#drew these during a break from my course modules

[crabsnpersimmons]

It has come to my attention that I haven't drawn sun and moon as chibis yet

I have rectified the situation:

all is right with the world

[sjw-publishings]

Counselling through the Snow

“Ugh, Caleb Benedict where are you?”

Leonard brisk walked impatiently, side by side on the pavement looking for his boyfriend who sent a message saying he would be an hour late due to some last minute coding assignment his teacher asked him to submit.

Its been way over an hour.

He had been patient for a year now, ever since his boyfriend got into that university, they exchanged fewer and fewer messages each month, with most of them being about his school.

And from the most recent messages they shared, it seemed like the university is having a deficit of staff as of late and there are rumours that the new Principal is in favour of shaping more... conservative staff starting next semester after the break.

Whatever that means, who knows. Because truthfully all Leonard cares about is being with his boyfriend who he has barely seen in person all year, despite living in the same town.

If anything, he hoped for a miracle for them to never be separated again. But he figured the thought of it would barely be able to counsel him unless it had happened.

“Ah! Leonard Morgan is that you?”

At the mention of his name, he turned around, expecting his boyfriend, but the baritone rumble that allured him sure spoke otherwise.

And lo and behold was a sight to feast on.

A tall man, clearly over 6ft, strode down towards him. Dressed in a completely dapper blue suit, which framed his broad...yet conservative sized shoulders excellently, like he was sculpted with delicate procedures.

Of course, the unbuttoned top row of buttons from the dress shirt tucked behind his vest definitely drew the eyes of Leonard, who could see the neatly brushed hair follicles over his tanned pecs.

And with the way they are displayed, its almost inviting him to wanna grab them if the man allows it. Not even his lean boyfriend could compare to how handsome this man was.

Yet the man remained plastered with a faint, yet confident smile. Like a confident man whose reassured of himself and his life,

Holding a medium sized turquoise laptop to the side, with a clearly distinguishable high-end watch brand watch which showed he is well-off. A far cry from the casual attire his boyfriend and himself would wear.

Coming nearer, he got a closer look at his facial features.

Squared jaw which framed his well-kempt beard over those luscious lips. Gelled dark brown locks over at the top, stylishly parting to the side with the rest of his hair being short and manageable, unlike Caleb’s messy long mop.

Finally, framing his lenses were dark blue square medium sized spectacles, the Metrosexual look only enhancing those manly brows and entrancing eyes which made Leonard just want to...stare at them forever. At this handsome hunk in his late forties .

“Professor Francis Beaumont, a pleasure to meet you.”

The Professor extended out his left hand from his pocket, snapping Leonard out of his trance as he quickly shook his hand, flushing at his earlier thoughts.

He had a boyfriend, and while he found other guys attractive, he was never this flustered with anyone until this guy, whose faint Parisian roots and aristocratic scent just kept sending rumbles to his core...and his attraction meter to the roof.

Leonard had to check at least.

Glancing down, still in the firm, warm grip of the handshake,a silver glint stuck out from the man’s thick digit, the kind of hands that were warm and fatherly.

Which made sense, as a silver ring was encased over on his left.

It was...almost disappointing to the young college student, but he-had a boyfriend anyway...he shouldn’t be looking at another man like that.

Even if he is incredibly hot.

“My sincere apologies, my wife and I had... important duties to attend to back in campus.”

Although despite the stoic expression he tried to keep on his face, a sheepish grin rose to the professor as well as the rosy tints on his cheeks.

But before Leonard could notice that, the professor released his grip, opting to place his right arm over the young man’s shoulder as he guided him down the path into the park.

“I know I know, the open public isn’t the best place for counselling, but I assure you we won’t be bothered here.”

As they walked down the path, all Leonard heard was that of his voice. Smooth like honey, an American citizen...but with the unique flair of the french.

A warm and caring father, guiding him to a place just the two of them. He never knew how much...how much he wanted this, almost like his frustrations from earlier were nothing compared to being next to this man.

“Who...Who exactly are you?”

“Well you specifically requested me for counselling, so how could I refuse?”

Obviously, he knew it was Professor Francis. He had just told the young man his name...right? No, not just that, he heard of the

Computer science professor for quite a while.

A charismatic hunk that charmed his students from all across the modules he taught, and others from across campus. He was not a part of the University, but from the rumours of this man, he wanted to be a part of it because of this professor.

Was his boyfriend the one who told him about the Professor? It made sense if he was, they always crushed on other guys despite sticking by the others side.

“Yes...I really require counselling...”

The man was always open to help others due to his fatherly instincts. Having young adults at home, he somehow knew exactly what to say to help the students as a counsellor on the side.

That being said, there are rumours that he was a major conservative. Maybe Leonard could have recognised it with the slight and subtle glances he kept giving on the blushing youth, but most students completely brushed over that part anyway with how kind and understanding he was to their problems.

“Indeed...our session will certainly be life changing.”

They eventually came to a stop at an open bench, with no one else in sight other than the two of them. Sitting down, side by side, the fatherly grip held tight onto Leonard’s shoulder.

“Tell me about...your relationship with your boyfriend.”

Cutting to the chase, it kinda startled Leonard that the Professor could tell about his attraction to him, asking him to talk about it as their first session above all things-?

...No, that did not make sense right?

There were numerous text messages exchanged back and forth if he could remember. Talking about his problems freely as the professor guided him understandingly without charge. It had just been over a month too...yet it felt like forever.

Staring at the male, and his warm smile was enough for Leonard to fess up.

“He keeps...refusing to see me.”

Sighing to himself, yet again...his university boyfriend ditched him in favour of his ‘coding projects’ which he suspected to be seeing other men, not outright but from the way they chatted...it gave the impression.

GRIP!

Yet the fatherly assurance from the professor reassured him that everything will be alright. Not necessarily with his intimate relationship with his boyfriend, but to be fair, he had been pretty busy lately. Even if they lived close by, they were busy, but they made the effort to communicate with one another.

“He’s a part of your university and I’m not.”

Leonard spoke, mainly because he wished he had the grades to make it with his boyfriend to the Uni, maybe even campus mates, but growingly...he wished to have an easier way to meet with the Professor, it was difficult for outsiders to get a session with-

GRIP!

Of course sometimes Leonard did not feel like a part of the University, but his counsellor reassured him otherwise. His University boyfriend barely spent time with him due to being of different majors, but he liked what he studied.

“What are you studying again?”

The professor spoke, directing his attention to him once again.

What was he studying? The freshmen definitely preferred something artsy...but as he stared at the warm, fatherly gaze of the other male, he felt it sort of unpractical to pursuit that kind of path.

Like it was not him.

GRIP!

“Computer Science of course!”

“Indeed, you are one of my best students.”

Smirking to himself, sitting up straighter as he gained a few centimetres in height. Puffing out his chest as his ideals shifted almost instantly due to his professor’s praise.

He was a teacher’s Pet after all.

Which is why the professor even spent the time during the holidays to meet him. Exchanging texts to see if everything was alright, like a true father figure indeed.

Not to mention, his professor is quite the looker. Blushing to himself as the soft brushes from hand to hand, yet the confidence from the professor stuck by him as he sat up straighter. He was not a conservative, but it was a lie to say the professor did not influence his outlook in life for quite a bit.

“May I know more about the crush towards your friend?”

Friend? Did he meant...uh, Rancale? His buddy? Yeah he was cute, nothing compared to the professor but cute.

“He always talks about others like he’s so interested in them?”

They only get together for the past few months, and yet, his boy...friend kept talking about others over and over, and not in a ‘I want to be friends’ kind of way. The kind of thing you see from guys who are not together with another-

GRIP!

“Well I mean you aren’t together and it makes sense with your hormones on the loose.”

It made sense, with the way his best friend kept talking about other guys...and girls across campus, he clearly was not interested in him...

Though strangely enough, he felt content.

Honestly, the more he thought about his best friend like that, he felt genuinely uncomfortable despite being...gay, sort of? But when they chatted about potential mates...damn, where those hot.

“May I know more about what you think would impress another guy?”

Aleonar thought briefly, thinking about what his friend would like...before his eyes focused on the Professor once again.

If anything, he was far closer to the professor than that other guy, and he knew what the Professor liked.

“Well certainly a stronger physique...the kind of man who could jog for ages.”

As he spoke, he felt his thighs solidified beneath the skinny jeans he wore. Toning heavily as they struggled to show off their muscular depth below.

Next up were his feet, as they expanded beyond those soles at a powerful stomping size 12s. He definitely aced the tracks since when he was a youth, a star athlete with brains, a fitting combination as anyone would agree.

“Who also kept his upper body in shape...you know, like a real man!”

With that exclamation, his pectorals strained against the tee he wore, jutting out nicely as a lean yet obscure six pack could be seen below if someone took a closer look. He looked good, but felt like the goods were only reserved for bed.

And the rest up to imagination. With his biceps doubling in size, yet straining against his long sleeved shirt, guys and gals could only dream of seeing this teacher’s Pet unclothed, but too bad! Alongside those wide shoulder blades that rivalled his Teacher’s.

If anything, he could’ve sworn they were-

“Matured, around their late forties, but still looking good!”

Of course! His fellow colleague and him hung out a lot. Professor Bene..., Professor Beaumont and him were like two peas in a pod, ever since they were roommates back in college.

With that realisation, Professor Morganez felt proud of towering his over 6ft worth of experience, swinging his stronger arms over to his colleague as best friends through thick and thin.

As such, thick strains of fur layered over his chest, arms, and down below. Testosterone groomed in the older male, the way it ought to as a real man.

And both him and Beaumont were real men for all he knew.

“Mix-race, just like your good ol pal!”

With that remark, his skin darkened two shades into a healthy dark brown. Stretching all over as Professor Martinez smirked at his hispanic heritage, and even though he-like his buddy Beaumont, knew only traces of it as they were raised in American households, their mixed ethnicity definitely helped them stand out!

Especially towards their potential spouses!

“The kind of man who would wingmen the other any day!”

Yes his buddy Beaumont was dashing...but it felt better if they stayed as friends you know. The kind of men that would stay by the others side.

Professor’s a charmer, but it was laughable to think they were an item when they were such good ‘brothers’ after all, not in a literal sense...but very similar in terms of personality.

Though Professor Beaumont must be the most clueless dad next door boomer to think he was 100% straight by only setting him up with only women throughout the years, or he’s doing it intentionally.

But how could Galeonar Martinez refuse offers from his bud?

“That and he ought to dress well always, in and out of work.”

With that remark, Professor Martinez stretched his arms widely, as the fabric went along with his movements.

First off was his top, as it simplified to a plain, but a somewhat high quality navy blue dress shirt. Nothing too fancy like his metrosexual bud, but it hugged his frame quite well. It kept his students’ attention during lessons, but not too much that it became a distraction.

Next up where the remaining traces of fabric over on his chest, as they slid down over to wrists, the left forming a similar branded watch to his bud, and a couple of beads and bands on the right to show his generally relaxed and chill outlook in life.

Down below, his skinny jeans loosened up to large beige dress pants, as they tightened up with cinching on a patterned belt, one that is not made of leather post transformation.

Holding his feet below are neat and polished brown dress shoes with winged tips. As his larger feet settled in typical white socks, ones that rested his aged feet in the ‘casual professionalism’ look he liked to maintain.

“So how are the kids?”

Kids? The Professor stared back at his colleague bud and best friend, who remained silent earlier as he discussed about...something?

It was not about children though...hence the conversation. Did Beaumont still insist he was straight after all this time?

Though for some reason...he kinda wanted to play along.

“They were...great?”

As soon as he said those words, a large goofy grin stretched across his lips as he clutched his head, feeling a massive shift in algorithm as euphoria surged within the computer science professor’s head.

His buttocks clenched hard, as his body jolted up STRAIGHT. Debugging the errors as the exit door narrowed to that of a ‘natural passage’, tightening his shoulders as they became designed to take care of offspring...rather than being dependent on a fellow father.

“How is your fatherhood?”

Lips licking below, his natural hair follicles brushed around his chin and upper lip, forming a tasty chestnut beard for the older male. The kind that was fertilised by a bunch of...juices from the opposite sex.

“Great as a payday raise!”

Dad jokes here, as his hair shortened and styled to a professional quiff. It felt...so good thinking about being a father, wait-he was a father! With offspring as a matter of fact.

He remembered when he used to...find guys hot? But damn, were women hotter. His conservative background certainly supported so, and certainly he was-

“How is...your wife?”

His pouch expanded in size, a powerful size 12 inches as thick wads of testosterone swirled in his powerful sacks. They were experienced in the art of pounding, not liberal arts, but rather ‘the art of masculinity’.

Pumping! Of course, his wife! His chasing days were over years ago, and now fully dedicated to ‘dear ol wifey’. Just thinking about her..., and the steamy sessions in bed, it made him wanna-

GRIP!

“She’s great as always!”

Professor Gale Martinez creamed in his briefs, letting loose any notion of being with another male as his cream trailed upwards, and around his ring finger. Solidifying the married professor that he always was.

Eyes blinking into a dark brown, neat strips of brows wiggling in a satisfied afterglow, as he continued with his casual conversation with his ex college roommate.

“From counsellor to counsellor, the students have been really gay lately.”

“Huh, shame they can’t be gay with their wives.”

“Haha!”

The two of them laughed, still having their boomer sense of humour even after all these years.

Professor Martinez had to be reassigned to a different university after moving into a new town with his wife years ago, it wasn’t easy leaving behind the campus that he taught for over 10 years, even if it became more liberal than to his liking.

But after he stepped foot on the campus grounds, to his surprise, guess who greeted him?

His old colleague Francis!

They haven’t seen each other for years since they parted ways since graduation. They kept in touch, but family time and being across different states made it difficult to spend time with one another as pals.

But now that they’re back together, they’re sure to stick to the other like glue. And hey! Maybe if they did a counselling session together, they could probably set the campus youths straight!

“Remember the O’slogan we used to say when we were younger Gale?”

The married man stepped up, and placed both hands in his pockets.

Of course he remembered, and proudly exclaimed it in the middle of the park.

“Nothing beats making out with your wife!”

[rainydaydream-gal18]

The Mandalorian: Imagine Din Being Protective (Part 2)

(Author’s Note:  Someone requested this, so here it is!  

Here is the link to part 1!  This could also be read independently.  I hope you enjoy!

Warnings- fighting, blasters being shot, reader gets injured but nothing gruesome)

   You inhaled deeply as the enemy drew closer to your hiding spot.  The child was out of harm’s way.  You didn’t have to fear for his safety, at least.  Din was engaging the enemy elsewhere, and you were hiding behind some ruins just outside the Razor Crest.

   Footsteps crunched louder and louder in the brush, and you clutched the blaster with an iron grip, closing your eyes to gather your courage.  You may not have any formal training, but Din taught you a few things about shooting.  Perhaps you could hold them off for a while.

