#taking advantage of their cowardice instead

[perenlop]

pmd explorers of the spirit is like pmd2 no mercy run

[kusakabesimp]

@95lexx requested that I address fandom comments still circulating that Kusakabe is a coward. While this kind of talk has improved since Ch 254 and his fight with Sukuna, it still exists in some circles (sadly, even with some Kusa fans). So, I've compiled as many examples of his courage and compassion as possible throughout the series.

The concept of supposed cowardice can be closely tied to the act of protecting others, especially when the person in question is skilled at concealing their actual intentions and abilities. Instead of rushing into situations head-on, Kusakabe is highly resourceful, using his intelligence to protect others in subtle ways. By appearing cowardly, he turns situations to his advantage, protecting others without drawing unwanted attention to himself.

He Never Runs: Despite repeatedly saying he'll run away, Kusakabe never does. He's very good at convincing himself that he's afraid of dying, (L and M) but there is no doubt that he will risk his own life for those he loves, and those who respect him most know that. In Ch 254, Nanami explicitly states that he supports Kusakabe as a Grade 1 because he's reliable. (R)

When he isn't supporting others on the battlefield, Kusakabe takes charge on the sidelines, adjusting strategies and coordinating the next round of attacks. He's not just there to observe; he's there because he wants to be. If he didn't care, he wouldn't stay.

Protecting Civilians in Shibuya: In Ch 83, Kusakabe and Panda are walking just outside the curtain at Jr Shibuya Station, Shin Minami entrance, sometime between 8:14 PM and 9:22 PM. When Panda expresses concern about the safety of civilians, Kusakabe reveals that he's already checked in on them inside the curtain, despite Nitta's instructions to wait. (R)

He also mentions that there are special-grade curses in the basement of the Hikarie building, (L) which means Kusakabe didn't just go inside the curtain; he also went to Hikarie BF5. Before you assume he just abandoned everyone inside, he explicitly states he made sure there were no curses or curse users in the civilian area. He genuinely cares about their safety but downplays it and casually tells Panda to calm down.

Adding to proof: I believe Kusakabe checked into the curtain between 8:31 and 8:40 -- Gojo entered the curtain at 8:31, Hikarie BF1 at at 8:38, and dropped down to BF5 to fight Jogo and Hanami at 8:40. Kusakabe can sense the special-grades, so he can also sense Gojo. In his mind, Gojo has it handled. He didn't know Gojo was even sealed until almost an hour later. (Full timeline [here on reddit])

— KEEP GOING !! —

Even though Kusakabe swore he wouldn't go back to Hikarie, (R) he does. In Ch 114, Team Kusakabe searches the area between 9:40 PM and 11:01 PM. The search isn't a stalling tactic — the two of them cover about 25% more area in total than Ino's team. (You can see the comparison maps [here on Reddit].)

They eventually circle back to their starting point outside Shibuya Stream, directly across the street from the Hikarie building, and enter the station where they began, at the Shin Minami entrance.

Protecting his Kids: [Miwa:] You all know Kusakabe-Dad and Miwa are my favorite thing in this world; THEY ARE PRECIOUS, AND I LOVE THEM. Even in canon, it's obvious that Miwa is his favorite kid. When he talks about the other sorcerers, Miwa's name always comes first.

And he's very, VERY protective. In Ch 244, he may seem callous when he says there's no point in sending someone to the front lines who will only end up dying, like Miwa, referencing her binding vow.

But really, what he's saying is, "If any of you fuckers even think about sending my daughter into battle, I will fight you myself."

The manga shows just how close Miwa is to Maximum Uzumaki (left). Kusakabe was already on his way across the battlefield. And knowing she was the main target of the spell, he reached her first.

After the dust settles, we see that Miwa has been pushed the farthest back. Though he does save all three, he's clearly placing Miwa's safety above all else. (I will be doing a further analysis of this scene down the road when I discuss New Shadow Style)

[Panda]: In Ch 114, as they search around the upper levels of the Hikarie basement, Kusakabe worries that Panda might wander off on his own. With the special-grade curses still lurking on BF5, Kusakabe feels the weight of the responsibility for his student. But again, he hides his concern behind fear and pretends to be lost.

He knows absolutely nothing about the special-grades' power or CTs. Taking his student, a lower-grade sorcerer, into a fight blind — especially knowing that this group has just sealed the most powerful sorcerer he knows — would be a very dangerous decision.

In Chapter 114, he sets Panda free but tells him to keep it a secret. Maybe he's worried about appearing too soft to other sorcerers, but we know they consider his kindness as his most admirable quality.

He claims it's a way to repay Yaga for helping his sister and nephew, but his prior actions show a deep affection for Panda beyond mere obligation. (If you want more on his sister and nephew, you can read my post [here].)

There are plenty of other examples of his love and protection, but I didn't include every example since he has ten kids.

Protecting Higuruma: This is the most obvious example of Kusakabe's courage in word and action. In Ch 254, Kusakabe anticipates Sukuna's attack on Higuruma and rushes in head-on to support his right flank.

He quickly realizes there's no time to draw his katana (L), so he throws himself unarmed in front of Higuruma, (R) bearing the brunt of the damage. It is hard to see in the picture, but he's actually sliding in front of Hiromi to both push him back and shield him with his entire body, not just his arm. By prioritizing Higuruma's safety over his own, Kusaskabe again proves that his actions are fueled by selflessness, not by fear.

He's also very vocal about this protection. He constantly checks in on Higuruma, organizes support for him, and is ultimately willing to lay down his life to protect this man because YOUR HONOR THEY ARE IN LOVE.

Protecting Cursed Users: In Ch 114, two curse users confront Team Kusakabe, just as the Jogo vs Sukuna fight heads their way. Despite being moments away from potential death, Kusakabe alerts them to the impending collapse and urges them to run for safety.

These were the same cursed users who, just seconds before, were ready to kill him. Kusakabe's actions, even in moments of crisis, demonstrate a concern for preserving life and extending compassion (even to those who intend to harm him).

The Fight with Sukuna: Here, I'm going to focus solely on his courage. If you need a serious, in-depth fighting analysis, you can read my previous posts [here] on his adaptability in combat and [here] on his expert swordsmanship. There was a lot of back-and-forth in Ch 253 that Kusakabe would run away from this battle before it even started. But Kusakabe chose to be there. He made it clear before the fight that only those with RCT and those who wanted to die or didn't mind dying should be the only ones going to confront Sukuna. Some sorcerers didn't go, but Kusakabe did. And he stayed.

He'd already been fighting alongside Higuruma and then with the students as they moved onto the battlefield. Again, although he complains about what he has to do, he still goes to meet Sukuna willingly.

Courage isn't always in grand gestures; sometimes, it's small, subtle actions that show true bravery. Before and during the fight, he drops subtle clues about his willingness to risk everything without hesitation. The one I love: how he holds the katana (my KsHg friends know how much I love him with his katana *drool*

On the left: the last panel of 253. Take a look at his draw hand. (L) When drawing a katana, the sheath is positioned at an angle across the body, and the tsuba (handguard) is aligned with the center of the body. The sword is released from the sheath by pushing up on the tsuba with the non-draw hand and pulling it up and out with the draw hand. The index finger is relaxed until the sword reaches a point where it can be rotated for the cut. There's no hesitation. Even as Kusakabe thinks, "Is this really happening?" he's already decided to fight and is drawing his blade.

In the opening panel of 254, he immediately casts New Shadow Style, prepares to draw two-handed (R), and then continues to draw over and over again in order to deflect Sukuna's slashes. And again, with no hesitation, even after his katana breaks, Our King throws hands with the King of Curses. He knows he doesn't have a chance of beating him, but he's absolutely willing to lay down his life to try.

Kusakabe's deep love for those around him (despite his attempts to say otherwise) is a driving force behind his dedication to protect them. These subtle acts of devotion prove that love itself can be one of the greatest forms of bravery.

WE RESPECT KUSAKABE ATSUYA IN THIS HOUSE

[sssammich]

supercorp one-word prompt: "captive"

hi sorry i'm choosing violence today

@lovesastateofmind1 gave this a quick read and angst stamp of approval so thanks, friend!

send me prompts

---

kara knew a thing or two about loss. she knew it intimately. slept beside it like a distant lover, a thin pillow between them.

so she knew that when she watched from her place beside lena as her best friend got married to jack, it almost felt like being embraced by loss all over again. she tucked her head down, covered her face daintily as if her happiness for the now wedded couple was so overwhelming she had to swallow it back in.

the applause rang true and loud and alive around her. she passed off the bouquet of plumerias back to lena, dutiful maid of honor as she was, and she watched as the love of her life walked down the aisle with the love of her life.

at the reception, she stood in front of dozens of people awaiting the prose they expected from a pulitzer-winning journalist. held captive by their eyes, their expectations. she smiled and let the crinkles by her eyes appear--that's how they knew she was smiling with her eyes, right? she would use it to her advantage if only to get through the next few minutes.

"love is…an enduring thing. a hopeful thing. it is the act of getting up in the morning, of walking to the window and pulling back the curtains to let light in." she was not looking at any one person even as she pretended to scan the room. if only so she didn't have to look at lena anymore.

oh, but she loved loss as much as loss loved her. and so she finished her sweep to cast her gaze at the loveliest shade of green eyes staring at her in wonder.

she gripped the mic just a smidgen tighter and cleared her throat, the rest of her speech out of her mind and floating like dust motes under the spotlight.

"i know that speeches like these tend to be chock full of stories and inside jokes about the bride and groom. and maybe a couple more of these--" she held up her near empty champagne flute, "--you'll get lucky, but i am truly speechless. all i know is that lena deserves all the love in the world. she can be stubborn and proud and will push you to your limits, but that's because her heart is so full of love to give. so all i want to say is this: jack, please, take care of her and love her with all of your heart. show her everyday that she is beautiful, mind and body. show her that you'll be present and loyal and stay by her side, regardless of who steps in and out of your lives. because if there's one thing i know about lena, it's that she is and will always be worth the effort."

she heard sniffles around the rooms, yet she couldn't pay attention to them. not when lena's smiling face slowly transformed to slight confusion, her brows furrowing just slightly. she raised her glass and offered her widest smile yet.

