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cosmiccontourcomics · 2 years

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I just read "Clenched Fist and Heavy Hearts", and it's about how Tim Drake was raised to keep his emotions all under control from a young age, but he ends up subconsciously teaching himself unhealthy coping mechanisms. (warning for self-harm. It's not graphic but still.)

Anyway, now I'm imagining a fic where Tim is hit with some sort of poison/serum that slowly loosens his inhibitions, and next thing you know you've got Tim Drake walking around not really caring how he's perceived.

And at first, no one in the family really notices anything too off. If anything Tim seems way better than he was before, he's coming home more, calling to check up on Dick, or just to talk. Steph and he are hanging out again, just how they were before all the craziness of War Games happens.

He's even managing to get on Jason's good side because to Jason's surprise Tim's got a super funny sarcastic attitude that he usually only shows around close friends. Plus he no longer has any problem just openly roasting/ripping into Batman during patrol.

Damian's definitely unnerved by Tim's personality shift but slowly starts to come around when Tim starts treating him kinder. The only thing holding them back from mending their relationship was the fact that both boys were too stubborn/prideful to start first. But Tim starts to treat Damian like a younger brother and helps the other boy get away with stuff/by showing him stuff around Gotham.

Everything seems fine. Tim's family relations are improving.

Then the serum starts to get worst. And again that isn't too noticeable at first. Tim's oddly brave and starts initiating anything pda with Bernard first, or he starts flirting back when Kon jokingly flirts with him. Or he starts completely enabling Bart's impulsive decisions. Maybe being way more confrontational during a meeting at Wayne Enterprise.

It isn't until he's on a mission and I'm not sure what happens, maybe a kid gets hurt or something. But whatever it is it sets Tim off and now he's just acting completely ruthless. He's acting a bit unhinged, almost how he was right before he blew up half of Ra's bases. And the Bats aren't too sure how to react. They pull him off of a goon who was unfortunate enough to be his target. Batman has Spoiler and Robin waits for an ambulance to come to retrieve the goon. While he and Nightwing take Tim back to the cave.

The ride back to the cave is tense and quiet. With Nightwing twitching and sneaking glances at Red Robin whose sitting in the back. Staring out the window, humming. Acting indifferent to the fact that he might have just beaten someone to death.

And Batman can only grip the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white. He's angry yes. Tim's never shown that level of uncontrollable rage on the field. Well, he has but usually with understandable reasoning. But this was different but also familiar in a scary way.

When Bruce, not Batman, looks at his son he can't help but see himself. The way Tim was acting tonight was no different than how Bruce was after Jason died. Reckless. Ruthless. Apathetic.

And it scares Bruce. Because not Tim. Tim who Bruce has subconsciously fit into a specific box as being his responsible, collected, reserved child. Tim was the one who helped him, how could Bruce have failed to help his son?

And Bruce does what he always does when something scares him. He hides behind Batman. You'd think that by now he'd understand how that never helps when it comes to his family. How it's almost ruined all of his relationships with his children. But he's panicking. So when the Batmobile parks in the cave, Bruce doesn't take off his cowl like Nightwing and Red Robin have taken off their mask. Tim gets out of the car followed by Dick whose still staring at his little brother speechless.

Batman follows.

The argument between the two is loud and brutal, with Batman trying to understand what was Tim thinking.

"How could you be so careless? Don't you understand how you can never do something like that again?"

Tim does not understand what the big deal was, and Dick trying to play referee, not too sure how to diffuse the situation since he's usually the one in a screaming match with Bruce.

The two are still arguing by the time Steph and Damian get back. Both go to Alfred so the older man can check them for injuries while his focus is spilt between them and Tim and Bruce arguing.

Jason had shown up 10 minutes into the argument needing to get patched up, he'd found Tim and Bruce arguing funny for only the first 15 minutes. But once Dick gives up on trying to calm everyone down 20 minutes into them arguing and joining him and Cass by the computer the conflict doesn't seem as funny as it was before.

Cass, who had wandered in when she heard Tim screaming at Bruce sat crossed-legged on the desk. Everyone seemed to read her tensed posture as she focused mostly on Tim.

Tim finally gets tired of arguing with Bruce, neither willing to really listen to the other. As he's turning to leave, face red, Batman shoots his hand out to grab Tim by the forearm. Not finished, he needs Tim to understand that he's worried. He needs Tim to understand why what happened can never happen again. Unfortunately, trying to hold Tim back sets him off again.

Before Cass can even find the words to warn Bruce to let go of Tim, the young man is swinging his fist at Bruce. Bruce has good enough instincts to turn his head with the first punch, but he's so surprised by Tim attacking him he doesn't block the kick to his stomach.

Tim's already running out of the cave by the time his siblings are reacting.

Tim’s gone before anyone can stop him and the cave is tense. Dick is now yelling at bruce angry at their father for upsetting Tim so much. Knowing from first-hand experience just how Bruce knows what to say/do to make anyone snap in an argument. The oldest Wayne child was convinced that bruce knew what he was doing.

Someone might imply that Jason was responsible for Tim’s new short temperament which sets off a new argument that ends with everyone feeling a little guilty. Maybe the warning signs of Tim’s impending breakdown were always there but no one was willing to notice. Too happy with the act the third Robin was putting up to notice his strange behavior.

They eventually do figure out and fix what's wrong with Tim.

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I'm not too sure how the story would end. Somehow everyone realizes that Tim's been infected with something, and they manage to give him an antidote so everything can go back to normal.

Well, better than normal cause then it revealed what the serum does, so how Tim was acting both good and bad was all genuine. So Tim caring for his family wasn't something fake influenced by an outside force but it was revealed that Tim has a temper that he keeps in check by unhealthy repressing his emotions.

I don't know I just know that a fic where Tim is acting too much like himself would be really fun, but I don't have the patience to write out a full one.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #batfamiy #batfam #fanfic #ao3fanfic

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house-of-slayterr · 1 year

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The Littest Zsasz:

An: a Totally self indulgent chapter of my favourite little mischief maker 🥺

V’s POV:

Life had changed a lot for me since I met my father. For one, I no longer had to sleep under bridges and in old abandon cars. Which was nice, I’m sure my body will thank me when I’m older for finally sleeping on a mattress. It felt weird at first, too soft and cushy. I couldn’t sleep for the first week. But there was another change, I had Maggie.

She was something I never expected. I heard stories of my father, how ruthless and apathetic he was. The man with a stone cold heart. I half expected him to threaten me when I showed up. But to find he not only has a wife, but a self proclaimed “Daughter” stunned would be an understatement. I hated her at first, full blown, unadulterated hatred. I wanted to rip that stupid perky smile from her face and drive my knife through her spleen.

I would have done it too, if not for a warning glare form Y/N, Victor’s wife. She was far scarier than my father. Where I could see through his act, it didn’t seem she had one. She never pretended to be something so wasn’t. And I admired that about her. Truly, she was something to look up to.

After the first week, Maggie grew on me. It was my third night laying awake so I decided to wonder Oswald’s “Palace”. He was funny looking thing, it was weird to watch people cower before him. It amused me greatly, watching him shriek at his servants. He was little a little puppy, pleasant and unassuming until you push his buttons and he bites you. I found myself mindlessly wandering into the kitchen. Not expecting anyone to be up at this hour, I nearly jumped when Maggie emerged. Nearly.

“You should be in bed.”

“You’re one to talk.” I scoffed.

She gave me a touché look. She slipped past me, making her way to the fridge. I watched silently as she moved around. She did everything with such conviction, almost like she was terrified of making a mistake. I wondered if she was always like this, if it was just because my eyes were on her. After about 15 minutes I began to wonder if she forgot I was there all together. As I was about to ask what she was doing, she turned to me handing me a mug. Smiling at the fruits of her labour. It was a sickeningly sweet smile, the kind little old ladies give to their grandchildren. A look that had no place in Gotham.

I raised a brow at her, tentatively taking the object from her hands.

“Lait Somnolent,” she said proudly, “Ma Grand-Mere used to make it for my mother when she was a girl. It should make you feel better.”

I stared at the liquid in the cup. She seemed to take notice of my hesitation because she spoke again.

“You know, petit voleur, not everybody in Gotham is out to hurt you. You watched me make it, it isn’t poisoned.”

As if to prove her point she took a sip from her own mug. I shrugged, giving in. I had done much more reckless things in my life. Like the time I broke into juvie to bring my friend her favourite snack. I got caught, but it was easy to break out. I savoured the smooth taste as it went down my throat. It tasted like melted ice cream and cinnamon rolls. I couldn’t stop the small smile on my face, which was a mistake, because Maggie took it as an invitation. She sat beside me on the counter.

“What’s plaguing your mind?” She asked.

It was weird, meeting someone so kind. Someone who appeared to have no ulterior motives. Frankly, it was disgusting, but sadly, it grows on you. It’s like an infection that spreads, slowly killing any worry and doubt and leaving your mind lighter. It made me uncomfortable, which again, she seemed to take note of as she leaned away a bit.

“Why should I tell you?” I asked, guarded.

She sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair. I noticed even now she looked pretty, her hair a mess, and her mismatched pyjamas. A part of me was jealous, that someone like her could even exist. She was like the last flower standing in a field of burning sunflowers. And I knew that was something I could never have. You didn’t have to know her backstory to tell that our childhoods were vastly different. She turned her tired eyes back to me.

“This must be difficult for you,” she started, “but I’m not your enemy Vanellope. In fact, I begged Victor to come find you, reconcile, you do know your father wants your forgiveness right? Some part of him regrets sending you away, but you have to understand this isn’t the life he wanted for you.” She explained.

It wasn’t hard to guess she had some play in my fathers change of heart. And frankly, I don’t blame him, how could you not cave when she gave you that look. A look I now knew far too well, because it’s how she always looks at me. You could practically see her heartstring tensing in her pupils. She always looks at you like you’re the only person in the whole world. It makes you feel special, loved, wanted. It was completely foreign, and at the start I would do almost anything to make it stop.

I grumbled into my mug. “No need to be so mushy” I said in distaste.

She chuckled, a light and airy sound.

“Mushy appears to be a core state of being for me, I apologise.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What did you mean, life like this?” I asked curiously.

Another sigh, it seems she thought heavily about this. Perhaps that was the reason she met me in the kitchen. She couldn’t sleep either.

“This.” She pointed to me, as if it made all the sense in the world.

“It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re hurting Vanellope-“

I cut her off. “V, it’s just V. I hate that bullshit Princessy name my foster parents gave me. And I hated their picket fence house and their stupid ugly mutt. Nobody called me Vanellope anymore, that’s not me.”

She looked a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly. She frowned, taking another long sip of her drink before continuing.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you’d don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But just know I’m here if you do. Anytime, any day, anywhere. And don’t worry, there no white picket fences here. But I can’t guarantee no ugly mutts, Oswald unfortunately owns the place.” She joked.

I couldn’t hold back my laugh at that one. It was completely unexpected.

“Aren’t you like, his bitch or something?”

Her eyes widened comically so. It was hilarious. She nearly choked on her drink.

“Ok first, who taught you that? And second, absolutely not. We’re just friends. He doesn’t even like women, and if he did I would not be his type.”

“I grew up in Gotham and you’re surprised I swear?”

“I didn’t grow up here, so forgive me for being startled.”

“Clearly.” I scoffed.

I felt bad when she frowned again. It was clear she wanted me to like her.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Where you grew up I mean?”

And it was back, that sickly sweet smile. She had me right where she wanted me, and I walked right into her trap.

“I grew up in Starling, well now Star city, my brother is the mayor!” She proclaimed proudly.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was lovely, but the city was still very crime ridden. Nowhere near as hectic as Gotham, but there was too much pain there, so I left.”

“You couldn’t handle Star city so you decided to take a crack at Gotham?” I asked.

Her logic was insanely flawed, nobody every moved to Gotham. Most of its citizens were begging to leave. She laughed once more.

“That I die Little Bug, I guess I’m crazy. I haven’t step foot back home since-“ she stopped herself.

I could see tears brimming in her eyes and I felt bad. Sure a few days ago I wanted to stab her and watch her bleed, but right now, seeing the state she was in, and knowing I caused it. It made me feel gross.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me, I shouldn’t have asked.” I said.

She shook her head, as if it would physically rid her off the bad memory. And put her smile back on, I now understood that it was a defence mechanism.

“It’s fine. My brother Oliver, is older, he disappeared for a long time and everyone thought he was dead. And my little Sister Thea, she was a handful. I swore she always tried to drag me out to parties with people I didn’t even know. And my Mother, Moira, she was a gem. The best mother I could have asked for. The city adored her, and I was stuck at boring charity galas and press conferences all the time.”

She paused to drink more of her milk.

“God I hated it. The frufru dresses, remembering the difference between a dinner fork and a salad fork. Shaking the hands of people who probably spend more money in a day then most of Gotham has seen in a lifetime. I remember Ollie coaching me that day on how to behave on camera. When they revealed the ‘Poor Orphan Girl, Rescued by the Queens’ I felt like I was thrown into the lions den. I once ran away mid dinner party cause I couldn’t handle the pressure and I embarrassed my poor mother. But Ollie brought me back.”

I understood it now, that we weren’t as different as I originally thought. It was clear in the way she held herself, she came from money. She felt way too at home is Oswald’s overly lavish mansion. I thought she was just a spoiled rich kid.

“When Ollie came home, he brought some demons with him. And one of those Demons tormented us until her killed our Mother in front of us. Sometimes I feel bad for leaving, abandoning Thea like that, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit in that house all day and pretend everything was fine. So I ran, and that’s the end of that.”

“That’s shit!” Was the only response I could come up with.

I know you’re supposed to say “I’m sorry” to things like this, but I wasn’t sorry. I didn’t pity her. She laughed once more.

“Yeah, it is pretty shit isn’t it?”

I could feel my eyes getting heavier, whatever she put in this drink was working. I tried to fight the drowsiness but it was useless.

“Don’t try to fight it, Little Bug, now run along to bed. I’m sure you’ll have a busy morning and you need your rest.”

And that’s where I left her, sitting alone in the kitchen. Since then, she made me my bedtime drink quite often. It made me feel stupid, like a little kid desperate for comfort. But she never shamed me for it. Once my father tried to say something and she shut him down so fast. I was so taken aback, I’d never seen her angry like that before.

And then there was Basil, there wasn’t really much to say about him. He was basically Y/N lap dog. Nobody really knew much about who he was as a person outside of that. I knew he cared deeply, mind you for only aa select few people. And I was glad to be one of them, because I’ve seen him in action and I would not want to be on the receiving end of his rage. He was a trouble boy, which just made him fit in in our odd little “family”. He grew to be like a brother to me.

It stated first when he noticed my tinkering. He would bring me little broken things to fix. And then he started bringing me tools, real proper tools that I could never dream of affording. And I liked the gifts. Basil wasn’t much for words, which I appreciated. He want very touchy either, instead preferring to just comfort you with his presence. Sometimes I swore he broke things just so I’d feel useful and fix it. Eventually I wore him down enough that he’d help me, handing me tools as I worked.

He, unlike Maggie, never treated me like a kid. He would take me out for training sessions, and teach me all the skills he’d learned. He once took me shooting out in the field, and I was sure Maggie would have a heart attack if she found out about it. But she wouldn’t, it was our little secret. I would go to Maggie if I couldn’t sleep, but I’d go to Basil if I needed to blow off steam. I never dreamed in a million years I’d find a home here in Gotham, a family. But it wasn’t my father and his wife that felt like home.

