#and tearing down each other's worldbuilding when it's weak

[beelsbignaturals]

AN: This is part of my larger worldbuilding series. Which can be found under that tag. I will finish my demon form headcanons at some point but I'm taking a break from that until inspiration strikes once again. Sorry Lucifer and Beel 🥺 anyways this installment will be in three parts, part one which will have Pride, Lust, and Sloth, and parts two and three which will split up the remaining four sins.

TW(almost all of these are just vauge mentions ngl): manipulation, demons being demons, mentions of torture, dubious boss-employee dynamics but not in the sexy way, aphrodisiac mentions, drugging mention? , sex work mention (support sworkers ♡), violence, sleep deprivation, insanity, sleep paralysis, nightmares (I think that's everything? It's not like. Super bad I just want to be on the safe side)

OBEY ME! SHALL WE DATE WORLDBUILDING

😈 Avatars of Sin: Part One 😈

The seven brothers are not the first avatars of sin. That title was previously given to high-ranking nobility. They spend centuries trying to prove their worth while also undermining the competition. So it was a big slap in the face when a bunch of former angels suddenly got such coveted positions.

Mephistopheles was particularly angry because the general assumption was that due to his relationship with Diavolo, Mephistopheles would be practically guaranteed a place as an avatar. 

The Avatars of Sin are expected to watch over and make sure that demons of that particular sin are doing their jobs and staying in line. Punishment of subordinates falls on the avatars unless it is a big enough misstep to have them taken to the Demon Lord for judgment. 

Pride demons use various means to fuel an unsuspecting human's ego. They tend to prey either on those with low esteem or an inflated sense of self-importance. They'll worm their way into the victim's life slowly but surely. An entry-level Pride Demon job would be masquerading as a human hairdresser, personal assistant, or occasionally, a potential lover. They spend their time building up the confidence of the human, giving compliments that seem normal but soon morph into reminding the victim regularly that they are better than everyone else. Then, after the human is effectively convinced that they are the best…it's time to tear down all that self-confidence they built. Driving the unlucky soul to either fall into despair or fight to bring themselves back to the top, no matter who they hurt along the way.

A human that is more weak to demonic influence may fall prey to a Magic Mirror. Only a few of these cursed objects are in existence. A Pride demon uses their magic to expertly enchant a mirror to know exactly how to break those unfortunate enough to find it. Whether it's making whoever looks upon it to see the most beautiful version of themselves or emphasize every little flaw and insecurity. These mirrors can only be destroyed by powerful magic.

The more elite Pride demons, handpicked by the current Avatar, spend their days at parties with the rich and famous. These demons, in particular, have benefited from influencer culture. They mingle, acting as producers and managers and other such important people. They find the most weak minded at these events and do basically the same as their lower ranked counterparts, just with more entertaining prey.

Lucifer is, predictably, a very harsh boss. He doesn't tolerate imperfection. How can you hope to influence humans if you aren't flawless? Praise from someone who is everything you could ever dream to be is much more effective after all. Demons working under Lucifer often have their workload increased. Another decade of work for each hour you waste by not being Perfect. Repeat offenders become Cerberus' chew toys. It is very hard to become one of his Elite. And even harder to keep that position.

Lust demons are like sirens. They hang out in nightclubs, singing along to every song that is even mildly sexual in nature. It's quite easy to pretend to just be another drunk person having a good time, only for their voice to influence the unsuspecting humans. It's a running joke in the Devildom that Lust demons put their blood sweat and tears into their work. That's because they do. All their bodily fluids contain some degree of an aphrodisiac. Some pose as bartenders, adding a little secret ingredient to make the patrons a little more likely to give in to their desires.

Of course, bars aren't the only place Lust demons hang out. They are all around. Flirting with the cute cashier, rizzing up people on the street. Some even take the easy route and become sex workers in the human world. It's much easier to tempt someone when they already planned on doing something. Though some think this is 'lazy' and many who choose this strategy are teased, saying perhaps they have more of an affinity for sloth. There aren't really different jobs for Lust demons the way there is for others. That's not to say they don't have preferences on how to get the job done. Some demons prefer to sleep with humans themselves, while others like to use their powers to make the humans do all the work, killing two or more birds with one stone.

Asmo can either be the best or worst boss, depending on his mood. If you break rules (hypnotism is for NON WORK RELATED ACTIVITIES ONLY) or just piss him off… the poor demons who just don't live up to his standards quickly become glorified assistants so Asmo doesn't have to do as much work. Or they are gutted, torn apart by perfectly manicured hands.

Every few years, there is a mass orgy organized by Asmo's current #1 employee for all sorts of folks to come around. If you have a pact with a Lust demon, you are sure to get an invite. Witches, succubi, and demons alike are eager to score a ticket. It doubles as a networking opportunity!

Sloth demons have two main jobs. Terrorizing humans by causing nightmares and influencing them to be lazy. Some opt to cause such aggressive nightmares that make their victim wake up in a cold sweat, becoming so afraid of sleep that they abuse stimulants until they either go insane from sleep deprivation or pass out from exhaustion, making the cycle repeat. Sloth demons can manage a subtle form of possession once their victim is tired. Masquerading as the human's own inner dialog and convincing them that, "no… you should just rest. Fuck the deadline, you had a hard day. Just a little break won't hurt." It starts out with convincing the human they deserve to rest but progresses as the poor idiot becomes more and more susceptible to demonic influence.

The highest honor the average Sloth demon can achieve is becoming an official Sleep Paralysis Demon.

Most of them start out as a child's Boogeyman before graduating to possession of those with weaker wills. After completing those stages, the demon will either be promoted to Nightmare or Demonic Influence. Being demoted back to Boogeyman would make a Sloth demon the object of ridicule by their peers.

Belphegor is relatively easygoing as far as an Avatar goes. His preferred method of discipline is to just send someone back to the rank of Boogeyman. Which, some would rather deal with torture over the humiliation, but, hey, you can't win 'em all.

#om! shall we date #obey me #shrimp writes #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me worldbuilding #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphie

[magpiefngrl]

mid-year book freak out tag

Let's talk about books! Thanks for tagging me @bloody-wonder ❤️😘

1. Best Book You’ve Read So Far in 2023?

I've read 48 books till now but nothing leaps to mind as The Best. Like a novel that knocked me out, you know? If I had to choose one, I'd say Seven Summer Nights, a romance by Harper Fox, because I adored the first half and because it's the only book so far that gave me a book hangover.

2. Best Sequel You’ve Read So Far in 2023?

The 2nd novel of Alexis Hall's trilogy, How To Blow It With A Billionaire, was delightful. Judging by the title I'd braced myself for angst, but instead 90-95% of the book was Arden and Caspian falling in love and getting closer (until the last chapter and the inevitable heartbreak). It is one of the most skillful, heartwarming and sexy relationship progressions I've read.

3. New Release You Haven’t Read Yet, But Want To?

This has been on my sights since 2021 but still haven't got around to it: She Who Became The Sun.

4. Most Anticipated Release For Second Half of 2023?

There's nothing that I'm truly impatient about. The first that comes to mind is KJ Charles's A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel.

Also, A Power Unbound by Freya Marske. I can't say I was blown away by the first two novels, but I have a feeling the ship in this one is my kind of ship.

I'm curious for a lot of books, but not eagerly anticipating them.

5. Biggest Disappointment?

Oh boy. I left a long review on GR about it and I still cry bitter tears about how let down I was by Alexis Hall's third installment of his Billionaire series. Like I said above, I really enjoyed the second book. It ended in heartbreak but I assumed we'd see the pairing work their way through their issues together and end up HEA. What I did NOT expect was that they'd be apart for most of the novel, only getting together at 90%. I don't want to be (even more) spoilery so I'll say nothing more. Just that this book had the promise of being truly spectacular and it turned out all over the place, and it hurts.

6. Biggest Surprise?

The Lodestar of Ys by Amy Rae Durreson, a short novel I got because a GR pal left an enthusiastic review and said that it was available for free. I don't know the author and mostly read it for research and was not prepared to enjoy it as much as I did. The writing is solid, the worldbuilding fascinating, the rivalry between the ship is realistic and convincing as is their growing attraction to each other. Good smut, which isn't normally the case with pub romance. Becomes a tad too cute for my tastes towards the end, but still a great read. And free!

7. Favorite New Author?

No one stands out. I guess Amy Rae Durreson (see above) is a new to me author that made me go and check out her other books, so let's go with her.

Oh I'm also really enjoying The Scottish Boy by Alex de Campi so her too.

8. Newest Favorite Character?

Bucky Iain from The Scottish Boy, I guess?

9. Newest Fictional Crush?

No one. How weak has my reading year been??

💕Best Ship💕

Richard and Alec from Swordspoint. I refuse to read the sequels where they (I think?) break up. NOPE.

10. Book That Made You Cry?

I cry pretty easily and I'm sure I cried at a novel this year (if not more) but for the life of me I can't remember which.

11. Book That Made You Happy?

I had the most fun during my reread of Scum Villain's Self-Saving System. Gods, what I wouldn't give for more authors having so much fun with their stories.

12. Favorite Book Adaptation You Saw This Year?

I watched the final season of BBC's The Dark Materials early this year. It makes me happy to have such a great adaptation of one of my fave series of all times.

13. Favorite Review You’ve Written This Year?

I haven't written a lot of reviews this year. In the past there were times when I'd write long essays; now I'm all for short and sweet. Can't be arsed for more tbh. Unless I disliked the book and I need to rant.

14. Most Beautiful Cover?

I mostly read ebooks and I rarely notice covers. I did, however, notice the stunning cover of A Taste of Gold and Iron, which turned out to be a book I hated, so I'm even more distrustful of covers now.

15. What Books Do You Need To Read By The End of The Year?

I have a bunch of unfinished series to complete (see 2023 reading goals), so that's my first goal. My second target is reading some of the dozens of unread books I own (both on the shelves and my ereader). I do need to finish Checkmate, this is getting ridiculous, but I keep getting distracted by romance.

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Overall, it hasn't been a spectacular year. I've read a LOT--esp in June I couldn't stop reading--but I've reread a few series to complete them, which ranged from meh (The Nikolai trilogy and Darker Shades of Magic) to flawed-but-interesting (The Dreamer trilogy) to seriously uneven (the Billionaire series). Early in the year I finished JS&MN and Spinning Silver which were great, but they feel a long time away and nothing amazing has come since. Idk. Some of my reads were unusual and made an impression, but can't say I enjoyed them fully. The most satisfying books these past few months have been a few romance novels. Fingers crossed for a more exciting second half of 2023.

++++++

follow me on goodreads!

2022 mid year book tag

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tagging: @lettersbyelise @tackytigerfic @julcheninred @lqtraintracks @shealwaysreads @the-starryknight @wolfpants @violetclarity

#tagged #books #mid year book tag #booklr

[hypervoxel]

List of my in progress fic WIPs because if I share them, then I am more likely to finish them:

Damaged Nerve, the only one I've actually managed to publish anything for.

You know the B99 meme? "I've only had Arlo for a day and a half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself"? That's Vox with Vark, and I want to see what he does when something does happen to his beloved pet.

Title is from, "absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird," quote. It will eventually be about Vox and Val being unable to stay apart even as they cross so many lines with each other. Val hurts Vox's pet, and Vox still can't stay away from him for long. Vox kills Val and threatens to do it again, and Val still wants him. It's also about Vox being so deranged in ways that aren't just about his relationship with Val. He deserves to get so unhinged while tearing people apart with his bare claws that he starts thinking about how Alastor broadcasted his rampages and Vox could totally do that too (he's better than the Radio Demon and he doesn't miss that old geezer) 🥰 The people he's tearing apart in this case are Exorcists, because he was bound by a Deal to draw them away from the veterinarian stitching up his pet shark.

None of the angels actually permanently die, but Vox did make them look bad on live TV. So, unfortunately, now Vox is getting blamed for the doubling of Exterminations, on top of having to deal with Val and his relationship problems.

Working title: "this was supposed to be about Redemption. it isn't. It Isn't.". I'll probably give it a Bastille lyric, because I'm me.

A rival Overlord seizes the chance to knock The Vees down a peg, publicly. The triumVirate scrambles to maintain their joint reputation as Vox struggles to recover physically and emotionally.

Or: The Vees are given an opportunity for self reflection, realization, and possibly a chance at redemption... They do not take it.

I love a non-con and torture recovery and support fic. You have no idea how much a story about recovery from something horrible means to me. This is... Technically that. Twisted and villainized.

In Hell, power is safety. Overlords can't look weak, can't be beatable. Can't have their rape uploaded online across every platform with memes made about their smashed screen and broken body, screenshots and reuploads from the masses posted faster than their bots could delete it. You get what you deserve, the populace cheers, as Vox gets a taste of every depravity the Vees profit from.

Working title: road trip! road trip!!

What can I say? It's the Vees on a road trip! An exploration of their characters, their dynamics, and of the worldbuilding of Pride. There cannot be only one city.

Working title: "horrifically aphobic"

It's a Vox-centric story, it's always a Vox centric fic for me. Right now this is all just Vibes and Concepts but I am Thinking Constantly about Vox and internalized aphobia and ableism and transphobia. He has all the issues. He externalizes a lot of them too, things don't just stay internal when they are on someone's mind that much. It's part of the reason why Alastor is no longer his friend!

Angel!Vox AU

This will likely just be a one shot. Vox is not actually an angel, but he does have wings! Messy, misshapen things made of wire and shattered glass. He was a televangelist in life, and now the his sins weigh quite literally heavy on his shoulders. Heaven is a constant light above him, always visible in the sky, but his wings are cumbersome things that could never allow him to fly.

He doesn't even realize they are meant to be wings until he sees his reflection. He was always talented at looking good for a camera. If he preens his wings, organizes the mess of cables and glass shards, he can make them look pristine. Purposeful. He can make himself become the beautiful, technological angel he is meant to be. He can make everyone else see him as he should have been. Heaven is forever out of his reach, but no one else needs to know that. And angels here, well, demons are terrified of them. What is more powerful than an angel? Vox can work with that.

Working title: Vees 5+1

It's about Velvette joining the Vees <3 Five times Velvette interrupted VoxVal getting it on, + 1 time she joined them from the start.

Working title: evil AngelVoxVal

As though there's any way for that ship to not be evil, lol

Valentino wants his favorite lovers to join him together for a threesome. Valentino is an expert at getting what he wants.

#mine #long post #there are other ideas rattling around in my mind but these are the only ones getting written out

[seyaryminamoto]

Well originally I really loved to watch/listen to Azula videos with For the Love of a Daughter and Stand in the Rain, but these got blocked or even deleted. And the alternative already is from you. But what I also really like is to wonder how characters from a fantasy universe react to scifi. With Sokka and Azula you´d have two intelligent persons, but stuff they don´t really know. Like the Templin Insitute on Tyranids. Especially fun thanks to an in-universe response in the vid.

xD well, I actually know nothing of Warhammer 40K, there’s people who do in this fandom... but that’s surprisingly a good thing xD I was just watching the first video on the Tyranids that I saw, all along imagining what Sokka and Azula might react like...

