#their sole purpose is to seek out those who have been cursed as they themselves are a curse and cursed

[nyaskitten]

Hmmm Djinn magic seems very harm and curse oriented, Howlers are beings whose sole purpose is to hunt and scream at you a lot, Djinn are tied to the ghosts and Cursed Realm, Hazza D'ur, despite being only a skeleton, has the eerie ghostly glow Ninjaghosts have, Bansha's purpose is to hunt and scream at you a lot... there's certainly a puzzle to be pieced together but the puzzle is very rough and blurry...

[glorfys-glorioushair]

Story in the Castlevania Games

Buckle up this is a long one!

I understand that there is often a divide about which of the Castlevania game types are better (Classicvanias, Metroidvanias, and the 3Ds) but I think this is kind of shallow because they each offer a different perspective of style. 

Personally I love the Igarashi era because the first game I 100% completed was Symphony of the Night (I started with Super Castlevania on a SNES). I also connect with the style because I’m a terrible gamer and you can easily scrape through those (yes I went as mist throughout a lot of the inverted castle don’t @ me) as opposed to the classicvanias which make you pay for it (I like the tough concept and the reward, but I can’t tell you how many times I have screamed about falling off stairs). I haven't had a chance to play the 3Ds yet, but I have watched the Curse of Darkness cutscenes in 4K numerous times!

My own preferences aside, we all know that despite gameplay, every Castlevania game (the ones that follow the timeline, bc idk anything about the Lord of Shadows series) have the same simple plot with the sole purpose in defeating Dracula. And I sometimes see in the gaming community that their simplicity of plot is marked off as terrible and shallow. In a surface level view this can be true if you just play games to play games. But in regards to Ernest Hemingway’s Iceberg Theory that “emphasizes the idea that a writer should only reveal a small portion of the story, with the bulk of the meaning and emotion implied or hinted at”, the Castlevania games explore such deep concepts of love, human struggle, identity, gender roles, sexuality, good vs. evil, religion, and other philosophies. 

By having the same basic objective, the writers are able to explore the different avenues in going about the completion of the task of defeating Dracula and point to the ideas of what it means to be human. Some examples under the cut:

Symphony of the Night has the debate of how evil and even good can have radical ideology evident with Dracula obviously, but also in Richter who got so consumed with being the force of good he was manipulated by darkness. Thus Alucard, who is a product of both good and evil is the only one who can reinstate this balance and leave behind the quote from the Sega Saturn version, “However, you must never forget this: the one with the power to destroy this world is not him... Humans themselves possess this power.” The dialogue is actually good and complex in this game when you compare the different versions. 

CVIII: Dracula’s Curse is argued to have one of the hardest gameplays (outside of the original Japanese version) and couldn’t this have an impact on the fact Trevor Belmont and the gang are the first ones to take down Dracula? It had to have been hard for them to achieve such a feat! Also the different motives for all of the playable characters. Trevor and his family’s fealty to fighting the night and who was once Mathias Cronqvist. Grant Danasty who seeks revenge for getting temporarily turned into a monster and fights for his country’s safety. Alucard who wants to stop his father from tormenting humans. And Syfa Belnades who was a female magic user for the church in a time where that mysticism could be deadly, but was necessary to preserve humanity. I think Syfa is interesting in terms of hiding versus showing true identity (something Yoko Belnades eons later talks about). 

Curse of Darkness. Y’all this might be the most complete and obviously complex story (supplement material aside) that they have ever produced, yet it’s the one that’s the most sidelined. And for what?? Hector is an outstanding foil to Dracula even to the point of the goal is to use him as a vessel to resurrect Dracula. Like that is so interesting!! Even Isaac and Julia have great characterizations. If you want more stuff about this game, check out @beevean they have great content. 

My second favorite game, Aria of Sorrow explores how Soma is actually a reincarnation of Dracula and it’s a battle of the self, temptation, and his love for Mina that can defeat the evil within. Also Alucard’s change in terms of approaching the situation of defeating his father under the guise of Arikado Genya. Now that’s a can of worms right there.

Order of Ecclesia and the discourse of cults, Harmony of Dissonance regarding how the Belmonts are just as cursed as Dracula, friendship and more in CV: Bloodlines, Simon Belmont’s battle with outward and internal strength, Lament of Innocence and how the women are fridged for both good and evil, the list can go on.

Now I won’t say that every single Castlevania game achieves this well, most things are left to speculation and interpretation like deeper information of what happens between games and what the Belmont lineage canonically looks like. But the fact you can draw these intense and deep messages from pixels and gameplay is incredible!  

What may be my biggest frustration with Konami sidelining the Castlevania series is the potential of a complex story within a well-thought out gameplay and style. Grimoire of Souls may have failed with repetition and it being a gacha game, but the story was interesting because they explored what it looks like with the characters from different games comparing and contrasting themes. It shows that there are people in the writing room who still care about the games because of the story. But money seems to be the problem for Konami which is stupid because they would make bank with this game franchise imo

Anyways my real point here is that taking a minimalistic approach to the story-telling within a game isn’t a bad thing because there’s always going to be deeper meanings. Perhaps this is why I myself gravitate so much towards this series. For me it’s not always about how good I can get through a level or boss fight, but the subject of what speaks to the human soul.

TL;DR: don’t get hung up on what gameplay is better, pay attention to the fact that all the games share a simple plot in order to explore complex themes of humanity, saying that less is more.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Patent troll's IP more powerful than Apple's

I was 12 years into my Locus Magazine column when I published the piece I'm most proud of, "IP," from September 2020. It came after an epiphany, one that has profoundly shaped the way I talk and think about the issues I campaign on.

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

That revelation was about the meaning of the term "IP," which had been the center of this tedious linguistic cold war for decades. People who advocate for free and open technology and culture hate the term "IP" because of its ideological loading and imprecision.

Ideology first: Before "IP" came into wide parlance - when lobbyists for multinational corporations convinced the UN to turn their World Intellectual Property Organization into a specialized agency, we used other terms like "author's monopolies" and "regulatory monopolies."

"Monopoly" is a pejorative. "Property" is sacred to our society. When a corporation seeks help defending its monopoly, it is a grubby corrupter. When it asks for help defending its property, it is enlisting the public to defend the state religion.

Free culture people know allowing "monopolies" to become "property" means losing the battle before it is even joined, but it is frankly unavoidable. How do you rephrase "IP lawyer" without conceding the property point? "Trademark-copyright-patent-and-related-rights lawyer?"

Thus the other half of the objection to "IP": its imprecision. Copyright is not anything like patent. Patent is not anything like trademark. Trade secrets are an entirely different thing again. Don't let's get started on sui generis and neighboring rights.

And this is where my revelation came: as it is used in business circles, "IP" has a specific, precise meaning. "IP" means, "Any law, policy or regulation that allows me to control the conduct of my competitors, critics and customers."

Copyright, patent and trademark all have limitations and exceptions designed to prevent this kind of control, but if you arrange them in overlapping layers around a product, each one covers the exceptions in the others.

Creators don't like having their copyrights called "author's monopolies." Monopolists get to set prices. All the copyright in the world doesn't let an author charge publishers more for their work. The creators have a point.

But when author's monopolies are acquired by corporate monopolists, something magical and terrible happens.

Remember: market-power monopolies are still (theoretically) illegal and when companies do things to maintain or expand their monopolies, they risk legal jeopardy.

But: The corporate monopolist who uses IP to expand their monopoly has no such risk. Monopolistic conduct in defense of IP enjoys wide antitrust forbearance. What's the point of issuing patents or allowing corporations to buy copyrights if you don't let them enforce them?

The IP/market-power monopoly represents a futuristic corporate alloy, a new metal never seen, impervious to democratic control.

Software is "IP" and so any device with software in it is like beskar, a rare metal that can be turned into the ultimate corporate armor.

No company exemplifies this better than Apple, a company that used limitations on IP to secure its market power, then annihilated those limits so that no one could take away its market power.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

In the early 2000s, Apple was in trouble. The convicted monopolist Microsoft ruled the business world, and if you were the sole Mac user in your office, you were screwed.

When a Windows user sent you a Word file, you could (usually) open it in the Mac version of Word, but then if you saved that file again, it often became forever cursed, unopenable by any version of Microsoft Office ever created or ever to be created.

This became a huge liability. Designers started keeping a Windows box next to their dual processor Power Macs, just to open Office docs. Or worse (for Apple), they switched to a PC and bought Windows versions of Adobe and Quark Xpress.

Steve Jobs didn't solve this problem by begging Bill Gates to task more engineers to Office for Mac. Instead, Jobs got Apple techs to reverse-engineer all of the MS Office file formats and release a rival office suite, Iwork, which could read and write MS Office files.

That was an Apple power move, one that turned MS's walled garden into an all-you-can-eat buffet of potential new Mac users. Apple rolled out the Switch ads, whose message was, "Every MS Office file used to be a reason *not* to use a Mac. Now it's a reason to switch *to* a Mac."

More-or-less simultaneously, though, Apple was inventing the hybrid market/IP monopoly tool that would make it the most valuable company in the world, in its design for the Ipod and the accompanying Itunes store.

It had a relatively new legal instrument to use for this purpose: 1998's Digital Millennium Copyright Act; specifically, Section 1201 of the DMCA, the "anti-circumvention" clause, which bans breaking DRM.

Under DMCA 1201, if a product has a copyrighted work (like an operating system) and it has an "access control" (like a password or a bootloader key), then bypassing the access control is against the law, even if no copyright infringement takes place.

That last part - "even if no copyright infringement takes place" - is the crux of DMCA 1201. The law was intended to support the practices of games console makers and DVD player manufacturers, who wanted to stop competitors from making otherwise legal devices.

With DVD players, that was about "region coding," the part of the DVD file format that specified which countries a DVD could be played back in. If you bought a DVD in London, you couldn't play it in Sydney or New York.

Now, it's not a copyright violation to buy a DVD and play it wherever you happen to be. As a matter of fact, buying a DVD and playing it is the *opposite* of a copyright infringement.

But it *was* a serious challenge to the entertainment cartel's business-model, which involved charging different prices and having different release dates for the same movie depending on where you were.

The same goes for games consoles: companies like Sega and Nintendo made a lot of money charging creators for the right to sell games that ran on the hardware they sold.

If I own a Sega Dreamcast, and you make a game for it, and I buy it and run it on my Sega, that's not a copyright infringement, even if Sega doesn't like it. But if you have to bypass an "access control" to get the game to play without Sega's blessing, it violates DMCA 1201.

What's more, DMCA 1201 has major penalties for "trafficking in circumvention devices" and information that could be used to build such a device, such as reports of exploitable flaws in the programming of a DRM system: $500k in fines and a 5 year sentence for a first offense.

Deregionalizing a DVD player or jailbreaking a Dreamcast didn't violate anyone's copyrights, but it still violated copyright law (!). It was pure IP, the right to control the conduct of critics (security researchers), customers and competitors.

In the words of Jay Freeman, it's "Felony contempt of business-model."

And that's where the Ipod came in. Steve Jobs's plan was to augment the one-time revenue from an Ipod with a recurrent revenue stream from the Itunes store.

He exploited the music industry's superstitious dread of piracy and naive belief in the efficacy of DRM to convince the record companies to only sell music with his DRM wrapper on it - a wrapper they themselves could not authorize listeners to remove.

Ever $0.99 Itunes purchase added $0.99 to the switching cost of giving up your Ipod for a rival device, or leaving Itunes and buying DRM music from a rival store. It was control over competitors and customers. It was IP.

If you had any doubt that the purpose of Ipod/Itunes DRM was to fight competitors, not piracy, then just cast your mind back to 2004, when Real Media "hacked" the Ipod so that it would play music locked with Real's DRM as well as Apple's.

http://www.internetnews.com/bus-news/article.php/3387871/Apple+RealNetworks+Hacked+iPod.htm

Apple used DMCA 1201 to shut Real down, not to stop copyright infringement, but to prevent Apple customers from buying music from record labels and playing them on their Ipods without paying Apple a commission and locking themselves to Apple's ecosystem, $0.99 at a time.

Pure IP. Now, imagine if Microsoft had been able to avail itself of DMCA 1201 when Iwork was developed - if, for example, its "information rights management" encryption had caught on, creating "access controls" for all Office docs.

There's a very strong chance that would have killed Apple off before it could complete its recovery. Jobs knew the power of interoperating without consent, and he knew the power of invoking the law to block interoperability. He practically invented modern IP.

Apple has since turned IP into a trillion-dollar valuation, largely off its mobile platform, the descendant of the Ipod. This mobile platform uses DRM - and thus DMCA 1201 - to ensure that you can only use apps that come from its app store.

Apple gets a cut of penny you spend buying an app, and every penny you spend within that app: 30% (now 15% for a minority of creators after bad publicity).

IP lets one of the least taxed corporations on Earth extract a 30% tax from everyone else.

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Remember, it's not copyright infringement for me to write an app and you to buy it from me and play it on your Iphone without paying the 30% Apple tax.

That's the exact opposite of copyright infringement: buying a copyrighted work and enjoying it on a device you own.

But it's still an IP violation. It bypasses Apple's ability to control competitors and customers. It's felony contempt of business-model.

It shows that under IP, copyright can't be said to exist as an incentive to creativity - rather, it's a tool for maintaining monopolies.

Which brings me to today's news that Apple was successfully sued by a patent troll over its DRM. A company called Personalized Media Communications whose sole product is patent lawsuits trounced Apple in the notorious East Texas patent-troll court.

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-03-19/apple-told-to-pay-308-5-million-for-infringing-drm-patent

After software patents became widespread - thanks to the efforts of Apple and co - there was a bonanza of "inventors" filing garbage patents with the USPTO whose format was "Here's an incredibly obvious thing...*with a computer*." The Patent Office rubberstamped them by the million.

These patents became IP, a way to extract rent without having to make a product. "Investors" teamed up with "inventors" to buy these and impose a tax on businesses - patent licensing fees that drain money from people who make things and give it to people who buy things.

They found a court - the East Texas court in Marshall, TX - that was hospitable to patent trolls. They rented dusty PO boxes in Marshall and declared them to be their "headquarters" so that they could bring suits there.

Locals thrived - they got jobs as "administrators" (mail forwarders) for the thousands of "businesses" whose "head office" was in Marshall (when you don't make a product, your head office can be a PO box).

Productive companies facing hundreds of millions - billions! - in patent troll liability sought to curry favor with locals (who were also the jury pool) by "donating" things to Marshall, like the skating rink Samsung bought for the town.

https://hbswk.hbs.edu/item/why-south-korea-s-samsung-built-the-only-outdoor-skating-rink-in-texas

Patent, like copyright, is supposed to serve a public purpose. There are only two clauses in the US Constitution that come with explanations (the rest being "truths held to be self-evident"): the Second Amendment and the "Progress Clause" that creates patents and copyrights.

Famously, the Second Amendment says you can bear arms as part of a "well-regulated militia."

And the Progress Clause? It extends to Congress the power to create patents and copyrights "to promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts."

I'm with Apple in its ire over this judgment. Sending $308.5m to a "closely held" patent troll has nothing to do with the "Progress of Science and useful Arts."

But it has *everything* to do with IP.

If copyright law can let Apple criminalize - literally criminalize - you selling me If copyright law can let Apple criminalize - literally criminalize - you selling me your copyrighted work, then there's no reason to hate on patent trolls.

They're just doing what trolls do: blocking the bridge between someone engaged in useful work and the customers for that work, and extracting a toll. It's not even 30%.

There is especial and delicious irony in the fact that the patent in question is a DRM patent: a patent for the very same process that Apple uses to lock down its devices and prevent creators from selling to customers without paying the 30% Apple Tax.

But even without that, it's as good an example of what an IP marketplace looks like: one in which making things becomes a liability. After all, the more you make, the more chances there are for an IP owner to demand tax from you to take it to market.

The only truly perfect IP is the naked IP of a patent troll, the bare right to sue, a weapon made from pure abstract legal energy, untethered from any object, product or service that might be vulnerable to another IP owner's weapons.

A coda: you may recall that Apple doesn't use DRM on its music anymore: you can play Itunes music on any device. That wasn't a decision Apple took voluntarily: it was forced into it by a competitor: Amazon, an unlikely champion of user rights.

In 2007, the record labels had figured out that Apple had lured them into a trap, selling millions of dollars worth of music that locked both listeners and labels into the Itunes ecosystem.

In a desperate bid for freedom, they agreed to help Amazon launch its MP3 store - all the same music, at the same prices...without DRM. Playable on an Ipod, but also on any other device.

Prior to the Amazon MP3 store, the market was all DRM: you could either buy Apple's DRM music and play it on your Ipod, or you could buy other DRM music and play it on a less successful device.

The Amazon MP3 store (whose motto was "DRM: Don't Restrict Me") changed that to "Buy Apple DRM music and play it on your Ipod, or buy Amazon music and play it anywhere." That was the end of Apple music DRM.

So why hasn't anyone done this for the apps that Apple extracts the 30% tax on? IP. If you made a phone that could play Ios apps, Apple would sue you:

https://gizmodo.com/judge-tosses-apple-lawsuit-against-iphone-emulator-in-b-1845967318

And if you made a device that let you load non-App Store apps on an Iphone, Apple would also sue you.

Apple understands IP. It learned the lesson of the Amazon MP3 store, and it is committed to building a world where every creator pays a tax to reach every Apple customer.

[levisnackajack]

The Wrath of War

Chapter Nine

An hour into open territory and Eden began noticing the sky filling up red flares. She swallowed hard, urging her horse to continue matching her squad’s pace. 

They persistently switched courses, avoiding as many titans as they could. Eden felt like her heart was stuck in her throat as she watched a thick forest filled with immensely large trees edge closer and closer to them. Deep within her bones, she felt like something was terribly wrong. 

It was going so well until Erwin commanded Levi’s squad, along with the central column wagon escorts carrying some type of special target restraining weapons to enter the forest. Everyone did as they were told and Eden looked back to meet Eren’s cautious stare, only to get wacked across the head by Oluo as he told her to focus. 

The deeper their horses led them into the forest, the more uneasy Eden began feeling. Suddenly, the razor sharp sounds of ODM gear sliced through the air as two Scouts appeared behind the squad. Eden craned her neck as she watched over her shoulder, her heart faltering at the skinless titan with straw-colored hair and piercing blue eyes. 

She gasped as the female titan swatted the two aerial scouts like flies; the sound of their bones crunching against the trees mentally imprinting in her mind. It sprinted towards them, its physique athletic and lean, as though it was going on an afternoon jog. 

“Captain! Tell us your orders, sir, it’s catching up with us!” Petra shrieked beside her, the panic in her voice thinly veiled. The rest of the squad began voicing their concerns, each individual holding a different essence of panic in their tones as they pleaded for Levi to give them the green light. 

Eld Jinn pulled his blades out, fingers holding onto the handles tightly as he cursed the female titan in a venomous voice. Eren started voicing his own thoughts as he fought a battle of his own- unsure as to who he could trust. That was when Levi whipped his head to glance at the titan for the first time, his hooded stare giving away nothing but boredom. It made Eden feel reassured that he probably knew what was to happen. 

But, who’s to say that those narrowed grey eyes kept well-concealed panic within the Captain himself? She chose to completely disregard that thought for her own comfort. 

“Everyone, cover your ears,” Levi barked out over the sound of the horses’ hooves coming into contact with the Earth floor. They all followed his instructions as he pulled out a sound grenade. 

The blast reverberated through Eden’s core as it echoed into her brain, the sound waves hurting her covered ears. She waited for Levi to signal for them to switch to ODM; but his voice never broke the deafening silence between the comrades. She looked back at Eren with wide, hazel eyes- the way his brain was visibly processing everything as his palm inched closer to his lips. 

She listened to Petra’s pleading, her beautiful amber eyes filled with tenderness as she begged Eren to trust his team. Their goal was to protect Eren- as Levi had said- and his well-articulated speech directed to the young boy resonated deep within the young girl’s soul. Eren had the power to transform into a ravenous beast once his teeth grazed the soft flesh of his hand. But instead, he chose to sit back nervously and trust his Captain’s judgement. 