Both Maggie and Basil were out today. Maggie assumably at her job at the flower shop. She’d been busier than normal lately, assuming the role of owner after her boss had been killed. I remember her coming to Oswald crying, sad that she would loose her job. So Oswald simply bought the store and put it in her name. I have never heard a girl squeal so loud in my entire life. Moments like this it was almost like she was acting like a child, with an odd sense of wonder and innocence taking over her.

And Basil, god knows where he was. That man had more secrets that he did bones in his body. And I’m sure wherever my father and Y/N were, I didn’t want to know what they were up to.

I was bored out of my damn mind. I decided to take a walk, hoping to find something to do. The weather was gross and raining but I was used to it. As I walked past a group of adult, something peaked my interest. A girl in a black catsuit, with her hands in one of their purses. I smiled wildly, drawing attention to her.

“Theif!” I yelled, drawing the adults attention to me.

It gave her enough time to run. This should be fun. I approached the adults feigning concern.

“Sorry to startle you, but I saw her try to take your wallet and I wanted to scare her off.” I said, faking a smile.

“Oh thank you dear, you’re such a good girl.” One of the adults praised.

“Not a problem, you guys should be more carful though. This is Gotham.” I warned.

But my words weren’t sincere. I wouldn’t care if they all dropped dead in front of me right now.

“You too, stay safe Dearie.”

I smiled, making my leave. As I made it over to the alley, I checked my hands.

“A watch, a pearl bracelet and $300 cash. What kind of an idiot walks around with $300 cash?” I said out loud.

As I walked further down the alley, I wasn’t oblivious to the eyes on me. I slowed my walking, playing ignorant. Suddenly, my back hit the wall. I looked down to see the girl pinning me to the wall. She was quite a bit smaller than me, but it seemed that didn’t deter her strength.

“The fuck is your problem?” She asked.

I smirked at her.

“Sorry Kitten, couldn’t resist playing with you a bit.”

She bit her lip, clearly trying to stifle her reaction to the pet name. But her flushed skin and the new slight tremor in her hands told me otherwise. She growled under her breath.

“You cost me my lunch, punk!”

She dropped her hands, backing up. I simply adjusted my footing, now no longer being supported by her arm. She ran a hand frustratingly through her wild and curly hair. As she turned back to me she saw the stolen paraphernalia. Her eyes shortened, narrowing in on me.

“You little- give that to me!” She hissed.

“And what are you gonna give me for it?” I asked.

I put my hand above my head, watching as she stood on her tip toes to try and get it. It was cute, truly. A valiant effort. She let out a frustrated huff.

“What do you want for it, brat?” She spit.

“Ooo, careful there Kitten, only patient kitty’s get the mouse.” I cooed.

I watched as she reached for the knife in her boot.

“And we don’t bite the hands that feed us.” I warned.

I stepped closer to her, lifting her chin with my finger.

“You grab that knife, you’re going to need a lot more than $300 to fix what’s wrong with you! Understood?”

I watched as her throat bobbed. When she didn’t make a move for the knife, or to speak, I smiled. I moved my hand, letting her head fall.

“Good. Now here’s the deal, I’m new in this part of town, and you seem to know where the big fish are. You show me where the good catches are, and I can get you a lot more than $300.” I proposed.

She seemed to think on it for a moment.

“If you can get me more money then why do you need me?”

“Oh, Bunny, it’s not about the money.” I circled around her, “it’s about the thrill. You steal for money, you’re thinking like a loser. Losers run off with the Wealthy’s chump change, and go home with enough food to feed their bellies for like what, a week? But stealing for fun, feeding that gluttonous tape worm in that pretty little brain of yours, allowing it to break your fragile little moral compass, that is for winners. And winners, they go home with full bellies, and a new wardrobe. So what do you say Kitty Cat? Do you want to be a winner, or do you want to walk out of this alley $300 richer, and nowhere closer to becoming a somebody?”

My little smirk had grown to a Cheshire like grin. And the poor girl was so tense she was practically shivering.

“You’re insane.” She spat.

“Insane is thinking Gotham won’t chew you up and spit you out if you’re only thinking of bare minimum basic survival. You know, they’re right when they say go big or go home. Except you little Kitty Cat, don’t have a home to go back to. I wanna change that.”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“I’ve recently felt what it’s like to be on top. And I can see why the Rich are the way that that are. Greedy, spineless, cowards willing to step on anything and anyone who gets in there way. Sitting on their cushy little nest eggs, and fattening themselves up.” I paused for dramatic effect. “But the difference between me and them, is I’ve also been in cat piss! Roaming around and begging for literal scraps while my emaciated body was rotting before their eyes. And they wouldn’t have bat a fucking eye. Nobody deserves to be treated like piss and left behind like this. Perhaps I want the rich to have a taste of their own medicine, or maybe I just have a thing for gutter trash.”

She seemed stunned. And I couldn’t resist the urge to make a pun.

“What’s a matter baby? Cat got your tongue?”

That seemed to snap her out of her little daze as she swatted my hand away and reached for her knife. She held it out defensively and I held my arms up in surrender.

“Quit with the cat puns!” She said.

It was cute, how flustered and disoriented she seemed.

“You’re insane!” She said again.

“Again, not quite. I prefer-“ I hummed, “buggy.”

She didn’t waver in her stance. I sighed, pushing the knife out of my way.

“Wake up Kitten, Gotham’s got you eating table scraps in the dark, but you have no idea what they’re feeding you. And that puny little knife won’t make a dent in their armour. The best way to get rid of an infection, is to kill it from the inside. If you can’t beat them, join them, and then beat them anyways. The choice is yours.”

I reached into my pocket grabbing another $200 I’d stolen from Basil earlier. Half the time I’m pretty sure he put it there with the intention of me stealing it. I turned back around, holding it out to her. She starred at me with apprehension, drawing her knife again.

“Relax Kitten, I don’t bite. I’ll keep the claws away for now.”

I held the cash out further, emphasising the action dramatically. I watched as she tentatively reached forward, then grabbed it all at once. I was quick to catch her wrist and she starred at me with wide eyes. Normally I’d savour the look, but it didn’t look quite right on her pretty face. I frowned.

“Do me a favour and get yourself something nice for me, yeah?” I asked.

She narrowed her eyes at me, but nodded none the less. I let go, letting my hand fall flat at my side. She was quick to run the other direction, but she stopped halfway down the alley to look back. I sent her a little wave and a smile before she went running again.

I got a running start, jumping onto the broken down fire escape and pulling myself onto the balcony. From there I could run up the rest do the stairs with ease. I made my way to the top of the building and ran toward the edge. She was easy to pick out in a city like this. Her graceful movements far too calculated and cat like to be seen as normal. At least by anyone with an IQ high enough to read. Which made sense why most of Gotham were quick to brush the girl off as a regular street rat. But there was something special about her, potential. And it would be a shame to see it go to waste.

The girl with no name. A little nobody stealing for food. A brat with a foul mouth, and a pretty face to match. And note for note exactly my type. I sat on the ledge of the roof top, watching until I couldn’t see her anymore. I sighed as she disappeared out of sight. I pulled out my phone and opened my tracking app. I watched as the little red dot appeared on my screen. My tracker implant had worked, and I know had her right where I wanted her. I have to know more about her, and I think I know just the billionaire son to give me that information. But I couldn’t go in there by force, too flashy. No, the best way to get rid of an infection, is from the inside. It seems I’ll need Maggie’s help brushing up on my table manners, and making me look more… presentable.

I smiled one more time as I looked at the red dot on my screen, preparing to go home. When a realisation hit me.

“Oh god, I really am my fathers daughter!”

An: I didn’t mean to make a new ship, but looking at this now it’s so fucking cute. How could I not? Every adult in Gotham thinks they’re adorable. V clearly gets her flirting skills from her father 😂 also note all the bug talk 👀 I totally don’t want to give her a bug related villain name to fuel my special interest or anything 💀

#Vanellope Zsasz #Victor Zsasz #Gotham oc #Gotham imagine

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shepherds-of-haven · 2 years

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what were the ro's like as children? were some of them more lively than now or maybe some were quieter than they are now?

Good question!

Blade: he was a very proper lad, solemn, quiet, fairly similar to how he is now, but more... well-mannered?? His family would sort of equate to the Ket equivalency of nobility, and there were a lot of rigid social protocols to follow to uphold the family reputation. Like he was very stiff and formal and sober as a child. After his parents died and he became an adolescent, he did sort of pivoted into being a very rude, brooding teen who was very blunt and had no patience for manners or niceties, but some of those old habits still persist to this day!

Trouble: he was a little rebel on fire--I think I described him in a recent short story as "a sullen, cocksure young man, an adolescent with a bloody nose and a fire in his gut to give the world one back". Definitely more hot-headed than he is now, a recalcitrant little potty mouth who brooked no insult and took everything to heart! He wasn't as playful or friendly as he is now, but he did have a soft side and showed a gruff kindness to those in need!

Tallys: she was more talkative and emotionally-open as a kid than she is now. Probably still just as serious, but she was more of a rebel and emotional and kind of a defiant know-it-all, rather than the cool-headed and evaluating adult she is now! She was also very studious--kids in her clan used to make fun of her for being something of a book nerd, if you can believe that!

Shery: she was pretty much exactly the same as a kid as she is now! If anything, she was even more timid and shy as a child, and she was more easily affected by things; she would cry in her room over the smallest incidents or the insults of the other children, whereas now she's better at brushing things off (even when she probably shouldn't). A neighbor of hers used to say that little Shery wasn't born ready for the world, because as a child she was like a little trembling fawn, liable to get knocked over by the wind! She's definitely tougher and more resilient now!

Riel: he was pretty much exactly the same as he is now in personality, but he was much more sheltered and naive as a child: his parents didn't let him out of the house, for various reasons, so all of his knowledge came from books and tutors--he hardly socialized with people his own age! As an adolescent, he was notably more ruthless and cutthroat and had--eh--less scruples and more criminal tendencies than he does now! He's mellowed out a bit with age and has more perspective and compassion for the less fortunate now that he's made his own fortune for himself!

Chase: he was more carefree, light-hearted, and innocent as a kid! Just as talkative, reckless, impulsive, and courageous, but he hadn't been, uh, bruised by the cruelties of the world yet. Now he's very nonchalant, playful, and smiling, but it conceals a much more guarded and wary demeanor than the one he had a yelling kid who liked to dangle from the sail ropes like a monkey!

Red: he was a little bit quieter and more studious as a young kid than he was as a teenager and later an adult! As a very young child, he liked being left to his own devices and would just go off all day, journal in hand, scribbling field notes about, like, frogs and mushrooms and stuff he found in the hills behind his home, and he was more deferential (being the only boy with four sisters). When he became a tween/preteen, he became more talkative and charismatic, and that was when his 'social butterfly' self started to emerge!

Ayla: she was pretty much the same as she is now; a spitfire and rebel who didn't trust anybody. I guess when she was younger, she was even harder and more ferocious than she is now; it wouldn't have been as easy for young Ayla to integrate into the Shepherds and make friends, and she would have been explicitly ruder and wouldn't have cared about the feelings of others, whereas now she realizes when she messed up and feels bad about it (though whether or not she'll apologize still depends). But she was so busy surviving that she never really had time to just be a kid or make friends!

Briony: spoilers, but pre-amnesia Briony was more of a wildcat and not as sweet and sensitive as our Briony is. She was compassionate and loved her friends very dearly and felt extremely strong attachments to them, but with everyone else, she came off as a fierce, fiery, defiant little tomboy/diva who ran around in the hills barefoot in rags and refused to do as anyone told her. She was the kind of kid who could smile sweetly at you, but there was something dangerous in the glint of her teeth and her eyes were secretly saying, 'fuck you, you can't tell me what to do.' She had a harder temper and basically did what she wanted or actively rebelled against authority, whereas now she's more of a people-pleaser and overall more playful and easygoing!

Lavinet: she was a little bit more snobby as a child, like a little imperious princess who had the world at her feet and knew it! Not exactly like Prihine--she wasn't rude or spoiled towards servants--but her priorities were definitely different, like "Papa, the bows on my dress are sea-green when they were supposed to be mint-green, you can't expect me to go to the ball like this?!" So obviously more childish and diva-like and 'stamps her slippered foot to get her way,' whereas now she's more dignified and gracious and overall chill (though she still gets whatever she wants, it's just through different methods, lol).

Halek: he was a little bit more serious and obedient as a child and more willing to do things to please other people, whereas now he just doesn't give a fuck, lol. As a teen he was super edgy and liable to say really cringey, edgy things, like "why do we even bother, we're all going to die soon anyway", but then he flipped over to "eh whatever *takes the path of least resistance*" lmao

#Shepherds of Haven #all characters #children #child #childhood #youth #adolescence #teens #teenager #kids

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bluebellefox · 3 years

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It is a Far, Far Better Thing

When he first begins to regain consciousness, he is aware only of the sense of darkness blanketing around him, allowing his body to float along the gentle waves of a softly rolling black sea. It is not oppressive darkness that surrounds him, but rather a soothing one, one that brings none of the weight that being alone in the dark has brought him these past few years. One that reminds him of summer nights under a tree shared by unassuming children ready to take on the world or rainy mornings spent with tea cooling in its chipped mug and dog-eared and creased worn pages. Or the gentle pressure of a wizened hand laying on his shoulder and the echo of a lilting laugh that shone brightly in emerald eyes and always seemed to staunch the deep ache in his very soul that has haunted him since he could remember. It is peaceful and for the first time in a long time, Severus feels calm.

He wakes slowly, for the first time in months, years, decades… There is no rushed sense of duty that usually accompanies him and spurs him to action the second he is aware of the waking world. There is only the feeling of a warm spring breeze lofting over his face, pulling playfully at his hair as it dances across, well wherever he is. Normally finding himself in an unknown place after being so deeply wrapped in the arms of Morpheus would alarm him, even send him into a whirlwind of abject panic but strangely enough, the familiar anxiety isn’t present. Instead, he allows himself to relish the sounds of leaves rhythmically swaying in the wind, the prickles of untrimmed ryegrass through the fabric of his robes, the pleasant warmth radiating from the traditionally more traitorous English sun. He hasn’t been allowed to just exist in this simple capacity since he was a small child before his life was so convoluted and controlled by the decisions of more powerful men before the weight of the fate of all wizard-kind across Britain fell upon his shoulders, bowing his back and making him more Atlas than man.

There was something pulling at the back of his conscience, he can feel it pulsing through the severe fog that's invaded his senses. Not unlike when he uses his occlumency to bury his emotions when they overwhelmed him, or when it was imperative the Dark Lord not see the thoughts that ravaged his mind during Death Eater meetings. However, unlike those occasions where occlumency was the only option to halt an oncoming nervous breakdown, he couldn't wave away the haze. The longer he laid there, poking around at this inexplicable barrier around the parts of his mind that had ruled supreme these past few years, the spymaster, the renegade, the ruthless Death Eater, the protector, they all fell away. Hidden behind walls, not of his own construction and remained unreachable through the thick shroud of hazy quiet. Until suddenly even that muted feeling of alarm was swept away in the breeze and floated gently in the wind along with the dandelion seeds. Far, far away from him, and he finds he doesn’t bemoan the loss.

Severus supposes he should care, waking up in a strange place and so far removed from his own mind and thoughts. He should care, but he doesn’t remember ever being this tired. His eyelids feel so heavy that even thinking about prying them open takes an insurmountable amount of energy that he does not possess. The grass and weeds feel good against his back, far more comforting and soft than even his bed at Hogwarts and certainly his moth-eaten and unbalanced one at Spinner’s End, somehow feeling like the glimmers of contentment and peace of his childhood. The breeze a nice change from the howling winds of the Scottish Highlands, he thinks as it settles across him like a warm blanket. He supposes it’s not a bad spot for a bit of a nap, and he is so very tired. There are much worse places to drift away in.