“... it is an immense psychic beacon powered by the lifeforce of ten thousand psykers, callibrated and projected across the galaxy by the emperor himself”

Sokka: “Huh? Hey, it’s your dad, Azula!”

Azula: “Take that back! He’s not that ugly!”

To just say one thing x’D

It’d definitely be funny to make reaction videos of the sort to this. Definitely not an idea that had crossed my mind, but the idea of these two being completely blown away by sci-fi would be fascinating. They’d definitely love sci-fi, sounds like the challenging worldbuilding sort of thing that they’d be totally fascinated by. I, personally, am not confident at all with sci-fi x’D need to read and play more sci-fi stuff to really feel like I know my way around it... but I have the feeling these two would thrive in it, big strategists as they are xD

Thanks for the idea! If it were ever possible, I’d give it a shot! (honestly, even just doing it as animation practice would be great XD)

#jaredstrout #warhammer 40K #this really would be funny though #their minds blown so bad by sci-fi #and then the rest of the cast have no idea what to do with them #they spend every waking moment writing their own sci-fi stories #and tearing down each other's worldbuilding when it's weak #so that they can make serious legit masterpieces (?) #x'D I love it

[emblemxeno]

Despite BEs being pushed, I felt AM had the most effort put into it. WCs is practically written for BLs, most CGs, easiest class to pick up, most relics. Choices really matter-skip supports and miss out on 2 route exclusive weapons. Skip Dedue's paralogue and/or not play as female Byleth you miss key parts of Dimitri's development. Claude is at his best gives his relic. Edelgard is at her best and I can sympathize with her. Am I biased for playing AM first or is it just me?

Same anon who asked about AM. I usually lurk fandoms instead of engage because of too many bad experiences. I asked the question because I saw omegaxis1 comment on youtube saying AM is "filler that can be cut". I'm so tired of that condescending asshole and his obvious jealousy that Dimitri ended up being more popular despite being "traditional". I'm black, female, bi, and agnostic. I'm don't give characters a free pass because of "representation".

No worries I feel the same way!

Azure Moon is definitely a solid story on its own. Maybe it's because the foundation is so familiar (lord gets unrightfully exiled from his kingdom by the empire and he has to take it back) that the writers were able to easily put a nice twist on it, or it just somehow worked out. But yeah, it wasn't even my first route yet once I finished it I was like "wow yeah this definitely just feels more conclusive than Crimson Flower."

I do have my own hang-ups about it, since by design it doesn't really touch on any major historical points or set-up that was established in White Clouds, to the point where Rhea gets offscreen saved. But IMO that doesn't really compare to CF cutting off before taking out the Slithers, Silver Snow being... kind of boring as a whole before rescuing Rhea and Verdant Wind putting lots of Claude's important scenes offscreen. So I'm still able to enjoy the story as a whole more than I can the other three routes.

That guy probably said it was filler for the same criticisms I for it above, but again... When major points of the other routes end up being so half assed, is the route that avoids those problems really filler? I just don't think so. I look at it a different way, in that 3H's history, worldbuilding and plot foundation is just so shaky, unclear and weak as it is (for multiple reasons), that anything that steers away from those things in favor of a character development narrative is better to me; I'll always be of the opinion that 3H's general character writing is leagues better than the historical/"tearing down systems" plot that it does. Especially since AM just... mows over the Slithers without a second thought because I can't stand them lol.

And on that last point, god, same. I have never understood this kind of "superiority" people get or the hostility they display in regards how progressive each lord is. More than once, I've encountered people who say "We have a a progressive lesbian and a progressive man of color as possible choices and yet people pick the straight white conservative", and god I've never blocked people so fast. Not only are they applying modern political leanings to a anime fantasy game with magic blood and dragons, but they're just superficial as fuck. I mean, I love Claude too because I can personally connect with his backstory as a mixed kid myself, but I don't go out of my way to make people feel like shit for liking Dimitri more. And people shouldn't have to like Edelgard either just because she's a queer woman, and she's really not that progressive. And Dimitri wouldn't even be conservative by current American standards, and no way in hell is that man straight.

@ezralahm brought this up recently too, but god, the attitude and 'faction hostility' that 3H brought with it is still souring the fandom to this day. It's tiring, I completely empathize, anon.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #edelgard discourse #fire emblem discourse #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #azure moon #blue lions

[shiningsagittarius]

Why The Shilo Scene Is The Most Emotionally Evocative Scene In TMBS (In My Humble Opinion) And Why It Resonated With Me So Damn Much

While watching episode 5 of TMBS (The Art of Conveyance and Round-Trippery), the scene involving Constance solving the riddle given to the group by Mr. Benedict (25:37-27:41) became my favorite scene in the book-to-screen adaptation, and continued to resonate with me after the first season was over. It took me a while to piece together exactly why this scene moved me more than any other, but I think I finally have a few thoughts put together, which I will now attempt to sort through here.

Expectations For The Show

I think the first and most vital thought I have regarding this scene involves how my overall expectations and hopes for this adaptation have shifted. If you had asked me a few years ago what my perfect book-to-screen adaptation would look like (for any book), I would have said “a beat-for-beat adaptation with no changes to the source material” bar none. As the years have passed, however, I became interested in following how a book-to-screen adaptation is made. From this, I have actually come to appreciate some of the changes made to tighten the script, portray the worldbuilding, and develop the characters in a new and exciting way which stem from creating a television or movie script. (Some. Not all. But that’s another essay for another day.) If my interest no longer lies in seeing a 100% faithful adaptation, then, what exactly am I expecting to experience when watching The Mysterious Benedict Society? I asked myself this question, and the answer ended up being “I want this show to make me feel nostalgic.” As much as I wanted the show to make me feel nostalgic towards the book in general, I also wanted this show to bring me back to when I was reading the books for the first time. How did I experience the world? What did I think and feel? Evidently, seeing Constance solving the puzzle made me think about that time in my life and the endless imagination I had:

I used to play in my yard with my sister and kids from my neighborhood for HOURS. I happen to live in a rather woodsy suburb near a lake, so the environment Constance is in immediately started ringing bells in my mind

A lot of my pretend play was based on espionage and adventure and puzzle solving, which is partially why I adored these books so much in the first place

Seeing Constance alone, alongside the song celebrating an imaginary friend, brought back the bittersweet feeling of playing by myself sometimes, but learning how to enjoy it and even becoming a fan of occasional solitude

As I said in my review of the episode, these are life or death stakes for Constance, but this scene ironically brought me back to the happier, more carefree moments of my childhood. Of course, this scene is poignant beyond the personal connections I found. It is also a turning point for the audience’s perception of Constance.

Constance’s Character Development

Before this scene, I don’t believe there were any moments where Constance is entirely alone (at least, none that the audience gets to see). Throughout the show, Constance struggles with being taken seriously by her friends. She knows she is strong and more than capable of aiding the mission, but time and time again, she is passed over entirely or given menial tasks as her contributions to the team. Of course, she doesn’t help her case by insulting her friends or acting obstinate. It’s quite… contrary- she wants to prove herself to the society and help stop the Emergency, but she also puts a wall between herself and the rest of the team. This is why having her first scene alone be her reaction to the copper waves is so emotionally powerful. There she is, completely dwarfed by the statue, all alone. She looks up in awe, murmurs “It’s beautiful”, and wipes away a tear. In my opinion, there’s two ways to interpret this reaction:

She truly thought the statue was ugly earlier, and needed some time to appreciate it, artist-to-artist

Or,

She was putting up a front earlier to avoid being perceived as “weak” by Kate

There’s certainly enough evidence for either conclusion, but I tend to lean towards the latter myself. This scene takes place about halfway through the first season, so it would make sense for a shift in how the audience perceives Constance’s characterization to occur at the midway point. We see her open up to her friends more in the last episode, but this moment sets the precedent for those bits of emotional honesty to occur. In fact, this scene also sets a nice precent for her solo mission in the next episode, where she once again proves herself to the society. However, this scene has something that her solo mission does not.

Shilo (by Neil Diamond)

The lyrics to this song are placed perfectly with each part of the scene, and I wouldn’t expect anything less. Let’s break it down a little bit:

Dreaming each dream on your own / When children play / Seems like you end up alone

Once again, this is the first scene where the audience has had a chance to see what Constance is like on her own. It highlights her sense of isolation from the rest of the team, and implies that this might not be as voluntary as she lets on. She even has to finish solving this puzzle alone, as the other society members seem to never truly consider her capabilities when deciding how to approach a problem (except Reynie on occasion)

So you turn to the only friend you can find / There in your mind

This lyric further displays Constance’s solitary nature, but also gives some subtle foreshadowing of her psychic powers

Got to go and I know that you’ll understand / I understand

She has come this close to solving the puzzle, and now effectively “understands” it. (I mean, just look at her face when the song says “I understand”) However, the song doesn’t stop here, as she continues to try and figure out how to activate the panel. So, she doesn’t understand as much as she thinks she does.

Overall, it’s a perfect song to drive this scene forward (and it’s very catchy, too).

TLDR;

This scene is emotionally impactful to me personally because I was able to make connections between this scene and my childhood. It is also emotionally impactful to a wider audience, as this is the first peek into Constance’s psyche. The music and environmental storytelling used to craft this moment is masterful. It fulfilled my desire for the show to make me feel nostalgic. Also, it’s a turning point for the show to start revealing more of Constance’s emotional vulnerability. (And it makes me tear up each time I watch it, so there.)

#mbs spoilers #the mysterious benedict society #mysterious benedict society #mbs #listen I’m sorry this is a stream of consciousness but this is the best I can do

[border-spam]

Does troy really have a split jaw or is that fanon?

It's total fanon!

The design of the split lines across his cheekbones and chin coupled with the cheek clips and v shaped hinge outline next to his ears lead to a lot of people coming to that same outcome, that there is something up with his mouth from a prosthetic/mod standpoint.

So much of his design is never mentioned once or referenced in any way (hightech spinal rig with tattoos under it, neuro connector, mech arm that's much older and doesn't seem related to the spine and neuroport, implants on bicep, face mod etc) that like Tyreen's scars and possible lower body Siren markings, fandom took over when it came to coming up with logical explanations for 'em.

This actually touches ground with some Ao3 comments I wanted to share as they are all Leech Lord compliant, so I'll list them here alongside links to the fics they were related to (note warnings!)

You leave no avenue for characterization unexplored. Troy's facial prostheses finally receiving backstory is amazing

- Maw (Gore/Bodyhorror)

I LOVE the idea of it being not just decorative shit on his face, but my MO for any content I make is always based around asking why, over and over, and trying to make sense of what material I'm using in the first place. The modded mouth is a popular piece of fanon but you know... why? Why would he do that shit to himself. WHY would he want to be grotesque, why would he be chasing the reaction people would have to it when canonically he seems to really not be interested in fan attention the same way Tyreen is, what's the difference to him between being adored as his persona or being lusted after as a monster, etc. I just love deep-diving into the logic behind character and world building? It's what adds meat to the bone for me.

Big 'ol character and worldbuilding / lore responses list under the cut -

He could afford better robots but these ones UNDERSTAND Ty, don't you get it?

- Good night in (tooth rotting fluff)

Hey just because it's mangled and broken, and can't perform its intended function to a degree expected of it by everyone around it... and it's got rusty sharp bits it accidentally hurts you with sometimes... and it's cranky but it doesn't mean it... and sometimes it errors out in a way that's mildly disturbing in a way you can't place.. uh.. doesn't mean you should just GIVE UP ON IT you know? He can fix them :) They will be fine :) No one should just throw away something that's trying so hard just because it's damaged... haha... :')

It's so hard seeing how much they tear each other down when they're the only thing they have left. And what a poor self-image Tyreen has beyond all that glitter and bluster...

- Wolf in sheep's clothing

The twins function well enough as a unit till tensions rise, and I was trying to seed in The Leech's influence on them in earlier work like this too - towards anyone else Ty would become MORE aggressively confident, more assured in her complete and utter dominance of the situation, her flawlessness, but against Troy who see's her for what she is, it turns inwards and eats at her instead of lashing outwards. He switches from relatively submissive around her to almost surgical levels of dissection, he knows exactly how to go for the jugular with words, and doesn't hold back. She's The Leech's mouth but he's its eyes and it's only when they lose control emotionally enough for it to claw to the surface of their psyches that you get an idea of how much it really affects them individually. GB had an absolute goldmine on their hands here of cosmic/body horror and the concept of toxic family when all you have is each other, there's so much to work with, and I figure it's a factor in why some people still really enjoy messing around with Calypso content.

I like how you allow Troy to be a disabled character, how his congenital defects and prosthetics colour his outlook and appear in ways big and small in all these vignettes. It's easy, I think, to see him as largely untroubled by his health apart from when he needs a charge from Tyreen in the game, but you allow him to struggle with his weakness.

- Chronic (Drug use)

I'm really glad to hear that's coming through in the writing because it's something I noticed a lot too. Very often when Troy, or other characters canonically disabled / chronically unwell are written it's "told" and not "shown". Chronic pain, illness, it's not something that is just a little tickbox in a life or some descriptive terms added to a character synopsis, it's something you live and deal with. There are bad days. There are times it is a negative that has to be worked around or faced in ways that aren't pleasant. It doesn't make you lesser or weak to have times where illness does leave you unable to function to a level you want to, it's not a failure for you to be unable to perform tasks when a disability or flair up means it's not viable. I feel personally that by showing scenes like this where his health and body issues do have a very visceral and impossible to ignore the effect on his ability to function, and going through his mental processes of dealing with and managing them, it brings the character across as stronger than if he never seemed to be shown dealing with symptoms or weaknesses. People are more than their disabilities and conditions, those aren't just kinda taglines to add onto a character's description and then never address. I feel like doing that in a way undermines what people deal with who manage chronic illness, pain, and who have disabilities that affect their daily lives negatively. Appreciating the effort it takes to manage them is important.

What I really like about these is that you can really understand as a reader how their dynamic must have evolved. How even before Leda's death Tyreen would have felt demonized while Troy got the attention because of his condition, because he was less willful.

- Starlight, Moonbright

Ah man, absolutely - and that shit stayed with them. It wasn't his fault and he never wanted it, but of course their parents would have had their extremely ill child at the forefront of their thoughts, especially during weeks when he was.. bad. Tyreen by nature even without The Leech's influence is a little attention seeker, she'd be the life of any party and she BLOSSOMS if she's got the spotlight, but as a little kid who's got literally no one but her parents and her brother, and who all three of which can't give her nearly as much time as she deserved? That's rough. That's really unfair. That coupled with The Leech's warping effect on their egos as they grew up and the bitterness and resentment they harbored in different ways created a reverse dynamic. She'd never be out of the Galaxy's attention again, and he'd have no choice but to take his rightful place in her shadow.

I love how you illustrate both how much more, and yet how much less Troy is now. How the blameless child, full of potential, is inextricably linked to the brutal, larger-than-life avatar he fashions.

