#The Jailer is the Key: IC

[riftofthestars]

"Always hated that term... 'Broken'..." He has to spit the word out with disgust. "Objects can be broken. The continuity of the property of an object, activity or concept can be broken."

"Saying that someone is 'broken' makes it sound like something is wrong with them. Trauma is trauma. Nothing more, nothing less. It doesn't substract from a person's figurative value. It doesn't makes someone unworthy of patience and affection. It doesn't make them 'broken'."

"It makes them hurt. It makes them defensive. It makes them scared."

[16meltedcandles]

A bite of me🧁

🍪she/him

🍪minor!! (Guess lol)

🍪 very asexual (Aegosexual)

🍪I love my boyfriend sm🎀

🍪INFJ

🍪Mexican American girl

🍪ice skating,violin, piano

🍪 coquette, mori kei, dollette, starflesh, ice princess, ballet core

🍪The Cardigans, LDR, May Jailer, The Sundays, Folk music, Heavenly

🍪The Virgin Su1c1des, 50 First Dates, Dangerous Liasons, Kiki’s Delivery Service, I believe in Unicorns, The Last Unicorn

So many opinions, not enough words

[westdallasgang]

The story of how Bonnie helped smuggle a gun to Clyde inside the Waco jail: March 1930.

"One of the boys in jail with Clyde was named William Turner, and his home was in Waco. He had a gun concealed at his house, but didn't dare ask his sister or mother to bring it to him. He didn't hesitate to use Bonnie for the purpose, if she was game. With the man she loved behind bars, Bonnie was game for anything. Turner drew a map of his house, where the key was to be found, the place where the gun was hidden, the place where the ammunition would be. Bonnie was to get the weapon, but that was only half the job. She had to get it to Clyde in the jail without arousing suspicion and without getting caught. All of this was unknown to me at the time. I hadn't the least idea what we were getting into. I knew Bonnie was going after something for the Turner boy, possibly some article of clothing. She ran errands for Clyde and his friends all the time, anyhow. It wasn't till we got out there and I found nobody was home, that I began to worry. After Bonnie located the key and walked in, she cooly informed me that she was after a gun so Clyde could make a jailbreak!

I never was so scared in my whole life. My feet were like ice and my knees like water. I just knew policemen were all around the house, waiting to pounce on us when we came out. I begged Bonnie to leave, but she said, no sir, she wasn't budging till she found the gun. When I saw that she was determined, I started to help her hunt, for it seemed the quickest way to get away from there. The gun wasn't where Turner said it would be. We turned that house topsy-turvy before we found it on the window seat, and the place was in such an unholy mess that there was a big story in the papers the next day about it being ransacked. By the time we got the gun, I was simply shivering with fright. I felt that everybody we passed knew we had a gun and were going to stage a jailbreak. Bonnie wasn't scared, though. She put on 2 belts, one under her dress to hold her slip tight to her body, and another on top. She slipped the gun between her breasts in the pocket the 2 belts made.

We drove back to the jail, and Bonnie asked to see Clyde. The jailer said Bonnie already been up to see him once that day, and if she went up again, she must not stay long. Bonnie, backing off all the time, so that he wouldn't touch her and feel the gun, promised him if she could see Clyde for a minute she wouldn't bother the jailer for a long time—and believe me, she meant that. The jailer let her go up and I sat perspiring. Finally Bonnie came back. We left as quickly as we could. We drove home and went inside the house, locked the doors, pulled down the shades, and just sat there. We were both frightened now. Scared they'd shoot Clyde down. We didn't sleep all night and at daybreak, Bonnie asked me to get a paper. There it was—the whole story. Clyde Barrow, Emory Abernathy, and William Turner had walked out of jail to parts unknown. — Bonnie's cousin, Mary.

[mystic-mutation-archive]

tag drop, gotta do one of those to keep myself consistent-

[pyrrhiccomedy]

Hello ☺️, I’ve heard from your lovely lady companion Emily that you’re a very seasoned DM! I was wondering if you had any advice for beginners to DMing when it comes to things like improvising and making sure your first session has an impact on the players as their introduction to the world. Any advice at all would be a lifesaver! Thank you ☺️✌🏻

holy shit, a question about DMing. you have freed me, stranger. I can stop blogging about Troy (2004). 

First of all, I’m really excited to hear that you’re going to be DMing for the first time! DMing is understandably intimidating, but it’s also incredibly creatively fulfilling, and it’s something you’ll still be learning how to do better after 25 years. 

Okay, so let’s talk about session 1.

Your first session has a lot of lifting to do. You want to make an emotional impact, you want your players to learn about the world, you want to convey tone and genre, and you want your PCs to have a chance to band together and form quick connections.

I really can’t say enough good things about session 1 being about An Escape, because an escape scenario immediately poses a whole bunch of really valuable questions.

What is a crime in this world?

Who are your natural adversaries?

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

What will the next few sessions be about?

Literally, in 3 of the last 4 campaigns I’ve run, session one was An Escape. I’ll walk you through the set-ups for 2 of them (the third is a one-on-one campaign, so maybe not as useful to you).

In Vampire: the Masquerade, the party (all vampires) woke up staked to the ground in the basement of an abandoned school, captives of the fanatical inquisitorial group, the Society of Leopold. None of them had met each other before, all of them were confused, angry, scared, and low on blood.

What is a crime in this world?

Just being a vampire is a crime. You can be brutally attacked, captured, and murdered for being what you are. Your only recourse is to fight for your life.

Who are your natural adversaries?

Vampire hunters. They are not as strong or as fast as you, but they have dirty tricks up their sleeves and fanatical conviction on their side, and they do not see you as human.

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

Without them, you will not escape your predicament. You know you can trust them because you have a common enemy. Each of them will have a chance to solve a problem with a unique skill that you do not possess, driving home that you can solve dangerous problems together that you could not overcome on your own. 

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

Fast, flashy, bloody, and dark. Descriptions of injuries are savage; heads get torn off, chests get ripped open, shadows pinwheel wildly as the sole hanging light in the ceiling gets knocked around amidst the violence. But there’s a slick cool to all of it. You are in real danger, but you are also capable of dealing out grievous and acrobatic harm.

What will the next few sessions be about?

Upon your escape, the Prince of the city charged you all with seeking out the leaders of the hunters. Best not to disappoint him.

In my Call of Cthulhu campaign, the characters were all prisoners on a bus to the gulag, in Russia in 1938.

What is a crime in this world?

Literally anything, if you have displeased the wrong people. One of you received a letter you shouldn’t have seen. Another one wrote seditious poetry. Another was rude to a secret police officer during an investigation. Another literally has no idea why he’s here. There is a cold, kafkaesque indifference to the notion of fairness in this world. You have been disenfranchised and shipped off to do hard labor for almost nothing at all. Do not bother to look for reason in the machinations of the state.

Who are your natural adversaries?