That thought breaks through the veil in his head, just for one moment but it’s enough to bring the muted pressure of rotting wood up against his spine, a sharp, coppery scent replacing the smell of wildflowers in his nose, a cold voice breaking the peace he’s found. Severus tenses, his fight against the haze in his mind redoubles and twice as savage as before, panic and desperation by his side once more. Until he catches sight of green eyes in the unpleasant memories flowing by him, solemn but bright enough to burn away the flashes of images of a familiar-seeming, dilapidated house. That green fills his mind, gently carrying him away from whatever horrors trying to claw and scratch their way back into his awareness, pulling him gently away from an office with numerous paintings lining the walls and a high-backed chair, from the darkness clinging to a sprawling manor even it’s elegance could not override, from a smoky and underground lecture room, from a cramped, angry house by a polluted river.

Severus is distantly aware that these places hold some great significance to him, he feels the subdued emotional ties to them but is unable to articulate what they are or explain where they came from. He can’t bring himself to care and gladly follows that green back to the peaceful weightlessness of before, because somewhere he knows with a bone-deep surety that those eyes are home.

“Hey, Sev.”

Despite his previous weariness and weight of his eyelids, Severus finds it extremely easy to open his eyes. He is greeted by the pale blue sky of a warm spring evening, streaks of white clouds held in place above him, and the swaying branches of an old oak tree. It feels familiar, like greeting an old friend after a time apart. He slowly pulls his arms from his stomach, and props himself up on his elbows, and looks in the direction of the voice. And sitting amidst the knots and gnarled roots of the oak, chin casually resting in the cradle of her hand, sits Lily.

Red hair floats down around her shoulders, a few strands following the breeze as it makes its way through the field again. Her freckles scattered along the bridge of her nose, curling around her cheekbones just as he remembers. An easy smile splits her lips, one that speaks of fond and long-held affection, the very same as the one that haunts him in his dreams. But here she sits before him, solid and real in a way her presence hasn't been to him in many years. And those green eyes that he sees every time he closes his eyes, are looking at him with a gentle sort of mirth and a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time.

There are a thousand words he wants to say, hundreds of apologies laying at the tip of his tongue, but they stick in the back of his throat. There is something in the way she reaches her hand out to him and sweeps the hair out of his face that makes them unnecessary, a sense of causal affection that tells him that she requires no explanations. They would break this wonderful moment of reprieve, so he’s content to spend the remainder of forever in this comfortable silence.

A million memories spill forth from the dam in his mind, some fuzzy with a deep fondness and peace, others sharp with a deep-set pain and desperate loneliness. They swirl around him in branching streams and he runs his fingers through them. The sudden sound of a cracking branch, biting retorts flown in reckless abandon, a betrayal by a glass-green lake. They flit about the edges of his mind, too quick to hold fast to and they slip from his grasp and dissipate into the lovely spring air. A small hand clasped in his, a peal of musical laughter, and those green, green eyes are the only things left. Home, Severus thinks, this is home.

“Hey, Lily.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, and Severus thinks she is every bit as bright and lovely and magical as she has ever been. She cups her hand around his cheek, and he can’t help but lean into her touch, feeling every bit like the grumpy cat she always compared him to. She gives him an affectionate glance and turns her eyes back to the field in front of them. The sloping hill, the grasses and the weeds, the wildflowers, all much more numerous and beautiful than their spot in Cokeworth but it feels right, familiar all the same.

Lily slowly rises to her feet and takes a moment to brush off the dirt collected on her trousers. She holds her hand out to him with a look of patient expectancy. He looked at her hand and then back up at her face.

“You ready to go?”

Severus closes his eyes for a moment, taking in the quiet and the lovely weather a final time, and stands. When he reaches for her hand, she opens it readily and grips him with a comfortable tightness. Here they stand again, hand in hand, after everything that's happened and against all odds. Joy fills him in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was that nine-year-old boy, bathing in her warmth and secreting away what happiness he could afford.

“I think I am.”

When they take their first steps together, he can feel Lily swinging their joined hands between them. And for the first time in a long time, Severus smiles.

#hello again hellsite how I've missed you #wow it really has been a hot second since I posted #have this stream of consciousness mini-fic as an apology #the first few paragraphs sat on my computer for months and then the rest was written in like the past hour so apologies if it's a bit rough #listened to elizabeth by sammy copley on repeat while writing this it fits the vibe perfectly methinks #I just have a lot of feelings about how alone Snape must have felt at his death and how little comfort the man had in life #so I will endeavor to give him what canon never did #I honestly have very strong and complicated feelings about his relationship with Lily but at the end of the day #she was extremely important to him and I could think of no one better suited to bring him over so to speak #let me know what you guys think #I haven't shared anything I've written since my terrible terrible SPN fanfic days in middle school #mine #long post #pro snape #snapedom

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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A while back I was doing prompts based on this 100 Ways to Say I Love You post. @rudyrose365 had requested three different prompts and as you can see, the first one has gone wildly out of control. I was briefly tempted to do all three in one story, but thankfully talked myself out of it.

(The following people expressed interest in my earlier post saying this was coming: @akinmytua2 @n0nb1narydemon @losyanya - hope you like it.)

1. Pull over, let me drive for a while (2,000 words)

Driving south across England, long after sunset, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s head nodding heavily.

Two days after the world hadn’t ended, they’d driven to the far north for a picnic, blanket spread on a grass-covered cliff overlooking the ocean, watching the sun slowly sink and the first stars come out. Almost, but not quite, saying all the things they hadn’t said for six thousand years.

The words were close. They both knew it.

But neither quite knew how to take the secret they’d kept hidden for so many centuries and release it to the world. Neither of them was ready to open the door to all the emotion – and all the pain – that came with that admission.

And so they had a picnic, watched a sunset. Smiled. Let their fingers brush when they both reached into the basket, and didn’t flinch away from it. And that was enough for now.

But it was many, many miles back to London, and now and again the demon’s hand rose up and rubbed at his eyes behind the dark glasses. He shook his head, sniffed sharply, and kept on driving.

“Crowley, are you alright?”

“M’fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…you seem…”

“I told you. It’s fine.”

Another mile in silence.

“I can put on some music if you like.”

“Nah. It’s all Queen. Need to get some new CDs.”

“I can stand a little modern nonsense if it will help –”

“Aziraphale, stop worrying about me.”

Three miles. They went quickly – the Bentley was, as always, driving at speeds that would make the most reckless human driver turn pale and opt for public transportation – but even Aziraphale could see that the headlights were wavering back and forth across the center line, that they weren’t taking the turns as smoothly as they should.

“Crowley, dear. Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”

“What?”

“You’re exhausted. You’re in no state to be driving. I’ll manage. You close your eyes and rest for a bit.”

The car actually started to slow down, not because Crowley was planning to stop, but because he was too shocked to continue forward. “Angel. You’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about something like that?”

“You don’t know how to drive!”

“Neither do you!”

“I don’t –” Crowley did something with the pedals and the shifting stick and suddenly the Bentley was going even faster than before. “I bloody well know how to drive! Do you think this is easy?”

“Just about every human has it figured out. It can’t be that hard.”

“Can’t be that…this is a vintage car, Aziraphale. You’d probably just wreck it.”

“I would not!”

“And anyway, how am I supposed to relax while you’re…grinding the gears and careening into…into cattle or whatever it is you’ll do.”

“Have some faith, Crowley.”

“Oh, faith, that’s rich.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“Just shut up,” he growled.

The Bentley’s passengers settled into silence again. But at least the argument had woken Crowley up a little.

More time passed, long minutes and short miles, the peace and warmth of the afternoon broken. Now and again they raced under lights, casting Crowley’s face a sickly yellow in the fluorescent glow.

“How long has it been since you slept?” Aziraphale finally asked.

“Don’t fuss, Angel. I don’t need to sleep.”

“But you do sleep. Habitually. So how long has it been?”

“Last time was…six or seven days…before Warlock’s birthday.”

“Crowley!” He twisted in his seat, trying to glare at the figure next to him, but the black lenses stayed on the road for once, and the face gave nothing away. “That’s nearly two weeks!”

“Told you. I don’t need –” But he was betrayed by an enormous yawn.

“That’s it. Pull over.”

“I told you, Aziraphale, I don’t –”

“Pull over now.” He raised one hand, ready to snap his fingers.

“Oi!” Crowley swatted his hand away. “Don’t go messing with my engine. It’s delicate!” But he immediately began to slow down, muttering about ruthless tyranny, until the Bentley rolled to a stop beside a wide empty field.

Aziraphale immediately threw his door open and stepped out. “Come here, Crowley.”

“Not gonna let you drive, whatever you –”

“I said, come here.” He opened the boot of the car and started moving aside the picnic supplies. There wasn’t much left from the meal; Aziraphale had been very thorough.

“There’s half a bottle of wine, I think,” Crowley grumbled. “But that’s not going to make my driving any better.”

But what Aziraphale pulled out was the thick tartan blanket they’d used for the picnic spread. He bundled it up and tucked it under one arm.

With the other, he reached for Crowley’s hand, slid the palms together, let their fingers interlock. Crowley jumped at the contact, but didn’t pull away. Even with the glasses, Aziraphale could see the question in his eyes.

“Follow me.” He led Crowley through the hedge and out into the field, further and further until the lights of the road were a distant memory. The darkness was complete, nothing but grass, the smell of earth, and all the stars above them. Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and spread the blanket out, shaking it a few times before letting it fall to the grass. Then he stepped onto it and sat down, leaning back, propped up by his own arms. “Well, come on.” He patted the space to his left.

“Um. Aziraphale. What.” Crowley seemed at a loss for words.

“Come here. You’re too tired to drive, and I can’t, so we aren’t going anywhere for a couple of hours.” He waved his arm at the sky. “Which one is Alpha Centauri?”

“Oh. You want to stargaze.” Slowly, almost as if he were afraid, Crowley circled around behind Aziraphale, then finally stepped onto the blanket and sat beside him. “But. Um. You can’t see Alpha Centauri. Not from here.”

“That’s a pity.” He watched Crowley settle. The demon still seemed tense, uncertain. “Can you tell me which ones you helped build? Do you remember?”

“Remember?” A lopsided grin. “You think I can forget something like that?” When he reached up to pull his glasses off, Crowley’s hand was shaking. Not just with the cold, Aziraphale thought, though the wind had picked up, enough to feel a chill through his clothes. Crowley tossed the glasses aside and scanned the night sky with unfiltered eyes. “Over there, you see that one?”

“Which one? That bright one?” Aziraphale pointed.

“No, not…That’s Jupiter, don’t you know anything?” He slid a little closer to Aziraphale. “Look where I’m pointing. Over here.” His left index finger jabbed the sky. “The sort of reddish one.”

Aziraphale shifted, closing the rest of the distance between them, so that their shoulders brushed. He raised his right hand and pointed, so that their fingers nearly touched. “That one.”

“Yes, that’s it. Red supergiant, five or six hundred light years away. That one was fun. It’s gonna blow, you know.” He gave Aziraphale that grin, usually reserved for when he had a really awful idea that would almost certainly get them both in a great deal of trouble. “In another, oh, four thousand years, give or take. And when it does, it’s going to be so bright you’ll be able to see it, day or night, burning away in the sky.”

“How very like you.”

“Well, it was one of the last ones I worked on.” He sniffed, scanning the sky again. “Most of mine aren’t really visible from Earth, or aren’t part of a constellation. Just sort of there, lost in the crowd. Like me, really. No name. No value.”

“I never thought of you that way,” Aziraphale whispered, moving his left hand to cover Crowley’s on the blanket beside him. It was very cold.

“I know.” Then he stiffened, as if realizing what they’d said. “Yeah, Angel. I know.” He tilted his head, leaned it against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “But I’d been, you know, making waves. Asking questions. Talking to the wrong people. I could see the way things were going. So I set that one up as a little surprise. To make sure they couldn’t forget I was there.” He chuckled. “Set the fuse too long, though. But, hey, if the world keeps not ending, maybe it’ll still have a chance.”

“I’d like to see that,” Aziraphale said, turning his face just a little, to rest his cheek against Crowley’s hair. It tickled against his face and throat as Crowley moved, shivering in the night air.

“Oh, it’s gonna be something. Even you won’t be able to miss it.”

Before he could think it through – before he could talk himself out of it – Aziraphale unfurled his wings, one wrapping around behind Crowley, the other crossing over both their laps. “There. Is that better?”

Crowley startled, nearly pulling away. “Uh. What. I.” He stared at the white feathers before him as if he’d never seen them before, and his fingers hovered over the leading edge of the wing, unsure where to touch.

“You were cold.”

“Yeah, but. I mean. You didn’t have to…”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek, turning that face back towards him, until he could see those eyes again. The pupils were wide in the dark. “My dear fellow. I can drive while you rest. I don’t mind giving you a little warmth when you’re cold. And whatever foolish schemes you have, I will happily join you in them. We’re on our own side now. Isn’t that what it means?”

“Is it?” His stare was more intense than Aziraphale had ever seen it. But the angel didn’t pull away from it. Not this time. Not ever again.

“Was there something else you had in mind?”

Later, they could never agree who leaned in first.

The first kiss was more a smashing of lips and teeth, noses hitting each other and bouncing off.

The second rather missed the target entirely.

On the third try they managed to find each other, lips gently pressed together. Aziraphale’s hand slid around to the back of Crowley’s neck, holding him in place as they kissed, again and again, lips parting bit by bit, slowly exploring the sensations they discovered.

One of Crowley’s arms looped around his waist, hot as the sun, pulling him closer. The fingers of the other hand traced down into Aziraphale’s coverts, sending warm shivers up his wing.

The angel gasped, head jerking back.

“Ssorry,” Crowley hissed, pulling his hands away. “Too fast?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I was just…” Too many new things all at once, his heart felt ready to burst, his mind in a whirl trying to make sense of it all. It was wonderful. It was terrifying. “I suppose. A little.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I can…try a little faster. Let me just…prepare myself first…”

“Hey.” A finger brushed his chin, slowly lifting Aziraphale’s face until he could see the golden eyes shining like stars in the dark. “There’s no rush.”

Crowley leaned forward and brushed a gentle kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek, then rested his forehead on Aziraphale’s brow.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered, though he wasn’t sure why. Tension drained out of him, leaving only a warm glow.

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley growled, though it sounded playful. “Just…never mention driving the Bentley again.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well. If that’s off the table, I’m going to insist you get some sleep.”

“What, here? In the middle of a field?”

“Yes.” Taking Crowley’s shoulders firmly, the angel guided him down until his head rested in Aziraphale’s lap, wings draped over to cocoon him. “Right here. I’ll keep watch.”

Golden eyes slowly blinked, and not just from exhaustion. “Are you...sure?”

“Crowley. I am very sure. I have never been more sure of anything. Now get some sleep.”

With a slow smile, Crowley shifted, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale pulling tight against his belly. “Alright,” he agreed with another yawn, and his eyes stayed shut this time. “I’ll rest. But if this is a plan to steal my Bentley, you’re a more clever bastard than I suspected.”

“Yes dear,” Aziraphale said, hand drifting down to run through the shock of red hair. “I love you, too.”

He gasped at his own words, but Crowley didn’t even stir.

Aziraphale leaned down. “Er, Crowley?”