- DeLeon ( Graphic Violence / Gore / Hallucinations)

He's molded the monster he is now out of the bones of the man he should have been - there's no going back really. There's nothing left to go back to. He broke Troy DeLeon apart to build the persona that acts like an iron lung now, suffocating him breath by breath while forcing him to still take them. That life is over, he killed it before it had a chance, but the idea of it is still there in his subconscious. Somewhere in the absolute trainwreck of Troy's brain is the tiny, flickering belief that maaaaaybe one day this will all be over and he can shuck off the bracer and spines, peel off all the shit he's covered his skin with, and just go back to not being Calypso. DeLeon here isn't some aspect of his mental state or his sins haunting him - it's The Leech, spitting venom at a host it loathes in something that's not sound or comprehensible language. His subconscious has just translated it into something it can understand - his greatest regret.

On if Borderlands Humans originated on Earth -

There's a really tenuous link between BL verse and rEarth, but it's there and can't be ignored. The cultures, accents, terminologies, so many are Earth specific despite these people being spread across galaxies, so hell yes - Earth as an emergence point makes total sense. The next question then, is why is it never mentioned - and you can cover for that with a lot of things like say, tt was so long ago that it's not relevant to anything that would ever be discussed, or it could be a mass evacuation from a catastrophe there is little record of now. I like to go with something along those lines, that the first human Siren host emergence on earth just absolutely decimated the planet. Like, we were doing fine till this random woman somewhere in the ass-end of nowhere develops weird markings overnight, then goes apocalyptic. The first Leech maybe, not understanding her powers and having them rip across continents in a spread of crackling electric death that only left husked shells of plants and animals in its wake, or the first Firehawk who went nuclear and burned the sky, or the first Voidgrasp who lost control and began to collapse the planet's core - some extreme shit that had humans fleeing en masse with barely any preparation and HUGE swathes of history and knowledge left behind. That would cover so many social things surviving into the BL verse, cultures, accents, cooking, that shit comes with us regardless of what we were able to throw into escape ships. Like so much data would be stored on any tech and data arrays within the vessels people would use to leave a dying planet even in an insane rush, but that shit waters down over time - if you're farming barely edible plants on some planet that smells like farts, are you really gonna be that stressed about teaching your kids history from a lost planet when your current concerns are not being eaten by something with 19 legs and 4 buttholes? Don't think so.

On if the other Siren entities are as influential to their hosts as The Leech -

I touch on it a wee bit throughout LL, but the others are FAR more passive and meld more to their host's whims. The Firehawk Siren wouldn't.. like.. care? If the host was burning down a planet or fighting off an evil corporation? They are removed from any nonsense happening on this side, they might not even really be able to tell, it's like asking an amoeba or a collection of sentient atomic particles what its opinion is on Brexit. That's not really its priority. The Leech is so aggressive in its control of the twins and desperation to drive them towards an outcome it desires only cause it's split, broken, removed from the song, and completely lost. We're talking a caged, half-mad animal removed from its natural environment and left totally isolated from its own kind for millennia. It's in pain, it's confused, it wants to find its way back to the song and the others and where it belongs, but it's stopped by a barrier it can't comprehend ( the twins and being ripped between them), so in its impotent rage it feeds back that hatred onto them. It's not really sentient in the way we would describe functional intelligence, but it wants, and craves, and FEELS. And it feels very, very angry.

Big thanks to @undergoingcalibrations for talking through so much of this with me!

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #sirens #leech lord #my hcs #my writing

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Longest Night

CW: Internal dehumanization, referenced torture, captivity, brief suicidal thoughts (of the "better than going back" variety)

This is inspired by conversations with @wildfaewhump and @comfy-whumpee - and includes direct references to Morg’s worldbuilding for their Silver Birch storyline, used with their permission and all credit to them. Otherwise, the overarching universe outside the wood belongs to @wildfaewhump.

On the Longest Night, in the bitter cold, the creature - who had been a boy, once, and had never been fae, although parts of him had, and who was now neither of those things and perhaps nothing at all - could run no further.

His wings trembled, clinking the heavy rings pierced into them so long ago the agony of it was barely a faded memory, as he collapsed. Finally shrouded in the shadows of the forest, he listened with little more than resigned despair to the baying of hounds. They were coming, and there was nothing he could do, nowhere left to run. 

He'd been caught kissing Laekna, had tried to fly at first, but his wings were weak from how long it had been since he’d taken to the sky, and too many of his feathers were missing after Laekna’s brother and the other townspeople had set upon him, and he just couldn't force them to take to the air again. 

His wings and shoulders and back screamed in fury at him for trying, aches ran through his ribcage like bolts of lightning. Every breath was pain, but it was still a free breath. 

He would take only a few more. 

Would she miss him?

Or was she like Leanisa, and it had only been because he was a monster unlike any man she'd met? Was he nothing more than novelty to any human now, and sacrilege to any fae?

He shuffled his bare feet through the underbrush, the sound of the dogs growing louder and louder. He could hear Laekna's brother shouting, shuddered at the memory of him accusing Laekna of being thralled, declaring the monster a fae who deserves nothing more than death. 

His head throbbed at the back where the club had come down, blood trickled down his back where they’d held him for the whip before he’d taken a chance and run when they briefly let go. He left the dogs an easy trail to track, but he couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t... had to keep going... had to-

Finally, even his legs gave out, and he crawled into a hollow underneath an immense old tree wider around than four Killans holding hands, wings that stung and feathers thick with drying pearly red blood tucked tightly around himself for warmth, and waited for the dogs to find him.

If he was lucky, they might kill him outright, or sell him to another traveling merchant. If he wasn't, they'd pluck his feathers one by one to sell, and keep him somewhere, alive, but barely. 

More muzzles, to still his thralling voice. More chains to pull his wings out for their inspection, their endless groping hands, their hatred. More hurt, for what he had never wanted to be, but Calon Nie had made him anyway.

The dirt beneath him warmed slowly to his skin, and beyond the protection of the hollow, the wind whistled through the high branches, rustling leaves that felt like a whisper. His heart pounded, his pulse rushed in his ears and temple. 

The creature tried to curl up tighter. He could hear the hunters shouting now, soft cries of this way and found a feather. It was a matter of time. The dogs would follow his blood. 

He closed his eyes and waited, as the shouting and howls grew louder, for them to come.

The wind picked up, leaves and branches clicking together, and then a smell drifted into the little hollow. A smell that was at once warm and that stung his nose. A smell of old blood and fur. 

The monster lifted his head, just a little, and with bright blue eyes with their slit pupils took in a yellow-eyed wolf, shaggy with heavy winter fur, staring back, her head lowered to look at him in the hollow.  

Behind her there were others, huffing, nipping at each other, a whole pack gathering into the clearing by the great old tree. 

One by one, they turned to look at the bit of bedraggled feathers and tangled limbs in the hollow. Eight pairs of yellow eyes met his own. 

The creature caught his breath - and then let it out, a long sigh, in something that was far too close to relief. He was too tired to run any more. Maybe the wolves would kill him faster than humans would. That would be a mercy, to die free, better than life spent tied down. 

"Please b-be fast," He whispered. 

The wolf's lip curled back, showing sharp canines, and she growled, a low rumble barely audible against the wind. 

The creature swallowed, tried to remember, and felt some piece of him threading starsong to find a connection. The words came, not effortlessly, but almost easily once his blood rose to the occasion. "Mharú min glen agaes tepa, diirfiúr," He said, in the language of the fae, of Calon Nie, of the nine deaths it had taken to make him this. 

One of them had been a hunter for their own people, the one who had given blood. He feels the words in his blood, beating pearly red through his veins. Maybe it would seem like human blood again, on the ground in the dark. 

"Ná list do no fiir mise a thógael ar dtii." 

The wolf's claws dug deep into the underbrush just outside the hollow and she lowered herself, ready to come in after him. There was no anger or bloodlust in her eyes, he thought. He could almost feel her, his own predator’s blood calling to hers. "Go raebh maith agaes, a diirfiúr," the creature whispered, his gratitude thick in his voice. The creature uncurled, made himself ready to be taken. 

He closed his eyes, and wondered if he would watch from the mountain with the many fae Calon Nie had killed to create him. 

A hawk's cry tore the sky above their heads and the wolf paused, raising her nose to scent the air, as the creature opened his eyes, surprised. The hawk screamed again, took off in flight, and the trees rustled louder, the course of the wind nearly insistent now.

A flock of great black birds settled into the branches above them, watching, crying out, caw caw caw. The wolves watched them, intently. The creature had the distinct feeling he had stepped into a conversation about him, but not including him. 

The wind blew in a sudden violent gust through the branches of trees. The hunters' dogs bayed, sound carrying so loud they seemed nearly on top of him, and the wolves began to howl in return. Moving as one, they turned away and threaded back through the trees. 

The hunters never found him. 

The wolves scared them away, their howling the sound of a triumphant hunt, and the creature tried to count the hounds as they barked in return, soothing himself knowing they were all there. It wasn't the dogs' fault the monster had stolen bread. It wasn't their fault they knew how to hunt the scent of his feathers and half the blood in his veins. 

The great black birds left, after a while, when the scent of the wolves came again. 

The creature tensed, but they crawled into the hollow with him without their teeth bared. Their warm fur and breath surrounded him, heavy and thick. He tried not to think about why they still smelled like blood, fresher now, new. He hoped Laekna would forgive him, if the blood had been her brother’s.

Not that he could ever go back to ask.

In the bitter cold of the Longest Night, the wolves kept him warm, and the rush of wind through the trees whispered, sleep, boy, be safe here.

"Not, n-not a boy," The creature whispered back, to what he assumed was a hallucination.

The wolf from before huffed a heavy sigh and laid her head on the back of his neck. 

Boy, the trees sighed, in a sad whistle of wind through the hollow. Killan. 

Tears were hot behind his closed eyes as the boy - and he was a boy, even now, after everything - let the wind whispering his name soothe him to sleep.

No one had said his name in so long. He never lost the love of hearing it, even if it was only a dream.

He believed what he heard was a dream.

When he woke, the wolves were gone, but there was a freshly-killed rabbit laid outside the hollow, only a little torn by their teeth. The wind had shaken black walnuts from the trees, along with twigs and branches and he found just the right kind of rocks to create a spark. 

Above him, the trees spoke his name, and the deep blue-black of the Longest Night gave way to the pinks and yellows of dawn. 

We know you, said the trees. The boy caught his breath again, looking up into the canopy.

“What?” He heard it, clear as day, understood the trees. He could feel the starsong that made the world, everything alive in this wood he could sense gathered together to start a new year, the shortest day and longest night passed, the new pass of time begun.

The trees were quiet, but he heard them anyway. 

Be seen. Be Killan. Be here.

You are safe.

---

@quirkykayleetam ​​​ , @whumpallday ​​​ , @whumppsychology ​​​, @doveotions ​​​, @broken-horn , @moose-teeth ​​​, @whumpfigure    @whump-only ​​​, @just-strawberry-jam ​​​, @loopylunacy ​​​ @raigash @whump-tr0pes @slaintetowhump @astrobly​​​​​​ @burtlederp​​​​​​ ​, @finder-of-rings​​​​​​ ​

#whump #killan is babey and saddest boy #fae #fae whumpee #chased down #hunted #references to comfy-whumpee's work #wildfaewhump's world #environmental whump #winter whump #injured whumpee #trail of blood #internal dehumanization #hunted down #hunted whumpee #brief suicidal ideation #referenced captivity #referenced torture #wing whump #nonhuman whumpee #sort of

[incandescent-creativity]

Malufemi Confession Scene

the angel and the demon are officially together!

~ MALUKA’S POV ~

“Kiss me.”

I recoil. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Olu repeats, as if it’s the most simple and expected thing in the world.

I don’t know what to say. I can’t say anything. How many times has this damned angel kept me up at night? How many times have I wished, have I wanted, only to remind myself that giving in will literally destroy their life as they know it? 

One of their hands rests on the side of my face. “Please?”

I shut my eyes, and shake my head. God, I’m in too deep. “I can’t do this.”

I can’t. That’s it. I cannot kiss them while they don’t know what I am, while they don’t know how different I am. 

“Why not?” Olu’s voice is soft, gentle, pleading. If I open my eyes, I know their expression will be heartbreakingly similar. I keep them squeezed shut.

“Just trust me, I can’t. You don’t know what it will do to you. There’s so much you don’t know.”

Their hand pulls away, and I open my eyes to track it. It curls up into a loose fist that rests on their chest. It’s a sad, thoughtful pose that I want nothing more than to solve by taking that hand up into my own.

“What don’t I know, Mal?” they ask quietly. “What don’t I know about you? You are kind, perceptive, fun, and confident. You care more deeply than anybody I know, despite not wanting anybody to know that you do.”

“Stop,” I whisper. Don’t make this harder than it already is, damn it.

“You are breathtakingly intelligent,” they continue.

This makes me laugh a couple of times, despite how close to tears I am. “I am not.”

“You are,” Olu insists. “You’ve thought and talked your way out of more situations than I probably know about. You know people, Mal, and that’s an intelligence I will never master. Plus, you can recite any Bible verse on command.”

That isn’t as impressive as they think. Most demons can—we study the shit out of that thing, in case it holds a key or a cure or something. 

Olu must take my silence for some sort of argument. “I mean, if I asked for a verse on judgment, I bet you could deliver.”

They smile encouragingly at me, and I can’t deny that smile. “Second Peters, chapter two, verse four,” I give in. “For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, putting them in chains of darkness to be held for judgment.”

Probably not what they meant, but it’s the only way I can think to warn them.

“Hell isn’t a place,” Olufemi disagrees, a hint of playfulness to their voice.

That’s what they think. Hell is standing right here, a foot away from them, with enthusiastic and consistent consent to kiss them, and still not doing it because I’m so fucking in love with them. That’s hell.

“Besides,” they continue, “I was talking about the judgment of others.”

I sigh, looking down. “I know. Like, John 7:24. ‘Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.’ Right?”

“Yes,” Olu says primly, as if I’ve proven their point. “Exactly.”

“But how do you know what judgment is right?” I ask desperately. “You can’t quantify that.”

“My judgment is right,” Olufemi says, their voice iron and absolutely confident. “I am enough to judge what I want,” they continue, “and you are what I want, Mal.”

A tear finally slips down my face, and I brush it away with an angry, “God, damn it.”

“Blasphemy,” Olu reminds me, their voice so full of love I want to puke.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” I yell. “Christ Himself can manifest in front of me if it bothers Him so much, and you know what? I still wouldn’t listen to Him, because I’m already a demon, so what else can He do to me? Huh?”

I’ve blown it, and so I cover my face with my hands and try not to sob.

~ NEW CHAPTER: OLUFEMI’S POV ~

“—I’m already a demon, so what else can He do to me? Huh?”

I see a brief moment of horrified realization, and then Mal covers her face and begins to break down.

I step forward and let her forehead dig into the center of my sternum. I wrap my arms around her and pull her in close, and I would use my wings to do the same if I felt like it wouldn’t be a terrible reminder of our differences.

“You know,” I say quietly, one hand resting on the back of her head, “that’s a very good point that I hadn’t considered before now. I suppose you may take a name in vain whenever you so please.”

After a brief pause, Mal’s head rises.

