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selfindulgentpixies · 4 months

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Blood upon the snow: chapter 1

Vampire!Gojo x gn!reader

You read that right folks, it's finally here. Or part of it is anyway. I decided to split my vampire Gojo fic into several parts just because feed back really helps me stay inspired and I'm not sure how long this potential beast of a fic will take me to finish otherwise in all honesty. I've put a lot of work into this fic so far. probably one of the most refined things i've written.

CW: canon typical violence, blood drinking (you know vampire stuff),GN!Afab!reader, reader isn't a blank slate but I still hope you will enjoy putting yourself in their shoes, reader is a hunter(the normal kind), Sukuna is here and he's his own warning. Potential for vampire politics in a future parts if i'm feeling crazy, past satosugu (what you thought i'd be able to leave suguru out of this?)

4.2k

It had been years since it happened but you’d never forget it. The winter had been a particularly harsh one and you’d heard the adults talking about bandit attacks being on the rise due to scarcity. Your mother had soothed you and told you nothing would happen though. That you'd get safely from one city to the next. She’d been wrong.

A merchant caravan was far too tempting a target with all the potential goods on board. From the food to all the valuables carried within. You’d been asleep when it happened, curled up safely in your mother’s lap the both of you wrapped in warm furs and being gently rocked by the movements of the carriage. You were meant to make it to the next major settlement by noon the next day. But right now the moon hung high in the sky, bright enough to to be seen through the thin cloud cover. The world outside was all shimmering shades of blue and white under the winter moon’s silver gaze.

The silence of the snow muffled night is cut sharply by a scream followed by a loud crack of splintering wood echoing through the air, likely from the back of the caravan. You wake groggily in your mother’s arms, dazed and confused as she sets you down on the seat so she can look out one of the carriage’s windows toward the front where your father was at the reins. A wet thump, followed by a scream from your mother. More screams, seemingly from all around, cries from adults scrambling to issue orders. Then your carriage veers, the horses startled by the chaos.

You’re knocked from your seat, tiny body tumbling across the carriage when something suddenly rams into its side, sending it over and off the path. The world goes dark, you’re not sure for how long. When you come to the caravan isn’t immediately in sight though the screams seem to echo all around you. When you finally catch sight of an orange glow in the distance your eyes are able to focus on something much closer as well. A dark shape lying in the snow, red slowly spreading around it. No. Not it. Her. Your mother. There’s several figures in the distance backlit by the distant chaos approaching but you can’t tear your wide eyes from your mother. You begin to crawl toward her when her eyes suddenly fixate on you. “Run.” You freeze. With more strength she speaks again. “Run.” The figures in the distance grow closer. “I said RUN.”

You stumble up to your feet then. A step backward.

“RUN”

And you do. Turning on your heel to stumble through the forest. You hear shouting then but you don’t listen to it. Can’t listen to it because you need to listen to your mother. Her face in that moment seared into your mind. Cold air burns through your throat and lungs as you push yourself to run. To where you had no idea. You didn’t know these woods. You’re quick though, like a little rabbit, running with fur boot clad feet you barely sink into the snow at all while your pursuers stumble and sink through the deep drifts of snow. Too heavy to be supported by the shimmering shell that is the snow’s top layer.

You keep running long after you stop hearing their crashing footsteps and shouts. You keep running until you can’t. You collapse, coughing, lungs burning from the effort and cold. You curl into a ball right there beneath the canopy of pines. You’re not sure how long you lie there, but eventually somehow silent and without sinking into the snow at all a pair of boots appear in your line of sight. You weakly turn your face to look up, your lashes and cheeks decorated with jewels made of frozen tears

A person.. Are they really a person, they seem too beautiful to be a person, it’s as if the moon took human form and came to earth. They kneel down in front of you, expression solemn as they reach out to brush away some of the frozen tears before cupping your tiny face in their large hands. Their hands are nearly as cold as the snow you’re laying upon. All you’re really focused on now though are their bright blue eyes, not just bright but glowing. You attempt to speak but no sound comes out of your raw throat.

“Shhh… Don’t try to speak.” The voice is deep yet melodic, you think it might be soothing if you weren’t so numb. The deepness of the voice at least makes you think they’re a man of some kind even if not a human one. He picks you up and bundles you into his coat. You gaze up at him as he carries you, where to, you have no idea but you can’t seem to care in your current state, so instead you gaze up at him. His eyelashes like the snowflakes that fall around you as they dust over his cheeks with each blink.

You’re apparently not the best listener because you weakly croak out a question. “Are you an angel? Did I die..?”

He pauses mid stride and glances down at you, crystalline eyes wide. Then he laughs, the action jostling you against his chest. “Now that’s a new one.” He adjusts his hold on you and continues. “You don’t need to worry about what I am and no you didn’t die.” His solemn expression has been replaced with a soft one. Lips gently curving at least for a moment and gaze soft before he looks ahead. “No more talking from you, you need your rest.”

You don’t need to be told again as your eyelids feel heavy. The exhaustion from before settling over you like a blanket, wrapped in this strange man’s coat and being gently rocked by his steps you drift off.

You stare up at the ceiling of your small room, blinking away sleep. It’s been years since that night and yet you still dream of it. You roll from your cot, immediately stuffing your feet into a pair of slippers. It was beginning to get cold out, the chill always bringing with it the dreams. Not that it was winter yet. Instead of a world dusted in white the world outside was a fiery palette of reds, oranges and yellows.

You wander your way to the small kitchen where your grandmother sits with a cup of tea clutched between her weathered fingers. “You slept in.” It’s simply an observation not an accusation. “That’s not like you. Normally you’re up before the sun, not well after it.”

You reach for the pot of tea and pour yourself a cup, happy to cradle the warmth in your hands. You hum. “And yet you didn’t come to wake me.”

Your grandmother hums in turn then, it was a response you picked up from her after all. “Of course not. You need to get more rest or you’ll burn yourself out. You’ve spent nearly everyday in the woods either hunting or gathering other supplies.”

“I need to make sure we’re both taken care of. It’s predicted to be a harsh winter. This fall has already been particularly cold.” You blow on your tea and sit across from your grandmother.

“We already have more than enough smoked and dried meats to get through the winter.”

“And the extra can go around to others in the village who need it in that case. If not that I can take it to trade in the larger towns for other supplies we might need. You know, like your medicine. OW!” You yelp as she gives your leg a thwack under the table with her cane.

“Watch your tone,” She replies, both hands returning to her cup to raise it to her lips for another sip. “And stop worrying so much about me. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself still.”

You grumble and rub at your leg. “Stubborn old bat…” you mumble beneath your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing~” You sip at your tea as she narrows her eyes at you.

Before she’s able to say anything more there’s a knock at the door, drawing both of your attention. “Expecting someone today?” You ask her as you begin to get up and go to the door.

“Not at all.”

Not that it was abnormal for people to stop by for any number of reasons in a village like this. What wasn’t normal was when you looked through the peephole and saw one of the lead elders had stopped by your home unannounced. You open the door quickly and step to the side so your grandmother can see who it is.

“Now to what do I owe the visit, Gakuganji? The elders council isn’t meant to gather until the end of the week.” Your grandmother was technically on the council though she was the current youngest member to be welcomed on. Meanwhile she’s said before that she remembers Gakuganji being old already while she was young. Honestly you can’t imagine this fossil ever being young anyway.

“There’s an urgent matter that I need to discuss with you.” He says to your grandmother while his eyes flick pointedly toward you.

You raise your hands in mock defeat. “Alright alright I’ll make myself scarce. Just give me a minute to get properly changed, old man.” This earns you a glare from Gakuganji and a snort from your grandmother as you head back to your room. Soon enough you’re dressed and heading out the door, grabbing your bow and quiver as you go. Your hunting knife already secured to a belt at your waist. Admittedly you’re curious about what could be so urgent that it would bring Gakuganji here, especially when as your grandmother had said there was to be a regularly scheduled meeting of the elders from the various villages at the end of the week.

You stretch and breathe in the crisp air. Glancing toward the sky you realize just how late you actually had slept in and feel a bit mortified. Your grandmother had really let you sleep in well past noon. You grumble and go to bundle up one of your kills from the previous day onto the back of your horse to bring to the city to sell. You really did need to go and get more medicine for your grandmother anyway.

It’s grown dark once you’re on your way home. The days grow shorter and shorter giving way to long nights. You didn’t mind it much. There was a certain peace that came with it, though while on the roads you didn’t allow yourself a false sense of security. It’s why even when you weren’t hunting you always had your knife and bow. It’s a habit that’s saved your life on more than one occasion, both from creatures of the night and simple brigands who think you’d make an easy target.

Something is wrong tonight. You feel it in the air. Everything is too quiet and when the forest is quiet it often means something dangerous is around. You pet your horse’s neck, aiming to soothe it. That’s when not far ahead you see a figure on the road. You slide your bow off your shoulder, your free hand poised to grab for an arrow if you need it as you steer your horse with your thighs. Not that it needed guidance on the path home which you’ve taken hundreds of times.

“So even rabbits can bare their teeth, hmm?” The figure speaks without looking at you. His voice is deep and dripping with amusement. “Put that arrow away before you get hurt, human. I have no business with you”

A shiver goes through you at the words. Human. Your horse stops and refuses to go forward. Your horse that’s encountered all sorts of beasts and kept its nerve. When you don’t say anything the man looks over at you, his eyes are crimson and his face is adorned with tattoos. You know who he is even without having ever seen him in person. You press your lips into a firm line. Sukuna the vampire lord from a distant land. His territory brushed precariously with the Vampire lord who called your own lands home. Two vampires who were closer to gods than anything walking this earth truly ought to be. Crystalline blue eyes and a snowy night flash through your mind’s eye.

You at least know better than to question his presence out loud. But still you don’t avert your gaze and his eyes narrow. Suddenly he is much much closer, making your horse rear back in panic, knocking you off before it lets out a sound of fear and runs off into the woods, leaving you on your back on the dirt road.

“Perhaps your beast is smarter than you are.”

