#Something of a return to form of drawing someone else's mind in a body that emotes differently! Haha

[sysig]

It clearly wasn’t important to you (Patreon)

[charpeach]

I think you've created the best leshy and the best heket, both in terms of design and the posts and reblogs you've made.

but I would like to tell you that frogs don't have tails, heket is not a tadpole and that anura literally means tailless

Hi. I appreciate your message and thank you for the kind words about my designs.

Since the topic of Heket's tail seems to be appearing quite frequently in my and other artist's ask boxes, here's what I have to say.

This is your reminder that it is not okay to comment on people's artistic choices like that.

Art is art, and it begins in the artist.

Art exists to express its creator. It's to put their ideas, their love and passion towards a character or a franchise as a whole into something that others can see (listen to, read, touch, I'm not speaking just about paintings).

Art is a shared experience. It is to be observed.

And it is not an artist's job to try and fit their work into every frame that some people on the internet may have created for themselves.

Heket is not a frog. She may appear so, but her existence in a regural frog's body had ended very long time ago.

She's a goddess. A fallen and defeated one, at last, but the divine essence has intervened with her existence so much that it can't ever be taken away from her.

Frogs aren't fifteen-ish times the lamb's height. They don't have additional sets of eyes and the definitely do not have some weird crosses and tower looking like things sticking out their head. Oh, right, and they don't have tails too.

Cult of the lamb is a fantastic fictional world, with magic, relics, gods and ???. Narinder used to possess an ability to rip his face open and detach his eyeballs from their sockets to have a fight with lamb.

I don't see any good reason why in given circumstances Heket's current body can't have a tail. She still has other eyes and crosses, even though I don't include the latter in my art.

Once again, art is art and my design is my design. I've made that decision and I'm well aware that it may not be accurate to real life biology. Question awaits, why in the world should it?

I used to grow toadpoles into frogs in an aquarium a while ago. I've watched them go through every stage of development, I've seen them change and transform, and it isn't a momentary process. The tail doesn't suddenly fall off. The toadpoles first grow their back legs, then front ones, and by the time the latter are fully formed, they still have their tail for about a day or two. So, here's your biological explanation: her current body is very, very young.

I chose to include the tail in the design as a metaphor of bishop's rebirth. Her mind may be old, but right now she's like a child in a world that is so new and unfamiliar to her. She has to go through everything that all young people have to.

This post might seem just out of place, as if I'm looking too much into a simple comment like that one. But I've seen just one too many artists bullied into thinking that their ideas or choices aren't valid and do not matter. They were forced to change their beautiful works because someone else had told them to.

So let me tell you something instead.

You don't have to change your art. You can make whatever artistic choices you want, and they are valid, and they are beautiful, because they are yours.

We wouldn't have a quarter of the diversity and creativity in art if a long time ago one artist their contemporaries claimed to be weird and incorrect submitted to them and returned to only drawing what they thought were allowed.

Frames are to be broken.

I love you all, thank you for reading this.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi can you write a HC with Astarion and Blood Hunter Tav/Durge? I love your HC and look forward to it every time I read a new one

Blood Hunters are the monster to fight monsters. They use the profane blood magic to fight the most unspeakable creatures of the dark. Basically, the chance to play the edgiest character possible to freak out other D&D players.

Far from the judging eyes of society, blood hunters have mastered the secretive techniques of hemocraft, finding blood magic’s esoteric nature effective against evils that resist divine rebuke or arcane bindings. Through careful study and practice, blood hunters hone the rites of hemocraft into unique combat techniques, forfeiting a portion of their own health to call blood curses down upon their enemies or summon the elements to aid their strikes. Willing to suffer whatever it takes to achieve victory, these adept warriors have forged themselves into a potent force dedicated to protecting the innocent.

MORE INFO

Blood Hunter isn't an official D&D class and was created by Matt Mercer for Critical Role

TW: very angsty

Astarion x Blood Hunter!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

It's not like you aren't fond of the undead.

You hate them.

Ghosts, monsters, demons, name it yourself.

You are edgy as fuck and people usually assume you need psychological intervention because you cut your wrists to perform the rites.

You love being in pain and inflicting pain on others.

Many years ago you were sold to your Brothers and put through the Hunter's Bane.

Few survive the ritual, but you were one of them.

It changed you forever - your facial features, your eyes, your hair color, your body.

You don't admit it but you still mourn the life you could have lived if only your own parents hadn't given you to the brotherhood.

You draw your own blood to create curses. You cut your hands to create a Blood Dagger and kill your enemies with it.

To be able to use your cursed magic, you have to drink the most disgusting potions that ever existed.

And you hate monsters.

Period.

And let's say you aren't really fond of someone drinking your blood.

Besides, vampires are monsters, and everyone knows what to do with them.

But you are a practical person. You better have a vampire of your own.

Together you form a deadly couple. Your blood gives Astarion unique abilities.

But with time your alliance becomes something else.

You see him as a victim. A monster against his will.

There is a thought in your mind but you don't give it too much attention.

You ask Astarion to kill the spawns and let the siblings live.

You are the Blood Hunter. You know too well what it means to release 7000 deranged souls into the wild.

And you warn the siblings to keep a low profile. Or you will come after them.

Cruel? Yes. But who said Blood Hunters are good people?

You definitely aren't good.

Post-game, you know you have to return home. There are too many monsters to fight.

But there is one more thing you need to take care of.

Blood is always the answer. Blood is what makes this world exist.

You can ressurect Astarion. You can make him mortal.

You find the way but there is a price.

If Astarion becomes mortal, he has to join the brotherhood.

It means getting through the Hunter's Bane, which can kill him.

And which will change his appearance - not anything awful but he will look a bit different.

It's not a price you would like him to pay but it's up for Astarion to decide.

He refuses.

"I don't want to become anything else" He says.

You try to persuade him. You beg him. You use all the arguments.

Including the most painful one - if he refuses, you won't stay together.

But you know he won't change his mind.

Astarion cherishes his freedom. He won't lose it again. And he doesn't want to be in debt.

Maybe it's you who should forsake the hemocrafting? And abandon the Brotherhood?

And change your views on the world.

No, it won't work. You are too different.

Astarion leaves once the sun sets.

Now you have one more thing to mourn.

The love you could have got.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[yandere-wishes]

General Grievous is not a nice yandere. I hc that these feelings towards his darling are more suitably classified as a morbid obsession or curiosity.

The Bride of Grievous

(A snippet from a Yandere!Grievous fic I've been dying to write) 

You have no idea how feral I am over this man!! The body horror that would come with being his sweet little darling!! I'm studying Robotics and Mechatronics at university and I gotta say I LOVE Robot/cyborg characters. They are my holy grail!!😍💞😍💞😍💞😍

You're 100% right Grievous is one of the worst Yanderes. He's obsessed with turning his darling into something he finds attractive and worthy. overdosing in a morbid curiosity to see just what he can turn you into. 

Listen Grievous does NOT like organic beings. He prefers cyborgs and droids to anything else. So for this to work, you're going to have to already be a cyborg to even catch Grievous' eye. Sure a talented mechanic or the heiress to a droid manufacturing company would also draw the general's eye. But there's something about your mechanical essence that draws him in. Bonus points if you're both. 

Now I'm playing off the idea that the reader comes from a wealthy family of engineers who are the prime supplier of droids for the empire/separatists (idk which timeline to set this in exactly). You've been left with a few cybernetic implants after an accident that happened when you were too young to have formed a functioning memory. 

There's something about you that's...not right. You build the most advanced automatons but instead of programming them to become soldiers or anything remotely beneficial to warfare. You merely treat them as family. As your children. Your dolls. Doting on them as a mother would. You blame it on your heritage. On the accident that left you tettered between machine and mortal all so many years ago. 

Not quite human 

Not quite robot.

Another option, a secret third.

Glitching between realities. 

When Grievous makes a personal visit to your family estate. Needing to strike a new deal for a rather large shipment of androids. He's surprised to find you, the heiress, taking charge of the transaction. He's even more interested when he notices your cybernetics. And how you don't hide them but instead seem to have made many personal enhancements to them. You're pretty too, and it's been such a long time he's been with someone sentient. 

He's just so interested in you. Following you around like a wolf does its prey. Listening carefully to your jovial tone as you go into great detail about all the new features of this new batch of battle droids. He's even taken aback when you reprimand him for belittling a R0-GR.

Maybe somewhere along the line, you offer to work on him. To implement some new weapons. Add a few folding missiles into his casing. Even going so far as to propose giving him a speedy digital processor to clip into his brain. He scuffs at your boldness, pushing you aside as he moves past you. What a disgusting offer.

So why does the thought linger in his head?

When he returns to base, he finds his mind wandering to you. To your bizzare existance. You've practically shredded your humanity. Yet it still clings to you like a leech. He wonders if you'd thank him for taking it from you. Swoon over him for having saved you from the pesky flesh and blood. He falls asleep dreaming of the sounds your new metallic body would make as it clangs against his. 

He kidnaps you soon after that. Stealing you away in the dead of night. Your family can search all they want, and send all the bounty hunters they want to try and retrieve you. But Grievous won't let you go. He loves watching as he makes you take him apart. Nibble fingers peeling away metal layers to access his wires. Pulling off prosthetic limbs to enhance them. With you by his side, the Jedi will never be his match ever again. 

But it's Grevious we're talking about. He's a greedy creature, never satisfied with what he's given. He blames Dooku for this behavior and blames the benefits of being half Sith and half machine. He's become spoiled. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. 

He starts to return the favor. Tearing you apart piece by piece. He used his lightsabers to cut through bone and replace it with metal. Drugging you with ecstasy and spice as he plucks away your humanity. He adores the love-sick looks you give him. Loves how, even when you've come down from your high, you still crawl onto his lap and litter his cold body with kisses. He'll keep your face just the way it is. He loves the feel of your chubby cheeks and soft lips too much. 

