#<-just a small addition they looked similar is mischief form

[cereal-killahh]

I ONLY WATCHED THIS MOVIE THIS DAY I AM ALREADY GOING INSANE

electric dreams was a nice movie I NEED more stuff like computers gaining emotions movies

I thank this movie for inventing bisexuality and poly relationships 🙏

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note:  Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending.  Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series!  For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while!  If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets.  My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions.  My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys.  @sammy-jo1977​ , my sister from another mister!  Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes!  Love you all!  Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all!  If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye.  Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see?  Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish!  Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary:  Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse.  When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings:  Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos.  I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War.  The SNAP never happened because, reasons.  

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion.  Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling.  Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it.  By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind.  It was dangerous.  Weak.  And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself. 

  Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail?  What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it?  How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property.  With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth.  Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless.  And he felt everything.  The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly.  Anger.  Loss.  Lunacy.  Loki learned a hard truth in that moment.  He was a monster.  A freak.  A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong.  Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further.  To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane.  Why bother anyway?  All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision.  What was grief to a goblin?  What was horror to a monster?  What was love to a villain like him?  An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination.  A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces.  Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance?  Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness.  In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.   

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger.  Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell.  No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely. 

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path.  If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad.  Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny. 

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way.  He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother.  And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised?  He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined.  And Loki wasn’t just good at it.  He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki.  Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary.  Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard.  When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler.  He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister.  Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over.  They were his people, after all.  But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially.  What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design.  On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.  

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure.  Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words.  And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that  Loki had made a commitment of sorts.  One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family.  This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself.  Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time.  Patience.  Motivation.  It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait.  Loki was learning to wait everyday.  Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet.  Was it easy?  Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise.  Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes.  Loki was simply going to be better.  Not perfect.  No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark.  So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem.  In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew.  That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant.  That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god.  Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive.  You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating.  Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises.  But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted.  You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat.  Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same.  Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck.  “Loki?” “Huh?”  Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi!  Yes, Pepper can see you now.  Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing.  Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently.  Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you.  Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you.  His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk. 

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.”  Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly.  Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited?  Never!  It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.”  At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”  

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great!  I have faith in you both.  I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki.  Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now.  Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too.  I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome.  Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat.  And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths.  You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small.  His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?”  It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer.  You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were.  No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would.  He begged.  “Please?  I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye.  Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him.  Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish.  I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party.  You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj.  But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark.  And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice.  Loki was more lighthearted, more available.  He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings.   Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him.  If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla.  It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning.  A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again.  Loki remembered what you were wearing.  He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes.  If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala.  Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported.  The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall.  How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom.  Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.  

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne.  It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own.  Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean.  Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard.  Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time.  It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop.  I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.”  Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.”  Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart.  Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound.  Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise.  Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle.  He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it.  But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.   

"Darling, please.  We have to go."  Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you?  He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always.  And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need.  Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.  

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard.  I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive.  You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands.  Shall we?"  With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees.  Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready?  Darling?"

"Oh… yes.  I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work."  Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking.  In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!"  And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth.  The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form.  All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think?  This jacket weighs a ton."  Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird.  It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest.  Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

 Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off.  The house was empty.  Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger.  When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.  

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime.  Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush.  He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought.  There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore.  Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead.  He had lost.  Captain America had been bested.  Beaten.  And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night.  Steve was alone.  Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating.  The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy.  Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.”  Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room.  His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes.  All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall.  Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you.  In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays.  Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor.  The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace.  A pretty, ancient, carved cameo,  heart shaped locket.  He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed.  ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up.  You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own.  It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change.  You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-”  You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will.  I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.”  You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight.  Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.”  It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table.  An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated.  All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.  

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet.  There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell.  It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky?  That you?  You back?”  Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat?  What are you doing here?  I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?”  Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before.  This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking.  This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed.  Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel.  Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way.  Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?”  Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t.  He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No.  Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around.  Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat.  There’s nothing for her here.”  To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you.  “That’s not true!”  It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back.  They left with nothing, Steve.  She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-”  Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain.  We're here for a necklace...  the necklace.  Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down.  Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-”  From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal.  Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve.  Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.”  The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house.  The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve.  For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast.  How about you?”

“Um… sure.  Yea, ok.  Breakfast.” 

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast?  Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…”  You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade.  That wasn’t enough to stop Steve.  He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that.  Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-”  Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie.  You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll.  Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less.  Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set.  Something false and fake.  A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly.  Clearly he had something on his mind.  “Steve-” “No.  No.  Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver.  “When I saw you… No, that’s not right.  Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad.  It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true.  When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life!  And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did.  I waited years for you, ya know, doll?  Years.  And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend.  An ally.  Someone you could trust… someone I could trust.  I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me.  I just wanted to make you smile again.  But she had other plans.  Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful.  And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick.  Like you, I thought that Loki was gone.  Missing.  Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve.  I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out?  I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first.  That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop.  Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures.  You would also know… well, everything you know now.  That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever.  There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away.  If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here?  And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me.  I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed.  Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t.  It was for me.  I wanted you, so, so badly.  I didn’t care what strings were attached.  And we built a life together, you and me.  I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports.  Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email.  Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve.  I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?”  With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night.  It was going to happen last night.  Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me.  I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet.  He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything.  The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival.  I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved.  I could say that it was my duty.  I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve.  You really will.  There’s a person out there waiting for you.  And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow.  An illusion.  Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches.  It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong.  Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve.  I really do... “  What more could you say?  Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now.  Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha.  At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower.  I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.”  Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really?  And how are you going to breach the building?  They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises…  Fury is no fool.  Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard!  I’ll figure it out when I get there.  Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door.  Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession.  Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you;  it was enough for Loki to commit murder.  He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki.  Wait.  I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help?  I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go.  Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-”  His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.”  Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough.  How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh?  That’s where you want to go?”  Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…”  Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom.  For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh.  But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan.  At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after.  What did Fury want?  How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well?  What is it?  Weapons?  War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.”  That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes.  Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you.  Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next.  Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy.  An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.”  Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening.  A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal.  Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough.  Making enemies of your friends.  Threatening the people you loved.  Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench.  “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me.  Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him.  Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding.  Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember.  Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding.  The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers.  None was needed.  Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open.  “Look.  I know I’m not the guy you want on your side.  I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be.  Not for you-”  Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki.  But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.” 

Around you the morning gained strength.  Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics.  Without  moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America.  Nodding decisively, “I do.  I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us.  He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that.  For now, we trust Steve.  Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey.  I… I have one other thing to show you.”  Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving.  Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?”  The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed.  Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered.  In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours.  I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know.  Still-” “I can’t, Steve.  It’s yours.  Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid.  It’s done.  Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno.  Think I might need to be alone for a bit.  Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @jenjen8675309​ @that-one-person​ @roguewraith​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Flour Cheeks;; YHS

Word Count;; 1.6k

Genre;; Fluff Overload!

Pairing;; Hongseok x Reader

Summary;;

While you understand that some mornings you'll wake up alone, your curiosity does get the better of you when you realise your boyfriend has chosen to leave the comfort of your shared bed despite not needing to. It's warm, fluffy, and soft and filled with the possibilities of additional dreaming and yet you soon find yourself also being drawn away from its comforts.

Request;;

Hiii! Can I please request something fluffy with Pentagon's Hongseok? Maybe cooking him and y/n cooking and being all cute? Thank you!! <333​

Warnings;;

None!

Notes;;

I remember him cooking well in one of his lives so I went to look for it and found the waffle incident instead ahsjjdkfkg. Also sorry I took longer than I said I would! Our parents stopped by while we were doing our laundry and I didn't have time to write like I thought I would. Hope you enjoy this all the same and...

Happy late birthday to our Honk Honk! ♡

My Masterlist

   Sunlight streamed in through the curtain's gap to cover the duvet in splashes of yellow and white. It brightened the room, forcing you to squint while you checked your phone's notifications. With a huff, you tossed the device back onto the bedside table and closed your eyes once more.

   It was getting late. The sun was high in the sky as if to taunt you for your laziness and the room warmed beneath its abundant rays. You soon found yourself kicking the bedding clear off the mattress as you flipped over and away from the window.

   Due to the lack of your boyfriend's firm chest to stop you from invading his side of the bed, your initial roll was followed by another, more exaggerated flop. Spreading your limbs with a strained sigh, you once again tried opening your eyes. The room was still bright but you pushed through the searing discomfort to search for Hongseok.

   Though the bathroom door was only propped open by a sliver, the lack of light and movement was enough for you to write it off as empty. The bedroom itself provided a similar scene: devoid of Hongseok but with small clues as to his whereabouts. His house shoes were moved but his phone was still on the charger. The dresser hadn't closed all the way, catching on one of his shirts. He had been in a rush and yet he hadn't dressed to go out, having grabbed clothes from the casual section of his wardrobe.

   You chuckled and shook your head. Whatever had been on his mind wasn't important enough to wake you up and you were grateful for the additional rest. Stretching once again, you pushed the remainder of the bedding off with a yawn before curling up into a ball.

   His side of the bed smelled like him (surprise, surprise) and you enjoyed the mornings when you could sleep in after he left almost as much as the mornings you woke up beside him. You pushed your face into his pillow and sighed. His body wash and shampoo flooded your senses. It was comforting and it made you feel safe because he made you feel safe.

   You inhaled breath by breath, drifting off to sleep until the soothing scent of Hongseok dissipated and was replaced by the strong, undesirable scent of burning. Your eyes snapped open a step slower than your body that had already slid out of bed. Without stopping to grab your shoes or to throw on pants, you fumbled out of your shared bedroom.

   The apartment wasn't huge and it didn't take long for your legs that were in pursuit of the smoke to stumble into the kitchen. Inside you took note of your handsome boyfriend wearing that ridiculous apron you had bought him as a gag gift for his last birthday. Flour graced his tanned cheeks and you fought back a laugh, biting your lip to keep yourself silent. His expression was both serious and exasperated while he observed the steady pillar of smoke escaping the miniature waffle maker.

   "If you make it too obvious, the insurance won't pay out," you teased. His eyes latched onto your form, lingering on your bare thighs that peeked out from beneath his oversized shirt. A grin formed on his lips as he beckoned you to his side. You were quick to oblige. "So what's up? Making breakfast?"

   "Good morning beautiful. I can't answer any questions until I have a kiss." He tapped his cheek twice. Powder still marked them. You leaned around him to grab a kitchen towel and you found it through memory rather than sight, your gaze focused and locked onto his. Though he tapped his foot in impatience, he was smiling and mischief shone in his eyes.

   The cloth wasn't the softest material so you were cautious of how much pressure you exerted on his soft skin. It wasn't until you pulled away to admire your handiwork that you noticed the towel (and most of the surfaces nearby) was also covered in flour and your attempt to wipe away the powder had only created a bigger smudge. Your whole body trembled with the bottled-up laughter brewing deep in your chest. "What? What's so funny?"

   "You're covered in flour, baby." You managed to force the words out before you let loose and your laugh filled every corner of the room. Hongseok frowned and turned away from you, focusing his attention back on the waffle maker. At least it was no longer smoking. Next to the appliance was a plate of… something you couldn't quite identify. "And what the hell is that?"

   "What? That? You can't tell? It's clearly a waffle. And here I thought you were cultured," he said, his voice strained as he tried to pry the appliance open. Upon noticing the secured latch, you nudged him aside and popped the lock before flipping the lid open. Out of instinct his arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you back away from the billow of steam that rushed upward out of the small machine.

   "What's the point of using the waffle maker if it doesn't make waffles?" He whined, resting his head on your shoulder.

   "Did it make that"—distaste crossed your face as you gestured toward the plate of goop—"mess too?"

   "No, I tried… it doesn't matter. The last resort is the other waffle maker."

   "Or maybe we should stop now while we're only at two losses?"

   "I'm a man who never gives up, baby. You know this."

   Hongseok flashed you a grin, his eyes sparkling with determination as he cleared the counter. While his attention was on whipping up another batch of mixture, you decided to clean up his prior attempts. You scraped off the goo from the plate and ran it under hot water while you disconnected the miniature waffle maker and waited for it to cool down enough to soak the inner dish. The dishes stacked up in the sink and the small tower of plastic threatened to collapse like a Jenga tower when you added the last powder bowl Hongseok had discarded to the top.

   "So what's the special occasion?"

   "Are you kidding or do you owe me a massage?"

   A massage? That could only mean-

   Shoot!

   "I was just kid-"

   "Looks like my honey bunny owes me a massage! What a great start to our anniversary!"

   "But I didn't forget!"

   "Nah uh. I said the same thing last year, I was in the same boat, and you didn't go easy on me so I don't think I'll go easy on you, either."

   "Hongseokkie," you pouted, jutting out your lips as you pulled on his arm. Your mind wandered when he flexed under your grasp, his muscles toned and strong. His efforts at the gym never went unnoticed. He continued his attempt to mix the blueberries and bananas into batter, oblivious to how your gaze devoured him. "I didn't forget."

   "If I say I believe you, will you give me a massage anyway?"

   "Maybe."

   "Well I don't believe you."

   You scoffed, a playful smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, "Alright, alright. Fine, I forgot, and you'll get your massage as owed. Now will you please abandon this futile waffle mission? We can just have our usual instead. Nothing beats healthy, anyway."

   "Abandon as in give up? Who do you think I am? I'm going to make you the best damn waffles, just you watch."

   "Right, right. Of course. And I'll try not to starve in the meantime."

   He ignored your comment and focused on pouring the batter into the second waffle maker. This one was bigger, at least in comparison to the miniature maker. The miniature (theoretically) baked bite-sized waffles with little snowflakes on them. This regular-sized and completely average waffle maker had no special gimmick. It was straight-forward and easy to use.

   Except that it wasn't.

   Once Hongseok's pride diminished just enough to summon you back into the kitchen, you found yourself also struggling to make a single waffle that could pass as a waffle. None of your creations were recognisable as a breakfast treat. Some weren't even recognisable as food. Several plates of "waffles" had built up, each featuring varying degrees of baked all the way from gooey to charred. Your solo attempts hadn't fared any better.

   "Can we give up yet?"

   "No." He grabbed a piece of overcooked waffle from the maker and frowned. Half of the batter was close to burning while the other half was still liquid. With great caution, he nibbled on it. The regret was immediate. He thrusted it in your direction. "Try this."

   "Gross," you said, pretending to gag. He took the opportunity to shove the waffle piece into your mouth. You swatted him away seconds too late. He laughed, dodging your flailing hits. Though crunchy and quite dry, the waffle wasn't actually that bad. It could be worse, you thought, eyeing the discarded plates. Much worse.

   "So…"

   "So…" you echoed. When he didn't continue, you nudged his slumped shoulder. His expression screamed disappointment upon looking at the numerous attempts which then morphed into irritation as he glared at the appliance and its lustrous shine. Despite the abundance of use it had undergone over the last few hours, it looked brand new and somehow clean. "While this has been quite the adventure, should we settle down with some oatmeal and relax?"

   "You want to give up?"

   "On the waffles? Yes. I'd rather cuddle with you than fight with this clearly defective waffle maker."

   "Waffle makers," he empathised, glaring over at the abandoned miniature version.

   "If nothing else, we've created a memory that will last a lifetime and I can't think of a better gift to receive on our very special day."

   "I can think of something." You knew by his cheeky grin just what he planned to do and before he even raised his finger, you began to lean into his space. He pointed at his cheek all the same and awaited your kiss. Once again you laughed at his cute antics but this time you followed it up with a kiss.

[natlugubrious]

Fiend Sims (Work in Progress)

Fiend Sims

Fiend Sims came from Scourge Planes and Shadow Planes. Fiend Sims can be created though a ritral of turing a ghost sim into a Fiend Sim or can be made hrough a process similar to baking, mixing together ingredients to form them. The fiend recipes from a large green cookbook labeled Fiend Recipes. The base ingredient is a colorless powder, or liquid, called "Fiend Mix" and spiders. Adding any ingredient that doesn't fit can make the fiend come out entirely wrong. (This Fiend Making is base off of Making Fiends by Amy Winfrey).  

They appear to red-skinned, green-skinned, or tan-skinned with Fiendish horns or without Horns, They had a muscular or skinny human upper body while its lower body resembled that of a hoofed animal or dog like legs and feet standing upright. It also had a short tail or long tail and black fuffy fur.

Their are diffrent types of friends it depands of which one they are though fiend making or if they there born fron depths of the Scourge Planes or the Shadow Planes. They can be made or Summoned to become servants of the individual Sim though Friend Magic or if a Sim is a evil spellcaster called a Warlock.

When a Fiend Sims dies the Grim Reaper will take them to thier own afterlife aka purgatory and can't not be summoned again. The Purgatory Netherworld takes a form of a offce building which a friend will work there for all internity for Grim's sake.

They can also take human form to hide the fiendish form and can also shapeshift into objects like picture frames and rugs or very small animals like mouses and crows

Making a Deal with a Fiend 

A Human Sim or A Spellcaster Sim "Ask For Fiendish Help", This sets up a contract, allowing human sim or spellcaster to choose the spells they want used on them. They make deals with a fiend like bring world peace or become famous  or have a girlfriend with easy woohoo fun. But their will be a time limit for when you can give a payment. If you don't pay for your contract for their spell or deal with the fiend within 7 days, you will receive a nasty curse and will become a lost soul or worst become a fiend yourself and be evil.

What do Fiends Eat

Fiends mostly eat clams of the coastal line beaches of Grimsville. They also mostly feed off of Haday Larvae meaning Fiends are 20% Mesocarnivores, Fiend whose diet consists of 30% meat with the balance consisting of non-vertebrate foods which may include insects, fungi, fruits, other plant material but their diet consists actaraly being 50% Insectivores they eat a many bugs native to the Grimsville or Outside of Grimsville that they call Grubs. Depending on type, they may bear hard shells, wings, or pincers. Some grubs are distinguished by spots or stripes, or even color. Caterpillars, Wireworm, Beetles, Palm Grubs and Grasshoppers are there favorite food type. They can cook an excellent Insect Cuisine out of them but Human Sim might find a little to creepy to eat.

Dark Magic

These are the Fiends supernatural powers or Any type of magic that is mainly used to cause harm to, exert control over, or even kill the victim for evil and selfish purposes but those Spellcaster or Other Fiends who have this power are not necessarily for "evil" but only to use it for mischief or just to have fun with dominos of human sim misery. Mostly Sims who are half Fiend are call "Their Heirs".

Fiend Breed Traits

Changelingaus Fiends/Imposteraus Fiends - They are a type of Friend that are tricksters who can change form to look like anyone and tap into their memories in order to manipulate Sims. They are capable of manipulating spirits and Seance tables to trick any spellcasters or sims with a medium skill.

Shadowaus Fiends -  A type of Fiend sims known for their shadowy forms and their ability to phase-shift. The power elemental Form to turn thier body into a mass of shadows. A Shadow Demon's shadowy form grants them several additional abilities. They also take physical Fiend form if they want to seen by their summoner or creators. They areserved as a messenger first between Grim Netherworld Fields and The Mortal World.

Pyrovaus Fiends - Pyrovaus Fiend sims have the power to create, control and manipulate fire and when they to woohoo with a human sim they will give hybrid know as Pyromaniac Sims. Pyrovaus Fiends are Immmune to fire and have happy moodelt of seeing sim's misery when they be caught on fire. This form allows a fiend to turn into a Elemental Form of Fire

Electrovaus Fiends - Electrovaus Fiend sims have the power to create, control and manipulate electricitys to attack Human Sims with a lighting struck or with Electric Balls. Their Elemental Form being composed of pure electricity. It moves through electrical outlets and devices to surprise and attack its victims. Those who touch the fiend sim will be electrocuted.

Cryovaus Fiends - These Fiends have the power to create and manipulate ice and decrease temperatures. This Elemental Form allows a fiend to turn into a body of frost, allowing them to fill up a room and lower the temperature.

Widowaus Fiends - Female only Fiend sims that drain their victim's life force through a woohoo or romantic congress.

Vampiraus Drinkeraus Fiends - A type of Friend sims that drinks the plasma and life force of Vampires after a Fiend defeats a vampire during a duel. They are ememies to the vampire sims.

Fiend Half-Breeds - The human Sim their fiend parent union created a massive concentration of power. Even as a Infant, the child displayed incredible power, being able to vanquish a spellcaster or a Fiend believed to be indestructible using an advanced version of Spellslinging though dark magic.

Angels (Opposite Of A Fiend)

Angels are powerful beings of good or neutral power. Good Angels have a positive role in many mortal religions and cultures. Some Angels match their traditional image, wearing white robes and a golden halo. They live at the Upper Planes of the Holy Netherworld Meadows. The fiends are easily defeated by them and are sent back into the Scourge Planes and Shadow Planes where they belong.

New Spellcaster Type

Warlocks - Warlocks are a breed of evil magical beings descended from other spellcaster who have the evil trait, who gained their powers from the Scourge Planes. Most Warlocks are driven by the desire to kill and obtain the powers from other good spellcasters. Warlocks can also possess limited shapeshifting abilities and making fiend skill.

Sims Religions

Worship of the Watcher

The Jacoban: A branch believes the Watcher to be an angry, vengeful god and claims that Sims must live by strict moral code to avoid punishment. Getting Sims to submit to this code and fear punishment by the Watcher enough to want to be absolved is the main goal of Jacoban priests. Jacoban clothing and buildings are grand, especially their cathedrals.

