#halo weapons and armor are hard to draw

[ovcii-doodles]

trying to remember how to draw themTM

[hashtagdrivebywrites]

Y'all bear with me on my bad phone pictures and excessive notes lmao, but, uh, ask and you shall receive.

Here's my concept art for Jason in my fic Imprint, where he's a halfa and Danny's biological dad and the king father/king regent? of the infinite realms.

Here's the first ever sketch I did somewhere around chapter 2 or 3:

Featuring larval Ghost!Jason, Pit madness/Lazarus Water and little bitty Ghost!Danny.

I was already thinking about the possibility of a crown but didn't know what to do with it yet so I just left a halo as a placeholder DBZ-style, which you'll see in the next few concept stages until I finish the latest one.

Ah, the oldest concept I had for the Pit is that it laid dormant in Jason's mind and would physically pull itself out of his head, which is why it's kind of half melded with Jason's helmet in this one. And I'm still kind of considering that idea, but I'm leaning more towards it coming from the bulk of Jason's body instead, as we see it in chapter 8 of Imprint when readers get to see Jason's ghost nonsense from an outside perspective. They (the Pit) is definitely more tiger-like now, and you'll catch a glimpse of a sketch dump where I'm trying to get a handle on tiger shape language (?). They'll still be water based and colored like the pits/a lagoon. It may be hard to picture- just trust me.

Uhhh let's see....the "lantern ribcage" is a part of the design that's really important to me so you'll see me consistently playing with it as I go through these early concepts. That's his core nestled in the lower part of his ribs, visible but protected behind the iron cage of his bones.

I wanted to incorporate Jason's helmet and other parts of his vigilante/hero uniforms in his ghost form since that part of his life is deeply personal to him.

I also knew that I wanted him to have a very monstrous aspect to his design- and I can't resist slapping pointy teeth on any of my concepts that deviate from being strictly human. So those aren't going away. Nostrils to breathe smoke and fire so Jason can better emote with most of his face being metal.

Danny's default ghost form, opposed to Jason's will still kinda be the one he has in his original dimension- black and white suit and the classic DP symbol on the chest, but probably better armored and with a bat emblem thrown in somewhere. So thats what I drew him with here- though little kid sized, with an added black streak in his hair to complete the inverse of the Lazarus Pit streak he has in human form.

In ghost form, when Jason needs precision, his go-to weapon will be the All Blades, which I have kinda illustrated here.

I may kinda set the bones of this design aside to use as a more humanoid ghost form that's closer to his living form, but that's still up in the air.

Here's concept 2, which I did on chapter...5? I think? Which is when I decided I wanted to make Jason's most comfortable ghost form to be kinda big and outrageous:

This one's got some notes doodled around it- but I'll type them out in case you can't read my handwriting.

Jason was definitely leaning more toward dragon (and I'm still trying to find the balance between dragon and phoenix that works nicely for him, but we're getting there.)

I decided not to put heat pits on his face recently so that the parts of his head modeled after the helmet are smooth metal armor. I tried to elongate the head but still keep the lines of his helmet in the design.

This is also the first time I started messing with horns- which have been bent in just about every direction at this point trying to make them mesh well with the rest of his design. The uppermost notes in the image mention basing the shape of his horns off of one of his weapons. I thought that the flaming all blades would just be overkill at that point and decided to play with using the Kris knife he gets from the League. Which is....still overkill but it's less fire to draw, so we'll call it a even. There is also a note on my decision to make his horns into a pair only because of being Bruce's second son and the second Robin. (I have put way too much fucking thought into this if you haven't figured that out already).

Tried a different look for the teeth and ended up scrapping it.

I also started leaning more into making his back look as messed up as possible at this point and started thinking of the....mountain range in plated rows like a croc's back.

And here's concept 3, which also starts playing with colors and the all-tail, no-legs look that I decided to stick with:

This is definitely the biggest jump between concepts so far and was sketched up while writing chapter 7, which I think is the first time we get to experience his ghost forms (there's 2 that we saw in that chapter).

So I continued to smooth and lengthen the head and tried a different thing with the teeth- which I kept. I also felt a lot better about the lines from the helmet with this concept. I tried curling his kris knife horns forward, trying to play with their form. Those have changed since.

This is the first time I added hair, but it's hard to see. He, like Danny, has an inversed streak of black at the front of his 'do to reflect the Lazarus stripe.

Again with the halo placeholder because I was still on the fence about the crown. Started trying to make the mountains of his spine more volcanic looking. Don't know if I'm keeping that or not yet.

So the three major differences between this and it's predecessors is the 1) mantle of smoke that is constantly being expelled from his body that is supposed to imitate a kinds cloak/mantle; 2) the tail, which has since been changed into a fiery tail instead of a ghostly one; and 3) I slapped his Robin 'R' from the movie UTRH on him to make this form more...him, I guess, and also to make Bruce cry like a baby.

So the things that I have changed is the ribcage, the shape of the horns, the crown (which finally has a rough design and a name based on the fight he has to win to earn it- yes, I already have that arc scribbled out and will most likely be adding it into the story) and I added some extra stuff to the face to match the written descriptions in Imprint.

SO. -Claps hands together- I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, and I am always interested in hearing how y'all have interpreted these characters for yourselves.

If this is something you want me to do again with other character designs, let me know and I will. I am working on Jason, of course, and the Pit, Frankie boy, Danny's big long boi form, Gotham and some other odds and ends.

(Whoops forgot tags again)

[etes-secrecy-post]

Hi, before I explain my post, I want to say something important.

• What you see my blog has become a major overhaul. And despite the changes, I decided that my 2nd account will be now my artwork blog with a secret twist.

⚠️NEW RULE! (W/ BIGGER TEXT!)⚠️

⚠️ SO PLEASE DO NOT SHARE MY 2nd ACCOUNT TO EVERYONE! THIS SECRECY BLOG OF MINE IS FOR CLOSES FRIENDS ONLY!⚠️

• AND FOR MY CLOSES FRIENDS, DON’T REBLOG IT. INSTEAD, JUST COPY MY LINK AND PASTE IT ON YOUR TUMBLR POST! JUST BE SURE THE IMAGE WILL BE REMOVED AND THE ONLY LEFT WAS THE TEXT.

⚠️ SHARING LINKS, LIKE POSTS, REBLOG POSTS, STEALING MY SNAPSHOT PHOTOS/RECORDED VIDEOS/ARTWORKS (a.k.a. ART THIEVES) OR PLAGIARIZING FROM UNKNOWN TUMBLR STRANGERS WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED, RIGHT AWAY!⚠️

😡 WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT EVER LIKED & REBLOG MY SECRET POST! THIS IS FOR MY SECRET FRIENDS ONLY, NOT YOU! 😡

Okay? Capiche? Make sense? Good, now back to the post…↓

#OnThisDay: Mar 11th, 2017

Title: Cuteness Girl Member - Giggles

It's 👩"Women's month" 🚺, so I need to do something by drawing Giggles 🐿️🎀 joins the "Cuteness Defender Academy".😁 With her sweet custom "Cuteness Mecha Armor" as her debut (from Gundam Build Fighters TRY Island Wars), "Beagguy P". Yeah, she looks good on her. 😄🐿️🤖

Beargguy Giggles P [Pretty] Based on: KUMA-P Beagguy P [CLICK ME! #1] And reference from: Beargguy III Vanilla [CLICK ME! #2].

Armament(s):

Mouth Beam Cannon • A beam cannon that is mounted on her bear mask, it can be fired after the mouth opens.

Pretty Stick • A stick for casting love magic. During combat, it serves as a bashing weapon.

Special Equipment(s) / Feature(s):

Extendable Arm • Beargguy III retains the Acguy and Beargguy's extendable arms for striking down enemy opponent(s).

Hardpoint • By removing the ribbon striker on the back, a hardpoint is revealed which could be used to connect various armaments and equipments.

Ribbon Shuriken • Giggles' custom weapon appear on her forehead. When She's used, the ribbon switches into a form custom of shuriken blade. Swinging hard and it can inflict through opponent(s).

LOVE Striker • A striker pack with wings and an angel's halo. The wings can be used for attitude control when the she is in the air.As her dances in the air with the LOVE Striker, it can use its speed to increase the Pretty Stick's attack power.

Chair Striker • A striker pack in the form of a chair, it is attached to the hardpoint on the Beargguy Giggles P's back and is used to hold the Petit'GGuy.

Petit'GGuy • A small, cute miniature mecha bear carried on the Chair Striker. The Petit'GGuy carried by Beargguy Giggles P is controlled by its own. From the pocket on its stomach, the Petit'GGuy can draw out various items.

Mace • When pulled out of the stomach pocket, it is in the form of an blue popsicle stick, but after some shaking, it begins to glow and transform into a mace that has identical design as the one used by Barbabtos Buster. Unlike the Barbatos' mace, it is golden in color and has thrusters at the back of the mace's head. When the mace's thrusters are activated, they allow the Petit'GGuy to charge forward at a high speed, destroying enemy units in it's path.

Trumpet • When blown by the Petit'GGuy, it fires a stream of destructive, multicolored music notes from its horn. It is not shown if the trumpet is pulled out of the stomach pocket.

Special Attack(s):

Jigen Haoh School Martial Arts • A style of martial arts known as Jigen Haō-Ryū Kempō (次元覇王流拳法 Jigen Haoh School Martial Arts or Dimensional Overlord's Style Martial Arts?).

Senkō Majutsu-Geri (閃光魔術蹴り Flashing Magical Kick?) • A two-part technique. A diving kick, followed by a jumping knee strike.

Giggles - Happy Tree Friends © Mondo Media Custom armor (Gundam Build Fighters TRY Island Wars) - Gundam series © Bandai Namco Filmworks, Inc. (SUNRISE), Sotsu

[zakthefiend]

The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster​! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.” 

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head! 

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

 ______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below! 

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)

[cal-kestis]

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest.  (Set after S2) Rating: M   Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi. 

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours. 

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin. 

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself. 

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance. 

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

— 

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body. 

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.” 

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

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[phantomwarrior12]

Coming Home

It's done.

Uldren Sov is dead. His barons, destroyed. Riven, defeated.

She can finally rest, and by the Traveler, she needs it. The Young Wolf shuffles into her quarters - well, Lord Shaxx's quarters. It's where she stays between assignments and the only place she wants to be right now.

When she steps inside, she carefully removes her cloak, gently folding it up and depositing it on the only chair in the room. Her fingers linger on the Ace sewn into the dark material, a tired smile - a pang of guilt - and she closes her eyes for the briefest of moments. It takes all her strength to unholster the Ace of Spades.

It's heavy in her hands - whether it's the exhaustion or the weight of reality, she isn't certain. Cayde-6 is gone. She's holding his gun. It's too heavy. It's—

She's crying. She watches as a single tear threads it's way along the barrel of the hand cannon. When had she started? She scrubs angrily at the tear streaks, trying to unblur her vision. Her grip on the weapon tightens as she sags into the chair, silent sobs wracking her frame as she clutches the Ace fo Spades to her chest.

Cayde-6 is gone. She couldn't save him. Cayde-6 is gone. She avenged him. He'd be proud, right?

You did all you could, Guardian. Ghost materializes before her, nudging her arm lightly, It'll be alright.

"I—“ miss him.

The words die on her tongue but her companion seems to understand as he floats up near her face, pressing against her cheek gently in the only manner he can comfort her.

I know. I'm sorry.

They stay there for what feels like an eternity until her tears run dry and she reaches up with one feeble hand, patting his shell with trembling fingers.

Let's get you cleaned up. You've been pushing yourself pretty hard. You'll feel better after you sleep.

She offers little more than a numb nod as he dissipates beneath her touch. He's done it before, but now? Now it feels different - she can almost imagine what it would be like if he were to end up like Sundance. It's an image she dearly wishes she could shake, but she can't linger on it, not right now. So, as she struggles like hell to maintain some semblance of her dwindling composure, she strips her armor off, depositing the bloodied, dirty plates in the corner to be cleaned in the morning and makes her way to the shower.

By the time she steps inside, she registers the muffled whoosh of the quarters' door and the heavy steps of the room's owner.

Sounds like Lord Shaxx is back. Ghost remarks without materializing.

The Young Wolf only nods, turning back to scrubbing the dirt from her hand. How it had gotten under her glove, she doesn't know. But she's too tired to question it.

She listens to the faint movements outside the bathroom, no doubt the Titan's efforts to  straighten up, perhaps tend to her filthy armor as he does so often after long assignments. It's his way of doting on her when he sees her so rarely. It's sweet and she appreciates it more than he could ever know.

The minutes pass in a blur, idly listening to Shaxx move about before she shuts off the water and grabs a towel. It's Titan-sized and her Hunter-sized frame practically swims in it. She winds it around herself three times and holds the end tightly as she opens the door.

She must have been in there longer than she thought. Her armor sits clean in the corner, a steaming bowl of spicy ramen sets on the table by the bed with a large cup of water. Tired eyes move from the food to the Titan staring quietly at the weapon atop her cloak.

She doesn't remember placing it there.

"He's really gone," he says softly.

She looks down, almost ashamed and it draws his attention. She hears him approach, feels his strong arms pull her close. He's still in his armor, still battle-ready but she doesn't need a battle right now. She needs her Titan.

She's never needed a protector, but in that moment, as she lays her head on his chest, she feels fragile beneath his touch as if she'll  crumble at any moment. Though, despite everything, she's safe. Nothing can hurt her as long as he holds her. She can't describe it - the soft brush of his thumb over exposed skin. The tenderness that is his touch - so firm and yet so gentle. In his arms, she is invincible. In his arms, she is home.

