#readmore is for length

[foundationsofdecay]

So let's play

In Sundowning, we get a lot of references to Sleep and Vessel's relationship being like a game they play. It's violent, sure, it has its highs and lows and winning and losing seasons, but even though the most hardcore sports fan may insist their preferred sport is more than just a game... maybe it can eclipse multiple roles, but that doesn't mean that it isn't still a game to be played at the end of the day. It's something both teams are knowingly and willingly engaged in.

Blood Sport, of course, is the most obvious example of this in Sundowning. Rolling the numbers, playing with chance, playing over and over despite knowing you're never going to be the winning team at the end of the season, those are all very prominent aspects to that song. Take Aim is debatable, depending on if you wanted to stretch that to an archery or sharpshooting perspective, though the image of Vessel with the arrow on his head can be a compelling one. In Give, we have talk of fighting fair, a relationship that's like open warfare but uses similar language to war games. More explicitly we see this in Sugar - "you play your twisted little game", "you must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game".

Here's the thing, though: forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I don't think we get a single lyric in a single track on TPWBYT that could be described in this manner. None at all. The absolute closest thing I can think of is vague references to warfare again in something like Missing Limbs - "my polite offenses won't last for very long", for example - but the idea that this is some kind of sport they're engaged in has long since vanished, and it's dubious whether or not he's even referring to Sleep so much as the heavens brought up in the previous verse.

Then again, TPWBYT is pretty unique in its tone and language, or at least marks a major departure from what was established in Sundowning.

Yet, even the two singles dividing those two albums don't use this language. In something like Jaws you can find references to play, but these are far more one-sided. Being "caged and always provoked by prey left unattended" is partly a rather impotent cry and partly an invocation of the image of a child pouring salt over a slug or pulling legs off of beetles. In this game, only one person in truly playing, and what kind of game is that, really?

Given that, what about TMBTE? Were the singles and album after Sundowning a momentary pause, a change in perspective on their interaction based on the broader concept that comes back into the previous focus when we reach the third album?

Well... no. You can see last vestiges of it in something like Chokehold's "you keep me sharp and test my worth in blood", but the duality that was once there is completely gone, just like we saw in Jaws, here more akin to dog fights than anything. You get references to hunting in Aqua Regia, but not of the competitive type either. Perhaps if you framed it in the sense of a game of life and death, but there's an animal quality to that, the result of a force of nature rather than something they willingly and knowingly engaged in like in Sugar.

So, what is it, then? Is Blood Sport the last time we ever see their relationship in that light, or at least the last direct acknowledgement of it? Blood Sport is in and of itself an introspective piece, reading more as internal monologue than dialogue. Though, as said at the outset, even though it's an admission of loss that doesn't necessarily mean the game is going to suddenly end. What, then? Did the game actually end there, or did it stop feeling like a game and more like an obligation? If you didn't call the game, you have to decide: will you save yourself the trouble and refuse to put up a fight, or keep fighting anyways? Do you end it now, or do you let it drag out until the end?

[rat-on-string]

My Voice Betrays Me- 4 page comic about being nonbinary.

[14dayswithyou]

Just a general thing, is there a specific reason Ren/REDACTED was made to be younger than Angel by a year?

✦゜ANSWERED: I swear I've answered this question somewhere before?? But it's mainly because I didn't want there to be an awkward age gap between the main love interest and the player! I know some folks in the community are well into their early 30's-40's by now, and I figured it'd be weird for them to romance someone who was like... barely 20 years old sldgnsjkk

As for being a year younger specifically; it's purely for the sake of the narrative! Certain (spoilery) events between Ren and Angel happen when they were children, and when laid out, it all aligns perfectly with Ren being a year younger.

However!! In saying all of that: if you are 18, Ren will also be 18. He'd just be a month/day/hour younger than you (until the day you turn 19... Then I personally manifest into the 14DWY world and factory reset his ass lmao)

[starsallalight]

@multiversalshenanigans : Belle & Graham

The storm had built in intensity over the last several hours, and it was with immeasurable relief that Belle approached the light flickering in the distance. A tavern, she realized upon reaching the door. True, she had no coins to offer the innkeeper, the last bit of what she had being stolen while she wandered through some random town a week or so back.

When she made the decision to run in the dead of night, to leave everything behind, she knew that her life would change. That it would no longer be what she was used to. The struggle would be more abundant. But it was better than what surely would have been her fate had she stayed. Still... Belle hadn't not found much to eat in this part of the forest. She felt ready to drop. Between her hunger and the weather, she'd not likely survive the night if she couldn't find shelter. But she what other choice did she have? She'd never know if she never asked.

Stepping inside, Belle looked around and made her way up to the bar. Lowering the hood of her torn and tattered cloak, she brushed the drenched and dirty hairs out of her eyes and tossed the braid over her shoulder. Offering a smile to the innkeeper. "Hello. I was wondering if you might exchange a bit of food and a room for some work?"

"We don't take in charity cases." The man spat coldly. "Be gone with you."

"Charity?" Belle gasped, affronted. "Last time I checked, trading labor, the same as one would money, is hardly charity. You exchange your labor to get paid, and I offer mine in the same vein. I don't ask for money. I don't ask for anything for free! I'll cook. I'll clean. Just a bowl of stew and a bed is all I ask!"

"I said be gone, wench!"

"Please, the storm... I... I have nowhere to go. I'll die without shelter!"

"You keep up that begging, and you'll die sooner! Now you can leave on your own two feet, or I'll throw you out."

Defiance flashing in her eyes, and a snarl tugging at her lips, Belle lifted her hood and trudged back toward the door; making sure to slam it as hard as she could behind her.

Pulling the cloak in closer, she lingered for a moment, trying to decide on a place to go. Well, it looked like it was looking around to find another barn or stable to pass the night in...

[scare-ard--sleigh]

saw a 30 day styling challenge on pinterest and got rly intrigued so im gonna try 💖💖

today's prompt was "an oversized blazer", got it below !!

[lord-overlips]

The darkness was frightening, Overlord’s world turning soundless and empty. So much terror gripped his mind, chaotic swirls of colour lashing out at him. Then… wakefulness. He was alive?

The landscape had morphed around him in to the grand and familiar sight of his lord’s inner sanctum. He was in Unicron’s domain.

Polished tiled floors, a steep ascent of countless steps and at the top of it all? Unicron himself, resplendent and powerful, seated on an imposing throne.