The Peteran: A branch believe the Watcher to be a compassionate and loving god who wants Sims to have happiness. The faith is rather informal; priests often use humor in scheduled sermons and tend to engage in impromptu public sermons and evangelizing. Peterans are cerebral and seem to practice a form of mysticism, often praying for answers and writing down religious texts and tracts. Peteran buildings and clothes are visually more humble than Jacoban, with simple robes and monasteries.

The Jeffrean: God’s eye is oft turned half away, questioning but immobile. A sim’s path is theirs to trace, and the Watcher will only watch. (Named after TwoJeffs, the creator of ACR, because autonomy.)

The Gurusan: All sims are but vessels of god’s thoughts and actions. The watcher lives within all of us

Agnostics: Agnostics are adherents of Agnosticism, the view that the existence of deities is unknown, unknowable, unproven, or unprovable. Agnostics don't disbelieve but merely feel that there's not enough evidence to support either the existence or inexistence of deities.

Grimful Faith

Faith of the Grim: belief that Death is a driving and influent force in the lives of all sims - beyond its simple inevitability. The Grim is at times a force to be feared, and at others a fate you’ll great like an old friend.

Cult of the Undeath: according to whom the Grim can be joined in its state of unlife, and sims of certain afflictions (vampires, zombies) have attained a superior way of being.

The Treaders: This faith unites alien believers and incognito aliens, vampire worshipers and vampires themselves. Mermaids and Spellcasters.

Hollow Sang: The vampire sims ingest small amounts of Plasma, human or otherwise, in order to obtain the energy that they believe is held within the Plasma.

Vrexatanic: The Order Of Black Darkness, Deity Shadows and Fire Wanders. The Religion mostly worship by evil spellcasters, warlocks and fiends.

New Afterlife Worlds

The Holy Netherworld Meadows (Haven) and The Grim Netherworld Fields (Hell) is an idea I made that is an afterlife where ghost sims live in the afterlife. Good Sims who worship the Watcher go to The Holy Netherworld Meadows while the Bad and Evil Sims go to the The Grim Netherworld Fields. Cowplant Fallowers go to an afterlife known as Eternal Green near Holy Netherworld Meadows. The Treaders go to aonther regin occult afterlife paradise near the The Grim Netherworld Fields known as Daenee. The Non-Believers go to a Logicial world known as Prime Realm near the Holy Netherworld Meadows. Fiends sims go to a fiery version world near Grim Netherworld Fields called the The Scourge Planes and Shadow Fiends go to the place call the Shadow Planes. Angel Sims go the the Upper Planes of The Holy Netherworld Meadows.

New Mortal World

Grimsville

Used to be ounce the coastal town of Sunbeam and thriving tourist destination, has now become a grim, forbidding place fill with Fiends and Warlocks. 

Theme Style

Grimsville's Theme Style is base on the New Orleans distinct music, Creole cuisine, unique dialect, and its annual celebrations and festivals, most notably Mardi Gras. The historic heart of the city is the French Quarter, known for its French and Spanish Creole architecture and vibrant nightlife along Bourbon Street. Additionally, New Orleans has increasingly been known as "Hollywood South" due to its prominent role in the film industry and in pop culture. @sp-creates Let me know of what you think about my idea?

[questionsonislam]

What are the verses about the protection of life? Why is life (soul) important? What is the reason for the value of protecting one’s life?

Islam, which gives the right to live to all human beings without discrimination, does not only take measures to prevent the violations against this right but also renders it a duty of the community to ensure minimum life conditions and basic needs with the system of mutual assistance and solidarity.

Man –whether a believer or not- is Allah’s slave and a nice entrusted being. Therefore, he has honor and he deserves respect. It is the basic understanding of Islam not to discriminate among people in terms of being humans and to regard them as beings having equal rights, duties and values.

Value of Man

Man has a special, honorable place among created beings. What makes man honorable among other beings must be the divine spirit Allah breathed into him while creating him. The following is stated in the Quran regarding the issue:

الذي احسن كل شيئ خلقه و بدا خلق الانسنان من طين * ثم جعل نسله من سلالة من ماء مهين*

ثم سويه و نفخ فيه من روحهه

“He Who has made everything which He has created most good: He began the creation of man with (nothing more than) clay, And made his progeny from a quintessence of the nature of a fluid despised: But He fashioned him in due proportion, and breathed into him something of His spirit...” (as-Sajda, 32/7-9)

Thanks to this spirit man has in him, he is superior to angels and he is the vicegerent of Allah on earth. That man is the vicegerent of Allah is stated as follows in the Quran:

اذ قال ربك للملائكة اني جاعل في الارض خليفة و

“Behold, thy Lord said to the angels: ‘I will create a vicegerent on earth.’...” (al-Baqara, 2/30)

Allah granted man honor and value by making him the vicegerent on earth. With this property, man will obey the decrees of the holy books sent down through prophets and the natural laws in the universe; and he will apply them; he will benefit from the endless boons of the Creator, worship and thank Him. This is the purpose of the creation of man.To sum up, the duty of man as the vicegerent is to act in accordance with Allah’s will and to be happy. Allah Almighty wants this; He sent prophets and holy books for this purpose.

Allah Almighty, who is the creator of the realms, created everything in the best form. (see as-Sajda, 32/7) Allah, who is the best creator, (see al-Muminun, 23/14) created the first man in the best form and all human beings in the best form and perfectly. Allah states the following for man in the Quran:

لقد خلقنا الانسان في احسن تقويم

“We have indeed created man in the best of molds.” (at-Tin, 95/4).

Indeed, man is the most beautiful creature. The phrase “ahsani taqwim” (the best mold) mentioned in the verse includes all kinds of material and spiritual beauties. The straightness of his height, the uniqueness of his posture, having mind, intellect and thought, having the ability to speak and write, having the ability of art, the property of being able to discriminate between the beautiful and the ugly, the good and the bad, etc. are some of those beauties.

According to the Islamic belief, man is equipped with perfect mental, bodily, ethical and spiritual abilities and faculties. He is born in a clean form with the ability to elevate materially and spiritually. Man, who is created with these abilities, can ascend to climaxes. He has such an honor. Hz. Ali uttered the following nice poem for man:

"You have the cure in you but you are not aware

You have the problem in you but you cannot see

You think you are something small

But the biggest realm is wrapped in you."

Sheikh Ghalib, the great poet, expresses Islam’s understanding of man as follows:

"Look at your personality in a nice way; you are the essence of the realm,

You are man, who is the pupil of the eye of the beings."

Erzurumlu İbrahim Hakkı states the following in his work called Marifetnâme:

“Human body is the small realm and human spirit is the big realm. The like of everything created in the realm exists in human body. Human body and spirit is a sample of the whole realm.”

Thus, he emphasized the value of man.

Allah states the value He gave man as follows in verse 70 of the chapter of al-Isra:

و لقد كرمنا بني ادم و حملناهم في البر و البحر و رزقناهم من الطيبات و فضلناهم على كثيرممن خلقنا تفضيلا

“We have honored the sons of Adam; provided them with transport on land and sea; given them for sustenance things good and pure; and conferred on them special favors, above a great part of our creation.”

Importance Given to Human Life

Great importance is given to security of life, in other words, right to live, in Islam and it is stated that human life is untouchable.

In Islam, “protection of life” has the most important place among the basic values called “religious necessities”. Furthermore, it is possible to say that these five basic principles, which are listed as the protection of the religion, life, mind, lineage and property, are related to the protection of life directly or indirectly.

In some cases, the protection of life comes before the protection of religion, which is in the first place, in the list of those values. As a matter of fact, the practices like the permission of committing some forbidden deeds to save human life, and the obligation of committing those forbidden deeds in some cases emphasize the importance given to human life.

Precautions in order to Protect Human life

The religion of Islam puts the right to live, which is the most natural right of man, under the guarantee of law and imposes some material and spiritual sanctions in order to ensure full respect to the right to live. We can list them as follows:

Material Sanctions

When man’s being sent to the world is narrated, the opposition of angels stating that man will cause mischief and shed blood on earth is mentioned. (see al-Baqara, 2/30)

Indeed, after a while, the first shedding of blood occurred due to the hatred and jealousy between Hz. Adam’s two sons. The incident is narrated with similar expressions in the Old Testament too. (see Genesis, 4/1-8; al-Maida, 5/27-31)

It is stated in the Quran that killing a person is a serious crime like killing all people and that to save a person’s life is a lofty and valuable act like saving all people:

انه من قتل نفسا بغير نفس او فساد في الارض فكانما قتل الناس جميعا و من احياها فكانما احيا الناس جميعا

“...If any one slew a person - unless it be for murder or for spreading mischief in the land - it would be as if he slew the whole people: and if any one saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of the whole people...” (al-Maida, 5/32)

In the religion of Islam, retaliation (qisas) is essential related to the crimes of killing and wounding people.

There are many verses and hadiths regarding the issue. As a matter of fact, The following is stated in the Quran:

يا ايها الذين امنوا كتب عليكم القصاص في القتلى الحر بالحر والعبد بالعبد والانثى بالانثى فمن عفي له من اخيه شيئ فااباع بالمعروف و اداء اليه باحسان ذالك تخفيف من ربكم و رحمة فمن اعتدى بعد ذلك فله عذاب اليم

“O ye who believe! The law of equality is prescribed to you in cases of murder: the free for the free, the slave for the slave, the woman for the woman. But if any remission is made by the brother of the slain, then grant any reasonable demand, and compensate him with handsome gratitude, this is a concession and a Mercy from your Lord. After this whoever exceeds the limits shall be in grave penalty.” (al-Baqara, 2/178)

و لا تقتلوا النفس التي حرم الله الا بالحق و من قتل مظلوما فقد جعلنا لوليه سلطانا فلا يسرف في القتل انه كان منصورا

“Nor take life - which Allah has made sacred - except for just cause. And if anyone is slain wrongfully, we have given his heir authority (to demand qisas or to forgive): but let him not exceed bounds in the matter of taking life; for he is helped (by the Law).” (al-Isra, 17/33)

Many words and practices of the Prophet (pbuh) are regarded as evidence that punishment by retaliation is legitimate. The Messenger of Allah stated the following regarding the issue:

و من قتل عمدا فهو قود

“... The penalty for a person who kills deliberately is qisas (retaliation). “

The imposition of punitive sanctions against the unjust attacks at the security of the lives of people, in other words, rights of living of the people are arrangements made in accordance with the importance given to the safety of people.

In addition, the principle of punishing a murderer by the state, and after an objective and fair trial, not by the relatives of the person who was murdered is adopted.

All this is an expression of the importance given to the protection human life from a different viewpoint.

Even during the state of war, the right of killing the enemy is very limited in Islam; the killing of those who do not actually participate in the war like women, children, clerics and elderly men is forbidden; and the right of living of the prisoners of war is protected.

It is clear that the cases of actual state of war, execution of the sentence and legitimate defense are excluded from this prohibition.

Spiritual Sanctions

Along with worldly sanctions like qisas and diyah (blood money), there are also some spiritual (otherworldly) sanctions for killing a person in the religion of Islam.

It is stated in the Quran that killing people without a legal reason will bring about Allah’s wrath and curse and hence a very severe spiritual responsibility:

و من يقتل مؤمنا متعمدا فجزاؤه جهنم خالدا فيها و غضب الله عليه و لعنه و اعد له عذابا عظيما

“If a man kills a believer intentionally, his recompense is Hell, to abide therein (For ever): And the wrath and the curse of Allah are upon him, and a dreadful penalty is prepared for him.” (an-Nisa, 4/93)

The Prophet (pbuh) addressed all Muslims as follows in the Farewell Sermon:

فان دماءكم و اموالكم و اعراضكم عليكم حرام كحرمة يومكم هذا في بلدكم هذا في شهركم هذا...

“Just as this day, this month and this city is sacred, so too are your lives, property and honor sacred; they are protected from all kinds of violation; that is, they are under the responsibility of the community and the guarantee of law…”

Thus, he stated that man’s right to live was untouchable.

He stated the following in another hadith:

اجتنبواالسبع الموبقات ..... و قتل النفس التي حرم الله الا بالحق....

“Avoid seven destructive things…. One of them is to kill a person that Allah renders haram except for justified cases….”

The Property of the Right to Live According to Islam

The religion of Islam regards the life of every person, no matter what his belief, color, race and social status is, as an untouchable value and tries to prevent all kinds of attacks on and dangers to human life in the most effective way.

Therefore, Islam does not give people the right to commit suicide, which means to end one’s own life, and regards it among major sins; it states that such a person will be punished severely in the hereafter just because of committing suicide no matter what his belief and deeds are.

To sum up:

Man, who is equipped with perfect mental, bodily, ethical and spiritual faculties and abilities, is born in a clean state and suitable for all kinds of material and spiritual elevations.

In our religion, great importance is given to man’s security of life, in other words, the right to live, and it is stated that human life is untouchable. Some material and spiritual sanctions have been imposed in order to ensure full respect to the right to live.

As a result of the principle of “the protection of life”, which is one of the basic purposes of the religion of Islam, it is strictly forbidden for a person both to kill another person unjustly and to commit suicide.

[k7l4d4]

Owl House AU Ideas, ZA FIFTH!!

Hello all, once again, I am BACK with an AU! It is a crossover with the popular superhero franchise, DC COMICS BABY!! WOOT! Specifically, this is a crossover between Earth 16, setting for the Young Justice Comics and Show, and The Owl House setting in the form of the newly formed Earth 53! Give ‘em some love folks, round of applause! Sorry if I’m hamming it up too much, just feeling really amped.

The premise is partially inspired by a crossfic over on ao3, can't really recall the name right now, that involves the Anti-Monitor's Anti-Matter wave occurring; The Owl House-Verse gets wiped out and subsequently resurrected as part of the DC Multiverse, with Amity somewhere in the mix due to being taken off the board just before her world is destroyed. In this idea, something occurs that results in the Boiling Isles and its connected Earth to be merged into the DC Multiverse; the shockwaves result in mass alterations to the two world's shared history as the Boiling Isles and Human Realm become the new Earth 53 (I know that the DC-Verse isn't restricted to just 52 worlds anymore, the name is mostly for dramatic effect). The biggest difference between this and similar premises is the idea of Earth 53 coming from OUTSIDE the Source Wall, an extreme anomaly in the DC-Verse Space-Time Continuum, if not an outright impossibility, that has resulted in "Errors" forming across the worlds. Amity is the one of the only ones who clearly remembers life before the merger, and the changes, both to the world and to herself, have been jarring. She who was once the heiress-apparent to a magical household of considerable influence was now the marginalized third child to two of the meanest lawyers in Bonesburough, friendless and adrift. In a world where humans, witches, and demons live alongside one another, and magic is a rare commodity hoarded by major cities and governments, where is her place in it all? And, more importantly, where is Luz?!?

Boscha: Unlike her canon self, DC Boscha is a tough girl who grew up on the streets, fending for herself at nearly every turn; she was eventually taken in by the Park family, one of Bonesborough's most well-known, if not necessarily influential, families, growing close to the daughter of the family, Willow Park. Boscha often acts as Willow's bodyguard and confidant, providing both protection from anyone trying to harass her, and a shoulder to lean on when she needs it. She has a small crush on Willow, but hasn't realized it for what it is yet. Boscha is a conduit for the Strength Force, granting her immense physical strength, durability, and geokinesis. Despite her immense power, Boscha is largely unskilled with her abilities, often being limited to the most basic interpretations of her powers. Willow: This version of Willow grew up as part of the lower Upper-Class, straddling the border between the Middle-Class and High-Society circles, gaining renown for her skill with plants and vegetation in general. While just as kind as her Canon self, DC Willow is somewhat jaded, often having difficulty opening up to others for fear that they are trying to get something from her or manipulate her. Willow suffers from a mild form of Narcolepsy, falling asleep when sufficiently stressed. Willow has a strong connection to the Green, gifting her with a powerful bond with all plant life; unlike other Conduits and Avatars for the Green, Willow refuses to fully connect with it, channeling her nature as animal, and as such of the Red, to retain her self. This unique state of being both apart of yet separate from the Green offers Willow a few abilities that other, similar, existences lack, with her greatest ability being the power to forcibly merge an enemy with the Green, essentially turning the Nature Dimension into a prison for them, though the technique is only fully effective against enemies who wield the Green themselves; non-Green Empowered individuals can only be held for around a month to up to a year before the Green rejects them and spits them out back in the Physical Plane, often sickly and in need of food and water, though not desperately so. An unusual quirk of Willow's is that she often adopts a demeanor similar to a religious figure, using formal speech and an extremely serene and calm demeanor; no one is sure, not even Willow herself, if it is an act or if she is genuinely being altered in some way by using her powers. Gus: Half-human, Half-witch, this interpretation of Gus often feels uncomfortable in his own skin. The only time Gus truly feels at ease is when he is immersed in water. At the age of Eight, Gus when swimming and nearly drowned, only surviving due to a sudden surge of the Life Force resonating through the world. As a result of his exposure to the Life Force, Gus possesses similar abilities to, yet still distinct from, those of Atlanteans. Gus cannot communicate with sea-life, but they are unusually docile in his presence, with even the most vicious of sea life being harmless to him. Gus can distort and manipulate the water in his body, and the water vapor in the nearby air, to create illusions and mirages. Gus tries to disguise his discomfort by hamming up his more excitable and comedic traits. Replacing his obsession with humans, this version of Gus is near obsessed with Magic, instantly going into Fanboy mode at the site of Amity's spells (note: Gus is capable of distinguishing magic from similar phenomena on his own, a holdover from his past self having magic, though his current self is unaware why he can do so). Skara: A popular girl, Skara sits at the front of the pack, yet also has a reputation of being kind and accepting; as she attends one of the most divisive schools in regards to Human-Witch-Demon relations in the world, this often results in her being forced to play mediator, much to her own distress. Skara can't stand seeing anyone upset or feeling left out, going out of her way to include others, even if it means she herself ends up left out. Skara is incredibly skilled at both Music and the Bow, serving as an expy of both Black Canary and Green Arrow, in that she wields a harp/bow combo capable of launching sound arrows. Skara is a nascent magic user, though her skills are highly unrefined and geared near-exclusively towards those based on sound. Edric and Emira: The twins are a study in contrasts as opposed to their canon similarities. While they still possess their sense of mischief, Edric has been groomed to be a respectable gentleman, at least in terms of appearance, while Emira is essentially an out and about rebel, bucking authority and rules at every opportunity. Edric thinks of himself as suave and charming, but to most everyone it just comes across as adorable and childish; a little kid thinking he's an adult. Emira is confrontational, aggressive, and possesses a reputation for being a punk, though she often takes a stand against bullies and thugs. The two often argue, but both fondly remember the days when they were more similar and got along more. The two share Speed Force powers, Negative for Edric, Positive for Emira, yet neither is compatible with their respective bodies, as Emira is more attuned with the Negative and Edrice with the Positive. To counteract the damage their abilities do to their bodies, they channel each others' Speed Force for their sibling; a side-effect of this sharing is that they cannot utilize the super-speed common to all Speed Force Conduits unless they work in perfect sync, but otherwise possess all the standard abilities of their respective forces. Jerbo: The quirky child of the local funeral director, Jerbo is highly skittish, often jumping at random and having a meek personality, he is slow to trust others. Jerbo has always possessed a fascination with the intricacies of life, death, and the cycle between them. This fascination ultimately culminated in him developing a connection to the Green! However, an accident disrupted the process, causing his connection to degrade and allowing a connection to the Grey and the Rot to enter in its place. None of his connections are particularly strong, but using them in concert allows him to leverage powers and abilities far above his technical weight class. He often uses his powers to necromantically command plants and bacteria, building intricate "Rot Golems" to fight with, in a manner similar to his Canon Plant Golems. In addition, Jerbo often uses his Rot powers to accelerate and regulate the decay of already dead plants and animals to create fertilizer and revitalize the environment. Viney: An adventurous free spirit, Viney has a genuinely compassionate soul, going out of her way to help out however she can. Viney has a deep sense of empathy, particularly for animals, serving as a first look for local pets before their owners decide to take them to the vet or not. Viney cannot stand animal abuse in any form, often protesting groups that have shown histories of shady animal practices whenever she can. Viney wields a connection to the Red, which she leverages in a manner similar to the powers of B'wanna Beast, as well as healing. Viney often serves as the team's emergency medic, as she lacks her canon-self's medical training. Barkus: An actual dog as opposed to his Dog-Witch Canon self, Barkus never the less can communicate with others. Barkus wields a connection to the Sage Force, granting him far higher levels of intellect compared to other animals and the ability to speak. Barkus possesses numerous mental abilities, including fortune telling, telepathy, and a mild-level of mind-reading. Barkus has a cool head, often serving as the voice of reason for the others, as well as an extra set of eyes and ears, as his nature means few people expect him to be a spy. Eda Clawthorne: Suffering from a weakened immune system and chronic pain, most people are often surprised by how spry and active Eda is. Eda possesses a genius-level intellect, often providing intelligence and resources for the team as well as a mentorship role. Eda enters the field as the "Knight Owl" (Not to be confused with Nite Owl), operating a highly sophisticated battle suit outfitted with a mix of advanced technology and magic to possess an answer to virtually any scenario. While adopted a cold, highly-serious persona when in the field, Eda's real personality isn't all that different from her Canon self, albeit more responsible and less criminally inclined. Eda often spends her time either monitoring the companies she owns portions of or searching for Lilith, who has been missing for several years in the new timeline generated by the shift into the DC Verse. Eda isn't a straight-lace though, she does have numerous connections and contacts in the underworld, she just isn't a flat-out criminal-hermit anymore. King: Not much different from his Canon self, merely lacking his delusions of grandeur and megalomania, he is often grumpy and sullen, prone to the occasional fit of rage over being treated childishly or being babied. He possesses incredibly potent magic, often being in charge of upgrading and repairing the team's gear that requires it, yet lacks the stamina and technique needed to use it in combat. Lilith Clawthorne: Fully remembering the prior timeline, awakening years before Amity, the shame and guilt over her past mistakes drew to her an Ultraviolet Ring, transforming her into the Ultraviolet Lantern of Sector 2814. Lilith's stalwart will allows her to dominate the ring, often bringing her into fellow members of her Corps who have been subsumed by Umbrax, Lilith has dedicated herself to using her shame over her past as fuel for her desire to aid others and protect them from the self-destructive darkness inside of everyone, often acting both as a fighter against evil, but also as a councilor to those she encounters on her journey who are suffering from their self-destructive impulses. When on duty, Lilith manipulates her uniform to disguise her appearance and voice, preventing others from identifying her true identity. Lilith constantly strives to better the lives of others, both as way to make up her past deeds, but also to ensure none feel the suffering she felt in her selfish foolishness.

