#this power rangers rip-off

[satriaproto]

God Beast King Kong 3/Celestial Warriors Ultra Celestial Armor is on Startimes!

Just like Armor Hero Lava, I recently saw this program being aired there for international broadcast. I am unsure if this is english dubbed...

[luckyshinyhunter]

🦕👻 Shows from 2004 must love having a iconic trio that people remembered! 👻🦕

[regaliasonata]

We need a power ranger who’ll get put on display like DC does to Dick Grayson

[cyborgkanojo]

I am a MASSIVE enemies to lovers fan and I think the trope would fit Boothill so damn well. Maybe more of a rivals to lovers situation. I feel like there's a lot of angles you can look at it from. Maybe a reader who also hates the IPC keeps taking all his kills and it pisses him off so bad he has to kiss you about it. Maybe a reader in the IPC who keeps pulling strings at very convenient times for Boothill to take advantage of flaws in security, or he gets captured and the cell door very conveniently opens and the power very conveniently goes off; he later finds out that you're actually a vigilante who's trying to rip apart the corporation from the inside out. Maybe a reader who he knew from home who was a rival since you were kids, always beating him in horse races and stealing his bounties and out-shooting him; he was convinced that you burned just like all the others, but when he finds another IPC shithead to kill, he finds you with your gun to their head, interrogating them for info.

Idk. Just a lot of untapped potential imo

VERY REAL FOR THIS I've been wanting desperately to write something like this with more complexity for the longest time because I eat this trope up so so much. I had the idea in my head of a sort of "rival" member of the Galaxy Rangers too, but again, wanting to actually flesh out the complexity of that dynamic beyond smut is kinda hard for me and I don't know why. I mean....adding to it just enough to make it work might help? But man, who does t love buildup?

[barrenclan]

i actually love this ending, and not just bc there are survivors. it just works, thematically and by subverting everyone's (characters and audiences) expectations

like. i can already see comments on dA when (if) you post in on there. people getting vocally annoyed over it being 'weak' ending and 'not enough death for Defiance' and all. but this isnt about blood and gut showers for shock value, just to fill up the quota about it being about death. it really shows that Deepdark is more than that, even with how he flaunts himself in that.

even the characters expected a bloodbath. BarrenClan to die (physically) and Defiance to kill. Ranger is most vocal about it. and they all fail to really see how Deepdark views it, and for him, it seems like blood must be shed tastefully. it needs reason and design, not just spill it like some brute (like Longest-Claws in his eyes). it really shows that most animals joining Defiance expects mindless bloodspill and no consequences for it. Deepdark remind them, probably not the only time, that that's not how he does and not what he expects of them (as shown with Ranger's punishment).

and really, that does defy the expectations. the defiance of expectations (i know you dont like the 'the' before Defiance, but i hope its okay in this context). we and they expect guts ripped out of the cats and flood their camp with viscera. Deepdark sees more art in showing them mercy, sick twisted mercy as they know next time he wont show it. and they dont know when will be the 'next time'. it could be next week, or next month, or maybe in few hours he will change his mind.

that's the kicker. that's the fear, that is more powerful than just killing them all. because if they are dead, they cant be afraid anymore of what Deepdark will do next. the killing has reason and no reason, but so does mercy. adrenaline from killing and fighting will fade overtime, but the fear of your life after being spared by such force will last forever.

Thank you! And have no fear, PATFW will never be going up on DeviantArt, at least not any more than an announcement post that it exists. As I said a year ago, I've been a bit nervous for the end of this arc because it's such a subversion from what everyone expected, and always hoped it wouldn't come off like an anticlimax, because it's what I've always had in mind for the end of the comic.

(Ha, "relatively soon"? It's like I never learn.)

But I did try and establish Deepdark's personality and motivations as someone entirely unpredictable, but not automatically homicidal. He said in Issue 38 that he would spare BarrenClan if Pinepaw gave an answer he liked - and he did! That was always an option, but the tension came from how impossible it is to predict what Deepdark would do, which is exactly what Pinepaw was experiencing in the issue.

And besides... if I'm being honest, I never wanted to write a comic that ends with everyone dead and everything horrible forever. There's nothing wrong with stories like that - I enjoy quite a few - but it's not personally something I'd write. There can be horror, tragedy, fear, even dourness and gloom constantly haunting the narrative, but it's never the whole of it.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image from The Boys on Amazon Prime stills

Summary: This fills my #Sensory Deprivation square for @jacklesversebingo

Characters: Soldier Boy x female reader

Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY, blindfold, massage, D/s, power play, twist ending

Words: 1,800

Author’s notes: many thanks to @brrose-apothecary @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word—without you three, I’d have shelved this thing. I might have to do a follow-up to this for Kasey bc our behind-the-scenes riffing cracks me the fuck up lollll

B.C.L. RED

Early on Saturday morning, her doorbell rings. No one so much as approaches her door without Ranger, the bodyguard assigned to her. Regardless, she peeks through the secure viewer before opening the door to her penthouse.

“Good morning,” she greets Ranger, and he silently nods in answer, handing her a small envelope.

She accepts, thanks him, and closes the door behind her. 

She flips the envelope over and picks at the oxblood wax seal over the flap until it pops open, then reaches inside to pull out a notecard, impressed with his handwriting.

“Be ready at 7:30 PM. Ranger will drive you.”

It’s been a month. She hasn’t kissed him, felt his touch, heard his voice—there hasn’t been so much as a phone call or text message in 30 days.

Her heart flutters and her skin ripples. She draws a deep breath to calm herself, then exhales before setting his note aside and heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

Hours later, after her shower, she emerges from her steam-filled bathroom, gently squeezing her hair dry, and stops in her tracks. 

On the foot of her bed is a sheer bra and panty set. They’re fairly plain other than the Swiss dotting—but they’re red.

“Whores wear red!” He bruised her lips, swiping his thumbs outward, smearing “Ruby Woo” from ear to ear, and ripped the cherry red PVC Versace dress in two as if it were tissue paper. His hand wrapped her throat as he yanked the garment from her shoulders, and threw it aside while pushing her to her knees. He was violent and reckless, and she’d never been so afraid of him.

She gasps at the recollection branded into her memory. Why would he send her something red after that? Her memory is blessedly derailed by the arrival of her hair and make-up artists, bursting into the room.

They blow out and roll her hair, prime her skin and make it up, then set everything with the appropriate spray. Two of the women begin to clean up as she slips into the bra and panties set, wondering what to wear over it. Then, out of nowhere, the third woman appears with a red silk cloak with black trim and a pair of ruby red stilettos.

“And here’s the icing on the cake.”

At 7:30, Ranger meets her at the door and escorts her to the parking garage. She tries to gain control of her heart rate as they chat amicably. Before helping her into the backseat of the town car, Ranger hands her a small unadorned box.  

“I’ve been instructed to assist you if needed.”

She shivers at the thought of exactly what type of gift he would allow Ranger to assist her with. When she opens the box, she almost laughs at the innocuous blindfold inside.

“I think I can handle it,” she sighs with relief, turning toward the open car. “I assume he wants it in place before we leave the garage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She eagerly fits the black silk blindfold over her eyes, relaxing into the backseat. Ten minutes later, Ranger pulls into a parking garage and helps her out of the car. 

“There’s a step up here, ma’am, but once there, we’re directly in front of the elevator to the penthouse.”

She nods, and he ushers her inside the elevator car. Within moments, the doors open, and he’s there.

She can feel him, smell him, hear him move closer. Her heart races and her breath hitches.

It’s been so long.

“There she is.” His rich, rhythmic baritone and heavy, measured steps reverberate throughout her body, mind, and soul. “Thank you, Ranger. You can take the night off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The door clicks softly behind her, and then the room is quiet. She stands still and waits.

For several moments, she waits.

Finally, he draws a slow deep breath and then exhales as his boots shift against the marble floor and begin to beat a circular path around her. His scrutiny weighs heavy in the air, landing on her shoulders, wrapping her arms, hips, and thighs. She’s quaking inside, uncertain, and powerless. 

“Do you have any idea the hold you have over me?” he asks.

She remains unmoving and wordless.

“I can have any woman I want, any time. And yet...” He stops in front of her and sighs. “Did you miss me, princess?”

She opens and closes her mouth like she’s chewing on the words that she can’t say.

“Answer.” The heat from his skin washes over her breastbone and bare shoulders as he pushes her heavy cloak to the floor.

“Yes, sir,” her voice cracks just above a whisper.

“Do you like your presents?” he asks with a lilt of amusement in the depth of his voice. 

Her heart skips, but she tries to remain present.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, he touches her—both hands scooping and cradling her jaw, he tilts her face and dips in to kiss her. His mouth is warm, and his lips are firm, his movements sure and smooth. She whimpers, her fingers itching and her gut clenching.

“You can touch me,” he mutters against her lips with a chuckle. “Let’s catch up a little, huh?”

She sighs and leans into him, pushing her fingers into his hair, running one hand up over his chest and around the back of his neck. He kisses her as he lifts her, encouraging her legs around his waist, as he moves to a plush sofa across the large room. 

“Do whatever you need to do to get comfortable,” he instructs, brushing his thumbs across her nipples and pressing kisses along the column of her throat.

Her brain is thrown into overdrive because she needs a lot of things, and never once has he cared to ask or discuss them. She shifts under him, wanting friction, to get closer.

He groans, pulling at the backs of her knees and slotting his hips between her open thighs, rolling one sheer silk-covered nipple between a thumb and forefinger and taking over the other with his mouth. 

“Fucking beautiful tits.” He licks and nibbles, and her body heats from the tips of her ears to her toes. 

She arches her neck and back, reveling in his praise, and his mouth and hands on every inch of her body. He kisses her skin, licks her nipples, and grips her thighs tightly as he ruts into her. She’s so wet and needy, she can smell herself. She wonders if he can smell her, too, as she hooks her hands over his shoulders and leverages herself to grind against him.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he murmurs, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside before burying his face between her breasts.

He is so good with his mouth and hands that she’s afraid she’ll come before he’s given her the rules for the night. He pinches and slowly twists her nipple as he burrows the hard bulge in his pants into the sodden silk covering her aching cunt.

