#though i tend to just use every kind of weapon. even if it requires spending thousands of dollars on training it feels like it's worth it

[turtlemagnum]

fire magic being so prevalent in morrowind is so funny to me, like for most people AND animals it does fucking nothing and yet it's considered like the default kind of offensive magic. like imagine if you lived in a world were certain races were magically immune to certain kinds of damage and white people were immune to bullets, i feel like the US wouldn't have nearly as many guns if that were the case y'know? meanwhile Every Dunmer On Nirn has an 100% resistance to fire and yet they all seem to think specializing in fire magic is a good idea. i mean, it would be if you existed in like cyrodiil or summurset or something, y'know, a place where most people DONT have immunity to fire. but you live in morrowind, where almost everyone's a dunmer. it's the same reason why i never bother with ice magic when i play skyrim, why would i specialize in the kind of magic that most people are gonna be able to resist, that's asinine. anyways, that's why shock's objectively the best kind of offensive magic in TES, basically nobody resists it and a lot of daedra (some of the most powerful beings in existence) are weak to it, and also it doesn't cost as much energy to use as a straight up damage health spell. incidentally i feel like lightning magic would be the most useful for offense in any realistic context too since like, you realize how easily that shit can kill you??? we're literally conductive bags of water, as are pretty much all animals, that shit'd kill literally anything with minimal effort

[a-lonely-dunedain]

1, 3, 4, 8, 23, 30, and/or 33 for Margim and Celeair, if any of these tickle your fancy?

ooh ok! that's a lot lol, but these look fun!

1."are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?"

oh I color code most of my characters! once they've been around long enough they all usually get assigned one. Margim is burgundy and Celeair is silvery blue, I tend to draw them with outfits heavily featuring their respective colors.

3. "weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?"

Margim's weapon is a spiked mace, suited to brutal attacks that kill quickly and messily. She didn't exactly choose it, but it was the only thing available to her in Thorzhaf so she just had to get good at killing with it. Really good at killing with it. Celeair has no weapon, as he's a pacifist with no combat skills. As a loremaster he occasionally requires a staff, but only rarely as he doesn't need it for healing (which is most of what he does), so he doesn't usually carry one with him unless to use as a walking stick.

4. "how crafty/resourceful are they?"

as far as fighting is concerned, Margim is used to doing battle in a controlled environment, the same bridge in the same setting day in and day out, so fighting elsewhere might have taken her a little getting used to. As such she's still getting the hang of using her environment to her advantage, as she tends to fall into the habit of seeing her foe through a kind of tunnel vision and not focusing on much else. She has a very blunt and uncomplicated approach to problem solving, usually being "hit it with a mace til it stops being a problem, and if that doesn't work, ask Celeair what to do."

Now I would say Celeair is very resourceful! Between the two of them, he's usually the one with ideas (though he always values Margim's input whenever she gives it). Very 'think on his feet' kinda guy rather than 'plan every part in advance' so he's pretty adaptable even when things go awry.

8. "do they have a nickname? who gave it to them? if it's not derived from their real name, what's the story behind it?"

well I know Margim is sometimes shortened to Mar by Elain, but there's not really much meaning behind it besides "we're friends and I shorten my friends names :>" (Margim certainly prefers it over any title she earned in Thorzhaf)

Celeair is sometimes called Cel (pronounced "Kel" bc this is still a Sindarin C) by his brother. I also feel like Elain would have a sort of nickname for him that isn't derived from his real name, maybe something that started out as a joke but kinda stuck, but nothing has jumped out at me yet.

23. "how would you describe their voice? can they sing?"

Celeair's voice is clear and gentle, and I think he can sing rather well! Margim's voice is quiet, low and almost rumbling at times. It can be a bit husky as well due to how little she speaks. I don't think she's ever tried to sing.

30. "do they smell like anything notable?"

hmm, I never gave much thought to how they would smell. I suppose Celeair would smell pretty strongly of medicinal herbs, but the exact composition can vary depending on what he's been working with. It'd range anywhere from the sweet and fresh (almost minty) smell of Athelas to bright fir needles and pungent poultices. The man basically smells like a walking herb store, which I guess makes sense considering he spends most of his time in such places.

As for Margim, first thing that came to mind was that she smells vaguely smokey? Can't think of a logical reason she would smell that way, at least post-Mordor, besides just *gestures vaguely* vibes™. Maybe smokey and spicy? (some of Celeair's herb smells rubbed off on her. from all the cuddling <3)

33. "if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them."

well considering Bitter Ash is written from both Celeair and Margim's PoVs, we kinda already know how they'd describe one another, so let's see what my other guys have to say about them! (they have at least met once after all)

Ethedis: likes Celeair a lot, sees him as a very capable healer with an agreeable demeanor. Instantly clocks that this dude has MAXED out his charisma stat, as it wouldn't be easy for just any Gondorian to be welcomed into Dunlanding village like this, and that he's much wiser than his easygoing exterior first lets on. Thinks he would be unstoppable if he honed his offensive Loremaster skills, but understands that hurting anyone would be against his principles. She wishes she could have gotten by on the same path, but the world demanded different things from them.

She was initially wary of Margim, as most people are upon first meeting her, but seeing the genuine trust Celeair has for Margim put her at ease somewhat. She's actually not intimidated by her at all (though she might have been if they met earlier), and is heartened to find such an unexpected and powerful ally. She's difficult for even Ethedis to read, but she got the impression that Margim holds a lot of pain in her past and that Mordor is to blame for it. She'll be the last person in Dunland they need to worry about falling under the sway of the Enemy.

Tossdir: was very wary of Margim upon first meeting and was slower to trust her than Ethedis was, mostly due to past experience with a certain Man of Mordor (*cough* Mordrambor *cough*) messing with his head that one time. I think once he's certain she's on their side and hates the forces of Mordor as much as they do, he would see her as the archetypal 'shady loner with a mysterious past' but he can tell she cares a great deal for the people of the Stag-Clan, and for this random Gondorian who's here too for some reason (he does NOT clock that they are madly in love. so oblivious it's almost embarrassing). He's curious about her past, but understands she wouldn't take kindly to him trying to pry into it, so he keeps a respectable distance. Even if they aren't friends, she's still a foe of Mordor and Isengard, and that at least, makes them allies. Still kinda wishes he knew what her whole deal was...

Speaking of Celeair, I honestly think Tossdir was too distracted by Margim to pay much mind to him in the short time they spent in Trum Dreng lmao. He's a bit odd, like Ethedis in some ways, but seemed like a nice enough guy. Tossdir couldn't say much more about him than that tho.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #143: Enkidu

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re forging the Chains of Heaven and world-famous actor best known for their part in the 1990 smash hit Ghost (they were the pottery), Enkidu!

Our fair enby is a Monster Slayer Ranger, mixing in their anti-divine properties, self healing, and ability to sense movement through the earth around them. And that’s it. I know, I was surprised too.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: If you haven’t watched No Evil yet, you should. 

Race and Background

You’re made out of clay and have a lot of robot tropes slapped onto you, so Warforged is a pretty good pick for you. This gives you +2 Constitution and +1 Wisdom, as well as Constructed Resilience. This gives you  advantage and resistance to poison, and you don’t need to eat, breathe, drink, or sleep. You’re also immune to disease. 

To supplement the whole “not sleeping” thing, you instead take a Sentry’s Rest, standing still and conscious for 6 hours instead of sleeping over a long rest.

You look like you’re not wearing armor, but that might just be because of the robe. Regardless of your stance on putting Enkidu in armor, they still get Integrated Protection anyway, giving you +1 AC, and making your armor unremovable if you’re not incapacitated. This also means it takes an hour to put on and take off, but y’know, checks and balances.

Finally, your Specialized Design gives you proficiency with one skill of your choice. You were made by the gods, so it might be a good idea to remember their names. Religion it is!

Thanks to hanging out in the woods for a while after being made you’re an Outlander. This gives you proficiency with Athletics and Survival.

Ability Scores

Since Enkidu’s stats are literally described in terms of point buy, we’re going with that too. You’ll want your Wisdom as high as possible at 15 for the sharpest senses points can buy. We need to be able to speak to animals and sense vibrations through the earth, dammit! After that is Strength set to 14... and I just realized that despite going with point buy I ended up with a stat array identical to the standard array. Oh well. Anyway, strength is next, gotta hold together when you’re locking gods in place. After that is Intelligence (13), you’ve got a perfect memory and you’re great at adapting to change. Your Dexterity (12) isn’t amazing, but your body’s tough enough to deal with issues. Your Constitution’s (10) even lower, but it gets bumped up with your racial bonus. Finally, dump Charisma(8). You have a lot of issues when it comes to understanding other people.

Class Levels

1. Starting out as a ranger gives you proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saves, as well as three ranger skills. Animal Handling will help you get along better with your master, while Investigation and Perception make finding new information to digest a lot easier.

You also make celestials your Favored Enemy, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks about them. It’s a shame this doesn’t enhance your magic against them, but we’ll take what we can get. You’re also a Deft Explorer, making you Canny with one skill, doubling its proficiency bonus. Double down on Perception for an even stronger radar sense.

2. Second level rangers get a fighting style, and Blind Fighting lets you feels through your feets, sensing any creatures within 10′ of you as long as they aren’t specifically hiding from you. You can also cast Spells now, using your Wisdom to do so.

Cure Wounds is a good way to get your healing factor started early, and Hunter’s Mark is effectively mandatory for rangers. Deal more damage when you hit the thing and track said thing easier.

3. Joining the Monster Slayer conclave sets you down the path a turn against your creators and chain the heavens. (This also works for bunch of other types of creatures, but hush.) Your Monster Slayer Magic gives you a bonus spell each time you reach a new spell level. Right now you get Protection from Evil and Good, which forces disadvantage on extraplanar creatures attacking them, and makes it so they can’t be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. Fighting gods would be a lot harder if they could just assume manual control, wouldn’t it? 

You also get a Hunter’s Sense, letting you spend an action to learn a creature’s damage immunities, resistances, and vulnerabilities. Despite what FGO has taught you, taking down Godmode Ishtar will be harder than slapping every lancer you have into a team and hitting red buttons.

Your last Slayer bonus for now is the Slayer’s Prey, a bonus action to tack on even more extra damage to your first weapon attack against a designated creature each turn. You can only keep it up on a single creature at a time though.

That’s not all, though! You also get Primal Awareness, giving you even more spells when your magic levels up, and you can cast these spells once per long rest without using a spell slot (or whenever if you use a slot, like duh). Right now you get Speak with Animals. I don’t know why your master is a wolf, but you make it work.

Finally, the spell you normally learn at this level is Ensnaring Strike. You go Enkidu! Ensnare those strucken enemies!

4. Your first Ability Score Improvement is going towards Strength so you can stab things deader.

5. Fifth level rangers can make an Extra Attack as part of their attack action. You also get a bunch more spells. 

From your subclass, Zone of Truth. Force a charisma save (dc 8+proficiency+wis) against creatures in the zone, and if they fail they can’t lie. It’s not really in character, but it is neat.

Primal Awareness gives you Beast Sense, letting you see and hear through a beast’s... senses... (hence the name) for up to an hour. This one’s a bit closer.

Your normal spell for the level is Barkskin, giving you a minimum AC of 16 for up to an hour. It’s not ideal since it’s a concentration spell, but it’s there if you want to be a stickler about not wearing armor.

6. At sixth level you can apply your Favored Enemy feature to Beasts as well. I don’t think Enkidu’s one to hold a grudge, but I doubt they like snakes much by this point. You also become Roving, adding 5 feet to your movement speed, and giving you a climbing and swimming speed equal to your walking speed.

7. Your next slayer goody is a Supernatural Defense, which adds 1d6 to your saves and grapple escape rolls against a creature you stuck your Slayer’s Prey on.

To further increase your adaptability, you learn the spell Enhance Ability this level, giving you advantage on any one kind of skill check for the duration.

8. Use this ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and senses. You also become Fleet of Foot, letting you pass through difficult terrain without extra movement. You also ignore nonmagical plants when moving through them, and have advantage on moving through magical plants.

9. Another spell level up, another massive burst in how many spells you can use.

Thanks to being a slayer you learn Magic Circle, letting you trap an extraplanar creature either inside or outside of a 10′ radius circle. It’s... almost the chains of heaven, but there’s still some leeway in there. 

You can also Speak with Plants thanks to your Primal Awareness. This one’s more of a stretch, but it’s part and parcel of speaking with animals now, so have at it.

Finally, the spell you learn by choice is Meld into Stone, giving you the perfect hiding spot for up to 8 hours. You are clay after all, this really isn’t much of an issue for you.

10. Tenth level rangers are Tireless, giving you a nonmagical healing factor you can activate as an action, and your exhaustion levels get reduced on short rests now too.

You can also shapeshift into Nature’s Veil, effectively making yourself invisible for a round as a bonus action.

11. Eleventh level slayers are a Magic-User’s Nemesis, letting you react to a creature casting a spell or teleporting nearby to foil it. The creature has to make a wisdom save against your spell save DC or waste its spell/teleport. Gods tend to cheat, and the easiest way out of chains is teleportation. Don’t let them do that. You can use this feature once per short rest.

You also learn the spell Healing Spirit for another long-term healing solution. It does require you staying put for a bit, but you can always meld into stone first if you really wanna.

12. We generally front-load feats, but there’s never a bad time for a Keen Mind. This feat rounds up your Intelligence, you always have a good sense of direction and time, and most importantly you have perfect memory for up to a month. Your memories are literally carved into your being, they’re hard to get rid of.

13. Thirteenth level rangers get fourth level spells, and you get three of them!

From the slayers: Banishment lets you force another creature back to its own plane. That’s literally the opposite of the chains of heaven, but it might be the best option for something like Tiamat.

From Primal Awareness: Locate Creature helps you keep tabs on a creature within 1000 feet of you. Gods are notoriously tricksy shapeshifters. This will help deal with that a bit.

You also become a Guardian of Nature, letting you transform yourself for up to a minute in one of two ways. As a primal beast, you can move faster, get darkvision, have advantage on strength-based attacks, and deal extra damage on a hit. As a great tree, you gain temporary HP, make constitution saves and dexterity/wisdom based attacks with advantage, and the ground within 15′ of you is difficult terrain for enemies. I’d say the former is more useful, but the latter also has its charms.

14. Your last Favored Enemy are Aasimar and Genasi, so you can be just as effective against demigods as you are against their full-blooded family. You also learn how to Vanish, letting you hide as a bonus action. You also can’t be tracked unless you choose to be or it’s done magically.

15. Your penultimate goody from the slayer’s conclave is a Slayer’s Counter. If a creature you’ve hit with the Slayer’s Prey tried to force a save on you, you can use your reaction to make an attack against it. If it hits, your save automatically succeeds. We might not be able to make all your saves good, but we can make it so you can ignore them entirely.

To protect you from physical attacks, you learn Stoneskin this level, giving you resistance to physical damage types while it’s up. Your skin is literally made out of clay, so it tracks.

16. Use this ASI to bump your Strength up more for stronger attacks and a better chance of your Slayer’s Counter connecting.

17. At seventeenth level you finally gain fifth level spells!

Your spell of choice is Greater Restoration, so you can remove all those debuffs from yourself. 

Your final goody from your Primal Awareness is Commune with Nature. Now you can become one with the great outdoors and learn three facts about the area around you, up to a 3 mile radius. You can pick from: terrain and bodies of water, prevalent plants, minerals, animals, or people, powerful extraplanar entities, influences from those planes, or buildings.

Last but not least, your ultimate Slayer spell is your Chain of Heaven, Hold Monster. Force a wisdom save on a creature to paralyze it until it makes one on the end of its turn or up to a minute. No shunting it off to another dimension, no giving it space to wander around, just good old sit the fuck down.

18. At eighteenth level you gain Feral Senses, effectively giving you blindsight out to 30 feet. This renders Blind Fighting completely useless, but don’t worry about it.

19. For your last ASI, max out your Wisdom for the strongest spells, the strongest senses, and the strongest counterspells you can get. Also, in what I think is a first for this blog, you’re going to use Martial Versatility to switch out that useless Blind Fighting for something scarier, like Dueling. Your chains are pretty light if you’re trying to keep your human form, so I’d call them one-handed weapons.

If you want to launch those suckers for some distance though, I can’t recommend Conjure Volley enough. Get this, it conjures... a volley of projectiles, throwing them all over the place for damage.

20. The capstone ranger feature is the Foe Slayer, letting you add your wisdom to an attack or damage roll against your favored enemies once per round. It’s honestly underwhelming, but extra damage is extra damage.

Pros: 

Thanks to blindsight and your obscenely high perception, you’re hard to sneak up on. Also, you don’t sleep, so you’re the perfect guard for a party on the run.

You’re a tireless ranger with a lot of healing spells to burn through, which makes you pretty self-sufficient if you need to go off on your own. You don’t need another person to take watch, and you don’t need another person to lug around healing potions!

You have a lot of ways to lock down enemies, ensnaring them in place for future attacks or escapes. This is especially true of extraplanar creatures, but Hold Monster works on literally anything, especially with your maxed out wisdom.

Cons:

We weren’t able to invest much in Dexterity, meaning your AC can be a problem if you’re playing to character. Barkskin uses your concentration, and wearing medium armor isn’t super flavorful.

Speaking of, like most rangers you have problems with Concentration. Your con saves aren’t great, and you have a lot of spells vying for the same position.

While you can do consistent, decent damage, it’s damage that takes time to ramp up. You need a turn for hunter’s mark and a different turn for slayer’s prey, and that’s assuming HM stays up the entire time.

[pseudofaux]

even an injured hand grasps at grace

A lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng time ago I did a follower celebration with short fictions and promised a longer story to the winner. That (incredibly patient) winner was @fieryanmitsu, who asked for a story set after Mitsuhide’s Act II. Holidays, family stuff, a global pandemic, more family stuff, a crisis of creative drive, MORE holidays and MORE time later... Here, at last, it is. Anmitsu, thank you so much for participating in that follower celebration, for being so kind about the mortifying amount of time this has taken, and for being a fellow Cat Daddy fangirl. I am very, very grateful for your grace! M, 6000 words, SLBP Mitsuhide. CWs: obvious but unnamed depression, brief discussion of death by weapons. (But mostly it is happy-thinky-poetic wife worship and baby fever.)

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

He will never hold a sword again. The discovery that there is still any strength in the arm once so mighty, enough that he can use it to work: a cause for gratitude and relief. A gift. He can attend to the responsibilities of his new life. He has a new life. Master Tenkai knows better than most men what death looks like when it bears down in a flash of metal. Sword death is the smooth silver of steel, spear death is the sluggish brown of mud that will cradle a dying man, and death by bullet is the black of blood that comes out so thick it is purple before it is red. Weapon deaths are cold, as though to compensate for the heat of their forging. There is a depth of balance in this that he cannot yet name, a mystery of the heavens like the others he spends so much time thinking about and helping the mountain villagers understand.

This new life is mostly keeping up their modest home (half residence, half tiny temple), and sharing knowledge with the villagers and their children. Of course he still thinks of Sakamoto when he sees the children growing... but his entire life he has been too much in his own head, and since they came to the mountain he has gotten better at leaving memories alone. He does not forget, and he hopes this makes him a decent man. Like any decent monk, he allows the thoughts of Sakamoto their due, which is to rest and flow over him as water flows over every side of a fish. It is right that it surrounds him. He could not and cannot do anything for Sakamoto, or address the irreparable harm he caused. He can consider it, meditate on it, and live with what he has done. And he will. Because he can live.

Swordwork’s precision and steadiness are forever gone from him, he believes. But he still has his arm and still has his life, even after he made peace with losing much more before Hideyoshi’s sword came down. He can pet the cats that congregate around the little temple, and he can twirl bits of string and stalks of grass for them. He can still write, his characters more calligraphic than they were before. He has to work hard to make clear strokes when he teaches the village children, and he feels that is a just requirement. When the house needs repairs, he can make them, and he can draw air into his lungs and live with his failures and successes both, or at least live with his failures and the grace he has been given. He has the brush, and he has the strong walking stick that his wife has helped him cut to the right height. The staff is smooth in his hand after only a few months’ use, a little extra oil applied when they have it. He wonders if he is allowed this easy comfort, but will not allow a walking stick to be a thing that trips his thoughts. His watchword now is moderation, not abnegation. If a fallen tree limb comes to him he will be grateful, and if the wood breaks he will let it go. He is willing, now, to let so much go.

