#anvil city guard

[sasquach-scratches]

One neat thing about how fans portray Bretons is that they'll occasionally add a slight point to their ears which is great but one thing I see less of that should also be done is Imperials with a slight point to their ears and/or a wide array of skintones considering they're often portrayed as being more open to interracial marriages.

Modern Bretons as a whole are mostly Mannish save for nobles that inbreed maintain elven looks, Imperials on the other hand likely have a much wider pool of genetics to draw from.

[potatoesandsunshine]

skyrim paper anon here, this was for my Modern Interfacing class in our vr module so i got to call out how Todd Lied when making the vr version vs how he lied differently for the special edition it was fun. also realized that all the examples i gave of interactions within the game are about stealing shit so we'll see what my 70 year old prof thinks of me after that. btw drop the link for the fic it sounds fun!!

that sounds like a really interesting comparison! i've never played anything in vr but surely skyrim is up to the task for a seamless player experience! i did give in and get the special edition when lockdown first started and i had to glitch through a door by holding a plate at one point bc the quest was broken :) Todd... he's truly one of The Liars of all time XD he will never outrun the tell me lies video edit. "it just works" sir it does not.

the fic isn't finished yet but i'll definitely make a post about it when it is :) and it'll probably wind up on my ao3 (friendly_ficus). the premise is basically Hieronymus Lex's No Good Very Bad Day. a glimpse at the offscreen prologue:

hero of kvatch: wait. you want me to steal hrormir's icestaff

methredrel: yes. this is part of five simultaneous thefts designed to sow chaos throughout the imperial city. it is absolutely vital that you complete this mission so we can get lex out of our hair. are you up for the task.

hero of kvatch: hrormir's staff. the icestaff. the icestaff of the former arch-mage, hrormir. the one that's leaning against the wall gathering dust in the current arch-mage's quarters.

methredrel: yes. this mission is dangerous, but outcry from the mages guild is vital in our plan to destabilize—

hero of kvatch: let me go get some robes. i'm about to be hilarious

[gortashs-skidmark]

GORTASH HEADCANONS and CANON Facts

MATURE CONTENT WARNING, 18+ MDNI, SMUT FOREWARNING - (Grammar mistakes, not proof read) CONTENT WARNING: enslavement mentions, death mentioned, religious themes, war, assassinations, spoiler warning for act 3, anarchy, plotting, yadda yadda evil,

-

Canon first, to make precision based Headcanons second.

-

ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ

-

Info Source: Forgotten Realms Wiki, Forgotten Realms Wiki, World Anvil, World Anvil, Fast Change, r/DnD, Forgotten Realms Wiki, World Anvil, dungeonsanddragonsfans

-

Utilizes 4e and 5e Manuals.

CANON

Wyrm’s Rock Geography and History

𝔊 An "Island-fortress located in the city of Baldur's Gate, that served as one of the headquarters of the Flaming Fist military. It was located on an isle in the middle of the River Chionthar, at the center of Wyrm's Crossing."

𝔊 Smooth, warn granite built Wyrm's Rock, with 1ft thick and constantly wet from the river.

𝔊 The interiors of Wyrm's Rock includes offices and chambers for toll-gatherers and guards, keep's armory stocked to the nines, the top floor serving living-quarters for serving officers and mercenaries.

𝔊 It can hold up to 100 Flaming Fist, but usually only houses 25-50

𝔊 Below Wyrm's Rock is the damp cold dungeons, but it's not used regularly, only for emergencies. It's mostly used as storage, holding canoes and such.

𝔊 The current uses for Wyrm's Rock, are as a safety precaution from the Chionthar's rapids and a toll booth, 5 copper pieces, for travelers along the Trade Way.

𝔊 It's a well guarded fortress, with projectiles, barrels of oil, armor, and hand held weapons.

𝔊 Ansur, a Bronze Lawful Good dragon, "The Heart of the Gate" slumbers beneath Wyrm's Rock.

-

Lower/Outer City

𝔊 It is a dangerous "near lawless" piece of Baldur's Gate. Very impoverished with three enterances; Basilisks Gate, Black Dragon, and Cliffgate

𝔊 The buildings scattered along the city are unorganized and unstable.

𝔊 "Due to the high standards of cleanliness that the Baldurian patriar, the city maintained a strict law that prohibited anything larger than a peacock from entering the city's gates. All the stables, livestock pens and abattoirs were consigned to a location within the Outer City. As such, flocks of sheep, goats, cattle and all manner of fowl were kept in enclosures or left to roam around unchecked. While nary a single dog could be found in the lower city, packs of strays were not at all uncommon in the Outer City."

𝔊 It's noisy and dirty and overwhelming for new comers through the gate.

𝔊 The Flaming Fist and The Watch often turn a blind-eye to petty crime like pickpocketing.

𝔊 The Flaming Fist are often bought out, and their behavior sways with the political alignment and leadership world views.

𝔊 There's so much to write about! check this page for all of the vast shops around the Lower City, and the lore behind them. I don't think many of them are relevant so I won't indulge it.

-

Humans in DND lore

𝔊 Humans are very diverse, and the youngest living out of the races. They often have a tad of tainted. blood, whether orc or elf or another.

𝔊 They are the most adaptable opportunists and ambitious race. Their culture, gods, customs, morals, all range heavily. They typically stick to one city and stay for as long as possible.

𝔊 Unlike humans themselves, cities and kingdoms with traditions and origins that stick around for centuries. Human names are often regional reflections. If they're given an elven or other name with racial origins, it's usually pronounced wrong.

𝔊 Humans live in the present and make greater adventurers because of it. They're better read about current political change and social dynamics.

𝔊 Humans mingle with anyone, usually able to get on anyones good terms because of their conventional image. In human built societies, generally, they're inclusive. Not always the case. In other racial origin societies, it can be harder for humans to fit in.

𝔊 Because of their short life span, immortality is an escape that's only dreamt of. They seek to leave a mark on history themselves instead of longevity.

𝔊 Humans are categorized by appearance because of region and ancestory. They fall into 9 categories, which I won't be listing. You can find info here, but don't go crazy.

-

Baldur’s Political Systems and important Dark Urge History

𝔊 The Half Way to Everywhere, Baldur's Gate, largest metropolitan City-State in the Western Heartlands. Protected by The Flaming Fist (mercenary company) and The Watch Citadel (upper city). Showered in abundance of rain weather, and a complex and efficient aquaduct system. This city is described as The City of Blood with it's large waves of crime, primarily because of its acceptances towards anyone, including thieves.

𝔊 The city is apart of the Lords' Alliance of powers in the west, and ruled by the Council of Four (4 Grand Dukes) who attended the Lords' Alliance in representation of their City-State.

𝔊 There's a strange energy about Baldur's Gate. People, no matter the state of the world, often kept to their own business. They didn't have too many customs, but a few festivals. One notable past-time were cobble parties, folks gathering boxes and crate for seating and sharing stories, lit with special "red rose" torches from firework shops.

𝔊 Religion in Baldur's Gate was vast in variety. Depending on the hotspots of culture, you could find god and goddess worshippers of any kind. Twin Song's, a temple district in Baldur's Gate in the Outer City, were very religiously tolerant, even of Bhaal and Bane worshippers.

𝔊 To favor the land, Umberlee, Tymora, and Gond were prominent gods that were worshipped.

𝔊 After a coup by a previous Grand Duke Valarkan, the city's government changed to a Baldurian Parliament of elected Dukes. After 1479, it changes back to the Council of Four, accompanied by the Parliament of Peers.

𝔊 The Parliament of Peers were an Advisory Council. 50 representatives spread over the entirety of Baldur's Gate, as a legislative body. They would submit recommendations to the Council of Four.

𝔊 The Council of Four were served by 5 deputies, City Officials. Harbor Master, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and Purse Master.

𝔊 They would hold sessions in the High Hall, open to observers. most days. They held assembly days every afternoon, with non-mandatory attendance, often 20-30 council members in the hall at a time. Some days were mandatory, depending on the topic.

𝔊 A large number of parliament members were bought-out and under influence by The Guild leader Nine-Fingers Keene.

𝔊 It was made up of retired adventurers and guild leaders. 12 representatives of the Lower City, and the remaining were Nobles representing the Upper City, known as Patriars.

𝔊 A list of Patriars. Including Oberon, who you can find dead on Wyrm's Rock. A Noble family who owned many of the dry-docks in Grey Harbour.

𝔊 "In the Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR, Baldur's Gate became plagued by a series of murders and disappearances. The members of the Flaming Fist showed little interest in addressing the incidents, but after the patriar families of Caldwell, Oberon, and Linnacher became affected, the pressure from Flaming Fist demanding investigations from their superiors started to increase" - Forgotten Realms Wiki

𝔊 In 1479, Baldur's Gate had mended their relationship with Elturguard. Though, expansions the Gate had been making, re-threatened Elturian's and were on the verge of civil war.

𝔊 In 1482, Grand Duke Abdel Adrian, a good-conquered Bhaaspawn, was attacked by a man named Viekang, the only other remaining Bhaalspawn. Though the duel ended in both men dying, one turning into The Slayer form. Both were Bhaalspawn, one was the victor though not knowing who was who. The Slayer form was returned to Bhaal after this event.

𝔊 Durge, with how their timeline works, has to be over 33 years old. Duke Abdel was 120 and had already separated themselves from Bhaal's influence. Do with that info you will. Back to your regularly scheduled Baldurian murder.

𝔊 His death was blamed on The Guild and adventurers were hired to investigate the murder. An increase in crime caused The Fist to crack down on the Lower City and shadier outer districts.

𝔊 The efforts of the Fist and the Watch, assumed by Grand Duke Ulder Ravenguard, didn't last and erupted in chaos. Strikes happened amongst city-workers and the Upper City was given a mid-afternoon curfew. The merchant class of the Lower City became unruly. Arson and crime sky-rocketed. Baldur's Mouth shut down, and the Fist's new leader instituted a series of illegal tribunals.

𝔊 Grand Duke Torlin Silvershield's stock-piled smoke power over parliament to stop the Guild's influence on the corrupt Baldurian Parliment. He revealed himself to be the "the Chosen of the re-ascended god of murder, Bhaal" before he was killed.

