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seancekitsch · 4 years

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Out of the Rain: a Marko x Reader fic

Warnings: bloodplay goes without saying bc vamp, rough sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, telepathy?? me projecting my music taste on this fic again. drug use, fast and loose use of vampire lore bc when i write i am god and u cannot stop me. also can u tell i have like…. v clear descriptions of the setting like i used to work at the place im describing but its not in california

No one had come in for hours. What's the point of staying open? You dim some of the lights in the store, which is one of three head shops in Santa Carla, but the only one open late. You're not really sure why this is the only store that stays open, why everyone else if worried about the three am walk back to their car on a weekend night. You've never seen anything of suspicion, just sometimes that biker gang watches people shuffle out. That was almost comforting, though. People didn't like those guys, so no one would make you use your switchblade if they were around.

The bright while fluorescent lights of your typical daytime ambiance faded away, and now green light bathes you in the “mood” lighting your boss thought was a good idea. The green lighting reflects off of the glass counters, shining it back at the ceiling and making everything that much more green. It fits, you think with the overall vibe of the store. The stale scent of weed, gently and miserably covered up by some nag champa incense, always burning in at least four different spots within the store. You'd long since gotten used to the smoke in your eyes. The music does everything to add to the ambiance. You always have full control of the music in the shop, usually because no one else is willing to take the night shift in Santa Carla. In fact, most of the boardwalk shops had a revolving door of night shift workers. You never got why, something clearly spooks them that does not spook you. Whether that makes you brave or stupid, you dont know. Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow pumps through the speakers in the store. But I suppose no one knows, you're my plastic fantastic lover.

The rain batters the boardwalk outside, a roar much different than the typical hustle and bustle of drunk teens, of the cliques and crews that come in and out; the few that sit and snicker in the doorway, never entering. Some too afraid to be associated with the implication of being spotted in the shop. We sell jewelry and vinyl too, you always say, when they balk at the idea of being in the same room as a bong or incense.

But then there's the other group that stands and idles in the threshold, also not entering. It's that biker gang. Four guys, a girl, a kid. Maybe he’s the brat of the girl and the one who takes himself too seriously, but maybe not. She looks too young for that. They'd been hovering around quite a bit lately, always after dark. You’d spoken to them, at least the ones that are talkative. The hair metal wannabe and the cute short one. Paul and Marko. You knew the dark haired one was Dwayne, but all he ever offered you was a curt nod and a tight lipped smile, respectful but indifferent. They're nice, not worth the spooky reputation they have. Any time it's not just you at the shop, your boss tries to spook them away. Good thing your boss isn't here tonight, because one of them is prowling around the storefront in the rain. That is, if it's not your spliff induced haze playing tricks on you.

No, one of them is out there. Without his little pack. The cute one. Marko.

You walk over to the door, which you haven't had propped open since the rain trickled in as a drizzle at the beginning of your shift. At least he had enough sense to be huddling under the awning. Fuck, he’s handsome even when he looks like a drowned rat.

“What are you doing out here?” You scrunch up your nose as you ask.

“Y’know, waiting for you to show up.” Wanted a look at that cute ass.

You blink at him. Did he really just say that?

“Okay… well, you know it's raining out there, right?”

“I might,” he offers noncommittally, eyeing the spliff still in the hand that's not holding the door. If it were anyone but him, you'd probably get fired for it.

Why is he just hanging around out here? That's hella weird. His curls are getting matted to his forehead, slick with rain, his jacket starting to look a little sad.

“C’mon in, Marko. It’s too wet out here. You’ll fuck up your jacket.” You nod towards the interior of the shop holding the door open as he passes you.

Wrong move, sweet cheeks.

“What did you say?” What did he mean, wrong move?

“I didn't say anything,” he offers nonchalantly as he thumbs at one of the tapestries on the wall. A garish mess that’s supposed to be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, but it’s distorted by a botched tie dye job of dark muddy colors. Every time you look at it, you assume one of the day workers did it.

“No, you said something.”

“Do you want me to say something?” there's both a threat and an innuendo in his tone. Maybe you do, but you just laugh, a sharp exhale through your nose, and bring the spliff to your lips again as he follows you deeper into the store.

You jump up onto the counter next to the ash tray, easy reach for each time you need to ash.

“So why are you really here?” your eyes narrow at him, kicking your sandal off on the floor where it lands a few inches from his boots. He looks uneasy in the space, like for all the wild shit you assume he’s into, he might not actually belong in it. He sways a little to the music, perfectly in tune with the rhythm. You sway along too, and suddenly he fills the space like he belongs. He just needed someone along for the ride with him.

“Do you ever come around during the day, or just at night because I’m so fun?” You’re teasing him, but it’s a nice easy feeling between you.

“Not really a sun guy,” bullshit, he would look beautiful with a tan, “but I do drag everyone here just to see you.”

“Awww, all for me? Do you have a crush, Marko?”

It’s more than that. You hear the words clearly, but his smile doesn’t move. You kick the other sandal off.

“I can hear you, I don’t know how, but I can. I bet you can hear me too.”

I can. You’re wrong about the tan thing.

You straighten up, mind clearing as you blurt out your next question. Something absolutely stupid.

“So what are you, a vampire or something?” he laughs at you, but his big toothy smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there's something predatory, extremely dark in his eyes. Otherworldly.

How could you guess?

“Well, that for one big fucking clue.” You ash the spliff for the final time, leaving the roach in the tray. You would think you’d be more surprised, more upset that you just found out vampires were real, and that you were in the same room as one. You have to say, weirder things are probably afoot in Santa Carla. Murder capital of the world can’t all be from some rowdy teens and a ten year old.

“You do those surf nazis?” is all that leaves your mouth. You kind of hope it was. They were the fucking worst. Racist, misogynistic, destructive. You’d had to threaten them a few times to leave your store on your shift.

“The—? Oh! Surf nazis. Yeah that was us. Ate a few of them.”

“Good for you. I mean— murder. bad. But they were nazis, and now they’re dead. so…” you trail off. Not really sure what to say next, but then you keep going. Remember everything you know about Marko.

“No, no I mean, it makes sense. Right? You and the guys only hang around at night. Aren’t vampires solitary hunters though? I don’t remember Dracula being in a frat.”

“They’re my pack. We take care of each other.” He says it with such fondness and devotion.

You feel a pang of jealousy run through you. You work alone for the most part, live alone, you’ve got friends but they’re all over the place. He belongs to something.

“And you're down with this?” he’s legitimately asking. You nod. You don't really have a choice, you're down or you get eaten, but like genuinely you are down with it. If he was going to eat you, he probably would have by now. There's probably a reason they've been hanging around the store, and in your sightline while you close up. You're putting things together.

“Like really?”

“Well, you haven't made me a kebab yet.”

He shrugs, frowns.

“Could still skewer you on something.”

Laughter erupts from your lips while you roll your eyes, music to Marko’s ears. This is why he took a shine to you, it's easy to get along with you, and you're not one of his brothers.

Something heavy falls in the room, and it's not the haze of the incense. He steps towards you, big blue eyes raking over your body, but always coming back to meet your gaze. He closes the space between you, easily fitting between your thighs; the rough patches of his jacket brushing against your bare skin where your shorts ride up. He leans in, like he's about to kiss you, and against all better judgement, you're going to let him.

You're going to let him.

The record skips. He holds out his hand, more like a gentleman than a biker gang killer, and helps you off the counter.

“Hold on, let me pick out a new record,” you turn without waiting for his confirmation, not at all surprised when Marko follows hot on your heels to the back room. Your boss’ office, the record room. Whatever you wanted to call it. His hands ghost over your arms as you push past the wooden bead curtain to enter the room. You can feel his presence close enough to touch. That's it, right where I want you. There’s his voice again.

He lets you actually pick out a new record. You slide it out of the sleeve and walk it over to the player. The static buzzes and pops as the needle finds the groove.

“Ocean Rain, you heard it?” No. He shakes his head, and you can feel it as he leans into your back.

“Echo and the Bunnymen. They've got a new album coming out this year.”

You turn to face him and his fingerless leather glove clad hands cover your cheeks.

He kisses you gently, tenderly. Not at all the way you’d expect. He’s eager, kissing like there’s something to prove. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue pushing your lips apart and you let him. His arms tighten around you as you kiss, tongues now greeting each other playfully. Your tongue explores his mouth, running along each and every tooth in his mouth. Huh, no fangs, you realize, and maybe he isn't actually a vampire. As if he reads your mind (maybe he does), he pulls away.

“They're, uh, hiding,’ he nods, almost to himself more than you. You nod as well, slow and uneasy, not quite believing him, but he pulls you back into a harsh kiss, more of what you expected. His hands roam your body as yours bury themselves in his curls. Still damp, but long and beautiful just as well. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, and his hands only briefly leave you to throw it and his gloves somewhere else, leaving him just in a thin white tank top. His mouth leaves yours to trail lower, kissing your neck. Your pulse point. Fucking irresistable. No, that's definitely his voice. Is this the end? Could be.

“I can smell you, hot stuff,” he moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You find yourself gripping onto his shoulders a little tighter, but he lets you sink. He guides you, again more gently than you thought he would; bare knees brushing the threadbare carpet floor before you plant yourself. You look up at him through your lashes and he all but bites back a groan.

“You gonna join me down here?” You lick your lips, waiting for something.

“Nah, I’m gonna let you have a head start,” there's a joke in his tone. You're learning that’s normal for him. He’s silent, or playing jester. It’ll be interesting when you let him fuck you. Shit, did he hear that?

“Quit thinkin’ so loud!” he runs an affectionate hand through your hair. “But yes, I heard you. Glad you're as eager as I am.”

That's encouraging. You take your time undoing his belt, connected to faded and soft leather chaps, not bothering to push them down his thighs before you move to the top of his jeans, teasing your fingers at the skin just above the waistline. He shudders under your touch, extremely reactive. Does he get touched like this often? Or is it just quick fucks? You don't want to think about who else he might be doing this with, focusing again on his body, and all of the offending clothing covering it. You unbutton them slowly, teasing. For a member of the undead, he seems to be out of breath under your movements. The zipper is pulled down just as slowly. You run your palms flat along the bottom of his stomach, to his hips before pushing his jeans down to around his ankles, hooking his boxers on your finger along with them. He’s beautiful, and you can help but stare. Hard, eager, and thick, greeting you with a small trimmed patch of golden blonde curls. You wrap your hand around the base.

You never expected a vampire to whimper, but that's exactly what happens when your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the head of his cock. Quick, tentative little lick, testing the waters. Your tongue swipes across the slit at the tip of his thick member and his hands animate like you flipped a switch, rising up, going to your hair, rising up again, slamming down against the desk. Your boss’ desk. You lick a long stripe to the underside of his cock, paying close attention to the prominent vein there.

“So good, so good, oh you feel so-” he pants out, hands white knuckling the edge of the desk. Heat pools in your core, loving that he’s so vocal. Fuck, if he could just keep speaking. Your other hand moves to your shorts, sloppily and hastily undoing them and wiggling them down to your knees. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and sink down on it, taking him as far as you can, until you couch when he hits the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like that. Please move, Please move, you’re so fucking good at this.”

You do, starting to bob your head up and down on the length of him, hollowing out your cheeks and flattening your tongue against him, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand. Your free finds itself between your legs, rubbing gently at your clit, stirred and encouraged by his praise.

“Does sucking me off get you hot and bothered?” Yesitdoes.

You keep bobbing your head, rubbing your clit, eyes trained on his until his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Don't wanna- don't wanna finish in your mouth,” he’s urgent, grabbing you by the chin and pulling your mouth off of his cock. He pushes you back by your shoulders, letting you guide yourself back to lay on the rug. He pulls your loose shorts easily off your legs and settles himself between your legs, too eager to bother with removing his boots and everything.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Do you know how bad I wanted this?”

“Fuck me, Marko, dont say it. Just do it,” youre breathless under him, wanting nothing more than for him to be fucking you. He pauses.

“I dunno…” his thumb swipes up along your clit, drawing a whine from your throat, “For some reason I think you like it when I say things.”

You nod, knowing words will fail you. And he gives you what you want, lining himself up and sinking into you, groaning as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“Oh I knew your pussy would feel like fucking heaven,” he pants against your neck, pressing a harsh kiss to the underside of your jaw. He sets the pace quickly, unmerciful and fast, fucking hard and deep into you. His hands push up your thin tee shirt, and you can feel his sigh of relief when he gets a handful of bare breast. He doesn't have to deal with a bra tonight. You hike your knees up, opening yourself as much as you can to him, wanting him to fill you to the brim. He looks into your eyes while he fucks you, which comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it shouldn't. You wonder what it would be like to be a victim of his. Does he treat them well? Have fun with them like this? Or is he vicious? You don't know if you could picture him like that… vamped out.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” he thrusts sharply, snapping his hips into you, making you yelp.

“To be fed on, but not to die.”

Are you serious? You hear him in your head.

YesIam. He thrusts like that again, earning an identical yelp, now coupled with your thighs squeezing him around the middle. You're close already, and he can tell.

He nods, a question; You nod, confirmation.

He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, already scooping so it doesn’t ruin, and exposes your shoulder. Somewhere non lethal. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, covering your neck but being careful not to squeeze it. You hope he bruises your jaw, you realize. A physical way to feel him when dawn comes. He slows his pace to a rocking, grinding into you, staying deep.

Then he bites. Stars erupt behind your eyes, and it feels like your blood has turned to seltzer. Every nerve in your body is in overdrive as you moan and shake and come undone around his cock. You're the kind of girl that comes from the bite of a vampire, apparently. He doesn’t let up. You can faintly hear him moaning against the open wound in your shoulder, and you hope you taste good to him. He licks the wound a few times more, softly, carefully, like he’s trying to soothe you when he finally lets you come down from your high.

When he pulls back to let you see him, his features are gruesome, full vampire with sharp brows and cheekbones, pointed nose even that much more so almost birdlike. Fangs and bottom half of his face covered in blood.Your blood. He’s panting like an animal after the kill. But he doesn't scare you. Maybe he should, but he doesn't. It's just Marko, no matter what, and if he wanted to eat you he would have. Several times now. His hand finally releases your jaw, to wipe the blood from his face. He wipes his hand then on your face, covering you in your own blood, hot on his fingers and palm.

“Fuckin sexy,” he pants, voice deeper and distorted. His thrusts speed up, trying to find his own release as your nails dig into his back, maybe making him bleed as well. You feel the rug burn forming on your back, you feel tears in your eyes. It's never felt this good with other guys.

When he comes, he comes with a howl, buried deep inside you as he shouts and shivers then stills above you. Your chest is heaving, trying to regain yourself as his face slowly fades to normal, and he slumps down on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, near the wound he tore open, now no longer bleeding. He mouths at any bare skin he can find, lazy half kisses as he spreads more mess and blood on you. Your fingers find his curls again, winding them around your digits as you stare up at the sickly green mood lighting bathing the walls of the room.