“Nh.” No other response.

His fingers combed through Crowley’s hair again. “Never mind. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Thank you for reading! For the record, no, this did not go as expected, but I like it anyway!

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vikingpoteto · 4 years

Text

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 1 on AO3

______________________

Relationships: (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all. ________________________

Jason is already having one hell of a bad night when he notices someone broke into his hideout.

He makes sure he isn’t noticed at the cave entrance even if he can hear two voices clear as day. He recognizes them, but that doesn’t mean his stomach doesn’t do a full somersault when he sees the Bat uniform. For a terrifying moment, he thinks the whole death thing was all a ruse and Bruce is back from a grave he’s never really been in. How fucked up is it that it makes perfect sense? That it’s not out of character for Bruce to just pretend that he’s dead for the sake of whatever ridiculous plan he’s following at the moment?

Jason takes a step back and closes his eyes, inhaling slowly.

“I owe you one, Catwoman,” says the man in the Bat costume somewhere down in the cave.

That’s right. That isn’t his voice. Jason forces himself to glance down again and he finally takes note of the things he should have noticed in the first place: the person in the Bat costume is shorter than Bruce, more slender and even his stance is less rigid. Less like a stoic soldier and more like a trained gymnast. Not the gymnast, though. That one must be tending to Damian’s ouchie back at the manor. As he listens to him exchange a few quips with Selina, Jason knows.

That’s Tim Drake.

His last meeting with Tim was far more pleasant than any interaction he had with the other bats, and that’s saying something considering he was in custody at the time. Still, Jason must do what he has to do. He doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t think he has many options. He didn’t expect to face Tim so soon, but maybe it’s better this way. After his confrontation with Dick and what he did to Damian, he might as well burn all the bridges. Like ripping off a band-aid.

Jason’s replacement is good, but he still has a lot to learn. He doesn’t hear it when Jason dashes towards Selina and knocks her out. He can only react by jumping out of Jason’s reach.

“Well, there goes diplomacy,” Tim grunts. “What do you think you’re doing, Jason?”

Of course he knows. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“You look stupid in that get up,” Jason tells him.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

And that’s when he attacks.

Those few stupid words they exchanged make big difference and Jason hates it. He hates how confident Tim is that Jason won’t shoot him — confident to the point that he’ll exchange pleasantries with Jason instead of attacking outright, before Jason even has the chance to take a shot at him. If this were anyone else, Jason would call it a stupid mistake and end the fight, but he’s learned enough about his replacement. Tim doesn’t do stupid, not in battle. Everything he does once he’s fighting is calculated and Jason hated him for it for too long. He knows Tim was the Robin that Jason could never be.

The fact that he’s ready for it doesn’t mean he manages to dodge the kick Tim aims at his chin. The kid is simply faster.

Not that it matters.

Tim tries to kick his jaw again. Jason grabs him by the ankle. Expecting that, Tim tries to flip backwards. He isn’t heavy enough. Jason throws him at the wall as if he’s nothing but a ragdoll. Robin reflexes kick in and Tim rolls on the floor, using the cape to avoid bigger damage. He grunts as he gets back to his feet.

“I’m going to end your little masquerade tonight, Jason.”

“Oh, but I’m only getting started, Boy Wonder.”

There is a loud thud. Jason’s knuckles connect with his jaw hard enough to bruise, and a lesser man would have been knocked out. Tim flips away almost gracefully, as if they’re dancing. Jason expects him to back off. Tim lands and runs into his space. Jason crosses his arms, bracing for a punch. Tim ducks down on the last second and hooks his leg behind Jason’s knees. He doesn’t fall, but he loses his balance. Tim lands the next punch. Jason hears something crack and he isn’t sure if it’s his armor or himself. He backflips away from the kid, because he better gather himself.

“Don’t hurt yourself now,” Tim taunts, even if he’s breathless.

Jason rolls his eyes and grabs a handful of dirt from the ground. He almost takes pleasure in Tim’s indignant sputter when he gets dust tossed at his face.

By the time he opens his eyes, Jason is no longer in his field of vision, concealed by one of the many deceiving nooks along the cave walls. That’s the problem with them. They always forget Jason can be just as annoyingly stealthy as they can.

“Come on, Jason! Come out and play! So I can tear that cowl off your gigantic stupid head.”

He sounds annoyed. Jason smirks, despite himself. He presses a button on the side of his cowl and speaks into the comm.

“I don’t see that ruthless side of yours very often, Tim. I like it.”

Tim doesn’t move towards the sound of his voice.

“This place is rigged with speakers to throw me off, huh? I’ll still find you.”

The kid can stand his ground, Jason will give him that. He has brains and skills that make him a terrifying enemy. Too bad Bruce brainwashed him into being a freaking hypocrite. Too bad he’s still trying to figure out where Jason’s hiding, unaware that his enemy is right behind him. Jason gets a batarang from his belt.

Jason remembers a young face, his only visitor in prison. A boy that gave him what he needed to escape.

Instead of throwing the blade, he surges forward and grabs Tim’s arm. The kid gasps, but can’t react before Jason twists his arm into a lock and presses the batarang to his throat. The guard around his neck is resistant, sure, but still malleable enough to allow head movement and it’s certainly not strong enough to stop the sharp edge. Tim knows that. He stays very quiet and Jason can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he comes up with a plan.

“You have one chance to save yourself,” Jason says. He feels the stillness beneath his hands gain a new tension.

“What, you’re going to fight me without any dirty tricks?” he hisses.

“Come on, Tim. You know damn well there’s no such thing when your survival is on the line. I know you do. You’re better than this. Join me. Be my Robin.”

Apparently forgetting there is a sharp object pressed to his throat, Tim tries to look back at Jason. “ Join you? A psychopathic killer? Sure, why not?”

Jason twists his arm a little further, his grip tightening. He doesn’t like to hear him spewing the same meaningless bullshit Bruce preached. He forces himself to remember what he’s doing.

“I’m serious, Tim. You know you… we can do better. Why else would you help me break out of prison?”

“That’s right,” he grunts. “I let you escape. Now the lives you took after that are on me!”

He throws his head back hard enough to knock off Jason’s mouth guard and almost makes him bite his tongue.

It seems like Tim regained his will to fight. He moves fast and hits hard, barely giving Jason enough time to react. Their battle turns vicious, both charging into fast attacks and refusing to defend. Jason’s mouth is dry and it tastes like bitter copper for more than one reason, the clatter of kevlar cracking under fists and heavy boots makes for a nauseating cacophony. It was a mistake to think one of them — any of them — could see things his way.

Burn those bridges down. If there is no way back, it hurts less that he can’t go home.

They clash in the middle in a battle of strengths. Tim’s first real mistake.

“I shot Damian,” Jason spits. “He got between Dick and I so I shot him.”

A step back. “No, you didn’t.”

“Why do you care? I heard the brat wants you dead. I got rid of him for you.”

“I’m more worried about you wanting me dead now .”

Except Jason doesn’t. He did shoot Damian and the kid was reckless enough that Jason could easily have made it lethal, but he aimed for the shoulder instead. It would’ve been better, it would’ve made his mission easier. If he truly could stoop low enough to be a villain like Bruce treated him, all of this would be so much less painful. He couldn’t. Still can’t. Bruce was right, after all. He’s nothing but a failure.

Burn it down. It’s too late to turn back now.

He roars wordlessly and springs forward. Thud . There he is in front of him, the man that did everything right when Jason did wrong. Crack . It literally doesn’t matter, though. Thud. Crack. And all — thud — because — thud — he’s held back — thud — by a risible moral code — CRACK! Why are they too stubborn to see their way does not work?

Tim finally falls, drawing an arc that is almost graceful when his feet leave the ground and his limp body hits the stony floor with a bleak noise.

Now that he’s not moving, Jason can tell he’s grown enough that the suit fits him, but it’s still a little loose around the waist and the shoulders. He’s shorter than Bruce used to be, so Jason bets he had to roll up the pants before putting on the boots.

End this. They think you’re a villain. Show them what a villain is like. It’s only fair since they keep protecting the real bad guys.

Jason crouches down by his side. Despite everything they might think, he doesn’t enjoy violence. He does what must be done, what he needs to survive and to serve justice, but he doesn’t enjoy it. That’s why he prefers guns. Guns get the job done from afar and you don’t have to dwell on it. You can make those that deserve it feel pain, but it’s better than the alternative.

He came here wearing that suit to fuck with you. He’s smart enough to know how it affects you. He’ll stand in the way and grow more dangerous.

Jason can’t see behind the cowl, but he remembers Tim’s eyes are really blue. Not grey-blue like Bruce’s, but a bright blue like the sky in spring. The last time he saw those eyes they had a determined spark behind them. The eyes of someone that was taking a risk for something they truly believed. Dick had said before that Jason had been Tim’s Robin. That Tim used to admire him.

Burn it down. Jason raises the old batarang.

There is a whack so sudden and brutal that for a second Jason doesn’t know where it came from. Only when he falls painfully on his shoulder does he realize that someone hit his head with a freaking rock.

No. Not someone. Little Timmy, innocent and not that unconscious, managed to grab a heavy rock and knock Jason with it.

“No dirty tricks when your survival is on the line,” the kid says, his voice wobbly. His mouth is probably full of blood.

Jason laughs. That’s right. Tim is not a kid. None of them are, never had been. They’re soldiers first and foremost fighting a war that they can’t win, only death waiting at the end. How does that Fitzgerald quote go? Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.

Except real life doesn’t need heroes, it needs realistic solutions. Jason stands. Tim’s knees buckle under his weight and he coughs out something that looks like a tooth. Or at least a piece of one. The latest Boy Wonder falls on his face, his body finally giving in after the extraneous scuffle. That’s a hero's destiny, after all.

Jason stares at him, but doesn’t try to check his pulse or verify if he’s really out. Tim is not the biggest problem he has to solve now — and yes, he sees the irony in making that decision, but he pretends he doesn't because he’s beaten in more than one way. Besides, there is still one person to confront. He should be coming soon when he notices he’s missing a sidekick.

He carefully removes the cowl from Tim and the kid doesn’t spring into action again. As Jason walks away from him, he decides he’ll offer Dick the same truce he offered Tim. Unlike with the younger boy, there is not a single part of him that thinks Dick might take him up on that. He just wants to make sure to cover all the bases. Tonight, Tim’s childhood hero let him down one more time. It’s only fitting that later Jason’s hero is the one that will reject him for the last time.

Heroes always die either way. He’s been there, done that. It isn’t fun. Jason doesn’t want to be a hero. Not anymore.

#batfam #red hood #jason todd #red robin #tim drake #red bros #batfam fanfic #poteto writing #i'm back on my bullshit #pls leave me comments

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theweekinarrowfic · 4 years

Text

Arrow Fic Recommender: Unknown by halcyon_18

Fic matches for a crime/mystery Olicity AU. All of the matches are AU, but some sound a lot fluffier than the original.

Unknown by halcyon_18 - “Felicity Smoak graduated from MIT with a master's degree in Cyber Security and Computer Sciences and was recruited into the CIA into their cyber security department. Wanting something more out of her life she decided to become a field agent. Now two years later she's one of the top field agents who is trying to help take down The Depot, a worldwide criminal organization.” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity.

Best Matches

Caught in the Rapture by Bindy417 (64%) - “AU. Being the daughter of a ruthless and notorious crime lord, Felicity Smoak didn't think her life could get any worse. When her father unexpectedly sells her in marriage as a peace offering to his enemy, she quickly learns it'll take more than just her sharp intellect to survive. But what starts out as a sentence worse than death may actually be her only shot at freedom.” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity. real love (is never a waste of time) by callistawolf (63%) - “Oliver and Felicity are CEOs who are more partners than they are rivals, but they still bicker whenever they meet up. Constantly pestered by their families and board members, they turn to each other for a simple solution. But marriage is never simple, especially when these two are involved. When Oliver's younger sister decides to hold her much-anticipated wedding on a tropical island and insists her brother and his wife attend, will the island paradise prove to be the tipping point in their carefully balanced relationship?” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity. sweating our confessions by callistawolf (63%) - “On the heels of failed relationships, Oliver and Felicity meet and become close friends almost immediately. There's also a heaping dose of sexual attraction for both of them. Can they scratch their respective itches while maintaining the friendship? The bigger question should be: can they sleep together without falling in love and risking the best friendship either of them has ever had?” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity. Ride or Die by Vixx2pointOh (63%) - “They say that life is a series of events that we can neither predict nor control....; And then there is him. He’s a bit of an enigma.; ~*~*~*~; Young CEO Felicity Smoak is just trying to make her mark on the world, yes she's a little high strung and stressed, but it was what is was... until he came along. With eyes a girl could lose herself in and shoulder-tapping hair made for hanging on to Oliver Queen was reckless and carefree.; Also, he rode a bike.; He was everything she wasn't and he was a sucker for those sinful red lips and everything that came with them.; *Updates Friday*.” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity. Page Six Stunner by sidhe_faerie (61%) - “Billionaire Oliver Queen’s bride to be left him standing at the altar and IT girl Felicity Smoak was dumbfounded when she was asked to fill in. Be Oliver’s bride. For a year. What better way to escape her situation than by marrying a gorgeous, powerful stranger? Written for Unconventional Courtship 2017.” My relationship tag: Oliver/Felicity.

#arrow #arrow fic recommender #Olicity

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youeggbastard · 4 years

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Oc Questionnaire (Again)

Now it’s Jens turn.

Once Again thank you so much @jessaryss for this awesome template you’re the bees knees! ❤❤❤

Iphigenia

BASICS

Name: Iphigenia ( Iph·i·ge·nia )but better known as just Jen very few people are allowed to know her full name

Race: Imperial

Age: 25

Pronouns: She/Her

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Black

Skin: Pale... she needs to tan more

Height: 5′6

Weight: 143

General Physique: A little more on the curvy side

Tattoos, WarPaints & Scars? None yet but I’m still working on character design

ABOUT

Dragonborn: YES / NO

Werewolf/Bear or Vampire? None

Occupation: Best described as a spell sword for hire, but really she’s just a wandering necromancer for hire.

Guild Association(s): Used to be a Vigilant of Stendarr, it didn’t end well though.

Favoured Weapon Class / Type: Duel Wielding One handed, primarily only bound swords.

Favoured School of Magic / Type: It’s a tie between Destruction and Conjuration.

Heavy Armor? Light Armor? Robes? Robes

Place of Birth: Cyrodiil

Place Where They Were Raised: Same place up until she was 12 years old, then she came to Skyrim.

Current Location: Skyrim

Education / Place of Study: No formal education really, her father and his “friends” cult taught her conjuration, or more specifically necromancy, and then when she joined the Vigilants she learned a great deal of restoration magic as well as some destruction. The rest she’s taught herself, so no doubt her magic style would make classically trained mages cringe.

Any Teachers / Inspirations? Pretty much all her teachers and inspirations have let her down in one way or another.

PERSONAL

Patron Deity (if any): Used to be Stendarr until he abandoned her, now she doesn’t associate herself with gods.

Political Alliance (if any): Despite being Imperial Jen doesn’t have any loyalty to the Empire and she does sympathize with the Stormcloaks cause, but it’s kind of hard to fully sympathize with them when they hate her. So, her political alliance is closer to the common people, the ones who are actually suffering from the war.

Strongest Skills: She’s deadly with destruction magic, mainly lighting and she has always had a knack for Necromancy though that’s more of a curse than a blessing.

Strengths: Clever, strategist, She can be downright ruthless in battle, fearless, stubborn, will continue fighting until the end.