This is to explain how Luz fits into the story beyond being a Maguffin to drive the plot. Also, because I don't want to drag it out any further and to cut off as many questions and clarifications on world-building ahead of time as I can... I have decided that, while still connected to the wider DC Multi-Verse, this particular idea is set on Earth-16, the earth of the Young Justice show and comic, and the newly formed Earth-53 of the merged Human and Demon Realms. At the time of the shift into the DC-Verse, Luz had been attempting an experimental spell that combined all of her, Eda, and Lilith's knowledge of Magic in order to see if they could fashion a new portal, or, if that proved impossible at the time, use the data to help further develop a cure for the Clawthorne sisters. Whether the spell worked, or did anything really, is unknown, but the reaction of the world shifting caused Luz to be flung across the Verses and Earths of the 52, before she ended up in the care of none other than Klarion the Witch Boy, specifically his fully villainous incarnation from Young Justice. Needless to say, due to Luz's connection, however faint, to the Titan, as well as her unusual magic, Klarion decided to see what fun he could have with her (not in a sexual way, just to clarify to anyone even accidentally thinking about it). This version of Klarion is a full-on Lord of Chaos, and a particularly malevolent one at that, with a wide variety of mystical relics at his disposal for his games and experiments, and just before finding Luz, he came across the most interesting toy of all, a staff that fuses magic and technology, something rarely attempted and often backfired, but he had found one that worked! Luz was not in good shape when Klarion found her, her body and mind damaged by the journey, her very soul mangled. Deciding to pretend to be a nice guy, Klarion used his resources to heal her, but what fun would it be to just up and fix the girl, hmm? Taking inspiration from the staff he had so recently found, Klarion set out to find relics and devices of magic and science both to repair Luz, just to see what mixing them all together would do, and it wasn't like he cared if she died if something went wrong! Low and behold, he managed to find a fragment of the Black Lantern-Corrupted Firestorm Matrix that composed Deathstorm, and a tiny piece of the divine lightning that granted Black Adam, and it WAS the lightning of Adam as opposed to Captain Marvel, and using these pieces, along with some chaos assisted spells for flavor, he worked his magic, pardon the pun. Now, before anyone says anything about these powers making Luz OP... they really won't. She only has a fragment of the Firestorm Matrix, a corrupted one at that, so she has none of the proper abilities of a Firestorm, nor does she possess the abilities of Black Adam, as awesome as that would be. Rather, the mixing of these forces, along with her magic, resulted in the formation of Catalyst, a psionic spirit born of her own mind. Catalyst is largely elemental in nature, lacking the mentality of a human, or any mortal being for that matter, content to sit in the back of Luz's mind, only emerging when something truly dire acts against Luz, as well as passively blocking any and all mental attacks against her. The part about only emerging against dire acts is rather literal, Catalyst will only intervene if Luz is close to death or about to suffer a fatal blow, and she lacks any ability to distinguish friend from foe, preferring to wipe out anything and everything in range to ensure Luz and her's safety. A benefit to the changes induced by Klarion's manipulations is that some of Luz's innate biological potential has been unlocked, but only a little. Luz absorbs information insanely fast, capable of memorizing a 1000 page document in its entirety on a single read through, and her muscle memory develops abnormally fast, making combat training very effective for her, though training is far from mastery, as she doesn't automatically gain the experience needed to make full use of any skills she may acquire. Luz is now naturally drawn to imitation, subconsciously copying Batman and Robin's walking style to minimize noise on instinct alone. Luz does gain some benefit to the Matrix merged with her body, along with the lightning, as her body now naturally acts as a conduit for divine and mystical forces; spells and divinity naturally flow in and out of her without effect, though the magic of Chaos and Order can easily disable her, particularly that of Klarion and Doctor Fate. For offense, Luz can cannibalize her internal energy stores to manipulate as light, electricity, and flames, though not all at once, and she currently doesn't remember how to eat, as the Matrix breaks down anything she can recognize as food and converts it directly into the nutrients, vitamins, and biological materials she needs to live, though she still needs to drink like normal. Luz possesses genuinely inhuman reflexes and mental processing, as she can easily track and process Kid Flash's movements, though anything faster than him gives her a massive migraine to watch. Luz has a limited ability to adjust her body, capable of making herself very fast at the expense of being more fragile, or very strong and durable yet incredibly heavy and slow. Luz suffers severe amnesia, though her personality is basically identical to how she was previously, merely missing the experience and social knowledge to reign in her most dangerous impulses, which she couldn't do very well to begin with, let's be honest, and cannot recall anything other than the fact that she is fluent in both English and Spanish, loves a series of books called the Good Witch Azura, and the names of her friends, though not how she knows them or that they are her friends (I think it is telling that she remembers the people she cares about more than she remembers herself). After Klarion healed her, he promptly dumped her back on earth to fend for herself; after regaining consciousness, Luz basically ambled around acting on whatever impulse struck her, no matter how insane, random, or dangerous, with her antics, combined with her inability to stop herself from using her powers, catching the eye of Cadmus, who promptly took her captive and stuck her in the sub-levels with Superboy. Something of importance to note, the Matrix that is currently helping hold her body together is tainted by the power of Necrom and his perversion of death; as it stands, every time Luz uses her powers and abilities in anyway other than to "eat" she shortens her lifespan, with the rate gradually, almost minutely, but inevitably speeding up. If the problem, and by extension a solution, isn't discovered soon, Luz will die, and her corpse will become an out-of-control vessel of extinction. In part due to the alterations made to her being, Luz views Superboy in a manner similar to a brother, and often tries to run interference between him and Superman to ease the tension and help them get along. Luz's attire upon awaking is composed of a skin-tight, black, sleeveless bodysuit with three silver lines running across it in a manner similarly to an atom model, centering on an orb affixed just above her right breast, emblazoned with a silvery-blue version of her light glyph, not that she currently recognizes it. Luz can disengage her Matrix, which disappears in a crackle of mystic lightning, and return to her civilian state by concentrating hard enough, doing it by accident after being released from Cadmus along with Superboy by the Team and the Justice League; the bad part was that she didn't have any clothes on after dismissing the Matrix, as Klarion didn't particularly care if she was clothed or not after he was done repairing her. Her codename, until she can recall her real name, is Thunderstorm!

Luz originally doesn’t quite remember how to use magic, but after waking up groggy and needing a light one morning, she, by pure accident, draws and casts one of her light glyphs off of pure muscle memory. Her reaction?

Luz: I can do magic? (Looks at the spell floating above her head) I CAN DO MAGIC!! (Cheers)

To explain, due to lacking the presence and power of the Titan, Luz’s spells are now cannibalizing her lifeforce for fuel, which vastly accelerates her life-drain. Of course, this is Luz, if she can use something to help her friends, even if it endangers her, she will, much to the concern of her friends and teammates. As Luz’s lifespan shrinks, she gradually experiences increasing symptoms of hunger, followed by occasional aches and pains that grow in frequency and intensity, before evolving to full-on fits of debilitating agony at its most advanced stages. Luz isn’t concerned about her condition, once she finds out about it that is. Why? Because she has faith that a solution can be found before she is ever in any real danger, and if not? She would gladly giver her life for her friends and the safety of the people... that’s just the kind of gal she is.

As always, feel free to ask questions, comment, or use the idea as you wish.

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 32: Tampered (Transcript) - 18th April, 2016

tw: none

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

I grew up watching a television show called MacGyver. If you’ve never had that chance to watch this icon of the 80s, do yourself a favour and give it a try. Sure, the clothes are outdated and the hair… oh my gosh, the hair. But aside from all the bits that didn’t age well, MacMullet and his trusty pocket knife managed to capture my imagination forever. Part of it was the adventure, part of it was the character of the man himself – I mean, the guy was essentially a spy who hated guns, played hockey and lived on a houseboat. But hovering above all those elements was the true core of the show. This man could make anything if his life depended on it. As humans, we have this innate drive inside ourselves to make things. This is how we managed to create things like the wheel, or stone tools and weapons. Our tendency towards technology pulled our ancient ancestors out of the Stone Age and into a more civilised world. Maybe for some of us, MacGyver represented what we wanted to achieve: complete mastery of our own world. But life is rarely that simple, and however hard we try to get our minds and hands around this world we want to rule, some things just slip through the cracks. Accidents happen. Ideas and concepts still allude our limited minds. We’re human, after all, not gods. So, when things go wrong, when our plans fall apart or our expectations fail to be met, we have this sense of pride that often refuses to admit defeat. So, we blame others, and when that doesn’t work, we look elsewhere for answers, and no realm holds more explanation for the unexplainable than folklore. 400 years ago, when women refused to follow the rules of society, they were labelled a witch. When Irish children failed to thrive it was because, of course, because they were a changeling. We’re good at excuses. So, when our ancestors found something broken or out of place, there was a very simple explanation – someone, or something, had tampered with it. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The idea of meddlesome creatures isn’t new to us. All around the world, we can find centuries-old folklore that speaks of creatures with a habit of getting in the way and making life difficult for humans. It’s an idea that seems to transcend borders and background, language and time. Some would say that it’s far too coincidental for all these stories of mischief-causing creatures to emerge in places separated by thousands of miles and vast oceans. The púca of Ireland and the ebu gogo of Indonesia are great examples of this – legends that seem to have no reason for their eerie similarities. Both legends speak of small, humanoid creatures that steal food and children, both recommend not making them angry, and both describe their creatures as intrusive pranksters. To many, the evidence is just too indisputable to ignore. Others would say it’s not coincidence at all, merely a product of human nature. We want to believe there’s something out there causing the problems we experience every day. So, of course, nearly every culture in the world has invented a scapegoat. This scapegoat would have to be small to avoid discovery, and they need respect because we’re afraid of what they can do. To a cultural anthropologist, it’s nothing more than logical evolution. Many European folktales include this universal archetype in the form of nature spirits, and much of it can be traced back to the idea of the daemon.

It’s an old word and concept, coming to us from the Greeks. In essence, a daemon is an otherworldly spirit that causes trouble. The root word, daomai, literally means to cut or divide. In many ways, it’s an ancient version of an excuse. If your horse was spooked while you were out for a ride, you’d probably blame it on a daemon. Ancient Minoans believed in them, and in the day of the Greek poet Homer, people would blame their illnesses on them. The daemon, in many ways, was fate. If it happened to you, there was a reason, and it was probably one of these little things that caused it. But over time, the daemon took on more and more names. Arab folklore has the djinn, Romans spoke of a personal companion known as the genius, in Japan, they tell tales of the kami, and Germanic cultures mention fylgja. The stories and names might be unique to each culture, but the core of them all is the same. There’s something interfering with humanity, and we don’t like it.

For the majority of the English-speaking world, the most common creature of this type in folklore, hands down, is the goblin. It’s not an ancient word, most likely originating from the middle ages, but it’s the one that’s front and centre in most of our minds, and from the start it’s been a creature associated with bad behaviour. A legend from the 10th century tells of how the first Catholic bishop of Évreux in France faced a daemon known to the locals there as Gobelinus. Why that name, though, is hard to trace. The best theory goes something like this: there’s a Greek myth about a creature named kobalos, who loved to trick and frighten people. That story influenced other cultures across Europe prior to Christianity’s spread, creating the notion of the kobold in ancient Germany. That word was most likely to root of the word goblin. Kobold, gobold, gobolin – you can practically hear it evolve. The root word of kobold is kobe, which literally means “beneath the earth”, or “cavity in a rock”. We get the English word “cove” from the same root, and so naturally kobolds and their English counterparts, the goblins, are said to live in caves underground, and if that reminds you of dwarves from fantasy literature, you’re closer than you think. The physical appearance of goblins in folklore vary greatly, but the common description is that they are dwarf-like creatures. They cause trouble, are known to steal, and they have tendency to break things and make life difficult. Because of this, people in Europe would put carvings of goblins in their homes to ward off the real thing. In fact, here’s something really crazy. Medieval door-knockers were often carved to resemble the faces of daemons or goblins, and it’s most likely purely coincidental, but in Welsh folklore, goblins are called coblyn, or more commonly, knockers. My point is this: for thousands of years, people have suspected that all of their misfortune could be blamed on small, meddlesome creatures. They feared them, told stories about them, and tried their best to protect their homes from them. But for all that time, they seemed like nothing more than story. In the early 20th century, though, people started to report actual sightings, and not just anyone. These sightings were documented by trained, respected military heroes. Pilots.

When the Wright brothers took their first controlled flight in December of 1903, it seemed like a revelation. It’s hard to imagine it today, but there was a time when flight wasn’t assumed as a method of travel. So, when Wilbur spent three full seconds in the air that day, he and his brother, Orville, did something else: they changed the way we think about our world. And however long it took humans to create and perfect the art of controllable, mechanical flight, once the cat was out of the bag, it bolted into the future without ever looking back. Within just nine years, someone had managed to mount a machine gun onto one of these primitive aeroplanes. Because of that, when the First World War broke out just two years later, military combat had a new element. Of course, guns weren’t the only weapon a plane could utilise, though. The very first aeroplane brought down in combat was an Austrian plane, which was literally rammed by a Russian pilot. Both pilots died after the wreckage plummeted to the ground below. It wasn’t the most efficient method of air combat, but it was a start. Clearly, we’ve spent the many decades since getting very, very good at it. Unfortunately, though, there have been more reasons for combat disasters than machine gun bullets and suicidal pilots, and one of the most unique and mysterious of those causes first appeared in British newspapers. In an article from the early 1900s, it was said that, and I quote, “the newly constituted royal air force in 1918 appears to have detected the existence of a hoard of mysterious and malicious sprites, whose sole purpose in life was to bring about as many as possible of the inexplicable mishaps which, in those days as now, trouble an airman’s life.” The description didn’t feature a name, but that was soon to follow. Some experts think that we can find roots of it in the old English word gremian, which means “to vex” or “to annoy”. It fits the behaviour of the creatures to the letter, and because of that they have been known from the beginning as gremlins.

Now, before we move forward, it might be helpful to take care of your memories of the 1984 classic film by the same name. I grew up in the 80s, and Gremlins was a fantastic bit of eye candy for my young, horror-loving mind, but the truth of the legend has little resemblance to the version that you and I witnessed on the big screen. The gremlins of folklore, at least the stories that came out of the early 20th century that is, describe the ancient stereotypical daemon, but with a twist. Yes, they were said to be small, ranging anywhere from six inches to three feet in height, and yes, they could appear and disappear at will, causing mischief and trouble wherever they went. But in addition, these modern versions of the legendary goblin seem to possess a supernatural grasp of human technology. In 1923, a British pilot was flying over open water when his engine stalled. He miraculously survived the crash into the sea and was rescued shortly after that. When he was safely aboard the rescue vessel, the pilot was quick to explain what had happened. Tiny creatures, he claimed, had appeared on the plane. Whether they appeared out of nowhere or smuggled themselves aboard prior to take-off, the pilot wasn’t sure. However they got there, he said that they proceeded to tamper with the plane’s engine and flight controls, and without power or control, he was left to drop helplessly into the sea.

These reports were infrequent in the 1920s, but as the world moved into the Second World War and the number of planes in the sky began to grow exponentially, more and more stories seemed to follow – small, troublesome creatures who had an almost supernatural ability to hold on to moving aircraft, and while they were there, to do damage and to cause accidents. In some cases, they were even cited inside planes, among the crew and cargo. Stories, as we’ve seen so many times before, have a tendency to spread like disease. Oftentimes, that’s because of fear, but sometimes it’s because of truth, and the trouble is in figuring out where to draw that line, and that line kept moving as the sightings were reported outside the British ranks. Pilots on the German side also reported seeing creatures during flights, as did some in India, Malta and the Middle East. Some might chalk these stories up to hallucinations, or a bit of pre-flight drinking. There are certainly a lot of stories of World War Two pilots climbing into the cockpit after a night of romancing the bottle – and who can blame them? In many cases, these pilots were going to their death, with a 20% chance of never coming back from a mission alive. But there are far too many reports to blame it all on drunkenness or delirium. Something unusual was happening to planes all throughout the Second World War, and with folklore as a lens, some of the reports are downright eerie. In 2014, a 92-year-old World War Two veteran from Jonesborough, Arkansas came forward to tell a story he had kept to himself for seven decades. He’d been a B-17 pilot during the war, one of the legendary flying fortresses that helped allied air forces carry out successful missions over Nazi territory, and it was on one of those missions that this man experienced something that, until recently, he had kept to himself. The pilot, who chose to identify himself with the initials L.W., spoke of how he was a 22-year-old flight commander on the B-17, when something very unusual happened on a combat mission in 1944. He described how, as he brought the aircraft to a higher altitude, the plane began to make strange noises. That wasn’t completely unusual, as the B-17 is an absolutely enormous plane and sometimes turbulence can rattle the structure, but he checked his instrument panel out of habit. According to his story, the instruments seemed broken and confused.

Looking for an answer to the mystery, he glanced out the right-side window, and then froze. There, outside the glass of the cockpit window, was the face of a small creature. The pilot described it as about three feet tall with red eyes and sharp teeth. The ears, he said, were almost owl-like, and its skin was grey and hairless. He looked back toward the front and noticed a second creature, this one moving along the nose of the aircraft. He said it was dancing and hammering away at the metal body of the plane. He immediately assumed he was hallucinating. I can picture him rubbing his eyes and blinking repeatedly like some old Loony Toons film. But according to him, he was as sharp and alert as ever. Whatever it was that he witnessed outside the body of the plane, he said that he managed to shake them off with a bit of “fancy flying”, and that’s his term, not mine. But while the creatures themselves might have vanished, the memory of them would haunt him for the rest of his life. He told only one person afterwards, a gunner on another B-17, but rather than laugh at him his friend acknowledged that he, too, had seen similar creatures on a flight just the day before.

Years prior, in the summer of 1939, an earlier encounter was reported, this time in the Pacific. According to the account, a transport plane took off from the airbase in San Diego in the middle of the afternoon and headed toward Hawaii. Onboard were 13 marines, some of whom were crew of the plane and others were passengers – it was a transport, after all. About halfway through the flight, whilst still over the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, the transport issued a distress signal. After that, the signal stopped, as did all other forms of communication. It was as if the plane had simply gone silent and then vanished, which made it all the more surprising when it reappeared later, outside the San Diego airfield and prepared for landing. But the landing didn’t seem right. The plane came in too fast, it bounced on the runway in rough, haphazard ways, and then finally came to a dramatic emergency stop. Crew on the runway immediately understood why, too – the exterior of the aircraft was extensively damaged, some said it looked like bombs had ripped apart the metal skin of the transport. It was a miracle, they said, that the thing even landed at all. When no one exited the plane to greet them, they opened it up themselves and stepped inside, only to be met with a scene of horror and chaos.

Inside, they discovered the bodies of 12 of the 13 passengers and crew. Each seemed to have died from the same types of wounds, large, vicious cuts and injuries that almost seemed to have originated from a wild animal. Added to that, the interior of the transport smelled horribly of sulphur and the acrid odour of blood. To complicate matters, empty shell casings were found scattered about the interior of the cockpit. The pistols responsible, belonging to the pilot and co-pilot, were found on the floor near their feet, completely spent. 12 men were found, but there was a thirteenth. The co-pilot had managed to stay conscious despite his extensive injuries, just long enough to land the transport at the base. He was alive but unresponsive when they found him, and quickly removed him for emergency medical care. Sadly, the man died a short while later. He never had the chance to report what happened.

Stories of the gremlins have stuck around in the decades since, but they live mostly in the past. Today they are mentioned more like a personified Murphy’s Law, muttered as a humorous superstition by modern pilots. I get the feeling that the persistence of the folklore is due more to its place as a cultural habit than anything else. We can ponder why, I suppose. Why would sightings stop after World War II? Some think it’s because of advancements in aeroplane technology: stronger structures, faster flight speeds, and higher altitudes. The assumption is that, sure, gremlins could hold on to our planes, but maybe we’ve gotten so fast that even that’s become impossible for them. The other answer could just be that the world has left those childhood tales of little creatures behind. We’ve moved beyond belief now. We’ve outgrown it. We know a lot more than we used to, after all, and to our thoroughly modern minds these stories of gremlins sound like just so much fantasy. Whatever reason you subscribe to, it’s important to remember that many people have believed with all their being that gremlins are real, factual creatures, people we would respect and believe.