So when she does crumble, the towering Titan gingerly picks her up, carrying her over to the bed and takes a seat with her in his lap. Her fingers latch onto his chest plate, the fur along his shoulders tickle her nose but she makes no move to pull away.  He leans his head against the top of hers, always so gentle in the way he clutches her against his chest.

He'll hold her together. As she crumbles, he'll pick up the pieces and he'll build her up stronger than before.

"It's alright, my little Hunter. It's going to be alright."

"Couldn't save him." She whispers feebly.

"No. Cayde is gone. But so is Uldren Sov. And that, my little Hunter, is what matters. You've avenged your friend and now you wield his weapon with the same regal and pride he did."

She can't help but scoff at the mention of regal in relation to anything associated with Cayde-6, he'd abhor the term, despite its merit as a praise. She blinks back the tears, wiping away the few that escaped before she looks up at him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She can't see his features beyond his visor but she knows he's smiling that same soft, affectionate smile that lulls her to composure every time. He is her anchor. He is the only thing that keeps her grounded and she knows it. He is home - and for a Hunter, that means the world to her.

She offers a shadow of a smile, subtle twitch to the corner of her mouth as he tucks a strand of soaked hair away from her face. She realized she never tried to dry it in her rush to see him.

"You need to eat," he nods to the bowl on the bedside stand and she snaps to from her daze.

He stands before leaning down and gently sets her on the mattress. "I'll get you some clothes," he assures her softly after handing her the bowl and a utensil.

She nods quietly, inclining her head ever so slightly as he straightens up and moves to the closet. She watches silently as he grabs one of his shirts and a pair of her shorts before returning to her side, laying the clothes on the blanket next to her.

He lingers for a moment, reaching out to gently cradle her cheek and her head leans into his touch. It's soothing and warm even through the rough leather of his glove.

"I'll be back soon, I have a few things to attend to," he brushes his thumb along her skin and her eyes flicker up to his helmet, a shadow of concern glinting among exhaustion. "Rest, my little Hunter. You've earned it."

She offers little more than a slight nod before he pulls back and she already longs for his touch, lurching ever so slightly forward as if to prolong the fraction of contact before it's gone altogether. She watches him stride towards the door, pausing and looking back at her with a nod, "I'll be back." And then he's gone.

It's another weighted minute before she drags her gaze from the door to the bowl in her hands. It's so warm, warding off the chill that threatens to sing along her spine - when did she become cold? She looks down at the clothes beside her with disinterest. She doesn't want to eat or move. She just wants to curl up and let Shaxx hold her.

But he'll be back, he always comes back and he'll expect her to have eaten and to be dressed. It's either that or he'll fret and she hates to worry him.

So, she sets the bowl aside reluctantly, carefully getting to her feet and tugs his massive shirt over her head. It billows and hangs looser than any dress she's ever seen, but it's comfortable and smells faintly of him. It draws a tired smile to the corner of her lips as she finishes getting dressed and deposits the towel in a basket before climbing under the covers. The Young Wolf picks up the bowl, its warmth flourishing across trembling fingertips. A deep breath settles her frazzled nerves and she can finally begins to eat, all while aware of the approving hum from Ghost in the back of her mind.

Somewhere along the line, she finishes the bowl, leaving it on the dresser and she slides further under the blankets until her head settles on the soft pillow. It's then that she hears the door open again and Shaxx's heavy footsteps fill the room.

"Guardian--" he falls silent when he sees her under the blankets but she rolls onto her back all the same. "You ate, good. Just a moment," he disappears into the bathroom to change, emerging with just his helmet on and she snorts softly in amusement. Her gaze follows him as he leaves his armor beside her freshly cleaned and substantially smaller plates before he removes his helmet and shuts off the lights. It's always the last thing to go, every night - it never ceases to amuse her.

When the bed dips beneath his weight, her attention is drawn back to the towering Titan settling in beside her. He opens his arms and almost immediately, she's curled up against him, burying her face in his chest. She's never been this vulnerable around anyone but Ghost and yet, it doesn't seem to faze the Warlord as he rubs small circles along her shoulder, pressing the softest of kisses into her damp hair.

"Rest," he encourages softly and at last, she allows heavy eyelids to sag shut, though her hand clenches into a fist as she clings to him. "It's alright," he whispers soothingly, taking her hand in his, brushing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles until her fingers slacken and her breathing evens out.

"The weight of the world was on your shoulders, and still you triumphed. I am proud of you, my little Hunter. Rest well."

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

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[chrysalispen]

#6 - Avatar

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83854915

Despite his best efforts, they have overtaken him. The gunblade bullets strike true, once, twice, and even the indignant roar of the dragon within is no match for the stark fact of his mortality.

Estinien drops to one knee with a thickly muttered curse, spitting blood and unable to breathe. One bullet has struck his upper arm and exited through the meat- painful, but recoverable. The other, however, found his chest: high and to the right, nicking his lung, and that will be the strike that ultimately kills him. He will either spend the last of his aether fighting or die trying to staunch the flow.

His pursuers draw short and form ranks about him, just far enough out of range- no amateurs, this lot. If they know enough to be wary of his lance then it is like they have been debriefed on the skillsets of their opponents. Praetorian Guard or some other high-profile unit dedicated to special forces wetwork- Gaius explained the difference to him once before, and buggered if he can remember or care to mark the difference just now. Doesn't matter. They're here to kill him either way and they've probably just succeeded.

Above the high-pitched wail of the wind, there is a chorus of metallic clicking. Hammers on those infernal Garlean weapons poised to fall, and once they do the Azure Dragoon of Ishgard will be no more. He will die alone in a snow-covered wilderness as he had always assumed he would in his younger years, but in the frozen wastes of far northern Ilsabard, so like and yet unlike his home.

"Savage." This uttered through the flat and tinny blare of one of the officers' helmets. "Give us the Black Wolf and your death will be quick."

Gaius will know to continue south and east toward Ala Mhigo with the others if Estinien fails to show at their pre-designated meeting place. The longer Estinien can keep their attention on him, the better.

He can hear a whistling noise that he realizes, in a slow and detached way, is the sucking chest wound taking in air with his every attempt to breathe. Bloody froth bubbles at his lips and with as much deliberate disdain as he can muster, Estinien tilts his chin and spits a great mouthful of it into the snow. Crimson splatters across blinding white and is covered almost immediately by the bitter gale whipping his hair into his eyes.

"If 'tis information you want, then come and get it," he rasps. Swiving imperial whoresons. He'll take his pound of flesh with him as he goes.

Aether rattles about the length of his lance and spins down the shaft to power the blade as he prepares for one last blow that never comes.

A choked gurgle to his left presages the clatter of what is unmistakably a weapon falling to the ground; by some miracle, the shock does not cause it to fire. Estinien's trembling limbs tense, grip tightening upon his lance- and then he notices the imperials are looking too. He should take the opening but half-addled from blood loss he instead follows their gaze.

It is a gruesome sight: a man hangs suspended several ilms in the air like a pinned butterfly, booted feet kicking for purchase and a river of blood pattering to the frozen ground beneath his feet. His fingers pluck weakly at the thing which has killed him - a massive black steel blade, gleaming a pale and flickering blue like will-o-wisp light through torn flesh and carbonweave and pulverized bone - before he slumps forward with a groan. The corse slides only a few ilms before the blade's wielder does the rest, pitching down and violently left to dislodge its burden. It tumbles into the snow and permafrost and lies still.

Haloed in whirling ice and the starkness of sodium lamps from the magitek searchlights, a figure black as pitch lifts its weapon, and Estinien is not a farmer nor a botanist but he knows what a scythe looks like when he sees one.

"What in the seven swiving hells is that?" someone whispers.

The figure does not speak. The wickedly curving blade flashes in reply, with an almost superhuman speed that reminds him of Thancred of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, Thancred and his twin daggers. In its wake follows a splash of crimson and a wet ripping sound and an abruptly silenced scream. Then another, and another.

Realizing his men are - quite literally - being cut down like wheat sheaves, the shocked centurion finally shouts,

"Open fire! Kill him!"

They cannot raise their weapons fast enough. A few manage, and Estinien can see the flash of fire at the muzzles before they fall to that spinning disc of blue and black: some fantastical dervish that seems formed from the Void itself. As one, watching their comrades slaughtered with such horrifying ease, the line of armed and armored soldiers falter. Even in this poor visibility Estinien can see their centurion's hands fumbling, one for his gunblade and the other at his helm.

The transceiver, he realizes.

"He's calling for reinforcements!" Estinien shouts.

The black figure reacts swiftly, cutting another swathe through the ranks before it is flying through the air, its edges suddenly moving and fluttering- and Estinien can see now that it is neither a voidsent nor a spectre but someone as mortal as himself, dressed head to toe in black reinforced leather and carbonweave and cermet-plated steel.

It lands feet first in the snow with a soft crunch, scythe extended. The blade's curved tip now rests just at the wrist joint of the centurion's right gauntlet. "Drop your weapon," a smooth voice orders.

"You are interfering with a highly classified milita-"

"I don't give a swiving damn who sent you out here. Drop your weapon or I'm happy to see the task done for you."

Through his steadily growing haze, Estinien can hear a warning growl somewhere in his mind as another figure seems to materialize alongside the first: this one cloaked and indistinct save for the two spindly arms that wrap about its partner's shoulders like a lover's embrace. Be on your guard, Nidhogg warns. Something is sorely amiss with this mortal. There is a darkness about its aether that should not exist.

The gunblade tumbles from the centurion's suddenly limp fingers to the snow.

"Abomination," the Garlean spits through the speaker in his helm. "Reaper. You- I know who- what you are."

"Then you know what your next course of action should be," the figure replies. "And I suggest that you make all due haste. My friend is still very hungry."

He doesn't need to be told twice. The centurion staggers a few steps backward and once he is out of immediate range of the scythe, breaks into a sprint. It is all the impetus his underlings need to flee at his heels. The line folds and breaks and dissipates, fading into the blizzard and breaking apart like wet paper.

Now that he is alone, the last of Estinien's strength leaves him.

His lance clatters to the hard-packed ground as he slumps forward from his knees to his side, coughing and gagging on a mouthful of blood. Absurdly when he tries to think of Ishgard the first thing that comes to mind instead is that little teahouse down by the Kugane docks and the dried squid snacks available for purchase just beyond its doors. Dried squid. Fury's frozen cuntflaps, what a bleeding ridiculous godsdamned final wish.

At the blurred edges of his failing vision, he can see the slow approach of the black figure, the edge of a long cape whipping in the wind like a tattered battle-standard, massive scythe slung with an almost casual insolence over one shoulder.

Nidhogg is snarling and spitting, a posturing beast.

Beware. Beware-

He has just enough time to wonder if he is next before the world is lost to white.

[songofsoma]

Aere Perrenius

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain / cecilia beck rating: mature [ brief nsfw content ] word count: 1,716

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

read it on ao3

He had recognized her right away. It was hard not to since there weren’t many women who matched the beauty presented in the wedding portrait sent by House Beck.

She was supposed to be dead. Soldiers had found her horse with its throat cut on the forest floor, a halo of scattered belongings surrounding the body—a spare dress and slippers, a tattered journal that was barely legible from being soaked through with mud, and a small coin purse that had been emptied.

Dried blood had been found on a few trees as well as in the grass. Thankfully the rain had yet to wash away the evidence.

What they didn’t find was her body.

It was assumed she had been stolen away, judging by the multiple sets of footprints, most likely to be used like a whore and left for dead. Bastardly men haunted these woods so it would have been a reasonable conclusion.

He had almost believed it himself until he had seen her.

He had been riding through the woods, tired of being cooped up indoors, when a melodic laugh broke through the trees. There she stood, wrapped in the arms of a knight, with a smile so bright it could replace the sun. And he, the golden-haired knight, looked at her as if she truly were the sun in the sky.

Jealous rage threatened to tear him to pieces as he watched them from afar.

That man had taken what was rightfully his.

He would pay. 

They both would.

They both would wish that Lady Cecilia Beck had truly died that day. He would make sure of that.

***

She cringed at the sharp crash of metal as swords collided.

Cecilia was a safe distance away from the practice ring, sitting on a blanket one of Ava’s men had scrambled to get her. 

She had thought it was sweet. 

Ava had glared at him suspiciously causing him to swallow hard.

Her knight was in the center of the ring, sweat making every inch of her exposed skin glisten. Much to Cecilia’s horror, she had opted out of the protection of her armor with the excuse that it was far too hot. There was no concrete evidence to prove it, but she figured it was to show off to her lover.

Most of the time, Cecilia wouldn’t have complained. Watching Ava’s muscles flex as she moved was a welcomed sight when she wasn’t in danger. Ava would be disappointed to find out that her attention had been on the agony she felt when the edge of the blade grew too near or when she lost her footing for a brief second. Each time she recovered with astonishing grace, but that did nothing to ease her rising anxieties.

The gods above must have taken pity on her nerves for it was not long after until the man she was sparring with was flat on his back, the tip of Ava’s sword hovering just above his throat. 

“I concede!” He groaned.

It was almost drowned out by Ava’s hoot of victory followed by that of the other spectators.

“Think twice before you challenge me again, Victor,” she chided him boastfully. “I cannot tip the scales in your favor any further without blinding myself or tying my hands behind my back!” Ava roared with laughter, the other men joining in.

Cecilia watched them curiously. It was odd to see her like this, so loud and prideful, it was unlike their time alone. She enjoyed it, nonetheless, it was nice to see her happy.

Ava finally caught her eye whilst sheathing her sword. If it were even possible, her smile brightened further as she began to stride over to where she sat.

“Was my Lady pleased with my performance?” She asked, offering a hand to help Cecilia to her feet.

“I would have preferred if you had been adequately protected.” With one hand, she smoothed down the front of her skirt, chasing away any lingering dirt, the other was still ensnared by Ava’s.

