, man, she seems good to you."

Bob looks back at you lazily reading a book, your feet kicking back and fourth in the air behind you. "Yeah, I really like her...actually I'm gonna ask her to move in."

They all gasp.

"We'll say a prayer for you man." Coyote shakes his head.

At some point, you had rolled onto you back and let your hair down, sunglasses on your face as you rest your eyes. Though, your sun is covered by a shadow after a while. You open our eyes, gazing up at the man who's standing above you. You prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Hi." You grin, watching as Bob pulls his sweaty shirt off, revealing his toned upper body. You move your sunglasses down your nose to get a better look, then take them off entirely.

"Hey, you ready to go into the water?" He asks, making you shake your head.

"I'm good on dry land, sailor."

Bob gives you a smirk. "Now, that's just not going to do."

"I'm okay here, Bobby, go have fun with your squad, they're already in the water." You say.

"So you want me to join them and leave you here?" He asks, making you nod in agreement.

He hums, pausing before leaning down and scooping you into his arms. You gasp, flailing in his hold but his grip is too strong. "Bobby, no! Put me down!"

"Not a chance."

You form a death grip, arms holding tightly around his neck as he makes it to the water with you. "Don't do this." You laugh loudly.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"No! Bobby!"

He loosens his grip, pretending to drop you, making you yell and tighten your grip around him even more. The dagger squad starts chanting ‘overboard’, and you feel the cool water slosh up against you as Bob walks further in.

“Bobby!”

“One.”

“No, baby, please.”

“Two.”

“Robert Floyd!”

“Three!”

He falls sideways into the water with you, making you sink under before you pop back up, wiping your eyes. You can’t help but laugh, splashing him as he pops up in front of you.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, wrapping your arms around him.

He grins boyishly. “Sorry, honey.”

The squad watches as the two of you swim beside each other.

“So…Bob is getting laid.” Coyote says.

“He’s the only one who is.” Rooster adds.

[marifilue]

Unraveled

Wordcount: 3.2K

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Mutant!Reader (no use of y/n)

Tags: Violence, blood, established relationship, fluff, language, mature content.

Oneshot: You find Logan’s overprotective side endearing most of the time, but it can also be downright infuriating too. If only you knew how much he cares.

Being indestructible was a privilege Logan had, but it didn't mean he was invulnerable. And when it came to him, no enemy ever hit harder than his own damn temper.

People on the X-mansion have always had something to say about it before you got together with him.

"You know what you’re getting into, right?”

“Logan’s got a temper. That man’s a ticking bomb.”

His anger simmers beneath the surface like a ticking bomb, just waiting for the right trigger. And honestly? You get it. If you’d lived as long as he has—seen what he’s seen, lost what he’s lost—you’d be just as grumpy and short-tempered too. What you can’t wrap your head around is how, after all these years, he still manages to be a good man, the good man.

For someone labeled as hotheaded, Logan has a level of self-control that never fails to leave you in awe. He never lets his emotions get the best of him—not when it comes to you.

He’s never snapped, never lost himself in front of you. He’s just Logan. Rough around the edges, a little too protective at times, but always sweet, always caring. You wouldn't even change a thing about him, you love every part of the package.

He's your man, your Logan.

You’ve fought alongside Logan on plenty of missions. With your ability to absorb kinetic energy and immaculate combat skills, Professor send you in the field often.

Logan, on the other hand, isn’t always thrilled about it. His overprotectiveness grates on your nerves—he acts like it’s his job to keep you safe, even though you’ve proven yourself more times than you can count. A few scratches are nothing, but to Logan, even the smallest bruise is unacceptable.

Tonight’s mission is no different. The Professor is sending you and Logan to investigate an underground mutant fight ring—captured mutants, forced to battle for entertainment, all for the amusement of some sick humans.

Logan is not happy about it. Not just because of what’s happening inside that ring, but because Charles is only sending the two of you. His reasoning? You and Logan are the most skilled in hand-to-hand combat in which he's not wrong, and all you need to do is pose as a fighter. The rest of the team will be outside, monitoring the situation and ready to move if things go south.

Logan doesn’t trust it. And, knowing him, he sure as hell doesn’t like you walking into that kind of danger.

As the two of you walked toward the place, Logan brought a cigar to his lips, rolling it between his fingers before biting down and sparking his lighter. The brief flicker of flame illuminated his face as he took a slow drag, the ember glowing at the tip. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the cold night air, his voice cutting through the haze, low and firm.

"Remember, get in line and—"

"Step back—bathroom emergency excuse. I will not stepped into the ring for any reason. Just navigate the waiting room, look for an escape route—I get it, Logan. You've been at this a dozen times."

You cut him off, irritation slipping into your voice before he can finish yet another rundown of the plan. What was supposed to be a simple fifteen-minute walk now feels insufferable with him constantly reminding you of your own damn mission.

Logan shot you a sideways glance, one brow raised as he held his cigar between his fingers. You didn’t even spare him a look, your steps heavier than necessary as you stomped ahead.

"I will—"

"You will look for that Jeffrey guy—aka the big boss. Try to make a reasonable deal; he’s usually hanging around the bar, enjoying the show. If it doesn’t work out, we step back and come up with another plan. No mess."

You cut him off again, finally glancing his way—just in time to catch that look on his face.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply before planting a hand on his hip in that all-too-familiar stance. He stopped in his tracks and called your name. Once. Then twice.

"What, Logan?" you sighed, though the edge in your voice wasn’t as sharp as you wanted it to be.

"Just watch your back, darlin’. That’s all I’m asking." With that, he stubbed out his cigar and flicked it away.

"I know. I can take care of myself," you muttered, turning on your heel and walking ahead.

Logan slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and followed, his heavy footsteps trailing close behind.

What did he say about not getting into the ring? Right. Don’t.

And yet, here you were.

In front of you stood a terrified little boy, no older than ten. His skin had a reptilian sheen, scales catching the light, his wide eyes darting around in panic. He was next up in the ring. His opponent? A grown mutant with his skin made of a rock—bigger, stronger, and with a look that said he wouldn’t hesitate to rip a kid apart.

How the fuck were you supposed to let that slide?

Your mind raced. There was no time to argue, no time to negotiate. You pushed the boy back, stepped onto his foot as a silent stay put, and took his place. You wouldn’t kill the guy—just cause a scene, throw everything into chaos, and run. That way, the kid lived, and hopefully, nobody got hurt.

Meanwhile, across the room, Logan leaned back in his seat, cigar resting between his fingers, his free hand drumming against the bar.

“So whaddya say, buddy? My boss is willing to offer up to three hundred grand. Tempting, ain’t it?” His voice was smooth, calculated—playing the part just enough to keep Jeffrey’s attention.

The obese middle-aged man took a slow sip of his drink, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Three hundred grand? I almost made that last year.” He chuckled.

“Almost, right?” Logan pressed. “I could push it to five hundred. That is, unless you’d rather—”

Something shifted in the air. The crowd roared, a deafening wave of cheers shaking the room. Logan barely processed it—until he caught a glimpse of the ring.

And you.

His words died in his throat. The second he saw you standing behind that cage, facing off against a man twice your size, his entire body went rigid.

“What?” Jeffrey prompted, waiting for Logan to finish.

But Logan was already out of his chair.

He stormed toward the ring, moving faster than anyone could stop him. The metal chain-link fence buzzed with electricity, flashing every time someone made contact with it.

“HEY! STOP THIS! THIS IS A MISTAKE!” His voice cut through the noise, rough and furious, his knuckles turned white.

Inside the ring, your ears rang from the cheers. Through the blinding lights, you barely made out Logan’s silhouette, one arm raised to shield your eyes.

Yup he's there, yelling and frustrated—oh, the look on his face.. He's pissed.

Sorry, babe.

Logan’s heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched you square up against the rock-skinned mutant.

He didn’t give a damn about the deal anymore. Five hundred grand, a million—none of it mattered. Not when you were standing inside that ring. Not when you were about to get hit.

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw locking as Jeffrey chuckled beside him.

“Well, well,” Jeffrey mused, swirling his drink. “Isn't she a sight for sore eyes”

Logan didn’t answer, his eyes locked on you. Under different circumstances, he would’ve smirked, said hell yeah, you are a sight for sore eyes, and maybe even thrown in a proud that’s my girl. But right now? What the fuck are you doing?

Inside, you could practically feel the heat of his glare from across the room.

Your opponent shifted his weight, cracking his knuckles. “You sure about this, lady?” he asked, voice like grinding gravel. “I don’t hold back.”

You ignored him. Instead, you glanced at the crowd, the flashing lights, the electric fence humming behind you.

Then, you locked eyes with Logan.

He was furious.

Not just pissed—but furious.

The kind of anger that made his entire body tense, veins pulsing in his forearms, his stance screaming don’t test me.

Yeah, you were in trouble.

But right now, you had bigger things to worry about.

The bell rang.

The rock-skinned mutant lunged.

You dodged, barely missing a fist that would’ve knocked you flat. The crowd erupted in cheers, fists pounding against the metal barricades.

Logan’s claws twitched beneath his skin. His control teetered on a razor’s edge.

Jeffrey let out a slow whistle. “Gotta admit, she’s got guts. But guts won’t save her.”

That was it.

Logan moved.

Without a word, he reached back—grabbed Jeffrey by the collar—and slammed him face-first into the floor.

The crowd was too fixated on the fight to notice. But the bouncers? They noticed.

Logan barely spared them a glance. “Anyone touches me,” he growled, voice low and lethal, “they lose a hand.”

Nobody moved.

Good.

Because Logan had one thing on his mind—and that was getting you the hell out of that ring.

He turned back to the fight just in time to see your opponent land a hit.

Not a clean hit—you’d blocked most of it—but enough to send you skidding backward, your boots kicking up dust. A bruise was already forming around your left eye, a small cut near your eyebrow marking where his rock-hard fist had landed.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, hands tightening into fists. “End this fast.”

And you did.

You twisted on your heel, faking left before darting right. Your opponent fell for it, leaving his side wide open.

One hit.

That was all you needed.

You slammed your palm into his exposed ribs, absorbing the kinetic energy from his movements and sending it right back into him. The impact sent him flying, crashing against the cage with a crack. The electric fence buzzed—and he went limp.

The crowd lost their minds.

But Logan wasn’t cheering. He was already grabbing a steel chair.

With one brutal swing, he smashed it against the electric fence. Sparks flew, and the power box short-circuited, cutting the current.

Then, he climbed the cage.

People screamed. Guards scrambled. But before anyone could react, Logan had already dropped inside.

You barely had time to register what was happening before he was in front of you, his hands gripping your arms, his voice rough and low.

“Y'alright?”

You blinked. “Yeah—”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Good.”

Then, in one swift motion, he scooped you up—actually picked you up—and threw you over his shoulder.

“Logan!” you hissed, squirming. “Put me down—”

“Not a damn chance.”

His grip was firm, unyielding. He stepped over your fallen opponent and marched toward the broken part of the cage.

By now, the entire place was in chaos. People running, guards shouting. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was getting you out.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo arrived at the scene in no time, tending to what was left of the cage fighter mutants. Logan? He didn’t even look back, just left the cleanup to the rest of the team.

At some point before boarding the Blackbird, he finally set you down without a word. He took a seat, arms crossed, staring out the window as the rest of the team and the rescued mutants filed in. You sat across from him, watching as he deliberately avoided your gaze. But at one point, you caught him looking—just for a second—before he turned away just as quickly.

Once the mission was settled and the rescued mutants were given guidance, you found yourself talking with the Professor. That was when you saw Logan walk past the room, heading for the exit. He probably hadn’t realized you were there, deep in conversation, but the way his shoulders were set, the way he moved with purpose, told you everything.

You excused yourself and followed.

He walked fast, straight out the door and toward a cabin tucked away in the backyard of the X-Mansion. You picked up your pace, but you didn’t call out to him—tonight had him on edge, and you weren’t sure he’d want to talk. You’d barely spoken to each other since the mission ended.

Logan disappeared inside, shutting the door behind him. You hesitated just outside, only for a muffled groan to catch your attention. You took a step closer. Then—a loud crash.

The hell?

Your fingers brushed the handle just as another heavy thud echoed from inside. That was enough. You pushed the door open.

Logan stood with his back to you, fist slamming into the concrete wall. A fresh crack splintered across the surface, blood smeared where his knuckles had connected. But even as the wounds stitched themselves back together, he didn’t stop.

The door creaked, and he stilled. Then he turned—eyes widening when he saw you.

Shit. When did you get here? How long had you been standing there?

“Logan…” Your voice was quiet.

“I… What are you doing here?” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I didn’t know you were there. I—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You shouldn't be here—” He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly looking exposed, like he’d been caught in something scandalous.

Your grip tightened on the doorknob. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question—you already knew the answer. He was frustrated, needed an outlet. And he thought no one would see.

Especially not you.

Logan turned to leave the cabin, brushing past you with no force but you weren’t letting him walk away that easily.

“Logan, just listen to me will you?!” You called after him, your voice sharp with frustration.

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tense. Taking that as your chance, you stepped closer "There was a boy, god he was so scared. He's supposed to fight that big guy, I can't let that slide Infront of me, Lo.." You stepped in front of him—giving him space, but making sure he had to see and hear you.

