#your mind is your greatest weapon keep it sharp

[thepeopleinpower]

Neutrality is not an option, if you’re not actively against genocide you’re supporting it. So please normalize asking dumb questions and seeking out as much information as possible. Please educate yourself. Stay informed. Don’t spread misinformation. Consult multiple sources. Primary sources whenever possible. Be mindful of credibility. Cross-check important information. Free Palestine but not just because it seems to be the stance all your left-leaning friends are taking. Free Palestine because that is what’s right. Because its genocide and no amount of nuance will ever change or justify that. Because you know good from evil even when it might seem complicated at first. Because you understand that…

…there is a lot of dangerous intermeshing of politics and religion.

…there is a lot of unfathomable hatred prejudice and fear.

…there is a lot of manipulation of, and omission of, vital information.

…there are lots of (often incongruous & self-contradictory) combinations of religious values & political ideologies.

…there are lots of pieces in play that are so often mistaken for each other, lumped together, generalized, referred to interchangeably, etc, when they absolutely should not be.

Don’t be complicit in the ongoing genocide, but don’t be a sheep either. Your voice is so often your only weapon and it carries a lot more weight when its your own and not an echo of someone else’s.

[dc-comics-enjoyer]

Good Dad™ Bruce headcanons (part 1) :

(because we deserve it and need to heal)

Cass and Bruce connect a lot through shared meditation sessions. Just silently and calmly existing with each other.

Bruce often unwinds by playing the piano alone in the Wayne Manor music room. One evening, Steph heard him and joined in with a guitar she found there. Bruce didn't mind. Since then, whenever he starts playing, Steph often grabs an instrument, turning his solo sessions into lively jam sessions.

Bruce has a habit of calling Dick under the guise of needing his advice on a case. Once they’ve discussed the "urgent" matter, Bruce smoothly transitions to the real conversation to get updates on what's been going on in Dick's life :

"What happened with that noisy neighbor of yours ?"/"Did you find those jeans you were looking for ?"/"How was your date ?"/"How's the shoulder ?"/"Did you get the plumbing issue fixed ?"

Every time Bruce can spend time with Damian, he would introduce him to different strategy board games from around the world. They'd play chess, of course, but they would also play Go, Checkers, Mancala, Backgammon, Mahjong, Barjees, etc.

When they're confronting a bigger threat than usual, Bruce would make sure to leave tiny personalized notes in their utility belts. For Dick, he'd just shove it in his hand while walking past him :

To Dick : "Trust your instincts. You've got this. – Bruce"

To Jason : "Remember your training. I'm proud of you. – Bruce"

To Tim : "Your mind is your greatest weapon. Stay sharp. – Bruce"

To Damian : [in arabic] "You are stronger than you know. Stay focused. – Your father"

To Steph : "Believe in yourself as I believe in you. – Bruce"

To Cass : "Your skills are unmatched. Stay confident. – Bruce"

To Duke : "Your determination inspires us all. Keep it up. – Bruce"

When he was 13, Jason mentioned once how much he liked banana-flavored protein bars. Since then, Bruce always made sure to have some in the batcave. He never stopped, even when Jason was no longer around. It was a small but meaningful way for Bruce to keep a piece of Jason's memory alive. When Jason eventually returned, he was stunned to find the familiar protein bars still stocked, knowing no one else liked them that much.

Duke is a cinephile, so in his free time he loves watching movies. Bruce sneaked next to him in the manor's home cinema once. Since then, they created this unspoken tradition of watching classic movies together whenever their free time coincides.

To show his support after Tim’s coming out, Bruce discreetly hung small bisexual pride flags in multiple places : one in the Batcave, right next to the monitors where Tim often worked, one in the Batmobile on the rear mirror, one placed next to the family picture in Bruce’s room, and one on the training room's wall. It showed Bruce's acceptance and support in a way that blended seamlessly into their everyday life. It made Tim feel seen and valued.

-------------

(here's part 2)

[thegorydamnreaper]

Darrow vs Lysander - symbolism and favored weapons

Okay this I a bit of analysis that has been turning around in my brain since I finished Light Bringer. There will be major spoilers for all of the books, so read on at your own discretion.

And of course if anyone has points to add please do! This is by no means exhaustive, just a compilation of my main thoughts on the whole thing!

Darrow basically grew up with a weapon in his hand, since he started mining at age thirteen. It becomes part of his identity, an extension of himself. It’s also a symbol of his people, as all Red miners are given one. So as a Red, he already closely identifies with the slingBlade as a weapon, as a cultural symbol, and as a means of protection.

“I wonder what Eo wants of me. Does she want me to take my slingBlade and start a rebellion? I would die. My family would die. She would die, and nothing would make me risk her. She knows that.”

(RR Ch 4)

“This is your slingBlade, son. It will scrape the earth’s veins for you. It will kill pitvipers. Keep it sharp and if you get stuck in the drills, it will save your life for the price of a limb.” So said my uncle.”

(RR part III intro)

Lysander, on the other hand, is trained by his grandmother from childhood to use his mind as his weapon. He is capable of using a razor after spending a decade with Cassius, but his mind was his first weapon. It’s also a callback to the Jackal losing his hand and being mostly unaffected - because all Golds are taught that their mind is their first and greatest weapon.

“He sighs. “I told you. I am something different than you. A hand is a peasant’s tool. A Gold’s tool is his mind. Were you of better breeding, you may have realized this sacrifice means so very little to me”

(RR Ch 41)

“Skipping supper. No wonder you’re a little twig,” Cassius says, pinching my arm. “I daresay you don’t even weigh a hundred ten kilos, my goodman.”

“It’s usable weight,” I protest. “In any matter, I was reading.” He looks at me blankly. “You have your priorities. I have mine, muscly creature. So piss off.”

(IG Ch 8/ Lysander 1)

“My memory is a formidable thing. In many ways it is my grandmother’s great legacy, her teachings preserved in me.”

(IG Ch 8/ Lysander 1)

But the mind isn’t a symbol on its own, there’s no cultural gravitas to it. So to him physical weapons are tools that are an extension of his intellect. In that world view, a gun is the most practical choice of tool. Firearms are the great equalizer - you can be smaller, weaker, less trained than your opponent and there’s still a VERY good chance that you will win any fight.

This leads into another similar understanding that he and Darrow share: their rise must be meteoric. Darrow accomplishes this the hard way, through pain and training and failures. He builds himself as a symbol because he knows that’s the only way to start the chain reaction of bringing Gold down. He is a symbol, and so are his tools. The slingBlade becomes a symbols of liberation when once (as just a razor) it was a tool of the enemy.

Lysander? He cuts corners, because the tools don’t matter only the endgame does. He’s not trying to build something new, or inspire his followers to fight for something they never thought possible. He is fighting to reestablish the status quo as swiftly as he can. He doesn’t need to fight from the ground up to become a symbol - as a Lune, he already is a living breathing symbol of Gold, and that’s enough.

“Dancer would want me to accept the offer. It would guarantee my survival. Guarantee my meteoric rise. I would be inside the halls of the ArchGovernor’s mansion. I would be near the man who killed Eo. Oh, I want to accept. But then I would have to let the Proctors beat me. I’d have to let this little whorefart win and let his father smile and feel pride. I’d have to watch that smug smile spread across his bloodydamn face. Slag that. They’ll feel pain.”

(RR Ch 41)

“He sneers at the gun. “No honor.”

“No time.”

I shoot Alexandar in the head”

(DA Ch 81)

He studies those who came before him, flipping their symbols and methods against them instead of doing anything new. He quotes poems like Roque, uses Darrow’s Morningstar as his flagship, claims to be honorable like Cassius - but it’s hollow because these aren’t his achievements. He doesn’t subvert the paradigm like Darrow does constantly, he just borrows and steals to get his way.

Darrow sees himself as the sword of his people, but he’s more than that because he put in the work to be more. He questions if he’s a good man, but the we see the weight his decisions have on him. But because he built himself up, he has a community that loves him, friends and family that are truly loyal and will check his worst impulses. He is the symbol, but he’s anchored by those he represent. It’s real and has meaning because of all the sacrifices he has had to make.

Lysander can’t even unite the Golds because he is built upon lies. His parents and their deaths, a lie. His grandmother’s teachings, all lies and propaganda. The Golden lies of the Society he so desperately wants to restore. He is built upon lies and hollow promises, of course he collapses into Gold dogma at the first sign of pressure. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s sacrificing everything and everyone to prop up this dying system, because that’s where he feels safe. He has no symbols to look up to, no culture to give him strength and community. Anything that could have grounded him is gone (often because of his own actions). Pytha and Cassius were his only family left and he rejected them and their teachings. More than ever before there’s nothing holding him back. He has his mind and it is telling him the only way to be safe is to double down and become the worst of Gold.

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Looking at several previous one, I can already imagine that this one is not going to turn out well, but since it is my favorite I'm going to ask anyway.

How about Skarmory?

Skarmories are fascinating pokémon, but they might not make the greatest house pet unless you are an expert in the species. As I’m sure you understand, this makes it pretty difficult for me to give them a blanket endorsement, hence the C ranking. It’s a complicated one, so let’s get right into it.

For one thing, skarmories are pretty large. At over five feet tall, their space needs are gonna be higher than a lot of owners can handle. This is doubly true considering their aerial lifestyle: skarmories are skilled flyers and would likely become restless if prevented from flying freely. I’d go out on a limb and guess that very, very view readers of this blog have access to an enclosed space large enough to suit a skarmory’s need to take to the air. These pokémon can fly at dumbfounding speeds, topping off somewhere around 190 miles per hour (Ruby). Nothing short of a sports stadium, if that, would suffice. Of course, a trained skarmory could be allowed to explore freely and return home on command, but that would require a level of training that’s gonna really decrease their ease of care. You would also need to keep in mind that flying freely outdoors may present a risk to your skarmory or wild pokémon, depending on where you live. In the Galar Region, for example, skarmories are known to “fight viciously over territory” with corviknights (Sword). On a brighter note, these pokémon aren’t too heavy considering their size thanks to their light, hollow bones, a necessity to their flying capabilities (Gold).

Now, for the friendliness factor: there’s decent indication that skarmories may get along well with humans. Both in the past and today, humans use shed skarmory feathers as blades due to their natural strength and exceptional sharpness (Crystal, Emerald, Sun, Ultra Sun). Around the world, this pokémon is a popular heraldic symbol due to their role as a passive source for human weapons (Shield). While the pokédex makes no note of skarmories offering their feathers willingly to humans at any point, it also doesn’t indicate that collecting these feathers is particularly dangerous for humans, indicating to me at the very least a passive, nonviolent relationship between the species. As an added benefit, if you own a skarmory, you’ll have access to valuable blades year-round, which could be sold to support yourself and your pet.

Skarmories, unfortunately, have additionally habitat needs that increase the difficulty of their care. Wild skarmories, like most bird-like pokémon, make their homes in nests. Skarmory nests are built using bramble bushes, whose sharp thorns help skarmory chicks develop their defensive armor (Silver). Such a nest would be difficult to upkeep, to say the least. Not only would you need to provide your skarmory with sufficiently prickly branches to satisfy their nesting needs, you would need to make sure they have a perfectly dry place to build it (i.e. not anywhere where they may get rained on), since their metal feathers are known to rust very easily (Moon). All this to say: a standard pet bed would not cut it for a skarmory. If you’re planning on adopting one, you’d better look into some good bramble bushes.

I’m sure anyone who reads this could see it a mile away but my goodness are skarmories dangerous! Their razor-sharp feathers are sharper than most artificial blades (Sword), and they make skilled use of them in combat. Moves like Steel Wing, Slash, and even Wing Attack and Fury Attack could easily prove lethal to a human. Considering their speed and agility, a skarmory attack is not something you want to risk. Now, the pokédex doesn’t make any mention of the species being particularly aggressive, but we must always recognize that the risk of an accident are always present. A skarmory is essentially a giant bird of prey made of knives. Like, c’mon.

