#this monk truly is an inspiration for us all

[journeythroughjourneytothewest]

[blurredpurplemint]

Ooo can u do jealous bi han scenario/one shot?

i didn’t have inspiration at first but it suddenly came to me, like, ok why not. was supposed to be short but is kinda more than i anticipated (0.4k words). lot of dialogue cuz i suck at description lol. not proof read (will do it later, maybe, i’m tired, its 3 am, i have school, i’m talking way too much, gn)

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you've been tasked with organizing the cleaning tools and supplies as it's your responsibility to take care of cleaning the backyard today.

while absorbed in the task, you failed to notice someone entering the room.

“so this where you were…”

caught off guard, you dropped what you were holding.

“by the gods! you- wait. how did you know i was there?”

“unimportant.”

you sighed as you picked up what you had dropped.

“i swear you almost scared me to death…”

“death may be imminent for you depending on your answer to my oncoming question.”

you paused, reflecting on his words with closed eyes and furrowed brows, then shook your head.

“ok… what have i done?”

you replied as you continued with your task.

“don't assume I overlooked your actions with that foolish monk.”

you quickly turned around to gauge his expression, and you could discern his anger beneath the mask. the least you could said was that you were doomed.

“who? raiden?”

“the other foolish monk.”

in an instant, everything made sense in your thoughts.

“ohhhh… kung lao! haha…”

“is this amusing to you?”

“it's just that... i don't understand what you're accusing me of.”

“quit feigning ignorance; you know exactly what I'm referring to.”

you huffed.

“if only!”

you pivoted entirely to confront him.

“why not be more direct about what I've done wrong? it could help us make progress. just saying.”

“what was the reason for him holding you earlier?”

“ohhhh…”

you recalled the events from this morning.

“explain.”

you waved your hand at him, dispelling his concerns.

“it was nothing; i just lightly twisted my ankle, that's all.”

“what?”

he nearly rushed to you, but you halted him in his tracks.

“bi-han, i said "lightly." it was truly nothing, just a slight twinge of pain. that's why kung lao got a bit carried away and assisted me.”

he huffed, swiftly raising his chin in disdain.

“he didn't just assist; he practically enveloped you.”

“if you had witnessed the entire scene, you would have observed me leaping out of his arms.”

“i should consider tearing his arms off for this.”

“huuum, sexy~”

“alright, I'm done dealing with your attitude.”

you began to laugh at his irritated expression, prompting a deadly glare from him. he then turned away to leave.

“oh come on! don't give me the cold shoulder now!”

you spoke amid laughter.

he halted, slowly pivoting to cast upon you the most exasperated expression.

“oop- no pun intended!”

his sigh was so deep and prolonged it caused the room temperature to plummet by at least five degrees which elicited a shiver from you.

you shrugged apologetically, wearing a sorry smile, and approached him slowly. softly chuckling, you ran your hand over his torso, eliciting an eye roll of annoyance from him due to your feeble attempts to soothe his nerves. he subtly made sure you weren't limping.

“don't be upset with me. you're well aware that I have no interest in him.”

he didn't respond but glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow, prompting a smile from you. you couldn't resist the urge to tease him.

“you are incredibly cute when jealousy surfaces, grandmaster.”

“i am not.”

“oh yes, you are!”

you spoke as you gently tapped his torso.

“whatever you stance, i’ll leave you to it. i have duties to fulfill.”

he said as he walked past you, intentionally bumping into you to clear his way. you let out a small whine in response to his abruptness.

“bi-han! we are not done here!”

“in my perspective, we are.”

you sighed, crossing your arms. you knew he was thickheaded before, but now he's just downright childish.

you watched him leave, but he suddenly halted in his tracks and spoke without turning back.

“i will meet you tonight… we’ll dine out.”

you gasped in excitement, placing your hand over your mouth to suppress your laughter.

“ow… you big softie <3”

he grunted and shook his head, immediately regretting his statement.

[sorceresssundries]

Gale sketches by @orangekittyenergy <3

CHAPTER 2 (of 2)

Link to chapter 1 here

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Set post-game where Tav did not feature in Gale's troubles in Baldur's Gate. A whip-cracking, fedora wearing, Indiana Jones inspired mini-adventure - where Professor Dekarios is tempted out of the classroom, and on yet another perilous quest.

Warnings: THIS IS NSFW! *blares smut horn* Plot with smut. But, you have been warned.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Just a bit of a fun based on the Gale as Indiana comparisons. Also, he looks like a young Harrison Ford, how could I not? This is not the stuff I'm used to writing! But it's been enjoyable and nice to try something new.

Elltavia’s senses were prickling again, whatever was buried in the remains of this temple was beating like a rotted heart, pulsing decay and corruption outwards through the forest. They were close to the cause, she could feel it. She just hoped whatever was the cause of the infection didn’t get to her before she could save her home.

Along the far wall of the room were four murals that stood out in a line. The once clean, carved scenes were eroded and time-beaten, but just about decipherable. 

The four images depicted monks in various states of torment. The first monk strained under the weight of a massive rock, muscles taut with effort as it pressed down upon him. The second monk, blood dripping from his hand and ears, was feverishly inscribing words upon a scroll, clearly in agony. In the third panel, a monk appeared submerged and drowning beneath a cascade of shimmering gold, his features twisted and bloated. 

The final tableau showed two figures, stripped bare, entwined in an act that should have been pleasurable. However, their expressions were ambiguous, dancing somewhere between ecstasy and agony. The knife suspended ominously above their heads left little doubt about their fate.

Underneath each carving was a word in an ancient language, which Gale was able to translate. 

STRENGTH. KNOWLEDGE. WEALTH. LUST

Hovering above the scenes of suffering was a much larger image of a monk in resplendent robes, his hands covering his eyes as he sat before a closed book as if to shield himself from an unbearable truth. The book sat on a carved pedestal, and shimmered with golden light. The lines of the monk’s robes flowed gracefully, dancing in a breeze that no longer existed. The expression of the hidden face was left to the imagination, but Gale’s imagination didn’t have to work very hard. The monk was shielding himself from whatever was written in that book. 

Gale‘s chest suddenly went tight, as though the orb that had once branded his skin and burned an aching, insatiable hunger within him was back. The ghost of a pain which would never truly leave him.  He couldn’t help but see himself in the image, as though it was a mocking interpretation of his great folly. 

Unlike this monk, when he was tempted, he had not been strong enough to cover his eyes. He had suffered the same torment as the other tortured souls. It wouldn't have seemed out of place to see a carving of a wizard with a dark orb branded upon his chest, bent over and crippled by unending pain and sharp regret. His hand once again absentmindedly moved to his chest.

“What is in that book, do you think?” Elltavia was started to get concerned by the faraway look in Gale’s eyes. She had not known him long, but she knew it was unlike him to be this quiet. Whether in a classroom, or on an adventure - he was a born teacher. He had the engaging, adaptable, patient, rare soul of someone who had collected knowledge like precious treasure, and all he seemed to ever want to do is share it. He was not made to be silent, and it worried her.

"Fortune and glory, Kidd." Gale continued to read the fragile inscriptions—warnings, death sentences, holy scriptures, and gold-tinted promises of doom for the unworthy. Yet, for those with the resolve to grasp it, an ultimate blessing. "Fortune and glory."

After more studying, Gale pressed his hand against an indent in the wall, and a rumbling echoed around them.

"I think we've found where the ritual would take place," he murmured.

The carved, ancient pedestal holding the book shown in the mural rose from the ground in the room’s centre, a half-decayed corpse resting against it, its mouldering hand still holding the book open, as if in a final, desperate grasp for whatever it contained. 

"That book should not be open." Gale could feel the power emanating from it, warping and stretching the weave of magic around it. This was no ordinary spellcraft; it was far beyond his capabilities. Once, he would have been desperate to grasp it, to drink the forbidden magic until it drowned him. A long time ago, It almost had.

The source of the blight was finally clear. The book had to be closed, or the rot would continue to spread, cursing the forest and luring as many as it could to this place. The book was a lure, a power to draw people here to be tested, indifferent to the fate it bestowed upon them. The burning ache of the sussur, which had been simmering under his skin, began to flare and bubble. His magic tingled in his bones, demanding to be used, to cast protection over him. His mind was flooded with the weave, and the agony of not being able to use it was overwhelming.

“Close the book!” He hissed through clenched teeth, doubled over in pain. 

Elltavia approached the book tentatively, with ranger’s care. The closer she got, the more Gale’s words became a far-away song, trailing distantly away from the fluttering pages. Each turn caused a soft rustle; leaves whispering secrets in a forest grove. It was the sound of her home, and it was calling to her. The book cast a gentle glow, soft as yellow moonlight. And with every intake of breath, she could swear the scent of pine mingled with the earthy perfume of petrichor sank deep, holding and soothing her. 

Surely within its pages lay the answers they were looking for. It called out to her with a sweetness that stirred her soul, a siren's song promising sanctuary. The glowing page was right there in front of her, she just had to read the inscription…

I am the lure in darkest gloom, A whispered hope, a flick'ring bloom. In greed-drenched shade, I bide my time, Thy greatest urge will feed my shrine.

What am I? A tempter, sly, In every soul, doth ever lie. Resist the call for but one hour, Prevail, and gain the worthy’s power

“Elltavia, NO!” 

And she burned.

It felt as though tendrils of flame were invading her through her nose, her mouth, sinking through her skin, licking the very bones of her. It was tugging at her, calling to her, scalding all the way through her. She was a woman aflame, and there was only one way to extinguish the fire. She needed Gale, and she needed him now. 

He rushed over, and managed to close the book - but not before catching a glimpse of the inscription within. As soon as he had read the words, the book and pedestal began to descend ominously back into the ground.