Truth be told, it shocked Eden. The boy she had grown up with was an impulsive wreck on the verge of a breakdown at any given moment. He thought with his heart, not with his brain. And to see him falter like that truly made her think just how much trust her comrades had in Levi.

She looked upwards, the muscled fist of the female titan wide open as it stretched towards Eren. Eden gripped her horse’s reins tighter. 

Then it all happened so quickly. 

The sounds of canon fire seeped through the air like a never-ending parade of lightning bolts. Flashes of yellow, orange, red and white danced around Eden as her mouth dropped. 

It had all been a well-designed trap. Levi’s silence had paid off. The trees surrounding them were filled with veteran scouts, hands pressed against the canons filled with rope that had struck the female titan in every single open area against her skin. 

They rode in silence for a little while; away from the entrapped beast. 

“Halt further upwards and switch to ODM gear,” Levi commanded, his voice calm and collected as his boots pressed against his horse’s saddle. “I’ll need to break away for awhile. Eld’s in charge. Keep Eren hidden.” His eyes moved to meet with Eden’s pained ones, as though realization that they were about to be truly alone crept into her. “And tend to my horse.” 

He flexed his gear’s grapples, the hooks ripping through a nearby tree bark; whisking him back towards the female titan. 

Eden held onto her breath until her lungs started burning, her stomach churning uncomfortably. She felt nauseous. 

“A spy. Are you sure?” Gunther’s question had ripped Eden out of a trance as they stood atop several tree branches; fists clenching against their blades.

“Well, no. But I’m sure Commander Erwin believes it. Think about it, Captain Levi had us use Eren as bait for the sole purpose of leading the titan into the trap created by the Commander. Seems to me there’s some sort of suspicions going on within the upper ranks. What if there’s someone else who possesses the same titan abilities as Eren?” Eld replied thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he spoke.

“Maybe the reason why he didn’t let you in on the plan was not because he doesn’t trust you, but because they were uncertain as to where this titan spy was placed within the ranks?” Eden continued, earning an astute nod from the second-in-command and Petra. 

Oluo scoffed, waving his weapons in the air towards Petra. “You see that, snivel-drops? Even our newbie doll over here cooked up a better assumption than you.” 

Petra rubbed the back of her neck, closing her eyes as she sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I was wrong for questioning the Commander and Captain’s trust in us.” 

The chattering continued for a few more minutes until Eld instructed them to move.

They switched to ODM gear, soaring from branch to branch as they glanced up at the sky expectantly. A green flare painted a line through the sky. 

“Must be the Captain,” Eld muttered as he shot a green flare in response, letting the rest of the squad members know their course had changed. 

Eden’s sweaty palms gripped on her gear for dear life as she elegantly swooped from one branch to another; careful not to waste too much gas. That knot in her stomach continued tightening and growing; reaching her lungs as she struggled to control her breathing. 

The ghost of goosebumps licked against her skin as she noticed an extra person edging closer to her squad, blades extracted. Her scream left her throat a moment too late as the traitor’s weapon sliced against the thin flesh on Gunther’s throat. 

Everything after that was clouded by a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Eld had shoved Eren forward as he yelled for him to keep going. Eden bit her lip as she commanded herself to stay strong; the sight of Gunther’s hanging corpse becoming smaller as they sliced through the air at immaculate speed. 

“Go Eren, get back to the Scouts. We’ve got this!” Eld commanded in a hard voice, Eren’s deep-blue eyes seeking refuge in Eden’s hazel ones. 

“I can’t leave you here, I’ll fight too...-”

“After everything, do you still not trus...-”

“Eren, if you want to reach your goal. You’ll leave,” Eden spat out, interrupting Petra harshly. “You’ll go and leave it to the team designated with your protection to deal with this obstacle. Please, if you care about the promises you made me keep; that day in Shiganshina. The promises you made Armin and Mikasa swear to. If you really meant all of that, you’ll go...” Eden finished, her voice breaking. 

Eren looked like he was going through the greatest turmoil in existence. He gritted his teeth, eyes glistening as he nodded towards his comrades. Towards Eden. 

“I won’t let you down,” he forced out, memorizing the way Eden’s face contorted into a lopsided smile; her features relaxing. Suddenly, she looked like a normal 21-year old girl; her face rid from the agony that had become part of her everyday routine. 

“I know you won’t,” she whispered, her voice swept away by the forceful hands of the gushing wind. He continued onwards as the rest of the squad slowed down their gears. There was a crack and a bright light emitted through the fractures of space between the trees. Much like when Eren transformed into a titan. 

That couldn’t be good. 

The muscular form of the determined female titan came into sight as she charged towards the remainder of the Special Operations Squad. With a yell, they attached the hooks of their ODM gear to the upcoming trees, closing in on the titan. 

With Eld and Oluo flying in the titan’s eyeline, Petra and Eden lowered themselves a couple of meters above the ground. The men spiraled in the air, hooks sinking into the titans eye sockets as the two women worked on slowing her movements down. 

Blood splattered against Eden’s skin as her blade sliced through the tendons of the titan’s ankles, an exasperated cry seeping out of its wretched mouth. It grabbed onto Eden’s iron wires, yanking her away from her partially-severed foot; throwing her against a nearby tree column. She let out a bloodcurdling cry as she felt her ribs snap inside her chest, her eyesight beginning to blotch. She focused on her breathing, her lungs trembling at the pressure and pain. 

Eden didn’t have the power to pick herself up as she lay twisted against the floor. The familiar taste of metal engulfed her senses as the liquid trickled down her brow, staining her skin, lips and teeth. She felt so helpless, utterly vulnerable- served like a fresh meal on the decaying ground.

The sound of blades fracturing flesh sounded around Eden- her eyes squeezed shut as the blood and headache punctured her brain. She heard screams, first a female one...and then a male one calling after her. 

By the time she had managed to squeeze one eye open; her heart had dropped down to the pit of her stomach; the screech that came out of her lips terrifying and broken.

Petra’s body lay crushed up against a nearby tree, her soft, strawberry-blonde hair moving with the breeze. Oluo’s corpse settled against the ground several meters away from her. Eld was gone too. They had been defeated. 

Accepting that picking herself up on her two feet would be practically impossible; Eden dragged her body towards Petra’s; her salt tears mixing with her crimson blood. She didn’t even have enough power to cry out loud, for she had fallen into shock. 

Groaning and grinding her teeth, she pushed onwards; completely missing Eren’s transformation as he took on the female titan with vengeance oozing through his veins. 

Eden continued making her way to Petra when the sound of metal hooks clenched against the tree’s casing resonated beside her. A familiar harsh grip settled on her shoulders as he flipped her body around. 

She landed on her back, the sudden movement causing her to choke. Levi descended to his knees, his virulent eyes wide and blank. 

“What the hell happened here?” He snapped in an urgent tone as his gaze fell to Eden’s chest and the blood stains that would not evaporate. 

“I don’t know...we saw the flare. We figured you wanted to find us...turns out it was the titan in human form. It came and killed Gunther...then transformed...and...-” 

“Alright, take a breath. Are you badly hurt?” Levi’s jaw clenched as he watched Eden nod tightly, lips pursed as she bit back a cry.

“I’m not sure, Captain. I think my ribs are fractured, if not broken. If you can just help me up, I’ll finish the...-” 

“Like hell you are, brat,” Levi commanded, voice frigid and absolute as his fingers gently pressed against her shoulder. “I’ll see to Yeager. I want you to stay put; I’ll come get you when it’s done. And don’t you dare fall asleep,” he finished, scowling down at her the small sense of relief coiling within the Captain as his soldier gave him a tight nod. 

Within milliseconds; he disappeared towards the sounds of titan clashing into titan. Eden’s eyes dropped, but she shook her head to keep herself awake. She knew that in these instances, it was vital not to fall asleep. 

But as her eyes grew heavier and her fingers grew colder; that fact began completely slipping out of her mind. The last thing she could remember before her world got painted black were his stormy grey eyes that could see through everything, but reveal nothing.

Soothing movements rocked Eden out of her reverie. Her head was pounding and heavy; her ribs were crying and her heart was bleeding. 

She felt like a wreck as she slowly came back to consciousness. The horse’s hooves clashing against the even ground; distant, grim chattering and the sound of wagon wheels all overwhelming her at once. Eden shot forward, only to have her waist grabbed by the person behind her. He settled her back onto the saddle, gripping the horse’s reins from behind; his forearms brushing against her nonchalantly. 

The young girl glanced back and was met with Levi’s usual, indifferent stare. His physiognomy was so detached; as though they had just come back from regular sparring. 

“Stop moving before you topple off my horse. I have no interest in scraping the horse’s hooves for remnants of my cadet,” Levi huffed, his cloak’s hood framing his chiseled face as he silently urged the horse to pick up its speed. 

Eden looked back ahead, watching the wall edge closer and closer. 

Were they really back home? 

She paused, face contorting into a hurt expression. It doesn’t really matter. This was all for nothing. 

Walking through the city was hell on its own. The scrutinizing glares and judgmental eyes of the citizens pierced through Eden’s body. Levi had leaned over and muttered for her to ignore it all hardly tended her nerves. 

She kept her head trained forward as she listened to a male citizen push through the Regiment, conversating with the Captain directly. He was soft-spoken and his words were filled with pride. 

Then, he had uttered out her name. 

The name that had made Eden’s heart stop; her lungs fighting for air. 

He continued inquiring about her, only to be met with Levi’s screaming silence that had answered all of the citizen’s questions for him.

The following day, Eden lay in the infirmary part of the Scout Regiment’s headquarters. Eren was strapped to supplement tubes in the cot beside her, napping loudly. 

Jean came to surprise Eden in the morning. Historia, Connie and Sasha were also recruited by Levi to live in the castle. It was eerily strange having them around; as though they were cadets, fresh out of the Training Corps; eager to take down to world. 

There wasn’t much discussion, but from what Eden could remember, when Mikasa and Armin came to visit her; they had told her that Captain Levi had personally handpicked the remaining members of the 104th Training Corps, in order for them to train and protect Eren as Hange continues with their titan-shifting progress. 

As for Captain Levi; he was never around. At least not in the infirmary, anyway. He had dropped Eden off that same day and left without a word, or even a glance behind his shoulder. It stung Eden. 

“Did you hear that Captain Levi had a girlfriend?” 

“No- I think she was his fiancée.”

“What was her name?”

“Petra, I think? Petra Ral.” 

She listened to Sasha and Connie discuss the deceased girl as a chill struck through her. 

Were they sweethearts?

Eden gripped her sheets until her knuckles grew pale; a white, hot ball of fury coiling within her. She wordlessly fumed, her mind soaring from question to question. Why did she feel hurt and discomfort at the words uttered out by her comrades? 

Brushing the queries aside; Eden concluded with the fact that she was just mourning. With everything happening so quickly, the youthful cadet did not have enough time to properly grieve away her feelings.

But even Hange came to visit her in the infirmary. Could it be that he was blaming her for what happened to his squad...his beloved? 

Eden pulled up her oversized pajama shirt, her fingers gliding against the the black bruises starkly juxtaposing the porcelain skin on her torso. 

On the brink of being broken- just severely ruptured. The nurse told her to stay away from training for the time being and be careful when she moved around. 

But, as she lay in her cot seething and battered; she began feeling disgusted with herself. Levi had saved her from the same fate she was due to experience as her fallen comrades. And he hadn’t mentioned them at least once. 

Disregarding the miniscule voice squeaking in the back of her head to head back to the infirmary; Eden made her way through the coldness of the empty hallways and towards the Captain’s office. It was past twelve, so she had no fear of running into someone unexpected. And she was almost certain he was be still be up. 

She waited for his voice to invite her into his office and she saluted him after closing the door behind her. He waved her salute off with a tired hand, his fingers seeking refuge on the bridge of his nose. 

“What is it, brat?” 

Eden pursed her full lips, ignoring the growing pain in her temple. He looked almost as bad as her. The skin under his eyes a ghastly coal color, the way his brows scrunched in the center revealing a different, more unmasked side of him. 

Her charcoal locks swished against her shoulders as she made her way to his desk, arms folding awkwardly against her chest; careful not to meddle with the bandages under the thin fabric of her shirt. 

“I just came to ask you how you’re doing,” Eden said in a soft, almost gentle way. Levi finally looked up at her. 

“I’m fine,” he declared in an even tone; his expression a blank canvas that made Eden perceive that he could be feeling any type of way right now. But, she would never know. 

“I’m sorry the expedition was classed as a failure. I wish I could have done better...to help Eren...to help them...” Eden’s voice broke off in a whisper as she barely managed to finish the sentence. She felt as though she was at the brink of falling into a vortex of insanity; her heart couldn’t cope with the flickering images of her fallen squamates in her mind.

“You did what you could,” Levi stared up at her from his chair as he paused, lips pressing against his teacup. “There’s no point for you to start blaming yourself for things you can’t change.” 

Eden huffed, his insensitivity striking her across the face. She pushed the stray strands of hair behind her ears as she meticulously reflected on her next words. 

“I know- I mean- I’ve heard that you and Petra were close,” she rushed as he turned his frigid stare back to her face, “I understand if you think this is none of my business; but if you feel like you want to vent, I’m here to listen.” 

“Right. Is there anything else you need?” Levi asked slowly, almost as though it were a question. Eden couldn’t think properly in that moment as she began feeling that pit of anger and despair bubble up within her. She felt like this flame was too powerful for her to tame as it slurred within her circulatory system; making its way to every inch of her body. Every crevice was filled with this lawless, bewildering animosity that blocked her from thinking straight. 

She huffed, turning her back to Levi as she stalked towards the exit. Her fingers covered the doorknob, muscles pulling the heavy door open. But before she could stop her own actions; her arm slammed the door shut with a loud thud.

Twisting her body around in Levi’s direction; Eden’s eyes blazed with hot fury and torment as she strode over to his desk. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She yelled at him, her ribs pressing against her lungs in a twisted way; the reaction resulting with her almond eyes brimming with tears. Levi’s lips parted slightly, the frown growing deeper, his eyes widening slightly.

 “No no, I mean it, what the hell is wrong with you? How can you sit there, commanding everyone to clean and train and prepare for the worst when you lost your entire squad?” Her voice was filled with emotions, her heart palpitating in her chest, so hard she could barely hear herself over the sound of her blood rushing. “It’s all about trust and being a team; but when they are gone, you suddenly stop giving a shit? I haven’t even being in your team for that long; I understand if expecting you to at least ask me how I’m feeling could be a little far-fetched; but what about Oluo? And Gunther and Eld? And Petra?” Eden cried as he slowly stood up, his left eye twitching as though he was ready to beat her to death. 

“I don’t know who the fuck placed all these fairytales in your head, but you need to calm down and start thinking straight,” Levi warned her in a low, phlegmatic way. 

She let out a heartsick laugh. “That’s a twisted way of -once again- avoiding your emotions. How can you be so heartless...-” 

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Levi barked out, catching the way she flinched at his tone. “You know absolutely nothing about the way I feel. How can you stand here whining because I didn’t physically show you my grief?”

 With a few long strides; Levi stood before the quivering girl. He clutched her by the jaw, shaking her as he yelled in her face. “You don’t know how many people I’ve watched die. You have absolutely no idea how it feels knowing that the people you were once in charge of are now dead.” 

Levi roughly let go of a distraught Eden and she winced as her heart clenched painfully. “Didn’t you come to me saying you feel this weight of responsibility on your shoulders? I thought you- of all people- would understand the pressure of obligation meant,” the Captain spat at her, his voice dripping with venom.

And torment? 

Eden couldn’t believe her Captain. She stood there trembling and thrashing back at the images of her fallen comrades as they flickered through her mind as though they were imprinted into an album. 

Levi watched her carefully with his peripheral vision. Eden walked back towards him, jabbing a finger against his chest as the tears began flowing down her cheeks. “You don’t get to guilt trip me into feeling shitty for coming to you now. Or that night. And maybe I don’t know what it must feel like to lose people over and over again; but when I do lose someone I care about; I can’t exactly keep a blank face on and go around telling people to clean the second floor for the third fucking time that day because you miraculously found one speck of dust on the staircase railing.” Her jabs turned into shoves as she let out an overpowered cry. 

It was all too much. His eyes, his apathetic voice, Petra’s smile long-gone, even Oluo’s frustrating quips. Eden’s knees weakened as she felt him grip her biceps; the devastated sobs coming out one after the other. It was the type of pain that clenched her heart until she physically couldn’t think properly- knowing there was nothing else to be done but accept the fact that she needs to move on.

She fell to her knees and Levi smoothly dropped beside her. Eden fell back against his chest, her shoulders convulsing, the tears a never-ending river of sadness stroking her skin. She felt his arms awkwardly embrace her smaller frame; side pressed against his body as she cried into him. 

Eden didn’t even have the power to feel sadness anymore. Numbness crept through her, but that somehow sliced through her heart in a different type of way. 

Nonetheless, she sat crying in the Captain’s office and he was more than willing to let her do so.

As always, thanks for reading! The link to this story in AO3 is: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

[rocket-remmy]

The Fae Step Tango||Lydia and Jax (ft. Remmy)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @inspirationdivine, @whatsin-yourhead, and Jax SUMMARY: Lydia confronts Remmy’s demon. Words, and promises, are exchanged.

Remmy, bless them, hadn’t been altogether too hard to follow. Lydia had, with great difficulty, morphed her glamour into someone a little rougher around the edges. Thin, terrible eyebrows, crows feet that distorted the rest of her face. She had a cape with hood too, which wasn’t together all too unusual at this place, it seemed. Nor were other fae. Bells chimed alongside the uneasiness of walking through the ring. Lydia understood the violence inherent to some species was much like the chaos inherent to her, but it wasn’t inherent to Remmy, not that she had seen. But Remmy wasn’t in the crowd, watching. They were in the ring at one point, against a beast that looked like a dog and all at once nothing but. Lydia averted her eyes, but couldn’t escape the sound of ripping flesh and the roar of the crowd thereafter. She needed to find a fae that looked in charge, like they were pushing thing. She swallowed as the cage of the ring rattled as either one or the other was thrown into it. This was not her battlefield. Lydia was strongest in the halls of her home, in art galleries and fae parties. But fae were easy to find, and there was a man who watched only Remmy, always watching. When the fight was over, he turned and left, and Lydia followed, letting her glamour drop. He could feel her too, and there was no pretending otherwise as she followed him into a back room. “We haven’t met, I don’t believe. I’m Lydia.”

Jax wasn’t an altogether subtle man. For his species, he didn’t really need to be. He’d enjoyed being what he was almost his entire life. He had a power over others that not a lot could break from. And he enjoyed that power. He also had the power to feel others like him, other fae. His sharp eyes turned before he made it to his office and he faced a woman, with opulent eyes and iridescent hair. A leanen-sidhe. What was one doing here? They dealt in other sides of the fae spectrum, what possible reason did one have to be at the ring? Aside from being a spectator, but he’d never taken the more softer of their kind as one for such...extracurriculars. “Why would we have? We seem to run in very different circles, my fair lady,” he responded, his tongue quick and cool like usual. Though influence over others was something he enjoyed, it was wordplay that he truly excelled at. It was a power unlike any other. To outwit, outsmart. Outplay. And he loved a challenge. “I’m Jackson, but my friends call me Jax. What is it that you seek, Lydia?”

“So it does appears,” Lydia replied. “Truth be told I did not know that such a place existed until today.” She glanced around, a sneer apparent on her lips as she judged the room and found it lacking. “Jackson it is, then,” she replied. “Might I sit?” She asked, looking back at him, the flash of silver in his mouth. She glanced to the ground. No shadow there. This would be fun, if the stakes weren’t quite so high. “Answers, one might say. I’m curious,” she looked back to the door, and the thin din of the ring that lay behind them. “What is your role in a place like this?”

“And why wouldn’t it?” Jax said back, turning around fully now to face her. He let an easy expression come over his face, but he understood the tenseness of the situation. Motioned to a chair when she asked. “Be my guest,” he offered, choosing not to sit himself. He stayed, standing, as he came over towards the desk, leaning against it. “And whom, might I wonder, is asking? A spectator, a concerned citizen, or…” his eyes flicked back towards the door. He knew who was fighting tonight. “Someone else?”