Overlord looked down to his form, wondering if this was to be his life now. He was fortunate that Unicron had claimed his spark, that gratitude lost in the regret and ache he felt at being torn away from life too early. He looked up, starting the ascent one step at a time.

A booming voice resounded through the great hall as Unicron spoke. “You have wasted so much time on your pathetic dalliances, child. Did I not give you a task?”

Overlord felt his spark waver and wither in his chest, stumbling to his pedes as he reached the top most step. “Uh- lord, I- forgive me. I did not forget- I just- well-“

“Enough.” Unicron spoke with a surprising calm to his words. “You will be reborn. You will attend to your task. The prime..." Unicron movedto stand, approaching Overlord and resting his clawed servo on the mech's helm.

"Destroy him..." He growled, that tone even more intimidating considering the fact that Unicron's chosen form was at least twice the size of Overlord. He allowed a little bit of his pwoer to channel in to the frame below him, electrical charge tearing through Overlord and makingthe mech scream.

Mercifully, the punishment was over quickly, Overlord released, the mech nodding, assuring his lord he would obey.

"Go about whatever petty desires you must but do not forget. You are to assist my herald. See to it that you make your way to him to assist him before long."

Overlord nodded his assurances, incorporeal frame smouldering, pain assaulting him and dread filling his spark. "Yes, master. Of-o-of course." He stammered, wheezing and venting through the pain.

It wasn't the Prime of Overlord's world of course. He'd need to return to his own realm, assist Megatron in hunting the prime that was responsible for helping doom Unicron's people.

Vortex. It was hard to think past Vortex however. That slagging copter... He remembered now, memories eluding him at first but now? Now he knew exactly why he was here, who was to blame. Who needed to be punished. Unicron's task would have to wait.

"Are you quite prepared?" Unicron questioned. "I'll return you to your frame. Try not to willfully destroy it this time, you deviant fool." There was a smirk to the god's lips though. Overlord most definitely entertained him, it seemed.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord!" The triple changer bowed gratefully, offering promises, processor focused on one task however. He was going to get himself repaired and then? Then he was going to find Vortex and ruin him.

. . .

The return to life was startling and unnevering, nausea, terror and shock warring in his spark as grey plating took on a subtle blue hue, dark energon mircaulously forming in his fuel lines and the worst of the damage somehow repaired. He coughed and sputtered, fumbling for the remote space bridge controls and managing to activate it, dragging himself through and to safety. Unicron had granted him another life and, though the mech should be focused on his task... he was already exhilerated at the thought of making Vortex pay.

@rotarysadist

[fundedbydarpa]

real asf Gödel's loophole hours frfr 💯💯

A litigant cannot simply defy a court order because they think it is wrong. Under normal circumstances, a party that defies a court order can be held in contempt of court and be subject to fines, imprisonment, or other sanctions. But it’s far from clear whether such a contempt order could be enforced if Trump is determined to give the middle finger to the judiciary. As Alexander Hamilton wrote in the Federalist Papers, the courts “may truly be said to have neither FORCE nor WILL, but merely judgment; and must ultimately depend upon the aid of the executive arm even for the efficacy of its judgments.” Federal court orders, including contempt of court orders, are enforced by the US Marshals Service, a law enforcement agency housed in the Executive Branch of government. So Trump could potentially order the Marshals to not enforce any court order against his administration. If that happens, there are few legal mechanisms remaining to make Trump obey the law. The obvious remedy for a president who commits serious legal violations and refuses to comply with court orders against him is impeachment. But, even if a Republican US House would agree to impeach Trump — a highly unlikely proposition — it takes 67 votes in the Senate to remove a president. And the Senate couldn’t even find 67 votes to declare Trump ineligible for the presidency after he incited a mob to attack the US Capitol in 2020. For now, at least, [...] it remains to be seen whether the Trump administration can plausibly argue that its behavior is legal. If it turns out that the administration is determined to violate court orders it does not like, however, then it is likely that the legal system has run out of tools to check Donald Trump.

Vox on March 17, 2025

[luvrodite]

tw discourse

When I and many other writers/blogs on this app say that we don't want minors on our blog, it is for a reason. For me, it's because I regularly interact with content that is made by adults for adults, and I think it should be common sense to respect that boundary.

There are so many things I could say about how when we produce/reblog these posts it's with a basic understanding of sex and consent and relationship dynamics, but also, I just do not want minors in this space period.

The things I post on here often go untagged and that is the reason why this blog is an 18+ blog, as opposed to allowing minors to follow and interact with this blog on the condition they block a specific 18+ tag. It makes me (and probably a lot of other creators) feel incredibly disgusted and uncomfortable to think that not only has a minor read my 18+ content – all of which explicitly is marked as not being for their eyes – but has gone on to consistently interact with my blog under the guise of being an adult.

Disregarding the fact that you shouldn't be reading it, what about our boundaries? I often see the argument of being mature enough to handle topics that are marked for adults, but this sort of behaviour is completely antithetical to that. I as a sane, rational adult do not ever want to be discussing the topics I do on this blog with someone else's child, no matter how close to their 18th birthday they might be. (If you are that close, you can wait. It isn't that serious. You will not die if you don’t get to read the smut, I promise.)

Completely bypassing someone else's boundaries and potentially putting them at risk because of your behaviour doesn't scream mature or adult to me. As an older sister, the idea of finding out that my younger siblings had interacted with people much older than them in this capacity is horrifying, and the idea of being a parent in that situation is so much worse. There is absolutely no reason for you as a minor to be coming into the inboxes of adult blogs and interacting with them in an adult capacity when it’s clear you don’t have adult decision making skills or reasoning.

I don't know. This makes me feel so disgusted. This is an 18+ blog for a reason.

[burningfeathersx]

@aberrational || liked for a short random starter

"You know, I feel like I'm getting surrounded and overrun with neko furries lately..." He was not the most pleasant introduction to most. Rarely came out with a 'good day, how do you do' at first meet.

[wishing-stones]

hey there! first time asking and i am.. pretty nervous :') not sure how nightmare's body works for your au, but how would the boys™ react if nightmare was somehow weakened enough to have his passive body revealed under all the corruption and not die? (or yes die, if that's what you're about lol) thanks!

Awww don't be nervous! I don't bite.

Nightmare's body is largely permanently colored by the corruption, but it can weaken, and he's still a (mostly) complete, white-boned skeleton under it.