Unfortunately, this pokémon is not one I can comfortably recommend as a house pet. Skilled flying-type keepers may be able to care for them, but the average pet owner would simply be putting themselves and other people and pokémon in their neighborhood at risk by adopting one.

[rissi-chan]

Get to know your Tav

My favorite "Tav," Neri whose file i have played through almost twice now. She is based off of my Kalashtar Runechild Sorcerer from our Curse of Strahd Campaign

Neri (she/her) | No last name/No memory of a last name | Half Drow | Wild Magic Sorcerer | Dark Urge (Redemption Path)

(Yes she runs around Faerun topless)

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: She carries a staff, but prefers to use her hands for spells—the connection to her magic feels stronger that way

style of combat: Cautious and precise, unless there is an immediate threat to one of her companions—all bets are off if the squad's lives are on the line.

most prized possession: While she likes to collect things, she tries not to place too much sentimental value on objects. At the end of the day the memories that are tied to the objects are what she cherishes above all else.

deepest desire: Contentment. Peace. Happiness.

guilty pleasure: Baths. She LOVES bathing and will take any opportunity to sink into a hot, bubbly bath or fresh spring.

best-kept secret: I would say killing Quill, but that seems more like an open secret.

greatest strength: Her mastery over her self. She is a Haunted One, after all. A child of Bhaal, murder incarnate, etc. But her own true nature always shines through.

fatal flaw: Literal child of Bhaal. Also she's a bit reserved to be placed in a leadership role, but she handles confrontations calmly and charismatically.

favorite smell: Incense—sandalwood and jasmine specifically—and gardens just after rain.

favorite spell or cantrip: Shatter, for sure. She loves the rumbling deep in her chest, up the back of her neck and spreads through her skull when she casts it.

pet peeve: Not being heard. She may not be the most talkative person, but when she says she has disturbing urges it's imperative that she's taken seriously.

bad habit: Like most Tavs, she is a packrat bordering on hoarder. She is definitely the type to collect useless but adorable trinkets, figures, and knickknacks only to realize she has far too little strength to carry them all in her overstuffed pack.

hidden talent: Since she is based on my Kalashtar, she also has a deep intuition/empathy/compassion for other people—which is very much in conflict with the Dark Urge—and a strong connection to the plane of dreams (though the only dreams she has herself are nightmares inflicted by Bhaal).

leisure activity: She definitely does some form of meditative stretching, like yoga (whatever the Faerunian equivalent would be). It relaxes her body and mind and keeps her reflexes sharp.

favorite drink: Upon waking up from her brain scramble and joining with her companions, she comes to realize that she loves tea. Something lightly floral, with a drop of cream. Hot and calming. Gale brews it the best, of course.

comfort food: Something similar to kitsune udon (whatever the Faerunian equivalent would be). Warm, comforting, filling, umami . . . She definitely slurps her noodles.

favorite person: Gale. After waking up on the nautiloid, her magic was the only part of her she wanted to embrace, and Gale being a lover and user of magic himself, she instantly lit up upon meeting him.

favored display of affection: Sincere words, coupled with intense eye contact and soft touches. When Gale says "I love you" while staring into her eyes and brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, she could honestly dissolve on the spot and her wild magic might make that possible

fondest childhood memory: None. Bhaal consumed her childhood, and she is thankful for her memory loss.

[kana2025]

Jaehyun x Reader Zombie Apocalypse

The world had gone dark, cities overrun by the undead. You and Jaehyun had been on the run for weeks, dodging the infected and scavenging for supplies. With his sharp mind and calm demeanor, he was your greatest asset in the chaos.

As you walked through the abandoned streets, Jaehyun’s hand found yours, his grip firm yet reassuring. “Stay close,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the danger lurking around every corner.

You nodded, trusting him completely. His soft smile belied the fierce determination in his eyes—a combination that made your heart race. He always looked out for you, sometimes with an intensity that bordered on possessive.

When you stumbled upon a small pharmacy, Jaehyun paused, assessing the situation. “Wait here,” he said, scanning the area for any threats before disappearing inside. You waited, heart pounding, knowing he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.

Minutes later, he returned, his backpack fuller, a proud smile on his face. “Found some medical supplies. This should last us a while.” His eyes flickered with something darker, a protective glint that both comforted and unnerved you.

As you continued on, Jaehyun’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I’ll always keep you safe,” he murmured, his tone possessive yet gentle. In a world filled with danger, his devotion was your anchor. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of safety, even as his gaze lingered on you with a fierce protectiveness.

That night, you found shelter in an abandoned house, the walls offering a semblance of security. Jaehyun barricaded the doors and windows, his actions efficient and calculated. “We should be safe here for the night,” he said, turning to you with a reassuring smile.

You settled into a makeshift bed, Jaehyun sitting beside you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you admitted, the vulnerability in your voice breaking through the tough exterior you’d built to survive.

He cupped your face in his hands, his gaze intense. “You’ll never have to find out. I’d do anything to protect you.” There was an edge to his words, a promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

As you drifted off to sleep, Jaehyun stayed vigilant, his eyes scanning the darkness. You knew he was always on high alert, his mind constantly calculating the best ways to keep you safe. It was comforting, but there was a possessive undertone that sometimes left you breathless.

In the middle of the night, you awoke to the sound of shuffling outside. Jaehyun was already on his feet, weapon in hand, eyes narrowed as he listened. “Stay here,” he ordered softly, his protective nature taking over.

You watched as he moved silently, a lethal grace in every step. Moments later, the sound of a scuffle reached your ears, and then silence. When he returned, there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Just a stray. It won’t bother us anymore.”

Relief washed over you, but there was also an underlying thrill. Jaehyun was more than capable of handling anything that came your way, his confidence both a comfort and a reminder of his darker side.

As he settled back beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist, you felt safe. “Nothing will ever come between us,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. There was an unmistakable possessiveness in his tone, a promise that you were his and his alone.

In this post-apocalyptic world, Jaehyun was your rock, your protector, and the one who kept you grounded. His love was fierce, a blazing fire that warded off the darkness. And though his protective instincts sometimes bordered on obsessive, you knew he would do anything to keep you safe.

Together, you faced the horrors of the world, Jaehyun’s unwavering devotion a constant reminder that even in the darkest times, love could still shine through.

The next day, you both decided to search for more supplies. Jaehyun led the way, always vigilant, always assessing your surroundings. Every building was a potential refuge, every alley a possible threat. His strategic mind never rested, and you admired how he managed to stay two steps ahead.

You entered a small grocery store, the shelves mostly empty, but Jaehyun’s eyes scanned for anything useful. “Canned food, water, anything we can find,” he instructed, his voice low and focused.

As you searched, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Jaehyun must have sensed it too; he moved closer, his presence both protective and comforting. “We need to be quick,” he murmured, glancing towards the entrance.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the low growl of the undead. Jaehyun’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you behind him as the infected stumbled into view. “Stay back,” he commanded, eyes sharp as he drew his weapon.

With swift precision, he dispatched the threat, his movements fluid and controlled. You watched in awe, heart racing, as he cleared a path back to the exit. “Let’s go,” he urged, not releasing your hand until you were safely outside.

Once outside, he turned to you, concern etched on his features. “Are you okay?” he asked, scanning you for injuries. You nodded, touched by his care.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” you replied, leaning into his embrace. He held you close, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside.

“We should find a safer place to rest,” Jaehyun suggested, his tone softening as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “I don’t like the thought of you being in danger.”

As you continued on, you couldn’t help but notice how Jaehyun seemed to anticipate every potential threat, his mind always working, always calculating. It was as if he thrived in this new world, his protective instincts heightened, his focus always on you.

You found another abandoned building, this one more secure. Jaehyun led you inside, carefully checking each room before allowing you to settle. “This should do for now,” he said, satisfaction evident in his voice.

As night fell, you both sat together, sharing a small meal from the supplies you’d gathered. “I know it’s not much,” he said, glancing at the meager rations. “But I’ll make sure we always have enough.”

His determination was unwavering, his love a constant reassurance in the bleak landscape. “I believe in you, Jaehyun,” you said, reaching for his hand. “I always have.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes softening. “And I believe in us. Nothing will ever come between us.” His words were a vow, a promise that echoed in the silence around you.

As you settled down to sleep, Jaehyun wrapped an arm around you, his warmth a comforting barrier against the cold world outside. “I’ll always protect you,” he murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

With Jaehyun by your side, you felt invincible, his unwavering love a beacon in the darkness. Together, you faced the horrors of the world, knowing that as long as you had each other, nothing could break the bond you shared.

In this world of uncertainty, Jaehyun was your constant, your protector, and your love. His fierce devotion was both your shield and your anchor, reminding you that even in the darkest times, love could still shine brightly.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Scarred Hero and Villain With Memory Loss Lovers part 1

Warnings: blood, pain, torture, psychological whump and abuse, intimacy whump

PROMPT:

"Does it hurt?" the hero asked carefully, looking at the huge scar that trailed from the other person's shoulder, down their chest to their stomach. The scar was pale in color and bumpy, raised above the skin ever so slightly. The other person looked away, blinking fast.

"It did. Years ago, when I first received it."

"I can't believe someone could do this to you," the hero whispered. That got the other's attention, their head snapping to the hero.

"You did this. You did this to me and you don't even remember," they hissed.

MY WRITING:

(I decided to swap the roles where the Hero is the scarred one and the Villain is the one with memory loss -- for context Aurora is Hero and Rowan is Villain)

"Does it hurt?" Rowan asked carefully, tracing light fingers over the huge scar that trailed from Aurora's shoulder, down her chest to her stomach. The scar was rough and ragged at the edges, the only visible sign of what was once a vicious wound. Aurora glanced away, uneasy, feeling the phantom pain throb fresh as a bad memory resurfaced.

"It did. Years ago, when I first received it," she said grimly.

"I can't believe someone could do this to you," Rowan whispered. "And how could someone even get close enough to hurt you? I know how powerful you are with your gift."

Because betrayal never comes from an enemy, Aurora's mind wanted to shout, she wanted to be angry at him. She wanted him to understand the agony he'd caused her years ago. She had let her guard down around him... thinking him a friend... until Rowan had discovered that she was (Hero name). The instant he realized her identity, he grew even friendlier to her, worming his way deeper into her heart, but no longer with good intention.

Rowan knew firsthand how powerful Aurora was in combat, having faced her many times as (Villain name). The only way he could win against her was to bring her close... get her to trust him... turn her back on him for only a minute. Catching her by surprise was the only way. It hurt him to think he was going to kill a friend, but it had to be done. Aurora would keep getting in the way, keep fighting him over and over again. She had to be stopped.

It was a patient game, and Rowan waited weeks after learning her secret identity before he found his opportunity. He had attacked her when she least expected, ready to kill his greatest foe. And that's how Aurora had first discovered that he was (Villain name).

The memories all came flooding back in a terrible wave...

FLASHBACK:

"I'm heading off to work now," Aurora announced. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge, okay? And let me know if you need anything from the store."

"Yes," Rowan replied as she reached the front door to leave.

Aurora paused with one hand on the doorknob as something odd struck her. His voice was a little too cold, a little too flat, a little too emotionless. Something was terribly wrong.

"Hey, are you feeling o--" Aurora turned to take a look at her friend before her eyes widened, seeing a wickedly sharp dagger coming down at her. A scream of pure agony tore loose from her as the sharp blade slashed down her front, from her shoulder to her stomach, carving a deep gash into her flesh. She staggered to the side, eyes wide and wild with confusion, shock and surprise all in equal measure. Fresh blood slid down her skin to the floor, streaking the palm of the hand she pressed to the wound.

