#(possibly a very old changeling who just stuck around

[equalseleventhirds]

magical!piffling wovercoats au, normal-human-chapman manages to mortally offend selkie!georgie by offering to take her coat on their disastrous date

also when he asks her to marry him she is like 'oh ur trying to get ur hands on my coat huh? that's what this all is??? WELL, BUSTER,'

#this post brought to u by my spotify playlist played 'mr sunshine is dead' and then 'animal skin' #which are UNRELATED songs but also they are related to Certain Things in my brain #and then my brain hopped topics :) #in this au the funns actually were the witch of piffling woods #they didn't MEAN to be but rudyard's direction spell got all muddled #and they got stuck together by some of the Spell Fallout and also covered in Ingredience #and stumbled out of the woods causing an urban legend... er. village legend. #idk what anyone else is.... no wait. agatha doyle is part faerie #(possibly a very old changeling who just stuck around?) #and while she ABSOLUTELY COULD make sweets that enchant you the way faerie food enchants you #she is Utterly Horrified by the Very Idea! the nerve! her sweets bring you back for more yes #but PURELY by virtue of how extremely good they are! #(yes there was a teensy bit of magic in the memento mori but not enough to actually kill/enchant anyone permanently) #..........anyway compare this to the tam lin au where chapman's the faerie one and the funns are normal. i love fantasy stuff idk man.

[therealvinelle]

What other non-extinct magical species do you think exist besides vampires, shapeshifters, and like 3 children of the moon?

Not a lot.

More, I have absolutely no way of guessing here. We’re never given any hints or indications that creatures other than vampires, shapeshifters, and Children of the Moon exist, which means I’m as at a loss as you are.

I do think that, on the whole, since the world of Twilight appears identical to ours, that there can’t be any creatures left that would attract too much attention as they would have been discovered by modern technology. Sirens, for instance, would be found out by fog lights, cameras, recordings, you name it. Mermaids, on the other hand, could get away since much of the ocean remains unexplored.

This all being said, I can speculate.

Two things come to mind.

Gifted humans

I haven’t written the meta on what gifts are yet, but I’ll just state that I think gifts  are magic. We see them adapt to a human’s needs, personality, or trauma, all according to what suits them best, and I don’t think the gift a vampire has is random. What a gift is appears to be malleable, as people with extreme needs (Renata, Bella, and Renesmée) will have gifts protecting them while others will have their gifts turned into something different if the incentive is strong enough (Jane and Alec). This points to gifts at the core being magic, capable of adapting a new state should the human bearer need it to. For vampires this malleability is lost, what you have is much more powerful than what you had as a human but you’re also stuck with it.

With the possible exception of Jane and Alec (good things happened to people who were kind to them, bad things to people who were cruel, and when they died it was their intent that turned these gifts into something else), humans are not able to control their gifts.

What I’m saying is, within the Twilight world some humans are magical. This is extremely rare, but it’s the best explanation I have for gifts.

Now onto thing the second.

Legends: where do they come from?

So, within the world of Twilight, most myths about vampires are fabricated. Coffins, bats, Christian iconography, a lot of it was made up by Aro. Unfortunately they couldn’t get wash these myths clean of the blood-drinking, the immortality, the something happening in the sun, or the incubi.

More, we see again and again in canon hat there are humans who know, legends are told. The fact that the blood-drinking couldn’t be erased entirely from myth is telling enough on its own.

No, vampires have left their footprint on human mythology, much to Aro’s chagrin.

Which is our door to speculation about which creatures still exist out there. Because if vampires left a footprint on mythologies within the Twilight world (which I remind you appears identical to ours, at least up until 2006), it is fair to assume other creatures have as well. It’s canon that the Children of the Moon did.

So, then, what can we assume?

First of, we must assume that a lot of mythic creatures identified as non-vampires, might actually have been vampires. It’s canon that the Egyptian pantheon was actually just Amun and his buddies, and I think that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Off the top of my head, the following creatures or afflictions could be vampires, at least the ones with a penchant for creative hunting:

Siren Otherworldly beautiful voices that lure in sailors to their deaths. Now, the legends say sirens are as hideous as their voices are beautiful, but that could be a warning among sailors, and even if it’s not it works since vampires are so inhuman-looking.

Nøkken The most beautiful man, sometimes horse, you ever did see, and he will lure you to a watery death.

Troll Far-fetched, but trolls are terribly strong and turn to stone in the sunlight. Within the world of Twilight, trolls could be the result of a game of telephone.

Ghost People long dead are seen again, walking around in their old houses. they disappear.

Possession Someone once a member of community screams in unimaginable agony for days, becomes a terrfiying demon, kills everything in sight, speaks so quickly it’s unintelligible, appears and disappears out of thin air, and is decidedly animalistic with snarls, growls, and crouching.

My point with all this being that in a world where vampires have walked among us for thousands of years, they’re going to have left a lot of footprints in our mythos.

But, as it’s unlikely they’re the only ones, there are myths one may assume arose from elsewhere.

Now, I can’t speculate as to what creatures might have inspired these myths. As I demonstrated above, and canon shows with vampire myths being as far removed from real vampires as they are, these myths are only going to contain one grain of truth, possibly a very distorted one at that.

But there are some creatures that come to mind that seem directly contrary to vampires, Children of the Moon, and shapeshifters, and as such might be pointing towards another creature entirely.

I’m getting tired, so I can only think of two examples:

Changeling A child is stolen by fairies, who replace it with a fairy-child. This child is wicked and unnatural (doesn’t grow, might have a beard or too long teeth). Easy to think immortal child, except the whole point, the core, of changelings is that they trick parents into caring for them, and they’re hard to distinguish. Immortal children will eat their parents if they get within 500 yards of them.

Nisse Moody, mischievous, yet fairly harmless, the nisse is at his most abstract a patron saint for your farm. Give him his oatmeal and he’ll milk your cows, fail to do so and he’ll poke holes in your milk bucket.

I’m not saying the changeling or the nisse were or are necessarily real in the Twilight world, but it’s not impossible either. Mostly, though, these two above are only examples, my point is that as vampires, Children of the Moon, and shapeshifters all made it into legend in the Twilight world, it is a fair assumption that legends not concerning these three might hold a grain of truth as well.

#long post #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #twilight worldbuilding #myths #folklore #twilight gifts #twilight vampires

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: the Century Woman

The hero has a specific maneuver for whenever he encounters a sudden possible threat. He does not react offensively, not willing to bear the tragedy of slaying somebody who meant no harm. He simply raises his shield in a manner that anybody would recognize as a threatening way. This defensive maneuver protected him if the possible threat was, indeed, a threat, but allowed non-combatants a chance to explain themselves.

This maneuver was not perfect as it was still possible to interpret the raising of the shield as a promise of battle, but nine times out of ten it prevented an unnecessary fight against a non-combatant.

This time, however, the noncombatant...attacked.

The hero has spent ten minutes fighting the being: a humanoid woman twice as tall as any man. A creature the hero has never seen before in his travels...

Her visage is unnerving. Eyes larger than normal. Her hair silver, but with bright orange ends, and a some evidence of blue strands. Large shoulders beneath her gown of royal blue, and large tentacles for arms that she uses to bludgeon the hero around the abandoned house. Instead of buttons or lace the front of her gown seems a sideways jaw full of sharp fangs. The rare moments the hero got to see her legs beneath her full length gown he saw two long, muscular thighs and calves.

But her voice... her voice is that of a regular woman in her fifties or so. Her cries of battle hold no malice, only fury.

The hero would parry and escape her blows, but he finds himself unable to harm her. His instincts tell him she is fighting out of fear and indignity. He is an intruder, after all.

Hero: Please! Let’s stop fighting! I’m sorry for intruding, I was only here on a job!

The blows stop. The creature woman looks at him. The hero lowers his sword, but does not leave himself unprotected. His shield remains up.

Hero: Recently... the will of the owner of this estate, a duke who died one year ago, has been read. His family was shocked that this summer villa was left not to his descendants but to an unknown woman. I was hired by the family to investigate...

The large eyes of the creature grow at the mention of the duke.

Hero: . . . Is the woman you?

The creature nods. The hero lowers his sword slightly.

Hero: . . . You’re a shape shifter?

She nods again. She sits down on a tall desk, letting documents drop to the floor. It creaks slightly against her weight. She mutters...

Shape Shifter: My lord... left me this house...

Hero: He also left you four hundred silk bills. Enough to live on for quite some time...

The shape shifter looks up at the hero.

Shape Shifter: Money, too? I’m...

She sobs into her tentacles. She seems so human despite her appearance. The hero places his sword against the wall and reaches for a pouch full of money. He approaches the shape shifter but she is too distracted to take the money

Hero: . . .My lady. . . Just to clear things up, may I ask. . . What is your relationship to the late duke and his family?

She calms down, although her story is told between sobs.

Shape Shifter: I have no... no relationships to his family... They have no knowledge of me... I... I was... His alone...

She stands up and ceases her crying. She looks down at the hero.

Hero: This form... is it your original form?

Shape Shifter: No. I am a century changeling. An immortal race who live our eternal lives in one hundred year cycles. At the beginning of each of our one hundred years we take new shapes... But I can not change perfectly. With each form we take there are parts we cannot discard until the end of the century, where we shed our old forms and begin anew...

Hero: Then what is this form?

The changeling smirks.

Shape Shifter: Would you believe me if I told you that fifty years ago I took the form of a regular woman? I was homeless and the duke found out about my race. He took me in, allowed me to stay in this estate, as long as he lived. All he wanted out of me... was my body...

Hero: You... were his mistress...

Shape Shifter: You’re too flattering. He treated me as more of a concubine... Not that I minded...

The hero cannot believe the story. But the way the tall changeling towers over him... Her strange large shoulders were off putting at first, but now that she stands over him they make her look regal...

Her gown is modest, but he notices her rather large bosom...

But everything else! The large eyes... The tentacles... The teeth dress...

Shape Shifter: You have questions... At first he was a plain man... But soon he began to realize the potential of my powers in our sex lives...

Hero: Oh Gods...

Shape Shifter: You know how bizarre men can get. Vanilla sex began to bore him after our first ten years together... He had wants, and needs. I was a good concubine. With just a little encouragement and prying I made him admit some of his fetishes. They were tame at first... He wanted me taller... Shapely, muscular thighs... But as he grew bolder his fetishes morphed. Encouraged by my shape shifting, he wanted stranger things. Tentacles. Technicolor hair...

Hero: That’s almost reasonable compared to the... the um...

Shape Shifter: The dress? Yes, for some reason he wanted my gowns to “swallow him” into sex. Strange and perverse, but I complied.

The changeling’s dress mouth “opens up,” revealing her shapely nude body beneath. The sight causes the hero’s imagination to stir. He shifts awkwardly, hoping the shape shifter does not notice.

Shape Shifter: At first my shoulders were just a natural consequence to support the tentacles, but he soon wanted me to keep them... I never understood that. I suppose it was in fashion for queens and princesses to wear padding beneath their shoulders a few decades ago. He must have been watching those royal dames... The dirty old pervert...

She pronounces “pervert” with a strange fondness...

Shape Shifter: With each strange fetish my body was permanently changed. Large eyes, small fangs, a long dextrous tongue... Now I have become... THIS as a result. I did this all for him, but I was fine. I was fine because he loved it. He lavished my body with praise, and drew such satisfaction from it, and I felt loved. And now he’s gone, and I’m stuck like this.

She wraps her body with her tentacles, as though ashamed... And although she is crying and the hero desperately wishes otherwise, her monstrous form has begun to captivate him...

Her shapely hips, her bright eyes, the handsome curvatures of her mature and aged face...

And as for the parts of her that are not human...

her tentacles are thick and powerful...

her height so domineering...

her bizarre dress that opens and closes like a mouth, so dangerous and yet there was something exciting and arousing at how it can turn from modest but form fitting to lewd and revealing... and could gobble him up...

the shape of her large, muscular shoulders were the hardest to latch onto, but the hero has found himself aroused even by them, longing to touch them...

Shape Shifter: I can’t leave this house! I can’t change into something normal now. I’m trapped. Even with the money he’s left me. For a year I came close to cursing his name. How could I not? I never knew he cared enough about me to mention me in his will... I...  There’s no one out there who could appreciate this body but him... No one can love this bundle of strange, ghastly fetishes... My only hope being that it is almost time for my form to renew...

The hero’s body seems to disagree. Behind his shield he hides a barely controlled erection. He takes a step back, praying she will not notice... Notice that he is weakening...

Hero: I’m sure it’ll all work out...

Not good. The changeling looks down at the hero. She noticed the nervousness in his voice. Her tentacles unravel around her body, her gown opens slightly. She approaches him...

Shape Shifter: Young man...

Her tentacle easily whips his shield away... He tries to hide but she holds him still... She gets a good look at his blushing face... and very visible lump in his pants...

Shape Shifter: It can’t be...

The hero can see her nude body within the toothy split of her dress... The duke must have at one point had normal desires, as her breasts are large, though they droop and there are visible veins like any regular human at a certain age. But they are still beautiful...

Her waist is large and round...

Her legs are muscular as tree trunks.

The hero is utterly captivated. The changeling’s “grotesque” and “inhuman” face that he once feared looks down at him. There is a light smirk, a brightness in her large eyes...

Shape Shifter: Young man... please take off your clothes...

The hero���s panic and attempt to flee is short lived as the tentacles bind around his limbs tight. He can’t resist as she pulls him closer... Her dress’s mouth opens wide and he sees her bare body.

Shape Shifter: I can’t believe you, boy... You’re just as depraved as my young lord, and at such a young age...

She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her long and dexterous tongue invades him and it is wonderful. He squeals in protest, but also in passion.

Her tentacles pull his pants down, his shirt off... His belt falls to the ground with a clunk of tools and coin pouches. His light armor and trousers as well. His bare body is pulled toward the grotesque and horribly arousing body.

He passes through the dress’s jaw. The teeth, although sharp, are pointed inward. His restrained body comfortably slips right in, but could never get out. He ceases struggling, partly to avoid being hurt by the fearsome gown mouth, but also because his entire front half is pressed against the shape shifter’s gorgeous feminine body and he can think no more...

Her breasts smother him, his cock pointed to the side, pressed against her crotch, his balls bullied and teased by the tips of her tentacles... She allows his hands to cling to her muscly shoulders. He can feel the smooth skin, the hills of strong muscles...

Finally, she lets his cock slip into her vagina.

But it feels different... the inside of her vagina is... tighter. Tighter than normal... And ribbed... And her hips begin to vibrate inhumanly fast... She whispers into his ears...

Shape Shifter: Oops... I did not mention, did I? As he grew older his cock needed more... support...

The hero is not paying any attention as he is too busy screaming in ecstasy...

But she slows down before he cums...

Shape Shifter: How resilient are you, boy?

She looks down at his face half buried in her cleavage. His eyes, moist from passion, meets hers. Large, wide, and bright. He becomes lost in them.

Shape Shifter: It doesn’t matter... I’ll make you last.

She brings her prisoner up to the bedrooms.

*** *** ***

It is mostly riding. Her heavy weight atop his small human body, her form expertly molded to squeeze pleasure out of an old man... The hero’s young and perfectly virile body stood no chance.

She pries out his fetishes, his secrets, and takes advantage. Her strange, seemingly disgusting body, is a perfect match for his repressed imagination... Binding tentacles, a hungry gown, and mighty muscles... The hero is defeated against all of these.

Her vagina feels like a sex toy, designed for pleasure. But make no mistake, it is fully sensitive and she feels everything. In fact, she cums more than he does. She does not let him become too excited, letting him orgasm at the end of one hour long cycles of play.

They have sex long into the night, all the way to morning...

*** *** ***

The hero is exhausted, his eyes open with difficulty. She strokes his hair lovingly with her tentacle...

Shape Shifter: I didn’t believe there was a man in the world who would get hard for me like this... let alone one so passionate...

She chuckles.

Shape Shifter: I almost don’t want to let you leave.

She stands up. The hero watches as she retrieves the bag of money she inherited. She smiles at him.

Shape Shifter: Boy... tell the family of my lord they may have this house. I will need it no longer. I’ll be taking the money, however.

Her body begins to glow as bright as fire.

Shape Shifter: Thank you. For letting this form experience lust one last time.

There is a prolonged flash, and then it dies down. Her body is the size of a normal human now. She is silvery, with no face aside from two glowing eyes. Featureless and sexless and beautiful. Holding her pouch of in her hand she gives a curt nod and walks toward the exit.

The century changeling leaves to begin its next century.

The End

***

[This is how I picture sex with an alien would be like]

#NOT SFW #changeling #the enchantress

[elizabethemerald]

Jim is Honest

Jim Lake Jr lies again and again to his loved ones. What if instead, he told the truth? How would that affect his relationships, and story of Trollhunters? Let’s look at all the major lies and omissions Jim made and let’s turn them on their head. This time Let’s say Jim is Honest.

