#two a-rank bracers

[talos-to-listens]

There is something inherently funny in Juna deciding to do a subject review, and also discuss hypothetical independence situation for Crossbell with Rean, and then it somehow ends with all of Old Class VII (and Musse) joining in.

[edens-pen]

"i find myself running home to your sweet nothings"

summary | it’s always a rough day for katsuki. hero rankings and PR nightmares every time he opens his mouth. but he gets to come home to you

pairing | bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

word count | 840

warning | soft!domestic katsuki, fluff.

a/n | this is very literally based off sweet nothings by taylor swift, so you can listen if you want the full experience. also, i haven't posted in two months, so i'm sorry if this sucks. <3

[ 18+ | minors, blank, ageless blogs dni ]

—

katsuki drops his bracers at the door with a heavy sigh. he's only just got his boots off and tucked in the corner, when he hears your voice calling him from the kitchen.

"'suki?"

he feels the smile pulling at his lips entirely unbidden.

the soft notes of that song that's been stuck in your head (and by extension, his) plays from the speaker in the corner.

"hey honey," you smile, leaning up to give him a kiss when he's in range.

he'll never be able to explain how that title makes his heart clench. he couldn't verbalize how every title he's obtained has not mattered until you gave him that one. pro-hero, number 2, explosive, dynamight.

your title feels so intimate on your lips, reducing him to the man who would fall at his knees for you.

not a pro-hero or number 2. not a ticking time bomb or a hot-head.

just your honey. your husband. yours, yours, yours.

"how was your day?" you ask, still stirring the pot as you turn the stove down.

"it was alright," he mumbles. in truth his day was rough, and he's not ready to talk about it, and he knows you can tell by the way you reach your free hand out to swipe your fingers along his cheek.

you smile up at him, pinching his cheek. "you wanna wash up? dinner's almost done." when he nods slowly, closing his eyes against the feelings of your fingers, you give him a little laugh.

in the bathroom, he works with the skin care products you left on his side of the counter, the dry winter air has been harsh on his quirk and his skin.

he thinks back to the agency, to the hero rankings, to the disapproving stares of civilians when he lets out loud curses and swears. the scolding he received from his manager today. the article comparing his pros and cons against the number 1 pro hero deku.

the water runs over his chest as he tilts his face into the stream, still trying to catch his breath from the incredibly long week he's had.

by the time he's toweled off and dressed in his sweats, the tension has worked it's way up into his back and across his shoulders.

"katsu?" your voice rings out and he's immediately following the sound back to the front door. he snorts when he sees you trying to push his bracers into the corner near his shoes. "how the hell do you put these things on for hours at a time? oh my god."

bakugo only laughs when he picks up both bracers with ease, your shocked gasp ringing out in the hallway.

"you're so strong, katsuki."

and that's it. your praise comes so easy. the fantastic feats that he performs still awe you. even something as simple as his above average strength elicits cheer from you.

it doesn't matter that he does it everyday, or that it's expected of him, you treat every act like it's the most incredible thing you've ever seen. and bakugo tries to fight the blush creeping up on his cheeks when you say these things.

even after all these years, he hasn't gotten used to your praise.

you're quickly setting a plate in front of him, taking the seat right next to him. recounting the events of your day, catching your boyfriend up on your workplace drama, and your recent purchases is enough to take you both through dinner.

by the time you've got him laid on the couch, your favorite candle is lit in the middle of the coffee table, and you two are talking softly.

his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed right over your heart. your fingers work softly against the ache in his shoulder, somehow finding the right spots to touch. these are nights when he needs you to take him down and you always do so with ease. he groans softly at the tender strength in your touch.

"i like the way you sound."

and there you go again. how do you split him open with a just a few words?

"its so pretty. especially when you talk, and when you laugh, i think that's my favorite sound."

you're calling him pretty. like his body isn't a fucking live wire ready to go off when he sweats. like the natural production of his glands don't cause explosions. like people aren't out there wondering if he should be a villain because of the force of his quirk.

of course the power thrumming through his veins is nothing compared to you. to the person he is when he's resting between your legs, letting you pet and coo at him until he's pliant and soft.

you bathe him in compliments, your adoration of him washes the shitty week off his skin and coats him in a thick layer of your love.

his prickly edges become rounded and soft against your gentle touch. refining him to be composed entirely of your sweet nothings.

—

[dreamers-art-n-stuff]

(Image ID: A page of digital sketches, done in black. There are three characters that feature throughout: Lorem (they/them), a fan design for the Lamb from Cult of the Lamb; Leo (he/him), a fan design for the Goat from Cult of the Lamb; and Narinder (he/him), a fan design for the character of the same name from Cult of the Lamb. All three are stylized anthropomorphic animals - a lamb for Lorem, a goat for Leo, and a three-eyed cat for Narinder.

The first sketch is of Lorem and Leo, both wearing their cloak-like fleeces. They are kissing, Leo holding Lorem's wrist to keep their hand on his face. Above them, their crowns merge into a single form with one red and one purple eye.

The second sketch is a concept for the robes followers wear during rituals. There are two drawings of the robe itself, and one of Narinder wearing a robe. The notes around the sketch explain the robe's purpose, and that they are intentionally large and concealing. They also explain the number of stripes across the front of the robe and on the sides of the hood - the number of stripes indicate the rank of the cultist. New converts have no stripes, initiates get one, devotees get two, and acolytes get three. Disciples also get a design on the front.

The third sketch is of Leo and Narinder walking past each other. Narinder is obviously seething, looking back at Leo with teeth bared. Leo looks straight ahead with a neutral expression, but his crown looks back at Narinder.

The fourth sketch is a simple drawing of Narinder, fists up like he's preparing for a fight.

The fifth sketch is a concept for a human version of Lorem, lounging and seeming to address someone not shown. Their hair is much the same, short and very curly, but they do not have horns. They wear an outfit similar to their animal form minus the fleece, a simple undertunic with a wide belt at the waist. A pair of shorts has been added underneath the tunic, and their bracers and anlets have been swapped for gold bangles. They do not wear shoes. The red crown is in its snake form, banded red and black, and is draped along Lorem's shoulders and arms.

End image ID.)

Just doing some sketching and figuring out some outfit stuff, + goatlamb and Narinder being salty about it

[swordbisexual]

I Feel Like A Person For A Moment Of My Life

In which Vissenta takes matters into her own hands. 5.3k words

--

Vissenta’s blood shrieks hot as she leans against the balcony rail of Last Light.

It shouts with the thrill of cutting someone down, with the sweat-fear-copper scent of blood that’s not her own, spilled at her feet and sprayed across the scuffed metal of her plate and bracers. It shouts with the need for more, more, more, until she’s shaking with it, until her fingers twitch and her hands ache to grasp and grab at a throat, at a chest, at a still-beating heart.

No. No more.

Instead of a throat, she wraps her hands around old, dead wood, her grip so tight she might earn a splinter or two. Good. Hurt yourself. It’s a reprieve and a distraction, as she counts her shaking breaths and wills her blood to reverse the flow, for the shouts to quiet back to a dull roar, tucked away just out of sight of the open door.

They know. Not Isobel or Jaheira, no, but the rest of them, those who have fought by her side from the beginning of her brief, ravaged memory, they know. Even as her heartbeat pounded in her ears, blocking out all but the sharpest words, she saw the look between Shadowheart and Lae’zel as the two of them shifted, allied at last in closing ranks around her, to keep her contained, to give her the quick, half-mumbled exit - need some air, need a minute - she so desperately needed.

And Gale… Gale, always at her side, always close enough to nearly touch. Gale, who cast a holding spell on the turncoat Fist to give Vissenta free rein with her sword. Gale, who still thinks himself the greatest threat to them all, who doesn’t know just how well he’s kept the most dangerous creature among them at bay with little more than a kind word and the yearning promise of something more. He watched her go, and she swore she could nearly feel his hand brush hers as she passed.

If he had? What then? Would she have ripped him apart, too?

She screws her eyes shut and grips the railing even tighter. No. Not him. Not ever.

Read the rest on AO3!

[bonefall]

hey bones! does the bonefall rewrite have anything in it about clan cats’ fashion? do they have the ability to make accessories/simple clothing, or do the clans not care about things like that?

Every single day, with every ask that comes into my inbox, the Bonefall Rewrite inches closer to just getting merged with my Clan Culture series

They do have the capacity to make very simple fashion! There's a couple of cats that I would like to wear very simple accessories--

Scourge keeps his dog teeth on a necklace. He lives as Iceheart now but he keeps the reminder of his rank with him. Side note; has also has a scar on his neck from where his old collar chaffed the fur off.

Sorreltail has a capsule with a backup dose of valerian for her epilepsy.

Brokenstar's spirit is tied to special acorns, which were part of a friendship necklace he made with Runningnose when they were young. It's worn at various points by Firestar, Twigbranch, and Violetshine.

Deadfoot's congenital abnormality is a joint problem, when the paw dangles it hurts. He has two 'bracers' for it, a simple one for everyday use, and a battle gauntlet. He just calls it "my gauntlet" If there is a silly person in his life, they would call it The Bonker.

Blackfoot broke his tooth trying to bite Deadfoot and getting a mouth full of The Bonker. He also got bonked right after.

