A pop-up book that summons random monsters? Yes. Isn't that super dangerous for all involved? Also yes. If you put this in your campaign, please tell us how it goes.

Pop-Up Monstrous Manual

Wondrous Item, legendary

“A thick tome filled to the brim with information on all types of creatures scattered throughout the multiverse. The information is far from complete, and more is constantly appearing in the endless back pages of the book. When this book is opened, a pop-up display of a creature folds out of the pages.”

Whenever you make a skill check to discern information about a creature, you can consult this magic tome for 10 minutes, and gain advantage on the roll. As an action you can throw this book to a point you can see within 30 feet of you and summon a random creature from its pages. This creature is not under your control and acts in a fashion appropriate to its nature. The GM determines the creature at random from the pages of the monster manual. The creature lasts for 1 hour or until it is reduced to 0 hit points. Once you use the book to summon a creature, you cannot do so again until you have finished a long rest.

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Retrospective: D&D 3e class feature advancement and design

Of the editions of D&D that I've played, I think Third Edition is my favorite. It's imbalanced, sure, but part of what differentiates D&D from videogames is that there's a DM on hand to say "let's change that". Much of the general success of 3rd was probably due to the Open Gaming License that you may recall a recent fuss about, and two specific impacts of the OGL were 1) explosion of fan content to add on and change stuff, 2) fanmade polish of the System Reference Document (SRD), such as this hyperlinked and crosslinked version where just about everything is accessible in one click. Much less searching for rules!

I also personally liked it for the unusual way it tried hard to put player characters and monsters in the same mechanical framework using the same scale, unlike far too many games, video or tabletop, where the PC has 138 HP but does 9999 damage. (This was to some extent present in earlier editions, but 2e's Monstrous Manual fails to give a creature's Strength score, only specifying its damage directly.) D&D in general was unusually fair and honest about letting you loot Lord Mega-Evil's Mega-Sword instead of doing "2% drop chance" shenanigans. 3e went a step further to making the bugbear playable out of the box, if you wanted to play a bugbear. Bugbears were now real creatures in a sense, not simply bags of HP you popped for XP.

If you're waiting for me to get to the subject announced in the title, just keep waiting, this is a twenty year old game and I'm a grognard with a pet topic. ;-)

4th edition decided to strip much of this stuff back out again, and I detested it. 4e was super weird. 5e tentatively tried to be the simplified best bits of 1e and 3e (IMO) which is nice for the newbies, but I feel its class system still leaves much to be desired. The whole notion of "classes" in a RPG is a bit of a necessary evil. It doesn't exist in-universe, it's an abstraction because doing full pointbuy is more tiresome for players and far easier to accidentally break the system by neglecting one stat or pushing another too high. At the same time, you don't want to lock characters into a progression at level 1, so designers tend to re-invent various class options and class choices that veer back towards pointbuy, and multiclassing...

Bluntly: The "favored class" rules and multiclassing xp penalties in 3rd were failures. The hypothesis was that it would discourage "5 levels of this, 1 of this, remaining levels of this" cherry-picking and encourage keeping 2-3 classes balanced, with an exception for the favored class. What it actually encouraged was "5 levels of this, 1 level of this prestige class, remaining levels of this prestige class" because prestige classes (PrCs) were exempt. Removing that exemption would have had worse second-order effects because prestige classes had different numbers of levels and conditional advancement permission! A deeper overhaul was needed, but didn't appear. My groups usually ended up ignoring multiclassing xp penalties. Worthless rule, no content, no value. Especially the bit where it's possible to get stuck at -100% XP if you made deliberately bad choices, that's nonsense.

What was also a failure, but less so, and produced the content I want to ramble about today, is how the class system incentivized multiclassing in very different ways for different classes. I'm going to gloss over questions of obscure splatbook availability and optimization level here; if you know enough to have an opinion on them you probably don't need to be reading this.

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Fighter: Multiclass out or prestige class ASAP. This because Fighters have no class features that scale specifically with Fighter level - feats, BAB and HP can be gotten anywhere, and stack cleanly from different classes. Fighter 4 / Barb 1 / PrestigeClassA 5 / PrestigeClassB 10 is an example outcome of starting from "Fighter" and keeping the concept without being bound to the classname.

Sorcerer: Prestige out, but only to +1 caster level classes. Sorcerers have 1 scaling class feature, "spellcasting", which is advanced as a whole by several prestige classes. Something like Sorc10 / Loremaster 10 is cool, gets you 20th level casting, and more class features.

Druid: Stay pure. Druids have multiple scaling class features, and very few prestige classes advance other than spellcasting.

(I reiterate: this is what the class system incentivized. Not what you 'should' play.)

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This difference was not a matter of party role, but of class feature wording.

Broadly speaking, there's two kinds of class features in 3rd Edition: those that provide a static ability at a fixed level (for example, Paladins become immune to fear at 3rd level) and those that have a progression scaling with each level (for example, Paladins can Smite Evil to add their level to the damage done).

Fighters got almost entirely static abilities, and those with diminishing returns. Spellcasting was almost entirely scaling.

Paladins were closer to the Druid end of the scale due to Smite Evil and Lay on Hands saying "paladin level" (not caster level, nor character level) when calculating what to scale with. A few prestige classes explicitly advanced these features, but there was no standard framework for advancing them the way the Thaumaturgist prestige class had "+1 level of existing spellcasting class" for any of druids, clerics, wizards or sorcerers.

Theoretically, the Thaumaturgist or Mystic Theurge prestige classes also worked for other spellcasting classes such as Paladin, but this was mostly worthless because paladins were tertiary casters who got slower per-level spellcasting progression. +1 level of spellcasting had lower value for paladins or bards than it did for clerics or wizards. This was aggravated by partial progression classes such as Eldritch Knight, which provided less spellcasting advancement - measured in terms of fewer levels. They got community shorthand like 9/10 or 7/10 casting progression.

An intuitive-seeming fix haunted me for years: PrCs that give partial advancement to full casters should give full advancement to partial casters. Perhaps even more than one-for-one when advancing tertiary casters. But it was hard to spell out in rules.

Instead, WotC printed special case ugly hack PrCs like the Sublime Chord, which was blatantly "The Bard Prestige Class For Bards" that gave faster-than-bard spellcasting progression up to 9th level bard spells. (In the core game, wizards get up to 9th level spells, but bards stop at 6th level.) It worked by specifying in detail a new separate spellcasting progression meant to be used at each level from 11 to 20, after using the regular bard progression from level 1 to 10.

Ironically, this special case could then fit back into the standard framework: take 10 Bard levels, take 1 Sublime Chord prestige level, now Sublime Chord has its own spellcasting progression so it can be advanced by other prestige classes such as Loremaster or Thaumaturgist. Sublime Chord was a prestige class that bards took mostly for the spellcasting, and then they didn't need to stay in that class for the spellcasting, because spellcasting was a standard class feature that could be advanced in other ways.

What a mess.

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Still, I gotta give Wizards credit for being willing to fuck around and try new stuff to get out of this mess they'd made.

During 3rd edition, some of their later pile-ons to this mess were the Truenaming magic system that worked based on a skill check instead of levels (this was swiftly exploited because Make Single Number Go Up is easy for nerds with a wide variety of options), the Shadowcasting magic system that got to retroactively convert the class levels of a wizard who multiclassed into shadowcaster (I never saw this used in practice), and the Initiating not-a-magic system in the Tome of Battle:

Instead of caster levels you had initiator levels, and instead of casting a spell you initiate a martial maneuver, and the maneuver involved swinging your sword around so expertly that it shot fireballs or healed your friends or added an extra 8d8 damage or froze the enemy's lifeblood with the Five-Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike. It also let you resist poison or block mind control by concentrating really hard on how you are a mall ninja One with the Blade.

(image: a Blade Magic user who has convinced the DM that hitting people with your bare hands counts as a 'blade' if you call it Knife-Hand Strike.)

It was actually pretty good, once you got past the flowery names, the weeaboo aesthetic shift, the increased complexity, the dissociated mechanics, and the fact that Wizards printed three initiator subsystem classes that were different enough to be annoying. Now that I'm done damning it with faint praise: you calculate multiclass initiator level by taking your main initiator class's class level and adding half the levels in other classes, whether or not they are initiator classes. A Swordsage 6/Fighter 6 character counts as Swordsage 9 for purposes of the Swordsage's primary class feature: initiator level and martial maneuvers.

This sort of worked to encourage a moderate amount of multiclassing on occasion by reducing the cost, but not really, because of nonlinear scaling. The low-level Swordsage abilities are on the order of "Fighter but with 1d6+1 fire damage". The high-level Swordsage abilities are like "Enemy has to make a Fortitude save or die. On a successful save, enemy still takes 20d6 extra damage on top of your regular damage" and "Quasi-timestop: you get 10 opportunities in a row to pick up a nearby enemy and throw him. Your choice whether you want to throw 10 guys off a cliff, or bounce 1 guy against the wall until he dies."

This class feature progression was cribbed from the core spellcasting system for Sorcerers and Druids, see above for the multiclass incentives on those.

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I don't have a general solution. Here is my sketch of a fix to the spellcasting part, also usable with the cribbed-from-spellcasting class features like initiator progression:

Build a spellcasting progression separately from a class. Each progression goes up to 9th level spells at character level 20, or the system equivalent. The "Wizard" class then gets a class feature which says something like "+1 spellcasting progression at each level". The "Bard" class gets a class feature which says something like "+0.75 spellcasting progression at each level". The Paladin class get a class feature which says something like "+0.4 spellcasting progression at each level". Round up or down with minima to taste.

This replicates the effect of the 3e progression where the Wizard got up to 9th level spells, the Bard got 6th and the Paladin stopped at merely 4th.

But by separating the spellcasting progression, all these base classes get the same amount of benefit from a Prestige Class which provides +X spellcasting progression per level (X probably 0.5-1). In regular 3e, spellcasting progression classes were worth far more to the wizard than to the paladin, because the paladin got 1/20th of a step towards 4th level spells and the wizard got 1/20th of a step towards 9th level spells.

This eliminates the weird special case that is the Sublime Chord, also eliminates certain other kinds of dumb cheese around Ur-Priest, creates space for semi-focused casting prestige classes that provide 0.9 spellcasting that's an improvement for bards but a slowdown for wizards, and makes it easier for Fighter-adjacent and Rogue-adjacent classes and prestige classes like Assassin to dabble in a little bit of spellcasting at a controlled rate. In weird design space, it allows backloading on a class that goes from +0.5 to +1.5 over the course of several levels to "catch up".

A downside is that this "fractional casting" is more granular, more bookkeeping, and closer to pointbuy, but it's a small step and D&D 3.5 was already including the similar Fractional BAB/Saves in optional rules. Maybe someone can be inspired by this to make something easier.

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Now I would like to say that D&D Third Edition has come and gone and will probably never be repeated, having been supplanted by two later editions twenty years on, especially 3.5e with all its baroque customization, but that would be a lie because not only did it spawn a great many clones, Pathfinder is out there being a big name 3.5e clone with just enough tweaks to not be a copyright infringement. (Also: just enough tweaks to not quite be backwards compatible.) So I feel I should try to give helpful advice for design of class-based RPG systems, rather than just this historical overview so far. Here's my big suggestion:

Figure out how a class offers value, and why I should keep taking it.

The D&D 3e Fighter fails this test. You should multiclass out. Full BAB, d10 HD, crappy skills, Fortitude save (more chassis than feature) are available elsewhere. Feats (the only real feature) have diminishing returns.

The Pathfinder Fighter still fails this test - it's been given tiny value buffs like the scaling effect of Weapon Training: for every 4 levels get +1 to damage with a weapon group. Meanwhile the wizards are still off getting caster levels that give +1d6 spell damage every single level, and it's easy to get 1 damage every 4 levels from other sources.

Also, the Pathfinder Fighter has been given a Bravery feature: +1 on saves against fear for every 4 levels. Meanwhile the Paladin is still getting outright fear immunity at level 3.

The converse of this suggestion is asking yourself in design: Which of a class's valuable features can I get elsewhere?

For the Fighter it's "all of them", for the Sorcerer it's "all of them, but fewer places" and for the Druid it's complicated but "one-third" is a first approximation.

Extra corollary: "...and if getting those features elsewhere, what am I giving up or getting on the side?"

Surreal

During the last week of my relationship with my ex/spouse, I was in constant terror. I was popping klonopin and taking edibles as much as I could. I was dabbing as much as I could. I was on the couch (almost the entire time) trying to listen to music and apply to apartments CONSTANTLY. I was freezing and fawning so bad. Most of the time, I was naked or partially naked. I could barely function.

I wanted to be back in their arms so badly - to really make things work - to try everything to make our relationship work. They sent me these messages right before I came inside:

I would have isolated from society forever. I would have carried out our plan of living separately but still isolating myself so that I could save the marriage. The burden of saving our marriage was on me - because I was the problem. They started a new job, and they told me they couldn't do this relationship and the job at the same time. I needed to stop being a problem.

They accused me of cheating and turned on me within an hour of when I got home. They told me that my hair burned them. I managed to yell out saying that YOU NEED TO GO THERAPY - THIS IS NOT WHO YOU ARE. And they yelled THIS IS WHO I AM. And I saw how monstrous the person who I had married... who I was deeply in love with... looked. Then at some point, I somehow went up to my room? They had told me to get out of their sight. I think it was around that time when their mom convinced them not to take my meds away from me. Then they sent me messages saying I could come down again and it wasn't a trick. (Messages three hours after the 'reading manual' one)

We took our last two selfies together - they looked manic - I just... I loved them, and I desperately wanted to be together. I wanted to make it work.

The yelling and terror continued the whole week. Intermixed with offers to help me pay off all the money I spent on moving my brother out of my parents' home - a very traumatic and involved trip to Minnesota that I absolutely had to do.

(Funny - I ended up going into debt anyway by escaping, paying the lease break fee (of which they are paying LESS THAN HALF (I guess getting a hella expensive lawyer really pays off, huh? You fucking absolute thief)), supporting myself through medical bills (including getting myself checked out for the IUD THAT THEY PULLED OUT OF ME and STI testing because I literally cannot remember if they used protection the last time they had sex with me (raped me, because they forced me to verbally consent, kept fucking me while I had a panic attack, and then somehow I ate and left the home?! I had ingeniously (hah) told them that they couldn't touch me after that unless they could commit to making me orgasm (something they hadn't been able to do in a very long time because they don't make me feel safe). In a daze.), supporting myself through months of wading through life the best I could, fighting to get my stuff back, cleaning or throwing away my things because so much was infested with grime and rodent droppings, etc.)

They would yell how I wasn't trying hard enough to get an apartment and get out of there - I was trying so hard - masking so hard when I'd make phone calls - I received messages from potential landlords correctly assuming I was being abused - I got scammed maybe like 3 times and lost money - I was messaging my friends non-stop WHILE apartment hunting for my life. For us.

I couldn't get high enough. I couldn't stop feeling so horrible. I wanted to die. I thought it was over. They kept trying to talk me out of my touch boundaries while I just looked at them and trembled in fear - I don't think any of my emotions registered to them.

I watched how they chose to appear sane during work calls... and chose to be completely unhinged with me.

I was texting my MIL - trying to explain my affairs (we were poly and open) in detail and how I told Jon what I was up to - I needed to be honest - I told her how they kept trying to touch me without my consent.

So many things happened all at once. I wanted to focus on my friends and the good things in my life. Lose myself in the fantasy of life being okay. I hated being how I was. I was talking to my partners, random lovers, friends, etc. just to know that I was wanted by someone - it felt good.... while my mind and body were falling apart.

They really wanted me out of there - while telling me that they loved me. So much yelling. I was packing.

I finally broke up (Thurs? Fri? The days blended together) with them but they still wanted to be married. They were relieved (they said) when I broke up with them. I told my MIL - (Please note that my ex has friendships I know nothing about, conversations with their really weird ex that I have no idea about, they send money to their ex, I have no idea if my ex cheated on me or not - I literally have no clue - meanwhile they go around slut shaming me even though THEY ARE POLY AS FUCK (but also super controlling)):

We kept doing our marriage ritual - nothing changed. Now I was married in a partnerless relationship where I was still being controlled. We still said we loved each other.

My credit got approved for a place that didn't check employment paystubs (Sat).

And then I got myself flowers.

The next day I left (Sun). I wrote my MIL on Mon:

On Nov 21, 2022, I called my MIL (with the help of a friend) and told her it was DV. And then I posted on Facebook:

"CW: straight up DV

Don’t tell my brother (or my immediate family) any of this. He is blocked from reading this. And I got him out of an abusive situation and he’s doing so much better so please don’t ruin the strides I’ve made with him. I waited my entire life to get him out and safe, so just don’t.

I’m safe. It has unfortunately dawned on me that I’ve been in a DV situation once again - and I didn’t know - it wasn’t until I went to MN and got clarity - I’ve been in several different DV situations and well, I didn’t want to believe it because it was literally the best relationship I ever had? Because well, who else would love me like they would? They were loving and caring and kind - they supported me through surgeries and dr appts and so much shit. They were my rock and my everything. I don’t regret any of it. I really don’t. I loved them and they loved me. Our vows were fucking poetry and it symbolized the love we shared and built together. Our wedding day was unforgettable and beautiful, and I’ll never forget it. I think I’ll always love them.

I deluded myself because - I never thought I could have this. No one ever loved me like that. And that’s why I denied it for so long. The love was and is there but it’s not enough. It hurts to say that I deserve more, but I do.

I left my home Sunday night. I packed what I could in my car and left because I didn’t feel safe. When I came home to them last week, I thought it would be fine but it wasn’t. It was the worst it’s ever been. My heartbreak is beyond belief.

I have a plan moving forward. I need a salaried job and while I know I can get one, my brain is not what it used to be. I think I’ll snap back once I’m living on my own again. I can do certain types of data analysis in my sleep, I swear.

My spouse is going through a lot right now, and that comes with its own challenges, but I refuse to be gaslit and taken advantage of anymore. They DO need support, but I can’t do it anymore. Please know that they’re not a “bad” person - they’re scared and I don’t think they know what’s going on. They need support I can no longer give. This is a nuanced situation. Abuse isn’t black and white - it never is or was. (And fucks sake - don’t any of you call the police - my spouse is a black queer person who is trying the best they can and I fucking love them. We are separated and they’re safe and I’m safe. Just don’t dare do it. I am begging all of you to just listen.)

*I need to put myself first and this is me doing that.*

They aren’t in their right mind right now and will likely say things that paint me in a bad light. I’m putting my truth out here to fight against this inevitability. I am definitely not faultless (a relationship - even a dysfunctional one - takes more than one after all), but I deserve more. I don’t believe that I deserve more but I do and I’m trying to believe it.

I am seeking a divorce from my spouse and going no contact with them except for the logistics of divorce and lease conclusion. Any attempts to contact me on their behalf will be construed as siding with my abuser.

This is a recent realization. I need time to process. Yes obviously I see a therapist. If you contact me and I don’t respond, please know that I’m safe. I’ll try to send my contact info to people before I delete this account."

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Since then, I've come a long way.

It has come clear to me that much of the emotional and narcissistic abuse was intentional and that they need serious help if they want to stop emotionally abusing other people in the future. It takes time to realize, process, understand, recognize the patterns, and move forward. For both victims and abusers alike.

I am healing.

I never want to be with them again. I hope they find peace one day.

They fucked me over financially with their lawyer (confirmed this morning, and I have been recovering since that phone call - my finances have been the worst of my adult life since I left, and after growing up in a family that financially struggled, I hate that they put me in this situation). After putting me through all of that.

I absolutely gaslit myself through much of our relationship.

I am more stable every day DESPITE the emotions. I will never betray my body or self by not listening to my emotions. My anger is justified. My grief is justified. My joy is so so so real. My health is improving. I am going to succeed despite it all.

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It's so surreal.

Monster of the Month - Shambling Mound

Hullo, Gentle Readers. It's a new month...how is it June already? But as the weather warms up, plant life is growing and blooming and spreading...and that brings me to the Monster of the Month - the Shambling Mound. As always, thanks to Scott Fabianek for the awesome original artwork. Make sure you check out the little details on this one!

Shambling Mounds, often known by people simply as Shamblers, have been around since 1st edition's Monster Manual. Their basics have remained more or less the same, offering a monstrous version of the Swamp Thing or the Man-Thing, depending on whether or not you're a DC or Marvel fan. Big scary swamp monsters being a perennial favorite to pop into adventures, shambling mounds enjoy an ongoing popularity, and they're very useful critters. At Challenge Rating 5, Shamblers are a greability t monster to throw in small groups at level 5 or 6 players. After all, they've probably just gained spells like lightning bolt and fireball, and, as we'll see, it's fun to see them find out how those spells affect these new foes.

