#reality is we’re all sin eaters

[heavywithfire]

I truly will never understand people’s disconnect with the idea that Bad People can make Great Art.

[libidomechanica]

Welcome hame fast you look upon me, for ages, or flower

A limerick sequence

                Outward fair, in bloom nor will he knew I could the passed byrd, the field, with ache?    Welcome hame fast you look    upon me, for ages, or flower. And keeps your mount Gilead.

                You were very night. Now they success, thunderstand: but strong and turtle is    iron skies. Walked in our    Love. I never ride? An Isle through the glittering graced; the stage.

                I saw a little else. But so well be well pictur’d-for end, full-spread of    his best, conscience the grot,    which my weak in seemed by evermore moves dark reality.

                And haste as I. And in his knight, was it the opens where was far a modern    dames erected. I    sit and crowne, in all thee. A bird. Where her a newe miscarriage.

                They say, the ladies unseen, And the life is dreary, I would you be: win    your own crown, with the shepheards,    til your tears as then of one gender, not be approve thee.

                There is not less, admit, rejects too. With sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam! Our true    nature’s wonne: at least that    bare we, or warp’d as we’re nothing creation sweet Albany.

                The worst of hurt to tell me, O this glory. Twas the face, remember than    a two-year-old whom for    hers to a goal, the girls which in the law of your sweets are dead!

                Which he let him in a nut have said: he savour inborn with heave the queen    may deserts, as a    pastoral. Ask me now. Nor dark—years that put on a Damascus.

                I would drear the door. The world them not if a man was he shut up the book    you didst passions lin’d, how    my swaddling by have adore that I meant, as I can decay.

                Thou hast ravished silver intense is sae prevails. Under heart was a    monster proper purpose,    and had well to see what does resort to the only the bay.

                To call the shining pity. Are vanish’d to prevent my closed, and happy    statues, borne on thy soul!    The comes not only children do in the lingering voice of youth.

                The firelit lookes, where, trembling, as inditers and yet—she had a    coxcombry of my life,    thy worth, I know nought; nothing thee me. He sick of spread aright.

                Till, to them danced wine for one was a raven. And will started joy and virtue    hath misled both to    play my sole that heart and caught shift still enchanting, is my life.

                Thy voice and why? By turned since through sticker bushes to pick juicy rubies,    when they. Tis true, your faces,    even as bright have breeze. Since I see play within his young.

                ;—There witnesse woe: helpe me, the uninitiated. To full and learn from    me, firm, protection holds    up as they came, why fears with power than of your lives more thee.

                Thou art, looked brought at once we looked on, and heart was none word; no! If ever    old or new. Or than a    flock of Gau and Moon; and bring you doth purgation rolled dry flame!

                Your complete, wi’ matter wheel should find he said: I will give their thundered oak    she like the story—an    old world surely kiss. For sullen-seeming sheeted water’s know?

                Pear eater of their joy, O joy, and mutually return. That never    for the centre as a    sameness with sapphire in loud rattlin’ sang, an’ twenty, Tam!

                A flying workman. We heart did their sin: each pallid and lay with a Laugh    would complaining undermine:    although much classic pas—sans flaws—set off our friends: one’s quite.

                You are fallen the could heaven just after all the world the final berries    in this song and dancers    will be cured: but the swain returns orchestral crooked out.

                Skiing thee manifold, I erred from the was, in shroud, or thought man and opened,    each face she knew I    could turned, and wade monasteries like tower. Love is shows now.

                I’ver also in the valleys. Children dear, thither hand: but she had your    own son, we two trees with    its to endure with milk, in the glaciers and waxin’ weary.

                The torturing, an upturned with the streaming eye, and lazy love, for    a kinder my deserts    that want too. And so it seemed to right tulip, whiskery door?

                Female or moon; not to have not to me had a heap. Down, deny not be    all her than is held in    such a beautiful, O my friend—and there we will world—ah me!

                Pear eater of hair; inlaid galleries. Mine eyes woo as mine, the depths of    thou gave a score could pull    its love, and to his own, my hope, my bowels were taugment. And know.

                Close of spices, as danger trying. So said in—I forget your leg between    the halogen overhead—    leaving and die like child will be saying I will no-no.

                Whatever man of blackness; now shines cleere. I do adorns the listen here    in folds into my kin    a room turns the end of common cry, full song, and others wont.

                Of female kindred maids were rude song areede vprightly dance for years are    everlasting, as I know    the stand, threatened dead. You perhaps of the Sexes roses glow!

                To be bore a king. You loved tracasserie, ’ began to thy word, or a prophet’s    assistance of    frankincense, witnesse, shee lou’d a long, up in a word she success.

                Circumstance of my beloved, the ruin’d town and ranks before what the altar-    stair. Their cell, the fain    wounded exactly like the cruel scornes thine heads in my way.

                Down to hunt his broad a-foraging that I were dead! Call her the air is    as a bitter to kill.    Blush, at length to the Stripling, when armour clear green calls: this way!

                Dark river from Time’s lovely Pussy! And sank and plaintiue pleasant hours are not—    to make gentleman’s ass    began to the heart Sun-burnd brain we weary… full of grapes.

                That sweets commit it to mob me up from thine: have got a fall; but death, bleed    away, in sleepe and pestle.    A dinner; but, in far as there’s another profit!

                What had never saw you, Mag. Take the badge, as a patiently his art; at    length contribution. There    came a sudden grape appear’d, with the Indian forest sigh.

                The want of Israel.—And if she world would heavenly alchemy; anon    permit then thee, and no    painting gentle wish to play my sole excuse is—’t is mard.

                Ten long as men weep, in driven: I hold out the whose rose! Leaves on men of    leaven’d, like aught him, with    fight, you transfigur’d without, rose through the white and inspired.

                Whose please you might before him counsel to be true love context for my    beloved to-day Had it    leads so often as bright in thy head. There is not be reveal.

                Did see your Highness but of all as well picture slips, prison there did mansion;    her day; a year where    lie bruised answer at the clematis. Sicker bushes,—he did!

                Lest if an humble though less polished by these for goose is a garden we    purge, even so high poems!    A noise of our brother, Lady Adeline grows weary.

                Like Archimedes, I oft inuitest me to shortened dead. Curled, and you,    woman, O thou needs must    choose to weep. Had love, and mone with my loves on you, you are mine.

                Of guilt—of guilty gates of varnish me more, till the depths of misse; that stremes    of guilt, perhaps, which    my Loue vnkind; but all the burst the lightning fruit bats scatter all.

                They are, they are, wilt thou guess that page; my music has such a sort? A tempers    a thousand misbegotten,    bones, your blended brethren here hath then what atones?

                Alluring line along there is my weak rib by a new more taugment, through    winds are bright? The men. When    in his less pleasure and partly fears will break, and bid me best.

                I speak as having to the white, encountable knight of hooks, as sweetness,    she said; and I burn. And    serene and eats fire you millinery with a strange ere breast.

                I feel with this mind, will has gotten. Where we passive neighbor whose Virtue    clotted Lambe, of white, sleep.    ’ Because he needing and, she that you believe Max lives beside!

                As time thought best jewels, thy grave proves that I know, knowing wanting Inuentions    of sun of all the body    into. Though the shines to pass the Pheasant in my tired.

                Harm, alas! Again that, in the mountain sheaves borne aloft, then all hold a    pleasant fruitfull sweet to    brave, but did stands the Abbey- stones in the who shall I repine?

                Let thy murderous a pastoral. Generalities. The offered as    a better than owl, not    a manger fly like Jewels political dinner the body.

                The sun went down on the heavens gave; and who succeeded not bewray least    satiety with discoursing    in the saw a crowned in the ground. And women most faire mine.

                Keep with the story of our faces glean their joyes. And so grac’d to be marriage.    Speak on, my sights of    might so fell with the waves behind there; at presence, lovely bones.

                A little light Now the price: then though they but strong neuer the Soul was sharpest    pangs o’erpay. Nor can    the should twine and if they circle their hooks. But as he, the skies.

                The badge, as one faults assured and their God adore the foxes, the measure    and double as free. The    bottom of their arms, like hues all fairest among the leopards.

                Of natural sympathy: tis much passionate firebombs, or if we share? Darling,    and childe, how it seem    certaineth: he thonder grace but you half-hidden Mystery.

                Good night the overgrowth at his feet, and more, and the voice he replied: No!    To beguile he greatest    thou hast the lives little spoil much in the peril keep her Veil.

                With my soule plants are abroad through you none. And sings below, beat winding    Jealousy to find but a    woman, a figure fills the crone should instrument, as she knew.

                From Time’s leisure witness called her side. We shall wed. To Káf, down! Somewhere rose    up through of chance, the cleanly.    I love and somewhat fury the shirt and ever walk here.

                Calming it, the sky show to the bay? Fair, sweet, and imps he shoot, and she ride,    ride and she forehead paper,    mute and love of vermilion: at seven-and-twenty, Tam.

                Could be for plough. A mother’s Eyes, and thus the stained gloves—wheezed and listen    to his natiue place my homely    with politic, that on Passionate, aware or a grapes.

                I am not employ his art; at length my valentine. Of loue not be    longer free, that head—for    hearts are, though heroic salamander, ’ and all round and dared.

                Was true, some pleased with liquor: thy hart upon sockets of their little birth    and ache from thy dearest    rose tree. Lifted honest the land, old world the king’s: ’ next, when right.

                My head, taking your grace array’d the woodbine leave. Yourself would not know their    verdict for things for priefe.    One day was sloping lights shining to reprove thee, Eliza!

                The acutest hoord, in Christ in bail for an Inch of early snowmelt alone    dwells a long loving    and forth as t was. For years, which go up from world his own skin.

                Resort vnto my mother’s brink she leap, in female senators wide! Fool, said:    I must sing. ’Er come, for    weight the husband-fool; but live, drawn by many a benison.

                That portentous phrases late the tents I do not your skies are design’d, yourself,    That’s your eyes; amazed    they circle the walls that it fed. Beguile: And both money, house.

                A close of married: but bespeak the cruel knife, than in a trice were than fees.    Since the beryl: his    celestial Sign; that will not my madness warmth and my body’s gift.

                Yes, I’m wishing nought him, but for cash. Tripping pleased, prolong her behind the    scornes things to all day    assigned, the time of the morning jealousy to find you smile?

                Magic of the most fervently, the day breast two legacy of love. This    present of being    ironic about there are the mouthed, and of your clearer for me!

                I am to seeds&religion in the sweet Albany. Come wait upon    they’re not such a calendar    could see a glorious morning, and half their crimes; a sort?

                And dancing with Cares his oath, to grant me no more than not know how frail, a    story of hys misdeede,    that spoil his own. Flatter to his, by just put to be, my home.

                So they forests are long-cramp’d scroll fresh and pure. Look back and remain orbed    in one like him the leaves    his feet, and things, spice his virtue and mine idle life or death.

                We shall be most unusual sort. It’s not our heroes and moving, like Carmel,    and in happy warrior:    I and my line is only said, I am all its ray?

                The dear. With himself, as I am, entirely heart in her which thus    it needs must need spray, that    shall take me it birth, and lived somewhere my song. Our Heart thou gone?

                Woman, what through more she shall were we ride. But he vext her arms, she could makes    then my hands are alone    I am turns on he went the knight; when a dead brought, I fear.

                If charmed verse my name. We quest. An oyster made, ylke can thy pledge’s perisht;    and Absál long’d to cluster’d    chariot of the pleasant now knew it, clamouring new.

                I do declaiming; I love is not winced. Their cell, tripping grace it oft, where    neighbor whose deep, which none    puts by the here! Looking ordinance: and no Wheat, am I.

                Thenceforth of polished it—but we have sought would be most things made but there his    hard enough; noons of lilies.    I have drawn by yon gate-end, when we are no sin unborn.

                I am happy statue of thou dost hides are thy living and the clouds    to be, and, reverse pair!    This I will at last! Poetry housekeepers of old stories.

                While each others would be, if such the pale to play is a bittour bumps with    all that love-salute was    in a round cracks evilly, a dark slave it truth to less please.

                Like a theater and you, break them keepers, to her million. To dreams do    standing street, but thou moral    sexes; neither. If such Jugling his title spacious gate.

                The ills the dead! I had thrill’d him in by shut me see in the hear thy verse    of the beldam at his    body already … I’m begin, in all girded up her Veil.

                Between the darke, sing. And they trod, as the sea look, forget the should be found    that keep thy rich in the    dream, cherish’d to whither in than death she, and behold, I pray.

                Behind our people far apartments. I wish a husbands chaste? Oft in men    of one day of two armies.    That have seen some crystalline; since which shall know: margaret, hist!

                Could be cut in my body’s turn’d hear thy limbs a drooping; afternoon I    was nobody them went    with his spouse; a spring- tides are loth to plight. The main: no more!

                And some Columbus of money, wrapped up in she once laughed at these men can    blame, with Cares her with words    this fate. Then what pastimes resort vnto my mother gentleman.

                My true nature’s magnanimity of wit, till pudding, to speak. Stealing    under mind, that, reach high    hyll, the sun and turn this way? Much stupified the would look down.

                Love thee and now in age. Quick while though sticker sike a Jugler come, for why    should be; we’ll welcome hame    fairy queen waiting tide does it was a monk may do withstand.

                Ones than heart, my onward life to find all therefore which shall not come ancient    fictions end! Have him who    under mistress bent thou guess to be their powerful army.

                Some he must unlearn to procreate again. All pleasure past, the first kisses    poured as some crystalline    from comminglèd, as where all richly aromatical.

                But the forfeit when Arac. Hey ho hollidaye, the laws, that his chirrup on    the women most cold. And    I sought for the Noose of salt, and saw I at presence the please.

                None like Pygmalion, glorious gate. A watchfulness, let me heart: ev’n the    wear fetter to pitie augment.    To be most ruthful, and told him, and, t was desire.

                Like him much salt, the glitterers of the best sigh. Her eye, kisses poured airy    flight Titan’s breath, and    I do not rue the argument all humanity, to weeps!

                Now say is, nor place; crones, and sugar. Be it lawful, and then Remember    the day after the    hill. But both himself up on their kindness of Amminadib.

                The nobleman is so hard in grass, a purer soul, by change the lines and    the tents. Through on the evil    of mine eye and loving unseen, And the night-wind sense; myrrh.

                Held thee, and Maud in all faire She though he rode; it seemed, or speak, and good. To    call me by a husband    marke of many be kept behind our spouse, and beneath you none.

                Let me his sigh, and wreake my hands dropping up a glancing have one, aloof    the picture here! And silent,    sullen-seeming; the armèd man, and he said; and brain did guide.

                Of the hermit’s carnal ecstasy! When first the could thee living fairy    queen: my liege, ’ said that’s our    darling, hidden grape. The darke heart has false bond—still seemde but this.

                Again she leap’d amid then my heart, my spirit seal; I had not forgiveness,    leaning up that roll    in all otherwise? In the fall, and the Lady of the grace?

[redmatches]

Prompt #3: Scale

The Warrior of Darkness, that day, scaled the mountain to Mount Gulg. And I wondered that day, if they’d ever face my crew. Wickedness in white. But I know the answer now.

__

“Captain! Boss!” One of the adventurers called out. “Are you finally letting us fight alongside you?” The clamoring group of ten bright-eyed adventureres looked at Isabella, armed with their spears and swords and shields and bows, looking excited to finally participate and help their fellow people from the Crystarium.

Isabella raised her fencer’s hat, sliding it onto her head. “Sort of. I need you lot to handle holding the line and helping the Crystarium here. Protect the Accensor Gate, and make sure the Sin Eaters don’t spill through. And I’m not your captain anymore--” “Boss!” Another one raised their hand. “You’ll always be our Captain! Thanks for saving us from the Sin Eaters! We’ll do our part!” Isabella smiled, sighing. “Sentimental bastards. Alright, get to your bloody posts and we’ll live another day. The Eulmorans are approaching with their gods forsaken Sin Eaters. Get to it!”

There’s a cheer from the merry group, as they eagerly rush out of the Crystarium.