On more advanced notes, I always imagine Jayclaw (Frostpaw's dad) was a SUPER amazing dancer. He played a special "instrument"-- jingleshells, which is beaded netting worn on the rump and connected to the arms. It's why Curlfeather fell in love with him.

But, fashion? I wouldn't call it fashion, the clothing they wear is usually meaningful or practical. It's not beyond them though, they weave accessories all the time.

OH and there's also those willowbark travel belts, which they use to strap travel rations to.

[professional-tooka-herder]

Hello Captain. I don't know the appropriate term for this, but your shoulder flap is on the left and Captain Howzer's shoulder flap is on the right, and the ARC trooper have two flaps that look like wings. How do you decide which shoulder gets a flap? Thank you for your time I am taking notes.

Originally the shoulder pauldrons were designated of rank and wether or not a clone was a CC or a CT.

But after Genosa we clones were given a bit more freedom to....change our appearance. Colors were chosen based on what we experienced in battle or how we wanted to represent our battalion.

It's mostly a style choice now, as we advance in rank we are eventually given a full kit. A kit includes the Kama, cross strap, bracers, shoulder pauldrons etc...it's up to the individual clone to decide how much of that kit we want to wear.

Cody, Cody should be in full kit given his status as Marshal Commander but he thinks the kama gets in the way when he's punching clankers. 🙄

I do not know why Captain Howzer chooses to only wear one shoulder pauldrons but I choose to wear mine on my left because my general or commander is always guarding my right so I don't need the extra protection.

The second reason is weight, I'm following after two Jedi without a jetpack, so I need to keep my armor as light as possible. Had lock the jet packs away after an... incident

Hope that helped?

Captain Rex | CT 7567

[rokutouxei]

solitary moon, transitory stars

honkai star rail | T | 3018 | ao3 link in bio ⚠ MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH yingxing/dan feng (blade/dan heng)

such is the tale of a short-life species tangled with that who will live for hundreds more years. it would be cruel of him to expect dan feng to hold onto him until it is time to return to his ancient seas. eventually, they will be nothing but a blip in the long, reincarnating life of his beloved vidyadhara’s history.

to dan feng, he might never be more than a blink of an eye.

-------

scalegorge waterspace has been torn apart like paper.

buildings crumbling like they were made of fine sand. blood everywhere. casualties left and right. the stellaron has been contained, but the rest of the chaos remains. 

not that dan feng notices.

not with his world already upside down as it is. blood, not his own, seeping through the white fabric of his clothes. closed eyes like just sleeping. damp hair pressed against a smooth forehead.

the weight in dan feng’s arms is too heavy, too heavy, too much. his bracer too cold.

there’s a voice in his head that isn’t his, begging him to not let go. to insist.

instead, he presses his beloved’s face against his chest. his hands shaking. begging to feel breathing. dan feng screams hoarsely. he does not hear his own voice come out.

-

merchant vessels come and go through the xianzhou on a fairly regular basis.

whether they bring goods or artisans, laborers or scholars, there is always an influx of new faces and new things coming aboard the luofu. 

dan feng meets the craftsman by coincidence. the young vidyadhara has snuck away from the palace to head to the market. there are sayings in the luofu that dragons like hoarding wealth and items; for dan feng, it is beautiful things. 

these jade pendants are some of those things.

he reaches to pick up one shaped like a lotus when his hand meets another. the lotus falls back into the container when he lets go of it on instinct. dan feng turns to find a pair of crimson eyes framed by long, silver hair.

beautiful…

“sorry,” the other man says. such a low voice–he must be older than he looks. dan feng can tell he is not from the luofu. “you can have it.”

“it’s alright,” dan feng answers, picking up the lotus again to put it in the other man’s palm. “a souvenir from the xianzhou. bring it with you.”

“ah, i had only meant to look,” the other replies, sheepishly scratching at his neck. “i can make my own. i’m a craftsman by trade.”

“oh?” interest piqued, dan feng crosses his arms across his chest and gives the other man a good look. raises an eyebrow, a challenge. “pretty confident in your handiwork, aren’t you?”

the newcomer smiles. “i wouldn’t mind showing off.”

-

and shows his work does yingxing do.

he doesn’t know if dan feng had severely underestimated him in the beginning, or if the man really just had that high of a fascination towards his work. not that it is unwarranted. there is little, after all, that yingxing cannot do. what begins as a show-and-tell becomes a companionable friendship between the two men, spending spare time on the luofu whenever they can.

but it’s only so long until dan feng’s real identity is revealed—and suddenly, yingxing is shoulder-to-shoulder with the high elder of the vidyadhara. 

“to have hidden that from me for such a long time…”

“does my status change anything about our friendship?”

a pause. “i like to think not.”

“then it does not matter, no?”

still, it is with dan feng’s help that yingxing finds his footing as a craftsman on the luofu. yingxing insists that he doesn’t have to, but dan feng helps when he can anyway. linking him to resources. introducing him to other artisans. helping him find apprenticeships.

the man once only a mere visitor to the ship quickly rises in rank as a valuable artisan in the luofu. he’ll make anything they ask from him. weapons. toys. machinery. whatever his hands can figure out, he will do.

and recently, these same hands have been fumbling over a gift.

it’s only normal, isn’t it? to want to give something in return to his benefactor—his friend? he looks through the markets for weeks. consults old books and other craftsmen for ideas. asks dan feng winding questions, hoping he’d let slip something he wants. 

eventually, yingxing sets his mind on something. he spends much time on his gift, carving gold. a lengthy, arduous process—but he produces an exquisite piece of jewelry. a singular earring, a statement on its own. 

all works well until dan feng unravels it from its container—and his face shifts conflictingly.

“is something the matter?” yingxing asks, half in a panic. “if it’s not to your tastes—”

“no, it’s beautiful,” dan feng says, raising the earring to his eye level. turning it around to get a better look at it. “it’s just…”

he puts the earring against his ear right next to his lobe and—

oh.

he doesn’t have it pierced.

not the other ear, either. 

yingxing pales.

“that was a horrible oversight, on my part.”

“it’s not something i would mind,” dan feng says, simply. “i would like to wear your gift.” he reaches forward, knuckles grazing lightly against the curve of yingxing’s jaw as his fingertips gently touch over a dangling earring. “we’d match.”

yingxing flushes. “we would.”

“very well, what will you need?”

they do it right there, right ouside dan feng’s quarters. without much fanfare. yingxing takes a needle still mildly hot from how it was boiled, and pierces a hole through dan feng’s lobe. the other man flinches, but only slightly. they clasp a temporary earring through it, and dan feng keeps the present in his drawer.

but dan feng is impatient—he barely waits for the wound to heal before he comes up to yingxing a few weeks later with the carved-gold earring already in place.

pain is nothing to bear the gift he’s been given.

yingxing gives him a scolding about the piercing, but he is smiling anyway. 

-

for a long time, they do not put it into words.

like they feared what it meant when they acknowledged what is inevitably happening. they spent months delaying what is already undeniable. shoulders are just shoulders, hands are just hands, gazes only gazes. 

nothing more, nothing less.

but it hurts. of course it does. they pour alcohol for one another. they spar. they sit under the starlight, hesitating at the surface, never revealing what’s really imploring to speak. 

until dan feng has had enough.

for a vidyadhara, dan feng is still young. he has not grown into the mantle of high elder quite yet. he may have been trained to be one since he was born, but deep inside, the sharp edges of youth still persist in him: arrogant, stubborn, selfish.

he isn’t going to let something he wants walk away from him when he has the power to make it stay.

dan feng takes the best of coral gold he can find, the finest leather. then he begins to craft. in secret, just as yingxing had done. he puts down his usual books for tools. he has a competitive streak—there is no way yingxing was going to outdo him, gift or not! he is not high elder for nothing.

besides, this is special, and it has to count.

after all, there is only one chance to assure that yingxing wants what he wants, too.

when it is completed, he invites yingxing to spar. this has become typical for them—yingxing is a master at smithing all sorts of weapons, and what better way to test them out than through a little friendly fight? dan feng fights with all his might until he’s pinned yingxing to the floor, his spear—the one yingxing had made for him, carved his name on—dangerously close to yingxing’s throat.

with that typical laid-back smile, yingxing raises his arms in surrender.

“this won’t do, yingxing,” dan feng hums, tracing the sharp edge of his weapon over yingxing’s jaw like he wants to do with his fingers. “you’re going to lose in battle like this. come—i have the one thing that might save you the next time you’re in a scuffle.”

as coolly as dan feng tries to play it off, the grin he’s wearing on his face gives him away. it’s well-earned. the bracers are flawless. he fixes it around yingxing’s arm, a pink flush going from his cheeks to his ears. once it is secured, yingxing straightens his arm, looking at the intricate make of it.

when he turns, dan feng has placed the bracer over his own, opposite arm, holding it up.

“put it on me?”

it clicks immediately in yingxing’s mind.

there’s a melancholic smile on his face as he ties it around dan feng’s arm. the vidyadhara, for a moment, wants to know what is going on in this human’s mind. out of fear, he does not ask. just waits patiently until the bracer is secure around his arm.

warm. like telepathic.