The knight brought it to her lips, gently kissing her knuckles. It was a silent apology for causing her distress. “I assure you, if I would have believed it to have been a challenge, I would have been properly suited.”

She was unable to stay cross with Ava for very long, they both were acutely aware of this fact. Ava’s honeyed words and charming smile were enough to ease the tensions seizing her mind.

Cecilia huffed in defeat and Ava knew she had been victorious once more.

“Would you like to try?” She asked suddenly.

“Try what?” Dark brows furrowed in confusion.

Letting go of her hand, Ava gripped the pommel of her sword for emphasis. “Wielding a sword. Only if you are interested of course.”

“Oh.” Cecilia blinked. She hadn’t ever thought of such a thing. “I cannot find a valid reason as to why I should not.”

Emerald eyes sparkled with delight as she ushered the lady in the direction of the wooden dummies set up for practice.

A few of the other knights had been lingering, watching their superior with heated interest. Ava hardly seemed to notice, but Cecilia could feel their gazes. It didn’t seem malicious. Just simple curiosity.

The sound of metal sliced through the air as Ava withdrew her blade, twirling it in her grasp before handing it to Cecilia. “Now be mindful for it is heavier than it looks.”

She nodded. But still, when Ava dropped her hand away from the blade, the handle fell from Cecilia’s grasp and clattered on to the dirt.

The knight chuckled as the lady scrambled to retrieve it.

Just simply holding the weapon made Cecilia understand why Ava’s arms were wrapped in cords of muscle. Years of wielding such a beast would require her strength. It rendered the skill even more impressive.

She had a better grip on the blade the second time. The thick leather of the handle was smooth in her grasp as she admired the engravings on the blade. It looked like words were carved into the metal, but she couldn’t make them out.

“Omnia mors aquant,” warm breath tickled her ear as she leaned in, Ava’s chest pressing against her back. Strong hands slid down her arms until they covered her own, holding the blade steady in front of them. “Fate will find a way.”

Cecilia’s breath hitched in her throat at the touch. If she wasn’t wielding a large, dangerous weapon she might have lost herself in Ava in the middle of the training yard.

“Ominous,” she mumbled.

A low chuckle vibrated the air around them. “It is a line my father has repeated to me since I was a child. Your fate will find you, my girl. Fate will find a way.” Her voice deepened as she impersonated Lord du Mortain. “I suppose it just…stuck.”

She turned her head, stealing a brief glance at her knight.

“No matter, let us begin.”

***

Cecilia groaned as she fell back into bed, reveling in the embrace of the soft furs and feathered mattress. Droplets of water still clung to her skin not covered by the dressing gown she wore. Her eyes were heavy, and her arms were sore from that afternoon. Ava made fighting look so easy. She shouldn’t have been surprised. There were a lot of activities her knight made effortless.

As tired as she was, she couldn’t help the smile rise to her lips as she felt the bed dip as Ava crawled towards her. Gentle kisses were peppered over her neck and her face as the knight tried her damnedest to capture Cecilia’s full attention.

She cracked open one eye, unable to help herself, and was met with the sight of her lover’s gleeful smile. The ends of a flaxen braid tickled her cheek as Ava hovered above her before her head dipped to press a tender kiss to her lady’s lips.

“Tired?” Ava murmured.

Cecilia hummed a reply with a nod.

“Too tired for me?” The suggestive tone made her brows raise in question.

“Depends on what you had in mind,” she teased, fingertips dancing along the neckline of the aged shirt she wore.

“Nothing too taxing, I assure you.” The smile on her face made Cecilia melt.

Eager fingers pushed open the poorly tied robe. No matter how many times Ava witnessed her beauty, the curves of Cecilia’s body would never fail to leave her speechless. Where Ava was hard muscles and sharp lines, her lover was soft skin and rounded edges.

“You are beautiful.” She kissed the plushness of her cheek, trailing down her neck.

“Beautiful.” Her lips kissed the point of her shoulder and traveled across her collarbone.

“Beautiful.” Ava’s head bent to kiss between her breasts.

She watched her pursuit through hooded eyes, a smile unmoving from her face. What had she done to deserve such a woman?

“Ava,” she whispered, drawing the lustful gaze to her own. “I love you.”

Her movements stuttered for a brief moment before she surged forward, capturing her in a kiss that left them both breathless.

“You are my everything, little bird.” Large hands cupped either side of her face as she covered her in a look of adoration. “For I love you so much, I cannot stand it.”

Cecilia moved to situate herself on her knight’s lap, her arms winding around her neck, ready to lose herself in their embrace. Ava held her just as tightly. She seemed determined to not let go.

Their quiet was interrupted by a thought proposed aloud.

“Marry me.”

The lady pulled back, eyes widening. “What?”

Ava’s eyes glanced away from sudden nerves. “Marry me so I shall be able to call you mine for the rest of our lives.”

Her lips parted in surprise quickly turned into a smile. 

“Look at me,” she finally said.

Reluctantly, Ava complied.

Cecilia held her face with such tenderness, she was sure they both would melt. “There is nothing more I want than to be yours for eternity.”

“So?” Hope blossomed in her gaze.

“Of course I will marry you.”

The smile on Ava’s face surely would put the brightness of the sun to shame as she pulled her close, showering her with kisses and declarations of love through Cecilia’s giggles.

[bucketslutz]

Get Out the Way

Chapter 1: The Huntress

Summary: You were successful as a bounty hunter for a while, and now as a skilled fighter working in an arena. You were craving excitement, until a Mandalorian crosses your path and offers you the opportunity to help bring his kid back and avenge the death of someone you lost long ago. Working with the bucket-head, though, isn't going as smoothly as you thought. Will it all be worth it in the end?

You can read Get Out the Way on AO3 here.

Warnings: 18+ only pls, violence, gore, language, bounty hunting, enemies to lovers sorta, slow burn af, banter, grogu in danger, AFAB reader, badass female reader, yes reader is a bounty hunter, smut eventually but for now they hate each other

Your lip tears open after the butt end of a weapon collides with your face, and a steady flow of bright red blood begins its path down your chin. The Devaronian, armed with a vibro-ax, snarls at you through stained teeth and spins his blade in his hand. Despite the pain and the, seemingly, winning 200 pound opponent gaining on you, a smile crept on your face. Letting him think he had the upper hand was fun. You hated to ruin his party, but you had a job to do. You stole a quick glance from a familiar face in the roaring crowd and he gave you a nod. Returning the gesture, you finally quit fucking around with your toy and ignited your dual shockwhips, whipping them around your head before they meet the floor with an electric crack. The Devaronian’s face fell as your whips narrowly missed his horn. He raises his weapon and ignites its energy chord, attempting to appear confident and in control of the fight. You almost laugh, as if that’s going to do anything, you say to yourself. He charges at your left side, and you dodge his attack effortlessly. You duck when he attempts to swing around at your head. You roll backwards and swing your whip at his leg. It wraps around his calf and you yank your weapon hard resulting in him landing on the floor with a clunk, your whip shocks him, immediately knocking the Devaronian out cold. The crowd erupts in a mixture of whoops and boos, emitting from humans and miscellaneous species alike. The rings filling the arena signal that you won the round.

Your unignited shockwhips return to your belt and you wipe the blood off your face. Departing from the ring, you try to ignore the incessant, nagging voice that calls your name and light footsteps that trail behind you. Finally deciding to entertain the source of the call, you stop and place you hands on your hips and stare up at the ceiling, huffing in indignation.

“Darling, y-” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can finish the thought.

“I told you not to call me darling,” you correct him, as if it was a common occurrence, then continue your journey to the bar hardly paying him any attention.

“Right, of course,” your sponsor corrects his previous statement by saying your name and follows you closely. “You were wonderful tonight, as usual. I’m always confident that you’ll make it out on top. But my patrons on the other hand, don’t like when you, how do you say, play with your food. It takes them out of the experience, makes it feel like they’re watching a choreographed show instead of a bloody fight.”

You hop over the bar and reach for the spotchka below and it lands on the counter with a harsh clank. You pour yourself a snort and down it with ease. Your sponsor was a lame excuse for a human being, he only existed to gain profit. And right now, to him, you were his most profitable investment. He was shorter and weaker than you, hence why he kissed your ass every second of every day. He didn’t want to meet the end of your wrath. The measly halo of white hair on his head and leathery, wrinkly skin did not help to make him look more intimidating. He looked to be two seconds away from death every day, so you had no problem walking all over him.

“Gundi, I seriously don’t give a fuck what your patrons want to see. You should consider yourself lucky to have me working for you. I could go back to the guild whenever the hell I want. Don’t push your luck.” You lift your bag from the ground and swing it over your shoulder. You slide over the bar and pat Gundi on the head when you land on the ground. He was like a trained dog at this point, you reward him by not killing him each time he decides not to step on your toes. You extend your hand out to the weasley man and he sets a sachet of credits in your palm. You close your fingers around your profits and hear it cling in your hand. You listen as Gundi sighs dejectedly once you exit the arena.

Admittedly, you really can’t go back to the guild whenever you want. You need to make a viable living, and Karga hasn’t given you a well-paying hunt in months. There’s only one person on Nevarro who he gives the best paying jobs to, and you’d rather not step on that bucket- head’s toes. So you’ve resorted to what would be a bounty hunter’s equivalent to prostitution. It wasn’t your best option, but there were no real challenging opponents on this stupid rock anyways so each fight felt more like a light workout than a real battle. But it was easy money, so you shouldn’t be complaining. Wincing as you entered the bathroom, you inspected the cut on your lip carefully. Maker, how did you let that nerf-herder lay a blow on you at all? You could’ve killed him in your sleep. Maybe you’re just bored. Winning matches without any challenge gets a little repetitive after a while. You need some more excitement in your life. Like in the early days of your bounty hunting career, you landed gigs with ease and collected bounties as if you were made for the job. After a while though, Greef didn’t want to give you anymore high-profile hunts. You didn’t even need your weapons for the bounties Karga started giving you. The excitement was gone as quickly as it came. After applying some bacta to your wound, you left the bathroom, then Gundi’s slimy establishment soon after.

You whipped through the streets outside the arena until a familiar scent assaulted your senses. You followed the scent to a local vendor selling various meats. You toss some credits at the vendor in exchange for some skewers of the meat. As you begin the walk back to your apartment, out of the corner of your eye you spot a small figure sitting in an alleyway. You stop and turn your head towards a little girl clothed in a dirty, torn dress. You approach her carefully and she meets your gaze. You crouch to her level and you can see her eyeing the food you just purchased. She looked to be starved, so you handed her a couple skewers of the meat along with a sachet of credits. The girl’s eyes light up and she smiles widely at you. You stand up and watch as she disappears into the alleyway. You really don’t like kids all that much, but she reminded you of yourself when you were young. You thought maybe a small act of kindness might help her get on her feet; an act of kindness you wished you’d seen when you were her age. You didn’t like to think about life back then, it wasn’t easy and you had to do a lot of things you didn’t want to do. Some of which a little girl should never see. But when you’re desperate, about anything sounds better than an empty stomach and a restless night on the street. At least it made you scrappy, appreciative of what you have now. Despite being a failing bounty hunter and a sellout, you at least have a roof over your head and credits in your pocket.

The trek back to your apartment felt heavier than usual. The weight of an unfamiliar presence plagued your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling you were being watched. Whoever it is, you could take them anyways. Maybe it’s the voyeur in you, maybe it’s the part of you that longs for excitement, but you almost welcome the presence. The door leading to your apartment slides open and you step inside. Immediately feeling that same presence, you hesitate to turn on your lights, sensing that they’re watching you from the shadows. You flick your lights on and immediately draw your blaster from your holster and aim it at the figure in the doorway leading to your bedroom. The Mandalorian remains unmoving and unarmed. What the fuck is he doing here?

“Put that down,” he commands, breaking the silence. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“I’m not sure I can do that, Mando,” you assert, confidently. You look the man up and down and subtly admire the beskar armor. “I know you’ve been following me. You trying to get rid of your competition, shiny?” Your blaster remains aimed at the beskar clad bounty hunter as he crosses towards you in two steps.

“If I wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead already,” the Mandalorian remarks, still unarmed and showing no indication of hostility.Unfortunately, he was right. Knowing his track record, you would’ve been frozen in carbonite before you even made it to your apartment. So now you’re stuck wondering what he could possibly be doing here, if he’s not collecting a bounty.

“Alright, Mando,” you continue snidely. You return your blaster to its place in your holster and cross into your kitchen. “What could you bucket-head possibly want with little old me.”

“I need your help on a mission. I’m prepared to compensate you substantially for your skills,” he says.

“The mighty Mandalorian needs my help? Wow, I’m flattered, but I don’t work well with others. Trust me, you’d be better off on your own.” You reach for the spotchka in the cabinet over your head. You take a swig from the jug as you brush past the Mandalorian and into your living room. You sink into your couch and set the jug down in front of you on the coffee table.

“I saw you fight tonight at Gundi’s. You’re too good of a hunter to be in that hell-hole,” he says, taking a few steps towards you again, his boots hitting the ground hard with each step.

“If this is your way of trying to butter me up, shiny, then it’s not working. I work there because Karga won’t give me bounties worth my while anymore. The man has no faith in me, so fuck him. I can make twice the amount of credits in a week at Gundi’s than Karga would give me in a month.” You take another long swig from the jug of spotchka and kick your feet onto the coffee table, settling further back into your couch. “And what could I possibly do for you on your mission that no other guild member could?”

“Wraak has my kid, I need your help to kill him and get my kid back.”

The blood drains from your face and your palms become clammy. That’s why he wanted your help. Who else would want Wraak dead as bad as me? You thought to yourself. Mando says your name, “You’re a skilled hunter, you’re worth more than whatever Karga gives you. I’ll put in a good word with him if you come with me to get my kid back.”