The NKVD. They are all-powerful, all-seeing, and brutal. They could kill every last one of you right here in the snow, and so long as they filed the correct paperwork afterwards, there will be no follow up investigation. They have the key to the vehicles, they have warm clothes, they have all of the guns, they have the radio that is your only way of contacting the outside world. You don’t even have coats that will keep out the freezing wind. If you want what you need to escape this place, you will have to take it from them.

Why should you trust & rely upon your new party members?

You will be shot, if you try to escape alone. The tundra is vast and the NKVD are always watching. Your only hope is to cause confusion and hope that your numbers count for more than your jailers’ guns. And once you’re out, into Siberia? conditions are so hostile you have no choice but to band together for survival.

What is violence like in this game? This says a lot about your game’s tone.

Almost instantly fatal. You are shown fellow prisoners (NPCs) get headshot by the NKVD captain and drop to the ground, dead. Another NPC has a broken leg, and cannot participate in combat at all. If you get hurt, that’s it. There are no health potions or magic spells that will mitigate the effects of bullets and the biting wind.

What will the next few sessions be about?

As you escaped, you saw strange apparitions across the snow, which caused the radio to malfunction. You are fleeing in your stolen truck from the NKVD, but where are you going? Where can you go, except towards the mystery?

Escapes are great, too, because as a DM, your list of things you need to prepare is pretty concrete. You need:

- Mooks

- A boss for the mooks

- a map of the immediate area, so your players know what avenues of potential escape they have

- a couple of NPC fellow prisoners for them to talk to & for you to kill along the way (alternately, this can be a great way to link the party up with future quest-givers straight from the jump).

- A list of possible resources to aid in their escape that they might be able to get their hands on (a fire axe? a radio? a car?)

- A couple of ideas for spanners to throw in the works (if things are too easy/going too quickly, maybe this NPC fellow prisoner turns on them, hoping to curry favor with the NKVD; maybe one of the hunters has a flamethrower to force the vampires to double back; maybe it starts to snow with white-out conditions, maybe something is being filmed right outside and the vampires can’t bust through the steel doors without potentially breaking the Masquerade).

Another great thing about escapes is that they’re geographically isolated. So you don’t need to have The Entire Starting Zone figured out from session 1: you just need to know about this one truck stop in Siberia, or this abandoned school in Queens. When they gain access to the wider world, the session ends, and you should have an idea of where they want to go next.

And if any of their captors survive, you may have an act 1 villain on your hands. Don’t get too attached to the idea that any of them WILL survive; but if they do, and the party bears them a grudge, find them a place in the story, flesh them out as an adversary. Your Big Bad means nothing to them yet, but Captain Volkov, the NKVD captain who pursued them across the ice like a relentless automaton, scares them.

Another thing I like about escapes is that they feel very natural. There is no quest giver; they have an obvious goal they can all agree on, and the obstacles to achieving it are built into the situation. It’s a solid framework for an adventure that you can pack a lot of worldbuilding detail into along the way.

Good luck!

[go-hux-yourself]

Synchronicity

This is Day 4′s FebuWhump prompt fill for impaling :D I swear the past three fics I wrote have all taken place in a jail cell HAHA :) This fic titled Synchronicity, and I went with gingerpilot for the pairing ;D YAAAAS

See also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

--

“Hey! Hey! Listen to me, he’s gonna die if you don’t let me stop that bleeding... Hey!” Poe was trying to get the attention of their jailer; a reptilian humanoid similar in form to a Trandoshan, though where they had two arms, this one had four.

He didn’t know where he was-- he’d only seen the planet from orbit before some sort of anomaly was recorded, and then he was crashing- and then he’d woken up here in this weird cell on an oddly-warm stone block. He thought he’d been hallucinating when he realized there was someone in the cell next to him- the last person he ever expected to see.

He’d thought at first that he must’ve died in the crash landing-- that he was seeing a ghost in some kind of limbo of his own. He’d had reports that Armitage Hux-- the Starkiller, their spy, villain and antihero in his own right- was killed in action. Apparently the force had other plans for the general, because Hux was definitely lying there and that was definitely the blood of a living man dripping down the side of the slab.

There was no way this could just be a simple coincidence. More like divine providence. Or maybe Poe had hit his head really hard in the crash, because there could be no way that he was getting a second chance to act where he hadn’t before; to save Hux like any of them wanted to be saved.

He’d regretted leaving the man behind ever since he’d done it, and Hux’s death weighed on him with everyone else he felt he’d used as pieces in a battle.

To get a second chance to make things right, though….

Poe had checked his head further for injury just in case, still not uncertain that he wasn’t just hallucinating. But then, he didn’t think he’d hallucinate the ex-First Order general in such mundane clothing… or hallucinate a slow-bleeding wound on an unfamiliar world.

Hux’s chest moved up and down in shallow breath, so he was still alive, but he wouldn’t rouse no matter how loud Poe was in trying to get his attention. He wouldn’t be alive for much longer if his wounds weren’t seen to soon. Hux wasn’t even fully on the wide rectangle of stone, his body at an angle and legs over the side as if he’d been hastily dropped there. Poe didn’t know how badly Hux was injured, or even how long the other man had been there before Poe was brought here too, but it was clear that he needed help.

Poe stuck his whole arm out between the bars that made up their cells, now waving madly. His attention was split between desperately trying to appeal to the guard, and looking at the thin line of red down the side of the stone Hux lay on. “I’m telling you, he needs help! Come on!”

His appeals either hit their mark, or Poe had annoyed the non-human enough to peak his curiosity, because he came down to their cells to peer into Hux’s with scrutiny. The guard’s voice was apathetic. “He’ll regenerate. He’s already hibernating.”

Poe’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He didn’t know anything about this species, but clearly they didn’t receive many human visitors. Or at least, not injured ones.

“Humans don’t work like that,” Poe said with an urgent shake of his head. The guard scoffed. “Look at the blood, man. Bleeding usually stops after so long for any species, right?” Poe was taking a guess as to how long they’d been there, but it had to be a couple of hours at least. Moreover, if the guard thought that Hux should be ‘regenerating’, then the fact that he was actively bleeding should’ve brought that line into question. “He’s hurt really bad if he’s still bleeding. You gotta let me take a look at him. Please.”

The jailer looked between them, scratching the back of his head with one hand, another on his waist, and still another toying with keys at his belt. He pointed at Poe with his last hand, staring him down with ice-blue eyes. “If he dies, you’ll be blamed for it, mammal.”

Poe gave a blink for what he was pretty sure was an insult, but didn’t care. “I don’t want him to die. I want to help. Please.”

There was a long look over Poe, taking him and his strange anatomy into clear consideration of the request. He must’ve decided that a human would be best treating another human, because Poe got his wish.