In 1927, a pilot was over the Atlantic in a plane that, by today’s standards, would be considered primitive. He was alone, and he had been in the air for a very long time but was startled to discover that there were creatures in the cockpit with him. He described them as small, vaporous beings with a strange, otherworldly appearance. The pilot claimed that these creatures spoke to him and kept him alert in a moment when he was overly tired and passed the edge of exhaustion. They helped with the navigation for his journey and even adjusted some of his equipment. This was a rare account of gremlins who were benevolent rather than meddlesome or hostile. Even still, this pilot was so worried about what the public might think of his experience that he kept the details to himself for over 25 years. In 1953, this pilot included the experience in a memoir of his flight. It was a historic journey, after all, and recording it properly required honesty and transparency. The book, you see, was called The Spirit of St. Louis, and the man was more than just a pilot. He was a military officer, an explore, an inventor, and on top of all of that he was also a national hero because of his successful flight from New York to Paris – the first man to do so, in fact. This man, of course, was Charles Lindbergh.

[Closing Statements]

[camp-half-mess]

Anything For You

((I wrote a little fanfic about TKC Thoth and Manon (OC) that took place before our RP! ~Mod Sav))

Anything For You

TW: Alcohol, sexual harassment

Manon swore she’d never love anybody ever again. Not after what had happened to her family. They made her happy, they made her feel loved, then BAM! Gone. Dead, reduced to piles of ashes.

Manon swore she’d never let herself feel that heartbreak again. Those awful nights full of tears, where she’d cry herself to sleep and wish that their murders had been some sort of twisted prank, that they’d suddenly appear and be like, “Just kidding, we’re alive!”

Of course, that never happened. The dead tend to stay dead. But the hope Manon felt, the painful hope that a miracle would happen, destroyed her emotionally, so she swore she’d never love anyone like that again.

Until him.

Oh, that bastard.

Manon had had crushes before. The boy on the playground who Manon thought was cute when she was eight. The handsome magician who Manon followed around the First Nome when she was twelve, hoping he’d notice her and talk to her. A baseball player at her high school.

But never had she fallen in love as an adult. Never had she fallen in love with an ancient god.

Yes, Manon was in love with Thoth, the Egyptian god of knowledge. Seven billion people on the planet, and she had to fall in love with him of all people.

Manon knew she didn’t have a chance with him, as much as she tried to deny it. Thoth could probably get any woman or man he wanted. Why on earth would he choose Manon, his twenty-one-year-old assistant/bodyguard?

Thoth was very much capable of protecting himself. Manon really didn’t understand why he needed someone who basically served as his bodyguard. But the group she was a part of thought it necessary. Probably because she had more information about the cult than him, which was ironic considering Thoth was a god of knowledge. But whatever. Manon didn’t mind her job.

She didn’t mean to fall in love with him, of course. It just...happened. And if Manon could have predicted before she came to Memphis that she’d fall for him, she would have been shocked.

He seemed so cold at first. Like a slightly more emotional Vulcan with attention span issues. But then as Manon got to know him more, he let what Manon guessed was his real self show. And she fell in love with him.

In return, she started to trust him more. In fact, she trusted him more than she has trusted anyone in a long time. Manon told him embarrassing things about herself, like the time she managed to fall headfirst into a fountain because she was too busy reading, and the time she cried because she saw a really cute dog. Things she never imagined she’d tell anyone, especially not a millennia-old god.

Thankfully, Thoth didn’t make her feel any more embarrassed about those things. He’d simply give her a small smile, a smile that made Manon melt every time she saw it, and make a comment about how something similar happened to him. An ancient guy like him had hours of embarrassing moments to talk about.

And contrary to popular belief, Thoth had a sense of humor. His sense of humor was subtle but refined, his jokes coming in the form of off-hand, often passive-aggressive remarks and puns. The worst puns, which would always make Manon laugh, especially with his stoic delivery of them, the only hint of his mischief a smirk.

Of course, Thoth wasn’t without his flaws. Manon had seen his bad side in addition to his good side. In fact, she noticed that everyone had mostly seen his bad side, his stubbornness, emotionlessness, and his occasional arrogance, hence his not-so-good reputation among the gods and others who have met him. Despite his flaws, Manon still loved him for him. They were part of him, after all, and she knew she definitely wasn’t without flaws.

For the most part, though, Thoth was kind and caring. A real gentleman, in Manon’s opinion, although she might be biased. For the several months she had spent with him, he’d offered her nothing but kindness and hospitality and expected nothing in return but her companionship and occasional help. Sometimes, Thoth would ask Manon to be a test subject for odd spell combinations he wanted to try. Nothing that could potentially kill her, though, according to Thoth.

One time, Thoth asked her to be a test subject for a potential strength spell combination. Manon agreed, like she always did, and he tested the spell combination on her. Something must have gone wrong, though, because Manon lost consciousness and the next thing she remembered was waking up on the floor, Thoth kneeling above her and fretting over her, making sure she was okay. Manon wasn’t okay, she ended up somehow contracting some illness from the spell combination. She remembered Thoth carrying her to bed and tucking her in, then nursing her back to health for a few days.

He never asked for anything in return. Gods, he was so sweet. Manon loved him. She hoped one day to return his kindness. She didn’t know how she would, but somehow, she would do it.

In addition to his lovely personality, Thoth looked good. Sure, he didn’t look like a male supermodel, but damn, he was still hot. Manon could admire him and his multicolored eyes, messy hair, and slender but somewhat muscular body for hours. She also liked the way he dressed, especially when he wore his usual outfit of a lab coat, t-shirt, and jeans, all scribbled on in marker with various hieroglyphics for easy spell-casting. That outfit captured his personality well, Manon thought, plus it looked comfortable and hot on him.

Gods, she had it bad, didn’t she? Swooning over an ancient deity like some hormonal schoolgirl. Even just a thought of him made her blush and grin.

Manon sat at the bar, a dreamy smile on her face as she stirred her drink with her straw. Only a layer of ice and watered down whiskey remained in the glass.

She had come to this bar for no reason, really. She had just gotten out of a musical that she saw in downtown Memphis. Thoth said he had something else to do, so Manon went alone. And once she was done, well…she could use a small drink. Not much, just a little something to make her tipsy, to keep her attention off her thoughts and feelings.

Thoth had been hesitant to let her leave, though. “You look feverish,” he had said, laying his cool, smooth hand on her forehead, a look of concern upon his face. “Are you feeling alright?”

Manon said yes, and he let her go to the musical. Truth be told, Manon was only “feverish” because she was in his presence and was blushing wildly.

And now, she found herself here….

“More whiskey, miss?” The bartender asked her.

Manon nodded and slid her glass over. “Sure. Just a bit more, though. I don’t want to get wasted.” She chuckled a bit.

The bartender nodded back and went to go pour her drink.

A man who Manon hadn’t even noticed sat down on the stool next to her.

“French, eh?” He asked in a gruff, vaguely southern-US accent. He was a large, hulking man who obviously frequented the gym. His appearance reminded Manon of a modern Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.

Eyeing him suspiciously, Manon nodded. “Yes. From Montpellier.”

The man let out a whistle. “From what I’ve heard, the French are notorious for their lovin’. Is that true?”

Oh, so he’s one of those guys. Manon rolled her eyes. “I don’t know and I don’t fucking care,” she grumbled, turning away from him.

The man frowned. “I was just askin’ a question.”

“A weird one,” Manon muttered.

The man didn’t answer. Manon received her drink and took a sip. The man spoke again.

“I like that dress on you. Really shows off your beautiful ass.”

Manon almost choked on her drink. “Ex-Excuse me?”

“You have a beautiful ass,” the man murmured, leaning closer to her, his arm starting to wrap around her waist.

The shock wore off, and before the man could do anything, Manon picked up her drink and poured it all over the man’s face. Whiskey dripped down from his face in golden-brown drops as he glared at Manon.

“Bitch! I was giving you a compliment!”

“And touching me inappropriately!” Manon yelled back, not caring that the whole bar was staring at them now. She was pissed now. “And your comment was creepy! Who the hell compliments a stranger’s ass? Get away from me, creep!”

She moved to get up and find somewhere else to sit, but the man grabbed her elbow, yanking her back down. Letting out a yell, Manon snatched her arm from his grip. The man retaliated by shoving her, causing her to fall backwards off the stool.

Manon landed on her back, hissing at the impact. The skirt of her dress was all messed up, and Manon was thankful that she had the foresight to wear shorts beneath it.

She tried to get up, but the man kicked her down again. The bartender and a few bystanders tried to restrain this man, but his strength made this an impossible task.

He kicked again, causing a sharp pain to shoot through Manon’s ribs. Despite this, Manon tried to get up to beat this guy’s ass, but the man pushed her back down and tried to punch her, which Manon dodged with almost-expert reflexes.

The bartender and bystanders once again tried to restrain this man, but their efforts were futile. The man managed to break free of their clutches, and as he did so, he swung his arm and fist back, ready to punch Manon again.

Before Manon had time to react, an iridescent hieroglyphic flashed across the man’s face. Manon had time to just read it before it sank into the man’s forehead. Calm.

The man pacified instantly. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a dreamy voice, the voice of a mortal under the influence of magic. “I didn’t realize you were taken. My bad.”

He walked away before anyone, whether Manon or the bartender or the bystanders, had time to say anything.

“Are you alright?” Thoth asked, appearing in front of Manon and offering her a hand. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern. “Are you hurt?”

Dozens of thoughts cluttered Manon’s mind, and she turned pink and desperately tried to find some way to verbalize all of them, but only one of them managed to be said, the most important one.

“Why...why are you here?”

“According to my calculations based on all known information about the musical and its venue and location, I estimated that your time of arrival back to my place would be around 10:45 PM, give or take ten to fifteen minutes,” Thoth began. “But that time period passed, so I decided to find your location, in case something happened to you. You seemed feverish earlier, and I was hoping that you didn’t fall ill while on your way from the musical.”

He frowned, putting his hand once again against Manon’s forehead. “You still look and feel feverish...though I suppose it could be the result of the alcohol you’ve consumed and the fight against that...moron.”

Manon blushed even more and gently pushed his hand away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it was just the fight and the whiskey.”

Well, she wasn’t fine, she was fairly certain she broke a rib, but Thoth didn’t need to know that at the moment.

Thoth nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Very well.” He then tilted his head. “I saw that man kick near your rib cage. No pain around there?”

Ah shit.

“They hurt a bit,” Manon said, biting her lip and looking away. “Not much, though. I’ll be fine.”

That was a lie, they actually hurt more than a bit, but Manon didn’t want Thoth to worry about her, even if she would like it if he did. She was just his mortal assistant. Nothing more.

“Very well,” Thoth said again. “I can take a look at them once we get back to my building.”

“I sure hope you can,” Manon joked, looking back at Thoth, a grin dancing on her lips. As her gaze returned to him, she noticed his outfit. He wore a maroon button-down shirt, which was tucked into a pair of purple pinstripe pants with suspenders. A black bow tie hung from his collar. Manon turned even redder.

“You like nice,” she complimented, her mischievous grin turning into a shy smile. Thoth smiled back.

“Why thank you. I didn’t want to stand out too much here.” His eyes moved up and down Manon’s body, analyzing her outfit of a black dress with lace sleeves. “You look nice as well.”

Manon grinned. “Thanks.”

The two kind of just looked at one another for a few moments, then Thoth looked away, clearing his throat. “Well, shall we head back?”

Manon nodded. Thoth offered her his hand again, and Manon took it this time, standing up. She wondered if Thoth used lotion or if his hands were naturally that soft.

He let go of her hand and started leading her towards the front door of the bar. Manon followed, her walking wobbly due to the bit of alcohol she’d had and the pain in her ribs.

As soon as they were outside the bar, Thoth looked back at her and noticed her difficulties walking. Manon thanked the gods that she decided not to wear high heels that night.

“Do you need help walking?” Thoth asked, his voice gentle.

Manon nodded. “I’d appreciate that. I’d like to not die before we get back.”

Thoth smiled at her joke and walked towards her, offering her his arm. Manon took it, appreciating his kindness as well as the firmness of his muscles, though she’d never admit that to anyone.

They walked together, Manon using Thoth’s arm to steady herself as they walked in the direction of the university where Thoth’s building was located. It wasn’t too far of a walk, thankfully, maybe just ten or fifteen minutes, but Manon was thankful for Thoth’s presence. She knew that walking alone in the city at that time of night could be dangerous for a young woman like Manon, especially if she was intoxicated. Of course, she could always use her magic and fighting skills to take down any mortal threat, but that would be rather difficult for even a mildly intoxicated person.

People smiled at the two as they walked, obviously assuming that Manon and Thoth were a couple. Why people were out on the streets that late, Manon had no idea. Thoth seemed to pay no attention to them, focusing straight ahead. Manon just blushed and focused on walking like a normal, functioning human being, ignoring the pain in her ribs.

They were almost to the university when Manon decided to break the silence that stretched between them.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” Thoth asked. Manon giggles slightly. Gods, he was so adorable.

“For saving me from that douche in the bar. And for walking me back and letting me use you as a support. And for, well, everything, I guess. For allowing me to exist in your home and exist in your life. For...being my friend.” Manon looked away, suddenly ashamed of her giving of gratitude.

To her surprise, Thoth gave her a gentle smile, a smile that seemed to ease her pain and dissipate her embarrassment. A smile that brought her joy and a sense of security and comfort whenever she saw it.

“Of course. Anything for you.”

The End

Word Count: 2626

[dreadlock-detective]

How hard is it to choose colours for your (and my favourite) art style?

Eheh, well I canonly speak for myself, not for whoever you’re flattering by callingyour favorite, so I’ll stick to that! ;)

I suppose theliteral answer is “Usually not too hard?” but that’s boring solets see what I can ramble about color choice and such! Also I’ll put some links to James Gurney’s stuff because he is amazing and I cannot recommend his books enough!

(This’ll be in 3 sections - Color schemes, Contrast and leading the eye, and picking colors for shadows~ from longest to shortest too)

Part 1: COLOR SCHEMES

So I used to bereally bad at this until I got really into pixel art where I learneda few important lessons. First, the entire color palette workingtogether is what’s most important, not any single color, and second,colors work together in surprising ways COMPLETELY dependent on what’s around them!

For example, this isthe color palette for the Commedore 64 from back in the day. All whopping 16 colors the system could possibly display:

Individually thosecolors look pretty muddy, muted, and dull. But when you put them alltogether in an image they actually work pretty well together, because none of them completely break from the others. Usingmy own stuff as an example, I used the C64 palette to challengemyself with remaking a very colorful, very saturated screenshot from the Nintendo 64game Mischief Makers (because I love that game and both systems have“64” in the name so why not~)

So I turned this: (Nintendo 64 version, with waaay more colors available)

Into this:

Now, there’s clearly a BIG difference in the colors used, but I feel like everything still looks fine on its own. The muddy colors look a lot more harmonious when seen in an image than individually, with the brighter colors, such as the gems, even popping quite a bit.

For that second point I mentioned about colors working differently based on the colors around them, look at the character’s green hair, the green gem, and the green on the top of the blocks. They are all the exact same color. The green gem and hair, though, are shaded with a deeper, more saturated green and contrasted with a bright white, making it appear more saturated than the exact same green on the platforms, because the platforms’ green is surrounded by duller colors.

So it’s important to keep in mind that not only is each color important in the context of the whole, but also that what’s immediately around a color will massively impact how they appear, even when they are the exact same!

Important things to consider when picking colors is how close/far they are to each other in hue (the color itself, represented by the outer wheel in the image below), the saturation (how much gray is in the color, which effects how vibrant it is, which is the left->right in the box) and value (how much black is in the color, which is the top->bottom in the box).

Essentially the further away two colors are from the each other in any of these 3 directions the more they will stand out from each other. I’m not much of a teacher for color theory in general, so the best advice I can give is just to practice and to check out limited palettes other people have made and see how they handle it. In general, though, I try to keep most of the colors relatively close to each other in saturation and warm/cool colors, and then use one accent color that stands out in small amounts to make certain bits pop~

Links time!

Gurney’s post/video on Color Gamut, or manually limiting colors and how surrounding colors alters our perception of them (check out what appears as yellow in the cool colored image as opposed to the warm)

Gurney’s post on color in context and how many colors still register as bright yellow

Fun little tidbit about old cartoons made with limited palettes

Part 2: Contrast, and leading the eye!

Okay, so these other two might be a bit shorter. Basically, when you’re picking colors you want some to stand out and some to fall back. If everything is competing for attention it can be really hard to look at and the eye doesn’t know what’s important! One of the main things to look out for with this is contrast, as the eye is easily drawn to areas that are different than their surroundings.

Let me use two designs I’d had for my character Caelia - the left is her old color scheme and outfit and the right the new one:

Now, aside from minor differences in saturation, they’re actually pretty similar, but the one on the right I think works a lot better. In both of them the yellow acts as a strong accent color that can pull the eye, but on the old design on the left it pulls your eye in two directions - towards the headband and the coat trim, neither of which are actually important. Almost the entire rest of the design lacks that yellow so your eyes are actually drawn -away- from the character’s face and body. Imagine the coat being blown behind her as she’s doing an action pose and, yeah, the accent color doesn’t actually help anything.

The new design, I think, fixes that. Even though it remains an accent color the yellow now appears throughout the design. Her hair is now a lighter shade of yellow which is distinguished from the yellow on the clothing while also framing her face. Her torso now has a yellow accent on it so it draws the eye and, combined with the hair, has a strong distinction between her upper half (which is more yellow) and her lower half (which is mostly red). And finally what was the coat now wraps around her with an additional little strip on a waist sash. Now the yellow trim can easily allow the eye to figure out how her legs are positioned by how they wrap around them, instead of just hanging behind them.

It’s also important to point out that the hair is less saturated along with being lighter than the rest of the yellow - it both looks a bit more natural, blends with her skin color more, and also doesn’t compete with the high saturation in the clothing.

None of this is to say the left one is necessarily a bad design or conveys information poorly, just that the right one is a more unified design that is easier to understand at a glance. It’s something to keep in mind, but not a hard rule or anything. But remember that if EVERYTHING tries to stand out you’ll just end up with a mess.

LINKS!

Gurney on leading the eye with contrast and why what everything I just said might be bunk but might not be and also I think what I said applies better to simplified, cartoon forms as opposed to realism, since lines and blocks of color read differently than natural forms and lighting.

Spokewheeling - a composition technique that can be applied to character design as well.

Shapewhelding - another composition technique to think about, and can be important to AVOID at times (happens a lot in pixel art - dont want things melding together accidentally)

Gurney on why all of that might be bunk for general art composition anyway but might not be, but again I believe is still important for more stylized art

Part 3: SHADOWS!

Okay, so it’s nearing 1am as I write this and I’ll be honest I have the absolute least technical knowledge on this part, so I’ll tell you how I go about it but I STRONGLY suggest reading Gurney’s information on it (Again, seriously, I love his books, and “Color and Light” in particular is amazing and contains many of these posts and more)

When it comes to shading I have a pretty quick and dirty way to figure out what to do:

in case the text isn’t legible:

Choose a color for all shadows to move towards (usually a purple or blue)

Grab the base color for the thing I’m adding shadow to

Shift the color towards the direction of the shadow color I chose, and then make it darker and more saturated

And I do the exact opposite for highlights - I move away from the shadow color and then make it lighter and less saturated

Usually, anyway. And this method works best on the kind of color wheel I have there, but it can be adapted to most anything. And how far you move towards the shadow color and how dark/saturated you make the shadows will change the mood of the piece a lot. The colors in the screenshots are for a pretty light colored, low contrast piece.

I would go on more about it but I don’t actually have solid reasoning behind it other than it tends to look alright and I don’t want to spread incorrect thinking. Just… for the love of all that is colorful, DONT just shift the color towards black or white. It looks muddy and gross. Please. I beg you~

ON THE PLUS SIDE, Here’s a slew of awesome links!

Gurney and Chromatic Shadows Part 1!

Chromatic Shadows Part 2!

Relative color on skin tones!

Complementary shadows!

Induced colors! (or how our eyes can make highlights appear as different colors)

And I cant stress enough how great Gurney’s Color and Light book is for this stuff. I just can’t explain much ‘cuz I’m bad at actually studying this stuff well enough to talk about it!

Anyway, that about does it for my waaay longer than I thought and hella reply to a single sentence question! Hope that helped you, or SOMEONE at least! It was fun to ramble on about regardless~ (oh geeze yeah maybe rambling after midnight was a bad plan? Hopefuly this actually makes sense lol. If anyone needs any clarification just let me know!)

Cheers! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[thefauxfox-blog]

A Catastrophe

(Alternate title- Purr-plexed. Alternate title 2- Meow What? Alternate title 3- Pawzzling. Alter-someone stop me)

Summary: Fluffy (literally) Sanders Sides fic where the Sides suddenly have a kitten and nothing makes sense anymore. but who cares, have you seen that kitten? cute. so so cute.

At this point, they'd all heard Patten scream enough that they didn't tend to hustle to his side anymore. Spiders, hot coffee spill, jelly staining his polo, existential crisis, someone using foul language, an especially cute birb video- they just didn't drop what they were doing and show up.

So when Logan heard Patten shriek, he finished his chapter, placed his bookmark, set the book down, and then made his way to the mind palace commons. He gathered a roll of paper towels on the way- useful for both killing spiders and mopping up stains.

When he arrived, he stopped dead.

Oh.

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again, and paused.