You let out a hiss of pain before opening your eyes and looking up. He’s standing above you, crimson eyes gazing down at you unimpressed. Fear pricks across your skin and keeps your mouth shut. After what feels like an eternity he snorts and suddenly you feel as if you can move again. You scramble to your feet and look away. Years of experience have told you not to take your eyes off a predator and give them an opening lest they rip out your throat but your instincts say to stop meeting his eyes and get away. You think your instincts have the better of it this time.

“Now you show sense,” His tone is incredulous. Now that you’re looking away from his face he begins to walk past you. He pauses when he’s right beside you. “You should be grateful I’m in a good mood tonight.” And like that he’s gone.

The encounter leaves you shaken and without a ride. You curse and shakily gather up anything that fell off your horse with you before heading home. Hopefully your horse would find their way back home just fine and wouldn’t get picked off. You’d worry about them being stolen if they liked anyone but you.

You debate the whole way home if you should tell your grandmother that you encountered Sukuna. Would she even believe you? And if she does, what can she do with the information? Bring it up to the other elders at the end of the week? Or maybe Gakuganji is still at the house… Your whole face sours like you just drank bad milk. That old man wouldn’t believe you. There’s no way.

You’re incredibly surprised then when you crest the hill to the village and see chaos. People rushing around everywhere, loading carriages and preparing livestock to move. You break into a run toward your home. This had to do with the elder’s visit, there’s no way it wasn’t related. When you burst through the front door and into the kitchen you’re surprised to find your grandmother much like you had this afternoon when you’d gotten up. Though this time she’s smoking instead of drinking tea. Blue grey smoke curls into the air from the intricately carved pipe.

“Grandma, what’s going on? Why is everyone panicking and why’re you just sitting here?”

A deep inhale and the end of the pipe shines bright with embers casting the old woman’s face in orange light before she sighs out a plume of smoke and sets the pipe down against her little wooden ashtray. “I told the villagers they need to evacuate.”

Your brows furrow together and dread begins to tighten your chest. “But why? What did the old fossil say, and don’t try and say it’s unrelated.”

She snorts. “Don’t let him hear you call him that…” she ignores your mumbled ‘you call him that all the time’ and sighs deeply. “You’re aware that we fall within a vampire lord’s domain correct?”

You’re a bit taken aback but you nod. “Lord Gojo oversees this territory and the vampires within it.” Not that he exercised any direct power over the human population. Not in a ruling sense anyway.

Your grandmother nods. “The people of his territory are lucky. He’s benevolent as far as vampire lords are considered. He limits the hunting of vampires within his territory and protects us from outside threats.” She pauses, seeming to think for a moment. “He even saved you and brought you home to me without asking for anything in return.”

You’d started to brew tea as she spoke, needing to direct your attention somewhere to control the dread, but now after lowering the kettle over the flames in the hearth you look at her. Really look at your grandmother, frail and forlorn but with a slightest hint of a smile on her face.

“Imagine my shock when he showed up at my door with you bundled up tight. By the time he brought you home I’d heard tell of what happened to the caravan, I’d assumed you’d been lost. But there he was with you, rosy cheeked and cared for. You’d been missing until you were able to tell him who your family were… “

You sit across from her, wondering where she was going with bringing up this story. “I don’t really remember much other than when he found me to be honest..”

“I’m surprised you remember that much.. Truly though I’d expected him to ask for something in return. Perhaps even ask for you once you were of age.”

You choke on nothing at her words and your cheeks flush with heat. “Grandma! That isn’t funny.” Your voice is indignant.

“It’s not meant to be,” she says seriously then sighs. “My point is we’re lucky. He mostly leaves us all be despite his eccentric whims. That isn’t something many who live within a vampire lord’s territory can say. Afterall when I was growing up I fled from the territory of one who was far more malevolent.”

Lord Sukuna. Your encounter on the road flashes through your mind. Things are slowly clicking into place in your mind.

“Lord Gojo has been challenged to a battle by Lord Sukuna.” She folds her hands on the table in front of her, the weight of her words creating a pit beneath you that threatens to swallow you whole. You'd heard the stories of how those who lived within his domain lived or died based on his pleasure of displeasure.

“On the road tonight-” you begin but your grandmother cuts you off.

“This is why the village is evacuating. We’re too close to where the battle is to take place. Though some are going to go further than others. If Lord Sukuna wins, who's to say how quickly all our lives will be thrown into chaos. If he’ll decide to try and take over or if this is simply a game to test his power.”

You chew your lip. “Okay if that’s the case why aren’t you preparing to leave as well?”

She makes an incredulous sound. “Please, you know how my health is. I’m staying here, I won’t be run off from my home by him again. I told the villagers to evacuate so they can make their own choice. Mine is to stay here.”

You stare in disbelief. Maybe you shouldn’t be shocked considering this small village basically sprung up around your grandmother after she settled here. But still to just stay and wait for whatever happens…

The kettle begins to whistle and you push away from the table to get it. To prepare you both steaming cups of tea.

“My question then, oh grandchild of mine, is what will you do?”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pour each of you a cup. “How long do we have, do you know?”

“Two nights from now on the harvest moon.”

“Thats-”

“Incredibly short notice? I imagine Sukuna is forcing lord Gojo’s hand for it to be so sudden. Fight him on that night willingly or he’ll simply begin wreaking havoc in his domain regardless and force him into a confrontation that way.”

“And i really can’t convince you to leave…?”

“No. I decided years ago that I would live out my life here in this village. If it’s to end in a blaze of glory during a battle of titans? Then so be it.”

You tightly clutch at the tea cup in your hands. There’s an unspoken ‘you won’t take that away from me will you?’ that hangs in the air between the two of you. And you won’t. Despite how much it pains you, you won’t take that away from the woman who’s given you so much over the years.

—

In the end you’d left. You stayed longer than most, until the autumn sun was high in the sky, uncaring of the destruction that was sure to be wrought that night. Hadn’t the sun realized that a day like this was meant for storms and gloom? But you’d stayed until your grandmother urged you out the door. You’d wanted to drag her with you but if her final wish truly was to live and die in this village you couldn’t take that away.

You didn’t go far. Only as far as you had to, something in you deciding that you’d bear witness even if from a distance. The powers at play were hard to comprehend. Two beings who appear to be but mere men but with power so immense that you think your grandmother’s description of titans failed to convey it fully. You imagined this is what it was for gods to clash.

The night is old when all seems to have settled and you make your way toward the battlefield. Your intention was merely to see what was left of your home and if your grandmother perhaps still lived. You don’t make it that far though under the harvest moon’s orange red glow. Instead halfway through a scorched field you find him. Pale form covered in ash and blood, once brilliant blue eyes staring dully at the night sky above.

Your breath stutters in your chest. Part of you wishes you could say you hesitate but you don’t. You move to the vampire lord’s side, gently going to your knees by his head. There’s no reaction, not at first anyway. But then dull eyes slowly move toward you. Even still you knew he was dying. If nothing was done he was going to die just like you would have in the snow all those years ago if he hadn't found you.

You draw your hunting knife from your belt, the worn handle carved from the antler of your first kill making it feel like an extension of yourself. You stare at it and its glinting blade, kept meticulously sharp and clean by you, before glancing back down at the man who’d saved you. You weren’t sure if this would even work but you felt you needed to try. Cold steel cuts into the back of your wrist cleanly. You let out a hiss between your teeth at the feeling, and then watch mesmerized by the blood welling to the surface.

With the knife tucked away you slip one hand beneath his head and then lower your bleeding wrist to his lips. At first he doesn’t react. Instead your life simply flows passively past his lips. “Please… I never got to thank you,” Your plea is quiet.

You feel it then, his lips moving against your skin. His lashes flutter before his eyes seem to gain a hazy sort of focus, different from the dullness of moments prior. You press your wrist more firmly to his mouth and you feel his tongue laving over the cut in your wrist. The action surprising you both as something unfamiliar in itself but also in how it soothes the stinging wound. Then like a steel trap being triggered his hands fly up and grab your arm securely before his mouth fully latches onto your wrist, fangs cleanly piercing your flesh as if you were nothing more than a ripe summer peach. You cry out, both from the sudden sting of pain and the abruptness of his action. You don’t try to yank away, instead curling forward, the hand that was once supporting his head going to the ground to curl into the soil. You pant, your face directly above his with your eyes closed tight. The pain is fading as quickly as it started, numbness taking its place similar to when he’d licked the cut you’d made. Your eyes flutter back open and for the first time the eyes you remember from that winter night meet your own. Crystalline as they hold your gaze even as it grows hazy.

You wonder then if you were trading your life for his. If he would drink you dry with every pull of your blood past his lips. You don’t think you’d mind that since your time had been borrowed from him anyway. You sway even on your knees and begin to fall forward. It’s only distantly that you note him releasing your wrist before everything swims out of focus. __

Ba-thump

“Gojo! You’re alive! We thought- .. who is that?”

Ba-thump

“I don’t have time to explain. Get Shoko-”

Ba-thump

And there you have it folks! And i used dividers for the for the first time. Nothin too fancy but I felt this deserved it. I would love to hear if you guys enjoyed this and what your favorite part/s were. This fic is sorta my baby. It's somthing I'll work on when the mood strikes because I want to do it right and put a lot of love into it. I'm really trying for those gothic romance vibes. Also sorry Gojo wasn't in this chapter a ton but I really needed to set the scene and tone of this story.

tag list!: @icy-spicy @margumis @fah-keet @missmugiwara @pastelle-rabbit @mysugu @fushigurro @nanamikentoseyebags @whispers-of-lilith @princess-okkotsu @strawberrystepmom @chifuyuskoneko @katsulock @kinjuutsu @kweenkatsuki-main @biscuitsngravie @pupkashi @chuuyasboots @porridgesblog @kailali @4sat0ruu

divider credit: @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x gn!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x gn!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gn!reader #vampire gojo #vampire x reader #rossi writes

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spectralsleuth · 11 months

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My Writing Masterpost!

Fandom list is long and varied.

Little Scraps of Wisdom

Splinter was never mutated, and never Splinter. Instead Hamato Yoshi escapes the Hidden City still human, and with four sons. What's an action star to do? _____________________________________________________________

LSoW was originally based off of THIS fanart! It has veered wildly off of that since I initially started, however. LSoW is about how the Hamato family navigates living a relatively public and above ground life in New York City, with family, friends, and social security numbers. Things will both be better, and worse.

