#like his mass is the same regardless of size | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pinetreevillain · 11 months

Text

Rise Turtle Strength Calculator

Part 2: Purple Bugaloo

Disclaimer: I Am Just A Guy And 100% of this is guessing, googling, and approximation

So!!!! Got a request to determine Donnie’s strength and the journey was an Interesting One.

So let’s start with the most popular

EXHIBIT A: Dumbbell (Insane In The Mama Train)

He pulls it off with ease (relaxed pose, no real effort exerted until he makes the effort of hefting it and throwing it). Going off the size of these dumbbells, they are either 45lbs or 100lbs. This is a big gap! But seeing as the yokai falls over as soon as its removed, we can assume that Donnie is AT MOST tossing a 100lb weight with little to no effort.

UNFORTUNATELY this doesn’t tell us much else since we don’t see the weight hitting anyone/anything other than the traincar door before it teleports away.

So! We must delve further

EXHIBIT B: Donnie’s Equipment

We know Donnie’s tech bō is made from high grade titanium.

TITANIUM IS A LIGHT METAL! Revered for being light weight, flexible, and rust-proof. Used to make medical tools! This make perfect sense as 1) ninjas need maximum mobility and heavy equipment is counter intuitive, 2) melee weapons are supposed to be LIGHT (see reason 1).

However! This does not stop me from calculating the weight of Donnie’s tech bō regardless.

TO DO THAT, i must first calculate the length of his staff (operating under the assumption that both the ninpo staff and the tech bō are the same in size).

BŌ STAFFS ideally are the same height as the wielder. We are going to use this image (cannot find source) as reference, just like i did w Raph (give or take any growth between season 3 finale and movie)

Donnie is 5’3”, and while i’m here, weighs ~140lbs give or take after plastron, muscle mass, and Bones

The average bō staff has a circumference of about 1-1 1/8th of an inch depending on the length. I’m leaning more towards the larger because of the tech bōs gadgetry and hammerspace.

NOW to calculate how heavy a 5’3” metal pole that’s 1 1/8 inch in width of titanium.

Thankfully the internet is Insane and literally has a calculator that calculates this exact thing.

I was able to come to the conclusion that his tech bō probably weighs no more than approximately 1 pound.

Not very heavy!

What about his battle shell?

WELL it depends! For ease, I’m going to calculate it like a backpack.

The average public school backpack is 12-20 lbs full (heavy and 5-20% heavier than a child SHOULD be carrying to avoid back and neck strain).

I’m going to use measurements from this Random Backpack Website I Found and calculate it as a Medium Backpack (larger than standard) with a laptop pouch, and some minor adjustments since his shell covers him from neck to ass (roughly 24 inches, his height is in his legs)

It’s harder to calculate the shell because he has Different kinds and they’re made of different materials.

I am going to give all of these a base of 66lbs + whatever equipment they have

His Mango shell is probably largely padding with minimal titanium lining

Ice Maker shell is probably heavier. Spider Shell, Drone Shell, are all made w titanium so. Assuming Donnie makes EVERYTHING out of titanium

TECH BŌ: 5’3”, ~1 lb

BATTLE SHELLS:

- Mango: ~66lbs

- Drone: ~150 lbs (including whatever is powering it)

- Ice Maker: ~200 lbs (including ice)

- Spider Shell: ~150lbs

🧍

New approach!

EXHIBIT C: APRIL

WE SEE DONNIE CARRYING/SUPPORTING APRIL A NUMBER OF TIMES. A majority of them i am writing off because he is using his tech to assist.

HE IS just holding her up easily in this shot. After some cursory google searches i determined April O’neil to be ~110lbs soaking wet because she’s 4’8”, petite, and the boys fling her around like she’s made of craft foam.

Conclusion: Donnie can lift/throw a fairly decent 110 pounds, and carry approximately 200lbs

This is a small number after raph’s 20,000 lbs, and i can barely lift an 84lbs dog so I’m not gonna sneeze at it. It does however check out for someone who is physically fit and active (and does backflips and parkour and fights enemies four times his bodyweight)

BUT WAIT!!! PINE!!! WHAT ABOUT…

EXHIBIT D: SUBWAY KRANG (The Movie)

Donnie DOES get bonked pretty hard by a subway car and doesn’t Immediately Die. To determine this I had to calculate the Weight Of A Subway Car and the Breaking Point of Titanium.

Subway car: 82,000lbs empty

119,000lbs full

Because the subway car looks like this

I’m gonna call it full.

Titanium has a tensile strength of 63,000 pounds per square inch.

After determining the size of Donnie’s shell off his body, and how much titanium was used, i cam to the conclusion that…

I CAN’T ACTUALLY CALCULATE it because the shell he was wearing was actually mystic/ninpo made and therefore NOT SOMETHING I CAN CALCULATE! It does explain why Donnie wasn’t Rapidly Dispersed upon being bonked by an INSANE AMOUNT OF FORCE.

This very issue crops up again with the other example of Donnie lifting and slapping down the drill on Shredder in the season finale. That was aided ENTIRELY by ninpo/mystic abilities and therefore incalculable.

My counter to the argument that “their ninpo is gone, it’s not mystic anymore” is that Yes They Could Not Access Their Ninpo, but their ninpo-made weapons were still fully intact, and TECHNICALLY still working, the ability to use them had just been locked away

i also humbly believe that Draxum’s Ooze made the boys’ bones EXTREMELY resilient and capable of absorbing force the same way Captain America’s shield absorbs vibrations — my way of explaining why they sustain little to no injury throughout the series.

That being said, it makes the fact that Donnie couldn’t break open a watermelon AND sprains his ankle pretty badly tripping on a fruit EXTREMELY FUCKING FUNNY TO ME.

TL;DR: Donnie can throw ~110lbs give or take, with a lift/carry of maximum 200lb (maybe a bit more before it hinders his movement speed!)

Donnie’s probably not excessively strong but he is CERTAINLY sturdy. Something something rectangles symbolizing stability blah blah metaphor metaphor

#rottmnt #big brain mode #rottmnt donnie #donatello #tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #math and shit #eyooo #if i missed any shells let me know!#references

288 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 8 months

Text

On Heteromorphs and Heteromorphobia (Arc XV - My Villain Academia)

(Skewing away from the wiki arc titles here, because come the eff on; everyone on god's green earth calls this My Villain Academia, not "The Meta Liberation Army Arc.")

At the request of a kind asker, I'm trying something different with footnotes this time; you'll find them at the end of the relevant bullet point, rather than at the bottom of the post. I've also flagged the numbers in purple, though I left the text itself the default color. I hope people find that a little easier to handle than having to scroll all the way to the bottom, have two tabs open, or wait until the end when they've forgotten the context.

Content Warning: Mentions of the KKK, as well as anti-Korean hate crimes/speech in Japan.

The My Villain Academia Arc (Chapters 218-240)

Chapter 218:

Tsuyu’s weakness to cold is noted in-canon, rather than in a volume extra profile.

All of the people featured specifically in the Detnerat commercial are heteromorphs—a four-armed woman, a walrus gent, and a little gelatinous boy. Re-Destro pontificates about how people with these “newer types of bodies” struggled in the new era because they couldn’t find products that would meet their daily needs; mass production was not equipped—could never really be equipped—to handle the endless variety of body shapes and sizes that came about due to the Advent of the Extraordinary. It recollects the mall scene back in Chapter 68—or, even further back, Ojiro’s character sheet and UA’s lack of varied desks—and calls the reader to consider, once again, the sorts of special needs that those with heteromorphic bodies might have, and how difficult it can be to meet those needs. RD says that his company’s ability to rapidly customize and produce unique goods for every customer has made them #1 in their industry (lifestyle goods). Assuming there’s at least some truth to the commercial shpiel—and the newscaster does at least call Detnerat “a big player”—it suggests that plenty of other companies are not so good at the rapid+customizable combination. Of course, not all companies are trying to be all things to all people, but specialization costs money—as do speed and customization, really, and note that nowhere in the commercial is there a talking point about affordability! So mainly what the commercial leaves me wondering is what degree of inconvenience is still felt by heteromorphs, especially those who are somewhat cash-strapped. That strikes me as a particular hazard when it comes to child bullying. Of course, Japanese schools have uniforms, but I wonder how available tailoring and alterations are for students with particular needs? Is there a provided budget for that sort of thing? Financial aid? How much did Ojiro’s parents have to pay for him to have a full set of uniform pants with a hole for his tail in them? How about Shouji getting all his uniform tops made sleeveless? What arrangements had to be made for Shouto’s gym uniform to be fire retardant? Even setting uniforms aside, there are also their social lives outside of school to consider. Kids will absolutely notice when one of their number wears the same clothes all the time, or home-made clothes instead of name brand, or with obvious patchwork and repair. As in real life, it’s at the intersections of more than one type of disadvantage—in this case, a heteromorphic body combined with a low-income family—that problems become more likely.

Here in 218, almost fifty chapters after the first mention of them, we finally get the proper introduction and explanation of the Meta Liberation Army. Of course, they aren’t heteromorph-specific—the closest any of the named commander-types in RD’s inner circle get is Curious, with her bright blue skin and black sclera,[1] though certainly Re-Destro himself has drifted somewhat away from baseline compared to his ancestor. Regardless, their foundational belief is the deregulation of quirks, stemming from a time when any deviation from the norm made meta-humans targets. The compromise society reached—that quirks require a license to use—is restricting enough on those whose abilities are found with a baseline body, but, as I’ve brought up before, it makes life even more potentially fraught for heteromorphs. That kind of thing is basically a pre-written excuse for heroes or police to stop and harass a heteromorph they don’t like the look of! And while the evidence of that kind of bias has been pretty circumstantial thus far, it’s about to get way, way less so. [1] Wacky hair colors being somewhat de rigueur in anime, we’ll give her a pass on the purple hair.

Chapter 220:

Here we finally hit the major leagues: the Creature Rejection Clan, or CRC. The Japanese is igyou haiseki shugi shuudan, with igyou and shuudan being pretty straightforward—igyou is, of course, “heteromorph,” and shuudan is any sort of organized or self-identifying group of people, anything from a family unit to a business organization, even all the way up to a nation. Haiseki shugi is the important bit, with shugi meaning “doctrine; principle” and haiseki meaning “rejection; expulsion; boycott; ostracism.” Thus, “group whose doctrine is the rejection of heteromorphs.”[2] Note that, in the Japanese, the word in the group’s name is heteromorph; they didn’t pick something more insulting or derogatory. They didn’t really need to, since igyou is, as discussed back in the introduction to this piece, plenty derogatory all on its own. So Caleb Cook went with a translation of igyou that would better get that derisiveness-in-the-context-of-a-hate-group across than his choice way back in Chapter 14. Creature Rejection Clan is a fairly localized translation, but Cook was pretty frank in his Twitter thread on the chapter that he was thinking about the KKK when he made the decision. And it’s not an unwarranted comparison! Of course, I wouldn’t think to presume Horikoshi’s that up on the history of racism in the U.S., but combine the cod-religious trappings and the full robes and hoods with an explicit textual description of hate crimes, and it’s an extremely easy parallel to draw. [2] The Japanese also gives the abbreviation of CRC, with the databook eventually coming out and revealing that it really stands for the name they’ve chosen for themselves in English, the Curious Rejection Committee.

That established, it’s notable that Spinner, in describing them, says that they commit hate crimes against “people with heteromorphic quirks”—a nearly word-for-word translation of the Japanese igyou-gata no ningen. This leaves aside the idea I’ve spent so much time talking about, that heteromorph discrimination is aimed broadly at those with heteromorphic bodies, and not only those with the more narrowly defined heteromorphic quirks. Shortly, however, I’ll cover some evidence that Spinner is over-generalizing, or just misinformed.

In the meantime, take note of a few things the CRC guys[3] actually say here, starting with the fact that they call Spinner a lizard. Instantly, a word that was previously a snippy and dismissive little shrug in Dabi’s mouth takes on the weight and ugliness of a slur. Further, they call the League of Villains “sins against nature”—or, in a more literal translation, “impure criminals.” I provide the more literal translation there because it’s more specific. My immediate question of the English translation would be whether the CRC judge the League as being sins against nature simply because of their criminality, or because of their association with Spinner, but the Japanese makes clear that there are two separate labels being flung there: the League are both criminals and impure. This idea of impurity brings in a religious dimension to heteromorphobia, a dimension heightened by the line (dropped by the English translation) in which the CRC accuses the League of invading a sanctuary—in Shinto, shrines have to be kept pure. The CRC calling their hideout a sanctuary, with the added context of, “They have a lizard with them. How disgusting,” thus makes it pretty clear that the impurity is about Spinner’s presence, not just the League’s assorted crimes. This spiritualistic justification for bigotry will later be made even more explicit in Shouji’s flashbacks. [3] With skull masks right there on their hoods! A real, “Are we the baddies?” moment, but given some of the other things we get on them later, it's possible the skulls are meant to contrast what e.g. Spinner or Koda’s skulls might look like: baseline human versus animalistic or “misshapen.” Credit to @codenamesazanka for connecting the dots on that!

Spinner also gives us here the line that I covered back in the terminology section at the beginning:

We’ll go with the official version this time.

So here we have the observation that the word absolutely everyone uses, the word that, as far as we know, academically defines an entire category of quirks, is an unpleasant, even rude word. But what is the alternative? We’re never given one. Indeed, Spinner doesn’t suggest one; he says that the nice thing to do is “avoid” the word instead. In other words, talk around it. See again what I said at the start about all the difficulties baked into that prospect.

Later, we get the first drops of Spinner’s backstory, and hit again on the “lizard” thing, with the note that Spinner’s backwater, stuck-in-the-last-century hometown called him “the lizard freak.” He grew up with it, grew accustomed to it, thought there was nothing he could do to change it—he might even have internalized it somewhat, though clearly by the time Chapter 160 rolled around he was ornery enough about it to complain. It's perhaps also notable that Spinner knows who the CRC are. Though we’ll later find out that their numbers have hugely diminished, he not only recognizes them, he’s not even surprised to see them—unlike many, Spinner knows the CRC never truly went away. (Compare his lack of reaction to, for example, Shouji's unsuspecting classmates, who will later be shocked, just shocked, that this kind of ugliness still exists in their country.) So just to state the obvious here, yes, the presence of active hate groups does irrevocably shift the lens on everything we’ve seen up to this point. You can’t say calling a heteromorph an animal is harmless, a little insensitive at worst, maybe even meant as a cute nickname, when that same language is used by openly violent bigots.

The volume version gives us, at the end of the chapter, further notes on the CRC. It’s full of relevant tidbits, so I’ll provide the text in its entirety:

Once superpowered society grew more stable and less chaotic, this group emerged, based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks. They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions. These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads. These two, among others, have very few members left. The faction that Tomura and the villains attacked was one that stood by the original group's fundamental tenets.

So what is there to gather from this? Let’s break it down a point at a time.

“Once superpowered society grew more stable (...)” If you’ve ever lived through a time of increasing acceptance for a marginalized group, particularly if that acceptance involves measures for legal protections being passed, you’ll recognize what this is. Just to pick a few U.S. examples, the KKK didn’t exist until after the Civil War;[4] proactive federal bans on same-sex marriages didn’t start getting passed/proposed until individual U.S. states started legalizing them and civil unions. When opposition to something is the norm, said opposition often doesn’t start organizing until they see that status quo being threatened; they weren’t organized before because they never imagined they’d need to be! That’s what we see with the CRC: they didn’t formally declare themselves until it started looking like quirks—and especially non-baseline quirks—were going to find legal acceptance. [4] Literally. The last day of the war was May 26, 1865; the date the first Klan was founded was December 24 of the same year. Easily the most vile thing I learned in the process of writing this piece.