-

Gortash leans towards Steampunk, does technology exist? What are Constructs?

𝔊 There are different playable levels of tech you can play in a Campaign. I'm not sure where BG3 lies, but my guess is Steel Age, as it is possible to forge steel and infernal iron.

𝔊 Steel Age: fits most campaign settings (including Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, Ebberon, etc.) and some experts know how to use adamantine and mithril.

𝔊 Within the canon lore that leads up in Dark Urge Origin, it should be the Steel Age. The Zhentarim, 1480's, create steel forged from Dragons in the Cult of the Dragons campaign, which has some capable lead up to Blood in Baldur's Gate (might be canon??) and then the 1492 BG3 game.

𝔊 Infernal Iron, weapons forged from this iron will smite souls and direct them into the River Styx. It can create soul-powered machines and vehicles. It creates Soul Coins, common currency in the Nine Hells. It is mined in the 8th (Cania) and 2nd (Dis) layers of Hell

𝔊 Constructs are creatures made up of inorganic materials. They are non-intelligent automatons, most are anyway.

𝔊 Living Constructs, however, combine elements of in-organic animation and living creatures. They possess free will and sentient thoughts, through complex and potent magic.

𝔊 Living Constructs can get better, and develop skills, they have vitality that doesn't depend on their size. Which means they are capable of being affected by spells and the living. They can wither mentally and physically be harmed in fights. They can be affected by necromancy.

𝔊 Living Constructs are capable of running, be affected with certain healing spell, can take certain potions, but do not require eating and drinking, be affected with mind-altering magic, most are immune to nausea, poison, sleep, fatigue, and paralysis.

-

What are Artificiers?

𝔊 They are inventors, engineer, and tinkerers of brilliance, they see magic as a complex system that's meant to be "de-coded" which makes them slower in spell progression.

𝔊 They use a number of items and systems to channel arcane magic, such as alchemy supplies for potent elixirs, calligrapher supplies to inscribe sigils, or tools to craft a temporary charm.

𝔊 They are particular in their crafts and hone it to their own character to produce the perfect product for the job.

𝔊 They often appear more steampunk than medieval like their compatriots. They are capable of using firearms and explosives

-

Who is The Tyrant God Bane?

𝔊 "Bane was the Faeruniangod of tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism. From his dread plane of Banehold, The Black Hand acted indirectly through worshipers and other agents to achieve his ultimate plan to achieve total domination of all Faerûn" - Forgotten Realm's Wiki

𝔊 He was the principal of ambition and control. He believes the strong have a right and a duty to rule over the weal.

𝔊 He favors individuals with drive, courage, and promoted slavery to powerful individuals.

𝔊 He worked closely with other if they interested him, unlike most gods. He worked with Myrukel, long when they were both mortal and beyond. He also worked with Loviatar (his servant at one point), Talona, and Mask.

𝔊 He was once lovers with Kiputytto, the demigoddess of Disease, and Loviatar's sister. Later slain by Talona.

𝔊 Bane has had servants such as his own son Iyachtu Xvim, during his first life. At other times of his god life, Abbathor, Maglubiyet (popular goblin god), Hrugget, and Tiamat.

𝔊 Bane's biggest and most hateful foe was Mystra. He hated Cyric too, who stole many of his followers, the Zhentarim or Black Network. He was hated by others but those are some relevant ones.

𝔊 Bane's Church was ruthless, though very stable. It was as disciplined as Shar's or Cyric's. Banite customs were often spartan-ish and followed a heirarchy. There are no Banite holidays and showed their gratitude through rituals. Including sacrifice and torture of sentient beings that were deemed "offensive"

𝔊 Priests of Bane prayed at midnight, for their spells. Disloyalty resulted in death.

𝔊 When Bane was mortal, he allied with mortal Bhaal and Myrukel. They targeted Jergal. They could slice through any obstacal, sometimes set up by Jergal. Jergal was tired of his title and gave it them, including his dagger given to Bane. The God of Death Jergal tricked one another to turn on each other. He divided his power in a game of Knucklebones, which Bane won and gained governance over the sphere of strife. Then Myurkel, then Bhaal who ate murder scraps. Ultimately Jergal had the Goddess of Luck decide.

-

How does the Church of Bane shape its worshippers? im just gonna quote one source bc it's straightforward man.

𝔊 Bane's church believes in subserviences and submission within a hierarchy, junior members bowing, kneeling, and even kissing boots if they were low enough in rank. Superior members were to be obeyed at all times. The church rules were of utmost importance, order and laws from any other land means nothing.

𝔊 "According to his priests, Bane was to be feared by his faithful and even more feared by the unfaithful. It was the duty of every member of the church of Bane to "spread (his) fear""

𝔊 "Banite priests took great pride in their ability to control their actions and avoid succumbing to emotional outbursts. Their outward demeanor was cold and thoughtful, they thought carefully before they spoke, often preferring sarcasm and "witty banter" rather than overt hostility." - Forgotten Realms Wiki

𝔊 "The overarching goal of Bane's clergy was the charge of seizing or manipulating their way into power in every nation, city-state or freehold in all of Faerûn, to bring them under his influence. Using emotionally manipulative tools such as fear, hatred or greed to sow conflict, war and chaos would allow the Black Hand to maintain control over lands too distressed to maintain stability. To this end, priests and followers were encouraged to commit acts such as torture, political infiltration or inciting mayhem with subtlety, cruelty and overall, fear."

𝔊 Rituals; "They were held either outdoors at night, or in a space of darkness, such as darkened chambers, caves or ruins with only dim lighting." [...] "Services included rhythmic chanting, the rolling beating of drums and the sacrifice of an intelligent creature's life. To prepare for this life to be given to Bane, the oblatory life was to be demeaned and tortured until they showed him due fear."

-

𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊

HEADCANONS (mixed nfsw)

𝔊 He's a mad scientist, lacks good aligned morality, he's far gone. It makes him an amazing artificier.

𝔊 Larian Studios, what is that? What is this laziness? (I was looking into Chiondathans bc I've never heard of the 9 regional categories)

𝔊 Hearing Gortash vomit would be more attractive than hearing his previous last name of "Flymm" in full. I just wanna put that in.

How old is Enver Gortash?

𝔊 I liked this deep-dive by @victorgrwrites and I won't waste time explaining and here

𝔊 So like 33. I think he's 33. Also here’s a bg3 timeline bc yall seem to struggle

anyway

𝔊 I like that durge potentially gets with Astarion. Bane favors animals like bats and black green eyed cats. and durge catches themselves a vampire that can turn into a bat (if ascended). That would 'bout piss Gortash off.

𝔊 Gortash really gets some points from Bane bc he got the Zhentarim's favor again through infernal iron weapons trading. They favor Bane over Cyric again. Gortash was #1 in Bane's eyes.

𝔊 I think he gets hard when he gets exceptional praise. Not like "good boy" like "you're everything the world ever needed, my merciful god" kinda praise. Like calling his brain is magnificent for coming up with that plan all by himself (if you're tav) gets him goin'

𝔊 He does not attend a lot of the parliament meetings, when he does it's for very specific problems in Baldur's Gate, anyone who caught on would probably "disappear"

𝔊 He's busy, either tinkering, meetings, or in worship. I think he leads Bane's church, but not publicly, through Banite priests because he can't be discovered about his religion as a political leader.

𝔊 He uses tones in his voice, you hear it all day, he only makes talk to flatter, mock, or threaten politely, but he knows how to use a very soft, very sweet voice that makes you give into anything he asks for.

𝔊 His broad shoulders and warm hands are never sincere. You felt like you've never been given a sincere hug from him, as comforting as they can be in the moment. He'd have to give up his way of life and cry on his knees in front of you before you could believe he was ever sincere about certain affections.

𝔊 If you could polymorph into an animal, he's either think it's disgusting or wanna fuck it.

𝔊 His Steel Watch, you just can't tell me not to be stunned, are half way between living and non-sentient constructs. They have a brain that operates, they can see what they're doing, and yet they have no control over their body. Gortash didn't need to give them brains to make automatons that do anything at his will, it's pure slavery and torture.

𝔊 If you’re childhood friends, 7 or 8 years old, you’d drag him in the late of night to those Cobble parties and sit among the adults in the dim red torch light listening to the adults talk. You’d drop him off at home, you did have a way of worrying for his safety with his parents. He was a stubborn devil as a child but you were too happy and care free to leave him be.

𝔊 He did not carry those cobbler genes, have you seen his fuggo ass shoes?? He can tinker like no one else but his sense of style is messy and new-money.

𝔊

Why is Gortash Evil?

𝔊 His parents fucking sold him for being "needy and troublesome" like MOST KIDS ARE. If I got sold to a Warlock, that turned out to be THE SON OF MEPHISTOPHELES. I'd be fucking evil too.

𝔊 Just as he was needy and troublesome when he lived with his parents, he reverts to a smaller husk of himself with a trusted lover. Needy, malevolent, confident in his strides, it’s his way or the highway, but he will listen to you quietly. You are an equal but he’s relentless as a person. Pester, pester, pester. Sometimes you feeling like you’re mothering him.

𝔊 He's probably pretty high up in the Church of Bane. People kiss his feet, he shows amazing restraint in emotion, politically is advantageous for Bane, he's a slaver like Bane teaches is okay to do, he trades arms and is super fucking popular for it.

𝔊 He showed great restraint with the Dark Urge, I think he loved being allies with them because he didn't have to stray far from Bane at all for Durge to adore him. I don't think he could've loved and he would've abandoned Durge in a heartbeat unlike vice-versa.

𝔊 I think Enver hums deep and beautifully from his years of chanting in Bane's name. He has a deep focused look on his face, and he deeply hums a melody he heard at a party last night, dancing and wooing patriars left and right on the ballroom floor.

𝔊 𝔊 𝔊

𝔊 Undoing his evil is near-damn impossible. He loves attention, he needs it. He needs praise his his god. He worked so hard for everything in life and you can’t take it away.

