#they nailed whatever they were going for with the demon's souls dragon god

[doedipus]

generic fantasy concepts are kind of like instant ramen in that if you just kind of drag and drop the most boilerplate version of something into your story it's going to be boring as shit and devoid of nutritional value. and this goes doubly so for big setpiece monsters like dragons.

you gotta like, either come up with a unique thing or make enough additions and substitutions to the stock thing that it meaningfully has its own identity or it's going to suck

[darkmasterzorku]

The Dark One

"O Dark One who comest forth from the darkness: not have I reviled." -Pert em Heru, Declaration of the 42 Gods

In this universe, Zorku was the Kul Elna god of darkness, death, time, memory and destruction. Which makes it all the more ironic since the village was destroyed. Worshipped in secret, revered by more and more as time went on and lives became harder to live.

Proper offerings: Blood, red or raw meat, frankincense, red wine, Egyptian beer, gold.

Titles: The Dark One, Father of Fiends, Maker of the Dark World

-- in the Japanese original anime, Zorku often has the title of 'daizosojin' before his name meaning 'the first ancestor god.' Daizosojin Zorku. So clearly he's ancient. 'Yami no Bakura' uses this word more often, but so does Atemu.

Creation: Many tens of thousands of years ago. Created from the darkness of the hearts of not only men, but the other gods as well. So compared to them, he's a younger god, hence the massive amounts of hubris. He also made the Spellbook at some point.

Roles: One of the 42 gods who judged the heart during the Weighing of the Heart ceremony. There's been quite a few times he's gone problematic for the other gods, much like Sutekh (Set), though. He can feed off of negative energies, especially of those who give in to their anger and resentment.

The gods were not necessarily viewed under the lens of good or evil, but rather ma'at and isfet (chaos). Likewise for Zorku.

Ancient Appearance: Shape-shifting was normal for him. He could appear as the demon with the draconic phallus, a dragon-like form (think black dragons of DnD), or a human-like appearance with dark purple hair and the usual horns dressed in the clothing of the gods. Before imprisonment in the Items especially, he'd take whatever form he saw fit to get what he wanted from humans.

Modern Appearance: He can have horns. Two long and straight at the top of his head, two curved forward at the sides of his head. In times when he desires to, can also have dark wings and a long, draconic tail. Zorku can hide away these things at will and often just looks like he did as Yami no Bakura. This form WAS NOT a choice, he was sent back this way. He will still also answer to 'Bakura,' though, or to Zork. His hair is longer than Ryo's, extending down to his tail bone. Zorku's eyes are dark red. He possesses sharp canines and longer, dark nails. The fiend wears black and darker colors, and has his ears guaged or pierced.

Errata:

1: Was imprisoned in the Duat after losing to Atemu in the Ultimate RPG. This universe takes place six years later.    —-The Duat isn’t just the underworld, it’s where the gods lived. As such, Zorku will at times go there or to the realm he created of the shadows. Six years after he was imprisoned, he was released by Ryo and Malik. Since Ryo was the one who offered lifeblood, this is the way 'Bakura' looks.

2: He doesn’t have all of his powers as of yet. Or they are simply restricted. He is not an all-powerful god like he used to be since he's serving punishment for a time thanks to the other gods. However, he can still:   -Steal souls, seal souls away, manipulate shadows, summon shadow creatures [his minions], manipulate objects.

3: There's a holiday of his during the darkest night of the year where he attains full power...for that evening only. He's still capped thanks to the gods so he can't annihilate the world right off.

4: The Items are still buried in this timeline. For now. However, if another character that interacts with him still has one, of course he's going to find it of interest. So be warned.

5: In this timeline, he is one of the 42 gods. “O Dark One who comest forth from the Darkness: Not have I reviled.” The 42 gods were in the Hall of Two Truths, and the Negative Confessions were meant to keep the gods from punishing the deceased for a specific sin. Zorku will find people who revile, so to speak, as a main target. He was originally summoned into the world by someone who reviled (Aknaden), and attached himself to another who also reviled as the official First Host (Thief King Bakura).

Who He is: (tldr)

I: The Spirit of the Ring in essence and body, but Zorku stripped of his most powerful assets. He is stuck in a humanesque form with only his basest abilities, and he is NOT happy about it. So he can still pursue another universe and their Items in hopes of gaining all of it back. But he isn’t really obsessed about doing it like he was the first time. Gods and such. Divine punishment.

II: He is still a smart ass. Sarcastic, sadistic and cruel when he wants to be.

III: Still has the figurines and he uses them and collects the souls in them. He found the figurines quite useful in his time stuck in a human vessel.

Relationships:

I: Orientation in relationships is quite different. In the Ancient Egyptian Ennead, most of the deities were formed based on concepts such as light, darkness, air, etc. Zorku, being of the darkness variety [Like the god Kuk and his female concept Kauket], he is also androgynous. Able to be either gender depending on what he wants to achieve. However, Zorku associates more with the male side.

II: Will not bend to even a lover’s whim if he doesn’t want to. He’s quite the hard ass. No pun intended. Sometimes even the ‘human’ act of mating to him seems rather dull. However, he will with the right person and can be known to use most mortals as simply that- pawns for their energy, no romance attached.

[steve0discusses]

S4 Ep 39: Pharaoh Can Fly (Selectively)

Guys, they’re back

Best storyboarder is back, and the visual difference between last episode and this episode is like when your art teacher picks up your charcoal and just fixes everything wrong with your gesture drawings. It’s like...I mean look at this:

I just really love and appreciate how illustrative this storyboarder is. And I say just storyboarder because this had about the same budget as the last episode--there wasn’t that much actual animation as per usual. But, all of the scenes were drawn so well, like panels out of a good manga. They just...they always nail it when they’re at the helm and I don’t know why they’re on Yugioh, but bless this storyboarder.

Plot wise, everyone got pulled into the dragon by gooey tentacles that came out of it’s stomach, don’t think about it.

Meanwhile, all of the minibosses could communicate with them and beg for help, yes, even the same miniboss who may have dressed up like Pegasus and catfished Seto Kaiba.

(keep reading under the cut)

The whole process of getting absorbed into the Orichalcos demon was a whole lot of symbolism and it was...kinda gross. Also kinda sketch. Also, for Kaiba it is a neat little nod to S1 when he had a vision that his brother was absorbed into a dragon mass.

I don’t think that the makers of the show remember S1, but either they just really like goopy dragons, or it’s a coincidence or I dunno, on purpose? Probably a coincidence.

And like I made this joke and realized...what if they actually meant to make that parallel though? This is the America crossover season, and they have referenced America’s love of trickster rabbits before with Pegasus but do they know about Br’er rabbit in Japan? Do they know? It’s a pretty Americana Deep-cut, and I have no idea how common this folktale is outside of the states.

I see anime busting out absorbing goopy masses all the time so I’m gonna assume that there might be a Japanese folklore I don’t know about which uses a similar structure (although I’m also assuming it has an extremely different history and association ((which I won’t be going into because I don’t feel like putting a trigger warning on this recap)).)

And looking at Wikipedia, there’s people that think the original reference to moist, absorbing creatures could have even come from as far as India. Which is...fascinating to how it also developed in Africa, and then the Cherokee also made the same story independently and then it fused together here in the States to make it what was eventually made into a Disney movie that will never be released again--this is just a really old ass story, all in all, possibly like over a thousand years old.

And a FASCINATING google deep dive I won’t go into for obvious reasons but knock yourself out.

Also, lets get distracted for a sec and see how well this storyboarder drew a fitted jacket at that angle. Dear Lord, did they get reference for that or did their brain just already know that those folds would be there? You can even tell that Pharaoh has just a little bit of padding at his shoulders. Ugh. Guys this storyboarder is so freakin good at these little fitted jackets.

So, once Yugi and his friends are absorbed into the mass, where they should have died...and maybe some of them did, but I don’t know if I should add that to the Death Count because like...they could have held their breath in the amount of time they were stuck in there...maybe...Anyway, they are saved by being tossed into the figurative briar patch--by the souls all hanging out in the Leviathan’s stomach--which again makes me wonder...did they pull a folklore on us? Again, I have no idea.

Like a lot of the people in this dragon have been thorns in their side this entire season, they’ve all tried to kill them at one point--all the minibosses, Mai, Pegasus--but now they have decided to team up with Pharaoh (along with the rest of the human race) and offer whatever they can to free them from the grip of the gross dragon mass.

And like, the ending of the folk tale is that the thorny ass briar patch is also where the rabbit lives usually. It hurts everyone else, but the rabbit--the rabbit can deal with it. And likewise, Pharaoh is freakin dead. He’s at home here. He’s surrounded by spirit power, his friends and their friendship power, this is like his zone, and now he’s crazy powerful for it and will be for the rest of the episode.

And like Yami is a very trickster God (especially Season Zero Yami) so like...it does make sense that he would mirror a folk tale based on trickster Gods, even if it is by complete accident.

So Pharaoh imagines everyone’s tears as individual drops in a glass or something--it’s not a literal glass or anything--it’s just there because the only thing actually happening on screen was his hand hanging out of this dragon’s weird puss skin.

And he’s now a fully charged Sonic the Hedgehog and no longer needs Kaiba or Joey at all. Just gonna grab his God card demons and take charge of everything else from here on out.

By first exploding his buddies right the hell out of this lizard and across hundreds of feet of open ocean.

Joey decides to remind Kaiba that he lost the Battle City tournament.

Seto’s roast was actually in the show, PS. He is not super excited to be reminded that Yugi owns every card that he spent 2 seasons failing to get.

And then Pharaoh did something really, really...

...just really really wild.

OH OK.

YEAH JUST TAKE OFF.

GO AHEAD THERE’S NO REASON THIS WOULD BOTHER ME.

I mean he IS super powered right now but like...

Like...WTF?

4 SEASONS. 4 SEASONS I thought this guy was glued to Yugi like Peter Pan’s Shadow and apparently--he can bounce.

Can Pharaoh do this every time Yugi asks Tea out on a date and tries to instead make the ghost in his head do all the work now? Can Pharaoh just be like “NOPE” and then phase out of the house, leaving Yugi to actually do the hard stuff?

It really adds a level of complexity to their relationship if Yugi can get a room.

(If not a room for romance, but at the very least a room to poop in.)

OR has he been able to allow Yugi to wicked poop in peace this whole time, but the show just never felt like telling us because they felt like it wasn’t important (although it is crazy important)?

Either way I am just...floored at this character development.

Yami just let Yugi out of his sight for like...I want to say 8 full minutes. Just incredible amount of trust on Yami’s part. Incredible. Knowing Yugi’s track record, he should have died in those 8 minutes but...he was being babysat by both Kaiba and Joey.

So Yami summons the Gods and they shoot lasers--you kinda expect this sort of thing.

And this is...probably...the real reason why Dartz didn’t bother trying to attack Pharaoh 5,000 years ago.

I can still think it’s because of Bakura but like...this is probably the real reason. It felt pretty chump to just shoot a laser at the bastard. Pharaoh just had to be reminded that this is a thing he can just do. If he felt like it.

Which he never feels like doing, because he’s too busy watching Yugi’s every move, and getting distracted by High School shenanigans.

After this happens, the giant snake falls to the ocean, splitting into just sooooooo many ghosts.

Over 7.8 billion ghosts, if we’re to assume that this is most of the population on Earth.

(thinking the weird-o in the hat is probably a Duel Monsters card? The duel monsters were throwing themselves into the Leviathan at one point so this is probably like a dark magician boy or something...I just don’t get very attached to the monster cards so it was like...whatever. The cards die like constantly so who cares?)

It is a pretty set dressing. Like Christmas lights but...dead people.

We also find out that the lost family of our minibosses Alister and Raphael, have indeed spent the last many years inside the Leviathan stomach, which is pretty tragic. We get a bitter sweet conclusion to Alister and Raphael’s story--although it’s not a full on ending for either character. Their life still hella sucks, they are in therapy for basically forever.

Where is Gurimo?

I don’t know what sort of job or life these two are qualified to have now, but youknow...Marik’s boat probably has jobs available.

Hold up. Can we talk about the windows?

I know absolutely none of you care about this, but I do, not to be picky or condescending to an overworked art team, but because I just want to know what they were trying to aim for.

There’s an iron stained glass style windowpane thing going on and that’s what’s really getting me. Like...I know these guys were technologically advanced, but why did you use this WW2 background? What happened to Ancient Greece that you were doing before?

Like doing a super past with future tech is so cool to me--I love that sort of concept art. That’s going into like Black Panther stuff where you’re referencing the earliest stuff in Africa and then blending it with stuff beyond our science. But Atlantis is a real big shrug and a “listen we ran out of time and had to press print,” and it’s such a shame. It feels less cohesive than even when this show does Egypt.

And yo this show and how it draws ancient Egypt--I feel like I’ve already talked about that. I have a feeling I’m going to talk a lot more about it next season. I’ll get to it when we get to it. I’m hoping that they have more time and budget to actually DO Egypt for once. (I say knowing they won’t)

Like it’s one of those things where this isn’t a history show, like at all, and it’s very much a fantasy. I’m not going to be like those sewing people on youtube that get annoyed because their TV show doesn’t have handsewn stitching in their Victorian bodices they rented from the costume department from an LA discount warehouse. Because, yo, it’s TV, and I can stretch my own imagination because it’s acting. (although I confess, I watch every single one of those videos).

But...the potential, y’all...the potential.

Anyway, Dartz isn’t dead. He was just taking his toot sweet time getting down the steps of his Gazebo.

This is where things get very anime. I get this problem a lot with anime, I really do--and maybe it’s just me. But like...sometimes it feels like anime changes the rules during the boss fight.