Barbara picks up Jim and Toby from the Arcadia Police. She's angry and annoyed, but she also distracted by Walter's motivations. Jim's reveal that changelings exist sparks a sudden realization.

AO3

"Mom, did you just ask out my teacher?"

"Oh don't make this about me. You two are in big trouble. And for this?" Barbara held up the chubby tracker, her voice tight with her anger. 

She started the car and pulled away from the police station. Her mind was whirling. Jim was a good kid, he had never gotten in trouble before, and now here he was breaking and entering. And her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Strickler. After a few minutes of awkward silence Jim took a deep breath. 

"Uh mom. We didn't break in just for the chubby tracker." He said from the back seat. 

"Dude!" Toby whispered. 

"Toby I told her about the trolls. She knows I'm the Trollhunter." Jim whispered back. 

"Oh. Should I tell my Nana?" Toby asked. 

"That's up to you. I'm the one Bular wants to kill."

"So this had something to do with Trolls?" Barbara interrupted. 

"Yeah. One of the goblins we faced yesterday stole Toby's chubby tracker. We were able to use the tracker to find they were staying in the museum."

"We were going to just scope the place out but then we saw Ms. Nomura the museum lady!" Toby shouted. Barbara winced as his volume in the small space. "We thought the goblins might be laying eggs in her ears so we had to rush in and save her!"

Barbara made eye contact with Jim in the mirror. Goblins lay eggs in people's ears? Toby kept talking before she could ask. 

"And when we got inside I saw her, and Jim was trying to come up with a way to convince her to leave and suddenly she changed! She became a troll!"

Barbara almost slammed on the breaks as she turned around to face them. "She what?"

Jim took up the story from there. "Apparently she could switch between appearing human and troll. She attacked us. I was only able to stop her by tricking her into killing on the goblins. They all ganged up on her."

"Jim, how is that possible? Has Blinky mentioned anything like that?" 

"Blinky hasn't, but Mr. Strickler has."

"What did Mr. Strickler say?"

Jim was silent for a moment deep in thought. "He said he had heard about some legends regarding trolls. About troll babies had been kidnapped and switched with human ones. They had all kinds of magic done on them. And now they're basically slaves. He called them changelings. Maybe that's what Ms. Nomura is!"

Barbara's mind was now whirring faster than ever. So some trolls could take on human form. That made the actions of a certain history teacher very interesting. 

"Did he say anything else about these changelings?"

"Yeah, he said that since I don't have the same biases as a troll, that maybe I could reach across old battle lines, offer a changeling my hand." He paused and looked at his own hand. "I don't think she wanted to take my hand."

"At least not while it's still attached to the rest of you!" Toby put in. Barbara watched her son grimace in her mirror. They were almost to the Lake house. After she pulled into her driveway she turned to face the two boys in the back. 

"I'm glad you are both unharmed. And I'm glad your first thought was to try and save that woman's life. But you both have to remember that there are still laws. Don't you think Bular would have been happy if you were stuck in prison? He could do anything he wanted and you would be powerless to stop him."

"So you're saying-"

"I'm saying if you're going to break into a building on Trollhunting business, next time don't get caught." Barbara said with a slight smile. The two boys relaxed. "But I will still have to go through the motions of making sure you two are grounded, to maintain our cover."

The smiles dropped off their faces, but she could see the twinkle in their eyes. "Head home Toby. Get some sleep."

The other boy got out of her car and hurried across the street to his house. Barbara and Jim walked inside their own home. As she set her stuff down, Jim fidgeted near the door. 

"Hey, since I was honest with you would answer a question for me?" He asked. 

Barbara was in the middle of preparing herself a cup of tea. "Sure thing kiddo."

"Are you actually planning on dating my teacher?"

Barbara almost snorted at the concerned tone in his voice. 

"If the situations were different, I might consider it. He's handsome, charming-"

"Gross mom!"

"Honesty, remember?" Barbara paused, getting her thoughts in order. "Have you told Mr. Strickler that I know about your Trollhunting?"

"No. It hasn't come up in our conversations yet."

"I know you're trying your best to be honest with us, but I wouldn't tell him if I were you."

Jim looked at her quizzically. "What are you thinking?"

"Now I only really have my instincts to go on…" she waited for Jim to nod. "But Walter's story just doesn't seem to make sense to me. You tell him trolls exist, and he feels that information is dangerous. Dangerous enough to make up a secret code so you two can discuss it."

Barbara took a sip of her tea and passed a cup to Jim as they both sat at the dining room table. Then she continued speaking. 

"And then he doesn't tell me? What would he do if something happened to you? Would he try and cover it up from me?" She looked away, even thinking of something happening to her child was a struggle, but if his life was in danger she wasn't going to be able to help him if she didn't think out the dire possibilities. "And then he tells you about changelings, trolls who can take on human form. Tells you, you have the chance to offer your hand. How would a human history teacher know about the wars between trolls?"

"You think Mr. Strickler is a changeling!" Jim stood up so fast he almost knocked his chair down, he immediately ran his hands through his hair. Barbara noticed his amulet started glowing in his bag. 

"I think it's possible." Barbara frowned. "But now we have to ask ourselves, why? How does Mr. Strickler, potentially a secret changeling troll benefit from telling you this information? It's possible that changelings are treated as poorly as he said, and he wants to change sides. Or he could be trying to trick you. Get you to drop your guard."

Jim rubbed the back of his head. "This is more complicated than I thought it would be. What do you think I should do?"

"Talk to Blinky. See how much of Mr. Strickler's story you can verify. We'll create a plan from there." 

He nodded, then fidgeted again. “You still didn’t answer my question. Are you planning on dating my teacher, even though you think he’s a troll?”

Barbara laughed. “Oh no, I’m not planning on dating him.” She laughed again at the thought. “I can tell he finds me attractive and I’m using that to my full advantage.”

She wiped a few tears from her eyes, then her face grew serious. “If he truly wants to change sides in this war it will put me in a great position to offer him my hand, as he puts it. And if he is trying to manipulate you into making yourself vulnerable? Jim you are my everything, I would use every tool in my possession to keep you safe. And if that includes a little harmless flirting? Walter Strickler will find that I can play his game just as well as he can.”

Shortly after that he went to bed. They had both agreed to pretend he was grounded to avoid suspicion. Barbara had no desire to punish her son when he thought he was saving Ms. Nomura's life. 

Still he would need to be more careful. They all would, if trolls could take on human form, their threats could come from anywhere. Would Jim be safe at school? Would she be safe at the hospital? She carefully looked around the house, would they be safe here, even in their own home?

#jim lake junior #toby domzalski #Barbara Lake #jim is honest #writing emerald #tales of arcadia

[theriverpersonshadow]

Lamia Drama: Side Session (2)

Like I said, this got suuuuuper long. Also, I have no idea if I can even live up to the potential chaos I’ve set up XD

All the species belong to @vex-bittys

Previous | Next(?)

           Nikolai had been rather thorough in his consideration for the troublemaker of the night. It sounded like the entire gimmick was to be around pygmy’s natural playfulness, so might as well play it up. Their games might have had some darker tones and general swearing, but they could tone it down for one night; a child would be best. But not too young. They needed to at least be old enough to comprehend that they were playing a game of make believe and hadn’t actually become a dragon or whatever silliness was going to happen.    

           So Piper was perfect. One of the older children, but still very much a child by both human and lamia standards. Really there were many candidates, Piper just caught his eye first, possibly because he was easy to pick out. He’d developed a mostly harmless condition where he had patches of scales on some of his bones, most notable on the forehead and back of his skull. It tended to itch a bit, but a little bit of extra hygiene and some topical creams fixed that right up. The little one wasn’t quite old enough to start looking for a home yet – socialization with other younglings was important for development after all – but he would be fine spending a few hours away from the others.  

           Piper was curled around Nikolai’s left forearm, little hands clinging to the fabric and tail coiled tight as he stubbornly hung upside down, giggling and chirping as the world went by. He was still small enough that falling wouldn’t actually hurt him even if he hit the floor.

           Nikolai stopped in front of the door, looking down at Piper, “Remember how the game goes?”

           Piper nodded, “I the boss!”

           Keith had decided that Piper would be a sort of Co-DM. It was going to be an interesting session…

           “Keith – the Chain – is also the boss. And remember, it’s all pretend, but pretend how you want.”

           “I knoooowwsss! Not a hatchling!” Piper huffed, pouting and glaring at Nikolai.

           Nikolai chuckled, “No, no you’re not.” He mentally added, but you’re not much older. “Tell me if it gets to be too much, okay?” He’d be keeping an eye out anyways – overstimulating a pygmy was harder than it might be with other breeds, but not impossible.

           “It won’t!” Piper chirped. “Go in now!” He was pawing at the underside of Nikolai’s arm, wiggling restlessly.        

           “Alright, alright,” Nikolai said, opening the door to the break room. Everyone else had already taken their seats, snacks and drinks at the ready. It looked like someone had already set out a cup of Chai tea for him. “Why thank you,” he said has he settled into his spot, setting Piper down to wander the table.

           Piper immediately went for Nikolai’s mug, curling around it and peaking inside. Before Nikolai could stop him, Piper stuck his tongue into it and hissed, darting away.

           “BIT ME!” Piper cried, glaring at the offending mug from behind his hiding place… which was ironically Alex’s cup of tea – green and hibiscus instead of chai.

           Nikolai sighed, reaching out to give Piper a few little pets, “It’s chai tea. I could’ve told you you might not like it. It’s spicy, bitter, and still hot.”

           “Why?” Piper said.

           “Um… because it has spices?” Nikolai said.

           “Why drink?”

           “Because I like it,” Nikolai said.

           “No,” Piper said, crossing his arms. He was now holding Alex’s drink hostage instead, but had the good sense to not dunk his tongue in immediately. “Lady’s smarter. Smells good!”

           “Aaaaw, thanks. That’d be the hibiscus. Gives it kinda a fruity flavor. Not sure if you’d want this either though. I don’t put sugar in it… And you might be a little young for caffeine at all, honestly?” Alex said. “Geez… and I though Trousle was small! You’re so little!”

           “Mm hmm. I’m cute,” Piper said, rolling over to show the softer scales of his underbelly. Alex squeaked at the cuteness, gently stroking the softer tissue as Piper purred.

           Oozy huffed and leaned over, gently headbutting Alex’s other hand. Alex chuckled and started petting him too… And then Trousle looked over, and Keith was trying to pretend he wasn’t, but Nikolai could see his tail trying to sneakily capture Alex in a snuggle.  

           “… I don’t have enough hands for all these lamia,” Alex said. “Who designed humans? I have some questions for them.”

           “Me too! You need more hands! For more cuddles! But you’re very warm, I like it!” Trousle said, slithering over to lay beside her arm.

           “You guys are so desperate,” Hux said with a deadpan expression. “It’s fu…” He looked over at Nikolai, who was giving him a death glare, hood fully spread and tail coiled, “…uuuuuuppernuttering embarrassing.”

           Piper laughed and, as children do, immediately chirped, “Fuppernutter!”

           “Fuppernutter,” Alex echoed.

           “What is a fuppernutter?” Trousle said, head tilted in honest confusion.  

Oozy said, “Is it related to peanut butter?”

           “Maybe it’s cousins with flutters or shutters,” Keith said.

           “Does it give nuts to fuppers?” Alex said.

           “I think I’m having a stroke,” Hux said, looking desperately to Nikolai.

           Nikolai smirked, leaning with his elbows against the table. “You brought this on yourself, now deal with it, you fuppernutter.”

           Hux let out a loud grown. “Whyyyyy… Ugh. Aren’t we here to, like, game? Let’s do that. Please.”

           Keith nodded, “Yeah, guess we are. Alright, let’s see the insanity! And remember, keep it clean.” He gestured to the kid. “Let’s start with… hmm… Nikolai?”

           Nikolai straightened up and pulled out the character sheet, “A level 10 sorcerer who believes magic isn’t real. I’ve named him… Steve.”

           “Steve?” Keith said, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh boy- heh… Why the heck is that funny? Oh my gosh.” He snickered into his hand as Nikolai rolled his eyes. It wasn’t that funny.

           “Alright. So we’ve got Steve. Hux?”

           “Eh… I figured I’d go rogue and go Rogue this time. Level 20 changeling thief!”

           “Branching out a little, eh? Sounds like fun!” Keith said, apparently not caring about the lack of name or any background info.

           Hux was going to steal absolutely everything from everyone, wasn’t he?

           “Alright, Trousle?”

           Trousle grinned and quickly sent something to Keith, notified by a little ring. Keith’s eyes scanned it, nodding along, then grew wider, then he started laughing, “Dude. I know it’s dungeons and dragons, but… Oh man. I love it.”

           “What?” Hux said. “C’mon, tell us!”

           Trousle had a proud grin as he typed, “I’m a level 14 half dragon, dragonborn weredragon monk taking path of the ascendant dragon.”

           “That is so much dragon,” Alex said. “I think he wins. He’s the dragon in Dungeons and Dragons. It’s him. He’s all the dragons.”

           “I don’t know if that’s legal, but I kind of hope it is,” Nikolai said.

           “The monk subclass is in playtesting still, and weredragons are from 2e. So very much no, but it’s a one shot and I do not care.” Trousle had his little arms on his hips as the voice app finished speaking for him.

           “Oh man. This is, oh boy,” Keith said.

           Piper was looking at Trousle in awe, “You’re dragon?!”

           Trousle shook his head, typing, “Not really. But my character is!”

           Piper nodded. “I pretend dragon too! RAAAAWR!!!!” He slithered over to Trousle and play-tackled him, chirping and giggling as Trousle snaked around the table in a little game of chase.

           While that was going on, Keith continued, “Alex? What about you?”

           “I’ve been meaning to try cleric, but, well… Personal issues, I guess. But hey, tricksters are awesome, so I’mma trickster cleric! Sounds like some fun little bit of chaos chaos,” she said. “Maybe I should’ve gone higher level… I’m only level 10.”

           “Nooooob,” Hux said, tail end twitching.

           “Nooooooooom!!!” Piper said. He’d managed to capture Trousle, getting a sort of impromptu piggy back ride on the other lamia. Trousle seemed more confused than distressed about this occurrence.

           “And… Oh boy. Do I even wanna know, Oozy?” Keith said.

           Oozy got a shit-eating grin as he passed a paper forward. “Memelord.”

           “A what?”

           “Found it online.”

           “… Oh thor have mercy…” Keith said.

           “Level 20.”

           “Why did I let you just make whatever.”

           “Because it’s hilarious.”

           “You’re never playing this again.”

           “That’s fine.”

           “You can pickpocket Anubis mid-combat.”

           “Yeeeep,” Oozy said. “It’s great, ain’t it?

           “You’re proficient in all the saving throws.”

           “You should know better than to tell me to go nuts.”

           “Whyyyyyy” Keith hissed, rubbing away an anatomically impossible headache.

           “Because it’s hiss-terical.” Oozy laughed out loud, and Kieth was trying to hide it, but he was joining in.

           “I’m never doing this again,” Keith said, blatantly lying as he did every single time he more or less told them to be as ridiculous as possible for a noncanon oneshot.

           “Yeah you are,” Hux said. “’cause you looooove us or something. Ya dork.”

           “Heh, could say the same about you.”

           “Nope. My soul’s just ice.”

           “Ice soul?” Piper said, looking up from the captive Trousle. “Doctor’s here! Tha’s bad! Gotta get you warmed! Get the fire!”

           “No. No fire,” Nikolai said. “He’s just being himself.”

           “Hmm… okay! We play now? I’m the highest! Level 40!” Piper chirped. “I win all the things! ‘Cause I’m the dragon! Or the dungeon!” He was lightly bouncing in place, hands outstretched.

           “Heh, there’s not really a win to this game… It’s just about having fun and playing pretend,” Keith said. “C’mon, I’ll let you on my side of the screen.” He gently scooped up Piper and draped him around his neck.

           “I have the tall!” Piper yelled. “FEAR ME!”

           “Oh nooooo!”

           “Alright here we go…”

Memelord is a joke class I found online.

I’m actually using Path of the Ascendant Dragon in a campaign! Or I’m planning to, haven’t started yet.

#Lamia Drama #Lamia Drama Side Session #Lamia #Lamia Bitties #Vex-Bitties #Hux #Oozy #Trousle #Piper #Nikolai #Keith #dnd #I cannot hope to live up to the potential chaos I have started #This may or may not be the end #Because there is nothing I can write to do this justice

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 53: Identity

Becoming The Mask

Barbara was at work when her phone buzzed. She didn't have time to check it – she was busy with a toddler who had swallowed a paperclip.

If it had gone into the kid's stomach, things might have been okay. There was some risk of the sharp point doing damage, or the wire catching and tangling in the intestines, but the rounded ends of the paperclip meant there was also a chance it would simply be passed through.

Unfortunately, instead of ingesting the paperclip, the child had aspirated it, so it needed to be removed from her right lung.