"i wish you two the best."

the cheers and applause thundered around them, others clinking their glasses as guests chanted for the lovely couple to kiss. kara shut her eyes and threw back the last dregs of her champagne. she hurried to the MC and dropped the microphone, before rushing away, citing a need for a refill and walked towards the bar. yet instead of stopping at the bar, she didn't stop.

a sob escaped out of her lungs and she barely stifled it, unable to hold it in. she wiped an errant tear away from her face as she walked past the bar and out of the grand hall altogether.

it turned out that cowardice, like loss, loved her company. and she embraced it with tight fists by her side.

[snake-author]

Sentinel

The

Grieving

Cowardly

Prime

[SHATTERED GLASS]

Centuries weren't enough to bury the fear, the horror and creeping dread the Quintessons had placed in him. The deaths of the 13 Primes replaying everytime his cog shifted, making his spark lurch.

"His" cog.

It was a mistake. He had lead them to their deaths. It was his fault. Everything was his fault... If he hadn't faltered, hadn't fled. They would've been standing tall to lead the new generation with much more capable servos than he could ever manage.

He could remember the cold energon sinking in the pit of his spark when a Quintesson soldier lunged at him, his transformation cog getting crushed in the enemy's ruthless claws. If Megatronus hadn't save him.. Hadn't given up his cog for him to make his escape... No. He wouldn't be here.

He knew that The Primes must've saw ahead, knowing their downfall would come soon. And granted him the escape he didn't deserve. Perhaps it was a curse instead, the cog in his chassis burned and he would be haunted by flashes of the battle long gone... Primus taunted him, as he failed to retrieve the Matrix, shunned by the artifact for his cowardice...

He knows that it's too late to go back. The Primes were dead, their corpses left in the dust of his failure to fight with them till the end... He was ashamed to admit it.. Sentinel was terrified. Returning to that dreaded place, not knowing if the Quintessons would launch another ambush, taking advantage of his weakness to pillage and plunder the remains of his former comrades...

No. He wouldn't risk it. And he wouldn't let anyone else to the surface either.

It was far too dangerous..

He won't allow it.

They needed him. Cybertron needed him.

[halogenwarrior]

I was really fascinated by how Mo Yan’s Life and Death are Wearing Me Out takes the Buddhist concept of stubborn attachment to things keeping one in a cycle of suffering, by actually using a plot device of Buddhist afterlives and reincarnation, and does something of a (in TvTropes style-terms) deconstruction and then reconstruction of the concept, first showing how stubbornness can be virtue and even a heroic or redeeming quality in a world where it is easier to accept cruel changes for one’s own greed and benefit, and adaptability can be cowardice, but showing in the end how it cannot be the ultimate solution and the Buddhist view has wisdom after all.

The beginning of this book plays on the typical trope of a wealthy, grouchy, unlikeable type of person reincarnating into an animal (in this case, multiple animals in a row) as a punishment and being forced to learn humility. Except while Ximen Nao is certainly proud, judgmental and spiteful of his enemies and fits into the archetype in a lot of ways, his reasoning for continuing to declare his innocence even under torture by lord Yama is far more sympathetic than is typical for that archetype.. It is a protest of the inexplicable, monstrous injustices of earth being seemingly repeated in the afterlife, by beings of supposed justice. However likable or not he seems as a person, his point that he did his best to not take advantage of his prosperity to harm others and even went out of his way to help the less fortunate, yet is still executed on trumped-up charges and thrown in the box of other more tyrannical people in his position for being a landlord, is a strong one. Yama can claim to be detached from the earth’s justice, but the very act of trying to teach people to eradicate stubbornness and accept change without attachment would seem to encourage those unfortunate enough to be victims of the earth’s justice systems to accept being trod upon and groundlessly declared guilty; in effect, such a system appears to just be a patsy for whatever the earthly systems of the time are.

So throughout his first two animal lifetimes, Ximen Nao starts by refusing the drink that will make him forget his struggles, so he can stubbornly maintain his human memories and resentments, and struggles between his human mind bitterness about being forced to be an undignified animal and the animal mind and qualities he takes on, which are more happy and accepting of the life he leads. And he finds a partner in his resistance to the changing times, Lan Lian, who he serves loyally both as a donkey and as an ox. Lan Lian fights hard to be the only independent farmer in China, despite opposition, and this is where the antithesis of the Buddhist idea, the nobility of stubbornness, becomes clear. If Ximen Nao bewailed his execution and his loss of wealth and status that came with reincarnation, but then easily adapted to doing whatever he could to have as much pleasure and wealth (metaphorically, if we are talking about him as an animal) as he could in a new life in China’s new system, then it would only be his personal, self-serving loss that he complained about and there would be no nobility in it. But by stubbornly taking a stand, even enduring horrible torture to do so, instead of taking the first opportunity to rebuild his own happiness, it shows his objection is based on a greater principle, and this lends at least the appearance of virtue to his actions. And this thread climaxes at the end of Ximen Nao’s second life as an ox, where his loyalty to Lan Lian and refusal to work for the commune to the point of a horrific death makes him be seen by the people of his village as a sort of Buddhist folk hero. The paradigm the book started out with, of reincarnation to learn to adapt and not be attached, is inverted, and stubbornness is seen as the Buddhist ideal.

This theme is seen not just in Ximen Nao and Lan Lian, but in other characters who similarly stick to their ideals even at the cost of personal loss. Hong Taiyue, in being a true believer in communism not just when it gives him power and allows him to lord over and punish others but when he sees the world giving lipservice to his ideas while following capitalism and forgetting what they once believed in, is possessed of a certain virtue that Jinlong, who equally uses communism as an excuse for cruelty but takes the “easy route” of betraying his father to rise in the ranks and adapts with the time to capitalism when this allows him to remain wealthy and politically powerful, does not. With regards to Lan Jiefang, we have the author inserting himself into the book as the perpetual gadfly Mo Yan explicitly stating the paradox of stubbornness – abandoning his family for an affair with a much younger woman is undoubtably cruel, but in being completely stubborn about it and willing to sacrifice everything he has – a home, prestige, the love of his family – for it, he also proves to be not just a common person “trading up” for a younger, prettier woman for personal gain, and by showing he values a principle more than personal gain he becomes, in the fictional Mo Yan’s semi-ironic view, a hero.

Another thing I think is interesting in the narrative framing’s handling of stubborn characters is that it never resorts to telegraphing a stubborn character’s righteousness by giving them an air of enhanced dignity even when the world judges them, with those who threaten them getting a “pie in the face” by the narrative even as they maintain their worldly power. No, to be stubborn is to invite the ridicule of not just earthly powers but of a universe that demands adaptability, regardless of what your cause is. Even if, like Lan Lian, in the future your endurance will survive and prove those who tormented you wrong, in the long time before that your suffering will not be noble and tragic but pathetic and darkly comical, like in the scene where he gets red paint in his eyes. Hong Taiyue, Lan Jiefang, Ximen Nao in his dealings with the afterlife, all get to fall flat on their faces for their attempts to resist. (Even the author inserting himself into the story not only gets humiliated constantly by the narrative, but gets just about the worst humiliation of everyone). 

In the second half of the book, Lan Lian and Ximen Nao are set up as mirrors of each other, two beings who started in the same place with the same goals but must take different paths. Because Ximen Ox sacrifices his life in a display of unyielding courage, and is praised as a Buddhist model for it, and then… life still goes on. Due to the cycle of reincarnation there is no climactic apotheosis of nobility that ends everything, and it is impossible to remain in his stubbornness forever. Lan Lian goes on with his determination, Ximen Nao must adapt to his new life as a pig. And in the short term, this is a form of corruption; when Pig Sixteen can no longer bear to starve himself in protest and allows himself to just live and enjoy life as is natural for a pig, abandoning his human judgment of it being humiliating, he grows crude and greedy. He does not just eat, he pushes aside his siblings and leaves them to starve, and mutilates his mother by the fervor of his suckling. He takes everything from Diao Xiaosan and leads to the rival pig’s downfall due to his desire for a harem. In eating and fattening up, he is considered a revolutionary pig, by being an emblem of the success of farming he is a “cannon launched into the reactionaries”, even as ironically his harem is compared by the narrative to that of an emperor. This makes it clear that whoever is in power, the ideal person (or pig) in their society is someone who is greedy for more and, should their victory be thwarted, adapts to the new system and seeks physical success and pleasure within it rather than stubbornly resenting what they have lost and taking a principled stand. 

But in the last sections of the book, it becomes clear that Ximen Nao’s spiritual fulfillment does not depend on remembering his stubborn values again at all. Without reverting to that state, in fact while becoming even more adaptable and fully embracing his life as a pig, he feels regret for his treatment of Diao Xiaosan and grows to love and respect him, and he ultimately dies to save children, even those he had no connection to in his human life, feeling nothing but warmth and happiness about how his life ended. And this is where the ultimate vision of the book becomes clear. For while it is true that if one is of the temperament to value storing up physical goods most in life, reacting to losing those goods unjustly by fighting for the principle that it was unjust is more noble and heroic than taking the cowardly route of abandoning principle to continue to flourish, why should one assume that this temperament is the best way to live life in the first place? 