“Come on, that boy was walking straight toward his grave. I had the power to stop it, so I did.” Your fingers fidgeted, nerves creeping in despite your resolve.

Arms crossed, he kept his gaze ahead for a moment before finally looking down at you, eyes dark with something unreadable. You held his gaze, refusing to waver.

“You would’ve done the same if you were in my position,” you said, firm but pleading.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but a scratch wouldn’t do a damn thing to me. You?” He trailed off. His jaw clenched. “Anything could’ve happened to you.” His voice was quieter now.

“But it didn’t. I’m alright, okay?. Even if it had, it’s not gonna be your fault. It isn't your job to protect everyone, Logan.”

The second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up. His posture went rigid, his head tilting as if he couldn’t believe what you’d just said.

“But it is my job to protect you,” he shot back, voice rough, raw. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you—if I was right there and I let it happen. How the hell do you think I’d live with that?”

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Alright, let’s just calm down—”

“No.” He said your name, voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s not fine. You always do this. Always act like some goddamn saint, and I hate it. Hate how you care so damn much about everyone else’s life but your own.” He unfolded his arms, hands flexing at his sides. “Your life it’s.... fragile, alright?”

He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply. “One day, you’re here. And the next… who fucking knows? That scares the shit outta me. Please, just—”

His voice wavered. He shook his head, frustrated at himself, at you, at everything.

“Just have a little survival instinct. For your own sake. For mine.”

Your breath hitched. You’d never seen this side of him before—not like this. Not so openly terrified.

Slowly, you reached for his arms, his hands still twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them. He was shaking. Gently, you guided one of his palms to your chest, right over your heartbeat.

“I’m still here, Logan,” you murmured. “Still beating.” You pressed his hand against your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm.

His gaze flickered from your hand to your eyes. His thumb brushed absently over your skin, like he needed to remind himself you were here. That nothing bad happened.

His arm slid up as his gaze caught on the bruise near your left eye and the cut on your brow. He brushed away the blood with careful fingers.

“I don’t like that,” he muttered.

“I know.”

After a beat, he exhaled, finally breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t get caught screwing shit. Nobody were supposed to see that.” His hand dropped back to his side, suddenly withdrawn, like he didn’t think he deserved to be standing this close to you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. You could see the way he was trying to distance himself again, convinced he wasn’t worthy of your love. But you weren’t about to let him pull away—not tonight. Not after everything.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” you teased, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck, tiptoeing to reach him. “Didn’t see a thing.”

His body went stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure how to react, he felt like he didn't deserve your touch. But then, with a quiet exhale, he melted into you. His arms circled your waist, pulling you in.

“Careful what you’re gettin’ yourself into, darlin’,” he muttered against your neck, voice low, warning.

You grinned, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, close, the space between you nonexistent.

Then Logan did what he always did when words failed him.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the things he hadn’t been able to say. His lips pressed against yours with a firm but aching tenderness, like he was trying to apologize and promise you the world all at once.

You melted into him, your hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into his jacket. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Next time,” he murmured, “we do it my way.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, brushing your nose against his. “No promises, sweetheart.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Nah. You’re immortal, remember?”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Doesn’t mean I’m invincible.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good. I’d hate to think I don’t have an effect on you.”

Logan let out a soft growl, pulling you flush against him. “Oh, you’ve got an effect on me, alright.”

And just like that, the tension from the night melted away—not forgotten, but softened by the simple truth of what you were to each other.

A team. A pair. A damn disaster waiting to happen.

And neither of you would have it any other way.

[technoarcanist]

WAR NEVER CHANGES. BUT,

WARFARE NEVER STOPS CHANGING

"I've seen countless reasons why most mech pilots don't make the cut, but one of the largest hurdles are the physical alterations. The implants and modifications done to the fleshware is so extreme that it's enough to push most would-be pilots away from day 1.

Back in the day, when mech tech was still in its wild west years, when the technology was still in its infancy, things were different. Levers, joysticks, switches, a chair, most of the first models were something between the cockpit of a construction vehicle and a fighter ship.

Pilots in those days still consisted largely of the usual suspects. Test pilots, army jocks, space force veterans looking for something new, the occasional crazy who lucked their way up the ranks. All you needed back then was to be fit enough to work complex machinery. 'Handler's wouldn't be a coined phrase for nearly a decade. I still remember being a kid and seeing repurposed older models in the mech fighting streams.

Everything changed with the Bidirectional Cerebellum Computer Interface. To say nothing of how it changed civilian life, it was a military marvel. The BiCCI saw the creation of Mechs as we understand them today. The first generation were just retrofits, older models with a pilot's chair, and even manual controls to use in an emergency, but even then we knew that was only temporary. Before long, sleek frames of sharp angles, railguns and plasma cannons were rolling off the factory floor.

Like many things, it began small, optimising first for cockpit space by removing the manual controls. Before long, my then-supervisors thought, "Why have this glass? Why not hook the pilot's eyesight right into the advanced multi-spectral camera system? Before long, cockpits were but soft harnesses made to house a living body, their very soul wired into the machinery. Obviously, for security reasons, I cannot tell you everything about how our latest cockpits work, but suffice to say we've been further blurring the line between pilot and frame ever since.

This drew a very different crowd. Out were the army jocks and powerlifters. The only ones who even dared to have the interface hardware installed into their brainstem and spinal cord were the dispossessed, the misanthropes, those who sought not to control their new body, but to be controlled by it. No AI can work a mech properly on its own, but our pilots are never really in full control either anymore. Those who do try to go against the symbiosis get a nosebleed at best, and vegetative seizures at worst.

And that was that. The only people left who pilots these things are those who had already been broken, those who sougt a permenant reprive from being anything resembling human. A lot of my department quit around this time. I've lost a few friends over it, I'm not shy to say. Did we knew we'd be bringing in the more vulnerable people? Of course we did. But, the wheels of progress must turn, as they say, and it wasn't like we were shy of volunteers.

In our latest models, we have refined an even more advanced frame. Again, security detail prevents me from divulging too much, but one breakthrough we've made is decreasing action latency by approximately 0.02s by amputating the limbs from our pilots and replacing them with neural interface pads.

Using the pads where the limbs once were, pilots are screwed directly into the cockpit, which itself can now be 30% smaller thanks to the saved space. And, of course, we provide basic humanoid cybernetics as part of their employment contract while they are with us. Not that most of them are ever voluntarily out of their cockpits long enough to make use of them. Even removing the tubes from their orifices for routine cleaning incurs a large level of resistence.

And, yes, some of them scream, some of them break, some become so catatonic that they might as well be a peripheral processor for their mech's AI. But not a single one, not even one pilot, in all the dolls i've ever trained, have ever accepted the holidays we offer, the retirement packages, the stipends.

As you say, there are those who like to call me a monster for my work. I can see why. After all, they don't see the way my pilots' crotches dribble when I tell them I'll be cutting away their limbs, or the little moans they try to hide when we first meet and I explain that they'd forever be on the same resource level as a machine hereafter.

Those who call me a monster don't realise that, even after going public with how we operate our pilots, even after ramping up mech frame production, we still have more than twice as many volunteers as frames.

Those who call me a monster cannot accept that my pilots are far happier as a piece of meat in a machine of death than as the shell of a human they once were.

Those who call me a monster never consider the world my pilots grew up in to make them suitable candidates in the first place."

-Dr Francine Heathwich EngD

Dept. Cybernetic Technologies @ Dynaframe Industries

[In response to human rights violations accusations levied by the Pilot Rehabilitation Foundation]

[maliciousblog]

Fighter (Jungkook)

Warning: This is a dead dove fic ⚠️

You've always been a fan of MMA practising boxing and jujitsu in your spare time. It was a welcome distraction from your busy life.

Hitting the gym after a stressful day of being a corporate slave did ease the tension and helped you blow off some steam.

Learning jujitsu opened up a whole new world for you as you got more immersed into the sport you took a keen liking to watching it as well.

Soon enough you and your gym buddies would meet up over the weekend to watch fight broadcasts which eventually turned into you buying tickets to live matches.

It gave you a sort of adrenaline high.

It made you forget about your worries even if it were for a little while.

This weekend was no different than any other you and your friends were seated on the ring side.

Watching new fighters try to work their way up the ranks serving as an opening act for the main event.

They generally never really caught your attention much as most of them were just clumsy amateurs  trying to make it big.

Concentrating more on your beer at hand.

The commentator was introducing a new rookie from Korea Jeon Jungkook.

Fighting on a 2 loss streak this was his last chance to prove himself otherwise as a rookie he wouldn't be able to get a fighting contract.

Out of curiosity you looked up only to find him looking directly at you nervously sliding from one leg to another which was understandble given the fact that this one fight decided if he would have a career or not. The end was near for him.

He didn't have much hope or faith in himself.

He had sacrificed his all for his dream and now he slowly saw it drifting away from his grasp.

His head was filled with a million thouts

Voices crowded his mind of self doubt and anxiety as he made his way into the ring.

The sound was deafening he felt as if his head would explode.

Until suddenly everything went silent he became painfully aware of every detail in complete silence as he locked eyes with you.

It was as if for the first time in a long while he felt at ease.

He felt grounded

His breath leveled back to normal

The tremor in his hand subsided as he stood there entranced by you.

Until he heard the bell ring.

The referee pulling him into the centre of the ring starting the fight.

The first round went better than expected he was able to land a couple of punches causing some damage to his opponent.

He dominated the first round demonstrating his skill and impressive striking.

The second round he was grounded by his opponent jungkook knew he excelled in striking but lacked in wrestling and ground work

Using his weakness against him sending a powerful blow to his face which resulted in a deep gash.

With blood rushing down his face clouding his sight.

The fight had brought the audience to the edge of their seat the last round would decide who would win.

Jungkook was exhausted and bloody and beaten maybe it was best to accept defeat at this point things weren't going his way either way.

If he didn't win this fight he wouldn't have anything to return to he gave up all his savings to recieve training.

He had been alone all his life his parents died when he was about 5 leaving him to his grandfather who ran a boxing gym.

This is where he grew up this was all he ever knew ever since he was a child.

It wasn't soon when his grandfather too passed away leaving him all alone yet again. He promised that he would become world champion one day it was either that or he wouldn't want to live.

Without this life wasn't worth living.

The voice of self doubt took over once again he felt defeated he didn't know how much longer he could go on.

But they were once again silenced .

Silenced by your cheers it was the first time in his life that someone cheered for him.

You a complete stranger believed in him at that more than anyone ever did in his entire life.

At that moment you were all he needed your cheers gave him the strength to fight the last round knocking his opponent to the ground earning him the first victory in his professional career.

After the event he tried to find you in the crowd but you were no where in sight his lucky charm.

He knew he had to find you.

The days that followed he started training with a new found energy it was like he was a whole new man.

He gained confidence and knew that he had to work on his technique especially his wrestling.

His coach recommended a local jujitsu gym where he should begin training.

With his gym bag hanging on his shoulder he stepped into the gym.

And began sparring on the mat for about an hour or so not really caring about the building up fatigue.

Nearly spent he was about to call it a day until he saw something flash over the corner of his eye

He watched as you and your sparring partner giggled while tossing each other around.

It was a strange experience each time he saw it was like he was reborn.

It felt as though he was given a second chance at life ever since he saw you.

He couldn't work up the courage to speak to you that day so he tried his best to impress with his fighting skills despite being exhausted he sparred until you left in hopes of seeing you for as long as he could.

Packing up for the day he was just about to head back home as his phone began to buzz in his back pocket. To his surprise it was his manager informing him that his latest win had landed him a fighting contract and that he was scheduled for an upcoming fight that would offer his a decent pay check.

He was extatic things were finally turning around for him. He credited this win again to you.

It couldn't possibly be a coincidence he saw you the first time he won and now he again met you the day he got a contract.

He was sure that you were his lucky charm.

His suspicion was proved right when in his next fight there you were in the front row

That day he won by knockout and he won his next fight as well similarly with you right by his side.

It could no longer be a coincidence in his mind you were cemented as his lucky charm and he felt that he wouldn't win without as you sit obliviously to his strange theories by the ring you begin to feel a little uncomfortable with the way he is starting at you as if you would disappear the second he looks away.

Bruhsing it off as him probably being disoriented after the fight you didn't think too much of it.

But soon the feeling was harder to shake off he started showing up to your gym more often training when you would train offering to be your sparring partner which you kindly declined.

Given that you preferred to stick to your friends he wouldn't let any man near you either

His possessiveness was starting to creep you out. He wasn't your boyfriend but would tell everyone that he was and when you confronted him about this he told you that it would help keep the creeps away from you.

But who was going to tell him that he was the one creeping you out.

It didn't stop at that he would often wait until you finished to walk you to your car in the guise of keeping you safe or the way he would constantly borrow your stuff saying that he had forgotten his at home.

Soon things like your clothes started to go missing from your gym bag as he snuck them out as souvenirs.

As he clutched a bouquet of roses he followed you to your car today was the day he would finally confess and make you his.

He patiently waited for you to finish your session as he walked you out as usually but before you got into your car.

He stopped you.

You saw his face change to a shade of pink as he looked like a giddy school boy.

He held out the bouquet of roses to you confessing his love and undying affection for you.

