#new recruit for the skeleton war

[tilthedayidice]

Baldur's Gate 3, Lets get a little freaky with it Race Mod list

While I have your attention, here's a cool site to help Palestine, all you gotta do is click it daily.

Howdy! Are you bored of the playing same 7 people in different fonts? Here's a list of Mods that provide new Races both canon to the DnD universe, and not!

Some of these mods, and other's are compatible with the Mod Unique Tav Custom Appearance (UTCA), This mod allows you to change the mesh of only your player character without it affecting NPCs, and gives you the ability to import an all new Body Type. Any mods compatible with UTCA will be highlighted in Green.

All New Races

These Mods introduce a whole new playable Race to the game. Some of these May come with all new Body Types, while other may come with Vanilla Body Types that are slightly altered. Any race that comes with New Abilities and Traits will have that listed and highlighted in pink.

Whispers of the Divine - Aasimar Definitive Edition

This mod Provides a new Race to the Character Creation, Aasimar. There are 4 subraces all with their own unique passives and actives. Character Creation comes with 4 Body Types, multiple heads, wings, and halos, as well as glowing eyes and the Crack effect featured on Dame Aylin (optional). UTCA compatible but not Required.

Whispers of the Fey - Changelings Race

This mod introduces a new playable Race to the Character Creation, Changelings. There are no subraces, but you have a unique form to choose from with 2 Body Types, and are granted unique actives and passives that allow you shape shift into any of the 80 forms listed in the log. Not sure if UTCA compatible

Wine and Revelry (Satyr Race)

This Mod Adds a new playable Race, Satyrs to the Character Creation. There are two Body Types that come with Head, Tail, Tattoo, Ear, and Horn options. There are no rub race options but it does sport special Racial Features. There are multiple CC mod patches to make it compatible with some appearance mods available. UTCA compatible.

Flutter and Whimsy (Fairy Race)

Fluttery and Whismy adds a new playable Fairy race to character Creation. There are four Body Types that come with Head, Wing, Eye, and Horn Color (for the wings) options. There are no subraces, but comes with plenty of fairy/druid magic based actives and passives. There are multiple CC mod patches to make it compatible with some appearance mods available. UTCA compatible.

Playable Undead

You're a skeleton :) You have unique passives and skills. But really... this is your recruitment, the skeleton war never ended.

Ghastly Ghouls - Playable Undead Race

Adds a new playable Race ti Character Creation, Undead. There are 4 subraces each with their own unique Features and Abilities. This comes with uniques heads and bodies to make your Tav as decrepit or freshly dead as you'd like. There are multiple CC mod patches to make it compatible with some appearance mods available. Not sure if UTCA compatible.

Spirited Seasons - Playable Fey Eladrin

Adds the Eladrin as a playable Race in Character Creation. There are 4 variants, one for each season, and each comes with a special Fey Step Spell and variant based on season and unique Character Creation options. UTCA compatible.

Forest Friends - Playable Firbolgs

Adds Firbolgs as a playable Race. There are no subraces but, it comes with a new Body Type, Heads, and Spells and Features based on "Volo's Guide to Monsters". UTCA compatible.

Owlin Race Mod

Grants the Player the ability to choose a playable Owl race in the Character Creator! Currently comes with 2 Heads and Body Types (1 Masc 1 Fem) featuring Owl characteristics as well as wings! The bodies appear to be fully ones, I plan on downloading this later tonight so I can be more certain then! Eyes and Talons are fully customizable. This mod does come with racial traits and perks. Not sure if UTCA compatible.

Elemental Power - Playable Genasi

This mod adds a new playable Race to the Character Creation screen! The Genasi come with Four sub races Air, Earth, Water, and Fire. Each subrace comes with its own unique traits and features! Come with 2 Body Types and Multiple customization options! UTCA compatible!

Edits to existing Races

These mods feature edits made to existing Races. This may mean altering the Subraces, Racial Traits, or making Race blocked features available to other Races.

Astralities' Tiefling Compendium

This mods adds 12 new Tiefling Subraces to the Character Creation including 6 Canon dnd Subraces, Varient Tieflings, and 5 homebrew Subraces. Each Subrace comes with its own Racial Traits and Spells, as well as the ability to use their claws.

Diamon's Mystic Manual - Dragonborn Subrace Compendium

This mod adds 10 Dragonborn Subraces to the Character Creation, each with their own unique breath weapon and features. An excerpt from the mod page: "This mod adds two main sets of Dragonborn subraces, those based on Dragons that are in 5e but don't have a Dragonborn ancestry linked to them, or Dragon's that were in previous editions that didn't make the leap to 5e".

Fizbans Treasury of Dragons - Dragonborn

This mod adds five new Dragonborn subraces based off the D&D 5e source book "Fizban's Treasury of Dragons". Adds breath weapons, Gem Dragonborn subraces, Features, and Scale colors!

Half-Tiefs (Tiefling Horns and Tail for All)

Adds all Tiefling Horn and Tail options as well as 4 Nail options to most other Races (minus Dragonborn) in the Character Creation Screen.

Alternate Horns for All

This mod uses the previous Mod to add even more Horn options to Character Creation.

All Beards for Drow Elves and HalfOrc

Lets Elves, Drow, and Orc grow Facial Hair, Righting the World's Wrongs.

Special Mention

astralities

This is a modder, they have a series of mods for Skin, Hair, Eye, Makeup, and Tattoo colors. The range for skintones is incredible. I have literally all their color mods downloaded. I'd be a fool not to list them here.

This list will be updated as the Mods update, or if I find anything new and interesting!

I take requests if you need something more niche!

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics !!

[starsfic]

Summaries:

After learning about his parentage, Mikey sneaks inside an art auction of Hamato Yoshi's art, learning both about his father and Draxum.

After Iron Fan manipulates her son into a state of possessiveness over his mate, Red and her enter a civil war. DBK and Qi Xiaotian are watching on the sidelines. (Or, Ironbull and Spicynoodles keep fucking in each other's bed. Smut.)

Eros and Psyche AU: Lunar New Year this year is both tense and exciting- Xiaotian's pregnancy will soon be over and Red and DBK are rebuilding a rocky relationship. Both become issues when Spider Queen attacks.

There is a thirst account for Qi Xiaotian, the Monkie Kid, and there is a thirst account for Red Son. Both men run the other account secretly, admitting their dirtiest fantasies about their rival to Twitter. And then Xiaotian slips up. Smut.

After Marinette's horrible excuse of an expulsion, Sabine decides to call on her older sister for help. There is rot in this school, and it'll take a demon queen to root it out.

Chloe successfully crashes and saves a train, with the only casualty being Maribrat's leg. Lila is climbing up the social ladder with her lies, trampling Marinette underfoot. Both queen bees see an opportunity when the school announces its first prom and prom queen contest.

Long Xiaojiao and Qi Xiaotian do everything together. This includes being deflowered by Red Son. (Smut.)

Prince Red is cursed into the horrific form of a bull man, with the only cure being him learning true love. Unfortunately, Red likes his new form too much and scares away the suitors his parents send. He meets his match in the latest suitor, Qi Xiaotian. Smut.

In the wake of learning about Splinter’s real identity, Leo and Raph struggle with deciding on how to handle it. (Or, according to @stylishbutdefinitelyillegal, Hamato Saki earns the Worst Uncle award.)

The first part of Episode 1, when trying to leave their hometown of Crystal Cove to start their second year of college, the Mystery Gang finds themselves trapped in Crystal Cove.

@draw-of-the-moon's Chimera Parents: Pigsy just had to suggest that the kids come along to his grandmother's farmhouse with him and Tang. He just had to go to the store. Hopefully, Chimera will never learn that he let their kids get kidnapped. (Or, Tang opens a scroll labeling the locations of four golden weapons, only for him and Nya to get kidnapped by skeletons. Kai is recruited by a mysterious old man to learn spinjitzu, and Pigsy has child leashes for all three of them.)

LMK S5 theory fic: Erlang Shen is supposed to be on vacation. However, in an hour,he learns that his uncle is dead, someone is trying to do another coup, and Sun Wukong has been filleted again. The people who deliver this news, including mass criminal Master Subodhi, the duo of Ao Lie's descendant and Iron Fan's son, and the creation goddess Nuwa, make things... difficult.

[spectres-n-soap]

The Past - Ghost x Soap x You

Content Warnings - fluff, minor angst, afab!fem!reader, no use of Y/n or nicknames

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It’s too fucking early for this shit, that is your first thought when you roll out of your cot. Distantly you can hear a certain Scot talking loudly, Soap is likely bugging Ghost. You drag your hands down your face as you look at your alarm clock, 04:48 am. “It’s too fucking early.” You grumble as you get up anyways.

After being in the military for years, long enough to have built up a good enough record to be recruited by John Price for 141 task force, you probably should be used to waking up at the ass crack of dawn. But even the sun is still slumbering, the sky isn’t even a faint shade of pink to welcome the giant ball of gas.

You pull on your uniform and slick your hair into a bun, fighting with little flyaways the entire time. You brush your teeth and scroll through your phone as you do so. Updates from your family on facebook and new instagram stories from friends and celebrities, the same thing every day. But that’s why you joined the military, well that was one of the reasons. Routine, something you thrived in just as much as being thrown into the field with nothing but your wits. You rinse out your mouth and look at yourself in the mirror for a second, staring dead into your own eyes before you leave the small bathroom.

You are slow to walk to the recreational room, burdened with the knowledge that Soap had already started his antics early. Ghost is sitting at the island counter, his broad shoulders hunched and his simple balaclava pushed up halfway as he takes sips from his tea. Soap is talking about something but you don’t have the patience or brain power to figure it out and by the way Ghost is, neither does he. You wander over to the coffee pot and pour yourself a cup before dumping as much creamer and sugar as you can possibly bear into it. “Is tha’ even coffee now?” Ghost asks.

Perhaps a few months ago you would have been startled at his sudden words but it seemed that the ice between the two of you had melted since you had covered his six in the last mission. “Don’t know, don’t care.” You mumble as you lean against the counter as you stir your coffee. You blow on it and take a tentative sip. Disgustingly sweet, good. Now you can’t taste the bitter coffee under it. You drag your eyes over the rec room and nod to a very tired Gaz who must have dragged himself out of bed no long after you. You watch as Gaz smacks Soap on the back of the head.

”Shut up mate, you’re gonna wake the entire barracks with your talkin’.” Gaz grumbles before he makes his way over to the coffee pot and pours himself what little is left in it. You cringe as he drinks it black, no matter how many times you’ve seen him do it your stomach still churns. Which is a weird thing, because you’ve seen the brutality of war and have both been the subject of and done interrogations that got messy.

But it's Gaz drinking straight black coffee that gets you. You know it's not even his preference! You had asked him how he can stomach it without any kind of creamer or sugar and he admitted that he only drinks it black in the morning because he doesn’t really care how his coffee is that early. That truthfully, he much prefers something sweet like a latte or something.

“Away n’ bile yer heid!” Soap snaps at Gaz, leaning over the back of the couch haphazardly.

”English MacTavish.” Ghost grunts and you can’t help the snicker that leaves you.

“Oh not ye tae lass.” Soap groans, feigning heartbreak as he collapses onto the couch dramatically.

”You a theater kid Johnny?”

”Nae, jus’ naturally talented.” Soap says and you can hear the wink he gives even if no one can see it. “Wha’ about ye L.T? Ye a theater kid?”

” ‘Course he is.” You pipe up, “I mean, look at him.” You tease, referencing his collection of skeleton paraphernalia.

”Shut it.” Ghost says but you swear you can see the corners of his eyes crinkle just a little.