   You peeked around the corner, aiming the blaster at the first sketchy character that approached.  He caught sight of you.  You fired before he could react.  You hated the strangled cry that echoed in the air, but this was a matter of self-defense and to protect the child.  One of his companions stared for but a moment before running at you with a holler.  You fired off a few shots, jumping to your feet.  This one went down, and another leapt at you.  He knocked the blaster from your hands and brought down the stock of his weapon on the weak spot of your shoulder.  You yelped, reeling for a moment before throwing a punch.  Another set of hands grabbed you from behind.

   There were only two of them left, but it was enough to subdue you.  Even so, you struggled and fought and tried to wrestle your way free.

   “This one’s feisty, but obviously untrained in combat,” the one hissed.  “Perhaps we can take her with?”

   This made you struggle even more, managing to elbow him in the chest.  “In your dreams,” you spat.

   Suddenly, there was blaster fire, and the one set of hands left your shoulders as the owner crumbled to the ground.  The other one let out a battle cry and left you to attack whoever fired, but they were thrown to the ground.

   You turned around, panting, to see Din with the child in one arm.  The child’s expression lights up when he sees you, and he reaches toward you with eager little arms.  A small squeal leaves his mouth, and despite the pain from your recent injuries, you smile.

      “How did he…?”  you walked over, opening your arms.  “He was supposed to be on the ship.  I put him there so he’d be safe.”

      “He was worried about you,” Din said matter-of-factly.  “He came to find me, and I’m glad he did.”  He angled the child in your direction so the little one could make the transfer to you.  Everything seemed to fall into place the second you held the baby in your arms.  It was a feeling of overwhelming relief- like you found something that you didn’t realize you were missing.  As the child looked up at you with those big eyes and placed a hand on your cheek, you released a small gasp at the emotion that hit.

   Boy, this kid had really grown on you.

   Din’s visor stared in your direction, and though you weren’t sure exactly of the kind of expression he had under that helmet, you figured it was one of curiosity.  You embarrassingly turned your face away so he couldn’t see the emotions that played out on your face.

   “He’s okay,” Din assured you, modulator crackling.

   You nodded, but didn’t say anything.  The Mandalorian took another step forward, and you were forced to meet his gaze.  A shiver ran down your spine at the man under the helmet that seemed to see past your attempts at a wall.  It wasn’t meant to keep others out. It was meant to keep others from thinking you were weak.  The last thing you wanted was for Din to see just how shaken up you were from your first fight with an enemy.  Your shoulder hurt from the blow, and you most likely had some bruises blooming on your skin here and there.

   “I know,” you said finally.  “And I’m glad he’s okay.”

   The child stared at you, watching the exchange with piqued interest, as you hugged him just a little tighter.

   Din gave a nod, probably realizing you weren’t going to elaborate.  He’d been awfully protective before even at the possibility of anything hurting you, so how could you tell him that this fight had not only left you bruised, but also scared?  Not just scared for you, but the child as well.

   When the three of you boarded the Razor Crest, you let the little one get settled down for a much-needed nap before hunting down the medical kit.  You shrugged off the jacket with a hiss so you were left in a tank top, and the area where you’d been hit with the stock of the blaster was already darkening.  Trying not to move the injured area, you rifled with one hand through the med kit in hopes of finding a bacta patch.

   In the midst of your search, you hadn’t heard anyone approach.

   The Mandalorian stood next to where you were seated.  Your eyes snapped up to look at him as you quickly rested a hand over your shoulder.  He shifted his stance, leaning so that his hip jutted to one side as he took in your attempt to hide the injury.

   “It’s nothing,” you said.  “Just need a little fixing up, is all.”

   Din’s gloved hand left his side and paused closer to you in a silent request.  You nodded, and Din removed the glove from that hand before doing the same with the other.  His fingers found yours with such care for a warrior.  He lifted your hand away from your shoulder to better inspect the injury.

   The words seemed to fall from his mouth immediately. “I’m sorry.”

   You shook your head.  “It was bound to happen.”  When he didn’t voice a reply, you added, “seriously, you can’t expect to be everywhere at once.”

   Din’s hand ghosted over the bruise, causing you to wince.  He remained silent as he sifted through the med kit and pulled out a bacta patch. Your shirt strap was moved to the side with care so the bacta patch could be applied.  You averted your gaze, heart racing, and sucked in another breath at the brief pain from the contact.

   “It should heal quickly,” he said.  You pulled your strap back into place, standing to your feet.  “Are there any others?”

   “That was the worst of them.  Everything else was minor.”

   His visor never left your face as he stood there and studied you for a minute longer.  No doubt he knew something was still off about you.  Finally, he spoke up about it.  “Something’s wrong.”

   You hesitated.  “It’s just…”

   He tipped his head slightly.  “You know you can tell me.”

   “I’m just worried.  Like I said, you can’t expect to be everywhere at once.”  The words came spilling out.  “It’s too much to look after the kid and me.  Even he’s a better fighter than me.”  You gave a humorless laugh, recalling how the kid used some mind trick to defend himself and others on occasion.

   “You handled yourself until I arrived,” Din pointed out.  You thought back to the first enemies that you managed to take out before being overwhelmed.  “You protected the little guy.  It was very admirable.”

   “Well of course I protected him,” you said quickly.  “How could I not?  But what if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.  What if…?”

   “You must know by now that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”  The words were spoken so evenly, but they carried a weight that left you speechless.  “Or him.”  He nodded in the direction of the baby’s little makeshift hammock.  You merely nodded, and Din continued.  “But maybe it would be a good idea if I made your training a priority.”

   You looked up at his visor with wide eyes.  “Really?”

   “Yes, we start tomorrow.  I should have done this sooner.”

   You gave a small nod, feeling a bit of relief replace your mood.  Things would improve.  Soon, you would have some training behind you and feel a little more secure in contributing during these risky missions.

   A warm, glove-less hand reached up to hold your chin, tipping your face up to the Mandalorian’s visor.  You wondered if he’d say something else, but he remained silent for a minute or so.  Meanwhile, you felt your heart pounding once again from the vulnerability in the moment, and also because you had indeed developed feelings for the stoic warrior.  It went beyond the initial attraction when you saw his gentle side; how patient he was with the kid as well as you, when you caught him chuckling at something the little one did on occasion, or how he would sometimes watch you with a silent, protective air about him- as if at any moment he’d jump to your defense.

   It was a strange thing to want to kiss a face you’d never seen.  It was strange to be drawn to an individual but come face-to-face with a helmet.  Or to want to be held in arms that you’d rarely seen in anything but beskar armor.  It left you unsure of what to do in these moments.

   “I, um, I’m getting cold,” you said, gently pulling your chin back from his hand.  Din was quiet as you slipped your arms into your jacket, wincing when you moved the bad shoulder.  You flashed him a small smile to break the tense moment.  He packed up the med kit and put it away.

   “Remember, training tomorrow.”  He pulled his gloves back on, and you thought you heard a smile in his voice as he cast you one last look over his shoulder.  “Try and get some rest.”

   “Yes, sir.”  Once he left the room, you muttered. “Yeah, yeah... just make my heart beat and expect me to go right to sleep.  Thanks, Mando.”  But as you got comfortable in your cot, a smile tugged at your lips.  You’d be officially training with him, and you were intrigued to see a whole new side of him.

PART 3

[onslaughtsixdotcom]

Scaling Up Dragon Heist

Around April or May of 2019, I started to run Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, one of the official WotC 5e hardcovers. I’m still not done with it, although that is largely the fault of COVID and my own extensions to the campaign. 

I think Dragon Heist is one of the better 5e modules by WotC. I think it’s got a strong playground for the characters, and Waterdeep has 30+ years of publication history to draw on. The release of the module also heralded in a HUGE amount of third party extension content, including the famous Alexandrian Remix. I hadn’t heard of this before I started running my campaign and having ideas about how to do it, so it didn’t influence me--although I’m sure we came to a lot of similar conclusions and ideas, based on common perceptions of what the actual flaws are of the module.

Still, despite those flaws, I think they help the module rather than hinder it. It gives the DM a shitload of room to improvise and draw in the margins, rather than some other 5e adventures which feel like they can’t be fucked with in the least.

Here’s the kicker: I started my adventure at level 4. We had a pre-existing party that I had run through the classic N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God. (Fun fact: A map that I drew is the 3rd Google Images result for that. Woah.)

The party spent a few real-world weeks traveling across about 7 days of overland travel where I ran some drop in one shots; including Mike Krahulik’s Dusk (a Twilight parody) and a really fun 2 hour diversion where the players saw an ancient blue dragon take off the roof of a church during a wedding. Then they arrived in my city: Dawnharbour.

I don’t run the Forgotten Realms. I find it not to my taste. Most of the names suck. The lore is invariably boring or weird, and not the fun kind of weird. I was going to run Dragon Heist, and I was going to put it in my own city. I gave the players some justification previously for why they would want to go there: The cleric’s sister had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Reptile God and turned into a Yuanti; a snake person. The bard had stolen a golden statue of the Reptile God and wanted to melt it down and plate his violin with it. I told the cleric that they would need a high level magic user and someone in Dawnharbour could probably help them; ditto the bard needing a highly skilled magical blacksmith. The third player didn’t really care where they went since he was on the run from his home country. So, off to Dawnharbour. They reached level 4 when they got to the city.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details of my city or everything I changed for the campaign. Instead, I’ll talk up some hard and fast ways to make the adventure work for a higher level party. Most of them revolve around the encounters. I’m assuming the party will start around level 4 or 5.

Chapter 1

The book opens with the players in the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern with a big ass well to a megadungeon underneath. (More on this later.) They’re hanging out doing whatever when a troll and some stirges pop out of the well. The book says that the players get attacked by the stirges while the owner of the bar, a typical Forgotten Realms 15th level Fighter running a fucking bar for a living deals with the troll.

A troll is CR 5. They can handle a troll. If they can’t, you have a bigger problem.

Next up the book leads them to a Zhentarim warehouse. When they get there it’s abandoned and there are (ugh) 3 Kenku. Kenku are like tengu if they sucked. They’re bird people who can only speak in mimickry, like parrots. They can only repeat words they’ve heard before. This is stupid as fuck (especially when a player wants to be one) but more importantly, they are incredibly weak. I think the kenku are just hanging out or they got captured by the Zhentarim who left them there after they bail or something like that. Whatever.

I put the Zhentarim there instead. I put like 20 Zhentarim. I used the Spy statblock; they don’t have a lot of CR and at level 4 or 5, the players are real slice and dicey about killing them. They can basically carve through two of these dudes in a turn. It was *really* fun to just have the players mow down these mooks. They used the 2nd floor to their advantage, casting Grease on the stairs and creating a bottleneck and then picking them off with ranged attacks and spells. I think I might have given the Zhents 1hp and treated them as minions (see 4e). 

I think I had the police show up after they were all dead; someone heard the commotion and called the cops. I think I also put an NPC there; I shuffled around a bunch of the NPCs the module uses. (They got their quest to save Volo from Bigby in the Yawning Portal; instead of finding Volo here, I think they found my equivalent of Renaer Neverremember.) There was a day’s break between this and them going into the sewers in the next part.

The sewer introduces the Xanathar’s minions. I believe a Duergar is actually there and I took this as a sign--I made most of Xanathar’s mooks Duergar, and then decided--this dude is a Beholder and he has a Mindflayer for a lieutenant. The Xanathar’s forces should ALL be classic D&D dungeon monsters, like rust monsters and umber hulks and ropers. This gives you a wide variety of weird shit you can throw at your players at different CR levels, and the idea of a gangster Beholder who thinks hiring a bunch of umber hulks to go shake down a local deli is fucking hilarious. But, it doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Throw some umber hulks or something in this lair. Go nuts--the weirder, the better. Xanathar’s crew should have no qualm about hanging out with a gibbering mouther or a carrion crawler.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is the least developed chapter in the book. It also revolved around a bunch of Forgotten Realms faction nonsense that I wanted nothing to do with. I used this time instead to formally introduce the Xanathar, the Cassalanters and Jarlaxle. After they foiled his plans to rig a goldfish competition (think a dog show but for fish), the Xanathar became convinced the players worked for the Zhentarim and invited them to have a sit down about their intentions; if they worked for the Zhents he wanted to formally declare war. The players hated the Zhents--they killed an NPC they liked back during N1, partially to set this all up. Xanny was cool with that.

The Cassalanters were a way to introduce a new player. They call up the Blackstaff to say, hey we have a magic item, can you send a guy here to deliver it? (Magic item possession is illegal on the streets in my setting, but if someone important hires you to transport it, then you can do it. This makes being a courier a very lucrative job; lots of people are just carrying around other people’s stuff for a living.) They almost immediately knock out the new player sent to pick up the item, and replace him with their dofflegagher. The idea was that the dofflegagher player would then infiltrate the Blackstaff’s organization.

Blackstaff is no dumbass and hired a random dude off the street--my new player. Then, Blackstaff hired the rest of the party to go rescue him--mostly as a ruse to snuff out the Cassalanters and get evidence that they were shitty.

When they encountered the Cassalanters, I used a Cambion; one of their servants turned into him. This guy slowly became a recurring lieutenant; he was basically the Goldar for the Cassalanter’s Lord Zedd and Rita Repulsa. At the time, I hadn’t read any lore for Cambions; I’m not particularly concerned with monster lore the way the guys who make the game write it. I literally thumbed through my deck of monsters, saw this winged devil horn dude, and said, “Right on, he looks like he’ll work.” A Cambion is CR5, more than suitable for the encounters the party will have with him over the next few levels. The Fiendish Charm ability is fun and can really fuck with the players; I ruled, of course, that anyone under its affect would obviously be free if the Cambion was killed. Even after it was killed, he just kept on coming back, because he’s from Hell and killing him on this plane doesn’t really do anything.

As the players continue to face the Cassalanters, a go-to seems to be spined devils. This is fine but not very powerful for a level 4, 5, 6 party. Therefore I suggest supplanting it with barbed devils. They’re CR5. Adding one or two of those to an encounter with spined devils can make this a real fun encounter that isn’t too horribly overwhelming, especially if at least one of your martial characters has a magic weapon (which they fucking should; they’re level 5!)

IMO you can also introduce Jarlaxle in this chapter; a fun way is through his Zardoz Zord persona. It could simply be that Jarlaxle knows Volo (or any other NPC the players know) and wants to invite them to a free meal to get to know them. In my game, Jarlaxle operates openly as himself (I found it would just complicate things if he was someone else) and invited the players to his yacht shortly after they met the Xanathar, to formally tell them all about the Vault of Dragons, the Stone, and how everyone they have met in the city is after it.

Chapter 3

I am not the biggest fan of this part of the module. I think nimblewrights and similar creatures are really dumb and don’t fit my D&D world. A lot of the stuff in this chapter is investigation stuff, and you can play that out however you like. It doesn’t drastically need scaling up, though you may have to account for something like Zone of Truth that they might not normally have access to. It also helps if you do the opposite of the book, and make the police a bunch of shitheads who don’t care about the city--this way the players are actually motivated to help. I’ve seen a LOT of posts that open with “the fireball happened and my players shrugged and said they would let the police handle it.” Horrible! The police should either be incompetent, apathetic, or (best case) both. They don’t care who did this and if they did, they wouldn’t be able to catch them. Now it’s completely on the players.