The alternative to both stubbornness and greed that the book proposes can be described as something like melancholy. It’s a perspective that first comes to Ximen Nao during their time of starvation in the winter as a pig, one he admits is unfamiliar to him until that moment because he is “not a melancholy pig” – a perspective where one’s appreciation of life is more complex than just feeling gratified when you get money or food or a harem and feeling bitter and resentful when you do not, where even sadness and loss has its value. And it’s one that reaches its climax during the scene near the end where, as a dog, he sits by the graves of all of his previous lives and feels a bittersweet sadness, mixed with love and acceptance, over his old memories, showing how much he has changed. And it is shortly after that where Yama, acknowledging he has let go of his hate, allows him to once again be reborn as a human. In the end, the vision of stubbornness in this book is that of a “local maximum” so to speak, a mode of existence that is the best, most heroic representation of a blunt mindset without melancholy, but one that must eventually be escaped for true enlightenment, because that mindset as a whole must be escaped. The only way out is through, then, through greed and cruelty and into something better.

[ffxiv-f13ndish]

Old Foes and New

collab drabble w/ @ro-valerius [Tofu, Nhagi] ! Credit to @ro-valerius for gpose !

Regardless of what Tofu had told him some time ago about staying out of his business, Virgil made Tofu’s business his own business. The pieces were coming together as he tracked down Tuturoko’s men — not quite attacking, but taking notes from the shadows. Some figures in the shadows were becoming quite familiar.

For instance, he knew he was being followed now. Virgil gave no time to address as he flipped the pages in his book and summoned forth his carbuncle and brought up a shield around himself.

The woman kept to the shadows, smirking under her mask as she lifted one hand, fingertips pointed downwards as if holding on to a puppet by its strings. From the shadows around her sprang forth a swarm of inky dark wolves, each snapping and snarling as they rushed towards the elezen. The woman, however, remained content to remain where she was, even going so far as to sink further into the darkness; she wanted to watch, but not get involved. 

Virgil gave a sigh through his nose. What a nuisance. And here he was hoping to get home in time for a night-time tea. With the close proximity of the wolves, Virgil had to act fast. He didn’t have time to consider the repercussions of straining his aether as the pages of his book flipped and he summoned up Garuda-egi. With a swift move of his hand, he cast an attack which dispersed among the crowd of wolves.

“How appropriate, fighting from the shadows. Your cowardice is reminiscent of whom you serve. Perhaps it is hereditary, beast manipulator?” Virgil said through clenched teeth. He emitted a growl as the maw of a wolf sunk into his wrist, which he counterattacked with a quick cast of painflare. 

The woman laughed at his words, striding forward just enough for him to see her appearance. 

“Oh, you filthy man, I am not afraid of you. We are of the void, are we not? At least, you attempt to be, while I became one with it,” she said, recalling what Tuturoko had told her about her quarry. She allowed a small amount of void magic to ripple around her, more as a show than anything of import. The elezen had taken some of her pets, but she could summon more. And so she did. 

A wolf crept around Virgil’s right, noting the blindness in that eye and looking to take advantage of it. It kept low and quiet as it geared up to lunge, but its fangs met not the neck they were aimed for, instead biting down on the arm of a viera with fury in his eyes. 

“Void or not, woman, you should be afraid,” Tofu growled. The woman scoffed, a frown of irritation on her lips. 

“I am not meant to fight you, yet, rabbit. If you survive these, we’ll meet again,” she said, summoning more wolves and fading away into the shadows. 

Virgil gave Tofu a glance. So it seemed he made it out of bed rest, miraculously. He wondered how long that would last. His eyes fell to Tofu’s arm, a faint scoff sounding from him upon seeing the wound left from the bite of the wolf.

“The one day you neglect to put those damned gauntlets on, you decide to stick your arm into a wolf’s maw for me. I suggest you go back to bed rest, not because your health is ailing, but because you are ill in the head,” Virgil couldn’t help but chide Tofu as he geared himself up for the swarm.

With a labored breath, he brought forth Ifrit-egi, unleashing the flames of its wrath among the wolves to his left.

“You’re one to talk about bed rest, corpse, and I’ll have you know that I didn’t neglect them, they got…damaged and I can’t wear them anymore, I just forgot since I’m used to having them…” Tofu grumbled, cutting open the wolf still latched to his arm and giving a tilt of his head when it evaporated into smoke. 

“Good news, these things seem less…hearty than real wolves, bad news, there are a lot of them.” 

“Stop talking,” Virgil said through gritted teeth. 

Tofu shrugged and ducked forward quickly, dodging fang and claw as he tore through three wolves in one movement, turning on his heel to face two more as they lunged towards him. He kicked the feet out from under one of them, using his new lowered position to swing his knife up and under the second before spinning on his hand to catch the one he had dropped with his other knife. 

He glanced around; he had just taken care of six, Virgil had gotten a handful, and there were…from his count, ten left. 

Ten left, and Virgil was getting tired. Tired of seeing others obtain what he had failed to achieve, and certainly quite tired of getting saved by another viera. With Ifrit-egi still at the ready at his side, he projected another attack — only for the quick-learning wolves to move out of the blast. 

“Allow me this favor. If I do expire, do not allow Dante to take my eyes,” Virgil growled as he stumbled back, a wolf pouncing towards him head on. The pages turned, and he shot a charge of aether at the oncoming wolf to drain its energy — hopefully, it won’t tear off his face with so much vigor. 

“Like hells are you expiring today, Virgil! Lament and Kore would wring my neck if I let that happen!” Tofu said as he rushed the wolf that had geared up to attack the elezen. With one hand, he swiped his knife across the beast, and with his other, he tossed a small vial at Virgil. “Fiora thought you might need this, and I’m inclined to agree!” 

“Either way, they’ll wring your neck for being here,” Virgil huffed as he staggered back against a wall. He prepared to face the wolf, only for Tofu to quickly dispose of it — much quicker than he expected of him, really. He caught the vial, narrowly avoiding dropping it as his hands struggled to keep together. Before it had the chance to slip through his palms, he quickly downed the potion. The sweet punch of it was almost enough to invigorate him alone. However, Virgil needed a moment to catch his breath-

Three wolves snarled and charged as the rest circled around for an opportune moment. Tofu caught one in the jaw with his boot, surprised that even that was enough to undo the creature, and dug his knives into the other two as they closed in. 

-And it seemed Tofu was making good use of that moment. It seemed Virgil was wrong about Tofu. 

Virgil peeled away from the wall. As a wolf came up behind Tofu, he shot it with a quick Ruin spell. 

“Shame my aim is impeccable. Maybe I would have caught you with a proper spell this time,” Virgil jested. He stood up straight as he surveyed what was left. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re so powerful, hey can we get rid of these first, then you can make fun of me?” Tofu called over his shoulder with a quick smile to signify his own jest. Neither of them were very good at joking, but somehow they understood each others’ intent. 

There were five wolves left, and they branched off, two going for Virgil and three gunning for Tofu. Really, they should have all gone for one or the other, but, well, beasts were still beasts, after all. 

Tofu flitted through quickly, knife flashing in the light cast by the torches as he dispensed of two of the three wolves on him with ease. The last one moved out of the way, circling around and leaping from behind, catching Tofu in the shoulder with its teeth for a brief moment before his knife buried into its skull. As the last wolf on him came undone, he checked on how Virgil was faring.

Virgil made quick work of the two wolves that bounded his way with the help of Garuda-egi’s aerial blast. One wolf disposed of into the winds, the other hurled towards him – which Virgil finished off with a potent Ruin spell. 

Despite drinking his potion, Virgil was exhausted. He tried not to show it in his expression as he straightened up. 

“Pathetic,” Virgil spat, eyes narrowed as he stared off into the depths of the shadows, where their attacker had disappeared. 

“Her attack tonight only confirmed my suspicions. It seems your work pertaining to the Basilisks is not quite finished, Tofu,” Virgil dryly explained, leaning up against a wall to keep himself steady as he gathered himself once more. 

Tofu gave an almost curious tilt of his head, but his expression wasn't in it. Based on the colour of the woman's hair, her vocal mannerisms, and the facial markings he could barely catch sight of, he could tie this woman to the mage from before, but he had no idea what tied them to the Basilisks. 

“Do elaborate what you mean by that, Virgil. What ties that woman to the pirates?” he inquired, casting a glance around to ensure the danger was fully passed for the time being. 

Virgil gave Tofu an incredulous, stone cold stare – as if he were reprimanding Tofu for not recognizing something so obvious. Nevermind the fact that the information that Virgil had so scrupulously investigated was not as obvious as Virgil perceived it to be; to Virgil, what he knew should be common sense. 

“Next time you involve yourself in another inane revenge scheme, I suggest that you take great care to discard a target which has no familial or platonic ties — or one who has dissolved them,” Virgil said as he stood upright once more. “The beast puppeteer – of whom you had the delight of facing her creatures tonight – was the sister of the mage your pack had eliminated on the ship. There are quite a few stray frays that remain of the rope which tied you all to the Basilisks. I gather it is only a matter of time before they all weave together into a much more formidable beast with the men which seek to destroy you.”

There was a brief silence hanging in the air before a confused “She had another sister, and that one was on the ship?” Another brief silence followed. “All three of them were mages of some caliber?”

Nonetheless, Tofu squared his shoulders and met Virgil’s gaze evenly.

“Whatever comes for me, it will be destroyed. Whatever comes for my family, my friends, my dear ones, will be destroyed before it can do harm,” he said with determination. 

“Ah, yes. People can have siblings, which may be inclined to practice the same thing, yes,” Virgil flatly confirmed. His head tilted to one side in thought. “The thought to consider this does not please me, but if we are dealing with a mage well practiced in the art of manipulating voidsent creatures – we may have to involve someone I know who is quite… familiar… with voidsents.”

Tofu did another quick survey of the area before turning a half glance to Virgil, looking the elezen up and down before returning to a vigilant watch. 

“I have fought many a voidsent in my time, comes with the whole…Scion and Warrior of Light territory, I believe. I can handle it,” he said, keeping an air of confidence in his tone as he once more looked sidelong at Virgil. “I do note that ‘we’. This has nothing to do with you, are you involving yourself due to the void nature of that woman? What do you hope to gain?”