Soon Grievous will turn you into a creature much like himself. 

His perfect little creation.

A loving robot who can think for herself (with the general's help of course)

He's finally found a lover worthy of him.

All this being said I now need a poly fic with Maul, Anakin, and Grievous with a cyborg reader. 

[undercat-overdog]

So I was reading some of your older answers to questions about your fics when I became curious about something. Let’s pretend that there’s an AU where a more corruptible version of ‘Bones’ Celebrimbor accepts Sauron’s proposal to marry and rule with him. What would happen to Sauron if Celebrimbor were to die? (Let’s say in battle fighting for Sauron) Comparing it to Melian’s reaction to leave everything behind after Thingol’s death.

Hey anon! Thank you for the ask, and sorry for my delay in replying.

You know, I was thinking about it a while back and I definitely think there's a tack Sauron could have used that could have led to Celebrimbor's darker side coming through. I thought a bit a while back about how to do that and mostly they wouldn't work as an AU from that particular point in Bones (things like insidious mind control using the One, C being captured and through a mix of stockholm syndrome and wanting to make S's rule less horrible comes to participate - if you're curious about such AUs, simaetha on ao3 has some fantastic fic), but had Sauron framed it as less "let's rule the world together" and more "Gil-galad's not ambitious enough, you are, those less knowledgeable and skilled and smart as us 'wander here untaught', we need to raise them up, even if not all of them like it at first, etc." Basically the appeal he made to the Elves of Eregion in the Silm but upping the imperialism. Because Celebrimbor is prideful and is ambitious and does have a sense of superiority, and I definitely think it could be appealed to more.

Of course, Sauron didn't think he needed to hide his eventual plans, though he certainly planned to keep hiding his rather unique biography. He is also hiding his current extra-Eregion activities - he is at this point (c. SA 1200-1500) occasionally traveling around working on his evil empire. I like to imagine he sent back regular letters to Celebrimbor talking about how lovesick he is all the cool, definitely not evil-empire-related stuff he's seeing. Probably some rock samples or pressed flowers. He is being dishonest and deceiving Celebrimbor about a lot of stuff, but he is for the first time open and honest about his true goal in the proposal scene.

Anyways! In the scenario you propose, Sauron would react very, very poorly to Celebrimbor's death. Many people would die horribly. However he felt about Celebrimbor at the time - and I think he would probably end up respecting him less and Celebrimbor becoming somewhat less important in his life, thought certainly still very important - Celebrimbor is his and it is unacceptable that someone (else) hurt him. And elf soulbond! (I do love elf soulbonds.) I think it would cause a lot of pain to Sauron. Emotionally of course, he would be incredibly distraught and bereft, but metaphysically too.

To go to Melian's reaction, there's the interesting question of how she returned to Valinor. She is shapelocked, due to "begetting", but I find it logistically unlikely for her to have left Beleriand physically; I imagine she shed her form, which implies to me some sort of metaphysical change? She is no longer capable of being tied to Thingol physically (maybe a little desperate necro, but Thingol's no longer in that body). Likewise, in a situation where S loses his elf husband, I imagine it would create some sort of 'wound', if you will (and that Melian experienced that). Different in scale and effect than the loss of the One in canon, certainly not permanently incapacitating, but not too different in quality. A part of Sauron was wretched away, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound.

Many people would end up dying, horribly. But Sauron certainly isn't going to Valinor, as Melian did. I imagine the timeline and plot here would draw closer to canon. If the One wasn't already made (and I'm uncertain if a married Sauron could make the One as it is: his soul isn't just his own anymore, there's another soul that's intertwined with it*), I don't know if Sauron would make it, because I'm not sure there's the same incentive as there is in canon, but maybe something like it. But certainly going full on dark lord, Sauron the Great, King of the Earth, as he called himself in canon.**

*as a general rule I prefer 'soul' in writing, but yes, technically eala and fea and the two are different. Sauron has no "true" physical form and is whole without a fana, but Celebrimbor or any other elf are only whole when his fea and hroa/soul and body are together. But for the terms of a marriage bond, they function more or less interchangeably.

**what name he ended up using here is also open to debate. "Sauron the Great" is a title he did use canonically, but does anyone know he is Sauron/Gorthaur in this AU? Maybe not, aside from some Orcs! He's probably going by Annatar in this AU and he might end up keeping it. Well, as one of his names: I imagine he had many in different local languages.

(Also, please don't worry, your asks made me very happy to receive!)

[hotdogcabbagesausage]

HEYO, SEPHYYYY WEPPHYYYYYYYY!! HOPE YOU'VE BEEN GOOODDDD..

Anyways, *points gun to Keith in Galra form* 🔫🔫 tell me your angsty Voltron Team headcanons or he gets sprayed. with water.

HIIII ZEPHY WEPHY I HOPE YOUVE BEEN GOOD TOO!!!!!

you got it captain🫡

allura

allura and coran have nights where they talk about alfor and melenor. coran brushes her hair and tells her stories about her father and mother and she cries. she was so close to alfor and she misses him so much and having coran is the only thing she has left of altea and her family. she has only coran. and he tucks her into bed when it's finally over

when allura first got chosen as blue’s pilot, she would go down to the hangar at night by herself. talk to red, wondering why she wasn’t chosen. sometimes she would yell and sometimes she would cry but red never budged

allura mourns her people and her planet so much. everything she does, she does with them in mind. FOR them. she closes her eyes and imagines they can still see her. imagines they know she’s still fighting for them after all these years. sometimes it’s the only thing she can do to keep herself going and not let the grief crush her

keith

keith’s dad died on oct 18, a few days before his birthday. he avoided telling anyone his birthday or celebrating for so long because he didn’t want to celebrate when a few days before, he had just lost everything

keith avoided his dad’s grave after he died. he went once as a child and never again but after he met shiro, flowers started showing up on the grave that he would see when they drove around. he knew it was shiro leaving them. it meant more to him than he could ever admit

touch starved but also touch repulsed to a point. that’s why he always wears fingerless gloves. it gives him more control over who he touches and lessens the intensity of it. it’s why he stands so far from everyone else, to put a physical distance between them. to protect himself in a way

shiro

still has adam’s ring on a chain. adam may have said it would be over if he ever returned, but that never stopped shiro from wishing things had been different. never stopped shiro from loving him after years. he stays up at night playing with the ring, imagining a world where they could still be together

the nightmares got worse after he was placed back into a body. he spent weeks agonizing over how to fix things with the others after how his clone treated everyone the way they did. he apologized and distanced himself. he felt dangerous still. like he wasn’t in control. he had nightmares where that fight with keith didn’t go as well as it did. he wakes up and keith’s blood isn’t on his hands

he never felt gentle again after he had to watch his own hands try and succeed in hurting his team. he can’t look keith in the face on bad days. the scar haunts him

hunk

cooking is enjoyable for hunk, yes, but it was also his only way to feel closer to his family in space. it was always something they would do together, as a family, back home. sometimes he secretly hopes someone will help him with cooking so it can feel like home again

he’s not good at drawing but sometimes he tries to draw his family in case he forgets their faces. the page always ends up covered in tears and he tries to remember how they all sounded but he can’t

he puts everyone before himself. to him, his own feelings don’t matter if someone else needs help. he will always put himself aside and give as much as he can

lance

every time they go to a planet with a beach, he cries when they return to the castleship. it reminds him so much of varadero and how things used to be. he spends so much time reminiscing on what things would be like without the war

always thinks twice before he shares his ideas after shiro’s clone tore into him. it wasn’t the first time he’d been made to feel stupid but it certainly stuck. he gets a little self-deprecating afterwards

he thinks everyone knows he died and they just didn’t care enough to bring it up so he doesn’t either. he loves playing up small things but when it comes down to a real issue with himself, it feels so small and unimportant that he can’t imagine sharing it with the others

pidge

really bad at socializing. it’s why she loves animals and creatures so much more. they’re simple and they’re sweet and she can’t really mess up with them. she always feels like she’s messing up with real people so she avoids them when possible

she never tells anyone because she likes coming off as tough but she misses her family just as much as the others do. losing her brother nearly crushed her and she would’ve given her life just to make sure he was okay

not many know it but she’s insecure about a lot of things. her skills being the main one. she doesn’t think she’s cut out for voltron and it contributes to her trying to leave early on

coran

the reason he’s so happy all the time is to keep allura’s spirits up. he is genuinely a silly man but he couldn’t bear to see allura lose someone else. so he retains his spark no matter what. for her

he had children before altea was lost. he doesn’t talk about them ever but he loved them more than every star in the sky. his worst nightmare is losing allura too

his heart aches in the place that alfor used to exist in. he won’t ever get into it but he did love alfor and he felt like part of the family. he always made sure coran felt welcome and sometimes its hard to look at the team and not wish he was still back on altea

romelle

genuinely not used to having friends because she only had bandor for a long time and then she was on her own. little things surprise her sometimes like hunk making her favorite food without her asking (pie), allura offering her clothes to try on, keith wanting to train with her, lance introducing her to skincare, pidge asking to practice altean with her, coran telling her his favorite stories any time she asks, and shiro always offering to listen to her struggles

she gets anxious when the others go on missions without her. she’s got abandonment issues and she’s afraid they’ll get hurt or worse. she’s always on comms when they’re away

she feels useless compared to the others sometimes. she’s not a fan of fighting and she’s no good at diplomacy. she overcompensates on bad days. cleaning, cooking, organizing. anything she can get her hands on to feel like she’s as good as the rest of the team

krolia

after the war, she tries to make up for everything she missed by overcompensating. she looks up traditional things mothers do with their kids and even if it’s stuff for 5 year olds, she tries to get keith to do them with her. but nothing can change the past

she wanted to name keith “yorak” because it was her father’s middle name. they died in the war and it was why she joined the blades. she left keith and his father because she couldn’t bear for him to lose both his parents too. but he did anyway

keith’s father was the only man she ever loved. she didn’t dare to ever try again after him because she knew he was her soulmate and she would never love like that again. she likes to think he would’ve gotten along with her parents

[lorichu]

Just Like the Ones I Used to Know

This is my part of a holiday gift exchange @gtypewriter and I did where we chose one of each other's stories and then selected a Christmas song to use as inspiration. I was "given" my characters from The Night Shift, and chose the song White Christmas. The art was a little extra on my part.

Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!

The distant melody of another Christmas song echoed from upstairs, as did his mom and uncle's actually pretty good singing, but John didn't move. It was all just noise to him at this point. A quiet, half-formed thought tried to encourage him to get up and go help them decorate the tree, but his entire body had been carved from a block of cold, numb stone. He slid lower in the booth's faded bench seat. Sitting before him was the equally inert empty cup of coffee he'd originally come down into the shop for, which had been drained and left to cool for some time.

John's blank expression stared at the door. Night had fallen hours ago, bringing with it the soft, hazy glow of a snowstorm. The heavy white powder blanketed the rest of the world, rounding out harsher edges and burying everything in indistinct obscurity. If you didn't already know what to expect under a particular snowbank, you'd have no way of finding out without more than a little digging. Over the past hour or so both the flurries and the wind had picked up. Together they created an intricate dance, swirling and spiraling in the shop's exterior floodlight like they were on stage. Each gust was a delicate maneuver, the entire storm a complex song.

And John was just as numb to that as well.

What did catch his attention was the crunch of snow under tires and the scraping of shovels against the pavement. Outwardly he didn't react to those either, but each one was another little jab at his heart. One more needle slipping under his skin to draw out another pinprick of blood. His body was covered in scars that matched the dried salty trails of slush across the doormat. They were rough and jagged, bright against the dark surface, and were pointless to clean away this time of year. All the scrubbing in the world wouldn't stop them from forming all over again the second someone else walked through the door.

Heavy eyelids slid lower as John continued to not put up a fight to stay present. The chilling cold of the darkened coffee shop had drained away all but the very last of his resolve, leaving him hollow and stained like the inside of his empty mug. Uncomfortable as it obviously was, he wanted to feel the pain. More accurately, he was desperate to feel anything. Each and every day had been a little bit worse than the last, but it was his Uncle Alec's return that finally broke the camel's back. Then and only then had he truly noticed how much of him had gone numb. When he couldn't think of a fix, John decided to lean into it. To really embrace the sensation fully, with both body and soul.

Was that the right choice? Probably not. But, then again, John didn't care. Right here in this moment, however long it had been, was the first time he remembered feeling something that wasn't completely soul crushingly empty.

He slouched lower in the booth so that his shoulder blades touched the seat. The stark emptiness of his mind roared loudly in his ears, and his eyes fluttered that much closer to closing. After spending such a long time dancing around the issue, John was tired. Maybe sleeping down here wasn't that bad of an idea. Sure, his body wouldn't be too happy about it, but it might give him something to help take the pain away.

All the flurries blustering about outside had been a simple distraction to dissociate to, but out of nowhere there was motion in the darkness itself. A sharp silhouette crawled up over the opposite side of the table, moving with more purpose than John had experienced in hours. The shape didn't get too close, but it did speak.

"John?" Lyra's voice was soft and yet somehow managed to cut through the static.

Had he been any more in control of himself John wouldn't have flinched so hard. It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head, snapping him out of the sleepless dreaming that had almost taken him. Scrambling to support himself, John managed to sit upright with a forceful push against the seat, but he still needed a minute to blink the daze out of his eyes.

That acknowledgement was enough of an invitation for Lyra, and she started to slowly inch closer. "Are you alright? You've been down here for a while, and we were... I was getting worried."

Even though his throat felt like it was filled with cobwebs, John's voice managed to find its way out. "I-I," he croaked, "I'm fine."

The shadows falling across Lyra's face couldn't cover up her frown. "Is that so?"

Her anger became a chisel that broke through the icy walls he'd built to barricade himself in. Dropping his hands into his lap, John hung his head. "No..." he sighed. His eyes slid shut, but that was only to stem the incoming flow of tears. "I just, I miss him."

Lyra didn't say a word. She closed the remaining distance between them by walking right up to the edge of the table. For a moment she considered sitting down, but instead chose to stand so she could be as close to John as possible.

A ragged breath filled and left his lungs. "There was so much else going on last year that I didn't really have time to think about it." His eyes opened slowly, seeking her out like a warm fire in the midst of a howling storm. "B-But, but now, all I can see are the empty spaces. All the places he should be, but isn't. And won't ever be, ever again."

Before John realized he'd moved it, his hand was on the table, loosely draped behind Lyra. She didn't appear to be bothered, and even leaned into the touch, making his fingers curl in closer. As a fingertip brushed over her hip, Lyra locked eyes with him. Her expression told him all he needed to know, but it wasn't until she nodded encouragingly that John dared to take things farther. He scooped her up with all the care in the world even though his hands were still trembling. Instead of just lifting her higher John held her to his chest and sunk into the seat again. Lyra relaxed against him, fully content and at ease despite being essentially trapped.

Like the warmth of smoldering embers, Lyra's love melted through another layer of John's walls. "I know Uncle Alec always comes for Christmas," he murmured, "and I'm glad he's here for Mom, but he," John's entire body shuddered, "he just makes the emptiness bigger, because my heart knows it's supposed to be the three of them up there. Laughing, singing, decorating... This is as close to complete as their group can ever be again. Nothing they, or anyone else can do will ever be able to change that."

Burying her face into his shirt, Lyra took a deep breath. "Filling in the blank spaces doesn't make them go away," she agreed. "No matter how much the substitution might check all the right boxes, it just isn't the same."

It was rare for Lyra to ever speak of her many losses, regardless of who was gone or how long it had been. As they'd grown closer together, John had come to accept that some parts of her would always be inaccessible to him. However, that slight peek behind the curtain brought a gentle touch of ease to his grief ravaged heart. These were not hollow condolences given out of obligation. Lyra was empathizing with her entire being by reaching into the darkest places that could only hurt her. She had not come down into the coffee shop to force him back upstairs, but to connect with him in a way only she knew how.

His thumb bent in to lightly rest on the top of her head. "I keep waiting for his car to pull up," John mumbled on. "Like all this time he's just been out helping someone. That happened a lot, especially this time of year." He filled his lungs and exhaled a powerful sigh. "My heart can't stop believing that eventually he's gonna open that door with a laugh and burst of snow, then tease me about w-why I'm down, down here, and n-not ups-stairs..."

Sobs filled his throat, choking out his voice. John curled inward, draping his other hand over Lyra as well and mindfully clutching her to his chest. That messy blur was back and stronger than ever, but now he had the most powerful shield in the world. Lyra was the only thing keeping him sane, his literal last line of defense against the bellowing grief boiling within him. The animalistic desire to wail his overwhelming feelings would do nothing but scream his throat raw. Any release he could get from that would just cause him more pain beyond this instance. By simply being here, in this moment with him, Lyra was protecting him from himself.

Painful as it was to keep speaking, the entire process was oddly cathartic. "A-And, then," John rasped, "then we'd go up there t-together. To Mom and Uncle Alec." As more words came out his throat felt looser. "There'd be a pot of peppermint hot cocoa on the stove, and the same old CD of Christmas music would be playing. First we'd decorate the tree, then the rest of the house, until f-finally we'd come down here to do the shop. When we finished it'd be at least midnight, but everything would look amazing."

The pressure on her hadn't been unbearable, but Lyra wasn't able to actually calm down until it lessened. "That sounds like a lot of fun. What a wonderful tradition." More of John relaxed around her, and she rolled over onto her stomach in an attempt to look him in the eye. "I can confirm that there is hot cocoa brewing, and Pam dug a really banged up CD out of the closet."

After feeling Lyra move, John repositioned so he could see her. Now that he was out of his mind and back in the present, he smelled the faint waftings of peppermint and heard the familiar crooning of a song he'd listened to every year as far back as he could remember. John watched as Lyra settled more comfortably beneath his hand, sharing what little warmth she had with him. The sight of her so perfectly at ease cast a bright but pleasant light on the corners of his mind, chasing the shadows away.

"What do you think about going up there and joining them?" John asked, his stabler voice already sounding more like his normal self.

Lyra's slight frown just barely furrowed her brow. "Are you sure? I don't mind waiting if you need more time."

Shaking his head, John freed his left hand and braced it against the booth seat to sit up. "Don't worry, I'll be alright. Hiding out down here isn't gonna do me any good. Right now, what I really need is-"

The dull crunching of a car plowing through snow turned into the parking lot. They both froze, now suddenly back in John's sorrowful musings, and they held their breath as the extra diffused illumination from headlights shut off. A door opened, then slammed shut with a snow-muted thud. Softer, dampened footsteps marched towards the shop, bringing with them a familiar face just barely visible through the window.

Gently letting Lyra off on the table, John shuffled over to open the door. "Bret?" he muttered as the bundled, snow-dusted figure scrambled inside. "Did I miss a text or something?"

Bret shook his head, sending a small squall into the air as the door was shut behind him. "Nah, your mom invited me." He started unbuttoning his jacket and took off his hat. "If you didn't know I was coming, why were you down here?"

Walking back over to Lyra, John shrugged and rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. "Just needed a little break from the festivities, you know?"

A believable enough lie, but even in the dimmed lighting Bret could see the puffy rings around John's eyes. Despite that truth staring him in the face, he'd happily take the offered bait instead. "You always did say that decorating night could get outta hand," Bret joked. "And actually, this is kinda perfect." His gaze wandered to Lyra, who stiffened up ever so slightly.

"Why's that?" John asked in her place, shifting a little closer to her out of habit.