I take a step back out of respect; she has stayed away from me thus far. Plus, it helps me get a better look at her outright incredulous expression.

“I confess to you,” she says slowly, “that I am a demon… And you are focusing on the logic of my argument on blasphemy?”

I can’t stop the corners of my mouth from twitching up in a smile. “To be fair to you, it’s a good argument.”

“Are you on crack?” Mal explodes. “What is wrong with you?” they follow up quickly. “Who gives a flying fuck what I think about blasphemy, or clean language, or any of it!”

She swipes at her face again, though she doesn’t try to hide away from my gaze again. Instead, she is glaring directly into my eyes as she rants.

“You should be horrified!” she tells me. “You should be getting ready to defend yourself, you should be trying to kill me, you should be angry and betrayed and confused and upset! Why—why aren’t you upset?” 

Her voice breaks from the combined strain of yelling and of emotion, and I am compelled to answer.

I step forward and take both her hands in mine. I see the minute movement of her body where she wants to flee by stepping back when I go forward, but my arms are long and my touch is firm. 

Holding them tightly, I maintain eye contact and say, “Maluka, I am not upset because I have known.” Her eyebrows pull together. “I have known since the day we were together on the roof of that club, and I was healing your hands. These hands, that I hold now, that were bleeding all over me and my clothes.”

She glances away from me, not getting the point. “I’m… sorry I ruined your outfit?”

I laugh again, still quietly delighted by her. “Mal, angels don’t bleed.”

Her breath catches, and her eyes go wide into mine. Since I am still gripping her hands in mine, I can feel her knees go weak. Knowing she is unsteady, I help us sit down and wait for her to process.

“You… Are you talking about the day I fell on a bottle of rum?” she asks.

“I think I pushed you onto it,” I correct her, sheepish. “But yes, that day.”

After a brief pause, she leans back and explodes (in a less angry way), “Are you kidding me? That was so long ago!” Rocking forward, she is still staring into my eyes. “Olufemi! Seriously! You’ve known for this—the whole time, and you didn’t think to just… let me know?”

The relief is evident in her voice, which is lighter than it has been for our whole conversation. She is not condemning me in the slightest; instead, Mal is rejoicing.

I join her. “I thought it something that you should tell me in your own time, I don’t know.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” she instructs me, taking one of my hands and pressing it to her forehead as if needing support to collapse. “Do you hear me?” she asks, sitting back up again.

“I hear you,” I say, relatively solemnly. “As soon as I figure out your other grand secrets, I’ll tell you what they are right away.”

This makes her laugh, and she slides a hand down her face. “You better.”

We sit on the floor in silence, both of us simply breathing and decompressing in the light of our new understanding of each other. But I have not forgotten where we started, and when the time feels right—before the air between us curdles into awkwardness—I ask again.

“Maluka. Will you kiss me?”

She smiles, and I know her answer before she starts moving. When she does, it is first to scoot forward, and then to hook a leg on either side of my crossed ones. Her hands land on either side of my face, as mine so often do to hers, and then my demon pulls me in for a kiss.

Interested in more?

Check out the wip page or maybe the worldbuilding masterpost or maybe even the Comic Sans Presentation!

#my writing #my excerpt #lies in a holy tongue #inspo: liaht #ship: malufemi #character: maluka #character: olufemi

[chaoticspacefam]

6.  “How do you think this will all end?” for D'leah, please <3

Pinky once again picking THE juiciest possible combo of prompt + characters, everybody go thank her bc I had a blast with this 👀 I’ve been wanting to write a oneshot for this part of the story for a while and this is the perfect excuse mwahaha 

@palepinkycat here you go! Sorry this one took a little while, I haven’t had time to sit and write it out till now, but hopefully it’s a decent enough length to make it up to you! 👀

I have more to say about the body language I described in here (namely the significance of the “under chin” snuggles & also why D’leah Yelled At Abe When He Tried To Do It To Her At The End), but I have a Worldbuilding tag somewhere in my mentions so I’mma save it for that basically. More Tomato Lore gonna drop sometime in the next week or two once I’m done with the drawings skshsks I tried to do one for this one too but it was not coming out right so maybe some other time XD

I’ve seen a lot of fics explore what it’s like to have a Force bond and communicate with it but I’ve seen very few that deal with the “what if it breaks when one of them dies” side of it, so this is my take on what happens and how it probably feels for the “surviving” party; I usually describe my Force bonds as a sort of ethereal “thread” type thing that then connects their emotions/souls/however you want to see it and yadda yadda, so...you can’t tell me that snapping that thread wouldn’t fucking hurt ;-; For extra heart hurty, the song quotes were the main two songs I listened to while working on each “part” of this fic, so you can use them for ambience if you want ;)

As always I use the Coruscant Translator for (most of) my High Sith, translations are included on the bottom however :) (since the quote from the prompt is said in Sith, they’re gonna talk in High Sith sometimes being well...Sith :3)

Abaron is the best brother-in-law, I do not make the rules. D’leah you need to apologise to this man immediately 😂 she does, immediately after this (not shown) dw, I swear

Timeline/Setting: 3729 BBY (roughly/according to the still-holey timeline I’ve been working on since the “canon” one was released) Immediately post-Valkoriate takeover. As in, literally just happened slash is happening as this occurs.

Warnings: Character Death mention (Kissai), Breaking Force Bonds, Plenty of angst (it was from an “angsty” prompt list, after all! 😬) , possible slight gore (?) in the form of description of a former  injury from a concussion grenade (just to be safe lol), and ofc some Cuss Words (™) 

^^ these are ur warnings, click past this cut at ur own risk and I am not responsible for how you react bc you chose to pass the warning k thanks ^^

“Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not. He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got. Oh lord, oh lord, I’m begging you please...don’t take that sinner from me -” ~ The Civil Wars, “Devil’s Backbone”

It all happened so fast, they had to react fast if they were going to save the twins, and D’leah knew that. She’d tried so desperately to help her husband, pouring as much of her Force energy as she could through the bond they shared. It had always worked before, why wasn’t it working NOW?! D’leah didn’t know, but she could feel him growing weaker and weaker by the second. 

D’leah - his voice was so distant and faint, she almost didn’t want to acknowledge the reality of it. No, no no, he wasn’t dying he couldn’t be dying, no no no…. D-Don’t do this. Sai… her grip on the control cluster tightened until her knuckles turned pale, they were already in the air. It would be easy to do what she knew he was about to ask...but it would mean leaving him to his fate. Could she do that?

Dimly, D’leah could hear Abaron chattering to the girls behind her as he made sure they stayed in their seats, but she couldn’t hear the words any of them were saying, there was just him and that horrible, ominous weakness bleeding from her husband’s end of the bond. 

You need to run… Kissai urged her. PROMISE me. The girls-

I can’t...not without you! her mind-voice caught as if the words were difficult to form, she felt him slip further away and frantically tried to bolster his strength up again, but somehow, she couldn’t put her finger on how, it only seemed to make the other Pureblood weaker. Sai, snichi… she pleaded, and she could feel the barest attempt at a smile from her husband as he gave her his final farewell, 

Nu aki j’us, D’leah. RUN. For me...

His words were far weaker now, more forced, as if even Kissai knew he was running out of time to convey his plea. D’leah realised with a growing sense of horror that they really didn’t have another option, she had to protect their daughters. She reached towards the navcomputer to punch in the quickest hyperspace code she could think of that would get them as far away from Imperial Space as possible, but never managed to get there. 

The pain hit her so fast that D’leah had no time to prepare for it even if in reality, she’d known it was coming. First, came the white-hot metal rod of pain that jammed right down the center of her spine. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire and it was this that was enough to cause her to cry out in pain and lose her grip on the ship’s controls as the Pureblood was thrown sideways in her seat. She managed to fall with just enough grace to get herself out of Abaron’s way and as she hit the floor and the pain kept coming, she faintly heard the man curse in High Sith as he lunged across to take her place in the pilot’s seat before they nose-dived into Force-only-knows what, out here in open space like they were. 

Then she felt the thread of Force energy between herself and her husband straining, threatening to snap, and before long, it did. D’leah knew logically there was nothing she could do to stop it, and that trying would make it hurt more, but she was desperate and on reflex she could not help but try. Frantically, she reached out with her own Force energy and clasped for each thread as it tore away from her, bit by bit, as if clutching at the strings would somehow, futilely, keep him here. Would let him live. But still, the pain came again, and again, and she fancied that the sinews of flesh being ripped from bone when she lost part of her face to that concussion grenade had been less painful than this. “No...no no no no please...please! NO!!!” Everything else was so faint and far-away in comparison that D’leah didn’t realise that her scream had been out loud this time, her fingers fumbling for her heart, though she couldn’t rightly tell if that was where the pain was truly coming from and it was simply a reflexive reaction. 

For a long while she clenched her teeth through wave after wave of pain, and while it didn’t stop, it became easier with every breath for D’leah to push it into the background. Slowly, the Pureblood’s blurry vision cleared and she realised the twins were staring down at her, wide-eyed in horror. 

She needed to get up. She needed to go to them, she needed to be strong. For them.

Saarai reached for her first, but she scooped both of them up into her arms as best as she was able, all but falling into the seat where the twins had been huddled moments before. The girls both clamored to settle themselves as close to her as they could without pushing the other out of her grasp too. D’leah held onto them as tightly as she could, only vaguely aware of Saarai’s voice as she chattered a question up at her, catching every second word or so. “Moooom!” as she reached up towards her again, and “Dad...gonna find us...right?” 

Their mother shushed them softly, adjusting her grip to fit both of the twins, as best she was able, beneath her chin. Safe. They were safe there.

“Shhh, shh-shh, my little one.” she croaked shakily, a tremor passing through her frame as she tried to keep her voice steady and convincing through the lie. “He’ll catch up later, don’t you worry.” 

They sat in silence, D’leah clutching them against her chest as if they, too, might disappear if she let them go for even one second, and Abaron took over piloting the ship so that she didn’t have to. He’d practically done all the work already, anyway. She risked a glance down at her daughters, and caught the wary glint in Saarai’s golden eyes, the sideward glance at her sister, and she knew that they knew it was a lie. But she had not the heart to tell them that yet. Not now, through the tears that had begun to stream from her eyes despite her attempts to hold them at bay. She did not mean to cry, but what else could she do??

Saarai’s tiny fingers reached up shakily, when she realised what they were, to brush the liquid tracks from her chin and the spurs on her jaw. It only made her cry more and hold them tighter.

“Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja…” she breathed soothingly, hoping it was convincing enough for the twins. “Mom’s got you...nothing is ever going to hurt you while I’m here.” She held them like that right until they landed.

“The daughter of a lawyer, told the fallen priest “it’s a cold, cold place in the arms of a thief”, And tapping at the arrow in her heel, she said “LEAVE ME ALONE! ...but just don’t leave me here, alright?” Alright..” ~ Iron & Wine, “Arms of a Thief” 

By the time they arrived at their destination, some planet called “Rishii” that she doesn’t ever recall knowing of before - but perhaps that’s a good thing - and Abaron managed to find them a place to stay, the pain she had felt had dulled to more of a phantom throbbing than anything else. But her consciousness felt vulnerable and empty without Kissai’s own Force presence winding around hers, she felt alone, even though physically she was not. D’leah had sung and rocked the twins to sleep, with some effort, and glanced down at them as they slept, Ni’kasi’s arms curled around her sister as she burrowed under her chin for comfort beneath the blanket their mother had tucked around them.

The pain was gone, and in its wake came the FURY. It bubbled to the surface all too quickly, and D’leah began to tremble again, a growl rumbling deep in her throat as she realised that first, the girls were theoretically out of danger, and secondly, she still had a ship. She could go back. 

“I’m going to kill that fucker.” the Pureblood wheeled for the door, only to find it blocked by Abaron, who seemed to have pre-empted her outburst. She stopped short, a hiss slipping past her teeth as her lip curled back to show her fangs briefly. “Abe. Move.” she snarled, resisting the urge to shout so as to not wake Saarai and Ni’kasi from their slumber. The tips of Abaron’s jaw spurs shook as, for once in his life, he declined to follow her order. 

“No. My Lord, I can’t let you do that.”

It took every ounce of her self control not to do worse, but as it was, D’leah tried to lunge for him so she could force her way past, he might not have been taller than her but he was stronger, and heavier too. The man reacted just as quickly, his own hands closing around her wrists to push back and keep her in place, his own feet firmly rooted in the doorway as he grunted. “D’leah! Listen to me, please!” 

The tears threatened to come to the surface again, her eyes burning hot, though this time the matriarch forced them down, though her voice still quivered as she spat, each word punctuated with a quiver in her voice.

“You have no idea how I am feeling right now!”

“Not wholly, no.” Abaron argued, releasing her arms as she dropped them back to her sides, her remaining spurs still rattling softly in agitation. “But I know that going back there now is foolish, my Lord!” 

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way!” D’leah hissed, though she didn’t have the strength left after the manic dash away from Kaas to call the lightning to her fingertips and lend to the threat she was trying to punctuate. “H-He is sitting there, on our homeworld, w-with our people’s blood on his hands!” she tried to shove him again, but her fist connected dully with the plated armour on the other Pureblood’s chest and didn’t make much of an impact on him. “They’re all dead and y-you just want me to -!!” 

“I’m trying to protect you, my Lord!” his teeth flashed back at her, yet another thing she would not have stood for if she was half as lucid as usual. He continued on further, his voice a low, agitated growl as he lowered his face to hers as if to punctuate his point. “That is my charge, it’s what you bid me to do and I will not have you risking your life for such a foolish venture, you’re not thinking straight! We are the only ones left! It’s my duty to make sure that all three of you stay alive!” 

She flinched at the reminder. Them, and Vowrawn, perhaps...if he was sneaky enough. But Abaron was right, going back would put him at risk, too. His eyes searched hers frantically, and his hands remained raised as if Abaron wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t need to hold her back again. D’leah was in half a mind about it herself, she wasn’t sure how to react now. And what her brother-in-law said next put the nail in the coffin, so to speak: 

“Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit?” he urged, the words a muttered whisper.

The Pureblood matriarch felt her anger fizzle out almost instantly as the realization sank in. The girls....they were only children. They were far too young for this. Too young, they were too young for this talk of death and loss and grief; too young to have to understand if she left them here and did not come back either. Their father’s passing would weigh heavily on them for the rest of their lives, they didn’t deserve to have to lose their mother, and on the same day, too...

She deflated, her shoulders sagging in defeat, and another tremor wracked her frame as she dropped her own gaze to the floor for the moment. “Abe...I-” 

“I know.” he sighed, relaxing as he stepped up to draw her against his chest sympathetically. She almost didn’t react, until she felt his chin brush the top of her head and she realized what he was trying to do. Despite his attempt at the gesture being comforting, D’leah jerked herself away from him to growl warningly. “Dari nindz.”

He looked momentarily taken aback, holding his hands up amicably as he apologised. “I was just...I thought you needed-” “Nu sûa nindz zo ardira!” she snapped at him, but mercifully, turned away from the door and stalked further inside once more.

____________________________________________________

Sith translations, in order:

Snichi... - please... 