Immediately after Barbara got out of surgery, she had to work up the x-rays of a teenager who'd crashed his Vespa into a tree. Nothing was obviously broken and he didn't have a concussion, but there was a risk of hairline fractures.

And then, (because why not,) there were three successive cases of people who had stuck odd things up their butts and gotten those things stuck.

By the time she was able to sit down for two minutes and gulp some coffee, she had forgotten about her buzzing phone.

She didn't even look at her phone until she was leaving for the night. Barbara got it out to turn the ringer off, since she wasn't supposed to be on call that night, which never stopped anyone when they were short-staffed, which was often, and she was tired enough it would probably be dangerous for her to be treating patients again until she'd had some sleep.

(Also, she was probably tired enough that she shouldn't be driving, but Barbara never let herself think about that.)

After finding out she'd missed something as big as her kid sneaking around to fight a secret magical war, Barbara was trying to reassert some boundaries between her time at work and the rest of her life.

Her phone announced that she'd missed a notification.

It was just an exclamation point. What had that been supposed to mean?

Barbara turned her phone off and drove home.

"I'm back, kiddo!"

"We're in the kitchen!"

'We' meant Jim and Toby. Jim was pulling a shepherd's pie out of the oven. Toby and Barbara both inhaled appreciatively.

"You said it's lean ground beef, right?" asked Toby. Jim smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Tobes. You know if you cut all the fat out of your diet you'd get protein poisoning, right? Mom, back me up."

Barbara took a moment to remember this. She wasn't a nutritionist – she'd encountered this concept in a novel a few years ago and looked it up to see if it was true.

"He's right," she said. "It's the rarest kind of food poisoning. Not much risk of it happening here and now." Not in a city in the United States, haven of processed and instant foods.

Jim portioned out the steaming vegetables and meat and mashed potatoes. Barbara added some sour cream to hers.

"Is Nana out tonight?" she asked Toby.

"Yeah, she and some of her chess buddies are doing a tournament. Informal, I think, but maybe a prize? Like, a gift certificate or something."

"We should see if we can get her and Mr Strickler to play a match sometime," said Jim. "I think I heard once that he's a grandmaster, but I don't know how often he plays anymore."

That combination, Nancy and Walt, made Barbara's brain click and remember the significance of that exclamation point she'd sent herself.

"So … it's been a month. Have you made any progress on telling your friends' families about trolls?"

Both boys froze.

"We gave Vendel a bunch of family stories," said Toby. "Once he's done reading it, we'll find out if we have permission or we're going behind everybody's backs."

"Guess I should warn him the clock's ticking again," said Jim.

"We could maybe tell people now and say we're LARPing, and tell the whole truth later?" Toby suggested. "That's what my therapist thinks is going on."

"You told your therapist?" asked Barbara and Jim together, in very different tones.

Jim's eyes were huge. He had a white-knuckled grip on his silverware. "Tell me you didn't use the word 'Trollhunter' in front of her."

"… No?" said Toby in confusion. "I just said your character was a magic knight on a quest to fight an evil troll."

Jim sighed. "Okay, that's generic enough it's probably safe. Don't use any specific names or terms, though."

"Dude, you seriously think someone is spying on a random high schooler's therapy appointments?"

"Someone is spying on a random high school's entire history class," Jim pointed out.

The rest of the meal was tense. After they were done eating and cleaning up, Toby went back home, and Jim went upstairs to do homework.

Jim's yearbook from the previous year was on one of the shelves in the living room. Barbara brought it over to the couch.

She could use this to get an idea of who Jim and Toby's classmates were, at least.

Jim didn't have many signatures in the book. There was Toby's, of course. The rest all had generic messages – "Have a great summer" from Eli Pepperjack, "Have fun this summer!" from Shannon Longhannon, "See you in September" and a doodled smiley face from Claire Nuñez, and "Enjoy summer break" from Seamus Johnson.

People Jim knew? Or random classmates he approached so he wouldn't look 'weird' for not caring about yearbook autographs?

Barbara made note of all the names. She felt like Jim had let slip that the other children who knew about trolls were girls, early on, but she couldn't quite remember for sure and didn't want to rule anyone out. She flipped to the class photos to match names to faces, so she could keep watch for the signatories hanging around her house or across the street.

+=+

Enrique carefully printed the English alphabet. It hadn't been that hard to mimic from a reference image, but this was his first time writing it independently. He haltingly hummed the song to keep track of his place.

"Pretty good," said Claire, reading over his shoulder. He fought the urge to turn and strike. He was (supposed to be) safe. Claire wasn't purposefully lurking in his blind spot to attack him. "Definitely way better than my first scribbles. I guess next you should learn to write your name."

On another piece of paper, she printed it for him to copy.

The first letter was N. Sensible enough. Except wasn't that one pronounced 'nuh' instead of 'en' when it was in a word and not the alphabet? He shrugged. Claire knew this writing system better than he did – if she said Enrique started with N, he'd go with it until he had some evidence otherwise.

The second letter was O. He frowned. That … didn't feel right. Shouldn't it be an R?

The third letter was T. He stopped.

"Read it," he said to Claire, trying not to growl.

"Not Enrique," she said, without shame. "You only copied the 'Not' part so far."

Angrily, Enrique scribbled out the letters he'd written so far and the bit he'd copied from. In fast, shaky letters he copied out the rest of it and underlined it.

"No," said Claire, getting angry in turn, "you don't get to use that name. That's my brother's name, not yours."

"The kid can share. It's mine now."

"Oh, come on," Claire scoffed. "You're, like, hundreds of years old. I get that Jim's used to being called 'Jim' after sixteen years in deep cover or whatever, but you can't possibly have gotten that attached to 'Enrique' in just a few months."

… Did she really not know?

"It's the only name I've got."

"Bullshit. Other trolls had to call you something when you were in the Darklands."

Now he growled for real. "That wasn't a name."

"What, some kind of codename system? Then I'd think you'd welcome the chance to start using your real name again."

"I don't know what it used to be!" he snapped. "No one exactly kept track of who they were grabbing. And if we lived, it was 'Changeling' this and 'Impure' that if it wasn't just 'hey you'! Enrique's the first name I can remember having and you don't get to take it away from me!"

He stood there breathing hard for maybe a full minute. He'd cracked the pen. There was gloppy ink on his clenched fist. He licked it off before ink could drip on the floor, and popped the plastic into his mouth.

Claire's voice, when she spoke again, was a lot softer.

"How did anyone tell the Changelings apart, if … if you didn't have names?"

Enrique snorted. "You think they bothered? One Changeling's as good or as bad as any other. S'probably part of why Jim and the big Boss Man were so quick to change sides when they had the chance."

"Even the other Changelings?"

"The rule about not getting attached starts early."

Claire looked like she was about to cry. That … that wasn't fair, she didn't get to make him feel bad for her when they were in the middle of a fight …

"We give each other nicknames, sometimes," he admitted. Imp had been a popular one, if nothing else about a Changeling stood out. "Us or the goblins. But then when we get up top, it's like a rite of passage, you know? We get a name then. Using the old nickname's … like an insult. Saying you weren't worth making a surface agent."

Claire blinked rapidly a few times, then hugged him. He almost clawed her before realizing it wasn't an attack.

"Oi, easy!"

"You can't have my brother's name," she said stubbornly. "But we'll figure something else out."

"Not exactly your call to make," Enrique retorted.

"Don't ruin the moment."

"What moment–?!"

+=+

Previous Chapter (Troll Dads become official!)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Angor Rot’s debut!)

Not featured in the above chapter: Jim's internal panic, as he frantically tries to figure out how much Toby has already told Dr Archenn and how to warn Toby off telling her anything else, without exposing yet another Changeling's identity to humans.

Featured in the above chapter: my headcanon that Otto addressing Not Enrique as 'Imp' in early Season 2 was a deliberate insult. I've actually got a different nickname in mind for Not Enrique, it just didn't feel natural to bring it up in this scene. Imp, short for Impure, is basically a 'starter nickname' that all Changelings have in the Darklands, until and unless something about them stands out enough that the other Changelings start calling them something else.

#Becoming The Mask chapters #Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Changeling Jim #My Fanfiction #Monday is fanfic day! #Dr Barbara Lake #Tobias Domzalski #Claire Nuñez #Not Enrique #Changelings #backstory #names

[achilleid]

Laisrén Blackfern ed.

— oc questions

BASICS

What’s their full name? Laisrén Blackfern

What does their name mean? Why were they named that? Laisrén is a celtic name derived from “lassar” meaning flame/fire. Blackfern is a chosen last name. If you asked him, he’d try to say he picked it because of some profound reason, like because ferns are resilient and hardy plants or something, but he entirely picked it because he thought it sounded cool. 

Do they have any nicknames? Rén. Pronounced like “rain”. 

How old are they? Time functions really oddly in the Sidhe. When he last lived in the human realm, he was seventeen human years. That was nearly a century or more ago by human time. Physically he appears about 32-33.

When’s their birthday? December 29th (human) or 9th Day of Winter (Sidhe)

What’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? Do they believe that holds any significance? Capricorn/earth/tanzanite-- Laisrén believes in zodiac signs in a very nonchalant way. He is from a magical world where all kinds of weird stuff happen when someone is born, so being told some aspect of his personality is theoretically identifiable by his “sign” he’d probably just shrug like “Sounds legit.”.

What’s their species/subspecies? Do they have any special/magical abilities? He is a half Seelie/half-Unseelie Folk. Folk are presented in my world like a combination of elves and fae. Seelie are generally characterized by their more warm toned skin colors, affiliation with the light, spring and summer, Unseelie are associated with autumn and winter and tend to favor darker, cooler tones. Laisrén is a mix of both types. There are stereotypes associated with each kind of Folk, but ultimately it is entirely based on the individual.

What “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? If none, what weapon do they favor? He would definitely be a Ranger class, duel-wielding swords and using a bow. 

APPEARANCE

What do they look like? Laisrén owes 90% of his appearance to Levi Ackerman from Attack on Titan I won’t even lie. So he is roughly 5′9″, has dark black undercut hair and dark green eyes. He has a warm beige skin tone that darkens in the summer. 

Do they have a face claim? Nope!

What’s their style like? Clothes, hair, makeup? His go to outfit is a black doublet with a silver jerkin over the top. During combat, he favors a set of dark leather armor and a dark cloak. Lots of dark colors. For a half Seelie, he dresses almost exclusively in the dark or jewel colors favored by Unseelie.

How do they carry themselves? What’s their default expression? Perpetual resting bitch face. And he carries himself with an air of self-assuredness and confidence that is entirely unforced. It is just how he is. Granted, he could look cool and collected and inside his thoughts are going a mile a minute. Very good at hiding how he feels.

Do they have any physical ailments or disabilities? Laisrén was saddled with a curse at a young age. His skin, starting at the fingertips of his right hand, is turning black and spreading upward. As of present day, his hand has blackened up to his palm. His nails grow much sharper and faster on that hand as well. Laisrén covers this with gloves.

PERSONALITY

What’s their alignment? Lawful Neutral

Which one of the 16 Personality Types do they fit into? ISTP

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)? He is a big fan of games, especially strategy games. He would love Risk, History of the World and other games like that and probably plays Folk equivalents when he can. Chess too. He’d enjoy card games there were not luck based. He also does like to read and his favorite meal ever is high tea. The man will try any blend of tea ever created and he loves having a nice herb garden.

What are they bad at? He is not the best cook. Food is something to just be consumed as quickly as possible for energy, so getting him to sit down and have a meal and just ENJOY it is very hard. He also is a fitful sleeper and is very bad at picking up on subtext or subtleties when speaking with people. He does not take hints. He does not even know a hint is happening.

What kind of things do they dislike/hate? Disorganization, MESS in general. This is both literal and figurative. Messy emotions will have him cleaning the same room, polishing the same armor or sharpening the same blade in a wholly meditative process trying to either work through or ignore his feelings.

Do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses? His secret vice is his love of sweets. Food is mere fuel until it is chocolate and covered in strawberries or something and then he is like “.... okay maybe a few bites.”

What are their goals and motivations? Currently? Managing his curse, keeping an eye on his “niece” and her son. Caring for his mother secretly. His goals later become more aligned with the main character’s and becomes ensuring the safety of those he cares for. Full stop.

What are their manners like? Any habits? He is not impolite, but he can be brash. He knows how to behave in different situations though, so his “brash” on the field and his “brash” at say a gathering or a meeting is very different. He has a habit of clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth when he is annoyed and only ever breaks eye contact with someone if he is feeling wholly and deeply vulnerable. 

What are they most afraid of? Living for centuries upon centuries only to turn around and realize he has done so alone and always will.

BACKGROUND

Where were they born? What was their childhood like? He was born in the Sidhe, but within a week was abandoned in the human realm. His childhood was spent raised in an orphanage during the early 1900s on Earth. He lived in London and sometimes falls into a cockney sounding accent when he is tired. 

What’s their family like? Well. His mom is thought to be absolutely bonkers because she pulled a changeling thing. And she is, on some level, mentally not all there. In Folk culture, there are some events that can cause a Folk to become trapped in one emotion and unable to overcome the enormity of it and remain “stuck” there. His mother fell into a Despair upon the death of her partner, so he cares for her and the remaining family of her human adopted son from the shadows.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold? He is a Hound of the Wild Hunt and Captain beneath the commander responsible for training new recruits. He trains the soldiers of their ranks.

How do they fit into their “story”? He is at one point in the story, love interest, secondary protagonist, secondary antagonist. 

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like? He resides in a home called Elden Keep, which is a an old fortress manor that once was used as a hunting lodge. It has a western tower with a turret. It is a house of rich brown woods and plush green carpets and a very lovingly tended to garden.

How do they eventually die? WELLLLLLLLL-- they eventually succumb to the curse, but it is temporary. More like an emotional and mental death and then a rebirth. 

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend? His commander Eimer and his fellow captains. Later, he becomes closer friends with Cyra’s group.

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it? He is definitely not even the oddest of his group, that belongs to Dillion, the resident mad scientist/mage (he’s nice! just eccentric). It is a nice blend of people and neurosis haha.

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids? Prior to his relationship with Cyra, Laisrén would have casual encounters, but nothing serious. His longest fling lasted probably off and on for a few months. He has no issues with accepting and reciprocating sexual advances, but has not had a lot of experience with feelings being mixed in until Cyra. With Cyra it starts physical, but ultimately he realizes it is satisfying in a way that past ones have not been because his emotional needs are being met.

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust? He looks up to and trusts Eimer above everyone. He is his best friend, his commander and his fellow Hound. They went through recruitment together, battles and all kinds of bad shit. 

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies? His enemies unfortunately, when revealed, are some powerful people. He grows to hate Queen Nevan and by extension, Druth, Cyra’s uncle and the Queen’s grand commander.

Do they have any pets? He has a few horses, but he’d never refer to them as “pets”.

Are they good with kids? Animals? Good with animals. Kids he is shockingly popular with, even if he doesn’t really make an effort. They appreciate his honesty and the fact he talks to them like they understand things.

#oc questions #i deleted the fun facts section I JUST WANTED TO BE DONE #oc; laisrén blackfern #wip; Paleblood #writeblr

[reapersbarge]

Solstice (Ch. 2)

A/N: Chapter two of @wafflesandkruge and I’s @grishaversebigbang story! Be sure to check out the art from @kayadraws (x) @reilynbears (x) @obligatorychinchillas (x) @chaotic-art-druid (x) @kavinskysdick (x) @inkingnothing (x) and @bubble–berry (x)!

Read the update on Archive of Our Own or below the cut!

Chapter 2: Inej

Watered down sunlight was beginning to stream down from the skylights by the time Kaz emerged from his office. He stood at her shoulder, both of them silent and watching the club’s spilled drinks, broken furniture, and general mess be taken care of by their cleaners. She focused on a young, golden-haired witch who easily fixed a broken table with a twirl of her fingers. Caster magic never got old. 

She adjusted her perch on the thin railing. “What are you going to do about the murder? It’s the third one this month.”

She didn’t expect an answer, not when she could practically hear the cogs in his brain turning and scheming. She’d overheard enough from his conversation with the Fae prince to put the pieces together, but it would be nice if Kaz told them what was going through his mind every once in a while. With a sigh, she leaned against a column and continued watching the bustle below. 

Nina Zenik, a notoriously dangerous blood witch and the Crow Club’s resident singer, was in a corner, dozing off on the shoulder of a tall, blonde man. Between the late nights and the magic she expended, she was always sleepy after a full night of work. As if sensing her gaze on them, the man looked up, his icy blue eyes meeting Inej’s. She gave a small wave. He frowned. 

Matthias Helvar was usually found somewhere around Nina. He’d been hired as security for the club through a recommendation by Nina, but to Kaz’s frustration, he spent more time protecting Nina than the club. He was good at his job though, as most people had the innate sense to stay away from predators. Inej certainly remembered the last time he’d shifted into his wolf form and nearly compromised their mission.