“(…) based around a lack of acceptance for those with body-altering quirks.” This is what I was referring to when I said Spinner's characterization of the CRC might be a little bit off: the CRC wasn’t founded because of a hatred for specifically heteromorphic quirks; they were founded because of a hatred for different bodies, a descriptor that could also apply to those with transformation-style quirks! Those, too, are quirks that alter bodies, after all; it’s just possible for people to turn them off, which is not the case for those with heteromorphic quirks. So Spinner was not quite on the mark before. Further, note that the phrase “body-altering quirks” is used here—a phrase that’s similar in meaning and much less othering than igyou. It doesn’t fully cover everything I use “heteromorphic” and “non-baseline” to cover, in that it’s still murky in situations like e.g. Cementoss’s, where his emitter quirk is entirely independent of his oddly shaped head, but it’s still a useful term! Except for the small complication of where it isn’t found: anywhere in the actual story. The fact that Horikoshi uses it in an author’s note, but it comes up nowhere in BNHA proper, puts it in an unclear place as far as in-universe alternatives go. Has it just not come up because Horikoshi hasn’t thought to include it? Or has it not come up because it’s not a phrase people in-universe use?

“They started out with demonstrations and protests but eventually started committing violent hate crimes. Most felt this was taking things too far, so the group saw a sharp decline in membership and a scattering of factions.” Confirmation here of what Spinner said about the CRC and hate crimes, but note what this doesn’t say: that the CRC was outlawed. There are, I suspect, a couple of factors influencing that. o Firstly, while Japan has legal methods to restrict undesirable organizations,[5] making it difficult for them to raise funds or engage in publicity, the country doesn’t actually de facto criminalize membership in such organizations. That distinction is part of the legacy of violent crackdowns on labor groups and protest movements in the first half of the 20th century; people tend to get very loud about anything that whiffs of the government trying to give itself the power to get that heavy-handed again. Assuming that the laws haven’t changed overmuch in HeroAca!Japan, then, I wouldn’t expect membership in the CRC to have been criminalized outright, but the volume extra doesn’t mention any kind of legal repercussions at all. That, I think, may go more to my next point. [5] The relevant laws are aimed mostly at terroristic groups or organized crime. o Secondly, another thing Japan has very, very little of is hate crime legislation. From my research, there are only two laws of any note: a federal law passed in 2016 and widely regarded as toothless thanks to it lacking any criminal provisions targeting offenders,[6] as well as a local ordinance passed in Kawasaki in 2019 that went as far as mandating fines against repeat offenders, among other measures.[7] [6] It required the government to start “implementing measures” to eliminate such speech/behaviors, as well as to “respond to requests for consultation” from victims, but did not directly mandate consequences for offenders. [7] I suspect from some of what I read that Osaka has picked up a similar ordinance, but I didn’t find anything detailing it specifically. Osaka and Kawasaki are home to the largest and second-largest population of Koreans living in Japan. One major thing neither of these measures did, though—and something activists have been pressing for—is to establish standards for considering discriminatory motivations when issuing sentences against those who have committed violent crimes. To pick an example that made the news last year, a man committed arson out of openly admitted hatred for the Koreans he targeted, but nowhere in the trial or discussion of his sentence did the prosecution ever bring up discrimination.[8] [8] https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20220829/p2a/00m/0na/015000c Also, it’s worth noting that both of these measures were aimed at ethnic discrimination—speech and behavior targeting people living in Japan while being themselves, or being children of, people of non-Japanese ethnicities. They did not address discrimination based on e.g. religion or sexuality. Folding both of those points together, the image we have of the CRC is of a violent hate group whose existence is regarded as perhaps distasteful and extremist, but not actually illegal. Even what few laws Japan has now wouldn’t have applied to anti-heteromorph discrimination, because, while they may look wildly different from a prototypical Japanese person, heteromorphs still are Japanese, and therefore not protected by a law based solely around ethnic discrimination. Incidentally, the ordinance in Kawasaki laid out a number of specific examples of the kind of behavior it was looking to address, and one of those examples was likening victims to something other than human. I know why that was included in the context of anti-Korean sentiments,[9] but it certainly does shade e.g. Dabi calling Spinner a lizard more harshly to know that there’s legal precedent for categorizing such dehumanizing language as hate speech. [9] An extremely common form of anti-Korean hate speech in Japan is to refer/allude to Koreans as cockroaches.

“These days, one faction might only reject people with animal properties, while another focuses its hate on people with irregular heads.” This is a good echo of the sort of factionalization you see in organized religion, wherein the minutiae of tenets that seem similar to an outside eye are the topic of vicious, vehement inter-group debate. More to the point, however, it provides an excellent illustration of the senselessness of bigotry. They can’t even keep their own discriminatory dogma straight! Probably the second most common complaint about the story’s use of heteromorphobia—after calling it retconned-in bullshit that didn’t exist until Chapter 220—is that it’s illogical, that it makes no sense to judge people because they look a little different in a world where everyone is now a little different from the way we see the world. And I wonder if the people who say that are listening to what they’re saying. “Illogical bias that has no foundation in reality is unrealistic?” What do these people think bigotry is? Racism, sexism, xenophobia, ableism, religious discrimination, all the many different shades of queerphobia: all of these are built on foundations of fear and hate for people who are fundamentally still as human as anyone else, yet they all exist, and have existed, and will go on existing for quite some many years still. Because irrational hatreds are, by definition, irrational. Heteromorphic discrimination is the most realistic societal dynamic in the entire series! That little rant aside, I also want to highlight the first group in the excerpt above—people with animal properties. Check any talk on the theme of, “So you can believe dragons but not black people in fantasy?” and you’ll run into the ways people are much more ready to suspend their disbelief for full-on fantasy than for something that, rightly or wrongly, pings them as incorrect, and it’s easy to imagine animal-associated heteromorphs running into a similar issue: it’s fine for people to just look weird, but looking like an animal, that’s bad and unnatural. A heteromorph who just looks like nothing in particular other than “non-baseline” is not evoking the baggage of animal anthropomorphization and cultural animal symbolism that someone who looks like a bird, a lizard, a dog, an orca, etc. is.

Chapter 223:

Shigaraki refers to Gigantomachia as a gorilla. It’s debatable how much this is of a piece with Dabi calling Spinner “Lizard”—Machia’s only actual animal quirk is Mole, not anything simian, nor is Machia particularly ape-like in anything other than his large size—but it does stand out to me that Spinner, who we know to have strong opinions about animal epithets, just refers to Machia by name or as “the big guy.”

Chapter 224:

Mr. Compress calls Machia “our pet gorilla”; see note above.

Chapter 226:

Curious introduces the idea of quirk counselling, telling us that its goal is to align people to a unified understanding of how the world and society work, but that it’s flawed in that it winds up emphasizing peoples’ differences instead. The advisor at the hospital raid will include quirk counseling in his litany of grievances, so I’ll discuss its possible utilization against heteromorphs more there, but for now, recall that I talked previously about how quirk-based behavioral tics might vary from person to person by comparing Hound Dog with Sansa. With that in mind, it’s not a big reach that some heteromorphs might run into similar problems with quirk counselling.

There are a good number of what appear to be heteromorphs through the Curious fight; whatever the MLA’s core views on quirk supremacy, the organization self-evidently makes ample room for heteromorphs, even if, like e.g. the red panda guy in the crowd jumping Toga inside the noodle joint, they don’t seem to have any other stand-out powers beyond the fur and fangs.

Chapter 229:

Twice notes in his flashback that something about his eyes always rubbed people the wrong way, scared them. We’ll eventually see this same thing with Tenko on the street—a totally normal-looking child, but the look on his face scares people away even more than the blood. And I can’t help but think, “If even a totally baseline person’s eyes can creep people out, how much easier—and more extreme—is that reaction for the more out-there sort of heteromorph?”

Gori makes the tiniest of cameos in Twice’s flashback, playing backup off to the side when we will, in current times, find him having worked his way up to the interrogation chair himself.

Chapter 230:

Geten brings us quirk supremacy via his understanding of the MLA’s goals. It’s hard to say how accurate this is, since the MLA leadership is inconsistent on what exactly their vision of Liberation entails. Whatever it is, it certainly doesn’t seem to dissuade the MLA’s own heteromorphs, though of course there’s a big difference between how e.g. Spinner or Ojiro versus Gang Orca or Mirko would fare in a societal quirk free-for-all. Likewise, the MLA is a cult, so one can’t discount the likelihood of double-think in its members.

Chapter 232:

Re-Destro talks about the state of the country in Destro’s infancy, a period in which metahumans suffered “constant abuse—blatant discrimination.” Merely for speaking out that her child was just like everyone else—that his special power was just a quirk—Destro’s mother was killed by an anti-meta mob. This gives us further evidence of the violence metahumans faced. Of course, in that time, the hate wasn’t distinguishing between types of quirk, but with that being said, an emitter and a transformer can still hide the truth about themselves with far more ease than heteromorphs—recall All Might’s discussion about the early days of quirks back in Chapter 59, in which the panel showing four people with quirks contained only one baseline person. It would be entirely unsurprising for an outsized number of the metahumans killed in those days to be heteromorphs.

Chapter 233:

The confrontation between Trumpet and Spinner gives us Trumpet clucking about Spinner having a weak meta-ability—Gecko lets him cling to walls, and that’s about it. It’s a striking contrast to someone like Mirko or Gang Orca, or even Tsuyu, all of whom have some combination of big power moves and a veritable fleet of sub-abilities. We can see the way Hero Society prizes powerful, flexible quirks in this. Having a strong quirk can help overcome the societal bias about heteromorphs, but if you’re stuck with a weak quirk and a weird face, you lack that metaphorical ticket out.[10] [10] Incidentally, the fandom reflected some of that attitude as well. There was a widespread assumption that Spinner’s quirk would be really useful or situationally powerful, otherwise why would Horikoshi have hidden it for as long as he did? Then, after the reveal, there was a certain amount of complaining that Spinner was useless to the League, and why even bother with him? Sometimes, life imitates art in some very unflattering ways.

Trumpet brings up that Spinner was a recluse, “mocked and pilloried,” and we see Spinner in his hikikomori days. What we’ve gotten on Spinner up to this point suggests that the abuse he endured was mostly verbal, though one can imagine it was pretty rough when he was young enough to be the target of school bullies. There’s a certain amount of temptation to minimize that in comparison to his response: most people who are bullied or targeted by discrimination don’t grow up to become terrorists. But there was, we will eventually find, more visceral stuff going on—and parts of the country that were even worse than Spinner’s hometown.

Spinner spent most of his life trying to fit himself into the world around him; his strongest parallel in the League in this regard is Toga, as they were the two that held themselves back, let the world define what they were and how they should act, right up until they saw something that caused them to snap.[11] Trumpet tries to do much the same to Spinner here (albeit probably less as an intentional psychological attack than Skeptic’s attempts on Twice), but Spinner, like Toga, is long past the point where he would swallow that abuse without fighting back. When you tell someone they are something long enough, they eventually start to believe it—but if you aren’t careful, they’ll start to embrace it, at which point those weaponized words change hands. [11] Shigaraki and Dabi, by contrast, pushed back harder, trying to get the world to accept them and never accepting it when their families (and particularly their fathers) told them to stop. Twice was ejected without getting the chance to try to contort himself into a shape that fit the world, whereas Mr. Compress seems to have been raised to reject his society's accepted norms from the start.

Chapter 234:

We see an image excerpted from Quirks and Us, a children’s book published by Curious’s outfit, that exhorts the reader not to judge people by their quirks. It really, really begs the question, “If this is what’s being said in literature published to coax people towards anti-suppression radicalism, what on Earth is normal society saying?” Regardless of that absolutely wild disparity, though, the fact that there are children’s books being published about quirk bias being wrong suggests that the world very much does have a problem with quirk bias. Indeed, that much has been shown throughout the series, not merely in terms of anti-heteromorph bias, but also the bias against “villain quirks,” as well as the widespread idea that people with weak quirks—or no quirks at all—are weaker people overall, pitiable folk who lack the power to live their fullest lives or pursue their dreams unhindered.[12] People on more than one of these axes of discrimination will, as in real life, be more likely to experience discrimination and violence. [12] Villains like All For One and Geten may say it more loudly, but it’s not only villains who believe it—perfectly good-hearted people like All Might and Midoriya Inko fall into that trap as well.

Chapter 237:

Nothing much to say about Shigaraki’s flashbacks save to note that, if people won’t stop to help a lost and bloodied (and baseline) child, they sure as hell won’t intervene in anti-heteromorph bullying. Recall that Kirishima was accused of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong for trying!

-----

Thanks as ever for reading along, everyone! How was the new footnote format? Should I keep that up for lengthy meta going forward?

I was kind of expecting to be able to wrap this up (the main canon, at least) in one more post, but I underestimated the amount of writing I'd be doing for the first war arc. For next time, then, I'm looking to cover the Endeavor Agency, Paranormal Liberation War, and Dark Hero Villain Hunt arcs. See you all then!

#bnha #heteromorph discrimination plot #bnha worldbuilding #bnha meta #my writing #creature rejection clan #tw racism #tw hate crime #bnha spinner #iguchi shuuichi #meta liberation army

88 notes · View notes

powerful-niya · 1 year

Text

— (ℓσνє вιтєѕ.)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚡.

Link to Oneshot below ↴

•Wattpad• •AO3•

Pairing˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Naruhina

Synopsis˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡Kisses and Love Bites: a

tangible illustration of adoration and affection.

Naruto vows to cover Hinata Uzumaki, his beautiful wife, with every ounce of his love and appreciation—regardless of the time of day.

Content Tags˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Body Worship • Biting • Canon • Couple Appreciation • Dirty Talk • Grinding • Hickeys • Hugging • Husband/Wife • Kissing • Love Making • Love Appreciation • Morning Sex • Pet Names • Riding • Romantic • Scratching • Unprotected Sex • Vanilla • Vaginal Sex • Wholesome •

Overall Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚5.8k

Tumblr Post: Word Count˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚3k

Preview ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The sun's rays and the soft brush of lips bumping gently against Hinata's were the two culprits that drew her out of her beauty slumber and brought her back to the beauty of her world.

Hinata awoke from her peaceful dream to what appeared to be another dream.

Her gleaming lavender eyes cast a glance back into eyes that resembled the clear, blue waves of the ocean.

Such blue eyes held so much depth inside them that gazing into them made her feel as if she were drowning in an endless stream.

Her entire face lit up as she looked into the eyes of her awakened husband, who currently lay next to her own, his body facing her.

Naruto smiled brightly at the sight of Hinata stirring awake, tossing and turning against the sheets causing their king-sized bed to creak loudly, almost exactly like it had the night before.

The creaks produced that night could be defined as a cacophony of noises caused by the couple's intimate activities of touching and loving on one another all night long, engaged in a love match to determine who truly loved one another more.

Nevertheless, like all the previous love matches they initiated, the two were left tied.

Now, as they both lie in a state of complete relaxation, they are comforted by the warmth of one another's bodies as well as their soft pillows and bed sheets.

The two are now fully refreshed and satisfied, not only from the glorious sleep they experienced but also from the intense lovemaking they enjoyed the previous night as well.

But even still, Naruto seemed to have something on his mind.

His blue eyes twinkled with delight as he gazed into the eyes of his midnight blue-haired lover, who lay naked as the day she was born alongside his own naked body, cuddling up against him like a stuffed teddy bear.

The white, thick bed sheets caressed her curvaceous body with care, pouring over her fair skin like water to give her a sense of security and comfort. But even still, such a bed wasn't even close to offering her the same sentiments that he does.

Naruto pulled his head forward, once more to place his lips gently on his woman.

But this time, instead of her lips, he kissed the bridge of Hinata's nose.

And because she was awake, she reacted by giggling.

"Mmm, good morning, beautiful." He huskily whispered, a sound he always seemed to emit early in the morning, just seconds after slumbering. It was a side of Naruto that Hinata found extremely seductive.

