#than be trapped in this undead state

[captainsparklefingers]

HE FINALLY SAID IT

Van Helsing FINALLY said the v word, FINALLY told Seward what was going on...I mean he did it in a very conversational, nonchalant, Van Helsing sort of way, but! He finally let somebody in on what had happened to Lucy!

I mean this knowledge would have been helpful days and weeks ago, but at least Seward is in a position to understand and believe now... telling Arthur is gonna suck, though.

And god, when Mina finds out... Dracula fucked with the wrong woman's loved ones. He will regret this.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

3.7k / 38 / post-apocalypse au, part 2

...

You emerge deep in the city. Deeper than you should be.

You traveled on foot via the drainage tunnels connecting Amsterdam to the forest. This city was busy and beautiful once, the way unpolished amber is beautiful, but now it's overgrown and empty except for the undead roving the streets.

Staying underground is the best way to avoid the undead. Especially in the daytime. So when you creep through the streets in the open nighttime air, you know you have to be fast. You must find what you came here for.

You stick to the buildings and skulk in the shadows to take advantage of their poor eyesight to buy as much time as you can. You move in the shadows, turning corners to break line of sight and keeping yourself moving away from the few that see or smell you. But the undead—zombies, runners, biters, muties, whatever they’re called—will catch your scent eventually. And they do. Soon, too many lurch after you in mindless pursuit. They begin to stagger in your direction, stumbling over one another. Their howling voices echo off the walls of the abandoned buildings around you.

As you try to evade them, a few stragglers—those less decayed, those who can catch sight of you more easily and stumble in your direction to feast—begin to give chase. The city is so much more crowded than you feared, and you're quickly overwhelmed with nowhere else to run besides the open streets.

Running in the open is a death sentence. You have to get back underground. With your pumping heartbeat shooting adrenaline through you, you can't remember exactly which way leads back to the forest.

You get the horrible feeling that this city will become your tomb before morning comes. No, focus. You need to keep moving until you find a drainage tunnel. They all lead out of the city. Just go where the rain would go, you tell yourself.

You snake through the streets until you glimpse another stone-walled drainage ditch cutting between the street and walkways. You drop in, pressing yourself to the wall. You try to hide your tracks, hoping against hope that the undead might not realize you've slipped away and lurch off elsewhere, but no. No such luck. The undead are on you already.

You curse and take off in what you hope is the right direction. You push your panic into your legs as you try to outpace the zeds on your tail, but they're as fast as you are even in their undead state. They're not tiring the way you are as your body screams for rest. Your throat burns. You can't outpace them for much longer. They're persistence predators.

When you see the drainage ditch veer and dip into what looks like an underground spillway, your heart soars. The undead can't navigate sewers as well as you can. If you can just make it underground, you can slip away--

Then it comes into view and your heart drops. The spillway is blocked by the remains of a collapse. Piles of concrete and rubble block the way. It's a dead end. You're trapped.

The infected, though unintelligent and uncoordinated, are relentless and ravenous. And they're closing in on you fast.

You don't stop. You can't. You grip at the sharp concrete edges of the rubble blindly, pulling yourself up. The chunks of concrete are huge and ragged, overgrown with grass and slick with dew.

There's no time for fear as you try to claw your way to an exit you hope desperately isn't blocked. It's a small hope, but right now it's all you have.

The infected come up behind you, screeching and howling in pursuit. They're coming.

You climb as high as you can. Sure enough, there's no way through to the other side of the tunnel. Not that you can fit through, not with zeds at your back. On both sides, the walls of the drainage ditch loom over you. The railing at the top is almost high enough for you to climb, but when you try to get closer, stepping over the broken concrete, a loose piece slips and almost takes you with it. It rolls down the pile of debris and knocks past one screaming runner’s shoulder as it goes.

The undead aren't coordinated enough to climb as easily, but it’s only a matter of time. With the sheer number of them and a little more luck, they’ll reach you soon. Or you’ll step on a loose rock or slippery patch of grass and slide right back down into their clutches.

With nowhere to go and no exit in sight, your only option is to either fight, or wait out a slow descent into madness and death like everyone else.

You pull out Soap's gun and load it.

…

Dawn is breaking by the time Soap and his team make it to you, following the sounds of your gunfire.

Soap whistles—a signal to you. The piercing sound makes you flinch through your adrenaline high. You clamp your shaking fingers around your—his—gun. There are still dozens of undead, many now with bullet holes and arrow shafts sticking crookedly out of them. Your quiver is empty. You’re crouched, gun in hand, aiming at one as it draws closer. You don’t have the bullets to waste otherwise—not with your wounded arm.

It lurches forward.

But it’s not your bullet that strikes it through the head—it’s his, and it's a clean shot. The runner's head splits like a peach, chunks of bone and brain flying across broken stone. You turn your eyes up to see Soap lining up a third shot atop a nearby building, and you glimpse his squadmates heading toward you. God damn are you happy to see him. Before another zed can take the mulched one’s place, Soap fires again, reloads, and again. He takes out another with his second bullet before lining up a third shot.

A shout interrupts your line of thought. You look up and see a man stretching his hand toward you, startlingly close, bridging the gap between the safety of the railing and where you stand. One of Soap’s teammates—a man with a black scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. Ghost, you think his name is. You grab his hand.

Something else catches your attention in the rubble, too—long swaths, claws marks, carved under the mass of something much bigger than you or the undead. They disappear into the rubble and, conceivably, into the tunnel behind.

This is the lead you’ve been searching for all these days in this godforsaken place.

“Distance and cover!” Soap shouts, all focus.

You hear him. But if you withdraw now, you might not be able to follow those claw marks and search the tunnel. Half the undead in the city will be here before long, following the gunfire and howling. If you make the plunge back down into the depths, you might be able to find what you came for and get out intact before the undead get there forst. This could be your only chance.

Before you can move, Ghost yanks you by the hand, dragging you almost entirely up the sheer rocky wall. You bite down on a gasp, scrambling to keep your footing as he hauls you up and over the railing.

Soap’s rifle cracks again. Another biter, this one now trying to scale the wall after you, drops. Its upper torso explodes with a wet thwack.

You double back almost before you know what you’re doing and boost yourself back over the railing. You need to get into that tunnel.

Ghost grabs your arm again before you can jump. “Are you mad?”

“Let go!” you bark.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

God damn it. There’s no time to explain. Or maybe there is, but the adrenaline running through you makes it impossible to find the words.

When it’s clear he won’t back off, you bite him. Just sink your teeth into his hand hard enough to make him let go. He curses and rips his hand away, more in surprise than pain. You take off, vaulting over the railing, rushing to the very middle of the heap. The top of the tunnel. Loose chunks of stone roll under your feet. With Soap’s squad focused on taking out the zeds, you can focus for the first time on breaking your way through these stones.

You wedge your bow under the loosest, topmost piece and wrench it up as if wielding a crowbar. The rock tumbles. You do it again, and again, and again until you feel a steady stream of warm air rise from underneath. You follow it, ignoring the chaos behind you, until you’ve torn open a big enough gap to slip through.

You tuck into a slide, letting gravity take you down into the darkness and out of view.

“Bloody animal—get back here!” echoes after you.

…

You find what you’re looking for within minutes. Roach—he’s alive, but caught in what looks like a trap. A man-made trap. Your heart clenches when he sees you and his tail thumps in a weak greeting.

You’re at his side in moments. “Easy, busy. Don’t move. I’m right here.”

It doesn’t take long for Ghost and Soap to catch up to you.

The scathing words on Ghost’s tongue die at the sight of you crouched next to Roach. They can only stare in shock. Saying Roach is a dog would be an understatement. Roach is massive. Megafauna. He might have been shaped like a wolfhound breed except for his massive, maned shoulders and elongated muzzle full of too-large teeth. You’re on your knees under the huge beast’s jaw, dagger sawing at the contraption holding him. Even laying on his belly, he towers over you.

Roach locks eyes with Ghost and Soap. They stop, standing completely still.

Ghost glances over his shoulder. “Think the big mutt can take care of himself,” he tells you, scanning for encroaching zeds in the dark.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur to Roach, totally ignoring Ghost. You’re still trying to soothe him, but your voice is frantic. “Almost got you out. Just stay still—”

The trap groans under your knife, but it holds fast. Then Roach growls—a loud, deeply unsettling sound that vibrates through the cave walls. His yellow eyes don’t leave the men behind you.

You hear Soap’s voice. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Is this what you were looking for when you…” He shakes his head and walks toward you. From his belt, he pulls out a large hunting knife. “Let me.”

“You should stay back,” you call over your shoulder. “He doesn’t know you. Don’t make him feel cornered.”

“Sound advice,” Ghost says.

Roach stares at Soap intently. Roach shifts a paw closer to you.

“Leave the dog alone, Johnny,” Ghost says. “It’s tryin’ to protect her. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re not a threat. You’re as good as dog chow.”

But Soap hesitates. “It’s our trap,” he admits. “If you’d let me help, I could show you how to free him quicker. We need to move.”

As if in response, Roach growls again.

You shoot a frustrated look over your shoulder. “It’s your trap? Why the fuck would you have a—"

There’s a loud crack and the trap splits under your knife. Roach lurches free. Instantly, he limps around you, getting between you and the two men.

“Easy!” you cry. “Roach, heel.” You bury your hands in the fur on his flank. He’s enormous. Your head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. You can’t stop him physically. You need him to listen to you.

Roach steps closer to Soap, staring him down. His breath blows Soap’s hair back.

Soap doesn’t back down just yet. He’s not a threat, right? He proved it to you, now he can prove it to your dog. He hates dogs. Goddamn hates them. Why’d it have to be a dog you were looking for? Big fucking bastard of a dog.

Ghost speaks quietly from just over Soap’s shoulder. “No sudden moves.”

“Easy,” Soap says, raising his hands slowly in what he hopes is a peacemaking gesture. The rifle is slung over his shoulder, out of sight as it can get, and he tries to relax his posture.

You duck around Roach and stand between him and Soap. “Calm down, Roach,” you say again, like you’re talking to a misbehaving terrier instead of staring up at an animal three times your size. “They’re friends. See?”

You grab Soap’s arm and lace your fingers together with his. He tenses in surprise, but you ignore it. Roach goes quiet and looks at you, cocking his head. You hold your joined hands up to his nose to sniff.

Soap looks from you to the dog and back to you. Underneath the tension laced through his whole body, he’s impressed.

Roach sniffs Soap's fingers with yours and seems to relax. You reach up and scratch the fur under Roach’s chin—or as close as you can reach, standing on your toes—and you bring Soap’s hand up to do the same.

"Looks like you're approved,” you say with a little too much surprise in your voice.

Soap swallows as he touches his fingers to Roach's tangled fur, trying not to think about those stories of dogs being able to smell fear. But he forces himself to unclench, just a bit. He's glad you're both okay. And glad he's not about to get snapped in half by a giant fuckoff hellhound.

Roach takes another massive, curious sniff of your hands. Then he moves on to sniffing the top of Soap's head. Then he lowers his enormous maw and licks Soap with a giant tongue.

Soap grimaces. He looks more grossed out than defensive, at least. You smirk.

Ghost makes no move to join the handholding circle. "Not the strangest travelers we've seen, but close," he says. He glances over his shoulder, shifting his rifle impatiently. The others are cleaning up the group of zeds, but the quicker they can get out of here, the better. It’s never a good idea to be out in the city for too long. Especially not somewhere any shambling creature could wander up in the dark.

Soap shoots Ghost a look before glancing back at you. You're still standing close. He lets go of your hand. It's calloused, he notes, like his. It wasn’t like that before. "You've got a way with beasts."

You walk down Roach’s flank, checking for injuries. “He’s not a beast. He’s my dog. You’ve seen what the mutagen does to animals, right? The ones it doesn’t kill. Changes them.” You pat Roach’s flank fondly. “But I adopted him before all this started, back when he was just a normal dog.”

"No one gets to be normal anymore," Ghost mutters.

Soap chuckles. "Well, he's a bloody tank now, isn't he? Big lad. How the hell you keepin' him fed?"

Ghost examines the bite mark you left on his hand. "Got a hunch.”

"I'd apologize, but you shouldn't grab people who don't want to be grabbed," you tell Ghost. "You're lucky I didn't go for my knife instead.

Ghost gives you a flat look. “I’d say you’re the lucky one for deciding against it.”

“Easy, LT.”

Ghost scoffs. "She's just much a beast as the hound.”

You finish your inspection and find nothing major. Just scrapes and bruises. Nothing bleeding. No open wounds to attract more zeds, thankfully. Relieved, you return to Soap and Ghost again, giving Roach another scratch under the chin. Then you notice blood on Soap’s leg, soaking into his jeans. “Is that blood yours?” you ask him.

Soap glances down. "Aye. Took a swipe from one of those undead bastards. It's nothin’.”

"Doesn't look like nothing," Ghost says.

"It's just a little blood. I'm fine," Soap says. He steps away, but staggers on his injured leg. Ghost appears instantly to support him at the shoulder.

You step back, grimacing. Open wounds are risky. There's always risk of infection. Worse, the smell of blood attracts muties.

"I said it's fine," Soap says, but his voice is strained. He's in more pain than he wants to let on.

"Let me see that." Ghost kneels and pulls Soap's pant leg up to examine it. Then he grunts and stands back up. "It's a bad gash, but it's not life-threatening."

"Mm," Soap agrees, obviously trying not to cause more worry for his teammate. "I'm fine. Just gotta walk it off. Be peachy tomorrow." Blood drips around his boot heel.

"You'd better get going," you tell them. "Sun's coming up."

"You'd better find somewhere safe yourself, hen," Soap says. "It's a horror show out here in the daytime. Runners clusterin’ in packs--"

"She'll be fine," Ghost mutters. "Take care of the log in your own eye before you worry about the splinter in hers."

You pat Roach. "Found what I came for. Thanks for that, ah... for your help, Soap."

"Aye. You're a scrapper, that's for sure. Good to know you've got a lot more muscle with that one backing you up." He nods at Roach.

Ghost helps him stand up straight. The three of you make your way back to the entrance of the tunnel. By now, Soap’s crew has cleared away enough that they can help Soap out as Ghost boosts him up. They offer the same to you, but you refuse. They hurry out of the way as Roach shoulders his way through the comparatively tiny passageway. He squeezes through, widening it, and you follow easily. More soldiers than you expect—all dressed and outfitted like Soap and Ghost, armed and armored to the teeth—watch from behind buildings and over rooftops. You get the feeling that they have eyes on every zed in this half of the city. Several of the soldiers converge on you, moving like shadows, to help Ghost heft Soap along.

You tread with the group until you reach the edge of the city. Or maybe it’s the edge of the forest. The tree line half-swallows the streets and homes.

“Look after yourself out there,” Soap calls over his shoulder. You salute wordlessly in reply, and his eyes linger.

You watch them make their way out of the city, disappearing into the enormous trees and tall grass. Once they’re gone from view, Roach nudges you gently.

"I know, I know," you mumble.

He sits on his haunches to let you to climb up and take your seat on his back. You take off running to the east, leaving them behind.

That would have been the end of it. Except it's not long before pass by more runners—more than two dozen of them. They don't bother with Roach, smelling the mutagen affecting him and missing your smell completely smothered in his—but the direction they're heading, they'll run head-on into Soap’s party for sure. And with Soap injured, the smell of blood, being outnumbered...

Dread and guilt coil in your stomach. It doesn't matter how good they are. They'll be overwhelmed.

But it doesn't matter, right? You have what you came for. You should keep going. Mind your business. Stay alive.

Roach paws at the ground, agitated, and you realize you’ve unconsciously pulled him to a stop. You glance up, checking the sun’s distance from the horizon. You owe them. They helped you. Wouldn’t you be dead without them?

You let out a long, irritated groan. Then you nudge Roach to turn around. “Let’s go get them,” you mutter.

Roach bounds off into the trees, his nose leading you both back to Soap, Ghost, and the others once again.

A few of the men almost jump out of their skin when they see the shape and size of Roach bounding toward them.

Roach pulls up beside them in a flurry of grass and dirt clods. “There’s a group of maybe thirty zeds heading this way,” you say, looking at Soap from your high mount. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for you to be doing. “You’d better hurry or they’ll swarm you.”

Soap and Ghost exchange a look. “We’re moving as fast as we can,” Ghost says. “If they catch up, we fight like we always do.”

“You won’t be able to fight them all. Not without a few of you getting picked off.”

“We won’t abandon your own.”

“She’s just tellin’ us what she’s seen,” Soap says. “Wouldn’t have come back otherwise. Best to leave me out here and hustle back to camp. Easier to hide one person than a whole group. Can’t have you all dying just because I was a right idiot and got myself hurt."

Ghost glares at him. "That's not up for debate.”

Soap smirks back. "You sayin' I can't handle myself?"

"No one's leaving you here. You're coming with us, one way or another.”

"Hell," Soap mutters. He groans from the pain. "Amnae riskin' the team over my injury."

You listen to them bicker, shifting as you try to calculate how much time they have before the muties get here. Not long.

You should just leave now, right? You told them what was coming, which is more than they'd usually get. They can fend for themselves, right? They've done it before. A hundred times, probably. And if you stay, you're putting Roach at risk too.

But Soap's leg... that happened to him because he was helping you. God dammit. You can't just let this go. That's another favor you owe him.

You have Roach lay down and hop off him.

"Hey," you bark over their arguing. "Get on. Hurry."

They both pause. Soap narrows his eyes at you. Getting sniffed at by that big bastard is one thing. But riding him? He gives Roach a very wary look.

Ghost picks up on your plan immediately. He jerks his chin at Soap. "Get on."

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more Soap / masterlist

[y-rhywbeth2]

D&D Vampire Lore Dump #1

Feeding and Diet It's actually more complicated than just "they bite you and eat your blood." Plus what they're able to eat; how often they need to eat; what happens to you if they bite you and what happens to them if they don't feed- spoiler: it's unpleasant. Incidentally, you should reload and kill Cazador again.