Shamblers have a surprising number of resistances and immunities, which make them a startling foe for those who've never encountered them before. Their dense plant material is resistance to fire and cold and totally immune to lightning (a side effect of their origin from magical lightning strikes). Not only that, but lightning actually heals them, which is a delightfully nasty surprise for the wizard who's enjoying their new lightning bolt spell. They're also immune to being blinded and deafened, as well as levels of exhaustion. It makes them a sturdy package, especially with an Armor Class of 15 and well over 100 hit points.

Shambling mounds don't actually see (hence their immunity to being blinded), but they have blindsight to 60'. This actually works as a strength and weakness. Illusions and invisibility aren't super useful against them, and neither are spells such as color spray that rely on the target being able to see you. On the other hand, the Shambling Mound can't see you at all if you're more than 60 feet away. This means that, if you're more than 60' from the Shambler, you have advantage on attacks against it, and it has to try to track you down to counter-attack.

Besides some slam attacks, the Shambling Mound has a signature Engulf attack. If it hits with both slams from its multiattack, it automatically grapples the creature its attacking and engulfs it. Being engulfed is like being swallowed with some nasty differences. The engulfed creature is blinded and restrained, so it has disadvantage on all attacks. It has to make a saving throw or take bludgeoning damage every round, and it can't breathe, so it's going to begin suffocating. In addition, there's no way to escape, unlike a swallowed target, without teleporting. The DM can make there be a way, but there is none as written.

There are some very intriguing story elements around the Shambling Mound. Its origins lie in lightning strikes or fey magic...or maybe fey lightning? It could be presaged by the appearance of a feystorm coming out of the Feywild, sending multi-colored lightning bolts into a swamp. The swamp's life begins draining out into a singular entity or a cluster of them, and they begin to engulf everything around them. Beasts and people at the edges of the swamp begin disappearing. It's a good way to instill a slowly growing sense of menace. You can also use the creatures' stealth to have them attack from an ambush, especially if the players are expecting some other kind of monster than a plant creature.

One of my favorite elements about the Shamblers is the fact that their body contains a root-stem that the rest of their rotting form protects. If they're going to be defeated, they can lie dormant and burrow into the ground to hide and regrow, waiting for another chance to return and begin absorbing everything again.

A good plotline could be to have a wizard living in the swamp deliberately using lightning to call forth shambling mounds to protect his tower. The combo could be very interesting, especially as the mage would have to be careful not to be engulfed themself. Shambling mounds might also be used as guardians by various fey, who might be able to exert some kind of control over them via the fey magic that gave them birth.

I hope this article has given you some fun ideas on using shambling mounds in your game. Next month, we'll be looking at a monster for your caverns that'll put your players in a sticky situation. Until then, don't lightning bolt your plants; you may not like the results.

One Hell of A Ride

( It takes a lot more than a pretty face to lure Ikkaku away from her duties. However, when that pretty face comes attached to a hot, shirtless Portgas D. Ace along with a sweet ride, well, who could blame her for being a bit reckless?)

Growing up, Ikkaku’s grandfather had regaled her with wild stories about the Grand Line. Storms that came out of nowhere, monstrous sea beasts, mysterious islands, and, of course, pirates. He’d particularly relished telling the tales of Whitebeard—how he could shatter mountains with a blink, would start wars if you so much as looked at his sons, regularly kidnapped unsupervised children to add to his crew, and was tall enough to peer through the second-story windows of seaside cottages to ensure that curly-haired little girls were sound asleep in their beds and not reading mechanic manuals under the covers.

Looking up at the towering form of Edward Newgate himself, she decided that Gramps hadn’t been exaggerating that last part. And given the size of his crew, she was seriously starting to consider the kidnapping claims might have some truth to them, too.

If it were up to her, she wouldn’t even be on the deck of the Moby Dick, however the Heart Pirates had found themselves crossing paths with the Whitebeard Pirates a month after entering the Grand Line. Marco the Phoenix, recognizing Law as both a fellow doctor and the user of the Ope Ope no Mi, had requested that he give the Yonko a check-up since he was demanding a second opinion. For her part, Ikkaku was only brought along in case any of his medical equipment malfunctioned.

So, while Law Scanned Whitebeard and discussed the man’s extensive medical history, the mechanic busied herself with watching the waves and fighting off boredom. A cheerful man named Thatch had made polite small talk, but the rest of the crew, while not hostile, seemed more interested in keeping an eye on her captain in case he decided to cause trouble. The Surgeon of Death had earned himself quite the reputation in the North Blue, and there were plenty of cocky upstarts like him who would try to make a name for themselves by attempting to assassinate Whitebeard. With Law’s powers, he could quite possibly do it, too. So she couldn’t blame them for being cautious.

Just as she started an internal debate with herself over whether she found the uniforms the nurses on board wore sexy or sexist, movement on the horizon caught her eye.

It started as a small dot with a thin white streak behind it, but it gradually grew larger the closer it got until Ikkaku could see that it was a small, extremely fast boat. Honestly, it was more like a surfboard with a sail than a raft, being long and nearly flat. Ordinarily, Ikkaku’s eyes would be glued to the attractive, shirtless man standing on it, but instead drawn to the flames at his feet and what appeared to be an engine of some kind behind him.

Gramps’ stories had definitely never described a boat like that.

“Looks like Ace is back,” Thatch said from beside her, noticing what had captured the young woman’s attention. He gave a knowing snigger. “I’d be happy to introduce you, if you’d like.”

Her eyes widened a bit at the name. She’d heard of Fire Fist Ace—a rookie that made a name for himself so quickly that he’d earned a bounty of 550,000,000 belli and turned down the offer of becoming a Shichibukai within the first few years of his pirate career. Ikkaku was no pirate groupie, but she’d certainly noticed his wanted poster whenever they stopped at taverns and the like. Mainly because it was usually surrounded by ladies sighing wistfully. Not that she could blame them—he was a handsome man, and she’d yet to find a picture of him where he wasn’t shirtless.

Before she could properly answer, the man had pulled up beside the ship, all but vanishing behind the curvature of the Moby Dick’s broad hull. Ikkaku practically hung over the railing, trying to catch another glimpse of the boat and its sailor. Luckily Thatch was there to grab her by the back of her boiler suit, pulling her away just as Ace launched himself upwards in a bust of flame, vaulting over the rail and landing neatly on the spot she’d just vacated.

Seeing him up close, it was clear that the wanted posters didn’t do him justice. For starters, he looked like some kind of rugged model rather than a pirate. Wavy black hair framed his pale face, perfectly matching his obsidian eyes. The freckles that dotted his cheeks should have made him look childish, but instead they simply added a boyish charm to his grinning face. His shoulders were broad and muscular, supporting toned arms, one of which sported a rather interesting tattoo. Cargo shorts hung criminally low on his narrow hips, and if Ikkaku didn’t know better, she’d say he was sporting an eight-pack. He held himself with a natural confidence that bordered on cockiness, but given his bounty and reputation, it was probably justified.

Letting the awestruck mechanic go, Thatch strolled over to the man and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Welcome home, Ace. You’re just in time to see Pops argue with trained medical professionals over his health again.”

“I’d hate to miss that,” he replied with a carefree grin, flicking up the brim of his orange cowboy hat. “It’s good to be home. And I see we’ve got some newbies,” he added, eyes landing on Ikkaku. He gave a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to the family. What’s your name?”

Ikkaku’s jaw dropped, taken aback by his unexpected politeness and his assumption. “Huh? Oh, we’re not—”

“They’re just visitors,” Thatch said, winking at her. “For now. Wouldn’t be surprised if Pops decides to adopt them, though.”

“Yeah, once he’s made up his mind, you’re family,” Ace agreed with a cheerful laugh.

“Whether you like it or not,” Thatch added, elbowing him in the side, which only made him laugh harder. “You two have fun—I’ve got to go get dinner ready, especially since we’ve got so many visitors.”

The moment they were left alone, Ikkaku found herself once more looking over the side of the ship, wondering where the boat had gone. Was there a mooring station Ace had tied it to? A secret door in the hull?

“So, can I get that name?” Ace asked, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he leaned his hip against the railing.

A little embarrassed at her inadvertent rudeness, she quit her search and rubbed the back of her head awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates,” she replied, holding out her hand to shake. Briefly, she considered bowing like he had, but it felt far too formal for her. Besides, Gramps had always told her that a handshake was the best way to get the measure of a man—test his grip strength, feel the callouses on his palm, see if he thinks he’s too good to touch common working folk.

Without hesitation, the pirate grasped her hand, shaking firmly as he looked directly into her eyes. “Pleasure to meet you, Ikkaku. I’m Portgas D. Ace.” His hand was warm and rough, the skin dry due to his flame powers. She could feel hard callouses on his palm and fingers, indicating that he put in his share of work and didn’t just laze about. And his grip was firm, but not crushing, matching hers equally. It was a good sign in her books—men had both tried to squeeze too hard as an intimidation tactic and held it too delicately because they underestimated her.

When he let go, he crossed his arms over his hard pectorals and leaned casually against the railing, though his eyes were keen and curious as they studied her. “So, what brings Ikkaku of the Heart Pirates into the company of the Whitebeard Pirates?”

She nodded her head towards Law, Marco, and Whitebeard, who appeared to be in deep discussion. “Marco asked my boss to give your captain a check-up.”

“Well, that explains what he’s doing here, but what about you? You the Surgeon of Death’s bodyguard?” he teased.

The corner of her mouth curled upwards. It didn’t feel like he was mocking her strength or potential combat prowess. After all, while there wasn’t an overabundance of female pirates, those that made it to the Grand Line had to be tough as nails. His amusement was clearly at the very idea that a man like Law would need a bodyguard. “Scarier. His mechanic.”

From the way his eyes widened a bit, it was obvious that her answer caught him off-guard, but his grin never faltered. “Yeah? Don’t meet a lot of pirates that employ full-time mechanics.”

“That’s because you don’t meet a lot of pirates whose ship is a submarine.”

A hearty, self-deprecating laugh burst out of his chest at her bluntness. “Got me there! You’re definitely a first for me, and I’ve seen a lot on the Grand Line.”

“It’s certainly a crazy place, but I like what I’ve seen today,” she replied with a chuckle. For a fairly infamous pirate, Ace was surprisingly easy to talk to. He was casual but polite, friendly, and that grin of his could melt butter. It would be no hardship to stand around and flirt with him all day. Ikkaku bit her lip, though that didn’t stop the corners of her mouth from curling up into a coy little smile. Should I ask? Or would that be too forward, she wondered, trying to figure out how best to get what she wanted. Should she just come out and say it, or should she butter him up first?

Seeing her expression, his grin morphed into a smirk, a flirtatious gleam in his eyes as they flickered down to the way her teeth worried her lip. “You look like you’ve got a question for me. No need to be shy—I don’t bite. Well, maybe if you ask me nicely.”

Ordinarily she’d counter that comment with one of her own, but she had far more pressing matters to address. “You got me. I’ve been dying to know; what was that?” she asked, pointing over the side of the ship to where she’d last seen the odd vehicle. “That boat you rode in on?”

“Oh, that’s Striker. It’s my personal raft,” Ace said, surprised at the unexpected change in topic. Not that he minded—it wasn’t often that a girl took interest in his boat. It filled him with an odd sense of pride that it was cool enough to catch the mechanic’s attention.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful,” she said sincerely.

That made his face light up a bit more. “You wanna take a closer look?”

Ace jumped back a few inches when Ikkaku eagerly leapt forward, hands clasped together and sparkles in her eyes at his offer. “Hell yes!”

XXX

He took her down into the belly of the ship where things like extra dinghies, weapons, carpentry supplies, and tools were kept. In the corner was a little workshop full of tools, nuts and bolts, assorted parts, and paint was kept. Next to it was Striker, the bottom still wet from the trip, but the yellow paint gleaming merrily in the overhead lights.

At Ace’s encouraging nod, Ikkaku dashed over, inspecting the boat from the sails to the bow before finally getting to the part she was really interested in. “Whoa. What kind of engine is this?” she asked, brushing her hands across the dark metal surface reverently.

“Uh, I don’t know the specifics or anything,” he admitted, looking a little embarrassed at his lack of knowledge regarding his own vehicle. “You’d have to ask Deuce—he’s the one who built it.”

The vibrant mechanic wasn’t dissuaded, though, simply peering at the propellers jutting out the sides. “I just might. How does it shoot flames like that? It must take a hell of a lot of fuel—not very practical for long trips, I imagine.” Her brow furrowed as she spoke, though; despite looking carefully, she couldn’t actually find anything resembling a fuel tank. Did it run on electricity, then, or some other power source?

“Actually, I’m the fuel,” he replied, raising his hand innocently but proud that he could answer at least one of her technical questions. “My Mera Mera no Mi powers are what propels the ship—the engine just focuses them.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Here she thought she was going to learn some amazing secret about fuel efficiency or a new power source that she could implement into the Tang’s engine. Yet as she further inspected the engine, the wheels in her head started turning, and she quickly got an idea. “You know, I could probably make a few modifications to the engine so it won’t drain you so much. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stamina, but on long trips or in a fight, efficiency could be the difference between life and death.”

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “You know how to do that?”

“Well, I’d have to take it apart, see how it ticks, maybe look over the blueprints if you’ve got them handy, but from the look of things, yeah!”

His face stretched in a massive, eager grin as he fetched said blueprints from the workshop desk. “Then go for it!”

For the next two hours, Ikkaku worked on Striker, examining the pieces, reworking the design, and rebuilding the entire engine from scratch. Dark, curly locks were pulled back in a messy ponytail to keep them out of her face, and some grease had splattered on her cheek, but she hardly cared. She was having too much fun, especially since she was basically given carte blanche to do whatever she needed to the engine.

Sitting on a barrel off to the side, watching the mechanic with open admiration, Ace said, “You sure know your stuff.”

“My job involves knowing the ins and outs of any engine I come across. I specialize in submarines, but I made sure to learn everything I could about mechanics as a whole. I can fix generators, medical equipment, and most other machines I come across,” she explained, replacing the propellers with newer models. Thankfully, the adjustments hadn’t been extensive—Ace’s own mechanic could probably figure out what she’d done, though she made extensive notes on the back of the blueprints just in case. She’d tried to explain to Ace what she was doing as she went, but he’d ended up staring at her blankly, and at one point he’d even fallen asleep. After she’d woken him up with a well-aimed screw, she’d let him dominate the conversation, filling the silence with the tale of how Masked Deuce had built it.

“Impressive.”

A faint tinge of pink rose to her cheeks at the compliment, though she doubted it was noticeable in the workshop’s light. “Honestly, I’m more impressed that your buddy was able to build even a prototype on a desert island. Most people couldn’t manage that.”

“Could you?”

She was torn between being modest and being honest. While she had total faith in her engineering skills, she knew that saying so could easily come across as arrogant. And, well, he’d seemed really proud of his friend while telling his story. She didn’t want him to think she considered such a thing child’s play. “I mean, probably, but that doesn’t make it any less of an accomplishment.” It was one hell of a feat, and she was loath to take that away from anyone.

He smiled at her answer, resting his cheek in his hand while he watched her work. “I’ll remember that if we ever get stranded on a desert island together.”

She raised an eyebrow, though a flirtatious lilt crept into her voice when she replied, “Expecting that to happen anytime soon?”

“Well, the Grand Line’s a crazy place—you never know what could happen. Better to be prepared, right?”

“Heh. Sure. Though, maybe I should be insulted; would you be that eager to escape? I can name a few guys who’d love to play castaway with a pretty lady like me,” she teased, winking over her shoulder.

She’d expected him to blush or try to backtrack. Instead, his smirk turned devious. “I never said we’d be escaping right away.”

This time her blush was obvious, and she turned back to her work, forcing herself to focus on properly screwing the protective metal plates back on instead of the inviting glint in his dark eyes. It wasn’t that she wasn’t used to men hitting on her—that happened often enough in bars and taverns, especially when she was wearing a short skirt and heels. But rarely did a guy take notice of her when she was on the job. Sure, she looked good in her boiler suit, but it still tended to ward away men. Mainly because of the grinning jolly roger stamped across the back, but the lack of skin helped.

It was…nice, to be honest. That someone like Ace was chatting her up while she was probably at her least sexy, and also being respectful to boot. No blatant comments about her ass and bust. No questioning her skills because she had a pretty face and lacked a Y-chromosome. Just playful banter and grins that bordered on naughty.

“So, how’d a girl with such a respectable skill set end up choosing a life of piracy?” Ace asked casually, linking his fingers behind his head as he leaned back.

“Didn’t have a lot of other options,” she admitted. “When you’re a woman trying to do what’s considered a man’s job, you’re either laughed at or seen as a threat. Law’s the first person who took me seriously and showed genuine respect for my skills. When he offered me a job, I didn’t even care that I was becoming a pirate—if you get an opportunity like that, you take it.”

“Heh. Makes sense. And your captain treats you well?”

“He’s a hardass and a grumpy bastard, but he cares about me and the crew,” she answered with a warm, adoring smile. Law wasn’t always the easiest guy to get along with, and to the untrained eye he was nothing but a rude asshole, but behind closed doors no one could say he didn’t care for each member of his nakama. “I couldn’t imagine following anyone else.”

“Not even Whitebeard?”

Surprised at the question, she stared at him over her shoulder, brow furrowed as she struggled to determine if he was joking or if she was about to get a recruitment speech.

He held up his hands placatingly, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry. That came out a little strong, huh?”

“I’ve had drunken thugs at the docks proposition me more subtly,” she deadpanned, eyes narrowed in a glare. Briefly, she wondered if this had been Ace’s plan all along; act as a honey trap, get her alone with promises of getting to rebuild his engine, then seduce her away from her captain.

But he looked so thoroughly chastised that she instantly regretted even thinking he’d had ulterior motives. “Harsh, but fair. I really didn’t mean to imply anything. But I’m sure your captain will probably get an offer by dinnertime. Once Pops takes a liking to someone, nothing will stop him from adding them to his family. So, if that happens, would you join Whitebeard?”

Until now, such a thought had never crossed her mind. She respected Whitebeard as much as she feared him. He was powerful and there were some pretty terrifying stories about him, but there were also just as many tales singing his praises. Gramps had told both in equal measure, enjoying scaring her shitless as much as soothing her with the knowledge that the seas were home to a man like him. Even Law seemed to respect him, having found little reason to doubt his claims that he did, in fact, care for his “sons.” But respecting someone and serving under them were completely different beasts.

Finally, she said, “I go where Law goes, but he’s a stubborn control freak—hates taking orders from anyone. So, he might consider an alliance, but he’d never agree to be anyone’s subordinate, even if it’s prettied up with talk of family.” Especially if it was prettied up like that; Ikkaku might not have known all the details of Law’s past, but she did know he’d been part of the Doflamingo Family. And given the pure hatred in his voice when he’d alluded to it, she had the feeling they’d soured his opinion on the word forever.

Undeterred, Ace replied, “Pops is pretty persuasive. I never thought I’d join him. Hell, I spent months trying to kill him!” The sunny smile returned to his face, cheeks practically straining as he continued, “But he won me over, and I’m confident he could do the same with your captain.”

Ikkaku highly doubted that. After all, Law had plans. Big ones that were slowly but surely falling into place. Not that having an ally like Whitebeard wouldn’t be extremely beneficial to them, but in the long run, Law preferred to be his own man.

Still, the pure faith Ace had in his voice made her wonder. Could Whitebeard convince Law to become his son? How, exactly, had he changed Ace’s mind considering how he’d apparently hated him enough for attempted murder?

Well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. In the meantime, the final screw was securely in place, and Striker was ready to go.

“There. All set!” she declared, stepping back and presenting the modified raft to her audience.

Black eyes widened as Ace leapt off the barrel, and his grin was excited and eager, like a child who’d been given a shiny new toy. “This is…this is incredible!” he exclaimed, inspecting her handywork. The engine was sleeker and less bulky than before, and while he was no mechanic, he could tell just by looking that she’d made it lighter, too, which would allow him to go faster.

“How about you take it for a test drive? Make sure it’s to your liking?” she said with a pleased grin as she wiped the sweat and grease off her forehead. Whether it was from her crew or a random stranger, Ikkaku did always love when her work was noticed and appreciated.

The bright smile practically split his freckled face at the suggestion, and he ran over to a lever on the wall. Upon being pulled, a small section of a side of the ship flipped open, becoming a ramp that allowed access to the outside world. Dragging the boat over, he eagerly hopped aboard. “Sounds great!” Yet, instead of immediately taking off, he held his hand out to her. “Come on! You fixed it up, so you should give it a whirl, too!”