Virgil’s gaze fell on the injuries which Tofu had received during his feats to defend him. He gave a vexed sigh through his nose and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Instead of accepting that your actions to handle things on your own are selfish, I advise that you put more effort into accepting the help. It’ll only make you stronger, believe it or not. You have potential, but you tarnish any efforts to temper it by setting yourself back continuously. You are by no means stupid or useless, I know that much. But the actions you choose, based on the familiarity of it to your past... those are stupid decisions,” Virgil icily remarked, stepping closer as he held his gaze firm to Tofu’s. “The mage came to target me, regardless if it had to do with you. I’m involved now. Remember that.”

Tofu averted his gaze.

“These people… are my demons to face. But I cannot deny that you are right in that she clearly marked you as her prey this time. For what reason, I can’t say, but I suppose as much as I hate it, you are involved. Fine. But no one else. I don’t trust outside of the circle I know. If we need a voice on voidsent…we can ask my sister. Seems that thing’s been talking to her recently, alarming as that is, but it gives her information on the void,” he said, turning his eyes back to Virgil to convey his determination. 

“I understand that. And I don’t care.” Virgil studied Tofu’s expression. His head tilted in the other direction in consideration of Tofu’s sister being involved, attention piqued by the information shared on her.

“That will be necessary. Perhaps it can bring more insight on what this woman is capable of. It might be all we get before I can dissect her myself,” Virgil hummed, holding the crook of his index finger to his bottom lip in thought. “The creature within her… it is not the only voidsent that may be of assistance.”

Virgil paused, reluctant to speak of what he wanted to say next.

“I may… have had one success in my feats to create an evolved hybrid of a voidsent,” he said, after a hefty pause. Tofu shook his head.

“I already said no more. I can’t give that rat more targets to use against me than he already has,” he said stubbornly. Even he knew he could only spread himself so thin. He was already worn out from decades of that man… “I have to end this, and soon…”

“The more targets he has, the less he can focus his attacks. And frankly, it would be convenient for the both of us if this target is disposed of,” Virgil said, making a motion for Tofu to follow him as he began to walk. “For context, that is a joke. But if you intend on ending this sooner, you won’t make any progress alone – as I had already said. Or shall I have to hammer it into your head again? With an actual hammer? At least hear my considerations before you start wallowing and brooding.”

“You don’t know how Tuturoko operates,” Tofu said as he started after Virgil. “He doesn’t attack everyone he knows he can target, he picks who he can corner alone and uses them as bait to lure me out. And if I don’t… If I don’t come for them, he’ll just kill them outright - they’ll have lost their importance. He doesn’t care about anything else, he just wants me dead.” There was a brief silence before he spoke again, his voice soft. “And I have no idea why…”

“Perhaps not. But I do know how some of his men do,” Virgil said, reaching into his coat pocket to grab that infamous journal of his. “I have neglected to obtain all of who is involved, but there is a good chunk in there. Frankly, when I heard about the dealings with this new mage of theirs, I had to switch gears.” He handed Tofu the journal to look through.

“Good news, I know why you’re being targeted now. Stuck your nose in when I told you not to- Okay fine,” Tofu started, but clamped his mouth shut at a look from Virgil.

“It is difficult to be cornered when you know how to get out of a corner. I’m not saying it is foolproof, but having a set tactic may help us…” Virgil trailed off for a moment, taking a glance around at his surroundings. 

“We should not be discussing these matters outside. Let us retire to a home to speak further. There is much to be shared and planned.”

[cryptcombat]

anh dao!!! do you have any thots as to what lanius’ life was like before caesar’s legion? do you think at some point he had started to hear rumors about jade around the ncr? 👀

thank u saurr much for this ask, naomi!!! 🥺😭💖💖

cringe under read more 🫶

i think lanius was likely just some guy (who happens to be huge sdkfsd) who did alot of physical labor for his tribe.

him killing his own tribesmen when the legion attacked his tribe was in the heat of the moment methinks! When they surrendered to caesar, he genuinely was disgusted by the cowardice... i dont think he was this cruel before and the legion was exaggerating!!

i also think Caesar would use his anger to his advantage and take the opportunity to make a myth out of him. so instead instead of him killing like 3 of his tribesmen, Caesar turned it into "lanius killed ALL of his tribesmen"

As for rumors about Jade!! Lanius and jade are both myths. She's known and revered as this kind saint, while he's feared as this monster of the east. At some point, they bond over how everyone sees them through this lens, rather than seeing them as actual ppl. 😳

[ap0llx]

hitting you w an OC prompt: what are your characters most afraid of, and why??

HELLO ANON, I will take my beating enthusiastically & gracefully, thank you :3 I cant answer this question without going over their trauma profiles, so here are the DSM-5 diagnoses of a couple of the men who live in my brain:

WILDE

Being totally alone. Wilde's first abandonment trauma was his father disappearing overnight and walking out without an explanation, and his second abandonment trauma was watching all of his friends + first love die during a failed heist at the hands of an Archdemon. He and his father have reunited but have a complex adult relationship on the other side of his cowardice, and he has also since met the actual love of his life to whom he's engaged, but both come from yakuza families and are deeply entrenched in the business/politics of it. 'Safety' is only tentatively present and constantly needs to be reestablished, because long periods of separation are necessary, but triggering. His fiancé's father doesnt know about him, and his father's family thinks he's dead and doesnt know he exists either, and unfortunately things are objectively safer that way. Making sense of it doesnt make it feel any better, though, especially not when he and his fiancé can't actually be seen together in public 🫣

SHIRO

Being right about himself, I think. Shiro is dragging around a lot of unprocessed guilt and shame, built up from things he was forced to do to honor his family, shitty choices he's made that have deservedly blown up in his face, fucking off when things got too difficult, and chronically disappointing the people who are most important to him. The only tool he has in his toolbelt to deal with any of that is to pretend it doesnt exist, which succeeds right up until it stops working, and once that seal is off, its off. I imagine the narrative he's spinning about himself in his own mind is what he's running from the most. It will catch him.

AMON

For lack of better phrasing, admitting that it all amounted to nothing. Amon fell from Heaven for a love that did not exist and was profoundly unrequited (this realization happened too far in hindsight to change the outcome) and he agreed to be solely responsible for all of the mindless bookkeeping for Hell and its contractees for the same reason. And if he doesn't do it now, it will still get done, but worse, and that drives him up a wall. He also would have to admit that he wants out, which he's not ready to do. So instead, he's resigned himself to being consistently taken advantage of, and exercising control of his environment by cleaning neurotically and being anxiously particular about the spaces he gets comfortable in. For now anyway

thank u anon ilu

[ms-scarletwings]

A Speculative Analysis about Bliblies No One Asked For

Upon their nature and just where they slot into the chaotic worldbuilding of the Smiling Friends, that is. Written by an actual pest control technician.

Starting off, we know for sure is that they seem to be a highly gregarious, nuisance species of critter.

While it may seem like they could be eusocial organisms, like ants or wasps, I highly doubt they actually follow the structure of such, as it involves a rigid caste hierarchy with one breeding queen.

We’ve only seen regular bliblies that do not behave in a very organized manner, so we can rule out hives and queens. Instead, I think the available evidence suggests that they are a common pest similar to invasive rats (meaning the cheese and mousetrap analogy might actually be intentional), which can live in massive social colonies in the wild.

Like rats, the bliblies also seem to be capable of an impressive amount of intelligence. They are able to cooperate enough to summon help in order to subdue a shared threat (Alan), but also are more than capable of turning on their own. It’s possible they may even become cannibalistic during periods of scarcity/overpopulation, which is a guess going off of the RL behavior of rodents and some insects. The actual hierarchical structure of a biblie nest to what extent it might exist appears to be a matter of might makes right. While active biblie hordes will share territory and behave as an overwhelming collective wave when threatened, the colony members still act as individual units competing for immediate resources such as food and tools.

All in all they appear to be a fairly dangerous household pest if allowed to take up residence in an area, breeding incredibly fast and nesting in large sacs, possibly for warmth, as small creatures loose body heat quickly.

That said, it’s also possible that they nest together purely as a defense tactic. In the real word we see this in harvestmen, which clump together in huge balls of arachnids in order to ward off larger predators, and also scatter everywhere once disturbed.

Their biggest strength is in numbers and intelligence. They’re clever enough to run from a fight they clearly can’t win and alert the rest of their colony, but are individually quite fragile. They will even use this pathetic appearance to their advantage, feigning cowardice in order to lower their opponent’s guard. Likely, they resort to aggression as a last resort upon discovery, since they spend the earlier parts of an infestation foraging, growing numbers, and trying to avoid detection from their hosts. It’s more than a little concerning that some of them are capable of tool use to the point of arming themselves with improvised weapons AND replicating an execution by crucifixion. The fact that they have a rudimentary understanding of Christianity or at least ancient torture methods is also its own can of worms my biology education ain’t touching.

Now, if you forced me to guess how an infestation starts…. It’s tricky when we have no idea how they even reproduce. Either they don’t display any outward sexual dimorphism, they’re hermaphroditic like snails, or they breed asexually. Whatever the case, I’m willing to bet that they begin a budding invasion like roaches do. See, when one roach finds a great spot for scavenging food, they’ll mark the site with chemical signals that attract others of its kind to the area. Eventually, enough roaches gather in the same place and start spawning young collectively, hiding together in their own filth during the day, and emerging at night to hunt for scraps. And like roach infestations, one of the easiest ways to detect Bliblie harborage is the presence of feces (in their case, taking the form of “mysterious purple shit pellets”).

