#the thief the murderer and the knight

[golden-bubblebee]

this one is in Dutch, and I could not be bothered to read or translate it, so. Yk. Maybe I'll translate it one day.

De dief, de ridder en het meisje

Anne zat rustig in het park. Of zo leek het toch, in werkelijkheid ging haar hart als een gek tekeer. Suisden haar oren en waren haar handen klam van het zweet. Op haar schoot lag een boek. ‘De dief die stal van een moordenaar’ over een middeleeuwse dief die het moordwapen had gestolen van de moordenaar. Nu zaten de ridders van de koning achter de dief aan, denkende dat híj de moordenaar was. De beelden flitsten voorbij haar ogen, ze kon de machtige ridders bijna aanraken. De kleine dief holde haar voorbij, langs de spelende kinderen in het park en… plets! Verschrikt keek Anne op. Voor haar stond Jul. Een jongen van het school die altijd met haar lachte omdat ze graag boeken las. Meestal trok Anne zich niet veel aan van hem, maar nu keek ze woedend op. 

“Jul! Dat was mijn boek! Nu is het geruïneerd! Ik heb er weken voor gespaard!”  

Jul grijnsde alleen maar gemeen, het deed hem duidelijk niets. “Waarom houd je dat oude ding nog vast, je bent precies m’n grootmoeder! Ík heb iets véél beter!” riep hij uit, terwijl hij trots met een telefoon zwaaide. Het was duidelijk een oud en al vaak gebruikt ding, maar dan nog, het was een telefoon! 

Annes ogen werden groot, “Ooh, hoe kom je daar aan? Kost het niet super veel? Ik wil er ook wel een,” ratelde Anne. Jul lachte alleen maar: 

“Jij krijgt er nooit een, je kan het toch niet betalen! Je hebt alleen maar geld voor die stomme boeken van je!” terwijl hij dat zei stampte hij het boek uit haar handen waardoor het in de eendenvijver tuimelde. 

“Nee!” gilde Anne, terwijl ze Jul aan de kant duwde om naar de vijver heen te gaan. Achter haar hoorde ze hem gemeen lachen. Wonder boven wonder was het boek nog niet gezonken. Met een lange stok viste ze het boek uit de vijver. Als ze daarnet nog hoop had gehad hem te herstellen was die nu ook wel weg. De tranen kwamen in haar ogen, ze had zo lang gespaard voor dit boek! Op school had ze haar vriend Liam die altijd hielp Jul weg te houden van haar boeken, maar op haar eentje kon ze niet tegen de oudere jongen op. Kwaad keek ze hem na. Hoe ging ze dit uitleggen aan haar mama? Ze mocht niet weten dat Jul zo gemeen was tegen haar, die extra zorgen wilde ze haar mama niet bezorgen. Voorzichtig wrikte ze de kletsnatte pagina’s open. Ze herkende de uitgelopen stukjes tekst meteen. Het was meer in het begin van het boek, op het moment dat de dief besefte wat hij had gestolen. 

Plots werd alles rond Anne donker. De kleuren werden een groot blauwig waas en alles rond haar draaide. Haar ogen voelden plots zwaar en dik aan. Voor ze wist wat er gebeurde viel ze neer in het gras. Ze voelde nog zwakjes een stekende pijn aan haar hoofd, maar dan werd alles zwart voor haar ogen. 

*

Verward werd Anne weer wakker. Nee, wacht. Ze werd wakker geschud! Naast haar zat een jongen geknield. “Liam? Ben…ben jij dat?” een beetje versuft kroop ze overeind. 

“Ik? Neen jonkvrouwe, volgens mij vergist u zich, wij hebben elkaar nooit eerder gezien. Een schoonheid zoals u zou ik wel onthouden hebben!” nu de jongen sprak hoorde ze dat zijn stem inderdaad in niets op die van Liam leek. Ook zag ze nu dat zijn haar veel meer krullen had. “Wat is uw Godgegeven naam? Ik ben Wilhelm!” verbaasd keek Anne de jongen aan, Wilhelm? Wie heette er nu zo? En ‘Godgegeven’ naam? Wie zegt dat nu? Overdonderd door de vreemde jongen wist ze even niet meer wat te antwoorden. “Jonkvrouwe, is alles in orde?” De jongen had opgemerkt hoe ze rond haar aan het kijken was, opzoek naar haar boek. 

“Eh…ja, sorry, ik ben trouwens Anne. Heb je toevallig mijn boek gezien?” 

Wilhelms ogen werden groot nu, “bent u van de adel? Alleen de priester kan lezen hier! En van wat is Anne een afkorting? Annemarie?” 

Nu was het Annes beurt om verbaasd te zijn. “wat bedoel je, alleen de priester kan lezen? En ik heet Anne, gewoon, Anne.” Haar hoofd tolde door al deze merkwaardigheden. Ze had hoe dan ook geen zin om nog langer met deze vreemde jongen te praten. “Waar zijn we trouwens? En weet je of er een bushalte hier in de buurt is? Dan kan ik naar huis.” De jongen trok zijn hoofd een beetje scheef nu, 

“Buschhalte? Wat is dat? Is dat de naam van je paard?” Anne kon het niet laten, ze trok haar wenkbrauwen op en keek de jongen vies aan, net zoals ze Jul altijd zag doen. Ze begon echt wel haar geduld te verliezen. “Wilhelm, stop met idioot te doen en toon me de bushalte! De tram is ook goed!” De jongen slaagde erin zijn hoofd zowaar nog schever te trekken. “Thram? Is dat je tweede paard? Busch en Thram? Is halte de naam van een herberg? Want hier hebben we er geen. Er is er eentje in het dorp verderop, maar dan ben je al wel stevig afgedwaald want dat is een zevental kilometer verderop.” 

Anne verloor haar geduld. “Kijk, Will! Stop met zo kinderachtig te zijn en toon me gewoon de weg! Is je vader of moeder hier niet?” 

Nu was het de beurt aan de jongen om beledigd te zijn. “Mijn naam is Wilhelm, en mijn ouders zijn op het veld! Niet iedereen kan het zich veroorloven om te leren lezen en maar te zitten niksen!” Kwaad liep de jongen weg. Nu pas merkte Anne de mooie riem op. Hij leek helemaal niet te passen bij de smoezelige jongen. “Hey, kom terug! Zeg me dan op zijn minst waar ik ben en de stad vind!” Wilhelm draaide zich weer om, “de stad is nog kilometers ver! Het enige hier in de buurt is het dorp, en daarvoor moet je naar het noorden lopen!” voor de tweede keer draaide Wilhelm zich woest om, met stevige pas weglopend van Anne. Het zuiden? Dacht de jongen serieus dat ze altijd een kompas bij zich droeg ofzo? 

“Willhelm, je komt nu terug en toont me de weg naar het dorp! Hoe moet ik kunnen weten waar het zuiden ligt?!” Anne voelde hoe haar hoofd rood werd van woede. Wie dacht deze jongen wel niet wie hij was? Voor de derde – en laatste – keer draaide de jongen zich om. “Ben je soms helemaal dom? Het zuiden weet iedereen toch zijn, kijk gewoon naar de zon!” 

Annes hart stopte eventjes. Aan de jongen zijn nek bungelde een prachtige ketting met een enkele groene steen. Ze herkende de ketting als de ketting die de dief in haar boek had gestolen. De ketting die gebruikt was om het meisje te vermoorden. Nu ze erover nadacht bedacht ze zich dat Wilhelm wel erg hard leek op de dief van het boek. “Wilhelm…hoe kom je aan die ketting?” ze hoorde hoe haar stem een beetje trilde, ze wist dat het idioot was, het was een boek verdorie. Maar toch… 

“Dat zijn jou zaken niet!” snauwde Wilhelm kwaad. Anne merkte hoe hij zijn vuisten balde. Langzaam stak ze haar handen in de lucht. “Rustig, Wilhelm, ik wil je alleen maar helpen… ik raad je aan de ketting weg te doen, gooi hem ergens in het bos, of steek hem weer terug in de zakken van de oorspronkelijke eigenaar…” Nu werd Wilhelm echt kwaad. “Zeg je nu dat ik een dief ben? Ik zou nooit stelen van iemand!” Langzaam trok Anne haar wenkbrauwen op. Ze wist dat het een gekke gedachte was, maar ze geloofde in haar gevoel. Als deze jongen echt de dief van het boek was betekende dat ook dat het niet goed zou eindigen voor hem. Al zou ze wel moeten uitzoeken hoe ze hem naar zijn eigen wereld zou kunnen brengen zonder dat hij daar dan weer opgehangen werd voor moord. Plotseling hoorde Anne achter zich een vreemd geluid, een soort rammelen. Wanneer ze zich omdraaide zag ze een ruiter voorbij draven. Hij was helemaal bezweet en had een rode neus. Wanneer de man Anne en Wilhelm zag stopte hij echter. 

“Jij daar! Wat is uw naam en die van je metgezel? En heb je hier iemand voorbij zien lopen in de afgelopen minuten?” 

Wilhelm keek eventjes bang naar de ridder, maar herstelde zich gauw. 

“Ik ben Wilhelm, heer. Deze jonkvrouwe draagt de naam Annemarie!” voordat Willhelm zijn zin kon afmaken onderbrak Anne hem, “Mijn naam is Anne, niet Annemarie! En neen, we hebben niemand voorbij zien komen.” 

De ridder keek beledigd. “Willhelm, je moet je metgezel eens wat manieren aanleren!” Anne keek boos en verbaasd naar de twee mannen voor haar. Ze had toch niets beledigend gezegd? 

“Sorry, edele Heer. Ze is niet van hier en is onze gebruiken nog niet helemaal gewoon.” Nu leunde Willhelm dichter naar de ridder toe en sprak op fluistertoon: “Je zou haar familie bijna barbaren kunnen noemen! Geen respect voor de man!” 

Plots werd Anne lijkbleek. Het taalgebruik. De vreemde verstandhouding tussen de twee mannen. Hoe de ridder duidelijk neerkeek op haar. Wilhelm zat niet in de echte wereld, zij zat in het boek! Ze hoorde haar oren suizen en voelde de wereld draaien. Vermoeid viel ze neer in het gras. Hoe was dat mogelijk? Het was toch maar een boek? En…betekende dat dan dat Wilhelm op het einde van deze dag terechtgesteld zou worden? 

“Annemarie? Bent u oké? U ziet er behoorlijk bleek uit.” 

“Neen, Will, ik ben niet oké.” Even leek Wilhelm uit het lood geslagen door zijn nieuwe bijnaam, maar hij negeerde het gewoon en plofte naast Anne in het gras. Zij kwam echter onmiddellijk weer overeind. “Will, we moeten hier weg en wel nu!” ze sleurde aan zijn hand, maar Wilhelm weigerde te bewegen. “Wilhelm! Ik ben serieus, als je nu niet weggaat loopt het niet goed af!” Anne was nog steeds aan Wills arm aan het trekken, met als resultaat dat ze hem vooruit trok op het lange gras. Een grote glimlach sierde zijn gezicht. 

“Annemarie, het is maar een ridder, er gebeurd je niets. ze zijn hier om ons te beschermen!” 

Nu werd Anne echt kwaad. Wie dacht hij wel niet wie hij was? “Will, verdorie! Ik weet dat de ridder naar jou opzoek was en dat je die ketting hebt gestolen!” Will probeerde nog om zijn gezicht in de plooi te houden, maar begon dan nog harder te lachen. “Anne, Anne, Anne toch. Lieve Anne. Ik heb dit al duizend keer gedaan, geloof me, het komt wel goed. Die ridder is al zo lang ik me kan herinneren opzoek naar mij. Ik laat me heus niet doen!” Anne kon het niet laten, en ook op haar gezicht verscheen een zwak glimlachje. Hij had haar eindelijk Anne genoemd. Ze keek recht in zijn blauwe ogen, betoverd door de beweging die ze erin zag. Nee! Ze moest bij de zaak blijven. Ieder moment kon de ridder hier weer staan en de ketting aan Wills nek zien! Als het boek klopte dan toch. Zo snel als ze kon  gaf ze één stevige ruk aan zijn arm. Eindelijk stond Wilhelm op zijn benen. 

Maar het was al te laat. Ze hoorde hoeven ploffen in het zachte gras. Met schrik in haar hart draaide ze zich om, daar stond de ridder. Deze keer was hij afgestegen. Ze kon niet stoppen met te kijken naar zijn heldere, kille ogen. Dit was een man die moordde. 

“Is alles in orde hier? Ik hoorde geschreeuw?”  Anne duwde Will achter haar rug, in een hopeloze poging hem uit het zicht van de ridder te halen. Zolang hij de ketting niet zou zien was alles in orde. 

“Ja hoor, heer. Alles is in orde hier, gewoon wat aan het stoeien.” De ridder keek haar misprijzend aan. “Leer je dan niets, vrouw. U praat niet tegen mij!” in de tussen tijd was Wilhelm druk bezig met vanachter Annes rug te kruipen, haar armen aan de kant duwend. 

“Sorry, heer. Zoals ik al zij, ze is niet van hier,” Will keek haar strak aan, “ze moet eens leren dat ze niet zomaar tegen vreemdelingen kan praten.” Zijn blik was dwingend en liet er geen twijfel aan dat als ze nog eens zoiets flikte er gevolgen zouden zijn. Op dat moment ontplofte de boel. Het eerst beschaafde gesprek eindigde met een luid “Jij!” waarop de ridder Wilhelm aanvloog. Trekkend aan de ketting gooide hij de arme jongen op de grond. 

“deze ketting! Jij bent de dief! Ik zie je overal, maar dat komt gewoon omdat jij altijd al de verdomde dief was! Jij gaat de brandstapel op!” woest greep hij naar zijn dolk, aangezien zijn zwaard nog aan het paard hing. Maar voor hij de kans had Will neer te steken, klopte Anne met een zware tak op zijn hoofd. In plaats van dat de ridder neerviel, sprong hij op. Zijn gezicht rood van woede kwam hij op Anne af. 

“laat me raden, jij bent ook een van zijn vuile dief maatjes? Terwijl jij die armen mensen bestal kon je metgezel mij bezig houden?” Anne schudde bang het hoofd, ze had hier niets mee te maken. Alles wat ze wenste was dat Wilhelm niet dood eindigde, zoals in haar boek. “Heer, alstublieft. Ik heb niets met hem te maken, ik heb hem nog maar net ontmoet!” ze hield haar armen omhoog in een hopeloze poging zichzelf te verdedigen. Voordat de ridder ook maar kans had haar te slaan verscheen Wilhelm achter de ridder. Hij had het zwaard van de man in zijn twee handen. Hij sloeg heel hard met de pommel* op het hoofd van de woeste ridder. Deze keer had het wel effect en viel hij zwaar op Anne. Met moeite kroop ze vanonder de zware man en keek Will boos aan. 

“zie je nu wat ik bedoel?! We moeten hier weg!” Nu was het Wills beurt om haar verontwaardigd aan te kijken. “Hoe kon je het dan weten, hé! Ben je soms een heks? Een spion?!” Nu werd Anne wel bang, ze moest denken aan een geschiedenisles. Heksen werden verbrand in de middeleeuwen… “Nee, nee ik ben geen heks! Ik…ik had gewoon een slecht voorgevoel!” Wilhelm keek haar wantrouwend aan, “wat zegt je voorgevoel nu dan?” het was duidelijk dat hij er niet veel van geloofde, maar Anne had wel net zijn leven gered. 