IMO it also helps if you do the leg work to make the NPC someone they actually care about. In the book it’s an NPC they’ve never met but they have a mutual acquaintance through--it would be nice if they get invited to a dinner with this NPC or something similar prior to this. Or, change it to be any NPC they like who you don’t mind killing. Hell, they’re level 5 or 6 at this point--if they got a cleric, they can even cast Revivify and wake the dude up. They could even cast Speak With Dead and immediately find out who blew him up or what he was doing here!

Moving on, there’s the Gralland Villa. I retooled the name to actually sound like a good name; sue me. 

The book has a bunch of Zhents hanging out here. A simple way to make this dramatic and hard is to pull the trigger and make the players fight their way in. The stone is right here at the villa and they need to steal it. Sounds simple enough.

Things got complicated for my party when a recurring NPC appeared. She was an ex girlfriend of the bard in our party; they were both Tieflings. She now worked for the Zhentarim and was basically their second in command. And she was here to steal the stone, come Hell or high water. The bard, still in love with her, was perfectly content to let her steal it and even cover her getaway. The rest of the players, not so much, but when the chaos was ensuing and she was literally running past them with the stone in hand, made the decision that it was smarter to try and help her escape and then figure out how to get the stone from her later, than try and get it from her now.

This led literally directly to chapter 4.

Chapter 4

By now it’s obvious: I used all 4 bad guys.

I ran through the chapter and picked the coolest maps and best encounter ideas, including the rooftop chase, the theater, the sewer and the courthouse. I weaved them together carefully, and all the changes I had made to the groups paid off when they entered the theater, chased by barbed devils and our Cambion friend, only to have an Umber Hulk with the Xanathar’s logo painted on his face crash through the stage, flanked by two Duergar. Add in some Drow gunslingers and it was a fucking party.

(the large hexagon is where somebody cast Darkness; the big scuffed circle is a grody spot on my grid tiles. I still need new ones...)

The courthouse had a great scene where the Cassalanter dofflegagher impersonated the chief of police, interrogating the players for the code word to activate the stone (I added one; who cares?) until the real chief of police showed up! The players had to do an entire encounter with this guy while handcuffed; thank god for verbal only spells, right? 

From here the stone ended up with the players, and then it ended up with Jarlaxle who they are working for. Jarlaxle attuned to it and told them the Vault of Dragons is inside Undermountain; 3, 5 levels deep? Who knows? And it requires 3 keys: The Crown of Asmodeus, the Ring of Winter, and the Robe of the Archmagi.

I gave these 3 magic items to the Cassalanters, the Xanathar and Manshoon. This is a pretty common hack and it means the lairs in the book actually get used. I made up one of the magic items (Crown of Asmodeus) and stole another from a module I don’t intend to run as written (the Ring of Winter is, I believe, in either Tomb of Annihilation or Storm King’s Thunder). They’re fun!

So the rest of the campaign has been the players bouncing between going deep into Undermountain, the megadungeon underneath the Yawning Portal, and going to the 3 different villain factions to steal their shit. 

The villain lairs are NOT statted for level 5 players AT ALL. The players have no hope of actually killing ANY of the villains at level 5; to fight the Xanathar is a pure TPK at level 5. But at level 8, like where my players are now? One of them died and then got Revivified; the others all survived or made their saves when they were hit by death or disintegration. (In the spirit of the Xanathar, I rolled every eye beam randomly, rerolling if I had used that ray in the last round.) That’s about the best you can hope for with a Beholder IMO! 

The rest of the lairs you can mostly run as-is. Any very low CR mooks, basically anything lower than 1 or 2 CR, I would probably replace with a higher CR variant. We’ve already discussed what you can replace them with above, and if you’ve made it this far into the module, you should have a pretty good sense of what your players can handle.

[drowning-rats-in-fandoms]

Y/N is an intelligence officer on Ren's ship and he always goes to her before missions

When she first gets hired, she always has the mission information sent to him as early as possible

During the debriefing missions, she has the balls to corrent and add information that aas left out or wrong

It's almost always directed to Hux

Kylo enjoys watching someone else irritate Hux by doing their job

When the missions became more sporadic and information was being brought in left and right, Y/N moved her living quarters closer to Kylo's and Hux's living quarters so when she needs to present the information, she goes to them any hour of the day

Hux hates it, wishing to fire her. He know how important she is to the First Order, so he can't

Kylo doesn't care what time she delivers information. Y/N isnt like the guards that stumble over their words and take for ever to relay information

Y/N shows up (after sometime she is given Kylo's code of access to his quarters), hands him her data pad, and leaves.

Hux get an older model of data pads, Kylo gets her own. Her information is all stored on those two devices

Kylo always returns her pad to the table in her quarters. Hux never seeks Y/N out to give it back.

One mission in particular was stressful

On both their ends

Y/N has a translator implanted in her brain to allow her to read and decipher words

During the mission debrief, Hux suggested that Y/N should go along since she mentioned one(1) time that she is one of the only people able to decipher those words

Kylo immediately rejected, having grown fold of his coworker, not romantically of course

"Commander Ren, General Hux is correct. I should go on the mission."

"You have no field training, you'll hold us back. We can just send you video of the dialect." He thought he had a point

"I remember you forgetting to ask what my previous job was commander, may I fill you in?" She snaps right back, General Hux smirking that she is now attacking Ren instead of him.

"Please, enlighten me." Kylo leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. She was nothing more than a brain.

Y/N untucked her uniform to show a gnarly scar lacerating her entire side.

"That was my last bounty hunting job I did with a mandalorian. Saved his skin and his ship. Left me for dead. General Hux has been watching me for a while to recruit me, saw his chance." Y/N would never credit Hex with saving her life, even though they both knew it.

"I know my way around any weapon you give me. I'll do my job and stay out of your way." She sits down in her seat, readjusting her clothes.

Kylo sits there for a moment, empathetic for her, his mask not showing it.

"Report at the hanger at 0600 tomorrow. Stop by the arsenal to pick a weapon." Kylo then leaves in a rush, the meeting quickly adjourned

He

Never

Left

Her

Side

The crypt was filled with strange coffins, some decorated, some not.

Cobwebs and rodents fill the place, Commander Ren taking lead and eliminating the distractions.

Any rune Y/N would see, she would decipher, hoping to point her commander in the correct direction.

Once they get to the end of the tunnel, a bare wall is presented to them.

Kylo ignited is Saber and was about to destroy the wall when Y/N shouted for him to stop.

The urgency in his voice made him hesitate, the hand on his arm guiding the saber close to the made him stop. He allowed her to hover his saber closer to the wall, her hand warm though his field clothes.

Then he saw it.

The heirogliphs showed faintly though the light of the Kyber crystal, the regular lights not doing anthing.

"Lights off. Now." The 4 storm troopers accompanying them complied, turning the hallway dark except for the glowing red saber.

The wall completely illuminated with glyphs, making Y/N gasp.

"What is it?" Kylo asked, his mask trained on her astonished face

"You found it. What your looking for is on the other side. I just need to find a way in." Her voice is low, focused. Kylo saw that she was in her environment, adrenaline rushing through her veins allowed for a quicker deciphering.

Her hands voided the saber in weird movement along the wall, allowing for her to read.

Kylo noticed everything about her, the way she bit her cheek when her breathing picked up, her eyes flickering to him fir a moment before continuing to read. Her grip on his forearm tightens as she holds her breath, hovering over the last hieroglyph.

Y/N let's go of Kylo's arm and takes a step back, creating professional spacing.

"In short, you actually have to stable the wall. In long, you can only stab it in one spot. Only you can see the spot using the force. Dont ask me how, it never said." Y/N steps back with the troopers, allowing Kylo to do his thing.

He nods his head to her, she nods back, her face blank.

Kylo turns to the wall, closes his eye, feeling for the weak spot. He grows frustrated when he cant find it, letting out a huff.

"What do you feel." You.

"There is no weakness in the wall." His voice is strained though the modulator, trying to not last out.

"Maybe the wall is all weak and you need to look for the strong spot. Breaking that should weaken the hold on the weak spots, allowing the wall to crumble." She sounded so close to him, like it was only them.

Kylo focuses on the calm in her tone of voice, allowing him to concentrate on his objective.

Not even seconds later, he finds it, the spot is in the direct center of the wall.

"The keystone." He whispers, the modulator garbling the word.

He reposition his last connection to his grandfather, the helmet being completely destroyed by Supreme Leader Snoke. Kylo drives the blade through the spot, the wall immediately shaking.

Two strong hands grab his robes and pull him out of the stones impact, the small group watching the wall shift and change.

Larger pieces of rock fall as the smaller ones swirl in a circle, assembling themselves in the doorway behind the wall.

The door opens to reveal a corpse cradling a book to its chest.

Kylo immediately rips the book from the corpse's grasp before Y/N could stop him.

"Is that what you need?" Chills run down her spine as the entire crypt turns silent.

Too silent.

"Yes." He turns back to her, handing the text to Y/N, allowing her to out it in her book bag.

Before the mission he pulled her aside. Her job is to translate and to protect the text. His job was to get them in and get them out. They agreed.

Y/N facial expression and the sense of dread Kylo could read on her told him to move quickly.

"Stay behind me. Make sure she doesnt get hit." He points to the respectful groups before charging off into the darkness.

Y/N asks the trooper to turn their lights back on to help them see their way back.

Not everyone has the force to guide them.

Everyone did their jobs, quickly and quietly. The six moved through the crypt, moving up from the deep dungeons.

Once they get to the first open area, they were ambushed. Reanimated skeletons, strange tan creatures, and those damn rats attacked the group.

Y/N drew her sword, charging it. She stayed relatively near the middle of the room, not seating out a fight.

Kylo Ren sliced and diced through the enemies, keeping an eyes on Y/N. The troopers shot down the rats with surprising accuracy. Kylo took care of everything else.

Until two yellow monster slipped from the main group and attacked Y/N from infront and behind.

Kylo quickly eliminated the rest of his threats and watched in awe as Y/N gracefully finished the fight.

Her kicked the one infront of her, throwing him on his back. She quickly pivots, her sword cutting up through the stomach, and down across its head. Before the second monster can register what happened, Y/N turned again, finishing off the first monster with a quick decapitation.

She quickly disarms her sword, reattached it to her back, and looked at the other 5 people in her group.

"They said that more are on their way. We need to leave. Now." It took Kylo a sweet second to put his ass in gear and steer his group out of the crypt, not meeting any more strange creatures.

Once in hyperspace, Y/N stands behind Kylo's chair, watching the stars.

"How did you hear them communicate? None of them spoke." Kylo was watching her through the reflection of the window, further respect for his colleague bloomed in his mind.

"The rats were actually in charge. The yellow creatures, called voulnders, were allowed to live in and around the crypts. Their exchange was that the Voulnders were to reanimate the corpses with their magic when their temple was under attack."

"They said all of that?" Kylo turned in his seat, Y/N already standing far enough away to not get hit.

"The wall that you hit showed the pact that those two creatures made. It also showed how to get in. Only a might warrior could." There was a pause before Y/N spoke again.

"Don't let that go to your head." She then walked out of the room.

Over the years, the two grew closer.

Sparring, talking, planning missions. Everything platonic.

When Kylo cant sleep because of the nightmares caused by Snoke, he'd go into Y/N's room, falling alseep on her couch, in view of her bed.

"If you like my couch so much, why not move it to your room." Y/N asks one morning, handing Kylo his caf.

"It's not the couch that puts me to sleep." His voice is low, eyes dropping to the ground.

Y/N hand cups his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Her gentile smile puts him at ease.

Y/N remembers the first time she saw him without the mask.

It was a few nights in after relentless nightmares, the first time Kylo slept in Y/N's room.

He was half asleep, running on caf and a few minutes of sleep. Everyone on the ship could sense his worsening mood, assuming that it was from the last failed mission.

It was a repercussion of it, Snoke filling everyone involved in the mission with thoughts of dread.

Y/N hid it suprising well when on the command deck, doing her job.

But now, in the middle of the night, she knew she looked like shit.

When her commander knocked on her door, she rolled out of bed, her hair in a loose braid, her body clad in a pair of over sized black training shots and shirt.

Her commander was dressed similarly. She recognized the drained look in his eyes from her own.

She stepped aside to let him in her space, her eyes never leaving the constipation of beauty marks on his face.

Y/N shut off her night, resetting their automatic switch.

She grabs Kylo's bare arm and leads him to bed. She lies on her back, and she pulls him into her, his head resting on her stomach.

Kylo didnt right against her, his mind not raising any alarms.

Once her hands started to play with his hair, Kylo was out.

Y/N stayed awake a little longer, enjoying how soft and smooth her Commander's hair is. She falls asleep, her hands still tangled in his hair.

She woke up first at the rising of the dim lights, she took her time to wake up, enjoying the presence of another body against hers.

Kylo's breathing was still even as she replaced her body with her pillow.

Y/N went to her closet, pulled out her repaired bounty hunting armour, the silver beskar reminding her of painful memories of her old partner.

She changes quickly, keeping an eye on the commander in her bed.

"where are you going?" His voice asks, not removing his head from your pillow.

"To fix our problem."

"Snoke doesnt respond well to asking nicely."

"Oh, that's not why in going to Snoke. Go back to sleep if you can Commander. You need it." He seemed to get only a few hours of sleep last night.

Y/N straps the rest of her weapons to her body, her rifle sliding easily over her back. Her viroblade in the holster at her waist.

She tucks the bucket in her arm, looking at Kylo one last time before going on her first line mission during her First Order Career.

It wont be her last.

It only took her two days, the bounty hunter returning to Snoke with a head and the correct location of the cargo.

"How do you know its correct?" Snoke leans in his chair, observing the cleanly severed head at his feet.

"This tracker." Her voice is modulated, she throws the red chip to her Supreme Leader.

Snoke catches it, hums in approval.

"You have a new job. We have a suitable replacement for you."

Commander Y/N Y/L/N, leader of the bounties hunters and scouts of the first order.

The nightmares stopped

Missions became more successful

Kylo still couldn't sleep without being in the presence of Y/N. Her calm attitude put him at ease enough to fall asleep.

[coffeefairy]

Writer’s Month August 2020 - Day 19

Day nineteen of the challenge…Maybe I can’t count. Maybe nineteen is the new fourteen.

Day 19, Prompt: De-aging

Fandom: RWBY

Ship: Cloqwork, Ozqrow, Qrow x Ozpin (this ship has a lot of names..)

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Qrow and Ozpin take a long overdue moment to talk. Set during Volume 5, after they reach the safe house in Mistral.

Excerpt: Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now...it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

Tags: Angsty angst angst but also sort of sweet?

Notes: I’m lucky that this ship basically provided answer to “de-aging” prompt in canon. Still, please note there will be no Oscar/Qrow because I find it squicky. Any romance mention is when Ozpin is in the driver’s seat, and only with Oscar’s consent.