𝔊 If you can convince him to give up, fucking unlikely, before the Nether Brain fight, he’ll live. He might suffer Bane’s wrath and kill him and Jergal would not be super happy reviving him after your pleas. Karlach would hate you. So would Wyll

𝔊 Threatening his enteral consequence of death, tending to flowers forever in Avernus after he dies, or, he fixes Karlach so she doesn’t need to go back to Avernus.

𝔊 She wouldn’t trust him and she’d say she’d rather be dead before trusting him again. And you have to convince both of them to be better. Well. Just Gortash. Karlach can do whatever her sweet heart desires.

𝔊 He is irredeemable, he's lead the Church of Bane since he was 17, he's pretty much licked Bane's asshole at this point. It's hard to get to know him. He's probably a grumpy, sad, regretful little guy under his immaculate persona.

𝔊 You can start reconnecting him to Baldur's Gate, with Cobble Parties, you both go and hold hands and listen to stories. He doesn't want to listen to the groveling, sober at least. He is reserved and needs to make friends, but in his own times.

𝔊 His parents would never take him back and accept him, they made him and didn't help him, or work with him as a child an they handed him over to a Cambion. They still recall so much hatred when he lived there.

𝔊 He probably loved explosives as a child, and got in trouble for setting them off in the house. He would tinker, wander off, and read books and play by himself, smart reserved kind of kid. Which worried and frustrated his parents, he wasn't cobbler material.

𝔊 Children are difficult but you can't forgive their negligence. They threw him out at the first chance probably. You hold a grudge against his parents. You're vocal about it with comments, when they see him after the whole ordeal. He's supposed to make progress and they're gonna make him writhe in every mental way like he did before.

𝔊 You make sure to create good memories, even in the Lower City, those cobble parties, little firework shows off the grey harbors docks by the foundries ashes, he never got to celebrate Baldur's Gate's customs like Highharvestide even tho it's not as popular, Returning Day to where you talk about the Murder in the Wide. you want to include him in everything,

𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊

Hey guys! if you got this far, yay! but also i'm not done writing it. come back to my page and find it on my master list when it's finished to enjoy more!

I’ll continue writing as I think of more headcanons.

[stromuprisahat]

So perfect FOR each other!!!

Siege and Storm- Chapter 17

Alina, honey, he's dishonorably discharged deserter. How would you like them to treat him? With warmth and admiration?

Even if there are only some adults left, Grisha are life-long servants of King's army. There's no escape for them as far as we know.

The way it seems, Malyen got off easy only because Malina are fucking. And so far wasn't even useful in any way.

What's he doing in Little Palace? Stalking his gf (and calling it guarding), or befriending nobles on fancy hunts. The very same nobles, who want Grisha dead, even though THEY have committed no offence?

The fact he hates Grisha won't help him either. Even if he keeps his mouth shut, part of the remaining Grisha would have encountered bigotry before. They might pick up on details he or Alina don't even notice.

So... if you loooove him, let him goooo!

(Or drop him like the anvil he is!)

Malyen aka the embodiment of "If two women don't like each other, it has to be about a man, i. e. ~me~".

Alina is further than in middle of her story, her insecurities should be slowly fading or at least addressed. Especially those regarding her closest companions and her own worth. Hell, people just outside of city scream Sol Koroleva, they'd pay with their lives to smell her farts, and she still doubts she's good enough for some guy's smile...

She should be flourishing! Growing into her power! Becoming mentally stronger!

And while I'm aware Malyen isn't a mind-reader, the fact he never notices she's always making herself smaller, unworthy for him, takes on blame for his actions... Even if he were truly a poster boyfriend, their relationship- the way it is- wouldn't be good for her.

[uesp]

One of the nicest details from the Oblivion Thieves Guild comes from the reveal that the Gray Fox is the missing Count of Anvil. This means that he didn't just have Hieronymus Lex reassigned to that city to get him out of the way, but because he truly believed he was a good guard captain, and would be a faithful and honest servant for his wife's county.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 20 | 15

...Hey, wait a sec. This isn't even SCRABBLE, NOT LIPIDS- it's something else entirely. It's- it's an idea you had. To INSPECT BILLBOARDS nearby. What the hell? You- it seemed like a physical object a moment ago.

...Didn't it? How did... actually, how'd you mistake a board game for like, molecules? Or- huh???

Fuck, you are losing it. Whatever happened really did a number on your head.

But... okay, that's an idea. Check out the billboards. What do they say?

...Uh. It's mostly unintelligible, for some reason. Did you have a stroke? Did you lose the ability to read? God damn it, no, you- you know the alphabet! You definitely know the alphabet! In fact, that's the letter X right there, on that sign. You- you take the letter. You have to still know how to read. This is proof. You put it with-

-with, um, a collection of other letters you've somehow got in your inventory. Huh???

Uh- okay, weird. These, uh... do they spell something? One of these- is it an L, or- no, it's a seven. Why a seven? Is it like, a leetspeak T? Ugh.

You turn your attention to those GHOST DESCRIBERS next- and it seems like they're no more real than the ghosts they're describing. They're- they're another idea, the idea to CROSS THE BRIDGES. Right, you've... been out here a few times, on hikes, and you know the bridges connecting the mesas out here have these stupid toll booths on them trying to squeeze you for every last Coin. But the toll booths are... conspicuously empty. What the hell? What happened that kept people from following the siren song of free money?

You decide to head further from town, to where that shitty casino on the outskirts of town is. You'll at least be able to find a phone or something you can use to call the city guard.

The casino's a destroyed, empty ruin. That mountain it was built into must've been a volcano, and you can see it's recently erupted. The lobby's mostly been spared the lava flows, but you can see that the inside has become some big ol' volcano caverns that nobody would go gambling in.

Serves them right. What a shady bunch of bandits, preying on the addiction-prone and innumerate. Still, it'd probably be a waste of time to go inside- nobody's paying the phone bill for Pompeii, and the only signs of life are a few golden butterflies.

...Oh, and some more... weird stuff that you might be hallucinating.

There's some blueprints for some sort of heist on a chalkboard- ideas for STEALTH PLOYS. You doubt there's anything worth heisting from this casino anymore, though.

WHOOPS! SHERBET! Someone spilled a big tub of sherbet all over the ground, and it's swiftly melting in the stifling heat of the nearby lava flows.

The NON-WHITE TOAD from before has hopped to follow you here, and it's not any whiter than before. Definitely some sort of saturated color.

There's some sort of weird sculpture of a beast whose MAW IS ANVIL-shaped. That's some unfortunate dentistry right there. How does that happen?

Continued

[daves-miniature-adventures]

I guess I’ll be collecting a small Cities of Sigmar army now… I read this little bit in the latest White Dwarf magazine about the city guard of Lethis, located in the realm of Shyish. I really like the dark colour scheme and heraldry, so I’m thinking of adding a small force to ally with my Anvils of the Heldenhammer Stormcasts, also based in the realm of Shyish.

Happy Hobbying

Dave

[valsnonsense]

*cracks knuckles* It's time...

Princess Choco(late) of Pop

"Chicks dig a blacksmith!! At least that's what my friends say."

Parents: Queen Poppy and King Branch

Siblings: Vanilla (Triplet Sister), Strawberry (Triplet Sister), Apple (Younger Brother), Oran (Younger Brother), Lemon (Younger Brother), Lime (Younger Brother), Blueberry (Younger Brother), Grape (Younger Sibling), Iris (Younger Sister)

Age: 24

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Genre: Rock/Pop

Voice Claim: Hayley Williams (Paramore)

Princess Choco is the eldest of Broppy kids and heir to the throne. Though she's probably the most un-princess like Troll you'll ever meet.

Choco trained as a blacksmith for many years, forging weapons for the guards and protectors of Trollstopia. Shes not sure what inspired her to make weapons as a career, but the process of forging just speaks to her. The sound, the smell, the excruciating heat. It just clicks for her.

Choco spends most of her time in her forge, only coming up in the evening to eat, talk with her family, or occasionally go out to party.

She, like all the Broppy kids, is very close with her siblings and parents. Branch was the one who taught her most of what she knows about forging, since he picked up skill during his time in the bunker.

Choco is a strong-willed, stubborn, loudmouthed woman who cares deeply for her friends and family, and will go out of her way to protect them.

Despite being a pop troll, rock is where her heart lies. She loves the loud music, the even louder parties, and the absolute chaos rock concerts bring. She occasionally visits Volcano Rock City to perform with Thrash Jr.

She currently resides in Trollstopia alongside her parents and siblings.

Fun Facts!

- Keeps her hair swept back in a mullet like fashion. Annoys the hell out of her more fashion-forward siblings (which is why she doesn't change it)

- Dropped an anvil on her tail during her first year of smithing. But because she refused to stay inactive long enough for it to heal, the bone healed improperly. She braces it now, as it will start to hurt after a few hours

- Developed fire-resistant clothing with the help of Lemon, since she keep burning all hers off

- Often seen hanging out with Rosebud, Fern, and Peaches on her off days

And there you have it! My first of MANY OCs, the eldest of my Broppy kids!

Buckle up buttercups this is gonna take a WHILE jshhdhdehjdu

I'll be posting one profile a day so I don't overwhelm anyone with too many bxhdhhdbd

But Choco my beloved. The walking definition of a butch lesbian. Girl change your shirt it's fuxking filthy. And take a shower while ur at it xD.

She often walks in the living room after being down her forge for hours smelling like sulfur cuz she KNOWS her siblings will complain about it. Typical sibling behavior

Edit: Decided I'm gonna put a link to a song by their voice claims!!

[persephonescottage]

EXES PAST: Year 3.

Pairing: Billy RussoxFem!Reader.

Summary: Corrupt Benjamin March.

Warning: References to sexual situations, violence, blood, mutilation, trauma, swearing, obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, violence, gaslighting and other triggers I will include as we go along, please only read if you’re 18+.

If any of this warnings trigger you please don’t read.

&

Gift giving, hot cocoa and pine trees everywhere. Billy wasn’t a big fan of the holidays but if it meant he’d see you at the Castle’s Christmas party he was all in.