“a rather fitting gift, no?” dan feng says, trying to sound smug to hide any insecurity.

there’s a pause as yingxing considers their matching armor. in the heat of his gaze, dan feng has the urge to curl his arm back against his chest. but before he can do so, yingxing has placed his hand over his, the bracers making a clink sound when they touch.

(the moment freezes for them, a snapshot in their minds forever.)

yingxing looks up endearingly at the flushed dan feng. 

he reaches out a hand to tuck a loose lock of hair behind peculiar ears.

then, that all-knowing smile. “you couldn’t have done better.”

-

despite it all, time passes by unsympathetically, as it always does.

the high cloud quintet—high elder ceremonies—birthdays—new years—they pass by relentlessly, without care, without so much as a pause.

with intertwined hands, they hold on. 

even as stars die and moons continue their orbit.

age’s curled claws begin to dig into yingxing before dan feng can realize what is happening. he wakes to it panicking, unable to do anything.

such is the fate of short-lived species; time’s cruelty takes them away before they ever get the chance to really reach out beyond them. 

but perhaps it is this scarcity of time that allows them to meet life with the force of a thousand stellarons. they live so recklessly; they extend their wings farther than they ought to; they jump from far too high.

they love so wholly.

without reservation, like it is their last chance to do so.

lately, dan feng has been having troubles staying asleep. usually, yingxing will wake up when he realizes his companion has risen from slumber—but tonight, he hasn’t yet. dan feng gets to be alone with his thoughts a little longer.

not that there are other things to occupy his mind besides the man sleeping next to him. his gaze to the merciless night sky wanders back to yingxing. his hair the color of stars. a defenseless expression on his face. like this, if dan feng doesn’t look too closely, it is as if he is many decades younger. 

he tucks a stray lock of silver strands behind yingxing’s ears. 

imagines him disintegrating like ashes before his very eyes.

for a fraction of a second—that feels as long as an eternity—dan feng considers what he’s only read in books. the powers of the plagues author. pills that imbue the receiver with eternal youth and immortality. it feels wrong to even think about it.

but still.

in a moment of weakness that the xianzhou would have cursed him for—dan feng prays to yaoshi for a taste of eternity.

-

the last thing they make together is a pair of jade pendants.

dan feng chooses the finest jade he can get his hands on, beautifully brilliant green. yingxing sharpens his tools. this time, they work together. in sync. sketching designs in pencil, redoing, redrawing. measuring the crystal, cutting it into shape. carving its intricate details. 

making sure that when one slots into the other, they are a perfect match.

“is it to your tastes?”

yingxing’s voice has the tone of hesitation over it. the jade pendants lay finished on the table across from them.

“why would it not be?”

“well, my hands are not what they used to be.”

“don’t talk like that, yingxing.”

yingxing doesn’t know what is going on in dan feng’s mind. to him, he’s known dan feng for far more years than he didn’t. most of his life spent in this person’s arms, presence, affection, attention. 

to dan feng, he might never be more than a blink of an eye.

a part of him is alright with that. such is the tale of a short-life species tangled with that who will live for hundreds more years. it would be cruel of him to expect dan feng to hold onto him until it is time to return to his ancient seas. eventually, they will be nothing but a blip in the long, reincarnating life of his beloved vidyadhara’s history. 

that is alright.

to have had dan feng for even a brief amount of time—is all he could have asked for, in his short life.

dan feng shifts in his position, lifting his head off from yingxing’s shoulder. it snaps the latter out of his reverie. dan feng reaches forward to take the jade pendants in his hands, slotting them together in place. like this, one can hardly tell they can be taken apart.

they speak no words. they are not necessary.

yingxing only smiles at him tenderly, knowing that both of them are so aware now of every second of borrowed time. 

-

dan feng cannot say he had not prepared for the inevitable happening.

he knew. yingxing knew. it was only a matter of time.

he knew, but he didn’t want it to end like this.

“dan feng!"

a hand pushing him backward, the bracer glinting around the arm. a crowd of denizens of abundance begin to gather around them. dan feng growls, fangs showing as he stands his ground. 

“i’m not letting you fight alone.”

the fight is ruthless, the enemies relentless and seemingly getting stronger with each wave. or maybe they are getting more and more tired. there is no end in sight, only battle. 

dan feng fails to dodge a blow that sends him straight onto the ground, chin-first. blood blooms in his mouth where he’s bitten his tongue. before he can scramble back to his feet, yingxing is above him, parrying a following blow with his protected arm. the abomination is thrown backward. 

but that leaves yingxing’s back open. another abomination comes up and slashes him from behind, making him tumble forward, a muted cry coming out of his mouth.

dan feng sees red.

time stills, for once. something erupts out of dan feng, something he has no control over. a mindless beast with teeth bared; all the surrounding monsters fall to their feet. when he comes to, his arms are around yingxing, who still has that stubborn smile on his stupid face.

“i’ll take you back,” dan feng says. desperate. in denial. “the healers… they will patch you up. we will—”

“beloved, listen,” yingxing answers, instead. when dan feng refuses to acknowledge the defeat in his voice, he calls him by another name—sweeter, softer, one he speaks only ever reverently. dan feng just sobs at the sound of it. “do not fret.”

“i can’t—” something choking him. dan feng can no longer speak. “yingxing.”

“you have to.” a hand clasped around another, the one with a bracer matching his own. “you will.”

two pairs of eyes prick with tears. they cannot cry. they are in the middle of war.

dan feng spares a moment to pull out the jade pendant where he carries it on him. yingxing laughs at the gesture. a tiny, weak sound. so unlike him.

“you’ll remember me,” dan feng says, placing his pendant in yingxing’s palm. the other man squeezes his fist around it, as hard as he can. “i will wait and you will remember me and you will come back. swear on it.”

“i will. i will.” yingxing tries to lift his hand to cup dan feng’s cheek, but he is too weak. dan feng leans so that yingxing can reach him. “take my pendant, so i can find you.”

dan feng knows where it is. he pulls it out and presses a kiss onto it. yingxing nods. 

slowly, yingxing’s eyes fall shut. dan feng resists the urge to shake him awake. wonders if it’s too late to ask for the blessing of the abundance. holds his beloved’s body weakly until yingxing goes limp. his hand falling next to him, the jade pendant escaping his once-closed fist.

it is only then that dan feng presses yingxing’s face against his chest. his hands shaking. nothing to hold onto, just this. begging to feel breathing. when there is none, the weight in him explodes with the force of a thousand stellarons. 

he screams hoarsely. he does not hear his own voice come out.

-

in another universe, he may have been able to save yingxing. he may have had the courage—the arrogance—to challenge the laws of luofu. he would have touched the arbor, called on the plagues author’s power. he would have given anything. everything. his skin. his bones. his heart.

but that does not happen here. not now.

short-life species like yingxing do not go through reincarnation cycles the same way vidyadhara do. there is only one shot at becoming who you are—to leave your mark—and then there is nothing left. 

there is but one chance to hold the world in your hands.

in this universe, his yingxing is gone forever. he remains only in breadcrumbs of memory, scattered in pieces of things they once shared together.  in jade pendants. in bracers. in a spear. in starlight. never to come back again.

but in case…

in another universe, if there were another, where dan feng would have been able to save yingxing…

would have been able to hold onto him a little longer…

regardless of the circumstances, dan feng hopes that he would be there. that he would be waiting.

that their promise would remain unbroken. that yingxing would be able to find his way to him, over and over again.

[late-to-the-fandom]

Chapter 4: The Ohn'Ahran Plains

In which a certain centaur couple has a wedding, illuminating new possibilities for Renathal and his former Maw Walker. Rated G. Read on Ao3 here.

It was decided fairly early on in their adventure to keep Renathal's identity a secret wherever possible. A high-ranking ruler of one of the realms of death seemed likely to invoke a volatile reaction in the mortals whose lives and lands were riddled with it. Thus Elisewin - to the chagrin of Renathal's incorrigible curiousity - tended to vet the majority of his questions on the grounds they would be considered conspicuously strange.

Which was why Renathal had to wait until she was absent to ask the centaur -

"What precisely is the purpose of this ritual? I confess, I fail to see any obvious merit."

He heard the strident note of condescension in his voice, entertained the idea of apology, and dismissed it as quickly as it came. His current mood was uncompromising. Even sheltered as he was from the brilliant sun of the Ohn'ahran Plains by the river's sparse copse of trees, the Dark Prince was out of sorts.

Windsage Dawa looked up from the feathered bracer he was preening.

"Surely, people are also married in … wherever it is you hail from?"

For the first time since Renathal had met Dawa two days previous, curiosity supplanted the centaur’s glazed, lovesick expression. Stooping to avoid the surprisingly perceptive stare, Renathal plucked the waiting pauldron from the grass and brushed traces of earth from the leather and feathers.

“We have our own …custom for joining one to another,” he replied, choosing his words with care, “but it is a true binding together of the souls. A communion of knowledge and power. One gains the strength of the other in a tangible way. What do either of you stand to gain by such a very... ceremonial practice?”

On balance, it would have been stranger had the Windsage not found this offensive. He dropped his arm abruptly, the bracer's feathers fluttering in the weak, watery breeze, and blinked. For some reason, this visceral reminder of his Soulbind, currently providing similar assistance to the Windsage’s intended miles away, increased Renathal's sense of agitated unbalance.