TAGS:

#LSoW

#my writing

#my fic

#flipside

______________________________________________________________

The Fic:

Little Scraps of Wisdom:

“Okay you can get your breath back, I’m glad, but can we please address the turtles in the room. They are turtles right? Not fucked up little frogs?”

“Do. Not. Swear. In. Front. Of. The children.”

Yoshi managed to get out between sobs, sniffing heavily yet again, hard enough to rattle his sinuses. Orange wailed in agreement, and to his horror Red looked as if he was going to be soon to follow, holding his own tail, and eyes wide in distress at Yoshi and Orange’s noise. Purple’s face was still buried in Yoshi’s sweater even with the addition of his brothers to the lap, and Blue simply looked delighted at all the commotion, yanking on Yoshi’s sleeve as if to make sure he didn’t miss it.

“They’re children?”

“Of course they’re children!” An Act of Poetry

“Veterinarian’s aren’t that unusual a request in a New York hospital, Mr. Munroe.” Dr. Heo interrupted, not looking up from the clipboard. “You would be astonished at the amount of exotic animals that end up here in one way or another, in someone's emergency room visit. Not that often with your request though. Pediatric.” She said wryly, and finally looked up. Her smile warmed when she saw Yoshi’s pale, sweaty face, familiar with the sight of a father about to throw up. “Relax Dad, everything’s going to be fine. Now let’s see the babies. ”Yoshi looked over at Sal, who nodded. Both doctor’s had signed the paperwork, and they were foregoing an assisting nurse in the spirit of discretion. Yoshi leant down for the carrier, giving it a couple of shushing noises and a quiet comforting murmur in Japanese as he brought it up to the table. Dr. Carter was leaning over Dr. Heo’s shoulder with the same bemused calm he had entered with, as if curious, but not too particularly fussed by the secrecy. Once the pleated shade of the carrier was tilted back though, both his and Dr. Heo’s faces froze in expressions of shock. A Short Season Lou Jitsu's finger tapped on the counter thoughtfully. “If you scream when you see them, you will be fired. I will ask you to leave.” He finally said after a long silence, that Xander was too terrified to break. He said it calmly, and with such a cheerful pitch to his voice that Xander didn’t understand what he was even saying for a moment. When the words clicked, he frowned, narrowing his eyes to see if he was joking. Lou Jitsu’s face was still faintly smiling, his hair pushed back by one hand as he turned and bustled over to the coffee maker, starting it to burbling. But Xander felt a cold run down his back, as he realized there was a sleepy sort of danger in Lou Jitsu’s eyes, one that promised repercussions, for something Xander didn’t even know about yet. “Wh- what? Why would I-” “BOYS!” Lou Jitsu bellowed, startling Xander enough to hit his knees on the bottom of the counter. His satchel was clutched in nervous clammy hands on his lap, and his glasses almost slipped off of his nose with surprise. “COME MEET XANDER.” Give me that thing that I love (I’ll turn the lights out)

They were approaching the venue, the limo slowing to a crawl as it joined the caravan of expensive cars that were being allowed through the blockade to the show.

Blue had begged to come. His sons loved fashion, and he loved to encourage them; but outside of a very carefully curated couple of interviews with Miss O’Neil, and a couple of other articles, they had not been out in the frenzy of media attention as their father had.

He and Sal had made very sure of that.

And Yoshi had been planning on keeping things that way, until Blue and Purple had discovered Yoshi had been invited to Fashion Week. 25 cents really stacks up Raph nodded hesitantly. His heart was beating really fast, but he breathed slowly like Pops taught him. He caught his Dad’s eye while Dr. Carter and the dentist sat in their seats and rolled themselves forward, swinging the tray on an arm over with all the things on it that Raph couldn’t quite see. His Pops smiled, and made his mouth an ‘o’, breathing in slowly, and then holding it, and then out. Raph breathed with him, and shut his eyes, turning to face back up at the lamp. Dr. Carter put some glasses on his snout and carefully taped them down, then gave Raph another smile. “Looking good! Hey, they’re the same color as Lou Jitsu’s glasses, huh?” “Oh, yeah.” Raph said in a shaky voice. “...I guess.” “Okay, here we go- open up for me Raph?” King in the Corner, Knight Takes Bishop “John Bishop! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person- I am not generally one to prevaricate, but I was starting to think you wouldn’t be able to track me down before my voice broke.” Donnie said with a casual disinterest, not even leaving his eyes on the intruder sitting where Leo usually sat- back to the kitchen window, and the entire room under the view of his blank, featureless sunglasses. “I’d offer you something to drink- but. Well. You wouldn’t take it, and I don’t want you touching my things anyway. But don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about that.”

Best Interest

“An investment in knowledge pays the best interest.”-Ben Franklin

Going to school is hard enough as a kid; it’s a whole other ballpark when you and your brothers aren’t even human.

Or; a collection of one shots all set in the LSoW universe, about the boys going to school, in a world where Hamato Yoshi is just trying his best.

Little Scraps of Empathy (Fic CROSSOVER)

“Oh my- thank you god.” April whispered, shuffling into view with a bat in her hands. “They haven’t really done anything, but. I peeked in again, and Yoshi they are definitely not rats or raccoons.” She hissed, wringing the grip of her bat. “Are there uh. Like, other…” She trailed off uncertainly, looking over at Raph and back to Yoshi. “...Kids, you have, that we should know about?” Her voice raised in pitch to a squeak, trying to convey careful nonchalance with the question and failing miserably.

“What.” Raph’s voice was a little louder than he’d intended, and April hissed at him (a very turtley noise, more than a human ‘shhh’ and they really had to make sure she knew she was doing that) to ‘oh my god be quiet.’

“If you freak them out Raphael Hamato so help me-”

“I’m not gonna freak them out- Pops you said it was rats.” Raph said accusingly, tail lashing.

“I said it was probably rats.”

Case of the Hidden City vs Lou Jitsu

They stepped through into the Hidden City.

There was a familiar swooping feeling that Sal had gotten from falling through the portal a few days ago, although not nearly so disorienting since unlike before he was on his own two feet. Remembering his instructions from Mariko, Sal kept moving even though he couldn’t see anything past the spinning void of pink and green and blue, Lou close behind him. Their shoes made noise as they came in contact with some kind of ground, but before Sal could even begin to think of what it could be, he and Lou were blinking under the bright bioluminescent glow of the Hidden City streetlights.

Also unlike before, was the friendlier face there to greet them. “Welcome back, Mr. Munroe. Hamato-san.” Mariko said with a smile.

#rottmnt #fanfiction #LSoW #tmntau #Human!Splinter #masterpost

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didyoutrydynamite · 9 months

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Okay but I need to see the universe we're Jaune joins the cult.

Dwarf Guard: DRAGONS!!

Dwarven Merchant Caravan: *Starts scattering into defensive positions as dragons soar up ahead, thunderous roars filling the sky*

Jaune: *Riding atop a blue dragon, he raises a hand to signal the pair of red dragons behind him*

Red Dragons: *Swoop down and ignite the grass lands on either side of the caravan*

Cultist: Now!

Cultists: *Two groups of cultists, mercenaries, and kobolds charge cravan from both ends of the roads, trapping the dwarves between them and the flames*

Dwarf guards: *Pull the tarp off one of the wagons to reveal a repeater ballista, manning it and swiveling the war machine towards the sky* THUNK! THUNK! THUNK!

Dragons: *Initiate evasive maneuvers to avoid the incoming fire*

Jaune: *Stands up on his blue dragon, draws his sword and gently leans off his mount and plummets straight to towards the ground. Halfway towards the earth, a pair of astral dragon wings spread from his back and glides him straight towards the repeater ballista. Before the Dwarf manning the gun could get a fix on the infamous Chromatic Knight, Jaune closed the distance* DRAGON'S SMITE!

*The ballista carriage explodes into fire and splinters.*

Jaune: *Walks out from the flames unscathed, wings absorbing into his back. He looks at the ring of guards surrounding him* Stand down. We're not here for your lives, we're only here for the gold.

Dwarf: *Pulls back the hammer on his blunderbuss* A dwarf's gold IS his life, you'll have to pry it from our cold dead hands.

Jaune: ...So be it. *Roars at the top of his lungs, a dragon's breath of lighting bolts lashing out to the dwarves before him*

#dnd au #jaune arc

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sixty-silver-wishes · 4 months

Text

so here's the other fic I promised for the anon the other day. hope you can see it anon

also, this is a heavier fic, so cw for abuse and starvation

It was always the bell first.

The sound of the bell meant that the muscles must twitch, and that the nostrils must flare, and that the lips must part, and that the eyes must open.

Cesare wasn't frightened when he was suddenly roused awake, to find himself standing upright in the cramped wooden box with the scent of dried blood and the splinters that found their way under his dirty fingernails. He wasn't frightened by the blinding light that burned his pellucid eyes, or the sudden screams bursting from the crowd as soon as the lids parted, or all the chaos and noise of the carnival. He wasn't frightened by the unfamiliar, jeering faces crowding around the stage, all clamoring and shouting and gawking at him, the mass of bodies forming a many-armed, many-eyed, many-headed beast reeking of sweat, alcohol, and anticipation.

Nor was he frightened of the cane pressed against his chest, the hands that slipped over his shoulders and down his spine. He wasn't frightened by the hungry whispers in the caravan, or the threats that followed them. He wasn't frightened by the fact that his real name wasn't even Cesare (or that he couldn't remember what his real name was at all), or how before he was a weapon and an object, he was a patient. He wasn't frightened by the blood or the cold or the knife or the starvation or the pain.

It was impossible to be frightened when he didn't know what pain was anymore.

Perhaps once, pain had scared him. Now, it was as noticeable as the air, so present he could not register it. His joints creaked when he stepped out of the box, having grown stiff from disuse. His stomach settled into a perpetual state of hunger, save for the days he was afforded a few spoonfuls of porridge as a reward for his usefulness. The bruises concealed by his high-necked leotard and heavy makeup throbbed purple and green against his pallid, clammy skin, to the point where it would have felt stranger to him if they weren't there.