Done Deal

Love, in Qrow Branwen’s opinion, was the shittiest hand fate could deal you. And his cards had been dealt a long time ago. On a normal day it wasn’t something he’d thought about a lot. He had sex, and lots of it. He had people he liked, people he wanted. But in love? He’d been in love with the same man since before his seventeenth birthday. It was just one of those facts of life, like how hangovers sucked and your flask was sometimes empty. No use crying about it.

 That was before he’d had that love. Like a door had been thrown open his life had suddenly been cast into vivid colours, full of sensations he hadn’t even known he’d been missing. He had tasted the crescendo of passion, where all was fire, hot and urgent. He’d known the gentle, the slow and the intimate. The bond born from sleeping next to someone, night after night, sharing breakfast, moving around another’s space as they both readied for the day ahead. He had felt the fear - like nothing he had ever known before - the fear of losing it all, only lessened when he had seen him. A restlessness inside only soothed by his presence. 

Fourteen years of marvels. Fourteen years of his safe haven. Fourteen years of joy, of fear, of sensing a bond that was invisible, yet stronger than steel.  

Then he’d known loss. Unmoored and floundering, his anchorage ripped away, leaving him alone in the storm. Only his responsibilities had kept him from going under. He’d had them to his nieces, to his brother in law. To him. He had to carry on his work now. 

Now he had a shadow. The man he loved lived on, in mind, in the head of a boy young enough to be his son. The voice he knew better than his own, coming from the slight chest of a teenager. Whether it was his semblance - could there be worse luck than falling for someone who was only ever living on borrowed time - or Ozpin’s curse didn’t really matter - he just knew those words from long ago were true. Where you seek comfort you will find only pain. They had sought, and found it, in each other, and now that meant only pain. 

“Hey.”

He turned around in the kitchen to see Oscar behind him.

“Pipsqueak.”

“He..” Oscar’s green eyes slid away over the floorboards. “He would like to talk to you.”

They both knew who “he” was.

“Fine, go ahead.”

“No,” the boy’s ears’ reddened. “Not here. In private.”

Qrow’s throat drew shut. He wasn’t ready for this. 

“Maybe he...We...should leave that for now. It…” he ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It can’t be easy for you to hear that...stuff.”

The boy seemed to listen to what was in his head for a moment.

“He says the same. He doesn’t want to make me uncomfortable, but I’m fine.” He squared his narrow shoulders. “There’s...There’s a lot he wants to say and it makes me feel...strange. I’d...I’d rather you talk.”

Qrow gritted his teeth. It wasn’t as if he knew they could carry on interminably without ever acknowledging the love of his life was dead, but his mind lived on inside another. To acknowledge the sliver that was left was more painful than it would have been to let Oz go completely. “Fine.”

He picked up his glass, thankfully full, and headed for what had ended up his room. Habit ensured it was positioned to keep an eye out both ways, as well as being within earshot of all his young charges at once. Oscar trailed after.

Entering the sparse room, he sank down to sit on the bed, knocking back a healthy gulp of the whiskey. The teen stopped inside the door, fidgeted, then sat on the rickety chair in the corner. Putting his hands on his lap, he drew a deep breath.

“Kid, you really don’t have to put yourself through this. It’s weird enough for you right now.”

Oscar shook his head. “No, I...I’d like to. I can sense he wants to talk to you.”

Qrow sighed, rubbed his hands over his face. “Fine. Go ahead.”

For a moment all was quiet. 

“I’m here.” That voice. That deep, well-modulated voice that had haunted his dreams since he was basically Oscar’s age. It drove a blade into his chest to hear it every time. His body reacted to it on instinct and he squashed the confusing impulse to reach out. 

“What is it?”

It freaked him out to see how the kid’s posture straightened, how his body language became so familiar, yet in the body of another it was nothing but cruel mockery to him.

“I thought...We...We haven’t had time to speak alone since the bar and…”

Qrow remembered the bar well enough. 

He remembered how the pipsqueak had appeared, how Ozpin had taken over once he had his cane back. He’d managed to stop himself from hugging the boy and completely freak him out. But the voice was there, the normally slow cadence hurried.

The memory of it played in his head like it had numerous times before, a broken record stuck on one track, unable to move on. Like he was.

“I don’t have much time, Qrow, Oscar still can’t maintain a connection so you can hear it for very long. We need to get to the academy in Mistral, now.”

“The school?”

“Oscar will explain but before that I...” the boy who barely reached his chest stepped forward and for a moment his hand fluttered like he was reaching for him. Then he let it fall. But Qrow could see the intention, the same one he had.

“Gods, Oz, this is...I…”

The boy’s eyes began blinking faster, Ozpin’s voice breaking when he said “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” 

But the eyes watching him held none of the experience they’d had a moment ago. Qrow swallowed, again and again. His eyes were hot and he noticed now his hands were shaking at his sides.

The large green eyes below him were wider than before, and under his tan a blush rose.

“Ah...He...he heard you.”

Awkwardly he took a step back to widen the distance between them. After all, despite everything, they were strangers. And inside him lived the man that meant more to Qrow than life itself.

Since then they’d had no time to themselves, with the time Oscar could maintain the connection still limited and only to be used for making plans and fighting practice. It tore at him to see the moves he knew as well as his own, could counter only due to their familiarity, performed by another. It was like seeing Ozpin from the corner of his eye, feeling his body lift and react, then turning and focusing to realize it wasn’t him. Over and over the same scene had to be acted out, with Qrow feeling like his heart broke anew every single time. He’d always known his heart was a scarred, dilapidated thing but now...it was getting ground from gravel to dust. Because every time he forgot, and hoped for seeing Oz, his ascent was cut short and it hurled him back towards the ground again. With no Ozpin to catch him when he fell. He’d have to learn to do that for himself again.

“We haven’t,” Qrow agreed, his mind returning to the present. 

“Oscar’s control is improving so we should have at least a few minutes.”

Desperation clawed in his chest. “To what, Ozpin? What can we do?” He pushed to his feet, swiping an arm over his eyes. He knew Oscar was still there, still aware of everything that was happening. “This is...Gods, this is worse than losing you was. To...hear you, to know you’re there and still...It’s not you. It’s...it’s worse than cruel.”

He could see Oz almost turning in on himself, visibly feeling the same as he did. But with a deep breath he spoke with the same careful control as usual. The control he’d only ever let slip around Qrow. 

“I know. I know it is. And I’m...sorry. I’m sorry I caused this. I never meant to get involved with anyone in this lifetime, I know it only leads to pain in the end but I…” The green eyes weren’t the colour of firewarmed whiskey but the expression in them were the same.

“Don’t you dare.” Qrow hissed, suddenly close. “Don’t you dare regret it.”

“Of course I don’t regret what we had. I regret this,” he waved a hand in an elegant gesture that cleaved Qrow’s heart in two. “What...what my weakness has cost you.” His head bent over the hands balanced once more on his cane. 

“Your weakness?” Qrow kneeled in front of him so he could see his eyes. “Do you mean...dying?”

“In a way. It would have been kinder of me to never…”

He had to physically check himself from leaning in to touch. To wrap his arms around the waist of the boy who wasn’t the man he loved.

“No. No, it wouldn’t. I loved you, Oz. I always would, whether you loved me back or not. I always will. The only thing you caused me this way is that for a few years, I was happier than I ever thought possible.”

Oscar’s hands clenched around the cane, lifted to touch him the way Qrow had loved, those long elegant fingers trailing through his hair. Then it stopped, fell. There were lines they wouldn’t cross. 

For a moment Oz’s focus flickered, then a small, humourless smile curled his lips. A smile much too weary for a boy whose face it appeared on.

“He says I can touch your shoulder.” Qrow’s head snapped up. “He can sense I want to touch you.”

Slowly, as if not to spook a frightened animal, the small, calloused and tan hand that had nothing in common with Ozpin’s except its intention, reached for him where he kneeled. The hand was small and warm, touching him with the familiarity of years. 

“I love you.” Qrow closed his eyes, bent his head. Just for a moment, he wanted to believe the man he loved was really there. “I wish I could be with you, more than anything. But know I love you, always.” 

Qrow’s breaths caught and the tears he hadn’t allowed himself spilled over. Hot and painful they ran down his cheeks as his chest struggled to keep up under the force of them. He sensed rather than saw that Ozpin kneeled on the floor in front of him. The hand on his shoulder squeezed, as if to imprint the sensation of it. “I love you.”

The responding words couldn’t make it past the tears as he cried himself dry. 

When he finally looked up, he saw the tear streaked face of the boy in front of him. 

“Oz?”

The boy sniffled, wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

“No, it’s me.” The voice was once more that of a young boy. “It’s just…” his breath caught a few times. “He’s so sad. He tries to shield me, I can tell, but what slips through, it’s…” The tears had made the dark lashes spiky and his brow wrinkled in earnestness. “It’s huge. He loves you a lot. I’ve…” He looked away, blushing slightly. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Qrow chuckled dryly despite everything. Sat back so the boy’s hand slipped from his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re young.” He looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the remains of tears. “You’ll find someone.”

“Never!” The vehemence surprised him.

“What?”

“I’ve seen this. It’s like you said, it’s...worse than cruel. You have to...know he’s in here but…” the boy gestured to his head. “But he’s not really...real, anymore. Is he?”

“No.” Qrow pulled his legs up. His forgotten glass on the nightstand was half full and he downed it. In a moment he’d go and find the rest of the bottle.

Oscar didn’t make a move to get up the floor, just sat back too. For a long time they just sat like that. When he spoke again, Oscar’s voice was hoarse.

“Do...Do you regret it? Loving him?”

Qrow slanted a humourless smile. “There’s no point in regretting Fate, kid. Loving Ozpin was a done deal for me, a long time ago.”

“But do you?”

“No. No, I could never regret finding out what loving someone like I love Oz is like. However much it hurts, however much I want to rage and scream at Fate, at the Gods, even at Ozpin, I...I’d never take it back.”

“It still sounds...awful.” 

Qrow got to his feet, only slightly wobbly. On his way out the room, he ruffled Oscar’s hair. “That’s love, pipsqueak.”

[creativejourneysbct]

Studio Final Project Week 4 - branding, market research, and design

In our studio class today we were promoted to create a timeline from now until the submission date, and it quickly became apparent that there is still a lot of work to be done.

Carrying on with our first bad research from yesterday, throughout the studio session we asked other students and lecturers to try the different sizes of cubes and pyramids we had created yesterday and for their feedback on their preferred size for each along with their preferred size and shape overall.

By the end of the day, we had gotten 20 opinions, with the most popular choice being the 3.5cm cube shape. Thus, we’ll likely use those dimensions for our 3D modeling, but still plan to get more opinions with time.

During our user testing for the dimensions, someone *get their name* brought up the idea that it may be beneficial to user test people’s preference for fidget modules as well. This is worth considering, and we’ll try to do something in that vein. The reason we hadn’t fully considered it is that the whole point of having a modular device is that the user gets to choose the elements that go on to it. They customize the final product to their liking. But, for all these modules to be compatible with all cubes, they need to fit all the side slots, hence the cube/pyramid base has to be a fixed size, which is why we created the different size prototypes to gauge which one is most preferable to the most people.

We also had a look at some second-hand research to gauge the market to see if there even was an interest in fidget toys and what that trajectory was. It would be wasteful to conceptualize an idea that doesn’t have any signs of demand. (This is a generalization of course as people can be turned around, but it does help to know people have some sort of a preexisting interest in the area of what you’re making.) From our brief search, we came across this graph, which does indicate a significant year-on-year increase in fidget toys. More research still needs to be done, but this looks to be a promising start.

We also thought about our name and logo. For now, we’re still sticking with the name EcoFidget, but may change it in the future should something slicker come up.

As seen from these scans, we drew out a couple of logo ideas and even considered a little fidget mascot. We wanted the logo to incorporate the modular element, but having the sides rise off, as this is effectively the product's main differentiating feature and selling point. The cube mascot was another interesting addition, and something that could be taken a lot further should this product ever eventuate. It would be great to have the mascot animate in an advert to introduce it, as this is a product that could very possibly appeal to younger people. But, the design isn’t childish to the point where it’s off-putting for older customers.

We also considered the connectivity of our modules some more as seen in the sketch above. Our two main ways of connection are magnets and a clip. Magnets are more seamless, but this is still under consideration.

We then thought about when we will eventually have to 3D print our hi-fi prototype and subsequent final product. We spoke with someone in the maker space and found out that we would have to install a software called Fusion 360. We did so and got to work on designing our starting cube, and then tried adding in an indent on a side that would house the module. The software was somewhat challenging to learn, and none of us have any experience with 3D modeling so this was just a start that will require more worn down the line.

We also received a tutorial on vector tracing through the use of Adobe Illustrate. The software wouldn’t install on my laptop so I worked with Connor. We took a photo of our modular cube prototype and then used vector tracing to trace around it to get a silhouette that we could use in a logo or an infographic that would be used for our final submission.

Up until this point, I had only considered regular photos for our final submission, but today the idea of adding in an infographic as one of those photos was introduced. This is an appealing idea as it would allow us to incorporate so much more information about how our product could be used than a simple image. Especially for a product like this, making sure the viewer understands the modular aspect of it is essential. So, we’ll definitely try to create an infographic using vector tracing that outlines how the product works as one of our photos.

Our group also discussed the video part of the submission. It had been in the back of our minds until now, and we thought it was to be more focused on explaining the final product. But, it turns out that the video’s purpose is to show the creation process of this project. Fortunately, these blogs can act as a skeleton for that video. I’m not overly experienced with video editing, but I did quite enjoy making the vlog so I’m happy to head this part of the project up. I’m thinking of keeping it relatively straightforward, focusing on the linear progression of this project. In hindsight, it would’ve been beneficial to consider the video a “making” from the beginning, as I would’ve filmed and narrated over more of our making phase as opposed to just taking photos. Alas, it looks like a large chunk of the video may have to be still moving images accompanied by music. We spoke to Rachel to clear this up and she says that that should be okay.

I’ve got to say though, that the realization of all the things that need to be done for this project submission, alongside our commitments to programming and ICT is quite daunting. So, going forward, I plan to try to come into university more often to get as much work done as early as possible to avoid a last-minute panic and break down before the submission

[pyrewriter]

Red Vendetta

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Eliksni Name pronunciation:Esyra (E-si-ra)

The little machine Pyrrhaks, Brykis and I had captured was left behind during our sudden uprooting. It was unfortunate that we could not extract any data from the little machine but bringing it along would have only led more Risen to us. Ogethres kept true to his word when it came to needing his best

Seasons had passed since our guild was forced from our compound on the island and had since begun rebuilding, this time nearer to the coast. The peninsula that humans called the "European Dead Zone" was already teeming with House Dusk activity and any further inland would take us into the Devil’s old territory. The coast still had its share of sprawling cities that had been reclaimed by vegetation since their abandonment centuries ago. Salvage, data, even suitable ether conversion sites were scarce though and much of the guild was stuck aboard their shuttles due to lack of space. Having such a large amount of our guild already aboard proved to be a great boon however. 