He… he was at a loss. Well. That was new. He'd never experienced this severity of perplexity before. The situation wasn't merely improbable, it was impossible. He would’ve briefly wondered if he was dreaming- but he didn’t really do that, Roma was the dreamer. But then how…?

“That is sooooooo cute!!! What's their name?” Patten was cooing, crouched over where Virgil and the…. other thing… was.

“I was thinking Ursula. Cause she's mostly black. And she's a total baddie,” Virgil said. “It's a girl.”

“Ursula?” Patten repeated,wrinkling his nose. “Isn't that an evil squid woman? Son, you are just such a dark villainous soul, and it’s frightening yet charming. Ursula it is!”

“Octopus, not squid,” Virgil corrected absentmindedly. He was staring down at the tiny thing.

Data. Logan needed more data. He approached cautiously, observing. Mostly black with brown tortoiseshell pattern. Calico, female. Short haired. Polydactyl front paws. Probably 9-10 weeks old. Comfortable with Virgil as demonstrated by the tucked in position, eyes closed, purring loudly.

“Great Odin’s beard, is that a kitten?!?!” Roman had finally joined them, and was dramatically pointing, arm fully outstretched at the thing.

“Yeah. It's a kitten. Her name is Ursula,” Virgil said protectively, petting the small creature.

“Virgil,” Logan finally managed. The anxiety avatar hummed to indicate his attentiveness, so Logan continued. “Virgil. Where- why- how do you have a cat?!?!”

“I dunno. I just woke up and she was curled up on my bed with me,” he said carelessly. “Jealous?”

“Technically, it would be envy, not jealousy, as envy is to covet while jealously is to hoard- and no, I am not either jealous nor envious. I am… Virgil, this can't happen.”

“I'll take care of her, don't be such a party pooper,” Virgil scoffed. “I'm the embodiment of worry and over thinking and stress, as if I’m ever going to neglect her. I’m like, the ideal cat owner.”

“Ohmigod. So you're a cat mom now! Except- you’re male, so cat dad? Is that a thing? We both are dads! High five, kiddo! So I get to be the cat granddad?” Patten said excitedly.

“No, I'm not your kid, and the cat isn't my kid either. She’s not my baby. We’re bros.”

“I can't believe you named her Ursula. Don't you think she looks more like an Aurora, or Tiana?” Roman grumbled, approaching to better appreciate the kitten.

“No, she's totally going to be a mischief cat, not some princess.”

“Like- there's this adorable cat I follow on instagram, his name is Oreo, and he steals bread, like, all the time. And it's so cute and naughty, the owners are like making a sandwich and they turn around and he's in the bread bag and has a slice-”

“Ursula is going to disrupt everyone's sleep and steal their socks and act cute but just be luring you in, and bite you, because she’s ferocious and terrifying and the coolest cat ever-”

“Or what about Mulan? I think she looks like a Mulan. She's not a water creature or a witch, and I've become well versed in both identifying and killing witches, I have been known far and wide for my prowess-”

“-but Oreo is running off with a whole piece of bread, half dragging, and they get to chase him, and-”

“She's my cat, so I'm naming her and she's going to take after me-”

“If she does turn out to be a witch, I will be forced into the terrible dilemma of killing evil but also killing cuteness-”

“HOW IS THERE A CAT?!?!”

Everyone went quiet at Logan’s exclamation. They all looked surprised.

“Whoa.”

“Loud much?”

“Rude.”

“You okay, son? That was just a liiiittle aggressive.”

“This doesn't make any sense. We are all- this can't just wander in here! We're not in reality, we're in Thomas’s head! He can manipulate our environment and we can manipulate the forms we present with, but to introduce a new creature that is a) not human, b) not an aspect of his personality, and c) not consciously created, is simply not possible. I do not understand and that is not okay,” Logan said, starting to get a little breathless and alarmed at the end.

“Look, I don't know how she got here. But here she is. I have a cat now. That's a thing, you can see and feel her, she's really here,” Virgil said. “That's reality. I don't know anything about cause, history, any of that, but I know present and I can give a pretty good guess at future stuff. History is your department. So if you wanna try and figure it out, sure, but I'm happy with her.”

“This doesn’t- this doesn't make any sense!”

“But it's happened.”

“No, no, no, no,” he said, pointing at each of them to emphasize. “We are figments of Thomas’s personality, and this is a created reality of consciousness, but we still have rules!”

“We also have a cat now,” Patten said delightedly.

“My cat,” Virgil grumbled.

“Let her be the judge of who’s cat she is, and may the best side win,” Roman said impetuously.

“Doesn’t this bother you? Does this bother any of you? This. Is. Not. Possible. We can’t just magically appear a cat!”

They ignored him in favor of coddling and cooing at the kitten. He let out an irate breath and sank out.

“Thomas,” he said, dropping in on him. Thomas yelped and smacked his keyboard.

“Oh! Jeez, you spooked me. What's up, Logan?” Thomas said, frowning at his screen and backspacing all the keyboard smash he'd accidentally put in.

“Virgil has a cat.”

Thomas looked unreasonably unbothered. Why was nobody else perturbed?

“That sounds pretty cool. Can you guys like… dream up cat food? Where does your garbage go? Am I going to be dealing with imaginary cat poop-,”

“No, those are all the wrong questions. Because Virgil can't have a cat. Because you are not a cat, and you don't have a cat side of your personality-,”

“I dunno, I like having my head scratched, and I've bit people before. It's certainly not a manifestation of any gracefullnes, though-”

“Can we please be serious for a minute!?!?”

“I'm not putting a tie on.”

“Oh, for- mmmmmm. Mmmm-mmmm. Okay. I need you to try and-” he pulled his flash cards out of his pocket and flipped through them for a moment before selecting something he hoped would convey the preponderance of the situation. “Be ‘hella legit’ for a moment.”

Thomas blinked at him.

“Was- was that not good? I thought if I combined two, it would have a multiplier effect on the level of colloquialism usage. No?”

“...no.”

“Okay. Alright. I’ll just take note of that. Won’t happen again. I am a work in progress,” Logan said quickly, scribbling himself a note on the back of the cards.

“Good. Okay. But- I’ll be… serious… for a minute. Why is it important that Virgil has a cat?”

“Because this is breaking the basic rules of our existence. I know that your reality has rules, of course- gravity, conservation of mass and energy, particle resistance and friction, colloid rules, etcetera, etcetera. Your world exists in a framework of parameters that simply cannot be crossed. Our reality is the same- though there are some different rules, because we are apparitions of personality traits and exist to your consciousness, on a different plane of perceived reality than ‘reality’, for lack of better terminology. Now, our mind palace can have temporary sprites- I believe they’re similar to a video game NPC- that are usually created by Roman, as he is creativity, but they’re not properly real. And our inanimate environment is subject to change at will as well, it doesn’t have to stay the same, as your reality does. And we can change our own appearances at will. But this- a real, live, sentient creature? It can’t have come from anywhere, it can’t exist, it can’t- it’s impossible.”

“But it has to be possible. Because it’s there.”

“It- well, we should say ‘she’, it’s a female calico kitten that Virgil deigned to name ‘Ursula’, to Roman’s horror- it is there. I cannot deny that. But I also cannot deny the rules of our reality. I have two directly opposing true statements that cannot exist simultaneously, but they do. The cat cannot exist. But the cat does exist.”

“This is like that Schrodinger thing, a little. But way cooler, because there’s no death.”

“The only similarity is the species of the subject, Thomas, this isn’t an existential paradox of the same manner as that. Try and keep up,” Logan said impatiently. “What could’ve created this cat?”

“I dunno.”

“Perhaps we need a new angle.”

“Wait- you said right when you showed up- ‘those are the wrong questions’. We need to trace it back to the start. So instead of asking what created this cat, what can we ask and answer? Something that exists now, or will exist eventually.”

“Why was this cat created? Perfect, Thomas, that’s exactly where I need to start. If I can divulge the motive, perhaps I can better understand the origins. What are cats good for?”

“Memes,” Thomas said without hesitation, confidently.

“Great. No. I mean- yes, but why would a cat be good for your mind?”

“Uh… cats are… pets? And they’re something you need to be responsible for.”

“Why would your mind need additional responsibility?”

“Becoming an adult?” Thomas suggested with a shrug.

“No, no… I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think a cat would exist to create more responsibility. I suspect that the existence of the kitten isn’t to create something, but to modify. Within minutes of us discovering it, our entire relationship dynamics changed. Our usual patterns were broken and we all- or, the others did- began to focus on the cat. Why?”

“Diversion,” Thomas said excitedly.

“Diversion! Of course! The cat is distracting us from something.”

“Cats are also comforting. Usually. People go to cats when they’re sad or lonely. The stereotype of the lonely single person with a cat exists for a reason- it doesn’t represent every case, but it does represent some. Cats aren’t useful like dogs are, they’re just cozy and soft.”

“Do you require additional comfort?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t. Wait- the kitten… she appeared to Virgil?”

Logan could feel the realization starting to form, like a half forgotten song or a sense of a coming rainstorm. It was just there, just…

“Virgil got a cat. A comfort creature that is distracting and creates additional responsibility.” He rubbed his chin, thinking, alternately chasing the idea and trying to just let it come on it’s own. “Comfort, responsibility, distraction… Oh. OH! Oh, we’re- I’m an idiot, it was right in front of me, we both knew- it’s all for him. It’s all for him! Your anxiety!”

“What?”

“Thomas. You’ve been working harder with your friends to understand and manage your anxiety, through diet change, meditation, cognitive behavioral changes, and self-monitoring. You created the cat- the cat is your efforts to placate your anxiety without putting him off completely!”

“I’m not following. I made the cat?”

“You made the cat, yes! Look- people can often get a doctor’s note for a landlord or a college room assistant if they have mental health issues and need a cat. Because cats create responsibility- a person is much less likely to commit suicide if they have a cat, because they know that if they’re gone, nobody will care for the cat. Just that small responsibility is frequently enough to help people push forwards and keep living. Cats are also distracting- stressors like work, classes, homework, socialization, home maintenance, etcetera are all lessened when you have a cat. People tend to spend less time thinking about their problems and worrying, replacing those negative thoughts with thoughts about their cat. And cats are comforting, for when someone is upset or anxious.”

Thomas’s mouth had opened slightly. “Whoa. Whoa. Okay, so… so you’re saying that my anxiety management techniques manifested in the mind palace as a cat?”

“Precisely! Now, this doesn’t get rid of your anxiety, but it keeps him from bothering you. He might be distracted by the cat, or caught up in his cat-caretaking responsibilities, or be too comfortable and at ease to bother you.”

“That’s… that’s actually super cool,” Thomas said, starting to giggle.

“Your subconscious did it, obviously, or else we all would’ve known. Your subconscious recognized your attempts to placate your anxiety, and drew upon the information that cats can help with mental health, and manifested that as a cat. Fascinating. You make some very odd leaps of logic, Thomas.”

“Well, you’re me, and you’re my logic, so that’s on you,” Thomas laughed. He suddenly gasped. “Can I- can I see this kitten? Can you guys bring her out with you?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t have any precedents to draw upon. Give it a try.”

“Virgil! Ursula!” Thomas called. Then he gasped delightedly. “Ohmigod. That. Is. So. Cute.”

“It worked,” Logan concluded as Virgil looked around, holding the tiny black and brown kitten protectively.

“Oh hey. Figure out the mystery yet?” Virgil said. He nodded at Thomas. “Check it. I got a kitten. Sick, right?”

“Is the cat sick already-?!?”

“Stop. Taking. Me. So. Literally,” Virgil said with a groan. “Dude. Seriously-”

“He’s wearing a tie, he’s always serious,” Thomas said. “That is the cutest kitten ever. My subconscious is awesome.”

“Your subconscious needs to stop pulling this strange and unexpected hokum because it’s wasting my time to figure it out. I’ve got more important things to do,” Logan scoffed.

“But Logan. Look at this kitten. Just- just look at her. Tell her she wasted your time.”

He looked at the kitten. “You….” Her eyes were big and round, the fur around them appearing to be improbably soft, and her nose was so tiny… 

He tried again. “You, cat, are…” Virgil was giving him a wide eyed stare that was somewhat analogous to the look the animated deer, Bambi, often wore in the Disney film about the creature and his woodland friends. Somehow, the cat was also wearing a look similar. He cleared his throat. He could do this.

“Cat. You are wasting…”

He couldn’t.

“It’stooadorableIhavetogetoutofhere,” he said in a rush, sinking out. He could hear Thomas laughing, Virgil laughing (Virgil?! Laughing? Anxiety was LAUGHING!? What kind of miracle kitten…?) and the stupid adorable impossible cat purring.

Author’s note: This was supposed to be short. I started this on my phone last night after getting home at 10 from watching IT. I don’t know where this idea came from, but there you have it. It happened. And I’m absolutely taken by the Sanders Sides, if anyone wants to send me requests or prompts, I might very well write them! 

[pocket-anon]

The Long Way Home (7/10)

I am so, so sorry this chapter is coming out this late in the day, guys. Real life has been very hectic this week between work and lecture slide prep and doctor's appointments and car issues and mommyhood. I'm pretty physically and mentally exhausted right now, so I hope my last-minute editing choices for this chapter aren't terrible, LOL. We'll see. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful feedback and your serial reblogs and your flailing tags. I really hope you continue to enjoy! Please remember the nautical terms glossary linked below - it's newly updated for the events of this chapter! Happy reading.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback.  Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3.  Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut.  Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

The Jolly alters course to make for the nearest port large enough to have a surgeon in residence. Swan begins to devote a couple hours a day to reading to Alec, and Hook even allows her to assume some of the waylaid sailor’s responsibilities, including his shifts as lookout high up on the fore-mast.

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, she has to admit she enjoys being useful and trusted aboard ship, and though Hook continues to insist she wear the tether, she doesn’t miss the proud light in his eye each time he watches her scamper up the rigging.

“To your post, Swan,” he says with a smile one morning as he reaches out in passing and gives the knot on her harness a playful tug.

She flashes him a grin over her shoulder and swings up onto the shroud.  “Aye aye, Captain.”

Her hours spent perched upon the top and staring out at the horizon from between the sails are largely uneventful, but they afford her more time to enjoy the view and to be alone with her thoughts.  She’s disconcerted to find, however, that most of those thoughts seem to center around Hook, and the more she tries to focus on other subjects, the more annoyed she is each time her brain finds a way to wander back to him.  

There’s something different about him since their encounter with the slavers.  He’s quieter, slower to anger.  When Thomas collides with him and nearly spills a can of paint, the way Hook simply receives the young man’s effusive apology with a patient nod and moves on leaves Thomas’ jaw on the deck.  It’s as though he’s found a small measure of peace somewhere, and every time Swan spies that contented, introspective look on his face, it tempts her to believe that perhaps even a man as tortured as Captain Hook can find his good heart again.  

She should be pleased for him, she thinks.  And she is. But if it was hard not to find him irresistible before, it’s nigh impossible now.

He’s a charming bastard, isn’t he?  You certainly aren’t the first to pine after him.

She won’t be the last either, she knows.  She’s just one in a long string of starry-eyed wenches, smitten harlots, bored wives, and who knows who else.  But unlike those women, she’s stuck in close quarters with him, and the burden of being forced to spend so much time with a man she shouldn’t want but does wears on her more acutely as the days march on.

Is that what you’re hoping for?  A life of unfulfilled pining?

It isn’t, Swan thinks bitterly.  But it’s looking more and more likely all the same.

She’s ruminating on this for the hundredth time and staring glumly at the endless waves on her third afternoon on duty when a sudden disruption in the distance causes her to squint.  She frowns, wondering if her eyes are playing tricks, and reaches for the lookout’s spyglass, her curious gaze fixed on the water as she extends the scope and raises it to her eye.  The area in question jumps into clear view, and she searches the churning waters for a few moments before she sees it again – a short spurt of mist that shoots upward out of the sea.  She glances below to where the Captain and a few of the men are sparring.  “Hook?”

The clanging of steel stops. “Swan?”

She raises the glass to her eye again and tries to relocate the disturbance.  “There’s something in the water,” she calls.  “I can’t tell what it is.”

She hears Hook sheath his cutlass.  “Where, love?”

“Um…”  She peers through the lens and points. “There.  Off the starboard bow.”

The rigging shakes as he scrambles up to join her.  He’s halfway to the top when she spies another spray of water.

“There!” she says excitedly. “Did you see that?”  Her heart pounds as she catches sight of a dark form that breaks the surface briefly and disappears beneath the waves.  Another similar form bobs into view seconds later.

Hook pauses to pull out his own spyglass and search the horizon for a glimpse of what she sees. At last he chuckles.  “Whales!” he yells to the rest of the men on deck. “Two points off the starboard bow and approaching.  Helmsman!”

“Aye?”

“Maintain our heading but move us a bit to port!  Let’s give the beasts some room!”  He stows his glass and climbs the rest of the way, pulling himself up onto the top with a boyish grin.

Swan scoots over a bit to make room on the small platform.  “Whales?” she asks with fascination.

“Quite,” he says, settling next to her, his knee grazing hers.  “It’s just a small pod.  I take it you’ve never seen their kind.”  She shakes her head, and he nods in return.  “They’re generally peaceful creatures, but they’re large and powerful. Best to give them a wide berth unless you’re trying to hunt one.”

She looks through her glass again and spies the distinct shape of a broad, lunate tail arcing out of the water, her mouth curving into an awed smile.

“There’s a young one among them,” he observes.  “In the middle.  Do you see it?  The tail that’s smaller than the others?”

A moment later her eyes widen.  “Oh! Yes!” The miniature fins flap above the waves as if waving hello, and she coos.  “It’s a happy little family.”

“Indeed.”

She falls silent for a few breaths, watching the whales as they draw closer to the Jolly.  “I wish I could remember my family,” she says at last, her expression growing wistful.

“You’ll be with them again soon enough, Princess,” he assures her quietly.

Swan casts a sideways glance as she considers him.  “You’re still confident.”

He chuffs.  “Of course I am,” he quips, straightening a little. “It’s my business to be.”

“Right.  Dashing rapscallion.”  Swan smirks.

He flashes a winning grin on cue and leans toward her a bit, his low chuckle generating a shiver deep between her shoulder blades.  “Always knew you were a fast learner.”

She hates herself for the way her face grows hot and her heart accelerates, and she feels the sudden impulse to flee and try to regain her faculties somewhere where this stupidly handsome man isn’t being so stupidly handsome.  Remembering she’s technically on duty as lookout and unable to flee anywhere, however, she settles for forcing her gaze away, raising the spyglass with both hands and making a show of trying to find the whales once again.

One of the creatures abruptly launches out of the water, a hulking dark shape that somehow manages a graceful twirl in the air like a dancer in slow motion before crashing back down to the waves.  Swan lets out a cry of surprise, and she reaches out blindly to give Hook’s arm an excited shake.  “Did you see that?”

The rich sound of his laugh greets her ears.  “Aye. They do that sometimes,” he says. He dares to lean in further.  “Keep watching.  We might see it again.”

The warmth of his breath on her skin makes Swan turn from her spyglass to find his nose inches from hers, and her stomach swoops as they stare at one another for what feels like a protracted moment in time.  Hook searches her face, the mischief in his eyes fading into something almost earnest, and he swallows, the movement of his throat drawing her eyes down.  Her gaze alights on his mouth before she realizes what she’s doing, and her pulse stutters.

A sudden shout from one of the men startles her, and her head whips around in time to see another huge whale leaping out of the water, this one only a few hundred feet off the starboard bow.  It returns to the ocean with a great whump and a huge white cloud of spray, and Emma chuckles nervously, praying that her cheeks are not as pink as she thinks they are and willing her heart to stop thundering in her ears.    

She turns to offer Hook a weak smile, but he isn’t looking at her, instead distracted by something between them.  She follows his eyes down to see her hand still resting on his brace.  “Oh!”  She pulls away, now fairly sure she’s blushing up to the roots of her hair.  “I’m sorry.”

She’s not prepared for the way he colors in turn.  “It’s quite alright, love,” he murmurs, looking both touched and a bit sad.  He bumps his knee into hers half-heartedly. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He clears his throat and tips his head toward the pod.  “I’m glad you’re here to see this.  We sailors are accustomed to seeing whales now and then, but I imagine there are few others who get the chance.”  He smiles. “Perhaps our friends have come to pay their respects to a certain alleged princess.”

They watch in silence as the pod nears the Jolly and begins to pass down along her starboard side.  Swan sets her spyglass down and turns, rising up on her knees to be able to see over Hook’s head.  She gingerly steadies herself with a soft hand on his shoulder as she watches the dark bodies slipping above and below the waterline.  “They’re so beautiful,” she breathes, peering down at the enormous silhouettes just beneath the surface.

He nods wordlessly.

Swan looks down at her hand on his shoulder.  She bites her lip before gathering up the courage to give him a squeeze.  “Hook?”

He turns his head to blink up at her soberly.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

A slow, warm smile spreads across his face.  She drops her free hand onto his other shoulder, and he reaches up to cover her fingers gently with his, breaking her heart just a little bit further as they watch the whales drift away.

 *             *             *

 The next few days are cooler and colorless, with showers covering everything and everyone in a constant state of damp.  Hook offers to excuse Emma from her shifts as lookout so she can remain below deck, but she stubbornly refuses, merely choosing to wear her blue cloak to try to keep dry.  Her mood seems to reflect the weather; she grows increasingly distant, more preoccupied, and not as inclined to smile or engage him in their usual banter.  She spends less and less time with him outside of their meals together, busying herself with her duties and reading to Alec during the day and finding excuses to return to her cabin in the evenings instead of lingering over the dinner table with him.  Hook notes these changes in her with concern.  Whatever is troubling Emma, she seems determined to keep it to herself, and though he catches her looking sad on more than one occasion, she does her best to perk up a little whenever she’s aware of an audience.