The show would go the same way every time. Each crowd was told he was waking up for the first time, just for them, that he possessed unimaginable psychic powers, just for them, that he existed, just for them. And then, someone would be chosen. Two members of the living dead would come face to face with one another. The same night, he'd be given an order. He would follow it. He would lumber back to the caravan, asleep and covered in blood and the scent of anticipation.

He never remembered the faces, or the questions. But once, someone had asked him one, which was much different than the rest. He didn't understand the question, much as he didn't understand most of them, but after he had received it, Caligari did not let him answer it, and wouldn't allow him to answer questions for a long time. He didn't know anything about the person who had asked the question, except for the fact that they were dead now.

Some nights, the words entered his dreams, only for him to forget about them all over again. Sometimes he wanted them in his mind; other times, he wanted them gone. It felt strange to know that someone was dead, but their words stayed behind. He would never receive a question like that again, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure if he ever wanted to.

Are you all right?

It was an extremely unusual question.

#the cabinet of dr. caligari #fanfiction

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roll-for-something · 1 year

Text

My Number One Tip on Writing a Convincing Villain

the following is MY personal number one tip on writing villains and BBEGs for whatever use you may need them for. It are in no way the DEFINITIVE way to write a villain. I for instance like writing more morally complex villains that let the players think about the villains motivations because when the players can question if the villain is fully wrong it can lead to more interesting interactions. This is just a process I use. If you want your villain to be a true and horrific villain, then by all means do so. All that being said lets get into it! Everyone is the hero in their own story: Put simply its exactly what it says on the tin. If your villain is doing something villainous its usually because they think its the right thing to do. If you want your villains final goal to be to plunge the world into darkness, ask yourself WHY your villain wants to do that. Maybe its as simple as theres a much larger threat coming that feeds off of light or can weaponize the light in some destructive way, so there can be no light on the surface and millions will die. Or maybe its more complex than that. Maybe the villains clearly tragic backstory has a part where a group of paladins of the sun god committed some great atrocity against him and he vowed to blot out the sun so people will lose faith in the sun god, rendering him powerless. Both of these different reasonings give way to interesting interactions between the party and the BBEG. They also allow your VILLAIN to act VILLAINOUS without being absolutely reprehensible. As an example well use the first idea from above here. The BBEG is actually trying to protect the world from a much greater danger. The party could come across an absolutely DESTROYED caravan. Charred guards skeletons still in their soot blackened armor, a horse and buggy absolutely blasted to splinters, the ground charred and burnt 100 feet around never to grow plants again. the party comes across this with no context and its an inarguably horrific scene of brutality only a short time past. Its destructive. Its horrific. Its villainous from the parties perspective. But on the other hand... we have our BBEGs perspective. the caravan had some kind of super rare or even one of a kind super powerful magical reagent the BBEG needed to cast his ritual to plunge the world into darkness. He tried to settle things peacefully. He tried to explain the situation to the guards. But they drew weapons, discarding his stories of a light wielding monstrosity as a bandits distraction. Your BBEG doesnt have time for this. Time is running out. One spell. One blast. They died instantly. Painlessly. a few quick deaths to prevent the slow painful deaths of millions. A regrettable sacrifice that needed to be made. The Interaction of these two wholly different perspectives on the same horrible event allow for some of the most interesting role play possibilities in TTRPG or even just simply written history. At least in my opinion. this one interaction of the players coming across this scene after the fact also opens up many possibilities for the narrative. Do they side with him or oppose him? Do they talk or fight? Do they oppose him, only to talk to him halfway through the game, then side with him? HOPFULLY. Examples of this idea in fiction include Magneto from the X-men, Black Adam from Marvel comics (Not the movie. ew.), and oddly enough Principal Ed Rooney from ferris Beullers day off. (Think about it. Hes just doing his job.)

#ttrpg #dm #writing #writing tips #pathfinder 2e #dnd stuff #d&d

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thewingedbaron · 8 months

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Act 1: The Caravan on the Bridge

TAV: tiefling ranger

MINOR SPOILERS FOR ACT 1 AHEAD

The Gang finds a smashed caravan, destroyed by gnolls.

The caravan lay in ruins. An old cart, once loaded with goods for sale, had been smashed to little more than splinters, its contents strewn across the cobbled bridge. The bodies of the caravan’s defenders lay in awkward positions like forgotten dolls left on a child’s floor. Tav wrinkled her nose as she realized many of the bodies had large chunks ripped from their flesh. No matter how many things Tav had seen on the road, gnoll attacks would always be one of the ugliest. Their party had been lucky. Had Tav not spotted the bloated bodies of the gnolls’ freshly fed hyenas, they might have shared in the caravan guards’ fate. Even then, it had been a close run thing.

Cool fingers gently passed over Tav’s arm, drawing her from her thoughts. The cool feeling spread across her bicep, like fresh spring water flowing over her skin. Tav jumped slightly as her eyes met Shadowheart’s. The half-elf always seemed to be sneaking up on her, even with her heavy chainmail.

“Oh! Sorry, I…” Shadowheart stuttered, nodding toward Tav’s arm. She glanced down as the last of a long gash, left by a gnoll arrow, stitched itself back together under Shadowheart’s fingers.

“Thank you.” Tav smiled. She thought she caught just a glimpse of blush on Shadowheart’s cheeks as the half-elf turned away, muttering something about seeing to Karlach’s wounds. Tav turned her attention back to the destroyed cart, if only to hide the deeper flush to her own lavender skinned cheeks.

“Oi, soldier!” Karlach, the small party’s newest member, called. “Those paladins are just up the road. Let’s get a move on, yeah?” The massive tiefling warrior nearly spat the “holy” warrior’s title. “I can’t wait to get those creeps off my ass.”

Tav suppressed a grin as their towering tiefling friend stood, flexing the knots from her muscles as she retrieved her bloodstained greataxe. Karlach had an infectious energy about her, ever optimistic and always ready to get into the next scrap. Tav was glad she had decided to join their little troop. Standing next to Karlach, Wyll frowned, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, let’s.” He said thoughtfully. “If Zariel is sending more of her wretched agents out of the hells, I want to know about it.”

Despite being sworn enemies less than an hour ago, Karlach clapped Wyll on the back, hard enough to nearly knock him from his feet.

“That’s the spirit!” She declared with a massive grin. “Let’s get to it then!” Karlach bound off, nearly skipping up the road, despite the gory scene around them, Wyll right on her heels. Tav caught Shadowheart’s eye and shrugged.

“Onto the next adventure, I suppose.” Tav said, a smirk touching her lips. Then, she raced after her companions, Shadowheart’s chainmail ringing in her ears as the cleric ran beside her.

#shadowheart #karlach #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #wyll ravengard #wyll bg3 #halsin #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic

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desiderium-eden · 2 months

Text

tw: murder, death, violence (against a person and an animal)

While his time on the Aegis was … nice, there was nothing like the refreshing sting of Navkan air. As unforgiving as the landscape was, this time in the forests was one of the few times Dmitri could feel truly at ease. No crowds to be conscious of. No critical eyes on him.

No one speaking behind his back. Acting as if their whispers were quiet enough to go unnoticed.

Dmitri liked the quiet. And out here, during a hunt, it was quiet. Just the sound of chilling winds. The crunch of snow beneath footsteps.

Gunshots...

Dmitri’s attention shifted in time with Ylfa’s. As far as he knew, only his team was supposed to be hunting today. And while it wasn’t illegal for independent parties to be out there, it was rare this time of year. Not when the woods were at its most sparse this close to Spring. Though, given how frequently shots were fired, this was more likely a hostile group. Probably nobles out here looking to blow off steam or just to kill something. Anything.

He turned back towards the rest of his team, making note to avoid the other group when he heard it through the bond he shared with Ylfa. Screaming.

The others didn’t need him to say anything. Turning to follow after as Dmitri shot for the source. It wasn’t uncommon for inexperienced hunters, especially those of a certain class, to underestimate the forest. They’ve done this before. And they knew time could not be wasted.

Yet as quickly as they’d arrived, there were no monsters. Only a caravan. Wagons broken apart and picked clean. Snow littered with splintered wood and blood. If there were horses, they were long gone. And the few wolves there … didn’t fare any better than the people.

Dmitri told Ylfa to keep an ear out for whatever could’ve done this before jumping off to check on the closest body. The other Huntsmen did the same. Most of them were already gone. But he’d managed to find a young man, barely there. Tore off his cloak to press on the wound in the man’s side/ Yelled for someone to grab a med kit from one of the wolves’ packs.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay… What happened?”

“T-they … they took everything…”

“I-I can see th–Who?”

“Leshy–”

BANG!

Dmitri had felt Ylfa’s warning before he’d fully heard the shot. And in an instant, he’d let go of the corpse to hop onto his companion. The two racing into the trees to find the shooter. Following the scent of gunpowder and something else Dmitri couldn’t quite place but felt off. Whoever it was, they were fast. But Ylfa was familiar with these woods. She knew how to navigate the terrain. And after a while, Dmitri thought he could make out a shape between the trees…

BANG!

His voice cried out in unison with Ylfa’s. The phantom pain shooting through his shoulder as both wolf and rider fell to the ground. Whatever was in those trees disappeared as he managed to pull himself up to check on the wolf’s wound.

#murder tw #death tw #violence tw #{faebella obscura} royal au #{records of our sins} drabbles

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mad4turtles · 2 years

Note

Okay, okay, I had to calm down after reading that last request you answered cause WHOOO- 😅

But for another idea, how about one with Casey ii and Leo? We didn't get too much of them interacting other than a tense moment or when a argument takes place and since you did marvelously with the other brothers.....

I cant think of a scenario for them but I know to definitely not doubt that magic writing you currently pocess ✨️

First of all, flattery will get you EVERYWHERE with me XD

Second of all, I'm sorry this took so long, but I really enjoyed the challenge! Here ya go!

---

It's April's idea to drive the whole clan up to her old family home in Southampton for the summer. The turtles were beside themselves with excitement, and with no leg to stand on, Splinter had agreed.

Plans were made, an ex-warring warrior scientist was kidnapped, a caravan was 'acquired' (and modified by their resident genius to fit Raph and Draxum), and they were off. Crammed in what had become a tiny house on wheels, drivers switched between pit stops. All nine of them.