Tingly inducing, she must add.

His voice dropped an octave, almost purring at her, as he talked, a sound that only could be described as beautiful.

Heaven.

In the mornings, Hinata could undoubtedly declare that his voice was fairly similar to the sexy voice he emits during passionate moments.

Rich and sensuous.

Hearing such a husky mass of eroticism first thing in the morning was such a gift. She felt really fortunate.

"Mmm." Hinata groaned softly in delight, relishing in Naruto's affection and love affirmation.

She returned his grin enthusiastically, displaying her hooded eyes and delicate features, which nevertheless appeared drowsy, given how lazy they looked.

Naruto chuckled at such an adorable sight before him, "Heh, I must say Hinata-chan, being half-asleep is a very good look on you." Naruto teased with a cheeky grin.

Hinata giggled.

The midnight blue-haired woman gently pulled one finger forward to tap Naruto's nose, earning herself another chuckle from him.

"Good morning to you too, my love."

Naruto hummed, bringing one hand forth to run it up her figure, just over the blankets, "How did you sleep, hime?"

"Wonderful. So, so wonderful." Hinata practically purred, shimming closer to her husband until her chest pressed against his own, her head peering up at him within the sheets.

While she moved, she revealed to him the joy in her lavender orbs, the joy of being close to the love of her life.

Naruto couldn't help but chuckle, undoubtedly finding his wife to be quite adorable. His hand never left her side, in fact, it continuously traced her figure through the thick fabric of the blankets, feeling against her bare body.

"Ahh, that's good news. What about..." Naruto shifted his hand forth to grab the top of the blankets, just to give it a light yank downward.

He did so, to uncover Hinata, just so he could swoop one large hand forth to place it along her bare thigh. He gave it a passionate rub.

Hinata groaned, responding positively to his warm touch. Her entire body warmed up simply from her husband's touch, despite the fact that the bed covers were no longer covering her.

Naruto carefully caressed her soft, supple skin, his blue eyes taking in the love bites he left on her thighs as a remembrance of their fun night.

Red, rosy, bite marks.

Some marks were a combination of blue and black, blended together to form an entirely new color, much like paint on a canvas.

Such bite marks developed in small snips where his teeth's markings were barely visible, leaving just multicolored impressions.

But, other parts of her body, such as the imprint of his sharp canines and molars, were clearly visible.

Such gorgeous pale skin now marred by his presence. Marred by his love.

With his hand lightly skimming over one of the harsher bite wounds he left on Hinata, Naruto tilted his blonde head against the pillows.

"How do you feel, considering...?"

"Sore." Hinata responded simply. She knew what he was hinting at.

The midnight blue-haired woman gave her husband a faint smile once she saw a flash of concern cross his bright features.

She shook her head, "My darling, I'm fine. I mean, I can hardly move, but my condition makes me happy."

"Mmm, you're happy, huh?" Naruto slid in closer, bringing his legs close to caress her own underneath the sheets.

He also started rubbing his hand over the bite marks on her thighs, tracing his fingertips along her bruised skin, granting her a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

She shuddered, "Yes. The love marks you've given me," Hinata pulled her hand down to place it on his own, just over the love bites he gave her, "the aches of my thighs and the butterflies in my stomach—All of it are acceptable to me."

Hinata's eyes gleamed brighter, almost twinkling, "They're all a r-reminder of your affection, your admiration, but most importantly, your love."

Naruto watched as his beloved wife's eyes began to tear up as she gazed deeply into his own, gazing into the eyes of the man she loved dearly, a man that she would sacrifice everything for.

Would die for.

She loved Naruto with all of her heart and of course, Naruto has finally come to love her just as much.

Just being in one another's lives has changed everything.

A radiant smile spread across the blonde male's whiskered face, his heart moved by his wife's words.

She always knew what to say to have him crumble; to remind him of why he loves her in the first place.

Hinata reminds him of this every single day.

Her passionate comments always touched him because, of course, he'd never had the luxury of experiencing love, passion, and validation from a close loved one.

His past was the embodiment of despondency.

As a child, he was always used to getting the short end of the stick and made to look like a complete monster due to the Kyuubi beast that rested inside of him.

He was called names that he would never dare call anyone else.

He was repeatedly wounded and driven to the brink of death countless times by the village's residents, but the foolish fox only healed his wounds, and the cycle continued.

He was used to being treated unjustly.

He was used to forging his own way, trying to figure out his identity, as to what his true mission in life was.

But luckily for him, years passed and the waking nightmare he once experienced vanished and his life shifted into a daydream.

Magnificently wonderful.

Every wish he made was granted one by one.

Each tear he shed was compensated for.

Every scream, yell, and cry was considered and remedied.

Every fist that he threw, he was awarded for.

All the pain and loneliness he has endured for so long was finally recognized and treated by those he loves and trusts.

Soon enough, the entire village was showering him with praise for his perseverance and tenacity, his will to never give up, and his ability to always pave the path through difficulties that almost all people would consider insurmountable.

But he did it.

Nothing stopped him.

Naruto can now say with comfort that he does, in fact, have companions with whom he forged unbreakable bonds, a lofty purpose as the prophesied child, presented as Konohagakure's hero.

But most importantly, he is now a husband to his devoted wife.

Hinata Uzumaki.

Now that everything has changed for him, he may, at last, understand what it feels like to be cherished, cared for, and admired.

His greatest wish has been granted.

And there isn't a day that goes by where Hinata doesn't express to him how much she loves him.

Even if Hinata hadn't uttered a word, Naruto could still tell she loves him very much.

Her eyes.

Her eyes told it all.

Every time she looks at him, an unfettered joy brims in her lavender eyes, a bright flame of love and admiration emerges, and only then, her lips would spread to form a radiant smile that grips his heart firmly.

Hinata was simply beauty incarnate; a gift from heaven above.

Just simply looking into the eyes of his lover, his wife, his soulmate, was a blessing.

And now he has that privilege once more. Early in the morning.

Hell, every single day.

Naruto cooed in delight at his lover, his eyes gleaming as he lost himself in the great big eyes that peered into his own before him; big pools of lavender that reminded him of the large round moon that dominated every night.

The same moon he used to converse with every night as a kid before going to bed.

That moon has now returned the favor by emerging as the dreamy eyes of his wife.

Ahh, what a magnificent treasure life could be.

Naruto bit his lip briefly, as an act to hold back his emotion, "Oh, Hinata-chan, what a wonderful wife you are." He moaned before moving his face closer to kiss her lips, expressing his love with his lips rather than with words.

Fortunately for him, Hinata was fluent in such a language.

Moans filled the room, just as they had the night before, as the two connected lips and ensued a passionate kiss that took one another's breath away.

Naruto tightened his grip on Hinata's nude body, only to have her withdraw her hand away and press his chest back against the bed.

He complied, fully reclining on the bed, and watched with squinted eyes as his lover rolled her body on top of his, bathing him with more of her lovely body heat.

Her gorgeous midnight blue hair cascaded down her shoulders and chest, spilling all over his own chest. Her dark hair strands tickled his flesh and caused an explosion of sensations to rush throughout his body.

Hinata's bruised bottom was tenderly clutched by his enormous hands as he reached under the blankets, all the while considering and tending to her achy thighs.

The blonde male then cocked his head to offer his wife a more profound kiss.

Hinata moaned in delight within the kiss, her eyes closed, and her entire body leaning completely on the male she adored as she relished his warm lips pressed against hers.

She reveled in the sensation of Naruto's lips caressing her own while frantically yanking and pulling at them in an effort to force her lips open and discover what they were concealing.

Of course, Hinata complied with her husband's wishes.

She let him in.

The midnight-haired woman opened her mouth a bit within the kiss only to feel her husband's tongue immediately react, shooting forth to slip inside the warm confines of her mouth.

Only then, did their passionate kiss turn messier, dirtier, hotter.

Naruto's hands caressed her flesh as if he didn't want to let her go, rubbing along her plump thighs, luscious ass, and even up her slim back.

Hinata clenched her hands on the pillows above Naruto's head, her legs anchored on either side of his naked waist.

Her nude body was now partly on display, the blankets just concealing her backside and rear.

The blonde and midnight blue-haired couple engaged in tongue-play, licking and suckling one another's lips, gums, and teeth, up to the point where their lungs were exhausted and their lips turned numb.

Soon enough, their kiss ended but doing so only brought a very special detail to Hinata's attention.

A faint tap of a foreign item brushed against her stomach as she lay on all fours over Naruto. The object was incredibly hard and even slimy, which drew her attention.

Hinata shifted her head down in curiosity.

She grinned, though, when she spotted her husband's manhood between his legs fully erect and standing firmly in the air.

His thick member leaned against her body as if it had its own mind, gravitating towards its desire in the same way that a flower responds to the sun.

It was such an amusing sight.

Hinata giggled, bringing her hand forth to nudge Naruto's chest playfully.

The blonde male grinned, that same cheeky grin she adored. It was a grin where his whiskered cheeks stretched wide apart, his cerulean eyes squinted, and his gleaming white teeth were shown, giving him the appearance of an adorable little fox.

Such a sight of pure joy expressed on her husband's face brought Hinata to her knees.

She shook her head in a chastising manner at Naruto, "Such a naughty boy you are." She whispered teasingly, referring to his erection. She then bent forth to rub her nose against his.

Naruto brushed her nose against hers in return, stroking her bruised body with his hands, clutching his woman close as she lay on top of him.

"We had so much fun last night, Naruto-kun. Are you telling me you're still not satisfied?"

Naruto leaned back against the cushions to chuckle, a seductive smirk on his face, his blue eyes squinting and twinkling.

Hinata blushed, her pussy tingling at such a seductive look from her handsome husband.

Naruto bit his lip, "I'm sorry, my beautiful hime, but I just can't seem to get enough of you. You're my everything and I simply cannot go without making those thighs of yours ache for me more."

He let out a purr, "No matter what time of day it is." He pulled his fingers forth to gently cup her chin, bringing her further towards him, "Morning, noon, night, it doesn't matter. I just want you."

He bent forward to press his lips against hers once again, sending Hinata to paradise.

Her lavender eyes rolled.

Naruto breathed heavily, "I want to be back inside you. I want to mark every square inch of your body with kisses and love bites, my love. I want you aching for me."

With that, Hinata felt Naruto move his fingers up her thighs, raking over her bruised flesh with his nails.

She jolted in mild discomfort, but the aching in her groan, combined with the seductive words Naruto had earlier purred at her, plunged her into a world of want from which she had no desire to escape.

She, too, was eager for more playtime with her love.

Hinata nodded her head slowly, watching as her gesture brought a satisfied grin to her husband's whiskered cheeks.

"Yes, Naruto-kun, mark me, kiss me." Hinata pulled her lips down to plant another kiss on his own lips.

Gentle wet plops of sound fled the room as she repeated the action of pulling her head back and diving forward to peck her husband's lips.

Hinata hummed, "Please make love to me, Naruto-kun. My p-p-pussy wants you." She breathed against his lips, boldly voicing her desires, voicing what her body yearned for. What it always yearned for.

Just on cue, Naruto's dick twitched against her, once more bringing attention to itself.

Hinata giggled.

Naruto hummed as he brushed his nails against Hinata's thighs, causing goosebumps and red, long scratch marks to emerge on her flesh.

"Mmm, and my dick wants you, baby." Naruto shrugged, rolling his eyebrows up at his flushed wife, "So, what are we still waiting for? Why don't we treat ourselves to some delightful morning sex?"

Naruto's voice was low, barely above a whisper as he also voiced his desires against the plump lips of his wife.

His murky eyes never left hers, giving her a full-on show of how those blue orbs of his grew darker due to his growing arousal.

It was a sight that made Hinata's body hot.

Naruto moaned, tilting his head a bit, "Just imagine, us two having another go at it, writhing against the sheets, fucking the entire morning away." The horny blonde licked his lips, "Oh, my beautiful hime, I can't imagine starting our day any other way."

A shudder rushed throughout Hinata's body as Naruto followed up his words with a subtle kiss on her cheek, just to drag it down to plant his lips on her highly defined jaw.

Her arms trembled, now struggling to hold herself up now that her body was battling with strong emotions of ecstasy.

Her eyes settled on closing as her husband continued to shower her body with his kisses. He turned his head, to trail his lips down her arms, pressing his lips gently against her smooth skin.

Only then did he observe her reaction.

Hinata shuddered and squirmed on top of him, kneading her hips against his sleek flesh underneath the blankets.

She inhaled deeply, blowing in and out as if in labor, while Naruto kissed every inch of her upper torso, blessing her with tingles that traveled from the tip of her head all the way down to her toes.

She felt so warm.

She felt so good.

Continue Reading on Wattpad Or AO3.

||Introduction|| ||Next Chap.||

67 notes · View notes

malemacrofics · 1 year

Text

The Tiny Protector

Summary: While on a mission in the Hinterlands, Cullen comes across a small curiosity. A man victim from a spell by a darkspawn Emissary that’s left him reduced in height. Luckily, a small size doesn’t mean the tiny guy can’t still help protect his new protector.

Content: Accidental Shrinking, Caring Giant, Fluff

A/N: Hopefully this is the first of many new fanfics! Also, special thanks to @iliumheightnights for letting me use his OC, Finnick!

Cullen doesn’t normally go on missions for the inquisition. In fact, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t detest the idea of leaving Skyhold normally. Sure, its stone brick walls and floor offer little in way of comfort, but between his bedroom and the courtyard of the keep, it truly does feel like home. However, when Leliana’s scouts reported darkspawn activity in the Hinterlands, the Inquisitor specifically asked Cullen to go with his soldiers. In hindsight, it seemed like an odd request, but Cullen wasn’t one to question his superior. At Least not with Josephine and Leliana standing right next to him.

Regardless of what happened back in Skyhold, now Cullen was here in the Hinterlands. And so far, Lelianna’s spies seemed to be wrong. They’ve visited numerous small settlements and none have reported any darkspawn activity. In fact, the soldiers were at the last settlement they had to search through. There wasn’t much special about it so far. There was a lack of people in the settlement when the soldiers arrived, but the lack of any destruction or personal effects in any buildings just caused Cullen to assume people had gradually left. He doubts many cartographers were making it out here to update their maps after the rift opened.

As Cullen approached the town hall, however, he could hear faint sounds of combat. He called over some soldiers before opening the twin doors. Before them was a mage engaged in a fierce magical duel against a Darkspawn Emissary. Each spell cast was immediately dispelled by the opposing party. That was, until the mage’s focus was drawn towards Cullen and the rest of the templars. In the briefest of moments, panic began to set into the Mage’s eyes, just enough time for one of the emissary’s spells to connect to the mage it was dueling.

As a sickeningly green bolt of energy connected with the mage’s robes, it began to wash over the cloth like ocean waves crashing over sand. Immediately, the mage began to fall over, almost as though paralyzed. Once he hit the ground, all that remained was the cloth of the robes.

Maker’s breath… Cullen thought, If only we were able to get here sooner.

As Cullen thought, the emissary began to cast another spell, the same sickly green energy coalescing in its hands. However, after the bolt had been cast, but before it could hit Cullen square in the chest, it was met by a different ball of energy. This one cast from the robes laying on the ground. And in the moments between the emissary’s bolt being dispelled, and it beginning to cast another, an arrow from one of Cullen’s archers found itself lodged in the emissary’s chest. And as it looked down at the wound it now had, it began to dissolve, pieces of its own mass separating and falling to the ground. All that remained of the darkspawn was a small pile of dust and the arrow that had been shot into it.