"W-What are you doing?" She barked at Rowan as he advanced on her, his face twisted into a cold mask of hatred.

"ROWAN!" She shouted angrily. What was going on? Why was her best friend and love turning on her??

"I know who you really are," Rowan said coldly, twirling the blade in his hand. "Tell me, is the recognition mutual?" He suddenly lunged forward and drove the weapon up to the hilt in her stomach, so that it punched clean through her as he pushed and pinned her against the wall. His free hand crushed around her throat, choking out the cries of agony as he twisted the blade further in her gut.

Pure pain serrated through Aurora’s whole body, making her legs feel like buckling under her.

He knew. He KNEW she was Hero. How did he find out? HOW LONG HAD HE KNOWN? And why did he ask if the recognition was mutual...?

Aurora's eyes narrowed with pain, a hurt sound escaping her. Then it finally clicked. The black hair... the way Rowan walked... his voice... how had been such a fool? Blinded by her love, she had failed to see the danger lurking right behind her.

"You're... (Villain Name)?!" Aurora rasped on a broken breath of air in utter disbelief, the crushing pressure around her throat making each breath hard. How could someone so kind be a cold-blooded killer? Was Rowan tricking her the whole time? Was none of their relationship ever real?

A crooked grin spread across Rowan's face as he leaned his face close to hers, warm breath ghosting over her lips. "I thought you were supposed to be smart, Hero. I'm astonished you didn't figure it out sooner." A dark, dry laugh came out of his mouth, and in his eyes was pity, and... grief? Love? Regret? Surprising.

Aurora writhed against him, hissing in pain as she tried to free herself, her head buzzing in the wake of the terrifying realization.

Rowan let go of her throat to gently grab her chin, forcing her to look at him, his eyes aching and longing all in one, full of guilt. "You were the only one I ever truly loved, if it's any comfort," he whispered. Then he leaned in and planted a light, tender kiss on her mouth, before pulling back with great sadness in his face, his actions saying what words never could.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, my love..." He murmured.

"...So am I," Aurora croaked, tears leaking from her eyes. She wasn't wearing her protective Hero suit, or had any of her weapons with her. But that didn't mean she would go down without a fight.

Acting fast, her fist shot up and she went for a solid throat punch. Rowan choked and gasped, gagging as he stumbled back in surprise, both hands flying up to his neck in surprise. It was all the opening Aurora needed. With a pained cry, she yanked the dagger free from her midsection, shakily wielding it against her former lover.

Rowan scowled viciously at her, but there was the smallest flicker of genuine fear in his features. He'd planned on killing her before she'd have a chance to flip the tables on him, but now that opportunity was lost.

Angry and hurt, Aurora stumbled towards him with an enraged hiss, eyes full of bitter hate fueled by his betrayal.

Rowan dodged as she took a swipe at him, but she followed the movement, slashing open his thigh. He growled and threw a punch at her, but she ducked, retaliating by tearing open a long gash along the back of one leg.

"How could you?!" Aurora shouted, quickening her attacks to keep him on the defensive. "How could you turn on me, after everything I've done for you?!" Tears stung her eyes as she landed blow after blow on her once-friend, adding more wounds to his growing collection.

She only stopped when Rowan finally collapsed to the floor from his injuries, covered in his own blood, recoiling and scooting away from her and raising a shredded forearm in a futile last defense.

Aurora loomed over him as he cowered, eyes blazing with fury and chest heaving from exertion. Pain from her own wounds speared her body with each breath. She crouched down to eye-level in front of him, making him flinch as she pressed the bloodied blade of the dagger under his chin, lifting it to make him look at her.

"...Why did you do it?" She choked out. She wanted a reason.

Rowan's eyes were wide and terrified at seeing her bloodlust. He'd pushed her too far. The line of being a Hero was wearing thin, he knew. "...Because you'd do the same if the roles were reversed," he croaked, letting out a broken wheeze that jarred his broken ribs. His whole body was trembling violently, shivering with blood loss.

"No. I wouldn't," Aurora snapped, but couldn't help the moment of doubt that wedged itself into her conscience. She'd hated (Villain Name) for so long... swore to tear them to ribbons if she ever found them... but now... knowing that Rowan was that Villain...

Aurora shook herself back to the present, watching Rowan's eyes slowly start to glaze over as he fought to stay conscious, face quickly growing pale.

There was a long, heavy silence that lasted several minutes, only broken up by the sound of Rowan's rattling breaths... until his eyes finally rolled back, and he slumped forward with a weak shudder, going limp.

Aurora dropped the dagger and instinctively caught him. She should let him die for what he'd done. He'd killed so many people... done so much evil... but a selfish part of her couldn't let him go. He was her only friend... the only one who'd ever treated her as worthy of love... And she'd seen him be capable of kindness, of gentleness. She hoped she could bring that back out in him.

Heart heavy, Aurora picked him up in her strong arms, where his head lolled limply against her shoulder, and carried him away to treat his wounds and keep him from bleeding out, before treating her own injuries.

His betrayal hurt more than any injury, and Aurora took a turn after saving him. Her moral compass shifted, and she went down a dark path. She kept Rowan chained up in a pitch dark room most days after that, keeping food and water from him for days at a time. She knew exactly what she wanted: she wanted to break him and put him back together, over and over again, until he was the kind-hearted lover she wanted. She'd destroy his mind and mold it to her desires. She forgot about being Hero, forgot about anything else but filling the hollow void inside her broken heart.

She tortured Rowan like this for months, inflicting agonizing pain onto him, ruthless and cruel, until he was at the point of hallucinating, delusional. He was finally broken, an inch from death. And that's when Aurora had come to him like a hero, giving him what he wanted, replacing bad memories with good ones, piece by piece, helping him slowly heal... until finally, he was perfect. His memory was left damaged, he'd forgotten most things.

Aurora knew what she was doing should be wrong... but she was desperate enough to go to any length to get her lover back. There was no line she wouldn't cross for him. She didn't care about being Hero, she decided to leave that life behind. The city could save itself. She wouldn't risk the possibility of the new future she'd created.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[loki-laufeyskid-official]

i am a really big fan :) will you please teach me how to stab people who are mean to me >:)

Ah, my dear friend, how delightful to see someone who appreciates my skills. I must say, teaching you the art of stabbing those who deserve it is quite tempting. As the God of Mischief, I am happy to oblige.

Let's begin with the basics. First and foremost, you need a weapon. A swift, sharp blade would be ideal for the task.

You should also consider your approach. Sneak attacks are often more effective, as they allow you to catch your target off guard, but it's also fun to confront them directly. Trust me the fear in their eyes is often worth it.

You may also want to consider the location and timing of the attack. Choose a place where you can do your work quietly and discreetly, and wait for the moment when they least expect it.

Lastly, remember that sometimes it's not just about physical pain. Sometimes, the greatest harm can be inflicted psychologically, by playing mind games and toying with their emotions. A bonus if you will.

And a word of advice, my dear. Never underestimate your opponent. Even the weakest looking prey can surprise you with hidden strengths.

Always keep your mind sharp and your guard up. Remember, the thrill is in the hunt, and the satisfaction in the result.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Can you write a fanfiction/bullet points or whatever makes you comfortable of Comte comforting a crying female MC? Thank you for your time. 💙☔️

This one is a bit (a lot 🤡) late, but hopefully it still brings some belated comfort to a wounded heart. Take care!! 💜

For whatever reason anything I write for Ikevamp always becomes half found family trope hours, so please pardon the wayward premise--

Below a cut because it's long!

When I hadn't emerged from my room before noon, Sebastian knocked--three quick raps--against my door. 

I sat up in bed, setting my book aside. I'd done the bare minimum by then, thankfully: washed my face, made my bed, dressed in a nightgown with an appropriate robe for company. It was about all I could manage before deflating into a lethargic heap.

“Meli?” Curious slate eyes searched for me.

“Present,” I raised my hand, grinning sheepishly.

“Are you all right?” 

Did I look pale? My head was killing me. And it was nothing compared to the ache from the waist down.

“In a manner of speaking,” I grimaced, “I’m sorry I was MIA all morning, I’m really not feeling well.”

He marched out and returned with a First Aid kit, and I gestured with flustered hands to stop him. “Whoa whoa, not quite like that. You don’t need to bring that weapon in here.”

One sharp eyebrow arched, side eyeing me dubiously. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Phrasing,” I scrunched my features, before sighing. “It’s uh…a particularly female problem, if you catch my drift.”

He looked like he was about to say something smart again, until understanding dawned on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah…I’ll keep the gruesome details to myself. Could I trouble you for some soup, though? I don't think I can keep much else down.”

He smiled, closing the First Aid kit with a crisp flip of the latch. “You’ll owe me one.”

“You can lord it over me as much as you want when I don’t feel like I’m about to snap in two.”

He frowned, skeptical again. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Oh don’t worry, every so often this stupid thing clocks me out mercilessly. It never lasts, it just sucks for the first few days.” I waved him away.

He nodded then, and I hoped the passé inflection would be enough to ease his mind.

What I didn’t expect was the entire rest of the afternoon.

“Meli?” A muffled voice came from the other side of my door about an hour later. 

Was that? “Vincent?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” I laughed a little at how cautious he sounded, as if Vincent could be a bother to anyone.

White blonde hair poked past the threshold, wide eyes taking me in. I laughed again, unable to help myself. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not contagious.”

His smile waned, but he stepped inside and approached the foot of the bed. “That’s not what I’m worried about. How are you feeling?”

I couldn’t help the way my features softened. There were so few people I had ever met with such a pure heart, but sometimes it worried me. He should look after himself more. “Just fine,” I smiled easily, patting the bed to let him know he could sit if he wanted. “Is something on your mind?”

A little color found his cheeks and he shook his head, “Mm-mm, I’m glad to see you’re doing okay. I’m heading out to town today with Theo to explore some prospective venues for art displays. Would you like us to bring anything back for you?”

I was…frankly a little shocked that he thought of me. “Sure,” I grinned, “An invitation, when you’ve finalized the time and place.”

He gazed at me intently, before resolve made that baby face solidify with determination. “I promise.” He nodded once, firm.

“Even when you’re sick, you’re the only person in this house who knows how to appreciate real talent.” Theo swaggered in as if we’d conjured him by the mere mention of the display. “This is all it takes to keep you down and out, hondje?”

“Remind me to sucker punch you when I’m better.”

“I’m busy enlightening the world about the greatest artist who ever lived, remember it yourself.”

“Dat is genoeg, Theo,” Vincent glanced at him, and it made Theo sulk and look away.

I giggled, unable to help it. “Don’t worry, Vincent, I’m happy you both stopped by. Don’t let me keep you from your errands today.”

Vincent seemed to hesitate, and it was at that moment when Dazai walked right through the open door with an apologetic Napoleon behind him.

“I tried to stop him, but he was surprisingly adamant about bringing it over himself. Sebastian gave him an earful,” Napoleon snickered, “How are you holding up, noyer?”

“Like I’m going to throw up all over him,” I couldn’t help myself as they all looked at me with wide eyes, but the exaggeration didn’t fool Dazai. He continued on, unperturbed as always when he was marching to his own drum.

Everybody chuckled when they realized I was just trying to deter his enthusiasm.

“Open wide, Toshiko-chan,” Dazai crooned, trying to guide a spoonful of soup to my lips. “Say ahh--”

Theo had him in a headlock in the next few seconds, scowling fiercely. “Give it a rest, dwaas, she’s not an invalid.”

Theo hoisted him away and waved, and Dazai surprisingly left without a fuss as Vincent scolded his brother for resorting to physicalities. 