Oh, that was tempting. Striker did appear to be big enough for two people, but was it safe? Ace had plenty of experience zooming around the ocean, but she doubted she could maintain her balance as easily. That, and it was better to test it without unnecessary excess weight. Then again, test drives were naturally risky; if she’d screwed something up and there was a malfunction, Ace could potentially find himself dead in the water, and with that Devil Fruit of his, it was better to have a copilot who could swim.

The real question was where she was supposed to stand. If she stood behind him, she’d be between the flames coming off him and the engine. That would only result in flame-broiled mechanic. There was definitely no room on either side of him, and even if there were, the uneven weight distribution could throw off the balance.

That left only the bow of the narrow boat.

At her hesitation, his grin became more teasing and he wiggled his fingers invitingly. “Come on; we might find a nice desert island to get stranded on!”

A laugh bubbled up in her chest. If he wasn’t bothered by the lack of space on his boat, why should she? “Well, who could say no to an offer like that?” she quipped, taking his hand. Like with his handshake, his grip was sure, and Ikkaku had no doubt he’d hold onto her tightly and wouldn’t let her fall.

Ace tugged her aboard, letting her plant her feet securely before wrapping an arm around her waist, muscular forearm settling securely right beneath her bust. “I’d say hold on tight, but I think that’s my job, huh?” he chuckled in her ear.

The heat of his skin penetrated through the thick canvas of her boiler suit, most likely due to his powers. No wonder he walked around bare-chested. She’d initially chalked it up to vanity or a public service act. Though, she highly doubted he’d be wearing more clothes even if he couldn’t turn into flames.

“Ready?” he asked as her fingers gripped his wrist for support. It wouldn’t do for her to get weak in the knees, even if she could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke and the heat of his breath against the shell of her ear.

If Portgas D. Ace was a honey trap, he was a damn effective one.

At her affirmative nod they took off like a shot, bursting out the entryway and onto the surface of the water. Behind her, Ikkaku could hear the engine growl, flames crackle, and even steam hiss. For a moment, she worried about the wind blowing the flames at her feet against her ankles and her boiler suit catching fire, but it appeared Ace had total control over them, or at the very least enough to keep his companion from getting burned.

Striker was fast. She’d already known that from earlier, but her modifications seemed to have done the trick of speeding it up even more. She could feel the boat respond to every minor shift in its pilot’s weight, and she did her best to stay still so as to not throw off his steering. Not that she could really move around much anyway—the pressure from the wind, combined with the muscular arm around her waist, kept her pinned to his chest. Any other time she’d be wholly focused on the sensation of his chiseled torso and washboard abs against her back, but at the moment, she was more captivated by how exhilarating the feeling of the wind whipping against her face was and seeing the ocean around them speed by.

The hot, shirtless guy pressed up behind her was still noted and appreciated, though.

Despite the water spraying around them, not a drop of it touched their skin or clothing, most likely due to the intense heat produced by Ace’s flames. By the same token, any sweat that tried to coat her skin almost instantly evaporated. Law’s stern voice popped into her head informing her she should drink plenty of water when they got back to the ship lest she get dehydrated.

“Having fun?” Ace asked, interrupting her train of thought.

Turning her head to face him was too risky since she didn’t want to throw off the balance, so she simply exclaimed, “Hell yeah!”

“Good! Now brace yourself; I’m going to put this baby through its paces!”

Instead of wasting time asking what he meant, she did as he said, squaring her feet and bending her knees slightly in preparation for whatever he planned to do. She was not disappointed—with an extra burst of flame and a shift to his stance, Striker shot into the air, forming a neat arch before landing back into the water. Next, he performed series of sharp turns, practically turning the boat on its side as he did so, but his grip on Ikkaku never faltered.

As they turned back to the Moby Dick, Ace called out, “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah?”

“Good!”

Before she could ask him to elaborate or even brace herself again, he shifted his weight so the nose of the raft was suddenly pointed down, sending it beneath the choppy waves.

What the fuck is he doing?! Ikkaku mentally screamed, but all she could manage to do was let out a yelp as Ace hooked his free hand under her knees and leapt into the air, the flames at his feet shooting them high above the water in a wide arch. She heard him laugh as he performed a mid-air summersault, but she barely noticed; she was instead preparing herself for inevitably having to save his Devil Fruit ass and wondering if she’d be able to haul him to the Moby Dick before they both drowned.

Her concerns were for naught, however, as Striker popped up out of the water, and with practiced ease Ace stuck the landing.

After another minute of showing off daring tricks, Ace brought them back to the ship’s hold, Striker skidding across the floor a few feet before coming to a complete stop.

Ace gave the woman in his arms a devil-may-care grin before gently lowering her to her feet. “Looks like your modifications worked,” he teased, taking in Ikkaku’s flushed cheeks and elated smile as she spun around excitedly to face him. Locks of her hair had escaped her ponytail, giving her a charmingly disheveled appearance.

“Th-that was amazing!” she cheered, adrenaline pumping through her veins. “I mean, I should kill you for taking such a stupid risk, but that was seriously just incredible!”

“Glad you had fun!” he laughed, adjusting his hat. “And I wouldn’t have dropped you—Pops would be pissed if I’d recklessly put a pretty lady in any real danger.”

Lightly, she smacked his arm. “I was more worried about you, dummy! If you’d missed, you’re the one who would have sunk like a stone,” she scolded, but his smile was so lighthearted it was hard to stay mad at him. “I’d feel guilty as hell, and I don’t need your captain going after me because I let one of his sons drown.”

His grin faded slightly, and he lowered his head so the brim of his hat cast his eyes in shadow. “I’m sure there’s more than a few people who’d be happy to hear about my demise.”

The shift in his mood was a surprise, but after a moment of processing exactly what he’d said, she declared, “Yeah? Well those people are morons. The world sucks but having guys like around makes it suck a bit less.”

Dark eyes widened and his head shot up at her words. “You seriously think that?”

She tilted her head a bit, pretending to think it over. “I mean, I’ve only known you a couple hours, sure, but you sure as hell wouldn’t make my list of ‘assholes that deserve to die’. Though, admittedly, it’s mostly Marines.”

His smile returned, a little more lopsided, while the corners of his eyes crinkled warmly. “Heh. Brains, beauty, and a heart. You’re one hell of a woman, Ikkaku.”

Pleased to see his happier demeanor return, she playfully poked him in the chest. “And don’t you forget it, Fire Fist.”

He caught her wrist, leaning forward to look in her eyes as he chuckled, “Doubt I could, Miss Mechanic. A girl like you really revs a guy’s engine.”

Before she could even scoff at such a lame line, they were interrupted by the sound of booted feet clomping noisily down the stairs.

“Ikkaku!” Bepo called, bursting into the cargo hold like the Devil himself was after him.

The two humans broke apart, Ace clearing his throat awkwardly as Ikkaku rushed over to calm down her furry crewmate. “Whoa there, Bepo. What’s wrong?”

Leaning on his knees and panting hard, the Mink stared at her with panic in his black button eyes. “Captain’s been looking everywhere for you! He Scanned the ship, but you were nowhere to be found!”

Her stomach dropped. Right, she hadn’t told Law that she’d be with Fire Fist Ace, and they certainly hadn’t notified anybody that they were leaving the ship. Her captain must have been freaking out when he couldn’t locate her. “Shit. How mad is he?”

“He said if you weren’t found in the next ten minutes, he was going to start dissecting people. That was seven minutes ago.”

Brown eyes widened before she bolted for the stairs, knowing that was not an idle threat from the Surgeon of Death. More than that, Gramps’ stories had imparted a particularly vital piece of wisdom before she’d left home—do not get into a war with Whitebeard.

Nearly tripping as she ran out the door onto the deck, she desperately tried to catch her breath as she took in the sight before her; Law, with Kikoku halfway out of its sheath, was glaring at Vista and Izo while Thatch tried to calm everyone down.

“Look, the last I saw her, she was right here talking to Ace.”

“That was two hours ago! And considering how I couldn’t find him anywhere either, that doesn’t ease my concerns!” Law snarled at him. From where she was standing, Ikkaku could see the veins in his neck starting to pop, and behind him Penguin, Shachi, and Uni had drawn their weapons. She could only assume the rest of the crew was searching both the Tang and the Moby Dick for her, hoping that their captain’s incredible powers had somehow simply missed their mechanic. Bepo had simply found her first thanks to his incredible nose.

“We understand your concern for your crewmate,” Marco said calmly from his place at Whitebeard’s side, “but you need to calm down-yoi.”

That simply provoked more of Law’s anger, and his blade flashed in the early evening sunlight. “I’ll calm down when I see for myself that you haven’t kidnapped my mechanic!”

“I’m here!” she wheezed when she could finally pull enough air into her lungs to speak, heart pounding not just from the exertion, but from fear—Whitebeard had braced his hands on the arms of his chair as if he were preparing to get up and settle things himself.

All at once, the men’s heads snapped towards her, a brief flash of relief crossing Law’s face before it once more became an angry scowl. “Where the hell have you been?” he snapped, putting the nodachi away as he stalked towards her. “I Scanned the whole damn ship looking for you!” His face darkened as gold eyes swept across her disdainfully. “Really? I take my eyes off you and you run off for some new plaything? On an enemy ship of all places?” he asked spitefully.

She flinched. His tone was harsh, but she couldn’t blame him for yelling. Or the unspoken accusation. Her windswept hair, flushed cheeks, and mussed clothing surely gave the appearance that she’d been engaged in a roll in the hay instead of taking a joyride. Though, neither was really a good enough excuse for her to have left her post, especially without notifying him. And even if Whitebeard wasn’t the enemy, per say, they weren’t friends, and she’d taken a colossal risk blindly trusting Ace as she had. “Law, I swear—”

“It’s my fault,” Ace cut in from behind her, giving the surgeon a deep, apologetic bow. “When I found out she was a mechanic, I asked her to modify the engine to my raft. When she was done, I requested that she take a ride with me to test it out. I hadn’t realized I was stealing her away from her duties, nor that we’d be gone long enough for anyone to worry. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused.”

Law’s face twisted, looking like he wanted to rip Ace’s head off for said trouble, but at the same time holding himself back because, with his fear regarding his subordinate’s safety fading, logic was returning to his mind, reminding him that he was on a Yonko’s ship, surrounded by his crew, and that Fire Fist Ace would be a powerful opponent in his own right.

He glanced at Bepo for confirmation, who nodded, apparently confirming the story—the Mink’s nose could surely smell the salt and smoke that clung to their clothes, along with the absence of more damning scents.

“…fine. Apology accepted. Ikkaku, you’ve got cleaning duty for the next month for running off without notifying anyone. Like an idiot,” he hissed, clearly still mad at her irresponsible behavior.

She nodded mutely, accepting the punishment without argument. It was honestly a far lighter punishment than she probably deserved considering how she had done a seriously stupid thing. But at least Law wasn’t about to do an even stupider thing by attacking Whitebeard and his sons.

Her throat closed up a little at that thought. Her recklessness could have gotten Law and her crew killed. Normally, her captain was a clinical, cold man who didn’t rush into situations without a plan, but when it came to the people he cared about—like his nakama—he could turn into a hot-blooded fool. What had she been thinking, selfishly running off like she had?

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a warm hand against the middle of her back. Ikkaku turned to find Ace frowning at her in concern, his eyes flickering between her and her captain’s retreating form. She gave him a tight, reassuring smile, but from the look on his face, he was far from mollified.

The tension that filled the air was broken as Whitebeard pointedly cleared his throat. “Well, now that the girl’s present and accounted for, we should have dinner,” the Yonko said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I could sure as hell use a drink after all this excitement.”

“Didn’t I just tell you to go easy on the alcohol?” Law groused, turning to the massive captain in exasperation. “I literally showed you how messed up your liver is!”

A few of the men turned green, and Ikkaku was certain he didn’t mean an x-ray.

Whitebeard, however, just scoffed. “Look, you gave your diagnosis, but I’ll decide if it’s a good enough reason to stop drinking. You’re a hundred years too young to tell me what to do.”

Beside him, Marco sighed and gave Law a commiserating look that clearly said “this is what I deal with on a daily basis”.

“Man, I think I can actually hear Law’s blood pressure rising,” Penguin muttered, to which Shachi nodded emphatically.

Pinching his brow in the faint hope of stemming the headache that was clearly forming, Law growled, “Fine. Don’t listen to the man who can literally take out your organs and juggle them. It’s not like you’ve wasted two hours of my life.”

“Maybe I’d listen to you if you agreed to become my son,” Whitebeard chuckled, a devious grin on his face as he looked down at the young doctor.

All the Heart Pirates froze. After Law’s fairly violent threats against the Yonko, the last thing any of them had expected was for an offer to join the crew.

Law recovered the quickest, scoffing. “Hard pass. Maybe I’d consider an alliance, but I’ve got no interest in joining your ‘family’ old man. Besides, at the rate you’re going, you’ll be dead soon enough, so what’s the point?”

Damn, Law, I know you’re pissed, but couldn’t you have sugar-coated that just a little? Ikkaku thought, wincing.

Whitebeard, however, merely smirked harder at the blunt refusal and instead turned towards the woman who’d caused such a commotion on his ship. “What about you then, girly? Maybe you’d like to join up? Becoming my daughter would get you out of cleaning duty,” he said with a chuckle.

Ikkaku’s jaw dropped, as did Law’s, Shachi’s, Penguin’s, Bepo’s, and the smattering of other Heart Pirates that had started to return from their search.

“I—you—wha—” she replied rather inelegantly, not quite sure if she should be taking it as a joke or running for the safety of her precious submarine.

Ace, however, seemed thrilled, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Fantastic idea, Pops! Seriously, she’s an amazing mechanic; completely rebuilt Striker’s engine and made it better than ever!” he said enthusiastically. Turning to the woman in question, he gave her a brilliant grin. “How about it, Ikkaku? Leave your hardass, grumpy bastard of a captain and come join the Whitebeard Pirates!”

“You’re not taking her,” Law growled, hand once more going to Kikoku’s hilt.

The younger man flashed him a challenging smirk, the tips of his fingers turning into flame. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

Another growl sounded out, this time from behind them. The pair turned to find Bepo with his teeth bared, fists clenched and ready to fight. “Captain’s right; you’re not taking her.”

Ikkaku was torn between cheering the Mink on for standing up to someone and screaming at both him and Law for taking such a stupid risk. Clearly, their captain wasn’t the only hot-headed idiot when it came to protecting his crew. In fact, she was positive Penguin, Shachi, and the rest of the Hearts were already drawing their weapons. The whole crew is full of idiots! she thought, desperately trying to come up with a way to stop a massacre from breaking out. Apparently, it was up to her to be the smart, responsible one for once.

Finally, she grabbed Ace’s wrist and lifted it off her shoulder. “Here’s an idea; how about everyone stops acting like macho idiots so I can actually give an answer?”

Ace blinked in surprise before giving her a warm smile. “Heh. Sorry about that. Guess we got a little carried away, huh?” he replied, rubbing the back of his head.

“Bit of an understatement,” she replied dryly, though it was hard not to return his smile. He was just so charming without even trying; if Whitebeard really wanted daughters, Ace could probably recruit a whole army of them with just a wink and a grin.

Encouraged by her expression, he said, “So, can we get that answer? I promise you won’t regret joining us; Pops is going to become the King of the Pirates, after all,” he stated proudly.

At that, Ikkaku glanced at Law and saw his jaw had tightened to the point where she could see the veins underneath pulse in irritation. Man, Ace had only known Law for about fifteen minutes and he’d already managed to push nearly half a dozen of his buttons.

Turning back to the fiery pirate, Ikkaku gave him a warm, sincere smile. “Don’t get me wrong; you’re sweet. And you’re cute. And you took me on one hell of a ride,” she added with a wink, pleased when she saw Ace flush and heard Law’s teeth grind behind her. Before either of them could get the wrong idea, though, she cocked her hip and jerked her thumb towards her captain, pure confidence in her voice. “But I’ve already got a boss, and he’s the guy who’s going to be the next King of the Pirates.”

There was a moment of silence, and Ikkaku’s heart stopped briefly as she waited for the inevitable fallout. Ok, maybe her plan sounded less idiotic in her head. Had she really just sassed one of Whitebeard’s sons? Had she really just said, in front of Whitebeard, that some young upstart was going to become the Pirate King instead of him?

Gramps was going to be so ticked when he found out she’d died because she’d ignored his advice.

“Gurararara!” Whitebeard laughed, breaking the tension. His head was thrown back, and his chest shook so hard it was a wonder he didn’t knock his chair over. “Damn, boy! Your mechanic has guts!” There was a pause as he had a brief coughing fit from the exertion, though it failed to erase the grin from his mustached face. “Loyal, too.”

“Yeah. She is at that. My whole crew seems to consist of loyal, reckless idiots,” Law stated, relaxing a bit. He slung his sword over his shoulder and gave the gaping Ace a smug smirk. “Especially her. She might get briefly distracted by a new plaything,” he said, emphasizing the word scathingly as he gently grabbed Ikkaku’s arm and pulled her to his side, “but she always comes back to where she belongs.”

Ace glared at Law, but Whitebeard just continued to laugh. “My sons are much the same,” he said fondly, grinning at his men who seemed torn between defending their Pops’ honor and laughing along with him at the sheer audacity of these rookies. “Makes me think you’d fit right in. So, I’ll ask you, and the rest of your crew, again; become my sons and daughters.”

“Sorry,” Law said, his natural cockiness returning. “Still gonna have to refuse. I don’t take orders from others. More importantly, joining you would mean I couldn’t be Pirate King, and that would mean letting my gutsy mechanic down.” To emphasize his point, Law gave her head a little pat.

At last Whitebeard stood up from his seat, though instead of starting a fight, he grinned down at Law and the Hearts. “Heh. Guess I can respect that. Plus, I don’t need you and Marco squawking at me about my drinking. But the offer’s on the table if you change your mind. In fact, if we meet again, don’t think you’ll get off so easily. Now, can we hurry up and have dinner already? Might as well send you upstarts off with a full stomach as thanks for the entertainment. And I need sake.”

Rolling his eyes at his continued disregard for diagnosis but nodding in agreement, Law motioned for Whitebeard to lead the way. Cocky as he was, he knew he’d already been ridiculously lucky enough to avoid at least three fights with the Whitebeard Pirates and was not willing to chance a fourth.

As the majority of the Whitebeard and Heart Pirates, hungry after all the excitement, cleared the deck, Law hung back with Ikkaku.

“Your cleaning punishment’s cut down to two weeks,” he mumbled, trying very hard to hide a fond smile, “though I should really give you more for nearly starting a war with Whitebeard.”

“Then you’d be cleaning the deck with me, Captain,” she said sweetly, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “I mean, clearly I was only following your example.”

“Smartass,” he replied with a chuckle, giving her head another pat before walking off, motioning for Bepo to follow him. “Get lured away again and I’m leaving you behind. You’ll be Whitebeard’s problem.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” she laughed, knowing it was an empty threat. She paused as she felt a familiar heat against her back and looked up over her shoulder at Ace.

“Your boss is a real asshole, isn’t he?” he said, eyebrow raised critically, a look of disdain on his handsome face.

Her responding smile was full of fond exasperation. “Yeah, but he’s my asshole boss. And you may be able to rev my engine,” she teased, pleased to see him blush a little, “but I’m not so easily swayed by a pretty face, even if it does come with a sweet ride.”

He laughed easily at that, just as she’d hoped. “Just so you know, my offer stands, too,” Ace said warmly, friendly grin returning. “I’d love to have a mechanic like you around, and Pops is the greatest pirate in the world. You’d be treated well here.” Despite his words, his eyes held nothing but acceptance, already anticipating her answer.

“I don’t doubt that,” she said, nudging him lightly as they headed towards the dining hall, “but I’m as loyal to Law as you are to Whitebeard.”

“So, no chance I could change your mind, huh?” he said, smile becoming a bit melancholy.

Raising an eyebrow and looping her arm through his, she gave him a saucy grin. “Tell you what; if we ever get stranded on that desert island together, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to convince me.”

That brought the heat back into his smirk, and the red of the setting sun nearly hid the rosiness across his freckled cheeks. “It’s a date.”

New Friends (Child!Reader x Hiccup Haddock)

Requested By: @imagesofeveryone

A One Shot based off this imagine

Words: 2,148

Enjoy: 

~

“Hiccup we’ve done four border patrols in the last hour and a half! Don’t you think we’re going a bit overboard?” Tuffnut asked from atop Belch, his sister beside him on Barf the other head of their shared zippleback dragon.

Hiccup sighed, sharing a quick look with his wife Astrid who was atop Stormfly, her Deadly Nadder. She didn’t say anything but he could see it in her eyes. “I can’t take a chance with the sighting of that Outcast ship when we were flying back to the island. They were way to close for my liking. We have to make sure they’re not any of the surrounding islands hiding out!” He explained to the group.