Not realizing just how much his crypticness was hurting the situation, Bret reached into his jacket's inner pocket. "Because I have something to give Lyra."

It didn't matter that so much time had passed, hearing him say her name like that still gave Lyra chills. She almost started inching closer to John, then immediately thought better of it. 'Don't show him anything's wrong,' she reminded herself. 'Everything can be turned into a weakness. Don't give him any more to take advantage of.'

An entire lifetime of better memories wouldn't be enough to outweigh or erase everything that happened to her at the museum. Lyra knew this, and so did Bret. However, as the one who hadn't been on the receiving end of years of torture, Bret wasn't always as quick to pick up whenever he inadvertently crossed that line. She knew he was trying his best, and the effort was appreciated, but the iron-clad instincts that had kept her alive wouldn't allow even the smallest slight to pass so easily.

When Bret's hand reemerged, it was closed around something small. He looked at Lyra then John before stepping up to the table and extending his arm just as slowly. Fingers pulled away quickly to reveal the little object, and while John was left squinting to figure out what it was, Lyra gasped. "W-Wait... Is that?"

"Your bag," Bret answered. "The one you had when I found you."

Lyra clamped a hand over her mouth and wrapped her other arm across her body. "How? How do you still have this when he asked you to destroy it?"

Bret needed to stabilize his balance by bracing a hand on the table. "Because I forgot." A groveling apology was building up inside of him, but instead of caving to that, he just went on with the story. "Amos wouldn't let me throw it out in his office because that would be too suspicious, so I just put it in my pocket. There was so much else going on that I completely forgot about it until I got home. I needed to stay on Amos's good side to keep my job, so I wanted to wait for the best time to throw it away. Until I found that, I decided to just stash it in my desk drawer... where I forgot about it again."

"I can't believe you kept it," Lyra mumbled, taking a shuffled step forward. This felt so much like a trap, but she just couldn't help herself. "After all this time."

Because she was getting closer, Bret wanted to pull his hand back and move away from the table. Thanks to his momentary indecision though, it looked like he'd missed his chance. 'She's already too close,' he grumbled. 'If I move now, it'll just freak her out. Probably enough that she won't accept it.'

So he stayed rooted in place and watched as the tiny Mintran woman knelt down to reunite with her timeworn pack. Lyra delicately unhooked the latch and drew in a sharp breath when she saw the stash of her old possessions. "It's all here," she murmured. "Everything..." Distant memories of the life that was stolen from her condensed into tears that stung her eyes. A choked down sob rocked her shoulders and her fingers dug into the thick fabric as she hunched lower.

Seconds later her head snapped up. Just as quickly she tossed the bag aside and jumped to her feet. The heavy stares following her weren't enough to stop her from breaking out into a full-on sprint, and she never wavered as she raced over to Bret's hand. She wrapped her arms as far as she could around his wrist and fully leaned into the hug.

"Th-Thank you, Bret," she whimpered, smearing tears over his skin. "You don't know what this means to me."

Now utterly terrified to move, Bret tried to hold his ground. "You're, um, you're welcome." The way she was clinging to him made his mind dredge up images of her begging for her life, which was a habit he'd broken her of long ago. He could hear echoes of mournful cries ripping through her raw throat. Each one dug into him as well to leave a festering scar that would never fully heal. Over time the wound had gotten easier to ignore, but that didn't mean it had stopped hurting.

Her joy couldn't hold her fear back forever though, so Lyra broke the embrace first. She shuffled backwards to the bag, refusing to take her eyes off Bret after voluntarily getting so dangerously close. He remained just as statuesque and didn't appear to take a full breath until she'd reached down to grab the bag.

Lyra offered a timid smile. "Seriously, Bret, thank you."

"Course," he muttered through a similar grin. "Merry Christmas."

The ache that had brought John down into the shop felt like a fading memory of an old nightmare. He hadn't fully recovered, but there was a new layer of warmth wrapped around his heart like a thick blanket. That warmth was holding him together, bundling up the pieces of him into a single place where they could be protected and cared for. Love was all around him, holding the door open to let him in out of the cold dark of loneliness. It was definitely something to do this time of year, but John knew without a doubt that everyone in this house would do the same things all over again even if it was the middle of summer.

John wrapped his hand behind Lyra's back again and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze as he looked Bret in the eye. "We were just going upstairs to join them, and since you already talked to Mom, I know she'll be expecting you too." Lyra leaned back against him, and he knew that was his cue to pick her up. He didn't need to look down to scoop her off her feet, but he still sent a quick smile and wink her way. "They've probably already done a good chunk of it by now, but I'm sure there's more left to decorate."

Perking up more into his normal self, Bret nodded. "I'm here as long as you need me."

Nothing else had to be said as they hurried through the darkened coffee shop. When they opened the door at the bottom of the stairs the music changed. Without missing a beat, Pam and Alec were already singing.

"I'm, dreaming, of a White, Christmas..."

[emelinstriker]

Do our ESAU boys have just one outfit? Do they have multiples of the same outfit with only one or two more comfy options for cuddles or laundry day? Who doesn’t bother with actual clothes and just magics up whatever they need for the occasion? Does Mink ever bother with any semblance of clothes or does he just stick to being an inky Ken doll?

The do have more clothes in their rooms, which does include even their old clothes from the show's canon. They all got their own sleeping attire, as well as more casual wear to slip past civilians when their Master wants to go to town or something. Probably some of them would even have costumes lying around somewhere in the back of the closet, or even a straight up duplicate of their usual wear.

Wukong could actually just use a bit of his hair/fur to create more for his wardrobe. But he also is the one who barely covers up his chest, so he prefers just having his shoulder guard and cape. However, if he really needs an outfit he doesn't have, he would just summon it that way.

In that same case, Macaque would just shadow portal away and return with whatever outfit he needs. Whether or not it was stolen borrowed from an outsider shall remain a mystery.

Mink usually just sticks to being like an ink-monkey Ken doll, but he does form clothes or copy someone else's body when making fun of them over their looks. Or even just to manipulate in general.

Nezha generally prefers his usual outfit, but also has other armor in his arsenal. If it's something he could use in battle, he doesn't mind wearing it. Casual wear isn't really his thing, but he doesn't mind wearing it to be able to to follow his Master with outsiders around. Or even just to be able to cuddle with them better.

MK actually prefers more casual outfits since he for some reason feels more familiar with those than his armor. Doesn't mean he dislikes his armor, but he generally likes to use a more casual wear when drawing in his room, with no missions going on.

Red Son is also more for casual wear, but more in a way of: If it's light-weight and doesn't bother his movements, he has no issue wearing it. Unlike the pink champion, he doesn't like wearing armor. Which is actually why his usual outfit is mostly just made out of fabric.

And Azure has more of a 50/50 standing on casual clothes and armor. So he usually sticks to having some armor on him, but also mostly fabric. For him, he just wears whatever he deems as most fitting to the situation/mission/task at hand. No actual preference towards what he wears, as long as he can protect his Master in it.

Also I'd like to imagine they all have an animal onesie. Like, some Master most definitely got them a onesie, or they all have one just in case. Just cuz the idea of it is cracking me up rn-

[mushroompollution]

Chapter 35- The Sablier Arc part 1

Read the manga: imgur || mangaread (ad warning)

As the true protagonists of this Story, this arc opens on Oz Vessalius, Gilbert Nightray, and Alice, a powerful Chain in the form of a teenage girl, linked to Oz through an Illegal Contract. The trio have spent the last 34 chapters searching for Alice's memories, a way to sever the Contract and save them both, and answers to what happened in Sablier 100 years ago.

Previously, Gilbert had returned to the Nightray family estate to meet with his younger brother Vincent, an encounter that had turned violent when the younger brother had suggested that Gil kill Alice to save Oz. He'd been avoiding his friend since, but when finally Oz manages to draw Gil out of his apartment, he has an announcement to make:

They're going to Sablier.

On the train, Oz says that their associates at Pandora all seem to be hiding something and dodging questions about it, so the ruined capitol city must be important. And now that the train is moving, and there's no way to run away, Gilbert has to admit what he knows.

Sablier really is a prohibited place, but not the entire city, and the rumors of poisonous gasses are mostly embellished. The area around the train station is poor, but modestly developed, with mostly legitimate business and accommodations. But beyond that lies an impoverished ghost town of citizens who, for one reason or another, have nowhere else to go.

At the center of the city lies a deep crater, a rough circle carved out of the earth, the heart of the Tragedy of Sablier. That, Gilbert explains, is truly prohibited. They should be able to gain entry by mentioning either of their family names to Pandora's guards, but...

Oz seems distracted. Noticing some children watching them from behind ruins of the old city, he suddenly takes off without explanation.

Back at the edge of the crater, Alice speaks with Gilbert in a serious, reserved, open way that's rare for her, especially with this man she only tolerates because of Oz. She's worried that her power as a Chain seems to grow weaker as the Seal on Oz's chest advances, and that it might have moved again without him telling either of them.

Gilbert can barely follow her train of thought, however, as every time he looks at her, his head begins to hurt. Vincent's words ring in his ears and drown out Alice's.

You're supposed to hate that Rabbit very much, aren't you?

Gilbert's head hurts. So. Bad.

Alice doesn't seem to pay him any mind. Not in her usual, self-absorbed, grandiose way, but because she's staring dolefully over the chasm below. "I'm just saying, what if... my powers continue to fade away.... what will happen to me?"

It's an unusually vulnerabile question from her.

But Gilbert can't hear it. His brother's voice is joined by his own, echoing with each pulse of his head.

kill her.

kill

anyone

who harms

my Master

kill her

kill

her

The sound of cracking earth catches Alice's attention. She looks down, blinking a few times as lines form beneath her boots. "uhh hey, Raven--" she starts, taking a step back.

Gilbert storms off. He's confused. His head hurts, and he's so fucking confused. Until just then, he wanted to kill her. Yet, at the last moment, he had saved Alice. But not just that.