“Gale..” Elltavia’s voice was suddenly breathy and skin clammy as Gale grabbed hold of her and started to check her over. 

“It’s the test, Kidd.” He appraised her pupils to see that they were blown wide, her breathing heavy. The spell was undeniably affecting her, not just emotionally but physically too. Her skin glimmered with a light sheen of sweat. Were her lips fuller, even more inviting than before? Surely it was a trick of the light? The urge to press his own against them, to run his tongue along her bottom lip, was all-consuming.

He pulled away abruptly, almost harshly, startled by the intensity of his desire. He had anticipated challenges to his resolve, but not in this way. He had mentally prepared himself for his ambition, his hubris, his self-worth to be cut out and dissected in front of him, to once again have to pull himself back from the brink of his unending desperation to prove himself. It was his tragic flaw, it always would be. He had not prepared himself for this.

The atmosphere crackled with a potent mix of heat and something deeper, something elemental. Lust. It hung thick in the air, dense and suffocating. It wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, seeping into the marrow of his bones. He was suddenly starving, and she was ripe and ready to be savoured. He remembered when she had bitten the apple from his desk. How her eyes had met his as she bit down, how the juice had trailed down from the side of her lips to her chin…

“It sai..said.” Elltavia had her arms wrapped around herself, as though trying to hold herself back, and Gale desperately wanted to unfurl them and spread her out on the ground like a map. There was priceless treasure to be discovered. He ached from not touching her.

“It said something about lure.. Temptation..” Her breathing was heavy and lust-soaked. “Resist for an hour.. And we’ll pass the test.”

An hour of this, he thought bleakly, he did not know how he would stop himself from devouring her.

“I have rope” she panted “In my pack. You should tie me up.”

His response to that was a low, feral groan which seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “I don’t think bondage will help me out here, Kidd.”

Struggling against this overwhelming desire was futile; he was a weary child resisting the pull of the receding tide, or a final leaf clinging to its branch before the onslaught of autumn's chill. He was no match for her; he was a raft-bound castaway - and she was the oncoming tempest. 

Together they melted into a pool of tongue and hands, rushed and heavy. There was no softness or words of delicacy, no declarations or promises of what would come after. There was only urgency. There was only her and him and now. At the meet of their lips and the ripping of her shirt underneath his strong, tanned hands there was a rumbling noise which ripped around them and caused loose stone and dust to fall from the ceiling. The shock of it managed to distract them long enough to prise themselves away from each other. The second they pulled apart, the noise stopped. 

“An earthquake?” He questioned through rough panting, speaking out loud rather than to her in particular. He quickly moved to one of the far walls and ran his hands over it, feeling for any structural damage and waiting silently for an aftershock.

As soon as his fingers stroked the grooves in the stone, Elltavia was behind him. She pushed him against the wall, and pressed herself against his back, standing on her tiptoes to lick and bite at the nape of his neck. 

“Who cares?” She whined. Her hands made their way up the back of his shirt and she dragged her nails down his skin. The sound he made was sinful, and as soon as her tongue licked at the sweat trailing down his spine, the rumbling started again. This time they were both knocked backwards by the wall Gale was pressed against, as it started to straighten out and move towards them. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, on his back. He could barely think straight, all his focus and all his blood was currently gathered in hard desperation between his legs. Urging to be sank into the ranger panting on the floor next to him. 

She swung her leg round to mount herself on top of him, pinning him to the ground under her hips.

“Wait” he hissed through gritted teeth. She managed to stop herself from sucking on his bottom lip long enough to hear what he wanted to say, she desperately hoped it would be something filthy. Her restraint in her longing for his mouth didn’t stop her grinding her hips down against him. She gasped at how hard he was underneath her. To her shock, he grabbed her upper arms and managed, with difficulty, to push her off him and he sprang up and backed away from her with his arms out. 

“Listen, Kidd, when we give into our temptation, to our urge, it sets off the trap.” 

She tried to take in what he was saying, and she used her sharp, predator’s focus to survey the room. She had not previously noticed the heavy layer of dust which had settled on the holy ground. Bonedust. The bleak realisation sank in. This was all that was left of others who had been tested. The book was an incendiary, designed to spark simmering desire into a roaring flame. Resist it, or be crushed.

“I am your temptation?” She rasped. “Gale, of all the fucking things to desire?!” 

“You’re one to talk!” He snapped. The cord that felt wrapped around him was tightening in frustration. This woman was literally going to be the death of him. This stubborn, infuriating, smart-ass was how he was going to die. He wanted to take his whip out and coil the leather around her… 

“Fuck!” He said, turning around so he could no longer see her pouring out of her sweaty, ripped shirt. 

“The temptation is each other… right?” She breathed.

“Obviously.” 

“Then… then we can still.. Touch ourselves, can’t we?”

It was like pouring oil on a bonfire, the thought of her unbound and lost in her own touch, bringing herself to the brink of pleasure and plunging over a cliff of her own making was unbearable. He wanted to palm himself right there in front of her just from the thought of it. 

She didn’t wait for him to answer, her hand quickly found its way into her underwear and to where she needed it most. She was a writhing mess on the floor - but the walls did not move. 

He sank and crawled to her, and positioned himself over her, resting his forearms on the ground next to her shoulders, clenching his fists in frustration and caging her beneath him, but not touching her. He allowed one of his knees to push her thigh upwards, splaying her further apart. But he did not give her any further contact. He just held himself over her as she moaned and bucked her hips into her own hand. His gaze was as desperate and intense as any touch could be. Beads of sweat traced paths down his temple, falling onto her skin like liquid fire. Every inch of her felt alive, every nerve alight with anticipation. As he lowered his head, his breath danced against her neck, tantalisingly close yet never touching. His lips hovered, a mere whisper away, and she teetered on the edge of combustion.

“I’ve wanted you since you flashed your thigh at my desk.” His voice was almost unrecognisable, dark as sin itself. The lilt of his words caressing her skin. “I wanted to be that fruit on your tongue. The flesh on your lips.”  She gasped, but could not respond. Her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined how he would taste as he spilled herself down her throat in ecstasy. 

“Don’t you dare stop looking at me.” He growled.

Her eyes flashed open again to meet his, and his command would have sent her spiralling, but something was wrong. 

“I can’t.. It won’t…” She removed her hand in desperation, and it took every ounce of resilience he had not to grab hold of her wrist and drag her lust-soaked fingers between his teeth and roll his tongue against them. “It just makes it worse.” 

The walls were still at each end of the room, they had barely moved. The two of them were safe, maybe there was time to…

“Fuck it.” He said, and he lifted her robe and tore her underwear off her. Gods, the scent of her. He wanted to spend a whole day with his nose buried at the source of her divine, needy musk.

 He did not have a whole day, he had minutes at most. 

“Is this what you want?” He asked, shaking with the resolve it took to show her the decency she deserved.

“No” She responded, but before he could even attempt to pull himself away from her, she wrapped her powerful warrior's thighs around him and flipped them so he was beneath her. 

“This is what I want.” 

She turned round above him so her cunt was hovering over his face, just out of reach. This position gave her the chance to unbuckle his belt and finally get her hands where she wanted them. There was no time to undress him, to peel him out of his tight trousers the way she wanted to. This would have to do. He moaned beneath her as she finally freed him from his confinement, and without grace or hesitation - took the whole of him into her mouth. 

In response, he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her down against his lips. Locking her tight against him, he groaned and pushed his tongue into her. The taste of her was technicolour.  He worked as quickly as he could to relieve the tight, coiling need which was squeezing the life out of them, but not quickly enough. 

The walls had pushed towards them quicker than he anticipated, and it wasn’t long until he felt the hard force of it suddenly pressing against his feet. 

Elltavia must have become aware at the same time he did, because her mouth was suddenly off him and she rolled away, completely disentangling them and stopping the movement of the walls. 

They were both slick with sweat, and with each other. 

“Get over to the far end. Now.” He snapped at her. The narrowing of the walls had now turned the large, circular room into a slim corridor. It would only take a couple more metres of movement and they would be crushed to dust. 

“Do not bark orders at me!” She retorted with a hiss. “That is really not helping the situation!” She retreated as far away as him as possible, pressed her thighs together, and put her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear his heavy, laboured breathing.

The hour may as well have been a day. They faced away from each other, breaths heavy and skin slick with sweat. They had both tried to cover themselves back up with what little material had not been ripped. At this moment the threat of being crushed by the weight of an ancient temple wall seemed inconsequential compared to the overwhelming intensity of this moment. Gale thought that If this were to be his end, he would welcome it with open arms. At one point in his life, he had resigned himself to the fact he would die alone at the order of a pitiless Goddess. What a privilege it would be then, to die in the arms of a merciful one. In the arms of Elltavia Kidd’Alka. 

He thought of her as he faced the wall. He thought of her in every way except the one which had pushed its way to the front of his mind and coursed its way through his blood. He thought of her fierce loyalty to her home, how she had travelled far and risked her life. How she was blunt and forthcoming and how she refused to dull any of her bladed wit. He thought of the shimmering seasons of her eyes, of how long it must take her to braid her hair, how she has the wisdom of an elder and the bright laugh of a child. He thought of how much he wanted her to live, and how much he wanted to see her again. And suddenly, the urge simmered - it was there, but it no longer suffocated him. He could breathe. His lust had been mixed with something else, and the sweet combination had strengthened his resolve. He could do this. 

Elltavia thought of the forest. Of her home. Of the children who fell out of trees and laughed in the dirt that caught them. Of the people who had spent their lives telling stories and weaving tradition through play and prayer. Of the mothers who had fletched arrows with babes at their breast. She remembered the first time she summoned an animal, and how the swift spring bird had flitted between branches and sunbeams to settle upon her shoulder. She remembered the poor autumn fox which she had found dead from the spreading curse. She would beat this. She would return home, and she would show Gale the place they had saved together. Her blood cooled, her resolve steeled. She could do this. 