(I was comparing stuff across editions and compiling it into something more coherent and then figured I'd info dump about it in case my fixations are useful to somebody out there.)

DISCLAIMER: There are two things to note about the lore presented here: First, while the standard stat block in the monster manual is the default, in terms of lore vampires have this annoying tendency to be incredibly, stupidly varied. They are magical monstrosities ruled by the power of symbolism and superstition above anything else.

The next is that D&D is decades old, spans five editions, several settings and hundreds of writers. One guy establishes a piece of lore, and then the next picks it up goes "nah" and writes something else. I collected info from four different source books, all from different editions, which naturally don't entirely agree on how vampires work. Lore never stays consistent and may contradict itself. You may see information somewhere else from a source I don't have that contradicts what I wrote here. If you read this and like some of this stuff but not other bits, take the good and ditch the rest.

Basically, in D&D, canon is what you decide it is.

Feeding | "Biology" | Hierarchy | Weaknesses and Cures | Psychology

They only need to feed once in a 24 hour period. Vampires can survive between 3-9 months of starvation, but it's a terrible idea. -

There are three different categories of "Undead Hunger." Vampires have two of them and actually need to consume more than one thing to stay "healthy": Blood and life force. -

The blood is obvious. This is categorised as a "diet dependency." It's required to preserve their bodies and powers, and without it their powers* are suppressed as their bodies begin to shut down. *This refers to the powers a vampire gains with age; they cannot lose power they had as a newborn (the base stat blocks given for vampires and spawn given in the monster manual) A vampire requires the equivalent of 12 hit points of blood a day, or it begins to revert into a corpse-like state. Mentally they slowly regress into a desperate, mindless animal frenzy where they'll kill and drain anything containing blood they can get their hands on. Ultimately, if they don't get any blood then they revert into a corpse and they're trapped in their own body as it begins to wither and mummify. They're trapped in a coma, vaguely aware of the passing of time in flashes of awareness until somehow they are fed blood. If they ever wake up again, they will probably wake up feral and absolutely ravenous. -

Vampires rely on the victim's blood pressure to expel blood from the wound they create, lapping and mouthing at the wound rather than actually sucking on it. Being bitten is a highly pleasurable experience that victims can't help but desire, even when they know they shouldn't. -

While the damage done remains, the wounds from a Vampire bite closes itself quickly after the feeding (assuming you're still alive). It does however leave a mark. The bite mark itself is often "less than half an inch in length", and leaves behind a significant bruise that causes no pain or sensitivity to touch. Other side effects include fatigue and a weakened immune system. -

Vampires typically target sleeping victims (less likely to fight back) and favour the blood of their own race above others. So theoretically, Astarion finds elf blood tastes best. -

Drinking animal blood tastes bland and is health-wise akin to drinking tainted water: yes it might keep you alive in desperate times, but it's ultimately bad for you and will probably make you ill. That said, it has no mechanical detriments and a vampire that's forced to live on animal blood will be just as strong as its kin, but considerably bad tempered about it. -

A vampire's secondary feeding requirement is called an "inescapable craving", which means that if a vampire doesn't get that fix then their hunger begins to devour them instead. The pain is described as a spike boring into the vampire's brain, obscuring their awareness. They begin to obsess over feeding to the exclusion of everything else, they become willing to take ridiculous levels of risk to stop the hunger as they become more and more desperate. As they are consumed they become progressively more feral until they're just a rampaging mindless horror driven only by horrific hunger. For vampires, their inescapable craving is life force, which a vampire leeches from their prey through touch leaving the victim weak. Direct skin contact isn't required, if you're wearing full plate and/or the vampire is wearing gloves and they lay a hand on you they can still drain you. Mechanically these were combat abilities, energy/level draining occurred when a vampire struck a target with their own body (usually their hands). Before 5e hit them with a nerf bat, vampires could permanently weaken you this way (you could lose character levels from this). 5e also seems to have rolled life drain into the biting, so a vampire can consume your blood and energy at the same time. -

Post feeding, a vampire starts to look alive. Their skin is flushed and warm and they feel elated and energetic. In contrast, a vampire that hasn't been feeding properly becomes more corpse like and feels "sluggish" (I'm interpreting that as flu-like symptoms). It's purely emotional however, the vampire is no less capable and dangerous and suffers no mechanical penalties. -

Vampires can feed on other vampires, which is actually more filling than living humanoid blood and gives them the ability to communicate telepathically for a few hours. They don't like it though. If a vampire drinks from another vampire then they can be controlled by that vampire and the link forces them to feel affection for each other against their will until it wears off. The results of both vampires in question feeding on each other is described as "debilitating" since they both paradoxically become enslaved to the other's will and forced to "love" each other creating an absolute dysfunctional mess of control, obsession and resentment. The good news is that it only lasts a few hours. -

Some vampires can eat regular food (no nutritional value in it for them) while others would regurgitate it if they tried. As they retain their tongues, vampires can also taste food. That said, it's a bad idea for them to eat garlic, even if they can eat solid food. -

Some kinds of vampires don't drink blood. There's all kinds of weird and wonderful stuff a vampire might be required to consume instead. Spinal fluid stands out. Or the bit about ones who drain the ocular fluid from your eyes. Gale might find interesting things to talk about with the magic eating ones who prey on mages. They're much less common, probably something to do with most people not finding that very sexy. I don't think any of them exist on Toril.

[cultofdixon]

Bring me back to your embrace

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The Whisperers’ nuclear plan was discovered in a cave that they were going to get rid of. But things don’t always work out perfectly • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Broken Bones / Claustrophobia / Anxiety Attacks

Requested by: Anon

Listen.

You can take on herds of walkers

You can take on egotistical assholes

Hell, you can get back up and on your bike after a nasty spill

But the one thing that’ll get yea

Are small spaces.

Boy, was it a mistake following your partner on this risky shit regarding Alpha’s “nuclear plan”. What was Carol doing?!

The group was now in the cave with the undead and everyone was startled by Carol’s screaming in the direction toward Alpha. It seemed like her plan all along to trap them in there or who knows? It was risky going in there in the first place but none of them were going to lose another of their own after recently losing Siddiq.

Daryl and Jerry were trying to get Magna up onto another level but she slipped. It was too high and they needed to find another way across the sea of walkers.

“I don’t see a way across” Carol shouted to the others as Daryl shined his light around.

“Whoa whoa, go back” Aaron exclaims catching Daryl’s direction to retrace and shine against some rocks that looked more like a lily pad way of crossing. “We could use those to jump across”

“Nice” Daryl couldn’t have agreed more as Y/N winced at the thought of messing up.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me” She groans as Kelly brought herself over to see for herself.

“Wait. For real?” Kelly frowns as Aaron nods with a sadden look, it was their only option.

Daryl felt the tug on his shirt and quickly turned to Y/N who had her anxiety written clear as day on her face. He brought himself close enough to press his forehead against hers.

“You’re gonna be alright. It’ll be quick. Only real trouble”

“You don’t know that”

“Yeah, alright. I don’t. But I do know, I’ll keep yea safe” Daryl didn’t part until it was clear to her that he meant that.

Even if she was the last to cross and reached the last platform before the ledge everyone else was on. Daryl reached out for her, a bit tempted to jump back and throw her because the walkers were getting antsy. It was becoming more stressful than it should’ve.

“Y/N, you know I’ve got you”

“Shut up! I know I’m just. Please. Not now” Y/N groaned kicking back a walker that got too close and that caught her off balance which led Daryl to instinctively reach out to catch her. Thankfully Jerry and the strength that man has, grabbed a fist full of his vest yanking him back the second he had a full hold on his girl.

Once they were both on the other side of the sea of walkers, Daryl practically latched onto Y/N.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Y/N panted, shaking a bit from the shock of almost becoming food and hiding her face in his chest when he tightened his arms around her. “I’m okay” she mumbled as he rubbed circles around her back for a moment before they had to continue on their way out of there.

The smallest, almost incident was taken note by Magna and annoyance with a bit of rage started to brew in her.

There was a moment where Daryl separated from the rest to look for another way out. Everyone kept close and checked on their supplies to see what rations they have left.

Connie gently tapped Carol’s shoulder signing if she’s okay and she sighed. “I’m fine. Just a little winded”

“She’s claustrophobic” Daryl chimed in after the path he went down came up empty, so he went down another.

“Why didn’t you think of that before you got us all trapped down here?” The venom in Magna’s voice pierced Carol’s attention. But given her current state, she couldn’t entirely focus on anything but her breathing.

“Hey. It’s not the time for this” Aaron interfered but Magna wasn’t backing down.

“Why not? Seems like we have plenty of it”

“Magna. Don’t.” Y/N frowns, getting pushed aside so Magna can get up in Carol’s space.

“What the hell were you thinking, huh?” Carol should’ve pushed her back. “Running off like that by yourself.”

“Hey! We ain’t got time for this shit” Daryl quickly stated when he drew himself back to the group. Taking notice of everyone’s tension. “We got in this mess together. We’re gonna get out of it together. Now follow me”

The archer led the group thinking he found a way out of the walker filled caves. But it was more of a bigger opening without any threat, a place to make up camp and collect some cave water. Daryl sat with Y/N using her lantern as their light source while others had their own from flashlights to lighting up walker limps.

Magna quickly ran up in front of the two out of breath. “Hey Can I…Can I get matches?”

“You should try to take it easy for a minute.” Daryl advised as Y/N patted the spot beside her.

“I can’t.” Magna sighs. “I need to do something” she watched him go into his vest pocket taking out the box of matches handing them to her as she quickly shot out a thanks and continued on for the search for an opening. Some were growing anxious.

Daryl was about to ask his partner if she was alright given Y/N’s tense expression, but both their attentions drew to Carol planting herself in the empty spot on the other side of the archer.

“I never told you I was claustrophobic”

Y/N shot Daryl a look as he gave her a don’t worry about it type expression. It was something he remembered back to the CDC. They both remembered.

“If I only knew what you told me, I wouldn’t know shit”

“Look who’s talking” Carol whispered to him keeping her gaze away.

“It’s like I can’t even turn my back on you anymore” Daryl frowns messing with his bandana. “It’s bad enough I got Aaron running around with that skin freak. Now I gotta worry about you all half-cocked every time you go outside”

You’re not her parent. You don’t have to always watch her Y/N sighs bringing herself up on her feet going to check on Connie and Kelly. Ignoring Daryl’s questioning expression.

“I’m sorry”

“I begged you to talk to me” Daryl stated. “I wanna be there for you…I do. I don’t know what to do anymore” he kept his saddened expression when Carol finally looked at him.

“I can’t…stop thinking about it” Carol choked. “I know I have to, but I can’t”

The silence grew louder in the cave as Y/N sat next to Kelly this time, still shooting a concerned expression to Daryl hearing Carol still.

“I don’t want to just kill Alpha. I want to hurt her”

Y/N forgot for just a moment about Carol’s true intentions against Alpha. She wasn’t the only one that lost that day but it still didn’t make her thought earlier okay for her to think.

“I want to make her regret everything” Carol fought back her tears while her voice still wobbled. “I want her to beg for forgiveness and then I want to kill her”

“If I went through all the shit that you went through, I’d probably feel the same way” Daryl stated giving Y/N a certain look before turning to Carol. “Unless you tried to stop me”

That brought an uncomfortable yet familiar old feeling back in Y/N’s chest. She quickly hugged her knees close closing her eyes.

“You gotta quit all this” He continued. “You gotta …people you care about are starting to get hurt”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…I know I have to…I know…I-I have to s—-“

“You gotta not bullshit me. Don’t bullshit me.” Daryl scoffs slightly. “You gotta promise…I gotta know we’re on the same team. We fight for our future” he shot a glance to Y/N who wasn’t looking at him at the time before back to Carol. “We don’t fight for revenge.”

“I promise”

As Carol leaned against Daryl, Connie brought attention back to Y/N. Gently tapping her boot for her attention only to be met with tears of her own that she is struggling to keep hidden from the archer. He’s taking care of her, I need to take care of myself she was she thought.

Are you okay? Connie signed to her and her movement caught Kelly’s attention as she instinctively wrapped her arm around Y/N’s shoulders when she noticed for herself.

No, I’m not and I can’t be here Y/N wiped away her tears in a break of her signing. She wasn’t the only one to lose a family member because of Alpha and the Whisperers.

Before more could be signed, Magna shouted which alerted everyone to get up to the commotion bringing themselves to where she was and the Whisperers that jumped her.

One managed to get the upper hand on Y/N and attacked her from behind, but before they could do more damage then they’ve already have…Y/N suddenly flung the skins’s body over her own and without a second thought stepped on their skull crushing them to their death.

“Are you alright?!” Daryl didn’t care about how fragile the caves could be when he shouted. He quickly scanned her person noticing the cut on her shoulder. “Shit. Jerry you’ve got—“

“Yeah I got bandages” Jerry quickly went through his pack as Daryl didn’t even wait for Y/N to say anything when he carefully exposed the wound by moving her shirt down.

“Daryl it’s just—-“ She pushed his hands away. “It’s fine!”

“No it ain’t!” Daryl hissed, taking the offered bandages to carefully patch up the wound and taking her face into his hands after. “It’s not fine. None of this should’ve happened. We shouldn’t be in here. You shouldn’t be in here…” he’s been anxious the entire time and it’s mainly been revolved around her. He didn’t want any of this.

The group eventually found a small crawl space that left Carol having a claustrophobic moment and Y/N having her own but hers was more leaving her mute for the remainder of the time they were down there. However much longer that may be.

“Hey…you’re okay” Daryl reassures, gently taking Y/N’s face into his hands knowing she’s anxious from the crawl space and simply wanted to remind her that she’s fine.

She will be fine…

There was a tense moment with Jerry being stuck and walkers crawling through but they managed. Even managed to find a collapsed spot that led to the outside.

Connie warned everyone that they had to be careful with what they pulled out or everything will collapse on them. With causation, they looked for a weak point that didn’t danger the rest of their surroundings. Ultimately, Daryl pulled that weak spot and gave them all a spot.

No one knew Carol found dynamite.

Except for Daryl.

Daryl did talk her out of lighting it herself, but when she slipped and it fell…the friction from the rocks had been enough to light the dynamite. Making their structure much weaker than anticipated. It was now a ticking time bomb (literally) to get out there before everything collapsed and another explosion occurred.

“Come on!” Jerry shouted from his position as Y/N helped Daryl get Carol out of the hole from the inside.

Daryl wanted to reach in and grab Y/N but Aaron was already in there helping Jerry and the two helped Y/N. But when the men got off the rock, the eruption happened along with the explosion followed…causing Y/N to go flying in a direction none of them could see because of the dust cloud.

“Y/N!” Daryl shouted shoving Aaron and Jerry out of his way to search the rubble. Even for more than just Y/N. Kelly’s cries matched Daryl’s and he couldn’t help the anger growing inside of him.

“No!” Kelly cries running over to the pile of rubble after Daryl came over pulling rocks off of where they crawled out of.

“Daryl…” Aaron frowns. “It’ll take us a week to clear this…even then—-“

“Can you help me?!” Daryl shouted knowing he needs to get Connie and Magna out but…also find a body.

Kelly went on about the possibility of Connie and Magna being alive within the cave system. That they needed to be alive themselves in order to save them which meant they had to leave before the walkers came to the sound of the blast.

“Come on” Aaron extended his hand to Daryl to help him off the rubble but before he took it, they all heard shifting within the rocks.

The archer instantly went toward the sound while the others had taken it with caution but Jerry at least went to help even if they didn’t know what it was.

“Oh my god” Carol still panted from getting out of that mess herself and her reaction was toward someone emerging from under the rubble.

“Y/N—-oh my god. Baby—-“ Daryl quickly dropped to her aid as Y/N gently pushed him back to give her some room to completely crawl out. Her sharp inhale brought only more anxiety out of the man as he practically manhandled her to see what was wrong.

Jerry brought himself over to help Y/N up with Daryl but was hesitant which made Daryl finally notice her arm was broken.

“It’s worse than it looks” Y/N groans using her uninjured arm to grab onto Daryl as Jerry carefully grabbed her by the bicep to help her up to her feet. The loud wince that left her led to both letting go after she straightens up but Daryl only continued to check her.

Concussed most likely

Broken right arm

Head lac

The shoulder lac from earlier

This all could’ve been avoided Daryl frowns turning to Carol with a bit of pain and rage in his expression.

“Go ahead and say it to me. I deserve it” Carol sobbed. “Just say it to me”

Y/N gripped Daryl’s shoulder giving a him a look to not go there. A lot has happened, they don’t know if they are dead or alive. If Kelly is hoping for life then they should as well.

“You were right about everything. Just say it” Carol watched Daryl pull his gaze away but she wasn’t having it and grabbed him. “No, please!”

“Carol…what good is it going to do?” Y/N frowns wanting to comfort her friend even if this was her mess. But hell…if given the chance and having more of a risky mindset, she would’ve done the same.

“You cared about her. And now she’s gone because of me. Please, just say it” Carol begged for the blame at this point. “I got your partner hurt. I got them trapped under there…please just—-“

“Stop” Y/N interrupted what was just a one sided discussion as she brought herself over taking Carol’s hand with her uninjured one. “Let’s go home. Take me home and let’s just…forget for right now. There’s no blame here. I’m…exhausted.” She tugged at her friend knowing she can’t tug back or she’ll hurt her further.

The concern in her expression struck Daryl and he instantly headed off, letting the others take his partner home which led Aaron to question what he was doing. There were many ways to get into those caves, he will find another to bring them back hopefully.

But after a few hours, he came up empty and kicked himself mentally for leaving the others to help get Y/N home.

The door slowly creaked open and Y/N instantly turned toward the archer who hesitantly walked in thinking she was asleep. But instead she was wide awake struggling to put a shirt on given her arm situation. Thinking about how they dealt with broken arms in the apocalypse, gives me an aneurysm.

“It’s worse than it looks”

“You uhm…need a hand right?”