Casey remembers hearing of April's old farmhouse in the rare moments of quiet in the main base. She'd sit down with him after a nightmare or a failed mission—there was plenty of both—and talk about the early days before the war, before the Krang, before mutants or Yokai had been more than a myth or a story in what she called a 'comic book.' She'd get a look on her face, worn with wrinkles and hardened by years of conflict that was softened by the stories of her early youth. Of her parents and the time they had before work took over. Streams and forests unspoiled by pollution (or blood or Krang fluids), singing birds, blue skies and trees that changed with the seasons. It sounded like a dream, a fantasy, and he'd said so aloud.

Commander O'Neil had smirked, a sad thing she rarely allowed, and threw an arm around his shoulders to bring him close. “One day, baby,” she'd said, kissing his cheek, “it won't be.”

As they pull up in the dirt driveway, Casey wishes she was here now to rub it in his face how she was right.

(Technically, she is here, whooping and hollering with the rest of the family as they pile out of the van with their luggage in tow. But it's not her at the same time, and now it never will be.

He ignores the pang in his chest.)

The farmland itself is beautiful. Wide, spacious, green and free of prying eyes that would have the mutants and Yokai in hiding. The air and the skies are clear, the sun beaming down on them in glares of warm, unspoiled midday gold. He can hear the stream nearby over birdsong and Mikey's laughter as he and Donnie persuade Raph to spin them dizzy on the tire swing they discovered hanging on the branch of a sturdy tree.

Casey drops his bag on the grass. He shuts his eyes, breathes in deep and sighs.

He loves it.

(It terrifies him.)

Once they're settled in their rooms, April gathers everyone in the front yard to pick berries in the brush so Mikey can make pies for dessert tonight. Casey and Leo make up one team, leaving Mikey with a mildly reluctant Draxum as he tugs their stepfather by the hand. April steers Donnie away from poisonous berries, and Raph wrangles a dangerously competitive Cassandra—

“Come, Raphael! We shall acquire the ULTIMATE AMOUNT OF BERRIES! We will be the reigning champions of Berry Pickers in the history of the Hamato Clan!”

“Cass, yer gonna rip off my arm!”

Splinter hurries to supervise and ensure the safety of the forest under Cassandra's... eagerness.

“God,” Leo says with feeling, watching them go. “I'm still not over her being your mom.”

Casey gulps. “How do you think I feel?”

Berry picking goes about as well as Casey expects. He and Leo fill their baskets, casual conversation flowing naturally—about Casey's online classes, adjusting to big city life, his new favourite food joints with the greasiest hot dogs known to man that he adores—and it's fun. Foraging for food isn't new to him, but the berries look delicious, far more than rats or leaves that reeked of rot and mould. Plus, the routine is comforting. A good distraction from—

From what? How good things are? How much fun you're having while everyone from your timeline is dead?

If Leo notices anything off once they rejoin the others, he says nothing. He gives Casey a searching look, but it's gone after the boy smiles and urges him along, losing themselves amid Cass and Raph's victory screeching, having 'bested' Donnie's team in berry picking with their baskets overflowing. Donnie quietly seethes.

Dinner is more the same—loud, chaotic, messy and everything that comes with the Hamato family. Casey remembers moments like this when he was small; back when the Resistance was stronger, more than just the fractions of the family left in the aftermath of hell unleashed. Master Michelangelo would gather them once a week for a meal between raids, missions and rescues, sit them down in a quiet corner of the base and just—be together.

In those small moments, Casey saw a glimpse of who the Hamato's used to be. Seeing them now, whole and everything they are, and will be, as this timeline thrives, Casey's chest aches with a whirlwind of emotions he can't pin down long enough to name.

That's not true. One is grief.

He excuses himself after several helpings of Mikey and April's delicious pies, shutting himself in the room he's sharing with Raph and Leo. He flops onto his sleeping bag and stares at the ceiling fan. The sunset filters through the window in shades of vibrant red and gold, bathing the room in its warmth and Casey with it.

He's too angry to enjoy it, and that only pisses him off more.

Damn it, why can't he stop thinking? His future (past? Present? Freaking time travel) is gone. The Krang are gone, defeated, and the Key is safely hidden. Everything Casey had feared and despised is gone, replaced with the warmth, love and care of everyone he knew and everyone he never had the chance to meet. He has a family, a life, a second chance.

But he had a family before, too.

The future he came from may not exist now, but the people he'd known since birth were real. His memories, the scars from training accidents, missions and close calls, are real. His Master's dying words were real.

And he misses them.

He adores his new family, these mismatched outsiders who have given him everything he never had and more. But he misses Master Michelangelo and Commander O'Neil. He misses the mother he barely knew but loved anyway. He misses—

“When you're done saving the world, do me a favour... grab a slice!”

He misses his dad.

The door creaks on rusty hinges as it swings open, Leo strutting inside like he owns the place (technically, he does, but only for a few weeks, and he has to share). Casey startles, wiping tears off his cheeks with a half-baked excuse on his lips as to why he's crying on the floor, but Leo doesn't give him a chance. The slider is on the floor with him, pulling Casey into a hug. One arm curls around his shoulders, the other cradling the back of his head and pushing his face into Leo's solid plastron. Casey lets him, confused, blinking hard—

“Breathe, Casey,” Leo says. “It's okay. You're okay.”

That's when Casey realizes he's hyperventilating. Crying and hyperventilating. Leo must have heard and come running.

Great.

But he breathes in time with Leo, the turtle's heartbeat strong and steady under his ear, and it helps.

Just like always.

Because Sensei used to hold me just like this when I was little.

The floodgates burst, and Casey's sobbing in Leo's chest, clutching him for all he's worth, weeks and months and years of grief, fear, loss and guilt pouring out in heaving cries.

Leo doesn't say a word. All he does is hold him tighter, both curled up on the withered floorboards of an old family home Casey had dreamed of seeing with the aunt who'd spun its tales, with the father and teacher he'd adored, now years younger. History repeats itself in the strangest ways.

(It's as he's calming down, feeling Leo's fingers card through his hair, that he realizes he's seen Leo do this with Mikey not long after the invasion when they were all still healing. He'd done it with all his brothers, with April, and he'd seen Splinter do it in the rare moments of vulnerability that Leo lets himself have.

It's a family thing, familiar and loving in every way Casey remembers. It's different. But it's not bad, doesn't invoke the same guilt that's been following Casey like a shadow since the night he arrived in this timeline.

They're still family. Casey's family.

This Leo isn't his sensei, his father, and he never will be. He's gone forever. But Casey has gained a brother in his younger self—four amazing big and little brothers, a sister in April, fathers in Splinter and Draxum, and... well, they'll talk about Cassandra.

It's a strange feeling. But a good one. A really good one.)

Even once he's cried himself out, Leo doesn't let go until after he uses his mask tails to dry Casey's cheeks—which nearly sets him off again, but now he's too tired to cry. Then they sit up, and Leo smiles at him.

“I may not get what you're going through,” he says, bracing a hand on Casey's shoulder, “but I know what it's like to feel like you've lost everything while trying to save it. And no matter how good things are here and now, what you lived through won't go away. The memories of the people you left behind will still hurt. And that's okay. As long as you remember that you did everything you could.”

He lifts a hand to cradle the back of Casey's head in his palm, smiling bright and wide. “You saved us. You saved me. And no matter what, you're not alone. You'll never be alone.”

Casey's chin wobbles with his grin. “Right. Anata wa hitori janai.”

Leo's eyes go wide with surprise. Then his smile, touched, awed and proud, returns. “... yeah. You're Hamato, alright,” he says, bringing their foreheads together.

Casey shuts his eyes and smiles through the last few tears.

Then when they part, Leo is grinning.

Uh oh.

“Hey,” he says, and Casey feels fear. “Y'know what's a surefire way to cheer yourself up after a moment of emotional vulnerability?”

Casey blinks. “... that's very specific, but, no, what?”

Leo jumps to his feet, hands on his hips. “Help me grab all the pillows from the bedrooms, Jr. We're gonna start something.”

~0o0~

When they return downstairs, precariously balancing the biggest, softest pillows Casey has ever seen or felt in his life, the others are gathered in the comfortably cramped living room. They're settled on the couch, both armchairs and the floor, watching a movie with a dinosaur chasing a jeep full of people. It looks interesting--even Draxum seems invested--but then Leo grabs one pillow and taps Raph on the shoulder.

The snapper turns, smiling automatically at his little brother. “Hey, Leo—”

WHAP!

Leo slaps Raph full in the face with the pillow, Raph's head snapping to the side. All heads whirl to stare as feathers burst from the case and drift lazily down.

Raph blinks into space, stunned. Leo bites his lip hard against laughter.

On the floor, Mikey giggles madly. Donnie's face flattens as he stands and grabs a pillow from where Casey had dropped them. Draxum pinches his brow. Splinter hurries the cutlery and china back into the kitchen. April scrambles for her phone.

Then Raph shakes with a dangerous chuckle. “Ohohoho, little brother,” he says lowly as he stands. Leo's giggling hard now as Raph makes a show of cracking his neck and rolling his enormous shoulders. “You wanna be startin' somethin'?”

Casey grabs one pillow and throws it to Mikey's grabby hands, holding another up to his chest as a shield.

Raph grins sharply, yanking the pillow from Leo's laugh-weakened grip. “Cos you know,” he says idly, “if you're gonna start somethin'. I'm gonna finish it. How am I gonna finish it, Leo?”

Draxum accepts the pillow April throws at him and holds it over his head, hunching low on the couch with a groan.

“I dunno,” Leo giggles. It's infectious as Casey snorts behind his pillow. Cassandra is standing on the arm of the couch with two pillows at the ready, grinning like a shark.

“Ask me, Leo. Ask me how I'm gonna finish it.”

Leo doubles over with breathless laughter. “How—snrk!—h-how're you gonna finish it—?”

“LIKE A BOSS!”

Raph charges, Mikey hollers “Pillow fight!” at the top of his lungs, and all hell breaks loose. Pillowy, feathery hell.

And Leo was right. It's freaking amazing.

It escalates until they're taking the fight outside, the sun fully set behind the trees and the stars glittering in the night sky as their laughter and shrieks fill the air.

In the middle of the chaos, Casey is laughing. Tears prick his eyes again from the ache in his gut (and face from April's eager swings) rather than his chest, where a new (old) warmth sits comfortably.