An hour later, Marko is helping you lock up early.

He makes sure to dump out all of the ashes from spliffs and incense, makes sure the vinyl is all in its right place while you make sure the register and inventory is all in its rightful place and order.

“You’re dangerous, you know.”

“Me?” you scoff, “That rich, coming from you.”

I’d do a lot of things I’m not supposed to for you. You kinda don't want to ask him what he means by that. For some reason that feels like a conversation you shouldn't have tonight.

He leaves the store before you, holding the door open for you and letting you lock the doors. He slings an easy arm over your shoulder, not bothering to shield either of you from the rain as he steers you towards your car. You can feel the rain cleaning your face, the blood flowing away and saving you the shower you were going to take before collapsing into bed tonight.

“Where’s your bike?”

“I flew here,” he says with that devilish smile, and you're really not sure if he's joking or not. Your arm sneaks its way into his jacket and wraps around his waist, holding him close as he makes sure you get home same. Marko makes you feel calm, in a way you didn't feel before you moved to Santa Carla. How long had he been waiting to make his move? And does this mean he and his brothers would be coming around more often? Maybe being more friendly towards you. Each step towards your car feels heavy; You don't want to go home alone without him, but somehow you know he won't come with you.

“Will I see you again?”

He grabs your car keys from your hand, and sticks them in the door handle. Of course you will.

Right. You just have to be near the beach at night. You know, where you work.

He kisses you full on the mouth, holding you close and tight, like you could slip away at any second. When he finally lets you go you pull away to be met with his face, full on grinning, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He doesn't look like a killer.

Marko watches you as you pull open the door to your car and more or less throw your ass into the seat. He holds the door as he gives you one last smile, and says:

“You know, you should never invite a vampire into your life. Renders you powerless.”

And he winks.

#marko lost boys x reader #lost boys x reader #marko lost boys #my work

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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Jasonette July Day 3: Grave

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event

Prompt: Grave (EDIT : trying to make it look consistent)

Rated: T

Side note: Tikki and Plagg being the ones who created the Lazarus pits is my favourite bit of Maribat crossover lore.

Marinette had only known Jason for about a year, ever since that day he commissioned her for a new suit and leather jacket design. She had seen news reports about the Red Hood, but she had never seen him in person ever since she came to Gotham. That was until he visited her just as she was getting ready to close up shop. Marinette needed to know why her mysterious client was asking her to work with a great big bolt of Kevlar. It seemed like a challenging task for the young boutique owner. It wasn’t necessarily being used for nefarious purposes. He was a crimefighter, one of many that tried to keep Gotham safe. Tikki felt like there was something strange about him, but she couldn’t quite put their finger on why.

She didn’t think she’d ever see him again, until one night when there was a loud banging on the boutique door. Marinette was about to say something about people having no manners when she saw a redhead in a red suit and a green cap…with someone’s arm slung over his shoulder. Marinette rushed to the front door to find the Red Hood, with his helmet cracked to reveal a part of his face. She could make out some matted dark hair and a red domino mask around his eye. “Please, do you think he can lay low in here for a while? At least until we can get him fixed up,” the redhead asked, “we can’t take him to the hospital”. Marinette looked around before hurrying them inside.

She got to know more about Jason, the person behind the red mask. There’s only so much you can hide from a person after they end up cleaning and stitching your wounds in their apartment. He told her that he slept on the streets of Gotham before being taken in by Batman when he was 13. He told her that, when he was 15, he went on a journey to find his birth mother and he was never the same since. Jason would say that the old him died that day. Marinette assumed he meant that he was so drastically changed by the experience, that he was unrecognizable from his old self. Still, she got to know the person he was in that moment, and that was what mattered. The two became close and started dating shortly after, and Marinette told him that she had been a superhero since she was 13. Marinette remembered seeing a worried look on his face, before assuring him that she was up against very different villains from what he was used to in Gotham. Marinette wondered if he was worried that she could have ended up like him?

Marinette knew that there was a roguish charm to him, possibly a remnant of the young boy he described from his past. She would occasionally help him as Ladybug, and he became impressed with her quick thinking in a fight. Marinette told him about the time she got a rocket launcher as a lucky charm and discarded it because she only needed the targeting laser. She was certain that she saw a tear in his eye at that moment. Marinette also knew he was someone who cared about those close to him, a group of people who now included her. She got the chance to meet the rest of his adopted family, that is when he wasn’t at odds with them. Dick reminded her far too much of Chat Noir, Damian was a lot colder and more standoffish, Tim told her he’s like that with everyone. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Marinette knew Jason would put his life on the line for his adopted brothers. She came to know Roy as the more optimistic of their dynamic duo, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t battling demons of his own. As the year went on, Marinette went from being unsure about him, to feeling safe and warm with him by her side. Even Tikki came to see that whoever this person was, he made their Guardian happy, and that was what mattered most.

Today, however, Marinette had been worried sick. Jason had left for a mission in a rush, barely able to say goodbye. That was days ago, he had not answered any of her messages or her calls. She paced around the apartment in a panic, “why isn’t he answering? Is he hurt? Captured? Worse yet…dead?” She slapped her cheeks, trying to snap out of it.

“Jason’s strong, he can handle it. If he’s in trouble, I’m sure Dick or Tim would help him. If he’s really in trouble, Bruce would certainly help him,” Tikki assured her as Marinette paced around the room.

Marinette decided to take a trip to Wayne Manor, having some of Alfred’s baking would calm them both and she could ask him about Jason’s whereabouts. Ladybug sets off to Wayne Manor, changing back before she arrives at the front gate. When she arrives in the kitchen, she is greeted by Alfred wearing an apron. "Welcome Miss Dupain-Cheng, you're just in time. I'm doing the finishing touches on the ginger biscuits. Why don't you take a seat while they cool?"

Marinette smiles at Alfred, she could smell the biscuits from the front door. "Thanks, Alfred, I came to ask about Jason. I haven’t heard from him in a while,” she asked.

Alfred scratched his chin, "Master Todd? It would be best to ask Master Bruce then if it's related to work. He is currently asleep and should wake up in an hour or two"

“Thanks, Alfred, mind if I have a few biscuits to go then? I'd like to have a walk in the gardens, " she asked.

Alfred nodded and handed the biscuits to her in a paper bag.

Marinette took a stroll around Wayne Manor, walking past Damian drawing something, whilst a large dog was curled around him. She came across the private Wayne cemetery at the very edge of the estate. She was drawn in by the Gothic architecture and design of the area. Curious about the history of the Wayne family, she tentatively wandered into the graveyard. She saw the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne. Everyone knew the story of how Bruce watched in horror as they were killed in Crime Alley.

She froze in shock as she saw one grave in particular, tears began forming in her eyes. “Here Lies Jason Peter Todd: Gone But Not Forgotten” in large bold letters. She felt her heart breaking, many questions raced through her mind. How did he die? Why didn’t anyone tell her? Did no one at least think to invite her to the funeral? She was too stunned to move, Tikki floated down to take a close look. Before she could utterly break down in tears, she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, Pixie Pop” Marinette whipped around to see Jason standing before her. He was casually eating a chilli dog, acting as if standing in front of his gravestone was the most natural thing in the world. Marinette didn’t know if she should feel happy, distraught or furious. At first, she slammed into him, hugging him tightly. “Hey, Pixie, did you miss me that much?” He was about to return her hug, and maybe finish eating the chilli dog over her shoulder, when she softly pounded her fists into his chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, her fists punctuating her words, Jason was trying to make sense of what she meant. He had told her that he had died before, or at least tried to. Even he didn’t like to talk about it, the events leading up to it and how he was brought back. Eventually, she stopped, and just curled into him with tears streaming down her face. Right now, the last thing she needed was dumb jokes as he held her close to him.

“I’m sorry, I” Jason tried to explain, only to be interrupted by Tikki.

“Marinette,” Tikki called, Marinette looked back at the gravestone to see the date written on the tombstone. The year was 7 years ago when Jason was around 15.

She turned back to Jason “so when you said that your old self died…”, Tikki finally realised why she always felt there was something strange about him. The Lazarus pits, the result of a wish that she and Plagg were forced to grant long ago. Tikki could sense her magic on him, and a faint hint of Plagg’s magic that would consume him if left unchecked. In the time he’d known Marinette, he had managed to keep it under control, for her sake.

“So what happened? These last few days I mean,” she asked as she pulled away, wiping her tears on her sleeves before crossing her arms.

“I was gonna call you, Roy and I were in Paris fighting killer mimes when one of them fried my phone,” he explained. “I tried to get you something to eat from your parents’ bakery on the last day we were there, your parents said ‘hi’ by the way”, he told her.

“Then what happened?” she asked, he wasn’t holding any paper bags or boxes with their logo on them.

“Roy ate them all is what happened, right after his little talk with Killer Croc,” he told her.

“So why didn’t you just drop by for a visit when you came back?” she asked.

“We tried to, but Roy was craving chilli dogs and I was just ready to crash,” he replied. The look on Marinette’s face told him that if he didn’t do something, he might be back in that grave a lot sooner than he thought. “Look, I’ll make it up to you, starting with taking you to that little craft store you love…” he suggested, the corner of her mouth pulled into a slight smile. “I’ll buy you as much silk, satin and tulle as you want. Paid for with money we got from kicking killer mime ass”, he promised.

“You mean I’ll get a chance to sew something that isn’t Kevlar, leather or your flesh? Who are you and what have you done with the real Jason?” She asked jokingly. As the two of them walked away, Jason wrapped his arm around her. He glanced back at his tombstone, that boy had been gone for quite some time now. Right now, he was just trying to be a better man.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat

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rodolfo9999 · 3 years

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I read the English version of "Long good bye" by Raymond Chandler. If you don't like spoilers, please read the Japanese version first.

Philip Marlowe, a private detective, gets drunk one day and brings home Terry Lennox, who was left in a bar by his wife. He was badly injured in the war. When he woke up, he thanked her and left, but later his wife divorced him and saved him from the hands of the cops when he was drunk and unmasked on the streets again. Terry borrowed money from Marlowe and left for Vegas to look for work, where he got back together with his wealthy ex-wife, Sylvia.

One day, Terry came to my office for a visit. He invited Marlowe for a drink at a quiet bar. They drove in Terry's luxurious car to a bar called Victor's, where Terry shared his knowledge of gimlets. They have several cocktail hours together. On the last day that Marlowe and Terry drink, they visit the bar a little early. Terry tells the story.

"I like bars just after they open for the evening. When the air inside is still cool and clean and everything is shiny and the barkeep is giving himself that last When the air inside is still cool and clean and everything is shiny and the barkeep is giving himself that last look in the mirror to see if his tie is straight and his hair is smooth."

"I like to watch the man mix the first one of the evening and put it down on a crisp mat and the little folded napkin beside it. I like to taste it slowly. The first quiet drink of the evening in a quiet bar- that's wonderful."

It's good. It was a hard-boiled bar argument. After that, there was a slight altercation and Marlowe left Terry, but Terry came to Marlowe's house again in the early morning. He comes to Marlowe's house early in the morning, shivering and carrying a gun. 。。。。。 But there was no trace of the gun having been fired. He asks her to take him to Tijuana, Mexico. From there, he says, he will take a plane and run away somewhere. His wife had been murdered in the garage. He had seen a man with his wife before that. Marlowe did him a favor.

After Terry escaped, Marlow was arrested by the police. When he was finally released, the cops told Marlowe that Terry had died, leaving behind a confession. Marlowe received a letter from Terry. Marlowe received a visit from Spencer, a novel publisher. He told her that there was a problem with her best-selling author, Roger Wade. He said that as a result of his drunkenness, he had thrown his wife Irene down the stairs, seriously injuring her with broken ribs. Then the incredibly beautiful Irene herself appeared and asked Marlowe to find her missing husband. The clue was the name "Dr. V" left by Wade.

Marlowe visits a detective agency he knows and uses their database. In Los Angeles, there were three doctors with the initial V, which had a reputation for illegally treating alcoholic patients. Marlowe goes through them in order, but Wade is nowhere to be found. However, Marlowe suspects a doctor named Bellinger. He is living in a defunct sanatorium with a crazy cowboy named Earl. Wade's wife remembered that Wade, who was also missing at the time, had been driven home by a young cowboy.

Marlowe had visited Beringer's sanatorium late at night and had found Wade there. Marlowe retrieved Wade from Bellinger and Earl's hands. But Wade is struggling with something. Linda Loring showed up at the right moment, and she was Sylvia Lennox's sister. She and her husband attend Wade's party, and her husband, Dr. Loring, warns Wade to leave his wife alone. Wade says and does some disturbing things, and eventually calls Marlowe and causes a fist-suicide. In the middle of the night, Eileen seduces Marlowe by telling him that she once had a lover, who is dead, but she still dreams about him. Eileen seduces Marlowe by telling him that she once had a lover and that he is dead but she still dreams about him. The Wades are vague about Terry, whether they know it or not.

Linda shows up at the office and brings up the subject of Terry. She said that Sylvia had other men in her life and that Wade was on the list. When Linda insisted that Wade was the killer, Marlowe asked what that had to do with you. Linda didn't answer and told Marlowe to come to her house for tea. Is Harlan Potter, the famous wealthy father, waiting for you there? Marlow asked, and Linda agreed.

Marlowe confronts Harlan Potter. Potter threatened Marlowe to withdraw from the case to protect his privacy. But Marlowe refused to give in. At the same time, Marlowe received a call from a man in New York. Marlowe received a call from a man in New York who told him that Terry was living in New York under a different name, Paul Marston. Marlowe called the police and found out that there was no record of Terry's military service at all.

Later, Marlowe was called by Wade. He was barefaced and was working on a novel. But when Marlowe questioned him about Terry's alias, he fell back into drinking. When Marlowe returned to the Wade house after a day at the lake, his wife, Irene, who had been out, came home. When he went to check on Wade, he found him dead with a gunshot wound to the head. Eileen blames Marlowe for Wade's death. However, Marlowe and Spencer, a publisher in New York who was the original client for the Wade case, visit Irene and take out a document. There was a shocking revelation: 。。。。

At first glance, the case seemed to be settled. However, Marlowe ignores the warnings of everyone involved and exposes the case to the media in order to clear Terry's name. After managing to overcome the repercussions that naturally ensue, Marlowe invites Linda Loring to join him for a glass of champagne. After various conflicts with Linda, Marlowe spends the night with her. After she leaves, Marlowe reminisces as follows

To say goodbye is to die a little.

Finally, a mysterious Mexican appears. All the mysteries are revealed, but Marlowe rejects him by uttering that famous line. Marlowe was the only one who believed in his friend's innocence and was trying to protect his honor. And yet, he just couldn't forgive the man for being a moral loser, could he?

"You bought a lot of me, Terry. For a smile and a nod and a wave of the hand and a few quiet drinks in a quiet bar here and there. It was nice while it lasted. So long, I won't say goodbye. I said it to you when it meant something. I said it when it was sad and lonely and final."