There is only one exception, and she sleeps easy these days, when the cold of night on the mountain curls them together as though they are rabbits in a burrow. They wake slowly to this dream life. The part of him that is a decent monk cannot help but wonder how different their lives might be if it had been this for them all along. He did not want to rule; he had only ever wanted to spare others the hardships of ruling, and allow all good people the comfort of safety, from most divine ruler to most helpless child. These thoughts are in his head. Here in their tiny room in the building that is their home and the village’s temple, she is in his arms. In his heart and his bones, he knows that fact is grander than any man’s attempt at divinity.

He never has to force smiles at the children who come to the temple to learn. They are rowdy, eager, and completely charming. He is comfortably grinning at a group of them when he catches sight of her at the bend in the path that leads to their home. She is smiling, too, and there are tall leafy greens sticking out of the pack behind her shoulders that remind him of the folded wings of a fine hawk, the kind favored by samurai and nature alike. What would they do, if not for her hawklike competence and gentle ferocity?

Likely starve, he tells himself, on both melancholy days and happy ones. It is only the truth. He has learned a few things, but cannot match her, and while he is always available to the villagers, he stays near the temple unless he is asked for in the town. She does their shopping, she is their face. No one of quality can resist being won over by the warmth of her smile.

The children are thrilled to see her, and it reminds him of a dream he has had several times now, something he has kept to himself because it is so precious and he still does not want to ask anything of her. He is not sure if the slips of dream come from the peace of their life or the torment they left behind them, whether the dream is reward or recompense. But the cheers of the children take hold of his heart and make a tapestry of the scraps of his happiest dreams, weaving them tightly with what he is truly seeing. His thoughts nearly take him to his knees-- or perhaps that is an insistent little person, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

“Master Tenkai!” chirps the village child. “Hana is home, so it is time for our lesson!”

They teach the children together in the afternoon’s warm, clean light, and only send them home when it is time for her to prepare their evening meal and him to complete the evening sweeping of the temple floor. Later that night, she seems relaxed and sleepy next to him, full of food, full of love. She asks, “Do you remember when I asked you to bring me a stone, so I could make you pickles?”

That is a pleasant memory from their life before, a luminescent pearl floating through silt that suffocated so much happiness. But the memory itself is light. So his smile is easy and does not feel like punishment, and he nods and strokes the space between her shoulders.

“On this mountain I have all the stones I need,” she declares, pressing her cheek to his chest. The smoothness of her face is finer to him than any pearl, a marvel of sensation that settles him, instantly and completely. “And I will make you pickles every week, if you want them,” she adds.

Sometimes when she is exhausted she speaks in this silly way. His love for her makes him warm to his toes. Adorable, his wife is adorable. He will never again allow any other duty to shove her out of the place she deserves in the center of his heart.

“Only whenever you are inclined,” he says, drumming his fingertips to tickle her.

Her giggle is sleepy. “There’s not time to make them every day,” she quips, snuggling closer and sliding an ankle between his calves. He has only the one dream that is sweeter than his actual life, and he is keeping it close to his chest for now. But he will not keep anything closer to his chest than she is. They squeeze one another, and he expects they do not fully relax their arms until they fall asleep.

A winter has passed, and a spring. This is their first summer on the mountain, so they are learning the cycle of invigorating mornings, sweltering afternoons, and unpredictable nights. They have already learned from kind villagers how to best coax food from the pebbly soil of their garden, and their efforts in the summer are devoted to this every day until the air grows too hot and they retreat to the shade of the temple to fan themselves with their hands and drink water that (they hope) has managed to hold some of the chill of the night before.  

Every morning he braids her hair, and in these summer days a few strands always escape and stick to the back of her neck, temptations that coax him to bare her shoulders and murmur along the skin he worships. She often swats him away, because even after tending the garden there is plenty of work to do. But sometimes she does not swat him away at all, and some days she draws closer with a magnificent, confident need. He cannot determine if it is need for him or need to show him something, but each time, their bodies become hotter still, sweat running like streams and stinging their eyes even as it makes moving together easier.

There is a day at midsummer when they cannot help themselves, resting on the step to their home. They are covered from the relentless sun by the good new roof of the temple. He is vulnerable to melancholy in the heavy air that precedes a storm. She knows this. By the time the thunder and rain seem to be on every side of them, heaven’s own veil around the little holy place where they live, their hands are in each other’s hair, she is straddling him, and he is kissing her so deeply he can taste their midmorning snack. The last time she went to town she came back with karashi seeds, and their food this week has been bright in their mouths, cleansing and flavorful. He is hungry for it.

“Mitsuhide,” she pants quietly. The rain around them is so dense no one would hear her, but that name is never spoken above the softest whisper. Her other sounds are louder, even louder than the roar of the rain, and he loosens his hold on himself to match her. He groans as he tilts his hips up toward hers, everything that he is straining for her. They are so warm that even though the air is cooling around them, the rain may as well be steam. One of her hands slides from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, between their bodies, until she palms his insistence and he gasps for her until she squeezes. They moan together, unbearably hot in the sweet agony before they join.

“Now? Here?” he asks. They’re alone, but he craves her comfort as much as her indulgence. There is always a point where he stops asking, but before that he needs permission. She gives it in a nod and shuffles off his lap onto the floor, still stroking him through his clothing. Her clothes are already loose from their embrace, and she puts her other hand inside her collar and tugs down until she is cupping her breast. His blood in his ears is louder than rain or crashing waves or the war chorus of a hundred desperate men. He lunges at her, one hand in her hair and another at the back of her neck to soften her landing. When he is over her, he snarls at her temple before kissing the space with the beastliness that is revealed by these stormy days. It is a wet kiss, and because his tongue cannot taste enough of her he ends up licking from her cheek to her hairline. He savors her, salt and spice and earth and somehow his, as he pushes into her hand. She does not let go of him. He never wants to let go of her.

His hand slips from her neck into the heaven of her opened collar, and his thumb finds her nipple between her fingers. She lets go, gives herself to him, and he pants adoration into her ear as he rolls the peak, beautifully strong, until she moans. He knows this is right, that nothing else in the world is anything next to the truth of how right it feels to cage her in, make her tremble, and soothe her, serve her.

So he doesn’t hold back. He tells her she is the most wonderful, beautiful, desirable, beloved. His mind makes poetry for her and he licks the words onto skin he pinches delicately between his teeth. You are rainfall to a dying man, you are here, you feel better than breezes, you are mine. After all he has done, he remains a man, and a man is an animal, as any man who has gone to war can say with certainty.

The thin clothes he wears for gardening are sticking to his body, and he swears he can feel the drag of each thread against his skin as he moves with her, friction enough to spark a fire through their sweat. Her hand on him is maddening kindling.

“You are flames,” he declares as he ruts down into her hand. “You are burning me.” A man is an animal, a gasping creature not sophisticated enough to express all she makes him feel.

She slows her hand and hums, pleased by they way he gives himself over. That is the way they play. “It is too wet for flames,” she murmurs, as though she is consoling him instead of throwing tinder on the fire she has made. “Drown in me instead of burning, my love.”

The affection in her words soothes his amorous madness and spreads the familiar, comfortable warmth to all the tips of his body as the power shifts between them again. He loves her so much. Could any man convey so much feeling? To be an animal is not bad, but it is base, and she is made of heaven and still chooses to be with him. He smiles at her in wonder of all her beauty and bravery. He will focus on giving her anything that he can.

“Gladly,” he whispers, smiling wider. He takes her wrist and pulls her away from her work. When she complies and settles her hand against the floor by her head, he unties the rope of faded jute braids that hold her kosode closed at her hips. She is worthy of finery but dressed in these threadbare rags with him instead, and still her eyes say she has what she desires. As he drops the thick cord beside their bodies, he thinks he will try to find her a pretty bead, or even a nice smooth stone from the stream, something to adorn her middle and give her pleasure when she sees it. She gives him so much pleasure.

Their clothes as temple keepers are very humble, but they are much easier to remove than their daily wear of only a year ago. Sacrilegious but sincere, he mutters his gratitude at the simplicity of baring her body to his eyes. Her slopes are gorgeous, winding like the gentlest river against the air. She reminds him of a war map he saw years ago, illustrated with hills and pools so lovely he mourned as war was planned against the unarmed ground.

He shakes away that memory to construct another of the way she looks right now, sensual and receptive, womanly in the way she came to be when they started their lives here. Back in control of herself, of both of them, she parts her lips and breathes his new name. He undoes the scrap of old kimono that serves for his sash, and peels away his own sweaty robe. When he comes back down to her, she has freed her arms from her sleeves and their hands find each other, fingers dancing warm and worn as they wrap together.

Now it is still raining, but the roar of it has quieted to a loving hiss. The light is gray and blue, so she looks like nighttime. She pulls him to her with the power of dusk closing flowers, and their kiss is moon-soft, full of promise instead of frenzy. Her lip is a marvel between his and he loves pressing it with his own lips and teeth and sucking gently to make it swell. He wants to touch it with his thumb while he’s inside her and then kiss her again, maybe kiss her while he touches her with his thumb.

The chill at his back cannot last when there is so much heat between them, no matter what she says of drowning instead of burning. A man can drown in the bubbles of a hot spring as well as he can in winter’s water. He sucks in a breath and breathes it out into her mouth, and when she does the same with more force he shudders. His hands slide to her hips, where her curves fit into his palms as though he were a farmer and she were a ripe stalk of rice. She is at least as crucial and nourishing.

He is so hard he doesn’t need to take himself in hand. The head of his cock slides (with a sureness he would never claim aloud) between her folds, against the spot that makes her thighs flex. The movement is easy, a slip if not for his control. They are always so eager for one another.

“How?” he asks, and kisses the chin she is offering as her head is thrown back. “Here? This? Just outside the reach of the rain?” A demon is in him, to tease her like this, but the demon wants her pleasure as surely as he does because this is what she wants, for everything to be drawn out until their tension snaps. “Do you want the air on all your skin?” he continues. “I will give you anything. Just tell me.”

She hums the thoughtful sound that means she’s thought of some way to drive him insane. Thunder cracks with an ominous sharpness in the distance, and when she tilts her head and looks at him there is lightning and mischief in her eyes. He squeezes her but still she wriggles out from beneath him... and she goes to one of the beams that holds up the roof, safe from the rain thanks to the overhang. She moves her feet back and bends at her waist and he can do nothing but feel blessed and aroused, so aroused he is stupid. The warmth she put in him turns to tingles, like she has displaced the lightning from her gaze and made his skin the sky and his bones the bare, vulnerable earth. Within himself he feels a frighteningly intense buzzing.

“This first,” she declares. “Just watch for now, darling. Stay where you are.” Her thighs and calves are so defined from the ways she has to toil in this new life that he feels a shadow of guilt for enjoying the sight of her so much. It vanishes when he sees her fingertips between her legs, right at his eye level. She is pulling his mind apart, but her method for that is giving him this gift, and in this life he takes what he is given.

“Yes,” he rasps, and swallows before the dryness in his though makes him cough. “Yes, of course.”

The movement of her arm slides her loosened braid along a shoulder like a brushstroke. Her touches are sure-- she told him months ago that she learned to do this when he made her sleep alone for nights on end. He curses his foolishness even as he is grateful for it. She is always turning the most miserable ingredients into feasts, his wife.

Her sure fingers make circles and dip into her folds to smear her arousal. She likes it a little messy sometimes, another thing she has revealed in the safety of their seclusion. He loves what she loves, and he wants to put his mouth on her, put his cock in her, so badly that he fears his voice will scar his throat in a mad escape if he has to stay apart from her much longer. But he will die of idiocy alone if he interrupts. So he watches, the cool air of isolation doing nothing to keep his belly from tightening when she coos. Her hips begin to drop forward to meet her hand and he bites the flesh of his palm to stave off insanity as long as he may. She is a cat, he realizes, playing with all his many frayed ends. When she glances back, whatever she sees on his face-- he must be flushed, he feels terribly hot-- makes her laugh, dark and sweet. She keeps going and keeps her eyes on him. There is that gentle command so uniquely her in the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like he is blooming frantically, too fast, a blossom pummeled by rain and completely out of control... and she keeps looking, keeps smiling, draws the moment into moments until he thinks he might sob.

And then she curls her fingers against herself to beckon him and says “Come here.” The way her voice puts the words somewhere between request and demand is flattering, but he has no time to be flattered. Rain-cooled air yields against his arms and legs as he rushes to her. Immediately, he is there behind her legs, positioning himself, and the heat of her backside would burn him were he not already so ruined. Against her at last, he can appreciate the way the weak light on her sweat-slicked back is more beautiful than the finest inkwash, the ways she smells competent and domestic and alluring, like the precious sweet scent of soil that hides between mountain pebbles. She is all these things, and she is so calm as his mind whirls in its delirium of adoration and arousal.

He doesn’t mean to tremble, but his hold on himself has been too tight, and the spaces where his teeth dug into his hand throb. Like the mongrel pet to a noble lady, he has little other purpose but to love her. He sees that she can sense it. There is a grace to her certainty when he grits his teeth, even though she is wound so tightly that when the head of his cock finally presses inside her, he must push. Slick, soft, smooth, she feels, somehow, despite the pressure. As he pushes fully inside, their groans are wanton to the point of inhumanity, more like the sound of creatures in the night than of a man and his wife. His wife, his wife. He pulls back and groans again at the way her body fights to keep him. He swipes the braid off her back and kisses her shoulder, pushing back in slowly as her soft, strong body welcomes him.

“More,” she cries, her first sound of vulnerability, and he is eager to take care of her. He knows to move steady and powerfully but keep it slow at first. She comes better around him, but needs to be allowed to focus, so he is quiet as he focuses on her and the way the muscles of his back stretch and roll to please her. He is still a fit man, and he hopes his body thrills her as hers thrills him.

She makes a needy noise between her teeth and moves faster, shaking just a little. She hisses “keep going,” and of course he does. The tension he felt a moment ago is so unimportant now he is not sure if it was real. In the time when things shift between them he no longer needs permission, and he feels the magic calm settling over him-- it is his turn. All he needs to do is what she needs from him, it’s so simple. And he would do anything she asked, for the chance to be so near her when she finds bliss. It is already rising up his legs, like a snake squeezing and sliding, like ripples... and her sighs are like waves. Maybe she is too wet to be flames because she is water itself. The way into her is blissful enough, a slick heavy pressure around him where she is swollen from all their kisses and touching. The challenge of it makes him grin with a ferality he usually keeps well out of sight, and he presses on, pulls back, kisses her shoulder again and calls her his beloved. His voice doesn’t shake.

Hers does. “Again,” she pleads, grasping back for his hand. “I want it again.” She guides his fingers in circles until he knows where she is and what she needs, and then she lets him give it to her. Trust is such a sacred thing.

When he touches her she laughs, and he laughs too, and fucks her with a great deal of joy. They find their pattern: her hips push back to meet his thrusts, so when he presses in, deeply, they fit as cleanly as a carpenter’s masterwork. The storm has truly cooled the air but all it does is chill the fresh sweat on their skin as they move. It invigorates him, makes his spirit shout with a freedom he cannot contemplate at the time. His wife is using the beam that holds up their roof to push back against him, allowing the tender space between her breasts to be abraded by the wood. There is room for nothing but happiness here, nothing to do but honor her sacrifice and make her feel more pleasure.

“Yes,” she rewards him with her voice for a particular thrust, dragging out the sound at a pitch that registers inside him while he is inside her. So he moves himself even faster to try and repeat it, then relishes the sweetness of her soft whine. It makes him feel like he is surprising her with his love for once, instead of the constant way she graces him with her own.

He leans over her a little more. “I want nothing as much as I want your happiness,” he tells her, the croon of his voice broken by the intense way their bodies are connecting. Her hand comes back over his, keeping him in place. Magnificent. “Go on,” he tells her. “Again, love. Just like you want. Just like I want. Again.”

She shudders and stops moving her hips (she clings adorably to the support beam, her arm as tense as her hand on his). He keeps going, because he knows that is what she expects. At the end, what she needs is to be filled, to be given something to clench around, and he needs to be that for her. He is so driven, from inside and out, to fuck her, that he cannot do anything else until he feels it, not think or breathe, only move into her as though he can shove bliss into her body. So he tries, until he feels the shaking of her legs as perfection alights, and then he takes one great breath before it hits them both as she squeezes tighter still. They gasp together again as her clenching and soft sounds pull his warmth to fill her. Abundantly. Deeply. The air comes out of his lungs onto her shoulders, then touches his cheeks with the softness of a cloud.

She is breathing heavily, and slowly she puts her weight against the wood and becomes still. There’s a gentle press against his hand before she drops her arm. He’s tempted to catch it and kiss her knuckles, but he does not want to move from being curled around her back. He does move his hand away and puts the arm around her belly instead, holding her that much closer. She feels exactly as warm and soft as a cat who has fallen asleep in the sun.

There is a slick, sticky feeling all around his cock, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it-- something in him actually relishes it, loves the thought of mixing, loves the thought of there being too much, it makes him want to take her to the floor and have her again-- and she does not ask him to move, so he stays until he softens. “Darling,” he whispers then. “I’m going to get us a cloth.” He has desires, but he has mastered himself.

But she mumbles “No. Hold me.”

So when he pulls out as not to slip from her, he simply sits down and pulls her with him, right down into his messy lap. There’s not a breath between the time they land and her turning so she can snuggle his chest. He strokes her hair and kisses her cheeks and nose and tells her what a marvel she is. She is all pliant affection, touching his arms, kissing his jaw, raising a love welt on his shoulder... reaching to stroke him gently, experimentally, just like she did when they were on the steps.

He has mastered himself, but not as well or fully as she has.

He pulls over their clothes and lays her out on top of them on the temple floor so he can join their bodies yet again, unhurried. They have the time for slow lovemaking in this life, and the grace. Her knees frame him as he moves and he cannot help but kiss one and then the other, reveling in her laughter (when he tickles her ribs, she tightens deliciously around him) as much as in her love. They lay together for a long time after that, cool and lazy in the quiet. When the rain is replaced by the first note of tentative birdsong, they know they should move in case someone comes to the temple. Despite the afternoon, they are a cautious couple by nature.

He attempts to clean her with their clothes, and carries her to their room to rest more comfortably. Her hair clings to the idea of a braid, but much of it is loose and floats about his arms in the sodden air. There is a satisfied tilt to her mouth when he helps her sit, and as he moves behind her the last he sees of her face is her smile curving deeper. He settles his robe over her shoulders and combs his fingers through her hair to ward off tangles. When he is finished, he replaits her hair and kisses the ribbon, then her mouth. She shakes her head, hiding her mouth and making him chase it. His rewards are sleepy giggles, enchantingly low, every time he catches her.

Several kisses later, he redresses and leaves for the kitchen to make them a simple meal. He delights in feeding her by hand as soon as he returns, because their closeness makes him feel whole and doting on her feels right. They stay near as they bathe, and then they go back to bed. It is early, but they will need to start early tomorrow to make up for the time they spent not working this afternoon. They have earned their sleep. He wonders if he will have the dream again.

Tucked into their bedding, she is in his arms, not yet dreaming herself. “Darling,” he says quietly into her hair, and murmurs love until she turns to kiss him sweetly and tells him to go to sleep.

He does have the dream. It is the most wonderful dream yet.

“Chichi-ue!” The voice is high and happy. It is coming from behind him, so he must turn away from the sight of his wife with a baby at her breast. Before he can see the little one who called him-- called him chichi-ue, his child-- the dream shifts and his wife is with an older child, tasting broth and listening patiently as the child recites ingredients. Then his wife is with two children, each holding one of her hands as they turn on the bend of the path to their home, and the smallest lets go of her to run to him. Their faces are all obscured by a sudden cloud of mountain dandelion seeds borne on the wind... all he can see are healthy little legs and feet in clean sandals, slapping against the ground as fast as they possibly can. The movement becomes a child’s hand with a brush, marvelously steady and precise. The same hand around a cluster of flower stems. Scraped knees and palms and little puffs of breath between shrieks and giggles as tears are soothed away. Two voices laughing over the plunking sound of skipped river stones ending their flights, and he recognizes the stream where they stand. The face and voice of the herbalist in the village, kindly telling them to be patient and then whispering something they might try. Four simple bowls, mismatched but meant to be together, set around a table. He can see this scene over his own shoulder, hears those same two voices dutifully expressing gratitude for their meal. The sounds change as his dream gives him the voices at different pitches through time, thankful for their rice, fish, vegetables; the bowls stay on the table, the food in them changing in dizzying whirls of color until he wakes.

“Good morning,” says his wife, in the voice she can only use for the first words of the day. Quiet and deep as a hidden pool. “I love you.”

He reaches to stroke her cheek, and tells her about the dream at last. She tells him her dreams, too.