That happens a lot, right? Where suddenly the final boss reveals something that like...should have been addressed way earlier? And he’s alive but you don’t get why?

Anyway, Pharaoh reacts by getting maybe way too attached to his newfound independence.

Which like...I can understand Tea forgetting that Yugi is one people that is two people all the time, but the writers as well?

And what’s kind of great about this scene is that Dartz does see Yugi as two people here. He doesn’t look at Yugi, he looks at both. When Pharaoh is like “Leave me, Yugi!” Dartz heard all of that.

Just kind of a neat thing that we finally have a dude that can just...see Pharaoh for what he is, but it probably won’t matter because there’s like only one more episode left of this season.

Anyway, Pharaoh and Dartz have a chat about where evil comes from...and like...it’s some Yugioh lore, all right.

So before the show decides to give us the Genesis on Yugioh and reveal where the evil of the Orichalcos comes from, or if all evil was created by Orichalcos itself (which is IMPLYING stuff about Orichalcos) the snake shuts him the hell up.

As it should. Leave that Pandora’s box freakin closed. That’s going into extended universe of Star Wars books territory (RIP.)

As an aside--pretty sure that Yugi is standing outside that tornado. Maybe it was just the editing of the episode but like...

Yo I’m pretty sure Yugi is just standing there. For the first time, it’s not his nuts getting roasted. Wow. Tables have turned so much since he was dead.

Anyway, here’s the link for new people so you can read these in order

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

There’s only one left! We can do it! We can finish this season in 2020! And actually get back to recapping Full Metal Alchemist! ~~Woooo~~

Oh man that movie better still be on Netflix or I’ll have to buy it lolol.

[doomstarmagician]

Chaos looked at his reflection in the mirror. Well at least that’s what it seemed. The war entity looked back at him with frustration on his face. “Why can I not leave your old, worn out body and go to his? He doesn’t have to accept me to take over but I can’t just go and take him over like I do you.” Chaos smirked from within. “Because he has a bloodline you capsule to imagine.” Infuriated, the war entity punched the mirror, shattering it and forcing Chaos back to the darkness.

@thesoulwithinthepuzzle

It wasn’t hard to tell when something was amiss. Well, anymore that’s all anything seemed like. Whatever this could be called, this incident, this atrocity... it was nearing a month by now. His family was all but in shambles. Beneath the house, deep in a study that even the starry eyed magician could not touch lurked a demon, terrorizing them and using his uncle as a vessel; a means to an end. Nearby, curled up in his bed was his aunt, who had fallen into limbo between conscious and unconscious today.

Doomstar had never seen anything like this.

His gaze rested on the sleeping sorceress, curled beneath blankets with a mass of snow white hair spread haphazardly all over the pillow. A cold, wet rag was folded neatly and rested across her forehead to help keep her fever down. Today had been especially rough for her. The poison seeping into her from the wound across her chest still lingered and waged war with her light and body’s natural defenses. But in her weakened state, her body could only do so much. So it was no surprise that she lay almost unresponsive at the moment. The sight made Doomstar’s heart ache.

A bright flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder drew his attention back to the large window he was standing at. It was only then that he felt the attempted invasion. The thrum of an ancient magic, far older than he and his uncle, rippled to life within him. He could feel a sensation akin to something skittering beneath his skin. An unseen force trying to reach for his heart, trying to claw at his mind, in a desperate, wild abandon to claim him as its new host. As if on cue, his eyes reddened.

And then... there was only light. A different light than what he had come to harness and wield from his aunt. This was a light from the other side of his bloodline. His master’s mother. Hemera. Like a shield, her light blossomed to life and blocked the parasite seeking younger, stronger blood. This wasn’t the first time. Far from it. He knew it wouldn’t be the last time either. Red eyes remained, but so did his sense of self. There would be no parasitical attachment. Not now. Not ever.

A hand rose and rested on his chest. Squeezed the fabric of his shirt. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe in. Breathe out. He blinked and his gaze was cast outside. Despite the rain, the cloud coverage, he could still make out a multitude of eyes; all staring right back at him.

He cocked his head back as if signaling for them to come to him. And they did. One by one, those eyes vanished from where they shone outside; one by one Doomstar’s knights manifested within this room. His Constellars. Only one being remained outside. The Constellar dragon. A lone sentry perched and prepared for whatever orders were to come.

Satisfied, the cosmic magician dawned the lighter parts of his armor. Enough to keep him protected in case he needed to make a hasty retreat soon. He fastened his cape though, of course, scattering small wisps of stardust around him. (They were never one without the other, naturally). There was another deep breath. A moment to center himself. As he did, he looked down at his hands. His claws were present. Seemed he never got to put them away anymore. He could also feel the sharp points of his fangs pressing against his bottom lip. They stayed manifested too. Perks of the bloodline’s inheritance, without the parasite huh? He shook his head and focused; scepter summoned and ready to use. Before he departed, he had only one order to give—

“Guard her with your lives. I’ve no intention of sticking around for a fight tonight. But just in case — her safety is your one and only priority.”

—

The hallways were dark. More so than usual, but... well, that was something he’d gotten used to now. The house felt alive; not that it ever wasn’t, but this was different. He didn’t feel welcome. He felt like he was being watched from all corners, all walls, from each doorway he passed. Maybe it was the dark playing tricks on his already dulled eyesight, but he could have sworn the shadows were moving. No, he knew better. They were moving, and not because he willed them to. But because that monstrosity below was toying with him. It always did. He just had to stay two steps ahead, and he’d live to see another day.

Doomstar knew he couldn’t afford to fight right now. Not that he couldn’t, but the risk was not worth taking. Too much was stacked against him at the moment, and if he acted foolishly, it could spell his demise. And that would break Silent’s heart. So he resigned himself to, well, spying. He wanted to know if his uncle had fought back at all. He wanted to know how much control the parasitic entity still had over the older mage. He wanted to know if it was ok to finally... get his hopes up.

What a stupid thought.

He cursed quietly in Atlantean and rolled his eyes. His descent continued until he reached the hallway that led to a single door. It was dark, so he cast his own Polaris to light the way. By now the shadows were most definitely moving. Squirming. Writhing. They licked at his heels, some wrapped around his legs as if to halt his advance. But Polaris burned them away.

Finally he reached the end of the hallway. He stood before the large black oak and iron door. Beyond it lie the deepest point below the house. The darkest depths. A place where even he could not tread without the very real chance of losing himself to complete madness. The study that only his uncle could safely lurk within. He brought a hand up to the door’s surface.

It was then he heard them. His uncle and a voice far too warped to be anything of this world. That demon. The parasite. The plague that terrorized them all.

‘Why can I not leave you to take over him?’

‘Because he is of a bloodline that you cannot hope to imagine.’

Were it not for the circumstances, Doomstar would have smiled and felt himself fill with pride. But this only made his stomach drop. The ire from the entity was overwhelming and tangible. He felt rage. He heard the roar of anger and fury. Was it the entity’s? Was it his own?

Laughter sounded through the door. Weakened, and pained, but it was very much his uncle’s voice. Doomstar grit his teeth. Please don’t give this thing a reason to hurt you more!!

Gods damn it! He just wanted his family back! He went thousands of years without one, and he’d be damned to hell and back if it was all ripped out from under him now!

The hand that rested on the door clenched into a fist. Nail marks embedded into the oak’s surface. Doomstar got what he came for. Sort of. His uncle wasn’t down and out yet. There was still some fight left in him. Still, this was but one battle in the entirety of what felt like a war. But that war wasn’t to be waged tonight. Not in this place. Not here. No, Doomstar knew what he had to do and where he needed to be.

Another flash of lightning. Another clap of thunder. The sound of glass shattering was almost drowned out by it. He knew what this meant. The entity was taking back over again. And as long as it lurked inside this room, there wasn’t anything Doomstar could do. For now...

And so the magician sneered and turned on his heel. Tonight, he would stand guard with his knights to keep she who was most precious to him safe. Tomorrow, he would devise a plan. One that would rip that parasite from its little place of shelter and comfort. He was going to save his family, and there was not one soul, not one god or goddess that was going to stop him or stand in his way.

Please, hold out just a little longer. This storm is coming to an end.

[magalidragon]

OMG I was cleaning out my WIP folder and found a Jonerys Addam’s Family remix I started in October and never finished aka forgot about. I guess I have Halloween fics ready. It is in three months after all.

Here’s a blurb. It’s so bad, it was right when I started writing Jonerys. 🤣

Little Sam was not deterred by the dog’s size or its peculiar eyes. He stepped towards it; hand outstretched. “Wow! Big dog!”

“Sam no!” she exclaimed, grabbing for him. She stepped backwards to the door, preparing to whisk her son away from the vicious animal. Even though the animal hadn’t made one move towards her son other than cocking its head curiously.

“This is Ghost,” the silver-haired woman purred, leaning down—not very far since the dog almost came to her shoulder—to ruffle his ears. She kissed his nose, the dog licking at her cheek. She giggled again, like a little girl. “And he’s not a dog, he’s a wolf.”

Sam yelped. “A wolf!? Is that legal?”

“Of course.”

They all looked up at the second level and Gilly’s eyes further widened, staring up at what she thought might be one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Of course, she hastily thought, she loved Sam dearly but…gods. The man who took a step down towards them was wearing an all black suit, tailored perfectly to his thin yet muscular frame. He had black curly hair pulled halfway from his face into a bun and a trimmed black beard. She noted that his gray eyes were the same shape and color as the other woman. Perhaps they were related.

He walked, no he— glided— down the staircase, coming to stand by the beautiful silver-haired woman, who beamed at him, immediately molding against him. “My love,” she purred, dragging a blood-red nail down over his pale face. She pursed her lips. “Arya brought us new neighbors!”

“I was thinking of making them a pie,” Arya said. There was a somewhat demonic gleam in her eyes.

Gilly lifted her brows and Little Sam looked up from where he’d been digging his shoe into a knot in the wooden floor. “I like pies,” he piped up. He cocked his head. “What kind? I like apple.”

Arya pursed her lips, a smile still tugging at them and her eyes flashed, glancing sideways at the man, who was glaring at her, almost in warning. “I can make an apple pie. I think.”

“No,” the man said, final. Arya stuck her lower lip out in a pout. He turned his face back to them, apologizing. “My sister is not that good of a baker, you really wouldn’t like her pies.”

“The dragons do,” the woman said.

“Dragons?” Little Sam asked. Gilly laughed, nervous again; maybe Sam was right—perhaps they should have just left their neighbors to themselves. She was getting quite a strange vibe from them. Very intense and…just plain odd. It was like they were from another world. She took sight of the lanterns and old-fashioned oil lamps on the walls. Or another time, maybe.

Sam cleared his throat, pushing by her and offering his hand. “My name is Samwell Tarly, this is my wife Gilly and our son Little Sam. We’ve already met your…”

“Sister,” he and the brown-haired woman said at the same time.

The silver-haired woman had now wound herself almost entirely around the man, her violet eyes boring holes into them. It made Gilly oddly uncomfortable how close they were to each other. She was all one for public affection, she did not consider herself too prudish, but this was almost too much, especially in front of perfect strangers. The woman made a sound like a purr, dragging her finger down his face, her bright red lips pulling up over her teeth. “This is my husband Jon.” She licked her lips, her pupils turning her eyes almost entirely black. “Issa zokla.”

Gilly arched her brows at the odd language, but even more so when the man named Jon made a sound like a growl, sweeping the woman around and lifting her feet off the ground; she wasn’t wearing any shoes and her toenails were painted the same blood red as her nails. “Gods Dany, you know how the Valyrian makes me.”

“Of course, I know.”

Arya grinned. “Ignore them. They’re foul, especially when Dany speaks Valyrian.”

Sam gaped, shaking his head and pulling on her hand. “We should leave.”

The woman spoke, Gilly guessed this was the Dany that Arya referenced. “Oh no don’t leave, Jon was just forgetting his manners. He can be such an uncouth wolf. By the way zokla, you seemed upset when you came down just now, whatever happened?” Gilly couldn’t tell how she knew that the man was upset, he seemed to have a perpetually dour look.

The man—Jon—shrugged. “I wanted you to know that Lyanna started another fire but I put it out.” He looked over at Little Sam, smiling down at him, but the smile did not meet his eyes. “And it seems we may finally have a friend for our little Lyanna.”

“You have a daughter?” Sam asked. Gilly wasn’t sure why he was nervous to ask, but she supposed he should be. This entire introduction had been quite odd. Surreal was probably a better term for it.

The woman—Dany—beamed, with the glow only a mother could have for the mention of her child. Gilly smiled, pleased to see it, as she recognized it completely, having felt the same pride at the mention of her son. “Yes! Our little Lyanna, she’s six.” She turned back to the house, walking over to the bannister and banged her hand on the wall, the sound of her small hand somehow—rather unnaturally—reverberating through the house. “Lyanna!” she bellowed, with a volume and strength that belied her tiny frame.

Jon idly brushed at his suit lapel, rather bored. “She’s probably in the dungeons.”

Sam and Gilly shot each other horrified looks. Dungeons!?

“She loves the dungeons,” Arya said. She handed the plant to Dany. She smirked. “I’m going to go find Gendry. I think he’s probably had enough of the shackles.”

Shackles!?