And Marlowe concluded the story with this.

"I never saw any of them again-except the cops. No way has been invented to say goodbye to them."

I have wanted to read this story in the original for many years. My dream has finally come true. After all, a masterpiece is forever a masterpiece.

ロング・グッドバイ

#mystery #raymondchandler #mydailylife

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laguera25 · 3 years

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An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

#rammstein #richard z. kruspe #emigrate

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nothonks-ever · 3 years

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Punz' Amulet Lore (REAL NOT FAKE)

This is really fucking old but I realized that I had done a large portion of it so I mustered up all my motivation and managed to finish it. This was one of my first hc's for how Punz got his amulet that I scrapped a long time ago. I spent too much time on this to not post it tho lol

When someone works for Dream, you would expect them to be unfathomably wealthy, so the predicament Punz found himself in shouldn’t have been possible. Turns out Dream is more worried about paying with diamonds and golden apples than trivial building blocks. It made sense, in hindsight, diamonds were one of the most valuable things available, but Punz didn’t really need any of it.

This is what lead Punz here today, at the mouth of a cave roughly 7,000 blocks from spawn. Almost every cave near spawn had been searched, so going this far was the best way to guarantee the cave was untouched. The cave was vast, a warm light softly emitted from the torch in his hand casting long shadows across the cave walls. Punz searched through the cave’s winding tunnels and many dead ends, feeling more frustrated as he continued.

“Another dead end! Dude, how bad is this cave? I’ve barely gotten a couple stacks of andesite,” Punz grumbled to himself, walking back out the way he came.

Punz was never particularly lucky, he understood this, but his misfortune should at least be courteous enough to not interfere with his mining expeditions. Maybe next time if he brought Sam with him he’d have better luck, Sam had always been unbelievably lucky when mining.

After searching through the entire cave and only finding a small amount of what he’d hoped for, the figures strip mining for a bit may pose beneficial before moving onto another cave. Mining into a cave’s wall wasn’t very fun, if anything it was time-consuming, but he needed andesite, and the more materials the better.

I hear a zombie up here somewhere, Punz thought, mining up toward the noise, I hope this ends up being a good cave.

The last thing Punz expected was to be directly under the cave, so the zombie falling onto him came as an unpleasant surprise. A startled yelp escaped him before he was able to grab his ax and kill the zombie, allowing relief to replace the initial shock.

“It was just a zombie,” Punz chuckled to himself, bringing his torch up higher. He tried getting a good view of the cave from where he was standing, but it still looked pitch black. The rocks were surprisingly smooth against Punz’s hands as he pulled himself up.

“What the hell is this? There’s literally no way someone has already been this far out,” Punz grumbled, gliding his hand across the smooth stone walls in the corridor he mined into. He held up his torch to a wall, looking over the intricate carvings.

Punz turned around, pressing his back to the stone wall. There was no way someone back home made this, it would be completely lit up, but the walls were too well designed to be random. For a split second, Punz humored the thought of it just being a fortress, but the walls didn’t resemble any fortress he’d seen. The carvings continued down the hallway, long swooping designs spiraling together, it was almost beautiful. The corridors continued on, twisting and turning but never splitting or ending. The lack of mobs seemed strange as well, there was no light and nothing seemed to have spawned after the first zombie.

Eventually, the hallway opened up to a large entrance completely made of black stone. Going in seemed absurd, but Punz was curious. In all the years he’d explored, he’d never seen anything like this in the overworld, it shouldn’t exist. Why wouldn’t he go in?

Punz expected a lot of things when walking in, for it to be incredibly cold, to be ambushed immediately upon entry, and to eventually find nothing were the top three on that list. What he didn’t expect was for it to be warm inside the large structure. The air felt electric, surrounding him with restless energy.

The tunnels were hard to navigate, with everything being pitch black and made of the same material. Small rooms littered the structure’s hallways, which were all completely empty, with no chests, no torches, nothing. As Punz continued on throughout the structure the restless feeling in the air only increased, the identical rooms and hallways only worsening his unease.

The last room should’ve been no different from the rest, but upon entry, Punz found a small chest laying against the back wall. Watching each step with apprehension, he moved toward the chest across the small room. Opening a chest shouldn’t have been so hard, but his hands shook so fiercely that he was forced to take a moment to steady himself.

There wasn’t much inside the chest, some string, a reasonable amount of obsidian, small pieces of gold, and some arrows. Now the lack of defenses made sense, there wasn’t anything worth protection. Punz raked a shaky hand through his hair, breathing in a sigh of relief, There’s nothing here.

Rummaging through the small chest, grabbing the small pieces of gold and obsidian inside, he found a larger chunk of gold, wedged in between some arrows. Pulling it out farther showed that it was a medallion, hanging from a chain. Etched into the front were carvings that seemed to match the walls, swirlings lines that tangled together seamlessly toward the center. A flash of purple crossed his thoughts as the medallion gleamed against the torchlight, but upon further inspection, Punz found it was completely made of gold.

This is weird, I’d better get back.

Punz turns toward the door, pocketing the medallion.

A sickening hiss is heard from under him, sending him flying against the wall. Punz is only vaguely aware of the warmth spreading across the back of his head, the room spinning too rapidly to concentrate.

---

“Bad, Ant, have you talked to Punz recently? He’s been on since before I got here and it’s showing that he’s still on.” Sam asked, turning toward the two.

“No, I haven’t talked to him in a while but I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably just working on something. You could try messaging him though,” Ant replied, placing another glass block over the enclosure.

“You’re right, I should just do that,” Sam said, before messaging Punz a quick what r u up to? Sam still felt uneasy, Punz never stayed on for this long. The unease only worsened when he wasn’t getting a response. Of course, Punz could be busy, but he’s usually quick to reply, so why would now be any different?

He can handle himself, he’s fine.

Sam walked out onto the wooden path, following the familiar fauna.

He’s fine, he can handle himself.

Sam walked up the wooden stairs, up toward the large wooden house. Each step more frantic than the last.

He’s fine.

“Punz!” Sam called out into the empty house, his voice softly bouncing off the walls.

He can handle himself.

“Punz. Holy shit, Punz, are you okay?” Sam dropped down in front of him, ignoring the soft buzzing of the bees surrounding him.

“Hey, hey, Punz, Punz! Wake up! Come on,” Sam softly pats his face, trying to ignore the hair that stuck together, matted with blood.

“Oh god, please, be quiet.” Punz’ quiet whimper and meek attempt at escape only worry Sam further.

“Come on Punz, drink some of this,” Sam slowly tipped a potion of regeneration into his mouth, wary of how loose Punz’s grip was on the bottle.

Once Punz manages to guzzle down the potion Sam discards the now empty bottle, “Where the hell were you? I looked everywhere,” he wets a rag in the bee water and tries in vain to clean some of the blood from Punz’ head, staining the small pool a light pink.

“I just went out mining. Really, Sam, I’m okay,” Punz sends him a shaky thumbs up and a lopsided grin, the soft glare he receives back somehow hurts more than his throbbing headache, “Sorry you had to come all the way out here for me.”

Sam sighs, laying his head against the wall next to Punz, “I was headed out here anyway,” when Punz gives him a questioning glance Sam huffs out a small laugh, “Bee advice.”

Punz can’t help but laugh, wincing slightly at the sting of pain between his eyes, “Smartest person on the server and can’t figure out bees? You’ve really fallen off, huh Sam?”

“They’re confusing and you know it. They’re so fragile and get lost so frequently,”

“You literally build the most confusing shit with redstone, building a bee dome should not be this hard for you,” Punz has a point and Sam can appreciate the honesty, the worry from before seeping away as Punz seems to ease back into himself.

The setting sun casts long and bright colors across Punz’ face, showcasing every detail that Sam hadn’t noticed previously in his haste. Most noticeably a new medallion, strung along his neck, gleams purple in the sunset.

“I know I’ve been gone a while, but when did you get this?” Sam moves closer, softly cradling the medallion in his hand. It’s larger than what Punz would usually wear, but something flashier was never something Punz shied away from either.

Punz brings his hands up, shielding his eyes from the sun, and looks toward Sam’s center of attention, “What do you- oh.”

“I’ve never seen carvings like these before, they’re beautiful,” Sam looks up, stopped cold by the deep frown plastered across Punz’ face, “What’s wrong?”

“I've never seen that before."

#punz #punzop #awesamdude #dsmp headcanon #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp fanfic #c!punz #c!awesamdude #dsmp roleplay #dream smp fanfiction #my post #holy shit I actually wrote something

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beesandtreesblr · 3 years

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The Wildwood Tarot

My first deck, I bought the Wildwood Tarot of Mark Ryan and John Matthews illustrated by Will Worthington in 2017.

No, you don't have to have your first tarot deck gifted. What a load of gate keepy bullshit. Come to tarot as you are. There's no shame in store bought.

This deck has served me well. It's incredibly responsive to my thoughts. I receive a coherent, meaningful spread 9/10 times I use it. With this deck I've come to identify myself with a few of the cards and know when I pull them they're meant to represent myself.

The art is impeccable for fantasy lovers and those with a penchant for western anachronism. It's based off of lore of the UK including Arthurian legend and other historical English folk lore with a heavy bent toward occultism and wicca. It's not completely true to the rider-waite deck but parallels it heavily for many aspects. (Which of course means it's appropriative of Jewish Kabalah)

I'm searching lightly for a new tarot or oracle deck these days. I've long since left wicca behind as my primary influence for my practice and cosmology. This deck still speaks to me when I use it, even if I don't hold it's influences so dear.

What have I done to make a good relationship with this deck? So that some 4 years later it's still my only one and responsive as ever?

Well, I certainly haven't cleansed it. Maybe to some this is essential practice. I don't find it's made a difference I dislike to have not waved burning herbs over it or left it in the moonlight. I also have not only used it on sacred mat or with pure intention.

I get a responsive reading from this deck even when distracted.

The big pay off of this post is that I don't find tarot to be particularly magical on its own. The mind makes the meaning. The cards themselves show up as they will from chaos and our own intentions. Well, I guess that is what I consider magic. The mutualism of ourself and the other making autonomous choices.

And for sure, my deck is its own being. It's certainly not directly a part of me. It has its own sulfur, salt, and mercury. I just interact with it.

Perhaps it is precisely that I've never told it it needed to be cleansed to be good.

I don't pretend to know better.

And really, I don't ask too many questions of its wisdom. I find that if I ask the same question in too short a time the deck gives a muddled answer. If I ask but don't care about the answer it gives me sass. It likes when I know the questions I have and the placement of aspects before we start. It's ornery if I ask a simple question and pull many cards for answer.

If I come to this deck as a friend, it gives me plenty to ponder with deep chaotic symmetry, showing me the same cards for years in a row so that I know which cards represent myself and what aspects of the cycle I struggle to inhabit.

I don't need to force this deck with my own magical gymnastics. I trust it, give it its autonomy, and so it reads me.

I think it's a part of why I haven't needed or wanted to buy a new deck in about 4 years. It's why even if I get a new one I'd return to this one often.

Oops, how relationship anarchy enters into my relationships with my belongings, my beloveds.

#tarot #wildwood tarot #witchblr #witchcraft #magic #animism #relationship anarchy #anarchism

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adverb-slut · 4 years

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Breakpoint (Fanfiction) Part 3/6 | Asmodeus

I wrote this back in February, but I keep forgetting to post things on Tumblr, so here it is super late. Thank you to the anon who reminded me to do it! Chapter 4 (Levi’s chapter) has been in the works since February, too ... fret not, it’s coming ... slowly.

As per the usual, you can read this chapter on AO3 here.

Title:

Breakpoint

Summary:

These are the tales of when Belphegor, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Leviathan, Mammon, and Lucifer each decided to actively rebel against their Father and together incite the Great Celestial War.

Genre:

Backstory/Lore

Rating:

Word Count:

3263

Additional Note:

This chapter chronicles the breaking point of Asmodeus!

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 2 | Beelzebub here!

“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.” — Genesis 6:4

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job.

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame. They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel.

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else. He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge. He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen. The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field.

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either. Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned.

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends. Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent.

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months. Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from her that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years. Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual. He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red.

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling.

She was the sun, the moon, the stars.

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it? As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, this one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing.

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.” Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere. Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even toe the line in that realm of disobedience.

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done that before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head. “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily. She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers. The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent. “You’re so beautiful.”

He could feel his face flush. He’d never been called that. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted. It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened. Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck. “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever.

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited.

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light. He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune.

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller. He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he truly more beautiful than Lucifer?

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume. “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you done, child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly. He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly. He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God. Although he knew that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this lust that consumed you yesterday. The very laws that I created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted. He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on. “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, child, feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.” He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence. “ Love .” If he could get his Father to believe that lust—what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged.

“Love?” the Almighty thundered. “Child, you cannot love a human. It was I who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It was love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted. He then realized that he wasn’t even lying. The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly was love.

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor. His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him. Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals.

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins. A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never seen his Father this incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to imagine it.

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display. “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns.

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “Look up, foolish child.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne.

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded.

Asmodeus took a deep breath. Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin? Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes. Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him.

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of only his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well. “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

A vision, he realized. Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty. Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves. A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach. There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘love,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped. A child? His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body. “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes. I shall call this brand of creature, 'Nephilim',” his Father glowered. “In any case, this cannot stand.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled. “Come again, Father?”

“I created humans to populate the Earth. Angels were never part of My plan.” God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor. “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your lust, Asmodeus.” His Father’s tone was decided. “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge. She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.”

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus. This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom. The two figures laughed as if all was well.

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach. There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head. “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down. “Be careful when you promise ‘anything,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement.

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side. Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined. By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering. “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you. In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth. “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for? Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed. He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized.

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom. The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new Guardian Angel. There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily gagged—repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur. “You’re allowing that human man to raise mine and her’s child as his own?” He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled. “You are a Guardian Angel; you live to guard humans that have asked for your protection. You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?” While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of life, he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.” Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son. Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as think of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings. Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold. Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.” There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.” Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey. Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall. And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human. It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than lust. You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time. However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty. His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge was love, no matter how He twisted it. And that love would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to.

There was only one word he could answer with.

“No.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me swd #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic

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dietaku · 6 years

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Chapter 6: Video Games Have the Deepest Lore

I’ve been wanting to do this chapter for a while, so I hope you enjoy it! Also, Adventures of Hourai High is not only real, it’s perhaps my favorite SNES jRPG. It’s definitely worth checking out!

I stood up, dusting myself off, as I spied the quiet hamlet we tumbled into. A quaint village lay before us, with three large buildings standing before us. As I looked back at my friends, Zechs groaned.

“I landed on my keys,” he whimpered, removing his shades as he staggered to his feet. Jake loomed over him, arms crossed, as he helped Errin and Potato up.