"A primitive race,” commented the centaur obliquely, “to join together purely for power.”

But it was only the thought of Elisewin - and what she would say if she found out he had given himself away doing the very thing she had specifically asked him not to do - that kept Renathal from launching into a proud and pious defense of the Venthyr, and a choice rebuke at the hubris in denigrating an eons-old civilisation from a being whose people still lived in tents. He contented himself with an eyebrow raise that was nothing short of regal as he affixed the pauldron to Dawa’s shoulder.

“Power is, of course, not the only thing one gains by soulbinding,” said Renathal, both his words and the leather straps he was positioning rather tighter than strictly necessary. “One is granted an intimate and incomparable insight into the soul of the other. Memories may be visited, feelings communicated without the confines of speech. Why, when the anim-" He caught himself just in time and hid the word behind a little cough. "That is, when the magic is strong enough, one's own thoughts might even be shared. It is truly a singular experience," he finished, stepping back, "The grand culmination of a devoted bond."

A short survey of his handiwork, and his impassioned speech, had Renathal fighting down a smirk of satisfaction; a battle cut short by Dawa's barbed rejoinder of, "As is a marriage," before the centaur turned and clopped away, following the river at a dignified canter. 

It crossed Renathal's bemused mind to simply watch the centaur leave. Let the creature trot along to his own bloody wedding while he himself took a well-deserved rest under the rare and blessed shade. But to allow the mortal the final word on an issue that had bothered him since their very first meeting was anathema to Renathal. And anyway, he still did not have the answers he craved. Why marriage mattered so much to the Windsage. Why it mattered to mortals at all. Why anyone would go to such lengths to complete a rite that, as far as he could see, amounted to semantics.

So, forgoing the drooping boughs of his shelter, Renathal pushed his tinted lenses up his nose and set out into the open, unprotected plain behind the Windsage, trying to shake off the inexplicable irritation that had buzzed around him like a belligerent corpse fly ever since he had initially accepted Dawa's request for aid.

As soon as he was near enough for speech to carry comfortably, Renathal continued, “No one is questioning your devotion, of course,” which was as close as he could come to diplomatic melioration. “It is obvious, even to an outsider, the Hunter Narman and yourself share a deep and abiding love. But that is what makes the imperative of such a ceremony all the more…" Perfunctory? Nonsensical? He struggled for tact. " ...Intriguing.”

Now just behind the Windsage, Renathal slowed to match the centaur’s measured pace, keeping a sword’s length between them as he continued to broach the boundaries of civility.

“After all, it is merely ... words, is it not? What lasting purpose do they serve? How do they edify your already established bond? What does this ritual provide mortal lovers they do not already have?”

He heard the slip too late, and winced as the Windsage halted abruptly, hooves kicking up flecks of dirt and grass. Renathal, too, dropped anchor and assumed a subtly defensive stance. But the earth-colored eyes Dawa fixed on him were filled with neither fear nor the confusion one might have expected, nor the righteous indignation to which he was arguably entitled. On the contrary, he seemed, if anything, more at ease, as if some hidden question had been answered; his broad, heavy features smoothed into something like wary respect.

“My... champion,” he said, in a voice to match his expression, “it is true, I do not undertake this most sacred of rites to accrue any personal gain. Unless it be the privilege of possessing a greater responsibility for the happiness and well-being of the one who is my world.” The Windsage spoke slowly, lingering over the words, as if unsure which of them Renathal might understand. “The essence of a marriage is not in the gaining of power, but in the offering of it to another. I offer my whole self - my power, my person - to my love. It is a sacrifice, but one willingly, joyfully undertaken.

"Today," Dawa paused and inhaled deeply as if savouring the thought, "I publicly dedicate myself to the service of the one I adore. For such an honour, there are no lengths to which I would not have gone. Including," he lowered his eyes in Renathal's direction, "the humble prayers for assistance I offered Ohn'ahra. I now see my prayers did not go unanswered," and he bent his front legs, lowering his head until his beard trailed against the grass.

Renathal supposed he ought to be concerned his cover had been apparently - if incorrectly - blown. However, he was more preoccupied with the Windsage’s words, and the look on face as he spoke; that bright, besotted glow. The bliss of love reciprocated, the delight in its public display. Both were pleasures Renathal well understood, just as he understood, at last, what bothered him about the whole affair.

He wanted this ritual to mean nothing. Because if it meant nothing, then he was missing nothing. And if it mattered… Renathal's eyes flashed red behind his lenses... if it mattered, then he and Elisewin were not quite as bound together as he thought.

This was not the first time he had feared the waning strength of their connection. The idea had preyed on his thoughts since arriving in the mortal realm, where lack of anima reduced their Soulbond to a dim echo of its once vibrant song. This, realised Renathal, was the true culprit lurking behind all the other complaints he had endured since the Waking Shores: the irritation of the pressing heat, the frustration of endless labours, the restless agitation at the lack of regular physical release; all found their root in the loss of an intimacy, so long-awaited and so little-enjoyed.

Something of his consternation must have shown through Renathal's dark lenses, because the centaur's sun-browned face blanched as if worried who - or what - he had offended.

“Of course, I have seen you with your companion," he said quickly, tail swishing restlessly behind him. "Wherever you are from and whatever your customs, I am certain you are bound together by more than mere desire for mutual power."

“No," agreed Renathal absently. He was only half listening. His mind was enveloped in the memory of those moments just before their souls were joined. "It was not power we sought in soulbinding," he mused aloud. “It was ... eternity. To be inseparable. By anything or..." He swallowed, as the shadow of his former Master fell dark across his vision, "-anyone."

"A most worthy desire."

Dawa's voice reached Renathal distantly, as if from another plane of existence. Renathal blinked hard behind his lenses, then, on a whim, tugged them from his eyes. He squinted in the sunlight, letting it sear away that insidious presence.

"It was," he agreed, a little wistfully, "but a sadly uncelebrated one."

Acknowledgement of this little hidden wound drew the irritation from him as though it had been harvested, and Renathal exhaled shakily, feeling a weight drop from his shoulders. 

"Something we might do well to remedy. A little ceremony is good for the soul, after all."

In the glare of the sun, he could just make out the centaur's outline executing another deep bow. 

"If there is anything I - or my Narman - might do in your honour at our celebration-"

But Renathal was shaking his head before the Windsage had finished. He had caused enough of an international incident for one day. 

"Certainly not," he said, with far more gracious authority." I would not dream of wresting any moment of this day from you. However," Renathal replaced his tinted lenses and gestured in the direction of the hills he could now more clearly see, "you might indulge my curiousity a bit longer as we walk? I should very much like to hear more about what exactly a wedding entails."

The Windsage's lovestruck flush returned at the prospect of this most pleasurable request, and he spent the rest of the journey to Maruukai gushing over the details he and the Hunter Narman had planned. 

And if the engagement had been an elaborate and complex procedure steeped in nuance and centuries of tradition, the ceremony itself was even more so; and Renathal, for all his curiosity, even less attentive to it. He stood on the outskirts of the circle of centaurs, polite interest fastened to his face as he watched the lovers in the center declaim and the crowd around them respond in approval. Each vow elicited another round of cheers and stomping, and the whole ceremony was set to the rhythmic pounding of drums.

But it was not the crushing noise that kept Renathal from processing the centaurs' words. It was the being beside him, standing on tiptoe to say into his ear, “It’s certainly interactive, isn’t it?” and the satisfaction he felt in wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her closer. This, at least, was a part of himself he would never again be forced to hide.

Renathal tilted his head, lips brushing the tip of a long, lavender ear as he mused, “Perhaps we ought to have a wedding.”

Elisewin blinked. Whatever words she might have said were lost in a swell of enthusiasm from the centaurs, obliging both outsiders to shield their faces from the dust kicked up by half a hundred stomping hooves. But Renathal needed neither a powerful ritual connection nor even to look at his Soulbind to recognise her surprise.

When relative peace resumed, she leaned in again to say, more quietly, “Surely being Soulbound holds a great deal more significance?”

“Absolutely,” and even Renathal’s low murmur could not mask his note of pride. “But, if you recall, it was rather a rushed affair. Nor were the events that followed quite the celebration to which we were entitled.”

When Elisewin did not answer, Renathal glanced at her face. She was staring at the Windsage and the Hunter, facing each other and clasping hands across the gently smoking fire. A similar cloud crossed Elisewin’s face before she shook it physically away and met his eyes, admitting in an undertone, “I suppose it doesn’t make for the most pleasant memory.”

“And,” continued Renathal quietly, “extremely disappointing for our friends. Theotar, in particular, was inconsolable for days when he discovered he had not been present.”

At this, Elisewin snorted, then immediately clapped a hand across her mouth as the heads of the nearest centaurs whipped around. She met the severe gazes with eyes full of exaggerated apology, while Renathal bowed his head, hair covering his face, fighting valiantly not to laugh. A quick glance at the couple in the center confirmed they, at least, had noticed nothing. From the looks on their faces as they gazed at each other, Renathal doubted they would notice if their whole crowd of witnesses disappeared. 

After several beats of dutiful silence, Elisewin whispered, "Very well," against Renathal's ear. "Once we return to Revendreth, we'll let Theotar plan us a party."