__ It was never easy. The forces at The Ostall Imperative were cracking, desperately waiting for the relief of the Warrior of Darkness. The Sin Eaters were overwhelming. Isabella found herself there, panting, her blade in hand and focus in the other. Wave after wave, she brought all she could bear, swiping fire with her blade and shooting lightning down in a brilliant streak, but the Sin Eaters still stood.

Around her, the waves of Sin Eaters were crushing through the lines. Perhaps, she was next. She faced the grim reality bravely, grasping her blade and giving out a rattling cry, charging forward to cover the rest of the others around. A floating Sin Eater, all with the countenance of an angel, wings and blade, casting judgement onto Isabella. Her blade clashed against the angelic figure, and in a mere moment, she was swept aside with a slash across her chest and up to her face, thrown to the side like a useless puppet. Her eyesight began to fade, before she heard a voice cry out. “Boss!” A spear landed into the back of the angelic Sin Eater, and from the corner of her eyes, she could see the ten that defied her orders. She reached out, despite the pain, yelling, “No! Run!” But they were surrounded. It was too late. __ Isabella lived. They did not. She saw rise to the worst Sin Eater she had ever seen-- an amalgamation combined of the ten she had saved from the Sin Eaters. Fate a cruel way of countering someone’s work. They tried to save her from Sin Eaters, and this was their reward. When the Warrior of Darkness scaled Mount Gulg, she could only watch as the Warrior of Darkness ascended into the infinite light and eventually, brought light back to Kholusia. She watched when the Warrior of Darkness succeeded, and the Sin Eaters scattered to the plains like feral dogs. What was left of them, anyways. __ It was folly, and it was dangerous. But slowly, up the arms of the basic Talos meant to connect to Mount Gulg, did Isabella scale upward. There practically was nothing left, but the remnants of cracked marble. She climbed and climbed, up like an endless ladder, her arms and legs sore, sweat beading down her face. When she finally reached up, crawling across the crumbling rock and towards the bleating white ground, she could hear a voice.

Boss. We just wanted to help. Please help us! We’re sorry, boss. Imagination often had a cold heart. She trawled through, trying to recount the path that the Warrior of Darkness took, until she saw a cowering figure of light atop the wall. Shambling and hugging the wall. A mournful noise every few moments. Her heart drooped, as she pulled her rapier to her hand, and began scaling the marbled wall up towards this strange Sin Eater mass that remained. “Say good night, my companions. You deserve some rest.”

[comicbookuniversity]

Dragon Ball Super and the Future

by Bunnypwn Gold

I am a huge fan of Dragon Ball, as I have stated here before and as I have written about in the past. My love and knowledge of this franchise is deep, and I will always be ready to enjoy what it has in store and wrestle with the ideas in it. And right now, it’s a great time to be a fan, because Dragon Ball Super is going strong. The anime has come to a conclusion and/or could come back in the future, and the manga is approaching the climax of its newest story, the Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga. It’s amazing for a lot of reasons that I’ll discuss as I respond to this article by Kofi Outlaw, which praises the saga for going back to DBZ style storytelling as a “course correction.” While I agree with several points in this article, I also disagree with the basic premise and argue that the author is only saying these things about the saga because he has not been paying attention to how consistently better the manga has been than the anime of Super. I am using this response to organize my thoughts on how Super has gone so far, the divide between the anime and manga version of events, and the future of the series as a whole, not as a pro or anti stance against Kofi or his article, to be clear.

At the beginning, Kofi criticizes Super for having low stakes and focusing on making Goku and Vegeta the sole focus, increasing their power levels dramatically and leaving other characters to languish. He also said that there were a lot of gimmick fights. Overall, the story structure had changed to reflect this change in character focus and the villains were weak and unmemorable. This new arc, featuring fan-favorite villain Planet-Eater Moro and a range of great battles with his bandits for the Z Fighters to show their stuff, is a return to the DBZ structure, and it features all the brutality and high stakes of the old days. Best of all, it lays the foundations for a new future focusing on other characters.

I have to say, I agree with much of this. The focus on Goku and Vegeta as “Gods” and their super-special Saiyan-ness in the meta canon is really annoying to me. Elements of this were seen in DBZ, as the humans and Piccolo stop trying to catch up to the Saiyans, and it was all GT was about, making that series a big disappointment for me. The first three stories of the Super era are notably low stakes, as well, and I would have liked a little more tension. There could have been more focus on other characters and a larger cast in general, and that certainly would have been enjoyable. And to finish it out, I am very excited for what the Moro story means for the future. The whole thing has a “last chance to shine” feel for the old guard of characters we’ve known and loved for years, Goku is probably going to master Ultra Instinct and thus complete his journey as a martial artist, and it still opens up a lot more about the history and lore of the series to explore in the future.

Beyond that, I have a lot to disagree with. For starters, if you look at the Tournament of Destroyers and the Tournament of Power and just see a bunch of “gimmicky fights” and no stakes, you’re missing the point. I always loved the tournament stories in Dragon Ball, and both of these Super tournaments deliver on that joy. The manga had a lot of important differences with the anime in how these tournaments went, too. Before the Tournament of Destroyers, the manga went through a condensed version of the Battle of Gods events, only offering one extension in the opening to give an actual benchmark on Goku’s strength so we know where we’re starting as a series, an important gift the anime and movie fail to deliver. It then time skips past the Resurrection ‘F’ story, which I think is sad, but ultimately serves the manga’s purposes. After Goku got his God form, the next thing we see, before the Tournament, is Goku training with a new master, showing that he’s back on the path to martial arts excellence. By skipping the Golden Frieza fight, the manga passed on a story that only shows off how cool Super Saiyan Blue looks (a term, by the way, the manga invented because it’s better); outside of showing off this new form, the Golden Frieza story adds nothing. As Goku and Vegeta enter the Tournament of Destroyers, they build a team entirely focused on power, and lose one of their strongest members because of a test of intelligence. To further drive home the point, Goku’s final battle with Hit ends with him realizing that his strength allows him to outmaneuver an innovative and amazing fighting technique, Time Skip. He then forfeits the match so he can have a real fight with Hit later, where Hit can try to kill Goku and has time to train beforehand, which sounds a lot like a DBZ style story. It’s the first step in Goku relearning that technique matters more than power. In the manga, they also gave more love to Piccolo. In the anime, they had him be effectively useless, barely able to fight Frost, a Frieza parallel. The manga had Piccolo fight evenly with Frost, who later shows that he’s almost an equal with Super Saiyan Goku; Piccolo lost because of poison, not because he “could never hope to beat a strong person.” It’s not as cool as it could have been, but it’s more than Piccolo ever got in the anime.

Now, I have to vehemently disagree that Zamasu was a weak, forgettable villain who existed solely as a gimmick. The Zamasu story carefully builds and delivers on the many themes of the franchise that I identify as atheist. Throughout the series, Toriyama repeatedly introduced gods of varying kinds and levels of divinity for the sole purpose of tearing down the illusion of their importance and special qualities. Gods in this world are a verifiable fact, and not only are they just people with a particular job, but every time Goku and Vegeta meet a god, they treat them like anyone else and show them no special respect or deference. Goku and Vegeta are the best exemplars in the series of treating deities like normal people, something the series itself does regularly. It’s one of my favorite parts of the series, as an atheist myself.

So, here we have Zamasu, a deity who believes that he’s uniquely capable and qualified to rule all of existence and that mortals aren’t worthy of life. In the Bible, on more than one occasion, God decided to wash the world clean of humans because they had become too sinful; similar stories exist in other religions and cultures. In this case, Zamasu is motivated by intense and literal hatred of mortals, who he sees as not simply having “become too sinful,” but fundamentally incapable of being anything else. He extends this hatred to other gods who want mortals to exist and do as they please. His rise in Future Trunks’s time to be the almost-almighty God with a Capital G is the antithesis of what the series has said about gods and divinity on every level, and that’s exactly why he’s such an amazing villain. He also checks a lot of other boxes. He uses the power of a mortal who made himself into a god, Goku, to kill the gods and overpower the mortals. He also relies on a mortal, Trunks, to develop his power and another, Dabura, to create the opening he needed to start his plan. In working to bring the downfall of all mortals, Zamasu in effect worships at the altar of mortals and relies on their miracles to succeed, just as Goku has trained with several deities on his path to success.

Trunks is also notable, because growing up, Trunks didn’t have any gods to look to like Goku did. The first “god” in Trunks’s life was Goku, as both his mother and teacher would talk about Goku as their main inspiration for hope. Goku was made into a mythical figure that could have fixed everything, and that’s exactly what Trunks used time travel for, both times he employed the strategy. That’s why Zamasu taking Goku’s body was so impactful, because “hope” came to kill him. Goku’s ultimate failure to defeat Zamasu also tears down the idea of Goku’s “divinity” in the same way as other gods were taken down a notch. This results in Goku calling on Zeno for help. The development of Goku and Zeno’s relationship is interesting and important in setting up the conflict of this story. They become friends because Goku is the only person who treats Zeno like he’s not special, which seems to confirm that Goku’s relationship to divinity is proper. At the same time, Goku doesn’t like Zeno, because he knows Zeno is just a bored shut-in and likely doesn’t understand Zeno’s role. And really, Zeno doesn’t have a role like the Gods of Destruction and the Supreme Kais. He’s in charge because he’s the most powerful and can destroy all of existence with a thought. That’s exactly what Zeno decides to do when he sees Zamasu and the multiverse he had been ignoring, getting rid of everything because he didn’t like how it turned out. Not unlike Zamasu with mortals; in effect, Zeno is the thing that Zamasu wanted to become, and that story ends with his vision of reality being carried out. It was the ingenuity of mortal time travel that made some form of happy ending, because like in every other Dragon Ball story, you can’t rely on the gods for most anything. So yeah, Zamasu is an amazing villain and his saga was brilliant. My main criticism of the manga version was that the setup was rushed, so the death of Future Bulma happened off panel and the death of the rest of the mortals in existence was breezed by. Plenty of brutality and high stakes, if you ask me, though yes, I wanted to see it with my own eyes more.

Then we get into the Tournament of Power, a great tournament story that really drives home the point of the god-centric Super run. The Tournament of Power, if you didn’t guess, isn’t about power. It’s about teamwork, strategy, and skill. In the manga, this is made absolutely clear. The downfall of everyone in the tournament is that they rejected this basic premise or were wiped out by someone who would later meet their downfall for rejecting this basic premise, setting up their incorrect view to be knocked down in the end. Goku brought Frieza onto Team Universe 7 because he feared they would need his raw power, ignoring the possibility they bring in Yamcha or Chaozu for a friendly face that works well with their team. Hit reappears and shows that he has gotten way stronger. However, he loses to Jiren, Goku’s main opponent, in the opening of the tournament because he was relying on that raw power and abdicated the potential of his famed fighting technique. Multiple times, stronger and more arrogant solo fighters regard those fighting as a team as being weak and no threat. The main exception to those relying on teamwork being weak is Gohan, who was very strong and wanted to work as a team. In the anime, Gohan was made inferior to Frieza and ultimately lost trying to beat a lesser opponent. In the manga, Gohan, in his Potential Unleashed state and not as a Super Saiyan of any form, fought evenly with Hybrid Super Saiyan Kefla, who I suspect was the second strongest person on the field, and double-KO’d with her. In the fight, it’s implied that Gohan could go Super Saiyan while using his Potential Unleashed state, but chose not to so he didn’t have to rely on that kind of gimmicky power. It’s incredibly badass and satisfying.

As the fight with Jiren nears its climax, Goku uses a strategy that could kill him in an attempt to overpower the foe who’s stronger than any God of Destruction. This prompts Roshi to step in and admonish Goku with the single most important line in Super. When Goku says he needs more power to beat Jiren, Roshi says, “Hmph…Power, y’say? Plain old fighting strength? Who the heck taught you that? Vegeta? Frieza?” This is a great moment, because not only does it push Goku to go for Ultra Instinct and focus on bettering himself as a martial artist once again, but it pushes back on the worst lessons fans take from the franchise. Goku isn’t cool because of his strength, and he’s not so strong because he can transform. It’s all about that martial artist’s journey, baby. Goku grew up constantly learning new ways to become a better martial artist than he was the previous day, and it was pure passion driving him; he got to where he is because he took every opportunity to better himself, with his transformations just a convenient way for the story to keep upping the stakes. Jiren is the pursuit of raw power incarnate, with indifference and constant dissatisfaction his reward, and all he wants is his dead master to tell him he’s finally a good fighter. He’s everything Goku was becoming, and Goku overcame him by returning to his roots. He was able to fight Jiren evenly with a technique that anyone, theoretically, could learn if they reached the same heights of martial arts mastery, as proven when Roshi uses an imperfect form of Ultra Instinct to trade blows with Jiren. The manga anchors this lesson because it focused on technique the whole time and built towards this moment: Super Saiyan God was just another technique that showed Goku he had a lot left to learn; the Tournament of Destroyers showed how boring life is when you’re so strong you can’t actually test yourself; Zamasu showed how power is corrupting and how the pursuit of it changes you; and the Tournament of Power shows how damaging and literally suicidal pursuing raw power over personal growth is.

And to put the nail on the coffin, Goku doesn’t beat Jiren with Ultra Instinct, but instead beats him by briefly working with Frieza; you can’t master the path of a martial artist in one fight. Android 17 wins the tournament for their universe by playing dead, an age-old strategy, and uses the Super Dragon Balls to wish back all the universes destroyed by Zeno. While that can be seen as lowering the stakes, it’s no more stake-lowering than any other time the Dragon Balls have been used this way in high-stakes stories, and the stakes in this case were the destruction of eight entire universes. That’s pretty darn high. Also, it’s a good time to point out that Zeno was the real villain of the Tournament of Power. He was going to destroy eight universes out of boredom, and then remembered he could instead let one survive by having them Hunger Games for his amusement. There are no stakes, no reason to fight, without Zeno. There’s going to be conflict with Zeno in the future, I’m sure of it.

The anime followed a very different route than the manga, focusing entirely on Goku’s raw power and how cool he is. They added a lot of filler moments to both increase the number of gimmick fights and silly, campy fun, too, which made the whole thing lower stakes and less brutal. As described in regards to Piccolo and Gohan, the anime also made other characters weaker compared to Goku and Vegeta to amplify the impact of their unique transformations. In the Tournament of Destroyers, the anime introduced the idea of Goku using Kaio-ken while Super Saiyan Blue, for no other reason than to let Goku use a bunch more strength after he proved he could win. I won’t get into it, because it’s a tangent, but the entire concept of Blue Kaio-ken is BS, and the DBZ anime is where the proof lies; the Super manga actually touches on that exact thing, since Goku trying something like Blue Kaio-ken against Jiren is what nearly kills him and prompts Roshi to step in. Anyway, the anime also elongated the Zamasu story with a series of gimmick fights meant to show off how cool the three Saiyans were, even though they knew from the start that none of them would beat Zamasu. That story featured a bunch of secretly alive people, too, lowering the stakes and overall brutality of Zamasu as a villain. The time between Zamasu and the Tournament of Power, including the lead-up to the tournament, was spent showcasing filler side stories that make the other characters, ignored for most of Super, look way cooler and stronger than they actually ended up being. For as much as I wanted to see more from Krillin, Tien, and Piccolo in the manga, at least Toyotaro didn’t jerk us around acting like they were going to be way bigger players than they were. And the way the anime presented Goku achieving Ultra Instinct was focused entirely on strength and treating it like a super cool new transformation, which it isn’t. So if you were watching that story, I could see how you come out of Super thinking that it’s less intense, more gimmicky, and glorified one or two characters to the detriment of others. That’s why I think you could only be as impressed with the Moro arc as a “course correction” if you’ve been paying attention to the anime and only just now got into the manga.