Weaknesses: Her fearlessness often leads to recklessness, doesn’t really have survival skills, more often than not her emotions control her rather than vice versa.

Spouses? Flings? Lovers? Jen is pretty sex positive, she’s had a couple of flings here and there but only with people she actually trusts, so friends with benefit situations mostly, she’s not one to have a one night stand or hatefuck, but she’s always kept them at arms lengths and the minute feelings start she scatters. In her entire life she’s only be in love twice, once with her partner in the Vigilants who ended up betraying her and she ended up killing him, and then with Kaidan who she eventually marries.

Thaneship (and of where?) Whiterun, Riften, and somehow Morthal though she’s not entirely sure how she became Thane of any of those holds.

Most Difficult Quest They’ve Been On? Pretty much any of the quests from the Vigilant Mod, the one where she had to fight Lamae fucked her up emotionally.

Jail Time? No she’s too streetwise.

Largest Bounty Held? The vigilants have a pretty large bounty on her head, but I don’t think that counts.

How Much Gold Are They Typically Carrying? Anywhere from 2 to 20000 Septims

How Do They Get Gold? Primarily through necromancy jobs, a lot of people will hire her for help getting rids of spirits, ghosts, etc... But Jen isn’t good at charging or saying no to people in need, so most of her income comes from overcharging rich people and jarls.

Are Werebeings and Vampires Vile Creatures or Simply Misunderstood? If you asked her this a couple of years ago she would have said, yes they are vile and need to be eradicated. Now that she’s no longer a vigilant and not under the influence of them she has a different opinion. Now she realizes the line between man and monster is a lot more blurred, now she sees herself more as the monster after all she’s done in the name of Justice.

Do They Actively Hunt Dragons? Not really, they hunt her more often than not.

Goals In Life? Help as many people as she can and hopefully do some good for once.

Deepest Regret? Killing innocent people under the guise of Stendarr’s mercy, and not being able to save Altano before it was too late.

Greatest Hope? She would never say this but she desperately wants a family. She craves the unconditional love that she has searched for all her life and was instead betrayed and her love used against her.

Most Embarrassing Moment: She has screamed more than once encountering spiders.

Flaws: Stubborn, hot headed, unforgiving, judgmental, isn’t very good at controlling her emotions which isn’t exactly good thing for a mage or a dragonborn, proud.

Fears: Spiders and all other kinds of creepy crawlers especially things with more than two legs, betrayal, the dead (especially the ones that haunt her nightmares).

What Makes Them Happy? Flowers, the stars, the quiet nights, helping others, her friends, baths.

Hobbies: She’s actually an avid horseback rider, if her life had been normal she probably would have owned a stables, collecting flowers and creating new spells as well.

Favorite Locations: She loves Riverwood and the area surrounding it, it helps that the people of Riverwood actually like her.

Favorite Holds: Falkreath

Eating Habits? She’s not very picky.

Can They Cook? She can, though she doesn’t have much time to make gourmet meals, so she really just cooks enough to get by.

Favorite Food: She loves tomato soup, it reminds her of her childhood, before her parents went crazy.

Favorite Drink: Wine

First Thing They Do At A Tavern? Take a bath

Sleeping Habits? Very sporadic, sometimes she won’t get sleep for days, other times she will sleep 12 hours at a time. God help anyone that tries to wake her up, she’s a graceful riser.

Cities or the wilds? Both, she likes people watching and being near civilization, but she also loves the outdoors, being under the night sky, fields of flowers etc.

Pet Peeves? Being talked over, being bossed around (specifically by men)rich people just fucking existing.

Describe Their Bedroom or Home There would also be fresh flowers in a vase, as well as lavender hanging from the roof. It would be very clean, unless she’s working of magic study of a new spell than it’s a complete mess.

How Would A Stranger Describe This Person? She’s got a bad case of Resting Bitch face, comes across as very cold and distant, just an unfeeling bitch.

Someone Close To Them? The opposite of that. She cares so much for her friends and will go to the ends of the Earth for them, it’s that quality that has gotten her in a lot of trouble. She helps whoever she can and has the worst case of bleeding heart syndrome. .

How Do They Deal With Anger? Jen is a hot head, and when she does get angry she can be cruel and unrelenting. But luckily her anger fizzles out pretty quickly especially if she knows she wrong, so she will apologize and make things right if it’s someone she loves. But if you’re in the wrong, it’s gonna be hard to get her forgiveness back.

How Do They Deal With Failure? She can take it hard, she’ll probably get moody and lash out, but deep down knows she’s really just angry with herself, eventually she cols off and learns from her mistakes and swears to not make them again.

How Do They Deal With Loss of a friend or someone close? Jen’s friends are everything to her so losing them would wreck her, she wouldn’t be able to sleep or eat, or probably even let them go that easily, she would storm the gods if it meant saving someone she loved

Go Into The Bandit Filled Cave To Retrieve The Lost Amulet For Some Simpleton, or Tell Them Nah Bye? Depends is it someone desperate and downtrodden who couldn’t do it themselves? Yes. Someone entirely capable of doing it themselves? probably not then, but all you really need to do is make up a sob story to appeal to her bleeding heart.

Opinions on Daedra? She isn’t a vigilant anymore but she still knows Daedra are always a bad idea and would probably never side with them or trust them. Molag Bal though, she would storm Coldharbour just to kill him, she would find a way to kill daedra just to kill him.

Companions / Followers

First Follower: Gorr (3DNPC)

Have They Stuck Around? Not really, they had a bit of a fling and Jen scattered.

Something The Look For In A Follower (or do they hire anyone without question?) Someone who she trusts and won’t get annoyed by her gentle mothering as well as her need to save everyone and everything. But really trust is a huge thing, she would die for her friends so she needs someone who won’t betray that trust.

Followers Over The Years (or whatever amount of time): In This order

Gorr (3DNPC) (2 Months)

Mercutio (1 Month)

Mjoll the Lioness (5 Months)

Kaidan (Still Present)

Auri (Still Present)

Serana (Still Present)

Lucien (Still Present)

Funny enough the first three were people she’s had flings with who she ended up leaving once feelings got in the way. I mean Kai is also part of that group, but she actually stayed for him, obviously.

Fourth Wall

Any Must Have Mods To Play This Character? Vigilant, Apocalypse, and then all the followers mods mentioned above.

Random Screenshot / Drawing: See Way Above

Level? 34 as of right now

Serious RP or Thomas The Tank Engine Dragons, Fart Shouts, and Kawaii Cat Girl Mods? Serious so far, but I’ve only had one gameplay of her and I’m still working on it there might be some tank engine dragons in her future who knows.

#Idk if anyone would notice from the drawing but I've changed her appearance a bit #Just a bit nothing drastic #I thought about giving her tattoos but like then that means I have to draw them #and I'm lazy so....#egg tries to draw #my art #my oc #oc: iphigenia #skyrim oc

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thepilgrimofwar · 4 years

Text

Finale 1 - Edited Roll20 Log

Outside the walls of Arenias’ fortress was a celebration. Banners of all colours fluttered in the wind as Beathyn’s cannons continued their relentless shelling. All of the Emberglades were represented. Wintergale volunteers and Men of the Blackbanner led by Zarannis. Militia from the Heartlands and Shalemarch under Judereth. Even Westheath prisoners-turned-soldiers, promised amnesty, aiming to fight twice as hard to prove their loyalty to Relriah who had stepped forward to lead them. They knew of her, most of them growing up in Westheath together.

It wasn’t difficult to convince them to follow The Daughter of Illithia who was Arenias’ last remaining heir. After being explained the state of things by Relriah, they were more than happy to fight for someone who was just as ruthless- but not at their expense. They promised to deliver her father’s head as a coronation present for the true ruler of Westheath.

But despite the celebratory mood, there was still a dread that hung low in the air. Victory was close at hand, but it made the idea of dying -now- so much worse. A pointless last stand by Arenias. The last gesture by a Lordling that was already dead. The same outcome would be reached if he just surrendered- only with less bloodshed on both sides. But Stenden had been clear.

A prolonged siege to starve them out and forcing a surrender was not an acceptable option. They needed to snuff Lord Illithia and his loyalists out once and for all. The war had gone on long enough, and with the help of the heroes who had come to aid him, they were going to end this- Here. Now.

[Event Start]

Thanidiel Highdawn:"How much does the Lordling wish for us to keep intact?"

Esheyn:"An important thing to consider.”

Ethalarian:"I would imagine as much as possible, Highdawn."

Thanidiel:"I'm just saying. There's a lot of tinder here and nothing runs the untrained out of a fortress faster..."

Ethalarian:"I don't think they've much interest in ruling a load of torched tinder, either."

Lirelle:"I believe all of their militia have deserted them. Only those fanatically loyal are left."

Thanidiel:"I'll show them fanatical loyalty underneath my mare's hooves."

Lirelle looks up to the defenders on the walls. "I'm sure some of them are already regretting it."

Ethalarian frowns. Destroying his fellow countrymen to the man doesn't appear to sit well with him.

Thanidiel:"Highdawn will run down the riflemen ahead. Will your horsemen be handling the infantry?"

Ethalarian:"You can leave it to me."

Isilos pointed at the guards infront of Thanideil's troops. "Soften them up so the others can pass through."

Thanidiel:"Mm, fuck that. Redirecting - this city is so piss-narrow. I may split the heavy cavalry for now."

[Combat Starts.]

After the strategy concludes, the siege begins in earnest under the blasts of Beathyn’s cannon fire. The fighting is intense as the Coalition engages Arenias’ loyalists street by street, and block by block. Smashing through barricades and navigating roadblocks, the battle soon becomes a slaughter for the hopeless defenders. Nevertheless the fanatical opposing force put up a fierce defence.

The casualness with which the Crows move is at odds with the militia scattered around them. A flick of Lirelle's hand is enough to propel them forwards, horses trotting forward as their riders let loose. Their mage followed cautiously behind, her magic sending chunks of masonry flying from beneath the feet of the defenders. Lirelle herself hung back for now, save for a single bolt of black that washed over the crossbowmen, leaving nothing but corpses in its wake.

Ethalarian secures his helmet in place and spurs his charger forward without a word. As he races through the streets, he gives his orders with hand signals, dirt and loose stone flying through the air at the thunderous passing of his cavalry.

Esheyn and her troops take to the walls, climbing up the ladders quickly to dispatch their foes.

Vaelrin was here. And was here the entire time for whatever happened over the last few weeks at this particular location at this particular time when things were surely at a particularly violent era. Nevertheless, Vaelrin's best interest was to pursue and protect those who were with him in battle and with a bellowing call, he and bowmen took aim to the Arbalesters on the top of the wall.

[Meanwhile at the inner walls of the north]

Vissehn 's troops had been on the move long before the main army and they had carved their corner-- one man at a time, one night at a time. It took time to break a perimeter; more time to dig in. Lots of cardgames played silently-- lots of sleepless nights. Now, however, it paid off; their commander's eccentric strategy bringing them to the back of the field, where defenses pointed quite the other way. Springing up, they levelled their rifles at the bombardment canon, trying to make quick work of things on their side of the battle. All the while, their young and reckless commander sang a jaunty tune.

Vissehn Sings

"Lay them out, oh bullet born Reap all they have sown Arenias of the blatant scorn will find his castle blown!"

And so they let loose, all of their shots, in a blaze of gunsmoke and shells.

Vissehn takes a moment to fire into the air, letting enemy and ally alike know that a Hawk has entered the fray.

[Back to the Main Assault]

Isilos channeled healing light towards Esheyn while commanding his Magisters to puch back the entrentched. "Clear the path, we need to make it to the other side. I will focus on keeping our ranks alive."

Thanidiel yells to her compatriots. "Highdawn will be blocking the advance of the lancers."

Ethalarian:"Good luck."

Mara Blazingdawn:"Soldiers! Fan out! We will not be left out of this fight!"

A runner comes in from their eastern flank, calling for reinforcements. The siege had gone well on the Eastern Wall. -Too Well- so much so that the militia-men had over extended and were now cut off.

Ethalarian immediately wheels his cavalry around, waving for him to follow. "My cavalry will ride to relieve the militia! We'll get there fastest."

The battle continues as Ethalarian rides down the streets leading eastwards and comes to the militia’s aide on the right flank.

Oosaarn and the arbalesters charged through the broken wall. Sprinting past broken buildings and rubble until they were well within the city. He orders his troops to attack the infantry on his left while both arbalesters attacks those straight ahead.

Esheyn continues their assault atop the wall, but she instructs her troops to descend and move to join the others.

Vaelrin bellows forth a command ordering his troop to follow him as he charges off on his steed towards the middle of the wall where the hole allowed entryway. With most of the ranged disposed of, his focus now turned towards something else. Without so much as a flinch, Vaelrin's presence was now alongside Lirelle as a command ushered forth a wave of arrows towards the nearest enemy.

Mara Blazingdawn raises her sword to order her forces forward. "Advance through the breech! We need to get into position to engage their infantry! Double time!"

Rallying her troops to her Mara Blazingdawn bellows at the top of her lungs as they enter the fray. "Drive these cavalry back! We need to clear the way!"

[Meanwhile, on the right flank]

Ethalarian 's cavalry arrives at the flank and he immediately begins to take stock of the situation. "Forward!" he bellows to his militiamen. "Buy the levies some breathing room!"

Ethalarian spurs his lancers forward, aiming to relieve the beleaguered levies. Light radiates from the lancers behind him and begins to knit closed their wounds. "You!" he shouts, directing his lance at some poor unfortunate soul. "What the hell happened here?"

The sargeant responds. They had broken through and made full use of it. Only to discover later that it was because they were let in -intentionally-. This whole eastern flank was a trap.

[Meanwhile, in the North, at the Inner Walls]

Vissehn shouts as the hit lands, but it doesn't seem to do enough. He looks to his militia men. "C'mon, bring 'em down!" They reload, and fire once more-- into the arablesters this time.

Vissehn:"Ilithia went to war

Far beyond their reach

Here we bay at their door

To hammer down a breach!"

Vissehn:"If we die we die glorious, lads! Let 'em remember we sang to our demise!"

[Back to the Main Assault]

Lirelle continues walking forward, the Crows behind her picking off targets as they went. As she passes Vaelrin again, she turns to look at him briefly. saying not a word as was promised. She stops behind Thanidiel's horsemen and the shadows curl around her, dissipating to reform in an instant to engulf the guards and rifles.

Thanidiel is unphased as the dark magicks swirl around them - those of the Emberheart militia reacting on the contrary until settled under the standard of Tyr's Hand again.

Isilos wiped the blood from his scythe and looked to the other streets. He didn't like being delayed when there was an objective.

Oosaarn and those arbalest mercenaries turned the nearest corner and ran headlong into the group of house guards down the ruined street. [All basic attack on House Guards]

Esheyn grits her teeth. She has a LOT of ground to cover if she has any hope of catching up with her comrades. But her troops are in a better position to assist, and so she calls to them, "TO ISILOS!" before jumping down to rush toward the fray.

Mara Blazingdawn finishes cleaning her blade from the recent skirmish. "Press forward! We have the advantage!" Ordering her knights to move into the ruins, the lesser guardsmen engage the House Guards while Mara's personal guard attack the Infantry further into the city.

[Meanwhile, on the right flank]

The trap continued to circle in on the remaining militia, also trapping Ethalarian.