“Yes” Y/N exhaled a laugh as she tossed the shirt to Daryl before sitting on the edge of the bed, wincing from the pain in her ribs.

Her sides were bruised, the lacerations were stitched and patched, and her broken arm was snapped straight but given no casting tape—they had a few ace bandages and literal duct tape to keep it together with the help of a sling. The blast really threw her.

Daryl set the shirt on the side before taking the sling off carefully in order to get her shirt on. “Did they cut off the one you wore in the cave?”

“Eh they didn’t have to but given my arm was being a bitch to set earlier, they just did it. Rosita did a good job patching me up”

“She’s learned a lot from Siddiq…and yknow. You can’t treat yourself”

“You wouldn’t let me if I could” Y/N let him take her arm gently bringing it through the arm hole and then the rest was easy. Once her shirt was on, she felt Daryl’s eyes glue to her instantly. “I won’t fall apart if that’s what you’re thinking”

Daryl brought himself to sit with her and all she received was his worry filled silence. Y/N took his hand with her left hand feeling him squeeze gently.

“She’s going through a lot. She’s lost a lot”

“That doesn’t excuse my behavior”

“Mm. I…agree. But sometimes, you’ll ignore the red flags with your best friends and family.”

“I shouldn’t have left you, or made you feel I didn’t care about how you felt when we were stuck under there”

“Well, I was jealous. Then realized, if I had thought it out…I would’ve done the same thing if revenge was my thing. I would’ve done everything in my power to make Alpha feel maybe just an ounce of what I felt when I found my brother dead to her right hand’s…hands.” Y/N frowns keeping her gaze to the floor but squeezing his hand back when he did such again. “The pain I’m feeling now isn’t worth it but I can’t get mad at a miscalculation.”

“Magna…and Connie—-“

“There were tons of tunnels down there. They are probably banged up but I have some faith that they are out there making their way back here. Even then we’ll be looking every chance we get”

“How could yea be so optimistic, and forgiving? I still gotta…figure that out for myself”

“The forgiving part maybe. But not everybody can be optimistic and that’s fine. Just as long as you don’t tear the people around you down constantly.”

All Daryl did next was nod to her words. He wanted to check on Kelly, but she currently stayed with them and after returning back the exhaustion of everything that happened had hit her hard. He’ll check on her in the morning, and now all he wanted was to stay with Y/N. To keep an eye on her but in some way, it was the other way around.

“You should shower and come to bed”

“What about—-“

“Our village when we were gone took care of the kids and Dog while we were out there. Even before we got back they’ve been taken care of. Dog even chased a squirrel according to RJ.” She laughs softly keeping it small to be mindful of her ribs. “So get cleaned up, and we can just. Sleep today off and start again tomorrow”

And that’s what he did. Washed today off and got into comfortable clothes for the night, and climbed into bed beside Y/N being mindful of her injuries but still kept close enough to feel her.

They will be okay

Alpha will meet her end soon.

[m0thgutzzzz]

hmm.. about time i properly posted about monster tower, huh? HERE WE GO

MONSTER TOWER (cw for violence)

pizzahead loves horror movies. hes obsessed with them to an unhealthy extent. but he’s quite the film critic! pizzahead becomes obsessed with creating the perfect horror movie. and what’s better than creating real monsters to act out your plans?

peppino: the main subject of pizzahead’s obsession. pizzahead sees him as the ultimate protagonist to his movie, so he kidnaps peppino along with stick and gustavo to be apart of it. he uses a chemical he developed to turn peppino into a vampire.

gustavo: being abducted meant he was also turned into a monster! this time, a werewolf! the tower is kept in a perpetual state of moonlight, so he can never transform back into a human.

stick: he was transformed into a merman, much to his dismay. it’s hard to walk around with a giant fishbowl on your head! but he gets by.

pepperman: phil was hired by pizzahead to be an actor for the movie. what he didn’t know was that pizzahead was going to beat him to death and immediately revive him from the dead as a demon! now he serves pizzahead’s every command.

vigilante: one of the few non-monsterified tower residents. vigi comes from a long line of monster hunters. and their specialty? slaying vampires. he begins to question his entire career when he meets phil for the first time.

noise: theo was a popular eighties celebrity. that was until he was brutally stabbed to death, along with his girlfriend in an unsolved murder case. pizzahead brought the two back to life to be actors in his movie, as they both had experience prior.

fake peppino: pizzahead was able to contact alien life! said alien came down, and the two formed an alliance. the alien could take as much resources from earth as it wanted, as long as it helped act in pizzaheads movie and take the form of a certain italian.

brick: starting out as a small pink blob, the more she ate, the bigger she got. now she’s apart of a giant hive mind of pink slime rats around the tower.

noisette: as previously mentioned, she was stabbed to death! now she lives in the tower and provides meals for monsters that have certain dietary requirements.

burton: he eventually entered the tower after stick had gone missing, and was turned invisible by pizzahead as a result. hes finally with stick! but at the cost of his visibility.

gerome and john: the two had been at the tower for generations. once pizzahead took ownership of the tower, he cursed the both of them. john was cursed to keep the tower standing, while gerome had to do whatever pizzahead said. he now serves as a janitor around set.

pizzaface: a giant, moldy, undead, floating pizza director! he’s equipped with the weaknesses of every monster in case they were to discovery or even turn against him.

pizzahead: the main man. hes a scientist who was obsessed with cinema, specifically horror films, from a young age. his science became so advanced that he found his pizza body parts obsolete and began to replace them with machinery. now he rules over the tower, a perfectionist making sure every single shot of his movie is exactly how it should be.

everyone is trapped within the tower. they all have a relatively cozy life, as pizzahead tries to appease to their demands. yet he refuses to let them out until his film is finished.

—

OKAY THATS IT. i have a bunch of other characters planned out (doise, mort, ect) buttt i can explain them in a different post. feel free to ask questions! and take some art of the characters!

[zal-cryptid]

Toyfolk Glossary Masterpost

Collected in this masterpost is a glossary of terms concerning the worldbuilding of my series Misfits in Toyland.

Toyland - A phantom island of games and toys inhabited by the toyfolk. Also known as the Land of Toys, Island of Misfit Toys, the Doll Kingdom, and Merryland. Although autonomously ruled and governed by a monarch, it belongs to its creator, Krampus. It exists in a parallel plane of existence that dances in tandem with the mortal realm known as the Otherworld.

Toyfolk - People who’ve been transformed into living toys and sent to Toyland as punishment for their misdeeds by Krampus. This punishment is reserved only for adults. They don't possess any vital functions and thus have no need to eat, drink, or breathe.

Rule of Play - the magic that allows toyfolk to interact with toys as if they were real simply by playing pretend with them. For example, toyfolk can move their bodies simply by pretending that they can, despite not having muscles, a nervous system, or any of the necessary organs. Same goes to their ability to speak and sense the world around them. Externally, they can make any toy real for them by interacting with it as if it were real - such as pretending to eat toy food in order to mimic the sensation of eating. There are, of course, limitations to the Rule of Play. For example, it cannot be used to create life (playing with a normal doll or a toy animal won’t cause it to come to life) or cause death (playing dead won’t cause suicide). Toyfolk roleplaying with each other can even temporarily alter their perception.

Phantom Nervous System - named after Phantom Limb Pain, the Phantom Nervous System is what allows the toyfolk to move without muscles, see without eyes, hear without ears, taste without tongues, think without brains, and even feel (temperature, texture, pain, erogenous stimulation, etc.,), all without possessing any organs or nerves. Toyfolk are essentially undead - the mind and soul bound to a lifeless object and animated by magic.

Toy Fugue - Named after Dissociative Fugue (although the two should not be conflated), Toy Fugue is an altered mental state where Toyfolk lose their memories and sense of identity. Their minds are subsumed by their Toy Brain and form a new identity based around the type of toy they are. Toy Fugue is a mental escape triggered by traumatic events and emotionally distressing experiences. It’s often the end result of those who fail to find a way to cope with an existential crisis. Unlike dissociative fugue, Toy Fugue isn’t temporary, nor does it cause one to wander. While some have been able to snap out of it, others may be doomed to remain that way for the rest of their lives.

Toy Brain - also known as Play Brain, refers to the “programming” that all toyfolk have that gives them a collection of instinctive urges to play the part of whatever type of toy they are. Many struggle to find a balance between these urges and their own personalities, and it's a great source of discomfort for many of the toyfolk. Much like a Chinese Finger Trap, attempts to resist these urges will only cause them to intensify and worsen. If toyfolk fail to control their urges, their urges will ultimately end up controlling them and descend into Toy Fugue. These urges can range from specific (such as tea parties) to more broad (such as animal behaviours).

Magic - Magic works differently in the Mundane World than it does in the Otherworld. One can be forgiven in thinking magic doesnt exist in our world, but the truth is exists in its most fundamental and purest form - imagination. In its passive form, it manifests as thoughts, ideas, creativity, emotions, and problem-solving. In its most active form, it can manifest as psionics (also known as psychic powers and ESP). Long-term exposure to another plane will cause an entity to slowly acclimatize to the laws of that reality.

Wind-Up Keys - Wind-up keys have the ability to temporarily influence a wind-up toyfolk's personality and behaviour. Each key contains toy brain traits of the wind-up toy it came from. For example, a toy soldier wound up with a music box key would suddenly start to act more feminine and want to dance like a ballerina.

Voice Boxes - While most toyfolk are able to speak through the Rule of Play, those with voice boxes are bound to the rules of the voice box. Those with pull-strings, for example, cannot speak unless their pull-string is pulled. The voice box isn't just an analog for the larynx, but also functions as the speech center of the brain (particularily the Broca's Area). It contains their voice, vocabulary, speech patterns, accent, language, everything. Damage to this aparatus may cause something akin to aphasia, dysphasia, or dysarthria.

Playing Dress-Up - For dress-up dolls, costumes and outfits can influence their behaviour and personality. For example, a business suit could make them feel and act confident, a girly dress could make them feel and act girly, a maid uniform could make them feel and act like a maid, a collar could make them feel like a pet, so on and so forth. The affects are temporary, only lasting as long as they're wearing the outfit, but their original outfit they ever wore as a toyfolk gets imprinted into their toy brain, making it their default trait.

Currency - The official currency of Toyland is the Standard 52-card deck of French-suited playing cards. Playing cards were chosen over play money on account of the fact they couldn't decide on which nation's or board game's play money to use. They ended up turning to Quebecois history for inspiration. Playing-card money was a type of paper money used periodically in New France from 1685 to the British Conquest in 1763.

[silverskye13]

So, the thing about being damseled, Welsknight is rapidly realizing, is you don't really have to be a damsel to do it. Or have it done to you, that is. Being damseled isn't really a gender thing, like all the old knights tales would have him believe. He doesn't have to have long blonde hair, or a princess dress. He doesn't have to make deals with obscure fae gods or spirits, doesn't have to know how to weave golden thread. Heck, he doesn't even have to be locked in a tower. Damseling -- that is, the state of being a damsel in distress -- is a much broader scoped state of being. It's not so much a trope or a role, and more of... An essence. A vibe. If one can be trapped and helpless and in need of a knight in shining armor to save the day, one can in fact be damseled just fine without any of the key fairytale hallmarks.

How does Welsknight know all this? Well, because he's managed to damsel himself, of course.

Welsknight is trapped. He should have known better. Well? Should he have known better? Eh. Even if he should have, he definitely shouldn't have expected to. He's new to Vault Hunting.

Iskall and Stress made it sound so easy. Yeah! Just go find a vault, gear up, don't be afraid to run for your life. Nothing can go wrong if you're careful. Beware the curses and traps and tripwires. Don't eat anything growing on the walls. Fight. Survive. Win! They do it all the time, with their adventuring teams and alone. Whatever suits their fancy. Just don't anger the gods and do run screaming if something way beyond your skill level wanders into the room. Cowardice? Nonsense! Vaults aren't duels, they're thrills. Thrills that sometimes glean cool treasure, and treasure, while awesome, can't challenge your honor and isn't worth your life. So go, kill some monsters, have fun, run when you need to. It's low-high stakes, choose your own adventuring at its finest!

And Wels is a knight errant, alright? He's slain dragons. And withers. And, yes, rescued a few damsels. He's good at what he does. So when he and Iskall went for some drinks at a local tavern, and Welsknight whined that he was getting bored of escorting mining parties and killing oversized lizards for neglectful nobles, well, Iskall had smiled and pointed him to the Vaultlands. And Welsknight, bored and stupid in his boredom, had decided raiding vaults was a great idea.

"If I get out of this," Welsknight vows in his most solemn, oath-binding knight's voice, "I am going to punch Iskall right in his grinning, stupid face."

He is barricading a door with anything he can find, all while the screams and shrieks of some persistent undead challenge his fervor from the other side. The undead here are different than they are outside the Vaults. The slow, lumbering, hollow things that amble blindly around deep caves and unstable mines don't hold a candle to these creatures. These are malevolent undead, things that seem to hate Welsknight personally, inhabited by the dreams of sleeping gods that were, probably, sealed in these Vaults for a freaking reason. He's pretty sure one of them is jibbering with the voice of his dead brother, which is, honestly, demonic scales of unfairness. And he would know demonic unfairness. Welsknight has fought exactly one demon, and while he certainly isn't an expert, he knows more about how much they cheat and torment than he had ever wanted to know. And anyway, how is he supposed to kill that kind of malevolence in the undead? He's not! For heaven's sake, he's faced fae with less personal malevolence, and the fae court is the most petty place on earth!

Welsknight kicks his barricade with an armored boot, making sure it'll hold. The stack of pilfered detritus shakes but stands firm. Somewhere in that lot is his broken sword, barring the door shut. The blade shattered in four pieces when he was tackled by some wight-creature, not because the creature was that strong, but because he'd just used it to fight some sort of corrosive slime, and really, the fact that living acid slime exists in the Vaults is unfair, and something Iskall really should've warned him about. At least it hadn't gotten on his armor.

Welsknight backs away from the barred door, listening to the angry screams of what lay beyond it. There's a lot of name-calling going on. "Come to your death, coward!" And "Brother please! Help me! Don't let it take me!" And "Sleep with us forever knight! Aren't you tired?" Screech and groan through the air as though the door and barricade aren't there to muffle it. There's hysterical cackling as well, which is kind of typical. He can't tell if the loudness of the noise is supernatural, or if it means there's another entrance to the room he hasn't noticed yet. As unsettling as the supernatural option is, he kind of prefers that right now. Weaponless and exhausted, he's not sure how well he'll manage if the undead just start pouring in from a side door somewhere.

Welsknight blinks, and belatedly realizes he's blinking back tears. His hands shake as he wipes them away. Yeah, okay, maybe the screaming-with-the-voice-of-his-dead-brother thing was getting to him more than he thought it would. He's a knight, not an iron golem. He still has feelings. He tries to be detached and gentle about it. He knows what fear is. The first time he fought a dragon, he cried. He cried a lot, actually. After it was dead he lay on the ground sobbing for a good hour, which had been terribly inconvenient at the time, since it had broken one of his ribs. Terror kind of just, does that to him -- makes him cry. He learned a long time ago not to be ashamed of it, no matter how badly timed it could be.

"Right," Welsknight croaks into the room around him. "Cry about it later. Escape now."

It's not a big room that he's trapped himself in. It has the trappings of an ancient hall, with some newness to it, indicating he isn't the first adventurer to stumble in here. Rotting boxes and chests are tumbled against a collapsed wall, the smell of damp rot wafting off them. One has candles and two plates on it, someone's makeshift dining set up, and there's the scorched remains of a campfire. It looks pathetic compared to the massive columns and reliefs it sits beneath. Maybe this place was a temple? It sure seems kind of temple-y, but Welsknight has yet to encounter an altar to any Vault Gods -- which is probably good. Iskall had mentioned those were guarded by scary creatures, and if "malevolent undead who steal the voices of your loved ones from your memories to torment you while they devour your flesh" hadn't registered on Iskall's "scary creatures to warn Wels about" index, he really, really doesn't want to know what insane creatures might guard the altar chambers of the Vault Gods.

"Probably like, undulating tentacle demons with acid breath," Welsknight mutters out loud as he meanders the chamber, searching for something useful. "Or maybe the Gods themselves just come down and use you as a hackey sack until you prove your worth or die. That sounds about right."

The cold stone walls make no comment, which is probably for the best, since given current trends, they would probably talk back with the voice of his disapproving parents, or maybe the old knight he'd been squired to, which would really start straining his already stressed out psyche right about now.

He can still hear his brother's voice calling to him through the door.

For as impressive as the room is, there really isn't much in here of use. The boxes from the old expedition have let the moisture in the room in. There's old, indecipherable food inside that is now mostly black sludge. The candles might be useful if he had anything resembling a tinderbox to light them with. Everything else in here is far older, and mostly carved stone too heavy to pilfer. This place has obviously been picked over before. No relics are on the walls. The one chest he finds that is (probably) older than the boxes contains only a single glorious cobweb as a prize. Welsknight has just about submitted to his fate to die in obscurity in a random Vault somewhere, when he encounters a corpse. It is not reanimated dead, though he does give it a few good kicks to make sure it doesn't feel like crawling to life and talking with ominous voices.

"Well, at least the ambient necromancy going on in here has limits," Welsknight sighs, squatting down on the balls of his feet to pick the corpse over. "Well, friend, I don't suppose you've got anything helpful on you?"

Their chainmail is rusted, their features, save for a few whisps of black-brown hair, are decayed away. He manages to find a coin purse with some woefully old looking coins -- so the chances of some other adventuring party stumbling to his rescue are quite small then. He picks up a shield from them that, though dry rotted, looks like it could block one or two more hits before giving up the ghost. On their back is a scabbard so rusted, it looks like the sword might be fused inside. Welsknight grimaces, then shrugs and concedes that even a brittle sword is better than none. Still, it doesn't make prying the sword belt off the old bones any more pleasant. There's a lot of brittle cracking, and a lot of wincing on Welsknight's part, before he finally manages to get it free.