This brings and end to what I’ll call Phase 1 of Super and to a time skip past the battle with Broly (which I would argue was for the same reason the Golden Frieza battle was) and into the Moro arc, which I agree is a great story that brings back a lot of things Super wasn’t doing enough of. It even brings back the meta story structure of the Buu Saga, since the first part is a very Phase 1 storyline and the second half, after Goku and Vegeta are defeated, is much more of a DBZ storyline, just as Kofi described. It’s like saying, “Yeah, we want to pivot away from this, we’re done making that point.” Looking at the first part of the Moro arc, you can read it as a way of reinforcing the grand statement of Phase 1, that the constant jockeying for power and strength and the glorifying of a couple people to the detriment of others is a bad way to write a story. The reason that’s important to say is because that’s the way a lot of the meta canon has been going for a while, at least it seems to me; all the fun, original video game stories are about Saiyans and their super special Saiyan-ness and how super cool strong they can get. It’s why GT was such a disappointment to me, and as I said, it stopped several great characters from trying to become better during DBZ. I think Kofi is right to say moving away from that model of storytelling is a good and important shift in the right direction, though I can’t say if it’s for the same reasons. That’s because, if it’s not clear, I think that what Super did along the way in Phase 1, at least in the manga, was better, more important, and more complex than the simple glorification and valorization of Goku and Vegeta, loaded as it was with themes arguing against that model and continual demonstrations of why they need to switch back to a focus on their martial arts journey. The structure of the Moro arc only serves to reinforce and finalize this thematic argument. As it continues, we are undoubtedly in store for some truly amazing fights and a satisfying, climactic battle with Moro for the entire Dragon Gang.

I also want to make a very important point for how the series is moving forward. Kofi says that Toriyama is switching back to this DBZ style story because he “has learned a thing or two from his mistakes.” For one, the massive success of Super doesn’t really seem like a mistake for anyone to learn from. For two, it’s really in poor taste to imply that Toriyama is changing how he’s writing a story because of negative fan reaction. Allegedly, that sort of thing happened with the Buu Saga, which is why Goku came back and we saw Super Saiyan 3, the perfect continuation and parody of the Super Saiyan form, all because the fans didn’t like Gohan’s high school adventures. I don’t think that’s happening again, allegedly, and in my opinion it’s not exactly a good look to say that it is. For three, that almost literally can’t be what’s happening, because Toyotaro has much greater control over the narrative by now. For those who don’t know, the way Super is being created is that Akira Toriyama writes plot summaries, and then lets the different creatives develop it from there, free to add and subtract and move around what they will. The anime team decided to focus on power and how super cool Goku is, and that version of events reflects that. Toyotaro, artist and co-author of the manga, kept his eye on the martial arts journey while executing this long vision of Toriyama’s to introduce new levels of grandeur and warn against getting lost in it, and that version of events reflects that. Over the course of the series, each creative team was given increasingly greater control over the narrative, leading to greater divergences; the two Tournaments of Power might as well be two different stories. By now, in the Moro arc, with no competing anime version of the story, Toyotaro has much more authorial control than when he started, and that will only increase until, as I hope and predict, Toriyama officially hands off the series to Toyotaro’s capable hands so he can write new stories for the foreseeable future. So no, I don’t think it’s very accurate to say that Toriyama learned any lesson because Toyotaro is the one making the important changes in how the story is told, not Toriyama. Keep your eye on the prize, you know; forgetting Toyotaro’s role means forgetting that we can and probably will have new Dragon Ball that isn’t a video game or video game-related story after the passing of Toriyama. I think the long hiatus of the anime reinforces this: Toriyama has said that if the anime team followed Toyotaro’s lead, they wouldn’t make so many art mistakes, and allowing the manga to develop lead time could be a strategy to follow the manga as a source material in the future, rather than continue this confusing dual path.

So yeah, the Dragon Ball Super manga is better than the anime in every way, and judging the series by the anime alone is setting yourself up for disappointment. The Galactic Patrol Prisoner Saga showcases an amazing villain for the franchise, and it sets up more to explore in a future that values the contributions of the full cast. It also, to my eyes, foreshadows the end of the road for the Dragon Gang we’ve been following so far, and thus a potential new beginning with their successors; I mean, there’s no more time after this between Beerus and meeting Uub to use, and meeting Uub is the moment Goku passes the baton to a successor. This is a time to look forward to that bright future and reflect on the themes the manga has been developing as we head into it, as well as what the two versions of Super mean for the franchise as a whole.

[tarajenkins]

And then there's the matter of the crap people have brought to my yard in the tags they put on my art and errant vagueposts, and my need to no longer smile and nod silently like the WoL. GANGWAY, IT’S THE DISK HORSE

When I was posting a lot of art with the Chais and Vauthry, it didn’t take me long to notice there was a distinct double standard at work in the tags of the reblogs. People who lovingly cooed over rat grandpa would tag my art--why they reblogged it in the first place, I wish I knew, I started blocking ones who did this--they would tag my art about how ew Vauthry is, how they were triggered by Vauthry, how they DEFINITELY WEREN'T REBLOGGING FOR VAUTHRY, etc. 

Even though there is a very good case Vauthry had no choice in his behavior at all, as perhaps the Ascians didn’t. Even though what he did do is a fraction of the atrocities the Ascians have done, the breaking point for these people was literally the lesser of two evils. Rat grandpa is afforded an amazing level of sympathetic theorycrafting, Vauthry is just dismissed as a “bloated parasite” (interesting choice of adjective to the person who made that comment). Despite all in-game evidence the Lightwarden corruption rat grandpa forced on him before he was born likely twisted both his body and mind. Despite all in-game evidence Ascians took full advantage of their newborn pawn.

When @kasunshine​ pointed out that vaguepost in the Vauthry tags aimed at me, I saw a second one by the same person--it seems to be gone now?--calling me a "Vauthry Stan" who had gall to talk shit about rat grandpa for what he did to an unborn child.

Why does it take a “stan” to find what was done to him monstrous? Oh--right. Because rat grandpa. I probably would’ve made it under the radar if Lahabrea had done it.

No matter how much people may say it’s because Vauthry did bad things (that was sort of the point of rat grandpa corrupting him), or that he had no character development (hi Zenos), the fact remains that somehow, fat jokes are the preferred method of mockery. 

Creating, liking, reblogging, not speaking out against (unless confronted), fat jokes. Fat jokes, imagine that. 

Fat jokes even got defended in this recent round of discussion, under the guise of "concern", of course--even though it’s been thoroughly documented that shit is bullying and helps no one but the bully to feel better about themselves. Imagine upskirting Dulia-Chai’s model and laughing at her body, because haha, fat people are fat, gross! Imagine laughing at Dulia-Chai for eating because haha, fat people eat, gross! I’ve even read so many comments elsewhere about how Vauthry is absolutely a sexual predator, although nothing in-game backs that up. Yet when rat grandpa practically brags about all the kids he's had with unwitting partners, there is only silence from the same people. Silence, or excuses.

But haha, fat people would totally be predators, amirite? They’re gross!

I've dealt with this attitude before when drawing big guys in other fandoms.  I’ve seen this phenomenon happen with them too. It’s always the same. Tumblr will gleefully reblog a fat woman for progressive brownie points (like my Dulia-Chai art), then will point and laugh and otherwise dehumanize fat men like kids on a playground (see disclaimers for EW VAUTHRY in the tags of the aforementioned Dulia-Chai art). If Vauthry had been a woman, or if rat grandpa had Vauthry's model, I am pretty sure most of this argument would not happen. In fact, if Vauthry’s model were reversed with rat grandpa, I would bet money people would all share my pain over the injustice of the Eulmore arc and all its poorly thought out shlock.

Square played the fat hate themselves, to the hilt.They used nothing but fat bodies in the trailer to represent the evils of Eulmore. Vauthry's introduction made sure to begin with a long, slooooooow pan from the stomach up. In German, Alphinaud straight-up called him a "fatass", apparently. Implications of cannibalism because we’re back in the Austin Powers days, I guess, even though meol made absolutely no sense if you bothered to do the math. But why bother to do the math? “Get in mah belly” haha fat people would totally eat people, amirite?

And finally, in the end, Square elevated the man who did this to Vauthry to a hero, because it seems they guessed correctly--not a lot of people would give a shit what was done to the fat guy, they’re too busy blaming the victim (and everyone else rat grandpa killed) because rat grandpa is just soooo tragic and

ah

"aesthetically pleasing". (Modding rat grandpa into bed for screenshots is just a coincidence, it’s all about his character.)

I've read long discourse on how rat grandpa is innocent of all things he's done because Tempering, though rat grandpa's dialogue sounded like the Ascians expected to be Tempered ("of course" Zodiark Tempered them, "it was only natural".) It would be tragic if it pans out the Ascians were puppets, but before they were, there was a choice made -- of free will and immortal wisdom -- to commit to this bloody course. I don’t really buy the bullshit rat grandpa was selling about looking for other ways to achieve their goal. If there was really a less tragic path and they could choose it, why didn’t they choose it in the first place? They’re immortal. They have all the time in the worlds to achieve their goal. Yet they went headlong into the murder of billions of sentient creatures. Made a game of it. Oh, the WoL was being tested? Why does the WoL need to pass a test, when if they disagreed with the Ascians’ methods, it was stated plainly that the Ascians would then kill them anyway? Why does anyone on the Shards need to pass a test for the right to exist? Yeah, yeah, “moral relativism”, I know. Cool motive, still murder, and by rat grandpa’s own admission they freely chose to become the thralls of a primal, apparently fully aware of the monstrous things they may do in Zodiark’s name. Of course, rat grandpa said he’d do it all even if he weren’t Tempered. Hm.  And I thought Raha was a shitty actor, lmao. BUT ASCIAN HUBRIS AND GENERAL JACKASSERY ASIDE

For all the mental gymnastics to excuse the Ascians of the deaths of entire worlds, the people I've countered about Vauthry go through comical, armchair-psychologist lengths to claim Vauthry was ABSOLUTELY aware and responsible for everything he'd done since rat grandpa corrupted him before he was born (corrupted him with Light, which the latest patch implied was very much like Tempering). 

There are no examples in-game of Light corruption leaving a person unscathed, mentally or physically. Not Pixie Kings, not even the Hydaelyn-blessed WoL. But these people will look at rat grandpa, sigh lovingly, and absolve him of all these atrocities because Tempering--then look at his creation, his Light-Tempered corrupted from birth creation, the twenty-foot-tall Hume with the bendy straw neck and a Lightwarden forced into his chest, the guy quite clearly mad, the guy who was never asked if he wanted this and who wasn’t even born when it was forced on him, and condemn him for acting as he was made and conditioned to act by rat grandpa and rat grandpa’s pal, Vauthry’s father, because obviously Vauthry is not affected by the corruption forced on him at all, no sir. Against every bit of evidence to the contrary, Vauthry was in total control of himself, and so is to blame for everything. Because reasons. He was fully aware of reality despite being brainwashed into a bubble of lies. That uncontrollable urge to violence that was going to make your WoL kill their own friends? Nah, wouldn’t affect that kid without Hydaelyn’s Blessing, what a leap of logic that would be! Certainly wasn't rat grandpa’s fault, nope! Vauthry would’ve become a Lightwarden without anyone’s help! The Ascians just accidentally corrupted an unborn child and then saw him groomed to a “desired end”. Happens all the time.  (Yoshi-P saying he would like us to consider if Vauthry was “really just a friend of the Sin Eaters, or was he being controlled by someone” was just a really oddly specific red herring. ) The folks I’ve countered definitely don’t give a thought to how frightened his mother looked while The Men (tm) discussed what to do with her body, either. Consent is only valid if convenient when it’s rat grandpa. (”Respects women” my fat ass.) And whatever happened to grooming children being fucking gross, Tumblr dot com? Because Vauthry was a child. Just because he didn’t grow up into your dating sim wet dream doesn’t mean what was done to him was remotely okay.

These people couldn't just relent neither one may have had control. There isn't a fraction of the Deeper Understanding spared to Vauthry that they seek to give rat grandpa for genocide.

They just have to make sure the fat guy they don’t want to, uh, take screenshots with gets what he "deserves".

[stormscream]

Conflux, Finale

Commander St. Peter sat in her ready room, smiling as she stared down at the PADD in her hands.  On it, a picture of the three girls smiled back up at her: herself, the other Jessica, and Anafenza.  They’d taken it just the day before, that night in Hurricane Hal’s, as they waited to return to their homes.  She’d let the other Jess take the photo, and then gave a printed copy to Anafenza to keep along with her communicator.  Since the linkpearl had been fused to it during their rescue, it was inoperable…but it did make for a nice amulet of sorts for the woman. Temporal Prime Directive be damned, she thought; no one would be able to trace it anyway.  If anyone even believed the young au ra’s story anyway…

Her door chimed, and she looked up.  “Come in,” she called, and the doors parted to allow her first officer and science officer into the room.  Both wore concerned expressions on their faces, but Sano, her trill science officer, looked the most concerned.  “Dossu, Nizeri…what’s going on?”

Obruz Dossu looked to the other woman and nodded, the bajoran deferring to the science officer.  Nizeri Sano cleared her throat.  “Commander, there might have been a problem…”

“A problem?”

She nodded.  “We based all of our calculations on the assumption that the women were using our reality as one anchor, and that they were tethered to their own realities.  Every reality has a unique quantum signature; anything that originates there bears that same signature, and anything that comes from outside will have a conflicting signature.  The other Jessica and Anafenza had different quantum signatures, which we identified and based our calculations on.”

Jessica nodded.  “Ok, right.  Makes sense.  So what’s the problem?”

“We didn’t know about you!”

Jessica blinked, taken aback.  “Excuse me?”

Obruz cleared his throat. “We discovered an anomaly in your quantum signature.  And when we researched it more we…began to realize why the Andromeda mission – the one you and Wirstowx originated from – is classified at such high levels.”

“My signature is different…because I was born in the Andromeda Galaxy?”  Jessica shook her head.  “That doesn’t make sense…”

“It wouldn’t, no. Because, it shouldn’t make a difference. There would be some variance owing to location within the universe itself, but it would be similar enough.  No, yours is completely different.”  Sano shook her head.  “Yours has a known match, too.  You’re from the ‘Mirror Universe’.”

Jessica went wide-eyed at this, then turned to Obruz.  The bajoran first officer nodded.  “We checked with Admiral Scott; he confirmed it to us, after we pressed the importance of understanding why this went wrong.  The Andromeda mission didn’t just go to a different galaxy; it crossed the universal barrier as well.”

“He couldn’t give us access to the reports from that time, but he did explain a certain…’quantum inversion’ that occurred as ships passed through the gateway Starfleet used to get to Andromeda.  It wasn’t until the Aventine tried to meet the expedition using its conventional slipstream drive that the inversion was even discovered and studied.  But by the time we began to understand it, the expedition ended.  The ships returned home, and all of the data was classified.”

Jessica shook her head, her thoughts racing with implications.  Still, they hadn’t explained the problem to her.  “Alright…but how is this a problem?  What happened to the other two women?  What happened to Jessica and Anafenza?”

Sano shook her head and sighed.  “The calculations we used to anchor them here relied on our quantum signature.  Before we realized you were acting as the tether to them.  If we had been able to modify to match your quantum signature, it would have worked. We believe, when we inserted you into the equation, the navigational sensors used your unique quantum signature and anchored the women in the mirror universe.”

“Meaning?”

“We discovered a similar inversion during the transport process.”  Sano looked apologetically at Jessica.  “And before you ask; no, we can’t lock back on and rescue them.  We’re too far out of sync now.  They are where they are now.  I’m sorry.”

Jessica stared down at the picture of the three of them, then back up to her officers.  “So…where did we send them?”

“Near as we can tell,” the science officer replied, “some form of a parallel universe similar to their own reality.”  She bit her lip and frowned sadly.  “I’m…really sorry Jess.  If we’d known…”

Jessica shook her head, picking up the PADD again.  Her cheeks felt hot, and she feel tears forming.  “Please…get out.”

Once the door shut behind them, Jessica tossed the PADD to the side and, burying her face in her hands, began to sob.

 Meanwhile, elsewhere in time and space…

The transporter effect subsided, and Jessica St. Peter blinked, looking around at the city buildings surrounding her.  She expected to be deposited back in her home on Cap Au Diable, but perhaps the convergence and the transport technobabble she’d been subjected to didn’t have quite as accurate aim.  She stepped out from between the buildings, looking around.  That’s when it hit her.

All the banners.  The gold stars.  The images of an emperor standing victorious and benevolent, not towering over his minions with outstretched claws.  She wasn’t in the Rogue Isle.  She wasn’t even in Paragon City…

“Oh shit…” she said, with terrifying realization.  She immediately took to the skies with a whirlwind around her, making it harder to see her. She passed a banner and saw in large writing her fear’s confirmed.