It was sweet and he looked so hopefull but you couldn't lie to him and tell him you felt the same.

You tried to be as gentle as you could trying to let him down.

But he was in denial he didn't understand how you couldn't see that you were meant to be you were soulmates it was destiny.

He wasn't relenting so you just ripped off the bandage.

"Listen I said I don't like you it don't understand why that's so hard to get into that thick skull of yours leave me the fuck alone"

He stood there stunned as you stormed off slaming your car door and promptly driving off.

You saw his reflecting in your rear view mirror his eyes were glossed over and he looked like a kicked puppy with his head held low the bouquet of roses that he had so carefully picked out now layed on the cold concrete floor.

He watched as you disappeared off into the night.

It was obvious that you were playing hard to get. That's okay he would just smother you with love until you didn't say yes. Otherwise he would just have to turn to move unpleasant measures at least unpleasant for you he would surely enjoy what he would do to you.

Everyday he would show up at opening time at the gym and leave at closing in hopes of catching you but as the days went by you didn't show up.

You thought it was best to lay low for a couple of days for the awkwardness to wear off.

When he couldn't find you at the gym he started to show up at your office just waiting outside the parking lot waiting for you.

You could only avoid him for so long, soon he began to show up wherever you went it was starting to scare you.

You reached your breaking point when one day you were sleeping you heard the door to your apartment rattle as if someone was trying to break in.

You could hear him on the other side yelling at you to open the door.

" Open the fucking door. Why do you have to make this so difficult.

We are meant to be why can't you just accept it?

I'll do anything for you just tell me what I need to do.

I'll do anything just open the door I just want to talk to you.

I'll treat you so well no one can love you the way I do those jerks that you flirt with at the gym can't love the way I do.

What we have is something special they wouldn't understand.

Open the fucking door or I'm going to break it down. "

You saw the hinged of the door begin to come off as he started to break it down.

You were sure he was going to murder you tonight if it wasn't for security showing up

It took five men to subdue with great difficulty.

Eventually the cops had to be called to restrain him.

He was let out of jail with nothing more than a slap on the wrist as the fighting leage didn't want their top new prospect to not show up for his fights.

The cops adviced you to leave town and lay low for a while because there was nothing they could do about him as he hadn't hurt you yet.

And the officials at the fight leage would simply bail him out each time as his fights were starting to bring in money.

You packed up your essentials in a hurry and headed to your parents home in the country side to get as far away from him as possible.

He was warned by his manager to not get into trouble for a while as he had a big fight coming up that would bring him close to fighting for the championship.

He trained hard every single day maybe if he became champion you would finally love him.

Even when he coughed up blood from overtrainig

He never stopped he had to win.

When fight day came his eyes anxiously scanned the crowd for your face.

You surely couldn't have abandoned him now.

You were his lucky charm

The calm in an ocean of noise

Without you hear he wouldn't win.

He has to have you

How could you betray him like this all you had to do was show up.

The fight commenced and he was on a 4 fight winning streak he couldn't risk losing it when he was climbing up the ranks.

He gave it his all and nearly lost the fight the only reason he won was because of a technicality and a penalty awarded to his opponent he was beat up and his ego was severely bruised.

He blamed his near loss on you how was he supposed to win without his lucky charm.

His delusion was only further proved by the outcome of the fight.

He began to become superstitious and was convinced that it would bring bad luck if he didn't have you.

His only dream in life was to be world champion and he wasn't about to let your refusal stand in his way.

He had to take matters into his own hands he had to make discussions for you because you clearly don't know what's good for you.

Without wasting even a second still covered in blood and sweat he pulled on a jacket and fired up his truck to your home.

He knew where you parents lived he would occasionally show up at night to watch you through the window when he couldn't sleep your presence calmed him down.

He knew he had to lure you out some way or another.

That's when a sinister idea popped into his mind.

He took out a burner phone a dialled your number.

When he heard your voice greet him.

" I'm not going to repeat myself.

Be a good girl and come out. We are going on a little trip just you and I.

If you want to be bad and stay inside I'll just simply come in and drag you out but if I have to do that I can't guarantee the safety of your parents.

They are old and weak you wouldn't want them to get hurt now would you.

I certainly wouldn't mind sending them to an early grave so now be a good Little girl and come with me "

You knew he wasn't joking he was more than capable of killing a grown man let alone your aging parents and living in the country side meant that you couldn't even call for help by the time you did he would have easily murdered your entire blood line.

You had no option but to comply as you snuck out through the back door trying not to wake your parents up maybe some day you'd be able to see them again if he didnt end your life this instant.

Sneaking out you were met with his face a sinister grin plastered across his face.

It was still bloody with most of the blood having dried down you assumed he left the ring directly to find you it was only a matter of time.

He opened the door for you shoving you in as you hesitated.

You were paralyzed with fear he was like a wild animal that was pushed into a corner and wounded he was unpredictable.

All you could do now was comply.

As he sped through the empty highways you knew that if you didn't escape now you wouldn't ever leave.

When his eyes were glued to the road ahead you hesitantly unlocked to lock to the passenger side door.

Just as you were about to open the door to the moving car and make your escape.

You felt his hand grabbing the back of your neck with a bone crushing grip slamming your head into the dashboard effectively knocking you out cold.

He pulled you back and rested your head back onto the seat.

Gently brushing a few strands of hair off your face as he occasionally admired as he drove off.

You looked so peaceful like this so calm and serine he could spend his entire life admiring you.

After an hours drive you finally reached your destination it was a quaint little house just outside the city he had bought it with his first major pay check for you.

He had invisioned his entire future with you by his side today was only the beginning of your life together.

He couldn't help but smile in content as he carried your unconscious body into the threshold of your new home.

He layed you down on a soft mattress in a room he had designed to your liking the sheets matching to the walls painted in your favourite colour.

Slowly coming back to consciousness.

The side of your head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it.

You were slightly disoriented as you tried to take in your surroundings the soft mattress underneath you did little to provide you with comfort.

What little sense of safety you felt vanished as you saw him at sitting beside you running his calloused hands across your naked skin.

"I hope you don't mind I had to get you out of those filthy clothes. It wouldn't have had to be this way if you understood my love for you I never would have had to go this far."

A chill randown your spine as he began to go on and on about how he bought this house for you and how much he was looking forward to spend the rest of your lives together.

"I've done so much for you. I keep you safe.

I bought you this house that matches your liking I all but worship the ground you walk on don't you think I deserve something in return for all I have done for you. "

He said as he straddled your hips.

He tried to fight him off all only to land one punch on him reopening a cut that he had sustained in the fight as blood gushed down his face onto yours

You watched in horror as he seemed completely unfazed by it.

Infact he almost seemed excited by the sight of it.

" Guess I'll just have to fuck the fight out of you"

He grabbed both of your wrists with one one hand pinning you down.

His other hand roaming your body groping you as he pleased.

Ripping off the final coverings from your body leaving you bare for his hungry eyes to shamelessly eye fuck you.

He leaned down to kiss you to which you turned away.

The second time he tried his patience began to wear off with your non compliance wearing his patience thin.

He wasn't having any of it.

Before you could try to push him off you felt a searing slap land on your face the force of which whipped your head to the side.

Before you could even react to it another one followed then another he slapped you around like a rag doll mercilessly raining pain on you he only stopped when you tasted metallic blood on your tounge seeping in from your cheeks.

The fear in your eyes turned him on the fact that he has so much power over you at any given moment he could take your life without even having to try.

You were completely at his mercy and he wasn't feeling very generous today.

You trembled under him knowing that it was best to just comply.

"If you behave this can be a pleasurable experience for the both of us , and if you don't well I don't really care. I'll get what I want either way."

Having you immobilised with fear just made it easier for him to take advantage of you.

He still loved you in his own sick and twisted way and wanted you to feel good too.

He slide down your body grabbing your hips sliding them down to eye level as he spread apart your legs.

His breath fanning over your cunt making you shiver.

You tried to close them but either hand on your thighs held them down like chains.

He teased you gently running his toung through the expanse on your sex.

Slowly building up his pace while lapping you up.

His fingers teased your entrance as you bucked your hips towards him to get some sort of contact our of desperation he loved how needy you had gotten as he ate you out.

Edging you until you were on the verge of tears begging him to let you realse.

He loved the pained look of desperation on your face it made him feel needed.

He would move his tounge skillful working you up to your high only to stop just before you came.

He did this for what seemed like hours.

Teasing you torturing you with pleasure.

The frustration building up in your body was clouding your vision you needed to release one way or another it had gotten to a point where it was almost painful.

He himself could feel his cock strain against the fabric of his underwear.

Big and angry just waiting to burry itself into your soft warm walls.

As much as he enjoyed watching you be a desperate slut.

He needed some action himself.

Moving up caging you between his arms.

You didn't have much energy left in you with the assault he earlier did and the hours of edging you were completely spent.

As he slowly tried to fit his massive girth inside of you.

It was a tight fit as you tried weekly pushing him away telling him it was too much to handle.

He reassured you that you would be fine and to be a good girl and take whatever he gives you.

Once fully inside it felt as if he was splitting you open.

He tried his best to go as slow as he could but the months of pent up frustration and rage all led up to this moment.

He couldn't hold it in anymore as he drilled you into the mattress.

Your finger nails drew crimson marks all along his back as he brought you from one orgasm to another barely giving you rest between them.

It was like he was in a daze finally getting his hands on what he so desperately crave

[ardbar]

do you think with EMF as champion and parkour civilization no longer under constant threat there with be development of art? like parkour performances and festivals for example? Or the introduction of redstone parkour via the command blocks (since literally any element could be summoned into existence so long as EMF was imaginative enough) I feel like EMF would be better at inventing concepts like that given that he's never wanted for shelter or food. (Being born a master and all so it makes sense he's not great at imagining new buildings and homes). What he has always striven for is harder parkour/ways to progress his skill, so i feel like him being good at imagining new methods for it wouldn't be too big a stretch given he's had time to settle into his role of champion

Okay wait so there’s a lot to unpack here but there’s something I have to say first and this comment isn’t just directed at you but guys EMF was born on the noob level that’s not a head canon it’s fact. I don’t blame people for not knowing this since it was cut out of the second movie but in the episode, “Minecraft but I Discover the HISTORY of PARKOUR CIVILIZATION” Evbo uses the command blocks to see what the world was like before the evil champion took over and he see’s EMF on the noob level with leather boots. I don’t know why this wasn’t included in the super cut but yeah it has somewhat important materials in it and it teased Seawatt going to the parkour fighters level.

Okay little rant over now I’ll address the actual point of your comment. I do agree that EMF would usher in an era of advancement when it comes to Parkour, however, I am reluctant to believe that it would bleed over into the arts. While I do think it would be really cool and of course I’m kinda speaking out of my ass here but I don’t think it would make much sense. In their world basically everything revolves around parkour being used as both a currency and a way to settle disputes, while possible for both to exist I think it would be unlikely. However that isn’t to say it’s impossible given that even their writing is in Parkour it is possible that everything including the preforming arts would make use of Parkour in some type of fashion. I think it would be funny if the battles incorporated this aspect into a dance battle format but with parkour.

Back to parkour advancing I think that would make a lot of sense. The champion before Evbo definitely didn’t want things to change or for people to grow in their skills, if he ever introduced too many new ideas it would greatly increase the odds that he would be beaten, I would view this time period as a type of dark age. Now the Old Man’s civilization I think would be rather interesting in terms of advancement. We know that he did try and introduce new ideas into the world examples being the barrier blocks and totems. However, he was also reluctant to certain changes if we look at him hating the parkour races. Little side note I think this fact is rather strange, I know in canon it’s because people would die from the races, but don’t they die anyway? I forget if it ever says it makes it impossible for people to respawn or is somehow different than other parkour battles but yeah. Anyway I think while amenable to change he could still be stuck in his ways somewhat and scared of radical changes. Now I think EMF would differ from both of the champions we have information about. I especially think EMF would be welcoming to all types of new ideas especially since Evbo has become the god of parkour. I could see him believing that coming up with new ways to do parkour or to shake things up as a type of worship to his god or as some type of offering. I also think that because Evbo is the parkour god he wouldn’t be too worried about anyone doing nefarious things because if anything ever does go wrong than evbo could step in. These two factors I think would lead to a type of parkour renaissance. As you mentioned I do think red stone would play a large role in this. What I think would be interesting about red stone becoming commonplace is I could see their society moving away from impromptu battles. Instead of people making their own course to fight there might be a type of parkour colosseum with prebuilt courses that people either race on or it could be a last man standing type of situation. If this were to happen I could see parkour kind of shifting into the arts, as it stops being a means of battle and more of a spectacle and a kind of honor.

I think a really interesting point you made was about parkour festivals. I wonder how this would take shape. We know that people did do rituals at the parkour temple to try and get the attention of the parkour god to no avail. I wonder if these types of festivals would actually carry a lot of weight now that there is an active parkour god or would they remain a thing of the past brought back as a fun memory, like how we celebrate holidays but without any of the orginal historical value.

These were just a few ideas I had on this matter.

[yuri-is-online]

Traditional Fantasy AU! Yuu who lives with Idia and Ortho in a little town next to the dungeon tm everyone’s adventuring through. Idia's there as part of his duties with S.T.Y.X. keeping an eye on the monsters and the strange resurrections of mages the labrynth allows.