“A wedding,” he clarified softly, and her lips were close enough he could feel her thoughtful frown.

“Really? You want all this? Stomping and drumming and dirt everywhere?”

It was Renathal's turn to stifle an instinctive snort of laughter.

“Not that part,” he hissed behind his hand. “But this part -" He lifted his chin in the direction of Dawa and Narman now exchanging their final promises of unswerving loyalty, "-yes." 

"Does it ... really matter?" asked Elisewin, forgetting to whisper in her curiosity. Long, dark hair fell across Renathal's shoulder as she cocked her head, presumably to follow his gaze. "They're just... words, after all."

The echo of his own ignorance made Renathal smile. For a moment, he said nothing, only watched the two centaurs step forward at last, their faces mirrors of beaming devotion as they reached for each other in a kiss that, magic or no, Renathal could feel the power of even from a distance. He thought, from Elisewin's silence and the way her fingers found his, she could feel it, too. He squeezed her hand.

“Yes,” Renathal decided then and there, “it does matter."

[spaghetti-man99]

Gifts

A poly!musketeers fic 

Description: Athos is very fond of spoiling his partners, especially after being apart. 

A/N: Can you tell how much I love soft Musketeers? These guys deserve some fluff.

Athos wanted to go home. He’d been stuck in the rain and mud for five days, and he missed the comforts that home brought. He wished that one of the others had been able to come with to make the experience a bit less miserable, but d'Artagnan had been sick and Aramis offered to stay and take care of him, and Captain Trevill needed Porthos for some secret mission or another, so Athos had been given a few other musketeers and told to stakeout next to this godforsaken town for five days as security for some high ranking noble the King was fond of. 

At first, Athos was glad to have something to do, ready to do anything he needed for the mission. Now, however, on their fifth day of travel, he just wanted to get home to his partners. That night, covered in mud and grime, Athos and the other musketeers gladly began the trek back to Paris. They had to pass through town to get to their road, and though Athos could hear the townspeople laughing when he turned his back, he was too tired to care. Then, as Athos was about to confront the laughing people, he saw something that caught his eye. In a small, tucked away shop window, there sat a small stuffed dragon, red and squat on its perch, illuminated by soft lamplight from behind. Athos stopped and stared, remembering how much d’Artagnan loved to talk about dragons, especially red fire breathers like this looked to be. He hesitated for just a moment before turning back, telling the other musketeers he would catch up and riding over towards the shop. 

Upon walking in, he was greeted by a smell of books and lavender that was so strong, he was nearly knocked back by it. An old man sat behind the desk, and when Athos asked about the dragon he nodded and smiled wide. He pulled the dragon from its perch and handed it to Athos, telling him how important it was that the stuffed animal find a good, safe place to stay that was warm and dry. Athos just nodded, imagining the look in d’Artagnan’s eyes when he would hand him the dragon. Then, the man asked him to wait. 

He scuttled off into the back room, and when he came back he held two boxes: a long, gold box and a square brown box. When Athos opened the gold one, he was shocked to see a beautiful pair of bracers, leather with golden designs that spiraled and swirled endlessly on the sides, perfect for Porthos. He paused before opening the other box, which ended up holding what seemed to be a small music box that played London Bridge while a small figure danced on top with a sword. Aramis would love it.

 Athos was silent for a moment, dumbfounded by the objects in front of him, before he shook his head and frowned in suspicion. How had the old man known what to give him, the perfect things for his lovers back home? He was about to say something, but the old man held up his hand and shook his head, and Athos could tell that his questions would be futile. So, after a moment’s hesitation, Athos caved and bought the trinkets. He paid much less than what he believed they were worth, though he thought it was an intentional mark down by the man and not a mistake, so he didn’t comment on it. After he was back on his horse and with the musketeers, Athos allowed himself a small smile, looking forward to when he would see his partners again. 

When he finally got home, the first thing he did was rush to d’Artagnan’s room where he found not just d’Artagnan, but Athos and Porthos too. His lovers tackled him with hugs, drowning him in their affection and love. d’Artagnan, however, was still too sick to leave his bed, and so expressed his happiness from where he lay. Athos pushed forward and sat by the younger man’s bed, grabbing his hand and kissing it gently. Then, he reached into his pouch and pulled out the dragon, and d’Artagnan’s eyes lit up with joy. He grabbed the stuffed dragon, expressing his thanks through weak hugs and kisses that Aramis warned might be infectious, but Athos was too tired and happy to care. Slowly he pulled away from the bed and walked to the other two, handing them their gifts and reveling in their happiness.

[asoulofatlantis]

That is the moment were I should say: "Excuse me?!" BUT when people say bad things about Erebonia they usually are at least half right so... yeah ^^'

As many other things I totally forgot about those Ambassadors of Calvard and Erebonia in this game.

Isn't... Estelle afraid of Ghosts? ^^'

Yes, she is XD Poor girl. Her first real mission as a fully fledged out Bracer is something like this.

(Takes mental note to call Elaine a "law-whore" at least one XD *achem*) I can kind of understand them. At the end of the day Agate did abandon them.

I think we can all agree on the fact that Joshua deserves a punsh or two or three or... fivehundred... for making our poor Estelle hurt so much, right?

Yeah... we'll meet again A LOT though this game ^^'

Haha... ^^' Beublanc certainly is polite, is he not? As I was saying Ouroboros is a colorful bunch.

I was so fucking annyed by him constantly doing that. Her boyfriends just up and left her heartbroken and he himself encouraged her to find the strength to search for him and yet he can not stop flirting with her. Its so annoying. Where is Ries when you need her? Right. Not here. Just like in Kai...

After a bunch of sidemission I only did for the money (I left the first game not exactly rich and full of goodies, if you get me ^^') I have finally arrived here. The first time I played this game, I think I haven't meet Rennes true Parents yet, so I wasn't even aware that she actually used exact copies of her real parents...

Ah ♥ Here he is! The best character Falcom has EVER produced ♥ The true Hero of Zemuria ♥ My dearly beloved Prince Olivert ♥ Or Oliver Lenheim the bard, I leave that one up to you. It doesn't matter who he is anyway. Because all that matters is that he is THE best ♥

I do not wish to do all the side- and hidden-missions here as it slows the game down immensely... but I feel like I should make sure that they are at least at C-Rank as this is the Canon-Situation - as stupid as that sounds, given all the things they have accomplished. PLUS... I do need the money so I can equipped my whole team properly this time ^^'

5 1/2 Hours in and I FINALLY am past the halfway point of chapter 1. This game is MASSIVE. If I continue doing sidemission like that it will take me until Christmas until I finish this game, especially since I will take the weekend off after Kai came out, the one after that possibly too. So... yeah... ^^' This will be it for today tho. My brain is to mushy to meat Bublanc in the flesh XD

[mischiefxmuses]

HWTask 14: Going for the Gold

featuring Iorveth

which game(s) would your character compete in for the olympics? – for a list of games, click here & here

Iorveth would definitely compete in Archery.

how would they likely rank in their event(s)?

He would likely take home the gold. He has been an archer since he was a kid and had two hundred years of experience. He doesn't miss

does your muse have a supernatural ability that could aid them? if so, how would they use them?

Maybe being an elf helps him but that's more genetics than supernatural ability.

if your muse isn’t a skilled athlete, what sport(s) do they wish that they were able to play?

N/A

if your muse wouldn’t compete, what would be their favorite sport(s) to watch? would they prefer to watch in person or on tv if given the choice?

He would compete in Archery but enjoy watching most of the other sports except like handball, synchronized swimming and football. But he would be intrigued.

if they come from a fictional country or world, what might their opening ceremony uniform look like?

Lots of elvish influences. Greens and browns. He would probably want to dawn some leather bracers. Some leaf embroidery around the collar and maybe find a more interesting and pretty eyepatch.

what would their personal trading pin look like?

Some ivy to match the tattoo on his neck.

what would their social media presence be like throughout the games?

He doesn't understand social media at all. He would likely have no presence.

would they go viral on olympic tiktok? if so, what for?

If he went viral on tiktok it would be likely for the way he looked. The seriousness of him while performing. Stoic and mysterious.

what would your muse like or dislike about the olympic village?

He would probably hate feeling contained. He likes his freedom to do what he wants when he wants. Also if he had to share with a stranger absolutely not.

[j-graysonlibrary]

The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three Chapter 10

Title: The Xiang Chronicles: Book Three

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 107k

Genres: Fantasy, adventure, drama, LGBT+

Available on: my website

Synopsis: Only one Xiang remains and her name is Merra. She hopes to unite the land by force and plow down anyone in her way—especially the people of Agni who she deems faithless and the native people of Terra who refuse to cooperate with her.

Raine continues to serve his Lord but he has taken to alcoholism to soothe his grief—a fact he keeps out of his letters with Heidi. Baiya has returned to mercenary work in order to keep his family safe while Kira is on the warpath. He, fully, takes on the title of Chaaya and means to defeat the Xiang he sees as false.

And, in a guarded castle in Enlil, a stir-crazy Princess dabbles in the dark arts, setting in motion something even Tiandi cannot see.