“Tonight you can come whenever you want. And, I know you want to; I can smell how much you want to, but I’ve got plans.”

He hauls her to her feet before taking her mouth in another savage kiss.

“Fuck,” he sneers, twisting the back of her hair in his hand to give himself something to hold onto as he pulls away and leads her to the bedroom. “I canceled your scheduled massage today because I want to do it. Make sure it gets done right.”

He spins and lifts her onto the massage table. She inhales the fresh scent of eucalyptus, spring greens, and peppermint, and relaxes her shoulders.

“Lie back,” he murmurs, dragging thick, heavy fingers from her rib cage to her hips.

She silently obeys, and he caresses her calves and ankles on his way to remove her stilettos. She squirms from the way the damp silk feels between her legs as it cools.

“Should I-” she begins, then clamps her mouth shut. 

He chuckles as he curls his fingers around the string of her thong to pull them over her hips and off. “Allow me.”

Once her thong is gone, he’s covering her up to her neck with a warm, luxurious sheet. 

“You know,” he runs his big hands over the sheet, across her shoulders, and down her arms, gently squeezing along the way. “You’re fascinating. And infuriating.”

She is perplexed by his shift since she saw him last. Is he finally coming to think of her as someone he might love?

He retrieves a bottle of massage oil and dispenses an ample amount in his palm then rubs his hands together to warm them. “Just relax.”

He slides his hands under her neck and tucks his thumbs at the base of her skull then grips each hinge of her jaw with his pointer and middle fingers. When he presses and slides his middle fingers along the undersides of her jaw, tilting her chin toward the ceiling with his thumbs anchoring her cervical spine, the tension breaks. 

She moans loud and long, and he chuckles.

“There you go, baby girl. Let it out.” 

He slowly manipulates her neck and upper spine, loosening her jaw and shoulders, and working his way down her chest. Before moving further down her body, he pumps more oil into his hand then skates his hand under the sheet to cup her upper rib cage and gently lift, flexing her thoracic---

“What the fuck is this?!” Soldier Boy flicks the script in his hand like it’s a gnat.

“This kinda thing is trending in media.” Legend raises a hand in defense.

“What’s trending? Acting like a pussy?” Soldier Boy looks back down at the script. “What’s this, ‘do you have any idea the hold you have over me?’ bullshit?”

“Power Play in romance is very popular right now.”

“Romance.” America’s first hero scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Jesus. ‘You can touch me’?! What is this girl, twenty-six-years-old? Does she need a chaperone, too?”

He stands and begins to pace.

“They’re looking at Florence Pugh for the role.”

“What about Jane Fonda? She may be a commie but at least she’s hot—and doesn’t need to be told when to touch someone.”

“This isn’t a vehicle for a woman her age.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.” Soldier Boy tosses the script across the room like a frisbee. “I founded Herogasm, ya know; this is not how this shit works.”

Legend sighs and massages his temples. “Ben...”

“Get Stan Edgar on the phone!” The supe shouts and the Ashleys scatter in a flurry of ‘yes, sirs’. “Should’ve stuck to ‘whores wear red’; at least that was compelling.”

Soldier Boy lights a joint as Legend quietly mutters to himself that he’s too old “for this shit.”

The supe exhales. “You can say that again.”

More Soldier Boy | More Jacklesverse Bingo | MJ's Master List

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // forty-five

| @catamano

next / previous / beginning

ELION: Not at all. I’m simply accustomed to powerful women. Indeed, hierarchal structure is one of the few things in this world I enjoy. I can respect authority spoken by someone who knows firmly what they want; A commander that isn’t afraid to give commands. EIRA: But you don’t respect mine. ELION: That’s hardly the case. I respect you a great deal. But I also enjoy you greatly in other ways, so I’m inclined not to listen. It’s quite the paradox. A part of me does feel quite poorly. I’m just being ripped apart on the inside by my own internal dilemma— EIRA: Can’t you take anything seriously?! ELION: Yes. Yes I can. And I do. I’d like to get to know you. EIRA: Why? ELION: You ask me to be serious, then I will give you a very serious answer. I once loved a woman like you. You remind me of her in the most achingly beautiful way. It’s painful. And I want to feel it more. EIRA: …So it is a kink. ELION: Only partially. EIRA: laughs Ridiculous. Did she love you back? ELION: For a while. EIRA: Shocking. Let me guess, you drove her away? ELION: Not at all. I lost her. EIRA: Oh. She… I’m… sorry. ELION: She didn’t die, if that’s what you think. At least, not in that way. No, I imagine she lives, still. But the woman she once was… Death is simple, you see. We grieve in the face of it. And grief has a name and a shape. It’s understood. There are far worse things than dying. To carry on when there’s nothing left of us… That is suffering of another sort, entirely.  EIRA: And I remind you of this? Shouldn’t you resent me? ELION: Not at all. I’m reminded of the fondest memories. You see, like you, she hailed from the mountain regions; One of the snow-touched elves of the north. I wondered if you might have had elvenblood yourself. That striking color of your hair… EIRA: I’m no elf. Just unlucky. ELION: Unlucky? EIRA: My parents were perfectly plain and human, in a village of other perfectly plain humans. I imagine that’s why they threw me out when I was barely strong enough to open my eyes. I’ve been putting people off since I was an infant. So forgive me if your advances don’t exactly stir my pot. ELION: Then, my apologies. I should not have expected you to respond the same. She was, I suppose, a particular case. EIRA: How did you… meet? ELION: Very accidentally. We met during one of my assignments long ago. She was no stranger to battle; A ranger, and better with a blade than I. They say poison is a maiden’s murder weapon, but she preferred a more direct approach, and I’d never been beaten so badly. EIRA: You were sent to kill her? ELION: No, I was sent to kill her client. And I did kill him, but she certainly didn’t make it easy for me. EIRA: Well, that’s a story if I’ve ever heard one. ELION: I have many. I expect you do, too. We could exchange them sometime. I can be quite civil when I need to. Dinner, drinks, I’ll even wear my hair up. EIRA: Tch. Do I look like the type to be wined and dined? ELION: I hoped not. EIRA: Then you weren’t wrong. But I’m no one’s replacement. ELION: I would never think to replace her. But then, seeing you, I considered maybe I ought to finally move on. EIRA: Find someone else. ELION: Ah, well. Suppose I should. I’m happy to accept when I’m defeated. But you must at least give me credit for trying. For what it’s worth, I was sincere. EIRA: … ELION: About what I said before… the trials… do be careful and look after yourself. EIRA: I— ELION: Yes, I know. You’re strong. And more formidable people than you have been ground to dust in those games. Even if you do survive… I hope that when you come out on the other side, you’ll still remember just how strong you were.

[zeggyzone]

d&d / fantasy valorant

has been on my brain. so here’s my little masterlist on what i think everyone would be.

DISCLAIMER

i’ve played d&d like three times so don’t expect all of these to be accurate/they’re my opinion :(

astra // astral elf monk

hey, i just think it makes sense. monks can deal damage and since astra derives her power from the astral guardians, it makes sense, no?

plus, i think she’d be really badass with astral elf genes…

breach // centaur barbarian

WALK WITH ME HERE. just listen to me. A CENTAUR. HE’S SO CENTAUR.

he’s very tanky and i think it very much fits his whole vibe— and if you think he’s annoying with two legs, he’s gonna be ten times more annoying with four. can totally see him absolutely destroying someone by bucking his back legs into someone.

brimstone // dwarf paladin

honor is huge for dwarves and i really want to play that in with brimstone. i want to say that kingdom could’ve been this crazy god thing but maybe i could look into that later. all i know is that he is a paladin with a heart of gold.

in a little doodle i did, i made him a tavernkeeper… so maybe he’s an ex-paladin now-turned a humble tavernkeep.

chamber // high elf artificer

i wanted to make him a ranger, but an artificer makes me giggle. probably because one of my d&d characters is an artificer and was loosely based on chamber. (she’s a rich tiefling seamstress of many talents, if you even care.) also you can imagine chamber as a tiefling too, but, i think high elf works better.

deffo still a weapons designer, maybe even a blacksmith. probably works closely with magic users to make custom weaponry to channel their mana in.

clove // fairy bard

look, as much as i’d LOVE to make clove an immortal god watching over the whole fantasy world, i just HAVE to include them as a fairy who CONTINUOUSLY breaks the 4th wall. it’s so funny.

clove would probably have DEADPOOL level fourth wall breaks, and constantly make jokes and references of ‘the real world’ and how they’ve ‘seen all of you before.’

cypher // tiefling wizard

WALK WITH ME HERE. he had his horns ripped off. WALK WITH ME.

he hides his identity partially because iirc tieflings aren’t exactly … liked by the public eye? i also like to think he uses his wizardry to fuel his whole information broker schtick. he uses arcane eye and everyone hates him for it.

deadlock // snow elf beast hunter

i know that beast hunters aren’t exactly a CLASS but come on. lets be honest with ourselves.

deadlock who lost her team to a rabid mythical beast, now dedicating herself to hunting them down and neutralizing them, one bounty at a time. i like to think that she doesn’t necessarily kill them if they can be saved, or at least put them down painlessly. otherwise, she aims for the fuckin’ throat.

fade // half-elf sorcerer

walk with me here. fade is a MAN in the universe OKAY walk with me. i made a hc video on tiktok where i made fade a half-elf sorcerer that is haunted by the voices in his spellbook. his character name is demir, and upon further research, i have found out that sorcerers CANNOT use spellbooks. (stupid, i know.) so work with that as you will.

i think she works for nightmare to feed it in return to find information on her father. she's a bounty hunter, but ONLY for nightmares and for information. you feel me?

gekko // tall-man druid

i think this one’s a given.

i’m practically making him beast boy, BUT IDGAF!!!! he has a connection with his buddies and often shifts as needed. he likes turning into a dog and cuddling. trust. his character name is oetam. yes, it's mateo backwards.

harbor // warforged artificer

this one is kind of me fucking around. as much as i wanted to make him a water based race, he was chosen to hold the artifact.