During a season of heavier than normal rains when thick clouds blanketed the sky ,often darkening the land below to near black, our guild was once again uprooted. Crimson clad beasts descended from the through their veil of clouds like rain, crashing down in drop pods shot from their battleships. Swiftly we began gathering those not already on shuttles while anyone who could fight was sent to gather what supplies they could carry and retreat. Our window of escape was narrow and rapidly closing but together we pushed on to save everything we could. I had heard stories of these creatures, organized formations and movements, ruthless tactics, and hard to bring down even in single combat. These ones were different from those I was told about, I knew of smaller ones with special abilities but there were more.

Hounds nearly the size of Vandals swarmed everywhere, melee berserkers rushed into the fray butchering anything not their own, flame spewing juggernauts razed everything around. These were not any of the legions I was told of. Regardless I was on the front line with initial strike survivors, our line would not last but it wasn't meant to, we knew to resist was pointless and to surrender meant only a shameful death. We over extended at first to give those further from the Ketch a chance to gather what they could before retreating fully. The formation of the frontline and simultaneous retreat of noncombatants was the first major coordinated movement of such a large number of Eliksni since the Reef Wars.   

Our foe continued to push us further back as our line collapsed slowly, they hammered us from the sky and pushed us back from the land but did not move from our rear. Whether it was out of honor, pride, or lack of capability I do not know ,however, their intent was clear. Push us to the water to funnel our people into kill boxes along the coast. On most other guilds such a tactic would almost certainly spell death but we were more than prepared for a coastal maneuver. 

"How far, Ketch!?" I heard Brykis yelped over the rumble or combat.

Without taking my sight off the battlefield before me I shouted between shots "Not close enough, fight on, wait signal!". I lobbed a shock grenade causing one that I had apparently stuck to leap over the advancing line and charge, eyes flaring red beneath it's helme. The grenade's detonation resulted in a violent burst of light and gore, momentum carried the remains forward before falling. Fighting continued for hours as we inched closer to the Ketch while our people behind the line boarded shuttles with what they could carry or strap to Servitors and Shanks. I remember watching so many from my guild and others I had never seen before slump to the floor dead or writhe while they howled in pain before being carried off. 

Our line was shrinking and our numbers were decreasing faster than the enemies until finally the signal came over our communicators. "Collapse line, Ketch ready, skiffs loaded, exodus underway" on cue every Eliksni across the fighting line unloaded everything they had left. The sudden unyielding barrage of arc bolts and shock grenades severely disrupted the enemies advancing formation. Many drew their knives to take the opportunity to decimate the front line of our enemy that had taken many lives and was uprooting so many more.

I would be lying if I said that I did not take part in the display of savagery myself, again I watched as Elikisni ,from Dregs to Barons, fought and fell in vicious melee combat side by side. Some were cleaved in half, others torn to pieces, many were pummeled by fists or shields. It was a great tide of fury and vengeance for all they had done but on that day few displayed such anger as one in particular.   

As I was burying my blade into the neck of a shield bearer I heard a familiar voice bellow a thunderous "WITNESS ME!" it was a female and one I knew. 

Turning I saw a Captain ,it was Esyra, "WITNESS!!" I roared in reply followed by several others including Brykis. I and the others who replied stood with weapons raised high as we watched Esyra drop her armor before charging the enemy commander at the center of their now broken formation. She let out one final resonating howl, there was a blinding flash as she ignited her ether tanks, Esyra and everything around her had been reduced to vapor. I had already claimed more than my share of the enemies heads but for her...they owed me.

A similar sentiment seemed to echo through the minds everyone around me. Together myself and all who roared in reply drained our ether reserves, every fiber of my being screamed out for them to pay and the tithe was blood. By the time our ether ran dry enemy reinforcement were within scanner range but I had already run my blade dull. Only then did we finally retreat to the Ketch with Esyra's armor carried by Brykis, her and weapons slung to my side.

When the frontline survivors were aboard the Ketch and every shuttle fired in unison what weapons they had in an attempt to at least partially clear the skies. Using the gap created from the flak we made a break for open water. The moment we were out of the shallows our ships dove ,we didn't dare go too deep, only far enough that we wouldn't be easy to see from above. For a while I mourned our losses while aiding survivors with their recovery but it was just a distraction from what I was dreading. 

Esyra, a member of the same brood as Brykis and myself but she worked so much harder as a female and quickly rose to Captain.She would have meetings with Pyrrhaks from time to time so we met often enough to catch up on what we had done in the time between. As a Captain and a female at that she was important and had duties to uphold but she was kind, gentle even. Esyra wasn't there for my ascension but after our first relocation when we met she confessed she wanted me to be her mate. 

It was her right as Captain to simply make me her mate but she gave me a choice and like an immature Dreg I said "First I reach Captain, I earn right to be mate". Looking back I don't believe her asking was out of respect for my skill or strength but because of one of the strongest emotions that one can have according to humans. I only came to this realization after finally mustering enough backbone to take stock of her equipment.

"Going to quarters?" Brykis asked after seeing me on my way out of the med-bay.

My head was hung low so it wasn't hard for my brother to tell where I was going, turning I replied "Disrespectful to leave be, needs to be done". He nodded in response before returning to what he was doing, I locked eyes with father along the way as well. Our exchange was silent but there was no need for words, a gesturing nod was enough. Once I was in my quarters habitually I started dismantling, inspecting, cleaning, and repairing every weapon in the room. Of course it was a distraction but it was customary to start with the instruments used by the one you mourn. 

I moved on to my armor and started working slowly but no matter how long I worked time felt like it was just standing still. Esyra's armor was heaped in the corner but her helm was staring at me, even with my back turned to it I still felt a gaze ,her gaze, beaming at me. Putting down the piece I was tinkering with I spun around to stare at the helm for a moment to meet it's gaze, breathing deep I let out a heavy sigh and set to work. I wasn't an armorer so until recently the only Captains equipment I had worked on was my father's but after our exodus from the peninsula every Eliksni was needed for everything. 

Esyra's was personal though so I took extra care, dismantling and changing out damaged plating before repairing or replacing it's internals. The short range transmat module was fried along with the shield generator but the ether systems were almost fully intact. Among the normal arc cells and tools that most Captains kept on them there was one item in particular that stood out as unusual. It was a data slate that had a single entry on it. 

==Entry translated from Eliksni==

;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;

Esyra final communication, deliver to Mate Ellrimksyt upon receiving

Ellrimksyt, you strong, if reading this then stronger than me, hope fell in spectacle, hope we...were together. Maybe I fall before could say, say now to be certain, Ellrimksyt, I pick you as mate for more than strength, respect, status. I pick you because admire, you not Eliksni by birth, you Eliksni by heart, you grow, you live, you fight Eliksni. Not know how word, you make feel more than respect, I see you and chest warm. Think Humans say "deep affection". As expression, with privilege as Captain I bestow mementos, my helm and weapons, now yours, keep as decoration, use or modify, your choice. 

[Audio recording attached]          

;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;:;

==Audio entry Redacted by scribe==

Previous Chapter   Next Chapter   Chapter Guide

[robobumps]

a/n: a little mechpreg fic feat. whirl! T-rated, references to interfacing. content: really self-indulgent belly rubs.

be aware some characters’ pronouns have been changed from canon because i can. the pronoun changes do not inform gender. they’re all nonbinary and nonstraight and all have the same interface array, don’t worry.

who’s parent #2? i dunno, you decide! cywhirlgate not intended, but there if you squint, or not squint at all, really. cygate fully intended.

— — — —

“Please?” Tailgate repeated, voice inching closer to begging this time. His hands were clasped pleadingly in front of his face, optics bright in the dimmed lights of the room. “Just for a little bit! I promise I won’t hurt them!”

“The problem isn’t hurting them, it’s you getting your grimy paws all over my chassis,” Whirl said from her spot splayed out on the berth. She pressed a single claw onto Tailgate’s clasped hands, pushing them downward. “I don’t know where those have been. Who’s to say they haven’t been all up in Cyclonus’s v—“

“Whirl,” Cyclonus warned.

“Vicinity. I was gonna say vicinity.” Whirl scoffed. “Where was your brain module going, Cyclonus?” His only reply was rolling his optics.

She turned back to Tailgate, who was trying his hardest to look like a kicked turbofox. “You really hang around this pervert?” she muttered with a jab in said pervert’s direction.

Tailgate ignored the comment and was still. His EM field, while controlled, prickled with sadness. In the close quarters of the habsuite, fields were difficult to ignore — that, and Tailgate was inching closer to Whirl’s chassis the longer the conversation went on. “I just wanna feel them!” he protested. “I’m all excited to meet them and you’re being a priss about it.”

“Congratulations! That is the first time anyone has ever accused me of being a priss.”

“My paws are all clean,” Tailgate said with a tone of voice that could almost pass as pouty. He held up his servos in front of Whirl’s optic, which narrowed. “Let me.”

The two mecha stared each other down for a moment before Cyclonus’s ex-vent from the workstation at the foot of the berth broke the silence. “You realize Tailgate will simply continue to ask until he’s worn you down enough to allow him to touch you,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” Whirl said, refusing to break the stare. “But I like how whiny he gets.”

Cyclonus‘s face was particularly stony as he tried to stifle a smile. Tailgate shook his servos in Whirl’s non-face. “Let me!” he repeated.

“What’s the magic word?” Whirl asked sweetly.

“Frag you?” the reply came, similarly saccharine.

Whirl’s optic didn’t waver, but she broke the stare and flopped her head onto the surface of the berth to stare at the ceiling. “Wow, first guess.”

“Really?”

“No, but I’m in the red for recharge and you cursing in that little voice of yours cracks me up.”

Finally, she lifted herself up and turned her chassis towards Tailgate so her middle was within reach of the white servos. “Alright, fine. Feel me up, squirt.” She gestured at her stomach with a claw. “Not the weirdest way I’ve seen mecha get their jollies.”

The carriage was a little over halfway through, and the swell of Whirl’s stomach plating was distinct. Though he’d seen it over the course of the carriage, Whirl’s touch-skittishness had made it impossible for Tailgate to indulge his more hands-on fascination; until tonight, that is. Tailgate’s joy was unrestrained as he let out a small squeal and pressed a servo ever so gently to the bump.

Warmth blossomed under Tailgate’s palm. He could feel the subsonic hum of the sparklings’ systems coming ever-so-slowly to function underneath the layers of metal. Both mecha were uncharacteristically silent as Tailgate drew his servos down the curve and cupped it in both palms, staring intently. Fingers drummed an uneven beat on Whirl’s segmented plating, gaps of lighter protoform peeking through as it separated.

The two laid there like that for a klik, simply reveling in the feeling.

“You little fragger,” Whirl sighed. Her voice was quiet. “Weaponizing cute in order to get your servos all over me. What will your conjunx think?”

“His conjunx is alright with it,” Cyclonus said from his seat before Tailgate could reply. He sat with his chin propped heavily on one servo, elbow resting on the armrest, watching the proceedings.

Whirl craned her helm upwards to peer at Cyclonus over her cockpit. She would have smirked, if she’d had the hardware. “Oh, so you get off on it too.”

“When it’s you? Not at all,” Cyclonus shot back easily. His eyes stayed on Tailgate.

“Hey, easy on the carrying mech, here,” Whirl said, optic curved upwards. “Bruising the ego is bad for the—“

“Will both of you shush?” Tailgate demanded. At some point during the banter, he had pressed his helm to the apex of Whirl’s bump, audial to the metal. “Trying to listen to more important things than you two flirting.”

“Ew,” Whirl said, but it lacked venom. She plunked her helm back onto the berth. It took a few nanokliks before she spoke up again. “You... hear anything?” Her voice held a tinge of an emotion neither Tailgate nor Cyclonus could quite identify.

“Nothing,” Tailgate said, but his voice sounded pleased anyways. “You’re nice and warm, though.” He snuggled minutely into Whirl’s stomach.

“Ooo-kay,” Whirl said, tapping Tailgate’s helm gently with a claw. “Weird tender moment over. Space barnacle off the chassis.”

Tailgate removed his helm from the bump with much hesitation. Another few nanokliks passed before his servos did, leaving a final caress to the swell as he drew them back to himself.

“Get your kicks?” Whirl asked, helm tilted questioningly as she looked at Tailgate knelt next to her on the berth. She shot a look at Cyclonus for good measure.

“Was that nice?” Tailgate asked back instead of answering.

Whirl’s kibble jerked upwards in an approximation of a shrug. “It was... fine. I mean it—“ Tailgate’s fixed gaze cut her off. “It was. Alright. I guess.” There was an edge to her voice that implied recharge was imminent.

Tailgate laid down next to her on the berth on his back, servos crossed on his chassis. “So I should keep my paws to myself next time you wander into our habsuite, demanding I scootch over on my own berth?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Tailgate said nothing, but his field dripped with smugness.

Cyclonus turned away from the two mecha lounging on the berth and returned to his work, keeping them both in his periphery as the kliks ticked by without a sound from either of them. When he powered the workstation down, Whirl was deep in recharge, her flight engines powered off and venting deep.

I’ve never touched a carrying mech before, Tailgate sent Cyclonus silently over their commlink. He laid online, staring at the helicopter who’d annexed his berth.

I have, Cyclonus replied, sitting on the edge of his own berth primly. Tailgate looked over at him with interest. Millions of years ago, when that kind of thing was... done.

It was really nice.

Cyclonus didn’t reply.

Tailgate shifted to look at his conjunx. Why do you think she came in here and fell into recharge? I would say just to annoy you, but...

Carrying mecha as I knew them sought out touch, Cyclonus said. It was thought to be code-instinctive, meant to help them affirm social bonds.

The recharging?

Sparklings are energy sinks. She’s been requiring much more recharge ever since the carriage began.

She’s not really the “social bond” type...

No, she isn’t. Cyclonus looked over at the prone form of Whirl in deep, dark recharge on the berth. A mech he’d promised to kill again and again when she least expected it; and there she was, dead to the world, lying there utterly vulnerable, trusting him and Tailgate not only with her life but the lives nestled close to her spark. He smiled. But then again, neither am I.

Tailgate’s field went alight with amusement as he rolled back to turn towards Whirl. Guess we’re an exception to the rule.

Perhaps.

The two contemplated the idea for a moment.

Tailgate reached out hesitantly towards the rise of Whirl’s chassis again. I probably shouldn’t, he said.

Cyclonus almost laughed. I wouldn’t, if you’re particularly attached to that servo. I know I am.

Tailgate drew his hand away from Whirl, but his optics stayed on the bump the sparklings made. His field drew closer to him, but before Cyclonus could not read it anymore, he felt a gentle bit of hope. The minibot turned away from Whirl and laid his optics on him, tilting his helm.

Cyclonus met his gaze. That is a conversation for another time.

Tailgate paused, but nodded slowly.

After a klik, he got up onto his pedes and made his way onto Cyclonus’s berth. Cyclonus sent him an amused/questioning ping as Tailgate moved behind him.