Returning to reality, Cullen quickly rushed over to the heap of cloth on the floor. He began to search through it, hoping to find some personal effect that they could send home to the man’s family. However, in place of a locket or journal, was something Cullen wasn’t expecting at all. Laying in the cloth, almost in a daze, was the mage. He was still clothed, his undershirt and pants seemed to change with him, but instead of his normal height, he was reduced to mere inches tall. The man looked up at Cullen as a slight smile covered his face before he collapsed. All he remembered before everything went dark was the far off sound of a man ordering soldiers, and the feeling of leather against his skin.

—

Finnick woke up with a start. His head was pounding and he felt drained. Not only physically, but magically. He closed his eyes trying to remember what had happened. He recalled fighting a darkspawn in a wooden building, a strange man appeared, and the last thing he had done was cast a dispel. He looked around his surroundings and it appeared like a tent. Small candles dotted the area, providing scant light into the night. However, this tent was more akin to a fortress or castle. The ceiling above Finnick seemed to be nearly 100 feet above him. And the floor he was resting on seemed to be made of oak, with massive papers stretching it’s surface. Finnick attempted to run to the edge of the surface he was on, and after gazing over the edge realized two important things. One was the fact that he seemed to be at least 50 feet from the ground, and that whatever surface he was on was more akin to a table than any floor. And with those realizations, that’s when it clicked for Finnick.

He is on a table. And the ground wasn’t 50 feet below him, but probably only 3. Just as the fear begins to seat itself in the base of his stomach, Finnick watches as the strange man from the town hall enters the tent. His blonde hair and stubble framed his face quite handsomely, with a faint scar visible across the man’s upper lip. And his polished armor glinted in the candlelight, only hidden behind the large feathered collar. The man looked in surprise at seeing Finnick up and moving. He made his way to the table and sat in the chair that was pulled up. He began to introduce himself.

“Greetings, ser mage. My name is Cullen Rutherford. I’m here on behalf of the Herald of Andraste.” He said with a smile, “We heard rumors of darkspawn operating in this part of the Hinterlands, and upon investigation, we encountered you. May I ask your name?”

“Finnick. Just… Finnick for now. Where am I, and why are you so large?” Finnick asked nervously.

As soon as Finnick had asked that question, Cullen’s smile faded. “Right, your size. When we approached your battle with that darkspawn, it appears he had cast a spell of some kind on you. We don’t have the magical knowledge here at our base camp to have any hope of reverse it. However, with your permission, I’d like to take you to Skyhold. Perhaps the herald or our mages could reverse it.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I? I either go with you, or have to fend for myself at this size.”

“Unless you have another idea, it appears that way, Finnick. My apologies.”

Finnick thought for a moment, hoping there was some alternative he could think of. However, each time his mind drew a blank. “And I can trust you?” He asked.

“Of course. I wouldn’t wish you any harm. You have my word.”

“Alright then, Cullen. How soon do you plan on heading back?”

“We’ll stay stationed here for the night, and leave first thing in the morning. If you’d like, to can even sleep in this tent with me.”

“That sounds nice. Although, I don’t suppose you have anything extra to cover up with? At this size, the gentle coolness of the Hinterlands feels more akin to a midwinter night.”

“I’m afraid not, Finnick. I understand it would be unconventional, but if you wish you could rest on my body as I sleep. I don’t move much and hopefully my body warmth would stave off the cold for you.”

Finnick immediately felt himself blush. He turned his face away from Cullen. Did he honestly just offer for me to sleep with him? Finnick asked himself. I suppose he’s right though. It seems like the best option at the moment.

“And you wouldn’t find that too awkward, Sir Cullen?” Finnick asked, his face still flushed.

Cullen notices the slight blush, even in spite of the size difference between the two. He cracks a small smile at the miniscule mage, “Of course not. Would you?”

“N-no, not at all.” Finnick sputters.

“Then it’s settled. Just give me a moment to take off my armor, and you shall accompany me to bed.”

With his sentence finished, Cullen walked behind a folding screen. However, given the height of the templar, his shoulders and up were still more than visible. And Finnick could swear Cullen looked over his shoulder to check if the tiny mage was still watching. Once Cullen was done, he walked from behind the folding screen. His muscular chest bare as he stood there simply wearing a thin pair of linen pants. A small dusting of hair visible across the templar’s broad chest. Cullen approached the table and placed his hand on its surface, palm up.

“Climb aboard.”

Finnick stepped on the palm, grabbing Cullen’s thumb for support. Cullen made his way towards his cot and laid on it’s surface. He laid Finnick on one of his pecs before covering his legs and stomach with a thin blanket. He laid his hand over Finnick, almost like his own tent, before asking the mage “Comfortable enough for you?”

“Yes, thank you.” He quickly responded.

And as the two fell asleep, Finnick began to wonder how much he really wanted to return to his normal size. Life alone in the Hinterlands was hardly the easiest thing to have to do. Being under the care of a gentle man like Cullen seemed like a very worthwhile trade. Even if he had to be stuck at the height of one of Cullen’s fingers. Regardless, that’s an issue for another day, for tonight the moon is rising, a soft breeze blows over the hills and mountains, and the two men have a wonderful night’s sleep together in a tent. Wondering what’s going to happen next.

#dragon age cullen #cullen rutherford #g/t #g/t fluff #male!reader #canon x reader #Cullen Rutherford x Male!Reader #Word Count: 1500-2000

54 notes · View notes

heliopauseentertainments · 1 year

Note

Despite 100+ chapters I don’t think I ever asked you what you liked about megarod, so: megarod for the ask game? :3

I didn't for them to be that many.

Let's see, I'll pick a few different things compared to the last ask.

One thing I really like about it is that despite all of Megatron's personal moral failings, Rodimus doesn't think of him as some big boogeyman or outsized villain/monster. He just sees Megatron as some guy. He's just some guy. He's done lots of bad things, but he's just some guy, not special.

But because Megatron is just some guy, almost all of Rodimus's beef with him is, therefore, incredibly personal.

I really enjoy that as a hook.

Why does Rodimus hate hats? Why is he the only one dressed as Megatron at a party where you dress up like the person you most want to punch? Why does he take everything Megatron says early on as a personal slight?

Because Megatron tried to murder him (Hot Rod) personally the one time.

Rodimus takes Megatron's communication cube to Optimus as a favor because he's just some guy doing some other dude a random solid and it's nothing personal.

But the journey of overcoming all that, overcoming their own personal failings, through having to work together and becoming friends?

That's good shit.

I actually managed to spit out a mini manifesto on a pal's DreamWidth post. I've copied it down below the cut. It's old and needs updating but more or less the same.

Bickering (that goes from hostile to good-natured).

Personality clash (both as individuals and in leadership styles - "sensible" guy and impulsive guy)

They are both having mid-life crises at the same time but over vastly different things.

Questionably ethical (Megatron is technically in custody and they are coworkers)

Potentially scandalous (guy who notoriously makes questionable decisions & Mr. Retired-Mass-Murderer)

Size difference (of your choice since Megan can become minibot-sized but Roddy can also climb him like a squirrel)

Built-In Tragedy (heavily implied that Megatron is going to die, for in-universe understandable reasons, regardless of what they do, so there is a seemingly unavoidable tragic end). Note: even if the relationship is nonromantic, that's still incredibly tragic to lose someone you're close to

Built-In Enemies-To-Friends (+To-Lovers if you so choose)

Megatron knows one of Rodimus' major secrets (destruction of Nyon) Trauma from Megatron having murdered Hot Rod (and thusly created Rodimus)

The weird involvement of Rodimus in Megatron's own absolutely bonkers creation

Rodimus stopping Megatron from committing suicide-in-the-line-of-duty on multiple occasions (but at least once by holding his hand)

Megatron outsourced his conscience to Rodimus and Minimus, which could lead to hilarious/sweet/sad/wild outcomes

#admin post #ask #ask meme #megatowonus #megarod #long post

40 notes · View notes

insertsomthinawesome · 2 years

Note

Any genshin headcannons or thoughts you'd like to share? :)

SDFSDFAWSFSDFSD okay so I had to sit down and think about this for all of like 5 minutes before a lightbulb went off in my head and i was like Yes. ASFSDFSDSDF Okay so prepare for the ARCHON RAMBLE (aka me creating headcanons specifically to torture Zhongli)

Okay so like, the Archons are immortal, right? Okay but we also know they're not Invulnerable. Many MANY archons have died at this point. we Know Zhongli is the only remaining original, and that's all well and good. But its fun to think about why that's physically possible. So i came up with my own system??? Kinda??? Its not very refined cause its mostly me throwing sticky hands at a wall and seeing what sticks but i have fun with it SDFSDFASFSDFSDFSDFSDF Part one of the headcanon has to do with the idea of Energy. Okay. So like. Everybody and their dog headcanons that Vision users have a certain level of energy usage they can hit before its like... they're out of energy/tired/in pain so on and so forth. So and Archon has that same threshold, its just a lot further out. On top of that, an Archon WITH A GNOSIS probably lasts a lot longer. But there's a point, regardless, where and Archon will run out of energy and then be in trouble. When we headcanon this for vision users there's usually some kind of adverse effect. And I headcanon the same for Archons. Things like, getting shaky, exhausted, physically weak, those kinds of things. Like they have terrible low blood sugar or something SDFSDFASFSDFSDFSDFSDFS They also become incapable of using their powers, because essentially they're trying to pull from a well that is dry. So essentially an Archon runs on a battery, and they can dry that battery up if they push themselves hard enough. There's some fun stuff to play with here that i've completely made up for Whumps convenience AHAHAHAAHAHA like for example. the smaller the physical mass of an Archon, they less energy they take up to "power the body" Now to be clear, if they run out of energy they are still very much physically there (although it'd be fun to play with a concept where that wasn't true) Its just that they're very physically weak/can't shapeshift/can't "use their vision" essentially. But like a battery, say Venti needs a decent sized battery to run human Venti. If he turns into a wisp his battery need becomes much smaller. Now by default an Archon has more than enough energy to run themselves no matter what form they're in, Form to battery ratio only becomes an issue if they're struggling with an energy low/leakage. Like Venti Might turn into a wisp if he's running out of power, because that moves him from nearly passing out to be okay dokay again. This is fun for all sorts of reasons AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA Another funky headcanon I have in correlation with this is energy sharing. So like, Every vision user has the same energy an archon has, just much much smaller. And much like an Archon, they contain an excess (more than they need on average) to "run the ship". Except in a vision user's case, they're battery isn't running anything unless they're using their vision. This means that in a pinch, a vision user can pass their Vision Battery Energy to an Archon to help them out. Now the fun part is, any Archon can take any kind of Vision to recharge their battery. Zhongli can take vision energy from Childe, Diluc, Tighnari, Jean, or Itto. It doesn't matter the element. As long as Zhongli has more Natural energy of Geo left, he will slowly convert their mismatch element to his own. However. An Archon is more or less compatible with different Elements. Like Zhongli is 100% compatible with Geo. Itto could give him a Geo energy boost and its probably like getting an instantaneous energy boost. However, he is nearly 100% Incompatible with Pryo. Now Zhongli can take Pyro for recharge.. he can do that. it is just very. very. Painful. But in a pinch, sometimes the pain is better than being vulnerable. The lack of compatibility also means that an Archon takes longer to convert the incorrect element to the element of their abilities. ON TOP OF THAT If an Archon runs out of their Natural element... but they still contain an element that's not theirs... Yeah Their Body Does Not Like That. And this is all like, Archon 101 to Zhongli, but its highly likely some of the younger Archons Do Not Know xD (Zhongli probably mostly knows through trial and error on top of that SDFSDFASFSDFSDFS Celestia did not give them a manual) Other Immortal/elementally sensitive beings (Yaksha and Adepti for Example) have the ability to tap into/sense this energy. Its something they have the innate ability to do, but it takes training to do it really? Or at least in a way that's not dangerous/wild. For example Madame Ping could easily check Zhongli's energy flow/Pulse just by putting her fingers where a normal human pulse will be. They can also use things like channeling crystals to more easily/thoroughly check another person's energy flow. A vision user could probably learn to do this too, and there might be a few who do know how. But due to the fact that Archon's aren't frequently chummy with vision users (at least up to this point) its not common knowledge and most Allogenes have no idea that this is a thing. A lot of Immortals/Supernatural beings probably don't realize Allogenes can help too because they often don't know themselves lol xD Crystals of certain kinds can also be used to convert elemental energy before transferring it, that way they skip the whole like, Conversion process. Only Adepti/supernatural being healers usually know how to do this or do it in the first place. There used to be more and it was much more common knowledge Pre-Archon war. But so many different beings perished during that time, so there are a lot fewer who know its even a thing in the first place. Zhongli's been kicked around enough that probably all the Adepti know how to do it xD Transfer of energy is pretty much always only done in an emergency. An Archon or other elemental/supernatural being will replenish their energy naturally through rest and managing their health and not blowing through their remaining reserves. Even if they reach flat zero, it will start to re-accumulate as long as they take care of themselves. ASFSDDSFASFSDFSDSDFSDFSD ANYWHO THAT WAS SUCH A LONG RAMBLE. I've had a lot of fun playing around/coming up with this system as i kick around Genshin in my head like a football SDFSDFSDF so it was nice to put it into words finally :D thank you for the ask anon!! <3

#ask #isa screams #anonymous #genshin impact #i love how much of his is just me #very obviously giving zhongli a hard time #mans just wanted to retire #and i said #no #AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA

50 notes · View notes

dzthenerd490 · 4 months

Text

File: Leprechaun

SCP#: ACU

Code Name: The Real Leprechaun

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-ACU has been contained at Site-AD within a 4x4 meter containment room. The walls of the room have been outfitted with transmitters that emit the same frequencies as Scranton Reality Anchor devices, preventing SCP-ACU from teleporting. On the same floor there are two different gardens where common foods for Foundation staff are being cultivated but also mini gardens for mass growing four-leaf clovers.

Should a containment breach involving SCP-ACU ever happen, Foundation staff are to get to these gardens right away. There are hollow plastic bullets next to the gardens; the staff members are to harvest the four-leaf clovers, stuff them into the bullets, and load them into the guns proved. Afterwards they are to shoot SCP-ACU once spotted but mainly aim for limbs rather than organs or the head. They are then to apprehend SCP-ACU with a Reality Anchor Collar and hold him until the containment breach is confirmed to be over. Once it is, he will be placed back in his cell where he will slowly but surely heal from the injuries over a month or longer.

Should for whatever reason the garden produces no four-leaf clovers, or the garden is inaccessible then the protocol will change. Instead, Foundation security is to shoot SCP-ACU and keep shooting him ever 5 seconds to keep him in a death like sleep until they ca get the RAC on him. Only then can they stop shooting and throw him back in his containment cell. It should be noted that it's because of SCP-ACU in particular that Foundation security at Site-AD always carry extra ammo.

No testing is to ever be permitted with SCP-ACU ever. The only testing that is done is with blood and DNA testing to fully understand the nature of SCP-ACU.

Description: SCP-ACU is by all accounts, a genuine leprechaun, a very powerful one in fact. Though more specifically, like most fairy tale anomalies, SCP-ACU seems to be a member of Species of Interest: [data expunged] which were created from the blood of [data expunged], or at least that's the working theory. Regardless, SCP-ACU is a Level 3 Reality Bender and a very powerful one at that. Unfortunately, SCP-ACU seems to have the same power level and mental state as a Prankster God Class Anomaly. Prankster Gods, for those that don't know, are sadistic gods or demi-gods that have no sense of morality or order. They love spreading destruction and chaos wherever they go, without the proper equipment it's impossible to deal with or even hide from them.

For whatever reason, SCP-ACU seems to get increasingly stronger when around gold, simultaneously he gets progressively weaker when the gold he currently has is taken away from him. Though no matter how weak he is he still has the power of teleportation and immortality. Despite his small size he's rather strong enough to bite off flesh, scratch people with blade like nails, and even force a grown man to the ground with little effort. As he gets stronger, he can shapeshift, make whatever or whoever he wants teleport to different places, manipulate objects and organic life to small extents, and even inflict deadly curses on people. It has been theorized that if he was able to steal all the gold of the world, he could become a true God Class Anomaly if he ever desired.