Even if his baseball team lost and now he had to wear the stupid sweater Karen got him last year.

As soon as he stepped in the Greenwich house he looked for you, the warmth blushing his face, still some snow on the shoulders of his coat from the outside weather.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” Karen said excited jumping to hug him and Billy knew she had a little too much eggnog already. “I thought you wouldn’t come cause of the sweater. Oh my God look at the sweater!”

She points as she rambles to Frank who is next to her and Billy looks down at his outfit. A red sweater with a three dimensional Christmas wreath and a plush reindeer coming out of it. 

He couldn’t even turn sideways safely without knocking someone over with it and God knows he wasn’t gonna let anybody know it sang jingle bells if you pressed the nose.

“I hate you.” He said simply taking his his coat off.

“No you don’t! You love me, that’s why you’re wearing it.” She smiled.

“Well I’m a man of my word.”

“Come on in.” Frank said this time, his lips in a line trying not to giggle “Let’s get you drunk so you’ll let us press the nose.”

As he followed his friends he scanned the room. Karens news paper friends and some old marines popped from the corners of the home but not you.

“She did come.” Frank whispers to him as soon as they reach the kitchen island that’s covered in half drunk bottles and people mingling around. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Billy smiles in complicity.

“Sure Bill.” Franks sarcasm makes Billy laugh “She’s outside with her boyfriend, he’s a smoker.”

Oh right, the boyfriend. 

Billy had learned his lesson with the lizard king, you would never surprise him with a boyfriend ever again. 

Keeping tabs on you was complicated, you were a social butterfly but thankfully he had a never drying fountain of gossip in Karen and he’d often got Frank to grumpily drop tips on you.

He also hacked your phone, email and social media.

Again, you’d never catch him off guard and this was a fun one to crack.

Benjamin March was a well known man around New York. Partner in one of the city’s top legal firms he had made a name for himself with a file of high profile clients. Most of them politics and men of influence.

And he would always win.

Red flag number one.

He married a former Miss North Carolina whom he divorced about a year before and who he left practically on the streets alleging a horribly balanced prenup.

Poor girl, at least she was pretty.

Red flag number two.

Late night at his office after ANVIL was completely empty a few nights before Billy tried to convince himself he’d only intervene in your relationship if Benjamin March had all three strikes against him.

As if he really needed a single reason to murder a man just to get you all to himself.

Luckily for Billy he found the third strike, and it was a big one. The big kahuna of dirt he had now saved in a usb drive that was burning his pants pocket.

He couldn’t wait.

His hands vibrating with anticipation when you walked inside all by yourself, taking a shot Karen offered you on sight.

“Nice sweater Bill.” You press your lips together trying not to laugh and he smiles at you.

It’s all he can do.

“Merry Christmas angel. Not following the rules I see.” He says pointing at your outfit. “We agreed, no mini skirts. They make me nervous and you know it.”

“Well we also said no cozy looking sweaters.” You can’t hide the laugh after the sarcastic comment.

“If this makes you horny you have some serious issues.” 

His laugh is interrupted by a man about a foot taller than you. His arm twisting around your torso in a possessive way.

There’s a fruity smell lingering from him and Billy wants to puke. 

This man vapes?

As if he needed a fourth red flag, he thinks.

Billy introduces himself, a proud smirk on his face when Benjamin admits he already knows who he is, reassuring his status.

It takes a while before Karen pulls you to her, the motion lifting your skirt a little too much for Billy’s sanity and then you disappear with the blonde off to meet some of her friends.

It even feels orchestrated when somehow he is left alone in the kitchen with Benjamin March, the closes person holding their drunken state on a column of the dining room.

But Billy isn’t worried about Karen’s drunken co-workers and he wastes no time on handling the lawyer the usb from his pocket, releasing the speech of accusations he had prepared.

It’s not surprising when the man doesn’t deny Billy’s accusations.

Benjamin March had been helping elite men get away with fraud, murder and other crimes that made Billy’s stomach turn.

But he didn’t look remotely sorry.

Maybe a little sorry he had been caught when Billy hands him the incriminating proof, it’s all there, pictures, documents and audios, served in a silver platter that can lock the lawyer up for a long time.

Billy isn’t sure he’d ever been more offended than when Benjamin offers him money for his silence.

As if he wanted his disgusting money.

“What do you want then?” Benjamin seems more annoyed than worried.

“I want you to break up with her.”

“Fuck man! You went through all this trouble for some pussy?” He mocks. 

He has no idea.

“You got a deal. She’s all yours.”

He agrees without even thinking twice and Billy wants to break his jaw for talking about you as something so disposable.

They fine tune the details and Billy wishes to tell him he has no interest in pursuing his downfall after he breaks up with you.  Then he’ll become just another corrupt lawyer in New York City and he couldn’t care less.

And when March finally decides to leave he makes sure he makes himself even more punchable.

“Hit me up if you ever need a lawyer.” 

&

“Maybe you should have some water angel.”

Did he tell Benjamin March to break up with you?

Yeah.

Did he tell him to do it right now at this very party in front of other people?

No!

For a lawyer he had no common sense and now Billy had a very drunk girl half crying half laughing on the Castle’s couch.

He eyed you quickly, trying to miss the way your legs shine under the low lights of the home when the red skirt you wore rises up.

He couldn’t tonight. You were drunk and sad and he didn’t want you like this but you seemed determined to get him though.

“Man I really was smart with the no sweater rule. You look so cute!” 

He looks down at the cursed sweater wanting to laugh with you, but you don’t, you seem serious about it.

You’re holding what seems to be your tenth shot of tequila and giving him those flirty eyes he often saw in his head during his jerk off sessions.

There’s barely anyone left at the party and it would be so easy to get you in one of the rooms and lift that tiny scrap off fabric you call an outfit.

Stop.

There’s a big red stop sign going on loop in his head, not only was this his best friends home, your cheeks were bright pink from the intoxication and life was so unfair to him.

The one time you wanna fuck it’s because you’re drunk.

“We should get you home angel.”

He didn’t need to say it twice and you hold yourself clumsily up the couch using a sleeping Karen as a prop while Billy grabs your coat.

“Can you stay with me tonight Bill? Please I don’t want to be alone.”

He’s doing his best to be good, helping you put on your coat and your voice is so tiny and cute as you beg him standing by the Castle’s front door.

Again, life was so unfair.

He nods immediately anyway, his body betraying his reason and before he knows it he’s driving towards your apartment.

He has to help you walk into the elevator when you arrive since even in the state you are you refuse to take your heels off and something tells him you’re not as drunk as you pretend to be when you hold on to his bicep, resting your face of his chest in the elevator saying you’re dizzy.

As soon as you enter your home you disappear down a hallway and Billy looks around. It smells powdery and sweet just like you and he wants to fuck you on your pink couch.

But he won’t.

Instead he marches to your kitchen, opening the fridge to gather ingredients for a sandwich the he offers you as soon as you walk back out of your room wearing tiny cream short pajamas with polka dots on them.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

Your voice sounds innocent but he knows better. You’re gonna be the death of him.

“Here, eat this.” He ignores your request handing you the plate “It’ll help your stomach after all that tequila.”

“But I’m not hungry!” 

“I didn’t ask. Eat.” 

He barks a command as he would one of his soldiers even when he knows he has no power here. 

Not after you sit on the counter of the kitchen, your legs slightly spread and a force of gravity pushes him to walk in between them. 

You’re taking your time to chew and you look tired but the bread seems to be absorbing the alcohol just fine.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why boys keep breaking up with me. No one takes me seriously, no one wants me. I’m good enough to fuck but not enough to be a girlfriend.”

Billy can feel his heart shrinking with your statement and he wishes he could tell you that they do want you. All of them do. In fact he had to use violence and threats to get rid of a couple already.

But he gives you a warm smile instead, using his fingertips to put some of your hair behind your ear.

“Maybe you should stop dating assholes.”

That didn’t come out as comforting as he wanted to and you sigh and use your forearm to move him from that sacred place between your thighs, getting off the counter.

He tried his best to ignore the jiggle of your curves as you do but he can feel the zipper of his pants tightening.

“I can’t finish it” you say, a yawn escaping your mouth.

“Fine.” Billy sighs, taking the half eaten sandwich from your fingers “But have some more water.”

“Hey, I didn't mean to force you to stay with me tonight, I’m sorry. Thank you for driving me but you can go if you want.”

‘Leave dickhead’ his head screams ‘It’s time for you to leave’

“I can stay a while.”

The voice in Billy’s head throws it’s hands in the air in exasperation.

“Okay.” Your reply is a whisper but there’s a small smile on your lips.

Billy wishes he had kept the moment cute, but he can’t help his gaze to skim over your body, the outline of your nipples through the tiny cotton top. You adjust the strap on it and Billy looks away, afraid you caught him staring. 

“I know this is stupid but I like having you here.” You admit toying with your own fingers in a nervous state “I feel safe.”

Billy knows you mean it as a compliment but the sudden image of all the dangers of the city surrounding you made him anxious. Did you not feel safe when you were alone?

“How long have you been living by yourself?”

“A while. Since Karen moved out.”

That’s a long time. Too long.

You turn to walk towards what seems to be your bedroom and he makes sure he leaves a space between your bodies. He’s not sure if he does it so you know he won’t be creepy tonight or because he wants to watch your ass jiggle with each step.

He wants you to sit on his face.

But you’ve been drinking. You’re not falling down drunk but you’re still drunk.

“Billy?” You call to him from inside the bedroom.

Maybe a little make out session wouldn’t be the end of the world, he thinks. 

But that’s it.

There’s a rustling of fabric as he steps into the room and sees you crawl into bed. The sight of you shimmying into the blankets, hair spread on the pillow, waiting for him steals his breath.

He can feel your gaze burning into him and Billy has a sudden urge to flex his muscles, to show off, that until he figures you’re actually staring at his sweater.

Damn that singing reindeer.

“I’ll take it off.” He laughs.

“I actually like it.”

You’re on the right side of the bed, lying on your side facing him. Leaving a space in your bed for him.

“Would you stay for a while longer?” You ask.

“Sure angel.” 