i think he was made by realm to be their historian and antiquities expert, but as soon as he was the chosen one, was shut out, just like in the cinematic.

iso // half-orc fighter

i know i could've put iso as a tiefling or something like that but i think him as a half-orc is cooler. he's tall, bulky, and TANKY.

i originally wanted him to be a paladin, because he could change oaths from hourglass to the protocol through a huge quest in sparing omen... that whole thing, but i think a fighter works better.

jett // air genasi rogue

let's be so fucking for real JETT WILL BE PUT ON SOME ROGUE SHIT WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. I WILL FORCE FEED IT TO YOU WITH A GOLDEN SPOON.

if omega earth isn't canonical in the d&d world (which i highly doubt) she has an evil twin that does shit on her name, henceforth, she has to hide. otherwise, same backstory.

kay/o // warforged fighter

HE. IS. WARFORGED. [actively shoving food down your throat]

very much strikes me as a robot learning how to be normal. definitely works along brimstone-- he got a job at the tavern and helps him sort out bounties and act as security. he's also totally a bodyguard for money.

killjoy // tiefling artificer

she's so tiefling u can't say anything. she's a PINK tiefling thank you very much. definitely a party girl, too!

i think she's the same idea as chamber, but she's paid by brimstone! i wanna think he took her in as his protégé but atp he might as well be hers. initially he wanted her to help with kay/o, but she just ended up control-freaking everywhere and upgrading everything in sight. she has matching names with oetam. it's aralk.

neon // wood elf ranger

neon is a speedster, so it makes sense to give her one of the fastest races in d&d (based on walking distance, at least). i wanna think she's a knight... stay with me here.

ex-k-sec makes sense for her to be a knight? so maybe she just has the title, but kind of just does contract work? also! the whole lightning thing... mayhaps cursed? or maybe just a lightning god didn't want her. choose which one you like out of those two.

omen // tall man-tiefling rogue

hear me out; he used to be a tall man, but after the whole 'incident' was turned into a tiefling. LISTEN BRO IT MAKES SENSE.

he works as a merc, sporting a cloak to shield his 'hideous' self. he frequents brimstone's tavern for jobs, and always emerges from the shadows instead of using the door. he's become accustomed to showing up after closing with the bounty, and in return, spooks everyone working there. killjoy had to hit her fantasy equivalent of an inhaler after a few spooks.

phoenix // dragonborn bard

[shoveling food down your throat] that is a fucking dragonborn if i ever did fucking see one.

and, he's a bard because he was in theatre school, duh. i like to think phoenix is a very popular entertainer but also uses his talents for other jobs on the side. otherwise... maybe he's a knight! i don't know. i like the performer idea better.

raze // dwarf alchemist

she was also in the d&d video! her name is razinho ('little raze' haha). probably a merc with a very, err, explosive personality. wandered in the tavern a lot and hit it off with aralk.

if i had to assign her a class, maybe a fighter or a barbarian.

reyna // vampire warlock

listen. i want to say that the vampire side of her is empress. she has to devour souls (or blood!) to keep empress happy. you see where i'm going here? [fade bulletin board spray]

she's tied to empress so long as lucia is sick. gekko and her met after she found him injured in dog form... guys please i love them so much.

sage // high elf cleric

her healing is a gift. come on bro. she's as cleric as it can get. while i think she also derives power from the earth (she's in fact a geomancer) i think the majority of her mana comes from the higher power that gifted her.

i want to think she also works as a ... well, sage. she does so back in shaanxi. otherwise, she's found at brimstone's tavern providing her healing. sometimes she goes into dungeons and does free revivals.

skye // dryad druid

[shoveling food down your throat] dryad skye [more food] druid skye. also isn't it crazy how THAT is the only skye picture we have. rest in peace.

i wanna think that her pack is a bunch of animal-shaped plants that she helped escape a garden. i think that's really funny. 10+ points if it's a garden belonging to kingdom.

sova // avian (owl) scout

a former knight in charge of reconnaissance. he left after a tragic accident.

he lives with his babushka and takes care of her-- sometimes he takes up bounties for extra cash, and brimstone is trying to work his way into sova's good side-- he could really use a scout.

viper // naga shifter alchemist

probably used to be a cleric but renounced her belief-- even better, after doing what she did to omen, she lost her power and took it as a sign to take up researching death.

yes, she is a naga. it makes so much sense, nobody talk to me. her and brimstone are old friends and she frequents the bar also because of omen. the reason he was sent to kill her should stay the same i think.

yoru // changeling rogue

last one! he was also in the hc video. except he was a fighter. his name is kurayami. no, not kuronami. he's a runaway samurai and hella edgy. oetam bullies him. demir, too.

changelings can impersonate people they've already seen, so maybe yoru uses paintings of his ancestors to decide on his identity. he has the mask still, too! he uses it when he's on his rogue shit.

thanks for reading! would love to hear what you guys think about these!

twitter | tiktok | archiveofourown

[amomentsescape]

hey, how are you doing?

I would like to ask for a one shot (Victor Zsasz x Female!reader) where the reader is kidnapped and used as a bait by some guys that wanna kill Zsasz.

Risk and Protect

Victor Zsasz x Female! Reader

Summary: Victor goes on a mission to save you after past enemies decide they want revenge on him.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, and Victor's scars

Word Count: 1,525

A/N: I've always loved fics like this. And I'm doing great, thank you for asking! I hope you're doing good too!

Victor has a lot of enemies. It only makes sense for someone who kills random people for a living. But he never really worried about it for a while.

He was a lone ranger of sorts, only working with the Zsaszettes in a professional manner. And after letting himself get close to Falcone and feeling that pain of losing him, Victor promised himself he wouldn't let his own attachments get in the way again. It was for the best.

But then you happened. Of course, you walked into his life when he least expected it.

And although Victor is a smart man, he couldn't logically find a way to let you go. His heart won, but he always worried that this would end up being a mistake.

And today, he really believed it was.

He quite literally had eyes on you 24/7. If it wasn't his own, then it was a couple of the Zsaszettes. He knew that there were people out there to get him. And no matter how hard he tried to hide you away and keep you safe, he knew that he could only do so much.

Victor had a lot of hits today, so he assigned a couple Zsaszettes to watch over you while he was out. He promised you he'd be back that night to spend time with you.

And you were really happy with this arrangement. You had actually befriended a few of his workers, enjoying the random conversations you would have with them. Plus, they made you feel safe to be around. They may have been pretty faces, but they were incredibly skilled and powerful as well. They felt secure.

But unfortunately, they weren't ready for 15 armed men to burst into the place on such a gentle evening. Even Victor couldn't predict just how far his enemies would go, ganging up to increase their numbers and their chances that they could catch you.

The Zsaszettes did the best they could to hide you before the men got to you. They managed to hold them off for a bit, but sadly, it only ended in bloodshed.

A few of the men were killed upon entry, a few others were injured. But the girls were out numbered, and they ended dying to protect you. They cared about following Victor's orders of course, but they also cared about you. Your safety was their priority as much as Victor's, and they sadly gave up their lives for you.

You were choking on your sobs as you tried to hold them back, watching the scene unfold in the hidden away room near the back of the apartment.

But with one wrong movement, you had bumped the wall with your elbow, and the remaining men froze.

Your eyes widened as you watched a couple of them walk towards your hiding area, ripping open the door.

They each took an arm and dragged you out of the room, a quick hit to the head forcing darkness upon you.

***

Victor rushed home just 30 minutes later when both Zsaszettes didn't pick up his calls. He even reached out to you, only to be met with your voicemail.

When he stormed into the apartment, he lost his breath. Two of his most loyal workers laid dead on the ground. The whole area was trashed and bloodied, and Victor could only hope that none of the red liquid was yours.

He searched around for you frantically, but all he managed to find was your phone, all of his attempts at calling and messaging you still listed on your lock screen.

But the latest message on your phone was one he didn't send.

You know where to find us. You have 1 hour.

He had a hunch that someone was after him these past few weeks, but he didn't know that they would drag you into this. But this would prove to be their biggest mistake.

He knew where you were. And although he didn't care to know who these men were, they would all end up dead just the same.

***

Victor smirked when he saw the building in view. He had to give them some props to be honest. They did pretty well staking out their own assassins in the area. But he couldn't expect anything less.

He was Gotham's best, so they knew that they had to prepare for him to arrive. They were wanting his head, after all.

But they clearly weren't as smart as they thought.

He had a few of his Zsaszettes set up on the opposite side of the building, their guns already beginning to fire blindly at the men.

This caused all of them to turn towards the shots, the rest of the men beginning to rush to the area.

With their backs turned, Victor began to take down each assassin, his own gun completely muffled from the chaos.

Each shot was like a silent blast of air, and men's bodies were hitting the ground without anyone noticing.

But by the time they did catch on to what was happening, it was too late. There were only a couple men left, and they were met with a bullet to the head before they could even spot where he was.

But Victor knew his battle wasn't over. You were still inside, and he was certain the "boss" and the rest of his men would be there too.

The Zsaszettes were ready for his call, but Victor wanted to finish the battle alone.

It was almost humorous for him in a way. They would have been stupid to mess with Victor in general, but to put your life in danger too? That only made his next plan even more enjoyable.

Victor walked into the building innocently, knowing they weren't going to kill him immediately. These men were too prideful for that. They wanted to toy with him, torture him, maybe even hurt you to make his own suffering worse.

The thought made him sick, but he kept his cool.

"Gentleman," Victor greeted, his eyes not leaving yours.

It pained him to see you strapped to that chair, your eyes full of fear. What made it worse though was the fact that he knew you weren't scared for yourself- you were scared for him. He never wanted to worry you like this ever again.

And thankfully, you looked unscathed. Your shirt was a little wrinkled, and your mascara had smudged, but there were no cuts or bruises anywhere Victor could see. He felt relieved.

"Victor!"

His eyes finally left yours to look at the brute man before him.

"You're gonna pay for what you did to my brother!"

Victor sighed. "Brother? I kill dozens of people a week. You think I care about what I did to your brother?"

The man was seething and ready to burst.