She’s big enough normally to take over my entire berth, but she’s carrying too, and I don’t feel mean enough to steal berth space from sparklings.

Cyclonus smiled, dipping his head in acknowledgement. He swung his pedes onto the berth, arranging himself as best he could to allow Tailgate to lie on his wing and snuggle into his side, hooking fingers into his plating and letting his engine hum in contentment. They each laid there enjoying the other’s touch for a long while.

Tailgate spoke up just as Cyclonus made to switch into recharge. That comment earlier... what IS the weirdest way she’s seen mecha get their jollies, you think?

In her experience? Cyclonus grimaced. I don’t want to know.

[friendshipstates]

Into the Riderverse (AU RP Interest Thread)

What has gone on before:

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but when have I ever let the rules get in the way?” The message had come from Kaitou Daiki, also known as Kamen Rider Diend. “Behind the floodgates, you’ll find another gate. A gate to everywhere. Don’t let them open it.” And with that, the phantom thief had formed a dimensional wall and left Fourze and his allies in the Rabbit Hutch befuddled.

Certain allies were less confused by the cryptic clues from the blue Rider than Fourze was. After taking the time to hear the explanation from a friend who understood the answer, Fourze led his team down into the flood tunnels under Tokyo.

The Radar Module had been activated, and soon the scanner found something that definitely shouldn’t be there. There was no reason for a door to be inside the flood tunnels. After all, the first major storm would see that place under a foot a water.

After a few moments to pry open a door that definitely didn’t want to be opened, the Rider and his allies had found themselves in the middle of a Shocker laboratory. All around them, skull-masked goons were talking about the coming incursion, and how they’d take over the whole multiverse. At least that was the topic of conversation until they spotted one of their most hated foes. A Kamen Rider dared show his armored face in their lair?

What followed was like music. Fourze and his allies moved in such perfect synchronicity that the dozens of Shocker mooks never stood a chance against them. This finally led into a battle in the middle of a room that should not exist. A massive supercollider in a space barely big enough to contain an IMAX theater. And the collider had been turned on, just as Fourze found himself in hand-to-hand combat with an augmented human. The Snake Commander of Shocker fought against Fourze for ten minutes, luring him closer and closer to the center of the room. Finally, the supercollider reached critical state, and a dimensional gate was opened, catching Kamen Rider Fourze in the middle of it.

In a brief moment, Kamen Rider Fourze looked into the Multiverse, and the Multiverse looked back. He knew that he couldn’t allow Shocker to use this gate. So, summoning his Barizun Sword to his hand, he opened his own warp portal inside the dimensional portal, shunting the energy from the collider elsewhere. As thanks for protecting it from the whims of wicked men, the multiverse drew Fourze into it. His armor fell from around him and he turned to his allies, who had just subdued the Snake Commander.

“Don’t worry about me. Find them.” He gestured off into the portal at unseen figures. “They’ll be here soon. Find them, and bring them to Hikari…” What appears to be a humanoid form in grey mist drifted around his body, and Kisaragi Gentaro was gone.

There was no explosion, no shower of sparks. With an unceremonious “POP” the two portals collided with each other and slammed shut, taking their friend with them.

This left his allies in a secret base and very confused. But elsewhere, some other people are going to be very confused.

In a small photo studio, a young man with a Blackbird camera looks up at a photo backdrop of a moonbase, and shields his eyes as the image seems to shatter into seven pieces.

Turning to his own allies, Kadoya Tsukasa says “I know what you’re thinking, but this wasn’t my fault.”

----

All Right, Let’s Take it From the Top…

My Name is…

Sir Gentaro Bladebond, Paladin of the Goddess Kazashiro who stands for Purity, Beauty and Self-Worth.

I was raised in the temple of the Goddess to be her chosen champion. During a diplomatic mission to the Blue Sky Kingdom, to join my church to the church of their god Blue, I met a young mage named Tsubasa. She had lost everything that was dear to her, and I took her under my wing as I continued my adventure. We returned to the Blue Sky Kingdom bearing an artifact of great power, which we returned to Blue in person. For a few days, things were peaceful. Then my fellow acolytes called my attention to a strange vortex that opened in the divine gardens. Leaving Tsubasa in the care of Angela, my group’s ectomancy expert, I went to explore it. I found myself in a strange new world, with spires of steel and glass, and found myself in conflict with an unusual creature. A beast of stained glass, trying to claim the life force of a woman on the street. I drew my holy blade to fight the monster, and that’s where my story resumes…

---

My name is…

Gentaro Kisaragi, Blue Lantern of Space Sector 2814. 

Seven years ago, I had an encounter with an alien spacecraft. The pilot, Roa’ka’nar, was heavily injured in the crash. I took him into my home and nursed him back to health. Through the whole time, I worked to keep him from reopening his wounds, helped him regain his strength and get accustomed to Earth food and tradition. When the time came for Roa’ka’nar to return to his homeworld, he revealed his true identity to me. He was a member of galactic protection agency, A Blue Lantern, who used hope to save the worlds. He told me his last battle before the crash had been so taxing that he was thinking of calling it quits. But I had stood by his side, and motivated him to be better. He saw in me the potential to bring great hope. So for the first time in Blue Lantern history, a Corpsman took on an apprentice. I joined Roa’ka’nar for those years as he trained me to fight against the Reds and the Black Lanterns. During our last day together, I was separated from Roa’ka’nar by a dimensional vortex. Though I’m in a different world, it’s still the same Tokyo I grew up in, mostly. As long as there’s hope here, there’s still a charge in my power battery...

My name is...

Gentaro Kisaragi, also known as Switch-1. 

Seven years ago, The Zodiac Alliance descended on Earth. They came to force humans to evolve to a higher power, by giving them a taste of “Star Blood.” But before them came the Yuujou Switch, a device that drew power from people’s bonds of friendship. On countless other worlds, the Zodiac Alliance had been driven back by warriors of great friendship using the power of the Yuujou Switch, and our world was no different. Okay, maybe a bit different. My own belief in the power of friendship granted me and my friends the power to transform into Yuujou Sentai Switchman, and we took the fight to the Zodiac Alliance. During a fight with Commander Libra, I found myself and my mecha, the Rabbit Racer, sent to another world. There are others here like me. Maybe I can be their friend and fight alongside them until I get home. I hope my team is ok…

My name is…

Gentaro Kisaragi, though the rest of the world knows me as the Pro Hero Fourze.

 Though I may not be at his level, I fought alongside All-Might in a few encounters. But my power source isn’t like his. You see, each time I create a genuine, lasting friendship, my power increases by four. Four extra feet per jump, four extra seconds to take a beating, four extra miles per hour, four extra pounds of weight. I have over two hundred friends, and I’m looking to make a thousand. Not because I want to be more powerful, but because I just want more friends.

When the portal appeared, I had put myself between it and a villain I was trying to save. The last thing I heard was that villain saying “He really did care about me..” I hope I can get back home and find that guy. I really want to be his friend.

My name is…

Gentaro Kisaragi. I’m a graduate of Mahoutokoro Magical Academy, and I work as a private eye. 

Did someone get lost in the Nevernever? I’ll find them. Does some Black Court vampire need a punch in the mouth? I’m your guy. I use my magic to get the job done, and my hands to make your life better than when I found it. Everyone I’ve helped has stayed in touch and referred me to other cases, so I’m never hard up for work. One day, I finished up a case and found myself staring into a cloud of mist. I heard a woman’s voice coming from the mist. She said “Follow me, there are people that need your help.” Of course, I followed her towards the portal. This new version of Tokyo is different from what I’m used to, but magic still follows the same rules here, mostly...

My name is…

Gentaro Kisaragi. I’m a Pokemon trainer from Mistralton City. But I don’t go out and catch Pokemon after harsh battles. Whether they’re lost, abandoned or mistreated by their original trainers, I nurse them back to health and give them a spot in my team. Right now, I have an Arcanine named Queen, a Swanna, a Gothorita, a Porygon named Gigabyte, and an Ivysaur that seems to have adopted me, and comes and goes as she pleases. She was with me when the portal opened, so I have that going for me. But now I’m in a world with no Pokemon except the ones I brought with me. I’m kind of scared, to be honest.

My name is…

Shinyu Kisaragi. I’m Sixteen years old, and can I tell you a secret? I’m a legendary warrior. 

I know, it’s weird to think that a girl dressed like a punk rocker could be a force of pure magic, but it’s true! During a field trip to the observatory, my classmates and I watched as a geologist cracked open a meteorite. The inside of it glowed, and we found ourselves in a different place. Right in front of us was a massive spider web made up of gold and silver threads. A really pretty boy named Kengo appeared from the web and told us we were looking at the Bonds of Life, how everything in the universe was connected. Off on the edges of the web, lines were being snapped. Kengo told us that a great enemy calling themselves Threadbare were working to break apart people’s connections to each other. As each person was severed from those ties, they fell into darkness. Kengo gave us each a Star Switch and told us that when the time came, we could transform into the Soul Bond Pretty Cure. Well, I did transform into Cure Friendship and it was so awesome. Now if only my costume wasn’t so frilly. I’m in another version of Tokyo now, and I know that my friends are still out there. I can feel them in the Bonds of Life but who are these other people I sense…

---

Welcome to an AU RP, inspired heavily by and cribbed directly from “Spider-man: Into the Spider-Verse.” If you haven’t yet seen this movie, do so as soon as possible.

In this AU, Every other version of Gentaro I have dabbled in, and some I haven’t, have found their way to this reality. But being in a different plane of reality causes their bodies to glitch out in painful ways. It’s this reality’s way of saying “You don’t belong here.” They want to get home as soon as possible, but once they’re made aware of one of their own number being missing, they’ll do whatever it takes to help Gentaro come back.

In order to return the other Gentaros to their home universe and reclaim this universe’s Gentaro from The Void, the heroes who take part in this will have to find the other Gentaro’s and bring them to the one place where a Rider can open a dimensional gate: The Hikari Photo Studio, base of operations for Kamen Rider Decade.

But the heroes aren’t alone. Some of them have brought enemies with them, and the Shocker organization that created the original multidimensional gate will stop at nothing to prevent Fourze from returning.

If you’re interested in taking part in this, give this thread a like and tell me in the comments which AU Gentaro you want to do threads with, or if you want Multiple Gentaros for a thread. Then we can plot the adventure as it takes turns and curves Through the Riderverse.

[mizmahlia]

Angst Prompt: You Broke Me

Taken from this list here. 

This was inspired by yet another play-through of Batman Arkham Knight. During the scene where Batman’s being hauled off to Arkham to confront Scarecrow, Alfred tells Bruce he’s being tracked through the city. Bruce insinuates that Jason is the one tracking him, and my brain went “WHAT IF JASON TRIED TO STOP THAT TRUCK TO TRY AND FOIL SCARECROW’S PLAN BECAUSE HE HAD A CHANGE OF HEART?”

And, well, now we have 4.4k words of angsty Jason Todd fic.

Spoilers for Batman Arkham Knight

I borrowed a few lines of dialog from the game, as I wanted to fix the ending. Because of reasons.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, some swearing, Jason does shoot some people, and there are some mental health issues depicted.

Jason ripped his helmet open and leaned against the fire escape, trying to catch his breath. The sensor on the building where Scarecrow demanded Batman turn himself over was tripped five minutes ago and he'd sprinted over the rooftops from halfway across Bristol. He knew he didn't have much time until the truck left, taking Batman to Arkham for his unmasking, but he knew he had to try to stop it.

He hoped Bruce noticed the red Bat symbol hastily painted on the building when he'd gone in. He climbed down the fire escape and crept across the street to a deserted SUV that somehow hadn't been vandalized yet, breaking the driver's side window. He got in, hot-wired the engine and brought up his gauntlet screen to check the GPS tracker. At the same time, he tapped into the audio feed from the back of the truck. He was already listening to the audio feed from Bruce's cowl and had been most of the night.