“Sorry, you don’t have to, it was dumb of me to ask. I can walk you out if you’d like to go.”

“No, I’d like to stay. I can’t stay the whole night but I’ll stay a little more.”

Billy doesn’t elaborate why, because the why is simply that he won’t be able to control himself sleeping next to your soft body. If he was still there in the morning there was zero chance he wouldn’t fuck you.

“You should rest a little then, before you drive home.”

Your hand is touching the spot next to you on the mattress and Billy gulps.

“You worried about me angel?”

“I’m worried about the other drivers. I’ve seen you drive.”

Your laugh fills the dim light room and it seems to make it easier for him to get closer to the bed, sinking his knee on the soft surface.

“Sorry I don’t have anything your size to put on.”

“Put on?”

“To get comfy. Like pajamas.”

He nods like it was obvious what she meant, but why had his brain gone straight to condoms?

“I suppose you could just… take your pants off.”

Yes.

Yes he could do that.

His body is fighting a battle of mind against dick and he waits for his conscience to win. To tell him to keep his pants on and to walk out the front door, but it never does.

Pants off it is then.

And that god awful sweater while he’s at it.

Standing there in your bedroom in his white under t-shirt and blue briefs Billy realized he’d take whatever punishment the universe threw his way for getting in bed with you in that state, even if you just slept next to him.

He was going to hell anyway.

[clanoftheearthmother]

Garahirn Grimtotem

Born to Grimtotem warriors, the Tauren was raised by the tribe on a dogma of hatred and violence. He spent his days carrying materials for the tribes smiths as they fashioned weapons of war, and his nights falling asleep to the battle stories of the tribes raiders. Despite the brawny physique the calf sported as a result of constantly lifting ingots and anvils, he showed little aptitude for combat. In all of his training he was berated for his clumsy footwork and his weak sword-arm. The most concerning issue for the tribes Elders though was the child’s lack of killer instinct. In all of the calves sparring rounds he would fail to press any advantage he would win, preferring instead to hang back and prepare his defensives for a counter attack. For a tribe built on the belief of supremacy over others, this was a problem. For years the tribes warriors would work with the child, impressing the importance of aggression in pursuit of the tribes goals, but one by one they resigned from tutoring him, frustrated and enraged by the youths lack of drive and assertiveness.

Deemed a liability in combat he was assigned permanently to the role of blacksmithing; a position afforded great honour for a battle-hardened elder, but great shame for one as young as he. Thus Garahirn spent the early ears of his adolescence under the tutelage of Elder Kwahrol, who though the subject of a great many battle songs, was weary of violence and grateful for the company. For 3 long years he worked to melt down and reforge the metals that the raiders returned with. He ignored the disdainful looks they shot him and focused on cladding them in the highest quality equipment he could forge.

In his 14th winter a famine gripped the tribe, leading to infighting and unrest within the Grimtotem. Several Elders were supplanted by young upstarts dissatisfied with their efforts to provide for the community. This new regime brought with it a cleansing of those deemed superfluous by the leadership. Elder Kwahrol knew that this did not bode well for the smithing pair and though he didn't voice these concerns to Gara, he crafted a plan to spare him. The youth was sent on a mining expedition to the eastern edge of Mulgore. Though this was not an uncommon excursion for him, the location Kwahrol directed him to was not one Gara had visited before. Knowing better than to question the Elders instructions, he set out immediately armed with a pickaxe, buckler and knapsack. He never made it to his destination. As he approached the area marked on his map he was accosted by a group of Thunder Bluff Braves. They hauled him back to the city where the guards searched his knapsack. Within they found a strange letter.

"Whomever finds this young calf I beg you spare him. Though he was born a Grimtotem, he was never meant for this life. He was blessed with a gentle soul that no amount of training was able to break. He harbours a great love for smithing and the crafting of fine metal works. Our tribe has suffered greatly this season and I'm sure the Elders will not suffer him much longer with our sparse resources. If able to I ask that you look past the sins of our tribe and take him into your care."

--

And so it was that Garahirn was welcomed, despite his heritage, into the myriad tribes of the Horde Tauren. He quickly established himself as one of the foremost smiths in Thunder Bluff and spent countless hours discussing techniques with artisans of all professions. Before long he had his own forge and was sought after for projects of all sizes. One such request came from Aponi Brightmane. The head of the newly formed Sunwalkers, Brightmane entered his smithy to request the creation of arms for order. Behind the paladin, shuffled a young calf no older than he. She wore her hair in a braid on her right flank and as she looked at Garahirn with her piercing azure eyes, she gasped audibly. It may have been her exclamation, or that Gara felt he had never seen a more beautiful Tauren, but whatever the reason, he tripped, spilling the half dozen scabbards that he was carrying across the tent floor. As he gathered up the results of his clumsiness, he heard the two women exchanging hushed whispers.

"Him? Are you sure?" "Yes mother. I'm certain. It's almost as bright as yours" "I see"

The elder of the two women strolled over and offered Garahirn her hand. He took it, meekly as she explained the exchange.

"I had come to find the craftsman I'd heard worked here, said to produce great works the like of which are rare even in the great cities of the elves. It seems I've found something more." She paused, regarding the youth slowly. "My daughter has a gift. She is able to see the aura of those blessed by the children of The Earth Mother; be it Mu'sha, or in your case, An'she. While most of our people bare some level of connection to both, a few are afforded something far more incredible."

Gara looked from Aponi to her daughter, not quite sure what the former was talking about, but certain that her child was, as she said, incredibly special.

Aponi bade him come with them to the heart of their order and while he was reticent to leave his forge, something from within told him that he needed to see what she had to offer.

Over the following years the young Grimtotem learned of a The Earth Mother, An'she, and the order of Sunwalkers that drew upon his power. Aponi's daughter Hunadi had not been wrong in her assessment, and he found that channelling An'she's power came as naturally as swinging a smithing hammer. With it he could craft weapons and shields from pure light and wield them in combat. With practice he found that he could also infuse the light of An'she into all of his crafting, affording the metal he worked with incredible strength and flexibility. Using these armaments, Gara found a new confidence in battle beyond anything his tribe had been able to impart upon him. Though he was more competent as a bulwark against attack, in time he was able to provide something of an offense, and before long he was accompanying other Sunwalkers on excursions away from the orders halls.

As much as he enjoyed his newfound confidence, he was always eager to return to his forge and to Hunati Brightmane, a friend with whom he had grown incredibly close. By day the two youths spent countless hours sitting in his forge, talking on everything from their studies to their favourite cuisine. By night they would lay under the gaze of Mu'sha, watching her glint with the reflected light of her brother, talking at length about their plans and the adventures they hoped to embark on. Before long the two of them were inseparable and a badly hidden romance began to blossom.

By the time the Sunwalkers departed for Pandaria in an attempt to quell the Sha's destructive rampage, the two had promised themselves to each other. They fought against the emotional emanations of this new land in perfect harmony, protecting each other and striking against their foes in equal measure. Garahirn found himself particularly resilient to Sha influence, likely owing to the same inner strength that failed to break his spirit during the long years of Grimtotem dogma. Hunadi did not find resisting as natural but spent many hours in quiet contemplation of the Earth Mothers wisdom to prevent undue influence.

As the Horde offensive continued and the sickness that festered within its leadership grew, the Sunwalkers became a beacon of tranquillity and reason amid a storm of vitriol and chaos. Many horde combatants found themselves drawn to the group, especially those of Tauren heritage. To aid in the curbing of negative emotions the Order of the Earth Mother held numerous services and held many celebrations and festivals. Frequently the merriment would extend far into the night, and it was on one such evening that the couple discussed the taking vows of bonding. They had discussed the idea before of course, but it had always seemed like a far-off concept. Now, beneath the swaying boughs of the strange flora in this foreign land, they could think of nothing they wanted more than to pledge to one another and set about creating a life for themselves.

Within a month, the ceremony was held and while the resulting party lasted for several days, it was nought compared to the lifetime of joy that lay before them. The two continued to adventure alongside one another for many years, facing all manner of foes, and exploring ever more exotic lands. No matter how far their journeys took them, they always returned to their home in the Krasarang Wilds, and it was in their hovel on an otherwise unremarkable warm spring morning that the two welcomed their firstborn into the world. Looking upon the newborn, Kuoth Kwahrol Brightmane, was the single greatest joy that either had ever experienced. As they clutched the babe between them, they swore to safeguard the child above all else and to continue to fight for the betterment of the world he would inherit.

Beem

Named by Garahirn's son for the shafts of light that shine into his forge, Beem was a small doll crafted by a merchant in Thunder Bluff and gifted to the lad by his father. Despite his protests, the sunwalkers boy insisted that he take it with him as his duties took him far from home. Seeing the warmth and love in the childs eyes, An'she formed a simulacrum of the toy and granted it life. It is that creation that follows Garahirn as he roams, a constant reminder of the young calf waiting for him to return.

[canidfeline]

STONE-HEART.

Fur boots slowly padded against the snow-covered earth before coming to a halt behind a fallen log.

The boy knelt down behind the log, his breaths slow and careful as if he were doing breathing exercises. He held up his bow, resting it on the log to hold it still as he reached his other hand back to draw an arrow from his quiver.

A blacksmith needs furs for leather and as any mercenary would be, Arius was up for the job.

A 16-year-old aspiring mercenary, but still.

After a good minute of thinking and staring off into the snow below him, his fiery amber eyes snapped to an elk trudging through the snow, its hooves leaving little prints in the slush.

He shook his head to a few loose strands of his raven-black hair out of his eyes. He pushed the arrow he had in his right hand against the bow in his left, locking it in position before pulling it back with the string, aiming for its neck as it leaned down to eat from a patch of grass that wasn't fully covered by the snow.

He loosed the arrow from the string with a quiet but long exhale, biting his lip to stop a small wince from escaping him and shaking his right hand a little from the pain of the small string of the bow digging into the creases of his pointer and middle fingers.

The arrow shot into the elk's neck, the animal letting out a loud bugle before flopping into the ground on the side where Arius had shot, snapping the arrow in half which made the boy roll his eyes. He didn't really have money to spare on extra arrows, he only had about 12 left.