There was someone else in his mind then, lost in that trance. A ghost of some memory that wasn't his. Or at least, that he wouldn't claim.

And some other voice, echoing along his own, saying

kill her

Oz catches up, and reprimands his friend and valet for running off. He asks what's wrong, and what had happened with Alice.

Gilbert doesn't know. He admits, for the first time, to anyone, that he's been thinking about his past. His memories of his childhood were a blank, after all. As far as he knew, his life began when the door to Abyss spat him out in the Vessalius's basement. And it isn't that he wants to remember them, either.

But he can't help the feelings that keep overtaking his mind, or the way his body acts on its own sometimes. He admits that he's scared if he does remember, will he still be himself? He feels like he can't stand on his own anymore.

But Oz reassures him, promises him he'll be Gil no matter what. And he'll be right there by his side to hold him up! Gilbert laughs that Oz isn't nearly tall enough to say that yet, and the tense conversation seems to ease. But Gilbert's heart still hurts.

How much does he want to make that small little body carry? No. He has to settle his own problems. He won't let his own weakness and wicked memories consume him--

Just as his head starts to hurt again, he's surprised by a child racing past him. The adolescent bumps into Oz, nearly knocking him off his feet, but doesn't stop. Someone less observant might not have noticed, but Oz immediately shouts for Alice to stop that kid!!

If he takes that wallet, there won't be any money for meat!!

A glint of malice shines in Alice's red eyes and she throws out a leg with lightning speed, knocking the escaping thief to the ground.

Oz runs over, throwing his arms around the child, who hollars and yells and struggles, generally causing a scene and drawing a crowd as the teenager pries his wallet from tiny hands.

It's only then that Oz realizes, he reconizes this vagrant child.

The son of an Illegal Contractor that Oz had attempted--and failed-- to save just a couple months before.

He can't believe it. And by Gilbert's expression as he approaches, neither can he. As Oz exasperatedly tries to understand this immense coincidence, another familiar, unexpected voice shouts from beyond the crowd of spectators.

[vocesincaput]

OPEN STARTER: Frenchie

With everyone back together again, the crew had gotten a British Naval ship in it's sights and decided to raid it for supplies. Wanting to get back into the swing of things and gel again as a full crew.

They were surveying the deck from the Revenge, readying to board when the ships servants came on deck, making them hesitate for a moment. When one of the servants turned around, a chill ran through Frenchie and he froze on the spot.

It had been years, but... he still remembered that face. He would always remember that face.

His mother...

He felt as if every ounce of breath had left his body. His mother was right there. After all these years... she was there. Frenchie tried to will himself to say something, to tell someone who she was and that they needed to get to her. But he was so in shock that he couldn't move.

The shock turned into horror only a moment later when the Captain of the ship turned to the group of servants and even from the Revenge it could be seen how he was admonishing them. Yelling something that was lost on the wind until suddenly raised his gun and fired it at his mother. Killing her instantly.

Frenchie cried out but it was drowned out by the rest of the crew yelling and springing into action. It didn't take long before the crew of the ship were either killed or taken captive for ransom. Frenchie had gone numb whilst everything happened, barely anything registering with him. Commands not reaching his ears.

Whilst the rest of the crew were taking the captives and any supplies back over to the Revenge, Frenchie made sure that all of the servants got onto one of the small boats the Naval ship used to go to shore with enough supplies to last them and a little more. He had wrapped up his mothers body and the servants promised to make sure she would get a proper burial before he sent them on their way.

Returning to the ship, Frenchie hadn't said a word the entire time and, whilst everyone else was going over everything and celebrating, he went below deck. Face expressionless and not hearing any words that made have been said after him.

He found a quiet spot that he knew no one ever really went to and sat down upon the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling his arms around them. Eyes closed tight as Frenchie tried to will what had just happened into the little box he kept within his mind for all the bad things he had seen. But no matter how hard he tried, the box just wouldn't close. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes the harder and harder he tried to force it closed. But it was too much and he could almost see the cracks beginning to form.

Frenchie was so lost within his mind that he didn't hear someone approaching.

[bluewavesofchange]

The guardians of the Pharaoh

Sea and shadows: the Queens of the abyss

I don't own Yugioh or it's characters

A few lore drops in this chapter and a few unanswered questions...

Plus has anyone seen The Exorcist? Hehehe you'll see why.

Chapter 4

 Eons ago...

A few years had gone by and Rozu had grown into a young woman. She had gotten taller and leaner, her muscles becoming toned from years of intense training under her father goons…and she had learnt a few new skills over the years too…powers she kept hidden from her father. On a night when she had been locked away in her tower when she disappointed her father once again, the night had grown cold and she couldn’t keep warm. Her body shaking as she lay curled up in the floor, her heart race as it was trying to pump adrenaline through her veins to warm her body…she breathed heavily, blowing into her frozen hands only to wince as a flame flew from her tongue and scorched her skin.

 

She was shocked by this as she sat up and blew again, another small wave of fire leaving her lips. She then tried to summon a flame in the palms of her hands as she cupped them together and sure enough after a few attempts she succeed, creating a small flickering ember that danced over her skin…she had the power of fire despite it being impossible as she was meant to be a creature of darkness…

 

She would practice this power at night when she was left alone and no one could see her as she danced around her room, creating flames from her finger tips, moving her arms as she created streams of fire, even managing to summon them using her feet when she twirl kicked in the air. It was incredible, it was beautiful and most importantly it was hers, her gift that she would keep hidden away from her father’s influence and corruption…

 

And after much practice she was able to create colour within the flames, blues, greens, purples, colours you couldn’t even imagine off, reminding her of dragons flames…they were the only creatures that were able to create such displays, making her wonder how she was able to…

 

She continued to practice her magic during the day when she wasn’t busy with physical training. And to her credit she was fairly good at it, even if her father insulted her every move and laughed in her face when she tried to show him something new she could do…unfortunately for him she stopped showing off her new technics, one of which was using shadows to change ones physical form, appearing as someone else.

 

It was through this skill that Rozu was finally able to sneak out of the fortress and explore the lands surrounding her father’s kingdom, seeing the world she had longed to be a part of for so many years. She stayed hidden in the shadows, not wishing to draw much attention to herself and expose herself as her shadow illusions were still new and wouldn’t last long.

 

But she could still stay out for a few hours before returning home. She would travel to nearby villages and see all they had to offer and the unique and interesting beings that inhabited it. So many new face, smells and sights filled her mind, wishing more than anything to live amongst them…however being outside of her home also meant that she saw the horrors that her father’s war against the warriors and dragons had created…

 

People suffering from incurable curses or missing appendages from being wounded or simply just cut off…families who were torn apart by death or enslavement…people living on the streets because their wealth and homes had been stolen from them by Lord Yomi and his minions…their lands burnt to the ground or taken for the magicians to build their empire…

 

All this suffering and ruin was horrifying to see, the harsh reality that her father’s cruelty extended so far. She wishes there was a way she could help them but how? But a part of her…somewhere deep within her soul still wanted her father’s approval…still wanted him to love her…so for now she would stay in the shadows as she watched the world continue to pass by…

 

But one day that changed…

 

She was walking along the streets when she saw a group of magicians appear in the centre of town, a nasty look on their face as they started harassing the town’s folk, destroying food stands with their magic, turning people into objects or other creatures or simply killing them…

 

Rozu decides she wants to intervene but is halted when an arrow comes flying out of nowhere and hits one of the magicians straight through the chest knocking him down. The others go on the defence as they search around, trying to see where the arrow came from but another arrow flies through the air and strikes down another magician. Suddenly a group of green cloaked archers wielding bows and short blades descend from the rooftops and attacking the magicians, a massive fight breaking out amongst them.

 

She still needed to do something…but for which side? For the innocent or her father’s people? She pulls the hood of her black cloak over her head and joins the fray, summoning her flames and firing them at the group, hitting both magician and archer, rather trying to disperse the fighting than to harm anyone. She twirled around, summoning a ring of fire that knocked several people back, the magicians looking at her stunned before attacking, using their magic to throw balls of energy at her that she easily blocked.

 

She didn’t see one coming at her however and would’ve been hit if it had not been for a wall of stone to emerge from the ground around her and block the oncoming attack. She freezes when she sees the solid rock surrounding her, slowly lowers and reveals one of the archers looking at her, his arms were raised as his green emerald eyes were glowing, meeting her own golden gaze. Had he saved her? How did he move the earth like that?

 

They kept staring intensely for a moment before the sound of horses and trumpets approaching fills the air, Rozu forms a fireball and slams it into the ground, engulfing her in an inferno to hide her using the shadows to disappear into the darkness.

 

She reappears in an alleyway not too far from the group of magician’s watches as they run away from the group of men dressed as knights who had come to villages rescue, chasing down the remaining magicians and to Rozu’s surprise struck them with weapons glowing with light energy, nullifying the dark figures magic…and stopping them from escaping. This shouldn’t be possible, Rozu’s father had always said that nothing could stop their magic but here there were people that could stop them…

 

She watched as some of the archers removed their hoods and helped the people who were hurt by the magicians, while the leader, the one with the emerald eyes who had saved Rozu revealed his pale face and raven hair, the bangs hanging in his face. He approaches the leader of the knights, “My Lord Thymus am I relieved to see you.”

 

The knight removes his helmet, revealing his hair shaped in a star, the strands black with metallic green tips, silver bangs framing his face, a few of them running along his black hair, his one eye had a scar over it, leaving it permanently closed, and his remaining eye was a rich green. He looks at the leader with a small smile, “I’m glad to have arrived in time. How many are injured?” he follows the raven haired man as he leads him to the victims who were being covered in sheets, to shield the surrounding citizens from seeing the corpses, “At least 7 my lord. Although it would’ve been more if we hadn’t shown up. The bastards are getting bolder, attacking the villages while the warriors are away fighting.” He kicks a dead dark magician, Rozu flinching as she watches.