The red dot on the screen began to move and Jason put the SUV in gear and pulled out into the street after it. He heard Alfred tell Bruce the truck's movements were being tracked. Well, that was quick. What no one knew was that Jason installed the tracking device and microphone to make sure Scarecrow didn't double-cross him. He'd wanted his chance to end Bruce, after Scarecrow had his fun. But after their confrontation at the mall, Jason's mission objectives changed drastically and it went from being an assassination mission to a rescue op. Oh, the irony. So between the hacked comm feed and the microphones in the truck, he could hear both sides of the conversation. He rolled his eyes when Bruce replied. "I knew he would." He stomped his foot to the floor and took off after the truck, chasing it out of Kingston and over Mercy Bridge. He knew the fear toxin levels in the back of the truck were rising rapidly. He listened as Scarecrow taunted Batman, telling him the nightmare was almost over and his failure was almost complete. Jason's gut rolled at the thought he'd helped orchestrate this. He knew he had a lot of shit to work out now, but he couldn't allow Scarecrow to finish their plan. Not after what happened earlier. Not after he'd seen the look on Bruce's face. You can't fake that kind of shock, not even if you're Batman. He raced over the bridge and through the side streets of Bleake Island, the truck only a few blocks ahead of him. He just needed to stop the truck before it crossed onto the bridge to Arkham Island; if it reached the bridge, there was no cover and no way to get Batman hidden long enough for the fear toxin to work its way out of his system. As he rounded a corner, he spotted the truck at the next block. He needed to nudge the bumper with the SUV to force it off the road. He grit his teeth and gunned it through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horn from a car that had the right of way. The car clipped the rear passenger side of the SUV, sending him careening off course. "Fuck!" The SUV fishtailed as he tried to keep it from sideswiping a burned-out garbage truck. He cranked the wheel and caught up to the truck. "Brace yourself, Bruce," he muttered. Jason mashed his palm against the horn before colliding with the rear bumper, watching as the truck swerved and hit the curb, rolling into a vacant lot before coming to rest on its roof. He parked the SUV behind an empty school bus and climbed out, staying low and in the shadows as he crept toward the truck. In his ear piece, he heard Bruce groan, apparently still in the back of the truck in range of the microphone. "Mother, don't go. Please.." Jason froze and flattened himself against the side of a building, guilt and panic and fear churning in his stomach. He sank to his knees and clawed at his helmet, gulping in the cold night air when it opened. Bruce was reliving the night his parents died. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a few hours since their confrontation, since he'd learned Bruce actually believed the Joker had murdered him almost three years ago. Hours since he realized every single reason he had for planning this entire op was bullshit; that the Joker and Harley had beaten him and scrambled his brain until he honestly believed Batman would give up on Robin. That Bruce would give up on him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and choked back a sob when he realized how thoroughly fucked up this all was. He was furious with Batman for seemingly abandoning him, for letting this happen and replacing him. He'd been through absolute hell- the beatings from the Joker, the meds Harley forced down his throat, the days and weeks of isolation. While most of it blurred together, he remembered the day he broke with absolute clarity. The exact moment he knew he was never going to go home, when he wished they would just kill him. It was the day the Joker showed him the photo of Batman and Robin. A Robin that wasn't him. He felt sick all over again at the memory and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. When he was sure he wasn't going to vomit he sat back against the building. He was shaking. The Joker did terrible and sadistic things to him just to spite Batman, because he wanted Batman's attention. And after everything Joker did, no matter how horrific, Batman never did what was necessary to stop him. It was a vicious circle of murder, terror and nightmare-inducing behaviour that Jason got caught in the middle of and had paid the price for. But then Bruce had seen his face and he'd been genuinely surprised. That's when the small glimmer of hope, hope that Bruce hadn't really forgotten about him after all, took hold and royally screwed everything up. Anger replaced the fear and the panic and Jason laughed, and it sounded so, so wrong. Suffice to say his mental and physical well-being were treading on some pretty thin fucking ice at the moment. A groan from the overturned truck drew his attention and he turned, leaning around the corner. The driver pulled himself from the cab and crawled toward the back of the truck. One of his legs was clearly broken. Jason took several deep breaths to ground himself and he stood up, drawing his sidearm and securing the helmet in place once again. He stalked around the corner and stopped in front of the driver, cocking his head to the side. The driver looked up at him, relieved at the sight of the Arkham Knight standing in front of him. "Sir. We got run off the road, I didn't see who it was." He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked up at Jason, the grimace when he jostled his leg replaced by a confused frown. "We heard you split after your fight with the Bat- you okay?" Jason flicked the safety off his gun. No, I'm definitely not fucking okay. "I'm fine. Change of plans. I'm personally escorting Batman to the Asylum." The driver nodded and leaned against the side of the truck. "You sound so different without the voice modulator. So young." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting the last one and tossing the empty pack back toward the cab. "The guy in the cab is out cold and my leg's broke. Wish I could help you get the bastard to Arkham." The memory of Batman standing over him earlier, offering to help him, saying they could fix this, flashed through his mind and Jason flinched. "Your help won't be necessary." He fired a round into the driver's chest and he went still, the cigarette dropping to the asphalt next to him. Jason knelt behind the truck and pried the door open, revealing a semi-conscious Batman. He holstered the gun and reached in, dragging Batman out and clear of the truck. Jason knelt next to him and studied him. The suit was in tatters; in addition to the bullet he'd fired into Batman's abdomen hours ago that appeared to still be lodged there, there was now a new hole in the right side of the Bat symbol on his chest. The armor plating was scratched and filthy. The cowl was scuffed and dented, and Bruce’s nose was definitely broken underneath it. He had some nasty bruising forming along his jaw. The cape had holes in it and his gloves were coated in grime and blood. All to try and save a city that tried to kill him on a nightly basis. "You look like hell, B," Jason said quietly. "You just don't know when to quit." At the sound of his voice, Bruce's eyes opened and he looked up at Jason. His pupils were dilated, the blue of his irises almost non-existent; he was still deeply under the influence of the fear toxin. Before he realized what he was doing, Jason released the catch on his helmet and opened it again, allowing Bruce to see his face. His eyes widened and he reached a hand toward Jason. "It can't be..." "Yeah, it can be." Jason sighed and his chin dropped to his chest. "We've gotta get out of here; Scarecrow's going to realize the truck isn't on schedule. C'mon." He tugged on Bruce's arm to get him to stand, but he remained on his hands and knees. "You can't be him. I watched Joker shoot him." Bruce's voice went eerily quiet. "I watched Jason die." "I wish I had," Jason muttered. "But we don't have time for this." Bruce backed away from Jason and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "No. I failed him. I need to find him. He was right here the whole time and I..." His eyes darted frantically around the empty lot, no doubt searching for the car. "I need to tell him that I didn't know." His eyes met Jason's and the despair in them made Jason shiver. "I searched that asylum for weeks. How could I not have known he was there?" Jason bit his lip and closed the front of the helmet again before he lost control of his emotions. He's afraid he failed me? He heard the rumble of a large truck down the street. "We need to leave. Now." He pulled Bruce to his feet and led him toward the back of the lot, away from the street. There was a mechanic's garage the next block over that probably had a vehicle they could use to get Bruce back to the cave. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. He was completely lost in his own head and unaware he was being led through Gotham by the man who'd helped orchestrate everything he'd been through. But considering he was allowing himself to be led around meant he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Something no one (apart from Superman) could do was force Bruce to follow someone he didn't trust. Jason wanted to cry at the irony. He picked the lock on the door of the garage and pushed Bruce through before closing and locking it behind them. He steered Bruce toward a chair and he sat the moment the backs of his knees hit the seat. "Hang tight while I find us a ride." Jason started rifling through the rack of keys hanging above the counter, momentarily forgetting about Bruce until he started talking again. He froze and dropped the set of keys he was holding. "I'm still in control, Joker. You won't get the upper hand." Jason turned and leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly. "What did you just say?" Bruce looked up at him and Jason swore his eyes were a neon shade of green. He backed away from Bruce, knocking over a canister of rusted bolts. The sound echoed loudly throughout the shop and Jason flinched at the noise. Bruce was looking right through him and spoke to whoever it was he saw. "You won't break me, Joker. You can't." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment before glancing up at Jason. His gaze was still vacant, his mind was long gone at the moment, but at least his eyes were back to blue. "I'm already broken." Jason picked the keys up off the floor and glanced out the window, using the key fob to find the Chevy they would use to get Bruce back to Alfred. It was parked just across the lot from the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on, Batman. We need to get you back to your butler." He turned back to find Bruce watching him. And he was lucid. "He'd love to see you, you know." Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. Despite Bruce not being able to see his face, his focused his gaze on the floor anyway, too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the eye. "I highly doubt that, after everything that's happened tonight." Bruce stood, carefully making his way toward Jason. He stopped several feet away. "We all thought you were..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. "I meant what I said, earlier." It's not too late. We can fix this... Together. Jason felt the anger rising again. "Not that simple. You have no idea what he did to me." The look on Bruce's face said otherwise. Jason narrowed his eyes, forgetting Bruce couldn't see it. "Based on what I saw in the video he sent me, I have an idea." Jason shook his head and turned toward a sedan with its tires missing. He punched the trunk, leaving a considerable dent. To hell with being quiet any longer. "That was five minutes, Bruce. He had me down there for OVER A YEAR!" Bruce, to his credit, said nothing. "You have no idea what they did to me," Jason continued, trying to keep from getting hysterical. "I held out for six months before I gave anything up. Six months! And do you know why I finally gave up, after everything they put me through?" He retrieved a photograph from his back pocket and flipped it at Bruce. He reached for it and turned it over, his face growing even paler. "Yeah. I found out I was replaced. So it turns out you deserve all the credit for this one, Batman," Jason said, his tone pure venom. "You broke me. Not the Joker, not Harley. Not the guards who took turns beating me. It was you." "I'm sorry about all of this, Jason. But you need to know there's more to it than that. Consider the source. Please." Bruce put the photograph on the chair behind him. "You know what the Joker was capable of." "I certainly do now." Bruce sighed deeply and his hand went to the wound on his abdomen when the muscles tensed painfully. He looked much older and wearier after the events of the night. He sat down again and reached for the medical pouch on his belt, before remembering he'd removed it. Jason reached into his own belt and fished out a small bottle of pills, tossing it to him. "Here. It's hydrocodone. Should take the edge off." Bruce nodded and took three of them. Before he could speak, half a dozen members of the militia stormed through the door. "Sir? You found him! We're here to bring Batman to the asylum. Scarecrow is waiting." Bruce looked at Jason and gave a subtle nod, a look of determination back on his face. I'll do it for you, if that's what it takes. Jason turned toward his men. "Get him there in one piece, or you'll all wind up like the driver. Are we clear?" "Sir, yes sir." "And don't tell Scarecrow I had to round him up. He's got enough to worry about." Bruce stepped in behind several of the militia and headed toward the door. He glanced behind him before he stepped outside in time to see Jason nod once. You won't have to. I'll get there.

Based on the radio chatter he was listening to, Scarecrow had indeed changed the plan. The militia were now under strict orders not to let the Arkham Knight anywhere near the Asylum. Their orders were to shoot him on sight and shoot to kill. It didn't bother Jason in the slightest. Considering the one man who'd been kicking their asses all over Gotham that night was the one who originally trained him in the art of covert ops? 

He'd take those odds any day of the week. But one thing he wasn't ready for was how he'd feel being back on that godforsaken island and staring at the Intensive Treatment building. It wasn't even where he was headed; Scarecrow was set up in the mansion to the east, but in making his way past armed guards and sentry guns, he had to go the long way around Intensive Treatment to get there.

He barely made it to cover behind an overgrown hedge of ivy before he was throwing up, once again feeling the sting of the cold water they poured over his face and the phantom pains of a crowbar, and hearing the sizzle of a branding iron as it was held to his cheek. Strangely enough, it was Robin's voice in his ear piece when he spoke to Batman that brought him back to the present. He forced himself to focus as Scarecrow and Batman started talking. He shook his head and climbed to his feet when Scarecrow bragged about robbing Gotham of hope. He'd been robbed of that, too, once. There was no way he could let Gotham be robbed of whatever hope it had left after tonight. He was only a few hundred yards from the mansion and there were five men between him and the front door. Jason changed the display in his helmet to night-vision and quietly assembled his sniper rifle, taking position on his belly. On his next exhale, the man closest to him went down, followed by his partner ten yards to the right. And when the other three came to investigate he hit them with a smoke grenade before coming up behind them, choking them out. As he was dragging them into the bushes, he heard Commissioner Gordon and Scarecrow arguing, followed by a gunshot he heard both through the ear piece and through a broken window of the main entrance hall of the mansion. Jason froze. Gordon and Bruce were talking now and neither of them sounded like they were in pain, which means Scarecrow likely just shot Robin. Something in Jason broke loose, something he hadn't felt in a long time. An urge to protect someone. He knew full well Tim Drake could hold his own in a fight and he'd tested that himself on several occasions. But the fact a Robin was just shot so someone could prove a point? He didn't care who it was- the son of a bitch would pay for that. Jason sprinted toward the mansion, taking the steps two a time and running a thermal scan of the entrance hall. There were only four people on the screen: Gordon, Bruce, Tim and Scarecrow. He was about the kick the door in when he heard Scarecrow's voice, full of surprise and amusement. "Wayne? Bruce Wayne?" He was too late; he hadn't made it in time to stop Scarecrow from broadcasting Batman's identity to the world. Had he not panicked when he'd seen the Intensive Treatment building, maybe... With an anguished groan, he slid down the door and buried his head in his hands. But he heard Bruce's voice in his head, from when he was much younger and worrying too much about things outside of his control. What-if's don't help people, Jay-lad. Focus on what you can control. He opened his eyes and stared at the Intensive Treatment building, resolve replacing the panic. He could still stop this- he could still stop Scarecrow from killing Bruce, Tim or Commissioner Gordon. Jason stood and brought up an old floor plan of the building in his HUD as Scarecrow continued talking. "Now the world can see you for what you truly are. A legend laid bare. Powerless. Human. Afraid." He heard Bruce moan in pain after the telltale hiss of Scarecrow's injection delivery system pumped him full of the liquid fear toxin. He had to get in there as soon as possible if he was going to get them out alive. But he couldn't barge in the front door and risk Scarecrow shooting any of them just because he could. There was an old service entrance to the kitchen around back that he could use to gain entrance. He made his way around back through a maze of tangled shrubs, broken shutters and fallen bricks, listening to Scarecrow drone on to his live audience about fear and how necessary it is, and how useless Batman was now that he'd been unmasked. No wonder he'd been so insistent on killing Batman before their plan really got off the ground- the man talked constantly. Jason broke the lock on the door and carefully made his way in, listening as Scarecrow continued taunting Bruce, this time about his friends being hunted down and killed for his actions as Batman. It wasn't Bruce's reply that made his blood run cold, but the laughter that followed it. That cackle, the way it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It sounded just like the Joker. Jason rushed to the sink and retched, the sound of that laughter too much to bear. His heart pounding in his ears muffled the sound of Bruce being injected with another dose of toxin. He struggled to breathe normally, growing lightheaded as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear Scarecrow getting angry that Bruce wasn't playing along anymore and Jason knew he didn't have much time left to intervene. He turned and studied the floor plan, following the maze-like hallways until they opened up into the rear of the main entrance hall. He stuck to the shadows and made his way toward the light thrown off by the bank of television monitors mounted against the eastern wall. Bruce was strapped to a gurney that was tilted upright, Gordon knelt on the floor next to an unconscious Robin, and Scarecrow was grandstanding in front of a lone camera. Jason watched in horror as Scarecrow turned from the camera and injected Bruce a third time. He chambered a round in his rifle and lined up his shot, but hesitated when he heard Bruce speak. "I'm not afraid, Crane." Scarecrow stepped back as if he'd been slapped, drawing a gun from his waistband and holding the barrel against Bruce's forehead. Now or never, Jason. Show him you're still here. Jason shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope, the laser sight landing on the gun in Scarecrow's left hand. One shot sent the gun flying. The second shot broke the restraint holding Bruce's arm. Bruce grabbed Scarecrow's wrist as he was going to inject him again, wrenching it around and forcing the maximum dose into Scarecrow's chest. "What's wrong? Scared?" Bruce towered over Scarecrow as the toxin took effect and as he let him go, Jason could see the panic on Scarecrow's face even from his vantage point. Scarecrow stumbled backwards, right into Gordon's fist, and wound up unconscious on the floor. Bruce looked up from where the shots were fired, immediately finding Jason's position. Jason froze, not knowing what to do or say. All he could manage was a nod. I'm late, but I'm here. For everything he'd been through tonight, Bruce managed a small smile and a nod in return. I knew you would be. With that, Bruce crouched next to Gordon and Tim. As Jason turned to leave, he heard Gordon tell Bruce that Tim would be okay. He made his way back out the way he entered and stood at the fence, looking out into the bay and back at the lights of the city. The skies were clearing and he could see the first signs of dawn off in the distance. "Are you going to be alright?" He startled when Bruce's voice came through his ear piece. That meant he was wearing the cowl again. Jason chewed his lip for a moment. "I really don't know." There was a pause and Jason could hear the jet approaching the other side of the island. He turned and watched Batman grapple up into the cockpit. "When all of this settles, whenever that may be, I'd like to talk. If that's okay with you." Jason's eyes watered and he swallowed hard before he answered. The jet hovered over the north end of the island and Jason would be money Bruce was scanning to see where he was. "I.. I'll be around. You'll know where to reach me." The jet banked and headed off toward the Manor, not back into the city. "I left something for you in our usual spot." Jason turned and began the trek back across the island, giving the Intensive Treatment building a wide berth. "The keys to the Bentley?" He could feel Bruce's eye roll through the comm link. "Information. Resources. Something to help you settle into life again." Jason stopped next to his motorcycle and shook his head. "When the hell did you have time to do that?" Bruce answered without missing a beat. "I have a butler, remember?" The link clicked off and Jason got on his bike, heading back into the city. He had some things to take care of before he went back to his safe house, mainly rounding up straggling members of the militia for the GCPD. Then he'd make a stop by the Gotham Knights baseball stadium, where they used to watch ballgames every Saturday, and see what Bruce left for him. He had no idea what his future looked like or what it had in store for him, but the very fact he was planning for one meant he was headed in the right direction. For the second time that night, he allowed himself to hope. And that felt pretty good.