He watches her hooded figure as she sits up on the top one afternoon, his brow almost painfully furrowed and raindrops smattering his face as he longs for the power to see what invisible weight is sitting on those slender shoulders.  He wonders if she’s worried about Alec’s worsening condition or if, like the rest of the men, she’s simply tired of the rain, and he sighs, trying to think of a way to lift her spirits a little.  Perhaps he can grant extra rum rations for morale and coax her into an evening of cards or dice with the crew.  Or perhaps he can find something she’ll like when they arrive at port later this week – a new book or a spyglass of her own or something pretty to brighten her day.  She’d once mentioned her fondness for the color yellow.  He wonders if it would be difficult to find yellow flowers at this time of year.  He’d pay a king’s ransom for them and let her put them all over her cabin and his if she liked – anything to make her smile, really.  He glowers at the overhead clouds and grumbles at no one in particular.  If the bloody skies would clear, that might also be a good a start.

The waters grow choppier around sundown, and the Jolly rises and falls like a rearing horse as she crests over the increasingly tall waves.  Hook keeps a watchful eye on Emma when she climbs down from the mast, and he comes to meet her at the bottom of the shroud, glad he’s continued to insist on her rope tether as he notes the extra time it takes her to navigate the rigging with the ship lurching beneath them.  

“What are you still doing out here?” she asks, gritting her teeth and waiting for the deck to level before carefully hopping down.

He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes and does his best not to look cold and miserable.  “Can’t a gentleman escort a lady to dinner?”  

The corner of her mouth twitches, and it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s seen all day, but there’s no time to savor it before they pitch over another swell and Emma stumbles forward with a little yelp.  He catches her against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and snagging the shroud with his hook in order to keep them both upright.  They struggle for a moment to right themselves, eventually managing to regain some semblance of balance while still tangled up together.  Hook stares into her pensive eyes, his heart refusing to slow as he registers the desperate way one of her gloved hands is gripping the collar of his coat while the other is buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Emma’s face grows red, a spot of bright color in their drably-lit surroundings, and she bites her lip. “Um, thanks.”  

She recoils adorably when a huge raindrop hits her square in the forehead, and Hook suddenly notices that her hood has come off.  With a sigh and a resigned smile, he releases her and reaches out to lift it back onto her head.  “Let’s get below and dry out a bit, yeah?” he says, delicately smoothing one side of the hood down with his hook.  He gestures toward the nearest hatch, and they make for it, the ship still rocking beneath them.  “After dinner, I thought perhaps we could enjoy some extra rum and cards with the crew in the mess.  What do you think?”

His heart falls at the reticent sound she makes, her face hidden as she keeps her eyes on the boards. “You go ahead.  I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight.”

He stops mid-step, frustration rising in his gut.  “Are you avoiding me, Swan?”

Emma freezes, the guilty stiffening of her shoulders answer enough.  “I…  No, of course not,” she says, shaking her head and giving him a small, unconvincing smile as she leads them down the ladder.  “I… I’m just tired this week.”

Hook frowns at her obvious attempt to deflect him.  “I can reassign your duties if you need more rest,” he suggests, pulling the hatch closed behind them.

“No!”  She winces at how loud her voice now sounds out of the wind and in the quiet of the shadowy passageway.  “No.  I can do it.  I don’t mind.  I just want to turn in a little earlier tonight.”  She walks briskly past him toward his quarters.  “Come on.  Dinner.”

Hook grants the crew the extra rum but elects to spend the evening alone, retiring to his berth with The Odyssey in order to take his mind off of Emma’s notable absence.  After nearly fifteen minutes of staring, unseeing, at the same paragraph however, he closes the book and petulantly tosses it aside.  His mind races as he dims the lamp and flops down on the mattress.

Has he done something to upset her?  Or is she simply trying to avoid interrogation about whatever is on her mind?  He gives his pillow a few vehement punches and resettles his head.  Before these rainy days, things had seemed to be going well between them, and he’d started contemplating how he should go about confessing his feelings for her.  But now…  now he doesn’t know where he stands, and it irritates the bloody hell out of him.  

He rumbles and rolls over, his eyes scanning the beams above his head as he exhales heavily.  Emma might be trying to shut him out, but he’s always claimed to love a challenge.  He’ll confront her tomorrow, he thinks, coax her secret out.  They’ve always been open with one another before.

That’s what friends do, isn’t it?  Emma’s voice echoes in his memory.

He snorts.  Friends. If only that were enough.

Sleep comes to him fitfully, and when Hook is aroused from bed at first light by a very panicky Smee shouting down the hatch for him, he sits up in a foul temper.  “What the blazes is it?” he demands, rubbing a hand over his face. Within a moment of opening his eyes, however, the cause of Smee’s distress becomes clear.  His quarters are cast in strange hues, and Hook’s eyes snap to the windows to note the ominous red-orange glow of the clouds to the east and the relative darkness to the west.  He swears an oath and leaps out of bed, dressing at record speed before flying up the ladder.

The sight that meets him above makes his stomach drop.  To the southwest lies a solid wall of enormous storm clouds that appears to have coalesced under the cloak of night.  It stretches as far as the eye can see, and when the wind begins to pick up and the first rumbles of thunder come rolling across the water toward them, alarm spreads across the Jolly like wildfire.

“It’s a hurricane!” Roberts hollers, hurrying to clang the ship’s bell.

Cold fear trickles down Hook’s back as he stares at the telltale skies.  He’s survived many dire straits in his long life, but few things drive terror into the heart of a sailor more than being faced with a hurricane at sea. Vivid memories of the massive storm that destroyed the ship Hispaniola back when he and Liam were young men flash before his eyes.  That storm had sent their last master, the hardy Captain Silver, and the rest of his experienced crew down to their watery graves. The idea of the Jolly, of his men, of Emma meeting the same fate makes him feel sick, and not knowing whether he can do anything to prevent it makes him feel sicker.

“All hands!” he commands at the top of his lungs.  “Get everything you can below deck and lash the rest down!  Pump the bilges and batten down all but the main hatch!”  He takes the wheel from the helmsman and grits his teeth as he wrenches it starboard.  “We’re going to try to outrun it.”

“Not even the Jolly’s that fast!” Smee protests at his side.  “That thing’ll be on us in ten minutes!”

Hook seizes the front of his first mate’s shirt and yanks him forward.  “If you have a better idea, Smee, now would be the time,” he snaps. “Otherwise, get below and tell the Lady to stay down in the crew quarters with Alec until someone comes.”

The next several minutes are a bedlam of activity and a torturous march toward the inevitable as the storm, moving at twice the ship’s speed, swallows her up like a great monster. The seas grow more turbulent, the rain begins to pour, and the gusts howl around them like the voice of a great foe heralding its wrath.

“We’ll have to heave-to – see if we can ride out the storm!” Hook yells frantically, handing over the wheel and charging toward the main deck.  “Helmsman, come about to beam reach!  Roberts, Thomas, clew up the mainsail!  Everyone else to the main-mast to brace the yards square!  Back ‘em winward!”

With the men on his heels, he scrambles across the swaying, rain-slogged deck.  They position themselves in teams around the mast and prepare to haul lines to rotate the yards overhead.   Hook cranes his head upward to watch Roberts and Thomas, the most nimble members of his crew (save Alec), scale the ropes as fast as they can to tie up the mainsail.

Emma is suddenly at his side, soaked to the skin like the rest of them with her wet ponytail limp over one shoulder.  She reaches toward the rigging and wraps both hands around the line in front of him.  

The sight of her disobeying his orders and risking her neck yet again fills him with rage.  Bloody. Impossible.  Woman.  “What the devil are you doing?” he bellows.  “You were supposed to stay below!”

“We’re not having this argument again!” she hollers back indignantly, squinting up at him in the face of the rain.  “You’re a man down, and you need more hands!  Let me help!”

His growl is lost on the wind, but he hasn’t the time to argue.  Hook grits his teeth and positions his hand between hers on the line.  Smee joins them, and Martin assumes position behind them to keep the line taut as they pull.  

Hook glances around at his crew.  “Alright, men!” he calls, using his hook to untie the line and pass the end off to Martin, “Heave!  Heave!” The others join with him, chanting in rhythmic unison as they tug on their lines and the yards above their heads begin to rotate about the mast.

They nearly have the sails backed to the wind when an enormous wave hits the ship, sending water sloshing across the deck and causing her to list violently.  The men stumble sideways, clinging to the lines for dear life, and Emma shrieks as her footing falters.  

“Swan!”  Hook throws his left arm around her waist and drags her back to his side with a deep grunt.  The muscles in his right shoulder burn as the line begins to pull away without their collective strength to help anchor it.  “Tie it off!” he barks over his shoulder at Martin, and the cooper’s large hands are a blur as he throws the knot back in place.

Seconds later, another wave strikes, and a scream rings out from above.  Hook looks up to see Thomas thrown from the yard arm, his body flung clear of the ship and out toward the waves.

“No!”  Emma yelps and twists in his grasp, one of her hands stretching into the sky in Thomas’ direction.

And like that, Thomas’ body disappears in a swirl of white smoke.

A moment later, a second swirl of smoke leaves the lad lying face-down on the deck at their feet, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Swan?”  Hook gapes and looks down at Emma, who retracts her arm and stares at her upturned palm in disbelief.

“What?”  She trembles.  “What just…?”

“Magic,” he breathes. He’d heard rumors that the Princess of Misthaven was secretly a sorceress, but he’d always taken the reports with a grain of salt, aware they might be the exaggerations of adoring subjects or lies spread by denied suitors.  

“Look out!” Martin booms behind them.

A shadow looms overhead, and they turn and gasp at the sight of the most massive wave Hook has ever seen cresting overhead, the roar of the water like impending doom as it rushes down upon them.  A profound fear like he’s never known seizes his heart, and he draws Emma closer to him, letting go of the line just long enough to wind it around his forearm.

“Hook?” she cries, terrified.

“Hold on to me!”

Her arms wind around him beneath his coat, and as she buries her face in his shoulder, he clutches her tighter and prays to whatever gods will listen for her salvation.  “Stay with me,” he whispers, his cheek pressed to her temple.

White smoke suddenly clouds his vision, obscuring the wave from sight, and the thunderous rush of the the water and the drone of the winds vanishes so quickly, he’d have thought himself struck deaf if not for the ongoing yelling around him.

Then the smoke dissipates, the darkness fades, and the Jolly heaves beneath their feet, surprised shouts ringing out from the crew as she drops a short distance and hits the water with an enormous boom.  

And then all falls still.

Hook lifts his head, still clutching Emma’s shaking form and his fingers stinging with rope burn as they continue to clench the line.  The early morning sky is the palest blue, and a strong but manageable wind whispers across their bow port to starboard.  He straightens slowly, baffled, and there’s only a moment to notice the dark storm clouds retreating to the east before Emma begins to shiver uncontrollably and buckles in his embrace.

“Swan?”  He lowers her gently to the deck, his brow bent with concern. “Are you alright?  Swan!”  

She gazes up at him with bleary eyes, and her face is white as a fresh sail as she pants, exhausted. “Hook?” she mumbles.  Her lids grow heavy, and she faints dead away.

 *             *             *

 He can feel it – the surge of energy in the distance.  He can feel it all over the Earth – the push-pull of magic – like a spider sitting atop a great web with his legs poised on the strands to sense the vibrations that register even from far, far away.  Not every shift registers with him, of course, but this, oh there’s no way to miss this.  Someone somewhere far from here has just done something significant, martialing a great amount of energy in the process, and he can sense the echoes of it, feel them like small waves generated by a remote tsunami.

He pauses his current task, setting the flasks in his hands down and turning his head to try to focus on the disturbance.  It smells like light magic, he thinks.  Fairies?  His mouth twists in a distasteful sneer.  He only knows of one other being powerful enough to generate light magic on that scale, and she’s indisposed.

Isn’t she?

Dismay lines his distinctive features as he turns to go consult his crystal.

 *             *             *

 The muted sound of another person moving about the room is the first thing to creep into Swan’s consciousness.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but I thought you might want some dinner.  You’ve hardly had anything to eat the last few days,” Thomas murmurs. There’s the sound of a tray sliding onto the table.

At her shoulder, Hook gives a low rumble of assent.

“Any change, sir?”

Familiar, calloused fingers slide over the back of her hand, and a heavy sigh is the Captain’s only response.

Thomas’ footsteps retreat, and the cabin door latches gently behind him.

Swan feels the comforting rise and fall of the ship and notes the softness of the Captain’s pillow beneath her head.  His bed. She’s in his bed.  How did she get here?  She gives a soft grunt and cracks an eye open.  The last rays of the setting sun supplement the lamplight that glows around the cabin, and a wind rustles through an open pane above her head, the warm air wafting across her skin like a caress.

“Swan?”  Hook’s voice rings with quiet disbelief.  His hand folds around hers, and his blurry silhouette sits forward in the chair he’s pulled up next to the bed.

She moves to squeeze his fingers back only to find her palm resting atop something smooth and hard. It takes her a few moments to recognize her sand dollar, and she turns her head toward him with a quiet moan as the muscles in her neck protest what seems to be their first movement in a while. Forcing her eyes further open, she blinks away the cobwebs, her forehead wrinkling as his haggard appearance comes gradually into focus.  He’s wearing only his shirt and trousers, gray circles line his eyes, his hair is a hand-raked mess, and he’s allowed his usual scruff to darken into a beard. “Hook?” she croaks.  Her mouth feels impossibly dry, and she recoils and tries to swallow.  “What happened to you?”

His brow twitches. “What do you mean?”

“You… look…” she searches for the right words, and her lips form a wry grin, “less dashing than usual.”

The smile that curves his mouth transforms him back into the man she knows.  “You must still have some sleep in your eyes, darling,” he croons. “I’m fairly certain I’m as handsome as ever.”

He is.  Bastard. Swan chuffs and rolls her eyes, savoring his chuckle.  She holds up the sand dollar and raises her brows in question.

His eyes grow oddly emotional, but he merely shrugs.  “What can I say, love?  A seafaring man doesn’t take superstitions lightly.”

She hums.  “I thought you said I make my own luck.”

“Aye, that you do,” he acquiesces with an affectionate grin, “but no harm in stacking the deck in your favor.”

Swan smirks. “Pirate.”  She motions for him to take it so she can push herself up to a sit with a groan, noting that she’s still in her shirt and trousers, her jerkin and gloves draped neatly over the back of a chair at the table and her hair down over her shoulder.

Hook sets the sand dollar out of the way and leaps to his feet.  “Easy now.”  He leans down and wraps her in a hug, gently hauling her upward in the bed.  The warmth of his strong arms feels like sunshine after a rain, and her fingers curl into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt of their own accord.  He pulls back much sooner than she wants, but the tenderness in his expression is enough to make her breath hitch, and her heart skips a beat as he gingerly reaches forward to loop a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.  Then he colors and hastily redirects his attention to building a mound of pillows for her to lean back on.  She collapses against them with a grateful sigh, and he clears his throat, turning toward his dinner tray and splashing a little wine into the goblet. “What do you remember?” he asks, setting it in her hand.

Swan contemplates his question as she drinks, the liquid heavenly on her parched tongue.  The corner of her nose wrinkles as she swallows away the rank taste of prolonged sleep.  “We were in the storm, and Thomas…”  Her eyes narrow with uncertainty over the top of the glass. “Did I save him?”

Hook resumes his seat, scooting around a bit to face her.  “You saved us all,” he corrects.  “Swan, you have magic.”

She blinks up at him anxiously, taking a small degree of comfort from the encouragement in his eyes before looking down at the palm of her free hand as though she’s never seen it before.  “I remember the wave,” she says haltingly, “And I thought…  I thought we…”  She bites her lip and tries to shake off the memory of that overwhelming fear.  Her hand falls on her belly, and she heaves a sigh, giving a shake of her head.  “And all I wanted was for the ship to be clear of the storm, and there was this…” her face scrunches up, “this rush and… and then we were there.”  She glances back at him for confirmation.

He nods.  “That’s when you passed out.”

She hums, taking some more wine.  “How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly three days.”

Her mouth falls open. “Three days?” she echoes.  Her eyes flit down to his jawline, a crease forming on her forehead.  “That explains your beard.  What’s happened?  Is the ship alright?”

“The ship is fine, Swan,” he assures her with a gentle grin.  “Waterlogged and in a bit of disarray, but you got us out in one piece.  We’ve had calm seas since.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction, but she cocks her head.  “So why do you look as if you haven’t slept?”

Hook scratches behind his ear and looks away.  “You aren’t the only one who’s allowed to worry.”

Understanding finally dawns, and her throat tightens, her brows peaking on her forehead.  “You’ve been here with me… for three days?”  She darts a glance at his chair.

He raises his weary eyes to hers, his face solemn.  “Aye.”

The intensity of his stare puts Swan’s heart in her throat, and she tears her gaze away from his, her lashes grazing her cheeks as she preoccupies herself with her hands. “Careful, Captain,” she says with a shaky smile.  “Your men are going to start to think you have feelings for me.”

There’s a moment of silence. “And what if I do?” he asks quietly.

She looks back up, startled, and tries to process the raw honesty in the shadows that dance across his face.

Hook rises, gently taking her cup and setting it aside.  She swallows hard and shifts over in the berth to make room as he seats himself on the edge of the mattress, gathering her hand in his and pausing, as though trying to decide what to say.  “Do you remember that first night we danced?” he asks at length.

Swan folds her lips, emotions welling up in her chest, and manages a small nod.

His gaze grows distant. “That was the first time I’d danced in over a hundred years,” he admits.  “The first time I’d felt like dancing since I lost Milah.”  He gives a rueful shake of his head.  “The truth is, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of her, never believed I could find someone else...”  He raises his eyes back up to hers, looking sad.  “That is, until I met you.”

She’s barely breathing, the extremes of happiness, apprehension, and surprise simultaneously washing over her as she listens desperately for the lie.  But it’s all truth.  She can feel it coming off of him in waves.  “Hook,” she murmurs weakly, “you don’t even know who I am.”  She bites her lip.  “Or what I am.”

His crow’s feet crinkle in that way she adores.  “Yes, I do,” he replies, the timbre of his words sending a shiver down her spine and his thumb drifting affectionately over her knuckles.  “You’re Emma, Princess of Misthaven.  Your powers are only further proof of that.  There have long been rumors that Snow White’s daughter was born with magic.”  He uses the curve of his hook to gently tip her chin upward so she meets his gaze.  “But you could be an orphaned beggar without any powers for all I care.  I know your heart, Swan,” he says, his blue eyes burning with conviction, “and I intend to win it.”

Swan blinks rapidly in the face of his stare, her emotions rising in her chest.  “You…”  she breathes, “you mean that.”

He nods.

The warmth of tears rushes upon her, and she looks away, her eyes falling to their joined hands and her brow wrinkling.  A sniffle escapes her.  “I didn’t think…  I mean, I don’t…”  She shakes her head again, the fingers of her free hand tracing the contours of his rings as she struggles to keep from dissolving into a blubbering mess.  When she glances back up, her heart melts at the wounded uncertainty that hints on his features, and she reaches out to palm the angle of his jaw, her thumb alighting fondly on his newest scar and her mouth curving into a tremulous smile.  “I don’t know if a princess is allowed to kiss a pirate.”  

Even without her memories, there’s no doubt that the way his face illuminates with awe is one of the most wonderful things she’s ever seen.  “I think,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, “when it comes to this pirate, Your Highness can do as she bloody well pleases.”

Swan bursts into nervous laughter and nods, winding her fingers into the collar of his shirt and hauling him forward, her lashes falling closed and a happy tear sliding down her cheek as she presses her lips softly to his.(*)

Suddenly she feels so many things at once she can scarcely process it all.  The glorious sensation of his mouth moving against hers becomes amplified by a rush that surges through her – the same kind of powerful, emotional rush she felt when she moved the Jolly.  It overwhelms her senses, and then the memories come, cascading upon her like a tidal wave, her mind so instantly saturated by images and thoughts and feelings that she gasps and blanches, her face contorting into a pained mask.

“Swan?”  Hook pulls back in alarm, his hand coming up to wrap around her shoulder.  “What is it?”

The mental onslaught ends as abruptly as it started, and her eyes spring wide.  She gapes at him in wonder, chest heaving.  “I remember,” she whispers.

His jaw drops.  “You remember?”

“I remember!”  Her voice cracks somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a relieved sob.

He cups her cheek, glowing with excitement.  “Emma,” he tries, searching her face.

“Yes.” She chuckles and nods vigorously.  “Emma.”

He crows with triumph and pulls her to him for another kiss, slanting his mouth across hers and stealing her breath with abandon this time while she sniffles, her body suffused with pure joy.  The enthusiastic press of his lips, the dive of his fingertips into her tangled tresses, the snake of his left arm around her waist – it’s as if he can’t get her close enough, and she mewls, completely content to let him possess her in whatever way he desires.

After what seems like an eternity (and not nearly long enough), they come up for air, their combined breaths hot and insistent.  Emma sucks one kiss-swollen lip between her teeth, feeling ridiculously giddy at the satisfied hum that emanates from his chest as he brushes his nose against hers and moves in to kiss her again.

Someone pounds on the door. “Captain!”