Likely, the best way to prevent a Bliblie infestation is keeping a clean space, sealing off entry points, and eliminating access to food- as with any similar issues. However, once a large enough nest has been established, the safest solution lies in a complete mechanical extermination of the colony. If they are smart and aggressive enough to nail you to a cross, they are going to be capable of plotting revenge in your sleep if you evict them and don’t finish the job completely. You’ll get a few of them with traps and poison, but the rest of them will only learn and adapt. Directly killing them all in one go, outright warfare, no survivors…. would be the most effective tactic. At bare minimum a decimation of the infesting population could help to break the morale of the survivors, which will be easier to push into vacating a structure once their nest site has been destroyed.

Which above else makes me so just glad we have such dedicated professionals like Desmond around to handle these creatures.

TL/DR: Bliblies are basically a smarter and scarier equivalent of Norway rats, or perhaps cockroaches.

[tgrailwar]

Tumblr Holy Grail War: Wave 7 - Day 1 ("Ruler")

'Ruler': "Seven phases. Seven waves. Seven Servants. Not a single death. You fight as if you don't even desire this Grail. And if you don't, then what are you fighting for? It boggles the mind, and yet I am not mad. Simply curious. Simply intrigued. I wondered… perhaps things were too carefully crafted. Perhaps things were too gentle. I held your hand as a guide, and perhaps that led you in circles. But… you all asserted that a Holy Grail War was not a 'Holy Grail War' without complications. And so I shall add complications. After all, I am the 'Ruler' of the Holy Grail War."

"I'd implore the Masters of Berserker and Saber specifically to read onward- but this is a matter that concerns everyone as this is a Rule Change. So yes. All of you can keep reading. Come now. You've 'kept reading' before, haven't you? Don't start holding back your curiosity now."

"The first grand change will be in the nature of Free-for-Alls. Rather than simply the bottom Servant gaining a wound, the bottom two will gain a wound instead. Consider this my grace. Rejoice, Masters of Berserker. All of the Masters of this war share your fatal flaw. Rejoice, Masters from Beyond… hopefully this quells both your cowardice and your comfort. Additionally, that adds quite some value to the strength of Lancer's class-passive, doesn't it? Congratulations."

"But that isn't everything. After all… I've seen the class of the Mad Warrior sit in constant fear of death. Nobody in this war has feared you, Masters of Berserker. Isn't that horrible? I say go on a rampage. If not this round, then the next. If not that round, then the round afterwards. I've saddled you with a rather poor Noble Phantasm, haven't I? I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, and accept this additional Noble Phantasm instead. I hope you survive to use it."

NOBLE PHANTASM: Settsu Armor Kumano, Golden Huge Bear (EX)

When using this Noble Phantasm, it inflicts 2 'wounds' rather than 1, and the boost is 30%, rather than 20%. If engaged in a Free-for-All, reduce opponent scores by 10% and boost own score +5% as an additional bonus. Additionally, use of this Noble Phantasm only costs one Command Spell, and lasts for 2 consecutive turns.

However, once the two turns pass, Berserker gains a -10% demerit as he recharges, preventing him from using the Noble Phantasm during that turn.

"Ah, and Saber. Beautiful, ethereal Saber. The others have taken time to grind you into dust, haven't they? Stomping on your neck, and mocking you from afar. 'Saber, said to be the highest of all classes', they say, 'is constantly on death's door, having to rely on cowardice to survive'. Doesn't that anger you? I'll give you the power to show them your rage. Let's change up this skill of yours, shall we?"

Skill: Heavenly Eye (A) -> Heavenly Demonic Thundering Eye (EX)

When fighting in a free-for-all, gain +10% to your final score, and reduce their scores by -5%. If fighting a Servant one-on-one, if the gap between scores is above 20%, inflict 2 wounds.

"Feel free to take advantage of that this round, okay?"

"…That is all from me. Saber. Berserker. I hope you enjoy your new toys."

[compassionatereminders]

Hey Kat, I feel moved to voice some sentiment of encouragement with what your ex-partners have done to you.

My heart hurts with yours, as I too have experienced a partner who chose to sever years of connection by a weak conversation about how I was the sole problem between us, and then ghosting me. He refused to have a real conversation about how he was neglecting to step up and be a partner and instead chose to do nothing as his mother discriminated against my disability and socioeconomic status. Like a typical rich c*nt she decided that I was taking advantage of her son and was unworthy of his love, and the truth of my struggle with being disabled and physically incapable of keeping up with the demands of hypercapitalism all alone (zero help from abusive family, just one neurodivergent and physically disabled person trying to keep my head above water) was all just my failure to try hard enough. That I was just a parasite looking to get out of having to work. And when he did not stand up against her cruel judgement and advocate for his partner, and I expressed my feelings of abandonment and confusion at his inaction, he decided he would just say that I was the one unwilling to grow and seemed to be unreasonably holding on to negativity. He said he'd be back, but he ghosted.

It pushed every trigger of my developmental trauma, every fear of abandonment. It reaffirmed the deep mental programming that I am inherently worthless, and that I did not deserve better. I spent a long time feeling like I must have engineered the failure of the relationship alone, that I got what I deserved. Yet, the innate sense of betrayal and abandonment was like a hangnail catching on everything and sending shockwaves of pain through me.

It took time, but I've grown enough to learn to validate my pain. I never deserved to have such a relationship end that way. I didn't deserve his mother's resentful discrimination. I didn't deserve to have a partner fail to advocate for my worth. And I never deserved to have my heart obliterated by the cowardice of ghosting.

From what I've been able to observe from this distant internet stranger's perspective is that you were pulling the weight of communication in the relationship. You were expressing your needs, you were making clear your anxieties and asking for the very reasonable amount of support anyone in a partnership can and should be reasonably asking for. His cowardly retreat and subsequent ghosting after 5 years of your pouring love and effort into building something together is despicable. And though your posts show that you know that you don't deserve what they both did, knowing and feeling don't always show up together. I am familiar with the pain that visits you now, and I know that feeling seen can be a drink of water in a desert of pain.

I hope that as you begin to navigate the coming weeks and months that your wisdom of the truth that you didn't deserve this can saturate through to your aching heart. You have demonstrated that you are prepared to show up and own your responsibility, to use skill and tools to build something with your partners and navigate all that through the problems that come with mental illness. We all fuck up sometimes, but a supportive partner shows grace and forgiveness for mistakes. They don't tell you that you're the one not trying/working hard enough for them, they don't ever assume that they have no responsibility in a situation.

You don't deserve what they did and didn't do. And though this reveals so much about their (and especially his) deeper character, that you deserve better... This grief will hurt. It will linger and touch every moment of life for a time. Knowing that it won't last forever won't change the way the heart feels like this pain will be everlasting. Your strength and resilience is truly remarkable. You have an amazing insight and wisdom about your responsibility for your own behaviour in relationship dynamics, and you clearly know that you were doing more than your share of the emotional labour. You know that despite your needs and struggles that you deserved to have that effort reciprocated.

But like I said, knowing and feeling don't always coexist. I hope that in those moments of dissonance that you feel the support of your network, both on and offline. Thank you for all the work you do just by showing up and working towards good. Even as I reach out to offer support, I feel supported in kind by just the opportunity to talk about my resonant experience. I hope you feel that support too 💜

I am feeling the support and I am so touched by the outpouring of support my inbox has received since this situation escalated. I am not answering every individual ask, but I am reading all of them and I truly appreciate that so many people agree that this is horrible and that I did not deserve this shit. Even strangers who only knows me through this blog. It is very affirming to know that so many people agree that I was not the irrational and toxic person in this and that you all see good in me

[sarasalandhistory]

Legend of the Ancient Kingdom

(This has to do with Zelda and not Mario but whatever)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful kingdom that was blessed by the gods and ruled by descendants of the Goddess Hylia and the First Hero. This kingdom was called Hyrule and it was ruled over by a king who was known far and wide for his wisdom, courage, and power. It was even said that his power was so great, he was able to wield the legendary golden power to bring about a golden age for his kingdom. However, the king was still mortal. 

He would not live forever but greed and the lust for power does. 

As he laid dying, his three eldest sons were vying with each other over who would inherit not only the throne but the legendary golden power that their father had possessed.

“I am the most powerful,” cried the eldest to his younger brothers. “No one would dare threaten our lands if I was king.”

“I am the wisest though,” replied the second. “I would lead of nation of intelligence, instead of imbeciles.”

“I am the most courageous,” yelled the third. “I would make Hyrule a kingdom of bravery instead of cowardice.”

This went on and on and soon after their father’s death, the three eldest sons went to war with each other. 

It was a horrific, bloody massacre. Brother against brother. Son against father. Sister against sister. Daughter against mother.

Eventually, the three sons and their descendants were wiped out and the ancient legendary kingdom splintered until their was nothing left of it but quarreling minor kingdoms and warlords taking advantage of the poor and the weak. It seemed as though there was nothing left of the ancient kingdom of Hyrule and the Goddess and First Hero’s bloodline.

It seemed that way at least.

However, it was not.

The ancient king had four sons, not three, but the youngest was not like his elder brothers. He was studious and quiet and more content in researching Hyrule’s ancient history than sitting on a throne. However, he saw which way the winds blew as his brothers’ hatred and pettiness grew and he made the decision to leave the night after his father’s funeral with only a few precious family heirlooms.

The youngest prince fled to the Faron Region, named for the Farore the Goddess of Courage since only the most courageous of people dare to to trek. Lightning storms, dangerous monsters and animals, and a warlike people who came from the skies were said to have made their home in this region and for many days the prince found himself fearful and alone with only his steed. On one such day, the prince collapsed from exhaustion and thought that he was about to die.

This was not to be though.

Instead he found himself in the home of a Hylian woman about his age but with dark skin and hair with white tattoos across her arms and bosom. She was a woman of Lurelin Village, a village to the furthest south of Hyrule with a people who were said to be deeply connected to the warlike people of Faron Region.