Poe was made to stand with his back to the four-armed guard, facing the wall with arms on the back of his head while the doors were unlocked and secured. The width of the doors when fully opened spanned the hall, subsequently blocking it off in sections to contain various cells. He then gave Poe instructions to turn, walk directly out, and move directly into the neighboring cell to take up the same stance in Hux’s.

Escape crossed his mind for only a moment, but Hux’s unknown injury, the large, curved-blade on the humanoid’s back, and all four of those arms to take on by himself was enough of a deterrent. He couldn’t escape without the other man either-- Hux was the whole reason the war was won, and he didn’t deserve to die here. Regardless of what anyone else might think.

Poe wouldn’t just leave him to his own chances again.

With the turning of the key in the lock, Poe looked over his shoulder, but he was left in Hux’s cell without much more regard. The guard left in much the same mood of apparent apathy as he’d arrived. Poe didn’t waste time gawking, instead turning to the man the entire galaxy thought was dead.

Hux was wearing some sort of brown robes over long trousers and shirt-- a shock for how utterly normal he looked out of uniform. But there beneath the robe Poe saw it-- a piece of something sharp sticking out of the man’s side staining his shirt and puddling blood beneath him.

Poe could only guess how deep it was in there. It looked like a piece of broken metal-- part of a ship’s console, maybe? Something else?- and it stuck right through the material of his shirt and into his torso. There might not be much Poe could do if he couldn’t remove that. And he shouldn’t-- not without bandages and something to stick in the hole- but without supplies, basic first aid would only go so far.

Poe just about jumped out of his skin as he’d been so focused on being careful with triaging Hux that he didn’t notice that the four-armed guard was back. A small, simple cloth satchel was tossed into the cell behind Poe-- mammal’s medicines, the guard specified- and he was told he better not be lying about medical intent, and to fix him if the man wouldn’t regenerate on his own.

Poe wasn’t going to question his good luck and the surprising decency. Maybe things would work out. He dug into the bag and found the components of a ship’s medkit. There was bacta, bandages, and some other ointments and creams for burns. A trauma kit as well which actually looked like exactly what he needed, but no tools or tweezers of any kind to pull the thing out of him.

He’d have to do this with his hands, then.

Poe opened an alcohol wipe that was graciously present, cleaning his hands and going over his plan once more in his head.

It passed a lot faster in reality than it felt to Poe. Removing the piece of metal impaling Hux’s side, the man twitching in some form of awareness while Poe literally patched him up. Quickly staunching the wound, applying the bacta, waiting.

...Scared it might be too little too late as Hux went further pale from the pain.

Hux’s lashes fluttered several times before he opened them enough to frown with disbelief up into Poe’s face. Poe couldn’t help smiling as he held his hands over Hux’s bacta-laden injury, having followed the instructions on the packet. The wound-sealing medical bio-foam was doing its job, and he stopped counting in his head, certain the seal would now hold on the wound. He just hoped nothing important had suffered too greatly beyond the quick fix that would buy them some time. If any of his organs had been pierced, Hux would still need medical attention.

“You’re not hallucinating. I’m really here,” Poe as their eyes met, thinking Hux was probably wondering the same thing he had upon setting eyes on him. “You’re the last person I expected to see, either, but that’s okay. You’re hurt pretty bad, and I just bandaged the wound. I think you might’ve crashed landed here like I did... ”

Hux bodily shuddered and grimaced as pain flashed through him, eyes shut and skin ashen. “....Dameron…”

“Yeah,” Poe said, worry shooting through him as Hux looked-- frankly- like absolute hell. “Hey, you’ve got a friend here, okay? I’m just trying to help. You hang in there for me, Hugs.”

Hux made a face at the nickname. “...Dameron.” There was a sort of recognition to his tone, as if to say ‘Oh. You.’

Poe just smiled.

If Hux had the energy to be annoyed at him, then he was optimistic that he wasn’t on death’s doorstep. Or at least, he hoped so. Really, Hux needed to be seen by someone with more than just battlefield patches and first-aid kits. It got Poe thinking.

The jailer had cared enough not to let Hux die. Maybe he could get him to help him again.

Hux shivered despite the warmth of the rock slab he was laying on, and Poe removed his jacket to throw over the other man’s chest to try and make him comfortable.

He was going to need real medical attention, and sooner rather than later. Poe had no idea if there were other complications from the metal that had impaled the other man, but Hux was going to live if it was the last thing Poe did.

He wasn’t going to let him down. Not when the universe was clearly giving him another chance to make things right.

Poe stuck his arm through the bars to frantically wave and holler for their four-armed jailer again.

He felt a sprig of hope as the guard once again gave him his attention.

–

my kofi | ao3 main

[acornrising]

I feel like if any flight has the most potential for really weird cults and alternative religious styles it’s gotta be ice because Icewarden is just. So needlessly and almost negligently... antagonistic is a bit to strong for the sentiment I wish to invoke, but antagonistic toward his ‘children’. Is he proud of any of them? 

Like. I’ve always low-key wanted another ice breed to be the overachieving golden child to stand over the tundras because I love throwing rocks at my favorite breeds, but like. There’s also something really poetic an enticing about the Concept of a god who is never content with what He makes. Never happy, never satisfied, except for maybe a few fleeting instances until he realizes that, unlike the things he keeps frozen in his vaults, what he creates is destined to change without his input, they will make their own decisions, and they will be disappointing in their own way. 

Icewarden’s whole shtick strikes me as someone obsessed with preserving a single moment in time that maybe never existed. He’s the historian god, the museum god, the preserving god, but that comes with a resistance to change that only leaves him surly in his own powerlessness against it. 

And the ways in which a people can respond to that frustration and disappointment on a cultural level is myriad. I’ve spoken before (Long long ago...) about the potential for a cultural divide between Tundra who strive to become A Race God Can Be Proud Of by frantically attempting to achieve ideals they were poorly built for, and the Tundra who have essentially disowned any responsibility felt toward Icewarden and either sought out more compassionate gods or gone antitheistic in their practices. But there’s gotta be a wide stretch of ways those pan out as well. Puritan ice dragons living suspicious and rigid lives in fear of God and his forgotten jailers. Hedonistic ice dragons with their endless bonfires spitting in the face of the God who rejected them. Dragons who just live simple lives knowing there’s a God up on the mountain, and also knowing that he doesn’t care enough to intervene in their day to day.

idk part of me really wants to dig into the potential cultures of the Southern Icefields because that’s the same part of me that gets really into Man v God conflicts. 

[riftofthestars]

"Let's be~gin."

"I'm gonna make you wish that I stayed gone~ When I'm done your satus-quo will know its race is done."

"Oh This will be fun."

[hearteyes-candyskies]

bitter blooms (yandere aizawa x reader)

a/n; retelling of hades and persephone

1.8k words

-------

The sun glints in your hair the first time he sees you, casting a halo of light on your otherworldly face. It blinds him. 