An hour passed in silence. The two of them focused and determined. Two people who ached enough to not touch each other. And it worked.

Suddenly, it was as though they had emerged from holding their breath in ice water. The walls rumbled and slowly retreated back to their stations. 

“Is it over?” Elltavia spoke quietly, too nervous to turn round or remove her hands from her ears. Her answer came when a strong, comforting hand placed itself on her shoulder and she didn’t burn from the touch. She let Gale turn her, and take the hands from her ears to kiss them. 

“Not for me'' He said gently, stroking her cheek and tucking a braid behind her ear.  Before he could kiss her properly, without magical kindling feeding his flame for her, the book reappeared. It fluttered once more, and settled on its final page.

“Is it safe?”

“I think so” He said, more calmly than he felt. “We passed the test.”

He made his way to where the soft glow welcomed him to read, and spoke the book’s final inscription aloud…

Behold, two souls of spirit true Live long - old magic rests in you. 

“If this is some bullshit about how the power was inside us all along, I'm going to be really annoyed.” Elltavia was still breathless, but relieved.

“Maybe…” He said thoughtfully, but from the book and the murals and tenacity of the ancient magic, Gale didn’t believe that was the case. There must be the mentioned ‘reward’ somewhere… But, he was not interested. Godly gifts he could live without. There were other things more worthy of his attention now. Other desires to fulfill. 

“What do we do about the book?” she asked, closing it and running her finger over the cover. “Will you take it to the Academy?”

“No. This belongs here. It’s as much a part of the forest as you are.” He turned to look at her, her bright eyes fierce, “You know what lies here now, you can tell your community - you can spread the story and let them become guardians of magic and knowledge. And this can stay here… closed.”

He bent down and kissed her, soft but purposeful. Full of the promise of things to come.

“You know, Kidd. Before you dropped by my lecture I was reading about this amulet…”

She entwined her fingers with his as they made their way back into the lush greenery of her vibrant forest home. “Sounds interesting professor, I take it the next adventure would also require you to bring along your whip?” 

“Oh, most definitely. I could give you another demonstration now if you’d like?”

Her bright laugh echoed through the trees as they walked into the distance, unaware of the ancient gift bestowed upon them by the temple in the forest. Perhaps one day, Gale would notice his hair wasn't greying as quickly, or that the furrows between his eyes no longer deepened despite the endless days of laughter shared with Elltavia. Maybe then, they would realise they had been chosen as timeless protectors: the wizard destined to safeguard the magic he once sought to consume, and the ranger courageous enough to save her homeland.

[garrison-of-leaves]

Return of the Mammalians and Side Order are Blueprints for the Future of Splatoon

Y’know, I think we might be looking at ROTM the wrong way. Sure, it has a pretty shitty story, but I’ve noticed a lot of similarities to Mario and Zelda.

A common issue i have with most 3D Mario games is that the level design often suffers from “island syndrome”, where the locations of each respective world feel isolated and closed off from one another, causing problems with forming a truly cohesive and interconnected world. Splatoon’s single player campaigns in particular are also quite notorious for this, with Octo Valley and Canyon being sought out as the worst offenders.

With that being said, I’ve noticed a trend with the most recent installments of both series that seem to be making an honest effort to break away from the problem, or at least present a more conventional solution.

The overworld of Alterna is designed similarly to Lake Lapcat from Bowser’s Fury, with the whole terrain consisting of different islands that are all interconnected together. What’s most interesting about both these locations is that, rather than the main setting being broken up into sections, the starting player is essentially dropped into an environment where everything is easily accessible in one place, and transportation between one area to the next does not require any off-screen transition.

Something else I’ve noticed about the overworld of Alterna is how the placement of Kettles seems to be inspired by the Shrines from Breath of the Wild; both games essentially have them sprawled all over the place, and entering one typically brings the player into a room where they must solve puzzles or go head to head with a powerful foe. In Octo Expansion, the player being granted Mem Cakes is not unlike that of the Spirit Orbs that the Monks give you (ironic since Monolith Soft worked on both Octo Expansion and BOTW).

Return of the Mammalians seems to evolve this similarity even further by invoking a higher sense of exploration and hazards into the overworld of the mode’s main setting. The terrain is blocked by Fuzzy Ooze, of which will harm the player if they touch it and requires them to target a huge glowing Fuzzball to clean up the area; such a hazard is not at all too far off from the Malice that is scattered all throughout Hyrule Kingdom in BOTW, of which dissipates when a glowing eyeball is destroyed. Additionally, successfully completing a Kettle in ROTM decrypts text from the Alterna Logs. Completing every Kettle rewards the player with one final log, similar to how the Monks reward you with the Hero of the Wild set for finding all the Shrines.

Perhaps the most significant similarity, however, is the fact that both Bowser’s Fury and ROTM introduce whole new gameplay mechanics but still relies on using recycled assets. For the first time in the series, the player’s Hero Gear can be upgraded through a Skill Tree of different abilities, replacing the usual mechanic of upgrading individual weapons. Upgrade points are typically found by surveying each area with your ink, and the game even acknowledges the many trinkets you find buried in the snow for your efforts.

The same rules can even be applied to the Side Order, what with the Palettes functioning as Skill Trees that can be continuously upgraded through the use of color chips that provide many different abilities as you ascend the Spire. There’s even permanent upgrades you can unlock through Marina’s hacks that can affect the difficulty of your runs. I would even argue that replaying the game with different palettes might also have been a new idea for story progression that was being considered.

Kirby is a series that also borrows some queues from Bowser’s Fury. The Magolor Epilogue campaign in particular introduces new things like upgradable skills, maze-like maps and added emphasis towards Magolor as a character in his own standalone adventure. The latest Zelda game, Echoes of Wisdom, might even be onto something with how it makes Zelda the playable character for the first time.

Anyways, the point I’m trying to make is that ROTM and Side Order aren’t really campaigns. They’re technical demonstrations. A possible glimpse into what Nintendo might have planned for Splatoon 4 in the future.

What if the level design will lean more towards areas of exploration, where we’ll have more of an opportunity to freely roam around environments that feel grounded like Alterna and inking turf feels rewarding? What if the new abilities that we can add onto our skill tree impact the experience of the adventure in a meaningful way? What if story progression is tied to clearing certain conditions and characters, encouraging multiple play throughs and ensuring there’s always something for the player to do?

What if Splatoon takes all of the attributes that it borrows from Mario and Zelda and embraces them?

Like, there’s so much new stuff they threw at us in Splatoon 3, and it lines up perfectly with what Nintendo’s been doing with big names like Mario, Zelda and Kirby lately.

Bowser’s Fury opens the door to new gameplay possibilities by incorporating a new navigation system, Echoes of Wisdom gives us the chance to finally play as Zelda, and Magolor Epilogue further evolves the possibilities of other characters taking the spotlight in their own adventures.

And now, Splatoon 3 is continuing to evolve its single player offerings with fresh new features that set the groundwork for bigger and better things to come.

[blackaquokat]

WELL, thanks to some motivation from @again-please , I'm finally going to make a formal post about my Astarion-mancer in Baldur's Gate 3!

Meet my Tav! (Whether I'm sticking with Tav or not is still up in the air, but I'm keeping it for now until I come up with a name that feels right.)

Tav used to run errands for her grifter parents, often providing a distraction while they pulled off a heist, and as she grew older, it became the other way around, because she was swift and nimble. So if she wasn't looking after her siblings, she was basically a breadwinner.

That is, until the day her parents and her attempted to run a con on a monastery by the Gray Harbor known as the Cradle of the Depths and when she was caught, her parents left her behind in their escape. The monks there did not press charges against her, but when she went back to her family's hideout, it was cleared out. Thus began a long period of time on the streets before the monks from the Cradle of the Depths found her again and decided to take her into their care.

Within the teachings of the Cradle of Depths and their embrace of the ocean and their reverence for the Dragon Turtle, she became one of their best students, a natural at combat and dexterity. However, that ability to find inner peace has always escaped her. She has a lot of anger and loneliness she's contending with and it's affected how she's made relationships over the years.

Something that's often remarked upon with Tav is how strangely celestial she looks, despite her infernal heritage. With night-blue skin and silver freckles and pitch black eyes that sometimes look like they contain flecks of starlight, it's made her an oddity even among the strangest of tieflings. Another thing that makes her wonder if the people who raised and abandoned her were truly her birth parents--

By the time the Nautoloid comes along and she's met the party, Tav is able to keep up at least a Pretense of seeming like a normal, at peace monk, if it weren't for her ruthless ability to barter for cheaper prices while shopping and rapid willingness to throw a punch when kids are in danger. Plus her tendency to meditate in the nearest bodies of water whenever possible, as per her training. The water is one of the few places where she truly feels inner peace. But it's always fleeting.

Anyway, the most important quote for understanding my Tav is also the inspiration for a thus-far drafted fic title about her:

“My whole being calls for an act of violence, but I still use velvet gloves.” 

—Anaïs Nin

Hope you all like her! I'm always down to talk about her if you'd like to send an ask!

[wordlesslyjenneh]

Some thoughts on mind control

After reading @bettycrockersspoon latest chapter of the anthology, Devil’s Road (which you should go read right now!) it got me really thinking of the different types of mind control and manipulation we see in FFIV, and how their effectiveness reflects the type of person each victim is.

End game spoilers for Final Fantasy IV:

Starting with Kain, the first mind control reveal. Tellah’s use of Meteor temporarily weakens Golbez and interrupts his link to Kain, which suggests it’s a spell that Golbez maintains, at least passively if not actively. Although Kain admits he had at least autonomy while under Golbez’s control, it’s not defined how or how much.