The prince came to love his new home and eventually fell in love and married the woman who saved him. He also came to forge a connection to the race of Faron Region were called the Zonai who while warlike, were also gifted in technology and ancient magics.

Eventually, the prince and his wife died and left behind their children. Eventually the children had their own children and so on and so forth until over a thousand years past and their descendants still continue to live in the village.

I should know.

I am one of these descendants.

My name is Sonia.

[softersinned]

@balldwin said: [ HAIR ]: sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards.

He can feel her eyes on him in the dark.

He always seems aware of her in a way that would, from someone else, make her feel surveilled; from him, it simply suggests that he is merely degrees away from omniscience. A more impressionable mind might have made him a new god, but Astoria is, at the moment, taking too much vicious pleasure in the promise of her damnation to cede control of her soul to anyone else.

Something about him suggests that he may take it all the same. She is not so unhappy with the thought as she would have imagined she would be.

Tonight he stands in the gardens below where she sits and he tips his head back as his guest leaves, eyes finding hers through the black of night. For several long moments they are silent and still, and then in the space of one breath to another he's gone, and she can hear the door close from three floors away. It is out of courtesy for her that Baldwin walks slowly and allows himself to be heard—it gives her time, should she wish it, to cover herself more, or prepare for another person's arrival. Were she still a warmblood she would be cold, perhaps even modest, but he has seen her half-mad and hunched over her prey, dripping blood and gore, and she has little enough shame where he is concerned. Her bare feet press firmly against the railing beneath her, and the night's steady breeze lifts the hem of her nightgown a fraction of an inch before letting it settle against her calves again.

"So," he says by way of greeting, and he walks through the room to the balcony where she sits, "you have recovered from—earlier?"

His delicacy, though unnecessary, is appreciated all the same. Astoria waits until he is standing beside her at the railing, his hands set against the stone several inches from where she's laid her feet, before she looks at him. She leans forward, winds her arms around her legs, tightens her hand around the handkerchief she's holding.

To call it a surprise would have been an understatement. She would have imagined he was dead by now—she saw him last fifty years before, and he was only a year or two younger than her, and human. And he had never had enough sense to hold his tongue when he should have, nor enough cowardice to shy away from the urge towards self-sacrifice in the name of patriotism or, worse still, the right thing. And he had seen her, called out her name in disbelief, crossed the wide street to reach her and take her arm with surprising strength for a man of his age.

It was funny, in its own way: once, she had imagined they would spend their lives together, and today, she had spent years without thinking of him once. Far enough from her that she hadn't realized he was still there, Baldwin had paused in surprise at the intrusion, and when Iain Blackwood's wizened hand gripped her arm, his nostrils had flared with a sudden anger. "Astoria," Iain repeated, and when she looked at him she wore a pleasant but confused expression, and she gently detached his hand from her arm.

If she looked closely she could see it then, that beneath the years and the laughter lines, he was the same man who had once told her that, if they simply waited long enough, he could divorce his wife and take her instead—one of the few advantages of Henry's bouts of evangelism, he'd insisted, and fuck the Pope and God Himself, too, but he would have her for his wife. Astoria had laughed at that and told him not to speak nonsense, and that week, Celia told him she was carrying his child, and there was no more talk of marriage. Now, he stared at her in wonder, disbelief, while Astoria patted his hand warmly.

"I'm terribly sorry." She spoke with a perfect English accent, indistinguishable from the native Londoners she had met while she and Baldwin were in the city. "But I think you have mistaken me for someone else."

He shook his head. "Astoria Grim," he insisted adamantly. "I know you."

To deny any connection would have made him doubt her further. She shook her head and squeezed his hand. "My great-aunt died when my father was a boy. He always said I looked like her." And she laughed sympathetically, though her stomach was churning, and she felt rather as though she might be sick, as the son that Iain had crept away from rushed to catch up to them. "Did you know her?"

It felt wrong, to lie to him, but it seemed to work. Iain took a step back, looking dazed, as his son caught his arm again. The Astoria that he remembered would have been his age. She would have spoken with the melodic lilt of her Swedish grandfather's influence. She would never have turned him away. "I did," he answered, and he offered a vague apology before he covered his son's hand with his own and turned away from them.

She waited until they were out of sight to let herself feel it. Now, there is nothing to feel, though she runs her thumb over the fabric of the handkerchief, folded over her index finger, and she looks up at Baldwin and lets the corner of her mouth quirk upward into a crooked smile. "I have," she confirms, and Baldwin looks pointedly at the handkerchief she's holding.

"What is that?" he asks, though he already knows, and Astoria turns her hand and opens it obediently, holding the cloth in her palm. Quietly, she lets out an embarrassed little laugh, and she stretches his hand out for him to reach. When he plucks the handkerchief from her grasp, she clears her throat, eyes flickering away from him.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked."

Once they were gone, she had closed her eyes, taken in several deep breaths, but the sheer number of people in the crowded street did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. From where he stood Baldwin could, no doubt, have seen just how she was beginning to lose control, and it doesn't surprise her that he saw what followed: that she had pulled the handkerchief from where she kept it tucked inside her sleeve and lifted it to her nose, and she breathed in the scent there instead, faint though it was.

"Did it help?" Baldwin asks in the present, and Astoria clears her throat again, cheeks coloring a gentle pink. From what she's seen, it's rare for a wearh to blush, but she always seems to manage it when his eyes are on her.

"It did." She speaks quietly, but she speaks the truth: the moment she'd breathed in his scent of woodfire and leather she had felt safe again, and steady on her own feet. The fear was gone, and when she opened her eyes they were no longer swimming—and she felt, as she so often did at his side, like herself again. She looks at her knees, afraid that if she meets his searching gaze he'll be able to uncover the secrets she has yet to even tell herself.

She knows what this is, or she knows enough: five years with him and they are rarely apart. He has been an excellent teacher and guide, and more patient with her than she would ever have imagined he could be. He does not seem to resent her presence, or that she still cannot hunt entirely on her own, and certainly not without supervision if she does not mean to kill. On the rare occasions that she sleeps, she dreams of him. His scent is her anchor to the world, and her heart, damaged and cold as it is, seems to be utterly, entirely his. How inconvenient, and, at once, how wonderful, to know that her ability to fall so absurdly in love had not died with the rest of her. That to be away from him makes her feel as though there is a knife slipped between her ribs is no doubt the result of being caged so long; who could expect her to come out of it sane? But at its core, she knows what it is, just as she knows that whatever she felt decades ago for the man she saw today, it has not prepared her for this.

Inconvenient, to say the least; she cannot talk herself out of it and so she simply ignores it as often as she can, though in moments like these she wonders if he can smell it on her. Baldwin only watches her, silent in a way that she's learned by now means he wants her to continue without having to be asked, and Astoria lets out a petulant little sigh, though she's smiling (albeit guiltily) when she looks at him again. "Had you been looking for that?" she asks, though she knows that's not the information he's waiting to hear.

"Yes. I had expected an error by our staff, though perhaps I should have anticipated a bit of theft."

"That does seem like an oversight on your part," she says, quite sincerely, though she laughs a moment later and shakes her head. "It's the only one I've taken. I doubted you'd miss it. It helps keep me—" Her voice trails off for a moment, and she reaches back for something to do with her hands. Impatiently, she gathers her braided hair and begins combing it out, fingers working through the tangles there.

Even in the dark she sees Baldwin's gaze shift, settling for a moment on a particular red curl hanging from her finger. It is perhaps the second or third time he's seen her hair loose, and he seems to understand the gravity of such a vulnerability with him—but she has no use for modesty or shame with him, and with his attention diverted she pushes forward. "It keeps me from getting overwhelmed. Usually, you're there, and that helps, but when you're not—it's a poor substitute but it's useful all the same. One scent I know well keeps me from going mad when presented with a thousand."

"I see." He drags his gaze from her hair back to her face, and she feels suddenly and terribly (wonderfully) exposed.

"It reminds me that I am not where I have been. And that as long as I'm with you, I am safe." That seems to surprise him, though she can't be sure, as she looks at his hands after only a moment of meeting his eyes. "Even after years, I'm not quite used to it. I trust you—" And here she laughs again and looks back at him. "—God help me, I trust you with my life and my freedom alike. The reminder that it's you looking after me is a welcome one."

Baldwin grins, suddenly, and she feels all the air being knocked out of her lungs at the sight of it. "Quite a change from the certainty I'd let Father Hubbard drink from you," he points out after a moment, and it prompts yet another laugh. Quickly, so quickly she thinks she imagined it, she could swear she sees him close his eyes as if to savor the sound of her laugh.

"Well, you see, I've learned the truth about you."

"Have you, now?"

"Mm." She leans forward as much as she can without losing her balance on the railing. "You like me."

He chuckles, and the rich rumble of his voice is a song. "Maybe, for the moment, you're of more use to me alive." But he's still grinning, and she can recognize his tone as—teasing. How magnificent, that he'll tease her like that, that he knows her well enough to be certain she'll take it as it's meant. How beautiful, that he seems to enjoy making her laugh.

"Oh, I certainly am, but it's still true. You like me. And you won't let anyone harm me, even myself. It's alright," she adds, and she settles back against the wall with a smug little smile. "I like you, too."

"Do you, now?"

"Very much. There is not another soul in this world who's taken care of me like you have."

The confession is unexpected. Baldwin's expression seems to soften, though perhaps it's the low light.

"When I need to remember that I am alive, and still myself, I think of you." She looks out over the gardens again, but she's drawn back to him, the beautiful line of his jaw in the dark. "Cuore mio. You are my sanity and my safety." His eyebrows raise at the Italian, and she laughs low in her throat. "That's what you are, isn't it? If you had turned us away that day, I would be dead, or mad. That I am still myself, that I still exist at all, is because of you." And if I were to be separated from you now, I'm not certain I would know how to remain myself. She swings her legs around and shifts so that her feet are on the stone floor of the balcony, and she looks up at Baldwin and smiles. "Will you take me out? I'd like to hunt."