Exhausted but awake, awed and unsure, he holds his son for the first time in the crook of his better arm. All of him shakes, because he is weeping at the perfect newness of this child. The baby, so unhappy with the village woman who came to help with the birth, settles into his father like poetry, and closes sweet dark eyes, and yawns flawlessly. They way the baby’s tongue trembles reminds him of a stretching cat. Master Tenkai of the mountain cannot look away. There is so much to see, and there is something about gazing at this tiny face, shifting magically from pinched to peaceful, that shows him the virtue of disregarding time completely. He should know it for what it is: another effort by man to control what he cannot. Everything that marks time in a human way can be broken. The sun rises no matter what people do in the night.

One of the temple cats senses a fellow creature and leans up to sniff at the baby. The baby’s father is happy to share the sight. The cat noses at the baby’s plumpness and then slinks off, but Tenkai stays where he sits, holding his son beside the bedding where the baby’s mother is gazing at them both with a tired, happy expression on her beautiful face. Her hair has all come loose from its ribbon. The woman from the village said it was an easy birth, but it certainly took its time. At the end, they have their perfect son, and she is alright. Everything is alright. The greatest challenge facing them at the moment is that he will have to learn to braid one-handed. He chuckles to himself and the baby blinks, then settles.

He will never hold a sword again. Whatever time may be, it feels like he made his peace with a more important truth a very long time ago, perhaps in another life entirely, and had only to relearn it. To hold his woman, and child, and the other he believes will join then... that is more than enough for the warrior who was once Mitsuhide, who became Master Tenkai of the mountain. All else may come and go. He will treat everything with respect, and allow all that is temporary to leave his hand like water. His family, permanent and indescribably precious, is the only thing that he will never, ever give up.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Eight ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3620

Warnings: Mild language, tw ptsd

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy early Thursday morning! Hope you have a good day <3

Cosima’s right arm grips around me like a vice. Her left arm rests gingerly on her leg. Baranor did what he could, but I imagine it is still painful to move the arm around and irritate the injury. To jostle her as little as possible, I ride as smoothly as I can. Faervel seems to sense that he needs to put extra care into the force with which his hooves hit the ground. When we hit an unavoidable jolt, I hear Cosima’s sharp intake of breath and instantly regret causing her pain. At one point, the hand curled against my stomach begins to shake, and I want to stop the horse. I want to pause and look her in the eye and swear to do better next time. I’ll watch more, fight harder, move faster, keep her safe. I want to explain to her my revitalized resolve—nothing will get to her now. She doesn’t need to worry, because I’ll do better.

But of course, I can’t do any of that.

And I definitely shouldn’t. It’s strange, feeling this strongly about the well-being of one measly human. But in truth, I’ve become quite fond of Cosima in our short time together. Maybe it’s because I don’t spend much time with humans, but I find her humor refreshing, her kindness captivating, and her wide range of emotions infuriatingly confusing. I can’t stop myself from seeking her out.

And I can’t stop myself from hoping she decides to return home with us.

I sigh. I should send her to ride with Orophin. I’m paying too much attention to her, thinking too much, allowing myself to become distracted. But the idea of sending her away, of distancing her from my care, makes me to tense. I have a feeling I would be just as distracted if she weren’t behind me. Inwardly, I remind myself to focus on my surroundings, putting it into the frame of keeping my companions safe. The closer we get to the Imladris border—and thus their border patrols—the lower the likelihood of us running into more orcs. As it is, we are too far away for Elrond’s patrols for comfort and I urge myself to remain vigilant. I can’t take any chances.

There’s a noise to my right—just pebbles dislodged by the quick feet of a rabbit, but Cosima’s human senses can’t find the source of the moment. She jumps, clinging even tighter to me, and looks around wildly, breath racing. Without thinking, I take one hand from the reins and wrap it around the hand she holds in a fist against my stomach.

Elves don’t usually engage in physical contact outside of family and romantic partners. At most, warriors will clasp each other at the elbow briefly to commemorate a job well done or to celebrate a victory. But she is human, I reason, trying to puzzle out my strange response. Humans touch each other all the time—they hug each other, hold each other, press kisses to the cheeks of those they care for. Part of comforting a human is offering them a physical lifeline, something tangible and solid that they can hold on to.

“It’s alright,” I try to soothe, not holding out hope that I’m any good at it. The wardens I’ve dedicated my life to don’t usually require soothing. “It’s just a rabbit—I saw it running off. It climbed over the rocks and caused a few of the smaller ones to fall down the hill.”

I wish I could turn around and face her. I want to look into her eyes, study her face, and see if my words have had any effect. I want to know that the fear has left her, see the relief of security smooth the tension in her brow.

She takes a couple deep breaths, and I encourage myself to take them with her. It never hurts to settle one’s heart. Then, a pressure against my shoulder blade. She’s resting her head there, I realize with a start. I stiffen automatically, not at all used to the contact. I try to relax. If it’s what she needs, I can try it. Once I get over the initial shock, I don’t dislike this feeling at all—in fact, it’s quite nice to be here for her like this.

“Okay,” she breathes. She sounds exhausted.

I weigh my options. Could we chance stopping early tonight? Would the rest result in quicker progress tomorrow? No, I decide, knowing the original plan is the best. Each of us will feel better once we are securely inside Elrond’s borders. If that means some discomfort now, so be it.

With that in mind, I push Faervel to go even faster, wanting to race towards Imladris with all haste.

{***}

I see the tension in everyone’s shoulders when we stop to make camp. Each of them carries the weight of this morning’s attack, the human’s most visibly. Since the moment Cosima left my horse, she’s been at Alexander’s side. I was right about human comforting tactics—his arm hangs around her shoulders and she lays her head against his chest. The sight is strange, and a little disquieting. Elves are so unused to seeing such blatant displays of physical affection.

For his part, Alexander also looks quite shaken. His hair, usually well-kept, sticks in all directions and his eyes dart from side to side constantly, never finding rest. He clings to Cosima as tightly as she holds on to him. While the rest of us are seasoned in the unpleasantries of battle, this is their first encounter with violence—that they can recall, that is.

I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the camp. “I will stand first watch with Baranor. Everyone else, get some sleep.” I address my brothers directly, then. “I will wake you at the halfway point.”

We waste no time. Baranor draws his sword and takes the East side of camp. I mirror his stance on the West. We found a relatively secure spot for the night — a small valley with a clearing of grass backed up to a rocky slope of mountainside. There is only one entrance to where the others sleep, unless someone were to jump from the rocks above. To prevent this from happening, Baranor and I pick points high enough that we could see any attempts to either enter our camp or ambush one of our watch stations. Before I know it, the sun sinks over the horizon and we are plunged into darkness.

{***}

Baranor wakes the others, and once Rumil comes to take my spot, I trek the short distance to the center of our camp. I lay on the now unoccupied mat next to the mountainside — across the small area, Baranor has already passed into sleep. Just as I stretch out, getting comfortable, my eyes meet Cosima’s.

She stares at the rock across the small cleaning from her, expression distant and glazed.

I call her name quietly, getting her attention without waking Alexander or disturbing Baranor. She should have nodded off hours ago. “Can you not sleep?”

She shakes her head and, even from here, I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. “It’s silly,” she whispers. I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll explain. “I know we’re relatively safe. I know there are always two people on lookout and I know you all have plenty of weapons. But I’m still so scared.” Her voice wavers. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I was attacked like that. Every time I close my eyes I see those…things.” She bites out the word, shuddering. “What were they?”

I sigh. I should have known she wouldn’t find peaceful rest in her current state. I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to make myself seem as assured as possible. My wardens tend to feel more confident when I seem confident—maybe it will help her, too. “They were orcs, some of the most evil beings in this realm.”

“And they wanted to kill us?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did we do?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, at a loss for the reasoning of those foul beasts. “They are bred for evil, they desire it above all else. If they have the chance to kill, they will take it.”

She shivers again and throws a look over her shoulder towards the entrance of the clearing. “That’s terrifying.”

“They will not get that close to you again,” I swear. I really shouldn’t. I can’t say for sure—they’re no way I can be absolutely positive an orc won’t attack her again. But I do know that as long as it is within my power, I will do everything possible to make what I just said the truth.

She raises an eyebrow dubiously and I know that, even in her fearful and tired state, she sees through the logic in my statement. Even though I was just questioning the validity of my words, I find myself with the overwhelming need to prove them to her—and to myself. I stand, pulling my mat with me, and step around her, dropping the mat between where she lays and the entrance to the clearing.

“There,” I nod, laying back on my mat. “Anything that wants to get to you will have to challenge me first.”

Breath hitches in her throat. Her lip quivers, a shine glints in her eyes. I freeze. Oh Valar, where did I go wrong this time? But when she addresses me—albeit in a shaky voice—she sounds pleased. “You don’t have to do that.”

Relieved that she has one, accepted my offer and two, doesn’t seem to resent me for it, I smile. “It’s my job. Now, please close your eyes and try to fall asleep. I will wake you if there is need.”

She wavers for a moment and I put a hint of my Marchwarden sternness behind the gaze I level back. The edges of her lips quirk into a tentative smile and her eyes slide shut. She pulls her—my— cloak tighter around her shoulders and, in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it, whispers, “thank you.”

I settle on my back, keeping my sword and bow within easy reach, as I do every night. And, though I just told Cosima to go to sleep, I stay awake longer than I intend, watching the stars and listening to the sounds of the mountains. She was right—there is much beauty here. There is no civilization for miles, no hints of light to obscure the vastness of the constellations. As an elfling, I used to love staring at the stars. Even in my early days of the guard and battle, I would pass long nights gazing at the sky. When did I stop? When did the love of beauty for beauty’s sake leave me?

I hear the deep, even breaths indicating a human has fallen asleep and know that Cosima has finally given in to her exhaustion. I follow not long after, the soft light of the stars falling away behind my closed eyes.

{***}

The day is marked by easy travel. By my estimate, we will reach Imladris sometime tomorrow evening. It cannot come quickly enough.

Just as the sun is starting to set, we come across a small cave I have used in the past when traveling with various companies. Orophin sees it too and gives a triumphant call from his spot in the line. A cave means we can chance a fire, which means we can have meat tonight—if we can catch it.

About five hundred feet from the cave, I dismount, signaling for Orophin to do the same. I hand the reins to Cosima, give Faervel a quick pat, and raise my voice loudly enough for the others to hear. “We’ll make sure the cave is clear—the rest of you, wait here.”

The nerves, which seemed dormant in Cosima for the majority of the day, creep back into her features. Her hold on the reins tightens. I attempt to reassure her. “We’ll be back in five minutes. Stay with the others.”

I want to stay longer, to stay by her side until she feels safe, but I know it will be better for everyone once we’re settled in the cave. So I draw my sword and join Orophin at the yawning entrance.

The cave is too small to be used long-term, so it is commonly claimed by travelers who only intend to stay the night. The ceiling is plenty high for humans, but as elves, Orophin and I must take care not to stretch too high. In some places, I can feel the smooth rock graze the top of my head, dragging strands of hair out of place. But aside from that mild annoyance, no threats lie inside and I hurry to return to the others and give them the good news.

Rumil, knowing the expression on my face, grins and hops down from Roch, setting the horse to graze while he excitedly enters the cave to drop his packs. I roll my eyes, though not without fondness, at my brother’s exuberance. I quicken my pace, eager to settle the others for the night and go hunting so we can have a proper meal. As soon as I set Cosima’s feet on the ground and put Faervel to graze, I can go in search of rabbits or squirrels.

I am a few feet from Cosima when Alexander steps into my line of sight. He reaches his arms up to his friend. She smiles warmly at him, places her hands on his shoulders, and lets him ease her down from the horse. It’s a bit jerky, honestly, and I worry that her feet hit the ground with too much force. One has to be careful when helping another down from a higher place—if not, the person could suffer injury. Careless.

“Alexander,” I call. He looks put out but nonetheless inclines his head in my direction. “Leave your supplies in the cave and then meet me out here. I am taking you with me to hunt.”

He sputters. “What? No! I’m tired and I don’t even want to learn how to hunt. Take one of your brothers.”

I feel my eyes narrow. “Regardless if you would like to face the facts or not, you are in this world. And as such, you will need to learn skills to aid your time here, however long that may be. Cosima has learned how to care for the horses and ride and scout her surroundings. You will learn to hunt.” The human tries to protest again, and I raise my chin, none too pleased with having to justify my decision. “As long as you are under my care you will follow my orders. Am I clear?”

Beside him, Cosima’s eyes grow wide. She darts her gaze between myself and Alexander, watching our exchange. I raise an eyebrow at the man. It will not be me who breaks first. I have centuries of practice.

Predictably, Alexander cracks, breaking my gaze and nodding stiffly. He pulls away from Cosima and stalks into the cave, taking a few bags with him.

Baranor passes me on his way up the path—I’d nearly forgotten he was here. He lowers his voice to a volume the humans won’t detect. “He is not one of your wardens, Haldir.”

“As long as he travels in my company, he travels under my command,” I grit back, more frustration in my tone than is necessary. I work to push the emotion aside and stride forward, dealing with Faervel while I wait for Alexander.

Cosima hasn’t left. She stands, dwarfed by Faervel’s tall frame, gently brushing out his coat. There’s tension in her shoulders and I approach her almost hesitantly. I think I angered her.

She quickly confirms my suspicions.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to him.” She doesn’t take her eyes from my horse.

I purse my lips. I just need to make her understand. “He was being insubordinate.”

“Okay, but he’s not your subordinate,” she shoots back, voice rising in irritation.

I don’t quite know what to say. These humans don’t know how my job works, so their reaction is to be expected….But even Baranor commented on my behavior…was I wrong? Even if I did perhaps misuse my tone, I still can’t have someone openly refusing to do what I say. It’s a matter of security. Say he disobeyed me in the heat of battle? Someone could pay for his choice with their life. I can’t allow situations to pass now that would embolden him to disobey me later.

Cosima sighs, shaking her head. When she speaks, her voice is tight with disapproval. “I’ll finish the horses. You get to your hunt.”

I swallow. It seems I’ve angered her to the point where she wishes to cast me from her presence. I must respect that, then. “I will send Rumil to guard you.”

She nods once, still not looking at me.

I spare her one last glance then make towards the cave, feeling very unsure of myself. As Marchwarden, I’ve learned to make difficult, sometimes unpopular, decisions. People’s reaction to them usually doesn’t bother me…but something about the way Cosima wouldn’t even look at me, the frustration in her tone…it doesn’t sit well.

Rumil is already at the mouth of the cave, headed outside with a snack for Roch. I instruct him to stay with Cosima while I am gone, and he agrees easily. The two of them have been friends from the start. I’d wager he has never upset her as I have.

Alexander is waiting, too, looking annoyed. I try to remind myself to be nicer towards him, but can’t quite manage it. Something about his demeanor just irks me. But the hunting excursion will be good, I remind myself. It will allow me to get a better read on this human, to figure out where he stands and what his motivations are. With that in mind, I jerk my head to the rocks, calling him forward. “Let’s go.”

{***}

I don’t take Alexander far, but we do have to leave the noise of camp to find animals suitable for food. The human trudges behind me, probably scaring away every rodent within a mile. Why must the race of man be so loud?

“Roll your foot from heel to toe when you walk rather than stomping down,” I instruct. To my surprise, he actually follows my advice. He’s still not as silent as an elf, but there is definitely an improvement.

A silence settles between us. When he breaks it, there is a vulnerability in his voice I did not expect to hear. “Is Cosima really going to be okay?”

Baranor had assured me of the fact and I know from my years of battle that the wound is not severe, so I am confident in my answer. “Yes. I think more damage was done to her feelings than her arm. She takes things quite deeply to heart. It will take time for those scars to heal.”

I’ve offended him. He scoffs, expression morphing into a glare. “And that’s bad?”

Now, I grit my teeth. He seems always on the prowl for some reason to dislike me, and I don’t appreciate him twisting my words about Cosima to use against me. I throw his accusation right back. “I am not the one questioning her intelligence and calling her naive.”

“That’s taken out of context!”

“And in what context are your words favorable?”

He seethes, and I find a strand of amusement in the differences between our demeanors. I stand calm and cool as ever while he glares up at me, mouth pulled into a grimace, face going hot in anger.

“You know what,” he grits out, hands clenching into fists. “Don’t go on defending her. Don’t get too attached. Because after yesterday, I’ve got no doubt in my mind that I’m getting out of here. And Cosima’s coming with me.”

I scoff. “You cannot force her.”

“I won’t have to.” He exhales, an assured serenity settling on his face. For the first time since our argument began, I feel wary. “That attack broke whatever spell you all have put on her. She’ll leave willingly. I guarantee it.”

Maybe it’s the arrogant twist in his smile, maybe it’s the stress of the day finally hitting me, maybe it’s just because he’s been an ass since the day he arrived and I would like nothing more than to knock him to the ground and teach him to have some respect. Whatever the reason, I feel the cold dread creeping through my bones colliding with a white-hot anger that sears through my chest. It takes everything in me not to let the composed mask slip from my face.

Despite my efforts, Alexander knows he’s hit his mark. He can tell he’s gotten a reaction out of me, and this pleases him to no end. He waves a hand forward, gesturing to the wide expanse of the path before us. “Lead on, Marchwarden. People need to eat.”

I want to challenge him.

But that is not respectable behavior of a leader, nor polite treatment of a human under my protection. So I call on every ounce of maturity and discipline I possess and turn on my heel, continuing the hunt.

And though we have good fortune in our search and I should be pleased, I am too focused on Alex’s promise to share in the enjoyment.

Cosima choosing to leave is a very real possibility.

And that hurts me more than it should.

A/n Thanks for reading! So it looks like we’re having some ~developments~ -- what do you think?! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

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Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

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[gh0stiegirlie]

synopsis: all it took was one glance at the hotheaded boy at the U.A. exam, and you were smitten. for deku, it was a single act of kindness that instigated his immediate attraction to uraraka. several months into school, best friends y/n and deku are left heartbroken when. uraraka and bakugou start a relationship. when you and deku find yourselves confiding in each other, a question arises; is this love, or loneliness? are you two better just as friends?

length: 3.5k words

                                                                                                      pt. 2  ->

a/n: that moment when you start a new bakugou series in the middle of another bakugou series 🤡 I hope you enjoy the result of procrastinating on my other story and writing a little too much.

It all started the day of U.A.’s practical exam. 

You were pushing your fingers down on every tender joint you could pop, loosening your body as much as possible for the physically strenuous activity ahead. When you bent over into the downward dog position, through your legs disheveled blond hair caught your eye. His hair was so spiky if you pricked your finger on a strand, it would draw blood. You stretched out your back before crawling your arms up your body until you were standing, then turned to examine the boy.

It looked like someone had glued a golden porcupine on his head, a hairstyle that on the majority would look hideous. But the way his bouncing spikes threatened to poke anyone who came too close as he stomped around, made it suit him. When you lowered your eyes to the rest of his body, that was when you discovered this pomeranian boy was not only super hot, but super fit. His tight black tank top hugged his upper body, and his shoulders and biceps alone were so bulky it looked like the straps may snap. Along with that, the flimsy top did nothing to hide his abs from the imagination. He had developed muscles in places you never knew muscles existed. 

As you were not-so-subtly checking this guy out while pretending to stretch, another contender approached the boy. She was stereotypically hot, with full features and an unattainable sinched waist. A flare of jealousy hit you like a wave of heat, and you nearly used your quirk to warn the girl to back the fuck off. This feeling immediately dissipated when he aimed his hand at the girl and dismissed her... with a fucking explosion. Within seconds, she was in a dazed heap on the other side of the warm-up room with some minor burns. The whole room fell silent, turning to the boy with petrified expressions. He nonchalantly shoved his hand in his pocket, leaned on one leg, and clenched his jaw. Although his posture was shit and his pants were sagging, you could tell he wasn’t a fool.

“Now, if any of you other extra’s feel like messing with me,”  his vermillion scanned the crowd for someone attentive and vulnerable, and they eventually fixed on you with a smirk, “don’t.” 

 He made your knees weak with one word.

 That’s when you started falling.

When you discovered you were in the same class as Bakugou, you were ecstatic. Back then, your crush was a minuscule weed in your garden. It sat among the fully grown flowers of your aspirations, completely harmless.

You’re now halfway through your first semester at U.A., and your crush on Bakugou has fully blossomed. Whether it’s grown into the weed or a rose, you’re unsure. All you know is your love weed is now the size of a goddamn oak tree, and for it to grow to this extent, it has pushed the rest of your garden out of the way. 