You’re playing in the field with your attendants, nymphs that could never hope to be as lovely as you. Flowers bloom beneath your feet- literally, white rosebuds and zinnias and little daisies that stand proud.

He watches for hours, until the whole field is covered in fragrant blooms and the sun has started its slow descent down. He didn’t think you could get anymore beautiful, but as you stop to watch the blood-red sky, ruby light illuminating youthful features, his heart stops. 

He decides that he cannot live without you.

On the other side of the field, unaware of your secret admirer, you decide you cannot live without the sun.

In both of your fierce desires; one selfish, one innocent, the ground in which your love will bloom is salted, condemned to death.

-------

He watches you for six moons, watches as the warm spring sun brings pure joy to your face and leaves sweetpeas in your footsteps, views the soft white of Eucharis lilies trail after as you revel in the never-ending heat of summer. 

Below, the world of the dead slow to a halt as their king spends his days yearning after a goddess with a warmth so unlike his own, wondering if they might be able to bring warmth to his cold, dead realm. 

Hades decides he has to find out. 

------

The bright yellow blooms of Narcissi are the bringer of your doom. You cannot help but reach for them- so lovely and unlike any other flower in your arms, but with the first brush of velvet petals against soft skin, the earth rumbles and a chasm forms. 

An abyss of darkness chases after your nimble feet, but even graceful leaps are unable to save you, soft soles unused to running, unused to danger. As you fall into the never-ending void, you wonder if this will be your end. 

Gods can’t die, you know that much, but to endure an eternal descent in pitch-black would be close enough. 

Your lids flutter closed, assured that the soft rain of bright petals above you will be the last thing you ever see. There is a warmth to this darkness, almost like the brush of robes- 

Strong arms catch you, and the darkness takes the form of a man, solemn and somber with eyes like Chaos itself. The antithesis to your world of light, and yet you cannot help but think that he is more beautiful than any flower the sun could give you.

That does not mean you stop loving its warmth.

-------

You cling to your light robes for a week, until they are tattered and worn, gossamer fabric dirty with your own sorrow and fear. The marble palace is not cold, per se, and yet you find yourself shivering every time its lord leaves you. 

The hatred you feel at the warmth he gives you is only eclipsed by the cold fury of being separated from your home. Picked flowers die, stems growing soft, petals withering; you know that much intimately and from experience. 

He has not dug you carefully out of the ground, roots intact, and transferred you to another home; no, he has snapped your stem in blind ignorance, caging you in glass for his own admiration, both knowing and unknowing of your slow demise. 

Petals fall, colours fade, and yet he still cannot see that it is he who kills you. 

‘Shouta’, is all he has said when you had gotten to your knees and begged the lord of the Underworld to set you free. 

‘For you, my name will never be Hades, only Shouta.’ He holds you as he says this, salty tears seeping into the cool black fabric of his robes. Your skin burns where he touches you, but it is not like the anger of the sun. When mortals die of cold, they begin to feel feverish, overheat, and in their final moments all they can do is strip to escape the oppressive, imagined heat before the ice takes over.

You are in your final moments, stripping away parts of yourself as the incandescence of Shouta’s love burns you alive and freezes your heart. Orange lilies turn to candy tufts, and the world above has a taste of its first winter. 

-------

When you tire of locking yourself away in cold marble rooms, you begin to wander your new home. Sometimes you sit on the small black throne next to Hades himself, listening as souls petition the cold king for mercy, for another chance, another life.

You want to shout at them to go, to stop wasting their never-ending breath and eternal time, because you know better. Shouta will never let you go, not until the end of your long, immortal life. He has tried his best to give you a poor approximation of one, but it means nothing when he has stripped your former life away himself. 

Still, time goes on, and it becomes tiresome to carry such rage. It grows weary, when there is no sun to measure the days and years mean nothing to a god. Sometimes, you sit on his lap, wrap your arms around him and tuck your face into his neck. 

Flowers are beautiful, and you are grateful for your ability to create them, but they do not lend themselves easily to power. Hades makes you feel unstoppable.

‘Shouta’, you whisper into his ear, eyes half lidded and body languid against his. ‘My lord.’ The shudder that runs through the god of the Underworld at your words is as sweet and heady as any ambrosia, and brings a warmth so different than that of the sun.

Petunias bloom in your wake, strange and lifeless in this cold, unfeeling world. Your anger and anguish at being torn from youthful innocence is a raw wound, and though it is Hades who caused it, it is Shouta who soothes like a cool balm against fevered skin. 

Your imagined heat drives you mad with thirst, and Shouta is cool water, a fresh stream trickling through the snow. 

-------

His flesh is cool against yours the first time you let him into your bed. Warm hands trail up the hard plains of muscles carved from marble, and when your touch lingers for too long, it is as if he steals your warmth for his own. Selfish even in his most basic of functions.

It’s been who knows how long, and though you are not mortal, you fall prey to human cravings. Pleasure can be found in the most undesirable of places, and as soft praise spills from hated lips, your heart wrenches. 

Hades, no, Shouta, is your jailer. He is your lord, your king, your husband by decree of Zeus and he is the one that holds the keys to your prison, who lets you rage and sob and bury your face in his robes all the while looking with eyes of immeasurable sadness.

He kisses sweet apologies up the flesh of your thighs, devours you like Tantalus seeing food, drinks you in like you are nectar from Ganymede’s cup. Surely someone who brings you to such heights of pleasure cannot be as bad as you think?

You think of Hera, condemned to a loveless marriage to an unfaithful husband, love turning rancid to hatred like sweet wine to vinegar. At least your husband will never leave you; has sworn on the river Styx that his love for you will never run dry, that he will never let you go and your snare of his heart will never end.

That is more than most can ask for, you know. Love does not come easy to ever-living beings, when hundreds of years pass in the blink of an eye and personalities remain unchanged. No room for growth, no roots for love to bloom. 

The earth of your love has been salted, but it is earth nonetheless. Hades’ soft, mournful love nurtures the delicate petals, and you do not forget your love of the light.

You cannot live without the sun, but Shouta is your sun now. 

Shouta cannot live without you, so you will never leave.

-------

When the spirits that crowd into the throne room become more and more skeletal, eyes gaunt not just from lack of life, you know something is wrong. Your mother’s name falls from restless lips, angry and resentful, and you know. 

The land above you is dead, as barren as your mother’s heart without you. Shouta cannot live without you, you cannot live without the sun, and your mother cannot live without her daughter. 

She is playing her last, desperate card; an eternal winter as cold as Zeus’ refusal, as empty as his mind when he promised a child to his brother. Soon, the dead outnumber the living, gods starving as sacrifices stop while Demeter roams barren fields lamenting the loss of her love. 

Unbalance is rife within the world, and Hades is no fool. On the fifth year anniversary of your disappearance, Shouta takes you by the hand, guilt written clear across his face, eyes filled with such bleak despair that your heart aches for the man who kidnapped you. Your heart aches for your husband.