"Sorry friend, but I think I need this a little more than you do."

The skull rocks a bit on the floor as it settles, but otherwise doesn't seem to care. The sockets aren't even facing his direction. Welsknight takes that as his sign that he isn't horribly cursed... Or at least no more so than when he first got trapped in here. Welsknight rubs at the blade, trying to see how much of the rust is superficial. A bit chips off beneath his fingernail, revealing bright silver beneath.

"A silver scabbard?" Welsknight raised his eyebrows at the corpse, "Well, weren't you a glamorous fellow?"

Welsknight grimaces and, taking ahold of the hilt, draws the sword. It pulls a lot easier than he thought it would. The rust holds it for a moment, and then smoothly releases, revealing bright steel underneath. The sword unsheathes with a ringing hiss.

"--ON'T SHEATH THE SWORD YOU IDIOT!"

The scream is right by his ear. Welsknight lets out a startled yelp and turns to face the voice, tripping over his feet and landing in an inglorious heap on the floor.

Standing in front of him is a knight garbed in black armor, a fiery plume rippling from his helm. His back is facing Welsknight, and he stands with his shoulders hunched, one arm reaching forward like he's trying to stop someone. The knight takes a step back, surprised, then rocks on his heels.

"Oh." He says, then looks down at the skeleton by his feet. "Oh."

He stares at the skeleton for a long moment, shrugs, and then gives the skull a hard kick, sending it clattering off across the room. "Serves you right, you asshole!"

Welsknight is crying again. He can't help it. He's scared and overwhelmed, and this knight is so, so terribly familiar. From the armor to the way he stands, to his voice. And when the knight turns to face him finally, the face is familiar too.

"Hels?" Welsknight whispers.

Helsknight, his definitely-dead brother, looks down at him with uncomprehending eyes. Then he scowls, "Nope. Sorry."

"I-- but--"

"I am the Spirit of the Sword," Helsknight cuts him off, rolling his eyes petulantly. "I serve the wielder of my blade, loyal in death, as I wasn't in -- blablabla. I take the form of the protector, the guardian, the comforting, and yes, I'm used to the whole "oh you look just like my dead loved one" thing. So let's skip the unnecessary angst, okay?"

A particularly loud shriek from the ghouls outside echoes shrilly through the room before Welsknight can even attempt to gather his response. Helsknight spins to face the barred door and takes a threatening step towards it.

"Oh would you SHUT UP? We're in the middle of something!"

The sounds behind the door fall abruptly silent. Welsknight stares in bafflement, feeling just confused enough to stop crying. The Spirit Of The Sword That Looks Just Like His Dead Brother offers a hand to him.

"Come on, get up." He says as he pulls Welsknight to his feet roughly, and then gives him a long, appraising look. "Well, you look like you might know how to swing my sword, so there's something at least."

"I'm-- I'm a knight errant," Welsknight tells him, trying to recover some of his senses. "What-- are you another trick of this terrible place?" Anger starts to bubble underneath everything else he's feeling, and his fists clench. "I'm tired of the stupid mind games and the trickery, and everything screaming like Hels and---!"

Helsknight holds up his hands, looking something between annoyed and appeasing. "Aye, yes, I understand. My last wielder did die in this Vault. No I'm not a demon, or an evil spirit -- unless you intend to use my sword for evil, in which case, I'm evil by proxy." Helsknight ushered to himself. "The enchantment in the blade turns me into something you're familiar with. Whoever I am, I don't have his memories or his mannerisms--" his lip curls in something like disgust as he adjusts his breastplate, "--or his taste in armor. Really, what's wrong with some nice high mobility chainmail? Or leather? Leather is amazing! It's quiet and doesn't feel like I'm carrying a whole damn armory around."

Welsknight screwed his eyes shut and breathed. Alright. Alright. He's okay. He can deal with this. He can-- well at least he can ignore the specter of his brother following him around for as long as it takes to get out of this Vault. But when he gets out ohhh, oh Iskall owes him six pints at the nearest tavern and a damn good explanation.

"Sword Spirit," Welsknight asks after another set of calming breaths, "can you fight?"

Helsknight looks down at his hip where a sword is sheathed. He draws it, tests its weight and shrugs. "I'd be a poor sword spirit if I couldn't."

"Alright then," Welsknight picks up the magical sword from where he'd dropped it and walks towards the barred door. "Let's get out of here, then."

Well, there is one good thing about being damseled at least, Welsknight thinks bitterly as Helsknight begins moving the debris. Someone always sends you a knight in shining armor.

[actuallyevilgay]

Hear me out, one of Tav’s parents went missing when he was very young. Later he finds out that the reason why his parent went missing was because Astarion lured them to Cazador.

I hope you read my about, Anon. This might go a little different than you expected. My first request :o I’m excited.

Oneshot: Daddy Issues

Astarion x male reader Content Warnings: Discussion of child abuse and child neglect. Mature language. Talk of Adultery. Notes: Tav gets a little unhinged from the doorframe. Tav is not a heroic person. Might not be lore friendly?

…..

The venture into Cazador’s palace was anything but easy, the smell of neglect radiated over the place. It made you wonder if the vampire lord even cared for keeping up appearances, but knowing how some vampires made their rule.. They probably cared more about causing fear than looking as good as they say in romance novels… There was nothing romantic about this place. The allure could’ve been a fantasy for the many victims Astarion was forced to lure into this damned place.

You wouldn’t lie, if this place was given a massive makeover.. It might actually make a nice home. Yet, it was better to keep that banter for after the upcoming battle. Astarion’s unease made your neck hairs stand on edge. You protectively placed yourself in front of Astarion whenever the party turned another corner. His undead lungs consistently caught a large breath at every stop. Like he was about to walk into another nightmare.

Certainly he would, and so would you. The dungeon’s elevator let in an air of absolute disgust. Not just the smell.. The sight of all the victims in cages.

After Sebastian lunged for Astarion in rage, you pulled him back. ‘’This is not your fault.’’ A part of you wanted to judge the poor noble for being stupid, on the other hand.. You didn’t have it in you to mentally process what this could mean. Being another one of Astarion’s victims? No.. No. Don’t you dare even think about it. This guy is already dead, walking into the trap was his own fault. You on the other hand, were here to help Astarion kill Cazador. He may have tried to seduce you under false pretences, but you fell for each other despite all that. You wanted to give him the world. You were not his victim.

‘’They’re all here.’’ He muttered. ‘’Gods. They’re all here.’’

You looked at him with a reassuring glance. ‘’Don’t think about it. Think about yourself.’’ The conflict in Astarion’s eyes remained briefly, pushing at the sides of his mind. He shook his head. ‘’..You’re right. There’s no use in lingering in the past.. Not now.’’

Confident, the party began to cross the room, ignoring the sights of all the vampire spawn in the cages. ‘’Maybe we should.. Free them?’’ Gale uttered, doubtful. ‘’And unleash a horde of ravenous vampire spawn?’’ Shadowheart spit back at the wizard. ‘’They look like they’ve never even fed!’’

Astarion shuddered, wanting to be out of here as soon as possible. He had to face this.

To your regret, as he turned to you once more for guidance, a familiar voice called out.

‘’Tav..? Son- Is that you?’’

You felt bile rise up in your stomach. You haven’t heard this voice since you were at least ten years old. ‘’My, so this is where you’ve been, after all this?’’ You started to laugh in amusement, making everyone around you raise their brows in confusion.

Astarion looked to you, then to the man speaking to you.. He blinked, unsure if this was one of his victims. You made eye contact with the vampire, your expression unreadable.

‘’Don’t worry, I’m not judging you.’’ You noted, before turning back to the man who had abandoned you. ‘’You.. On the other hand.’’

‘’Wait- Does that mean Astarion slept with your-’’ Shadowheart cut herself off as you glared at her. You did not want to envision that at all. Gross. 

‘’Oh I remember that night..’’ Your father’s voice sounded as drunk and hazy as when he left. Maybe that was simply his natural state of being, but you did not care.

‘’..Do you have anything to say that isn’t an attempt to insult me?’’ Your response sounded as bitter as you felt. ‘’Poor dear old dad, seduced by one of his many conquests into damnation. Absolutely perfect. Congratulations.’’

Astarion eyed you, remembering how little you spoke of your past. Maybe.. To distract him, you might as well indulge your loved one. ‘’This man, this man.. Is why my mother left. It’s why I grew up eating moldy bread in the streets.’’ You shook your arms. ‘’This is.. Amazing. I can’t believe he’s here. No- I can. This is actually a good thing.’’ You felt the spiteful laughter tugging your throat. You wanted to laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

‘’Darling..’’ Astarion looked at you with some concern in his voice, unsure what to say. 

‘’Damned little son of a bitch! Let me out of here!’’ Your father tried to reach for you through the bars, you looked at him with cold dead eyes. With one swift turn, you avoided his claws and grabbed him by the throat, smashing him against the prison bars. He coughed up whatever bit of congealed blood was left in his lungs. ‘’Ugh-’’

‘’Can you imagine? This pitiful man.’’ You sighed as you released him, he dropped to the floor. You turned to Astarion again, eyes softening.

‘’For as long as I can remember, this man abused me and my mother. He would leave her with very little, refusing to let her even get a job to provide for me.. Because all he did was drink, and drink, go out and sleep with strangers.’’ You sighed, looking back to the pathetic thing in the cage.

‘’I suppose he was handsome enough for your master to drink dry, maybe he just wanted to get drunk on his intoxicated blood.’’ You went quiet for a moment.

‘’One day, when he didn’t come back- My mother decided it was the perfect time to abandon me.’’ The spite and hatred in your eyes came flowing back. ‘’I had nothing but anger to survive on.’’

‘’You whoreson-’’ Your father once more spoke up, but you spit at him. ‘’SHUT UP!’’

‘’I should’ve beaten you more.’’

You decided to let him have his say, and thus the insults of decades came back around. You remembered them all, each little thing he knew would rile you up and cause you to run and hide. You wanted to slap the teeth out of his mouth, but patiently waited until he was finished.

‘’Have you nothing to say for yourself boy?’’ Your father held onto the prison bars again. ‘’Be a good little shit and do something right in your life for once. Let me out.’’

You stared at him, expression unreadable. Astarion grabbed your hand, he now too shared your rage. ‘’I don’t remember him, actually.. Pity.’’ He said, clicking his teeth.

‘’What? You don’t remember how you led me into this hell? You little-’’ He tried to lunge forward again, making pathetic attempts to claw his way out. ‘’You said all these little- recited lines! Sounded so dreamy. Corny. I was very into it. The sex wasn’t that great though.’’

He turned back to you, noticing you interlocking your fingers with Astarion. Your lover’s face contorted with disgust at your father. ‘’Don’t tell me- you’re into this man? Are you sleeping with him?’’ the deadbeat stopped and laughed at you. ‘’Oh.. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, boy. You’re just like me. Admit it.’’

For a moment, the childlike doubt overtook you again. Everything he said was designed to hurt you, to treat you like a punching bag. He would sometimes feign care for you, only to earn your trust and use it against you like a weapon. You were just a little kid.. This man, this man was a real monster.

‘’I don’t think so, Tav is nothing like you.’’ Astarion thought about it. ‘’If anything, it makes no sense for him to be related to you. Are you sure your wife didn’t sleep around? Hmm?’’ Astarion’s words clearly hit a nerve, because your father once more tried to claw his way out, screaming obscenities.

You didn’t care for either your parents, the idea of your mother sleeping with another man to conceive you wasn’t that far fetched. After all, as far as you were concerned.. You had no parents. You had to raise yourself.

‘’Don’t talk to me like that, you… You..  Manwhore!’’ Your father remarked, he started to look defeated, falling to the ground.

Both you and Astarion shared the same expression at the sight. Amusement. A little piece of justice had come from all this misery.

‘’There’s one little thing.. Just the thing. How do I put this?’’ Astarion thought for a moment. ‘’I think you slept with Petras, not me.’’ He then looked back at you, worried.  ‘’I may have been horrible enough to seduce people for… Cazador. But I never went for the already drunk ones.’’ That confession seemed to hit both Gale and Shadowheart as well. It was genuine.

From all the different kinds of people held captive in this place.. The stories of drunk people falling victim to some of the worst crimes imaginable was one all too familiar.

When he mentioned Petras, you recalled running into him at the flophouse. He recited some of Astarion’s lines in the corniest way possible in an attempt to seduce you. ‘’My dad slept with that guy?’’ You nearly choked. Then your laughter became a storm.

‘’I can’t-’’ You wheezed. ‘’THAT’S-’’ You coughed. ‘’I can’t breathe!’’ You nearly fell to the floor. Then it turned from joyful, into sadistic laughter.

You could see your father peer his reddened eyes at Astarion, narrowing them, making sure he was right.. Then he slowly realised. ‘’You’re.. An elf.’’ 

You laughed again sadistically, and Astarion joined you. 

Gale and Shadowheart awkwardly shifted around. ‘’It’s always like this with those two, huh?’’ Shadowheart mumbled. ‘’You know, I would laugh too if that was my father.’’ Gale shrugged. ‘’Let them, if anything.. The reprieve from the misery in this place is a good thing.’’ Neither the Wizard or the Cleric were as eager to run into a battle with a vampire lord. They were doing this for the sake of their friends. ‘’Well, my mother figure was terrible.’’ Shadowheart eventually added, accepting that this might as well be a good thing. ‘’I should’ve laughed at her downfall, perhaps it would have made things better..’’

You took one more look at your father in the cage as you came down from your high. Taking a deep breath, you examined his face clearly.

‘’Yes, gloat some more. Or are you actually pitying me now?’’ Your father remarked, his eyes begged for freedom. Surely you wouldn’t damn 7000 souls just because of him now, would you?

‘’No, I am simply burning this perfect picture of you into my mind.’’ You replied, causing the dread to sink into his form. ‘’No- No! Don’t let him do this! Please!’’ He turned to your allies, then to Astarion, putting on a different persona in an attempt to persuade him. ‘’I tried okay? He’s lying! I was drunk yes- But I’m not-’’

‘’Shhhh. Hush now, I think he likes it when you look so pathetic.’’ Astarion stared at him with a faked expression of empathy. ‘’Are you ready, my dear?’’ He turned back to you, seeing your smirk slowly fade. ‘’Oh, I’ve had my revenge. Are you ready to get yours?’’ You asked him back, he simply nodded.

Today was only just going to get better.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dear Dapper - you're so great at helping me think through ideas and creative blocks, and you have such great thoughts about DnD religions, so I hope this question is perfect for you. (Forgive the length, feel free to trim in any posting).

Our campaign is set in a world where the gods found some "clay" and sculpted a world out of it. Most of the various plots stem from the earliest, most powerful creations having various emotions about this act (resentment and reformation, jealousy, an overextended sense of ownership, or feeling they can redo it better). In the past, the sense of resentment led to a war where the traditional, but respected, judge-like, ferryman-style psychopomp god of death was killed. He now exists as a partial remnant, God of Undeath - the dark moon. The other gods then fled, abandoning creation.

My character started as a cleric of the light moon goddess, and as perhaps the most mythologically invested player, I've been expanding to become pan-theistic - trying to round up what remains of divine power into beneficent hands (ie, against the bbeg). In a recent story arc, a part of his soul was stolen, then given freely to this God of Undeath.

The God's angry (presumably about being killed - the how is an upcoming plot point). He's viewed as asleep, and wants to 'wake' the living world into undeath. His worshippers are secretive necromancers and the undead. Otherwise his themes so far are generally gothy, macabre and evil.

I think my character's desire is to try to restore him in some way, or at least, 'wake' him into some element of his former neutral/benevolent self. As a player, I want to toy with the scary, gothiness of this change, and dance with temptation a bit. As both, I want to find some good or positive elements to the Undeath angle that I can spin.

What ideas does this generate for you? In particular, what are some positives from undeath that I could play with? Why would a normal living wizard fall into the necromantic worship of this 'deity' (other than the selfish desire for immortality as a lich or vampire)?

Thanks for any thoughts you might have!

Fundamentally any depiction of the undead are really a portrayal of our relationship TO death, and the many reactions we can have regarding it's suddenness, tragedy, and inevitability.

A god that's angry about their own inevitable demise strikes me as one that's stuck mid way through the seven stages of grief, a state not unlike undeath because it leaves those trapped in it unable to move on. Cultists might think they're gaining immortality through undeath but really they're trapping themselves in bereaved stasis.

The ultimate resolution then is taking steps toward catharsis and acceptance, of letting go, and coming to terms with the loss as a form of exorcism. Perhaps your character also had a significant death in their life and had trouble moving on, and wants to give this god the same hardwon peace they finally achieved, or achieve it by working things out through this god.

I find it interesting that "gothy" is a term that's brought up multiple times in your description, because one of the big parts about goth subculture (other than a kickass music scene) is a philosophy that asks us to not shy away from the fear of death but instead look at it head on, unpleasant as it is, and say " I embrace you and in doing so I acknowledge how great life really is"

[livingdeadblondequeen]

You, Me, & Him

While looking for supplies, Y/N runs into a dark-haired stranger with a crossbow. 

Thanks to @minervadashwood for their help. 

Using her foot to open the door, Y/N kept her bow at the ready as she entered the abandoned building. It appeared to be empty, but she knew that one or more of the undead could be somewhere inside. Not wanting to be surprised by one, Y/N kicked the reception desk a few times to see if the noise brought any walking corpses out to her. While she hoped it was empty, she also knew that the undead could be good deterrents from people coming in, which meant that the clinic was mostly untouched, and they really needed the supplies that should still be inside. 

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Y/N deemed it safe to move deeper inside, past the desk, and towards the offices and exam rooms. The first office she found was in a similar state as the entrance, with papers and such thrown around, but nothing that she or Christopher could use. Before she could move to search the other rooms, a faint noise alerted her that they were not alone. Bow at the ready, Y/N moved as quickly and quietly as she could, not wanting to be trapped in the office with no other exit, to the door, and back out into the hall. This time finding a crossbow aimed at her, and a rough-looking man behind it. 