You grunt as you land hard onto the mat. “Ow.” You grumble.You rub the back of your head as you sit up. You don’t know why you had chosen Ghost as your sparring partner, maybe you had some kind of hidden masochistic streak or a wish for a migraine by the end of the day. Either way, you were getting your ass thoroughly kicked. “Do you have to slam me so hard?” You ask as you get up from your spot on the mat.

”Maybe break my grip successfully and you won’t end up on the mat.” Ghost says and you roll your eyes at the same time you roll your shoulders to try and loosen them up. “Come on, let's go again.”

You don’t care what Ghost or Soap says, you watch them sit next to each other, a kind of closeness you silently envy. You might be a part of the team now, accepted and appreciated but you know you’ll never have what they have. Whatever that is, whether this bromance has more bro or ro to it is a subject much debated. But what matters is that Soap is the only person allowed to talk off Ghost’s ears no matter the subject. Soap gestures wildly with his hands and Ghost watches and listens, you don’t need to see his eyes to know there is a kind of fondness within them for the Scot.

You swallow the lump trying to form in your throat and dump the rest of your drink down the sink. “Think I’m gonna turn in for the night, I had an early morning.”

”I said sorry.” Soap grumbles and you laugh before you leave for your room. You lay in your cot and look at your hand, empty and cold. You feel a certain shame, a certain flavor of loneliness, when you place your hand in the other and clasp them together. The idea of your hand being held by someone, by certain someone’s, is both a comforting one and a heartbreaking one. You bit your lip and close your eyes, letting yourself pretend for just a moment.

[swallowtailed]

palisade 47! finalisade part 2!

truly three incredible scenes. also this is not going to be a short finalisade lmfao. probably minimum five more episodes (for a total of seven) but the sky's the limit. if they keep going at this rate of scenes, and presuming interludes/epilogue are each one scene long, that'd already be a nine episode finalisade. very exciting

brnine's scene: so glad we finally got to come back around to their attempt to recruit lattice/refrain. it's a good opener for the finale, too, for brnine to be able to make a more successful argument in favor of fighting with mbreak now that they're in the mirage. also obviously it's excellent to have a nobel ghost literally fully just haunting the blue channel now

refrain flickering between faces was really fun. friends at the table has some excellent genderfluidities. speaking of, my first thought re tm comparisons was polyphony--another town created by a shapeshifter (although changing personality rather than face) who wanted folks to come in and stay. was really interesting to me that refrain accepted the compromise of taking only the willing, which is sort of coming at polyphony's strategy from the opposite direction. refrain as archive was also really compelling to me. i like when an archive is covetous and hungry and persuasive, and constructs morality around/within itself, and is animated by preservation and interment. (chanting: WORST! PARTS! OF! MUSEUMS!)

lastly, the question of "what happens when the war's over" has been a quieter throughline in palisade (highly entangled with the whole blue channel self-sacrifice situation, cf phrygian) and it was interesting that brnine raised it to refrain. i'm curious whether that's going to come to the forefront in p3--really depends on what's going on at the end of the perfect millennium, i think.

august's scene: ahhh what a mess. delicious. really good visuals here as well--steeple catterick, clem on her big dramatic dragon, cori's new mech in action (skeleton covered in blooming flowers!), giant ink ferrets devouring the bilat front line and then vanishing and leaving only bloodstains and echoes behind... love to see it

always fun when fatt discovers an animal on air. i do think we should give the giant prehistoric otters serious consideration and also as many other giant prehistoric creatures as can fit (yes i'm still thinking abt the flash nautilus). it's thematically relevant

what did catch my attention about the ultimate result of the scene, re the iconoclasts turning indiscriminately on anyone military (thus neatly equating the bilats and the cause), is that it immediately shoves august's storyline farther in the direction of "compromised and implicated simply through the use of violence". i do wonder where august's gonna end up by the end of palisade--he's on a similar path, i think, to a couple other characters who have struggled to see beyond the war, but he's in much more of a position to be found guilty for it. does seem like he's set up to fail

cori's scene: YAAAAAAAAAY GO CORI :D what a win, what a legend. finally kissed a girl. good for her. the crumbling ballroom filled with the map of the galaxy was reminiscent of brnine and dahlia in a very fun way. "i didn't want to scare you off with my power" / "you know it's an invitation" / [blushing, stammering] "....for what"

my favorite thing about the scene was cori using perennial magic to show elle a potential future for the two of them, because it's such a perfect mirror to future's visions. like, cori can create that herself, using perennial's magic, when elle asks ("build me another dream, then" was such a tasty line), rather than the aura of future dragging it out of her. and can share it (and shape it, and rewrite it) rather than just envisioning it privately. a really interesting contrast between the two divines and their respective views on possibility

can see a one-way ticket out of the mirage being a really pivotal thing to have on the table in a few episodes. cannot wait :):):)

[tdlb]

Is Wolverine Okay? (How Humanity Made "Mutant's Greatest Weapon") - an essay by Teigan LeBeau

"The more things change, the more they stay the same" is a popular saying and one that, like most idioms, can hold a universal truth. Look at any of the various X-Men lineups over the years, faces change, players swap out and switch positions but there is always at least one person serving on that team that has served in at least six iterations of the same team. Whether this old face be Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Storm, Beast or Logan Howlett, it doesn't seem to matter. What does matter is how being on such a team takes a toll on the lives of those who serve on it. In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote that the ideals of America were "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness", but how does mutant kind fit into these ideals? For years, mutants have been trying to only find these ideals but ironically, the government sworn to uphold these ideals has been the very one to take them away. Yes, mutants have life but they are severely lacking in liberty and as for the pursuit of happiness? Mutants can forget about that, because they exist constantly in a world of war and bloodshed that would make Captain America weep. In this war, the only weapons that mutants have are those given to them through genetics (or, the gift of God, according to some churches). Whether these weapons are metal skin, biokinetic energy manipulation, telepathy, telekinesis, psychic abilities or even the ability to talk to plants - it doesn't matter, nothing comes close to what humans have made in response to the existence of mutants. Sentinels, funded by the American taxpayer and marketed as a way to help mutants by putting them into rehabilitation camps, but they were actually made to murder mutants. However, no matter what arguments are made by mutants about how they have been attacked through the years - there's always one question that gets fired back at them: "What about Wolverine?".

Wolverine was born James Howlett in Alberta, Canada approximately two hundred years ago, where as a teenager he found out that he was a mutant after a traumatic event caused him to slash at someone with claws protruding from his knuckles made of bone that he watched the skin heal over. His genetics include the X Gene which is what granted him his claws and healing factor. He had a life in which he served in two world wars, had a somewhat peaceful life in Japan that he was forced to leave due to his family being in danger and upon his return discovered his wife murdered. After fleeing Japan, he returned to Canada where he worked with Department H who decided to recruit him into their program to create a new super-soldier. Unlike other programs at the time, Department H didn't use super-soldier serum, instead deciding to bond the near-indestructible metal adamantium to the bones of one person. Logan's healing factor made him a perfect candidate for this experiment as the poisonous nature of adamantium would not affect him long-term, according to Department H scientists; of course, that did mean that the adamantium did affect Logan, even if it did bond to his skeleton. Wolverine, James "Logan" Howlett, was made by human men to be a weapon. This was not the first or second time that humans have decided to use a person to create a weapon, and surely, if history repeats its own cycle, it will not be the last.

While being made a weapon came with its own set of unique challenges to both Logan's physical and mental state, it did not stop him from being the man that we know today. Logan Howlett always puts himself in danger before others, and also has always tried to be there for his family - whether blood-related or otherwise. Notable examples include his clone, Laura Kinney (previously known as X-23, and now using the codename Wolverine) who was raised to be a weapon by human scientists and raised by Logan who eventually adopted her as his daughter, and his son - Akihiro. Akihiro was raised to hate his own father, despite not really knowing him, for several years his main goal in life was to commit patricide until he realized that it wouldn't bring him the closure he needed and decided to put the past behind them and integrate into the family he had found. After Laura and Akihiro came a clone of Laura Kinney herself, Gabrielle Kinney, who Laura and Akihiro adopted in their father's stead. However, there have been other children who have been touched by Logan Howlett's caring nature - it's the reason why he founded the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning - and it would be remiss to not mention Jubilation Lee. Logan took her under his wing as a surrogate father figure and looked after her from her teenage years into her adult life.

To answer the question posed at the top of this paper, despite everything that has happened to him, Logan Howlett is remarkably well-adjusted and doesn't seem to carry a sense of resentment towards others. However, a seemingly well-adjusted individual doesn't mean that person is okay. People who have mental health issues or are neurodivergent have often used "masking" to hide their true emotions and feelings, or even outright repressed them. This could be what Logan does, or, it could just be that when there is no danger, Logan reverts into who he truly is - a family man who just finds cowboy boots comfortable. This author feels that if you were to ask the man himself he'd reply with a cool "I'm fine, bub."

[wipverse]

random facts edition #2

what is their relationship like? (part one)

Killer+Nightmare

Complicated. Being the first official member, Killer's had the most to get used to all the unspoken rules that come with living in the castle (through breaking every single one a million times each).

While he is loyalty personified when it comes to missions and other serious matters, he knows exactly how much he can(usually) get away with and loves to tow the line, especially with the others. Before anything and anyone else comes his cat, which has been tested by Nightmare when he first considered Killer, originally as a goon for throwing off Ink and Dream.

Nightmare employs a hands-off approach with Killer, for the most part, and doesn't go out of his way to interact more(or less) outside of missions. He keeps his "employee" in check as needed, though he becomes more lenient over time(as Killer settles down more).

His feelings towards Killer boil down to someone who got a roomba for efficiency.

Dust+Nightmare

Being recruited second, Dust had to settle in with already established dynamics, which wasn't too hard for him, since he didn't care about any of them nor how he's expected to fit into them.

His feelings towards Nightmare are pretty nebulous, but so are his feelings towards everyone(or so he insists).

He sees Nm as his boss and retains a purely professional relationship with him, which the Guardian is more than content with. Dust's loyalties lie with his brother first, and himself second, but surprisingly enough Papyrus and him agree more often than not. He gains, over many years, a sense of belonging and loyalty to the gang, but it's a very slow process.

Nightmare appreciates how quiet Dust is, and his business approach to working for him. He does not appreciate how often he has to pull Dust away from trying to, well, dust Killer.

Horror+Nightmare

Horror comes third, into what is, at first, just shy of a battlefield. He's brought in to mostly be Dust and Killer's keeper, at first, which he's scarily good at. He has his Role, and his home depends on him being good at it, so he does what he's always done and becomes what people need him to be.

He feels equal parts hate and gratefulness towards Nightmare, but regardless of his feelings he does his job without complaining.

He's the strongest physically, but the weakest overall when it comes to magic reserves. His scare factor comes in handy to making the other two skeletons listen.

His loyalty ultimately lies within the bounds of his home, and as such he is willing to do anything to ensure everyone's safety, even joining a multiversal war...against the multiverse.

Nightmare, although he would never admit it, finds Horror to be his favorite, even as the monster hates his guts. He appreciates his work ethic and the fact he can keep his other troublemakers in check. After he recovers enough from his starved state, he finds Horror to be an asset in spreading negativity throughout the aus.

Cross+Nightmare

Cross is the last main addition to the castle. He struggles heavily with finding his place in the relationships and dynamics already set in stone, and is more than a little awkward(which is more often than not read as antagonistic).

Cross swears loyalty to Nightmare and his cause out of a sense of duty, after the latter locates his empty AU through his negative emotions and helps give Chara and him new souls.

His feelings towards Nightmare are not exactly positive, but he carries on with his duties regardless. He mistakenly calls Nightmare "Your Highness" in his little allegiance speech, and the nickname sticks.