Without active corruption, Nightmare is around 5'6" (or your height) and has some damage around his right eye socket. The light still forms, but his vision isn't so great. (Still a far cry better than 'normal,' where he can't see at all). His eyelight in that socket is purple, and the one in his left is cyan, no matter what form he's in. Sometimes it'll be half-and-half, if he's especially weak or in his feelings, but he's usually got the full heterochromia thing going on.

Fortunately, it just kind of retreats into the inner void of his body/skull if it's too weak to fully encase him, so it's all or nothing with the curse/corruption. It won't kill him, but he is much more vulnerable when he's passive.

The guys would be surprised, to say the least, but they'd also make the (correct) assumption that he's not as sturdy as he usually is and should be guarded. Nightmare definitely tried to hide this, but with a bunch of intuitive, smart underlings, it's hard to maintain the illusion that 'everything's fine, I'm just going to stay in bed for a while.'

Still, no one's going to lose respect for him, or make fun of him (in any seriousness-- we all know Killer is Required By Law to give him some guff) in any real capacity. He'd get a little babied, actually, until he told them all to knock it off, and then it's only Axe who babies him. (He can't get Axe to stop.)

Everyone is sworn to secrecy, because he especially does not need Dream finding out about this. He'd never stop crying, and Nightmare doesn't want to deal with that, thank you very much.

This does happen every great so often, especially after things get reconciled with his brother. Without active malice and hatred to feed on, the corruption kind of ebbs away and 'rests' to regain strength, and then it comes back strong as ever. He's actually quite strong when it comes back because it's refreshed, and he usually feels his oats a bit when it comes back.

It's the only aspect of the curse/corruption that he can't really control. Since he doesn't have a ton of enemies anymore, or at least ones who would be able to take advantage of such a situation, it's just a mild inconvenience rather than a cause for alarm.

More little facts about this:

He sounds different while passive. If he tries really hard, he can get into his normal, deeper register, but it takes a bit. He sounds a lot younger (still an adult, but younger and higher) and gets a little bit sensitive about it, actually.

He's also sensitive about his height. He loses 8 inches or better, and he doesn't like it. Yes, he wears platforms to make himself at least taller than the others (save Axe) if he's up and about, and not sulking in his room.

He views it as an inconvenience, but he hates feeling vulnerable. He's worn the corruption so long, to not have it makes him feel naked, and it's not something he handles terribly well.

He's also more sensitive to: temperature, touch, elements, and Intent. He gets cold easily, so he's usually close to some heat source. This sometimes includes the boys, and they have cuddle-puddled to make him feel safer.

He will break out his crown and wear it. It's a newer one-- his old crown won't fit because it didn't grow with him. he wears a silver crown with a more elegant crescent moon fixture (not entirely unlike this, but solid and without decoration) with a three-quarter moon taking up the void of the crescent, leaving a small gap between the two. He also wears much less gold and much more silver, although he does wear gold with purple, since it's very regal looking.

Hand-in-hand with the above, he breaks out good fancy clothing, too, since he's not in danger of staining it, and it feels nice on not-corrupted bones. Silk, satin, velvet... very fine clothing.

He also wears a weighted cape. While he doesn't always have his tentacles out, he will over-correct for their weight when they aren't present, and he's fallen over before when turning because of it. (After Killer was done laughing, he helped devise the cape.) It's a lovely little capelet that hangs over one shoulder, but drapes otherwise evenly across the back to the small of his back.

He's usually passive for 1-2 weeks, and then it won't happen again for a couple years, if he's lucky, or 10-12 months if he's not. This only started happening once Dream broke out of the statue, so while it's a fairly new development, it's one that he's learned to deal with and has procedures for.

I mentioned it before with Dream in R&R, but his bones have kind of a pearlescent sheen to them. Dream's is warmer (like a cream pearl), but Nightmare's is cooler (like a silver pearl). They're both Demi-gods, after all.

Interestingly enough, I've been working with this idea recently.

[a-hell-of-a-time-archive]

New OC: Yukitaka

Note: This OC will be by request only, and I'll only be rp'ing as him with interested parties. He, like Caim will not be forced upon other rp'ers, and nor does anyone who interacts with Andrealphus need to interact/accept Yuki.

Honestly this is a self indulgent fankid that I want to test out.

Name: Yukitaka (meaning Noble Snow)

Nicknames: Yuki, hellspawn,

Parents: Andrealphus (father), Caim (mother), Yui (mother)

Age: Infant - toddler (main verse); 15 going on 16 (I Got Teleported To the Past to Fulfill My Destiny in Hell)

The following is for the I Got Teleported To the Past to Fulfill My Destiny in Hell verse

Orientation: Gay

Likes: fighting, swordsmanship, hanging out with his friends, festivals, soccer, parkour, snowboarding, Chikao (his boyfriend, a nekomata), the cold

Dislikes: Ryuu (rival, dragon youkai), goetian politics, the heat,

Occupation: Precautionary heir (illegitimate), next great marquis

Personality: (Note: This is a heavy WIP since he's a new OC that's still being fleshed out)

Loud, brash, brazen (a quick tongue that has gotten him into plenty of trouble) and confident to the point of arrogance are just some of the adjectives used to describe Yuki. He is not afraid to call things as he sees it, nor afraid to speak up for himself should the situation warrant it. He is equal parts of both parents when it comes to his attitude and fearlessness, caring little for the intricacies of goetian decorum in favour of pursuing his own interests.

He can be rash at times, especially when faced with something that catches his interests. He is known for getting swept up easily in his emotions and the adrenaline rush of a good fight, or the height of a soccer game, or when participating in sports that Caim has considered reckless and which threaten to put her in an early grave.

When it comes to his combat skills, Yuki is quite proud and fearless; he won't hesitate to challenge opponents stronger than him, and will meet any challenge head on. This has led to him often rushing in, sometimes without thinking, and ending up with more than his fair share of injuries.

Despite this, Yuki is highly intelligent, a good strategist and has a good heart that looks out for the people he cares for the most, such as his friends and family. He isn't one for injustice and if someone has wronged him or his loved ones, he won't hesitate to make things right or settle the score.

Tl;dr: This kid is a cocky little shit who is too smart for his own good and runs his mouth like nothing else. He's also the kid that will help you in a pinch while also threatening to fight any enemies of yours. Or anyone in general if they're strong enough. He may/may not value his own safety and is a bit too reckless.

He means well though.

History: Born to the Great Marquis, Andrealphus, and the former Great President of Hell, Caim, Yukitaka is a goetian with the blood of his tengu (youkai) ancestors running through his veins. His birth was shrouded in secrecy, and he spends most of his days living with his mothers just outside of Tokyo. He attends one of the local high schools and is the top student, as well as one of the stars of his school's soccer team.