You spend half of your Math class stealing subtle glances at Bakugou, watching him repeat the teachers' lessons to himself in hushed mumbles as he writes down every word in his notebook. He has a habit of vehemently taking notes to the point of dulling out his pencil, groaning when he has to shove it into his pencil sharpener (he used to use the schools, but he grew too irritated of leaving his seat every few minutes), only for his poor pencil to require another sharpening moments later. Following Math is English, and during this class you enjoy gazing out the windows to daydream. Your English classroom was built with large oblong windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling to reveal the grand U.A. courtyard below and you tend to use it to study the upperclassmen. You watch the class of 2-A enjoy their lunch hour as they walk, eat, and hold hands around campus. Sometimes you imagine them as you and Bakugou. You think about holding his hand while dancing around the cherry trees, eating lunch with him and his ‘Bakusquad’ and much, much more.

Love is a strong word, and you’re hesitant to label your feelings accordingly. But damn, are your feelings strong for this boy.

Deku can say the same about Uraraka. He literally fell for her on the way to the practical exam. And even though she caught him, he’s continued falling ever since.

Everytime Uraraka spars during training, Deku gives her his undivided attention. Not because he’s a perv or anything-- he just admires her so much. Her quirk requires her resourceful and thoughtful, so she always has a brilliant plan up her sleeve. His favorite part about her battles is the way she smiles when she knows she’s won. It’s never a smile of egotistical pride; It’s a smile that displays she’s satisfied with herself. That she acknowledges she’s victorious, not because “she’s the best”, but because she worked for it. He can never hold back from beaming himself. When someone that cute smiles, how can you resist?

But, there is a difference between you two. Deku holds the advantage of being friends with Uraraka; You simply adore Bakugou from a distance, while everyone else hates him from that distance.

Until one day, Aizawa mentions the first-semester partner project. You already know Izuku is going to choose Uraraka, and you know Iiada wouldn't be caught dead partnering with you (even though the class calls you the 'golden girl', you're still a bit too 'rebellious' for his taste.) From the way Kaminarai and Kirishima smirk at eachother, you're pleased to see they're going to pair up, because this leaves Bakugou with no partner. A spot you would love to fill.

After class you don't rush to make it to Bakugou, knowing no one else wants to be his partner after what happened between him and Kirishima (Lots of Bakugou yelling how “shitty hair is an idiot!” and using textbooks as a weapon to smack Kirishima’s head). But you wouldn't mind. You would be happy just to be his idiot.

You're snapped out of your daydreams when Uraraka spontaneously approaches Bakugou. You smirk and lean against your desk, expecting a hilarious interaction that starts with a heated “GET AWAY FROM ME WEIRD GIRL!!” and ends with a very large explosion. I mean, at the sports festival, not only could he not connect her name with her face, he had absolutely no fucking clue who she was! But instead of blowing her away in a fit of rage, as he did with that girl so many months ago, they talk.

You and Deku never discussed your feelings for those two with each other, but you acknowledged them. You being his closest friend, it’s clear as fucking day that Deku is head over heels for Uraraka. And being your best friend, it’s obvious to Deku that you want to smash faces with the class hothead. 

So, naturally, as the two of you watch this interaction unfold, there’s a mutual feeling of disgust. An unspoken what the fuck?! is exchanged between your eyes, until Deku’s lip quivers and he quickly looks away while you glare daggers into Uraraka’s stupidly hot body. After a few infuriating minutes, it’s grossly clear their conversation isn’t concluding anytime soon. You’re repulsed as you ask Deku to be your partner, to which he responds with a meek head nod. You sigh and hug the poor boy. Surprisingly Deku doesn’t start crying blood when you, a girl, touches him. Instead, he nuzzles his head deep into your neck, as by now he’s comfortable with your friendship.

"Hey, do you wanna go out for ice cream?" you ask when you pull away. You nudge him with your elbow. "I'll pay!"

Izuku blinks away his tears as he agrees, desperately trying to block the waterworks from leaking. 

"Cmon, Zuzu." you coo, exiting the classroom. Before you and Izuku head to the dining hall, you shoot a quick glare at Uraraka, who is purposely shoving her tits out in Bakugou's face as she laughs at whatever he just said. At least you know he's better than to fall for that... Hopefully.

"One Yukimi Daifuku and one chocolate Sofuto Kurimu, please," you ask the cafe cashier. She mumbles the amount you owe, and you shuffle your hand around the change in your pocket before handing her a few dollars. 

When you bring Izuku his icecream, he lifts his head off the table. He plays around with his food for a while before sloppily shoving a scoop in his mouth. You moan when you take your first bite.

"I swear, this ice cream is top tier!" you boom in enthusiasm. "Like, seriously, who allowed cafeteria food to be this good?!"

A short chuckle escapes Izuku's frowning lips. "That's U.A. for ya. The food somehow gets better every day."

"I know, right!" You use your spoon to point at Izuku's Yukimi Daifuku. "I feel like they handpicked that rice in your Yukimi from U.A.'s personal rice fields." you joke, which finally breaks Izuku's drab demeanor. He lets out a genuine laugh.

"I don't think U.A. has it's own rice fields." he rationalizes. The knot in his stomach loosens every time you make him laugh, allowing his appetite to grow. He takes a few eager bites of his Yukimi Daifuku. You playfully punch Izuku's shoulder.

"Really? This place is so fucking big I wouldn't be surprised if it had its own strip club or someth-MFF!" Izuku cuts you off by slapping a hand over your mouth. He pulls it back to his and signs "shh".

"Y-Y/n! Be quiet!" he warns, his face dark red from stifling his laughter. 

"What?! You don't want to think about All Might gettin--" you stop here, because Izuku has buried his face in his hands in order to ignore you. You laugh. "Okay, okay Deku. I'll stop." You ruffle his hair platonically.

"Thanks. I was afraid I was going to throw up my Yukimi if you kept going." he expresses, to which you laugh again. There's a fleeting pause as the two of you take a moment to appreciate each other's presence. Maybe all you really need is each other. 

Maybe, as long as you're just friends, everything will be okay.

"Thanks, Y/n. I needed this." Izuku smiles, and you can't help but smile with him.

One week later, the project is due and the weird partnership between Uraraka and Bakugou remains unmentioned between the three of you and Iiada. You’ve wanted to discuss it with her, but Izuku keeps holding you back. So the four of you engage in breakfast per usual; laughing, talking, and stuffing your faces. By this time, you assume Uraraka has forgotten about her little stunt. But it remains at the forefront of your mind, because what the fuck?! 

Deku believes it to be a momentary lapse in judgment, but you know girls better than that. She had been plotting that move for a while. Uraraka probably spent weeks building up her self-esteem enough to talk to him, and then another few days encouraging herself to actually do it. 

So, when Uraraka skips over to Bakugou that day, you’re not surprised. But, what she does next shocks you.

Uraraka kisses Baugous cheek.

You wait expectantly for Bakugou to send her flying out a window. Instead, he smirks and wraps his burly arm around her thin waist. Her waist is so thin, his arm fits around it like a bracelet. How can you even compete with that?!

And then, they walk out of the classroom. Just like that. Like a fucking couple.

That’s when the world crumbles around you.

Friday nights are always the days you and Bakugou attend the gym at the same time. Normally, his presence is a positive motivation to work harder, knowing he can look over at you at any moment. 

Tonight, you bury your eyes into the back of his head and pretend he's the punching bag. You restrain yourself from using your quirk to explode his brain (you actually can’t do that, but still), as if he even has one. If he’s dating Uraraka, he must not. You understand she’s cute or whatever, but they’re so fucking different. 

Apparently, this past hour you were hitting the punching bag vigorously enough in precisely the right places for it to tear. Sand pours onto your feet, and that's when you decide to call it night.

You manage bottle most of your emotions until you’re alone in your room. That’s when you shut off your lights, put on your sad vibes playlist, shelter yourself in fleece blankets and let the tears flow. Your shaking shoulders churn your stomach, and it feels like you’re vomiting out your emotions. Your heart stings with every beat, and every sob irritates your raw throat. You're not just another teenage girl crying over a stupid boy. You've grown up putting all your energy into improving your quirk, always two steps ahead of the rest of your class’ mentality. When you first saw Bakugou, you saw someone whos grown up always giving everything his all. You saw someone like you, and you fixated on something that wasn't just being a hero. 

At this point you've been fighting for Bakugou for so long, he's grown beyond a dumb crush. Now that you've lost this battle, you realize how alone you feel.  He’s a motivation. Not only do you train hard to improve your quirk, but you train hard to surprise Bakugou with your strength. You don't just study for good marks, but to impress Bakugou. 

Your goal to be a hero has always occupied your whole heart, but Bakugou managed to slip in there somewhere.

And you can feel the hollowness of his gaping hole.

Eventually, you compose yourself enough to grab some Suppa-Mucho Premium Ponzu, a jar of Nutella (with a spoon to eat it out of, of course), and a cup of hot chocolate from the kitchen.

On the way back to your room, you hear sobs emitting from a nearby hall. As you follow the twists and turns of the dorm, the cry grows familiar. You soon find yourself standing outside Izuku Midoriyas' room. You quickly (but carefully) run to the kitchen to microwave another cup of hot chocolate before knocking on his bedroom door. 

“Duh-Don’t come in!” his voice is nasally, but he lowers it an octave to sound like his usually preppy self. Although hero-training teaches you students how to put on an emotional mask, you’re able to tell when your best friend is faking. 

“It’s me, Izuku.” 

“Come in,” his raspy reply is barely above a whisper.

You jiggle the door handle open with your elbow and find Izuku wrapped in a blanket of feelings, like you were earlier. He wipes the tears off his cheeks and rubs his eyes, burying his head deep into the blanket to hide his sadness. Though his loud, shaky breaths give away the fact he was crying. Like you couldn’t hear him from across the dorms.

“Hey. It’s okay, Zuzu.” You’re standing behind the door, presenting snacks and two drinks with a somber smile. “I’m here.”

Izuku lifts his head when he smells the steaming hot cocoa. He grabs the drink that has whip cream with tiny marshmallows and flakes of caramel sprinkled on top, just the way he likes it. You set down the snacks on a nearby coffee table, then drink your hot chocolate beside him. When a sip leaves a small white mustache above his upper lip, you can’t help but giggle. He does the same.

You don’t ask why he was crying, and he doesn’t ask why you were walking around with comfort food late at night. Instead, you enjoy each other’s company. The events of earlier today have made you realize that things will always be the way they’ve been since the start of this year. That you’ll only ever have each other. 

 And maybe that’s why what happens next… Happens.

You are wrapped up in a blanket next to Izuku watching Whisper of the Heart and munching on a bowl of chips. Like some sort of cliche, the two of you reach for a chip at the same time. Izuku immediately pulls away, an incoherent apology spilling from his lips. You ignore it, overwhelmed with a sudden bubble of emotion. It was only extreme for a brief moment, but the remnants of the feeling linger. The electricity he transferred to you keeps your fingers twitching as you grab a snack. So now you’re pondering over the feeling while nibbling on a chip;

 How come, when Izukus hand brushed against yours, you felt something?

Everytime you’re near Bakugou, your heart palpitates. Not only out of fear-- because the man is fucking terrifying --but of recognition of his power. Out of admiration of his intimidating, yet confident personality.

When you touched Izuku’s hand, your heart fluttered. A cocoon of butterflies erupted in your chest and tried to lift you off his bed-- but why? 

Was it because now that Bakugous out of the way, your true scandalous feelings for your best friend are no long eclipsed? Or is it because now that Bakugou is out of the way your brain needs a new hot boy with biceps to focus on?

Izuku questions the same thing himself. If you took a second to look, the light of the TV would reveal the blush on his cheeks. His hands tremble in his lap as he hopelessly attempts to cover the growing boner in his pants, a side effect of thinking about you in this new romantic light.

All this time, has he been love with you, not Uraraka? Or has her sudden abandonment left a vacancy that needs filling, so he’s turning to his best friend? 

You move the bowl and scoot next to Deku. Your body heats up as his tenses. 

“Hey, do you wanna share a blanket?” You ask, forcing yourself to sound as casual as possible. Even though trying to flirt with your best friend is way out of your comfort zone.

“Uh--sure!” Deku squeaks as he wraps his blanket around your shoulders and you throw your fleece over your laps. You arrange yourself so the side of your thighs press up against Deku’s, and rest your head on his shoulder

He sweats nervously, and smells of bergamot and… Fresh laundry. It’s pleasant, though not as hypnotizing as Bakugous sweet caramel. Bakugous scent leaves you hungry for him, while Deku makes you feel… Comforted. Like receiving a warm hug from a friend. A completely non-romantic friend. A platonic friend. What the fuck are you doing?!

You repeat the words “platonic” and “friend” in your mind to remind yourself what Deku is to you. But the longer your bodies touch, the anstier you grow to touch more. Just to see what it feels like.  

Yes, Zuzu has been your friend forever-- Doesn’t that the experience of dating him even better? Doesn’t that make you want to steal his first kiss, so he’ll forever hold you in his heart?  Doesn’t that make feeling his body shudder from pleasure under yours even hotter? 

You bite your lips at these thoughts, unaware Izuku is imagining the same. His face is practically the color of a strawberry-- his green hair really bringing the image all together.

You turn to one another in unison, searching for the answer in each other’s eyes; Is this love? Or is this emptiness? You and Deku silently struggle to figure out an explanation, though it doesn’t matter. 

Because you kiss anyway.

As soon as you make contact, those sparks that frazzled you earlier return. When you push your mouth harder against his, they dazzle you.

Izukus lips are thin, but creamy. He’s the kind of guy who carries chapstick with him everywhere, and apparently his favorite flavor is vanilla, because when you run your tongue along his lip it tastes like ice cream. He whimpers at the feeling, and you take advantage of how sensitive he is. When you bite his lip he moans into your mouth and pulls you closer.

Kissing Midoriya is as gratifying as it is dissatisfying. Kissing someone so desperate-- so needy, for you, is empowering. It fills your Bakugou-sized hole with pleasure. But, his kiss is also cold and lifeless. The only emotion that fuels it is rejection. Behind this kiss, and behind your lips, is loneliness. You’re both anxious and uncertain, so you’re kissing what’s comfortable. And you keep kissing to replace these problematic feelings with something exciting. 

Soon, your kisses become hollow. The sparkes evaporate. Izukus lips aren’t as delicious as they seemed when you first started, and the way you nibble on his lip begins to sting.

You slow to a mutual halt, deciding to bask in eachothers warmth through cuddles instead of kisses. Even though Izuku’s body is alive with the heat of your kiss, he feels cold.

You return to the movie, but the kiss leaves another question lingering in the air.

You’re best friends.

What does this mean?

Something has shifted between you two, and you can’t tell if its for the better or the worst.  

[juniaships]

Jora Holiday Bio **Update 2021**

The following paragraphs contains information exclusively for the original series.

Full Name: Jora Ladybird Holiday

Age: 9, 29 (Ben10000); 39 (Ken 10)

Birthday: March 31/April 1 (she was born 11:59pm on March 31)

Species: Human

Race: African American

Fandom: Ben 10 (classic&reboot), The Secret Saturdays (crossover), Generator Rex (crossover), Cartoon Network/CN City (crossover)

Voice Claim: Kimberly Brooks; Brandy Norwood is another alternate choice

Character Role: Friend and love interest to Ben Tennyson

Powers/Abilities: Rot Inducement, Mycokinesis, Poison/Toxin Immunity, Self Healing/Regeneration, Moderate Chronokinesis (Time-Acceleration)

Items: Vials, Mini Lab, Gloves

Relationships

Family: Jeremy (father), Mavis (mother), Tasha (sister), Pattibelle (first cousin) Ginger (family friend); Kenny, Kendrix & Belle (future children), Devlin (adopted son/cousin in law(?))

Friends: Ben & Gwen Tennyson, Max Tennyson, Cooper Daniels, Richard Mortis, Mama G (future mentor)

Acquaintances: Ginger T. Glass, Tamika

Love Interest: Ben is her primary love interest, as seen with their eventual future together as well as hints and blatant displays of "puppy love."

Enemies: Pretty much every villain in this show; her personal arch-nemesis is Kudzu, a lifestyle expert & entrepreneur who initially tried to gentrify Jora's neighborhood & ruin her family's business. Other villains include Master Mortis (Richard's creator), and Kudzu's bounty hunters.

Appearance

- Dark Skinned African American girl

- Chubby, shorter than Ben and Gwen

- Has dark brown hair styled in twisted pigtails, pink hair scrunchies

- Black Bead Eyes//dark brown

- Wears lilac lacy gloves

- Wears three different outfits through the show:

- Season 1: Yellow t-shirt, pink shorts, beige sandals

- Seasons 2&3: Pink and Yellow striped tank top, orange skirt, and same sandals

- Season 4: Pink and white t-shirt, yellow capris with orange belt, and purple shoes

Personality

A sweet and quiet girl, Jora Holiday did not consider herself to be special. She lacked friends in school and kept to herself out of fear of getting bullied. This was because she had to deal with her mutant powers since they came into fruition as a very small child. Jora normally tries to avoid or deflate conflict, though deep down she does get a little fed up with playing peacemaker if the squabbling persists. Jora is compassionate and humble, never boastful but also bashful when it comes to compliments and praise. Of the four kids she is regarded as the nicest.

Because of her powers Jora has clean freak tendencies in her desire to look as normal as possible. She tried to avoid gross situations, although later down the line she learns it's okay to dirty her gloves - literally.

But with sweetness comes sourness, as she does have a passive-aggressive side towards slights, whether real or perceived. She didn't get along with Tasha, feeling as though the latter didn't care for her (which isn't true). Jora tends to be oversensitive and takes things too personally, ans even can be prone to tears if provoked hard enough. She also bears lingering resentment and shame over the partial ailments her element brings; these feelings fade away over time as she grows to accept her powers and adapt to her condition. One of her biggest flaws is her timidness and inability to stand up for herself and others. She also didn't get along with Ben for a while, though they get better quickly.

Jora has a love of nature, as shown with her hobby of collecting flowers and mushrooms. She despises animal abuse of any kind, and strives to be a bit more conscious of the environment. She also seems to have no phobia towards bugs, and thus is the designated "spider catcher" on the Rust Bucket.

Jora has a passion for fashion and a girly sense of style, preferring to dress in bright or pastel colors. Her love of nature and love of fashion could lead to a career based on environmentally friendly beauty products.

Ben 10000: Lavender shortsleeved dress and white apron

Adult Appearance

When she grows up Jora is considerably more capable of handling herself. She gets upset when people see and treat her as a fragile thing, seeing as though they don't trust her. She also is very in tune with nature, spending her days off on long walks in the forests, or at her homemade lab making potions.

In this timeline she was a waitress who worked after shifts as a vigilante. At the time the Hero of Heroes didn't know who this mysterious woman was, although he was struck by familiar feelings.

Ken 10: Mint Green blouse and pink maxiskirt with pink wristwatch (which is actually her transformation device)

Costume: White bodysuit with light purple accents, helmet and visor.

Powers:

Jora has the element of Decay (&Rebirth), which enables her to induce decomposition in organic material.

Techniques

- While not proficient at hand to hand she can run fast in short bursts and have stamina

- Generate spore clouds to obscure vision and block a person's airways

- Increase or decrease the rate the decay

- Increase or decrease the size of mushrooms, from giant prehistoric constructs to miniature samples to be used for medicine

- Create a slippery puddle of rot to make opponents fall

- Throw globs of inky, rotting matter to create fungus or for long range

- Autumn Leaf Tornado

- Create Penicillin (first "upgrade")

- Able to "purify" corrupted Mycellium in the episode "Camp Fear"

- Scavenger-animal Empathy

- Forensics (adult level)

- Fossil Fuel Manipulation (adult level)

- Floral Manipulation (adult level, possibly teen)

- Acid Spit (adult level)

- Hallucinations (teen level)

Weaknesses

- Her power has little to no effect on material such as metal, glass, synthetic fabrics, stones

- Has to wear her gloves at all times which can be tedious and uncomfortable

- Lacks strength and hand-to-hand proficiency

- Weak to extreme heat & cold

- Shroom Constructs can be easily destroyed if not continually reinforced

- Unable to control her powers if under extreme duress

- Requires weapons to compensate for elemental weaknesses

- Requires a source for better potency

Strengths

- Immune to Time related attacks since her powers are considered a form of chronokinesis

- Create healing potions

- Immune to mycotoxins and can decrease and even render dangerous mushrooms safe for consumption (handy for outdoor missions)

- Powers seem to increase in wet environments, the Moon

- Her kind gentle personality makes it easier for her to restrain the dangerous potential of her abilities

- Memorized enough species of fungi and has her own mini lab to safely store and carry samples

- Natural empathy towards others

- Quick learner, continually studies her powers and traits to adapt

Background

Born the second child to floral shop owners Jeremy and Mavis Holiday, Jora had a normal childhood in the comfy small town of Annville, SC. A quiet child, she spent after-school helping around the shop. They were small yet popular with the townsfolk, reputed for their knowledge of plants and colorful arrangements. However that normalcy took a detour when Jora's powers camemto fruition.