When Cecil tells Kain that it wasn’t his fault because Kain was under Golbez’s spell, Kain tells Cecil, “But... a part of me inside was awake and yet... I just stood by and watched.” (GBA version) and then to Rosa, “Not all of what I did was because of Golbez's spell. I just wanted to keep you...to keep you by my side.” (DS version).

I believe Kain was tempted into his mind control by promises of finally defeating Cecil and proving to Rosa that Kain is the superior choice. He tells her, “…you'll see soon enough that I am superior to Cecil.” (Gba) and “I am more than Cecil will ever be. You'll see that soon enough.” and seems to think this will actually work.

Kain’s second round of mind control is less subtle; Golbez is actively pulling strings and directly controlling Kain, despite Kain’s attempt to resist. However, is he still tempted by what Golbez has to offer? If Kain brings Golbez the last Crystal, what more could Golbez dangle as bait? It’s interesting to ponder.

Now Yang, our second victim of mind influence. Did Yang truly have amnesia from the shipwreck and was convinced by Baron/Golbez to join? In the Baron Inn, Yang and other guards are being rowdy, and the villagers complain about their behavior, so much so that the innkeeper gives you a free night for taking care of them. That doesn’t seem like Yang’s character at all.

Yang claims he “remembers little” after Leviathan’s attack but my theory is that he has chosen not to remember. I think Golbez influenced his amnesia in a way that made Yang vulnerable to suggestion; it is easy to do something awful if someone with authority is telling you to do it. (See the Milgram Experiment for a real-life example).

Remembering his actions while working for Baron forces Yang to realize he is a man capable of darkness. I don’t think Golbez had any meaningful “control” over Yang in the same way he did Kain, but Yang wants to forget: losing all the monks to monsters at Mount Hobbs; the siege of Fabul and the horror of facing both Baron soldiers and monsters; and not being able to save Rydia from Leviathan. These are all Yang’s failures, and they must weigh heavily on him. Enough to embrace amnesia? Perhaps.

Finally, Golbez, who inspired all this rambling. What version of influence did Zemus have over Golbez? In the DS version during Golbez’s flashback, we see Zemus offering Theodor what he wants – to be rid of baby Cecil, who had just killed his beloved mother. Made vulnerable by his grief, Zemus encourages Theodor’s hatred of Cecil while belittling Theodor, and then gives him permission to abandon his brother. It bears some similarities to how Kain is controlled/influenced, having some control but being unable to stop themselves from doing the terrible acts.

However, Golbez does not seem to remember who he is, as Yang. FuSoYa commands Golbez, “You have to look deep inside yourself!  You have to realize who you really are!” (GBA) and then casts a spell. Does the spell make Golbez remember what he had forgotten, or did it interrupt Zemus’ influence enough for Golbez to remember on his own? The difference matters.

If the spell only brought back Golbez’s memories, that means Golbez interrupted/started resisting Zemus’ control once he remembered. Golbez continues to hear Zemus in his mind but chooses to ignore it as he and FuSoYa venture to Zemus’ prison at the core.

If the spell interrupts Zemus’ control, then Zemus was actively blocking memories and Golbez now remembers who he is because of that interruption. I think this is less likely because I don’t think FuSoYa has that kind of power to stop one of Zemus’ spells.

The descent into the core is dangerous, especially for those susceptible to darkness. When you first enter the Lunar Subterrane, Kain’s thought bubbles wonder, “This wave of hate—does it emanate from Zemus?” Edge also seems to sense something from Zemus (which could be a post in of itself!) but the others do not feel it.

How would have Golbez experienced the Lunar Subterrane? Would Zemus’ influence have been more intense because of Golbez’s inner darkness and how enmeshed Golbez and Zemus were? Did Golbez fight every step of the way to keep himself from falling under Zemus’ control again? I think so.

Ultimately, I think it’s a combination of both the desire to forget and Zemus’ corrupting influence encouraging him to hate that turned Theodor into Golbez. As a half Lunarian, Golbez is both more powerful than the average human, but also far more vulnerable to Zemus. Golbez chooses to hate and forget because it is easier than facing the truth of his childhood trauma: sometimes bad things just happen and there’s no one to blame.

All of this is to say I really want to give Golbez a big hug because I think he especially needs it. Again, go read BCS’ Devil’s Road! I read it in the morning and spent all day thinking about it, hence this ridiculous essay.

Thoughts? I’d love to hear them!

[fluffypotatey]

Alright, I feel like I gotta ask at this point: What is lmk about? I've picked up a few things? But I haven't actually picked up what the plot is, I don't think? So, uh, what's it about?

so to preface: lmk = Lego Monkie Kid and jttw = Journey to the West

it is a 2D animated show (originally animated by Flying Bark but LEGO switched to WildBrain for s5 and future seasons bc of deadline and union reasons) that is inspired by the infamous Chinese legend Journey to the West, which is a 4-5 volume story about a monk, Tang Sangzang, and his companions, recently redeemed demons, traveling to acquire sacred texts, the Tripitaka scrolls, and bringing them to Thunder Clap Mountain to the Buddha himself (which is where the monk Tang gets the nickname Tripitaka bc it’s the thing he is tasked with retrieving)

now, one of Tripitaka’s companions just so happen to one of the most famous characters of all time: Sun Wukong!!!!! He goes by many names….Handsome Monkey King, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Fiercest Fighting Buddha. this monkey is one of the most op characters ever and 7 times immortal with a horrible god complex (that he learns to manage while on the journey)

anyway

LMK is set about a millennium after jttw and our beloved main character, MK, is a huge Monkey King fan. MK is a delivery boy of a noodle ship own by a pig demon named Pigsy (who is totally not at all a descendant or reincarnated version of the pig demon Zhu Baije who’s nickname in the jttw was Pigsy) and gets his Monkey King legends via tv shows, video games, and his trusty surrogate father Tang, who is a scholar and totally not the reincarnated monk.

the show begins with MK accidentally finding himself in the middle of a sketchy scenario where two villains are attempting to pull Monkey King’s staff out of the mountain’s peak King Arthur style to free one of Monkey King’s foes in jttw and ex sworn brother: the Demon Bull King

this leads MK to stealing the staff from them and trying to return it to the Monkey King so the guy can save the day, but OH WAIT! turns out the Monkey King has chosen MK to be his successor which leads MK into a life of heroics and episodic villain of the week shenanigans—

BUT WHAT IS THIS?????? A TWIST IN THE WACKY HIJINKS???? THERE IS REAL PLOT?????

so, yeah, by the end of s1, lmk becomes a show that plays with the concept of fate and destiny and what roles do people truly play out in life and the obsession our lives seem fo have with wanting to box us in a narrative of precedents we no longer fit

animation s1-4 is sick af (s5 is good too, but Flying Bark def spoiled us ;-;) the character dynamics are so fun to pick apart, and the writing is really good for a show with only 10 episodes per season (which are only 10 minutes long) not counting the specials :D

so yeah. that’s LMK

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - Male OC/Gale (and some Shadowheart/Lae'zel which I mention because as of chapter sixteen there are more scenes of the two of them together than my main couple, but that's because I love me a slow burn)

Fluff, angst, kinda light whomp for Gale who is is listing in a medio woobie destroyer of worlds direction. There will eventually be some smut, but that's really not the focus.

Check it out on Ao3 from the beginning or jump into chapter sixteen with the link or below the cut.

“Huh,” was all Xan could muster in the seconds after Erakis vanished into the mushroom circle. Gale was gone. Erakis was gone. Elion had a hand over his mouth and was looking at the empty air in shock and fear.

Xan could remember experiencing the kind of panic that glistened on Elion’s face, a long time ago. He wasn’t sure if it was truly an emotion he’d grown out of, or if the bar for what inspired it had just ascended to be inaccessible. Even imminent death couldn’t make him feel that way any longer. It was nearly cute.

“Have you ever dealt with fey creatures like this before?” Elion didn’t appear to be taking much comfort in Xan’s placid demeanor, in any case. If anything, it seemed to agitate him, like he thought the old monk should be more concerned. Many people casually dismissed tieflings commonly black eyes as impossible to read. Or, perpetually sinister and aggressive. Xan had never had any difficulty reading tiefling faces. For example, Elion was upset, thinking that mere hours into their journey, he’d lost his wizard, and their guide.

For his own part, Xan wasn’t so sure. It still took him a few pensive moments to realize why he felt that way, and still a few more minutes to explain it to his young companion. “Fey creatures are often vilified as unnatural perversions. Prettier variants of the same type of evil as devils and the undead.”

“But you don’t think so?” Elion sounded doubtful, his glossy black gaze bounced between the empty road behind them to the empty mushroom circle half-hidden in the grass, silently pleading for their erstwhile companions to return.

“I don’t think it’s a given, and I don’t think anything that appears in nature is truly unnatural. Maybe if I was a Devil and corruption tasted sweet to me, I’d feel differently. But to my senses, the ‘unnatural’ of the fey is just another flavor of magic, which is just a certain manifestation of energy.” Xan laid a long, many-ringed hand onto the grass, near enough to feel the energy he was talking about, but without the risk of making physical contact with the mushrooms. “Just another piece of the collective whole of our planet and those beyond, in a perpetually braiding and unbraiding multiverse. I don’t believe fey are inherently malevolent. Though, in truth, that is mainly because they don’t need to be. A mere disposition towards mischievous deeds is harmful enough.” For that matter, good intentions did nothing to mitigate harm, when it came down to it. “Fey have their own rules, and wants, that we struggle to understand. The resulting clashes are almost always violent, but they don’t have to be.”

“How does any of that help us?” Elion did little to bury his frustration with Xan’s musings. And in fairness, Can had to acknowledge that his thoughts were probably more appropriate for tutelage than practical application. “How can this time be different?” Elion’s tone was soft again, he was hopeful that Xan had a good idea of what to do, and perhaps hearing him speak on the subject broadly conveyed some confidence and calm that he needed.