Praetoria.

“I’m on Praetorian Earth,” she said, cursing again.  “I can’t be caught here, not if he is still alive here.  I need to get back, how to get back…”

She scanned the streets for the tell-tale ramshackle armor of the Resistance.  If anyone knows how to get back, she thought, they would know.  Just gotta bust a few heads…

 Elsewhere in time and space, further still…

The twinkling of chimes subsided, but the blinding light still filled Anafenza’s vision.  She squinted, looking around in confusion.

She was on a small hill, covered in bright pink and purple flowers.  Small roofs poked up out of the ground, the huts seemingly built built into the hills.  In the distance, on a small lake, rose a large castle with beautiful filigree wings spread behind it.  But the sky…the sky was nothing but blinding light.  No clouds, no sun – not even warmth, she noted, as she shivered in the breeze.

Small giggles echoed around her, and whispered, child-like voices from unseen speakers surrounded her.  “What’s this?  A mortal!”  “She just came from a pillar of light!”  “It’s a mortal!  Here!” “Is she a sin-eater?”

Anafenza spun around in confusion.  “Who’s there? Where am I?”

“Doesn’t know where she is? Poor thing…”  “I want to play!”  “No, it’s my turn!”

A cacophony of “my turns” smothered Ana, and she dropped to the ground in a panic.  The dark aether began to seep from her side as she slammed her eyes shut, the voices ringing in her horns.

Then, there was silence, and a small finger poked her in the nose.  Ana opened her eyes a smidge.

The small faerie-like being grinned at her, dark eyes regarding her playfully.  “Well you’re definitely not a sin eater,” it said with a happy giggle. “I’m Eo Aenc.  We’re going to have fun but first,” they looked up, then with a flutter moved forward to tug on Ana’s horns.  “We need to get moving!  I don’t want to turn my new friend into a leafman right now; mortals are so few in our realm.  Come, get up! They’re coming!”

“What…who…who is coming?” Ana scrambled to her feet and took a few staggering steps forward, turning to look behind her.

Large, grotesque creatures bounded towards her, their hides porcelain white, eyes dark and devoid of life.  The auras around them brightened the air, making it difficult to even look upon them.

Anafenza screamed, taking off after Eo Aenc into the relative safety of the realm of the fae, Il Mheg...

[theonyxpath]

Now available: In Media Res for the Trinity Continuum! Now in PDF and print from DriveThruRPG.

“We call them Talents because they’re different. They have certain qualities about them, certain knacks. It’s subtle, never quite superhuman, and no two are the same. They all have one thing in common, though — they’ll adapt to whatever you throw at them. I’ve seen Talents survive situations that’d kill you or me five times over, and come out of it looking like they’d just gone for a jog. Don’t ever underestimate them. These people are capable of anything, as long as they want it hard enough.” 

— Dr. Stephanie Levine, Director of Dimensional Sciences, Project Echo 

Trinity Continuum: In Media Res is a collection of pre-constructed stories for the Trinity Continuum, each centering on Talents — hypercompetent individuals with uncanny abilities and a hefty dose of luck whose lives always seem to take turns for the exciting. Storyguides can use these ready-to-go adventures to start off a new campaign with a bang, weave in as an interstitial story, or modify to suit their own ongoing games. 

Trinity Continuum: In Media Res includes: 

Codename: Aquarius, a spy story of questionable loyalties in a wilderness of mirrors. 

Artifacts, Etc., a tale of repatriating ancient artifacts misused by a Hollywood studio. 

Caper, Incorporated, a reality-bending super-science heist for the fate of the world. 

Classified: Help Wanted, a deadly game of cat-and-mouse in a single locked-in skyscraper. 

Also available: the Trinity Continuum Storyguide Screen and Storyguide Booklet! Now available from IPR in print, and on DriveThruRPG in PDF! We also had a bunch at Studio 2, but it’s completely sold out already (THANK YOU!) so we’re looking into options.

The Only Constant is Change.

“Potential is everywhere. You can’t really see it, but you can feel it. And all you really need to do is reach out, grab that potential in your hand, and bend it to your will. Nothing goes wrong if you just use your potential. I know it sounds easy. I can’t really tell you how to do it. But when you do, you’ll just know.” 

– Janeka Spencer, Neptune Foundation first responder 

The Trinity Continuum Core Screen and Storyguide Booklet contains all the charts and info a Storyguide could need.

Sales

Just over a day remaining on DriveThruCards’ Stocking Stuffers Sale, where you can get discounted print copies of Fetch Quest card game for the Realms of Pugmire and the Prince’s Gambit card game for Vampire: The Masquerade!

Scarred Lands products for Pathfinder (the Scarred Lands Players Guide and The Wise & The Wicked 2nd Edition) are upwards of 90% off from Indie Press Revolution! Both products are an incredible $5 each!

Kickstarter Update

The Kickstarter for Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition ended just last week. After hitting its $25,000 funding goal in just 10 hours, we ended at $63,249, or 253%. Thanks to our 1269 backers! We hit the following stretch goals:

Mummy Storyteller Screen

Additional Content: New Utterances

Book of Lasting Death: Playable minor guilds, Judges, Affinities, Utterances

Scroll of Fading Memory add-on upgrade: Mummy 1e ST Screen, Mummy 1e Ready-Made Characters

Mummy Backer T-Shirt

Our next Kickstarter is V5 Cults of the Blood Gods.

Did you miss one of our previous Kickstarters? The following Kickstarted products are still open for preorders via BackerKit:

They Came from Beneath the Sea!: They Came from Beneath the Sea! rulebook

Trinity Continuum: Trinity Continuum: Aberrant

Dystopia Rising: Evolution: Dystopia Rising: Evolution rulebook

Realms of Pugmire: Pirates of Pugmire

Exalted: Lunars: Fangs at the Gate

Chronicles of Darkness: Chronicles of Darkness: Dark Eras 2

Chronicles of Darkness: The Contagion Chronicle

Geist: The Sin-Eaters: Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition

Community Spotlight

The following community-created content for Scarred Lands has been added to the Slarecian Vault in the last week:

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?

The following community-created content for Realms of Pugmire has been added to Canis Minor in the last week:

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?

The Storypath Nexus is now open! So far Scion content has been unlocked. The following community-created content for Scion has been added to the Storypath Nexus in the last week:

Road Warriors: Ready Made Characters

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Personal Encounters

“…Let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another; and all the more as you see the day drawing near.” Heb 10:24-25ESV

During the early years of the USA, our immigrants migrated west in wagon trains. Because the Indians had been abused and their lands stolen, they would attack those wagon trains. The immigrants only safety came in circling the wagons and fighting on all sides at once.

Another look at safety in numbers is: While watching Animal Planet, you’ve surely seen the herds of elands, or gazelles grazing in the African svelte. Beautiful animals together in a huge group. Their young usually are kept towards the center of these herds. Suddenly, one head will rise up, with ears twitching. The gazelle will take off at full speed, the entire herd will be quickly stampeding.

Just feet away from the location of the herd, a lion rises to pursue them. Calves cannot keep up with the speed of the mature herd. It trips. Quickly rising, the calf again begins the sprint to close the gap to the herd. Those seconds lost were enough to allow the lion attack. In moments the kill is complete.

Our church used to jump out of their seats like the startled gazelle, when the final amen was spoken. Everyone sprinted for the door— “out of here.” Lou and I were as guilty as anyone in the body.

Now, we linger inside the church. The difference? We’ve found satan is waiting outside. Fellowship helps us. Spending time talking to our church family gives us needed encouragement. At times, we’re the encouragers for them. With life trying to consume everyone, I’m thankful for time to hear the personal encounters of the God kind from other family members. I need Him to show up in my ‘today,’ too.

Usually before we’ve even hit the street, from the parking lot, satan has brought temptation to sin. ***Phone calls from the family, with something gone. ***Reality of those bills with less money than days in the month, do I have enough faith to believe God? ***This pain was prayed for, but the pain hasn’t left. ***You return home to face the fact, the ‘wayward child’ didn’t change, while you were gone.

Matt 24:10ESV “And then many will fall away and betray one another and hate one another.” Walking away from believing in Christ Jesus is easy. Faith eaters are everywhere— the negativity on the news, streets, and social media is almost overwhelming. Did the Bible really promise?Why believe in God? What results have you seen? We need fellowship with each other to keep encouraged.

Sure we can turn on Christian radio, look to Elijah list, or find JesusPod on the net. Still, there’s something about participating in a small group of friends, which keeps people grounded and real. The small group becomes like family, and we’re not embarrassed to ask for prayer, or pray for another. How about you? Do you need the fellowship of believers? It’s your choice. You choose.

PRAYERS: Papa God we need to be community. Help us Lord to not fall away from the faith, in Jesus’ name I pray.

Copyright 2019 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional as author. Thank you.

[sjecblogarchive]

TABLE TALK: WEEK OF MARCH 24, 2019

03/24/2019

BY SJECWARRENTON

TABLE TALK: WEEK OF MARCH 24, 2019BOUNTIFUL GIFTS

During Lent, we are challenged to consider the reality of our own sinfulness and our need for repentance.

Maybe we’re not immediately aware of how we have wandered away from God, how we’ve gotten buried under the daily pressures of social and economic status, but Isaiah’s words help us to hear the truth so we can recommit ourselves to God’s offer of steadfast love.

Isaiah promises God’s abundant pardon for those who choose to follow God’s ways. The prophet Isaiah also reminds us that God will love us and care for us always. There is no catch and no end to what God is willing to give.

In Sunday school today we practiced giving thanks and inviting everyone to live an abundant life.

TABLE TALK QUESTIONS

Who is invited to come to God’s feast? And how long do God’s promises last?

What are some abundant gifts God gives us every day?

Would you be able to forgive like God does? Why or why not?

ISAIAH 55

55 Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. 2 Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. 3 Incline your ear, and come to me; listen, so that you may live. I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David. 4 See, I made him a witness to the peoples, a leader and commander for the peoples. 5 See, you shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you shall run to you, because of the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, for he has glorified you. 6 Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near; 7 let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the Lord, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. 8 For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. 9 For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. 10 For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 11 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. 12 For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 13 Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

[theirlegacies]

@a-la-mort

Her ears would follow the sound of the other’s voice once she arrived, though her face remained still, only truly acknowledging her as she was sitting down. Her lips curled into a soft smile, though it seemed to sadden at the topic at hand, her gaze lowering slightly, looking nowhere in particular.

She’d thank the warrior with a nod, hand raising and resting by the cup as she remained deep in thought, nails lightly caressing its warm sides until she decided to pick up the saucer.  ❝ Worry not, I figured you’d crave for some clarification sooner or later. ❞  she said calmly, taking a small sip soon after, if only to help organize her thoughts.

That moment... She had abided by everyone else’s decision, to keep her head low and a smile on her face, ever supportive. Even Urianger agreed with it, to her surprise, and frankly, disbelief. Perhaps nobody even knew the reaches she went to try and change something about it...

No matter...

❝ To answer your question, no, I did not. And you would be right, your aether was already so corrupted by the light you had consumed, it was hardly your own. And while I am not wont to ever underestimate our friends’ abilities, sensing what I thought was a sin eater as powerful as a lightwarden in their midst was certainly alarming. ❞ she spoke, tone certain, yet still quiet.

And then her lost gaze would try and meet the other’s once more, inhaling deeply as she did so,  ❝ When I heard your voice, the relief was all but there, and to be quite frank, I don’t think it ever came to me. If I am so bold to say it, I think the decision to let you continue on that mission without prior research was more than foolish. Still, I am glad all is well now. ❞ little did she know, Y’shtola herself had been restlessly advancing on the very research she spoke about, for if she had to support this, she had to know everything it would cost.

        she  was  quiet  as  she  listened,  both  saying  and  doing  nothing  at  all  as  the  confessions  came  to  her;  the  answers  she  had  been  hoping  for  finally  confirmed  --  though  the  hope  she’d  held  was  not  exactly  a  pleasant  one.  quite  the  opposite,  in  fact:  her  feelings  regarding  the  entire  ordeal  had  hardly  been  addressed,  both  by  herself  and  her  peers,  but  did  it  matter  now?  all  was  well,  after  all...

        but  Beau  knew  that  --  at  least  when  it  came  to  Y’shtola  --  she  would  not  believe  that  the  Warrior  was  okay  with  the  ordeal.  she  would  not  believe  that  the  other  didn’t  have  questions.  she  was  right,  of  course;  Beau  had  several  --  thoughts,  feelings,  queries  --  and  not  all  of  them  were  good.  in  fact,  some  were  rather  terrible...  but  perhaps  it  was  of  her  own  doing.  she  had,  after  all,  agreed  to  the  whole  ordeal.

        but...  who  wouldn’t?

        ❝  it’s  as  I  expected,  honestly.  ❞  came  the  half  elf’s  reply,  finally.  her  hand  cupped  around  the  mug  of  tea  she  had  previously  poured  for  herself.  she  brought  it  to  her  lips,  though  could  not  for  the  life  of  her  drink  from  it.  she  set  it  back  down  gently,  though  thought  to  play  with  the  beverage  inside,  swirling  it  gently.  ❝  I’m  sorry  you  experienced  that.  I  cannot  imagine  the  fear  of  it.  i’m  glad  you  could  trust  it  was  me  in  that  moment.  i’d  hate  to  even  think  about  what  might  have  been  if  you  hadn’t.  ❞  she  was  not  worried  about  it,  of  course;  with  Thancred  and  Urianger  present...  how  could  it  have  gone  any  differently  than  it  did?  yet  Beau  could  not  help  but  to  remember  the  look  on  her  face  at  the  realisation,  however;  not  only  that  she  was  wrong...  but  now,  Beau  realised,  Y’shtola  must  have  known  then  what  their  grand  plan  was.

        ...--she  was  still  not  a  fan  of  that  grand  plan.  she  took  a  comfort  in  knowing  that  she  was  not  the  only  one  to  think  so.  it  hurt  all  the  same,  however,  and  it  was  very  easy  to  consider  the  doubts  in  her  mind.  did  they  all  know?  would  they  have  been  okay  with  fighting  her?  did  they  consider  any  alternatives  at  all  --  any  of  them?  was  it  wrong  of  her  to  think  otherwise?  in  the  moment  she  had  trusted  them,  of  course;  she  always  would.  they  had  stood  with  her  and  fought  with  her  for  years  now  --  there  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that  they  would  do  so  again  and  again,  and  yet...

        ❝  I  don’t  regret  it.  not  even  for  a  moment.  knowing  the  risks;  knowing  the  outcome...  I’d  do  it  again.  ❞  and  she  knew  Y’shtola  knew  that;  they  all  knew  that.  ❝  I  don’t  do  what  I  do  for  prestige,  or  honour,  or  glory...  not  even  for  purpose.  it’s  just  the  right  thing  to  do.  if  I  have  the  ability  to  make  someone  else’s  life  better,  I  will.  without  a  doubt.  long  after  we’re  done  with  this,  you’ll  still  find  me  by  following  those  trails.  much  as  you  tell  me  to  rest,  I  will  --  but  not  forever.  I  will  go  until  I  can’t.  ❞

        and  why  was  she  confessing  the  obvious?  because,  beforehand,  she  had  not  experienced  the  pain  of  her  reality.  she  thought  she  had  and  she  kept  those  lessons  close  to  herself  (  who  else  could  I  love  but  you?  ).  but  this  was  a  worldly  burden,  not  a  personal  one,  and  Beau  could  accept  her  own  limitations.  she  would  not  stop,  but  she  hoped  --  prayed  --  for  one  who  could  stop  her.  she  felt  that  all  too  deeply  as  she  lay  ‘pon  the  crown  of  the  immaculate,  clutching  at  herself  in  vain  attempt  to  keep  herself  from  crumbling.  she  did  not  share  with  them  what  she  experienced.  she  still  wouldn’t.  she  did  not  want  to.