When you reach the destination, tears well in your eyes, tears of joy and tears of sorrow. You know not to eat the food of the Underworld; lest you bind yourself eternally to the land of the dead. Yet, perfect and whole, a small pomegranate tree stands proud, flesh as red as the rubies which litter your husband’s kingdom. 

‘I- I am sorry. A choice, for when you had none.’ You’ve heard the whispers; Hermes will come on behalf of Zeus to negotiate for your freedom, for the survival of the gods. Your freedom is on the tip of your tongue, close enough to taste, and yet all you can dream of are the tart burst of blood red arils. 

With shaking hands, you split the crimson fruit, taking six perfect seeds in the palm of your hand. Your choice- six months in the sun, reveling in the memory of lost innocence and childhood, and six months here, ruling the dark land of the dead at the right hand of your husband. 

You look into the eyes of the man who stole you from your life, who gave you power when you had none, who looks at you like you are more precious than all the gold and gems the Underworld has to offer, who offers you the keys to your prison five years too late. 

There is sweetness to be found in sour moments, you think. You strip away the final piece of clothing, expose yourself to the cold, core burning bright, and embrace the cool kiss of death. 

Shouta’s lips are warm against yours, and you wonder when you began to steal the warmth back from him. It does not matter- your white rosebuds are long gone, petals dried and dead, and there are only tulips now, yellow as the flower that first pulled you in. 

Salted land still bears fruit.

[vindiraysa]

Prisoners.

Snow has a scent. If asked to describe it Vindi would be at a loss for words that made up a physical description. To her it was a distinct scent that brought about a calming effect upon her. Much like the dampened sounds of forest and fields, hushed winds, and gentle illumination it gave the night; it soothed her thoughts, slowed their thousand yalms pace, quieted the incessant background chatter of her mind, and gave her a sense of comfort. Not tonight. Here she sat, legs crossed and hands on a box in her lap, snow seen beyond the edges of what her vision could reach and bundles of trees spread in-between all around her. The moon hung high and the snow fell in fat, slow, flakes around her, trees clacking or cracking from the expanding frozen water within their branches. While Coerthas was a discomfort to many, to Vindi it was beginning to feel like home. While away from those she loved it felt safe. The dim glow of her indigo eyes fell upon the box in her lap. With the soft white and midnight hue of her surroundings the red-draconic scaled box looked more purple. Bare fingers smoothed over it and fell towards the lock and paused. There was no key for this, only a short, sharp needle that stuck out. Blood magic; only she could open this small chest.  "Startin' to wonder, y'know.  If I's was ever meant to be free." Certo's words from the prior night echoed her mind and her chest tightened. Freedom. Her heart lurched and ached at the word. What resided in that little box used to be her jailer but now it was little more than a horrifying memento. The plague of suffering it delivered now weakened and dulled when she brought  it with her to this new home. It was still there, the potential to all come back, a seed in her blood and mind that now lay dormant, sleeping. It slept. It gave her freedom as it did and yet... Something warm and damp slipped down her cheeks only to slow and freeze before it could fall away. Gingerly she reached to touch the tear and sighed; crying when alone was becoming an unwelcome habit of late. There was never any sobs or relief that came from it, just a wet, frozen face and a sense of frustration. This sadness wasn't for herself. This heart ache, anger, and lust for violence wasn't because of her own problems. It was for theirs. It made her envy the days when the only person she gave two shits about was herself. She could possibly keep her magic in check if she still felt that way. She wouldn't have ended up in a situation where control over her magic was an issue to start with. Where ice and frost were both her enemy and her friend. Bare fingers drummed atop the box, claw tips looking more like sharpened icicles than cartilage. It should have alarmed her but at this point she saw no point to feeling concern for herself. It's not like she was going to last much longer anyway. That's what her gut kept telling her, at least. Lifting her gaze toward the moon she hummed a soft tune as she thought; what form of comfort could she leave them? How could she help give them each their own freedoms back? Their jailers were each unique in form; some emotional, some magical, some deeply seeded in their blood like her own. She had witnessed some of them escape of one 'prison' only to be shackled to another. She thought back to Certo's words once more and let her body fall back into the blanket of snow. "Perhaps his line of thinkin’ is right.. " Vindi mumbled, searching the stars for a sliver of something, anything. Once upon a time she would have remained stubborn, hopeful, demanding of her friends and loved ones freedom. 'No one is meant to be a prisoner!' Her voice would have rung out angrily, stoking the flames of determination. Those feelings had run numb and out of reach. It was all she could do to muster a smile and laugh as if nothing were wrong anymore. What if he was right? Freedom was never meant to be for them, for any of them. A new jailer would always be waiting.. No matter how hard fought it would always end the same. A plague. A curse. A book. How do you fight for the ones you love when all you're doing is setting them up for a new battle that will hurt more than the last? A void. A needle. A portal. A spirit. A thought. The list would never cease from changing. It would never end.

[swamp-bumpkin]

Monster

(A Fate/Grand Order crossover)

The Master stood there on that mountain, posture frozen straight and stiff like the gleaming spires of ice that crowned the peaks of the summit.

He was coming.

She had been alerted by Mash and Da Vinci, The guard just before her had been slain, and the door open. He’d be here in mere moments now.

She’d have to be ready, she hoped she was.

She’d prepared for this moment, she hoped it was enough.

At the end, by the final door, some of her most powerful servants waited, noble phantasms at the ready. When she led him to them they would catch him by surprise and unleash all their might. She hoped it would be enough, it had to be enough.

One part of her was scoffing, that she was being to paranoid. He couldn’t be that powerful, could he? That the noble phantasms of the greatest hero’s in history would not be enough? Ridiculous! He’d been beaten before, that’s why he was here. He wasn’t invincible.

The other part of her was still frightened. Even if he was beaten he did not die, and they did not know if he could. She had seen his power, had seen what he’d done. In one second civilization as they knew it was gone. 

Just one. 

It was not the incineration of human history, or the overwriting of reality by Lostbelts, just pure destruction. Simple, final, unchangeable. They could not restore what had been before, they had to rebuild from scratch.

Was last time just a fluke? Would they be so lucky this time? With the massive loss of life and the cataclysmic destruction much of the history of humanity had been lost. Books, tablets, murals, movies, digital records, all lost. Those who did remember had to work from memory alone, and already there was some drift. Would her servants be anywhere near where they were at their peak?

And one small final part of her could not help but wonder, could he be reasoned with? Could she just talk to him, form some sort of connection, anything to get him to stop? She’d done it before, to arguably worse monsters. According to Altera, he did not want to do this, but had to. So what if they could convince him he didn’t have to? That there was another way?

No, that woman, the one who’s idea this all was in the first place, thought that too. She also wanted to reach out to him, and was determined to or die trying.