Ethalarian squares his jaw as the severity of the situation begins to dawn on him. Cut off. Surrounded. "Hartwood! Duskarrow!" He shouts as loud as he can, hoping they can hear him over the din of the battle. "Fall back! Get the militia out of here, warn Highdawn and the others!" The broad-shouldered knight at the head of one of the militia formation falters. "But-" Ethalarian waves, cutting him off. "No argument, Sergeant! I'll delay them as long as I can!"

Takes one look at the situation, then back at the knight who had come to their rescue. "What about you?" He asks.

Ethalarian shakes his head. "You heard me. The last thing I need is a bunch of fucking farmers getting in my way."

Krissen Dawnhollow who had believed she had their lines of retreat cut off frowns. "Noble of you. But futile. Just like my Lord's stupid last stand. Are you here to make one of your own?"

Ethalarian wheels his cavalry about, facing now the one that had begun to approach him. "Nothing quite so elegant as that." He shrugs his shoulders. "Just no other options."

Krissen Dawnhollow shrugs. "Such is life, is it not?" She makes a wry laugh, for she knew that her fate would be similar. Shortly.

Ethalarian cracks a wry grin, leaning forward across the horn of his saddle. "Not that it's going to matter here in a few minutes," he says with a wry laugh, "but I don't suppose you have a name?"

Krissen Dawnhollow:"Krissen Dawnhollow," she says.

Krissen Dawnhollow raises her hand for her troops to attack. Whatever futile victory she had won on this side of the fortress was going to be pointless soon enough. As was the Knight's last stand. "Let's finish this."

Ethalarian discards his lance and draws Faithbreaker from its scabbard. The crimson blade flickers to life as it had so many times before and one of the knights behind him sounds a blast of his horn. "Let us indeed." Hooves drive into cobblestone with a thunderous sound as he spurs his charger into action, followed by what remains of his retinue.

[And on the Inner Walls North of the Main Assault]

Vissehn and his lads slipped off the battlements, and with a rush ran to the remaining bombardment canon. Vissehn waved them around, and his soldiers attempted to commandeer.

Vissehn cheers and his men, and the remains of his militia, aim for the final bombardment canon on the battlements.

“If we die now, we die with a canon!"

The boy holds tight to his canon, watching the arbalesters fell his men. Until there was none but himself.

Vissehn, alone as his luck seemed to fade, breaks out into song. "When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wondered."

Thanidiel hears his song. "Are you singing to -comfort- yourself!" bellows through the streets.

The Main Assault was now closing in on the Inner Walls but none were in range to support the Hawk

Esheyn and her troops break into a run toward those battling up ahead. [All Sprint]

“Center formation! Fall back and reform! Rear formation! Attack!” Mara Blazingdawn the Dawnspire Knights engage the Houseguard bringing steel and courage to purpose.

Just as the arbalesters fire at Vissehn, the forces from the Eastern Flank arrive to assist

Ethalarian 's cavalry appear from the right flank, tattered and flagging but unbroken. A tree of a man leads the front most unit of cavalry, recognizable to most as Knight-Sergeant Hartwood. "Run them down!" he cries. "We need to end this quickly for the Captain's sake!"

[The Battle Quickly concludes and all forces meet up]

"Commander Highdawn!"

Thanidiel looks at the rider from Ethalarian’s unit. "Dawnstalker does not ride with you. Report."

Hartwood shakes his head. "The right flank was a trap, sir. Last I saw of him he was completely enveloped by the enemy." The big man looks grim. "I saw his banner charge into their leader's formation but- We need to hurry."

Thanidiel does not shout nor rile at the news - accepting it quietly with the phoenix greathelm obscuring her thoughts and features. What there is - almost automatic on the heels of Hartwood's words, is the swishing motion of the Tyr's Hand standard and the beat of the armoured cavalry's hooves as they move shortly from a rippling trot to a full gallop through streets and along walls to the eastern flank.

What she finds when she arrives is a scene of calamity- not a single one of the Lancers that had left under Ethalarian's banner remained standing. She finds him at the center of the formation, badly bloodied but somehow still breathing. At least for the moment. His wounds are many and they are deep. His head turns, eyes unseeing, toward the sound of hoofbeats as Highdawn's formation approaches and he manages to barely lift a hand.

Thanidiel slows enough to swing off of the back of her pale mare, allowing the beast to come to its own stop as her armoured frame lands onto the cobblestone. The motleyed band of horsemen that had followed her all the way from the South, just as Ethalarian had, already bringing themselves to a pause aways from the scene. Sweetness does not soften this moment, for Highdawn is not sweet and has always been all of the weapon that Ethalarian had wished to dehumanise into. Her gauntletted hand lowers to his, enough to curl around, as she delivers the plainfaced observation. "You are dying. My Light would do nothing but spur you to the end before it could uplift you."

Thanidiel then seethes out, angry but restrained, "We should have gone together. Traded places."

Ethalarian sputters a half-choked laugh and gives a shake of his head, bloodied lips twisting into a crooked grin. "S'w-what I always liked about you, Th-Thanidiel. Always a...a laugh." He lifts his chin and tugs sharply, with what little strength he has left, and the buckles clasping his curiass in place give out. "Shut up," he hisses through clenched teeth as his numb fingers fumble for something. "I picked this."

Thanidiel:"The dying or whatever you're fumbling for in there? If you think I like you enough to go into my Great Uncle's lands and hand Nuellen your dogtags..." The ex-Knight picks up on his manner, letting everything else said pass by with flickers of her ears as she drops to her knees. Facilitating the ease of whatever was being given.

Ethalarian finally finds what he's looking for- something kept close to his heart- and weakly takes it into his grip. "Everything." The color begins to fade even more rapidly from his ruddy skin. Unable to lift his arm anymore, he rocks his shoulders in her direction and slaps whatever is in his hand- smeared with his blood- into her chest. "Keep...this...close." Ethalarian winces from the pain. "Foot...footlocker."

Thanidiel examines the bloodsmeared object, using the leather underside of her glove to wipe away and discover its details. The greathelm, as always, obscuring anything animate to her. But whatever it was, the stalks of her ears freeze and pull back - threatened, or alarmed, taken aback? Either way, it all braces and chills through the rest of her frame as she looms over the dying Knight. Hostility replacing affection even still as she grits out a simplistic, "Fuck you," as the ramifications process through her mind. "You're going to make me live for this?" She had wanted this all to be the end; a merit of good work to at least a few peoples before bringing over a century of nightmare to an end.

Thanidiel growls after - the sound reverberating through her chest, and throat, and the layers of padded cloth and metal encasing her. Even still, the deliberate motion is present in the other's dying vision; the press of Elleynah's World to her breastplate.

Ethalarian squeezes Thanidiel's hand weakly and seems to laugh- his body shakes, at least- and that wry smile returns to his face. He wants to say more- to give her a few final words- but he can't summon the energy. All he can do is nod weakly. She knows his meaning. She'll understand. Regardless of whatever difference they may have had, she would do what needed to be done. That was her way. And then, at long last, his grip goes slack in her hands and he stills completely.

[Event End]

#epilogue #roll20

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wotnahq · 3 years

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Kaspar Ildstrom • 45 • Male (he/him) • Metahuman • Omnikinesis • Civilian

BIOGRAPHY

Kaspar Sigurd Ildstrom was born December 4, 2000 to Ilse and Christopher, Danish immigrants to South Africa, the first of five sons and one daughter. Ilse would die in 2014, taking with her almost all that was soft and trusting in the already frigid disposition of the military tactician that was her husband, founder of Velentr Industries (Private Military Corporation & Security Consultancy).

Kas did not inherit his father’s iron temperament, rather his mother’s fiery temper and a restless energy that longed for change, challenge. As eldest, he cared for his younger siblings with warm affinity and playful mischief as they grew, delighting in the uniqueness of each accomplishment, of each gift that needed to be secreted away from the world. All of the siblings manifested powers young, the latest at sixteen, and Kaspar had been no different. It began with the recklessness and whims of early childhood, mashed broccoli flung in the fits of a tantrum, and only grew governed by focus, emotion, his father’s firm guiding hand…and his own whims.

The cattle ranch they grew up on was run with discipline and efficiency to curb the wildness each of the siblings had inherited to some extent, though perhaps none moreso than Kaspar. So many nights spent staring up at the stars and longing for them to change, to pull them closer, to pull himself anywhere - everywhere else - no matter how he loved his family, the unyielding winds of fortune and wanderlust called to him with the promise of stardust and adventure.

Having grown up hunting and in the home environment he did, it was not a surprise that at 18, he joined the South African Defense forces, at 21 he certified as a South African Special Forces Operator, specializing in Sniping, Parachute, and Urban Operations. Yet, he chafed against the limitations, the need to conceal the gift behind every ‘lucky shot’ and its honing, the ever present longing for something more after the thrill or terror of every deployment. After his 4 year contract ended, he enlisted with his father’s firm and thought this would be different.

The unveiling of metahuman abilities to the world had been a blessing and a curse for the soldiers of fortune of the Ildstrom family.

As violently prejudiced as many turned out to be, many more were eager to contract metahumans - perceived “super soldiers” - to intervene in the eruptions of violence that wracked countless countries across the continents. By now, Kaspar had been joined by most of his siblings in the family business, and business was booming. Enough that they were all stretched thin, breaks between deployment shortened, and pressure and opportunity to hone their skills through the trials of fire and blood never lacking. The constant movement eased the restless gnaw in his chest somewhat, the fate of a little girl in a small town in Afghanistan would do far more.

It had been a small operation, to suppress an uprising in the territory of a high paying Warlord. It was like stepping into the glutted stomach of war. Bodies hung from buildings or lay in the street, feral dogs the only ones unafraid to sate themselves on the feast of carnage. But what caught his attention, hidden in an alley were the soft sobs and strange bioluminescent glow of a small child. She likely didn’t even know how to control it, only knew the danger it presented. As he knelt to comfort her four sounds happened in rapid succession: The enraged scream of a militant anti-meta insurgent, the sound of rapid gun fire, his own hoarse shout…and the interrupted scream of terror from the girl.

Instinct pulled her close against him, flung the shooter against rough brick of building wall.

She still died.

Wrath and grief poured through him, potent and vengeful, and the bloody, indistinguishable and impaled body of the man responsible told a story of ruthlessness and calculated anguish. That smoke filled hell had taught him something he should have realized long ago - it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to do the job, to have powers if he couldn’t even protect a scared child. Even hidden beneath the smog of war, he willed the stars to change, to come crashing down into this maw of desolation…but they wouldn’t. They left it to him.

When he was 40, in an unsanctioned operation, after 22 years of deployment after deployment, unflinching in his use of his powers now under the agent name Valkyr… the world turned. A cornered meta, a terrorist group, and an unstable parking garage walk into a bar. Or, more accurately, fall onto a Dane. A stray bullet, the other meta’s powers raging out of control, the strain of his own stubborn attempts to keep the whole thing from collapse - tons of metal and steel and concrete…and it all came crashing down. His powers raged, an orbit of decimation indiscriminate in radius and degree, and yet…

It took his left lung, spleen, kidney. It left spiderweb cracks and chasms in his ribs, fractures in his arm that jutted through skin where jagged shards of metal tried to sink their way beneath. It would gift him titanium rods and bolts to guide and hold shattered bone and torn ligament, as if the rebar piping pinning him to concrete desired so much to stay. It traced lines where only sutures would be able to follow over freckled skin, organ, and muscle. It left caresses in the form of blooming scar tissue over his hammering heart, fluttering so fast with fear and will. .

There were no stars to be seen beneath the rubble and ash; only the cold and one thought: Stay.

Four years of reconstruction, transplant, repair. Four years feeling the crush of all that metal and concrete in the limitations of concepts like ‘recovery’ and ‘functionality’. More haunting than the shrapnel and scalpel scars that lingered over his left flank was the ghost that perched in those words - the ache for the life before, the reality of what it was now. Even among the specialists in Copenhagen, in Johannesburg, in Berlin, Oslo…there was the final line of ‘learn to manage expectations’. Managing expectations looked like a sad shard of what his powers once were, day by day, working from the ground up through the pain. Managing expectations looked like settling in Danmark, obtaining a degree in early childhood education. Managing expectations meant learning to accept pity often, to hide the shame of the scars that hid his failure, to accept his body failing him now, to accept its slowness as the waves of kinetic energy passed him by. Unpulling. Adrift in the memories of everything lost.

There was no discussion of his powers, of how they might interact with any previous interventions to save his life, if they were mentioned at all it was with an awkward glance to the tattoo over his wrist and the soft chagrin of ‘we don’t know much about how meta physiology will react to this’. That restless wind tugged at him once more. Time for a change.

Pansaw had once been the poster child for civil unrest and metasuppression, a distant war zone he’d only glimpsed on the news. In 2044, things had moved on - he knew better than to expect utopia in the rebuild, but the small spark of nearly extinguished hope for something better, for recovery alongside his gifts…It was enough to leave behind the sanctuary of Denmark, the thought of returning to the once home of South Africa.

He would find his hopes overturned not by anti-meta feeling in the halls of C.A.R.M.A., but ironically the very reason he had come. Pre-existing conditions which made him unsuitable for field work - this was not said, but underpinned the implications of ‘risk analysis’.

For the past year he’s fallen back on old skills (mercenary work and the occasional fight at the Madhouse) to pay for private treatment alongside the limited benefits of his day job working as a childcare provider for a metahuman daycare.

POWERS

OMNIKINESIS: The power to influence, control, and manipulate all matter and energy with the user’s mind. Kaspar’s specialization lies in five subset categories, the primary being telekinetic applications of this power, though extends to the subpowers of energy manipulation, matter manipulation, weather manipulation, and the manipulation of fundamental forces.

WEAKNESSES

Kaspar’s powers are governed by a combination of focus, emotion, and will. Flares of strong emotion may cause them to become uncontrollable whereas disbelief and self doubt have a dampening effect. Traumatic experiences may seal powers off from use. Distraction is disruptive to use.

Use of powers exacts a tremendous physical toll, particularly on transplanted organs that are not compatible with his channeling of kinetic energy. May result in anything from mild exhaustion to collapse, tremors, coma, organ failure, migraines, major fatigue, illness, coughing up blood, up to death. Repercussions increase depending on level of mastery required for feat, general health (stamina, illness, injury), number feats being simultaneously performed, and any environmental effects (e.g. other users’ powers).

PERSONALITY

+ Compassionate + Charismatic + Quick Witted

– Overly Tenacious – Hot Tempered – Unpredictable

#lsrp #superpower rp #mutant rp #oc rp #michael fassbender #character #kaspar ildstrom

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valeriavalmont · 4 years

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HEADCANON (03) — VALERIA’S MOTHER, THE KING’S SISTER

Her name was Sexta. It was not her only name; a long string of ancient history and conquest trailed behind it. The greatest of these was Valmont, but it hung over her head like a burden and not a legacy.

For many years, Sexta was only a princess. The only demand made of her was to marry into a prosperous alliance for her people. What a disappointment Sexta must have been, then. She did well enough in her studies of both mind and blade, but the matters of the heart utterly failed her. Suitors arrived with high hopes and departed with a pierced ego, for she giggled at their failures and did not turn a blind eye to their faults. She was a stubborn and unabashed girl, and her grin burned like the sun as she challenged the world to steal her spirit.

She fell in love, once. A princess and her bodyguard is a tired old tale, but a lovely one all the same time. Sexta loved him, for the same reason she loved the sound of children’s laughter and the bitterly cold winters: it made her feel fully, excruciatingly alive. When he was dismissed from his station and from the castle, Sexta wept — but first, she stole his uniform and his helmet. For she had long since learned that no one dared fight Sexta as an equal with a crown atop her head.