“Zechs, about that motorbike, is that the ChromeBuster?” he asked, as Zechs nodded.

“Yup!” he beamed.

“Zechs,” Jake sighed, uncrossing his arms just to knead his brow,”WHY are you using a real cash item like the ChromeBuster?”

“B-because I liked the aesthetic. Plus, I got a special on the items, and I got the platinum gems, and...Oh crap, I shouldn't have told you that,” Zechs muttered, as Jake loomed over him.

“Zechs, did you have platinum gems, and you didn't tell us?” Jake asked pointedly.

“Um...Yes?”

“And you forced me to work for more?” I joined in, as Zechs stepped back from us.

“W-Well, I didn't want to spend my hundred thou on stuff for the guild. That was for me,” he protested, as Jake, Potato and I looked at each other, then back to him. Only Errin and Jun, patting each other down and laughing at their good fortune for surviving, didn't join in the unspoken judgment of our Breaker.

Jake then kneaded his brow once more, and said some incredibly rude things to Zechs, which naturally drew Jun's attention.

“Ms. Errin, what does it mean to F*** a goat like the dirty W*** you are, you cantankerous C***?” he asked, as Errin shook her head rapidly.

“Good boys shouldn't use those words,” she said, as he nodded gravely, understanding the temerity of Zechs' transgression. I sighed, shaking my head.

“Does this mean I don't need to 'earn' my keep now?” I asked tersely, as Jake shoot his head.

“No, this one will, though,” Jake growled, pulling Zechs up by the scuffs of his coat.

“Please, no! I wouldn't survive working with my body!” he wailed, as Jake laughed cruelly.

“Oh, don't worry, you'll earn your keep from here,” Jake pointed cruelly down to Zechs' backside as he went white with fear.

“Y-You don't mean--”

“Oh, for the love of---I mean your wallet, you dingus!” Jake corrected, as Zechs sighed with relief. I ignored the continuing banter as I looked up. Before me sprawled a large city square, hemmed in by three large objects. Before me rose a dense forest of fir trees, and bizarre reddish shrubs I couldn't put a name to. The lone path inside this dense bramble marked the spot as the meeting site of the Wardens of Nature. To its left loomed a Gothic castle, made all the more spooky by its apparent emptiness. Despite seemingly abandoned, the masonry looked in god repair, and even several of the gargoyles were patched with fresh cement. The welcome mat before the castle gate denoted it the home of the Soldiers of Virtue. To my right stood a dilapidated stone building. With crumbling walls, hoary bronze gates and two wizened lion statues guarding its doors, the sad plaque emblazoned on the gate identified the site as the meeting place of the Scholars of Wisdom..

“So, this is what the princess meant by the three Great Societies, I suppose,” I mused, as the others caught up with me,” Did you all know about this?”

Jake and Potato nodded, while Zechs shrugged, and Errin and Jun looked at each other quizzically.

“Of course I knew about Treisegen. I was honestly wondering when we were going to end up here. Potato and are both Soldiers of Virtue. What Society are you part of, Zechs? Jake asked, as Zechs coughed.

“Well, I, uh, y'know...The thing is, I'm very busy, and....I never joined any,” Zechs admitted, not looking at him.

“Well, you are today. You're gonna join the Soldiers of Virtue! Where are you headed, then, Dieter?”

I tapped my chin,” I'm not too wild on the Soldiers of Virtue or Scholars of Wisdom. I guess I'll settle for the Wardens of Nature.”

“I suppose I ought to join the Scholars of Wisdom,” Errin said, as Jun trotted behind her,” And I suppose Jun is coming with me?”

“Yes, I want to learn,” he grinned, as I chuckled, tousling his hair.

“You listen to Ms. Errin, okay?” I told him, as he excitedly nodded, trotting off as I waved.

“We'll let you get situated, and we can plan further tonight,” Jake called, as I gave him a thumbs up. Trotting off onto the path into the woods, I soon found myself in a small clearing, where a skinny bald man lounged on a tall rock before me. He was notable partially for his seat, but what really drew my attention was his striking garb; his modesty held by a furry tiger loincloth.

“Oi, you here to join up?” he asked, as I nodded.

“You know, this place is, like, serious and stuff, it's not just a place for orgies and the like,” he called, as I shot him a glare.

“What was that for?”

“Oh, nothing,” he waved off my retort,” Just most Floof Clanners who join clique up and just want to spend all their time together rather than partaking in Nature's sweet mysteries.”

I crossed my arms,” I've no interest all that. Show me what you got.”

He grinned,” That's what I like to hear. Follow me.”

Leading me through the forest along a small path, he stopped as the forest opened up around a large pool of...

“Mud?” I asked, scanning the clearing. Before me was a pit of bubbling gray emitting a pungent odor. Feeling dizzy just being around this bubbling pit, the man sighed.

“Oh, it's no good. No good, no sirree,” He grumbled.

“What's no good?”

As if to answer his question the mud rumbled, and a large beast rose out of the mud, a gigantic, squat beast with dark fur. It yawned, revealing broad, flat teeth from its grand, bulbous maw.

“A Hippopotomuds,” the man warned,” It moved into the mud beds since the last time we initiated a new member. You better rough it up to get it out of here.”

“I suppose,” I frowned, rolling up my sleeves as I strode forward. My fist swirled with the chill of air sucking away; the skill I learned in my battle with Marmalade.

“FIRST ATTACK! VACUUM FIST,” I roared, hitting the beast cleanly with my skill. I felt my skill reverberate through my foe's thick body, as it lazily looked up at me, and smacked me away with its large head.

“Ugh, I guess this means I was correct after all. Vaccum Fist really is useless after all. Take that, Jake!” I grimaced, jumping to my feet and back into the battle. “SCREAMING JETTER KICK,” I hissed, battering the muddy monster with explosive kicks. Alighting back on my feet from my tempestuous fusillade of strikes, I clenched my fist. Now, this is the end, baddy! BRUTAL SHRIKE DA--! I managed as my fist lurched back, as if hitting an invisible barrier,” BRUTAL SHRIKE DA--. BRUTAL SHRIKE DA--! WHY ISN'T THIS WORKING?” I wailed, as I looked through my vision at my Art Cells, now completely filled with arrows. In my haste, I completely forgot about the limitations of Art Cells.

“You okay?” the man called, as I snorted.

“This is nothing,” I smirked, dong my best to hide my worry. Art Cells degenerated after ten seconds, and I currently possessed nine. To do my most basic skill, Screaming Jetter Kick, required two. Making the next twenty seconds the most critical to my well-being The Hippopotomuds rose from the mud, and snorted, its glare zeroing on me, as it slowly stomped forward, shaking its large head menacingly. Leaping aside did little as its snout caught me, hurling me into a tree. Using the momentum, I jumped back into action, only to be batted aside.

“Perhaps boasting about this wasn't the best thing,” I muttered, stabbing myself in the chest with Kindly Jab. Thankful my team skills didn't require any Art Cells, I looked up at my Art Cell Line, just in time to see two open up. Grinning manically, I leaped forward with a madman, sweeping forward with my kick.

“SCREAMING. JETTER. KICK,” I keened, slamming my kick into the beast as it groaned in pain. Slowly rising, it shuffled off, as I stood victorious.

“Yeah, you better run!” I called, turning to the man,” So, what's with this mud, anyways?”

“Oh, you just need to bathe in the mud. That way you'll receive Nature's blessing upon you.”

“And this isn't anything weird?”

He laughed,” Oh, no, not weird at all!”

I sighed with relief and looked over the steaming cauldron of mud for a moment, before removing my gi and shoes as I turned back around, finding the man casually watching me.

“...What are you doing?” I asked testily.

“Just ensuring you're actually entering the mud properly. You really ought to wear as little as possible,” he opined, as I snorted. I wasn't removing my bindings and fundoshi.

“Whatever, weirdo,” I grumbled, slipping into the mud.

“My name is actually Gribbs. I'm the guide to the Wardens. Now, relax and enjoy your initiation, newbie,” he cackled, disappearing into the brush. As I settled into the mud, I sighed, enjoying the warmth on my bare skin as I sighed contentedly. Despite the odd smell, the mud felt nice and the pleasant morning sun shone pleasantly upon me. Slipping deeper into the mud, I felt more and more lightheaded, as the sunbeams danced and visions shone before my eyes. A pair of women stood over me, arguing with each other, shoving each other back and forth, one an auburn haired Floof with an impressive set of tails, while the other I recognized as Ayin He, the War Goddess. The pair shrieked at one another in a language I couldn't make out, before they disappeared as swiftly as they appeared. In their stead, I saw the auburn haired Floof woman once more, surrounded by adoring human women adorned in beautiful silk gowns. They were soon replaced by an ever increasing procession of Floof men and women, which finally ended in a man and woman who included Deegal's mother. The others disappeared, and Deegal's mother revealed a small bundle from behind her, as the two looked despondent. Eventually, the man left, leaving the woman in her own despair. However, just as she too left, a flash of sunlight hit the small bundle, and a tiny arm rose up, from its depths grasping at her. Realizing what happened, Deegal's mother scooped up the bundle crying tears of joy, and I realized what it all meant.

I was that bundle. Oh, God. Does this mean.....

Before I could continue this train of thought, new visions assaulted me; a tower in the center of a bustling nation, with happy, contented people, only to be swept aside by waves of flame and descending angels. Those who survived were branded with painful reminders of this transgression, as the Earth itself was slowly scoured. Then, ten stars alighted in the sky, and as quickly as it began, this apocalypse ended. Further visions haunted me, from a distinguished Loppo woman garbed in silver and red robes descending to a city of pagodas and fearful Pan'Tou. Then, at last, a single Loppo fell from the moon gracefully, to a grand city with a castle and a sprawling city, which I recognized as Grafzou.

“So, this is it, then. I'm just a magnet for bad luck, then. First I can't even be born correctly, and now this Loppo man from before. It seems there is no rest for me,” I thought,” Well, excpt maybe Jun. He's a good boy.”

I floated in this pleasant fugue for what seemed like hours before I blinked in the evening sun, as I felt the mud shift beside me. Rising to my full height, I gasped when I saw my neighbor. Beside me sat Dennis, grinning at me sleepily.

“Why do you always show up whenever I pass out?” I demanded, as Dennis tapped her cheek thoughtfully.

“I dunno! Why do you keep passing out around me?” she asked, nonchalantly.

I snorted,” Whatever, what do you want, anyways?”

“How rude! I'm a Warden of Nature, too! I just saw you in the pool of initiation, and I thought I'd join you,” she smiled, flashing a ring on her finger.

“What's with that ring?”

“Oh, this?” she smiled,” This is the Eternal Communion Ring you gave me, to symbolize our union.”

“Our what?” I asked.

“Our Union. When you were celebrating your adulthood with Pai Zuri, you and I enjoyed some time together, and it was then you told me,” I'm sorry you've been alone. You're really pretty when you smile, I'll be there with you. Forever.” You then gave me this ring as a symbol of this promise. I decided to let you have some time to yourself. I'm a kind wife, you see,” she smiled, as I blanched,” Oh, do you want to be the wife, then?”

“I...No,” I sighed. I didn't recall anything about that night, save my attempts to sing Qwest. I know, I know, it was cliche choice, but if I didn't sing “Don't Stop Doubting” badly, then who would? Still, this just raised more questions than it answered, and my concern must;ve showed on my face, as worry crossed over her face, as she fidgeted with her hands hurriedly.

“So...Are you denying it?” she ventured, as I shook my head slowly.

“No. I won't take back that if I did tell you that. Do whatever you want. I-I just don't remember, is all,” I mumbled. If I did tell her that, then who was I to back out now? That was the way my arents taught me, so I'd stick to my word, even if I regretted whatever drunken promises I made. Donning my clothes as I climbed out of the pool, they quickly slipped off my skin,” W-what the hell?”

Dennis giggled, pointing at my shoulder, now covered in a faint green swirling tattoo. Sure enough such flourishes covered my body as I looked myself over.

“Those are Nature Seals, the mark of initiation into the Wardens of Nature. To have those upon your body counts as clothing. You can only be garbed with very special and specific clothing,” she replied, as my heart sank.

“And how do I remove these, then?”

“You have to be fully initiated into the Wardens of Nature. Then they'll disappear.”

“Oh,” I sighed. Looking over my gear, I found only one armor was compatible with the Nature Seals: Aharel's Maidservant String. I groaned inwardly as I donned the slinky garment, Looking myself over, It seemed everything was in order, even if I suspected I was barely R-rated. Dennis looked me over with a small smirk, before tossing her blue cloak over herself.

“h, it's easy for you. You have a cloak,” I growled, as she tossed it off.

“What does it matter? We're here in the Wardens of Nature. No one will arrest us, and it's not like I'll catch cold. I'm an Ishtar Theurge. Why bother with the judgment of others? You're strong and beautiful, so take comfort in that,” she shrugged.

“D-do you really mean that?” I whispered.

“Of course! You and I are linked now. I would never lie to you,” she smiled, as I paused, thinking on her words.

“She's right. We're only with other Wardens here. Besides, what does it matter what others think? I'm the strongest among my party, anyways! I should enjoy this new freedom!” I thought. My epiphany must've shown on my face as Dennis brightened as well.

“C'mon, I want to see more of this place,” I motioned for her, rushing off into the woods. She and I ran through the woods, coming across numerous other Wardens as they contemplated Nature, planted trees or enjoyed the sun through the boughs of the trees. After frolicking, we finally sat down on a grassy hill and listened to Gribbs speak to several other Wardens below us.

“Nature itself has no morals, merely accepting what is. It is for this reason alone that we must preserve it. Humanity has its morals and values, and that is fine, but the only moral Nature teaches us is Life is sacred and must be preserved. This of course means other lives must end, but that is the beauty of Nature, to see that those with Will, Luck and Strength live. So, Life and the pursuit of its continuation is the one Virtue we espouse. All others are your own personal goals, and will be accepted as Nature accepts all, but do not confuse your own values with that of Nature's Will,” he warned, droning on and on about such philosophical points. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, I left the woods alongside Dennis, as I found the others camping around a small fire.

“Oh, wow, Dieter. I didn't know it was my birthday,” Zechs called, looking up as I paused, unsure what he meant. Dennis giggled, and as his meaning dawned on me, I growled back at him loudly.

“Momma, why are you dressed like you're gong to the beach?” Jun asked, as I knelt down and tousled his hair.

“I had to do some things today near some mud pits. I didn't want to get my clothes dirty, I explained, as I scowled.

“I wanna t'go to the beach, too,” he grumbled.

I patted him on the head,” When we're done here, we can go to the beach.”

“You promise?”

I beamed,” I promise!”

“Oooooh, who is this?” Dennis asked, sidling up beside me.

“I'm Jun. I'm a Rancher. Who are you?” He asked bluntly.

“She's a friend of mine, Jun. I want you to be her friend, too, okay?”