“we moeten weg van het dorp. Welke windrichting zij je ook weer dat het dorp was?” Anne draaide rondjes, alsof ze verwachtte dat ze het dorp van hier kon zien liggen. “Het dorp is naar het noorden, dus jij zegt dat we naar het zuiden moeten?” Anne knikte als bevestiging en begon resoluut weg te lopen van de zon. “Eh, Annemarie? Dat is het noordwesten, het zuiden is deze kant op,” sprak Wilhelm twijfelend, terwijl hij met zijn duim over zijn schouder wees. “oh,” en Anne begon nu de kant van de kleine dief op te wandelen. Ze moest en zou Wilhelm levend houden. Het boek mocht niet eindigen zoals het deed. 

Snel holde ze achter Will aan, wat liep die jongen snel! Ze keek nog één keer achter haar, en zag hoe in de verte langzaam de zon begon onder te gaan. Plots stond Anne stil. De zon begon onder te gaan… ze was al heel de dag weg… hoe ongerust zou haar mama nu wel niet zijn? Ze voelde de tranen opwellen, maar veegde ze woest weg. Ze mocht geen zwakte tonen, ze moest sterk zijn. als je zwakte toont, gebruikt Jul het toch alleen maar tegen je.

*een pommel is het uiteinde van het handvat van een zwaard

Wacht eens, Jul was hier helemaal niet! Alleen zij en Wilhelm, en tot nu toe had Wilhelm nog niet echt iets gezegd of gedaan dat super erg was. Behalve dan dat hij eerder op de dag zo stom deed, maar dat begreep ze nog wel. Hij was een dief, bang om gepakt te worden. het was nogal logisch dat hij niet bij haar wou zijn. maar nu had ze blijkbaar zijn vertrouwen gewonnen. “Annemarie! Kom je nog? Jij was de persoon hier die persé weg wou van het dorp!” al kon hij wel zagen, die jongen. Met een zwak glimlachje en de tranen in haar ogen versnelde ze haar pas. Algauw liep ze weer naast de jongen. Het was intussen best donker geworden, maar desondanks kon hij de tranen in haar ogen zien. “Anne? Alles in orde?” Een waterig glimlachje verscheen op haar gezicht, verbaasd dat hij had opgemerkt dat ze huilde. “Ik was aan mijn mama aan het denken, ze is nu vast opzoek naar me. Voel jij je niet schuldig omdat je je ouders zo maar achterlaat?” te laat besefte Anne dat Wilhelm een wees was, of toch volgens het boek, en eerder die dag dus tegen haar had zitten liegen. 

“Ik…eh…ik heb tegen je gelogen eerder vandaag. Mijn ouders werken helemaal niet op het veld. In feite weet ik niet wie mijn ouders zijn. mijn moeder is gestorven tijdens de geboorte. En mijn vader had niet genoeg geld om me op te voeden dus vroeg hij de baron om dit te doen. Maar van zodra ik tien werd moest ik weer weg van hem. mijn vader heb ik echter nooit meer teruggevonden. Al denk ik graag dat hij een ridder is geworden, groot en sterk. En dat hij nu wel genoeg geld heeft om zijn andere kinderen op te voeden.” Even wist ze niet wat ze moest zeggen. Het was best triest dat Wilhelm zich zijn ouders moest inbeelden om gewoon een idee te hebben van wie ze waren. 

“daar, we kunnen in die grot overnachten!” Wilhelm wees enthousiast naar een donkere, smalle ingang. Hoewel Anne wist dat hij gewoon van onderwerp probeerde te veranderen ging ze erin mee. “Hoe weet je dat die spelonk eindigt in een grot?” Wilhelm lachte zachtjes, waardoor Anne niet zeker was of het was vanwege haar dommigheid of omdat hij haar iets kon leren. “hoor je dat? Een zacht gefluit, haast niet meer dan wat gesuis?” Anne spitste haar oren, ze hoorde vooral de wind, maar als ze goed luisterde hoorde ze dat er af en toe wind uit de toon klonk van de rest. Ze knikte, blij dat ze dat had gehoord. “dat wijst erop dat er een grot achter zit. De wind weerkaatst tegen de wanden en werkt zo als een soort klankkast.” Hij trok haar mee aan haar hand door de dunne spelonk. 

Eenmaal ze daar door waren zag ze dat het inderdaad een grot was. Het was niet erg veel breder dan de ingang, maar het was er breed genoeg om er met twee te liggen. Al was het wel erg krap. Ze kroop tegen Wilhelm aan, en gebruikte zijn buik als kussen. Hierdoor kroop zijn T-shirt een stukje naar boven en kon ze een vreemd gevormd litteken zien. Het leek een beetje op een ‘J’.  Ze lagen samen in een bolletje opgerold, aan haar rug voelde ze de rotswand. Wills kalme ademhaling werkte enorm rustgevend en voor ze het wist, lag ze diep in slaap. 

*

Met een diepe zucht werd ze wakker. Langzaam strekte ze zich uit, om alleen maar te ontdekken dat ze tegen werd gehouden door kille rotswanden. Even voelde Anne de angst om zich heen slaan, waar was ze? Maar algauw kwamen de herinneringen van gisteren terug. Hoe Jul haar boek in het water had gegooid en ze daarna op magische wijze ín het boek was beland. Maar waar was Wilhelm? Snel krabbelde ze overeind en schuifelde ze door de spelonk. Vlak voor ze de buitenlucht zag stopte ze echter. Ze hoorde een stem, en het was niet die van Wilhelm. Het was die van de ridder! 

“Dacht je soms dat ik geen sporen kan lezen? Ik laat me heus niet tegenhouden door zoiets stom als een nachtje. Het was trouwens volle maan, domme jongen. Dan heb ik nog genoeg licht. Komaan, spreek tegen me! Waar is je vriendin!” Anne voelde hoe haar hart kil werd, zou hij haar verraden? 

“Ik heb geen idee! Zoals ik al zij, we zijn gisteren uit elkaar gegaan!” Anne voelde een vlaag van rust over zich heen komen. Hij had haar niet verlinkt. ‘Paf!’ Annes hart kromp samen, voorzichtig schuifelde ze nog wat naar voren. Daar zag ze Wilhelm, hij lag op de grond. Neergeslagen door de ridder. Zijn hele gezicht was al dik en gezwollen. Voordat Anne wist wat ze deed kroop ze de spleet uit en vloog op de ridder af. Hoe durfde hij Will zo toe te takelen? Ze sloeg waar ze maar kon, proberende hem toch iets van pijn te geven. De pijn die Will waarschijnlijk ook voelde. Woest begon ze aan de ridders helm te trekken. Ze wou het gezicht zien van deze slechte man. Ze sleurde hem er in één keer af en klopte de ridder heel hard in het gezicht met zijn eigen helm. Dit voelde de man duidelijk wel. Hij greep naar zijn oog, en viel een beetje naar achteren. Nu zag Wilhelm zijn kans. Hij nam Annes hand vast en sleurde haar mee. “Kom, ren zo hard als je kan! We kunnen nooit van hem winnen!” Anne vond dit een goed plan. Ze had zo hard zitten kloppen op de ridder en hij had amper bewogen. Al kwam die helm wel hard aan. Anne voelde ergens een sprankje euforie. Ze had Wilhelm gered! “Will, waar gaan we eigenlijk naartoe?” Anne had gemerkt dat ze de zelfde kant aan het oplopen waren als ze vandaan kwamen. 

“Ik neem je mee naar het dorp, terug naar je ouders. Daar zal je veilig zijn.” Hij keek haar met een zwak glimlachje aan. Al kon ze zien dat zijn ogen droef stonden. Maar Anne trok zich snel los uit zijn greep. “Ik ga niet terug naar het dorp! Ik blijf bij je, en daar heb je niets over te zeggen!” wat was het nut nu eenmaal. Ze kende niemand uit het dorp. De enige twee mensen die ze kenden waren Wilhelm en de ridder. De laatste probeerde haar te vermoorden, dus de keuze was snel gemaakt. Maar Wilhelm kwam nu voor haar staan. Zijn armen gekruist over zijn borst. En zijn benen een beetje open. Hij was duidelijk ook niet van plan toe te geven. “we kunnen ook niet terug, want daar is een erg kwade ridder Julius ons aan het opwachten.” Anne snoof. Was dit het beste argument dat hij kond verzinnen? “Dan gaan we naar… daar!” Anne wees naar links. Ze had geen idee wat daar lag, maar noch de ridder, die blijkbaar Julius heette, noch het dorp was daar. Will keek even bedenkelijk, maar knikte dan. “met wat geluk raken we binnen in de oude boerderij en dan vind hij ons niet. de honden van de boer zullen zijn paard daar wel weghouden.” Anne grijnsde trots, ze kon dan toch nog iets goed doen. “probeer wel zigzaggend te lopen, om je sporen te bedekken,” Will keek haar strak aan, “anders zijn we er geweest.” Anne knikte overtuigend. Al was ze helemaal niet zo zeker of ze dat wel kon, haar sporen bedekken. Will moest dit opgemerkt hebben want hij nam haar hand vast, “volg mijn gewoon, oké? Zorg dat je niet teveel aan takken blijft hangen of afbreekt. Ontwijk modderpoelen.” Ze gaf een kneepje in zijn hand, bewijze van signaal dat ze  het begrepen had. 

Na een halfuurtje stevig door te wandelen zagen ze in de verte eindelijk de boerderij. “het gebouwtje dat wij zoeken staat iets meer naar rechts, je herkent het aan de grote kraai die op de deur geschilderd is.” Anne tuurde in de verte en zag daar inderdaad een vage vorm. Ze vermoedde dat dat de bouwval was. Ze keek in de verte, waar een hoop donkere wolken opeengestapeld zaten. Ze was misschien opgegroeid met weerberichten, maar ze kon ook wel zien dat deze wolken niets goed voorspelden. Ze wees Will erop, en deze versnelde zijn pas alleen maar. “er komt een storm aan, dan is het niet veilig buiten. Het kan ijskoud worden in deze streken.” Hij stak zijn vinger in zijn mond en stak hem in de lucht, “de wind komt uit het zuiden, dus we krijgen al helemaal koude regen. We moeten zorgen dat we snel in de boerderij zijn, of we vriezen dood.” Ze begonnen te rennen en waren net op tijd binnen voor de hemel openbarstte. Te laat zagen ze dat ze helemaal voor niets naar binnen waren gegaan. De hele zuidkant van het gebouw was weggebrand. De regen vloog in Annes gezicht, en hij was, inderdaad, ijskoud. Snel kropen ze in een beschut hoekje, opeengepakt proberende hun lichaamswarmte bij te houden. Maar aangezien ze beiden zomerkleren aanhadden waren ze al snel aan het rillen dat het niet meer om aan te zien was. 

“Will, ik kan niet geloven dat ik dit zeg, maar we moeten terug naar het dorp! Dit houden we niet uit!” Annes stem kwam maar net boven de wind uit, en dat terwijl ze vlak naast de jongen zat. “Annemarie, ik kan niet geloven dat ik dit zeg, maar je hebt gelijk!” ze kwamen moeizaam overeind en liepen naar de deur toe? Wilhelm werd bijna tegen de muur aangeblazen van de sterke wind. Anne opende de deur, waarop deze bijna meteen uit zijn scharnieren vloog, het veld in. Hand in hand renden de kinderen voor hun leven. Ze hadden het geluk dat ze de wind mee hadden, anders zouden ze nooit vooruit zijn geraakt. Na een dik uur gerend te hebben was Anne aan het einde van haar latijn. “Will! Ik kan niet meer!” ze hijgde hevig. Wills enige reactie was een bemoedigend kneepje in haar hand. Hij vertraagde een beetje, haar nog steeds meesleurend. “Als ik goed zit, zijn we er bijna! Je kan het!” en inderdaad, op nog geen vijf meter van de kinderen vandaan zagen ze de eerste huisjes. Het was zo donker dat ze niet eens door hadden gehad dat ze er al bijna waren. Vechtend tegen de kou en de wind gingen ze opzoek naar de kerk. Daar zouden ze onderdak vinden. “daar!” Anne wees naar de lucht. Eerst zag Wilhelm niet waar ze naar wees, maar dan zag hij de kerktoren ook. Met hun laatste krachten renden ze erheen. 

Eenmaal binnen was het akelig stil. Een priester keek de kinderen verbaasd aan. “wat doen jullie buiten in dit weer? Kom, ik zal voor dekens zorgen!” Will snoof, we zochten naar onderdak. Tenzij u een beter adresje weet, natuurlijk. Snel schudde de priester het hoofd en schuifelde weg. 

“wel, wel. Kijk eens aan. Nooit gedacht een dief in een kerk te zien. Of ga je hier ook al stelen?” verschrikt keken de kinderen op. Daar stond de ridder. Koud en nat, met een versleten deken om zich heen gelsagen. “Op dit moment denk ik dat we allemaal uitgeput zijn, en we zijn in een kerk, maar van zodra deze storm voorbij is, zetten we dit voort.” Will knikte, “Ik ben blij dat u dan toch iets van verstand hebt.” De ridder schudde teleurgesteld het hoofd, “ en probeer maar nergens naartoe te gaan, want ik heb de sleutels.” Met deze woorden zwaaide hij met een grote bos vol sleutels, waarvan er eentje wel op de kerkdeuren zou passen. Vermoeid plofte Anne neer; eventjes gaf ze niet meer om de ridder of het feit dat ze straks gearresteerd zouden worden? ze was doodop. Al tanden klapperend sloeg ze haar armen om zich heen. 

“bent u in orde, jonkvrouwe Annemarie?” Anne had enorm veel zin om de ridder te negeren, maar ze wist dat ze dat niet kon doen. Hij was nu eens vriendelijk tegen haar. 

“als ik ee-een deken of iets-ie-iets krijg wel j-ja.” Ze kon bijna niet meer praten, omdat ze zo hard rilde. Bijna meteen nadat ze dat had gezegd stond der ridder op om haar zijn deken te geven. Maar net op dat moment was de priester er weer, met een extra stapeltje dekens binnen geschuifeld kwam. Koud en nat vielen ze in slaap. 

*

De volgende ochtend scheen de zon gelukkig weer, al was dit ook slecht nieuws. Dit betekende dat de vrede tussen de kinderen en de ridder over was. Ze hadden nog maar net de tijd om hun ogen te openen, of de ridder sleurde hen al overeind, de buitenlucht in. “Jullie gaan boeten voor jullie daden! Diefstal is fout!” hij nam Wilhelm, die hevig aan het tegenstribbelen was, vast bij zijn kraag en hield hem zo omhoog. Hierdoor kwam diens vreemde litteken tevoorschijn. De ridder zag het. Verbaasd keek hij er naar, verstijfd als het ware. Voordat de ridder nog iets kon zeggen of doen werd Wilhelm overgenomen van hem en in de boeien geslagen. Ook Anne moest mee. “Wacht!” riep de ridder luid. Iedereen was verbaasd, zo ook de man die net Annes handen bij elkaar wilde binden. “Wat is er, Julius? Je zit al jaren achter dit kind aan, denk je niet dat het tijd is dat hij eindelijk zijn verdiende loon krijgt?” de man die de geboeide Will vasthield wist niet goed wat hij nu moest doen, en Wilhelm maakte hier gebruikt van. Hij begon enorm tegen te stribbelen en raakte eventjes vrij uit de greep van de man. Maar Julius had hem al gauw weet te pakken. “Inderdaad, sorry, Berend. Neem hem maar mee.”