“I never pegged you as the paternal type. This kid has to be pretty special if Wraak wanted to get his hands on him,” you remarked, attempting to seem together but in reality you’re kind of losing it.

“He’s important to me. I can’t get him back alone. You of all people should know what Wraak does to people who mean something to someone.”

You remained silent. Kill Wraak. You could kill Wraak. You don’t even know what to say anymore. You’re just staring at the floor dumbfounded. The perfect opportunity to kill that bastard has just been placed in front of you on a silver platter and you’re hesitating to accept the offer. Why? What’s wrong with you? Is it your pride? Do you want this to be something you do completely on your own? Without the help of a Mandalorian? Just take it. Accept the offer and kill Wraak.

“I leave tomorrow at 21:00. If you wish to join me, meet me at the Razor Crest.” …

I’m not going. It’ll be a waste of time. Mando is a pain in the ass anyways. You repeat your mantra as you wrap your fists in preparation for your fight tonight. You rest your hands on the sink as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You’re too distracted, you probably shouldn’t be fighting tonight. But what would you even be doing anyways if you weren’t fighting? Certainly not flying through the galaxy with a Mandalorian in search for his son and in the process gaining justice for an unjust murder. Yeah right, you would never. But what’s stopping you? You’re not afraid of Wraak, you hate him too much. And you’re not afraid of Mando either, he has already made it apparent that he doesn’t want you dead. Why can’t you just suck it up and go on this mission with shiny? Leaving the graffiti-covered bathroom, you attempt to shake those thoughts from your head.

You glare at your opponent when you enter the ring and roll your eyes at the Gamorrean attempting to appear intimidating. Dank Farrik, you could be doing better things right now. This is a waste of time. Maybe Mando won’t be as big of a pain in the ass as I think he will be. You’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for ages. What’s stopping you from leaving this lava rock and blasting Wraak into oblivion? That does sound kinda nice. He took so much from you. You’ve always felt the burden of his existence since your last encounter with him. You thought you’d never see him again. At this point in your life, you just wanted to move on. But you can’t and it kills you every day. It feels like the last piece of the puzzle would be to confront him; make him feel the same pain he made you feel all those years ago. After all these years you've spent running away from your past and trying to forget what hurt you, the opportunity to finally gain closure has just presented itself. But you now have to confront the very thing you’ve been running away from for so long. Maker, there’s nothing more you want than for Wraak to get what’s coming to him. Even if it means having to deal with Mando’s strange presence. He might not be so bad. What’s the worst he can do? It’s not like he could take you down, except he can. But you try not to think about how easily he could kill you given the opportunity. There’s nothing keeping you here anyways, you can do better than fighting Gamorreans in Gundi’s slimy arena.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the bell ringing and a feisty Gamorrean charging at you. You roll your eyes again having made up your mind and quickly step to the side and jut your foot out, tripping your opponent. You watch as he lands on his face and you apply pressure to his neck with your foot so he can’t get up. The bell rings signifying you won the round. Wasting no time, you exit the ring and snatch your bag up that was sitting just outside. This time, you don’t stop when Gundi calls your name. You don’t have time to deal with that creature, if you stop now you won’t have time to grab your gear from your apartment before getting to the razor crest.

Holy shit, you’re actually doing this. You’re finally going to kill Wraak after all these years. And with the help of a Mandalorian. This has got to be the weirdest fucking thing that’s happened to you. Well, besides the time you hooked up with that Gungan. But you were drunk so it barely even counts.

…

Shit. You have two minutes to get to the razor crest. You’re practically running to the shipyards now, hoping he didn’t decide to leave early. Aren’t Mandalorians people of their word? Or something like that? You can’t really be bothered learning about those bucket-heads anyways. But there is some sort of appealing mystique to them, why do they keep those helmets on all the time? Are they secretly a really ugly alien species? Are they actually high tech robots under there? But at the same time, you really don’t want to know what Mando looks like. You’re confident that he’d never want to show you his face, and you’re confident that you’d never want to see it. You’d feel like you’d be invading his privacy by stealing a glance at his face. As much as you hate admitting it, you kind of admire and respect Mando. He’s an incredibly skilled hunter and effortlessly strikes fear into complete strangers. It makes you wonder why’d he’d ever choose you, out of all people, to join him on this mission. It’s honestly kinda flattering. He thinks you’re a skilled fighter and that feels good. He’s intimidating and damn good at his job. No wonder Greef gives him all the high paying jobs. But you’d never tell him that to his face, or well, to his helmet. Maybe working with him won’t be so bad. You might get to know the mysterious man who lives in that armor.

Out of breath, you reach the hunk of junk Mando told you to meet him at. He’s standing at the top of the razor crest’s ramp setting down a couple of camtonos inside. His helmet turns to face you and you can only assume he’s making eye contact with you. Not wanting to be the first to speak, you simply nod and adjust your grip on your bag. He returns the nod and points to the pile of camtonos sitting outside the ship, indicating that he wants you to load them up.

“We leave once you get those in the hull,” he states simply. He turns and disappears into the crest. Welcome aboard, you tell yourself as you begin grabbing camtonos and stacking them in the hull of the Razor Crest.

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 19

Read on AO3

Read chapter eighteen

Title: A Powerful Motivator

Words: 5600

Summary: How could you have ever known? You couldn't. You have to accept that.

ST Rambles: Hello newcomers. I hope you all have enjoyed the story so far. And if this is the first update you're receiving. Well. So sorry. If you've gotten this far you already know there's a lot of pain and angst here. 

I very much hope this chapter had the effect I wanted. Please tell me your thoughts and reactions! Thank you for reading!

[MASTERLIST]

Only when the elevator doors had shut did the two men unhand you, the absence of their detention obvious as the tissues they’d bitten into amplified with your pulse. The crimson captors stood silently, soullessly, at either of your shoulders, posture so strict not even their armor shifted as you were propelled upwards. If they hadn’t been so obvious in their initial pursuit you were sure if you tried hard enough you could convince yourself you were alone, believe this was any other day and you weren’t venturing towards the Supreme Leader of the First Order. The latter half was true; you were only moments away from encountering Snoke. Though, however many people resided in the blaring white of the elevator, you knew you were wholly and entirely alone no matter what.

There was no floor indicator, clueing you into the fact that there was only one intended destination of this trip. Eternity clawed into the stunned flesh of your lungs, the ride simultaneously taking forever and going too quickly. The only scenario you could imagine waiting for you was one of the premature finality of your life; whatever mangled state of your body that would satisfy Snoke was only to be collected once your soul had left in the wake of his fury. Thinking of how the only people who’ve ever met him at such a low rank as you was blood-stilling; there were only stories of demise, grave retellings of endless officers never leaving the doomed automatic doors. Though you’d anticipated at least another month before you’d take your last breath, the closer you came to meeting the superior of superiors you reconsidered that date, your mind racing to think of every last statement you’d made to those you cared for. Would the last familiar face you’d ever see really be that of a nameless physician as he knelt over your co-worker’s seizing body? Nothingness crowded the corners of your attention, too many regrets and unfulfilled wishes tearing through every last gnarled second you had.

The two goons took hold of you again, this time instead gripping into your axillae and elbows. The gesture was suspicious, laced with motives unknown to you when they didn’t apply pressure. They were waiting on something they’d come to expect, or something they’d been instructed to anticipate. Whichever it was, you couldn’t see a reason to struggle against them; there was no escaping this, there was no way around your fate here. The only things left to do were endure and survive, and you weren’t even sure how much control you had over either at the moment.

The first set of doors hissed open as the diagonal split revealed a second, the perpendicular opening of the outer set offering a shutter-like introduction to the room. In the first half second of taking in your new surroundings, not even having left the elevator yet, your lungs shriveled in on themselves as a ragged strike of unadulterated pain rang through your skull. With every last remaining breath came an unintelligible utterance of curses and shrieks. It felt like every sutured connection of your skull was coming apart, your ears ringing with a piercing screech while your throat shredded against every new scrambled soundwave. The only thing keeping you vertical was the guards’ support, your legs forgetting their purpose as each nerve ending twisted in torment. White hot fury licked at each synapse until your head seemed it would implode, sound no longer registering as the worst of it fringed out over your spine and down your tailbone, eyes searing into the impossible agony behind pinched lids.

Torture had a knack for disproving the existence of time; it was unclear how long you’d been screaming when your ears tuned back in, hearing the remnants of a desecrated voice as it faltered into heavy heaves of breath. The armored soldiers were seemingly trained in the ramifications of this event, only releasing you when you had just enough strength and consciousness to support yourself, vision coming back slowly as a loud clack and hiss came from behind. Gathering the rest of your bearings you spun to find the exit had locked and the two guards had their staffs – equipped with electric blades at the tips – locked into an X behind you, further silent explanation of just how trapped you were.

“You’ll excuse the insurance,” a booming, slithering, rattled voice came, commanding every nerve ending to fire at once, every life-sustaining system halting simultaneously. “I can’t risk this meeting getting back to your Master, now can I?”

The guards took a step forward, your own feet stumbling backwards as they ushered you further into the room. There was a walkway, at least ten paces long and five wide, which mirrored the dusky red coming from the overhead lights. The room was incredibly dark, shadows billowing from each support lining the expansive space. Taking one last backward step, your shoe scuffed against the black-mirrored tile, a jumpstart to your heart as you caught view of the true enrapturement that enveloped you currently.

The far wall was a muted red, light evading it as it stretched upward, eventually becoming indistinguishable from the shadow-thick ceilings. Beside you were two railings, only ending when the walkway opened into a geometric stage. Saliva abandoned your mouth when you pictured being cast down into the unknown emptiness which framed you at either side. Drawing closer, harsh-yet-steady steps forcing you forward, an undeniable dread formed at the sight of several torture-entailing apparatuses scattered about the arena; two platforms rose slightly from the floor, mirrored in their placement as two more hung just above them. For all you knew, one of them would be your likely demise.

There was power in giving the Supreme Leader your attention, so instead you focused on that which framed him, feeling a nauseating sense of violation as his stare seeped into your presence. Six red-armored men framed him, three on either side, all of which held various versions of the weapons which buzzed behind you, a warning raging on as each zap rippled new goosebumps into your scalp. Without a single mistaken glance, your eyes traced the throne that framed your Supreme Leader; the grandiosity of its height intermixed with the cold architecture it stemmed from created an unease rooted in the discomfort  that something so dull and lifeless could emerge a sense of such utter intimidation.

A halo of bright white burst from below the cathedra, framing the symmetrical sterility just above the incline it sat upon. You’d passed the railing by now, losing a sense of hopeless protection in its absence. The only thing that quelled your fears of being catapulted into the abyss was the fact that it hadn’t happened already. Seemingly, given you were still breathing – though, the quality of each breath could be questioned – there was a purpose in your being here, an exception to the expendability with which the officers that came before you had been plagued.

The footsteps stopped, yours following suit just one pace ahead of them. Between your feet you studied the excruciating eyes peering back at you, wondering how much more pain or violence or trauma they could endure before they lost every bit of life they once held. It astonished you how bleak they’d already become, how unrecognizable you appeared in the glinting pool of ebony below. To look into your eyes now was to plead with the past, beg to go back, wish that you’d never crossed paths with Kylo Ren.

But then another thought, quick and biting and familiar, trickled into the blown reflected pupils: you couldn’t wholeheartedly make that request anymore. Even facing whatever haunting future Snoke would present, there was a rejection in considering never meeting your Master. Though he’d completely uprooted every aspect in your life, entirely deconstructed your every belief, in facing the unknown – whether it be death or something worse – you knew that part of you had grown to want him. To need him, even. A fog of regret clouded your vision when you remembered the last words you’d said to him. This doesn’t fix everything.

And maybe it didn’t, maybe you still held reservations to preserve whatever remaining self-respect you clung to. But if given the chance to go back ten minutes, to be in his arms again, to feel him so warm and so close? To instead forgive what he’d done, even if it meant compromising your pride? Right now, periphery dancing around the blurry frame of the Supreme Leader, you would take it without thought. If you were to be haunted by one last thing, let it be the pitiful nonexistence of your spine instead of the ache taking root imagining never seeing the black-winged Adonis which held your every thought.

“It’s disquieting,” Snoke said, introspection and examination flagrant on his tongue, “to feel familiar with such a young, useless officer.”

There was nothing left to look at, no more metallic stylings to admire. The last object of your attention sat before you atop the soulless steel, lounging lazily against the backing. He wore a robe dripping in gold-flecked thread, his lower body encased in the wrappings. At his waist sat a tie to keep the article tight against his abdomen, leading to the exceedingly low V of the robe’s opening. The skin that lied beneath was marbled in scars which echoed the remnants of a life lived in war. Though, given his rank, his authority, you already knew that to be true.

Talons sprung from bleak fingers, tips tracing into the fronts of either armrest in repetitive horizontal paths. The sight begged the question if he was entirely human, such an animalistic quality forcing your teeth together with fear. Quickly, though, inquiry was replaced with a blaring affirmation; the face that peered back at you incited astonishment of the coldest nature. Even then, was it even a face? Or just the personification of withered, battle-bludgeoned, venom-stained malice?

A shiver shook your chest, eyes too enthralled in the chaos of features to care about social niceties. Agony tinged into your blood, eyes blinking back the sight of the knots of flesh constructing his neck, burrowing notches creating pathways leading to an unknown you’d prefer not to think about. Half his face chinked into itself, a hollowed-out cheek splaying into stretched, melded strings of scarred skin. An asymmetrical mount of flesh stood where his nose supposedly was, two crystal-clear sea green eyes lopsided at either side of it. Above the caverns of his sockets laid a semi-centered gash sinking unsettlingly far into his scalp.