He nodded, rummaging through his pocket, before revealing a glass rose he handed to Dennis.

“A Porcelain Rose! You can only find those in the Subterranean Depths! Thank you, you're quire the gentleman,” she patted him on the head as he chuckled proudly.

“Once again, the little kid gets all the attention,” Zechs grumbled.

“Well, then, what did you learn from your time with the Soldiers of Virtue?” I asked.

Zechs shrugged,” Not much. I was taken to their inner sanctum and told about their history. Then I saw the mausoleum of their four founders, and saw their mummies. You'd never guess it, but they were these weird Qwibon-man things. And they all had extremely radical names, too, like Thomas, George, John and Benjamin.”

“Things were different back during the Green Age, Zechs. Lots of things were different,” Jake stated sagaciously, as Errin looked up from her soup, clearly impressed.

“Oh? That's very impressive that you know all that,” she called, as Jake shrugged.

“I just know that since I read all the fluff text for items and quests. Unlike these two,” he scowled, pointing at Zechs and myself.

“Hey! I have things I gotta do! I don't care what dead guy decided to mix mushrooms and Healing Herbs together to make potions,” I countered, as Jake shook his head.

“Then what have you learned?” he asked.

I paused, choosing my words as I spoke,” I...I realized we may not be in a game. This may be entirely real.”

“Bullshit,” Jake spat,” Entirely bullshit. How can this be real? This isn't the real world, and all this magic, these gods and demons? How can any of this be real?”

“Yes,I know! It's crazy, but, Jake, listen! I've seen things. I've met Deegal's mother, and I honestly think this may be a real world all its own. There's too many little things that tell me this! The trash on the street, the way people talk to us, the fact that they have bathrooms! Do you even REMEMBER a game that has bathrooms coded in?”

“Adventures of Hourai High has bathrooms,” Zechs pointed out.

“I....Yeah, you're right. Still! I think this is bigger than we initially thoguth,” I said, as Jake arched a brow.

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I dunno. I guess revisit Princess Catalina. She's the reason we headed this way ourselves,” I muttered, as Errin nodded.

“I'm beginning to feel the same way as Dieter. I noticed in my time here I've begun to recall things I would never -could never- know. Yet, I do. What does this all mean? I searched for answers during my time with the Scholars of Wisdom, but alas, nothing has come up,” she sighed,” In any case, I need to get up early, so I'll be turning in soon. Good Night.”

With that, Errin waved, and began unrolling her bedroll, as Jake nodded,” She raises a good point. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

With that, Jake, Zechs and the others wandered off to their own corners of the small clearing, collapsing asleep in their bedrolls, as Potato and I sat alone around the embers of the fire.

“So...You gonna explain to me why Jake things you're a guy?” I asked finally.

Potato looked up, removing her large top hat,“You're a guy. You wouldn't understand.”

“Oh? Go ahead, try me.”

Potato coughed, her voice becoming a fluty tone,”When I met Jake, he was a weakling who had no sense of the game or its mechanics. In spite of this, he tried his very best and never gave up, even when death looked him square in the eye. Because of this, He....He...I wanted to help him. I made a new character and everything, and even crafted this new persona as 'One of the guys' to help him, all because I loved seeing him sparkle so, growing and learning. All this for m, this is nothing. I love numbers and I love games. I'm a programmer in real life. I make websites and the like. Figuring out the underlying logic of Slidelands was simple. However, Jake didn't see it like that. He saw it as a world, and that's why I want to help him...”

“Because you want it to actually be a real world, don't you?”

Potato covered her face as her cheeks grew a deep crimson,” Y-yes, but there's other reasons.”

“O-oh. Oh God,” I snickered,” You-you actually like him, don't you?”

“See!” she squeaked, covering her face,” You don't understand! I told you!”

“Now, now,” I patted her on the back,” It's cool. I getcha.”

“Why are you so buddy-buddy with me, anyways, then? You trying to seduce him, too?” she whispered.

I snorted,” No. Absolutely not. Jake is a friend, and that's where that ends. However, you seem nice enough, and hey, it's cool you opened up to me like you did. If you need a wingma—erm, wingwoman, then I'll help you out!”

Potato wiped her eyes,”Thank you. I appreciate that. I guess I ought to have known a DPS like you would get it.”

“I—Huh?” I asked, as Potato giggled, waving as she too wandered off to bed. I sighed, tossing out my bedroll, as both Jun and Dennis sidled beside me. I fell asleep sandwiched between two squirming Floofs as I swiftly fell asleep.

I spent the next few days learning the ways of the Wardens of Nature, meditating in the woods, picking berries and listening to Gribbs' rambling diatribes about the aspects of Nature and the underlying sense of it all. No new epiphanies came to me during this time, but after performing a an afternoon of yoga, Gribbs approached me.

“You've done well, but now is the time for you to prove yourself. You must face the guardian of the forest, Humbaba.”

“He doesn't sound so tough. I'll take care of this,” I smirked, as Dennis trotted beside me.

“I'm not so sure, Deegal! Humbaba is a Divine Beast, tasked by Aleph Lamed to terrorize Humanity since antiquity! He won't be so easily cowed!” she pleaded.

“What do you suggest, then?” I arched my brow. What strange advice would she offer me? She rummaged in her cloak before producing a small pouch, offering it to me,” This is a small charm I made. It will boost your Luck.”

I took the amulet, not wishing to tell her my Luck was among my higher attributes,” Thank you. I'll wear it for you.”

I tied the amulet to my waist straps and trotted along behind Gribbs as Dennis waved me off We traveled together for an indeterminate time, as the Sun hid behind the boughs above us, with just flecks of light falling through the rare spaces in that dense armor from the sky. We walked along, till reaching a clearing, where Gribbs stepped aside. I blinked in the bright light, as I stepped back in fright. Before me sat a gigantic man-thing. He possessed the body and limbs of a human, but he was easily as tall as a two story house, and his head was that of a glowering lion, mane and all. Immediately spotting me as I jumped back, his attention turned to the pair of us as he shifted to face us.

“Gribbs, who is this you bring to me? Another play-thing to torture?”

“Master Humbaba, this is the latest supplicant to our order. I merely ask that you test her, to see if she is worthy of our order's inner secrets,” Gribbs asked, as Humbaba laughed. Standing, he loomed over even the treeline, as he looked down as me, his breath now hot and smoky.

“Small child, you stand before me a supplicant, then? Yet you also are a demigod, one of Hu Shian's despicable children. I will enjoy this,” he sneered, as he roared, a flash of flame and roaring steam spewing towards me. Leaping out of the way, I danced from Tree to tree as his offensive continued, sweeping his arm along, smashing over the trees. I hopped above his trundling barricade of flesh, running along its length until delivering a hearty Vacuum Fist to his cheek.

“GOTCHA!” I cheered, as Humbaba groaned in pain, before snatching me out of the air. Squeezing me in one hand, he gloated with a rumbling chuckle as his grip about me tightened.

“Little demigod, even with the divinity your bloodline gives you, you are nothing compared to me! I was granted seven terrors to array myself against you and all the other humans! Just skitter off to the rest of your disgusting race!”

“N-no,” I wheezed, as I felt my muscles and bones squeezed, bones cracking, muscles screaming out in pain. In this moment, my mind blanked, and I Bit his finger harshly. He howled in pain, loosening his grip as I let the flaring call of World Ogre's Mask overtake me.

“I dunno where you get off just mocking me like that, but I won't stand it,” I hissed, as I felt the pain of Alluring Tail Whirlwind. I stepped towards the giant with but one thought running through my mind; to destroy this monster utterly. He paused, stepping back himself as he flexed his fingers towards me.

“An impressive display, but your disgusting magic means nothing to me! Die in your own mind,” he cried, as a flash of flame covered me. Ignoring this torrent of heat, my temper flared. Lunging forward with several of my tails, I felt my power surge ever higher as “World Ogre Cleaver” flashed on my action menu. Whatever magic he employed cracked before him as spectral blades materialized about my tails, as he stepped back once more.

“What. Is. THIS? Destruction of Magic? Only a god could achieve such a feat! I-Lady Ayin,” he gasped, as I screwed up my face, my tails firing forward, slashing him with cruel slashes. He collapsed to his knees before me.

“Lady Ayin, I apologize. I didn't realize you were reborn. Please forgive this impudent slave,” he grovelled. I blinked, and my Rage dissipated like the fog on a sunny day. I scanned my menu and found my health barely at half.

“But World Ogre Mask only triggers if I'm at critical levels? What happened?” I thought, before realizing Humbaba still lay prostrate before me,” Ah, well, you are forgiven. Now, do I pass your test?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. You pass, of course,” Humbaba rose,” Gribbs give this one the lessons. I must return to the Cedar Forests. If Lady Ayin has returned, then her temple must be rebuilt.”

“Oh. Very well, then,” I called, turning to Gribbs as he looked at me with both awe and surprise.

“Very well, then, come along,” he motioned, as I trotted along behind him.

“Do you know why we gave you the Nature Seals when you first joined us?” he asked.

“No, what was that all about?”

“We bury our initiates in mud as their first task as symbolic of how, much a like a seed, they are beginning their journeys towards understanding. Then, we expose you all to the flames and danger of Humbaba in order to force you to grow. All those who cannot make it, well...” Gribbs looks away..

“You had them killed?”

Gribbs sighed,” Nature can be cruel, but fair. We like to think we're adopting her methods. With that, though.” He whispered a series of hushed syllables, and the tattoos along my body vanished.

“You don't mean,” I cried.

“Yes, you are free to wear clothes again, as a full Warden of Nature,” Gribbs declared, nodding, as I cheered. Donning my old gi, I spun about triumphantly, rushing towards the exit as Dennis perked up at my arrival.

“Oh! You made it! I mean, I knew you would, but....Well,” She mumbled, as I laughed.

“It wasn't anything,” I guffawed, putting Humbaba's strange surrender out of mind,” Now, c'mon, let's get the others.”

As we returned to the forum, we found ourselves alone, save for other Player Characters milling about. Meditating as a way to pass the time and raise my Holiness Skill, which raises my Spirit, I soon fell asleep, as a presence loomed over me, before I blinked awake, finding Jake and Zechs standing over me.

“I didn't figure you'd be goofing off so early in the day,”Jake mused, as I leaped to my feet.

“I was training! Meditating to raise my Spirit!” I countered.

“Yeah, sure. You drooling on yourself while meditating is a thing, too, right?” Zechs observed, as I shot him a glare.

“What do you guys want, anyways?” I asked, wiping my mouth.

“We just got Zechs initiated into the Soldiers of Virtue. If you want to continue elsewhere, then we can,” Jake explained.

“I was initiated early this morning. It's just the Grandmaster who had to go on and on with the prayers, benedictions, and rites for hours and hours on end aft—OWOWOWOW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” Zechs complained, as Jake slapped him upside the head with an armored hand.

“Those 'prayers and benedictions' were to extol you to further glory! Something you should've took to heart,” Jake growled. Before Zechs could reply, Jun bounded over him, crashing him to the floor as he rushed to my side, proudly presenting me with a diploma.

“Look! Look! I'm official now! I'm a smart!” he beamed, as I looked over the paper.

“This certifies Jun as a proper and rightful Scholar of Wisdom, fully certified to explore and plum the depths of all mysteries of this world and others. Wow, congratulations,” I patted him on the head, as Errin chuckled, walking up beside us.

“Indeed, despite his lack of schooling, his sense of logic and deductive reasoning are exemplary. Now, we're both licensed as Scholars What do we do now?” Errin asked.

“We need to get back to Grafzou. I need to talk to Princess Catalina and see for myself if my theory is correct,” I said.

“Oh?” Jake asked.

“Yes. I need to find out for myself if this really is a game or not,” I said.

Jake snorted,” There's no need. This is obviously a game.”

“But if you want to get from here back to Grafzou, then I recommend going along the Air Line bridge,” Potato interrupted, hopping down from a nearby tree,” It won't remove the need to travel along the Veeya Stream entirely, but it will cut off a good portion of the way, making it quicker. There's something else I remember is important, but....I can't recall what, though.”

“Well, then that settles it. Let's take this Air Line Bridge,” I declared as the others followed along,” One thing, though, where is it?”

Potato coughed politely, and took the lead, leading us off from the courtyard through a path to the east, crossing over a forested trail that weaved its way through the rocks and crags of the uneven terrain, painted with the falling leaves of the nearby trees. We traveled silently in this way for some times, as we came along a long narrow bridge made of woven metallic ropes seemingly pulled straight up from the ground itself. Walking along the platform of the bridge hesitantly as it vaulted at a steep grade up, I found, despite its narrow construction, it was of solid construction, and I soon forgot my dears, enjoying the view, all until the clouds about us parted and I spotted a lone figure before us.

“Oh. Now, I remember, “ Potato breathed.

“What? What is it?” I demanded.

Potato raised her trumpet,” This is the thing I was worried about.”

“What?”

“Ricky Raccoon,” she hissed.

“WHAT?” I demanded flatly as the figure approaching us came into focus. A roughly humanoid figure trotted forward, dressed in leather pantaloons and flamboyant red vests, covered in dark grey fur with a raccoon head, about as tall as Jun.

“Oh! Oh! OOOH! A bevy of beauties approaches me on my bridge! Well, I must've been a good boy in my last life! Oh, wait, I wasn't!” he cackled, as Jake sighed.

“What's your deal, little man?”

“I'm Ricky Raccoon, a Divine Beast formed by dear Lady Bet Mem! This bridge is my charge and I must charge those how travel along it! Now, if you want to, then I'll take one of your ladies, if you please,” he grinned maniacally, as I snorted.

“No chance,” I growled, as I rushed forward. As I shot ahead, I swung at his face. However, as my fist brushed his fur, he melted out of my sight, as I felt someone patting my backside.

“Mm, excellent, excellent. I prefer Loppo girls, but no one can deny the classics,” he chortled, as I spun about, slapping his hand as he wove out of sight again, dancing on the railing.

“NO ONE CAN HIT ME! NO ONE CAN HIT ME! NO ONE! WHOA-” he mocked, as Jake swung his hammer wildly at the weaving trickster,” You almost had me!”

“You slippery eel!” Jake roared, prompting only further laughter from Ricky Raccoon.

“Jake, keep calm! He's using an auto-evade skill, we can't just charge in blindly,” Potato called, as Jake fumed so badly, steam rose from his breathing slits.

“ABSOLUTE BATTLEFIELD MURDEROUS INTENT!” He roared, as a wash of killing intent flooded the air like a tsunami of solidified bad feeling, sending shivers down my spin, as Ricky Raccoon Leaped into the air.

“YOU! You did it! You did it! But, you have to know!, YOU CAAAAAAAN'T STOP THE RICKY!” He sang in a calliopean tenor. I grabbed my ears instinctively as the blast of the singing sent me flying backwards off the bridge. Hanging on the railing desperately, his pitch rose to an atonal wail, as I winced, grabbing my ears without thinking, and realized my mistake as I fell. Whistling through the air, I blacked out, presumably falling to my doom.