Lydia sat. Games of towering over eachother were for human men who didn’t know how to think beyond their ego, and she’d rather focus on the man in front of her than on feeling smaller. “I’m asking. You needn’t worry, I have no intention of bringing wardens nor police to your den of delinquency.” Never tell anyone that you wouldn’t, only that you weren’t planning to, and that then your future actions are not so set. “I ask so that I could know whether you are the man I need to speak to, or whether, as I rather suspect, there is someone more relevant that outranks you?”

Jax’s grin turned into a frown rather quickly. He did not like the way this Lydia spoke to him. Clearly, she was trying to anger him. To make him feel small with her words instead of her stature, which she had none of. She only had that pretentious way that those who only had power in words carried themselves. She was below him. And so he stayed standing. “I’m afraid you’ve come knocking on the wrong doors. We don’t let just anyone into our little establishment-- brethren or not.” He pushed away from the desk, held the door open. “I suggest you leave before this gets too tough for you to handle,” a pause, so he could put enough emphasis into the word, “Lydia.”   

“Cousin, I’m hurt,” Lydia replied with a smile, using the language of the mirror district with their same, eerie tone. “There is no need for such aggression. It was a simple question.” She glanced to the doors like you might indulgently to a troublesome child. “Besides, I’m not convinced there is any measure of tough you offer that I could not handle. Come, I have not played these games in a while. Perhaps you will tell me instead why some of your fighters are collared?”

“I’d love to see how your bile and spit do you in battle,” Jax said without skipping a beat. “But I doubt someone like you would make much of a spectacle in the ring.” He’d let it go, for now. “Because they misbehave,” he answered, shutting the door and standing in front of it. If she wanted to talk so bad, they could talk. That didn’t mean he had to let her go without a fight, even if it was a verbal one. They were on his grounds, now, and he would not concede so easily. “Just as a misbehaving child needs to be punished, so do misbehaving monsters.”

“About as well as your sweat and silver tongue, I’d imagine,” Lydia replied. “I’d make more of a spectacle than you most days of the week, although you’re likely right.” She watched him close the door, positioning himself in front of it. Lydia made no effort in hiding her glance around the room, aware of the complete lack of an exit. Fortunately, she’d eaten before coming, should things go that way. But they wouldn’t. Fae were better than all that. “I suppose that is the risk with letting your assets wander. Quite valuable assets they are indeed, considering the crowd I just saw. How much do you make in a night?”

He had to chuckle at that one. Lydia was a match for his own wit it seemed. “I suppose you would, with those looks,” Jax said, still standing promptly by the door, but relaxing his demeanor just a bit, as if he were softening to her. He wasn’t. “Enough to want to make sure my ‘assets’ don’t step out of line. And losing an asset, well,” he unfurled his arms slowly, put out a hand in a shrug, “I can’t go losing one of my top earners, can I? It’d be like taking your best selling product off the line. And that just won’t do.”

Lydia smiled at the compliment, preening slightly, her skin glowing brightly at his words. Pretty words could be seductive. He knew that as well as she did. That was what they did - create desire, in different forms and shapes. “Oh, that I understand better than you might believe. You need to keep the business going, and without any scrutiny, don’t you? The collars aren’t always the only thing binding them.”

He noticed the way she reacted to his compliment and he smirked in kind. Jax was a handsome man, old beyond the youth of his face, and he knew just how to use that to his advantage with humans. With other fae, however, it was a tad more difficult. But still just as fun. “Clever girl,” he said, folding his arms back across his chest, his sharp gaze trained solely on her now. She had his attention. Whoever this Lydia was, she was smart. Smarter than most fae that wandered their way into this place, either high out of their minds or looking for a release. Lydia was here with a purpose. And he wanted to know what. “Sometimes a little extra is needed, yes. Words, after all, can be very powerful. But I’m sure you know that.”

“More than most. Certainly more than your crowd back there.” Lydia chuckled, clicking the nail of her thumb and middle finger back and forth against each other idly. She looked at him, wondering how to proceed. He stood by the door, his stance chilled and closed off. She had not squirmed at the phrase Clever girl, but lord above did she want to.punish him for that. She was hardly youthful anymore. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“They’re not the smartest bunch, no,” Jax agreed, “but a smart person never makes a bad bet.” And if no one made bad bets, then he’d make significantly less money. Besides, he enjoyed being the smartest person in the room. Perhaps that was why he found himself uncomfortable with Lydia in his office. Somewhere deep down, he knew he’d met a worthy match. “I don’t do guesses. But I do know it has something to do with my star fighter out there right now, doesn’t it? A zombie is a good catch. A zombie who knows how to fight? A once in a lifetime opportunity. Well...I suppose a once in a human lifetime opportunity, but we don’t hold ourselves to their standards, do we?”

Lydia took a moment to adjust the hem of her skirt, although the end result was neither more nor less revealing. He was one of those, then, and Lydia saw a crack to wriggle his way through. Smart people made bad bets all the time, after all, but if you assumed you would always make the right bet, then, well, Lydia just needed to make herself look like the right bet. Appear to be a bad bet, and risk becoming another bloody smear in the arena. This was a den of wolves. Every twitch or ill thought word could be the one to trip her. Which was why she cursed herself when she felt her face turn in response to his guess. Lydia smoothed it and smiled. “Why would we?” She replied to his last question. “Their performance is extraordinary. They’re an asset of mine too, although in other ways, of course.”

That peaked his interest. “Oh, are they?” Jax moved forward slowly, still keeping his body between Lydia and the door, but coming close. Perhaps he had judged her all wrong, but what else was he to think, about being followed by this woman into the back of this establishment with no warning? “And how might that be?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. He couldn’t imagine what good the zombie was outside of fighting, but perhaps someone had found another way to get something out of them. And if that was the truth, he wanted in.

“That’s for me to know and you to figure out,” Lydia replied smoothly, tilting her head to look at him, uncrossing her legs and leaning a little closer, as if divulging a secret. “Let us just say that it is useful to know someone that is resistant to the charms of my kind, as it were.” She leant back again, spreading her hands out. “Of course, I assumed the collar was merely a fashion accessory, but when I found those tendrils of fae binding, I simply had to know more. It is inconvenient when someone so useful to me has to keep secrets, so I simply had to find out more. Which brought me here, to you.”

“I like a good challenge,” Jax said with a grin. His eyes observed Lydia, watching her very meticulous movements. He was no master on body language, but he understood what she was doing. “It is rare to meet those resistant to our charms, though where you find usefulness, I find a hindrance.” He shifted his weight slightly, giving a brief frown. “We did design them to look inconspicuous, so it’s good to know they’re functioning correctly. The promises were just...extra precaution. You understand, right? It’s not as if I throw my words around with just any monster. Special cases are rare, but I’m good at my job for a reason.”

Lydia chuckled. “We all respond to such things differently, do we not?” Her easy laugh was nothing of the sort. It was another thing to keep in mind, to keep this as safe for Remmy as could be. She didn’t blame fae who took advantage of other species, even if it was not her cup of tea. She did find it a little uncouth but then… so many species were so much worse. Her thoughts flicked to Orobas, briefly. “There’s plenty I understand. I just wouldn’t want my asset to be damaged irrevocably by your decisions. I’m sure you’d feel the same.” 

“We sure do,” Jax said, nodding. “We sure do.” A thing to remember. Despite the buzz in his skin with Lydia around, they were here for different things. He understood that. “You can’t really damage a zombie, though, can you?” he sauntered around her a moment, clearing a path for just a second before settling back between her and the door. “As long as the head stays on,” he made motion for his throat, “they’ll bounce back. Sometimes it just...takes time.”

“I find it rather depends on the zombie,” Lydia replies, quietly seething at his new attempts at physical intimidation. “Some of them can be… so fragile.” Remmy was, and wasn’t. They were so strong, dealing with so much pain and trauma, yet Lydia saw them every day. No matter what happened here, no matter how well Remmy healed, they left a little of themselves behind on that battlefield every time they came home. “Although I suspect you’d know more than I in the physical matters of their survival. But you have no intention of losing your prize fighter, one assumes.”

“All zombies are the same,” Jax said, “once so tragically human. Now so tragically cursed to live forever.” He shrugged. “But fragile is not something they are. Unless, of course...you’re speaking emotionally wise.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “But that’s what these--” he tapped his neck again, “and these--” tapped the side of his head, “are for.” Promises kept those immune to his touch in line, after all. “I’m sure you understand how powerful a promise can be.”

A trap set, that he’d neatly avoided, and Lydia didn’t know how hard to push on preserving Remmy’s unmortality, or if it was wiser to aim for a smaller venture, especially as he left her linguistic traps of his own. Lydia drummed her fingers against her thighs. A different route might suit them better. Or at least her. “Where do you get the beasts? The aufhocker or grim or whatever the zombie was fighting just now. Those things can’t be promise bound so easily, nor do they fully understand the danger the collar poses.”

Was Lydia really interested in what went on here? Jax needed to suss that out. “Those beasts are brought in by expert handlers. We have quite a few catchers working for us. Mostly hunters. They bring us beasts, we give them money. It’s a nice exchange for everyone, and the streets are made safer. Most of those beasts don’t need collars. Not a lot of them make it past their first night, if you know what I mean.” These were, after all, death matches. Who cared if a monster died? Not him. Surely not Lydia. “We only use the collars on the more sentient of species.” 

“You make deals with hunters?” Lydia repeated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, her bravery knocked slightly. Hunters over zombies, now that was a true, as Sammy would put it, galaxy brain take. Nauseatingly so. She stood, abruptly, and tried to make up for it with a smile. “I understand completely. It must be expensive, but then, I’m sure everyone pays for the extra excitement. Perhaps I ought to diversify my portfolio,” She looked around. “I hope I am not keeping you from more important things.”

“We employ hunters,” Jax corrected, “big difference. I hate them as much as any other of our kind, but they have their uses. Like all species. Hunter, Fae...zombie.” His eyes followed her as she stood. Was she uncomfortable with talk of hunters? “Oh really?” He didn’t quite buy it, but there was something she was angling for here. What could it be, he wondered. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. If I had more important things to do, I would go do them.” His brow lifted. “Before you say yes, you do understand the...discretion we take here, yes?”

“Employment is still a deal. It is why humans make contracts for it,” Lydia replied, and she couldn’t quite hide the distrust in her voice. Mistakes, each and every hint of feeling. Patronising little prick. Far be it for her to disown any fae when her closest friend was growing soft on humans, but, god, she wanted to leave here with something of his here tonight, even if it wasn’t Remmy’s safety. “I hadn’t offered to say yes to anything yet. Although who knows, I might be able to offer one of your star fighters some inspiration for future fights. I understand entirely the need for discretion.” Lydia took a couple steps towards him, as if being friendly.

“Hmm, touché,” he said with a nod. Jax moved to lean against the door. “You offered yourself to something the moment you followed me back here. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of place people can wander in and out of at their own discretion. There’s secrets and codes and promises for a reason.” His gaze fell on Lydia, hard this time. “Remmington has all the inspiration they need from me,” he spoke slowly, clearly. “Unless you’re speaking of another fighter. In which case, what is it that you would gain from doing this? Besides a quick meal?”

“Is that a threat?” Lydia asked, her smile nonplussed, pink teeth glinting in the light. She was certainly the opposite of nonplussed. Fae talking themselves into games of chess to resolve a problem was as old as time itself, but Lydia could feel herself losing. With every cursed reply, he cut off new avenues for her to chase him. With every minute that passed, her confidence faltered. His might not be a conversation that would end her way, and increasingly Lydia was swerving his actions more than making word traps of her own. “Fear is not inspiration, my dear, and you ought to know better. I’m sure someone has written a sonnet or two about you,” Lydia replied, “But I’m hardly fussy as to whom I might inspire.” Might, could, consider, some of the most powerful words in the fae language for how they protect one from a promise. “I can’t feed off the dead in either case.” There was another loud roar from the crowd back there. “I consider myself a rather enterprising businesswoman, Jackson. I’m sure there is plenty we could offer each other. You’ve already been ever so helpful.”

“Yes,” Jax said simply. “It is.” This place was dangerous, but Lydia already knew that, didn’t she? Outright threats weren’t really Jax’s thing, but sometimes they needed to be. Lydia was smart enough, it seemed, to understand that much. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, “you seem like a fussy woman to me.” A smile curling his lips. “Why don’t I see you out, hmm?” He turned back and grabbed something out of his pocket, pulling a business card from his wallet. “You think about what you’re offering, and give me a call when you’ve made a real decision. I think you could be a very useful asset, Lydia, if that’s what you truly came here to be.” 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time around the more violent species,” Lydia replied, with the slightest indulgent eyeroll. She pulled her cloak back on, and her glamour with it. See her out indeed. “I’ll give it all some serious thought,” Lydia said, an easy thing to be promise bound. She didn’t take the business card, and instead snapped a photo of the information with a phone. Taking it felt like a risk of a commitment she couldn’t really afford. Asset, he called her. Like Remmy. Was it really so wrong to wish someone might rip out his tongue? It felt like conceding. “You’ve been ever so darling.” Maybe it was conceding. 

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But I don’t entirely mind.” Jax moved out of her way, finally, reaching for the door handle. But he paused, and in his moment of relishing his victory, he forgot himself. His words, and said, “But first, Lydia-- I trust you’ll keep this to yourself, yes?” And only opened the door when she confirmed. He should’ve felt it, but his downfall always had been his smugness. People rarely outwitted him, and he rarely faltered. “Don’t be a stranger, Lydia,” he said after her.

Lydia was going to have him walk her all the way to her car. In part, because as much as she played that it didn’t bother her, the threat loomed over her, and she’d rather see him until she was safe. In part because she could hear in his voice that small victory lap, and sometimes that was when it easiest to trip someone. So when she heard him say it - oh, this was nearly language class 201. He did spend too much time around the violenter species. “I will.” Keep this could mean so many things, after all. Keep what? The conversation? The room, his coat? No, Lydia only wanted one thing, or at least one thing that she could gleam from those mispoken words. Not the collar off, not Remmy safe, but something. She wanted his promises, and as they’d come up in the conversation, they were fair game. Not even all of them, just a few, so she left him the rest. “Have a good evening, Jax,” she replied, and hurried down the halls. It wasn’t until Lydia was driving home in her car that she let out the breathe she was holding, and felt herself relax. The threat still loomed, but Lydia had her own ammunition too. 

------

Lydia was holding a glass of wine just a little too tight. When the door creaked open, she sprung to her feet, setting the glass down. She needed to see them. After whatever they’d been fighting, the crunch of bones, the roars of the crowd that masked much worse sounds, she needed to see them, and tell them. “Remmy? Darling, do you have a moment?”

Remmy dragged themself home after the fight, the blood of the bone dog still on their hands. They just wanted to get in the shower and then flop into bed. They shut the door as quietly as possible, but Lydia’s voice broke through the quiet house and they jumped a little. “L-Lydia, I--” they started, putting their hands behind their back. They didn’t want her to see. They didn’t even want her to see them like this, torn up and broken and covered in blood. “Can I just-- um...wash up real quick?”

“This’ll just be quick,” Lydia said, walking down the hall. “It’s okay. I know. I know. I -” Her tongue twisted into a knot. She’d celebrated too quick. The second half of Jax’s words had ensnared her. Keep it to herself. Lydia swallowed, and as her tongue slowly unglued itself from the back of her mouth, she coughed hoarsely. Not share. That was inconvenient. She could still break things she kept for herself. “Remmy, I relinquish you of all the promises you made the Gancanagh called Jackson, also known as Jax.”

Remmy tried to move around Lydia as she came nearer, but her words made them freeze. I know. She knew? And she still...could look at them like that? With soft eyes? With compassion? They blinked at the next words. “You…” it was like a weight was falling off of them. “You…” their chest felt like it was gonna burst. “I…how? You...how?” Something building inside of them. “How did you know I promised him? How did you--” the words spilling out, so quickly and suddenly, after having been held in for so long. “I’m free?”

Lydia laughed softly, putting her hands on Remmy’s shoulders, so that they could look at her and hear her. “Us fae, we’re not all that violent, usually. When we want something, we talk, until one of us trips up. He tripped.” When she laughed again, it wasn’t gleeful or proud, but the kind of laugh that might have been a sob, it was so heavy with feeling. Remmy had been here for weeks, slowly becoming needier and more isolated all at once. Their voice had been crumbling, growing frightened of even Lydia. “So did I, so I can’t… explain everything, but I followed you. I saw you fighting that Barghest or Yethhound or whatever. I felt him, confronted him.” Lydia’s voice trembled, looking down, blinking hard. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me. I, no, Remmy, I’m sorry, I tried, I wanted to get you safe, but it’s just the promises you made. The collar stays.”

“But you…” Remmy started, “you got rid of the promise?” They looked at her with sullen eyes. With eyes that had seen a thousand battles and might even see a thousand more, a part of their soul left behind in each. Withering away with every hit. “I can...I don’t have to lie anymore? To-to keep secrets?” They already knew the answer, they could feel it. Blanche had once warned them about the use of the word promise, but Remmy hadn’t thought much of it at the time. The fear they’d carried after this must have been apparent. Remmy forgot about the blood on their hands and wrapped them around Lydia, suddenly. Holding onto her as if she were the only thing grounding them. “Thank you,” they said through fresh tears, “thank you.” And they’d say it a thousand more times, owe her for all their immortal life if that was what she wanted. But she had risked so much for them, and the weight, though still there, wrapped around their neck, was lifted just enough for them to feel again. To cry again.

“No, you don’t,” Lydia confirmed. “You don’t have to keep any more secrets, if you don’t want them.” She had expected some kind of response, and perhaps even this one, but Lydia grabbed Remmy as tight as they did her. She cradled them as they sank to the ground, hot tears spilling on her own cheeks. She’d made a dozen missteps in the last month, causing Deirdre grief, frightening away Regan, letting a human drag her into their messy world. Tonight too, could have gone terribly. It hadn’t, and didn’t, and for the first time in a month, she heard hope in Remmy’s voice. Moose trotted over and nuzzled at them softly, and Lydia just held Remmy even more tightly. The thanks tickled her skin and she let them wash over her. If this was what being promise bound did to them, she’d make sure they’d never feel it again. “I hope you can find a way to use it,” Lydia said after a while, cupping Remmy’s head so that they would look at her again. “Give him fucking hell.”