Just who exactly were these people, Gilly wondered, trying to smile but found herself gripping Little Sam’s shoulders tight so he didn’t try to lunge for the wolf, which had moved closer to his master, all glowing red eyes and blinding white fur.  She was trying not to be frightened or at least <i>show</i> how frightened she was but it was proving difficult the longer they were in the company of these people.  She smiled, weak.  “Um…so your names…” She was trying to say them, but found her voice caught in her throat.  “Um…”

“Oh of course, so sorry!”  The woman pressed her hand to her chest, her violet eyes earnest.  “My name is Daenerys and this is my husband Jon.”  She rose on her toes.  “Issa zokla.”

The same words she’d said before had the man growling again, nipping at her lower lip, which she stuck out as she grit her teeth, and growling as well.  “Speak more Valyrian and we’ll see the wolf.”

“Valyrian?” she finally asked, confused, at the same time Sam exclaimed in immediate curiosity.  “Valyrian!?”

Dany turned, her back pressed against her husband’s front.  Gilly blinked, shocked, as the little woman wiggled herself against him in a rather obscene manner.  Jon simply kissed her temple, muttered something to her and she frowned, but backed off of him.  “Oh yes, my family hails from Old Valyria, it’s my mother tongue.”  She stepped to Sam, violet eyes expanding, that girlish curiosity returning.  “Do you know Valyrian?”

“Ah…I studied it as an elective in college, but I am afraid I did not pick it up well.”

“That’s too bad.”  She glanced at Gilly, smiling warmly.  “Valyrian does wonderful things for the soul, it is the only language suited for poetry.”  She turned back to her husband, biting his lower lip.  “And it does incredible things for passion.”

“Indeed,” Jon said, kissing her again.  He turned his intense gaze on them both.  “Thank you for the plant.”

Gilly’s mouth fell slightly, unsure what to say to that.  She jumped, skittish, when she heard the sound of something—or someone—screaming.  “What…what’s that?”The couple exchanged bored looks.  

“Probably Bran,” Dany said.  She sighed, waving her hand nonchalantly.  “My brother-in-law, he keeps ravens.  They are dreadfully loud sometimes.”  She frowned, glancing at Jon.  “Oh darling, do you think it could be Viserys?  I thought I told Lyanna to keep him from the fire.”  She sighed, her smooth brow wrinkling in annoyance.  “He really should know by now that he is not a dragon.”

“I’ll go check.”  Jon smiled at them both again, in that rather bored, vacant away.  “It was nice to meet you both.  I will send Lyanna over whenever we find her.”

Dany clapped her hands again, gesturing for them to enter further into the house.  “Would you like to come in for something to drink?  We have a lovely Arbor Gold that my dear friend Tyrion left us after he…” She trailed off, a somewhat sad look on her beautiful face.  Before she wiped it completely and beamed some more.  “Went on holiday.”

Sam pulled at her elbow, which Gilly did not mind at all, taking her step backwards as well.  “Um, we should really get back home.”  He spoke loudly, stammering.  “M-m-my b-b-brother k-k-knows…”

“He’s saying his brother is expecting us.”  It was a lie, but Gilly was just as terrified of this strange family as Sam was now.  Even if she still wanted to know more.  Like how the woman in front of her looked so young. Or at least looked like she hadn’t given birth, her stomach as flat as anything.  Gilly self-consciously touched her abdomen.  She still carried a couple of stubborn pounds from Little Sam.  She shot him a look; he was still trying to get to the wolf, who had remained dutifully at his mistress’s side.

The woman smiled again.  “That’s wonderful.  My brother lives with us too.  As does my great-uncle.  Aemon.  Don’t worry if you see him wandering around, he’s blind but he gets by just fine.  Also, my husband’s little sister and brother live with us, sometimes his other sister visits but she’s a horrible bore, so normal.”

Gilly shuddered to think what this family thought was normal.  It was clear that they had a rather peculiar take on things.  Manners, décor, pets…they mentioned dungeons and fire the way she referred to Little Sam playing with trains and cars.  “Um, we need to go.  We will…ah…enjoy the plant!”  

They were out of the house faster than she thought she could move, almost hauling Little Sam up off the ground and carting him over her shoulder.  She grabbed his hand instead, hurrying back down the driveway and beyond the iron gates, not stopping until they were back at their house, door shut and locked.  

She heaved her breath, rushing upstairs to their bedroom, throwing open the curtains and staring at the house, eyes wide.  She stared across the way, to the big mansion, with its vines, iron, and dragons.  “Who the seven hells are they?” she gasped.

Sam shut their door and looked out with her, shaking his head.  “I have no idea, but Little Sam is never going over there.” Agreed.

[isobel-thorm]

johnnic + 27 ("kiss me.") uwu

Blood Dragon 2 1/2 

Deputy Nic Raylan hears something she’s not thrilled about while working with Guy Marvel and figures out that maybe making a deal with the devil is better than dealing with an asshole. 

“Hey, get back here. I think Guy wants to make out with you.” 

Deputy Nicolette Raylan groaned. She had helped Guy Marvel clear out the angels around that set because back in the day she had loved his movies. They were absolute disasters and therefore cult classics as far as she was concerned. But spending as little as twenty seconds with the man shot all that adoration in the face and buried it. 

He was one of those directors. Arrogant and sleazy and gross. Her film major friends in college had been privy to a few of those jerks in the making. And now she got to deal with them herself. And there was no way in Hell that he was going to leave her alone if she just ignored him. Men didn’t work that way. And now she was within walking distance of the set. And sure, the PAs seemed decent enough considering they wanted to murder the man, but she still didn’t like her chances. She needed somebody, but the Ryes were across town, Sharky and Hurk were off melting angel faces somewhere and probably couldn’t hear a radio over explosions and fire, Jess and Grace had gone hunting that day- there were next to no options if she wanted to deter the creep. 

Until she got an idea. A horrible, no good, stupid, very very bad idea, but it would probably work. And be the fastest option. But also open a brand new can of Yikes worms. Fuck. 

It had taken her ten minutes and three radio calls from Guy in the span of five of those minutes to make her decision. 

Stomach in knots, she switched to a different frequency and leaned in. “John? I need a favor.” 

The response was nearly immediate. “Deputy…” came John’s distinct purr. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“What are you doing right now?” she asked. Because right, what she was about to suggest wasn’t going to inflate his ego enough, she just had to go with suggestive phrasing. 

“Why repairing all the damage you caused around these parts the last couple of days, my dear. Why do you ask?” 

“I need you to meet me at the Guy Marvel set in ten minutes.” 

“Now why would I-” 

“Because, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this- I need to make a fucking point to this fucker, and you’re the only person around who I could make this work with. And I mean, considering you’re both interested in me, out of the two of you you’re the one I trust not to shove his hand down my pants mid-conversation.” 

“… … … What?” 

“Just get here.” 

She made her way back to the set and waited. Minutes ticked by like hours until she saw the cherry red Pygmalion speeding down the road. She saw him pull up to the lot, she and John made eye contact and she delighted in the confused look he gave her. She coughed obnoxiously loudly so Guy would hear it a few yards away nd hurried over to the car. She yanked the door open and climbed inside. Her stomach lurched one more time before she decided to sell her soul to the devil. “Kiss me.” 

John’s eyebrows shot up, but he recovered quickly enough and smirked. “Lust is a-” 

“Sin. Yeah it is, that’s part of the fucking problem. Kiss me.” 

“Why the-” 

“Jesus,” Nicolette hissed before she leaned over him and yanked the lever to tilt his seat backwards. She tried not to enjoy his yelp of alarm too much before she tossed a leg over his lap, crushed her mouth to his and ground her hips down into his for good measure. 

And of course she felt him respond below the belt within seconds and she almost groaned in disgust- and then annoyance when she felt that he was packing. Of course the guy who, in any other circumstance, she probably would’ve jumped into bed with immediately if not for the whole psychopath thing, was hung. It wasn’t fair. 

“BABY! What the fuck is taking you so long?!” 

And there he was, the asshole of the hour. Showtime. She grimaced internally for a moment before she grabbed John’s headrest in order to scoot higher into his lap, then took his hands and put them on her ass. Well, now she was the hypocrite, considering that ‘hands in my pants’ comment she had made when she was practically assaulting him- except he was hardly complaining.

Still, thankfully John’s brain caught up with what was possibly going on- or caught up with his dick, who really knew- and began to kiss her in earnest, giving as good as she did- and pulled her ass closer to him. 

God, the man could kiss- it really wasn’t fair.

She moaned into his mouth as loudly as possible, giving it an overdramatic touch that would make pornstars roll their eyes. 

“BABE- Oh!” Guy cut himself off from just outside. 

Nicolette tore her mouth from John’s and blinked innocently. “Oh! Guy! Hi!” she perked up. “Uh… sorry…” she stroked John’s chest for a moment. “Got… distracted.” She bit her lip and smiled.

“I’ll fuckin’ say,” Guy agreed with a strange tone. Probably turned on. Asshole. “Who the fuck is this?” 

Nicolette blanched for a moment. Did he seriously not know who John was? She had hoped he would fuck off if he thought she was fucking one of the Heralds of the ‘noisest motherfuckers out there’ but to not know John at all? Well, on second thought he probably didn’t bother getting to know any of the people involved in the cult- his head was up far too deep in his ass to do that. Loving yourself and yourself alone would do that.  “This is my boyfriend. Sorry, we just… haven’t seen each other in so long. Just got carried away.” She looked at John. 

John, to his credit, just went with it. He moved his hand up to her hip and stroked it. “Can’t keep my hands off her. She… slips away from me so easily…” he dug his fingers into her hips pointedly at that, and he contained a cringe when she dug her nails into his chest in retaliation. “Sorry, who are you?” he asked. 

Nicolette nearly sighed out loud. The bastard was playing along. Thank fuck. 

Guy immediately went red in the face. “You’re looking at Guy Marvel, pal. Maker of Dead Living Zombies and Blood Dragon 2 and 3, which I’m making now.” 

“Huh. Never heard of them,” John commented drily. 

Nicolette firmly bit her cheek at the sight of the ghost of a smirk that John got in his face that gave away that he knew exactly who the man was. 

Guy went even more red in the face. “Never heard of…” 

John offered him a polite smile. “So my girlfriend here is helping out?” 

“Keepin’ my production safe and secure from those inbred fuckin’ cultists, Hell yeah,” Guy replied. 

John’s smile widened and something changed in his eyes- it was an absolutely predatory look, not unlike the one he had given her in the bunker during her botched confession. “Fucking cultists…” he agreed. 

“Well, you gonna let her come work for me again?” Guy asked. 

Nicolette sharper at that and went to get off Johns lap to give him a piece of her mind.

John dug his fingers into her sides again to keep her still.

She gave him a puzzled look.

The dark edge came back into John’s eyes. He stroked Nicolette’s hip again and leaned closer to him. “Listen, Mister Mabel-” 

“Marvel.” 

“Whatever. My girlfriend does as she pleases. I don’t let her do anything because it’s not my call. If she wants to do something, I say yes, because I don’t own her. And she makes her own choices, as… … disappointing as some of them are,” he cast her a look, and she arched a challenging eyebrow.  “That said…” he looked back at Guy. “I’m…  very proud of her and her exploits. And I like keeping her all to myself.  I’m not one to share. So if I hear you call her ‘Babe’ or any variation, I will find you, and you will not like the outcome. However, that’s provided that she doesn’t get sick of you first and… take matters into her own hands. She can be quite rough when she wants to be.” He pulled his shirt aside to show the edges of the ‘Sloth’ scar. “Do we have an understanding?” 

Guy paled a fair bit and looked like he wasn’t sure whether to look at Nicolette, the scar, or John. “Yes sir.” 

“Good,” John grinned. He opened the car door. “I’ll see you back at the house, Dear. Go on, do your thing.” 

Nicolette looked from him to Guy, only to see that the spot was vacant- and he was a few feet ahead, already booking it back to the set. She sighed in relief. “Can’t believe I’m saying this either, but thank you, John. Don’t know why I didn’t think of just straight up threatening him in the first place.” 

“Most men need the additional push, unfortunately. Especially when they’re ants who think they’re gods in the greater scheme of things.” 

“Okay, Hypocritical Crazy Person. Think long and hard about that one and think about yourself. See you next time I blow up a couple of silos.” She went to dismount him. 

John caught her wrist. “That wasn’t for free,” he pointed out. 

She sighed. “What, you’re not the ‘seal a deal with a kiss’ type of demon?” 

“No. I’m a confession for a favor kind of guy,” he countered. 

Nicolette searched his face for a moment, but found he looked entirely serious. Again, deal with the devil- out of the frying pan into the fire- you made your bed, lay in it kind of things. Besides, she had escaped one Confession. She could escape another. “Fine. Tomorrow. The Ranch. Noon. No one else is there.” 

“Deal,” John agreed. 

Nicolette got off of him the rest of the way and hurried back towards Guy. She hoped the pay was good. If he even paid her. Well, what was another fucking favor at that point. 

———————————–

At 12:30 the next day, Nicolette was sitting in the basement of Seed Ranch, strapped to a chair near identical to the last one. She had been ‘fashionably late’ by a few minutes. By some miracle he had allowed it, but made sure to strap her in as he went on about Confession again. He eventually ended his spiel, and then pointed the tattoo again. “So… we know you’re Wrath, but… any other of those delicious little sins left in you, Deputy?” 

“Plenty, Seed.” 

“Do go on then…” 

Nicolette opened her mouth to respond, and then was immediately cut off when her radio gave a crackle, and then- 

“Hey! Baby! Baby! Get your beautiful ass back here! I need you again! All my people left me like the cheap little shits they are, and you’re all I got!” 

Guy. Again. Are you fucking kidding me? She went wide eyed at the intrusion and tried not to laugh at how indignant John looked. John went to take it off her hip and she raised them and scooted back to get it out of his reach. “Uh uh. You break it or turn it off, I can miss any other bullshit that your people or your siblings pulled. I came here willingly, trade or not. We do this on my terms. I keep the radio. Only fair.” 