Nightmare is amused by this righteous knight, who so clearly hates his job yet does it anyway, in the name of a misplaced sense of debt.

[diddle-riddle]

Bruce: Did you spend the evening at Mad Hatter’s place again? Robin!Dick: Yup! He baked cookies and he invited buddies for his tea party! Since Victor was there too, I had tea, cookies and ice cream. That was super fun! Oh by the way, Jervis started renaming you the ‘Jabberwocky’, I hope you don’t mind? Bruce: Not like I had a choice in the matter... _____

Bruce: What do you mean, you had dinner already? Where were you? Robin!Jason: I hanged out at Eddie and Jon’s place! I thought I told you. I spent the evening playin’ Star Wars video games with Ed, then when his Spooky Scary Skeleton arrived he started cooing at him like an enamored schoolgirl. That was frankly embarrassing but also hilarious. Jon invited me to stay for dinner, Ed spent the whole time watching him with adoration and giggling when he spoke ‘bout his new experimental toxin formula. I really need to do something to bring those two together! Bruce: Great, now you are playing romance adviser for Riddler and Scarecrow... _____

Bruce: You did what for Penguin?! Robin!Tim: Mr Cobblepot has been enchanted to benefit from a little help from someone who has business savvy to order to optimize the repartition of his accounts and separate his mob boss schedule from his legal activities in his restaurant. He recruited me as his assistant, and so far he tells me every day I am a talented, brilliant young man with a promising future ahead of me. I like him a lot. Bruce: Sure you do... _____

Bruce: Why are you visiting him at Arkham every day?! Robin!Stephanie: Because I am super proud of him, why else? Plus he needs someone’s full support! Eddie is finally reforming for good but the procedure itself will take many more months, he needs to be encouraged at each step! Tomorrow I’m bringing a box of his favorite sweets, a detective comic and a science article he will entirely criticize, that’ll be funny. His doctor doesn’t want any riddle-based stuff in his cell, but I found other entertaining books. What B, did you forget Eddie is my dad, my mom, my big brother, has been my imaginary friend when I was little, is my childhood buddy and remains my all-time beloved BFF? Bruce: Unfortunately, you told me so already... _____

Bruce: Where do all those cats come from? Robin!Damian: Miss Kyle’s cat Isis had babies. She showed me how to care for kittens in her, Dr. Isley and Dr. Quinzel’s shared lair. I nursed them and watched over them the previous three months, that’s what I did whenever I pretended I sneaked out to ‘hang out with Collin’. Now that they are of age, I am adopting the five of them! Bruce: ... At least they’re cute.

[direwombat]

Wip music monday

Tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @cassietrn, and @the-silver-chronicles for some musical wip-iness

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton, @adelaidedrubman, @miyabilicious, @g0dspeeed, @josephslittledeputy,@aceghosts, @madparadoxum, @voidika, @strangefable, @jillvalentinesday, @confidentandgood, @wrathfulrook, @trench-rot, and anyone else wanting to share some music that's been inspiring them!

while everyone was listening to hozier's new album this weekend i was also listening to hoziers new album, but i was also going INSANE about shayfer james and kate douglas' musical retelling of beowulf so that's where all these are from. under the cut because hhhhhhh longk sorry

first up is another werewolf au jacob pov song

I watch them through their windows And I stalk them in the street Oh, they don’t see me They satisfy my hunger I wait til they’re asleep Oh, they don’t see me I call this chaos order I call this carnage peace Oh, they don’t see me I’m gonna grab them by their fragile throats They cower at my feet As I start to feed I would rather be a monster than a fool I’m hungry, and I’ve come for you There’s a pile of bones in the corner that I call friends There’s a pile of bones in the corner that I call friends They built those brittle walls in vain They fear my face They know my name There’s a pile of bones in the corner that I call friends

here's a song that gives off big joseph vibes fitting for katc

DO LIES AND EMPTY PROMISES GIVE HOPELESS MEN RELIEF? THIS IGNORANCE, THEIR INNOCENCE WHILE THEY WALK THE WORLD ASLEEP I AM CUNNING, THEY’RE COMPLICIT I AM COMING, THEY DISMISS IT LET THEIR CREATURE COMFORTS BLIND THEM I HAVE COME HERE TO REMIND THEM I AM WAKEFUL I AM WATCHFUL I AM UNAFRAID TO FIGHT I WILL STIR YOU FROM SLUMBER I WILL NEVER SAY GOOD NIGHT I AM WAKEFUL I AM WATCHFUL I AM UNAFRAID TO FIGHT I WILL TEAR YOU FROM YOUR TREASURES I WILL NEVER SAY GOOD NIGHT WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING FOR EVERY GIFT THERE IS A SIN IT DEPENDS ON WHERE YOU’RE STANDING WHERE YOU ARE AND WHERE YOU’VE BEEN WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING CUTTING CORNERS, CASTING STONES WE ARE NONE OF US IMMORTAL WE ARE ALL OF US ALONE WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING FOR EVERY GIVE THERE IS A TAKE WE PRETEND TO LOVE THE VICTIMS OF THE CHOICES THAT WE MAKE WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING EITHER PAST OR PRESENT TENSE WHO WILL SAVE YOU FROM YOUR SHADOW? WHO WILL COME TO YOUR DEFENSE? WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING FOR EVERY WRONG THERE IS A RIGHT YOU’LL MAKE ANY LIE A LULLABY IF IT HELPS YOU SLEEP AT NIGHT WE’RE ALL GUILTY OF SOMETHING EVERY DAY THIS QUIET WAR I AM HERE TO WAKE YOU UP I AM OPENING THIS DOOR

and a bonus duet that has big joe preaching to his flock energy that is also inspiring katc

[THE FATHER] ANOTHER HEATHEN THEY’VE RECRUITED THIS ONE IS DIFFERENT THAN THE REST SHE COMES IN WAR, SHE COMES LIKE THUNDER WE’LL LOSE WHATEVER WE HAVE LEFT SO YOU MUST DO THIS FOR YOUR [FATHER] .... [THE FATHER AND EDEN'S GATE] THEY’RE HATEFUL, THEY’RE HEARTLESS THEY SAY WE’RE THE ENEMY I’M ALL THAT YOU’VE GOT WE ARE BLOOD, WE ARE FAMILY IF YOU DON’T STRIKE FIRST SHE’LL TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME [THE FATHER] WHAT I LOVE ABOUT YOU SON YOU ALWAYS DO AS YOU SAY THEY MEAN TO TAKE IT ALL AWAY THEY WON’T TAKE IT ALL AWAY [EDEN'S GATE] [FATHER], I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE I’LL BE YOUR EYES AND YOUR PROTECTOR THEY HAVE NO BUSINESS IN THIS PLACE EXCEPT TO SATISFY OUR HUNGER [FATHER] I WILL KEEP YOU SAFE NO, I WILL NOT BE AFRAID I’LL RUIN ALL THAT THEY’VE CREATED I WILL TAKE IT ALL AWAY BOTH THEY’RE HATEFUL, THEY’RE HEARTLESS THEY SAY WE’RE THE ENEMY I’M ALL THAT YOU’VE GOT WE ARE BLOOD, WE ARE FAMILY [THE FATHER] IF YOU DON’T STRIKE FIRST SHE’LL TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Captured -- wild humans hunted and captured to be used as servants part 20

Warnings: captivity, starvation, starvation whump, cruel whumper, painful recovery, torture, etc.

Kazimir had a map of the city rolled out on a table that they all huddled around as he explained in detail his plan of attack.

The goal was simple: they would ambush Nakita's mansion first, take out her guards and the small army she had under her command. Prince Devlon would no doubt catch wind of it, and would send the royal army to engage them next. The problem was that the members of the Rebellion would be greatly outnumbered, so they would have to fight smarter with superior battle tactics if they wanted to stand a chance.

Kazimir was wrapping up explaining, when Corbin spoke up.

"But what about all the humans in the city?" He blurted before he could stop himself. "They will have no idea that war is coming. They could all get killed in the crossfire. We have to warn them!"

"That could jeopardize our entire plan if even one of those humans snitches or gives away what's about to happen," Kazimir said grimly. "Without the element of surprise... there's a good chance we'll lose the fight."

"But we have to at least try!" Corbin argued.

Kazimir fell silent, then gave him a perceptive look. "I can tell that something's on your mind. Do you have an idea?"

Corbin turned to address the entire table of gathered people.

"I know that I may be young, and that I don't have as much battle experience as the rest of you, but please hear me out." He glanced to Kazimir for support, and to his astonishment the bird-man gave a nod for him to continue, and he was suddenly the center of attention, every pair of eyes in the room flicking to him at once.

Because people were listening to him. Not treating him as inferior, or as a lowly servant, but as an equal. Worthy of consideration.

Corbin cleared his throat self-consciously, pointing to a location on the map. "There are dozens if not hundreds of abandoned humans in these alleys," he started. "If I could go talk to them, I bet they would join our cause as allies in the Rebellion. That could double our numbers."

"But they are all half-dead skeletons, they wouldn't be much use in a fight," Jasper interjected.

Corbin gave him a cold glance. "While that may be true, they could always be useful elsewhere, such as tending to wounded bird-folk and helping drag them out of the battle zone."

"The human's got a point," Rhysand jumped in. "The more numbers we have, the better.”

Kazimir nodded thoughtfully. "That settles it. Corbin, you and Rhysand will be in charge of human recruitments."

Corbin was distantly aware of him giving out orders to the rest of his officials, but he was no longer paying attention as he tried to figure out how on earth he was going to pull off warning all the human servants in the city.

"Hey, have you got a plan yet?" Corbin jumped when Rhysand appeared next to him, wrapping one wing around him and steering him away from the group.

That's when Corbin found his idea. "You know what? I think I know exactly how to get the word out," he said.

Over the next two days, the plan was set into action. First Corbin made his way to the alley he had taken shelter in the day Kazimir had been captured, and spoke with the massive group of humans who had been abandoned by their masters. Almost all of them were more than happy to join forces with the Rebellion, and there were a lot of them. They would be a valuable addition to the war effort, despite their emaciated states of health.

Kazimir made sure all the new humans were welcome, and provided them with the first decent food and shelter many of them had had in years.

The second stage of Corbin's plan was far riskier, and today was the day he planned to carry it out.

Rhysand snuck the young human to the front doors of Nakita's mansion, dropping him off on the takeoff platform.

"I wish you good luck," Rhysand rumbled as he set Corbin on his feet.

Corbin shivered from the cold, turning to face him. "Thanks... I'll do my best to be quick."

Rhysand shuffled awkwardly on his feet before clearing his throat. "Once you enter that mansion... you will be completely on your own. We won't be able to help if you get into trouble. This is your last chance to back out..."

"Don't worry, I can do this," Corbin reassured, even as his voice wavered with a sliver of uncertainty, of self-doubt.

"...If you're certain. I'll be circling around and waiting for your return." With that, Rhysand tipped off the takeoff platform, leaving Corbin alone as he glided away on powerful feathered wings.

Corbin faced Nakita's mansion of horror, the place that had caused him so much pain and suffering... and forced himself to sneak inside.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

[ducksbyday]

HELLO TUMBLR PEOPLE

I HAVE BEEN ASKED TO WRITE MORE SO I SHALL OBLIGE

I will never get over how sweet the tumblr/qsmp community is. yall are so sweet and amazing and oof- hugs for all

PART 2 QSMP MEMBERS + THE KINGDOM (DDG) WOOOO

[You can find part 1 here]

PHILZA - FIRJEN/LJORD

The only kingdom to fully get wiped off the face of the earth for good, leaving almost no trace of it ever existing in the first place (the king deleted his YouTube channel :,( )

In the north peak of Midisti, deep in the snow was once the freezing kingdom of Firjen. It was a kingdom with little allies that mostly kept to themselves. It was once ruled by King Joris who, after losing the war against Entropia & friends, lost everything. The Goddess Eclypsa took notice of the unnecessary blood spill and became enraged. Fueled with grief and anger, she decided to save King Joris by bringing him to Ljord. Here she gifted him the dragons of Bovisti.