[lemonietrinket]

Save A Nation ||| Johnny x Reader

Summary: Johnny knows how hot he is. Oh he knows. He also knows that a certain someone has had a crush on him for a very long time. And he also knows you’re not confident enough to address it. But this is the catch for you, you see: because he is. Genre: Fluff? I don’t think it is... But it ain’t exactly hardcore smut, is it? If ya’ll wanna kiss John Seo then this is a fic that caters to that very purpose, kk Warning(s): Johnny.  Word Count: 2965 how is this longer than the min&joo one wHaT Theme Songs: Flower Shower - Hyuna; Who Is In Your Heart Now? - Studio Killers AN: December 13 prompt, mistletoe! (credit: @songi-writes) Also, can we have some more appreciation for Johnny’s lips pls. They are the definition of beautiful!  And also my man Johnny in general like come on guys he’s out here serving looks, personality and comedy on a diamond encrusted plate my dudes, give him some attention

Set in a university.

~~~

The party was loud. A butchered club-remixed christmas song hammered the speakers at the hands of a completely sozzled DJ, as the throng of people shimmering like hyper-flammable lycra ebbed and flowed with the beat like shoals of plastic fish beneath the cheap strobe lights. House parties were never that good, if you were honest. But this one. This one was spectacular.

You wished you could say the reason for you believing so was actually good, or anywhere close to rational. But alas, it was not, since your reason was literally a boy.

Not just any old boy, though, in your defence. No no, it was the one of those god-crafted creatures whose blessed features had been cropping up in your line of sight ever since the beginning of the year. At the cafe, at the mall... Even in your favourite hidden-gem vintage charity shop.

One of those boys.

It was if Fate wanted you to do something.

But you never would. Never. 

Because you knew who this boy was.

Johnny Seo.

God of charisma, king of basketball, comedy gold. He was on the front of the university monthly magazine for nearly every edition, he had his own radio show, he got extra-special discounts at several bars because he was just so...

He was in the choir for god’s sake, and he was the one person no one made fun of for it. 

There was no way you would risk ousting yourself out for ridicule like that. You may not be the smartest in the world, but you knew that asking him out for him to inevitably turn you down would make you the laughing stock for the rest of the year. And that was the best case scenario. 

It wasn’t like you thought poorly of yourself, not at all. You were intelligent, and talented, and certainly attractive enough.  It’s just you knew you lacked something. The thing that separated him from everyone else. The thing that made him destined for the stars whilst everyone else settled for the moon. The thing that no doubt made you feel head over heels for him when you’d barely even spoken to him. 

It wasn’t your way to do things at all, but here you were. Caught in a daze, admiring him as he spoke to someone else.

You were so out of it, you hadn’t even noticed that that someone was actually your best friend. She didn’t see what you saw in the guy, and merely laughed at you when she caught you like this, rolling her eyes every time you stuttered an flimsy explanation at her. 

This time you were purely snagged on his lips alone.

Soft, gentle, the gateway to all the secrets that he knew, and all the words he could inspire the world with. Hand-drawn by an artist and delicately positioned on his features, their ulterior motive to make those lips hurt you as you dreamt of running the pads of your fingertips across them, touching them with your own, seeking a sanctuary and your own hell in them. 

God, it wasn’t fair.

Whoever got to kiss them even only once must have saved a nation in a past life.

.

.

Caught in your daydream, you were hardly subtle.

You never were.

Johnny couldn’t help but glance over at you whenever he had the opportunity, and it didn’t change in this case either. Even if your best friend was watching. Maybe if she noticed she’d urge you to do something after all.

He cracked a smile, completely unrelated to what your best friend was saying, at the thought of how shy you were. You just didn’t want to cause anyone trouble, whether it be him, your best friend, or yourself. You wouldn’t want to even be a trouble to the people you no doubt had invented in your own head, purely as a reason to stop you from saying anything to him. No, you wouldn’t even want them to exert themselves in mocking you.  You were wiser than he ever was though because he just let himself flow into things head first and then talked his way out of the consequences, always relatively unscathed.

But the fact remained, you would never do something. So it was on him.

He hadn’t expected to see you around in the same places as much as he did. You’d had a lot more in common than he’d expected when he first saw you. He thought you’d have been into much... less ordinary things. 

He didn’t know really, maybe the sunlight had dazzled him then, but that day in the summer when he first saw you, your laugh rivalling the entire world’s music, your eyes rivalling the galaxies above, your lips...

He was entranced by them then, just as he was now, transfixed as they gradually parted to mouth the thoughts charging through your head.  He wondered what you were thinking, whether it was about him.

Oh who was he kidding, he knew it was about him. You were all he could think about too, after all. 

Suddenly, something knocked his arm.

He snapped his eyes away, lips curving into a charming smile familiar to you—the one that always appeared when he’d been caught doing doing he shouldn’t be doing. 

Sucked to be him though, because your best friend was extremely gay and hella proud of it, and so wasn’t having any of his antics. 

“Hey,” she shouted over the music, “she’s been pining after you for months on end, Mr I’m-Seo-Hot-And-I-Know-It. Put me out of my goddamn misery and kiss her already?”

He blinked at her, startled but relieved nonetheless.

He had the perfect idea, and this was the cue to enact it. 

.

.

You barely registered the fact he’d walked over before it was too late. Johnny’s drop-dead gorgeous face and unwavering stare was focused solely on you within a single blink. 

Your daze shattered as you were thrust into reality.

He then said something.

You panicked.

You hadn’t heard what he said. The music had stopped too at that very moment, parting the sound for you to hear his velvet smooth voice as well as Fate had garnered it so, and your dumb ass hadn’t even been listening. 

Too focused on the pools of onyx that made up his eyes.

You cursed to yourself in your head. Pull. Yourself. Together.

All he’d said was hi.

“Hey, I was talking to your friend. She said you were feeling a bit overwhelmed by the party and wanted to leave but since she was being selfish and didn’t want to, you’d been stuck here waiting for her?”

He waited diligently for you to respond. Eventually you nodded dumbly. Realising that was the best he was going to get, with a gentle smile, he continued, “Well, I was heading out, and will happily walk you back, if you’d like?”

That smile wasn’t one you recognised. 

You scolded yourself for feeling a spike of excitement at that thought. You haven’t seen him that much, you haven’t seen every smile that those lips of his have curved beautifully into.

You were just too eager to jump on the ‘he sees me differently from everyone else’ train.  Which was obviously a poor reaction, in your opinion.

Oh, how little you knew. 

You managed a word this time, however. Congrats. “Please.”

He flashed you his characteristic, bright, welcoming, dashing grin, offering out his hand for you to take.

He just wanted to help you out of your chair. A gentleman. The way your breath hitched at that much.

It wasn’t wise to take his hand though. Your hand would be clammy from the heat of the party, and your nerves from just being close to him. And he may suspect something.

Ha.

But it would be too smart to listen to your own mental advice, regardless. You took his hand instinctively, and got to your feet a little bit too fast for your own liking. 

And then he asked you another question. This time you didn’t hear because it was too loud. And you had no hope in hell in guessing what it was, because you’d ushered your eyes away from his own. His eyes were too good to look into for long periods of time. Unhealthy for you. They made you blush too hard.

Wait was he doing the long stare deliberately?

.

.

He presumed your coat, if you had one and he sure hoped you did because it was cold out and he didn’t want you sick, was by the door.

Leading you through the crowds, flashing that smile at a couple of people to get them to move, with his hand very very lightly brushing your shoulder to make sure you didn’t get lost in the crowds. It was polite, but also protective. 

Maybe your past life had been pretty good. But had you saved a nation?

Probably not?

Reaching the porch, and seeing the mounds of coats, he sweat-dropped. Even if yours was in there, it would take forever to find it. 

“Hey, is your coat, like, not black?” he enquired, closing the door to block most of the sound from the other rooms.

You hesitated, forcing the cogs in your head to turn. Suddenly you hit a spark and remembered. “I didn’t have a coat with me. I forgot.”

He looked concerned to say the least, and you were confused as to why. Before you could think about it for even a second, he passed you a chic trench coat. It matched his outfit.

Oh no.

“I... no I—”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, catching onto your pause. He held it out, nodding his head and indicating for you to turn around. 

You obliged, and let him slip the coat over your arms, and up to your neck. Tying it up at the front by one button, it was huge on you. He’d forgotten how much taller he was than you.  Oh well, you looked absolutely adorable.

He could have kissed you right then. But he had to stick to the plan.

“Is it left or right to your apartment?” he asked, opening the front door to the cold outside.

.

.

Walking along the ice cold streets, at an awfully slow pace, you almost felt your heart return slightly back to normal. You felt bad for making him take such short steps, it being icy and yourself in nice but not exactly practical shoes for the weather. His legs were so long, you wondered what it was like to be tall. 

Actually, his legs were astoundingly proportioned, with those thighs—

“I know a shortcut, actually,” he announced, slightly out of the blue, especially for him.

Truth be told, he’d been trying to think of a way to get you to go with him to the tree. It wasn’t en-route at all, but he couldn’t think of a better excuse.

That being said, he couldn’t deny the impact taking in the sight of you had on his thought process.  It was a lot to handle, that was for sure.

“Oh, ok, sure.”

Turning the two of you into the park through the gate a few steps away, you quickly realised that there was no shortcut this way, having walked this way a couple of times before. But there was a real brightness in his eyes, and it wasn’t just the streetlights. He seemed excited. 

So you followed beside him, keeping up with his light conversation as best you could. Though you still couldn’t quite render what was going on. 

He’d asked you about your favourite bands, your favourite animals, what you liked to do on an evening. He moved onto deeper things, your opinions on the latest news events, whether you believed in ghosts, what you thought of conspiracy theories.

And though you were nervous, it didn’t feel wrong. Or worrying. Or unnatural. Eventually words began to flow from your lips like they normally did. Perhaps you were even more honest than you usually were. Johnny didn’t judge. In fact he just told more embarrassing stories about himself. Like where he’d got some of his scars from, some of the people he’d met, and what being in the choir was truly like.

“Honestly, I don’t know what those jocks are making fun of choir kids for,” he explained, “choir-ing is hard. Not only does everyone gossip over one another, but the teachers berate you too. There’s no loyalty in the choir, it’s a basket of snakes, all armed with not one knife, but two! Only the most wary and sly stay alive.”

“So how do you keep yourself alive then?” you asked, genuinely unable to see this man as ‘sly’.

“Good question, my secret, you see, is—” He glanced up, away from your face, to spot that he’d reached his destination. “—going to have to wait.”

Before you could protest, he utilised those long legs of his and took off quite far ahead, up the mound central to the park, crowned by a giant bare maple tree. You followed him, head and feet working separately as your eyes stared at him, where he waited.

You could still remember the folklore of the maple tree, told to you by your best friend when you met them under it. Fate made it so that if you kissed beneath it, your love would remain eternal. It was a bunch of crap really, because so many couples had kissed beneath its branches and broke up within weeks. You and your best friend had laughed about it numerous times before, hearing their sickly vows from where you sat in the summer a tree away, before making bets on how long they would—

Oh.

Your feet brought you to a standstill right in front of the man you’d admired from afar for so long.

“I’m sorry for dragging you a little further from your dorm,” he said, smiling sweetly and apologetically, “but I had an idea and I couldn’t let it go to waste.”

You noticed his hand, pointing upwards, above both him and you.

Your joints were heavy, out of shock and also the sheer will of wanting this to not be a dream.

There, above your head, was a sprig of mistletoe, tied to the branch and fluttering in the wind.

“I know we haven’t spoken much, but I’ve been so intrigued by you for the past year, and I know you have too,” he began, his words instantly bringing your focus back to him.

You pushed yourself to meet his stare. As much as it made you feel vulnerable, it felt so good to finally take them in at close proximity, to have them to yourself, to have him to yourself alone.

To you surprise, it was Johnny that looked away first, gaze looping to the grass, mottled with snow, as he continued, “And since I didn’t know how to move things forwards exactly, I decided that this would... well,” he looked back up, eyes glimmering with a smile at the corners, even if his lips did not follow, “it would at least be memorable, all cinematic, even if it didn’t...”

You stepped forwards, cold-blemished hands slowly edging up to his face.

Cupping his cheek, you flinched at how icy the skin you found there was, only to replace your hand with much more certainty after. His hand came up to hold yours, to press your palm into his skin.

It felt slightly rough, with some craft he no doubt could teach you. They were warm, strong, welcoming. You wanted to just, hold them. Between your fingers, against your cheek, to your heart.

You couldn’t manage to stare into his eyes any longer, the passion in his stare was too much to handle, and so you reverted to taking in the lines and shadows of his face.  You didn’t expect anyone this beautiful to even exist on earth and yet here a person was, with his soft skin and sculpted jaw and those inviting lips...

Shifting your hand out from his, you pulled it away, and instead to where you could feel his breath, cool and clouded upon your skin.

You pressed a single finger against the cushion of his bottom lip, running the pad across the etches, just as you’d dreamt of doing for so long. 

His hand came to meet yours once again, but instead held it still at his lips. And there he pressed a kiss into your fingerprint.

“May I kiss you properly?” 

You almost choked on your own heart at his words.

“Yes,” you whispered, standing as high as you could reach, your arms snaking around his neck to mirror his own actions, his hands dropping and holding you close by the waist. 

Your lips met and it was nothing like you’d imagined. It was so much more than that.

They were so much warmer, so much more sweet and delectable than you could have ever guessed. Ambrosian. You were in heaven by his touches alone, secure and protected from the cold and cruelty of the rest of the world, even if only for a moment. How could you have lived without this the whole of your life?

His hair was smooth to touch, as you wrung some tresses between your fingers, soaking up as much of him as you could.

He didn’t pull away until you did. And you only did so because you had lost all of your air.

You breathed heavily as you shivered in his arms, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Kiss me again?” you pleaded, voice barely anything more than the breeze.

He opened his eyes, fingers reaching up and stroking your hair away from your face. “Gladly.”

How many nations had you saved?

~~~

AN: Edited, and I honestly don’t understand how I expected you guys to understand some parts lol It’s legible now tho!

With some extra tidbits too yeee ....!

Hope you enjoyed!

Masterlist

.

.

Edited: 16th December 2019

Re-edited: part way through 3rd February 2020

[strider-headcanons-ahoy-blog]

Okay, so, a continuation of my last post, now focusing more on Bro in this AU. The two variations of him I’m working with are A) the version of him who is more canon-compliant and treated Dave poorly. Lil’ Cal was an influence and an issue, and I’m operating under the headcanon that Cal did affect Bro’s mental state. Not to the point of mind control, but to the point of heavy influence and possible disorientation. 

The other variation is B) a completely non-canon version of Bro who never abused Dave and did his damndest to be a good guardian, even if he may not have been the best or used the most orthodox methods at times. I’ll make a separate follow-up post for B, since this post is already huge enough as it is.

This is going to be less of a synopsis or in-depth investigation into Bro as a character and more my personal headcanon for how things could go in these situations, btw. Now, let’s play this shit on the nose and say version A is Meat and version B is Candy. (No epilogue content will be included in this post but I’m already taking pages out of Hussie’s book already, why stop now?)

With the MEAT route, Bro wakes up on Earth C minus Lil’ Cal and the influence that came with him. I personally think that Bro as a person already had the potential for cruelty and abusive behavior, given what we’ve seen of Dirk’s controlling, egotistical, and narcissistic nature in the comic. 

But Dirk also tried to keep those (and other) negative aspects of himself either toned down, in check, and generally acted with his friend’s best interest at Heart (wink nudge) for the most part. Bro, however, didn’t have the same damper on all of that, in no small part thanks to Cal exacerbating the issues. 

That being said, I don’t think Bro didn’t care for Dave. He IS still a Dirk, after all, and we know what sorts of extremes Dirk has gone to for the people he loves. But Bro’s love came out in extreme strictness and far too intense training. “Preparing” Dave so he could survive and getting lost in that focus to the point that it became an abusive extreme. 

(Okay enough character analysis, I said I wasn’t gonna get into that. On to the bullet point HCs.)

- Bro is not kind when he first comes back, and he’s extremely jumpy. Having Cal gone is both a blessing and a curse. No longer having that guiding, oppressive force in the back of his mind 24/7 leaves him feeling confused, aimless, unsure of what to do with himself, and his nerves are frayed. But in the same breath, he finds his sleep more restful, when his insomniac ass actually DOES sleep.

- Seeing both the younger Daves afraid of him brings up a whole mix of emotions. Anger, confusion, concern, grief that he can’t explain, shame, guilt. The defensive reactions of the other guardians and most of the kids only makes him more mixed up inside. He keeps his distance. 

- His memory is a bit blurry, a bit patchy, but it hasn’t failed him. It only takes a couple days of hard thinking and contemplation to piece together pretty much every reason why his kid (kids now, holy shit, he has two kids to- well, not take care of, and that burns at him) is afraid of him. Probably hates him. 

- He fucked up. He knows he fucked up. He hates that he fucked up so badly. He wishes he could take it back as much as a part of him insists that everything he did, he did so that Dave would survive the Game. A lot of inner conflict as his warped rationality starts to mend itself and clashes with beliefs he’s force fed himself (and been force fed) for much of his life. 

- Dirk approaches him first, for the sole purpose of telling Bro he’ll kill him if he goes anywhere near the Daves. Unfortunately, this doesn’t help Bro’s mental state much. Dirk Striders just don’t tend to get along with each other, after all. It doesn’t escalate into a fight, though. Bro tells Dirk he wasn’t planning on it before not so kindly telling the kid to piss off. Bro becomes more reclusive afterwards.

- Bro doesn’t go anywhere near the Daves. It’s Davesprite that goes near him, eventually. The kid is as scared as he is curious, and he sure as hell won’t admit it, but he is concerned. And he hates that he’s concerned, but. Well. Emotions are Frustrating and he wants to know why the most oppressive guy he’s ever met has suddenly stepped way off. 

- Talking to Bro is like getting water from a stone when you’re trying to open him up. It takes a lot of increasingly anxious prodding on Dave’s end before he manages to piece together a few things. Primarily that Bro has changed considerably, as much as he hasn’t, in part thanks to Cal’s absence. Dave think’s he’s hallucinating when Bro gives a slow, halting apology. An imperfect one, and not anything that would earn forgiveness by a long shot. But an actual, probably-not-ironic apology. 

- Davesprite is still pretty understandably nervous around Bro, but continues to seek him out now from time to time. Usually when it’s been a long time since Bro’s after image has hazarded his periphery. Bro doesn’t get why the kid would willingly go anywhere near him. After watching how the other guardians interact with the kids (from afar, naturally), it’s become even more starkly apparent to him how badly he fucked up with Dave. He doesn’t think he deserves Dave’s company, but he doesn’t chase him away either. They tend to sit on an out of the way park bench at night and drink sodas while they talk.

- Davesprite makes a habit of reporting all progress back to Dave. They’re keeping the meetings between themselves for now, for rightful fear of a shitstorm. Bro is in mild disbelief when both Daves show up for a meeting one night. Definitely uncomfortable, very cautious. He tries not to do any of the things he’s noticed that freak out Davesprite (raising his voice, going dead quiet + perfectly still, tapping his heel, etc) for both the kids’ sakes. 

- It becomes a more regular thing for both Daves to show up. They aren’t willing to forgive him, he definitely doesn’t expect them to (a part of him doesn’t even want it). The Daves don’t know what the hell they’re doing, and neither does Bro. They’re just kind of all. Going with it.

- Dirk nearly herniates when the Daves do finally tell him. Mostly wanting to know What The Hell they were going near that asshole for and checking that they’re both alright, they haven’t gotten into any strifes with him, right? Fuck, fuck, he’s gonna kill Bro again. The Daves manage to calm him down and do their best to explain (when they themselves don’t even fully understand what the hell’s going on). Dirk is still very suspicious and protective, but he loves and trusts his lil’ bros enough to not try and stop them. He may or may not tail them the next time he notices them sneaking out at night. Definitely doesn’t watch the meetings from within the trees like a creep. Definitely not. 

- Everyone is in major disbelief when the Daves actually allow (read: awkwardly kinda-sorta invite) Bro to join them for any kind of event. Bro is Extremely Uncomfortable the whole time, but he goes along with it because his kids asked, and that’s the sort of thing a. Good guardian does, right? Lots of side-eyes sent his way, but a miracle occurs and no fights break out. It’s a while before Bro’s invited to anything again, mostly because everyone had to recuperate after the first time. It’s a little less awkward the second time around. 

- Bro is still horrifically uncomfortable around groups of other people, but it slowly gets easier with time.He’s trying, honestly trying, to be better, even if he slips into bad habits or doesn’t know how sometimes. Mostly, he watches the other guardians and tries to learn, too prideful and awkward to just ask. 

- Mom-londe is the most likely to give him (unasked for but secretly appreciated) advice, even though she herself wasn’t guardian of the year. He plays it cool, but honestly appreciates it.

-  Bro’s still definitely not perfect, and what he did to Dave isn’t forgotten, or forgiven, but it seems like there’s something new to be built, maybe, in this new world.

[nisaeiam]

TIMELESS - an ACOTAR fanfiction

After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around her - especially with the one wreathed in shadows.

PROLOGUE, CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2, CHAPTER 3, CHAPTER 4, CHAPTER 5

Also posted here on fanfiction.net

CHAPTER 6

The city of Velaris glowed under the afternoon sun as Zivia leaned over the balcony at the House of Wind. The others have left after their discussion earlier, except for Mor.

"Isn't it pretty?" she said as she stepped beside her on the railing.

The wind blew and Zivia closed her eyes, feeling the sweet caress on her face. "It is."

"Sorry about earlier."

She opened her eyes and turned toward Mor who appeared to be looking far into the city, but not really. Her gaze felt lost farther away.

"Do I really look that weak?" She meant it as a joke.