Even when SCP-ACU has been ripped of all his gold he is still a force to be reckoned with, though that is not to say he's unstoppable. Should SCP-ACU ever make contact with a four-leaf clover his body will start to weaken, and he becomes killable. For obvious reasons the Foundation does not want this, but it is helpful in that SCP-ACU is easier to manage when weakened and his powers are drained. Though by all accounts SCP-ACU is immortal as one of the first tests with four leaf clovers showed [data expunged]. [data expunged] leading to [data expunged] casualties. It was then decided that testing would only revolve around SCP-ACU's blood, not himself ever again.

SCP-ACU was discovered in 1993 when anomalous wave lengths were detected at the [data expunged] retirement home. Foundation agents investigated the area and found several dead bodies. With obvious hits of an anomalous attack the retirement home was shut down and evacuated while Foundation agents followed the trail SCP-ACU left behind. After reports of more anomalous wave lengths, they were led to a farm. This farm in particular belonged to one of the victims within the retirement home.

It was there that agents discovered SCP-ACU just as he was dying due to having swallowed a four-leaf clover. Thanks to his weakened state, agents were able to grab him and put him inside a Singularity Containment Case, specifically designed to suppress the reality warping abilities of anomalous objects. It's not meant for humanoids but since he was so small, he fit in rather easily.

The victims of the incident were later amnestied all except Alex Murphy. Alex was not amnestied as he was 10 and humans that young receiving amnestics often develop long term negative mental effects. Furthermore, he was the one who weakened SCP-ACU just long enough for the agents to contain him. As such he was spared and under Protocol “Sole Survivor” talked with the Foundation agents about how when he comes of age he will be visited again and allowed to join if he desired it. He accepted gleefully and agreed to go along with the cover story that the whole incident was a bobcat attack.

After about a month of containment SCP-ACU had fully recovered though he also accidently revealed his gold during that time allowing Foundation staff to take it from him. It is believed that even with it the reality anchor frequencies would be able to hold him, but it was not worth the risk to find out. SCP-ACU was obviously most rebellious during the first year of containment but as time went on, he started to become more docile. Whether this is him giving up hope or trying to trick Foundation staff into believing he has is unknown. As such, all Foundation staff are advised to remain vigilant around him and those feeling sympathetic are to be transferred to a different Site.

Update 2004 - Alex Murphy has become of age and joined the Foundation. He has been assigned as a Field researcher within the Department of Mythology and Folkloristics.

SCP: Horror Movie Files Hub

#DZtheNerd #SCP: Horror Movie Files #SCP Foundation #SCP Fanfiction #SCP AU #SCP #Department of Mythology and Folkloristics #Leprechaun #Horror Movie #Comedy Horror #Fantasy #SCP-ACU

3 notes · View notes

writtenwyrm · 9 months

Text

The Ascension

A Slay the Spire story, Epilogue

All Parts

Not everyone could be saved.

The efforts of the Time Eater had kept the tower together, in a sense. Time still passed, buildings still fell into ruin and collapsed over the many, many years that had gone by as I climbed the Spire. But the people came back, returned to the same morning. They were in pristine health, without even the memories of what had happened, because nothing had happened in the first place.

But no being is perfect, and no power–even that of the Ancients–is limitless.

I crawled through the library, feeling my bulk brush against the shelves on either side of me. I was cautious with my new legs, short and stubby, yet enough to move me without dragging my belly.

Look, the Silent spoke in my mind. That one might be it. My eyes had landed on the spine of a small book, green. Golden words inscribed the title. Strong Foundations, by an Elikar Ponderwit.

Perhaps. The familiar voice of the Defect retorted, monotone as ever. The chances are not high, as they were not for the last ten books we discovered.

I took it off the shelf, one claw easing out to fall to the floor. I twisted my body, feeling the shelves creak from the pressure, and pointed my eyes down at it. I turned pages in chunks, letting the words flash by.

It was the book I was looking for, but I had a hard time feeling satisfied at the accomplishment. Now I had to make my way out of the Library, an ordeal almost as difficult as getting in in the first place. I made my way out from between the shelves, folding the book into my paw as I went and walking on my knuckles in order to protect it. The stride was awkward, favoring that leg, but my quadruped form didn’t leave me with any extra limbs to carry things, and the Collector would burn me alive if I put it in my mouth.

At the front of the hall, I settled down to wait and catch my breath. My eyes settled closed, as I thought over the events of the past couple weeks. The slow changing of my body, transforming my flippers into proper legs, discovering what I could and could not affect about myself. The size remained static, and my skin was pebbly and blue regardless of the shape I took.

I felt a gaze upon me, and I cracked open a single eye.

There was a man there, hands full of books, staring at me. He looked worn, somewhat ragged, despite the new clothes. Everyone was worn, now that the loop was broken.

Maybe we can convince him to look for more books by Elikar, in return for a favor.

I pushed the thought away. I was tired, but I wasn’t in a hurry, either. The Merchant sulked, frustrated at the inefficiency.

But the man simply stared, and I couldn’t tell if he was angry, in awe, or simply as weary as I was. His presence was starting to make me uncomfortable, and a flare of wordless frustration made me open my eye enough to look at him directly. He started, and hurried away.

Liss arrived a few minutes later, carrying books of her own. She took mine to add to her stack, and I heaved myself back to my feet and followed her. The Collector stopped us on the way out, and there was a brief negotiation, before we made our way out. I didn’t make eye contact with the cloaked woman, keeping my gaze on Liss’s back.

The City was alight with lanterns, like a night sky full of stars overhead. People were out and about, walking freely from one layer to another, crossing whatever bridges were still standing.

We passed construction as we climbed, new buildings and bridges growing from the ruins of the old. Liss called out to workers we passed, and they called back, friendly. But none of them came close, and I had no illusions as to why that was.

We had to stop multiple times so I could catch my breath. Even with my new legs, the stairs were brutal. Liss never complained, and neither did I.

When we finally reached the temple, there was already a small crowd. Liss led the way through, and I noted the mass of colors, clustered groups of people wearing similar designs and emblems. They stepped back as I pushed my way through, keeping their feet out of my way.

Just so they don’t get stepped on? Or are they scared? I wasn’t sure who that was, if it was anyone at all. But the thought came unbidden, and the Silent was the one to respond, firm and sharp.

If they were afraid, they wouldn’t be here.

Liss settled at the front of the room, just behind the altar. She looked confident, and she didn’t rush with sorting out her books, even as the crowd started to murmur restlessly. I was… proud wasn’t the right word, not really. I didn’t deserve to be proud. But happy, that she seemed to have found a place for her.

“Today, we’ll be reading for Junpei, Hallower, and Great Reach. Would any followers please step forward?” When she spoke, the crowd quieted, and then a handful of people stepped forward, three small groups. Three and four people, wearing red and golden clothes respectively, and then a single small man who looked too small in his tattered green robes. Not a lot of people. There were people not there, I was certain, the way they stood revealing their missing members that should have been standing between them, or next to them.

The Time Eater had done its best. But hundreds or thousands of resets was more than enough for mistakes to be made, for people to be left behind. To slip between the cracks and be forgotten. More and more, the Time Eater had been forced to focus on the ones that seemed to be making a difference, the individuals or creatures that could stop or harm the Ventures.

And in doing so, the Spire was left hampered for the aftermath.

Liss picked the solitary man, guiding him up to the altar and presenting him with a few books. He took them hesitantly, but the moment they were in his hands he seemed more comfortable, clutching at them like a shield. He opened the first, finding a specific page to point out to Liss. Rather than taking the book back, she simply led him to the front, then speaks loud enough for everyone in the audience to hear.

“The Hallower gives strength to the weary, and stands by those who stand alone. This seems like an Ancient we could all use in our lives right now. Priest Malikai will lead us in song, so do your best to follow along.”

The man cleared his throat and began to sing. His voice was hoarse, and a little reedy, but as he found his place in the song it got stronger, and it became rapidly clear that it was a melody he knew by heart.

A few voices joined him, but it took three times through the song for the majority of the crowd to have enough of a grasp on the tune and the words to sing along. The song was humble and soft at first, the handful of voices giving it a lonely tune, but each voice that joined gave it depth, until the walls echoed and the sound of music rolled over us like ocean waves.

I waited until the fourth repetition to join in. I closed my eyes, sitting at the back of the stage, and knew that everyone could see me despite how I sat in the shadows. I did my best not to care, even as the sound of my voice doubled the sheer volume of the song and heads turned to look. My throat thrummed, powerful lungs driving air in and out, and the unique shape of my throat allowed me to sing in harmony with the lowest and highest tones at the same time. I had discovered this not long ago, and despite everything, despite my cumbersome body that I still wasn’t used to, my heart soared as I became a part of the song.

We sang, and sang, and when I opened my eyes again the man was crying. He stood at the head of the stage, letting the music wash over him and openly weeping, smiling, struggling to sing through the emotions that held him. Tears appeared in my own eyes, but I banished them with a blink, and allowed my power to flow through me, pushing it out and into the man. There was no Word, no twisting of fate and intent. Just my will, the song, and the desire of the humble priest.

The Ancient of Resurrection and Rebirth flared her power, and a light appeared on the altar.

We sang to the end of the verse as the light coalesced, and then sang through one more time. By the end, there was something round and green sitting on the stone, curled up in a ball, bright flowers sprouting over it.

The song ended, and Liss stepped forward, picking it up. The object uncurled, revealing a lizard-like creature, made from a dark soil and sprouting with grass and flowers. It blinked up at her, and she handed it to the man, who wiped his face and took it.

“This is your responsibility, now.” Liss told him, loud enough for the audience to hear. “Your faith is strong, and the New Hallower is young. Take him, care for him. Find others who need him and his strength, and share. Live as you believe, and he will grow strong, and be a foundation for something more.”

The man nodded, cheeks still wet with recently shed tears. He turned to the crowd of people, all different, skin and robes, signs and symbols, reasons for being here. All of who had sung with him.

“Thank you.” he said.

The small god in his arms squeaked, and he held it close.

–

Liss met me afterward, sitting next to me on the ledge that overlooked the Lower City. Her legs dangled, but she sat without fear, and together we watched the crowd of believers disperse back to their homes, several of them carrying their reborn faith with them.

“How are you doing?” She finally asked, and I knew what she was really asking.

I looked down, at the lights scattered below, and thought about it. The voices in my head–my voices, even if they spoke from the parts of me that hurt and raged and bargained–were silent for a few precious moments.

“I’m doing okay.” I said, and I meant it. There was still a long way to go, but I had a goal in mind now, and a friend. Despite it all, Liss had stuck by my side. Perhaps it was because I was useful, perhaps because she felt responsible for preventing me from returning to the loop again, but she was here regardless, helping me make amends.

“And how’s it going with…?” She glanced up at my broad back, and I smiled. She didn’t flinch anymore, despite the teeth.

I stretched the new appendages that attached just below my shoulders, and thin membranes glowed with the light passing through them, illuminating the veins and bones within. Still fresh, not yet usable, but every day I made them a little stronger, a little bigger. Wings, six of them, positioned down my back in pairs.

I would never wear my beautiful sapphire feathers again. The idea pained me, and some days I couldn’t move for missing them. But I had something else to look forward to, something that moved me each morning to try.

I would never have feathers again, but someday soon I would fly.

The End

#The Ascension #Epilogue #Neow #The Watcher #The Defect #The Ironclad #The Silent #The Merchant #fic

10 notes · View notes

science-lings · 1 year

Note

So, in that recent totk showcase, link fused a boulder to a stick, right? The boulder shrunk a bit, but did the mass also go down? If it didn’t, how efing strong is link??? Also, even if the mass went down, that still really impressive how he can swing that thing so effortlessly

Well, weapons do generally shrink to Link sized when he gets a hold of them anyway, like Lynel clubs are much bigger in their hands than his but are still absolutely massive.

So regardless of if the mass of the weapons and rocks stays the same, this guy is so much stronger than he's given credit for. No strength enhancers, just pure raw power on that dude.

#I think the heaviest-looking things are those Lynel clubs and they're just as tall as Link is and he just isn't affected at all #he has barely any muscle mass and yet can bench a horse probably #ask andromeda #botw #totk

12 notes · View notes

cactuswaterscactusfields · 2 years

Text

Never About Us - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Blood and Roses

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5.2k

For anyone who has trouble imagining a sith din, here’s a link to a Tumblr post with something I made on mandocreator.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, violence, cursing, mentions/threats of sexual assault, mentions of death/threats of death. Descriptions of injuries, Trauma, descriptions of weaponry/making things up about ships and weapons. Descriptions of massacres/mass violence. Indirect mentions of s/a. A small, meager amount of fluff. A lot of intrusive thoughts. Eating. Let me know if I missed any!!

I tried to differentiate POVs in this one, so each is marked at the start of their POV.

Translation Guide:

Cyar’ika (mando’a): “darling” lit. “darling, sweetheart”

Aruetyc (mando’a): “traitorous” lit. “traitorous”

Darjetii (mando’a): “sith” lit. “sith, dark-side user”

Thank you to Geo and Wren for betareading this! Literally would die without you both.

Din POV

Din looks down at the saber in his hand and presses the small button on it. Its scarlet blade de-extends back into the hilt, and he’s left staring at the small cylinder of metal that ties him to this life like a noose.

He’s angry.

Angry at the fact that a Mandalorian like him is still alive, his superiors didn’t tell him that’s who he’d be going after, angry that you got away, angry that you tricked him with a little bit of mando’a. You froze him with nothing but two words from a dead kriffing language. He flexes his fingers in and out on the hand not holding the saber, and the creaking of leather is all that comforts his rage on this backwater hellhole of a planet. And now he has to find you again—if the others don’t find you first. If they find you, they won’t show you the same mercy that he did. The confusion begins to replace his rage, and he looks out toward the horrible orange desert outside this little sandy town that he’ll be buffing out of his armor for weeks. Now, the question is at the forefront of his mind. If the Mandalorians were already extinct when he was born, thanks to, according to Lord Vader, some insane war between clans, how are you alive?

He knows your name, knows your age, knows your face when it is contorted in pain, knows the style with which you run, the size of your footprint, and yet he doesn’t know this one garishly outstanding detail. Regardless of how you survived, he needs to find you. He needs to find you soon, and he needs to find you alive so that he can question you. You know something he doesn’t know. And that…makes him scared. No, not scared. He can’t be afraid. Fear is a weakness. He is not scared. He’s…concerned. Yes, that’s it. He’s concerned.

A throat clears off to his left, and he turns toward it. He focuses on one of the stormtroopers standing in front of him, and for a moment, he’s tempted to choke them. But, that’d be a waste of a man and a waste of energy. Din’s spilled blood, sure, but it takes so long to get new troopers, and frankly, the bureaucracy and paperwork he would have to do to explain how one of his troopers was mysteriously found strangled to death in the middle of a shitty shipyard on Geonosis is not something he would like to do.

He tilts his head at the trooper, who visibly shrinks away from his gaze.

“Sir, if you’re ready, you’re needed back on the destroyer.” The trooper’s voice is shaking like a leaf. He can almost imagine the trooper’s face, pale as a sheet of paper, sweat dripping down his face. It’s funny, almost. Din is struggling so much with this question of these people, and yet these fully grown men in their plastoid composite suits are terrified at the thought of pissing off the Mandalorian inquisitor. Din can’t blame them, honestly. A killing machine who is sensitive to the force, who uses the dark side on a regular basis, and top that ice-cream sundae with the fact that he’s an incredibly adept wielder of a plasma blade? One would be stupid not to be at least a little afraid of him.