Nu aki j’us. - I (romantic) love you.

Nunchi woiunoks, oi ai utja. - Sweet little one, it’s alright.

Dias dari j'us minti pa saû iki wisa qorit? - How do you think this will all end? 

Dari nindz - Don’t.

Nu sûa nindz zo ardira! - I’m not a child!

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #hoooo the angst #tw: character death #swtor oc: d'leah ahaszaai #swtor ''oc'': abaron ahaszaai #sith pureblood #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #swtor oc: ni'kasi ahaszaai #the ahaszaai twins #by brief/honorable mention #i mean they're asleep but they're there skhskhskdn #i *do* have a much shorter oneshot that was basically just before this during the whole ''shit we gotta RUN'' phase #but from baby saarai's point of view #i just originally wrote it for zephyrverse lore so i will prob have to do some editing b4 i can post it too but maybe one day LMAO #and i do have an idea for a oneshot some fluffy mother-daughter bonding #that i might work on next once i've worked on some owed art stuff next week #as a counter-balance to this angst-hammer bc it really is one #i'm sorry #i got carried away lmao #i want u all to know that writing this hurt me just as much as it's prolly gonna hurt u to read ;-; #but at the same time i also...am v proud of it?? i like this one a lot o.o

[tsukikoayanosuke]

Editing Highlight - I Can Finally Tak About Therapy Arc (where I Basically Copied Half of the Chapter and  May or May Not Ramble too Much ^^')

Jonah let out another sigh. Winching, he threw his legs over the bed, slightly trembling when his shoeless feet touch the cold floor. His knees were shaking, but he kept walking toward Rosehearts’ bed, gripping the sheet to balance himself. He looked up to the redhead’s face. His eyes were still close, but listening closely, the breathing tempo was a bit off. “Are you awake, Senior Rosehearts?”

Nothing happened for a few seconds and Jonah was about to go back knowing he was wrong, but then Rosehearts let out a groan. Slowly, he opened his blue eyes, blinking slowly at him. “How did you know?” he whispered, voice slightly cracked.

Jonah shrugged. “A lucky guess.” He walked up closer to his head. “How are you feeling? And please be honest.”

Another groan came out of his mouth. “Terrible…” He tried to get up but the pained sound that came out made Jonah move and help him up.

“It’ll pass. I hope,” Jonah chuckled, trying to lighten the mood as he sat beside Rosehearts.

There was silence between them. The air was awkward. Jonah noticed the way Rosehearts kept clenching and unclenching his fists. Did he want to say something? Jonah himself wanted to say something. Maybe he should start first.

Jonah cleared his throat. “Senior Rosehearts. Can I ask something?”

The prefect looked up, a bit surprised but then he nodded. Jonah nodded back. “Is there something you want?”

Rosehearts tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed in confusion. Of course. That was a weird question. Jonah let out a weak chuckle before twisting his body so he was facing the other prefect for more focus. ”I mean… If you have the chance, is there something you really want to do?”

Rosehearts shook his head. “I’m not-”

“It’s okay.” Jonah reached out to hold Rosehearts’s right hand, frowning when the other flinched. “I won’t judge you.”

Rosehearts bit his lips and looked down, his left hand kept playing with his blanket. After a while, which Jonah thought he wouldn’t answer, Rosehearts finally whispered, “I... I really wanted to eat that mont blanc too...”

Jonah smiled. “You should try that. Maybe we can try making those.”

“Was it fun?” There was a small blush on Rosehearts’ cheek and he averted his gaze. “The baking… I mean.”

“It was.” Jonah chuckled. “Deuce had trouble with the piping and you should’ve seen Ace’s face when he nearly drops the hot pan.” Rosehearts looked confused, but that was okay. Jonah was just happy he managed to make him react to something. “Anything else?”

“I... I like white roses, too.”

“Do roses have different colors other than red and white?”

“They have pink, and yellow too. Also, green and orange. Sometimes lavender, novelty, salmon, peach, and cream. I heard that someone is trying to cultivate blue roses. They’re considered to have magical power.”

Jonah whistled. “Wow, that’s a lot.”

Rosehearts nodded. This time he looked up to him. “I once saw the lined them up to make a rainbow rose arc.”

“Must’ve been pretty.”

Rosehearts smiled a little, feeling nostalgic. “It was.”

“Speaking of colors, what color do you think is good on a flamingo?”

“Well, the Laws of the Queen of Heart-”

“No.” Jonah held Rosehearts’ hand tighter. “What do you think is good for the flamingo?”

Rosehearts blinked again in confusion. But then, he looked down again. “Pink. I like the pink flamingos. It’s natural for them.”

Jonah nodded. “One day, you should teach me how to play that croquet game.”

“Trey taught me when we were kids. I had fun playing with him. I want...” Rosehearts gripped his blanket tighter. His voice began to crack. “I always want to play with them more... But, Mama...” He sniffled. “Mama always says not to play too much... If I play too much, I wouldn’t have time to study... And if I don’t study... Then I can’t make my family proud...”

“Why is that?”

Rosehearts whipped his wet eyes with his sleeve, but the tears just kept on flowing. “The... In the Rose Kingdom, women are superior to men... That’s why... Mama always says that I have to be better... I have to be better and better... If not... I’ll be left behind from the other... And I can’t...”

Sobs began to fill the room. Rosehearts didn’t even bother to wipe off the tears that fall down his cheeks. Jonah pulled Rosehearts down, letting his head rested on his lap. He didn’t mind if his pants became wet, Senior Rosehearts needs this. He probably never experienced this. Never had the chance to actually cry.

“You must be tired, huh?” Jonah whispered, running his hand through Rosehearts’ red hair.

“I’m tired...” he whispered back between his sobs and sniffles. “I’m so tired... I want to sleep... I want to play with the other... I just want to talk with more people... I just...” Rosehearts turned his head and looked up to Jonah. “Is there any rule... Is there any rule for me to get rid of this pain...?”

Jonah knew he can’t answer that. Nobody can, not even the Law of the Queen of Heart. “To be honest,” he sighed as he kept brushing Rosehearts’ hair. “I don’t know.”

Rosehearts bit his lips, disappointed by the fact that he would not be able to enjoy all the things he had said. Forever he would follow his mother’s rules and teaching without being able to take a break. He wouldn’t be able to have a moment like this again. Just to speak everything he wants, being comforted by someone who would listen. By the time they were able to leave the infirmary, both of them probably wouldn’t be able to see each other again. After all who would’ve wanted to befriend the Crimson Tyrant?

“I would.”

Rosehearts looked up again, blinking in surprise. Did... Did he say all of that out loud?

Jonah smiled down at him. “You are not the Crimson Tyrant.” His hand stopped brushing Rosehearts’ hair, but slowly help him sit up again. They faced each other, with Jonah’s hand on his cheek. “You just need someone to guide you along the way. I know you’re a good kid, Senior Rosehearts.”

“You’re a good guy, Senior Rosehearts. You just need the perfect guidance. Therefore, Riddle Rosehearts… You are free from any punishment.”

It is him.

Tears came out from Rosehearts’ eyes again, this time wasn’t because of sadness, but relief. Maybe he could... Maybe he could find a way to make up the time he had lost... Maybe he could finally get rid of this aching feeling in his heart... Jonah pulled him into a hug, and he just let him. He wanted to feel the warmth of someone’s hug. He wanted to have a shoulder he could lean on. He wanted to have a comforting hand, running down his hair, erasing all those anxiety away...

He wants to have a dear friend like him...

To premise this, I am not a therapist or a school counselor. I'm just a regular math education college student who barely understands one-way ANOVA. But, I'm always interested in students' problems, more specifically their mental ones. Again, I'm not a therapist, so my knowledge of this and what I wrote above may come out as shallow.

This fic 'Therapy Arc' in the beginning is a way to fill the few days gap between Riddle's overblot and the Revenge Unbirthday Party. It's essentially the calm after the storm where the reader can breathe for a moment, for the character to take a rest, heal their wound, and just reflect their action. If my memory serves correctly, Riddle is the only victim who pours their feeling in the aftermath. Jamil's speech in the aftermath feels like a rant instead and Kalim is the one who actually reflects on his treatments toward Jamil. Azul doesn't say anything and most everyone around him is convincing him that he's better than he thought he is. but I appreciate the small moment in the museum. Leona doesn't even talk, like at all, about his feelings. This is why Riddle's aftermath is my favorite because of that moment of him telling what he wants (a small moment of vulnerability) and his growth after that is satisfying to watch.

Back to the Therapy Arc, it has some influence from the typical visual novel's 'Character Route' where the MC spends time with a potential waifu/husbando, going through their scenario, solving the problems, and eventually become a couple. My fic Therapy Arc is essentially that. A moment for Jonah to get to know more about the victim, giving them some time to rest, and mending the bonds that were ruined before that. In turn, Riddle becomes more open and more expressive, and it doesn't feel out of character because we have a good reason for it. This is why the next four episodes are important. This is why Break & Gosh is written. I just need these kids to take a break and talk about their feelings dammit! 

Also, I'm not trying to change the character, they can still be assholes, but I know they have potential, I just want to explore them. What matters after that is the willingness to change, will they be like Riddle who changes for the better, or like Leona who seems constant but still has that little changes. I just want to see how far I can make them grow. Character development is a major key that I always want to strive for.

This is what I want to try to make my fic a bit different. Personal character interactions for both MC and canon characters, and between canon characters, which is why I have Jonah-Riddle and Trey-Riddle, also Jonah-Leona-Ruggie. Every action will affect them in some ways. And I'm not making this for the sake of shipping. Yes, there are some potential and some are leading to that, but that's never the goal.

In the end TW:OPT is a story about the bonds between these boys. Second chances, forgiveness, growth, and the power of love and friendship. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Also, Ace screaming in front of Riddle's face just doesn't sit well for me. He still gets his Revenge Unbirthday Party but only after Riddle is calmer.

Also, ALSO! There is a hint of worldbuilding but I won't touch about it yet.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland fic #twst fanfic #twst fic #riddle rosehearts #jonah argentum (my oc)

[tanoraqui]

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[now all on AO3!]

As Nie Huaisang pulls his horse to a halt, as he clumsily dismounts and begs his san-ge to speak with him in private and they walk off to the side of the road together, Nie Huaisang’s eyes down and his fan covering most his face in embarrassment, he thinks very quickly, and decides faster. He’d promised himself he would do that, next time something like this happened

Here is some of what he thinks:

if the lifeblood of Qishan was power and the heart of Qinghe is strength, then the vital spark of Lanling is appearance. Nie Huaisang has always admired this, even yearned for it - imagine being born to a sect in which it was okay to just sit around and look pretty! Sure, they go a bit overboard with gilt, but who wouldn’t, if they had the money? QingheNie has a fortress in the mountains; LanlingJin has a golden tower overlooking one of the biggest ports in the empire, trade and art and culture all within reach

Conversely, they also thrive on secrets - the dark side of golden, glittering appearance. They’re not so different from QishanWen like that, because information is power. That’s why gossip is a thing 

Nie Huaisang has no particular reason to distrust Jin Guangyao, personally. He’s always been very kind to Nie Huaisang, bringing him lovely new fans and paints and a beautiful finch one time. Da-ge doesn’t trust him, for reason of some things JGY did in the war, but da-ge has such high standards for conduct that it’s a miracle he trusts anyone after the Sunshot Campaign. (And it’d help if he told NHS anything about those alleged untrustworthy “things”...) Wen Qing doesn’t trust him, but in fairness, it was her side that he betrayed. That could sour anyone. Even putting aside the possibility that she’s deliberately sowing discord for some devilish Wen reason. 

Admittedly, anything that Nie Huaisang says to him will almost certainly get back to Jin Guangshan, unless it’s of a truly personal nature - and perhaps even then. Secrets and gossip and power, after all, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that Jin Guangyao is desperate to please his father

even if the old bastard doesn’t deserve it an inch

So the question is, what is Nie Huaisang comfortable having known, and to whom? What does he want to appear as, to whom? And what is he willing to risk coming to light?

He thinks very fast, and soon as they’re well-out of earshot of his disciple-assistants and newly acquired Wen grandmother, he flings himself into Jin Guangyao’s arms, wailing. 

(it’s a little difficult, because Jin Guangyao is one of the few men Nie Huaisang knows who’s shorter than he is.) 

“San-ge, it’s not my fault! It’s all gone wrong! I just wanted to get out of saber practice, but then Wen Qing told da-ge something completely different, and then she made be get a baby, and - ”

The whole story comes out, in stops and starts mixed with helpless, hapless sobs. Nie Huaisang downplays Wen Qing’s successes with his brother, or at least mostly ignores them. He mentions A-Yuan’s nightmares only so far as they inconvenience himself, doesn’t comment on the Wens’ state of life at all, and generally exaggerates every terrible and bewildering situation he’s found himself in since he first happened to glance at Jiang Yanli at Phoenix Mountain

He figures Jin Guangyao probably sees through at least 20% of it, but that’s okay - that’s only deep enough to pierce the outer layer of overdramatics, which are mostly embellishments of the truth anyway, and maybe judge that Nie Huaisang has a soft heart for a cute kid

it’s a very cute kid, okay. NHS saw Nie Mingjue sneaking A-Yuan a piece of candy once. No one is safe

he doesn’t tell Jin Guangyao that

Nearly an hour later, Jin Guangyao peels Nie Huaisang gently off of his (now quite tear-damp) shoulder and smiles at him. It’s gentle, sympathetic, and the only thing it seems to be hiding is a laugh

Nie Huaisang is 99% sure of this assessment. Fortunately, he’s free to let his relief show, along with some healthy trepidation

“I won’t tell da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says, and there’s barely any humor to be seen dancing in his eyes. It’s really impressive, now that Nie Huaisang is learning what to look for.

“Really?” Nie Huaisang sniffles. “I just- He tries so hard, you know. I don’t want to disappoint him, not really.”

it really is all about using the truth. if it wasn’t so stressful, it’d be an incredible high

“Of course not.” Jin Guangyao squeezes him gently by the shoulders. “What is a san-ge for, if not to look out for his littlest brother?”

Nie Huaisang could definitely make a crack about his height smiles shakily and flings his arms around JGY’s shoulders again. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for your help!”

Jin Guangyao hugs him back gently and efficiently, then starts to tug him back to the waiting horses and by-now-dismounted companions. “Go on, get your A-Yuan’s granny back to Nie Sect and get yourself a good night’s sleep. I’ll make sure they’re both marked correctly as requisitioned for labor in Qinghe”

Nie Huaisang thanks him several more times, wiping away his tears like someone who just remembered that he’s not supposed to appear so weak in public. Jin Guangyao waves goodbye as he mounts his sword and flies away, and Nie Huaisang waves back, and then he and his assistants and his newly acquired A-Yuan’s Granny ride home

[they’re never going to be relevant again but I want you all to know that in my mind, these two dumb bastards are brothers with rhyming names, like, Xi Ping and Xi Ying or something. RIP Xi Ping and Xi Ying and their eardrums after NMJ reams them out for helping NHS do something stupid again]

And then...

they actually have peace for several months. 