An argument broke out between one of the last straggling patrons and a lanky boy with two pistols on his belt. Jesper Fahey was always the one exception to the “no weapons” policy, though he hardly needed it. Inej’s lips twisted as he snapped his fingers and a sudden gust of wind pushed the belligerent patron out the door. He gave her a playful wink. 

Late, as usual, a red-headed boy finally ran through the doors with his satchel trailing behind him. Wylan van Eck was a conundrum. He was Fae, but raised by humans as a Changeling so his powers were unpredictable at best and downright self-destructive at worst. Kaz often had him here during the day to run sums and make sure nothing was amiss. Inej didn’t miss the way a floorboard seemed to rise a few inches, tripping Wylan and sending him stumbling into Jesper. Next to her, Kaz muttered something about Jesper wrecking his floors. 

The cleaners left, then it was just them and their crew, the deadliest mishmash of cutthroats and thieves that had ever graced Kes Tarm’s streets. Kaz stepped forward, his gloved hands wrapping around the wooden railing. “It’s time.”

“Alright.” Inej stood up, eyed how far the floor was. Then she dissolved into shadows. 

It was one of her gifts as a wraith, the ability to make her body insubstantial. It came in handy when she was stuck in a tight spot or wanted to spy on someone, but for now, her abilities would be used just to spite Kaz who had to take the stairs. 

Her blood turned cold, her body impossibly light as the world dimmed. It was always a strange sensation, passing through things, but a second later, her feet solidified and hit the now empty dance floor as she landed in a crouch. The remaining shadows around her dissipated. 

“Very impressive hat trick,” Jesper drawled. He waved a hand and a chair moved from across the room for her. She dusted herself off and took a seat.

“You’ve seen better from me, Jes,” she replied with a small grin. Nina and Matthias made their way over to the table, the former still yawning. 

“Would it kill Kaz to have meetings at a normal time?” Nina complained. She ran her fingers through her updo, pulling out pins and letting her hair tumble down her back. Matthias took the chair next to her without a word.

Wylan popped up from behind the bar, a pot of coffee in his hand. Without having to be asked, Jesper snapped his fingers and six mugs appeared on the table. Wylan poured them each a steaming cup. Nina took a sip and sighed wistfully. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to share some blood with me, Jes? I promise I’ll use it for good.”

He winked. “Not a chance. My ma passed down these gifts and they stay in the family.”

“How about you, Inej?”

She pretended to think about it. The three of them went through an iteration of this conversation at least once a week. “Hmmm...no. Family secrets.”

“Ah, spoilsports.”

“You could always try Kaz,” Wyaln suggested. All five of their heads swiveled towards the boy now limping towards them with an annoyed expression. She suddenly remembered that Wylan, through some bad timing and missed conversations, was the only one who didn’t know what Kaz was. 

Nina scowled, probably remembering the Incident. “His blood is no fun.”

Two years ago, Nina had stumbled upon a bit of Kaz’s blood smeared on a discarded shirt. It had been just enough for her to use, even though Inej had warned against it. But Nina had been curious, and Jesper was egging her on. 

“Wouldn’t it be fun to finally find out what he is?” Nina asked, waggling eyebrows. Some said he was Fae, but Inej had seen him lie too much for that to be true. Others claimed he was a demon straight from the depths of Hell, and while there hadn’t been any accounts of demons actually existing, anything was possible in Kes Tarm. 

“Fifty kruge he’s a vampire,” Jesper called from the bar where he was polishing glasses. The club was closed for the night, Kaz had left an hour earlier with an order for them to close up. 

Inej swiveled on her chair. “A vampire? Why?”

“Well,” Jesper said as he started ticking off fingers. “Pale. Bloodsucker, metaphorically. Dresses in the last century’s fashion. And when’s the last time you saw him in the sun?”

“Very true,” Nina mused. “Any guesses from you, Inej dear?”

Inej swung her legs back and forth, thinking. Kaz never showed off any supernatural abilities, but that was precisely why everyone was wary of him. “I think… sorcerer,” she said finally. “Not that I’m condoning this, of course.”

“Of course you aren’t.” But Inej can’t help watching as Nina ran a finger over the bloodstain, closed her eyes, and inhaled. The bloodstain vanished. 

The club was deathly silent except for the clink of the glasses Jesper was reshelving. 

“Well?” he prompted. “Have you suddenly gained the ability to portal into Hell? See emotions? Read minds?”

Nina frowned and dropped the shirt back onto the table. “No.”

“What can you do then?” Inej asked. She watched Nina carefully, trying to determine if there was anything different about her. When blood witches used the blood of another being, they were able to utilize their abilities for a brief amount of time, usually proportional to exactly how much blood they’d taken in. When Nina used the blood of a siren, as she did when she sang for the club, her skin usually took on an almost luminescent sheen. But now, she looked the same as always. Just Nina.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Nina pointed to a chair as if expecting it to explode, but it just sat there. “I don’t think I can do a thing.”

Inej tilted her head in confusion. “You mean…”

Nina brushed a hand against the pendant at her throat, the one Inej knew contained some of Nina’s own blood so she could “reset” her abilities. With exceptions. 

“I can’t reset,” Nina said, her voice annoyed. “He’s human.”

A glass slipped through Jesper’s fingers and shattered on the floor. Without sparing it a second glance, he snapped his fingers and it re-pieced itself together on the counter. “Bullshit,” he swore. “Try telling a lie.”

“I hate waffles.”

As the two bickered with Jesper trying to prove Kaz wasn’t just human, Inej quietly reflected. It would make sense, she supposed. It was smart to have people constantly overestimating him, making them sloppy. It was easy enough to use clever sleight of hand to make people believe he was something more. She’d always suspected the truth, but now there was indisputable proof. 

“What are you going to do with this information?” she asked. 

Nina shrugged, face thoughtful. “Not sure yet. I’m not going to sell him out, of course, but I’m sure I’ll be able to hold it against him when the time is right. Maybe get a pay raise.”

Jesper snorted. “Get me a raise too. Tuition isn’t cheap.”

And indeed, a few months later, Nina had found a good occasion to bring it up again. She’d marched into Kaz’s office, Inej already there feeding the crows outside the window. 

“I want Matthias Helvar out of prison,” she demanded. “Get it done or I’m telling everybody I can find from here to hell what you are.”

Kaz didn’t even look up from the forms he was signing. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.”

 Inej wisely decided to stay out of it and continue feeding the birds. Nina put her hands on her hips. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

“Oh, I have no doubt you will.” Kaz pushed his papers aside and pulled out a ledger. “It was already done last week, inclement weather has been keeping Helvar from reaching Kes Tarm. You’re not a very hard person to read, Nina dear.”

Nina blinked, the fight going out of her. “Jesper and I want a raise. Give Inej one too while you’re at it.”

“You’re really pushing it, you know.”

“Raise.”

“Fine.”

After Nina left with an air of triumph about her, Inej finally spoke. “You let her find that shirt, didn’t you?”

Kaz’s silence was as good a confirmation as any. 

His unspoken trust in their crew was what made Inej speak up. If Wylan was to join them for this mission, it would be best if he knew the limits of Kaz’s abilities. 

“Kaz is human.” 

Wylan’s face blanched. “Kaz is-”

“Human,” his rasping voice supplied. He limped over to the head of the table. “But I can kill just as easily as the rest of you, so don’t get any ideas, Van Eck. Sit down.”

The boy sat. Kaz cleared his throat. “We’re taking a new job.”

The group immediately erupted with protests. 

“The last time we did a job together, Matty boy there went wolf and almost killed us all,” Jesper accused. 

“To be fair, your portal let us out over a lake,” Nina said with a scowl. 

“A shallow lake,” Wylan supplied helpfully. 

“I can’t swim,” Matthias grumbled. 

“Enough,” Kaz growled. “The Fae prince wants us to find the child of prophecy.”

“That is such bullshit-”

“They’re dead-”

“It’s just a story-”

Kaz pounded his fist on the table. “Thirty million kruge. I don’t care if it’s a tall tale, we’ll humor this prince and go search for the child. One way or another, we’ll get paid. Understand?”

There was a grumbled assent from everyone. Even split six ways, thirty million kruge was more money than any of them had ever had. They’d be foolish to miss out on a payday this large. 

“What’s the plan?” Inej asked. She had no doubt Kaz had already planned out the next week. 

“We have until the solstice in two weeks, because apparently, that’s when the world will supposedly end if the child goes ‘bad’. Whatever that means.”

“Well, the child is supposedly a product of the union between the Seelie and Unseelie courts,” Wylan interjected. His fingers drummed the table nervously. “When they’re of age, they can be a force of either great good or great evil. It’s the potential that scares people. Fae, I mean.”

“Well, that’s just cheery,” Kaz said dryly. “And irrelevant. I just want to get paid. Inej, you’re coming with me and Lantsov the next day to visit a witch. Nina, there are some Fae records at the library that might help us figure out what happened to the child after they were born. Take Wylan with you in case there’s some magical shit you can’t take care of.”

He turned to Jesper and Matthias. “I want you two at the club in case something happens. If word gets around about our job, no doubt some of the other gangs are going to want in.”

Jesper and Matthias exchanged a look. For as much as they liked to bicker, Inej knew they were lethal when working together. The Crow Club would almost be too well-defended. 

“Any questions?” 

“What is the prince going to do with the child if we find them?” Wylan asked. If possible, Kaz’s face grew even more displeased. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Kaz let them go after that. Wylan stayed behind to run inventory and numbers. Jesper headed off to his morning classes at the university. Matthias took Nina back to her place near the docks. And Inej followed Kaz back to the Slat.

She stayed in the shadows, letting the edges of her form blur. It was always hardest for her to stay corporeal after a long night at the club. The streets were starting to open up, Unsighteds going about their business, blissfully unaware of the creatures that had prowled the streets a few hours earlier. Inej almost envied them. 

They were nearly at the Slat when Inej finally spoke. “You’re doing the right thing, Kaz.”

His lips twisted, the rising sun softening the harsh lines of his face. “Don’t insult me.”

#kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #nina zenik #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kanej #helnik #wesper #zoyalai #soc #six of crows #kos #king of scars #grishaverse #grishabigbang20 #leigh bardugo #the grisha trilogy

[sibillascribbles08]

From Me to You - Changeling AU

Can read the first entry here.

    Cryptor could only laugh as he threw Pixal against the wall. He saw her eyes flash, something in her neck spark. He knew she’d be out of the way soon enough. 

    Then something slammed into his side. He skidded before he reached out to grip the railing in order to stay upright.

    Zane, of course, coming out to save his… well Cryptor wasn’t actually sure what the relationship of the two was. 

    “You again?” He snorted. “The tin can with feelings.”

    Once again, however, the obsolete droid didn’t seem phased by his commentary. In fact, he smiled. “I hit you once. I can do it again.” He charged forward, techno blade in hand.

    Cryptor could make short work of him, or at the very least keep him occupied while his army took out the rest of the ninja. He blocked the weapon, then the punch Zane tried to follow it with. Cryptor kneed the other droid in the stomach, feeling some of the metal give way before tossing him back. 

    “Don’t try and act cool.” Cryptor spat. “You know as well as I do what you really are, obsolete.” He pulled up his cloaking, turning invisible as he approached. 

    Zane got up, eyes darting around. 

    Cryptor didn’t hesitate to punch him in the jaw, then grab his collar and slam him against the wall of the power plant. It was more than enough, but Cryptor punched him a few more times in the chest before kicking him onto the ground.

    “You’re weak, outdated.” Cryptor dropped his cloaking. “You think you can take me on? The rest of my army? We have more weapons, better materials, more tech, and what are you? An old toaster made out of spare parts.” 

    “You’re right.”

    Cryptor stopped short. That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. “What?”

    “You’re right.” Zane repeated as he got to his feet. He dusted off his gi before his gaze moved over to Cryptor. “As I am now… I am outdated.”

    Cryptor wasn’t sure if he should attack again or not. Was this just some form of distraction? “If you agree then does that mean you’re surrendering?” 

    Zane had the audacity to laugh, like it was a simple joke. “No, that’s not where I was going with that.”

    “Then where are you going with it?” Cryptor clenched his fists, ready to punch him in the jaw. “What are you prattling on about?” 

    “Well, as you say, I’m outdated. So I think the best course of action would be to get myself an upgrade, don’t you?” He smiled and tilted his head. Those blue eyes were fixed on Cryptor. Something about them was sharper than ever before. 

    “And where do you plan to get one of those? We won’t be handing them out.” 

    “That’s fine.” Zane narrowed his eyes, still smiling. “I’m more than capable of getting it myself.” 

    The nindroid rushed forward. Cryptor flinched, for whatever reason, before trying to block his movement with a punch. Zane jumped to the side. His feet planted against the wall. Cryptor couldn’t turn fast enough. Zane tackled him to the ground, pinning him down. 

    “The fuck–?” Cryptor hissed. He was about to shove himself up when something sharp jammed into his neck. It wasn’t enough to cut off his circuits but enough to make them stall. 

    “That was easy.” Zane was the one taunting him now, running cold fingers up Cryptor’s neck. “Now let’s see who the obsolete one really is.” 

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

    “Look I don’t know what’s wrong. As far as I can tell his systems are fine.”

    “Did us destroying the power actually damage him too?”

    “But that doesn’t make sense. Zane isn’t powered that way. Speaking of which, Jay, how’s Pixal.”

    “Back-up is working but it takes time to charge. Hoping she’ll come too in an hour.”

    Those were the ninjas voices. Why were they here? Where was here? Cryptor tried to get his systems online but something was wrong. Where were his internal commands? The prompts? Where was the Overlord’s ear grating voice shouting in his ear to get back to work? 

    Finally his vision came online, although it must have gotten busted. None of it was nearly as crisp. It was like some kind of film got stuck over his lenses. He blinked once or twice. Where was his night vision? His infrared? 

    “Zane!” The blue ninja popped up.

    Cryptor screamed. He scrambled, back, though he didn’t get far. His back hit a wall and when he sat up his head hit a cupboard. Where was he? He looked around again. It looked like the inside of a trailer. 

    “Thank the gods you’re okay.” Jay kept on speaking. The other two ninja surrounded him, as well as Nya. “What happened out there?”

    “Why did you bring me here?” Cryptor spat. “Why are you asking me such stupid questions?”

    All the ninja frowned.

    “Uh, you okay there, Zane?” Kai said.

    “I am not Zane!” Cryptor spat and pointed at him. “What on earth would give you the stupid–” He froze when he actually saw his hand. Not his black or silver metal, but instead a dark skin covering leading to a white gi. 

    What?

    No, no no no. His vision must still be broken. He scrambled to his feet and rushed past the ninja to the nearest window. His hands pressed against the glass as he tried to get a look at his reflection.

    Cryptor screamed again.

    “Zane!” Cole spoke this time, gripping his shoulders. “What is going on?”

    “I’m not Zane.” Cryptor tore out of his grip. “I’m Cryptor!”

    “What?” Nya shouted.

    “Yeah right.” Kai spat.

    “Yeah right?” Cryptor stomped toward him. “You want me to wring your neck and prove it to you? You little–”

    Cole’s arms wrapped around him this time. Cryptor tried to break free, but he could tell how much weaker he was now. 

    “Okay.” Cole said. “I think we have to admit if we want to believe it’s Zane or not, something is definitely wrong.”

    “Could it be Cryptor?” Jay asked. “How is that possible.”

    “He switched us.” Cryptor shouted as he kept flailing. “That crafty tin can. That’s what he was talking about, getting an upgrade. He stole my body and ran off!”

    “Uh, no.” Kai said. “We cut the power. All the other nindroids dropped.”

    Cryptor stopped moving. “What?”

    “And why would he do that?” Nya added. “I mean, he knew the plan.”

    Kai shrugged. “Maybe it’s for some weird undercover mission?” 

    Nya shook her head. “Maybe we should wait for Pixal. She could definitely help us figure this out.” 

    “I’m not waiting for shit.” Cryptor tried once more to pull free. “Let me go! I’m going to find my damn body and get it back.” 

    “What do we do with him in the meantime?” Jay pointed at Cryptor. 

    Cryptor managed to kick Cole in the shin.

    The black ninja flinched, but didn’t let go. “You know what? I have an idea.” He lifted Cryptor off the ground and headed out of the trailer. 

    Cryptor kept struggling, but it was no use. Eventually he was tossed into the air and landed on something hard. He felt around, looking at all the scrap metal parts. Was this some kind of bin?

    To answer the question, the lid of it came down and the lights went out.

    “Hey!” Cryptor tried to push it open, but something heavy must have been set on top of it. “Let me out of here this instant you pea brained worms! I have orders. I have a mission.”

    “You can come out when you stop throwing a tantrum.” Cole said.

    “You think this is a tantrum? That I’m some kind of child?” Cryptor kicked at the walls, but they didn’t give. “Let me out. Let me out!” He screamed. 

    No response even. Cryptor let his limbs fall as he stared at the roof of the container. He debated heavily if this was what it felt like to end up in the cursed realm. Endless torture, in the worst case scenario.