"No! Of course not, no." Mor snapped her attention to her and shook her head vigorously. "I don't doubt your abilities for a second. I know how you're completely capable of handling yourself on your own." She let out a soft chuckle. "The moment I saw how you effortlessly got under Rhys's skin I knew that then."

Zivia lifted her brows as a smile tugged at her lips. It was never her intention to annoy the High Lord, contrary to what her parents probably would have wanted her to do, but she didn't think that it would be so easy. Sure, she was told that the strongest Lord in Prythian's history isn't at all that bad and terrorizing as people perceives him to be but to actually see that soft albeit sensitive side of his, she couldn't help but tease him for it and that it wouldn't take that much effort on her part.

Mor looked back over the balcony. Her golden locks catching the afternoon chill.

"It was a piss-poor attempt to get Azriel to volunteer accompanying you."

"Why?"

"Because I – " She took a deep breath as if trying to snatch her lost words from the air. "You see, my father will be coming here in a week."

The bite in her voice at the word 'father' told her something about their relationship. Her suspicions were confirmed when Mor told her the story of her past with her family and the events that led to him going to the city.

"Az and Cassian would be looking out for him the entire visit. By the cauldron, they've actually been planning security protocols for months now!"

"But you're still skeptical."

"Yes." Mor sighed. "I just have this feeling that it won't go well. I know Keir. He'll think my absence as a sign of weakness and he wouldn't pass an opportunity to mock me in their presence. Azriel, he'd – " She cut herself off and started shaking her head. "It won't end well."

"You care for him."

It was more of a question than a declaration. Zivia noticed the tension between the two every time they get into close proximity with each other. If not for the fact that either of them would intentionally avoid or ignore each other at some times, she'd actually think that they're together.

"It's not like that." Mor said. "I mean I do care for him, but not in that way. It's really complicated."

"Ah. But he cares for you in that way."

Mor paused, puckering her lips as she threw a side glance at her.

"He's really not that good in hiding that, is he? Not as much as he thinks he does, at least."

She shrugged her shoulders and gave her a tight-lipped smile in reply. Anyone would've discerned those occasional glances that the Illyrian sends her way, the way his shadows would disappear in her presence or how his aura changes at the sight of her. How his unreadable face becomes readable; muscles in his jaw relaxing, gaze softening ever so slightly, lips trembling a bit – "

She shook her head at the thought. She's paying too much attention.

"Well good thing you got him to go." She muttered as she scratched her nose, ignoring the heat that crept up her body.

"Good thing that Rhys allowed him to go. He probably knew what I was trying to do. He knew that that visit won't go as smoothly as he wants it to be if Azriel were to be included in the equation, given what happened the last time he and Eris met."

"No worries. I'll keep him occupied."

As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted saying them. The look on Mor's face told her enough how it all sounded so wrong. She should've used a different term. But before she could explain herself, Mor gave her a mischievous smile and said, "I know you would."

Then she left her at the balcony cursing at herself for being flustered.

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

Stardusts

That's what Zivia thought as she looked at all the lights dancing off the waves of the river. It looked like an extension of the night sky above them – full of stars that are so close to the touch. They just finished eating dinner at a restaurant where the group clearly frequented as the owner blurted "Oh, a newcomer!" as soon as she saw her.

The food they had wasn't anything like she tasted before and as much as she'd like to gorge herself on it, she couldn't help feeling all nervous and awkward infront a large group of people. It was one thing to dine with the High Lord and his entourage at the House of Wind. Eating out with them at a public place like this was definitely out of her comfort zone. Not to mention the addition of two more people – one whose presence reminded her of Jude, her father's general and also the one who trained her. Despite the female's small stature, she looked threatening enough that she felt like standing in attention and ready to obey her every command. The other one made her lament her absolute lack of effort in making herself presentable. Not that it would make her any prettier than the lady who so effortlessly looked like a goddess. She later learned that she's actually the High Lady's older sister.

The Cauldron definitely didn't hold back when it created these beings.

She was deep in thought when Mor slung an arm over her shoulder and giggled in her ear.

"Want to come with us?"

Her cheeks were flushed with alcohol but she doesn't seem too drunk, yet.

"Where? We just ate."

"We're going to Rita's," said Cassian, appearing at their side. "Mor here likes to dance. Join us and we'll show you how great parties are here at the Night Court."

"I have no intention of making a spectacle of myself, thank you very much."

Cassian let out a snort but she ignored it. The thought of going for a dance at this hour wasn't exactly how she envisioned spending the rest of her night. Besides, she already reached the limit of her allotted social interactions for the day. She needed – wanted – to be alone for now.

And she couldn't dance.

"Come on. It'll be fun!" pleaded Mor. "Azriel's coming too."

Her head snapped to the shadowsinger who was lounging by the diner's entrance. He was having a conversation with the petite female while Rhysand was busy paying their tab, Feyre and her sister were saying their thanks to the shopowner.

He obviously didn't strike her as the reveller sort but perhaps broody guys also needed to let themselves loose once in a while. Squinting her eyes, she tried to imagine how is he actually going to do that. It seems odd – if not entirely weird and unlikely. He turned and met her eyes, eyebrows shooting up in question. She quickly averted and focused back on Mor.

"Uhh. No. I'm sorry but I'm feeling a bit tired already so I'll have to pass."

She flashed an awkward smile and hoped that they wouldn't press any further because she couldn't think of any more lousy excuses to give.

Thank the Mother they didn't.

They all exchanged farewells as they parted ways. Mor gave her a small wave as she walked up the street to where Cassian was already waiting. Azriel followed behind. The High Lady and her sister headed straight for the river-estate while the other female – Amren – went off on her own. She doesn't seem to be staying with them as she did not see her either at the house the time she went there.

"Don't tell me you're going dancing too?" she said when they were all out of sight and Rhysand remained standing across her at the riverside.

"I might," he chuckled. "But no, I need to retrieve something from the town house."

She considered for a moment before offering to walk with him there, saying something about helping in digestion. Rhys just cocked his head and started walking.

"How are Miraym and Drakon doing?" he asked as they strode over the bridge. Some of the people would pause to greet their lord whenever they passed by them. It still quite unnerves her whenever their attention would fall on her so she threw an illusion to hide her attention-seeking wings.

"They're doing fine now. They've been quite busy since after returning from the war creating various wards and spells to ensure that the Cauldron remains hidden – untouched and safe deep within the island."

"Sorry for putting that burden to your parents."

"I'm sure they don't mind. It wasn't much of an inconvenience for them as you might think. They don't seem to be bothered by anything, really."

"So you think they don't mind sending you here when they know how unstable the situation is and that you could be targeted for knowing where that thing is hidden?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm not a youngling anymore uncle."

Rhysand winced at the title and she stifled a laugh at his reaction. It wasn't really his fault for not expecting her to be the one sent as Cretea's emissary.

"Besides," she continued. "I think they're more than willing to have me out of the palace for once. Honestly, it is a mystery how I haven't had any other sibling yet."

The High Lord burst out into laughter and she had to physically stop him to avoid more attention from around them.

"You know," he said in between breaths "I'd actually think that they had put that spell around the island for that sole purpose."

They passed along the street where the sweet shop she bought chocolates from before stood and was tempted to run straight to it. She already feels the weight of the meal she had settle down her stomach.

There's always room for a desert.

Later, she thought. She'd come back later.

She was busy contemplating what to buy that she forgot about what Rhys said.

"Oh that. That may have been because of me actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Three centuries ago, I wandered off the border and got caught in an accident that almost killed me."

All the amusement vanished from the high lord's face instantly. He turned towards her expecting more from her story.

"They had to set up the shield after that." She gave him a wide-toothed smile. "They had no idea that it would be so effective to even deter good-willing people; gave you a hard time calling out for us."

It was an effort to shrug it off like it didn't matter a bit – like it still doesn't affect her to this day. Rhysand, sensing her unease about the topic, was quiet for a moment. He just nodded in understanding and continued walking in silence until they reached the front porch of the town house.

"Don't go telling me now that I don't have to go," she demanded as he turned to face her. "I know the risks. You saved my mother back then, let me return the favour."

"That debt has already been paid. I don't want to endanger the daughter that my friends have done so much to keep safe."

She can see it in his eyes, the desire to protect people. She heard the story of what he did to spare his family from the clutches of Amarantha and of how he died to let them live. He's the kind of person who would rather lay down his life than let those close to him get hurt. It warmed her heart that that devotion extended to her even if they haven't been that close.

"You'd make a really good father."

That took him by surprise. His serious demeanor was gone in an instant and she coughed to cover the laugh rising up her throat. It was a priceless reaction he'd made but she was not going to tease him for that.

"I'll be fine," she insisted as Rhys blinked away any lingering surprise on his face. "I've got one of your famed Illyrian warriors on my side. We're going to be a force to reckon with."

She wiggled her eyebrows at him and a warm hearted smile was the only indication that she was able to sway him.

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, ROSE! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Emmeline Vance. Not only was your application entirely true to their character, but you made them your own and even threw in a few surprises for me. Emmeline being there when their mother was taken is a great addition, and I think explains a bit about who they are now. I also loved how you explored their empathy, which as you said, may not be a trait others would use to describe them, but nevertheless is completely present in who they are.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: rose

age: 21

preferred pronouns: she/her and they/them are both good!

timezone: est

activity: I’m currently only working part time over the summer so I’ll be around pretty often- I’ll definitely be around to lurk on the dash/chat at some point every day, and will do replies as soon as I can, likely within 1-2 days depending on how many threads I have going etc

how do you feel about your character dying?: ouch. But, in all seriousness, death is a grim reality of war, and Emmeline is certainly prepared to die if it means taking some death eaters down with them. Also I’m always down for some angst

anything else?: nope nope, just a congratulations on running what looks like a really lovely rp and a thanks for reading this :)

character details.

full name: Emmeline Vance

date of birth: 25th August, 1956

former hogwarts house: Slytherin

sexuality: pansexual, but with a slight preference for women

gender/pronouns: Non-binary, they/them. Emmeline’s relationship with gender is a long and complicated one. They are their parent’s first and only child, and considering the pressure of their high social status to continue the family line and name, Em being, in the eyes of their parents, a baby girl, tempered the joy of their child’s arrival. They reassured themselves that there were other Vances out there, and little Emmeline would in time be married off and at the very least perpetuate their good, pure, blood. The lingering sense that they had somehow failed their parents straight out of the womb complicated Em’s relationship with gender from a young age, but when they eventually began openly identifying as non-binary it was a decision made solely and decisively for themself.

Em never really felt particularly like a girl, but they also weren’t sure what else they could be, sheltered as they were as a child- not from horror and darkness but from anything challenging the status quo. They didn’t discover that they could be something other than a girl or a boy until part way through Hogwarts, and didn’t start introducing themself with a mention of their pronouns until the day that they packed the best of nineteen years into a single suitcase and marched into the Ministry of Magic and got themself a job. In a way they were seeking control through the change, asserting a part of themself that their father had never known and therefore leaving him in the past.

face claim change: I’m very happy with Jessica Henwick!

more.

i. personality

Paranoid: Em has been looking over their shoulder since their mother was kidnapped when they were a child, and has been looking over their shoulder in their own home since it sunk in that their father might value some things over them and their safety. Em has been weaving a net of protective charms around wherever they happen to be sleeping since they were seventeen, and the shield has only grown in complexity over time. When they followed the Order to Godric’s Hollow, Em sought out a small and defensible cottage with no immediate neighbors. Flanked by crumbling and abandoned houses, Em feels safer alone, especially at night. Emmeline’s paranoia is rooted in trauma, and in many ways is practical- they live in a world at war, after all, and there are plenty of people out there who would like to kill them, but it is also a definite weakness of theirs. It drives them to seclude themself, which doesn’t do much to inspire confidence in the rest of the Order, and has meant that they’ve never really managed to have a notable romantic relationship with another person. The idea of trusting someone else enough to let them behind their very literal shields seems incomprehensible, and yet Em sometimes finds themself almost longing for companionship. But they’ve been lonely for a very, very long time. It’s just the way life is.

Obsessive: Whether it’s their current project in dismantling a particularly nasty curse or their quest for vengeance, Emmeline throws themself into their work with everything they have. It’s what made them the best cursebreaker in the Ministry, what brought the Order before them, what keeps them sane. Em never stops. They have scrolls of parchment  with lists of every object they can remember their father ever cursing, with every bit of information they can remember about the curse scrawled below in small, tight letters. The list is crowned by their father’s most beautifully monstrous curse, and Em will not rest until they eradicate them all. As it stands, too few have a line through them. When they read, they read something useful, something that might connect two dots somewhere, and everything else they do is earnestly purposeful. Idleness is dangerous. Of course, their obsessiveness also means that they have trouble letting anything go, pursuing problems with a dogged tenacity even if the argument is over and done with, or the curse is already broken.

Intelligent: It was their brain that allowed Emmeline to carve out a place for themself in relative safety eventually, their intellect and ability which allowed them to escape from the world of the death eaters. They are a phenomenal cursebreaker, and have accumulated a vast understanding of magical theory and runes as a result. Em is a well of knowledge, all of which they’ve offered unselfishly to the Order. They much prefer when their help draws from their knowledge as opposed to their memories, but they’ll recount either if it might further the cause. Their intelligence spans beyond just the academic, however. Em is witty, with a quick sort of gallows humor that comes accompanied by a quiet smile.

Empathetic: Hardly anyone would list empathy as one of Emmeline Vance’s obvious character traits. They were quiet, and clever, oddly reserved, a little bit blunt, bitter. They were fierce and bold and decisive, ready to defend their ideas with rapid fire arguments and explanations, delivered in a tone that practically dared to be disagreed with. No one would think to call Emmeline Vance empathetic because there was danger in showing anyone anything soft, and if Em knew anything it was how to protect themself. And yet, Em had never quite had the hardness it seemed everyone else in their pureblood circles possessed, that willingness to let atrocities happen, or participate in them personally, just to advance their power. Em listened at the door as Voldemort talked to their father, and all they could think of was the people behind the hissed mudbloods and muggles, the blood behind the sneer in squibs. Their doubt in Voldemort’s cause grew from empathy, and that remained the core of their resistance even after the empathy was joined by pain and a burning drive for vengeance. Emmeline is a deeply empathetic person, but that’s not anything anyone else needs to know.

ii. the story so far

Emmeline was seven when their mother was kidnapped. Just young enough that no one had told them anything, just old enough that they remembered everything. It was common knowledge by the time they went to Hogwarts, already steely-eyed at eleven, that Emmeline Vance’s mother had been gruesomely murdered because their father hadn’t paid her ransom, but very few knew that Em had been there when it happened. They’d been out walking in a park, quiet and secluded, and Em had chased a group of pixies that had flown off with their stuffed hippogriff. They reemerged from a shrub, disheveled but victorious, just in time to see the curse hit their mother’s back and the men whisk her away with the sickening pop of side-along apparition. And that was the last time they saw their mother.

When the people started to come, knocking on the door and fawning over Em with pitying politeness before pulling out a wicked looking knife, or a jewel encrusted bracelet, Emmeline had dutifully let them in, and smiled at their compliments, and watched with rapt attention as their father twisted the objects’ essences into something dark and malignant and clever. They never saw the repercussions of their father’s creations, only the mastery and intellect that went into the birth of the things, benign on the worktable. As much as Em hates to think of their father still out there somewhere drawing breath, they never learned so much in so short a time as in those years before Hogwarts. And they never expected, then, that they were learning exactly how to pluck apart the intricate tangle of those same curses while watching their father braid them into being.

And then they’d gone to Hogwarts, and their destiny was drawn out before them in permanent ink, clear as anything. They were sorted into Slytherin, and they were clever and good at their classes, and they accidentally killed a plant in herbology but shone in ancient runes. And behind all the routine of Hogwarts, were everything was meant to be tinted by optimism and hope, truths Emmeline knew intimately waited, oozing a darkness so black it was almost red.

They were dragged out of their bed at seventeen, woken by hands and heavy breathing and Emmeline had struggled and screamed, thrashing uselessly as the lingering effects of deep sleep battled with a fierce rush of adrenaline. Em still dreams of that night, sometimes, waking up nauseated by terror. Mercifully, their dreams rarely make it all the way to their father’s desk. It’s worse when the night conjures up the way their father had looked down with hollow eyes before dripping fire down their arm.

Hogwarts had lost it’s luster after that summer. Emmeline had spent the remaining month at their father’s home sleepless and harried by seemingly random experiments on the mark that stood starkly on their forearm, twisting something in their heart whenever they caught a glimpse of it. They had taken it quietly, spending hours being poked and prodded, or consumed by pain when Voldemort deigned to check in on his prototype and pressed his finger into the pictorial curse. There had been no other choice. They were barely of age, they had nowhere to go.  

Those, it turned out, were some of Emmeline’s darkest days, and nothing was more demoralizing than realizing that there was no safe place for them to run. Nearly everyone they knew was, if not explicitly aligned with Voldemort, then something of an implicit supporter, and anyone else they could plead for help from (with low chances of success, marked as they were) would gain a target on their backs too. Their only escape would be by their own hands, and their only respite could be through their own power. The Ministry, when Em eventually found themself there armed with a suitcase, their wand, and a life full of curses, was a means to an end.

Freedom was perhaps too strong a word, but Voldemort never came knocking, and their father didn’t send any owls. Em waited for them anyway, and threw themself into their work with everything they had, finding a sort of catharsis in breaking curses while somewhere out there their father was making them. The pay allowed them to scrape by, and Em wasn’t happy, but then again they didn’t think that happy was something they could be, anymore.

By the time Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody asked for their first favor, Em had carved out a space for themself in the Ministry’s curse breaking department, but the running was taking it’s toll. The knowing was eating at them. They were gone, had slipped out from under Voldemort’s thumb, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some other unlucky kid wrapped up in things too big for them. Em had escaped, but there were still terrible men out there capable of doing terrible things, damn the consequences. Emmeline was no hero, but fuck men who thought that the world was theirs to ruin, everyone else just game pieces, experiments, and target practice. When Shacklebolt and Moody’s favors grew into an invitation into something bigger, Em had felt some open wound within them close, two puzzle pieces locking together. The Order might need Em’s skills, but Em needs the Order just as much.

Was it any wonder, then, that they threw themself into their work for the Order with a sort of abandon that would be called reckless were they not so analytical? Em was among the first in the Order’s ranks, but four years on, they’re still haunted by their past. Darkness clings, lurking while they dismantle a curse by thinking of how their father would build it, bubbling up when they let a curse fly and feel sickeningly pleased by the way the robed bodies hit the floor.

iii. present day

Slotting the detritus of their life into place in the smallest cottage left standing in the bit of Godric’s Hollow the Order had carved out as their new home had taken a pitiful ten minutes. Em had resolutely focused on the efficiency created by the limiting of their belongings rather than the faint hint of regret that they had so little to show for their twenty-six hard fought years. Living out of a suitcase had served them well in that earth-shattering year (though they’d all been earth-shattering to varying degrees for too long now), what felt like decades ago, and it would, they had told themself, serve them well now. They didn’t need the luxuries that had been left behind in the scrambling chaos of the aftermath of 1981. There had been books they’d accumulated once they’d stopped hopping from flat to shitty flat every month like clockwork, criss-crossing the area in and around London, covering their tracks as if they couldn’t be cornered and offed somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry any time they went into work. Books, and records, and stupid nick-nacks. Gone now, abandoned as they downsized back to one suitcase almost on reflex. They’d fled once, now they were just retracing their steps.

Em can’t fault the Order for running. It would be hypocritical, if nothing else, but also with their ranks depleted and those who remain rocked by shock and grief, to do anything but hide for the time being could very well end in yet another blood bath. But at the same time, Em itches to be back on the front lines, capitalizing on the fact that Voldemort’s side suffered losses too. Sitting on their hands is all well and good, but Em isn’t convinced they’ll be able to lick their wounds for much longer.

Chittock’s broadcast would’ve left them with a smug smile, a silent told you so, if it weren’t for the fact that Em was well aware there were plenty who would hear the warning that not everyone was to be trusted and look at them, a pureblood and a Slytherin with a mark on their arm, damning them to darkness. The war is inescapable, as far as Em is concerned. At least it is for them. They’ll keep fighting until they die or there’s no more fighting to be done.