Approaching his 16th birthday, Yuki awakened his cryokinetic powers, prompting Caim to reveal his goetian heritage. She also explained how, once he turns eighteen, Yuki will have to choose between following in his father's footsteps, or remaining in the human world.

To prepare for this future decision, Yuki started splitting his time between his father's mansion in Hell, and his family home in the human world. While at his father's he trains to master the demonic abilities inherited from his father, along with the ins and outs of goetian politics, all the while remaining hidden from the Ars Goetia at large. While in the human world, Yuki continues with his studies in the hopes of graduating high school with his friends.

Should he make the decision to follow in his father's footsteps, he would be initiated into the Ars Goetia, and his identity revealed to the nobility at large. Should he stay in the human world, he would have to continue living among humans and taking on mundane jobs all the while hiding his identity and abilities.

More TBA.

Powers/Abilities:

Cryokinesis: Can manipulate ice and snow for a wide variety of uses (offence - weapons; defence - shields; weather manipulation (can cause blizzards, drop the temperature to sub zero, etc.)

Extreme Speed: Can move as fast as any tengu, appearing as a blur to the untrained eye.

Swordsmanship

High endurance

Weapon of choice: Katana

Verses:

Normal Verse: Yuki is born and Andrealphus struggles to be a dad while hiding the child's existence from Paimon. Shenanigans ensue.

I Got Teleported To the Past to Fulfill My Destiny in Hell: Gusion (keeperofanswers) showed Andrealphus many books, each covering alternative lives based on choices made, and not. One of the books was triggered by magic, and Yuki manifested from its pages as if it were a portal. He is now living with his father in Hell while trying to figure out a way to get back to his own time.

[manystagesofmal]

There was nothing left to be done. Laid on the floor on her side, eyes barely opened, sweat pouring down her face, no energy left to move her limbs. Just staring at the dark wall, feeling herself drain slowly. She had to admit, she was probably dying now. Locked in the house basement.... no, that was wrong. The house ate her. It's digesting her. Her body will rot, melting in fictional acids, her spirit will mix with the countless others it has eaten over time.

It's over. She actually lost this time. With the last of her energy, she let out a tired, pained sigh, wondering what would become of her dog back at her apartment. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten both a dog and a dangerous profession at the same time...

There was a quiet sound a few feet past her. A sort of whine, that immediately gave Mal goosebumps. Something was down here with her, something still alive. Well, at least it would have something to eat, she grimly thought as she started to settle back into her drained state. All she could do now was keep from being surprised at what kind of death awaited her in a couple of minutes.

The whine started to grow loud, until it erupted into frightened bawling. High pitched. Young. Very young.

A child!

Even Mal couldn't explain what happened next. She leapt up to a stand and made her way to the crying. It wasn't long until she found it. A small night thing, two long feathery antennae, large green eyes, a wide mouth with no teeth grown in it yet, tiny stubs on its back that would be wings when grown. If it makes it to fully grown. As far as she could tell, the monster child was uninjured, not a scratch on it. But she couldn't say the same for what the child was sitting on. Already dead and starting to decay and digest was a larger version of this child: giant teeth that gnashed, feathery from top to bottom, several massive feathery wings, laying in a pool of blood as inky black as itself. One of it's large arms was curled around behind itself awkwardly, making a sort of protective nest. It perfectly fit around the child to keep it from falling.

Mal understood. She understood perfectly.

With gentle shushes and soft humming, she carefully cradled the monster child in her own arms and it clung to her, wailing louder. Confused. Frightened. Without its mother. Mal held it close to comfort it, saying in as many languages as she could that it was safe. And she would take care of everything.

She stumbled to the nearest wall, keeping the child pinned to her with one hand and reaching for her hunting knife in the other. As soon as she was close enough, she stabbed her knife into the wall with whatever strength she could muster. Nothing happened, so she yanked the knife out and stabbed again in the same spot. Again, nothing, so she she stabbed, again and again. Again and again. Tearing her knife down as she did. Again and again. Her hate and motherly instinct growing stronger with each movement.

Soon, there was blood. Hot, burning blood. The groaning of wood and foundation from pain. Mal didn't care. It was going to kill a child. It had to die in turn.

Her mind and mental state came back to her, grunts of effort turning into homicidal screams of anger and embarrassment. This thing was going to kill her. This thing was going to kill a child. A monster child from an under-the-bed monster, but a child nonetheless. She nearly let that happen!

Through her screams, her stabbing, her tunneling through wall, wood and flesh, she reiterated her being. She's human. All humans, to the end, are rebellious. Tenacious. Determined. All humans, when given the choice, die fighting in the face of the monstrous! Even if she fails, even if this was all done in anger and hopelessness, she will leave a mark. She will be remembered. As the human who didn't stop fighting!

And then she broke through the last thin layer of skin and stumbled into fresh air and a cold breeze. Her feet landed on a lawn, she was hunched to keep herself from falling. She was covered in sticky fluids and smelled of stomach acids. The child still clung to her but was now quiet. Mal opened an eye not covered in viscera to look around and up. There was a night sky and full moon. She was back at the end of the cul-de-sac.

She was outside.

There was a cop car waiting at the edge of the property, about to leave after investigating a possible break in from the outside. To put up a city ordinance of abandoned buildings. The cop saw her and cried out in horror.

"WHAT IN FRESH HELL?!"

Mal only looked to him, protectively cradling the child to her. And was only able to say one thing as she stared the cop down.

"...I came into this world naked, screaming and covered in blood. And by God, I plan on going out the same way."

Everything started to go black, but she did remember to fall to her side to not crush the child as she fell.

---

She once again woke up in the hospital. A more veteran monster hunter was there to greet her. He promised to pay for her hospital bills this time around, and seeing her mostly in good health he had to confirm how she got there.

"Let me get this straight," the old man started, "you stabbed a house to death?!"

Even Mal had to laugh at the situation.

"It shouldn't have tried to eat a kid."

Through their conversation, Mal then got to learn about houses and how older ones tended to have more awareness and personality to them than younger ones. Like trees in a forest. The one she was in, long abandoned due to no one affording to buy it, had taken to trapping and eating monsters that sought it out for shelter. There was little a monster hunter could do in this case, there was so much bureaucracy around houses and how to get rid of them. But even then, it was rare for them to hurt people. Or monsters. This one was just extremely angry.