[isabelleelliottprogression]

What drew me to NTU instead of an FdA course

After deciding that NTU was where I wanted to go, I had an in depth look at the full course specification and break down for each year. 

Full course specification-

https://www.ntu.ac.uk/__data/assets/pdf_file/0023/953105/Final-VAPA004-BA-Hons-Photography-Course-Specification.pdf

Year 1 break down-

Conversations with Photography

(20 credit points, full year)

This module will help you to understand, critically engage with, and challenge what you think photography is as a subject. You will be introduced to concepts and themes related to historical and contemporary photography, and start to question how photography functions in the wider world.

Exploring Photography

(100 credit points, full year)

The emphasis in this module is on making and creating. You will be responding to briefs during workshop sessions and exploring and questioning the definitions and possibilities of photography. This will expose you to technical skills, and your work will be centred around the critical ideas and themes you explored in Conversations with Photography.

Year 2 break down-

Photography and the World

(60 credit points, full year)

Combine theory and practice as you explore contemporary photographic culture, debates and issues such as surveillance and the data image, documenting the 21st Century, temporalities of still and moving image, activism, ethics of participation and class perspectives, the ethnographic portrait and colonial discourse, space, place and architecture, and the Anthropocene landscape.

Futures

(20 credit points, full year)

Through a live project and a development portfolio, you will apply your practical and critical skills and begin to focus on identifying opportunities and areas of interest around your own personal, subject and career development.

Co Lab: Research, Exploration and Risk-taking

(20 credit points, half year)

Through active participation with team-based problem-solving, you will work together in mixed teams on a project where you will use your creative ideas to generate solutions to the challenge or brief. This collaborative learning experience will expose you to a range of new processes and approaches that will develop your creative thinking.

You will also choose one 20-credit module from:

Publishing: Experimental Formats

Telling Stories

Digital Marketing and Communication

The Art of the Video Interview

Year 3 break down-

Writing Photography

(20 credit points, full year)

Drawing on your learning across the first two years of the course, you will research and critically evaluate an area of photography theory and practice and produce a written piece of work that explores your ideas.

Photography Final Project

(80 credit points, full year)

You will test ideas and explore themes as you plan and prepare your final year project before setting a brief with your tutor. Your project will develop from your research and development over the module, and culminate in an exhibition, portfolio or publication that effectively communicates your ideas and themes.

Futures II

(20 credit points, full year)

This module encourages you to reflect on your personal development and learning experience throughout the course, and to extend your skills and networks to support you in identifying and pursuing your future career aspirations.

Something else that had a big part in my decision making was the fact that there is the opportunity for an international exchange in the second year pf the course. As well as this giving me the opportunity to enhance my CV, experience a different culture, add value to my degree, build up my professional networks and broaden my horizons, I also have the chance to receive an additional qulification.

The Degree show

In your final year you’ll exhibit your work as part of our Degree Show. This event includes all final year students across NTU’s art and design courses, and is a great platform for you to showcase your work to members of the creative industries.

Our Photography students collaborate to organise a public photography festival across Nottingham. You’ll work on branding and marketing, produce a website and catalogue, and find a space to showcase your work. You may also have the chance to be selected to exhibit your work at graduate exhibitions in London, such as New Designers and Free Range.

The opportunities that came with this were something that made me want to do the course and what I noticed whilst doing all of this research was that university in general was a way better way to go than a level 4 course, or FdA, at college.

Careers and employability

Photography at NTU has an excellent employment rate, with 96% of students in employment or further study six months after graduating (DLHE 2016/17).

The course prepares you for a career in photography or photo-related activities. Depending on your particular interest, you will identify your practice, and research picture agencies, image libraries, arts organisations, and photographers' agents.

You'll learn about proposals and CVs; how to cost your work; how to prepare estimates and invoices; and your rights, responsibilities and obligations as a photographer. You’ll enhance your employability through things like live projects, guest lectures, industry visits, trade fairs, and work experience.

Knowing that NTU has an incredibly good employability rate is something else that made me choose university over college. I want the best chance at being successful in the photography industry, and as it’s a very over saturated market, NTU will give me the best chance to achieve what I want to.

[theabigailthorn]

Hello Olly! I've recently discovered your stuff, and am loving your content. I'm considering studying philosophy at St. Andrews, and was wondering if you had anything to say about it in general? I'm fond of St. Andrews' curriculum design, and would just love to hear your thoughts (maybe even about studying Philosophy in University in general - barely anyone in my cohort's interested in the same stuff as I am, so it'd be great to hear from you). Thanks a bunch!

St Andrews is a great place to study philosophy! If you bump into Dr. Jones when you do her module on Ethical Controversies tell her I say hi! Ditto Justin Snedegar or Ephriam Glick!St Andrews Protips:

- There’s a permanent accomodation crisis, so know where you’ll be living in second year BY CHRISTMAS OF FIRST YEAR or else you’ll be paying through the nose to live somewhere godawful in the next city over

- There’s a permanent poshboy arsehole crisis, so stay away from any of the secret drinking societies. General rule of thumb is avoid like the plague any club that has a specific club tie

- The only nightclub is the Lizard. It’s abominable, and attendance is mandatory at least once during your time there

- The best pub is STABCO on South Street, but it’s often a bit crowded. Anyone who says the best pub is Aikman’s is wrong. Anyone who tells you it’s the Vic is dangerously irrational.

- You can get free condoms from the Student Union

- The drama scene is fan-bloody-tastic, so get involved with that any way you can

- There’s no ‘.’ or apostrophe in ‘St Andrews’ because the university was invented before either of those punctuation marks

- The best curry is from Jahangir, also on south street

- Get your late night drunk food from Dervish, NOT Empire

- The best event of the year is the Mermaids Christmas Ball, and it’s the only ball you should not miss. Any event that costs more than £30 to get in is almost certainly not worth it, yes, even the fashion shows. Especially the fashion shows.

- The best coffee and vegan brownies come from Taste, on North Street

- If your computer breaks don’t bother going to Dundee to get it fixed: go to the computer repair guy at the end of South Street near the arch

- The entire town pretty much runs on the ‘It’s not what you know it’s who you know’ principle - if you need anything, the important thing is to know the right people. On that note, anybody who says their flat is with an agency called Town and Gown is your best friend. That’s the secret agency with the nice flats that only advertise through word of mouth and that you need a recommendation from someone already with them to get on their list. A lot of things in St Andrews work a bit like that.

- The best hall of residence is DRA, because it’s a 15 minute walk out of town and by the time you stagger back there you’ll have sobered up enough to avoid the worst of a hangover

- The theology library just off St Mary’s Quad is usually much quieter than the main library

- The best burger is the Jumping Jack Flash from the Vic on market street, and they are the only reason anyone should ever go to the Vic. Anyone who tells you that the best burgers are from Blackhorn is wrong. The best wraps are from Blackhorn.

- The toastie bar isn’t worth the wait because the only time you go there it’ll be 1am and you’ll be annihilated and the 20 minute wait will feel like an eternity

- Your academic family is SUPER important: a great one can make your time there, a bad one can mean you miss out on some of the best bits of the whole St Andrews experience, so get a good one. The best academic family is of course the Sturrock family, who you will recognise by their family traditions of drinking gin and eating garlic bread, and the family tree that I codified and drew up as the first son!

[cassie1604]

Dreena Collins

For the first Author Interview of 2020, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to one of my fellow Jersey Writers Social Group members. Her writing a CV is an impressive one, and since 2016, her name has appeared on Long and Shortlists for an eye-watering list of competitions. Flash 500, Reflex, Retreat West, Eyelands, Fish Publications, Wells Festival of Literature, Mslexia Annual Short Story Competition and The Bridport Prize. The creme de la creme of writing competitions, who have recognised the writing talent of Dreena Collins.

Dreena Collins captivating her audience at the 2019 Jersey Festival of Words with her engaging wit and passion for creative writing.

In September last year, Dreena entertained a packed Maria Richie Room at the Jersey Arts Centre, during the 2019 Jersey Festival of Words captivating us all with her engaging wit, and her passion for creative writing.

During 2019, Dreena self-published three volumes of her excellent short stories and flash fiction, The Blue Hour, The Day I Nearly Drowned and, most recently Bird Wing. The Amazon reviews alone are glowing.

Tessa:  I can imagine you being an avid reader as a child.  What children’s books hooked you in and have stuck in your mind over the years?

Dreena:  From quite a young age, I was captivated by novels. I remember reading Ballet Shoes (Noel Streatfeild), and marvelling at how hefty the book was, thinking I couldn’t possibly ever finish it! Within a few years, I had also read and fallen in love with The Secret Garden and The Hobbit. There was a lot of escapism in my reading, and I romanticised the locations, picturing myself in archaic or fantastical clothing, in unusual settings.

In secondary school, I moved on to Steinbeck (via Judy Blume, naturally!) and eventually in my later teenage years, I loved the classics, especially Jane Austen. So, all in all, quite a diverse mix, really!

I work in education, and at heart, I’m an English teacher. I firmly believe in the power of reading to change people’s lives and provide them with opportunities. Being able to read gives you access to learning, but also to a whole world of pleasure and imagination, so I am a great advocate for adults reading to children and for encouraging people to find something that appeals to them. I’m sure there’s a book out there for everyone.

Tessa: My first literary success was winning a Blue Peter Badge for writing poetry, aged seven, but my passion for writing took a serious hold when I was about eleven. At what age did you decide you wanted to write?

Dreena: I’ve always loved writing. At the age of five, I wrote a short rhyme for the school’s Harvest Festival (which I could still recite, but I’m too embarrassed to share here!).

At primary school, I also wrote some tediously long ‘short’ stories. At that time, it was most definitely quantity over quality. That urge to write stayed with me during secondary school, and for GCSE English, we were given coursework options that were often either empathetic writing or analysis. I chose empathetic every time, writing from a character’s point of view, and in the end, I had to produce an additional piece as I wasn’t allowed to submit anything but creative work.

I also studied creative writing as an optional module at University, taught by Patricia Duncker, who went on, herself to win McKitterick Prize and the Dillions First Fiction Award for her novels.  I admit my writing was patchy and sporadic in the period between University and 2018. It’s only in the last two years that I have settled into it in a structured and disciplined way.

Tessa: I am someone who finds writing a flash fiction a challenge.  I believe you have mastered the art; as your self-published collections of short stories are a testament to. I believe that having the ability to write flash fiction helps a writer get to the heart of what they want to say. What first drew you into writing flash fiction?

Dreena: It actually started when I realised that my stories were often on the long side. I produced several stories and started looking to enter them in competitions or as submissions, and often they were over the specified word count. This gave me pause to reflect on whether my stories could be ‘tighter’, and I started to deliberately challenge myself to edit ruthlessly, and to be as concise as possible. Now I enjoy the challenge and have found that it makes me not only more precise in my writing, but actually more experimental.

Flash Fiction lends itself to breaking the rules, playing with form, tone and structure as its akin to poetry in some ways. Plus, you can’t be too formal or stick to the rules when you are slashing words here and there.

Tessa: Many of the stories that appear in your books have been both short and long-listed in competitions. How long did it take you to compile each collection of short stories?

Dreena: I don’t write every single day, though most days I do, and either way I do something towards my writing on a daily basis – planning, sorting out my files, editing, or social media updates. I do often write though, several times a week, and I can produce a short story every week to ten days, or one, two or even three flash fictions in a week. Not every piece is usable, of course.

For my first collection, The Blue Hour, it took me around eight months to have enough usable work, but by the time it was launched, I already had several stories for book two, as I had carried on writing during the whole (mind-boggling!) publication process. I was ready for book two after around four months but decided to wait. I have published around six months apart in each case.

Tessa:  I am thinking about self-publishing my first novel, and was wondering what, as a self-published author, you believe is the best way to market your books?

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Dreena: I am an absolute convert for social media. Before my writing journey, I had a Facebook profile that I used to keep in touch with friends and a defunct Twitter account I had never used. Now I am active on Twitter, have a Facebook Author Page and an Instagram account. I have found enormous support in the writing communities on Instagram and Twitter, and have had fabulous feedback and encouragement from many other ‘indie’ writers around the world that I have never met. Something I would have been cynical and suspicious of in the past, and you do have to be careful, but these days I try to share the support, and encourage others, too.  Conversely, face to face is impactful as well: I’ve had a book launch event, a book signing and given a talk and these have all led to contacts and sales.

I have also found that, in the main, people are inordinately supportive and helpful. I have reached out to people I have only interacted with online, or to long-lost friends, and they have all said yes when I have asked them to help as beta readers, or to write reviews, etc. I would say, use any contacts you have – however tenuous and don’t be too shy. Most people are nice and will help.

Tessa: I understand you are currently writing your first novel. As your writing has been described by an Amazon reviewer as ‘all human behaviour is here‘, I cannot wait to get to know your characters. Can you give us a flavour of what your book will be about?

Dreena: My novel is a mystery, bordering on a psychological thriller, from the point of view of a middle-aged woman, trying to unpick the circumstances of her grown daughter’s death, abroad. I feel there’s a lack of literature with female protagonists in their late forties, fifties, early sixties. We have seen lots of stories from the point of view of young women, and more recently, several elderly protagonists. It seems bizarre not to have more in between, given women of this age are often avid readers.  I’m also planning to build on my experience of writing flash by incorporating a series of short flashbacks, dotted throughout the book, from the point of view of the daughter, giving the reader glimpses of what (may have) happened.

Tessa: As we all appreciate, fitting in your writing around work and family is not always easy.  How many writing hours do you manage to squeeze into your week?

Dreena: It varies greatly depending on my schedule. On average, across the week, I probably write for about ten hours in total, but that excludes all the things I do outside of the formal process of writing up. It’s surprising how much admin there is to do and how much prep for social media. Social media, making images/ quotes using apps, posters, emailing people, researching competitions etc. is all very time consuming but, bizarrely, I enjoy all of that, too.

I plan a lot in my head before I put pen to paper – I plot ideas in the shower or the car, while making dinner etc. – and I will have a list of words or phrases on my phone that I can draw on once I start, as I am constantly noting down things I hear, or think of. I am not a detailed plotter in the strictest sense, as I don’t produce lots of mind maps and character sketches, but I generally know what I am going to say before I begin writing. That means I can get a piece done in a few hours, without much need for revision afterwards. I am unusual in that I edit as I go, and only really need one quick revision for line edits and typos the next day.

Sometimes I have those rare, precious moments were a flash fiction comes to me almost whole, and I will write it up on my phone in bed or during a break, and it will pour out of me and need very little editing. I am completely immersed then, and can’t type fast enough. Those moments are truly magical.

Keep up to date with Dreena’s writing via her Social Media platforms

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Dreena Collins – Stories for the Modern World For the first Author Interview of 2020, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to one of my fellow Jersey Writers Social Group members.