Oh, the cold war between Jing and Jiang - or more accurately, between Jin and Wei Wuxian - is still brewing like fine tea, and Nie Huaisang finds himself paying more attention than usual to the gossip about it, because Wens come up as often as not. They're the prime example of the destructive power of the Stygian Tiger Seal, after all. And NHS has four of them living in his house, now

the gossip spikes deliciously when Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan get engaged, though it somehow neither eases nor increases the tension in either side

{the timeline is rubbish anyway, so it’s whatever’s convenient for this fic, thank you very much}

Nie Sect’s physicians are too proud to let Wen Qing take over their infirmary wholesale, but they don’t hesitate to consult with her on pretty much everything. Wen Ning turns out to be pretty fun to play checkers with, whether he lets Nie Huaisang win or gets invested enough to actually put up a good fight. Despite Granny’s addition to the orphan-caring staff, A-Yuan still slips away most days and follows Nie Huaisang around like a particularly persistent curse-construct. On the plus side, he’s learning how to be patient enough that the bolder birds will sit on him as readily as on Nie Huaisang himself, and he painted an entirely acceptable butterfly the other day.

Oh, and the veins in Nie Mingjue’s neck are only visible when he shouts, now, and enough time has passed that he’s forgotten about Nie Huaisang’s earlier, rash promise to practice saber for an extra half hour each day. Or maybe he’s just resigned to the fact that such promises never last. This is truly the best timeline!

And then the worst happens, out of the blue yet in retrospect inevitable: Nie Mingjue has a severe qi deviation

He’s coming back from a meeting in Lanling, which wasn’t so much a discussion conference as Jin Guangshan calling a handful of sect leaders together to bitch about the Wei Wuxian and the Tiger Seal again. Wen Qing is in the infirmary, setting a young disciple’s broken leg. Nie Huaisang is in his bedroom, trying to write an ode to snowflakes that, read aloud, is a single tone off from a recitation of curse words for the entire poem. They both hear the shouting from the main courtyard

Wen Qing has a doctor’s reflexes; she leaves the leg to an assistant and arrives in the courtyard in time to watch Nie Mingjue collapse out of the air. The disciples who accompanied him to Lanling are there to catch him, ease him down gently, but Baxia clatters to the ground

Nie Huaisang sees it from his window. By the time he gets there, his brother is laid out flat and Wen Qing and the Chief Physician are snapping clipped phrases at each other as they assess his status, in the mode of emergency responders everywhere

the Chief Physician doesn’t like Wen Qing, doesn’t like Wens, but he can respect her medical talents. Both sentiments are mutual - Wen Qing has a much more comprehensive skillset, but if there’s anything Nie healers know, it’s how to handle qi deviation

qi deviations are difficult and dangerous to treat - the spiritual energy starts cascading through a cultivator’s body, untamed and harmful, and adding soothing energy may help but it may make it worse, or even cause the chaos to spread to the would-be healer

{I actually have no idea how any of this works, and will henceforth be making up my own worldbuilding}

Nie Mingjue’s eyes have rolled back in his head, bleeding, and he shakes like a leaf in the wind, incongruous to the warrior who led attacks on the Nightless City itself. Who held his brother like a guarding stone wall at their father’s funeral. Nie Huaisang cannot breathe

they get him stabilized enough to move up to the infirmary. Someone eases up their grip on Nie Huaisang’s body so he could follow (he won’t remember until later that he was being held back)

It takes four hours to stabilize him fully (unlucky). His golden core tries to collapse three times, his heart stops twice, and his fucking saber tries to attack them once, seemingly of its own initiative. Several other healers join in as needed, even Wen Ning - he’s always been good at getting seizing patients to still. Wen Qing rates it below the 39-hour golden core transfer with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, in terms of worst surgeries of her life, but above nearly everything else, including the emergency liver transfer where the girl turned out to have all her organs on the opposite side and a side order of demon-induced pneumonia

Nie Huaisang has been sitting in the corridor outside, on the floor. Someone's put a cloak on him. He looks up when they exit, forgetting how to breath again.

“He’s unconscious,” says the Chief Physician, who is probably some sort of distant uncle/cousin. “But he should wake. He will wake,” he corrects. 

Wen Qing takes a deep breath. “We need to talk somewhere private.”

By the time Nie Huaisang has at least gotten to see his brother, get proof that he’s still breathing, the First Disciple has joined them as well (I mean, that position is sure as hell not held by NHS). Her name is Han Xiaoshi and she’s built in the same mold as the sect leader: tall, broad, wields her saber like a third hand. She leans against the closed door of the Chief Physician’s office while the Chief Physician - let’s say Nie Fengji - gives a slightly less brief explanation of the sect leader’s current state. 

(it’s not good. he’s in a semi-medically induced coma. he is bleeding neither blood nor spiritual energy. he...should wake, in his own time, if they continue to carefully feed his healing energy)

(if he wakes within three days, he will be fine. for now)

Nie Huaisang’s blood pounds hot and panicked in his ears; an unthinking fan covers his face. 

they all turn to Wen Qing, who wanted privacy. 

Wen Qing soothes hands over her skirt, still blood-flecked, and lifts her chin calmly. Addresses the First Disciple more than anyone. “Before I begin, would you please put a guard each on my bedroom and the apothecary, and my brother’s room as well?”

“What? Why?” asks Nie Huaisang, bewildered. Han Xiaoshi echoes more sternly

She smiles thinly. “I’d rather not be accused of trying to assassinate Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Huaisang’s blood turns cold

“Keep talking,” says Han Xiaoshi

Here’s what Wen Qing explains: there’s an herb grown on the same volcanic slopes into which the Nightless City is set, a grass that absorbs so much yin energy from the volcano that it carries it over into anyone who consumes the stalks, offsetting the natural balance of their spiritual energy. A closely guarded inner clan secret. It can allow for rare, advanced cultivation techniques (including demonic ones)...or it can spark a fatal qi deviation the next time the user tries to do anything spiritually strenuous. Like flying from Carp Tower to the Unclean Realm

“It’s almost impossible to detect in the blood,” she finishes. “But I recognize the pattern of its effects.” Her hands are clasped loosely in front of her. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find some planted in a place that draws suspicion to A-Ning or myself.”

“Who else would know about it?” Nie Huaisang demands, trembling even as the ice is settles into his veins 

“Someone who was close to Wen Ruohan,” she says calmly

they all know who she means

(oh, how she wants to tremble, too, too aware of every sword in the room that could be turned against her. Aware of A-Yuan and Granny and Wen Ning, her brother in the corridor just outside, and how it still hasn’t been a year since Wen blood ran in the flagstones of this castle. But Wen Qing has never been one to shake)

“There’s something else I should say,” she admits, to Nie Huaisang more than anyone. “I don’t actually know much about qi deviation - I’ve had a crash course, obviously, and I’m not a fool, but I’m mostly been treating it as a blood pressure problem - ”

“Obviously,” the Chief Physician scoffs

“ - but my Uncle Six is a true expert. Wen Zhichen - he was friends with your aunt, Huaisang-gongzi; your older sister, Fengji-shifu [the previous Chief Physician, killed in battle in the fifth month of the Sunshot Campaign]. If anyone can wake Nie-zongzhi, it’s him - ”

she could have said this earlier, could have said it weeks ago, or even from the start - but she had Wen Ning to think of before anyone else, and then A-Yuan who was too young to have accumulated crimes even as a Wen...

Wen Qing had once noted that the second son of Nie had likely never felt fear, true fear, in his life. That’s not true anymore. His brother is unconscious in the next room over and it’s not sure if he’ll ever wake. And it’s consequences catching up with him again, for real this time, this maybe-first time - was it the Wens, villainous duplicitous Wens that he brought into their home himself? Was it someone else, equally traitorous, suspicion roused to a killing intent by something Huaisang did himself?

People do a lot things when they’re feel fear deep down to their souls. They scrape and bow; they make bargains they shouldn’t, accept costs they can’t. They bend or they break

Nie Huaisang is a fop by preference, but it turns out that he breaks like a Nie

He shoves Wen Qing against the wall, hand on her throat. “Tell me this isn’t a trick. Tell me this isn’t some fucking ploy to get more Wen-dogs into my home, so you can finish killing my brother.” He shakes her, drops the fan to put his hand on the saber he's terrible with (it still hums eagerly for blood.) “Tell me.”

“I am,” she gasps

There is a tableau. Then Nie Huaisang drops her and strides for the door. “Shijie, put guards on her rooms, her brother’s, and Granny’s,” he snaps to Han Xiaoshi. “Don’t let anyone enter. Gather the Wens all in the third guest bedroom and keep them there - make sure A-Yuan has some paints to keep him quiet. And I’ll need your two fastest - no, those with the best strength and endurance in flight - ”

“Nephew - ” says the Chief Physician, and “Young Master,” says the First Disciple, a little impressed and a medium dubious

the closest Nie Huaisang has ever gotten to this commanding before was the early days of the Sunshot Campaign when there were no battle lines to hide behind yet, when he sometimes followed Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji as they tore across the country and directed the clean-up of their wake

“The best strength and endurance,” he repeats over them. The fan stays on the floor. “We’re flying to Qishan - we’ll be back with an extra expert for you in a couple days, Uncle. In the meantime, you can have Wen Qing if you need her, but otherwise they all stay in the third guest room.”

It takes a full day to fly to the Wen settlement in Qishan, at Nie Huaisang’s best pace. Starting already late in the afternoon, full of anger and terrified panic in equal measure, it’s beyond late by the time they near - and all but the anger has simmered away. Nie Huaisang lets them settle near the nearest halfway decent city instead, forces himself to lay on the ground and try to sleep, and sends one of his disciples out to buy the nicest fan they can find. He left so fast, he forgot to pick one up again

When they land in the filthy little town just after dawn, he stumbles off his sword more than lands (he is genuinely tired, at least) and runs to hammer on the door of the supervisory office, all terror and panic. “Jin-guniang! Jin-guniang! Help, help! It’s me, Nie Huaisang! I need - ”

“What?!” The captain yanks the door open (she sleeps above the office) and he very much does fall into her arms

“Ah, you have to help me!” He’s disheveled with flight and weepy with tears. “Wen Qing poisoned my brother and now he won’t wake up, so I have to find her sixth uncle - ”

“What - Nie Huaisang, what? Is she threatening - that Wen-bitch - ”

“No, no, we beat up her brother until she said - please! He’s the best at qi deviation, even Uncle Physician admitted it - ”

make sure to have Wen Ning beaten up just enough to look good, he notes in a small, back corner of his mind. in case there are spies in the castle. I’d have spies, if I could

“Okay, okay!” Jin Qixian ushers him into the office, half-holding him up. “Let me check the list of residences - sit down, Huaisang-gongxi, someone will brew tea...”

[five minutes later...]

“A different camp?” Nie Huaisang cries, fluttering his new fan in dismay

“They needed a healer...” Jin Qixian says apologetically. “But you just wait here, I’ll send someone - ”

“No, no,” Nie Huaisang gets to his feet, shaking his head. Happy to let the exhaustion of a 10-hour flight and 4 hours fitful sleep in the woods show, and the desperate helplessness that’s really not hard to fake. “I have to- Da-ge is counting on me - ”

He waves off all her attempted reassurances, bullheaded with anxiety, and accepts an officially sealed note of authority with babbling gratitude, and...

[about an hour and a half later...]

the other town the remnants of the Wen sect and soldiers have been relegated to is more of a city, really - cramped and filthy, where the other one was merely destitute and filthy. Families living all in one room or worse, and it’s okay because they’re only home to sleep; the fields are already filled with everyone old enough to work. They probably do need healers, because there’s not enough attention being paid to waste management. But - 

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Nie Huaisang demands more sharply than he’d intended

Focus, A-Sang. It’s Nie Mingjue’s voice in his head, always, as though this was just another hated saber practice

“I’m sorry, Young Master Nie,” says the disciple in charge of this place - Jin Guangchao, another stray cousin. does everyone in that family spread seed like a watering can? “There was an incident a few days ago - ”

“He’s dead?” Nie Huaisang wails, sinking to ground

“No!” Jin Guangchao looks a little disgusted at his helplessness, but bends down to pull him up anyway. “Jin Zixun came around on an inspection and that one you wanted, he was impudent. Jin Zixun ordered him sent to the work camp at Qiongqi Pass.”

mother of fucking fucker [meaning Jin Zixun; meaning the whole situation]. the man probably made eye contact and that overbearing asshole - 

“That’s so far away!” Nie Huaisang whined, staying limp, crying into his fan

“Nie-shixiong, it is on the way - ” one of his disciples offers uncertainly (poor bastards - he’s really yanking them around. They’re not sure if they’re helping a con or offering real support)

“We’ll get him back to Chifeng-zun, and get Chifeng-zun back on his feet,” says the other, slipping her arm under his and pulling him to his own feet. “Come on, you’ll see”

(whether it’s for the con or not, Nie Huaisang appreciates it. They’ve never been this genuinely nice to him before)

there’s a conversation in the air halfway to Qiongqi Pass. It goes like this:

“Nie-shixiong, we have to rest. You have to rest.”

[gritted teeth] “I’m fine.”

“You’re going to fall off your sword.” (Liu Lifang, the older woman)

“Then you’ll carry me, won’t you? We’ll already have Wen Zhichen - we’ll double up.”

“Your, uh, dramatics - ” (Zhao Huandi, younger, male - there aren’t a lot of Nies, in Nie. There’s a lot of guest cultivators. There’s a lot of turnover.)

“Will be just as good, if not better, when I’m fainting from spiritual exhaustion.” [slightly bitter, mostly factual] “Don’t worry, I won’t deviate - I don’t use my saber enough for that.” [definitely exhausted] “We don’t stop.”

The work camp at Qiongqi Pass has all the bully-filled charm of Jin Qixian’s town and all the overworked labor je-ne-sais-quoi of the other one, and it’s started raining so there’s a really nice note of despair. If Nie Huaisang had any room left in his brain, he would mourn the beauty of the frescos being destroyed, grand and glorious works of art even if their glory was that of the Wens

he slides off Liu Lifang’s sword in the middle of the densest group of workers, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Hey! Wen Qing’s Sixth Uncle, Wen Zhichen of DafanWen! Nie Sect requisitions you!”

the prisoner-workers all shrink away; an inspector hurries over. “Hey, who are you - ”

“You will respect Second Master Nie Huaisang,” snaps Zhao Huandi, hand on his saber while Nie Huaisang starts to cry on cue for the third time that day, and god, either they’re really getting it or he’s just blessed with a sect full of perfect straight men.