And Xan did have an idea of what to do. Calling it good would be generous. “Do you have anything in your pack you can part with? Trinkets, food? Anything like that?”

Riffling through his pack, Elion still had the anxious, unfocused look of someone who wasn’t sure what they were doing was a good use of time. Xan was comfortable letting him work through it on his own, and instead, picked at one of the smallest mushrooms on the outside of the circle. He plucked it, feeling a twinge of defensive magic, but nothing unmanageable. Flicking his tongue against the mushroom, he tasted the bland, unremarkable fungus with just a hint of rot and fey magic. The non-hostile kind. Erakis probably hadn’t been vaporized when he stumbled into it. In all likelihood, he’d just been flung somewhere else. Inconvenienced, but unharmed. Xan closed his eyes and took in everything his senses could tell him about the scene. It wasn’t all an illusion, which was a good sign. There was a curious sort of sleepiness to quiet, that could also be a good thing.

“I have a few pieces of infernal scrap metal and a muffin.”

“That’ll do,” Xan took the pocketknife from his pack and cut off one of the beads on the end of a braid around the back, then gestured for Elion to hand over his offerings as well.

“What are we doing?” Elion’s anxiety was not soothed as he watched Xan arrange the items on the ground in front of the circle.

Xan scooted back a few feet and pulled Elion down to sit next to him on the ground. “Just an informal demonstration of good will.”

“…Do we have good will?” Elion sounded a little disappointed.

“We certainly can ,” Xan gave a shrug that ended with his hands resting on his knees. “I don’t really go in for violence where it isn’t necessary.”

“I think it might be necessary,” Elion didn’t sound excited at the prospect. Xan wondered if he’d ever been in a real fight. Just looking at him, he’d guess that the boy had at least been roped into a couple of scraps in his youth. He was a tiefling, and possessed an unusually large stature, two things that probably attracted hostile attention in the wrong spaces.

“I don’t feel bloodlust or malevolent intent at work here,” Xan watched his words fail to reassure Elion, “separating us, but then just… leaving us, in an unaltered environment and state, is potentially offensive as a maneuver, but not when there’s no follow-through, and there hasn’t been, so far.”

“So, we just wait?”

Ideally, no.

Before Xan could try and respond to the query, however, a crow landed beside the offerings, inspecting them with a glittering eye before it snatched up the bit of infernal scrap and took off again. Almost the instant it flew away, a squirrel darted forward, took the muffin and scurried up a tree again without hardly a pivot in its movements, and finally, a tiny green pixie hiked its way forward from a grove of long leaves of grass and picked up the bead. Its glassy wings were twitching and anxious, but it didn’t try to fly until it had hefted the bead and satisfied itself that it wasn’t too heavy for safe take-off. She hovered in the air in front of them, jewel bright eyes the same pale green shade as her skin. “You can come to the wedding!” she declared in a voice as spindly as her little body. She zipped back towards the path in a looping motion that seemed designed to make sure they could see where she was going.

“Well, I know exactly what she shouldn’t do,” Elion sighed like a man condemned.

Xan wasn’t feeling much better about it, but it was something. “Let’s follow, see what we can learn,” he still wasn’t feeling anything in the way of ill intent on the horizon, but he knew far too much to think the situation was safe.

Elion though, was tense to the point of worry. 

Xan had long ago learned that an abundance of caution actually could be just as destructive as a lack of it, especially when you were the type of person for whom feeling cautious made you act like a jumpy reactive fool. “Try something with me, Elion,” Xan suggested in his calmest voice. “Can you put a hand on my back? Feel my heartbeat? It’s a little difficult while we’re walking, but I think those keen tiefling senses can handle it.”

Obediently, Elion did as he was asked.

“Alright, now focus on my breathing and try to match it, inhale when I do, exhale likewise. Don’t think about trying to spot the pixie, or where she’s leading us, I’ll handle that, you just focus on what you still have in your pocket and your pack and how it’s moving around as you do.” A simple exercise, and maybe unnecessary, but Xan had never found it to be so much of a distraction as to do any harm under normal conditions.

Not that the present conditions were normal.

They heard the music before they saw anything to hint at a world outside of the endless wilderness. Light, airy pipes with a soft drum accompaniment. In moments, the jaunty little tune was joined but the plucking of a lute. The voices followed, singing along with the band, or else chatting above the music. A shrill laugh broke through.

“There,” Elion saw the first signs of the wedding feast before Xan did. A tree was hung with bright purple silks. They followed this first marker to a second tree, and then a third. It seemed that they were making a crescent arc around level ground, and then suddenly, that ground fell away and they were looking into a beautiful clearing, filled with revelers, music, flowing wine and cheers of excitement.

Cheers for them, Xan realized.

This group had not been there, moments ago, Xan was sure, but following the silks had revealed them, and the wedding attendants raised their glasses in greeting at their arrival.

“Watching gods,” Elion muttered nervously, though he wore a smile and waved back at the raised goblets and the cheering crowd below.

The crowd was made up exclusively of the broadest variety of fey creatures that Xan had even seen.

Along with pixies, he could see sprites of various types and sizes, a clowder of calygraunts, and even a herd of dainty little hybsils. There were also larger humanoid varieties of fey, including dryads and what appeared to be a darkling.

Even as Xan was consulting the mental bestiary in his head, a satyr rushed towards him at a bound and excitedly put a goblet in his hand and planted a kiss on his cheek before rocketing back into the crowd on quick hooves. As unnerving as it was to be so surrounded by various fey with unknown motives, their excitement and shared attitude of easy celebration was infectious.

“Surely, this isn’t safe,” Elion remarked with no small amount of shock and dread as Xan downed the goblet given to him.

“Surely not,” Xan agreed, but he hadn’t smelled anything but wine in the glass, and felt that it could be just as perilous to spurn their host’s hospitality as it would be to accept it.

A goblet had appeared in Elion’s grasp as well, and from the confused expression on his face, Xan guessed that he was probably about as aware of how it came to be there as Xan was. With a long exhale, punctuated by a shrug, Elion took a drink as well. No sooner had his goblet emptied than he was accosted by three giggling quicklings, triplets, by the look of them. Xan had never had a pleasant encounter with quicklings before, so he cringed a little as the three of them worked together to pull Elion into the dancing, but at least for the moment, they seemed to have no overt mischief in mind, besides pressing the big tiefling into some only marginally consensual fun. Each of them were just a little over two feet tall, with long ears and vibrant violet skin and hair. Thoroughly amused with themselves, Xan watched them stack on top of each other’s shoulders with exceptional balance, so as the highest could look Elion in the eyes, as they gripped either lapel of his tunic.

Xan kept a close eye, but a familiar giggle from behind stole his attention just before the music started to pick up again and drowned out the sound. He whirled around to find Arabella seated on a mossy, jagged chair that appeared to be formed from the stump of a naturally felled tree. The trunk of the tree, also covered in moss and forest growth, merged into the forest floor to her right, and served as seating for several others, with their laps as still more seating for some of the smaller fey folk.

“Arabella?” Xan said reflexively, though there was no mistaking the old family friend.

She raised a glass to him, “friend of the bride.”

Of course she was. Xan felt himself relax a little. If Arabella was here, they couldn’t be very imperiled, could they? Still, he couldn’t entirely shake his anxiety, and sidled near her. “I’m concerned about the wizard. Do you know where he’s been taken?”

Arabella shrugged, “he can handle himself,” but underneath her serene demeanor, and flip delivery, he thought he could sense the smallest tightening of her mouth before she looked back into the swirling red contents of her goblet. “Eracbetha just wanted to speak with him. He’ll be along before the happy couple can couple.”

“He’s invited to the wedding as well?” Xan hoped that was what Arabella was saying, and that his little parley with the fey had in fact resulted in a viable plan to reunite with their missing companion. “What about our guide? Erakis?”

“Who?” Arabella frowned, “Oh—the brooding ranger who isn’t a very good ranger? On his way back. It’ll take some time, but Spottie only meant to delay him, not harm him.”

“Spottie?”

Arabella motioned across the throng of fey towards a dark figure that lingered on the border, a little apart from the other creatures. Xan’s blood felt icy when he made out the subtle outline of the creature in shadow. “Spottie, the warlock.”

A blink dog. This one looked old and was covered with thick, curly, dark fur, which was a little unusual to Xan’s perception. He’d always seen them with fine golden fur. “Warlock?” Blink dogs were beasts. Unusual for a beast to tact on a warlock’s pact, but, not entirely unheard of, Xan realized as he delved into his own memory on the subject.

“He wanted to communicate with other races,” Arabella gossiped to him. “Not to mention the defensive perks. Eracbetha obliged him.”

Something about the way Arabella cut herself off and the sly look she gave Xan gave him pause. In the moment their eyes held, he thought through what she was saying and reached a somewhat troubling conclusion. “Eracbetha,” be she hag or some other powerful fey creature, “collects warlocks? Is that why she wants to speak with Gale?”

Arabella tapped her nose subtly and took another gulp of wine.

Xan frowned, looking at his empty goblet and wishing the wine he’d already finished off was a little stronger. He didn’t know Gale well, but thought he could perceive enough strength of will and enough raw power in the wizard that he could resist such advances. However, he had not yet seen anything to indicate the strength of character that would be required. It might be a little unfair to label all wizards as being hungry for power, but it was also not an entirely unearned reputation. And, given everything he’d just been through, it was likely that Gale was feeling particularly vulnerable. Would Eracbetha succeed in taking advantage of that?

Amongst the whirling bodies, Elion was now somehow dancing with three more quicklings who were also trying to stack themselves up to match his height. He was a good sport about it, helped along by the fact that he seemed to have forgotten his nerves for the moment.