When people started to notice more and more plants dying, that in turn led to decrease in customers and soon the shop began to undergo financial trouble. One day, a beautiful woman named Kudzu came into the store offering to buy the place from Jeremy. See, Kudzu was one of the wealthiest and powerful people in town. He refused. The next day Kudzu came again with another proposition. Again Jeremy refused. This occurred all through the week, until finally a very irritated Mavis demanded Kudzu to leave their family alone. That time, Kudzu left and didn't ame back after that. The couple was relieved. Jora was nervous.

One day, just as Tasha and Jora were at the last day of school anf thr parents were off to cash in their winning lottery ticket, the floral shop caught fire! The firefighters were called and put out the blaze, but it left their shop and home in charred ruins.

Jora felt very guilty: if she never had her powers, there wouldn't have been such an awful domino effect. The fire was ruled as a freak accident, however Jeremy and Mavis believed that other forces were at work. They couldn't prove their theories as their suspect had too much power and leverage to be fought one on one. So they came up with a plan: they would spend the summer working to add money to the saved money while their kids go out of town. Mavis called upon an old friend from trade school to take the girls on vacation (somewhere safe from Kudzu).

The next couple of days after staying at a shelter, the girls were able to buy a few new outfits and essentials and told to wait for a brown and white RV. When the RV arrived, out came a older gentlemen in a bright scarlet Hawaiian shirt, with two children trailing behind him. He introduced himself as Max Tennyson, and the two kids were his grandchildren Ben and Gwen.

Trivia

Jora has a nature motif to contrast Ben's aliens and Gwen's magic.

Overall Jora is the most normal member of the team; her family has no connection to the Plumbers or magic.

Jora doesn't have signature color, the closest would be pink and yellow since those are colors she tends to wear the most of.

I made Jora so that there'd be another main girl in the cast and because the show didn't have a black female character (despite having nonwhite female characters of other ethnicities, and black male characters)

She does not have a major role in UAF; instead her storyline is seen as a spinoff (think Static Shock to the Justice League) focusing on smaller-scale plots with occasional cameos from main cast

Jora does come back in Omniverse to replace Gwen as the female lead; she is joined by Dr. Azura (Secret Saturdays OC), Myra Hopewell (GenRex), Ginger T. Glass, and her cousin Patti.

It is unknown whether her power is genetics or a random mutation.

In the Ben 10000 timeline she and Ben broke up because Ben tried to forbid her from going on active missions as a way to keep her safe. Obviously she didn't like that and left. They do reconcile at the end of the episode.

Out of my OCs for this fandom Jora is the lead character, followed by Kendrix

Jora's powers can vary based on the type of fungi she's using at the time. So her colors could range from inky-black to a gorgeous green

She is a candidate to take on the mantle of Mother Nature (currently held by Mama G)

Her hobbies are: reading comics and books primarily fantasy genre, costume design, hiking, floral pressing, DIY crafts, and insects

Due to her timid nature she has a fear of public speaking.

I don't have a claim for her in the live action films sorry!!

Jora is a foil for Kevin in that she was born with destructive powers. Unlike Kevin, she learned to rely on friends to help her stabilize her powers.

- A recurring subplot is the girls encountering and escaping from Kudzu's hired goons sent to track them down.

Jora was going to have standard plants and flowers as her power but I wanted to go for nontraditional elements instead.

The irony is that she's a softie dressed in bright colors and respects life, yet has a power related to death.

- At the end of the show she reunites with her parents and they're able to rebuild their business. She also stands up to Kudzu and exposes the woman for the rotten POS she is

Quotes:

"Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet face!"

"I like comic books. My favorite is the Fantasia Legends."

"If you're supposed to be Lucky Girl then why dress up like a black cat?"

"There's a lot of stories hidden beneath these trees. You just gotta know where to look."

"I'm not that scared little girl you used to pick on, Ben. I think you know I can take care of myself."

"Look I didn't get to choose my powers okay! But Kudzu chose to set our family's house on fire and I'm not gonna sit back and watch her hurt anyone else!"

"It's okay. I'll help you."

"It's called having good manners. You should try it sometimes."

"Leave. Them. Alone!"

"Please let this be a normal day this time!"

"You're like a mushroom. Unassuming at first, but something unique and vibrant!"

"Ben I don't know how to say this but... you're not alone. Don't ever think you're alone."

"I hope you'll be able to see that there's more to life than just money and business but until that day comes, we'll all do very well without you!"

"I may make things rot but the both of you are rotten to the core!"

Recent Pictures

Reference sheets for Omniverse

Sketches:

[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Free Time

Word count: 1564 Pairing: Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: I had a mighty need for inquisitor Cal, asked what kind of scenarios would you guys like to read and here we go.

My Writing Masterlist

He is always training.

Alone.

You don’t know much about this new Inquisitor who some call unofficially the Eleventh Brother. There would be plenty enough numbers available among the first ten. Some even whisper that he is the next Grand Inquisitor. He doesn’t look that special to you, but you don’t want to go close enough to get a better look.

With the way he handles the red lightsaber, it’s clear that he is no stranger to the weapon. After a few sparring matches, the Purge Troopers quickly learned to avoid him in training spaces. Everyone gives him a wide berth.

Former Jedi Cal Kestis is always training because when he isn’t, he can hear his own thoughts, screaming inside his head. There is no one to talk to, no one to drown the thoughts with. The other Inquisitors barely treat him as equal, most often settling for avoidance. The feeling is mutual.

Cal feels the yearning for companionship, but there is none he can trust now. None who would comfort or encourage him. Getting physically exhausted and falling into dreamless sleep makes his new life somewhat more bearable. There is no light in his existence now. Just aimless darkness where he wanders, trying to hold his head above the surface. He is just surviving.

Attending to your duties at the Fortress Inquisitorius, you have no time to stare at the new Inquisitor, as handsome as he may be. He is swinging the double-bladed lightsaber in a speed that makes you dizzy. You don’t like the way the Second Sister looks at him, like a trophy from a hunt. It makes you feel sick but there is nothing you can do, especially show your disgust.

Nur wouldn’t have been your first choice, but one can’t exactly say no to a direct order. So you just focus on the job and hope that a new order will come soon.

It’s been two years.

Working in maintenance isn’t the most exciting career under the rule of the Galactic Empire. At least you don’t have to torture or murder anyone, only look the other way when someone else does. Things like that tend to numb people. You’re not proud of it. You’re just surviving.

Most of your coworkers are droids. Sometimes you hear people joking that you’re leading an army of your own. You tend to avoid the Troopers and especially the Inquisitors. Keeping a low profile is not just the best tactic to stay alive on the planet, it’s a necessity.

With a job that mainly requires only hands, you have too much time to think and wait for the comlink to spark into life.

“Requiring maintenance on residential level. Over.”

An everyday occurrence. You sigh. “What seems to be the problem? Over.”

“Another blasted lock. Apartment 2-5-7-K. Over.”

Gripping the comlink, you bite your lip. Shit. Anything over 250 means it’s an Inquisitor’s door. You’d best hurry.

“I’m on my way. Over.”

A blasted lock. You wonder what the reason is this time. What Trooper was stupid enough to draw a weapon in the hallways? They probably paid for the insolence with their life. Maybe there was a skirmish with one of the prisoners or someone tried to escape. Wouldn’t be the first time. You try to think of something else.

The hallway is fortunately empty so you speed walk to the right door. 257K. After a short inspection it seems that the lock is not actually broken, the door just needs some basic maintenance. The room hasn’t been in use for a long time but apparently someone has moved in recently. You make a mental note to bump it higher up on the priority list and to make sure a droid is taking care of it.

“It just needs adjustment, right?”

A scream almost flees you and you drop the servodriver.

The red-head Inquisitor stands next to you, slightly crouched to see better what you’re doing. You didn’t hear anyone approaching.

“Would’ve fixed it myself if I had the tools,” he continues, ignoring your almost heart attack.

“I’m sorry! This’ll be ready in a minute,” you say hastily and try not to look at the freckles on his face.

The Inquisitor’s brows crease closer together when you don’t look him in the eye.

“Okay,” he simply replies and leans against the wall, arms folding on his chest and looking like he isn’t going anywhere soon. If anything, he seems to enjoy watching you panic. A light smirk on his face and all.

You feel the eyes on your back as you work as fast as you can, checking and testing the connectors. Some of them need to be changed soon and that requires another order of spare parts. You just love paperwork and spending the Empire’s credits.

“Can you take a look at the AC inside? It’s been acting up.”

The servodriver almost falls from your grip again. You turn around to bow your head to the Inquisitor. Your eyes are obstinately drawn to the lightsaber resting against his thigh. “Of course, sir.”

The constant feeling of “I hope he doesn’t kill me” in your gut makes your hands shake but somehow you manage to make sure the lock works again. The Inquisitor still leans on the wall, looking like he has all the time in the world to just hang out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him outside the dojo.

“There. Is it okay if I go in to check the AC now?” You don’t want to look him in the eye and with your every cell hope that he will leave now and let you work in peace.

Not a chance.

He shows you inside and stays hovering nearby as you try to calm yourself enough to work. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you. Something about you, watching you is… itching him.

“The thermostat seems to be broken, sir.” You dare a peek at the Inquisitor. He doesn’t seem as intimidating as the others and is actually younger than you initially thought. “I’ll need to go fetch some parts but I’ll set a static room temperature for now.”

“Okay.” He runs his hand through his ginger hair and sighs. “Can’t you just make a droid bring the parts?”

You blanch. “Uh, yes. Of course, I just thought it’d be faster if… I go… myself…” Your voice trails off under the cryptically meaningful look in his eyes.

Cal examines you, circling around in a slow, lazy arc. He has noticed you before even though you actively make every effort to not stand out. He felt something spark inside him in the hallway and he needs a moment to realize it’s curiosity that brings life to his dull existence. The feeling has some exhilarating new shades and he wonders is it because you look like a cornered animal, shaking in fear.

It excites him.

“Sir?” you squeak and can’t form the follow up question because Cal takes a step towards you.

“Who are you?” he asks slowly, gaze trained onto your face, eyes boring holes into your mind. His pulse is quickened like in the thick of a combat and he cannot understand why.

“Um, I’m not sure I– I’m just a technician. I’ve got clearance, y-you see… I can show you my ID…” you stutter and fumble a hand into your chest pocket to fish out the ID card. “See?”

Cal doesn’t even spare a glance at it.

“Yeah. I’m not interested in that,” he says coolly. He stands close enough to either strangle or hug you – though you know he wouldn’t need to get close and personal to kill you. You’re starting to panic.

“Sorry…” you peep, “Can I…”

Go?

You can’t finish the sentence because the Inquisitor leans forward and plants a gloved hand against the wall over your shoulder – a predator enjoying one last sniff of his prey before the killing blow.

All of your jittering ends and you completely freeze. The whimper that escapes your lips doesn’t sound like you at all. He has so many freckles and the feeling they enact in you acts as the perfect opposite to what their owner is doing. As good-looking as he may be, getting within a kissing distance to the Inquisitor wasn’t on your bucket list.

However, while you’re waiting perfectly still – in spite of your racing heart – for his next move, Cal hesitates. The excitement that spurred him into taking the initiative is gaining an altogether different tone. He is suddenly nervous and has to ball his hand into a fist to stop it from shaking.

You stare at each other, mere inches away and lightly gasp for breaths. The menacing Inquisitor aura is gone and you curse him for toying with you like that since there’s no way you can forget this ever happened. For a fleeting moment, you think should you just kiss him and be done with it – and gamble your life on his goodwill.

Cal finally loses his nerve and leaves without so much as a word or a glance at your direction.

You wait for a few stunned breaths to hear if he is coming back after the fateful sizzle of the door. Your head is positively spinning by the time you make it out alive from the quarters of Inquisitor Cal Kestis.

You hope nothing breaks in his room again.

//

Part 2

[440mxs-wife]

The Hunter’s Princess - Chapter 9: Matters of the Heart

Pairing: Dean x OFC Kira, Prince!Dean x OFC Lady Kira. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Prince!Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Gabriel, King!John, Queen!Mary, Lucifer and assorted minor characters.

Chapter 9 Word Count: 3020+

Warnings: This is going to be a bit angsty still. Show-level violence, Prince!Dean being kind of a jerk

A/N: This is from some material that’s been rattling around in my head from another project that changed direction. Couldn’t let all this content go to waste, though, so here it is. It’s a work-in-progress, and I will try and update as regularly as I can. If you want to be tagged in this series, send me a message!

A/N2: I would like to thank everyone for your support and your comments so far. I hope you are enjoying this as much as I am having fun writing it.

Thank you and happy reading!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean wandered through the bunker to the library. He sat down at the table and opened one of the lore books belonging to Kira's parents, absently flipping through it. It's all in Gabriel's hands now, he thought. Hopefully he got through and delivered his message. I need a sign, though, something to tell me this is going to work and that I'll get to see my Kira again, Dean pleaded.

With a yawn, he relaxed in the chair, leaning forward onto the table. Dean folded his arms and rested his head in the crook of his right elbow then closed his eyes. It wasn't long before his breathing evened out and he was asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In her room at the castle, Kira assembled the ingredients in the bowl as instructed by Gabriel. She took one of her knives and slashed across her palm, letting a few drops of her blood mix with the contents of the bowl. Kira then threw a match into the bowl, igniting the ingredients and as they burned, she invoked the spell. "Somnium Lucem, Somnium Noctis. Nuntius Mea Cor Tuum," she chanted. ("Dream Light, Dream Night, Message from My Heart to Yours")

"Dean? Dean, please wake up, it's me, Kira," she pleaded.

"Kira? Where are you, sweetheart?" Dean mumbled, eyes still closed.

"I'm coming to you through your dream, but I don't have much time. Gabriel got through to us over here, and we're getting everything ready to come home," Kira remarked.

Dean sat upright, fully awake now. "Baby? Where are you? Why can't I see you? Please, I'm so lost without you," he said, frantically looking around the library, desperate to see his sweet love.

"I know my love, let me try something," she replied. Kira closed her eyes and concentrated on Dean.

Suddenly, a glowing figure appeared behind Dean's chair in the library. It slowly came into focus to reveal his Kira, the one his heart longed for. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He reached out his hand, as did Kira, but they passed through one another.

"Hello, Dean," Kira whispered back, smiling, but with her own tears threatening to fall. "I'm so sorry to be so far away from you, my love, but we'll be together again soon," she promised.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. I miss you so much," he murmured. His voice was thick with emotion and tears were silently tracking down his face.

Kira reached out to try and wipe them away, but her hand still passed right through. "I wish I could be there to dry your tears. Just remember, no matter what happens, you are always in my heart and I love you," she said as she gave him a watery smile.

"I love you too. Please be careful where you are, darlin'. We need you back here," Dean reminded her.

"I know, Dean, I will. You be careful too. Lucifer's here, and he said he has demons watching you and Sam," she explained as her image started to fluctuate. "I'm sorry, I have to go, now, my love. Be home soon," Kira's voice faded along with her glowing figure until there was nothing left but the silence.

"Oh, my Kira......" Dean whispered, finally breaking down.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rowena wandered through the courtyard, where she saw Lady Serena surrounded by the other competitors and some of her admirers. As tempting as it was to cast a harmless but embarrassing spell on her, Rowena resisted and instead listened to their conversation.

Lady Serena mentioned that the princes and Castiel had ridden on  horseback out to a nearby Eastern province. They were sent to  investigate an animal attack. Rowena had been with the Winchesters long  enough to know that 'animal attack' is code for 'werewolf'.

As she walked past the stables on her way back to Kira's room, Rowena overheard a stable hand speaking to Collins. The man had heard about the animal attack in  the Eastern province. He said it may be worse than originally thought, and he was worried for his family in that area. Collins assured the man that help was on its way, not to worry and to please tend to his   duties.

Collins noticed Rowena as she walked by and hurried over to her.  "Begging your pardon, Lady Rowena, but have you seen Lady Kira?" he  asked.

"Last I saw, she was in her room, not feeling well. She and Prince Dean had a bit of a....falling out, you might say," Rowena explained.

Collins looked away, shook his head and mumbled something under his breath about Prince Dean being a damned fool, then he returned his attention to Rowena. "If you see her, please tell her that Prince Dean is in trouble, and that her weapons skills could be very useful," he  pleaded.

Rowena laid a hand on his arm to reassure him that she would take care of everything and not to worry. He promised that Kira's horse, Midnight, would be saddled and waiting for her when she was ready.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rowena hurried up to Kira's room to explain the situation, meeting Sarah on the way. When they opened the door, Rowena noticed the altar and smelled the burnt remnants of the spell cast by Kira. They also saw Kira laying on the floor, nearly passed out from exhaustion. "And just what have you been up to, young lady?" Rowena demanded.

Kira lazily turned her head as best as she could to look Rowena in the eye. "Gabriel told me how to communicate with Dean through his dreams," she replied. A faraway smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And I saw him, Rowena, I did it. I told Dean we got the message, and that we'd be home soon. I told him I loved him, and he said he loved me too," she finished, then seemed to lose consciousness.

"Och, darlin' this is the absolute worst time for you to be out of commission! The princes and Castiel have caught word of an 'animal attack' in the Eastern province. It's a few hours' ride from here, but the problem is bigger than was originally reported. You know what they're up against, dearie, and they're going to need your help, so please wake up," Rowena pleaded.

Kira's energy had not quite returned from the effects of the dream communication spell, so Rowena's words had no effect. Rowena knew how critical the situation was with the princes and Castiel, so she had no choice but to use her magic. Her eyes glowed purple as she channeled her energy and her words into returning Kira to her normal, rested state.

A wave of energy seemed to wash through Kira and she was instantly awake and sitting upright. "Whoa, whoa, I'm up! No more zapping required. Gabriel said that the spell would take a lot out of me. I guess I wasn't prepared for just how much it would take out of me. Thank you, though," Kira said to Rowena.

"You're welcome my dear, but perhaps in future, you may want to leave the spellwork to the experts? No more dabbling," Rowena gently chided.

"Yes, ma'am. Absolutely. No more dabbling," she promised then stood up. "I have to get dressed more appropriately if I'm going after the princes and Castiel," Kira replied. She wasted no time in changing out of her day dress. She pulled on her tunic, a pair of leggings and her boots, similar to what she wore for the weapons competition.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Miss? It sounds rather dangerous, and you have your audience with the king and queen in 20 minutes!" Sarah exclaimed.

Kira put her hands on Sarah's arms and looked her straight in the eye. "Sarah, yes, I know that this will be dangerous, but it's nothing I haven't faced before. And regardless of what happened between Prince Dean and me, I can't turn my back on him or anyone else in trouble.

"The audience with the king and queen can wait. Or not, I don't really care about anything except getting the princes and Castiel back, safe and sound. What happens to me afterwards is irrelevant," she muttered as she tied her bag closed and headed for the stables.

"Don't forget this," Rowena handed Kira the locket. "Collins assured me that Midnight would be saddled and waiting for you," she explained.

"Thank you, Rowena," Kira replied. She fastened the clasp on her necklace and tucked it into her tunic. "I'll be  back as soon as I can. If the king and queen somehow get wind of what's going on, please let them know that the situation is well in hand," Kira  asked.

Rowena nodded and said she would explain the situation, should the opportunity arise. She mumbled a protection spell, then kissed Kira's forehead to complete the process. Then Kira and Midnight rode off into the waning hours before nightfall to assist the princes and Castiel.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Collins told the princes about a werewolf attack in one of the Eastern provinces, one not far from the castle. The report said only two  or three werewolves, which they had tracked to an abandoned barn. The men decided to hide in the bushes and keep watch to see what they were up against.

While they waited, Samuel decided now was as good a time as any to try and fix things between his brother and Lady Kira. "Hey, Dean? What happened between you and Lady Kira?" he asked.

Dean looked at Sam. "Seriously? You want to do this now?!?" he said incredulously.

"I just want to know. I mean, one minute, you're spending every  waking moment together. The next thing I see you arm-in-arm with Lady Serena. Who is a bit arrogant, in my opinion," Samuel added.

"I'm afraid I'm with Prince Samuel, Your Highness. You and Lady Kira  seem so well-suited for each other, and I've never seen you so happy as when you're with her," Castiel added.

"Yeah?? Well, tell that to the man that was in her room last night. I asked Lady Kira to go for a stroll through the gardens, but she begs off, saying she was tired. I went into the garden, cut down a yellow rose and  was going to give it to her as a token of my friendship. Only I heard her with someone else and their conversation was more than friendly," he retorted.

"But maybe it's not what you think, Dean. Think about it before you--" Samuel was cut off by his brother.