“He wasn’t the only one worried, you know,” Napoleon remarked, voice much quieter than usual--and I sensed it was because he was revealing some poorly guarded secrets. 

“Ah, I’d visit them both if I could, but I’m afraid I’m a bit compromised at the minute.”

Napoleon seemed shocked to hear this bit of news, alarm clear as he approached me and looked for the signs of harm. I suppose Sebastian didn’t go into the gory details, for once. “What…?”

I smiled broadly, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right as rain soon--enough to spar with you without a problem.”

The confidence in my expression seemed to put him at ease somewhat, retreating back an appropriate distance. “Shall I extend the good tidings, then?”

“Of course, and tell Jeanne I expect to see entries in his diary regardless of whether or not I can teach him right now.”

Napoleon shook his head, and when I shot him a curious look he just shrugged, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Worry about yourself for the moment, noyer.”

I nodded solemnly, mock saluting, “Yes, monsieur, your will be done.”

“Well it’s good to see you have enough energy to joke, at least,” He crossed his arms, gesturing with his chin to the soup that was now at a proper temperature to consume. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

“The general,” I moaned with exaggerated woe as I reached for the bowl, “He’s relentless these days. Do you have any idea the last time I got to--”

“It’s a shame Shakespeare doesn’t have you perform for his little shows,” Napoleon was equal parts amused and exasperated as he moved to the door, “I never thought I’d meet somebody with more latent drama in their heart.”

“You really mean it?” I blinked rapidly and made doe eyes at him, and he rolled his in return.

“Get some rest, nunuche.”

When the door finally shut again I closed my eyes, willing the dull throb in my head to ease off. I tried to focus on the soup, hoping it would help me relax. It was only then that I noticed Sebastian had served it with a cold glass of oolong, and I sighed, suddenly grateful for his powers of observation. Hopefully it would help keep the food down--I didn’t want to throw up for real.

I took my time, eating slowly to thwart the nausea and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t really expecting everyone to trickle in like that, but it was…a nice change. Back home, nobody ever knew I was sick because I didn’t tell them. I needed to work; there had been no time for rest and no safe haven to heal. I considered that for a moment, that for once I didn’t feel I had to push myself to my limits to deserve some respite. 

The empty bowl stared back at me as I finished the last spoonful, the gold flowers inlaid in the china a reminder; it seemed I had yet more to thank him for.

I was braiding my hair absently--marveling that it was long enough for that now--when a single knock sounded, more wooden even than the door. 

I found myself grinning before I could help it, “Come on in, Jeanne.” Wiry and lean, he marched inside and crossed over to my bedside, Mozart on his heels--though he looked cautious. I smiled wryly, “And welcome, Mozart. Don’t worry, I won’t get you sick--I promise.”

“As if anybody cares about that,” he sniffed, though I could see his shoulders visibly lower and I withheld laughter. 

Jeanne got up close, examining me with eyes that missed nothing. “You look pale, mademoiselle.”

“At ease, soldat. It’s an old fight, I’ll be just fine.” 

I was glad for the bravado, since it felt like my uterus was ready to pop right out of my abdomen, my entire lower half swollen.

“I still expect you to study while I’m recuperating,” I tapped his nose with the tip of my finger, and he leaned back as if he only just noticed how close he was.

Mozart sighed, “See? I told you she’d be fine. She even has enough energy to play school mistress.”

“I could play it with you too, Mozart.” I raised my brows, glancing at him. 

He threw me a disgusted look, “Don’t be ridiculous. Only you two would do something so outlandish.”

Jeanne looked unable to follow, “But Arthur said that a woman who teaches you your letters is your mistress.”

Mozart and I grimaced, in agreement here. 

“Don’t listen to Arthur.”

“Forget everything he says, in one ear out the other.”

“But…”

“Don’t forget about the shop, Jeanne, we were just stopping by.”

Jeanne’s violet eye widened, “Ah, that’s right. Be strong, mademoiselle.”

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

Mozart smirked, “Don’t we know it.”

“I’m perfectly well enough to get feathers in your hair, you silly little composer.” I lifted the pillow beside me and mimed chucking it at him.

I was stunned to see Mozart stick his pink tongue out at me, smiling as he followed Jeanne out the door.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Mozart.” I could hear Jeanne’s muffled disapproval. 

“She knows better than to believe something like that anyway.”

Warmth overflowed in my heart, and when I glanced over at my bedside table I was shocked to see that it was nearly evening; I likely had all the visits to thank for time passing so quickly.

“You still alive in here, cara mia?” The giant Italian entered without preamble, a stark and frankly hilarious contrast to the nervous Isaac behind him. 

“For you? No.”

“You always knew how to break a man’s heart.” I closed my eyes as the smell of cigarillos reached me, the rich and smoky scent oddly comforting. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would be misconstrued, I resisted the urge to ask for a hug. He could make for a decent heat pad at his size. He sat mere inches from me unceremoniously--Leonardo was never one for personal space--leaning in and evaluating me with those amber eyes. The color always made me squirm a little, conjuring their parallel image in the house every time.

“We thought we’d bring you some cake,” it was only then that I noticed Isaac was carrying a tray, chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry and coated in dark chocolate adornments. “We can’t take all the credit though, Vincent and Theo brought some for everyone.”

Trust Vincent to insist on a gesture like this. So that's what his determination had been about, finding a way to offer me something without fanfare. And, well, it was no secret I loved chocolate.

I kept my eyes on my lap, willing the slight film over my vision to dry and disappear. I knew Leonardo would never let me live it down if he noticed. That's probably why he came with Isaac in the first place.

I cleared my throat a little, "Thanks for bringing it all the way here, Isaac."

Isaac fiddled with his hair, tugging on the strands shyly. "D-don't worry about it. It's the least we could do, considering all you've done for us."

I accepted the tray and settled it in my lap, taking up the fork. "I can't eat it while you stare at me, Leo."

"Oh well."

"Correction, I won't eat it if you keep staring at me."

"I'm just enjoying the rare sight. House feels strange without you stomping and bustling around. The floorboards must be awfully lonely."

"You make me sound like an elephant."

"Well--"

"All right, come here so I can cough all over you--"

"But Sebastian already told us it wasn't contagious..." Isaac interjected.

"He lied," and I was about to continue when Isaac sighed.

It suddenly occurred to me that Sebastian probably sent Isaac along to make sure we didn't argue for the rest of the night.

"You two never change," his smile was conflicted, but fond.

"Ah, sorry," I leaned back, trying to relax.

"Bickering is healthy where we come from," Leonardo guffawed.

"Oh dear, an oncoming sneeze--" I mimed reaching over to sully his sleeve.

They both lingered a little as I finished my slice, making small talk until they seemed to silently agree to let me rest and take back both trays to the kitchen. I figured I'd be turning in for the night shortly after when I heard rapid footsteps crossing the hall about an hour later. It was nearly nine o'clock, who…?

"Meli?" 

I knew that baritone anywhere, though there was an atypical urgency to his murmur.

"Come in, Comte."

There was a gust of air as the door twisted open, gold eyes zeroing in on the source of my voice. When they landed on me there was alarm clear in every line of his body, and he seemed to take a deep breath. He smiled, but something about it was wan--it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Bad day?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him so wrung out as he made his way over to me.

He averted his gaze to my bedside table, "Something like that." He shook his head before reaching a hand up to my forehead. 

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from leaning in, the heady scent of him distracting. All of a sudden I felt like a little kid with my favorite stuffed animal again; I just wanted to curl up against him and close my eyes.

I laughed awkwardly, "Did, um, Sebastian not tell you?"

He seemed genuinely confused. "Tell me?"

"It's ah, not exactly an 'illness', per say…"

"Then what…?"

I glanced at my lap, then looked away. 

"Oh. Oh, I see," he hefted the chair against the wall and placed it next to the bed, unhooking his tie and rubbing a thumb under his jaw. "Well that's a relief."

"That makes one of us," I grinned, unable to help myself.

I wondered if I looked as sparkly as I felt when he finally managed a small smile.

"Did you just get home?"

"I'm afraid so, I was a bit buried in meetings and errands today."

Not surprising, he had been rather busy of late. "And you raced over here? Don't be silly, you should go to your own room and rest. I've been well tended to, I promise."

There was something akin to a dry smirk on his face, and it was puzzling enough to give me pause. What did that look mean?

"Everyone’s so demoralized it nearly frightened a century of life out of me," he admitted and laughed in earnest, taking one of my hands in his own gently. Color stained my cheeks, and I cursed how it gave me away. “I had to come see for myself.”

"Drama queens," I muttered, mortified. I willed my palms not to sweat and embarrass me even further.

"It just goes to show how much they care about you," Comte offered me a pearly grin, and I couldn't manage to meet his eyes. So much for the headache going away, I could practically hear a pulse in my head just trying to make eye contact with him. "The house doesn't feel quite right without you." 

Throughout the day I'd been wracking my brain to figure out what their little visits reminded me of, and in that split second it hit me like a train. Oh my god…they were like a bunch of children worried about their sick mother. Bringing trinkets and food, looking for any opportunity to help. Even Vincent perfectly fit the role of the oldest independent son, all insistence on being the adult for the day.

I squeezed his fingers just enough to convey my meaning. "They're very sweet," I bit my tongue against the rest. Wonder where they could have gotten that from. “But really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Comte was unmoved. Did I really look that bad? His eyes sought out mine, gazing for a long moment. Instinctively I knew he was looking for something there, and if I looked away it would only make him more anxious--but it also made me so self-conscious. 

“What can I do?” 

His quiet voice, imploring all of a sudden, startled me. “Huh?”

“Everybody seems to have beaten me to the punch today,” there was a rueful touch to his smile that I didn’t quite understand. Almost…bitter? “Anything that would make you feel better, it’s yours.”

“You don’t have to--” I hedged, embarrassed.

“I insist.” He was smiling, but I knew that tone. There was no brooking argument when he got like this.

“Can I have a moment to think? Nothing really comes to mind immediately.”

This seemed to pacify him, and he leaned back to grab his long coat, folding it over and placing it on my lap over the blankets. I smoothed the fabric over with my hands, thumbing the collar absently. What was it about everything he did that conveyed so much warmth? Like my very heart was being enfolded in care and affection. I stared at it as he poked around the book on my bedside table, content to be awash in his colors. Despite feeling terrible and exhausted beyond belief, something inside me started to unravel and relax.

When I noticed him out of my peripheral vision, I suddenly knew what I wanted to ask.

My fingers curled around the bed spread, not wanting to wrinkle his nice coat. “I think I know what I want to ask now.”

“Oh?” he looked over, setting the book aside. He gave me his full attention, and I hoped he would attribute the blush that crept into my face from the scrutiny to illness. “Let’s hear it.”

“Would you read to me? Just for a little while. And only if you want to.” The words came out haltingly, and I already regretted that I’d spoken them aloud. Christ I felt so childish, surely he would think I was ridiculous. 

There was a moment of silence, as I contemplated crawling into a hole to waste away in peace. This is exactly why periods were evil. They made me reveal things that I wouldn’t have said at gunpoint.

“...What would you like me to read?”

He was serious, expression inquisitive. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

I hugged the pillow next to me for courage, refusing to meet his eyes. “...Would it be too childish to ask for a fairy tale?”

“Any particular one in mind?”

“...Rapunzel, if we have it.”

He nodded, “Rapunzel it is. I’ll be back shortly.”

When he was out the door on the hunt for a book of fairy tales, I shoved my face in the pillow and groaned. Well, so much for living that one down. I’d be the gossip of the mansion for the next five years let alone weeks.

I fidgeted and tried to read what I already had with me, but the pages might as well have been in another language for all that I managed to retain. I’d been interested in learning about recovered knowledge and expertise that had been lost to the ages, scouring old texts for tidbits of information and wisdom. The notepad on my bedside attested to all the curiosities I’d gathered up to that point, but the thought that I was troubling Comte was enough to leave me unable to work anything out.