Though he’d done nothing to provoke it other than exist, you feared him. Briefly you considered if he’d become this way purposefully, wondering if his outward appearance worked advantageously towards his goal at inciting sheer terror in his victims. In the comfortable distance you fought to keep your jaw shut, senses overpowered by the gnarled suggestion of life founded in your Supreme Leader.

He tore through your first and last name in guttural pronunciation, metal walls screaming back the echo of your name as it reverberated from his mouth into your soul. “Ranked forty-eight out of one hundred and twenty graduates. Born to no one of acclaim. Heir to nothing. Yet, provider to my prodigy.” He still sat back, words clawing into you as you imagined his talons could. “Why do you think that is, officer?”

Swallowing against your throat, spit nowhere to be found, your lips parted in hesitance, not knowing if he actually wanted you to answer. He said nothing, eyes scraping over your stature with every suffocating second you took before speaking. “Supreme Leader,” you faltered out, thoughts barely forming. “It’s an honor to-,”

“I have no time for pleasantries or half-witted pleadings.”

“Sorry sir – err, Supreme Leader. Won’t happen ag-,”

“It will be to your benefit to only speak when spoken to.” His glare withered every remaining fragment of hope which resided just behind your eyes. “Now, tell me, why do you think you have the position that you do?” Every word slithered from him in an encrypted riddle.

Trembling fingers flexed at your sides, your heart racing into indiscernibility. “I was chosen by Commander Ren. I know this.”

“Precisely.” He brought his dusk-tinted claws in front of him, bringing their tips together to form a sharp angle. “Have you ever questioned your placement? Wondered why you weren’t vetted for the assignment?”

“In the beginning, yes.”

“Not anymore, though, no?”

It was obvious he was leading you into a trap, though you didn’t know why. “No.” Simple answers offered the most protection from such a predator as Snoke.

A low, rolling hum of gravel came from his throat, his mouth forming into a knowing smirk. The sight stabbed through your sternum. “It’s fortunate that I’ve chosen to make use of you. Calculated answers don’t bode well here, I’d suggest being more forthcoming before I change my mind.”

Pulling your lips into your teeth, you stared into the reflected blue mirroring you. “I found it questionable that I would be chosen for such an esteemed position, yes. I struggled with it for nearly two months while being assigned to my Master. I’ve since overcome whatever doubts I had.”

“It seems you shouldn’t have—” he brought his arms back down, fingers molding against the stark angle of the armrest while he leaned forward slightly “—given your upcoming trial and the events which preceded it. How much longer do you have before your initial hearing?”

“One week, sir. Exactly seven days from today.”

“And how do you suspect that will go, officer? Any early predictions? Gut feelings?”

Though you knew he wasn’t anywhere near you, his appearance – cunning and close-chested – suggested he had taken residence in your head, his questions barely questions and instead breadcrumbs. “I trust the Board will make an educated, unbiased decision. However they end up voting.”

“And the sentencing, the only thing in question is your license, yes? Nothing of more… consequence?”

This was no time to have a smart mouth, though your tongue tingled to question his motives. “My license will be revoked no matter the judgement I receive,” you said, listening as the truth slit through your efforts to avoid it, knowing completely he was making you do so purposely, “I’m being tried for my life.”

“Hm. Remind me, girl,” the way the identifier purred out sent a shudder down your arms, “how did this all start? What did you do to prompt such an uproar?”

He knew all of these answers already, only asking them to see you squirm, to force you to acknowledge his authority. “I took supplies from my Master without the proper permission to acquire them.” He didn’t want or need to hear your argument surrounding the ordeal.

“Certainly a competent professional such as yourself would have good reason to do so, correct?”

A huff of indignant air nearly escaped at the suggestion. “Not one good enough, apparently.” A flash of the man’s face came before you, remembering the way warmth flooded over your fingers while compressing his neck.

“Ah, but you disagree.”

Staring back at him, you could feel the coaxing of his implication, your eyes narrowing infinitesimally. “My thoughts are of no importance, Supreme Leader.”

A contained frenzy lit his expression before he slowly stood from the desolate throne. “Don’t discount yourself entirely, officer. Your thoughts are of much value at the moment,” the robe moved fluidly against him, like it was anatomically attached to his physique.

“How do you mean?” It was growing difficult to keep his stare, wanting nothing more than to drill your eyes to the floor.

“Maybe not your thoughts directly, but thoughts that resemble your presence, your frequency per se.” He formed another pyramid in front of his chest, eyes narrowing into you as he paced on the inclined platform. “However unknowingly, you have become quite the obstacle in Ren’s focus.”

“Sir?” He wasn’t making sense. Whatever he thought had to be a misunderstanding.

“It’s only recently become an issue of mine, hence why I allowed it for so long. And your disruption has proven an asset, in a way turning my disadvantage to an equitable benefit.”

There was no other respectable way to tell him you didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, so you stood there, eyes tracking his patterned steps while he kept you locked under his own. “Such a young, impressionable officer. The odds were against you to begin with, so I can see the allure his power had, see how you could be so ignorant to the consequences of your decision. Well, I suppose it wasn’t your decision alone, was it?”

A furious intuition rang in your ears to keep still, to disallow any reactions to his speech, to try and tune it out completely if you could. He was walking you down a dangerous path of admission. Again you stayed silent, barely breathing now.

“I suppose I should make my point.” He stopped moving in his repetitive paths and began the descent towards you, your pulse rioting in your chest. “You are to stop all relations and contact with your Master, Commander Ren. Professional or otherwise.”

That momentary intuition turned into a permanent mental siren, skin burning as you realized Snoke knew; he knew about you and Kylo, and you didn’t know how much or how long or how or why. The only thought that could form was one of complete infraction upon your privacy. Paranoia catalyzed a brewing insanity, inwardly questioning ever interaction you’d had with your Master, backtracking routes to imagine any covert cameras or onlookers. If Snoke knew, so did the Board. This solidified your execution. This stole your future. And all you could think of was how stupid you’d been to believe it would’ve resulted in anything other than your own pain and suffering.

“Of course I hate to be the one to get in the way of young love, but-,”

“What? I don’t love him.” The objection came before the words had formed in thought, fast and fumbled as you rejected his phrasing.

Snoke’s face fell to a disinterested snarl, his steps leading him ever closer as his robe draped off of him, smoke following fire. “I don’t care about the details, only that your existence in Commander Ren’s—” a small, terrible smirk turned his expression sinister “—Kylo’s, I suppose, life has begun to distract him from his duties.”

“And how would you know any of this is true? What if you’ve received false information?”

“Speak when spoken to, girl!” He flung out a hand, with it coming the most intense blockade to oxygen you’d ever experienced, blood immediately pounding against your skull. “Did you really think it was a coincidence you were the only officer to receive a letter upon arrival to the Finalizer? Did you think yourself so entirely special and set apart that I, the Supreme Leader of the First Order, would care enough – or at all – to welcome the most lackluster provider in the program?” He was full on roaring, ears pierced with each booming, malicious redundancy.

He began to circle you, your feet lifting from the floor as the Force continued to steal your breath. “It made no sense for Ren to request such a subpar provider as you, so I gathered intel, placed surveillance of my own, formed a team to compile all the information and present it to me when it became an issue as I knew it would from the beginning.”

Heaves of wordless pleas came as you gripped onto your own throat, clawing at hands that weren’t there, vision blackening as time went on. “I’ve watched you, seen your friends, listened to your conversations.” A hysterical, crazed laugh bellowed from him, the scraps of skin over his neck bouncing in rhythm. “You didn’t even think twice about being the only provider to live with her Master. Didn’t even have the brainpower to suspect something was off. Stupid, emotional girl.” The darkness in the clear blue of his eyes was unsettling, like there was no soul behind them at all. “You are not, and will never be, special. You will only ever be the start and end of the issue.”

By now your lips were surely blue, the vessels in your eyes on the verge of explosion, but he was relentless in his point. “You’ve quite the stamina, though I regard there isn’t much choice involved,” he said, sly staining his features. “I could be wrong, given I’ve only heard a few of your… interactions, and viewed just one. Though, I can’t believe you’d want anything to do with him after the incident last month.”

If it could, blood would be filling your cheeks with a desert heat fueled by the fires of embarrassment and disgust at the thought of Snoke knowing about your relationship, let alone hearing you, seeing you, have your will taken away. Every sexual interaction you’d shared with Kylo ran quick and fleeting across your fading sight, wondering which ones he was referring to, simultaneously wanting to know and to never think of the fact ever again. Although the invisible grip kept strong around your neck, you felt the urge to vomit, to reject completely the knowledge he’d just given you.

“Trial this, door that, practice this, Robbie that. All of these things lie just below the forefront of his mind, distractions from his true responsibilities. And they all focus around you and your pathetic, meaningless life.” Snoke bit off the words as spit sprayed in the low light.

Altogether his hand came down and your knees crumbled onto the floor below, the joints screaming in protest while your lungs flourished with new, vibrant gusts of oxygen. Palms pressed to the floor, spit coughing past your lips and onto your reflected face, you allowed your body to find equilibrium, all the while aware of the predacious nature of Snoke’s paces.

“What can I do that will fix any of this?” There was no longer a need to show respect, bluntness forming over your tongue now as hiccups of breath swelled in your chest.

“As I mentioned, you may have started this ordeal, but you will be the one to end it as well.” His steps stopped just in your periphery, a long pause forming between you, his own reflected face just feet from yours. “I’ve chosen to take this as an opportunity to both refocus Ren and reinforce his priorities, and you’ll find this arrangement will be beneficial to the both of us,” his pitch rose just enough as he said your last name to run creeping chills down your arms.

“If I’m such a wrench in your plans, why not just kill me? Wouldn’t it be easier?” Sitting back on your heels you rubbed your temples, vision still not wanting to focus.

“Easier, yes. Though, ending your life would barely serve to my advantage. I don’t understand why, but Ren is rather invested in you. To kill you would be to make him my enemy, and I still have use for him and his legacy as of now.”

“I will never, ever, do your dirty work. You disgust me.” Blinking back in the light, his second face met the first and aligned into one solid image, your pulse still pounding in your ears.

“Don’t make up your mind so fast, officer. I believe once you hear the exchange I’ll make for your compliance that you will be more than eager to join forces.”

He was the most repulsive being you had ever laid eyes on, or ever had to exist with that you’d ever met; a disgusting, selfish, transactional man – still up for debate – who only did anything to advance his own agenda. It was easy to identify what amplified the blood in your veins, to know the culprit that prickled your cheeks in rage. Within you, staring up at this thing, all you knew was how overwhelming the feeling of pure, centered, unrivaled hatred was when it rooted at your sternum and spread until every cell in your body screamed in protest at his presence.

“Even if you did have anything I’d ever want, I would never accept it. I have a duty to protect and serve my Master. Only him. Never you.”

“You’re more oblivious than I thought,” he said, beginning his circling again as you listened to the shifting echo of his voice. “I suppose I’ll put two-and-two together for you: in exchange for your gracious compliance, I will ensure you come out of your trial with not only your life – however small and pointless it may be – but also your license to practice.”

He stopped behind you, your face hidden from his observance. The two guards stood firm in their blockading of any exit, the two open abysses free to jump into anytime, though you didn’t believe you held the courage to off yourself. Someone else would need to do it. You wished someone would, now.

Devastation cut into your intestines as you realized you had begun to consider his offer; to your utter disturbance, he held exactly what you wanted, what you knew you needed. A guarantee so grand could only be made by a man of his caliper, the strings he held both incredibly invisible yet impressive in their multitudes. Snoke had the power to make this part of your life disappear, to pluck you out of this misery like it never happened in the first place. But as you regarded earlier, you didn’t know if you wanted to leave the entirety of this season, portraits of perfect lips flickering into your thoughts and reminding you of the compliance you’d be tasked with, noting Snoke had yet to explain it.

Swallowing, hating yourself for considering him, you closed your eyes. “If I accepted, what would I need to do?”

“When you accept, you would simply have to quit Ren’s service. Tell him the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Tell him how he disgusts you. How everything he does, every person he kills is makes you sick. Tell him how he’s an irredeemable bastard who isn’t worthy of your… care. Tell him how for the past month it was easier to hate him than it was to breathe. It’s that simple.”

A terrifying ripple of regret tore through you, inwardly regarding how all of those things had been true. They had been. However long ago it was now, though, this morning had worked to undo nearly all of those damages. “You know it’s not simple,” you bit back a derogatory name, still aware of the bottomless pits framing the platform, “why does it have to come from me? Why can’t you tell him? Or Hux? Why does it have to be me?”

“You are the key, officer.” He came back into view, his presence prompting you back to your feet, arms crossed and face flat. “If anyone else were to inform him, it would be clinical. Corporate. You and I both know Ren isn’t keen on being told what to do, especially when there is no reason for him to do so.”

Slowly your heart was coming down, fingers digging into your arms as he continued to speak. “But from you, oh from you,” he emphasized, his tone growing in volume and exuberance, “it will be a personal attack on his soul. For someone he regards with such admiration, though ill-placed and confused, to tell him they don’t want him…”

“It will break him,” you finished the thought, voice a broken whisper.

“And in turn undo the damage you’ve caused. Something I’ve come to realize in my lifetime: betrayal is a powerful motivator.”

Was it selfish to believe that what you’d caused wasn’t damage? To choose to view how his thoughts caressed you as something wonderful and worthy of cherishing instead of a plague which poisoned him? To even have that knowledge now incited the light from a million stars. To know that his stunt last month was brought on by doubts placed by the same man who was recruiting you to hurt him in an irreversible way was to feel your heart piece back together. He really hadn’t wanted to, but in some way he was made to. Within your chest lied an immeasurable amount of disgust, eating away at your withering resolve. Not for Snoke, but for yourself. Taking any opportunity to stall your decision, you fought back tears while inquiring further.