They break apart and freeze, swapping a chagrined look as the knocking persists.  Hook gives an impatient growl that makes Emma giggle before shooting an icy glare in the direction of the disturbance.  He huffs.  “Hold that thought,” he mutters, bumping his forehead softly against hers and stealing another quick kiss before he straightens, rotating to face the door and swiping his thumb at the corner of his mouth.  “Smee?”

The door bangs open, and the first mate lunges in.  “Did you see it?” he pants.  He skids to a halt when his enormous eyes fall on them.  “Milady!”  His face brightens.  “You’re awake!”

Emma smiles and gives a small nod.  

“Yes, she’s on the mend at last,” Hook concurs.  “Now what are you talking about?  What did you see?”

Smee seems to remember himself.  “The—the…” Smee gestures nondescriptly behind him, “The wind.  The light?  Like a rainbow?”  He looks back and forth between their blank expressions incredulously.  “It looked like magic, sir.  Went out in all directions from the Jolly.”  He glances at Emma anxiously.  “We thought perhaps Milady had something to do with it.”

Rainbow light.  Hook opens his mouth to protest, but Emma interjects, trying to keep her voice from wavering even while her heart starts to race.  “It’s alright, Mr. Smee,” she says.  “I… I think it was me.  But I’m fine now.”

His shoulders relax. “Are you sure, ma’am?” he asks, sounding concerned.  “Is there anything you need?”

She flashes an appreciative smile.  “Not right now.  But thank you.”

“Privacy tonight, Smee,” Hook orders.  “The Lady has been through an ordeal.  I’ll call if she requires anything.”

Smee nods.  “Shall we continue on course?”

“Aye.  Thank you.”

Smee gawks at the Captain’s expression of gratitude.  “You’re—you’re welcome, sir.  Ma’am,” he stammers, looking pleasantly confused as he slips out the door and pulls it shut behind him.

As soon as the latch clicks, Hook turns back toward her.  “What the devil was he talking about, Swan?”  

“Rainbow light,” Emma murmurs, her gaze far away.  “I’ve heard about something like that.”  She raises her eyes to him nervously.  “The dwarves say that’s what they saw when my father woke my mother with True Love’s Kiss.”  

Hook’s handsome face goes slack.  “Bloody hell.”  He stares at her, dumbfounded, and gathers her hand back up in his.  “So this…?  You…?” His voice threatens to crack, and he searches her with shining eyes.  “Do you actually…?”

Emma breaks out in a watery smile and nods, leaning forward to bury herself back in his arms with a contented sigh.  “I think so. I mean, you were right.  I’ve never been in love,” she concedes, her voice muffled against his shoulder.  “But this… I was so miserable thinking you’d never feel the same.”  She smiles as he reaches up to smoothe his hand over her hair.  “Plus, I guess it’s kind of hard to argue with a broken curse, huh?” she chuckles.

He rumbles against her. “What happened, Swan?  Who cursed you?”

Emma chuffs and pulls back a little, looking up at him sheepishly.  “I did.”

Thanks for reading!  Ready for the next chapter?  Click here!

[wemahboob-blog]

Tips and Tricks to Enjoy Cheap Home Insurance Quotes

Tips and Tricks to Enjoy Cheap Home Insurance Quotes:

A few decades ago, who could have thought that shopping for homeowners insurance could become so easy? Gone are the days when one had to spend hours together roaming to different insurance companies, calling them over and over again just to compare a few quotes from two or more of them. Online insurance shopping has made it very much convenient for the shoppers to sit in the comfort of their homes and compare quotes from various companies to find cheap homeowners insurance. One can easily back away from all the hassle and get hundreds of quotes, both from local and national insurance companies by simply giving away a few details.

With this said, some people may not really like to give away information online to look for cheap home insurance, because some tools ask for personal credentials as well. But, one need not worry about this issue anymore, because online tools these days just ask for the shopper's zip code and that's it, a whole list of quotes from well-known insurance companies from over 50 States will appear on the screen. This method of online shopping to search for cheap home insurance quotes is easy, quick and above all it is free.

Getting the best and cheap home insurance is something that every online shopper looks for. But in search for cheaper home insurance quotes, one should not miss the actual benefit of having homeowners insurance. A full coverage home insurance is a protection for one's home and the property within it. Hence, comparing insurance quotes simply based on their cheap rates is not worth it. One should be clever enough to identify affordable quotes that provide complete benefits of having a home insurance rather than just opting for some cheap homeowners insurance quotes that are not really worthy.

But one need not think that in order to avail a full coverage home insurance, one will have to pay too much of premiums. It is definitely possible to enjoy low cost homeowners insurance and at the same time get a decent coverage plan. In order to choose cheap homeowner insurance quotes, one must first be aware of what are the different types of coverage plans available and then finally decide on one that suits their needs the best.

What is Covered Under a Homeowners Insurance Policy? According to Insurance Information Institute (III), homeowners insurance is divided into different categories, which are denoted as HO-1, HO-2, HO-3, HO-4, and so on until HO-8. Of all these policies the first type, i.e. HO-1 is no longer available as it provides very basic coverage scheme. The other policies are discussed below: HO-2 and HO-3: These two policies are the most prevalent ones. The HO-2 policy is also known as 'broad-form policy' and HO-3 as 'special-form policy'. People having these types of coverage can claim for money in any of the following 16 situations: 1. Damage caused due to current shocks generated artificially. 2. Unexpected damage caused due to aircraft 3. Vehicle rampages that damage the house 4. Damage due to falling objects 5. Damage to the house due to heavy snowfall, ice or due to the weight of sleet 6. Lightning or fire blasts 7. Damage due to Volcanoes 8. Windstorm damages 9. Unpredictable blasts 10. Damage caused due to excessive smoke 11. Malicious mischief 12. Loss of possessions due to stealth/theft 13. Damage to the house or other possessions due to riots or rallies 14. Accidental damage such as cracks or swollen appearance of appliances such as air conditioners, water heaters, and fire-protectors. 15. Damage caused to home appliances due to extreme cold weathers resulting in their freezing. 16. Damages due to steam or water leakage from water heaters, air conditioners, fire-protectors or other appliances. While both HO-2 and HO-3 provide coverage for damages caused due to above 16 issues, but there is a small difference that makes one more advantageous over the other. The HO-2 policy does not provide coverage for damages apart from the above list. Whereas, the HO-3 policy not only covers the above-listed damages, but will also provide coverage for any other type of damage as well, except a few natural disasters such as earthquakes, floods, and other severe issues such as nuclear disasters, wars, and pests. HO-5: This policy is similar to HO-3, but with an extension that it provides coverage for one's possessions in the house as well. Special Policies: HO-4: This policy is special in the fact that it provides coverage for renters. HO-6: Coverage for condo owners can be availed by opting for this policy. HO-7: If one is in search of cheap mobile home insurance, then the HO-7 policy is the right choice. HO-8: If the house one lives in is an old construction, then choosing HO-8 policy will help them to avail cheap home insurance. What damages are not covered? The following are the damages that are not covered by any type of home insurance and require separate policies for protection: ● Earthquakes ● Landslides ● Sinkholes ● Floods ● Sewage damages ● Damages due to negligence ● Damages due to pests How to Calculate Home Insurance? Another important element to finding affordable homeowners insurance is to know how much insurance one would actually need. This estimation will help the homeowner to have an idea of the cost for damages or loss of possession; he/she can face in case of any calamity and then appropriately judge the amount of home insurance one should avail. Here are the basic steps using which one can estimate one's home insurance: ● The first step in order to calculate one's homeowners insurance is to estimate the total cost of rebuilding one's home after heavy damage. This calculation should be done by considering all the costs at the rates one has built the home. ● Secondly, one should estimate the total cost of all the possessions that one might think would be damaged in case of any disasters. Experts suggest that the cost of possessions or property should generally amount up to 50-75% of the rebuilding cost of one's home. For instance, if one estimates the rebuilding cost as $250,000, then the cost for possessions should be estimated as $125,000. Also, expensive jewelry or artifacts will require additional coverage. ● The next step is to calculate the liability coverage, i.e. the amount one would be liable to pay if someone gets injured on the homeowner's property. This amount could range between $100,000 and $500,000. ● The final step is to estimate the extra charges one might face. This includes damage due to natural disasters that are not covered by home insurance policies. Hence, a careful examination and estimation of all the points discussed above can help one to get the best and cheap home insurance possible, while enjoying the maximum benefits.

www.fitbeautysalon.com

[swipestream]

The Five Minute Bard: Resources to Create Sharp Concepts in No Time Flat

Image Courtesy of Pixabay “I’d like to teach the world to sing, but they’re all tone deaf.”

If your table is anything like mine, bards are primarily known for romancing their way out of combat encounters, only to have to then combat their way out of those romance encounters when plans inevitably go awry. There’s nothing wrong with that if your group enjoys following the exploits of your own personal pratfalling Mata Hari, but bards have a lot of potential to deepen gameplay in other ways. This article explores a few ways that bards can uniquely add to your game.

Musical Plot Lines

All over the world, since long before the advent of widespread literacy, song, poetry, and performance have been used to remember the history of nations and heroes; there’s no reason why in games such epics (and the rascals who know them well) can’t provide context for the rivalry between royal families, hints about the weaknesses of an ancient evil stirring after centuries of slumber, or even direct instructions as to how to make it through a trapped dungeon. Fantasy writers from J. R. R. Tolkien all the way to George R. R. Martin and N. K. Jemisin continue to use ancient stories, songs, and phrases in this way to flesh out the worlds of their novels (in particular, Jemisin’s Stone Lore could drive an entire campaign just by itself).

Songs are great for this purpose, as they can be scattered earlier in a campaign (or even a session) in the background, providing foreshadowing or clues for players without necessarily being obvious about doing so.

…[songs] can be scattered earlier in a campaign (or even a session) in the background, providing foreshadowing or clues for players without necessarily being obvious about doing so.

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For a non-fantasy example, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson did a great job with his “Dead Man’s Chest” song. The few lines from the novel were later expanded into a poem/song by Young E. Allison, and it’s well worth listening to the whole tune if you ever need to populate a sunken pirate ship with a bunch of undead with distinct and gruesome wounds.

As much fun as Treasure Island is though, my favorite source for musical inspiration will always be the Roud Folk Song Index. This catalog of English-language folk songs has tens of thousands of entries tailor-made for the fantasy gaming table, though many of the songs have topics and language that you may not want at your table. These songs have the advantage of usually being just obscure enough for your players to not already be familiar with them, but omnipresent enough to be vaguely familiar — songs as recent and popular as “The Streets of Laredo” and “Scarborough Fair” descend directly from entries in this index.

…songs as recent and popular as “The Streets of Laredo” and “Scarborough Fair” descend directly from entries in [the Roud Folk Song Index]. 

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If you want to jump in right away, my favorite songs from the early list are “Three Ravens/Twa Corbies,” “Two Sisters/The Wind and Rain,” “Cruel Lincoln,” “The Elfin Knight,” and “The Female Highwayman.” Any one of these songs can pretty much be dropped into a campaign unchanged to add a subplot or additional character, and it’s well worth diving into them — at the end of this article are a couple of resources to help you do so if you want.

Tactical Cacophony: the Music of Battle

In most if not all tabletop games, bards are simultaneously performers and magic wielders, capable of turning the tide of battle with either their music or their spells. This role is well-supported by old legends about bards, though like most low-level bards in modern games, apparently they spent much of their time insulting rats to death.

…like most low-level bards in modern games, apparently [mythological bards] spent much of their time insulting rats to death. 

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For a more grounded approach, you can also consider bringing in more martial applications of music. Horns, fifes (single-tube pipes), drums, and bagpipe music are all well-known accompaniments to ancient battles, providing everything from marching cadence to tactical signaling. These real-world examples can be a great illustration of and justification for Bardic Inspiration and similar powers for those groups that prefer to have detailed or evocative descriptions of these powers in action.

More spectacularly, bards may have access to instruments that serve a secondary function as weapons (or vice-versa). Using real world examples, bards could be familiar with a shakuhachi or a musical bow. The shakuhachi is a nearly two-foot-long flute with a heavy, bulbous tip. Played as a form of meditation, by some accounts, this instrument could also be used as an effective bludgeoning weapon, making it easier to smuggle into areas where characters are expected to disarm.

Musical bows are either dedicated instruments or converted hunting bows that are also a stringed percussion instrument with the addition of a resonator.

Of course, if your DM is more whimsical (or forgiving), bards always have the option of a flamethrower guitar or a guitar shotgun (if your group allows the guitar shotgun, let me know if you’re looking for a player).

Extra Credit: Bringing Custom Music to the Table

Okay, to be clear, obsession with bards aside, I have all the musical and rhythmic talent of a harmonica in a clothes dryer. The last time I tried to sing in public, the guy running the karaoke turned off my mic.

…I have all the musical and rhythmic talent of a harmonica in a clothes dryer. The last time I tried to sing in public, the guy running the karaoke turned off my mic. 

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Originally, I was going to try to learn how to play the ukulele and re-do “Twa Corbies” for this article, but apparently, you can only learn that instrument in an hour if you have some minuscule fraction of ability to begin with. I have never been so disappointed in Amanda Palmer (NSFW language in video).

If you (unlike me) know one end of a musical instrument from another, doing something cool and ambitious like writing alternate lyrics to something from the Roud Folk Song Index would probably be pretty awesome. But if you can already do that, you probably wouldn’t be reading something called “The Five Minute Bard,” so let’s move on, shall we?

For those of us who don’t already have a great deal of ability, but want to come up with fun little tunes for our gaming groups, there’s something called Common Meter or Ballad Meter “tune swapping.” Songs using common meter (and there are a lot of them) use the same rhythm and rhyme patterns, meaning they can easily be swapped out for one another. This can be a fun party trick (singing Emily Dickinson’s “Because I Could Not Stop for Death” to the tune of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme is a hoot no matter how you look at it), but it also means you have a library of tunes and lyrics you can swap out with one another without any of your players realizing it. Here is an interactive example. A small selection of songs or poems in ballad meter is below:

“Greensleeves”

“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”

“I Just Can’t Wait to be King” from “The Lion King”

“The House of the Rising Sun”

“Oh, Susanna”

“Yankee Doodle”

“America the Beautiful”

“Amazing Grace”

“The Yellow Rose of Texas”

Pretty much any famous Emily Dickinson poem

The Pokemon Season 1 theme song

So with that in mind: a super quick-and-dirty (and entirely untested) method for creating music for your group:

Identify what you want to sing about.

Identify a tune you like, or a couple of them from the list above. Mash them together or hum them until you’re comfortable with the results.

Shamelessly raid the lyrics of the other songs in the list for turns of phrase you like, and shoehorn them in.

Where necessary, swap out words to hide the source of your song or create new rhymes. If you’re looking for a quick and dirty way to hide clumsy rhymes, be sure to use the word you’re trying to rhyme with as the second word, and the clumsy imperfect word as the first one. So if you’re trying to rhyme with “mockery,” but can’t think of anything to rhyme it with other than “crockery”, you would do something like “The battle raged among the crockery/until the villain lost through vicious mockery” (Thanks to Rachel F. for that hot tip).

Bask in the admiration of your gaming group. Or dodge thrown shoes, depending on your level of ability and the patience of your adventuring party.

Bards aren’t everyone’s favorite character class, but for those of us prone to a certain amount of mischief and scenery-chewing, they’re just too much fun to pass up. Hopefully some of these tools make it to your table, whether in the form of new tools for your bards to use, or in musically-themed adventures.

For those of you who play bards in your own games (or cringe at others who do), what do the bards in your home game bring to the table that no one else does? How do you make your games more musical?

Resources:

Every Folk Song: a podcast that promises to go through every song on the Roud Folk Song Index until the host gets tired of doing so — even though it only gets to song 11 (“The Baffled Knight”) it’s still a darn good podcast.

My personal Spotify playlist for the Roud Folk Song Index. This is a selection of my favorite versions of some of the first songs in the Roud Folk Song Index.

Learn to Play the Ukulele: Maybe you’ll do better than I did? Let me know your secret if you do.

Rhyming Dictionary: Because most of us can’t rhyme “the elves are attacking” without a little bit of Internet help.

The Five Minute Bard: Resources to Create Sharp Concepts in No Time Flat published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

[kayawagner]

The Five Minute Bard: Resources to Create Sharp Concepts in No Time Flat

Image Courtesy of Pixabay “I’d like to teach the world to sing, but they’re all tone deaf.”

If your table is anything like mine, bards are primarily known for romancing their way out of combat encounters, only to have to then combat their way out of those romance encounters when plans inevitably go awry. There’s nothing wrong with that if your group enjoys following the exploits of your own personal pratfalling Mata Hari, but bards have a lot of potential to deepen gameplay in other ways. This article explores a few ways that bards can uniquely add to your game.

Musical Plot Lines

All over the world, since long before the advent of widespread literacy, song, poetry, and performance have been used to remember the history of nations and heroes; there’s no reason why in games such epics (and the rascals who know them well) can’t provide context for the rivalry between royal families, hints about the weaknesses of an ancient evil stirring after centuries of slumber, or even direct instructions as to how to make it through a trapped dungeon. Fantasy writers from J. R. R. Tolkien all the way to George R. R. Martin and N. K. Jemisin continue to use ancient stories, songs, and phrases in this way to flesh out the worlds of their novels (in particular, Jemisin’s Stone Lore could drive an entire campaign just by itself).

Songs are great for this purpose, as they can be scattered earlier in a campaign (or even a session) in the background, providing foreshadowing or clues for players without necessarily being obvious about doing so.

…[songs] can be scattered earlier in a campaign (or even a session) in the background, providing foreshadowing or clues for players without necessarily being obvious about doing so.

Share8

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For a non-fantasy example, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson did a great job with his “Dead Man’s Chest” song. The few lines from the novel were later expanded into a poem/song by Young E. Allison, and it’s well worth listening to the whole tune if you ever need to populate a sunken pirate ship with a bunch of undead with distinct and gruesome wounds.

As much fun as Treasure Island is though, my favorite source for musical inspiration will always be the Roud Folk Song Index. This catalog of English-language folk songs has tens of thousands of entries tailor-made for the fantasy gaming table, though many of the songs have topics and language that you may not want at your table. These songs have the advantage of usually being just obscure enough for your players to not already be familiar with them, but omnipresent enough to be vaguely familiar — songs as recent and popular as “The Streets of Laredo” and “Scarborough Fair” descend directly from entries in this index.

…songs as recent and popular as “The Streets of Laredo” and “Scarborough Fair” descend directly from entries in [the Roud Folk Song Index]. 

Share8

Tweet1

+11

Reddit1

Email

If you want to jump in right away, my favorite songs from the early list are “Three Ravens/Twa Corbies,” “Two Sisters/The Wind and Rain,” “Cruel Lincoln,” “The Elfin Knight,” and “The Female Highwayman.” Any one of these songs can pretty much be dropped into a campaign unchanged to add a subplot or additional character, and it’s well worth diving into them — at the end of this article are a couple of resources to help you do so if you want.

Tactical Cacophony: the Music of Battle

In most if not all tabletop games, bards are simultaneously performers and magic wielders, capable of turning the tide of battle with either their music or their spells. This role is well-supported by old legends about bards, though like most low-level bards in modern games, apparently they spent much of their time insulting rats to death.

…like most low-level bards in modern games, apparently [mythological bards] spent much of their time insulting rats to death. 

Share8

Tweet1

+11

Reddit1

Email

For a more grounded approach, you can also consider bringing in more martial applications of music. Horns, fifes (single-tube pipes), drums, and bagpipe music are all well-known accompaniments to ancient battles, providing everything from marching cadence to tactical signaling. These real-world examples can be a great illustration of and justification for Bardic Inspiration and similar powers for those groups that prefer to have detailed or evocative descriptions of these powers in action.

More spectacularly, bards may have access to instruments that serve a secondary function as weapons (or vice-versa). Using real world examples, bards could be familiar with a shakuhachi or a musical bow. The shakuhachi is a nearly two-foot-long flute with a heavy, bulbous tip. Played as a form of meditation, by some accounts, this instrument could also be used as an effective bludgeoning weapon, making it easier to smuggle into areas where characters are expected to disarm.

Musical bows are either dedicated instruments or converted hunting bows that are also a stringed percussion instrument with the addition of a resonator.

Of course, if your DM is more whimsical (or forgiving), bards always have the option of a flamethrower guitar or a guitar shotgun (if your group allows the guitar shotgun, let me know if you’re looking for a player).

Extra Credit: Bringing Custom Music to the Table

Okay, to be clear, obsession with bards aside, I have all the musical and rhythmic talent of a harmonica in a clothes dryer. The last time I tried to sing in public, the guy running the karaoke turned off my mic.

…I have all the musical and rhythmic talent of a harmonica in a clothes dryer. The last time I tried to sing in public, the guy running the karaoke turned off my mic. 

Share8

Tweet1

+11

Reddit1

Email

Originally, I was going to try to learn how to play the ukulele and re-do “Twa Corbies” for this article, but apparently, you can only learn that instrument in an hour if you have some minuscule fraction of ability to begin with. I have never been so disappointed in Amanda Palmer (NSFW language in video).

If you (unlike me) know one end of a musical instrument from another, doing something cool and ambitious like writing alternate lyrics to something from the Roud Folk Song Index would probably be pretty awesome. But if you can already do that, you probably wouldn’t be reading something called “The Five Minute Bard,” so let’s move on, shall we?