    But as he kept staring, the silence drawing on longer and longer, he realized just how quiet it was. No orders. No other voices. No mission log.

    How strange.

#scribbly fics #ninjago #changeling au #this one isn't nearly as dramatic #Cryptor's just too.... #*screams like a toddler*

[ohprettyweeper]

Reposted from my old blog. Prompts are bolded; translations from Google Translate.

Part Four | Answers in the Blood

“Tonight, we begin a new chapter,” Quinn announced to her class. “Irish Mythology. Turn in your books to page two-hundred and twenty-seven.”

She lectured first on banshees, then selkies. Leprechauns, of course, were in the mix, and changelings. Finally, after giving her class and herself a short break, Quinn began the section on the dearg-due. 

“This creature dates back to the Celtic era,” she informed them, hitting the clicker to advance to the slide which held information for notes and also a couple of images for the students to review. “A vampire-like creature, the dearg-due is believed to have found its beginning in a young woman with blood-red lips and white-blonde hair. Forced into a marriage that would benefit her father with many riches and separated her from her true love, the girl took the only way out from her abusive husband: suicide.”

Quinn advanced the slide show again, revealing the painting of a young girl, blood flowing from her wrists and her eyes staring at nothing. Her body was emaciated and her cheeks gaunt.

“Her husband would bleed her for no reason other than to see the blood flow. So, she starved herself to death. After, she was buried at Waterford, near Strongbow’s Tree. Though she had been kind and godly in her life, it is said that her husband’s abuse and her own suicide changed her in the afterlife. Heartbroken and vengeful, on the first night she was buried, she rose from the grave and sought to quench her thirst with the blood of young men, children, and the innocent. She calms her victims first with a siren song, then steals their blood, leaving them mysteriously ill or dead.”

As the lecture wrapped up, Quinn opened the floor for questions. Most of them pertained to the traditionally known creatures, but one student asked as to the origin of the dearg-due. 

“Is it possible these creatures were actually the origin of the Heathens?”

Quinn cleared her throat. “I can see where you might make that connection, but remember, the vampire experiments of Old Dema began in response to the Banditos growing in numbers — so recent that some of your grandparents likely were alive at that time. I suppose it’s possible that this knowledge is available in Old Dema and was an inspiration for the Bishops and their experiments but I can’t say that I’ve come across the connection any other time. If there’s no other questions, class is dismissed. Please do remember, your papers over chapters ten through twelve will be next week. Email me or come by my office if you have questions.”

She gathered her things and went back to her office to spend the rest of the afternoon grading. By the time she could head home, however, the stack of homework to be reviewed was not much smaller than when she had begun a couple of hours before. Her student’s question regarding the dearg-due lingered in her thoughts; not because she had not thought of a connection between the Heathens and the dearg-due before. Instead, she wondered if perhaps the Bishops and their vampire experiments were the answer to her dilemma. 

One of her favorite songs hummed in her throat while Faylinn cooked eggs for breakfast. She was looking forward to an easy day at work, then coming home to continuing her novel. Much to Ildri’s chagrin, Faylinn had not stopped writing the plot line surrounding Old Dema. 

Not to mention, Faylinn’s dreams had not subsided. Though frightening more often than not, they fueled her muse and her imagination and chapters were pouring out of her. Before too long, the novel would be finished. 

Someone knocked on the door; Faylinn looked towards Ildri’s part of the apartment. All the lights were off, and Faylinn could see that the bed was already made. Sighing, she turned down the heat on the eggs and made way for the door. Her breath caught in her throat when the man who was often in her dreams stared back at her. His red eyes were frantic, and his dark, curly hair was in disarray. 

“What are you doing here?” Faylinn whispered. 

“You have to stop the novel,” he pleaded. “The Bishops know. They know everything. Distance doesn’t matter. They’ll come for you.”

Horse hooves sounded in the distance like thunder rumbling in a far off storm. Faylinn’s eyes slowly focused in that direction; somehow, she could already see all nine Bishops riding her way. 

“They’re coming for both of us,” he told her. 

“We have to run,” Faylinn said, pushing her feet into her shoes. 

The man shook his head. “No. You just have to stop.”

Thunder clapped loud overhead, pulling Faylinn from her most recent dream. How was it possible that the thing that had been driving her for so many weeks now was the thing that made her understand the danger of what she was doing?

“Maybe I need to see a shrink,” she muttered, pushing out of the bed and motivating toward the shower to start her day. 

But the dream stuck with her throughout her entire morning routine. By the time she was through with her eggs and her coffee, she had made the last minute decision to skip work for the day and make use of the best resource she had regarding Old Dema. 

Tyler finished his work and walked with Josh back to the Heathen district. Others — humans — took their time getting back, but Nico held no leniency in regards to his citizens returning home when their work was completed. 

“It’s been weeks,” Josh said, nudging Tyler. “You’re going to have to accept that there’s no going back.”

Tyler nodded. “I know that. But, it doesn’t stop me from wondering what’s beyond the wall. Being this doesn’t stop me from wondering what life is like in the surrounding city.”

“They call it New Dema. Sometimes, if you’re mindful, the Bishops will send you into New Dema to capture someone and bring them here to be smeared and, possibly, eventually, changed.”

“How do you know all this?”

Josh took a deep breath. “They tell you, when they know they can trust you. If you want that chance, you cannot miss any mark. You cannot question them out loud, you cannot deny their authority.”

Tyler thought that over for the rest of the walk back to his dwelling. If he played the Bishops’ game, how long would it be until he was trusted to go into New Dema? What would the task of capturing people to come here entail? Tyler had long believed that nothing good could come of new souls coming here but he had known nothing but Old Dema for his entire life. Therein lie the problem; he could not imagine knowing something else, then coming here and being confined to the Bishops’ world. 

Being changed was supposed to heighten his loyalty to the Bishops, but instead, Tyler found himself questioning the old figures more than ever. 

When all of Dema’s inhabitants had been locked in their dwellings for the night, Keons met Nico in the sanctuary of the temple. The head Bishop waited at the altar, facing the large statue. Keons entered from the back of the room, walking reverently toward the head Bishop. 

“You have information you’ve kept from me for too long,” Nico said, turning toward Keons, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Keons stood a little straighter. “Probach meni, bud’ laska (Translation: Forgive me, please). It was you who taught me, Nico, that knowledge is power. I was not entirely certain the information I obtained was correct —”

“Enough stalling, Keons,” Nico warned in a measured tone. He leaned forward on the stone block used for changing humans to Heathens. “Tell me what you know.”

Keons took another three steps forward. His hands balled to fists at his sides, but he stood fast in his resolve to share the information with Nico. 

“She has surfaced — the last Bandito child. She’s a woman now, of course, but I have no doubt that it’s her.”

Nico smirked. “You shouldn’t have any doubt. You are the one who let the child escape our grasp.”

Keons took a deep breath, fighting now to maintain his confidence. He had intended, those decades ago, for the knowledge of the child’s life and location to bring him into power within the walls of Old Dema; Nico was too smart for Keons. Too ruthless. He had sensed the plot from the very beginning and had cut Keons off at the pass by informing the other Bishops the child was still alive but would be allowed to live. Anything else would undermine the authority of the Bishops. 

“When I rode out several weeks ago to retrieve an escaped vampire, I found the creature dead. Her neck was snapped and her body was there, lifeless, in Trench. The scent of the Bandito child was heavy in the air, and though I could not pinpoint her location, I knew she was near. Then, after the last soul was captured and brought into our walls before disappearing, I smelled her scent in that man’s assigned room.”

“But the room was empty,” Nico surmised. He stepped around the cement block, stopping inches in front of Keons. “She is following in the footsteps of her ancestors, and the Heathen in her aids every mission she accepts. You must find her and bring her here. Send the new Heathen.”

“You mean …?”

Nico’s smirk rolled into a satisfied grin. “Yes. That one. I want her back here. She holds all the answers, Keons, and if we are to take back New Dema — we need answers.”

Keons bowed gracefully. “Yak vy komanduyete.” (Translation: As you command.)

#twenty one pilots #fanfiction #dema inspired #the last bandito #repost

[angsty-aliens]

Truck Stop Knives And Other Accessories of Childhood

The fic isn’t finished yet, but it should be soon so I’ve started posting it on Ao3. 

***

A little boy stood with his back against the wall, one hand hidden in a pocket, heaving panicked breaths. His jeans were worn through at the knees, with frayed bottoms where they dangled a bit too long. His shirt was a solid blue with small holes near the neck and slightly faded, like a hand-me-down of a hand-me-down. He had an oversized grey hoodie with grime encrusted elbows and a mysterious stain on the front. Ketchup? Blood? His entire ensemble gave the impression of being discarded, an after-thought. Nothing chosen by him, everything chosen for him and without much care.

Liz took one step closer and he plastered himself flat to the wall, nowhere else to go. His eyes were wide and flickered back and forth, trying to track every possible threat at once and finding the number of threats to be overwhelming. He looked like a trapped animal ready to gnaw off his own leg for a chance at freedom.

She raised her hands and spoke gently, “hey… hey it’s okay. You’re okay. No one’s gonna hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Liz took a cautious step forward and the little boy's hand clenched into a fist inside his jeans pocket.

Michael watched this exchange and warned, “Don’t touch him Liz.”

Liz didn’t let her eyes leave the boy, “He’s your inner child, Michael. He’s adorable.”

“My inner child will stab you.”

She spun around at that, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Michael just shrugged, “His hand is in his right pocket. There’s a switchblade there. I stole it from a truck stop when I was ten. Blue handle. Keep stepping closer and I’m sure he’ll show it to you.”

The little boy looked at Michael with betrayal and the older man just raised an eyebrow, “Don’t stab my friends.”

Liz took a step back and the kid took a shuddering breath but unpeeled himself from the wall. He was still ready to run, but looked less likely to make anyone bleed to do it.

This was the stupidest lab accident Michael Guerin had ever been in, and he was the idiot who let Liz inject him with various science projects like a lab rat. He’d found something alien buried out near the pods and brought it back to the bunker under the airstream to investigate. He’d been so careful not to touch it with his bare hands. They’d had the artifact for days. Long enough for Alex to run some programs to try and translate the sigils covering the flat shimmering disk. Long enough for Liz to swab, looking to break down the chemical components of the artifact. All Alex was able to translate was “memory,” “child,” and “temporary.” They were all just educated guesses, but considering there was a tiny version of Michael Guerin standing in his bunker because he touched the disk and without thinking, pressed it to his forehead like it was muscle memory… Michael was pretty sure that translation was correct. He had a physical embodiment of his inner child standing in his lab, ready to stab Liz. Perfect, must be Tuesday.

Michael took a great heaving sigh and forced himself to walk towards the kid who was scowling, and who’s hand was definitely still in his pocket, fisted around the knife. “Do you know who I am?”

The boy pressed his lips together tightly and glared up at him.

“Okay, so we’re gonna rip this off like a bandaid. I’m you, but 28 years old. There was an accident and you… manifested. No we’re not messing with you. You’re an alien. You can drink acetone. Max and Isobel are also aliens.” Michael telekinetically ripped the switchblade out of the kid’s pocket and floated it into his hand. “Believe me?”

The boy’s eyes widened as he watched his weapon float away and Michael slapped a palm over his face, “shit I forgot we didn’t develop the TK until we were twelve. Um, yeah, spoiler alert, that’s a thing you can do.”

Michael slipped the knife into his pocket. Better not to have the kid armed right now. Liz examined the alien disk while being careful not to touch it. “So he’s a construct of your memory? He’s not like literally you from the past? We’re not going to alter the future, right?”

“I promise to let you know if I turn into Marty McFly, but I don’t think I’ll be disappearing from any photographs soon. I mean this thing didn’t come with a users manual, at least not one we can read. But I think he’s me… but you know, shorter.”

Liz watched from a respectful distance, “mijo, how old are you?” She whispered to Michael, “he’s tiny.” With a great bellowing voice the kid shouted, “I’m ELEVEN and you’re UGLY.”

He bolted, but Michael just grabbed him around the waist and hauled him up before he reached the ladder. “Fun. Great, we’re like one big happy family. Ugh, but seriously why am I so little? I thought eleven year olds were bigger. I FELT bigger.” He held the kid out in front of him, dodging kicking feet. “I mean Isobel was always taller than me, but I could have sworn me and Max were the same size. Is this what eleven year olds are supposed to look like?”

Liz smacked the back of Michael’s head, “put him down. He clearly doesn’t like being told he’s small.” She turned to the still squirming child and said in a slow syrupy voice, “I’m sorry, you’re not small. We’re just not used to kids. We don’t know how big eleven year olds are supposed to be. I’m sure you’re a very big eleven year old.”

The kid just glared and tried to kick her while still dangling in the air. Michael gave him a shake in retaliation.

“Michael Guerin,” Liz hissed, “you will not shake him. What’s the matter with you? He’s a kid.”

He shrugged, “he’s not a real kid. He’s me. And it’s not like it hurts. If I whack him, then you can yell at me.”

Liz was scandalized, “you’re not gonna WHACK him.”

Michael rolled his eyes, “of course I’m not gonna whack him. But I’m also not gonna let him kick you.”

“And he IS a real kid. I mean, this might be a temporary thing. Maybe a therapy tool? You have to learn to love your inner child or something? But he is real.”

The two Michaels gave each other distrustful looks. Liz didn’t get it. Michael had never been a real kid. He was the changeling stuck in other people’s nests. He may have looked like a kid but he was never real. His foster parents understood that. There were good kids with parents who loved them unconditionally. And then there was Michael Guerin, who got left behind and never got picked. But Michael did remember what it felt like to be physically restrained by someone bigger, and so with a stern look he put down his younger self. “Do NOT kick Liz. Do not stab Liz. Maybe don’t even look at Liz. Stop being a little shit.” “I’m calling Alex. You’re terrible with children.” Liz threw her hands up, “I don’t get it, I’ve seen you interact with kids before and you’ve always been so nice, Michael. You’ve been gentle and patient. I don’t understand why you’re not giving Mikey the same care.” “Mikey?” They both asked her in unison.

Liz shrugged, “it’s easier than calling you Big Michael and Little…” She quickly corrected herself, “Younger Michael.”

She mused, “Maybe I should call Isobel and Max too. Kyle? Should we get Kyle to check him out?”

Mikey was eyeballing the ladder again and Michael just put one careful hand on his shoulder to discourage the impulse. “Do not call Kyle. Mini-me never actually stabbed a grown up. I just kept the knife to scare away fellow foster kids mostly. But if you call a doctor, the kid will freak out.”

“I won’t freak out. I don’t freak out.” The kid grumbled, deeply offended.

“Yeah? What happened when the Lees took you to that shitty pediatrician when you were eight?” Michael narrowed his eyes at the scowling eleven year old.

The kid announced proudly, “I bit him.”

“You bit him.” Michael added, “And we got our asses roasted when we got home.”

Mikey protested, “No doctors! You know no doctors!”

“Yeah. No doctors. Can’t let anyone know the secret. And yes, throwing an absolute fit every time we were supposed to get a booster shot meant foster parents generally didn’t try to take us. But Kyle already knows. I can give you a list of the grown ups who know. Obviously we’re not announcing it and having an Alien Pride Parade but we have some people who know now.”

Michael turned to Liz, “but we still shouldn’t have them all show up at once. Even I don’t like being in a room with that many people and I’m not an artificial construct of my inner traumatic childhood.”

The kid muttered, “you’re an artificial construct of my farts.”

“Call either Alex, or Isobel and Max. I don’t care which. But not your whole Scooby Gang.”

***

After several attempts to reconnect the Michaels by having them both hold the artifact, they ended up in Max’s living room. It was decided that the bunker was too small and the airstream was definitely too small and it’d just be easier to meet someplace a little further from town where no one would show up for an oil change and see a kid who shouldn’t exist.

The two Michaels sat on the couch as Liz, Max, and Isobel stood in front of them with arms crossed. Michael was starting to feel like a specimen, and Mikey sunk lower on the couch, once again feeling like an inconvenient piece of trouble.

Max broke the silence, “Well this is certainly Michael when we first met him.” He crouched down and said in an awkwardly soft voice, “heeeey buddy. I’m Max. Do you remember me?”

Michael rolled his eyes and whispered to his younger self, “don’t stab Max either.”

With that reminder of their first meeting, Max stood up and took a safer step back. Both Michaels chuckled conspiratorially. Isobel was more pragmatic, “Okay so we’re going to need clothing, a toothbrush, pajamas… What size clothing are you? Mikey? Ugh Liz, that’s a terrible nickname. Mikey, stand up so I can check your sizes and make a list. This is also the time to make any requests, or I’ll finally get to give my little brother…”

“Not your little brother!” Michael interrupted.

Isobel continued, “Give my little brother the makeover I’ve always wanted to.”

The kid found himself bullied up to his feet and Isobel began reaching into his shirt to check for a label. Mikey tolerated it until she spun him around to check for the label in the back of his pants. When she started to raise his shirt and grab at his waistband, he jerked away.