“Please,” Nie Huaisang begs, leaning on his disciple and waving the letter from Jin Qixian. “I need a healer - that healer, it’s my brother, he’s been poisoned - ”

they’re real tears of exhaustion. maybe he should have let them talk him into a rest

(Da-ge will be fine, he knows, he insists to himself and the world. He was stable 24 hours ago and Nie Huaisang left him with the most competent people he knows)

the inspector has no idea what to do with him and neither does the Chief Inspector, really, when he rides up. That’s perfect - it means their half-hearted objections are easy to push past

they’re still shit at actually helping, because they don’t know a single person in this goddamned work-prison, and all the Wens just shy away, or pick up a pickaxe and try to keep working if anyone comes too near. The inspectors seem to regard this as ideal

Nie Huaisang honestly doesn’t care right now, but he does notice

Finally Nie Huaisang has wailed loudly enough up and down the valley that one prisoner hesitantly steps forward and admits to being the Dafan Wens’ Sixth Uncle. He has Wen Ning’s ears and Granny’s eyes and the same needle callouses as Wen Qing, so Nie Huaisang calls it a day

except they still have to fly back to the Unclean Realm, a flight of six hours unburdened

Nie Huaisang’s groan is entirely genuine

Wen Qing has taken to pacing by the time the Chief Physician comes to fetch her, personally, from the third guest bedroom. Night has come and gone and come again; A-Yuan and Granny are both asleep in the bed and Wen Ning is lying beside them, though she can tell he’s only pretending to sleep to make her feel better. What a good boy. 

Sixth Uncle is sitting by Nie Mingjue’s bed in the infirmary, eating soup. There’s a couple Nie disciples in the room as well, one sending a slight stream of energy into Nie Mingjue and one simply watching the Wen, a hand on his saber hilt 

(no one’s told her if they’ve searched her or anyone else’s rooms, yet; if they found anything)

“Keep sitting and eating!” snaps Nie Fengji, the Chief Physician, before Sixth Uncle can leap up at the sight of Wen Qing. “I need you talking qi balance, not falling over again.” He mutters under his breath, “People can’t even work if you let them get so weak - can’t trust a Jin to do anything with care.”

She sinks to her knees to hug her uncle instead - and notices a cot that’s been brought in to sit beside Nie Mingjue’s, its occupant also as still and wan as the grave.

“Huaisang!” She springs to her feet. “He didn’t - ”

“Exhaustion. The boy overworked his golden core and passed out.” Nie Fengji pushes her back with a roll of his eyes. “Bullheaded as their father, the both of them.”

He rolls up his sleeves and nudges the attending physician out of the way, to take over easing calming energy into Nie Mingjue without a single quiver in the stream. “Now, you two prove to me why I should trust any sort of Wen.”

To be continued...but Part 4 really will be the last, so, that’s p good actually. By my standards of mis-estimation of how long a piece of writing will be. And it’ll definitely be a short one! Unlike this Part 3, which is...*checks* 4.5k WTF.

#mdzs #the untamed #nie huaisang #wen qing #jin guangyao #a bunch of OCs who i named by mashing together random syllables and i'm not checking if any of them are real names bc it's 3am #ALSO wildly made up as i went: how to address anyone with any sort of title #just went with my gut #so like...apologies if i wildly messed up

[dmsden]

Campaign Basics - Fleshing out our villain

Hullo, Gentle Readers. In our last article in this series, we came up with what stat blocks we would use for our heroes to encounter the Angel of Chaos, the titular main villain for the campaign we’ve been putting together. Now, it’s time to go beyond stats and flesh out our villain. We want them to be compelling and memorable, so we want to give them some distinctive features and an interesting backstory.

Adziel (the name I chose in the last article) was an angel, so what happened to make them change the way they have? I posited last time that they were an angel in the service of Valerius, the god of chivalry, and that they had become infected with Chaos. They have become convinced that Valerius is too weak to continue to hold back Chaos. The only way for Civilization to be saved is for a more aggressive, powerful deity to take Valerius’ place, and they intend to become that deity themself.

In a way, this is a retelling of D&D’s fall of Asmodeus. We haven’t really talked about what place the devils fill in the cosmology of the Beyond the Borderlands campaign. It’s possible that the Archdukes do not yet exist. It’s even possible that Adziel *is* Asmodeus, and that we’re going to tell the story of their fall and “Rise”. If the PCs defeat Adziel at the end of the campaign, perhaps the gods then step in and create a new order of “angels” whose job it is to hold back Chaos in the lower planes. Adziel and their followers could become Asmodeus and the devils, giving the PCs a front row seat to this cosmic event. I hadn’t thought of this before sitting down to write this article, and I love the idea, so I’m almost certainly going to plan on that. That’s likely a long way off, however, so I’m going to put that aside for now. Before we get to this ending, we need to see what happened to begin the beginning.

I’m thinking Adziel was the Guardian Angel of one of the Keeps on the Borderlands, back when they were many. Perhaps Adziel saw the signs of the coming assault by Chaos and tried to get Valerius to intervene to save the city they loved. Valerius might have made an error, or they might’ve known that, tactically, the best move was to sacrifice Adziel’s city in favor of saving Shieldwell Keep. 

So this sparks me off on a bit of Worldbuilding, as these things often do. Perhaps each Keep had its own Guardian Angel, eight of whom will now be Adziel’s lieutenants, flocking to the Angel of Chaos’ banner because they too blame Valerius for the loss of their Keeps. Why eight? So that they can be the other eight dukes of Hell down the road.

The other thing is makes me think is that I will need to develop an NPC Angel to be the Guardian Angel of Shieldwell Keep. This is likely a figure who could be a patron and benefactor of the PCs, so I’ll want to have them in my back pocket, especially later, when a party cleric might gain the Planar Ally spell. Likewise, when a PC cleric casts Commune or something similar, it might be this Guardian Angel that intervenes to give aid. Just a bit of world flavor, but something I’ll want to develop more.

So there’s a decent motivation. Loss makes people do crazy things. I imagine Adziel in the ruins of...oh...their Keep will need a name, because the ruins of it will almost certainly be an adventure site at some point in the campaign. Perhaps we’ll give it a name that faintly foreshadows badness. The name Grimstone Keep leaps to mind. That was its original name. Perhaps now, it’s known at Bloodstone or Dreadstone or something similar. It’s similar to Shieldwell, but broken, crumbling, lonely, and menacing. Maybe the PCs will even see its ruin in the distance as they head to a different adventure. It might seem like just a bit of world-flavor when you describe the sad ruins on the hill, long since picked over, but it will be important later.

So what is Adziel like when encountered? I imagine them as being extremely sad, almost like Blue Diamond in Steven Universe. Rather than normal tears, however, perhaps blackish blood constantly streams down their cheeks from their dark eyes. Riffing off the Blue Diamond concept, maybe anyone of Good alignment who comes within a certain aura of them must make a Charisma saving throw or begin to weep blood as well, imposing Disadvantage on attack rolls and Perception checks made to see anything, as well as doing hit point damage on successive rounds. That’s a neat and memorable idea.

Personality-wise, I think Adziel is kind and gentle towards good characters...right up until the moment they know the PCs cannot be swayed to their cause. At that point, all that sadness becomes a cold disdain. The PCs aren’t wise enough to understand the scope of Adziel’s plans, and now they are of no use. If they directly oppose Adziel, that disdain becomes an intense rage. How dare these mortals interfere? Clearly, they are the ones infected with Chaos, and they must be swept away like chaff.

I want some other trait to make Adziel really memorable. What if Adziel is guarding the final descendant of Grimstone? This could be a child who the PCs can encounter - a complete innocent who believes wholeheartedly in Adziel’s plans, trusting the angel implicitly. Ironically, saving this child might’ve been the first step in the angel’s fall. Ordered to stand aside, the angel didn’t trust Valerius to save the people of Grimstone. Adziel directly interfered, which allowed Chaos to bring greater force to bear. This led to Grimstone’s utter destruction, but Adziel doesn’t understand the part their actions played in this.

Since I dig this idea, I jot down a few quick thoughts. The child has no memory of her name, her parents, or where she came from. She is called Summer by Adziel, who keeps her locked in eternal childhood. She is sweet, trusting, innocent, and will immediately befriend the PCs when they meet. Perhaps this is the key to causing the angel’s surrender, much further down the road. On the other hand, the child’s death could also begin an endgame, but not one I like the idea of.

I’m starting to feel like I have a solid concept here, and one that will likely spark many stories. I especially like the idea that the little girl, Summer, appears before each time the PCs meet Adziel. This will likely be creepy and disturbing for them. In the next article, I will flesh out the elements that I think will represent this storyline and how I might use it in the “sandbox with benefits” theory of story design that I’m favoring these days.

#D&amp;D #d&d #d&d campaign #beyond the borderlands #angel of chaos #d&d 5e #d&d 5th edition #D&D 5e homebrew #d&d 5 #dnd #DnD stuff #dnd campaign #DnD 5e #dnd 5th edition #dnd 5e homebrew #dnd 5 #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeons & dragons #dungeon master #dungeonmaster #DM advice #GM Advice

[st-just]

On The Undead

Because hey, worldbuilding continues to be fun 

When we speak of the undead, there are certain similarities of type that hold constant-they are a mortal soul (not a god) untethered to the natural rhythms of life, divorced from vital flesh or novel thought. But that tells us nothing of interest for any but the most arcane of theologians.

More helpfully, then, the undead come in four varieties, and nigh-on endless races and clans within each. They are the Righteous, the Penitent, the Ravaged and the Damned. We shall now discuss each, in turn.

The Righteous Dead are formed from the body of men who, having sworn some great and sacred oath, were struck down before they could see it to completion. Rather than letting them be damned as forsworn, the Gods in their mercy granted their soul strength to match its will, time and power enough to see to their duties so they might pass on as honoured heroes. Having Higher Purpose, it would in nearly all cases be blasphemous to bind such souls to secular aims (and difficult, besides) and so we have not given them much study. As a rule they are puissant and singular, incapable of  reproducing themselves, are only occasionally bound by barriers of sunlight, salt or running water, and are greatly weakened or destroyed should they ever set aside their Purpose.

The most storied and famous race of these is the Revanent-those who, their hearth and kin left as ashes and tears on bloody ground by the treachery of those who should have stood with them, swear righteous vengeance upon those who ruined them but are struck down before they can make good upon it. Though they still wear their mortal frame, it is very clearly but a puppet for the soul, death wounds left unhealed, moving with inhuman strength regardless of what their muscles should allow. Their hunt is ceaseless until they have visited bloody vengeance upon all those they swore doom upon, and should they be moved be appeals to mercy or prudence the next sunset will send them to their appointed hell.

The Penitent Dead are of a similar kind to their Righteous kin, and a subject I can hold forth on at length. In the Crown Lands of Belthaya it is the sacred right of the condemned and indebted to assume all responsibility for their sins and mistakes themselves, and so spare their kith and kin any punishment they might be do. After their execution, the souls of these wretches are bound into their boiled skeletons and entombed with arms and armor, to be called upon in times of war, or else bound to some useful fetish or token so they might provide useful service to their victims or creditors. While a few truly grand heretics are said to have been condemned by Heaven, when created by mortal hands these bindings are inevitably temporary (a matter of decades passed or of commands given or campaigns fought) and replete with necessary bans and banes incorporated to the rituals-pure salt, running water and sunlight are as ever the most reliable.

Beyond the Legions, the most famous, or infamous, more properly, example of the Penitent in modern times are assuredly those fools who fall into debt with the Society of Echoes, the salacious examples of which far outnumber what I have the ink to describe. Suffice to say that the necromantic syndicate collects secrets and treasures like a counterfeit dragon, and are only to happy to take advantage when those they loan out to default, binding their souls into jewelry or weapons or useful tools until they have been expended or worked off their debt.

The most pathetic and pitiable race of the dead are, without question, the Ravaged. In some ways seemingly indistinguishable to the Penitent, the crucial distinction is rather than condemned and bound by right, their souls have been wounded and warped by the assault of some alien force. Despite what their appearance might lead one to believe, corpses used as hosts by demons almost never qualify, as Incarnation invariably destroys the soul of the unfortunate victim beyond hope of recovery. Instead, these are nearly without exception the victims of the Damned who we will discuss momentarily, or of particularly debased and decadent renegade sorcerors or terrestrial gods. Bleeding spiritual wounds filled with shock or suffering, they only show intellect or consciousness when directed by their creator or something like him, and are easily warded off or destroyed by the standard elements and symbols of purity and life (the vast majority being entirely powerless through the day, for example).

The two most famous examples of the Ravaged are surely the ghost, killed in some particularly foul and wounding way, their soul forced to relive and suffer from that wound until laid to rest, and the husk, the all-to-common final fate of those preyed upon by the Damned, a rotting and half-eaten corpse sustained only to fetch their replacements as their master’s meal of choice.

But of course, when we whisper of ‘the undead’ around camfires and tavern tables, it is very nearly always the Damned to which we refer. The terrible lords and ladies of the grave, the mad heretics and proud blasphemers so terrified of their final judgment the sacrifice all admirable and lasting legacy on the altar of their own existence. They invariably seem more complete and closer to human than any other race of the dead (it would be a poor trade indeed, else), but they are by nature parasitic. The Lich’s wit and intellect will never dull, but those in their thrall will grow dimmer and duller until they are naught but a soul in a corpse without thought to guide them. The Vampyre will remain forever in the splendour of their youth, with attributes far beyond any base mortal, but those they feast upon will in the long run become nothing but a spectral choir chained to their glory, all vitality bled from their flesh. The Wraith bears a passing similarity to a god, all will and power unchained to mortal form, but he must devour his sacrifices completely, lest the souless husks become easy prey for demons grander than he. And so it goes, for every novel hubris and innovation the most subtle apostates can devise. The soul itself cannot sustain life outside its allotted span, and its parody lasts only through predation.

Those Damned that are taken as facsimile of children or companions by some elder progenitor very often carry the usual weaknesses, inherited from their ‘father’ or ‘mother’, but it is foolish in the extreme to assume this of the self-made damned. Some flaw in their ritual is inevitable, but most clever apostates make certain to protect themselves against anything so common as oceans or cold silver.

-The Lady Binder Katerine ir Paimon, “The Dead and the Damned, or, A Study On The Relation Between The Hells And The Living Dead”

#writing #worldbuilding #abhari #this is theoretically a writing blog

[hamelin-born]

Throw Me To The Wolves Inspired

@secret-engima I blame you for this ficbit/worldbuild lore. I kept wondering about stories, and a comment that I tossed out in a world build about how Galahd’s motto might as well be ‘We Remember’ in this ‘verse and I - I wondered about the stories that are told. 

tagging @sparklecryptid @ertrunkenerwassergeist @starsilvereld @theotherguysride and @charlottedabookworm @aniseandspearmint

Harken and attend, children of Galahd, blood of the Storm. Listen, for I tell you a tale that my parent told me, and their parent told them in turn, all the way back to the beginning of the story. I tell you the tale as it was told to me, and as you will tell it in turn. 

I tell you this tale, for it is true. 

Remember. 

Once, many years ago, after shining Solheim had fallen and before the rise of steel-bright Lucis, there were two brothers. There was an elder, gentle as the dusk, and there was a younger, fierce as the dawn. They were the descendants of a mother who had taken the scattered tribes of a nameless land and the remnants of dwindling Solheim and united them under a single banner, and the mother had named the banner Lucis. Lucis, for light, Lucis, for the rise of a new dawn, and Lucis for her name - which was Lucis Caelum, the House of Heavenly Light, and so had their family been called ever since. 