TFAU! Yuu who has no memories before being woken up by Grim in the bed Idia's set aside for them, but has a strange draw to the labrynth and a need to go somewhere in it.

TFAU! Idia who gently forbids them from going, and tries to distract them by teaching them how to make and upkeep various machinery adventures might need, but still insists on teaching them how to shoot a gun. Just in case.

TFAU! Ortho who sneaks out to adventure every once in a while and tells Yuu all about the dungeon and convinces them they need to go even more. They talk about how much fun it would be to go through the floors with Idia, and try to come up with ways to convince him to come with them.

TFAU! Yuu who finds themselves in the Adventures Guild one day to drop off an order and see a red headed idiot talking about what easy money the job he's looking at will be and they can't help but laugh.

"Can't you see it's a scam? That's waaaay too much money for such a simple job!"

TFAU! Ace who gets really mad and starts an argument with the local magicless weirdo about how he could totally do this job, they just wouldn't know because they're stupid, which causes a fight between him, you, your cat, and some random fighter who swears he just wanted to talk things out (promise!) that breaks a bunch of expensive items in the guild and now you have to take the job or go to jail.

TFAU! Ramshackle Party of first years all really happy with their unexpected success in the dungeon... until Idia shows up clearly worried out of his mind over Yuu and legitimately angry that they went into the dungeon, equally terrified when Ortho confirms he's been sneaking out too.

"Promise you'll stick to the upper levels. And no entering melee. And keep together. And-"

TFAU! Idia who goes back to his desk and stares at a letter he's been meaning to send since you woke up months ago, hands shaking as he thinks about what the others will say if they find out he's been lying about your condition. If they find out he's letting you go back there again.

Traditional fantasy ayuu where there is something clearly wrong with Yuu but no one notices until it's almost too late.

Again.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Renfaire Headcanons

Okay everyone! Faire (Renaissance Festival) just wrapped and I'm sad, so I'm making it everyone else's problem. Here are some headcanons!

Leo

Faire can be a lot for Leo. There are a lot of moving parts, and if you're at a crowded faire, expect him to be on guard at all times. But, if you're at a smaller faire and/or you can get him to relax, he's actually a blast.

Chivalry is this guy's middle name, or it would be if he had a middle name. Does he have a middle name? If he does, you've never heard it. The minute you walk in, he's looking for the flower vendor. Expect a lot of "Yes, my (honorific of choice)," "No, my (honorific of choice)." Kisses to the back of your hand while looking deeply into your eyes. The works. This guy is Prince Charming, and just like all the other roles in his life, he takes it seriously.

His favorite events are the Joust and the Falconer. He's placing "gentleman's bets" on the knights with Raphael, and they have a really great time just being brothers and watching sports. He also loves the falconer and spends almost an hour chatting with him after the demonstration is over. By the end, the falconer is so charmed they help him leather-wrap his arm/hand (they don't exactly have a glove that fits), and teach him to fly the birds.

As for games, he won't pick up a sword because he knows it wouldn't be fair, but he really enjoys showing off his archery skills. And show off he will. Mike may be the one usually grabbing hold of the spotlight, but don't think for one second that Leo can't be a showman. Especially if it's something he knows he's good at. Any and all archery/ninja combo tricks he can think of, and by the end the hay bale will be reduced to a scattered pile. Be watchful of his anxiety levels before he heads to the range, however. If he's not in a good place, all the attention/cameras could cause him to panic.

As for food, all the greasy, fried things don't really sit well with him. He does, however enjoy High Tea with the queen, and will spend a lot of that time cleverly waxing poetic about you and making elegantly veiled innuendos, while you blush furiously into your cucumber sandwiches.

Shopping will be all about you. He lives to spoil you, and if you even *hint* that you like something, expect it to "randomly" show up in your bags when you're unpacking at the end of the day. He might even be using this as an opportunity to figure out your ring size and/or what types of jewelry/stones you like.

...

Raph

Expect your knight in shining armor to be doing his job. If it's a crowded faire, he won't be as visibly anxious as Leo, but expect him to be a little distracted while keeping an eye on everything. Very protective, but it only takes one conversation for you to explain to him that you're dressed like this because you want to be noticed. Still eyes anyone who seems like they might be getting a little too handsy.

Once he's more comfortable with people just randomly coming up to hug you and others standing at a distance to ogle you, he's good. Raph loves an excuse to get out and have a good time, and RenFaire is not only no different, but it's one of those places that tends to embrace the weird. Rather than screaming and running people are enthralled and constantly asking him how he made his "costume." ("Trade secret" 😉). 🤭

He loves the Joust and he and Leo will have a great time betting and bonding, loser buying the next round of drinks. But Live Steel Combat is by far his favorite. The second he passes by a pit of armored combatants beating the shit out of each other, he's hooked. After the fight, he spends some time talking to the fighters and even exchanging techniques.

Raph doesn't care about showing off, he's just there to have a good time, so he'll be a little surprised when he turns around after spending 15 minutes destroying the dagger/hatchet throw boards to see a crowd has gathered. He'll recover quickly, however. Activate Full *Gaston* mode. Showing off and shooting flirty winks and comments at some of the more thirsty patrons that are paying attention to some of his more dexterous moves. Flexing at every opportunity. But don't worry, his last trick will be hitting the bullseye while dipping you into a kiss that reminds you that he's only yours. Drink up those nasty looks. You've earned them.

My guy likes to keep it simple when it comes to food. How many turkey legs? How many you got? They will learn to dread the hulking figure in red and green coming up to the stand, and you may have to gently remind him at one point that the other patrons need to eat, too. After that, he'll be happy to try the other things, he'll particularly enjoy the scotch egg.

On vendors row, he spends more time talking with with artisans and craftspeople than doing any actual shopping, and will end up leaving with "gifts" to get started on his own projects. He particularly likes the leatherworkers and fiber artists. Don't think he isn't paying attention, though. Weeks later, you'll start finding handmade gift on your windowsill similar to, but more beautiful than, those things he noticed you notice.

...

Donnie

It isn't often this artificer gets to indulge in the *other* side of the geekdom coin, he carves out a few hours a week for D&D, but other than that, his mind won't let him get away from his engineering fixation all that often. But when you give him an opportunity to flex his creative side while still making his "gotta-build" brain happy, he'll put your ass to work. You'll spend the months leading up to faire together, in the back of the lab building matching steampunk engineer costumes that actually freaking work. Expect to own the competition.

The costume contest is, of course, the most important event. You may not make it if he spends too long talking about your rigs with interested parties, so set timers and plan for people to stop the two of you on your way there. After easily taking the win and smugly taking your hand, kissing it, and helping you down the wooden steps, expect him to look for the Irish Step Dancers. The rhythm and synchronicity will help him regulate after all the attention.

Donnie will munch on whatever sweet, fried thing you put in front of him, but he seeks out the mead tent. He doesn't drink much or often, but he does appreciate the time and care that goes into the fermentation process, and he'll really enjoy trying every flavor they have before buying a bottle of your favorite for the two of you, and another one that his father might like.

Donnie is not really interested in the wares in the vendor booths, so this time with you is all about research. Much like Leo, he's learning what you like and what you don't like. Colors, textures, patterns, all filed away for later. If you find something you really love, he'll pull the "I'll be right back," move, once you're three booths away, then hand the bag to you without a word, link his arm with yours, and keep walking. He may also have a discrete conversation with the leatherworker about some *ahem* custom items.

...

Mikey

Let's. Fucking. Go. He is ready, baby. He only just learned about Renaissance Festivals, but you do not have to ask him twice he is down. The two of you will spend a little time putting together some casual fun costumes the day before, and then proceed to fully forget half of what you wanted to bring by the time you're parked and unloading, but that's okay because it's RenFaire babyyy!

This guy will lay it on thick. Leo may be Prince Charming, but this Jester has your heart and will be doing everything he can to make sure you and everyone else remembers why. Expect comments and compliments dripping with innuendo that make you more red than the tomatoes at the dunk tank...

Which just happens to be one of his favorite things! A quick wit and good aim turns the game into a show and a crowd will gather as he and the dunkee toss insults back and forth. He'll occasionally punctuate his barbs by tossing a tomato and hitting the button just enough to make the platform almost give out. Eventually, once he and the actor have come to some kind of verbal truce, he'll give them a sweet smile, before throwing his last fruit, and landing them in the water.

This will be a theme all day. Any/all raunchy/adult-themed comedy shows are on his agenda. In fact, expect him to be constantly checking the schedule. He loves a good show! He'll even make time for some of the performances geared toward little kids. At one point, happily playing an ogre in one of the twisted fairy tale performances (the ogre is the good guy 😁).

Food is easy. It's it bad for you? Would his dad give him a look while he eats too much of it? Awesome.

Shopping will start pretty much immediately. My dude walked in, saw ✨Fashion✨, and said "Yes please! 😃" He is at the Cordwainer in minutes talking about a pair of custom Rennie boots, and he is NOT leaving without a rainbow utilikilt. He'll be a little bummed he can't get elf ears, but he'll find a dope-as-hell flower crown that'll more than make up for it.

.....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[milkywaydrabbles]

geto and 39? :>

A/N: foaming at the mouth I love Geto sm. I'm not sure if this was quite enough body worship but also I feel like he wouldn't be that obvious with it, especially after his defection and leading up to the night of 100 curses. But I am a FIRM believer he would try to baby trap. Hope you like it mwuah

CW: riding, pet names, baby trapping

Body worship x Geto Suguru

"A-ah, Geto-Sama!" Thrust. "Please, beautiful." Thrust. "I thought I asked you to call me Suguru when we're alone." Thrust.

It had been a few months since you and Geto had met each other. You, an apparent normal human being who has been saying what you thought to be ghosts for your entire life. You had ignored them the best you could, being in and out of psychiatric hospitals because of your bouts of fear with the paranormal. Society had shunned you for your "insanity". But you knew they were there, even if you were the only one who saw them. Eventually, you faked being cured of whatever level of psychosis they thought you had, stopping the medication that sedated you. You simply learned to pretend they weren't there. It got easier as the years progressed, however some days were more difficult than others, depending on the size of the curse, and depending on how in your face it wanted to be. You thought you would just live like this—on the verge of a mental breakdown one day at a time. Until you met Geto.

You saw him one day, at the tail end of swiping away at one that seemed to be a pretty big nuisance for him, before condensing it into a black orb and ingesting it. You couldn't help but stare, eyes wide and hands trembling. It was someone else that saw them, someone else that can do something about them. There was no way you hallucinated that. He glanced over at you in disgust that a monkey would even have the audacity to look at him. But tears accumulated in your eyes, and you whispered "you see them too?" 

He softened immediately after that. 

Geto took you in, soothing your tears after telling him all the terrible years you've endured. Days turned into weeks, of helping you understand what the world of jujutsu is, of what curses are, of his end goal. Weeks turned into months, of him letting you stay with him even though you weren't a fighter, and your healing abilities were barely sustained. He let you stay because he had a soft spot. And feelings emerged. Started to cherish you, started to steal glances, fingers grazing just a bit more than deemed normal.

Geto was in love with you. The rest of them could see it, but they wouldn't dare say anything around him.

"Ah—fuck—'msorry Suguru" you hiccuped, bouncing on his lap, cock buried deep inside your sloppy pussy. Suguru loved you like this, chest to chest, as close to him as possible. It felt right this way. "Let me take care of you, pretty girl. You deserve it" he slowed his movements, wanting to take his time with you. Suguru placed open mouthed kisses on your chest, lavishing your nipples under his tongue. "You're so perfect" he'd whisper, hands caressing your back like he was holding a doll. "I can't believe I've gone my life without you." Another kiss to your chest, and a suck to your other nipple. You gasped, clenching around his dick, juices flowing freely over his balls. "Suguru," you whined "feels good." He kissed your neck, and pressed you closer to him. A hand came up to your head to pull you down for a kiss on your lips, slow and deliberate, taking his time to taste you fully. "I want to make you feel good always, my perfect baby. Taking me so well, your pussy was made for me." Another clench and whine, head lulling to the side out of sheer bliss. "Never want to let you go" he murmured, though he wasn't sure if you heard it. 

Geto quickened, a hand coming in between your bodies to rub at the swollen nub at the apex of your thighs. You cried out and tightened around him, orgasm closing it. "Come on, beautiful. Cum for me, I want to feel your cute little cunt milking me" Suguru bit at your neck, angling his hips to hit that delicious squishy part inside you that made you see stars. "S-suguru! A-ah fuck, oh fuck" you cried out, legs trembling and body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. You rode out your high as Geto continued to pump his length into you. "Gonna cum in you, pretty, gonna fill you up." He thrusted into you a few more times before shooting his load into you. He fucked his cum into you, wanting more than anything to keep it inside that puffy cunt of yours. 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

He was going to make sure it took, that you'd get pregnant. You wouldn't leave him now, he was sure of it. But he needed a guarantee.

[foundtherightwords]

🏛 👑⚔️"Gladiator II" thoughts 🏛 👑⚔️

Before I start, I have to say that (and please don't throw me into the Colosseum for this) I think the first "Gladiator" is just okay. A solid epic historical/action flick, sure, but to me it's no more than that. And... well, "Gladiator II" is more or less the same, but with a less tight script and therefore less emotional resonance.