In de chaos had niemand door dat Anne verdwenen was.

Ergens in de smalste straten van het dorp rende ze voor haar leven, vrij letterlijk. Ze wist dat ze terug moest gaan voor Wilhelm, maar op dit moment kon ze alleen maar aan zichzelf denken. Bovendien, ze zouden hem niet direct vermoorden, toch? Met die gedachte stelde ze zichzelf heel de tijd gerust. ‘er moet eerst een rechtszaak komen, word kalm, Anne’ ze hoorde hoe de menigte door de hoofdstraat liep, waarschijnlijk onderweg naar het huis van de dorpsleider. Ze had eens in een boek gelezen dat mensen daar vast werden gehouden tot hun proces bij gebrek aan een gevangenis. Of kerker. 

Verdwaasd werd Anne wakker in het gras. Naast haar lag haar doorweekte boek. Vreemd genoeg was er geen tijd verstreken in deze wereld. Zo snel als ze kon rende ze naar huis. Het boek moest drogen. Ze moest weten hoe het afliep voor Wilhelm en Ridder Julius. Hoewel het maar enkele straten was tot haar huis, leek het eindeloos te duren. Wanneer ze eindelijk thuis was rukte ze de kast open, niet eens de moeite doende om haar schoenen uit te doen. Ze nam de haardroger en zette hem op de hoogste stand. Ze legde het boek op de verwarming en zette deze op het hoogste. Haar moeder kwam verbaasd binnen. “Anne? Wat is dit?” een steek van pijn joeg door haar hart. Nu was ze weer Anne. Niet langer Annemarie. “Mijn boek, het moet drogen!” ze voelde de tranen in haar ogen komen, even wou ze haar tranen nog wegvegen, maar ze liet ze gaan. Als er iets was dat ze geleerd had was dat het oké is om te lezen en te huilen. Het is een teken dat je gevoelens en kennis hebt. Een zeer waardevolle combinatie. De pagina’s waren eindelijk droog. Ze bladerde naar het einde en las: 

Wilhelm keek de grote ridder aan. Het was duidelijk dat hij enorm veel respect had voor deze man. De ridder had zijn hele leven overhoop gegooid om hem te redden. Hoewel hij zijn vrije leventje zou missen was dit misschien wel voor het beste. Hoewel hij ergens een steek van droefenis voelde glimlachte hij. Dit was zijn echte thuis. De ridder zat voor het haardvuur een boek te lezen, en wenkte de Wilhelm. “Ik zal je leren lezen en schrijven, dan kan je later als schrijver werken. De jongen glimlachte zwakjes, denkende aan een vriendin die hij eens had gehad. Hij plofte naast de ridder en schoof dichterbij. En ieder oplettend oog zou gezien hebben hoe de twee enorm hard op elkaar leken. Zo leerden vader en zoon elkaar wat ze wisten terwijl ze ontdekten wie de ander was. Anne deed het boek met een glimlach dicht. Dus ze had gelijk gehad, Julius was Wilhelms vader. En eindelijk waren ze weer samen. Ze drukte het boek tegen haar buik en begon hevig te wenen. De tranen stroomden als watervallen. Ze ging Wilhelm en Julius missen. Ze waren als familie geworden. Maar van zodra ze haar mama’s warme armen rond zich voelde wist ze dat ze hier ook een familie had.  

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Hi! I was wondering if you were going to do a pt. 2 of the ghost and thief reader post? Also, I hope you drink enough water and have an amazing day!

Simon Riley - Medieval Au Part 2

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

Tears stream down your face and your heart pounds out of your chest as he drags you inside of a cottage just out of town. You continue to beg him not to kill you, clutching at his wrist. He shuts the door behind him with a slam, and you choke out more sobs, he's gonna do something worse than kill you.

His grip loosens on the collar of your worn shirt, and he grabs your bicep instead. You finally start to notice that you aren't in the dungeons, and you are so confused. You glance around, eyes flickering over the room. He's brought you to his home, and by the looks of it, he is a very high ranking official.

Your sobs stop in a moment of confusion as he drags you by the arm to his washroom. It's a miniature bathhouse, you've only ever dreamed of such luxury. The floors are ornate, handmade tiles and you can smell all of the expensive soaps. He closes the washroom door and he sits you roughly against the wall, you start to cry again as he takes off his armor.

He removes his helmet last, and he is the most angelic person you've ever seen. It's ironic to even call him angelic after the treatment he has put you through in the last 20 minutes. He ignores your crying as he takes off his boots and rolls up his sleeves. You scramble away as he approaches you again.

His face betrays no emotion as he grabs you by you arm again. He sits you back in the original spot he had placed you in by the door.

“Don’t fucking move.” He lears at you, and he seems satisfied when you freeze in fear of his tone. He narrows his eyes and lets go of your arm. He goes to the corner on the other side of the door where he starts to warm up some water over a fire. It's a giant metal basin, and you shakily watch as he fills it up to the brim. He makes sure the fire is big enough to warm up the water. He glances back at you to make sure that you haven't moved.

After several minutes, steam starts to fill the small bathhouse, and the air gets warmer. You watch the man with wide eyes as he makes sure the water is warm enough, and he effortlessly bumps the basin into the porcelain bathtub in the middle of the room. He returns to the fire and refills the basin full of water, then he turns to you.

You begin to cry as he grabs you, he doesn’t seem to be as rough anymore. He shushes you as he takes off your shirt, and you scratch and fight him. He seems annoyed but he makes no comment as you try to fight him.

He pulls your trousers off as you cry and sob, begging him to not hurt you. He picks you up by your underarms and he plops you into the warm bathtub. You are shaking from fear, you've never had a warm bath before. The water is nice but not nice enough to fight off the thoughts of what he might do to you.

He looks over his several bottles of soap, you’ve never seen a bottle up close before. He decides on a green glass bottle, and he pops the cork off and he dumps the soap onto the top of your head and the rest into the warm bath water. He starts to scrub you clean, starting with your hair.

His movements are very firm, like he wants to scrub your skin off. You feel so vulnerable and exposed by his treatment of you.

“You're not as filthy as I thought’ you’d be..” He says to you, rinsing your hair out with a clay bowl and the warm water from the basin over the fire. He moves to scrub your arms with a rag and more soap from the green bottle. You finally notice how nice it smells, like wild mint and rosemary.

“Makes things easier for me.” He mutters the last part as he finishes cleaning you up. He picks you up out of the bath as you continue to sob quietly. He rinses you off with the clean and warm basin water. You feel goosebumps all over your body as the heat from the water quickly leaves you. You curl into a ball on the tiled floor and shake from the cold and the fear of the unknown.

He dries you off with a towel, and he wraps you in it. He picks you up and puts you back by the door. You shiver and try to cover yourself up more as you watch him empty the bathtub of dirt water. He pours the water outside his window using another large clay bowl as you dry off.

You can’t believe that this is happening to you. Is he going to sell you for money? Is that why he gave you a bath, so you could sell for more? You can only imagine, and the thoughts of horrible things seem to consume you.

[yuuminni]

diamant's special class having access to S sword is such bait considering he does best at being an axe boy. great build growth AND decent speed growth AND a personal that gives him +15 hit on player phase which is extremely good for axes since axes by nature have low hit rate... whats not to like. doubling with tomahawk is very nice and its just not worth it to weigh kagetsu down with it, and panette is glued to her lyn engraved killer axe

[shizuturnspages]

Hi, I can request a yandere diluc, Childe, (I don't know which character else to add) with a cute and adorable reader but who is actually strong and professional murderer, thief, disguise, hitman and a horrible, He has an obsession with removing the organs of his victims (such as cutting their stomach to remove their entrails and feeling their warmth) twisted and sadistic Personality . Basically, the reader belongs to a murderous organization from birth and he also has a traumatic past. if you don't feel comfortable doing this, don't do it :D Thanks. (Oh and it is impossible to rehabilitate and give therapy to the reader, the reader is aware of his actions but still it is bad )

A Monster in Sheep's Clothing

Synopsis: You are not a victim. You are not helpless. You are a predator. And they? They are the fools who fell into your trap. But one thing remains certain— They will never, ever let you go. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Childe & Dainsleif x Cute but Sadistic Assassin! Reader

Diluc – The Knight in Shattered Armour

❥ At first, Diluc doesn't suspect a thing. He sees you as this small, naive person who has somehow survived in a cruel world. It baffles him.

❥ He thinks you need protection. He is ready to shield you from the dangers of the world. He doesn’t realize that you are the very danger he is trying to keep at bay.

❥ The moment he finds out the truth, he freezes. His blood runs cold. This isn’t just murder. This is pleasure. You kill for fun.

❥ “What… are you?” His voice shakes—not with fear, but with something deeper. Something more twisted.

❥ And yet, despite everything, he can’t let you go. He should despise you. He should turn you in. But he doesn’t. Because deep down, there’s a part of him that likes this.

❥ You are a monster, yes—but you are his monster. He tries to tame you, convince himself that he can control this. That you will never turn your knife against him.

❥ But every time he looks at your sweet, smiling face, he wonders… Would it really be so bad to let you be?

Diluc hates what you are.

And yet, he cannot let you go.

It sickens him, the way his heart clenches whenever you smile—sweet, innocent, deceptive.

He has seen what lies beneath that mask.

He has seen you, drenched in blood, humming softly as you dig your fingers into a man’s open stomach, warmth still clinging to his fading life.

He should have killed you.

Should have ended this the moment he realized what you were.

But instead, he burns with something he cannot name.

Something worse than hatred.

"You disgust me," he growls, grabbing your wrist.

You giggle, tilting your head. "And yet, here you are~"

Diluc’s grip tightens. "This needs to stop."

You sigh, eyes shimmering with amusement. "But you don’t want me to stop, do you?"

And when you lean in, whispering softly—

"Would you like to watch next time?"

Diluc trembles.

Not with rage.

But with something he refuses to name.

Childe – The Bloodstained Beast

❥ Oh, you think you enjoy the thrill of the kill? Childe lives for it.

❥ When he meets you, he immediately senses something off. There’s something in your eyes, something hungry. He recognizes it—because it’s the same look he sees in the mirror.

❥ But he doesn’t expect this. The first time he watches you work—sees the way you carve into a body with delicate precision, humming sweetly to yourself—he feels something dark curl in his chest. You’re beautiful.

❥ He laughs, shaking his head. “And here I thought I was the messed-up one.”

❥ Childe doesn’t try to stop you. He doesn’t want to fix you. No, no, no—he encourages it.

❥ “You like feeling their insides, don’t you?” His voice is low, teasing. “Don’t be shy, show me how you do it.”

❥ He sees you as his perfect match. A partner in blood, in chaos. And the way you act so sweet on the outside? It only makes it better.

❥ “I wonder…” he muses, eyes dark with amusement, “how many people have fallen for that cute little smile before you gutted them?”

❥ And the worst part? He wants you to do it to him, just to see how far you’d go.

Childe is thrilled.

He has always believed that love is best proven through blood, through battle, through the thrill of a kill.

And you?

You are perfect.

"Look at you," he laughs, crouching beside the fresh corpse you’ve just meticulously gutted. "So messy."

You pout. "I think I did a good job."

Childe grins. "Oh, I think you did amazing, sweetheart. But you know…" His fingers brush the blood on your cheek, smearing it further. "Maybe we should have some fun together next time?"

You blink, tilting your head. "You want to play with me?"

Childe chuckles. "Oh, darling—I want to dance with you."

And when he takes your bloodstained hand in his own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles—

You know he means it.

Dainsleif – The Reluctant Worshipper

❥ Dainsleif is torn. Completely and utterly torn. You remind him of something he lost. A fragile, beautiful thing that should never have survived in this wretched world.

❥ But that illusion shatters the moment he sees your work. The blood, the carved flesh, the glee in your voice. It disgusts him. It horrifies him. But most of all, it fascinates him.

❥ Dainsleif knows he should stop you. He knows you are beyond redemption, beyond saving. He knows you are something wretched. And yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.

❥ “You are beyond salvation,” he murmurs, watching you carefully. “And yet, I cannot seem to turn away.”

❥ He hates how drawn he is to you. He despises himself for liking the way you speak to him, for feeling something warm when you smile.

❥ But no matter how much he resists, the truth is undeniable. You have ensnared him. And he will never be free.

Dainsleif does not try to change you.

He understands you.

For what are you, if not a product of a world that has always been cruel?

He watches, silent, as you carve into another victim, your eyes gleaming with something twisted, something delighted.

"You enjoy this," he states.

You glance at him, tilting your head. "Should I lie and say I don’t?"

Dainsleif does not answer.

Instead, he steps forward, kneeling beside you.

"You do not fear death."

You hum. "Death is just another game."

Dainsleif watches you for a long moment.

Then, softly—

"Would you like me to play with you?"

And when you smile, wide and genuine, he knows—

You are his.

Completely.

Eternally.

And he will never let you go.

[ameliathornromance]

With the Prophecy drawing near, you sighed as you watched a bunch of the Usurpare Knights clank their tankards together.

They all jeered and as the rest of the Tavern drank in resolute silence. You always hated serving the Usurparian forces.

Since their take over, forty years ago, they’d been nothing but trouble. You’d seen them mistreat your father – a half Fae man – for over twenty years and now with the Princess of Lemuria’s prophecy drawing near… You didn’t even want to think about the consequences of what would happen if they were victorious in their battle.

Half of the patrons in this Tavern were Creatures, and while the Tavern sat on the Usurpare and Lemurian border – leaning more to the Lemurian side – if the Usurpare forces won, that would spell the end of your families business. Being mostly run by Creatures, the Tavern would probably be forced to shut down.

Which would also mean that the Creatures who came to the Tavern for comfort, would have no where else to go and then, would be forced into unsavoury work.

The other patrons, all shot the Usurparian men dirty looks as they laughed loudly and drunkenly.

You sighed, cleaning a glass in your hand with a dish rag.

Other Side above, what you would give for them to be quiet.

The Creature Patrons all gave you sympathetic looks as one of the Knights approached you. “Darling, would you give me-” but before the Knight could finish, he had fallen face first onto the wooden floor, earning a roar of laughter from his fellows.

You didn’t bother to look over the counter as the Knight clambered back up to his feet, the red feathers pluming out of his golden armour helmet, matching the glow of his cheeks.

He could hardly suppress his drunken giggle as he asked, “c-could you… ahaha! Could you please- please get me and my- my friends some more of that delicious nectar you- you have?”

With one glance over at the other soldiers, who were all still chortling and barely keeping themselves together, you replied, “no. I think I’m going to cut you guys off, as a matter of fact.”

Partly, you were bitter about who they worked for. The King of Usurpare – or the Usurper King as the Lemurians called him – was well known as quite a cruel and unforgiving man.