“I don’t want any trouble.” Y/N declared as her eyes looked him over. His tanned skin had the look of someone who spent a lot of time outside, his clothes looked worn but clean, and he had a large hunting knife and a gun on his belt. Facial hair covered his chin, and his hair was on the longish side, not reaching his shoulders but falling over a pair of blue eyes. Blue eyes that were focused on her. They didn’t look red or bloodshot but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here looking a hit or dangerous.  

“Me neither.” He replied gruffly. 

“The drug closet is usually in the nurses’ area.” She said with a jerk of her chin in that direction, so that she continued to hold her bow at the ready, the arrow pointed at him. 

“Ya think I’m lookin’ for drugs?” The man asked, his voice rising in both volume and irritation.  “What ya see a redneck with a crossbow and think I am some druggie?”

Before Y/N could reply, the sound of a small cry filled the room, obviously startled by the sound of raised voices. She could feel the material wrapped around her moving as its occupant shifted. Keeping her eyes on the man in front of her, she murmured some comforting words. 

It surprised Daryl when he saw a small dark head of hair pop out from the layers of clothing that the woman wore. The baby was older than Judith, but he couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. The baby’s cries quieted quickly as the woman whispered something softly. He felt a bit like a dick for obviously scaring the kid, but how the hell was he supposed to know she had a kid? Deciding the woman wasn’t the threat he’d assumed she was Daryl lowered his bow and swung his pack around to reach inside. “Here.”

Y/N’s brows shot up in surprise when she saw the pack of baby food being offered. Not only was that not what she expected him to have in his bag, nor had she expected him to lower his weapon. Reaching out tentatively, she accepted it. “Thanks.”

“There’s more.” Daryl declared. It was true. He had planned on taking as much as he could carry now for little ass kicker then come back with the others to get the rest, but he would not let another child go hungry either. “Formula, diapers, and shit, all in the back.”

Y/N could see from his expression and slightly relaxed posture that he meant them no harm, instead offering the opposite. Trusting her gut that she was right, she released the tension on her bow and shouldered it. With her hands now free, she could reach for Christopher and soothe him further as she moved past the man toward the back where he said there were more supplies, maintaining a wide berth just in case. 

Feeling guilty about her earlier assumption, Y/N said, “I didn’t think you were a druggie because of the way you look. I just couldn’t think of another reason one guy would be in a women’s clinic.”

“I get it,” Daryl said with a nod to Christopher. “Ya gotta be careful.”

Y/N nodded once more before turning and moving away. It only took her a minute to find what looked like a supply closet, just off the break room. The stranger had been right, while not bursting at the seams, it was quite full. Diapers of various sizes, cans of formula, bottles, baby food, and so forth. It was a treasure trove for them. Seeing a nearby empty diaper bag, Y/N started loading it up, while keeping an ear out for any danger. Which is why when she looked up, she was surprised to see the man watching her from the doorway; she didn’t know a person could be so quiet. 

Worrying for a minute that she had fallen for a trap, Y/N reached for the knife at her waist, but the man put up his hands in surrender. “Hey hey, not goin’ hurt ya.”

“Then what do you want?” Y/N demanded. “If your pack is full, why did you follow us back here?”

“Wanted to ask ya somethin’.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Do ya have a safe place? To stay I mean,” He asked.

“Of course, we do,” Y/N replied, trying not to show that she was lying. “Our group is waiting for us back at our camp, and a bunch of us are out scouting for supplies. I came here for baby stuff but they’re waiting for us.”

The blue-eyed man looked at her for a minute, as he chewed on his lip. “No, they ain’t.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Y/N asked.

“Not callin’ ya anythin’, but I know ya dun have anyone waitin’ for ya, and ya dun have a group.” He stated. “If ya did, ya wouldn’t be by yerself and ya wouldn’t have yer kid with ya. You’d have them safe away with them, not here.”

Internally cursing his observation skills, Y/N just shrugged. “Fine, you’re right. What of it?”

“I’m got a group, a big one, men, women, other kids. We’ve got food, a doctor, walls, and fences to keep the walkers out.”

“And babies?” Y/N asked, nodding towards his bag. If he was telling the truth, and he really had this camp, it would explain why he is hunting for baby supplies. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Thought ya and the little one might be lookin’ for a place.” He explained. Daryl didn’t like the idea of leaving the two of them out here alone and not without a safe place to stay.

“You offering?” Y/N asked.

“Maybe.” Daryl said before asking, “How many walkers ya killed?”

“Walkers? You mean the undead?” She asked, realizing it was the second time he had used that word. At his nod, she replied. “I don’t know, I haven’t kept count.”

“How many people have ya killed?”

“2.”

“Why?”

“Because they tried to hurt my son,” Y/N said firmly.

The man nodded, a look of respect in his eyes at her answer. “What’s ya name?”

“Y/N.”

“Daryl.” The man, Daryl, replied. “Do ya want to come with me? I promise nothin’ will happen to ya or yer boy from us.”

Y/N’s first instinct was to say no, thinking it was safer if it was just her and Christopher. It was tough, but they’d been doing okay on their own. But the lure of a safe place, where she might sleep for longer than a couple of hours, and not have to worry about what might come from the shadows to hurt Christopher, was too tempting. Hesitating for another minute, she nodded her head. “Yes. I think we do.” 

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Part 2 

Let me know if you would be interested in being added to my tag list for this story.

Tag list: @green-eyedladywrites, @bringinsexybackk69 @littlegodzilla

[joequiinn]

Eddie x Death!reader, pt. 2

originally posted this idea on my main blog, but switching over to my sideblog since i have waaay more to add to this idea~

Death is literally such a menace. She should be terrifying (she is a damn reaper, after all), but because she's fascinated by Eddie's undead state, she keeps coming around to taunt him, to try to set him off. Eddie quickly comes to find her irritating rather than terrifying.

Being undead, Eddie is in a limbo state, trapped in the Upside Down. Of course, he goes through a terrible array of emotions, bouts of loneliness and pain and loss, but the moment that Death shows her face, Eddie gets as far away from her as possible, choosing loneliness over her bullshit.

Death doesn’t like to be ignored, in fact it pisses her off. She becomes pushy and aggressive anytime she’s around Eddie. She can’t stand Eddie’s limbo state anymore than he can, because in limbo she doesn’t have any real power over him. She’s never been ignored, never been brushed off before. So, she chooses to be a thorn in his side instead.

Eddie realizes that Death is actually kind of a brat. That’s such a human attribute for someone immortal, that Eddie begins to find amusement in it. There’s a familiarity to the bratty behavior, and for the first time Eddie isn’t so annoyed by Death. He even begins to push her buttons, just to see how she’d react.

Of course it pisses Death off when she realizes what Eddie is doing, but because this whole dynamic is so foreign to her, she keeps unintentionally rising to Eddie’s pestering.

Eddie recognizes that Death doesn’t understand this human behavior she’s exhibiting or the human way they’re interacting; ironically, even the personification of Death can be naive. And once Eddie realizes that, he suddenly begins to see her as more than just a pest - he starts to see her as human, in her own strange way.

Their interactions slowly become so different - more normal, even enjoyable. Maybe Eddie's loneliness was getting to him, or maybe he was actually growing to enjoy Death's company.

Death also comes to realize that things have changed, and to her that’s so utterly confusing, as she’s confronted with all kinds of human behaviors she’s never exhibited before. Somewhere along the way, she lost sight of her desire to make Eddie’s un-life absolute hell, and instead, she began to enjoy interacting with him and just being around him.

[themournwatcher]

SESSION ONE: WELCOME TO BAROVIA

This is the re-cap/write-up of our first session in CURSE OF STRAHD: HUNTED, a campaign run by our dungeon-master ONYX and played by a total of six people around the table. In this session the party first arrives in the plane of Barovia and meets each other, before heading toward the nearest village (also Barovia).

As a note, the character known as Luca does not show up in subsequent sessions as the player bowed out of the campaign and we brought in someone else to take their place in session 2.

View the cast HERE.

For now, though, here is the start of the STORY SO FAR. / (MOBILE LINK)

The session opens with everyone centering in on a clearing, in the woods just south of Barovia.

Melchior and Giselle had met earlier in the day; Melchior introduced himself to her as a werewolf hunter, and seeing that Giselle was lost, agreed to take her to the village of Barovia so that she could start to get her bearings. It's late, and they've just set camp. Suddenly, an elf bursts into the clearing--Lune--and only pauses for a moment to tell them to "run" before they move along, faster than anyone the other two have ever seen before.

Before Melchior and Giselle have a chance to decide what to do, there is another interruption. Falling from the sky is Crafine, the kenku, followed quickly by Vayagol, a cleric who lands on top of them. As the group struggles to get their bearings, with Melchior offering healing word to Crafine, they realize that Giselle has already run off after Lune.

Eventually, the party catches up and gathers together underneath a tree. Up in the branches, Lune is helping Luca (bloodhunter) and an injured hunter, Bernor, down from the tree. Luca is covered in blood down the front of his shirt, and Bernor is limping along with his crossbow.

Crafine's sense power ability reveals a mass of undead encroaching upon the group from every direction except to the north, so everyone heads north. The mists, which seem to be chasing them, funnels them over the bridge and into the village of Barovia. Although to outsiders, the edge of the town is dilapidated, with abandoned houses and shuttered windows, those native to the plane state that it is always in such a state. The party takes note of a mansion nearby, welcoming with warm lights in the windows, though Melchior is disinterested in seeking help there.

Luca goes to seek help in the inn (Blood of the Vine), but the locals are frightened by the encroaching mists and so no help comes. Despite Melchior's warnings, Giselle makes a run for the mansion and prompts the party to follow. They find themselves trapped within Durst Manor, as the fog closes in and gives them nowhere else to turn. Melchior and Luca hint that this might be by design, alluding to a mysterious baron, and the party goes inside to investigate what might be going on within the manor.

Just inside, in the foyer, the party encounters two children: Rose & Thorn. The two children inform the party that their parents are gone (but insist that they will return), and that a monster "lives in the basement, but is haunting them through the walls". Despite Melchior's reticence, the party agrees to help them out. They decide to leave the children with Bernor guarding them, armed with a crossbow in the foyer, while everyone else explores the lower level of the house.

A short rest is taken, and then exploration begins. It appears as though life has frozen in place: the kitchen appears to have been freshly used, a mess with food and dishware scattered everywhere, and there is a hot feast out and waiting in the dining room. No one partakes of any food, though there is some theft of the silverware after Melchior reveals that he is a werewolf hunter, and that werewolves are a threat in Barovia. He says that a table setting is unlikely to do much damage to one of the beasts, but thefts occur regardless.

Upon not finding much on the first floor, save a bungled attempt to open a locked cupboard and an aside that Vayagol might not hear from her god here, the party decides to head up into the second floor. Melchior recognizes the people in the painted portrait at the top of the stairs, and correctly identifies the face of Gustav Durst, the former master of the Durst Manor and whose family used to rule Barovia. He recognizes Elizabeth Durst, his wife, who is scowling down at the baby cradled in Gustav's arms. The two children in front of them, who he states seem to be Rose & Thorn Durst, are smiling unawares.

In the library, Lune discovers a secret passageway; within, they find runic books on the shelves (which neither Melchior nor Crafine had the time to try and translate). Also within the passageway was a skeleton, that had clearly been killed by acidic darts, clutching a letter. The letter reads as follows:

My most pathetic servant, I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writhing in my earth. You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are. Your dread lord and master, Strahd Von Zarovich

Lune opens up the chest on which the skeleton was propped up, and retrieves several items: three identified scrolls (bless, protection from poison, spiritual weapon) and three more scrolls that have yet to be identified. In the study portion of the library, Melchior reads through the first page of an open journal that was left out near the fireplace, and locates a silver key within the desk emblazoned with the symbol of a windmill; he recognizes this windmill from his travels.

Across the hall in the music room, Luca effortlessly serenades Giselle with enchanting piano music while she dances along. Crafine and Melchior enter the music room to investigate, so Giselle steps outside to talk to Vayagol. While this is happening, Lune travels upstairs to the third level of the manor alone, triggering an attack on the party by animated armors that suddenly spring to life.

In the ensuing combat, much is revealed, such as: Giselle is capable of casting magic, despite her previous claims that she is unable to do much more than to cook or paint. Melchior spies Luca drawing his own blood in combat, and his eyes turning a bright electric blue. Crafine almost falls unconscious, but Vayagol dashes over to him to heal his injuries before he is lost.

the party calls for a long rest.

in the library, Luca reveals to Crafine the truth that he is a dhampir, and that his blood is electrified(?) He alludes to some fonder familiarity between himself and Bernor. the pair of them play cards with the children, teaching Rose & Thorn how to gamble.

in the servants quarters, Melchior is carefully embroidering red thread into a large sheaf of spare black cloth. he tells Vayagol that his mother taught him how to do, and gestures to the red flowers embroidered onto his shirt. he implies that the flowers are of traditional significance, and promises to teach her the art of embroidery at a later time.

in the hallway, Lune speaks to Giselle, who is sticking close to them out of fear from the recent attack and feeling safer with them. Lune learns that Giselle was not lying to the party, but she has only recently come into her powers. Lune ponders over the amulet around their neck before taking their meditative rest.

end long rest.

after the long rest, Crafine and Luca realize that Bernor and the children are missing. Alarmed, the rest of the party is quickly roused, and everyone agrees to ascend to the third level of the house. (Luca and Giselle first investigate the third floor, but Melchior writes them off and convinces everyone else to keep going). The third story is unlike the first two: it is decrepit and aged, walls peeling, cobwebs strung along corners and dusty furniture. Crafine locates a hidden stairwell hidden in the far wall. the party splits at this point.

Melchior, Luca, Crafine, and Vayagol enter the northern room. In this room, they find another dead body--a man, but no one knows whom. They tear this room apart with perception checks: Crafine locates a safe in the nearby wall, and Melchior locates the key locket hidden within the bed. Within the safe is a jewelry box with an expensive looking pendant and three non-magical rings; Luca takes the pendant, and Crafine tricks Melchior into handing over the rings. Vayagol reminds them that they are supposed to be looking for Bernor and the children.

Melchior notices that Crafine is additionally wearing a wedding ring.

In the southern room, Lune and Giselle open the door and are set upon by a specter who does not want to permit them entry into the room. Both of them attempt to calm the spirit enough to enter the room, but fail. They do get the specter to indicate that the missing children are another floor up, on the fourth floor, accessible only by the recently discovered secret passage.

On the fourth floor, the party locates the bedroom of Rose & Thorn Durst. It is discovered that the children they previously met on the first floor were not the real spirits, but an entity mimicking them. Through questioning the children, it is inferred that Strahd likely killed their parents at a dinner banquet, and the children were left to starve alone upstairs.

During this discussion, Melchior becomes visibly distressed and leaves the room; although he occasionally interjects with questions, he is mostly pale and sick-looking for a time.

The dollhouse in their room reveals that passages to the basement are missing that should have been there. The house is sentient, and was hiding the basement access from the party (either to protect us or to protect itself). Crafine wraps up the bones of the children to properly bury them; additionally, he and Giselle both allow themselves to be possessed by Rose & Thorn. Lune takes the dolls of the children at Melchior's behest.

Before they descend to the basement, Crafine and Melchior have an argument at the top of the stairwell. Melchior insists that attempting to fight the creature within the manor is futile, as everything within Barovia is subject to the will of Strahd Von Zarovich: their best attempt would be to flee and chance with the mist. Crafine argues that it is the coward's way out, and that there is no other way but to the basement. Despite his reservations, Melchior makes no attempt to leave the group.

During this argument, Melchior bares his teeth at Crafine, revealing sharp canines; Luca notices this and asks Melchior if he is also a dhampir, something which Melchior affirms. Luca shows off his ability to spider climb on the ceiling.

As they descend, Crafine moves slowly, allowing for some to get a chance to converse. Melchior and Luca discuss dhampirism (with a few interjections from Crafine), in which Melchior agrees that they are strange kindred, but does not reveal what he hungers for (Luca is revealed to be a classic bloodsucker). additionally, it comes out that Crafine is in his 40s, with two children between the ages of 20-23. Luca is revealed to be physically 24, but due to his dhampirism, he is also up into his 40s. Melchior is simply 24, Giselle is 18, and Vayagol is 19. Lune does not offer their age.

Melchior keeps getting tripped by Something as they continue to head down the stairs. Crafine is using his sense powers skill repeatedly, fretting over a consecrated presence that has repeatedly occurred. As it keeps showing up from behind, he begins to shuffle the party members in front of him on the stairs so that he can narrow down from whom it is coming. Surprisingly, the cleric, Vayagol, is not the source of this consecrated energy. It is narrowed down to either Giselle or Lune, before Melchior, now at the front of the group, is violently shoved down the stairs.

As he recovers and gets his bearings, the rest of the party catches up to him. Melchior accuses Luca, who had been behind him, of being the one to push him. Luca denies this and the two bicker until Crafine puts an end to it, saying they need to keep moving.

Melchior indicates the group should go to their right, and lead them to a crypt. Underneath the Durst Manor is the Durst Family Crypt, which Melchior notes with no small amount of alarm seems suspiciously empty. As they head south, they find the four empty tombs of the immediate durst family: Gustav, Elizabeth, Rosevalda, and Thornboldt.

Crafine puts the bones of the children into their respective tombs (and Lune lays their dolls to rest with them), and the spirits pass on. Crafine and Giselle are no longer considered possessed.

As they head further into the crypt, Melchior is attacked by a hidden creature referred to as a grick. Thankfully, it is quickly disposed of, with Lune making the killing blow.

END OF SESSION ONE.

[theamityelf]

Oh God, I need more zombie au interactions. The whole thing is just too morbidly precious. Like...Nagito coming back from a scavenging hunt to surprise Chiaki with a new game cartridge. Or Gundham trying to recall magical seals to protect their luckster. Or Mahiru implying through facial expressions and grunts that she'd like him to open up about his life before Hope's Peak. Meanwhile Makoto is like Class 78's teddy, and they take turns nuzzling up to him each night.