He leaps from the trees to ambush Raph with a bellowing cry—

“GOONGALAAAA!”

—and Raph catches him against his plastron, falling back to the grass and laughing his heart out as Casey pummels him with his pillow. “Okay, okay, I'm dead, I'm dead, staph, mercy little brother—!”

“Turtle pile on Raph!” Leo shouts, and that's how Casey ends up crushed between four turtles, April, Splinter and Draxum when Mikey yanks him by the arm to land on top of Cass, who wheezes under his weight.

(Casey understands, now, why Commander April had loved this place.

The clean streams, flowers, untouched grass and acres of unspoiled land are beautiful, Casey's dreams made real. But it's laying in the grass, sweating in the muggy summer heat with dirt and feathers on his face and hair, crushed under his brothers and sister(s?) and wheezing through heaving laughter...

That's what made it magical to her. It's magical to Casey.

He loves it.)

He meets Leo's eye in the tangle of bodies, and the slider winks at him. His heart swelling fit to burst, Casey winks back and says, “thanks, brother.”

Leo stares at him.

You're not my Sensei, but that's okay. You don't have to be. You can be someone just as inspiring, just as amazing.

His crooked smile wobbles slightly even as he shoves Casey in the shoulder. “Anytime, bro.”

And just like that, Casey finally feels at home.

I'm home.

---

(Please send more rottmnt requests, I love writing these dudes!

Also reblogs are very much appreciated <3)

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #request #my writing #rottmnt leo #rottmnt casey jr #I LOVE THESE BOYS SO MUCH #one day I'll write the Papa Leo and baby Casey fic

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gavs-gabs · 1 year

Text

Two days. We would only be gone for two days.

In hindsight, it seems obvious. The mechhive must have intercepted our comms. Maybe they were watching us all along. Hell, maybe it was a coincidence. Either way, we should have known better. "It's two days. What's the worst that could happen?" I've never hated Wesley for asking as we packed the caravan. There is no room left in my heart for it.

The intel we got from Ouran told Anna we needed all the EMP tech we could carry if we were going to make it back alive with the persona core. And we did make it back alive. Some nights I wish we hadn't. The coincidence is too painful - we borrowed the one thing that could have saved them all.

I wonder how Wesley sees the world. Ever since we found that piece of archotech in the tomb, since Anna replaced his eye with that one, I've wondered. Could he see our hearts beating out of control? Watch the cortisol pumping through our brains? Would he even have thought to look?

Somehow we did know, even before we reached home. Call it mother's intuition, maybe a hint of psychic connection. Or maybe those godawful noises of the mechhive carried infrasounds over kilometers of brushland, reaching our subconscious long before we saw what happened. When I found Anna lying there on the other side of the hill, shivering and empty-eyed, I knew it was over. I knew she had to run; she never could hurt a living thing. Even if that thing was just a chassis of whirling plasteel blades. I carried her limp, barely breathing frame to the western gate while Wesley and Abbey went ahead to secure the base.

The destruction was absolute. It's hard to imagine how much could be destroyed without a single bomb or gun, but the splinters of wood and stone and ribbons of wire and flesh bore no false witness. The first bodies we saw were the animals and the ill-fated reinforcements from the Ouran League. The hive had systematically targeted the only potential threats-- pet boomrats, Lauren's cougar, the local friendly megasloth. They must have tried so hard to protect her. I hated myself for not being able to protect her either.

Wesley and Abbey went to check on the power to the south while I rushed Anna to the hospital. I heard the whirring as I rounded the corner, leveling my EMP blaster at a barely-functioning scyther. I set Anna down as gently as I could and rushed in to bash the stunned mechanoid's arms off. It sputtered and collapsed. I held back bile as I glimpsed the mounds of flesh by the barricade, but I had to focus on Anna. I could tell that much from the silence. Dead silence: nary a cry for help nor even a labored breath.

She wasn't injured. Not physically. I fed her and stepped back outside into the carnage. I almost collapsed like Anna when I saw my husband. They severed his leg, a clean cut straight through the femur. A massive gash was all that was left of his beautiful face, a deflated eyeball dangling from the gore. I fainted then, even before I saw Lauren. Before I had time to process the bodies of Panther, Espinoza, and Elwyn.

Abbey must have seen Henderson right away. It was just the three of us to start, Abbey, Henderson, and me. Abbey is beautiful and diligent but Henderson was always the best of us. She never faltered, not even once. I'd wager not even at the end, watching her friends bleed out on the dirt by her side. The way Wesley talks about that day, Abbey just threw her charge lance to the ground and walked towards the scyther. I guess she wanted to die too.

Wesley was stoic as ever. He crushed the mech's face and set about burying our friends and family. Another cruel coincidence, this mausoleum we had nearly finished. "Just in case," Espinoza had said at the proposal meeting. Just in case.

I don't know how we'll rebuild. Anna hasn't spoken in weeks. I'm grateful she survived, but most days I feel as though I lost both my daughters that day. Abbey has been burning the art and furniture, "so they'll have nothing left to destroy." Wesley seems to be the only one interested in survival. I can't even bear to look at my research, let alone the skeleton of the ship. After all, the Rim has taken everything from me. How could I leave without repaying the favor?

- Diary of Pepper, Scientist

2nd Decembary 5505

#rimworld #cw gore #scifi #cw animal death #short story #this was my first-ever rimworld run. i'm not sure if i'll continue it but i couldn't get the story out of my head

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purplesurveys · 3 months

Text

1805

Do you have a fan/air conditioning on right now? I have my aircon turned on, yeah. The colder weather flew by in the blink of an eye and now it's back to being hot and humid and gross and needing to have some sort of ventilation in front of my face 24/7.

When was the last time you sang along with a song? Which one was it? It was when I was singing along to Turn It Off by Paramore in the car earlier this afternoon, on my way home.

Are you currently wearing any hair accessories? Which ones? I have a hair tie on since my hair's in a loose bun.

Have you ever wished you had a different name? Which name would you choose? Wanting a different name was more the case when I was a kid, because children were brutal and bullied me to oblivion for my name; at one point I was insisting my family start calling me Isabelle just to escape the flinches I'd get whenever I'd hear my name.

Over the years and as those kids got older and started leaving me alone, I warmed up to my name and now think it's pretty badass.

Do you often press the wrong keys on the keyboard? No I'm pretty good at typing and the only time I get kind of clumsy is when I use a keyboard I'm not super used to.

Have you ever customised an item of clothing? What did you do to it? I've never done that; I've never been creative enough to DIY stuff.

When was the last time you got a splinter stuck in you? D: Less than a year ago.

Do you prefer drawing or painting? Any particular reason why? Painting. It's more therapeutic for me and at least with painting you can use the most random colors and shapes possible and it'd still, like, amount to something lol. I can't draw to save my life.

Are you saving up for anything right now? What? I'm saving up for life in general. With my resignation taking effect and me being down to my last four paychecks while I look for my next job, I don't plan on spending much until I settle the latter.

Are you any good at playing pinball? Nope.

Do you own any figurines? Of what? I don't. Not really my cup of tea to collect.

If you have any siblings, how much rivalry is between you all? I don't speak with my brother; my sister and I are great as can be.

When did you last have itchy eyes? It's been a while. This doesn't happen a lot.

If forced to go camping, would you rather sleep in a tent or a caravan? I would go with the caravan.

Is it dark outside right now? It is, since it's nearing midnight.

How often do you get jealous of other people? What is it usually about? Tbh no not really. I'm usually so much more caught up in my own life and my own problems that I've stopped paying attention to the ways I could possibly compare myself to others lol.

Do you prefer framed photos or just sticking photos straight onto walls? I don't do either of those but I wouldn't mind placing photos directly on my wall. It gives off a kind of raw aesthetic that I'm into.

What’s your favourite type of cake? I would never turn down cheesecake.

Have you ever woken up from a dream and believed it to have been real? All the time, which is why I always need to take a while to wake up lol.

When was the last time you brushed your teeth? Earlier this evening.

How tired are you right now? I'm not. I'm all excitement cos it's a long weekend hahaha.

When was the last time you had an argument with someone? What was it about? Idk if it counts as arguing but I guess I had a bit of a back and forth with Leah earlier this week? We met to discuss my resignation - she was offering all sorts of counterproposals, from a sabbatical to an all expense paid trip to anywhere I want - and on my end my goal was to be able to make her understand why any offer from here would be met by a firm no from me, as shitty as I feel about it.

If there’s a bug in your room, can you sleep or do you need to get it out? That bug would need to get out.

How long have you gone without sleep? Like, today? I've only been up for around 14 hours.

Can you drive yet? How good are you at it? I can drive, but idk, when can you start self-claiming that you're a good driver haha?? I'd say I keep careful while knowing how to use my tiny car to my advantage, but I do get major anxiety when I have to merge or switch lanes. That shit takes me way too long to accomplish hah.

Do you prefer travelling alone or with people? With people. I can barely take care of myself and know it would be a mess if I ever tried traveling on my own. It's something I want to try, of course, but I'm also well aware of my own watchouts for myself lol.

Did you listen to the radio today? Briefly when I got into my Grab rides to and from the office. I ended up listening to my own music both times.

What was the last baby animal you saw? That cute little puppy from a work-related TVC shoot.

Generally speaking, is it warmer or colder in your house than outside? It's ever so slightly colder; but if it's humid outside then it would usually be just as shitty inside.

When was the last time you threw up? Less than a month ago. Work anxiety.

Do you give people high fives or hugs more often? High fives and fist bumps.

Have you ever tie-dyed something? Just once, when it was an activity in school. We did it to a t-shirt.

Name something you thought was cool when you were younger but don’t now: Having an iPad. It felt almost revolutionary a decade ago and now it's like "well everyone has a tablet and it's kind of necessary for a lot of situations now so eh" lol.

How long does it usually take you to get to sleep? Less than 10 minutes. It's easy but it's also because I knock myself out by using my phone.

When did you last get a papercut? December.

Which do you prefer: Blackboards or whiteboards? Whiteboards. Blackboards are a bitch to clean up.

What sort of things do you have bookmarked in your internet browser? I never really bookmark things on my browser anymore.