"Drop it, Sam," Dean demanded. "Look, over there. Two werewolves, no wait--now there's three more," he remarked.

"This is too many, we can't take this many on, Dean," Samuel said.

"Yeah we can, we have to. There's nobody else to do it except us. Here's what we do," he started.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kira rode Midnight as fast as she could to get to where the princes  and Castiel were battling the werewolves. Part of her was asking, why am I doing this? Prince Dean rejected my friendship and moved on with my fiercest rival.  The other part, the bigger part....still cares about him. With that thought, she spurred Midnight on to ride just a little faster.

An hour later, Kira had found the abandoned barn where the werewolves were last reported. She saw where the royal horses were tethered and secured Midnight with them. She could hear shouting from the princes and Castiel, along with growling and snarling from the werewolves.

Kira dug in her bag for her silver throwing knives, then re-tied the bag closed. She sheathed the knives in leather pouches tied around her thigh and waist. A silver dagger was tucked into one of her boots. With her weapons secured, she crept up to the barn and into the battle.

She carefully opened the door and saw that Prince Samuel was the one most immediately in front of her. Two of the werewolves were already dead, leaving three more. Prince Samuel was on his back on the floor, a werewolf hovered over him with long, sharp claws ready to strike. She pulled out two knives and threw them in quick succession, embedding themselves in the heart of Prince Samuel's assailant.

Prince Samuel rolled out from under the werewolf just in time to keep it from crashing on top of him. He got to his feet and looked around to see who had thrown the knives. When his eyes landed on Kira, his face registered genuine shock. She gave him a quick smile and a salute, then the two of them went to help his companions.

A werewolf had Castiel pinned up against a wall, snarling and snapping its jaws at his captive. Castiel was managing to keep it at arms' length, but Kira knew his strength wouldn't hold out forever.

Kira threw a knife at its back to pull his attention away from Castiel. The werewolf howled in pain, arching its back and releasing its hold, allowing Castiel to drive his silver dagger into its heart. Castiel  managed to give Kira a weak but grateful smile, followed by a weary  salute, after which they all went to find Prince Dean.

The three of them found him in the next room, hunched over in pain and being stalked by the last werewolf. Kira could see blood on his ripped shirt and knew they didn't have much time. Prince Samuel, Castiel and Kira fanned out, trying to draw their attention away from Prince Dean.

The werewolf noticed the three newcomers and shifted its focus, deciding that Kira was its next target. She withdrew her knife, took aim and threw it at the creature. However, at the last second, it moved, causing the knife to only strike it in the left thigh instead of its heart.

Missing her target only angered the beast even more, as it continued to stalk her. She drew her silver dagger out from her boot. When it lunged, she tried to dodge its blow, but its claws managed to graze her upper arm and she dropped the dagger.

Kira cried out in pain, holding the injured arm and kept moving away from the creature. This gave Prince Samuel an opportunity to retrieve the dagger, which he drove into the last werewolf's heart, thus ending the battle.

With the battle over, Prince Dean collapsed to his knees in pain. Prince Samuel and Castiel rushed to his side and each took an arm to support him so he could walk. Kira's tunic was torn at the bottom, so she ripped off a strip to use as a makeshift bandage for her arm. She brought a first aid kit, but it was back in her bag with Midnight. She had just finished tying off her bandage when the men reached her position.

"Lady Kira, that was amazing. I was unaware of your hunting skills, and I am suitably impressed. Thank you for coming to our aid," Castiel remarked with a slight bow.

"It was truly fortunate that you were able to find us and take out these werewolves, Lady Kira. Your assistance was invaluable," Prince Samuel said.

Kira waited for Prince Dean to say something, anything, or to even acknowledge her presence. She decided to speak up first. "Your Highness," she said as she gave a slight curtsy. "I can see that you are injured. I have a first aid kit out--"

"What are you doing here? How did you find us? We had the situation well in hand before you showed up. What were you thinking?" Prince Dean ranted.

"If that's your way of saying 'thank you', save it. You could learn a few things from your brother and Castiel about showing gratitude," Kira retorted.

"'Showing gratitude'? Saying 'thank you'?" he responded sarcastically. "You could've been injured much worse or even killed!" he thundered.

Kira's anger had reached its boiling point and there was no going back now. She was going to let him have it and to hell with the consequences. "Oh yeah? Fat lot you care! One minute we're holding hands in the garden, talking about moonlight strolls. The next minute, I see you running around with Lady Serena on your arm.

"You barely speak to me, so I can't find out whatever I may have done wrong to even try and fix it. You broke my heart by taking away our friendship. But you know what? Despite all that's happened between us, I came out here to help. I cannot and will not turn my back on you or anyone else in trouble. Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Highness, it's time I got back to the castle," Kira finished, turning on her heel and heading towards the horses.

"Okay, you want to talk? Fine. Let's talk," he shouted as they walked. "Why don't we talk about there being a man in your room that night after dinner? I asked you to go for a walk but you said you were tired, so you went up to your room.

"I cut down a rose from the garden and was bringing it to you as a token of my friendship with you. But I stopped in front of your door because I heard you flirting with another man. You lied to me, Lady Kira. Lied about why you didn't want to spend time with me that night, and who knows what else. You probably even lied about your feelings for me," he accused.

By this time, they had reached the horses and Kira opened her bag for the first aid kit. She threw it to Prince Samuel. "Your Highness," she said as she looked straight at Prince Dean. "I could tell you that I never lied about anything with you, which I did not, but you won't accept that. I told you some things that would have me locked away for being crazy, but you somehow believed them," she pointed out. Castiel assisted her up into the saddle. "Why won't you believe in me now?" Kira choked out as she and Midnight rode off towards the castle.

Part 10 here!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @babygurltt @flamencodiva @ejlovespie​ @deandreamernp

The Hunter’s Princess Series Tags: @supernatural-love14

[deeeelightfuldee]

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? ooooof. I don’t think i’d buy that. I hardly think people who DO show they have feelings for me are being truthful, so I doubt that.

Do you play video games? haven’t in some time, but I want to get back into it a little.

Do you spend a lot of time with family? oh heck yeah. I have a really great family.

Is your house more than two stories tall? nah, it’s the two stories with a basement.

Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? I will never raise my hands to another human being. I once dated someone who was a veteran and had severe ptsd. we were napping one time and he got aggressive. that wasn’t HIM though. 

What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!) physically, I suppose I have nice eyes and a decent smile. personality wise, I am warm, friendly, loving, supportive, sometimes funny, very loyal.

What color is your hairbrush/comb? depends which one I use. I have a pink one right now. 

What snacks do you have available in your household atm? I honestly haven’t got a clue. I haven’t been let out of my room in 2 weeks.

Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive? yes. it’s weird.

Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged? DEF not. he has been asking me out since we worked together maybeeeee.. 8-9 years ago? 

Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you? yes! I am trying to learn how to undo that. it’s not that I don’t want to care about him, but I know and can soooooooo clearly see that he doesn’t care anymore, and it is extremely emotionally draining to watch.

Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female? I wanna say female but idk

Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you? scott

When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate? couple days ago.

Do you play any games on Facebook? Nope.

What would you like to get a degree in? I have two degrees -- one in psych and one in SLP. 

Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? ahahahaha yes. almost always wide awake from 3-6

Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game? typically more in the movie/show or book mood.

Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? Both. nothing like that buttery, salty goodness that obvs requires an enormous drink

What genre of films do you like the best? either make me EXTREMELY sad, or romantic.

How many bank accounts do you have? 2

Have you ever had the flu? Yeah.

What is your goal for the next few months? i have several. the only one that can/will be public right now, is to get my lungs back to functioning as they were.

Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life? yes. I have very bad breathing during sleep. I have had 11 sleep studies done, because my breathing will just stop randomly, which luckily my brain wakes me. it doesn’t really affect my like severely.. I function normally. but shoooooot, if I got normal levels of sleep i’d be a force to be reckoned with.

Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience. Yes. It was AWFUL. vomiting for 2 days straight. it was so gross.

Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. smart and romantic.

Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it? hmm. I think there have been times where i’ve let people have more access to me than they should have had. or there have definitely been times I’ve been used in school groups. But honestly, I tend to be protective of myself. I stop when I feel enough is enough. 

You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? I would want either Bill to not die, or for her to be spoiled incessantly by someone else.

Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? psh. no. my friends are all tiny which is just not fun.

Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you? Yeah. i found it so fun.

Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see? ahahahaha no. 

Which is worse: dusting or mopping? mopping. i hate doing the floors.

Did you pull a senior prank? Not really advised when a homeschooler. 

Did you graduate? Yes. that was a rough, rough day.

Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship? Nope

What was the last song you listened to? i think it was Happier than Ever by billie eilish. the lyrics are ... woof. 

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? 20/12 -- the last time I had insurance anyway.

Is fashion one of your interests? honestly, if I had money, it would be. but it isnt right now.

Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone? It’s getting harder and harder to believe that will be the case. I knowwwww I need to start dating, but every time I go to open up an app, I hesitate and chicken out. I just was so happy before.. its hard to think I could be able to offer anything to anyone right now.

Do you care what people think? veryyyyyy few people. I care about the thoughts of those I genuinely love and respect. However, I still ensure I’m protecting myself regardless.

Is acting something you enjoy? No. 

What was the last thing you broke/sprained? I have a bum knee, so I sprain that from time to time. I last broke a finger.

Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours? ahahahaha yes. but years ago. never because of mine.

Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language? No. I don’t cuss. 

Whose house, other than yours and your families’, are you most comfortable at? probably either nathan’s or em’s.

Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you? alix’s family used to yell at me a lot for being fat. that used to mess me up. 

Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? soccer. no, i found the endless running to be unnecessary. 

Did you ever watch the show Full House? yup

Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry? no, thats so out-of-touch with reality

Have you ever burned someone’s picture? yes, i have.

What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on? i think it was 8 hours. I hate hate hate hikes. But, thats because I have really weak lungs, so my doctor says it’s like lighting them on fire.

Would you ever get a lip tattoo? No.

Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? kile

Do your parents smoke cigarettes? my mom hasn’t since a teenager. I think my dad does still. though, i dunno for certain.

What does one of your T-shirts have written on it? uhhhh, PTK honors society

Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. Any reptile or insect. <<<< same

Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller? Taller. 

Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Yes. very much so.

Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people? No, i respect people who are truthful saying they either try not to judge, or that they do judge despite their desire to stop.

What did you love the most about the town you grew up in? sooooooo much. it’s small town-y, quiet, safe, lots of trees, family close by.

What’s a movie you cried the hardest during? ps i love you will always shatter my heart.

What’s your favorite restaurant? buona or ashford

Is there a dessert you don’t like? im not wild about pastries.

What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it? hmmm maybe that one mrs. pettigrews home for peculiar children.

Underwater or outer space? i’m fascinated by both. typically more interested in the water.

Dogs or cats? both. all of them.

Kittens or puppies? kittens.

Bird watching or whale watching? whales!!!!!!!!

What was your best subject in school? in HS probably history. or science. in college, psych or neuro.

What was your worst subject in school? Math. always freakin’ math.

What is one thing you wish you knew in high school? Uhhh. hm. i don’t think anything. I liked my experience.

Who is your fashion icon? nada.

Diamonds or pearls? Both are nice. I love pearl stud earrings and I really want a simple, one pearl necklace. I am kinda ruined for diamonds for some time. My favorite rings and necklace were diamonds from kile and I just cant bring myself to wear those anymore.

What color dress did you wear to prom? pink

Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? oh sure. I am envious of those with bangin’ bods. I’m envious of those who have great finances. I am envious of those who live life married to their love. I’m envious of people who see kile regularly. But there are difficulties that come with any of those situations.

Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out? not long ago. the whole crushing reality of losing kile just destroyed me. I’m OK now.

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call? ahahahahah. I just reject all calls.

Who are you closest to? My mom and nathan rn.

Have you ever had a bad concert experience? no

Are you currently sad about anything? several things have recently been really saddening, but I’m ok. Ill get thru it.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Its going to be some time before I’m cleared for that. I almost faint from taking a shower and I have to be on oxygen after doing the one flight of stairs. 

Can you handle blood? doesn’t bother me at all.

Has any place hired you underage for a job? yes. I mean technically, I was legal to work in that I was 17, but the company didn’t want to hire younger than 18.

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon? not like in public, but at a house or gun range, yes.

Are you currently searching for a job? soon.

Does eating breakfast make you sick? i’m never ever ever hungry for it. I know i should, but its the worst. I don’t even like breakfast foods.

[aforrestofstuff]

What do you think the OPM characters' guilty pleasures would be? I feel like Tatsu loves soap operas and Atomic Samurai secretly loves a really popular boy band, like SMAP

Thanks for your request, anon! Sorry this took me so long to get to, you were buried in my inbox lol. But I hope this was worth the wait because oh boy this required all 3 of my brain cells.

Tornado of Terror: As you said, soap operas. She also loves candy apples in canon. But...she also is a HUGE fan of those really cheesy Cosmopolitan magazines that have all of the personality quizzes and the “which hot male celeb would date you” scenarios. She doesn’t fall for it one bit. In fact, she hate reads those fuckers in the same way that people pay to go see bad movies. It’s fun.

Silverfang: Yoga and following along to some cheesy-ass 80s workout videos. I’ve said he likes yoga in a previous headcanon, but he also likes to exercise along to some obnoxious 80s pop while some dude in a leotard instructs him on what to do from a TV screen. He wears sweatbands and legwarmers, too. The whole shebang. He only does it when he’s alone, though. Sometimes he’ll try to teach yoga to his disciples as a way to help them decompress after a long training session, but his workout tapes are his best-kept secret.

Atomic Samurai: I don’t know what a SMAP is, but he’s definitely got some questionable music choices going on considering he’s... well, the way that he is. I’d say he likes to listen to old country, like Marty Robbins and Glen Campbell. It’s really funny because you’ve got this intimidating man from Japan (or a fictional universe basically set in Japan) with a badass katana and shit but inside that empty head of his, there’s just a faint “out in the west Texas town of El Paso....”

Child Emperor: Picking at scabs. He’s often on his knees fixing shit in his lab, and he probably gets burned all the damn time from playing around with lasers so he’s undoubtedly always has a wound healing somewhere. Whenever he’s working on something, he’ll just absentmindedly pick at his scabs. It’s a bad habit and he knows it, but nothing beats the feeling of peeling off an entire patch of that shit. So satisfying.

Metal Knight: Buying books. He doesn’t even read them. He just buys bigass novels with smart-sounding names to fill up his library because he thinks it’ll make his dick grow another three inches or some shit. One of the few things he likes in this world (besides homicide) is the smell of a new book. If he’s feeling particularly pissy, he’ll go into his library and just ssssssnnnnnnnnnniififfffffffffff. He spends an outrageous amount of money on it. If he has anyone over (which is unlikely, but hypothetically speaking) and they mention his library by asking something like “have you read all of these?” It’ll be one of the few times in his life that he’ll feel shame.

King: Reading and writing fanfiction based on his favorite video game/anime series. Nobody knows he does this except his small following online, of course. And even more so, nobody online knows he’s an ultra-popular S-Class hero who’s friends with the most powerful man on earth. He’s actually a pretty decent writer, he just doesn’t take himself too seriously so the plotline to his stories tend to get a little haywire and overly self-indulgent. Let him have his fun. He just wants to be a Sailor Scout.

Zombieman: Singing. He actually used to be a good singer (he sounded like a discount Steve Perry back in the day), but constant smoking really fucked up his voice. He might as well have lungs the size of grapes because he can’t carry a note for more than 2 seconds without wheezing like an accordion with asthma. He’s never sang in front of anyone before because he thinks it’s silly thing that isn’t worth showing off. Play anything from The Eagles though, and he’ll have a hard time resisting.

Drive Knight: He likes to open up panels in his arms and legs to play with the wires (basically a robot’s version of nerve endings, I’m assuming) just so he can feel something. It’s kind of sad because he doesn’t experience pain or the cold or being tickled... (I know what y’all are thinking and you’d better STOP). So he sometimes takes it upon himself to dick around with his insides and dip his toe into what it feels like to be human, even if it’s just for a little bit. He’s super secretive about it (he’s just secretive about everything, really) because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he desires something outside of being a weapon of mass destruction justice.

Pig God: His whole schtick is basically indulging in a guilty pleasure — pigging out on delicious food with no regard whatsoever for one’s overall health. Other than that, however, he does like to collect body pillows. There, I said it. All he fucking does is eat and he’s too much of a big boi to be going out 24/7, so he’s gotta be on the internet/watching anime/playing video games/reading manga during all of that downtime between his stints of doing hero work. His bed is fucking ginormous to handle all of that big boy-ness and on it, he has his body pillow nest. He rests on a throne made for kings. A true icon.

Superalloy Darkshine: Also working out along to some cheesy 80s exercise videos. His hero outfit was inspired from what those ravishing instructors would wear on the television. Well, it was supposed to be a full leotard but it ripped every time he flexed just a tiny bit so the speedo is the only thing that’s left. He’s gotta hella rhythm and keeps up with the music using little to no effort. Although, he can’t go too hard because he’s also a big boi and he’ll literally shake the entire building if he gets too turnt up. Dance muscle boy, dance.

Watchdog Man: Eating too many dog treats lol. Sometimes while he’s stationed on his little podium thing, visitors will leave him little offerings like dog treats and other miscellaneous food items/toys. He never takes them or eats them in front of people, but he often brings everything home with him after a long day just to gobble that shit up. He’s gained a little weight since he started doing it but you can’t even notice it because his suit is hella bulky. Some of it is due in part to stress-eating because being a dog and dude at the same time is hectic, but it’s honest work.

Flashy Flash: Racing shit. Whenever he’s on his travels during, say, assassination missions or hero work, he gets hella bored really quickly. So, to help with this, he’ll often race birds or planes flying in the sky on his way to his destination to see who’s quicker (it’s always him). Sometimes he’ll even play catch with himself by throwing a pine cone or something and running to the place he guesses it’ll land before it even touches the ground. He just does a ton of weird speedster shit whenever he’s bored and he’ll deny it if anyone asks.

Genos: Purposefully putting a little bit too much oil on his joints after each upgrade so he’ll be as slick as a salamander. It’s a really funny feeling to be able to move your limbs with little to no resistance without having to worry about popping or breaking anything. It just makes him feel so agile despite being like, a hunk of actual metal. If he wasn’t so uptight, he would loosen the screws in his fingers to he can bend them almost all the way back (he’s actually thought about it a few times), but both Dr. Kuseno and his 3 remaining braincells attested to that. He just likes to tinker around with his body and see what weird shit he can do. It’s a bad habit because it’s led to a few things being broken on multiple occasions.

Metal Bat: Zenko’s shitty pop music. Whenever he drops her off at school or piano practice, he’ll immediately go home and blast that shit on full volume (because he’s practically deaf from always jumping out of falling buildings and continuously blasting music in his earbuds) while doing chores and the like. He’s one of those people that HAVE to have something going on in the background as they’re getting shit done. He’d rather be caught dead than listening to the OPM equivalent of Taylor Swift because he knows Zenko would never let him live it down.

Tanktop Master: Wearing suits around the house when he’s not even going anywhere. He’s got to wear his tanktop 24/7 whenever he’s in public to keep up The Image (which he has no problem with, he genuinely loves the tanktop ideology) but he also needs to feel fancy every once and a while. So, if he happens to have the time while in between appearances, he’ll prance around in a suit tailored just for him. Because he’s so fucking huge that he had to pay someone a large sum to custom make an outfit that actually fits. He is 7-motherfucking-feet tall. 7.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Making Valentine’s Day cards all times of the year. Listen, it gets boring as hell in prison. Sometimes the guards will let all of the inmates have a little glitter and glue to keep themselves busy because no harm can come of a little arts and crafts, right? He likes to make cards on the daily just to let all of his lovers know how much he appreciates them. If they express even the slightest amount of disdain for his creations, he’ll spent the next week crying in the darkest corner of his cell block. He also likes origami. Origami is huge in prison because it’s hella time-consuming and guaranteed to calm a busy mind. His favorite things to make are little unicorns.

Amai Mask: Bath bombs. There have been several mishaps in which he’s used a poorly-made bath bomb and came out of the tub looking like Shrek but he’s grown and lot since then, okay? After a long day or a particularly stressful concert, he’ll sink into some hot water and drop a ball of lavender-scented goodness in there. It’s become a bit of an addiction because he’s got multiple cabinets dedicated solely to his collection, but at least he always smells divine.