“How disastrous would it be to try and find Gale and interfere—”

Arabella was shaking her head. “Stay. Enjoy the wedding. Gale will make his own choice, and you’ll not be delayed more than a few hours, which you need for your guide to find you again.”

Reassured a little, Xan admitted to himself that Arabella was probably correct. If Gale wanted to become a warlock, what could either of them do about it? Perhaps, given his dire circumstances, it would even be helpful.

But, then he spied the blink dog, still roaming the borders of the wedding at a distance, accepting a strip of meat that someone had picked up from their plate and thrown to him. He wasn’t sure why, but he had the distinct feeling that Spottie was not wholly satisfied with his lot. Few warlocks ever were.

[cienie-isengardu]

Liu Kang must've been tripping balls if his best solution to Shang Tsung is to shove him into a life of poverty. Liu can claim he wants to reform them but his actions are contradicting his words as it seems like he more or less gave up on Shang and Quan Chi the moment they were born and made their lives terrible as a way to prevent their rise to power which didn't work at all.

Like just put Shang in the White Lotus and raise him yourself so you can keep an eye on him. Shao Khan got a better shot yet Quan Chi is slaving in the mines and Shang was struggling to survive.

The most weird thing about this situation is the very idea that Shang Tsung's new incarnation is bound to be evil and Liu Kang must either reform him to prevent that or let him live in conditions that limit his opportunity to grow, let alone learn magic - instead of assumption that people are born with a clean state as evilness is not inherited trait. Double so, as Liu Kang is said to craft destiny of each person, so why not just make his ex-enemy a fundamental good person or at least temper the traits that originally lead Shang Tsung to evil path in the first place, the way Fire Lord tempered with Rain's godly origin to make him less arrogant or switched Kuai Liang's power from ice to fire. He did make differences to people's original characterization and backstories (Shang Tsung himself was a human born in Earthrealm previously) and we are supposed to believe Shang Tsung couldn't be molded into a good person without putting him into harsh living conditions or couldn’t be placed in loving family to temper his behavior and surround him with people helping him to stay on right track?

At the same time, Liu Kang says Black Dragons are bad guys in all timelines and from previous game we know Kronika used Shang Tsung as a backup if she needed energy from collected souls, so I wonder if there are some rules or difficulties that Liu Kang couldn’t overcome and some characters are in fact by nature aligned with evilness? Thus his attempts to keep Shang Tsung as far from any power?  I literally spent all day thinking about it, the conflict of nature vs nurture  and how this affects Liu Kang’s reasoning for making these certain decisions, but I too think he could just put Shang Tsung between Shaolin Monks and personally oversee his progress, actually making a real effort to teach Shang Tsung to be a good person - but that of course would demand from Liu to overcome his own prejudices.

Truly, why Shao Kahn get the better deal out of three, I don't have an idea.

(And let's not forget the character intro like this:

Shang Tsung: "The squalor I endured as a child-" Geras: "Do not lie. I know the truth."

and I’m not sure if the authors made their mind, did Shang Tsung was born into poverty and neglect - as story mode implies he is on his own, using  deception to survive or we should go with his official bio, he cheated because due to laziness and insincere nature thus ended in that misery because of his own flaws and we are blaming Liu Kang way too much for this mess? But the again, Quan Chi working in mines doesn't sound inspiring much either compared to Shao Kahn's new life)

[berryzawati]

Rambling about wolnpc....

One of the reasons why I'm so deep into multishipping hell with my wol is that I love genuinely love exploring dynamics with different npcs. FFXIV throws so many awesome npcs at me, how can I just stick with one or two?

Ok, there's also the fact that she fell in love twice and the first time her lover died and the second time, the guy was already dead BUT...

As far as canon goes Layla had a whirlwind romance with Haurchefant. They fell in love fast and the romance ended just as fast at the Vault. It was a very cliched romance, Haurchefant swept Layla off her feet. Often literally. He was very affectionate with her and often times Layla was a bit shy, especially when they are in public. But she loved him just as much.

Her love for Ardbert was doomed due to the fact that he was already dead and not from the Source. Ardbert fell in love with Layla during Shadowbringers too but denied his feelings for her until the very end.

Layla felt like Ardbert was truly her soulmate and often wonders if she would feel similar about the other Azem shards. By then, Layla overcame her timidly and often persued Ardbert romantically and Ardbert was often unsure how to react to her advances - all the while he slowly fell for her. Also I constantly think of newlywed AUs for them lmfao

Layla and Leofard are friends with benefits but on a non-sexual level, they enjoy each other's company a lot. Leofard understands that Layla comes from a very different background and starts to banter with her accordingly. I call their dynamics charming rogue x graceful, courtly fighter.

Layla may act as if Leofard's teasing bothered her a little but deep down she appreciates him as a dear, dear companion. Someone who understands that the world is vast and that there is still so much for them to discover...

When it comes to non-canon ships, I'm afraid this is where my brainrot truly shines. I ship my wol with so many npcs, I sometimes even forget which minor msq/general npc I ship my wol with. It do be like that. Though these days I often think of job/role quest npcs.

As someone who ADORES job quest npcs, I was extremely sad that the stopped doing them in Shadowbringers.

Some of my favorites include:

Gransonwol. They're both tanks and they both lost a loved one. In my mind, Layla and Granson lick each other's wounds and get closer in the progress. Their personalities don't clash at all and they go well together.

But Granson is from the First and Layla is from the Source. Not only are they griefing but it is hard to deal with physical distance. This often leads to conflicts between them. Will they be able to overcome this? Who knows...

Oborowol. The first thing I think when I think of Layla and Oboro was how when she became a ninja, Oboro asked her to teach him about the culture of Eorzea. But Layla is not a native of Eorzea either! I think this may have lead to funny moments to them, Layla loves helping people, so she often answered all the question.

The second thing is:

Oboro's Zadnor field note gave me a lot inspiration. Layla may be experienced in all things romance but she can get pretty bashful and lets her partner lead. Oboro however is not really experienced, so she waits a long time for him to make a move on her. So, here's a rare case of Layla often taking charge in the relationship. Oboro is often thankful but eventually overcomes his own shyness, methinks.

Widargeltwol. Probably the ship that is connected to Layla's lore the most, even more than her canonical ships. Layla is half Ala Mhigan and her Ala Mhigan mother is one of the last surviving monks. This had a huge impact on Layla growing up. Growing up her mother strictly trained her to become a monk but Layla could not open a chakra despite her apititude for fighting and her strong body.

It wasn't until she met Widargelt during the first monk job quest that she opened her first chakra. Widargelt realized her potential and made plans to use her for his revenge against the Garleans (as shown during the ARR MNK job quests). I love this because during A Realm Reborn, Layla felt connected to the Ala Mhigans and started to see herself as an Ala Mhigan more and more.

So, queue in the angst when during the level 50 quest, Widargelt tried to kill her. Layla quickly became fond of Widargelt, so her heart broke after this but during the Heavensward quests they've mended their relationship fast. Even in the canonical timeline in which they don't end up together, Layla sees Widargelt as one of the most precious person she has met during her journey.

It is worth noting that Layla has kept her mother's identity hidden but after the events of the last ARR MNK quests, Layla confessed to Widargelt and Erik that her mother was a monk as well. They were the first people, Layla has told about her mother.

I think out of all my ships, this one is the one I'd label a slowburn. They saw each other as siblings in monkhood first but I also think that their romance is also a very smooth one once they realize their feelings. No need for big words, both know very well that the other has nothing but love in their heart. But first steps are hard...

[amusingmusie]

hi musieee!!! i've been following yours truly for a loooong time and personally it may be the best not only in the hazbin fandom but among all the fan fiction i've read. thank you very much for bringing together so many people with the same feelings even though it takes so much effort to even think and write a fiction. (even though i was a monk while waiting for the 30th chap :p) i would be rich if i earned a dollar every time i logged into ao3 to see if the notification had arrived. it will be a great compensation after my birthday and the university entrance exam. at the same time i am very sad because we are approaching the 40th chap. especially when the story between 27-28 has reached its own consistency. i really like the dialogues, they are very natural and fluent, not only in the fan fictions, in general there is no artificiality that i complain about even in many books. you inspire even a procrastinator like me and push me to write something.

as a song suggestion, i recommend "Rattlesnake" from Kabaret Sybarit, which is a song by a Danish band that is unfortunately not very well known and has already disbanded. in fact, it is jazz-oriented fits the New Orleans theme, and some of its songs use French words as well as English, and it is a song that includes the theme of enemy-lovers. i can recommend many of his songs. btw, the word "Sybarit" is a phrase used in Danish for hedonistic men in the 1930s, for some reason this reminds me of someone else ;). I may have taken the song to its root, sorry. here we gooo

"hahaha, I kid you not I think I just heard my Luger saying: 'Shoot me, shoot me Fire me through his wrinkly face ' Well, it's not that I don't want to But first, I wanna hear you yelling 'Kill me, kill me, kill me', hahaha"

"I hope you go to hell Click, bang!"

"Rattlesnake pulls her string and My marionetto kind of guy He won't ever ask me why, no So let the games begin"

these parts scream Penelope in my opinion

"Yeah, doggy-style was never my thing"

even though i don't find such terms very nice, i can't be angry because the woman sings the song beautifully- anyway. i think this part reminds me of how disgusted Alastor is with conventional sexuality

"I never did care for waiting I better like compensating And mama just taught me one thing Sewing stitches like a madame Dying might just be your thing And the pope just taught me one thing: ”Take things into your own hands!”'

i don't know exactly about Nel's relationship with her mother- if im not wrong there were posts on your tumblr talking about the Sheridan sisters' parents, but I seriously forgot- anyway poor woman only had ten years in Nel's life for heaven's sake but the mention of "mama" in the song and the mention of learning to sew like a madam is a shame Alastor. it reminds me of the fact that he did not conform to the much stricter social norms back then. and i think the father part fits both of them. in terms of how she coped after his father's suicide(im sure picking up the dismembered remains of a corpse is a good experience that will make you forget everything else your father taught you-) and how Alastor's issues with his father turned him into a violent person.