For those of us who don’t already have a great deal of ability, but want to come up with fun little tunes for our gaming groups, there’s something called Common Meter or Ballad Meter “tune swapping.” Songs using common meter (and there are a lot of them) use the same rhythm and rhyme patterns, meaning they can easily be swapped out for one another. This can be a fun party trick (singing Emily Dickinson’s “Because I Could Not Stop for Death” to the tune of the “Gilligan’s Island” theme is a hoot no matter how you look at it), but it also means you have a library of tunes and lyrics you can swap out with one another without any of your players realizing it. Here is an interactive example. A small selection of songs or poems in ballad meter is below:

“Greensleeves”

“God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”

“I Just Can’t Wait to be King” from “The Lion King”

“The House of the Rising Sun”

“Oh, Susanna”

“Yankee Doodle”

“America the Beautiful”

“Amazing Grace”

“The Yellow Rose of Texas”

Pretty much any famous Emily Dickinson poem

The Pokemon Season 1 theme song

So with that in mind: a super quick-and-dirty (and entirely untested) method for creating music for your group:

Identify what you want to sing about.

Identify a tune you like, or a couple of them from the list above. Mash them together or hum them until you’re comfortable with the results.

Shamelessly raid the lyrics of the other songs in the list for turns of phrase you like, and shoehorn them in.

Where necessary, swap out words to hide the source of your song or create new rhymes. If you’re looking for a quick and dirty way to hide clumsy rhymes, be sure to use the word you’re trying to rhyme with as the second word, and the clumsy imperfect word as the first one. So if you’re trying to rhyme with “mockery,” but can’t think of anything to rhyme it with other than “crockery”, you would do something like “The battle raged among the crockery/until the villain lost through vicious mockery” (Thanks to Rachel F. for that hot tip).

Bask in the admiration of your gaming group. Or dodge thrown shoes, depending on your level of ability and the patience of your adventuring party.

Bards aren’t everyone’s favorite character class, but for those of us prone to a certain amount of mischief and scenery-chewing, they’re just too much fun to pass up. Hopefully some of these tools make it to your table, whether in the form of new tools for your bards to use, or in musically-themed adventures.

For those of you who play bards in your own games (or cringe at others who do), what do the bards in your home game bring to the table that no one else does? How do you make your games more musical?

Resources:

Every Folk Song: a podcast that promises to go through every song on the Roud Folk Song Index until the host gets tired of doing so — even though it only gets to song 11 (“The Baffled Knight”) it’s still a darn good podcast.

My personal Spotify playlist for the Roud Folk Song Index. This is a selection of my favorite versions of some of the first songs in the Roud Folk Song Index.

Learn to Play the Ukulele: Maybe you’ll do better than I did? Let me know your secret if you do.

Rhyming Dictionary: Because most of us can’t rhyme “the elves are attacking” without a little bit of Internet help.

The Five Minute Bard: Resources to Create Sharp Concepts in No Time Flat published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

[gamerzcourt]

Microtransactions, Explained: Here's What You Need To KnowMicrotransactions, Explained: Here's What You Need To Knowvideo games

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Microtransactions, Explained: Here's What You Need To KnowMicrotransactions, Explained: Here's What You Need To Knowvideo games

The topic of microtransactions dominated the headlines of video game news in the second half of 2017. EA’s Star Wars Battlefront II was a shining example of things going wrong, with a developer pushing too far and ultimately needing to apologise and reverse course. Battlefront II reignited the conversation around microtransactions, including loot boxes and other systems. But what are microtransactions, how do they work, and where are they going? To help make sense of the matter, we’ve put together a primer of sorts to help you understand the basic definitions, context, realities of why microtransactions exist, and more.

What Are Microtransactions?

There is no one catch-all definition for microtransactions that perfectly encapsulates and represents the term. But generally speaking, a microtransaction is anything you pay extra for in a video game outside of the initial purchase. For example, Activision’s Call of Duty series offers microtransactions in the form of in-game currency called Call of Duty Points for extra items like weapon camos. Overwatch sells Credits that you can use to purchase cosmetic items. The FIFA franchise sells FIFA Points for Ultimate Team.

The name derives from the fact that, oftentimes, a microtransaction purchase is small in price and function, typically no more than $ 10. Lower-priced microtransactions in the range of 99 cents to $ 10 may make up the bulk of sales, but it’s not the only option. Many games, on console, PC, and mobile, offer “micro” transactions that cost up to $ 100 or in some cases even more.

Microtransactions are extremely commonplace in video games today. In fact, it is often more newsworthy when a game does not have microtransactions. But not every game handles them the same way.

Why So Controversial?

The word “microtransaction” oftentimes conjures up memories of the worst, most player-unfriendly applications of the business practice. Just recently, EA found itself in hot water because Star Wars Battlefront II was set to allow you to purchase loot boxes with real money. These loot boxes can include items and abilities that actually affect gameplay, so some gamers saw this as a move towards a pay-to-win scenario.

The idea is that if you paid enough money, you could eventually acquire weapons and upgrades that would give you an advantage on the playing field. This was obviously met with a huge amount of criticism, and EA decided to pull the plug hours before launch. Microtransactions are coming back to Battlefront II, but it remains to be seen in what form.

Blizzard’s popular hero shooter Overwatch allows players to purchase loot boxes with real money as well. But the big difference is that those loot boxes only contain cosmetic items–that is, items that do not affect gameplay in any manner. Another element at play is the difference between microtransactions in full-priced games versus free-to-play titles. For free-to-play games, the business model is entirely dependent on people spending money on microtransactions, so microtransactions are expected. That’s typically the only way they make money.

Epic’s new Battle Royale game Fortnite: Battle Royale is a free download, but you can spend money on all manner of cosmetic items such as emotes and skins to customise your character. None of these items affect gameplay. Some developers will make the argument that free-to-play, as a business model, is the most democratic because if the developer doesn’t create content that’s compelling enough, people won’t spend money and the game will fail.

Some say it is icky for big-budget, AAA games to ask for more money beyond the initial sale price, which can be $ 60 or more depending on where you live and what you’re after. Developers like Ubisoft and Activision will point out that microtransactions in games like Assassin’s Creed Origins and Call of Duty: WWII are completely optional, and because they do not impact gameplay–or, if they do, are limited to single-player–they don’t affect balance or the general integrity of the game. If you want armour for your horse, buy it. Want a weed camo skin for your gun? You can buy it. Being able to craft a character that is uniquely you is part of the appeal of many games today. The issue for some is that games now offer the ability to buy content that, in the past, might have been included right away. Publishers might counter that the price of games has not gone up, despite inflation and rising development costs.

Legislative Action

In the wake of the controversy around Star Wars Battlefront II, lawmakers and regulatory bodies from around the world are taking a closer look at loot boxes to decide if action should be taken. The principle directive among these people and groups is to determine if loot boxes–which offer up a random reward–constitute a form of gambling. And if they are deemed to be a form of gambling, that could mean they are subject to the same or similar restrictions as casinos and the lottery. The idea is that you would have to be a certain age to buy a game with loot box mechanics.

A state representative from Hawaii has already submitted multiple bills into his local legislature in which he voiced his concerns about loot boxes and proposed that a law be enacted that bans the sale of video games with “gambling-like mechanisms” to people under the age of 21. This could be a landmark piece of legislation. While if it became law it would only apply to games sold in Hawaii, it could set a precedent for other states and countries to follow. Indeed, lawmakers in Indiana and Washington have put forth bills with similar language, while US Senator Maggie Hassan (D-NH) has called on the ESRB to review its practices and policies surrounding games with loot boxes.

In response to this request, the ESRB just recently announced that it will introduce a new label on some games with microtransaction systems. The overall goal is to inform consumers–and in particular, parents–about which games offer a way to spend additional real-world money from right within the game itself, but whether it will be effective is unclear. The ESRB’s new label, which will read “In-Game Purchases,” will be located near the rating category (E for Everyone, M for Mature, etc.) but will not be housed inside the same box as content descriptors (Sexual Content, Comic Mischief, etc.). The ESRB expects games to begin arriving in stores with the new label in the “near future.” This will coincide with the launch of a new website intended to inform parents about the ESRB’s ratings system, how in-game purchases work, and how to use parental tools to control what and how children play games. The new label will offer no specifics about the type of in-game purchases available so as to avoid overwhelming parents with too much information, the ESRB says.

The Entertainment Software Association, which lobbies on behalf of the video game industry, has a different idea. It would rather see self-regulation by video game groups like the ESRB than the kind of government-mandated changes that the lawmakers are proposing. This reaction is understandable, as a law that would, even in some small way, limit the sale of video games is not something that the ESA would so easily or willingly get behind. It is important to note that while legislation motions are in action, it is in the very early stages, and statistics show that the overwhelming majority of bills never become law on a state and federal level. Still, there is a discussion to be had on the topic, and it is a healthy one. In China, regulators have mandated that games with loot boxes clearly and transparently disclose odds–and games like Overwatch are compliant.

What Analysts Are Saying

Microtransactions are a relatively new addition to the video game business model. Video game analysts, who analyse trends and report back to clients to help them make investment decisions, generally agree that microtransactions are here to stay. Daniel Ahmad, who works for Niko Partners, said as much earlier this month when commenting on Activision Blizzard’s $ 4 billion in microtransaction revenue in 2017. “It further goes to show that add on content such as DLC, Season Passes, Microtransactions, and other post-launch monetisation content is becoming increasingly accepted and desired across console and PC, just like it has been on mobile for some time,” he explained at the time.

Why Do Developers Use Microtransactions?

The first and most obvious reason is that microtransactions have proven to be hugely and consistently lucrative. Almost every major video game publisher now reports microtransaction revenue; Activision Blizzard reported $ 4 billion in revenue from microtransactions in 2017 alone. Ubisoft said in a recent earnings report that digital add-on content is highly attractive because it can be produced quickly and cheaply. Not only that, but any form of digital sale is highly attractive to publishers because the margin ratios–that is, the difference between what the item costs and how much it costs to produce relative to revenue and profit–are excellent. There is no physical box to sell for a microtransaction.

Even with platform holders like Sony and Microsoft taking their usual 30 percent cut, microtransactions make a lot of money for publishers. Almost every major publisher that discloses microtransaction revenue has reported year-over-year increases, so you can expect publishers to continue this effort going forward. Take-Two, whose labels include Rockstar and 2K Games, has said it wants to have some form of “recurrent consumer spending” in every game that it makes. And that would include this year’s highly anticipated western, Red Dead Redemption 2.

Microtransactions are also attractive to publishers because, as video games become more expensive to produce, revenue from microtransactions can help offset the development cost of the main game. The price of a full-priced game went up from $ 50 to $ 60 during the Xbox to Xbox 360 and PS2 to PS3 transition, but no such price hike happened in the next generation. Developers like Ubisoft are now releasing fewer games but supporting those titles for a longer period of time with new content, some of which is paid. As an example, Ubisoft shipped Rainbow Six Siege in 2015, and instead of making a sequel, the developer plans to use the games-as-a-service model to support the game. The developers of Rocket League and PUBG are following a similar trajectory, and you can expect other games and franchises to follow suit in the future.

What’s The Future For Microtransactions?

Every major publisher in video games is already investing in microtransaction systems, and as mentioned, they bring in lots of money and at a high margin. You can therefore expect microtransaction systems to continue to exist and grow in ubiquity. Some publishers are saying the right things, like EA, whose CEO Andrew Wilson is promising that microtransactions need to feel “right” and player-friendly. Ubisoft said the same thing recently when questioned about loot boxes and microtransactions in Rainbow Six Siege. The game’s brand director made the case that Ubisoft’s golden rule about loot boxes is that the items they contain should never impact gameplay in any way whatsoever. What happens in practice at EA, Ubisoft, and other publishers remains to be seen. But what is clear is that microtransactions are here to stay.

GameSpot News

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Here Come the Fake Videos, Too

The scene opened on a room with a red sofa, a potted plant and the kind of bland modern art you’d see on a therapist’s wall.

In the room was Michelle Obama, or someone who looked exactly like her. Wearing a low-cut top with a black bra visible underneath, she writhed lustily for the camera and flashed her unmistakable smile.

Then, the former first lady’s doppelgänger began to strip.

The video, which appeared on the online forum Reddit, was what’s known as a “deepfake” — an ultrarealistic fake video made with artificial intelligence software. It was created using a program called FakeApp, which superimposed Mrs. Obama’s face onto the body of a pornographic film actress. The hybrid was uncanny — if you didn’t know better, you might have thought it was really her.

Until recently, realistic computer-generated video was a laborious pursuit available only to big-budget Hollywood productions or cutting-edge researchers. Social media apps like Snapchat include some rudimentary face-morphing technology.

But in recent months, a community of hobbyists has begun experimenting with more powerful tools, including FakeApp — a program that was built by an anonymous developer using open-source software written by Google. FakeApp makes it free and relatively easy to create realistic face swaps and leave few traces of manipulation. Since a version of the app appeared on Reddit in January, it has been downloaded more than 120,000 times, according to its creator.

Deepfakes are one of the newest forms of digital media manipulation, and one of the most obviously mischief-prone. It’s not hard to imagine this technology’s being used to smear politicians, create counterfeit revenge porn or frame people for crimes. Lawmakers have already begun to worry about how deepfakes could be used for political sabotage and propaganda.

Even on morally lax sites like Reddit, deepfakes have raised eyebrows. Recently, FakeApp set off a panic after Motherboard, the technology site, reported that people were using it to create pornographic deepfakes of celebrities. Pornhub, Twitter and other sites quickly banned the videos, and Reddit closed a handful of deepfake groups, including one with nearly 100,000 members.

Before the Reddit deepfake groups were closed, they hosted a mixture of users trading video-editing tips and showing off their latest forgeries. A post titled “3D face reconstruction for additional angles” sat next to videos with titles like “(Not) Olivia Wilde playing with herself.”

Some users on Reddit defended deepfakes and blamed the media for overhyping their potential for harm. Others moved their videos to alternative platforms, rightly anticipating that Reddit would crack down under its rules against nonconsensual pornography. And a few expressed moral qualms about putting the technology into the world.

Then, they kept making more.

The deepfake creator community is now in the internet’s shadows. But while out in the open, it gave an unsettling peek into the future.

“This is turning into an episode of Black Mirror,” wrote one Reddit user. The post raised the ontological questions at the heart of the deepfake debate: Does a naked image of Person A become a naked image of Person B if Person B’s face is superimposed in a seamless and untraceable way? In a broader sense, on the internet, what is the difference between representation and reality?

The user then signed off with a shrug: “Godspeed rebels.”

Making Deepfakes

After lurking for several weeks in Reddit’s deepfake community, I decided to see how easy it was to create a (safe for work, nonpornographic) deepfake using my own face.

I started by downloading FakeApp and enlisting two technical experts to help me. The first was Mark McKeague, a colleague in The New York Times’s research and development department. The second was a deepfake creator I found through Reddit, who goes by the nickname Derpfakes.

Because of the controversial nature of deepfakes, Derpfakes would not give his or her real name. Derpfakes started posting deepfake videos on YouTube a few weeks ago, specializing in humorous offerings like Nicolas Cage playing Superman. The account has also posted some how-to videos on deepfake creation.

What I learned is that making a deepfake isn’t simple. But it’s not rocket science, either.

The first step is to find, or rent, a moderately powerful computer. FakeApp uses a suite of machine learning tools called TensorFlow, which was developed by Google’s A.I. division and released to the public in 2015. The software teaches itself to perform image-recognition tasks through trial and error. The more processing power on hand, the faster it works.

To get more speed, Mark and I used a remote server rented through Google Cloud Platform. It provided enough processing power to cut the time frame down to hours, rather than the days or weeks it might take on my laptop.

Once Mark set up the remote server and loaded FakeApp on it, we were on to the next step: data collection.

Picking the right source data is crucial. Short video clips are easier to manipulate than long clips, and scenes shot at a single angle produce better results than scenes with multiple angles. Genetics also help. The more the faces resemble each other, the better.

I’m a brown-haired white man with a short beard, so Mark and I decided to try several other brown-haired, stubbled white guys. We started with Ryan Gosling. (Aim high, right?) I also sent Derpfakes, my outsourced Reddit expert, several video options to choose from.

Next, we took several hundred photos of my face, and gathered images of Mr. Gosling’s face using a clip from a recent TV appearance. FakeApp uses these images to train the deep learning model and teach it to emulate our facial expressions.

To get the broadest photo set possible, I twisted my head at different angles, making as many different faces as I could.

Mark then used a program to crop those images down, isolating just our faces, and manually deleted any blurred or badly cropped photos. He then fed the frames into FakeApp. In all, we used 417 photos of me, and 1,113 of Mr. Gosling.

When the images were ready, Mark pressed “start” on FakeApp, and the training began. His computer screen filled with images of my face and Mr. Gosling’s face, as the program tried to identify patterns and similarities.

About eight hours later, after our model had been sufficiently trained, Mark used FakeApp to finish putting my face on Mr. Gosling’s body. The video was blurry and bizarre, and Mr. Gosling’s face occasionally flickered into view. Only the legally blind would mistake the person in the video for me.

We did better with a clip of Chris Pratt, the scruffy star of “Jurassic World,” whose face shape is a little more similar to mine. For this test, Mark used a bigger data set — 1,861 photos of me, 1,023 of him — and let the model run overnight.

A few days later, Derpfakes, who had also been training a model, sent me a finished deepfake made using the footage I had sent and a video of the actor Jake Gyllenhaal. This one was much more lifelike, a true hybrid that mixed my facial features with his hair, beard and body.

Derpfakes repeated the process with videos of Jimmy Kimmel and Liev Schreiber, both of which turned out well. As an experienced deepfake creator, Derpfakes had a more intuitive sense of which source videos would produce a clean result, and more experience with the subtle blending and tweaking that takes place at the end of the deepfake process.

In all, our deepfake experiment took three days and cost $85.96 in Google Cloud Platform credits. That seemed like a small price to pay for stardom.

What the App’s Creator Says

After the experiment, I reached out to the anonymous creator of FakeApp through an email address on its website. I wanted to know how it felt to create a cutting-edge A.I. tool, only to have it gleefully co-opted by ethically challenged pornographers.

A man wrote back, identifying himself as a software developer in Maryland. Like Derpfakes, the man would not give me his full name, and instead went by his first initial, N. He said he had created FakeApp as a creative experiment and was chagrined to see Reddit’s deepfake community use it for ill.

“I joined the community based around these algorithms when it was very small (less than 500 people),” he wrote, “and as soon as I saw the results I knew this was brilliant tech that should be accessible to anyone who wants to play around with it. I figured I’d take a shot at putting together an easy-to-use package to accomplish that.”

N. said he didn’t support the use of FakeApp to create nonconsensual pornography or other abusive content. And he said he agreed with Reddit’s decision to ban explicit deepfakes. But he defended the product.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he said, “and ultimately I’ve decided I don’t think it’s right to condemn the technology itself — which can of course be used for many purposes, good and bad.”

FakeApp is somewhat finicky and hard to use, but it’s easy to imagine it improving quickly. N. said that in the future, FakeApp could be used by all kinds of people to bring high-budget special effects to their personal projects.

Deep learning algorithms, he added, were going to be important in the future, not only as stand-alone apps but as powerful components of many tech products.

“It’s precisely the things that make them so powerful and useful that make them so scary,” he said. “There’s really no limit to what you can apply it to with a little imagination.”

‘Next Form of Communication’

On the day of the school shooting last month in Parkland, Fla., a screenshot of a BuzzFeed News article, “Why We Need to Take Away White People’s Guns Now More Than Ever,” written by a reporter named Richie Horowitz, began making the rounds on social media.

The whole thing was fake. No BuzzFeed employee named Richie Horowitz exists, and no article with that title was ever published on the site. But the doctored image pulsed through right-wing outrage channels and was boosted by activists on Twitter. It wasn’t an A.I.-generated deepfake, or even a particularly sophisticated Photoshop job, but it did the trick.

Online misinformation, no matter how sleekly produced, spreads through a familiar process once it enters our social distribution channels. The hoax gets 50,000 shares, and the debunking an hour later gets 200. The carnival barker gets an algorithmic boost on services like Facebook and YouTube, while the expert screams into the void.

There’s no reason to believe that deepfake videos will operate any differently. People will share them when they’re ideologically convenient and dismiss them when they’re not. The dupes who fall for satirical stories from The Onion will be fooled by deepfakes, and the scrupulous people who care about the truth will find ways to detect and debunk them.

“There’s no choice,” said Hao Li, an assistant professor of computer science at the University of Southern California. Mr. Li, who is also the founder of Pinscreen, a company that uses artificial intelligence to create lifelike 3-D avatars, said the weaponization of A.I. was inevitable and would require a sudden shift in public awareness.

“I see this as the next form of communication,” he said. “I worry that people will use it to blackmail others, or do bad things. You have to educate people that this is possible.”

So, O.K. Here I am, telling you this: An A.I. program powerful enough to turn Michelle Obama into a pornography star, or transform a schlubby newspaper columnist into Jake Gyllenhaal, is in our midst. Manipulated video will soon become far more commonplace.

And there’s probably nothing we can do except try to bat the fakes down as they happen, pressure social media companies to fight misinformation aggressively, and trust our eyes a little less every day.

Godspeed, rebels.

Kevin Roose is a columnist for Business Day and a writer-at-large for The New York Times Magazine. His column, “The Shift,” examines the intersection of technology, business, and culture. @kevinrooseFacebook

A version of this article appears in print on , on Page A1 of the New York edition with the headline: It Was Only a Matter of Time: Here Comes an App for Fake Videos. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

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