The king, broken but determined, rebuilds his empire in the new snowy lands of Ljord. He recruited new people, found some of his old companions, and eventually got revenge on Entropia after capturing King David and feeding him to the dragons. But his glory didn't last forever. His men turned on him, kicked him off the throne, and threw him in jail, never to be heard from again.

Philza seems to me like a person who'd do well in Firjen/Ljord. Either as someone who stayed loyal to King Joris and went down with him or as one of the people who turned on him in the end. Perhaps he realized that the revolution and appointing a new king did not make things any better, and joined the refugees to Fenrin to fight for freedom from the outside. Also, he has a history with cold lands (the Artic Empire & his DSMP base with techno). Plus he is currently taking care of two dragon eggs, which is fitting to me.

MISSA - HELLIOS

Truly a great place to be. As the name says, Hellios is the kingdom’s version of Hell. If you're bad and you die, you get doomed to live in a black, lifeless realm for all eternity named Hellios. If good, you go to Elementos, a haven with everything a person can dream of.

Hellios is run by Celcrius (the God of the underworld) and his mage Arjan. They are known to dabble in dark magic, necromancy, and mind control and will use it without hesitation. This has been made very clear since the beginning. In episode 1 of their series, they resurrect an old king intending to take over the kingdom of Tyksa.

Q!Missa being a walking, living, breathing skeleton fits in well with how Celcrius goes about his business. I see Misa possibly being one of Celcrius' workers who was brought to life by the mage. He could've been an informant, sent to the surface to collect information. I like to think Celcrius told him to spy on people from a distance, but Misa misunderstood completely. Instead, he started trying to blend in with civilization so collect info that way. People might've been a bit freaked out at first, since he's a walking skeleton but eventually got used to it. "But he's so kind though!"

QUACKITY - BOR

Kingdom Bor is.. a strange one. I don't know much about them except that they live inside hills and mountains, are OBSESSED with carrots, and don't seem to take anything seriously.

They're most known for the song the king wrote about importing carrots. Further, the kingdom is known for the song the king wrote about jumping around. Also, the king blew up a part of his own kingdom because looking at it made him sad. He also started beef with Hellios for some reason. Idk even how.

In general, the whole kingdom is just a bunch of lads messing around and being stupid. The fact that they survived for two seasons and won multiple wars is incredibly shocking to me.

I think Q!Q would fit in well seeing the many many times he went missing, and then came back, and then went missing, and then came back, and then- you get the point. He's unhinged, a little bit crazy and I think he would be busting it down if he heard the songs about carrots and jumping.

WILBUR SOOT - MURA (kinda)

I wanted to assign Wilbur to a kingdom but then later changed my mind. I think it be cool if he was a nomad, traveling from kingdom to kingdom to play music and have a good time. But if I did have to assign him somewhere it would probably be Mura (the kingdom of former nomads, who sworn to never participate in wars).

This is all for now, since it it getting very late for me and I am very sleepy. I hope you enjoyed reading this! :D Sending love to everyone <3

[contentloadingandstuff]

Necro AU: Character Profile - Aldehan Adler

Image has been generated using the BING image generator.

Title: General Belligerent 

Affiliation: The Legion 

Name: Aldehan Adler

Race: Undead

Sex: Male

Age: Over 400, died at 37.

Nationality: Mondstadtian

Height: 184 cm

Short description: One of the most prominent generals of The Legion. A liche of notable age, Aldehan Adler originates from a time when the Lawrence Clan was still in power in Mondstadt. Champion of Qablu, The Bearer of War. 

Long description: Aldehan Adler, despite his considerable age, remains to be one of the best generals to ever lead Beleth's armies. His death toll stands in number beyond counting, and the creatures he and his elite regiment of ancient undead killed would make a disturbingly long list. Being one of the most strict and ruthless commanders earned him the respect of veterans and the fearfulness of new recruits. Throughout history his training programmes gave rise to the most powerful Legionaries Umbra can offer, the most recent addition being the mortal nuisance named Sakurai Denki, a creation of Sunqu. His men are hardened in the flames of thousands of conflicts, resulting in low casualties, unbreakable discipline, and complete lack of remorse. With enough time, Adler can make anyone into a killing machine, willingly following The Great One's every order. 

Visual appearance: Tall skeleton, clad in heavy armor. A characteristic dent in the jawbone, related to his death. Red hood over his skull, topped off with a crown. The hood extends into a thin cloak, with the Eye emblem woven in the middle with golden thread. Thick leather gloves, high, solid leather boots. Double belts with a simple clamp. Sheathed sword always on the hip, fully exposed. When engaged in combat, Adler summons a banner in his left hand, bearing the mark of his unit - an ascending eagle. 

Personality: Charismatic, but ruthless. Cynical with a notable lack of empathy for the living. Great leader preferring to command from the field rather than a safe tent. Believes that the general's presence among the ranks, as well as fighting among them, boosts morale more than anything. Cares for those under his command. He will go to the Abyss itself for them, and they will willingly follow. Prone to brutality in combat, and lack of mercy afterwards. His word is law for his troops. Devout believer in The Necro Archon. 

Model: Tall Undead 

Rarity: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Vision: Necro

Weapon: Sword 

Constellation: Gladius Mortis

Normal Attack: Qablian Bladework - Command

Performs up to 5 slashes with his sword, dealing PHYS DMG. 

Charged Attack: Strikes his banner into the ground, dealing AoE PHYS DMG and calling all summoned units to him. 

Plunge Attack: Strikes from above with his banner, impaling it into the ground and dealing AoE PHYS DMG. 

Elemental Skill: Unholy Summoning

Press: Adler points the sword towards the nearest enemy, and sacrifices 15% of his MAX HP to summon a Wight. 

Hold: Adler waves his banner, disbanding all summons. When a summon is disbanded within 5 seconds of being summoned and does not take any damage, Adler receives all of the spent HP back. 

A total of 3 Wights can be summoned at a time.

For every summon present on the field, Adler's Max HP is decreased by 15% until the summon is either disbanded or dies in combat.

Wights have a lifespan of 30 seconds, and can be summoned only in combat. Upon leaving combat, the Wights are disbanded. 

Wights' stats are based on a percentage of Adler's stats, including HP, DEF, and ATK. DMG% BONUS, CRIT RATE and CRIT DMG remain identical to Adler's. 

Wights will attack opponents in melee, attracting their attention. They count as summons, meaning that even bosses and Traunce Bosses will attack them. Bosses will still prioritize the player if they are within reach. 

Wights are disbanded once Aldehan Adler falls. 

Skill CD: 25.0 seconds. 

Note: All summons persist even if the summoner isn't the active character.

Voiceover: Press: "To me!"  Press: "Rally!"  Press: "Arise!"  Hold: "Withdraw!"  Hold: "Stand down!"  Hold: "They're mine!" 

Encyclopedia: Wight

Wights are the backbone of the Necro Archon's armies. Too weak or just not fit to join the Legion, they serve as the anvil to the hammer of cavalry, more elite troops and ranged units. Most are very loyal, but their cores limit their capability to question or resist the Great One. Their average age doesn't usually exceed a hundred years. With decent armor, good training and high quality weapons, Wights hold the line for other troops to deliver the killing blow. 

Pros:

+ High HP + Good DEF + Armor + Shield + Ranged attack - a javelin throw every 10.0 seconds + Good lifespan

Cons:

- Weak ranged attack  - Slow speed - Low ATK - Melee attacks can’t reach floating enemies - When destroyed with Pyro, the Wight will explode, dealing damage to everyone around

Voiceover: Summoned: "At your command."  Summoned: "Your will?"  Summoned: "Lead us." Kill: "Feed the worms!"  Kill: "For The Great One!"  Kill: "Die!" 

Elemental Burst: Death March

Adler places down his banner, creating a Banner of Slaughter. All summons within the radius of Banner of Slaughter gain Necro infusion. A knockback occurs, dealing Necro DMG. 

Once per 3.0 seconds, spawns a Skeleton. A max of 20 Skeletons can exist at the same time. 

Skeletons have a lifespan of 10.0 seconds. 

All summons within Banner of Slaughter’s radius have their lifespans refreshed every 1.0 seconds. 

Banner of Slaughter duration: 15.0 seconds 

Banner of Slaughter range: 30 meters

Energy cost: 80

Banner of Slaughter cooldown: 30.0 seconds.

Animation: The camera zooms into Adler's face. The white points in his eyes glow bright red. Adler lifts his banner above his head and strikes it into the ground, with the camera zooming out to capture the ghostly shapes of soldiers behind him. 

Voiceover: “Weaklings, bow before His might!” “Stand with me, or perish!” “Cull the weak, slay the strong!” “Cravens, they flee before us!”

Encyclopedia: Skeleton

Skeletons are the weakest troops at the Necro Archon’s disposal. Their mental capacity is limited to executing orders, with no trace of sapience. They perform mundane and repetitive jobs like work in the mines, farming or guard duties. Their combat use is rare, since their lackluster skills make placing cores inside them a waste of time, resources and Necro energy that could be spent on creating Wights. Despite this, they are cheap and easy to summon en masse as meat shields for more valuable troops, temporary protection for liches and necromancers or for flooding enemy positions. They fare decently against weak and average fighters, making up for their temporary nature. 

Pros: 

+ High ATK + Shielded + Summoned in high numbers + Doesn’t explode upon death by Pyro + Fairly fast

Cons: 

- Low DEF - Low HP - Low lifespan - No ability to attack floating enemies - No ranged attack

Skeletons don’t feature voice lines. 

Passive I: Forged In Bloodshed

Equips Wights with heavy armor, granting them +60% DEF. Their shields are steel-plated, making them unburnable. 

Passive II: Call The Dead

When a living, humanoid enemy is killed during the duration of Banner of Slaughter, a Skeleton is spawned. Extends the lifespan of Skeletons by 2.0 seconds. 

Passive III: Sacking

When Aldehan Adler is in the team, Mora dropped from enemies has a 1000% multiplier. Mora obtained from chests has a 300% bonus. When Aldehan Adler opens a Ley Line: Blossom of Wealth, he obtains 25% additional Mora.

Bonus Ability: Necromantic Mastery

Replaces the special dish ability. When Adler crafts a Summoning Schematic, he has a 20% chance of obtaining double the product. 

Encyclopedia: Summoning Schematics

Summoning Schematics are craftable gadgets that allow the player to summon a Necro entity to aid them in combat, at the cost of a portion of the summoner’s MAX HP. They have a cooldown of 300.0 seconds. 

Constellation I: Flood of Death 

On activation of Death March, three Skeletons are spawned. Increases the spawn frequency from 3.0 seconds to 2.0 seconds.

Constellation II: Unending Warfare

The MAX HP penalty for casting Unholy Revival is decreased by 5%. Wights gain a 10.0 seconds increase in their lifespan. 

Constellation III: Desecration

Increases the level of Unholy Revival by 3. 

Constellation IV: Violent Delight

When a summon kills an enemy, Adler gains 10 Energy and 15% of his MAX HP as healing. 

Constellation V: Ruthless Discipline

Increases the level of Death March by 3. 

Constellation VI: Sustained by Slaughter

When a summon kills an enemy, their lifespan is reset. 30% of DMG dealt by summons is returned to them as healing. 

Thanks for reading!