You’d heard stories about how he’d treated his mother when she was still alive. He routinely used her as target practice for archery and demanded that she always be the one to help him collect his arrows, before he’d order her to stick an apple on the top of her head and resume her ‘rightful position’ as the King would say.

It was only a matter of time before he missed the apple on his mothers head. And one day, he did.

Who would willingly pledge their sword to a man like that? Who slaughtered his own mother for the sake of becoming a better aim?

If you were going to be cruel, at least put someone in the position who deserved it. Like a murderer or thief who stole from charities. Even a servant would have been better than his own mother.

The other part of you despised the Knights on the basis of what they did to your parents. Your father was beaten more times than you could count, just because of his Fae heritage and your mother was forced to watch.

Some of the Knights, at least seemed to be apprehensive to their behaviours… but more often than not, it was the malicious kind of person, who just wanted to beat up Creatures because of their own prejudices, who joined the Usurper King’s forces.

You had served these Knights on the basis that they would have one drink and then would have gone back to their camp, which was based a few miles out from the Tavern.

But nope. They had decided to outstay their welcome.

At your refusal, the drunken Knight’s face fell. He no longer chuckled like an idiot, and instead, slammed his fist down on the counter. “Look, darling,” he slurred. “I’m not playing games! No games!” He flung his arm out like he was swatting at an invisible fly. “So, stop with the joke and gimme more drinks!”

“You still haven’t paid for your first half,” you said, coldly. “And look at the lot of you, I don’t even think you’ve even got a Jule to share between the lot of you.”

The Knight’s face contorted. “Thatss not true!” He snapped. Turning on his heel, he called out to his fellows, “oi! Do you guys have any more Jules?”

“Tell her she can get fucked if she thinks we’re paying!” One of the Knights shouted. “His Majesty will be running this land soon enough, and then we won’t have to pay for drinks!”

You rolled your eyes, “sorry. Guess that means no more drinks for any of you.”

“Now listen here, bitch.” The Knight snarled. “You are gonna get me and my friends-” he hiccuped. “More drinks, so help you Prophet Lilybeth, and we won’t pay for them…”

“She said no.”

Both you and the Knight’s heads whipped around to face the other end of the bar. Shrouded in darkness, but still visible thanks to the candle light on the table, a cloaked figure turned to face you.

“Look, while you’re here, this is the bar keeps land.” The figure said. He rose his own tankard and gestured to you. “Not Lemurian, not Usurparian; Hers. Now why don’t you back off, and leave her be? She’s trying to save your Usurper assess from getting liver failure.”

You search your mind for the figures appearance. He’d been in the Tavern since it’d opened that morning, one of the first Patrons to walk in… of course, you met a lot of people while working this job, but why couldn’t you remember his appearance?

From the place you stood behind the bar, you could tell he was descended from Orcs, no thanks to the green skin and tusks sticking out the bottom of his jaw. But there was something else that made him recognisable, apart from his Creature appearance.

“What did you just say?” The Knight at the bar asked. “’Cos I could’ve sworn you were telling me to fuck off? Did I hear that correctly lads?”

The other Knights stood, and joined their companion at the bar.

“Well,” the Orc paused, looking up to the roof of the Tavern as if in deep thought. “Sure, that’s one way to put it.”

Before things would get too out of hand, you spoke up, “look, I don’t want any issues here. You guys can just leave and no one has to get into fights or anything like that.”

But the Knight’s ignored you and headed for the Orc on the opposite side of the room.

Sighing, you reached under the table for your own dagger, kept exclusively for this kind of situation. It was by no means a weapon meant for long fights, but it could do some damage if it had to.

While you hated the Usurpare forces, you weren’t just about to question their abilities as soldiers. If you were going to strike, it would have to be hard and fast.

But it turns out, you didn’t have to worry about that.

Before you could even wrap your fingers around the handle of the dagger, the Orc had stood. His arm shot out like a hunting snake and gripped the first Knight’s throat.

As the man choked, the Orc lifted the man into the air, his feet dangling off the ground. “Look, I’m just trying to enjoy my drink before I set off into the Lemurian bollocks freezing snow,” the Orc sighed. “And the lady behind the bar is just doing her job, so as kindly as possible,” the Orc swung the man and knocked all the other Knights to the ground with one swing.

Their armour clanged as they fell on top of each other. The Orc dropped the man in his hand and bent over the group of cowering soldiers, “fuck off back to your King. I hear he’s in for it regarding trying to take the Fortress Imbolc. He’s going to need all the support he can get. And if you want free drinks,” the Orc glowered, “I suggest you get going.”

As if commanded, the Knights all scrambled over one another and darted out of the Tavern without a word. “This isn’t over, Orc!” The first Knight who spoke to you shouted. “We’ll have ya head!”

And with that, they vanished off into the snowy wasteland outside.

The Orc huffed, dusting off his arms. He grabbed his tankard and came over to the bar, where he sat in front of you. “I’m sorry about that lot,” he grumbled. “Usurparian soldiers are just such bastards.”

You pursed your lips as you took the tankard from him and refilled it. “I know. Thank you for that.” Placing the tankard back on the bar, the Orc took it and gulped it down in one go.

After that, he sighed, and wiped the foam off his top lip. “You alright miss?” He asked you.

“I’m fine. Takes a lot more than that to scare me.” You assured. “Believe me, they’ve done worse before.”

He looked down at the tankard, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He mumbled.

You shook your head. “It’s just how it is, isn’t it?” You sighed, returning to your glass polishing. “They come in, push us all around and then expect to get everything handed to them on a silver platter for it.”

The Orc chuckled. “That is true.”

He looked up at you again, pulling down his hood. “I’m Kaus.”

When you looked back at him, his hair shocked you. It was clipped short at the sides, leaving only a healthy mop of it on the top of his head. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in days, weeks maybe.

“(Y/N).” You returned. “… What happened then?”

Kaus sniffed and pushed his hair back. “Got asked to come up North by the Dux. Invite from the Undying Lord.” He clarified at your confused expression. “’Cos the Princess is about to make her great venture into the East to kill the Usurper King, the Lord said that we could stay with him until the fights over.”

“And then something happened?” You asked.

“And then something happened.” Kaus confirmed. “So, I did what you do when that happens, I cut all my hair off and now just wander.”

You didn’t want to pry into what had exactly happened. It probably wasn’t pretty and he didn’t seem like he was open to talk about it any more than you already had.

So, you took his tankard, refilled it and placed it back in front of him. “Don’t worry about paying. Seems as though you could use a break.”

Kaus took the drink and looked at the foamy liquid. “Great, more alcohol to drown my sorrows in.” Despite his sarcastic remark, he still chugged it down.

“You didn’t have to drink it if you didn’t want to.” You told him. “No ones forcing you to.”

“That wasn’t me saying no to alcohol, barkeep.” Kaus gave you a lopsided smile, leaning on his hand. “But right now, this is all I got.”

You pursed your lips, uncertain if it was your place to say what you were about to.

But this Orc seemed to be in a really bad headspace. And you didn’t want to contribute to making it any worse.

“Look,” you said, leaning forward. “I don’t know what happened that made you come here, but… please don’t drown your sorrows in alcohol. It’s not like that will solve anything. It won’t bring anyone back, it won’t undo whatever’s been done and it won’t make you feel any better if you’re already spiralling.”

The Orc’s smile faded. He stared at you for a moment, contemplating his own thoughts. “Alright,” he said. Sitting up right, he dug into his cloak pocket and threw a few gold Jules on the table. “I’ll stop but only because it’s you asking,” He gave you a smirk. “And you seem very kind, (Y/N).”

He finished his tankard and stood.

“I said that you didn’t have to pay-”

“It’s a tip.” Kaus said. “Do you mind if I come back tomorrow? Just to keep an eye out for those guys again. I won’t be drinking this time.”

You nodded at him, “I’d like that.”

And the next few days, he kept coming back. He sat at the bar and chatted to you when you weren’t seeing other customers, gave narrowed glares to any Usurpare soldiers who walked in and also helped see out drunkards who just didn’t know when to stop drinking.

You felt bad that he was doing all this to help you out and receiving no payment for it.

During his time spent in the Tavern, you learned that he was an only child, was an expert at using a battle axe and had once out-drunk an Fae at their own game.

He also got along well with regulars, and would often entertain them once they were drinking, cracking jokes and playing cards.

The whole place just seemed more lively when he was around and people regularly came to the Tavern looking for him if they needed cheering up.

When the Tavern was closing one night, he went to bid you farewell, but you stopped him. “Wait, hold on.” You’d grabbed his wrist as he had one foot out the door. “I wanted to offer you something.”

Kaus raised an eyebrow. “Offer me what?” A smirk crossed his lips, “a place in your bed?”

Grown used to his teasing now, you swatted him on the arm, to which he laughed and you rolled your eyes. You let go of his wrist and turned your back on him. “Well, I was going to offer you a job here, but if you’re going to be making jokes like that-”

“No, no, no!” Kaus pleaded.

When you looked back around at him, his hands were pressed together. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He looked up at you. “Do you really want to give me a job?”

You nodded. “As bouncer. But I doubt that you’ll have to do anything other than drink and play cards with the other patrons. People really seem to like you here.” You smiled. “And I like you being here too.”

Kaus’ face lit up at your words. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.”

And so, you started to give the Orc a pay check, week after week.

You noticed as well, that after being given this job, his whole outward appearance had changed. His hair was now washed, and styled to that it feathered upwards to the air.

He got rid of his cloak and exchanged it for a beige tunic and brown vest, which he matched with blue trousers.

Sometimes he made drinks – with your super vision of course – and made a whole show of it for guests.

It seemed as though he had really enjoyed working here for you.

And one night, after closing up the Tavern, he said to you, “do you know, I think I really feel happy here.”

You snorted and laughed as you closed the shutters. “Well I should hope so.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kaus said, smiling. “I meant… before you allowed me to come in here and pester you, I really didn’t have any direction to go in. I was just drinking and hoping that it would drown out the awfulness of my existence… But with you,” He looked at you. “You drown out all that badness… I’ve actually started thinking about growing my hair back.”

You tried to imagine the Orc with long hair. He’d kept it short the whole time he’d been under your employment, but when you imagined him with it… He didn’t look half bad.

He gave you a smile. Not a smirk or smug grin, a real, genuine smile. “But… agh sorry, that was a really weird way to go into this. But I was wondering, if-”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

Kaus sighed and rolled his eyes as you called out, “we’re closed!” You grabbed the plank of wood you kept next to the door to lock it, but just as you were about to set it in place, a voice from the other side responded: “This is the Lemurian Guard! We need to speak to the Orc.”

Whipping around to look at Kaus, he gave you a shrug.

The Lemurian guards were always better customers than the Usurparian. And because they’d always been good to the Tavern and it’s other patrons, you opened the door to them.

Their silver armour glinted in the Taverns candle light as they stepped inside, tracking in snow from the cold darkness outside.

“Why do you need to see Kaus?” You asked, frowning. “He’s not done anything wrong. He’s a good Orc.”

The soldier shook his head, “he hasn’t done anything wrong, the King and Queen request an audience with him.”

“What?” Kaus peered his head around the door, “why?”

This baffled you as much as it did him, including the Lemurian soldier. “I’ve just been sent to come and get you. According to a report we’ve had filed, you share a distaste for the Usurper and his forces. And as far as I can gather, that’s why the King and Queen want to see you.”

You and Kaus looked at each other. “And I’m assuming I can’t refuse?” Kaus asked, finally.

“No. You can’t.” The soldier said. “Now please, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is, and come along quietly.”

Kaus gave you a furtive glance. “… Is it okay if I take some time off?” He asked you, smiling sheepishly.

“Looks like I don’t have a choice but to give you some,” you sighed. “Be safe, okay?”

He nodded and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I promise I will.” Kaus stepped outside the Tavern and into the darkness, following the soldier.

He was only a few steps ahead before he turned and called to you. “How about we share a drink when I get back?! Like a date!”

You were stunned by his question, but given that he was getting further and further away into the darkness, you called back, “yeah! That sounds great!”

You heard Kaus’ whooping from as he vanished deeper into the darkness.

Smiling, you continued closing up the whole Tavern. You couldn’t stop your grin as you blew out the candles and made sure all the windows and doors were locked, before proceeding upstairs to your room, where you fell into a deep sleep, smile still plastered on your face.

You only really began to worry about Kaus, when he wasn’t back the next morning.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

If you’re not sure about signing up, I have a 7 day free trial enabled on my £2 tier so you can see if you like my work written there!

Taglist <3

@sunndust @greenie-c

[periwinklemoonlight]

little sunshine ⋆ boatem knights au

my second short story set in bee @applestruda 's boatem knights au and canon to the plot written by zera @hopepetal !! also make sure to check out bee's bkau gem and etho designs <3 !

cw: decapitation, murder, blood

if you prefer, you can read it on ao3!

⋆⋆⋆

“-And you’re sure this is the man responsible?” The room was spacious, more than big enough for hundreds to fit in, yet the tension in the air filled it with an undeniably claustrophobic atmosphere. Precious artefacts lined the walls and occupied the floors, meticulously positioned in a perfect pattern to suit the path of a would-be museum goer. Now, however, one was missing. And only the most ancient and irreplaceable of the lot, of course.

“Completely.” An odd chill ran up the spine of the curator as she spoke. It shouldn’t have been possible, she thought, she had barely taken her eyes off of that corner of the room for a second before the amulet had vanished into thin air. All she had caught a glimpse of in the aftermath, she was sure of, was a man with stark white hair and a mask darker than the deepest night sky, fleeing the scene with a swiftness she could only ascribe to a seasoned thief.

She had only ever seen that man once before, yet something in her gut was absolutely sure it was him. A few years back, she had stayed at an inn just out of town on a business trip. Her stay had been all-around pleasant, the owner undoubtedly a delight to talk to, full of cheerful stories and helpful advice for travel. The same couldn't've been said for their companion, however. 

He had brooded in the corner of the inn, shooting her occasional unreadable glances as she conversed with the owner, any emotion beyond ice cold eyes concealed by a mask of blackest night. His back to the wall, practically blending in with the shadows around him, she had nearly cancelled her stay the minute she spotted him. 

The only thing that had convinced her to stay despite her better judgement was the owner’s utmost insistence that that man was nothing to fear, that she’d be completely and utterly safe at the inn. Something in their tone had been so, so earnest, she couldn’t help but be inclined to believe them. They were right, she had been entirely safe after all, yet she never could quite shake the cold chill that permeated her body every time the man passed her by. 

“Then it seems we’ve got a bounty on our hands.” The guard concluded with a severe nod.

“Bounty, you say?” A cheery voice asked from across the room. The curator whipped her head around to watch as polished hooves clicked onto the museum flooring. 

“How did you-?” The curator asked, before cutting herself off to fully take in the person before her. There stood Gemini Tay, adorned in finely crafted emerald silks and lightweight armour, wild red hair expertly contained in a sweeping braid, and absolutely armed to the teeth in various weapons hanging lazily across her waist. It wasn’t a bad look for the most notorious bounty hunter in the land, all things considered.

“Word gets around,” Gem replied with a grin, absentmindedly twirling an intricately carved knife in her hand as she approached. “And I’m always down to lend a helping hand!”

She paused, then eyed the curator’s own ostentatious outfit. “...For a fair price, of course.”