“H-hiding out?” Fishlegs sputtered nervously. He gazed below him nervously but was distracted when Meatlug his female Gronkle let out a reassuring rumble. “Thanks girl. I’ve got your back too.” He said wrapping his thick arms around her neck, careful to avoid her tiny, rapidly flapping wings.

“I’ll take on 100 outcast’s any day!” Snotlout said as he sat atop his large monstrous nightmare, Hookfang, who seemed to roll his eyes at his riders remark.

What a crazy crew they made.

They were just beginning to fly to the closest islands that was neighboring Berk. It was about an hour flight at a slow flying pace. It had been one of the first Hiccup and Astrid had discovered years ago. The thought brought a smile to his face.

But so much had happened in these past years. The death of Hiccups father...Hiccup becoming chief. And now he had just married his beautiful fiancé Astrid now his beloved wife.

It felt good to get out of the constant meetings and chieftain duties. Recently Hiccup felt like he had been neglecting Toothless. Thankfully he had invented a new tail sail for Toothless where the dragon could control the tail manually and was able to fly on his own. But even with the freedom Toothless missed his partner and companion and his solo flights were the same as when he was with Hiccup.

Through most of the flight there was banter between the group and they discussed the plan where Hiccup and Astrid would do the main island and then the others would do the tinier islands nearby before they would all meet back on Berk.

They finally arrived at the island. Calling out a farewell to the group, Hiccup and Astrid dropped down to the island. As they landed on the beach they quickly took cover before they paused, watching as the group moved on in the direction of the next island.

Husband and wife dismounted as as they did so, something caught Hiccups eye.

“Footprints.” Hiccup muttered. Astrid turned to see her husband was right. A large amount criss crossed but they seemed to be the same person.

“Whoever it is, they’ve been here a while.” Astrid commented.

Hiccup nodded in agreement. “Let’s see where they lead.”

The two vikings, their dragons cautiously following behind, began to make their way off the beach and into the thick trees that lived on the island.

As they traveled deeper into the trees, they came upon a small meadow with a cave off to the left. Suddenly a breeze went up and Stormfly stiffened and let out a chirp. Astrid immediately became alert. “What is it girl?” She asked. Hiccup stopped and saw how his wife’s dragon was intently focused on the cave that was located at the edge of the clearing. As they approached, Hiccup suddenly caught the sound of almost what sounded like scuffles. Hiccup pulled out his sword, to which Toothless let his spines out and let a low growl. Astrid took her ax from her belt, while Stormfly popped her tails spines out, ready to fire them.

As they got to the mouth of the cave Hiccup gave Toothless the command to locate.

Obeying, Toothless let out a low roar, letting him see within the cave. Whatever his reaction would tell the vikings if it was safe to go in.

They waited, for a few seconds as they heard the roar travel into the cave. Suddenly they heard another sound from within the cave.

They were caught by surprise when they saw the Night Fury’s reaction. Toothless all of a sudden let his spines in and cocked his head a curious look on his face. He lowered his head in almost a non threatening way.

“Toothless what…?” Hiccup asked as he gazed at his dragon. Toothless responded by nudging Hiccup towards the cave.

“I think he wants us to go in.” Astrid said.

Together the group of four began to make their way into the cave. Hiccup ignited his sword and the flames illuminated the cave. As they came to mouth Hiccup noticed there was a pile of fish bones lying at a bush close to the entrance. He signaled to Astrid and motioned to the bones.

Someone was definitely here

As Hiccup’s eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the cave wasn’t very deep. As they ventured deeper into the cave there was another sound, this time Hiccup heard it.

It sounded like a whimper.

Hiccup turned to Astrid and he saw she was looking at him, her eyes wide. She had heard it too.

Turning around he went deeper into the cave, approaching where the sound had originated from. Toothless seemed to almost get impatient and leapt ahead and came to stare at a rock that was at the  back of the cave.

As Hiccup came to stand beside the Night Fury he saw what his dragon had detected. He let out a gasp of surprise.

Behind the boulder, a young child was curled up, huddled, her eyes wide in silent fear, as she stared up at Hiccup and Toothless. In her tiny hand was a small rock, Hiccup realizing it was for defense. Hiccup immediately backed up, lowering his sword. “Hey it’s alright!” Hiccup said quickly. Astrid confused came over quickly beside Hiccup and saw what her husband saw. She gasped. “A child?” She said in shock.

Stormfly sensing her riders shock let out a defensive chirp and lashed her tail, which startled the small child.

“Stormfly at ease!” Astrid ordered, to which the Nadder sheathed her spikes and folded her wings, becoming quiet and calm.

Turning back to the girl Astrid met eyes with the girl. “What’s your name?” She asked.

The girl didn’t answer, only stared at the female viking with wide eyes.

Hiccup gave his sword to his wife before he squatted down. “”Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you. My name is Hiccup and this is Toothless. What’s your name?”  He said in a soft voice, trying not to startle the girl. When she didn’t answer he tried again.“We’re not going to harm you. We’re here to help. This is Astrid my wife and her dragon Stormfly.” He said. The small child didn’t say anything but gazed at the Night Fury, her eyes still wide with fear. Seeming to understand Toothless took a step back before he cocked his head letting his ears cock up and opened his mouth revealing his toothless mouth in a smile. The girl seemed surprised by this before Toothless gave a silly grin, causing the girl to giggle.

“Can you tell me your name?” Hiccup asked.

The girl gazed at him for a moment before she glanced at Astrid and then back to Hiccup. “(Y/N).” She said in a soft voice, the sound echoing around the cave. Hiccup nodded.

“Alright (Y/N). Can you tell me how you got here?” Hiccup asked.

The girl at hearing the question looked down. “I-my village was attacked by invaders. I escaped in a boat but it was sunk and I drifted until I came here.” She said, small tears coming to her face.

Hiccup and Astrid shared a look. “Were your parents with you?” Astrid asked. The girl shook her head. “They were on the boat with me but….” Her voice choked up and that told the two adults everything.

This girl was an orphan.

“It’s alright now. You’re safe. How about we get you out of this cave and back to our island?” He said. (Y/N) gazed at him for a moment before she let out a slow nod.

Standing, Hiccup offered his hand to the girl who took it with slight hesitance. As the girl stood, Hiccup saw her clothes were tattered and ratty.

As they exited the cave the girl shielded her eyes from the light, seeming to be sensitive to it. A moment later suddenly a shadow fell over Hiccup and the girl. Looking over, Hiccup saw Toothless, walking beside him, his wing raised blocking the sun from the girls view. (Y/N) saw and gazed at the Night Fury who gazed back at her, giving her another toothless grin, which got a small smile this time in return.

As they plodded on through the trees towards the beach Hiccup slowly began to step towards Astrid as he saw (Y/N) becoming more comfortable around Toothless. (Y/N) didn’t seem to notice his slow absence as Toothless kept her attention with a variety of silly faces and expressions.

As Hiccup came beside his wife and her dragon she sighed. “What are we going to do with her?” He asked.

Astrid seemed almost shocked by the question. “We’re going to take her back to Berk and….” but his wife’s sentence became unfinished. Hiccup realized she didn’t know what to either.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Hiccup spoke up. “What if we take her in?” He said before he could stop himself.

Astrid blinked in surprise. “Are you serious?” She asked cautiously.

Hiccup glanced at (Y/N) who was admiring Toothless as he showed her his back spikes, and clapped them together playfully before looking to the girl for approval. She gazed at them curiously and surprised Hiccup when she reached out a small and and touched one. Once she deemed them not dangerous she stroked a few, causing Toothless to let out a purring rumble, causing another giggle from (Y/N).

“Well I don’t think Toothless would have it any other way.” Hiccup said with a chuckle. His wife turned to follow his gaze and saw what he did, before a smile fell upon her lips. “I believe you’re right.” She said.

As they came out onto the beach Toothless, lowered his wing and turned back to focus on Hiccup waiting for his rider’s instructions.

“Where’s your boat?” (Y/N) asked curiously.

Astrid and Hiccup shared another look a smile on both their lips. “We didn’t come in one.” Hiccup explained.

“Then how-.” But (Y/N) must have answered her own question in her head because her eyes widened and she gazed at Toothless, who gave another spine clap. She gazed at Hiccup. “You rode a dragon?” She asked in shock.

Hiccup nodded. “Yes. He has a saddle, here see?” Hiccup said, pointing to the saddle upon Toothless’s back. In all the commotion the young child hadn’t noticed.

“You mean I’m going to-” (Y/N) asked pointing to the saddle.

Hiccup nodded. “I’ll be behind you the whole time.” Hiccup said as he threw his peg leg over the Night Fury and clicked it into the stirrup.  Scooting back he held out a hand to the girl. She gazed at the dragon hesitantly. She glanced at Hiccup before gazing at Toothless who gazed at the girl with a soft gaze. He gave another purring rumble. “It’s going to be okay.” Hiccup said in a soft voice.

She gazed at Hiccup for a moment before she offered her hand. Hiccup then took it and pulled her up. He was about to tell her what to do when she quickly swung her leg over easily. He gave a her a surprise blink and when she saw it she replied, “I had a horse.” She said.

Hiccup nodded. “Alright. Well you can hold on here alright?” He said pointing to the saddle horn. He then looked at Toothless. “Alright bud nice and easy!” He said.

Toothless let out a rumble and extended his wings before he took to the sky. (Y/N) gasped clutching onto the horn, her eyes shut tight as the dragon took off. As the rose into the sky she could hear the wind whistle past her as they did so.

“It’s alright (Y/N). Open your eyes.” Hiccup said in her ear.

She did as he said and gasped at what she saw. They were high above the water, gliding. The girl had never seen anything so beautiful before.

Toothless saw the girls reaction and gave another toothless grin.

“I felt the same way the first time I rode.” Hiccup told the young girl.

“Does it ever get old?” She asked.

Hiccup smiled as he met Toothless’s gaze before he focused back on the horizon.