Full chapter 10 under the cut

Chapter X:

It was dark or, at least, very dim. There were few candles lit in the pub but that did not encourage anyone to pack up and head to their rooms. If that was, indeed, the barkeep’s strategy. The actual effect of snuffing out half the candles was that the soldiers, already rowdy from the drinking, had begun to feel emboldened.

Waitresses were grabbed or at least whistled at and lewd conversations grew louder. The men in armor would not easily be discouraged.

For Raine, the spots of light blurred and some even multiplied when he turned his head too quickly. The lights would even move separate from the flame sometimes, following his line of sight like little faeries. It had been funny at first, in a weird way, but the effect was beginning to irritate him.

His body was heavy and, at the same time, he weighed nothing. His head was where all of his focus was anyway as it tried to swim away from him.

The only way he could ground himself, he reasoned, was with another drink of mead. It had gone warm but that was no real deterrent.

Raine gulped down the rest from his mug and shivered afterward. The taste was not terrible but it was still not to his liking—even after several mugs. It had gotten better, yes, but every time he swallowed, his body threatened to reject it.

He rested his mouth against his arm bracer and waited until the feeling passed. He needed the drink to work its magic in his body so that he could properly sleep and, in all honesty, so he could properly deal with his current company.

Although, their chatter was still reaching him, even as he sat at the far table and alone.

Everything in his body resisted the movement as he stood from his table and his head, especially, began to spin. He gripped the back of his chair to steady him and acclimate to the new standing position. It took a few moments or, maybe, just a second but once the sensation stabilized, he started to walk.

Raine had not been with this particular group of soldiers for very long. Most, he had just met the day prior at the outpost outside of Castelle and the rest only a day or two before that. New recruits were the most common and most viable these days while many of the older soldiers were moved up in rank to supervise.

At the least, even the newest soldiers before the events six months ago, had become captains of their own troops. Raine, himself, had been promoted as well but he was not sure it really meant anything.

Grand General sounded great, yes, but it did not change his situation.

The candles in the throne room had flickered as the foundation of the palace trembled. Raine recalled it vividly because he knew of only one force that could create such a commotion.

As soon as he returned to Castelle, he had told his King of the events in Ultimos and in Gnoma. He warned him of the incoming attacks and they were able to, preemptively, prepare. For months, they held their own at the border of both Terra and Enlil.

Merra, it seemed, had been successful in asking Enlil to help and, though their soldiers were not as many in number as Terran soldiers, it was still difficult to fight off two forces at once.

Raine had led a few of the defensive battles on the border but they were, inevitably, pushed back. The fighting took them all the way back to Castelle where Merra’s soldiers made an encampment just within eyeshot over the wall. No one attacked for a week but the looming fear of that invasion hung over everyone’s heads.

That moment, in the throne room, with only King Din Raime Cast and Raine looking at one another, it had been long in the making.

“I do not want to forfeit my people to death just out of my past loyalties…as much as it pains me,” the King said with a frown and tears in his eyes.

He really had been loyal to Pangu. For as long as he could.

But Raine still protested. “She will force your men to march with her on Agni! More of your people will die regardless!”

The King buried his face into his hand. The palace shook again. They were coming closer.

“My lord!” Raine yelled.

“I cannot let this continue!” he shouted back and removed his hand. A tear ran down his cheek and his teeth clenched. “Soldiers will be lost, yes, but they are killing common folk until we answer them. They are destroying our men and children—almost for the sport of it! If surrender will save even one life today…I must take it…I am sorry, Raine.”

Although Raine knew, deep down, even then, that it was the correct choice, he still felt betrayed in the moment. “You promised Pangu you would see him as the Xiang! You promised me that you would honor his life by standing firm against Merra!”

“I tried!” The King collapsed onto one knee, partly due to exhaustion and partly due to the sudden rumble of earth. “I did my best…”

The lights blew out when the doors opened and Raine’s memory stopped there. He did not wish to think of Merra anymore or the way she pushed herself into the deepest sanctum of his King’s palace. How she demanded loyalty from him in exchange for his continued rule over Kyrie.

She had even added, as a sly remark, that she would take a tour on the side of town where Raine’s orphanage was located. He nearly asked how she even knew about it but realized, quite quickly, that the spirits must have told her.

Not only had one of the Heavenly Princes killed Pangu but Raine was being threatened by spirits of Tiandi. He had no hope of recovering his faith after that.

He needed another drink. He feared the nightmares would come back if he did not get another drink.

“Sorry, lad, the tap has run dry.” The barkeep said with a tiresome sigh. He very well could have been lying to try and send the soldiers away but it could have also easily been true. They were all drinking a lot. “Your friends have a mean thirst…you as well.”

Raine grumbled, incoherently, as he stumbled away. He did not wish to fight the barkeep—even if he was lying about there being no more drink, he could not exactly blame him for doing so.

The young soldiers in the bar were behaving like animals.

One table, in particular, was crammed full of the new recruits and they were each red in the face and throwing their arms about wildly. The most headstrong of the boys had grabbed a waitress and pulled her down to sit with them. He now had an arm confidently wrapped around her shoulders, forcing her even closer.

“We ain’t seen many fair ladies since deployment, you see,” he explained with a wide, toothy grin to the, clearly, uncomfortable woman, “All the women we see are covered head to toe in armor. Nothin’ sexy about that…”

“Or givin’ us orders!” another young man chimed in and the rest jeered and threw their arms up.

“Like they our mama or something!” More jeering.

The one with his arm around the woman leaned into her, clearly sniffing her hair. “You though…you look like you take orders well. Bein’ a waitress and all aside.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, her entire body going stiff.

“Why not give us a dance? Just a little one, on the table, so me and my boys can see?” he lowered his voice and the grumble of excited chatter around also lowered. “We got a hard mission ahead of us so we need our morale boosted.”

Raine finally made it to their table, still having to grip the back of one of their chairs to stand upright. But, his presence, even drunk, caught all of their collective attention.

The chatter stopped and all eyes were on him. Even the young woman stared at him, though she had far more hope in her eyes than the boys did.

“Soldier, what is your name?” Raine asked the boy with his arm around the waitress.

“K-Kenni sir—Gris Kenni Qu.”

“Kenni,” he repeated and then sighed. “You already know what I will say.”

“S-sir, we was just having a little fu—”

“Shut…up.” Raine pointed a finger at him. “I do not think the waitress of this establishment is having any fun. Not only that but you are giving the people of this town a negative impression of the King. Do you understand that?”

“But I was just—”

“You are a reflection of the King and Kyrie,” Raine raised his voice and many of the young men started to bow their heads. “What you do. What you say. How you act. It is how people see this country. Know what I see now? A pathetic loser who uses any modicum of power he comes across to force people to bend to his will. I hope war changes you, Kenni, because if it does not, you will be among the first to die. And, when you do die, you will leave behind a trail of people who see the world as better off without you in it. Is that the kind of legacy you want to leave behind?”

“N-no , sir.”

Raine helped the waitress up from her seat and she ran off to stay behind the counter. His eyes never left the soldiers, however. “I may be drinking as well but do you see me making a fool of myself?”

A quiet, ashamed choir followed, “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

He felt he could throw up again. “You are all to return to camp or use the rooms you purchased here. I expect to see you ready to depart first thing. If not, we will be leaving you behind and I will be reporting your behavior directly to the King. Do we have an understanding?”

They all nodded but did not move.

Raine took a deep breath and then shook the chair he had a hold on. “Get a move on!”

The young men all scrambled and fled the bar like a swarm of bugs. The movement was sickening to look at as it made Raine dizzy but he steadied himself and waited until they were all gone before walking again.

He left a hefty sum of money on the bar for the trouble he and his soldiers had caused and then stumbled outside as well.

It was dark, as expected, and the torches leading back to the encampment outside of town were few and far between. Raine kept his eyes forward and focused, as much as he could, and he carried on. Eventually, he told himself, he would get there. No matter how long the distance seemed now.

“Hey, there you are,” a voice called from behind him and, though he could not recognize it right away, it still filled him with dread.

His pace slowed and he risked a look over his shoulder. Once he caught sight of his pursuer, he groaned and kept walking, only with less urgency. They would catch up.

“I was looking for you around town. I did not think to check the bar.” At his side now, Ran Bofu Song matched his strides despite his short stature. His big hat alone was enough to give him away but he also wore a half cape around his shoulder to signify his status as disciple.

“I was getting my soldiers to pack it up for the night,” Raine stated simply.

Bofu laughed. “You think I am stupid? I can smell the booze on you. Plus, you are stumbling.” He continued to chuckle as he sped up, so he could walk backward and get a good look at him simultaneously. “I never pegged you for a drunk.”

“What do you want?” he cut to business. The Kyrie disciple would not be in front of him if he did not need anything.

Luckily, the kid did not draw his mocking out any longer and did switch to the matter at hand. “There has been a change of plans. You are still needed at the border but, before that, we have spotted the Chaaya again.”

Raine’s eyes sharpened. He felt less drunk now. “And you want me to go there?”

“Well, it is either that or we go and drag Heidi out of playing house,” Bofu commented with a smug smirk, “Did you not say that you, alone, could handle Kira? That we would not need to find the other ex-disciples to help because you would take care of it? Months ago?”

“Where was the sighting?” Raine pushed past his irritation, as much as he could.