[092219archive]

planning out a kh!eren has been rough and planning out kh!eren’s nobdy has been even worse.

i don’t update here as much as i used to because all i do nowadays is spam my poor twitter followers (whoops!) with my cursed and awful ideas ft. verbal emotion talk. i have been working on things, particularly my kingdom hearts selfships 💦 some ideas i post and brainstorm, and others stay in the brain and never get to see the light.

but first things first, i want to complain about kh!eren, who is still being worked on in The Lab™ as i type this.

the thing is with kh!eren is that i still have no real grasp and understanding of the plot and lore. there’s a bunch of what ifs and hows that spin around in my brain while i’m trying to solidify my ideas, and i feel like my answers are right in front of me yet i’m so blind to them. at this point, i can’t really care much about creating this grand, original backstory for kh!eren because that’s a lot of brain work i can’t spare (i still haven’t read ansem’s notes). of course, i’ll change things up when the time comes around but since my knowledge on kh is still shaky, i’d rather not have to deal with weird plot stuff juuust yet.

it’s tedious, but it’s fun in its own way. what can i explore? what haven’t i? how can i change things? how will this affect what’s already existing? i could pull things out of my ass and then make things work, but alas, “canon is my playground.”

a lot of what i’m having trouble with is more technical stuff, too. i spent weeks trying to figure out exactly what kind of attribute i want my character to have, and what kind of weapon they’d be using while in organization xiii. i normally default to the “sniper role” as seen with my fate insert, but unfortunately for me, rat man was waaay ahead of my time. and then i figured i’d go for lances since that’s. well, it’s not my brand but i’m associated with characters that tend to use things similar to lances when in combat, you know? but xaldin beat me to it. and this is the part where i was like, “okay, well, you’re clearly having difficulties trying to find a weapon for kh!eren’s nobody... let’s move onto something else.”

turns out trying to figure out an attribute was worse. initially i joked around and said that kh!eren’s nobody should be able to manipulate space, but turns out rat man beat me again. i’m going to destroy you, xigbar. i would’ve defaulted to water or ice, but demyx and vexen respectively already have those attributes. after a while, i figured i’d work with poison but even now, i’m still unhappy with the attribute because it doesn’t really sit with me. i’ve never been a... “poison” kinda person, but i guess metaphorically it’d make sense.

and i can’t even let kh!eren’s nobody be associated with the moon because Saïx Was Here. there goes my sun/moon ship dynamic. all of my “go-to” ideas have basically been used in the official material (which is nice, but i’m also suffering), and i’m forced to think out of the box. that’s... probably why i’m having so much trouble too because, and as stupid as this sounds, i haven’t really thought out of the box in a while. most of my characters follow a singular trope with a very specific association, but as most of it was done already, i’m kinda forced to get creative because i’ll feel awfully guilty if i don’t. i don’t wanna steal ideas that already exist in canon!! that makes me feel bad.

the only thing i’m semi-okay with is kh!eren’s design along with their nobody, and even that’s subject to change as i gain more ideas and flesh them out further. technical information should have been easy to fill out, but to my surprise, it was hard to do even that. what’s their number? their title? you know, all that stuff. i realized that, “wow. kh!eren is... a pretty blank slate right now” besides the existing design. which doesn’t look that bad, actually. i got anxious about posting it because i felt that they wouldn’t belong in the kh universe, but those are trivial things i don’t have to worry about at the moment. design changes to kh!eren and their nobody can come later... i wanna worry about the other important stuff, like weapon and their attribute.

and i think, technically speaking, i could slap just about anything onto kh!eren’s nobody. but i also would like something that, well, i like. i know that they usually have to do with something... kind of natural? organic is a weird word to describe it as but that’s about it. i don’t think you can technically use an actual manifestation of “shadows” or “darkness” since xemnas has “nothingness” as his attribute which is kind of... the same, or similar to, thing to shadows/darkness. ANYWAYS, i’m still putting thought into this. it’s hard, and my brain’s the size of a pea.

but as for weaponry, i am getting somewhere! i was thinking of using something similar to the weapon, kama, except double that and then double that again. i don’t know what to name it yet, and i’m already thinking about how this can spark up interactions with the other members of organization xiii. but the fun stuff has to wait, because there’s a few roads i wanna take with kh!eren... i say a few as if there’s gonna actually be a “few,” but i’m honestly thinking like. two roads, at most. if i wanna go crazy then three, but that’s not very likely.

i mean, i guess to some extent, attribute isn’t so important that if i don’t figure one out, i’ll die, but also... if i don’t figure one out, i just might. it’s just a little thing i’ve been stressing out over!! i don’t think i should be, but god, i really am.

that’s also just the tip of the iceberg of problems, too. i have their whole backstory to work out and i may just use an au or two to make things work in their own right.

if you looked at my ugly handwriting (or under the read more), i put “birth by sleep/kingdom hearts union x.” i’ve been considering a few routes in terms of that...

see, if i let kh!eren’s starting point be birth by sleep, then their story would begin before the actual events of birth by sleep (with aqua, terra, and ventus). they’d be training under master eraqus to be a keyblade master as would any other dedicated student, but the teachings of light and dark eventually become convoluted within their mind. what’s right, and what’s wrong? is this really okay? things like that, where they question their role and their existence within the world, or worlds, rather. the answers spiral down into a dark place solely because kh!eren was in a dark place during these events. i’d imagine even before meeting master eraqus that their life was basically in shambles and they were put under this constant state of stress where they’d constantly turn to the darkness. however; i’d also imagine that kh!eren wouldn’t want to fall to darkness, because that’s what’s expected of them. nobody wants to succumb to the darkness because it’s terrifying. but there comes a point in their life where they’re just this void of any real feelings because they can’t recognize or distinguish what from what anymore, and they begin to question the world from their own perspective. this causes them to seek out “answers” to fulfill their curiosity and to give them something akin to a purpose, in which in the process, they lose everything and follow xehanort. or something like that.

but if i dropped them off into the place where everything began, then things would be just a liiittle different. maybe not entirely, but kh!eren would be a bit of a schemer. they question their existence after the happenings of the keyblade war to find out that nothing truly matters, and they become this cunning kind of character that breathes “using people for their own means.” but they’re not necessarily submitting themselves to darkness, because they believe that what they do is for “the greater good.” i guess this weird, chaotic neutral or good kind of character. but time passes and it passes, and there’s nothing but “i remember what i did before, so if i can keep up the act, i can pass as a person.” and that’s most of their life in the organization, which would just be going through duties and playing their role. do they know the truth? yeah, perhaps. do they do anything about it? no, what’s the point?

i have more material to work with if i start with birth by sleep, but at the same time, whatever happens in khux kind of interests me and i want to see where it goes... which is why i was planning two aus... but god knows i might just smash them together for convenience which. i’m not sure how’d that work considering both kh!erens start off at different times and have different experiences, even if they do end up ultimately the same by the end. one’s just more sarcastic! not that big of a difference.

god, this got so damn long. i’ve just been in this rambly mood where i wanna spam and dump my thoughts somewhere and i guess this is it!

[weareinquisitor]

A Wolf in Hound’s Clothing

Fighting Not for the Flock but for Vengeance

A final addition to the Iconic Inquisitor roster.

Name: Inquisitor Mikkel Groennlie Age/Gen/Race/AL: 72, Male, werewaheela Human, Lawful Neutral Height/Weight: 6′5″ 272 lbs Class and Level: Slayer, Alchemist, Inquisitor (Sanctified Slayer) Long, long History under the Break (He’s 72, give me a break) I wrote a novel and we’re all the worse for it

Art by  Sergey Kolesov, Art below the cut by Mike “Daarken” Lim

Mikkel Groennlie was born in the Norhern outpost of Groennlie, in the frozen wastes that only the hardiest men and women inhabited, mer being poorly adapted to such frozen wastes and dwarves turned away by the lack of precious gems and hardy metals. In this hellish wasteland, warlords and bloodthirsty warriors made their home, sustaining themselves by raiding south down rivers in longships, kept safe by Ser Winter and Mistress Mud.

Their land was the last bastion of an ancient curse, one long ago purged from the world by the High Church, but one that remained in the Northern Wastes simply because the outlaws could survive and thrive due to their condition and they did not present a threat to the faithful, only to bandits and other outlaws. The Northern Wastes were the land of the werebeast.

Born the third son of an ambitious warlord, Thorbjorn Groennlie, Mikkel was unfortunately a very frail child. He was, however, incredibly sharp and cunning, gifted with incredible wisdom and intelligence. In truth, it seemed like his body was solely for the purpose of housing his great intellect and for little else. Only his father saw the value in this child, everyone else derided him for his absolute lack of martial prowess. Not even being the chieftain’s son shielded him from the abuse.

His father would bring him every book, map, history, and treatise he could find, and Mikkel eagerly learned it all. He became fluent in the languages of the south, knowledgeable in their geography, and aware of their social and political intricacies. Many techniques used against werebeasts in the Great Purge were adopted by the defenders.

Mikkel’s 16th birthday coincided with a full moon, and it soon turned into the worst night of his life. The largest, fiercest werewolf that had ever been encountered somehow slipped past the defenses, and went on a murderous spree that only ended when the chieftain’s sons and daughters lured it into a keep and collapsed it upon themselves and the beast. Come morning, the warriors tore the rubble apart searching for the bodies, only to find a stunned Mikkel surrounded by the mauled corpses of his brothers and sisters.

He was indicted with the crime, and he would have died come morning had he not pieced together the clues and information he had, and come to the conclusion based off of the Southerners’ writings on the curse that his father must be cursed with lycanthropy as well, and he was not a werewolf, but a skinshifter who had undergone his first, frenzied transformation. Armed with this knowledge and the superhuman body his curse, no, blessing had granted him, he strode with confidence to the executioner’s block, only to burst into his wolf form in broad daylight, stunning guard and warrior alike and allowing him to escape.

From there, he made his way South, and in his frenzied, distraught state he would join a band of marauding bandits. For a season, he burned, pillaged, and raped his way up and down the continent under the name of Helmut. Helmut was a wild man, considering the only sin in life to deny oneself, and as such freely indulged in any desire he had, no matter the cost or harm done to others. This very attitude would write the next chapter of his life as one drenched in sin and with no redeeming qualities.

Now known simply as Helmut the Tall, he would join a band of pirates, eventually finding his way into the legendary crew of Siegmund the Black. He would come to be called Siegmund’s Salty Dog by a noble, and at first detested the name. Come a few months, Siegmund decided he desired a castle, and they stormed this very nobleman’s seaside castle. Helmut personally broke the defenses, and proceeded to beat down the noble and walk him on a leash in front of all of his men and family.

It seemed like the golden age of Helmut and Siegmund’s lives, but this very pinnacle was also the day the seed of their rift was planted. For the nobleman’s daughter, Eloise, was by far the most beautiful girl either man had ever seen. Had they been ordinary bandits, they would have simply slaked their thirst on her then and there, but hers was a beauty so refined and graceful they wanted to drink long and at their leisure from its overflowing pools. As such, both men reigned in their wilder sides, and they set about to courting the poor girl.

Helmut, drawing from his past life as Mikkel, would make progress by leaps and bounds, as he recited to her poems and discussed philosophy with Eloise at length. Siegmund grew jealous of Helmut’s progress and distraught over his closest friend’s sudden and drastic change. He decided if he couldn’t have Eloise forever, he could at least have her once, and forced himself on her. Helmut’s anger was unparalleled the moment he found out, but Eloise asked him not to avenge her and instead to simply escape with her.

Helmut reigned in his fury in, and taking a rowboat attempted to make it into the countryside with her. Siegmund knew Helmut well, however, and how he thought, and as such eventually caught up with his old friend. Distraught over the fact Eloise had stolen the Helmut he once knew, once they caught up he had Eloise killed on the spot. Helmut’s grief overflew, and for days he ate and drank nothing. Siegmund attempted to talk to his friend at first, and then resorted to shouting, which soon turned into beatings.

In truth, Helmut died alongside Eloise that day, and now Mikkel was once more rising up within Helmut, Helmut’s battered and broken iron being melted down and reforged by the fires of fury within the furnace of grief. The next port they stopped at, Mikkel, left barely guarded in his comatose state, slaughtered his way out of the ship while most of the crew was drinking and left. For the second time in his life, Siegmund felt fear at the thought of Mikkel out there hunting him.

Leading a band of the King’s Enforcers, Mikkel hunted down Siegmund much in the same way Siegmund had hunted him: simply knowing the man and his habits. When they finally caught up, the battle was nothing but pure sound and fury. And yet among the chaos of it all, the heaviest blow that fate dealt was accompanied with two words, spoken calmly: “For Eloise.” Siegmund was dead, and Mikkel felt content to enlist under the King’s Enforcers as Matheas, once more donning a false name and becoming the mask to run from his past.

But his time with the King’s Enforcers quickly turned into an extension of his time as a pirate, and Matheas found himself surrounded by more murderers, thieves, and rapists. The only difference between the King’s Enforcers and Siegmund’s pirates was that with Siegmund, Matheas had had a friend, but now, under the King’s Enforcers, he only had taskmasters. Mikkel’s stint as Matheas was short-lived, and Mikkel waited patiently until they stopped in a cove. And there, he once again allowed himself to run wild, slaughtering the entire crew and mangling the corpses to cover the fact his body was missing.

Mikkel wandered the countryside aimlessly, hunting in wolf form when he was hungry, doing odd jobs to earn money. Burdened with rage, he became a smith and took out his fury on hot metal. He grew masterful at his trade, but found no satisfaction there. He would eventually resolve to die, no longer being able to come to terms with all the damage he had done. He decided to die with purpose, however, and would slowly make his way North, finding more of his kind and hunting them down.

In these borderlands with the Northern Wastes, he would simply live from day to day, anxiously awaiting the nights of the full moon. On these nights, he had difficulties finding other werebeasts, as his own form was so powerful others would flee out of fear and respect. What he did find one night was an ancient temple, worn by time and full of pools of water left unattended. In this sanctuary, he would encounter the dying deity Selene, sustained solely by her connection to one of Renova’s two moons.

For a time, he meditated under her watch, and she taught him the truths of his curse and the natures of its origin, explaining it as a curse placed on an ancient king for his refusal to bed Selene’s twin sister, Hecate. Since then, its plaguelike nature caused it to spread like wildfire, only to be contained periodically by Selene’s disciples or by the High Church when infestations got bad enough. Seeing an opportunity to amend his old ways, Siegmund’s Dog became Selene’s Wolf and left to begin his hunt.

For another time, he lived only off the land, hunting anonymously and seeking no renown. Maintaining communication by seances, Mikkel would be directed to the Old Woods, where he hunted Hecate’s witches’ covens. Between this and the hunting of Hecate’s great beasts, Selene was sending her sister a clear message: she had a grip in this world once more, and she was coming for her.

But Hecate was cunning and devious, and sent her own champion, a wyf-fox by the name of Blathnaid to poison and murder Mikkel. But Mikkel’s curse was not that of a werewolf, but of a werewaheela, and as such fully stomached the dose that Blathnaid gave him. His curse gave him an inordinately long life as well, and Mikkel was nearing the age of fifty at this time. His face was that of a younger man, but his eyes were grey and piercing and those of an old soul, and Blathnaid soon found herself falling for the tired huntsman.

Hecate succeeded in sequestering Selene’s champion in the end, as Mikkel found himself falling in love with Blathnaid as well, and neglected his duties, ignoring the call in order to spend time with her instead. She taught him herblore extensively, and the two were happy for three years and a day. But on that day, the townsfolk discovered Blathnaid’s wyf-fox nature, and she was burned at the stake while Mikkel was gone hunting for a week.

Losing himself to grief once more, Mikkel proceeded to hunt down werebeasts ruthlessly, and for a time he hunted and hunted and hunted. He tracked the beasts down, chased rumors, learned to discern the truth from the rumors, and began to map the incidents. It was in this way that he discovered a pattern, and a pattern soon became a trail. The trail would finally become a hunt as Mikkel sighted it: some unnatural monstrosity, part wolf, part boar, more than twice the size of a bear, but gifted with the speed and cunning of a fox.

It was the sum of all his enemy’s strengths and none of their weaknesses, and Mikkel wished he had never encountered it at first. This hesitation cost him their first encounter, and for months Mikkel would track it. But the breakouts it left in its trail would slow him down, and months turned to years soon enough. Mikkel would have many adventures during this time, coming to hone his skills relentlessly against dozens of the werebeasts in his preparation for the ultimate foe. 

As Mikkel neared his sixth decade, Selene and Hecate would both come to pass into obscurity, but while Hecate’s disciples mourned her passing and erected shrines in her memory in hidden corners of the wilderness, monuments that would testify to her for generations, Mikkel instead enlisted the help of a powerful cleric, and imbued a longsword with Selene’s essence, preserving his deity as his main weapon and turning her into his lifelong companion.

He traveled the world, hot on the beasts heels, constantly resolving the problems it caused. He caught sight of it multiple times, and on more than one occasion he wounded it gravely, only to have it flee and simply walk the wound off, for such was its size and constitution. Whether it was bent on never fighting him conclusively or it was constantly searching for the perfect battlefield, Mikkel never knew. 

But as the weeks turned to months and the months turned to years, Mikkel fears more and more that the answer is the latter, for Mikkel recently entered his seventh decade, and his age is finally catching up to him....

[ununniliad]

Legion of Net.Heroes Volume 3 #1: “CLASH OF TITANS! Marvel Zombie Lad versus... Marvel Zombie Girl?!; or, The Things We Leave Behind“

A dead man walked the streets of the city, looking for a comic book store.

Leaves that were left over from the fall, waiting for the spring that hadn't quite come, burst into flame and turned to ash as his boot crunched on them. Flies buzzed up to him, gave him a sniff, and scooted away. Not quite the right kind of dead.

Once, decades ago, the man had been a boy. A fan - of Marvel Comics. He had devoured them, the complex webs of plots, the continuity, the angst.

And then - the experiment. The idea that the dead could speak, not through something as simplistic as the letters on a oujia board or the noise of a staticy radio, but through the things they left behind.

The boy had taken his grandmother's comics collection and - after a week's worth of holding back, of not being at all sure the effort would be worth it - carefully, painstakingly, cut it to pieces. Each word bubble, each caption, was taken apart, word by word.

And when the pile of paper was complete, he bade it to speak. And speak it did-- but not in his grandmother's voice! In a voice of flame, a great roar that sucked in oxygen, sucked in his soul, and sent him to - The Fandom Zone!

The Fandom Zone, afterlife of dead fandoms! Whenever a fan leaves a fandom, they leave behind an image of themselves - through their fanworks, through their headcanons, through their arguments and the joy and rage they inspired in others. And this ghostly image lives in the Fandom Zone, pondering and arguing as they had in life!

The boy merged with the psychic essence of everyone who'd ever been obsessed with Marvel Comics and dropped out! From the moment the Fantastic Four blasted off in their rocket to the stars to the latest X-Men miniseries - he absorbed it all! The power transformed him into a revenant with the power to remember every one of those ridiculous, overheated plots, with the Flame Which Sears Men's Soles burning in his veins-- Marvel Zombie Lad!

Yes, and once, decades ago, Marvel Zombie Lad had been a hero - one of the Legion of Net.Heroes! His sincere and fiery passion had drawn other young heroes to the fold, and the Legion had become the greatest team in the world - a team that still lived, still fought against evil and tyranny!

...but... Marvel Zombie Lad no longer fought alongside them. The love of comics, of the Marvel comics of the early '90s, had burned bright for a time... but as the comics industry went for event after event, collector edition after collector edition, as the collector bubble prepared to pop, he had felt the flame fading, guttering out. He had wandered, as many fans do, away from the passions of his youth, seeking something that would inspire the same joy...

And he had encountered...

Something. There was a great emptiness in his memory, a gap like the blasted crater left by a meteor's fall.

Yes, and then... decades later, the LNH had found him again, wandering without memory and without purpose. And by happenstance, they had shown him something that inspired-- inspired him not to joy, but to RAGE! They had shown him - the words twisted on his tongue, turning acid - Secret Empire! And he had sworn to burn the bloated, polluted comics industry to the ground!