[fatal-iistic]

Ties That Bind (Pt. 1)

Summary: Blair Moore is a war machine, recruited by John Price as part of special operative Task Force 141. What she doesn’t expect in her second chance at serving her country and the greater good is someone to break down the walls she’s built.

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Original Character

Words: 5.4k

Warnings: Swearing, War, Civilian/Child death, Mentions of gore/injury, honestly war just sucks

March 2nd, 2020

An airfield outside of Kutaisi, Georgia

There's seldom situations where Blair Moore catches herself with second thoughts.

But standing across the globe from her home in Boston, sporting an uniform on a foreign military's airbase begins to rouse an inkling of doubt in the woman's gut. 

It's a brisk spring day in the Northern foothills of Imereti. The land is ancient. Blair studies the rolling hills of the Georgian countryside, wondering if these were the hills once trekked upon by Jason and his Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece. Or were these hills once the site of battles choreographed by the ancient Romans and Persians as they sought to commandeer every furlong of this green earth. 

Georgia's history in the past century, alone, is riddled with the Russian Revolution and the subsequent fall of the Soviet Union. Not to mention persistent tensions in the last decade. Even last year, with Barkov's decades-long tyranny in the Middle East and subsequent battle waged in his warehouse in Borjomi marks more demerits on Georgia's timeline. 

And now another leader of terror seems to find his way into the sanctity of this battle-torn country.

Free time is cherishable for most, but dreaded by Blair. She fills the vacancy with a stroll around the outskirts of the base. With sleeves and direct sunlight, the early afternoon is enjoyable. Taking in the sights of the rolling hills of Georgian geography, Blair almost relinquishes the cumbersome burden of duty and the implications of the mission at hand.

A cool breeze burrows through Blair's layers. She hunkers her chin closer to her chest, slipping her nose under the collar of her uniform to contain her warmth. Mentally, she reminds herself to put on another layer before they depart the Kutaisi base and head seventy kilometers north. 

It really is too late to back out, Blair, a voice remarks in her head. More exasperatedly it adds, Damn you, Kate and John, for convincing me back into this 'greater good' scheme. 

She glances down at her watch, frowning. News reached that the flight of SAS Marines from the United Kingdom had been delayed due to technical problems. But as the time elapses and now her comrades are a full sixty minutes late, Blair feels the simmer of anxiety burrow deep within her gut.

The longer she waits, the more reasons she accumulates as to how stupid she was. The sooner they reach Tsari, the sooner they can apprehend Al-Asad. 

I could've truly adopted civilian life. I was so close.

Feet keep pacing her around the base, until a low hum rings in Blair's ears. She directs her eyes to the western skyline, spotting a small dot traveling from the horizon. She doesn't need a closer observation to know it's a plane inbound for this small airstrip. And aboard is her colleagues. More specifically, Sergeant John Mactavish. 

During her CIA days, it was asinine to leave things up to mystery. Every aspect of everything needed to be drawn into the light, mulled over until every last detail was eviscerated from the system. The devil was in the details. Miiss one factor, and the entire chemistry could implode. 141 is different, so Blair tells herself. Captain Price isn’t the CIA; he isn’t the American justice system. While her roles seem to parallel, Blair lies that it’s a different world, a different life (the skeletons in her closet from her CIA ops could remain lodged in their hiding place behind a big wooden door, deadbolted shut). 

Captain Price trusts Sergeant Mactavish, so Blair leaves it at that. The rest would come into form by itself. No background checks. No picking apart his records before even seeing him in the flesh.

The transport lands and taxis. 

Blair immediately makes a line for the plane as the passengers exit. On sight alone, the woman can pick the sergeant from the lower-ranked soldiers. The sides of his head shaved (Blair doesn't recall mohawks being back in style, but she forces that criticism from her mind). He's a brute of a man, yet his demeanor sings something entirely different; he's laid-back, friendly, even charming if Blair gives herself the allowance to regard it. 

"Sergeant Mactavish?" She questions, arching an eyebrow. 

"Reporting." His accent is thick. It's a voice that would make any woman in her right mind swoon, but Blair shovels that admiration out of the way and sticks strictly to business.

"Moore. Blair. Call me Rogue."

"Call me Soap." He smiles broadly.

There's a story behind every moniker. Blair flashes Soap a bemused glance before focusing on the terrain before her, hastily leading the sergeant. They both walk along the airstrip toward the main building. 

What the hell kind of name is Soap? She wonders but anchors her attention back to the objective at hand.

"Commander Beridze of the Georgian Defence Forces will join us soon for a full brief. It looks like we're headed toward the mountains,” Blair informs. 

Stepping out of the wind and into the admin building, Blair leads Soap to the briefing room. 

"What do you know about the village?" Soap queries, his eyes fixated on the view from the conference room's windows. 

“Tsari?” 

“That’s where we’re headin’, no?” 

The woman nods, offering a shrug in response to his previous question. "Not much. It's a pit stop for people heading to the mountains. A pretty quiet place from what I can tell – a perfect place to hunker down if you're an internationally wanted terrorist.” By instinct, her spine straightens, and she lifts her chin as if reporting to a senior officer. Everything about her screams formality and professionalism. It's a habit beaten into her since her Army days, a feature she can't corrode out of her system. Soap seems indifferent, lax to almost a flaw. 

"Damn shame they come to places like this," Soap comments, shoulders anchoring. "The terrorists."

Lips curve into a deepened frown. "Hiding in plain sight can be pretty treacherous. Sometimes even the bad guys want peace and quiet," Blair offers perspective. She'd chased dozens of "bad guys" in various reaches of the earth. Through bustling, civilian-laden streets. Into remote terrains. They picked their poison, and unfortunately, it was never consistent.

"Captain Price says ya were Green Berets and CIA," Soap mentions after a contemplative pause. Cold blue eyes rest upon Blair, making her shift a bit. 

"Were," she confirms. The word feels like rusted iron on her tongue. There had once been a time when Lieutenant Blair Moore, an American hero and Patriot, wore her status with pride. She’d garnered numerous accolades, things that became nothing more than items consuming space in her closet back at home. She’d met with some of the highest-ranking officials in numerous countries – hell, even slept with them. 

And now? Blair isn’t quite sure where she fits on the status quo.

She’s lost just about every credential and honor worth a damn. The Army wouldn’t take her back, and the CIA had been the ones to part ways. The only reason Blair has the liberty she does now is because of Kate Laswell and the reality is, John Price had been the catalyst for that orchestration.

Decommissioned dogs don’t typically make it out of the pound.

The last two years prior were spent floating from country to country. Wherever Kilito or his aide-de-camp, Liidia, sent her. Despite her skills, Blair was treated like a lesser contractor than some of Kilito’s seniors, despite the obvious skill gap. So she’d left Jasuri Company, and found an apartment in Boston. She’d figure out a new life. A civilian life. She’d join a running club, maybe finally run the Boston Marathon as she’d planned on years prior. 

No more military. No more contracting. No more guns, covert affairs, and bloodshed on a daily.

Within two months, Kate and John found her. You’ll die as you lived, Blair Moore – hadn’t that been something her father had reckoned years ago? 

(Maybe she should’ve said no.)

Shaking off the webs in her brain, Blair grounds herself back in reality. Her mouth feels parched at the anticipation of answering the lingering question – why did you leave it all?

Not of my own volition. 

Would the fact make Soap trust her less?

"Always dreamed of bein' James Bond as a wee lad," Soap chuckles to himself, "as sharp as I look inna suit and tie, I'll keep my fatigues."

He doesn't even entertain the idea of delving into Blair's past turmoil and begging the question of her reconciliation at John Price's hands.

Blair snorts, more relieved that anything.  "I did more wadin' through dust and mud or showin' up to grimy bars than strutting into upscale soirees."

"Ah, yer breaking my heart, lieutenant. A dream deferred," Soap complains, dramatically placing a hand over his left chest.

She smiles sympathetically. Shaking her head, stray strands of gold hair tickle pink-touched cheeks. He's humorous and exudes an aura of respite. It's like a breath of crisp air in the stale heat of military formalities and concise mission objections. 

Pausing to gaze up at Soap, she finds that he's orbited closer to the broad window exposing the hilly terrain outside. She steps around the conference table to stand parallel to the sergeant, bracing her breath in his presence as if the moment is frail. 

Why did she feel like she was handling a rigged explosive? Her life had been a grandeur charade around people – around her father, around her peers, around her superiors, around drug lords, mafia kings, and leaders of organized terror. But she falters beside Soap, questioning what voodoo is being implemented to cause her to waver.

Vigorously shoveling those thoughts aside, Blair tries to fill the spaces in between with tedious small talk. Anything to silence the badgering thoughts. 

"Beautiful, ain't it?" Blair prompts.

Soap chuckles, realizing how much time elapses in his enrapture with the Georgian landscape.  "Definitely different from home," he agrees with a nod.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," Blair murmurs. She shoots a glance at Soap. "Wizard of Oz–"

"Dorothy and Toto," Soap interjects. He laughs, warm, genuine, a rumbling baritone that spikes a sensation of warmth in Blair's system. "It's not some American secret. I saw it as a kid. The monkeys scared me."

Blair's nose wrinkles as a little laugh surpass her. A hue of pink flushes into her cheeks. "I'm sorry…that was a dumb assumption…"

"No offense taken, lieutenant," Soap responds. A wry smile creases his lips. 

The door of the conference room swings open, shocking both soldiers from their lighthearted exchange. A man dressed in his tailored, unwrinkled military uniform steps in with three others. Both Soap and Blair salute the leading officer, the man Blair recognized from the pictures as Commander Beridze.

"Lieutenant, Sergeant," he greets. 

"Sir," both Soap and Blair chorus. Reflexively. 

One of Beridze's lackeys seats himself and pulls open a laptop. Within moments, all hands are situating themselves at the table.

Along the wall, the projection screen boots to life. They make haste in covering the mission brief, picking apart the details of the foothill village of Tsari and Al-Asad's confirmed presence in the last forty-eight hours. SAS Marines would cover the bulk of the forces sent in, with a small squad of Georgian soldiers to provide navigation and liaison between them and the civilians. 

Law enforcement would escort the SAS to the presumed holding place of al-Asad, the Marines would take it from there. Blair watches the brief unfold with a brewing boil in her gut. Terrorists always found the most obscure places or the most civilian-friendly places. Both were just as horrible to sweep.

As the brief wraps up, Blair promptly asks the one unanswered question.  "Should we or should we not be prepared to sustain hostile civilian casualties, General?" Blair intterogates, her jaw clenching.

"Intel is not confirmed or denied the social sway of Al-Asad and AQ forces, other than it's definitively neutral, and they are giving him refugee," Commander Beridze replies. His words seem rehearsed, as if he’d stood in the mirror this morning with a level gaze and recited this line twenty times over. "We would rate the potential high, though, Lieutenant. The prime minister and the defense General are already aware and prepared for the potential for civilian casualties."

She only nods, but the gloomy expression still festers on her face. 

On the outside, every military official and high-up authority leader wants zero casualties and civilian safety. It markets well, empathy. But Blair knows better – they'd accept an entire bloodbath if it were a means to an end if only the people of their nation wouldn't roll under the terrible massacre of themselves. The lower the collateral body count, the easier to pass the operation off to the public as necessary damages.

She doesn't voice her discontent any further. It was all the more reason they had to find al-Asad and bring him in. So that more civilians weren't lodged in the crosshairs between a terrorist and the world's superpowers. 

Soap and Blair stride out of the conference room together. Once they're out of earshot of Commander Beridze and his personnel, Blair lets out a low growl.

"High potential, my ass," Blair grumbles. 

"Huh?" Soap comes in second fiddle, out of the loop of what riled Blair up.