“Of course,” The curator repeated, a keen smile worming its way to her face. 

⋆⋆⋆

If there was one thing she relished in being known for, it was that once she had her target in her sights, Gem wasted no time.

It wasn’t hard to spot him, after all. The description the curator had given her was one of the most interesting she’d gotten in a while. A man known only as “Etho”, with a harsh red scar blinding him in one eye and never once seen without a dark mask obscuring half his face. During her journey, Gem had learned that nobody in the area could quite recall when he’d started working at the inn, or even if he actually worked there at all. In fact, it was a popular local rumour that the man was simply a vagrant that the kind innkeeper had taken pity on during one particularly frigid winter and never thought to kick out afterwards.

Regardless of whatever his backstory might have been, Gem couldn’t really care less. All she really cared to know about him was that he was the only thing standing between her and a ludicrously lavish payout. 

It was only a lucky coincidence that the innkeeper wasn’t in when she arrived. There was her target, standing far too nonchalantly behind the counter and looking as if he was preparing to greet her. She wasn’t about to give him the chance. Instantly she swung at him, hard and fast, looking to get a clean kill. To her astonishment, however, he suddenly disappeared within a blink of an eye, reappearing once more just as fast and now on top of the counter. Gem watched as a dark, smoky substance wafted off him as he jumped down and dissipated as quickly as it appeared. 

When she looked at Etho now, it was as if he were slightly transparent, blurred at the edges. She blinked, and he was whole again, no trace of anything amiss. She growled and swung again with impossible force, heaving as her sword broke the floorboards where it landed. Again, she could have sworn that some dark substance was following him, aiding him in his escape. 

“Hey, hey! I don’t know what I did but, uh, I’m sure we can settle this some other way?” Etho offered as he slid backwards on the wooden floors like they were an ice rink, smoke trailing off him and weaving through the air. 

“No can do sir!” Gem replied as she swung once more, again missing him by a fraction of a centimetre. “You got a hefty bounty on your head, and I intend to take it!”

The fight escalated with Gem’s frustration. She spun herself around and leaped at Etho, sword high in the air and aiming to plunge it deep into his skull. Instead, she hit the inn’s counter, splitting the wood and knocking several small objects astray. Her hooves skidded against the floor as she reeled backwards, and wasted no time forcefully wrenching her sword free. 

Wood chippings now scattered across the floor, Gem paid them no mind in her pursuit. The action seemed to distract Etho somewhat, discontent flashing across his heterochromatic eyes, and she took the opportunity to strike. 

Finally, with a lucky stab, she managed to pin him down against the inn’s wall, plunging her sword into his shoulder with a devastating crack and watching as what must have been blood seeped out from it. He gasped, eyes darting to the wound. A wild grin found its way to Gem’s face.

“You’re a tricky one, aren’t you?” She asked, using the moment to catch her breath before unsheathing a second, smaller sword from around her waist. The sharp blade glinted in the deep, warm light of the inn. The reflection didn’t make it to Etho’s eyes. “Shame I’m gonna have to take you out like all the rest of ‘em. I’ll make it quick, though. You’ve earned it.”

It was odd, she thought briefly. Despite the sword driven straight through him, he didn’t appear to actually really care about it all that much. His breathing was as steady as ever, and he barely moved at all beside a futile effort to scoot away from her intense gaze. His eyes were calm, watching her every move in something almost akin to silent fascination rather than the fear she had grown accustomed to. No matter, though, Gem decided as she made clean work of him, lopping off his head in a single swing. 

It fell to the ground with a solid thunk, rolling slightly before making its stop like any old head should. A tenseness she didn’t know she was holding finally released, and she breathed again. Blood was splattered all over the inn’s floors, and she grit her teeth as she imagined the cut from her paycheck she’d have to give the keeper to get it cleaned. All this for some measly priceless artefact? Still, it was over. 

She picked up his head by the hair, and stepped back in shock as she felt just how cold it was. Instantly, it called to mind the way it felt to grab a fistful of snow with no gloves for the first time, fingertips fully immersed in the unadulterated icy chill. For a brief moment, it reminded her of… home. Gem had never considered herself the squeamish type, especially not with an occupation such as hers, but the realization gripping hold of her in that split second was enough to make her gag.

Her grip on his hair loosened for a second, but she caught herself before the head could drop. On a second examination, she noticed what looked like snowflakes scattered in his white hair and decorating his long eyelashes. It was then she finally heard the faint crackling sound that had been slowly spreading around her. The blood that had been flowing freely from Etho’s body was freezing up, and fast.

Gem could do nothing but watch in horror as the blood on the walls and floor turned to thick ice, cracking and shattering into pieces around her as soon as it solidified. Within no time it had spread to his severed head, and she gasped as the blood that still dripped from his neck froze midair and fell to the floor, fragmenting into dozens of tiny pieces. 

She broke her gaze from the head in her hands just long enough to witness a mountain of ice emerge from what remained of his body’s neck, accompanied by a low hissing noise that made her stomach churn. Gem realized then the shape that it was forming. Fractals of ice packed in and around each other, working in tandem to sculpt out a new head identical to the one in her hands. The only difference being, there was nothing to cover the lower half of his face. If she could even call that half a face.

Once the hissing had stopped, that same dark substance she had seen swirl around him in their fight began to seep out from the wound, covering the newly formed head in a thin black layer and obscuring his features. Her heart dropped as she watched the shadowy liquid be absorbed into the ice, revealing a brand new head on Etho’s shoulders, indistinguishable from the first and complete with a new mask. His eyes fluttered open. 

“That wasn’t very nice of you, now was it?” Etho asked as he turned his head to look over at her, an amused smile painting his voice. Gem screamed.

⋆⋆⋆

Gem had never fainted before. With the amount of blood and guts she spilled with a smile on a daily basis, she hadn’t thought it was even possible for someone like her. Evidently, though, everyone had their limits. 

More confusingly, though, was that she had awoken tucked nice and neatly in a warm bed, with at least a dozen pillows cushioning her head and antlers. With a slight turn of her head, she could see a still-warm cup of cocoa resting on the table next to her and causing a sweet scent to waft through the little room she now found herself in. 

She groaned, sitting herself up in the bed and trailing her hand up her forehead, where she could feel a piece of gauze sticking out. Another glance around her surroundings revealed that her weapons were nowhere to be seen. Gem cursed under her breath. 

Her eyes darted around the room. It was quaint, with wooden walls and flooring and a decorative carpet in the center. Faint light streamed in through a window, accompanied by the warm glow of a candle. Must be early morning, she thought. 

Oddly though, the corner across from her seemed to be completely wrapped in shadow, defying the soft sunlight that should have illuminated it. Gem found herself unable to tear her trembling eyes away as the shadowy corner suddenly warped in her vision, the dark matter collecting and solidifying together as a familiar figure materialized before her. 

Etho drifted nonchalantly towards her, stopping by the table to eye the mug, something almost disappointed flashing in his expression as he noticed it hadn’t been touched. Gem faintly spotted a stitch in the shoulder of his tunic. He turned his attention to her.

“How’re ya’ holding up?" He asked, his tone both concerned and casual at once. “You took a pretty nasty fall back there! Never seen anything like it, it was crazy.” A small laugh punctuated his last sentence.

She blinked, then blinked again, but found herself unable to erase the image of what she had just seen from behind her eyes. It was the kick she needed to jog her memory though, and she leaped backwards away from him, nearly hitting her head on the wall behind her. 

“You… What in void’s name are you!?” She squawked. Etho furrowed his frosted eyebrows quizzically. 

“Well, I was hoping maybe you’d be a little bit more appreciative of the setup you’ve got going on here. I even made you a hot cocoa! I thought you guys love that stuff!” There was something genuine in his voice that made Gem calm somewhat, even if his words only added to her bewilderment. She turned back to look at the mug, and slowly reached a hand out to grab it.

Pulling it close to her chest, she spoke, “You made this? For me? Why? I tried to kill you! I did kill you! At least, I think? I’m… still not entirely sure what happened back there.” She stared down into the mug, feeling a weird sense of shame bubble through her. Having the man she’d killed standing right there in front of her, it felt like talking to a ghost. The bounty hunter wasn’t used to having to think about the aftermath of her career beyond what minor property damage could ensue from a struggle, nevermind like this. Her grip on the handle tightened.

“What, this old thing?” Etho asked with another laugh, pulling up his own severed head from the ground next to Gem’s bed. “I left it here for you, since you seemed to really be after it. Figured it could make a nice souvenir from your stay here, you know?” Etho seemed to pick up from Gem’s appalled expression that she did not, in fact, know. 

“Okay, okay, uh, well, you can take it with you when you leave if you want.” A pause. “This… is what you’re after, right?” Gem could make out tiny frozen droplets still connected to the head’s neck, suspended in time and ice. Momentarily, she considered being alarmed at the notion that she’d been sleeping soundly next to a severed head, or grilling him on why exactly he thought putting said head in her room was a normal thing to do in the slightest. The thumping pain rattling around in her skull made the decision for her.

“Partially,” she replied curtly, evidently still attempting to win her staring contest with the mug. Finally, she broke the one-sided tension, and dared to take a small sip. 

It tasted… cold? No, that wasn't right. The liquid was sweet, if a little watery, and at a comfortably warm temperature. It was more as if the ethos of the mug itself refused to be hot. Like it had reluctantly taken to the liquid, yet refused to be any more than a temporary vessel for its warmth. Or, perhaps even more strangely, as if the liquid itself wasn't quite sure it knew how to be warm. 

Despite Gem’s own lukewarm reaction, Etho lit up. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, his normally chill and steady voice brightening with excitement. An amused look found its way to Gem’s face at the sudden change. 

��It’s nice,” she replied simply. She took another sip, then paused to close her eyes. She swore she could hear a triumphant noise from beside her as she tried to calm her searing nerves. Having the head as proof was good, sure, but the curator had expected — and promised payment for — much more. Gem needed that artefact back. She turned back to face him.

“To be honest, Etho,” She began, “Your head’s not all I’m here for. You don’t just get a bounty on your head for nothing, you know. I’m also here to retrieve that artefact you stole.” 

Etho blinked. “The what?”

Now it was Gem’s turn to furrow her brow. 

“You know. The amulet of the ancient Sun people? The last surviving of its kind? You took it from a museum just a few days ago.” She tilted her head, not even trying to hide her bafflement. Etho squinted at her. He tapped his fingers on the nightstand beside him thoughtfully.

“Ancient amulet… ancient amulet…” He mused. “Oh! Is that what that shiny gold necklace was? It was just lying around on a shelf at that ‘museum’ place I went to! I don’t know why nobody else thought to take it, to be honest. Here, check it out!” He tugged at something unseen underneath his mask for a minute, before producing the very artefact Gem had been seeking. He handed it to her casually as her shaky hands returned the mug to its nightstand. 

“You’ve been wearing it this whole time!?” She exclaimed, yelping when the item made contact with her skin and reeling backwards at the sudden burst of heat running through her fingertips. 

“Ah, yeah.” He didn’t appear too upset at its departure, though Gem couldn't help but notice his lively attitude had faded somewhat. She brushed her thumb over the deep amber pendant, briefly fascinated by the perpetual heat emanating off of it. 

“It’s neat, right? I’ve never seen a necklace like it. I wasn’t planning on taking it, at first, but I really wanted to figure out why it made my fingers melt like that.”

“You really are something,” Gem muttered. “But, I’m afraid I’ll have to take this back. A job’s a job.”

He gave her a nod. “Yep, yep, fine by me. Is that all you need?”

“Oh, I have one more thing, actually,” Gem replied, tucking the amulet away safely.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want my weapons back.”

⋆⋆⋆

The curator grinned and clasped her hands together as she spotted Gem, a full-looking satchel and small brown bag now decorating her waist alongside her clanking swords and knives. The bounty hunter approached her desk with a matching smile, untying the smaller bag and placing it before the curator.

“I see you’ve returned! Remarkably fast as well. This is?”

“The amulet, back safe and sound without a scratch. Very pretty, might I add. Anyone would be able to see why it’s the prized jewel of your exhibit. And why a rotten thief would want to take it.” Gem placed the satchel next to it.

“And this…?”

“That deplorable thief’s head, just as you asked. I can assure you, he won’t be any more trouble for you now.”

“Excellent. Then, I believe you are deserving of your reward.”

“Yes,” Gem repeated. “Excellent.”

[oldtvandcomics]

Trans Reights Readathlon Recommendations

I am not participating in the actual event, because I have my own reading schedule to follow, but for those who are still looking for books, here is a list of my favorite trans books!

The Margin Street Zeroes series by Robin Banks: Nonbinary first person narrator, in a relationship with another nonbinary person. The story is about a group of university students and their struggles with life and literal gods.

Space Cadets and The Repossessed by Robin Banks are both part of the Heinlein's Finches series, but all books can be read as stand-alones. Set in a capitalist dystopia, both books explore different parts of the aftermath of the massacre on a space colony: Space Cadets follows a small group of cadets who are left alone with a spaceship, and need to figure out what to do with it. The main character and first-person narrator is a trans man. The Repossessed follows a different group of people, who are going from space station to space statin, looking for the lost children of that colony. One of the secondary characters is an intersex trans man (assigned female at birth, had to transition to live as a man).

Andrew Joseph White has written three transgender horror books: The Spirit Bares its Teeth is set in an alternate history Victorian setting, and follows a trans boy who is sent to a school "correcting" girls who don't confirm to society's expectations of womanhood. Compound Fracture is following a young trans man, who is about to enter the generational feud between his family and the family of the sheriff who executed his great-great-grandfather during the miners' revolts in the 1920s. Hell Followed With Us is the one I haven't read yet, but I have absolute faith in this author. It is set in a post-apocalyptic world, and the main character is a young trans man who is on the run from a religious cult.

Tell Me How It Ends by Quinton Li is the story of a young Tarot reader, who gets recruited by a nonbinary person to break their friend out from prison. It was the first (and so far, only) fantasy novel I have read so far where introducing yourself with your pronouns is the norm. As I said, nonbinary secondary character.

The Hears of Heroes series by Molly J. Bragg is a superhero series, with each book the origin story of a different hero, so you can read them out of order. Transistor is a trans woman who gets her superpowers via gender-affirming surgery gone wrong, and needs to fight a rogue angel to protect her girlfriend. Rhapsody is a trans woman who gets superpowers when criminal kidnap and experiment on her, and she is framed for the murder of another hero, which sets both the Police and the superheroes on her trail.

The Black Trans Fairy Tales series by S.T. Lynn is a series of three novellas based on three Disney movies, the protagonist always being a Black trans woman.

No Man of Woman Born by Ana Mardoll is a collection of short stories of people defeating prophecies via he power of genders that don't match the exact texts.

Baker Thief by Claudie Arsenault is about a Police officer who chases a notorious thief. Said thief is genderfluid, and uses this as a means of disguise.

Bonus, for those who are a bit more adventurous: Le Roman de Silence by master Heldris de Cornouailles. It's a medieval text about a knight who was born female but raised as a man. Tumblr user @queer-ragnelle has a copy of it as part of their Arthurian Preservation Project. I'm quite sure that retellings for more modern audiences also exist, I only haven't looked into them yet.