And he was here now, meaning she, and all the others who agreed to hold him, were dead. She did not know them well, she wished she had. 

and now the nine of them were dead, with only her left too–

She heard a voice, it’s words echoing across the mountain path.

“... It’s Guardians like her that make me hate this place! Why did they let her join? How many were they prepared to sacrifice?”

A familiar voice. So he wasn’t dead. Did he help him escape? Why?! He’s the one who built this place!

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s part of this. She’s an overconfident, idealistic child, who dreamed she could save the world.”

She had saved the world, twice! Though no-one outside of Chaldea would be particularly aware of that fact.,,

“’Let me be the last wave! I will stand when the rest have fallen!’”

Oh god did she really say that?

“She’s an amateur. Short sighted. Plain stupid if you ask me.”

She knew that the echo of The Voice was carrying all the way to where her servants were, and she could practically feel their annoyance and hostility to his words. These small little reminders, that they did care, meant much to her.

Especially now.

“What a waste.”

... He had always been the most outspoken against her joining. Most of them were at first but with her determination and Chaldea’s backing the others eventually relented, but not him.

He had a daughter, she remembered. By now she would be... She could not remember, she’d been on this unchanging mountain too long.

Perhaps he had been too.

“But don’t be fooled by her, she’s dangerous. If she was a pushover she wouldn’t be here. She’s treacherous and she’s fast. And there’s something in there that’s meant to stop you, for good!”

He knew! Dammit, their trap might not work now! If the combined strength of her servant’s noble phantasms couldn’t break through his defense, or worse miss, then the upcoming fight might drag out. And with how much mana would be spent on that first attack, she didn’t know if they could win a drawn out battle.

“So, one last time.”

She could see him now, coming over the bridge. He was covered neck to ankle in a black body suit, glowing circuits of energy tracing across it. Bizarrely he was also wearing a pair of black shorts over it as well. His uncovered skin was tanned, and his long wild hair stark white. He reminded her of several Counter Guardians who had become her servants, especially with the red mantle he wore that partially obscured his face.

But more than that, he reminded her, both in form and purpose, of a very specific servant, who like him came from the stars.

She could feel her heart beating in her throat, a numbness spreading over her. She could see him, and from his piercing eyes she knew that he could see her. No more waiting.

It was time.

“The Jailer is the key. Kill her and you will be free!”

[monster-of-master]

What is it your muse strives for? Is there a specific goal in mind?

There’s actually several key points/accomplishments that he’s current striving for. The vast majority of them are spoilerific and I prefer to keep that sort of stuff for finding out IC! Though the most obvious and less clandestine one I can safely talk about without making myself go cross-eyed from revealing too much OOCly.

For the most part Castinus has taken up the mantle of jailer of sorts. Primarily he collects various objects with dark histories or ties to the Black Empire and he seals them away, lest they fall into the hands of the less adept at dealing with them. Or those who would just seek to use them to, you know, wreak havoc or cause untold devastation—that sort of fun stuff. It’s generally why when he comes into contact with individuals who he deems unappreciative or disrespectful the powers that they wield (cough @voidwalkwithme cough) he’s less than polite and cordial. They get under his skin far more easily than most others.

Especially when they try to rob his collection.

Especially then.

@theinsatiablebeauty Thank you, and sorry for the late response! Also sorry that it was cryptic in parts but, I’m old fashioned. I like things to come out in roleplay as opposed to just exposing them willy-nilly. I understand that can be frustrating though!

[theroguewhocoaxedyouintoparadise]

1 year of reputation

1 year of:

•Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted

•I see nothing better, I keep him forever like a vendetta

•Island breeze and lights down low, no one has to know

• And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor, every love known in comparison is a failure

• BIG REPUTATION, BIG REPUTATION

• You hold me down and I protect you with my life

• I don’t wanna touch you, I don’t wanna be just another ex-love you don’t wanna see, I don’t wanna miss you like the other girls do. I don’t wanna hurt you, I just wanna be drinking on the beach with you all over me, I know what they all say, but I ain’t tryna play

• Reputation precedes me, in rumors I'm knee deep, the truth is it's easier to ignore it, believe me.

•Even when we'd argue, we don't do it for long, and you understand the good and bad, end up in the song.

•For all your beautiful traits, and the way you do it with ease for all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities.

•I've made mistakes, and made some choices that's hard to deny.

•I hit you like bang, we tried to forget it, but we just couldn't and I bury hatchets but I keep maps of where I put 'em.

•Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy, I SWEAR I DON’T LOVE THE DRAMA IT LOVES ME

•And I can't let you go, your hand print's on my soul, it's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold.

•'Cause for every lie I tell them, they tell me three

• This is how the world works, now all he thinks about is me

•IF A MAN TALKS SHIT THEN I OWE HIM NOTHING

•This is how the world works, you gotta leave before you get left

•But if he drops my name, then I owe him nothin', and if he spends my change, then he had it comin'

•They're burning all the witches, even if you aren't one. So LIGHT. ME. UP.

•Don't blame me, love made me crazy, if it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

•Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'd be usin' for the rest of my life

•For you, I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I would lose my mind. They say she's gone too far this time.

•I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your DAAAAAAISYYYYYY

•And baby, for you, I would fall from grace just to touch your face

•I get so high, oh, every time, yeah every time you're lovin' me

•My reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me

•We can't make any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

•Oh damn, never seen that color blue

•Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate delicate

•ISNT IT? ISNT IT? ISNT IT?

•Handsome, your mansion with a view

•Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

•I don't like your little games, don't like your tilted stage. The role you made me play: Of the fool, no, I don't like you

•But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time. Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

•You asked me for a place to sleep, locked me out and threw a feast (WHAT?!?!)

•The world moves on, another day, another drama, drama, but not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma. And then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure: Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours

•I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

•I'm sorry, the old Taylor can't come to the phone right now. Why?" "Oh, 'CAUSE SHE’S DEAD" (oh!)

•See you in the dark. All eyes on you, my magician

•Gold cage, hostage to my feelings

•And our pieces fall right into place

•Lipstick on your face

•I'm yours to keep and I'm yours to lose.

•Met you in a bar. All eyes on me, your illusionist

•But I got your heart Skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone

•Scratches down your back now

•You should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong

•Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine, you've ruined my life, by not being mine

•Ocean blue eyes looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and diiiiie (tling)

•Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats, alone, unless you wanna come along (blink)

•The best of times, the worst of crimes, I struck a match and blew your mind, but I didn't mean it, and you didn’t see it

•I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

•We never had a shotgun shot in the dark

•We were flyin’, but we'd never get far

•Don't pretend it's such a mystery, think about the place where you first met me

•There were sirens in the beat of your heart

•And a circus ain't a love story, and now we’re both sorry (we’re both sorry)

•It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart

•It's no surprise I turned you in (oh oh), ‘cause us traitors never win

•I’m in a getaway car, I left you in a motel bar. Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys, that was the last time you ever saw me

•We met a few weeks ago, now you try on callin' me baby, like tryin' on clothes

•Salute to me, I’m your American Queen

•And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for

•And all at once, you're all I want, I'll never let you go king of my heart, body, and soul ooh whoa

•Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep

•Change my priorities: The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury

•Is this the end of all the endings? My broken bones are mending

•Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff. Baby, all at once, THIS IS ENOUGH

•My love had been frozen deep blue, but you painted me golden

•I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets, picture of your face in an invisible locket

•And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis

•I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us, so, baby, can we dance, oh, through an avalanche?