“Just north of Meala. An outpost town” The kid clasped his hands behind his back. “It you manage to apprehend him then we can loosen your leash a little, you know.”

He doubted that. Already, he was constantly threatened with the orphanage and the sovereignty of Kyrie. It would take little effort from Merra, with her chokehold on the country, to assassinate the King and put whoever she chose in charge. Even herself.  And, at this point, Raine would not put anything past her.

“I will do as the Xiang asks,” Raine answered through clenched teeth.

Bofu let out a boisterous laugh. “Well, do not sound so enthused.” He brought his hands back to his front and gestured toward him, “You know, Raine, you really should be happier. The Heavenly Princes wanted you dead but Merra asked for their leniency. She knows how useful you are and she believes in second chances. Although, I suppose this is more of a third chance, if you want to get into specifics.”

“And I should be grateful for this benevolence?” He grumbled.

“Yes. You are not dead.”

Perhaps not, but sometimes Raine wondered if working for the new Xiang was any different from death. He certainly did not feel like he was the same person anymore and all of his morals and ethics were crushed under his heel in order to keep his life and ensure the safety of those he cared about. The old Raine was dead, in that way.

To counteract that, he would try to remind himself that, because of his “cooperation” with Merra, Heidi and Baiya were safe. While they knew where Heidi was, they would not go after her so long as Raine stayed fighting with them and Baiya’s location was unknown to everyone. They suspected he was on his farm but, with the hot border, it was impossible for any of them to pass into Agni unnoticed or unchallenged.

Raine, also, insisted that Baiya would stay away from his farm even if he knew better. Bofu always doubted him when it came to his and Viren’s whereabouts, believing that Raine knew exactly where they were at all times but, the few times Raine had met with Merra, she was much easier to convince.

And, so long as Raine could stay on her good side, he was sure he could survive for a little while longer. Not for his own sake but for everyone else’s.

[dhampiravidi]

D&D OC - Rela

template from here:

BASIC DESCRIPTION

Full Name: Sabriel "Rela" Farstrider Age: (plot-dependent) early 20s to 160 yrs Species: Aasimar (Planetar-descended); Chondathan Gender: Cisgender Woman Sexuality: Bisexual (Demiromantic)

APPEARANCE (FC is Gugu Mbatha-Raw)

Rela stands at 5'7" (1.7 m). She looks much like a regular human, apart from her lilac skin and the soft feathers that kiss her upper back. Her irises are blue and her curly hair is dark. Although her form is slender, she is toned from years of training with her sword and adventuring in general. She wears dark brown leather boots with tan pants and a dark brown tunic that conceals a layer of plate armor (on her thighs, chest and shoulders). She also wears white bracers blessed by a priest of Mystra, and a dark brown cape. Rela typically wears her hair in locs or a ponytail.

PERSONALITY

Rela is a naturally intelligent person who enjoys knowledge. In her free time, she reads histories of various cultures, which makes her knowledgeable about many different customs. When she does interact with others, she is always polite and open-minded (though she tends to shy away from large groups). She typically treats all members of a species the same, regardless of rank. Her elder guildmates have noted that she can be indecisive when it comes to decisions that directly affect the happiness of other (non-hostile) creatures. And sometimes, they say her attachment to those she forges close bonds with can get in the way of her missions.

BACKGROUND

Lawful Good; Fighter (Dueling & Psi Warrior): her human parent left her on the doorstep of the local fighters' guild, knowing that the Neutral Good people would not hurt the child. The guild named her Sabriel, after an angel that one of the guildmembers claimed to have met during their adventures. They also took turns teaching her languages, acrobatics, history, the arts, magic, and strategy. When she became old enough to be apprenticed, she began studying with the Psi Warrior Fighter Maglos Nerot, who was just a few years her senior. They adventured together for quite some time until he was killed in battle. She is still not sure if she fell in love with him or not, though they were close friends who occasionally slept together (both literally and figuratively). Rela has dedicated herself to the Faerunian goddess of magic Mystra, becoming a devout and thankful follower.

SKILLS

Acrobatics - hers is augmented by her telekinetic ability Athletics - she regularly exerts herself while training/adventuring History - it's her favorite topic to read about when she has time Perception - tends to notice/recall details that others miss Religion - praying gives her strength & confidence

OTHER PROFICIENCIES

Tools: explorer’s pack Spells: daylight, psi-powered leap, telekinesis, psi strike Languages: Common, Elvish, Celestial Weapons: two longswords

[worldcatlas]

DS9: Emissary (Part 1)

After an oddly Star Wars-esque text crawl, we meet Benjamin Sisko in a flashback to his time on the USS Saratoga, during the battle of Wolf 359. The ship is captained by a Vulcan named Storil, played by J.G. Hertzler, who would later come back to play the Klingon General Martok. Both are wearing TNG-style uniforms, and both are having a very bad day.

One of these characters is about to gain a tragic backstory, and it’s probably not the one we’ll never see again.

Oof. Thankfully, the plot fast forwards three years, and we see Sisko’s son Jake holo-fishing in some cute space overalls. The shirt appears to have an interesting texture, and the slightly darker fabric on the shoulders is a nice touch, with the double piping at the seams giving it just a hint of “space suit”.

You can eat whatever you catch, but it might leave you feeling a little… hollow.

Interestingly, this outfit would later find its way to the Delta quadrant, as we often see it worn by Rebi, one of the Borg twins in season 6 of Voyager.

Look, we all just want to be Super Mario in our hearts.

Next, it’s time to meet an old friend in a new uniform: it’s the universe’s favourite punching bag, Miles O’Brien! In contrast to the old uniforms, which displayed rank pips on a stiff collar, the new ones have a soft grey turtleneck under the jacket. As well, where the old uniforms had black shoulders and a coloured body and sleeves, the new ones are only coloured on top.

It saves on coloured ink in the replicator.

A tour of the dilapidated station wouldn’t be complete, of course, without a spooky Bajoran monk making ominous invitations, and Sisko is in luck! I love this look; the cowl and long sleeves convey religious modesty, while the asymmetry, exotic fabrics, and metallic accents give it a distinctly alien flair. Given the importance of Bajor to the plot of Deep Space Nine, it’s not surprising they’ve given this much care and attention to the Bajorans’ costume designs, but it’s still nice to see this level of detail on a one-off character.

He may be a harbinger of your cursed destiny, but he’s got his aesthetic locked down.

Speaking of Bajorans, we soon meet a very angry Major Kira in the uniform of the Bajoran militia. We’ll see different earth-toned variations around the station, but Kira’s is a rusty orange colour, made with heavy corduroy and quilted fabric on the sleeves. It’s a nice contrast to the primary colours Starfleet brings to the table, while still using rank pips and a communicator on the chest.

What, do you want me to do a twirl?

Elsewhere on the station, some last-minute looters are causing trouble, and we get a quick look at Ferengi fashion. Nog wears a typical Ferengi headpiece with shimmering sequins, and Quark adorns himself in heavy, patterned fabrics.

Rule of Acquisition #47: Don't trust a man wearing a better suit than your own.

Even better is Nog’s partner in (literal) crime, an unnamed alien in an impressively monochrome outfit. The alien wears baggy pants and a cowl similar to the Bajorans’, but also carries a spiked flail on his belt. He also wears a leather-looking vest with a strange bar across the front, and heavy bracers and boots, all in varying shades of brown.

It probably works great as camouflage… outside of a space station.

The two are busted, however, when security chief Odo shows up to out-brown them all.

Don’t make me go all the way to beige.

On board the docked Enterprise, Sisko has a very tense meeting with Picard, who asks him if they’ve met – before realizing they have, kinda, when Jean-Luc sort of uh… murdered Ben’s wife in his Borg phase. Oops.

Haha awkwarddd

The final straw was Sisko’s realization that they’d worn the same outfit, so he returns to the station to change into something else.

New year, new you(niform).

He gets a fit check from his new pal Odo, who wears a slightly different uniform in this scene than the one we saw on the promenade. This version is yellower, which doesn’t do any favours for his complexion, especially since the makeup also seems to be, uh, droopier.

You good, Odo? Need some bucket time?

Of course, a good captain always gets the opinion of his second in command, so he goes to see Kira as well, who is hard at work cleaning up the mess left behind by the Cardassians. It’s sweaty work, so she has removed her uniform jacket, revealing a very lovely sleeveless blouse underneath.

Redefining high-waisted pants for the 24th century.

In a helpful bit of exposition, she explains to Sisko how the Bajoran religion is the only thing holding her people together, and we get a glimpse of her earring – an important symbol of her faith.

However, their heartfelt conversation is cut short when the ominous monk from earlier returns to tell Sisko, simply, “It’s time.” He’s too Starfleet-polite to say no, or “who the heck even are you,” so we find ourselves whisked away to a temple.

Welcome! Get comfortable. It won’t last long.

The monks here, too, do amazing things with robes, using the same layering as before in various colours and textures. We meet Kai Opaka, an important religious leader, who insists on showing Ben a magic box. Suddenly, we’re transported to a beach, and our stoic commander is wearing some extremely purple beachwear.

I need to stop saying “yes” to everyone.Once the shock wears off, Sisko realizes his dead wife Jennifer is here too, in a killer teal and gold bikini! This would be great, except she doesn’t know who he is, so he just kind of weirds her out a little.