He begins to walk back toward the center of town, where his transport ship lies. He looks back up at the sky one last time, and he can still see the vestiges of the Razor Crest’s ascent into the cosmos, slowly fading with the winds of the upper Geonosian atmosphere. He will find you again. He just needs to figure out where to look.

–

Your POV

Your eyes slowly open, and the first thing they’re greeted with is darkness. Darkness that your eyes can’t hope to adjust in, where the only breaks from the absolute black are the small red and green lights–

Wait, where the hell are you?You sit up quickly and look around, and you see small green and red lights on the walls..you hope they’re walls. Your mechanic brain jumps into action, trying to figure out a pattern in the lights. And then it hits you like a hyperdrive jump, crushing your mind with the implications and absolute danger of your situation.

You’re in a ship.

You feel around, and your saber is next to you. Your fingers hesitantly close around it, pick it up, and you press the button. The gorgeous orange blade greets your eyes like a siren call, providing something to look at other than the blackness. You’re in what looks like a standard bedroom, unchained to anything, and the bed below you is..soft? It’s an actual bed, not just a cot or a sad sorry spring-laden excuse for a mattress. There are a few blankets on it, and you’re under some. They’re soft. They’re warm. They’re furry, as if something was hunted to create these. As you look down at yourself, you realize you’re missing something–your winter gear, your bag, your shoes, they’re all gone. You’re in the tank top and shorts you wore under your winter clothes, almost as if someone got you comfortable.

It comes back to you, then.

His visor, the body, the blood, your ankle, the leather gloves that were your salvation or damnation, that crimson red saber that haunts your waking dreams and leaves you sleepless, he’s the one who captured you. He’s the one who took you, what you assume is out of those Hoth caves judging on the warmth you feel in the ambient temperature around you, the one who saved your life from that trandoshan, who kept you from succumbing to hypothermia or blood loss.You look down at your ankle, and you’re greeted by a set of bandages, tinted orange and clean under the light of your blade. It doesn’t hurt much, but you can still feel an ache in the tendons that were damaged or snapped in the shot, and you’ll be hard-pressed to walk on it for long periods of time. That’s not what matters right now, though. You’re in an unfamiliar ship near a Mandalorian Inquisitor hellbent on killing you, and you’ve got no way to defend yourself beyond your saber.

Not a great set of circumstances, but it’s better than the Hoth death trap. You slowly get to your feet, and your ankle begins to ache immediately. As you step off the bed and instinctively let out a soft whimper of pain, the door on the wall in front of you opens, and you’re face to face with a black visor.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

His helmet tilts as he looks down at you, and you can only imagine the kinds of things going through his mind. Is he going to kill you? Torture you? Put you through things that Gakrux could never even think of? As your mind runs through the thousands of different options for your immediate future, trying to figure out if you can escape the situation you’re in or even possibly fight off the Inquisitor, take control of the ship, maybe take it to another planet where you live out another person’s life for a while until the empire finds you again, he steps forward.

You step back quickly, and his helmet turns slightly to look at the orange blade in your hand.“Put that down. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice, ever rich like honey flowing through rivers on a planet long at peace away from the threats of the empire, pulls you to the present. You grip the saber tighter, and the orangey burnt light reflects off the red of his cape with a violent clash of conflicting shades. It hurts to look at, and you look back up at him. The T of his visor blends so well into the darkness surrounding you both, it’s almost hard to distinguish.

He reaches out toward your saber-wielding hand, and you instinctively slash at it. A rookie mistake, though, as he easily dodges your clumsily-swung blade and catches your wrist, squeezing it until you drop the saber, which deignites as soon as it leaves your hand.

You’re both plunged into darkness, but you can feel him looking at your hand, and for a moment, you sense from him that he’s curious. It’s small compared to his, and the leather glove that separates your skin from his creaks. It’s soft, well-worn, and well-made. It has creases defining where his hand bends, and the cleanest part of his glove, the back of it, is shiny enough that it reflects the small green and red lights emanating from the walls.

He holds his hand out, and a light overhead comes on, bathing you both in a harsh, stark white light that it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to. He releases your hand, and you grasp it. It hurts slightly from where he gripped it, and you can feel blood rushing to the area, warming it slightly.

“Little Mandalorian, are you hungry?” He watches your face, studying your response. You look slowly up at his visor and, judging by the way your cheeks are now warm, you’re showing your surprise very visibly.

First, the Mandalorian Inquisitor saves your life, and then he asks if you’re hungry. What the maker is his endgame? Is he going to poison you? No, that wouldn’t make sense, why would he have saved your life on Hoth if he wanted you dead? Why would he have gone out of his way to a backwater planet and killed the trandoshan if he was going to poison you later? Is he gonna slip some kind of drug into your food and make you a mindless slave? No, he could just do that with the force if he really wanted to. Why is he offering you food? Does he genuinely care about you? Why, then, did he hunt you on Geonosis like a bounty hunter?“Why do you want to know?” You blurt out your thoughts, and he’s surprised by the delivery of your first words to him since Geonosis. He tilts his head as he studies you further, and his hand drops to his side.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days.” Straight and to the point. He definitely fits the model of how you’d expect a fully beskar-clad inquisitor to act, but it still doesn’t answer the question. Your stomach, however, is very pleased with his answer, and it’s decided to rumble at that exact moment, revealing how hungry you actually are.

“That answers my question.” He turns to leave with a swish of his cape, and as the door shuts behind him, you’re left alone again. For a Mandalorian Inquisitor, he trusts you a lot more than you’d imagine a regular person with a traumatized purge survivor with a lightsaber and nothing to lose on their ship would.

You sit back down on the bed, and you finally get a chance to fully study your surroundings. It’s clean, with metal walls, the bed, a small metal table next to the bed complete with a small holo-lamp, and shining walls that haven’t been lived in. You stretch, and as you’re finally beginning to get comfortable for the first time in force-knows-how-long, he reenters.

He’s holding a tray with utensils, a napkin, and a plate of some kind of food, and it’s..not gray for once. It’s actual food, what looks like bantha steak, some kind of vegetable you’re definitely too pressed for credits to afford, some kind of mashed vegetable, and a glass of…water. Maker, he has drinkable water for every meal. Your eyes widen significantly at this, and he tilts his head. He crouches down to your level, and slowly hands you the tray.

“Are you alright?”His voice is rough like he’s not used to asking people the current status of their person, which doesn’t surprise you. He looks up at your face, reading it like a book for any glimmer of emotion or pain.

“I..I’m fine. Sorry, I haven’t had a lot of water in my life.” You rush through the latter half of your sentence, realizing halfway through your sentence that you’re saying too much but you can’t stop talking and maker he probably hates you and you accidentally spilled the beans and now he’s going to kill you or mind control you and you’ll never see your father again and–

“Couldn’t imagine going my whole life with only sonics.” You can hear the hint of a smile through his modulation, and your intrusive thoughts are, for the moment, quelled.

“Do you have a shower on this ship?” Hope. It burns in your heart like a flame, and you can just imagine it. The water running down your skin, cooling you off after a hot summer’s day, cleaning the oil and grime from you, wetting your hair and cleaning all of the sand off from the crevices that the sonic can’t reach. A small smile tugs at your cheeks and lips, and then you realize what you’re doing is so stupid. Asking a fucking inquisitor who might be holding you prisoner if he has a shower on the ship that you’re not exactly allowed to leave?

“Yes. You may use it.”Just what exactly is his endgame?

–

Din POV

Din is sitting in the commanding seat at the helm of the Star Destroyer that the Empire assigned him, and he’s tapping his gloved fingers on the leather of the seat’s arm. His mind wanders back to your face, terrified under the light of his blade, staring up at him as you slowly lose the life in your small, innocent little body, and the words pulling themselves from your lips that have left him so, so, so confused.

Aruetyc Darjetii.

Traitorous Sith.

He could translate it in his sleep, it’s some of the simplest Mando’a out there. Two words. Two, damn, makerforsaken words. Regardless of the implication that a Mandalorian is calling him a traitor, all of his training under the Emperor should not have left his body frozen at the sheer voice of a Jedi that should have been easy money for him to kill. You are untrained, terrible with your blade, and not a fast runner, so why did he let you escape? And why, once again, that eternal question floats into his mind on a cloud made of sleepless dreams and waking nightmares, why are you alive?

He looks back at the hyperspace that surrounds him on all sides and leaves the view panels of the grand ship he’s at the helm of practically psychedelic, and he twists in the chair to face the exit at the back of the multi-level room.

“Do not bother me.” He stands, and walks with rigidity a stormtrooper commander would be proud of. These black-and-white lit halls have defined all of his life, except for the few rare excursions he gets to go kill some survivor or some tragic soul that happens to subscribe to a different belief system than what the Emperor agrees with, from the moment he was found as a child to now, elbows-deep in metaphorical blood and frozen by two simple words.

He arrives at his room, and it’s not much to look at. A cot in the corner, a closet built into the wall with multiple iterations of the same black and gray flightsuit, an armor cleaning kit underneath the flightsuits, and a dummy in the middle of the room made of something he can hit a lot with his saber without melting it apart.

He sits down on the cot, and closes his eyes.

And he begins to meditate.

Images of bent and molten metal, broken plasteel, torn and frayed wires, sparks flying reflecting against harsh gray walls. Ice. Hot. Cold. Tears pour down bleeding cheeks, saltwater mixing with the blood and dripping onto snow. Lava running down a streambed made of cruel gray ash, dust swept into the sky, a scream, the beeping of a soulless red light.

He reopens his eyes.

You’re going to Hoth, and you’re going to die there.

Not if he can help it.

–

Your POV

You finish the mashed vegetable, and it’s so good you could just melt into the floor. It has flavor, texture other than questionable sauce, the meat was marinated in something that gave it just the right amount of salt to complement the natural flavors of the animal, the vegetables were crunchy and small enough that you could eat one with each mouthful, the water was so cold and delicious and perfectly washed out your mouth between bites, you’re euphoric.

Your first full meal of something other than rations for…you don’t even know. You drink the last of your glass, and sigh. You pat your belly, and all you want to do is sleep. You haven’t eaten that much in even longer than the time you’ve lived off rations, and you’re so comfortable and it’s so nice and cozy under all these blankets. You would fall asleep..except for the fact that there’s a Mandalorian Inquisitor in the corner of your small bedroom.

“Did you enjoy it?” His voice is quiet, as if he’s not really there.

“It was delicious. Thank you.” Why are you buddying up to a Mandalorian Inquisitor? And why are you almost worried about him? Your mind flicks up an escape plan, and if you could just slip past or maybe wait till he sleeps–if he sleeps–you could possibly steal the ship, send it somewhere, maybe abandon it and catch a ride to a different planet until he finds you again?

“You can go take that shower now. I’m going to go fly the ship.”

He gets up and leaves your bedroom, and you’re left alone again for the nth time. You get up after a few moments of sitting alone and walk out of the bedroom and you’re greeted with a small hull instead of the empirical hallways you were expecting. It’s…peaceful. Quiet. The only thing that greets your ears beyond silence is the soft hum of the ship running. There is a small ‘fresher in the corner with a little nightlight, gleaming a warmish orangey yellow. It lights the floor dimly, but beyond that orange break, you can’t see anything but the dark. The orange light reflects off a nearby ladder, which you assume leads to the cockpit. What kind of ship are you in that has a bedroom? Not your Crest, that’s for sure. You wonder what happened to it as you walk to the refresher, feet gently tapping on the cold metal flooring. Last you know, it was on Hoth in an ice cave being burnt, along with all of your gear, clothes, healing supplies, and even your extra rations. You mourn the loss of the credits, but maybe you could ask the Mandalorian what happened to them once you’re done in the shower.

You feel on the wall on the inside of the bathroom, and your hand lands on a switch. You press it, and once again you’re blinded by the brightness of an angry white light with no warmth. Once your eyes adjust, you see the simplicity that makes up this little corner of your new world. A small metal toilet, a sink, a little mirror, and a shower that you’re surprised the Inquisitor can fit in, wide as he is. But that’s not what matters.

You have a shower, for once in your life. You slowly strip down to nothing, and turn the knob inside the shower, and as if sent from the maker himself, water begins to pour into the shower, flowing slowly down into the drain and beyond that into the water recycler. It’s water. After a moment, steam begins to float up to the ceiling, and it swirls into the fan that constantly cycles the air in the small set of rooms you’ve been introduced to over the past two days. You step in, and it’s like heaven. Heaven as it pours down onto your aching skin, heaven as it floods down the various cuts and bruises that have scarred over or not quite healed right, heaven as it takes down the last few granules of sand that have managed to cling to you like leeches. You dip your head into the stream and close the plasteel door behind you, and you feel it right down to the skin of your scalp. You can’t help but let out a giggle, feeling your fingertips begin to wrinkle. You’ve heard before of this phenomenon when you lived on a planet with water maker-knows-how-long-ago, where skin tends to change with water. A bright color catches your eye, and you see..soap. Soap in the corner of the shower, soap you can use, soap you can scrub with. You take some of it and lather it through your hair, and as you absentmindedly scrub, your mind wanders.

–

“Your confidence will be your downfall, little one. What makes you think you will get out of here alive?” His voice is harsh, cruel, cold. It’s intelligent, holding knowledge beyond anyone you’ve ever met, even your father.

“I am doing it for my family. Not for loyalty.” You know that voice. It’s familiar. Pained. You’ve heard it before in good times and in bad, lightyears apart and separated by memories and hyperspace lanes. It has held you through nightmares and through wonder, given you life when all you can see is death.

“Family is weak. You could be so much more.” The voice holds malice, you wish you could tell the one you know that he is in danger.“I know.”

–

The shower sputters to a stop, and you’re jerked back to the present. You’ve been sitting in there for probably close to an hour, and the shower’s automatic timer has set off. At least you got all cleaned off, and the soap’s all rinsed off. You turn the knob to the off setting, and step out. There is a clean, fluffy white towel resting on the sink counter, and you slowly wrap it around yourself, drying off.

You pull back on the tank top and shorts that you had been previously dressed in, and you’re..comfortable. Happy, even. Sure, there’s that part of you that is still shrieking about how you’re in a Mandalorian Inquisitor’s ship and probably going to die before the end of the year, but your rational brain still comforts you. If he wanted you dead, you would have been dead by now. You’re going to get out of this somehow, you know it. You’ve been in sticky situations before. None of them have involved escaping his ship. Your hindbrain, eternally ruining the mood for everyone involved. Especially you. You wish you could turn it off, but you can’t. It’s kept you alive for this long, anxiety be damned. You’re a purge-surviving force-sensitive mechanic without parents, and your father sent you off into the reaches of hyperspace with no kriffing clue where you were going, your hindbrain almost purrs to you. The fucker has an ego too.

You finish getting dressed, and you finally have a chance to look in the mirror. You see..exhaustion painted on a once-happy face. Your cheeks, the way your eyes flit up and down, studying yourself. That little blemish right there that has plagued your whole life, and even though you tell yourself no one can see it, they can, and the scars from Gakrux or a narrow escape or a game of sabacc gone wrong tell a story on the canvas that is your life, your lips, the circles under your eyes, the little sad smile you get when you think no one is looking. It’s you. It’s your scars, your past, your future, the skin and bones and muscle and ligaments and right down to the DNA and midichlorians that flow through your veins, it’s you.

A crash sounds out outside the fresher, and your hand flies to your side–right. No saber. You left it in the bedroom like an idiot. You slowly open the door, to see the Mandalorian standing at the base of a now..broken ladder. He’s holding one of the metal rungs in his hand, and two others lay at his feet.

“I..broke the ladder.” He looks at you slowly, and you can’t help but laugh. A Mandalorian Inquisitor, one of the most powerful things in the empire, a warrior trained from birth to kill without mercy using every tool at his disposal, gifted abilities with a laser sword that most people couldn’t hope to dream of, and he gets done in by a ladder. A kriffing ladder. You continue to laugh, trying to pull some air back into your aching lungs, and he tilts his head. Has he never seen someone laugh before?You finally stand up straight after almost dying from how funny the irony is, and you have to hold your stomach for a moment.