“Fine,” John hissed. He moved back. “So, what e-” 

“Baby, come on, don’t be like that!” 

John snarled and launched himself at her radio. He unclipped it from her belt before she could protest. “Mister Marvel. I do believe we had a discussion about that name, did we not?”

“Shit. Uh, sorry. Just need that - uh-” 

“Yes, well, the Deputy and I are a  little… busy at the moment,” John reached over to her hip, pinched and twisted the skin there.

Nicolette yelped- then all but slammed her mouth shut when she realized just what sort of sound John had been aiming for with that sound. ‘Dick’ she mouthed. 

John merely smirked at her and then sighed a little too dreamily. “You catch my drift, Madel?” 

“Marvel.”

“Do. You. Catch. It?” John repeated. 

“Yeah, yeah I catch it.”

“Good. Goodbye, Mister-” 

“WAIT!” 

John groaned. He went to switch the radio off, only for Nicolette to give him a pointed look. He sighed. “What?” 

“Look, I might as well give up the ghost with this thing. It’s doomed from the start. Weak ass location, week ass production staff, weak ass budget. I have to branch out.” 

John and Nicolette exchanged brief looks of morbid confusion. 

“I mean, both of you guys are hot. You clearly don’t mind an audience. Ever consider doing porn? With each other of course, I’m not some cr-” 

“Ooooh my God,” Nicolette concluded, the same time John immediately turned the radio off and all but shoved it back onto her belt. “… That might have actually taken the cake for worst thing I’ve ever heard out of anyone’s mouth here. And that’s saying a lot. That was worse than you guys. But honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t take him up on that because of the way you were the last time with my shirt and that camera there for some reason and-” 

John stared at her for a few seconds, then wordlessly walked over to the chair and unstrapped her. “Get. Out.” 

“Fine. Wonder what Joseph would think about tha-” 

“OUT!” 

“You got it.” 

——————————————————

John radioed her the next day with the offer of a redo. And for some reason unbeknownst to her common sense, she had accepted. 

John had immediately taken the radio off her hip when she arrived, though. 

To both of their surprise, she had played nicely- as he had. He had gotten her out of a potential bind, even if it was just another part of their cat and mouse game. She had cited Pride, named a few instances of it, and he had just finished tattooing the first line of the ‘P’ in her side when one of his men bustled in and commented that someone ‘was on the Deputy’s frequency, calling and asking for her nonstop.’

“And who is it? Sheriff Whitehorse, all gallant up on his white horse, eager to come to the rescue?” 

“No, sir. Some weird name. Guy something. Marvel, maybe?” 

“… God DAMN IT! Get him off the radio! Cut our own fucking frequency if you have to.” 

The Peggie bustled out quickly. 

There was dead silence for a while. “You know, Johnny Boy. New deal.” 

“Oh?” John hissed. 

“A trade. Hudson for Marvel. Because it’s a win-win for everyone. And a favor to the fucking Universe. And he’s probably got all sins in droves compared to her. He’s gonna take a while.” 

John stared at her, and then got that predatory smile on his face again. “Why Deputy, that might be the smartest thing you’ve said yet.” 

“Thought you might like that. So, deal?” 

“Deal.” 

—————————————————————————————–

Two days later, a very confused Joey Hudson was nudged past the Falls End sign by none other than John Seed. She had asked why, and he had responded that “a little blood dragon” had told him to do it. Whatever that meant. 

It was equally puzzling when Nicolette gave her the exact same answer. 

She wanted to get to the bottom of things, but she had learned not to ask questions as of late in this town. 

After all, sometimes it was best to leave well enough alone. 

[back-and-totheleft]

A frenzied Neo-Romantic

love Oliver Stone. He’s gonzo, gung-ho, and gangsta. He breaks the rules. He spits fire. He writes from his viscera. The movies he wrote for other directors — Midnight Express, Conan the Barbarian, Scarface — go over the top and just keep going. I forgive the silly posturing about capitalism in Wall Street because it’s entertaining. Stone and Val Kilmer nailed Sixties mysticism-turned-self-destructive-excess in The Doors, he and Woody Harrelson created a chilling study of murderous American minds in Natural Born Killers, and he and Tom Cruise got close to the heart of how the moral compromises and lies of Vietnam crushed our spirit in Born on the Fourth of July. And JFK may be the most insane picture ever released by a major studio. [...]

Still, the shivery shamanism of Stone’s memoir, Chasing The Light: Writing, Directing, and Surviving Platoon, Midnight Express, Scarface, Salvador, and the Movie Game, has me loving Stone all over again. Reading his fantastically bonkers book, I came to a critical realization about Stone: He has no sense of humor whatsoever. This is not the same as being serious; he’s deeply unserious a lot of the time. But he is committed. There is no ironic distance or detachment from anything, ever, and here he and I differ rather dramatically again. Still, I am awed by this raw self-portrait in hypercharged fervor.

A frenzied neo-Romantic, Stone feels everything, ever since he fell apart emotionally when his parents broke up while he was at boarding school, and later, in a sort of soul coma, volunteered for the nerve-exploding chaos of infantry life in Vietnam. He survived a dizzying firefight (on January 1, 1968) that he describes in a woozily detailed account of absolute confusion. He never fired a shot nor saw an enemy combatant in that battle, yet there were bodies everywhere when the sun came up, and he helped bury and burn enemy corpses. When he got home, he immediately wound up in a San Diego jail, facing five to 20 years on drug-smuggling charges after bringing back two ounces of weed from Mexico. (A lawyer got the charges dismissed.) Back on the sidewalks of Manhattan, “I was coiled and tight, a jungle creature, ready for anything, living 24/7 on the edge of my nerves.” Except that he would dive for cover whenever a car backfired. He started writing screenplays as a therapeutic way to face his demons.

In his cinema, he takes a rusty hunting knife and flays our national nerves, trying to get us to feel something like what he feels. How can you not admire a mad pagan Hollywood barbarian who deals with career setback like this:

"One shining, bright cold winter day I bought a cooked lamb and, in a bizarre homage to Odysseus . . . laid out its severed parts on my lawn, offering it with fire, incense, and prayer to the gods to wipe clean whatever I had done to offend them. I begged forgiveness, especially of Pallas Athena, the goddess of wisdom. It was a strange and solitary ceremony, witnessed only by my two ravenous dogs. I meant every word I chose judiciously, my heart so earnest to end this self-inflicted pain I was feeling as a frustrated writer, dramatist, whatever I was. When I finished, I allowed the dogs to devour the offering. After all, what did the Greeks go with all those fine oxen and sheep that were sacrificed on Homer’s pyres?"

Immediately after this ceremony, which happened during a period when Stone was “heartbroken by Scarface and its Hollywood reception” (things certainly turned around for that picture, which grew to be acclaimed as a signature movie of the era), the Greco-Hollywood gods answered by hiring Stone to write another movie: Year of the Dragon. This launched a series of events that made Stone an Oscar-winning director. Tastes caught up to Oliver Stone; America was ready to be kicked in the crotch and punched in the neck. The Eighties and Oliver Stone were made for each other. But I’ll come to that in my next essay.

-Kyle Smith, "My Love-Hate Relationship with Oliver Stone," National Review, March 7 2021 [x]

[mrneighbourlove]

Beacon to Damnation: Ch 7. Epilogue

Leere watched the sun set with empty emotion as the sun finished setting on the ocean. The rest of the crew gave her plenty of space. As the night came her adrenaline finally started to die down. She felt the weight of her wounds to her body…and her soul. Sharp pain came from her hands and back. The moon came up showering her in a new glow.

Looking at her hands she saw how her nails had turned a dark black and blood leaked from her finger tips. She didn’t need to see it, but she knew that her tattoo on her back had begun to leak as well. But finally, worse of all, she didn’t care.

Necromancy was different than Blood Magic. With Necromancy all she had to do to manipulate a body was make sure it had no living soul. The soul provides protection, a field of life. Without it creatures become nothing more then bone and flesh. Blood Magic took sacrifice to utterly dominate flesh, to push past the safeguard of a soul.

Her own blood had to be used, for one, but she also had to give up a part of her soul. It wouldn’t have been as bad if she was calm when employing it, but she rushed its use, and was consumed by anger at the time. The effects always made her feel numb emotionally. Physically it made her pale skin even more so white and her hair darker. And finally, it brought the princess closer to whispers of the dead, usually the damned. The soul could recover with time and rest, but her mind was another story. It opened her up much more to her own inner demons, unbearable guilt hitting her. The alternative was giving up her empathy and care.

So many dead wracked Leere. How many had perished? She couldn’t even save her own friend. Why did she live? Why did someone like her have to survive? Carlos shouldn’t have had to die like that. He was so scared, alone, and she failed him. She was a monster compared to a sweet soul like Carlos.

Leere wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She knew this process by now. If she lived through the numbness, the emotion would crash into her later. She had to get back home before that happened. If she wasn’t near family…..No. Better not to think about that.

Looking one last time at the moonlit ocean she frowned. She only hoped every soul could at least find purgatory after the suffering they attained in death. “I’m sorry Carlos. If you are watching down on me….forgive me.”

~

Leere rode out back to Hyrule in silence for the rest of her trip. No one dared talk to her. On a sail boat she couldn’t even have a shower, having to settle with using dry towels to clean herself. Leere scrubbed and scrubbed, only getting rid of surface level guts and blood. The stench stuck to her, and the blood stained her pale skin. It was unhealthily white, so the patches of blood stuck out.

Getting off the boat she traveled the rest of the way on horseback. It was easy enough to flash a bag of rupees. No one argued with the walking blood soaked woman. A whole day of slow travel she finally arrived at Hyrule castle. One guard wasn’t sure who the hooded character that was approaching.

“Halt. I need some identif-“

He halted when he saw the look Leere gave him, not only recognizing her, but realizing that something was horribly off. Examining her further he almost gagged in horror.

“P-Princess Leere. Do you need-“

“No. Move aside.”

Leere continued onwards to the palace. Her limbs were sore from the lack of magical treatments. Getting off her horse she avoided the blue dragon that sniffed at her. All she wanted to do was get inside and not be harassed. “Hmmm, you smell terrible….”

“Ba’Puu was it? Please do not tell my family that I am here. I am not presentable.” Getting off the horse had opened up some of her wounds. Blood leaked down her arm and onto the ground. Ba’Puu wasn’t sure if he should force the tiny human to seek help, or even stop her from entering. She reeked of death.

“….Very well. I’d advise you seek help though.”

Leere was thankful she wasn’t stopped by him. Entering through the doors she kept walking forward, quickly avoiding family members. Her dark cloak kept her covered as she continued down the halls. All she wanted was to be alone.

The sound of clicking got her attention behind her. She whipped her head to the corner of the hall. Did she movement? Was it her imagination? The clicking happened again above her. Instead of looking she ran the rest of the way to her room. Entering she locked the door and panted. A bath. She needed a bath.

Why was it at the end she felt her weakest. Dragging her feet she entered her bathroom. She took one look at her reflection and was frozen. She looked like….she didn’t know who she was looking at. The amount of blood on this woman’s sickly pale face, with shining red eyes through the messy black hair was, well, unsettling would be an understatement.

She started her bathtub. Thankfully for her it was designed for her Gerudo siblings, so her body had plenty of room. Grabbing some sewing tools she bite down on her teeth fixing her stitches. God she was tired of bleeding.

Stepping into the water burned all her senses, and her heart finally started to beat faster. Taking the soap she started to scrub herself clean of all her layers of filth. The bath grew from a crystal clear water to a big red tub of red gunk. Taking the soap she scrubbed hard on her breasts, wiping away the guts of her friend. Finally she washed her head, desperate to get the smell off her. She just kept scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, but mentally she felt there was always a bit of stench that just didn’t come out.

Nearly finished she saw in the still water the image of Carlos. Leere’s eyes intensely looked at the water, the torn apart remains flickering in the waves. He smiles a sad smile, his lips curling a bit too wide, than reaches for her. His mangled arm actually comes out of the water to touch her. Leere yells in alarm at her mind bending on her, and smacks at the water to get rid of the image, her foot kicking out and unplugging the drain.

Getting out as quick as she could she looks back at the tub, the arm no longer there. Slowly she pears back into the tub, the tension building, crawling down her back. No Carlos. Upon this she tiredly laughs to herself. “Of course…how about a shower for the rest of my clean.”

Leere let the hot shower clean the rest of her off. Getting out she dried herself off, and entered her room. It was dark and quiet. Sitting down she curled up into her queen sized bed. Panting Leere gripped her bed sheets, smelling the sweetness of the clean fabric. Why then, did felt so empty. Everything felt so empty. Nothing mattered to her, nothing except the pain.

Feeling her pillow case she found her hidden knife. It had a simple leather sheath to stop her from stabbing her head while sleeping. Taking it out all her dark thoughts swirled in her brain. The guilt of being the only survivor and the recent horrors that wracked her mind. Leere, pressing the blade to her neck, pushed. Rest. Just one motion.

                                 A knock came at her door. A small amount of blood leaked as she nicked the side of her neck. Leere held the knife to her throat for a few more seconds, but dropped it. She couldn’t commit to it. At least not with the knocking. Hobbling over in sea of self doubt and judgement she opened the door to tell off whatever servant so she could try again.

Only it wasn’t just any housemaid, it was Rinku. She had an angelic warmth that came to Leere just from looking at her. Rinku had a great amount of alarm in her eyes. “Leere, are you alright? There was blood leading to- By god those cuts!”