•I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

•If I could dance with you again I'd kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down, I'd hold you as the water rushes in

•There is an indentation in the shape of you. Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

•All of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you

•Inescapable, I’m not even going to try, and if I get burned, at least we were electrified

•I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk

•Flashback when you met me, your buzzcut and my hair bleached. Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me

•Flashback to my mistakes, my rebounds, my earthquakes. Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me

•And I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side (*Magical sound*)

•My one and only, my lifeline

•Jumping to the pool from the balcony, everyone swimming in a champagne sea

•But you stabbed my back while shaking my hand

•And therein lies the issue, friends don't try to trick you, get you on the phone and mind-twist you. And so I took an axe to a mended fence

•Here's a toast to my real friends, they didn’t care about that he said, she said

•And here's to my baby, he ain't reading what they call me lately

•And here's to my momma, had to listen to ALL.THIS.DRAMA.

•My castle crumbled overnight, I brought a knife to a gunfight, they took the crown, but it's alright

•All the liars are calling me one, nobody's heard from me for months, I'm doing better than I ever was

•So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

•All my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm, he built a fire just to keep me warm

•And I know I make the same mistakes every time, bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right.

•Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night

• I want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck, chain round my neck, not because he owns me, but cause he really knows me, which is more than they can say

•Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?" Yes (would you run away?)

•Don’t read the last page, but I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you’re turning away

[telltaleclerk]

Escape Artist

I don’t know what it is about it, but this song makes me think of Adam and Ronan from The Raven Cycle...

Escape Artist by The Zolas

My alter ego, he’s an escape artist

He’s only truly happy when he’s under arrest

Oh how he handsome

Scheduled to hang to death

He’s only truly happy at the precipice

He’s like a mirror

He sticks into our ears

A stethoscope to the chest of the vacant years

I can’t escape the chair, I’m etherized with fear

That my only talent is in hanging here

But then it’s

Hey boy, I’ve got your man

He’s right here, putty in my hands

Ice cream and sweets

Coming in the sheets

He’s got no excuse to leave

And in the real work, an intertidal cave

I ride a desk chair waiting for a tidal wave

I feel like dancing, but that is miles away

I’m feeling hard and hollow like paper mache

My alter ego, he’s in the jailer’s cage

He sits and waits for the devil to abet his escape

I’m sorry pastor, I can’t be pasteurized

All the bibles in the world for a metal file

And at the clock strike, he hears the jailer’s keys

And the doubt starts to sprout til he’s on his knees

And he remembers like it’s his mother’s call

To feel his hand find a grip at the top of the wall

I wanna feel it

I wanna feel the fire of the left over sun on the roofing tiles

I wanna feel it

I wanna feel the fire of the leftover sun on the roofing tiles

But still it’s

Hey boy, I’ve got your man

He’s right here, putty in my hands

Ice cream and sweets

Coming in the sheets

He’s got no excuse to leave

Hey boy, I’ve got your man

He’s right here, putty in my hands

Ice cream and sweets

Coming in the sheets

He’s got no excuse to leave...

[crystal-grace]

As the World Crumbles - Homecoming

Post-Trespasser AU in which Inquisitor Kethryllia Lavellan drags Solas back to answer for bringing Thedas to the brink of war. Until the Inquisition renders judgement, Inquisutor Lavellan has assigned her advisor and twin sister, Yaviel as Solas’s jailer and possible salvation.

Regret and shock were likely the only thing that kept her from disappearing on the spot. They were the only things that kept her moving down the hall and not climbing out of any windows to disappear into the Frostbacks.

She didn’t want this. 

Creators, she didn’t want this. Two weeks. She’d been given two weeks and instead of running she’d stayed to see the outcome. Yaviel was suddenly that much more grateful for being at the lead. It made swallowing down desperate tears that much easier while the guards chattered along behind her. As if this was any time for laughter.

“Maybe the Inquisitor’ll make ‘im Tranquil.”

“Now ya know better than that. Our Inquisitor’s too soft for that.”

“Yeah but—there’s a first for everything.”

Tranquil. 

Just the notion made her blood run cold, colder still when the men laughed. The guards thought Tranquility was a joke. Stripping a mage of everything that made them a person, was a joke and a punishment. A punishment that they thought her sister would ever consider. How had these men continued in Kethryllia’s service? The question twisted in her stomach while she fought the urge to look back and set them on fire.

“I can manage from here, thank you.” There was steel in her voice that she didn’t feel when she finally turned.  

“My lady?”

“You can return to your posts, I’ll be fine from here.” Steel and ice kept her voice from quivering. It was just as well. She could manage both in ample enough quantities to make the guards quail. Quail and drop the bundle of chains into her outstretched hand - she didn’t dare focus on the knot building in her stomach - before they bolted back down the hallway.

Yaviel didn’t dare look at where the chains led. Faked indifference only held up so far and she needed it to hold until she - they - were safely locked in the infirmary and not where gossiping guards and servants could see.

The infirmary door creaked as it opened, creaked as it was shut and wards slid in place. Not another soul present and Yaviel could only wonder if she hadn’t made a mistake. Too late to wonder now if she had.

“...let me get those off...” there was only so long that she could listen to the chains clanking before she wanted to scream.

”They're warded.”

”I know.” she paused, considered briefly before continuing, ”I gave them the spell.”

Chains whispered, one over the other, gathering on the floor and in her hands. Mythal have mercy. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of this. The Inquisitor had handed her the chains and the keys.  Keth hadn’t asked because Keth hadn’t handed down the sentence. Inquisitor Lavellan had and Yaviel had accepted the words without complaint. 

She was to be Solas’s jailor until the Inquisition  rendered judgement. Yaviel could only manage a curse now that they were tucked away in the infirmary. Now that she could see the bruises for herself and focus on them rather than the man before her. Bruises were easier to tend than two years of silence. Much simpler than trying to figure out if she wanted to hug him or strangle him. Mythal’s mercy. It alternated by the second. More so when she took a moment to really look at Solas.

“You haven’t been eating.” Yaviel’s eyes narrowed, a purposeful poke to his side before she finally met his eyes. “Or sleeping properly.” Creators. Solas looked exhausted and it only made her frown more.

“No wonder I couldn’t find you.”