 

Thymus rests his hand on the archers shoulder, “They have been attacking and conquering villages for a long time Terra. They always go after the weak and those who are unable to defend themselves…but luckily…” he holds up his glowing light sword, “…thanks to my daughter Clarity we have found a way to bind their magic.” He says with a look of pride on his face.

 

Terra grinned and nodded, “So you and the other two lords have convinced her to use her gifts to help us?” Thymus nods with a sigh as he seethes his sword into its scabbard, “Only after Hermos had explained that it was to protect our people and the remaining White dragons, she agreed…however she doesn’t wish to fight with. She believes all life is sacred…even those that would dare to harm others…” he glares at the dead dark magician before shaking his head; Terra rubs the back of his head, “Any news from Lord Critias on locating the Siren?”

 

Thymus sighs and shakes his head, “Unfortunately no. she just seems to disappear into thin air whenever the battle is over. She appears to be working on her own…however…” he gets a far off look on his face. Terra tilting his head, “What is it my lord?” Thymus looks around and takes hold of the archers arm, pulling him aside where no one could hear them, “Rumours have started to spread that during her last appearance 3 white dragons descended from the sky and obliterated the dark armies before disappearing along with the Siren.”

 

Terra’s eyes widen, “What?!” he shouted before Thymus covered his mouth with his hand, “Hush! No one is meant to hear this.” Terra nods as he keeps his mouth shut, the silver tri-coloured hair lord lowers his hand, “It is only a rumour but I have gone to see the eye witnesses, even some of the surviving fighters…all of them say they say 3 white dragons.”

 

“But I thought there were only 2 left.”

 

“It would seem that there is a third, perhaps one of them is a hatchling. Whatever it is going on, we need to keep it quiet. Only those in our inner circles need to know…I suspect a traitor amongst us.” He gets a dark expression on his face as Terra nods, “My lips are sealed my Lord.”

 

“Good. Now on to other mattes, Clarity has been asking about you.” A smirk forming on his face, “Are you sneaking around with my daughter behind my back?” Terra’s eyes widen as he waves his hands around in defence, “N…no my Lord. She is merely a friend!” Thymus laughs and pats his back, “I am glad to hear. Because if I were you I would be worried…”

 

“Wh…why’s that sir?” he swallows the lump in his throat as Thymus grins, “Word travels fast and Critias isn’t as understanding as I am.” Terra goes pale, “Clarity may be our adopted daughter but we love her as if she were our own.” Terra nods as he listens, “I promise you my lord, there is nothing going on between us. We are merely friends.” Thymus nods as he leads the archer back to the group, “Good. Now let’s head back to the others…”

 

Unfortunately for the two of them, Rozu had heard every word…she slowly leaves, heading back home. She had heard something interesting things today, the enemy had weapons to bind her people’s magic and it was created by some mysterious girl named Clarity. The White dragons seemed to have returned if only for a brief moment and the Siren was with him.

 

Despite all this, the only thing she could think of was the green eyed archer she had locked eyes with…the man that had saved her…why had he done that?

 

She needed to think what she would do with all this information and whether or not she would reveal this to her father…

 

Back in the virtual world…and the present…

 

A breeze was blowing over the isolated island where Lillian still lay unconscious, the sand beneath her soaked with her blood. She seemed almost dead if it wasn’t for her fingers that were slightly twitching…a soft whimper leaving her lips as she was lost in a dream…

 

Her eyes slowly opened as she found someone shaking her. She looked up and saw a little boy with white hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes, dressed in a brown tunic and had no shoes on his feet. It looked like he had tiny scales running over his forearms and his ears were pointed. He looked rather sweet as he was gazing at her with concern, he holds out his hand to her which she takes, slowly standing up. She was surprised when she didn’t feel any pain in her mid-section, she looked down and discovered she was wearing a long white dress and her injuries were gone…

 

She looked at the boy as he stared at her before turning and leading her away. She realised she was in the middle a dense forest instead of the beach where she had fought fake Seto. She hears fighting and shouting coming from a nearby clearing, the smell of smoke and blood filling her senses as they reached the open area…her eyes widening as she came face to face with an intense battle between warrior type duel monsters and magic type monsters, corpses and weapons littering the ground…

 

She hears a roar and looks up, her eyes widening when she sees 3 Blue eyes white dragons soaring through the air, sending blasts of bright white energy at the dark magicians…and on top of one of them sat a figure that looked exactly like herself!?

 

The figures hair was turquoise with purple tips, tied up in a messy braid. She was dressed in arm made of silver plating and blue scales, a helmet atop her head made of the same metal, her face exposed. In her right hand she held a mighty 5 pronged trident, mystical symbols engraved in the material it was made of.

 

Lillian watched as the other version of herself moved into a standing position on the dragon, raising her trident in the air, massive dark clouds rolls in and blocks out the sky as lightning strikes the field of battle, one of the bolts hitting the forked weapon in the sea warriors hand, the mystical item absorbing it as it started to glow…the raven haired girl couldn’t move her eyes away as the other her leaps of the dragon and dives to the ground, twirling in mid-air, landing feet first and thrusting her weapon into the ground, sending a massive wave of electrical energy over the battle field, knocking out several dark magicians while leaving the warriors that were fighting them unharmed.

 

Lillian couldn’t believe what she was seeing, it was incredible. She watches as her other self fights off several magicians with ease, piercing them with her weapon through them or summoning blades of water from thin air and sends them flying through the heads of the dark magicians. It was like watching something out a fantasy movie. She moved with such ferocity and grace…

 

She feels the little boy tugging on her arm and she looks down at him, before she could ask what was going on points upwards at one of the Blue eyes, Lillian’s gaze shifting to the beast…her eyes widening as one of the magicians summons a large spear and throws it at the dragon, piercing its side. The winged monster lets out a roar of pain as it plummets to the ground, crashing to the earth. Several magicians descend upon it, summoning a large net and throwing it over the wounded beast as it still tries to fight. Suddenly the earth started to shaking and cracks forming in dirt, streams of water bursting out of the soil like massive fountains. Lillian looked at her other self, the girl was floating in the air, her whole body glowing as her hair was flowing in different directions, she raises her trident into the air and the streams of water turn to massive tendrils and waves, grabbing the wizards, freezing every single one of them in giants blocks of ice…the turquoise haired girl opens her mouth and lets out a sonic scream, shattering the ice and the magicians that were trapped inside them, obliterating their bodies and killing them…

 

When the last magician is dead the floating girl drops to the ground and runs to the wounded dragon, the other two already at its side, gripping the net between their sharp teeth and ripping it apart, freeing the beast as it letting out soft sounds of distress, dark blue blood seeping from the wound where the spear was deeply embedded in. The sea warrior takes off her helmet and tosses it aside, dropping her trident as she reaches the Blue eyes. She stands before it for a second before gripping the end of the spear and yanks it out, the monster letting out a loud roar. She presses her hands against its snout, stroking it gently to try and calm it down, knowing it was in pain. This works for a moment as it breaths heavily, it’s eyes fixed on the girl.

 

She then moves back to the wound, laying her hands over it and closes her eyes, her body glowing again as a glowing blue energy flows from her hands into the wound, slowly blood starts leaking out of it and the skin stitches itself back together. She steps back; the only thing remaining was a scar as she stops glowing. The dragon looks at her and presses its forehead against hers, making a softly purring sound as if to thank the girl for saving it. A soft smile forms on her face as she wraps her arms around its snout hugging it gently, a tear on running down her cheek.

 

Lillian turns to ask the boy what all this was but he wasn’t there anymore. She looks back up and finds that the battle field had changed to a field of a long grass and wild flowers…in the distance stood a tall figure that was dressed in a long white cloak that was flowing in the breeze…his hair white and his skin pale, a breeze blows over him, lifting the cloak and exposing his bare torso, a scar running down its side…he turns to face Lillian but before she could make out who this was, everything goes white…

 

Lillian gasps as her eyes fly open, she is breathing heavily as she holds her mid-section, finding it wet with her blood. She was feeling weak and limp, the life bleeding out of her…she needed to do something before she dies, panic running through her before her mind wonders to that weird dream she was having…what if it wasn’t just some dream? What if it was a…memory…

 

She gazed down at her stomach, the gears in her head starting to slowly turn…what if the sea warrior she had seen in that dream was her…or her from a past life…no that didn’t sound right. That would be insane…and yet her dream version shared similar abilities to herself…and if that was the case then…she bites her lip as she presses her hand to her stomach, pressing against the bleeding wounds and closed her eyes as she winces. She concentrates hard, reaching for something, not entirely sure what. For a moment nothing happened but she kept trying, growing frustrated as she growls, “Just come on!” she shouts and suddenly a burst of energy flows explodes from her palm engulfs the island…

 

When the light fades the raven haired girl opens her eyes, the agonising pain she’s been enduring since the previous day was completely gone…she felt rejuvenated even. Slowly she sat up and removed her blood soaked medical robe and tosses it aside, slowly taking off all the bandages, a shocked smile forming on her face…each one of her wounds was gone, in its place was just scars…she had done it! But that also meant that her earlier theory about her past life may be true. She shook her head as she stood up, she would figure it out later, right now she needed to get off the island…and probably find some clothes considering her torso was naked and all she had on for a bottom was her shorts…

 

She picked up her ruined robe and tore it up, getting a long piece of fabric and wraps it around her breasts, securing into place. It wasn’t much but it would do for now.

 

She then turned to the ocean and raised her hands, pulling a large ball of water from the sea, slowly shaping it into a long board like shape before closing her fingers and freezing it. Once it was a solid block of ice, she dropped it into the water, letting it float gently on the waves. Before she walked over to her make-shift surfboard, she noticed something shining in the sea. Raising a brow she walked over it to and reached into the grains, her fingers hooking on a silver chain. She slowly pulls the object from the sand, her eyes widening as she sees that it is her Blue eye necklace. She gently lays it in her palm, delicately trying to wipe the grains off it. How did this get here?