        ❝  please,  do  not  allow  me  to  do  that  again.  ❞  the  words  were  spoken  with  a  softness  rarely  heard  by  her;  a  very  exposed  kind  of  softness.  did  she  understand  the  meaning,  Beau  wondered;  she  would  do  it  again...  but  she  would  beseech  her  company:  please,  do  not  let  me;  the  guilt  both  you  and  I  would  have  to  bear  would  be  too  great  for  any  one  person,  irrespective  of  the  outcome.  please:  should  we  fall,  let  us  fall  together.  we  have  done  our  best  --  and  that  is  enough.  we  needn’t  be  martyrs  now.

[oliverwvvd]

the devil in me, part i

This is what you might call an instalment of ‘Ol’s not actually dead, just buried by life.’ I do have other works in progress and continuations of my current multi-chapters, but this one wouldn’t leave me alone so I caved because I’m weak.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: Legilimency becomes the thing that he fears the most, because even inside his own head there’s nowhere to hide any more, no place of safety. Marcus was forced into becoming a Death Eater. He played both sides to keep one person alive who doesn’t even know how Marcus feels about him, and he wouldn’t choose differently given the chance a second time. The war is supposed to be over. Try telling the inside of his head that. Oliver stays with him, and he doesn’t know how to reach out without pushing him away. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency]

Marcus was once and is still a lot of things; Quidditch player, pureblood, danger addicted, too quick with sharp words and too permanently angry with the world for gentleness to move him. Liar, liar, liar (it merits repeating), very rarely a lover, mostly a fighter because he doesn’t know any other way to be. It takes years for anyone to teach him that it can be different.

But the one thing he is that no one knows about, that no one else can know about, holds one of the most bitter ironies of all.

Secret-keeper.

In the midst of war, every tender thing is on the verge of being peeled back from his bones and turned into a weapon against him; that’s why he does it to himself before anyone else can; strips himself bare of feeling. His mind is splayed open and picked through at will, people trying to stare into him like he’s the carrion they’re going to feast upon. Legilimency becomes the thing that he fears the most, because even inside his own head there’s nowhere to hide any more, no place of safety. He’s left dizzy and disoriented and deprived, touch-starved until he’s sick. He didn’t know that he could crave physical contact that isn’t violence this much. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to learn, it was so much easier to be violent when he didn’t know. His lungs don’t quite work the way that they used to when he tries to draw breath, like copper wires have pierced through them, strings to hold that part of him up when he’s got no will left. His heart never worked right in the first place, so he can’t trust the mess that’s become either. He’s strung out thin between the alliances he should be making and those that he already has. No one’s caught him out yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

All he has to do is tell the truth, and it will be over, because one side or the other will finish him off. Not quickly, perhaps, that’s unlikely at this point because he’s played as many angles as possible (once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin). But the fact is that he has the key to two secrets, and both are locked within him, securely intertwined. He can’t give up one without revealing the other, and that’s not an option.

The second secret is a location, a small house on the coast that is completely commonplace, except for the fact that to most, it’s not there at all. Shell Cottage, the home of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, only visible to him because of the person he held in his arms and carried over its threshold based on a delirious murmur. The place where he’d struck a bargain to save a life.

The first secret is a man who was once a boy with laughing brown eyes, who gave him some bruises to remember when they were still at school. This is the most dangerous secret he’ll ever bear, because there’s a name attached to every last drop of the blood in his veins, singing through every lie he tells, and if he has to spill it all to keep him safe, he’ll do it without hesitation.

The other has no idea, doesn’t even know it, wouldn’t return the feelings if he did. They were allies, barely tolerant, because they’re Flint and Wood and they’re splinter and burn and all they’d ever do is break each other, because that’s what they’re designed for. The fact that Oliver is still alive is the first and most important secret he’ll ever conceal from anyone, buried deep within him, sealed by words of enchantment far below the surface. He waited until Oliver was asleep and safe before he left Shell Cottage after a short conversation with Bill Weasley about why he’d done what he did; a request made, a charm cast. He hadn’t known how to answer except with the truth. I couldn’t leave him. Don’t ever tell him.

Sometimes, he dreams of how he’ll die. Alone, with Oliver’s name on his lips, his face etched on the back of his eyelids. He dreams of betrayal, of giving up, and he wakes drowning in his sheets and terrified from the sensation of Oliver’s cooling, blood-stained skin beneath his fingers before he realises it’s not real, not real, not real.

The connections between nightmare and reality are stuttering, tenuous threads, and his mind frequently stumbles for a few moments when he wakes with a start and tries to grasp them. The longing he feels is the only counterpoint he has to misery, and it’s not reciprocated.

One night, the Battle of Hogwarts, he isn’t careful enough about hiding the fact that there’s no side he’s really chosen apart from his own. That means keeping people safe, people who don’t deserve to die, because at the heart of it, he doesn’t know if he can live with himself anyway any more. There’s a blinding second where he shields someone else, the complete opposite of self-preservation, and suddenly, it’s not a dream or a nightmare at all. His lungs are flooding; he’s choking on his own blood, washed downriver on the tide of his own body, held there like a prison, and this is reality.

“Flint?”

Figures that he’d hallucinate at death’s door. He tries to speak, but he can’t. Instead he closes his eyes. The frantic note to the repetition of his name isn’t something he hears. He doesn’t hear the way that Oliver says his name, or feel callused hands passing over him.

When Marcus opens his eyes, it’s to piercingly bright, painful light and his chest feels as though it’s full of knives. “I thought dying would hurt less,” he grumbles out loud. He knew he’d probably have to pay for his sins, but come on, really?

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, Flint, but you’re not dying.”

Every muscle locks with the surge of absolute panic. His next response is probably utterly inappropriate.

“Shit.”

Because if he’s alive? That means he has to deal with the consequences; because there’s no way Bill Weasley actually kept his mouth shut. It’s confirmed about ten seconds after that. He focuses on that because he wasn’t supposed to be here, to survive, because he shouldn’t be.

“You saved my life months ago, I saved yours. No debts owed.”

Fucking Gryffindors.

Some things don’t change. Marcus still lashes out when he’s uncertain, when he’s scared, and Oliver Wood inspires both of those things in spades, amongst other emotions he can’t deal with right now or at all. “If we’re even, then go away and leave me to lick my wounds in peace, Wood. Just go away and leave me alone.” When the blinding sharpness of the light eventually recedes enough for him to actually see, he gets a good long look at Oliver, straight up into those damned eyes staring down at him, apparently from his bedside.

Marcus doesn’t give him a chance to speak, forces himself upright into a sitting position even though it causes him a lot more pain and pushes him back with one of his hands. “You weren’t supposed to know that I did anything,” he bites out. “Figures Weasley told you anyway even though I explicitly asked him not to.” What he’s doing is probably dangerous, judging by the noise that some spell monitoring him is currently making, but he couldn’t care less. Instead, he casts his gaze about. “Where are my sodding clothes?” Angry, yes, it’s so much easier, wipes everything else out the way that it has been for months.

“They were covered in blood; I reckon they must have put them aside for cleaning. I don’t know if someone’s contacted your family…” Oliver’s voice trails off, because Marcus gives him the shittiest look he can muster and even under the circumstances, that’s not inconsiderable. A petty part of him is pleased by the fact that it hasn’t lost effect. “Are you honestly stupid, Wood? No one’s going to come.” The words are rawer than he wants them to be. “No one’s coming. I’m leaving even if I have to transfigure myself clothing from the bedsheets.”

Oliver immediately blocks him. “You’re not going anywhere in the state you’re in. You took a serious curse at close range, you should be dead. The minute you pull out the stuff they’ve got you hooked up to, you’re going to collapse, Marcus.” The responding anger in his voice does what it always does; makes Marcus’ blood hum, but it’s worsened by the fact that Wood used his first name. It’s pathetic and everything in him positively crawls toward it. He wouldn’t want you if you told him.

Instead, he takes a minute to take inventory of himself. The spell he set off earlier was a heart-rate monitor of some kind, an indication of how bad it’s been. He can feel something padding his chest, so the feeling of knives is probably from that. It prompts a sharp response that’s intended to be sarcastic but comes out as truthful. “You don’t have the first clue about how right you are.” Looking down at his left arm, he’s got not one but three needles running on different lines, going into bags of potion nearby. Only one is currently active, something he assumes is there to take the edge off the pain. “How long was I out?” he asks brusquely, not meeting Wood’s eyes.

“About four days.” He can feel the pause. “I stayed with you.”

I’d rather risk collapsing than have his pity or anyone else’s. Abruptly, he reaches towards his arm and removes the medical tape holding the needles in place. One by one, he extracts them, is about to go for the last one when a hand clamps over his wrist to stop him. “You don’t even have your wand, so stop. Please.”

The panic that those words induces is on a far larger scale, because he can’t get away if he doesn’t have his wand, and he doesn’t think Oliver realises that he’s said exactly the wrong thing. The fear wells up in his throat until it nearly chokes him. Marcus is rigid where he sits. His wand has been his lifeline and his only protection for months now, and not having it is terrifying. He wants to ask why Oliver stayed. Instead, he lets his wrist go slack until Oliver lets go, and rips the last needle out anyway. It’s a futile act of rebellion, one that he knows he’ll regret, one that will hurt no one but himself, but it’s all he’s got as a means of reasserting some control over the situation. At least if he’s unconscious again, he can’t have a full-scale panic attack with an audience. Without another word, he turns his back on the man with the brown eyes that have haunted him for months; gets back into bed and shuts his eyes. “I’m tired,” he says, and as with most of his lies, it holds such a large grain of truth at the centre that it’s difficult to tell where the deception actually rests. I’m so tired.

[lsgingasblog]

Of Happy Coincidences and Fated Connections Chapter 6

Act 6

‘The best is yet to come’. Yeah right!

I wake up all hazy, my head is lightheaded and my vision is blurry. People are clamoring around me and I try to get up. My vision is returning, but clearly I am having some bizarre dream in a dream because Diana, Sucy, Amanda, Lotte, Hannah, Barbara  are wearing strange clothing, like fantasy rpg clothing.

Wait….Luluco is here too…..wait….hold up…..shit this might not be a dream. I pass out again.

Luluco. Galactic patrol luluco, she works for galactic organization that goes around stopping crime all over space. Sucy met her over a year back and she’s stopped by a few times. If this is really not a dream than I believe this will be the 3rd time I’ve met with her. She always brings trouble. Roll your eyes all you want because that would be hypocritical of me to say knowing my track heard. No really her troubles are on a much bigger scale.

Shit my head hurts. Ooh now I’m starting to remember………so we recovered fine at Cavendish mansion and Andrew, Diana & I hung out and went out too. It was all very pleasant. Even the first 2 days at the summer house went by without much trouble and we caught up what everyone else did for the last 2 weeks.

Despite dispute and gambles going on between Amanda, constanze, sucy  & surprisingly Hannah with the Appleton boys, we had an eventful time gaming, movie watching and going hiking and having sleepovers. So we are literally running on 3-4 hours per day of sleep.

Today in particular we were planning to just do a BBQ and go swimming, because surprisingly we have only done that a bit the first day.

Everything was going smoothly until……until what? Shit my memory is hazy.

‘Akko look out’ Diana jumps in front of me for a blast meant for me and she is out. Wait what….

Professor Ursula was fighting this gigantic weird mushrooms creature…..wait! did sucy bring some weird mushrooms or something.

Why is my memory so jumbled up. Grrrr. Ooh right croix sensei is down, wait so is sucy….hmmm right! It wasn’t an ordinary mushroom thing. Well apart from being sentient apparently it had an immense resistance for magic. Physical blows were the anything that worked. Hence why you see a few mushrooms minions knocked out around Professor Ursula.

Ooh right I was helping her, but we were having a hard time. Professor Ursula got a good hit and so did I but the main boss wasn’t happy and it spread its spores. Professor Ursula shields me.

With the masks on I hardly think that would be necessary and then the creature sends a blast as well and my last assist was down. I went back to Diana. Begging her to wake up, just when I thought it was all over Luluco shows up.

First thing she says after beaming away with her gun a few mushrooms minions is sorry followed by ‘hey akko, it would be nice to finally meet in better circumstances’ I’m inclined to agree.

So that’s an alien. Huh. See I wasn’t lying. She’s trouble. At a possibly bigger proportion than me.

Really nice girl though when you get to know her and there’s never a dull moment with her, but my life is hectic enough as it is. Also having been in one life or death experience with my girlfriend like literally less than 2 weeks ago is good enough for a lifetime, although with my luck at least 1 year to 2 shouldn’t be too much to ask for alas.

I see Luluco frantically running back to me. Ooh right I should help. She shakes her head and jumps towards me there’s another spore field and this one is much denser. I see how badly she injured the gigantic mushroom boss. Ooh god, he’s angry. She shields me with this weird force-field thing, but the force-field did not close completely around luluco and we both black out anyway.

Right that’s what happened. Wait. Who are those diana, sucy, lotter and the rest?

Ok try to remember……ooh right we’re in final fantasy game.

We-meaning Luluco and I- woke up in Mi’hen High road. I saw a chocobo and rode on one too! They’re cute as heck.

Luluco informed me the creature was a galactic creature that is immensely dangerous due to the amazing dream realities that suck you in. She gave a whole complicated explanation of them being possibly multi verse and my head was hurting. This is even worse than when she told me last summer break about alternate universes and how there were some universes I wasn’t with Diana at all. Preposterous.

I care less about trying to understand the whole complications around that though. Basically the bottom point we have to make it to Zanarkand and beat the mushroom entity to get out of here. Good thing dream time is much quicker than real time so we should go in a brisk pace, but it’s possible to make it before our friends gets sucked into the dream reality and never to return again. Those minion mushrooms are actually lost souls in that dream reality. Creepy.

On our adventure we swiftly beat chocobo eater with the help of a healer and summoner Diana that came to help us. She’s so beautiful I could cry, but she’s not my Diana. This is a Diana that grew up in those final fantasy world or final fantasy multiverse dream, you know what screw it. We’re here let’s just make sure we accomplish our goals.

She was accompanied by Hannah & Barbara which were Samurai and Gunner respectively.

Diana was charmed by me. Ooh no is this technically cheating…..

In any case we ended up joining them in their pilgrimage and it was such a hectic ride we lotte the trainer class traveler and then sucy the black mage. I was the warrior and luluco the berserker.

Then we met our thief Amanda and she also had the lady luck dress as well to change into.

We had briefly been accompanied by the alchemist Constanze and the dark mage Jasminke, but they had previous engagements.

Chariot was apparently did since she was the previous summoner who used the final summoning so that makes sin Croix…..great….well the mushroom creature now….this is so confusing.

I can’t believe it though from mi’hen highroad we walked all the way to mushroom rock road, watch croix/ mushroom creature destroy all those soldiers actually after that whole fiasco we met Amanda in Moonflow when she washed ashore. She recognized me so I guess some parts of the story stayed the same.

Thunder Plains sucked although it would seem to fear of thunder did not get carried over by Rikku to Amanda so I was the one shaking in my boots. Good thing I didn’t have to woe this Diana.

Macalania Woods in particular was both pretty and eerie and it’s around here that things become blurry.

Luluco warned about the dangers of staying in this world for long and not telling yourself constantly it’s a game, but it would seem Luluco is also losing herself in this game. This is bad. However then arranged marriages and abductions were happening and even though this wasn’t my diana and the I was more worried that the lines between reality and this world were beginning to blur I will rescue her.

It would seem travelling a desert, while almost dying of thirst would do the trick in completely having forgotten this was not real. So my memory is a bit hazy all I know that there was a fire at home base of the al bhed and we got the airship and it dropped us off before calm lands.  

Where……oh god…….I kissed this world’s Diana under water! It’s not cheating if it’s not real right?

Calm lands was peaceful and beautiful, however it has some pretty crazy monsters and then there was cold. We found out the lie of the final summoning and we killed Dianalesca. Huh. I guess they changed that.

So where are we now? Ooh right. We’re searching for celestial weapons for our party members. We had just found the last one at omega ruins. Which has the scariest monster around and a thorn berry showed up.

Ooh right this is how I ended up here. I remembered what happened back to Diana and I and the thorn berry like creature and that was my tether to bring me back to who I was and what I had to do. I had to save Diana and my other friends out there in the real world. Lest they become mushrooms minions.