It was on the training grounds that Sexta learned not only to fight but to cleverly spin a disguise. She borrowed the name of her lady-in-waiting’s brother, and took on the persona of a quiet and stoic man. Soon, the guards stopped asking her to speak and only invited her to spar with them. After only one quick defeat, Sexta realized that she did not shine with the sword in her hand as she’d thought. It took many full moons for Sexta to last longer than a handful of minutes on the field; it took nearly a full year to finally best one of them.

At nineteen years old, Sexta found herself holding the tip of her blade at a guard’s throat. A wild laugh bubbled up in her throat and spilled out like water, betraying her in one joyous and clear sound. Her secret undone with one guffaw, Sexta removed her helmet and stood victorious before them — as much of a royal as she was a fighter among them. When the guards began to kneel, Sexta called each one of them by name and chastised them for such weakness. “It is in your best interest to see me not as a royal, but as a peer. Otherwise,” her lips curled into a wicked and wide grin, “you may be hanged for making your princess bleed.”

It was clear, then, that she was better suited for life on the battlefield than as a wife. Because she was not her father’s favorite, Sexta became a soldier, and then captain. They called her Princess of War, Sexta of the Serpents. She was praised for her ruthlessness and her decisive action in the same breath that she was cursed for her reckless mistakes. It did not bother Sexta, for she knew she bled with her battalion as surely as she asked them to bleed for her. For Tyrholm.

How utterly glorious it was, to find love in the midst of death. Sexta would remember until her last breath that she was wiping the blood away from her eyes when she first saw him: Michail the Undead. He was her new general and a legend of death, who killed the same necromancer who revived him. I will die when I die, like those without my family’s crest do, he said to her many nights later. They fell in love easily and madly, forming their own legend as they led their army to victory time and time again.

At twenty four years old, a messenger from her father arrived. The brother closest to Sexta in age was dead, and though she was not her father’s favorite, she must inherit the crown. Her head hung low and defeated as Sexta rode home. Her mouth tasted of burnt glory and tarnished gold as she entered the Castle Tyrholm once more.

And so Sexta prepared to rule with a surrendered heart. Michail came with her, and he made a fine husband. It was a story the people loved, and their song was sung through all of Tyrholm: the princess and the noble who chose to fight for their kingdom and became war heroes for it. Sexta smiled tiredly through it all, and did not wonder if things could be any different until her child was born.

Suddenly, there was little room for much else. She dreamt of the first time her Valeria smiled as advisors discussed trade and rebellions across Tyrholm. She searched the windows for a sight of Valeria’s nurse on a walk with a small bundle of in her arms. Michael was the one to whisper to Sexta quietly that Tyrholm deserved better than she. You are mother first and queen second, he said. The surest way to lose a war is to take on a hundred battles at once, he reminded her. For love of her country and people, Sexta abdicated the throne. She retreated to the farmlands with Michail and an infant Valeria in her arms. Each morning, she went to the altar and prayed to the Undying God that her little brother — who she did not know and did not trust — would become a good man, and a good king.

The more news she received from the city, the more afraid she became. And because military strategy lived in her bones, because her heart still loved Tyrholm, Sexta raised Valeria as the princess Sexta never was. On many nights, Sexta wondered if it was a mistake to hide Valeria’s birthright from her for so long. It was only when she thought of how her title once weighed on her like chains that Sexta felt peace in her decision. The throne must be chosen for all its glories and evils, and she prayed to the Undying God that Valeria would choose it.

For Sexta knew, as surely as she knew Castle Tyrholm and war, that Valeria must one day behold her birthright and make a decision. She could only pray that it would be the right one.

#fire burns in my heart; no smoke rises; no one knows (headcanon)#i thought about putting it in a read more but.. it is iMPORTANT!!! it is her mama!!!

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ultraklll · 4 years

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Tony Miller as a Gun For Hire! Tagged by the lovely @envyfelled ! Ty! This was super fun! Also, I'm on mobile, so sorry for the garbo formatting! (Fun fact, tonys voice claim is laura bailey as fiona/fem!boss)

Paired With Fangs For Hire:

Boomer - "Heya buddy!" followed by excessive scratching behind the ears | "Fuckin' love this dog, can sniff out a peggie like shark sniffing out blood. Good trait to have! Awfully convenient too…" | [patpatapatptpataptap] | "Atta fuckin' boy Boomer!" When she sees him get a kill | "Who's a good boy! Who wants to kill some cultists!" | "Wanna play fetch? Rip out their necks?"

Peaches - "Good girl…" | stealth gang stealth gang | peaches: mows down peggies/tony: a baby!" | "I jus' think it's funny that when we went to the Henbane, we picked up a cougar, Addie, an actual cougar, Peaches, and joined a crew called the Cougars… Just'a thought,"

Cheeseburger - "This reminds me'a Vegas pride, saw plenty'a bears there too" | "Kinda ironic to find you in Jacob's region, all things considered," [snickers to herself] | [PATPATPATPATPATPAT] | "Get outta my pockets! These snacks are mine, not yours!" | "You remind me of those like, beware of dog signs, but the dog is always a sweetheart who'd rather play with a home invader rather than attack them,"

Paired With Other Guns For Hire:

Jess - stealth gang stealth gang stealth gang | Jess has a MASSIVE crush on Tony. Everyone can tell. Tony knows | jess: guns are fucking lame and the sniper rifle is the cowards weapon/ tony: uses a sniper rifle/ jess: actually sniper rifles are cool as fuck | "Good shot Jess!" "S-shit, um, thanks, Tony,"

Grace - sniper gang sniper gang!! | [steals a headshot Grace was lining up] "Cmon Gracie, thought you were meant to be Olympic level!" | highly competitive, do a shot whenever they get a perfect headshot to die instantly | smug top solidarity | also heavily depressed solidarity

Adelaide - [acts like she's not sleeping with her nephew even tho Addie knows she definitely knows] | Tony is either constantly laughing or constantly face palming over the shit addie says | have gotten into an argument once bc addie said john was a top

Nick - "What's up eye in the sky?" | [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [flirts over radio] [fli | Nick: speaks/Tony: god I just love the way you fucking talk | often talk about kim together | "Can we have a barbecue at your place once these fuckers are dealt with?" | [pretends not to be bitter the Deputy got to help deliver Carmina and not her]

Sharky - "Heya baby!" | [constant back and forth flirting. It's embarrassing] | any second they're both not talking is a second they're making out | Can and Will go john wick on some peggy ass if he gets hurt badly | "Do you wanna have a sleepover?" "Lemme ask my momma," | she calls him Charlie :> | loves him so so much they're just constantly talking about anything and everything | literally like A Comedic Duo. Have together for certified funnies

Hurk jr. - "Junior! This'll be just like Kyrat!" | competitions about who can shotgun a beer faster every 4 seconds | WILL tell you stories about their time in Kyrat together | Tony has punched Drubman sr in the nose before and she'll do it again | "Hey Tony? You still in contact with Ajay?" "He sends me a royal postcard every now n' then. Apparently it's boring being king, and his only solace is that his new bodyguard is cute,"

In Combat:

Seeing an enemy - "Fucker in my sights," | "I got a bullet with your name on it… actually I don't, who the fuck has time to carve names in bullets, but you get the idea- im just gonna shoot you now" | "You're dead on arrival, shithead,"

Sneaking - "You'd think me sneaking is counter productive because I'm 6'4 and have a very loud gun, but you're the boss Dep," | "Shhhh… we're huntin' shitheads… Heard it in a game," | [shoots alarm boxes] "You ain't allowed to call your friends, you're all grounded," | *peggy triggers alarm* "Fuckin snitch!"

Killing an enemy - "SKULLCRACKER!" | "I just don't miss!" | just fucking headshot after headshot after headshot | [sucks in breath through teeth] "God damn I'm good," | when shes not using her Wifle (wife rifle, a 45/70) she's being FUCKING EFFICIENT with her ak-ms or just blasting ribcages open with her shotgun

Reviving - "Up you get, baby," | "You ain't dying on me that easy, Dep" | "Not today Satan!" | "You gonna let some unwashed asshole kill you?"

Hurt - "Motherfucker!" | "That's another scar I'll tattoo over," | "Thank god people find scars sexy," | "God fuck that's smarts!"

Downed - "Dep! Give me a hand?" | "Clean up on Aisle 4 needed!" | "Don't worry about me, just bleeding out over here, no rush,"

Revived - "Drinks on me when this is over Dep," | "Thanks babe!" | "I'll kiss you when we get outta this mess," | "I owe ya!"

Driving:

Entering a vehicle - "Lemme take over I'm a way better driver than you," | "Floor it!" | "Hang on I've got a mixtape, just hope I havent fuckin' crushed it," | [takes the opportunity to roll cigs] | *peggies roll up* "Keep her steady!" [leans out the window and headshots the peggie on their ass, causing them to crash the car, like that isnt the coolest shit you've ever seen] "Aight cool,"

Reckless Driving - "Watch the fuckin' road asshole!" | [desperately tryna grip the wheel so she can take over driving] | "STOP THE CAR! I'LL JUST FUCKING WALK!" | "Are you tryna kill us?! Fuckin' swap seats now!" | tony is the designated driver bc one she's fucking good at it and two shes also a really bad backseat driver. Just let her drive

Changing Radio Stations - "Now don't tell Charlie I said this but some of the peggies music is actually good,"| "John's a prick but his music taste is fuckin' good," | [punches radio in when Only You comes on] "...Sorry… Force'a habit…" | "Bold and brave my ass, John looks like he needs help getting spiders out of rooms and wears fuzzy pink bathrobes,"

Idle:

"Man, John's a freak, and yeah I mean that in the sexy way. Someone who demands so much outward control whilst being a shithead little brat likes to get trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and stuffed like one too. Don't give me that look Dep, I'm right and we both know it,"

"That dude Jacob ate was called Miller?? God, that could've been me if I was much older and way uglier!"

"Faith just makes me fuckin sad man. She's been manipulated and groomed into this life by fuckin Joseph- she's so goddamn young too. I'm not gonna tell you what to do Dep, but that's just my two cents,"

"Joseph's the worst kind of man- a manipulator. He tells you what you wanna hear, targets the misfortunate who have nothing left to lose, builds a fucking army out of em. The other heralds I'm ok with arresting, but Joseph's got to go,"

[Lights cig with either her fancy lighter or by striking a match on the bottom of her shoe] "Don't start smoking, Dep, bad for your health,"

Location Specific:

Testy Festy Aftermath - [pinches bridge of nose] "Not again…" | "Anyone got a water and like, 3 aspirin?" | "Ain't the first time I've woke up passed out in a field, won't be the last," | "Did we at least get a photo from the night? I've won the competitions here for the last 3 years in a row now, I'm not fuckin missing one cuz of these peggies,"

Falls End - "Fuckin shame to see Falls End like this, but Mary May and Jerome will take good care of her now weve got it back, they always do," | "Think we'll get free drinks for life at the Spread Eagle when this is all over? Actually, we probably won't even get free drinks for week, so for life is wishful thinking," | she enjoys playing with the singing fish on the front of the speed eagle and keeps tryna convince Mary May to let her take it for herself bc tony goddamn miller has the biggest singing fish collection in the entire county

Seed Ranch - *loud whistle* "this place is swanky as fuuuuck… Not that big a fan of all the dead animals though…" | "IS THAT WEED ON THE TABLE? Johnny boy you fuckin' hypocrite!" | "Oh he's definitely got a secret room behind one of these bookshelves, like a home torture room? Oh my God, what if he has more than one...?" [starts frantically pulling books off shelves] | regarding his shelves with peggie memorabilia [takes baseball bat to it] | [pretends she's never been here as she frantically stuffs any of her own belongings she might've forgotten here into her bag]

Entering the Henbane - "Don't trust a goddamn thing you see here. You think you see something you're not supposed to, hit it," | [swinging at bliss induced angel/animal/faith visions] | "Can we try savin' Faith? Don't feel right killin' her, she's so young…" | "Can we go to Sharky's place? I left some stuff there that could be worth picking up,"

Hope County Jail - "Sheriff Whitehorse has always been a good man to me, Dep. Would appreciate it if he lived through this," | "I always feel like a giant whenever I come here, everyones like 5'3. Virgil, Tracey, Charles, all shortasses," | "I think it's cute they gave you a little pin! You're part of their Pride now! Or whatever the cougar equivalent is to a lions pride… do Cougars even travel in packs? Aside from when Addie used take the girls out for drinks,"

Entering the Whitetails - "Always feels like something's watchin' you in these woods. Keep your eyes peeled," | "Always felt like there's something in these woods that there ain't supposed to be…" | [Shifting from foot to foot] "Can we get a move on? Aint'a big fan of standing around waitin' to get shot by some fuckin' sniper with a bow," | [watching Jacob's video punishing Pratt] "I'll fuckin' get you outta here, Stace… you just gotta hold out a second longer," | [about all the dead bodies and 'you are meat' graffiti] "Love what Jacob's done with the place,"

The Wolfs Den - "Eli Palmer is a good fuckin man. Kind, smart, careful and ruthless against peggies. We've made a good friend here, Dep," | "Heya Wheaty! Got a few more vinyls for your collection! They're all my own though, so be careful with em," | "I don't think Tammy likes you that much Dep. I don't think she likes much of anything anymore, other than attaching jumper cables to Peggy's nipples… Oh god, my piercings hurt thinking about it,"

Joseph's Island - [hand firmly on rifle grip] | "Creepy, evil motherfucker, had him pegged right from the start. Well, not pegged. I'm not pegging Joseph. I'd rather stick my dick in a ceiling fan then go anywhere near him- I'm just gonna stop talking," | "You know what? No one else has asked it so I'm gonna- where the fuck does Joseph sleep. In the church? In one of these houses? In the dirt somewhere? What if he hangs upside down from trees like a bat?"

#shut up mof #oc: tony #long post #ty miles!!!#this was really helpful actually was super fun thinking about tony being a gun for hire #amd got to help me with writing her

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lycanhood · 4 years

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Killing Eve S3

Thoughts so Far...

I’ve been thinking alot about what made that 1st season of KE so incredibly brilliant and what’s been missing from the show since then and even more so in this current season than the last. Aside from the obvious situation of PWB stepping back from writing to producing, it’s really the kind of character arcs KE set up from the beginning that I believe were designed for a more short-term format (ie. mini series or one season). The characters particularly Eve & Villanelle, but also to an extent Carolyn, Konstantin, & Niko, are all set down a path of devolution at the beginning of the show, rather than a path of evolution. Eve’s recruitment into MI6 and investigation into Villanelle’s killings are the catalyst for chaos in the lives of all the characters. And while in most stories, especially long format stories like TV series, a catalyst puts the characters down a path of change, growth, & development KV does the opposite. All of the characters are in many ways at the top of their game in S1.

This is especially true of Villanelle.

When we first meet her, Villanelle is a ruthless, creative, effective assassin without much of a care in the world other than boredom & in her way loneliness. However, with the introduction of Eve into her life, Villanelle’s life begins to fall apart be it because of Eve’s actions or Villanelle’s own due to her obsession with Eve.This destroys her most important relationship (with Konstantin), her professional good-standing with the Twelve, and physically injures her (in the season finale). Since then we’ve seen Villanelle become unsatisfied with her assassin work, now she desired more, desires to be in charge, whereas before she seemed perfectly content in her career. We’ve also seen her become increasingly reckless and sloppy doing what she is suppose to be doing best. Most clearly demonstrated in her most recent kill in 3x06. Villanelle is devolving as a character from a interesting clearly defined fun-loving psychopath into a strange caricature of that person but whose motivations and desires are much more unclear.