I awoke with Jun and Dennis hovering over me, as the pair sighed.

“Did we lose?” I croaked, as Dennis nodded slowly.

“We all got tossed off the bridge by that monster's bad singing,” she sighed, as I rose. I found we were in a simply furnished inn room, as Jun and Dennis rushed to my side.

“We're in the village of Feite right now, a small hamlet parallel to the Air Line. According to the locals we can get back on the Air Line if we cross northwest, but...As we are, there's no much we can do,” Dennis sighed.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I have no way to attack an auto-evading foe, and it seems like you don't, either,” Dennis frowned, as I nodded. I had no clue that such a benefit was even possible.

“Can you do anything about it, Jun?” I asked, as he shook his head.

“Rancher is a utility class. I can buff you all, but attacking isn't much I can do. Especially with that much Air energy around. Most of my attack Skills are Earth-based,” he said,” Sorry.”

“Potato, Jake, Errin and Zechs, seem to have a plan, though,” Dennis offered, as we found our fiends around a table on the first level, with Zechs lifting a bizarre sword. Its hilt was nothing special, but its blade was that of a meter stick.

“Now, Zechs, be careful, this weapon is incredibly dangerous,” Jake warned,” It will apply Sure Hit to all your skills, so if you use Area of Effect attacks, you WILL hit everyone within the area.”

“No need to worry, all my best skills are single target. Now, time to test this guy out! What is this sword's name, anyways?” Zechs asked, testing its balance.

“The Absolute Metric--”

“No matter. I'll call it the Frank Glabzarios,” Zechs interrupted, as Jake pursed his lips.

“Why did you ask if you were just gonna ignore me?” Jake demanded, as Zechs raised his sword, as the jar of cookies on the far shelf shot into his hands.

“OH BOY!” Zechs grinned, as he turned to me,” Oh, Dieter!”

“Hi--” I managed, as Zechs appeared before me, massaging my chest roughly, before warping back to his seat,” W-WHAT WAS THAT?”

“Nice, really nice,” Zechs grinned, as Jun nearly fell over out of shock.

“WHAT THE HELL, ZECHS?” Jake roared, as Errin shook her head, chuckling.

“I'm not sure what you expected, Jake,” Potato offered, sipping her tea.

“ZECHS, H-HE JUST MOVED THE WAY RICKY DID,” I squeaked, as Potato shook her head.

“Zechs didn't move. You did. This weapon, the Frank Glabzarios, applies Sure Hit, so if something is targeted, it will be hit by the user,” she explained.

“It's the Absolute Metric,” Jake sighed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I will be sure to use this weapon for great morality, just like the Grandmaster told me!” Zechs cried

“He said to use your power to protect others, not...grope people. Goddammit, Zechs,” Jake sighed, as Zechs teleported out of his seat and to the door.

“I'll be off training. See you all later!” Zechs called.

“We better follow him. Who knows what he's going to do with that much power,” Jake sighed, as Errin and Potato followed him out the door.

“Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” Dennis cooed, as I waved her off.

“I don't need anything. Just...I need warning from stupid stuff like that,” I sighed, as I followed the others outside.

The next few hours saw Zechs abusing space and time, as he warped about the small hamlet. Jun remained spooked as Zechs zipped about him. I secretly suspected he was doing it on purpose, but I didn't voice my opinions. Eventually, Zechs tired of his tomfoolery.

“Okay, okay, I think I got a hand for the Frank Glabzarios-”

“Absolute Metric,” Called Jake.

“Whatever. LET'S GO!” He cried, as we followed behind. Soon we fond ourselves back onto the Air Line, and before long, back against Ricky.

“You're back. Will you give me my toll?” he leered, as Zechs laughed.

“Hardly, you mutt! I'm gonna flay you alive so we don't have to listen to your singing! Seriously, it was like listening to a drowning cat on a blackboard!” he taunted, as Ricky paused. A bloody aura enveloped him, as Zechs reached for the Frank Glabzarios' hilt, as a cracking sound rang out and he winced.

“Zechs, what was that?” Jake asked.

“Promise to not get mad?” He asked.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“THE FRANK GLABZARIOS BROKE, OKAY?” Zechs cried.

“YOU IDIOT! That was our one shot at beating this guy It took me three hours to make that sword!” Jake roared, wringing Zechs by the neck, as Ricky leaped forward, lunging and removing their heads with a clean sweep of his paw.

“YOU INSULTED MY SINGING! YOU'LL WATER MY BRIDGE WITH YOUR BLOOD!” He screamed, as I scampered backwards, falling over my feet as Errin, Dennis and Jun all fell prey to Ricky's attack, before he slowly turned to me.

“Now, where were we? Oh! Oh! Oh! What do you think of my sing--” he managed as a boom roared out across the bridge as he collapsed to the floor with a smoking hole through his torso.

Out of the fog a new figure stepped forward. Dressed in a red leather coat, fashionable red trousers, and high boots, with a broad stetson perched on her head. This Loppo lass looked over her handiwork with a satisfied smile.

“You can 'bang' that!” she chuckled in a cutesy voice, as she coughed roughly, blood dripping from her lips,” Oh, god. That was harder than I thought.” I stared, partially out of shock, but also at my savior's name.

FluffyStar

[Neutron Drifter]

Level 12,345.69

#Adventure #fantasy #fiction #mmorpg #Photon Breaker Zechs

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chibinightowl · 7 years

Text

The Adventures of Sir Timothy Drake

For @curdleddoodle, who drew such wonderful things for Masquerade and To Rise Above. We both have an obsession with dragons, so here’s another take on it, in a whole new world where Tim finds himself in a rather unusual predicament...

~*~*~

Chapter One: The Unconventional Proposal

Sir Timothy Drake did not sign up for this. In fact, he never wanted to be a knight in the first place. But his mother insisted and what his mother wanted, she got, even if her son was woefully ill suited for it. He tried, he really did, and Sir Richard did his best to train him in ways that played to his strengths, but when it came down to it, Tim was not suited to be a typical knight.

Full plate armor just looked completely and utterly ridiculous on him. He could barely move under the added weight so he tried chainmail and had some success there. It wasn’t that Tim was tiny, it was just that he was built lean; even years at working with swords and other weapons of war, he could still be overcome by sheer brute force.

Except this was where his own talents came into play. Thanks to Dick’s training, he was fast, agile, and there was no one in the land who could beat him when there was a quarter staff within reach.

It still wasn’t enough for Lord and Lady Drake. Their son needed to be the perfect heir, skilled in the art of war, as well as diplomacy and strategy. The fact he’d rather be outdoors or in his stillroom didn’t matter to them. Or his workroom. He had hobbies and passions that were quite different from what was expected for the son of a noble house.

So this was how he found himself in this situation, riding his mighty steed (an extremely smart mare he named Robin, much to Dick’s delight) towards what he was certain would be a quick death. A dragon. His parents wanted him to slay a dragon and prove his worth as their heir.

As though they had other heirs laying around, ready to pick up and dust off.

Tim shook his head for the umpteenth time. It didn’t get any easier to stomach the thought. He was positive this was his mother’s revenge for Dick hiring the foreign Lady Shiva to secretly teach him all those years ago. Her anger burned cold and long, much like his was bound to do if he ever made it out of this alive.

He already had plans to leave his horse miles from the dragon’s cave was purported to be. At least one of them would survive.

That night, Tim sat before his campfire, eating what he’d started thinking of as his last supper. There were worse things than rabbit, he decided. When he was done, he reached into his saddlebags to take out his journal, a pen, and an ink jar to jot down his final thoughts. Writing helped clear his head as it was often the only way he could express himself properly. Perhaps some poor soul will find it one day and spare a thought for the deceased.

He settled against his saddle, angling himself so that the light from the fire illuminated the pages. His journal contained equal parts musings and observations, as well as ideas and diagrams for things he’d now never get a chance to try and build. It was pissing him off to the point where he couldn’t write. He threw he pen down onto the matted grass by his fire. The snap and hiss of crackling wood did nothing to help his mood, reminding him yet again that he was here in this dark forest about to meet his doom.

“Do my parents honestly think I’m coming home?” he muttered rhetorically as he flipped through his book. “Seriously, a dragon. It’s not like people come home after a confrontation with one.”

“I’ll say. Sounds like they’re a bit touched in the head.” The voice came out of nowhere and Tim jerked up, dropping his journal and reaching for his staff.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

The voice snorted in amusement and for a brief moment, the scent of brimstone overpowered the curling smoke of the fire. A man strode out of the darkness, toeing the ring of light cast from the campfire. Tim stood his ground, cautious as it was readily apparent he wasn’t dealing with a bandit or some other hooligan. For one, they wouldn’t be so well dressed, a black leather jacket paneled by red, trailing down over strong legs and finely crafted boots. The man wasn’t visibly armed, but he didn’t need to be in order to be dangerous. But it was his eyes that Tim couldn’t stop staring at. Such an incredible shade of blue, vibrant like a sapphire, and one that he shouldn’t be able to see this clearly in the shadows.

They were glowing with their own inner light.

“What are you?” Tim amended his original question.

“Just passing through and saw your fire,” the man replied with a roguish smirk and blatantly ignoring Tim’s second question. “It’s rare to see anyone in these parts. There’s a dragon not too far from here. People tend to stay away.”

Tim sighed, unable to stop himself. “I know. I’m not too keen on throwing my life away trying to battle it either.”

The man cocked his head to the side, never once blinking as he stared at him over the fire. “Then why are you here?”

That was a question Tim’s been asking himself for the better part of two weeks now. None of the answers he’d come up with are at all satisfying. “Family duty, I suppose. I’m the only heir of a small duchy, and my parents seem to believe that if their son becomes a dragonslayer, then a beneficial marriage offer will finally come their way.” He made a face at that, clearly expressing his thoughts on that matter.

“Bitter much?”

Tim can’t help the dark laughter that rises from the pit of his own internal despair. “You could say that. I have my own dreams to achieve and going off on a pointless quest isn’t one of them.”

The man’s laugh matched his and he took a step closer to the fire. The light struck his face, revealing chiseled features and a strong jaw that made Tim purposefully lock his knees to keep them from shaking. The only other man he’d ever seen who could even come close to being this handsome was Sir Richard and he refused to make an ass out of himself by falling on his face. Even though this person couldn’t possibly be human because normal eyes didn’t glow or have slits down the center for pupils. Inky black hair fell in disheveled waves over his forehead.

He tightened the grip on his staff, even as he wondered what kind of a chance he stood against whatever this person was. Tim was considered well read and knew the characteristics of all the races that lived in this world, even if he’d only ever met elves and dwarves on occasion when he traveled outside the duchy with Dick on his parent’s business. He’d even met a halfling once, and laughed all night while she cheated outrageously at cards.

But none of their eyes glowed like this. None of them had the hint of curled horns rising out of their hair either.

“Then let me ask a different question then,” the man stated. “If you’re so sure you’re gonna die, then why bother? You could use this chance to do whatever you want, go wherever, and not ever have to worry about what your parents think again.”

It’s something Tim has thought of too. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about that either,” he replied. “But it all comes down to duty. I’ve spent all my life trying to make my parents happy and perhaps this will finally be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.”

“That’s all well and good, but what about the dragon? He didn’t come lookin’ for a fight. Maybe he’s just tryin’ to do his own thing too, living his own life.” His hand shifted, adjusting a strap on his shoulder and Tim realized the man was carrying a rather large bundle on his back. He also brought up a really good point.

“I never thought of it that way,” he admitted. “My home is sorely lacking in dragon lore, so I’m not even certain how intelligent they are. Do you know then? Since you seem to live around here.”

The man’s lips twisted up into grin, the sharp points of very white canines catching the light of the fire. “I can assure you, the dragon is very intelligent. Much more than puny humans.”

Tim’s hands were starting to ache from the tight grip on his staff, so he consciously loosened them. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but you don’t seem like you want to kill me, so sit down and take a load off. That bag looks heavy.” He pointedly sat down on the ground, even though he kept his staff close.

His actions seemed to surprise the man as he again cocked his head to the side to stare at him curiously, like Tim was the fascinating and new creature to study. After a moment, he set a very bulky and heavy looking bag down and sat next to it.

Tim picked up a stick and poked at the coals, causing them to crackle and pop before they settled down again. This whole situation was feeling a bit surreal. It wasn’t like him to be so open in front of a complete stranger, let alone one who looked like a cross between a demon and an elf. There were butterflies in his stomach, and not just because of his upcoming face-off with a dragon. He sighed and caught the man’s eyes again. “I don’t normally do this,” he offered. “I’m just…nervous I guess. I’ve been in life and death situations before, don’t get me wrong, but this time…it just seems so pointless. At least the other times were in defense of my home and my people.”

The man nodded in agreement. “Your parents are a real piece of work, aren’t they?”

“Understatement.” Tim reached over to his saddlebags and pulled out a flagon of wine he’d picked up in the last town he’d visited. He took a sip and handed it to the man. “Here,” he said. “I was going to drink to my health tonight, but it seems rather silly now.”

“What are you gonna do if you don’t die tomorrow?” the man asked, accepting the wine and taking a sip of his own.

“Probably keel over from the shock of it.” No matter how Tim looked at it, he was going to be dead by tomorrow evening. “It’s nice of you to think positively, but come on. It’s a dragon. And I’m not exactly the knight in shining armor from the stories.” He gestured deprecatingly at himself.

The man’s eyes glowed even more brightly as he raked them up and down Tim’s lean frame. “No, you’re not,” he agreed after a long moment. “The stories are overrated anyway. So what are your plans for attacking a dragon?”

Tim shook his head, swallowing down the wave of despair that washed over him at the question. “I’ve no idea. Just wingin’ it, I guess.”

“Now there’s a plan.” The man winked at him, took another sip of wine, and handed the flagon back to Tim. The nails on his hand were dark and long like the ladies in his mother’s court could only dream of.

“Tell me about it.” Tim swallowed down a large mouthful of the fruity wine. It tasted more like juice than fermented grapes, but who was he to judge at this point in time? Still, he would have liked to be at least a little muddle headed when he finally passed out. Or not, it was his last night on earth after all. A bed companion would be nice, but he was pretty certain the man across his small fire was more than he wanted to tango with tonight.

But what a way to go.

“Seriously though, the dragon is smart,” the man spoke. “And you don’t seem like a complete dummy either. Misguided perhaps, but that’s typical of humans, I’ve noticed.”

“Definitely a character flaw,” Tim agreed, wondering yet again exactly what this man was. His horns were more pronounced in the light, black like his hair. They curled back and away from his face, almost like he was wearing a horned helm. But his dark locks gleamed in the firelight, dispelling that idea. “I’m not dumb either, although my current situation certainly makes it seem otherwise.”

“I saw a book earlier…” the man sounded curious.