"Hey now, don't be blurry You know I hate those eyes"

Al's freakish obsession with smiling and Nel's constant pouting and frowning.

"I'm sorry 'Cause I love you Like a rattlesnake Like a bellyache Like this day to your face And people do crazy things for love"

of course they never openly say that they love each other in their own twisted ways but i think this part explains their behavior.

in some parts of the song, it is said "Living is overwhelming" or "Killing is overwhelming", Penelope is the one who is living, but here "overwhelming" refers to her in a sense that makes people stressed due to the intensity of life. in the one with killing, a more pleasant "overwhelming" is mentioned in the sense that Alastor is enjoying it. thank youuu for your time, i hope you enjoy it and it inspires you

Hiiiii! Sorry for replying to this so late, but hey, that just means that Chapter 30 is already out! Thank you so much for the kind words and all the BANGER song recs revolving around so many characters. I'm gonna listen to these when I'm home form work today!

[wearepaladin]

Remember that time you wrote the aesthetics/vibes of Oaths? Could you do that again but with paladins that multiclass with other classes?

Hmm. Alright. Less visual aesthetics because that's a lot of potential subclasses to mix, and more of a general feel that can be applied in many directions.

Paladin/Artificer: A rare sight but not unheard of. Often the apprentices of smiths who felt the call in their hearts to apply their craft to greater purpose. Wherever they reside becomes the beating heart of it, a great forge of creative energies. Stained glass illuminates a workshop where every tool is venerated, with the heart of it a figure with hands always covered in soot, burn scars, and a zealous desire to understand Creation down to its atomic structure, and become its ultimate extension in crafting its great purpose.

Paladin/Barbarian: Primal zeal directed with a purity none other can match. It's not their armor or weapons that makes people step back when they meet these figures, but the conviction that bleeds from their eyes like undying stars. Likely as to inspire as terrify, these are the worldbreakers, the forever unsatisfied with the reality of what is, to the potential of what could be, and neither fiend or fortress can match that before breaking.

Paladin/Bard: Those who understand the divine purpose of stories, content with the knowledge that everything is part of a greater narrative, all of us chapters in the great retelling of the struggle of life. Like the fire in the winter night, they tell the tales that are forever told to teach people to rise and have hope in every cycle of light and dark, until their great study of eschatology comes to a close, and the final chapter written for the soul of life, only debating on who writes the epilogue.

Paladin/Blood Hunter: Of these assorted fellows, perhaps the least changed from either dedicated craft. Passionate conviction tempered by observation and research leading to a more mature version of either, diminishing nothing. Blood and zeal remain regardless, and whether with the hunter's patience or crusaders conviction, the enemy is brought down, and the hunt begins again.

Paladin/Cleric: To accept yourself as the sword arm of the gods is to forever be the part that interacts with the world. For no sword is held forever, and the hand that cuts can also craft. Good works and good news brought together, and faith becomes truly perfect in the form of this figure, an extension of divine will.

Paladin/Druid: Nature is the great survivor, the maker, and destroyer. To understand nature is to banish the delusion that you ever truly are separate, that all that lives and grows ultimately connects, and the most unholy and self destructive acts are those who try to cleave it from themselves, enforcing a shared damnation. Thus, these warriors, loyal to all those who live, eyes wild and wise in equal turn, provide surgical incisions so the greater body thrives.

Paladin/Fighter: There are those who have fought for a long time, and those who know that they will always walk the sword path. For some, that is enough, but others seek a purpose and a hope that in the end it will mean something. In the end, martial skill in a world needing warriors will only provide so much. In the end, they fight the hardest to finally no longer be needed.

Paladin/Monk: What is the body? Ultimately a conduit for the soul, and this student of two tradition of martial beliefs understands that more than most. Those who observe them see their flesh only as the barest outline of crude matter to the luminous being all too ready to shed it, their light always blazing from their palms as it reaches to an equally radiant universe.

Paladin/Ranger: Not all those who wander are lost, and these wanderers, seekers, and travelers all, follow only the path to where they are needed. Speaking the tongues of men and beast, these ambassadors of the divide, these unseen kings of the wild. When they finally find their home, there will be no place safer and whole.

Paladin/Rogue: The brightest light ignites in the deepest shadows. These firestarters know that well, clad in darkness they wait to ignite in. Some detractors say their faith is weak, that they are too quick to bend. They merely answer that only means they will never break. For any of who have had the honor to see their true faces know they may have the strongest faith of all.

Paladin/Sorcerer: There are those content with the warmth of the flame, and there are those only content with being the flame themselves. Those who ignite their sorcerous blood this way may well warm the world with the ardor of their faith, or burn it to ash. Either way, the flame will not be content until it ignites on both ends.

Paladin/Warlock: There are those who seek answers in the higher and lower mysteries, and make pacts with those who can provide the answers or at least open the door for them. Always solitary, their quiet eyes with hungry sheen, going to places of dread and taboo, confident their faith will protect even as they seek beyond comfort. They become shadows that produce their own light even as they hunger for more.

Paladin/Wizard: Subtle, but quick to anger, these journeymen are as rare as they are valuable, comfortable as they are with spell and sword. They forget much others could never equal to know, but what they do retain they know best to use, to apply knowledge where others may pause or experiment. Reckless in faith and learning, fortune favors their boldness until the end.

[heromaker-if]

Since you said that heromaker used to take inspiration on dnd, what the ROs (+hero) races, classes, subclasses and alignments be? :o)

HI! SO GLAD THIS QUESTION WAS FINALLY ASKED!

The story was so different when it first started, so these answers have changed throughout its development. But thank you so much for asking 💞 (Keep in mind that I don't know that much about D&D, especially subclasses lol)

I know Frey is technically not a RO but Frey has actually had the most development in this department. They were going to be a WARLOCK! Which is crazy to think about now. I'm not going to tell you what race they were since that might delve into spoilers. And alignment is just chaotic good - truly I cannot see them being anything else.

Pachypoda is the one that has probably stayed the most true to the original. They're a druid, but like "dark" druid. I'm really terrible at explaining. They were also a Drow, which was my inspiration for the Nights race. Regarding alignment they're neutral good.

Astro/a is still this, but I was indecisive about them. Which is why in the story they are a ex-bard and ex-monk. Because that's the two classes I was indecisive about for them. Although I believe there is a bard monk class somewhere. Regarding race, they were going to be human. And as always alignment is chaotic neutral.

I can't go into much details for the Secret LIs cause I think that would mostly reveal who they are. So all I'll say is that Secret LI1 was going to be a really antagonist character in the original story, with lawful evil alignment (which I don't think suits them anymore). And Secret LI2 was never in the original plans, but I'd say they are true neutral.

Finally, Hero was originally a paladin of sorts, but considering there is so much that you can change for them now, any class would suit them. Race is also mildly spoilers, so I won't go into it, and alignment was originally chaotic neutral, which goes to show how much of a blank slate Hero was at the beginning of my planning.

Thanks again for the ask! I wish I knew more about D&D but I never actually played it, I've just watched a lot of tabletop RPG shows on youtube LOL 😣

[dailycharacteroption]

Lifting Hand (Monk Archetype)

(art by miniktty on DeviantArt)

Judo, Grecian Wrestling, Jiu-Jitsu, Sambo, Monday Night Wrestlemania.

Many species grapple as part of combat and play, but the adaptation of the opposable thumb and a scientific understanding of the body to elevate wrestling to an art form.

Which is why it was my eternal delight when some more wrestling-focused feats were added to Martial Arts Handbook, all intended to turn holds into throws, suplexes, and so on.

And that’s where today’s archetype, the Lifting Hand, comes into play, complete with a slightly different version if you’re playing the unchained class just so there’s no confusion on what abilities you replace. However, what remains universally true is that these monks focus on these feats and improve upon them with some arts of their own, making it perfect for representing any sort of grappling martial art, from the dojo mat to the square ring.

Which is also where this archetype gets slightly bittersweet for me, because there is no published counterpart for the brawler archetype. Sure, brawlers don’t even need an archetype to specialize in this feat chain and excel at it, but on the other hand, there is no reason a pain-lock should be associated specifically with an ascetic monk and not a more traditional wrestler.

That being said, this archetype is a fun option indeed for those who want to pin, slam, and pile drive their foes into the dirt.

As one might expect, these monks learn how to perform basic slams on their grappled opponents, but this is just the beginning, as they master throwing said foes further away, and even overpower foes struggling to avoid being thrown into dangerous terrain.

Naturally, they also learn more techniques to improve such maneuvers, such as hammering them so hard foes are left staggered, or spinning them to disorient them, intimidating foes that witness their might, or even traveling with their foes as part of mighty flying suplexes or presses.

They also master the art of pain locks, forcing the limbs of their grappled foes into painful positions to weaken them.

Finally, by readying themselves, these ascetics can catch the limbs of an attacking foe to grapple them and even immediately use their momentum against them in a follow-through slam.

As you can see, there’s nothing about this archetype that demands that such abilities remain monk-only, but it is a fun way to play a judo-themed monk or a surprisingly zen, if bombastic, wrestler. Naturally, you’re going to be focusing on using grappling and the slams they are so good at to control their opponents in a battle. As such, I recommend a good dex score and combat reflexes alongside improved grapple to grapple multiple foes, slam them to knock them prone and free up their arms again, and punish foes with attacks when they try to recover, not to mention laying down the debuffs. Of course, don’t forget to diversify for when such techniques are ineffective too.