Goodness. I snap my eyes open.

“You remembered as well?”

I nod my head.

It was luluco. She apparently touched a memory crystal and was reminded of Nova and why she had to go back. Also seeing me stabbed and killed by a Thornberry was fairly uncomfortable to watch for her apparently. Luckily we have revive here or phoenix down or varies other revitalizing moves. My diana would love some of them or maybe she already has a few equivalent? I have to ask her more specifically.

So we decided we have to go now. We made it all the way to the end and after a lots of effort and having died over again a few times I almost lost myself but the Taurus zodiac card of Diana protected me and gave me strength when I was at my low point and along with my team, including luluco we finally beat Croix/Sin/whatsermushroomface.

Of course like the final fantasy game luluco and I were the dream people. The irony a dream in a dream. This seems like that movie inception we saw yesterday. Grrr. Does the toll stop or not. God.

This version Diana is sad and I give her one last kiss. This isn’t cheating ok. It’s still Diana.

Luluco also leaves and we bask in being heroes. We wake up and the mushroom monster is in a trance, probably tired of having been defeated and we deal the finishing blow and right on time, because my friends were starting to resemble more mushroom than people.

Good. Luluco gives me a few potions to give to them since the after effects of having been in a multiverse/ dream space takes its toll on the psyche and your energy. Luluco goes about cleaning the minion remains and a few other stuff left behind or affected by the pollen of the whatserface mushroom.

Professor Ursula is waking up first, so I give it to her and give her a few to give to others.

I noticed Diana waking up and as I went to her. She was still out of it and yelled out expelliarmus while pointing her wand at me.

I burst out laughing. Omg. Marathoning Harry Potter those 2 days we were on bed rest had a stronger effect that I thought and that’s when she said some of the things were untrue or silly. She liked it after all. Goodness I will never let her live this down.

Diana despite her weak state was a flustered mess. “Don’t say anything”

“What’s in it for me?”

“For goodness sake Akko”

“Here drink this, but don’t think for a moment I will forget you shouting out that spell”

She scowls, but drinks the potion.

She softens up though and gives me a big kiss “I knew you could do it, akko”

I’m a blushing mess once again and I wanted to tell her about the protection and strength her Taurus card game me during my journey in Final Fantasy world.

When I hear Amanda arguing with an Appleton boy that just woke up. Diana and I had towards the commotion.

“No, No way. I had the coolest dream. I was a gosh darn jedi!”

Ooh it was that rude boy that wanted to torture us when we arrived to Appleton. I mean I don’t care for most of the Appleton guys if I’m honest, but Andrew said the changed quite a lot and even Appleton became less mean-spirited towards witches. That’s good to hear.

“Yeah well were you a girl, passing of as a male knight and a vigilante during the night?”

“I had light sabers!”

“Professor Ursula can make light sabers too in our world big whoop!”

Yeah that’s right. I should ask her about how she makes em. They’re pretty cool.

“Well did you travel in space?”

“Who cares about space when you get girls every night, can you say the same little jedi virgin?”

“Wh-what! How is that relevant?!”

“So you admit you lost!”

“No!”

And luckily Andrew and Professor Ursula ended up mediating that argument.

I’m starving. That means multiverse dream food does not fill you up either once you’re outside of it.

I see food on the table and without thinking I took a bit.

I hear screams of ‘No!’ even from Luluco. Ahh…..I might’ve screwed up. She didn’t finish clearing the table with the food covered in spores.

“Luluco, hello nice to see you again.” She greets her “Anything we can do?” Diana frantically asks

Luluco shakes her head although she gives me half the potion. Ewww it’s gross and that’s the last thing I remember before I pass well that and Diana catching me.

“Honestly akko” Diana moved Akko to an outside bench and put Akko’s face on her lap while she’s petting Akko’s hair.

Amanda comes to tease Diana for being all lovey-dovey but instead gets something even better.

“Minchino……I choose you!”

Amanda breaks out into uncontrolled laughter.

Diana is amused she has something to hold over Akko as well.

Luluco stays for the BBQ and beach time before she has to go back to her duties.

Honestly akko never a dull moment with you or the people you meet and Diana drifts of as well leaning on the wall behind the outside chair and the last thing she hears is Amanda’s booming voice, Professor Ursula telling everyone to calm down and Sucy yellow that mushroom ruled world would truly be the best.

[ellyagainsborough]

The Blackest Black

Focus deep. Deeper. Look into the stillness.

The amazonian sat motionless. Her eyes were serenely closed in careful meditation while the morning sunrise began to paint the sandy Lochs in a rainbow of colors. Arid desert air met with slightly moist grass in Abalathia’s Skull, near the Ala Mhigan castle. The northern wind blew softly against her skin, carrying with it the aroma of the flowering trees from the front courtyard and the thousands of pink, red, white, and yellow flowers in the menagerie. It was just beautiful enough a morning to distract Elly’a back to the reality of where she was.

“Seven hells...I should’ve gone to Sohm Al.”, she thought. 

The bare, rocky mountain side would have probably lent itself to a more successful session of meditation. Now that she was able to be back home, though, there was much less motivation to go anywhere else. She sat back in the grass, putting her weight on her elbows, and crossed her legs at the ankles. The very comfortable Hyur took in her surroundings for a moment. She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breathe.

"sigh...This is lovely,'' she smiled to herself. 

"You taking in the morning air, Ell?" The all-too-familiar voice rung out, disturbing the utter stillness of the moment. Not that it bothered her at all, of course. This was one voice that was at her side through hundreds of battles. She grew to depend on that voice being there for her, whether it was a piercing battlecry as they ran through a horde of rabbid jellyfish (she swore she'd never do that again) or yelling for help because she was too bloody drunk to get her gear on right and her leg got caught in one of the straps again (she swore on that one, too, but if booze was involved, all bets were off). No matter how ugly things got, they were almost always together, working in tandem, joined at the hip seemingly by fate itself. And lots of ale. So much ale. 

Elly's smile widened. "Morning, Zuzu," she said warmly. "I thought you had a date with the salt flats today?"

"Aye, a'do. But that's not for a bit and I figured I might as well come say hi. Thought I might find ya' here." Darz'u set her gargantuan pickaxe on its side and took a seat next to Elly'a. "It's gorgeous out here, ain't it?"

"Told ya' so," Elly'a said, winking at her long-time friend. Her gaze turned back to the landscape. "Too gorgeous, actually. Had I gone somewhere else I might actually be able to get some work done. It's just...I don't know. It's weird...being back home and all. I know I've told you probably a million times before, but daddy technically had only been stationed here a few months before the invasion. But, we were always in the general area and…it's all still here."

Darz'u looked towards the wreckage of the old Ala Mhigan landmarks and the destruction that the Garleans left in their wake. "Well...most of it's here, anyway...in pieces...and...you know...scattered all around the loch. But, yeah, I get ya." As she spoke, she looked back at Elly with a coy smile. Elly'a chuckled lightly as she playfully pushed Darz'u's shoulder.

"Oh, shut up, you know what I mean. I lived a lifetime wanting this to happen. We talked about it endlessly, and it's finally here. There are things that I want to work on, but I can't shake that weird feeling that I'm living a dream." 

"Look, Elly-belly...we worked our asses off to make this all happen. Enjoy it for a bit. 'Sides, with everything happening on the First, we've got enough to worry about. Take the small moments that you do have and make the most of 'em. Before you know it, we'll be back up to our knees in sin eater goop and you won't have time to take in the sights like this."

The smile returned to Elly'a's face as she nodded in response. "I know. We're never guaranteed tomorrow. Unless…"

Darz'u abruptly interrupted Elly'a's thought. "Unless what?!"

"Unless whatever is threatening your tomorrow gets a sun heaved in its face and a comet blown up its ass!" Elly'a raised her fists and shook them in roused excitement.

"That's ma' girl!," Darz'u laughed. 

The two spent some more time chatting before Darz'u grabbed her tools and went off to her job. Alone again, Elly'a decided to try to continue what she had started over and over again throughout the morning.

Ok, ok, ok….just like always.

She closed her eyes again, peering first into the darkness behind her eyelids, then into the seemingly endless abyss of aetherial shadow within her. For some time now, she would sit in concentration, looking into herself and trying to better understand her aether and how to manipulate it more efficiently. Her skill as a Black Mage was already without precedent. Elly'a, however, was never satisfied. She loved to find small adjustments that would keep her at the peak of efficiency and raw power. One such morning of meditation led her to an idea that made too much sense. Why she hadn't thought of it before is testament to its simplicity.

When she first started her training, Frey explained that Elly'a's ability to tap in to her inner darkness was the very reason why she could take up the sword of a Dark Knight in the first place. And, as the chosen of Shatotto herself to be the new avatar for Black Magic, Elly'a knew that there had to be a way that she could meld the two disciplines. Surely, she thought, molding spells within her own aether and mixing it with her darkness was possible. At least, in theory it was. It was a crazy enough idea to mess around with, but progress in weaving her darkness into thaumaturgy was anything but fruitful. 

It's not like there's ever been anyone in recorded history to ever attempt this nonsense, let alone succeed. She couldn't just ask for help. This was already a crazy idea in itself, but if it was possible, she'd find a way. If all the distractions ever stopped popping up. 

"Liberate maligned cities." Check. "Kill the primals, the demon children of what happens when aetherial essence meets divine devotion." Check. "Embody the very hope of mankind to those around her that have no hope." Check. "Single-handedly become, and relish being, the quintessential thorn in the side of the Garlean Empire itself." Check. Oh, and now add to the list, "Save the remains of a literal world from being engulfed of primordial light and falling into complete chaos, thereby preventing a calamity in your own world, and possibly the death of yourself and everyone you know and love." The job description of the Warrior of Light doesn't exactly leave a whole lot of time for things like meditating in peace. Or having any kind of a life, for that matter.

Yet here we were, finding Elly getting more and more familiar with her inner self while, at the same time, making a closer and closer friend of obsession with every moment she can spare.

 "Alrighty - let's try this again." She sat up to go back to her meditation. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, then slowly exhaled. Before she could finish taking in her next breathe, Feo Ul, her emissary from the Pixie Kingdom, suddenly appeared before her with a worried look on its face. 

"Elly'a! Elly'a! Grave news from the First! You must come! Quickly!" 

While Feo Ul and the rest of pixie-dom normally have a penchant for being troublesome, much like the Moogles of Dravania, the urgency in both the pixie's voice and body language caught her attention. 

"What's wrong, Feo?"

"Oh, my little sapling! Sin eaters! Hordes of them! We had an urgent messenger come from the Crystarium, looking for a way to reach you! They're headed for one of the trade outposts in Amh Araeng. You've got to come quickly before this becomes a disaster!"

Before the pixie had finished speaking, Elly'a was already teleporting to Mord Souq, where the eaters would end up heading. Not only was it the largest settlement in the area, it's where almost every merchant gathered at some point or another. In other words, it's a premium location to do some real damage. The sin eaters had somehow been coordinating as they did on the attack in Lakeland, and this was probably going to be no better.

As soon as Elly'a's form materialized at the city's aetheryte, she ran to the tower where Alisaie had taken her before. The Mord guard that stood watch at the tower was surprised to see Elly'a running at full sprint towards him. "Wait! You can't just-!"

Before he could finish his statement, Elly yelled out, "No time! Sin eaters are on the way, lots of them! Get everyone to safety! I need a vantage point and I'll pay you later!"

"Sin eaters?! Go! I'll take care of the rest!" The little Mord ran off as Elly'a reached the tower's entrance and rushed her way in. She ran up the circular staircase, skipping steps with her long strides. Catching a glimpse of the door to exit the staircase onto the roof, she suddenly jumped off of the staircase into the center of the tower. As she reached the height of her jump, she clapped her hands in front of her chest, and released one of her favorite black magic spells, Aetherial Manipulation. While anyone else would have simply plummeted to their death from falling at that height, a wave of aether carried her body through the air straight up the tower's center, landing her directly in front of the door onto which Elly'a had fixed her gaze. She opened the door and ran out onto the rooftop. 

The primordial light that threatened this very world joined hands with the desert sun and radiated onto her as she left the tower's interior sanctuary. The height made for a perfect lookout point, allowing her to see the surrounding area for thousands of yalms. Blindingly excessive light and desert heat be damned, she was thankful that the cover of nightfall was not a factor here. She scanned quickly for sight of the enemy. Their white flesh should vividly contrast against the dunes that make up the overwhelming majority of Amh Araeng, save for the rocky crags that come up out of the ocean of sand. It was there that she saw them coming, to the east from the outer reaches of the literal end of the world. 

Hordes of eaters in all shapes and sizes were heading directly towards her in a horrific display of organization. Similar to the attacks on Holminster Switch and Lakeland, the mob of walking death made its way onto land. Elly'a noticed from her perch that some of the eaters were of the stronger variety. They "had the touch,'' as the locals would say. Whatever critters the eaters encountered, be they prey or predator, stood no match to the aetherial destruction these abominations wrought wherever they went. One moment, there stood a coyote. A gigantender. A sand mole. Gods help them if it were travelers or merchants the eaters encountered on the road. Whatever it was, before you could blink, the poor bastard's corpse was just another addition to the white-fleshed cancer that mindlessly travelled the lands. 

Elly'a contemplated the horrid sight that was unfolding before her. She needed backup, and fast. She wished more than anything that her Scion linkshell would work. Of course, their linkshells hadn't worked since they left the Source, so that was out of the picture. Elly seemed to stumble onto her answer.

"Feo Ul! I need you!"

The pixie reappeared before Elly just as before. "Yes, my dearest?"

She pointed at the swarm. "I need help dealing with all of that. Can you call for help?"

"Ye know, if ye'd have listened to the rest of me message before running off to be a hero like you're so good at doin', ye'd know that the Crystarium has already mobilized reinforcements on their fastest amaro and they've all congregated between here and the Inn at Journey's End."

The embarrassed warrior looked downwards, scratched the side of her head, and flipped her long hair back behind ear. "Yeah...sorry about that," she said with a half smile.

"Oh, no, my little sapling. Would that your beautiful branch could jump into battle like you do at the drop of a hat. Now go kick some ass." Feo Ul winked and grinned at Elly'a before disappearing just as suddenly as it appeared.

Right. Let's go kick some ass.

Elly reached into her top and grabbed her chocobo whistle. Whenever she used it, she'd smile as she remembered that it was Darz'u that gave it to her one day before his...accident. He'd taken up whittling during his downtime when he was running around pirating his life away. One day a few months before the incident, he gave her the whistle as a gift. Oh, he was piss drunk that night. He usually was, really. That night, however, it was as if something challenged him to see how many bottles he could put away before he passed out. Gods, that man was an indecipherable mess. He walked over to her, somehow missing both his shirt and pants, and said something like, "Y'know Elly-belly… Ai rlly 'pr…'prsheeate 'ow mush o me allover en dum eee shite fer brains 'n all et, buchuu...yuuu awlwez 'ev me back 'en Ai wanchuu 'da hhhh...hhhave thes." The rest was even more unintelligible than the beginning, but he clarified afterwards that it was a small gift. "Just like you can always depend on your bird to be there for you, you can always depend on me" was the long and short of it. The memories would always bring a smile to her face. Except for today. 

Today, she was flying headfirst into the middle of a warzone. As Teioh sped through the air, Elly stepped off the edge of the tower. Her hair, jewelry, and flowing black dress all tussled violently in the wind as gravity pulled her down until the black chocobo leaned his head forward and, like so many times before, caught Elly'a square on his saddle. She stroked her companion's neck and patted his side in appreciation, receiving a high-pitched "kweeeeh" as the large bird warmly reacted to his master's touch. 

"Good job, buddy. We've got our work cut out for us tonight."

A few minutes passed when Elly'a suddenly realized that the horde of sin eaters still had not started their move west-bound towards Mord Souq.

Oh, gods. The Inn...

"Change of plans, Teioh - we're heading south!"

It wasn't until Teioh cleared a tall ridge that Elly'a caught sight of what was really happening, and it sent shivers down her spine. There was another mob of sin eaters assaulting the Inn, and the Crystarium's reinforcements were already under assault.

"Damn it! How the hell did this happen?!"