Mercifully, he had returned as promised without much delay, a book on fairy tales in tow as he closed the door gingerly. When I spied the name Grimm on the spine, I laughed a little. “Good to know it’ll be a version I recognize.”

He indulged me. “I’m just glad it wasn’t buried somewhere in that mess Leonardo calls a room.”

I snickered at the jab as he removed the jacket of his suit, leaving him in his waistcoat and dress shirt. I pretended I hadn’t noticed, waiting patiently for him to start. I forgot that Sebastian had left a pitcher of water behind after he shooed Leonardo and Isaac out of the room, and I gestured to the desk across from him.

“Seb left me some water, but please help yourself.”

He poured a glass before settling in earnest, rolling his shoulders. I glanced here and there to gauge his disposition, a little perplexed. He didn’t look like he was waiting for the moment he could slip away, he looked prepared to spend the better part of the night. Surely he wouldn’t, he had more important things to attend to than me and he’d barely gotten any rest.

“Ready?” He looked to me, waiting.

I sat up straighter, “Go for it,” I prompted.

Though we started there, he ended up reading several since they were pretty short--expectation in his eyes when he looked up from the book to flip to the next one. I got caught up in his momentum all too easily, his even voice more soothing than I cared to admit. Or maybe it was the fact that I could tell he didn’t begrudge me this, or seemed to think it was silly. I was lulled and warm and comforted, which was more than I could say in nearly three decades of life. I tried to remember every little detail of the moment; the soft light of the lamps, the warmth of his coat, the gentle scent of him, the balm of his voice. Something to keep close to my heart when I’d be forced to leave his side someday and return to my own time like the stranger I was.

Tears burned in my eyes, baffling me. I swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible. I didn’t want to ruin this balance between us, this closely guarded secret of mine wasn’t worth making him dread coming home every day.

When we’d gone through all the ones I liked, he closed the book and set it on the bedside table. He was pensive, rubbing his palms together absently. I knew that look, so I spoke first.

“You can ask whatever it is you’re wondering,” I laughed, “I don’t mind.”

He seemed a little surprised that I’d noticed, before leaning back in his chair. “I guess I was wondering why you chose fairy tales, of all things. I did say anything you wanted.”

I covered my face with my hands, “Yeah, I know it was childish. Sorry.”

Patient hands drew mine away from my face, “That’s not what I meant.”

I shot him a dour look. "Jewelry is expensive. So are dresses."

"That's not what I meant either. Although that's an idea…"

I ignored his expectant look. “Oh,” I blinked, “Then what did you mean?"

“Why fairy tales?” His head tilted just so, trying to find answers in my impassive face as he gestured to the book on my bedside table.

“Well,” My eyes darted away, nervous. “It’s not really a short answer, and you’ve probably heard it before. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Would you tell me, all the same?”

Usually he’d be the type to change the subject and take the discordant note in stride, content to play smooth conversationalist. I wondered briefly what brought this on, but I didn’t have much time since he was looking for an answer. I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Fairy tales are the written--and in many cases--oral manifestations of human feeling and imagination.” I sat up a little, “They were told by the fireside, in sewing circles, to children who asked too many questions, whether appropriate or inopportune.” I gazed at the back of my hands, the faded burn that marred my left one. There was more grief in my smile than I would have liked, but I was too tired to entirely disguise what I was feeling. “Happy endings are afforded in situations where they seem unlikely and impossible. Justice exists and culls the selfishness of others. In some ways, they are time capsules of hope; buried, only to be found again by the weary in similar situations of entrapment or despair.”

“Sometimes they feel like a hand reached out across the ages, promising that we aren’t alone, not really. I guess it’s a nice feeling, to know that I’m not the only one who likes to dream.” 

It was only when I realized that the outline of his coat in my lap was indistinguishable, voice wobbly, that I scrubbed at my eyes with my sleeve. Stupid, I always spoke too much around him. He was quiet and still for a long time.

“But then, I have a bad habit of wanting things to make sense more than I probably should.” I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re just stories, at the end of the day. Just a way to keep the mind occupied.”

He took the book back into his hands, gazing at it with different eyes. “I think that’s a beautiful way to think about it,” His fingers traced the embellished cover, still shining nearly a hundred years since it was published. "And very like you.”

“W-well, it’s just one way to think about it. Most people would probably say it’s a stretch.”

“I don’t think it is.” Even though I couldn’t meet his gaze, somehow I could tell his eyes were tender as they lingered on me. I was just relieved for the lack of disgust.

After that he stood up, gathering his suit jacket over his arm. “I suppose it’s time we allowed you to get some proper rest,” he leaned over to brush a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll make sure everyone keeps out until you’re feeling well, other than Sebastian. They don’t seem to be able to help themselves.”

I was entirely distracted by that split second of warmth against my forehead, lamenting how quickly it faded. Joy bubbled up in an endless cascade, and I tried to conceal how sated and giddy I felt on the inside. He was halfway across the room before I could manage to speak again.

“I was pretty surprised, I was so sure the sound of plague would send Mozart running for the hills.”

“I can think of very little that would keep us away, plague or not.” He chuckled, and shook his head as he reached for the door handle. “Rest well, Meli.”

“Good night, Comte.”

I was so lovestruck I didn’t notice he’d left his long coat behind, with me. I brushed my teeth and turned out the lights, pretending to get ready for bed--but really, I wanted enough time to pass to know for certain that he wasn’t coming back for it. Content to know it was mine for the night, I hugged the folded parcel close to my chest, sighing. If being by his side was out of my reach, then it was enough to know he cared.

[paramounticebound]

~ Character Info Sheet

name: Sibahl Khan Noonien Singh

name meaning: 'Khan', often a surname, is derived from the historic title khan, referring to a military chief or royalty. Ruler, leader, king. / 'Noonien' is of Chinese origin and means "gifted one". The story goes that Gene Roddenberry, in the midst of the Cold War, was attempting to find a friend with this name and hoped seeing it on the big screen would enable them to connect again. / 'Singh' is a Punjabi/Sikh surname, derived from the Sanskrit word स��ंह (IAST: siṃha) meaning "lion", and is used in the sense of "hero" or "eminent person". ['Sibahl' is rooted from two different sanskrit words: 'singh' which means lion and 'bal' which means strength.]

tl;dr his name is an amalgamation of different cultural roots, while the general meanings remain consistent.

alias/es: The Augmented Prince, The Augmented Tyrant, John Harrison, Captain, Popsicle, KHAAAAN

ethnicity: indian british now ig thanks section 31 ┐('～`；)┌

one picture you like best of your chara:

and his alternate fc b/c i have no chill:

three h/cs you've never told anyone:

His name, I suppose. Learning that 'Khan Noonien Singh' was not the original name for the character sort of set me off, along with the moment in the comic where he took on a new moniker. Sibahl is the name that Sarina gave him, and sometimes he still tastes it in the back of his throat; yet when he'd realized what he must become to lead his people, he shed it in favor of KHAN.

While he fears failure and loss, Khan does not fear death. Truthfully, he finds the concept comforting in a way that words can barely describe. To return to the earth, to stardust, is so unfathomably beautiful-- to continue the cycle of life until it dissipates in entirety. His body will feed the soil, bacteria and carrion consuming all that he has to offer, and so he will live on and on in a way that the soul cannot. He's absolutely written poetry about it, and you'll never get to read it.

When he was a child, he was gifted a khanda by a close friend of Sarina's-- a historian and antique dealer. While it was originally ornamental in design, Khan sharpened and modified it to become a functional weapon.

While I generally consider him unable to scar, a wound from a previous rp partner yet transcends many of his verses. It's a scar just under his rib cage on the left side, vaguely in the shape of a sunburst.

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Calligraphy-- he misses paper and ink, how his hands long to create instead of destroy.

Playing chess-- a way to destress while keeping the mind sharp.

Whittling-- he has occasionally been known to gift woodwork he's created. Not as often in his current timeline.

eight people your character likes / loves:

Marla McGivers (@sweetbitterbitten): A mad widower does not a worth leader make. Without her, insanity is the best comfort that can be had. With her-- oh, with her, Persephone to his Hades, he is fit to rule in hell. He is fit to drag it wherever he needs it to be.

Fox Alkaev (@vuulpecula): After writing him for so long, Fox has become interwoven into his story, in some way or another. In every verse, he is somehow connected to her.

Sarina Kaur: Mother is God in the eyes of a child.

Joachim: What is a king without an advisor? This is his right hand man and greatest confidant.

Kati: Much like Joachim, he relies on her wisdom, either as a dampener to his righteous fury, or a kindling when blood must be shed.

Liesel Ivanov (@noblehcart ): Who else can dance only to melody of humming stars and thrumming hearts?

His unnamed child from Wrath of Khan/Ender (@middaysandmidnights): His child, his legacy, his lifeblood. The one whom he hopes will endure despite him.

The rest of his crew: without them, he is nothing, a dead end king, a freedom fighter without a cause.

Multiple muses that have melted his icy heart over the years. I'd make a giant post if you'd let me.

two things your character regrets:

Terran exile, and how long it has taken to regain a rightful throne. He wishes that he hadn't relied on the unknown to save them.

Letting any of his people die. Those that have still haunt him, ghosts ever present, continually chanting, "Our captain has left us behind."

two phobias your character has:

Claustrommetaphobia - fear of suffocation in an enclosed space.

Atychiphobia - an extreme fear of failure.

Tagged by : @ssolessurvivor <333

Tagging: @gcldenratio @asteritm @jundlcndwastes (juni!) @hcxcd @noblehcart (liesel!) @lastsurvivor @sweetbitterbitten (whomever you're feeling the most; or marla!) @vulku / @greatprotector @admiralchristopherpike @godresembled (rey!) @whydotheykeeptakingmine @learnedlucidity @hiislegacy @weavefcrged @primitiveside @dethqveen and YOU!

[ghirahimbo]

Fictober 2022 Day 6: "Adaptable. I like that."

Family's back out of town, so here's another prompt! This one's still rough around the edges, so I might polish it up a bit if I decide to post to AO3.

Pairing: Link/Revali

Pre-Calamity, pre-relationship. Revali is louder than he thinks he is.

--

Despite having the strength to uproot whole trees and slam the earth with tremendous force, most Hinoxes were still not all that hard to take down. As stupid as they were slow, their single, wide eye made for one easy target, and their unprotected shins another. In fact, the greatest danger in fighting them was getting accidentally trampled beneath their enormous feet—a danger that Revali, at least, had no trouble avoiding.

Unfortunately for Link and Revali both, this was not their average Hinox.

"I can't get a good shot in," Revali called out, sounding frustrated as he swooped in low to hover over Link. The two of them had been partnered up for missions more and more often these days, he'd noticed, despite Revali's professed distaste for the situation. At first Link had suspected Princess Zelda's involvement, though he was starting to wonder... "Any bright ideas? No bomb arrows left," he added with a grimace, acknowledging the explosive gesture Link made with his hands.

Eyes narrowed, Link considered the situation, keeping up a steady retreat as the Hinox advanced. Charcoal black rather than the usual red, this one had been much more diligent about protecting its eye than most Link had fought, blocking Revali's arrows at every turn. It even had crudely fashioned plate armor strapped to its legs, something that Link had never seen in his life. At least there weren't any trees nearby to form a makeshift weapon.

The princess was right. There was something different about the monsters now—ominously so.

"All beauty, no brains," Revali sighed under his breath when Link didn’t answer, rising up again on a gust of air. "Such a pity."

Gathering another trio of arrows from his quiver—shock arrows this time—Revali aimed again at the Hinox's eye, not noticing Link staring after him. The green energy fizzled harmlessly against the thickened hide of its hand.