11 and a half now, maybe. He can work with half an arrow if he just ties a few feathers to it.

He scratched his jawline - his growing facial hair irritating the skin - as he stepped over the log to get over to the dead elk, pulling the pointy-ended half of the arrow out of its neck and plopping it back into his quiver before unsheathing a small skinning knife out of a belt loop, his hand brushing against the short fur cloak covering him from his broad shoulders to his hips.

He gripped one of the elk's antlers with his left hand to hold it still as his right stabbed the skinning knife into the elk's stomach, pushing it further left in a regular grip before grunting and switching to a reverse grip so he could have more control over the blade and skin the animal faster. He's impatient.

After about an hour or so, he'd skinned the elk fully, rolling its pelt up so it could fit into his homemade rucksack (but like a medieval rucksack) and butchering a few parts of meat to bring home to his Mother. Then, he took his knife to just below one of the elk's antlers - maybe for decoration in his room or to sell. Maybe crush up to practice alchemy with.

In ten minutes, he'd got halfway through the antler before just tutting to himself and standing up.

He definitely wasn't the only one after the coin from this little job, he wanted to be quick.

With a clearing of his throat, he stood back up and walked away from the corpse to find the road he'd been following to get here again. The wolves should get it. Or the Bosmer.

-

After thirty minutes or so, he arrived back at Bruma, wonderful Bruma.

He nodded with a 'smile' at one of the guards as they pushed the city gates open for him, walking inside and towards the blacksmith's shop where he'd gotten the job, rubbing his cold, calloused hands together for warmth.

With a quick glance left and right, he noted the smelter to the right of the shop before jogging up the three little steps to the wooden door and knocking before opening it.

The shop was cosy and warm, letting Arius exhale a breath he hadn't known he was holding and not having to see the fog. He thought it was a tad strange to build a blacksmith and have it mainly made out of wood. Especially with the forge and anvil being inside. Also seems like a bit of an inconvenience with the smelter OUTSIDE, but he isn't the professional here, he supposed.

Stone floors at least. To avoid floor fires, probably.

Wall and ceiling fires were still totally possible.

Why is the architecture like this?

He walked up to the shabby wooden counter, knocking on it twice.

''Second!'' The deep voice of the blacksmith shouted from behind the corner of the wall just to the right of the counter - Arius' left.

''I've got they, eh, pelts ye wanted. The ones (pronounced wahns because of the Scottish accent) you made the flyer for?"

''Eh? Awh.''

The Nord mumbled, not really that loud but Arius had some sharp ears on him.

After a few seconds, Arius could hear the man's leather boots marching closer before he appeared from around the corner. Big, brawny Hulgard.

The man's hands and lower wrists were covered in soot, Arius could see it on his boots and his apron, sweat even soaking through his shirt's armpits. He was dark-skinned and Arius could never tell if his skin was just imbued with the suit or if he was actually just darker-skinned.

''Ah, Arius. S'you.'' The smith said, his tone turning a smidge friendlier. Arius has been shopping here since he was old enough to lift a sword. And with his upbringing and nature, that wasn't that old.

And the height and genes.

''It's me, Hulgard.'' The boy huffed, pulling his rucksack off his back to unbutton the clasp to take his loot out, setting the sack on the counter.

The man opened his mouth to speak before noting the growing mutton chops on the boy's cheeks, smiling a little before speaking.

''Eh... not to burst your oh-so-eager bubble there, Ari, but I've already got the, eh... pelts.''

''Whit.''

''Aye.''

Arius sucked in his bottom lip, chewing on it and clenching his teeth. He might be overreacting already, but he spent fucking ages in the snow just waiting for an animal, any animal. HE GOT ON ELK! A MASSIVE FUCKING THING! SKINNED IT ALL!

''...who? Ye rarely actually give any o' yer jobs to real mercs to save on the coin, and Bruma's full a' kids like me, so, who?'' He asked, hands gripping his still-full rucksack that was still set on the counter

''If I tell you, are you going to fight them for the coin?'' The blacksmith asked, leaning forward and putting his hands on the edge of the counter. He sounded more exasperated than anything. It wouldn't be Arius' first time.

''Naw.''

''Ye are, ain't you.''

''I just said no! I'm honest.''

''Yer as honest as your mother and that's an extremely low bar, young Stone-Heart.''

Arius just let out a loud exhale from his nose, tilting his head and staring at Hulgard all deadpan-like.

The man huffed, hanging his head low before looking back up.

''It was Jirak.''

Fucking Jirak- OF COURSE, it was fucking Jirak, the grey-skinned bastard.

Not that Arius has anything against Dark Elves, he thought the Dunmer were an interesting and relatively cool people.

They were just usually dicks and Jirak was one of them. Isn't at all his fault he would use that phrase. No.

''YOU- JIR- GAVE IT TO-'' The boy sputtered, shaking his head every other word. He took it way more to heart than any right person should. He's a very sensitive boy, it isn't his fault.

Mummy says he's special.

''Just fuck off, Hulgard, you hook-nosed cunt.'' He huffed out sharply after regaining the ability to speak after his little episode, gripping his bag tighter and going to yank it off the table to put it back on himself.

''Och, Arius- I can still pay ye for the pelts, ya daft, young bastard. Not the same price as the job, but you can sell it.'' Hulgard sighed out, hanging his head low - again - before leaning more on the counter, folding his arms under him.

''Ah. Right ye are, aye.'' Arius mumbled, digging into his sack for a second before just turning it upside down and emptying it onto the smith's counter.

The man breathed and nodded, doing some math mentally in his head before reaching back for his coin purse, counting some coin before putting about 15 Septims on the counter.

''Not that bad, I guess.'' The boy murmured, taking the money and stuffing it into his own, less full coin purse. He nodded to Hulgard before just marching off like he was in a huff out the shop.

''By Talos, that boy.'' Hulgard tutted to himself before heading back into the back of the shop where the forge was.

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

was going to be longer but considering you start college soon (which im unbelievably proud of you for) i wanted to get this out and i'll just do a part 2 later.

this is the song i was listening to so here

[whatwewrotepodcast]

Lucky

               Doragru Greyfall had always considered herself lucky.

She had to have been, given the life she was born into. To have survived so long, to have lost so little. She’d spent her whole life in the Capitol, never stepping foot beyond the city limits, and yet it was not a kind city to people like her. To the Lesser. Born into poverty and oppression, growing up with the constant, unjust weight of the worst years of Olnader. The years when there was not even the faintest pretence made of fair treatment, where dwarves could be kicked and beaten like dogs with impunity. How many people had she known over the years, whisked away for the sake of a heel of bread, or a supposed short-weight of iron? Some of them taken to prisons in deep, dank places, others put to work in the quarries north of Port Sicher. Others just gone, vanished in the darkness of night.

               She had lived her life under the shadow of shattered glass shop fronts, of stolen anvils, and cold nights under threadbare blankets, but she had lived, when so many hadn’t. She had lived when others had faded into shadows of themselves, starved out of their homes, their forges. She had never had to sleep on the street, lying curled in the gutter like refuse. She had never been beaten until she couldn’t walk, like so many she knew. And she had met her husband, Thrammas, on the streets of the Forge. Had fallen for his gruff, stoic solidity, the promise of safety in a world categorised by uncertainty. She had married him for love, yes, but also for the strength of his back and for the small and ramshackle but functional smithy he’d inherited from his father. The Lutgher forge, with its peeling timber house perched precariously above the shop, like a watchful bird sitting in a nest.

It wasn’t much, but it was theirs, and Dora Lutgher felt lucky.

Thrammas was a solid smith, and the business did well enough. Enough to repair what needed repairing and pay their guild membership and tuck away a little at the end of each month, as safe keeping for the future. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough when tensions in the city were thrumming like a struck chord, when undercurrents of violence simmered like a pot on the boil. It was enough to have a door to close on the night, a safe place to sleep, and warm, strong arms to protect her from the darkness. It was enough even when she fell pregnant with their first child. It would be tight, they knew, but it would be enough. They would be enough. And she had a safe place to bear her baby boy, had paperwork to do, orders to fill, while Thrammas worked the forge day and night to put more into their savings, a bulwark against trouble. And their son was born healthy, ruddy cheeked and screaming, when so many where not. He grew quickly, chubby and precocious, when so many were sickly and underfed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

He was beautiful, and Dora felt lucky.

Their son was perfect, and the forge was doing well. Better than their close neighbours, not as well as some others. The murmurs of trouble seemed quietened for a time, and if things in the Forge were not good, at least they were not worse. The humans and half elves and others still cast them filthy looks as they passed. The guards still patrolled the streets of the Forge, looking for any excuse to cause trouble. People still disappeared, sometimes. People still came to the markets with their faces swollen and puffed with bruises. But that was just how things were. That was the life that they lived. And their little boy was charming and delightful and it seemed a shame that he should grow up alone. And so they gave him a little brother, and a little sister. And her children were happy and healthy and they had enough to feed them, and soon enough their oldest was strong enough to work in the forge with his father and he was a braw and bonny child and the pride of the neighbourhood.

They had so much, and Dora knew she was lucky.

There were rumours of war in the streets again and the city felt like a storm on the edge of breaking. The Forge prickled with electricity and the smell of ozone like the moment before the lighting strike. Business was bad, the Greater wary of stepping foot in the Forge, not wanting to give their money to the Lesser. They would rather accept lower quality wares made by human smiths than pay a dwarf, or take their business to Trock where their friends wouldn’t know where their fancy blades were made. Iron was hard to come by, trade lines disrupted. The Forge held its breath, and Dora clutched her youngest toddler to her chest and reminded herself that she had three babies full grown and another healthy infant and she should be thankful. Thankful for her eldest son, of charming smile and skilful hand, good at whatever he set his mind to and delightful enough to talk his way out of anything else. Thankful for her second son, so much like his father in his serious consideration of the world. A worker, a craftsman. Thankful for her daughter, with all the forceful personality of her big brother but none of his caution, a child always on the brink of disaster but living her life to the ragged edge. Thankful for her youngest girl, her baby, full of bubbly smiles and enthusiasm, but tempered with a seriousness and curiosity not shared by her sister.