"But, if I do recall," Victor rolled up his sleeve. "I think he was probably... this one, right here." He pointed to a scar near his elbow.

Suddenly, the man let out a loud scream, beginning to charge at Victor.

His two men continued to stand next to you, their hands already beginning to reach for their guns.

You watched as Victor dodged away from the man, managing to slip in a swift punch to the gut.

The man spun back around and landed a sharp kick to Victor's shin, causing him to collapse.

You let out a muffled scream at this, worried that would be the end of the battle for your partner.

However, Victor took advantage of this new viewpoint, quickly grabbing the small gun from the man's belt.

With two loud bangs, both men beside you collapsed to the floor, not even able to fire off their own weapons in time.

Another two loud shots resounded as you watched the boss fall beside his fellow partners in crime, yelling and screaming at Victor.

You could see a bloody wound in each of his knees as a pool began to form around him.

Victor jumped to his feet and made his way towards you, helping you our of your binds. All the while, he continued to apologize and tell you just how worried he was.

"This will never happen again. I'm sorry I-"

"Victor," you softly smiled. "I'm okay. We're going to be alright, yeah?"

He quietly sighed and brought his lips to your forehead, silently agreeing. Even in the most chaotic moments, you were able to bring him a sense of peace that he never knew existed before.

Once he knew you were okay, he dragged his attention back to your kidnapper.

"As much as I'd love to see your entrails splayed across the floor, I have some other matters to attend to."

And with that, a single shot was made in the center of the man's head. You watched as his head lulled to the side and his eyes went blank.

You squirmed away a bit, but you felt Victor wrap his arm around your waist.

"What were these other matters you have to do?" you asked, looking up at him.

He smiled back down at you. "Our date night, of course."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Dragon Rider

The Blonde Boys Club

Aemond Targaryen x Ranger!Reader + Legolas Greenleaf x Ranger!Reader

Summary: It had been nearly a century since you've seen a dragon, and the sight was as captivating as the first time (the dragon rider shared the sentiment [of you], your mountain ranging partner did not).

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, elf!reader, reader is also blonde, sassy!legolas, puppy!aemond, vhagar wingman?, jealousy, possessives, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: this has a p1 and since the first section is quite like a direct continuation of what happened there, mayhap you would like to read it before continuing with this. also my moodboard <3 also legolas in my moodboard <;3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"Thír, Legolas! Im'm bo caw -o a lúg!" I exclaim with a toothy grin.

Aemond looks up at me, smiling softly to himself as he thinks of how calming the sound of the language was. It sounded like a leaf blowing with the wind, a butterfly making rounds in the early morning. In comparison, he always thought High Valyrian was a commanding language, a fiery tongue that possessed a power to have even dragons obey.

As the Targaryen prince looked at the golden hair flowing in the wind, he felt something for Elvish he had not felt for High Valyrian before.

"Yes, you are on top of a dragon," Legolas repeats my words as he looked up at me with a wrinkled forehead. He continues in our mother tongue, "I don't see how any different it is for when you climb a tree."

"It's not like climbing a tree at all!" I shake my head, "I feel as though I could conquer the whole world! Show my might! Lay waste to my enemies!"

"You don't have enemies," Legolas mutters in annoyance, eyeing the human prince beside him when he heard him chuckle under his breath.

"You're my enemy," I tease as I give the elf a lopsided smirk.

He rolls his eyes. Aemond beams.

I give Vhagar a pat on her thick scales before I shift on my spot and announce, "I'm jumping down."

Legolas steps back, unfazed.

Aemond steps forward, concerned. He raises his hands, "it is a high fall."

The elf crosses his arms and furrows his brows, "for a man, mayhap."

Aemond turns to Legolas, just as the latter looks back up at me, "she can handle it."

The next thing Aemond knows, he is ripped back and his stomach drops as he watches what plays out before him.

I swan dive down, not forfeiting a roll and a leg tuck, all while being quick enough to land on my feet with my arms stretched out.

Legolas releases Aemond as I flip my blonde hair back. The former eyes me, "poppinjay."

"Wrinkler," I snip back.

Legolas steps forward, "mooncalf."

"Nincompoop," I step forward.

Aemond watches the two of us stare at each other, our chests nearly brushing as we press forward in challenge. He clears his throat loudly. Neither of us break our gaze or pull back.

He releases a terse breath, "would you like me to give you a ride back?"

This was what made both of us turn to the human prince.

Aemond's eye widens a fraction at the faces we throw at him. He blinks, finding difficulty to keep eye contanct.

"If you would like a legion of archers to be upon your dragon, then certainly," Legolas states, nonchalant, as he raises a brow.

I nudge him with a tight expression, "Legolas."

"It's true," he turns to me, replying in Elvish.

"Mmm," prince Aemond hums. He turns to his feet and places his hands behind his back. He shifts back and forth, "will I..." then lifts his gaze upon me, "...see you here tomorrow on your patrol?"

I am quite caught off-guard by his question that my lips part. Legolas furrows his brows. A bit of red climbs up Aemond's neck.

A chuckle leaves me.

"She will not be patrolling tomorrow," Legolas narrows his eyes.

I snap at my prince, "and why wouldn't I?"

Legolas does not turn to me when he says in our mother tongue, "I forbid it."

That's enough for me to roll my eyes and turn to Aemond with a grin, "I would love to meet you here tomorrow if you will be coming."

The prince before me breaks into smile, nodding his head excitedly, "yes. Yes. I will be here tomorrow."

The prince beside me narrows his eyes and mutters a string of Elvish curses under his breath. It's honestly so disgraceful, I cannot holdback my eye twitch and quickly dig my heel into his foot.

Legolas lurches in pain and curses loudly.

I smile as I curtsy at prince Aemond, " 'til tomorrow, prince Aemond."

Aemond bows, eye fixed on me, then shifting to Legolas, who pulls me away.

"Farewell, dragon!" I call as I am dragged off.

Aemond eyes crinkle as he watches me, "geros ilas, zaldrīzes."

"Geros ilas, zaldrīzes," I wave.

"Farewell, prince... ranger," Aemond says.

Legolas shoots Aemond a glare.

"If your mother caught you here-"

I turn over my shoulder.

"-she would not hold back her rebukes," Legolas raises a brow at me and crosses his arms. He looked like a had soot on his cheeks, and his attire was dusty with dirt and gravel. His hair contrasted mine; though his was braided like usual, it was greatly unkempt and the bonds were loose, and my hair, though undone, was perfectly combed and silky down my back.

I turn to the book in my hand, replying in the same language, "you're one to talk. You look like you fought a gang of orcs."

"That's because I did," he says in Elvish, walking over to where I was sprawled out on the grass. He pokes my raised bare feet behind me and I snap at him, raising up a bit from my chest. I push myself up as Legolas sits beside me, "help me get cleaned."

I roll my eyes, "you're such a prince."

"You know how I feel about orc smells," he mutters, "I am loathe to do all the work myself."

I do not respond as I refocus on the page of the book I had been examining.

Legolas looks at my long, golden hair, sprawled all the way down to my thighs, untied, unbraided, barely fluttering with the wind. He removes the arrow quiver on him and gets on his chest as well beside me. For a moment, Legolas thinks to himself how glad he is for this constant. No matter how much time has passed, it was always here in the secret spot he could find comfort.

He leans on his shoulder, "read to me, doe."

I hum, "I don't think you'll like it."

When he notices the language of the book in my hand and it's Elvish counterparts, he purses his lips, "is that truly so interesting?"

I turn point to the inscription, "I think this might be a mistranslation but I am sure it's talking about how to care for dragonlings in their early years."

Legolas huffs. I vaguely hear him mutter something about burning the book, but I don't care much for it.

"Honestly," I turn to him, "I don't understand why our kind has not cared for dragons when they can live for centuries like us."

"By the goodness of the earth, you are poisoned."

I roll my eyes at him.

"Need I remind you that those humans consulted a dark magic to bind their line with the fire breathers in a chase for power."

I huff, propping my head on my hand, "I did not say we do the same, spoilsport."

With a grunt, I push myself up and get to my feet. Legolas looks at me with a grave expression. I roll my eyes at him once more before kicking his arrows, "get up, you reek of orc."

Legolas huffs and does as I say, just as I grab my shoes and walk out of my secret reading spot. I push the vines on the entrance away and make my way down the gardens.

The next moment, Legolas is trailing after me, "put your shoes on."

"No."

He calls out my name.

I ignore him.

We make our way into the hall when we are both alerted by a strange, distant sound. We turn to each other before we rush towards the walls where there was a window that gave view to the outside.

The sound is louder, and more unmistakable.

"It's the dragonling," Legolas scoffs a few moments before I spot Vhagar, "that fool was warned not to tread near the fortress again."

I watch as she lands on the cliff across the river bed. I break into a smile, pulling away form the window, scurrying off, hastily putting my shoes on as I go down the halls.

Legolas turns, calling my name out, furrowing his brows, "you cannot seriously be thinking of going to him at this hour!"

"Well, I cannot leave him waiting when he clearly came here for me."

Legolas calls out my name louder. I give him no retort and instead run off as quickly as I could, golden hair flying off as I did.

I was light on my feet and quick like a rabbit. I gather my skirt up and make my quickly out of the palace. Once I find myself outside, I hear a bunch of palace guards asking me where I was off to this time. I ignore them and make my way into the forest.

The travel is deep, but I knew the path well.

I break into deep huffs when I reach the edge of the woods, just by the shores of the river. I look up to the cliff of the mountain grinning ear to ear. I catch my breath, placing my hands on the sides of my mouth. I inhale deeply and scream, "RYTSAS, ÑUHA DĀRILAROS!"

I catch my breath as I await a response.

I see a mop of blond hair and an eye patched face look down from the height. I grin, waving up at him, "I SHALL BE THERE MOMENTARILY!"

I watch him smile, mouthing something I could not make out, for it was probably in High Valyrian.

I pull my skirt up and skip onto the rocks, forming a path across the water. I gracefully get across, catching my breath in the process. I then begin to climb up the side of the mountain, but before I do, I bunch my long hair up and tuck it into my dress. The climb was not hard, the steilhang was not too steep and there was a clear upward path that made the climb all the more easier.