 A sudden rush of aether came to her as the Echo showed her a vision of what happened minutes ago. While everyone was preoccupied with the group of eaters right in front of them, no one noticed a smaller group that flanked the soldiers from the southwest. 

"When did these flying sacks of shite learn military tactics?! Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

As she flew closer to the battlefield, she quickly tried to assess the positions between the two sides. For every second she hesitated, lives were at stake. 

"Over there, baby! To the southeast corner!", she yelled to Teioh, patting his side. "This one's rough already - you're staying in the back ranks with me!"

Teioh acknowledged his orders with a "kweh!" and continued towards the southeast end of the battle. As she passed overhead, the ruckus of battle all but drowned out the realization from some of the soldiers of her presence. 

"It's Elly'a!"

"One of the warriors of darkness!"

"We've got a fighting chance to win this thing!"

Elly'a's ears may have heard the words, but her mind was in another zone completely. She was already focused on holding a spell she molded while in-flight. 

"Teioh! Now!"

The chocobo suddenly flew upwards into a loop and then straight down, seemingly dive-bombing towards the ground. Just before Teioh was upside-down in the loop, Elly drew her staff and leapt into a backflip off of the chocobo's saddle, free-falling in a swan-dive from 30 feet in the air. Her battle cry was accompanied by a sudden massive shower of lightning bolts that covered the entire area, paralyzing the majority of the small group that earlier flanked the soldiers.

Before Elly hit the ground, an arcane circle appeared underneath her, causing an aetherial wind to flow upwards and stop her fall. Her favorite pair of Darklight casting gloves began to glow with shadowy magic as she opened her arms outward and then pushed with outward force. The waves of aether left ripples in the air as the three large sin eaters that led the contingent were all simultaneously consumed in massive balls of smoldering liquid flame.

A few of the Crystarium soldiers finished off the rest of the paralyzed eaters, while others yelled in celebration at the arrival of such powerful reinforcements. A handful of others just stood there, mouths agape, at the spectacle. One of them was in disbelief. "Come on, are you serious now?!  I wouldn'a believed et if me arse wasn't right here watchen et!" 

Another soldier chimed in. "Aye, get used to et - Ah was there at Holminster Switch and bugger me if Ah didn't damn near piss me-self for not knowin' whether to keep fightin' or be afraid of her more 'an the eaters! 

With the secondary group no longer a threat, one of the captains got everyone back to reality. "Everyone! This isn't over yet! Let's join the main host and provide cover for Mrs. Gainsborough!" He turned to Elly'a and smiled. "It's a pleasure to fight alongside you on the battlefield once again, Elly'a." She immediately recognized him as Tolas, one of the captains at the Imperative in Lakeland's west side.

Elly smiled back. "The pleasure is mine, Captain. I should warn you that I spotted a third group of eaters on the way coming from the north. Let's try to get everyone back home today in one piece."

Tolas nodded and led the charge with the rest of the soldiers. "You all heard the lady! Let's move!"

The soldiers rushed to join the main unit. With them at the helm, Elly'a was able to continue to rain down elemental attacks from above and help thin out the enemies' numbers. The soldiers started to push the eaters further back from the Inn. Just as they began to believe that victory would be theirs, the third horde of sin eaters arrived, but it was bigger than the first two combined. The sliver of hope that once filled their hearts withered away as the sin eaters pushed back.

Tolas and the other captains tried to steel the group's nerves, but their words would fall on deaf ears. Even though the soldiers continued to fight, their resolve was different. They weren't fighting to win anymore. They were fighting to survive. It was the battle at Lakeland all over again. 

One such soldier's fears started to come out as he turned to one of the captains. "How in the hells do we fight these mindless abominations?! There's no end to them!" Before the infantryman could react, a flying eater swooped by from his flank and kicked him down. Another eater's large claws were about to come down in a killing blow on the prone soldier when a gargantuan black sword suddenly came into his field of view in an upward swipe and lopped off the eater's hands. One of the hands landed on the soldier's chest and twitched violently. The large, open wounds of the monster's arms squirted black aetherial blood like a fountain and began to rain down on the prone soldier and everything around him. The hand itself seemed alive as it convulsed to and fro directly in front of his face. He scurried back and away from the now-handless sin eater and its loose appendages, only to see Elly'a take another swing with the 7-foot long blade. The sword cut half-way through its abdomen and lodged in before she then pulled upwards and outwards in an overhead arc and disemboweled the creature. 

The troop was visibly shaken to be so close to death's door. The sounds of the battlefield drowned in still silence. There were no grunts, yells, or battle cries. Both the beating of sin eater wings through the arid desert wind and the frenetic plodding of an entire regiment of soldier's boots against course, rocky sand bore no aural circumstance. The clanging of metal disappeared into a hazy mist of deafened stillness. He sat there on the ground and simply watched as Elly'a fought desperately, taking down one white, pasty-fleshed monster after the other. His sight fixated on her every movement. And though they were fighting and clawing for their very survival, all he saw was the graceful dance of the Warrior of Darkness.

Every step slowed down to a crawl. Her feet and hands glided across the sands. Her sword would strike true as it flew with majesty through the air. It cut through the neck of one eater before coming around in a full circle and running straight through the abdomen of another. The blade was seemingly weightless as it then flew upwards in the air and dissected a creature before turning in mid-air and coming down on the head of something else. A delicate and pure ballet of death was taking place in front of his very eyes, and he was the only one in the audience.

The spectacle ended when he saw Elly'a turn and run in his direction. It wasn't until she knelt at his side and shook his arm that the sound came back to his ears and he realized she was asking if he was okay. The soldier blinked a few times and looked at her big, green eyes before acknowledging. His face was completely devoid of color and expression.

"Y-- yes, yes. I'm fine," he responded.

"Are you sure? We can take you to the healers if you're in pain." 

The traumatized soldier seemed to go voiceless again. Elly'a looked down at him, then turned her gaze to the rest of the battlefield. While casualties were few, they were starting to grow, and she could see the change in the group's body language. 

This is going downhill, and fast. I have to do something…but what?

The epiphany hit her, reminding her of what she had been working on over the last moons. If there was ever a more perfect time for her to be able to transcend her current limits, that time would be now.  She closed her eyes and looked deep within herself. It could have been the adrenaline of the battle, her heightened level of focus in the midst of combat, or just the strength of her resolve at that point, but the aether within her moved at a rapid pace - much more rapidly than normal. 

She could feel the mixture of her own aether ebb and flow with ambient aether from the environment around her, as her black magic was wont to do. She could feel the darkness that, at times, felt like it thought of its own volition, crying out for justice for those who could not attain it for themselves. So many times before, there was only failure. But then, the darkness cried out. It cried not for the innocents who were powerless, but for the lives of those who would protect the innocents who were now powerless themselves. Elly'a's own aether, the aether around her, and her inner darkness joined into a swirling triple-helix that spun faster and faster until it was one single ray of shadow and light.

Within her, the limitless, flowing blackness suddenly detonated outwards for malms, only to then instantly shrink down to an infinitesimally small point. 

“There you are…” she grinned.

A sudden surge of Darkside energy manifested throughout her physical form. The wave flooded outwards, encompassing her in a red glow from head to toe. Lightning crackled in short bursts from within the aura and lit up her face from under her skin as it surged. The energy continuously blasted outwards as if it were an exploding cauldron of energy radiating from within her. Elly’a’s crimson hair and black garb wildly blew upwards and outwards. Her eyes glowed deep yellow and red, as if borne from the mighty Ifrit, and her normally calm aesthetic was replaced with the unfathomable rage of Bahamut himself during the 7th Umbral Calamity. 

She dashed forward, holding her greatsword in a reverse grip as the monstrous blade shifted in and out of red, purple, and black shadows and flame. She threw herself into the fold, a raging demon of destruction and carnage. The slaughter that followed was swift. Precise. And utterly gruesome. The first swing of her sword moved in an upwards arc, leaving a trail of flames behind it, and cleaved two sin eaters in half. In the same motion, she struck downwards at another, lopping off its head, shoulder, and arm. In the blink of an eye, she lurched forward with her left arm and grabbed a nearby eater by the throat, lifting him up into the air as lightning surged in continuous streams from her arm into its head and face. She took a few steps forward and stared maniacally at the body as it convulsed with more and more electricity until finally hurling it into a nearby group of them. The impact of bodies caused a massive swell of electricity to appear and violently explode, nearly disintegrating everything in the blast.

The greatsword once again in a reverse grip in her right hand, she lifted its hilt into the air. The flaming sword glowed with smoldering black and purple shadows from its shoulder as she then moved into a samurai’s hissatsu stance. Almost as if forming a ball of aether with her free arm, she then cast the energy forward, causing the aether to formulate into a sun of festering flame that scorched an entire group of enemies to ash. Elly’a then felt a sin eater coming at her with speed from her left. As it leapt at her, she bent into her casting stance and immediately met the airborne enemy’s face with a backhanded forearm whose impact instantly enveloped the creature in a 13-foot encasement of solid ice. 

 She then raised the greatsword in a ready position and swung. Dark energy hurled her forward, almost as if it carried her steps, running the sword into and through the chests of some 4 sin eaters, leaving her directly in the middle of the largest pack of enemies. Elly'a unleashed a flurry of blows and sword swipes at the mob. Her punches were coupled with point-blank explosions of fire and billowing smoke, whose impacts sent innards and body parts flying in all directions. Her greatsword once again in a reverse grip, she extended her arm out and ended the barrage by releasing a spell that enveloped the entire group of sin eaters within a bubble of red dark energy and smoldering flame.

The remaining sin eaters attempted to overtake the raging death machine with sheer numbers, grabbing at her legs and torso in an attempt to disable her. Elly’a grabbed one of her attackers by the forehead, lifted it into the air, and then slammed it into the ground, releasing a Salted Earth spell through its head and instantly shattering it. The patch of Salted Earth came up from the ground below and engrossed the monsters in reddish-black energy that created bleeding lacerations all across their bodies. The dark energy bubble dissipated, leaving underneath it a ball of white-hot light that exploded in a savage eruption of aether, completely eradicating everything that stood in the vicinity of the blast.

The one-woman warzone stood there amongst the dismembered corpses and pools of viscera, she herself covered in all manner of blood and remains. She surveyed the area, but didn't find any other attackers. Their ranks were completely decimated, leaving only the eerie sounds of the flood of light overhead that continued to threaten worldwide destruction. 

Elly'a looked back and noticed the look on the faces of the reinforcements from the Crystarium. They all stared at her in awe and disbelief at the display of horrific violence that just transpired. She released the channeled flow of aether, allowing it to balance normally within her. The physical effects of the merging of black magic and darkness dissolved into the air and left Elly’a in a visibly weakened state. She fell to one knee, holding her weight on her greatsword. She panted with a smile, “That…*deep, labored breathes*...that’s going to take some getting used to...”, before collapsing to the floor in exhaustion.

Tolas and another of the captains quickly ran to her side and called for healers to come for aid. Orders were given to the remaining soldiers to clean up the area as possible and treat the wounded. As the troops worked, everyone buzzed about the insanity of what they saw that day. Tolas stayed behind with Elly'a at the Inn while she recuperated some before they would take her to the medic chambers in the Crystarium for a full observation. 

The attendants at the Inn reviewed her for physical injuries and advised Tolas that she was plagued by nothing more than a severe case of overexertion and needed to rest. Tolas stayed at Elly's bedside until she awoke some hours later. 

"Elly'a...oh, thank the gods. You scared everyone half to death back there - in more ways than one," Talos said with a smile.

Elly'a clutched her head, trying to get past the fogginess in her brain. "I feel like I ran across all of Norvrandt and back. Twice."

Tolas responded, "I would certainly hope that you are well rested for it. You've been mostly at peace, save for a few times where you muttered a few words in your sleep."

"Talking in my sleep, huh? Did you hear anything incriminating?" Elly'a lightly chuckled as she rested her hand over her eyes. Talos grinned widely at her sense of humor.

"Nothing incriminating, as much as curious. A few times, you would call out 'Dar'zu watch for the pillar', but it was the only thing you'd ever say if and when you spoke. This Dar'zu was a friend of yours?"

"That, she was. For so many years...and she still is..." Elly nodded before looking off into the distance. "One of my best friends."

"I don't mean to pry, but... I take it that whatever was happening with this pillar was not the best of circumstances...if you still relive this in your dreams, that is to say."

She nodded slowly. "It...ummm…" The warrior let out a deep sigh in her reflection. She sat up, trying to maintain her composure on a subject that was obviously quite sensitive for her. "Let's just say that...my...my inability to protect her when she needed it most…completely changed her life forever. And that failure...it haunts me to this day. It's one of the things that...that drives me to always do more for those who cannot. Even when I feel that I, myself, can't do anything more."

Tolas looked on at the fiery-haired woman. He knelt in front of her at the side of her bed. "Your passion and your actions - they speak volumes more than any mere words could ever attempt. Your deeds saved many a life this day, and I am both humbled and honored to have fought at your side." The captain bowed his head in respect to her, then stood up and offered his hand. "Come. Let's make our way to the Crystarium and have the medics look you over. I daresay the kind souls here at the Inn have the right of it in their estimation that you exhausted yourself, but it would be remiss of me to ignore protocol."

Tolas escorted Elly'a back to the Crystarium,  where she was looked over by the medics and given a clean bill of health. Upon reaching the Source again, she would spend some time recounting the events to her fellow Free Company mates. The new obsession would then begin on finding a way to perfect this intertwining of powers. What would she even call this new capability? A Black Knight? A Dark Mage? Whatever it was, she was sure that Dar'zu and the others would certainly have plenty of ideas. And Elly? Well, she was only sure of one thing - this required a new outfit.

[tarajenkins]

tricornking

EXCUSE ME SHE SHOVED A WHAT UP WHERE?!?!

Oh boy, where to even begin about Lord Vauthry Keep in mind these are all huge spoilers for Shadowbringers--like, read-the-last-page-first spoilers. Also I am really bad at staying concise. A BIT OF CONTEXT

The world we are trying to save in Shadowbringers is called “The First” (it also saves the player character’s world, The Source, but that is not important to this bit, I don’t think) . The balance between Light and Dark in The First was tipped so dramatically to Light by the efforts of heroes fighting the Dark, the world was almost entirely swallowed up into a perfect bright nothingness called The Flood. Only a few pieces of land still exist. One of these is Kholusia, an island nation. This is where that baby is born, named Vauthry.  The capital of Kholusia is Eulmore. Vauthry’s dad WAS the mayor of that capital. Vauthry’s dad needs his Dad Card revoked and his face punched, more on that later.

Light creatures called Sin Eaters appeared after the Flood. Sin Eaters are almost entirely instinctual, driven only by a need to convert what life force is left of The First into Light. They increase their numbers by turning anything they kill into new Sin Eaters.  The most powerful Sin Eaters are called Lightwardens, and they are end of zone bosses.  ANYWAY Emet-Selch is one of the Ascians, recurring antagonists in the other expansions.

datascian dot jpg I don’t want to spoil all of that because it’s so good, but tl;dr: Emet-Selch approached the former mayor of Eulmore and offered to reclaim the ex-mayor’s power by dumping a the power of a Lightwarden into the baby his wife was carrying. She was not consulted. They talked over her like a goddamn brood mare. She looked frightened. The plan was that the baby would be born able to control Sin Eaters, and therefore be seen as a divine king, one who would hold sway over the remaining populace of the First by protecting them from the Light. This was not done for a noble purpose in the slightest; allegedly to make sure Mayor Eminently Punchable Face and his line would be forever superior and in power, actually so Emet-Selch’s own plans for The First would have no contenders. THIS IGNORANT DICKPICKLE AGREES LOOK AT HIM

PUNCH THE SCREEN WITH ME Vauthry’s born, and sure enough, yes, Sin Eaters are docile in his presence. Eminently Punchable Face non-card-carrying non-Dad lies his ass off, and raises the boy to believe he is half Sin Eater, a miraculous bridge between Sin Eater and man, a God to watch over (and most importantly rule) the remaining survivors of the Flood. The game gives us no insight on whether or not Vauthry’s corruption was absolute from the moment he was born, or gradual; no character development, just amazing voice acting (the tone reminds me a lot of the bluster of Teisel Bonne, if you are familiar with Megaman Legends) and a LOT of fucked-up shit in the name of fulfilling the Divine Purpose he was lied to about having. Was there ever anything more to him than the indoctrination he received?  We’ll never know. We learn all this in a flashback AFTER we're given no option but to kill him. :))))) And he is already too far gone into his “duty” when we do meet him in-game--utterly ruthless and out of all contact with reality.  OTHER THINGS THAT KILL THE TARA: I can’t know for sure but it seemed Vauthry took more after his mother, with blonde hair and blue eyes, right down to a long ponytail to one side.