For a long, long moment, he is silent, watching her. Slowly, as though he was reaching out to soothe a frightened animal, he reaches for her, and he tips her chin up, brushes that same errant curl he'd been watching before behind her ear, as if to grant himself an unimpeded view of her face. His fingers brush against her cheek, and his expression seems almost tender, but he says nothing. After a beat, he drags his finger along her jaw before he lowers his hand.

"Do you want to dress, first?" he asks, and she stands, shaking her head.

"If anyone sees me, they'll assume I'm some restless spirit," she says with a little laugh, and she tries not to think about how gentle his touch was against her skin, or how badly she wanted to lean into it, or that she feels oddly, impossibly cold now that he's released her. (She glides across the floor quickly enough that she has to wait for him at the door. She does not see him lift the handkerchief, still in his hand, to his nose and breathe her in.)

She wakes the next morning after an hour or two of sound sleep, soothed by having drunk her fill mere hours before. When she opens her eyes the first thing she sees is an unfamiliar scrap of fabric on the bed beside her—and when she breathes in his scent on the cloth it is almost as if he is there with her.

[cagemasterfantasy]

Cleric: War Domain (5.5e)

War has many manifestations. It can make heroes of ordinary people. It can be desperate and horrific, with acts of cruelty and cowardice eclipsing instances of excellence and courage. Clerics who tap into the magic of the War Domain excel in battle, inspiring others to fight the good fight or offering acts of violence as prayers.

Gods of the War Domain watch over warriors and reward them for their great deeds. They include champions of honor and chivalry as well as gods of destruction and pillage. Other war gods take a more neutral stance, promoting war in all its manifestations and supporting warriors in any circumstance.

Level 3 Guided Strike: When you or a creature within 30 feet of you misses with an attack roll, you can expend one use of Channel Divinity and give that roll a +10 bonus, potentially causing it to hit. When you use this feature to benefit another creature’s attack roll, you must take a Reaction to do so.

Level 3 War Priest: As a Bonus Action, you can make one attack with a weapon or an Unarmed Strike. You can use this Bonus Action a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier (minimum of once). You regain all expended uses when you finish a Short or Long Rest.

Level 3 War Domain Spells: Your connection to this divine domain ensures you always have certain spells ready. When you reach a Cleric level specified below you thereafter always have the listed spells prepared. (spells are listed at the end)

Level 3: Guiding Bolt, Magic Weapon, Shield of Faith and Spiritual Weapon.

Level 5: Crusader's Mantle and Spirit Guardians.

Level 7: Fire Shield and Freedom of Movement

Level 9: Hold Monster and Steel Wind Strike

Level 6 War God's Blessing: You can expend a use of Channel Divinity to cast Shield of Faith or Spiritual Weapon rather than expending a spell slot. When you cast either spell in this way, the spell doesn’t require Concentration. Instead the spell lasts for 1 minute, but it ends early if you cast that spell again, are Incapacitated or die.

Level 17 Avatar of Battle: You gain Resistance to Bludgeoning, Piercing, and Slashing damage.

Spells

Guiding Bolt is a level 1 Evocation Spell for Cleric. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 120 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and Duration is 1 Round.

You hurl a bolt of light toward a creature within range. Make a ranged spell attack against the target. On a hit, it takes 4d6 Radiant damage, and the next attack roll made against it before the end of your next turn has Advantage.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d6 for each spell slot level above 1.

Magic Weapon is a level 2 Transmutation spell for Paladin, Ranger Sorcerer and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 Bonus Action Range is Touch Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component Duration is 1 hour

You touch a nonmagical weapon. Until the spell ends, that weapon becomes a magic weapon with a +1 bonus to attack rolls and damage rolls. The spell ends early if you cast it again.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The bonus increases to +2 with a level 3–5 spell slot. The bonus increases to +3 with a level 6+ spell slot.

Shield of Faith is a level 1 Abjuration spell for Cleric and Paladin. Casting Time is 1 Bonus Action Range is 60 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic component and Spell Ingredient is a prayer scroll Duration is Concentration up to 10 minutes.

A shimmering field surrounds a creature of your choice within range, granting it a +2 bonus to AC for the duration.

Spiritual Weapon is a level 2 Evocation spell unique to Cleric. Casting Time is 1 Bonus Action Range is 60 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic component Duration is Concentration up to 1 minute.

You create a floating, spectral force that resembles a weapon of your choice and lasts for the duration. The force appears within range in a space of your choice, and you can immediately make one melee spell attack against one creature within 5 feet of the force. On a hit, the target takes Force damage equal to 1d8 plus your spellcasting ability modifier.

As a Bonus Action on your later turns, you can move the force up to 20 feet and repeat the attack against a creature within 5 feet of it.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d8 for every slot level above 2.

Crusader's Mantle is a level 3 Evocation spell unique to Paladin. Casting Time is 1 action Range is Self Requires a Verbal Component Duration is Concentration up to 1 minute.

You radiate a magical aura in a 30-foot Emanation. While in the aura, you and your allies each deal an extra 1d4 Radiant damage when hitting with a weapon or an Unarmed Strike.

Spirit Guardians is a level 3 Conjuration spell unique to Cleric. Casting Time is 1 action Range is Self Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and spell ingredient is a prayer scroll Duration is Concentration up to 10 minutes.

Protective spirits flit around you in a 15-foot Emanation for the duration. If you are good or neutral, their spectral form appears angelic or fey (your choice). If you are evil, they appear fiendish.

When you cast this spell, you can designate creatures to be unaffected by it. Any other creature’s Speed is halved in the Emanation, and whenever the Emanation enters a creature’s space and whenever a creature enters the Emanation or ends its turn there, the creature must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature takes 3d8 Radiant damage (if you are good or neutral) or 3d8 Necrotic damage (if you are evil). On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage. A creature makes this save only once per turn.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: The damage increases by 1d8 for each spell slot level above 3.

Fire Shield is a level 4 Evocation spell for Druid Sorcerer and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is self Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and spell ingredient is a bit of phosphorous or a firefly. Duration is 10 minutes.

Wispy flames wreathe your body for the duration, shedding Bright Light in a 10-foot radius and Dim Light for an additional 10 feet.

The flames provide you with a warm shield or a chill shield, as you choose. The warm shield grants you Resistance to Cold damage, and the chill shield grants you Resistance to Fire damage.

In addition, whenever a creature within 5 feet of you hits you with a melee attack roll, the shield erupts with flame. The attacker takes 2d8 Fire damage from a warm shield or 2d8 Cold damage from a chill shield.

Freedom of Movement is a level 4 Abjuration spell for Bard Cleric Druid and Ranger. Casting Time is 1 action Range is Touch Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and spell ingredient is a leather strap and Duration is 1 hour.

You touch a willing creature. For the duration, the target’s movement is unaffected by Difficult Terrain, and spells and other magical effects can neither reduce the target’s Speed nor cause the target to have the Paralyzed or Restrained conditions. The target also has a Swim Speed equal to its Speed.

In addition, the target can spend 5 feet of movement to automatically escape from nonmagical restraints, such as manacles or a creature imposing the Grappled condition on it.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can target one additional creature for each spell slot level above 4.

Hold Monster is a level 5 Enchantment spell for Bard Sorcerer Warlock and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 90 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and spell ingredient is a straight piece of iron. Duration is a Concentration up to 1 minute.

Choose a creature that you can see within range. The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or be Paralyzed for the duration. At the end of each of its turns, the target repeats the save, ending the spell on itself on a success.

Using a Higher-Level Spell Slot: You can target one additional creature for each spell slot level above 5.

Steel Wind Strike is a brand new level 5 Conjuration spell for Ranger and Wizard. Casting Time is 1 action Range is 30 feet Requires a Verbal and Somatic Component and spell ingredient a Melee weapon worth at least 1 copper piece Duration is Instantaneous.

You flourish the weapon used in the casting and then vanish to strike like the wind. Choose up to five creatures you can see within range. Make a melee spell attack against each target. On a hit, a target takes 6d10 Force damage.

You then teleport to an unoccupied space you can see within 5 feet of one of the targets.

@doodl3

[selormohene]

day 105 (monday, october 16th 2023)

This is a difficult one to write, but it must be done. I’ve gotten quite a bit out of quite a few of the concepts and distinctions I've picked up, mostly from studying philosophy, along the way. (You don’t say, graduate student in philosophy.) But one of them is that of vice, in the Aristotelian sense. In particular the word “vicious,” which in contemporary parlance connotes intentional sadistic cruelty, means instead in the Aristotelian sense something more like “having a bad personality trait” — one which may not be intentionally sadistic per se, insofar as it so thoroughly structures your practical reason that you’re not descending from a higher moral or rational standpoint to engage in evil for the sake of satisfying a base desire for cruelty, but your very ability to take a moral standpoint or your very idea of what counts as moral with respect to a given domain is compromised. And yet I like the fact that the word “vicious” with its more contemporary overtones is used to describe this sort of constitutional moral failing. In any case the point is that there’s essentially a distinction between malice and vice: so vice is what I’ve described above, whereas malice is a bit more like the intentional, “I’m going to be cruel here, my goal is explicitly to hurt someone.” 

Part of the reason why I like the fact that vicious behaviour, in the above sense, can be described as "vicious" is that I think the line between Aristotelian vice and intentional malice isn’t quite so clear and bright. I think that I agree somewhat with Socrates, Plato and Kant that we all have the capacity to recognise the right thing to do, it’s impossible to be so thoroughly corrupted that one’s entire sense of practical reasoning has been hijacked by immorality. Of course some people are diabolical but in most cases what seems like a complete inability to recognise moral reasons, or the right thing to do, I think, is either a matter of ignorance of the relevant facts, not having thought through the situation enough, or else a matter of having hidden something from yourself, I think.