“And if I choose not to? What then?”

Snoke’s eyes momentarily lit, surprise quickly returning to a shuddering contempt. “You would die for him? Give your life for Kylo Ren, the one who made you-,”

“Don’t you dare say anything about that night. You’re the one who instigated his actions, I know it.”

Like it had been there all along, a bright white fury shone against your face, the clean blade of Snoke’s lightsaber buzzing just next to your ear. You listened as hair singed off, smelled as it blew down to your shoulder in its fried state.

“Even so,” he said, apathy palpable in his voice, “you asked what would happen if you refused? Well, it wouldn’t make sense for me to kill you here and now, debilitating any future opportunity I would have at using you to my advantage.”

The weapon’s heat started to burn against the sensitive skin of your face, its proximity prompting sweat at your hairline. “No, if you refuse me, blatantly renounce your Supreme Leader, I’d use much more effective, much more… personalized tactics.” He angled the lightsaber so its tip was just below your ear lobe, its vibrations lingering into the trembling skin over your neck. “Maybe first I’d finish what Ren couldn’t in that McCarty physician you like so much. Though I’d still ensure you endured your trial, even when I would make it impossible for the Board to grant you your life. Maybe even arrange to execute you myself,” he narrowed his eyes, “or, I’m sure Ren would have no problem volunteering himself after I tell him how you informed me of your affair in an effort to quit his service.”

A rage-stuttered laugh came from your chest. “You’re the irredeemable bastard.”

Snoke snarled once more before quieting the white fury of his blade, your sight inking in its absence. “This is a one-time offer, girl. Don’t let the urgency of your youth blind you from your reality.”

It only angered you more that he was making sense. “And what would that be?”

The flesh at his jaw set uncomfortably against his healed injury. “You have something I need, and I have something you need. It’s simple business.”

“Nothing about this will ever be simple.” The phrase was vacant in tone and broken with acceptance.

He knew he was about to get what he wanted. “Do we have a deal, officer?” He extended his decrepit hand, a notion of finality.

Shaking your head, one single tear – hot and betraying and shattered – ran down your cheek, your head a concoction of torment. You didn’t want to do this at all, but just as he’d done to Kylo, Snoke wriggled your head full of contradicting truths. Truths you had worked hard to suppress, truths which lied dormant until now. A half-skip in your heart bloomed from the thought of never spending another moment with your Master, a harrowing torrent of guilt as you regarded his verbalized trust, visualizing how entirely decimated it would be when this was over. Not even decimated. Completely obliterated. Like it never existed in the first place.

“When does this have to be done by?” you whimpered, hand falling into his before his knotted joints cracked into your knuckles.

“By the end of today, if Kylo Ren hasn’t returned to his focus, your trial will become the biggest waste of time and currency the galaxy will ever bear witness to.” He dropped your hand, clasping his together within the confines of his robe, turning back to his throne. “Take her away.”

Not that you were aware, physically or mentally, your arms were ceased once more as your feet dragged lifelessly below you, face stunted as hatred burned below the surface, floods of shame and loathing dripping down your neck and staining into your uniform. The trip back down seemed impossibly short, though you didn’t know if that was due to its direction or your indifference. Before, your only thought had been never leaving from Snoke’s presence. Now, as you stared into the bustling crowds of the Finalizer, the doors locking shut behind you as your earlier captors vaulted back to their leader, your only thoughts were focused on the harm you were indebted to cause. A pain that scraped against the very foundation of your being. A pain you were now required to deliver.

“Hey, stranger!” Mason came out of nowhere, his cheery voice violent against your somber ears.

“I can’t talk right now, Mason,” you said, hiding your face and turning towards the Elite lobby.

“Hey, what’s going on? Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Did Ren do some-,”

“Go away, Mason!”

He caught you by your wrist, your arm lurching back towards him before he caught view of your crushing expression. He lulled your name, eyes dancing over your features. “What is this about? Your trial?”

Lips trembling and brow creased, you yanked your arm from his. “Don’t worry about the trial, Mason. It’s handled.”

Turning away from him you dashed into the crowds. “What does that even mean?” Mason shouted at you.

A heave crested your back, face split in an agonizing grimace while you licked salty tears from your mouth. It wasn’t meant for him to hear, only saying it out loud to solidify the reality Snoke had pointed out.

“It means I have to go home.”

[where-is-caithe]

30 questions: GW2 edition

I was tagged by @pr-gw2​​ thanks very much xD

This can be done in many different ways: get asks by your followers, pick some questions for yourself, answer the whole damn thing at once, etc!

You can draw, write (to explain in details or not) or just post screenshots! If you miss one it’s totally okay, whether it’s by lack of answer or time. Have fun!

1. Favorite living world season?

I really loved Season 4! So good. Loved the writing. I loved doing all the achievements for the different episodes.

2. Favorite expansion?

Path of Fire! I love the desert! I loved seeing more Kasmeer! I loved the story a lot. I think all the maps are beautiful and unique. 

3. Favorite soundtrack?

Definitely Heart of Thorns. I think I started playing right after HoT dropped and I feel like. A lot of nostalgia for that soundtrack.

I also love the music in the Shiverpeaks, it’s very soothing for me.

4. First profession you played?

Ranger -.-

5. First race you played?

Asura -.-

6. Favorite Destiny’s Edge character?

7. Favorite Dragon’s Watch character?

Kas 🥺

8. Favorite Elder Dragon?

Probably Kralkatorrik. He was very cool. I loved the build-up for him.

9. Best boss fight (story)?

The Kralk fight in Thunderhead Keep holy shit I think about that fight all the time. I loved the voice lines and how terrifying he seemed.

10. Best boss fight (fractal)?

Kitty Cat Golems. Also the Jade Maw fight, with the giant tentacle monster. Very neat.

11. Best boss fight (raid)?

Never been in a raid 😔

12. PvE or PvP or RP?

PvE the most, tho I like doing PvP ocassionally. 

13. Favorite canon couple?

Snarl and Galina

14. Favorite fanon/self made couple?

Rhowan and Yden

Actually I have a Caithe/OC pairing I never talk about. They’re in the background mostly, sending each other letters.

15. Favorite quote?

ok for real tho, I do really love this one because it’s a good quote for Rhowan. There are some gems in the personal story.

16. Most emotional cinematic?

The Aurene cinematic at the end of War Eternal. I could screech about it forever. It’s an important moment for Yden. 

17. Favorite VA?

Actually my fave VA is probably Colleen O'Shaughnessey, the fem asura VA, her voice lines always sound the best to me, the most natural, even like, the class voice lines. She just sounds very good.

My favorite for going through the story is Claudia Christian, the norn VA. I love how she can be so soft with a lot of things and how aggressive she can make the norn sound. One of the reasons I love season 4 so much is because of her voice acting.

18. Post a fun screenshot!

My gf came with me into a season 2 instance

19. Post a landscape screenshot!

20. Most used mount(s)?

Definitely the Skyscale. My second is probably the Beetle. I love to speed.

21. Favorite mount skin (for every mount you have)?

LUMINOUS. LIGHT BULB MOUNTS.

22. Favorite weapon?

I don’t know, I really like Pharus. Light bow.

23. Favorite gear set?

The heavy Requiem armor. I’m constantly going back to it.

24. Favorite title?

THE BLAZING LIGHT. I FOUGHT HARD FOR THAT.

25. Something you worked really hard to get?

I spent about a year crafting Chuka and Champawat, gathering almost all of my materials and spending as little gold as possible. It was my first legendary and I’m very fond of it.

26. Favorite GW2 Youtuber / GW2 related video?

I don’t really watch any.

27. Most used miniature?

I don’t use minis. I don’t like having a little thing following me.

28. Most used novelty?

The ROSES and the halo tonic.

29. Number of achievments points?

16,591, according to gw2efficiency

30. Something you’d love to see in GW2?

Buff bodies for women. I’d kill to be beefy as hell.

Also I would like norn content.

I’m not gonna tag a whole lotta people, but if you wanna do it you should!

@lackluster-plays​ @ascalonianpicnic​ @mystery-salad​ @lesbiancharr​

^^

[spacexmagicxandxsheepxbleats]

Can you do drable about your ideas? A drable of her as the Speaker maybe? Please?

TW: Language

//: 1,984 words - enjoy :)

“I thought I’d find you out here...” Zavala’s words echoed softly in the wreckage around them. Standing just behind her and to her right the Titan waited until she acknowledged him to come any closer.

“...I remember, when all of this was nothing but tents and wooden palisades...people didn’t have a pot to piss in back then but, they made do...” Her helmet was in her lap, the scared and blackened bone looked almost soft in the predawn light. But the eyes...the sockets always radiated they're own bleak, nothingness...

With the same caution as before he came up next to her, kneeling down beside her to look over what remained of the district below the Tower’s ruin.

“You come for what,Vanguard...? To see what was wrought and ruined or to lecture me for leaving your sight..?” As she spoke, The Ram nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a soft frost hanging in the cold morning air as she spoke. Her words seemed to lack any venom but the tinge of it in her expression wasn’t lost on the man.

“Ikora,” He began tentatively, “wanted to come for you,  but we both know that’s not a good idea...” Zavala trailed off, his own steam hovering briefly before dissipating, the crunch of broken glass and gravel gave him pause and in glancing over his shoulder he saw Cayde standing there, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“So you bring him instead...?” A hard edge entered her voice, the Hunter coming up on her left as if her words were an invitation to come closer and sit.

Cayde threw his arm over the Risen’s shoulders, leaning into her with a warm chuckle, “Wouldn’t be good to miss the sun rise...hate to waste it after everything we went through getting this place back.”

She drew a slow, steadying breath through her nose before letting it escape through the hole in her left cheek. The resulting plume of breath drew another chuckle from the Exo as he smartly retracted his arm stretching his arms above his head before resting his palms on the roof and leaning back comfortably.

Ezra didn’t bother looking at either of them, instead she pulled what remained of her lips back into a scowl as the sound of footsteps once again drifted up behind her, “I don’t recall inviting any of you to join me this morning...”

Unbothered by the scathing remark Ikora came up short, preferring to remain a safe distance from the woman the others flanked. “It’s for..”

“Security reasons...because you can not let the past die, even after the truly guilty party as been tried and executed per the judgement of Old and the Lords of Iron.”

“That’s not...”

“Then pray tell, Why?” Ezra had gotten to her feet then, easing up, quickly, to stand between the still knelt and sat Cayde and Zavala. Both knew it was only a matter of time before the Risen’s ire with Ikora boiled over and now it was simmering very close to the surface, so much so that when she stood her helm nearly tumbled from the blasted out building’s roof.

If it weren’t for Cayde’s quick reflexes the armor would have landed among the wreckage below... he shuddered slightly as he held the item, as if it gave him the physical creeps...

Ikora didn’t answer, didn’t back down, but rather brought her hand from her side. Extending her fingers, palm up, to allow her Ghost to materialize just above her skin’s surface in a shower of pale light.

Cayde and Zavala had gotten to their feet, the Hunter lifting his empty hand to bring his Ghost out, as did the Titan.

She frowned, staring at the three Ghosts as her own materialized from the ether.

/”Actually, we wanted to talk to you about something.”\ Ophiuchus, Ikora’s Ghost began carefully, while Sundance and Zavala’s silent machine made to hover near him. Rev, to, took his place near Ophiuchus.

Heaving a slow sigh, a sign to Revenant that she was on the verge of snapping, Ezra ground her teeth before motioning the Ghost to continue.

/”Revenant, says that you still hear a voice, even though Erabus has retreated from your mind. He, says you hear it most as a faint whisper and that you feel the words are important enough to write down.\”

The frown on the Risen’s face prompted Ophiuchus to pause a moment, /”He, hasn’t shared any of the writings with us, only their nature and, as Ghosts we have reason to believe it may be the Traveler speaking to you. We, think perhaps Erabus’ invasion of your mind for so long opened it up to actually hearing what the Speaker never could...”\

Scoffing, waving her hand as if to clear the air of such nonsense Ezra turned away from the small committee of Lights, only to scowl at Cayde and turn back to face the city.

“You know, they may be on to something..” The Exo raised his hand, making to settle it on her shoulder, which to the surprise of all she allowed.

“Or, it could be a ploy on your end to cage me...You couldn’t prior to all of this, nor could those who had your places before you...” Her rising ire had given way to tired exasperation, the rising sun peeking over the wreckage of the city, glinting at the edges of the thick lenses of her round glasses, setting her silver hair a glow in a halo of orange and yellow.

Ikora moved then, reaching out as Cayde did, her hand resting in the right side crux of the woman’s neck, “It, wouldn’t be to imprison you...you’ve done nothing wrong. The people of the city do not fear you, your actions before the Traveler’s awakening saw to that.”

“Help us rebuild, Ezra. No binds, no chains.” Zavala refrained from touching her, knowing that Ikora and Cayde already pushed the limit.

“Well, except the chains of office.” Cayde laughed, clapping his hand against the woman’s shoulder, his smile fading with Ikroa’s withering gaze. “What? Was just...” He sighed and closed his mouth.

“...What of my home? The forest, the Wilders...Erabus...my Eliksni...?” The latter portion of her question saw Ikora drawing her hand back, letting it fall to her side as Ezra turned to face her. “I’ll not suffer the chains of an office if it means they are left to the mercy of who ever stumbles upon them...”