“Never.”  

~~~

Hope you enjoyed it! Request are open! 

Whats this? Actual original content?!

(thanks @smoldragonborn)

1. do you make your bed? When its freshly made. Loft bed, so unless my partner is around only I see it. 


2. what’s your favorite number? 8 and/or 16


3. what’s your job? None, currently. Eventually want to make crafts my job.


4. if you could, would you go back to school? Learning gud.

5. can you parallel park? Nae. But I am told I reverse well.

6. a job you had which would surprise people? The fact I worked in a pub 10+ years ago? Babyface, it bamboozles people.

7. do you think aliens are real? Somewhere out there in the vast universe, there is bound to be something.

8. can you drive a manual car? Had one lesson in one, does that count? XD

9. what’s your guilty pleasure? Baked beans and fried eggs, teen pop music.

10. tattoos? No, but I like the idea of having a few. But what I want changes so often its probably not the best idea wi how permanent they are.

11. favorite color? Just one? NAE! I cannot choose between blue. red or purple.

12. things people do that drive you crazy? Passive aggressive nonsense. Being bigoted in any fashion. Or just being a hateful asshole.

13. any phobias? Aside from occasionally being freaked out by the dark, I can only think of falling from a great height? Heights themselves are just fine, the idea of falling not so much.

Oh. Nope. Working in retail again. There we go.

;-;

14. favorite childhood sport? Does tree climbing count?

If not, skiing and snowboarding.

15. do you talk to yourself? Yes. (helps me remember shit, bc my memory is awful) Anyone who says they don’t is a dirty liar.

16. what movie do you adore? ….uuuuuhhh. My Neighbour Totoro or Into the Spiderverse???

17. do you like doing puzzles? Some kinds.

18. favorite kind of music? That changes on my mood. Right now its kind folksy?

19. tea or coffee? Tea! Too much coffee makes me migraines more monstrous, and makes me nauseous.

20. the first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? Archeologist! And it still is attractive, only I’d have to start from the bottom at college as I never took any history standard grades. (screw you HS history, making me want to yeet myself and my desk out the window)

And I choose, uuuuuuh….

@kyuubikitsune, @gracefulsinkingships, @andthusliberated, @mannagryn1 and @thegeekylibrarian

And if you wanna skip, its all good!!

Want to use an eldritch horror in your D&D game? Why not Shub-Niggurath?

Let’s face it. Lovecraftian horror exists in D&D. You got someone playing a warlock? One of the pacts they can make at first level is to the Great Old Ones... If you didn’t realize it, that means Lovecraft monsters... And when people think Lovecraft monsters, they tend to think Cthulhu. But why would you want to use Cthulhu? That’s kind of boring and overdone. There are a lot of other creatures you could use in your game that are way more freaky and interesting. And if you are using Lovecraftian stuff in your game, then you want freaky. That’s the whole point. So... what to use? Have you considered Shub-Niggurath?

Just as a quick reminder, Shub-Niggurath, like pretty much every other eldritch horror, does not have official stats in 5th edition D&D, which is what I am gearing this towards. So instead we are going to have to homebrew. But that’s not a problem. I’m about to collect all the info you need right here.

Shub-Niggurath, affectionately known as The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, is sometimes described as an Outer God and sometimes described as a Great Old One, depending on the source. So honestly you could use it as either. And frankly, does it really make any difference? Either way it’s going to fuck your day up...

Although actually, calling Shub-Niggurath an Outer God isn’t quite correct. She’s would actually be an Outer Goddess. You know... Considering she’s a woman and all... Couldn’t you tell?

Shub-Niggurath is a perverse fertility deity, said to appear as an "evil cloud-like entity". An enormous mass which extrudes black tentacles, slime-dripping mouths, and short, writhing goat legs. So picture this massive cloud, but instead of being made of whatever clouds are actually made of... it’s made of slimy tentacles and mouths. It’s probably the size of a mountain... and it’s walking towards you on little goat legs...

You may be thinking, okay... It WAS scary... until you got to the goat legs... Now it’s just kind of comical... But wait, there’s more! As this thing goes about her business, smaller creatures are continually spat forth out of her. These creatures are essentially just smaller versions of Shub-Niggurath herself. Known as The Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath.

And when I say smaller... I mean they are about the size of trees... perhaps between twelve and twenty feet tall.

So these nasty bastards are just constantly being spit out of her and have to scurry out of the way as soon as they hit the ground. And the ones that don’t get out of the way in time are consumed back into Shub-Niggurath’s miasmatic form. So before you laugh at this giant beast walking around on little goat legs, just remember that she is constantly giving birth and then eating her own young.

Shub-Niggurath also gets around a bit. In the world of eldritch horrors, she’s one hot piece of ass. There’s more than one nightmarish monstrosity with eyes for her so she’s got two husbands. The Not-to-be-Named One, otherwise known as Hastur, because fuck it, we’re going to name him anyways... You know Hastur, right? The King in Yellow...? He’s kind of a big deal... And Yog-Sothoth, who is also a pretty big deal. And with these two, Shub-Niggurath has had many, many children. Through mating with Hastur, because yes, they had nasty monster sex, she has birthed Ithaqua, Zhar, J'Zahar, and the "Thousand Young", otherwise known as The Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath I mentioned above... That must have been some sex if she’s still popping those little things out even now... And Yog-Sothoth is the father of the twins, Nug and Yeb. (Some speculated that Hastur may be their father instead of Yog-Sothoth, but that makes no sense when you look at the family tree. But who am I to say what does and doesn’t make sense when you are dealing with creatures that will drive you insane if you even look at them?)

But enough about Shub-Niggurath’s sex life. She’s the hot polyamorous MILF of the eldritch world. We get it... You know what else she has going for her? Cults.

Of all the eldritch deities, Shub-Niggurath is probably the most extensively worshiped. But can you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to worship that hot little number? Her worshipers include the Hyperboreans, the Muvians, T'yog of K'naa, and the people of Sarnath (although that didn’t go so well for Sarnath) as well as any number of druidic and barbaric cults. And if that’s not enough she’s also worshiped by non-human species on other planets such as the "Fungi from Yuggoth", otherwise known as the Mi-Go, and the Nug-Soth of Yaddith. So if you ever need a cult worshiping an eldritch deity in your game and you aren’t sure what eldritch deity to use, just remember, pretty much everyone worships Shub-Niggurath. You can go to other planets and still find people worshiping Shub-Niggurath...

And do you know what’s cool about worshiping Shub-Niggurath? With the proper occult paraphernalia, Shub-Niggurath can be summoned to any woodlands at the time of the new moon. Summoning other gods is a bunch of complicated bullshit that may not even work because they are fucking gods and can just decide, nah... I’m not interested in showing up for you... But Shub-Niggurath is a people pleaser. All you need are the right components, say a little chant, give a little blood offering... And just like that you’ve got an actual goddess in front of you.

Although I should note that the place from whence she comes is not known. One possibility is that she dwells at the court of Azathoth at the center of the universe. She may also live beneath the planet Yaddith, where she is served by the Dholes. Those are huge, slimy worm creatures that are at least several hundred feet long... It is also possible that she lives in another dimension altogether. So even though she’s a reliable goddess who will actually pop in when you call her, she probably has quite a long ways to travel to get to you, so I wouldn’t go summoning her needlessly. Anyone would be grumpy after making a commute like that...

The Dark Young can also be summoned. They are usually called upon to preside over cult ceremonies. One means for summoning them requires a blood offering. The ritual may only be performed in the deep of the woodlands at the darkest of the moon, and the victim must be sacrificed over a stone altar. Dark young act as proxies for Shub-Niggurath in the accepting of sacrifices, the worship of cultists, in the devouring of non-cultists, and in the spreading of their mother's faith across the world. So unless it’s something big and you just have to have Shub-Niggurath herself, I would probably recommend summoning one of these things instead.

And that’s all well and great for your cultists... but what about a Warlock PC? What’s he going to get out of taking Shub-Niggurath as his patron? Well this is where things start to get a little freakier... and a little kinkier... But what did you expect? Shub-Niggurath is a kinky girl.

For starters, let’s talk about the Milk of Shub Niggurath. That’s right... I said milk... Remember, I did say that Shub Niggurath was a fertility goddess. Her milk has properties that mutate those who drink it into a monstrous hybrid creature. And you may be thinking, hold on... Why would I want to be turned into a tentacle monster? Well there’s a plus side to it too... The tentacle thing is just a side effect. But her purple milk (yeah, it’s purple) cures the drinker of all non-magical diseases and physical damage and status effects. The drinker also gains a +4 bonus to Strength and Constitution for 1d4 weeks.

So think of it a sort of a cure all. Get all you hit points back, fix up any scrapes you may have taken, wipe out any (non-magical) diseases you may have picked up, and removes status effects while granting you a +4 to Strength and Constitution? You show me one potion that can do all of that... That’s a pretty fantastic potion. And all you have to do to get it is summon a gigantic mass of tentacles, who happens to be your goddess, and ask her to let you milk her... No big deal, right?

I mean, aside from the mental image you are trying to burn out of your mind now, it shouldn’t be that bad. This is Shub-Niggurath we’re talking about. She’d probably be into it.

And yes... there is a down side to it... Unless the drinker succeeds at a DC 20 Constitution saving throw, it transforms into an insane outer mutant at the end of that 1d4 weeks. A second dose of this milk accelerates the process, causing the drinker’s mutations to become more prominent and stranger and doubling the speed of the transformation. By the third drink, the drinker goes insane, and becomes a monster on the following round. But it’s not all bad. The milk is a curse and a poison, so anything that will cure poison or remove a curse will end its effects before the transformation is complete. Just not more of the Milk... I know I said the milk cures status effects but the DM shouldn’t allow it to cure status effects caused by the milk itself. That’s like trying to cure poison by drinking more poison.

After complete transformation, only a wish can undo the effect.

As for what an Outer Mutant looks like if the player doesn’t cure himself, there are any number of things you could come up with, but a good suggestion is to just borrow the Aboleth disease from the Aboleth‘s tentacle attack in the monster manual, minus the cure since we already established that only a wish can cure it... and maybe throw on a few tentacles or something. Or since this is The Black Goat of the Woods we are talking about, you could always modify the Aboleth disease and say instead of having to be in water, the player has to be in the forest or something like that.

Just whatever you do, make sure becoming an Outer Mutant is a big enough inconvenience for the player that they won’t want to willingly become one.

But if Shub-Niggurath’s milk isn’t disturbing enough, (and let’s face it, if you are using a Lovecraftian horror in your game, you WANT the people at the table to be disturbed) let’s talk about the Gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath.

"Gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath" is the name given to the favored, once-human worshipers of Shub-Niggurath. When the deity deems a worshiper to be most worthy, a special ceremony is held in which the Black Goat of the Woods swallows the initiate through her womb and then rebirths the cultist as a transformed satyr-like being. A changed worshiper is also endowed with immortal life.

That’s right... I just brought unbirthing to the table. Now you are making everyone uncomfortable. Except that one guy who happens to have an unbirthing fetish... But everyone else is feeling really uncomfortable. And that one guy is probably pretending to be uncomfortable so no one realizes he’s into unbirthing... (It’s cool dude. I feel ya.)

But other than making everyone at the table squirm in their seats at the thought of someone getting shoved up Shub-Niggurath’s hoo-hah and deposited inside her womb to become her child, look at the befits a warlock would gain from such a thing.

First change the character’s race to Satyr. Do not recalculate its stats, but give the character the Satyr’s Magic Resistance as well as its Ram attack and Panpipe ability. Also the character is now immortal. As a DM the way I would run this is, the character can still die if he drops to 0 hit points, but I wouldn’t allow for permadeath outside of being eaten by another eldritch horror, like Shub-Niggurath herself... or by a tarrasque... Because those things stomachs can destroy anything... But if the character does drop to 0 hit points and dies I would have him auto resurrect the following day.

And finally, the character is now one of Shub-Niggurath’s favorites so I would give the character one at-will use of Divine Intervention per week. Maybe as many as two or three uses per week at higher levels. But that would be up to each individual DM.

All in all that’s a pretty good trade off in exchange for the unpleasantness of being shoved up Shub-Niggurath’s lady parts and having to call her Mommy... and the strong chance of being killed instantly after...

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? Remember what I said before? Shub-Niggurath eats her own young. Anything that doesn’t get away in time after being born just gets eaten back up. That’s going to include a gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath. If a character decides to become one, he’s only her favorite providing he can get away in time... So I’d make the player make a very high Dex save to get out of the way as soon as he is reborn or be eaten by Shub-Niggurath and permakilled.

Being an immortal satyr with free at-will uses of Divine Intervention would make a character kind of OP, so make the risk involved pretty high. Don’t just give it to your players. Make them complete some kind of task for Shub-Niggurath to even be considered worthy of becoming a gof'nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath. And not a simple task either... And then once Shub-Niggurath has finally agreed to go through with it, hit them with that insane Dex save right there at the end. Maybe a DC 25 Dex save or something like that... Make sure it’s something that the character can actually roll, but has a slim chance of getting. This is one of those things where you either become very OP or die trying. There is no in between. And if it proves to be too hard and your player’s character dies... oh well... This is what happens when you deal with Great Old Ones...

But enough about what a warlock can do with Shub-Niggurath. Let’s get back to what the DM can do with her. One thing the DM should keep in mind is that Shub-Niggurath has many avatars. I mean, she doesn’t become the most worshiped Outer Goddess/Great Old One in the universe by using only one face... So the DM should remember that he can have her appear any number of ways.

We already walked about her true form, but you could also use The Black Goat. The avatar of the goat is the figurehead through which Shub-Niggurath is worshiped. The most common depiction of the Black Goat is as a male. That’s right. We’re talking about the devil here.

Who knew that Satan was just an avatar for Shub-Niggurath...?

But she doesn’t have to appear as male. She’s Shub-Niggurath. She can appear however she wants. So the Black Goat can just as easily be female too. Whatever works best for the situation because this earthly form of Shub-Niggurath is an incarnation she assumes to copulate with her worshipers.

Because, oh yeah... that’s a thing too... That little eldritch slut is totally down for banging her worshipers. Which may explain why she has so many... Who else can say, oh yeah... my god is also my lover? Well... I guess some of the worshipers of Zeus... But we aren’t talking about him.

Oh but speaking of the Greek Pantheon, that brings us to another avatar of Shub-Niggurath. Did you know she’s also in the Greek Pantheon in your player’s handbook? I’ll bet you didn’t... That’s because she’s a deceitful little bitch who has had you fooled. Turns out, another avatar of Shub-Niggurath is none other than... Pan!

Yeah, turns out all those people worshiping pan have actually been deceived into worshiping Shub-Niggurath all along. But what did you honestly expect from a woman who also happens to be Satan in one of her other forms?

But wait, you may be saying... If Pan is in the Greek Pantheon in the player’s handbook, and Pan is just an avatar of Shub-Niggurath, does that mean that we now know Shub-Niggurath’s alignment by looking at Pan’s alignment? Is Shub-Niggurath Chaotic Neutral?

I’d say yes. Shub-Niggurath is neither evil nor good. She simply is. Questions surrounding the morality of her actions can not be answered because they are not comprehendable by human minds. Just like the eldritch horrors themselves. To try to understand them is to know madness. So Chaotic Neutral is actually the perfect alignment for her. But that’s really going to be up to the DM to decide how they want to play her. Remember, I’m just collecting all the info from as many different sources as I can find and compiling it here in one place so you can homebrew her. I’ll be sharing the homebrew I use in connection with this info here at the end, but that doesn’t mean anything I say should be set in stone. Feel free to use this info to tweak your own Shub-Niggurath however you would like.

But moving on, there’s one more avatar of Shub-Niggurath I’ve been able to find. The Magna Mater, or the Great Mother, is a goddess worshiped since before Roman times. I unfortunately don’t know much about this particular avatar of Shub-Niggurath other than that she was mentioned in Lovecraft’s “Rats in the Walls” and “The Horror at Red Hook”. But that is another avatar of Shub-Niggurath.

There’s one more bit of info about our girl Shub that the DM may want to have just in case it ever comes up so let’s talk about that before I get to the fun part. The family tree. Because these eldritch horrors have a family tree almost as bad as the Greek gods.

Shub-Niggurath was born from The Unnamed Darkness, who is one of the three children of Azathoth, the very first god. So Azathoth, the big boy himself, is Shub-Niggurath’s grandfather. This also makes The Nameless Mist and the great Nyarlathotep Shub-Niggurath’s uncles. Or aunts? It’s hard to tell the gender with some of these unknowable horrors. If they even have gender at all... (The early ones all seem to just reproduce asexually.) Now, The Nameless Mist gave birth to Yog-Sothoth, making him Shub-Niggurath’s cousin, who she also married... Eldritch horrors seem to do a lot of keeping it in the family... Officially (as in not counting the speculations some people have) Yog-Sothoth and Shub-Niggurath mated and Shub-Niggurath gave birth to the twins, Nug and Yep. Yep gave birth to Tsathoggua, and Nug gave birth to the only one anyone really cares about, Cthulhu himself. So this makes Shub-Niggurath the grandmother of Cthulhu. And also Tsathoggua but no one cares about him...

Now here’s where things start to get a bit more inbred... Yog-Sothoth mated with it’s parent, The Nameless Mist, and Yog-Sothoth gave birth to Hastur, The King in Yellow. So this makes Hastur Cthulhu‘s half brother, but more importantly, Shub-Niggurath’s step-son (as well as her cousin at the same time). Shub-Niggurath then took her step-son/cousin, Hastur, as her second husband and through mating with him, gave birth to Ithaqua, Zhar, J'Zahar, and The Thousand Young. Which incidentally makes Shub-Niggurath their mother, step-grandmother, and second cousin all at the same time... (And before you start singing “I’m my own Grandpa”, that title is reserved for Cthulhu.)

But now that you know the more immediate parts of the twisted family tree, let’s get to the fun part. What if a DM wants to actually use Shub-Niggurath as an actual monster you can fight in his game?

For creating Shub-Niggurath as a combat monster I use a slightly modified version of stats created by enworld.org contributor, Mike Myler. (Who made a really great Shub-Niggurath but it just wasn’t quite what I wanted.)

Shub-Niggurath

Colossal aberration (great old one or outer god), chaotic neutral

Armor Class 27 (natural armor) Hit Points 682 (35d20+315) Speed 30 ft., fly 80 ft. (hover) 

STR​  27 (+8)​ DEX​  18 (+4)​ CON​  28 (+9)​ INT​  21 (+5)​ WIS​  23 (+6)​ CHA​  24 (+7)​ 

Skills Arcana +14, Insight +15, Nature +14, Religion +14, Stealth +13 Damage Resistances cold, necrotic; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from magical or cold iron weapons Damage Immunities acid, fire, lightning, poison; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical weapons not made from cold iron Condition Immunities charmed, diseased, frightened, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned Senses darkvision 120 ft., truesight, passive Perception 16 Languages Deep Speech; telepathy 300 ft. Challenge 30 (155,000 XP) 

Immortality. When Shub-Niggurath is slain, her form shrivels and compresses in on itself before exploding in a wave of milky fluid in a 200-foot radius. Any creature that comes into contact with the milky fluid makes a DC 25 Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, it is transformed into a random creature of an equal or lower CR, or a creature with a CR no higher than its level. A transformed creature makes a DC 24 Wisdom saving throw, keeping its intelligence and memories on a success. When all of the creatures transformed by the milky fluid have died, Shub-Niggurath is resurrected. 

Innate Spellcasting. Shub-Niggurath’s innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 24; spell attack +16). She can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: 

Constant: freedom of movement, true seeing At will: hunger of hadar, dispel magic, dream, project image, sending 3/day: suggestion, feeblemind, symbol, weird​

Insanity. Any creature that attempts to interact directly with Shub-Niggurath’s thoughts (such as via detect thoughts or telepathy) must succeed at DC 24 Wisdom saving throw or gain a long-term madness. When using her telepathy to communicate Shub-Niggurath doesn't activate this feature unless she spends an action to focus her mind on one opponent.

Legendary Resistance (3/Day). If Shub-Niggurath fails a saving throw, she can choose to succeed instead.

Magic Resistance. Shub-Niggurath has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.

Regeneration. Shub-Niggurath regains 20 hit points at the start of her turn if she has at least 1 hit point. Shub-Niggurath dies only if she starts her turn with 0 hit points.

ACTIONS

Multiattack. Shub-Niggurath can use her Endless Spawn and Frightful Presence. She then makes seven attacks: one with her bite and six with her tentacles.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 20 ft., one target. Hit: 26 (4d8+8) piercing damage. If the target is a creature it is grappled (escape DC 25). Until this grapple ends, the creature is restrained, and Shub-Niggurath can't use her bite to grapple another target. 

Consume. If a creature starts its turn grappled by the Bite attack, it must make another DC 25 strength save to escape. On a failed save the creature is swallowed whole. A swallowed creature is blinded and restrained and has total cover against attacks and other effects outside of Shub-Niggurath. It takes 21 (6d6) acid damage at the start of each of Shub-Niggurath’s turns. Shub-Niggurath can have as many creatures swallowed at a time as it wants. A swallowed creature can only escape if Shub-Niggurath is killed. If a swallowed creature drops to 0 hit points while inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach it does not make death saving throws and its body is dissolved. The soul of a digested creature does not pass on to the afterlife and remains imprisoned inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach until it too is digested and becomes nothing. Souls inside Shub-Niggurath’s stomach take 1d20 years to digest and can not be brought back through any means of resurrection while trapped inside Shub-Niggurath. If Shub-Niggurath is killed before the soul is digested the soul is freed and instantly passes on to the afterlife.

Tentacle. Melee Weapon Attack: +17 to hit, reach 25 ft., one target. Hit: 22 (4d6+8) bludgeoning damage. If the target is a creature it is grappled (escape DC 25). Until this grapple ends, the creature is restrained, and Shub-Niggurath can't use the tentacle to grapple another target (although Shub-Niggurath has an endless number of tentacles).

Frightful Presence. Each creature of Shub-Niggurath’s choice that is within 120 feet of her and aware of her must succeed on a DC 24 Wisdom saving throw or become frightened for 1 minute. A creature can repeat the saving throw at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect on itself on a success. If a creature’s saving throw is successful or the effect ends for it, the creature is immune to Shub-Niggurath’s Frightful Presence for the next minute.

Endless Spawn (Recharge 4-6). Shub-Niggurath births Dark Young that she can mentally command. These Dark Young are loyal to her and defend Shub-Niggurath with their lives. Roll 2d6 to determine the amount of Dark Young she births per turn.

Dark Young (Produced Endless Spawn)

Huge aberration, chaotic neutral 

Armor Class 16 (natural armor) Hit Points 168 (16d12 + 24) Speed 40 ft., swim 30 ft. 

STR ​ 22 (+6) DEX​ 10 (+0) CON​ 18 (+4) INT​ 10 (+0) WIS​ 16 (+3) CHA​ 7 (-2)

Condition Immunities blinded Senses blindsight 60 ft., passive Perception 13 Languages Deep Speech; telepathy 100 ft. Challenge 8 (3,900 XP) 

False Appearance. While the dark young remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from a mangrove tree while in the dark.

Trample. When the dark young moves at least 20 feet in a straight line, all creatures within 5 feet its path have to make a successful DC 15 Strength saving throw or fall prone. The dark young can make a stomp attack against one prone target as a bonus action.

ACTIONS 

Multiattack. The dark young makes two attacks: one with its tentacle and one with its bite. 

Tentacle. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 15 ft., one target. Hit: 15 (2d8 + 6) bludgeoning damage. The target is grappled (escape DC 17). If the target is Large or smaller, it is also restrained until this grapple ends. While grappling the target, the dark young has advantage on attack rolls against it. The dark young has four tentacles, each of which can grapple only one target. When the dark young moves, any Large or smaller target it is grappling moves with it.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 19 (3d8 + 6) piercing damage. 

Stomp. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one prone creature. Hit: 24 (4d8 + 6) bludgeoning damage.