“That was funny?” He speaks slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

“Yes. It was.” And..the humor is lost. You can’t let your guard down around him. You can’t be weak around him. You can’t be afraid around him. He could kill you with a snap of his fingers, a twist of his hand, a single flick of that damn blade that lays so apparent at his side. So, you resort to coldness. Just like before. Brute, dark, straight-to-the-point coldness. You’re a Mandalorian, in the same room as someone who is your enemy, so it’s only natural you’re supposed to be cruel toward him…right?

Then why did he save your life?“I..need to ask you something.” He tastes the air before speaking, as if his very words will poison the very fabric of the universe around you.

“What is it?” Short, to the point, you rattle off the words as if you’re speaking to a broken droid.

“How are you alive?”Huh?

“I survived the purge that you people brought around.” It’s simple. Even a baby could figure it out, honestly.

“What purge?” Genuine confusion radiates off of him, again, and you freeze. You sense he’s telling the truth, and that’s the worst part. How does the Mandalorian Inquisitor not know about the Purge of Mandalore?

“Show me. Show me what you’re talking about.” His hands land on your head, and before you know it, you’re pulled back to that day.

–

“I remember the purge.” Your words echo like a thousand voices layered over one another, as fire rains down from the very heavens. Screams echo out as a child’s pendant is crushed under the foot of a droid, while ash chokes a crying mother to death. A helmet falls to the ground, a blaster hole in the side still smoking from an unseen weapon. A light passes over a group of seven very small children huddled together under a mass of concrete and metal, and a pair of eyes close as seven blaster shots ring out.

Your hands grip his armor like a lifeline, as he rushes through the ruins of what once was your home, Sundari. It was your home, once upon a time, but these metal men showed up and decided that you were too much of a hassle. More blasterfire rings out as the sky darkens with the pouring of smoke from your city, as flames blaze all around you. Your father stops running, and looks around. As you look around, he’s been surrounded by several metal men. “Cyar’ika, my beloved cyar’ika, close your eyes. Please.” His voice holds so, so much desperation. It’s rough, modulated, scratchy. His helmet looks at you slightly, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel wind rushing past you and the screeching of metal enters your little ears, and your father is running again after landing on…you hope somewhere safe. You reopen your eyes, and you’re on a rooftop. The area that the metal men had trapped you is getting far away quickly, and the metal men are all crushed. He jumps again, and you land on the dirt road that was once a favorite street to play on with your friends, before…the metal men and the men in the white armor showed up. You hear more blaster fire, and a chunk of metal scratches your lip. You yelp in pain, and his arms tighten around you.

“You will be okay.”You look off to the side, and for a moment, you see a blaster put to a mandalorian’s head, all in blue, and she ignites a blade made of stars and void before cutting through the metal man in front of her. The darksaber. That’s Bo-Katan Kryze, you know her by name. You’ve never met her, but your father used to tell you that she was part of the ruling family of Mandalore before a usurper took over. He won’t tell you the usurper’s name. Your father wouldn’t tell you a lot of things, but one thing he did tell you is what is happening right now.

He didn’t tell you that he wouldn’t be coming with you.

And so, you both wind through the streets, passing by smoke and fire and ember and ash and death, trying your damn best to survive, trying to preserve the other. That’s how it always was, you and your father. Preservation of each other above everything else. He was your world, you were his. After your mother died, it was just you two, and so you adapted. You learnt what he had to teach (and some that he didn’t, but he doesn’t need to know that your pickpocketing skills exist), learnt the way of society, and learnt the way of the mandalorian.

Who would have known that that way would be what is condemning you to death? You feel wetness on your cheeks again as your eyes sting, and you’re crying. You bury your face into the hard beskar of his shoulder, and you hear a blaster shot ring out, and your father stumbles to a stop. You see his shoulder blade smoking, the shot having landed right in between the plates of his beskar’gam. He sucks air through his teeth, and he continues forward after twisting and crushing the metal man who had shot him. You hold on tighter.

You close your eyes, and images of the darksaber falling into an empirical-engraven gloved hand paints itself in your mind, cutting down T-visored helmet after T-visored helmet.

–

“That was the Purge.” You pull his gloved hands off your head, and he watches you. And for a moment, his façade cracks. And then you feel it. Rage. Senseless, bloodcurdling, tear-this-ship-apart-with-his-bare-hands rage.

He steps back. The rage is consuming him.

“I need to go.” His voice is spoken through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, and he cuts off the emotions that were painting your vision red.It’s silent. You can’t read him.

And for once, you know for certain that you know nothing at all.–

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

~Cactus

#mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #female reader #x reader #fanfiction #star wars #fandom

17 notes · View notes

ninjacat1515 · 1 year

Text

Together- Chapter One

Alex tried to focus on where she was, but her head pounded and she had to shut her eyes again. It was dark, chilly, and she could feel dirt all around. Shifting her hand to the left, she felt a stick with dried bits of something on it. Recoiling, the Hero slowly got to a sitting position, and knocked against several more sticks. These ones were curved and attached to a jagged ridge.

Finally able to tolerate visual stimuli, Alex squinted at the mass of sticks and her insides sank like a boulder. Bones. She was surrounded by bones! Clawing her way up a pillar of stone to stand, she whipped her head wildly about. Something huge was sleeping in the corner, deep in the shadows and snoring loudly. A grizzly bear?? But daring a closer peak revealed grey skin and hefty eyebrows.

It was a mountainous male Pillager with stained claws and teeth. Had he brought her here to devour?! But a further inspection of this place quelled that notion. He was as much a prisoner here as she was, and meters up the walls of their prison were viewing booths with cushioned seats. And they were gradually being filled with eager Illagers.

The Pillager stirred as they laughed and poured wine, passing out snacks. Alex had nothing but a decent sized rock and she grabbed it, gripping it close and ready. Devilish blood red eyes locked on her. He looked haggard and ravenous, and moved with a more animalistic energy than she remembered him having. It was Matias. Alex recalled their last encounter, and it had been a vicious one where she had chased him off at the end of it, giving him some deep wounds which had now scarred.

But while she definitely remembered him in all of his horrid glory, she did not see the same recognition in his eyes. Only a feral glare. She still had her bundle with her, and while it was empty of useful weapons, she had several solid steaks of jerky. She threw one and Matias lunged for it, wolfing it down in seconds. The crowed bellowed their displeasure at the lack of Hero maiming, and their Evoker leader Jacob, ground his teeth as he scowled at the scene.

“Eh, fear not Matias has a sizable appetite and I doubt one little steak will calm him down. We shall have a gorgeous bloodbath regardless!” his lust for human death and savage joy returned.

But Alex had more to offer, and the Pillager took every last one. No longer plagued by hunger, Matias settled in a corner; mind clear for the first time in ages. Alex had yet to feel right, and ate some of the meat too. Gods, it was like she had been hungover. She hadn’t been drinking the night before, that much was certain. There was no bump on her head either. The Illagers had perhaps drugged her...she noticed how Matias was beginning to look like his old self, least in his gaze.

Up in the booths, Jacob was seething and digging his claws into the railing. He took a deep breath and backed away, turning to the grumbling crowd.

“The event is postponed until tomorrow evening. And whomever was in charge of making sure that Hero had nothing to aid her, see me in my office. Now.”

#minecraft alex #pillager oc #minecraft aus

7 notes · View notes

anima-letters · 2 years

Text

An important question II

A blank mind would generally cause discomfort because it allowed any thought, regardless of its nature, to take root all the way to his subconscious, pressing down on whatever ravages of anxiety he may have struggled with. More now it's kind of lucky that there isn't a clear idea: without a synapse to hold on to until basically creating a vicious movement in his neurons, there would be no reason to panic. For there is no unforeseen suggestion to melt the poles of your social-emotional abilities.

Unfortunately, much of his plans are thwarted by an unnoticed miscalculation or, as in this instance, by the figure itself doing chest compressions.

Based on research in cardiopulmonary resuscitation, the chest of an adult human weighing approximately 70kg should be compressed with a weight of 40kg, reducing the recipient's chest by approximately five to six centimeters to allow the compressions to stimulate the pumping of blood to the heart. This information was promptly translated into a mathematical calculation adapted to his own size, weight and muscle mass, arriving at a clear conclusion: if he does not react now, he will break a bone, or worse.

The lethargy had to be wrenched away with the same impulsiveness as the rosy hand grips someone else's nose, releasing him when he seems to understand that he must stop immediately.

" For your information, being in a state of unconsciousness is not exactly a synonym for heart failure" reported between a sort of grunt and groan, how much force must he have imposed for him to even then feel the muscles reveal themselves for his desperate act? He was usually much more compliant with it. Perhaps he should start encouraging some more theory to complement his practical skills.

Everything stopped again as the full attention of his system rested on the sky that was beginning to weep, drenching the pure disaster in a wave of dismay, relief and something hesitant; Brain wasn't sure if he could define it as despair or something more unpleasant.

Stomach knotted, ears sliding down.

"Narf" is the only brittle verbalization received before being enveloped in a need-filled embrace, perhaps, he feared to think, with a desire for affirmation over something he didn't wish to ponder. "You shouldn't scare me like that, for a moment there I thought I'd really lost you!" the ability to speak even with the spasms brought on by the incredible crying would have left him impressed in other circumstances, right now his state had more the label of dumbfounded, which was irrational. It had not been his fault that the information overloaded his system to the point of requiring a forced reboot…although perhaps, his situation was more favorable following a period of self-imposed insomnia. There is another twinge of pain in his chest, distinct from the others. "At first I thought you'd just need rest, but, but, but, but, glarb! You've gone almost half a day without a word!" Half a day? To his perception, it hadn't been more than an hour. "I really thought-"

Covered his mouth, unable to be on the receiving end of that cruel scenario that turned his stomach.

Who in their right mind could live in peace with the sea emptying so brazenly in that face of his? Not even the greatest ounce of disinterest in his body could ignore it; not even in his natural state could he reject it. But neither can he help him, no matter that his intelligence surpasses that of the average even human. Pinky's emotions have never been able to be measured through comparative charts or formulas, at best, they were allowed to be catalogued by the behavioral method and even then the margin of error was blatantly high.

The pang in his heart makes him press more insistently on the opposing lips, which are trying to utter something. Which he ignores.

The only thing that matters is finding a way to appease the blue glowing in tears.

An idea crosses his mind, causing him an irritation that he refuses to label as embarrassment.

"Pinky" calls after what feels like an eternity. "I'm here" he reminds him, in a lower, softer tone than he's ever been aware of; he clears his throat, feeling too exposed. "Besides, someone needs to make sure your lack of brilliance isn't a danger to the world at large."

The vibrations he creates with what appears to be a chuckle against his palms brings the heat back with more force.

He curses more to himself.

"Close your eyes," indicates, wishing the intonation actually sounded more like a demand than a plaintive mumble. Fortunately, Pinky seems to understand better than anyone else would.

His heart begins to pound even in his ears.

He closes his eyes tightly, opens them again, goes over in his head that this is the only way he could make up for that incident.

Then why does he feel so scared?

Pushes forward without further ado, holding him again to deposit a tiny, almost imperceptible kiss under his nose.

Seeing him open his eyes, excited, different; how could there possibly be such a big change? Suddenly he shines brighter than any star that has ever appeared on earth.

"You…!"

It hits his head like a chain reaction. "I've had enough for today, Pinky," Brain dictates, "but tomorrow night, we'll be ready."

It can still feel his happiness piercing the back of his neck, warming his chest.

"What will we be ready for, Brain?"

Has to cough up the sentiment to better accommodate his words. "To take over the world, of course."

Notes:

When I showed my gf the first writing, to share my excitement with them, she asked me if I could really do something with the kissing theme. So here I am, concluding this attempt with two parts and an ending where there is still too much tension to move forward, but isn't that the wonderful thing? I'm really enjoying these practices

#brain patb #pinky patb #patb #brinky #fanfic #second part #Now it's a two-shot #random writing

10 notes · View notes

grimm-rider · 1 year

Text

Entry 15

The Dominion ship had crashed into Ivoryglass, destroying most of the rooms we otherwise would have been exploring. The only room left was the Golemworks. We decided to check it first, as it was one of the rooms left that might have the other half of the key in it. I hoped it would have the key, as that would mean we wouldn’t have to go into the fleshy pulsating Dominion ship.

But, of course, we weren’t so lucky. All we found in the Golemworks were a bunch of corpses Yrax had planned on mashing together into a carrion golem, and some potentially useful scrolls.

Which meant we had to enter the Dominion Dropship if we wanted to keep looking for the key.

Or ‘go in through the butthole’ as Aenland so eloquently put it.

Not an image I needed in reference to a Dominion ship. Mind breaking horrors are not high on my list of creatures whose asses I want to play with.

Regardless, we entered the ship. There was a godsawful alarm blaring, and an alert going off in the Dominion’s native tongue warning of potential intruders. I told the others that they’d be expecting us, since I was pretty sure none of them understood it—I only did since I still had Tongues going.

There were two doors in, and given the size of the ship it seemed reasonable to assume they both led to the same place. We decided to split up and pincer whoever—whatever—was inside.

I joined Aenland on the lefthand side with Greta, while Nestian and Edeya took the right.

…Looking back, I’m glad I decided to take the same side as Aenland. I just did it on a whim, there wasn’t any real plan behind following Aenland instead of Nestian. But I made the right choice, none-the-less.

Aenland and Nevra swooped inside first. They went out of sight for a moment. I heard the telltale crackle of electricity, and the fwip of arrows. Then I heard an unfamiliar sound—similar to the lightning, but different. More intense, somehow. And then Aenland cried out. He sounded severely hurt.

Greta charged forward, around the corner. I followed suit, Talsune flapping under the door then swooping up over Greta’s head. In the room there was a horrible incorporeal mass of tentacles emitting an otherworldly aura. There was a purple lumpy creature with four spindly legs, a single tentacle tipped in a stinger, and four bulbus masses at the end of stalks on its back that held brains. And there was a large vat of what appeared to be a brightly colored ooze.

And there was Aenland, holding a gaping wound in his stomach where a hole had been blasted right through him.

Talsune finished taking a slice at the mass of tentacles and I threw a Flame Strike at the ooze and the purple creature, trying to clear the way to Aenland. But then said spindly legged creature—which looked like it was already on its last legs with half a dozen arrows jutting out of it—pointed its tentacle at Aenland and cast an unfamiliar spell. Whatever it cast, Aenland’s eyes immediately widened, then went dark—the bright purple sheen over them faded to black, and Aenland fell. There was no breath in his lungs.

I didn’t need to be an expert on the dead to know a corpse when I saw one.

Nevra immediately scooped him up, cradling his body protectively from the enemies.

I already had plans formulating in my head, my hand reaching for the bag of holding.

I barely registered Nestian and Edeya entering the room on the other side of the hall, fighting the other mass of tentacles, seeing Aenland’s body from afar.

I barely registered when that ooze in a can shot a powerful beam of fire and electricity at Nestian—which would explain the strange electrical sound I’d heard before. Nestian took the shot head-on like a champ, like he always does, but it still must have hurt. I could smell singed fur, even from the other side of the room.

I barely registered Nevra turning on the bulbous purple creature, cutting off its single tentacle, and then spearing it straight through—dead. A fitting end for the thing that had killed her partner.

Talsune and I were flying just within reach of her. I reached down to Nevra, and called out, telling her to lift Aenland up to me. She did as I asked without question. I didn’t have enough time to think through what I was doing—I was on a tight time limit with this spell. I read the spell off the scroll, holding the scroll in one hand and holding out my other hand to Aenland, trusting Talsune to keep me on his back. I felt the burn on my fingertips of positive energy, as if I were holding my hand up to the sun itself as the magic turned from the deep blacks and purples of negative energy to the bright gold of positive energy. Talsune snarled beneath me in reaction, feeling it through me as well. But it had to be done.