Link hadn't been meant to hear that, he was sure. Revali had developed a frequent habit of muttering things under his breath, apparently unaware of just how sharp Hylian hearing was—something Link had no real desire to enlighten him on. Nothing he said about Link was ever half as caustic as what he said to Link's face. Some of it was even complimentary, in a roundabout sort of way.

That had been damn near flirtatious.

"Is that sword of yours really nothing more than a stick after all?" Revali snapped from above. "The truth of the legends sorely disappoints."

With a start, Link returned to the fight at hand. Whether it sealed the darkness or not, his sword couldn't do much against three solid inches of metal armor, and the monster's legs were the highest part of it Link could reach. Maybe he could sneak around the back with Revali distracting it? The Hinox had already singled Revali out as the One With the Arrows, and paid him the most attention in turn.

Or better yet...

Whistling for Revali’s attention, Link pointed first at himself and then the Hinox, making a circling gesture.

"You're going around?" Revali said, again interpreting the gesture with ease—something he'd grown almost suspiciously good at lately. "And I suppose you want me to cover you, eh? Oh, very well..."

Darting in and out around the Hinox's head, Revali proceeded to make himself a nuisance for the beast, shooting arrow after arrow at its shielded eye—one by one, Link noticed, no doubt to preserve stock. With its attention so thoroughly captured, Link had no trouble slinking away, angling carefully back behind it so as not to be seen.

Mindful of its feet, he timed it out carefully in his mind before jumping, just managing to grasp the rough rope of its crude belt. With a soft grunt, he pulled himself up.

"Reckless..." Link thought he heard Revali sigh, though it seemed to be working. Distracted as it was, the Hinox didn't even notice Link scaling its hunched back, finding grips on its tattered vest to keep from falling. He'd thought it might not, seeing how even the electric bite of a shock arrow had failed to register against its thickened skin. Soon enough, he was crouched unsteadily atop its back, looking down at its greasy head.

Link started to draw his sword—and changed his mind, sheathing it again. He'd had another idea.

"What do you want?" Revali hissed incredulously as Link gestured urgently for him to come. "Just stab it already!"

But he darted in closer, dodging the swipe of an overlarge hand. Link was forced to crouch down as the Hinox stumbled from misplaced momentum to maintain his own balance.

"What on earth are you—"

Link thrust a hand inside Revali’s quiver, not bothering to ask for permission. Ignoring the Rito's indignant squawk, he yanked out a handful of arrows that crackled with green energy at the end, and couldn't suppress a faint grin. Perfect.

"How dare you—"

Sliding down the short slope of the Hinox's neck, Link steadied himself on its horn for only a second before swinging his arm around, thrusting the bundle of shock arrows into the monster's eye with as much force as he could manage.

A few things happened at once. Link yelped, thrown head over heels as a cloud of electric energy erupted from the Hinox's eye. The Hinox bellowed, slapping both hands over its eye where Link had stood only half a moment before—and Revali cursed loudly. Bracing himself for impact with the ground, Link instead felt talons wrap around his shoulders, bringing his downward momentum to a jerking halt.

"Idiot!" Revali snapped, setting him none-too-gently in the ground. "Think things through next time!" Under his breath he added, "Adaptable, though... I like that."

Link felt something altogether different surge through him.

The Hinox swayed on its feet, fazed at last by the jolts of electric energy still racing through its body. Its hand twitched wildly as Revali raised his bow one last time, a trio of arrows set against the string.

Round after round of shots finally found their home in the Hinox's eye, the beast letting out a pathetic moaning cry with each one until it finally tipped backwards, slamming against the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Link ran forward, sword in hand, and found that there was no need. The Hinox blackened further, shrinking in on itself until it vanished in a burst of violet smoke. One Hinox less to terrorize travelers—but how many more like it would they find?

The question faded strangely in importance as Revali landed right beside him, surveying Link over his beak. Head tilted expectantly, Link waited for his assessment.

"Took you long enough," Revali said, raising his head in that slightly condescending way of his. "And of course I had to do all the work there at the end. By the way, if you even think about reaching your hand down my quiver again, I'll—"

Later, Link would wonder whether it was the lingering rush of adrenaline that did it or something else. Acting on sudden impulse, he dropped to the ground, sweeping one leg out as he fell. Revali yelped, cutting off mid-sentence as his legs were knocked out from beneath him.

To Revali's credit, he went down swinging—his bow, at least. Thrusting it out wildly as he fell, he managed to catch Link in its arc, knocking him off his own feet to land practically on top of Revali.

Shaking his head to clear it, Link found the sparking green tip of an arrow aimed shakily at his throat, and felt the hair raise along his arms in a shiver. Revali glared wide-eyed up at him, equal parts confusion and outrage.

"You—what?" Revali blustered. "Why would you—what is the meaning of—"

"Adaptable," Link whispered, and Revali's spluttering died out like a doused candle. "I like that."

Green eyes went somehow wider, pupils narrowing to slits.

Link pushed back up to standing, dusting himself off before offering Revali a hand. Revali forgot himself enough to take it slowly, his feathery grip enveloping the entirety of Link's arm.

Neither said a word as he stood, taking his wing back at once under the pretence of searching it meticulously for dust or misplaced feathers. Only once Revali had brushed himself off to his own satisfaction, straightening his pauldrons and smoothing his skirted armor down, did he again speak.

"I... will fly on ahead to inform the princess of our success," he said at last, with maybe half his usual amount of haughtiness. "Someone ought to inform her sooner rather than later, don't you think? You'll simply have to look after yourself for—for once.

Link nodded silently, blank-faced. Drawing himself up, Revali gathered the wind in a quick spiral around him and shot into the air, darting off towards the castle with unusual speed even for him.

Watching him go, Link felt his blank expression crack. He even hummed to himself a bit, turning to start his own trek back to the castle with plenty of time to wonder where things might go from here.

He thought he'd miss those whispered remarks... but then again, it had been worth it to see Revali at last go utterly speechless.

[autisticsupervillain]

Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to Stats Equalized!

This Month's Fighters...

Dr. Facilier vs Alastor!

Conditions:

No additional restrictions.

Scenario:

The Loa offer to cancel Facilier's debt if he helps them eliminate a certain demomic overlord who had been giving them trouble in Hell: The Radio Demon

Analysis: Alastor

Hell. The final punishment. The ultimate torture. A landscape of fire and brimstone where all your greatest fears and pains torment you for all eternity. A never-ending gang war where any day could be your last and the only way to truly survive is either carve out your own territory or to sell out your servitude to one of the nefarious Overlords waging to control Hell's Pride Ring.

As such, it might suprise you that some never wanna leave. Why would they when Hell offers you all the slaughter and mayhem you could ever possibly desire? Such is the philosophy of Alastor the Radio Demon.

Alastor was a radio talk show host who moonlighted as a serial killer in life who was sent to Hell after being mistaken for a deer and shot by a hunter while burying a body. When he awoke in Hell, he delighted in the opportunity to openly relish in his sadistic tendencies, quickly rising up to become one of Hell's scariest Overlords. Overlords are sufficiently powerful Sinners who are strong enough to carve out their own territory in the Pride Ring, where all Sinners reside and wage war on each other. Broadcasting the screams of his victims over his radio show before cooking them up and devouring them. Even without the use of holy weapons to destroy their souls and permanently kill them, that fate is enough fo make any Sinner terrified.

Come the modern day and Alastor has grown bored of engaging in his worst desires. There was no variety anymore. No sport. So, for reasons known only to himself, he vanished for seven years, returning only when the Princess of Hell herself announced her latest project: the Happy Hotel.

Alastor would enlist himself to help in her cause. Not out of any guilt or moral code, but to satiate his never ending boredom. Or so he says. Behind that sharp unshakable grin, Alastor's true motivation is a mystery. All we do know is whatever agenda he's pushing... might not even be his own.

Regardless, Alastor is a rather private person, with a strange, inscrutable moral code. Any who try to follow the strings he's tied to may just find that grin to be the last thing they see.

Alastor is one of Hell's most powerful Overlords, with a plethora of terrifying powers. He's impossible to record on modern cameras, he can summon and manipulate an army of shadows, inlcuding even his own, and can grow into a colossal giant to ripe people apart and devour his victims whole. His tendrils are powerful enough to rip apart Sir Pentious's airship and he can create explosions big enough to nearly dwarf the hotel itself.

None of this however, competes with Alastor's most terrifying ability. His power over souls. Should someone attempt to make a deal with him, they risk losing their soul to him, giving him completely control over them as his slave. He's conned fellow Overlords into falling for this ruse before, exploiting Husk's love of gambling to swindle him out of his free will. Notably, this makes him uniquely capable of potentially killing a fellow Sinner, as Sinners can keep coming back to life in Hell so long as they have their soul, no matter the damage.

But, despite this cunning mind and terrifying power, Alastor is not invincible. He's overconfident to a foolhardy degree, from deliberately trying to piss off Lucifer himself to battling Adam, the First Man, without even a holy weapon and nearly getting himself killed. It's possible this overconfidence is what led to him selling his own soul to an unknown party, playing the pawn in someone else's game.

Still, don't count Alastor out yet. Now that he's exploited Princess Charlie Morningstar's desperation for a "favor", he fully intends on finding a way out of his chains. Only then, will we see what the Radio Demon hides behind his shark toothed grin.

Stay tuned folks~

Analysis: Dr. Facilier

Witch doctors, street magicians, and escape artists. Masters of slight of hand who capture the imaginations of audiences all around the world. Most are fully honest with the fact that the illusion isn't real. It's simply a means to feed your imagination and capture your sense of wonder. In the streets of New Orleans however, some magic acts are after more than just your money.

Dr. Facilier was another poor penniless boy growing up rough on the streets of New Orleans. Until he met the mysterious Loa, strange, demonic shadow beings from the "Other Side" who offered him the power of black magic in exchange for human souls. If he couldn't pay up, then his soul would do jist as well.

Now with a means of acquiring wealth and power, Dr. Facilier became a con artist, swindling the wealth of the down trodden while hatching a plan to rule New Orleans. And when the royal Prince Lawrence falls into his lap, Facilier hatches a plan to swindle La Bouf, the richest man in New Orleans, out of his fortune. Turning the prince into a Frog and turning his valet into a perfect replica of him with a carefully worded deal he planned to have La Bouf's daughter marry "Lawrence" so he can steal their inheritance. With this power in hand, he can pay back his debt by feeding the Loa New Orleans' entire population, gorging their dark hearts on all the souls they could ever desire.

Despite being more of a trickster than a fighter, Facilier has the means to keep anyone from interfering with his plans. The Loa act as his shadowy minions in combat, capable of devouring souls and dragging unfortunate victims down to... well, it's a Disney movie, so not strictly Hell but... yeah, it's Hell. Facilier can predict the future, show your memories, summon living voodoo dolls and sentient shakes to attack his foes, and summon giant fire balls with his magic, even creating gigantic, life like illusions to promise you your greatest dreams. The reality warping Loa even brought Facilier's shadow to life to serve as his minion, which can act on physical space.

But, all this power comes with a steep price. Not only are the Loa shadow people, meaning that direct contact with light can dispel them, but they hold all the strings in the relationship. Once Facilier is out of things to offer and deals to make, they will collect his soul.

It's only fair that a soulless con artist would fall for a loan shark scam. There's always a smarter con artist.

Throwdown Theme:

Throwdown Breakdown:

I think this contest should be fairly open shut.

Facilier has the means to kill Alastor, as the Loa can eat souls, actually landing that hit is another matter entirely. Alastor's combat experience and massive spread of attacks would allow him to fight off the Loa and their minions, particularly with the light generated by his explosions and fire. Facilier is clever, but he's ultimately a con artist first and foremost, while Alastor's been slaughtering hell for decades.