Tim picked up his journal, the stiff leather cover starting to crack from use and age. He’s refilled the pages so many times, but the simple brown leather protecting them was of his own design. “My journal,” he explained. “I write a little, but it’s mostly sketches and diagrams of things I find interesting.”

“May I?” the man asked. “I’m a bit of a collector.” He purposefully elbowed his bag.

“Why not?” Tim huffed and scooted a little closer, not wanting to risk dropping the book in the hot coals. “It’s not like I’m going to need it after tonight.”

“Now that’s a fatalistic attitude, Sir Knight,” the man replied, accepting the book and delicately opening the pages to flip through them. His eyes widened in surprise. “You have a thing for birds, I see.”

Tim shrugged, used to that sort of reaction. “More like flight,” he said. “The idea behind it, what all allows a bird to take wing, and can it be replicated by humans.” This version of his journal was full of different birds, his observations on how they fly, and diagrams of their wings and tail feathers. “I don’t get a lot of time to myself at home, but my father loves falconry, so I often used hunting with him as an excuse to study the hawks and the falcons he keeps.”

“Birds of prey,” the man nodded in approval. “Built for speed, but also strength. But their wings and their bodies have evolved for life in the sky. Just how do you think you can beat evolution?”

It was something Tim had thought quite extensively about. “Keep going.”

The man quirked a dark brow at him, but did as he was asked. He stopped turning pages at one point and just stared before flipping to the next page and the next, much slower than he had before. It was readily apparent he was reading Tim’s notes and, if his slow nod was any indication, approving of them. It warmed his heart to finally meet someone who understood where his brain took him. Dick tried, he really did, but for all that the man was the first to throw himself into the air to fly on the trapeze his parents didn’t know was in their training yard, he never quite followed what Tim tried to explain time and again.

When he reached the end of the journal, the man closed it tight and stared fiercely at Tim from over the dying fire. “You are completely wasted on your parents. This brain of yours is a thing to be treasured, to be kept and used for the betterment of the world. What do I have to do to convince you not to waste your life fighting a dragon tomorrow?”

Tim ducked his head and chuckled weakly. “That’s awfully nice of you to say,” he said quietly. “But at this point, unless I come home married to some fantastically rich princess who can buy my parent’s love and affection, I may as well not come back at all.”

“Then don’t go back,” the man replied heatedly, rising to his knees to gaze down at Tim. “Stay here. The things I can show you, teach you…”

It was tempting, so tempting, and Tim couldn’t help but wet his lips at the thought of freedom from his parent’s rule, to be his own man, and travel the world, learning all there was to know and seeing all there was to see. But how could he do that when he was responsible for so much at home? With his parent’s travels, he was the one who ran the duchy in their absence, and doing a much better job of it than they ever did. There were people who depended on him and if he did manage to return home after his battle tomorrow, then perhaps he’d finally have the courage to oust his parents and send them off to somewhere they wouldn’t bother him anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke, refusing to look away from the intensely beautiful glowing blue orbs hovering above him. At some point, the man had moved from around the fire and was on his knees right next to him. “I have responsibilities and people I care for, and while my parents may not care for my life, I have to at least try for all of them.”

“You said coming home married to someone loaded would buy them off, right?” The man’s eyes blazed as they bored into Tim’s own pale blue ones.

“I was half-joking,” he tried, but the man raised a dark nailed finger and pressed it against his lips.

“But you were half-serious too.”

Tim huffed a laugh because this was starting to get ridiculous. He brushed the hand aside, noting how warm the skin was. “Are you trying to tell me that you’d marry me just to save my life?”

“Yes,” the man breathed. “You humans have such a short life span, so it wouldn’t be much of a chore. But given the chance, I think you could do more with your life than most do.”

“This is the strangest marriage proposal I’ve ever had,” Tim replied, his lips twisting into a half smirk of his own. “We’ve just met. I don’t know who or what you even are.”

Blue eyes brightened in apparent amusement as the man rocked back on his heels. Even seated as they are, he still loomed over Tim. “You may call me Jason,” he said, grinning toothily. “I’m the dragon you were sent to kill.”

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #JayTim #Dragon!AU

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incorrect-stranger-things-quotes · 7 years

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Ok this isn’t technically Stranger Things related, but I want to learn how to be a dungeon master for d&d and I was wondering if you have any tips for getting started? It’s a little overwhelming lol

I totally get what you mean, I’m pretty new to it and getting into it (I had never played the game at all before) was super intimidating and scary. First off if you’ve never played D&D before and don’t know if you’ll like it or have the time to play don’t spend any money, getting all the books is a huge investment and you don’t need to spend a cent to start playing or Dming.

The D&D official website has the basic player and dm rules for free here. It’s got everything you need to start as a player or dm barring some of the races and classes, but honestly it’s a little less intimidating not having to know about all of it. You don’t have to use a grid map, I do but it depends on you and your players, I use it just because I get pretty overwhelmed during combat especially with more than one enemy so I use miniatures I took out of a cluedo game (you can use print outs, stickers, whatever) and as a mat I use a piece of clear book contact with the grid backing still on, it’s like a dollar and works with dry erase markers so it’s pretty versatile depending on what you want. Dice can get pretty expensive since every player should have some but you can google a dice simulator or even get a phone app for it (there are tons of great apps for keeping track of spells and hp, even generating dungeons) so it’s really easy to play the game for free and decide if it’s for you. My Dm screen is a cardboard flap from a packaging box with these references stuck on, you can also use a folder and I’d also recommend the passive perceptions and armor classes of your players stuck on too.

I learnt the basic rules by splitting it into sections and taking some notes on the most important stuff e.g. half a page for combat, equipment, spellcasting, just the more specific rules like how to use range weapons and how to stabilise players, other stuff you’ll just remember with practise.

So when it comes to writing campaigns I’d start out with a super simple dungeon crawl to get the mechanics down. Write one or two NPC’s and just fill a dungeon with goblins or cultists or something and play out a kidnapping scenario. I know they sell starter campaigns but an entire campaign is pretty intimidating to read let alone write or run so a small oneshot adventure keeps the world building to a minimum and gets you straight to the meat of the game so you can get more comfortable with combat, exploration, writing and roleplaying while keeping the improv to a minimum. Also great are the oneshot campaigns you can find online, most people recommend pre-made for your first campaign and oneshots give you the best of both worlds with not having to write it yourself but not having to read a novel just to get started. I started of with these ones, they’re easy to follow and to the point (the second one is literally 6 pages) and you could easily incorporate them into a longer campaign. When it comes to world building there’s an insane amount of stuff online to help you but you can just start out with a small town and build out depending on what your players do, it means you don’t have to do it all in one go and as you get more confident with the way things work you can begin incorporating more complex towns, cities, enemies and governments. For NPCs I write a short paragraph on the important ones with their personality and motivation but keep it to a minimum.

When it comes to actually running the campaign I’d try not to have too many players, maybe between 2-4 just to make combat a little easier. The best tip I can give is make sure to collaborate with your players like the story is your job but knowing spells, race and class abilities and anything else character related is 100% on your players, you shouldn’t be expected to be an encyclopedia of D&D lore. It’s not fare for you to have to do all the preparation and players just show up so make sure they’re pulling their weight. Also make sure they know you’ve never done this before so they understand you might make some mistakes or the game might be a little slow. As long as everyone’s having fun your doing your job even if it’s not turning out how you want so don’t be too stressed about that.

I’m super new so this is just the stuff I’ve picked up so far but I’d recommend checking out the series by Matthew Colvile (intro to being DM), tabletop weekly (DM tips), Geek and Sundry (more general GM tips) and Don’t stop thinking (complete intro to playing the game), most of them have videos on specific aspects of the game so just watch the ones you think might be useful. Also if you have a question just google it, someone’s probably already asked reddit so just go exploring there. Also watching some D&D streams are super useful to just get your head around how to run the game, of course there’s critical role but Matt Mercer is like God tier and it’s a little intimidating, I prefer Dragons in places by game grumps, it’s way less intense on roleplaying and it’s got way shorter sessions.

I think that’s all I got but if you’ve got any specific questions just drop them in my ask, can’t promise I’ll know the answer but I’ll try my best.

#incorrect ask #sorry for the nerd dump #regular programming will resume shortly #this was fun to write #ask me about my niche interests #like hair dye and sewing

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meganmazing · 7 years

Text

another phlint rec list*

i’ve done one of these before (1), and phlint also shows up in one of my multi-fandom rec lists (2), so if you want more of these two, check those out!

click the titles and author names for links and remember to show love to your authors in the form of comments/kudos, they love it all, i promise.

READ THE TAGS AND WARNINGS ON EVERYTHING, PLEASE <3

(*except for one fic that is technically not phlint-centered, but it’s a sequel to a phlint fic and it is important and 100% recommended reading, plus Clint plays a role, so.)

Phil Comes Back

Never Sold a Lie by nerdwegian Words: 7k+ Rating: M

"The Life Model Decoys are designed with a self-sustaining Artificial Intelligence, with the project goal being for them to be able to pass as their Target Model in any given situation."

Road trip fic. Obviously.

EDIT: Now also available as podfic by the lovely, amazing shell!

YEAH, YOU DID READ THAT RIGHT. This story broke my heart, but becasue I am who I am (read: a massive sap), it has a happy ending. It’s Clint’s perspective and so the Clint feels are front and center, but I was thrown by how hard it hit me with the PHEELS. The grief is so well done on Clint’s part, and I love how the author dug right into that, BUT PHIL.

It’s not the road trip trope you’re expecting. No spoilers, becasue it’s better if you don’t know a ton going in.

ask ourselves what road to take by topaz Words: 47k+ Rating: E

Clint knew it was going to be bad as soon as he looked up from whatever the hell Nat had gotten for him to eat and saw Fury standing in front of him.

Clint and Steve being friends is generally overlooked in a lot of the stuff I’ve read, so every time it pops up in a fic’s tags I’m like, “oh right, this is a thing!”

It’s the most Hawkeye thing I've read in a long time, and I love it. It follows along with MCU movies, too, but GOD. It hurts, and hurts so good. The ending totally melted my soul.

(Barney shows up ~kinda~ but this is not the fic I referenced earlier. I read this before I actually cared about Barney, so when he ~kinda~ popped up I didn’t give a shit, BUT EVERYTHING IS DIFFERENT NOW)

I Could Live by the Light of Your Eyes by nerdwegian Words: 43k+ Rating: E

All Clint wanted was to get laid.

(In which Clint meets a mysterious man who may or may not be named Phil, and accidentally stumbles into a big conspiracy where very few things are what they seem to be.)

The quote that won me over: ""You're going to get me fired," Clint says, which is also dumb as hell. He's going to get his own ass fired, all because he can't turn down a fucking blowjob from an assassin in a three-piece suit, what the actual fuck, Barton-- ”

This is amazing. The way they play with the lore/canon of the MCU is incredible, and honestly, that universe is so interesting I wish there was more of it. I audibly when “OOOOHHHH...hell yeah” more than once. Phil is awesome. Clint has a complicated relationship with impulse control. Life is bad ass and messy.

Good Publicity (is worth its weight in tequila) by aftersoon Words: 18k+ Rating: M

All Phil wanted was a quiet drink. What he got was a devastatingly handsome archer, one meddling boss, and a job in PR for the most destructive team of superheroes he'd ever heard of.

I thought I hated AUs that had Clint as an Avenger and Phil as a civilian, but damn. Add this to the list of things I can’t say anymore. The way he gets tied into the whole team is great, and I loved how involved everyone was. Plus, obviously, Clint. Always.

If you’re looking for a good Phil-centered fic, and you like AU, definitely don’t skip this one.

Chilling with the Avengers

There's a Dog-Related Pun in There Somewhere (Don't Worry; Tony's On It) by Perpetual Motion Words: 11k+ Rating: G

Phil gets turned into a corgi. There are emotions involving Clint. That's literally the entire plot.

Tony’s name is in the title. Is it a surprise that I clicked on this story? At this point, it really shouldn’t be.

The corgi!Clint fics in this fandom are the best, and so hell yeah I clicked on a corgi!Phil one. And I am so glad I did, because it’s the cutest thing and so funny. Out of all the recs on this list, this is the one that’s pure fluff and goodness.

Pre-MCU

This One Time in Shanghai by Eligh Words: 9k+ Rating: E

Clint and Phil just keep on accidentally having sex. And then Phil screws it up with (ugh) feelings.

HELL YEAH HE DOES. The way this is written is so Phil, and the style/flow of it changes as Phil's understanding of his own feelings change, and it was just so damn well done. Plus, there are expertly done sexytimes with FEELINGS (a lot of both in this fic, tbh). All the love to the author, seriously.

(The cameo in the end had me going: is that...? IT IS.)

Series

Line of Sight (series) by shadowen 8 Works Total Ratings: E/M/T

My series bookmark just reads: If you haven’t read this series you’re doing so many things wrong. So, clearly, I kinda like it. Just a little. And can I just give all the kudos to the author for making 8 whole works in the series? Bless.

By the time I got to the tags in Part 8 (Anchor Point), I was walking on air.

The first installment is below, and it pretty much cemented my love for the author.

Fifty Pound Draw by shadowen Words: 30k+ Rating: E

There was always a chance the mission would go wrong.

This fic quite literally builds the relationship from the ground up, and I still vividly remember getting to the end of the very first chapter and thinking, “Oh, Clint”, and wanting to wrap him in a million blankets forever. Dude has been through the ringer.

The final chapter is one of Phil’s mission reports, and holy shit only in this fandom do formal mission reports make me tear up, what the hell. I love Phil so much in this. I mean, I love him always, but the way he’s written here just kills me because the characterization is so spot-on. And so is Clint’s. This is that backstory fic to stomp all backstory fics, and (at least this first part) could be stuck right into the MCU as is with zero change to any of the properties, and that kills me just a little bit more.

And Here’s That Series I Referenced in the Beginning

Landslide by JHSC Words: 91k+ Rating: E

Clint is seventeen. He has a girlfriend, a baby on the way, and a headlining act in the circus.

Then, he doesn’t.

When I think of amazing OCs, I think of JHSC. The world created here is honestly in a class of it’s own, like an elseworlds tale that my brain just immediately accepts as alternate universe canon - no questions asked. Landslide (and it’s sequel) are very heavy reads, and so I would say know what you can and can’t handle before going into this regarding depression.

Found family dynamics get me, man, and Landslide is a gut punch. It digs into Clint’s life in a way I don’t often see, and I love this series all the more for how it handles backstory. In my bookmark I rave about the pacing and oh boy, THAT CLIFFHANGER.

Under Pressure by JHSC WIP, Current Word Count: 83k+ Rating: E

Barney has a plan: leave the circus, support his family, and get control over his life.

Then his plan gets shot to hell.

I’ll be honest. I hate Barney. Rather, I did, before this fic. Honestly, I knew from how hard I fell for JHSC’s character portraylas las time that there was a good chance it would all happen again, but I’m a little mad about how much I care now.