The ghosts of fingers brushing her shoulders and the crimsons strands there made her jump, jerking away.

“Don’t...”

“Vhenan I-“

“Don’t call me that.”  she snapped, “You don’t get to call me that. Not after you disappeared. Not after you had me convinced you were dead somewhere.”

The empty infirmary was a blessing and a curse. No one to overhear what they shouldn’t and no one to distract her from the wounded looks Solas kept sending her way. Pacing was a minor respite though, she could focus on weaving between the beds, table and back again, always far enough that she wouldn’t risk him reaching for her again.

Two years of wondering and worrying herself sick. Two weeks on top of two years. Maybe she should have left when she had the chance. Leaving wouldn’t have changed anything though. Just delayed it.

"Two years, Solas. Two years without a word...just why?" Yaviel felt tired, too tired to fight the building tears, “Why didn’t you come back?” 

Why weren’t we enough?

[for-gold-and-glory]

Weekly Events for Feb 16th to Feb 21st

“Here are some events G&G Members will be involved in during the week. Or just events that I think are really cool and you should definitely go to. If you’re interested in joining these events just show up or send a message to Aegir, Lirilith, or Aedwen Or join our discord: https://discord.gg/dCRSWTx

Thursday -  The Vault of Professor George Edward Cienfuegos and the Kingdom of the Crystal Dragon Skull, Chapter 2: A Quarter to Midnight @ 8:00pm EST - Fisherman’s Guild, Limsa Lominsa Lower Decks Friday -  Swarm, Salt, and Scourge Part 5 @ 8:00pm EST -  Ala Gannha, The Peaks Saturday -  World of Light 2: Paradise Lost @ 3:30pm EST - Roll20 Saturday - Lantern Festival 2021 @ 7:00pm EST - Coeurl, Shirogane W23 Subdivision Beach Sunday -  Treasures of Uznair: Ghosts of the Past @ 3:30pm EST - Roll20 Sunday - Steel-Plated Leves: It’s All Coming Together… Maybe? @ 8:00pm EST - Roll20 (Arcanist's Guild, Limsa Lominsa IC) Monday - World of Light 2: "Keep Ronkan in the Free World" @ 8:00PM EST - ...some creepy water spot, possibly an apartment room ---

Thursday -  The Vault of Professor George Edward Cienfuegos and the Kingdom of the Crystal Dragon Skull, Chapter 2: A Quarter to Midnight @ 8:00pm EST - Fisherman’s Guild, Limsa Lominsa Lower Decks - Hot on the trail for the remaining dragon skulls, the adventurers follow Dato to Limsa Lominsa where one skull is thought to be in the possession of the Quarter Crew. The name may be familiar to some. A treasure hoard that requires four keys to unlock. One key was lost last year as it’s owner was sent to the bottom of the sea. Along with Leviathan. After a word of warning from the docks, the adventurers set off to go diving. But a skeleton may be the least of the frightening things they find at the bottom of the sea.  Note: This is for the Limsa Lominsa leg! Note: You will need to have access to the Ruby Sea! Status: Open RP, please join us (Unless your character is on the Ruby Sea/Kojin leg) Type: Adventure GM: Aegir and Dato

Friday -  Swarm, Salt, and Scourge Part 5 @ 8:00pm EST -  Ala Gannha, The Peaks https://fustuarium.tumblr.com/ - Visiting the Dig Site turns up some interesting revelations which sends the imperials back on the field. Sands continue to slip through the Void Hourglasses and the salt flat fields are literally on fire with the ghosts of long dead live stock. The goal is to return the statue of Resp to the dig site and seal the blood pact while dealing with Rector Xanmus goe Playgus and his increasingly powerful void magic. Time’s ticking. It’s time to bring this story to a close.  Status: Closed Type: Action Investigation GM: Aegir, Rafailleur

Saturday -  World of Light 2: Paradise Lost @ 3:30pm EST - Roll20 -   The Sinners rush into the Crown of the Immaculate just in time to see the ceremony begin! What is the Naming Ceremony, can they stop it, and what will be the consquences of their actions? Elsewhere, trouble is brewing in Khoulsia and it's directly related to the Cult of the New Light! It's time to go on the offensive! Status: Open to members of WoL2 Type: Action Investigation GM: Aegir

Saturday - Lantern Festival 2021 @ 7:00pm EST - Coeurl, Shirogane W23 Subdivision Beach https://lanternfest.carrd.co/ “ Marking the end of the old year and the beginning of the new, the Lantern Festival is a time of hope. Throughout the ages, people have crafted red lanterns and released them to the sky, letting go of their past year in hopes of fortune in the new! This year, we at Suiren Temple wish to enjoy this celebration with you! Welcome! “ Status: Open RP, please check the link Type: Festival GM: Suiren Temple Sunday -  Treasures of Uznair: Ghosts of the Past @ 3:30pm EST - Roll20 - The Royal Puppeteer has tasked the adventurers with an important mission: to investigate rumors of the famed ghost ship, the Black Coffin, appearing on the coasts and ports of Uznair. Their investigation will take them into the bowels of the haunted Arrapago Reef, where the Black Coffin was thought to have run aground over 300 years ago. But the adventurers and the dead aren’t the only things inside the Reef, as they soon realize, they will have to dodge the lamia as well, as the Undead Swarm amasses for a massive besieged! Status: Semi-open, message Aegir to join Type: Adventure/Action GM: Aegir

Sunday - Steel-Plated Leves: It’s All Coming Together… Maybe? @ 8:00pm EST - Roll20 (Arcanist's Guild, Limsa Lominsa IC) - With Fiona preparing to scry the coins that had been identified by Scholar Locke and found at the scenes of two leves so far, the Arcanist's Guild happily volunteered their basement and safe grounds for such a potentially dangerous activity.  Surely (surely) nothing would go wrong with the scry on the coins, and information about their purpose (and who was behind the corrupted leves) would come to light.And surely Fiona knew how to prevent anything from messing with the scry, right? Status: Open to people not present at the Ul'dah investigation GM: Wayward Son/ Luc Type: Investigation, horror Note: PLEASE provide a headshot in the leves channel or, if you do not and attend, you will get whatever is in my tokens inventory and unlike Aegir, I am really unlikely to have a token prepped for you.  It might just be a potato. Monday - World of Light 2: "Keep Ronkan in the Free World" @ 8:00PM EST - ...some creepy water spot, possibly an apartment room - The Jailer of Fortitude has been uncovered in the Covered Halls of Dwali. And defeating it is directly tied with their ability to curse Cassi of the curse that has been inflicted upon her! The Jailer of Fortitude draws the Sinners into a strange realm of mist and reflection. It is unlike any Sin Eater they have seen before, baring a resemblance to a  Ghrah, a early era Allagan chimera, it has the ability to shift its form and mimic the moves and motives of others.  Status: Open to WoL Ronkan Leg Type: Action GM: Aegir