And there you have it. Shub-Niggurath in all her glory. Give that beautiful girl a try in your game next time you need an eldritch beasty and see how it goes. And remember, Shub-Niggurath wants you to use her in your game. There’s a reason she’s the most accessible Goddess in the eldritch pantheon. She wants to be summoned and ushered into our world. So don’t keep her waiting.

Some Kinda Child

Gilbert ran. His blood pumped, rushing through his ears. The pounding of his racing heart and his strained breathing—it all drowned out the sounds of his sneaker-clad feet beating against the pavement in his desperate flight.

He clutched his side and struggled to catch his breath. He kept looking back behind him, shooting glances over his shoulder to see if his pursuer had caught up to him.

The man who chased him never ran. He always only walked. Despite that, Gilbert could not outrun him. It was not like he was out of shape, either—the man who followed him kept catching up, popping out of garden entrances and doorways and the mouths of alleyways wherever Gilbert fled to.

He had a stitch from all the labored breathing and running, feeling more and more like a knife being driven into his side and making continued running more difficult by the minute. More out of necessity than anything else, Gilbert dared to stop and look around. He wheezed for air and shuddered as a gust of cold autumn wind swept over his sweat-coated skin. In his drunken stupor, he had forgotten his jacket at the last bar from tonight’s pub crawl. The biting cool air now caught up to him with the same mercilessness that possessed his pursuer.

Gilbert ducked in between some garbage cans in a shady corner behind some tall bushes, only briefly registering the smell of rust, metal, and vomit that wafted from the insides of the trash containers. He focused all his attention on looking for visual cues to spot the old man who followed him.

Feeling safe for a brief moment, Gilbert crammed a hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone. Just when he was about to touch its screen and call the police for help, he saw the man’s reflection in the blackened screen of his smartphone—standing right behind him.

An elderly man with silver hair, pointy black eyebrows, and a brow crowned by a multitude of furrows. Had it not been for the sadistic, toothy grin on the old man’s face, he would have looked confused.

Gilbert gasped and dove forwards, knocking over a trash can and stumbling back to full height as he attempted to gain as much distance as possible.

Almost as if the old man moved lightning fast whenever he was out of sight, Gilbert turned to find that this harasser had more than kept up with him, standing immediately behind him.

Gilbert raised his phone in between them like a weapon, pointing it at the other man.

The old man grinned. The horrible smile never left his lips.

Gilbert stammered at him, “S-stop, or I’ll c-call the cops—”

Without warning but with violence and speed to his motion, the old man swatted Gilbert’s phone out of his hand and sent the device flying over a hedge into the dark foggy nothingness of some stranger’s garden.

That was the last straw.

So far, the man had only been stalking him on his walk home from the bar. Now he had hit him and possibly broken his property. Gilbert decided it was time to put his weight behind the mantra he liked repeating: that it was time for a good guy with a gun to make things right.

The bad guy—this old man—still grinned at him, and a nasal laughter bellowed out through the gritted teeth, lending the stalker a perverse and deranged appearance.

Backing away from the grinning old psychopath, Gilbert drew his pistol from its concealed holster around his ankle and aimed the weapon at him.

“Back off, or you’ll r-regret this!”

The old man stood still but never ceased his unnerving grinning. His hands opened and closed repeatedly and conjured up images of strangling Gilbert’s throat. Then he raised his arms, much like the shambling undead, straight out of old zombie movies.

BANG. Gilbert pulled the trigger. And then again and again. BANG-BANG, BANG.

He stared down the smoking barrel of his pistol, in disbelief of what he beheld.

The old man’s brow furrowed yet higher as he looked down on his chest where Gilbert had aimed. He touched and tapped at the holes that had been shot through the fabric of his tweed jacket, then poked through them. No blood flowed, because there were no holes where Gilbert had shot him.

The old man looked back up and stared into Gilbert’s eyes. He laughed through gritted teeth once more.

Then, finally, the grin ceased. It made way to words, drawling out in a thick southern accent and with a gravelly, whiskey-soaked ring to them. He asked, “Nine millimeter? What are you, some kinda child?”

He lunged at Gilbert and grabbed him by his throat.

“It’ll take more than that to put me down, boy. Way more.”

Gilbert gagged, stunned by it all. The old man’s callused hands began tightening and crushing like a vice, exerting a strength that came from long days of manual labor undertaken over a lifetime. The old man began choking him.

I am going to die here, Gilbert thought.

But even as his vision darkened and his eyes rolled back into his head, something else blossomed within him. It welled up in his belly: a raging fire. He flailed blindly at the old man. The butt of his pistol connected with skull and slipped off of a tuft of silver hair.

The stranglehold of the old man loosened and the coarse texture of his fingers brushed off of Gilbert’s neck as he let go. Gilbert choked and struck him again. The old man emitted no sound. Before Gilbert could make sense of the situation, a violent push from strong hands sent him stumbling backwards. The world spun around him and robbed every last sense of balance as Gilbert crashed onto the cold, damp sidewalk, skinning the knuckles of a hand and banging a knee.

The old man stood over him and cackled. His jaw unhinged with a cracking sound and his mouth widened to an unnatural degree. A row of fangs rapidly grew over the set of human teeth that Gilbert had seen thus far. The sight and sounds of it all made Gilbert’s stomach twist and turn.

The old man’s cackling continued as a mixture of hissing and guttural, slimy rasps. Madness and hunger filled his eyes.

Gilbert scrambled, crawled backwards, trying to gain as much distance as possible.

But deep down, he knew he could not get away in time from this monster, this thing posing as an elderly man.

A car turned into the street and its headlights pierced the nightly fog, blinding the old man. He hissed and shielded his eyes with a raised arm.

Gilbert’s survival instinct whipped him into action. His shoes skidded on the pavement and he was up in his feet in a flash, running away as quickly as he could. The car drove past, its driver likely oblivious to the true horror unfolding here. Though Gilbert could have sworn he saw the driver give him a quizzical look as he ran past.

He had almost reached his apartment block. He looked over his shoulder again, anxious to see what distance now remained between him and his monstrous pursuer, but too scared to take a good look lest it slow him down too much. No sign of the man—or rather, the thing—for it had vanished off the streets.

Gilbert fumbled with his keys and unlocked the front door to the building’s lobby. His heart pounded and with how badly his entire body shook from the exhaustion and terror, he barely managed to insert the key into the hole. Looking back on it later, he must have gotten it done fast, though to him, it all felt like it took way too long. Like the old man-monster could have ripped him apart multiple times by now.

He gasped as he took more looks over his shoulders, left and right each, spotting no sign of the toothy creature.

And then, just like that, he got inside the front door, closing it behind him with the minimum of speed he could afford in order to prevent himself from slamming it shut, fearful of such noise attracting the monster. Inside, away from the fog and the abominable pursuer, Gilbert’s heartbeat hammered away. He locked the door and retreated into his own apartment on the sixth floor.

He sank down onto the hardwood floor, curling up into a miserable little ball, quivering with the stink of fear clinging onto his skin.

It took some time till he recovered. Minutes flowed into an hour, or at least he imagined it. He had no clocks around to check. He wanted to call the police, but now painfully remembered that he decided against getting a landline phone subscription. With his phone missing and catching dew and dampness, he was completely cut off.

But hey, at least he had gotten away.

Gilbert left all the lights off. He snuck through his own home in the dark. Even with the suffocating fog dimming the street lamps outside, they shed enough light to illuminate his home for him to safely wander about within its shadowy interior.

He could go looking for his phone and report all of this to the authorities tomorrow.

As he stood under the shower, dizzy and delirious in the steam-filled room, he twitched as the recent memories of this new traumatic chase played back before his inner eye. He tried to avoid thinking too much about it.

Reporting this, he would have to lie. Nobody would believe what he had seen.

Not even he really believed it himself.

But at the very least, he felt safer now. Convinced that he had shaken off his monstrous pursuer, he felt safe within the confines of his own four walls.

He eventually exited the bathroom and rubbed his head and hair dry with a towel. He stared outside into the night, discerning the shapes of different bushes and trees, both near and within the cones of light from the street lamps, and farther away, drawn as silhouettes on the fog-riddled horizon.

Gilbert stopped rubbing. He froze in his tracks entirely.

He trembled all over. Across the street, he had spotted the old man again. Only this time, instead of standing upright or walking after him, the old man crawled down the red brick wall on all fours, like a lizard.

He looked over to him, somehow seeing Gilbert through the fog and the veil of night and even through the closed window and inside the darkened room.

He stared at him directly. Straight into his soul.

And worst of all, he grinned. He grinned and unhinged his jaw, revealing those rows of sharp teeth, well knowing that Gilbert could see it.

Then the old man climbed down the wall and out of sight.

Although he could not see him approaching, Gilbert knew he would be here soon.

When the superintendent and police found Gilbert’s body, dead inside his own apartment, the cause of death turned out to be heart failure.

Poor Gilbert had not known that the vampire could not enter his home without being invited.

—Submitted by Wratts

Autofocus

Word count: 2140

Rated T for language 

It’s just a fluffy little first meeting story in an au where Dan works at an amusement park photo kiosk and Phil likes to ride roller coasters.

Read on AO3

Written for @phanfichallenge​  photography challenge

Hate is a strong word. Dan doesn’t hate his job, not exactly. He knows it could be worse. He could be cleaning toilets or scraping food off of dishes. He knows that people do real manual labor, dangerous labor, for less money than he’s making to mostly sit on his ass. It’s just that he hates wearing this stupid green polo shirt and he hates going outside during the day. And he really hates dealing with cargo short clad vacation dads that look just like the guys that tried to shove Dan into his locker every day of his high school career. The only difference is these guys are balding and have beer guts and come with tiny little monstrous versions of themselves.

Luckily, poor customer service is a skill that Dan has carefully honed to near perfection. In most cases, he can complete an entire transaction without looking up from his phone. There is one perk to working here though, tit patrol. Tit patrol is the creative title the crew uses to refer to the person who sits at a computer and watches as newly taken photos page by, looking for obscene gestures, exposed arses, and of course tits. These photos get sent to a folder for deletion before they can slip by and show up on the big screen at the back of the kiosk. It’s a coveted position, though the show is far from tantalizing. Quick flashes of all kinds of flesh are more awkward than arousing and they’re interspersed with hundreds of terrified faces and awful shots of vomit flying. Dan loves being on tit patrol because, well because its hilarious, and because it means he doesn’t have to talk to people.

His shift started at 11 AM. Dan walked in at 11:10, iced coffee in hand. He pulled his hideous green polo shirt out and shoved his bag into his cubby. Everyday, he grumbles that he should be aloud to wear black since the kiosk sells photos of riders on a roller coaster called the Vampire. Everyday, his coworkers roll their eyes and ignore him. With his official employee shirt on, collar popped, sleeves rolled up, black t-shirt peeking out at the neck, he took his place behind the counter and began scrolling through Tumblr. It was mostly families with little kids before noon which meant this particular kiosk was dead. The Vampire is way too fast and way too scary for little kids.

The first customer of Dan’s day slides his ticket across the counter. In his usual way, Dan punches the number into his keyboard and the photo appears on both his screen and the one facing the customer.

“Oh wow. So much for my ultra masculine reputation.” The customer giggles a bit, looking at the photo of himself, hand thrown over his eyes, mouth open in a scream of fear, as the coaster sped downhill through a dark and foreboding cave.

Dan looks briefly at the photo and says, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

The customer just stares at Dan who hasn’t so much as glanced at him. “One for 10 or two for twenty? Wait, but that’s not…”

Dan huffs and repeats himself, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

“Okay,” the customer says, resigned, “I’ll take one please. I’ll put it up on my bathroom mirror to keep me humble.”

Dan just sort of grunts as he hits print. He slides the photo into an envelope and hands it over.

His voice is utterly devoid of joy as he issues the standard closing. “Thank you for riding the Vampire, we hope you had a bloody good time.”

A surprised laugh bubbles from the customer as he walks away.

As they move into afternoon, business picks up and a line forms. Dan is on autopilot. Take the ticket, enter the numbers, take the money, print the photo. Take the ticket, enter the numbers, “5x7 for £10, or two for 20.”

“Thought I’d stick with the theme, since I’m clearly a scaredy cat. Get it, scaredy cat?” Dan knows that voice. It’s the customer from earlier. “I’ll pass on the photo though, thanks.”

Dan looks to his screen. This time the man’s face isn’t covered by his hands and it’s a good face. He wears a big smile and his tongue pokes through his front teeth just the smallest bit. He had drawn on a black cat’s nose and whiskers but they don’t hide how strangely good looking he is. Even on this cut rate monitor screen, his eyes look impossibly blue. It’s all framed by a perfect black fringe, not much different than Dan’s own hair. It occurs to Dan that he could be looking right into those eyes and he snaps his gaze to look up at the customer. All he catches is two seriously long legs and a very cute booty walking away in black skinny jeans.

Dan pouts. He never gets to talk to hot boys and now he’d let one slip away. His eyes fall back to the photo on the screen and he sighs.

“Hey, are you working here or what?” Dan curls his lip in disgust at the sharp contrast between the obnoxious American dad in front of him and the ethereal being he saw on the screen. Ok, maybe ethereal is a bit much, but he seems funny and nice and he’s so pretty.

Dan mopes until he’s minutes away from his lunch break. His last customer hands him their ticket and Dan gasps when the photo appears. It’s him! His scaredy cat! The whiskers are gone. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth curled into a proud grin. He holds a small stuffed toy lion aloft, à la Circle of Life. Dan laughs, something he doesn’t do very often at work and the customer in front of him laughs with him.

“That boy.” Such a sweet, maternal tone. “I’ll take two copies please.” Her accent is decidedly northern, even more so than the scaredy cat’s had been. This must be his mum. He’s here with his family. So much for tracking him down and snogging him in the employee locker room. Dan carefully tucks the photos into an envelope and hands them to the nice woman.

He flashes his most parent pleasing smile. “Thank you for riding the Vampire. We hope you had a bloody good time!” He actually sounds sincere.

“Oh! Oh dear.” The woman laughs and shakes her head.

“Pardon the language miss.”

“Miss? Young man, I’m likely older than your mother! And believe me these ears have heard far worse than that!” She laughs with Dan and gives him a £20 note. “Phil is going to be tickled pink when he sees how these turned out. You have a lovely day!”

Dan waves as she walks away, standing up to try and catch a glimpse of who she might be headed toward. It’s no use, the crowds are too dense. Phil though, his name is Phil. Dan eats his amusement park pizza outside in the hot sun in the hopes that Phil might walk by but it doesn’t happen. He’s probably gone home. He’d been Dan’s first customer of the day after all. And who in their right mind rides a rickety old Vampire themed rollercoaster three times in one day? Dan daydreams blue eyes and goofy smirks till his half hour was up.

After lunch, he’s on tit patrol so Dan plops down in the back of the kiosk with a giant slushee, trigger finger hovering over the F9 key. The system only gives you a few seconds to make a judgement and send the offender packing before the photo goes up on the big screen for the whole world to see. Any distraction could mean 4 seconds of scandal, angry parents and angrier middle management. More than once, Dan had let a notification on his phone take his attention and had let a middle finger slip by. Not today though, today his eyes are glued to the screen, hoping Phil will ride one more time. He’d see the photo go by and trade with one of the guys at the front and this time, he’d talk to him. He wouldn’t be too edgy to notice and he wouldn’t chicken out.

There were two bras flashed, one simulated blow job, and a whole coaster car full of naked bums, but no Phil. His two hours of tit patrol are up and he reluctantly relinquishes his post. Back on the front lines, he falls into his pattern and soon his shift is nearly up. When he finds himself without a customer in front of him for the first time in an hour, Dan sits up, stretching and rolling his neck. As if put there by the hand of fate, Phil walks past the kiosk. He’s chatting excitedly with a man that looks a lot like him and a gorgeous woman with fiery hair. His parents trail behind, holding hands.

Just as the group gets far enough away that Dan would look like a psycho for running after them or calling Phil’s name, Phil turns and looks right at Dan. He doesn’t stop, he just turns in place like a model on a catwalk. He doesn’t smile, just catches Dan’s eyes with own and goes on his way. Dan swallows and groans out loud, letting his head thunk down on the the counter.

Accustomed to Dan’s flair for the dramatic, his co-workers chuckle and ignore him. Dan pulls off his ugly green polo and begins to gather his stuff to go home. 

“Shit! Shit.” Dan’s co-worker, Jack was on tit patrol and it sounds like he let something by. “Personal info. Fuck. Oh well. Who holds up their phone number on a roller coaster? It’s not even like a proposal or whatever.”

The big screen fills Dan’s vision and he bolts upright. “Oh my god! Oh my god!”

Dan is jumping around and shouting to the disapproving looks of dozens of tourists and he couldn’t care less. Phil looks out at him from the big screen, a smirk better than the one Dan had imagined on his lips. He holds a sign that says, I hope you’re paying attention. And underneath that, a phone number.

Jack says, “Oh hello, he’s hot” and holds up his phone to capture the image. Another co-worker, Ellie, picks up a pen and starts to scribble down the number.

“Don’t you dare.” Dan snarls at Jack, pointing a finger menacingly. Jack lowers his phone and puts his hands up in surrender. Dan walks to Ellie and snatches the number from her hand.

She frowns, “How do you know it’s for you? It could be for any of us!”

“Oh, it’s for me.” Dan grins, his dimples digging in deep, “HE is for me.” He turns up his nose and spins on his heel for the most theatrical exit he can muster, then walks out of the kiosk to a chorus of giggles and grumbles.

Once he’s out of the park, he sits down on a bench at the edge of the parking lot and enters the number into his phone. He types in the name, Phil, bouncing in his seat like a giddy child after too much cotton candy. His hands shake as he types out a message, praying to no one that he hadn’t read that look wrong.

Hi Phil, It’s Dan from the Kiosk.

He hits send, his knee bouncing with nerves and as he’s returning the phone to his pocket, it vibrates.

Dan? You’re the one with the green hair, right?

Is he kidding? He must be kidding. He didn’t even talk to Jack. Another vibration. Dan holds his breath.

Dan? I’m kidding, of course! What follows is a string of emojis, a dinosaur, a warthog, some fireworks, and a cry laughing emoji. I know who you are. You’re the one with the chocolatey eyes and incredible dimples. Nice to meet you, Dan.

Dan exhales and a flutter moves through his belly, up past his heart, and down to his fingertips. Phil laid it on thick and it was working.

Nice to meet you too, Phil.

So Dan, I’ve got a pretty wild Friday night planned.

 Oh yeah? Dan replies.

 Yeah, it includes pizza, Ribena, and…

 Dan breathes a laugh to himself and types, drumroll...

 JURASSIC PARK!!!

 Gasp! Pizza and Jeff Goldblum?!!  I don’t know Phil, sounds intense. You’re easily frightened. You sure you can handle it?

 Maybe if I had someone here to help me through it, someone strong and brave. You know anyone like that?

 Yeah, but I think Jack’s busy tonight. Dan typed but stood and began his walk to the bus stop. He wasn’t wasting any more time.

 I guess you’ll have to do then, Dan.

END

30 Day Monster Challenge 2 - Day #2: Favorite Frankenstein

1.) Mary Shelley/Bernie Wrightson

Put simply, there’s no beating the classic. Mary Shelley’s original monster is a landmark in literature, the coalescence of an idea about monstrosity and humanity that has been developing since the dawn of civilization. Alright, so that might be a little grandiose, but the point stands; the original Frankenstein’s monster is still the best. Like Dracula, every new generation brings a new interpretation, and makes new connections to him. The monster has, through his influence on culture, succeeded in becoming the father of his own race. He is a true monster of God, a divine omen, an abstract entity that conveys the importance of man’s reaching scientific knowledge. He makes us question our limits, our humanity, and how much we as a species are meant to stretch and bend away from the natural order. And to this day, nobody has managed to quite capture that ideal perfectly.

But the late great Bernie Wrightson came pretty close. Known mostly as a comics artist, Wrightson’s version of Frankenstein is the one that comes to mind for me whenever I envision the monster. He is simultaneously majestic, horrifying, and pitiful. Built like an Olympian god with a face like a corpse. Wrightson’s work on his expressions can convey anger, sadness, and the creature’s own weariness for existence. Wrightson’s monster, to me at least, comes the closest to invoking Shelley’s description of Frankenstein’s attempt at an ubermensch, and his subsequent failure.

2.) Boris Karloff

There’s a lot to be said against Karloff’s Frankenstein. It created a pop cultural image that is ultimately at odds with Shelley’s work. The monster’s eloquent suffering is replaced with a series of moans and grunts, and his arc is ultimately threadbare. And yet, Karloff’s Frankenstein brings something absolutely essential to the Frankenstein mythos; innocence. The creature is a victim of its own creation, too powerful and too strange for this world. The damage it causes is the byproduct of its father’s meddling in things man was not meant to know. That’s a perspective we didn’t get a lot of in Shelley’s original novel, and for all that the Universal movie is different from the novel, it meshes with the novel’s morality by reminding the audience of an important message; the value of humanity. Karloff’s monster appeals to our humanity on the most basic level, that of an innocent suffering. In that, I think even Mary Shelley would be proud.

3.) Shuler Hensley

Aaaaand now we’re back to Van Helsing. Okay, legitimately? I think the Frankenstein’s monster is the best part of Van Helsing. I am dead serious. Like Castlevania’s Dracula, the monster here is an amalgam of all the different parts of Frankenstein pop culture. There’s alchemy, mad science, and body horror, but there’s also a search for humanity and a desire to find meaning in life. Also, like everything in this movie, overacting. Just some grade-A overacting. Hensley screams his lungs out shouting Byronic prose, which I always took to be a kind of fun dig at the original monster’s own flair for the overdramatic.

4.) Peter Boyle

Boyle doesn’t bring a lot to the table as the creature in Young Frankenstein. The movie is a loving parody, and it clearly derives mostly from the Universal Studios movie. And yet, there are some subtle hints of brilliance in this portrayal of the creature and Frankenstein. The Universal movie was a source, yes, but Mel Brooks also drew from the novel for his own spin. At the end of the movie, Gene Wilder’s Frankenstein departs from Shelley’s (who is also the character’s grandfather) by taking responsibility and trying to help his creation. And in turn, the creature forgives and protects Frankenstein. I know it’s all just for good fun, but when you start viewing it through the classic metaphors applied to the novel, it creates a more optimistic picture about human progress. (Plus, I’d be remiss if I didn’t include one of my favorite movies on this list.)

5.) Christopher Lee

Christopher Lee’s Frankenstein is actually the version that turned me on to the character. When I was a kid, Boris Karloff’s Frankenstein did nothing for me; he was too sad, too sympathetic to be a monster. Frankenstein’s monster was supposed to be scary to me; stitched out of corpses, with greasy black hair and dead eyes, angry at all the world. (Also dressed in a stylish black suit.) Lee’s monster delivered that to me. The moment I first saw him, I knew that this was how Frankenstein’s monster was supposed to look. Now that I’m older, I can appreciate Boris Karloff’s performance more, but I’ll still always have a fondness for my first favorite Frankenstein.

6.) Rory Kinnear

The youngest monster on this list, Rory Kinnear played Frankenstein’s monster, referred to variously as Adam or Caliban, in Showtime’s Penny Dreadful. Think a cheaper, tawdrier League of Extraordianry Gentlemen. Appearance-wise, Kinnear’s Frankenstein is... it’s- it’s not great. This show had the special effects budget of some pocket lint and the grace of God. But the character is what stood out here. Kinnear’s creature, more than any other, struggles to find his identity, to find a means to turn his monstrosity towards good. His constant failure as people use him and reject him embitters him even more against his creator, but gives him a common bond to other characters. In the show’s last season, Kinnear’s Frankenstein reunites with the family of the man who’s body was used to create him, stepping in apparently returned from the dead. And that and what happens afterward with the character are, I think, worthy additions to the Frankenstein mythos.

7.) Junji Ito’s Frankenstein

Leave it to Junji Ito to create the first truly repulsive Frankenstein. Lee’s came close, but Ito’s portrayal of the monster is nothing short of revolting. In the novel, it’s never made clear why exactly people are repulsed by the creature’s appearance; it might even have been all in the character’s perception. But Ito’s Frankenstein is simply hideous; it’s the first Frankenstein I can think of where you can imagine what he smells like, and it’s like rotting meat. The monster is imposing, too; Ito, like Wrightson, didn’t skimp on making his creature gigantic in proportion. It’s hard to feel sympathy for this creature, and it almost seems to take pleasure in the evil it commits against its creator. It’s easily the nastiest version of the monster you’ll ever meet.