In no time at all, I made it halfway my ascent.

"I did not know where else to land Vhagar!" the voice of the Targaryen prince calls from the top.

I chuckle, "worry not yourself," sparing a moment's glance to look up at Aemond, who was carefully and concernedly looking down at me, "this is much like climbing our watch towers, prince."

Aemond starts when my foot slips. He says, what I could only assume to be, High Valyrian cusses.

I quickly regain my footing and continue my travel up.

"Give me your hand," he calls from above.

I look up at him, finding that he is on his chest, dangling out his hand for me to reach. I knit my brows and chuckle, "prince Aemond, that is unnecessary. Please, retreat. I do not know what I would do if you slipped and fell."

Aemond furrows his brow, "are you quite certain? You nearly slipped yourself."

"That is more the escarpment's fault than mine," I mutter, turning back to my path, taking the last few steps up.

Once I am finally at the top, Aemond is standing nearby, offering his hands out to me. Although, in truth, I did not need it, I still took ahold of him and allowed to help me up.

His hands were incredibly clammy. I was honestly surprised how hot my hands were in comparison to his. I thought, if anything, his hands would have been warmer. He brings me near him, stepping back until we are far enough from the cliff; it is only then he releases me. I huff as I look at him, observing the look upon his face.

Though it seems relief was beginning to wash over him, the agitation on his face was still visible.

Aemond seems to find heaviness in my stare. He releases my hands and turns away, moving to my left, so that I could only see one side of his face. I continue to watch him as he places his hands behind him.

I press my lips into a smile at his rigidness, breaking into a chuckle, "suilad."

Aemond turns to me. I pull my hair out from where it was tucked in my dress, allowing it to flow with the wind, "it means greetings, hello."

Aemond's face softens, nodding his head, "soilad."

"Suilad."

"Suilad.

I grin, nodding my head, "well said, my prince."

Aemond hums as I walk over to his ride, smile growing wider at the sight of her. I mutter Elvish under my breath, "she is truly mighty." I look to her head, resting on some boulders, "hello, Vhagar."

"Your prince does not take kindly to your regards to me of such," Aemond says, following after me, "it would be better if you do not refer to me as 'my prince' as, truly, I am not."

I turn to the Targaryen, who had a solemn look about himself. I offer a playful look in return. I mimic his stance, placing my hands behind my back, "do you not enjoy the reverence in which I regard you, prince?"

He gulps, parting his lips, "it is not a matter of enjoyment, more so a desire not to steward ill sentiment towards an entire race by upsetting their prince."

I roll my eyes, "Legolas is not the representative of Elf-kind."

"Still, he is Prince Legolas."

I give him a look, pouting my lips in thought, "honestly, he should give you more credit. You're about as stiff as he is when it comes order and rules."

Aemond presses his lips. I turn back to Vhagar, stepping close enough to touch her. I steal a glance from the man, "may I?"

He nods once. Immediately, I turn back to the dragon and lay my palm upon her scales.

"The weight of the royalty sits heavily even on the shoulders of an Elvish prince."

I knit my brows softly, recalling just how I had rolled my eyes at the orc smelling princeling moments ago, "but he is not alone with his duties," I turn to Aemond, finding that he is now beside me, "and certainly, neither are you."

For a moment, Aemond watches as I caress his colossal companion. He presses his lips into a smile then sucks in a breath. "Prince Legolas," he starts, placing his hand upon Vhagar's side, "what is your relation to him?"

I knit my brows, "what do you mean?"

"He is your prince, and you are a ranger," Aemond trails off.

I take a moment to think, then perk up, "oh. Well, he is my partner and commander."

"Ranging partner you mean."

I raise a brow, "well yes, of course."

He nods.

Another thought spring into mind, "he is not my brother, if that is what you meant." The thought makes my lips curl.

Aemond chuckles, shaking his head in disagreement, "that is not what I meant at all, ranger." He breaks his gaze to motion his head upward, "can you reach my satchel?"

I turn to where he regarded, just a little bit above me, by the reins. I turn back to Aemond, giving him a look, brushing my hair back, "of course I can."

Aemond watches as I make haste to reach the satchel, dangling at the side of Vhagar. In that moment, the dragon stirs, huffing hotly, loudly, making me squeak in surprise.

Aemond calls out in his mother tongue as runs towards me, hands out, ready to catch me if I fell.

I do not, and make my way quickly back to his side with his satchel.

"Apologies," he grunts as he gets his bag from me, "I should not have-"

"Oh, by the stars," I huff, "I was merely spooked, is all."

Aemond looks at me with his violet eye then turns to what was in his hands. From the leather skin, he pulls out three books, bound in similar material, then hands it over to me.

I take it from him and give the items a quizzical look.

"This," he presses his fingers on the large, brown book, "is a tome on High Valyrian," he moves onto the wide, green one, "this is a brief history of all the dragons and their riders," he points to the thin, blue one, "and this-"

"Is about stars?" I ask, vaguely able to make out the Valyrian inscription on the cover.

Aemond chuckles, "not quite. It is about a star and a dragon."

I raise my brows in shock, "your family has a history with the stars?"

"Oh," the prince straightens up ,"no." He rubs his nose then places his hands behind him once more, "no," he clears his throat, "it is... a work of fiction."

My jaw slacks, "ah," I brush my hair away from my face when the wind blows at it, "I see."

I look back at Aemond, finding his hair blowing. When it brushes against his cheek, I nearly reach out and push it away, much like I dp with Legolas, but thankfully, I hold back before I do.

"Tis my favorite piece of literature," he says.

I break into a smile.

Aemond's purses his lips then words softly, "se qēlos hen biare dārys," he translates, "the star and the happy king."

"Oh," I chuckle, "what fun."

Aemond shakes his head, "do not be fooled by the title, my lady."

I snort, "well, consider me twice as intrigued. I am honored to be lent such exquisite scripts, your grace."

He shakes his head, "no, please. Add it to your collection. You have been telling me how you have been going through all the resources you have about dragons, and I have been meaning to give this to you since last time we met."

My jaw slacks, "but these appear to be from a royal library."

He chuckles softly, "a keen eye," he shakes his head, "but no. These are my personal copies."

My lip part wider.

"I have read them enough times," he smiles, "and I rarely have time to read as of late. It's better to give them to you, than let it keep collecting dust. After all, knowledge is meant to be shared, not locked away."

I press my lips into a smile, "you sound like my father."

"Well, he is a wise man."

Aemond's smile fades as he corrects himself, "elf."

I snort, shaking my head.

Whatever I was meant to say is immediately blown into the wind when my ears twitch at the sudden harsh strings of Elvish chastising being barked by my side.

I turn, and alas, tis Legolas, red in the face, seemingly fresh from the bath, muttering things under his breath like, 'you're lucky I haven't told your mother about your escapades.'

"Legolas," I call as he approaches me.

"I've had enough of you," he blurts in Elvish once he's in front of me

"Prince Legolas," Aemond calls, making him turn to the Targaryen.

He huffs, returning the nod in regard he is given, albeit begrudgingly, "Prince Aemond," he continues in our shared language, "your condescending regard is most irritating."

"He is not being condescending," I call.

Legolas hums, turning to me, "you think you know him so well now, do you?"

"Legolas-"

He cuts me off by grabbing my arms and turning me about, "I warned you about your hair, once before," he begins to braid my hair behind me. He gathers my blonde streaks from the top of my head then makes his way down, "you mean to tell me you climbed the cliff with your tresses flying everywhere?"

I roll my eyes, clutching the books in my hands into my chest, "I-" I cut myself off when he pulls my hair a little harder than he could have, "tucked it into my dress- stop it!"

Legolas gathers more hair and threatens to cut my locks off in my sleep.

Aemond, clears his throat from the side, "is it safe to assume you have you come to fetch your ranger, prince Legolas?"

"Retrieve, more like," Legolas says, fingers grazing my scalp. He turns to Aemond, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, "I told you not to come back here on dragonback."

"You told me not to come to Mirkwood on dragonback," Aemond retorts, "I am not in Mirkwood."

I huff through my mouth. He's not wrong. And yet, I practically feel the anger thicken from the elf behind me. I decide not to speak at all in the moment. I am glad Legolas does the same.

When a gush of wind blows, I snort at the rank scent in the air, "what is that?"

"That would be the dragon slobber," Legolas notes insensitively.

Aemond opens his mouth to retort, but I beat him to it, "no, that is orc."

Legolas stills in his braiding, hands now just by my shoulders. When he continues his braiding, I turn around when he reaches my shoulder blades.

"Quit moving," he quips as another wind blows

I ignore him and lean into him, reeling back when I smell the telltale scent of rank orc on him, "that is foul."

Legolas frowns at my reaction to him, angrily twisting my hair, "I told you to help me clean up."

I roll my eyes and push his damp hair back when it flutters with the breeze, "you truly cannot wash your hair without me, can you?"

"Why should I when you can do it for me?"

I scoff, "what a prince."

"More than him," he jabs in Elvish.

In that moment, I decide to turn to Aemond, whose attentions were focused on my hair, which Legolas was braiding.

I offer him a soft smile, raising the books in my chest, "thank you again for the gift, Aemond."

Legolas' braiding comes to a halt. Aemond turns to me, shocked. His lips part as they curve into a soft smile, "you are welcome."

Legolas scoffs, finishing the tail of the braid, tying it up with itself.

"I hope to see you when we begin our rounds," I offer the Targaryen.

Legolas hums, "yes. Perhaps you would even like to join us sometimes-"

I turn to him when he says this, shocked by the proposal.

"-without your dragon," he adds, "but then again, I doubt you could keep up on foot."

And there it was.

"Legolas."

"An enticing offer," Aemond smiles, "I accept."

I turn to Aemond, who was absolutely oblivious to my prince's rage. I cut in, "well, actually, we would be work-"

"Tomorrow then," Legolas calls, "bright and early, we start our patrol. We'll meet you where we met before."

Aemond nods, "fair enough."

"Legolas-"

"And you," the said being interrupts, "you will draw me a bath at once."