Excuse me, you’re blocking the radiation.

Sisko is nothing if not determined, however, and as he pursues Jennifer down the beach, we get to see some interesting swimwear in the background, too. I dig the pattern on the left suit, and the guy on the right is a great example of the old Trek standby of “colour blocking = futuristic”.

My man looking like an early aughts DVD menu.

Just as Ben’s about to win Jennifer over with aubergine stew, we’re thrown back to the present. Fortunately, it’s a present where we have Dabo girls in metallic latex dresses.

We’re all winners at the Dabo table.

Not fashion related, but I’m 99% sure this alien is playing his instrument with two cucumbers.

…?!

Anyway.

Gul Dukat comes aboard the station to spread smugness, wearing armour consistent with the Cardassians’ last appearance on TNG, though considerably updated from their first appearance (pictured: TNG season 4 “The Wounded”).

Is it just me, or do all Cardassians look alike?

Don’t expect to get any great fashion inspo from these guys, though, as they never leave the house without their pointy black security blankets.

Seriously, these guys have one look.

Lastly, we get a good – if all too brief – look at the outfit worn by Morn, the chatty barfly often seen in Quark’s. He’s wearing what appear to be studded leather gauntlets, to match the sleeves/pauldrons(?) on his top, which is obviously just stretched tight over his rippling muscles.

Some folks are just built different.

[shaddashk]

I wrote a thing (FF7)

STILL not the one I’m wanting to work and finish on, but to be fair this one “started” before that one so... eh. If it gets me going, right?

Chapter One

Swing.

He didn't think on the fact that the trooper falling victim to his blade was only one of still probably a hundred more to go. Maybe more. Not like he had time to count them.

Block.

If he thought about it he might falter. Faltering was bad. He would die if he faltered. And then who would make sure Cloud didn't get his three meals a day? Cloud?

Dance to the side. Smash the pommel into the chest of the sword trooper.

wait... who am I fighting?

So he focused on just breathing. Allowing his mind and body to move without thought. The Buster sword became an extension of himself. His dreams, fighting to be free. Limited only by his body

“Zack!”

Too slow. A pike snagged flesh and drew a bloody jagged line down the length of his forearm.

pike?

Aerith was waiting for him. Her laugh, her smile danced in his mind, almost crowding out the sight of the soldiers in brown and red crouched ahead of him, long pikes in their hands.

what... Aerith?

Green.

Green like the mako tanks that had held him and Cloud. The mako tanks that they would put them back in if Zack failed. Zack snarled as rage flooded his body like he had never felt before and whirled away from the pike soldiers in front of him and lunged for the source. At the trooper in blue standing with a hand on his wrist, a bracer flickering green light oddly and swung with all his might.

Clang!

The rage faltered as the sword blocking his wasn’t any normal sword. It was the broad metal of the Buster Sword. But... That wasn’t... Zack blinked as he focused for what felt like the first time on his hands. On the... regular sword clenched in a two handed grip that couldn’t quite fit on the pommel.

Suddenly he couldn’t seem to draw breath into his lungs as it felt like something physical smashed between his eyes and his vision went white.

~~~

Aerith jerked back as ethereal green threads bloomed like flowers out from the ground that she had just been working on. She held her breath, mainly out of wonder but with a touch of fear. The Lifestream had never done this before. What was happening?

The "petals" of the Lifestream waved in the air, as if dancing to some unfelt wind. And perhaps it was. Sometimes Aerith swore she could feel things around her that were not… "here". Things were different for the Lifestream.

The green threads uncurled more and seemed to stretch out to her hand, reaching. Seeking. Without realizing what she was doing, she reached her hand to it and held her fingers still as the green stream wrapped around her fingers. Warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature blossomed in her hand and darted up her arm. Whispers threaded their way through her mind, *almost* words but not words.

…hold on… 

...love lasts…

...hold on…

Feelings ripped through the Lifestream before it let go of her hand and shattered into a million little pieces that faded back into the ground.

Aerith took in a breath, not realizing she had somehow held it all that time, eyes wide. That had been the most… Wonderful and strange experience she had ever had. Carefully she poked at the soil and felt a twinge of disappointed when the Lifestream didn't bloom again.

“Too bad there isn't anyone to tell about this.” She sighed, carefully swiping at the corner of her eyes. While caring, she knew that Emyra didn't know what to make of it when Aerith talked about her experiences with the Lifestream. This would definitely rank up there on the strangeness scale. Maybe someday there would be someone who would take her strangeness in stride.

Just not today.

She went back to working the soil, digging gently with her hands into the dirt, carefully mixing in her special "plant food" mixture into it. Unnoticed, the heads of the flowers waiting to be planted bowed and swayed for a moment, as if dancing in the wind.

[aurora-phoenix-andromeda]

Kal'tra Norac

Basics

Species; Human Gender; Male, he/him Age; 51 (ish) Force Sensitive? Yes

Appearance

Height; 6'0" Skin Tone; Faded tan Tattoos/Scars; Being a Mandalorian, he has his share of scars. The most prominent one is the massive burn across his ribs. Many of the others are noteworthy in either size or prominence, but none share the depth of trauma that one does. As for tattoos, he has a few, but no big ones; a small star on the side of his neck, a ring around his bicep of the Resol'nare, and a little mythosaur skull on the back of his left hand. Eyes; Very dark brown. Hair; Also dark brown, slowly going grey. Posture; You know those old-timey Westerns with the sheriffs that stand with one hip cocked and one hand on their holster? It's like that. Think 'cowboy'. Dress; Mandalorian armor. The chest and backplates, helmet, left pauldron, and bracers are all beskar. The rest is plain metal. It's painted primarily black (for justice), with the beskar pauldron left silver/grey (for mourning), a dark forest green as a secondary color (for duty), and gold accents (for vengeance). Also, a short cloak of faded grey fabric, with a hood. Weapons/Tools; Aside from a pair of blasters and his inherited(?) saber, he also has a grappling hook, bracer-mounted crossbow, a solid dozen knives (not including throwing knives), an extendable sword in his boot, two different backup blasters, a bracer-mounted tazer, and a jetpack. Plus a dozen more details in his armor and undersuit that could make decent shivs in a pinch.

Attitude

Personality; As long as you're sticking to the topic of hiring him, he's calm and direct. He doesn't take shit but he won't give it either, usually. In casual conversation, he's pretty chill, if a man of few words. If he's pissed off, he turns into ice; very still, very quiet, very cold. Generally, he tries to be a decent sort, but the long and short of it is his Clan needs to be fed, and he'll do what he needs to do in order to get the credits he needs to do that. Likes; Animals, especially tookas. Would have one if they didn't cost credits he can give to his Clan. Enjoys word games- not the ones where you talk, but like. Space Scrabble. If he's home, sometimes he'll sit down for a while and end up in a pile of foundlings, and this is his most favorite thing ever because it reassures him his Clan is happy and safe, which is all he wants out of life. Dislikes; The Empire, the First Order, the Jedi, the Republic- basically any authority. A little fond of the Rebellion, but mostly because several of his Clan were involved in it in some way, and ends up disliking them when they become/merge with the New Republic. Hates, hates, hates the paperwork that comes with having a registered ship, and a bounty-hunting license, and a 'religious exemption' for having his weapons in most cities, and, and, and.... the stuff is endless. Give him an entire krayt dragon over paperwork, any day. Strengths; Excellent at keeping secrets. He's a very good shot and very skilled in improvised weaponry and hand to hand. Basically, he's best in a fight. He knows how to make the battlefield work for him, and uses it to his advantage frequently. Weaknesses; Excellent at keeping secrets. This includes from people that probably actually should know them. While he's great in a fight, his social skills are... somewhat lacking, and he has about as much charm as a dented left pauldron. He also tends to be brutally honest. If kids are in danger, he will drop whatever else he was doing to help them, which means, unfortunately, that several rivals have used kids as bait. They get what's coming to them.

Other

Ship; The Shereshoy Crew; None Droid(s); 3T-T3, "Ettie", a pit droid head with thrusters attached so she can float. He rescued her from the junk heap on some backwater planet. Color(s); Charcoal and gold.

Force

Rank; N/A Force Side; Light? Saber(s); One, yellow single-blade, Oracle hilt. When the Jedi that was supposed to take him to the Temple was killed, Kal'tra took the saber from his body, like the Force said he should. He's kept it ever since. It's not his, not really, but he can't let it go, either. Master; N/A Padawan; N/A Company; N/A Company Color(s); N/A Commander; N/A Troops; N/A

Skills

Force Skills; Minimal to none. Mostly it just gives him faster reaction time, better instincts, a hint of trouble before trouble happens. Sometimes, very rarely, a vision. Saber Skills; Uhhh. Poor? He's not very practiced with it. He keeps expecting it to have weight that it doesn't have, because he's more used to swords. It takes him a few swings, but usually he can get used to it enough to defend himself in a fight. Can't deflect blaster bolts or anything fancy, though. Other Skills; He's actually a very good cook. Years of working with what he had, making things that should taste like shit taste at least bearable, and using things that are probably only just safe for consumption means that he's very experienced in getting the best flavors out of what he's making. Just don't ask him to bake. He's not great at that.

Kal'tra Norac, as created in artbreeder.