"What about the little one?" Mal asked. "Where are they?"

"She's been given to her father." the hunter insisted. "He'll be in contact shortly to thank you." This was acceptable.

Once he left, Mal got some rest. She only rested for half an hour before she realized she forgot to ask the hunter about her dog. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up to go get her phone, before...

"Ahem."

The forced clearing of a throat drew her attention to the center of the room. At the left corner of her bed stood a man. Dark green suit that nearly passed for black. Short, black hair swept back and gelled into place. Sharp facial features. And a growing smile that seemed to grow wide enough to split his face.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Richter. Are you well enough for an interview?"

Mal's entire body grew rigid. This wasn't another monster hunter, detective, or even human. Or a monster. This was something else entirely.

"Who the fuck are you?" She managed to growl through her tight throat.

The being gave a small bow of the head and shoulders before beginning.

"My name is Indrid Cold, and we have a few things to discuss."

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

Character Dossier

Basics

Full name: Hriob Riebe Zagel

Known aliases: Robert, Rob, Hiro, John, Krakonoš, Rübezahl, Lord of Fantastic Weather, Prince of Gnomes, King under the Mountain, The Brewer of God-Booze, the Lonely Forest Sage, Herr Erlkönig, Humbaba of the Cedar Forest, Thor, Vǫlundr, Fergus MacRoich, ‘Oh God Not You Again’, ’(the) Creep’, ‘Robby’, Yestuuv Mewl-Keeza (Ancient Tengu for ‘Storm-Barrel’)

Age: Unknown, at least 2,000

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Birth Adoption date: December 15th

Heritage: German/Polish/Czech [Fae]

Religion: Technical-Agnostic (non-worshipping but accepting of many deities, pantheons, and belief systems co-existing)

Sexual and Romantic orientation: Demi/Heterosexual/Romantic. Can be polyamorous depending on timeline, but is usually set for single-relationships only.

Status: Between worlds and 'missions', on standby

Residencies: The Halls of the Mountain King, situated below the Forest of Lost Fae

Highest level of education: Self-Taught in multiple schools of logic, magic, science, and philosophy but roughly on par with college degrees for most subjects - trained to high proficiency in swordsmanship and pole-arm-wielding.

Occupation: Archivist, Woodsman, Nature Preservationist, Agent of Gaia, Enchanter, Shaman (non-denominational), Druid, Moonshiner/Craft Brewer

Physical examination

Facial features: Large nose, strong brows, with a number of prominent scars on his face; one over his left eye, one on either cheek, and one over his adam's apple on his throat. His ears have very faint points to them, and his nose has a raised arch to it.

Face-claim: Himself. I rely on art, typically commissions

Voice: His voice is deep, low baritone that nears bass in tone, often kept low and faintly breathy, but capable of being loud and 'booming' if excited or angered. He has a roughly, but not perfectly, 'Germanic' accent, however faint, when he speaks in English.

Voice claim: Vincent 'Jake' Jones of Aether Realm

Eyes: Dark Grey, can light up with other colors - mainly azure - depending on magic use/attenuation.

Hair: Dark Brownish-Red hair, typically the color of drying blood but can appear more faded (towards a pale brunet) according to local conditions

Body type: He is a large, heavily built but fit man, well-muscled but not especially toned ('working' muscle as opposed to 'gym' muscle), reminiscent of the 'Strongman' body type with a decent amount of body hair evenly spread throughout.

Distinguishable Marks: Myriad scars across almost all of his body, mostly from very old slash and/or stab wounds.

weight: 529lb approximately

Height: 7'11" at last measure

Mental Evaluation

Mental illness: PTSD, Hyper-vigilance, Hyper-Fixation, Anxiety, Insomnia (mainly from Night Terrors), varying levels of paranoia, acute self-image/body-image issues due to body-wide scarring.

Psychological profile: Shows signs of being on the Autism Spectrum, albeit subtly, either due to successful masking strategies or having more 'manageable' traits overall, if not a combination of the two. Strongly values moral and ethical behaviors in others and self, but is not against using duplicity and deception in order to help himself and/or others.

Positive traits: Empathetic, determined, nurturing, goal-oriented and self-organizing, humorous, capable of extremely deep connections and understandings with others in one-on-one settings, self-aware enough to recognize and work on improving his failings.

Negative traits: Self-critical, self-sacrificing and overworking to a fault, restless without a given direction or goal, easily overwhelmed senses when in large crowds or loud public places, prone to hypocrisy and biting sarcasm, often values self based off utility or capability rather than intrinsic worth.

Alignment type: Despite his optimism and strong personal morals, he is most accurately described as 'True Neutral' due to his disillusionment concerning 'heroics' and those who 'do the right thing for the wrong reasons'. While well-intentioned is prone to varying levels of manipulation of those around him, be they 'friend' or 'foe'.

Meyer-Briggs Personality type: INTJ - ‘The Tactitian’

Phobias: Proditiophobia (betrayal), Tomophobia (surgery), Enochlophobia (large crowds), formerly had fears of fire and sharp objects as a child (Pyrophobia and Aichmophobia, respectively).

Mannerisms: Often makes notable body language to show his interest or disinterest in something, such as pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes. Often uses body language and posture that reduces his size and volume, either out of a desire to remain unnoticed or appear less imposing, be it due to his large and scar-ridden stature or his potentially deep, booming voice.

Hobbies and Interests: Cooking (especially baking and brewing), woodworking, metalworking, leather-working, reading, writing, alchemic and magical crafting, hiking, ethical debate, metaphysical theory-crafting, babysitting, teaching.

Strategic analysis

Combat style: Extremely flexible combatant at all nearly all ranges, capable of analyzing, countering, and suppressing attackers at most all ranges. While capable of maintaining high-impact offensive melee when required, He prefers taking a more calculating, reactive fighting style that focuses on counters, parries, endurance, and defensive posturing until an opportunity to strike decisively and lock down his attacker(s) presents itself.

Weapon of choice: He interchangeably uses most staves and polearms with extreme proficiency, with a personal preference for halberds, glaives, bardiches, and the like. In regards to magic, while capable in many schools he prefers a combination of Lightning and Wind elemental techniques to simultaneously attack, defend, and control terrain over a large area regardless of the number of targets. As a backup, he is more than capable, though not ridiculously proficient, with most swords and throwing weapons, including daggers and 'cards' of his own design.