You're so valid for that, and thank you! (Okay, I'm going to try to do a series of little snippets/vignettes here, but I've failed at this in the past by getting too into a particular scene, so wish me luck)

...

It was really cozy at first, but now Makoto kind of needs to get up, and the arms around him are more stubborn than usual.

"Come on, guys," he tries to insist. "If I don't get up now, I won't have time to catch enough food for all of you."

A head pointedly nuzzles the injury that Mukuro had to wrap for him yesterday. It wasn't that bad; they're just overprotective.

"I know," he soothes. "But it's not going to happen again. I was just clumsy. I'll be fine."

He notices that Sakura is standing at the door, making sure no one takes his state of incapacitation as an opportunity to sneak out. But when the door opens behind her, she moves aside to let Taka back in. He's followed closely by...

Oh. This is a little embarrassing.

"Hi," Makoto says to the upperclassman.

Nagito looks slightly rattled when he first walks in, but he relaxes considerably at the sight of Makoto's...encumbered state. "Oh, good. I was a little worried when Ishimaru knocked on my door alone."

"I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be making a food run soon, but these guys are still upset that I, uh...tripped, yesterday." He does a bad job covering it, but he's actually not entirely sure what happened. He was just walking through the grounds when suddenly some kind of rope trap activated and might well have held him fast, if he hadn't managed to trip at exactly the right time and land on some key mechanism with his arm. As it stands, his bleeding arm and a small amount of rope burn around his ankles is all he has to show for it.

Nagito laughs lightly. "They're worried about you. You should take it as a compliment."

"I know. I do. It's just...well, they still need to eat, and they won't let me get up."

"I can bring them something. Unfortunately, it might be human; Akane broke out again recently."

Makoto's brow furrows in sympathy, both for the poor reserve course student and for Nagito. "You're having a hard time with Akane."

"She's an Ultimate-level athlete," he says, with perhaps too casual a shrug. "There's not much I can do to stop her. Do you need anything?" He walks closer to Makoto– on the Mondo side rather than the Byakuya side, which is a wise call. Chihiro, spread over-top of Makoto like a blanket, is watching him but doesn't look apprehensive.

"Water, maybe?"

He smiles. "Coming right up."

...

Most of the 77th class descended right away on the new catch that Nagito dragged in (even the Imposter leaving his fort to join them), but Chiaki and Kazuichi were more interested in the bag Nagito was carrying. The three of them went to sit in their usual spot on the floor, and Nagito went through the bag's contents one by one.

"Let's see...He had his wallet on him; Akane will like that. He had his phone-"

Chiaki perked up at once, enticed by the prospect of new mobile games.

Nagito laughed fondly. "It's yours, of course, Chiaki, but we'll have to take it to Fujisaki first to get past the passcode. And while it seems to be fully charged, he didn't have a charger on him, so we're out of luck in that regard."

Kazuichi made a small grunting sound.

"Yes, you can have it when it dies, if we haven't found a charging cord for it by then."

A happy sigh.

Nagito turned back to the bag. "He had...Huh. He had raw onions. The last one had some, too. I wonder if they think these repel the undead. Ah well. Maybe Teruteru will want to do something with them. Some school supplies...Oh! A pen with Hope's Peak's crest on it. Makoto will like this." He smiled at the thought. "And Ishimaru or Togami might enjoy the books. I shouldn't bring it all by at once, though; that might make him suspicious. Just the pen and the phone, today."

Kazuichi nudged the bag impatiently.

"Right. What else...A flashlight. Yes, you can have that. A pack of trading cards? Oh, Pokémon! I wonder...Ah, yes, he has the games, too." Nagito freed a GameBoy Advanced and a zipper pouch of four Pokémon games, which Chiaki eagerly took and held like they were treasures.

Kazuichi tugged insistently on Nagito's pant leg.

"Huh? That's everything in the bag."

Kazuichi made an agitated noise.

"Oh, you want the GameBoy. Well, the cartridges are compatible with Chiaki's DS. What do you think, Chiaki? Will you let him have the GameBoy?"

She let the GameBoy fall onto Kazuichi's lap, gently bit Nagito's hand in thanks, and crawled off to Sonia's fort with her treasures.

...

"You're getting good at that," Nagito observed.

He could have been speaking to Makoto or Hiyoko. Makoto, who was getting noticeably better at cutting Taka's hair, or Hiyoko, who was close to mastering the small-scale dexterity required to finger-flick Nagito in the temple over and over. (The undead weren't good at precise hand movements, relative to their former selves.)

Makoto, of course, was the one to say "Thank you." Holding down Taka's ear to better trim at the hairs nearest it, he added, "I know the faculty is keeping a tight lid on who can see any of this, but I still feel like I should try to make him look the way he'd want to be seen. The first few times he asked me to do this, I felt guilty for how it ended up."

"You gave it your best. And I suspect he's more preoccupied by the feeling of his hair being too long than the prospect of it being cut unevenly."

Mahiru clicked her tongue and grunted mildly.

"Sorry. I'll keep still, now." Nagito was seated in a chair next to Taka. When Taka had shambled up to Makoto with a pair of scissors in hand, Mahiru had taken it as an opportunity to sit Nagito down, as well, to have a go at his tangles.

Most of the rest of their classmates were watching a movie; Makoto had found a DVD in one of the teachers' desks. It wasn't everyone's genre, but being mesmerized by bright colors on a screen was enough to draw most of them. Chiaki and Akane had fallen asleep already. Sayaka was humming along to the background music, and Hifumi was drawing on the walls.

"Done," Makoto sighed, blowing away the excess hair. "Do you like it?"

Taka patted his head and made a grateful sound.

"That's great! Now you can go watch the movie with the others, right?"

Of course, he couldn't get out of it that easy. Taka got out of the chair and was soon ushering him into it, taking the scissors from his hand.

"Good luck," Nagito whispered, and Makoto sat very still.

Taka was careful. As careful as he could be. He only nicked Makoto's ears and forehead a little– which was, in his defense, the worst he'd ever done. It wasn't his fault that it was inherently terrifying to have him wielding scissors around someone's head, and it wasn't his fault that he felt a need to return the favor every time Makoto gave him a haircut.

Taka patted Makoto's head when he was done, and the tension in Makoto's shoulders finally relaxed.

"Thanks, Taka."

Taka made a noise which was loud and the right amount of syllables to be "You're welcome," and then he went to responsibly put away the scissors and then sat with Mondo to watch the movie. Mondo handed Taka an arm that he had already eaten half of the meat from, and Taka ate gladly.

A human arm.

Makoto didn't know what to do with his unease over how often the 77th class seemed to be eating human. How casually Nagito brought it to share with them. Of course, if it would otherwise just be going to waste, then there was no point refusing, but it just...He just didn't like it. His heart beat uneasily whenever he thought about it.

When Hope's Peak finally found a cure, how was everybody going to feel about having eaten raw human? Poor Akane...

"Makoto?" Nagito said.

Makoto smiled a little, despite himself. Nagito had been calling him "Makoto" lately, instead of "Naegi". They'd been spending a lot of time together. Combining their classes more and more often. He loved his classmates, but...it was just nice not to be alone in this.

"When Mahiru is done with my hair, do you want to watch the movie, too?"

Why did that question make him blush?

A drop of blood rolled down the middle of his face.

"Oh. Maybe after we've done something about those cuts," Nagito said lightly.

Mikan, who had started crawling over at the smell of blood, sprang suddenly to her feet. "H-Hurt!" she accused, with a big smile on her face. "Hurt!"

"Uh-oh," Nagito sighed. "Do you mind letting her...?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Makoto said.

"Go ahead, Mikan."

In a startling demonstration of the inhuman speeds the undead occasionally exhibited, suddenly Mikan was behind Makoto's chair and winding a bandage around his head, tightly enough to hurt more than the injuries themselves.

"O-Ow," Makoto said thoughtlessly, and then regretted it when Sakura looked over with immediate concern. "Don't worry; enjoy the movie," he quelled.

"You can tell her to stop whenever you want," Nagito added, with a rueful smile in Mikan's direction. "She has plenty of people to play with."

For some reason, the statement gave Makoto an intense sinking feeling. "What does that mean?"

"Hm? Oh, when the others get hurt, she likes to bandage them up, too. They don't really bleed the same way humans do, though, so I'm sure she prefers it when one of us gets hurt."

Oh. Of course. Of course that was what he meant.

Mahiru pulled the comb from Nagito's hair and handed it to him. With a heavy sigh, she went to watch the movie with the others, and Hiyoko likewise stopped finger-flicking Nagito's temple to follow her.

"I have some snacks in my backpack," Makoto said, managing to turn toward Nagito while Mikan tied off the (patently excessive) bandage. "Do you want to sit in the back, or in that free spot next to Gundham, or...it looks like we could sit up there with Hiro, if...?"

"Let's sit in the back."

...

"I could've sworn we sat in the back," Nagito teased.

They had, but gradually the group had concaved around them, and now Chiaki was asleep in Nagito's lap, Sayaka was cuddled against Makoto's other side, Byakuya was holding Makoto from behind, Hiyoko was hiding paperclips in Nagito's hair, and so on.

"Yeah." Makoto laughed mildly. "This...isn't bad though."

Nagito slid his hand subtly closer to Makoto's, interlocking their fingers without Byakuya noticing. "This isn't bad."

[not-so-lost-after-all]

"So... you like him now? My brother?"

 "Of course I do, my heart," she laughs, not sensing the trap, "he looks and acts so much like you."

 "Yes. It's just that he's still alive. He could warm you up in the night. He could give you children." He's not broken is left unsaid.

---

This is "angst with happy happy ending" ficlet inspired by headcanon by @spacebarbarianweird

Astarion has a twin brother who, as you can guess, is a mortal and the feelings are complicated.

---

He loves his brother, he truly does. Dalar is his twin, the other half of... whatever is left of his soul. The apple in their mother's eye. The one who has never been the problem child. The perfect brother who never gave up on finding out what happened to Astarion. He's also unquestionably... alive.

Dalar is, amongst other things, a constant reminder of what could have been. Of the roads not taken and now lost forever for an undead. Of a lifetime of regret. His brother is so content and collected, always has been. Sometimes, just sometimes Astarion looks at him and wants to scream.

It's especially bad tonight. The buzzing of the tavern only causes him headache. Tavira, his little princess, is having good time being the heart of the celebration. He can see she's tipsy already, smiling at everyone, touching men deliberately.

Astarion is not jealous, not really. He remembers how she reacted when she told him about Halsin's proposal and he simply joked about it and gave her a free pass. The hurt in her eyes that he misread her so badly. The sadness when she realized he really still sees all the others including her as only thinking with what's between their legs, constantly trying the scratch an itch.

(“I don't understand what you want from me, Tavira. Whatever you're going to do with Halsin, enjoy. It doesn't concern me.” She closed her eyes, praying to the gods to give her strenght. “If we're to be a couple, it does concern you,” she hissed. “I'm not interested in what Halsin has to offer. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression,” she finished, defeated.)

He really thought he lost her in that moment.

So he wasn't jealous about the others. But right now, Tavira is laughing at whatever his brother is telling her and they start dancing with no care in the the world. A cold wave goes through his body. It's not the first time it crossed his mind, of course. In his head he knows it's stupid to feel this way. Tavira and his brother knew each other before and they didn't click this way. And yet... Dalar is in so many ways his imagine in the mirror. Or rather, Astarion is the broken mirror Dalar is looking into.

He grunts and can't take it anymore. The fresh air outside the tavern is soothing and Astarion decides to hunt tonight. I doesn't take long before one unfortunate fool tries to rob him...

He returns shortly before dawn and doesn't really want to see Tavira but it's not like he has much of a choice. Hells bellow, he's in such a state of mind that he pictures himself entering the room and seeing Dalar there in his place in her bed. He's not sure whether the dark bile inside him would take over and he'd kill them both or he'd start breaking things and howl like a wounded animal if that were ever the case. But of course, it's just her sleeping peacefully when he sneaks into their room.

Astarion positions himself next to her as he always does, trying not to wake her up. Tavira moves anyway, without opening her eyes, she lays her head on his chest. On his shirt which is stained with still wet blood. On his body which still reeks of fresh blood, still warmer than usual but its temperature quickly dropping again. The black abyss in his stomach is already calling to him again a he feels only revulsion right know.

He hasn't touch her yet and she raises her head to look at him. “Are you hungry, Starlight?” Her voice is unmistakably soft. If only she didn't know him so well and just for this moment he hates her for that. Of course he's hungry, he always is. He simply shook his head of deflected with a joke the last few times she offered her blood, so she knew something was wrong.

He is so tired, so he simply tells the truth. “Yes. But my hunger also isn't yours to deal with although you insist otherwise.” He shakes his head and changes subject before she has a chance to protest. "So... you like him now? My brother?"

 "Of course I do, my heart," she laughs, not sensing the trap, "he looks and acts so much like you."

 "Yes. It's just that he's still alive. He could warm you up in the night. He could give you children." He's not broken is left unsaid.

There's alarm in her eyes now as she lays her fingers to his cheek. “Perhaps. But his touches are foreign, you know. And he's so dull compared to you. You still think I could find yourself lacking but I know why I love you. With your sharp tongue and quips and loyalty and your scars. You,” she kisses the corner of his mouth and a silent sigh escapes him.

Tavira lays her head on his chest again and he starts playing with her hair. He could almost hear her thoughts racing.

“We're going to Waterdeep first, that's our biggest change. Gale would be happy to help. If not him, then Halsin and the druids might know how to help you and the others. Evermeet is also the place to go when you are searching for magical solutions. You can still get all you want, just not today.”

There's a ray of light peeking from the blinders on the windows but for the first time in weeks, Astarion realizes it doesn't fill him with regret or fear. That is a dream that may or not may not come true. But what he desires the most is right here in this room and at least for this moment, it's more than enough.

[angelwheat]

2.0 Edward Richtofen X Reader (One-Shot)

Catastrophe arises through the dimwitted actions of a certain American, unearthing tension of all sorts, stress, a heap of vulnerability, and an eye-opener to the cold, hard truth.

Tags/Warnings: Injury, Blood*, Guns*, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining

Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

Words: 7649

Read this story at a gentle pace. Picture and absorb the words as you read to really get a deep insight to the atmosphere created in this story.

(my gif)

Location: Der Eisendrache

Out of the blue, an intense wave of the undead overrun the facility, sparking greater panic for the crew than ever before. Edward, while remaining nearby his team mates, tried his hardest to keep himself from being ambushed from all angles by shooting and slashing down any undead creature that threatened to block his path. However, with his movements becoming increasingly restricted from the hordes, Richtofen unknowingly wound up staggering backwards into a tight corner, almost slipping on a sheet of ice that blanketed the grounds.

With zombies closing in rapidly, his heart thundered beneath his heaving chest. Edward sweat profusely as he desperately drew in rapid breaths of air, utter terror-struck as he realised that the number of bullets in his gun was decreasing quickly, although in his panicked state he missed his shots terribly. The Bowie knife strapped to his side was no match for the mass of this horde that was surrounding him.

The clicking of Edward’s weapon practically taunted him once it ran dry. He cursed in his native tongue and threw the gun to the ground, landing it in a heap of snow. Instinctively, his hand darted for the Summoning Key that he kept on him at all times, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that it will miraculously save his life in this moment. But now he was entirely lost for ways to save himself, the only thought was to embrace his gruesome fate.

He hissed as his back connected with the bitter cold stone wall, his eyes wide and panting heavily as the zombies teetered closer. Edward braced himself, shutting his eyes tightly and bowing his heavy head. Every thought of shame and failure crossed his mind as he knows that he’s about to let his team mates down.

Unexpectedly, a gruesome cracking sound drew his attention back to reality, He snapped up with squinted eyes, seeing the undead fall limp to the ground one-by-one, their heads being blasted from their rotten bodies by someone he couldn’t locate through the horde. The crimson mist from the gun blast sprayed droplets of blood all over Edward, but he had no time to react as a hand grasped his arm with a mighty grip, dragging him carelessly out of the trap he lead himself into.

When Edward was freed from the virtual imprisonment, the numbing grip on his arm that he felt from his saviour disappeared as they let go. Shaking away his cloudy vision, Edward took in a deep breath like he was starved for air, but suddenly, he felt the same person shove him harshly on the back, causing him to grunt and topple, losing his footing on the slippery ice.

“Move it, Doc!” The American bellowed over the deafening gunfire.

Edward smacked the snowy ground with a thud, cracking the ice below him when he landed on something solid by his hip that caused him to cry out in agony. He felt the frost nipping at his hands immediately as they got buried in a pile of snow as he somewhat broke his fall. Almost frightful to examine what he had painfully landed on, he glanced down expecting to see himself impaled, and ghastly amounts of blood seeping from his body. Instead, he notices a metal component by his side, and realisation struck him immediately...

One last bullet was fired and the atmosphere stilled. Unfortunately, the silence didn’t last long when a gruff American accent piped up.

“What the hell was that, Doc?! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” He scolded in fury.

Edward was urged to retaliate furiously, but instead huffed loudly, his shoulders visibly rising up and down. He remained on he ground, his eyes glued to the scattered metal beneath him. He wanted to bellow at the American for his dimwitted actions that caused him to tumble and land on the Summoning Key, shattering half of it. But how could he? If not for Dempsey’s stupid idea, he would certainly be dead.

Nikolai and Takeo stood nearby, overlooking the situation and keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings while both cautious of their every move as they sensed the hostility. Dempsey’s typical hard-faced expression subtly changed to a look of concern when Richtofen groaned as he shifted position on the ground to sit up slightly, never looking up to met the trio of gazes. He felt every bruise on his body pulse at once, and for a second, Dempsey felt a pang of guilt that he may have injured him.