[finniestoncrane]

hiiiiii hi hello hi i'm going to start doing some doodling again soon for my western!au (it was so fun deciding on everyone's ancestry and making sure their names fit in!!)

i've been playing red dead redemption 2 for my beloved dork squad, and i've been filled with inspiration but lack the artistic talent so that'll come afterwards and very slowly lmao but for now, here's my ideas for the rogues that i'm hoping to flesh out, maybe into a long fic!! >:3c

hopefully i'll get some more plans for the long list of other characters i want to include, but they're just floating ideas for now kjkjhasd

bruce wayne (batman the dark knight) - scottish/english ancestry. the most boring addition because obviously he's working as an independently wealthy vigilante whose parents were murdered by a lesser known outlaw and he can't get the right help from corrupt government officials, so he's out here working (kind of off the books) as a bounty hunter to clear out the worst of humanity himself. he also doesn't trust the bounty hunters themselves, because he always brings his charges in alive

katherine kyle (catwoman the cat) - surname is of scottish ancestry, given to her father by his former owner. she's the child of a slave owner's daughter and a former slave. highwaywoman, stagecoach thief extraordinaire. somehow manages to get an invite to high end parties as an 'exotic' partner of disgusting, rich men in order to steal as much as she can. she enjoys stealing from rich white people to make up for the treatment her father, a former slave, went through, even after he became a freed man

edward nashton (riddler) - scottish ancestry. crazed inventor and mad scientist who keeps out of the way of society in his laboratory in the hills. his experiments seek to prove that he is far more intelligent than most of his prospective investors give him credit for, and those who mock his work or back out of investment meet a horrid end. he was pushed to madness after being embarrassed in front of the crowds at the 1876 world's fair

jonathan crane (scarecrow) - english ancestry. a former professor at a university in a city on the east coast, he was fired after an unfortunate educational ‘incident’ and moved back to his family farm, long abandoned after his grandmother finally died, to seek a meagre living and the means for revenge

hugh dent (two face) - scottish ancestry. the corrupt sheriff of a small town in the desert. former big city police chief, but was ousted due to his odd sense of law and order and his seemingly random decision-making when it comes to the noose

jervis tetch (mad hatter) - english immigrant with some chinese ancestry. a snake oil salesman who genuinely believes in his powers. some of his tonics have the power to alter minds. specialises in fungus and the use of medicinal herbs in teas, recipes passed down from his mother's side who were from china.

victor friess (mr freeze doctor friess) - german immigrant. town doctor who lost his own wife to consumption. out of nothing but jealousy, he takes the lives of other women to make up for his sense of loss and the unfair luck other men have in having their spouses still with them

poison ivy - native american. travelling herbalist and conservationist. her nation was all but destroyed by the government through war, land theft and false treaties, so she is seeking revenge slowly but surely on former generals, politicians and businessmen

oswald cobb (penguin) - english immigrant. oil tycoon, third generation born in the u.s. who came over with a lot of money and managed to sway government officials. he'll stop at nothing to succeed and continue his control over wealth and power. he still talks with an english accent despite being thoroughly american because he was sent to boarding school and university in england (and because he's a bit of a dick)

john johnson (the joker)  - no known origin. a circus ringmaster and confidence man who runs "the joker's travelling circus". he's a silent serial killer, america's first! he would describe himself as an outlaw for fun, a bandit for laughs, a travelling salesman of chaos

helen quinn (harley quinn harlequin) - french ancestry. she's a travelling sideshow act (contortionist) at the joker’s circus of oddities, and his sidekick and long-suffering romantic interest. she entertains crowds while he commits crimes and she is often charged with sneaking into buildings to rob them

senor dorrance (bane bandito) - mexican immigrant. he works as a strongman with the joker’s travelling circus. he is also often tasked with being joker’s hard man when the clown finds himself in a bit too much trouble. often runs a boxing side event, which is obviously rigged to make money when he throws the fight

basil karlo (clayface) - european ancestry, not entirely known but likely swedish or norwegian. a vaudeville actor who is a little too fond of gambling so has to find other means to claw back his money. very good at deception. now works at the joker's travelling circus after making a few too many enemies at the local theatres

daniel chapel (music meister) - prussian ancestry. in charge of the band at the joker’s travelling circus. he’s often the one sent into town in advance to scope it out and find the rubes. his charm and wit provide him with ample opportunity to part fools with their money

arnold wesker & scarface (ventriloquist) - a ventriloquist and performer with joker’s circus. his puppet often chooses one person from the crowd each night, the ones who don’t laugh, to suffer. hecklers beware

waylon jones (killer croc croc) - no known origin, but speaks with a cajun accent and dialect and is mixed race. his parents abandoned him a as a child in the swamps hoping that he would succumb to the elements or be eaten by animals. he is now a moonshiner in the swamps and prefers to keep away from people given his birth defects. previous associate of the joker's travelling circus, but left as he felt used for shock value more than his skills

roman sionis (black mask)  - italian immigrant. the sadistic owner of several big city factories. his employees suffer at his hands and often go missing, used to satisfy his cruel urges. the factories have been in his family for generations, and he's in the pocket of many officials. he wears a skull mask to separate his two identities during his crimes and has his associates refer to him as black mask during his crimes also

william fugate (clock king) - english ancestry. a simple clock maker on the surface, but he’s a devious loan shark who counts down your payback time to the second and seeks brutal revenge if he’s not paid back on time

deacon blackfire (joseph blackfire) - english ancestry. mad preacher who lives in the hills and has started his own religious cult by luring in the homeless and less fortunate. his goal is to convert the entire u.s. as he believes his word can save them from their sins

floyd lawton (deadshot) - welsh ancestry. notable gunslinger turned outlaw. he makes his money as a hired gun for nefarious and illegal activities and has killed and robbed his way onto the back of many cigarette cards

garfield lynns (firefly) - irish ancestry. explosives expert for hire. he tends to hide himself under a large hat, a bandana and goggles, providing himself with a veil of secrecy to hide the scars he got from the accident which saw him discharged from the army

lazlo valentin (professor pyg) - spanish ancestry. a very strange and isolated pig farmer who is prone to doing experiments on his animals and any unfortunate travellers who happen past his farm

[rainebowshine]

themes: genshin sagau, cult au, reincarnation, time loops, you use traveler!lumine as your physical vessel but no one knows

warnings: mentions of previous deaths, violence, murder, torture, blood

EMERGENCE OF SEPTIMA - I

6 TIMES.

6 times your life inexplicably was cut short.

6 times you perished at the hands of the very characters you loved.

6 times you lost your life inexplicably for no reason.

The first was out of nowhere, like a thief in the night.

Once, you were Jiayi, an undertaker for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue. You had a strong relationship with Hu Tao, the director at the time, but your relationship was strictly professional.

Then all of a sudden, you were tied to a burning tree, the flames rising to your knees. You begged and screamed for mercy, but all to no avail. The people called you an 'imposter', a 'fraud', a mere imitation of the Creator they worshipped.

A Creator you never knew existed.

Any prayers you made to the archons were futile. Your sobs for mercy, for any explanation at all, fell on deaf ears. You had no choice, no way out, no hope. All you could do was close your eyes and succumb to your imminent death, for that was all that awaited you after this...

...or so you thought.

-

The second was just plain cruelty.

You were Vivaan, a Melusine, happy and minding your own business in Fontaine. Suddenly, you were scooped up from your home Merusea Village and dragged somewhere unknown.

Somewhere cold.

You had been picked apart and prodded by a man they called The Doctor, your body parts discarded and rearranged like a toy. You didn't understand why he was doing this.

Was this for some grand experiment? Did he have bigger plans for you?

Or was this just some cruel joke, all to torment you for no reason?

You tried to speak, but you lost your tongue. The man was beyond reason. No words would be tolerated, and any attempt at a resistance would be met with even more brutal torture. Any chance of someone finding you sounded as ludicrous as escaping. You would die of the frost that slowly crept its way across your body.

Surely you would die.

-

The third time left no survivors.

You were one of the many Cavalry Captains of the Knights of Favonius. Captain Trinity, they would call you. All of the Knights, especially Master Jean, trusted you fully. You were hardworking, dependable, and still made time for your personal life(something that Jean was particularly envious of).

Your life was perfectly happy in Mondstadt. You were married to Master Diluc and had two wonderful kids. On the day of your birthday, you, Diluc, and your children had a picnic in the Whispering Woods. It seemed that nothing could go wrong, and even if it did, you had enough training to be able to defend yourself and your family.

Out of nowhere, several Abyss Mages surrounded you--ten Hydro, seven Cryo. You and Diluc immediately got to your feet, grabbed your greatswords, and immediately fought off the intruders. Diluc absolutely annihilated the Cryo Mages with his Pyro Vision, while you obliterated the Hydro Mages with your Dendro Vision.

While you were busy fighting, an Electro Abyss Mage came up behind you and Diluc, as did a Pyro Mage. Both were aiming not at Diluc or even at you--they were headed straight for your children.

Your instincts kicked in and you immediately jumped into action against the Mages, fiercely fighting them off. At this point, however, you were exhausted from the absolute army you were fighting earlier, so your moves were less strategic and more desperate. Diluc realized this and attempted to help you but suddenly the Electro Mage striked. BOOM!

The Electro from the Abyss Mage and the Pyro energy from Diluc's infused attacks caused an Overload, killing not only the both of you, but your kids as well.

Or maybe they were the only ones to truly die.

-

The fourth time was gradual, slowly eating at you before it finally killed you.

You were known as Caturi, a well known and respected woman in Sumeru. You also just so happened to be the Light of Kshahrewar's daughter. You inherited his temper, his passionate demeanor, but also inherited your other father(the Acting Grand Sage)'s introverted personality and disinterest in hanging out with other people. Or maybe you inherited that from your Uncle Tighnari?

Your family life wasn't necessarily bad at all--to be fair, you seldom saw your dads, so you didn't really have one at all. And besides, you were too busy training to be a Forest Watcher under your uncle's teachings.

Everything was going fine until you were on patrol in an area of Sumeru that, unbeknownst to you, was riddled with Abyssal corruption. You didn't know this, however, so you went back to your uncle's room that evening to tell him that nothing was amiss. Nothing seemed to be wrong until a week later, you started coughing. Your uncle gave you some medicine, but it did little, if anything at all, to help.

Your condition only worsened as the weeks went by. Your poor parents began to worry about your health, especially your dad. You tried all you could to comfort them...

...but how could you when you were essentially "dying" right before their eyes?

2 whole months passed and your prognosis was grim. You were bound to "die". You were no longer conscious. You were hardly even breathing anymore. You heard your dad sob hysterically as you succumbed to your "death". Your father tried to comfort him, but it was no use.

"You" would come back, but he would never know, and "you" would never be able to tell him.

-

The fifth time was betrayal.

The people called you Akila, a kindhearted young girl in Natlan who was part of the Flower-Feather Clan and someone who wished to be strong like her mentor, Chasca. Your mother had died and your father disappeared, leaving your elder brother to take care of you. You trusted him more than anything. He would protect you from just about everything, he spent all the time with you, and when he couldn't, he'd write letters to you to check on you. Life wasn't perfect, but it was okay.

Then the Night Wars happened. Your brother had taken you from your home and took you to the cliffside where you two would usually watch the stars. But there were no stars; in fact, you could hardly see the sky at all from the clouds surrounding the city. You look to him in confusion. Why did my big brother take me here? you asked yourself. You dared not look down, as you were terrified of heights. You looked in confusion to your big brother, not understanding a thing. But he didn't meet your gaze. In fact, when you looked to your left, he was no longer there. Suddenly, two large hands grabbed your shoulders and shoved you off the cliff. You had no time to react because you immediately hit the ground. Your body fell loosely into the bushes nearby, but alas, you didn't survive.

or maybe you did. either way, it's irrelevant.

-

The sixth time was the same as the first.

You, now known as Marie Ange Morozova, lived as a Fontainian noble who had recently escaped from Snezhnaya. You were considered "blessed by the Hydro Archon", for you had heterochromia that oddly resembled Lady Furina's eyes. You had no interest in all the worship and compliments.

They were fake, just like everything else in Fontaine.

-.-- --- ..- / …. .- …- . / -. --- / .-. . -.-. --- .-.. .-.. . -.-. - .. --- -. / --- ..-. / - …. .. … / .-.. .. ..-. . / .-- …. .- - … --- . …- . .-. .-.-.- / .- -. -.-- / .- - - . -- .--. - … / - --- / -.. .. --. / .. - / --- ..- - / --- ..-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -- . -- --- .-. -.-- / .- .-. . / ..-. ..- - .. .-.. . / .- -. -.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / --- -. .-.. -.-- / .-. . … ..- .-.. - / .. -. / .--. .- .. -. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / - …. . / -.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. .----. … / -.-. .-. .. . … .-.-.- / -.. --- / -. --- - / … . .- .-. -.-. …. / ..-. --- .-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / …. ..- … -… .- -. -.. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. - / .- .-.. .-.. .-.-.- / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. . / .. --. -. --- .-. .

Just ignore it.

-

I wonder how your seventh life will begin.

You have taken the form of a seemingly young woman with short blonde hair and amber eyes. From the looks of it, you seem to have taken Lumine, the traveler, as your vessel.

With this power, will you manage to change your fate, now knowing your previous lives?

Or will you be doomed to die by "their" hands again?

Oh well, we'll never know until later.

For now, it's time for you to awaken...

Septima.

[rathayibacter]

Rath's TTRPG Post!

Hey yall, been long enough that I should really write another of these. I'm Rath and I make weird tabletop games! I've got a lot of games already out there, and even more in the oven, so this post exists to help organize them all and give you a jumping-off point if you want to check out my work. Without further ado,

[BXLLET>

BXLLET is a post-apocalyptic cowboy game about the nature of violence. It hands players incredibly lethal characters, then asks those characters to try and find their way in the world. If all you have is a hammer, how do you stop seeking nails?

Every BXLLET character begins with a single bullet on their person, and can always spend a bullet to kill someone. Collecting more bullets unlocks your archetype's unique powers, making you an increasingly imposing threat—and juicy target. However, even as you become bloated with potential violence, you'll find plenty of problems escape easy solutions. Sure, you can always kill, but can you cut out the rot that runs deeper than any individual bandit, warlord, or capitalist? In a world fighting to rebuild itself from disaster, are you a wandering hero, or just a murderous tool of the old age? Can you help build a better future, or are you doomed to haunt its outskirts?

Thanks to two game jams and a whole lot of love, BXLLET also has a ton of additional modules, spilling over with scenarios, archetypes, factions, mechanics, and alternate settings. Here's a big list of them! Check them out, they're fucking incredible.

KATABASIS

KATABASIS is a tactical combat afterlife-crawl, where spirits fight using weapons and armor made of their emotional baggage to try and escape a surreal concrete afterlife. It's all about putting together strange builds to face off against bizarre monsters, all while meeting other stranded spirits and exploring the tangled world you're trapped in. If you delve deep enough, fight hard enough, maybe one day you can find a way to return to life.

KATABASIS is a work in progress, with the full game still a ways off. I'm currently working on the next update, The Highway Down, where players will fight their way across perilous highways tangled through a hanging city. Even so, the game's already packed with characters, equipment, monsters, and maps.

So go! Gather your painful memories, bare your petrified heart, kill the psychopomps and shatter the gates of hell. There might be no escape, but we'd rather die a thousand times more than give up looking.