"That building we're raiding is a residential building, Soap," she breathes, her voice airy with a lilt of defeat. "Commander Beridze conveniently dodged that detail."

"We're walkin' right into people's homes…" Soap states, disappointment saturating his tone.

"Not to mention the entire village," Blair breathes.

They both don't traverse the politics beyond that statement. They're soldiers, first and foremost. They don't get to weigh and balance the semantics, especially for a foreign country. Al-Asad's presence was more burdensome than that of a homegrown civilian. A treacherous classification, damned and doomed as it is, both soldiers had discovered early in their tenures that it wasn't within their allotted estate to question those ethics. 

(Do your job. Do it well. Don't ask questions.

Hell, it was a bloody concept Blair had drilled into her cranium by her very own father in the fundamental years of her life.)

They know it, they know it, they know it.

Pavlov'd over the years to accept the circumstance, to relinquish the exposition of human details. Follow orders. For the greater good. Do what has to be done. De Oppresso Liber. 

That engineered thought process eclipses the overpowering sentiments of humanity. Soap and Blair share a reserved, somewhat mournful exchange of glances in the hall of base command. A vortex of gloom roams Blair's saxony blue eyes, her rigid professionalism betrayed by atom-sized fringes of humanity and compassion. Neither soldier trespasses to that vicinity in their minds, somehow orbiting back to their rigid formalities as war machines, as soldiers under oath.

There is a lack of real estate to presume over the matter. It’s too far above their pay grade to contemplate morals and fuss over the particularities. Mutely, either soldier accedes to the same determination; the objective has been made clear, and they were here to follow orders. There are soldiers to brief and equipment to put together. They were paid to find Al-Asad, not ponder ethics like Plato or Aristotle. 

It's late afternoon when their convoy reaches the village of Tsari. The sun sinks deep into the western horizon, giving them only a few precious hours of daylight remaining. The single law enforcement officer of Tsari leads them to a three-story apartment building just from the center block of town. 

Simplicity, Blair notes. She’s sanctioned off and swept buildings a hundred times over. They put men at every exit and storm into the building. Exactly like their brief. They go door to door, sweeping each unit. 

Things along the first floor are complacent. Shocked families. Crying babies. Sobbing women. No insurgents. No weapons. No Al-Asad. The scene eerily unearths memories from Blair’s tenure with the Army in the Middle East. She remembers storming homes then, under the Iraqi sun. Women had always navigated towards her, flinging themselves at her pleading out of fear (Private Mikels had shot and killed one that did so, assuming the innocence that he thought the woman was maneuvering to assault and kill Blair. An innocence maintained and preserved by commanding officers). Even in her uniform, nursing an assault rifle in her arms, Blair’s image had been a feeble entity of hope when in pale comparison to her male comrades.

Perhaps that’s why it was best she was the one at the lead bellowing out orders to the civilians.

“Hands up. Cooperate. We are looking for Khaled Al-Asad,” Blair barks in Georgian to the residents. They flinch with the coarseness of her voice, obeying commands with teary eyes and vibrating limbs. 

The teams diverge in the stairwell. One to the second floor. Another to the third. Soap goes second, and Blair goes third.

The team breaches the third floor ahead of Blair when shouts and gunfire ring out. A mix of English shock and Arabic threats slice through the tension-deep air. Her heart hurtles into her throat. She charges up the stairwell, rounding the corner to see one of the privates hit the ground from the bullets spraying out one of the units. She sidles against the wall for protection, peaking into the unit during a moment of reprieve to fire several rounds at a man fumbling to reload his weapon.

Silence suspends the atmosphere, disrupted only by the panting breaths of adrenaline-sodden soldiers and the click of magazines being reloaded. Blair holds the oxygen in her lungs, stepping towards the open apartment door. Gun cocked, finger tempted over the hairpin trigger. She manuevers quickly across the threshold to remain in the hall but now has full detail of the room beyond the doorframe. Like owl eyes, Blair studies the area beyond the door. When she determines the room within is safe, she steps defensively into the apartment unit.

Eyes scrutinize every corner, gun pointing quickly to each crevice that she studies. Kicking the door open to the bedroom, Blair takes account of every inch before her muscles relax. Cleared. No tangos.  

She strides back towards the hall, stepping hastily over the dead AQ fighter who made his grave on the living room floor. There’s a pool of scarlet forming underneath his mortal wounds, seeping and dripping from his frame. A circular stain mars the dirty off-white carpet of someone’s home. There's a stuffed rabbit a few feet away. A kids' book at the foot of the couch. 

Pausing, she nudges the open book with the toe of her boot. It's a Dr. Seuss counting book. 

Immediately, Blair can smell the pages of her own Dr. Seuss books while she peruses them while Emilia Moore cleaned the kitchen. Grass with a faint hint of vanilla against the walls of her sinuses.  Her mother would sing various learning songs to her daughters, long red hair teasing her light cheeks. 

"Red fish, blue fish, buckle my shoe," Emilia would purposely recite improperly, eliciting a giggle from Blair.

"That's not how it goes!" Blair would critique with an amused squeal and a scrunched nose.

Emilia would laugh. A vibrato that still breaks through Blair's conscience, warm like sunlight through an open window. Enveloping like a mother's embrace.

They had all been children. Emilia, even then, mid-twenties, and sold on the dream of a righteous man and a picket fence fantasy. But that picket fence had become a chain link fortress, with a stockpile of guns and ammunition. A home constructed into a fortress. The concept makes bile churn in her gut. Her brain feels like it’s being overpowered by hot static.

These people, the civilians of this little mountain town, live the same volatile reality that Blair had once been indoctrinated into. Lassoed into a reality they hadn't requested. 

Reality tastes sour as Blair rips herself from her memories. Her abdomen tightens as she fights nausea crawling through her system. 

"Tangos spotted on the third floor," Blair calls into the comm. The report half to refocus her own ambling mind. "Requesting back up."

"You don't say. Gettin' noisy up there, huh Rogue? Sergeant MacTavish remarks over the radio. Her jaw seizes. Annoyance seeped into the fibers of her frame. Not all of them could have an easy time like MacTavish seemed to be having on the second floor.

She turns towards the soldiers. 

"Sweep the floor! Move!" Blair commands, signaling the other Marines. 

Two Marines approach the second door down the hall, bracing themselves on either side of the doorframe. As one is about to check the doorknob, bullets crack through the door's wood. Either soldier reels back against the wall, avoiding crossfire from the enemies within. Just then, a fuse is lit in the entirety of the third floor. Doors further down the hall burst open, AQ soldiers utilizing the open structures as cover to begin firing savagely and haphazardly at the team of Marines.

Blair ducks into the first unit, leaning out to fire rounds at the soldiers. She fells two of them before having to slink back into cover. Blood roars in her ears. There’s a myriad of shouts in Arabic and English as either side screams commands to one other.

Despite the rampant pace of the situation, time seems to slick by as if trapped in molasses. Suspended above the moving timeline as if in demented levitation. Blair can almost anticipate each flutter of her galloping heart, breaths cautious and planned. Eyes dart from each moving shadow to the next. She reflexively pulls the trigger on each maneuvering enemy.

One, two, buckle my shoe…

Somewhere through the fog of chaos, Blair swears she hears MacTavish announce enemy presence below the second floor. She has no allowance to fret too intensely when she’s already locking teeth with enemies on this floor like rabid animals. MacTavish and his team would have to hold fast with their own objective or wait until the Third Floor Team has cleared out their own set of problems. 

Three, four, knock on the door…

The clear, systematic process of clearing each apartment unit manifests. Blair mostly keeps in the hallway, sights trained on unopened doors and the shadows beyond. It's hard to perceive anything above the stomping of combat boots trooping in the emptied units, but Blair keenly tries to pick up the readying of rifles or the unhinging of the doors farther down. Her gut won't subside until every inch of this floor is scrubbed clear of enemies.

Five, six, pick up sticks…

The Marines flood into the units. Unit after unit, the chorus of "clear" denotes an objective met.

Seven, eight, lay them straight…

The gunfire has died down as Blair enters the final unit. It's relatively empty, save some aged furniture and a few toys in the living room. She holds her breath as she sweeps through the suite. Two Marines file in behind her. Blair rounds into the bedroom, rifle rising as she sees the silhouette of a person.

The first thing she perceives is the weapon in their hands. Adrenaline hammers against Blair's senses.

Her eyesight focuses. Immediately she relaxes. It's a boy, no more than eight or nine. Her finger remains trained on her trigger, but she lowers her weapon. The boy wields a shotgun, his little frame trembling. 

He's terrified. Clutching the gun like a lifeline. He'd probably been told to shoot anyone who enters, but there was an immense burden of hesitation. 

"Do not fire," Blair commands the men behind her. She rocks on the balls of her feet, kneeling to appear less intimidating despite her array of tactical gear. 

She's speaking in Georgian, using a calm voice as if trying to steady a wild animal. The boy trembles, hands shaking. He must've impulsively pulled the trigger, but his aim was nowhere pointed near Blair. It strikes the wall across the building, splintering wood. Blair doesn't even flinch, eyes not leaving the boy.

"He's hostile!" One of the other Marines shouts. 

"Stand down!" Blair commands, but it's too late. A shot rings out. The boy falls to the ground, a bullet piercing through his chest. 

She is at the boy's side instantly, cradling the adolescent with trembling hands. He was dead before he hit the ground. He didn't suffer much, if at all. Blair's head bows, and a sobbing shutter passes through her body. She does her best to mask it, catching what might be the ghost of that sob in her chest.

Nine, ten, begin again…

No more counting games or nursery rhymes. No more bleary-eyed innocence. Both Blair and this boy had laid that concept to rest in the primitive years of their lives. Except Blair had to keep living in this war. Perhaps the boy had been spared by this (the notion molders like a rancid stab wound). 

Rage seethes from within Blair's gut as she lowers the boy back onto the floorboards and rises to her feet. She swings around to face the other soldiers. Fingers curl. Jaw fastens like a vice grip. 

"Fuck, corporal!" Blair snarls, grabbing him by his collar. She slams him against the wall, the momentum stealing the breath from the shocked soldier. He makes a breathless squeak, eyes wider than the moon. "The fuck was that?"

"He fired at you!" The soldier defends. 

"I had the situation managed!"

The other two soldiers scramble, hands wrapping around her shoulders in an attempt to pry Blair off of Cpl. Taylor. She clings to the corporal, still entranced by a fit of rage, managing to throw one elbow into the nose of the private, demanding her to release Taylor. In the squirmish, Blair still has her hands folded around Taylor’s trachea, the man’s fingernails digging into her wrists as he tries to pluck himself free.

The commotion lasts only briefly before Sergeant MacTavish rushes into the room. He shoulders hastily past the bleeding private and the second soldier, wedging himself into the fray between Blair and Cpl. Taylor. 

"Hey, hey, hey," Soap intercepts, prying the corporal out of Blair's grasp. "Stand down, both of you!"

"You fuckin' crazy?" Cpl Taylor spits at Blair. 

Soap glares at the corporal. "You watch yer language around yer superior, corporal."

"She fuckin' attacked me."

"You disobeyed a direct order," Soap counters.

Blair doesn't waste her energy formulating her rebuttal. She pivots and storms out of the room.

The remainder of the building is swept, the AQ soldiers long dispatched by the time Soap finds time allotted to seek out Blair. She's made herself scarce after the incident with the young Georgian boy, which perhaps is most agreeable considering the Marines seemed less forgiving of her snapped temper than John MacTavish. 

Sergeant Allens says he saw her wandering outside shortly after the incident. So outside Soap goes.