Altering and alleviating the weary atmosphere in the central courtyard, the girl appeared in the doorway to the castle’s communications centre., grasping an ancient bow with an arrow readily in place on the string. She appeared a tad windswept, her hair askew in the messy way she had pinned it up. Nikolai and Takeo seemed relieved that she had finally shown up.

The blistering wind and snowfall caused her to visibly shudder, but she took no notice of the freezing temperatures when she saw the German slumped on the ground. The girl immediately assumed that Richtofen was wounded as he was caked in blood splatter from head to foot, and had a hand pressed to his hip. She couldn’t see his face which only provoked more worry.

“You’re late to the party, princess.” Despite the demeaning nickname, Dempsey sounded agitated. His brows knit tightly together as he bowed his head ever so slightly, glaring at her through his eyebrows.

“Hey, without me, you wouldn’t have access to this.” She snapped, already feeling anger bubbling up inside her while she motioned to the bow in her hands.

Dempsey huffed at her statement, but she was right. While they had been defending themselves outside, she had single-handedly undergone the steps to acquire the ancient bow Richtofen had spoken of.

Ignoring Dempsey by briskly walking out into the open, she looped her bow over her shoulder so that it rested on her back, and tucked away the arrow as she approached Richtofen hesitantly. He never dared to lock eyes with anyone around him, both in raging ire and and embarrassment, but when she knelt down to his level she could see the vengeful fire burning in his eyes. She could tell that he had sat put where he fell for so long as snowflakes had nestled on his jet black hair.

“Are you alright? You’re not injured, are you?” She quizzed in a fret, reaching out to touch the blood staining his face.

However, Edward was quick to swipe her hand away and his eyes snapped to her.

“I’m fine.” He told in a monotone.

She nodded, knowing better than to prod him with questions. She rose to her feet and offered Edward her hand. Just before he stood, the girl watched as he scraped up pieces from the ground, staring in shock when she realised just what he was collecting.

Edward took her hand and she aided him to his feet. He fought to restrain a yelp on his way up as a fiery pain shot through his right side, but she noticed the way his face scrunched up in agony. Richtofen pat her shoulder and thanked her quietly, but she could not peel her eyes from the shattered Summoning Key in his palm.

He gave Dempsey a deadly glare, so unwavering that it brought a sudden fearful expression to his face. Edward then turned in the opposite direction of the communications room. The girl watched him limp away from the crew with a sorrowful look, unsure whether to follow him. Something about the situation she stumbled upon wasn’t settling well in her mind, but when he was a fair distance away she faced the trio standing awkwardly.

“None of you guys thought to help him up?”  She asked, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

She observed each of them individually and Dempsey seemed the most guilty of all as he never looked up from where he kicked the snow beneath his boots.

They had all noticed what Richtofen held delicately in his hand, but just how did that happen before she showed up?

-X-

The night had settled in hours ago, and the silvery moon was high in the starry sky. The blistering winds battered snowflakes against the windows, and whistled an eerie song through the cracks in the building.

Isolating himself in a dingy, candlelit room within the castles’ wilted walls, hiding away from his allies, Edward stood hunched with his hands pressed to the tattered workbench before him with the half of the Summoning Key still intact, the rest scattered in numerous pieces across the tabletop. With utter annoyance coursing through him. Edward huffed, shutting his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose while he recalled the previous events from today, that resulted in this current frustration of needing to fix the one tool he was greatly depending on.

He had made countless attempts to repair the device, but none of the pieces would match up perfectly, so he would take it apart and start again. Edward slammed his fists to the table in anger but instantly regretted jolting too quickly when it sent shooting pains through his abdomen. He clutched his hip, applying light pressure and cursing under his breath as the pain seemed to worsen as they night dragged on.

It’s a rarity to get such a long break from the hordes. Plenty of times the crew had battled hordes throughout the night, with less than an hours break in between waves.

But Edward couldn’t rest. His stubbornness would not allow himself to take this rare opportunity to sleep until he had fixed the Summoning Key. He propped himself up against the table yet again, practically relying on it to keep him on his feet. He rubbed his tired eyes before reaching for a piece of the device.

Startling Richtofen, a pattern of knocks emitted from the doorway he had turned his back to. Attempting to spin himself around, he winced at the slightest movement, instead resorting to calling over his shoulder.

“I’m busy.” He tried his hardest not to let his words sound strained.

“Richtofen, it’s me.” She told, opening the door fully and meekly stepped inside.

He turned as much as he could without over-exerting himself, and instantaneously noticed her bow in hand, and the look of concern on her face.

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” She admitted, her eyes quickly glancing around the messy room he had cooped himself up in. “Is everything okay?”

Richtofen’s shoulders slumped. “Everything’s fine.”

He hoped his words didn’t sound bitter. Edward knew that he had no reason to be agitated with her, but his current situation was certainly not sparking any joy. He reverted his attention to the device he was trying to repair, and little did he know that she followed his gaze. She returned her bow to where it sat comfortably over her shoulder.

The girl walked over to the table to observe the broken Summoning Key. Fear washed over her after seeing the state it was in.

Despite his suspicious antics with regard to his plans to “secure a better tomorrow”, he had always preached that the Summoning Key was the literal key to saving the universe, and without it their destiny might just be disastrous.

The girl believed in him from the beginning. She was loyal and devoted her every action to his plans, and wholeheartedly trusted that he knew what he was doing, despite how the other men despised him. So far everything had gone according to plan. With the Summoning Key now destroyed, does this mean that everything was doomed to fail?

“Can this be fixed?” She asked, watching his hands as he fiddled with two pieces and hearing him grumble in annoyance when they didn’t fit together.

Edward placed the components down, lazily wiping a hand over his face.

“I hope so.” He sighed.

But he didn’t sound hopeful at all.

Richtofen shifted his weight from foot to foot, wincing in pain from both his bruised hip, and from standing for too long. He grimaced, which unfortunately did not go unnoticed. She unhooked the bow she carried on her back and propped it against the wall.

“You got hurt earlier, didn’t you?” She worried, instinctively reaching out to support him when he wobbled.

“It’s just a bruise.” He tried to assure her with a smile, but the way she stared at him seeming unimpressed at his feeble attempts at easing her concern immediately told him that she didn’t believe him.

“Edward you can hardly stand!” She didn’t shout, but her voice was louder than her usual soft tone.

Richtofen turned his head away sheepishly.

“Show me.” She demanded, softly adding, “Please.”

Edward snapped his attention to her, staring almost dumbfounded for a minute. The wound was just below his belt, but the way she glanced quickly from his eyes to his hip demanded him not to protest.

Feeling embarrassed, Edward gulped nervously as he reached to unbuckle his belt. The girl averted her gaze sheepishly as she listened to his belt clink and then heard him hiss through gritted teeth as he slowly dragged his pants down diagonally to reveal his wounded side. When it went silent she turned back to him and gasped loudly as her eyes were automatically drawn to the massive purplish bruise that darkened his hip bone, and it appeared to be spreading lower. Even Edward stared down at his body in astonishment.

She bent down to examine the bruise closely, making Edward’s face heat up in a fluster as she neared his crotch.

“You’ve cut yourself too.” She told, not peering away from the gash on his skin.

The girl stood upright and Edward instinctively moved to pull his pants up. Taking him aback, she was hasty to grab his wrist before he could conceal his wounds. Edward met her eyes, utterly stunned.

“There’s no way I’m letting you go about with that cut untreated. I know what you’re like.” She told, her voice stern. “It’ll get irritated.”

Edward opened his mouth to object but she silenced him by talking before he had the chance to.

“You’ve done a lot for us so far.” She pleaded in a hushed voice, stepping closer to him. “For once, please just let me do something for you.”

He found himself struggling to find the words to argue when she stared at him with round puppy-like eyes. Edward swept his hair back with his hand before he shifted to slouch back against the table. The girl dismissed the broken Summoning Key, shoving the parts aside before she patted her pockets in search of something, soon pulling out an array of medical supplies like a small reel of bandage and some band-aids.

She raised a brow, holding up the supplies. “You’re lucky I picked these things up. I figured they’d come in handy at some point.”

Edward half-smiled, admiring her thoughtfulness. She walked around to stand in front of him, unrolling the bandage, but before she cleaned up the cut he was sporting she locked eyes with him again.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She wanted his confirmation, verbally.

His eyes fell shut sleepily for a second as he nodded. “I’m sure.”

With a deep breath, she bent down slightly to better observe the wounds she was treating. Taking the bandage she held, the girl gingerly pressed it to the weeping cut in the centre of the bruise.

While one of Edward’s hands held his pants to keep the wound exposed, the other gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white from how he grasped it fiercely. She muttered a series of apologies when Richtofen flinched and whimpered as she continued to clean up the blood that spilled from the slice on his skin.

Despite her feeble efforts to remain focused on aiding him, the girl knew her eyes would wander to his partially exposed crotch. The dark trail of black hair that ran down the middle of his stomach and past his belt line, contouring his toned physique, only teased her imagination. She hoped Edward hadn’t noticed the way she was glancing at him provocatively. But unbeknownst to her, Edward kept his head up in to avoid her seeing his flustered face, as he fought with rather suggestive thoughts of his own.

He’s uncertain as to what reeled him in so keenly when the girl pleaded that she tend to his injuries. Edward convinced himself that it was solely her selfless nature to always put others before herself. Maybe it was the compassion and gentleness she showed him, especially at times when he had his bouts of insecurity and uncertainty, about himself and the world. Or perhaps it was the way the candlelight tinted her complexion with a warm and cosy orange hue, her eyes captivating as they shimmered magically.

His contemplations could have him dazed for hours if it weren’t for the rustling sounds of the band-aid she was opening that pulled him away from daydreaming. Richtofen peered down subtly, watching and feeling her delicate hands place the large band-aid across the sensitive wound she had cleaned up.

“There.” She overlooked his patched up injury, wiping her hands together. “That’s better than leaving it to get infected.”

She placed her hands on her hips with a satisfied huff. Edward seemed mesmerised by her work on his hip, resisting the urge to put his hand where she touched him. He watched her every move as she collected the bloodied bandages and stashed them beside some other junk within the room.

The girl noticed how his hand hovered over the band-aid and she lazily smiled.

“Don’t you start messing with it, Edward.” Her tone was playfully stern, earning a meek smile from him.

He gave it another once over before moving to pull his pants up, swallowing hard when he grazed his skin. Once he buckled his belt, Edward caught sight of the smashed Summoning Key, just knowing that all the stress he was feeling from his previous attempts to repair it the first time would only arise if he tried once again. He buried his head in his hands.

“One problem solved, another one to solve.” She surmised, leaning against the table and picking up a piece of the device.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to solve this one.” Edward sounded defeated.

She smiled warmly at him. “Mind if I help?”

Edward gladly accepted her help. The girl pulled up a chair beside the table for Edward to sit, doing the same for herself.

Together they sat in the tranquillity of each others presence, kept warm by the light of the burning candles dotted about the room as they figured out just how to restore the Summoning Key to its working order. Richtofen fumbled with a few pieces, dropping them to the table with a sigh when pieces didn’t fit correctly, but the way she would beam with delight when she precisely fit two components together made his bitter feelings clear instantly. She said that it seemed strange that the key to saving the universe fit together like a children's toy, earning a chuckle from Edward.

The Summoning Key was being repaired much quicker than anticipated. Richtofen placed a piece he held to the table, allowing himself to stretch his aching arms. He turned to the window, watching the snowflakes wisp briskly in the wind. It certainly had to be early hours of the morning by now as he knows he’s been cooped up in the room since sunset. He felt selfish that he hadn’t interacted with the others since storming off earlier that day. Edward was lead to question if they were even worried about him.

“Where are the others?” He asked as he turned his attention to her.

“Sleeping.” She bluntly replied, entirely focused on the task at hand as she locked another piece together.

Edward wanted to scold her for not getting any rest, but he knew that she would only call him a hypocrite for not doing so himself. While he had been making sneaky glances at her throughout, he noticed how her eyes were drooping sleepily and her posture hunched more when she propped her elbows atop the table while she worked. She spoke less too. Edward slumped in his chair, feeling somewhat guilty that she was with him instead of getting some well deserved sleep.

His hushed voice broke through the silence. “You can get some rest if you like. I’m sure I can finish this by myself.”

Richtofen’s statement came across as a demand. Her actions faltered as she stared at him almost looking offended, before returning to the task.

“We’re in this together. Your problems are my problems.” The immense tiredness she was feeling only made her speak honestly, and Edward was astounded to hear what she blurted out.

“I think that statement can be interpreted in many ways- not just mutually.” He countered, never taking his eyes off her.

“Then interpret it as you will.” She interjected quickly, her hands froze as she locked eyes with him.

Sensing the sincerity in her voice, Edward contemplated expressing his deepest feelings for her right then and there, but as he would typically surrender to his nerves and doubts, he would normally let such an opportunity pass him by. However, taking into consideration the current decomposing state of the universe, Edward surmised that any time can be the right time.

Awkwardly, he chewed the inside of his cheek while he nonchalantly tapped a piece of metal on the table, mentally trying to put his messy confession into somewhat tangible sentences.

Reeling Edward out his own mind, the girl piped up.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you wound up with an injury like that?” She asked, directing a nod to his side.

Richtofen scoffed immediately, replying bitterly with, “Ask Dempsey.”

She laughed at his childish response. “Perhaps I will. I’m sure I’ll get an exciting story from him.”

Edward breathed a laugh, reaching out to take two components in his hand again, now eager to finish the task now that only a handful of pieces remained. He fiddled with the components, turning them in his hand and trying each side until they clicked together, almost like puzzle pieces.

He shrugged, remaining focused on what his hands were doing. “But I can’t hold my bitter feelings against that dimwitted American. I’d be dead if it weren’t for him...”

The girl froze and turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Every possible situation flashed through her mind, plenty of which were so gruesome she almost panicked. The pieces to the Summoning Key slipped from her fingers, clanking to the counter-top. Was he serious?

“What happened before I got to the courtyard?” She demanded to know, her voice toneless.

Side-eyeing her anxiously, Edward swallowed hard, regretting ever opening his mouth. His lips set into a hard line as he recalled the events in the courtyard. He was terrified of her reaction if he confessed just how found himself in a near death experience, but the way she sternly spoke his name advised that he didn’t keep her waiting.

He rambled every detail he could recall. From the moment he was trapped in the centre of a horde and feared for his life, to the careless rescue made by Dempsey which thus resulted in dreaded injury, and the currently damaged state of the Summoning Key. Mimicking her, Edward kept his eyes glued to the table while he rattled off his frustrations, not wanting to further embarrass himself by catching a glimpse of her expression. But little did he know, she only continued working on the device to avoid looking at him, fearing that he’ll notice her eyes swimming with tears.

Edward exhaled deeply once he went silent, but a sniffle made him turn his head to her instantaneously. She popped two pieces of the device together and placed them down to bury her face in her trembling hands.

Dismissing everything, Richtofen weakly directed his body to her, outstretching his arm to reach and uncover her face. She flinched upon feeling his hand gingerly touch her wrist. Edward retracted swiftly when he observed her wiping away tears. She then rested her hands atop her knees, breathing a juddered sigh as she tried to recomposed herself.

“I’m sorry.” She choked out, pressing her palm to her forehead, feeling a dull headache beginning to throb.

Then, she looked at him with blood-shot eyes. “It’s just the thought of losing you...”

Edward felt his heart sink at the sight of her snivelling, unable to refrain his eyes from glistening with tears of his own as she cried quietly. However, he was quick to blink them away before they ran down his cheeks. If not for his pained, restricted movements, Richtofen would have engulfed her in his arms already, although, he sought it best not to overwhelm her.

Truthfully, he was speechless. Up until this tender moment, Edward’s own stubbornness could not allow himself to be convinced that anyone had but an ounce of care for him. He knew that the girl showed a fondness for him, but Edward falsely believed that it was only natural for her to be so considerate, as she had also expressed it to her allies. But as Edward thought much deeper about it, she almost never spent time with Dempsey, Nikolai, or Takeo. He had been so naive when he realised that it was typically him more so than anyone else.

“Edward?” She called timidly.

He leaned towards her, brows raised. “Yes, dear?”

Edward caught himself by surprise when he intuitively answered her so endearingly.

“Can I hug you?” She whimpered softly, her rounded eyes utterly pleading.

Giving himself no time to think, Edward nodded quickly. The girl swiftly pulled her chair up to close the gap between them, to keep him from standing and straining his injuries, cautiously wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

She felt Edward briefly tense up, although he eased the very second she rested her head on his shoulder, his brawny arms linking gently around her waist. Her breathing steadied when she felt his soothing caress on her back. Edward heard her faintly hum in content. Nothing could come between them at that little moment of serenity.

Confusing Richtofen, the girl reeled herself back, immediately longing for her touch. She dried her eyes, feeling somewhat calmed as she sat back in the chair.

The tender moment ended so soon as doubtful thoughts flooded back to Edward’s mind. He breathed an exasperated sigh, averting his eyes to the dirtied floor.

“Edward...” Her voice sounded pitiful when she spoke his name.

She remained close to his side. Her hand reached to neaten a few strands of his hair that had fallen out of it’s slicked style. Upon observing him, the dark rings supporting his drooped eyes were prominent. Dots of blood covered his face, clearly he had attempted to wipe them away as the stains faintly remained. Like a permanent feature on his face, his frown was everlasting. He slouched as he fiddled with his hands that rested in his lap.

“You look exhausted.” She thought her statement sounded insulting, but Richtofen lazily nodded in agreement.

Appearing to have a moment of realisation strike him, Edward leaned towards the table, instantly regretting his brisk movements when he hissed and clutched his abdomen. The girl shook her head disapprovingly, though it went unnoticed. He waited for his hazy vision to clear before grasping the remaining fragments to repair the Summoning Key.

The device was nearing completion. Half of the sphere had been partially restored, with only a few pieces left to fit correctly. The girl grabbed the half that had remained entirely intact during the fall, awaiting Richtofen to click the last components together.