Yet into this land had come a shadow, and the shadow was the Scourge of the Stars, for none could stand before it. Men, women, the young, the old - all fell before its touch, and deamons sprang from its shadows to search out those who had never felt the touch of the disease. Walls could not keep it out, nor could swords defeat it, and the people suffered and wept and died. 

And called to the gods to save them. 

The people called upon the Infernian, lost Ifrit, who had been patron of hearth and home. They cried for the Archaean, steadfast Titan. They begged a boon of the Hydrean, fierce Leviathan. They sang to the Fulgarian, swift Ramuh.  They wept for the Glacian, cold Shiva. 

And the people were desperate, and in their desperation, and they called upon the patron of the House of Heavenly Light. They called to the War-God, the Draconian, whose name I will not utter here. And the Lord of War, the Three-Sided Blade, heard them. 

Children, it is a terrible, terrible thing for the gods to turn their eyes upon you. But the people were desperate. 

And the gods, led by He Whose Name Is Unspoken, came to a woman. Came to a mortal, whose family were drawn from the Land of the Shadows, balanced between the light and dark. And the gods made of this woman their messenger, who would carry their words to the ends of Eos - and this woman was the first Oracle. 

Her name was Aera. Remember. 

Now. Of the two brothers of the House of Heavenly Light, the eldest’s name was Ardyn, and the younger was Somnus. The eldest, as I have said, was gentle as the dusk, which wipes mortal cares away and brings with it the promise of rest. The youngest, as I have also said, was fierce as the dawn, which strikes away the night and forces the eye to attend. 

And to these brothers Aera-the-Oracle brought the words of the gods. 

And the gods had decreed this: that of these two brothers one would be known as the King of Light, and the ending of the Scourge would come from their house. 

Ardyn heard the words of the gods and was glad, for he loved his people as the shadows love the sun, and his heart was heavy for their suffering. And in his blood flowed the magic of the Crystal Kings, the magic that was a gift in the long-since-lost from the War God himself, and from lost Solheim. And Ardyn was a healer, and he took a healer’s staff in hand and donned the white robes of a physical to scour the land and draw forth the Scourge from each and every victim. And with him walked Aera-the-Oracle, who guided his hands and spoke to him of secret confidences which are not for us to know, but are of the tender secrets that pass between lovers. 

Somnus heard the words of the gods and was glad, for he loved his land as the sword loves the light of the sun at noon, as the hammer loves the nail. And in his blood flowed the magic of the Crystal Kings, the magic that was a gift in the long-since-lost from the War God himself, and from lost Solheim. And Somnus was a warrior, and took a sunbright sword in hand and donned the armor of battle to scour the land and them clean of the Scourge. And his hands were guided by the draconian, and by the voices of those who did not rise in dissent as he quarantined the infected and put them to the torch. 

And the two brothers were as the moon in its pattern of light and shadow. For Ardyn waned as his task continued with every strand of Scourge he drew from another’s flesh, caging the disease in a prison of his own skin and bone. And he waned, waned as the sickness of a hundred, of a thousand, of ten thousand sank into him, until the sun hurt his eyes and his blood ran black - but he bore it cheerfully, smiling through the pain, for he loved his people and he loved his gods. And Somnus waxed, waxed as he put men to the torch and led the bright armies of the land of Lucis into battle against the sickness that had threatened to devour him, and he smiled as the infected screamed for mercy and his men cheered his ruthlessness. 

And ten years after the gods had set before them this task, Somnus came to Aera-the-Oracle, and asked of her: Whom shall the gods choose, to be King of Light? And Aera-the-Oracle answered him, that it should be Ardyn the Healer, whom the people loved. 

And Somnus Lucis Caelum was wroth, and in his heart dwelled thoughts of deep, deep shadow. 

And a certain day came, when the brothers were to be presented before the Crystal that was the Heirloom of their House. And on that day, the King of Light was to be announced, and Lucis would bow before him and rejoice in the choice of the Gods. 

And on that day, fierce Somnus cried out to one and all that he was the King of Light, beloved of the Gods, the chosen King - that from him would come the ending of the scourge - through fire and blood and steel. And warlike Somnus cried further that the gathering of the brothers was a trap laid for his footsteps. 

And Somnus took his spear in hand, and impaled his brother so that the blood rushed through him. And Ardyn fell to his knees as the dark blood rushed from him, as the brother of his blood raised his sword for the killing blow. 

Listen, child, and remember. 

Aera-the-Oracle gave way to Aera-the-Woman, and Aera-the-Woman threw herself between Somnus the Untrue and the man she loved. And he did not stay his hand, but the bright blade fell and drank deep of her blood. 

And Ardyn, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Healer, watched as the woman he was to marry fell before him. And in him the voices of a thousand screaming deamons rose, and he wept tears of dark scourge as wrath rose in him like a hungry tide and he threw himself at his brother, screaming. 

And brother fought brother that day. The younger with bright steel and the blood of his kin upon his blade, the eldest with rage and grief and the Scourge of the Stars that lurked in his blood. And when Ardyn, Ardyn who loved the gods turned to the Crystal for its Judgement, the War-God who lurks in its shadow turned upon him - for his blood was rife with the Scourge, and the War-God would have no truck in one such as he. 

No matter that Ardyn had set forth at his bidding to cleanse the land of the Scourge. No matter that he had, personally, saved thousands through sacrifice upon sacrifice, by drawing the Scourge from their own veins and trapping it in his own. No, the war-god rejected him, and Somnus cried in victory - And Somnus cried out further that his brother, his eldest brother, was his brother no more but a deamon in truth - for did not his blood burn black as night? Did not weakness dodge his steps? 

And Somnus struck down his brother there, before the Crystal that was the heirloom of their house. And Somnus, Somnus Kinslayer, Somnus Kingkiller, felt no regret as he claimed the crown of swordbright Lucis. 

Yet, as the gods told him, and as Somnus learned, to his shock and wrath and disgust, his brother would rise again each time he was struck down. For such was the power of the Scourge within him that it would not allow him passage to the Beyond. Child, it would not let him die. And so the King of the Gods declared Gentle Ardyn, Ardyn the Healer, outcast and accursed, to be imprisoned for all time on barren Angelgard - until the Chosen King should slay him, and in so doing slay the Scourge. 

And Somnus the Betrayer, Somnus the Deceiver, Somnus Kinslayer and Kingkiller, joyfully did as the gods bade him. 

But the story does not end here.

Because before Ardyn the Healer joined his heart to that of his beloved, Aera-the-woman, in promises of love and of a marriage that would never be, he was a man. With a man’s hungers and a man’s follies, and a man’s simple desires. And of those desires came Vitae, the child of his blood - the child of whom Ardyn had no knowledge. 

Vitae was a child of the House of Lucis Caelum, and by all rights such a child should have been presented before the House to receive training in the magic that flowed through the blood, the magic that can kill the unwary wielder. Yet the affection of Vitae’s mother had kept them close and kept them secret, for even in those days Kings were not kindly disposed to bastards. And when Somnus the murderer, Somnus the Kinslayer, struck down Ardyn the Healer, they were glad of their silence. 

Because the Somnus, and through him, the War-God, declared that the gifts of his brother, the gifts of magic other then that of swords and the terrible power of the battlefield, was anathema. He would not allow it to persist, save in the line of the Oracle, and all others who could heal with a touch and ease the bright bloom of pain in another were to be put to the sword. To his own children, his own descendants, did he bind this, calling it a duty to rid the line of accursed children. 

And Vitae, the child of Ardyn’s blood, knew what fate would await them should their Uncle-by-blood learn of their existence. 

Yet Aera-the-woman had some kin remaining in this world, and for the love their had borne her and the love she had borne Ardyn did they seek out the child of Ardyn’s blood and bid them to flee. Flee, to the end of the world and beyond, flee as the hounds and the hunters dodged their steps - run, they bade Vitae, run and fight another day if you must, but run and LIVE, child. And Vitae, Vitae who was no older then you, children - Vitae ran, even as the blood of the Oracle did all in their power to obscure their track. 

Vitae ran, as the House of Heavenly Light proclaimed them abomination. Vitae ran, as the solders of Lucis closed in on the trail. Vitae ran, with the echoing words ringing in their head - run, and remember, and live. Vitae ran, ran through mountains and across plains, ran from the living and from the dead, from the sun and from the shadow. 

And always, Vitae remembered. 

Until at last, one day, Vitae came to the sea-shore. And there was a boat, and there was a storm rising upon the waters. 

And Vitae heard the hunters behind them.

And so Vitae threw themself into the boat, and cast themself upon the waters. And laughed, even in their fear, to see the sea unshackled before them, to feel the Storm close down about them - laughed for the glory of it, for the thrill, for the beauty in sea and storm. 

And the waves unspooled before them, and the storm-winds drove them forward, until they landed on an island. An Island for which Lucis had no name as of yet - but an Island that was one of three, and island named by those who lived there and loved fiercely. 

And the island’s name was Galahd, and the tribes opened their arms and their hearts to Vitae. And Vitae walked the Storm, and wove beads into their hair, and  in time grew to become a mighty chief. 

And the Storm and the Sea named Vitae Ulric, the Wolf-Lord, for many deeds great and small alike. And that is the beginning of Clan Ulric. 

And to their children, Vitae told the story of Ardyn and Somnus Kingkiller, and asked of them this: that they remember.

And over time, as the members of Clan Ulric married and intermingled with other clans, so too has the blood of Ardyn, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Healer mixed and mingled until it is the blood of Galahd. Until magic is our inheritance - one we keep hidden from the rest of the world. For we still remember Vitae, and the Hunters who dodged their heels, and the great oath of Somnus Kinslayer. 

Somnus Childkiller. 

For once in a handful of generations will a child be born to the house of Heavenly Light, a child whose magic is not of war and the battlefield. An infant who, by the law, must be taken to a certain place in the wilderness and left there alone - for if the parents of the child slew it outright, they would be called minelayers. But if an infant is left tot he mercy of the wild and dies of exposure, of hunger and thirst and animals, why then, their hands are clean of such blood.

But the Clans of Galahd remember, and keep watch upon this place. And when a child is left there to suffer and die, the child is named Ulric, and their family bears them home, home to Galahd, where they are loved and taught and told this: remember.

So Galahd remembers. 

We remember Ardyn the Healer, Ardyn the Gentle, Ardyn the Betrayed. We remember Somnus Kinslayer, Somnus Childkiller, Somnus Betrayer. We remember Vitae Ulric, and we remember the hunters. 

Will you remember?

#ffxv #secret-enigma #throw me to the wolves #I should be sleeping

[farchanter]

Ken Liu: The Wall of Storms

But the world sometimes demands a man or a woman to step forward to embody the will of many, and thus are legends and heroes born.

I've kept my pact to read a chapter of a book every day for a few years now, and one of my favorite discoveries so far is Ken Liu's The Grace of Kings. It's a modern, mature fantasy novel at home in a world where 20 million people watched the Game of Thrones finale: it's dark, sexually charged, action-packed, and full of intrigue. I found three things particularly special about The Grace of Kings, however:

The vast majority of fantasy stories follow a bloodline stretching back to The Lord of the Rings, to Le Morte d'Arthur, to Beowulf, to stories too ancient to have ever been written down— all of them fundamentally European. The Grace of Kings, however, is rooted in Chinese mythologies— this perspective, fresh to at least me, allows Liu to breathe new life into the genre even while exploring the most familiar themes.

The Grace of Kings is quite progressive. For a genre that can sometimes show an ugly side, it's refreshing to see such positive representation of queer characters, female characters, and characters with different abilities.

Ultimately, the story is about leadership styles. At the risk of spoiling it, the characters who fare the best are those who can acknowledge their own weaknesses and accept the strengths of others to build a formidable team— not those who are themselves the strongest or even the smartest.

Others clearly agreed with my assessment, because The Grace of Kings was used as a launching point for a whole trilogy— The Dandelion Dynasty. The book I'm actually supposed to be reviewing here— The Wall of Storms— is the second in the series.

The big problem with The Grace of Kings is the excruciating pace at which it goes through its early chapters. There is a lot of worldbuilding and— while Liu excels at cashing in this building action while writing the exhilerating sequences in the book's back half— I have to acknowledge that it's a bit of a toll to pay as a reader. But by the time the ball really gets rolling the tedium of the beginning is long forgotten, and I was hoping that careful establishment could carry forward into The Wall of Storms and allow Liu to immediately write the exciting scenes he does so well with.

It was a big disappointment, then, that the 1100-page The Wall of Storms opens with 500 pages before its key antagonist is introduced. The early parts are not exclusively worldbuilding chapters— we're introduced to the political and cultural problems facing the new throne, including an interesting and timely theme of how even a well-meaning society could fail to realize its dream of equality. We learn that Emperor Ragin has established a system of scholarly testing to find the best and brightest to advise his new empire, but it doesn't seem to be working— the highlight of the early chapters is newcomer Zomi verbally tearing down the idea that a system available to everyone is necessarily accessible to everyone. Liu also teases us with a few misdirections about the trajectory of the story— the palace intrigue and treachery so prominent in the first half gets swallowed whole by an existential threat in the second.

I was sad to see a number of characters I liked from The Grace of Kings turn heel in The Wall of Storms. In some ways, it feeds back into the core theme of trust— as the Grace of Kings wartime allies transition to Wall of Storms political rivals, some become infatuated with power and lose their ability to trust one another and in so doing succumb to their fears. I know this kind of backstabbing is a staple of modern adult fantasy so other readers may feel quite differently, but I was personally a little disappointed. The new characters— here including the characters who were only children at the end of the first book— are all excellent additions, and especially alternately-abled scholar-turned-advisor-with-a-heart-of-gold Zomi Kidosu.

The two or three of you who regularly read my writeups may recognize that "a hinted conflict swept off the table by an outside-context problem in the second half" was something I complained about when discussing Tales of Vesperia. I think there's a crucial difference here, though, reflecting the difference in writing quality: Tales of Vesperia uses its big conflict as a way to avoid resolving its first-half conflicts between characters. In The Wall of Storms, however, the in-fighting and betrayals from the first half have huge ramifications on the ability of the characters to deal with the true crisis in the second. The breaking of trust and the conflicts between old allies must be, if not resolved, then at least addressed before the islands of Dara can effectively respond to bigger problems. Returning to that core of trust and teamwork, the disparate squabbling factions cannot again form a team until they again show vulnerability to each other and demonstrate some selflessnes. The wounds are still not fully healed by the time The Wall of Storms come to a close, and in fact begin to re-open in some instances. The book all but says that resolving those lingering injuries will be key to the close of the triology in the upcoming The Veiled Throne.

These were a lot of words to say that I largely felt the same about The Wall of Storms as I did The Grace of Kings. It's an 1100 page rollercoaster: if you're able to sit through a long building movement, the payoff is spectacular. I'm hoping that The Veiled Throne will be more able to get into the swing of things late next year— and, moreover, I'm hoping that the Dandelion Dynasty prestige TV series I keep wishing happens will also have a quicker pace.

#completion list #books #completed #todo #review #the wall of storms #the dandelion dynasty #ken liu #fantasy #knight #the quarantine list