It’s evening, and the sun has set as Soap disembarks from the residential building. He needs not search far, finding Blair standing on the lawn across the building parking lot. Her arms are linked above her head, propping her gaze into the sky. Even from afar, she looks fatigued and a touch nauseous. 

Maybe she's trying to number the constellations above her. Or maybe she's praying to an entity above, a plea for forgiveness for failing the boy upstairs (though that likelihood was low, as Blair stopped believing in gods and their greater influence after Carl Moore). Soap approaches evidently, dragging his boots all the ground so that Blair could interpret his approach. He stands alongside her, following her eyes with his own. 

"Children raised as soldiers…" Blair murmurs, face twisting. "Fucking hell."

"A sad byproduct of all this," Soap adds wistfully, motioning at the air around them. "They don't deserve this."

A frigid gust of mountain air buffets the two soldiers. Blair's ponytail, though mostly tucked underneath her helmet, fights with the wind. 

"You speak Georgian, Moore?"

"I speak a lot of things."

"Private Breaux said you were talking to the boy. What did you say to him?"

Blair stares off. Admitting what she had exchanged with the young boy still poisons her throat. She’d failed the boy, and even more, she was bearing her shortcomings now. "I told him I knew he was afraid,” Blair confesses, “and I told him I wanted to help him. I would protect him, but he needed to put the gun down."

"How did you know he wouldn't try to shoot you?"

She hadn't known with certainty. Other than relying on what she suspected. 

"He hesitated. He wanted a break in the narrative he had written for him," Blair explains. Her chest tightens. "Reprieve from the war he's been born into."

That boy needed counting books, and stuffed animals, and dreams about being an astronaut or a mountain climber. He didn’t need a gun in hand and the fear that the world was out to get him and his family. He needed innocence, and that had already been stripped from him. And now he’d be buried in a grave six feet under – another “sad byproduct” of this war. 

"You've dealt a lot with that, huh?" Soap frowns.

The remark isn't meant to impede itself into Blair's flesh, serrated and agonizing. How could anybody know the stark reality of Blair's upbringing? It wasn't something she advertised. Hell, if anything, it's something Blair continuously attempts to bury.

She was made a soldier. Preached pious bullshit that her father had crafted and narrated because it fit the story he desired to see. These kids in these remote homes were birthed into similar perspectives, fueled even more by the poverty and war-torn homes they were run out of.

"All too well…" Blair breathes, the air exiting her lungs like a remorseful confession. She feels her skin itch, the yearning desire to admit the vulgarity of her heritage and upbringing. She doesn't want her personal feelings to seem like they collude with her better judgment, but even after years of being at war, Blair can't perform the debridement of those emotions from her cranium.

Soap rests a hand on her shoulder. A gesture of consolation. Of companionship. Blair's spine stiffens at the motion, but she refrains from acting thankless. 

"I'm sorry."

Her blue eyes traverse to meet his gaze. There's a deluge of warmth that fills Blair's bloodstream. She's spent so much time alone, stripped of camaraderie and brotherhood, that the mere notion nearly blindsides the weathered warrior. She blinks, too stunned to speak. Her neural pathways short-circuit, sparks spilling over her cortices and setting her senses alight.

Grappling at anything at the moment, Blair defaults only to what is her baseline, factory settings. Posture tightens. Chin lifts. It's the skeleton bones of standing at attention. The only thing Blair can do when shocked by her own emotions. And then comes the crass sarcasm. Blair gives a solemn laugh, a sound that betrays Blair, conveying her brokenness.

 "Don't be sorry," she counters. "There's nothing glorious about what we do, Soap."

"Doesn't mean we still don't bleed for what we see and deal with," Soap reasons. 

Boots thud against the ground behind the two sergeants. Both Blair and Soap take their eyes off the steppes to address the approaching soldier.

"Lieutenant Moore, Sergeant Mactavish, we have something you ought to see."

The duo flashes a gaze between them, following the soldier to a unit on the second floor of the building. Bullet holes scar the front door, and one of the AQ soldiers lies dead near the kitchen stove. Blair scans the unit, following where the other soldiers indicate their need for attention.

Inside a bedroom is a large mahogany desk, the refined craftsmanship ruined by evident bullet wounds sustained in the Marines and AQ's exchange. Papers are scattered about the tabletop, an inscribed map underneath the heap of intel. There's a laptop computer broken apart on the desk, the screen cracked while the motherboard sits exposed from blunt force trauma committed to the keyboard and body. It's a mess, obviously left in haste.

Blair reaches to grab at the haphazardly placed papers. A frown shifts across her lips.

"Al-Asad isn't here…but he was….these are plans; look at the details," Blair observes, sifting through the papers. Soap steps to her side, brushing his fingers to separate a stack of papers. Everything is written in Arabic, and while Blair is proficient in the language, reading it takes her a moment longer.

"Can you make much sense of it?" Soap prompts.

"Some…" Blair mutters, squinting at the papers.

She points at the emblem stamped on the papers, and the location circled on the map. Verdansk, Kastovia.

"Something's about to go down in Kastovia."

[fc17]

Where the crow flies. (tf 141 x cryptic/eldritch crow.)

My oc 'crow', who likes to collect creepy and weird items, who has a scary like intelligence. someone who is only defined by the word enigma. her presence is stagnant and paralyzing. she is not from this world, she is older, wiser, ageless. she is the omen of death.

She. Is. Crow.

TW: Blood, Violence, religious references

Ghost (Simon Riley)

Her voice is never raised. Her voice is always calm. in the heat of war, death. destruction. Her voice never waivers. Her voice will send you into a paralyzing shock. The crows always follow, never leaving her side once. My hands sweated profusely in my skeleton clad gloves. I sat on the ridge of grass where price told me to stay with a sniper rifle at the ready. there was something off about the new recruit. price said to watch her as she did her so called *solo* mission. they wanted to see how she'd do by herself.

Watching her it felt like my mind was fogged over. Even though I was supposed to be the one watching I felt the constant burn of eyes gazing at you. Crow walked out into the open. No gear on, just the pants and shirt she was given. 'What the hell is she doing? She's asking to be killed.' I don't ready the gun, knowing that she did this to herself.

The hidden enemies open fired on her figure. I watched as her body shook from being hit with bullets. Her figure fell backwards to the ground. Creating a puff of dust when she hit. The enemies walked out of their shelters confused by why there was only one person there to stop them, and why they just let themselves be killed.

One neared her still figure, gun still aimed at her body. He lowered his gun and turned away. Her feet planted themselves back into the dirt. her back slowly but surely rose off the ground. My mind raced as I watched every bullet from her body dropped to the ground covered in a black sludge.

Her tattered chest and torso sew itself back together, clothes mending themselves. She now stood back on her feet as if she had been standing there all along. The men stood watching. I knew the fear of being faced with something not human kept their bodies still. The team always knew something was off about her. But now I know, Now I've seen it with my own eyes. She is not organic, She is not filled with blood she is filled with the evil and sins of the world.

The man who checked her body laid in the dirt with blood dripping from his ears, mouth, nose and eyes. I never saw her touch him. He fell to the ground, body limp. The Horrible croak of the crow called out to the land. The grind of bones and screaming filled the air. one of the men to her left about 35 feet away, arm broke downward, Next his legs. Knee caps reversing with an audible crunch. Ive seen multiple bones break while in this line of work. But these were hard to look at. Every other mans bones followed suit. All writhing on the ground in pain and letting agonizing screams escape their lungs.

The crow perched on the building to her right called out once more. At once all of their necks crackled and sharply turned to the left, leaving the group dead.

She turned to face me. She knew I was there. She decided to put on a show for me. Her face was shadowed, almost blurry.

Milky eyes watched me.

John (Soap) McTavish

We all tried to get somewhat closer to her. Every time one of us invited her to do something she declined with out further explanation. Whenever you entered her room she was standing at her desk. Not sitting not slouching not even relaxing in bed.

When I knocked on her door as usual expecting a rejection of whatever I was going to invite her to. There was no answer. "Crow? Ya In there?" I called as I knocked on her door once more. Still no answer. It was weird. She usually responded as soon as a question was asked. My hand traveled down to the handle and pushed the door open. Although I had seen her room multiple times, It still never stopped to intrigue me. Inside, her bed was made neatly, not a single wrinkle or lump in the cover. Her desk filled with silver trinkets, wooden pieces, small animal bones and skulls. On the wall you face when you walk in, is a box clock, an old one. Every tick that sounded made the silence grow more and more unbearable. The room felt almost stagnant and threatening. Pressure built up in his chest, something was telling him to get out.

He turned to leave but in the door way stood the figure of the black bird. He recalls all the times price had mumbled what he'd do if he ever found one of the birds in the base. John turned his attention to getting the bird out as soon as possible. Even though he didn't really consider himself her friend he still wanted to be nice. The birds glossy black feathers ruffled as soap took a step towards it. As The Fledgling hopped, it would stop and turn to look at him, telling soap to follow him but the beady black eyes were daunting and almost teasing the sergeant.

Soap followed that bird everywhere around the base, every turn John turned, the bird wasn't there. Once soap stopped to look around for his next clue as to where to go, the craw of the crow called out to John to lead him somewhere else. He now understood why price didn't want the crows in the building.

He sighed in relief to see the black bird standing in the door way of the door to the base side yard. Soap slowed from his jog to a walk as he neared the open door. Why was the door left open in the first place? He followed the bird outside just make sure it wasn't going to disappear again.

Once he was outside, he looked for the creature only to find crow sitting in the grass, surrounded by 7 of the birds. She was turned away from him. Legs crossed under her sitting figure. Blonde Curls fell to the middle of her back. This was the first time soap had seen her without a tight bun on the low of the back of her head.

"Thank you for bringing him to me." Her voice is flat and held no emotion. The same crow that soap chased through the building hopped up on her shoulder. It is stared at John never blinking. Her finger held up a peanut to the animal perched upon her shoulder.

Soap Swallowed harshly as he stood in her presence. Static danced at his finger tips, feet stuck to the ground, his legs screamed at him to move. He opened his mouth to talk but his voice faltered. Eventually he forces the words out. "what's its name?" He choked out.

A sharp toothed grin made its way to her face. "Luci."

John knew immediately what that name meant. Eyes Watched the 6 other crows, One Hoarded a pile of peanuts, another was trying to get her attention. The third squawked angrily at the one sitting on her shoulder. The fourth Sat further away calling for a mate. The fifth pecked her knees asking for more treats. The last one sleeping in her lap, being gently stroked on its head.

The one on her shoulder... looking at him almost with disgust and a sense of pride.

Kyle (Gaz) Garrick

Kyle knew something was wrong with her the moment she stepped foot on base. He was never able to get a good look at her face. She never stayed in the commons, Never talked unless she was talked to. Even if Gaz did catch a glimpse of her she was always in the corner of his eye and quickly disappearing. Kyle wasn't complaining about it, just that he thought that if they were going to be in the field together at some point then he oughta get to know her.

It was late

1:13 AM. Kyles Phone read. He just finished writing reports, He told himself that he wasn't going to bed until he did. Aching fingers rubbed over his strained eyes. Just when did he start the reports and how long was he staring into his laptop screen? As he basically stumbled down the hall trying to get to his room, a low cry called to him. It didn’t sound human, like a dying animal with something lodged in its throat.

Kyle wasn’t sleepy anymore, wide awake. Head turning, looking for what creature or thing was making the horrendous squeals. He turned the corner a large mass of black feathers and claws sat on the floor at the end of the hallway. Black slime and liquid dropped off the shiny black pinions.

Kyle’s breath caught in his throat, his neck stiffening, eyes wide and panicked. It felt like his eyes were pried open, unable to close them. Gaz didn’t think of himself being religious but in that moment he prayed. To what? He didn’t know. To something to protect him from whatever was down that hall.