Now, some of you might remember that there already is a grapple-focused monk archetype: the tetori (yet another reason why this could have easily been a brawler archetype), but the more grounded nature of the lifting hand over the tetori can appeal to some over the focus on locks and supernatural resilience. In any case, this archetype very much feels more appropriate for fighting styles based on grapples, slams, and using a foe’s momentum.

Divine Parabola, an aphorite ascetic, has been the champion of the arena for years, taking down foes with precise grapples and slams. However, they have little use for the wealth it brings, donating most of it to public works. Instead, they seek to inspire others to seek self-perfection on their own.

By following the oddities in the paths of giant scarab beetles, the medium Velannus seeks to uncover the tomb of a legendary wrestler from the dead desert civilization of Boknet. If he manages to find it before the heroes do, he will bond with the grappler’s spirit and gain a truly powerful spirit to call upon, making their nemesis much more of a hassle to deal with.

Rumor has it that someone has taken control of Blackspan Bridge, challenging all who try to cross and throwing the losers off the bridge into the ravine below… They also say this stranger uses the Python’s Grasp style of the local dojo, and the school is offering a bounty for whoever can put an end to this and end the insult to their teachings.

[mistbow]

Okay I can’t say this enough but Sorey as the protagonist really embodies the themes and messages of Zestiria so well that it feels like you can’t truly like Zestiria if you don’t like him. He’s the narrative itself, he might as well be called “Tales of Zestiria” the character.

As an anniversary title, Zestiria puts emphasis on inheriting from your legacy and how to evolve and build on top of that legacy respectfully. From this you can see why the developers would draw inspirations from actual history, and since it’s the Japanese history they’re intimately familiar of, they went with it.

Japanese history has always been highly influenced with spirituality, that’s a fact that Zestiria also tries to bring up. We’ve come so far in these modern times, but that’s also thanks to the many eons of traditions that we’ve exactly come a long way. Think about it, the time we get to live is so short compared to how long the world has lived and will live (yet the world is also still young, it still continues to evolve), recorded in history or not. We’re all connected from the past to the future. If we forget about it and don’t show the gratitude, who will?

I’ve talked about “born Shinto, die Buddhist” but that’s how uniquely pluralistic the Japanese society is. It’s not even moving from one to the other, because both are still practiced, even though people in the modern times often think they don’t have time for things like these anymore.

On one hand, Shinto is really all about how sacred this world is, and that includes your life, so please cherish yourself as well. It is exactly because Sorey, as a mere human who really is not all that special in the larger scheme of things (yet he’s still part of this world, the only one he has), has pure appreciation for the world around him, excitement and curiosity for the mysteries yet to unfold, and the eagerness to pass this feeling onto others that he’s in tune with himself and conscious of the way of the 神. Living in harmony. On the other hand, death is an inevitability of human condition, and Sorey, as the 導師 (a word that also specifically means Buddhist monk for funerals in Japan, as mentioned before), has come to regard death as a way of salvation. Death is often seen as something so sad, so unfortunate, but he has learned that perhaps it can be a release for some. Life is beautiful, life is sacred, but life is also suffering. That is just being human.

This ties in nicely with what he wants to do and what he needs to do. There is passion in both. The things he wants to do, it’s because he knows life has so much more to offer out there, and he has plenty of time and energy for all that! The things he needs to do, it’s because he took upon that responsibility himself, and with that he has to accept viewpoints and approaches he might have had a hard time agreeing with before, but thanks to those his horizons widened and again, death is an inevitability, it must happen. However, both of these don’t exist in vacuum, they’re both interlinked. Both of these are what make a human, human. The more you respect life, the more you respect death. The more you respect death, the more you respect life. A balance is needed here, and in the end, he doesn’t tip the scale too far in one direction, yet he doesn’t lose a sense of himself.

Then you have both Shinto and Buddhism teach you on how to conduct your own self, in relationship to your life, mostly. But you’re not alone, there are others, and they’re different, that should be celebrated! Precisely because there are others that you can shine more in your own way. Each of us has a role to fulfill, and that’s fine, let’s just all work together towards a better future for our successors. In both Shinto and Buddhism, the human is originally pure, yet life makes them be afflicted with either kegare or kleshas. There’s no way around this, that’s just another fact of life as a human, and Sorey accepts this, accepts that malevolence will always be there as long as humans exist, but they don’t and won’t get to define humans, ever. Humans are so much more than the malevolence; humans and malevolence might be inseparable, but they’re barely one and the same. Despite everything, everyone deserves their own chances to come to their own answers.

I don’t know I’m just thinking out loud how much I love Sorey as a character (and subsequently Zestiria as a whole). I’ve been saying this since 2015 but in my eyes he’s one of the most well-executed characters Tales has and I will die on this hill. Not saying it is without its hiccups, but Zestiria is really a thematic masterpiece to me. Everything fits together nicely like puzzle pieces; it starts with this one idea, expands, and then converges again to that one idea.

Just look at him. I love him so much I could combust. The legend that has become “hope” to me.

[car-goes-brrr]

Morro but he’s Arkham Knight ✨

[Context: Wu here is a young adult but he’s already met and trained our ninja, Morro has been proclaimed dead a year after his disappearance.]

Inspired by a scene from the video game Batman: Arkham Knight

The smell of incense filled the empty room of the monastery, as Wu sat on his mediation mat. The ninja were away on some separate mission that didn’t require his guidance. So with his eyes closed he reminisced about, his father, his brother, Misako and his first student, Morro. He was always an exceptional child, always showed great potential. But something was off and Wu knew, but for the child’s happiness he chose to ignore it. Morro was angry, more often than anyone else. The smallest things would set him off, and they would always link back to him being abandoned and not having a purpose. Wu believed that the potential he saw in the boy was that Morro was the legendary green saviour, however that was not the case. The purpose that Morro felt he had finally earned was gone, it was never there. He couldn’t accept it, tantrums were more aggressive until one day he left without a word. Wu left the door to the monastery open, in the hopes Morro would return, but he hadn’t. And when a year later, on anniversary of his disappearance a gust of wind shut the monastery doors shut, Wu accepted that Morro was truly and fully gone.

A sudden knock echoed through the monastery and Wu got up. He walked slowly towards the door rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes, nowadays the only way he could relax was through meditation but even with that he felt like it was starting to lose its effect. Wu opened the door and saw the mailman in-front of him. He said something before handing Wu a letter but Wu wasn’t paying much attention, he thanked the mailman and went back into his meditation room.

He sat, looking at the letter in his hands. Should he read it? Does it matter? What is the point. The questioned faded into statements but eventually Wu ripped the top of the envelope and looked at the contents of the letter hidden inside. Scanning the words slowly, realisation begun to hit him. All sounds drowned out, and only his thoughts were clear. The handwriting, he recognised it. Wu could never forget teaching him how to write. But how? He’s dead. There’s no reasonable explanation behind how he could be alive. The letter mentioned a time and place… abandoned car warehouse in the outskirts of the city… in 2 hours. Wu got up, he definitely considered this could be a trap, a prank anything really but he had to see for himself. He left the monastery in a hurry, without informing the monks or leaving a note for the ninja when they return. He had simply vanished.

The sun had gone down, the moon had risen but it was covered by thick clouds and tall buildings of the city nearby. Wu entered the abandoned building slowly, senses sharper than ever before, thoughts and doubts still ringing through his head. But everywhere else, there was silence. Not a rustle, not a gust of wind, no sound of metal creaking, the only source of noise came from Wu’s thoughts and deep breathing.

“So you came”

Until the silence was broken by a muffled voice. Wu slowly turned around to face the mysterious figure before him. He wore a hood and mask covering his mouth, and from the darkness of the building, it was unclear what the figure was thinking.

“Who are you?” Said Wu

But did he really want to know? Was this person really him? Had he been wrong all this time? Or was this someone who was aware of his vulnerabilities? Someone who wanted to use them against him to weaken him. Wu’s thoughts would have continued to spread like an illness if it hadn’t been for the sudden action from the mysterious figure. The figure raised their hand to the mask covering their mouth.

“You really have no idea…” the figure pinched the fabric and pulled it from their mouth, clearing their voice.

“Do you? Wu.” The figure took the mask off and peeled off their hood revealing their face and hair. Hair that was dark like the streets outside or the darkest corners of the warehouse they’re stood in, with a single strand coloured green. And a face that was hard to forget even if he had grown up. A face riddled with scars, some new, some old and with deep bags under his eyes. Wu couldn’t deny it any longer, the man stood in front of him was once the boy he took in. It was Morro. Wu hadn’t realised how long he’s been staring at Morro in silence until Morro himself had brought it up.

“What’s the matter? Lost for words?”

Morro began to circle his old master and Wu’s eyes followed him as a sadistic smile slowly appeared on Morro’s face.

“I expected more… I’m hurt”

Even though Morro was right in front of him, Wu still couldn’t put the puzzles in his head together… he wanted to see the full image, to understand.

“Morro… I thought- I thought you were dead.”

The pained smile on the dark-haired man turned into a face of anger and disbelief mixed into one.

“Don’t you dare lie to me! You knew I wasn’t dead! And what did you do? Replaced me!”

Wu wanted to disagree, he really wanted to. But a part of him agreed with him.

“How long did you wait before replacing me, huh? A month? A week? I trusted you! And you just left me to die!”

“That isn’t what happened Morro. We can still fix this-”

But before Wu could finish his sentence, Morro had snapped. He raised his hand slowly and sharp fragments of glass and metal had floated off of the cold ground.

“There’s no fixing this. It’s like you always said, Wu.” Morro begun to step closer to his old master, and every step he took closer the faster the floating objects begun to spin towards him.

“If I focus on what I want to achieve, it’ll happen. Well you know what I want now?” Morro was now in close proximity, taking one of the sharp metal fragments and pointing it at Wu’s chest.

“I want you dead.”