I sigh, shoulders sinking as I hold back an eye roll, "as you wish, sire."

Legolas purses his lips, "precisely."

[lord-of-hollows]

Designing a Recruitable Dark Urge

In the cancelled Fallout project Van Buren a recruitable character could be found hung from a pole near dead. Players could leave him, help him down or finish his execution.

This character was horrendously powerful in combat, and suitable for multiple roles with 10 endurance, and high skill in small arms, melee weapons and unarmed. However, this character had a temperament and a reputation. He would deliberately start fights, would quote bible verses as justification for these fights, and being a known Murderer and slaver would lead to certain characters needing to be talked down from attacking him. One particular faction had a standing kill on sight order for The Hanged Man, and he would attack them without hesitation regardless of player input.

Recruiting him was intended to be an optional double edged sword. Statistically he was the most combat capable character in the game, however he would also incite combat at every opportunity.

According to design documents, players would eventually be able to save the Hanged Man and quiet his confrontational temperament, or damn him and make his violent temperament much, much worse.

Aspects of The Hanged Man, such as the name of Joshua Graham, the bandaged face, the history with Caesars Legion as a Murderer and Slaver, the religious convictions and the choice to indulge or quieten his violent nature would be retooled into The Burned Man character in Fallout: New Vegas.

I feel as if The Dark Urge in Baldurs Gate 3 would have benefited from a similar treatment. Picture landing from the nautiloid crash, and let's say shortly after bumping into Shadowheart, you see a white Dragonborn sorcerer standing over the corpse of a mangled fisherman on a beach. Intently staring at it.

You have a brief conversation with him, and gleam that he has no memory of events before the crash. He's soft spoken and sounds distracted, your tadpoles link and inside him you see flashes of heat, impulses to do... something. Something ruinous and taboo. But you're not sure.

He names himself Durge, and offers to join.

And then as you're moving through the game, every time there's a Durge scene for instance ripping off Gales arm, you have to roll some kind of check to snap him out of a trance like state or he will kill.

What would the upside of this be? I propose that The Dark Urge be horrendously powerful by way of abilities unique to him, if recruited. Like being able to cast haste on himself once per long rest, recruiting at level 3. Doesn't sound like much but it would make him invaluable in combat encounters, especially at low level. Making him a tantalising choice for any party comp. Maybe something less extreme like advantage against targets he's already wounded. Or perhaps simply being recruited at level 3 rather than 1-2 like other early game companions.

And of course he would be another voice encouraging the player to make poor choices. Insisting he be allowed to kill Karlach in Wylls quest. Allowing the Deep Gnomes to suffocate in the Underdark. Any gruesome death, the Dark Urge will insist you allow it to happen.

Successfully talking him down will incur a hidden score of Spawn points. Should you convince him to keep his urges in check, he will refuse to honour his heritage. Should you allow home to indulge his worse aspects, not only will the Dark Urge embrace his nature, he will confront you and attempt to take the Netherbrain in Bhaals name.

One big change I'd make to the Dark Urge for this to work is I'd make him visually distinct depending on the path taken. Should he be fighting his urges he'll be hunched over and twitching, like he's suffering withdrawals. Should he be killing and savouring murders, he will be calm, relaxed and soft spoken.

I'd also change his class. I'd make him a Ranger. Favoured Terrain: Urban. Favoured Enemy: Bounty Hunter. Just to hint at his past, as a serial killer.

[satriaproto]

神兽金刚: God Beast King Kong/Celestial Warriors

So, have you ever seen these shows? Well, guess they're power rangers/super sentai rip-offs of all time. Made in China, and released during late 2000s. What's special about this rip-off is that Toei never sued the creators behind it to the point it got sequels and a feature film! Believe it or not, this actually become part of history!

Season 7 coming soon? (Probably)

[kurithedweeb]

Where does the Jury of Nine and Shadow Knight armor go when they're not using it? Is it a situation like Erza of Fairy Tail where the armor and weapons are stored someplace else and they just call it to them with magic? I like the idea that it's something like Power Rangers (2017) where the armor is literally inside them and they have to be in a certain mindset to call it forward until they get the hang of it.

It's not that bad for the Jo9, they're almost always excited to be chosen. Seeing how the role can be passed on, I imagine there's a token that proves they're a Jury member that has the armor inside it, maybe it's a piece of armor like a chest plate that lets them tap into the Jury form or maybe they have necklaces like they're magical girls. They're trained by their fellow Jury members on how to bring out the full-on Jury form. When they're replaced, they're stripped of their token and their Jury form with it.

Shadow Knights are haunted by their armor. They can't escape them. They are the token, the focus, and the Calling is what helps them call their Shadow Knight form forward. The armor, the weapons are literally a part of them, and it makes them a weapon of the Shadow Lord. There's no passing it on, there's no taking it off, there is no escaping it just as there's no escaping the Calling. It's Inside You. Forever. You have to use it eventually. You have to learn to control it eventually, or it will control you. The Shadow Lord will control you.

How would that change their physiology? Does the Jo9 get so used to the armor that it feels like it's a part of them, an extension of them? Does it feel like a phantom limb? Does it feel like amputation when it's ripped away from them? Do Shadow Knights' bodies change around their armor? Do their ribcages bend to conform to the shape of their chest plate? Do they have blades just beneath their skin?

[kimberlyannharts]

Power Rangers Prime #5 main cover by Dan Mora

ah. um. well.

So one thing I'll give them is they're not complete MMPR rip-offs as the dinosaurs appear to be different (like Pink - which is colored purple here, for some reason???? - is clearly not a Pterodactyl, to to the point where it just kinda looks like a recolored T-Rex)

But it's still, like..........yeah, sure are MMPR suits with tons of added details, something never before seen in these books ever. (My "if Drakkon was designed today he'd get armor and Tron lines" joke aged beautifully.) It's a shame that Lauren has to lose her altered Samurai design to it, though for now I'll give them benefit of the doubt and hope she can switch between powers

[grandmother-goblin]

Field Study - Chapter 1

Ao3 - Masterlist

Summary: Grappling with changes that came along with his newfound freedom, Astarion unexpectedly catches feelings for a socially awkward, yet incredibly sweet, ranger from Neverwinter. Astarion doesn’t want to put a name to those feelings. Doesn’t want an attachment that could be ripped away at a moments notice. But damn, does Cas makes his conviction to remain unattached, to use her as a tool, seem impossible.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4.5k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, manipulation, alcohol use, vampire typical blood drinking.

Fear had a way of leaving scars on the mind like blows left bruises and cuts on the skin. No amount of wine could wash away his nightmare, but that did not stop Astarion from trying.

Crickets chirped into the crisp night air and the occasional frog croaked somewhere deep in the dense foliage bordering the nearby river. Even if running water once burned his skin like acid, Astarion hoped the sounds of the gentle river and creatures of the night would lull him back into some sense of calm. Those failing, however, he could at least count on the alcohol content of the shitty wine he swiped from the Druid’s grove. 

It was better than nothing. 

Astarion let the glass bottle dangle between his fingers as he leaned against the mossy base of an old tree. Between its sparse leaves, the light from the stars and moon dotted the grass beneath his feet with silver slivers. A beautiful night, under any other circumstance. 

As it was, between the nightmare and the novelty of sleeping in the woods, Astarion felt like someone or something was lurking in every shadow, waiting for the right moment to strike. Despite most of his companions sleeping meters away, and another patrolling the area on the lookout for such threats, Astarion had tucked a dagger into his belt before he snuck off alone.

In the days since they escaped the mind flayer ship, Astarion had volunteered to keep watch at night. Brain worm or not, Astarion still needed to hunt. Even if everyone in his vicinity was on the cusp of becoming monsters themselves, he still couldn’t trust them with the knowledge of his affliction. Most didn’t seem to suspect a thing. Even if they did, walking in sunlight kept that suspicion from turning into an accusation.

What would Cazador do to him when he learned Astarion could walk in the sun, and he couldn’t? Astarion took a swig of wine and grimaced. 

Cazador would probably just kill him. 

Being able to walk in the sun would be completely unacceptable to his master. No. His ex-master. Astarion let the wine linger on his tongue for a moment. 

Was Cazador still his master? Did he still have complete and utter control over him? The illithid tadpole had changed so many things. So many of the rules that all vampires had to abide by, no matter how powerful they became. Were Cazador’s commandments among them?

There was nothing stopping Astarion from finding out. The first rule was by far the easiest one to test. Thou shalt not drink from thinking creatures. Four such creatures laid in the bedrolls, helpless in their sleep, curled up by the campfire. The fifth… who knew where the hells Cas went. Supposedly, she was keeping watch, but Astarion had not seen a glimpse of her in the half an hour he’d been up. 

From the little he knew about Cas, she seemed to be the responsible sort. So either something terrible happened or she was just lurking nearby with her nose buried in that journal she always seems to be writing in. Cas had explained it was a field journal. Astarion saw a drawing of a leaf on one page so he assumed it was all nature related, but he did not care enough to confirm.

Closing his eyes, the sounds of nature served as a soothing background to the thoughts trampling through his mind. Would it be worth the risk? To try to bite one of his companions? No. He should just wait until… he had an opportunity that might never come. Something stirred in his stomach, a mixture of fear and anxiety that made him want to get up and do something. Clearly just ruminating on his problems only made them grow.

“Astarion?”

Astarion started, eyes flying open while his hand gripped the hand of the dagger that was tucked into his belt. Embarrassment flooded his face from his cheeks to the tips of his ears when his eyes landed on someone who was very much not a threat. At least, not at the moment.  He was so in his head that for a split second he thought it was Cazador. Not that Cazador sounded at all like that or would speak to him so gently. 

It was just Cas.

Although Cas wore the same leather and hides she did in battle, she clearly was not expecting a fight. For one, her brown hair fell a few inches past her shoulders instead of tied back in a ponytail and her beige coat made from some animal’s hide was tied around her narrow waist, leaving her upper half completely unarmored and vulnerable.

Cas crossed her bow-toned arms, her expression utterly unreadable except for the smallest hint of amusement on her lips. “This is the second time you’ve pulled a knife on me, Astarion,” she said, as if she was admonishing a child for staying up past bedtime. “Is there something we need to talk about? Anything you want to get off your chest?”