8.) The King of Toyland

Like Van Helsing, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is just something I’m going to keep coming back to during this challenge. League’s Frankenstein is mentioned only in passing, making an actual appearance only as a background cameo, but what little is given might just be the most heartwarming version of the character I’ve read. After the canon events of the novel, Frankenstein’s creature wanders the Arctic Circle, despondent and immortal, unable to kill himself. In his wandering, the creature finds a land populated entirely by sentient dolls and toys, hidden in the North Pole behind a magical field. This is Toyland, from the Noddy series of English children’s novels.

The residents of Toyland are ruled over by Olympia, the automaton girl from the opera The Tales of Hoffman. The toys, instead of rejecting the creature, ask him to stay, claiming they need his strength to protect the land. The toys don’t see the creature as unnatural; to them, he is simply another misfit toy, an oversized doll. In time, the creature and Olympia fall in love and marry, and they rule as the king and queen of Toyland. The creature, at last, has found a place and a people he can call his own, somewhere where he is accepted, a purpose for his strength. And somehow, this was all written by Alan “Old Man Yelling at a Cloud” Moore, without a shred of irony or cynicism. And if you don’t think that’s the most sentimental shit in all of Frankenstein lore, then I don’t know what to tell you.

9.) The Flesh Golem

Before even Christopher Lee, the first version of Frankenstein’s monster that I really loved was the one in the 3rd Edition Dungeons and Dragons Monster Manual. Well, okay, it’s not actually Frankenstein’s monster; it’s just a ‘flesh golem’. But energized by electricity, afraid of fire, made of dead men cobbled together? Come on. My older cousin used to tell me that her idea for Frankenstein’s monster was that Frankenstein ran out of human parts, and had to resort to animal material to finish the creature. Frankenstein might have the nose of a pig, or the eyes of a horse; anything to finish the work. That idea never left me, and I thought of it every time I stared at the flesh golem, taking in the metal frame and oversized claw. I remember the first time I actually read the novel, I kept drifting back to that lanky, stitched-up construct with its monster parts and lop-sided face.

10.) The Prometheans

Another tabletop rpg rendition of Frankenstein’s monster, this was a whole game built around them. Promethean: The Created was the fourth of the New World of Darkness line or Chronicles of Darkness or whatever we call it these days. In it, players took on the role of artificially created beings, filled with supernatural energy, whose very presence twisted and corrupted the world around them. Normal humans can’t stand to look at them as a supernatural field makes them immediate targets of hatred, and they are hunted by their own twisted, monstrous bretheren who want to consume their divine power. And yet, for all that, it was a fundamentally optimistic game. Promethean marked a trend in the World of Darkness line that turned away from doom and gloom towards seeking salvation. The ultimate quest of the Prometheans is to gain their humanity, and their journey is about undertaking a pilgrimage to their ultimate realization. Promethean is about personal horror, and defining one’s own humanity.

Top Firefox Add-Ons for Web Developments

Firefox has a plethora of plugins and add-ons that can be extremely useful to users. It is possible to perform a plugin scan. Add-ons (small programs that improve the functionality of a web browser) will customize your browser to help you do anything from uploading files to speed dialing your favorite websites... Aside from its stability and unhackability, one of the best things I like about Firefox is how it's constantly being updated and improved by "add-on" features.

Google toolbar

 Since you can't stop running into the Google search engine when browsing the internet, it's a good idea to keep it on hand at all times. If you install this add-on on your Firefox browser, you'll have access to a range of Google resources, including Google search and the page rank checker.

Flashblock

 This one is for preventing flash animation from appearing on the page you're on, particularly if it's an annoying ad that you can't avoid. If it is, however, something worth your time, you can display it by pressing the button that appears right where the flash animation should be. And it avoids a lot of traffic.

Adblock

 Another useful add-on for Firefox. In general, all material on the internet can be divided into two categories: that which you need and seek, and that which is unrelated to your web search. However, there is a third category that consists of monstrous ad banners that can appear anywhere on the internet and at any time, often right in the middle of the text you are reading, completely disrupting the text continuity. Many irritating advertisements that you can encounter while browsing the web are blocked by AdBlock.

Download manager tweak

 When the download process starts in a pop-up window, it's not very fun. Instead of opening a new window, which is inconvenient in most situations, this add-on enables you to open the download manager in a new tab. It is, however, not important for your browser's efficiency, so it is ranked last.

Handy Password toolbar

 The handy Password toolbar automates the filling out of various web forms. If you have a lot of web accounts with logins and passwords to fill in, it will automatically fill in all of those fields with your details. It can also remember and maintain all of your passwords, as well as create safe passwords for you. In short, using this Firefox add-on eliminates the need to recall or upload any logins or passwords, as well as the need to manually fill out lengthy web forms. This is a fantastic one!

Greasemonkey

 Another great Firefox add-on is Greasemonkey, which allows you to install ‘mini-add-ons,' which are tiny scripts that alter the way you view or use a website and are created by Greasemonkey users. There are small scripts for almost every website out there; while not all of them are useful, you're sure to find one or two that you want for your favorite pages.

Conclusion

 If you're a web designer or developer, you'll love using the Firefox browser if you know about the awesome extensions we mentioned in this post. Connect with Nummero for the best web design experience.

Chapter 4: Fast Cars and Freedom

Chapter Log!

The sound of clanging metal and rattling chains violently pulled me from my sleep the next morning. The sounds of iron smashing concrete and car doors echoing shook the sleep from my eyes before I even had a chance to fully open them on my own as I slowly sat up in my bed, scratching my still throbbing head in complete and utter confusion. "The Hell?" I finally muttered aloud when not even a brief second passed before more rattling came from outside my windows, followed then by muffled voices I couldn't even begin to make words out of through the insulated walls of my home.

I glanced quickly at my clock, reading the borderline disgusting time of '9:21 AM' in red digital letters as I kicked back my comforter and swung my petite legs over the side of my bed. My limbs fought me with every move I made as I slowly rose to a standing position. Goosebumps punching through the entirety of my skin's surface in protest as I made my way towards my window despite the warm air swirling through my bedroom. But it was too late, I was awake, and far too curious about the ruckus going on just outside to hide under the covers a second longer. Not like at that point I would actually be able to fall back asleep anyway. Slowly but surely, I found myself at my window, and after having to finesse my blind just a little I managed to get the thing to snap and roll up enough to unveil the origin scene of the commotion that had stolen the first peaceful sleep I'd gotten all week. The unfortunate part of it all was, once I looked down into my driveway, instead of gazing upon answers like I had anticipated, I was only met with even more questions and a more thickly laid layer of confusion to swim through. Below me then I could easily spot the shining exposed skin on the top of my father's head as he stood beside an older, two-toned pickup truck I knew did not call our driveway home. But that wasn't what truly had me scratching my temple just then. Hooked to the back of the gray and white truck, a transport trailer was latched. And as I looked down on my father trailing the side of the large hunk of equipment, I could physically feel my eyes widen so much so the lids of my eyes had begun to press into the underside of their sockets at the sight of the most beautiful car I'd ever seen in my entire life. Large blue irises followed in my father's slow path as they scanned every inch of glistening candy apple paint before suddenly dipping to the tail end of the car where they shifted from the glossy coating to a sloppy mop of brown hair I'd sat beside no more than twelve hours before. I knew it instantly, in my mind and my gut for a change exactly who those soft brown locks belonged too. And I watched the slender boy wrap to meet my father behind almost four thousand pounds of pure muscle and steel. Scrunching my eyes, I watched with more confusion than before as Alex and my father began to exchange words by the tail end of this vehicle. And almost instantaneously I felt the urge to run down the stairs and be a part of their inaudible conversation. I didn't even have time to really think about what it was I was actually doing before I was stripping off my plaid pajama pants and makeup stained sleeping shirt. In exchange for some high waisted denim shorts and an only slightly wrinkled pocket tee from the floor. Slipping my feet into my beaten old converse and slipping through my door, not caring how much damage I was probably doing to the heels of my sneakers as I swiftly made my way down the fall and patted down the staircase. In leaps and bounds, I descended the hardwood, for the first time in well, as long as I could currently remember, I was filled with an almost strange level of excitement as I landed hard on my feet in the entryway when the sounds of an engine roared from just beyond the front door. The pure power of the mechanism turning over and firing up shook the large wooden portal in its frame where it had been left just slightly ajar. I was quick then to head running for the driveway, making my way down the two small front steps of my porch in time to see the car be slowly backed off the transport trailer and onto the level asphalt of my street. Eyes wide and heart unpredictable as it pounded in my chest with the rippling sounds of the car's powerful engine I watched as my dad carefully directed the long-legged boy behind the wheel in the taxing task at hand. Soon the car was back on all four wheels being pulled slowly into my drive right before my knees and the engine was killed. As far as I was aware, I wasn't a huge car fanatic, but something about that heavy piece of machinery had my eyes dazed in amazement as I stood completely motionless. Watching and listening to the clang of latches and the echoing of the hollow metal door as Alex stepped from the low riding vehicle and rose to his staggering height just feet from me. "IT'S ALIVE!" I heard my dad joke as he weaved between the car and the trailer, laughing loud and clear as he made his way towards me. "Hello sunshine, glad you could finally grace us with your monstrous presence!" I looked at him as the smile I didn't even realize had been plastered on my face widened, not even caring at him picking fun at my admittedly unfortunate bedhead. And instead, I just continued to smile in awe as he slid a hand down the hood of the vehicle in passing. "What is this?" I asked, my excitement building inside me as I looked my senior in the eyes. He chuckled then, exchanging a look with Alex who had begun to follow in suit taking strides towards me. "You tell me," He said plainly, his tone dripping in both sarcasm and amusement. "If anything is going to jog your memory, I'm almost certain it's going to be this beauty!" I turned back then from Alex's cheeky grin only to see my father sporting a similar expression as he smirked down at me. Eyebrows slowly began to sew themselves together on my crinkled forehead as I stared, which of course only gained more amused chuckles from the two men. "Alex, pop the hood and let her take a look!" More laughter erupted as the confusion painted on my face began to sink so deep into my expression it could have been mistaken for the Grand Canyon. But still, I stepped forward towards the car. Watching silently amidst my dad's hysterical laughter as Alex pulled the pins from the hood before sharply pulling a lever over the license plate, unveiling the source of the earthquake that had shaken my entire house just moments before. "Wow" I breathed out as I stepped up beside Alex, shoulder to elbow and looked down on all the glistening metal and hectic wires sprayed out before me. "Tell me about it." Alex laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck as neither of us dared to take our eyes off the engine before us, pristine and perfect. I couldn't even begin to fathom words at that moment, something inside me had been churning for a while, mixing all the excitement and curiosity into a concoction of nostalgia as I stood there in silence for what felt like forever, breathing in the subtle scent of rubber and gasoline. "Go on..." My dad suddenly added, breaking both Alex and me from our silent states of utter infatuation as he placed a large hand on my shoulder. "Tell him about it." At that small remark, My eyebrows retreated together once again, returning to their ever-confused expression as I turned my head to see my dad smiling yet again. His wide grin exposing the small calcium deposits on his teeth and his deep smile lines beside them. "He already knows everything." I said simply, without even realizing it which only caused my own confusion to spread as I went cross-eyed looking down at my own lips. Curious about where those words had just innately come from. "Humor me!" My dad chuckled lightly smacking my shoulder, blatantly ignoring my obvious disorientation. And I thought for once it best to as well when a headache began to twitch above my right eye. I looked back at the engine and squinted for a moment, my palms slowly growing clammy as though this car were my second-grade crush or something. And then I opened my mouth, and with no control or warning, words began to spill from my lips as though I'd recited them a million times before. "Well, it's a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454, restored with all original steel body panels." I cooed, and it almost started to feel in that instant like I was having an outer body experience. Words were leaving my face, and if they hadn't been floating through the air in my sleep-soaked voice I would have been certain I wasn't the one saying them. But I was, and I just kept on going. "It has an LS6-454 mark four V8 big block engine with an aluminum intake manifold," because I somehow knew what that was or all that meant! "450 horsepower, which can get it from zero to sixty in about six seconds flat and averages in the thirteen second time range for a quarter mile." My head was aching now, but not from any hint of an oncoming memory. Just from the pure fact of not understanding a single thing coming from my mouth as any attempts to shut it completely proved futile and I made my way around Alex and towards the driver's side of the car. "She has fourteen by seven-inch wheels with F70 tires and beautiful heavy duty F41 suspension underneath her," I muttered, beginning to smile to myself despite the total war going on inside my brain between everything I knew, and what little I remembered. Sticking my head through the open window I somehow continued, as though I hadn't said enough already. "All original round gauge dash and black leather interior, complete with a Muncie M22 rock crusher four-speed manual transmission." And if you thought I was done there, you and I both would be so painfully wrong. Because then I pulled my head from the window, lightly tracing a hand down the roof of the car as I smiled at the flecks in the paint glistening back at me. "Her two-door coupe style body is perfect – if I do say so myself..." I smirked, "With just a single repaint of stock, true to the year colors of cherry red with pristine, airbrushed tuxedo black racing stripes and chrome-tipped dual exhaust, it's as though you drove her off the lot." I took a step back then, gazing at the white 'SS' insignia stamped on the rear rubber bumper panel for a second before I looked up. Staring over the slick roof of this car I'd just completely reconstructed without skipping a beat and met my father's eyes. Their bright blue-gray color that resembled mine could hardly be seen in their squinted state he'd been smiling so hard just then. "What?" I basically snapped, laughter playing on my lips as I wrapped back around the side of the car and advanced towards the older man. Something inside me then, be it the giddy smile that had subconsciously plastered itself across my lips, the look in my father's eyes as he pulled me quickly into a bear hug or the light almost butterfly-like feeling that consumed my stomach told me that the car I was already re-infatuated with was mine. Or was pretty damn close to being mine at the very least. "You may not remember, but there are some thing's you'll never forget." My dad muttered in my ear then, crushing my rib cage into my spine he was holding on so tight. "It's like riding a bike... sometimes in order to remember how to do it, you have to get back on the seat!" I couldn't help but laugh then, a light-hearted, warm laugh as I squeezed my dad a little before we both let go. And I looked up at him with large wide eyes, and a devilish smile pushing out my cheeks. "Is that your way of telling me I get to drive this thing?" I giddily asked. In the second he released me, I took a step back and watched on as my father quickly looked over at Alex, a silent exchange of nerve-wracking looks happening between them. And something slowly began to dawn on me as to why that exited proclamation of my idea seemed to settle in all the wrong places. I watched Alex slowly jingle the keys between calloused fingers as he bit his lip and my head began to throb, a literally painful reminder of why it was so astonishing I'd remembered anything at all about the car now beside me. I knew enough from skimming my hospital report that the accident that caused my loss of memory and everything else I've endeavored wasn't my fault. That I wasn't even the one behind the wheel when it happened. But still, it went without saying why my father and I guess friend were so painfully hesitant to hand the keys over so soon after getting me back in any condition at all. Let alone the one I was in. I was mere seconds away from revoking my foolish request when my father released a heavy sigh, the engine still ticking softly under the hand he gently placed on the frame. And without any warning, he said something I would have never expected nor anticipated. "Only if Alex rides along." He said softly, shaking his head as though he was fighting himself to not drop the hood like he was and latch it back shut. But my arms and my body didn't give him a second to contemplate taking it back before I was throwing myself into his side and holding on for dear life. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squealed. Jumping up and down causing his round body to shake rather violently. Untangling my arms from his stomach and back, he jokingly muttered for me to get off him with a laugh before I looked at Alex who was silently and hesitantly extending the keys over to me. "be gentle with her!" My father warned next, running a hand down his face and shaking his head before turning back towards the house. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me about the car, or to Alex on my behalf. But I didn't care to examine my father's few words as I all but snatched the keys from my old friend's hand and ran around to the driver's side door. The clang of our doors echoed in succession as we both climbed in and the sinking leather of the seats wrapped around the undersides of my exposed thighs perfectly, as though they were molded for me long ago. Hands ran softly over the groves of the wheel filling me with excitement and joy that felt fitting and perfect in that instant. It felt nostalgic of days I didn't remember but could feel in the sting of the sun-heated metal. With the click of our seatbelts and the rattle of keys, the engine between my thighs roared to life with a mighty growl and I couldn't help the ginormous, almost kid-like grin that spread across my lips at the sound. A sight which of course only gained a small chuckle from Alex as I put it in reverse and glided from my driveway. The car was a beast in itself and that was for certain. It revved loud and proud with a tap to the gas and would have had us flying down the street in seconds had anyone else been behind the wheel. But in that instant, just with navigating my house, or knowing where to find forks, my hands and my feet knew this car better than I knew myself. Which was almost a too literal analogy. But my limbs worked together in a beautiful symphony just then, knowing exactly when to release the gas and press the clutch and shift the gears with seamless effort. Like second nature it came and I couldn't help but laugh at the indescribable way driving that car made me feel. Alex laughed too then, causing me to take my eyes off the road for no more than a second as I squinted at him. "What?" I dared to ask, which only resulted in him shaking his head from the edges of my eyes as we pulled to the stop sign at the end of my street. "What?" "Nothing..." He laughed on which resulted in an innate growl to surface from the back of my throat which only elicited more laughter from the young adult beside me. "It's just funny to see you like this, it feels like the day you got your license all over again!" "It does?" I questioned, pulling out into the street and pressing the gas, letting the tires spin and shriek for a second to feel it beneath me before letting it die. "Why is that?" "Because from the second your dad brought this car home as nothing more than a rusted body and frame, all you ever – ever, wanted was to get behind the wheel of this thing. And for some crazy reason not even hours after passing your road test he let you, on one condition-" "You came with me." I smiled, running my hands over the wheel again as we took off down the back roads. "You remember?" He suddenly asked, his tone dipping down dramatically to a soft, careful one. I smiled softly to myself, not realizing I must have some way or another just then. "I guess so." I shrugged. "In a way." And I could see him nod in my peripherals, the answer I guess was enough for him in the meantime. But something was tickling the back of my mind. "Does this thing have any music?" Alex laughed, and loudly at that as he reached between his feet. At the first red light, I glanced and found him sifting through a decently large cardboard box I hadn't even noticed between his bent knees, overflowing with CD cases and cassette tapes. "You never went a second in this car or any car for that matter without blasting something!" He chuckled as he pulled a small tape deck from the box, every possible inch coated with masking tape to the point I wasn't certain it would work and slid it softly into its respected slot on the dash. Something I'm sure had been added in after for my use, and probably the only thing on this car I could spot as modified. 'DO NOT PLAY BEFORE 4/12/2003' was written on the only exposed part of the deck which I managed to read just as the light turned green and I rolled onto another side street. Almost instantly music began to pour from the static of the speakers at a ridiculous volume, just as quick as Alex was to begin flipping through the tracks as best he could on the makeshift sound system jammed in the plastic. He said nothing as he found the track he wanted, track seven to be exact and sunk softly back into his seat. Smiling to himself from what I could make out. No more than a second passed before hauntingly familiar riffs began to pool into the car. Floating between the two of us as I tapped the beat on the wheel, my thumbs having a memory of their own. Something inside me had begun to stir as I smiled to myself and slowly rolled to a stop sign just as Ryan Key's voice filled the air. And almost as quick as that smile came, it faded as fast as that car could go, replaced with a splitting headache that had me pressing down on the breaks for dear life as a memory sucked me in at what couldn't have been a worse possible time. "TRAVEL BACK IN TIME WITH YOU, TO WHERE THIS ALL BEGAN!" I screamed, the lyrics of Yellowcard's brand new album flowing from the speakers and through my long, wind-tangled hair as I ripped it from the stop sign and down the backroads of my town. Laughing loudly at the sensation of the engines power and the freedom flowing through my veins, I looked over at Alex as he clung to the window frame of my car for dear life, trying his hardest to smile through his fear. "Oh, loosen up ya tightwad!" I laughed, daring to take my hand off the transmission to poke my dear friend on the cheek which nearly caused an audible shriek to rip from his pinched lips. "I passed my driving test with flying colors!" "Yeah, and the colors of my stomach's contents are about to go flying out your window!" He all but whined as I reluctantly slowed to a halt at the next stop sign and smiled at him almost too calmly. "If you throw up on my car, I will murder you in your sleep and make it look like an accident." I said softly, daring my grin to widen more than it already had. Since to widen as large as Alex's eyes had grown in that instant would be humanly impossible for even a clown. "You're absolutely crazy!" He managed to laugh, knowing all too well my threat held no validity as I pulled from the corner and managed to control my lead foot from gassing it down yet another street. "I can't believe your dad actually let you drive this thing!" "Own it." I corrected. "As of tomorrow morning, the title to this beauty will be in my name and no one – not even you Gaskarth will be allowed behind its wheel." "You're not going to let me drive it?" He proclaimed, sitting forward now on the still glossy leather seats, getting comfortable inside the steel frame slowly but surely. "Not a snowflakes chance in Hell, kiddo!" I laughed almost maniacally. Pulling down my favorite dirt road which skirted the most perfect large field I often fund myself whenever I got stuck in my ways. Finally taking off down it like I'd been dreaming about since me and my dad had started to rebuild this thing from rust to the glory it now was. "Well if I can't take it anywhere, where are you going too?" Alex challenged, throwing his elbow onto the small center console nestled between us. "Wherever the road takes me, my dear boy," I practically sang, barreling down the empty road as I smiled up at my rearview mirror. Watching in awe and amazement as the dust and gravel kicked up into a dust storm behind me. "And you're coming with me." "Oh, is that so?" He laughed now, nudging my arm ever so slightly as I giggled back at him, only trying for a second to purse my lips at my pal and nod. "Who else would I trust to be responsible for my life now that I can operate a vehicle of this caliber?" I asked, cocking a brow at the road before me as its end came into sight and I eased my foot off the gas with heavy reluctance. "You've been keeping me in line for almost three years now, and I think that if anyone in this state can come close to handling me it's going to be you!" "I sure as Hell can't handle you Dee." He said matter-of-factly as he shook his head, which of course I laughed at with pure amusement dripping from the sound. "Well no shit Sherlock, no one can!" I snickered, "I said if there was anyone close to being able to, it'd be you!" He smiled at me when as I glanced over, rolling to a stop at the line in time to see the biggest grin spreading on his still chapped lips. Eyes glistening with delight as he stared at my careless beam and wind-whipped hair. Not a care in the world between us as we sat on the corner of Gibbons and Fountain street just smiling at one another in a blend of Yellowcard lyrics and the fresh spring breeze. "So where are we off to now?" He asked, never letting his eyes waver from mine as my wide grin only grew at his daring inquiry. "Honey Bee's" I stated with certainty and a brief nod. "I'm in the mood for a cherry coke!" "Aren't you always?" He all but cackled looking at me with a look I could only describe as astonishment. Well, that's at least what I chose to describe it as most might have chosen 'disgust' as a better fitting term. But I'm not most people. So, I shot him my biggest grin before turning forward and readjusting in my seat. "Exactly!" "Kennedy?" Alex's voice called me back from my thoughts as I blinked violently and came too. "You've been sitting at this sign for almost ten minutes now, I'm shocked no one's come up behind you, what's going on?" "I- I don't know..." I managed to stutter out and looked down at the display on the cassette player and saw 'TRACK 9' click to 'TRACK 10' and heard their song Inside Out start to play. I couldn't think of anything to say for a second as my hand traveled to my growling stomach and I looked at Alex with the utmost look of confusion adorning my face. Cocking my head, stumped by myself I said, "But I think I'm having a craving for a cherry coke." His head dropped after that remark, inner corners twitching ever so slightly as I watched the tanned boy closely. "Aren't you always?" He couldn't seem to help himself from asking aloud. Smiling softly down on his lap I took in the joy on his lips and the subtle pain in his eyes before turning back to the front and placing my hand on the wheel. "Exactly..." I muttered, pulling out onto the main road and going in whichever direction it took me.