Hand to hand Combat efficiency: Extremely competent due to a combination of extensive training, regular exercise, and highly focused reflexes. Prefers to use a customized combination of Savate, Judo, and grapple-based basic CQC techniques. However, his unarmed techniques are stance-focused and meant to supplement his skill with weapons rather than replace or supersede them.

Tactical strength: Counter-Magical combat and Stategic/Tactical outmaneuvering of singular enemy combatant. Especially focused on subduing extremely dangerous single opponents with focused, dedicated targeting or exploitation of their given weaknesses wherever possible. Is unusually skilled and capable of planning and preparing countermeasures/trump cards against enemies he has sufficient prior knowledge of to vastly increase his chances of success. Reaction time and mental alacrity are both high enough to make accurate split-second decisions to adapt and adjust plans according to current condition 'on the fly'. When fighting on behalf of the Planet/World-spirit/Biosphere, has increased power reserves proportional to the scale of the (perceived) threat.

Tactical weakness: Defensive skills have diminishing returns and greater difficulties against Fire-Element, Demonic or Eldritch-based magical attacks. Defensive counters to magic are more finely tuned in combat against 'simple-but-powerful' attacks rather than 'complex-but-low-impact' ones such as curses or hexes. High density and strength does not diminish personal reflexes but does greatly impact agility when moving due to high bodily inertia. Physical Health/Durability/Strength/Vitality is directly tied to ambient/local magical/life energies - trapping him in an 'Anti-Magic' field or 'Dead Zone' will quickly lead to pronounced frailty, organ failure, and eventually death. While not afraid of taking life, will often prefer and try to avoid taking life wherever possible, even if it would lead to greater/extended suffering on one or both sides of the conflict or increase the risk of losing the fight.

Signature technique: Combining extremely dense amounts of both Wind and Lightning elemental energies into a singular point to recreate stellar-grade fusion at small scale over his palm, before releasing the resulting nuclear conflagration on the target when they have been rendered immobile.

Pain tolerance: Extremely high baseline, is capable of numbing or otherwise fully ignoring his own body's pain response for short periods if over-focused or determined.

Defensive skills: Above-average Parkour skills and mobile evasion, extremely talented with using polearms for deflecting and parrying enemy (melee) attacks, is especially skilled at attuning himself to incoming/enemy magical attacks to absorb, process, and redirect or reuse the incoming energies to his advantage.

Relationships and affiliations

Family: To his knowledge, he has no blood relatives. That being said, he has both been adopted and adopted others into his family many times over his long life, and treats these 'chosen' relations just as importantly as any would-be blood bond.

Allies and associates: This varies greatly depending on the timeline, but at baseline he has a large collection of friends and allies, largely met through or due to his found family, that he often checks in on and tries to assist, but otherwise leaves be if he feels he is 'not needed'.

Rivalries: While he does not have any standing rivalries at the moment, Hriob is not immune to being competitive with his friends and allies... and if he is not careful taking said rivalries and competition too far if not called out for it.

Enemies: Hriob does his best to remain professional about his conflicts with others, but depending on their actions he is fully capable of holding grudges and taking things personally to a vicious, unhealthy degree. This is doubly so if those he loves and/or considers family are targeted or otherwise threatened by said would-be enemies.

Romantic histories: Hriob does not fall in love easily, but when he does he falls hard and fast enough that he does not always realize it until he is already 'in deep'. While not completely incapable of having more transactional, friends-with-benefits style relationships, he far more prefers and longs for more fully open, involved romances built on trust, affection, mutual support and caring rather than simple lust or tit-for-tat agreements.

Notable friends: Solita Raiser, Otto von Braun, Chiasa, Honey S. R., Yarbert Godfrey, and others.

Habits and life style

Daily routine: While he does not maintain a perfectly uniform or predictable routine, Hriob regularly blends regular of meditation, stretching, jogging, hiking, and gymnastic exercise in irregular, varying order whenever he is not occupying himself with a long-term project. This 'routine' is easily overtaken by his hyper-focus if a particularly difficult, important, or otherwise particularly engaging in some other manner. Due to his difficulties with sleep, he almost always wakes early and gets to bed late- if at all - on a daily basis, unless he has literally nothing to occupy his time otherwise.

Diet and nutrition: Hriob prescribes to a wide and varied, if notably rustic, omnivorous diet with a balance of nuts, berries, cheeses, baked goods, wild game, herbs in the form of both teas and spices, and responsible amounts of alcohol - especially mead and ale. While his diet is rather balanced overall, it is almost an afterthought for him unless he is somehow injured or ill - he gets most of his actual caloric intake through metaphysical symbiosis with surrounding plant life rather than through actual food for the most part. While his culinary skills allow him to experiment and try new dishes often enough, he is comfortable with his basic diet unless entertaining guests.

Exercise habits: Hriob maintains a regular mixed regimen of combat training, manual labor maintaining his home, and hiking through the forests he inspects and patrols. While he does not put much stock in toning his muscles or reducing his weight, he maintains a strong balance between cardio, endurance, and top muscular output with his regimen that maintains his physical fitness.

Grooming habits: While he does not seem to excessively care for his appearance overall, he does bathe regularly (every other day if not twice a day, depending on recent exertion) in natural hot springs, as much for their medicinal and psychological relaxation benefits as to actually maintain his cleanliness - especially in light of his regular extended manual labor. He has a preference for using natural fragrances such as Pine, Lavender, Sage, Frankincense, and other earthy plant-based tones.

Substance use: While he has a history of alcohol abuse, he has successfully, if somewhat reluctantly, managed to maintain a healthy relationship with hard beverages for a long time now... though it should be noted that it is due to his body's growing immunity to the effects of alcohol and not any true desire to reduce his intake that resulted in this net-positive lifestyle change.

Sleep patterns: He sleeps very intermittently and fitfully, if at all, unless exhaustion takes him - normally managing at most four hours at a time without external help every 48 hours. While he is able to maintain decent health with meditation and prolonged metaphysical attenuation to ambient plant life, this is not feasible to maintain in more urban or lifeless environments. If trying to sleep with others he trusts nearby, he has been known to 'sleepwalk' over to said closest individual, grab them, and use them as a 'teddy bear' without realizing it - if allowed to do so his sleep will far more closely resemble a healthy sleep average in both duration and stability.

Personal aesthetic: Tolkeincore, Wizardcore, Druidcore, dark academia

Favorite book: Dragonology: the Complete Book of Dragons.