Anyway I was reflecting on these distinctions because of something I did. I was getting a bite to eat the other day, and someone asked me to get them something. It was a kid, probably in high school. I won't go over the details but part of it was an experience of feeling challenged or disrespected in the way he responded to my initial reaction to him, not quite knowing how to respond in the moment, being presented with a situation which I hadn't wanted to be presented with, or whatever. And I said no. Or rather I didn’t even say no. I just said what do you want, told them to chill when they were trying to make me get something for them, and then I just didn’t. Instead I walked away, shuffled away, even, because I could feel my own cowardice and shame and my inability to look this person in the eye, human to human, and say I wasn’t going to get them something which cost like four dollars. All over what, thinking they might be lying, or trying to take advantage of me? Or feeling disrespected?

And I do want to be honest and say I do feel like there’s this fundamental aversion to being taken advantage of on principle even over something like four dollars. Like I've often said to myself "if someone on the street is honestly lying to me about needing a few bucks, the fact that they need to do that and I don't means they need those few bucks more than I do." So I usually do try to give people money if they ask me even if I don't believe them. But nobody likes to be taken advantage of, on principle. I feel like I give up some part of my humanity every time I allow myself to be lied to, even if I can understand why people might be lying to me. And I do think that taking the attitude I've described above has led me to start giving money to people who ask without an ounce of human warmth, just out of "you need this money, I have it, here it is, now don't talk to me and let me go my way," and that's something I especially don't like. But idk, I feel like in this particular situation I immediately knew that I’d done the wrong thing — even if it wasn’t the wrong thing, I’d gone against my sense of what the right thing to do was. And that’s not to say my wrong was moral self-betrayal, although it partly was, but also to say that from my perspective in the situation it was the genuinely wrong thing to do, whether or not objectively speaking it was. And the point is that this was an instance of moral cravenness, an instance where what might have been vice was also partly an instance of malice. I did find myself wanting to think of it as a case in which I was vicious but not malicious, but for one thing I feel like it's kind of bad faith to excuse your own actions by applying such exculpatory categories to oneself, and also what I'm trying to express is that this is a case in point regarding the very fact that I think the line between them isn’t entirely clear, and one’s inability to rise above the tendencies of one’s vice in particular situations is often a manifestation of malice; I think I was incredibly malicious then, and it haunts me.

I often wonder if people might not think I rationalise certain things. I wonder that about myself sometimes, that I'd feel inclined to reflect on my guilt about not getting someone a sandwich by thinking about some philosophical concept. The problem is that I don’t know any other way. And it’s not even like I don’t have emotional reactions or I don’t feel certain ways about things, I do, very deeply, but even the phenomenology of those emotions is bound up for me with a certain form of verbal thought, and because I’ve been steeped in a certain linguistic tradition the sorts of concepts that come to me in connection with certain emotions with don’t feel as far from the ground to me as they might to other people. So it's not like a form of distancing myself, at least not to the extent that it would seem. But I must say that expressing emotions in language in which it feels like the emotions are at home is difficult for me, and I can only access that capacity in states of deep integration or flow or with a lot of work. But at the same time I’m not sure if that’s not an instance of alienation from something that does come naturally to me, rather than something that doesn’t.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request a Jack Russell x protective fem reader mini-shot.

(maybe she’s like Buffy? A mildly supernatural hunter) with prompts 37 & 40?👀

Prompt list

Prompt 37 & 40 - “get away from him/her/them before I break every bone in your body.” & “are you implying that you want to kiss me?”

After reverting back to his human form, you had quickly come to realise the drawbacks Jack faced after his nightly activity. He became weak with fatigue, his joints would aching as his muscle screamed from over exerting himself. Whilst his physical body was in desperate need of rest, his werewolf instincts were still active to the point where he would become overstimulated by the smallest of things. During this time Jack would become stubborn and reluctant for help, seeing as this was his condition he himself could deal with it.

You, however, disagreed with this notion and insisted that he relied on you or Ted whilst he slept in the tent incase any trouble were to arise while he was in a vulnerable state. Ted seconded this idea through a series of noises, which meant the favour was on your side and Jack had no other choice but to appeal you both before vacating to the tent for the night. As soon as he departed you looked to Ted who was sat across from you, “I’ll take the night watch big guy, you go get some rest.” Ted looked as though he was about to argue against the idea but when you raised your eyebrows at him, he quickly took to his spot and fell asleep.

For some reason you were too restless to sleep, as though something told you that tonight was going to be one of unease for you. Hailing from one of the most acclaimed family of hunters next to that of the Bloodstones, you were taught to take up long night watches and vigorous trained to hone your reflexes to be quick enough to stand a fight chance against monsters. However soon after joining Jack and Ted did you begin using those lessons to protect your friends instead; Dishonouring your family’s legacy in the process by becoming a deserter. You honestly could care less as all that mattered to you as you looked over your shoulder to see Jack huddled up beneath his coat, was protecting those that you loved by any means necessary.

The sound of a twig snapping forced you up on your feet, slowly drew your dual blades from their sheaths, your eyes trained on the spot where the noise had came from but didn’t dare move until you knew what you were facing. Your breathing maybe even while your mind was not as it ran rampant on the who’s or what’s it could be. After moments of no activity, your guard began to slip and you began slowly moving towards the line of bushes; Deducing it to nothing more as an animal passing through. This was a mistake on your behalf as just as you were a good distance away from the camp, a voice spoke from behind. “You’ve grown sloppy y/n, you family would be very displeased in seeing you carelessly throw away the training they’ve implemented into you.”

You knew that voice anywhere and all it ever did was tick you off with how pompous and arrogant it came across. “It seems that you still have yet to remove that stick up your arse, Cylis.” You turned to address the hunter who merely smirked at your quip. “You still haven’t ran dry of snarky comments I see,” Cylis says, “unfortunately you should’ve chosen your words more carefully unless.” He draws out his weapon held it poised at Jack’s neck, the blade glinting in the light of the campfire, “you wish to have the blood of your companion on your hands.” Your mouth tasted sour at the sight before you. The only place of refuge for Ted and Jack had been soiled by one hunter, who’s to say there wasn’t more that knew where you were and was only buying themselves time to strike?

You felt sick to your stomach at this act of cowardice on Cylis’s part, he didn’t have the decency to await on Jack fulling recovering and instead chose to take advantage when he was at his most weakest; Then again he had always been that type of hunter because you knew and Cylis knew that he wouldn’t be able to fight Jack face on. This was his specialty and he took disgusting pride in it, which enraged you more now that you had let this leech bypass into the camp with ease. “Get away from him before I break every bone in you body.” You snapped, wanting nothing more then to rush in and get Cylis away from potentially hurting Jack and Ted but refrained from acting on the anger you felt inside. After all he had the advantage in this situation, not you.

Clearly aware of this Cylis only laughed your threat off like it was nothing, “I would like to see you try, truly but have you considered that you have to actually get close enough to do so?” He gestured to the considerable amount of space between the two of you, causing a plan to quickly form into your head. “You’re right,” you admitted nonchalantly which made the smirk on Cylis’s face fade to a frown, “I beg your pardon?” He asked. “I said you’re right, don’t let it go to your head though.” You told him as you started to slowly walk forwards, “besides, the closest I can get without you doing anything rash is,” you stopped just short of the campfire, “here!” You cried before taking one of the stakes from your back pocket and throwing it so it lodged itself into Cylis’s shoulder.

“Fuck!” He screamed in pain as he discarded his sword to the floor -big mistake- so he could at least attempt in pulling the stake out, only to found it imbedded too deeply that even the slightest ounce of movement caused him great pain. Taking advantage of this, you quickly drew your swords and stabbed one through Cylis’s throat, and the other through his abdomen; watching as he choked on his own blood that pooled beneath him before surcoming to his wounds. “Hope you have a nice time in hell jackass.” You spat, ripping out the stake from his shoulder and pocketing it away, still high on adrenaline. “Now…where shall I put you I wonder?” You thought aloud.

Jack awoke the next morning to the scent of blood, fearing it to be yours, he awoke with a gasp before having himself out of the tent only to find you sat by the smouldering pile that was the campfire, completely unscathed. “Y/n, what happened? I smelt blood.” He asked sitting himself quite closely next to you, thanking you when you handed him some freshly made coffee. “A hunter found our camp.” You told him, watching as his eyes darkened with the possibilities of what could’ve happened had you not taken the night watch. “You should have woken me up y/n, I could’ve helped you-“ “you needed the rest Jack and besides I’m not some damsel in distress who needs protecting all the time.” You cut him off, not wanting to get into this especially first thing in the morning.

Jack, not feeling so certain that you understood where he was coming from regarding his concerns, sets his drink aside in favour of holding your hands within his as he looked into your tiered eyes. “I don’t think you get it y/n. I want to protect you, I’ll always feel the need to protect you.” He said, tightening his hold on your hands as he continued, “the mere thought of something possibly happened to you last night makes me scared. Scared of the off chance that one day I’ll loose you and I don’t want that. I never want that to be the case because I.” “Are you implying that you want to kiss me?” You unceremoniously cut him off mid speech, causing Jack’s words to die in his throat as a wave of sudden shyness washed over him at your straightforwardness.

“Wha-what? No I- good morning Ted!” Jack changed subject when he noticed his friend haven woken up, disturbing the foxes that slept on his back as they fled deeper into the woods; Ted made a noise of acknowledgment as he sat himself across from you like the night before. You chuckled at his poor attempt in concealing his flustered state by excessively drinking his coffee whenever you looked at him. So when the werewolf least expected it you learn against his side, “Shame you didn’t kiss me then and there but there’s always a next time right Jack?” You said teasingly, smiling at him as you pressed a kiss against his cheek, watching as he buried his head into your neck to hide his embarrassment. ‘How adorable.’ You thought as you fished off your morning coffee.