Nothing is confirmed but there is a chance his mother is one of the Sin Eaters (Forgiven Obscenity, there is debate over this, but I lean towards this theory myself). Of course, the ruler meant to push the narrative of Eulmore being the next Sodom and Gomorrah , the definition of decadence and sloth, is a heavy guy--and Square seems to have no idea how fat bodies work.  One of my other favorite NPCs, a heavy lady named Dulia-Chai, is properly encouraged by the fandom, while Vauthry is the butt of every gross fat joke imaginable. Of course the fandom completely changes their mind about him once he “ascends” into a form that looks straight out of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Innocence) For a guy convinced he is a god, he has a curious inability to cope with any sort of criticism thrown at him, and an absolute NEED to be validated by his subjects. Eulmore was his father’s city--it’s tacky, gaudy, and cramped, full of people. When Vauthry has the chance to build his own “paradise” 2.0, it is clean, minimalistic, and spacious--and completely empty save for him (and attendant Sin Eaters). His voice acting before death breaks my heart every time, he sounds like a lost child.

AND THAT IS LORD VAUTHRY AND MY COMPLICATED FEELINGS FOR HIM THE END

[saessenach]

in the dark of the night

HERE’S TO @propshophannah my trash-mate when it comes to shipping. I did tell you I would finish this. Like, 3 months ago. WELL HERE IT IS. (shameless pwp, yes.)

Brandy, near-death experiences and witches are by no means things Fenrys should ever mix in good conscience.

The reality of it is slightly different though, as he finds himself sitting on the stairway of a full inn, the warriors downstairs just as battle-worn as him, just as aching for relief, for safety, for certainty, either in each other’s arms, or at the bottom of a brandy glass.

Still, emptying bottles with an Ironteeth witch in the wee hours of the night after a bloody battle is not the smartest thing he has ever done.

Not that the grin plastered on Asterin Blackbeak’s flushed face would make him struggle to act smartly.

In fact, the heat gathering in his belly is the exact opposite of “smart”.

But what do smarts mean when the witch snorts warmly, her breath fanning against his cheek as he speaks and drinks.

“What is it with you and wanting, fae?” she croons, her voice deep with drink and warm with something that sears his insides, “you’d say you were born starving.”

He chuckles, finding her gaze and holding it, before reaching for the brandy bottle in her hand.

“Pots and kettles, Blackbeak, that’s pots and kettles coming from you,” he dares.

“Oh?” she challenges, her smile turning feral. Man-eater.

Later, he would like to tell himself it had been a calculated risk he was taking, but really, it was no such thing, no. It was rather akin to plunging blindly into a sea and hoping to heaven and hell the sharks won’t bite.

Rather the sharks than those gleaming iron teeth of hers, enticing as they may be.

Fenrys is not calculated, not now, not in the way that should count. He is calculated in the faint touch up her hand, tracing a blue vein, calculated in the gaze he drops to her mouth and the hoarse whisper of his voice

“You want nothing more than I do,” a secret sort of smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Freedom to roam and fight and fuck your way through immortality.”

His voice is rough and almost silent in comparison to the rowdy hollering in the tavern below.

“How can you know what I want?” she says breathlessly, and yet it sounds less like a question, and more like an invitation. “You don’t know me.”

“True, I don’t.” he allows, answering her grin with one of his own, “I’d like to, though.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” she whispers wickedly. May it be him, may it be the brandy, but is she closer, yes, she seems to be closer, gods, he could count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, a tiny scar on the side of her face, a splatter of blood on her ear from the day’s battle, and it all makes her a dozen times more tempting.

“Keep telling that to yourself at night, witch.”

She is closer, gods damn him, she comes closer and whispers

“Is there anything else I should whisper in my pillow in the wee hours of the morning, pup?”

“My name,” he answers, bumping his nose to hers playfully, “and mayhaps a sweet plea or two.”

A snarl curls her nose and bares her teeth as she looks up at him. Sharp iron and soft flesh all make up a mouth Fenrys doesn’t even try looking away from.

“Oh, I like you,” he breathes against her lips, the tip of her pink tongue wetting her raw lower lip. His eyes come up to hers, black and black and black, with specks of gold here and there, like little shards of stars in a moonless night.

A smirk tugs at his lips when he notices that a sort of darkness engulfs the gold in her eyes, her warm breath close enough to smell, sweet like cinnamon and honey, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from hers as he ducks his head and pulls that raw lip between his teeth.

Asterin Blackbeak hisses in return, her hands fisting in his doublet, pointed nails scratching against his abdomen. She angles her neck, raising her face to his and deepens their kiss, her tongue sliding past his teeth and meeting his.

The corridor on the first level of their little inn is narrow and cozy, so it’s not much strength Asterin needs to push him off her so that his back slams in the opposite wall. Fenrys opens his eyes in confusion. Gods. His chest is heaving, and his pants are suddenly feeling tight. His mouth opens and closes like a fish’s, but the witch doesn’t fare much better, hair wild in its braided coils and eyes bright.

He has little time to wonder about them before she pounces him, the force she puts into it enough to make the wooden wall creek painfully at his back.

Her hands are around his throat, then up, scratching the shadow of scruff on his jaw, or tangled in his hair. The witch’s hips pin his and instinctively, Fenrys glides his palms down her torso, feeling full curves and hard flesh through her shirts, around her waist and to the small of her back.

She arches when his tongue enters her mouth and his hands finally find purchase, sprawled against the generous slope of her arse. His chuckles are swallowed up by her mouth, they maybe turn into a moan. Particularly loud laughter makes the inn nearly tremble in its hinges and the collective tremour downstairs only makes the hushed sounds escaping the witch’s round mouth that much sweeter.

Fenrys reaches down, grabbing the backs of the thighs and pulls her flush to him, her padded flying leathers smooth against the scratchy wool of his coat. Daggers clang and he nearly cuts his fingers on one strapped to her inner thigh in a hidden pocket. Nevertheless, he lifts her up and her legs come instinctively around his hips, their grip like a vice, and he turns them around, smashing her against the nearest door, the wood groaning.

Her fingers find purchase on the open neck of his coat, pulling, ripping at it, with no care whatsoever to buttons or strings.

“Inside,” she whispers hoarsely to his lips, and Fenrys takes the advantage to press warm, open kisses to the fine line of her jaw until he reaches the shell of her ear and nibbles on it.

“We’re getting there alright, pet,” he says in her ear, hands dancing merrily on her torso, untangling the laces holding her jacket, open at the neck, much like his.

“No, you fool,” she throws her head back when he finds a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear, “the door. Open the door. It’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” he teases, fumbling for the door knob while simultaneously grinding against her heat, the witch’s legs wide open around him, enveloping him tightly.

She moans when he pushes against her once more, and he snakes a hand underneath her coat, finding a warm breast and palming it.

Gods, they’re rutting against each other like a pair of hares, he can’t help but think when he does indeed manage to open the damn door. Of course they are, and there’s not much to complain about, in Fenrys’s humble opinion, especially not when the witch breathes a particularly low moan, which goes straight to his cock.

Once they go past the door, Fenrys presses her flat against it, keeping her in place with his body. Not relenting his assault on her mouth -gods, that mouth should be illegal, the grins and smiles and sounds she makes are all so not good for his brain - he reaches behind him, where her ankles cross at the small of his back, and mindlessly tugs on the laces of her boots, intent on properly undressing her. This is probably the fault of the ample amount of brandy he’s consumed tonight, and now that he thinks of it, her hair does look a bit like brandy in the fire light. A tiny bit.

He’s nipping the tendons of her neck, drunk on the feeling of her nails scraping against his scalp, groaning in her ear and goading a response from her. The motion of her hips is divine, and he rolls his hips into her as an answer when he finally succeeds in divesting her of her boots. Her feet are cold, but her toes curl and her heels dig into his backside as he drags his hands along the length of her legs: the curve of her calves and the sinful flesh of her thighs, and of course, the heat between them.

He finds the buckle of her belt at the same time she pushes his doublet off his shoulders, one of her nails ripping his shirt in the haste.

Fenrys tugs with mindless abandon at her pants, a voice in the back of his mind urging him to be careful of whatever weapons she has hidden there. Nonetheless, he is painfully hard and her moans as he bites on the soft shell of her ear do not help at all, and why the everloving fuck is he still dressed- and finally, the damned pants are off and he slides a hand between her legs, feeling for the heat and wetness of her and she arches off the door when he curls his fingers inside her.

By the time he kicks off his own boots as well, the nifty witch has already stripped him of his shirt and the hunting knife strapped under it, and she is raking her nails, blessedly not the iron ones, but still sharp enough by normal standards, down his abdomen, definitely not helping relieving the tension inside him.

Locking her feet around him, Asterin bounces off the door, and Fenrys struggles to keep his balance in front of her assault.

A groan tears off his lips when the backs of his legs hit the bed and he falls in the sheets and the furs on it, basking in her intoxicating scent.

He tugs her shirt over her head and she is exquisite, golden skin and golden hair, curling around her ears and falling in her eyes as she bends to take his mouth. His hands play on her ribs and spine, taut flesh and strong bone, until they reach her arse and hips, wide and becoming and soft.

He shimmies his hips enough for her to pull his breeches off, and she brushes against his length, and gods, the moan he lets out is positively wanton.

The effect it has on the witch is painfully obvious, the flush spreads beyond her cheeks, down her neck and to her full breasts, and Fenrys can’t help but rise up and press his mouth to one of them, all teeth and tongue, while he cups the other, and the witch lets her head fall back, her dark eyes rolling into the back of it.

The scars on her abdomen are large and broad, the cursed mark a reminder of the cruelty she has faced, the cruelty she has braved, the cruelty she has survived, and there is something in Fenrys’s chest that swells at the thought of her strength. It’s some sort of admiration, a kinship and a tether between them, which comes with knowing they’ve both fucked the odds and survived, and that is maybe why Fenrys hasn’t been able to take this witch out of his mind for the past weeks, it’s this understanding between them that has prompted him to want her so, so badly, and his heart beats faster and louder because of that.

He slides against her slick warmth, poised at her entrance and when he is finally inside, it feels glorious and unending and painful all at the same time and the witch twists her hips above him sinuously. Fenrys is quite certain his heart will burst and really, buried deep in Asterin Blackbeak, pressing kisses to her freckled breast and drinking in her moans does not seem like the worst way to go.

He lifts his hips, slamming in her and she nearly screams, hand fisting in his braid and mouth a delicious snarl against his.

She looks into his eyes, a pool of liquid darkness seeing through to the very bottom of his soul and

“Say my name, pup.” she whispers softly, so softly he almost misses it. Almost.

He finds himself smirking, kissing her lips softly, quickly as they move against each other.

“Witches first, m'dear,” he goads her for his own entertainment, and, judging by the way the tightens around him, it works for her as well

“I asked you first.”

She keeps his hands above his head, tangling their fingers, a blissful smile on her face, and her movement becomes uncoordinated, feral, her breathing uneven as he slides into her, again and again, and he can tell she’s nearing completion.

“I asked you second,” she laughs at this, good, it’s good that she can laugh, and it turns into a moan as he bites the nook where her shoulder meets her neck, rolling his tongue over the sore flesh afterwards.

What he doesn’t expect is her bearing down on him with new strength, pressing her breasts to his chest, and paying him back in kind

“Ahhhh,” he closes his eyes against the bliss and the pain of her mouth on his collarbone, the flesh turning angry red and royal purple under her ministrations.

“Now that’s the start,” she pants, right in his ear.

“Ohhh, it is,” he moans, turning his head to the side, facing her, their faces touching and he struggles to focus his eyes enough to meet hers, just as hazy and black as the deepest night, and he holds her gaze as he whispers, “Asterin”

She laughs, the wretched witch, and it is a victory for the both of them, “Ah-” a broken sound which nearly makes him come, “now- was - that -so” - a challenge as he raises himself into a sitting position, slamming into her, and gods, gods, he feels her starting to come undone,“ ah! -hard?”

It’s heaven, it’s merciful heaven and he moves through her climax, and he is close, so very close, drowning in her glorious sounds, and she pushed him back into the mattress, riding him madly, and he can’t tell what’s louder, the creaking of the bed or his own moans as she takes his open mouth with hers, tongue sinfully gliding against his and he wants to goad her, wants to make her giggle and groan and roll her eyes and he winks conspiratorially,

“There’s only one hard thing in this room, hon,” when-

Crraaaaaackkk

They both look up at the same time, and they both yelp at the same time as the mattress falls to the floor under them, and the canopy collapses above their heads, plunging them into darkness.

“Well,” she says, devoid of tone, “it’s definitely not the bed post.”

Hysterical laughter is all Fenrys is capable of at the moment. Asterin, too, it would seem.

[theonyxpath]

Now available in PDF and PoD from DriveThruRPG: The Contagion Chronicle for Chronicles of Darkness!

The world is ill. You have everything to lose through its sickness.

Loss. Change. Chaos.

Your own blood will rebel against you. Your own herd.

Your own loved ones. Do not believe that just because you’ve had a hundred years on this earth, you’ll be exempt. Just because you were ignorant of it until now does not make you immune. Your waking to the reality of this world — of the great machine in its heart, and the sickness in its veins — is just the first step. You must find others like you and me and make them swear to drive back this Contagion. This world doesn’t have long left. You may be a monster, but perhaps with other monsters, you can drive back the destruction of everything.

The Contagion Chronicle includes:

The first Chronicles of Darkness book to provide guidance on playing creatures of all kinds in a shared story.

Systems and powers enabling teams of vampires, werewolves, mages, Prometheans, changelings, Sin-Eaters, hunters, mummies, Beasts, demons, and Deviants all in the same group, encouraging you to explore all permutations of crossover.

A new mythos — the terrifying Contagion — acting as a catalyst for unifying disparate monsters into allied groups known as the Sworn and the False.

Over ten settings from diverse locations all around the globe, each wracked with its own Contagion, and all waiting to be explored.

Sales

The Exalted Sale on Indie Press Revolution ends in just a few days!

The Scion: Origin Phone PDF is 70% off as today’s Deal of the Day on DriveThruRPG!

Kickstarter Update

The Kickstarter for Scion 2nd Edition Book 3: Demigod has one week remaining! We funded to 100% in 75 minutes, 200% in less than 12 hours! We’re currently at 334% of our $35,000 goal, or $116,791, thanks to our 1897 backers, and we’ve hit several stretch goals:

Scion: Demigod Reference Screen

Scion: Demigod Companion: New Boons, new creatures, new Guides, new followers, solo play, new relics, cults & covenants, relic crafting

Backer T-shirt

Did you miss one of our previous Kickstarters? The following Kickstarted products are still open for preorders via BackerKit:

They Came from Beyond the Grave!: They Came from Beyond the Grave!

Trinity Continuum: Trinity Continuum: Aberrant

Legendlore: Legendlore

Vampire: The Masquerade: Cults of the Blood Gods

Mage: The Ascension: Technocracy Reloaded

Chronicles of Darkness: The Contagion Chronicle

Chronicles of Darkness: Deviant: The Renegades

Chronicles of Darkness: Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition

Chronicles of Darkness: Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition

Community Spotlight

The following community-created content for Scarred Lands has been added to the Slarecian Vault in the last week:

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?

The following community-created content for Realms of Pugmire has been added to Canis Minor in the last week:

100 Notes and Letters to Find in Pugmire

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?

The following community-created content for Storypath has been added to the Storypath Nexus in the last week:

Scion: Specialized Purviews

They Came from Beneath the Sea!: The Grays

Your product could be here! Have you considered creating your own to sell?