“Rinku. You’re here? You’re back?”

“Yeah, I came back a month ago.” Rinku steadily holds Leere’s shoulders. “Leere. What happened to you!? Are you doing ok?”

Leere felt the weight of Rinku’s hands on her. The love and concern coming from her voice. It flipped a switch on in Leere and the Princess started to hyperventilate and cry, all her emotions pouring out like a geyser.  “Oh-oh god! Oh God! OH GOD!”  

Rinku let Leere practically collapse on her, holding her adoptive sister close. “I’m here Leere. You don’t need to let go.”

“Why am I alive?!”

Rinku squeezed Leere close, their chests pressing together, the flow of their heartbeats in sync. “What matters is that you ARE alive. Just let it all out.”

Leere kept crying and crying until she passed out in Rinku’s arms. Her mind took its toll processing her survivors guilt. It wasn’t until the next morning she woke up. Leere was afraid to open her eyes right away, in fear of seeing another nightmare. Moving around she felt something warm in her bed. Finally opening them she saw Rinku resting with her. On a nightstand were empty bottles of fairy extracts and clean bandages.

Feeling her body Leere noticed much of her recent scars were gone do to the potions effects. Felt good to have fresh bandages as well. Taking a deep sigh she snuggled closer to Rinku’s warmth. The hero slowly woke. “You feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Rinku squeezed Leere’s hand. “I felt a deep pain within you Leere. It was terrifying for me to see you like that. I used what potions and medicine I could. Even some of my Triforce to make you feel better.”

“You got a pretty big soul to help little old me.”

“Hey, I got plenty to spare. Especially for you.”

Leere pressed her face against Rinku’s neck. “Thank you again. Really. It means more then you know to me that you care.”

“Hey. I’ll always care about you. Always.”

Leere put a hand over her heart. “Rinku, will you accompany me to the countryside?”

“Hmm? Of course.”

The two woman got out of bed and Leere got properly changed. Leaving the castle Leere smiled at family members where she could, promising to catch up when she could.  Going through castle town Leere went to the market and bought a charming locket from a shop woman and continued out to the fields. She was grateful to have Rinku beside her. The Hylian Hero helped push away the lingering thoughts of guilt and voices.

Taking a shovel she dug a small hole and put the locket inside. Burying it Leere wrung her hands in worry, doing her best to not have another breakdown. “I’m…sorry Carlos. I couldn’t take anything of yours back with me, so I bought something I thought you might like. I know how you loved to get jewelry for your dates.”

Leere looked up at the afternoon sun beaming down on her. “I can’t keep saying I should have done more. It’s not fair to either of us….all I can say is….I hope you are at peace once again Carlos. And I’ll do better to protect people next time. I’ll do better….goodbye.”

Leere turned away from the small memorial she built. She wasn’t going to recover from her latest journey in one day, but this was a start. “I’m ready to go home.”

Rinku smiled brightly at her. “Glad to hear it. Covarog convinced his wife that we should have Lasagna tonight.”

Leere’s interest perked. “Chicken or Beef?”

“Chicken I think!”

“That sounds rather good.”

Leere focused her thoughts on home. Her family was all she needed to focus on. Taking a break for a while would be just what she needed.

https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/172116483546/beacon-to-damnation-ch-6-a-melancholy-sunset Previous Ch.

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Painful Burden

 I’m useless.  That thought had been haunting her since the first day she was acknowledged as their tactician. She was utterly, completely, undeniably useless. How could she not be? Most of the Heroes who fought in the battlefield either came back brutally battered or teetering at the brink of life and death. Some couldn’t even move or train for a few days. As thankful as she was that there were healers available to tend to the fallen Heroes, it still didn’t rid the fact that their downfall was all her fault.  The guilt only worsened to know that they still trusted her judgment.

 Were they stupid? They had to be stupid. Strong and fast, but bafflingly stupid. These were the princes and princesses who ruled a kingdom. There were generals and mages who possessed such power any person in her world could ever dream off. And yet, they put their trust on a mere mortal. And yet, they placed their trust on a mere human that was neither strong nor powerful.  These people were stupid.  But she was the most foolish of them all to be bringing them to their constant demise.  Slitch!  Her shoulders flinched at the memory of this evening. There was a skirmish in one of the villages in Askr. Emblian forces had somehow made their way into the kingdom again, this time thrashing and haunting innocent people’s lives as an obvious threat and warning not only to the poor Askrian people, but to the prince and princess themselves.  They managed to arrive on time, managed to ward off the foul soldiers and save any villagers who were almost bound as hostages to those heartless fiends. Kiran obviously tagged along since she was the army’s tactician. Alfonse and Kamui were close by her side, making sure her unarmed self was safe while at the same time they killed off any enemies around the innocent. Takumi and Camilla took the skies together, the Nohrian princess blissfully slicing off the enemies’ heads while the Hoshidan prince shot his arrows brilliantly into their defenceless skulls.  The mission went smoothly. Although Kiran couldn’t fight, at least she could help evacuate the villagers to a safer place until the soldiers were disposed of.  Everything was going well.  That is, until she heard it, the sound of something punctured deep into skin, the sound of Camilla’s scream piercing the bright blue sky.  Once deep brown eyes gazed upwards, pupils shrunk in the centre to see the Nohrian princess falling to her doom. Thankfully, Kamui was able to catch her sister in her dragon form. Thankfully, Takumi had hopped off the undead wyvern minutes before the arrow took aim into her left shoulder.  Kiran apparently had been far too distracted in helping the villagers that she had momentarily forgotten about her role to guide them.  It killed her.  The guilt that boiled in her heart only rotted and clung to the beating organ like talons into gooey flesh.  At long last, the others managed to kill off any remaining soldiers and save the village. At long last, Camilla’s undead wyvern had finally calmed down once it – she, Kiran corrected when she remembered Camilla cooing over and talking about the demonic creature – saw her mistress breathing and alive on the ground. The arrow was still pierced deep into her shoulder, and they were more than thankful to know that the village was close to the castle so that she could be sent off to the healers faster.  Camilla, like all the other foolish Heroes, didn’t blame her one bit when she came into the medical room and apologized endlessly.  Despite the princess’ smile, despite the princess’ sweet, sweet laughter, Kiran wanted to cry at the guilt that squashed her screaming heart.  She hated herself.  As she sat quietly, knees tucked in her arms and head lowered so heavily, Kiran wanted nothing more than to punch herself in the stomach. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to plant one fist to the hard ground so hard until her knuckles bleed. Maybe, maybe then she would feel the pain these Heroes were feeling all along. Maybe, maybe then she would find even the slightest glint of redemption from all the pain and torture she had given to them.  So with one fist curled tightly, Kiran raised her right hand high, so high, and took a deep breath.  The cold tile of the summoning chamber was cold, too cold, but she couldn’t give a damn.  Nails dug deep into the palm of her hand, she shoved her fist downwards.  Bam!  The jolting pain reverberated to her shoulders. Again she raised her first.  Bam! Again she landed another blow.  The left side of her right fist began to throb, but Kiran didn’t stop. Instead, she lifted her arm, positioning her fist so that the knuckles were positioned right above the cold, hard floor.  Her voice started to shake. Her eyes started to water.  Bam!  The third punch was harder, rougher, the pain far more excruciating than the former.  And yet she didn’t stop.  Bam! Bam! Bam!  Every punch, every thrust, her muscles screamed in agony, begged for her to stop this agonizing torture. Her fingers began to swell. Her arm began to shake. The bones within were being squeezed by swollen muscles. The slim, delicate fingers were loosening, drawing out her nails that had pierced deep into her torn palm.  The pain was excruciating, but the pain in her heart was far, far worst.  Tears trickling down flushed cheeks, Kiran squeezed her eyes shut and shoved one fist down to the ground again.  Pap!  This time, the pain came from her hand that had instinctively unclenched at the sudden grip.  Quickly she snapped her eyes open. Quickly she gawked upwards, only to then gasp a short, choked gasp at the only person she wished wouldn’t appear to witness this sorrowful state.  But alas, God really loved to test her weak soul.  Brilliant blue eyes were as wide as they could be. He looked at her, then at her bruised knuckle, then back at her. A whirlpool of emotions swarmed inside the Askrian prince. Fear. Anger. Shock. Concern. Sorrow. All of them drowned him until he could barely breathe properly.  Since this afternoon, Alfonse was worried senseless for the summoner. He knew she felt terribly guilty over the aftermath. He knew she would coop herself from anyone to think over her actions. It wasn’t that Alfonse wouldn’t let her be. He knew she needed some time to think and recollect herself. But to have her absence linger till the night, concern started to bite the prince.  After hours of searching for her and asking around, he finally arrived at the summoning chamber in hopes that she was there.  Thankfully, he was right. Unthankfully, after hearing the sounds of loud pounding and running into the room to see her brutally hurting her hand, Alfonse knew he was a bit too late.  Silence thickened the air around them. One remained frozen in her sitting position while the other now kneeled beside the stunned summoner.  His lips parted open, but words were void.  He saw her. He saw her eyes red and thick with tears. He saw her lips trembled and parted so widely. Brilliant blue eyes then slid to her hand, the air inside his lungs immediately robbed to see bruises and tiny specks of blood.  It hurt.  It hurt him to see her like this.  His grip still tightened, yet just as careful and gentle so he wouldn’t cause her any more harm than she had already done. A deep breath was slowly taken, held, forced inside his throat as he focused his gaze back to her.  It hurt.  Unable to take the silence much longer, Kiran shivered terribly before breaking into a heart-breaking wail. Her other arm finally freeing her knees, the summoner roughly slammed her forehead to her kneecaps and bawled to her hearts content. Her left hand squeezed her head, fingers digging deep into the scalp and clutching hard onto the locks of black hair.  She then felt arms, his strong, warm arms, slowly, carefully sliding around her shoulders and head.  She hated this. She hated being so weak and vulnerable. She hated looking so weak and vulnerable. She’d rather hide and suffer in this sorrow alone. She’d rather tear herself away from any social interaction just to spare them from the pitiful grief that loomed inside of her.  She hated this. She needed to get away from this, away from him.  And yet, once she felt something, something soft, something warm softly pressing the right side of her head, Kiran only gritted her teeth and sobbed louder to know that her poor, disgusting self wanted this comfort.  So she let him be. She let her emotions take over her. She let her foolish self be selfish and pathetic.  She didn’t have the energy to do anything but cry, anyways. ---  Hours felt like an eternity in the summoning chamber.  After crying her heart out into his chest, Kiran soon realized that fatigue had long waited to take its hold on her. She was a little too late, however, for the moment she had stopped crying was the moment slumber finally calmed her screaming mind.  Alfonse never once let go of her.  Instead, his mouth had gingerly kissed the top of her head, constantly, numerously, an action that bared no ill will, nor was it intentional in the first place. He felt her body shiver weakly, whether it was from the cold of the wind or the chill in her icy heart, he didn’t know. One hand gently caressed her short, black hair. One hand rubbed slowly circles on her back.  It tore him from the inside out to see her like this.  He was so used to seeing her smile, hearing her laugh. Even in the hardest of times, he often saw sunshine rather than gloom from the summoner. When he first met her, she was rattled, startled, silent even as the realization that she was in another world processed slowly in her brain. But once that was settled, her perk and cheer gleamed brightly just like his sister’s. She was friendly, sweet, able to befriend any Hero she summoned in a matter of days.  And yet, when it came a time where a battle had gone wrongly, Alfonse soon realized that Kiran would rather shut herself away from anyone.  To protect herself from the world. Or to protect the world from herself.  Whatever it was, it burned Alfonse to know that she was burdening this unbearable pain alone.  His eyes felt warm.  After confirming that she was in deep sleep, the prince gently rubbed one hand onto her back again before carefully tucking the other arm under her knees. At the mental count of three, he lifted the summoner, carrying her so carefully, so delicately as if he was holding a baby bird. Her head heavily tipped to his collarbone. One arm was limp by her side while the other, the one with the bruised hand rested comfortably on her stomach.  Alfonse needed to get that healed before he could put her to bed. ---  He was very thankful for the healers that were awake at this time of hour.  He was especially thankful for Sakura and Lissa who swore never to say of this to anyone.  Silently he walked down the halls with her in his arms. He knew some of the Heroes were still awake. He knew there were ninjas and spies who observed his every move. Honestly, as embarrassing as it was to be noticed – Alfonse knew he would receive teasing smirks or judging glares in the morning – he only kept moving forward; it wasn’t like he had any ill intentions, after all.  Before he reached her room, Alfonse was seriously at lost on how to turn he knob considering that his hands were full.  Luckily and surprisingly enough, he was stunned to see the door had been opened slightly.  Panic bolted in the prince, but after hearing a single cough and looking to the side, that panic simmered to silent bafflement at the sight of a female ninja.  With a single nod, she – Kagerou, Alfonse remembered – disappeared into the darkness.  He made a mental note to thank her later in the morning.  Once inside the room, he slowly closed the door with his back. Kiran was surprisingly light, Alfonse wondered. Was she eating well? He realized that she was always absent when it was time for lunch or dinner after a failed battle. Was she hiding in the summoning chamber in hopes that no one would find her? And even if she did, how…how long had she been doing this to herself?  Was she like this too in her own world?  His throat felt heavy at the thought.  Carefully he placed her onto her bed. Making complete sure that she wouldn’t wake up, Alfonse gently tugged the sheets underneath and placed it on top of her body.  The cloak long removed since their visit to the healer’s room, Alfonse got a good look of her face.  White teeth gritted inside pursed lips to see bags under her eyes.  “Kiran…” Her name left his mouth as a heavy breath. Saliva sliding down a suddenly dry throat, Alfonse took a seat next to her body.  Her lips seemed a bit pale too.  Gods.  “I wish you could trust us to confide in us when something’s not well…” His voice was a low, rough murmur. Gaze never torn from the sleeping summoner, he raised his right hand. “I…I wish you could trust me…” Shaky fingers reached for her, reached for her hair that brushed across her forehead. “You’ve done so much for this army.”  One finger delicately brushed her bangs to the side. “You’ve done so much for me…”  Truly she was tired, for she didn’t even flinch at the caress.  In a way, Alfonse was truly relieved; she needed the rest.  He felt as if his heart had boiled up to his throat. This was the summoner who had done everything in her power to protect his people. This was the summoner who gladly helped a group of strangers despite being forced into his kingdom against her own will. This was the summoner who filled the castle halls with laughter and smiles.  This was the summoner who managed to break through his steel walls.  His vision blurred momentarily.  Gingerly, the back of his right fingers caressed her cheek, tracing down and down until he stopped at her chin. “I…” His voice was nothing more than a breathy, brittle whisper. “I don’t want you to go through this alone, Kiran…” Deep blue eyes moved to her head, the same hand followed his gaze as fingers softly brushed her hair. “You’ve done so, so much, and I trust your judgment…”  He looked at her face again; Gods, he missed her smile already.  “I trust you…” It was a dangerous move, he knew. “I trust you and believe in you a-and—” He had laid his heart out, bare and open for anyone – for her – to grasp it so easily in her hands, he knew. “I…”  His hand tenderly rested on top of her head.  “I…” The warmth in his eyes didn’t fade.  The sentence died at the tip of his tongue. Though his mouth still parted, ghosting out the words that pumped heavily and rapidly inside his chest.  He wanted to make her laugh and smile again.  Hand slowly, hesitantly, moved away from her, Alfonse took a long, deep breath.  “I wish…” Because, “I wish you can trust me too…” one was thing was for sure.  She had become the reason he was laughing and smiling again. END