Edward turned to her with the shell of the device in his hands. She gripped the other half that encased the mechanism inside the sphere. Exchanging a hopeful glance, their hands shakily neared each others until the sphere connected impeccably. Richtofen was visibly relieved to witness the swirl-patterned lights on the Summoning Key flicker back to life with a bold sapphire colour.

Delicately taking the device into his hands, Edward raised it up to examine it closely, spinning it carefully. Caught up in his own triumph, he missed the way she ogled at the way his eyes lit up like Christmas lights. The girl hadn’t witnessed him so generally uplifted for weeks. She felt her heart flutter at the sight.

“It’s like it was never broken.” She remarked in a gentle tone.

The sweet chime of her voice made Richtofen turn to her with the same look of awe on his face. Placing the Summoning Key onto the workbench, Edward surprisingly took her hands in his own and gazed deeply into her eyes.

“I owe you my gratitude.” He breathed. “For everything.”

She resisted cooing in adoration, truly touched by his sincerity.

“How can I repay you?” He asked genuinely.

Taking her aback, the girl stammered a response. “Oh- No- Edward, I don’t expect anything in return.”

She looked away, laughing sheepishly. “It’s just what I do...”

Every thought Edward had of confessing his feelings flooded back to him, but he had a strong sense of apprehensiveness. He feared that he would likely make a fool of himself, or potentially bring an awkward barrier between their friendly relationship if he blurts out his deepest feelings. But never had their interactions become this cozy before. Something felt different than any other time they had been together.

Edward’s hands slipped away from hers, drawing her attention to the nervous look on his face. Averting his eyes sheepishly, Edward adjusted his shirt collar and fiddled with his sleeves, like he was neatening up his appearance. His face was noticeably flushed red, even in the fiery hue of candlelight.

“You’re looking a bit flushed.” It sounded teasing, given the way she laughed lightly, but it was entirely genuine.

The way he meekly fumbled with his sleeve came to an abrupt halt upon the girl place her hand on his thigh reassuringly, only intensifying his awkwardness. Edward’s body stiffened when he locked eyes with her, his thundering heart threatening to burst through his chest.

A mutter of her name fell from his lips, and he stuttered, “I have something to tell you.”

Despite the way she gulped nervously, the girl leaned in a fraction, making out she couldn’t quite hear him.

“Forgive me,” He began, his voice low. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings, but I can try to explain myself as simply as possible.”

She didn’t react; only staring at him in wonder. Although, her attentive gaze only aided in heightening his anxiety.

Edward swallowed his nerves. “I’ve been thinking about our relationship.”

A pang of fear went through her. She didn’t know how to interpret his statement. Only hoping he would elaborate before she professed every negative idea racing through her mind.

Richtofen thought to himself momentarily. “And I think I’ve neglected to tell you just how much I appreciate you.”

She wanted to interject but was cut off the second she opened her mouth.

“What you said earlier has stuck with me all night.” He admitted with a sheepish look on his face.

The girl chewed her lip as she thought. She knows that she’s confessed a lot due to her tired state of mind making it easier to speak freely about her most heartfelt thoughts and feelings, but was she thinking along the same lines as Richtofen right now?

She blurted out. “About losing you?”

Her expression alone pleaded that Edward nodded, bringing her hands up to her chest apprehensively. She awkwardly hid her face behind her hands when Edward nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t think you paid much attention to that.” She mumbled.

Quickly, he interjected. “How could I dismiss something like that?”

She shrugged, slumping back in her chair now feeling embarrassed. “I don’t know... Maybe I thought you were too tired to be listening.”

Edward looked her over, observing her as she wiped a hand over her face, then looking down at her lap.

“But to answer the question that I know you’re dying to ask,” She manoeuvred to face him, gazing into his gentle eyes. “Yes, I meant it.”

The moment of silence was piercingly loud, sparking an uncertain atmosphere when she turned away. Edward didn’t know what to do, what to say. If it weren’t for the sound of heavy snowfall pattering the window, his mind would be utterly blank. He looked back at the Summoning Key sitting on the table, stewing on one particular thought as it came to mind.

“No one’s ever said that before.” He muttered. “It surprised me.”

Was he scared to admit that? Richtofen wasn’t sure, but his heart was racing. Although with his own insecurity getting the best of him, he regretted telling it.

“Edward, listen...” She frowned. “I think it’s about time I confessed something, since we’re both being honest here.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, wincing as he shifted in his seat to get himself comfortable. The girl instinctively went to reach out and aid him, but faltered when he sat still, reassuring her with a weak half-smile.

God, how he worried her sometimes...

Where could she begin? It certainly wasn’t something she had rehearsed, nor ever thought it would be spoken of. Her mind was a jumbled mess, utterly fearful that she would choke on her own words. She hoped Edward couldn’t hear her heart pounding like a drum. Clasping her hands together in her lap, she exhaled and turned to him anxiously.

“Since day one, I’ve believed that you have only good intentions.” She eyed his attentive look. “Now I can’t speak for the others, but I have faith in you, and trust that you’ll bring us that better tomorrow you’re promising. I just want to let you know that you’re doing a great job, and I will always stick by your side.”

Forgotten memories flooded back to him. From his early days as a scientist, working alongside Doctor Maxis. Being stationed in numerous locations, one of which the castle they found themselves at currently. All the researching, crafting, and exploring new possibilities within the medical and tactical field flashed in his mind like it all happened yesterday. But not once did he think of a time he was praised, or sometimes even, trusted for his research or crafts. Only thinking of the times his input was countered with something better, something more thoughtful, and something they could have faith in.

Never had Richtofen ever been so astonished in his life. He didn’t realise that she was staring at him in concern, until she placed her hand on his. Richtofen turned away, his eyes glistening with tears, covering his mouth with a trembling hand to conceal his lips that threatened to quiver.

“Oh my God, Edward, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean t-” She panicked, cutting herself off when guilt washed over her.

Mentally, Edward was berating himself. Embarrassed and utterly ashamed for displaying such weakness. He tells himself to remain composed, and keep that typical stone-faced, cold-hearted persona that he puts up around his allies. He was not a weak, emotional man and it needed to be proved. He was so certain that he would never crack, and never let his mask slip off and cave into his real emotions. But he had...

Edward felt helpless. How could he redeem himself after this? He began to fret that it would alter the way the others view him. Would they mock him? Turn their backs on him? God forbid they perceive him as the weak, broken, and vulnerable man that he believes he is...

Knowing Edward’s mind throughout, she was practically listening to his entire negative thought process. She felt sorry for him, knowing that he had naturally built up virtual walls around himself throughout his life, as to keep him from exposing his truest thoughts and feelings. But during desperate times, those walls have crumbled entirely. No one had ever gotten so close to him before in his life. Nor shown him such compassion and empathy. Typically, he would push people away when he felt exposed, leaving him alone and afraid.

Sensing how vulnerable his state of mind was at that time, she muttered, “Don’t beat yourself up for this, alright. We’ve all got emotions...”

Edward didn’t realise it, but he nodded softly, finding some clarity in her words, but not enough to fully take away the weight of despair still crushing his shoulders.

Locking eyes with the girl was almost painful, finding it much easier to focus on the ground. He feared her perception of him now; in ways believing that she’ll simply leave him by his lonesome now and possibly forever.

“I’m sorry...” His voice was low, almost inaudible when he choked out his apology, sought as feeble and utterly pathetic in his eyes.

She shook her head nonchalantly. “Don’t apologise.”

Edward ran a hand through his hair, a shaky breath slipping past his lips . What was he to say? Part of him wanted to profess everything that plagued his hectic mind just then, while on the other hand, he wanted to shrivel up and hide himself away from the world.

“We’re all bound to break at some point...” She hoped Edward could feel reassured, but his dead-pan expression said otherwise.

The girl side-eyed him when he shook his head vigorously.

“Not now. Not so soon...” Richtofen sounded like he was talking to himself in a fret.

A throbbing ache shot through his side, worse than ever before. Edward groaned, squinting his eyes as he turned his head away, almost curling up on himself while his hand reached to soothe his flared up wounds.

“Easy, Edward...” She rested her hand on his own that held his side. “You’re stressing yourself out.”

A long exhale slipped out when he felt the pain subside, only then taking notice of her gentle touch. But he was too engrossed in his own mind. Edward let his head rest against the back of the chair, holding his hand to his forehead as he let his eyes rest for a moment. Tiredness had been creeping up on him all night, now crashing upon him like a wave.

Edward’s gruff voice broke the silence. “Does this change anything? Have your... perceptions of me changed?”

Edward wanted to do nothing more than surrender to sleep. He was drained entirely. The sophistication in his voice was slipping away as his words were nothing more than drowned out lazily at this point.

The girl felt his question virtually knock her side-ways. Questions about him rattled around in her mind, but she could read him like an open book in the ways he always thought so low of himself, or denied any qualities beyond just his intelligence. Insecurity shined through his mask when he pleaded for reassurance in subtle ways, or would fret and repeat consoling phrases to himself when he got too stressed.

“Yes, it does.” She told surely. “My perceptions of you have changed.”

Edward slumped, believing the worst. He belittles himself. Mentally scolding and tearing himself apart on the inside for saying something so profound, and for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. He didn’t want to open his eyes, only wishing sleep would envelope him for an eternity. He knew that if he looked to the chair beside him, it would be empty, and the loneliness that he’s grown so accustomed to would be the first thing to greet him.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and his eyes shot open.

“It proves to me that you’re human. Up until now you’ve seemed like...” She paused, thinking to herself. “Like a shell of yourself. Almost like you are actually soulless.”

Richtofen shifted to face her, utterly astonished. He was berating himself for being so blind, so careless about the others, especially her. Had he not noticed that the others were looking out for him? That it was Dempsey to save his life today? That she helped repair the Summoning Key and patch up his wounds? Of course Edward hadn’t noticed. He’s been too selfish to consider any of it.

“And I know you’re not soulless.” She was assertive in her tone. “You have a heart, Edward.”

Richtofen bowed his head in shame. “I’ve been so selfish... I’ve neglected to see what’s really going on in front of me.”

Edward didn’t see the way she nodded slowly, gazing upon him sadly. Was there any chance at redeeming himself?

“Throughout my life, I’ve always convinced myself that I’m alone...” He confessed, his voice brittle.

“And that you should only rely on yourself, right?” She asked.

Edward nodded. He had never felt so prone in all his life. His mind so naked and exposed. No one has ever explored the deepest crevices of his heart. It sparked such uncertainty and fright that she would unearth something that he had buried away in the blackest part of his heart. He avoided locking eyes with her, fearing that she’ll be able to flip through the pages of his entire back-story through his sorrowful eyes alone.

“That’s not going to work in this case, Edward. We all need to be able to depend on each other.” She took his hand in hers. “It’s all we’ve got left.”

Her words virtually slapped him in the face, an utter eye-opener to the harsh reality of the world, and it scared him something profound. Silence consumed Edward as he stared at his hand in hers, so lost in her delicate touch. In ways he was convinced that nothing around him was real; not even her.

“Edward...” She spoke, her voice small.

Richtofen peered up from his lap, observing her worried expression.

“Is there anything I can do for you to see that you’re not alone?” Her question was so genuine, yet so full of pity.

Shaking his head was his first instinct... but he didn’t. He couldn’t and he didn’t know why. Edward’s mind was blank, strangely.

Driven by his hearts desire, Edward suddenly engulfed her in an embrace, almost pulling her onto his lap through the severe desperation channelled through his every motion. From the snug hold on her waist, to the way his eyes clamped shut when he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck; caving nothing more than gentleness, warmth, and serenity. Edward was petrified that if he did not clutch onto the one person providing him some form of sanity, he would simply lose everything.

The girl looped her arms around Edward’s shoulders, her tired eyes falling shut when she rested her chin atop his shoulder. Each of them felt entirely comforted by the closeness of the other.

Edward breathed a long sigh, not uttering anything in the moment, but his actions conveyed everything that he wanted to plead.

Stay.

[animehouse-moe]

Undead Unluck Episode 5: United We Negate

Ah man, this episode was so interesting. Yes, the quality of it is solid, though of course it can't match the animation of the previous episode. That said, it doesn't need to animate to any sort of incredible degree because there's just so. much. worldbuilding. So so much to talk about here that I'm just itching to wander through!

Okay, so Apocalypses book, what an interesting little piece that presents a much great world. Thanks to the comment from Juiz, we understand that there exist a god on the other side of the book providing these rules.

More interesting to me though is the consistency of the Apocalypse book. "This time", it says, there is six quests with varying requirements. You would have thought that the number of quests would remain consistent, but Apocalypse's own words betray that. Also, the time limit?

They mention they have until the 31st of August, with the current date being the 6th. Twenty-six days as a time frame seems unlikely, so I believe the odds are that Gena's death specifically triggered a new set of quests.

If I were to guess at the framework for the quests, it'd be like this:

You do not have to immediately accept any quests, or do them in any particular order. Not all members have to consent to participation in the quest so nominations and strongarming are possible. Failure to complete all quests results in the addition of a new "Rule" to the world, that part we know. However, Gena's death presents something interesting.

You might be able to argue that Apocalypse would halt all quests because the number of negators was fewer than required with the death of unavoidable, but Juiz says that Apocalypse only opens when there is 11 negators, not that it works when there's only 11 negators. So, to get to the point. Gena's death has a high probability of being a catalyst for this new set of quests that exist in front of the Union. This means that Apocalypse would most likely count the previous round of quests as "failed" and as such would have added a new "Rule".

So lets talk about Rules next!

This is very very interesting, because of what Juiz says. There has been 98 "new" Rules added to the Earth.

So, what can it mean? Well, it could mean the number of times that quests have been failed, but that's not possible for two reasons. Apocalypse tells Union that the penalty for failure will be the addition of UMA Galaxy, which is not a Rule. Secondly, Juiz mentions the fact that penalties are added every 3 months.

So where does this leave things in terms of a timeline? Well, there's a few options. The simplest is that Apocalypse is able to provide Union members with previous penalties. But then that begs the question, how has there only been 98 rules added, in all of history? Juiz herself states that penalties are added every three months without any intervention, so the probability of this system existing since the beginning of time within the story is highly unlikely. But at the same time, Apocalypse can't have been created at an arbitrary point in time. However, we have the counterpoint of other artifacts being mentioned (and even used). Though it's important to note that the only awareness that we have of them as artifacts is through Apocalypse. I think the most likely answer here is something like time compression, which would in turn further feed into the idea of a loop.

That is, these objects have existed since time immemorial on Earth, but were dormant until a specific condition was met. Since that condition, they've been trapped in a loop.

This would justify the contradictory nature of existence and interaction, as well as provide freedom for Apocalypse to implement rules without any set schedule or purpose and not make a mess of history. Similarly, it would satisfy the argument of an excessive amount of UMAs existing on Earth due to penalties.

Though let's take a closer look at the idea of UMAs, since Apocalypse spills the beans, well, sort of spills the beans. He mentions UMA Burn and Negator Unburn, so you'd think that the existence of a UMA means the existence of its negator, but that's not necessarily true. Largely speaking, that depends on how you view UMAs such as the aforementioned Galaxy, though I personally don't believe that's the case. What I find interesting about the UMAs is their proximity to "Rules". That you might even say that UMAs are either born from rules or create rules.

Then there's the UMA that has been subjugated by the Union to facilitate point to point travel, though we don't have a name for them. If it weren't for Galaxy being mentioned I would have chosen "Space" as the name for the UMA, but the naming sense is more absolute than that. It has to be the most atomic form of the concept for it to really take root, so I think I might end up on "Move" as that UMA's name.

Speaking of providing names, I really want to take a stab at the negations of the other union members!

I'd already given my guess on Shen's, so I'll skip him and start at the top:

Starting with Juiz, they definitely have the most powerful ability. Being able to reflect malice and violence based on the person is very interesting, and immediately brings up the idea of unfair, but I don't think that's it. It's not it. I think their ability was employed because of the rules that exist for Union in regards to harming another member. Because of that, I think it would be something like unequality, unjustice, or

So, onto number 3, the gunslinger guy. I think his interaction in stopping Andy's fingers is the answer to his ability. The lax styling, the overconfidence, it screams of a lack of effort but yet undeniable success. My first feeling is gambling/betting, but that's not raw enough as a concept. Unchance is the first thing that springs to mind with them able to manipulate their own probability, but with the idea of gambling, and my interpretation of their negation as a way of "cheating" in regards to probability, Unfair could be the better fit (and better sounding haha).

Now, number 4, the little robot arms kid. My first inclination was unalive, but that's impossible given Andy's negation. But there has to be something to explain the boy's android appearance. They have to be a human to be a negator, so it can't be unhuman. But then what could it be? I'm not really sure because we don't get much from them as they don't block Andy's finger and they don't really say anything further into the episode.

Skipping ahead a bit we're going for numbers six and seven together because their approaches are very similar. Unavoidable has given me the hints to tackle at least one of these two, and the finger bullet sequence gives me the rest that I need. Mr. Samurai armor is definitely unbreaking or unmoving, though I'm leaning to the former, just because unmoving doesn't necessarily mean they're unable to be damaged. So that means the younger boy that takes action with his hand has to be something that would allow him to stop Andy's finger without damage or anything. Really, he's the only one that's shown to be actively moving (aside from Shen, of course). I really want to say unstoppable, but I don't know if that could negate any and all damage so I don't think it's likely. I'm really drawing a blank on a negation that could incorporate movement, be an internal negator, and avoid taking damage.

Mr. Know it all with the purple hair is easy though, unknowning. Or I suppose unforgettable. Actually no, definitely unforgettable. Their ability to negate the act of forgetting is certainly what it is.

So yeah, an incredible amount of information from a single episode. A very unique cast of negators with interesting ticks such as Juiz hiding her eyes unless she's negating, and all the rules and information imposed by Apocalypse is just wonderful. An absolute treasure trove of theories for me to sift through and ponder about, so I'll definitely be happily occupied until next week's episode!