Are / were you spoilt? Would others agree or disagree with you? To an extent, but I never was a dramatic kid and my parents only ever bought things for me so long as I earned it. I just say 'to an extent' because compared to my siblings I admittedly have more expensive preferences that my parents provided for me whenever they could.

What are you wearing right now? A sleeveless top and shorts.

What was the last book you read? Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982.

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crystal-grotto · 1 year

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Starter: @skxrbrand

‘My caravan that was transporting prototypes was felled. They are all in the hands of a human raiding party, now, when they never should have been in the first place. The manlings are stupid - bound to get murdered just as fast by the Skaven once they get wind of new technology. I know yer a guardian. I also know you are a warrior, and because of this I need to hire yer services. If you find the gyroguns, and bring them back here, I will make sure you are compensated for yer time and troubles.’

That had been the mission proposed to Renjai by a particularly agitated dwarvish smith. Thuzgai was his name, and while proud, like all the Dawi, it was no small deal that he had troubled her with such an endeavour. The Kiltar had accepted with some consideration, and had moved out during the upcoming nights towards the location that had been given to her by the tinkerer after collecting a few provisions she might have needed. Evidence of the caravan had been found, all splinters combed through by different hands, and so too had a path been presented from churned dirt.

The large troll had followed them all the way up to a semi-established camp of a handful of men. She’d hung back when she’d seen them all in the lengthening darkness afforded to her by tree and stone. While on the upcoming dusk the moons were darker than they had been when she began her venture and there were thick clouds colouring the horizons, there were far too many awake to make a move and instead she chose to employ something she didn’t usually choose to: Stealth.

Crimson of crystal softly glinting in the wan light as she settled, yellow-orange eyes stared as they went about their business and cavorted about in ways only happy criminals could with a haul that would make them possibly rich.

Her silence had lasted almost a whole hour, before the noise of heavy hooves trampling vegetation underfoot disturbed her. Long ears flicking a hand scooped up collapsible spear from belt, shoulders tensing as the baying of dogs sparked up somewhere nearby.

Was it her they detected? Or something else?

#skxrbrand #Tales Great and Small - RP #Razorback Legend - Renjai #;warhammer tag

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clavissionary-position · 10 months

Text

tags: crack, stupid, stupid, stupid characters: chevalier, clavis, cyran mdni

It is no secret that all great stories begin with the introduction of an aphrodisiac. Enter Clavis, stage left.

Clavis enters Chevalier's bedroom on a palanquin carried by Hugo and Kai. "Let no one say that a broken leg stopped Clavis Lelouch! Hahaha!" he guffaws expositionally. "Oh, Chev~ Lookie what your adorable brother picked up in-"

Chevalier glares and somehow this causes Clavis' other leg to break. But who's to say that wasn't how he broke the first leg. Neither you nor I were there, after all. But Chevalier definitely was.

Clavis, his face distorted in an absolutely serene smile of pain, drops the vial of love potion he's holding. The potion rolls onto Chevalier's rug, stopping when it taps against the bed-frame with the softness of a panda sneeze. Chevalier mentally notes the location so he can retrieve it after he's done doing whatever he's doing at his desk.

An hour passes and Cyran enters the room to give a briefing on Clavis' condition. Chevalier listens carefully while maintaining the facade of a man who does not give a fuck. "Give him this."

Cyran waits. After one minute and three seconds of silence he asks for clarification. "Give him what?"

"Corner shelf, second row, blue binding." Scribble, scribble, hands-free butt scratch, scribble.

The book turns out to be a medical text on femoral fractures, but the information is cleverly hidden in a choose-your-own-adventure type format.

Cyran shuts the book and returns to Chevalier's desk. "He'll hate this."

"That makes no difference to me."

"He's your brother."

"And he'll learn how to carry himself. You are dismissed."

Cyran sees the vial on his way to the exit. "Be careful with that."

Chevalier stops writing and looks up. Cyran thinks he can feel one of his legs about to splinter so he high-tails it out of there.

Another hour goes by and Chevalier, upon completing his work for the day, gallantly strides into the infirmary. Clavis takes his reading glasses off and throws them into the gaping maw of Chevalier's expert dodging abilities. Cyran, who is watering a rose on the window-sill, lifts his free hand to catch the glasses.

Chevalier stops at the foot of the bed. "We're going to the Obsidian border in the morning. Pack for two weeks."

"Hello, Brother. My legs are broken. Because of you. I don't know how, because it defies all logic. But you are, without a doubt, solely to blame."

Chevalier sighs. "There is sufficient room in our caravan for your..." He eyes the palanquin sitting in its own chair beside the bed. "...your walking aid."

Clavis smiles. "May I never walk again."

And the love potion was never used. The end.

#ikepri chevalier #ikepri clavis #ikepri cyran

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thequeendomhq · 12 days

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NAME. Ormir "The Raven-Feeder" AGE & BIRTH DATE. 46 & April 6th, 2978 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Cismale & He/Him NATIONALITY. Iskaran SPECIES. Human FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Interim High King FACE CLAIM. Hugh Dancy

biography

( tw: drowning, alcoholism, blood, violence, death, torture, gay yearning )

Ormir was born in the spring, when the lock of ice was beginning to loosen and spruce saps grappled their way from the frozen earth. Things that grew to mature this far north survived by the severity of their own mettle, and the people were no different. He suckled at the breast of an icy, ascetic woman who rarely spent her allowance of affection on her son, and even more seldom smiled. His father, a lesser Karl steeped in controversy, bashed at furniture and gathered the sweet rot of mead in his beard in the agonizing stint before his station at Nornwatch.

Scrutiny followed his family like a stray dog. It fed on the table-scrap stories of his father’s former life, passed around over supper at every table in the village. There were other crumbs it followed, rumors of his mother communing with animals and the dead. Ormir heard it slavering at his heels when he left home, felt its legion of eyes glaring from the shadows, waiting for a slip or first show of weakness. Each time his mother would kick it as she left, stifling a rumor, but each time the mutt came back twice as bold. The ironwood forest was thick and wild around Skjaldwood, and Ormir would escape into its cradle of solitude until the biting cold became unbearable.

The single invitation he was extended was for play. A few children, roughly his age, were going to play on the ice flats where the river stalled. At first, Ormir was petrified. The ice, a vacuous stage unbroken by trees, inspired fear with a depth he’d never known. The boy’s boots slipped and skid, and he trembled like a steaming calf. But as the children goaded him further and further from the trees, whooping and cheering, his apprehension began to thaw. He found his legs, and the surge of acceptance emboldened him. A foreign tug of a smile lifted Ormir’s face, if only for a moment.

A hollow chime rippled under the ice, like the knocking of icicles from eves. With a crackling roar, the ice splintered and caved, plunging the boy into black water. The flat of ice gulped and was still. There were no screams nor attempts at rescue. He sank below with the shock dulling his senses. Ormir couldn’t make out the cold through the obliterating pain; not until the fear seized. He clawed against the water, tearing, fighting and pulling through the slurry until he was emptying lungfuls of water against flat ice. After weeks fighting fever and fatigue, he regained most of his senses.

At fifteen, Ormir bargained his earthly possessions to escape with a caravan following the trail South and West out of Skjaldwood. He shed the weight of his paternal name on the road, and didn’t turn back to see his village and the ever-watching eyes before they were swallowed up by the treeline.

In Yggrasdildal, the boy watched as the promise of opportunity shriveled in his hand. In a city whose already dubious generosity was cinched tighter by the war with Astoria, any child with no clan and no name scraped through the streets as an urchin. Through the measured mercy of the Thieves Guild, the hungry child exchanged his trained ear for skimmings off the cookpot and a corner warm enough to sleep in. Ormir whetted his skills in observation, in people, which he eventually leveraged into the lucrative business of trade. Courtship, family, and other luxuries of settled life were novel concepts to him, ones he never got around to entertaining before the war called.

Tension thickened in the kingdom of Iskaldrik overnight. Whispers of gains by their southern neighbor caught like a reed fire, feeding through the circles of the city in consensus: The tides of war within Astoria were shifting. Eventually, the call for able bodies to champion Iskaldrik was renewed, and Ormir was uprooted from the gainful life he’d made.

As the ship cut through the mist dividing Taravall, the man from Skjaldwood flinched from the sting of ice against his face. The black waters crashed violently against the longboat, and he felt the roar of the ocean as if it were welling within his ears. Twin virgin handaxes hung at his belt, simple decorative pieces that had never known the heat of battle. There was no more talking, no more deals to cut him from the duty of war - the same that had driven his father to madness befitting a slow death upon Nornwatch’s gates.

Iskaldran ships filed against the beaches. Boots met unfamiliar soil, and Ormir’s stomach sank with foreboding. The warriors stared down the yawning void of vulnerable, wind-whipped country, wondering at where its riches were held. When the war found them, every Karl, King and freeman was made into god and meat. Ormir fought with the voracity of a cornered animal. Life was wrested free of each encounter, and Ormir scraped out of his opponent’s grasp just before he quenched his hatchets in their veins. He was no bred fighter, but there was no mistaking the abundance of talent and luck in his possession. Time dragged into a sludge of heat and blood as the Iskaldrik ranks moved deeper into Astorian land. Notches seasoned the smith’s blades until rumors of Hrafnfœða, The Raven-feeder, reached the many piqued ears of the guild circles.

The charge of the Blademaster’s emissaries in Astoria, Ormir learned upon recruitment, was the protection of Iskaldrik’s prince Orhan himself. Upon first impression, the young prince struck Ormir as excessively loud, overly congenial, and naive, far unbefitting the war-name he brandished. Orhan laughed loudly, sung louder, and had the bad habit of breaking his fast among soldiers of inferior rank. Ormir scorned the levity the heir flashed in the face of the enemy, bristled imagining the privilege that had nursed such boyish pageantry so late into life. The prince’s humor was quick to be pruned by reality - or so Ormir thought.

At the precipice of battle, Blademaster Orhan paced the line of his battalion in the bleeding dawn, bellowing, wolf-throated, for victory in the High King’s name. Earth-shaking morale sounded in response, and the ground rolled like thunder under their feet. They drove scores of men into Odin’s embrace that day. The Blademaster cleaved through the carnage with ferocious grace, standing as a bastion against death itself. Ormir’s blood ran like fire. After the fray, the Ravenfeeder watched, enraptured, as the prince clapped the bloodied shoulders of Jarls and freemen alike. Orhan’s hand found its perfect perch on Ormir’s shoulder, and didn’t loose.