Isobel stepped away with hands raised in surrender. “Sorry. I’m sorry Mikey. You can tell me your sizes later. I… Honey, who hurt you? Your back…”

Michael found himself standing in front of the kid to placate his siblings, “Iz, you know I was with the religious fundamentalists. Leave the kid alone.”

Isobel protested, “I didn’t know they hurt you like that. Michael, his back…”

Michael turned back to the kid, matter of factly, “Hey Mikey, do you wanna talk about this?”

“Fuck no.”

“There’s your answer, Iz.”

Isobel looked torn between reprimanding the boy on his language, and trying to pry further. Max eventually took his sister’s elbow and led her to the kitchen where they could whisper furiously about all of Michael’s childhood traumas and pretend no one could hear them.

Liz twisted her hands, “soooo… are you hungry? I could make pancakes.”

Michael rolled his eyes, “it’s 4pm, Liz.” Liz replied, “Everytime is a good time for pancakes, Michael.”  

Mikey interjected, “Look, if the lady wants to make pancakes, let her make pancakes.”

Grateful to have a task, Liz disappeared into the kitchen where she could join Michael’s meddling siblings in whispering about them.

Michael flung himself back on the couch with a dramatic sigh, and Mikey joined him. They stared at Max’s empty fireplace, carefully not making eye contact.

“So where do you want to stay tonight? We can crash with Max, or I can maybe call my... friend, Alex. Alex has a cabin and he won’t be weird about this. Maybe. Hopefully he won’t be weird about this.”

The kid shrugged.

Michael swallowed, “what’s wrong with your back?”

Kid stared intently at the fireplace and shrugged again, “switch.”

Michael closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah.”

It felt like no time passed at all before Max, Isobel, and Liz came out of the kitchen, which was an open concept kitchen and a terrible place to try and whisper about Michael’s childhood trauma. Michael gave them an unimpressed look to try and convey that thought through some artful eyebrow lifting. Isobel just shrugged, completely unrepentant. Liz had made pancakes as promised and they gathered around the dining room table. Mikey already had a hand out, pancake almost in reach. “Wash hands first!” Liz pulled the plate back.

Michael smirked and reached for the pancakes, “Yeah, kid, go wash your hands.”

The plate shifted again and Liz poked him in the chest, “¿Qué estás haciendo? Animals, all of you. Go wash your hands. Didn’t anyone teach you manners?” Michael couldn’t catch the rapid fire spanish that followed, but he was pretty sure she called him a filthy vulture. With mutual grumbling, they went to the kitchen to scrub up. When they returned to the table, the other adults were already eating having previously washed their hands. They left two chairs open for them between Liz and Isobel sitting at either end of the table. Max sat across from them, and continued to stare at the little boy with doe eyes. Michael was finding the whole thing extremely irritating, and based on Mikey’s rhythmic kicking at his chair, the kid was equally uncomfortable. Michael made the boy a plate with three pancakes and plenty of syrup before grabbing his own stack. Liz watched in horror as they both rolled a pancake up like a burrito and shoved it in their faces. There were going to be sticky handprints everywhere, little child sized ones, and big adult sized ones. Ridiculous. Isobel cleared her throat, “so… Mikey, do you want to tell us more about your foster placement?”

Michael looked up from his second pancake burrito and warned, “Iz. Leave it.”

Isobel protested, “Michael, I don’t see why it’s a big secret. We should be able to talk about these things.”

With a huff, Michael shoved the entire pancake into his mouth and wiped at his sticky hands before gesturing for his sister to follow him to Max’s bedroom. The kid just watched this exchange in silence as he kicked at the rungs of his chair, and took another giant bite. Maybe he could fit one of the dry pancakes in his pocket. If it didn’t have syrup on it, it’d probably stay good for at least a day.

Michael closed the door behind them, because unlike his siblings he knew how to meddle without being heard by the whole room.

“Iz, I know you’re concerned but not only does he not want to talk about this with you, but I don’t really want to talk about it either. I didn’t share and care as a kid ON PURPOSE.” She threw her hands up in frustration, “Why wouldn’t you have told us it was this bad though? We could have done something!”

“What were you going to do? Tell your parents? They weren’t going to come in and rescue me. They didn’t want me at seven, they weren’t going to want me at eleven. Were you going to tell the cops? Because they also didn’t really care. Only thing that maybe would have happened is I’d’ve gotten a new placement, and that could have been anywhere. It took four years for me to get to Roswell. I wasn’t going to whine about some bruises and get shipped back to Albuquerque. I know I wasn’t warm and fuzzy to you and Max at first, but I still didn’t want to leave.” “You could have still talked about it. Even if we couldn’t do anything, you shouldn’t have had to keep it a secret.” “I talked sometimes, and it always freaked you both out. I didn’t… I don’t want to be someone you pity.” Michael snapped, “Lots of people have shitty childhoods. They get over it. It’s not a big deal.”

Isobel gave him a displeased look. “Okay but Mikey could talk about it. You think the disk may have been a therapy tool. Maybe he NEEDS to talk about it. Just because you chose to keep it a secret as a kid, doesn’t mean you should have kept it a secret. And you don’t need to keep it a secret now. I’m not going to pity you Michael. You’re far too annoying for me to pity. I can be mad people hurt you without it being pity.” “Mikey…” Michael shuddered, “I hate that nickname and I’m annoyed it’s actually useful here. Mikey, can talk to me. It’s MY therapy. Even if it is therapy. I wish I never touched the damn thing. I thought I was so good putting up a mask as a kid, and obviously I sucked at it and it’s just adults didn’t care. He’s a walking, talking open wound and I’d rather everyone not get to examine all my childhood traumas. You wouldn’t enjoy a little Isobel walking around so we can all remember how scared you were of not being perfect.” She socked his shoulder, “I wasn’t scared of not being perfect.” “If we had a little Isobel here, I’m pretty sure you’d see and EVERYONE would see you were very, very scared of not being perfect.” He gave her a pointed look, “It’s not fun being under a microscope. Can we just… not? Kid literally manifested like an hour ago. Lets not force him into group therapy right now.”

Isobel inhaled deeply and raised an eyebrow, “fine. I’ll stop asking for now. But we’re having a conversation about this later, the two of us. I thought we all agreed, no more secrets.”

Michael laughed, “My childhood isn’t a secret. I’m surprised I didn’t win “Most Tragic Orphan” in the school year book. You and Max knew, I just didn’t give you the unabridged epic version. You got the cliff notes and that’s all you’re getting. Leave my little clone alone.”

Isobel in true, queen bee splendor, fixed her brother with a considering gaze before sauntering out of the room like this whole thing was her idea to begin with. Michael trailed behind her as they rejoined the table. Max announced in an awed whisper, “He’s eaten six pancakes.”

Michael beamed proudly as the kid licked syrup off his palm.

Before long, Max was on dish duty as Liz tried to wipe the kid down with a wet cloth while he squirmed,  “I’m eleven, lady. I know how to wash my own face!”

She attacked a particularly sticky spot on his cheek, “Unfortunately for you I know Michael Guerin as an adult and if I don’t trust an adult Michael Guerin to properly remove syrup, I definitely don’t trust you.”

Both Guerins gave her an outraged look, but Liz was an expert at ignoring people and she just kept scrubbing the kid’s face. Without moving her gaze from the boy’s cheek, she dictated to Guerin senior, “You better wash your hands before you touch anything. I can’t believe you two didn’t use a knife and fork. Pancakes are not finger food.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but obediently went to wash his face and hands. He even submitted to Liz’s inspection afterwards to make sure he did an adequate job. His younger half seemed delighted that someone else was receiving Liz’s attention. In a fit of true maturity, Michael flipped off his younger half and while Liz was distracted being scandalized, Mikey made sure to flip him off right back.  

Now that basic necessities were taken care of, Michael needed to figure out a place to stash the kid. The airstream was too small. Michael knew he could make it work anyway. He never expected anything fancy as a kid, and he hardly ever had his own room. Crashing in a sleeping bag on the floor wouldn’t be the end of the world by a long shot, but despite that, Michael wanted to give the kid a better experience than that. Max would die from doe eyes if they attempted to crash here. Michael could already feel Max’s overwhelming sense of guilt, and it was exhausting. The idea of being here without Liz and Isobel as a buffer was excruciating. Staying with Isobel? No. Too nosy. And asking to crash with Liz at the Crashdown wasn’t even an option. Arturo could sniff out an orphan a mile away and Michael needed to keep his little mini-me far away from mainstreet. Maria was also out of the question. They were still friends despite the breakup, but The Wild Pony was too close to town and a bar was no place for the kid. Alex was the only real option left. His house had more space, but was in the center of town. But the cabin was far enough away from main roads that hopefully Mikey wouldn’t get the urge to hitchhike to Foster’s Ranch at 2am. It was small, but the couch was comfortable enough, and Michael could trust Alex not to see this as an opportunity to dig into Michael’s past. He understood the importance of secrets.

With that decided, Michael sent him a text trying to explain the situation. He knew Alex wouldn’t turn him away. They may not be together anymore, but they were still friends. At least trying to be friends. With that in mind, he collected Mikey from the clutches of Isobel.

“I promise you can torment us both later. But I need to grab clothes from the airstream, and we’re crashing with Alex. You can drop off essentials tonight, or tomorrow. Whatever’s easier. It’s Saturday so Walmart will be open late.”

Michael steered the kid towards his truck while waving vaguely in the direction of his siblings and Liz.

As he drove off, the kid asked, “it’s Saturday?”

“Yeah, and I made Iz promise not to go crazy with the clothing. She owes me so many favors. Don’t worry about it. I fixed her instapot last week. Do you know what an instapot is?” The kid shook his head and Michael shrugged, “yeah me neither. But I fixed it. So she owes me. And we’re literally the same person, so she owes you too.”

At the airstream, Michael stuffed some essentials inside a ratty blue backpack. When he got back to the truck, he handed the kid two packets of peanut butter crackers. “You can eat whenever you’re hungry. No one’s locking down the kitchen. But I know I like having some emergency food anyway.” As the kid started to protest, he pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and pressed that into the boy’s hands. “For the pancakes. So they don’t get lint on them.” Mikey glowered at him, “I don’t have pancakes in my pocket.”

Michael shrugged with feigned nonchalance, “We’re the same person, and if I were eleven and a lady made a stack of pancakes, I’d have at LEAST one in my pocket. I mean maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I didn’t get good at swiping food until I got older. Eleven is pretty young.”

The kid glared and pulled two pancakes out of his hoodie’s pocket, and shoved them into the plastic bag. “You’re old and I don’t need your help. You think you’re hilarious, but the only thing funny here is what a joke your life is.”

Michael started the engine, and refused to make eye contact. He wasn’t going to let an infant hurt his feelings. He didn’t need to prove anything. He was doing fine.

#my fic #inner child fic #roswell new mexico fic #rnm fic #michael guerin fic #michael guerin #future malex #isobel evans #max evans #liz ortecho #truck stop knives and other childhood accessories #cw child abuse #tw child abuse #feral stabby baby

[seasonofthegeek]

Sacrifice of Three, Part 1

The lovely @miraculouspaon requested another part of this drabble through ko-fi and I decided to use that story as inspiration for the expanded universe because I feel like it would be such a fun AU to play in with more detail. So this is taking it to the beginning of the story and working to the part in the drabble and beyond. :D

___

“I don’t understand why I continue to receive these meeting invitations. I’m not part of a Fae court; there’s no reason for me to attend a Winter Solstice conference of the supernatural community.” Gabriel dropped the leaflet of cardstock into his assistant’s desk in tray. “Please confirm my absence. Perhaps one of these days those ancient monsters will stop bothering me.”

Nathalie slid the invitation out of her tray with a curt nod. “Very well, sir. I will have to ask that I be excused for the event though. I was chosen as the representative for my pack.”

“You don’t even get along with your pack.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I could fight another member to pass on the invitation but I’d rather not.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“There are only two werewolf packs in the city and the one I chose is the less aggressive of the two. It’s better than the alternative.”

“If you say so.”

“Not all of us can pretend to be human all the time,” she replied, tone even. She ignored the glare cast in her direction as she began to work on his invitation decline. “If I hadn’t sought out one of the packs after I turned, they would’ve come after me eventually. Better to have a choice.”

“Better to be left alone entirely.”

“If that’s an option, which it wasn’t.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw until it made a tight ticking sound. “Fine. I’ll accept the invitation.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Perhaps if I attend, they will stop harassing me.” He turned away from her desk to return to his.

“I wouldn’t call sending an invitation to events a few times a year harassment, but we all have our burdens to bear,” Nathalie replied dryly. “Why the change of heart?”

He stiffened. “If we’re there together, perhaps we won’t lose an entire week of work.”

“Ah, yes. I was hoping I wouldn’t be allowed a vacation.” Nathalie kept her face blank, fighting against the smile she could feel tugging at her lips. “They’ll ask what court you’re representing upon accepting.”

Gabriel sighed and looked back at the large painting of his deceased wife. The portrait had been done in shades of green and gold and had managed to catch  a fraction of the beauty of the sun nymph who’d shined down on him for a short time. “The Summer Court, I suppose, though I never really felt right there.”

“It’s possible you’ll be asked about Adrien,” she warned him, pausing in her work.

He turned away from the portrait. “And I’ll tell them he died with his mother.”

“You think it’s wise to lie? Anyone could come here and find him.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure to seem as human and uninteresting as possible, won’t I?” He gave her a wry smile. “Changelings barely register on the supernatural scale. I’m sure my continued requests for attendance are about my son and what he can do for the courts, but I have no intentions of allowing him into that life. Perhaps they’ll be led to believe he takes after me.”

“Anyone who saw him would know that isn’t true.”

“Mmm, well, there’s a reason he stays here most of the time.”

Nathalie shook her head, unsure if Gabriel actually believed his son stayed put in their large home or if he was simply in denial of Adrien’s frequents nighttime walkabouts. “Of course, sir.”

___

Jagged leaned back with a content sigh and licked his blood-stained lips. “Penny, love, you’re as exquisite as ever.”

“And you’re as greedy as ever.” She stood and went to the vanity, shuffling through the mess on the counter to find a clean bandage. “I’m going to have to take a nap at some point to get some energy back.”

“I’ll keep you company, pet. I’d love to have someone pretty and warm like you in my bed.”

Penny laughed as she smoothed the bandage over the wound in her neck. “I’m sure you would, but I’ve got other things to do today.”

He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “But I’ll be lonely.”

“Somehow I think you’ll survive. Have you decided about the meeting yet?”

“Didn’t wanna go the first time you asked and haven’t changed my mind.” He let his arm fall languidly off the couch and felt rough scales under his palm. “There’s my good boy. Who’s my favorite dragon?”

“He’s not a dragon.”

“Don’t listen to Penny, mate. She’s all cranky due to blood loss,” Jagged soothed, scratching along the crocodile’s back. 

“If you say no to this meeting, you’ll have to go to the next one. Winter Solstice doesn’t sound too bad anyway. And the cabin looks nice.”

“Ah, a cabin. A house made entirely of wood. Exactly the kind of place a vampire wants to find himself in when a bunch of other supes are hanging out and plotting.”

“Stop being a baby.” Penny turned to face him, leaning against the counter. “Are you going or not? You know Arkana will give you hell if she has to go this time too. It will be her third one in a row.”

“Why do they keep requesting us anyway? Our nest isn’t even that big. Why not the uppity vampires near the center of the city?”

“They might be there too. You’re hardly a good representation of the species.”

“I think you used to be nicer,” Jagged pouted. “I should’ve left you as a naive human out in the world.”

“I’m still a human out in the world,” she winked. “Just not nearly as naive. So is that a yes?”

He groaned and Fang made a chuffing sound by his side. “Fine, yes.”

___

“Oi, you lot notice we’re still the only ones here?” Jagged leaned in the doorway of the study and crossed his arms. “This shindig was supposed to start over an hour ago. Where’s everyone else?”

Nathalie looked up from her laptop and blinked. “No one else has arrived?”

“Nah. I’ve been roaming around this place like I’m haunting it and there’s not hide nor hair of anyone. Something doesn’t smell right.” He watched the werewolf sniff gingerly at the air and couldn’t help the wide smile that crossed his face. “Didn’t mean literally, pet.”

She glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Gabriel set his own laptop on the coffee table and went to the window. “There is quite a bit of snow. Perhaps it’s slowing the others down.”

“All of them? Seems a little ‘spicious, don’tcha think?”

“Is it getting heavier?” Nathalie joined them by the window and hugged herself. “I believe that’s sleet. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere ourselves for a while.”

“This day and age and not a phone number or email to be found between us to reach anyone, is there? You ever wonder why the powers that be insist on keeping things so old school?”

“It wouldn’t help even if we had contacts. There’s no service up here. Gabriel and I have been working on a portable backup drive we brought ourselves.”