Astarion exhaled, tension flowing out of him with the breath. “Terribly sorry,” he said with an apologetic grin. “I wasn’t expecting to see your lovely face at this time of night. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, dismissing his second attempt on her life just as easily as she did the first time. “I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

Astarion chuckled despite himself and pulled his hand from the hilt of his dagger. “Apology accepted, my dear.”

Cas adjusted her bow over her shoulder and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes following the blinking fireflies that permeated the night sky. Silence fell between them and somewhere near the river a frog croaked over the chirping crickets like a crier over a crowd, but Cas seemed unbothered by the sudden lapse in conversation that Astarion found uncomfortable at best. Unfortunately, Cas could not hold a conversation nearly as well as she could hold a knife or a bow. 

Astarion sat up and cleared his throat. “Did you need something? Or are you just going to stand there like foliage?”

Brown eyes flickered to him. “You should be resting for tomorrow,” she said. “What are you doing up?” 

“I’ve gotten my rest for the evening,” Astarion lied easily. There was no way he was going to share his nightmare with her. Even though she did seem to be the trustworthy sort, Astarion did not want to involve her in his business if he didn’t have to. “Besides, I got a feeling you might need some help keeping watch. You’ve been doing a piss-poor job considering you’ve been missing for the last half an hour.” 

Cas rolled her eyes. “I was checking the fish traps, if you must know,” she said. “With the pemmican I made yesterday, we should have enough food to last a while if we don’t care for variety. But eating the same thing day after day can get tiresome.” 

“True,” Astarion said and tried not to think about the thousands upon thousands of rats and bugs Cazador forced upon him. 

For the first time in two hundred years, he could actually pick what he wanted to eat. The wilderness provided an endless array of entrees to choose from: deer, boars, bears, whatever he wanted really. Maybe, just maybe, even the wood elf standing right in front of him was fair game. Maybe when she turned in for the night, he could….

No. Even entertaining the thought could spell trouble, given the brain worms and their unpredictable tendency to link minds when he least expected it. The last thing he needed was to be chased out of the only group of people that might be able to help him. 

Yet, the thought persisted. Out of everyone in their rag-tag party, Cas seemed the least likely to murder him on the spot. Especially given how she so willingly accepted a Gith into their little group. Surely a vampire was not as bad as a Gith, right?

He needed to hunt. It had been almost a day since his last meal and, although he was used to being hungry, it was still something he’d rather avoid. Going out into the forest was another thing he’d rather avoid given his nightmare. Cazador could have lackeys lurking anywhere, ready to kill him or worse. Between the Gith and the famed Blade of Frontiers, they might think twice before tangling with his new companions. Even Cas, a backwoods ranger from Neverwinter, was a force to be reckoned with.

“Would you care for some company?” asked Cas as she shoved her hands in her pockets, trying much too hard to pretend she didn’t care about his answer.

Astarion raised his brows but gave her a flirtatious smile, inviting her to join him. “What kind of company are you offering, darling?”

“The quiet kind that won’t wake up the whole camp,” she said and settled into the grass next to him, close enough that he could feel her warmth. 

Personal space, he realized early on, was not something Cas was great at. When they had been at the Emerald Grove, Nettie had all but told Cas to stop breathing down her neck while she dug up notes on the tadpole from Archdruid Halsin. Astarion did not take the proximity personally. It was just how she was and, in that moment, he was fine with that. 

“A pity,” Astarion said with a wry grin. “We could always ask them to join us.”

Cas snorted softly and shook her head. “I would rather we didn’t, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Not fond of our companions, are you?”

She shrugged. “I like them when they aren’t talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

“Ah, so not at all then,” Astarion replied lightly. 

Cas did have a point. The Gith talked down to everyone, which was to be expected from her people and her way of life, but the others did not have such a strong excuse. While Gale was polite, he tended to talk to Cas as if she were a child. Shadowheart also acted like Cas was burdened with some inexplicable naïveté about how the world worked. Lucky for him, their companions had set the bar for common decency so low Astarion tiptoed over it without even noticing.

Well, he and Wyll. But Wyll seemed far too focused on finding a devil called Karlach to pay Cas much mind. 

Clearly not wanting to gossip too much about their companions, Cas changed the subject and they fell into easy conversation. Oddly enough, chatting with Cas felt almost natural. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t some unlucky soul he was seducing to bring back to Cazador. Or one of his siblings who would have pounced on the opportunity to stab him in the back. Not that Astarion could trust Cas, but she was pleasant enough that he could at least try to enjoy himself.

For a few precious moments, Astarion even forgot about his nightmare. But it crept back all too soon, like little tendrils of smoke that grew until it completely clouded his mind. 

It wasn’t like Cazador could let him have anything nice. Not even a moment. 

Cas seemed like the type that would have delighted Cazador. Exactly the type Astarion would have targeted whilst prowling the taverns and inns of Baldur’s Gate to bring back for him. Attractive, young, and stupidly trusting. It would have been all too easy to lure Cas back to the palace. Just some wine and a few kisses, he would touch her just right and make her want more, then he would walk her through doors that she would never walk out of again.

Cazador would get a lovely meal and Astarion would be left with nothing but hollow numbness.

But it didn’t have to be that way anymore, did it?

Regret started gnawing at the back of his mind as Astarion noticed a vein on her wrist. He never should have asked for her to stay. Not a slight on her company, of course. He was just too hungry to think straight. 

Were she not the most valuable ally he had in recent memory, he’d have half a mind to pin her down and sink his fangs into her skin. Maybe she would fight him, maybe she would submit. He had never bitten someone smart enough to truly fight back, so he had no idea what to expect.

Astarion swallowed and stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. Just not at her. Not at the lovely veins on her wrists and necks. Trying to focus on only the sounds of crickets contested against the metronome of her pulse. 

He should really leave before he did something stupid. If he even could do something stupid with Cazador’s commandments still ringing in his ears. If he tried to take a bite, could he—

“I’ve been thinking a bit about the other night.” Cas brought her knees up to her chest, snapping him from his thoughts. “When you said you didn’t want me to run off when all of this is over.”

“What about it?” He had forgotten that entire conversation until she mentioned it. It was adorable that she remembered.

“What would you want to do?”

“You know, I hadn’t thought that far.” He hadn’t thought about it at all, truthfully. “Like I said before, you’re an incredible ally. It would be a shame just to go on our merry way once the brain bug is gone. But when it comes to what to do—” Astarion gave her a suggestive smile and lowered his voice “—I can think of a few things.”

Cas rolled her eyes as if she were painfully aware of his attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. “Don’t you have loved ones back in the city? A life you want to get back to?”

“Not one I want to return to, no,” Astarion replied and averted his eyes to the forgotten bottle of wine dangling between his fingers. Though the mind flayers inadvertently allowed him to flirt with freedom, at the end of the day he was still bound to Cazador. The last two hundred years had been focused around that bastard up until a couple days ago. The mere thought of returning was enough to make his throat feel tight. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

“I wasn’t going to pry,” said Cas as she bumped his shoulder good-naturedly. “Put that face away before you wear it out.”

His brows drew together. “What face?”

“The one with sad puppy eyes.” 

“I don’t make ‘puppy eyes,’” Astarion rebuffed, only slightly offended by the accusation. Not that he had seen his eyes in two hundred years, but vampires were better known for piercing, blood-chilling, glares than sweet ‘puppy eyes’. Astarion scoffed at the sheer audacity of the statement. 

“You do too,” she said with a soft giggle. “Even though they’re red like a vampire’s, they’re surprisingly effective.”

His stomach sank. Surely she didn’t mean anything by the comparison, right? No need for the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end, though they did anyway.

Astarion forced a smile as he passed her the bottle of wine. “That’s an oddly specific description, darling.”

“If the shoe fits.” Cas smiled back and tapped her dainty white canine teeth to emphasize that his eyes were not the only things she noticed. “I think they’re very pretty, by the way. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“None taken.” Astarion idly tore at the blades of grass beside him and tried to quiet his nerves. “Hypothetically speaking, what would you do if I was a vampire?”

“You specifically?”

“Humor me.”

Cas stretched her long legs out in front of her and leaned back on her palms, chewing her lip as she took her dear sweet time mulling over her answer. Several long seconds passed. That croning frog started up again, and Astarion briefly considered adding the nuisance to the menu that evening.

“Nothing,” she said finally and took a swig directly from the bottle. “Why would I do anything?”

“Really?” He turned to face her, his eyes wide (and definitely not ‘puppyish’). “You’re confronted with a monster who wants nothing more than to drink your blood, and you wouldn’t want to ram a stake through my heart?”

“Well, I’m assuming you’re not trying to murder me,” she said. “Obviously I would defend myself if you were. But if you’re not trying to murder me, and you happened to be a vampire, why would I do anything at all? It’s not like our situation has changed.”

“Except it has, sweetheart.” Astarion wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse, feeling it beat against his skin. “Because if I were a vampire, I would need a source of blood to stay strong.”

Cas looked down at where his ivory skin practically glowed against her rich copper flesh but made no move to pull away. “Plenty of bandits and animals out there,” she said, her voice nonchalant even as he heard her heartbeat quicken. “You’d be doing us a favor.”

“But what if I wanted something a little closer to camp?” Astarion traced his thumb over the dark blue veins of her inner wrist. Her pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the noises of the night. His mouth almost watered just from the gentle throb of her pulse beneath his fingers. 

“I’m not sure how accepting our companions would be,” Cas said, talking as if they are merely picking a spot to have dinner with no regard to what was on the menu.

“And what about you?”

Deep brown eyes locked onto his, both curious and maybe a little hesitant. “Is this still hypothetical or is this a confession?”

“A confession, darling,” he said with a breath of laughter, like she should have known the conversation was never hypothetical to begin with. “What do you say? It won’t hurt, I promise.” His eyes dropped to her slender neck. “Please.”

Her chest rose with a deep and steady breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “I’m not worried about it hurting.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s risky,” she said. “And I’m not too keen on dying, either by turning into a vampire or by exsanguination. Or having to fight you off of me. I know my limits and you’ll probably win if it comes to that.”