 

The last she had seen it was before she was nabbed by Odion. She thought Seto had said that he had taken it back from the rare hunter that used it to taunt him…so how did it get here? She stood up and looked around, sure enough there was no one here other than herself…she slowly put the necklace back around her neck where it belonged, her fingers gently running over the pendent. She would find her family and friends and make sure they got out of this safe.

 

She leap into the air, going a lot higher than a normal person would and landed gracefully on the ice, her tattoos and eyes glowed as she formed a massive wave that pushed the board forward, pushing her forward quickly, putting distance between herself and the island as she heads for main land…

 

Yami did not like this little brat at all. He watched as she clung to his Aibou like a baby monkey clinging to its mother, Yugi telling Rosie about his friends and family, the child listening intently to every word…or in Yami’s opinion pretending to listen. Yugi was too trusting. You don’t just pick up strange children in the middle of the woods and tell them your life story! The short teen had shown the spirit enough horror movies to know that you just don’t do that!

 

But Yugi’s kind heart truly believed the girl had been trapped her here with her mother…even if that made no sense to the pharaoh! Why would ex-executives from Kaiba Corp kidnap some random girl and her mother and dump them in a virtual reality world?! As much as Yami loved Yugi, he couldn’t deal with how naïve the boy was…but he could scream at the top of his lungs and Yugi wouldn’t listen. He really wanted to help this child so Yami would stay quiet and protect his little angel should danger arise…

 

As they walked down the path they reached a cave, Téa voice echoing through it…Yugi heads inside, soon finding they were in a tunnel of ice, at the end was a large wall of ice, and on the other side was Téa duelling a penguin…a penguin…this day could not get any weirder…

 

As for the duel it looked like the girl wasn’t doing too hot…since she was trapped in ice (I hate myself for that line). Yugi sets the girl down and tries to bang on the ice to break through it to get to Téa but he couldn’t…he even tried to tap into the powers he had displayed earlier, but nothing.

 

Yami watches his Aibou struggling and is about to speak up when he notices the shadow at Rosie’s feet moving around and sink into the ice. Narrowing his eyes he turns his attention back to the duel for a second as the tower of ice the duelling penguin (who was Crump from the Big 5) slowly turns black before cracking, the penguin screaming as he plummets into the water, a large black shadowy shark jumps out of the water and attacks the bird, swallowing it whole.

 

Yugi and Téa watch this scene unfold while Yami turns his attention to the little girl, her head slowly turning 180 degrees like an owl, her eyes turning to those of a snake a forked tongue slips past her lips and she hisses at the spirit…Yami’s eyes widening…did she see him?! WHAT IN RA’S NAME WAS THIS THING?!

 

She quickly returned to normal as the ice wall separating Yugi and Téa shatters, the short teen picking up the little girl and rushes to his friends side before Yami gets the chance to warn him about what he saw…

[demonsfate]

mun talks about muse // accepting // anonymous asked . . . ⌨ What’s a situation you’ve always wanted to RP with the muse? (Luna) 🐰

Not sure if I've ever had a specific kinda plot I wanted to do. But I have had vague ideas for stuff I'd like. Such as the idea of writing both Jin & Abaddon interacting with somebody at once... as separate individuals rather than one body. Dunno how this would work! Considering they're forever confined to themselves... maybe somehow somebody got into Jin's head? Dunno! But it's something I wouldn't mind doing!

Another thing I wouldn't mind doing is more threads set in the past. Just 'cos... Jin & Abaddon are kinda chill now LMAO. Jin's no longer suicidal and Abaddon's no longer a cunt. They're just kinda Living now. Which is fine... there is stuff to explore with that; such as them adjusting to a Normal Life, Abaddon dealing with guilt and what he used to be, them learning to actually coexist, Jin dealing with his trauma. But like... shit just doesn't cut as deep as Suicidal Self-Hating Jin and Remorseless Monster Abaddon, y'know? When I'd have threads before TK8, it felt like I had a lot more threads that were "deeper" y'know? Now it seems like I have a lot more slice of life / fluff threads. Which makes sense given they're current position. But like I said... I'd like some deep, angst-ridden stuff too!!! These two need to stop being happy, dammit!! lol!

TK6 Abaddon is a verse I often write in! Which is really cool 'cos that timeline really fleshes Abaddon out. Most of the threads I do with that timeline is set whilst Jin is still "completely gone." I would like to do a thread set a little later during Abaddon's reign, when Jin was starting to "return". Because that just puts a LOT of stress on Abaddon, and it would be interesting to see if some muses are successful in "reaching" Jin.

This one is really self-indulgent and I'll probs just write a drabble for it. But like... I wouldn't mind the idea of Jun meeting Abaddon when he was a kid. Just because it was Old Lore (that's safe to say has been retconned I'm sure) that Jun would fight off Devil during her pregnancy, so that he doesn't possess Fetus Jin LMAO. But since that is noncanon to my blog, and likely no longer canon in the actual lore - I'd like to come up with an alternative. Perhaps a scene where Jin tells Jun about a "dream buddy" he's been seeing, and Jun knowing about Kazuya's situation, she assumes this must be the devil Jin was born with. So one night whilst Jin is sleeping, she places her hand on Jin's head, and is able to spiritually meet the little devil. To her surprise, the devil also takes form of a child... and well, how are you gonna fight a little kid? The conflict it brings Jun would be interesting... would she try to fight off this spirit, or try to show it compassion?

There are probs other more things... but my brain is drawing a complete blank on what else I would've want! Other than the obvs of getting to write with other Tek characters that haven't had blogs yet... (at least not in my time of writing Jin!)

Altho NSFT things underneath cut . . .

Even though Spring is long over, I still wouldn't mind doing more threads involving Jin & Abaddon being in heat LOL

The idea of TK6 Abaddon bending someone over his desk and fucking them, too....

[mayonaisalspray]

whats the tea with jester and plurality. also is the toxic yaoi canon or was that for funssies and just a side thing?

AHAHAHAAH YES!!! thank you…

Putting this under the cut cause it’s going to be long. Also mentions of death, violence, childhood trauma and uh. Toxic yaoi I guess

Okay so Jester is my most fucked up oc. I really went off with torturing this guy. It’s a Zangoose who switched places with a child. He was thought of as broken by his parents, who desperately searched for a way to “bring him back to normal”. He lashed out. He got into fights at school. It fought like an animal because that’s who he wants to believe it still is. But he isn’t truly an animal anymore. Jester sees himself as a beast with a human heart, and it hates it.

It could maybe have gotten better overtime. He befriended a Leafeon that he was able to communicate with. He got older and started exploring spaces with fairly likeminded people online. If only his parents desperate search for a solution didn’t lead them to borrow money they could never return. They paid for it! And so did their son.

Jester got to watch the people who tried to care for him die. And then, it got to watch his Leafeon friend die! With one less eye! Because I wanted him to have the same scars as a Zangoose. As another fun reminder

Jester doesn’t have the words to describe it, but that night it developed headmates. It thinks of them as “The Spirit Of Man” and “The Spirit Of Beast”. The Spirit Of Man is a young child, and looks very similar to how Jester physically looked when it first became human. He’s cautious, wary of many things, but also wants them all to move on from the past. She hates that Jester insists on his violent form of justice. The Spirit Of Beast is, you probably guessed it, a Zangoose. It is cunning, observant, but fairly gullible. It doesn’t understand why Jester does what it does. Jester is supposed to be an animal, yes? Wounded animals shouldn’t put themselves in danger like he does.

Jester has been trying to ignore them for years. It thinks they are those “intrusive thoughts” that people talk about (though he does also have those). Neither of them have been able to convince him to stop his “Seviper Hunt”, but as long as what Jester is doing isn’t related to that he might listen. Most nights they try to interfere in small ways. The Spirit Of Beast tries to remind Jester that their body is fragile, and forces him to take care of it. The Spirit Of Man tries to remind Jester that there is no reason to struggle like he does, and she convinces him to look for help.

Though of the three, only Jester is able to front. There have been days where due to frustration it has wanted to step away from the controls and let someone else figure out what to do. Both Spirit Of Man and Beast have tried to front on these days (and others of course) but neither have been able to.

Okay so about Poison Point (Jester and Tetra ship name) uh. So. It is technically canon? Not in the same universe that both their blogs played out on but in like. Their canon oc storyline. Does that make sense? I hope it does

It really just came about because I was listening to a song (I don’t remember what song sadly) and I got thinking about both of them and realized they would be SO terrible for each other. Neither of them have been in a relationship. They’re both obsessed with something to the point of madness and nothing else matters. They can both use each other to further their goal. They’re both spiteful and angry and violent and very often covered in blood and the suffering one brings fuels the life of the other. I think they should have gay sex by sitting fully clothed in a room playing mind games with each other

Anyways I like these two so much I’m destroying my entire art fight account this year so that they (and my fursona lol) are the only things there. Which means I will be drawing and talking about them more. Which is fun for me and I think me only. I need to draw them as Mesmerizer soooo bad holy shit

[raichett]

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock

Four nights from four death games, snapshots of lost time. No one was ever going to make it out alive.

This can also be found on AO3.

-

TICK-TOCK TICK-TOCK

Nights are cold in the desert, a sharp contrast to the sweltering heat of daytime, and the Sandcastle may keep out the wind, may keep out (most) of the sand, but it can’t keep out the cold.

They don’t have the wood to spare to waste on two separate fireplaces, and so turn to the next best thing: sharing body heat under their llama wool blankets.

Grian’s shorter than Scar, smaller. He curls into Scar’s hold, presses cold fingers into his muscles, and pretends not to see the gleam of red eyes in the dark room, the pallor of grey skin and black veins. Scar’s still warm, at least, to the touch.