“Aren’t you two just the ambitious little duo?”

Gabriel ignored the other man’s remark as he stared out the window. “Well, this is certain to cause us trouble. Jagged, I think it would be best if you retreat to one of the guest rooms. I can lock you in for your own safety.”

The vampire visibly bristled as he leaned against the wall. “I’m not an animal, mate. Believe it or not, I can survive being snowed in with you two without ripping your throats out.” He flashed a wide smile that showcased two delicate fangs. “Might be fun though. Besides, if you’re going to lock me up, you should lock up your sweet lil pup too.”

Nathalie scowled at him. “It’s not even close to the full moon. I’m in no danger of transforming here.”

“Wonder if there’s an old tale about this somewhere. A vampire, a werewolf, and a changeling snowed in late at night in the middle of nowhere…” Jagged chuckled to himself. “Who will survive, who will thrive, who will take an eternal dive….”

Gabriel turned away from the window and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up in agitation. “Please don’t call me that.”

“S’whatcha are, Gabe. Wee little Fae babe who was left to be raised by humans ‘cause he couldn’t cut it in the courts. Nothing to be ashamed of. You got that pretty bride of yours due to your heritage and all. Worked out, didn’t it?”

“Don’t speak of things you don’t understand,” Gabriel warned with a growl.

“Oh, I understand,” Jagged replied with an easy grin. “I met her before you, ya know. Wouldn’t have worked out what with her being one with the sun but she was pretty enough for it to be tempting--”

Nathalie stepped between the men with a put upon sigh. “Since we don’t know how long we’re going to be here, perhaps it would be wise to take stock of our supplies instead of being immature brats. Jagged, did you bring any bagged blood with you?”

“Don’t drink the stuff, pet. I like my blood alive. Besides, usually they have willing donors at these things. Vamps aren’t the only ones who like blood and this was supposed to be a big meeting of the supernatural minds for the Winter Solstice and all that.”

“In other words, you’re unprepared.” She turned to Gabriel. “Do you think we can expect any of the others to make it here before things get too bad?”

“I think they’ve already gone bad unfortunately. I don’t believe anyone could make it in a storm like this. We should’ve left earlier before we got stuck here ourselves.”

Jagged pushed away from the wall. “Well, as much fun as it would be to watch you two moan and groan about our predicament the rest of the night, the cold doesn’t much bother me so I think I’ll be off.”

Nathalie snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“Course I am. Not all warm blooded like you lot. I can walk right out of here.”

“You’d freeze,” she replied incredulously. “You wouldn’t make it to the nearest town before you froze in place and then the sun would catch you when it finally rose again. Even you have limitations.”

“Let him go. It’d make the stay much more pleasant,” Gabriel remarked. “Would you like to go see what the food situation is like? It’d be best to settle that early.”

“That sounds reasonable,” she agreed, following him towards the kitchen.

“I mean it. I’m leaving,” Jagged called after them. “Not waiting around.” He growled under his breath when he received no reply. He could leave. He could walk right out the door, but Nathalie was probably right. He didn’t have a clue where he was going and if the ground was frozen over, he’d have a hard time burying himself deep enough to keep safe from the rising sun. 

He grumbled to himself and dropped down on one of the couches. Flames licked the bricks of the fireplace and he watched them until he fell into a peaceful trance, letting his body shut down little by little to conserve energy. While it was fun to tease Gabriel and Nathalie, the worry that they might be there longer than anticipate nagged at the back of his mind. Better not to waste any energy he could hold onto for the time being. 

___

“The bread’s gone stale.” Nathalie stared at her sandwich before taking another bite.

“There isn’t much more to put on it anyway. This was probably the last day we could do sandwiches.” Gabriel bit into his reluctantly and chewed as he reached for a book on the coffee table. “We can probably use the last pieces with some of the soup.”

“Cold soup and stale bread; I feel spoiled.”

“Things must be bad if you’re talking like that.”

“Losing the electricity’s made me cranky,” Nathalie said in way of apology. “I know we’re all making sacrifices.”

“At least you two get to eat,” Jagged whined, draping himself across the couch. “I’m starving. I’ve got bags under my eyes and my skin’s looking all waxy. I hate when my skin looks waxy. Haven’t looked this rough in decades.”

“Perhaps you should’ve left when you threatened to.” Gabriel didn’t look up from his book. “You know where the door is.”

“I can’t go out in this state. I wouldn’t make it to the end of the driveway. This storm’s unnatural. There’s a warlock or something behind it, mark my words.”

“I’ve been wondering about that actually.” Nathalie set her plate down and went to the wall of bookshelves, looking over the titles. “It might not be an accident we’re the only ones stuck here.”

Gabriel closed his book and looked to her across the room. “You really believe someone targeted the three of us?”

“I don’t know why they would. We’re only representatives, not even important members of our groups, but it’s just a feeling.”

“Why’d you have to go and bring that up?” Jagged groaned. “You’ve gone and made me think and now my head hurts.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “See what you can find in those books about the Sacrifice of Three for the Solstice. I can’t believe I’m even considering that being a possibility. And keep it down; I need a nap.”

“Wait, what do you mean the Sacrifice of Three?”

The vampire didn’t reply as his body fell into a chilling stillness.

“He’s been doing that a lot the past day or so,” Nathalie remarked, keeping her voice low. She turned away from the sight and went back to the books. “It can’t be good.”

“He’s trying to conserve his energy, but I agree. We need to keep an eye on him. I don’t think it’d be wise for either of us to be alone with him at any time.” Gabriel set his own plate down and joined her by the bookshelves. “I’ll help you look while there’s still daylight.”

She cast another wary glance at the still vampire. “What if he loses control?”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Not if?”

He didn’t respond, instead pulling a book of the shelf to thumb through it.

“What if we’re still here when the full moon hits?” she asked, voice quieter.

“We’ll deal with that as well.”

“I’d kill you both. I can’t control it.”

“Then we better look for a way to get out of here, hmm?” He met her eyes and they shared a look of understanding before she nodded and they continued their search.

Buy me a cherry coke?

#agrestonath #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #jagged stone #miraculous ladybug

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

Snowberry

By @loganberry-jam

Everyone in little Wickhills, Ohio, knew about the Sanders’ changeling boy. The whole town had been called on that night. They knew about the fae woman who’d tried to trade her son for theirs, and was then refused either child by Dot, their mother. Most townsfolk didn’t approve, thinking it was “bringing the enemy into our midst.” However, everyone in Wickhills also knew to keep their mouths shut, unless they wanted to find themselves wandering into a fairy circle and never wandering back out.

It was on Halloween night. The Sanders boys were about 16, and were elated to finally be allowed to go trick-or-treating without their parents hovering behind them (well, it was more Thomas who was excited. Logan didn’t much see the appeal in dressing up and asking strangers for candy, but it made his brother happy). Thomas was dressed in his favorite Spiderman costume, and Logan Frankenstein’s monster. Even with the prosthetics and makeup, though, it was still impossible to ignore Logan’s pointy ears and quicksilver eyes. That was the only thing differentiating their appearances; changeling children take the form of the child they replace. Since he was never given back to the fae woman, he just passed off as Thomas’ twin. Closely enough.

They’d left Mrs. Coughenour’s house with the weirdest candies they’d ever seen. Wrapped in bits of parchment paper, they smelled of some strong floral flavor. 

“I think it’s lavender. This one is, at least.” “Lavender? Why would there be lavender candies? Who makes those?”

“Mrs. Coughenour, apparently”

Logan popped said lavender candy into his mouth. He would never admit it, even once fully grown, but those were his favorite. They relaxed him. Sometimes it just seemed to serve as yet another reminder that he wasn’t human, but he tried not to think about that.

“Whatever. I just hope Ms. Gage has good candy.”

“It’s Ms. Gage. She’ll either have really good candy that Roman will hijack, or, as you say, ‘old people candy.’”

“Okay, look, it’s always the old people that have those caramels. I’ve never even seen them at the store, so they’ve gotta just appear in their candy bowls once they hit 80.”

“Ms. Gage is seventy.”

“Close enough!”

They continued to bicker back and forth, as brothers do, as they walked down the road to Ms. Gage’s house, unaware of the two bright purple eyes watching them from between the trees. 

After they had been walking for a good twenty minutes, Thomas muttered a little suspiciously, “Haven’t we been walking for just a little while longer than it usually takes?”

Logan paused. He was right. Usually, the walk was only ten to fifteen minutes max, and they weren’t by any familiar landmarks.

“Logan, what time is it?”

“12:02 AM”

Thomas shuddered. “Midnight.”

At this Logan rolled his eyes. “Come on now, Thomas, sure it’s late, but even if one of the Good Neighbors is playing a trick on us, it doesn’t make it any worse that it’s midnight. It’s just a time of day, arbitrary to even the fair folk.”

Thomas nodded, unconvinced. “Can we just walk a little faster then? I wanna get to Ms. Gage’s”

“If that’s what would help ease your fear, then of course.”

They quickened the pace, Thomas clinging close to his brother. Five more minutes without anything they recognized, Thomas was beginning to get a little hysterical, spouting off all kinds of things that could happen if the Good Neighbors had decided they had done something to offend them. Logan did his best to dissipate and alleviate those fears, but truth be told, he was starting to feel some of them himself, especially when they turned a corner and found themselves upon the street they had just walked off.

They had just passed under an old street lamp when they saw it; a silhouette. It was impossible to see any physical features in the dim light, but they somehow knew that it was watching them. They blinked and it was gone.

“Well, that was a bit alarming.”

“Yeah, you think?!” Panic was quickly rising in Thomas. “We’re stuck in an endless loop of nothing but,” he glanced at the street sign, “Morningside Drive, and we just saw someone or something staring at us and then, poof, gone. I think we’re well past ‘a bit alarming,’ Lo-”

Logan cut him off, pressing a hand to his mouth. “Quiet for a second. Listen.” Thomas listened. Muttering against his brother’s hand, “I don’t hear anything, Lo. Have you gone completely bonkers?”

Logan muttered something about humans and poor hearing before grabbing his hand and running. “Logan! What’s going on?”

“A hunt, I could hear the horses! Just run!”

Oh god, why tonight, why when we’re just the worst equipped ever- oh gosh I can hear it now oh gosh we are so dead, we can’t outrun horses, what do we look like, fae? Well, only one of us, and even then what the hell am I supposed to-

He tripped over a tree root, sending him sprawling across the ground. Logan pulled at his arm, telling him to get up, but it was no use. The hunt was upon them. Thomas just curled up in a ball and waited for the inevitable. Logan wrapped his arms around him, trying to shield as much of him as possible. The whoops and hollers of the fae were deafening and that was all they could hear and could they please just get it over with-

And then there were screams. But it wasn’t their screams. Logan tilted his head up in confusion. A figure (was it the same one we saw earlier? Logan thought) was standing over them. When Thomas later recounted the story, he said that the shadows themselves seemed to morph and shift, surrounding the hunters, sometimes killing them, sometimes just vanishing them into thin air with the mysterious figure seemingly controlling all of it. Logan could only sit and stare, his arms still wrapped around his brother. 

Before long, the whole hunt had either run away or been killed, leaving the shadowy figure standing alone in front of them. It turned, revealing those same purple eyes. It crouched before them, speaking softly so as not to scare them any more than they already were. “Are you two alright?” Logan seemed unable to form words, so Thomas stuttered out a “Y-yeah, we’re good. Who, if you don’t mind me asking… who are you?” 

The shadowy figure pulled their hood down, revealing moonlight pale skin and sharp, pointed ears, the same as Logan. Both boys immediately knew they were in the presence of another fae, as if the previous display hasn’t already convinced them enough. The fae boy (Was he really a boy though, Thomas later argued, because fae are immortal. He could’ve been a thousand years old! Logan had rolled his eyes, saying He appeared as an adolescent, even by fae standards.) smiled at them, saying “You can call me V.”

Logan, regaining his ability to speak, said, “Well, thank you V, for saving us. Had you not appeared, I believe we would have been, in the modern vernacular, ‘toast.’” V laughed at this. “Yes, I do believe you two would’ve been ‘toast.’ Come now, I’ll help you get where you’re going, without any more… Rude interruptions.” He held his hand out, standing. The twins shared a look, doing their “mind-reading thing,” as Roman always put it. Then, simultaneously, the reached their hands up at him, Logan’s perhaps imperceptibly shaking a little more than Thomas’. V’s hand closed around theirs (Gosh, he had a big hand – He was tall, tall people just naturally have larger extremities. Although perhaps his fae nature only assisted in that), and they seemed to melt into the shadow, reappearing behind a tree near Ms. Gage’s house.

V released them, gesturing towards the little cottage. “Go on now, and don’t let me see you running from any more fae.” It would’ve sounded like a threat, but he was smiling, and Logan couldn’t even fathom how he would be scared of him. Thomas laughed a little, a little stumbly from the ‘shadow-melty-transportation,’ as Thomas phrased it, saying “No promises. C’mon, Berry!” He ran (kinda) off towards the cottage, but Logan hung back. “Berry? What a cute name.”

“It’s not my actual name, of course, we’re not that dumb as to give you our real names, and neither are you. Berry is simply a nickname for me, just as Bug is my nickname for him.”

“Good. You two are smart. Use those smarts next time, and bring iron. Or,” and he paused, casting a smug eye on him, “Perhaps not. You are fae, are you not?”

“Couldn’t tell from the pointy ears and silver eyes? My, perhaps it was a good choice to not give you our names.”

“Ah, don’t get too smart with me now. I did save your hides.” “That you did, and I am eternally grateful, your majesty, let me shine your shoes and kiss your hand, blah blah blah, I’m going now.”

“Very funny, very funny.”

Logan turned to go, V silent behind him, before saying

“…Will I see you again, Snowberry?”

He paused at the nickname, turning a little pink. “… I suppose I could not stop you if you visited me. Though hopefully not under such dire circumstances again.” “One can hope.”

Logan smiled a little and nodded in farewell. V waved a little, and Logan turned, walking towards the cottage. V sighed, watching till he was out of sight, before melting into the shadow.

—

V: NICE! very interesting, i love the cute nickname!!!

#submission #laoft fic #not mine

[hypexion]

A Pile of Fanwalkers (Part 2)

Part two of me posting a bunch of “OCs“, since actually working out a better way to organise and present is this information is clearly too much effort. Despite the fact I’m putting what could be charitably described as an amount of work into these posts.

The basic format for each planeswalker will be a Name/Colour Identity/Pre-Ignition Typeline/Homeplane blob of information, a quickish description of them and some “fun“ facts, and then some hits and misses for extra flavour. Also, I’m going to split this into three posts - “Heroic“, “Okay“ and “Villians“, for I believe I have the moral authority to judge my creations.

Also some of these are going to be from fanplanes, which will go undescribed beyond whatever tidbits come out the character flavour. Others will just have a ?, representing a lack of knowledge and/or sufficent worldbuilding. With that out of the way, let’s go!

Okay

Not everyone is actively Heroic, and that’s okay. Generally, this lot might not want to help you out, but they’re unlikely to ruin your day just for the sake of it. Of course, some might offer to help if their skills are a match for the situation, or if they stand to benefit. And some of them might be a little rude, but they generally won’t murder you.

Ferroxi - BGU, Faerie Artificer, ? - While other fae are luring you around in circles, trapping you in an eternal sleep, or stealing your name, Ferroxi is probably rummaging through your recycling looking for useful stuff. Born on a plane piled with interplanar scrap, she learned at a young age the value in taking things apart and occationally putting them back together again. Ferroxi sees the wastefulness of other planes as her gain, and is always on the look out for anything that can be fixed up, melted down or repurposed. This doesn’t stop at the physical, either. With a bit of work, she’s managed to keep a few Infinite Consortium cells spinning, as a way to provided access to resources she’d otherwise have trouble obtaining. Ultimately, Ferroxi brings her finds back to her clan, where she is considered a peerless salvager, able to seemingly conjure resources from nothing.

Ferroxi has hair she self-describes as “rust coloured“ and brown skin. Being a Faerie, she’s just over a foot tall. But don’t underestimate her. Just because her weapon of choice looks like a sewing needle, it doesn’t mean it can’t hurt you. Of course, she also has access to all the various fae tricks, so getting into a fight with her is generally going to end her favour. Just let Ferroxi have your old lightbulbs, okay? When she planeswalkers, she disappears into a puff of rust dust. Don’t breath that! (Generally you shouldn’t breath planeswalking auras, but the metal oxides to be especially avoided.)

Hits: Recycling, Izzet technology, Moxen, white and gold bordered cards. Misses: Izzet security, large animals, things that can’t be repaired or reused.