I will go to the mat for Barney and Paul at this point, and the most recent update was so GOOD. If you want a raw, emotional story that is so real it hurts, but also sweet and romantic, then HERE YA GO. The latest update is getting into THAT CLIFFHANGER in Landslide that left me screaming, and I’m on the edge of my seat for the conclusion, guys, send help.

#fic rec list #phlint fic rec #phlint fic rec list #fic rec #fanfiction rec #fanfic #fanfic rec #phlint #barney #clint barton #phil coulson #marvel fic recs #mcu fic recs #i need to stop saying hell yeah

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thatonehiddenbladeingibraltar · 7 years

Note

Omg I loved those video game hcs with the overwatch heroes! You know the ones where they were watching their S/O play their favorite game? Can I request the same thing except with Dva, Tracer, present day Genji, and Lúcio?

Much like every other set with the same topic, please feel free to go ahead and guess which games I’m referring to :)

Images are not mine.

Headcanons referred to can be found here and here

Present day Genji:

One of the few things Genji had retained over the years was his love of video games

And watching his S/O play video games. That too.

It didn’t take much begging from you for him to join you on the couch as you booted up the game

However, once the intro was over you and Genji were probably ready to jump into each other’s arms from a massive overload of fear

Although there were moments where the two of you managed to laugh, for the most part your eyes were transfixed on the screen and from the occasional glances you made, Genji was going through the exact same thing

Even when nothing was happening, the two of you were constantly scared that something was going to surprise you because of the game’s dark and somber atmosphere

The sharply defined graphics didn’t help either

Although it did make the game look extremely polished

When the protagonist got stabbed twice and had their hand chopped off by a chainsaw, you were surprised that neither of you screamed

Well on the outside at least

However, Genji’s arms were around you the moment an enemy shows up in the game, shocked from the grotesque and molded form of said enemy

He actually has to make sure that the two of you didn’t reach the brink of insanity with constant check-ins and taking the time to meditate before and after every gaming session

Even though you do keep good track of how much ammo and health packs you have left, Genji watches them like a hawk

Especially during a boss battle

God those bosses chewed up resources like it was nothing

He warns you whenever you’re starting to run low on bullets or fuel and suggests which weapon to use next

You swear you can feel Genji wince at some of the boss forms when you’re battling them

Especially the spider lady. You could feel the disgust roll off of him in waves

When they’re over, the two of you do sit in silence for a good period of time until Genji broke it

“That is…unnatural.”

The two of you do hand the controller off to each other, but for the most part he lets you take control of the situation

He always made sure to save the game even when he wasn’t playing the game

And the two of you made a mutual agreement that the elderly woman in the wheelchair that always showed up randomly was the weirdest part about the game

During the final boss battle, Genji did scoff a bit at how easy it was but you knew better

Needless to say, you were glad Genji was by your side throughout the entire ordeal, even though the two of you promised each other to never play that game again

Well that was until you got through all of the extra content and then you would officially stop

Because goddamn the lore was too well woven to be left alone

Lena Oxton/Tracer:

One thing Lena absolutely hated about your favorite game was how dark everything was

From the music, to the environment, to the tone itself, everything was dark

Not being able to see ahead was one thing that Tracer couldn’t exactly admit to liking

She actually has to force you off the couch to take a break and your smile only seemed to make her more exasperated even when you willingly go with her

Whenever you gave her control of the game, she immediately activated night vision and never turned it off

You swear that finding new batteries would be your main goal aside from story progression

Lena constantly twitched as you wandered around the area in search of a safe place and more resources

Absolutely screams when a jumpscare happens

Except at the cheap ones. She didn’t react to those at all

She did look startled whenever a random giggle but her agitated expression faded quickly

Every time some grotesque figure appeared on-screen, she always groaned and looked away

Tracer did hold onto your arm tightly when a giant wave that was sent from the heavens knocked the protagonist off of the flimsy wooden raft they were on and into a river filled to the brim with mutilated corpses

However the most disturbing thing that she did find about the game was the cult

God she hated the cult so much

And the amount of psychological horror that was featured throughout every step of the game

You actually caught her gaping at the screen with a terrified expression when a shadow appeared on the ground and appeared to be moving closer and closer until you turned around and there was nothing there

The only times Lena screamed was when you were close to dying or if tensions were running extremely high and she couldn’t take it anymore

It didn’t happen as frequently as you thought it would though

She did coo at the baby in the protagonist’s arms near the end of the game, but looked horrified when white noise began playing and light engulfed the screen before cutting back to the weird dream-like Catholic school

Lena’s shocked expression made you chuckle as the credits rolled and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter when she bombarded with you a thousand questions per second

Not that you minded all that much. She did seem more interested with the game more than ever now, which was all you could ask of her

D.Va/Hana Song:

When you told Hana about your favorite game, she immediately wanted to play it

Or at the very least, see why you liked it so much

Even though you barely got to touch the controller, you were alright with it, if only to carefully watch D.Va’s expressions as the game slowly progressed

But when you did get the chance to play, Hana was watching very attentively to every aspect of the environment

She did fall backwards slightly when a deathly pale woman with dark matted hair and an evil grin popped up in front of a window as rain and lightning continued to reverberate in the background

The two of you do jump at times, especially when a random noise echoed through your headphones

However the one moment in the game that made the two of you cringe was when a partially developed fetus lying in a white bathroom sink in amniotic fluid and blood

Its wails did not help in one bit.

When you do hear the radio telling you to turn around, Hana immediately snatches the controller away and keeps the protagonist moving forward and away from the malicious voice that blared over the radio

You didn’t say a single thing as she was staring at the screen intently, almost as if she was daring the game to tell her to do the opposite of what she was doing

Although neither of you screamed during the entire ordeal, you were certainly close to doing so at various intervals

Especially during the part with the bleeding fridge hanging in the main entrance

And the really disturbing bathroom scene describing several domestic murders that all included ‘some strange chanting’

D.Va does get extremely into it when she sees one of the hallway paintings disassembled all over the floor and the disappearing letters on the walls

However when she manages to solve all of the puzzles (with your help of course), the voiceover and subsequent cutscene left you in chills and a bit of curiosity

Hana does furrow her eyebrows when the unnamed protagonist turns around

“Isn’t that the actor from that popular zombie show a few decades ago?”

Regardless she is excited to see what the final game was when you told her it was only a game demo

That was until you told her that the full game had been canceled a few months after the demo was released

Expect her to be protesting to the game company for them to develop the full game for the next couple of weeks

Lúcio Correia dos Santos:

When he heard the in-game audio the first time, he fell in love almost immediately

Insists on you using his headphones to fully experience the binaural resonance while he plugged in a second pair of earbuds into another audio jack

Even though he prefers to let you play the game, you do catch him jump slightly whenever a voice shifted from one place to another

Lúcio does make a few observations of his own as you move the story along though

You swear he’s actually going to be buying any and all books on Norse mythology

Some of the visuals do make you turn away in disgust or make you take a break from the game, but trust Lúcio to take over if need be

If you also need calming music, he’ll put on a playlist and let you detox while he continued on

The two of you did have to admit that the game mechanics were quite smooth for its genre

However when the two of you begin to reach the climax of the game’s plot, you swear Lúcio’s also feeling the same amount of disgust and discomfort as you were

Especially when the protagonist’s backstory was fully revealed

At the end of the game, the two of you actually breathe a sigh of relief as the protagonist comes to terms with their past and the hallucinogenic visions and voices had begun to recede as the credits began rolling

Although the two of you did agree that it was a well-written game describing PTSD and psychosis, you and Lúcio also made a mutual agreement to never pick the game up again

But he did suggest the idea of performing at a few live concerts that were known to support reputable organizations that helped people with similar or identical situations to the protagonist

Which you were completely on-board with one hundred percent

@elise-the-assassin @videogamesanddragons @sylvennia @freedomaboveallelse

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bethadastra · 7 years

Note

Hi! This is your gift giver for holiday cheer! I've been poking around your blog (I love it) and I was wondering if you could give me a bit more information about your Shepard & Garrus and your Ryder & Kandros pairings. What does one partner like the best about the other? What drives them crazy about each other (in good ways and in bad)? What are their favourite colours? Looking ahead 5 years in their lives, where would they be? When/how did they fall in love? Details and rambles are great! Thx!

Oh man… you better fasten your seatbelt, because I’m about to hit the FTL button on this. I think I should give some in-depth background on myLiz/Garrus headcanon, because I have a ton of content in my head for them, and a lot of important relationship developmenthappens after the Reaper war… As for Sara Ryder & Tiran Kandros, their section is much shorter, and at the bottom of the post. *Be warned,Liz got loaded with a ton of angst because I love watching my beloved OCsuffer.

Liz is an Earthborn, Ruthless, Renegon soldier thateventually chose the Destroy ending (and lived to tell the tale, though at agreat cost).

Liz falls head over heels for Garrus during ME2, becausetreats her as an equal, but she doesn’t dare hint at her feelings until rightbefore Garrus returns to Palaven and she turns herself in to the Alliance. Garrushas feelings too, but he denies it for most of the suicide mission, and chalksit up to a twisted sense of hero worship. They have an emotional conversation abouthow Liz needs to “pay her dues” and Garrus blurts out that she should considerbeing selfish for once in her life (though by this time, its too late for herto turn back, and she can’t say or do anything to tell Garrus that shereciprocates his feelings). It isn’t until they “review protocol on reunions”in ME3 that they fully confirm that they are in love with each other, and theyare pretty inseparable at that point. They don’t talk about being together orhave PDA around others, but they don’t go to extreme lengths to hide theirrelationship either.

Garrus and Liz sneak away and elope at the end of theCitadel party in ME3, but because everyone else was drunk and galactic law doesn’trequire witnesses, nobody on the Normandy besides the happy couple knows, andthe end of the Reaper war happens so quickly after that they never have achance to tell anyone. Garrus doesn’t even tell anyone after the final battle,out of anger and grief. I’d like to note that they were both wearing theirfatigues when they signed their certificate, because Liz is just not adress-wearing character.

After choosing Destroy, Liz is severely injured, and as aresult, has retrograde amnesia for many months, and loses her left arm. Whenshe wakes up, she initially believes that she is still 17 years old andescaping the Reds to join the Alliance, and is very confused by the state ofthe universe and why a hulking, scarred turian is at her bedside. Garrus staysby her side the entire time during her many months of recovery, and neverbrings up the fact that they had a relationship until she begins having dreamsof moments they shared together mixed with more traumatizing memories. Heeventually reveals everything and reproposes, and they elope again (no fancy white dress or weddingceremony for this gal, nope!), and he may or may not get a good fist to theface when he reveals the truth because Liz is still a renegade deep down. Solong story short, looking ahead 5 years, Garrus and Liz will relearn their entire relationship, and work together to heal their physical and psychological wounds.

Now, on to happier things!! Liz loves seeing Garrus when heis nervous and behaves in a very tender fashion, because he came across assomeone very brash and confident when they first met, and no matter how oftenthey butt heads, he is always very gentle and respectful of her wishes. Garrus,on the other hand, loves her for how selfless she is. Her unwavering sense ofduty might come off as cold to others, but it is admirable to him, and Garruswishes that he could say “What else do you need me to do?” as genuinely as shedoes.

Things that drive them crazy….. Hm. Both Liz and Garrus arestubborn to a fault, so that drives them both nuts. I think for Garrus, heloves Shepard’s hands. He loves watching her alien fingers give signs on thebattlefield, how quickly she can clean and assemble a rifle, and all the thingsshe does when they… you get the idea. Garrus hates how she rarely goes intodetail about why she makes many of the choices that she does. He knows he needsto trust her, but it just about kills him when she orders him to staybehind. It drives Shepard crazy whenGarrus teases her for her itty bitty 5’3” height (and he does it solely becausehe knows it’ll ruffle her feathers in a good way). Also, there is somethingabout all of Garrus’ terrible dad jokes that Liz just loves. Like, she doesn’tlaugh easily but he somehow knows how to get past her guard. When Garrus learnsthis, he makes an extra effort to make her laugh in front of other Alliance officialsjust to see the look of shock on their faces.

As for colors, Liz loves a deep, dark green that I guesswould sit somewhere between olive and pine. Her armor is that color. Garrusused to stick to C-Sec blue, but after the Reaper war, he wore lots ofsilver/grey because Liz called him a “silver spirit” while still affected byamnesia.

Whew! Hope that all hasn’t scared you off yet.

As for Sara Ryder & Kandros, their story is still verymuch a work in progress. For how they met and a taste of their personalities,you can check out my AO3 (under the same url) for the story On And Off The Mat.Sara doesn’t have the strongest connection with her family, and finds a lot ofsolace in Tiran. This results in a ton of quickies that mostly occur afterstressful missions. Things are just physical between them up until Ryder triesto go after Meridian, and gets shot down by the administration. Sara’s a bit ofa hothead, and struggles with communicating her emotions, so it comes down tothis public argument turning into a confession of her feelings with Tiran inprivate. Tiran becomes aware of his own feelings when the Charlatan is revealed and battles Sloane & Ryder. He becomes very protective of her, but the L word isn’t brought up until right after the battle on Meridian, and he is helping her with her wounds.

In both a good and bad way, Tiran’s ability to call Sara outon her bullshit drives her crazy. She definitely appreciates the fact thatTiran can see right through her. She doesn’t have to put on an act around him,and he often knows what she needs before she knows it herself. Sara hates howTiran’s obedience to the Initiative allows Tann to walk all over him. Tiran, onthe other hand, has been a really hard nut for me to crack in developing his character.I think Sara drives him crazy in the way that theres just so much about herthat throws him for a loop. Like, it’s always a surprise when she shows up froma mission, and she asks questions that surprise and baffle him. I think he alsohas some self-confidence issues, so anytime Sara puts her trust in him or callshim out on his own bullshit, he questions himself.

Sara loves the turquoise color of the Initiative logo and noit has nothing to do with the fact that Tiran’s eyes are the same color. Tiranlikes sunset orange (ie the lights on his armor) and for some pretty obviousreasons, he becomes particular to chestnut brown.

I wish I could say for sure where I want them tobe 5 years down the road, but I’m a sucker for building on canon lore, andwould be shamefully butthurt if a sequel game came out and Tiran still didn’tget to be a squadmate. I do like imagining that Tiran gets a chance to settlehis differences with Sloane, Sara is able to formally retire from the role ofPathfinder, and that the two of them either make up their own little APEX team,or go off and do freelance work on Kadara or Eladaan. No matter what theirfuture holds, it will be full of sassy comments and live up to a solidExplicit rating.

I’ll be posting more (mostly drawings) of my Liz & Sara, so hopefully all of this helps! If this massive text monstrosity didn’t fully satisfy you, feel free to ask me more questions!

#anon ask #holiday harbinger #this has been a massive overshare with Beth #long post #head canons and lore and stuff

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