“We can discuss all of those things later.” Now, Zavala reached for her, turning her carefully to look at him, his eyes meeting hers rather than staring at the gaping hole in her face, his hands squeezed her shoulders warmly. “We can discuss any number of things, but...we need to know what our next steps should be, we need to rebuild so the people have a home and security...��

“They will never have true security, Zavala...this Red War should have made that obvious...We can erect walls as high as we dare, delve into the Earth’s crust as deep as we can endure...but, it will never be absolute security...The people of this city have thrived, survived beyond all odds even now. But if it were up to me, I’d put a weapon in all their hands and teach them, truly, how to defend as their great ancestors once could.” The Risen gestured to all that was in their sight, reaching to knock on Zavala’s chest plate, and wave her hand at Ikora’s data pad on her hip. “For all the technology and advancements you make, it still boils down to who has the bigger stick...”

Finally, in the warm glow of dawn a smile tugged at the good corner of Ezra’s mouth, her expression softening just a bit, “...I’ll not suffer a name of the past marred by undue accusations..”

“Can we call you...?” “No.” Ikora was quick to cut the Hunter off before he could say something stupid.

“Mardöll. From now on, you will call me by my real name...No titles, no honorifics...just Mardöll...” The tired way she spoke was laced with tentative cooperation, coupled with the rise of her hands, the way she gripped Zavala’s biceps with her blackened fingers, brought a smile to the Titan’s face. Letting go and easing from under his hands she gave Ikora a leery, accepting nod before she turned to face Cayde, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes, “And what, pray tell, were you going to call me...?”

He laughed nervously, fondling the chains and trinkets hanging from her helm before remembering just what he held, handing it quickly back to her, “Well...ah, just know it wasn’t gonna be Late for Dinner....” Adjusting his hood and rubbing the back of his head, his other hand dropping to his stomach he chuckled again, “Speaking of food, what’s good today? I’m starving...”

Rolling her eyes she turned again to gaze at the sun. Sighing she pushed her fingers up under her glasses, rubbing her eyes a few seconds before gesturing for Rev to leave after stowing her helm. “...I’ll, come find you later...”

Again, before Cayde could say something to ruin the mood, Ikora grabbed his arm and dragged him with her, Zavala watched them leave, opting to linger a few more moments over the scene before him and Mardöll.

Silence spanned between them, nether saying anything for a long while before the Titan spoke, “You know the people will call you Speaker...as we may need to for official purposes...The Consensus won’t be pleased as a whole with you if you decide to accept...”

The Risen made no show of hiding the fact she spit on the ground at her feet, “Damn the Consensus and Damn New Monarchy. Ejecting Lysander* and the Concordat after Twilight Gap was folly at its finest and, from what I can recall, Future War Cult is on thin ice as far as fanaticism... If you really wish me to hold the position of Speaker, be prepared for me to challenge a lot of things and a lot of people for their views and stand points. I’ll not stand by and gaze from afar with gentle involvement ...not as the previous Speaker did...”

She didn’t speak her last words with disgust but rather with silent reverence for the man’s memory and the good things he did accomplish to ensure the longevity of humanity and those who sought refuge here. Zavala seemed to smile, nodding as he considered what she said, seeming pleased that the Risen appeared to be on board. “There, is quite a lot that has changed since you’ve been gone...I’d be happy to catch you up, when you’ve made up your mind on the whole thing, in the mean time, why not just enjoy the dawn of a new day..?”

“You, can stay if you wish...” He’d just started to turn away from the rising sun, her muttering giving him pause enough to appraise the meaning of what she said. Mardöll wasn’t looking at him, instead she’d removed her glasses to clean them, her fingers working a worn cloth over the glass carefully. “I, think I will...with your permission, Mardöll.” Zavala knew this was her first step on the path to healing from the past. By telling him he could remain gave him hope for the future, told him that while it may be slow going, the prospects and possibilities before them and the City had grown ten fold...

And so he stood, at the elbow of The Ram, watching the rays of sunlight illuminate the work ahead of them in the quiet dawning of the next Golden Age.

*Lysander in this case doesn’t refer to @smallladysavage (sorry, you know I <3 him though!) but rather refers to this one ~ https://www.destinypedia.com/Lysander

[gothamincarnate]

[ grab something sharp, find some cover // zombie verse lara lor-van ]

gladsome rays healing center-- raoism in everything but name, trying to take after their child’s urge to help these porcelain doll humans. their human name is vannessa, and they’ve managed to live a quiet life heralding a fledgling “new age” movement.

it’s not quite a secret, but well- they haven’t had time to tell kal that they survived after all this time. they'd sent him here to be on his own. a new parent would just be a burden.

the screaming draws their attention. the little strip mall they’ve set up shop in has become chaos, humans screaming and running. pushing each other, trampling others underfoot.

the ghosts have risen. earth, such strange practices to bury the honored dead. now the bodies are a wave, bottlenecked in the complex.

lara lor-van walks like the royalty they are. kryptonian robes flow behind them in a storm of watery blues and golden suns. but there are monsters ahead, ones that must be put down. a red cape flutters in the middle of the throng. while these humans scurry away aren’t worth attention, their son is somewhere in the fray.

they leap, bounding in the air on the other side of the throng. they land, cracking the concrete between the humans and the damned.

“get inside. go!” maybe kal has a point. alright, fine. they’ll fight. they’ll save as many humans as they can. they see a streak of blue, kal’s own armor flashing in the sun. it looks like he’s falling, failing as a wave of bodies drag him under.

fabric in fists, they tear and discard the blue cloak. black armor shimmers in the sun. the surface looks metallic and shifting. golden spirals swirl beneath like water under glass. it is living crystal, molded in the forge after their final test.

a golden circlet unfolds into a helmet. the dome is ringed in golden tines and spires. the effect is something between hawk’s plumage and sunbeams wreathing their head. a hero’s halo.

they kneel and pull their weapon from a crystal on their thigh. it unfolds into a large golden stave. the tip is a stylized crimson sun. one of the sunbeams is golden, longer than the rest. it’s been sharpened and blessed by their own hands years before their planet died.

the warmth the crystal absorbs is electric. veins sear with warmth-- and they leap again. the stave hardly seems enough against the wall of bodies rushing forward. they shift into a more solid stance, half kneeling on the already bloodsoaked concrete.

a short prayer, a touch of lips to the staff and a call for protection. this fight would be in his honor. for their house, for their guild, for their planet.

arise, champion of rao.

they crash into the bodies swarming, shouldering as many out of the way as possible. defense should be kept up as long as possible. a trick instilled into them from a young age at the forge. offense takes too much energy. weather what you can and then strike when the enemy is exhausted.

harder when the enemy doesn’t stop. doesn’t grow tired, only claws and tears at them. they finally do attack-- superman’s strength, zod’s fighting prowess. lara’s own fury to survive. bones crunch and turn to dust beneath deceptively slender fingers. blood sprays, arcing into the air and catching the sunlight. the blade buries deem into chests, almost always striking true despite the chaos.

one grabs their right leg, arms wrapped around their thigh, trying to gnaw through the crystal. the high pitch scraping noise it makes makes their jaw hurt and echoes even above the screams of the damned. another bites at their left wrist, intelligent enough to try to pry the staff away. biting back the pain, they fly, gripping both bodies and swinging them back down at the earth. a quick scan of the horizon shows no one. not even their child.

another shockwave landing clears out a few more. enough to give them seconds of breathing room. a glance at the office. everyone is inside, secure in rao’s temple.

with a battle cry, they jump back into the fray. the circle closes and cages them in. they attack with ease. fluid-- arms and legs move loosely and slowly. the staff balances and twirls around each limb as needed, no distinction between arms and legs in zod’s forge.

they use the three dimensions to their advantage, attacking from below and the flanks all at once, dipping below the mass’s legs and pushing upward and outward. rao’s staff nimbly rolls from one wrist to the other, red flashing in the sun as they fight.

their son’s hand is buried beneath a mass of bodies and they yank hard, dragging him up into the sky. hanging in the clouded void with them, he winces in pain. a shake of his head, he recovers, smiles at them. gosh, he’s grown up so much, hasn’t he?

“thanks for the help. who are you?”

does he remember the stories they’d sent with him? does he recognize the voice that read fairy tales to him? the knight of vahkd, golden armor blessed by rao to never falter and never fail. the warrior for the people, who learned that while there was glory in the fighting and violence, there must never be glory in needless blood.

did he recognize their armor? the ethos and styling of the martial arts guild was based on rao’s heroes, living sunbeams that could shoot across space in seconds, burning fires that never died.

“i know you.” kal’s face looked-- open, more than the earlier shock. further questions were cut off by the strange skittish silence of a thousand bodies crawling over each other. there wasn’t anymore screaming.

“we’ll talk after, sunbeam.” a smile and a whoop of excitement, they dive back down. stave held ready, they begin to slash through the crowd again, throwing bodies to and fro, lifting corpses up in the air with the stave. again the attacks come from everywhere, no concept of gravity or ground. dancing around the enemy and ripping him apart.

///

lara’s heart was pounding in their chest as the final body fell. kal floated from above, blocking the sun. mother and son were exhausted. lara held themselves up on their staff, chin jutted out, shoulders straight and solid even as their legs wobbled. “you fight like an amazonian.” they smiled and nodded in approval.

“you do too.”

“no i don’t.” they laughed. amazonians would have been well respected on krypton, from what lara had seen of wonder woman. but it was an incredibly different culture. “amazonians use strength and power and full body throws. torq-vahkd is redirection of energy. a flowing movement followed by the killing blow. i would demonstrate but--” a soft laugh as their legs give out. kal rushes forward-- zippy little sunbeam, isn’t he?-- and helps lower them to the ground.

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine. i haven’t fought like that in some years.” they lean back, stretching out in the sun. they sheath the spear and touch the helmet. it folds back up into a circlet. they run hands through their hair, shaking it out with a sigh.

“you’re kryptonian.” it’s said in awe, fingers trace the air above their left shoulder, the red paldron over their heart bears the family crest. he brings the hand back to his chest. the sunbeam darkens, confused and lost. “you’re my family.”

“as you are mine, kal el-vahn.” they nod. “my name is lara lor-van, champion of rao, sworn to the house of el.”

“lara-- wait. mom? i mean, you’re my mother.” he’s elated, then crushed. “how long have you been here? alive? how are you alive?”

“since you were sixteen years old. i fled argos city just before the collector destroyed it. i didn’t mean to end up on earth--”

kal’s hands wrap around their shoulders, squeezing enough that they can feel it through the armor. “you didn’t even want to-- to end up here?”

“this is your planet, kal. your home. you had a family. we gave you everything you needed. i didn’t want to uproot the life you’d already built--”

“i did. i do, i mean.” kal sat down, running his hands through his hair and staring off into space. “i do, they’re great. they didn’t just abandon me to spend years of my life with no idea who i was or why i could do what i did.”

lara’s heart broke for their child. jor, damn him, must have gotten his way. he’d had some plan to turn kal into a symbol, a weapon. it was a defiance to everything rao stood for, and it would doom their son to a life alone and afraid and lost and--

well, how he’d ended up now. “i didn’t realize. i had sent stories with you, to listen to as you grew up. they were supposed to teach you about us. to let you understand where you came from. i cannot change what my husband did. but i am here now, little sunbeam.” they stand, placing a hand on kal’s face. their son leans into it, smiling. “i watched you, when you first put on the cape. i was so proud of you. i still am. you care for them, don’t you? humans?”

kal looks a little stunned. “yes. i do.”

“you showed me how wonderful they are. i’ve seen you save so many lives, and help so many people. rao has given us a gift here, and you’ve used it well. you taught me today, i saved people because... because i saw you doing it. it looked fun. it was. they’re so... squishy and vulnerable.”

kal raised an eyebrow at the word ‘squishy’ but they only shrugged-- it sounded better in kryptonian. kal looked at them and smiled. “vulnerable. yea. we have these gifts that we should use to help others. that’s what, uh, my parents taught me.” and he looked up at that, locking eyes with lara in a strange expression. it’s seeking approval but waiting for a challenge. (what did jor do to you, to make you think of us this way?)

lara simply nods and smiles at their child. their son, grown into a fine hero, a second champion of rao no doubt. “they raised you, of course they’re your parents. as for me, i’ll accept whatever title or role you want me to fill in your life.”

kal nodded, head bobbing a bit distractedly. “you weren’t in the fortress. it was just him. jor-el. he’s the one that told me about krypton, about myself.” he put a hand to his chest. “i tried to tell him no. he-- he seared the house of el into my chest so i wouldn’t forget who i was supposed to serve.”

lara looks, and sees, and god, they’ve never felt nauseous since the finals in the forge. they stand sharply, a hand on their son’s cheek. “krypton is not perfect, there are old and harmful patterns that jor still held onto. i thought my presence on the ship could temper it but--”

“but you weren’t there.”

“no. i wish i had been there to guide you with a steadier hand. i wish i could have told you who you were, to let you grow up with our stories alongside these strange earthling’s fairy tales. yet, i cannot change what has happened, kal. we can only move forward. i will go back to the shadows if you want. i will stay by your side if you want.”

“i--” kal frowned, torn. “i need to figure this out. for now, can we just go... get coffee and talk?”

“of course, sunbeam.” a pause. “is it-- okay to call you sunbeam?”

kal blinked, frowned for a moment before smiling. “yes.”