It's my biggest issue with the movie. The spectacles are great and the action sequences are solid, but I'm not interested in any of the characters (with the exception of the emperors and Macrinus.) They're all very one-note. To be fair, Acacius doesn't require a lot of dimensions and Pedro did a good job with the character, but Lucius and Lucilla... meh. For a movie that is 148 minutes long, it feels oddly rushed; I felt like I never had the time to get to know the characters or become invested in their fates.

On to the good parts: like I said, the emperors and Macrinus. The review that says Denzel is acting on another level and Joe is the only one that comes close to matching him is spot-on. Out of all the characters, Geta and Macrinus are the only two with some depth. Denzel is amazing, affable and gregarious one minute and then chilling and menacing the next. As for Geta, maybe I'm just biased, but it's so easy to make him one-dimensional too, except Joe imbued the character with nuance and subtlety, so although we don't get to spend a lot of time with them, we understand these two emperors and their dynamic very well. Fred also did great with Caracalla - in fact, if his character wasn't so deranged and erratic and Fred didn't play that to perfection, Geta wouldn't stand out as the sane one as much as he did. They really were the perfect double act.

OK, so those are my spoiler-free thoughts. If you haven't seen the movie, click away now! It's going to be all spoilers from here! This is your last warning! (Oh and I'll start posting my Geta fic next Tuesday. Here's a preview; if you want to be tagged, drop me a comment!)

Now if you don't mind spoilers, read on...

When we found out that Ridley Scott had done a switcheroo and made Geta the elder brother (interestingly, the subtitle at my theater has Caracalla as the elder, which suggests the translator did more historical research than Sir Ridley and his writer!), I guessed that the movie would still follow a bit of historical facts with Macrinus manipulates Caracalla into killing Geta (OK, the bit about Macrinus manipulating Caracalla is not historical, but Caracalla killing Geta is), and then Macrinus would kill Caracalla to take the throne. Well...

And Geta's death is... my God. I gasped out loud in the theater. The head afterward was a bit goofy, but I can't say it's not effective. Poor Joe. Not only his characters always get killed, they often get killed in the gnarliest ways too.

I'm very annoyed at those early reports saying that the emperors have about 20-30 minutes of screen time though. It's more like 10! This video?

That's basically all of Joe's scenes! (Fred gets more, obviously, but not by much.)

And again, I wish they would stop using cut scenes as promo (like with AQPD1), because this still?

Never happens.

The final fight between Lucius and Macrinus is weirdly anti-climactic. Macrinus is never set up as a great fighter anyway, so there is no tension in Lucius facing him.

Also, I know I complain a lot about the lack of historical accuracies, but the ending particularly annoys me because it makes it seem like Rome is finally getting better, except it wasn't! After the terrible reign of Caracalla, we get the even worse reign of Elagabalus, and then Severus Alexander, which is basically the calm before the storm that is the Crisis of the Third Century. So if Sir Ridley is doing "Gladiator III", I'd like to see how he wriggles his way out of that!

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part two]

Summary: A few weeks after initiating her training with the Valkyries, Eowyn decides to run some errands in Velaris. A self-date never hurt anyone, right?

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: none. briefly mentions the passing of a pet (my greatest fear).

Minors, do not interact.

A/N: so i technically listened to the ACOTAR series so a lot got lost in the void of my mind. if there's something SJM mentions in the novels that I forgot lets just pretend i didn't. also the image isn't exactly what I picture Eowyn's face covering to look like, but its similar enough. i'm also reluctant to call it a niqāb as it may contain religious connotations and i wouldn't want to offend anyone, nor does the story suggest it's due to religious beliefs. if there's anything suggesting differently from the reader's perspective, please let me know and I'll fix it immediately

part 1

Masterlist

"If I could go back to a time before now

Before I ever fell down

Go back to a time when I was just a girl

When I had the whole world

Gently wrapped around me"

Weyes Blood, A Lot's Gonna Change

In the weeks that followed her initial introduction to training with the Illyrians and the Valkyries, she felt a change within her.

Well, not considering how she’d almost quit by the end of the first week due to how sore she was. She’d had a change of heart when she saw the elation in Ananke when she finally managed to cut the ribbon, however. The cheer that erupted from the vocal priestesses and the look of accomplishment and pride on Ananke’s face was contagious enough for her to decide to stay. She might as well do that, she figured, for although the hefty daily exercises were strenuous on her body, they accomplished little to nothing to quiet her mind.

Dressed in comfortably loose skirts and a blouse in dark cool tones, she let out a weary breath, fixing the black laced mantilla placed over her head. From the middle of the dark fabric fell a thin silver chain across the center of her forehead, clasped onto the matching silver chain on the trim of the soft fabric covering the bottom half of her face.

Despite her slightly rattled nerves, opening one of the heavy doors leading out to the city of Velaris was somehow not as intimidating as it had been before. Immediately, her mind attributed it to her recent training, surely pulling her own body weight on a bar repeatedly for several sets had made it easier for her to open the heavy ancient doors, but she also knew it was more than that. It was the fact that it didn’t take her usual twenty minutes of steeling herself to leave the library— it only took eight.

That, she knew she couldn’t credit training for, entirely.

Although she’d never been one to easily make friends, oftentimes too lost in her own musings to seek further than surface-level conversations with her companions, she’d found an unexpected but welcomed sort of camaraderie with a few of the priestesses in the training ring, including Nesta and Emerie who, although weren’t priestesses themselves were oftentimes jumbled up together in name, if they weren’t being called Valkyries. Mirna, Desmodena, and Eowyn had only just joined the larger group of priestesses, making a total of ten priestesses training all at once in unison. The only separate group were the three original female fighters, who mostly trained with Cassian, or Azriel on the off chance that Cassian hyper focused on so-and-so’s form and dagger grip.

Still, it was Gwyn with whom she’d found herself spending more time with, although mostly outside of the ring as they walked through the library's many floors. Which, by extension, led to her growing friendship with Nesta and Emerie, the latter who she found took immense pleasure in making her laugh. Nesta, on the other hand, while not outright rude, was perhaps just as cynical as Eowyn herself, which gave way for an unspoken understanding— thick melted chocolate in texture, compared to the easy flowing nectar of her closeness to Emerie and Gwyn.

Her steps, brisk in nature but slightly stilted in discomfort soon fell back on the ease of slithering through busy city streets, a certain knowledge in the marrow of her bones that refused to forget something that was once so familiar. To walk through a busy city street wasn’t an easy thing to learn at once, but once learned, was something that was never forgotten.

The bell above the apothecary door signaled her entrance, pulling a hefty small fae from her book, which at a quick glance was clearly similar to the smutty romances the girls liked to read so much. She chuckled lightly under her breath, smiling at the herbalist gently despite the fact that the female couldn’t see anything but her dark eyes, and held it still, even as the fae watched her with clear unease, seeming half a second away from kicking her out the door.

“Good evening,” Eowyn greeted politely, “I’ve come to pick up an order from the Library.”

“Y-yes, let me get that for you,” the fae stumbled over her words, relief seeming to fall over her face as she turned and disappeared in the backroom.

Eowyn took that time to roam around the store, taking note of the array of trinkets sold, made of quarts and precious minerals and stones. The side of the wall displayed what looked like thousands of tins and small packages of teas, all displaying labels with what the remedies contained and what they were recommended for. She chuckled to herself when she took notice of the one labeled Love, although the ingredients were curiously not listed.

She took it in her hand, opening her mouth to call out to the herbalist and ask her what the special little tea contained when she felt a shift in the air. A second before the bell of the apothecary door could sound to signal someone else’s entrance, Eowyn flitted, hiding herself from view behind a tall shelf in the center of store, promoting a two-for-one deal on candles that were labeled with the same intentions of the teas in the wall behind her.

Ducking slightly to peek through the thin gap in the shelf she bit her tongue to keep herself from gasping in surprise at the sight of the Shadowsinger, who reached the counter in three strides, scarred hand impatiently slamming over the bell to ring for the owner.

“Coming! I’m coming!” her muffled yell called out from the back.

When a cold soft breeze touched her ankle, like the mist of a cloud but leaving no trace behind, she looked down to her feet to see Azriel’s shadows dancing around her feet. She grimaced slightly at the idea of being caught in the act. Not that she was doing anything wrong, of course, but the thought of him catching her hiding behind a shelf with a love drink in her hand made her cheeks flush.

She brought her index finger to mouth, signaling for the shadows to keep quiet but no sooner had she done so when Azriel’s voice called out. “I know you’re here, Eowyn.”

A shiver ran down her spine unexpectedly at the sound of her name coming from his lips.

“Traitors,” she hissed lightly to the shadows, quickly sliding the tin in her hands onto the shelf at her side before revealing herself.

“Hello,” she cleared her throat.

His face, always unreadable, remained so as he turned to face her, but she noticed the amusement glinting in his eyes before they came into contact with hers. In a fraction of a second, they widened ever so slightly, just barely enough for her to note the surprise before he schooled his features back into place.

“They said nothing,” he corrected, although one of his shadows curled around his ear. “I smelled you before I even came in. They did tell me however, that you seemed rather interested in buying a…love tonic, is it? Ah, sorry, a love tea.”

“That is something you don’t want to play around with, boy,” the herbalist interrupted, coming back from the back room with a heavy sealed box in her hands. She placed it on the counter with a huff, “You give that to your sick pets, you see. You boil it, let it cool, and put it in their water bowl. It’s for when they’re getting old and on death’s door. It helps keep them happy and untouched by pain until the time comes…” she drifted off, voice carrying a note of sadness. “I made it for my cat, you know. By my side for a hundred and seventy-one years, Love was,” she sighed, “I haven’t got a chance to finish the label.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Eowyn spoke immediately, fascinated by the herbalist's unrepressed emotions.

“Yeah well,” the herbalist tried to shrug it off, shyly wiping at her eyes. “Here ya go, my girl. You tell Clotho to take it easy on the sleeping dwale. Too much of that and you can grow dependent on it— and what’s worse is it loses its potency the more tolerance you build.”

“I’ll let her know,” Eowyn replied smoothly, not giving anything away, she was sure. Not even to the spymaster. “And thank you.”

“Now, what can I get for you?” She turned to the shadowsinger, but his gaze remained on Eowyn.

“I- do you need help carrying that back?” He interrupted himself to ask, but blinked at her when she made it disappear into the pocket realm without much effort.

“I’m good, thank you,” she smiled politely, deciding rather determinedly that she wouldn’t focus on the way he’d acted so out of character by teasing her of all things before being kind.

Not that he was typically rude or anything of the sort. He was just mostly…. there. Brooding. Face as emotionless and still as it was beautiful.

And did he say he smelled her when he came in? What the hell was that about?

“Have a good day!” She called out over her shoulder, cutting him off before he could insist as she sped out of the door and into the busy streets.

She made her way through the city, collecting pre-ordered packages from various stores and putting them in the pocket realm with the rest of her haul. By the time she made it to the Street of Iron, she was tired and hungry and more than a little dizzy from the amount of people huddling around her. She was used to being around no more than fifteen people at once, so to be going in and out of crowds for hours on end was starting to take a toll on her.

As was customary in the city, a bell signaled her entrance to the blacksmiths. The wave of heat suddenly wafted over her form, causing her to tighten her grip on her belongings, more than ready to step back outside. But she had an errand to run, a favor to do for her friend and she wouldn’t let Gwyn down just because it was hot inside the shop. 

After a quick inspection around herself to make sure there weren’t any lingering shadows following her about, she approached the counter, ringing the bell once to signal her entry.

“What can I do for you, lass?” a tall burly male asked from behind the counter, unshaven and with ash smeared across his face.

He looked familiar, in the way people originating from the same region look familiar, making Eowyn wonder how many families originating from the Winter Court resided in Velaris. And from other courts too, that is. 

“I have it under good authority this is where the Night Court's shadowsinger purchases his weapons,” she began to explain, “I’m looking to buy something for him, a blade. Something simple but something to his liking.”

The swordsmith gave her a curious, if not confused look. “The Shadowsinger hasn’t patronized this establishment in a few centuries, lass, but I reckon I still remember the Lord of Shadow’s taste.”

Lord of Shadows, huh? She almost snorted at the thought.

She considered his words to herself as he went off to search for what Gwyn had requested, if Azriel hadn’t bought any weapons from Eamon— if he was indeed the Eamon referred to on the store sign in the front— in centuries, how was this establishment his favorite?

She reminded herself that Gwyn had gotten that information straight from Mor, who was one of the most important people in Azriel’s life (and still continued to be—Gwyn had whispered conspiratorially one night as they talked in the lower levels of the library— even after being in love with the gorgeous blonde for well over five hundred years, before Elain was turned into fae. Eowyn had bristled in surprise at that, “isn’t Elain mated to one of the Autumn court sons?” she had asked, at that point so invested in the never ending drama that seemed to follow the members of the Inner Circle, that she didn’t care she had to finish writing her proposal to the High Lord for the funding of her greenhouse project she had planned, too entertained by their shenanigans. Gwyn had only nodded grimly).

So clearly, Gwyn knew what she was talking about.