[dancer4813]

cracks in my heart

the living and the dead (are one in the same)

Percy comes to talk to Cassandra, before and after they go to Ank'harel. Unfortunately, his visits are less than helpful, and some demons still haven’t been laid to rest.

How has her life come to this?

Spoilers for Episode 100/101

[ao3] [Percy]

Over the past year, Percy had gotten much better at telling Cassandra about things. Especially things she might find contention with or reason to worry about, thank Pelor.

Vox Machina as a whole seemed to settle down, travelling much less than they had been previously. Vax’ildan and Keyleth had moved out together to Zephra, and the others had, generally, set up in Whitestone. Percy spent more time out of the castle than in over the first few months, helping build Vex’ahlia’s new house, or wandering town, getting to know it again after five years of being absent. But when he did come up to the castle, he miraculously found time to help with paperwork and discussions in the council, which was more than he had been doing.

Cassandra had started to get used to seeing him in the halls or around town, and was happy to see the dark circles under his eyes growing less pronounced, and his mind, apparently, becoming more at ease.

Her own mind and heart were healing as well, Cassandra found.

She no longer flinched when passing certain rooms in the castle or felt the need to lock herself in her room every night; the halls were quiet like a morning spent watching a sunrise instead of an evening lost in a snowstorm. She started to find herself enjoying the sun on her face instead of dreading the need to go back inside, and slowly (ever so slowly) she was starting to fill back out again, fitting into her mother’s old dresses instead of the ones Lady Briarwood had specially tailored for her slimmer figure once Cassandra had lost the baby fat on her bones.

Meals became easier to get down, and the cooks made such lovely desserts that she found herself finishing off full plates of scones and cookies when they were brought up to her. And when the Slayer’s Cake, a business pursuit in lieu of Vox Machina’s usual pursuits, got started up, she quite happily offered to taste any sweets they brought her, making sure they were “up to par”. Percival thought it amusing that she liked the bear claws more than the “profiderolos”, but she had always preferred heartier fare to lighter pastries with cream and excessive sugar.

(Ludwig had thought her crazy once, when she had declined the strawberry pie he’d requested from the cooks for his birthday dessert on account of it being “too sweet”. He’d told their parents that she was obviously possessed by some demon, but Cassandra remembered her mother laughing and shaking her head.

Johanna had said something to Ludwig as well, something about the tastes of de Rolo women, but the words were lost to time, and Cassandra had never felt a strong enough need or desire to remember them.)

But, as all good things did, it seemed like Vox Machina’s rest period was coming to an end, first with the Trickfoots coming to visit, then Taryon being taken back home, spurring a surprise trip to Wildmount.

And they only stayed one night until they were travelling to Ank’harel, on the complete opposite side of the world.

“It’s almost like old times,” she muttered, not bothering to keep her voice down when Percival came into her study to talk.

Percy, to his credit, didn’t seem offended, and instead hummed in agreement.  

“One of our friends came to us with a proposition,” Percy explained, though Cassandra finally knew him well enough to catch the hesitation in his voice.

“Is this a real friend?” she asked dryly, taking a sip of the tea Trish had brought her. “Or  are they more of a Seeker Asum character?”

Percy blinked, face tightening, but didn’t respond to the barb like she had expected.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t expected to hit the nail on the head.

“Do I have to be worried, brother?” she asked after a moment of silence. Ignorance had caused only more trouble while the Conclave was around, regardless of what Percy had told her to the contrary, and she would really rather know what was going on around her city.

“You shouldn’t have to be, no.”

“Well, of course I shouldn’t have to be – it’s my city!” she exclaimed.

Cassandra took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but it wasn’t quite enough.

“Whitestone is in no immediate danger,” Percy said, and a cursory search of his face told her that he, at the very least, believed his own words.

“Oh, not immediate, thank goodness,” she snipped, lowering her cup hard enough that it rattled in the saucer. “I’ll just wait for the trouble to come then, while you all seek it out.”

“Cassandra-“

“Tell me I’m wrong,” she shot back, which shut him up.

And, after a moment: “I’m waiting, Percy…”

She felt like Lady Briarwood, waiting for one of the captured townsfollk to answer her questions, but Cassandra tried not to think about that.

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a sigh, “Though I suppose there’s nothing I can do to dissuade you from whatever ridiculous and dangerous shenanigans you’ll be off to next.”

“No, there isn’t,” he said, and well, that was that.

“Well, I thank you for letting me know, at the very least. Please inform me of any updates, if you can. Is there anyone who I should contact so you’re not scrabbling to find them when you return?”

“Anyone who has worked on the ziggurat, or really anyone we trust,” Percy said, as if he didn’t know trust was in such low supply for such a high demand. “Allura, Eskil… And anyone they have worked with on the problem. It’s giving me a bad feeling.”

“And a mysterious temple under our city with a potentially lethal siphon hasn’t been worrisome over the past year, brother? Good to know that your priorities are in order.” It wouldn’t be much trouble to send a message to Allura and ask her to contact Eskil – the Sending Stones certainly made that easier.

“Indeed,” Percy said dryly, though his eyes sparkled, and stood a bit straighter.

“Indeed,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do my best, and let you know the results when you next return, shall I?”

“That would be wonderful, yes.”

“Then if you would leave me to the rest of my work, I would thank you very much.”

“I’ll do that.”

As he closed the door behind him, Cassandra sighed and shook her head, brushing some hair out of her face and behind her ears. If she’d said it once, she’d said it a hundred times. Vox Machina would be the death of them all.

It’s absurdly late the next evening when Percival rushes into her office, the rest of Vox Machina behind him, but Cassandra is just getting started on her nightly tea after a long day of getting Eskil Ryndarien set up in the castle once again. The man could certainly be a pain in the arse when he wanted to be.

But Percy doesn’t calm down when he sits down across from her, and when he produces the flask and Vex’ahlia asks about the ziggurat and the rest of Vox Machina leave… Well, she knows something is not good.

So she adds a splash of the whiskey to her tea and listens through his stuttered explanations about the new ziggurat and about the people they found there.

But then he pauses, and not for dramatic effect, but for concern and fear and a hundred other emotions that play across his face even as she tries to sort him out.

“…their leader was Delilah Briarwood.”

Cassandra’s mind goes horribly, painfully blank. Except for the name. The name is emblazoned on the forefront of her mind in bold script, in flashing color too ostentatious to ignore (as if she could have forgotten).

Delilah.

She feels her whole body tense and then relax, and almost imagines herself crumpling to the ground under the sheer weight of the revelation he just dropped on her.

Fuck.

The teacup crashes to the ground instead of her, and she feels the heat of freshly-brewed tea through her boots, which draws her back to reality.

“…some plane of existence. But some form of her, whether it’s undead or otherwise… We’ll need to put it down again.”

“Yes, we do,” Cassandra says, though the words feel hollow in her mouth and her tongue feels like lead and she feels the nails of her hands digging sharply into the meat of her palms-

“I wanted you to hear it from me. There will be no running this time.”

“No running,” she echoes, and while her gaze hasn’t moved, she sees him before her in the snow-covered forest, the blue of his coat disappearing into the trees as red and white consume her vision.

“Not from me,” he says, with the sincerity of his experience weighing heavy on his shoulder, like Julius had always done when making a promise.

Gods the tiniest sliver of her wants to hug him for that, but her skin has already started to creep at the old memories lurking just beneath the surface, like they’re crawling up her bones to seep inside her and cover her mouth and hold her head to the side so her neck is free for the taking.

But Cassandra pulls herself back, because godsdamnit she is a de Rolo.

“You’ll take care of her?” she asks, her fists clenching spasmodically at her sides, and she raises her eyes to his.

“This is the end of her,” he says, and she knows it is a promise, or at least as much as he can promise. “I will be there to see it.”

Her head shakes before she can stop it, before she can stop that devotion to that woman from welling up in her chest.

“She’s escaped death once already, who knows how many times before?” her mouth says, playing advocate for the demons lurking in her mind, but she recovers, pushing past them as her fingernails dig deep enough into her palm to cause pinpricks of pain. “You have to end it.”

And he tries to assure her – there is no doubt that he tries, but it’s not enough, because it has never been enough, and even with everything that Vox Machina is, with all their power – having slain dragons and the darkest of demons…

“Shatter the soul, whatever it takes… End her, brother.”

She wants to blink away the tears that are starting to well in her eyes, but it’s getting to be too much – the crawling of her skin, the dryness of her throat, the tightness of her collar, the cold running through her veins-

“I know,” he says.

“I shall,” he says.

And she knows he will try, but Cassandra also knows promises, and she knows family, and she knows that trying is sometimes not enough. Her hand stretches out to take the flask, the amber liquid unfamiliar, but strong, and has a sudden, violent urge to laugh at how Vesper would have reprimanded her for drinking any sort of alcohol.

Cassandra remembers having a glass of wine at every meal with Lord and Lady Briarwood, and so she knocks back a swig as quickly as she can manage, the sharp burn down her throat temporarily drowning out the rest of her senses and bringing her to a place of blessed oblivion.

“I’m sorry,” he says, drawing her back to the present.

Cassandra has never had enough alcohol to forget what had happened while she was drinking it, but she has a sudden urge to drown her sorrows in drink, so that she might wake up the next morning with a headache, yes, but without the memory of this, this mind-numbing ache in her chest that seems to tear through her from throat to knees. Of a name whose title still haunts her mind and her home.

Lady Delilah,

Lady Cassandra.

She hands the flask back to him before she can’t control herself any longer, and as she takes in a deep breath of air, she feels the prickling on her skin intensify, like so many insects burrowing deep into her flesh past skin and bone and blood to the heart of her.

“I need a moment. Go, please,” she bids him, but he’s Percy and he just stands there and has the absolute gall to say that they will once again be looked up to, that they will need to be strong, that he has faith that she can be, and it turns out that those words are her limit.

She realizes this as her stomach rebels against the alcohol and she takes a shuddering breath, swallowing, trying to hold it back in lieu of decorum and her pride.

Percy has faith.

Cannot disappoint him.

Don’t let them see it.

You’re supposed to be strong.

But he finally gets it and he leaves and she’s standing there, hands trembling, collar choking her, even the unforgiving constriction of her dress restricting her, and she feels a convulsion race through her, doubling her over, hands hitting her chair. A second comes soon after, and while nothing comes up, it brings tears to her eyes, hot and fast.

She fumbles for some bowl, some vase, but she’s never been one for decorative pieces.

On the third she sees the whiskey again, and it burns even more on the way back up.

(There’s a moment where she’s glad she was too busy to have more than a light meal for dinner.)

Ears ringing and tears streaming, arms weak and legs already giving out beneath her, she fumbles in her pocket for a handkerchief, for any sort of cloth, but just as she finds it, fingers groping for the swatch of fabric, the smell hits her nose. She stiffens, hoping she can hold it back, but after only a moment she gags, retching again, and she lets what little liquid that’s left in her stomach splatter onto the floor.

Pushing herself up, Cassandra gasps for breath and a trail of cool saliva swings back to hit her chin. She snaps her mouth shut, shaking out the handkerchief, patting her face dry.

Cassandra feels proper for all of about two seconds, but then, legs trembling, she finds herself on the floor, leaning against the side of her desk as she simultaneously tries to understand why and tries not to think about it.

She can remember the feel of the blade in her hands, the weight of Delilah’s body on it as she struck the woman through her chest.

She can remember the almost orgasmic rush of joy when she saw the necromancer’s limbs disappear into the acid, her face melting away.

She remembers Delilah’s voice crooning to her from the side of her bed, a couple weeks after Percy’s escape, when she’d retired early from dinner with the excuse of not feeling well.