Disparateum

Disparateum welcomes you to the Named City, a place at the edge of our world and the center of all others. Residents of the Named City wander across the full spectrum of possible worlds, visiting them as one might visit another neighborhood. Like KATABASIS, it's also a work in progress, but already contains pound-for-pound more raw ideas than anything I've ever written. It's a dense, strange, silly, and colorful game, and a gushing love letter to roleplaying in general.

Disparateum is a game for a Knight, a Thief, and a Seer, who explore the Named City in search of adventure and change. Here, shared dreams settle over the city at night; here, our reflections plot revenge from the opposite side of every mirror; here, dragons hold court to debate ownership of stories; here, museum corridors tangle their way through the past and into other histories; here, spiders weave a network of WiFi connections and host dense egg sacs of websites; here, sprawling statue gardens grow beneath our souls. Welcome to the Disparateum. Enjoy your stay.

Unskilled Labor

Unskilled Labor is a game about struggling to get by in the rotting corpse of capitalism. But this time, you have superpowers!

Unfortunately, the superpowers will not let you steal back the time you wasted in dead-end jobs, nor will they let you topple the system and fix everything singlehandedly. But, hey, did you really expect them to? The work to make a better world remains to be done, and maybe now it'll be slightly easier. Manifest a customer service persona to fight your friends' landlord, use perfect timing to escape the cops, coordinate supernaturally disruptive protests of an oil pipeline. Play using resumes as character sheets and calendars as battlemaps. Manage your well-being (as much as you're able), struggle against the tides of Western society, and spit in the face of authority. It's not a glamorous power fantasy, but hopefully it reminds you not to give up the fight.

Charcuterie

Charcuterie is a series of zines, each about 40 pages long, collecting various little experimental games, writings, and doodles. The first two have five ttrpgs each, four being updated versions of games I'd previously released and the fifth being exclusive to the zine. The third is instead a collection of poetry and short stories, though I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a streak of game design through it all anyway.

IMMORTAL Pop!bat 2: funK.O. (Definitive Edition)

Have you ever wanted a miniatures wargame with thirteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine unique statblocks? Have you ever wanted to microwave your friend's limited edition metallic blue Batman Funko Pop, but lacked the game mechanical justification to do so? Have you ever wanted to waste an entire paycheck on a terrible idea? IMMORTAL Pop!bat 2: funK.O. (Definitive Edition) has you covered. With two pages of rules and sixteen hundred pages of Pop!batants, with IP!b2:fK.O.(DE) you'll be making terrible life choices in no time.

Stationkeeping

In Stationkeeping, you've inherited a run-down satellite from your late aunt. Slowly you'll patch it up, add new rooms, and fill it with memories. The game's contained entirely on a small stack of handwritten index cards which you can carry around with you, slowly progressing the game by going out of your way to enjoy the little things in your day-to-day life.

And More!

I've got even more stuff over on itch, and I sneak occasional glimpses at my current projects into the #ttrpgs tag here on tumblr. Keep your eyes peeled!

And of course, I'm always happy to chat. If you're ever curious about something I've made or am making, if you enjoyed something or had thoughts on it, if you just wanna say hi, please reach out! Games are my passion, and I love nothing more than to talk with other passionate people. Until then, I'm signing off!

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Simon Riley - Medieval Au Part 4

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

His hand falls away from your face, and he grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the bathhouse. You stumble over your own feet, your hair a mess.

“Jesus..” He mutters, exasperated by how much of a hot mess you are. He pulls you into the kitchen, and he makes you sit down on a pillow on the floor. He tries to fix your damp hair up a bit. He makes it look a little neater, he doesn’t say any to ing when he accidentally tugs on a knot in your hair.

He rolls his eyes when you wince at the tug, muttering something about how he wasn’t pulling that hard. He stands up after fixing your hair up the best he can with just his fingers, going over to one of the cupboards on the wall.

He pulls out a fresh loaf of bread and some smoked meat. Upon a closer inspection, you see that it is wild smoked salmon. You’ve never had enough money to afford such a luxury.

He cuts the bread with a bread knife and he puts some of the smoked salmon on top. He puts the knife down and walks over to you with the slice of bread and salmon in hand.

“Eat.” Is all he tells you, he hands you the bread and salmon and says nothing more. You quickly eat, wanting to get rid of the achy feeling of emptiness in your stomach.

He watches you for a moment with a blank stare on his face, he then turns back and makes the same thing for himself to eat. He makes his portion bigger, as he is twice your size.

When he turns back with his own meal in hand, he sees that you’ve already eaten the whole thing he made for you. He sits down in a pillow across from you and he watches you while he eats.

It’s unnerving the way he stares at you, like he’s trying to burn your every feature into his mind. You can’t look him in the eye, now a feeling of fear in the pit of your stomach. You fiddle anxiously with your hands in your lap, trying to distract yourself from the weight of his gaze.

There are no words spoken between you as he eats, you wipe the tears on your face away with the sleeve of your shirt. He watches your every move, like he knows that you are looking for an opening to run.

He finishes his meal and he keeps staring at you, crossing his arms over his chest. He reaches over to you and you tense up.

He gently wipes your damp hair out of your face, his face blank. The sun is starting to set, and he glances out the window. He huffs and pushes himself to his fear. He grabs a bow of matches from the cupboard and he starts to light the two oil lamps at either end of the kitchen.

“It’s getting late, are you tired?” He asks you, glancing back at you as he lights the second oil lamp. You don’t respond, not having the courage to say anything.

He clicks his tongue as he puts the match box away. He walks back to where you are seated and he pulls you to your feet.

“Look at you, you must be tired. Look how dark your under eyes are.” He grabs your jaw so you can’t pull away as he pokes your eye bags. He’s careful to not poke you in the eye.

He lets go of your jaw and grabs you by the upper arm and he drags you upstairs. It’s a lot more cozy upstairs, it’s his bedroom. You start to panic again, what is going to do to you?

His grip on your arm tightens as he feels you begin to panic again. He makes no comment. He manhandles you at the end of his bed and he unloops the belt he had given you.

“Relax, it’s more comfortable to sleep without a belt on.” He says, mildly annoyed at the way you freak out.

He drops the belt on the floor and he picks you up and sits you on the bed. He gets a match from the drawer beside the bed and he light an oil lamp that’s sitting on the drawer.

You are frozen in place, unable to move in fear he will hurt you if you move. He pulls the covers back and he gets you to lay down, he tucks you in.

“Get comfy.” He tells you, expecting you to stay in the bed while he changes out of his uniform. You stay in the position he laid you in, on your side with your arms wrapped around your torso.

He changes quite fast into his nighttime attire, as if excited to sleep in bed with you. He slides in bed behind you, dimming the oil lamp so only a sliver of light escapes.

He sighs as he wraps his arms around you, his forehead pressing against the nape of your neck. You tense up, freaking out.

“Go to sleep.” He mutters, getting comfortable.

[gingerdusk]

All these polls, what's YOUR headcanon for these guys' classes?

*cracks knuckles* Okay. Let's go. Assuming everyone's going for their good endings:

Astarion

Thief, for sure, no multiclass. As convenient as it is for sneak attacks to have him play Assassin, and as much as he likes to play up how into murder he is, he himself is NOT Murderbritches McGee, and is definitely not getting paid for it. Stealing petty things from Cazador, though? Swiping enough to survive? A slight of hand trick to swipe a key? Absolutely.

"Your quick hands and mastery of the larcenous arts make stealing second nature - be it from a third floor window or a forgotten ruin." - Thief flavor text

Gale

Illusion, due to just how MANY illusions he makes with his scenes, though I think all the schools (minus bladesinging, my guy is not a swordsman) have equal bid for his attention; my headcanon is that, pre-Orb, Archwizard Gale was the equivalent of having ALL the subclasses.

Multiclassing, I am a Storm Sorcerer Gale truther. He only has one level in it, though, because he values study and doesn't strike me as the kind of person to ever take advantage of Metamagic over it. On top of that, I saw some tags from @rosanqro about Gale taking a level in whatever his romantic partner's class is. I like that.

"You specialise in unravelling and restitching the fabric of reality to fool the unwary, the gullible, and the monstrous." - Illusion flavor text

"Whether crackling with the energy of ancient deluges or pierced by gales and hurricanes, your lineage is a strange tapestry scrawled by a tempest." - Storm Sorcery flavor text

Wyll

Get my man out of that pact. I think he'd multiclass immediately if Tav/etc offered, but the stakes are too high to discard Mizora's power while he still has it.

I know he picks ranger postgame, but with nobody around to TEACH him rangerly ways, I think he'd first go Oath of Devotion after saving Karlach, with a multiclass in Swashbuckling Rogue as he spars with Astarion. My personal headcanon is that he becomes a ranger postgame because he's trying to follow in Minsc's footsteps.

"Following the ideal of the knight in shining armour, you act with honour and virtue to protect the weak and pursue the greater good." - Oath of Devotion flavor text

Tenets of Devotion

Courage: Stride dauntlessly into action.

Compassion: Show clemency when prudent, and lend your arm to those in need.

Duty: Tend your responsibilities, obey just laws, and support those entrusted to your care.

"You live and breathe the art of the blade, excelling in single combat thanks to your quick feet and wits." - Swashbuckler flavor text

Shadowheart

Starts as a Trickery Domain Cleric/2 levels of Rogue. Frees the Nightsong, drops being a Cleric in favor of pure Rogue, as an Arcane Trickster. She's skilled in the dark, but she no longer serves it.

"As quick with a spell as you are with a lockpick, your illusions and enchantments keep opponents on the back foot." - Arcane Trickster flavor text

Lae'zel

Champion Fighter. No notes. She's Vlaakith's Champion, then she's Orpheus'.

"You approach the complex problems posed by combat with one distinctly effective solution - you hit those problems, really quite hard." - Champion flavor text

Karlach

Controversial take, but Wild Magic Barbarian. The magic roiling within her comes from her hell-made heart, and whenever she rages, she unleashes it. It's part of what made her so deadly on the field, and so beloved by Zariel; when you're fighting demons, you need to be as chaotic as they are, and Wild Magic makes you an unpredictable foe. Additional flavor, a little spark of magic in her is what made Gortash and Zariel think she was worth a trade (because, let's face it, you have to have something unique about you for an ARCHDUCHESS to take an interest in you. Particularly Zariel, if you know what her character's like).

"The wild influence of magic has transformed you, suffusing you with an arcane power that churns within you, waiting to be released." - Wild Magic (Barbarian) flavor text

Side note, completely unrelated, Lae'zel and Karlach's backgrounds should have been swapped. Outlander Lae'zel, Soldier Karlach.

[theplotmage]

Basics of Starting a Murder Mystery

1. Victim

Description: Identify who the victim is. Provide background information and context for why their murder is significant.

Fantasy Adaptation: The victim could be a mystical creature, a royal figure, or a powerful sorcerer. The murder might involve magical elements or rare artifacts.

2. Setting

Description: Decide on the location where the murder takes place. This could be a mansion, a small town, a secluded island, etc.

Fantasy Adaptation: The setting could be an enchanted forest, a mystical kingdom, a hidden temple, or a floating city. Incorporate fantastical elements like magical barriers, ancient curses, or secret portals.

3. Detective/Protagonist

Description: Introduce the character who will be solving the murder. They could be a private detective, a journalist, or an amateur sleuth.

Fantasy Adaptation: The protagonist could be a magical investigator, a rogue thief, a wizard, or a knight. They might use spells, enchanted artifacts, or mythical creatures to aid in their investigation.

4. Suspects

Description: Develop a list of suspects, each with motives, opportunities, and secrets. Provide clues that point to different characters to keep the reader guessing.

Fantasy Adaptation: Suspects could include elves, dwarves, sorcerers, enchanted beings, or even gods. Their motives might involve ancient feuds, magical artifacts, or prophecies.

5. Clues and Red Herrings

Description: Plant clues throughout the story that lead the protagonist toward the truth. Include red herrings to mislead the reader and maintain suspense.

Fantasy Adaptation: Clues could be magical runes, ancient tomes, enchanted objects, or cryptic prophecies. Red herrings might involve false spells, illusions, or shape-shifting creatures.

6. Plot Twists

Description: Incorporate unexpected twists to keep the plot engaging. These should be surprising yet plausible within the story’s context.

Fantasy Adaptation: Twists might include hidden identities, secret magical abilities, betrayals by trusted allies, or revelations of ancient curses or prophecies.

7. Resolution

Description: Conclude the mystery by revealing the murderer and explaining their motives and methods. Tie up loose ends and provide closure for the characters and the reader.

Fantasy Adaptation: The resolution might involve a magical battle, a ritual to break a curse, or the revelation of a long-forgotten prophecy. The protagonist could use their unique abilities to bring the murderer to justice.

Applying the Framework to Different Genres:

High Fantasy: Set in a fully imagined world with its own rules of magic. The mystery might involve ancient prophecies, mythical creatures, and epic quests.

Urban Fantasy: Combine the mystery with a modern city setting that has hidden magical elements. The detective could be a supernatural being living among humans.

Dark Fantasy: Infuse the story with horror elements. The murder could involve dark magic, necromancy, or demonic entities.

Historical Fantasy: Blend historical settings with magical elements. The mystery might revolve around historical events altered by magic.

Steampunk Fantasy: Set in an alternate Victorian era with steam-powered technology and fantastical inventions. The detective could use gadgets and alchemy in their investigation

Common Plot Holes in Murder Mysteries and Suggestions on How to Avoid Them:

1. Unbelievable Motives

Plot Hole: The killer’s motive is weak, unconvincing, or unrealistic.

Solution: Develop deep, believable backstories for your characters. Ensure the motive aligns with their personality and history. Motives can range from jealousy, revenge, and fear to financial gain or protecting a loved one.

2. Convenient Evidence

Plot Hole: Evidence appears too conveniently to help the protagonist solve the mystery.

Solution: Introduce evidence gradually and logically. Ensure it’s discovered through the protagonist’s efforts and fits naturally into the narrative. The protagonist should work to uncover clues, facing challenges and setbacks.

3. Ignoring the Obvious

Plot Hole: Characters overlook obvious clues or suspects for no logical reason.

Solution: If clues are ignored, provide a plausible reason. Maybe the obvious suspect has a strong alibi or the clue is misinterpreted. The protagonist should follow logical steps and acknowledge obvious leads, even if they turn out to be red herrings.

4. Inconsistent Character Behavior

Plot Hole: Characters act out of character to serve the plot.

Solution: Ensure all actions align with established character traits and motivations. If a character needs to act unusually, provide a strong, believable reason for their behavior.

5. Unrealistic Technology/Forensics

Plot Hole: The story uses unrealistic or overly convenient technological or forensic solutions.

Solution: Research the technology or forensic methods you’re including. Use realistic, credible techniques and avoid relying too heavily on high-tech solutions. In a fantasy setting, establish clear rules for how magic or other fantastical elements work and stay consistent with them.

6. Lack of Consequences

Plot Hole: Characters face no real consequences for their actions, diminishing tension and realism.

Solution: Ensure actions have appropriate consequences. If a character takes a risk, there should be potential fallout. This adds realism and stakes to the narrative.