Favorite music genre: Historical Folk music, Folk Metal

Favorite Art/Architecture: Art-Deco, Early Gothic, Impressionism

tagged by: @sweet-chimera by technicality (thank you)

Tagging: @nostomannia @housofmisfits @automaton-otto @oflostinfound @heroesxdemons @rxdhairxdsirxns @green-x-reaper @risingshine @arcanescholxr @aonokumura @demonicdiligence @paleobird @muppeteyes1001

[royalblades-cosmicfates]

||Star aligned— cosmic mishap

||For the —- @hom3land3r ~~~……]]

[[shortened for convenience of reading]]

____……………………………____

Alfor had gotten used to the life on earth and its people, while vast and filled with life, it had been a rocky start to his time on the beautiful blue planet. While it had its own beauty, variety of creatures, unique people and cultures, it did hold its own dangers, however, he did find it fairly easy to settle down into a fairly nice and pleasant routine for day-to-day life. While mundane for the most part it never meant he wouldn’t find something new to do or discover of the planet. Especially one which held a rather unique type of people. The kind who were able to harness or born with supernatural abilities, powers, and knowledge.

While he never pried to much into Homelander life, he did try to get to know the man better while being cautious and aware of his boundaries. He had learned a few new things about Homelander and the earth as well in that time; most being what to be cautious of and what the man enjoyed to do in his free time. He enjoyed the time spent with the blonde man or watching him during his interviews, and saving the lives of fellow humans.

While he never admitted it, he was fairly concerned with how this Vought treated him and his fellow colleagues. However he never pried to hard in that. Mostly seeking out his own answers through the media and some of those insider information circles. During one of those little moments of discovering any more interesting, if not concerning, details or rumors of vought—

—The sensation of being watched hit him. While it had before while he was out and in pubic, this was different. He fixed the mask on his face before continuing his walking before rounding a corner of a small alleyway. While not the best of areas to hide in, he had checked if it was empty and to his relief it had been, just a dead end with a small bin to the left with other discarded objects.

But it remained. And it was scarily familiar, not unlike someone watching him- which couldn’t be the case due to him being out of sight. Even looking up for any supers he found no one, but it was familiar, it was similiar to the feeling of when he first escaped. With great care he dug through his pocket to find the phone given to him. Once finding it and holding it he unlocked it to send Homelander a text. Some apprehension hit him as he hoped the man wasn’t in the middle of another interview or another life or death situation with humans. It was a quick and to the point text-

[[Homelander, I’ve sent my location. I do not know why, but something is wrong.]]

Along with he text was the location he was standing at. His eyes jumping around the area before an odd sensation of weightlessness overcame him. Then the feeling of falling and air left his lungs. The next thing he felt was hitting the ground on something hard and cold.

[aintgonnatakethis]

Hi Ian!

Thank you for the wip tag, I might gonna skip this time since it didn't change from the last one few days ago (I'm a slooooooooooooooooooooow writer 😁)

By the way, I'm curious about your :

Other SGU : Your Own Worst Enemy,

if you feel like sharing 🙏

Thanks for the ask @gioiaalbanoart! 😄

Content warning for Your Own Worst Enemy Answer: non-explicit discussion of sexual assault First excerpt: I would describe as non-explicit just-prior-to-the-event, but be safe Second excerpt: memories of child abuse Third excerpt: verbal and psychological abuse between partners but nothing sexual

I started writing this massive thing in 2022 and haven't posted any of it yet because I think I need to finish it completely first, due to the sensitive nature of the subject material. It's also quite heavy work to write as it's so serious and delves as deeply as I can into the trauma of Rush, Young, Telford, and Destiny all suffering from some form of sexual assault, varied in method, severity, reaction, and aftermath. So I have to be a very specific headspace to be able to work on it, which I haven't since *checks* a year ago!

It's also the first story I started writing with the aim of posting to AO3 (there was the 450k extravaganza I wrote while lockdown was ongoing to keep myself sane - with there being 2 vulnerable people in my house it was quite a bit longer than the official lockdown - but I never intend on posting that because the start requires a full rewrite due to me being off the pace quality-wise after years out. There are also a lot of other people's ideas in there. Basically I wrote it just for myself and have been rereading it recently and picking bits out that I think I can work into the current stuff I'm writing). Tangent over 😂

The starting premise of Your Own Worst Enemy is one I've seen used a few times: foraging on a planet, Young gets dosed, attacks Rush. I wanted to take that in different directions than I'd previously seen written, and focus heavily on the 'sometimes you never recover' angle. So I highly doubt it'll have a happy ending, but there's so much focus in media and fandom on recovery being something everyone always "succeeds" at and I'm just like… It can be messy, one-step-forwards-two-steps-back, angry, destructive, dangerous… Basically I want all four of them to be the most IMperfect victims they could possibly be.

First excerpt is from right at the beginning. I have Telford-being-the-hero disease. (Read: so does he, he desperately wants to be the Big Hero, even if he'd scoff if someone said it out loud.)

There's a flicker of movement from the stairs, the shadow coalescing into a human shape. Rush's heart leaps in his chest. No one on the ship likes him but surely they won't walk away from Young raping him, no matter how much blind loyalty the man somehow inspires. When the man's face finally comes into the light it's Telford, his eyebrows raised high in surprise but a light smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rush heart sinks. The sound of a zipper comes from behind him and Telford's eyes follow the movement, not even sparing Rush a glance. He probably thinks this is what Rush deserves, what he's got coming for all the shit he makes Young put up with. He chokes back bile as Telford turns away to make his way back up the stairs. "Help me!" Now Telford looks at him for the first time, pausing with one foot on the stairs. He looks unsure, his forehead creasing as his eyes dart back and forth between Rush and Young. Please, Rush thinks, for the love of god please. "Hey, Everett," Telford says casually, his foot coming back down off the step. Thank you. Thank you.