...but... he still lacked direction, still lacked something to turn to rather than away from. So when the East Coast Brotherhood of Net.Villains, a team of career Bad Guys whose various incarnations had fought the Legion since the early days, had offered him a place in their ranks, he had accepted.

And now, he was walking down these late-afternoon sidewalks with the measured pace of one whose undead body does not tire. He was on a mission. Somewhere near by, tucked away on an unassuming side street just off the main drag, was the most powerful comic book store in Net.ropolis - the Comics Cooperative! And he was to destroy it!

He didn't understand what value this would have to Mister Homage, the Brotherhood's leader. But it didn't matter! For in this moment, Marvel Zombie Lad was taking his revenge! Revenge on the corporate structure that had taken his favorite characters and cast them into the dark, that had folded and spindled them until they were unrecognizable, that had stomped their hob-nailed boots on his soul! This, Marvel Zombie Lad swore!

Lo! There it was! A seemingly harmless two-story building, wedged between a restaurant and an office supply store! A brightly-painted facade and a neon "OPEN" sign! Wide windows gaily decorated with posters! Squirrel Girl! Ms. Marvel! Ironheart! Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur! Icons of Marvel! Icons of what he must destroy!

The guttering flame in his heart burned bright now, wreathing his body, his fists in rolling, roiling red-yellow flame. It was time!

"Hold, ye who intend evil!"

Marvel Zombie Lad looked up toward the voice. There, on the concrete buttress atop the second floor-- a silhouette in the blinding sun! With a leap, the figure landed on the pavement! A young woman, black, wearing a leather jacket - and wreathed in curling, coruscating, red-yellow flame! "This place is defended! So swears-- Marvel Zombie Girl!"

He took a step back. "What!?"

And yet-- it should not have been surprising. He had been gone for so long, and it was a feature of the genre that new, young people stepped into the shoes of previous heroes. And yet, and yet-- he had lost the spirit-- how could he have considered that another would have it?

No matter. He would show her what ebon night of the soul she was stepping into, and see if she wanted the mantle after! "'Ware, girl! The power of Marvel Zombie Lad is the memory, branded upon the brain, of every plot back to the very beginning!" The flames leapt high around him, wind scattering the candy wrappers and cigarettes on the sidewalk. "Do you believe you possess the strength to handle the convolutions and the retcons, the glory and the defeat?"

Marvel Zombie Girl smiled, with dark eyes, eyes that had seen the shadows beyond the veil. "I have no such pedigree. My fandom began with the Avengers movie." She took a step forward, into a fighting pose, the flames swirling high around her. "But I have the same depth of passion! The same furious investment! The same thundering disappointment at being let down-- by Joss Whedon-- by the post-DeConnick Captain Marvel writers-- by the very throughline of the company that was supposed to protect my dreams! I have the same burning rage, and--" With a crackle, the flames around her burned hotter, rising to blue-white! "I have the hope you left behind!!"

And for a moment, that hope, in his breast-- but no! "Bah!" Marvel Zombie Lad leapt forward, swinging his burning fist! "Once, such hope felt real! Now, I know it to be false! Another tool of that loathsome corporation, the bait on the hook to keep you reading, keep you buying issues!"

She parried his blow and went in with a kick! "And has your apathy brought you newer, better stories? Has it created a comics company without these flaws?"

"Perhaps not-- but perhaps razing the grotesque rot that remains will bring some new life to this blasted heath!" He thrust out his arms, and his aura flared, a wave of pressure exploding out from his body.

Marvel Zombie Girl managed to block at the last moment, arms held up in a Claremontian X in front of her, blue-white aura flowing back in the wave of pressure like a windsock in a tempest. When it ended, she shook herself out and stood unbowed. "This place is not your enemy, fool! It is full of those who are absorbing the good that still exists - the representation and the joy and the promise and struggle of a million young heroes that might be! They deserve a chance!"

"A chance to be betrayed?" Marvel Zombie Lad pressed his attack, charging forward with a right and a left. "A chance to feel the same blazing pain we have!?"

"They already have!" A lance of blue-white fire from her chest! It scored him across the cheek, spinning him to the side! "How much of their lives have been run by the uncaring men whose greed and exploitation have wounded you so?" A kick in the belly, knocking him in the other direction! "They see the grinding of the world's gears, yet they snatch joy from them! And not just joy, but inspiration! They see the things they desired so hard for so long, and get to hold them, truly experience them-- even if for just a moment before they're taken away!"

And while Marvel Zombie Lad was off-balance, with a leap, Marvel Zombie Girl pressed an arm across his chest, pinning him to the brown brick facade of the restaurant next door! "And they channel that understanding of what it's like to see yourself there on the pages into their own creations! Fanfiction! Webcomics! Their own stories!" He could see her eyes wide, burning, yearning to be understood. "Can you deny them the chance to speak those stories into existence, the opportunity that Lee and Kirby and so many others who built this monument had?"

He looked away, flame churning in his gut, feelings, thoughts in chaos. "No... but... nnn... GHH!" Flame BURST from his body, knocking Marvel Zombie Girl away - a wave of pressure that was deeper, darker and more desperately powerful, like the smoky warmth of Hell! "They will have the chance - once I sever the connection to those awful men! Once I knock down the temples of false worship! Once I free you* from my curse - the curse of this damned emotional attachment, this love that only causes pain! I do this now, in your defeat!"

Marvel Zombie Girl landed, hard, on the pavement, scraping her elbows and hands. Her flame faded to a blue-white flicker.

Marvel Zombie Lad stepped forward, standing over her, flaming fists high. "Go. You're beaten."

She rolled over, looking up at him... and grinned. "You're the one who's lost this battle."

"??" Marvel Zombie Lad took a step back in shock. Preposerous bravado! A bluff! But-- "How!?"

"Don't you see?" Marvel Zombie Girl rose fluidly to her feet, the Flame Which Sears Men's Soles rising up around her, as if the blows had never happened. "You're trying to get rid of the younger, female, legacy character of color who's stepped into your heroic role... just as Marvel has done with its heroes, so unfairly, so many times! You have become everything wrong with modern Marvel Comics... ALL YOU HATE!"

Her eyes locked on his, opening wide. She tapped into the power at the heart of the Flame - the Penitence Gaze, seeking out and revealing the guilt in his heart - revealing her words to be TRUTH!

"NOOOOOO!" Marvel Zombie Lad cowered back from the burning truth, mind aflame with searing Angst.

"You dismissed the joy others took from your lost love!" The merciless gaze burned him unabated. "You fought against our hope! You became the fandom bully!"

It was true, it was all true! Marvel Zombie Lad staggered back, fell to his knees. His flame drew low, turned to a heat shimmer, went out.

His rage-- his mission-- a sham! What profit it a man to find his purpose - if he lose his soul!?

Suddenly he could no longer feel the Penitence Gaze upon him. He looked up. Marvel Zombie Girl stood there, flame low, holding out a hand.

"I... I don't understand," he said.

"Your actions were wrong. But your feelings are valid," she said. "There is so much to be frustrated about, so much wrong with this industry, this world. You are not the only one raging. Instead of fighting against us, you can fight *alongside* us. Add to our flame. You were a hero once. You can be again."

"...I..." He looked away, hands clenched. "I don't..." This could be it. The direction, the purpose he'd been looking for.

...but... he wasn't ready. Finally, he admitted it to himself. He wasn't ready to let his rage lessen, burn down to the levels of a hero, not a destroyer. He had to get it out first. Else it would consume him.

He wasn't ready to join her. He couldn't reject her. His hand went down to his belt, and he thumbed the emergency East Coast Brotherhood of Net.Villains teleporter, and he was gone.

Marvel Zombie Girl watched him disappear, leaving behind a trail of blue sparkles, and burn marks on the pavement, and...

She nodded, once, hand curling into a fist, pressing to her chest. "Someday." She looked off, toward the sun, as it sank below the horizon. "Someday."

★★★★

Author’s Note:

Legion of Net.Heroes Volume 3 is going to be a new-reader-friendly ongoing title by the writers of the LNH! And you can write it too! Stop by rec.arts.comics.creative to join the community, and stop by the LNH Wiki to learn more about the LNH!

[thebridgebeyond]

Lorebook: Pawsteps over the bridge: Onwards to Issuhiro

This is a historic event for the zhuardarian species- one of which tells of the last Monarchs deeds. It would go on to be a history lesson told to pups and those who were unaware of how their species ended up in the realm of Issuhiro. It tells of a shared kinship with humans that was not lost although the relationship between the two remains strained. 

______________________

There were several bloodlines of zhuards on earth that allowed themselves to meld into a human guise and a human way of life for several generations after the War of Wills. It was what they were originally assigned to do…however, they began to forget their past with each generation.

Zhuards at this current state had amassed domruku energy fitting such a synchronicity with humans overtime that they could share their genetic makeup with them, but also began to age and die like them as well. They began to mimic human functioning, right down to biological structure- it was a symptom of being designed for the sole purpose of ‘blending in'. Perhaps it was a feature natural of zhuards that worked too well.

Most zhuards who adopted human life and mates served to create a dilution of their origins in both a biological and energy-leeching fashion.

One monarch who had lived through the War of Wills grew discontent with this realization. She had watched, believing under her Taiber'su masters that this was supposed to happen eventually. That the changeling species was supposed to merge with another. She had refrained from using her energy to influence other zhuards for so long.

While she had lived relatively unchanged, she watched others die without realizing that they were not supposed to die so ‘young’. This was not right to her, almost abhorrent and violating. Under this thought she began to make her own decisions regarding her seemingly endangered species that changed it forever.

She subtly revealed herself to be a monarch through dream walking in the zhuards that were closest to her proximity and location. She never outright said the obvious and merely asked questions about how they felt with their life. Were they happy? How did they feel about those around them? When she compiled enough answers, she stopped dream walking and thought about possible consequences of her actions for many months.

She did not want to bring forth another war, especially not with zhuards who knew nothing about themselves. Instead, she was much more subtle, emitting a far reaching but low frequency of energy. It was low enough to not be completely disruptive. The humans with zhuardarian bloodlines simply felt ‘off' during their day to day. It was a feeling that wasn't described well when the monarch decided to dreamwalk again a few years later. She was rather unpleased- the exact reason why is unknown- and blurred the memories of those dreams.

The monarch allowed that frequency to settle for some time afterwards, and then she had raised it, but still ever careful. The energy flow was felt for miles around- those closest to the monarch felt it much sooner. This signal was a wake up call which caused confusion, some more profound than others. For some, who never recovered from the first wave, they felt that their mind began to clash with humanity in such a way that it was deeply disruptive. It was a question of behavior, morale and willpower-- those who were more susceptible to the monarch no longer felt like they were in control of their thoughts or behavior.

Everyday activities that were done for years felt strange. For some, controlling urges that seemed primal and animalistic were an issue. For others, it was a slow disconnect with societal implications. These were merely seen as character flaws, mental turbulence or illness. This was the frequency the monarch felt best fit for the time being. It was enough to incite immediate reaction and change from within that certain traits and subtle abilities arose and resurfaced.

Those with zhuardarian bloodlines could sense, and in many cases smell it on others (senses were the first thing to fluctuate). There was a desire to seek one another out through the confusion, just to talk about commonalities. Bonding through the experience, there were those who continued their zhuardarian lines unknowingly with others.

When the time came for the possibility of portals to Issuhiro, there were many of those who opposed bringing the typical agenda of resource mining and more in favor of exploration and coexistence. It was a movement in which the ideal for a world in which war won't ravage was shared. It was during this voyage that the monarch called together many of those who were under her with a message that crossed the minds of many in a manifestation as an urge to leave the area. Not all heard this call but for those that did (most likely those with stronger zhuardarian bloodlines- unbeknownst to them), they decided it best to travel with part of the current population to Issuhiro.

At the time of settlement, the monarch saw Issuhiro as an alternative in which her species could better thrive. Although she acknowledged the adaptability of some alternative paths. In such a new existence of landscapes why should they be confined to walls, physical or manipulative? It had been several years now since she had to think about an additional call, and it would be dangerous in the wake of a new dawn on both sides. However, she wanted that freedom more than she cared about potential conflict. She put forth another call, although short, the third one that affected nearly all of the individuals who had came to Issuhiro.

Those closest to her proximity were forced into their true zhuard form and either fled out of the developing city or went on a feral rampage within. Those on the outskirts were still in their human form, but their mind was not. They too were exacerbated by the volatile, mixed signals and were promptly restrained. The outer development was unaware of the chaos in the inner section though the news spread. The outer city's medical wards were skeptical, calling the epidemic a disease from the new world, given that all patients showed progressive, similar symptoms and since the War of Wills, the masters of the zhuards were unable to reach out of their realm. It couldn't have been them. It had taken the humans and the fleeing zhuards a while to pick up the pieces and fully describe what had happened. It had felt like a drawn out surreal dream.

As the monarch felt a sufficient amount of zhuards flee far from the city and into the new world, she had decided to end the call. She looked on from a distance feeling the liberation through others- such a freeing weight off her shoulders and mind- this was her own calling. She did not need the Taiber’su to uphold her destiny. It had been fulfilled, but as consequence her very bones shook with a mysterious fever.

Those from the outskirts away from the new city were now reportedly and spontaneously symptom free of any and all their primal desires. As such with time they were a very small minority, their ancestry dried up and their zhuardarian bloodline was phased out. For those who wanted comfort in a human way of life should have it. Only the bravest and daring fled or met their demise in retaliation on city grounds.

A powerful voice rang out in their minds at once:

This body is a gift, not a curse. It is a powerful weapon and a versatile defense—it is up to you to learn it. Grow! Seek that of which the masters intended for our kind. You will know true strength and power by using these vessels. Your journey begins now!

The monarch kept her eyes on the human’s development for a while longer before disappearing and going into a very deep hibernation. One that she had not stirred from since as her physical body writhed away.

For the zhuards who fled, they were left in horror and hysteria with not a clue on how to survive such a new world. Families moved together and strangers often struck out alone or in loose associated groups- even following the strong leaders that lead them here and there. The zhuards had separated, forging their own stories as to what exactly happened in the city. Some of the zhuards with the lowest bloodlines were cursed to forget everything and revert back into a primal state- nothing more than empty cavities of their former selves, with deeply ingrained servitude to instinct. Others continued strongly, keeping their intelligence as the monarch allowed them to have it, as a reminder of humanity.

[lyrical--creature-blog]

“Half Spirits”

In another installation in what seems to be slowly becoming a series of “fictional terms with potential real life applicability”, I want to discuss another concept with the potential to describe real world phenomenon. Some of this, to be clear, will be UPG. Japanese culture is heavily steeped in its belief and involvement with spirits (more often than not referred to as yokai). A concept rooted in both folklore and pop culture media is the idea of a “half spirit” or “hanyo” (also spelled “hanyou”) - that is, an individual born of the union between a spirit/yokai, and a human, or alternatively, a human tampered with by “unnatural means” to become a half-spirit. With that being said, there are at least two major distinct differences between the half-spirits of Japanese folklore, and those of Japanese pop culture. In folklore, there are many common tales involving children born of the union between a yokai (often, if not always, a woman), and a (often, if not always, male) human. In these stories, their children are indistinguishable from other humans. They possess no abnormal physical or spiritual traits, with only one, arguably two exceptions. Contrary to this, in Japanese pop culture, hanyo children will often display mixed human/spirit traits and characteristics, and possess some degree of spiritual power. Examples would be shows such as Inuyasha, InuxBoku, Otome Youkai Zakuro, etc. The second distinction is that the term “Hanyo” is actually a modern invention, attributed to mangaka Takahashi Rumiko, who coined the neologism by combining the kanji for Han (half) and the kanji for Yo (apparition). Thusly, hanyo is not actually a historically rooted term.  In the real world, the folklore version is the most probable, obviously, however I’d consider it likely that it be more a combination of the two (within reason). As it’s believed in some circles that those with unusual features (pointy ears, green eyes, etc) may have something like fairy blood in them, it could be posed that the same could be said of hanyo. Additionally, just as I mentioned in my last post about Slay Vegas, it would be fair to assume that a half spirit would possess some character traits or abilities above that of a “normal human”. Within practicality however, these would likely be limited to things like Fairy Sight, healing, and so on, and so forth. Some may argue that a concept based in Japanese folklore has no business being exported outside of Japan. I would disagree, at least in this particular instance, as there are many similarities between mythologies from around the world, and the concept of humans and ethereal beings marrying and procreating is certainly not something limited to Japan. It is, however, the only culture that has created a specific term for their offspring, as far as I can tell. And considering the term hanyo is a word rooted in pop culture and thus not historically sacrosanct, I believe it can safely be transferred from fiction to the real world.  Now, I want to expound a bit further on this concept, but please note everything beyond this point is UPG. One thing worth considering is how, or even more importantly, why, would half-spirits be made. I have a number of theories. As for the how: -As suggested through folklore, a spirit and a human would, for whatever reason, procreate, just as a normal human pairing would (this could be a one time interaction, or multiple times as a bonded couple. It could be with the sole desire to simply have a family together, or with purposes more abstract than that (see the “why” section below). It could be a male spirit and female human, or vice versa. (I don’t hold strictly to the idea of the “magical wife” being the only format for hanyo to be born. I think this is simply a trend influenced by male authors coveting “special” brides, and not indicative of female spirits being more likely to seek out human companionship than male spirits.) -An otherwise normal human pregnancy could be altered, cursed, or blessed, depending on the reason and the spirit involved, to turn the gestating child into a half-spirit. This could likely be done without the knowledge of the biological parents.  -During conception, a spirit could possess the body of one of the biological parents in order to conceive a half spirit child.  Why: -A spirit, as stated above, may fall in love with a human and wish to build a family with them, same as any human couple might. -A spirit may be nearing the end of its life and wish to leave behind an heir (potentially less likely, as I don’t think spirits possess the same kind of ego as humans do in this regard) -A spirit may wish to procreate but cannot find a spiritual mate, so they take a human one.  -A human may have won the favor of a spirit, knowingly or unknowingly, or a spirit may have found itself indebted to a human, and thus blesses their future child (or children) as a token of their gratitude or payment of debt, turning it into a half spirit, blessed with unique abilities or traits. This could extend even to a spirit taking pity on a human, and giving them a blessing as an act of kindness. -On the opposite end of the spectrum, a human may have angered, cheated, or wronged a spirit, and the spirit would curse their offspring in revenge, or as payment for their debts. This kind of half spirit child would likely be erratic and troublesome, and bring misery to their household, or be sickly and weak and sapped of its normal vitality.  -A spirit could make half-spirit children for its own purposes. Perhaps a guardian of the forest would create half spirit children to increase the number of people willing to protect nature. Perhaps a spirit with a hatred for humans would create half spirits to weaken human bloodlines. Perhaps a large number of half-spirits being born in one area would increase that spirit’s power and influence within the local spiritual hierarchy. The reasons could be many, possibly innumerable.  In my opinion and experience, spirits are extremely varied. Their reasons and motivations would be as countless as they themselves are. The half-spirits they create, likewise, would also be varied. Some would be for good, some for ill, some benign. There may be tell-tale evidence, or only subtle symptoms.  Some possible signs include: -Being born of a one night stand, or a short term relationship which concluded shortly after your conception or birth. Little is known about who your other biological parent is or was. -Having been marked from an early age by adults in your life as being different, abnormal, unique, “something special”, a “round peg the world tries to fit into a square hole”, or otherwise set apart from other people. -Being abnormally talented or skilled, especially in areas pertaining to the supernatural, such as magic, healing, insight, foresight, empathy, etc. -Having been predicted by doctors to be sickly or unwell, but being born healthy. (Or vice versa).  -Being a Slay Vega -Being a rainbow baby (a child born after a miscarriage or child death, especially if there were multiple) -You were born with features considerably or completely different than what you ended up with after a few weeks or months time. (E.g. being born with black hair but ending up with blonde hair). -Your birth marked the end of some kind of turbulence in your family (or alternatively, marked the beginning of it) -One of your parents passed away or disappeared shortly after your birth -Feeling inherently drawn to nature, craving its presence, feeling allied with it.  -Feeling inhuman or set apart from humans. -One of your parents is notably different from most people. They are more beautiful, kind, they draw the love of others, people inherently trust them, they have a healing touch, etc. -Having a history of magic practitioners in your family, or at least one parent involved in magical practices.  Again, these are only a few possible symptoms. Once more, if you resonate with the above concept or information, I would encourage you to feel free to use the term hanyo to establish community with other likeminded individuals. However, because the term hanyo is used in reference to several fictional characters, I propose the tags “ #Hanyokai ” and “ #Hanyo Com “ for those who wish to find others like them. 