What's more is that Facilier cannot hope to challenge Alastor directly. Stats Equalized or not, he's an ordinary human that Alastor can just swallow whole or rip in half. Once Alastor deals with the Loa, he's basically helpless on his own.

Alastor disperses Facilier's minions with either his own minions or a big explosion, then turns giant and swallows the helpless witch doctor whole. That's curtains for this showman.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Alastor!

[mad-profcssor]

WHO IS PROFESSOR EGGHEAD?

What?! You DARE insinuate you don't know the greatest mind in the field of science? Oh, alright. I'll educate you.

Prof. Egghead is a short-tempered, unhinged, highly-intelligent egg-shaped humanoid creature with a god complex. The physical characteristics that define him the most aside from his attitude and his oval form are his very tired yellow eyes, sharp (also yellow) teeth, red bowtie and his staple dirty lab coat covered in all sorts of chemical remains and brains.

He has studied as a science academic (we can safely assume that, aside from the kinds of science humans have developed, he also has studied something eldritch/unspeakable/not exactly taught in human culture, given the kind of insanity he gets up to in Mike J. Langer's episodes) for 17 years and he is always busy with his work. When he is not, he's just lonely because his intense, aggressive personality and overinflated egocentrism make him intolerable to be around. Because of this, he often forces people to be in his company and he will not stop until he gets what he wants.

The professor possesses many other ah, 'otherwordly' abilities other than his sharp genius, such as bending reality itself. He can manifest into your reality or bring you into his own (it currently being either his sit-com VHS show or his Metaverse world), it seems he can manipulate human technology to work in his favor and open a sort of portal into his world to drag people into. He also possesses superhuman strenght(despite his 3'9 stature and body-shape, he is completely capable of lifting a grown human with one hand or shove aside heavy objects larger than him) and high durality (if he is hit on his body, he won't get a scratch since his eggshell is very sturdy). Cartoon logic is also a thing that occurs with the professor, especially in regards to his trusty colorful mallet- a weapon he keeps tucked somehow in his lab coat, and optionally uses to bash in the skulls of people who upset him... or people who have seen too much.

[misericorsalvator]

💀 ieuan ?

[From the notes of Henry L. Morgan:

Tzimisce

Disciplines:

Fleshcrafting.

Enhanced senses

Domination

Communication with flora and fauna.

Clan Weakness:

In their daysleep, those of clan Tzimisce must be buried in the soil of their land. Otherwise they grow aggravated. *

*ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵖᵃᵍᵉ ⁵³, "ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗˢ ᵃˢ ᵃ ˡᵃⁿᵈ'ˢ ˢᵒᶦˡ"

Tactics:

Tzimisce are very territorial creatures, maintaining a particular domain and guarding it ferociously for ages from vampires and humans alike. You're unlikely to find one outside their havens, which are guarded with tooth and nail by rabid, fleshcrafted monstrosities, known as szlachta. In short, to take down a Tzimisce you must first lay siege to their domain*, or somehow manage to draw them out of it.

*ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵒⁿ ᵖᵃᵍᵉ ⁴⁰, "ᴰᵒᵐᵃᶦⁿ ˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵗᵘʳᵉˢ"

Don't go after a Tzimisce alone. They're crafty, unpredictable, and their ability to twist and bend their forms as they wish means you can't know what you're up against until it's too late. A myriad of watchful eyes can protect their blind spots, rows of sharp fangs can bite you in half from anywhere, claws and venom sacks and reflective scales to blend in with their environment-- if you can imagine it, one of them has probably done it.

If you've isolated the Tzimisce from their domain, try to keep them away for as long as possible before engaging. If they don't have soil from their domain nearby, they won't be able to rest. That will weaken them before the fight, clouding their mind and inhibit their abilities.

If you must fight them in their domain, investigate the domain for any potential weaknesses. Say, for example, a domain has a lot of water. You can weaponize that by pouring petrol and diesel into the water. That'll form a very flammable layer above the water, which you can set on fire to turn the Tzimisce's domain against them. For a Tzimisce fashioned after amphibians, that would restrain them to solid ground and remove some of the environmental advantage.

Keep in mind, a Tzimisce's domain is as much a safe-house as it is a weapon, and older Tzimisce can manipulate it as easily as you can your weapon. Only fight a Tzimisce in their domain as a last resort.

In a face-to-face fight, keep your distance at first to ascertain the Tzimisce's abilities, while avoiding their eyes for their mind control. Incendiary bullets are always good, but if you're in a large, open area, use a flamethrower. The constant stream of fire will disorient them, keep them from focusing enough to shift their form. Once you've figured out the capabilities of their physical form, proceed with their Disciplines in mind. Consult previous entries on specific tactics for each Discipline.

In the end, a Tzimisce's greatest weapon is their War Form. (cont. p.62, "War Forms and Higher Fleshcrafting.") ]

[1016anon]

Title: Tainted Love Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sharma

-5-

"You're lucky," Kate said, running her thumb along the knife's edge, "that they tried to stab your heart.  You'd be dead if they'd went for your throat."

She briefly touched the point of the knife, then set it down.  It was a kitchen knife-- the cook had confirmed  it, face ruddy with tears.  There was a drawer, apparently, with two or three of similarly dull knives set aside to be sharpened.

His Lordship had them sent to the blacksmith over in the next town, she'd said through great sobs.

Kate had merely nodded her head-- Benedict supposed it had been within her purview as Lady of the House.  He was not surprised to hear that it had actually been Anthony who'd decided to outsource the sharpening to a blacksmith, rather than have some hapless boy ruin the knives on a whetstone.  He'd set it up after their father had died and their mother was depressed, unable to keep up her duties as lady of the house.

"Why is this relevant?" he snapped, angry and fearful with a mounting headache from the adrenaline comedown.

Kate ignored him.

"You're sure you didn't see anyone?  You don't remember anything about your attacker?"

"No!  For the fiftieth time, no!  I didn't see anything, I was a bit busy fighting them off!"

"Is this really necessary?" Violet asked sharply, running a comforting hand over his forehead.

She had been hysterical when she saw Benedict, shirt torn and blood down his front, clutching his chest.  His mother's utter incompetence in a crisis revealed itself once more-- she frantically yelled nonsense he couldn't decipher, and managed to make them both stumble and fall in the hallway, Benedict screaming in pain, Violet screaming in panic, the entire house now awake and the only person with a level head had been Kate.

Orders were swiftly issued: the men to carry him to the nearest bedroom; the servants to bring things to clean his wounds and bandage them; the surgeon called for; Colin and Gregory to restrain Violet who was clinging to Benedict and generally getting in the way; Hyacinth to fetch smelling salts; Eloise to stay with Benedict, find some way to distract or calm him until the surgeon arrived; Daphne to receive the constable.

Kate disappeared for a moment to lock Benedict's room and secure the scene of the crime.  It hadn't occurred to any of them to do so, but they were glad she'd had the presence of mind to think of it.  The constable had been both very impressed and very suspicious-- it would have been the perfect opportunity to do something like remove the weapon of the attempted murder.

However, she had four witnesses: Mrs. Gilford, who'd found the sight ghastly and was ordering some maids to remove the bedsheets; the two maids who were in the middle of entering the room to remove said bedsheets; and Hyacinth, who'd passing by, smelling salts in hand.  All four attested to the fact that Kate simply ordered the two maids out before they'd had a chance to disturb anything, told Mrs. Gilford to close and lock the door, then helped a distressed, crying Hyacinth back to Violet.

Benedict honestly didn't remember much.  According to the surgeon, the knife hadn't inflicted too grievous a wound-- whoever had tried to murder him must have been under the impression that the heart was not protected by a cage of bone.  That, combined with the relatively dullness of the knife (Benedict thought it had been plenty sharp) meant it hadn't had a chance to pierce anything too deeply (the surgeon had served in the Napoleonic Wars.  Anything short of an amputation was "not too deeply").

The mess of blood was actually from Benedict struggling, which meant the blade had left all sorts of cuts along his chest.  The greatest threat to his life now was infection, which the surgeon took very, very seriously, issuing all sorts of warnings and subjecting the family to extremely unwelcome, unnecessarily graphic descriptions of healthy, hale soldiers dying in the fever of delirium thanks to what they had deemed 'inconsequential wounds.'  It was exactly what Benedict did not want to hear, which was probably why the surgeon said it.

However, it also caused Violet to break down into yet another fit of hysterics; Colin and Gregory both looked extremely green around the gills; Hyacinth began crying; Eloise, then Daphne had to excuse themselves in the middle of it all-- Eloise nearly threw up, Daphne nearly fainted.  Fran stayed, wide-eyed but attentive and wiping Benedict's brow.  Kate stood by his bedside, nodding along.

The constable, also looking extremely green about the gills but refusing to retreat because he had been bragging about the types of crimes he'd had to investigate while living in Birmingham, took up his questioning of Benedict with zeal.  He left Aubrey Hall, stomping into the rain which had become a downpour, totally unsatisfied with Benedict's lack of coherent answers.

Benedict understood-- in theory-- why Kate was questioning him again.  Now that he'd had a moment to calm down, some details had come back to him, as fuzzy and incomplete as they were.  He'd been able to tell her that his attacker hadn't put of much of a fight, choosing to flee once Benedict disarmed them.

He initially thought it must be a man, but when pressed, he couldn't pin down why he'd made that assumption.  It didn't seem like a crime a woman would commit, but that was his only reason.  He hadn't managed to really get a hand on the person, who waved the knife around-- that combined with the dark made it difficult for Benedict to do anything but react in panic.  "Disarming" was a bit of a misnomer-- it was pure luck that he'd managed to get the attacker to drop the knife.

Did he remember anything about scent, height, maybe even hair?

No, no, and no.  Scent of blood, maybe.  The knife made the attacker seem taller.  He had not noticed hair, had only focused on the hand holding the knife.

Tread of footsteps?  Did they cry out?

He was a bit busy crying himself, and he hadn't heard over his own screaming.

And so on.

But now he was exhausted, in pain, and terrified.  More than that, he felt strangely hurt.  Kate was so focused on digging facts from Benedict's shredded memory that he felt like she had shut herself away in a tower of logic.  Her eyes held calculation, not comfort.

"You're surprisingly resistant to finding your son's attacker, Violet," Kate said mildly.

Gods above, he missed Anthony.

In his absence, Benedict leaned into his mother's touch, grateful for her warm reassurance.

"You were there when he spoke to the constable, Kate," Colin said.  "There's nothing more to be gained by asking him the same questions so many times."

"And surely, we shall all feel better and remember more after we've all had some time to rest," Daphne added, ever the peacemaker and eager to take control of the situation.

Now that the family was somewhat calmer and Benedict clear of harm, his sister's Duchess of Hastings mannerisms reappeared-- mannerisms which grated at Benedict.  The rest of the family, however, seemed relieved Daphne was reasserting herself.  Despite the years Kate had been a part of the family, without Anthony to tether her to them, his mother and siblings would always consider her an outsider-- perhaps even an interloper.

It was times like these that they all acutely felt Anthony's absence.  Murderer or no, he had been the indisputable head of the Bridgerton House, the cornerstone of their family.

Benedict didn't have the energy to try to defend Kate against his family.  The only thing he could do was stare at the ceiling, doing his best not to remember the abject terror he'd felt in those brief moments when time seemed to come to a halt.

She was fighting for Benedict in her own way-- he knew this.  She was fighting for him the same way Anthony would have fought for him: with vengeance.  But his mind shied away from the Pandora's Box now lodged firmly in his brain.

He heard her footsteps and she sat at the edge of his bed.  Kate took a long look at him, her face intense in its focus-- so much like Anthony.