“I’m merely a spawn, so I can’t turn you. As for your other concerns—” he brushed a loose strand of hair away from her neck, eyeing a dark vein crawling towards her pointed ear “— I’ll be careful. If I go too far, I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

A flicker of a memory passed through his mind accompanied by a needle like prick to his brain as the worm connected their thoughts. For an instant, he saw through Cas’s eyes: a warm, wooden, candlelit washroom with a porcelain wash basin below a rustic mirror framed with tree branches. A handsome male wood elf stooped over the basin. With a blood soaked towel pressed against his neck, his expression was utterly calm in the mirror as he said something muffled by the memory. Astarion couldn’t be sure, but he swore he heard the word ‘mistake’ in the elven tongue. When he dunked the towel into the basin, four deep puncture wounds marred the side of his neck and dragged towards the front of his throat. Blood trickled down the basin and so did the memory, fading into anger, fear, and a strange sense of admiration.

Astarion blinked away the vision and his eyes fell to her neck. To the same spot where the wood elf from memory was bitten. Just below the jawline. 

If the worm showed any of his memories to Cas in return, she did not acknowledge it. Maybe, in some cases, the connection could be one sided. There was still so much they didn’t know about the beasts nestled in their heads, but it had only helped them so far. Astarion in particular. It wanted him alive, and it wanted him to see that particular memory. Astarion did not know what it meant, nor did he think it was a good time to ask. Not when he felt so close to something so forbidden.

“I think if you want to have your fangs at my throat,” Cas began slowly and produced a dagger from a holster latched around her thigh, “then it’s only fair I can hold this to yours. For insurance.”

Astarion eyed the white metal blade he had seen cut through goblins like butter. “That won’t be necessary, my dear,” he said with a forced smile that he hoped was reassuring. “I’m not some monster. I won’t go too far, I promise.”

“Then we shouldn’t have a problem,” she said. “Up to you.”

Astarion gave an exasperated sigh. It was too good of an opportunity and he would have been a fool to pass it up. “Fine,” he said as if she suggested he wash dishes or some other mundane chore. “Come here. Let’s make ourselves comfortable.”

After a short, albeit awkward, conversation, they figured that it would be easiest for Cas to sit on his lap facing him. With her knees dug into the earth on either side of his hips and the side of her face pressed against his cheek, any onlooker would think they were a couple of lovers having a midnight rendezvous.

Though her dagger did not touch his skin, he could feel its presence like a pair of eyes watching from the darkness. Astarion wrapped one arm around her waist and brought his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her hair aside like a silken curtain. He dipped his head and the tip of his nose traced the column of her neck as he inhaled her scents. The salt of her skin mixed with campfire smoke caught in her leathers barely masked the rich aroma of her blood. Saliva pooled in his mouth in anticipation of the decadence beneath her skin.

“Remember, not too much,” she cautioned, her voice low. “I don’t want to be woozy tomorrow.”

He did not dare to move. Not when he was so close. “You can trust me, darling,” he said, his lips hot against her neck as if the ghost of a kiss would soothe her. 

His heart raced and a chill crept up his spine. What if he couldn’t do it? What if Cazador’s commandments still had a hold over him? He opened his mouth and let the tips of his fangs graze her delicate skin. 

Only one way to find out.

Muscles tightened beneath his fingers and Cas gasped in his ear. Blood, the most amazing blood he had ever tasted, filled his mouth and trickled down his throat. 

Warmth blossomed through him, starting at his stomach and reaching his fingertips. His arms wrapped around her small frame tighter, holding onto her like a moment about to fade away. The blood was decadent. Savory. Like the most perfectly cooked steak in the fanciest restaurant in town or a vintage wine a lord would serve his guests on a special occasion. In comparison, an animal’s blood was like boiled rice and watered down beer. No wonder Cazador forbade it: it was just another way to deprive his slaves of any semblance of joy the world had to offer.

Gods. It was wonderful. Incredible, even. The blood still flowed from his bite mark on her neck, but he already found himself wanting to sink his fangs into her again. And again. And again.

“Astarion.” He felt the vibrations of her voice when she spoke, quiet yet commanding. “That’s enough.”

He wanted to pretend he didn’t hear her, but the cold metal against his neck quickly changed his mind. He dragged his tongue across the fresh wound, lapping up the blood with the efficiency of a cat before he withdrew from her. 

“That was amazing,” he marveled as he licked the last of the blood from his lips.

Cas stumbled off of him, legs shaking and face pale as she sank into the grass beside him. She pulled her bag into her lap, retrieved a clean rag and pressed it against her neck. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, and it almost looked like she was going to be sick, which would have completely spoiled the moment.

After a few seconds, Cas asked him to open the water bottle that was in her bag since both of her hands were currently occupied. One kept her from slumping into the grass while the other was red with blood that seeped through the rag.

She splashed a fresh towel with the water and wiped at her neck. “Water can’t take the place of a healing salve, but at least it can wash away some of the anticoagulant in your saliva.” She tried to laugh but it came out more of a pant. “As if nature didn’t make vampires deadly enough.” 

Astarion must have made a face because a weak smile tugged at her lips. ‘Anticoagulant’ was not the most appealing word to hear after the best meal of his life. However, it seemed she knew what she was talking about. The first rag, once a beige color, had already turned a deep red. However, Astarion was too caught up in the exhilaration of drinking the blood of his first thinking creature to dwell much on it. 

Exsanguination be damned, he could not remember the last time he felt so strong. So happy.

Cas scooted back until she could lean against the tree. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she closed her eyes. 

Something stirred within him, deep and primal, and he found himself leaning over her. The scent of her blood was still so strong, captured in that rag she pressed to her neck. Before he could get any closer, he felt a firm push against his chest.

“Don’t you dare,” Cas said, but without any malice behind her words. Like a playful warning, knowing what he wanted to do yet believing he would not actually do it. 

Oh how wrong she was.

Lucky for her, she still had her uses.

Astarion put some distance between them despite his every instinct urging him to keep feeding. He cleared his throat. “As delicious as you are darling, I should probably find something more filling,” he said. Then, just to be polite towards his most gracious donor, he added, “Do you need anything before I set off?”

Cas shook her head. She pulled the towel away and dabbed at her neck with two fingers, winced, and replaced the rag. “I’ll feel better once I eat,” she said and began to shift through her bag with her free hand. “You probably will too. Happy hunting, Astarion.”

For some reason, the words made him feel warm inside. Or maybe it was just the blood. In any case, he found himself smiling at her. “This was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it,” he said and stalked off into the forest, his nightmare long behind him.

---

Next Chapter

[regaliasonata]

Ninja Storm Headcanons

@skyland2703 @eve6rangers @buster-loves-pr

(Some stem from the AU fic)

-Blake thrifts heavy, that man dresses to impress and would even go to lengths of joining online auctions.

-Tori has the strongest elemental output out of the team, while they are all strong her control over water is terrifying to the point of any deep feelings and willpower rooted together allow for her to make tsunamis or even a hurricane if she sees fit.

-Dustin might be a bit air headed but he’s really good and retaining information. Reading books can be exhausting but with his love for comics he’s gotten a very visual mindset and pretty much maps out every scene he reads, helps with studying a lot.

-Marah and Kapri are twins with Kapri being the older one.

-Hunter too likes to dress up a bit but the real reason why he never really showed off like Blake was cause most of his money was either spent on biking tools or saved up. He really prefers shoes and baggy clothing, also one of those people who actually uses a stylish watch when wearing it outside.

-Cam is loaded with money due to his dad, the Watanabe’s have investments all around the place through generational business and with Kanoi’s influence they’ve accumulated a lot of wealth. They live in a huge estate hidden away somewhat like the ninja schools, the team sometimes sneaks in due to the fact that there a bunch of rooms making it seem like a castle.

-Shane has a tendency of helping people but sometimes it tends to get him into trouble, years ago when he was around eight years old he stole medicine to help out a kid who had a sick mom and it got him in juvenile detention. Didn’t matter cause he was happy he could help, that kid was Cam(rip Miko).

-The team has a good taste in music, Blake enjoying a lot of R&B and Soul music, Hunter enjoying hip hop and rock, Dustin has a taste for a lot of upbeat music and Japanese city pop, Cam secretly likes pop, Tori has a mix of a lot of taste and Shane enjoys Lo-fi beats with high tempos. Their favorite artists is Nujabes.

-Shane tends to add style to his fighting by adding in chants or specific words with technique, he seems to find it bringing energy and more power into his element. He’s got a cool way of thinking within the world and the team started to pick up a few of these tendencies…they can’t make fun of him considering Hunter names some of this own techniques after specific gods of thunder.

-Best dancers on the team are Dustin and Hunter but everyone else has a really good rep as well…Hunter was taken aback when they went to a nightclub and Dustin got all close and personal when they started playing a bunch of huge beats.

-Cam broke the stock market and might’ve been responsible for the 2008 crash…

-Meeting up with other rangers is always pleasant, the yellow rangers before Dustin absolutely love him, Tori is surprised to have been the first female blue ranger in ages, Shane isn’t allowed to bring Hunter anymore due to him roasting and hating a lot of the old reds but he finds a way to sneak in. Blake pretty much judges some of the clothing of the other blues and Cam refuses to meet any green rangers but he will be down to hang out with RJ.

-They will jump the shit out of anyone who’s an asshole, anyone who’s homophobic, anyone who picks on Dustin and Cam, anyone who who’s basically causing some trouble. Like you don’t wanna catch any of their smoke🔥

-As teachers they made it mandatory for the students to watch ATLA, both cause the show is good but also the examples for lessons are top notch. It’s also how they found out that fire was an element some students could use.

-Dustin has a crush on Cole the Wild Force Red Ranger…Hunter is jealous.

-although ninja steel is another team that they somewhat acknowledge it anyone compares them to that team or tries to do a versus situation they will get very offended. In another universe where Ninja Steel was a good season they are a part of the Wave Academy and the Ninja Storm rangers love their company. Cam actually raised Levi.