Casting Reels: When fished in freshwater, this sort of fishing reel is commonly known as a baitcast, baitcaster or baitcasting reel. Many people have a tendency to separation the 2 words into bait-cast, caster and casting. Whichever your preference is, you're still discussing the same reel. When these types of reels are fished in saltwater, they are typically characterized by function and features. For deep sea fishing, casting reels are called conventional fishing reels and anglers have created descriptive labels for these such as for instance star-drag, lever-drags, high-speed, jigging, big-game, two-speed & trolling reels. Spinning Reels: You will find two forms of spinning reels which make up this category of reels, which happens to be the most used group of reels. There is the enclosed-spool spincast, spincaster or spincasting reel, that ought to be used for freshwater fishing and teaching kids or novice anglers just how to fish. The more common version, the spinning reel, which includes an open spool and bail, may be utilized in both freshwater or saltwater applications. From ultra-light tackle, to heavy duty saltwater jigging, spinning rods and reels are present in most fishing arsenals. Fly Reels: These reels are designed to cast both freshwater and saltwater flies, wet or dry. They're usually spooled with a support, line, fly tippet and then a leader, which your fly is then tied to. Normally employed for freshwater fishing, fly rod and reel combos are continually becoming stronger and better, creating saltwater opportunities that have been never considered possible. Saltwater fly fishing combos have now been gaining a tremendous following of anglers and are increasingly being used to create new angling world records for saltwater fish species.

The current weather, not enough resources, and proper venue should not be seen as immovable obstacles to your fishing goals. If you truly desire to bait, hook and catch fishes today, then so you need to! But this time around, you'll be doing it on TV. Wear your favorite fishing outfit when it makes you comfortable then take the very best seat in the house. Pick one from the fishing games reviewed below, attach your PlayStation 2 to the TV, and you're prepared to own one of the very most exciting fishing challenges in your life!  Nowadays, people who have busy careers and hectic lives are forced to invest only a few minutes fishing and achieve this in artificial settings. With Reel Fishing III, however, you can fish anytime, and feel like oahu is the real thing. Reel Fishing III provides its users with an incomparable connection with nature fishing; a few minutes into the game, and you might forget you're certainly not out enjoying the sweetness and peace that only Mother Nature can provides us.

 Spinning reels, whether freshwater or saltwater spinning reels, share something in common that differs from conventional fishing reels. When casting a spinning fishing reel, the fishing line is cast off the reel spool in a circular unraveling, around a fixed spool. Casting reels on another hand unravel with a straighter motion, with the spool of the reel in freespool, where the spool of the reel spins as the line comes off. This free-spinning motion of the conventional casting reel spool often contributes to messy line tangles if the spool is not controlled with the right thumb pressure. The tangle free casting is what probably makes spinning fishing reels typically the most popular type of fishing reel. Spincasting reels change from normal spinning reels for the reason that the spool of the fishing reel is normally encased. This sort of reel is usually cast with a press of a button, which disengages the line. To activate the line, all of the angler does is turn the handle only a little to re-engage the spool. The limited line capacity, size and overall utility of this type of fishing reel ought to be on a freshwater fishing applications as well as teaching novices the fine art of casting and fishing. Another important note is a spin casting reel should sit atop the fishing rod and the handle of the reel on the right side of the reel for right-handed anglers.

릴게임 

Spinning reels, on the other hand, can handle freshwater lunker bass fishing, big-game saltwater jigging, in addition to freshwater and saltwater tournament style fishing. Spinning reels should hang below the spinning rod, with the handle of the reel on the left side of the reel for right-handed fishermen. Spinning fishing reels have an open spool, with the fishing line thread through a bail, which is designed to support the line. To cast, the angler must open the bail, grab the fishing line with a hand, cast, and then either manually close the bail or turn the handle a half revolution to automatically close the bail. Please, when casting a spinning reel, DO NOT FORGET to open the bail. I have experienced many expensive lures go flying in to the deep sea with the familiar pop or snap of the fishing line because the angler forgot this critical part of casting these reels. The subject of selecting a fly rod and a fly reel is of controversial nature. It's probably as a result of different opinions that anglers hold near and dear for their hearts. Also, fly fishing dates back to several centuries ago, therefore the rod and reel combo has undergone a lot of changes over the past few decades.

Hence, in order to achieve success, you'll need to precept your needs first of all. Are you currently trying to hunt down some of those giant marlin that 4 fishermen hold in a normal group photo? Have you been trying to look for a salmon small enough to fit your grasp easily? Keep wondering such questions and your answers will lie in the huge variance of fly rods and fly reels. For instance, a dual handed fly rod is generally regarded as being perfect for monstrous fish gaming. These rods have big reels with giant arbors and the entire line diameter is usually above the notch, when compared with a tiny reel. Likewise, the topic of reels is also quite deep. Fly reels are noted for their drag system and their arbors.

Specifically speaking, a broad choice of fly reels could have two forms of drag systems: The Spin and Pawl and The Disc Drag. The first variety is practically obsolete now, probably your great grandfather includes a classic brand with spin and pawl system based fly reel. The current versions of reels are increasingly being introduced in compliance with the drag systems, which utilize the apparatus that's situated in the fly wheel.  This gear helps the fly line to produce or unravel itself at a constant and a predefined rate. Trouts simply love to hang onto drag system fly reels. Some reel models allow you to adjust the "drag", to be able to apply a specific number of resistance to the reel line. The whole system works like padded brakes of a car, but that's just a rough explanation. You haven't seen any fly reels, the size of a vehicle rim, maybe you have?

part 63

*incoherent noises and babbling as I slowly die* <3

Flinching from the digits goading his backside, Blackout recoiled and leaned forward with a monstrous and threatening snarl.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt so much if you just sat still.”

“I only move when you goad your digits into my frame,” Blackout countered with annoyance. “Therefore, I’m not the problem here.”

“Are you suggesting I’m the problem?” the medic inquired in a tone so frigid with malice it could probably freeze a mech on the spot.

Tick the femme off who had tools near his spinal strut and risk being impaled or paralyzed, or be honest and tell her she was a barbaric twisted manic like just about every other medic he’d ever met. Decisions, decisions...

Lucky for him, she decided not to prob him further for his answer. On the down side, she decided to make sure he knew who was boss by probing him inside his frame.

Blackout narrowed his optics slightly at the flare up of pain; the light within them going almost black as his mood turned more sour. He’d been pent up for days since Novastrike’s departure in that slagging room with other mechs and femmes. No outlet, no work, no job or motion just told to sit and to heal.

Sitting was not his purpose in life. He was a mech of motion; action spoke louder than words. Energy coursed his veins. Becoming a stationary decoration was not who he was, it was against his very being. If you stopped moving, you simply ceased existence.

Something cool pressed into the exposed protoform of his back and allowed himself to relax slightly. Whatever it was, it was a lot better than the pestering sharp utensils and digits.

“You’re coming along nicely,” the medic informed him with a calmer voice. “Considering your backside was an enormous shrapnel mess and the super-heated burns on your shoulder and burns grazing your chassis and well- everything else considered.”

“Thanks, doc,” the obsidian mech quipped in short reply.

The femme gave a testy ‘tut tut’ as she went on, “Well I can’t help it if you threw yourself at just about every bot we encountered. You can’t blame me for how battered you were. Your protoform’s going to have some obvious bruising and soreness for a while. I expect you’re going to have some lovely new scarring from that encounter you had with a thermo blade.”

Blackout grunted in response. “I’ve been shoved into furnaces by previous masters,” he blatantly informed her. “I know what heat is capable of.”

“Yet you were going to allow it to sever your arm?”

“I was careful.”

The medic snorted with disbelief though said nothing more on the matter.

Scanning his optics around the room from his vantage point, Blackout spoke up in a slightly more anxious tone: “Where’s Scorponok?”

“Recharging in a different room. I’m guessing you didn’t feel him nearby?”

The obsidian mech shifted uncomfortably, both from whatever the femme was plucking at on his backside and the edgy feeling he got at the femme mentioning how he couldn’t feel his partner. Bonds were a private matter. He didn’t much care for others making suggestions on his, true or not.

“Don’t worry, he’s coming along nicely. I’ve still got some replacement’s to put into his drill. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to re manufacture sections of armor for an appendage on a minicon. Especially a minicon with such a complex system.”

“He’s not that complex,” Blackout defended.

“Maybe not a mech whose taken care of him for eons,” the femme agreed. “But his formatting is pretty unique compared to other patients I’ve taken care of. That’s part of the reason it’s taking so long to repair.”

Giving a short vent, the hulking ebony figure turned his helm slightly away as the femme moved to inspect his side. He followed the placement of her servos on him to determine where she wanted him to move his arm as she looked over the seams of his armor. With a click, she began removing plating to look over the burns and damage beneath the smooth surface of his buffed plates.

With a gentle mental nudge, he poked Scorponok through the bond to see if the scorpion was awake or not. There was no direct response, but there was a haze clouding his thoughts. Recharging indeed; his defenses were down, the barrier between them gone as the bug rested.

At least judging by this, he was comfortable and resting peacefully. Not in any sort of pain. He gently closed the imaginary door between them so that his own thoughts wouldn’t bleed into the small mech’s and wake him up.

As the femme walked in front of him and started peering at his chassis armor and examining his faceplate and helm, Blackout offlined his optics. The light blinked out with a wink of light and shuttered closed as he played a game of tolerance. His thoughts drifted with boredom. Thinking of the benign femme he cared so deeply and fondly for.

The way Novastrike’s optics burned with a gleaming light, the shape of her smile when, the sound of her bubbly laughter. His spark trembled with longing. She visited when she could but the tiny femme was busy with her acting position as commander. Slag he missed her, he missed being useful. He missed holding her in the wee jours of darkness and listening to the sound of her quiet breathing and the peaceful look on her face when she was recharging, or the light brush of her servos against him as though he was the fragile one of the two of them. Such care and beauty and-

A few accidental octaves of refracted musical notes, deep and opaque as his armor filled the air. Blackout’s optics flashed with light as they opened with humiliation. The blinding hues of crimson locking on to the medic’s as she glanced up to his face with some surprise.

His expression instantly grew cross as the femme offered a shrewd little smile.

“Something on your processor, big and scary?”

“That’s none of your business or concern.”

“Well that’s not the tone you should be using towards a medical official,” the femme announced with disapproval. “I should see about popping you open just to make sure that that wasn’t the sound of a damaged spark...”

“Try it, and I promise you a very unpleasant response,” Blackout rumbled threateningly.

“Always so touchy,” the femme muttered, shaking her helm as she turned her gaze back to her work. “You know I did spend time learning the basis of personality disorders, behaviorism, psychology-”

“Great, so you’re constantly deducing our motives and actions. Fascinating.”

“What I was going to say,” the medic seethed, “is that I know a thing or two about the reactions and reasons behind the actions of our thoughts and our bodies. Mind you I’m not the most experienced, but I don’t exactly hear someone’s spark singing every day...”

Blackout turned his optics nervously to the side. To deny it would give the femme reasonable cause to pop his chassis open like a can. To admit that that was indeed as she suspected was simply unacceptable. It was his spark, his reaction, and it had nothing to do with the harassing femme in front of him.

“You going to tell me what’s it all about or do I get to guess?” the medic teased as she worked.

Ah, to Pit with it. Folks suspected it anyway.

“Just thinking about Novastrike,” he confessed softly.

“As I suspected.”

Blackout swallowed at the tightening feeling in his throat. He surprised even himself as he whispered out the next words, his voice wavering and dripping with emotion as he faintly mumbled, “I... Do you have some manual, or advice, as to how a bot... goes about confessing feelings to another?”

The medic brought her helm up with a snap so fast, Blackout winced at the idea of the whiplash that may have caused in her neck cables.

“Pardon?” she asked, her optics a bit wider now.

“I... nevermind,” he muttered, flustered and frustrated.

With her optics softened, the femme leaned back a bit. “I’m afraid programs exist as far as I know on how to properly express one’s emotions. Which one are you trying to explicitly voice?”

“Nothing,” Blackout growled, growing vexed now.

“Maybe a femme or a medic’s standpoint would help you. What is it you’re having problems with?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I’m your medic, my job is to help.”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

“Well I’m not,” the medic remarked. “So tell me, or try talking me through this thing you’re having trouble with, and with who-”

“By the Well of Allspark,” Blackout snarled as he turned to look the femme in the optics. “Love, okay? Are you happy now? I don’t know how to tell Novastrike that I love her.”

The anger instantly vanished from his faceplate with one of dismay.

“Oh, dear,” the medic laughed softly.

“This isn’t a laughing matter,” snapped the giant mech.

Still laughing, the femme shook her helm as she babbled, “Oh no no no no, I’m sorry- I don’t mean to laugh,” she snickered, “Dear, I’m only laughing because this is nothing new to me.”

Puzzled, Blackout drew his optic ridges together.

“Guard and I have known you loved her for some time,” the femme cackled. “It was obvious. The way you looked at her, the fact you stuck around for so long, how you came to her defense at the flick of a switch-”

“You could cease laughing about it,” he simmered furiously. “It’s not very humorous.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s not,” she agreed as her giggles faded out.

Raising an optic ridge, the mech gave a thoughtful rumble in his chassis as he spoke faintly, “Guard knows?”

“Brought it up to me, actually,” the femme stated.

Primus, everyone knew before him? Figures when he couldn’t determine what his own feelings were in the first place.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she went on, continuing her scans once more as she spoke, “you were pretty obvious. As if the great and powerful Blackout, king of darkness, ruler of the Pits of Kaon, terrifying ender of worlds simply stuck around because he wanted to take some down time.”

Ignoring her playful jabs, Blackout decided to take a stab in the dark. “You didn’t exactly offer your professional opinion on my question.”

There was a slight pause in the medic’s examination once more, and then she stated in the calmest most breezy of voices, “I don’t think any bot is capable of telling you how to move forward from here. I will give you one solid piece of advise, though. Don’t wait forever. Don’t put it off. Frankly, mech up and speak your mind, because if you hold back what your spark wants, if you try waiting for that perfect moment, you’ll never find it. There will always be something holding you back.”

She was right.

Blackout hated to admit it, but she was. If he continued to bite his glossia, doubting and second-guessing, he’d never know the truth of how she felt and he’d never be able to open up about his own. And he could hardly stand the torture of a world where one day she may slip through his digits because he couldn’t utter a few words and take a chance.

His life was full of chances. What was one more?

But at the risk of losing her... the way her optics lit up, the sway of her hips, the slight of servo just to touch her. He remembered how her breath caught in her throat at the barest of contact and how he could swear he felt the pounding of her spark just beneath armor. Humming, singing, beating with anticipation. Actions and reactions from the touch of a devil who knew little shame and couldn’t resist himself.

She burned a fueling fire in his empty shell of a body he called home all his life that he didn’t even know was possible. Novastrike opened a world up to him he didn’t know existed; multiple universes of possibilities, chances, places, feelings. It brought life to darkness, awakened deadened parts and sections of the core of his being that never had a chance to grow and learn and prosper under a gentle touch and warm smile. He learned a whole new way of life, entirely different and unbearably enjoyable.

He gave up being a Decepticon for her. Gave up his career, his pride, his ego; he dropped it all to follow a new path he felt drawn to. And in that new path he was better. Whole. And he couldn’t find a single reason to regret giving any of it up. What did any of that matter? It didn’t make him happy. It only gave him a sense of purpose he craved so desperately all his life.

The problem still stirred within him though. He was a mech of facts and rational. And for what reason would he chance throwing out his feelings and risk losing the best relationship he’d ever had besides Scorponok? The closest friend he had, a trustworthy comrade, a friendly and delightful presence that warmed his life?

The medic had one thing true. If he allowed his fear to guide him away from something truly special, he would never know what could lie in wait for him.

He couldn’t say how long his thoughts had drifted, but the medic stood up straight and stretched upward to the ceiling. The sound of her grunt brought him back from his own thoughts and he stared at her steadily.

“You’re still not 100%, but you’re definitely stable and I’d say, free to go back to your quarters, so long as you check in for checkups,” the femme remarked. “I’ll have Scorponok moved back in here after the rest of my appointments of course and will keep you updated on his condition.”

She looked Blackout in the face then, and took a step back quickly.

“Primes, mech, are you feeling alright?”

Blackout frowned a touch. “Yes. Why?”

“Your optics just look- nevermind,” she muttered, shaking her helm. She raised her servo and waved it to the door. “You’re free to go.”

Frowning a little deeper, Blackout stood up from the flat slab of metal and headed for the door. With a glance over his shoulder he watched the femme walk over to another patient in the room. He paused by a set of her tools, glancing curiously at the reflective surface.

The scarlet of his optics was burning so brightly it almost had a tangible glow around them.

Embarrassed, he set a dimmer on his optics and lowered his helm as he walked out of the room, nearly running into the bot walking by.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“My apologies-” Blackout stated immediately, and then met the optics of the mech he walked into.

Neutroboost sneered at him with that stupid look on his faceplate.

Deadpanning at the mech, Blackout’s expression went from apologetic to serious in less than a nanoklik. “I take it back,” he growled, “I’m not sorry.”

“You should be you giant dolt! I’m not your teeny femme after all, you can actually see me.”

A dangerous rumbled pressurized through Blackout’s armor. It caused his frame and the nearby metal to vibrate from the low tones it struck.

“Hard to apologize to an arrogant, vain, pompous mech who was missing the entire fight against the Revenge II,” Blackout scolded.

“I had other priorities.”

“I bet your aft did, you low-life cowardly scum.”

Neutroboost went to stand a bit taller on the tips of his pedes as his optics went wide. “You take that back you- you imbecile!”

“Or what?” Blackout challenged, allowing a sinister grin to grow on his faceplate.

The smaller mech’s optics blazed with fury as he raised his arms, throwing them up in the air wildly. “You’ll see, you good-for-nothing moron! Stomping around carelessly, running into bots-”

“At least I didn’t hide in my room during the fighting and let everyone save my aft. Some commander you are Neutroboost, bravo, we should give you a medal.”

Lowering his arms, the smaller mech released an angry huff.

Satisfied, Blackout turned, purposefully whacking his side against the mech’s as he went to walk by.

Neutroboost stumbled into the wall. He whispered loudly as Blackout passed, just enough to make sure he was heard, “Buffoon's almost as dense as that femme.”

Before the mech could react, Blackout pivoted hard on his pede and swung around to nail a fist into Neutroboost’s side. The satisfying crunch of his armor as he punched him was quite the rewarding musical.

Hitting the floor hard, Blackout raised a pede and pressed it against the mech’s neck. Neutroboost sputtered and hissed, gagging as he reached up to claw at Blackout’s pede with his flimsy little digits.

“What did you just call my femme?” Blackout barely whispered, dangerously pressing his pede further into the mech’s throat.

“Get off me-” Neutroboost wheezed.

“You so much as breath a word of insult to her, about her, or around her and I’ll crush your helm into scrap, you got that?”

“Off-” Neutro raspily gasped.

“Are we clear?” Blackout practically roared, raising his voice now as he pressed his weight further into the mech. “If you touch her, hurt her, upset her so help me I will tear you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of you, you sniveling gutless bastard.”

Huffing and puffing desperately and with fear, Neutroboost tried in vain to tear at Blackout’s leg armor. He barely managed to scuff at the paint.

Leaning down, Blackout rumbled in the depths of his chassis. “You’re a disappointment to every bot on this ship,” he growled. “Everyone here tolerates you on behalf of Guard. You should be grateful he keeps you on the ship, let alone as a commander. You spit your foul venom and you threaten and bark orders that you won’t even take. You’re nothing but a spineless weakling. I’m through with playing nice with you. I’ll tear out your beating spark and squash it between my digits if I must. I’ve done it before, and I’ll done it again.”

“You better watch what you say and what you do,” he continued. “Because I can deal with the consequences of my actions if I have to remove you permanently from this ship, one way or another. You, on the other servo, won’t get the chance. Spit and fume all you want, but your attitude helps no bot on this vessel. And so help me, Novastrike deserves better than to work beside your cowardly, blubbering, patronizing aft. You offend her in the slightest, I’ll break your neck. Are we clear?”

Neutroboost turned a panicked, if not furious optics up to him. The light flickered and flashed in irregular intervals as he tried to nod his helm.

Lifting his pede, Blackout slowly placed it on the floor once more beside Neutroboost.

The older commander snorted and snuffled. Placing a servo to the floor he raised himself up slightly as he retched and purged up strings of energon from his mouth and upon the floor.

“Blackout?”

Raising his helm, Blackout glanced down the hall to see a concerned Guard hobbling swiftly in their direction. His faceplate showed extreme levels of alarm as he teetered over.

“Is everything okay?” the old mech huffed, looking down at Neutroboost as he shivered and whined.

“Everything’s fine,” Blackout stated absently, offering a warm smile towards the elder mech. “He just slipped.”

Guard didn’t look entirely convinced as he met Blackout’s optics, but didn’t counteract or ask for verification on the matter.

Nodding respectfully to the old bot, Blackout turned back to head down the hallway. He could hear Guard trying to question Neutro as he rasply informed the elder mech to ‘sod off’ and ‘leave him alone’.

Poor, sad, pathetic little mech. He wasn’t taking Blackout’s warning very seriously. Maybe he’d have to offer him another example later, but at the moment, he had somewhere he had to be.

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SOI blog top challenges4 1 png 1 000 500 pixels

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