[niqhtlord01]

Welcome back fighting fans for yet another round of beaintgs, bleedings, and missed readings that we like to call the Roosther Teeth Championship!  Our next contestant hails from the seedy underworld of Vale with an army of goons that can’t shoot and a blazing dance floor that needs to be remodeled every other episode, iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s JUNIOR!!!!!!!!!! Junior: *Walks in transforming bat to rocket launcher* Grif: Geeze man, could you get a more stupid weapon? Junior: You’re one to talk, you got a rocket launcher too. Grif: *Hefts halo rocket launcher* Yeah, but I don’t need to transform it to beat people to death with it.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in transforming rocket launcher to a bat* Cinder: Well someone seems to be overcompensating.  Junior: Is that a chunk of ice on your chest from when you lost a fight and got frozen, or are you always this cold hearted? Cinder: *Draws swords from air, eye glows* I know how to heat things up.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nemesis: *Nanotech cloud forms Nemesis*  Junior: And what the hell are you supposed to be? Nemesis: You’re worst nightmare.  Junior: *Swings bat over should and transforms to rocket launcher* Unless you’re an underage blondie with a habit for punching things I doubt it.   ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Caboose: *Walks in putting a flower into freckles.* Junior: You must be stupid to come here.  Caboose: Well you can’t have a fight if you’re the only one around; that’d just be silly.  Junior: *Transforms rocket launcher to bat form* You can if the other guy is dead.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in transforming rocket launcher to a bat* Yang: Oooooooooh Junioooooooor.......... Junior: Oh please no......... Yang: *Cocks shotgun wrists* You never gave me my drink.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in transforming bat to rocket launcher* Cammie: So out of everything you could transform your weapon into....you chose a bat?  Junior: It’s so simple it’s perfect. Cammie: *Picks up nugget and puts them on her shoulder* Remind me again how many fights you’ve won?  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kazu: *Flips into the ring* Junior: *Sarcastically* I’m sure that’s very impressive for the ladies. Kazu: As if they would find you any better. Junior: *Hefts rocket launcher* Well, I own a nightclub and you look like a street rocker living out of their van so I doubt it’d be very hard. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in polishing a glass* Roman: Yeah, your men were terrible so I want a refund.  Junior: Fine, just give me back my men then.  Roman: *Points cane at Junior* Yeah, that might be a problem since most of them are dead from being so terrible. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tex: *Smashes nearby wall and walks in*  Junior: Looks like you could use a drink lady.  Tex: How can you tell I’m a lady? I’m in power armor. Junior:  *Swings bat over should and transforms to rocket launcher*  I’ve seen enough angry women to be able to tell.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Salem: *Grim part to let her through* Junior: *polishing a glass, not looking up* Halloween party is next week lady, no discounts till then for wearing a costume.  Salem: Your flippant tongue will be the end of you.  Junior: *Puts glass down and hefts rocket launcher* And yours will get your pale ass shown the door.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Valentina: *Removes invisibility cloak* Junior: Going to have to ask you to leave.  Valentina: Why? Because you don’t serve people like me? Junior:  *Transforms rocket launcher to bat form* No, but you cut in line to get in and that doesn’t fly at my club.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blake: *Walks in and splits weapon* Junior: Going to have to ask you to leave.  Blake: What, you don’t serve my people here? Junior:  *Transforms rocket launcher to bat form*  Kid, you’re underage and a wanted terrorist, get off your high horse.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Felix: *Twirls knife between fingers* Junior: Yeah, get the hell out of my club. Felix: No need to be tense old man, just want a drink. Junior:  *Swings bat over should and transforms to rocket launcher* You think I don’t know about what happened in the last club you walked into?  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Glynda: *Strides in and snaps riding crop* Junior: You’re finally here. Take pole three and you can break every other hour.  Glynda: Do you take me for a pole dancer?!?!?!? Junior:  *Swings bat over should and transforms to rocket launcher* Lady, have you seen your outfit?  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in polishing glass* Ruby: One glass of milk please!  Junior: Kid, we serve adult drinks here. Ruby: *Twirls scythe* Right. One glass of milk with a hint of chocolate syrup.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Junior: *Walks in polishing glass* Tucker: Finally! I’ve been waiting over an hour for a drink!  Junior: Just take off your helmet and show me your id and I’ll get you one.  Tucker: *Awkwardly tries to take off helmet, fails* Right, so I realized it’d just be easier to beat you up then it would be to take off this helmet.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Miranda: *Strider walks in, Miranda jumps out of the cockpit.” Junior: Parking’s out back lady, can’t leave that here.  Miranda: How can you be so calm? I just walked in with a two story robot!  Junior:  *Puts glass down and hefts rocket launcher* I come from a world with little girls being able to destroy entire buildings. A giant robot is pretty tame all considered.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Locus: *Turns off camo* Junior: ......... Locus: ......... Junior: *Slowly reaches for rocket launcher* Yeah, no.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- US: *Enters with coin flipping* Junior: Going to have to ask you to leave. US: What’s wrong with me? Junior: *Hefts bat* My club’s got standards, and only main or supporting characters are allowed in. 

[louvel-roche]

Prompt #11: Snuff

Smoke trailed up and away from a long forgotten cigarette, the mostly burned away stick barely held between two fingers. Ash grew at the end, forming an even longer tail threatening to fall away at every little shift of the hand it was anchored to. Louvel hardly had time to notice, the entirety of his focus set upon the parchment before him on the table. 

Charcoal pressed to the paper, scratching gentle lines here, dark shapes there, filling out more of the surface before being set to the side in favor of other tools coming into use. Few things stayed for long, again and again his right hand coming and going as lines were strengthened, shadows worked into more defined shapes. Draw, erase, blend, repeat, build, define. 

Finally the ash gave up its fight with gravity as his left hand moved, shifting just that slight fraction to rotate the parchment it’d been holding in place. Louvel looked to the pile of ashes now inhabiting the upper left corner of his work, focus disrupted, momentum coming to a sudden halt. The charcoal hovered over the parchment for a few seconds, reluctant to stop completely before finally being to to the side. Maybe a short break was needed. 

It was hard to say how long he’d been there, although judging by how sore his neck and spine were, it wasn’t likely a short amount of time. Sitting up and leaning fully into the back of the chair brought a couple small pops and cracks followed by a mild relief of tension. Louvel cast his eyes to the ceiling, trying to find where it was his train of thought had gone. Wasn’t there. His left hand came up, allowing him to take half a breath from what little remained of his cigarette before it was stamped out into the ashtray. The number of stumps in the graveyard of ash suggested that last cigarette wasn’t the first, and considering Louvel was already locating his lighter it wouldn’t be the last. 

One swipe. Two. Three. It wasn’t until the fourth drag of his thumb that the lighter sparked up a flame. He reminded himself to get more lighter fluid while putting the torch to the end of a fresh cigarette. Chances are he would forget to do so at least one more time. A problem to worry about later, he had other things to put his attention on. That wayward pile of ash needed to be dealt with, and with a careful blow, it was all cast away in barely a full breath. Time to get back to work. 

This time around, he placed the fresh cigarette in a divet on the border of the ashtray, allowing it to play the part of a less than pleasant incense without risk of ashes on his work. It took some time to find his momentum again, his work resuming at a much slower pace, left hand straying from its stabilizing position on the parchment in favor of retrieving the cigarette at least a few times. Soon, that cigarette was forgotten like those before it, left to slowly burn away while Louvel continued to work out fickle finishing touches, those devilish details that needed to be just so. 

When the cigarette was plucked from the tray again, it was for just one last pull before the ashes on the end were tapped off, leaving a bright cherry for him to work with. The smoldering end of the cigarette was gingerly placed to the edges of the paper, again and again burning at the parchment before a thumb rubbed over the sear marks, snuffing out any embers trying to form. Bit by bit the border of the piece was given this treatment, in the end giving the piece a charred frame. Within the border of smoke and ash, all that charcoal took the shape of a Viera, arms open wide and welcoming, with a spear pierced into his chest and a halo of fire around his head. Kneeling below was a knight, holding the spear up, as if it were a religious offering rather than a weapon, his face turned just slightly from view. Their attire was reminiscent of the sort of garb one would expect to see on the sculptures and stain glass images of saints and knights around the Holy See. 

Louvel breathed out a tired muttered curse, leaning over his work just a few more seconds, just long enough to write in the corner. 

11th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon. LR. 

The piece would be left upon the table within Priach’s bar; he didn’t want it, and if someone else did, they could have it. He didn’t need it, what he needed was to wash the rot and bile off his armor from the mission earlier, and more importantly, sleep. Super vague mentions: @gorgagne-viperidae and @shadowburgers

[dpganime]

Saint Seiya vs. Yoroiden Samurai Troopers

I have been binge watching Yoroiden Samurai Troopers/Ronin Warriors. I’ve watched the original Japanese version and the English dub. To me, it is a shame that the series ended with only 39 episodes and 3 OVAs. I think the show deserves a reboot with characters’ background stories and home life included. At first glance, I found the anime YST/Ronin Warriors very similar to Saint Seiya. But that is not surprising since YST/Ronin Warriors was created based on the popularity of Saint Seiya. Basically, it is Saint Seiya in Japanese Samurai style.

Like Saint Seiya, YST/Ronin Warriors is a story of 5 teenage boys at age 14/15 who fought evil villains and saved the world from doomsday. Instead of Bronze Cloth, they donned mystical armors. Instead of Gold Saints/Spectres/Mariners, they fought against warlords/Mashos. They were helped by a female companion who lived in a big mansion and a tag-a-long kid. 

So which anime series and characters are better?

Let’s look at the characters first.

Pegasus Seiya vs. Sanada Ryo/Ryo of Wildfire

The main protagonist and the “Red Ranger” of the group. Seiya and Ryo both had black hair and wore red most of the time. They were the ace who took down the big bad (Arago for Ryo, Hades for Seiya).

Winner: Pegasus Seiya

While Seiya may be the least liked character in Saint Seiya fandom, he is much better compared to Ryo. Seiya was funny and had a charming personality; he used street smarts in his battles. Ryo, on the other hand, rushed into action without thinking and barked at his friends often. It seemed that the only reason Ryo could take down the big bad is because of his armor and weapons. 

Cygnus Hyoga vs. Date Seiji/Sage of Halo

The blond lancer of the group. Hyoga and Seiji/Sage were quiet and calculating. Both liked to work alone and both had issues with women. While Hyoga was emotionally attached to his deceased mother, Seiji/Sage was afraid of women because of his dominating mother and sisters. In other words, both got Freud issues.

And oh yeah, both were got fans from (western) female viewers for their good looks. 

Winner: Draw

Both Seiji/Sage and Hyoga were character with depth and had episodes where they shined. 

Dragon Shiyru vs. Hashiba Touma/Rowen of Strata

The smart one of the group. Both Touma/Rowen and Shiryu owed the main protagonist Seiya and Ryo their lives since Seiya and Ryo saved them in early episodes. Both were deemed as the “most dangerous” of the group as well. Personality wise, the two were very different though. While both were noble and loyal, Shiryu was arrogant and judgmental; Touma was quiet, objective, and a loner by choice.

Winner: Rowen of Strata/Hashiba Touma

Touma/Rowen literally lead the group to final victory. It was Touma/Rowen who rescued the three captured Samurai Troopers/Ronin Warriors in later episodes. When he worked with Ryo, it was very obvious that he takes the lead. One can say that without Touma/Rowen, the good guys can never take down the big bad.

And another thing we like about him - he keeps his armor on all the time.

Andromeda Shun vs. Mouri Shin/Cye of Torrent

The soft-spoken pretty boy and reluctant warrior who prefer not to fight. Both Cye/Shin and Shun were viewed as the weakest of the group. Still, both were nice guys to have around.

Winner: Andromeda Shun

Shun had his heroic moments multiple times in the series. He defeated a Gold Saint on his own and chose to sacrifice himself in order to defeat Hades. And he showed his enemies and viewers exactly how scary his powers can be when he’s mad. 

Cye/Shin, on the other hand, could barely defeat his rival Sekhmet/Naaza.

Bear Geki vs. Kento/Shu Rei Faun

The big guy of the series and physically the strongest. They were also the cool guy who is outgoing and easy to talk to. 

Winner: Kento of Hardrock/Shu Rei Faun

Bear Geki had a minor role and less screen time while Kento/Shu is one of the main protagonists. If you watched the original anime, Kento/Shu was not that silly or much of a comic relief.  

Phoenix Ikki vs. Shuten/Anubis

The villain who turned good and became the Sixth Ranger who saved the protagonist’s butts. Both Ikki and Shuten/Anubis were villains in early episodes but later turned good. Both had died after they switched to the good side; then came back alive and fought with the good guys.

Winner: draw

Shuten/Anubis redeemed himself by the end of the series and his death was final. His evil past was forgiven. Ikki, on the other hand, returned again and again each time after he’s supposedly dead. Still, we are happy to see him back. 

Saori Kido vs. Yagyu Nasuti/Mia Koji

The female companion who supported the 5-man band. Both had a deceased grandfather who had the knowledge on the origin of the 5-man band. Both encouraged and emotionally supported the 5-man band. And both played a vital role in defeating the big bad - Saori being Goddess Athena and Nasuti/Mia with her knowledge. 

Winner: depends on which version of Saori Kido we’re looking at

If you are looking at the original anime from the 80s, then obvious Nasuti/Mia is the winner since Nasuti/Mia actually “did something” to defeat the big bad while Saori Kido was constantly kidnapped. 

Yet, in Saint Seiya Omega and Legends of Sanctuary, Saori got better and she fought along with the Saints. Compared to Nasuti/Mia, Saori Kido from Omega and Legends of Sanctuary is the better character.

Kiki vs. Jun/Yuli

The tag-a-long kid. Jun/Yuli met the Ronin Warriors/YST by chance and was just an ordinary kid. Kiki was a disciple of Aries Gold Saint with special powers of his own.

Winner: Kiki

Not hard to decide here. Kiki was helpful and cute in Saint Seiya. Jun/Yuli was rather annoying and gets in the way.

So in the end, which anime is better? Saint Seiya or YST/Ronin Warriors.

Winner: Saint Seiya

The main reason I’d say Saint Seiya is better is because the characters got more depth and development. YST/Ronin Warriors were rather flat in the original anime. Although the characters’ background and home life were explored in novels and CD dramas, it was not included in the original anime. Had the original anime included these elements, YST/Ronin Warriors would’ve been better.