Iaian: Shakespearean dramas. Kama got him hooked on theater shit and he’s since ripped through all of the most well-known plays. He thinks in iambic pentameter. It wasn’t always noticeable since he’s a quiet, well-reserved guy but his fellow disciples and Kami have recently noticed that he’s developed a bit of a dramatic flair. Even worse, he’s started calling himself a knight whenever he puts on his armor. Everyone prays it’s just a phase but seeing as how stubborn Iaian is, that seeks highly unlikely. Kami is dying inside because he can’t handle another drama nerd.

Okamaitachi: Soap operas, like Tatsumaki. Kama is the most dramatic out of all of the disciples so it’s only natural that she’d like the most dramatic genre of any show out there. She doesn’t exactly watch them religiously though. She’s the type of viewer to drop off the face of the earth for three seasons and come back without knowing what the fuck is going on (because the disciples have limited access to cable due to Kami’s dumbassery and ignorance to anything technology-related), but still cry during the finale anyway because oh no these people are so hot and one of them is deaaaaaad and the other one is that person’s long-lost sister....

Bushidrill: Taking alcohol from Atomic Samurai’s stash every so often. Bushidrill knows what the good shit is and he could buy it himself if he wanted to, but why would he when there’s a perfectly good alcoholic to steal from living right down the hall? He only takes in small doses because, believe it or not—he’s smart, but Kami isn’t gonna notice regardless of whether or not Bushi takes 1 or 5 bottles at a time because the old shit couldn’t spot a purple raccoon if it was 3 feet in front of him. There have been times where Bushi has opened bottles of Kami’s alcohol right in front of him just to play God and he always, without missing a beat, says “Oh, we have the same taste. How neat.”

Fubuki: I’ve said this before in a previous headcanon, but she has a mild obsession with Victorian aesthetic. She’s got a small collection of semi-authentic ballgowns that cost upwards of a-fuckton-of-money each, but anything’s worth it to be able to play dress-up with Lily. Fubuki’s favorite thing is making Lily feel beautiful because everyone has been an insecure teenager at one point and she knows how it feels to not be comfortable in one’s own skin. This isn’t exactly a guilty pleasure because she’s not guilty about it, but it’s almost gotten to a point where an intervention is needed. She’s got so many damn dresses and sooooo much fine china....

Saitama: Retail therapy, lol. Saitama is only good at budgeting because he has no choice given how fucking poor he is, but give this boy even a little bit of leeway and he’ll buy the ugliest clothes (to which he thinks look poppin’) and the best meats without even batting an eye. His entire manga collection is the product of him having little to no self control the moment he realizes he’s got a bit of money to spend on himself. This is also the only time he’ll experiment with cooking because now he can actually afford to fuck up, literally.

Mumen Rider: Sweets! I’ve said this in a previous hc but he has a major sweet tooth. You can substitute salt for sugar in any given recipe and he’ll see it as a major improvement because he just goes absolutely buckwild for anything sweet. His pancreas is suffering, but he believes nothing feels better than curling up under the covers on a rainy day with a heaping helping of milk chocolate. The only thing that makes him feel better after getting beat to shit is a kiss on the cheek and box of his favorite cookies (and some bananas, lol).

Sonic: Like Flash, he also likes racing things. But, in addition to that, his guilty pleasure is doing his own hair in elaborate hairstyles (when it was longer). He’s pretty much homeless so he’s got a lot of time to himself in between murders. This is when you can find him sitting in the woods somewhere braiding flowers into his hair and tying it off with a moss ribbon. He’d never admit he does this because he’s a big macho man and he’d probably cry.

Garou: Spicy chips. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he absolutely inhales his food without even tasting it half the time so it’s not even like he gets to enjoy the flavor that much. He just likes the burn because he’s a shithead. He also doesn’t fear death or a torn-up asshole, so he’ll eat an entire family-sized bag of the OPM-universe equivalent to Takis without even batting an eye. He’s been beat to shit so many times that the agony that comes with downing so much spice is lost on him. He doesn’t even need water. It’s insane. Someone stop this madman at once.

[glitchyfrills]

I’ll keep you

(Part 4/My Turn)

•Curiosity•Hide and Seek•Dance with Me• My Turn•

Dark was laying on the couch when Shawn quietly made his way towards the door. With his hand grasping the doorknob he looked behind him to see Dark one more time before slipping into the hallway.

‘Hurry up! You wasted enough time with him.’

Shawn rolled his eyes as he quietly opened the door and walked out, closing the door behind him. He stood still and listened for any sound but the hallways were eerily quiet.

“Well,” Shawn said, “Are we going to switch control or what?”

‘For now you can remain in control. Once we find him we can switch.’

“Why wait?” Shawn whined. “You are the one that wants to search for him, not me!”

‘Just do as I say, Shawn!’

Nex’s voice echoed loudly in his head; almost causing him to lose his balance.

“Whatever, Nex.” Shawn huffed as he looked against the wall for his ax. Normally he wouldn't carry it around but he felt like he should be armed.

‘Afraid?’ Nex teased.

Ignoring them Shawn shifted the ax from one hand to another. It was the only weapon he used but he pretended to evaluate its weight in his hand. Gripping the handle firmly with both hands he swung it through the air. The sound of it passing through the air was all he heard before a crash echoed through the halls. Instinctively he looked behind him towards the door. Surprisingly Dark didn’t come rushing out.

‘Wore him out, huh?’

“Shut the fuck up, Nex!” His face was feeling flushed as he felt embarrassed at what Nex was hinting at. He raised the ax to rest it on his shoulder, “Let’s get going before the searchers find him first.”

He headed towards where he assumed the crash was coming from. The sound was as if someone had knocked something over. It could have been a searcher trying to get over or through something. Or it could be Nex’s new fascination making his way through the studio blindly.

“What do you think he’s looking for? Not many outsiders have bothered to break into the studio in a long time.”

‘Too long if you ask me.’ Nex pointed out.

The last outsider that made their way into the studio unfortunately ran into Sammy. The outsider didn’t stand a chance. ‘They seem to be getting smarter and avoiding the place. But who knows… curiosity tends to make people do stupid things.’

“You’d think the fact that even though there have been ‘For Sale’ signs outside and no ones ever bought it would be a big enough red flag to stay away.”

Joey had descendants but none of them ever wanted to step foot inside the studio. They handed the building over to the city. The city tried to sell it but there were never any takers. Most had heard the rumors of the studio being haunted. Once or twice construction workers attempted to come in and work on the place but they never lasted. Either they were scared off by the ink monsters or taken by them. In every scenario it ended the same, Joey Drew Studios left abandoned. Or as abandoned as it could be with demons and ink monsters roaming around.

“Why do we stay here, again?” Shawn had asked the same question several times.

‘You know why…,” Nex replied. They hated that question.

He did know why. Even though he asked the question over and over he knew that the right thing to do was to stay in the studio and make sure whatever happened to manifest within its inky walls that that’s where it stayed. He couldn’t even imagine what would happen if any of the ink monsters escaped and made its way into the outside city. Besides he knew that anyone he knew from before this mess even began was long gone by now. Shawn didn’t know many people but it still made him sad that outside the studio walls he had no one.

‘This again? Get over it already. You have power beyond most people's imagination. You have a demon to call yours. Enough with the moping about ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens’.’

Shawn hated it when Nex dismissed his feelings but they were right. Though most of their time had been spent within the studio he couldn’t have asked for a better person to spend it with. Dark made each moment they had together special and unique.

‘Ugh, enough already! I blocked you out earlier to avoid this romantic shit.’ They growled.

Shawn couldn’t help but laugh at Nex. “You are the one that brought it up,” he pointed out. He could feel Nex’s pouting energy. Even though Nex never gave him the courtesy of an apology for any of the awful or embarrassing situations they put him in he gave them one anyway. Nex grunted something that Shawn took as an acceptance of his apology and continued on their way.

There wasn’t much to find. There were ink puddles that could form at any moment but they didn’t. Shawn took it as if they knew that either something unknown was around or they felt Nex was near. A loud thud came from a hall that was further up and then a crash.

‘Found him. Ready?’

“I’ve been ready, Nex.” Shawn was relieved that they had found the guy as quickly as they did. He tended to find switching a pain but at this moment he welcomed it.

When it wasn't a life or death situation that required a rush switch it felt different. When it was rushed or even sudden switching tended to feel as if they rammed thier head against a wall multiple times. Nex would play it off as if it had no effect on them but for Shawn it always had physical as well as emotional effects. Sometimes it was too much that he had to find somewhere to hide and wait for whatever he was feeling to pass which sometimes took hours.

Thankfully this switch wouldn’t result in any kind of painful after effects or negative emotions. It was during this type of switch in control that Shawn could visualize what it was like.

It felt as if he were flipping a light switch but not only did the light change so did the room. The mental room in his mind he would be standing in while in control was bright but once the switch began it would darken. Mentally he would open a door and walk out before the darkness engulfed not just the room but him as well. The room where Nex normally waited in dark shadows would lighten up and he’d wait there watching as Nex took control.

The feeling like jelly for a moment was something that would always be. It would take a minute or two to pass but once it did it was the sign that the switch was complete and successful.

‘How are you going to approach him?’ Shawn question.

With the ax still in their hand, Nex debated if they wanted to continue with it or not. The human man wasn’t a threat to them but the sight of someone appearing before him wielding an ax with ink dripping from their eye might be an interesting sight to behold.

‘I knew it. You just want something new to play with!’

“Shut up, Shawn. You already had your fun tonight. Now let me have mine,” they purred as they slowly crept their way to stand directly behind the oblivious man.

(((GlitchNote: Cliffhangers are fun. 😏 Thank you so much for reading!)))

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #48: Lancelot

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re building Chaldea’s weirdest dog, Zerksalot! Lancelot is, surprisingly enough, still a full paladin, focusing on gaining proficiency with every kind of weapon. And we do mean every; melee, thrown, ranged, random bits of rock left lying around, they’re all deadly weapons in his hands.

You can check out the in-depth breakdown below the cut, or the summarized build over here!

Race and Background

What exactly Lancelot has become now is up for debate: he’s probably still a human, but most humans have... y’know, faces. Still, Variant Human is as good a choice as any, and it gives him the Tavern Brawler feat right out the gate. His unarmed attacks deal 1d4 + his strength modifier, is proficient with improvised weapons, and he can grapple those he hits with unarmed attacks or improvised weapons. Right now improvised weapons only deal 1d4 damage unless otherwise ruled by the DM, but we’ll have ways to improve that later.

As a Variant Human, Lancelot also gets +1 Strength and +1 Dexterity, as well as proficiency with Land Vehicles. You can replace this with whatever kind of vehicle is most likely to show up in your game, but generally planes and boats are a niche subject.

Lancelot is also a (fallen) Knight of the Order, so replace Persuasion with Intimidation and also pick up a History proficiency. You know who your king is, and that’s pretty good for a berserker.

Stats

Start with as much Strength as you can; most weapons will use it, and you don’t hold back. Next up is Charisma; you’re a scary guy, and this will also help you remember more smites. More smites is more good. Whatever weapons don’t use strength tend to use Dexterity, so that’s next. You can take quite a beating, so pick Constitution after that. Then go for Intelligence; you’re a berserker, but you can also speak in full sentences sometimes, which is impressive. Finally, dump Wisdom. That helmet blocks out your sight, all the screaming messes with your hearing, and the madness enhancement blocks out reasonable thoughts.

Class Levels

1. Full armor is kind of your thing, and unfortunately that doesn’t mesh with barbarians. Don’t worry, we’ll get a berserker rage-eventually. For now, you’re a Paladin, giving you proficiency with Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two paladin skills. Athletics will help you move around in the unconventional ways you do, and you remember your son got a cup once, so your Religion isn’t terrible.

First level paladins have a Divine Sense, letting them spend an action to sense celestials, fiends, and the undead. If you can pick up on Merlin’s scent, Arthur probably isn’t too far behind. You can also Lay on Hands, using an action to heal someone you touch for up to five times your level. You can call this a healing factor if you want, or just say you were good with medical supplies before you went mad.

2. Second level paladins get a Fighting Style, so grab Unarmed Fighting for even more power. Sometimes you get caught without any weapons, or your DM accidentally makes an empty room. It happens. This feat means you can deal 1d6+your strength mod in bludgeoning damage to a creature with unarmed attacks, or 1d8 if you put both hands into it. You can also deal 1d4 bludgeoning when you start grappling a creature and when attacking it while grappling.

You also can start making some Divine Smites at this level, burning spell slots to deal at least 2d8 radiant damage to whatever you’re hitting, with fiends and the undead taking extra damage. This is the feature that makes your random log just as good as a real sword; blast that sucker full of magical energy, then beat someone over the head with it. This only works with melee attacks though. We’ll have to get creative for ranged ones.

Speaking of spell slots, you have Spells now, which use your charisma. Most of them will be going towards smiting with your improvised weapons, but you should also check out Divine Favor. It lasts for up to a minute, and adds 1d4 radiant to any weapon attacks you make. It essentially doubles the damage of some improvised weapons and can be applied to ranged and thrown attacks as well.

3. Third level paladins get Divine Health, making you immune to disease. Lancelot knows the importance of wearing a mask, and so should you.

You also take your sacred oath at this level. A bit awkward, since you’ve already broken it, but the Oath of Conquest will at least serve us mechanically. Conquest paladins get two Channel Divinity options that can be used once per short rest. Conquering Presence forces everything near you to make a wisdom save or become frightened of you for a minute. What can I say, you’re an intimidating figure. Guided Strike lets you add 10 to any attack roll after you make it. Your dexterity is okay, but it’s never going to be great; if you get stuck with a bow (or minigun) you can use this to keep your damage consistent. 

Conquest Paladins also get Oath Spells, which don’t count against the number of paladin spells you prepare at once. Again, we’re pretty much ignoring Command, but Armor of Agathys gives you a counterattack option if someone gets too close.

4. Use your first ASI to round out your Strength and add a point to your Charisma. We’re going to be stuck with one odd number for this entire build; just do your best to ignore it.

5. Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack, meaning you attack twice per turn with your action, or three times if you use your bonus action to attack with your off hand. Divine favor works on a time limit, so stuffing as many attacks into a round as you can is a good idea.

You also get second level spells at this level. Hold Person is another spell we’re ignoring, but you could use Spiritual Weapon if you want. You can also use Magic Weapon now to enhance whatever you’re using against magical enemies. Just don’t waste the spell slot on a rock or something.

6. Your Aura of Protection adds your Charisma modifier to all saves made by you and friendly creatures within 10′ of you while you’re conscious. This takes your wisdom save from Okay to Actually Kind of Good. You may have dumped wisdom, but that doesn’t mean you’re easy to control.

7. Your Aura of Conquest means that any creature within 10′ of you who’s frightened of you has 0 feet of movement, and starting their turn in your aura deals half your level in psychic damage to them. Remember that time Artoria found out who you are and had a breakdown? It’s like that, but for anyone around you when the mask comes off.

8. Your next ASI is being used to grab the Fighting Initiate feat for an extra fighting style. Thrown Weapon Fighting lets you pick up thrown weapons in the same action you throw them, meaning you can use all of your attacks with thrown weapons in one turn, and add 1 to all damage done with thrown weapons. This feat only really matters if your DM is a stickler for the “One object interaction per turn” rule. If they let you throw multiple weapons in a turn already, throw this one into Dexterity.

9. Ninth level paladins get third level spells. We’re ignoring Bestow Curse, but Fear can be useful if you’re saving your Channel Divinity uses to buff your attacks. Some other spells you should check out are Crusaders Mantle (Divine Favor but for multiple people), and Spirit Shroud. You surround yourself with negative energy, and for up to a minute, you add 1d8 Necrotic to all your attacks within a range of 10′. Any creature who takes that damage also can’t heal until your next turn. On top of that, any creature that starts within 10′ of you loses 10′ of speed for a turn. More ways to deal ranged damage, and it’s flavorful! 

10. Your last aura is you Aura of Courage, preventing any friendly creatures within 10′ of you from getting frightened. It’s hard to be scared when the scariest thing in the room is on your side.

11. Eleventh level paladins finally get Improved Divine Smite, meaning you can stop wasting all your spell slots on smites. With this, all your melee attacks deal an extra 1d8 radiant damage, no spells required. Now you can use up all those spells on your ranged attacks!

12. Use this ASI to maximize your Strength. Yes, we have been ignoring any sort of defensive stats up to this point, that’s how berserkers work. This is also going to maximize your carrying capacity, maximizing the number of things you can throw at people.

13. Thirteenth level paladins get fourth level spells. Your oath spells (Dominate Beast and Stoneskin) don’t really work, though you could argue beasts might count under the vehicle domination clause of Knight of Owner, if they look unusually weapon-ish. 

14. Fourteenth level paladins have a Cleansing Touch, letting you end one spell on you or a willing creature as an action. You do have a bit of magic resistance, so between your save boost aura and this, you should be able to shrug off anything that gets thrown your way.

15. Conquest paladins get a Scornful Rebuke at level fifteen. Whenever you take damage, the attacking creature also takes your charisma modifier in psychic damage. The one spell I wish you could get for this build is Shadow of Moil, and this is pretty much a passive one of those.

16. Your next ASI is boosting your Constitution for more health and even better concentration saves. All those spells that boost your ranged damage are concentration spells, so saving some spell slots where you can is a good idea.

17. Seventeenth level paladins get fifth level spells. Again, your Oath spells (Cloudkill and Dominate Person) don’t fit this build, but I can see an argument for Holy Weapon. It adds a first level smite effect to any weapon, including ranged and thrown, for up to an hour with concentration. As a bonus action you can also use your bonus action to detonate the weapon, dealing 4d8 radiant damage to everything you want to hit within 30′ of the thing if they fail their constitution save. Also if they fail, they’re blinded for up to a minute. That’s right, you can turn random rocks on the ground into holy hand grenades.

18. Eighteenth level paladins get Aura Improvements. Every aura you’ve amassed so far-protection, conquest, and courage-have their range extended to 30′. This means you can hop into a group of enemies, Fear them up, and more or less incapacitate a good portion of them for up to a minute, all while screaming about Arthur.

19. With your last ASI, put that all into Charisma for better fear saves and more spells remembered. If odd numbers really bug you, grab the Fey Touched feat, though that covers normal Lancelot more than you. That being said, you’re both Lancelot, and you were both raised by the fey, so it fits either way.

20. Your capstone level lets you transform into an Invincible Conqueror, essentially the closest thing you’re getting to a berserker rage. You can use an action to transform for one minute, and while transformed you resist all damage, get an extra attack on your attack action, and deal crits on 19s and 20s. This means you can do four attacks per turn with the best of fighters, and you have twice as much a chance to deal critical damage with each of them. Combine that with some smiterly action, and you’ve got a lot of damage going AAAAARTHUURRRRR’s way.

Pros: 

Most martial classes get proficiency with everything, but you really have proficiency with everything. You are a Macgyver of death, and the only limitation is what you can get your hands on. Also; your carrying capacity is 300 lbs. That means most humanoids fit into the category of “what you can get your hands on”. 

Unlike the typical berserker, flying and magically resistant enemies aren’t an issue for you. You’re just as happy flinging stones around as you are with a greatsword, or even pulling out a bow and arrow when you really need it. Plus, a lot of your damage comes from smites and buffing spells, which deal magical damage. 

For a berserker, you’ve got a lot of support options. You have 100 HP on standby for those who need it, and your Aura can negate some negative status effects or prevent your party members from getting them in the first place with enhanced saves.

Cons: 

Improvised weapons aren’t really that good? Without a DM’s say so, most deal only a d4 of damage, and using all your spell slots on smites feels like throwing good money after bad, especially early on. Burning a spell slot on every single attack will wipe out your supply very fast. 

You are a faceless screaming hunk of metal, so your social skills aren’t great. I don’t just mean your soft skills could use higher numbers (they could but that’s not the point), but that playing someone who only screams for an entire campaign is going to get old, fast. This is a problem most berserkers are going to have, so I won’t bring it up too much. I just felt it needs to be said at least once.

Working to your fullest potential will require you to read your spells very carefully. Some work with only melee attacks, some work with only weapon attacks, and some with just melee weapon attacks. It’s weirdly complicated for someone whose tactics entirely consist of “Apply Object A to Face 1″, where A is anything that exists and 1 is also anything that exists.

If you can survive until level 11, you’ll be able to start using your spell slots more judiciously, and it’s smooth...er sailing from there. Maybe ask Nimue to tag along as a translator- it worked wonders for Link.

Up next: The General of Repetition. The General of Repetition. The General of

[popatochisssp]

Skele-gem follow-up! Because I totally forgot gem-weapons and bro-fusions!

(I don’t fuck with that ‘coexisting multiverses’ stuff, for the sake of my brain/time/sanity, so we’re supposing that all the AUs are self-contained, okay cool, here goes)

Sans (Undertale): Doesn’t have a weapon, per se... but his gem can shoot lasers, and that’s pretty cool, right? His favorite gag is psyching people out with it, making it seem like he’s about to fire a laser and then just shining a light like a laserpointer and snickering at their reaction.