[vaultsofthefirstage]

Exalted Writing Secret Santa

Immaculate Truth Style

The Dragonblooded had risen, the Solars had fallen, the Sidereals had vanished from the world. For many in the Five Score Fellowship, their plans had come to fruition. For many in the Five Score Fellowship, there was still cleaning up to do. Raised Mountain Flame walked the steps of the latter path for he now walked through Creation fixing the paradoxes of those fights that had devastated the land.

Even now, in Yu Shan, breaks were rarely more than moments to do something else and even now as he faced off against Ashen Twin Maiden, each strike a trained disciplined blow between Chosen of Journeys and Chosen of Secrets, a rivalry that had begun in their earliest days as peers in the Bureau of Destiny.

As her fingers caught his hand, stopping his strike, her open palm pushed against his chest in a powerful strike. “Have you heard of the Immaculate Order?”

“You mean Kejak’s newest idea?” he said as his legs kicked from the ground and he struck her with each foot as if he ran across her arm. She skidded back but didn’t falter before her sleeve wrapped around his leg and began to drag him down, but he caught himself as he landed, and his fingers struck out like a two-pronged fang, hitting her leg and making her falter ever so briefly, “What of it? Am I to be a priest and lead the people in prayer?”

Kneeling now as her leg went numb, she just as quickly spun away as she was suddenly at range from him. She had faded like a memory and now flickered back into view. “Not at all,” grinned Ashen Twin Maiden, “But it’s useful.” She was a woman as pale as they came with a grin that held more secrets than the entire Forbidding Manse of Ivy. Something about her was alluring, but it was hard not to exude elegance when one mastered the Dreaming Pearl.

The Snake Stylist Harbringer moved to his stance but otherwise only gave a look to the woman who he sparred against. “I suppose if you made this obvious, you wouldn’t be true to your caste, would you.” It wasn’t a question but her grin peaked up on the sides anyway. He had swam rivers and climbed mountains, he had run across deserts and sailed ships through the sea, and his body showed off the results, but the one thing the journeying Sidereal had never been able to overcome was seeing through the plans of Ashen Twin Maiden.

“Well you’ve already won this round,” she said as she stood. The slightest stagger on the limp leg was hidden by her graceful stance as she slowly regained the feeling but rested towards one side. “Our jobs are many but faithful are popping up across Creation. The faithful in-”

“In a religion we control...” Now that he knew where she was going, it was obvious to put the pieces together. In some places, the essence of the world had been so thoroughly undone that Creation’s landscape still shifted unnaturally. One Solar’s daiklave had raised a mountain fortress and he had spent weeks setting up mining operations on both sides that would meet in the middle of a tunnel. Another Solar had shot arrows that had formed Shadowlands from the deaths they caused - and salt needed to be spread around each and every area. Perhaps it was time to put Ashen Twin Maiden’s thoughts to the test.

-

A crowd gathered around the monk, Jealous Magpie, a missionary who led those faithful, a missionary spreading the word of the Immaculate Dragons themselves who had defeated the tyrant Anathema a generation ago, a missionary who was simply someone born in the stars unknown to all but Raised Mountain Flame himself. “You must not let the ways of the Anathema consume you, for they are why your lands are barren. Their death curses linger even to this day, but by Sextes Jylias each of you may end your long famines.”

Some questioned why the shoguns who warred over their land could not take these tasks up, and the Chosen answered, “Because the reincarnation moves only the righteous forward.”

Some questioned how they could cause plants to grow in the soil that had been salted by the staff Worldwound, and the Chosen answered, “You must plant a seed each new moon, you must offer prayers on each of the correct days to them, and you must never trust the faces of those you know have parted.” His words took root like the seeds he instructed them to plant could not, but never did the mortals know that they instead cleansed themselves of a Shadowland, inch by inch, generation by generation. Jealous Magpie, the wandering monk, fixed broken nations with his words and deeds, and followers listened to his every spoken doctrine he proclaimed, all while being a mere destiny worn by Raised Mountain Flame.

As tasks entered the Bureau’s records for Raised Mountain Flame to fix, so too did the length of Jealous Magpie’s sermons and for nearly a season, his job seemed oh so much simpler than it had been since the day of his first breath. Praise came easily and promotions in Yu Shan were whispered in promises. But of course it is not in Mercury’s Chosen’s nature to stagnate in one task, even when their jobs bring them across Creation.

It was Ashen Twin Maiden whose smile led him to know something was amiss with the plan. Outside his monastery in the North she waited for him to return from his preachings and he knew her secret-keeping plan had accomplished some deed. “So the trickster strikes again. What may I find waiting for me inside?” She only led him up the stairs to those new followers who waited for him. They were not the mortals who wished to seek to appease gods they did not know, they were Exalted followers, those who had heard of the monk, and those who sought him as a teacher.

Flame knew his friend had done this for she was a wonderful storyteller when she needed to be, weaving extravagant tales. He knew he would need to plot some revenge against her for simply winning would do no good for him this time. He also knew that to disappoint a group of Princes of the Earth born in the Shogunate and seeking the enlightenment through the religion they remembered since birth would mean a grave loss of respect. To abandon this would be met with censure in Yu Shan, and so he told each follower to return in one season’s time, when they were ready.

“You know that I shall never forgive you for this,” he said as they left, looking to the woman they hardly seemed to notice. She smiled as if to say she knew. He could not be bothered to return her fickle grin as he set about developing a martial form for them to study.

Many tales say that Raised Mountain Flame developed the Immaculate Truth style before even the Elemental Dragon styles existed, others say he patterned it on more general concepts so that each Terrestrial might master it, regardless of affinity. Others indeed say that he bowed to the Ashen Twin Maiden to delve him into the Forbidding Manse of Ivy to find a style so ancient it had been forgotten all to fulfill her own goal of resurrecting it in Creation.

Regardless of the true origin, the style has large fallen out of fashion since the Scarlet Empress’ rule. With the consolidation of the Realm’s power, there existed no need for general styles in the Immaculate Order when a master of each Dragon Style could be found. Scrolls mention the style, and few monks have not given to at least practicing the forms and katas which exist for the sole purpose of striking down the heretical Exalted of the First Age.

The style was built to embody all the Immaculate Dragons stood for, rather than their elements. Self-sufficiency, Tradition, Perfection, Hard Work, Compassion - without these traits any Prince of the Earth would fall to temptation of the Anathema, but without the combination of all five, no Terrestrial could hope to face the awesome might of the demon-kings of the First Age.

Weapons: Immaculate Truth style is an unarmed style, focusing on a centered balanced stance with a “dragon” claw strike.

Armor: Immaculate Truth style is incompatible with armor.

Special Note: Since this was part of the Exalted Secret Santa, I came up with 6 charms - a solid if short Martial Art to go with the lore. I think this could easily be, if you give it to a player, a style that is “incomplete” 2-4 other charms exist but no one has mastered them yet. Perhaps they can only be opened by a Solar Exalt skilled enough to divine them - or one brave enough to break into the records of Yu Shan.

Brother-Beside-Brother Stance

Cost: 2m+; Mins: Martial Arts 2, Essence 1

Type: Reflexive

Keywords: Mastery

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: None

To fight alone is to fall apart. To work together is to triumph over all the evils of Creation. When fighting alongside any other practitioner of this style (who has unlocked at least to the Form charm), the Exalt may spend 2m to add a success to a Martial Arts attack roll, up to the number of other stylists she fights alongside.

Mastery: This charm allows the Exalt to buy a success as long as she fights alongside allies of equal Essence, regardless of whether they practice this or any other Martial Art, buying up to (Essence) successes.

Heresy-Drowning Kiai

Cost: 4m,1wp; Mins: Martial Arts 3, Essence 1

Type: Reflexive

Keywords: Clash, Withering-Only, Terrestrial

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: None

The words of the Anathema may tempt you, but know that even when their actions are righteous they serve to pull away from the perfected cycle of reincarnation. When the martial artist becomes the target of a Psyche effect, she meets it with a Kiai shout, rolling Stamina + Martial Arts with double 9s to clash the social roll (her influencer uses Manipulation + Presence if the effect doesn’t normally include one). If she is in combat, this counts as a normal clash attack and deals initiative damage as if it were an unarmed strike.

Terrestrial: The Exalt does not gain double 9s on the roll.

Immaculate Truth Form

Cost: 8m; Mins: Martial Arts 4, Essence 1

Type: Simple

Keywords: Form, Mastery

Duration: One scene

Prerequisite: Brother-Beside-Brother Stance, Heresy-Drowning Kiai

Surrounding herself in her own beliefs, the Exalt takes the stance of the Immaculate Dragon resisting the evil Anathema. She gains soak based on the highest intimacy related to her faith. A Minor intimacy gives 3 soak, a Major intimacy gives 5 soak, and a Defining intimacy adds 7 soak. Against attacks made by Solar Exalted, the Exalt adds her Essence to both her soak and hardness while this form is active. When she invokes Integrity charms or Heresy-Drowning Kiai while in this form, the cost of those charms is reduced by 2m (to a minimum of 1).

A Dragonblooded in this form ignores the Terrestrial keyword in all charms in Immaculate Truth style while this form is active. She still counts as Terrestrial for the purpose of that keyword in all other Martial Arts.

Special Activation Rules: When the martial artist successfully reduces a Solar or Abyssal Exalted with initiative higher than her own to lower than her own or deals decisive damage to a Solar or Abyssal Exalted, she may reflexively activate this Form.

Mastery: A solar practicing this style draws instead on any intimacy of faith she holds, regardless of the religion. Rather than adding her Essence to soak and hardness against attacks made by Solars, she adds her Essence to the soak against all Creatures of Darkness

Iconoclastic Diligence Kata

Cost: 6m; Mins: Martial Arts 4, Essence 2

Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Decisive-only, Terrestrial

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: Immaculate Truth Form

It is the duty of the Immaculate Order to destroy the anathema, their icons, and their weapons. This evocation supplements a disarm attempt, adding (Essence) successes on the attack roll. If the disarm attempt is successful,then an artifact weapon becomes unattuned. Her opponent cannot attune to his weapon for one additional round for every 2 threshold successes generated on the initiative roll. This charm can only be used once per scene.

Terrestrial: This charm does not prevent her opponent from re-attuning to the weapon.

Dragon Fangs and Nails

Cost: 2m; Mins: Martial Arts 4, Essence 3

Type: Supplemental

Keywords: Uniform, Mastery

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: Immaculate Truth Form

The Immaculate Dragon’s weapons were truth and faith. The Exalt draws on that strength to strike down the demons in front of her. This evocation supplements an unarmed Martial Arts style, changing the Martial Artists unarmed strike to have the stats of an artifact weapon based on her intimacy towards the Immaculate faith. With a Minor intimacy, she may strike with the force and accuracy of a Light artifact weapon; with a Major intimacy, she may strike with the force and accuracy of a Light or Medium artifact weapon; with a Defining intimacy, she may strike with the force and accuracy of a Light, Medium, or Heavy artifact weapon. In addition, she may add up to (Essence) of the following tags:

Balanced, Chopping, Disarming, Flexible, Lethal, Piercing, Reaching, Smashing, Thrown (Short)

Her attacks deal aggravated damage to Solar exalted and spirits and can always strike dematerialized spirits.

Terrestrial: The Exalt may only add up to a single tag and his strikes enhanced by this charm do not deal aggravated damage or harm dematerialized spirits.

Mastery: A Solar may enhanced this charm with an intimacy towards any faith of her choosing. This charm deals aggravated damage to Creatures of Darkness instead of Solars.

Revoke the Mandate

Cost: 8m; Mins: Martial Arts 4, Essence 4

Type: Simple

Keywords: Decisive-Only, Mastery, Terrestrial

Duration: Instant

Prerequisite: Iconoclastic Diligence Kata, Dragon Fangs and Nails

The Anathema claim their divine right to rule, but the Dragonblooded Host must revoke that claim for they seized the world back and saved it. With this charm, the Exalt makes five rapid-fire attacks against a single target - striking at the pressure points that govern celestial essence in the body. Any charm that supplements this attack, except excellencies, supplements all five attacks. For every 10 in any of the attack rolls, her target loses a mote of essence, even if the attack fails to deal damage. The Exalt must split her initiative evenly between the attacks, but against Solar exalted, each attack gains a base damage of (Essence). The damage roll against a Solar benefits from double 10s if the Exalt has a Minor intimacy of faith in the Immaculate Order, double 9s if they have a Major intimacy, and double 8s if they have a Defining intimacy.

Special Activation Rules: This charm can only be done once per day per target. It can be reset by upholding a Defining Tie of faith through some act after slaying an Anathema or a Creature of Darkness.

Mastery: An Exalt with the Mastery keyword strikes at the enemies of Creation with the same results - reliving the feeling of usurping the Primordials rather than the Solars. Any benefit made against Solars applies instead against Creatures of Darkness. She calculates her damage bonus with an intimacy towards any faith she chooses.

Terrestrial: A Martial Artist with the Terrestrial keyword can never benefit from more than double 10s from this charm.

[infolearn]

5 Reasons Why Having Faith Is So Important

“To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.” — Thomas Aquinas

Why is Faith so Important?

Sometimes, when things don’t go according to plan, we lose faith, not only in ourselves, but also in any potential outcome in our lives. Failure will do that to you. When we experience life’s monumental failures, it’s easy to lose hope, and even faith. But what’s the difference? Faith, at its core, is deep-rooted in the expectation of good things to come. It goes beyond hope. While much of hope lives in the mind, faith is steeped in the heart and the spirit. It can’t be explained away by reason or logic, or be understood through a single dimension.

While life can be hard at the best of times, faith is the knowledge, deep down inside, that things will get better. It’s taking the next step when you can’t see the entire staircase. Simply put, life would fail to have reason if we didn’t have faith. We couldn’t drive our cars without faith that someone wouldn’t cross the divider and crash into us. If we didn’t have faith, how could we fly in an airplane, a metallic machine soaring 35,000 feet in the air? Without faith, how could we move from one moment to the next without completely second-guessing every last thing that we did? Without faith, we couldn’t expect that things would turn out all right for us no matter what the situation might be. Faith, then, is just as important as the air we breathe. While the oxygen in the air nourishes the body, faith nourishes the heart and the soul. It’s the energy that courses through every single fiber and cell within our beings. It’s part of every muscle and every strand of thought. It is the fundamental foundation of our existence. Simply put, the importance of faith cannot be underestimated. People have moved mountains with their faith. Even when situations seemed dire and bleak, it was their faith that carried them through. There’s little to no explanation for it in the physical realm; it’s the metaphysical fiber that binds us all, carrying each of our deepest wishes and desires. That’s where faith lives.

Unfortunately, some people don’t believe in things that they cannot see. They explain things away due to other causes and effects, failing to find the small miracles in life that exist and work in our favor on a constant basis. There’s an enormous level of importance attributable to having faith in life.

5 Reasons to Have Faith

Faith isn’t just a notion that some people hold onto in tough times; faith is an important element to all human life on earth. Life is precious, but it can also be remarkably difficult at times. Faith is what helps to get us through, illuminating the pathway in times of darkness, helping to give us strength in times of weakness. Without faith, we are nothing. Here are 5 reasons why having faith is so important in life.   #1 — The focused power of faith breeds abundance The mind is an incredibly powerful tool. It can be used for good, but also go to waste when neglected or abused. In times of trouble, we tend to move away from positivity. We go from a state of abundance to a state of lack. But, faith is the tool that helps replenish abundance in the heart and the spirit, not just in the mind. Whatever it is that we focus on in life, we get more of. If we focus on problems, we live solely in those problems and have difficulty moving past the negativity. Alternatively, however, when we focus on positivity and seek out solutions, we can resolve our problems and move from a state of lack back to a state of abundance. When we train our minds to think in abundance, and we hold unwavering faith, we gravitate towards that. We attract good things because we believe and expect in good things to come. Similarly, when we believe and expect bad things to come, we also attract that into our lives. Faith is the pathway for abundance, so be sure to hold it at the forefront of your mind. Don’t be afraid to expect the very best for yourself. This isn’t about being selfish or aimlessly wishing for things; this is about the true, utter, deep-down belief in your heart and your soul that things will improve, and that you deserve the very best in life. #2 — Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger There’s a powerful story in the bible called the Book of Job. The story is about a man named Job who was as astute as any man could be. He believed strongly in God and held high is faith. But the story goes that one day the devil paid God a visit. The topic of discussion? Job’s faith. The devil reasoned that Job was faithful because he had been blessed with so much in life. Family, money, land, and respect. But the devil proposed that should God take any number of these things away from Job, he would no longer be the faithful man that God held him up to be. The devil claimed that Job would curse God and that his point would be all but proven. God, of course, disagreed. So, this agreement began when God began taking things away from Job’s life. Over the course of these trials, Job loses everything that he had worked so hard to create over the years. His livestock, all his money, his family, his friends, and his health. However, even when his wife told him he should curse God, Job didn’t. He remained faithful.

Afterwards, God restored all of Job’s worldly possessions, family, and health. To add to that, God multipled what Job once had many times over. The moral of the story? Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Times might be bad and you might want to throw in that proverbial towel. But never lose faith. For a person without faith is likened to a stream without water — they would cease to exist. #3 — Faith helps you to discover your purpose in life Going through life and all of its ups and downs can take a toll on us. At times, it’s enough to question our very existence. But through all of the trials and tribulations we might face, it’s faith that gives us that helping hand. It works to guide us in the right direction, moving us towards and allowing us to discover our purpose in life. This doesn’t happen overnight. Usually, when we’re faced with a difficult situation, it gets harder before it gets better. Little by little, a part of us is broken, until one day, we dig deep down inside and somehow find the strength we needed to make it through. That strength comes from our faith. Whether it’s your faith in God or in something else, that faith shall set you free. Everything in life is far easier to get through when we have faith. It’s the guiding light that helps push us towards our purpose.   #4 — Faith trumps stress, anxiety, and fear It’s easy to allow stress, anxiety, and fear to run our lives. We go from moment to moment worried about one thing or another. Sometimes, those worries manifest themselves into highly-stressful situations, causing not only mental anguish, but physical problems as well. There’s a clear and documented connection between stress and the increased likelihood of disease and illness. When we allow our minds to move into that realm unchecked, there’s no telling of the damage that can be done. But it’s faith that helps to keep those things at bay. Even when we have no reason to believe that things will get better, it’s through faith that our situations do improve. When you hold the utter expectation of that in your mind, no challenge is too difficult. Learn to harbor faith and use it to eliminate stress, anxiety, and fear. Think back to situations in the past when you made it through something you thought was insurmountable. Believe and expect that good things will happen, and they will. This isn’t about ignoring your problems; this is about knowing that your situation will improve deep down inside your heart and your soul.

#5 — It acts as the pathway to finding solutions Faith is the pathway to finding solutions in life. Keep in mind that human beings were made to thrive, and not just survive. If you’re only surviving, there’s far greater in store for you. There’s a pathway to all of your solutions, and that pathway is steeped in faith and the expectation of greater things to come in time. No matter what the situation is, no matter how bad or dire you think it might seem, your faith can and will get you through it. You must accept that as fact, and hold on to the expectation of greater things to come. Don’t stop pushing or searching for an answer to help resolve whatever situation you might be facing in your life. If you really want something in life, and I mean you really want it deep down inside and you have a strong-enough reason you absolutely must achieve it, faith is the thing that helps you to see that through. It’s at the core of a persistent heart. Never give up on your hopes and your dreams just because you faced some initial setbacks. Lean on your faith as often as possible and you’ll soon come to realize why having unwavering faith is so important in life. Read the full article