Mazamat - UB, Human Wizard, Akkyria - For Mazamat, death is merely a setback. After each defeat she rises again, a new body forged from mana in her ziggurat. As a mortal scholar, her fame was not enough to enjoy the immortality Akkyria offered it’s most renowned. So through careful research, she discovered an alternative, a way to tie her life force to the leylines that shaped her world. She divised a ritual, and performed it to perfection. And in seeking eternal life, she found something far greater. For Mazamat was born long before The Mending. Her ignition gave her powers beyond bound. Even with a fractional of her strength sequestered as an anchor for her soul, Mazamat was a force to be reckoned with. She mastered lifetimes of magics, slew gods, and accidentally created a few highly dangerous artifacts. Unfortunately, even without meeting Urza, Mazamat was affect by his ruinous influence. The Mending weakened her. Enough that it was now the majority of her strength that anchored her to Akkyria. This made planewalking fatal. But for Mazamat, death is merely a setback. No Lich forgets their Phylactery, and Mazamat did not forget the mechanics of her undeath. While the first sucessful test walk only worked because of the Interplanar Beacon, it provided Mazamat all she needed to write a new ritual, and continue her endless study.

Often, Mazamat isn’t hard to miss. It’s difficult to ignore the walking corpse with glowing purple eyes, even you’d prefer to. She could put more effort into looking presentable, given her wide magical knowledge, but generally considers it optional. When she does wish to tidy up her appearance, she tends to appear as she did in the middle of her mortal life. In this case, she has brown skin and grey-black hair, which she ties back into a bun to get it out of the way. She also dampens the eye-glow effect, although they still take on a purple hue. Mazamat tends to dress in the classical “Robed Wizard“ look, ardorned with various magical symbols. Mazamat’s planeswalking effet is a pulse of pale blue light, occationally leaving behind short-lived inscriptions on nearby surfaces.

Hits: Mastering skills, advising adventurers (who bring the appropriate tribute), a kind of savory cake served with honey and dried fruits. Misses: Dying (it’s still not fun, even if you come back), Nicol Bolas, Urza, whoever started the rumor that flying snakes could be found near her ziggurat, because now she can’t get rid of the things, being stuck on a plane.

Pyrolas - R, Dragon, Ithmorne - Many planeswalkers are subtle. Many are careful. Pyrolas is neither, because Pyrolas is a red dragon. When presented with a problem, they consider fire and fury to be an acceptable solution. As dragons go, Pyrolas is considered implusive and quick to act. This is good for the non-dragons living with their domain, as it means Pyrolas tends to deal with problems such as bandits within a week. Meaning you might actually have a home to go back to. Pyrolas is also less than interested in the ever-shifting politics of the Draconic Confedracy, prefering to get their excitement from visting other planes, or comissioning sweet new artworks. Like many dragons on their homeplane, Pyrolas graciously allows non-dragons to use the singular they when referring to them. This is nice, because in Ithmorne Draconic, pronouns are also honorifics, and using the wrong one can range from “slightly rude“ to “mortal insult“ (it’s also nice because some of them are very hard to pronounce if you aren’t a dragon).

Dragons on Ithmorne tend towards being more slender, and Pyrolas is no exception. However, unlike a certain dragon whose name has been misplaced, they all still look dragony. Pyrolas has red scales, except on the underside of their wings, where they are a more goldish colour. Since they’re a dragon, they don’t carry weapons. Rather, Pyrolas is the weapon, capable of spewing flame, clawing rocks to pieces and able to crush puny humanoids in their grasp. Thankfully, Pyrolas is a kind of “take it easy“ dragon, so you need to try pretty hard to provoke them. When they planeswalk, flames pour from their mouth and engulf them, followed by Pyrolas disappearing. This takes a little while, so they tend to do it while flying out of the way of danger.

Hits: Flying around, treasure, the fine arts, hosting tournements. Misses: Really cold places, dragon slayers, missing out on the chance to claw Bolas in his stupid dumb face, that time they went to Ixalan.

Tanzor - GUR, Shapeshifter, ? - Do you ever wonder how the multiverse fits together? Tanzor does, and they've embarked on the most ambitious planar cartography projection in the multiverse to work it out. Of course, along the way, they’ve picked up a number of other projects. These include subjects such as planar topology, monitoring aether currents, and tracking planes that have been inflicted by Phyrexians (thanks, Karn). Most recently, Tanzor has been investigating the aftershocks from the deaths of Kozilek and Ulamog, and the appearance of temporal anomalies around Tarkir. And with the possibility of more Planar Bridges being constructed, they could soon have a whole new set of issues on their hands. Or claws. Or tentacles. When you’re a changeling, it’s sometimes hard to keep track. When in doubt, check what the person you’re reflexively copying has. (When in a group of three or more people, Tanzor generally exerts concious control over their shapeshifting, as not to freak people out).

Describing Tanzor’s physical appearance is difficult, since as a changeling, it tends to shift around a lot. When changing form, it appears that their underlying changeling colour is dark blue, however. For simplicity, let’s just say they’re friend-shaped. When Tanzor planeswalkers, their form dissippates, and they appear to collapse into a single point.

Hits: Being able to be anything, wings/fins/toxins on demand, high vantage points, advanced eyeball techniques. Misses: Being asked why they can’t shapeshift into a form that isn’t injured, Phyrexians, whoever was the latest one to screw up the multiverse (currently: Bolas, previously: Gatewatch, Ugin/Sarkhan, and others).

Xand - BR, Human Rogue, Ravnica - Xand likes to introduce himself as a cultist of wealth and taste. Which is not entirely inaccurate. He’s a member of the Cult of Rakdos, he’s got money to burn, and he’s very concerned about food. But don’t mistake Xand for some regular glutton, looking to gorge on endless plates of substandard junk. Xand has standards. Out of a dozen recipes, even after days of refinement, only a few will make it to the menu of his bar - which is an unusually “classy“ environment for a Rakdos run business. Sure, you won’t find any Azorius, Selesnya or Ozhov patrons there, and higher ranked guild members tend to avoid the it, but it’s a decent place to grab a meal or a drink. And for the fancier members of Ravnican society, there’s always Café Xand, which features table cloths, a wine list and a krasis of the day. And with the countless flavours of the multiverse available to him, Xand is always looking to expand the menu.

Xand has pale brown skin and shoulder-length black hair. Like any self-respecting Rakdos cultist, he dresses in loud, colourful robes, often patched together from previous robes that didn’t survive whatever manic Rakdos event Xand was last at. He also has a surprisingly well kept set of chef’s clothing, as likes to ensure only the right ingredients get used when he’s cooking. For personal defense (and offense), Xand carries knives. Lots of knives. Too many knives, perhaps, even when you factor in his excuse that “you never know when you might need to cut a cake, or dice some vegetables”.  He’s also pretty good at using Rakdos “hype magic” to disorient his foes, since it turns out that feeling a bunch of conflicting emotions at once is really distracting. When he planewalks, Xand disappears in a burst of dark flame, which leaves a pleasant, yet unidentifiable scent.

Hits: Good food, fine wine, various parties, visiting Valor’s Reach. Misses: Canibbalism, bar fights in his bar, Orzhov insurance rates, not being able to get the right spices, people calling him Alexander.

Look at all these nice...ish people. None of them would be into Gatewatching, but they’re also not making things worse. Tanzor might be willing to help out if they’re in the right place, and if you can appeal to her self-interest, Mazamat might teach you something useful. But with the others, their self-interest is probably going to overcome their altruism most of the time. Of course, the multiverse also has some rather more... antagonistic planewalkers, but that’s for next time.

#fanwalker #magic the gathering #fan character february

[elizabethemerald]

Jim is Honest: Lie 6

Jim Lake Jr lies again and again to his loved ones. What if instead, he told the truth? How would that affect his relationships, and story of Trollhunters? Let’s look at all the major lies and omissions Jim made and let’s turn them on their head. This time Let’s say Jim is Honest.

Barbara gets a call every parent dreads, her child has been arrested. She has to leave work early to go to the police station. She finds her son’s teacher already there working to smooth things over. Is Mr. Strickler trying to help her son, out of the goodness of his heart, or does he have another motive? Perhaps she can figure out over a cup of coffee, but first she has to get her delinquent son home. 

Please reblog if you like! 

"Mom, did you just ask out my teacher?"

"Oh don't make this about me. You two are in big trouble. And for this?" Barbara held up the chubby tracker, her voice tight with her anger. 

She started the car and pulled away from the police station. Her mind was whirling. Jim was a good kid, he had never gotten in trouble before, and now here he was breaking and entering. And her thoughts kept returning to Mr. Strickler. After a few minutes of awkward silence Jim took a deep breath. 

"Uh mom. We didn't break in just for the chubby tracker." He said from the back seat. 

"Dude!" Toby whispered. 

"Toby I told her about the trolls. She knows I'm the Trollhunter." Jim whispered back. 

"Oh. Should I tell my Nana?" Toby asked. 

"That's up to you. I'm the one Bular wants to kill."

"So this had something to do with Trolls?" Barbara interrupted. 

"Yeah. One of the goblins we faced yesterday stole Toby's chubby tracker. We were able to use the tracker to find they were staying in the museum."

"We were going to just scope the place out but then we saw Ms. Nomura the museum lady!" Toby shouted. Barbara winced as his volume in the small space. "We thought the goblins might be laying eggs in her ears so we had to rush in and save her!"

Barbara made eye contact with Jim in the mirror. Goblins lay eggs in people's ears? Toby kept talking before she could ask. 

"And when we got inside I saw her, and Jim was trying to come up with a way to convince her to leave and suddenly she changed! She became a troll!"

Barbara almost slammed on the breaks as she turned around to face them. "She what?"

Jim took up the story from there. "Apparently she could switch between appearing human and troll. She attacked us. I was only able to stop her by tricking her into killing on the goblins. They all ganged up on her."

"Jim, how is that possible? Has Blinky mentioned anything like that?" 

"Blinky hasn't, but Mr. Strickler has."

"Wait you told Mr. S. too?" Toby said, incredulous. 

"Drop it Toby, if I had kept it a secret from everyone that would have included you!"

To forestall another argument in the back of her car Barbarba quickly asked, "What did Mr. Strickler say?"

Jim was silent for a moment deep in thought. "He said he had heard about some legends regarding trolls. About troll babies had been kidnapped and switched with human ones. They had all kinds of magic done on them. And now they're basically slaves. He called them changelings. Maybe that's what Ms. Nomura is!"

Barbara's mind was now whirring faster than ever. So some trolls could take on human form. That made the actions of a certain history teacher very interesting. 

"Did he say anything else about these changelings?"

"Yeah, he said that since I don't have the same biases as a troll, that maybe I could reach across old battle lines, offer a changeling my hand." He paused and looked at his own hand. "I don't think she wanted to take my hand."

"At least not while it's still attached to the rest of you!" Toby put in. Barbara watched her son grimace in her mirror. They were almost to the Lake house. After she pulled into her driveway she turned to face the two boys in the back. 

"I'm glad you are both unharmed. And I'm glad your first thought was to try and save that woman's life. But you both have to remember that there are still laws. Don't you think Bular would have been happy if you were stuck in prison? He could do anything he wanted and you would be powerless to stop him."

"So you're saying-"

"I'm saying if you're going to break into a building on Trollhunting business, next time don't get caught." Barbara said with a slight smile. The two boys relaxed. "But I will still have to go through the motions of making sure you two are grounded, to maintain our cover."

The smiles dropped off their faces, but she could see the twinkle in their eyes. "Head home Toby. Get some sleep."

The other boy got out of her car and hurried across the street to his house. Barbara and Jim walked inside their own home. As she set her stuff down, Jim fidgeted near the door. 

"Hey, since I was honest with you would answer a question for me?" He asked. 

Barbara was in the middle of preparing herself a cup of tea. "Sure thing kiddo."

"Are you actually planning on dating my teacher?"

Barbara almost snorted at the concerned tone in his voice. 

"If the situations were different, I might consider it. He's handsome, charming-"

"Gross mom!"

"Honesty, remember?" Barbara paused, getting her thoughts in order. "Have you told Mr. Strickler that I know about your Trollhunting?"

"No. It hasn't come up in our conversations yet."

"I know you're trying your best to be honest with us, but I wouldn't tell him if I were you."

Jim looked at her quizzically. "What are you thinking?"

"Now I only really have my instincts to go on…" she waited for Jim to nod. "But Walter's story just doesn't seem to make sense to me. You tell him trolls exist, and he feels that information is dangerous. Dangerous enough to make up a secret code so you two can discuss it."

Barbara took a sip of her tea and passed a cup to Jim as they both sat at the dining room table. Then she continued speaking. 

"And then he doesn't tell me? What would he do if something happened to you? Would he try and cover it up from me?" She looked away, even thinking of something happening to her child was a struggle, but if his life was in danger she wasn't going to be able to help him if she didn't think out the dire possibilities. "And then he tells you about changelings, trolls who can take on human form. Tells you, you have the chance to offer your hand. How would a human history teacher know about the wars between trolls?"

"You think Mr. Strickler is a changeling!" Jim stood up so fast he almost knocked his chair down, he immediately ran his hands through his hair. Barbara noticed his amulet started glowing in his bag. 

"I think it's possible." Barbara frowned. "But now we have to ask ourselves, why? How does Mr. Strickler, potentially a secret changeling troll benefit from telling you this information? It's possible that changelings are treated as poorly as he said, and he wants to change sides. Or he could be trying to trick you. Get you to drop your guard."

Jim rubbed the back of his head. "This is more complicated than I thought it would be. What do you think I should do?"

"Talk to Blinky. See how much of Mr. Strickler's story you can verify. We'll create a plan from there." 

He nodded, then fidgeted again. “You still didn’t answer my question. Are you planning on dating my teacher, even though you think he’s a troll?”

Barbara laughed. “Oh no, I’m not planning on dating him.” She laughed again at the thought. “I can tell he finds me attractive and I’m using that to my full advantage.”

She wiped a few tears from her eyes, then her face grew serious. “If he truly wants to change sides in this war it will put me in a great position to offer him my hand, as he puts it. And if he is trying to manipulate you into making yourself vulnerable? Jim you are my everything, I would use every tool in my possession to keep you safe. And if that includes a little harmless flirting? Walter Strickler will find that I can play his game just as well as he can.”

Shortly after after he went to bed. They had both agreed to pretend he was grounded to avoid suspicion. Barbara had no desire to punish her son when he thought he was saving Ms. Nomura's life. 

Still he would need to be more careful. They all would, if trolls could take on human form, their threats could come from anywhere. Would Jim be safe at school? Would she be safe at the hospital? She carefully looked around the house, would they be safe here, even in their own home?

Lie 1, Lie 2, Lie 3, Lie 4, Lie 5

#tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #jim lake junior #toby domzalski #Barbara Lake #writing emerald #I feel like we are approaching the point where things get interesting #I've got the plan for the next two chapters laid out #and they are going to be good #next up a lie for ms nomura and one for claire

[tzigone]

Who is on Damian’s team and what is their deal in your reboot??

Right now, I still can’t decide.  There are so many options.  A lot depends on what age I center on - Damian’s or Jon’s or Emiko’s, etc. Because I don’t want too wide an age range.  With the older ones there, Jon and Kathy are too young (16 year olds and 11 year olds on the same team just doesn’t really work for me).  Then I have to narrow down a number.  I don’t want more than 7 on a team, really.  And I don’t want  two teams if one team is relegated to second-string status.

But there are just so many (since heroes keep reproducing and taking on sidekicks and having long lost relatives). 

Do we want to see Maya hang out with Traya, Wallace, Emiko and Sin?  All except Sin are within 18 months of each other (she’s almost a year younger than the next oldest, but I’m less firm on her age).  Or do people only care about her with Damian, Suren, Kathy, and Jon?

Robert and Lian are kinda stuck in the middle.  Chris Kent and Helena Kyle are younger but could hang out with them or Chris and Helena could hang out with Jai and Irey, but Jai and Irey are too young for Lian’s team, I think.

And, of course, not everyone has to be a member of team.

But I definitely don’t want to set Damian up on basically two teams/groups - one with Maya, Kathy, and Jon and one with Wallace and Emiko -  unless other people also do the same. It’s just a consequence of the Bats being popular that he gets more stories with more people, but I definitely don’t want to make the Bats the center and the “most important” or “lynchpin” to all the hero groups.   Of course, Damian having so many friends of that sort is also an artifact of other characters (including his friends) not sticking around.

Oh, also there’s the possibility of members coming and going.  So start with Emiko and Wallace and Damian and Traya. Then Traya and Emiko go off to college and Sin joins the team (maybe with a nice bit between Emiko and Sin, since they’re functionally sisters).  Wallace and Maya leave, but then Jon joins (unless we make him and Damian same age).  And so forth and so on.  This would make the team very much a “junior” thing that people leave. I’m absolutely against that for the New Teen Titans set, but they’re mostly adults at the start. These are the ones that are kids, like the original Teen Titans.

Is there any other teen titans of this era (not Damian) you feel absolutely should be connected to each other? For instance, I’m unwilling to have Cyborg and Changeling be different generations and not be BFFs.  Are there any relationships that don’t include Damian that you think really must be kept?  Having an idea who needs to be kept “together” would be a good start on how the teams should be broken down.