7. Coincidences Driving the Plot

Plot Hole: The plot relies on coincidences rather than character actions and decisions.

Solution: Focus on causality. Events should result from characters’ decisions and actions. Minimize coincidences and ensure the protagonist’s efforts are central to solving the mystery.

8. Underdeveloped Antagonist

Plot Hole: The killer or antagonist is underdeveloped, making their actions and motivations unclear or uninteresting.

Solution: Flesh out the antagonist’s character. Provide a detailed backstory, clear motivations, and a strong presence in the story. The antagonist should be a formidable and complex character, challenging the protagonist.

9. Excessive Red Herrings

Plot Hole: Too many misleading clues confuse rather than intrigue the reader.

Solution: Use red herrings sparingly and strategically. Each should serve to develop the plot or characters further. Balance red herrings with genuine clues to maintain a coherent and engaging narrative.

10. Unclear Resolution

Plot Hole: The resolution is unclear or unsatisfying, leaving questions unanswered.

Solution: Ensure the resolution ties up all major plot points and answers key questions. The revelation of the murderer should be logical and satisfying, with all clues making sense in retrospect.

How to Apply These Solutions in Different Genres:

Fantasy: Make sure magical motives are deeply rooted in the world’s lore. Use consistent magical rules and avoid deus ex machina resolutions. Character actions should have magical and real-world consequences.

Sci-Fi: Ensure futuristic technology and forensic methods are plausible within the story’s context. Character behavior should align with the setting’s norms and technologies.

Historical: Research the historical period to ensure accuracy. Character motivations should align with historical contexts and norms, and forensic methods should be era-appropriate.

Thriller: Heighten consequences and stakes. Character actions should drive the plot, with minimal reliance on coincidences. Develop a strong, believable antagonist.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Marc Spector: based on a real guy?

I would like to propose Barney "Beryl" Ross (born Dov-Ber Rasofsky) (1909-1967) as a stand-in for possible Marc Spector inspiration or at least a REALLY odd coincidence. The parallels are outstanding.

Born to Eastern European Immigrant parents (From Belarus), he grew up in a tough Chicago neighborhood. 

His father was a Rabbi who looked down on fighting like Boxing and Wrestling. 

When Barney expressed interest and talent in boxing, his father told him to "Let the goyim be the fighters" and that "The trombeniks (yiddish for phony and self aggrandizer), the murderers--We are the scholars." 

Barney studied the Talmud as well and expressed interest in becoming a teacher. 

His father was murdered when someone robbed their family vegetable shop. His mother suffered a mental breakdown and his three younger siblings were sent to an orphanage when Barney was just 14. 

Barney became a thief, a gambler, and worked for Al Capone. He eventually found his money in boxing where it is speculated that Al Copone himself often promoted his shows and bought up the tickets to help him make money. 

He used the money to reunite his family. 

His career took off during the rise of Antisemitism and while Barney rejected his father's teachings and religion, he understood that he was seen as a "scrappy Jew Kid" and he needed to become a representative for his people. 

His walk into the ring song was "My Yiddishe Momma" and he often wore blue and white with the Magen David on his clothes. 

In the ring himself, he became a world champion in three weight divisions. He was never knocked out. 

His last match before he retired he went 15 rounds where he took a severe beating. His couch begged him to call it, but he refused to go down. He was determined to leave the ring on his own feet". He had 72 wins in his career, 22 of which were by K.O. 

When WWII broke out, he joined the Marines. Because of his stardome, they tried to keep him as just a pretty poster face recruit, but he insisted on fighting. 

He was almost court-martialed when his commanding officer called him a Jewish Slur and he punched him out. He was spared because the judge was also jewish. 

Barney was sent to the Pacific Theater and fought at Guadalcanal where he single handedly fought off no less than five armed Japanese soldiers after being shot. He then rescued his fellow soldier by carrying them to safety. He was awarded the Silver Star. 

Despite his complicated relationship with his religion, he was known for bringing his father's religious study books with him to training camp. 

In the war, he made friends with a catholic priest who invited him to Christmas Dinner. Barney could play the pipe organ and he provided music for the soldiers. When asked to play something Jewish, he played "My Yiddishe Momma" that left everyone in tears. 

After his wounds healed, he developed a morphine addiction that he went to rehab for and eventually recovered. He went to schools and campaigned about the dangers of drug abuse. 

He worked hard for the creation of a Jewish State and offered to lead a brigade of Jewish American Veterans. 

The Jewish Community saw him as a hero and with his back story, he fit the bill of superhero status. 

A tragic backstory, rejection of his father's life and teachings, rising up out of the rough streets, becoming a fighter, and eventually a real life war hero and fighter for Jewish Rights. 

(Check out his biography- Barney Ross: The Life of a Jewish Fighter, by Douglas Century and his autobiography No Man Stands Alone.) 

Moench most certainly did not base Marc Spector off of Barney Ross. He didn't set about making the character obviously Jewish at first. It happened naturally for various other reasons. 

But Moench also didn't give Marc his back story. 

That would be Zelenetz. 

Moon Knight Vol 1. Issue #37.  Published 1984

Writer: Alan Zelenetz

Artist: Bo Hampton

Cover Artist: Michael Kaluta 

Now, I've broken this comic down before. HERE. But let's talk about the importance of THIS story. 

You see, after the war, no one wanted to talk about the Holocaust. Most survivors didn't want to talk about what they had been through and most others liked to pretend that nothing happened. 

It wasn't until the 90s that they came up with an actual mandate that it be taught in schools! 

It wasn't until then that it suddenly became apparent that we needed to hear from the survivors and we needed to record the history before the first hand accounts were lost. 

Until this time, the only stories being told were done in comics. 

Early comics used it as a grotesque way to add in horror and action and violence. When the Comic book code of ethics stepped in (big shot guys that put down the law for swears being &#^$% and no sex and violence rating systems), then comic writers found 'creative' ways to use Nazi as the villain and ambiguously talk about their targets without mentioning their actual crimes or the people they targeted. 

THAT would change when Spiegelman's Maus was published in 1980. 

A keen observer will note the date Moon Knight Vol 1 came out. November 1980! 

Now, Marc has fought Neo Nazi before and has even faced antisemitism. He's even gone to Jerusalem. But we have never had Marc connected to the Holocaust or explored his Jewish past before Zelenetz told this story. 

“I grew up on the poor side of Chicago. My father was unconcerned with material things. ‘God loves a poor man.’ He’d say. ‘Poor in goods, rich in spirit.’” 

Sounds familiar, right? 

 And while Marc is an extreme example, we see the conflict with the Rabbi father and the son who wants to fight. 

In this same issue we see Moon Knight rescue a Rabbi and Torah from a burning synagogue that has a Swastika painted on the door. 

Moon Knight hunts down the Nazi punks and makes them hurt. 

In this issue and the next, we see Marc deal with his conflicted past regarding religion, his Rabbi father, and his choice to fight vs his father’s choice to ‘leave it to god’. 

We also find out in this issue that the reason Marc joined the Marines is because of his father’s rejection. 

"To become Moon Knight--A social conscience and moral force. Just, severe, unknowable." 

I won't replay the comic for you guys, as I've already reviewed it (though I've learned a LOT since then and I'm sure I could bring more things to light at this point... Like the fact that to bring Elias back from the dead they write the Hebrew word Emet 'truth' on his forehead. Marlene erases part of the word, leaving behind Met, which is Hebrew for 'To Die' and this sends him back to his death). 

In the ending issue, and last issue of Moon Knight’s first run, we are left with: 

"I may have misjudged my father's saintliness for cowardice and his genius and moral zeal for fanaticism. [...] And isn't moon knight in his own way a moral zealot fighting perhaps for the very same values Marc Spector once rejected?" 

Back to Alan Zelentez. 

Alan only had Moon Knight for a few issues, but he was the first and as far as my limited research has shown me, the only actually Jewish writer to get to work with Moon Knight (I hope I am pleasantly surprised as I get further into things...but I'm not holding my breath). 

Zelenetz fit a LOT of Jewish lore and fun snippets into this comic that only those that have studied Jewish folklore and the culture would easily pick out. 

He was a Junior High School and High school principal at an Orthodox Jewish school in Brooklyn. 

He worked as an editor, script writer, Judica advisor for film and helped get a few other comics started and established. 

Now, is it likely that a Jewish man in Brooklyn heard about the son of a Rabbi from Eastern Europe in Chicago who turned into an amazing boxer and later a Marine war hero? Only Zelenetz knows for sure. 

[crypticdesire]

cw: mild possessiveness, implied murder

yandere!knight who grew up inside the castle walls and found themselves always watching the child of the king. they were taught that their training was necessary to protect the royal family, so why wouldn’t they develop an interest in you? knowing details about you was the best way to protect you, so they slowly became obsessed with observing you from an appropriate distance. 

yandere!knight who finally became directly assigned to guard you when you're both adults. there was another knight being considered, but they were unfortunately killed by a thief during a trip to a nearby town. they were more suitable for the job anyway, understanding the needs of the royal heir more than any other knight, surely. who would be more attentive than them? 

yandere!knight who notices that you’ve become more curious about what lies outside the castle walls, overhearing your persistent questions directed at your parents, tutor, and other palace staff. they wonder why you’ve never directed one of your questions towards them. they probably wouldn’t have the answers you were looking for, growing up within the castle’s walls themselves, but they yearned for you to speak more than a few passing words to them. to look into their eyes and see how deeply they cared for you. to see how dedicated they were to serving you. to see how eagerly they would fulfill any of your requests. they wanted to know you felt comforted by their presence in the same way they were comforted by yours.

yandere!knight who becomes desperate enough to bridge the gap between you two that they offer to sneak you into town one night. the excitement that flashes onto your face creates a feeling within them akin to drinking a sip of cool water after going without it for days. that sip turns into a long chug when your hands finally touch, their skin making contact with your skin, as they help you onto the horse that will take you from the stables to the outskirts of the town. now that they’ve felt your hands on their waist, the normal distance placed between you feels too far. surely this feeling means they are destined to always be by your side, right?

yandere!knight who feels drunk on your laughter as they sit with you in a local tavern. a cloak hides most of your face, but your face would be recognized by few anyway with the only commoners to know your appearance being those that work in the palace. they’re sure they are in a dream when you grasp their hand pulling them with you to join the group of lively impromptu people dancing. they can’t help but think how they are the reason for your bright eyes and wide smile. it confirms that no one could know you better than they do. no one could tend to your needs better than they could. 

yandere!knight who wished they didn’t have to sneak you back into your room to have a wall separating you once again. but the giddiness of growing closer to you would linger, making them determined to take you into town again. the trips into town would be a secret they shared with you, which is why they couldn’t ignore the eyes that saw you two walking back from the stables to the castle. surely, one of the insignificant grounds keepers wouldn’t think that the knight tasked with protecting the royal heir wouldn’t notice their presence. the grounds keeper was predictably naive, being easily found alone in the stables. to ensure you could sneak into town again, they couldn’t risk someone exposing your secret. threatening your happiness. ruining the knight’s chances of being someone you relied on for protection and happiness. the grounds keeper should be happy to be given the opportunity to serve the royal family even after death as fertilizer for their expansive garden. they couldn’t pose any threat then. washing the blood off their hands a couple hours later, they wondered if the sight of them would cause you to be appalled or pleased by the evidence of their deep devotion to you. one couldn’t ask for a more dedicated knight, right?

" i'm not leaving. my life has been dedicated to serving you, so please use me "

you can check out the other yandere characters i'm developing in my pinned post !

[2-dsimp]

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Yandere spin-offs (wip)

Introducing the Hero

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(Fem! Reader)

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Synopsis: Featuring the Yandere Hero who happened to coincidentally save you from a potential robbery and became infatuated with you once he discovered that you knew of his true nature.

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Adonis was a hero known by the public as the chivalrous Sunset Knight who protected the people and also kept the evildoers in line with his immense power. But that couldn’t be any further from the truth, as the Sunset Knight was nothing but a sadistic murderer pretending to be an enforcer of justice.

He would frequently use excessive amounts of force when apprehending criminals no matter if the crime being committed was petty or severe all his victims would equally suffer underneath the brutality of his hands that always itches to inflict pain. Almost like a coping mechanism to keep his innermost darkest desires for destruction at bay.

One day when Adonis was off duty in his civilian persona dressed casual with his platinum blonde wavy hair that was covering his eyes. As he happened to walk by and witness a woman getting assaulted by some ruffians looking for a quick buck. He was tempted to ignore the situation entirely as it didn’t concern him one bit. But who was he to turn down a chance to let off some steam by beating some stupid idiots half to death without any consequences since it’ll fall under the category of self defense.

Trying to conceal the bloodlust leaking from his pores he made an effort to appear like the usual outstanding smararian who risked his safety to protect a typical damsel in distress. Before administering some good hands on “disciplinary action” on the poor unfortunate souls who happened to try and mug you.

Suddenly the sound of a picture being taken made him snap out of his tunnel vision haze in a brief moment of shock. And his golden slited pupils roamed the area spotting you with a camera that was pointed at him while he was covered in splotches of the dirty blood of the offenders. But before he could say a single word he saw you vanish like a thief in the night.

This was the first time that Adonis was genuinely at a lost of what to do. Sure he could’ve killed her but that would’ve been too suspicious should a certain detective happen to connect the dots.

Even though he had been spotted indulging in his destructive impluses he was in his civilian persona. So he pondered what exactly that woman was trying to accomplish by taking a picture of a mere stranger who had happened to step in for her when she was in danger.

Until it clicked within his head that somehow she knew who he really was. As her movements were too fluid to be recognized as an mere amateur taking pictures for shits and giggles. Which must mean that the woman he saved had been keeping an eye on his actions for a long period of time.

‘She knows…’

He thought to himself his bloodied hands covering the bottom half of his face in surprise and a certain degree of respect for the boldness this woman he encountered seemed to possess.

‘She knows how I really am and yet she still chooses to stick close to me?’

He couldn’t help but let out a full blown fit of mad laughter at his discovery.

“What a farce haha! I can’t tell if she’s stupid or just doesn’t have a shred of self preservation”

He cackled, before taking a moment to calm his mind wiping off the flecks off blood of his handsome face with their arm sleeve the hero made himself look presentable.

The hero was determined to have fun with his new recent obsession…You

————

The Sunset Knight was patrolling the streets wearing his signature knight helmet while the rest of his body was adorned in flexible loose clothing. Leaping from roof to roof he happens to spot a supervillain mutant terrorizing the citizens demanding them to give him back his brethren or else he’d kill them all.

A pretty bland demand as per usual done by petty villains so without breaking a sweat Adonis drop kicked the octopus mutant who was holding multiple hostages within their tentacles one of which happened to be a certain woman that he had been actively searching for ever since their first encounter.

He couldn’t believe his luck as he disregarded all the other hostages that would’ve all probably fell to their potential deaths if not thanks to the minor heros who appeared on the scene right after he knocked out the criminal as the only one he cared about was you.

The Hero swiftly caught you within his arms and couldn’t help the deranged grin that spreader across his face as he finally had the object of his curiosity trapped wriggling defiantly against him in his arms. Which indicated that his hunches were correct, licking his lips like a predator as he looked down at you from behind his helmet.

He couldn’t help but get excited.

Oh how he couldn’t wait to get you home.