Friendship burned bright between the pair, as if its ember had flickered through lifetimes of waiting, waiting to be fanned by the barest attention. Orhan trusted fully, loved completely. The vulnerability the prince bore was more frightening than the open water; more daunting than any bloodied opponent. Ormir was pushed, plunging, into loving him, so deeply enamored that he didn’t feel the chill of jealousy biting at his heart. Ormir carved through the battlefield under Orhan’s colors in the summer swelt, and bit the toughened meat of the prince’s palm at night.

When the raven came delivering news of the High King’s death, there was no time to spend on grief. Astoria had rallied again and was poised to push out its invaders, beginning with isolating the sole heir of Iskaldrik. To the chagrin of his commanders, the ascendant King Orhan Gökhan brought the Raven-feeder to advise at his war table. All at once, the lattice of strings pulling the Kingdom’s allegiances were made visible, malleable by Ormir’s word. The fruits of his country and the bleeding heart of its leader were ripe for his picking, and Ormir fed on both by the handful. The taste of power sampled during those small months was enough to instill a hidden, unshakable hunger in him that his devotion could not cure.

A truce between nations brought his long chapter of goring and feeding to a close. Yggrasdildal was stifling in comparison to the grandeur it had once held in his childhood, with the only remaining breathing room to be found at the side of the King. Though Orhan insisted that his love for Ormir had not been eroded, duty dictated new boundaries to the intimacy and information they’d once shared. Already, Ormir felt the pangs of hunger and heartbreak wincing within his chest. He watched, stone-lipped, as his former bedmate took a bride and produced new heirs for the throne - a young prince and princess. He knelt beneath the warmth of the King’s recognition, observing the guilt bleeding through his smile, as he was dubbed Huscarl in public ceremony. The Raven-feeder became an ornamental fixture to Orhan’s family, a shelved relic of past conquest upon foreign shores.

Dust collected on his shoulders in the High Hall, but his hunger only grew fiercer. Ormir’s tempered advice buffered the King’s weak spots in diplomacy, and his gory reputation shielded Orhan’s family beyond the walls of the castle. The growing heirs of Iskaldrik were fed with the same silver spoons afforded to their father, though their Huscarl couldn’t stomach to look into their eyes for too long – as theirs reflected the same ravenous, glowing eyes of the wild dogs in Skjaldwood. The High King and Queen feigned ignorance to the dark patterns their children repeated. Members of their court were loath to break the silence on the matter, but all felt an uneasiness crease in their stomach when standing in their presence alone.

The prince and princess approached their Huscarl in confidence regarding the state of their father’s health; his fitness to rule. The Hand of the King knew his levers better than anyone, and the dogs had caught the scent of jealousy that wept from his stuck heart. As they circled, Ormir was keen to the trap snared around him, and attuned further to the promises of power that drooled like honey from their lips. Perhaps it would have been easier to act the dutiful steward and smother the vile coup in its cradle. But the man Ormir loved would never have forgiven him for robbing him of his children, no matter how twisted and power-sick they’d grown. Instead, decades of stifled envy, lovesickness, and all-encompassing hunger directed the knife.

Staring into the raw exposure of Orhan’s trust, The Raven-feeder surgically cut away at his sanity thread by thread, sowing paranoias upon doubts and leaving frayed loose ends for the heirs to pull. Orhan’s addled mind succumbed to his offsprings’ machinations, no doubt coupled with some ancient form of magic Ormir didn’t dare question. In the stead of the King, his Huscarl and most trusted advisor was raised to govern Iskaldrik, as the heirs had promised, but the succor of ill-gotten power was not to be savored.

Iskaldrik’s signet ring held loosely around Ormir’s pinky finger, polished by his ceaseless turning of it. Many such nights passed this way, fidgeting through sleepless hours, pushing his venomous guilt into the black recesses of the ceiling. He turned the ring again, and a pin of light punctured the perfect darkness above his bed. It skittered across the room, reflected by the face of the signet. Ormir raised and went to the window. Deep in the cotton-fog that dressed Yggrasdildal’s upper city, an orange light filtered to a fine point on the horizon. Fire. The flame was the only warning given before Aetheron’s airships descended. The rest of Ormir’s recollection of the siege of Yggrasdildal combined in a torrent of embers, gore, and the mad King clutching at his arm like a child.

Within days, all that remained of a people defined by war-lust and mettle was a thinning stream of frightened refugees directed Northward. The witchers shepherded them through the sunken tunnels and mines below the mountains, under the tangled Sjkaldwood forests, to be dropped at the doorstep of Nornwatch. The cold would trim the weak, as was nature’s way, but the starved eyes of Iskaldrik’s people were watching, waiting for the false King to deliver hope, or make way for a new figure to assign faith to. There was no room for mistakes, no slip too small that would not end in his ruin. Ormir felt the thirsting of the blades concealed by Orhan’s children; the wards who kept the King’s awareness at bay. The eyes of Odin circled the procession from Nornwatch, their black wings beating like wardrums against the still air, and The Raven-feeder planned to oblige them.

personality

+ resilient, driven, resourceful – jealous, distrusting, manipulative

played by theo. pst. they/them.

#the hand #human

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archfeyworkshop · 9 months

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World of Arturium: Eshandis

Okay, it's coming a day late because everything got delayed a bit this week, but I doubt people are too worried about that. And it's got a nice little name, even if it's not too inspired. Sue me, I'm dog-tired. In some ways the poster-girl for my setting despite being quite unlike much of it, I think the best way I can sum up Eshandis is...

In the north of the world is a long mountainous peninsula. The northernmost reaches of this are the north pole and then a long stretch of taiga, but the southern half of the continent is commanded by a dense rainforest and then a sea of black sands. Long long ago this land was the home of Fire Giants and was formed from scores of volcanoes and supervolcanoes, but so long ago those mountains were ground down into vast swathes of sand. Hence the name, comprised of granite, andesite and diorite sands along with all the others. The volcanoes that formed it are nowadays dormant or long-extinct for many millennia, believed entirely extinct until a supervolcano was almost forced to erupt by the Giant, Thaddeus. Thwarted by a group of adventurers the caldera was instead transformed into an Oasis and spread into a river that cuts through the desert from north to south.

Once part of a greater nation and now a sister nation to its neighbour, Sharadin, Eshandis is home to three species: Henbi, Lamia, and Elves. The Lamia and the Elves are the settlers - they reside in the cities, near universally full-figured with various shades of dark skin due to the climate. Their shape is courtesy of their origins in the old Spring Court, the first that was lost many millennia ago, the court of fertility and motherhood that thus provides its distant descendants with voluptuous forms, resulting in the quote above. When the Spring Court came to the world its people transformed over generations into what they are today and they were welcomed with open arms by the species that predated them - the Henbi.

Having dwelled in the desert since before the Faerie came to the sands, the Henbi are a nomadic serpentine people possessed of remarkably flexible genetics. Elves and Lamia may see evolution over only a few generations, but the Henbi are not only capable of reproducing with essentially any sapient species, they will produce a fertile offspring that is a clear hybrid of the parents. With largely serpentine features and this incredibly dynamic line, no two Henbi are even remotely like with number and arrangement of limbs, blood quality and content, necessary diet and almost every possible feature being wildly diverse between its members.

Led in caravans along the routes of long-lost volcanic corridors by their caravan masters, the Henbi had long traveled the desert and survived without settling, and as gregarious communal people they welcomed their new visitors.

The strife from there is a matter of many thousands of years of history - with the nations splintering and reforming then fracturing again, and the Henbi being subjected to the brutality of slavery as hospitality was forgotten and Eshandis thoughts turned to empire. Time, tragedy and the impatience of the shorter-lived races would re-teach these lessons time and again however, and modern Eshandis is relatively stable as a place with the Elves and Lamia residing in several coastal cities and the Henbi once more returned to their wandering, often traveling between the cities and bringing mail with them.

Eshandis is the birthplace of many things. Many systems of government have come and gone, magic was first learned and taught here and developed in the early eras. Control of the rainforest means that the world owes Eshandis for the marvels of chocolate and coffee, and many nations owe their starts in some part to the people of this nation. But if not for the Henbi much of it would have ended far more disastrously. Their presence was a constant check against ambition and detachment, and ultimately served as a primitive form of a manner of government later adopted by other nations across the world, with shorter-lived and longer-lived species balancing each other's qualities such as in Keda Varr.

Even so, its magic, chocolate and voluptuousness is what the nation is best known for. Its population has inspired many salacious rumours courtesy of traders, and its governmental system is a magocracy, with the education system fundamentally intertwined with the necessary skills to make one an effective politician and each of its key players within the government being a capable mage and experimenter. The exact details of this education system requires some work still but...hey, that's what worldbuilding is for.

In part as a result of this and other events in the nation's history, Eshandis is not particularly religious. Many Religions are allowed to operate within the nation but are kept firmly separate from the political workings, and there are additional requirements and licenses needed in order for someone to have any power drawn from another entity be it a god or other form of outsider, and failure to be properly licensed carrying a harsh penalty up to exile or life in prison. For Elves and Lamia, that is a very long life. Artifice often fills the gap left by divine presence, an arcane means to heal and rejuvenate, but prohibitively expensive, leaving holy healers in a hard to replace role but deliberately constrained beyond their norm in other nations.

I can't really hide the fact that a lot of Eshandis was designed after seeing an image of a busty Lamia in a crop-top. It led to a number of smaller features of the nation that are harder to fit into the natural flow of all this. That the sand bakes in the heat but there is frequent rain making less clothing more important than full covering. That the rainforest cities famously has nudist districts and bathing rivers. That every rooftop in every city is a little garden to support the nation, with ramps instead of stairs and large pits of pillows tending to replace beds for the sake of the serpentine peoples.

But I'm very tired this week, and this is all I can think of to explain for now. I think next week I'll explore its harsher sister, Sharadin.

#worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #fantasy world #english vtuber #fantasy writing #pathfinder #ttrpg #dnd 5e #lamia #elf #yuan ti #desert

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