Because Dora had always thought herself lucky.

Until she wasn’t.

Until that creeping feeling of dread, the haunting sense of waiting finally broke free like a dam bursting its banks. Until the sight of those tiny hanging bodies branded itself into the psyche of a nation. Until the tension cracked and violence exploded into civil war. Until the streets were lined with the torches of guards, marching into position around the Forge, locking it down. Beating anyone who tried to leave, who tried to move after dark. Until she found herself looking into the soft, dark eyes of her oldest son, feeling the soft-stiff bristle of his beard against her cheek as she clung to him. As she begged him not to go. Until her tears flowed like rivers as he gently pried her off him. As he turned and kissed his sister’s brow, ignoring the bright-hot light of betrayal in her eyes. Clasping his younger brother in a firm hug, murmuring words of caution in his ear. Deaf to her sobbing pleas, to his father’s soft questions. All that forceful charm turned inward and hardened into a steely determination.

Dora had always thought herself lucky, until the day her oldest son marched away to war.

Things were no longer good. The threat of violence and war hung over the Forge like a pall. She shared passing glances with other mothers as they moved down the street. A suburb of ghosts, haunted by the children, brothers, husbands, who had gone away to fight. The parents of Vovrik’s friends, who she’d once given a smile and a nod, a pause to share gossip and news. The Eversharps. The Ungarts. They didn’t meet her eyes anymore. She knew why. Vovrik was a ringleader. A lit match. She saw the question in their eyes. Would my daughter be gone now if not for your son? Will I ever see my son again, and will it be your fault? She felt the cracks inside their home as well. Once a refuge from the world outside, the house now felt like dry kindling, just waiting for a spark. Orsok and Elra always at each other’s throats. Hesi fractious and upset by the fighting of her siblings. The forge always running behind, down a strong hand before the anvil. And the little piece of Dora’s heart that had left with her oldest son, her bonny, sweet, smiling boy, throbbing with the endless pain of a mother’s grief.

Some of them came home. Eventually. Some wounded, scarred. Some injured only on the inside, in their haunted eyes and pinched mouths. Dora watched Elra spend all evening, every night, sitting on the front step, watching the empty street. Waiting. Waiting for footsteps. For a promise to be kept. The crack in her heart grew a little deeper and she knew the fractures would never heal. She grieved for her son in the only way she knew how, by convincing herself that he was dead. That he must be dead. No word ever came. No news. No one who had seen him fall.

Dora started to think those with dead children were the lucky ones. At least they knew for sure.

Any smith would tell you that once a blade has cracked, it’s near impossible to repair like new. There’s always a weakness. A flaw. A point where the old metal and the new must join. The crack never healed properly. There was a space that had never been filled. The space for knowing. For being able to grieve, for sure. It was the day after his birthday when the fatal blow fell, and the blade snapped on impact. The tension in the house was nearly as high as it had been on the streets before the war. A single misplaced word. An explosion of anger. Slamming doors, a hastily packed bag. Angry recriminations. Tears and hateful words that could never be taken back, even flung as they were in the heat of the moment. The look on her daughter’s face as she turned back in the doorway, staring red eyed and tousled haired, tears streaking on her face. Telling them she wouldn’t come back until she had found him. Found the answers. Until she had proven them all wrong. Feeling the crack in her heart spider outwards, like shattered glass. Watching as another one of her children turned her back and walked away.

               There was a time when Dora Lutgher considered herself lucky.

[ya-bug-boy]

Hello, I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing catboy! Ingo and dog boy! Emmet again, but this time they're meeting readers who are bigger than them, since they're of a wild breed. For example, Ingo meets a jaguar! reader and Emmet meets a wolf! reader.

YESSS YESSSSS I LOVE THIS

Catboy Ingo x Jaguarman Reader

Apex Beastmen are rare in modern times. Beastmen and humans lived together in harmony for the most part but there is never anyone stronger or bigger than an Apex Beastmen, who acquire a larger physical size than that of the average civilian.

You're a common sight to see in the subway, taking the early morning commute. You stand somewhere around 7 to 8 feet, people always calling you big guy (affectionately.)

Ingo has always been aware of you, he's known your schedule for a while. You get up early in the morning from Anville Town and take the subway to Nimbasa City. Every single time, you take the same seat on Ingo's train.

He can't help but be charmed by you, you're such a gentle giant. Two weeks ago, you gave your seat to an elderly human and conversed with her about her grandson. You became regular friends with her after that and she keeps insisting you come over one day for tea. You keep insisting back that you're much too busy for her time, so she sneaks strawberry bon bons into your hand every time before she leaves for her stop.

In the afternoons, the children are usually set free from school, and you let the curious babies and toddlers approach you. You gently explain why you're so big, what kind of Beastman you are, and offer them to touch your tail as long as they're gentle, (you're very firm about the gentle part.) To the children that remember you, they call out your name and run to you for a hug.

Today was no different, same train, same schedule, but one day a young brother pushed his sister's stroller into the subway and the mother didn't make it in time before the doors closed.

Though Ingo is very good with children, sometimes when meeting one for the first time, his front demeanor tends to scare them. You heard the crying from the end of the compartment and came running.

You recognized the children and offer some help, the little boy reaches for you and you lift him with one arm and take your phone out to call the mother. You let the little brother talk to her mom and she tries to calmly tell him to obey you. You both agree to meet up at the next stop.

Ingo gets a little worried, what about your job? But you reassure him that you can run very fast and will make it to work in time. He then insists that he helps escort the children with you.

After reuniting the family together, the mother repeatedly thanks you both before leaving. You thank Ingo for his time and get ready to run. As you turn, Ingo shouts, "WAIT!" You look behind you and you see Ingo saluting you, thanking you for what you did. . . before he blushes and asks if you're available to get something to eat?

you laugh and press a big warm hand to his shoulder, "Depends on what I'm eating, I'll get your number tomorrow!" you wink, pat his shoulder twice, and take off, leaving him flustered.

Dogboy Emmet x Wolfman Reader

Similar to the situation above, Emmet has known about you for a while. You always ride the last trains of the night. It's no secret that people find you intimidating with the way you saunter from place to place, being so much bigger than everyone else.

Though he's never spoken to you, he finds you verrry interesting. You're holding a big case every night, never letting go of it no matter the cost.

He wonders what the case could be, not recognizing the size of it. It wasn't a briefcase and he assumed it had an instrument inside but he didn't recognize the shape of it.

One day when he was on guard, being the train conductor for one of the nightly trains, a fight breaks out.

There was a three drunk humans trying to get the attention of a beastwoman, a bunny. Calling her terrible names and faking lewd acts with their hands and gestures. It looks like it's going to get worse if no one does anything.

Emmet doesn't like this one bit. He's immediately about to walk over but you get up from your seat and press your hand to his shoulder.

"I'll take care of this," you say as you walk forward. With one loud big stomp, you get the attention of the almost empty train car.

Your footsteps deafen the train car and the two of the three humans shut up, the leader faking a brave face by calling you out, trying to stand tall.

So what do you do? You straighten out your shoulders to stand tall at your full height. You take off your jacket and it reveals your strong arms and muscles, you crack your bones and neck before staring straight at them.

The leader swings a punch at you, but you catch with ease. Gripping onto them still, you lift them off the ground and they kick their feet miserably, screaming to be let go.

You then give a guttural howling scream, "Get. OUUUUUUUUUUT!!!!!!!"

which makes all of the men scream, the leader practically crying before you throw him back down. The two humans scramble to get their friend and they all run out at the next stop.

You huff and laugh, wiping your nose before you walk over to the bunny girl. You give her your sincerest apologies if you scared her and ask if she wanted you to walk her to the next stop. She shakes her head no but since she looks like she's on the verge of tears, you stay to comfort her, missing your stop.

She leaves eventually and thanks you for your help; leaving you and Emmet alone.

Now that it was just you two, you turn around to back to your seat and notice the smile on Emmet's face with his tail wagging. He just can't help but to be impressed!!! Where did you learn to scream like that?!

You explain to him that you're the singer of a well known jazz club in Nimbasa City. You're well known in the music circle and the instrument in your case so happens be a modified guitar. You can't play normal sized instruments due to how big your hands are.

You give your apologies to Emmet for causing a scene, but he in turn thanks you for resolving it. You give him a business card and he gives you his, promising to catch you at one of your shows. You chuckle and say, "My singing is much better than me yelling, I assure you." You both leave that subway train, with tails wagging that night.

[eldritchdiplomacy]

The din of the Dwarven District was a familiar, dim thrum in Thoran's ears as he worked. His strong arm, roped in muscle, bringing his hammer down on the anvil and shaping another standard, city guard style sword. It'd be a day like any other, were it not a Friday, and as such his cousins were crowding 'round for the end of his work day, and the coming Brawler's Night.

"Uncle Ham has ten gold on ya, I hear," A trilling, teasing voice rang out, and the 19 year old half-orc just shook his head, smirking.

"Uncle Ham's a paladin of th' church, if he DID bet on my fights, no way you'd know about it," He tossed over his shoulder. Seated on a crate behind him, 15-year-old Rose McAlister pushed out a pout, blowing her rose-red locks out of her face.

"I heard it from a bus boy at th' Keg, he works with Aun' Tam!"

"So, not Merida, yer best friend, but a bus boy," Thoran laughed, tossing a flawless, if simple, army-standard blade onto a pile, before turning and thrusting another slab of iron into the nearest forge, "...You all need some fresh entertainment in yer lives."

"Thus, why we're here," His eldest cousin (by two minutes) piped up, 18 year old Kern McAlister tossing his little sister a hard candy from the pocket of his kitchen apron, before undoing the ties and tossing the apron over his shoulder. Kern's shift in the Keg's kitchens had ended an hour earlier. "...Fer true, though, half the staff was talkin' about the fight tonight, regardless of rumor."