Scar’s time is surely running out swiftly - he’s the only Red life around, though there are a couple of Yellows. It’s not... it’s not fair. That Scar has been so changed: in his body, in his mind. Three. Two. One. The only place for Scar to go next is zero, and Grian doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

Scar’s hands are rough and warm, and Grian slides his fingers to interlock with Scar’s, and squeezes. Scar squeezes back.

-

Scar loses several lives in a row like sand running through his fingers. Gone, just gone, lost from his grasping hands.

Grian brings back his items, hunched and awkward, the moon silver through the windows. He’s Yellow, and Scar’s Red, and they’ve been here before, and yet they’ve not, not like this.

“What are you doing here?” Scar asks. “Come to brag?” He can’t help the bitterness that drips from every word.

Grian puts Scar’s items in his chests, and doesn’t do more than glance at the things already in them, keeping his sticky fingers to himself. Scar swallows back the venom welling in his throat with long practice, shoving down the bloodlust, the urge to rend and tear and bite, grab Grian and scratch lines into his skin with his nails, show him who Scar is and what he could do.

“No,” Grian answers, morose. He flitters in place a second, a flightless bird with clipped wings, and forces himself to meet Scar’s eyes. Familiar, not unsettling like the vibrant green they had been, something that Grian had never gotten used to before. “Just to return your stuff.”

“But not to stay,” Scar says, blandly, and he grins with no humour as Grian blanches. “No, no, it’s okay, I understand - I’m a block of TNT hooked up to a redstone clock. As I’ve always been.”

Grian hesitates, lingers, his face contorting as he tries to fumble for an answer, and Scar - Scar takes pity on him.

“Leave,” he tells Grian, as gentle as he can when his heart is tearing out of his chest. “Go back to your Southlands.”

Enjoy the time you’ve got left with them. It won’t be long.

-

Their heartbeats pulse in time with each other, and they’re running like mad through the night. Yells and the sound of horses and the echoing horns resound all around them as the last two Green lives make a hasty escape from everyone else.

“Down here, down here,” Grian gasps as he spots the entrance to someone’s old mine, the light of a torch orange in the night. Scar stumbles after him as Grian darts inside, blocking up the entrance with dirt and then scrambling deeper, following the torches.

Scar can feel the thrum of Grian’s bird-fast heart in his own throat, enough to choke on, as he turns and places cobblestone in the tunnel behind them, giving them more time if someone spots the mine they’ve escaped down.

Finally, deep in the earth, they stop. Adrenaline shaking them like leaves, they both collapse next to each other on the stone, listening for any pursuers. None, and after a few moments they start to relax.

Scar feels the ache of bruises forming, ones he knows are Grian’s, and they share the light scratches left by twigs and branches as they fled through the woods in their desperate run, doubled over each other’s skin.

Something deep inside Scar guides him to yank at Grian and draw him close. It’s only a matter of time until they’re Yellow, he knows. Only a matter of time before they’re Red. And one of them is always going to inevitably drag down the other with them - that’s how it’s always been, with them. 

Grian clutches back, too eager for comfort to care about things like secret soulmates and the trenches of blood pockmarking their history. What’s a little blood, around here, but the steady drip that erodes the stone and leaves a pool, from which Grian and Scar both drink, sanctified and holy? 

Time is the force that none can stand against, they both know; not stone or iron or deepslate, not flesh or blood or bone. The drip of blood into the pool, the sssshhhh of sand in the hourglass, the three-two-one of Green and Yellow and Red. 

-

Grian climbs down from the precarious roof of the still-smouldering Bad Boy Manor and slips like a ghost through the night. Is he one? Maybe. He could be.

Scar is waiting for him, like he knew he would be.

“I could build you something,” Scar says, soft and warm through the cold night. He gestures with that stupid diamond hoe, Grian’s heart clenching at something that is just so typically Scar. “Crops, a home. Something long-lasting.”

There’s a ticking time bomb on them both and they both know the lies that Scar speaks. There is no long-lasting, here. Grian has the right of it: the sword, the ability to cut down another and gain back half as much time as is taken, will do more to prolong their lives. 

Prolong their suffering.

Grian ignores Scar’s words, marches up to him, and reaches up, grabs with ungentle hands, and drags Scar down into a bruising kiss.

He bites at Scar’s neck, wanting to leave a mark for the Clockers to see in the morning, something to remind them that they aren’t the first to have Scar in their fold, aren’t the ones with the greatest claim upon him. Scar unhesitantly pulls Grian into him, holding him tight, even as Grian’s lips gentle at his neck, kissing there.

They both breathe in place, still, as Grian pauses, his lips at the pulse point, counting every beat.

Counting down.

[sonicasura]

Golem!First

This next nonhuman Link stems from me reading the Skyward Sword Prequel and my brain trying to keep me from sleeping with the thought. What kind of golem I'll be using isn't fully based on the Hebrew equivalent. Instead it's from in my personal opinion, a very underrated game called Knack. I'll be drawing him later like the other Links.

Same situation as Wild, an amnesiac. Golem!First is the remnants of his original spirit casted away by Hylia that now inhabits a mysterious golden orb and body of mysterious relics. Height range from 2'2 to 33'7 depending on how many parts he takes into his body.

A selective mute that prefers to stay in his small form, mainly cause he can't speak at said size. Often communicates in sign language or morse code whenever First doesn't feel like using his voice. His voice is still the same as when he was Hylian.

Personality is similar to that of a child, curious about everything around him and loves to play games. His original personality peeks through in a fight or under heavy stress. It's almost like two minds share this peculiar body.

Feels awkward when not a wearing a hat. If hatless, First will steal someone else's hat or something to make due. Has a special messenger hat that he loves.

Constantly plagued with the memories of his past life's suffering as night terrors. Whenever this happens, First doesn't want to be alone at all. Very bad ones often make him very dangerous as he'll flail about and shift into his larger form unless woken up.

Can actually take on the visage of his original form but doesn't know at all. First stumbles upon this by accident. Absolutely hates looking at himself like that and rarely uses it unless needed. (Poor fella is traumatized even if he doesn't remember everything.)

Can understand any language just by hearing or seeing it at least twice. First can also communicate with machines and spirits. Sheikah related devices like the Gossip Stones freak him out.

Very touch starved. Often seeks out Blupees or fairies for comfort. If he trusts someone then First will go to them. Prefers hugs, cuddles or being held.

Uses magic aligned tools such as Fire Rods than normal weapons. This mainly stems from the fact he can manipulate his parts in ways similar to conventional weapons like swords, bows, and even hammers. Can corporate non-relic parts such as ice, wood, metal, crystals and even bone in a way similar to armor.

Immediately avoids the Chain upon seeing them. Mainly because most of them look too much like his original self. Only Wind can see the echo of First beside his golem incarnation.

Is comfortable around Legend, Wind and Hyrule. Takes quite a while before he's comfortable with everyone else in the group. First is usually called Tyke by the Chain instead of his title.

Avoids every Zelda except for Tetra. First is greatly terrified of Sun and tolerates Flora better than everyone else. It takes longer before he's comfortable around them. Seeing Sky's Crimson made him upset at first but First happily greets the Loftwing afterwards.

Loves music a lot. Always happy when one of the Chain plays their instruments. Time bought First a pair of hand drums and gave the man a big bear hug in return. Happily plays his gift whenever possible.

That's all I have for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back in Hyrule.

[prerodinu]

Claws tap away over wooden floors, body of pristine white, not a bald patch in sight, ribs no longer visible, stomach rounded and limbs slender but bulked a normal weight. Renji's wolf form was finally at its peak. A beauty now that didn't fight with itself, no longer a visage of his past or tribulations. Just a healthy canine, with a wet nose, little scarring and a rumbling gut for filling... Though he remained in the doorway, staring upon his family. Nose twitching at the plentiful scents and raising his tail flat in greeting.

A mild mood but still a beast, golden gaze moves to the accidental shift of someone else in the room. Maw wrinkled, a flash of frontal teeth before tongue laps through the gap and over his nose. A wariness in his bones, a shyness almost, after all - he hasn't been in connection with his wolf so deeply in years. Only here, after healing did his body and mind accept what he was, what he could be, what he's become.

Still, his ears flicked, tail lowered and teeth returned behind lips with a snort and trot towards the open backdoor. Slipping outside with a flick of his tail to take a good sniff around outdoors.

It was that time of year again, allowing themselves to prepare for the summer solstice was a work. Artem was spending lots of time to make sure the preparations were ready and thus had been spending less and less time with Renji.

That made his wolf irritable and he and his wolf most of the time didn't see eye to eye. His wolf enjoyed Renji and oftentimes would seek him out, though the rolling over seemed to be fine with Renji even if Artem was a bit sad he wasn't able to remember much of it.

An itch started along his neck and moved towards his shoulder, spreading until Artem had to jump up and make his way towards the back of the house wanting to see what his wolf was drawing him close to.

And when he saw Renji, his beautiful mate, making his way outside, towards the back of the house, he smiled. The itch was less now that he was in front of his mate, following him. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what his mate was doing or if he was more likely just having a nice little moment alone with his wolf.

Artem couldn't help but remember the last time he saw Renji before he came back. The small person he once was, thin and focused mostly on getting his next fix. Then he came back, healthy somewhat and free of the substance that plagued him. It was something that Artem couldn't believe until he put eyes on Renji, watched him come with Katia up the back steps and his wolf was whole again.

"My beautiful mate." He spoke, placing himself on the steps to the deck, watching Renji with a little twinkle in his eye, his wolf surfacing for a moment before settling down knowing his mate was safe. "Look how gorgeous you are." He felt the need to chase after his mate, but only stopped because he wasn't sure if Renji wanted to explore alone or not. He was content to watching from the sidelines anyway. At least for the moment.