I’d like to talk about Villanelle’s character arc in comparison to Dexter Morgan’s from Showtime’s Dexter for a moment, because these characters have some interesting things in common though they play very different roles in their perspective shows.

I’d argue that Dexter Morgan (also a quippy psychopath who often finds creative ways to kill his victims) is also at the top of his game at the beginning of his show. He has perfected his killing method, his routine, and his nice-normal-guy persona and is essentially living his best bachelor serial killer life when the series begins. It is only the introduction of both the Ice Truck Killer & a romantic relationship into his life that triggers change in him. It is with the introduction of these elements & the spiraling complications they cause that continually throw Dexter’s life off balance & cause him to make increasingly reckless decisions and mistakes as a serial killer. Like Villanelle, Dexter devolves as a killer and becomes increasingly unsatisfied with the way his life was at the beginning of the show. However, unlike Villanelle, Dexter Morgan evolves as a character even as (if not because) he devolves as a killer. This is to say, Dexter learns, grows, & develops as a person as the series goes on. Villanelle is becoming less perfect, but not really becoming more human, like Dexter. It should be said that Villanelle isn’t really setup as the main character of KV and therefore her development isn’t exactly paramount, however since she is arguably the most interesting character, she gets an awful lot of screentime. And her development is not equivalent to the attention seasons 2&3 give her.

Similarly, Eve has fallen far since S1. She may not have been at the top of her field where she started out at MI6, but under Carolyn’s tutelage Eve truly kicks ass for most of S1 as she investigates Villanelle. Sure, she takes some losses, but it’s clear she is very good at this job. However, over the course of S1 & especially S2 Eve simply starts to lose herself & everything that’s important to her as her obsession overtakes her. Her marriage falls apart, of course, her career at MI6 is ruined, and all she’s left with is the chase. Chasing after someone she clearly wouldn’t know what to do with if she ever caught her. (Stab her!??! Kiss her!?!!?). And while it may be true that Eve is still good at intelligence work (or could still be good at it), she lost nearly all her resources to do so. So she’s sleeping on the newspaper office’s couch until she gets kicked even out of there. And how has Eve really developed since this started? Other than growing a bit more cynical/frustrated, Eve’s entire character has been reduced down to her obsession.

I could go on to dive into how Carolyn & Konstantin’s lives have been similarly unraveled and ruined by the events of KE, but my main concern is with the two leads.

Character development is still a possibility and is always always essential even in the course of characters’ life falling apart or being turned upside down. It is usually these life-changing events and obstacles that enable a deeper change within characters to growth into something else be it better or worse. This is perhaps even more true for anti-heroes like Dexter who go from caring for nothing to caring about a great many things, or characters like Walter White who go from caring too much to having very little left to lose. Villanelle as KV’s anti-hero has always had the exact same amount of things to lose throughout the show, and who has only grown to care for Eve in a way that isn’t entirely genuine due to it still being a game to her. Both she and Eve have become less real and less interesting as the show has gone on. At least, in my opinion.

I have to wonder if PWB ever really intended for the characters to develop beyond season 1 or if her vision simply hasn’t been realized properly by the new showrunners or if the show & it’s premise should have only been that first brilliant flash of lightning in a bottle in S1. I could have lived with KV as a mini-series, honestly, if the writers never had anywhere better to go than here.

#killing eve #pheobe waller bridge #killing eve season 3 #killing eve review #thoughts on killing eve #killing eve rant #killing eve 3x06 #villaneve #eve polastri #villanelle #a little bit of a rant #bbc america #end of game #KE end of game #KE 3x06 #idk man not loving it #what's even happening anymore

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sassyshoulderangel319 · 4 years

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Sanders Sides Superhero AU

Thomas

~Codename: The Boss (among others including Thomas the Dank Engine, mostly from Roman) ~Superpowers: None (but it’s rumored his team is actually the facets of his own personality split off from himself to solve the problems) ~Runs the team ~Is kind of a dork ~Logan’s still not sure why he’s the boss ~The other three don’t really question it ~Is actually pretty smart and good at making the executive decisions ~Cares about doing the right thing and being good

Roman

~Codename: The Prince (aka “Princey” to his team) ~Superpowers: Enhanced Human Condition (Super Soldier) ~Faster, Stronger, Tougher than any normal human ~Expert martial artist ~Prefers to use a sword ~Primarily offense ~His job is to cut through enemies ~Wears white, red, and gold like a giant moving target. Has a fabulously shiny mask that he claims brings out his eyes. ~He likes it that way

Patton

~Codename: Elixir (also just Dad a lot despite being nobody on the team’s father) ~Superpowers: Healing (self and others) ~Primarily support for Roman, occasionally plays defense ~Stronger and more skilled than he lets on, but doesn’t like to hurt people ~Wears lighter blues and greys---doesn’t like his mask much so he tends to keep his hood up and his mask off ~Doesn’t get involved in fights as much ~Loves and cares for his team as much as possible ~Is actually very protective and can be reckless ~Logan is basically his impulse control ~Simultaneously the most energetic and most chill member of the team

Logan

~Codename: The Professor (or Glasses, if you’re Roman) ~Superpower: Super Genius ~The “Guy in the Chair” for the others ~Provides technical support from behind the computer ~Brilliant strategist as well ~All-black outfit all the time, except the blue ties ~The others are not entirely sure what he looks like since they usually just hear him through their comms ~If a fight ever gets brought to him, prepare for chaos to be unleashed ~Years of repressed anger and other pesky emotions after years of dealing with his team who collectively share one (1) braincell and usually Logan has it break free and he’s absolutely vicious and ruthless

Virgil

~Codename: Anxiety ~Superpowers: Fear induction, force field shields ~Sticks to the shadows usually ~Makes enemies terrified by his mere presence ~Primarily defense and weakening the enemy ~Is fully capable of paralyzing them with fear ~Wears dark purple and black. Instead of a mask he has paint over his eyes. Keeps his hood up---his purple hair is too distinctive ~Super shady past. Never talks about it. ~Acts cynical but really loves his team and would do anything to protect them ~Not that he’ll admit that out loud

Deceit

~Codename: King Cobra ~Superpower: Persuasion ~Can convince almost anyone to do almost anything ~Is usually a villain ~Classy ~Dresses fancy all the time. Mostly in yellow, grey, and black. Never removes gloves. No one’s sure if that stuff on his face is makeup or real. ~Runs “The Dark Sides” for lack of a better name---a criminal organization that Virgil defected from a long time ago but doesn’t talk about (his team doesn’t know. Thomas does) ~No one really knows what he’s after ~It’s rumored he and Thomas have a long bad history, but no one will confirm it for certain ~No one actually knows King Cobra’s real name and he won’t tell anyone ~Virgil was like that for a while, just taking Anxiety and rolling with it

Remus

~Codename: The Duke ~Superpower: Reality warping---mostly involving himself and the area immediately surrounding him ~Is actually Roman’s twin brother ~He knows it---Roman doesn’t acknowledge it ~King Cobra’s new right-hand henchie after Virgil left ~Virgil’s team finds out about his past because of Remus’ “small talk” (monologuing) during a confrontation ~His basic job is just to sow chaos ~Roman has a hard time defeating him

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Remus Sanders #Thomas Sanders #TSS

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otomememento · 4 years

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Unwanted

Cybird Creative Challenge: Day 20 - Warlord

(Guest staring an original character of mine who will have to remain nameless.)

It was a small village. From a distance there was little about it that stood out, from the dusty streets to the simple homes, from the crop fields stretching out behind it. It would have looked like another sleepy village, except for the row of armored soldiers standing in a few lines. At the head of the men was a figure astride a horse.

At the head of his own army, Kenshin frowned. Something didn’t seem quite right about the figure. He urged his horse forward, but at a slightly more cautious pace. As much as he loved battle, and didn’t care so much about his own fate, he wasn’t reckless with the lives of his men. Battle lust aside, he was still brilliant at strategy and sensing the tides of war. And something was off here.

When he got closer, and details came into sharper focus, he realized a few key points. Firstly, the leader of the opposing force was not wearing standard Japanese armor. This was no samurai or daimyo fitted for battle. Comparatively the armor was very plain, being mostly undyed leather and a minimum of metal fastenings; it looked flimsy and hardly able to deflect the blow of a sword or spear. There was no ornamentation to indicate clan or status, no symbols to inspire fear. There wasn’t even a helmet.

Which brought into focus something that made Kenshin’s frown deepen. Not only was the figure a woman, something that stirred a deep dread within him, she was a foreigner with red hair and a much fuller, taller physique than many of the women he knew…and some of the men. In sharp contrast, the sword at her hip was definitely local; he knew the shape and grace of those swords anywhere.

Kenshin pulled on his reins, bringing his horse up short. This was…not what he had anticipated. Whispers had reached him that there was an uprising in a village on the borders of his land. Naturally, bored with waiting, he had gone to investigate, hoping that there might be someone who could offer him even the pretense of a challenge. He was certain that a woman, any woman, would not be it. While he was deliberating between simply turning around and sending his troops into squash the insurgents, the woman urged her horse onward, quickly closing the gap between them, leaving her soldiers behind.

“You’re not wanted here, Warlord!” Despite her obviously foreign appearance, the woman spoke clearly and without hesitation, the language smoothly falling from her lips.

“And you don’t belong on the battlefield, Woman!” Kenshin replied, his own words like ice.

“Belong or not, here I am,” said the woman, her tone cool, but without the sharp ice that was in Kenshin’s voice. “You’ll have to go through me to get to the village.”

“I wouldn’t waste my time fighting a single soldier, let alone a woman, when we can simply ride around you,” scoffed the Warlord.

“But why ride around me at all, when things could be settled here? Are you so eager to draw as much blood as possible that you’ll rush towards the village?”

“What do you mean?” Kenshin’s bi-colored eyes narrowed at the woman, sizing her up. She seemed confident, yes, but not quite arrogant. But there was still a breeziness to her that made him wonder if she knew what she was doing. That didn’t help his mood.

“Fight me here, win, and no one will resist you. Lose, and you take your army away and leave us in peace.”

“I doubt you can win against me, Woman. Besides, I don’t know of you; what worth is your word?”

“Would it please you more if it was a duel to the death?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “The dead can’t change their minds.”

Kenshin was no stranger to death; he had caused enough of it. He had had a close brush with it. He had lost those he loved to it. Often, he even yearned for it, or at the very least, he needed to be confronted with the chance for it. Skirting the line was what made him feel alive. Despite all this, something about the woman’s words gave him a chill. Anger, he was used to now, but he had so little to fear anymore that this felt almost like a new emotion.

“I’m not going to slaughter an unseasoned fighter,” said Kenshin flatly.

“Who said I was unseasoned?”

“You’re not wearing proper armor, so you’re not born, raised, and trained to fight. How could you beat me that way?”

“How many of your men would I have to beat to prove that I’m good enough to fight you?” The query gave Kenshin a moment of pause. He knew his soldiers were well trained; he insisted on it. But he wasn’t sure how to quantify them that way. What sort of answer could he give to this woman? Whatever number he declared, he would be bound to abide by the results. He was cold and absolutely ruthless in war, but he wasn’t a liar. At least, not to anyone but himself.

“Ten men. One after the other,” Kenshin finally said. He waited for a few moments, believing the woman would be deterred, but her expression didn’t so much as flinch. Turning back he gestured for ten individuals to come forward. Tersely he gave his command. They formed a line in front of him. The woman dismounted from her horse. She took a moment to stroke the beast’s nose, then gave it a slap on the rump to send it back to the village. It gave a snort and a whinny and trotted away, leaving the woman completely on her own. At the very least, it showed she cared something for her horse.

“I accept,” she said firmly, drawing steel. That was the only cue the first soldier needed to attack, not being held back by Kenshin’s particular issue. His motions were precise, professional, and skilled. The Foreigner easily met his blows with her sword, her own motions still precise and skilled, but with a certain exuberance that Kenshin found…familiar. Even though her style was a bit different, she clearly wasn’t a stranger to a sword fight. And it wasn’t just a duty she was performing; the woman was smiling.

The most surprising thing, however, was that she rather easily bested the first soldier. Kenshin had organized them in tiers of skill, but even so, he didn’t think the least of his men would fall that quickly. Either the woman was better than he thought, or he hadn’t trained his men hard enough. He suspected the former, however. The woman was barely breaking a sweat.

One by one the soldiers came after her. One by one they fell back, defeated. She didn’t seem inclined to deliver a killing blow to any of them. And it wasn’t by lack of skill that this happened. In fact, she seemed to have an excellent sense for how badly to injure someone so that they were forced to yield, but not so badly that they couldn’t recover. Again and again she delivered this blows in precise, methodical places, even if the initial appearance of her style was something with more passion than sense.

But she wasn’t so unbelievably good that she didn’t have her own fair share of cuts. They didn’t seem to hamper her fighting though. She hadn’t broken a sweat in the first couple of fights, but as her opponents got tougher, the effort involved in besting them went up, and soon she had worked up quite a sheen on her skin. Kenshin had to admit he was entranced. Without the bulk of standard armor, with her height and physique, she was a sight worth watching. It was a sharp contrast to the woman he lost, the woman who had not been able to fight for herself. This foreign woman was another type of female altogether.

And then, all ten men were finished, groaning on the sidelines, some of which looked apprehensive. Would their lord punish them for failure? Was he disappointed? Cold as he was, Kenshin was a good Lord and a good Commander; his men were all fiercely loyal. The Warlord himself simply ordered that they get their wounds tended to; he didn’t take his eyes off the woman. Now that she had met his challenge, he was bound to fight her. He didn’t know how he felt about this. She had proven she could fight, but he still didn’t know what her word was worth. He knew the value of his own word, however, and he wouldn’t tarnish it by backing out now.

“You passed the challenge; I must admit you are not unseasoned.” Kenshin started to dismount from his horse, but the woman held up a hand.

“Wait!”

“Do you wish to back out, after all of that?” Kenshin didn’t know if he was disappointed, or relieved, at the notion.

“Not at all. But I feel a need to show you something. Come.” With two fingers, the woman gave a shrill whistle, and her horse came back in a few moments. Swinging herself up onto its back, she began at a slow trot towards the village, stopping a little ways away from it. She made another whistle this time, actually a series of them, and gestured for Kenshin to look. He was surprised as, in a wave of motion, all of the village soldiers fell to the ground. Only now he realized they weren’t soldiers at all. From a distance he hadn’t been able to tell that they were simply armor situated in a way to give the illusion of having an army.

“What is the point of this display, this trickery?” asked Kenshin, his voice hard.

“I told you before, the dead can’t change their minds. You see an army of ghosts, the fallen, the departed. The only thing left is armor and memories.” The woman paused, her expression distant. “Oh, and their widows and children. This village, it was abandoned. There were people, displaced by the war. It seemed a perfect fit. But with all their men gone, either dead or in the armies, who would protect them?” She shakes her head.

“Why fight my men then? Why did you want to fight me?”

“I wanted to take your measure, Warlord. This is your land, is it not?” The woman sighed softly. “I wanted to protect them, but I have no real power here. As you saw, I can fight one on one, but I’m not a match for a whole army.” Her expression grew stern. “With all the wars going on, you Lords may win battles, but the people always lose, even when their lords win. Someone needs to end this fighting, once and for all, or there will be no country left to command.”

It was something for the Warlord to think about.

#CybirdCreativeChallenge #Cybird Creative Challenge #Cybird #Ikemen Sengoku #IkeSen FanFiction #Kenshin Uesugi

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