"Woooonderful," Thoran grumbled, pounding away at his last blade for the day. Directly to Kern's right, removing a leather butcher's apron, his other cousin Nate, Kern's twin, was chuckling as well. Both lads were dark-haired, like their mother, but with the broad, strong frame of their da, Thoran's uncle Tristen. His human, worgen, headlander family were all that way - broad like a barn, dark brown to ginger of hair and every shade between them, and far too easy to prod.

Light, he was the half-orc, olive-skinned, with long thick auburn braids and tusks that poked juuuust enough above his lower lip to make life complicated, and he had more calm than most of 'em.

Presently, he just met Nate's eye with a smirk.

"I mean, I'm up against VaanDaam," Thoran made a show of rolling his shoulder in a shrug, hammering into the sword louder, "It's an easy bet, really..." His smirk widened as he heard Rose groan, his twin cousins laugh...

"Hilarious," A prim, rather exasperated voice cut through them, though, and Thoran's arm stopped short, "You DO know I ended up patching VaanDaam's last opponent, yes?"

Thoran swallowed, turning to spot Abityria Lorcain hauling herself up to sit on the crate next to Rose. Her Neophite robes so pristine, even after 8 hours training and healing at the Cathedral. She was pushing a gloved hand through her long black curls, her blue eyes settling on his face as she went on.

"He kicked a man's kidney clear across the ring, Thoran."

"I just...won't let him kick my kidneys?" was all that came out of his mouth, faced with her perfect, pale, judging face. Bit snorted, shaking her head, looking away.

"....You're lucky I can fix pretty much anything."

.

.

.

@hamadeus1133 @theacidvats @alterac

[kayhi808]

MORE THAN OUR SCARS -

PART 1

Bundled up in a hoodie & leather jacket, Billy Russo makes his way through the dark streets of New York. Billy has taken to solo walks through the city at night. The need to be away from people has been growing. Six months ago, Bill and his team went up against Kingpin & the mission went sideways. He was able to get his men out & from what he can tell, Wilson Fisk hasn't pinpointed the breach to him & Anvil. However, Bill suffered. He was caught in the explosion & suffered sevre head & facial wounds, resulting in short term amnesia, migraines & a mosaic of scars across his once beautiful face. He remembers his time with the Marines & starting Anvil upon his release, but after that, it's a blank. People keep looking to him with expectations. Do you remember me? Do you remember anything more? His best friends, Frank & Curtis, don't bring it up, but he sees it in their eyes. Hidden in the shadows, people don't gawk at him & his scars.

This particular night, he's making his way back to Anvil, when he comes across a man dragging a kid down the stoop stairs & attempting to stuff him into the back seat of a car. The kid was fighting back but his struggles were pathetic. The man kept punching and beating the kid. Something in Billy snaps. He remembers the beating he got trying to fight off Arthur as a kid during his stay at the Ray of Hope children's home. He sneaks up behind the man & brings the butt of his gun down on the back of his head. He crumples to the street. He grabs the kid by the sleeve & drags him down the street. After a while, the kid starts pulling against his grip & fighting against him now.

Bill gives him a tooth rattling shake, "Knock it off! I ain't gonna hurt you. You want him to wake up and find you??" The kid lands a hard kick to Billy shin & tries to bolt, but Bill grabs his hoodie, "You ungrateful shit!" The hood falls back & he realizes it's not a kid, it's a woman.

******

You struggle harder to get away, but this guy's grip is like iron. His hands slides down to your elbow, "Jesus Christ! Hey! Hey! I'll let you go, but don't run. Understand me? We aren't safe yet."

You stare up at him with wide eyes. Beneath a hoodie of his own, is a striking face laced with horrific scars. "Please let me go. I won't say anything."

Shakes his head, "We need to get off the street right now. I only knocked him out. I didn't kill him, he'll be up looking for you." He hears your quiet whimper. "I promise you can ask all the questions you want. My office is nearby, lets just get there first." He grips your hand and pulls you along.

The longer you run, the more labored your breathing gets. Your pretty sure your ribs are cracked again. Breathing is like fire & you silently cry & run. "I can't," pulling your hand free & wrapping your arms around your middle. "Thank you for helping me..."

"What's wrong? It's just around the corner. A little further. Do you want me to carry you?" You shake your head & wipe away your tears. "C'mon, sweetheart. We're almost there. We're so close." His big hand wraps around yours and you follow him. He's set a slower pace for you.

You turn the corner & come up on a warehouse complex along the Hudson River & you both head to the guard shack, "Lemme in." The guards open the gates, "Evening, Mr Russo."

"Wh...what's this place?"

"It's my company. We're safe here." You nod, but all of a sudden you start to shake with the chills and your vision dims. You know you're going to hit the ground and your brace for the impact, but it never happens. You get pulled into darkness.

*******

You wake with a jolt and you cry out, your body protesting with a wave of pain. "Easy." You feel hands on your arms holding you immobile. You open your eyes to see the man who saved you, looming over you. Despite his scarred appearance, something in you calms. A look of surprise crosses his face. Like he was expecting you to run screaming away from him. "Your safe." You settle & nod. He steps back into the doorway.

"Where am I?"

"You fainted once we got through the gates. It was probably shock. I brought you up here. I converted the top floor into my residence. Billy Russo, by the way."

"Y/N" Slowly, you notice you're missing your clothes & all you're wearing is a large tshirt. "Where are my clothes?" You ease yourself up against the headboard.

Billy nods at the nightstand on the other side of the bed. "They're clean." He's expecting you to freak out, but you're oddly calm. You stare at him. "I have a medic on hand here, I didn't know what was wrong with you after you passed out. I had her look you over. I can call her back if you want to talk to her."

You whisper, "Did you undress me?" He shrugs. "What did she tell you?"

Billy's eyes turn hard & his jaw clenches. You see the tick in his muscles. "She was with you at all times, I wasn't some pervert, but you were dead weight & she needed help."

"I didn't think you were."

"You have some cracked ribs, but nothing broken. Multiple bruises. In varying degrees of healing. Scars. Scars to rival mine," he said with a tilt of his head. You stare at him, as tears fall down your cheeks. He walks into the adjoining bathroom & returns with Tylenol & a glass of water. "You're probably in some pain."

"Thank you." You swallow the pills, "Thank you for your help last night."

"Who was that guy trying to shove you in a car?" He crosses his arm across his chest.

"I ran away & he was hired muscle to bring me back."

"Who are you running from? Husband?" Was that jealousy you hear?

"No. It's complicated."

"I think you owe me an explanation. I should know who I got tangled up with by saving your ass."

"I owe you shit! I didn't ask for your help!"  You struggle to get out of bed, not caring you're only in a shirt. He's already seen you in less.

"Calm down. Sit!" He stalks over to you & you back away, until you hit the bed & sit. He braces his hands on either side of your hips & you lean back to look up into his face. You're angry with him, yet you also want to cradle his face wishing to ease his pain from his scars. They still are angry red slashes; fresh wounds. "Whoever you are running from is probably still going to be hunting for you. I can only keep you safe if I have all the information I need."

"You can't keep me safe from him. He owns me. It's for the best if I leave. He'll never know I was here. I won't say anything."

"Where can you go that he won't find you? You're safe with me, here, wipes away your tears, "Who owns you?"

"I belong to Kingpin."

@idaofinfinity @jvanilly

[huskynotwolf]

Looking for answers — Grian

From my Fanfic Watchers and Hunters on Quotev

I thought of sneaking into the public library of the grand city of the Watchers. Maybe not. I needed to know what happened to the relationship between Watchers and Hunters. Why are they in conflict? What caused it? Who created this? I need answers.

It won’t be easy, though. I’m exiled, meaning I can’t get into the city. But first, I need tools. I glided through the skies, searching for a cave for me to snatch an iron sword or axe. I found an underground ravine not long later. I went in, bracing myself for creepers and skeletons. I know that I’m in Watcher territory, not mine, because I could see the grassland savanna that marks the border. I had passed it without turning back. Who cares. Okay, maybe I do.

I tried thinking of a solution to sneak in. Cloak? No, because if someone brushes me, I’m dead. Another jacket that covers the wings? No way I can afford that. My gaze drifted towards a running stream in the ravine. Squid ink? It came to my mind. I need to find a squid to get ink, then dye my wings black. Then I could go in as a crow. 

Possibly.

I found an iron vein not long later, then set off to find a squid. On the way, I found a village so I crafted my weapons. The villages panicked when they saw me, but as I kept a spare Emerald with me, I found a house with an anvil and a crafting table, then traded with the villager for an efficiency enchanting book then borrowed the crafting table. I used the anvil, thanked the villager then left, leaving two pieces of bread behind.

I soared over the hills, looking for a lake. I found a forest ravine that overlapped a jungle one, so the trees were mangled in a tight scrap. I swooped down, relived to see a squid swimming around. I bought myself the courage to kill it in order to get the ink sac. Then, holding the sac, I poured it over my rainbow wings. As soon as the feathers touched the pitch black liquid, they shed all their colour and turned black like crow feathers.

Perfect, I thought to myself. I gave my wings a light shake, making sure the black stuck to my feathers. As soon as water touches it, the black will turn back to rainbow, but otherwise, it’ll be fine. I can’t touch water. 

I took off, heading east, looking for the city. As luck would have it, I found a large city that was definitely not the capital, but I figured it’ll do, being so close to the main city and of course, the Imperial Palace. I shruddered, landing near the city gates. “Name?” The guard that stood next to the gates asked. “Taiga,” I replied. I figured that’ll be a good name for a crow. The guard nodded then gestured me. “Sure. Go in.” He grumbled.

I awkwardly stalked in, ruffling my newly-dyed black feathers. Stalls clustered the streets of the city; the residents crowded around shops, arguing on who has the best item. I ignored them and forged my way through. “Excuse me, do you know where the public library is?” I asked someone walking by. “Left, then two streets down.” They replied. I ran down the corner, swerving to avoid citizens. I finally found the giant building marked with letters in red bricks: ‘Library’. I went in, pushing open the doors. Then, going  straight to the history section, I found a rather large book about Hunters, or ‘Humans’, the book wrote, then settled down somewhere no one can disturb me, then began to read.

Unbeknownst, I was stalked. 

Contents

First

Previous

Next