I cast the Breath of Life scroll. The positive energy flowed into Aenland’s lungs, and a moment later he gasped in a breath of his own. He was still badly hurt—very badly hurt—but he was alive. That’s what mattered.

Aenland thanked me, and I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. I wonder if this is how he felt when I tried to thank him for saving me and Edeya from the Crone Queen back in the heart of the Dancing Hut, and he said of course he did it, because we’re friends. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. I thought the entire notion was ridiculous at the time, because at the time I found Aenland impossible to stand. I suppose now…it holds some merit.

Anyways, there was no time for that just then. We were still in the middle of combat. Nestian attacked one of those tentacle creatures—which I identified as Neshmaal. A moment later Aenland was back in the fray and popped both of the Neshmaal, before Nevra made the executive decision to retreat out of the room before the ooze could train its beam on the severely weakened archer.

It aimed at me instead.

Thank the gods, it must not have gotten a clear shot as it recalculated its aim from Aenland’s fleeing form to me and Talsune, as it just grazed me, and only some fire flicked harmless across Talsune’s scales.

Nestian and Greta began slashing at the vat that held the ooze, while I retaliated with another Flame Strike. Nevra flew back into the room, zipping around the corner into the Captian’s Quarter’s for cover before breathing lightning at the ooze’s vat, followed by Aenland’s arrows. The container cracked and shattered, leaving the ooze that was the heart of the Dominion ship free.

The ooze tried to cast a spell on me—touch of idiocy—and used its other tendrils to try to smash Nestian and Greta. Only Nestian failed to dodge, standing his ground against the large tendril smashing down on him. The ooze held its spell charge, but for the time being it didn’t touch me.

That was all the time I needed. We threw everything we had at it, and a moment later the ooze lost its form and melted away.

We found the other half of the amulet that made the key to the illusory wall. I took it, and we left that awful undulating room.

When I put the pieces of the key together and held it up to the wall, nothing visibly changed about the wall itself. It was still an illusory wall. But when I placed a hand on it, it passed through thin air. As any normal illusion would once you know the trick.

We passed through the wall and found ourselves in the antechamber just outside of Yrax’s true throne room. Unfortunately it was also the disposal pit. Three pillars of ice stood vigilant around the room—which we quickly identified as frozen Elder Water Elementals. And there was something churning within the disposal pit, which we couldn’t see, although we’d heard others say something about some type of ooze.

The elementals knew that their element (ha) of surprise was lost, so they burst from the ice and attacked.

As we fought off the elementals, a white ooze bubbled its way out of the disposal pit. Aenland tried to shoot it with an arrow, but all that did was caused it to split in half. Nestian’s axe had the same effect. Aenland had cleared out a couple of the water elementals, but now we were in a room of rapidly multiplying oozes. I decided to clear the numbers a bit with something I was sure wouldn’t split them, and cast a mass inflict light wounds. Two of the smaller white oozes burst from the negative energy instantly, leaving only the larger half to contend with. Greta took care of the water elemental while Aenland took the Adamantine Warhammer from his bag and smashed the last ooze, leaving the room silent.

Not for long. A moment later the ice above us shimmered, and once again Yrax’s ugly scaled face took up the reflective ice roof, looking down on us. He said, as a gracious host, he would let us leave, even now after all the trouble we’d caused. We could just walk away. Obviously we laughed in his face at the very idea.

Nestian brought up that he was holding our friend hostage. Yrax asked if we meant Cesseer. He called her to his side. She gave us a cold look, but it was a practiced coldness, and she was unarmed besides her sword—all the rest of her equipment was in my bag of holding. She hadn’t come here prepared to defeat us. She wanted us to save her, just like she’d told me. Anything else was just a ruse for Yrax’s sake.

I wanted to warn her about what he might be planning to do to her—maybe even give her an out for her contract if what he was doing was horrible enough to breach it, I didn’t know how Battleflower contracts worked. So I asked Yrax if he’d told ‘his Battleflower’ about what he’d been doing to the other Battleflowers. Yrax had a moment of confusion, then laughed, noting I meant the Dominion’s experiments. Then he, to Cesseer’s face, told her that he’d been giving weaker Battleflowers to the Dominion to use in their experiments.

‘But don’t worry, they weren’t as strong as you are.’

Bastard. Twisted lunatic. If I didn’t swear to Norgorber to kill him, I’d swear to any other god who would listen. That dragon’s head was mine.

While I stewed, Aenland noted that Yrax was scared of us. Yrax refused to acknowledge the notion, and cut the spell short, inviting us to try to fight him if we were so confident.

So we did. We stepped into the next room, and saw the dragon face-to-face for the first time. He was perched on a wall of ice high above us, with Cesseer on one side, and the Bone Sage removing some sort of tube of nasty looking liquid—a similar color to the Dominion ship’s ooze, I think—from his back.

Aenland and Nestian had words for the dragon—very inspirational things about how we were going to defeat him and end his reign, or about how he was a bad host, or something I’m sure. I felt that the blowhard warlord was beneath me. I focused my attention on Cesseer instead. With my telepathy, so that Yrax would be none-the-wiser, I assured her ‘We’re going to get you out of here’.

Yrax roared, and smashed something on the ground. It was an object we’d seen elsewhere in Ivoryglass—a golden egg filled with blood. Smoke billowed out, and there was a terrible flesh rending noise, and when it cleared the white dragon no longer stood perched above us. Instead a far more massive dragon with pulsing marks the same color as the liquid he’d been pumped full of—the same color as the ooze controlling the Dominion’s ship—stood above us, with the Bone Sage riding astride his back. The way they moved so perfectly in sync with each other, it was clear that they had artificially created the same bond between themselves that Dragonkin have with their riders. A bond created through a mutual desire to dominate and destroy.

The thing about Yrax, and most chromatic dragons—he’s plenty powerful, but he doesn’t know how to use any of it. He’ll just take over a plot of land, force some servitor race into doing his bidding, and then sit on a hoard of treasure and call it a day until someone with a sharper sword comes in and slays him for sitting in the wrong spot. Dragons always think they’re at the top of the food chain, and never plan ahead for when they aren’t.

In short, Yrax was a blunt instrument. Unfortunately, that instrument was now being directed by the Bone Sage, which made him a legitimate threat. The Bone Sage was an actually cunning opponent, unlike the self-proclaimed Lord of the Howling Storm. With the Bone Sage’s mind directing Yrax’s raw power, this was suddenly a far more dangerous fight than we’d come prepared for.

That obviously didn’t stop us. Even if Baba Yaga’s geass would have let us turn tail and run, we weren’t leaving Cesseer in his clutches. I wasn’t leaving Cesseer in his clutches. Not when he’d bragged to her face about how he’d let the Dominion hollow out her fellow Battleflowers and use them as puppets, as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather.

Yrax and the Eoxian flew over us. The Bone Sage cast a spell, and in a massive burst dispelled many of the spells we’d had on us in preparation for this fight—putting us on our back foot from the start. Then Yrax breathed in and let out a burst of icy breath that made an Irriseni winter seem positively balmy. Then he strained himself, pulling energy from the Bone Sage to move unnaturally fast back to his perch.

In the same moment, Cesseer vanished from her spot at his side, and reappeared in front of Nestian. I saw her mouth ‘I’m sorry’ before she went to kick him in the stomach. But our bear friend stepped aside. Then he dodged around a second attack as he completely ignored her and drew his axe to fight one of Yrax’s remaining loyal Dragonkin riders instead.

Aenland looked at Cesseer, then flew with Nevra past her, making a beeline for Yrax and the Bone Sage. As he did, I heard him through the Stone of Farspeech. He warned me that there was an Intellect Devourer on her back, poised to strike her neck the second she went down.

Like fuck there was.

As Aenland began trying to lay into the dragon and his undead rider, I telepathically reached out to Cesseer again. As I cast See Invisibility on myself with a scroll I’d been saving for…months now, probably…I told her not to panic, but that one of those experiments Yrax had mentioned was on her back right now. Then I quickened an Inflict Light Wounds, pushed her head aside, and touched the disgusting brain-like monstrosity instead. It reeled in surprise at having been seen and injured.

Using my senses to detect where the invisible monstrosity was, Talsune followed up with a slash through the surprisingly tough alien creature.

On my shoulder, Illivor flared out her wings, using the reflective glittery quality of her fairy-dragon body to our advantage to try to distract Cesseer and keep me from getting punched in the face too much.

I saw the awful brain-thing begin making movements as if to cast. I couldn’t get a good purchase to stab into it, its rubbery hide was too thick, but Talsune brought his blade down on the creature and it spasmed and lost the spell it was about to cast in my general direction.

I heard a distant crash as Yrax threw himself against the wall. I glanced up just long enough to note that Aenland was no longer on Nevra’s back. But I couldn’t focus on that just then. I had to trust that Aenland would take care of himself this time, or that someone else would get him out of whatever pinch he was in, because I had to keep my full focus on Cesseer and that Intellect Devourer on her back.

Cesseer told me she wished this could have been in any other context, before she swung a kick at me—and missed. Then a punch—another miss. It continued like this. She was fighting defensively—far more defensively than was necessary against the likes of me. It was obvious that she was pulling her punches. Not obvious enough to get through Yrax’s thick skull, it would seem, as he yelled at her to fight better, completely oblivious that it was a purposeful ruse. The Bone Sage seemed less than amused at the stupidity, which probably felt contagious with their minds linked like that.

Talsune struck the brain monster on Cesseer’s back again. I decided I’d had enough of this thing. I cast Slay Living, and let the black fires engulf the Intellect Devourer.

Yet still, somehow it clung to life. So I called on one final Quickened Inflict Light Wounds. I grabbed the creature. For a moment it felt like the spell wasn’t going to take against the force of its resistance—so I threw in the last of my power as the Black Rider for the day and forced the spell through. I pulled the Intellect Devourer off Cesseer’s back, whispering to her as I did: ‘I promised you everything would be okay’.

The brain-like monstrosity decayed away and turned to dust in my hand, not even a skeleton left.

The moment was ruined when Aenland was violently punched to the ground from over a hundred feet above our heads, somehow managing to roll to his feet despite leaving an impressive crater in the ground where he’d impacted.

Then from out of the left of my vision, Nestian barreled in and grabbed Cesseer. He told me to go and help the others, and he’d take care of things here. After what just happened to Aenland, I knew my remaining spells would be best spent elsewhere, so I agreed and strode into the center of the battlefield. Aenland had pulled himself back up and onto Nevra’s back, flying up into the air so his partner could breath a burst of lightning at both rider and dragon. A strange cracked barrier absorbed the blow. Then Aenland began shooting arrows, until the barrier broke and the remaining arrows found purchase in the Bone Sage’s flesh.

I snapped a bone in my fist and tried to shatter Yrax’s great draconic bones, but he resisted the worst of it, his bones creaking and bending but never quite shattering. At the same time, Talsune flew over my head and swooped in at Yrax to try a hit and run attack—unfortunately his sword clashed against hard scales, sending sparks flying but not doing any real damage. He flew back a safe distance.

Over my shoulder I saw Greta run in to help Nestian. She transformed into her wolf form, placing a paw on Cesseer to press her into the ground and keep her in place. I wondered if Greta was getting any amusement from holding down my ex-lover.

My attention was drawn back to Yrax and the Bone Sage, as the Eoxian once again dispelled a number of spells on us—nothing from me this time, as all the magic on me had already been used up or dispelled. Then Yrax breathed out another deadly cold breath. Fortunately, Aenland was the worst off of the people caught in it, and he’d had Protection from Energy: Cold cast on him before we went into this fight, so he came out no worse for the wear.

Aenland peppered the Bone Sage with arrows again, and I grabbed him with Boneshaker and tried to rip him apart—but he used a power that looked strikingly similar to when we use the Black Rider’s power to hold himself together.

Then Illivor popped her head out from around Edeya’s neck—where she’d moved to once I was no longer facing down Cesseer. She flapped her shiny little wings and shot out a magic missile, hitting the Bone Sage and breaking apart the power that was holding him together, letting my Boneshaker rip him apart.

All that was left was Yrax.

The dragon laughed, saying he’d planned on betraying the Bone Sage anyways, so this tied up loose ends for him.

Yrax was low enough to the ground for Nestian to charge him in the flying cauldron, and cut into him with his axe.

Aenland shot a flurry of arrows at the overgrown dragon, holy arrows tearing through wings and cracking through scales.

Yrax bellowed out a roar and that same power I’d seen the Bone Sage coalesced around him, allowing him to move with unnatural speed as he lashed out at Nestian.

Not fast enough, as I caught him with Boneshaker, and tried to force the great beastly dragon to bow before me. The stubborn creature resisted. And then there was a ripping, tearing, gristly noise of flesh opening up as his skull and part of his spinal cord were ripped clean from his body.

He never bowed, for all the good it did him.

I was dusting off my clothes and considering if it would actually be possible to take his skull as a souvenir or if I should just take a tooth, when Cesseer jovially challenged us to race to Yrax’s hoard before she immediately teleported herself up on top of that big wall of ice and began running for the huge metal doors in the back of the room. I yelled after her that she was cheating. Talsune had already swooped down to my side without me needing to call for him, and I leapt on his back and began to race after her. The others, in their various methods, weren’t far behind.

Then we all stopped dead as we entered into a room filled with more treasure than any of us had ever seen in our lives. At least, as far as I remember I’d never seen this much treasure in my life. It was a true dragon’s hoard. Piles of coins: gold, silver, copper, even platinum. Rare art, fine jewels and jewelry, rare and obscure objects of incredible value. A huge chunk of adamantine. Just a big chunk of it, like a big dense reflective metallic rock.

And, of course, there was the bear-skin rug. The key to the next location the Dancing Hut was to take us to in our search for Baba Yaga.

As we left the treasure hoard, we also searched the dragon and the Bone Sage for their possessions. Obviously, I took the Grip of Death—that strange technological spinal wand that the Bone Sage had used to throw Aenland backwards and rip out a piece of his soul the first time we’d fought. It might only have 1 charge left, but it would be well worth it when I found a use for it. Besides it just fits my aesthetic.

The Bone Sage also had a strange device on him with a large red button. As we didn’t know what it did, we initially left it alone. However as we spoke, the ground beneath us began trembling again and we were knocked from our feet. The Crimson Worms were still making their way steadily towards the Winter Collector. We couldn’t make it to them—and even if we could, we were in no shape to fight two Dominion-touched Crimson Worms. We were running on fumes after that fight. I was completely out of my most powerful spells—and I was almost completely out of Boneshakers too. After that all I’d have were some inflict spells and that’s it. Edeya was in a similar place expect replace powerful death magic with powerful healing magic. Aenland was still badly hurt, too. We were in no position to go hunting down two worms that were far more deadly than the two that very nearly did Talsune in in the caverns beneath this very fortress.

Cesseer noted that surely if the Dominion had released them, they had back up plans for uncase the worms went rogue. I noted that if that were the case, then the Bone Sage had likely had it on his person. The others were about to go through his stuff again, but I had already made up my mind about what the correct course of action was. I pressed the red button on the device the Bone Sage had held.

We heard two very distant noises, like heavily muffled explosions. The rumbling stopped. Aenland declared that they must have been summoned creatures, and that button sent them back to their home plane. I knew that was definitely not how that worked, and if that sound was anything to go off of, the two worms had probably exploded in a gory mess miles below the surface of the ice. But Aenland didn’t need to know that, so I didn’t correct him.

With treasures packed away, enemies defeated, and Cesseer saved, we made our way out of Ivoryglass and back towards our waiting allies.

#pathfinder #reign of winter #journal entry

2 notes · View notes