The creature turned to the man standing, once milky blank eyes, now blood shot and tearing up. He dropped his laptop( he def has an otter box case for it ) the sound clattering against the stone floor. The lights in the hallway flickered violently, until the over head light bars spat out sparks, leaving the hallway in a tension filled darkness.

The click of talons on the concrete ground sounded in his ears every single one louder. Until it stopped unexpectedly.

The presence surrounded him. The ruffle of feathers heard behind him. Gaz, finally getting his footing, turned around quickly, ready to fight whatever the hell was there.

Nothing. There was nothing. He let out the biggest breath of relief, falling to his bottom. He held his head as he tried to register what he just saw. In his mind he new there was always something far beyond what humans could imagine in this world, but he never thought he’d see one at base.

He sat there for a few minutes catching his breath, at last the hallway lights flickered back to life. Taking a peek to check if that monstrosity was still there, the spot was empty, another sigh of relief ripped through his chest.

His head popped up when he heard foot steps approaching, crow walked with her gaze kept forward, her hair was wet and flowed down her back. She wore a black tank top and pajama pants. No shoes, he couldn’t imagine how cold the concrete floor was. He shivered at the thought. “Crow, what you doing up?” His voice had a waver to it but also Sternness. He stood back up as he spoke.

She didn’t even turn her head to look at him. “Everyone used the shower before me, I had to wait for the warm water.” Her voice echoed softly through the corridors.

A bead of sweat formed at his temple, “there’s something here with us.” His voice hushed at the end. “Of course, he is always with us.” She said monotonously.

“We, are never alone.”

John (Price) Price

He checked her file at least once a day, if not more. Her file didn't even have her name, only her call sign. Laswell brought her in. I didn't want her on the team. she looked young even tough her age wasn’t specified on her file. Her face is blurry in every picture, every gaze.

She constantly had peanuts on hand. Once she was outside for almost five and a half hours just sitting with the black birds surrounding her and plucking things from her palms.

He knew she collected trinkets, well more like things crows have brought to her. Price has even seen a crow bring her a bullet while on a mission. He thought that just maybe those stubborn crows would be useful for delivering things.

Price walked down the corridors pass the gym, not really having anything he was focused on at the moment. While walking he passed a wall with windows. The croon of a caw sounded next to him. He turned his head so quickly he could’ve gotten whiplash.

A single crow stood on the outdoor window sill, he sighed and made his way to the glass to scare the thing off. Right when he was about to hit the window he saw the big holding something in one of its talons.

A short gasp of realization escaped his lungs. It was holding his favorite lighter he lost a few days ago. A silver box shaped lighter with J.P. Engraved in it. He quickly looked up and down at the window to see if it he could open it.

Unfortunately for him none of these particular windows opened. He looked back at the bird and scowled before speed walking to the door that lead to the yard that was closest to him.

Once he was outside he jogged to the window, hoping the bird stayed where it was. He frowned when he didn’t see the bird at the window sill, instead it sat on the building roof, staring down at him. Eye twitching price basically ran back inside looking for the recruit. He knew that she would most likely be able to coax the black bird to drop his prized lighter.

As he sped down the halls, making sure to look down each one to look for her figure, he spotted Gaz walking with his hands stuffed in his pockets and with a bored look on his face. “Have you seen crow?” He asked with a small pant from trying to find her.

Kyle just pointed behind him and said “mess hall” Price muttered a small thanks before making his way to the mess. Once he turned the corner into the room he saw her with her arm raised and a black bird perched on her forearm. Soap stood slightly bent down slowly reaching his hand to the fledgling. With a nervous but excited look on his face. Ghost sat at the other side of the table a few seats down with his arms crossed and an unamused look in his eyes as he watched soap try to touch the bird.

“Crow, one of your damn birds has my lighter.” He huffed as he neared. Her head slightly moved to the left before she held her free arm up and in her thumb and pointer finger was his sliver lighter.

How did she get to that bird outside and back in here in time before he found her? He couldn’t explain it. He snatched the lighter in his hands as soap finally pet the birds head with his tongue slightly out for concentration.

The crow moved its head and looked at soap quickly, the man swiftly backed away and hid behind the recruits body. “J P” the bird cawed as it turned its head to John and stared at him.

The girl brought her left hand pointer finger up to the birds chest and rubbed it gently. Price was shocked and sort of disgusted with the birds scratchy voice.

“What is that thing, the devil?” He said gruffly as he backed up a small step.

She led the bird to her shoulder and let it jump on, then laid her arm back on the table.

“He seems to like you J P”

[deflare]

Day 14 brings with us the continuation of the theme of ‘blue with red accents’. It’s the Crimson Fists!

There is only the Emperor! He is our shield and protector!

The Crimson Fists are a successor chapter of the Imperial Fists, founded just after the Heresy. Their initial recruits came from the younger and more level-headed marines of the Imperial Fists (contrast them to the blood-mad zealots in their cousin chapter, the Black Templars). They drew their name from an old Imperial Fist tradition where two high-ranked officers would cut their palms and shake hands, letting the blood mingle. Unsanitary.

The Fists spent most of their history as a fleet-based chapter, puttering around space fighting whoever they needed to fight. After sabotaging a large Ork* Waagh,  they were granted a fiefdom, the pleasant agricultural world of Rynn’s World. This, unfortunately, seemed to make them mostly a target. A massive ork invasion killed most of the chapter; the Fists managed to win, but at a high cost. Their rebuilding wasn’t aided by another invasion by daemons as the Great Rift cracked the galaxy in two. Fortunately, Guilliman rolled in with a bunch of Primaris marines, so the Fists have a whole new round of recruits they can use for rebuilding.

The Crimson Fists operate as a pretty standard Codex-compliant chapter. They’ve gotten really good at fighting orks, but they also have a history of being sent after some of the nastiest opponents the galaxy has to offer--including wiping out two rogue Space Marine chapters. The casualties they’ve suffered in some big invasions have forced them to adapt at times to their small numbers, focusing on hit-and-run attacks and infiltration, rather than the “come at me, bro” stance more common to Space Marines.

Ultimately, the Crimson Fists exist for those who want to play Imperial Fists, but don’t want to paint all the goddamn yellow. They were part of some prominent early campaigns in 40k lore, so they hold a respected part in the hearts of old-school 40k fans. They also just look cool; blue and red is a good combination, as we saw yesterday with our Ultramarine sergeant. Nothing wrong with some classic-flavor Space Marines sometimes.

*Wait, Orks? Like, orcs, the fantasy species?

Yup, just like there are space elves, there are space orcs. They’re an odd bunch.

So way back when, the Eldar (the space elves, see Day 5) were created to fight a war against undead skeleton robots. The orks were created for the same war, the perfect engines of destruction. Many millions of years later, the galaxy is still dealing with this bioweapon.

The classic ork is a big, burly, hunched humanoid with big tusks and green skin, made of muscle and violence. The more an ork fights, the bigger and stronger they get; the most powerful warbosses are really chonky gits. Orks can sustain horrific injuries without dying; medics, called “painboys” will just slap them back together, maybe with some cybernetics (creating ‘cyborks’), and they’ll be right back to the fighting.

What makes the orks really pernicious, though, is how they reproduce. When an ork dies, they throw out a cloud of spores that will settle somewhere and grow into fungi; these fungi will then absorb nutrients and create a bunch of new orks. Orks have a genetic instinct for making weapons and technology, and thus come out of the fungus-womb ready to put together a gun and start fighting.  A planet invaded by orks once will never be rid of them for good, barring some  really thorough work with a flamer.

Technically, ‘ork’ encompasses a number of orkoid species, born of the same spores. Alongside orks, you get gretchin (small angry goblins, used as meat shields, punching bags, and menial servants by orks), snotlings (smaller, barely-sapient goblins, used as ammunition and emergency rations), and squigs (a wide variety of non-sapient sacks of meat with teeth, used as attack dogs, explosives, and support technology).

As you may have noticed, ork stuff sure sounds goofy. Painboys? Cyborks? Casual cannibalism? Orks are the comic relief species of 40k. They’re a galaxy-spanning swarm of green football hooligans, speaking in an exaggerated low-class British accent. Their concept of ‘stealth’ is... well...

It’s something.

Orks are still one of the most dangerous flavors of alien in the galaxy, though. Their numbers are astounding, with only the tyranid hive-fleets able to compete. Each one is more than a match for a normal human soldier. When a warboss grows influential enough, they can rally Da Boyz together into a vast crusade of mayhem called a ‘Waaaagh’ (which is also the orkish warcry, and the name of their magic), which can and have wiped out whole worlds. The only thing keeping orks from wiping out every other species in the galaxy is their propensity for infighting; orks are constantly jockeying for position by murdering their superiors, and if the leader of a Waaagh is killed, the army will fall apart into competing factions as every ork with some gumption tries to become the new warboss. If a warboss could ever unite the orks into one grand Waaaagh? That’s the galaxy done for. And the greatest ork warboss, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, sure is trying his damnedest to make that happen.

Orks. They’re very silly, until suddenly they aren’t.

Master post here

[itsnotanurlitsakeyboardsmash]

Guys...what happened to the skeleton war?

Harnseen anyone mention it in a while

What happened?

Did we win? Did we lose? Can someone update me pls?

Do I still need to raise sketons from their graves?

There are like 1000 new recruits in my basement but I don't know where to send them

Some of them even left the skeleton army and got a job while waiting

Greg is now a doctor

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

How you self-reblog without being cowardly? Because I am just 😐😐😐 at the thought of it.

How to reblog your posts without feeling like shit:

Okay, so why do we feel bad about reblogging our own posts? Let’s list the things that might make you uncomfy with reblogging thy work and why it isn’t actually a big deal.

It feels like advertisement, and we all know advertisement is evil

Look, I know we all (or at least most of us) live in a capitalistic very-much-not-paradise and are tired of having adds shoved into our faces, but here’s the thing. Advertisement isn’t actually inherently malicious, it’s just that the way it’s usually done these days sucks ass, with pop-ups and non-skippable adds and all that.

Yeah, reblogging your own stuff is kind of sort of advertisement, but it’s very much benign. It’s just a post. People can scroll past it, and it’ll get buried in everyone’s dashes quite quickly. You are absolutely leaving people their free choice to ignore your thing and move on with their life.

For extra peace of mind, if you’re posting a long piece of writing or a comic strip, put most of it – everything after ~200 words and maybe 3 pages – under read more. If you post from mobile putting “:readmore:” in a new column without the quotation marks does the trick.

But it’ll show up on my blog, and it’ll become more annoying to navigate

Honestly, if your blog is so organized a post repeating a couple of times is the most of your worries – good for you! However, if it really bothers you, you can delete reblogs, but then Tumblr may do the wonky thing and people that replogged your self-reblog won’t be able to go to the original post and the read more might stop working, so if you choose to delete your self-reblogs, add a quick disclaimer. You can copy this: “hey, I delete self-reblogs, so please reblog the original post. Thank you!”.

But the people that’ve read it the first time will see it again and think I’m annoying!

In a circle of mutuals, it’s quite often that one person runs into the same post multiple times, be it a day-themed post, a recently viral one, or just a fun thing everyone liked because fandom/shared interest/etc. I have seen the skeleton war recruitment one about five times today, and it’s not annoying at all. It’s just the Tumblr Experience(TM). The same absolutely applies to writing. Plus, if they liked your piece, maybe they’ll want to re-read it. Double win! The chances of anyone ending up thinking you’re annoying are slim to none, and if they do… Oh, well. Can’t have everybody like you always. Still, most people to understand that Creating Things takes time and brain juice, and a little interaction is a small price to pay.

That’s it, folks. Have a good one, and reblog your writing and art and stuff without fear.