Second excerpt is quite a ways in and won't make a bit of sense out of context, but it's one of the bits I'm most proud of. 😊

Something is wrong. He can feel it, a creeping horrifying sensation beneath his skin, as if his veins are being slowly plucked like violin strings. Spaghetti-like tubes slither into him, dragging and clogging and taking up space that should be empty. He feels his heart stutter as if from very far away. "It's important," a voice whispers to him. There is grief wrapped hard around the words, a loneliness that slips into the edges of his consciousness and sinks its claws in deep. It is too hot and he is a child shivering beneath his blankets, terrified. There is nowhere to go, he knows. He is going to die here. "Doctor Rush?" Don't move. Don't make noise. Maybe they'll forget he's here. Maybe it will go differently this time; the black mould on the ceiling and the inlaid bricks and the metal grates and the sand hot in his mouth. He is an adult and yet he is also twelve sitting in a car unable to escape as his mother tells him she wants to kill herself. He thinks a part of him will always be in that car, knowing he has no control, that he will be powerless and weak and dependant forever. He wants freedom. He wants to do something about it. If she wants it so damn badly, his mind whispers, then give it to her. He would be better off. He would be free. "There's so much work to be done. I know you understand." He does understand. No one else does. They can't. They don't have the framework. He's built for this, it is his purpose. "I don't want to be alone, Nicholas." He stares at a chalkboard and doesn't move. The phone rings and he doesn't move. A man appears in his house and he doesn't move. The man sits next to him and says, "You'll feel this way for the rest of your life. But I think that's okay." Rush doesn't agree. He's held stationary and he's cold and he can't breathe. There are too many dangers lurking in the dark, too many possibilities of pain, too few ways to extricate himself. His fists hurt from trying to beat his way out. There's blood on his hands and his brain sparks with pain. They stare at him and he asks for help and they don't react. There are hands on him, poking and prodding and pinching. Terror, in the bruises on his face and his hips and his chest, over his heart and inside deep where no one is meant to see. It would be so easy to do it again. They could leave him behind. They could show him who's actually in charge. There'd be no repercussions for them. No one cares enough to put themselves in the firing line for him. "It's important," she says. She doesn't want to be alone again, drifting in the dark depths of space. He understands. He doesn't want to be alone either. He inhales water and he inhales air and he inhales vacuum.

Third excerpt. I'd paste it here but I think this answer is already long enough 💀 This is why I'm so slow answering asks for this game fwiw. I need to ramble and infodump or I'll die.

WIP Name Game

[ofglories]

REFLECT - althur :)

|| Send Reflect for a traumatic event in my muse's life ; accepting!

The valley had once been a place of peace.

Long ago there had been a river that ran through it, though time and human hands had eventually changed its course across the land. In its place it left behind fertile soil, drawing in farmers from across the land to take advantage of the perfect conditions for their crops and livestock. The verdant fields and orchards, dotted with herds of cattle and flocks of sheep had been the pride of his kingdom.

A place more beautiful than any to be found in the other parts of Britain.

Not even Rheged had been able to boast such a place.

But now...

The green fields were trampled into the mud, watered with rain and blood. What remained of the orchards would never return to the acres they had once spanned, a practical forest of fruit trees now lost to war. A small relief had been the farmers taking their herds and families to safety before either army had arrived, given forewarning by messengers both on foot and by air. But it didn't make the sight of the torched remnants of the houses, barns, and villages any easier to stomach. Something he'd quietly confided in Bedivere earlier before the day's battle had truly begun.

Arthur sidestepped, dodging a blow aimed for his side.

Armor or no, it wouldn't do to be careless when battling Romans. That was something he had learned from experience. Dodge, swing, block, parry, thrust. It almost felt like a dance, were it not for the way his lungs and shoulders ached. The strain of this battle that had gone now for several days all over a valley that the Romans had already rendered a waste. There was no strategic importance to it. No major roads went through the farmlands and to even reach it one would have to take several detours to get to it.

It was just something to crush to draw Arthur out.

This was something he knew already.

Still the battle raged on, even as Arthur pressed through the enemy ranks. He'd lost sight of Kay and Bedivere somewhere in the mess, the two promising to be careful.

And then...

"Kay! No!"

The sound of Bedivere's cry cut Arthur to the core. The icy spike of dread he'd been feeling all day becoming akin to a blade in his heart. There was no time. He snarled at the soldiers blocking his path, magic channeling through him into Excalibur. A blast of wind, enhanced by the holy sword's own natural magic, carved a way through by force, flinging enemy soldiers to either side.

Another shout from Bedivere was all he could hear over his heart pounding in his ears, the pain evident in the pitch.

What awaited him was the thing of nightmares.

'No no nonono please please don't let this be true,' he begged in his mind, eyes wide with horror at the sight of his older brother slumped on the ground, blood staining the front of his armor and the grass beneath him. Kay was still, far too still. Arthur knew with only a glance that it was too late.

Something was cracking inside of him.

Choking back tears, he turned, casting his eyes around for- there!

"Bedi!!" Arthur screamed, sprinting to the site where his best oldest, dearest, most beloved, friend lay on the grass. The tall, redhaired man standing over him didn't even register in the king's mind as he dropped to his knees, hauling the older man into his arms.

There was no denying that the wound Bedivere had sustained was mortal.

With a strangled sob he cupped the other man's face, blinking away tears to properly meet those emerald eyes he adored so much. Hazy with pain and bloodloss as they were, Bedivere still forced a smile even as tears stained his own face. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Arthur was supposed to keep him safe, to keep both of them safe. He shouldn't have allowed either Kay or Bedi to join him on the battlefield, he decided.

"I-I'm sorry, Arthur... I-I didn't..." Bedi mumbled, blood spilling over his chin as he gasped.

It was a nightmare.

One Arthur desperately wished he could wake from.

"Don't apologize, you're going to be fine!" A lie. A desperate, pleading lie to any god that would listen to make it come true. For the horrific gaping wound in the other man's chest to miraculously heal before his eyes.

The cracks were getting worse, almost audible like ice shattering beneath a boot as the owner of his heart struggled to keep breathing.

"I thought...th-there would be more time f-for us," the whispered confession made Arthur's heart break, the tears falling freely now as Bedi forced himself to speak his last words. "A-Arthur, I... I..."

It wasn't enough.

"...Bedi...?"

Bedivere was gone.

Kay was gone.

Arthur felt the edges of his vision going dark, Lucius Tiberius was saying something. But his enemy's voice sounded muted, like trying to listen underwater. His breathing grew strained, hands shaking as he gripped Bedivere's body tightly against his chest.

Something had broken and there was only anger and hate and despair.

Slowly he laid his beloved down, gripping Excalibur in his hand as he stood. The ever-present glow around the blade shifted, though he took little notice of it. All he cared about was destroying the person who had ripped away two of the people most important to his life. His brother who had always been there. And his dearest friend who he had loved his entire life. Arthur raised his head, baring his teeth at Lucius Tiberius.

He would kill him. Destroy him so nothing remained. Wipe his presence off the world like the stain he was.

He didn't know then that that was the moment he became more dragon than human.