Papyrus (Undertale): A broadsword, a majestic weapon fitting a gem such as himself! He’s very capable with it but always avoids gems’...well, gems when using it, as well as any typically vital areas for organics.

Their fusion is Boulder Opal, only four limbs (legs and arms) but almost as many eye-sockets (3, not counting Sans’ gem). Great sense of humor and sharp as a tack, they tend to be pretty stable together...right up until they moment they’re not. They can be doing just fine and then pop apart with no warning when faced with a moral conflict...or just a particularly awful pun. Their fusion weapon is a light-saber-- duh!

-

Sky (Underswap Sans): He uses a hammer, and to the exasperation of many, he always references ‘hammerspace’ when he’s summoning it unless the situation is too dire for comedy. It’s pretty funny...until the blunt end is swinging at you and dissipating your physical form in one heavy blow, at least. He’s just doing his job, though, and never shatters-- and in the case of organics, he’d rather fight hand-to-hand than risk any serious injuries.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): He’s...not much of a fighter so he’s not very skilled with it, but his weapon is a basic staff. Mostly, he just uses it to keep people at a distance as best he can until the gems whose job it is to do this stuff can show up and take over, y’know?

Their fusion is Larimar, no extra anythings and very stable, definitely the chillest, friendliest guy in the room at any given moment. If they fuse for whatever reason, they generally only remember to unfuse with some sort of catalyst to remind them, like needing to be in two places at once or somebody pointing it out. Their weapon is a long war-hammer.

-

Jasper (Underfell Sans): I’m not reinventing the wheel here, he’s got a nice sturdy set of knuckledusters, with spikes for extra damage. He’s not shy of going straight for the metaphorical (or literal, depending on his opponent) jugular-- as a solo ruby, he’ll push every advantage he’s got to win.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He’s a gem of class and high-standing, so it’s only natural his weapon of choice is a rapier. He uses a lot of flashy moves in battle, some with purpose and some just for flair, but he’s a formidable opponent nonetheless!

Fused, they make Rhodolite, who is one hell of a beast-- four arms, four eyes, and very unstable in any situation but combat. There’s a lot of temper and ego fighting under the surface and staying together is difficult unless they have one common goal to shut all that noise up. Their weapon is a heavy, devastating morningstar that you do not want to be on the other end of...ever. If you are, your best bet is to distract them until they start disagreeing about something, and they’ll pop apart pretty fast after that.

-

Mal (Swapfell Sans): He uses a scythe and to great effect poofing or threatening the gems of anyone who tries to challenge his authority. One of his favorite intimidation tactics with it is to hook the blade around the necks of anyone with a comment about his size or how he runs things and carefully pulling them down to his level to ask if they’d care to repeat that...? :)

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): In spite of his occupation, he’s not much of a fighter either... He uses a shield instead of any kind of offensive weaponry, though in a pinch it does work well for artless bashing. Like everything else to do with being a guard, he pretty much just hopes nobody ever makes him use it.

Their fusion is Charoite, with an extra set of arms and that’s all. They’re focused and quiet, the strong silent type and relatively stable together. The highest chance of them falling apart before they mean to unfuse is when they’re startled by something and they’re torn right down the middle between the fight or flight response-- Rus will always choose ‘flight,’ and Mal tends toward ‘fight.’ If they don’t split in a situation like this, they tend to go too far in the other direction, clinging way too hard, and there’s a high chance of their fusion turning toxic and requiring a forceful separation... at which point, they’ll both be pretty embarrassed. Their weapon is basically a giant saw-blade.

-

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Well... he used to be able to do lasers, but after the crack... Something’s a little haywire in there now, so when he tries for light it comes out as sound instead, a very high-pitched ringing that’s actually pretty debilitating for anyone who hears it. It’s...not what he was going for, but he’ll take it.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He used to be able to do a sword... and he...still can! ...Sorta? It’s very long and very thin, maybe more ‘whip’ than ‘sword’ and very hard to control. He’s working at it, but the physics are complicated, if it wasn’t a metaphysical weapon, he probably wouldn’t even be able to use it!

They make Boulder Opal, too! Just, uh... just a little less humanoid-looking, and less stable, though not for a personality conflict. Only one set of eye-sockets but two jaws (one set pharyngeal, like eels or the xenomorph from Alien) that can speak independently or in sync, and six limbs that they’ve wrangled into a centaur-like formation (à la Malachite). Though they look pretty creepy bizarre and have trouble holding a fusion for long, they’re actually very gentle and docile to the point that they mostly just spend their time fused staring into the distance and thinking about nothing, enjoying the scenery. If you managed to get them to summon a weapon, it would be a sonic cannon...but they’d really rather not use it.

[throneoflevin]

One Foot in the Grave

( @miqojak​ for mentions. Be careful what you ask for! My writing is a bit rusty.)

Even as spring crept closer and closer the cold of the North didn’t seem to dwindle. How he hated the cold �� dreaded it, truly. The memories from this place, the people out for his head, the damned cold…nothing made it a place he enjoyed coming to. This time he had been smart enough not to get in over his head at least. He was only here to observe, not to fight.

How normal has that become? When was the last time I wore a suit of armor?

When he had taught Jak her painful lesson out in the Forelands. A lesson she had ignored, though he could hardly blame her for that. She was similar enough to him that she would continue to allow people around her – convince herself she was a loner while adding more and more people to her ring of “friends”. She didn’t want to be alone, despite what she said aloud. Just like him, she wanted someone to take the pain away, to tell her everything was okay, to wake up beside every day…to love. The same thing every person in Eorzea wanted. She was young enough to make that mistake, the same mistake he had made more times then he cared to admit. The ones who loved you never stuck around for long. You either buried them, or they tried to bury you. If you were lucky, they just disappeared without a trace.

Was it lucky she disappeared? She is dead, and you know it. Just because you haven’t seen the body doesn’t mean she is going to reappear one day.

He knew that. He didn’t expect Y’ashe to walk through the door of their home one day, not anymore. She was gone, and like everything else he had allowed close, it had faded away. The Seeker exhaled; his breath visible in the chilly air of Ishgard. The heavy furs and large hood kept his face from view while keeping him from drawing too much attention to himself. Thankfully no snow was falling this day, but the frost on stone reminded him that it was never that far away. He watched people pass by in the market, keeping himself tucked away in an alley between merchants peddling jewels and furs like he wore. In truth, he wasn’t looking for anything. He wasn’t here to look for a person, to overhear some sort of information…

Why did I come here again?

As voices from the market began to quiet the sound of footsteps grew louder. His head turned to look further down the alley, a place that was too dark for him to see. In fact, it seemed like just beyond his right foot was nothing but unmoving shadows. Somewhere within that was the source of the footsteps; one after another they drew closer and closer. His ears stood tall beneath his hood, strands of long blond hair falling over his face as he waited…waited for whatever was going to emerge from the dark.

The footsteps stopped, but nothing came forth. They had stopped right beside him, just inside that expanse of black that threatened to swallow him. A few moments passed, the sounds of the market completely fading away as the Seeker focused his attention on the area just to his right. As he opened his mouth to speak the words were swallowed down; a pair of violet eyes appeared in the dark. Only the eyes were visible, but they were familiar to him. He had seen them in the mirror or the reflection in the water in the Forelands every sun for a long time.

“We are so dreadfully bored, aren’t we?”

The voice rumbled out of the darkness. It was low in tone, a growl hidden behind every word as if they were being forced to take form in place of some animal-like sound.

“We are. There is nothing we can do about that, though. I’m not going to needlessly involve myself in other things just to feel like I have something to attend to. I’ve never been able to just…float around idly and do as I please. There was always something to do…always something to fix…always someone to fight.”

“You don’t want to fight them again? You don’t want to get revenge?”

“I do, but that is something that takes time. It is like looking for a ghost.”

He had been searching high and low for any traces of the people who had left him to die out in the snow. Though, truth be told, he had been spending more effort looking for the person who had saved him. All of them were like finding a needle in a haystack, even with the contacts he had in the snow-covered city-state that were going to help him. Every time he spoke to them it was more of the same…”nothing new to report”, “haven’t found a thing”. It was…exhausting.

“Then we should do it ourselves! If we cause a stir, they will come running the settle their unfinished business! All we have to do is—”

“Make ourselves known. Please, don’t embarrass yourself. If you are thinking it then I have already thought it. You are my strength, not my brain. Don’t forget—”

The feeling of claws digging into his flesh caused Ketsuchi’s words to falter, instead replaced by a loud hiss of pain. The darkness extended out in the shape of two beastly hands, the claws of which dug forcefully into his right arm as blood began to stain the heavy furs.

”/You/ should not forget! I am your power and without me you are nothing! I am smothered every sun as you pretend your mind will ever be sharper than your blade! Are you trying to be her? Are you trying to carry on her memory or…or something foolish like that?!”

Ketsuchi offered a scoff as his response to the words, causing the dark arms to retract away from his. “Don’t be ridiculous. You already know that isn’t the case. She made me understand that my mind is just as much a weapon as my sword is.” He turned his attention to the dark where the pair of violet eyes glared back at him. The same torrent of aether was visible deep down in either eye, that violent storm of levin just waiting to be unleashed.

“I’m aware you want to fight. Truthfully, I do as well. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want. We have a deal and I intend to uphold my end of it, but you must give me time. Something will come along that will give you a chance to show your strength again…just give me time to find something worth investing in.”

“You have something already. Show her who you really are…she wants to see anyway. Show her. Show her. Show her. Show her.Show her.Show her. Showher.Showher.Showher.Showhershowhershowhershowher. Show her!”

“Jak!” “Jak.”

The two voices muddled together, one the low rumble of a beast in a cage, the other a calm, sadistic, condescending one. The darkness enveloped him; the world covered in a darkness no light could penetrate. Ketsuchi closed his eyes, letting the warmth of that sensation flow over him.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t to find himself in the cold. He had fallen asleep on the sofa outside his bedroom, the fire still burning away.

“Good morning, Master Kotetsu.”

The Seeker lifted his mismatched eyes slowly to see the pair of maids standing at the end of the sofa. Both Seeker women smiled sweetly as their tails swung side to side behind them. The male let out a long yawn, turning himself until his feet touched the floor and his back rested against the sofa. His right arm burned; an all-too-familiar pain he had grown used to. His bones ached, his muscles screamed – it felt like his arm was broken, even if it very obviously was not the case.

“…Good morning Miu. Ruka. What time is it?”

“Much later then you normally rest.” The blonde, Miu, responded. She was the more vocal of the pair of sisters and tended to do most of the talking. “Your breakfast had grown cold so we thought we should come get you. Would you like us to make something new?”

Ketsuchi yawned and rubbed at his right eye, trying to shake away some of the exhaustion he felt. “No…that is fine. I need you to contact Tsuki and let her know I’ll be coming by for some healing again. I’ll eat the cold food.”

The pair of Seekers nodded their heads before Ruka left to gather some clothes for him from his bedroom. Miu watched him closely as he rubbed his right arm up and down, even though he knew it would give him no relief from the pain. Ruka returned, offered the clothes, then went down the stairs to tend to other matters.

“…Something to say, Miu?”

Ketsuchi eyed the woman as he pulled his shirt over his head, using only his left arm to do so until his right was required to move to make its way through the arm of the shirt. The Seeker shook her head, flashing a kind smile and bowing before she made her way down the stairs. Ketsuchi let out a heavy sigh before walking over to the window. The sun was already high in the sky, indicating he had slept much longer then he usually would. He must have been exhausted…but as his mind caught up to him, he was reminded of the dream he had.

A small grin curled at the side of his lips, accompanied by the briefest spark of levin from his right eye. He couldn’t feed his other side as much as he wanted any longer…but perhaps it was time to start doing something more. Ishgard was still a task he would have to tackle at some point, but it wasn’t of immediate importance. He would continue to investigate as he had been – keeping his distance and building up a presence for himself. It was a difficult tightrope to walk, between people knowing you were there but just enough that you could wander about uninhibited.

For now, it was time to pay a visit to the little robin. He had taken the time after all to learn about the workings of the business her boss ran and how it connected with everything there. A confusing web of people that formed a hierarchy that made nearly no sense. How they weren’t constantly at one another’s throats in a war for the top seat was baffling to him.

“Well…she wanted to see the Demon. I suppose we should give her a taste then…shouldn’t we?”

The Seeker licked his lips as his left hand gripped at his right elbow. His body didn’t have to last forever…just a little bit longer. Just long enough to make sure once he was gone that the world would have someone to take his place. This world that had taken everything from him…how it would rot from the core outward. He wouldn’t allow it to continue as if no wrongs had been done…he wouldn’t allow it to thrive when it had wronged him so many times. It would fester like an untreated wound. His name still carried weight, carried fear…but soon it would be no more. She wanted chaos, didn’t she? Then it was about time she understood what true chaos was.

He began to hum, the soft sound of that song he had played for her that day. His smirk grew wider as he leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

“Chaos it is, then.”

[fictionadventurer]

OC asks: Sarah: 97-100; Lionel: 93-96; Jack: 89-92; Eliza: 85-88; Daniela: 79, 82-84; Alessando: 75-78; Floriano: 70-72, 74; Lucia: 66-69; Marata: 62-65; Jarrock: 58-61 ("crowed" meaning "crowded" presumably); Bastian Diriks: 54-57; Lady Diriks: 50-53; Lorenz Fortuin: 46-49; Anya: 42-45

Alright, here we go.

Sarah

97. Where do they live? Who do they live with?

She lives in an old house near the university. She technically has her own apartment (later gets Eliza as a roommate), but Lionel and Jack share a larger apartment downstairs and she’s basically allowed to come in and out as if it were hers.

98. How do they calm themselves down?

Go on long walks, rant to someone (or no one) and/or furiously write down everything she thinks about what’s bothering her.

99. Are they co-dependent?

She’d bristle at the suggestion that she’s anything less than entirely independent, but she relies heavily on Lionel.

100. Are they a day, or night person?

Mostly a day person, except for the occasional late-night intense writing/studying session.

Lionel

93. How do they deal with stress?

Ignore it and hope someone else figures out how to handle it. And play the piano a lot.

94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type?

In a house with Sarah and Jack, almost anyone would be submissive by comparison, but even by normal standards, he’s a person who prefers to step back and let other people handle the problems in life.

95. Do they have a pet?

He had a bird for a few days until Sarah objected. He didn’t put up too much of a fight because he was starting to find it distracting.

96. Do they have a stash of weapons?

Nope. He wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with a weapon if you gave him one.

Jack

89. Can they remember a lot of information at once?

Yes. He remembers everything and it drives Sarah nuts. (Especially since the only things he can’t remember are when he needs to pay his portion of the rent or clean his part of the apartment).

90. What is their occupation?

Right now, a student of languages (which ones depends on the world I build around him).

91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

Lots of people like him. Plenty of people are even impressed by him.  Few truly respect him. (Jack is not among those chosen few).

92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

He’d try to figure out a way to get out of whatever situation leaves him with only minutes to live.

Eliza

85. Are they self motivated?

Extremely. Once she decides to accomplish something, there is nothing that will keep her from doing it.

86. How do they cope with anger?

Stabbing things. She tried taking up embroidery once to serve this purpose, but the holes were too tiny to provide a satisfying level of destruction. Now, she usually just takes a pen and goes to town on a poor innocent sheet of paper (and the desk/table beneath it) until her temper is satisfied.

On a less destructive level, she’ll step back and figure out a plan to overcome whatever’s making her angry.

87. Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless?

She does not believe in being helpless. There’s always something that can be done, even if the something is impossible to accomplish by any normal standards.

88. Are they organized or messy?

Very organized about projects and plans. Slightly messy when it comes to organizing her living space. Very messy about tending her hair.

Daniela

79. Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves?

She cares a lot about her father.

82. Are they good at mental math?

She’s decent. She can usually compute basic math with a little bit of thought. If it gets too complicated she needs pen and paper.

83. Do they get along with others?

Yes. She makes a point of being pleasant, not standing out, and not offending people.

84  Are they lazy?

Not usually. A very solid work ethic, but some days you just need to relax.

Alessandro

75. What is their biggest fear?

Being useless.

76. What are their goals?

Keeping the kingdom from falling apart. (Though this is a hard question to answer when I still haven’t figured out the exact political situation in the revised imagining of the story).

77. How do they go about achieving their goals?

Advising Floriano from afar.

78. Do they have a fight or flight response?

If there’s any flight involved, it’s a strategic retreat so he can figure out the best way to fight.

Floriano

70. Do they like themselves?

Before he was crowned, yes. After he was crowned, it seemed like his every trait and tendency was something that made being king that much harder.

71. Who do they dislike?

People who disrespect Alessandro or their late father.

72. What is their motto?

Never give anyone reason to hate you. (This motto has been very difficult to live up to after being crowned).

74. Have they ever been abused?

After he becomes king, he deals with a lot of verbal abuse (behind his back, but done in ways that it’s impossible for him not to find out about it).

Lucia

66. What is their pet peeve(s)?

When people wear clashing colors. It drives her nuts and she can’t look away. 

67. Do they have a disability?

Not officially. Sometimes has trouble concentrating, but not to the level of disability.

68. How do they react to getting flowers?

She will spend the entire day making sure everyone sees her flowers and appreciates her flowers and knows how much she loves her flowers.

69. Would they ever wear a flower crown?

The problem would be getting to to take off the flower crown.

Mirata

62. How do they relax?

Sing. Swim. Pray. All things, unfortunately, that she’s not allowed to do openly on land.

63. Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically?

She’s got a quick temper and a sharp tongue that get her in trouble frequently, and she almost always regrets it after a day or two.

64. Do they like to dance?

She loves it. Unfortunately, her style of dancing is also one of those things the land-dwellers frown upon.

65. How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle

She’s used to getting around by swimming or boating. On land, she will always choose walking over any form of transportation that involves horses.

Jarrock

58. How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring etc.

He seems like the serious, dutiful son; an impressive soldier who’d never step out of line or have a thought or emotion of his own. Unless you happen to witness one of his bursts of temper that reveal his very passionate underlying emotions.

59. Do they have a phrase they use over and over?

Not really. (That’s the kind of thing that I’d have to figure out over the course of writing the story).

60. In a crowded room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle?

On the sides, present and watching carefully, but not getting too deeply involved.

61. Are they comfortable being in a crowded room?

No. He’ll stay for just as long as he’s required and he’ll leave the second he’s able.

Bastian Diriks

54. How do they cope with sadness?

Find something to distract himself--before, it was working with stars, now it’s listening to music. It also helps to find someone who’s having a worse day than him and try to help them out.

55. What is something they care about?

Loves working with the stars. Loves the family business. Continues to care about both even after the stars took his sight and the family kicked him out of the business side of things.

56. Would they die for anyone/anything?

He’d die for his family. Half of his family would prefer it if he would.

57. What do they do when they are happy?

He can get, like, obnoxiously cheerful. Drives people nuts.

Lady Diriks

50.Do they enjoy the arts?

She’s a leading patroness of the arts, so yes.

51. Do they like science?

She likes being thought of as someone who likes science (because that’s almost as fashionable as supporting the arts) but she doesn’t really understand it, so she learns just enough to nod along and seem knowledgeable when someone else is talking about it.

52. Are they more emotional or logical?

She’d says she’s entirely logical, but there’s more emotion driving her than she realizes.

53. How do they deal with their emotions?

Bottle it up. Deny it ever existed. Then take it out on the people around her.

Lorenz Fortuin

46. When is their birthday?

Not a clue. I’m not 100% sure they even use Earth’s calendar (they probably do). The most I’ll commit to at this point is that his birthday is probably in the winter.

47. Are they quick to judge?

He’s very quick to latch onto his first impressions of people as being the correct ones, and it can skew his judgement, but he’s willing to change his mind if given enough contrary evidence.

48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

He’s always trying to hide his lower-class origins.

49. Do they act different around different people?

All the time. He’s a very different person when he’s hanging with the upper crust than when he’s only with fellow artists or people of lower classes.

Anya

42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over?

How did you know this was the whole point of the story? (Okay, he doesn’t quite turn against her, but it’s a close thing at some points.)

43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

She’s pretty good at going with the flow--being observant, staying quiet when she’s not sure what the right response is. But when she comes up with a plan of action, she acts upon it, and doesn’t always think through the consequences.

44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar

Has a strong lower-class accent marring an otherwise pleasant alto voice. Very strident voice when she has strong emotions.

45. Are they opposed to violence?

When it’s directed against her, yes. When she needs to defend herself or her people? Absolutely not.