(“Oh, don’t worry dearest, I know you miss your family right now, but perhaps, with time, Sylas and I can be your new family, your new parents. How does that sound?”)

She remembers the anger she felt at the words, fierce and fiery in her chest.

She remembers bursting into tears that nearly made her sick, and Delilah petting her hair affectionately, always brushing that stray lock out of her face.

Cassandra recoils from the phantom touch and slams her head into the desk behind her, a blinding explosion of pain chasing away the memories. She bites back a cry – Trish was taking a well-deserved night off, but with Vox Machina in the castle she could never be sure who was listening.

“Fuck,” she grits out, and once she verbally paves the way the rest of her anger tries to follow. “Fuck fuck fucking shit son of a- uh!”

She slams her fist behind her into the desk and instantly regrets the pain that shoots through her wrist. Gasping for breath, blinking hard, Cassandra collects herself for a moment, but realizes just how little of her there is left to collect.

Cassandra gasps out a laugh that quickly turns into a stifled sob, but despite the whirlwind of the last few moments she already feels like her head is hollow, like a lake in her skull has run out and there’s only mud and muck left, quickly drying to dust.

Her mind shifts to priorities. Number one of which, according to Percival, is the ziggurat. Increased guards, increased personage… She has already garnered aid from Eskil, recruited him and his associates to study the siphon over the ziggurat some more, and she’d made contact with Allura as well, but she had said her place on the council was keeping her busy.

Knowing Vox Machina, they would be gone come morning, and then it would be herself, Eskil Ryndarien, some arcanists, the staff, and the Pale Guard in the castle.

The guard hadn’t been enough the last time, her brain reminds her, oh so helpfully.

Allura had told her specifically, “Call for me if there’s an emergency”.

The only question left is if such a thing really categorizes as such.

(An evil necromancer is back from the dead. There is trouble on the way, yet again. Does it qualify? Is it bad enough to ask for help?)

Cassandra hates what her life has become, that those are the sorts of questions she needs to ask herself.  

She makes her decision and stands, pushing herself to her feet, then steadies herself on her desk when black rushes across her vision. Almost feeling faint, she pushes away distant memories of life being sucked from her throat in lieu of the mission at hand.

First, clean up.

Second, call Allura.

Getting linens that she doesn’t mind soiling is little trouble, and Cassandra is thankful for the way the stone floor under her knees distracts her from the way bile wants to creep back up her throat. The broken china is buried underneath scrap papers in a rubbish bin, the liquids are soaked up, the tile is scrubbed clear. But all too soon she’s done, and apart from the acidic smell that lingers, none would know of her lapse in decorum.

She cannot disappoint. She must be strong.

Cassandra makes a quick stop in her bedroom to brush through her unkempt hair, then goes to the kitchen to retrieve another cup of tea – herbal, with motherwort and vervain, with a decent helping of honey.

Using the servants’ stairs so she is less likely to be interrupted (and, indeed, she meets no one along the way), Cassandra arrives at her study. Realizing just how late the hour is, however, she can’t help but wonder if the message to Allura should wait until the morning.

She feels sharp pinpricks of tarnished memories on her neck, and the murmur of honeyed words in her ears.

Cassandra takes another sip of her tea and sits down to plan her message.

Allura. Things have progressed faster than Vox Machina anticipated. You are needed posthaste. Please, whenever you are able, come to Whitestone.

Don’t worry about rushing

Not much has changed but

We need someone…

Eventually she gives up and accepts a shorter message, feeling ridiculous at the number of times she reads it through. She takes another sip of her tea when she’s finished, fishing the Sending Stone from her drawer and turning it in her hand for a moment, before concentrating and casting the spell.

There’s a moment of silence after she finishes speaking, Cassandra’s mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion, but after another moment, a drowsy Alura responds-

“I suspect they got back safely then. Don’t worry, Cassandra, Kima and I will take care of things on our end. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Cassandra feels her eyes tear up for a moment. She then reassures herself and dabs at her cheek with her sleeve. Stowing the stone away once more, she takes another sip of her tea, the amber liquid clear and dark, the herbs already having their intended effect as her eyelids start to grow heavy.

And while it doesn’t take long for her to end up in bed, once she’s there her thoughts have trouble taking their rest. Shadows loom around her like they haven’t in over a year, and the spring wind against the window feels like a foreboding presence, ever looming.

Finally, after almost an hour of waiting, of tensing up just as she’s about to fall into sleep and bouncing back awake, she rises and moves to her wardrobe, rummaging through the drawers at the bottom to find the doll from her youth that her mother had made in her likeness.

Cassandra stares at herself in stuffed form, carefully embroidered eyes and a neatly sewn dress faded from years of lack of care. She traces the stitches and tries to remember her mother sewing – the careful hesitations, the clean needlework done thread by thread, stitch by stich.

She feels a different kind of overwhelmed for a moment and cradles the doll to her chest as she attempts to bite back the heat behind her eyes, but there is something about being alone in one’s room that allows sadness to flow freely, and Cassandra knows that all too well.

Tears soak her pillow when she lays her head down once again, but she finally drifts off as she holds the doll close, fingers eventually stilling against its hair, fine as her own, as her breathing calms in the early early hours of the morning.

[thunderheadfred]

Red Streak [1.3]

Chapter 01: Shakedowns [Part 3 of 4. Revised June 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane SSV Normandy 2183 CE

After tossing violently through an hour and change of restless sleep, Shepard still managed to wake forty-five minutes early for the morning sitrep. Knowing this would be her first chance to make a formal impression on Kryik, she took advantage of the extra time. She wouldn’t let him catch her out of uniform again.

Quick, dark smudges across the brow to harden her eyes. Thin tinted moisturizer from the commissary to hide the most damning of her freckles. Hair yanked back into an un-flirtatious knot. Last, she slid into something more comfortable. A mismatched set of mercenary armor in her family colors. Bloody crimson, with a crude Red Squad insignia burned into the right pauldron to make it official.

Hardly standard issue, but reg-breaking cosmetic dalliances had become synonymous with Shepard’s name. In Basic, she’d nearly been held back for showing up on the yellow footprints with red nails. When she’d refused to scrub off the paint, Sargeant Velasquez had ordered Demon Squad to rip Shepard out of bed at First Call and “scrape the vanity away by force.”

Shepard’s fingers had bled for two days and she’d felt naked for the rest of training, but by the end of it, she was Squad Leader.

She flexed her hand as she pulled an armored glove over those nails, red once more. A flawless, solid laquer that matched the Ariake suit by careful design. A gift from a krogan battlemaster, the armor was Shepard’s sturdiest and most trusted disguise, and the color made her feel at home. She’d been practically glued into it ever since earning N7.

Two years previous, on a nowhere backwater called Akuze, Shepard - along with her Lieutenant and a scrappy platoon of Alliance Marines - had rescued a clan of krogan mercenaries from a nest of berserking thresher maws. Shepard had been sent to Akuze to hunt down an unrelated terrorist cell, but unconventional teamwork had its payoffs. Thanks to the krogan, casualties had been minimal and the rewards had been numerous. The surviving Marines had been given first dibs on a veritable dragon’s horde of mercenary loot. Meanwhile, Shepard delivered a top-secret bio-weapons base to Hackett himself, earning her final Interplanetary Combatives commendation.

To avoid looking like an overeager suck-up, Shepard dawdled away her last few minutes before the sitrep. Looking for an easy out, she took a detour by way of Normandy’s cockpit, where she paused to shoot the breeze with the talkative new pilot, Moreau.

He was glowing over a successful FTL jump straight into orbit, and being none too humble about it.

“Nothing but net, Commander,” he purred to his console, knocking his cap over his eyes.

No wonder everybody called him Joker. She liked him, but unless he really did turn out to be God’s gift to aviation, he’d need a bit of knuckle rapping to keep that cheek under control. For now, she let it slide.

At precisely 0700, Shepard walked into the comm room. Anderson and Kryik were already present, deep in conversation. Despite the careful timing, she felt like she was late for her first day of school.

Anderson acknowledged her first.

“Good, you’re here. Nihlus tells me that the two of you finally got a chance to talk.” He allowed a knowing pause, paternal on the verge of condescending, holding two warring children by the ears.

“Yes sir,” she said, biting her tongue.

She inclined her head towards the Spectre, whose eyes seemed to be burning brighter than usual this morning, probably to hide an urge to gloat. He’d also donned armor carefully chosen to look big, cool, and menacing, except he had Spectre-grade equipment and therefore automatic seniority. Red and black, and parts that glowed. She pursed her lips, beaten at her own game.

Breaking the awkward silence, Anderson said, “Sorry to keep you out of the loop, Shepard, but my orders came down all the way from the top. Strictly need to know. Nihlus will work directly with you and Lieutenant Alenko to extract the Beacon, he needs to see you in action. Speaking of which.”

He’d given her the opening, and she took it.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out to be the Council’s poster girl. The Spectres?”

“Humanity needs this, Shepard. It’s time for us to step up and join the community, and you’re our best shot. You’ll take the job, kid.” He looked at Kryik, then back to Shepard, and sighed good naturedly. “If they’ll have you, anyway.”

Moreau’s voice sliced into the comm room with thinly disguised anxiety. Over the comm, they heard a tense, “Captain, we’ve got a problem.”

Shepard barely knew the pilot, but his sudden rigidity struck her right in the gut.

Anderson’s face sank. “What’s wrong, Joker?”

“Transmission from Eden Prime sir. You better see this.”

“Onscreen.”

Joker forwarded the transmission from the bridge. Filling the large vid screen on the aft wall, the feed was pure chaos. Marines running back and forth, bullets flying, comms jamming only to break through half garbled. Bits and pieces, all bad. Attack, massive casualties, immediate evac.

Shepard moved closer, straining to see, to hear. Had pirates found the beacon? Like Kryik had predicted, rogue batarians fishing for a hefty ransom?

Then she heard it, a sound that rattled her from stem to stern.

A deep, mechanical crush of noise, too multitudinous to stomach. It augured deep into her brain, settling behind her eyes, burning. Onscreen, above the scrambling Marines and the smoke of the firefight, a titanic shape emerged from the sky. It was incomprehensible: a stormy hand reaching out of the clouds, like God’s vengeful fist groping for souls.

The screen turned to static.

“Everything cuts out after that,” the pilot said, talking fast. “No comm traffic at all. Just goes dead. There's nothing.”

There was a brief pause, then Anderson showed his usual mettle.

“Take us in, Joker. Fast and quiet. This mission just got a lot more complicated.”

Kryik stepped forward, his eyes flicking between Shepard, Anderson, and the dead air of the vid screen.

“We stick to the plan,” he said. Decisively, he turned to Shepard. “A small strike team is still our best chance. Tell Alenko to suit up, then grab your gear and meet me in the cargo hold. We’ll be going in hot. Follow my lead.”

She looked to Anderson, who nodded his approval and added, “Looks like there’s going to be a lot of injured people down there, but helping survivors is a secondary objective. The Beacon is your top priority.”

Shepard didn’t like that ultimatum very much, but she didn’t like the look of that giant hand dropping out of the sky, either. She pinged Alenko with her omni-tool.

Going in hot, LT. Civilians down. I need you in medic mode.

Aye-aye Ma ’am. Wilco on extra band-aids. Ready in 5.

Kryik tried to rush out, but she blocked him with a forearm, her fist thumping crudely into the keel of his armor.

“Hold it, Blasto. I realize a Spectre’s whole M.O. is doing things alone, but if we’re going to maintain a three-man strike team against a completely unpredictable force, we need to hammer out that team part. Right now. Alenko says you carry enough firepower to wipe out a whole platoon. I need to know how you operate, so I can pack enough changes of underwear for whatever vacation you have in mind.”

Anderson’s hand smacked the back of her skull as he rushed to take his place in the CIC. Fair.

Kryik shrugged her off and loped to the elevator, but she dogged his heels and slid in next to him. As they descended to the engineering deck, she stepped a few inches into his personal bubble, willing it to burst. Finally, he relented.

“I like to mix and match.” He said, knocking his arm against the heavy armor covering her shoulder. He’d noticed her outfit, then. How nice. “Mid-range. Aggressive tactics. Lots of firepower. Shotguns, mostly. Pistols on occasion. I can deploy a tactical cloak, some hand-to-hand tricks if the enemy gets too close.”

He pushed the information onto Shepard’s plate and waited to see what she’d do with it, Spectre bullshit chafing more than ever. She didn’t have the patience for it. Not after that S.O.S.

“That thing we saw attacking the colony is 100% bogey,” she said, rounding on him. “Don’t try any one-man-army vanguard theatrics on my squad. We stick together. Alenko is light on weaponry, but you’ll need his tech and biotics to shore you up if you step into fire.”

“Is that so,” he said. Voice flat, revealing nothing. “And what will you be doing in all this, Commander?”

“Never met a gun I didn’t like,” she said, meaning it. “And I never leave home without a grenade launcher.” Meaning that too. “I’ll pack a full load-out and keep you covered.”

The elevator opened into the cargo bay, where Alenko was strapping on the last of his emergency response gear. Once the elevator was secured, the top lip of the loading ramp cracked open. As the air seal broke with a rush of atmosphere, Shepard’s ears popped, and she flexed her jaw to compensate. She squinted into the pinkish sunrise of Eden Prime, secured her helmet, then turned to Kryik.

“Shall we?” she said, voice barely carrying over the sound of impending landfall.

“After you."

[wnnbdarklord]

Dear Crossovering 2017 Creator!