When the blacksmith came back with a bronzed blade, showing it to her and exclaiming it was exactly the type of blade the Morrigan herself would pick out for the Shadowsinger, Eowyn took it. But not before her eye caught sight of something winking at her over the smith’s shoulder.

No, not winking or shining, exactly, considering it was so dark the blade itself seemed to absorb the darkness surrounding it. There was no light reflecting off of it whatsoever. Still… it called to her.

“May I see that one?” she asked, pointing at the blade.

“Oh I highly doubt the Master of Shadows would be interested in an obsidian dagger,” the smith shook his head but grabbed the blade anyway, turning it over in his hand to show her, “it’s a very fickle material, you see. The blade is made of obsidian stone, which is a type of volcanic rock that can break as easily as glass.”

“What's the point of making such a brittle weapon then?” she quietly echoed words she’d spoken long ago, musing mostly to herself.

“Ah, you see obsidian,” he began, his eyes suddenly lighting in nostalgic remembrance, “it provides for one of the sharpest edges that we know of.”

“So when it breaks, it leaves another jagged blade in its place,” she recited knowingly, not quite catching the way he nodded approvingly at her before he tilted his head, suddenly looking upon her differently.

Before he could ask her anything however, she proclaimed she wanted to purchase both blades and did so, making sure to have the blade intended for Azriel tucked within reach in the pocket realm, while fixing the obsidian blade in its sheath under her robes around her waist.

By the time she left the blacksmith’s shop, the position of the sun told her it was mid afternoon, as the sun only just began to inch towards the horizon. Feeling immensely proud of herself for successfully finishing her errands without needing to stop even once in alley to catch her breath or stumble into a restaurant, face-paled, and seemingly seconds away from either passing out or dying on the spot, she even felt further encouraged to continue on her adventure and perhaps indulge in a sweet treat for herself.

And so she did. With some kind of delicious seasonal concoction in her grasp, she picked out the most out-of-sight shaded table to sip at her spiced tea with steamed milk and simply… observed. She sat for the better half of an hour simply watching the fae live their lives, either rushing to work or strolling home. Some were shopping, others walked in groups, all beautiful and dressed to the tens, smelling strongly of wine and whiskey, and she found herself thoroughly enjoying herself. Remembering times when she was one of them.

When the sun inched even closer to the horizon, she finally stood, deciding to take the long walk back to the library, through the artist’s quarter, an avenue that she knew was a staple in the lives of the residents of Velaris.

One particular studio, not as boisterous or welcoming as others, caught her attention, or rather, a painting only barely visible from the window beckoned her inside. Needing to see the painting from up close, she didn’t hesitate to walk in, not noticing until a few minutes of her standing in front of the enchanting painting of a forest, too lost in the familiarity depicted, to notice the door had failed to signal her entrance, not having a bell above the door to do so, until she heard a strange sound come from somewhere in the back, a mix of a gasp and a yelp.

She turned to the sound immediately to find a rather pretty high fae, dressed in paint-splattered overalls, staring at her in what looked like confusion and a smidge of trepidation.

“Who are you?” The female questioned immediately and Eowyn could do nothing but blink back at her tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you closing soon?” A quick look around told her the space she thought was maybe some kind of small exhibit actually contained no true coherency, no descriptions under the paintings, and certainly no invitation whatsoever from the windows that looked out into the streets of Velaris. Realization dawning on her, Eowyn couldn’t help the embarrassed grimace, “oh… this is- this is a private studio isn’t it?”

“Ah, yes?” The female confirmed, but it sounded more like a question.

“I’m so sorry,” Eowyn apologized again, shifting in place as her eyes shot to the door, seconds away from running out until the female spoke again.

“No, no need to apologize, I was expecting my mate to come in so I didn’t lock the door. Foolish of me, honestly,” she chastised herself. Then her eyes caught Eowyn’s and something about the gray-blue shade of them made something in her brain perk up at attention. “I- was it this piece that caught your attention?” She turned to the painting that had called Eowyn in like a siren’s song, “I’ll admit I don’t think I’ve looked at this piece again since I finished it,” she tilted her head to the side, considering, “have you been?”

But Eowyn only shook her head, unsure of how to respond. “It just.. felt familiar, I think.”

The female hummed but didn’t reply, eyes seeming to scan her. “Are you… a priestess?”

And something about the way she spoke, the strength in her voice despite the sliver of uncertainty, caused understanding to click into place. And if that wasn’t proof enough then the following cry emitted from a small bundle cradled within a tiny bassinet in the furthest wall from the entrance, semi-hidden behind a canvas, would’ve given her away.

“My Lady,” Eowyn gasped, immediately dropping into a quick curtsy, even as the High Lady walked over to her whining babe, “I apologize, I didn’t know this was your private studio. I truly had no intention of bothering you-“

“You’re not, don’t worry about it,” the High Lady waved her off, eyes focused on the fussing baby she now cradled into her arms, shushing the babe gently as she bounced and rocked him. “Well? Are you?”

Sorry? Of course I am, Eowyn almost said, still spiraling at the fact that she’d just casually stumbled into what was essentially her court’s matriarch’s chambers, even if it was no different than any other store in a rather public area of the city. Then she remembered what her High Lady had asked. “Oh, a priestess?” She confirmed, “yes, well… something like that. I uh, I work for Clotho in the Library, if that’s what you mean. I’m-“ she hesitated, unsure, “I’m friends with Nesta. Kind of.”

But the High Lady took no offense, instead she surprised Eowyn when she snorted, “‘kind of’ sounds about right, although from what I’ve heard, my sister has been doing a good job of making friends lately,” she smiled at her warmly, “I’m glad of it.”

Eowyn could only smile back, if a bit awkwardly once she realized the High Lady couldn’t see anything but her eyes.

“I-“ she cleared her throat, eyes snapping to the gurgling babe in her arms, “I’d like to offer my congratulations for a successful birth, if that’s not too intrusive of me to say. I… well, we heard about the difficulties you were facing when the High Lord asked us to help him research all those months ago, and- well, I’m just glad everything worked out in the end.”

“Me too,” Feyre smiled at her, turning her attention to look at her son adoringly.

“May I ask their name?”

“We named him Nyx,” her smile widened, seemingly pleased at her question and the opportunity to gush about her baby.

At Eowyn’s hesitation, Feyre looked back up at her, eyes encouraging. Shyly but encouraged by her warm eyes, she asked, “may I see him?” Her voice was soft and low, “I’ve never seen a babe before.”

“You haven’t?” The High Lady’s eyes widened in surprise.

She gently pulled back at the thin material to reveal a minuscule wrinkled little face, tiny fingers gripping at the air at nothing. Although the child had little to no hair, the few tuff of soft looking feathered hair were as dark as night, his eyes still glazed with the initial protective membrane of a newborn depicting no true color until the child’s third year of age, according to some of the books the female fae had read about fae infants.

Although the High Lady presented her son proudly, Eowyn took notice of the way she didn’t offer the babe to her nor allowed for Eowyn to get too close, in a way that was not only expected of her but entirely necessary for her to do as one of the rulers of the court and a new fae mother.

Eowyn didn’t mind, however, as she remained in place with her hands clasped behind her back, only watching the baby’s toothless babbling fondly.

“I haven’t,” she replied, “I was the youngest of quite a large family, and none of my brothers had any children before I left for university,” she found herself explaining, unsure of why she wanted the High Lady to trust that she would never do anything to bring harm to her or her child. The cynical part of her mind considered that it could never hurt anyone to be in the High Lady’s good side, but despite herself, logic was not driving her, it was an unexplainable sense of familiarity with the High Lady that did. As if she knew her, as if she owed it to her to be accommodating and gentle.

And truly, she deserved no less. She had saved Prythian from Amarantha, after all.

“Was that long ago?” Feyre asked gently, if slightly stilted and Eowyn grinned behind her veil, amused at the lingering humanity of her High Lady.

“I’m two-hundred and seventy-six years old,” she answered her unspoken question, “which means I’ve spent more than half of my life either with my nose in a book or talking about whatever I found in those books, which left little room to visit any place where children could be. I wasn’t exactly looking for them, either,” she admitted, not noticing when she’d lifted one of her hands, only her smallest finger held out near the babe, where he gripped her with surprising strength in his little fist.

“Perhaps Heracles would have been a more fitting name,” she suggested mildly, causing Feyre to chuckle, eyes alight with humor.

“You know of the human stories?” 

Eowyn nodded and hummed in response, “I’ve always found human legends and mythologies fascinating,” she confessed, “it took up much more of my research than was necessary—“

Suddenly a whooshing sound caught Eowyn’s attention, causing her head to snap to the door. Without thinking about it, she angled herself to stand in front of her High Lady and the babe, eyes set firmly on the door when it flew open, revealing Cassian.

Eowyn exhaled in relief just as Feyre chuckled behind her, “everything okay, Cass?”

His eyes flicked between the two females, releasing his own relieved breath, “yeah yeah, just looking for Eowyn.”

“Me?” She asked, startled.

“Clotho told Rhys she was expecting you a couple hours ago. We’ve been looking for you for about an hour now, missy,” he chided playfully, eyes back to their natural mirth now that he knew he didn’t have to search further for her. 

Embarrassed, she apologized to him profusely but he merely waved her away. “Really, it’s no problem. I'm just glad we found you,” but then his eyes glazed over slightly as if lost in thought.

Eowyn’s eyebrows scrunched, glancing at Feyre in concern only to have the High Lady chuckle at her reaction. “He’s letting Rhys know you’re fine.”

Ah, right. Daemati beings, their monarchs were.

Eowyn found herself slightly disappointed to leave mid-conversation, but she graciously thanked her High Lady for her time and apologized once again for invading her space. Feyre was quick to assure her, admitting she was curious to keep talking to her and even asked if she’d be willing to receive her at the library if she wasn’t comfortable joining her in the River House.

After agreeing to stay in touch, Feyre walked them out before locking the door behind them, not after assuring Cassian a half-dozen times that Rhys was already on his way to take both her and Nyx back home.

Eowyn and Cassian walked in comfortable silence in the direction of the library when she shivered slightly from the cold, mentally cursing herself for deciding to take the long way back earlier in the day. 

“You know, I could just… fly us back to the house,” he suggested mildly, not looking at her, “if you’re comfortable, of course.”

“I-“ she hesitated, mentally weighing her options.

“Or we can walk, I’ve no problem with that. It’s about two and a half miles back to the house, which is about a five minute flight but if you want to walk I’m sure you’ll warm up with the exercise.”

“Oh it’s not you,” she assured quickly, “I’ve just never… not been grounded before,” she explained awkwardly.

He only chuckled under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief, “you afraid of heights, Wynnie?”

The nickname and the challenge in his tone sparked something she had believed to be dead and buried deep within her, not realizing how present the sentiment was until that moment. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt since her formative years, a sibling-like teasing that was both mocking and cruel as it was gentle and sweet. She hadn’t been called that since… well.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” the sharp words were out of her mouth before she could think, as was any kind of sense and sign of maturity, “and don’t call me that.”

He chortled, seemingly taken aback by the quickness at which she replied, but his grin only grew and she knew she’d made a mistake to show her distaste for the nickname.

“Is that a yes to flying then?” When she nodded, he only smirked at her. “Good, my wings were getting cold. Now, here, I’m gonna hook one arm under your knees and the other around your upper back, maybe under your armpit if I need to adjust your weight, is that alright with you, Wynnie?”

When she agreed, with an exaggerated eye roll, if only to hide her nerves, not having been near a male in so long that even if she felt no attraction to the objectively beautiful male, she still felt herself stiffen at his proximity. He placed his hands exactly where he said he would, not seeming to falter the slightest under her weight before taking off into the skies. She held her breath, feeling the panic surge the higher they went, but once they were elevated high above the city streets, she found herself breathless for an entirely different reason.

“Oh wow,” she sighed under her breath, eyes glued to the city under her.

“Haven’t seen Velaris at night like this?” He sounded surprised, “how long have you been here, now?”

“About half a century,” she replied absentmindedly, taking in the array of city lights and life of the city of Night. “But you know we don’t leave the library… especially at night.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, “hm, and why were you out and about today then?” He asked, although not judgmental or intrusive, his tone carrying the same distantly familiar teasing lilt.

But the shift in the air, the sound of whooshing wings caught her attention, causing her to tear her eyes from the city lights and over Cassian’s shoulder to see Azriel quickly approaching them.

His eyes locked on hers, face as serious and emotionless as always, as he only offered her a nod in acknowledgment.

“I was running errands,” her voice trailed off, suddenly feeling too exposed.

They flew the rest of the way in comfortable silence, other than Cassian pointing out different sections: the Street of Iron, the Sidra to which Eowyn rolled her eyes and mumbled no, really? under her breath which encouraged him to pretend to drop her, laughing all the while. She remained silent for the rest of the ride, pale and clutching onto his shoulders with her nails, deciding on making a formal complaint to his mate for her to deal with as she saw fit, and she told him so when her feet landed softly on the landing pad in the House of Wind. 

She would’ve preferred being taken directly to the library entrance, but she kept that to herself, aware that it would cause an unnecessary trip around the other side of the mountain and she could just as easily take the stairs down. The fact that the general and the shadowsinger had taken the time to look for her was obtrusive of her enough.