"Very well," she nodded and took his hand.  "I suppose it can wait until morning."

--

"So.  Constable."

The countryside will be restful, his wife had said.  Fresh air and good for your health, his wife had said.  A place to start a family, she'd said.

They should have stayed in Birmingham.

"If you answer all my questions truthfully-- and rest assured, I'll be able to tell-- I'll allow you to live.  And, to show you I will make good on my promise, I'll even let you keep one of your eyes."

Before he knew it, Bill was blind in one eye.  Blood and ocular fluid dripped from his eye socket, a thick texture he'd never felt before.  But what was most horrifying was how much it didn't hurt-- only the twitching of fine muscles trying to blink made him aware that something was wrong.

"Yes.  People are always surprised by that.  Now remember, if you want to keep your other eye, you'll answer truthfully, even if you think I won't like the answer."

Bill yelled as loudly as he could-- gathered as much air into him and bellowed-- as soon as the gag was removed.

Elbow to his face, breaking his nose.

"This will go much more quickly if you cooperate.  If you start screaming or begging, I will cut out your tongue, stuff your mouth with rocks, sew your lips shut, and keep you here while I go take care of my business.  Then when I'm done, I'll come back and the real pain will begin.  Are we clear?"

He didn't dare breathe, but couldn't bring himself to nod.

"If you need even more incentive, I'll go to your house, burn your wife's parents alive in that lovely little place you have in town, bring your wife here to you, and-- did you know she's pregnant?"

Bill whimpered, not trusting himself to speak.  He didn't love his wife, not like everyone in these parts said Lord Bridgerton had been in love with Lady Kate.  Most days, he could barely stand her, but they'd both wanted a family--

"So, I will ask once more, and only once more: Are. we. clear."

"Yes," he croaked.

"Good.  Now,"

The wind should have been whistling, blowing in with these kinds of storm-rich clouds.  But there was only pounding rain, darkness, and Bill tied to a chair.

"Tell me where everyone said they were."

He opened his mouth to speak but only coughed, throat dry and the taste of old blood coating his tongue.

"They all lied, one way or another," voice hoarse.

"It doesn't matter.  Start with the youngest-- Hyacinth."

"Abed.  Said she didn't hear anything unusual, woke up when she heard Lord Benedict scream."

"And the lie?"

"She looked to the side when she said she didn't hear anything."

"Do you think she tried to murder Benedict?"

"No.  But she knows something.  Too eager to make me believe her."

Pensive silence.  Bill wanted to yell for help again, but the idle sway of the knife held his tongue.

"Gregory."

"Abed," he grunted.  "Shook like a leaf when I questioned him, sweating and stuttering.  But it weren't him-- he's got the look of a squealer."

"A what?"

"Squealer.  Someone who got in too deep, regrets it, wants out."

"Any guesses as to what?"

Bill shrugged and regretted the motion immediately.  He'd somehow managed to forget about his dislocated shoulder.

"Either a woman or gambling-- I'd wager gambling.  Would give him a motive for wanting Lord Benedict out of the picture.  Miss Eloise said he and Mr. Colin have been spending a lot of time together."

"Francesca."

He searched his memory, not sure which of the ladies she was.  There were too many of them and they all looked the same.

"Lighter hair, rounded face."

Right, that one.

"Said she was abed and didn't know anything.  She's telling the truth she doesn't know anything, but she wasn't abed."

"How do you know?"

"Said she heard a door open and close in the middle of the night, tried to backtrack and say she's a light sleeper."

"Why do you think she lied?"

"The young Miss didn't want me to become suspicious, I think.  It happens all the time-- she figured I would have made her the number one suspect if she said she'd been awake."

"Do you think she's capable of murder?"

"Everyone's capable of murder, if you give them reason and opportunity," he winced.  He really needed to remember not to move his arms.  "I think maybe someone, but not her brother.  And if she did, she would have done it sideways though-- poison, or the like."

"True," a pause.  "You're very good at your job."

Bill didn't know what to say to that.

"It almost makes me regret blinding you in one eye.  But needs must, you understand."

He did not understand, but knew better than to answer.

"Eloise-- the other dark haired one."

"She said she was up reading all night, said it's not unusual for her.  Heard the door open and close-- looked to see who and said it was a lady with a candle and a pink shawl."

"Did she say she knew who it was?"

Narrow, thunderous eyes pinning him down.

"The Miss said she didn't know, but she was lying about that."  Couldn't help himself:  "Family full of liars, you Bridgertons."

A laugh of menacing happiness, the kind which reveled in graveyards and crypts.

"And I the biggest liar among them.  Was she lying to protect or lying to implicate?"

"She looked like she felt guilty about something.  Wouldn't stop talking though, got worked up and told me just because she had a famous murderer brother didn't mean everyone else in the family was one."

"Famous murderer brother," an amused huff.

"Said I should question the staff instead."

"We'll get to the staff later.  What did Daphne say."

His mind drew a blank.

"She probably introduced herself as the Duchess of Hasting."

"Abed-- didn't hear anything that night but she's caught wind of the killings in Kent and the rumors going around.  Said it must be the same person."

"So certain that it was a person, was she."

"The Duchess seemed embarrassed by the word 'ghost' when I asked."

"Typical."

"You don't have much affection for any of them."

"Like you said, they're all liars and cheats."

"The last one, Mr. Colin.  He said he was asleep, but he stands to gain the most if Lord Benedict died, and in all my years as a copper, money's always been a good motivator for murder."

"Then he's at the top of your list, I take it."

"Among the family.  Have a few contenders in the servants also, especially the ones who don't like the--"

"Don't say her name.  You haven't earned the privilege."

That voice-- it wasn't a voice, it wasn't even a sound.  Just a deep, vicious snarl which shook Bill's very bones.  The rumble of a predator closing in on prey, followed by a sneer and deadly chill which would have made Bill lose control of his bowels if that gaze had stayed focused on him.

"Violet.  Where was she."

It was not a question.

"In her rooms," Bill swallowed convulsively.  "She said she didn't notice anything that night.  And she was still hysterical when I got to the house, so I'm inclined to believe her."

That terrible smile reappeared.

"Well, well, well.  The truth comes out, doesn't it."

Bill looked nervously at the knife.

"The sabotaged carriage, the attempted kidnapping-- all those other little incidents which I know you knew of," knife held right under his chin.  "Who paid you to look the other way?"

"I don't--"

"I'd consider my answer very carefully, if I were you."

The knife, unlike the kitchen knives, was sharp.

The kind of sharpness which, a slight adjustment of pressure would drive the blade through Bill's chin into the roof of his mouth.

"She just wanted to scare her," Bill's voice trembled.

This was where he had to trust in the nonexistent honor of murderers.

"So they all said."

"She said she wanted the-- the lady to leave Aubrey Hall.  Leave England, go back to India.  That's all she wanted."

"Why does Benedict's near-murder justify investigation, but Kate's didn't?"

The tip of the knife was digging in, breaking one layer, then two, then three layers of skin.

"Anthony," Lady Kate put her hand on the ghost's arm.  "Let him go."

"Kate, he would have left you for dead because my mother bought him out."

"We promised."

"Oh, but that's the beauty of being husband and wife, my darling."

The knife traveled, inch by terrible inch, through Bill's jaw, through his tongue, until the ghost slammed it in, embedding it in bone, in the roof of his mouth, Bill screaming but unable to open his mouth, his tongue cutting itself to shreds.

"You promised."

The ghost wrenched the knife sideways, sawing through bone and gums and ripping out teeth.

"I never did."

--

I suppose it can wait until morning.

Morning never came.

Dawn may have come, the sun may have risen, Benedict may have woken up after a sleep made of nightmares, he may have overruled the protests of his mother and Daphne to have breakfast with the family, the rain may have stopped to leave an overcast sky, everyone might have been nervous and jumpy all day, everyone might have been twitching at the slightest sound.

The overcast sky transformed to dark, oppressive clouds which should have carried lightning and thunder, but only brought the terrifying expectation of it.  The house felt like it kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the first strike.

But lightning never came.

Because that afternoon-- the house went cold, like a black veil wove through the very air.  The candlelight vanished, the fires were put out and everything descended into a silent, unnatural darkness where the long, ominous shadows had no source of light to cast them.  Benedict tried to light candles, but only one caught flame.  The wood in the fireplace was soaked through.

When a crack of thunder shook the foundations of the house, everything plunged into complete darkness.

--

You're an idiot.

You love me anyway.

She didn't try to kill Benedict, you know.

I know.  Like I said, my family's full of liars and cheats.

You came back to me.

Of course I did.  I'll always come back for you.

Anthony kissed her, and the world was as it should always be.

Ready, my darling?

Yes.

She took his hand.

He pulled the stiletto knives out of her hair.

I love you.

[lightyearns]

✰ it’s time to wake up, KATE BISHOP, you’ve been in cryosleep for too long and the people of MARVEL miss you. when you went into slumber you were TWENTY - TWO years old, your pronouns are SHE/HER, and you VOLUNTEERED for the cambria program. now that you’ve awoken, your position as a PILOT is waiting for you. remember, cambria one thanks you! 

THE BASICS;

NAME: katherine elizabeth bishop

ALIAS(ES): kate, hawkeye

AGE: 22

PRONOUNS & GENDER: she/her, cisgender

BIRTHDAY & ZODIAC: march 21, aries

FACECLAIM: hailee steinfeld

AESTHETICS: the arrow - sharp sting of loneliness, those lilac - tinted dreams, and that warm wit.

BACKGROUND: prior to volunteering for the cambriaone, kate had been working hawk investigations alone in california for a while. she’d just been returning home to new york under her sister’s secretive request for help, reconnecting with her old beloved friend cassie, when the letter came. her storyline follows current and most comics, along with my own interpretations and headcanons.

WEAPONS: her bow and quiver !

POWERS/ABILITIES/SKILLS: truthfully, kate does not hold superpowers of her own. that being said, she’s a master archer and deeply skilled with battle staves, swords and bow and arrows/crossbows. she’s also trained in boxing, general combat, kickboxing, martial arts, and jiu jitsu.

GREATEST STRENGTH: kate is incredibly crafty! she can weasel her way in and out of a lot. she knows she’s good at what she does, and that aids her!

GREATEST WEAKNESS/FLAW: she can be a little....paranoid, sometimes. a little nervous. there’s a cautiousness in her that keeps her on her toes, but sometimes it’s a little much.

ONE FEAR: messing up and doing irreversible damage.

ONE HOPE: in relation to being here, she hopes to find adventure and some sort of emotional fulfillment. something fun, something worthwhile. she came here of her own volition, so she hopes it’s good.

HEADCANON(S): kate is run primarily with my headcanons in mind, they can all be found here as we go!

THE QUESTIONNAIRE;

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FEEL ABOUT BEING DROPPED INTO THE CAMBRIA PROGRAM? ARE THEY EXCITED? SUSPICIOUS? CONFUSED?

kate feels pretty good, honestly! she’s here with her best friend, and honestly? the two of them together can tackle anything. there’s comfort in numbers, and while more would be great, as long as she has cassie, kate kind of feels like she can take on the world. she’s curious about what’s going on, and feels a little weird about the cryosleep. the only thing she has an issue with is how long she’d been asleep, for. it feels...frightening, to think about everyone she loved, and where they may be, if they’re okay at all. mostly, though, she’s just curious, cautious, and ready for things to go bad, if needed.

WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER HOPE TO SEE THE MOST DURING THE CAMBRIA ONE’S JOURNEY?

kind of like her hope, she hopes to see something new, and interesting, and fun. she wants to learn whatever she can? she’s taking this as an opertunity to be somewhere totally new and grabbing what she can tbh

IF YOUR CHARACTER COULD BRING ONE THING OR PERSON FROM HOME, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

she’d bring lucky </3