First off, thank you for writing for me! I'm sure I'll love whatever you come up with! Also, my letter grew a bit long, so have a table of contents, with the rest under the cut :D

Table of Contents:

General Stuff

General Likes

General Dislikes

Request #1

Leverage/MCU

Request #2

Thor/ASoIaF

Request #3

His Dark Materials/Avatar the Last Airbender/Pacific Rim

Request #4

Stand Still Stay Silent/Thor

Request #5

Better Off Ted/Discworld/Andromeda/LOTR/Brooklyn Nine Nine/Dragon Age/Jurassic Park

The Adventure Zone/Andromeda

The Adventure Zone/Better Off Ted

The Adventure Zone/Brooklyn Nine Nine

The Adventure Zone/Discworld

The Adventure Zone/Dragon Age

The Adventure Zone/Jurassic Park

The Adventure Zone/Lord of the Rings

Request #6

Timeless/Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries/Brooklyn Nine-Nine/Elementary/American Gods/Gargoyles

Request #7

American Gods/Star Trek: the Next Generation

Star Trek TNG/ASoIaF

American Gods/Thor

Request #8

Jurassic Park/Parks and Recreation

Jurassic Park/Better Off Ted

General stuff:

General Likes:

Polyamory, gen, het, slash, femslash, families of choice, competence, BAMF female characters, angst, hurt/comfort, teamfic, pretty much all the tropes especially if there is a twist, worldbuilding, redemption, for want of a nail AUs, time travel, werewolves, etc. Smut is fine, but I’d prefer that the focus is not on that. Crossover specific likes: Canon events changing as a consequence of the two canons meeting is always a favorite. Especially if it makes one canon's events unexpectedly a whole lot better or a whole lot worse. Unexpected character interactions and parallels. Note on the characters: All the characters I've listed are merely preferences. I'd like it if they were included or the focus, but if you're inspired by a prompt only with a different character than one listed, then go for it! Pretty much the only exception to this is Loki. He's a favorite character of mine and if the canon includes him, I'd strongly prefer for him to be the focal point from that canon. Which is one reason I've been listing the Thor movie instead of the MCU as a whole, even though I'm familiar with all of the characters and movies there (and I'm more partial to the rest of the characters in the Thor movies as well). In general, I prefer Loki to be morally grey or conflicted or redeemable and not outright villainous. Which I’m sure is fairly obvious from not only my requests, but my blog and fics as well. I'd be happy to see a fic with other MCU characters too, as long as Loki is included. I feel like the prompt ideas I've included will make it fairly obvious when I'd be fine with a more ensemble setting and when I'd like a tighter focus, so don't stress!

General Dislikes:

I’m not a great fan of permanent character death, rape, torture porn, underage stuff, infidelity, humiliation, character bashing, ship bashing, no powers AUs, love triangles, fake married/dating, incest, power imbalances in relationships, hate sex, hardcore kinks, necrophilia, PWP, abuse Tragic and sad endings are also not my thing. They can be bittersweet, but I prefer something hopeful. Crossover specific dislikes: I'm not really a fan of fusions, except for the one exception in my requests. I find that too many of them just take the characters from one fandom and put them in another canon without bothering to consider how events might change because of that. Or how the characters themselves might be changed by the differences in their circumstances. Characters from different canons being related or being the same person. Extolling the virtues of one canon over the other or making one canon blatantly superior. Introductory infodumps. While I do want the characters to get to know one another, I have read so many crossovers that just have the characters spilling their entire life story seconds after meeting each other. Not a fan of that, honestly. Note on Star Trek TNG: I don't have anything against any of the ST TNG ships, but a persistent failing of mine is an utter inability to ship characters from my childhood fandoms. So gen or canon relationships from this canon only, please! This also applies to Gargoyles. Note on MCU: My NOTPs are Steve/Tony, Steve/Bucky, Thor/Loki. DNW: Civil War shenanigans or any bashing of characters related to any team.

Request #1:

Leverage/MCU:

Either a crossover where the MCU characters are like the Leverage team (maybe in a dark AU where Hydra takes over) or a fusion where they are the Leverage team. Loki and Thor as a grifter and hitter, respectively. Tony as the ultimate hacker, with a minor in grifting and masterminding. Natasha being the ultimate grifter. Bonus points if they keep their MCU abilities and powers. Maybe they get lost in the universe and have to resort to this to survive. Even in a fusion setting, I'd love for the original Leverage characters to pop up, since I am very fond of them.

Request #2:

Thor/ASoIaF:

I'd love anything where Loki falls to Westeros after letting go. How does he change the course of events there, for better or worse? Or maybe he's exiled there by Odin for whatever reason before the events of the Thor movie? Also Loki shapeshifting into a wolf or dragon would be super cool. Super specific prompt that I'd give my soul for to be filled and would please my id greatly but is also super optional: Loki discovers Westeros during the time of Theon Stark the Hungry Wolf and is super into him and they marry and have kids. Odin discovers this and decides that if Loki likes wolves so much, he should be one and turns him into a direwolf. Centuries pass and Loki is actually the direwolf found in the snow by the Starks, but only wounded and they take him in. Loki eventually learns how to break Odin's curse and works on helping his descendants with the politics of the kingdom. This might be a good resource if you decide to go with this: http://towerofthehand.com/blog/2016/08/16-politics-of-seven-kingdoms-2/index.html Another prompt that includes more MCU characters: Stark Tower gets dropped into the North in Westeros, still fully functional and years before the events of the books. Winter is coming, so how do Tony Stark and the Avengers prepare for it and what do they change? Does Tony decide to kickstart the industrial revolution?

Request #3:

His Dark Materials/Avatar the Last Airbender/Pacific Rim:

These fandoms usually show up as fusions with other fandoms. Let's switch that up a little and make them fusions with each other. Doesn't have to be a 3 way crossover, but that would be interesting to see! Who is drift compatible in the Avatar verse? What daemons do the Jaeger pilots have? Or are their souls more like polar bears' armors? Is Lyra the Avatar? I don't have anything more specific for this, I'm just really interested in the worldbuilding of these fusions and how it would change or not change the characters.

Request #4:

Stand Still Stay Silent/Thor:

The world of SSSS is heavily influenced by Norse mythology, even featuring magic powered by the gods. How would the crew react if they came face to face with the gods? Would Loki and Thor help or hinder? How would they react to a Midgard almost devoid of human life? Would Thor travel around the world to see if he could find more survivors? Would they be forbidden to interfere directly? I bet Loki would totally take that as a challenge to interfere indirectly and try to lead the crew to answers. Or just to cause a bit of chaos.

Request #5:

Note: I know this request mostly focuses on crossing over TAZ with the rest, but I'd be happy to see any combo of fandoms in this one. I just got prompt exhaustion and couldn't think of many prompts for the rest. I love all of these canons and I'd be pretty happy with anything, serious or silly. Consider it a free for all! Edit: I came back and added in some general prompts for more combinations.

Better Off Ted/Discworld/Andromeda/LOTR/Brooklyn Nine Nine/Dragon Age/Jurassic Park

Better Off Ted/Discworld - Veridian Dynamics certainly feels like a company that would fit into the Discworld. Perhaps something that translates the company onto the Disc? Does Vetinari compell Ted to work with him to keep the company from destroying everything? Does Veridian Dynamics hire Ponder Stibbins to work for them?

Actually, pretty much any prompt of mine with Better Off Ted is going to focus on the whackiness Veridian Dynamics will bring to the crossover. PR campaign for the Dark Lord Sauron? Crazy experiments caused the Blight? They take over the Free Trade Alliance? It's all good :D

Dragon Age/LOTR - I'd love something where Dragon Age characters find themselves on Arda. Sure, there's another apocalypse on, but at least these monsters don't turn you into them/kill you with diseases! And there's a giant lack of obvious magic in LOTR - fireballs for all! Super bonus points if demons just aren't a thing DA mages have to worry about on Arda, so Anders comes up with some scheme to move the mages that want it to Arda. Gondor gets a boost in firepower in exchange for land to settle; common folk are all over their healing magic; the dwarves are really keen on the enchanting and crafting these newcomes do; the elves on both sides get the surprise of their lives. So many possibilities!

Discworld/LOTR - anything off of this post, I mean it: http://berry-muffin.tumblr.com/post/160194985845/thebibliosphere-teapotdragon-zephyrantha

B99/any - like with Better Off Ted, I just want all the shenannigans with the team and the crossed over fandom.

Andromeda/verses on Earth - super bonus points for time travel stuff where Harper absolutely refuses to let Earth become what it is in his time. Not helped at all by the canonical indifference to Earth from the rest of the crew.

Andromeda/fantasy verses - the Andromeda crashes on those planets for whatever reason. Great. Now what? Bonus points for technomagic and/or out-of-depth questing. (I would also lol forever if Dylan Hunt contracted the Blight and died)

Discworld/Any - Granny Weatherwax Borrowing all the creatures! T-rex? No problem. Oliphant? Even easier.

The Adventure Zone/Andromeda:

The Andromeda verse is one the crew of the Starblaster visits during the Stolen Century. Either the Spirit of the Abyss is the Hunger, gets absorbed by it or they fight it out to mutual destruction/stalemate. Would love to see something where the Andromeda and Starblazer crews interact. Magnus vs Tyr, Taako and Harper snarking off at each other, Merle and Trance getting all philosophical, Lup and Bekka bonding over being badasses, anything would be great! DNW: Dylan Hunt and most of the clusterfuck that was the show after season 2

The Adventure Zone/Better Off Ted:

Instead of John, Merle meets Veronica in the Parley Parlour.

The Adventure Zone/Brooklyn Nine Nine:

Oh goodness, just anything with the teams interacting. Gina and Taako, Magnus and Terry, Merle and Captain Holt, Boyle and Taako discussing cooking? The possibilities are endless. For extra fun, maybe the 99 ends up in the D&D verse instead of vice versa.

The Adventure Zone/Discworld:

So many interesting possibilities! I'm just going to toss out suggestions, see what sticks: Kravitz meets Death. Taako vs Dibbler. Magnus and Carrot. Magnus and the Nac Mac Feegle! Taako being out magicked by the Lancre witches through headology, Merle getting evangelism tips from Omnians… Basically, I love both of these verses dearly and would be delighted by any characters in them interacting.

The Adventure Zone/Dragon Age:

The tonal clash between these two verses would be interesting, I think. Perhaps the Adventure Zone people could bring some much needed levity into Thedas? Some ideas: A Mabari imprints on Magnus. Taako wrecks a Circle. Merle shows the Chantry how clericing is really done. Or if you want to go for something darker, one of the Starblaster crew contracts the Blight and is Not Okay Mentally when the reset happens. Maybe the Darkspawn try to corrupt the Light of Creation?

The Adventure Zone/Jurassic Park:

Magnus adopts a baby velociraptor. Taako studies a T-rex because he wants to be one.

The Adventure Zone/LOTR:

So I know there's a pretty good canon explanation for why the TAZ guys can resist the power of the Grand Relics, but I also really really want a fic where they are just really really nonchalant about resisting the One Ring. Perhaps something that deals with the wildly different magic mechanics between the verses? Gandalf may be a demigod, but Taako can just lob fireballs at will. Or maybe Merle decides to actually heal people for once and Boromir doesn't die. note: I'd totally accept a crossover with the Hobbit as well, because the thought of the TAZ guys facing off an actual dragon is hilarious to me

Request #6:

Timeless/Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries/Brooklyn Nine-Nine/Elementary/American Gods/Gargoyles:

I'd find pretty much any combination of these fandoms interesting. Extra bonus points for crossing over fandoms without scifi/fantasy elements with those that do have that and focusing on the characters discovering the magical and strange. How would the mythologies of American Gods and Gargoyles intersect? Would the gods gain more power once the world finds out about the Gargoyles? Does Xanatos aim to become a god? I'd love for Jake to be a total fanboy of Miss Fisher and just be delighted when he somehow ends up in her time and meets her. Bring along the entire 99! Because of NYPD politics, Sherlock and Joan end up working with the 99 for a time. Sherlock and Joan meet Miss Fisher, how do they get along? Timeless and Gargoyles have diametrically opposed rules for time travel - in Timeless the timeline can change, in Gargoyles it cannot - it'd be interesting to go with Timeless rules for Gargoyles or vice versa. What can the Timeless crew change about the Gargoyles timeline? How do they react to the existence of magic and inhuman creatures? I'm totally stealing this bit from BBC's Sherlock, but can't bring myself to care very much: As Joan and Sherlock's fame grows and something happens to them ala Reichenbach, messages of 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' start appearing. But in the world of American Gods, belief is power. How does that change the crime solving duo? Do they become something more?

Request #7:

American Gods/Star Trek: the Next Generation:

Humanity takes to the stars and of course their gods follow. Of course, humans are not the only ones with gods.

Star Trek TNG/ASoIaF:

The Enterprise crashes on Westeros after travelling through a tear in space. How do they survive on this impossible planet? The Prime Directive is almost impossible to uphold in this case. Do they try? What makes them decide to help?

American Gods/Thor:

After the Avengers, the world was suddenly reminded that the gods are very real and that they exist. The power of belief can affect people Realms away. How are Thor and Loki changed by this? Multiple versions of gods can exist - does the American Gods Thor come back to life? Do the original gods find themselves with a lot more power than they'd expected? It doesn't have to be limited to the Norse pantheon after all, because I would imagine the people of the MCU thinking that if the Norse gods are real, then the others might be as well. Do the Avengers become gods?

Request #8:

Jurassic Park/Parks and Recreation:

The Parks and Recs crew is put in charge of maintaining the Jurassic Park.

Jurassic Park/Better off Ted:

Veridian Dynamics buys the Jurassic Park.