And so she thanked the still laughing general, both for looking for her and for flying her home, to which he grinned graciously back at her, telling her he expected her at her best the following morning for training and bidding her goodnight over his shoulder as he made his way inside. 

She turned to look out at the city once more but was surprised to find Azriel unmoved from the spot where he had landed, half expecting him to blend into his shadows and disappear as he was prone to do.

“Oh,” she flinched slightly and watched as his gaze dropped from its place on hers and he moved his hands behind his back, “sorry. You startled me. I uh- goodnight?” she said slowly, unsure of how to act.

“You’re carrying an obsidian dagger,” he stated more than asked, “why?”

“Did you follow me?” She answered with a question of her own.

“If I had, I wouldn’t have looked for you for twenty minutes,” he replied plainly. Twenty. Not the hour Cassian had said he’d looked for her. She noticed his tone no longer held that hint of playfulness that it carried when they ran into each other in the city. She wondered if she’d offended him, somehow.

She figured he had a point and reached inside her robe to take out the blade, eyes locked on his as she flipped it in her hand to hand it to him, helm first. He took it, hand almost entirely enveloping her own as he did, but he didn’t linger on the touch, immediately pulling away with his eyes locked on the dagger. “It’s brittle.”

“It’s beautiful,” she corrected, “and sharp enough to inflict substantial damage.”

“This would be useless in battle,” he frowned at her, and while she noticed that his tone didn’t contain that typical patronizing male sense of omniscience, he was after all, only a male and did not see the bigger picture, “it would kill some soldiers, sure, but mostly cause superficial wounds, especially once it begins to chip and-“

“Become jagged and thus cut more wickedly as it remains sharp. You know, when properly forged, an obsidian edge can be so sharp it can skin the outer layer of an eye without so much as touching the layer underneath,” she sighed, thoughtfully, “and there is of course, the cultural aspects of it-“

“Which would belong to Illyrian traditions as this material only forms under the volcanoes deep within the mountains,” he finished for her without missing a beat, his own eyebrows scrunching together in thought, “what do you know about that?”

“More than you think,” she frowned back, not liking the way he made her feel perceived beyond what she was comfortable with. She took the dagger back, careful not to touch his warm skin although she was half frozen above the mountain, “I know they can be used for religious practices, the crystallized volcanic glass was believed to be the Mother’s spilt blood from the life she created, which hardened into an igneous rock devoid of all color,” she inspected the blade, looking up at him to see his eyes set on her rather than the dagger.

She inhaled sharply, “and anyway, I just liked it and don’t have to explain to you why I bought it,” she defended, sheathing the dagger before crossing her arms over her chest in what she hoped looked more like an indignant action of defense rather than the fact that she was beginning to shiver with cold.

“Right,” he muttered shortly, eyes glancing over her shoulder to the stairs leading into the library. She followed his gaze. “It’s getting late. You should head back inside. Goodnight, Eowyn.”

She nodded, opening her mouth to agree with him but when she turned back to him, he was gone.

part three

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 89, Part 1

Potterypool went missing for a few days. Her body is eventually found in the territory.

[Image ID: Moontide runs toward something offscreen, with Shrewflame, Thundergale, and Yarrowclaw behind her. Shrewflame yowls, "Moontide, don't touch her!" Under Thundergale it reads LEVEL UP! GOOD HUNTER → GREAT HUNTER. Under Yarrowclaw, it reads LEVEL UP! TALENTED FIRE-STARTER → FIRE MASTER.]

Shrewflame was a sprinter, but when he couldn't smell the ocean, the forest provided him security over the open southern reaches, despite the many obstacles in his way. In some ways, the obstacles were better. They were a challenge, allowing Shrewflame to launch himself from rock to rock, tree to tree, flying through the land with the speed of a peregrine falcon. Limp leaves flew out behind him, spooking the occasional squirrel. Shrewflame laughed as a cold wind stunned his cheeks.

Yarrowclaw, Thundergale, and Moontide sat around a particularly scratched-up grouping of pines. The caretakers loved to climb the low-hanging branches, as it was easy to collect bark and wood for the clerics and artisans. It was also a go-to spot to rake your claws down the trunks, leaving permanent gouges in the bark. Thundergale scratched at the tree while Moontide and Yarrowclaw chatted, nested in the fallen needles. Shrewflame burst into the scene, skidding through the leaves with another hearty laugh.

"Sorry if I'm late!" Shrewflame chirped. "I was helping Whitekit settle on training for later this moon. He wants to be a historian."

"Good for him," Thundergale said a bit too loud. Her words were muffled as though talking with her mouth full. Shrewflame bit down the slight disappointment that bubbled with his mentor's words. The spoken word no longer sounded as clear to Thundergale, it seemed. How long would it be until Thundergale could never hear Shrewflame's laugh or the hum of bird song again? She would be alright, she would still be happy, she wouldn't even lose her stride in the growth of her new role (so many cats asked for lessons that Lettucestar asked for one of the teachers to stay in SlugClan for a time and share their new ways). Still, a loss like that could still be mourned. Shrewflame stopped himself from making a mouse-brained comment about Thundergale's voice and instead settled beside Moontide.

"We were just chatting with Yarrowclaw," Moontide explained. Shrewflame's enthusiasm sombered even more with Moontide's monotone. It was clear what was on her mind. Potterypool had left camp a couple days prior, but had not returned that night. Should Shrewflame comfort Moontide? Despite her switch to the teacher position, Shrewflame didn't know her well. He may have learned the basics of mediation from Spikecrash and Paleseed, but he was far from sweet-tongued.

"I'll tell you what I told these two," Yarrowclaw sighed, flicking her ears at the mollies. Shrewflame quickly took up translating for Thundergale on instinct. "If all we talk about is day-night cycling, I'm going back to camp."

"That's only part of what we could learn from you," Thundergale signed, with Shrewflame translating back for Yarrowclaw. Thundergale hopped away from the tree and stood beside Moontide. "Yes, as one of the few cats in recent Clan history with this condition, we want to learn about it so if others have questions, they don't have to interrogate you. But you're a great fighter, and I've never seen anyone sneak up on you. Every member of the Clan has a lot they can teach future generations. If we're going to learn from any of our Clanmates first, you're the one I want to hear from."

"So you want me to talk about myself?" Yarrowclaw asked. Thundergale nodded eagerly. Yarrowclaw sighed and sat up, stretching her flank high. "If that's how I'm spending my afternoon, we aren't going to just sit here. I want to check on the river near the SlugClan border. Come with me and I'll answer your questions."

"But—" Shrewflame huffed, not able to finish translating Yarrowclaw's answer. Yet Thundergale put her tail on Shrewflame's shoulder.

"You can tell me what I miss later," Thundergale said, shaking her head. Shrewflame tensed, but he nodded anyway. Yarrowclaw led the three teachers north, one ear turned back to them.

The sun shone behind a thick layer of light gray clouds, a reflection of Shrewflame's suddenly smothered mood. He pretended otherwise, however, constantly running ahead of Yarrowclaw before "remembering" what he was supposed to do and jogging back. Even the mice seemed to force their mood, skittering in the distant leaves rather than hide from the four fierce hunters. With Thundergale unable to keep up with the conversation and Moontide as quiet as the moon itself, it felt like Shrewflame was talking to himself. He bounced against Thundergale's initial interests and groomed his questions toward Yarrowclaw's supposed specialities.

Usually, Shrewflame would love to hear how Yarrowclaw learned to hunt without a sense of depth, how she honed her senses, how the mediators taught her to harness her day cycles in a healthy way. Yet it didn't feel right. Thundergale couldn't participate, Moontide wasn't engaged, and Shrewflame found himself missing his little brother. Whitekit was hilarious! It helped that he looked at Shrewflame like the sun, but maybe Whitekit could have made Yarrowclaw laugh or loosened her mouth with his unique, cautious charm. At this point, Shrewflame should have just joined a border patrol.

"I'll tell you what I told Wolverineheart as a kit," Yarrowclaw sighed as the Great Northern River came into view. "I have my nose. I have my ears. I can feel the wind on my whiskers and pawsteps through the ground. I can get by with one bad eye."

"Good to know," Shrewflame said, glancing between Moontide and Thundergale. "Well, um, we're at the river! Do we want to rest by the water for a bit?"

"Dog," Thundergale suddenly gulped, gaze locked on the other side of the river. Moontide, Yarrowclaw, and Shrewflame stiffened. They gazed over the gray river, whose white foam caught what light leaked through the clouds. The tanning grass rippled in the wind, which carried the dangerous scent to the patrol. Heavy paws scrambled through the fading undergrowth. The dog's golden brown pelt melted against the dying leaves as it burst into view. One of its floppy ears was stuck inside-out and its tongue dangled out of its loose lips. The brown-eyed beast turned back toward the trees, wagging its tail wildly. Shrewflame couldn't see its human yet, but he heard them cracking leaves underfoot.

Shrewflame had never seen a dog so close before, but the sight still made his back arch. He grew up with his mothers' stories; Wildclaw and her various confrontations with overeager pups, Rattlepelt and her near-death experience with the darkhound that took Mousesong, the aunt Shrewflame never knew. All of Shrewflame's lessons and the scars sported by his Clanmates taught him never to underestimate a dog, especially one that hunted alongside a human.

"The dog seems well-taught," Moontide noted softly, signing quickly. "I don't think it will cross the river unless its human does, and Venturedapple says humans hate wading through water."

"I'll keep my eye on it," Yarrowclaw promised, dead eye facing the three teachers as Yarrowclaw glared across the border.

The dog sniffed at the grass lining the river, uninterested in the cats beyond. Its nose led it between a pine and a fir, where recently disturbed dirt protruded in a mound. The dog lunged at the mound like a kit pouncing on a leaf. Its thick paws dug rapidly. Dirt flew into the river and floated toward the sea. The smell of decay brushed Shrewflame's nose. The human emerged from the trees with a swift bark. The dog bounced back, thoughtless eyes gazing joyfully up at its master. Though the human's misshapen paw rubbed the dog's head, their attention lingered on the mound. Whatever the human saw, Shrewflame couldn't make it out from his position.

"That smell," Moontide gulped, eyes as big as her namesake. Shrewflame didn't know what she meant as the human crouched by the mound. They brushed aside loose dirt and continued some of their dog's work. They purred low, a purr of pain rather than contentment. Their leather-lined paws reached into the mound and slowly lifted up what laid beneath.

A dark red cat laid in the human's grasp. Blank gray eyes stared at RippleClan territory. Blood smeared her marbled pelt.

So that's where Potterypool had gone.

"Drop her!" Moontide suddenly shrieked, charging to the riverbank. "Drop her right now! Don't take her!" The golden dog barked at Moontide's yowls. Even the human turned their head, noticing the Clan cats for the first time. Shrewflame, Yarrowclaw, and Thundergale all stood beside Moontide, the river licking their paws as they hissed at the human. The human glanced down at the body in their grasp, cradled close to their chest. Their attention drifted between Potterypool and the living cats. Their paw absent-mindedly stroked Potterypool's still pelt.

"There are good humans, right?" Shrewflame yowled like there was some chance of the human understanding him. "Maybe you're one of them! Just put her body down! She's our friend!" The human held Potterypool tighter. Their eyes shimmered. The human slowly sat beside the unearthed mound. The dog came close, sniffing Potterypool's body, but the human hissed at it, shielding the dead cat. The human carefully laid Potterypool beside the disturbed earth. They arranged her legs gently underneath her. They made it look as though Potterypool was curled up, deep in a peaceful dream. The human stroked Potterypool's head, whining. Blood covered their paws. They even rested their muzzle against Potterypool's forehead, as though participating in vigil. Could humans truly care about cats so deeply, even cats they never met?

The human stood and made a sharp bird-like song to their dog. The dog walked alongside the human, eyeing Potterypool and the living cats. Yet it stayed tame as the human led it back through the trees. As soon as the pair slipped through the undergrowth, Moontide dove into the river.

"Moontide, don't touch her!" Shrewflame yowled. Moontide swam with the river pushing against her side. She crawled onto the opposite bank as Shrewflame raced for the stepping stones. The cold water numbed his paws. He slipped onto the grass beyond the border. Moontide reached her paw to Potterypool's curled body just as Shrewflame snatched the white molly's scruff and tugged her back.

"Shrewflame, get off of me!" Moontide cried, paws smacking at Shrewflame.

"Look at her, Moontide!" Shrewflame hissed, letting go and shoving the frantic molly back. "She's covered in blood. She was buried beyond the border. A dog or fox wouldn't have done that. Think!" Yarrowclaw and Thundergale joined the pair on their side of the river. "We need codekeepers. That's the right way to do this. They should get a look at her body before anyone else disturbs her."

"She's been here all this time," Moontide whined, shaking. "I patrolled by here yesterday. I didn't see her!"

"Thundergale and I will go back to camp," Yarrowclaw promised. "We'll find some codekeepers." The air hung stiff around them, aching for some sort of comforting phrase before the two mollies left, but Yarrowclaw and Thundergale were silent. They slowly crept away from Potterypool's body and back to the river. Moontide moaned as Yarrowclaw and Thundergale hurried back to RippleClan territory.

Moontide sunk low, one paw stretching out toward her sister. Her instincts fought against her common sense, desperate to touch Potterypool's matted, dirty fur, shake life back into her lungs. But Shrewflame kept a paw on Moontide's leg, refusing to look away from Potterypool's body. When he looked past the slight decay, past the scent of death and dirt and the river's mist, Shrewflame could make out distinct trails of blood staining Potterypool's already dark red fur. Shrewflame didn't need a codekeeper's training to see this was the work of a cat. But who?

(Shrewflame: 13, male, teacher, loyal, fast as the wind)

(Thundergale: 21, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Moontide: 24, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Yarrowclaw: 24, female, warrior, cold, fire master)

(Potterypool: 24, female, caretaker, sneaky, great singer)

Stormjump and Honeybuzz proudly announce their commitment to one another as mates before the Clan. Meanwhile, Waspdawn battles an infection in his tail stump.

[Image ID: Stormjump and Honeybuzz preen together while Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner sit with Waspdawn in the back. Under Waspdawn, it reads + INFECTION. Under Stormjump, it reads + MATE: HONEYBUZZ. Under Honeybuzz, it reads + MATE: STORMJUMP.]

---

"It was an intentional burial," Waspdawn muttered as Troutpool rubbed an infection-fighting balm into the amputated stump of his half-tail. "Someone didn't want her body to be found. Why?"

"Waspdawn, maybe you should just rest," Cobaltchaser suggested, grooming her older brother's head. "Overthinking this isn't going to help your fever."

"But he's right, Cobaltchaser," Lightningrunner huffed. "This is bad. It's like the story with Scrubmask. This could be another war with the Witch Hunters!"

"Take it from someone who was actually there for Scrubmask's death," Troutpool sighed, finishing the last of Waspdawn's balm. "Whoever left her body there didn't care who found it. Potterypool's situation is different."

The four cats sat together in the medicine den, noses plugged with the smell of infection and herbs. Waspdawn sat with his tail stretched out of his nest. His furless tail-tip blistered red, some unknown infection creeping into the scars of his amputation. Cobaltchaser and Lightningrunner kept him company as sunhigh glared down on the noisy camp clearing. Despite the overwhelming scent of the medicine den, the smell of dried fish still managed to soak through the den walls from the meal outside.

Most of the Clan surrounded Honeybuzz and Stormjump, congratulating the pair on their official declaration of matehood. Waspdawn's daughter beamed under all the attention. Stormjump purred and laughed as cats like Wildclaw and Rabbitjoy offered their advice and jokes. Honeybuzz's brothers shoved against him, laughing at the top of their lungs. Honeybuzz's eyes carried a softness that had been absent in recent days. From the look of the crowd, it would have been hard to believe that one of their own had been found murdered the day before. Yet the signs were there in what was absent; Halibutdusk could not been seen. They were likely hiding out with Downstar in her den. Moontide and Vervaincough were also distant, moving away from the crowd as soon as they congratulated their older brother.

"At least they sound happy out there." From the other side of the medicine den, Mosspounce laid with his legs at awkward angles, shifting constantly. Clean bandages wrapped around his head, smothering any light before it reached his tattered eyes. If the cougar's claws were as vicious as the stories from last moon claimed, it was impressive Mosspounce still had a face to show off.

"If you're lonely, Mosspounce," Troutpool sighed, "I can have someone guide you through camp."

"Lemmy will be back soon," Mosspounce said with a dismissive flick of his ear. "I can congratulate the happy couple later. I want to keep listening to your theories, Waspdawn. Lemmy's been tight-jawed about the investigation."

"She hasn't been involved," Waspdawn muttered. "We're keeping the investigation to myself, Puddlewhisper, and Cobaltchaser here."

"My brother trusts me," Cobaltchaser purred, squirming with prideful satisfaction.

"More like knows you couldn't have done it," Troutpool awkwardly pointed out, cleaning the balm from her paws. "You were stuck in the dirtplace the day Potterypool vanished." Mosspounce snickered as Cobaltchaser stiffened.

"So we're really considering that someone in our Clan killed Potterypool?" Lightningrunner gulped.

"There are other suspects," Waspdawn assured her. Troutpool shuffled through her herbs as Waspdawn explained. "A Witch Hunter could have killed Potterypool and hidden the body to maintain peace between them and us. Puddlewhisper and Paleseed are going to the human settlement tomorrow to interview Pearl."

"Cobaltchaser, can you fetch a clean bowl?" Troutpool sighed, plucking a jar from her stores. "Your brother needs something to drink his red osier decoction from. It should ease his fever." Cobaltchaser quickly jogged out of the den, set on her new mission.

"Can we even punish someone if they aren't in our Clan?" Lightningrunner asked. "Would Downstar go to war over the killer if their Clan or colony didn't give them up?"

"I know I would," Mosspounce huffed. "Take it from someone who had a paw in the Clan's first war with the Witch Hunters. When our cultures are so different, you can't avoid a fight if you hope to change things. They deserved a battle for kidnapping Carnationspeckle. What sort of justice is it when a killer goes free?" Lightningrunner hung on Mosspounce's words. Waspdawn's heart spasmed, an ache traveling through his blood. The dread of murder fueled his fever and forced his head down.

"You're staying in here for a while, Waspdawn," Troutpool sighed, grooming Waspdawn's neck. "No investigations for you."

"Downstar gave me responsibility…" Waspdawn muttered. He sat up, his head swimming.

"You can share that responsibility with Puddlewhisper," Troutpool said. "Please, lay down. You need to rest."

Regardless of what Waspdawn wanted, he didn't have the energy to do anything but tumble into his nest. The hope beaming from the clearing soothed his palpatations. Lightningrunner settled between Waspdawn and Mosspounce, still eager to continue her conversation with the latter. If she wanted time with her older brother, that would have to come later. As Waspdawn let Troutpool's balm do its work, his sleepy thoughts formed images of disturbed soil behind his eyes. Shifting visions of red fur slashed about, acting as a focal point through the fog of fever.

It was Waspdawn's duty to bring the truth to light.

(Waspdawn: 55, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)

(Cobaltchaser: 19, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

(Lightningrunner: 19, female, historian, nervous, explorer, helpful insight)

(Troutpool: 50, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight)

(Honeybuzz: 37, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Stormjump: 20, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Mosspounce: 50, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

[applebees4prez]

advice on drawing/writing cleradin from a literally certified dnd player

(in the club at college that i’m on the board of you have to get certified as a dm lol) (also fuck the edition they were using 5e is better).

i would recommend actually making a character sheet, however, i would be glad to provide this for free. i love making character sheets. according to erica in season 4, they're at least level 14, however this would be very hard to write if you've never played dnd so i would recommend level 5. it's still early enough not to be too complicated but still has some good perks.

paladin:

what is a paladin: a paladin is someone who fights their enemies using a martial weapon like a greatsword or warhammer and a shield but differ from the actual fighter class due to their touch of magic and the fact that they must be sworn to a sacred oath (often related to some sort of deity).

sacred oaths: there are many options for what oath a paladin can swear to, and it completely depends on your story which one you go with or if it's related to a deity. however, for mike, i would go with devotion, as he is incredibly devoted to his loved ones and fights for them. it also means you wouldn't have to go through all of the religion stuff.

magic: paladins are half-casters, meaning they don't get very many spell slots (spell slots represent how many times someone can cast spells of certain levels before taking a long rest of eight hours). however i would recommend going through the list of paladin spells and choosing which ones he has. if you go to the link below, there will be more information about this. again, i'd be happy to make a character sheet for you and might even link one in the reblogs.

cleric:

what is a cleric: a cleric is a magic user usually given their power by a deity, and if not a deity their devotion to something, kind of like a paladin. they are usually the healers of their groups and rather than fighting like the rest of them, spend most of combat ensuring that their party members stay up and healed.

divine domain: every cleric gets a divine domain at level one (shut up about the 2024 rules they're not real) and for will i don't really have any recommendations however life clerics are probably the most basic ones and maybe the easiest to play as. again, it really pertains to each story, but i would probably make him a twilight domain cleric but just because i'm biased and think they're sick (praise saint kristen applebees and such).

magic: all magic users have spell slots, as i mentioned earlier, however because they're full casters, clerics get a bunch more. like. a lot. their magic often relates to helping others and causing miracles (as ostentatia wallace once so graciously pointed out).

let me know if you want info on rangers or bards! i'd be happy to add to this if people are interested.

[utilitycaster]

Sorry for the incoming wall of text, but this is something I've been thinking about a lot in light of c3.

After seeing the post you reblogged about Trent, I was wondering: what are your thoughts on how CR in general seems to portray the intellectual pursuit of arcane magic (ie wizardry) as inevitably leading to corruption and potential world-ending consequences? The Age of Arcanum (in particular Aeor and Vespin Chloras, especially in light of how they were both understood/portrayed by Brennan) is the most blatant example, but in modern Exandria we've got Ludinus, Delilah, and everyone associated with the Cerberus Assembly generally being up to nasty shit, Vasselheim banning arcane magic only being portrayed as more of a justified overreaction rather than an injustice (given that it effectively bans sorcerers from the city), Essek being willing to re-ignite a war for the sake of knowledge, Vecna in general, and everything about the way the League of Miracles are written in Tal'Dorei Reborn.

Even wizards like Caleb and members of the Arcana Pansophical are portrayed as "one of the good ones" at best--Caleb I imagine at least partially because he's a PC and Liam was approaching from a slightly different angle than Matt, and the Arcana Pansophical are still portrayed as well-intentioned but elitist at best. You'd be hard-pressed to find a truly "good" high-level wizard in CR, while corrupt and elitist ones abound. The whole thing feels vaguely anti-intellectual to me (I don't think that was Matt's intention, but it is telling that the closest thing Exandria has to a "good" knowledge-based organization is a religious organization that doesn't seem to trust wizards in general).

I feel like you are reading things into the portrayal that I personally do not, and I also feel that the whole Wizards Vibe is directly discussed in Campaign 2, with this line from Yussa: "At a certain level of arcane practitioning, morality becomes a bit ambiguous..."

The thing about wizards is The Hubris Is Part Of It. Like if a wizard isn't kind of an arrogant prick, even if they're also a genuinely good person, they're not very fun, and also why wouldn't you be arrogant if you're a wizard? Other people have to get magic from pacts and deals and worship or sheer luck, and you worked for it and built it piece by piece yourself! I think some of it is that wizardry attracts a certain type of ruthlessly ambitious person. I also think that it's notable to consider wizardry vs. general scholarship; a lot of the scholars, notably the Cobalt Soul and Grim Verity, are portrayed very positively, and even smaller institutions that perform both arcane and general research like the Vellum Steeple and Starpoint Conservatory and Aydinlan Seminary and Marble Tomes Conservatory, are like, closed off and snobby at worst, which isn't even imo anti-intellectual so much as a valid critique of access to higher education.

I would also note that pretty much all Evil World-Destroying Wizards who had that intent come from two sources:

The Age of Arcanum's flying cities are generally portrayed as places that fed into wizard egos and led them to believe the world was theirs to conquer, but even then, the Raven Queen pre-ascension, Patia, Laerryn, Cassida, and even Vespin all in the end come off as deeply sympathetic people who, when the chips were down, tried to do what they believed was right but did not always have good judgement. None of them were evil nor malicious. There were plenty of selfish and horrible wizards (Vecna, the various wizards of Avalir and Aeor who prioritized their safety and power over those of the people of their cities), but we've seen a lot of really shitty fighters or warlocks out there too.

The Cerberus Assembly, a body cultivated specifically by Ludinus Da'leth from its inception, which means someone like Delilah, Trent, or Vess can thrive; I think the issue with Delilah was frankly the optics more than Ludinus having a problem with her (and even Vess had a bit of a too-late redemption, realizing that unleashing the Somnovem would do untold damage, and tried to stop it unsuccessfully; and I'm not sure Trent had any plans for the world, simply for hurting people). And even then, much of the assembly either fits the Yussa "morality is ambiguous"/hubristic and dickish but not evil, or is straight up neutral or good. Like, Oremid Hass is probably not a great guy but as far as I know he was just kind of a hardass with his students and a huge cat person.

Like, it feels you are really selling short the generally benevolent Arcana Pansophical wizards (Allura, Eskil, Drake); the many wizards of the Kryn Dynasty (of which we only specifically know Tuss Waccoh and Essek Thelyss); Yussa, who makes weird choices but does not harm people, and of course Caleb (and Lyra, while we're at it) to try to make an argument that doesn't make sense.

As for Vasselheim, I've always found that in-world the arcane magic rule was kind of...inconsistently applied. Like, it never really came up in Campaign 3, and they had no real issue with Allura, and Lyra and Zahra presumably are fine (and I'm not sure why, to be honest, you're mentioning sorcerers to me, the Sorcerers are the Rogues of the Casters Person, particularly since we straight up don't see sorcerers discriminated against in Vasselheim - Gilmore was totally fine and indeed appreciated in his assistance). It always felt like something that kind of got semi-abandoned in the lore and only came up to point out that Scanlan was being kind of a dick (which often he was)(affectionate).

So I guess what I'm saying is I feel you have standards for "good" that I think might be exceedingly high, or at least higher than I'd set them, as well as are conflating arcane prowess with the only form of intellectual pursuit. You are entitled to this reading, but it's really not one I remotely share.